Years earlier...
The following events took place on June 14th, 1941, Bordeaux, France (under German occupation)
The traitors! Those blaspheming collaborating dogs! Never before in his career had he seen... treason. Such treason to the Crown of England! A Pact with the Germans! British fighting side by side with those fascist scumbags! They should all be shot! These traitors, these villains, these backstabbing politicians! ENOUGH! Lord Halifax could not longer control the emotions boiling inside him. He stood up and yelled
“What travesty is this! Are we an instrument to the Germans? The Gibraltar Garrison can defend the Strait quite effectively, there is no need for a pointless Spanish invasion! Must we go along with these fools their warmongering just because we signed some stupid pact?”
The busy conference hall remained silent. If he could, Halifax would burn it, that despickable banner, that decadent symbol.
The Channel Pact. A pact of traitors, collaborateurs, fascists and thieves.
The Field Marshall spoke first
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, Minister, but this is not your decision. Spain threathens the Pact. Spain will fall.”
Domvile joined Halifax in his defence
“I am tired of this Channel Pact damn it! British don’t make deals with Jerry scum!”
Mosley raised his hand and the room grew silent. Halifax stared with disgust at the man that had led the United Kingdom down this dark path. The man that unjustfully had won the elections, and became the dictator Prime Minister of England. And the people cheered. That is how democracy dies: with applause. If only the true Prime Minister were here...
“Enough! Domvile, Halifax, you are relieved of your duties. The Pact’s interest overpowers your own pathetic agenda. Get the hell out of my face before I have both of you shot. I am ashamed of you.”
Lord Halifax shrieked, stood up and ran out the door, bashing an unfortunate clerk against the wall on his way out. He was followed by Domvile. “Relieved of my duties! After all those years of service!” he yelled while the men were walking through the long corridors of Bordeaux Town Hall “Those traitors! It is I who made the Royal Navy great. I and I alone!”. Halifax put a hand on Domvile’s shoulder
“Calm down Barry”
“How can I calm down with that nitwit De Nil taking my office! He is an old man, a weakling, and the last time he set sail was in the bloody Colonial Wars for christ's sake! What does he know about modern naval warfare?”
Lord Halifax his face darkened as they left the building
“We have to end this. Stop this madness”
Domvile cleared his throat
“How?”
“They have to die. All the traitors. I know people. People that can help. We have to do this. For England”
First so confident, Domvile quickly slowed down after hearing Lord Halifax
“You are speaking of treason! We could be hung for this!”
The men stopped under a large tree in the park. Summer was coming. It was warm and humid, yet Halifax’s heart felt like it was frozen. He was determined: this is what he had to do.
“We have no other option. They are anti-royalists Barry. They will strip us of our titles. Our wealth. Our achievements. They will leave us poor, homeless and anonymous. We have to fight back. Take back England. She belongs to us. The elite. For King and country!”
Domvile pondered for a while, and then nodded
“For king and country”
Lord Halifax took a small emblem from his pocket, and turned it around in his hand. It was a flower emblem, embedded with ruby. A heritage from the house of Lancaster, the most prized token his family possessed. His goal was clear: Like the Lancastrians hundreds of years before him, he would take England for those to whom it belonged. But he would need help. Funding, supplies, an army. An organisation.
Luckily, his many years in office as foreign minister of the British Empire had not left him without contacts on the international scene. Many of which would surely be interested in seeing this little Pact dissolve...