There is some anti-Japanese content in this one. Not from me, obviously. It was an idea I had and I ran with it. While it probably fits within forum rules, I would be most generous of anyone who informs me that it doesn't so I can remove it and not get this thread locked.
There will not be any gulags or deathcamps (including POW camps) to build in Hearts of Iron 3, nor will there be the ability to simulate the Holocaust or systematic ethnic purges, so I ask you not to discuss these topics as they are not related to this game. Thank You.
CHAPTER TWO (1936/7)
THE GAME'S AFOOT
GIBRALTAR
GIBRALTAR BRIGADE HEADQUARTERS
SEPTEMBER 20
Nationalists take Madrid!
Brigadier Thompson sipped his tea. The war in Spain did not look as if it would produce a good outcome for the British. It was getting bloodier by the day, and both sides becoming more extremist too. If the Nationalists were to eventually win, they would no doubt set their eyes on Gibraltar. And the Republicans? Bolshevist trade unions with guns and tanks on the borders of the British entrance to the Mediterranean? Not worth thinking about, in the Brigadier's eyes. It seemed like reason was going to hell in the Iberian peninsula, but that was probably the nature of war – at least, that was how the Brigadier remembered the Great War.
He wondered whether the British position had been wise after all – support neither side. Morally speaking, he didn't believe that the Republicans or the Nationalists should win. The Brigadier believed that in every war fought in any part of the globe between any two or more powers, that the
British Empire should emerge victorious. It did not seem that this was a possibility in this war. Perhaps if the British had sent support to the Nationalists, they might be assuaged of any ideas they would have on Gibraltar post-victory. Or it might just provoke the Republicans to do something silly if
they were the winners, and precisely the same was true in visa versa.
So yes, the Brigadier decided, after mulling it over. White Hall
had done the right thing. The Italians and Germans were backing the Nationalists, and Stalin had thrown his lot in with the Republicans. Better that Britain's reputation and moral superiority was not tarnished by taking sides with, even by proxy, any of the jackbooted tyrannies or paranoid mass murderers that were involved in this conflict. Not that those bloodsucking marxists in the Labour Party would agree though, he mused. His line of thought skipped to the Italians. Supposedly they were getting murdered by the Anarchists. Less of the buggers to deal with if they ever stepped on his doorstep, the Brigadier decided. Italian intervention at least would probably be a good thing. They couldn't win a war unless they were fighting
Ethiopians. And even then only on the second try.
An aide knocked on the door and entered. “Sir. The Governor wants your attention shortly, Sir. Something about the Bridge.” the Brigadier nodded and ordered him out. He finished his tea. More politicians to deal with. What a
great start to the day.
SINGAPORE
A WAREHOUSE OWNED BY A JAPANESE TRADING COMPANY
JANUARY 7 1937
Captain Buckle looked at the man standing in front of him with an air of cold disgust. Inside, it was more than that; it was absolute hatred. But this Oxford-educated Officer had not learned this hatred in the lecture rooms of Balliol College or the halls of Eton, for he was soft and kind hearted by nature. It was his present circumstance; the view of his beloved wife tied to the chair barely six feet away from him, tormented by his despicable captor, that had inspired this hatred. He would show this Japanese Kempei a thing or two that he had picked up during his amateur boxing days if only he too wasn't tied down to a chair.
“Now Captain Buckre,” the man began, his uniform ever sharply pressed, “As you are no doubt aware, my correague, the esteemed Hashimoto Hideki, was murdered not so rong ago, and we think you might know a rittre something about it, which is why we have you and your pretty wife as our guests today.” He made a mock bow
“I don't know anything, and neither does she, so let us go. I guarantee that your demise will be less painful if you do so.” Buckle said firmly, trying to ignore the blood that had dried in certain places around the dimly lit room.
“I very solly, but you are not in position to guarantee anything,” the Kempei continued, blissfully unaware of his cliché. “I would ungag your wife, but Engrish women are very insubordinate.” He loosened the gag a little.
“Don't tell him anything Charlie!” she tried to scream. It came out as a muffle. The Kempei re-tightened it.
“So brave,” he smiled. He ran a finger along her tartan skirt. “Engrish women so pretty. I would be ruckiest man in embassy to have one. I think you agreeing.”
Buckle's face turned the colour of scarlet red. “Listen here you barbarian,”
The Kempei slapped him around the face. Hard. “I risten to you when you cooperate. We can make it hard or we can make it easy. For your wife, better I think easy. I think you agreeing.” He took a cigarette case from his pocket adorned with the insignia of the Japanese Army. “I was soldier in Manchuria. Kill many Chinese. They very inferior race. Engrish are very stronger! But not so strong as Japanese!” he cried. “Japanese are the most strongest race in world! Hirohito banzai!” he yelled. The guard at the door cried the same back and returned the salute. “We even stronger than you Engrish.”
“I believe the Royal Navy looks forward to that debate,” Buckle replied calmly.
The Kempei lit a cigarette. “You smokes, Mr Buckre?”
“I only smoke English tobacco.”
He ignored the retort. “What about your wife? Does she smokes?”
“No.”
“That is very shame,” the Kempei said, almost looking sad. Almost. “You know Mr Buckre, probrem with smoking is always I get burn. On clothes, on furnitures. Sometimes on skin also can. If careress. I try not to be careress, but sometimes, accident happen...” he stood behind the young Captain's wife and smiled.
~
“This is the place. At least, the lorry has been parked here,” Lieutenant Rose said confidently to his subordinate.
“You're sure, sir?”
“Absolutely. Let's go,” he said, reaching for the car door handle.
“Shouldn't we telephone for reinforcements?”
“Do you see a telephone about?” the Lieutenant cried, swinging the door open and checking his pistol. “Come on lad, let's go!”
The two men in British military dress ran up to the guard post at the warehouse, staring intently at the Japanese guard on duty. “I am a Lieutenant of the British Army, I demand that you step aside!” Rose ordered as the guard got up to stop him.
“So solly Sir, but are you having warrant?” the guard replied in broken English.
“No, but I have my Webley,” Rose brandished his revolver and waved him aside, ignoring the pleas of 'So solly, so solly.' “Bernie, make sure that this here chap doesn't use the telephone. If he makes one wrong move, shoot the bastard. I'm going inside.”
“Yes sir!” Bernie replied enthusiastically. “Come on you yellow villain, sit down over there...”
~
“So as you can see Mr Buckre, Japanese method of interrogation is much stronger! You will tell us now? Why you English kill my friend Hashimoto?” Now it was the Japanese Kempei's turn to be angry. “Why I have to tell Hashimoto mother that he killed by Chinese criminal?” The man was out of control; clearly he was no trained interrogator; probably, Buckle thought, he had volunteered for his job to try and avenge his friend. The Englishman gritted his teeth as he watched the tears fall down his wife's cheeks. Even the Kempei was getting emotional now. “Why? Why you kill him?”
There was an interruption in the Kempei's concentration, and Buckle realised why as two gunshots rang out in the small room. The guard slumped to the floor, two .455 Webley bullets lodged in his chest. “Put your hands in the air, you dog!” Came a familiar voice above the smell of blood and cordite. It was not to be. The Kempei reached for his own sidearm and fell to the floor, his own blood mixing with that of his previous captives on the cold granite. Rose immediately ran to his Captain and untied him. “I thought something was amiss Sir!” he began, “You never miss your seven o clock gin bitters without telephoning. And when me and Bernie came to your house, we saw the Japanese lorry leave and tailed it. Jolly good luck too!”
“I'll say!” Buckle cried, moving over to cut loose his wife.
“What the bloody hell...” Lieutenant Rose looked around the room. He was cut short by another gunshot – the Kempei, spluttering blood from a punctured lung, pushed himself up, blood lust in his eyes, muttering in Japanese. “Charlie!” he shouted, throwing the revolver over before collapsing on the floor. It was too late; the Kempei fired again and Buckle let out a cry of agony as he was hamstringed by the 8mm round from the Kempei's pistol. There were another two rounds fired in succession, but they were the recognisable roar of a .455 Webley and not the comparatively weaker 8mm Nambu. The Kempei flopped to the floor, finally finished, as Captain Buckle's wife dropped the revolver, tore off her gag and held her husband in her arms. Their ordeal was over.
Panic is an emotion easily communicated. It was precisely the emotion communicated throughout the Empire as the last two days had played out. Now, as London was at its quietest during the early hours of the morning, the leaders of an Empire had finally managed to get a grip on the situation. On July 1st, following intermittent combat between Japanese and Chinese troops at the Marco Polo Bridge, Japan had declared war on China. This was enough to send alarm bells ringing throughout Britain and her Empire, but on the morning of the 2nd of July, Germany announced the signing of the European-Oriental Pact: a military alliance between Germany and the Japanese Empire. While official celebrations in Berlin and Tokyo between representatives of both Governments kicked off, the British and French counterparts began to worry.
It wasn't that Germany or Japan could really mutually support each other. Transferring even warships between the nations would be a difficult task. It was the intentions that worried the Allied Governments. Japan would support Germany and Germany would support Japan. For Britain this meant surely that if Japan continued with her plans to invade Southeast Asia, they might receive German help in Europe. The ultimate disaster and everything British Foreign Policy had attempted to avoid: a Second Great War with a resurgent Germany. This was something that Operation Rice Wine had
not seen coming.
The results were immediately manifest. Britain had little resources to spare, but she sent to the east three infantry divisions and a brigade of ghurkas, additionally bolstering the RN Pacific Fleet; bringing some old light cruisers out of mothball. On the 3rd of July the British Government declared an increase in military spending and readiness; Britain was preparing for war. Basic attempts at mobilisation had begun and the production of arms was steeply increased. By the 15th, when British troop movements in the East had been completed, British panic had turned to British resolve. The British Lion would meet the threat of the Prussian Eagle and the Japanese Tiger. She would “Meet any threat to our Empire and its ancient liberties with staunch determination...”
Strong words from a Prime Minister who still hoped for peace, and who's armies were still prepared for little else.
