by Stuart Slade
Stepping up to the Government dispatch box for the first time as Prime Minister, Gregory Locock paused to survey the Chamber and marvel at how different it looked from this one particular spot. A night’s frantic negotiation and a series of political compromises put him in this position. The sulking opposition glowering across the way; his own variegated coalition: Country Party, United Australia Party, independents and the little cluster of floor crossing Labor members buried safely deep in the Government backbenches. He was simply the candidate who offended fewest people. A bemused George Bell struggled to look stern as he nodded.
“The House recognizes the Honorable Prime Minister.”
“Mister Speaker, as the first matter of Government business bought before this house, we should like to move a motion reaffirming the state of war that exists between this Commonwealth and Germany along with her allies, principally the Kingdom of Italy.”
The Speaker looked down at the Labor Party frontbench and saw a mix of resignation and simmering resentment, but little opposition. “What say the House?” he demanded “Those in favor, say Aye.” The roar of affirmation rang about the chamber and left little doubt as to the temper of the Parliament that day.
“The Ayes would seem to have it …” A grim faced John Curtin nodded. “The motion is carried by a majority of the House!” concluded Bell under a second roar of approval.
It took several minutes of gavel banging and demands for Order to get the assembly back in its seats. “The Prime Minister retains the floor.”
Locock nodded. “Thank you, Mister Speaker. What the future holds, we do not know; but this we can say with all the confidence we can muster. We will be victorious, however long and hard the road may be. Mister Speaker, it is also my duty to inform the House that certain communications have been received by the Governor General from London in the last twelve hours purporting to be from the Government of Great Britain at the behest of His Majesty. These contradict the clear message from His Majesty in his Daventry broadcast.
“I put the following motion to the House. ‘That in accordance with the Daventry Message, this House accepts the responsibilities delegated to it in that the authority of the Crown will pass through the Governor General to the Australian Parliament, there to be held in trust by them sitting as a Committee of Trustees.”
The roar of “Aye!!!” was deafening.
Room 208, Munitions Building, Washington, DC, USA
“What used to be the Commonwealth is now falling into line with the Big Three. Canada, Australia and India have all repudiated Halifax’s armistice. South Africa followed suit this morning and the smaller colonies are doing the same. We’ve still got a war to join, gentlemen.” Cordell Hull had a bold smile on his face. For the first time in the two months since Halifax had signed the notorious armistice, things were running the way he wanted them to.
“I still can’t believe that crazy scheme worked.” Secretary Stinson shook his head. “You should be in a British prison, all of you.”
“If it’s crazy and it works, it isn’t crazy.” Hull stared at Stuyvesant who had an innocent expression on his face. Hull had heard that Stuyvesant had been on the aircraft that had pulled off the rescue and he didn’t approve. Not completely, anyway. “The scientific material you brought back alone was worth the risks we took. You might be interested to know that a few other refugees are starting to appear in Canada. We’re not sure how they are coming out, but it does look as if the larger British companies are getting their key designers and engineers out to Canada.”
“My people say there’s a lot of ill-feeling towards Halifax and his administration. It looks like Halifax nearly missed the bus. People were swinging away from an end-the-war way of thinking towards a grim determination to win at all costs. Another couple of weeks and he would have been too late.” Stuyvesant thought carefully about how much to say. “There’s a resistance movement springing up already. Mostly in Scotland and Northern England, but it’s there. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out that a lot of companies and research groups are quietly getting their key people and files to safety. Not to mention burying the records on any work that might be of aid to the Germans.”
“So, there is still a war going on. Where do we go from here?” Stimson was slightly confused by the whole situation. He could see that the simple fact that the British Empire was still in the war, even if Britain itself was not, worked in favor of American interests, but he couldn’t understand what the Dominions were going to do. Just exactly how did the Australians plan to wage war on the Germans?
The same question interested Cordell Hull and Phillip Stuyvesant, but Hull in particular had larger concerns. “Britain’s status within the Commonwealth is now open to dispute. Canada recognized Churchill’s government-in-exile as the legitimate government of Great Britain as soon as Australia and India came out. As far as we can make out, that means that the Halifax government in London has effectively been suspended from membership of the Commonwealth. So, we now have a British Commonwealth that doesn’t include Britain. How that is going to spin out is something that we can’t even begin to guess at, but the economic consequences are grave. We may have to do some propping up there to make sure they stay in business.”
“Military support too. We can start by giving them the aircraft that are clogging up our airfields. We’re finding more of the damned things every day.” Stimson sounded indignant at the amount of American production capacity that had been absorbed by British and French orders while the American forces were crying out for modern equipment.
“Do we really want to do that?” Hull was thoughtful. “The President wants to put an end to the great colonial empires and this is our chance to finish off one of them, at least. It won’t hurt our position to let the political situation mature for a few months. The longer we take to incorporate the orphaned Dominions into our trading sphere, the deeper the economic hole they will be in, and the harder the bargain we can eventually drive when we finally get around to buying them up. The longer we keep things simmering, the more likely it is that something will break our way.”
“Like Germany hitting Russia. That’s the way they’re going.” Stuyvesant looked thoughtful while he assessed the likely consequences of the invasion. “However we cut this, Russia is going to be an ally when the Germans do invade and we’ll be supporting them as well. We could carry the burden of doing that by ourselves, but why? We can use help, even if it isn’t essential. The invasion will change those Dominions from geese waiting to be plucked into useful economic resources.”
“And the longer we wait, the smaller the chance of Britain reestablishing its position at the head of the Empire. No matter what way we look at this, America wins all around by waiting a little. We might even get a modest boost in US economic growth from the number of people who want to buy from us.”
“There’s another side to this whole situation.” Stuyvesant had been thinking about the whole British Empire situation since Achillea, Gusoyn and Eleanor had got back. Coupled with his own and Igrat’s observations, he found the situation interesting. “Pretty much all the Royal Navy that isn’t in the U.K. is placing itself at the disposal of the Dominion governments, and that makes them reasonably potent regional powers. It’s not just the number of ships; it’s the skilled manpower that’s critical. The crews know how to fight their ships and their officers know how to run a naval campaign. What could have been a power vacuum in the region is beginning to fill in. The Indian Navy alone is quite a potent force now, and the Indian Army has never been anything other than potent. If the Indians get their act together and don’t implode economically, we could be seeing the rise of a major regional power there.”
“Which is critical, because Japan is on the move again. They’re demanding that Britain cede Hong Kong to them as of now, quoting their alliance with Germany as making them the regional guardians of the Armistice agreement.” Hull was openly contemptuous. “That’s just the start, of course. They want the whole of
the region as part of their ‘Greater East Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere’. They’ll get it too, if nobody stands in their way.”
“Well, we’d better find somebody who can.” Stuyvesant sounded uncertain at the prospect, but he had a strong candidate in mind for the job.
Training Area, 11th Infantry (Queen’s Cobra) Division, Kanchanaburi, Thailand
“Keep moving. We have a long way to go before you can rest.” The sergeants were encouraging the men on in their usual style. Private Mongkut Chandrapa na Ayuthya resented it. He had actually done his hitch in the Army a few years earlier, but he had been called up from the reserves; part of the process of fleshing out the 11th Infantry and turning it into a battle-worthy formation. He had left his wife, two sons and eleven-year-old daughter back on the farm. They would be able to cope; he felt confident of that. Of course, they would have the rest of his family to help out if they did run into trouble.
“How are you doing, grandpa?” One of the young recruits had put a slightly jeering note into the question. There was a certain level of tension in the unit between the young recruits who were mostly in their late teens or early twenties and the recalled reservists who were at least a decade older. The latter had a level of unofficial authority simply due to their age and their experience was useful; but they had also softened due to their post-military life. Now, they were going through the toughening-up process all over again. The current 40 kilometer, day-long march was part of that process.
“We’ll march you youngsters into the ground any day, you’ll see. Why, during my first time in, we had pleasant little walks like this every day just to get to the mess-hall. And it was uphill both ways!”
There was an appreciative patter of applause from the surrounding troops. Mongkut glanced around; everybody in his vicinity really did seem to be doing quite well. That wasn’t surprising. This was the third long forced march the battalion had been assigned and the training tempo had been picking up steadily over the last month or so. He shifted the Type 45 rifle on his shoulder. That was one thing that hadn’t changed since his first term with the Army; they were still carrying the long Type 45. There were rumors that the Army was shifting to the new, shorter and more powerful German Kar98k, but he hadn’t seen any of the new rifles yet. The troops had been issued new helmets, replacing their old-style French ‘Adrian’ helmets with the German coal-scuttle design. They also had German-style webbing now that was much more practical than the old design. The Army’s character had changed too, in subtle and hard to define yet very real ways.
There was something up. Mongkut could sense it. He’d caught surreptitious grins being exchanged between their company officer and the battalion commander. One of the foreign advisors had been around earlier as well. They were the ones responsible for the change in the Army’s character. During Mongkut’s first spell in the ranks, the emphasis had been on doing everything in exactly the way specified by the book and obeying orders without question. Now, everything was orientated on gaining the objectives set and how the troops achieved that was of lesser importance.
His thoughts were interrupted by a crackle of rifle fire. “Everybody, into the ditch!” Mongkut led the way himself, almost dragging the soldiers with him into cover. Most of the other men in the battalion were still milling around on the road, uncertain of what was going on or what they were supposed to be doing.
Mongkut had a strong idea what was happening. This is a tactical exercise, to teach us how to react when ambushed. He worked the bolt on his rifle, cursing the dust cover that was supposed to slide with the bolt but actually just got in the way, and sneaked a look up over the edge of the ditch. There were flashes from a treeline a hundred yards or so away. Mongkut aimed at them and squeezed off a shot. From the recoil of his rifle, they were carrying blank ammunition.
“Come on, shoot at them. Otherwise, they’ll kill us all.” The men around Mongkut followed his example, but the patter of rifle fire seemed paltry compared to the amount of fire coming their way. By the time he and his men had fired off a full clip, bugles were sounding along the road. The firing stopped and the officers started to reassemble the battalion.
“You men. You stand over there.” The Lieutenant had pointed out the small group who had followed Mongkut. They joined another group who had been singled out. Shortly afterwards, a few more men joined them. The rest stayed on the road.
The battalion commander was standing in the back of a small truck and he addressed the bulk of the battalion. “You are all dead. You died because you didn’t think. When you are ambushed, you do not just stand on the road and wave your hands around. You take cover and return fire while your officers get control of the situation and decide what to do. Before anybody complains that you didn’t know there was an ambush planned, what do you expect? The enemy to put up a big sign on the road saying ‘ambush ahead?’ You must learn to think and react for yourselves, just as these men did.”
The battalion commander waved at the small number of men who had been separated out. “They acted like soldiers; they took cover and returned fire. You, there.” The commander pointed at Mongkut. “Your name is Mongkut Chandrapa na Ayuthya and your rank is private. Correct?”
“Yes Sir.”
“No, it is not. Your name is Mongkut Chandrapa na Ayuthya and your rank is corporal. All of you men, you get to ride in trucks back to camp, so you have time to clean your rifles before evening parade. The rest of you will march back. At the double.”
A groan went up from the remainder of the battalion at the thought of double-timing the rest of the way back to camp. Mongkut and his men climbed into the backs of three waiting trucks and felt the drivers start to roll forward. A sergeant swung up into the back of the truck with Mongkut. “You, corporal. You will have a section to command when you get back to camp. See you do it well.” His voice dropped. “And, if you need advice, always ask the other NCOs. Being a corporal is just the start; we’ll help you along.”
Cabinet Office, 10 Downing Street, London, United Kingdom
“They are suspending us from membership of the Commonwealth?” Lord Halifax was a shade of deep red that featured significant areas of purple and others of dead white, especially around the eyes. Sir Edward Bridges couldn’t help thinking the communiques from the departing Dominions had brought about a very patriotic reaction from the Prime Minister. He’d gone red, white and blue in that order. Bridges was seriously concerned that Halifax was about to have a heart attack and drop dead on the floor. His mind running along those lines took him to the point where he wondered whether that wouldn’t actually be the best thing to happen, although he recoiled at the thought of the paperwork that would result.
“Not really, Prime Minister, although that is how it might appear to an outsider and how it will doubtless be interpreted outside the Empire. In fact, what they have done is recognized the Government-in-Exile based in Ottawa as being the legitimate government of Great Britain and rejected your own claim to legitimate authority as being based of a usurpation of power. Therefore, since your government is not recognized as being of legitimate authority, it is not a part of the Commonwealth. Great Britain is still in the Commonwealth, it is just that the government headed by you is not.”
The shade of deep crimson that dominated Halifax’s face darkened still further. Bridges could see the veins pulsing on his forehead. “This is an insult; a personal insult. They will be made to pay for this. And His Majesty, what of his part in this? How dare he interfere in the running of the Empire this way?”
“Well, technically, and without putting too fine a point on it, it is his Empire. What is more, the Daventry Message could easily be interpreted as advising the Dominions that they were still subject to the authority of the Cabinet in London. If we assume that the reference to Col/Dom is intended only to identify the Governors of the Colonies and Dominions, then the only Cabinet with a general purview is London. The problem there is that rather defeats the whole purpose of the statement when in context.
Obviously this is the interpretation that is preferred here and now, and the text of the message was modified in just that way when we repeated the transmission at midnight. Unfortunately, and against my advice, Central Office rather over egged their pudding by making several other changes to the original. As a result, that midnight retransmission is already known as the ‘Halifax Revision’ and nobody accepts it. It didn’t help its credibility that the BBC sent it in plain language.”
The incoherent anger of Lord Halifax’s face was replaced by suspicion. Ah, the second stage, Bridges thought. Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. The first stage is rage at opposition and the second is intense suspicion of anything that may seem to be opposition. The third stage will be preemptive retaliation against those identified in the second phase. “Might I suggest, Prime Minister, that much may be gained now by a show of magnanimity. The actions taken by the Dominions are as much the result of hurt feelings and offended pride as anything else. A generous gesture, a conciliatory address, all will go far to soothe the inflamed situation and quiet the sounds of anger. Think of the Dominions as children who consider themselves unfairly treated and have stormed off to sulk in private. A calm word and generous gesture are the more effective in resolving the situation, while harsh words and actions will but inflame passions still further. Our attitude should be one of addressing them ‘in sorrow, not anger’.”
“You exceed your remit, Sir Edward. This is a matter for the Foreign and Dom/Col Offices and I might say Mister Butler and I are in complete agreement. If we tolerate any dissension from the Dominions, it will strike at the very basis of the Empire. They must be brought to heel, and quickly. They will be shown the rod, Sir Edward, and that will put an end to their pretensions.”
Bridges sighed inaudibly and felt the weight upon his soul increase. Every day that passed with him here in this building made leaving to join the slowly-increasing band of exiles in Canada that much more difficult. For a man who had the depth of experience in Empire affairs that Halifax had, he showed remarkably little understanding of how the administration of the Empire worked. That fact alone made Bridges’ leaving so much harder. It would be irresponsible, a betrayal almost equal to that made by Halifax himself, to depart and leave the conduct of affairs in the hands of a man so manifestly unready to manage them. Bridges knew he would have to stay, simply to try and ameliorate the worst of the disaster that was slowly and steadily opening in front of him.
