by Stuart Slade
“But?” Locock had some idea of where this was going.
“But,” Fadden sighed. “That bank would have an enormous influence over our economy and the economies of everyone else, which would make it an intensely political animal, and quite frankly, unworkable, so far as I can see. Yet, without one, we’ve got to work out some means of doing all the same things as individuals acting in concert; that is going to be interesting. Broadly speaking, the only alternative to a bank is a market. I’m just an out-of-practice accountant, but on the present advise I’ve had from Treasury and Commonwealth Bank, we end up with two options: chaos, or some pretty severe restrictions. The South Africans came up with this, and odds on, they think their gold production will give them a major say in things. God knows where they got that idea. Once this thing hits the open market, it’s going to be the trading countries turning over the money, and that means it’s the Canadians who’ll end up running the show, with us or India in second place, I should think. The keys to banking in this part of the world are the Hongs. We know the Japanese have covetous eyes on Hong Kong, so the Hongs will rebase themselves soon. There are already rumors they will be heading for China or India; probably the latter. With them will move any feasible chance of establishing a central bank and with it the economic clout that will mean.”
Fadden shook his head. There was a problem looming in his mind that he couldn’t quite put his finger on now. He had an eerie feeling he was staring out across a darkened field and hearing a dire wolf howling in the distance.
Locock probed. “Arthur?”
“Oh.. . Oh!” Fadden snapped back into the present, but was left with the stomach-tightening sensation that he was being stalked by a nameless, unseen predator. “I’m not sure if the Canadians will be too interested, you know. It occurs to me they’ve been cozening up to the Yanks for years. So, if they’ve got something to gain out of all this, they’ve also go a hell of a lot to lose . .. We need to talk to Ottawa and we need to do it now!”
“Oh what a tangled web, thought Locock, not for the first time. It really was a mess. It had to be for a semi-obscure back bencher to end up Prime Minister in one tumultuous night. He was only supposed to keep the seat warm while the power brokers thrashed out an acceptable solution to this three-way race. The problem came down to numbers; that was democracy, after all. If Labour had held off a few days more, White would have the support to take over the Party, but that was as leader of the opposition. There were far too many members who were happy enough to put White up as a punching bag for the Government, but would back Casey to actually lead the country, Locock himself not the least among them. Hughes had stepped aside, leaving White as his deputy leading the party. Without the numbers in his pocket, White dare not take the Prime Ministership he was entitled to, and they had a government to form in the morning …
Locock was under no illusions he was convenient, expedient and ultimately expendable, compromise. Privately, he took the job doubting he’d even make Sir Earle Page’s record of 20 days. With Casey now bound for Canada and Fadden seeming to warm to him … Well, hope might spring eternal, but in the mean time, there was work to do.
“We need someone good in Chile,” insisted Fadden. “They buy our coal.”
“Right you are, Arthur. Chile is on my list, but apparently that means we’ve got to do Argentina as well or they’ll get upset.” White pulled out a scrap of paper. “I was thinking we need the Philippines if only to liaise locally with the Yanks, and if we put a big High Commission in Singapore, it’ll cover the rest….”
“What about Bangkok and Batavia? I don’t know about the Thais as yet, but we do a bit of business with the Dutchies.” Again, the picture of a bleak, snow-covered field glittering in the darkness as a dire wolf howled far away forced itself into his mind. “The Governor General has been our conduit with the British intelligence services for many, many, years. How the hell are we going to keep an eye on our friends and their money if we haven’t got the eyes to see?”
“It’s more like the ears to hear,” sighed Fadden reluctantly. For the third time, he seemed to hear the dire wolf howling in the darkness. The nameless apprehension it caused returned. There was a threat out there; one that nobody had seen or even recognized yet as real as any they had seen. “I suppose we had better clear this up. It’s got to be done at some point, and now is as good a time as any.”
“Alright—alright,” agreed Fadden with sigh. “Well, by my count, we’ve got one more thing before we call in the Cabinet. What are we going to do with the AIF in Egypt?”
Government House, Calcutta, India, September 17, 1940
“I have just received word from General Wavell in Egypt. Four Italian divisions, under the command of General Rodolfo Graziani, have crossed the Libyan border into Egypt and are advancing on Sidi Barrani. The Italians have carried out artillery bombardments of General Wavell’s forward positions and tried to bomb targets in Egypt.” Sir Eric Haohoa peered around the Cabinet Office from behind the dispatches. Those present were nodding thoughtfully. The news from Egypt was hardly a surprise, but it wasn’t welcome either.
“Four divisions; that could be 100,000 men. And Archie has 30,000 at most. 7th Armoured Division and 4th Indian Infantry, if I am not mistaken.” General Auchinleck was very rarely mistaken.
“I believe that is correct.” Sir Eric consulted his briefing. “Yes. 7th Armoured and 4th Infantry, with 205 aircraft. The Italians have 300. Graziani has nine divisions: six regular Italian infantry and three Blackshirt militia divisions. And a small armored group. But, the initial reports are that only four divisions have been committed and they are advancing slowly. A battle group from the 7th Armoured is harassing them while the bulk of the division assembles at Mersa Matruh.”
“Gentlemen, I think we are beginning to see the first steps of the Noth Plan taking place.” Lord Linlithgow sounded depressed. “Is there any sign of German involvement in this attack?”
“No, Your Excellency. This, and the fighting in East Africa, appear to be a uniquely Italian effort.”
“That proves it then. The Germans are holding their forces ready for the thrust through Turkey and Iraq.” General Auchinleck drummed his fingers angrily on the conference table. “Otherwise, they would be supporting the Italians in the assault on Egypt. What is happening in Iraq?”
“The situation there is deteriorating fast. With the outbreak of the war, the Iraqi Government broke off diplomatic relations with Nazi Germany. However, they have refused to take the next logical step and declare war upon Germany. Our man in Baghdad, Nuri as-Said, has been replaced by the nationalist and anti-British Rashid Ali.”
“Nationalist does not mean hostile.” Pandit Nehru had a warning tone in his voice.
“Indeed, it does not; a point that we are trying very hard to impress upon the Americans at this moment.” Sir Eric shook his head. “However, Ali has made covert contacts with German representatives in the Middle East, though he is not yet an openly pro-Axis supporter. He appears to be a much closer equivalent to Subhas Chandra Bose than is comfortable for us. It is due to his influence that Iraq did not break off diplomatic relations with Italy when they joined the war on the side of Germany. The Italian Legation in Baghdad has become the chief center for Axis propaganda and for fomenting anti-British feeling in the region. It would appear that the next scene of German activity will be in Iraq and the key to what happens there will be our position in Egypt and the Sudan. If the Commonwealth position there holds firm, then we will indeed be in a much better position to counter German moves on Iraq.”
“What worries me is, if we can see that, why can’t the Germans?” Sir Martyn Sharpe didn’t like interfering in military and intelligence matters, but there was something about the situation that felt askew. “If this offensive in Egypt is so critical to their plans for Iraq, shouldn’t they be supporting it?”
“Logistics.” Auchinleck spoke decisively. “The transport facilities are inadequate to carry the supply tonna
ge needed for a larger force forward to the battle areas. The ports along the North African coast don’t have the capacity to land supplies for much more than the present order of battle. Graziani actually has more troops than he can use at the moment. So, there is no need for the Germans to get involved and they’re better off getting ready for the seizure of Iraq.”
“There’s a political aspect to this as well.” Sir Eric picked up where Auchinleck had left off. “Egypt is technically neutral and the British troops deployed there are supposed to be guarding the Suez Canal. The British Army in Egypt reports directly to London. There is no Governor-General to whom authority might be considered delegated. So, an attack on the British troops there is a direct attack on London. An Italian assault is one thing; it can be written off as an affair conducted by a third party. Any German involvement would be an entirely different matter; a direct breach of the ceasefire they signed back in June. If anything, this Italian adventure must be deeply embarrassing to the Germans and put at risk all they gained from Halifax’s actions.”
“So, no German involvement then.” Harold Hartley summarized that conclusion with a degree of relief. “But it appears that the mess in the Middle East will be the center of attention until it gets tidied up. And that may take some time.”
“It will also require resources.” Auchinleck was despondent. The truth was that with Britain out of the war, the resources needed for the Commonwealth to carry on were simply not there. Britain had been the center of the Commonwealth in much more than just name. “The Seventh Armoured Division is just about the only full-sized armored division outside the German Army at this time. Lot of armored brigades of course, but it’s the only armored division available. How it will keep its tanks running is anybody’s guess.”
“Canada is gearing up to produce Valentine tanks, but it’ll be next year before we see any.” Sir Martyn shared the general depression. After the heady excitement of fulfilling a dream and setting India on the path to independence, the practical realities involved were crushing down on him. In his eyes, they could be summarized as ‘a complete lack of everything.’ “We don’t even have the spares to keep what we have running.”
“There may be a solution to that, at least.” HH opened a file he had brought with him. “We have had an offer from an American gentleman, a Mr. William Pawley of the Intercontinental Aircraft Corporation of New York. He is known to us already; he arranged the export of Waco YQC-6 and Douglas DC-2 aircraft to Tata Airlines. Now, he has come to us with an offer to obtain second-hand aircraft production machinery from the United States and install it in a factory here. He suggests that the machinery he can obtain will not allow us to produce our own aircraft, but will permit the support of American-built aeroplanes here. Tata Airlines speak well of him; they describe him as a man of his word who drives hard bargains but is scrupulously honest in carrying them out.”
“There is something else you ought to know about our friend Mr. Pawley.” Sir Eric also had a file on the man. “Despite being a very active Republican, he is closely involved with the Roosevelt administration, and, in particular, its policy of sending aid to China. He is already reported to be forming a volunteer group to fly fighters for the Chinese Air Force. If he has approached us with this offer, we can conclude it is because supporting us has become American government policy. Why that is, of course, we can but conjecture.”
“Doubtless we shall find out in due course. I wonder if the other Commonwealth countries have received similar offers?” Lord Linlithgow drummed his fingers on the table. “We need that conference of Commonwealth leaders. Is there any progress on that front?”
“All are agreed that it is essential. The Australians propose holding it in Melbourne, the South Africans in Capetown, the Canadians in Vancouver. We have suggested Bermuda. It is a compromise everybody can live with and I believe it will be accepted. Having suggested the appropriate location will be a benefit to us, politically speaking, of course.”
Pandit Nehru burst out laughing; the rest of the meeting looked slightly shocked. He flushed slightly and put his hand to his mouth before speaking. “I do most sincerely apologize. It is something I find most amusing; to discover that the same petty consideration that concern us in running a party at ground level are also important when considering the great affairs of international politics.”
“Please don’t tell everybody that.” Lord Linlithgow had to admit Nehru had a point. “We do try to keep such things a secret. Maintaining public confidence and all that.”
Short Sunderland Mark 1 F-Freddie, Over The Eastern Mediterranean
“You holding up, sir?”
Alleyne looked over at his passenger. Sir Wilfred Freeman was white-faced with shock but holding on. A .50-cal bullet from a Fiat CR.42 had struck him in the shoulder during one of the brief battles that had taken place over the last four hours. Fortunately, the bullet had been at the end of its course. It had been fired from long range and, by the time it had penetrated the cockpit of the Sunderland, it had lost nearly all its energy. Sir Wilfred had a bandage wrapped around him and his arm was in a sling. That was the best that could be done for him under the circumstances.
His condition was symptomatic of the formation as a whole. The Italian attacks had been incessant. Although each individual wave had done little damage, the cumulative effects were mounting. One Sunderland was streaming white smoke from a crippled engine. Others were reporting wounded and a handful of dead amongst their passengers and crew. The Australian Sunderlands had fought the attacks off; the G-class boats in the middle of the formation had remained untouched. That was the good news. The bad news was that the formations of Italian fighters showed no signs of giving up the battle.
“Don’t worry about me, my boy. I’ve had worse than this.” Freeman’s voice belied his words. It was unsteady, quavering slightly. “Italians don’t seem to press their attacks, do they?”
“They don’t quite know what to make of us.” Alleyne was still scanning the sky, keeping a lookout for the next group of enemies. “They’ve never come across aircraft this heavily armed before. They’re learning fast, though. They’ve stopped trying to close in and are trying to pick us off from long range. It’s working, too; they’re wearing us down, bit by bit. And we’re beginning to run low on ammunition. Once the turrets run out, it’ll get bad.”
“I said 500 rounds per gun wasn’t enough.” Freeman sounded bitter. “I wanted at least a thousand; preferably twice that. The endurance of a bomber isn’t measured by its range, but how long it can keep its defensive fire up. We would have had the extra ammunition too, if only we’d had just a few weeks more …”
That seems to be the mending anthem, thought Alleyne. Just a few weeks more and we’d have had the new tanks, the new aircraft, the new ships. Just a little more time and we’d have turned the whole situation around. We’d have stalled the Nazis and settled in for the long term. But Halifax and Butler made sure than we never got that time.
“There they are, Squadron Leader. High and two o’clock.” It might have been twenty years since Freeman had flown with the Royal Flying Corps, but he still had pilot’s eyes and had seen the dark shapes of another group of Italian fighters.
“Six of them.” Alleyne grunted. “We can handle that. If they came at us in mass, we’d be in trouble.”
“Now there’s a sore point.” Freeman laughed, then gasped as the effort hurt his shoulder. “Fighter Command were having a major battle over just that issue when everything went to hell. Dowding in the South favored small squadrons operating independently because they could react faster; Leigh-Mallory in the Midlands favored big wings of three or more squadrons operating together to give coordinated blows. I suppose we’ll never find out who was right now.”
Despite the rank of the man in the co-pilot’s seat, Alleyne was barely listening to him. The next group of Italian fighters were firing from extreme range. Their tracers seemed to drift across the sky. Alleyne started a gentle weaving to t
hrow the enemy pilot’s aim off. It worked. Most of the tracers never came close to his aircraft. “Standing off at long range doesn’t seem to work either.”
“Fire control. What determines range isn’t the performance of the guns, it’s the capability of the gun sights, and they’re just barely able to handle .303 machine guns. Expecting heavier guns to outrange lighter ones is futile until everybody gets better gunsights.”
“If we can just hold out a bit longer, we’ll be fine.” Alleyne was worried about Freeman; the man was visibly weakening. “We’re nearly out of fighter range now. Just a few more minutes, and it’s a clear run to Alexandria.”
CHAPTER SEVEN: EXCHANGES OF PREJUDICE
Oval Office, White House, Washington, DC, USA
“Monsieur, this is an outrage.”
“I think not.” Secretary of State Cordell Hull was at his most diplomatic. “The President has made it abundantly clear that the policy of this administration is to support in every way practicable those countries which are defending themselves against aggression. It is our firm conviction that only by defeat of the powers now controlling the destiny of Germany can the world live in liberty, peace and prosperity; that civilization cannot progress with a return to totalitarianism.
“We have been much perturbed by reports indicating that resources of France are being placed at the disposal of Germany in a measure beyond that positively required by the terms of the armistice agreement. I have reason to believe that, aside from the selfish interests of individuals, there is unrequired governmental cooperation with Germany motivated by a belief in the inevitableness of a German victory and ultimate benefit to France. For this reason, we cannot allow some of our most modern warplanes to be delivered to France. At the very least, doing so will allow the enemies of civilization to assess those aircraft and determine their strengths and weaknesses. At worst, we may find those very aircraft being used against us.
