Christopher Nuttall: Second Chance

“Fire,” he commanded, and Vash hit the switch. Twelve rockets, each carrying a pound of high explosive, struck the bridge and the lorries that were trying to cross it. The explosion surpassed his wildest hopes; the lorries had been carrying shells for the guns.

“Good God,” Chang breathed, as burning men leapt into the water. “We just cut a chunk of the Japanese Army off from any reinforcements.”

“Perhaps,” Dwynn said, as bullets started to crack through the trees. “Time to leave, I think,” he said. “We did good today.”

Corporal Jenkins let go of the clutch and drove the Saracen Armoured Personnel Carrier forward, steering to the sound of the guns. The Japanese knew that the British had no tanks – but a 2015 APC possessed more firepower than many 1940 tanks. Jenkins steered forward, ignoring the bullets pinging off the armoured, and gave the command to fire.

The Saracen had been extensively modified during the insurgency in Iraq and the various missions that had ended the Terror War. This Saracen was armoured against anything short of a main battle tank, and possessed gun ports to protect the soldiers inside when they fired, to keep the all-important death toll down. The hail of machine gun fire swept over the Japanese, steering into the path of their desperate attempt to fight the Saracen vehicles, and slaughtered them.

Jenkins had hoped to meet a Japanese tank – he’d been wanting to try the rocket launcher – but none appeared. Contemporary forces followed the Saracens, securing the breach in the lines and trying to capture Japanese prisoners. After the first few Japanese surrendered and then opened fire, Jenkins simply ordered them all killed. The counter-attack pressed on, and the Japanese had nothing to stop them. Only one Saracen was knocked out by a grenade-stuffed bag that was thrown under the wheels.

General Yamashita knew that the game was over. The sudden appearance of the British tanks – he cursed the intelligence that had informed them that there were no tanks in the region – had defeated his forces. He knew that he could keep fighting, but what was the point? Until he managed to deploy some anti-tank weapons that were actually worth the name, the British held the advantage.

“Order the men to fall back,” he ordered, knowing that it would lead to a disaster. Countless tons of heavy equipment would be lost in the jungle; there was no way that it could be carried over the river. “Special detachments are to destroy anything that could be useful to the enemy.”

He watched as his men carried out the final order. He was proud of them; they retreated in good order, firing at imprudent pursuers with a determination that he found hard to fault. The British didn’t follow with any determination; they worked to secure their defence lines before following the Japanese. The commander of the detachment at Kuala Lumpur would take command of the army; there were some supplies in the city that could not have been bought to the disastrous battle. General Yamashita, however, had one final duty.

Carefully, gently, he laid a cloth on the ground, drawing his sword with a single motion before kneeling on the cloth. “I die for the emperor,” he said, almost regretful that there was no one to hear him, and stabbed himself in the chest.

Oil Mining Complex

Ploesti, Romania

4 thOctober 1940

Oberfuehrer Hauptman looked up in the sky as the night fell over Ploesti. The massive oil complex, source of most of Germany’s oil, was a prize target… and the SS had been entrusted with the task. Hauptman, a capable and vigorous officer who had been rejected by the Wehrmacht , had borrowed as many weapons as he could, ringing Ploesti in a web of steel. Even the partisans hadn’t dared challenge his defences; Ploesti was impregnable. Everyone knew that.

There was something moving in the night sky. He reached for his binoculars and looked up, seeing a star move. For a second, he didn’t understand; stars didn’t move, and then he realised that it was… something out of the world. The British , he realised, as the… whatever it was fell closer. He looked up at it again, caught by its simple majesty… and then the world went white around him.

House of Commons

London, United Kingdom

5 thOctober 1940

The last nuclear warhead had detonated in 2010, at least from the perspective of the 2015 British. Then, the news of the explosion near the Panama Canal – a botched attempt to wreck the canal – had flashed around the world in seconds. In contrast, no one in 1940 knew about the single warhead that had destroyed Ploesti – until Hanover announced it before Parliament.

“In order to cripple the German war economy, we made the decision to destroy Ploesti,” Hanover said calmly. The House, for once, was silent; the MPs were hastily calculating their options. “I wish to confirm that the mission was accomplished with a single trident missile, fired from a ballistic missile submarine, yesterday at ten o’clock, local time. Detonation was precise and at low attitude, and destruction was total.

“This was not an easy decision to make,” he continued. “We now know that the German war economy was dependent upon Ploesti; destroying the oil wells would cripple their ability to… spend their cruise missile aircraft with such enthusiasm. We also know that Germany was working towards sending troops into the Middle East, through Turkey, to join the war there. If that had happened… the war might have been lost.”

He took a breath. “Radiation contamination should be minimal,” he said, “although we have broadcast a warning. The device” – such a harmless word , he thought – “was designed to limit radioactive spread; the mountains contained much of the blast. Civilian casualties should be minimal.”

He sat down and waited. There was a long pause, and then the Chair of the House of Commons Defence Committee stood. “Thank you for informing us,” he said. Howard Barleycorn was a Conservative, like Hanover, but the HCDC was intended to provide oversight of military affairs. “Can you give us any assurance that the Germans are unable to retaliate against us with their own nukes, or other weapons of mass destruction?”

It was a reasonable, if impractical question, Hanover conceded. “The Germans do not at present possess any nuclear bombs,” he said. “We have devoted considerable asserts to ruining any program that they might have tried to force forward. A chemical attack is possible, but we are now confident with the recent modifications to the air defences that we can hold off any chemical attack.”

Barleycorn coughed. “Thank you,” he said. “On a different note, will the Navy be holding a Court of Inquiry into Admiral Turtledove’s tactics in the Battle of the Indian Ocean? Various retired… defence consultants have pointed out that he unnecessarily risked his entire force, merely to close with the enemy force. Why was the Trafalgar low on ammunition; why did the other submarines not intervene?”

A low rumble ran through the House and Hanover cursed. Whatever the truth of the armchair admirals statements, Admiral Turtledove was a hero at the moment. Barleycorn had just damaged his own political career, just to prove that the HCDC was still relevant in a changing world. Inevitably, it would damage the Party.

“The Trafalgar , to answer one question, was ordered to defend Australia before sailing to meet the fleet,” Hanover said finally. “In the process it fired off some of its torpedoes at Japanese ships, many of which proved more able to handle a Spearfish hit than a modern ship. It required several hits to sink a battleship, for example; the hull of a 1940 ship is stronger than one of our ships.