Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2)

by Charles S. Jackson

  The screen instantly lit up as Briony gingerly did exactly that, and Brandis let out a soft chuckle as she gasped at the sight of a picture of her own smiling face set as the lock screen. The time and date – which she suspected was probably accurate although she had no clock at hand – was superimposed in large figures above her forehead while below her image, the words ‘slide to unlock’ were displayed to the right of another large button digitally ‘embossed’ with an arrow pointing in the same direction. Even for someone completely uninitiated to the Apple Corporation’s masterful design and ergonomics, the next step seemed quite obvious and she extended a finger to do exactly as the screen suggested.

  The home screen appeared, this time the same picture of her but with just eight app buttons along the bottom in two rows of four. Each was depicted by a different coloured icon but the title behind each made their purpose relatively clear, those being respectively from left to right: Settings… Camera… Photos… Videos… (top row) and Phone… Safari… mail… Ipod… (bottom row).

  “The phone uses wireless technology developed from the Nineteen Eighties and Nineties onward,” he continued to explain as she tapped one of the icons but elicited no response, adding: “you need to ‘double-tap’ one quickly with your finger to open it up.”

  She repeated the instruction on the icon marked ‘photos’ and was instantly rewarded by a very small selection of half-a-dozen images that were all of her own face in various smiling poses, each one of her seemingly older ‘self’ now that she took more time to look at each one.

  “Swipe your finger gently in either direction to move from one to the other,” he suggested helpfully, allowing her to cycle through the images one my one. “You’ll not get much use for the phone, mail or ‘Safari’ apps, there not being any decent internet likely for at least fifty years or so, but you can play about with the others as much as you like to get a feel for it. Try not to drop it, as the glass will shatter, but otherwise it’s a pretty tough little unit… try opening up videos: there’s something I want you to see.”

  She did exactly that, bringing up just two three selections. The first two were rather innocuously titles ‘Dieter_Strauss.1’ and ‘Dieter_Strauss.2’, but she drew a short gasp of exited breath as the third caught her attention immediately: ‘Les Miserables – 25th Anniversary Edition’.

  “Les Miserables…!” She looked up at him with a smile of her own. “You have the movie with Fredric March and Charles Laughton?”

  Brandis openly released a bark of surprised laughter at that remark.

  “I’d actually forgotten about that film!” He exclaimed, chuckling deeply. “And it was nominated for Best Picture too… how remiss of me!” He shook his head slowly. “No… this most definitely isn’t the 1935 movie: it’s a musical.”

  “I saw Top Hat at The Astor when mum and I went to see Dad on leave in Melbourne, back in ‘Thirty-Six’… is it like that…?”

  “Isn’t that bloody Astaire and Rogers?” Brandis frowned momentarily, thinking quickly as he wracked his brain for a recollection of the famous RKO musical. As Briony nodded eagerly, he shook his head once more. “No, not at all like that kind of musical,” he went on to explain. “‘Les Mis’ – as its often just called – is one of the most famous stage musicals ever written, based – obviously – on Victor’s original novel, although you’ll find when you’ve watched it that the story has been cut down significantly and required some changes to make it work in a two-and-a-half-hour show. That particular version is, as the title suggests, a video of the 25th Anniversary Concert from 2010… I only barely managed to get one of the first DVD releases of it before I left the future to go back.” His smile faded just a little. “I’ve always loved the show myself, but I actually got this one for you…”

  “For me…?”

  “For you,” he confirmed with a single nod. “It’s performers singing their lines on stage rather than acting them out as well – although they’re singing bloody brilliantly, I might add – so it isn’t quite the same experience as seeing the real stage show, but the music is just so incredible that it really doesn’t matter. I always knew how much you loved the story of Les Mis, and I wanted you to be able to listen to it whenever you feel sad or alone: I promise you it’ll lift your spirits and inspire you.” Another thought occurred to him. “I also want you to take note of the singers themselves when you do watch it: Javert is played by a phenomenal singer called Norm Lewis, an African-American – you’d recognise the term ‘Negro’ – while Fantine is played by an equally good Filipino singer by the name of Lea Salonga. People from my time are given opportunities based on their abilities rather than their gender or the colour of their skin, and I want you to remember that… always!”

  “What are these other videos about?” She asked, nodding slowly in recognition of what he’d just said as she looked up from the phone.

  “They’re another thing altogether and this is the one condition I need to impress upon you: you must never watch these videos – they’re not intended for your eyes, and I need you to promise me before I give it to you that you’ll not look at them.”

  “How can you ask me to promise; now you’ve said that?”

  “Remember Eve and the Tree of Knowledge?” He countered immediately, having saved the response for exactly that question. “I may not be The Lord, but I know the importance of keeping a promise. If you give your word, I’ll trust you to stick to it.”

  A long silence passed as Briony stared at him, trying to read what was going on in Brandis’ eyes with no chance of comprehending what lay in the dark, fathomless depths behind them.

  “I promise…” she vowed finally “…but…”

  “They’re meant for someone else,” Brandis cut in, forestalling the question. “This ‘saviour’ I’ve mentioned will one day find those videos of vital importance, but that’s a long way off right now and until then I just need you to keep them somewhere safe and close.”

  “Why can’t I just show him when we meet?”

  “No…!” He snapped sharply, the intensity of the reply catching her by surprise. “For the moment you must keep secret the phone and the pieces that come with it. He’ll discover it for himself when the time’s right; until then, this present is for your eyes and ears only, so keep it hidden well.” He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Can you promise me that…?”

  “I promise, Uncle James,” she answered after another long pause, and he knew from experience that she was telling the absolute truth.

  “That’s my girl,” he smiled, satisfied. “I’ve promised you so much already this last twenty-four hours, and I know none of this makes sense right now, but it will all become clear very soon. He doesn’t know it yet, but the man who’s going to be taking care of you from now on will need you as much as you’ll ever need him.”

  “But… how will I know…?” There were no words that Brandis could’ve dreamed up in that moment to truly describe the desperation in that young girl’s eyes as she stared at him from the passenger seat.

  “When the moment comes, you’ll know… I guarantee it… Until then, you need to be strong for me… be strong like your mum would’ve wanted. Can you do that for me?”

  I’ll try, Uncle James,” Briony breathed softly, unable to speak clearly as her chest heaved and the sobs that were building within her fought to be set free.

  “I could never have been the father that Arthur’s been for you all these years,” Brandis croaked, his own voice breaking as he turned away and stared out through the driver’s side window, “but I’ve loved you like a daughter all the same.” Tears were also streaming down his cheeks now. “I’ve never been anyone’s uncle, and ‘James’ is just one of those names I’ve used over the years. You deserve so much better than that… you deserve to at least know who I really am… who I once was …” He told her his true name then… the name he’d first been christened with at birth… a name he’d not used in over two thousand years by his own, personal ‘t
imeline’.

  “I’ll never forget you,” she vowed, the declaration almost a wail as she leaned across to throw her arms around his neck and they embraced each other tightly.

  “I know you won’t…” he nodded in return, cradling her head against his shoulder as his face contorted under the stress of an unsuccessful attempt at restraining his own anguish. “…I know you won’t”

  They remained that way for a long time, each drawing strength and solace from the other’s embrace, before Brandis finally pulled gently but firmly away, wiping somewhat ineffectually at his own eyes with one hand as if that alone might be sufficient to remove the run of so many tears.

  “The iPhone works off a battery, and I have a charger to give you for it along with a pair of headphones for you to listen with: something that’ll sound much better than using the built-in speaker. I have to go soon… but why don’t you start Les Mis and let’s watch some together – I’d like that to be the last memory of our time together.”

  “Me too,” she sniffed, using the upper sleeve of her plain dress to dab at her own tears.

  “Come on then…” He tried for a smile and mostly managed one. “Let’s get that thing started and I’ll sing along really badly to all Javert’s bits…”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing…” Briony observed thoughtfully, a faint smile of her own almost breaking through as she ‘double-tapped’ the Les Miserables video entry and the tiny screen flickered into life between her fingers. As they leaned their heads in together in the front seat of the Ford and watched it begin, she discovered that he didn’t actually sing badly at all.

  12. Buying Time

  8th Army Defensive Lines near Agruda

  27km west of Suez, Egypt

  October 2, 1942

  Friday

  “...Lieutenant Croft, I need you to repeat that for me, because I hope I’ve completely misheard what you just said...” Thorne growled into the mike of his belt-radio, anger and frustration growing exponentially within him as was presented with more disturbing information from his MI6 resources. He was seated behind the wheel of one of his unit’s GMC trucks, driver’s door hanging open, and staring out through the windshield across a desert landscape that was turning to rich tones of ochre and deep red in the failing light of dusk beneath the last vestiges of a disappearing sunset.

  “You heard me quite correctly sir, I’m afraid,” Giles Croft answered after a short pause, knowing the man well enough and having expected exactly the reaction he’d just received. “Dublin has advised that the information they have suggests that Nightrider and other assets there are operating under your orders.”

  “But...” Thorne stopped short on the tirade he was about to launch into in deference to ‘not shooting the messenger’ and lowered the volume of his voice before continuing, “...but... we both know that I have never issued any order, request or otherwise involving the extraction of Pulitzer, nor the activation of Nightrider for that purpose. Did you explain that to them, Croft?”

  “I – I did, sir,” Giles began haltingly, knowing full well that the use of his surname was a clear indication that Thorne was close to boiling point, “but that didn’t seem to cut much sway with them. They said that all the correct code words were used, and they’ve even sighted a signed letter of authorisation...”

  “Oh, well of course, that makes all the difference,” Thorne snapped with acid sarcasm. “Signing a piece of paper with ‘Adolf Hitler’ doesn’t make me the bloody Chancellor of Germany either...! Haven’t those morons ever heard of forgery...?” He drew his hand back as if to smash the microphone against the dashboard in frustration but stopped himself at the last moment, instead pausing in silence for a few seconds as he fought to calm himself. He eventually lowered his arm once more and released a long sigh. “It does however raise a few more rather important questions with regard to what sneaky prick has been fucking about using my bloody codes and authorisations...”

  It was at this point that Thorne realised he’d collected something of an audience. As he turned his head to the right, voice trailing off, his eyes came to rest on what in his mind could only be described as a deputation. Major Knowles of 3RTR and LTCOL Anderson of the Australian 2/28th were both watching him from a few metres away with a pair of armed guards in attendance. More telling was the presence of Bernard Montgomery behind them, and none of them looked particularly pleased.

  “...Oh, bloody hell...” He muttered softly to himself, noting the expressions and – considering his own inside knowledge – not needing any great leap of logic to recognise that he might well be in a bit of trouble. “...Ahh, I might need to get back to you on this, Giles...” he began, not taking his eyes off the new arrivals as he lifted the mike back to his lips, stretching the cord as far as it would reach from inside the cab. “...Do be a good fellow and follow that up for me...”

  He switched off the radio and left it in the truck as he clambered down, standing by the still open driver’s door with his hands planted expectantly on his hips.

  “This can’t be good, gentlemen,” he observed with a half-smile, squinting a little as he faced directly into the last rays of the setting sun above a line of distant hills. “You all look like someone’s just died...”

  “Were you going to bother letting the rest of us know about the transmission you’ve received ordering your immediate return to Australian, air vice marshal?” As the ranking officer present, the responsibility lay with Monty to provide any required display of authority, and he was most certainly displaying some now as he spoke, every word passing through the ice-cold filter of an experienced commander’s ire. “We’ve been informed by Melbourne that a coded directive was sent through to you directly over a week ago, demanding confirmation of receipt...”

  “Yeah, about that...”

  “...When no response was forthcoming,” the general went on, talking straight over him, “GHQ instead contacted my command and asked me to advise why they were receiving no reports back. I spoke to Field Marshal Blamey himself...” there was a second’s pause as Monty’s face reddened slightly over his recollection of the event, something that spoke volumes in Thorne’s mind. “...A very interesting conversation, that was. He doesn’t appear to like you very much, Mister Thorne, and he also didn’t appear to be particularly surprised when I was unable to give him any valid reason as to why you hadn’t been in contact to confirm your receipt of the directive.”

  “General, I’ve come here to complete an important test...” Thorne began, burying his own personal dislike for the field marshal in question as he attempted to use honesty in deflecting the conversation. “...Once that’s complete, I’ll be more than happy to get out of this bloody place...”

  “You’ve ignored a direct order from the Commander-in-Chief of Australian Military Forces...” Monty cut him off, stepping forward as his face continued to redden “...resulting in my receiving a very unexpected and unappreciated dressing down as a result because you didn’t see fit to have the common decency to tell anyone what was going on...!”

  There were few things an officer liked less than to be hauled over the coals and humiliated by a superior. That was particularly true for higher-ranking officers more accustomed to having others follow their bidding and Montgomery was no exception. That the verbal attack had blindsided him without any warning had only served to exacerbate the problem immensely.

  Thorne on the other hand had spent much of the last two years in the United States with extreme wealth at his sole disposal, well away from any real control and mostly operating under his own authority most of that time. He wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner either and his ire was already raised by the news he’d received from Northern Ireland via Singapore.

  “With all due respect, general…” He snarled back, opening with the time-honoured, ‘excuse-all’ phrase that almost invariably meant anything but “…my ‘rank’ is nominal at best, and is in any case a commission in the Royal Air Force.
If I answer to anyone at all…” his tone in that last sentence suggested that might well be unlikely “…then it would be the provisional British Government-in-Exile rather than the Australian Military Forces’ Command. I might also point out that these prototypes are the property of Commonwealth Military Industries... a company of which I am the sole owner and managing director… a company that, despite the misleading nature of its name, is actually an American registered organisation.” Thorne was slightly shorter than Monty but the manner in which he puffed up his chest in stubborn indignance at that moment made him seem markedly taller.

  “I’m here to carry out research vital to the ongoing prosecution of this bloody war,” he continued, completely unfazed by the general’s cold, hardening silence during his retort, “and if – if – I choose to accede to a request from a sovereign government, that will be of my own volition and at a time of my own choosing…!”

  There was a pause; a long pause. As any well-brought-up English gentlemen could advise, it was never good form to completely lose one’s temper and Montgomery was doing his level best to maintain control over his right then and there. The expressions of shock that were barely hidden on the faces of the other two officers present were telling however, and something in their body language began to break down the defences of Thorne’s anger in that moment, causing a chill to run the length of his spine.

  Tactful, the voice in his head chimed in with more than a little sarcasm, a hint of malicious laughter in its tone. Really clever, that was. You just insulted a general in front of his subordinates… you reckon he’s going to pat you on the back for it…?

  “Air – Vice – Marshal – Thorne…” LTGEN Bernard Montgomery began very slowly, sounding out each part of the title singularly as if speaking completely separate and unrelated words. “I’m not entirely sure what it is that passes for the structure and chain of command ‘where you come from’, but there have quite obviously been a few rather important facts omitted from your understanding of the situation we have facing us right now… allow me to fill you in…” He took a long, slow breath as his withering gaze bored into the man before him.