Somerville’s head tilted; his eyes narrowed. “There is no Admiral Turtledove within the navy,” he said. “Who are you?”
Turtledove sighed. “It might help you to learn that I joined the navy in 1997, and received my Admiral’s rank in 2012, Admiral Somerville.” He paused for breath. “Admiral, there’s no easy way to say this, but my fleet is from the future.”
Somerville looked up at the helicopter. He had served in research departments; he had an open mind. Still, it was a hard fact to grasp…
“Your fleet is from the future,” he said finally. “Are you responsible for what happened to the cable, or to the big transmitters in London?”
“Not exactly,” Turtledove said, wishing that they were alone, rather than every rating on the flight deck listening in. “Admiral, we don’t know what happened… but all of Britain came through the time warp.”
There was a long moment of dead silence. “Impossible,” Somerville said finally.
“It’s true,” Captain Townley said. “I’ve been to their Britain; its fantastic and strange. Sir, Admiral, we win the war!”
“I never doubted it,” Somerville said. On the deck, the crew were smiling openly; their relief evident. Turtledove knew that he was about to shatter it. “You have something else you want to say, Admiral?”
Turtledove quietly cursed his perceptions. “Admiral, whatever’s happened to our Britain, we displaced your Britain. Admiral, all your friends and family, whoever was on Britain that fateful night… they’re all gone.”
Somerville felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Several of the crew were crying; others were staring about them, unable to comprehend what had happened. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to believe or not; did he have a choice?
“My family?” He asked finally. The strange new Admiral nodded grimly. “All gone?”
“I’m afraid so,” Turtledove said. “Everyone we knew outside Britain itself is gone.”
“All lost together then,” Somerville said. He fought down his fear and horror with all the discipline of years in the Navy; his crews would need him. “Admiral, how will people react?”
“Badly, I’d imagine,” Turtledove said. “Admiral, I have orders to assist you in defending what Britain holds now, but I have to wait for orders before launching any strikes against Italy.”
Somerville glared at him; anger finally bursting out of his soul. “In God’s name, why won’t you join us in attacking Italy?” He demanded. “We might have lost the war now that you’re here, and… oh God, how will the crews react?”
Turtledove looked compassionate. “Politicians,” he said, making the word a curse. “They’re still arguing about if they’re actually at war with Nazi Germany or not.”
Somerville stared at him. “I assure you that they are,” he said, a cold edge of anger entering his voice. “The Germans are preparing an invasion of Malta, and the Italians are pushing into Egypt.”
Turtledove’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not supposed to happen until the 12th of September,” he said. “Their logistics must be dreadful; still, they were pretty bad in the first time around.”
Somerville felt a flicker of pure anger. “Are you going to be flippant all the time?” He demanded. “We’re fighting for our lives here…”
“I don’t mean to be flippant,” Turtledove said seriously. “I expect that a formal declaration of war will come soon. For the moment, however…”
He broke off as a ringing tone emitted from a device at his belt. “Excuse me,” he said, and lifted the device to his mouth. “Yes?”
“Sir, this is Captain Allan,” a voice said. Somerville realised that it was a kind of radio. “There are seven aircraft on the way here, coming from Algeria.”
“French Algeria,” Somerville muttered.
“They lose it in twenty years or thereabouts,” Turtledove said absently. He looked up, suddenly serious. “Do you want to see what we can do?”
Somerville nodded, even as Captain Holland started to issue orders to prepare for an air raid. “Don’t bother,” Turtledove said, lifting the radio to his mouth again. “Captain, order one of the ships to take them down, using missiles.”
“Aye, sir,” Captain Allan said. Turtledove pointed to the tiny fleet; Somerville realised that there were fewer ships present than he’d assumed. One of the ships was moving, coming about.
“Should we not scatter?” Somerville asked, suddenly realising that the helicopter prevented his Ark Royal from launching its own fighters.
“Why bother?” Turtledove asked. “They won’t get close enough to harm you at all?” He waved a hand at the manoeuvring ship. “HMS Portland,” he identified it. “Type-23 frigate, commissioned in 2001, and refitted in 2010 with the modified Sea Wolf missiles. Watch.”
It happened so quickly that Somerville almost missed it. A streak of fire launched from the deck of the Portland, almost like a firework, and lanced over the Ark Royal, heading east. Seconds later, there was a brilliant flash in the sky; three more missiles followed in quick succession.
“What was that?” Somerville demanded, as the crew broke into cheering. Watching the aircraft being swatted from the sky like flies had delighted them; Somerville only felt cold. “What were they?”
“Missiles,” Turtledove said. He grinned and passed over a briefcase. “Admiral, some of my ships are supply vessels, designed to supply my ships. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get into the Rock, and then decide on the next course of action.” He leered at him cheerfully. “Since we’re not allowed to seek battle, we’d better let the Italians see us, eh?”
Somerville held out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, I think,” he said. “So, what happens to the war and the world?”
“Now that, Admiral, is rather a long story,” Turtledove said. “However, we have plenty of time to make the arrangements.”
10 Downing Street
Whitehall
11th July 1940
The Ambassador to the court of King James, as he was formally called, stood up as the Prime Minister’s secretary beckoned him into the office of the Prime Minister. He lifted his eyebrows as he saw no one behind the desk, but the Home and Foreign Secretaries standing, waiting for him.
“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” Hanover said, once the essential preliminaries had been handled and wishes for good heath exchanged. “I assume that you understand the situation, at least from your book-buying raids.”
Ambassador King didn’t blush; it was impossible for him. “I merely wish to ensure that President Roosevelt has all the facts presented to him,” he said. “Now, what have you done with our troops?”
“I imagine that once we’re certain of their reception, they can be returned,” Hanover said. “Several of them have committed suicide and we’ve stored their bodies.” He passed over a folder. “One of them requested his salary, paid into an American bank with a branch here, to be placed in trust for himself later.”
King chuckled. “I’ll try to handle it somehow,” he said. “Now, I notice that you have interned the ambassadors…?”
“We have to make contact with President Roosevelt,” McLachlan said. “With the Prime Minister unwell, we have to prepare to face a German onslaught, and we need food and aid.”
“The Prime Minister is unwell?” King enquired. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Heart problems brought on by stress, according to the doctors,” Hanover said. He sounded annoyed. “For the moment, he can handle light work, but as long as Parliament remains divided…”