Jack Kennedy winced when he thought how those words had comprehensively wrecked his father’s grandiose political ambitions. It isn't that Britain is fighting for democracy. That's the bunk. In political life ideas were the currency of success or failure. To suggest that — with the Luftwaffe raining nightly fire, death and destruction on the capital of the Empire — that the British weren’t fighting to preserve democracy was…political suicide. Thus, in a blink of an eye Joe Kennedy’s ambassadorship had ended and his hopes of ever becoming President of the United States of America had been flushed down the toilet of history.
Now Joe Kennedy’s eldest surviving son was asking himself if the ‘Moon Speech’ was his own political epitaph. Worse, he knew that Lyndon Baines Johnson, the acutest analyst of a chink in an opponent’s armour on Capitol Hill had been asking himself exactly the same question for the last fortnight while he’d been laid up, incapacitated in the Executive Residence.
“Anybody,” the President decided, visibly straightening in his chair as if to support the decision forming in his mind, “who tells you that history repeats itself,” he observed, the boyish wry charm that had captivated part of the nation in 1960 flickering in his eyes and twitching at the corners of his mouth, “doesn’t know anything about history, Mr Vice-President. Talk to me about what happens if I don’t run for a second term?”
LBJ’s left eye brow arched.
“We all get fucked backwards and forwards for all time, Mister President,” the Texan retorted. “If we lose the White House we lose the whole game. That’s it. We’re through. Most of us will be lucky if we don’t end up on death row.”
Jack Kennedy didn’t think it would come to that but then they lived in strange and troubled times. He wasn’t personally afraid of accounting for his actions before the court of the American people. In many ways he longed to do just that; however, he was old enough and wise enough to know the difference between wanderlust and hard realities. No man who wasn’t firmly rooted in practical, pragmatic realpolitik had ever, or could ever become the President of the Unites States of America.
“Okay,” Jack Kennedy declared, “what do we do next?”
Chapter 10
Vice-Admiral Sir Julian Wemyss Christopher, the Commander-in-Chief of all British and Commonwealth Forces in the Mediterranean Theatre of Operations, walked out onto the battlement terrace of what had, until a few hours ago, been the Central Mess of all RAF commissioned personnel on the Maltese Archipelago. The late afternoon was hurrying towards dusk but from his vantage point he could see the whole vista of the main island laid before him from St Paul’s Bay in the north — where legend had it that the saint had been shipwrecked — east along the coast to St Julian’s, Sliema, Valletta, and around to the south-east past Marsaskala to Marsaxlokk.
His companion, a broad man in his late forties with an understated handlebar moustache and weary grey-green eyes sighed.
“Hell of a view, sir.” Air Commodore Daniel French observed. The first time I came up here I stood on this terrace for half-an-hour and just stared.”
“I hadn’t realised you were such a reflective soul, Air Commodore,” the tall naval officer chuckled.
“Oh, I have my moments, sir.”
Both men were nursing double whiskies in cut glass tumblers.
“I must confess I’ve had one or two myself lately,” the older man confessed. He didn’t think it odd that he was chatting affably with the Acting Air Officer Commanding RAF Malta as if they’d known each other for years. The two men had instantly recognised in the other a kindred spirit. They were warriors both. “In the last few days I’ve had a castle fall on me,” another low, confidential chuckle, “met two extraordinary women, and made the acquaintance again of another after a gap of more years than I care to contemplate. And, of course, I’ve visited the crash site of B-52 shot down by the RAF. We are living through strange times indeed!”
The airman shrugged, raised his glass to his lips.
“Anyway,” Julian Christopher went on. Both men were exhausted and there was business to be concluded. He waved to a table from which they could sit down to enjoy the stunning panoramic view. The men settled, placed their caps on the table. “Thank you for rushing up here at such short notice.
The younger man half-smiled, sensing that his new C-in-C’s courtesy was in this instance, personal rather than mechanical.
“I am at your command, sir.”
Julian Christopher didn’t beat around the bush.
“I’m appointing you as my deputy on Malta, Dan,” he said flatly. He paused: “my Flag Lieutenant says that nobody calls you ‘Daniel’ in service circles?”
“Your Flag Lieutenant is well informed, sir.”
“Unnervingly well informed,” Julian Christopher grimaced. “Things are a mess and frankly, you seem to be pretty clewed up on both the military and the civilian side of things. I want you to take command of the ongoing recovery operation. If ever I am out of contact or otherwise unavailable you will act in my name with my full authority in all military and civilian matters. My objectives in the coming weeks are to: one, defend and retain control of Cyprus, Gibraltar and of the Maltese Archipelago; two, promote and pursue a return to normal civil life on this island and if possible on Cyprus. In support of this latter object I have ordered the cruiser HMS Tiger and three of her escorting destroyers to return to Malta at their best speed. On arrival these ships will be replenished and dispatched to Cyprus in support of the forces on that island.” He met the younger man’s eyes. “Any questions?”
“Major-General Broughton outranks me, sir.”
The soldier in question commanded elements of the 6th and 23rd Divisions of the British Army, currently responsible for garrisoning the Archipelago and the acclimatisation, training and transfer of troops to wherever they were needed in the Theatre of Operations. Presently, the Malta garrison was fully occupied with maintaining civil order, and rescue and recovery work with and in support of the civilian authorities.
“General Broughton will be shipping out with 3rd and 4th Battalions, Yorkshire Regiment on HMS Tiger and whatever shipping I can rustle up. I’ve asked him to take command at Larnica and report to me on the military prospects of restoring our writ across the entire island of Cyprus.”