Harry Harrison: Stars and Stripes Triumphant

As soon as the members of the newly established occupying government had arrived from Washington, General Sherman was more than happy to turn over his offices in Buckingham Palace to them. The recently appointed politicians and State Department officials were very welcome to the ornate apartments. Sherman was much more at home in the Wellington barracks, itself no more than a few hundred yards from the palace. The buildings had been standing empty since the guards regiment they housed had been disbanded. A newly arrived regiment of Pennsylvania Rifles had now moved in, and he joined them. When the office walls and the endless paperwork closed in on Sherman he would have his mount saddled, then ride out into Green Park, or St. James’s Park, which was just across Birdcage Walk, and let the wind blow the cobwebs out of his brain. The former commanding officer’s quarters were spacious and very much to his liking. This officer had left the regimental trophies in their cabinets, the bullet-riddled flags still hung upon the wall. When the occupation was over, their rightful owners would return and find everything just as they had left it. Meanwhile, a silken Stars and Stripes stood proudly on a bronze mount before them all.

The officers’ mess was luxurious and comfortable. Sherman was enjoying a late meal there when the guard admitted Gustavus Fox.

“Well, you have been a stranger, Gus. Pull up a chair and sit down. Have you eaten?”

“Much earlier, thank you, Cumph.” Since their journey on the Aurora, despite their age disparity, they had grown quite close. “But it’s my throat that’s parched; I could do with a drink.”

“Easily done.” Sherman signaled to a waiter. “Our departed hosts left behind many barrels of fine ale. I shall join you in a glass. Perhaps we can even toast the Gatling gun. Have you heard the little poem that the gunners recite?”

“I don’t believe that I have.”

“It goes like this: ‘Whatever happens, we have got / the Gatling gun, and they have not.’ ”

“It only speaks the truth.”

“It does indeed. Now — what brings you here?”

“A matter of some importance, I truthfully believe.” Fox drank deeply from his glass and nodded happily. “Capital.” When the waiter had gone he took a sheaf of papers from his pocket and slid them across the table. “I’ll leave these with you. But I can sum them up quite clearly. I have had my clerks going through all the British military files, both army and navy. A good many were destroyed, but the capitulation of the armed forces was so swift that most of them were left behind. However, there were still masses of files burned in the War Department fireplaces. Luckily the navy was not as astute and duplicates of the ones that had been destroyed were found in their files. What you have there are details of a convoy of ships. It is called Force A. They sailed from India some weeks ago.”

“India?” Sherman frowned as he pulled the papers toward him. “What kind of a convoy?”

“Troops. Fourteen troop-carrying vessels, most of them liners like the SS Dongola and SS Karmala. Among the units the Rajput Fifty-first Pioneers are listed. Along with the Second Battalion of North Lancashire Rifles, the Twenty-fifth Battalion of Royal Fusiliers — and more like that. They are accompanied by a number of warships, including the HMS Homayun, as well as the armorclad HMS Goliath.”

“I don’t like this at all. A force this size can raise a lot of dander. When are they due here?”

“If they keep to their schedule — in about one week’s time.”

“Do you think they have been informed about the war — and the occupation?”

“I am sure of that. As you know, most of the British navy that was at sea did not return to port. More than one ship fled Portsmouth to escape capture. Some of them surely knew about this convoy and would go to join it. Also, the convoy will have stopped at coaling stations en route, which would have been informed by telegraph of world events. We can be sure that they know exactly what has happened here.”

“You’re in the navy, Gus. Any idea of what we should do?”

Fox raised his hands in surrender. “No, sir! This is well out of my league. But I did send Admiral Farragut a copy of these shipping movements and asked him to join us here.”

“A wise move. He is a sound tactician.”

While the waiter was refilling their glasses, Sherman read through the papers that Fox had given him. Then he had the waiter bring him a pencil and made some notes on the back of one of those sheets. When he spoke again his voice was grim.

“That is a sizable infantry force that is coming our way. I doubt if they will have the strength to retake this country from us, but there will still be some terrible battles if they manage to get ashore. If they do, there will surely be risings as well from demobilized British soldiers. This is not what we want.”

Admiral Farragut was of a like mind when he joined them. “Bad news indeed. I’ve sent orders to all our ships to refuel and stand ready.”

“What do you plan to do?” Sherman asked.

“Nothing — until we have worked out where the convoy is headed. They will not go to the assigned ports that are in these orders, you can be sure of that. They will know by now about the occupation and the commanding officer of the troops will plan accordingly. I think the decision must be yours, General, because this is a military matter. Their army commanders will be planning a landing — or landings. Their navy will act as an escort and provide fire to cover any landings.”

“That was my thought as well.” Sherman finished his ale and rose. “Let us take this discussion to my office and consult the maps there.”

The map of the British Isles was unfolded on the desk below the oil lamp. General Sherman studied it thoughtfully.

“Any ideas, Gus?” he asked.

“None! I have no intelligence of their destination and am no tactician. I will not attempt to even guess.”

“Very wise. Which leaves the responsibility to me. First — let us limit the possibilities.” He tapped on the map. “I think that we can eliminate landings in the north and west. Scotland and Wales are too distant from the seat of power. Cornwall is the same as well. We must look to London.”

“They will not attempt to come up the Thames as we did,” Farragut said. “It is common knowledge that our floating batteries are still stationed there. But here to the east, in the Wash, there are protected waters where landings are possible. Or farther south, perhaps, at the port of Harwich.”

Sherman shook his head. “Again — too far from the center. Harwich is a better possibility, it is surely close enough to London. But we would be warned if they landed there and could easily mass the troops to stop them. Therefore I believe that it is the south coast that we must worry about. They will know that we have seized Portsmouth, so they will not come ashore there. But here, farther east along the south coast, it is very different. Flat beaches, shallow waters, easy access from the sea. Brighton. Newhaven. Hastings.” He ran his finger along the coast.

“Hastings, 1066,” Fox said. “The last successful invasion before ours.”

“I can station a screen of ships across the mouth of the English Channel,” the admiral said. “From Bournemouth right across to the Cherbourg Peninsula. The Channel can’t be more than eighty miles wide there. A force the size of this one coming from India would be easily spotted as it approached. But, of course, if they do go west to Cornwall or beyond, we will never see them. Their troops would be well ashore before we knew anything about it.”