An Atlantean Triumvirate

by C. Craig R. McNeil

  “Well, anyway, democracy isn’t my department. I leave that to old Thomkins over in Department Y. Yes. Ahem. Yes, where was I?”

  “The Empire isn’t getting its lead from those incompetent idiots?” offered Murdoch.

  “Ah yes, thank you. The Minister of War and the Chief of Staffs have been banging out a deal outside the Cabinet. The PM has suggested we let the Americans know they’re being led up the garden path by this Core fellow. Some of us are thinking it would be a good opportunity to get the colonies back so the Permanent Secretaries had a, ermm…., a ‘discussion’ you might put it.”

  So there was a blazing argument and quite probably fisticuffs as well.

  “…and it was decided that maybe it wasn’t a good idea at all. After all the old colonies are so crime ridden these days. It would take so much effort to bring them up to our level of thinking.”

  “Of course,” agreed Murdoch. “New York alone would probably take a few days to flatten.”

  Greenshields laughed heartily at Murdoch’s witticism. Murdoch smiled, laughing along knowing that he had hit the nail right on the head. New York would have been flattened and then rebuilt. It was the only way to ensure the right sort of people lived in the place.

  “Yes, yes… ahem..” Greenshields wiped imaginary tears from his eyes. “Well, we’ve contacted the American ambassador and dropped him a few hints which he’ll no doubt have confirmed by his intelligence sources. Not quite sure how they’ll play this, I have to say.”

  “After all, they are responsible for the assassination of King Edward, not to mention the wholesale murder of a large number of civilians in Glasgow,” prompted Murdoch.

  “Oh, yes. Of course, of course dear boy. That really does go without saying! I mean, really! You don’t need to remind me of that! Hah!”

  He doesn’t really care was Murdoch’s translation of that. This was interesting. The civil service always seemed to be more tied to the notion of King and Empire than the government ever was.

  Brushing away some dust from his tie, Greenshields continued, “But do we really need a war? Hmmm? Do we?” he said eying Murdoch patronisingly. “The answer to that is, of course, no. The Empire has never been better off and we’re doing some astonishing things these days. War is an expensive hobby and even the Empire would feel the strain if we had to take on America. And let's face the facts. Edward was not a good king, especially since he got involved with that American woman. She was probably a plant by the Americans to destabilise the monarchy.”

  Idiot. If Wallis Simpson was a plant then why did the United States bombard Glasgow and kill Edward? But there it was. Edward had been a bad king. His loss was probably greeted with enthusiasm by the likes of Greenshields.

  “So what’s the plan?” asked Murdoch. Greenshields could waffle with the best of them.

  Greenshields took a sip of his gin and tonic and savoured it before putting the glass down on the table. Leaning forward conspiratorly, he looked at Murdoch.

  “John…” he pause and took a deep breath. “We’re going to have to put aside the issue of King Edward and Glasgow for just now.”

  Murdoch raised an eyebrow but wasn’t really surprised. He was angry at the idea of letting such an affront go without response. It was a sign of weakness.

  “We must have peace,” Greenshields emphasised. “The Empire has too many interests around the world to be distracted by a war. And above all we have these dashed Atlantis thinginymajigs causing trouble.”

  “I thought Miss Archer had this all in hand,” enquired Murdoch smoothly interrupting. Greenshields was obviously uncomfortable with the whole Atlantis scenario and Murdoch was happy to make him squirm.

  “I’m sure she has. Professor Miller Hayre has been creating waves and the Cabinet is actually taking his views on board! Based on that woman’s report!”

  “Miss Archer is highly professional in all her dealings,” Murdoch interjected. “I’ve had the pleasure of working with her several times over the past few years.”

  “I’m sure you have,” Greenshields replied, making it quite clear what he thought Murdoch meant by ‘pleasure.’

  Murdoch reddened with anger. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

  “Hmmm? Oh, nothing at all dear chap, nothing at all. Come now, let’s not get ourselves all riled up over imaginary slights. There’s a war on, don’t you know?”

  Murdoch calmed himself. Greenshields was an uncultured oik. It wouldn’t do to get wound up by him.

  “Have you read Miss Archer’s report?” asked Greenshields moving swiftly on, perhaps wary of Murdoch’s rather notorious temper.

  “Yes, I have,” Murdoch nodded, mentally picturing the document that Jane had produced. “Frightening stuff. These Khadrae are particularly lethal. I wouldn’t like to meet them in the field.”

  “Ah, yes. The ‘Khadrae’ creatures,” said Greenshields in a tone that had Murdoch sighing inwardly. Here we go, he thought.

  “Do you think the ‘Khadrae’…” Greenshields had a way of saying ‘Khadrae’ in a totally disbelieving and condescending way. “…are the product of a fevered imagination? Or at the very least exaggerated?”

  I knew it, Murdoch thought, careful to hide his exasperation. None of the bloody pen pushers believed in the Khadrae. It had taken them a good decade or so to take Atlantis seriously. Unimaginative fools.

  “No,” said Murdoch steadily, “I don’t. The Nightshade Division have encountered the Khadrae in large numbers before and they came off second best. I’ve seen one of them myself on a dissecting table on the American Ice Base and it was an out and out fighting machine.”

  “But dinosaurs?” interjected Greenshields. “I mean, really! What next? Woolly mammoths?”

  “Quite possibly,” replied Murdoch evenly. “Who knows the full power and mysteries of Atlantis?”

  Greenshields snorted, an unfortunate thing to do as he was also sipping his gin and tonic at the time.

  As Greenshields coughed and choked harshly, Murdoch took his chance.

  “Steady Greenshields, ol’ boy. We need you alive you know! And tell me, what are we going to do about the Germans?”

  Wiping away tears from his eyes with an off white cotton handkerchief, Greenshields managed to squeak out “The Germans?”

  Regaining his composure Greenshields repeated in a stronger voice, “The Germans? What about them?”

  “What about them?” Murdoch parroted incredulously. “What about the fact we blamed them on the national stage for murdering King Edward, invaded their country, blew up a few of their air and army bases, knocked down a few of their dams and shot down a substantial number of the Luftwaffe’s new Me262s?”

  “Oh, yes. Good point. The Empire has apologised for that you know. King George rattled off a rather excellent speech while you were on the ice base. The Reich has decided to forgive and forget. Not that they can do much anyway because we’d give them a jolly good thrashing if they decided to have a war with us.”

  “Remember and tell that to the families of the crewmen that died on the Wellington.”

  “Oh, tch man. That was pure blind luck helped by that fools decision not to launch their anti aircraft drones.”

  “Walker was a good man. He didn’t deserve to be made a scapegoat for the failure of the attack.”

  “Nonsense. He ballsed it up in big way. Embarrassed the whole bally Empire in front of the world. Dashed Americans had the news on the front pages of their newspapers within three days gloating about it!”

  “It was still unnecessary to make him a scapegoat. Walker had a most distinguished service history. He was a credit to the Empire. Not many have seen service as far afield as the Raj, Afghanistan, Siberia and the South Pacific.”

  “He still ballsed it up. He was right to resign his commission.”

  “Maybe, but the MoD didn’t have to accept -…”

  “Yes, they dashed well did,” interrupted Greenshields stridently.

  “No they blood
y well did not particularly when everyone knew that Walker would commit suicide once he’d lost his commission,” Murdoch was red in the face with anger.

  Greenshields swallowed nervously and reasonably decided to let this one go and decided it was now finally time to tell Murdoch the purpose of his visit.

  “Well, Murdoch… John….” He smiled awkwardly as Murdoch gazed at him impassively, the anger draining away from his face, “The Empire has decided that a deal needs to be cut with the Americans. If we can rely on Miss Archer’s report, this Nucleus chap has said that the Americans are being fibbed to and are attacking us on the basis of these fibs. We can’t have that can we?”

  A rhetorical question Murdoch didn’t bother to answer.

  “So yes, we’re going to agree with the Prime Minister and have a chat with them. It will be advantageous to the Empire to have peace at this moment as well as knowing exactly how dastardly the Americans really are.”

  “Right. A meeting. Where?”

  “New Atlantis seems like a good idea. Safest place on the planet right now, I would’ve thought.”

  “If you’re British, yes. What about the Americans? And why should they believe us when we say they’ll be safe?”

  “We’ve been completely reassuring. Plus we’ve dropped a few hints that we know exactly what they’re up to. Plus we’re not officially at war yet, are we? Contracts to be signed, statements to be declared and all the rest of it. War is a tiresome business when it comes to paperwork I can assure you.”

  “I suppose the reason I’m here is so you can tell me I’m going to New Atlantis?” asked Murdoch.

  “No of course not. Mr Grimes will tell you that,” Greenshields smiled like a Cheshire cat. “You’re here so I can tell you that you are going to be our representative out there John. We want you to provide an unofficial evaluation of the summit on New Atlantis and provide courses of action based on the outcome.”

  “Why not ask Mr Grimes himself for an evaluation?” queried Murdoch already knowing the answer to his question.

  “Don’t be silly John. We need a clear and accurate version of events, not coloured rants against the ‘coffee drinkers’ and other biased opinions. Mr Grimes has been made aware of our requirements so you will have no arguments from him.”

  Oh, excellent. Grimes was going to be so happy that he was being overlooked for an underling, especially Murdoch.

  “Who’s going to be there?” asked Murdoch.

  “All in good time my dear fellow, all in good time! I can tell you now that it’s going to be a full diplomatic mission with all the trimmings. It will be excellent fun!”

  Oh God. A full diplomatic mission. Spies all over the place. Paper pushers filing expenses claims. Diplomats, ministers, the works. I hope I can get a room to myself away from everyone else, Murdoch thought gloomily.

  13 Negotiations

  The three submarine dreadnaughts prowled the night black sea outside the underwater colony of New Atlantis with their illuminations switched on to full capacity lending them the look of long fluorescent sea creatures. Even with their multi tiered lights shining their entire two hundred yard lengths, the hulks of the Renown, the Repulse and the Revenge could barely be seen in the gloom.

  New Atlantis was the most secure region in the British Empire, probably the world, at this moment. Above, on the surface of the Atlantic, the sea was dominated for miles around by the jagged neo-Gothic outlines of the dreadnaughts King George, Invincible and Illustrious. The seas in between the near mile long ships were busy with their support fleets of battleships, cruisers, destroyers and frigates. High in the air hung the stretched cigar shapes of the aerial dreadnaughts, Merlin and Falcon, their ‘Mighty Midget’ drones humming around them like fireflies as they scanned the horizons for the enemy. The Azores was a scant few miles away and lying in the hands of unknown strangers. War had not been declared, said the Prime Minister, and there was no evidence of foreign intervention so it would not be wise to attack an undetermined enemy. It rankled the crews of these mighty machines that could not put them to good use and destroy the foreign Johnnies that had dared to even look in the direction of British territory. It was a long time since a part of the globe once coloured pink had been recoloured. Of course, technically the Azores was Spanish but it was so popular with British holidaymakers that it was practically another colony. But the captains of the ships and Admirals of the Fleets knew more than the men that served under them. They knew the reason they were all there. And that was all that kept the uneasy peace.

  The Invincible was one of the more recent dreadnaughts to be launched from the shipyards of John Brown on the Clyde. Clyde built through and through, the great ship was a true giant of the seas, a supreme feat of engineering far beyond the scale of anything else in the world other than its fellow dreadnaughts in the Royal Navy. Each of the four massive gun turrets were topped by tall towers peaked with pointed roofs ending in flagpoles flying the red, white and blue of the Union Jack. The weak sunlight filtering through the clouds caught the binoculars and telescopes of the spotters that guided the mighty weapons to their targets. The centre of this floating cliff like edifice was dominated by the flying buttresses and peaks of the central superstructure that rose up to the bridge, a huge room that covered an entire deck with windows lining all sides. Just below the bridge stood a giant brass statue of Britannia in her classic pose, sitting next to her oval shield and holding her trident at an angle.

  At the top of this small mountain of baroque iron rose the steel and wires framework of a radar mast, still an extremely unusual addition to any ship let alone a dreadnaught. Gargoyles hung from every angle on the ship, demonic faces screwed up in perpetual growls and sneers.

  The bow of the Invincible curved gracefully up from the leaden sea, merging into a steel sculpture of a silently roaring dragon leaping out from the deck, wings stretched out behind it, bronze claws grasping for its unseen enemy.

  Murdoch cut a lonely, dishevelled figure as he hung over the rail at the top of the towering starboard side of the Invincible being violently sea sick. He hated travelling by sea. The very thought made his stomach heave. All that liquid rolling up and down, up and down and if you fell in you sank down into the depths where all manners of strange looking creatures would eat you. No. The sea was not the place for him. Not by a bloody long shot. Murdoch had been ill ever since he had left Plymouth aboard the Invincible along with the British diplomatic entourage. Hell. He was in Hell. His stomach retched drily in sympathy as the sea spat cold salt spray into his face.

  The sound of approaching footsteps made Murdoch look up hoping it wasn’t yet another seaman ready to expound the wisdom of eating a lovely greasy fried breakfast to settle the stomach. A man could really lose his temper.

  “Good morning Murdoch,” said Captain Riley, “Lovely day isn’t it? June on the sea is always a nice time to be out and about.”

  “Ugh…” moaned Murdoch weakly. “You think so? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Yes, it’s beautiful. Sun coming up over the horizon, clouds all stretched out with a hint of pink. The only thing spoiling it is all this military hardware.”

  “Bit of a poet aren’t you?” said Murdoch wanly. “You big girls blouse.”

  Riley smiled at that. The effect was of a crack appearing in a cliff face. Riley would never be called handsome. He may have been once but the multiple scars criss crossing his face had taken all that away. Murdoch had heard the story behind those scars. Before Nightshade Division had been formed Riley had been a Major in the Royal Scots' Lions Rampant stationed out in the wilds of Afghanistan trying to keep the peace between the disparate tribes. One day his squad had been lured into an ambush by Soviet backed Afghan tribesmen where Riley had been captured and taken for questioning by the Soviet advisors. Three days solid he’d been tortured before he’d escaped apparently taking out most of the Soviet camp before he’d left. When Nightshade Division was formed there could only have been one candidate to lead it. C
aptain Riley was the hardest man that Murdoch knew, an out and out soldier dedicated to his men and the Empire. Thank God he was on our side, Murdoch thought.

  “You’re calling me a big girls blouse? You’re the prat that’s been hanging over the side of the ship the past few days,” Riley returned.

  “I’ve got a reason to. You don’t have any reason to come up with poetry.”

  Riley laughed heartily, clapping Murdoch on the back with such force that Murdoch nearly fell over the rail.

  Once he’d got his breath back, Murdoch turned round and leaned against the rail, a green tinge on his face.

  “You know Murdoch, what you need is a nice greasy fry up. Bacon, eggs, sausages, beans, the works.”

  Murdoch groaned. “No, please. Not you as well. The last thing I want is food.”

  “Seriously man. It works. Try it.”

  Murdoch looked at Riley through narrowed eyes. “If you’re taking the mick, I’ll have you.”

  Riley laughed again. It was strange seeing a man like Riley laughing. It didn’t seem right. Riley was built like the proverbial brick outhouse and oozed power and menace. He moved like a panther, all ready and alert even when on home ground. No, it wasn’t right Riley laughing the way he did.

  “Murdoch, you wouldn’t have a chance against me.” Neither would half the American army Murdoch mentally added.

  “Well, Riley. It’s good to see you again. It’s been a while. How’re the new power armour suits shaping up?”

  “Now Murdoch, you know very well it’s all hush hush and I can’t tell you things like that. I’m happy with them though. How’re things with you?”

  “Bleak. I’m here on a boat-….”