“Trafalgar hit its propellers,” Bluebottle said. “UHF telemetry warns that they’re running out of torpedoes.”
“These blasted things must have a weakness,” Turtledove snapped. Another fountain of water blasted up. “Look the ships up in the cached Wikipedia; how were they sunk the first time around?”
“Ha,” Turtledove said, after a long moment. “Sir, some of the ships – I think they’re the same class – have weaker side armour. Perhaps a Tomahawk or a Harpoon…”
Turtledove looked up. The shape of the battleships, burning but unbowed, could be seen in the distance. “Order Daring and Dauntless to engage,” he said.
“These are our last missiles,” Captain McTavish said. “Make them count.”
“Targets locked,” the weapons officer said. “Ready to fire.”
“Fire,” Captain McTavish ordered.
Twin explosions billowed on the side of Hiei and Kirishima. The battleships healed over as the warheads detonated inside their hulls, blasting the ships apart. The explosions blasted chunks of metal into the air, showing the other ships with debris, and Admiral Kurita lost his nerve.
“Order a withdrawal,” he said, as calmly as he could. “We can’t hit them and I won’t waste battleships for nothing.” He scowled; three battleships had been lost, and one more would be because it could no longer steer. “Ise will cover our retreat. There’ll be another day.”
“There are no more Harpoons left,” Bluebottle said. “We’ve still got the Tomahawks…”
“Sir, they’re withdrawing,” Captain Rama said. “They’re bugging out.”
Turtledove stared down at the drone’s report. The ships that had escorted the carriers were leaving, joining up with the remains of the battleline and heading north, away from the British fleet.
“Sir, we can still engage them,” Bluebottle said, quietly. “We still have Tomahawks, and we can fit the Harriers with anti-ship missiles.”
Turtledove shook his head. “Order Trafalgar to finish off that ship,” he said, waving a hand at the crippled Japanese battleship, still firing madly whenever it entered firing position. “Other than that… I think we’ve pushed our luck too far for one day.” He stood up. “Captain, Commander, secure from general quarters. I’m going to report to London; a report that won’t get us all shot.”
“Admiral, you just won the greatest battle since the Second World War,” Bluebottle said wryly. “Oh, right.”
“Get some sleep,” Turtledove said. “We all need sleep; that joke seemed funny for a while.”
Chapter Forty-Three: The Gates of Hell
10 Downing Street
London, United Kingdom
4th October 1940
The party had started almost spontaneously when the news hit, appearing in Hyde Park and spreading across Central London. It was amazing; the police swiftly provided some protection, but it was all good-natured. Bankers and politicians cavorted with hippies and students, dancing madly to several different bands at the same time. Local businesses provided a supply of cheap food and drink, and the party just grew and grew. As night fell, the BBC was broadcast on the big screens that were only used for New Year under normal circumstances; over the next few weeks the stocks of morning-after pills would fall dramatically.
“Everyone's happy,” McLachlan observed. “I'm sure I spotted the honourable MP for Blackburn in that crowd of…”
Hanover smiled wryly as McLachlan ran out of words. The crowd of naked people were enjoying each other; so far it all seemed to be consensual. The Police Superintendent had ordered the police to step in if that changed, but for the moment they were being allowed to proceed.
“They're celebrating,” he said. “It's not as if we've had anything… real to celebrate before, is it? Liberating North Africa doesn't compare to sinking the pride of the Japanese Navy.”
“I suppose,” McLachlan said. “You heard the report from America?” Hanover shrugged. “They declared war on Germany – not on Japan – and it's going to be at least six months before they can contribute anything substantial to the war. They've shifted some of their Pacific Fleet towards the Atlantic, where we can move our ships to the Pacific once they take over convoy escort duties, but of course that's not where we need them.”
Hanover shrugged. “All in good time,” he said. “What about the hunt for the mystery submarine?”
“PJHQ made hunting it their priority,” McLachlan said. They shared a long look. “The general consensus is that it was the submarine that was intercepted a day after the American ship was sunk; it was in the right place if it really pushed itself. As it was killed by one of our helicopters, its impossible to be certain.”
“As long as it satisfies the Americans that we avenged their deaths,” Hanover said, unconcerned. “And their politics?”
“It's nothing like as unanimous as it was after Pearl Harbour,” McLachlan admitted. “Ambassador Quinn has been trying to gage opinion – and of course there are the strands of pre-Transition operatives in the United States that we can pick up and use ourselves – but not everyone is happy with the war. They're very anti-German, but not for the same reasons; the loss of the ship convinced a lot of them that Germany had to be stopped.
“The Poles and the Jews are the most strident on the war,” he continued. “Ambassador King has been running the recordings of the extermination operation, which is still continuing. And then there are those who are Finnish or Norwegian, or even French and German. On the other side, there are those who believe that Japan and Russia are the real threats, and want the United States to concentrate on them. And finally, there are the people who want to solve the United States' internal problems, or don't want to fight the Germans, or distrust us and our intentions.”
He smiled wryly. “The good news, of course, is that Ambassador Quinn can now report on other matters, rather than relying on underhandedness.”
They shared a second look, before heading into the war room. Only a handful of the most important players had arrived for the meeting; it had been arranged at short notice. Hanover nodded politely to the room and took the chair.
“I think that we should disperse with the formalities,” he said. “I have been invited to visit the Palace" – his mouth twisted slightly – “and His Majesty doesn't like it when matters are not followed as he wills. Admiral, please would you inform Admiral Turtledove that he and his crews have been nominated for any number of medals, and a knighthood for some of the Captains.”
Admiral Grisham nodded. “The fleet has arrived at Australia,” she said. “Once we get the AWACS up and running – now we have a proper air force and air defence network for Australia – we can free up some of the submarines for hunting missions.”
“All in good time,” Hanover said smoothly. “General Cunningham?”
“The Japanese are about to hit the defence lines near Singapore,” Cunningham said. “The Japanese managed to sail a ship near the island and bombard it, but the Contemporary guns drove it off before it could do too much damage. General Flynn has requested a submarine to support the defenders… Admiral?”
“The Turbulent is on its way,” Grisham said. “It does take time to move submarines, you know.”
“As long as it doesn't see a tasty target and get distracted,” Cunningham said. Hanover tapped the table gently. “General Flynn is confident of success, but Major Stirling has found something alarming.”