An Atlantean Triumvirate

by C. Craig R. McNeil

  Next to the vast ship was a raised platform decorated with imperial purple and crimson red sashes. Large Union Jack flags with the king’s coat of arms in the middle fluttered from flagpoles in each corner. The platform was thronged with the important people of Scotland, the lords and earls and their ladies, all dressed in their best silk and tweed finery, diamonds and jewels glittering in the weak winter sun. The King of Britain, Emperor of the British Empire, Edward VIII was present to launch this feat of ingenuous engineering. A hub bub of conversation wafted across the water, a symphony of idle chit chat, talk of holidays in India, big game hunting in Kenya with a dark undercurrent speaking quietly of the unsettling events in Europe and the continuing rearmament of Nazi Germany.

  “I doubt it’ll make any difference to us no matter what Germany does,” a well fed city councillor was saying to the king. “It’s not as if the Hun have the firepower to compete with the Grand Fleets or the Air Arm.”

  “No, no, that’s true but this Hitler chap could cause problems with our trading routes to India. Our airships pass directly over Germany on their way there,” interrupted a moustachioed man, dressed in a black tailed coat, a bright blue silk cravat protecting his neck from the cold wind.

  “He’s not going to attack our airships, especially when the Air Arm can bombard anywhere in Germany with impunity. No one would dare to strike against the Empire,” returned the councillor.

  King Edward listened politely, sipping from a crystal flute of champagne while nodding in agreement. It was a bitter day and very exposed on the bare platform. The side of the dreadnaught was a bleak grey metal cliff face that made the platform seem even colder. He’d be glad when this engagement was over and he could go back to the deer stalking at Balmoral. Personally, he doubted Adolf Hitler would do anything rash. He’d met him and he seemed a thoroughly decent chap, if a tad hard on the Jews. And the blacks. Gays too. Nothing to really worry about.

  “What about America?” interrupted a new speaker. The voice was gruff and commanding as befitted the military upbringing of General Barker.

  “What about America?” said the councillor pompously. “Should take the bloody colonies back if you ask me!” he harrumphed. “Should keep an eye on that country, you know. Wouldn’t surprise me If they tried to invade Canada one of these days. You watch them!”

  “I do agree,” said General Barker as everyone nodded sagely in agreement with the councillor. “America is easily the biggest threat to world peace at this moment. American warships have been shadowing our shipping lanes in the Caribbean and our men in the Pacific say the US naval bases at Hawaii and Pearl Harbor are being rebuilt and reinforced. It’s not us that needs to worry though. I would say the Nipponese would be under threat.”

  “Oh, yes. Their war against the Middle Kingdom of China will sap much of their resources. Big place China. Been there and it just goes stretches forever. But what does Nippon have that America needs? The Nips are in China because they need the resources. Nippon has nothing that America needs.”

  “Taking over Nipponese interests would consolidate US power in the Pacific,” said General Barker launching into a detailed analysis. Edward allowed Barker’s voice to fade into the background while pretending to listen politely. Edward had heard all this talk of an expansionist United States before. It was a frequent topic of conversation at the dinner parties he’d been to in the past month. One could get bored of hearing the same topic again and again. He wondered when it would decided to slap down the US before it decided to turned an eye on British interests.

  Edward’s butler approached him, deftly threading his way through the crowd before carefully whispering to the king that it was now time to launch the ship.

  Making his excuses to his companions, Edward handed his champagne glass to the butler and, the crowd parting in front of him, walked to the podium facing the dreadnaught where a magnum of champagne stood ready to christen the new ship. A range of microphones stood in front of the podium from Pathe News, the BBC, the World Service and others, wired up to broadcast to the people crowding on the docks and the river front and across the Empire.

  The breeze stiffened as Edward cleared his throat and mentally shuffled through his speech. There was a hint of snow in the air, a bite that went straight through his clothing, chilling him to the bone. He wished he was on the river front with the common folk, next to all the glowing braziers and with something warmer than a glass of champagne to keep the cold at bay. Still, not long now. He had asked for the speech to be short and short it was. He jumped as a voice suddenly blared out from speakers along the Clyde.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the British Isles, citizens of the British Empire. His Majesty, the King.”

  A roar of appreciation and excitement rose up into the air along with the steam of thousands of breaths. Cheers and whistles resounded along the riverbank which was a riot of colour as thousands of Union Jack flags were waved by adults and children both.

  Edward smiled and waved hesitantly. Despite Wallis, the people still loved him. Or maybe it was just the excitement of seeing a ship they’d worked on for six years being launched. He eyed the soon to be Queen Victoria. She truly was gigantic, a massive leviathan of steel and iron. He coughed politely before beginning his speech.

  “As I stand here in Glasgow on this great day I understand why this is truly the second city of the Empire. Only here in the shipyards of the Clyde can be found the skill, determination and industry to produce this great leviathan, this great symbol of British sea power that stands before me today.”

  The cries and cheers of appreciation had started before he’d finished his last sentence and continued for a good minute before dying down.

  “This mighty ship will roam the waves protecting our Empire and all who live in it from the aggression of our enemies and their allies. The world we live in today is a dangerous world, a world of jealousy, hate and evil. A world that conspires to overthrow our solid British values and replace them with their foreign ways. This ship shall help ensure that the day when that happens shall never come.”

  Edward placed his hand on the lever that would release the champagne magnum.

  “I name this ship Queen Victoria. May God bless her and all who sail with her.”

  He pushed the lever down and the champagne magnum swung down in a slow graceful arc to smash against the side with an enormous boom that echoed through the air as if coming from a distance.

  There were cries of consternation and alarm.

  “What was that noise?” someone said.

  “No idea. Was it not the dreadnaught ship launching?”

  There was another enormous boom. And another. And another. A shrill shriek sounded overhead and Edward heard General Barker exclaim, “Shells! We’re being bombarded!”

  A huge explosion erupted in the River Clyde just a few hundred yards from the podium. A fountain of water shot high into the air, higher even than the Queen Victoria, before crashing back down again and splashing in a wave over the river banks. The many rowing boats in the vicinity were reduced to less than matchwood, their occupants shredded in the massive blast.

  “The King! Save the King!” Edward heard someone shout seconds before another shell whistled in down through the air and crashed into the crowded river bank across from the podium. The explosion was truly enormous, a huge gout of yellow and red that engulfed the tightly packed men, woman and children like an evil dragon’s flame. Bodies were thrown about like rag dolls with missing limbs. Nearby a building collapsed under the shock of the blast, crushing many more people and sending a cloud of choking brown and grey dust rolling up the river.

  On the podium the quiet chatter had turned into screams of panic and pandemonium reigned as the great people pushed and shoved to get off the platform crushing underfoot those that fell. Edward’s butler grabbed his arm and pulled him.

  “Sir, hurry! You’ve got to get off here now! It’s not safe!”

  Edward looked uncomprehendingly at the
man, his face blank with shock. Who on earth could possibly be attacking the greatest nation the world had ever seen?

  A shell landed a hundred yards in front of Edward, right in the midst of the people who were running to escape the bombardment. The blast blew Edward and his butler backwards off their feet onto the wooden floor of the podium and Edward could feel where his face had scorched in the heat. His head throbbed where it had banged painfully against the wood. The flagpoles at each corner of the platform had snapped and fallen to the ground trailing their proud banners in the black scorch marks.

  A series of explosions blossomed along the docks like deadly flowers, blooming bright mixtures of red, orange and yellow, destroying the four vast blue dock cranes that stood by the wharf. They toppled slowly and gracefully on to the stone wharfs, metal limbs bending and grinding, before smashing into bits like ugly works of art.

  The shrieking whistle of a shell pierced the air overhead and Edward’s legs finally obeyed the orders his brain was screaming at them. Running jerkily, his hands over his head to protect himself from the debris and shrapnel that was shredding the air and anything in its way, he hastened towards the steps leading off the podium, his faithful valet supporting him. Ahead of him he could see a scene of carnage. At the bottom of the steps lay the councillor he’d been talking to minutes previously, his plump body punctured by jagged stones and metal. Bodies lay in disarray, some cut in two either by the blast or the resultant shrapnel. Blood flowed red on the blackened concrete.

  But it was too late for Edward. The whistle of the shell grew louder and then the podium erupted in a vast gout of flame. Edward VIII, King of the British Isles, Emperor of the British Empire, sovereign of four hundred million people, died.

  The attackers finally found their range and His Majesty’s Dreadnaught Queen Victoria, abandoned in her launch bay, never felt the lap of water on her keel before she died under an onslaught of shells and bombs. The first few shells exploded harmlessly against her foot thick armour plating but heavier guns were deployed and the plating shattered exposing the unprotected insides. The shelling was merciless and explosions racked the dreadnaught from bow to stern until finally, deep in the bowels of the mighty vessel, a shell exploded in the engine room. The wind ceased it’s cold moaning as if catching its breath, the shelling slackened as if the aggressors sensed that their prey had been mortally wounded and the Queen Victoria erupted in an explosion that was heard as far away as Belfast, many miles away across the waters of the Irish Sea. The stern disappeared in an expanding fiery sphere of roiling orange tinged with eerie flashes of green lightening. The explosion funnelled up to the front of the ship and blew out the graceful curve of her bow with a violence that threw pieces of the ship tens of miles away.

  The shelling stopped completely. The wind resumed its ghostly moan as if lamenting the dead - and of the dead there were many. Bodies lay around blackened craters in the river side. What had been a lively scene of colourful joviality just mere minutes before was now a harrowing scene of death. Families lay together, parents covering their children as they’d tried to protect them from the death that rained down from the skies. Blood pooled in black puddles. Body parts lay scattered around, the flesh turning cold and blue.

  A bright red balloon floated up in to the sky, high and far away from the death and destruction and ruins that lay below.

  “Good morning and welcome to the BBC Home Service. The Empire is in mourning as the search continues for the body of King Edward VIII, murdered along with many hundreds of innocent people in the sneak attack on Glasgow by forces of the German Empire.

  “Today, in the aftermath of the attack, people are asking ‘What now?’ We can reveal that the Ministry of War at Whitehall has already prepared a declaration of war on the German Third Reich and that Prime Minister Baldwin will officially make an announcement in an emergency session of Parliament later on today. We now go across to Mr James Harker, our correspondent in Glasgow.”

  “Thank you Mr Duncan. I can easily see the giant shattered hulk that is the remains of the dreadnaught that was to be the Queen Victoria. Many fires are still burning as fire crews struggle to contain a blaze that reportedly reached four hundred degrees Fahrenheit. The only thing we can be grateful for is that the warship had not yet taken on any munitions otherwise the devastation would have been even more severe.

  “Witnesses said the ship that was to be the latest addition to the British Fleet came under heavy shellfire as it prepared to launch. It is believed that King Edward VIII died instantly when a shell hit the platform on which he was standing. Simultaneously, Glasgow’s docks on the Clyde came under a sustained bombing attack from planes flying at extremely high altitude. The bombing killed many thousands as they thronged the streets to celebrate the launch and maiden voyage of the Queen Victoria.

  “Hospitals throughout Glasgow are at maximum capacity as they attempt to deal with the injured and maimed. Emergency trains are transferring the less severely wounded to hospitals in Perth and Edinburgh.

  “I have been told that the Dreadnaught Ark Royal and its battle fleet is now stationed off the coast of Scotland near Colonsay. Overhead, I can see the aerial Dreadnaught Merlin hovering high above, casting a long shadow over this burning and injured city. It is too early to say if Britain’s military is gathering for a counter attack or if it is simply defending the city from any further ravages.

  “One thing very clear though is that people are angry and shocked at the destruction, death and carnage caused here. They are asking how such an attack could happen and are demanding revenge.

  “Mr Harker, BBC News, Glasgow.”

  “Thank you Mr Harker. The Right Honourable Winston Churchill has tabled several questions in the House of Commons today asking how there was such a catastrophic failure in Britain’s security and how German forces could marshal such military strength so near to British sovereign territory without the knowledge of Britain’s intelligence services. He claimed that German ships had been sighted near the Outer Hebridean island of Skye by a fisherman but no action had been taken. The Prime Minister, Mr Baldwin denied that warnings of an attack had been ignored and that the attack would be met with a rapid and robust response.

  “At Balmoral, the royal family are in mourning and across the Empire, flags are flying at half mast in respect for the dead king. Prince George, the as yet uncrowned King of the British Empire has already met with Prime Minister Baldwin to discuss the succession and the repercussions of the attack.

  “The German ambassador, Freidrich Kohl, has been expelled from the German embassy in London. The Germans have repeatedly protested their innocence. The German Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler, in an unprecedented move has contacted the British Government directly to deny any involvement in the attack and said that they had no reason to attack Britain, nor to murder the King. The German ships off Skye had strayed off course during a military exercise and had not in any way taken part in any attack.

  “It is uncertain if this will sway the Government’s decision to declare war on Germany.”

  4 Our Man in Greenland

  It was cold, bitterly cold. The air was cold, the sky was cold, the water was frozen solid, the ground was cold. There was a total utter absence of any heat whatsoever. And John Murdoch, MI6 agent, felt it. The wind cut like glass splinters through his fur lined parka, numbing his body. What he would give for a roaring log fire and a hot bath… Murdoch sighed, his breath steaming out into the chill late March air, temporarily fogging his view of the American campsite down in the rocky valley below.

  “Bloody stupid American bastards. Couldn’t choose somewhere a bit warmer could they? Had to choose the middle of bloody Greenland,” Murdoch cursed, wishing vehemently that something large and hard would fall on the campsite and squish it so he could go back home to Blighty. At least the rain was warm there.

  Murdoch’s wish remained unfulfilled and the campsite stood unscathed, a collection of tents and wooden huts sprawling over the rocky whi
te valley floor. Peering through the binoculars Murdoch noted the armed guards posted around the perimeter. They carried the M1 Garand rifle which they used mainly for leaning on while smoking or chewing gum. Typical lazy Yanks. God knows how we lost the colonies to that rabble, Murdoch reflected as he scanned the circumference of the camp for any surprises. Not seeing any, he moved a stone that was sticking into his side before focussing the powerful lenses on the tall metal derrick at the centre of the camp dwarfing the surrounding buildings. The derrick stood over a gaping black hole cut deep into the hard earth. Currently nothing was happening but Murdoch had already seen a team of ten men lowered into the hole on a lift barely five minutes ago. He was sure he’d recognised Dr Jonathan Knight, the eminent American archaeologist and also Professor Mitch Melling, an expert on ancient civilisations. This would back up the rumours that had reached the ears of MI6 of the US discovery of ancient relics. Not just any ancient relics, oh no, none of your humdrum ancient Egyptian stuff here. The powerful ones. The really, really old ones, pre Deluge and all that. Atlantean artefacts. Can’t have Johnny Foreigner getting their greasy mitts on the likes of them, least of all the bloody Americans. Had to find them here though didn’t they, not somewhere warmer. Ever since his recruitment to MI6 from the Royal Marines all those years ago, Riley had been travelling all over the world protecting Britain’s interests and fighting for King and Country. This latest escapade was the result of the bods at the British embassy in Berlin spying some top American archaeologists at a get together organised by the Nazi hierarchy. They were chatting away to an eminent Nazi explorer well known for annoying the Danes by flying around Greenland uninvited. The embassy passed on the news to the intelligence services in Blighty where the small tid-bit of information would've been filed away and forgotten had not a member of MI6 Occult Bureau seen it and remembered reading that the Germans and an American University had sought permission from Denmark for an archaeological dig in Greenland. Archaeological dig – fine. In frozen, desolate Greenland? Odd... So here he was, keeping an eye on the duplicitous schemes of Johnny Foreigner once again.