THE FORESIGHT WAR (34 page)
Authors: Anthony G Williams
Taylor shook his head.
‘No time.
I’m flying up to Alor Star in less than an hour.’
Simson’s eyebrows rose.
‘Right up at the sharp end?
Well, good luck then.
I’m afraid I’ve still got a lot to do at this end.
As well as the military defence, I’ve been asked to
advise
on civil defence.
Officialdom claims that the ground is too waterlogged to dig air raid shelters.
Has nobody heard of reinforced concrete buildings?’
He snorted in weary disgust and left.
An hour later, Taylor was flying over the dense greenery of the Malayan peninsular.
It was not as impenetrable as it looked, he knew.
The roads were good and were often lined with rubber plantations spreading out for half a mile or more to each side.
Movement through the plantations was easy and, despite some official views, tank operations quite feasible.
The roads also suited the Japanese secret weapon for rapid troop movements, he thought wryly.
Who would have imagined that bicycles would be so useful?
At least, Wavell’s unexpected appointment had brought some energy into the defensive preparations and begun to heal the rift between the forces, which had led to a complete lack of cooperation over defence planning.
The Air Force, after years of losing bitter arguments with the Army and Navy over the best way to defend Malaya, had even started to build their own airfields very close to the coast where the Army could not easily defend them.
Fortunately, this had been caught in time and the new airfields were carefully sited and well defended.
They also had enough aircraft, thanks to the prewar planning which was now resulting in Brigand fighter-bombers streaming from their Australian production line to support the Hampdens and Sunderlands already established at Singapore.
Taylor himself, with his mandate from Churchill, had enforced the integration of the intelligence services, and it was to keep up with the situation on the ground that he was now flying north, to the closest point to the expected Japanese landings in Siam.
He closed his eyes and tried to relax.
He didn’t expect to get much sleep over the next few days.
‘It seems a terrible risk, not to give the Americans more warning.’
Harold Johnson was looking moodily into bottom of his teacup, as if trying to see the future in the leaves.
He had dropped in to Don Erlang’s flat, restless and needing to talk as the tension increased.
Don didn’t mind seeing him.
Following his marriage to Mary – an event which had caused him a disconcerting mixture of joy and confusion about the potential time paradox implications – Mary had gone very reluctantly to stay with relatives in the country for the remainder of her pregnancy.
He nodded sympathetically realising that Johnson, as a Navy man, was feeling the current crisis more deeply than the Peter Morgan and Geoffrey Taylor, and
was
resenting
the fact that he had been ordered to stay in London while the others were where the action was, or at least was expected.
‘I know.
All those battleships lined up like sitting ducks.
We’ve been through it all before, though.
If the US Navy got wind of what was happening, they would sail their battlefleet out to meet the Japanese.
A fleet of old dreadnoughts against the most powerful naval air force ever assembled!
The Americans would lose all their battleships beyond hope of recovery, and suffer far worse casualties.
Believe
me,
keeping them in Pearl Harbor is the least costly option.
Most of them will be salvaged after the attack.’
‘Can’t we send them out of the way?
Tell them that the Japanese are advancing from the south?’
Don grimaced.
‘That’s the tough one.
If the fleet sails, the chances are that the Japanese will call the whole thing off, which will lead to massive uncertainty.
At least we now know what they plan to do, and can prepare accordingly.
Alternatively, they might switch their attack to the shore installations, which are much more important to the American war effort than the old battleships.
At least Peter’s Warwick ought to give them enough warning to get their fighters airborne and their anti-aircraft guns manned, which should minimise the damage.’
Johnson nodded gloomily.
‘I suppose you’re right.
It doesn’t seem decent, though, treating those grand old battlewagons as bait.’
You don’t know the half of it, Don thought.
He kept trying to suppress the memories of the
USS Arizona
, in which over a thousand Americans lost their lives, and the horrifying story of the
West Virginia
, from whose salvaged hull the bodies of many sailors who had been trapped in air pockets were recovered months later, some by a calendar with seventeen days marked off after December 7th.
Not for the first time, he felt a wrenching sense of futility and despair.
Sleep did not come easily, and he missed the quiet reassurance of Mary’s presence.
‘Any news of our Eastern Fleet yet?’
Don shook his head.
‘Thankfully, not since they left Colombo.
As far as anyone knows, they’re heading on a goodwill tour to Australia before arriving at Singapore in January.’
Johnson perked up a bit.
‘Four carriers and four battleships!’
He gloated.
‘That’s going to give the Japs a nasty surprise.’
He looked thoughfully at Don.
‘Why wasn’t this done in your time?’
Don shrugged.
‘A combination of reasons.
Partly because the new ships weren’t ready so early, but also because of the threat from the German capital ships
which kept the best British battleships in home waters.
Malaya has also benefitted from our improved equipment situation, which has enabled us to divert more resources to the Far East.
There was a hell of a battle with those who wanted us to send as much stuff to Russia as we could, but fortunately the Americans have taken on much of that burden.’
He leaned back in his chair.
‘It’s going to be interesting to see what happens.’
‘Target bearing three hundred degrees, sixty miles range.
It’s big – looks like a whole fleet.’
The radar operator’s voice was calm and controlled.
The pilot acknowledged and swung the big Warwick around to an easterly heading, away from the advancing Japanese fleet.
‘Do we alert Pearl Harbor?’
The RAF intelligence officer who had accompanied them on the long flight from England responded carefully.
‘Not yet.
Maintain radio silence.
They mustn’t know they’ve been spotted.’
Peter Morgan was not enjoying this assignment.
Playing the innocent guest among the friendly Americans did not come easily.
He had told himself that, of course, it wasn’t as if he was certain about what would happen.
Perhaps the Germans had warned the Japanese – perhaps the attack would never take place.
The cluster of blips on the screen told him otherwise.
The Japanese were exactly where they should be, and precisely on time.
Now he knew that some of the people whose hospitality he had been enjoying would be dead within hours.
Morgan ran the calculations through his mind.
The first, most devastating wave of the Japanese air attack was due to hit Pearl Harbor and Oahu’s airbases at
th
December – just five hours away.
Normally it took three and a half hours for a battleship to get underway from a cold start, but in an emergency they could get moving in under an hour.
The Warwick was five hundred miles from Oahu, so it could not land for two and a half hours.
At that hour it would literally be very difficult to wake people up to the danger.
The alarm needed to be raised just after
To ensure that happened he would need at least half an hour to persuade the Americans that they were in danger.
That gave him an hour to lose.
‘Keep them on the screen at this distance.
Let’s keep a close eye on them for a while.’
The pilot and co-pilot exchanged puzzled glances,
then
shrugged.
It had been made very clear to them who
was
in charge of this mission.
‘Do you think they will take any notice?’
Stadler shrugged and shifted his feet closer to the fire.
He held up the glass of schnapps to the flames before swallowing it in a gulp.
‘Who cares, my friend?
We have little in common with the
Japanese,
for all that they are supposed to be our allies.
Ugly little yellow people – Untermenschen if ever I saw them.
Our Führer has also gone off them somewhat after they refused to join us in the attack on Russia.
The chances are that we will end up fighting them, after we have beaten everyone else.
So whether they go ahead with their attack on the British and Americans or not, it’s all the same to us.’
Herrman was feeling increasingly nervous as the hours stretched on, and for once had drunk little.
‘What really
matters is
, will the Führer declare war on the USA this time?
Surely he won’t make the same mistake again?’
Stadler waggled a less than sober finger at him.
‘Let’s hear no talk of mistakes – our Führer does not make mistakes.
However, the situation is not as clear-cut as it might seem.
The increasing boldness of the American fleet in defending Atlantic convoys against our U-boats is causing great
irritation,
for all that it is largely ineffective.
And it is the Americans who are supplying most of the materials that keep the British going.
What’s worse, much of it is now being diverted to help Russia!
The Führer regards the American problem as a boil that needs to be lanced.’
‘Surely he’ll wait until after they are fully committed in the Pacific?
After all, what is Churchill likely to fear most?
With the Russians virtually finished, he knows that he can’t hope to survive without the Americans on his side.’
Stadler frowned suddenly.
‘The Russians might not be all that finished, just yet.’
Herrman’s surprise was clear.
‘I thought we’d driven them back over the Urals?’
‘So the glorious Wehrmacht has.
Unfortunately, they don’t know when they’re beaten.
Stalin won’t allow any talk of surrender – we have reports that several members of the hierarchy incautious enough to raise the possibility of discussing terms have not been heard of since.
And the party officials know exactly what would happen to them if Russia surrendered – it would be a race as to who strung them up first, the Gestapo or their own people.
So they’re keeping everyone bottled up, while rebuilding their armaments from the new eastern factories.’
Herrman frowned.
‘Haven’t we moved our air bases far enough forward to attack them?’
Stadler regarded him sardonically.
‘Have you forgotten already?
You were the one who warned us about the weather.
An atrociously wet autumn followed by a bitterly cold winter.
Everything is frozen solid.
Any vehicles or aircraft out in the open have to keep their engines running all night or they’d never start them again, and they have to move around from time to time or they’d be frozen to the spot.
This is not good fighting weather.’
He poured himself another shot of the clear, fiery liquid.
‘Then again, there are the partisans.’
He sighed and rested his head against the back of the armchair.
‘They show a most irritating persistence.’
‘I did warn you of the consequences of letting your thugs loose on them.’
Herman’s tone was bitter.
‘Unfortunately it isn’t that simple.
All it takes is for some of our men with…’ he gestured vaguely ‘… less delicate sensibilities, shall we say, to become a little overenthusiastic with security measures.
The next thing you know is that some of our men are killed in reprisal.
So of course, our troops respond by obliterating a village or two to teach them the consequences of such ungrateful behaviour.
Then word spreads and more partisan activity happens.’
He waved his glass about.
‘It is all very tiresome.’
