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Chapter 138, Section 201: The Royal Navy's Dream Chair
"Sir, where do I put your clothes?"
"old place."
In a house in central London, an elderly man in his sixties, who was temporarily staying there, was doing his last things before washing up and resting.
There was a letter on the table in front of me. I looked at it and saw that the recipient's name was his—Andrew Cunningham.
It was him, the old Mediterranean sailor, who, two or three years ago, led the British Royal Navy's Mediterranean Fleet to repeatedly thwart the Axis forces' operations, like a wounded but spirited bulldog, and finally, together with other Allied forces, knocked the enemy out of the war table in North Africa and the Mediterranean.
But now, the war has been won, and he holds the rank of Admiral of the Navy, but his remaining years in the military are numbered.
"It is far easier to wage war than to reorganize peace," these were the Field Marshal's words. Victory was achieved on the European continent, and the aging British Empire naturally reached a postwar consensus—why support such a large defense budget if there was no more war? This hopeful expectation, however, turned the military into livestock to be sent to the meat grinder. And what about the Royal Navy, which had dominated the five seas for centuries under the St. George's flag? Likewise, it received no immunity from punishment.
All of this exceeded Field Marshal Cunningham's expectations, and he will likely leave the military soon. In October, he became the Dean of the University of Edinburgh, a position probably meant to prevent himself from feeling too lost before leaving the warships, and perhaps to have a place to drown his sorrows.
As for what has happened in Germany over the past month, it has made everything much more interesting for him—he just returned from a military and political meeting today, where many arrangements were discussed, and the marshal's face unexpectedly had a bit more color in it.
After reading the letter, just as I was about to go into the inner room, the doorbell rang.
He was about to call a servant to open the door, but a subtle feeling came over him, so he didn't call out and instead went to open the door himself.
"Hello, Marshal."
The guest at the door was removing his gloves, tucking his cane and top hat into his left hand, and extending his right hand toward the marshal. His square head, bald forehead, and white hair, combined with his stout and muscular physique, exuded a unique and imposing aura, causing even a line of tiny ants passing by the door to tremble and detour.
“Mr. Churchill?” Cunningham was somewhat taken aback; this sudden arrangement was a little hard to accept.
"Come on!" Churchill nodded and smiled. "Throughout history, a handshake has always been the standard answer to defuse all bad moods."
"Haha." The marshal shook hands with him and invited him into the house.
……
Tonight's conversation was so depressing. In the Marshal's words, Churchill, the leader of the Conservative Party and the leader of the opposition, showed absolutely no hint of a smile.
"Today, the US military is checking the last batch of Army organizational rosters and change records. Overall, there's nothing more to say. However, regarding the Royal Air Force... I heard some bad news: the Soviet Union didn't get the actual jet fighter engines, but they did get the blueprints for the internal structure."
“Oh, this is Prime Minister Attlee’s directive, isn’t it…” Churchill took a deep breath. “God, this is probably as bad as the German invasion of Britain five years ago.”
"what do you mean?"
"Sometimes the most deadly enemy is not outside, but at home, among the 'relatives and friends' who help manage the household. When the disease in the body worsens, it is more terrible than a thousand cuts from the outside. Although it is possible that one day the United States will be like this, and the Soviet Union will be like this, we should not worry about this, because we are the patients, patients beset by internal and external troubles."
“I understand, sir.” Cunningham’s gaze shifted elsewhere. “We simply cannot resolve, nor can we proactively resolve, the misunderstanding with the Soviet Union. The Americans might listen to us, they might understand us, but it’s different with the others.”
"Therefore, we should take the initiative at this negotiating table."
"gentlemen?"
"Please answer a question for me, Marshal: Are you willing to let others arrange everything for you, to passively follow others, from generals and councilors to soldiers and civilians, and wait for them to tell you what to do?"
Cunningham shook his head.
"So, you think that as British people, it's wrong to let those Labour MPs, still scratching their heads in frustration over misunderstandings, blindly follow the Soviet Union's lead and listen to their long-winded pronouncements. Right here, so close to the British capital, are their words, which are being kept secret from our people, a million times more reliable than what we see with our own eyes? We can befriend the French, we can befriend the Americans, but we must never show weakness to the Russians! They have no right to deprive us of our right to know!"
The marshal hesitated.
"Then I guess you might want us to send some people who can go to the site in person to find out?"
“Let me see.” Churchill slowly looked up at the ceiling. “The border guards are at least a hundred kilometers from Berlin; the observing officers certainly need, and certainly won’t get, approval from the Soviets; as for the reconnaissance planes, the Soviets are feeding the Royal Air Force a mouthful of dust with their arrogant words, and their demonstrative anti-aircraft guns and searchlights. So…”
"Navy!" The two people sitting opposite each other suddenly uttered the same word in unison.
“Send the Royal Navy fleet to the Soviet-occupied coast to observe them.” Churchill finally smiled slowly. “I heard the Soviets are in a bad situation in the northern part of their occupied territory? Then let our warships watch the Soviet forces from a distance in the high seas of the Baltic Sea. We’ll just watch them from there and do nothing. Of course, we don’t need old ladies like HMS Warspite who can still run around with their skirts up; cruisers and destroyers, smaller in scale, will suffice.”
"Even so, isn't this too risky..." The marshal shook his head. "The Russians are too wary of us right now. What if..."
"Why are the Russians so aggressive towards us? Because they think we're hiding something from them, right?" Churchill paused. "They think we've been lying all this time, doing something behind their backs. So let's deliberately let them know about this fleet deployment. Let them know we have a fleet of warships going to Denmark, then we'll make a stop there, and when the time is right, we'll head to our final destination."
“This…” Cunningham’s expression was one of disbelief. “Although I have had such an idea, sir, you are clearly pushing the whole of Britain a step further into the eye of the storm.”
"No crisis has ever been created through utter carelessness." Churchill waved his hand. "Let me remind you, Marshal, what I'm thinking is that if you're going to send warships, don't rush it. Everything should be done with the elegance of noble gentlemen, whether we're carrying it out quietly or in front of outsiders. As long as we remain calm and composed, the time will come and everything will vanish."
"Well then, that's enough for today." He slowly stood up. "I'm just here to offer some potentially useful suggestions, Marshal. Ultimately, how this plan is executed depends on you. That's all I have to say, thank you."
"Then, please go back, sir. I will consider your opinion."
……
As Cunningham watched Churchill about to leave, something suddenly occurred to him.
"Oh, by the way, sir, I forgot to mention something to you?"
"Ok?"
"Tomorrow morning, a large flock of birds with white five-pointed stars will pass over your house, making a lot of noise."
"Oh, really?" Churchill smiled, raising his left hand in a victory V sign.
"However, if the planes I fly overhead were painted with red and blue circles, I imagine that would please His Majesty the King and the people even more, wouldn't you say?"
Chapter 139, Section 202: Greetings from the White Starry Sky!
"Hey? What's going on?"
"Where are these planes going? Isn't the war over?"
The citizens of London, in the streets where the sea fog had just dissipated, stopped what they were doing, put down the tools they were using to repair the damaged houses, and watched as rows of enormous bodies, growing smaller and smaller, flew eastward toward the sunrise.
The roar of engines echoed through the city like a ship's horn, as if Great Britain, this enormous barge floating on the North Sea, was about to meet another intruder into the fog...
The news spread like wildfire, and everyone was puzzled by this unusual sight...
……
Meanwhile, General Doolittle was still at an airbase of the Eighth Air Force, watching the white contrails of the planes from afar, his heart filled with unease.
"I hope this has not affected you, Marshal Zhukov."
Winter was approaching, and the British Isles, enveloped by the North Sea, were once again experiencing terrible weather. Fog came and went as quickly as it appeared, forcing the general to significantly delay the takeoff time of his aircraft. In fact, when he first discussed this operation with the Soviet forces, the general repeatedly emphasized the impact of the winter weather on them, but in the end, the Soviets' frequent requests to "provide as much assistance as possible" convinced him to agree.
Fortunately, the delay was communicated to the Soviet Union in time; otherwise, what could have been a perfect coordinated attack would have turned into a major disaster. At that time, the planes didn't even have navigation lights, and who knows how long it would have been before these aerial fortresses could launch another attack of the same scale.
Today, it was this layer of sea fog that almost caused the two giants on opposite sides of the continent to botch their performance.
Ironically, five years earlier, it was this same layer of sea fog that brought to a close the bloody farce in which Nazi Germany attempted to force Britain to surrender through air raids.
Another storm is coming.
……
"Your Highness, may I ask where you are?"
"Let's proceed as planned, Your Grace. We haven't finished reading the speech yet."
Duke Sasler emerged from the siblings' room and looked at the crowd lingering inside the Reichstag building.
The city walls of Berlin have been breached, and there's little chance of ever returning. So, repairing this place might not be a bad idea. Soon it will be the ceremony for Her Highness Elizabeth and Her Highness Kelly's inauguration as Commanders-in-Chief of the Expeditionary Force. Oh, and by the way, this District 45, this world that Her Highness Schneizel calls District 45, will be completely conquered by Her Highness and them.
Of course, the Duke already understood that this path would not be easy.
"Yes, it's much brighter now."
There were fewer guards in the building, but quite a few workers. Last night they stayed up all night repairing the building's lighting circuits and rebuilding some collapsed walls. Now they're preparing to install glass in the windows. Only cleaning has been put aside—Her Highness the Princess said that she and her brother understand that, given that this is a city that was already devastated from the start, cleaning up would be a drop in the ocean compared to the beautiful scenery.
At least look out the window. On the steps in front of the Parliament building, the podium is set up, the Britannian flag is hung in front of the lectern, and a red carpet is laid from the entrance to the lectern, waiting for everyone to gather in front of the steps and for Her Highness the Princess to take her place.
In the distance, the damaged barracks have all been repaired, and the facilities are spotless and in perfect order.
Looking again at the gleaming portal in the distance, great! It's said that Prince Schneizel is also coming. The open space in front of the portal is reserved for his honor guard. As arranged, he will arrive on time after Elizabeth's speech.
Alright, now it's time.
……
"Next, warriors! Her Highness Elizabeth Britannia, the newly appointed Governor of District 45 and Commander-in-Chief of the Expeditionary Force, will speak!"
The Duke stood up from the podium, clapping as he watched the sea of people erupt into a tsunami of cheers. He watched quietly as His Highness the Princess, arm in arm with her younger brother, gracefully walked forward.
"Officers! Soldiers! It is an honor to stand with you on this trial ground of District 45. You are the brightest shining points of the Britannian Empire's indomitable and never-say-die spirit..."
The Duke stepped back and quietly watched the backs of the brother and sister. The princess's impassioned voice could indeed calm people down, couldn't it?
Moreover, it's a complete transformation, from the inside out. Accompanying His Highness are two army groups and a corps. Now, it's probably only a matter of time before they drive the Soviet troops north of Berlin into the sea—according to soldiers at the front, they seem to be only 60 kilometers from the coastline.
The Duke suddenly felt a surge of emotion and wanted to cry. After all, he had done everything in his power to turn the game around for His Highness, so that His Highness would no longer have to suffer so much. Even if he were to die here, he would probably die a worthy death.
However, at that moment, a soldier rushed out of the command center hall in a panic.
"Your Grace! Your Highness the Duke!"
"What's wrong? Tell me slowly!"
"Yes! There's news of the battle!" the soldier said, and then tried to show him what he was holding.
"Ugh! You clueless good-for-nothing!" A baron nearby suddenly flew into a rage and slapped the soldier without a word. "What could possibly be wrong! What's all the fuss about! Can't you see Her Highness the Princess is..."
"Hey! You!" The princess stopped speaking, turned around, and pointed at all three of them. "Come here!"
"Your Highness!" A soldier was also dragged over. "I..."
"Calm down, soldier. What's wrong?"
"You...you'd better..." The soldier held up what he was holding, his hands trembling wildly.
Elizabeth grabbed his wrist, looked at the screen, and handed him to the Duke.
"What is this? Give me an explanation."
The Duke and Baron watched silently, their eyes widening as if they could hardly believe what was happening above them!
"This! This is from the western salient of Berlin, 60 kilometers from here, sent back two minutes ago! They, their heading is Berlin!"
The soldier's loud explanation through the microphone froze everyone's enthusiasm like an icy wind—millions of meters above the ground, black cross-shaped stars trailed dense white smoke trails, turning the azure sky into a snowy white.
“Last time I saw this scene,” Elizabeth’s face stiffened slightly. “Was it an attack on Area 11, or an attack on Eastern Europe? And last time, those planes belonged to us…”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” The Duke bowed his head and extended his hand toward the doors of the Parliament Building. “Please…”
Before everyone could understand why the princess and prince had rushed back into their rooms to hide, the air raid siren suddenly blared, igniting and exploding all the doubts that had been scattered across the land like gunpowder.
"Oh! In the name of the Emperor! What is that!"
The roar of propeller engines filled the sky, infinitely magnifying the previous photograph and projecting it into the heavens. In the opposite direction of the rising sun, Berlin was fortunate enough to be visited by another enormous black sun—two suns in the sky simultaneously, the black sun adorned with countless white stars, like the eyes of countless abyssal demons, gazing upon the earth!
In the blink of an eye, the nimble little ghost had already soared into the sky above the city, bombs and rockets under its demonic wings poised to fire!
……
"OK! Boys! Don't let these sons of bitches get away, grab the .50 machine guns and blast their asses!"
Herds of Mustangs and Thunder fighter jets swooped down from the sky, landing in Victory Garden in the heart of Berlin. They shed spent machine gun shells, and simultaneously, a massive, unruly "delivery package" arrived. Black-clad soldiers on the ground were torn apart by ammunition belts, and barracks were flung into the air by fiery roses of bombs. As for the KMFs and tanks that returned fire?
The rockets have something else to say! Come on! You're going to send me all these machine gun warheads, huh? Here you go! I'll give you a taste of my own medicine! Do you recognize this fiery-tailed thing that's Grandpa Yankee from? Here you go! And I'll also pack up and send you some of your damn monster doll fragments! Today I'm going to use my plane to curse your ancestors for eighteen generations, so what!
What? There are still puppets that dare to fly? And those wingless airplanes, just flying right in front of me! Get down! This land belongs to us! We say you can't fly, so you can't! Do you want me to chug machine gun bullets and mud from the New York sewers down your throat before you'll obey?
All of you, take your belongings and get the hell out of my sight! Those driving the dummy trucks, lie in the bomb craters! Those driving the tanks, you'll be roasted alive in your giant lunchboxes! You dare point your guns at my brothers in the sky? Run! Do you even know how to spell "run"?! Hide and don't come out! The enemies of the Yang Ji have no right to raise their heads before us!
……
"Don't be afraid, Kelly, it's alright, it's alright..."
Elizabeth went to their room to comfort her brother, who was curled up on the edge of the bed, trembling, his breath coming in gasps as the warplanes roared overhead.
"Iska! Come in!" she called to one of her female guards.
"Keep an eye on him for me, I'm going out for a bit."
"Your Highness... Yes, I obey. Please be careful..."
After closing the door, Elizabeth slowly walked to the window not far away, staring blankly at the distant city...
……