“Another thing. I watched yon checking your names on the lists. You're disappointed to be Fourth Quarter. Don't be. Your academic and study records are exemplary. You won't be posted to infantry, artillery, cavalry or armor units, you'll be going to the administrative parts of the Army. Judge Advocate General, Pay Corps, Medical, whatever. It's your academic and job performance that people will be looking at, not your graduation position. That only becomes important when you're up for promotion to General and I don't think that will concern you.
“I wish you the best in your careers when you leave here. I believe that we will probably meet again; the Army is recruiting more women for its administrative sections and I do not doubt we will have women instructors here soon. In the meantime, I hope fortune attends you and the gods smile upon you wherever you serve.”
Hindustan Shipyard, Mazagon, India
“And so, I declare this new shipyard, a symbol of India's growing industrial might, open. May the yard prosper and the ships built here have long and honorable careers.”
Sir Martyn Sharpe reached forward with the golden scissors and cut the white ribbon across the gate of the shipyard. The ends of the tape was on spring-loaded reels so that they retracted across the road once the cut was made.
“And to mark this auspicious occasion, it is my great pleasure to announce that the Indian Government is proud to place the first order at this new shipyard. We have today signed an order with Hindustan Shipyards for a pair of new destroyers, the first major warships to be built in India for more than a hundred and fifty years,
“Then, the great Indian master shipwright. Jamsetjee Bomanjee designed and built some of the finest wooden warships in the world. Such was his skill and talent that he solved the problem of building ships out of teak, making the Bombay Dockyard a dominating presence in the wooden shipbuilding world. I call upon Hindustan Shipyards today to honor the memory of Jamsetjee Bomanjee by making the two destroyers we will build here the envy of the world's navies!”
There was a thunderous roar of applause from the crowd. The new president of Hindustan Shipyards rose to reply. Sir Martyn went through the motions of listening attentively but he didn't have to. Copies of the speeches to be made here had been circulated around all the primary guests. It didn't do to have unpleasant surprises on public occasions. As usual, what was important here was not what was being said but what had been carefully left out. The new destroyers for example, magnificent ships, good looking and larger than any current rivals. Yet for all his speeches. Sir Martyn reflected, they were about as Indian as the ships received from the Royal Navy as India's imperial Gift. They were designed by Gibbs and Cox, the American Naval Architects, were armed with American guns and powered by American engines.
It wouldn't always be that way of course. One of the terms of the deal negotiated with Gibbs and Cox had been that the Americans would set up a design office in India and train Indian staff to design their own ships. Yet even that meant that the staff they trained would be indoctrinated in American ways and do things in the American style.
Sir Martyn suppressed a shudder. Doing things in the American Style meant The Big One and a whole country reduced to a smoking, blasted ruin. The pacifist movement in India, something that had almost vanished after Ghandi's “accident,” had reappeared once the full enormity of what the Americans had done to Germany became apparent. They had little power in a political sense, not yet and the way the Indian political machine was constructed meant that they probably never would have. But they did have a sort of moral authority and they did have the ability to cause trouble. There had been some here, protests against the construction of “tools of death”. Again, not enough to cause problems, just enough to cause embarrassment.
Only they had caused one problem, not a public but a private one. The truth was, Sir Martyn was not entirely convinced they were wrong. He'd seen the pictures that had come out of Germany, seen the film of the mushroom clouds rising over the cities, seen the images of charred bodies littering the burned-out streets.
Looking at the crowd cheering the Company President as he promised jobs and money and education, in fact promised a future. Sir Martyn wondered if these people understood that the shipyard here had made their town a target for a nuclear attack. He pictured the huge mushroom cloud rising over Mazagon and its effects on these people. Were the Ghandi-ites so wrong? Could India go any other way? If it came to it, could he order Indian forces to do to an enemy what the Americans had done to Germany?
Was it too late to do anything else? Buried in the news about the opening of the shipyard was something else. The cancellation of the Mosquito light bomber program and its replacement by a large purchase of American B-27 bombers and RB-27 reconnaissance aircraft. On the other hand the new Hindustan Hornet was being ordered into full production and another batch of Ostrich attack aircraft had been ordered from Australia so the dependence on America was mitigated a little.
The country was still heading down the American road though and Sir Martyn felt his concern deepening that prospect. Not least because of the oh-so-secret program that had been started in an oh-so-secret research facility tucked away in the depths of India. A program that would send the Ghandi-ites screaming mad.
“And so every effort must and will be made to make these new destroyers a fitting tribute to India's glorious naval heritage!”
The new President finished speaking and, again, a tide of cheering met his words. There was another point that troubled him. Suppose India didn't follow the American road, and rejected the solutions America had chosen? Implicitly that would mean India would be relying on the Americans to defend the country against a nuclear attack. And wasn't relying on another country to do what India was too 'moral' to do for itself even more reprehensible?
Sir Martyn sighed, gently and silently, and once again his mind's eye saw a mushroom cloud rising over Mazagon, And his mind's eye also saw a female face with a friendly, polite smile on it. And Sir Martyn knew there was one politician in Asia at least who wouldn't hesitate in the slightest to use nuclear weapons against people she considered to be the enemies of her country.
Halmstad, Sweden
The ferry Captain made a mess of it. A stray cross-current caught him unawares and swung the bow for just enough time to send in crunching into the timbers that lined the ferry bay. Fortunately, the timbers were there to absorb the blows from just such an accident and the only damage done was to the paintwork and the Captain's pride. There would be beers to be bought before his professional fellows allowed him to forget it. It was a pity the voyage had to end on a sour note, it had gone pretty well to date. They'd avoided the declared minefields easily, they hadn't run into the undeclared minefields and they'd stayed well clear of the off-limits areas along the German coast. Those areas were growing every time he made the trip and on every trip there were scientists taking water and mud samples. Every trip, the expressions on the faces of those scientists grew grimmer.
Still, they were safely back home, docked and the bow doors open. The passengers were streaming off, uncertainly, being directed by port authority police and Red Cross workers. In times past, the ferry had carried the usual mix, tourists going to visit the sights of Germany, traders, businessmen, truckloads of goods and supplies. Now, the load was German soldiers, released by the Russians and sent into what amounted to exile. Was it exile to be sent away from one's own country when that country didn't exist anymore? The ferry Captain had heard the stories of what Germany was like now and he'd read Major Lup's story of his unit's Calvary into the center of Duren just hours after the Americans had destroyed the city and everybody in it. Nothing left of Germany, nothing at all. A whole country wiped from the earth.