In response to the Japanese surrounding Shanghai, the League of Nations met to discuss the matter, and to roundly condemn the aggressor, namely Japan. The Italian soldiers based in the region left, unmolested by the Japanese, the British, French and Americans remaining to protect the Western enclave in the city. They were taunted on an almost daily basis by the Japanese soldiers, not long before a shot was fired in anger. Han got involved, waiting for just the right moment, and a grenade – a Japanese grenade – was thrown over a compound wall, wounding eight US Marines.

The news made it out quickly, the US newspapers full of the story. A day later a Marine was shot dead, his death presumed to be at the hands of a Japanese soldier. The man in the White House was now under pressure, a great deal of pressure. He wanted a chat. We flew down to Chicago and met him aboard his own aircraft at the airport, meeting in the aircraft’s conference room.

‘Nice plane,’ I commented. ‘Smooth ride?’

‘I can sleep on it, that’s how smooth it is,’ the President responded. ‘Drinks?’

‘Two teas, white, sugar,’ I responded, the Secretary of State and Secretary of Defence settling themselves.

‘We found tea in the galley when we took it over, I guess a subtle hint to keep some.’

‘Some subtle hints are taken,’ Jimmy began. ‘Others ignored.’

The President took a moment to study Jimmy. ‘You do have an … eye for seeing trends, and the future, Mister Silo.’

‘That I do,’ Jimmy responded.

The President eased back. ‘You believe that the Japanese will attack Hong Kong?’

‘We’ve had some success with intercepting their secret communications,’ Jimmy began. ‘And they all point towards that ultimate conclusion.’

‘And … you’ll assist the British with advanced aircraft and weapons?’

‘That is a certainty,’ Jimmy responded.

‘And your clever subs, they … are in Hong Kong?’

‘Our clever subs … are sat awaiting some foolish Japanese destroyer captains.’

Drinks were brought in. The President took a long moment to stir his own tea. ‘And how do you see the conflict playing out?’

‘I see the British winning, even if that means an atom bomb is used,’ Jimmy coldly stated.

The President and his men exchanged looks. ‘Do you see a way … of avoiding a conflict?’

‘Do you see a way … of the Japanese changing their nature?’ I asked.

‘They could be shown a demonstration,’ the Secretary of State suggested.

I sighed. ‘And would then go away and build their own bomb, coming back around when they were ready.’

‘Have you shipped weapons to Britain?’ the Defence Secretary asked.

‘Yes,’ Jimmy responded. ‘More as we speak, many more. But those weapons are for use against a possible threat from the Italians and Germans.’

‘And Hong Kong?’ they pressed.

‘Is weighted down with sophisticated weapons,’ Jimmy informed them.

‘The next four submarines will be ready in three months,’ the President stated. ‘How soon could they be made seaworthy?’

‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Planning a war?’

‘We can see what’s happening, and we have to be ready,’ the Secretary of State uttered.

‘As soon as the subs are ready,’ Jimmy began, ‘we’ll add the special features very quickly and then hand them to you.’

The President slid across an official payment confirmation for the subs, glanced at by Jimmy. The President then slid over a second document, for the procurement of arms and equipment, a shit load of weapons.

‘Most of the items on this list will be handed over within a week,’ Jimmy informed them.

‘A week?’ the Defence Secretary queried.

‘I figured you may need the equipment, so I had it made up ready,’ Jimmy explained.

‘An expensive gamble,’ the President noted.

‘Not really, they would have gone to the British and Canadians if you had delayed,’ Jimmy told them.

‘We understand that the Canadian Army has received substantial amounts of financial assistance from you,’ the President floated.

‘War is coming, and they’ll have a role supporting Britain,’ I put in.

‘Let’s talk about bombers,’ the President moved onto. ‘You have a bomber that could reach Japan?’

‘We do,’ I confirmed.

‘And is this model of aircraft available … for sale to us?’

‘They are,’ Jimmy responded. ‘The very minute you find yourselves in a war. Training for your pilots will be provided, but you already have people who can fly the Super Goose, and these bombers are identical in their controls. But I would not be in favour of bombing Japan outside of an integrated war strategy with your British colleagues, since you will both be fighting. An integrated approach would be called for, and … an objective.’

‘Objective is to win a war,’ the Defence Secretary stated.

‘There are many ways to win a war,’ Jimmy told him. ‘Germany lost the last war, yet as we speak they’re making ready for the next one, little more than twenty years later. If you were to force a surrender by Japan that left its army intact, then you would repeat this exercise ten years later, and then again after that.’

‘What do you suggest?’ the President asked.

‘That you let them attack, that you take a few blows, that you let them expand their occupation of the Far East and stretch their supply lines, and then that you destroy their army, navy and air force so resoundingly that there’ll be no one left to come back around in ten years.’

‘There’s also public opinion,’ I put in. ‘And right now you don’t have the support of Congress. If you take a few knocks you’ll be seen as prudent peacemakers, before you strike back. And when that strike-back comes, it should have public opinion behind it.’

‘And how exactly do we achieve that?’ the President asked.

‘Simple,’ Jimmy began. ‘Just let the Japanese behave as they have been doing for a few months more, and public opinion will grow. If and when the Japanese blockade Hong Kong, lend a few ships – without starting a war. Be seen as … the man going the extra mile for peace.’

‘You should be in my cabinet, Jimmy,’ the President stated, a glance at his men. ‘Besides, we’ll need the time to prepare.’

‘The Boeing naval variant is available to replace the aircraft on your aging carriers,’ Jimmy told them. ‘And I have another ten Goose seaplanes being converted for a maritime patrol role. They’ll be delivered to you soon.’

‘Kind of you, Jimmy,’ the President offered. ‘Now, these communists fellas giving the Japanese a hard time. We’d like you to … give them more of a hand, and we’ll pay over the odds for those seaplanes.’

‘Consider it done,’ Jimmy said with a smile.

‘You think they’ll drain Japanese men and resources?’ the Defence Secretary asked.

‘Every man they kill … means one that you don’t have to face on the battlefield,’ I pointed out.

‘True, very true,’ the President noted. ‘I see that the British have moved many ships to the area…’

‘They have,’ Jimmy confirmed. ‘They move with a confidence backed by the secure knowledge of the arsenal I’ve placed at their disposal.’

‘They don’t seem to be moving very confidently in North Africa,’ the Defence Secretary stated.

‘They are being seen as prudent politicians, seeking any and all means to avoid a conflict,’ Jimmy carefully stated. ‘No one could accuse them of starting anything.’

Our hosts exchanged looks.

We left that meeting with a large sum of money for our weapons, a very large sum of money. Back in Canada, we began shipping the weapons south under guard. Long trains departed, carrying jeeps and half-tracks, 105mm, mortars, and the new American variant rifles, forty thousand of them with ammo. We shipped field radios, first aid packs, parachutes, and now silencers and optical sights for the new rifles. Trains rolled south day and night, the new American units receiving a full supply of kit, and spares.

Jimmy called a war council. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, and Mac.’ People smiled. ‘We’ve started to arm the US Army, we’ve even sent rifles to the US Marines. The US President is on board, to what degree of cooperation is yet to be seen, and is working around Congress – a time honoured tradition for US Presidents itching for a war. In a few short months the next batch of our subs will be ready, sometime after that a very large aircraft carrier should put to sea with the Boeing Mark 5 naval variant aircraft. That carrier, and those subs, will go some way to redressing the balance with the Japanese fleet.

‘The US Navy will also then operate some thirty maritime patrol aircraft with depth charges, and even thirty mil cannon. Their anti-submarine warfare activities will be sufficient. The Boeings with RPGs will offer a ship-attack solution, those Boeings being capable of dropping bombs as well. The naval variant has the altitude over a Jap Zero, and the speed, but they won’t have the numbers yet.

‘Six long-range bombers have been earmarked for the US Army, so they’ll be able to bomb targets from height without fear of being shot down. That means that sensitive targets could be hit, but not carpet-bombed. What happens next … is a matter of timing, since we desire a conflict in Europe at the same time as with Japan. We believe that the Germans may start a war next May, so that’s the target with the Japanese – at least the target for a British conflict with Japan.

‘Additional parts of the American Brigade have been sent out to Hong Kong, and the shipments of weapons to the communists will increase bit by bit, month by month. Those of our soldiers in Hong Kong - and the British Army there, are on the wire and sat waiting for what they believe will be a Japanese attack. And, for all we know, that could come at any time.

‘OK, just so that you know, there are a few of our tracked artillery pieces now hidden in the colony, thirty light tanks, and thirty main tanks with support vehicles. There are hundreds of jeeps, many 105mm, and mortars are in place on the hillsides. Hidden in the caves are AK47s, sniper rifles, RPGs, grenades, and fifty of our prop fighters with pilots, spares and ammo.

‘Po has spare rice and grain, tinned meat, bottles of beer – enough to last three months at least, probably longer. The question now … is of timing in Europe, which will be as a direct result of activities in North Africa. It is my hope that we can gently provoke the Germans enough this winter to see them attack in the spring. OK, questions?’

‘What if the Japanese attack early?’ Mac asked.

‘We’ll try and fight a holding pattern, wearing them down, but without us being seen to win. We don’t want the Germans to have any fears about attacking.’

‘If the Japs attack now, its four or five months to spring in Europe,’ Mac added.

‘That’s true, and in such a case we would provoke a conflict in North Africa. Once committed, the Germans would have no choice but to engage in a wider war.’

Hal asked, ‘Will the British send an expeditionary force to Belgium if the fighting is in North Africa?’

‘A good question. The previous British expeditionary force was sent as a – what if they attack kind of force, prior to shots being fired. War had been declared over Poland, but that was a paper exercise. We’ll be putting strong pressure on the British to send a force, since it’s an important part of my plan.’

‘State of the RAF?’ Handy asked.

‘They have a good supply of Spitfires, Hurricanes coming into service, Boeing 4s and 5s, and we now have a hundred prop fighters sat getting damp in the British winter. More than enough. They’re rushing through their own heavy bombers, and we have six stationed in Scotland ready, bombs being stockpiled. There are already around five hundred Canadian Rifles in Scotland, currently wearing British uniforms with “Canada” on the sleeves.’

‘And the role of the African Rifles?’ Handy asked.

‘Abdi will take care of the Italians in Ethiopia, Ngomo will protect our interests and offer support and logistics, possibly being used in Libya – it depends on the size of the German force that arrives. What we don’t want … is a massacre of the Germans in Libya ahead of a war in Europe. It is, I’m afraid, a case of manipulating the situation till May - and some careful timing. But I have a few sneaky ideas.’

‘What should we be concentrating on making?’ Hal asked.

‘Another good question. The answer is … the tool fits the job, and right now we don’t know exactly what the job will be. I’ve increased the production of gliders, bombers and Hercules – they will always be useful. We have a sufficient supply of tanks and vehicles for the role they’ll play, and small arms production is on track.’

‘You heard about the rocket?’ Hal asked.

‘What rocket?’ I asked.

Hal faced me. ‘Bunch of engineers took a torpedo engine and modified it, made a rocket about twelve feet high. When they test-fired it, yesterday, I was asked to be in the jet, to see how high it went.’

‘And?’ I pressed.

‘I reckon it topped sixty thousand feet, maybe more.’

Jimmy said, ‘I’ve given the rocket team a budget. And, knowing that lot, they’ll have one that could hit Moscow in a matter of months.’

‘Shit…’ I let out.

‘First underground nuke test next week,’ he reminded everyone. ‘We need to let those contributing money know that it goes pop.’

Big Paul raised a hand. ‘Permission to relocate to Hong Kong.’

‘Permission granted, leave when you’re ready.’

‘What about us?’ Mac protested.

‘Mac, Handy, deploy to Kenya in four weeks, hand over all your projects to the managers. When you get to Kenya, review all the units, their kits and readiness - order what you need, and help out Ngomo. Do a complete review of all the units out there, meet all the unit leaders, and let them know who’s in charge. Go pack your toothbrushes.’

A week later, the US President and his senior staff flew up to Lemming Base, Churchill flying over with his staff - as representatives of the British Government. We met them on the apron, a chill but clear day, and nudged the various parties inside the control tower building, a room big enough for them all, as well as nice and warm. The Canadian Prime Minister was waiting with his senior staff, and half an hour of greetings and idle chit-chat ensued.

By time they had settled we were ready for the first demonstration. Wrapped up warm, everyone stepped outside and lined up, expectant faces peering skyward, the group not aware of the composition of the show. The sounds of Hueys echoed by on the breeze, getting louder. From the right, a flight of four green Hueys stalked in low, flaring and landing on the frozen tundra between the taxiway and the runway, soldiers jumping out and running forwards, blank rounds fired at invisible enemies for two minutes. They withdrew back to the waiting helicopters, who lifted up and pulled away in sequence, one soldier left behind and now playing dead.

A fifth Huey appeared, a large red cross on the side, and landed, men in white coats running out with a stretcher. The wounded soldier was carried to the Huey, the bird lifting off, its doors closing. They flew back over as a flight, this time a fast flyby to demonstrate their speed.

Jimmy walked out a few steps and faced the crowd as the resonance of the Hueys died. ‘Those aircraft are called helicopters, the aircraft named as Hueys by us. They can fly further than a hundred miles at speed, and can land vertically, even on a ship. They can take small groups of men into an area, or bring wounded men back out.’ He turned and pointed. ‘Please observe the line of tanks in the distance.’

A Cobra appeared from the right, hovering at two hundred feet, a good thousand yards from the tanks. It loosed off eight RPGs in quick succession, the mock-up tanks blown to pieces.

With the Cobra turning away, Jimmy said, ‘That helicopter can destroy ten tanks from a thousand yards, and can fly at night.’

He stepped back into line as the whine of jets registered, men stamping their feet or clapping their gloved-hands together. To our far right, four F15s taxied along to the end of the runway, two abreast.

‘What on earth are they?’ the President asked me.

‘They fly very fast,’ I simply stated with a grin.

The F15s lined up on the runway, two-plane staggered formations, powered up and rolled forwards. As the first pair passed the onlookers, the men had their hands over their ears. The F15s nosed up but hugged the runway, lifting their undercarriage. At the end of the runway they pointed their noses at the heavens and climbed with a deafening roar, and they kept going, their con trails clearly visible. People squinted upwards, trying to see the planes.

‘How fast do those rocket planes go?’ the President asked me.

‘Well over a thousand miles per hour,’ I informed him, enjoying his expression. ‘And right now they’re at forty thousand feet.’

The F15s descended in a corkscrew, passing the airfield at three hundred feet, and at six hundred miles per hour.

‘How many of those could you produce?’ the President asked.

‘They’re not cheap,’ I pointed out. ‘Ten times the cost of a Boeing.’

‘But no other plane could touch them,’ the President noted.

‘No, that is true. But we see a need for them to fly high and fast to a place, drop a few bombs, and fly back unhindered. They can’t drop a lot of bombs, but they can be accurate about what they hit, good against enemy aircraft carriers.’

He stared at me for several seconds as the F15s came in to land one by one. Next came an even louder jet whine, that of a jet bomber. The monster screeched horribly as it taxied out.

‘Dear god,’ the President let out. ‘What in god’s name is that thing?’

‘That, Mister President, is a larger version of the jets you just saw. It will fly very high and very fast, and drop sixty thousand pounds of bombs on a target. Or … an atom bomb.’

He stared at me for a moment. ‘You built it ready.’

‘We built several ready, Mister President.’

Our B52 lookalike lined up on the end of the runway, powered up and began moving, slowly at first, gaining speed as it used up the full length of the runway, gloved hands now over ears. She lifted skywards and slowly climbed, turning in a circle as she gained height, visible in the distance as she circled the airfield. Coming in at five thousand feet, she lined up on the tanks opposite, bomb bay doors open, and showed a US President what was meant by carpet bombing. Hands went over ears again as forty thousand pounds of bombs tore up the tundra, men wincing at the display of firepower on show. With their ears still ringing, the men were led back into the warm, hot drinks ready.

Churchill said to me, ‘With aircraft such as that, it begs the question as to the future usefulness of the infantryman.’

‘A war … has many facets,’ I began. ‘Navy, army, and air force; they all have a role. But as a weapon to simply beat someone into submission, the bomber is the ideal tool, and I’m sure that it will be used that way in the future.’

We exchanged a look as drinks were handed out. When the guests were warmed up, buses arrived to take them to the test site, three buses in convoy, jeeps front and back with Canadian Rifles riding shotgun. A ten-minute ride along a tarmac road was followed by a ten-minute ride along a rough concrete road, followed finally by ten minutes of dirt road. Buildings appeared, low in the ground, their walls sloped with tundra, the roof of each covered in frozen moss.

Passing the low buildings, we halted on a small rise, tents set up ready. Inside the tents, the guests received hot drinks again, shown to a single storey brick building with large glass windows. Fires in oil barrels raged, the simple brick structure warm enough. The scientists greeted us, a group of ten – a mix of Canadian, English and American, idle chat made for five minutes.

‘Mister President, would you like the honour?’ Jimmy asked.

The President moved forwards, and to a switch. ‘Where is it?’

‘See the small hill in the distance?’ Jimmy asked. Everyone peered through the windows at a hill about a mile away.

‘It’s on that?’ the President asked.

‘No, its two hundred yards underneath the hill,’ Jimmy informed them.

‘Under the hill?’ they queried.

‘If it was on the hill, it would kill us all in an instant,’ I pointed out.

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ Jimmy told the President.

The President reached across and threw the switch whilst peering out of the window. The rumble built in our feet, the brick building we were in shaking. In the distance, the hill that had stood suffering Canadian winters for millions of years decided that it had had enough, and collapsed inwards, dust rising. The scientists seemed pleased, handshakes given as the dust cloud rose high into the chill air.

When the cloud had partly cleared, the lack of a hill on the horizon was soon evident to the guests. ‘It’s gone,’ was heard a few times over. Binoculars were passed around, everyone now studying a large hole in the ground where the hill had been.

‘What would that have done to New York?’ the President asked me.

‘If it had gone off in Central Park, it would have killed everyone between the rivers, damage right out to Jersey.’

‘It’s a sobering thought,’ he uttered, cradling a warm drink.

‘German scientists are working on one,’ I casually mentioned.

‘How far advanced are they?’

‘Six years behind us.’

‘Are any other nations building their own bombs?’ he pressed.

‘No, just Germany and us – that we know of.’

He slowly nodded, staring at the distant grey cloud of dust.

Back at the airfield, everyone ate lunch at the hotel, many of the usual occupants turfed out. After lunch we met in the bar, tables moved together to make one large conference table.

Jimmy began, ‘We now have a bomb, and the means to deliver it. We will have, soon, six more bombs available, though I’m sure that we all hope that they are never used. Does anyone have any questions?’

The US President said, ‘Given the incredible potential of the atom bomb, and the even more incredible aeroplanes, should we not consider atomic diplomacy – as a way to achieving peace?’

‘A good question,’ Jimmy acknowledged. ‘Mister Churchill?’

‘My government takes the view … that a prevention of a conflict … is a delay of a conflict. The Germans never fully recovered as a nation after the last war, and their hatred for us runs deep. If we brandish these shiny planes and weapons about, then they will sit quietly and make plans, and we know they are looking themselves at atomic bombs. You may argue … that a peace accord may ban the development of such atomic bombs by the German people, but how long would such an accord last, how would it be administered, and would we really make good on our threats … to use an atomic bomb on a city where hundreds of thousands of women and children reside?’

‘You’re against disclosure of the bombs?’ the President asked Churchill.

‘Very much so, until such time as they may be needed, either as a deterrent to aggression … or for actual use. But I pity any national leader who does use the bomb against a city, since his own people may wish him removed for such a horrific outcome … as would be caused.’

‘It seems a great waste … to have such a weapon in our arsenals, yet not to use them to quell an aggressor,’ the President noted.

‘Such an aggressor,’ Churchill began. ‘Would need to surrender, and then to be occupied for a long time. Such a surrender … would never seem likely without a suitable demonstration of firepower. And would they then believe that we had just the one bomb, or the means to deliver it – especially for a location as remote as Japan. I fear, Mister President, that a deterrent would only be effective if a Japanese city where to be targeted by way of example. That may force a surrender, or may just kick over a hornets nest of resentment towards us for decades to come.’

‘You would not be in favour of using the bomb if a war with Japan or Germany were being fought?’ the President asked.

‘I fully believe that we now have such Silo and Holton weapons … to make a conflict a certain victory, without having to resort to the mass murder of the innocent. And anyone observing the aircraft that we have observed today … would know that the mismatch between us and our enemies – in the air at least – is very great.’

‘The Japanese have half a million men in China,’ the President noted.

‘There are many more Chinese,’ Jimmy pointed out. ‘And we could arm them. The Japanese would be bogged down in constant fighting and casualties till they left – and left greatly diminished.’

‘Leaving the communists the victors,’ the President noted.

‘There are alternatives,’ Jimmy suggested. ‘If you fully believe that a conflict is unavoidable, we could come up with a strategy that made best use of the weapons I have available, a strategy that does not involve the atom bomb. But that strategy, Mister President, would need to see a closely coordinated effort from Britain and America, both in Europe, Africa and Asia.’

‘And the outcome of such a strategy?’ the President nudged.

‘Would leave America occupying Japan alone, whilst Britain and America would occupy Germany and Italy,’ Jimmy suggested. ‘Britain would retain its colony in Hong Kong, whilst showing no interest in occupying Chinese territory. Britain and America would be nuclear powers, no one else.’

‘And Libya and Ethiopia?’ the President added.

‘Should probably be independent nations,’ Jimmy suggested. ‘And I would hope, someday, that all Africa nations are independent.’

‘Does that include your nation?’ the President quipped.

‘Hell, no, I intend to rule that with a rod of iron. The blacks will be educated, given hospitals, and taught to do everything that the white people do there now. Then, one day when they’re ready, I’ll hand it all over and leave, a black president and cabinet in office.’

‘And how do the British view Mister Silo’s desire for black rule?’ the President asked Churchill.

‘You cannot educate a man … without that man desiring what you have,’ Churchill stated. ‘We have educated the people in our African colonies, provided hospitals, roads and railways. And such things build a natural desire for a better quality of life in the indigenous peoples, and ultimately some token of political ambition. But we would hope to retain our business interests in Africa, even after our formal governorship ends someday.’

After the meeting, we met with Churchill and the President alone.

‘You think you can sink the Jap fleet?’ the President bluntly asked us.

‘Certain of it,’ I responded.

He took a moment to clean his glasses. ‘And this … strategy?’

‘Would involve taking a few blows,’ Jimmy suggested. ‘We don’t want the Jap fleet or its army to survive, or to return to Japan; disaffected soldiers don’t make for quiet citizens. Look at the German example.’

‘So why take a few blows?’ the President asked.

‘To draw them out, to make them confident, to stretch their supply lines,’ Jimmy explained. ‘We want the tortoise to push its head out, far out, and then to chop it off. If half the Jap fleet survives, and half the army goes home, they’ll keep fighting.’

Churchill put in, ‘We have been most patient in North Africa, despite extreme provocation. We can see the strategy, and we know we have the weapons at our disposal. Should we inflict a defeat on the Germans in Africa, they will pause and re-arm, an undesirable outcome.’

‘And what, exactly, is it that you would like us to do?’ the President asked.

‘You won’t like it,’ I said.

‘Fact is, we may not have a choice. We’re not ready for war, so a few knocks would have been likely anyway!’

Jimmy said, ‘We’d like you to lend a few old cruisers to assist Hong Kong, and at the first sign of trouble they shy away. And, should the Japanese invade the northern Philippines, we’d want you to withdraw to an agreed point, then counter attack with advanced weapons.’

‘If the Japs invaded the Philippines today, we’d not be able to stop them, advanced weapons or not!’

‘That we can help with,’ Jimmy assured the President. ‘All we need is a pull back. And, in protest at the Japanese attacks on American Marines in Shanghai, we’d like you to block oil sales.’

‘That would trigger a war.’

‘We’re counting on it,’ I put in. ‘An embargo on steel and … well, just embargo everything.’

‘What’s your assessment of the new Army units?’ the President asked, reaching for his cup of coffee.

‘They’re almost ready,’ Jimmy reported. ‘They were good men before the reorganisation – years of training, and we have advanced weapons to hand them when war starts.’

‘And our role in Europe?’

‘We’d appreciate you landing in southern Spain and moving into France, should Germany try and occupy France,’ Jimmy requested. ‘We would fight from northern France and split their resources. We’d also like you to land in Italy when the time was right.’

‘Congress may try and block extra funding.’

‘You only need the men and equipment you have,’ Jimmy assured him. ‘As soon a conflict starts we’ll supply advanced weapons, and your soldiers will be able to achieve a great deal more; small bombs that would destroy a German tank, guns that will stop a German vehicle at a mile. You need no more than fifty thousand men, those of the units you’ve reorganised.’

‘May I be blunt?’ the President asked.

‘Sure,’ Jimmy offered him.

‘What do you get out of all this, besides selling a lot of munitions?’

‘We were very rich before this, Mister President,’ Jimmy pointed out. ‘More money than we could have ever spent. For us this is a costly venture, not an opportunity to make a buck, since many of the weapons we’ve supplied to the British have been done so below cost price.’

‘I can confirm that,’ Churchill put in.

Jimmy added, ‘We didn’t make the Japanese invade China, nor make the Germans upset about the last war, but we are very keen to see the world return to business and commerce, not aggression. We’d like to sell planes and radios, rather than bombs.’

‘And in the future, the use of the advanced planes?’ the President pressed.

‘They’ll be mine to sell, but your people will get many good ideas from us, allowing you to make your own. Your scientists here have been given full access to everything.’

‘That’s always struck me as being rather … foolhardy, if you don’t mind me saying so,’ the President noted. ‘You don’t protect your designs from our people.’

‘There’s a war coming, and if things go wrong you’ll need those designs – or you’ll lose many men dead. For that reason alone I have no problem with your people pinching a few ideas. We don’t want our largest customer to suffer during a war, or to lose that war. That’s just good business sense.’

On the flight back, I said to Jimmy, ‘A whole new attitude from the Americans.’

‘An atom bomb will do that,’ he quipped. ‘Besides, they’re terrified of being left behind, and terrified that Britain will get ahead – and be nuclear armed. There’s no way in hell they’d sit back and watch Britain defeat Japan and Germany and end up top dog.’

‘It’s coming together,’ I noted.

‘All we need now … is for the Japanese and Germans to be themselves.’

Shanghai Hilton

At the Shanghai Hotel, Hong Kong, Big Paul welcomed the senior officers of the American Brigade, leading them upstairs and to his new headquarters. A large table displayed an equally large map of the colony, Po and Han sat drinking tea in a corner with the British Governor, along with the head of the British defence forces and the senior Royal Navy and RAF representatives. Big Paul fetched the Americans beer, the men standing at a bar to sip them, the brass ceiling fans whirring away on this hot day.

The Canadian Rifles senior officers stepped in dressed in short-sleeve shirts, already knowing Big Paul and shaking hands, finally the Nepalese Rifles officers arriving, also familiar with Big Paul from their early days in Kenya. With gossip caught up on, much needed cold drinks issued, jibes made, the men were assembled around the map, the cue for the rest to join the table.

‘OK,’ Big Paul loudly called. ‘I’m Paul Baines, known as Big Paul – assigned to the colony by Mister Silo, who’s paying the bills. With us today we have the American Brigade, the Nepalese Rifles, and the Canadian Rifles – that’ll cover the drunken bums.’ He pointed. ‘Here we have Mister Han, intelligence agent, Mister Po – who owns everything here, the Royal Navy, the British Army and RAF, and the British Governor of the colony, who we all listen to and salute.’

The portly Governor cocked an eyebrow, stood now in a beige suit, fanning himself with a straw hat. ‘I would be most impressed … if the gentlemen here treated me any better than a tea boy, let alone saluted.’

Big Paul faced the soldiers. ‘Guys, show more respect to the Governor, he still thinks he’s running the show.’ The soldiers laughed.

‘Thank you for that,’ the Governor quipped. ‘You put me in my place … most delicately. And I have protested the erosion of my powers here to London, most vociferously.’

‘Yeah, how did that go?’ Big Paul asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

‘They told me, in colourful diplomatic language, to shut up and get on with it, or be assigned to Bhutan.’

‘Where the hell’s that?’ Big Paul asked.

‘Precisely,’ the Governor added.

‘OK,’ Big Paul began again. ‘First things first. American Brigade: you are hereby ordered to send your entire group into China to train the communists. Leave a few radio operators and pilots.’

‘Finally,’ they commented.

The Governor asked, ‘And will that not aggravate the rather large Japanese force surrounding us?’

‘Let’s hope so.’ Big Paul faced the American Brigade officers. ‘You leave when ready. OK, how many Canadian Rifles?’

‘Just over eleven hundred,’ they reported.

‘Full kit?’

‘Full kit tucked away, plenty of ammo,’ they reported.

‘Nepalese Rifles?’

‘Just over four thousand men, full kit, and plenty of ammo also,’ their senior man reported.

‘Royal Air Force?’

‘Twelve Boeing Mark 4s, six Swordfish biplanes, six Trophy Mark 1s, four Trophy Mark 2s.’

‘Do the Mark 1s have RPG mountings?’

‘They do, yes, and we have a stockpile now of the rockets.’

‘Good.’

‘British Army?’

‘Eight thousand men, another six hundred in the local militia, ammunition levels – modest.’

‘We have more for you tucked away for you. Artillery?’

‘Twenty-six pieces, a variety of sizes.’

‘Jeeps?’

‘We’ve now received sixty jeeps from you to supplement our own, and we have a fair number of trucks.’

‘Heavy machineguns?’

‘Thirty units.’

‘Mortars?’

‘None.’

‘Anti-tank?’

‘None, apart from the artillery.’

‘Grenades?’

‘A small supply.’

Big Paul faced Po. ‘Issue them ten thousand grenades, more ammo, please.’ Po nodded. ‘OK, Royal Navy?’

‘We have four destroyers currently stationed here, a few small craft, three more destroyers on convoy patrol, our aircraft carrier and support ships in Singapore. Two hundred Royal Marines.’

‘Good.’

‘And four submarines, of course,’ the naval officer added. ‘Somewhere.’

People laughed. ‘They’re hidden till needed,’ Big Paul said with a grin. ‘We also have four fast torpedo boats, and four regular fast boats.’

‘Which also hide, coming out only at night,’ the Governor noted. ‘And I’m sure that a large number of aircraft landed, but no one knows where they are either.’

‘Hidden in a Chinese laundry,’ Big Paul suggested. ‘Along with a few other nasty surprises for the Japs.’ He pointed at the British Army officer. ‘Start sending your men to the Canadian Rifles in groups of fifty to be trained in the latest machineguns. If war breaks out we’ll issue them to you, as well as anti-tank weapons.’

‘Might we not have them now?’ the officer asked.

‘If you have them now, then the Jap spies here will see them and modify any attack plan. Same with the subs and planes; we don’t want them to know what we have.’

‘It seems … an odd arrangement,’ the officer complained.

‘Put your protest in writing to Mister Churchill, and post it home,’ Big Paul told him. ‘OK, Po, what news of the Japanese?’

Po moved to the map. ‘They make barracks here,’ he said tapping the map. ‘And they have men with telescope here … and here.’

‘Airfield?’

‘No close airfield, they twenty miles.’

‘Jap soldiers within ten miles?’

‘No more five thousand here,’ Po reported.

‘Then we have some time,’ Big Paul commented. ‘But first they’ll block our supplies, so any attempt to interfere with the shipping would be the start point. I’d say … six weeks after the start of a blockade they’ll attack us.’

‘And when they do?’ the naval officer asked.

‘You’ll slip out at night and wait offshore sixty miles. If you’re bottled up in here you’ll be bombed.’

‘And our role?’ the naval officer pressed.

‘Will be limited, because they have the planes to sink you. You can come back when we’ve reduced their aircraft.’

‘I see.’ He didn’t.

‘Stay and fight if you want, mate, but you’ll be at the bottom of the lagoon inside an hour. OK, I’ll be visiting each unit in turn to look at what state you’re in, so anyone needing supplies – write it down and we’ll get it sorted.’

‘Might I ask,’ the Governor cut in with, ‘just what London expects us to do when our supplies are cut off?’

‘The supplies will be cut by Jap ships, so we’ll sink the ships and … start the supplies again.’

‘And the Japanese air force?’ the Governor pressed.

‘Will be dealt with.’

‘By invisible aircraft?’

‘Yes, as we cut-up their land forces. You do worry a lot, mate, you know that.’

‘Oh, well forgive my nervous disposition when surrounded by a hundred thousand Japanese soldiers, by planes, and by a very large navy.’

Big Paul smiled, and faced the naval officer. ‘What chances would you give your four destroyers against my subs, mate?’

‘None,’ the man glumly stated.

Big Paul faced the Governor. ‘Relax, let us do the worrying, or you’ll start to lose weight.’

As Han gave an overview of Mao’s forces, and the current numbers of weapons and levels of ammunition, a grenade went over the wall of the US Marines compound in Shanghai, killing two men and wounding six. A frustrated Marine then opened up on a group of Japanese officers, killing two. The Japanese demanded that the man be handed over. The Marines Colonel in charge demanded that the grenade thrower be handed over. The Japanese threatened to shell the compound, the US President threatened war if they did.

The Japanese pulled back from attacking the compound, the Marines and their weapons allowed to leave, plus any US citizens that wished to do so. A few days after the US Marines sailed away from Shanghai, the Japanese high command received word that a thousand men of the American Brigade – more than half their strength - had landed in China. They protested to the Americans, calling it an act of war.

The US Ambassador in Tokyo was sent a note, and had to confirm it twice. Stunned, he went to see the Japanese Prime Minister. ‘Mister Prime Minister, thank you for seeing me at short notice. My government wishes to convey the following.’ He cleared his throat. ‘As a direct response to your invasion of China, and aggression against US nationals and soldiers, all oil, metal and goods of any nature from the United States … are hereby embargoed.’ The Prime Minister offered no response, the ambassador shown out. Uncle Sam had just put itself on the inevitable road to war.

We then made sure that the US newspapers knew that the American Brigade were in China and helping the communists. I said to Jimmy, ‘That’s not adding insult to injury, that’s … a swift kick in the balls, followed by a poke in the eye.’

‘Japan will run short of oil, and need to look for resources elsewhere, which will encourage them to remain in China, and to expand outwards in a war of aggression, something of a paradox.’

‘And Hong Kong?’

‘The Japs can hear our planes at night, so they’ll go for it soon.’

It was December, 1937, and we stood lined up at the start point, the lull before the fighting, before the whistle blew and we all went “over the top”. The British Government were secretly delighted about the presence of the American Brigade in China, certain that America would enter a war with them, and had been terrified of fighting it alone – advanced weapons or not.

The long-awaited Japanese response came ten days later, whilst all was quiet in Libya. A Japanese destroyer approached the colony at night, its lights out, and spent a happy six hours laying mines in a long line. It was, however, shadowed by one of our torpedo boats, the destroyer having first been picked up on radar. In the morning, Big Paul called a command meeting at 10am. It would have been earlier, but he was hung over.

‘Last night, a Jap destroyer laid mines outside the colony. All shipping is to avoid the area indicated on this map, and all shipping is to look out for mines. As we speak, the SBS are on the torpedo boats, divers attaching explosives to the mines.’

‘Then they mean to blockade us,’ the Governor noted.

‘They can try,’ Big Paul scoffed. ‘But I want everyone here to consider that we have four to six weeks before they attack.’ He faced Po. ‘Open the ammo stores tonight, move the stores to positions “Bravo” as we discussed.’ He pointed at the British Army officer. ‘We’ll send you the Canadian Rifles, and they’ll teach your men how to use the new weapons.’

He studied the map. ‘OK, we’ll fly as much ammo to the communists as we can, while we can. Han, let them know.’ Lifting his face to the naval officer, he said, ‘Have all our subs on permanent patrol; I wanna know about Jap ships two hundred miles away. Have the torpedo boats out every night using radar. Give the torpedo boats the first twenty miles, subs beyond that. Let’s not get caught with our pants down, eh.’

‘And the mines?’ the officer asked.

‘Will be gone by sundown.’ He shrugged. ‘If they come back tonight, we’ll remove them again tomorrow; it’ll keep the lads fit.’ He faced the Canadian Rifles officer. ‘Radar set up for air attack?’

‘Four units set up, radio direction finding set up, all camouflaged,’ the man reported. ‘They won’t take us by surprise, but there are plenty of valleys they could fly down.’

‘If … they thought we had radar,’ Big Paul pointed out. ‘Oh, someone let London know about those mines. It is, I suppose, the start of the blockade.’

After dark, the Buffalo transports made ready, Big Paul over at the airfield watching them.

‘It’s a clear night,’ the American Brigade radio operator cautioned.

‘Tell them to fly straight out to sea ten miles, turn and climb, minimum of ten thousand feet till they’re beyond Jap territory. Japs can’t reach ten thousand feet.’

The signal was sent. The heavily burdened Buffalos lifted off at one-minute intervals, flying down the bay and out to sea, to begin their regular run to one of three dirt strips operated by Mao. The aircraft displayed green lights on their tails, visible only from behind and not from below.

An hour and a half later they established radio contact with the American Brigade on the ground, beginning to spiral down; throttle back, flaps down. In sequence, each Buffalo bumped along the dirt strip, the strip’s edges lit by flickering oil torches. The aircraft’s ramps were already down before the planes kicked up dirt, the supplies pushed out quickly. Hundreds of hands grabbed boxes, the runway soon cleared, the Buffalos powering up and taking off in the same direction, climbing and starting the journey back. As ever, the cargo handlers would have their fun, Good Morning grenades tossed out where they thought Jap positions may be, a little something to go bang at dawn.

At 3am, Big Paul was still at the airfield, the first Buffalo coming in from the sea, the runway’s landing lights on. The Jap destroyer reappeared, now right in the flight path of the Buffalos, Big Paul notified as the ship began laying mines. Problem was, the Buffalos were coming in at sixty feet, right over the destroyer, low enough to clip the destroyer’s radio masts. The Japanese might see that it as a provocation. The planes were ordered to approach at three thousand, warned off over-flying the Jap destroyer.

The third Buffalo crew were not pleased about the Japanese destroyer laying mines. They could see the ship reflecting the moonlight, and set their altitude to a hundred feet. Just short of the ship, two Battery Grenades were thrown down. The resulting explosions could be heard from the airfield, people rushing around. Had the Japs tripped one of their own mines, or shot at a plane?

The destroyer suffered minor damage, but got the message, soon leaving the area, the Buffalo crew denying all knowledge, people suggesting an accident with a mine. All of the sixteen transports made it back, food and ammo having been delivered in reasonable quantities to the Brigade at a time when London was protesting the mines to the Japanese, citing it as a provocation. The Japanese denied there were any mines, and life in the colony plodded along. No destroyers came back the next day, the air supply continuing at a pace.

The effect of having over a thousand well-trained soldiers in China assisting Mao’s forces, was that the communists started to take back territory. The Brigade held their discipline for a week, which was more than we had given them credit for, and started to attack Japanese positions in modest groups, accurate sniper fire brought to bear during the daylight hours. They started to make good progress.

Then Jimmy sent them a note. ‘Wrong direction, idiots! Fight towards Hong Kong!’

They scratched their heads, looked at the map, and pulled back from the territory they had taken in the northeast, and moved their bases southwest, two hundred and ten miles of Jap-held territory between them and the lure of the bars in Hong Kong. The communists were not sure about moving southwest, since it was easier to attack the weakly held areas. The Brigade commander then uttered a lie that would have ramifications. ‘We attack southwest, our other soldiers attack northeast; we meet up.’

Mao now understood the sense behind the campaign; it was a pincer movement. He committed his best men to the campaign, the men used as diversions whilst the Brigade penetrated deep behind Japanese lines, sniper rifles with silencers used, convoys blown up. Fifty cal rifles fired from the tops of cliffs into the valleys below.

December 15^th arrived, and the Japanese had had enough. Our subs reported two separate groups of ships heading towards the colony, and Po reported soldiers approaching the border. Big Paul now had a war to fight, and stood over the map with a cold beer.

‘The plan of action?’ the naval officer requested.

‘The Jap ships will be here in two days or so, but the soldiers they’ve moved closer are not enough to overrun this place. That’s a puzzler.’

‘Naval bombardment?’

‘Possible. Can you move your tubs out after dark, lights out?’

‘How many Japanese ships in total?’

‘Sixty.’

‘Ah. Well, I guess we’ll high tail it out of here then. I’ll contact Singapore whilst at sea, and they can advise London.’

‘Don’t you want to stay and watch the show? We’ll need a liaison.’

‘Well, it’s my squadron of ships. I would be … absent without leave.’

‘Your call, mate, but what stories will you tell around the bar in ten years time, eh? How you sailed away, or how you toughed it out?’

The officer took a moment. ‘It’s hardly a compelling argument.’

‘That’s OK, can’t all be brave.’

‘My bravery … has never been called into doubt, sir.’

‘Then stay and help out; I’ll need someone with your naval skills to advise on the Jap ships. I could make a mistake otherwise.’

‘I’m surprised that you’re a big enough man to admit that.’ He took a moment. ‘I’ll let you know my decision,’ he said as he left.

When the Canadian Rifles commander turned up, sweat stains around his armpits, Big Paul told him, ‘Ships are coming, but fuck all soldiers yet. So it’s either a naval bombardment, or an air strike. Have the Buffalos dispersed where we can. Got anything suitable for anti-aircraft fire?’

‘We have fifty cal machineguns rigged up on jeeps.’

‘Where did they come from?’ Big Pal puzzled.

‘They were surplus for the light tanks, so we pinched them and adapted them with a bit of welding and some sticky tape,’ the officer said with a smile. ‘Good rate of fire.’

‘They sat anywhere useful?’

‘Sat on the hilltops waiting some action, along with fifty cal rifles. They’re single shot, but a Jap plane straying too close will get a shock.’

‘Good. Oh, air burst RPGs?’

‘We have some, but fuck all ammo unless it’s boxed up somewhere.’

‘Use them to scare off the planes for now.’

The officer gave a mock salute, an equally mocking salute returned.

Po drew level with Big Paul. ‘Ship come?’

‘Ship come,’ Big Paul repeated.

‘No many soldier come.’

‘No, which means an air attack first, or they’ll shell us from out to sea.’

‘We sink them.’

‘We sink … some of them. We play like we’re suffering here, no quick victory.’

Shaking his head, Po sloped off.

The Royal Navy destroyers slipped anchor at dusk and left the colony for Singapore, their squadron commander remaining. A day later the Japanese fleet approached, shadowed by two submarines, the number of Japanese soldiers in the vicinity of the colony still not substantial. The ships would be in range to shell the colony by 2am, and at 8pm Big Paul called a command meeting.

‘Gentlemen, the Jap fleet will be close-by in a few hours. They may shell the colony, and we’ll let them.’

‘We will?’ the Governor questioned.

‘We will, because we want them to think we’re a pushover. We want Japanese soldiers to attack, so that we can thin them out a bit.’

‘Your confidence amazes me,’ the Governor stated. ‘It truly does.’

‘Thank you,’ Big Paul offered him as if receiving a compliment, the Governor glancing at Po and the others. ‘Now, when those tubs are in range we’ll sound the air raid siren to get the people into the shelters. Po, have the police go around tonight and warn everyone, close every bar and restaurant after 10pm.’

‘They’ll be rioting where your soldiers drink,’ the Governor dryly noted.

‘They’ll all be busy,’ Big Paul said as he studied the map. ‘OK, RAF guys; do you have the night sights?’

‘We do, aircraft loaded ready with rockets.’

‘Special artillery ready?’

‘Yes,’ the Canadians reported.

‘Special … artillery?’ the Governor queried.

‘It can be fired at ships that get too close,’ Big Paul informed the Governor.

A note arrived, Big Paul reading it. ‘That’s odd.’

‘Problem?’ Po asked.

‘The bulk of the Japanese fleet has turned south, six ships moving towards us.’

The men exchanged looks.

‘Where they go?’ Po asked.

‘South could be Singapore, or to attack the Royal Navy.’ Big Paul faced the naval liaison. ‘Where would your ships be by now?’

‘Meeting our other ships, halfway to Singapore.’

‘Then … fuck knows,’ Big Paul offered. ‘Warn them anyway.’

At 10pm the bars and restaurants closed, lights turned out, the police sending people home and off the streets. With reports of the Japanese ships nearing, the air raid siren sounded, soldiers and civilians alike taking cover. In the hotel, Big Paul worked by candlelight, phones, runners and radios utilized to check everything.

Thirty minutes later the first shell landed, announcing the start of hostilities, a radio signal sent out. The world’s press would know in the morning.

In our hotel, Cookie took the call. ‘The Jap Navy is shelling Hong Kong,’ he shouted as people sat having breakfast.

Jimmy faced me. ‘Their main fleet turned south last night, a possible attack on Singapore.’

‘Prevent British re-supply,’ I commented.

‘Or they just want to destroy the British fleet early on. And the fact that they sent their ships in to shell the colony means that they don’t know about the subs, or the torpedo boats.’

‘We sit and take it?’

‘We sit and take it.’

‘We sit and take it?’ the Governor loudly asked, blasts reverberating around the hotel.

‘Anyone got a deck of cards?’ Big Paul asked, ignoring the Governor.

Most of the shells landed either in the water - a few junks in the wrong place at the wrong time, or they hit the hills. A few buildings were hit, fires started, a few roads would need to be fixed, but overall the bombardment was having little affect. When it finally ended, an hour later, the RAF lifted off in six aircraft, night sights fitted. They flew out on a bearing provided to them, fires burning below them, and headed out to sea. Sighting the Japanese destroyers ahead, they adopted a line astern formation, the small green lights in the tail now coming in handy, and nosed down as the destroyers moved out to sea.

The first RPGs flew down towards their target without any anti-aircraft fire apparent. Two hit the water and exploded harmlessly, but two hit the destroyer, slicing through deck plating and exploding beneath decks. The second Boeing in line aimed at the flames erupting from the destroyer below and loosed-off four RPGs, two finding their mark amidships and causing fires. Anti-aircraft fire erupted from nearby ships.

The destroyers started to zig-zag, but that just put them side on to the diving Boeings, the next Boeing in line striking four hits amidships, considerable damage done. By time all of the Boeings had fired, four ships had been damaged, two Boeings damaged from flack. The RAF returned to the colony and landed, the runway lights on, still with a few RPGs attached and not used.

Big Paul read the report handed to him. ‘Four ships hit, modest damage,’ he reported in the command room. ‘They’ll think twice about getting so close now.’

The Japanese did consider the damage to their ships, and just before dawn launched every aircraft they had within a hundred miles. Radar on the hills picked up the approaching planes thirty miles out.

‘How many?’ Big Paul asked.

‘A hundred.’

‘Shit…’ Big Paul let out. ‘OK, sound the air raid siren, warn all anti-aircraft units.’ He faced the RAF guy. ‘Fly your planes straight out to sea at low level, wait an hour or two and come back.’

‘Are you … sure?’

‘We need them for attacking ships, and you’re twelve against a hundred. Do what I ask, or I’ll shoot you in the foot.’

The RAF took off, high speed and low level, straight out to sea and followed by the slow Cessnas and Dash-7s, the last plane leaving ten minutes before the first Zero nosed down towards our airfield, and Po’s very nice arrivals and departures lounge – complete with gift shop. The first bomb tore a big hole in the runway, shattering the glass of the arrivals lounge. The second went straight through the arrivals lounge, exploding on the ground floor and demolishing a large part of Po’s creation.

Wave after wave of aircraft appeared, most intent on tearing up the runway, the rest aiming for the various barracks. On the hillsides, fifty cal machineguns waited patiently as the planes dropped their bombs and turned. When the Zeros were in range the gunners opened up, bringing down six Zeros in the first twenty minutes. Snipers with fifty cal rifles opened up, damaging aircraft, one pilot killed by a well aimed shot, his Zero crashing into the hills. Two dozen airburst RPGs flew skyward, convincing Jap pilots that the colony offered flak.

After an hour of bombardment, nine Zeros had been shot down, many more damaged, but the colony was feeling sorry for itself. Fires raged in many places, roads holed, Po’s nice runway full of holes, his terminal building on fire and part collapsed, many buildings in the barracks flattened or now on fire. It was a good job the Nepalese had all undergone those training exercises. They emerged from the caves and tackled the fires, the Zeros heading home.

At the airfield, the RAF staff ran outside and isolated a stretch of taxiway that was undamaged, and made a few measurements. It was enough. They radioed their aircraft, the aircraft touching down on the taxiway between craters as hundreds of local workers filled in the holes, cement trucks already on the airfield, steam rollers, all working in a carefully coordinated ballet that had been well practised ahead of time.

Po wept when he saw his terminal building, consoled by Big Paul as our man took charge of the airfield repairs, our prop fighters sat snug in their cave. Within two hours, all the holes had been filled in with the earth that erupted from them, stamped down and then steamrollered flat. Cement was mixed, poured, and flattened down, excess debris removed by a small army of men with brushes and shovels. By 6pm the runway looked as good as new, the cement drying, the work gangs in need of a cold beer.

One Buffalo had been destroyed, the rest having been pushed down the road and wedged between buildings. One sat in tennis courts, the net removed, well-worn balls lying around. They could not, however, be sent off tonight since the runway would need time to dry.

In our hotel, at breakfast the next day, Cookie answered the phone. ‘What?’ After the call he faced us. ‘The Japs have landed in the Philippines.’

Jimmy and I exchanged looks. ‘Those ships weren’t after Singapore,’ I noted.

‘The Americans will have no choice now.’

‘You think they’ll declare war?’

‘They have no choice,’ Jimmy insisted.

An hour later we received the news; America had declared war on Japan, December 18th, 1937. Then the phone started ringing. In the space of two hours, Jimmy and I must have taken sixty calls between us, most from the US military, queries about bits of kit, delivery schedules, equipment compatibilities. Cookie took as many messages again, our switchboard jammed.

After a quick bite to eat on the go, I called each of the factories and asked that the senior staff meet at the airfield apron as soon as possible. With a light covering of snow on the ground, I stood on the control tower roof well wrapped up, and addressed two hundred men, my breath like steam.

‘The Japanese have attacked the Philippines, and America has declared war on Japan.’ The assembled men exchanged looks. ‘You’re all great managers, and good leaders of your teams, so when you leave here I expect you to brief your men, and to inspire them to even greater heights. We ... are a munitions manufacturer, and our largest customer is now at war. We … are now at war.

‘Security must be tightened at every level, and there will be some changes. Till further notice, everyone will take a ten percent pay cut, so inform the men. And that includes you. The bonuses for weekend work will be paid at half normal rates. Bonuses for night shift will be reduced by thirty percent, and I want that implemented today.

‘I appreciate that you all work hard, and that you’re all diligent in your work, but we’re now at war. How well our munitions and planes are made may make a direct difference to the lives of servicemen that use it, including Canadian servicemen. There will be a recruitment drive in the production sections, so those of you working in those sections - we want an immediate ten percent increase in staff, and I want more land cleared, more production facilities built – at a pace that we can cope with.

‘We’ve just received additional orders from the American Government, and if we worked every day for the next ten years we’d not finish them. Be thankful you have good jobs, curse the day you ever arrived, then curse the Japanese, because you will be busy. When you leave here, let all of your staff know that all leave is herby cancelled, and anyone going sick will be brought in and sat at a desk with a scarf around their necks. Thank you, and go make me proud.’

Inside the control tower I found Hal climbing the stairs. ‘It’s started?’ he asked.

‘America just declared war on Japan,’ I told him.

Back at the hotel, I found a telegram from the US Army Equipment Procurement Directorate, indicating that a large sum of money had been made available for unspecified items, “to be specified in the weeks ahead”. And it was a big sum of money.

I ordered up a Goose, packed an overnight bag, and set off for a warmer climate, heading down to San Diego.

Brass ceiling fans and wicker chairs

Before dawn, the radar atop the hills in Hong Kong were reporting formations of Jap planes, the air raid sirens wailing.

Two-dozen trucks trundled onto the airstrip and spread out. With the tailgates down, men shovelled earth off the backs of the trucks onto the dried cement, other men scraping it into circles that outlined the previous holes, soil left in the middle of the circle. As they did that, aircraft that had been previously damaged were pushed out, the Boeings turning their engines ready.

The Boeings, Cessnas and Dash-7s, and now many of the Buffalos, lined up and took off on a diagonal course through the dirt piles, soon heading out to sea at low level. When the drone of the first Jap planes registered, the men shovelling dirt dropped their tools and ran, leaving the trucks in place. To a casual observer flying over at a thousand feet, the runway appeared as pock-marked as it should have been, repair crews working away.

The Japanese pilots ignored the runway, and bombed the built-up areas; this was now about terror and submission. Dozens of buildings were hit, many collapsing, many more again set on fire. The fifty cal machineguns opened up, as did the snipers, airburst mortars now sent skyward with three-second fuses – all adding to the effect. Six Zeros crashed, others limping off home, but the colony was ablaze, smoke preventing further accurate bomb dropping. Some of that smoke was down to people lighting fires as planned, after all – the Japanese would never know what other pilots had already hit.

With the last Jap plane leaving, the fires were tackled - the genuine ones as well as the fakes, soldiers helping out. Po was not a happy bunny, several of his own businesses hit, protesting to Big Paul. A few more days like this and Po’s business empire would have to start over. Respite came in the form of an increase in the number of men surrounding the colony. As far as the Japanese knew, the colony offered no warship, few planes – many damaged, a pockmarked runway, and was now on fire. Ground assault was next.

At the San Diego shipyard, I first headed to the subs, the senior staff meeting me at a dry dock. As they arrived, so did a hundred US Navy personal, all carrying bits of kit.

‘Who are they?’ I asked the managers.

‘The Navy is sending us their best welders and engineers to help out.’

‘Oh. Fine. How’s the schedule?’

‘We’ll have two subs ready for your fit inside of four weeks, the second in eight weeks, the final two in ten weeks. But with the Navy helping we hope to shave some time off that. Then it’s just your fit.’

‘That fit will be done down here to save time,’ I informed them.

‘Navy are sending Marines to guard the subs and the yards,’ they informed me.

‘Fine. Could you make a start on additional subs?’

‘We have the use of three more dry docks.’

‘Grab them if you can, use the war powers. There’s a lot more money available, so spend it if it will speed things up.’

We drove around to the carrier, the monster now causing me to crane my neck and put a hand over my eyes.

‘The island goes on this week, then we float her,’ they reported.

‘Has the armour been inspected by my people?’

‘There are twelve of them, and that’s all they do. They’re happy enough.’

‘And the new arrester gear?’ I asked.

‘Simple bolt-on; it will hardly take any time.’

They led me aboard, and I stopped to view a section of deck yet to be covered over; I could see the honeycomb under the main deck quite clearly. Below decks, I noticed the distinctive colour of our special alloy in a few places. The hangar bays were huge, my words echoing, and at the rear of the ship we all stood on a lift as it powered slowly up to the deck. Peering down the length of the deck with a hand over my eyes, I could hardly make out the far end.

‘She’s a big old ship,’ I loudly stated.

‘She won’t sink either,’ they said. ‘We made-up sections of the hull armour and gave it to the Navy. They fitted it to an old hulk and hit it with everything except a sixteen-inch gun, and they couldn’t break a hole through. And the yellow liquid filler, that’s got a few people scratching their heads. Fed up of the number of times I’ve explained that.’

‘It’s supposed to be secret, so don’t bother explaining it any more,’ I told him.

‘The radar we had has been scrapped; your people are sending down another with a better range.’

I nodded. ‘Range of sixty miles for aircraft.’

I drove around to the Navy headquarters, finding it bustling. The sailors with guns at the gate asked for my ID. ‘I’m Paul Holton, Trophy Aircraft, and I don’t carry ID.’

They called someone, and then let me through. When the senior officers saw me they immediately started firing questions about delivery times, munitions, and planes. I was given a desk and a coffee, and started to write things down. Some questions I could answer there and then, some I needed to make a call to answer.

It was 9pm before I got away, a night in a hotel and the bed much appreciated. I returned at 7am, claiming my desk, a fresh coffee made, and started again, fifty calls made.

I discussed our Goose commercial aircraft with Jimmy, both realising that Pacific flights would be affected, and agreed to move eight onto the Los Angeles to Hawaii route, since the Navy and Army would be going back and forth a great deal. Two seaplanes were allocated to San Diego, two Super Goose now to be based at San Diego airfield for flights to Hawaii and beyond, the Navy notified.

The following day I made time to visit the airfield, finding the Army now on the gates and checking people. They did, however, recognise me and let me through. I found the place a hive of activity. Cornering my airfield manager, I said, ‘We been invaded?’

‘Army and Navy have enacted some power or something, and they’re in charge now. Couple of hundred pilots and trainees just turned up.’

‘Cooperate as much as you can, there’s a war on.’

I met a few of the new trainees, fresh-faced youngsters, the lads all keen to meet me. Sixty RAF pilots remained at the base, twenty Canadians in attendance, all being worked hard, and all keen to go fight the Japs.

Sat with the senior officers of the Army and Navy, I asked if they needed anything, and offered advice on pilot training schedules. Some of these lads were destined to be bomber pilots, and would train on the Goose and Super Goose here, a bomber variant soon to arrive for bombing practice in the desert. They showed me a hangar where one of our bomb-aiming kits had been rigged to the front of a jeep. A pilot could sit straddle around it, a large map laid out on the floor, the jeep slowly inching forwards. Hell, it was a start point.

An armoury was hurriedly being constructed on the edge of the airfield, to house hundreds of practise bombs, growling bulldozers now throwing up dust. Thirty of our factory staff were now based down here, the guys teaching Army sergeants how the bomb-loading bogeys worked as I stopped to say hello. I stood and observed as some of our factory guys taught safe refuelling techniques, bomb arming, engine oil changes, the works. Those being taught now would then go on to become the first few instructors for the Army, the manual written.

End of the line

Back in Canada, Jimmy took me to the Goose production line, calling in the senior staff.

‘Gentlemen, all the commercial Goose aircraft on the line will be converted to maritime patrol, eleven handed to the British, ten to the US Navy. After that, commercial production of the Goose will end.’

‘End … for the war?’ they asked.

‘End … for good,’ Jimmy explained. ‘I want a six-man team put on a design for a new Goose aircraft, using all our modern techniques. I want it to look different, and to be better in all aspects. I want a short-range version, a range of five hundred miles and eight passengers, and a long range version, a range of two thousand miles for forty passengers. The short-range variant will have no galley or stewardess, just a toilet, the long range version will have the usual. There’s no hurry, obviously, but we’ll want a prototype in eighteen months.

‘The Goose production line will switch to bomber variant when the last plane leaves. It’s the end of an era, the end of the first real passenger plane we built, but she’s done very well; when that last plane is ready we’ll hold a party. Now, in the meantime, I want you to plan for the transformation to bomber variant production. I also want a US Navy maritime patrol variant of the Super Goose created, with depth charges and a side-firing thirty mil cannon. That’s a priority. Thank you, and good work men.’

‘Poor old Goose,’ I said in the car.

‘She’s an old bird,’ Jimmy pointed out. ‘A long service, and a glorious service, through the golden age of seaplanes. But twenty years from now there’ll still be a few flying; the frames will last. Oh, I’ve just shipped another thirty main tanks to Kenya, forty light tanks, fifty half-tracks, fifty jeeps. Our armoured brigade could do some serious damage now.’

‘Germans are quiet,’ I noted, and I spoke too soon. When we arrived back at the hotel, Cookie was looking worried.

‘Germans just strafed an RAF base at the railway line in Chad,’ he informed us. ‘Dead RAF crews, couple of planes hit.’

Jimmy sent a note to Churchill, who dispatched ships and soldiers to the Far East, and declared war on Japan. Canada followed suit. I wondered just what the relationship was between the RAF incident in Chad ... and the Far East, but could not be bothered to ask.

In Hong Kong, Big Paul read the note. ‘OK, guys, Britain has declared war on Japan, which means that they’ll throw everything they have at us.’

‘What, in particular, were they holding back?’ the Governor testily asked, mopping his brow.

‘Their soldiers,’ Big Paul carefully mouthed. ‘Po, how many?’

‘We say thirty thousand,’ Po reported. ‘Some small tank like armed car.’

‘That tunnel ready?’

‘Tunnel good, go long long way.’ Po pointed to a place on the map, on the Chinese side of the border, a tight valley. ‘It only good one man at time.’

Big Paul faced the Canadian Rifles officer. ‘Have four hundred men kitted ready; AK47, sniper rifles, grenades.’ He tapped the map. ‘Your job is to take these two hills, the ridge between, and to hold it till further notice. Have the tank brigade made ready after dark, and move to the edge of the causeway; main tanks, light tanks, artillery and MLRS, support vehicles behind.’

Big Paul faced the Nepalese Rifles officer. ‘Have six hundred of your men moved to the area around the causeway, hills and tall buildings, RPGs, fifty cal, mortars. Keep them well back from the low areas.’ To the RAF officer, he said, ‘Ready your aircraft that can fire RPGs, you’ll attack the main road northwest.’ He tapped the map. ‘Here.’ Lifting his head, he asked, ‘Any questions?’

‘We expect to repulse this attack?’ the Governor asked. ‘And our men on the Chinese side will surely be cut off.’

‘You do worry a lot, mate. Have a beer and sit down.’

As darkness fell, the rumble of tanks grew, the locals worried, a small army now trundling along the north road and towards the causeway. The Canadian Rifles approached the tunnel, a metal door cut away by welding torch.

‘Hello, anyone home?’ a man shouted down the dark tunnel. No response came. He lit a paraffin lamp.

‘First ten men,’ the officer in charge called. ‘Run to the far end check it, send one man back. And … be polite if you find any Japs.’

The men ran into the tunnel. A long twenty minutes later the sounds of footsteps echoed, a soldier appearing, and now soaked in sweat. ‘It’s fucking hot as hell down there, boss. No air at all, and what air there is a stale. If you send everyone down at the same time they’ll suffocate.’

‘Send for a few oxygen cylinders,’ the officer barked. ‘Right, ten men at a time, fast walk, don’t run.’

The first ten men descended into the tunnel, their shoulders and equipment scraping the concrete-lined walls. Two minutes later another ten disappeared into the dark, their kit lugged. Oxygen cylinders turned up half an hour later, carried in whilst slowly issuing gas, dumped halfway along the tunnel.

‘No smoking!’ the officer barked. ‘Or we’ll blow up the causeway ahead of schedule. Electric torches only!’

The men emerging at the far end took a minute to cool down, sweat wiped away, their boots now we from water in the tunnel. They stood two hundred yards up a hillside, in a deep gorge, the lights of Hong Kong visible across the causeway, and began to slowly climb up, lugging their kit and glad of a breeze. An hour before dawn they reported movement below, units forming up, more Japanese units approaching the colony from the northeast, their bayonets fixed.

In the command room, Big Paul sat nursing a coffee, an eye on the skyline visible through a window. The senior men were stirring, having slept in chairs, breakfast quickly downed. They also peered out the window as the sun threatened to lift, the eastern horizon adopting a blue tinge.

A note was handed over by a runner. Big Paul eased up and stretched, another glance out of the window. ‘OK, boys and girls, we got the game on. Get those coffees down you, faces splashed, bowels emptied.’

He stood over the map board, dozens of small models depicting positions. With the Canadian Rifles officer closing in, he reported, ‘They’re sneaking up the hills on the northeast side.’ He tapped the map. ‘As expected. Main force is marshalling across the causeway, light tanks.’

‘It took all night to get our men through that damn tunnel. Hardly wide enough to get a man through.’

‘Built for the locals, that’s why,’ Big Paul said with a smile.

‘We’ll re-supply tonight, if … this end is not overrun.’

‘It’ll be … an interesting day,’ Big Paul noted.

Dull blasts reverberated.

‘Shelling?’ the officer asked.

‘Artillery against the far end of the causeway probably,’ Big Paul suggested.

A man ran in. ‘They’re shelling our end of the causeway, sir.’

Big Paul and the officer both shrugged. ‘Logical move,’ Big Paul commented.

Thirty minutes of shelling resulted in many buildings being hit, fires started, dust rising as the sun rose behind the hills, but Big Paul had no units close to the area being shelled. The Japanese light tanks moved forwards as the barrage continued, the barrage only ending as those tanks reached the colony side of the causeway, the tanks firing as they went, firing at nearby buildings. They received no incoming fire, and pushed on.

Big Paul looked at the map ten minutes later, some ten thousand Japanese soldiers reported in the hills to the northeast, five thousand across the causeway already. He lifted his head. ‘Send the signal, open fire!’

The lead Japanese tank turned a corner to find a main tank sat staring back. The Japanese tank commander halted, and wondered just what the hell the big thing was. His six-pound gun was loaded, and fired, the shell bouncing off the opposing tank. That was rude, so our tank fired back, nothing left of the small Japanese tank save a smouldering oil stain.

From the buildings above, fire rained down on the Japanese infantry, grenades thrown down, even Battery Grenades. Light Japanese tanks were hit by RPGs, forty destroyed in a matter of minutes. Further south, down the same road, our artillery units lifted their guns and took aim at the far side of the causeway, and at the causeway itself, and let loose. Ten rounds a second rained down onto the causeway for sixty seconds till the firing halted, Japanese infantry units shredded. The MLRS units opened up, four hundred rockets landing in the space of thirty seconds, the causeway now a boiling sea of fire and smoke, debris thrown through the air.

When the firing ceased, and the smoke drifted towards the bay, nothing stirred, the Japanese commanders observing the scene horrified as much as mystified. It was as if a thousand artillery pieces had opened up on the area. Radio contact was lost – with every advancing unit, the air now full of a dull rumbling sound. Focusing binoculars, the Japanese commanders could see large tanks approaching the causeway, and called in their own artillery.

That artillery made ready to fire a moment before sixty RPGs flew down from the hill above, the artillery gunners and their directing officers killed. The Japanese commanders turned around to see the smoke, soon focusing on the hill above. The tanks rumbled onwards, a repositioning required by the Japanese commanders.

That repositioning would have gone better save two squadrons of Boeings. They nosed down from two thousand feet, firing their RPGs at the road, holes torn into the road’s surface, vehicles hit and set alight, the road north blocked. Snipers from the hill opened up with fifty cal, and the local Japanese commanders were going nowhere fast.

The Canadian’s lead tanks opened up as they growled across the causeway towards the Chinese side, hitting buildings that may house observers or snipers. Across to the Chinese side, they followed the north road, nudging damaged vehicles aside, or just going right over them. Behind them, the light tanks showered buildings with fifty cal, or with thirty mil high explosive rounds, looking for pockets of Japanese infantry.

The Japanese called in their aircraft with some urgency, their radio transmissions intercepted. The Boeings were ordered to refuel, and to leave, twenty of our prop fighters now turning their engines on the runway, armed only with guns, the path through the muddy holes made wider. When radar picked up the first wing of Japanese aircraft, still some twenty miles away, the prop fighters took off, flying out to sea at low level and at high speed.

From the command room at the hotel, the Governor noted, ‘The invisible fighters are taking off. I counted twenty.’

‘The other pilots are sleeping,’ Big Paul said. ‘Late night drinking session.’

‘I wish I shared your talent … for failing to face up to reality, Mister Baines.’

Big Paul turned to an officer. ‘Jap casualty estimates?’

‘Seven thousand, so far.’

Big Paul faced the Governor, and sipped a beer.

The first wave of Zeros approached at little more than two thousand feet, peering down at the north road, the damage and the rising smoke, their twelve aircraft several minutes ahead of the next wave. From behind and below, a flight of six prop fighters flew past and slowly climbed, right under the noses of the Zeros. The Zeros, however, carried bombs, and had come with no separate fighter escort. Considering what to do, and under orders to bomb the causeway, they continued towards their objective, pounced on a few second later by a flight of six of ours. Six Zeros were destroyed on the first pass, spiralling down on fire. The remaining Zeros dropped their bombs into the bay, and made ready to fight.

But the attacking aircraft were climbing rapidly away from them, no others visible. The Zeros circled and gained height in formation, a wise strategy, finally spotting a flight of our fighters below them. They dived down. Our fighters lifted their noses and opened their throttles, the Japanese pilots wondering why the planes were pulling away. And those Japanese pilots had taken their eye off the skies above. The first flight of our aircraft to have attacked them now returned from height, six for six, all the Zeros destroyed by fifty cal fire, phosphorous igniting fuel tanks.

Big Paul and the Governor stood on the balcony, watching the patterns of winding con trails, smoke trails leading down as aircraft hit the ground or landed in the bay.

The next wave of Zeros met our prop fighters nose to nose, our guys firing from distance before pulling up and climbing. Damaged aircraft turned away, dead pilots letting their aircraft spiral, their control columns juddering wildly without human interaction. Circling above the highest Japanese aircraft, our fighters tackled wave after wave, hit and run tactics employed at speed, always climbing away afterwards.

By 3pm our tanks had pushed six miles up the north road, to a pre-arranged holding point. The light tanks had followed, dealing with pockets of infantry, the soldiers in the back exiting to clear buildings where necessary. Behind the light tanks rolled thirty half-tracks jammed with Canadian Rifles, the men stopping to clear buildings and positions as they went, RPGs fired on the move. The tank recovery vehicles caught up, followed by the artillery and MLRS, a trailing column of trucks carrying supplies.

A length of the north road, from the causeway to the holding point, was left unmanned, the Rifles in the hills aiming at anything that moved, whilst repulsing a modest attack from the east.

The Japanese infantry that had crept up the hills in the northeast sector had met two thousand of the Nepalese Rifles, our men camouflaged and hidden. It had been a lengthy battle of six hours, not a single Japanese soldier left alive at the end of it, no prisoners taken. The Nepalese had lost fifty men, mostly due to random shots or accidents, friendly fire or tossed grenades. They policed up the area, collected their dead and wounded, and withdrew to the hilltops ready for any further attacks.

Big Paul read a note as he and the Governor observed the end of the air campaign. ‘Estimated twenty-five thousand Japanese dead.’

‘I would never have thought it possible,’ the Governor let out. ‘And our aircraft?’

‘None shot down, sixty-seven Jap planes down.’

‘Dear god.’

In the hotel, I read the report. ‘What part of take it slow … did Big Paul not understand.’

‘Now that they’ve invaded the Philippines it doesn’t matter. They’re committed,’ Jimmy said. ‘I’ve asked the American Brigade to go all out and attack.’

‘There are still six hundred American Brigade soldiers here.’

‘Recruiting and training more bodies for Europe.’

‘And the German commitment?’ I pressed.

‘Yesterday, RAF Boeings shot down a German plane over the rail line, two Boeings damaged. I’ve sent twenty of our Boeings up there with RAF colours and roundels. It’ll escalate, but our aircraft have been told not to cross the line, the rail line - literally.’

A note arrived from downstairs, Jimmy reading it. ‘Italian planes have sunk a British merchant vessel east of Malta.’ Lifting his head, he added, ‘I put pressure on the British to reduce the Royal Navy’s presence in the Med, so now the Italians are chancing it.’

Dawn in Hong Kong brought a beautiful orange sunrise, Big Paul enjoying a quiet cup of tea on the balcony. The peaceful scene didn’t last. The air raid siren sounded, the fighters lifting off. They reached height quickly, radar reporting contacts from many directions, but mostly from the east, larger planes; Japanese heavy bombers at altitude.

Our prop fighters joined the engagement head-on, flying straight at the bomber formations, the bomber’s con-trails fixing their positions nicely. Our fighters fired short bursts head on before climbing, only to find formations of Zeros above the bombers, a thousand feet higher. Still in a climb, our planes flew right at the Zero formations as the Zeros nosed down, a quick burst exchanged from distance before planes crossed each other at speed. The result was that our planes had the height, our pilots rolling over the top and diving at the Zeros just as the Zeros noticed our main formations. Dropping down at great speed, our fighters engaged the Zeros as they broke formation, finding position on the bombers an added bonus, the bombers fired on.

Five bombers caught fire, two exploding mid-air, wings falling off. As our first flight of fighters climbed again, our next wave found targets of opportunity and broke into smaller groups. The second wave of Japanese bombers heard the radio chat, and could see their colleagues heading earthbound on fire, but pressed on with their attack. Twenty minutes of dog fighting downed all of the escorting Zeros, one of our aircraft colliding with a bomber and disintegrating. With the fighters removed, the bombers found themselves subject to fast diving attacks, being fired on from six hundred yards out.

Two hours later the Governor counted the planes as they landed. ‘Two are missing,’ he noted.

‘That’s war for you,’ Big Paul commented, not concerned. ‘But not a single Jap bomber got through, thirty-six destroyed, a bunch damaged, and twenty-four Zeros destroyed.’

‘And the tanks you sent off?’

‘Have made a happy home at an important junction, and are sat blocking traffic east and west, a rail line or two cut.’

‘And the Japanese response?’

‘Oh, they’re mad as hell. About six thousand soldiers around those tanks, but they’re not making much progress, mate.’

‘And the men across the causeway?’

‘Dug in tight, re-supplied, but in constant contact with the Japs. Now … now we wait, and try and kill as many as we can. Simple.’

‘Simple?’

‘That’s what war is, mate; if we kill more of theirs than they kill of ours, we win.’

The RAF Boeings lifted off.

‘Where are they going?’ the Governor asked.

‘Off to find some trade, now that the skies are clear. They’ll spot Jap convoys ten miles out and bomb them.’

A man appeared behind them. ‘Sir, the Canadian pilots are requesting permission to re-arm and to ... go hunting.’

‘Permission granted, but keep ten sat on the runway ready.’

Over lunch, a report came in from a sub, the Barry White. Big Paul read the note. Facing the senior men, he said, ‘Half the Jap fleet is heading towards us. Aircraft carriers included; four of them.’

‘And how many aircraft do they carry each?’ the Governor idly enquired.

‘Up to a hundred on their biggest carrier,’ Big Paul replied.

‘That is a lot of aircraft,’ the Governor noted.

Big Paul beckoned a runner. ‘Contact the Barry White, and ask them to engage the Japanese ships.’

‘If I am correctly informed,’ the Governor began, ‘Barry White was a famous captain of the Royal Navy, but I have failed to find any reference to him.’

Big Paul tried not to smile, and failed.

‘Am I the butt of some joke?’ the Governor asked.

Big Paul explained, ‘Barry White is a singer, and a black guy, a long penis. The sub, being long and black…’ The soldiers laughed loudly.

‘Am I to take it, that a ship of the line in His Majesty’s Navy … has been named after a Negro’s phalange?’

‘How could you think such a thing,’ Big Paul mock scolded.

The captain of HMS Barry White received a coded Morse message. Deciphered, he smiled at it. ‘Sound battle stations, load all tubes!’ He turned his cap around. ‘Periscope depth.’

‘Coming to periscope depth, aye.’

‘Change headed to two-six-five.’

‘Heading two-six-five, aye.’

‘Ahead full.’

‘Ahead full, aye.’

‘Open tube doors, report tube status.’

‘Doors opening … doors open and flooded, tubes one through ten loaded and ready.’

‘On my signal, I want a two-second delay between torpedoes being fired, and I want two degrees to port after each firing. Confirm.’

‘Two seconds between firing, two degrees to port after each tube is fired.’

‘Standby to fire on my mark … fire!’

‘One gone, turning, Two gone, turning, Three gone…’

With all the torpedoes running, the captain stared into the periscope.

‘Thirty seconds from first torpedo … forty … fifty -’

‘Strike forwards on a destroyer, midships – two, strike on a carrier, two, three by god, support ship struck, no - twice now.’ He eased back. ‘Down periscope, come to course due north, ahead flank, set depth at sixty metres.’

‘Due north, sixty metres, aye.’ He clicked a stopwatch on. At two minutes, he ordered, ‘Change heading to two-seven-zero.’

‘Bringing course to two-seven-zero, aye.’ Everyone held on as the submarine used its planes and tipped to one side for a tight turn.

At four minutes, the captain ordered, ‘Set heading to due south, ahead slow, periscope depth.’

‘Course due south, ahead slow, aye.’

‘Up scope.’ The captain peered through the lens. ‘Destroyer listing to starboard, boats in the water, carrier listing to starboard, support ship is nose down, boats in the water.’

‘Active sonar! Bearing … one-two-five degrees.’

‘Stay on this course, set depth to eighty metres, load all tubes.’

Two minutes later, he ordered, ‘Set heading to one-zero-zero degrees, up-angle thirty degrees, ahead slow.’

‘Coming to one-zero-zero degrees, up-angle thirty degrees.’ People hung on as the bow lifted.

‘Open doors.’

‘Doors opening.’

‘Ten seconds between firing, five degrees to starboard between each tube. Fire when ready.’

‘Firing One, turning, firing Two…’

‘Level the boat, ahead slow, change to heading due north.’

‘Levelling the boat, aye, coming to new heading of due north.’

‘Screws in the water, closing ... starboard aft … active sonar … closing … coming over the top … active sonar … screws diminishing.’

‘Maintain ahead slow.’

Two minutes later, the captain ordered, ‘Periscope depth, periscope up.’ Peering through the magnified image, he reported, ‘Second destroyer lowering boats, support ship listing, carrier on fire. Down scope, set course due north, dead slow.’

Big Paul read the note. ‘Two carriers damaged, two destroyers, two support ships.’ He faced the Canadian Rifles officer. ‘Load twenty planes ready for an attack on those ships; they’re only a hundred and twenty miles due south.’

The man stepped out.

Big Paul faced the runner. ‘Signal the Barry White: air attack in one hour, use opportunity.’

At our hotel, I read Toby a story, then stepped out to the diner. Hal reported, ‘One of our subs just attacked the Jap fleet, six ships damaged, including two flat-tops. Air strike on its way from Hong Kong.’

‘All the action is over there,’ I sighed. I grabbed a tea and a doughnut, sitting with Jimmy. ‘What’s the latest?’

‘The tank brigade from Hong Kong has cut a major road and rail link east to west. And little more than a hundred miles northeast the American Brigade has assaulted the regional Japanese command centre and barracks; Japanese don’t know where to send reinforcements to. RAF saw some action, bombing road junctions and bridges, couple of trains hit whilst at full steam. I estimate thirty thousand Japanese dead to date.’

‘And the Philippines?’ I asked before sipping my tea.

‘Japanese are consolidating and moving south, the Americans moved to a line well south of them. We stuck four hundred men of the American Airborne and SAS into Super Goose aircraft, and they should be there by now. More to follow. I had a shipment of munitions diverted to the Philippines, so they’ll have RPGs, 105mm, mortars. The aim is to have two thousand of our men there in four days or so, then a counter attack when the Japanese lines are stretched. And Big Paul is harassing their shipping, so supplies will run low.’

‘Right now, the Japanese high command must be wondering which god of their ancestors they pissed off so much.’

‘Hong Kong must have been a shock, their entire force wiped out. The White House knows, but in the press we’ve said that there’s heavy fighting and many casualties on both sides.’

‘Christmas in a few days,’ I noted before biting into my doughnut.

‘I’ve ordered everyone at the factories to have Christmas Day and Boxing Day off, they deserve a break.’

I nodded as I chewed. ‘That’s fair. And they haven’t complained about the pay cuts.’

‘More Canadian police have arrived, about eighty of them. Oh, had around four hundred American miners in the Congo leave, to come back and join up.’

‘Will it affect ore production?’

He made a face. ‘Not really, it’s four hundred out of twenty-five thousand – some of who fled prosecution in the States, and the locals are learning to do much of the work.’

‘You stopped the soup kitchens,’ I noted.

‘Was costing a great deal, and the economy is better now. Besides, there’ll be a massive recruitment drive by Uncle Sam. And we’ve been stopped from sponsoring the Army regiments, since it would be odd for foreigners like us to sponsor fighting men at a time of war.’

‘It would look odd,’ I agreed. With an accent, I said, ‘Where ya from son? Ohio, sir, sponsored by Silo and Holton, sir, and Coca Cola sponsor my rifle.’

He smiled. ‘So we have more money to play with, a lot more. I’m using some of it to buy up ore to piss of the Germans. It’s causing shortages.’

‘We may upset the Fuhrer,’ I cautioned.

‘We may well do at that,’ Jimmy lightly agreed.

The Japanese fleet, struck by the torpedoes of our sub, the Barry White, were naturally running with lights out as the sun set, but unwittingly silhouetted each other as three of their number tried desperately to fight fires. Hearing aircraft approaching, they now sounded the alarm and fired off all of their anti-aircraft batteries as our fighters descended, a hundred fingers of tracer desperately reaching up into the dark to try and find our aircraft.

Our air-version RPGs streaked down with rocket propulsion, fired from a thousand feet or more away before our fighters broke off their individual attacks. The Japanese flat-tops were the main area of interest, their decks easy targets, a dozen holes torn into the flight decks in the first ten minutes of action, fires started below. What had been black silhouettes against the grey ocean a moment ago now became distinct ships, self-illuminated by their own fires.

Destroyers were hit from forty-five degrees and, as the ships tracer reached up towards our aircraft, two flights approached at wave-top height and four hundred miles per hour, no room for error. With the ships flickering silhouettes filling their forward view, each aircraft released four RPGs, the nose raised just a few degrees, the ships cleared easily, our fighters running the gauntlet of indiscriminate flack.

Four destroyers took RPGs in the side, the two-stage warheads detonating inside the structures, fires started. And with our aircraft buzzing overhead, the Barry White moved into position slowly, four torpedoes fired towards a carrier at the rear of the convoy from just four hundred yards out. Turing quickly, our sub sent four torpedoes towards a second carrier a mile away. Three found their mark and holed the carrier below the water line, our sub slipping silently into the depths.

In the Shanghai Hotel, Hong Kong, Big Paul said, ‘I think their attack on us has been called off.’

He was wrong.

Six battleships steamed towards the colony under the cover of darkness, missed by the sub patrols, but picked up by the torpedo boats. The Japanese ships would be in shelling range in thirty minutes, the fighters on their way back to the colony, their ammo spent. The RAF hurriedly fitted their night sights, loaded RPGs, and made ready to take off, but Big Paul was hesitant. He ordered the torpedo boats to attack when it was fully dark, and to use their discretion.

The RAF took off anyway as the Japanese ships approached, the sun now just a dark purple glow on the far horizon. They had a bearing for the ships, and flew out at a thousand feet, down three planes due to damage or mechanical fault. With the Japanese ships silhouetted from the west, black images against a grey-purple curtain, the torpedo boats adopted a tight line astern and powered up, approaching their intended targets before it was fully dark. At three thousand yards they changed course, now pointing their noses right at the side of the lead battleship. The Japanese ships opened up.

At two thousand yards, the lead torpedo boat fired two torpedoes and turned away to port. The boat behind turned ten degrees to port and fired two torpedoes, aiming at a destroyer, turning as the boat behind it suffered an unlucky hit, blown to pieces. The fourth boat swung to starboard, then port, a shot down the throat of the second battleship, its torpedoes released at a thousand yards out, nose to nose with the huge ship. Our torpedo boat turned away and passed the battleship’s bow at less than six hundred yards, the water peppered with explosions as shells landed nearby. Inside the armour-plated wheelhouse, it sounded as if someone was dropping coins onto a metal roof.

As the torpedo boats disappeared into the dark, the second battleship felt a blast through its structure, a hit forwards, soon taking on water. The lead battleship had been hit amidships, modest damage, now taking on water but containing the leak. The worst damage had been suffered by a destroyer, the propellers crippled.

Distracted by the torpedo boats, and keenly watching out for another attack, the Japanese lead battleship was hit four times in the side by RPGs. Anti-aircraft fire erupted skywards, orange fingers seeking out the Boeings as our aircraft attacked from the north. The lead battleship took a second broadside, now burning in several places, the stationary destroyer hit in the bridge and on its funnel, the command crew killed.

A Boeing took an unlucky hit after releasing its RPGs, its propeller sliced off. The pilot plummeted to a watery death, but his RPGs had found their mark and damaged again the stricken destroyer. The other RPGs missed ships that were zig-zagging, the Boeings heading back, four having picked up damage during the action.

With our three remaining torpedo boats returning to the colony, our subs nowhere near, three Japanese ships powered towards the shore, and opened up at maximum range with their heavy guns. The colony soon reverberated with the explosions caused by the heavy shells. Ten of our fighters sat on the runway, watching the colony across the lagoon erupt with orange flashes, but did not have night sights fitted, or RPGs.

Big Paul faced the senior men. ‘Do we have MLRS or artillery nearby?’

‘No,’ was the answer.

‘Wait, there’s an MLRS with a broken engine,’ some called.

‘Tow it with two trucks, right to the shore, all the spare ammo. Move it!’ He pointed at the naval representative. ‘Have our torpedo boats fix the position of the Jap ships precisely.’

The hotel shook, bottles at the bar rattling.

‘I think they heard you,’ the Governor quipped.

Big Paul pointed at the Canadian Rifles officer. ‘Have ten planes loaded with RPGs, they fly with night sights or not!’ Another blast rocked the hotel. ‘Where the fuck are our subs!’ he roared.

The bombardment continued, many buildings hit, but most of the shells again fell in the lagoon or hit the hillsides. The torpedo boats put themselves halfway between the colony and the Japanese ships, and gave a bearing, adjusting it every few minutes, the Japanese ships now four thousand yards offshore.

The broken MLRS had not been far from the southern tip of the colony, towed quickly up a road and to a ridge, a clear view afforded of the distant flashes from the Japanese warships. The crew loaded the rockets, received the latest bearing and checked the direction visually, set the range given by the torpedo boats and fired one rocket. Nothing.

A new bearing was given, a new range set, a single rocket fired. Again nothing, no flash indicating a hit as incoming shells screamed over the ridge and into the colony behind. The torpedo boats then indicated the main battleship turning to shore, possibly to track back the other way. They gave a bearing and range, a rocket fired. A hit, reported by the closest torpedo boat. Twenty rockets were loosed off in quick succession.

The battleship itself loosed off anther salvo, but as the MLRS crew peered into the dark the ship was lit-up like a Christmas tree, eleven simultaneous hits, the big ship well alight in six places. With a bright target to aim at, the MLRS crew adjusted the bearing and shortened the range, firing a second salvo of twenty rockets, claiming eight hits, flames bursting from the stricken battleship. It nosed out to sea, the other Japanese ships moving to join it.

When the prop fighters finally took off they could see the battleship three miles away as a distant amber glow, and flew straight towards it. Seeing the ship well alight, they used the glow reflecting off the other ships to launch their attack by eye, two destroyers hit side on and set alight. The battleship took eight RPGs in the backside as it fled, its main guns now out of action. Out of RPGs, the prop fighters dropped low, and came at the remaining ships head on, quick bursts towards the bridge glass with their fifty cal machineguns. Two destroyers lost their command staff.

Big Paul stepped in from the balcony, buildings nearby on fire, the air filled with the smell of smoke. ‘We just damaged a battleship with a field rocket system. A new one for the textbook, and a good story over a beer.’ He coughed out smoke.

‘Might we expect a counter-attack by the Japanese land forces,’ the Governor asked, holding a handkerchief to his mouth when not speaking.

‘They’re busy attacking the tank brigade, and the American Brigade has launched a major offensive a hundred miles north of here. So … the Nips are bit tied up at the moment, mate. And tomorrow we’ll break out.’

The Governor lowered his handkerchief. ‘Break out?’

‘We’ll attack those Japs left nearby,’ Big Paul confirmed.

At dawn, three thousand men of the Nepalese Rifles moved out, some on foot – long snaking lines, many by jeep or half-track. The Canadian Rifles moved down from the hills and joined them, each building searched and marked before moving on – the local residents having long fled, soldiers left at crossroads to police the area. A modest force moved east, the larger force moving up the north road towards the distant tank brigade.

The main force advanced three miles before it came across the first Japanese patrol, an air strike called in, the Japanese-held positions bombed by the RAF. The colony force split up, spreading out in all directions. Junctions would be held, command posts set up, re-supply routes fixed. Every half a mile a platoon of Rifles would set up a happy home, movement of locals on the roads watched, the hills scanned with optical sights.

A few Japanese platoons, cut off from their main units, started to snipe at the Rifles from the hills. The Rifles simply zoomed in with powerful telescopic sights mounted on fifty cal rifles, and killed each Japanese sniper without too much difficulty, the Japanese using bolt action rifles.

By this time, the American Airborne had landed and grouped in the central eastern Philippines, to began a slow march north, the aim being to circle around the known Japanese thrusts in the west and central areas.

Knowing where the Japanese were offloading supplies, and where their headquarters were located, the US Army suggested to us an aerial bombing campaign. Their pilots were already trained to fly Super Goose and the bomber variant, but they were still fresh, so we handed them six of our veteran pilots on loan. Six bomber variants had flow out to Hawaii at the start of hostilities, been refuelled, and then flown onwards to the Philippines when called for, each with modest bomb loads, the bombs carried with no fuses.

Jimmy had a ship with bombs at anchor in Singapore, for a later campaign, but had released it to the US Army, the ship sailing to the southwest of the Philippines. The bombers flew to the largest suitable strip closest to the port offloading the bombs to save time, each plane operating with a mechanic onboard, most with two or three mechanics onboard for the flight over. The existing bombs were armed first, each plane offering just twenty thousand pounds worth or ordnance, and one morning at six o’clock eight bombers took off in sequence heading north, climbing to fifteen thousand feet.

Over the target port in the north, they turned in a large circle – their con trails clearly visible to the Japanese below, coming around again for the lead plane to line up and check its bombsights. The bombs were dropped onto the port in turn, staggered released, the aircraft observing their own pattern accuracy on the ground. The bombs fell tight enough, the entire port a target, eight loads of twenty thousand pounds released, each bomb just two hundred and fifty pounds. But four crews had selected the wrong bombs, and had peppered the area with delay-fused bombs.

The mistake was realised when only a handful of their bombs exploded, the aircraft returning to base unmolested by Japanese fighters. At the port, however, the initial strike had caused havoc, ships and buildings alight, roads dug up. But as the repair crews started to the tackle fires, bombs detonated, one every ten minutes or so. It made effecting repairs a dangerous pastime, which was the whole point.

That evening, the mechanics and crews loaded the correct bombs, sixty thousand pounds worth each, and the aircraft lifted off at dawn after a long take-off run. At fifteen thousand feet, now above the damaged port, the aircraft lined up, awaited the marked drop point in the bombsights, and let rip with a staggered release. The last two aircraft couldn’t see the target for smoke, and so aimed at the smoke itself. When they circled around to judge the damage they had no view of the port for smoke. They circled for a fruitless ten minutes, then just gave up and set off south.

Hardly a building was left standing in the port, the roads unusable, every ship in the harbour either sunk or on fire, confirmed by a flight the next morning that simply took photographs. The port was written off and beyond repair, not a structure left standing, a dozen ships destroyed. Given that the Japanese regional HQ was in the middle of a large town, carpet bombing was decided against. The Japanese front lines in the west were, however, known, the forward Americans units pinned down for the moment. The bombers were reloaded overnight, and took off the next day. They confirmed their own positions by large markers on the ground south of the lines, clearly visible through the bombsights, and came in parallel to the lines, over the Japanese positions.

The bomb release was set to “wide-staggered”, the switches thrown just ahead of the target. The trailing bomber would then aim at the end of the smoke caused by the previous aircraft. By time all of the bombs had been released, an area some two miles long had been hit, a wall of dust and smoke rising. The attacking Japanese lines had been thinned out to great effect, the Japanese soldiers not initially running for cover since no aircraft had been heard or seen. Making use of the opportunity, several American units attacked through the smoke, modest gains accrued.

Festive cheer

Christmas arrived, and those of us left at the hotel tried to make the most of it. I enjoyed a traditional family Christmas – all about the kids ripping gifts open, followed by a hotel-gang Christmas, followed a family Boxing Day, a gang celebration in the evening. The hotel’s dining room ran functions for the senior staff, and I bought gifts for many.

Our motorcycles manager informed me that sixty bikes had been handed to the rifles, thirty sent to Kenya. Another manager mentioned the progress of the cruise missiles, and no matter how hard we tried to avoid it - we always got back around to work. The latest gossip was that US Marines were landing in the Philippines in numbers by ship, new automatic rifles having been issued to them and practised with aboard ship.

Later that night, I slipped out and checked the reports, details of operations around Hong Kong, casualties, supply levels, ammo levels. The food situation for the colony had eased now because local farmers on the Chinese side could again sell to Po. Chickens and pigs travelled across the causeway as it was being hurriedly repaired by hungry workers.

Hal came and joined me, drink in hand. ‘Not enjoying the party?’ I asked as he sat.

‘It’s OK, but I was up early.’

‘You’re always up early,’ I pointed out, my own drink in my hand.

‘Most days I take a cat nap for thirty minutes around 6 o’clock, but don’t tell anyone. After a nap I’m good till 1am.’

‘Can I ask a personal question?’

‘You’re a rude bastard, you don’t need permission.’

I took a moment. ‘Back in our era, would you have ended your life?’

Hal looked away, taking many seconds. ‘After I retired the first time I was a little down, figuring it would just be me and a few aircraft magazines to read, a few crap old reunions to glorify times gone by.’ He flicked dust of his trousers. ‘Then I met you arseholes, and I was busy again, a new lease of life, and Rescue Force gave me a great deal of respect for myself. After you injected me, well – it was like a second life; I was jogging and flying attack helicopters.’ He smiled briefly as he remembered back, and sipped his drink.

‘Then the fame hit, and that was OK for a while, then SARS and the rest of shit hit, and I was as depressed as everyone else. Finding out who Jimmy was came as a bit of a shock, but I got used to it … and we did well, we fixed that world. Problem was, having fixed it I was useless again, unless I wanted to do the tours and guest speaking. That lasted a few months before I wanted to start shooting people.

‘People don’t realise it, but climbing the mountain is far better than giving a slide show about how you climbed it. The fame became unbearable after a while, always some arsehole taking my picture everywhere I went. I couldn’t go out. When Jimmy went back I wanted to go with him, was a bit pissed off at him because I wasn’t invited along, and those twelve years he was gone …well, I became a recluse almost.’ He took a moment, studying the carpet.

‘When he came back and gave the warning I was fucking delighted, then … then the bastard put a team together and went without me.’

I slowly nodded. ‘He didn’t consider many people, and was going to come back with just the two of us,’ I lied. ‘The others kind of tagged along or asked to come, and I knew you’d lost it a bit. I didn’t see this as a picnic, and Jimmy and me ... we both wondered if you’d make the duration.’

‘I’m keeping fit, trying to eat well. So far so good.’

I nodded. ‘You enjoying it?’

‘I’m alive and functioning, doing something worthwhile, when I should be in the ground. Not a case of enjoying it, it’s a case of … why go and die when you don’t need to? No one chooses to end it, and we’d all choose to go on.’

‘Jimmy considered ending it; he’s had a long run. And he felt as useless as you. He hatched this plan because he knew what would happen over there, and I started to realise it after he went. I kept busy in politics, and was more of a politician and less of a prophet, and that helped.’

‘If we fix this war, with Britain and America coming out on top, then we should have a fucking good run at 2025,’ Hal suggested before sipping his drink.

‘There’s still the Cold War, Middle East oil, Israel, bank fraud, SARS. And any of those could produce an aberration.’

‘Like American going to war in 1937!’

‘Just like that,’ I said with a grin.

‘Or Hueys and jets in 1937, rockets and cruise missiles.’

‘OK, so we fucked up the timeline a bit.’

‘A bit?’ Hal repeated. ‘We’ll land a man on the moon in 1945!’

‘Germany produced cruise missiles and ballistic rockets in 1944, don’t forget, and they flew operational helicopters – a couple of them. So … it’s not too much of a stretch. And the Germans had flying delta wing aircraft and jets.’

Hal reluctantly nodded. ‘Our guys are fiddling with the first few television sets now.’

‘After the war we’ll conquer that market,’ I suggested. ‘And after the war, our B52 will have seats for passengers and do New York to London in six hours. British Rail will still be crap, but air travel will advance!’

He smiled. ‘Some things never change. Back in our era I still couldn’t get any sense out of my bank, and my insurance was valid so long as didn’t claim for anything. Ever.’

‘Mankind does have refreshingly consistent flaws.’

In the Philippines, the senior American officers on the front lines stared at one of our MLRS vehicles arriving.

‘What the fuck is that?’ was heard a few times. ‘Funny damn tank.’

‘It’s a multiple launch rocket system, sir,’ a Canadian Rifles soldier explained. ‘We’ll demonstrate it. Where are the Jap lines, sir?’

‘See that ridge. That’s their front line, their field HQ is beyond it.’ A shell landed nearby, men ducking.

‘We’ll do what we can, sir,’

The Canadian soldier mounted up and closed the hatch, the MLRS revving and belching smoke, trundling forwards and being curiously observed by tired and muddy Marines in foxholes and trenches. The box lifted and turned, the officers watching from behind a low wall. As they observed, the rockets screamed out in quick succession – hands soon over ears, the box-launcher moving very slowly from left to right, soon a thunderous noise reaching the American lines as dirt flew skywards on the ridge.

When the MLRS had finished firing, a silence engulfed the lines, a huge angry monster of a cloud drifting away to the right above the ridge. The officers stood up, incredible looks exchanged.

The Canadian soldier ran back. ‘How was that, sir?’

‘How much ammo do you have?’ they asked, stood in awe of the firepower released.

‘Not much, just enough for a week or so.’

They stared at him.

‘Should I reload and try and hit the Jap command centre, sir?’

The officers slowly nodded.

Ten miles away, US Marines opened boxes of RPGs whilst under fire, NCOs from the Training Brigade calling the senior men together, the men all now on their knees.

‘This is simple,’ the new arrival shouted, rounds pinging off nearby trees. ‘Put the head down the front of the tube, you’ll see a grove so you can’t get it wrong. Knock the safety off here, point and pull the trigger. Watch me.’ He loaded an RPG, checked safety, and ran to one side bent double. ‘Always make sure that there’s no one behind you!’ he shouted. From the kneeling position he made ready, stood and fired, ducking back down again as the top of a distant pockmarked house erupted. Bent double, he ran back. ‘If you want, just point up at forty-five degrees for a lob shot.’

Five minutes later, the advancing Japanese lines were subjected to dozens of falling RPG rounds, plus accurate fire aiming directly at their positions, at the houses they occupied.

‘What’s that, sir?’ a Marines sergeant asked an officer from the Training Brigade, pointing.

‘It’s called an earthquake shell.’ The officer faced the mortar team. ‘OK, load and fire into the village.’

They stood back and observed the distant village, now overrun by advancing Japanese units. The mortar round “popped” out of the tube, and five seconds later the centre of the village disappeared, smoke and dirt engulfing the whole of the village.

‘What the hell was in that shell?’ the sergeant asked, heads popping up from foxholes to see what had happened.

‘Some special kinda explosives. Fire four rounds!’

The village was raised, the Japanese fully believing that heavy artillery was being used.

Part 7A