This caused more intensive speculation and chatter. Eventually Jeremy decided he had had enough. It was time for bed. “Come on everybody, drink up. You know father will wait up for us, so let’s go home.”
George, ever the comedian, could not resist one more quip. “It is a good thing that James and Fiona are staying at the hotel tonight, and not with us,” he said with a straight face.
Jeremy, as always, fell for George’s bait. “Why?” he asked.
“Fiona may have gone wandering in the middle of the night and by mistake end up in Jamie’s bedroom.” He burst out laughing, soon followed by the two men. Erica giggled, but Katherine was not amused.
Jamie MacLellan had just finished an early breakfast and was looking forward to the rest of the day. All the military attaches of the countries within the European Alliance had been invited by the Luftwaffe to a demonstration of Germany’s new jet fighter, the ME262. Although the USA was not an Alliance member, it was regarded as a friendly nation and Captain MacLellan was their representative. Jeremy Blackstone would be there on behalf of Great Britain. He and Jamie would be travelling together in the British Embassy car.
They duly arrived at the air base on the outskirts of Berlin. Their documents were politely checked and they were escorted to a pavilion temporarily erected near the edge of the landing strip. There was a crowd of about two hundred assembled from the air forces, armies and navies of Western Europe, all eager to see the new wonder weapon scheduled to appear above them at ten thirty. They were lucky, it was a beautiful clear, if somewhat cold, day.
Close to the scheduled time Jamie noticed heads continually raised skywards in anticipation.
When the jet arrived, it did so in a spectacular fashion. The pilot had completed the last part of his journey at low altitude so his approach was unseen and unheard. Right at the last moment he lifted the aircraft’s nose slightly and pushed the throttles forward to maximum. He blasted over the stunned guests at a height of seventy metres and a speed of over eight hundred kilometres per hour .
The guests were now treated to fifteen minutes of rolls, loops, and tight combat turns before the aircraft landed and taxied to a halt fifty metres from the captivated audience. The pilot disembarked and walked towards them. Jeremy immediately recognised him as Adolf Galland, General Rommel’s aide at the Lisbon peace conference.
All the guests were now invited to inspect the aircraft up close. They already knew that this was the fastest and most heavily armed fighter in the world. There was no one present who was not supremely impressed, and happy that this superb weapon was to be the standard fighter aircraft of the European Alliance, except perhaps a few thoughtful and envious souls who worried about the impact on manufacturing and technology in their own countries of such massive German dominance across research, design and production in the field of warfare.
There was no other aircraft in the entire world that even came close to the ME262.
Jeremy caught Galland’s eye and was recognised instantly. He and Jamie managed to extricate him from the many questioning people surrounding him, and treated him to a cup of coffee. In the brief ten minutes they had him to themselves, they found out a little more about the aircraft and other things.
The final version of the ME262 that would go into production towards the end of the year would be even faster and have a longer range. A ground attack version would also be produced, as well as a naval variant for aircraft carrier service. He also told them that plans for even more futuristic jet aircraft were on the drawing board. Aircraft whose performance would only have been dreamt about a year ago.
Galland finally excused himself. His aircraft had been refuelled and checked. He was leaving.
On their way home Jeremy and Jamie had much to talk about.
The announcement had been made. The National Government would be dissolved and new elections take place on 20 May. This would be the first General Election in seven years.
The leader of the Labour Party, Clement Atlee, urged on by others in his party, scented an opportunity to become the dominant political party in Britain. He grasped the opportunity with both hands. It didn’t matter that the coalition government had worked well and Britain was prospering under it.
The Labour Party wanted power!
King Victor Emmanuel had agreed on a strategy with his long-time associate, Marshall Pietro Badoglio, seventy one years old and an undistinguished General from the Great War. Together they would secretly use their influence on the members of the Grand Council of the Fascist Government, with a view to removing Mussolini from power. Each and every incidence of unrest among the populace and in the colonies was noted and reported to the council members. For the first time they began to truly understand the reality of the situation that Italy was in.
They made their plans.
At a long, and at times discordant, meeting of the Grand Council held the previous evening and which had lasted into the early hours of this morning, the future of Italy had been the subject of intense discussion. The urgent need for action was eventually agreed, and, after another hour of arguing, the proposed form of the action was reluctantly approved. All those present were apprehensive about facing down their leader, but they had nevertheless collectively summoned the courage to vote in favour of a transfer of Mussolini’s powers to the King. They then fearfully adjourned the meeting.
Later that morning a sick, tired and unkempt Mussolini kept his routine daily appointment with the King. It was known that the dictator was suffering from depression, insomnia and bouts of sickness. When he entered his chambers, the King thought he looked like a dead man walking. When did the man last bathe?
King Victor Emmanuel had steeled himself for a confrontation and wasted no time. He curtly told him that he was dismissed as Prime Minister. Marshall Badoglio was to be his successor. The now ex-dictator seemed almost paralysed and, most surprisingly, offered no objections. He meekly walked out. The King nearly fainted with relief!
As he exited the King’s chambers, the police were waiting outside and arrested him.
The announcement later that day of Mussolini’s arrest and the appointment of a new Prime Minister to rule jointly with the King, was greeted with relief by the majority of the public. They could now look forward to being ruled by a more competent and enlightened regime. There was some rejoicing in the streets.
That same day the bewildered ex-dictator was transported under police guard to the Island of Ponza, one hundred and ten kilometres off the coast of Naples. The same island that he had previously often used to confine his political enemies. Now it was his turn.
He remained on the island only ten days, during which time he had freedom to move about, although he was closely watched by the local Carabinieri. He seemed to be depressed all the time, and was using drugs. The local islanders virtually ignored him. His home was now a small, ill-furnished cottage. Its last tenant had also been one of Mussolini’s prisoners. He hadn’t liked it either.
On the eleventh day of his captivity, in the late afternoon, a motor launch of the Royal Italian Navy arrived unannounced at the island. It tied up at the small stone jetty. The senior Carabinieri walked down to investigate.
The naval party carried orders to move the prisoner back to the mainland. This was for his own safety as it was believed Italian or Albanian communists may attempt to assassinate or kidnap him. The launch was commanded by a young, very tall, incredibly thin naval lieutenant whose white hair almost gave him the look of an albino.