Stirling coughed. “We finally managed to get some working intercepts on German communications,” he said. “Although we are not as able to use it as I would like us to be, we have some communication taps via the equipment we gave that dumb reporter – it seems she's having an affair with a Nazi – and we have some taps placed in landlines by the SAS.”
“We lost that sub that way,” Hanover muttered. The cover story had led to some elements of the Royal Navy being mocked; that had led everyone to believe it. He chuckled suddenly. “I think we'll keep the information about the affair to ourselves, for a while.”
“Yes, Prime Minister,” Stirling said, rather hesitatingly. “The intercepts, however, have allowed us to piece together a picture of the German plans for the remainder of this year. They seem to have concluded – correctly – that until the United States can gear up, they're still facing us alone.”
“Good thinking,” Hanover said crossly. “Its so much easier if the enemy lacks knowledge of some of their own future mistakes.”
“Over the past week, they've been building up in Bulgaria,” Stirling said. “The Soviets seem to have raised no objections, and, of course, they control everywhere else in that region. Their plan, basically, is to drive through Turkey and add to the confusion in the Middle East.”
“And give us a leaking sore,” Hanover said. “That would put back our other plans by… how much?”
“I'm not sure,” Stirling confessed. “It depends on what the Turks do; both the Soviets and Germans are rattling sabres. From our limited contacts, it seems that the Turks are wavering; the Germans are promising them Mosul if they agree and the horrors of an invasion if they refuse.” He scowled. “A German attack, particularly with the Turks involved, could really mess the Middle Eastern front up.”
“That leaves Operation Ploesti,” McLachlan said. Something like a sigh ran around the table. “Do we have a choice?”
“The Party would not be happy,” Barton said grimly, “but I wish I could second the motion.”
How did it become a motion? Hanover wondered. “Are you certain that you understand what this means?” He asked. “We would be changing a policy that was instituted by Prime Minister Smith, for very good reasons.”
Barton scowled. His party was against it. “I'll take the heat from my party if you take the heat from yours,” he said. Hanover smiled; Barton's opposition would be on the record. It was a neat way of supporting it, by letting the Government know that he wouldn't give them grief over it, and at the same time avoiding being knifed in the back by his own party.
“It seems to be unanimous,” Hanover said wryly. “I'll issue the orders at once.”
Defence Lines
Malaya, nr Singapore
4th October 1940
General Flynn allowed himself a sigh of relief as he inspected the defence lines. Nearly two weeks of very hard work had gone into the lines, using all the help the suddenly released resources of Singapore could provide, and he was confident that it would hold. The SAS had done a marvellous job of holding the Japanese up – although he suspected that flaws in Japanese logistics would have had the same effect – and the defence line had been the reward. A carefully designed wall, one designed to bleed the Japanese white, along angles they had to attack.
He who would be strong everywhere is strong nowhere, Flynn remembered, and frowned. Tiny SAS units, backed up by hastily-recruited auxiliaries from the coloured population of Singapore, would engage the enemy if they tried to move through Jungle history told them would not be as impregnable as it looked. Sheer determination, bloody-mindedness and not a little ruthlessness had carried General Yamashita nearly four hundred miles, despite the best efforts of the SAS.
Flynn chuckled. Doubtless the Japanese General was enjoying his victory. The conquest of Kuala Lumpur, which had hardly been defended, had been reported in the Japanese press as a great victory. Even the Germans were getting in on the act; the British reporter in Germany had faithfully recorded an hour-long speech from Goebbels on the subject of Japan's inevitable victory. Arial reconnaissance had reported dozens of heavily guarded trucks being moved down the road; the SAS had reported that the Japanese were taking no chances with them.
“Sir?” Colonel Higgins said. Flynn glanced up. “The Japanese are launching bombers from French Indochina – and the audio-discrimination programs are reporting engine noises. I think its about to start.”
“I wish we were back in the desert,” Flynn said absently. “What about Singapore?”
“The new Governing Council seems to be doing ok,” Higgins said. “They're determined to prove that they can be trusted with the vote. They've got people working on repairs after that battleship took a crack at us, and we've warned them of an incoming air raid.”
Flynn nodded and headed back to his headquarters. “Did you ever see that picture, that joke picture of the trenches?” He asked. A perfect division, with a single budge on the German side, and the British headquarters near the line.” He chuckled. “And them, the same picture a few years later, but with the bulge on the other side… and the British headquarters well away from the line.”
“No, sir,” Higgins said.
“Well, live or die, I'm going to do it with my troops,” Flynn said. He passed three guards and a machine gun position, and then stepped into the headquarters. The massive coordination system, an American-designed system, was already at work; Japanese artillery had started shelling a British position. This time…
“Start counter-battery fire,” Flynn ordered. “Full radar tracking… now!”
General Yamashita swore under his breath as another battery of Japanese guns, the light howitzer, exploded in a blast of fire. The main weapons were being targeted; every time they fired they were picked off neatly by a handful of British shells. The weapons were horrendous; he was losing guns for nothing! A flight of Zeros roared by overhead, chasing the strange British craft, and he cursed. He'd heard a private rumour, a very private rumour, that the Navy had suffered a defeat, but he hadn't been able to confirm it.
“They want a victory,” he snapped, and glared down at the map. “Order the infantry and aircraft to go in,” he ordered. “They have to take out their guns!”
Sergeant O’Neal cursed as the Japanese planes swooped down, their engines screaming as they targeted the British guns. Bombs fell and his machine gun chattered back, targeting Japanese aircraft as they tried to swarm over the British position. There was a massive crash as a Japanese aircraft slammed headfirst into the jungle; the blast setting off its ammunition.
“Jesus, what a clusterfuck,” he shouted, temporally deafened. He looked up, at the burning jungle, and saw Japanese soldiers coming at him, sneaking through the defence lines.
“No, you fucking don’t,” he shouted, and turned the machine gun on them. They fell, or threw themselves to the ground, and he laughed – just before the grenade landed near his position. The explosion blew him into little bits.
“The enemy has made a breakthrough, in sector seven,” Higgins snapped. “I’m ordering the reserve to engage!”
“Do so,” Flynn ordered, studying the map. It made sense; the Japanese would be trying to outflank the defences on the road. He watched grimly; did his opposite number know the dangers?
General Yamashita smiled as the first reports came back; they had penetrated the defence line and were attacking the outpost blocking the road. The terrain wasn’t perfect, but he gave the order anyway.