My understanding (I don't speak much japanese, just started learning) is that "-San" is used to adress an equal, while "-sama" is used for superiors, or at least highly placed people. But to be fair, japanese could drive any sane man mad as it is 
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Arilou said:My understanding (I don't speak much japanese, just started learning) is that "-San" is used to adress an equal, while "-sama" is used for superiors, or at least highly placed people. But to be fair, japanese could drive any sane man mad as it is
So two highly placed people (like Fu Manchu and Yamamoto) would still call each other sama, right? Or would Fu Manchu, as Prime Minister, be entiteled to call Yamamoto, a mere Admiral, -san?
-san is used as a term of politeness, -sama is a term of extreme politeness. It would be possible for Yamamato and Fu Manchu to -san each other, but they would have to know each other a lot better. But as long as you don't use -chan I think it will be allright. And I can't remember the term for admiral in japanes either ( and I don't have a Japanese font installed on my computer at work... )
I remembered, the title for japanese admirals is taishõ see also: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Comparative_military_ranks_of_World_War_II
And I can't remember the term for admiral in japanes either ( and I don't have a Japanese font installed on my computer at work... )I remembered, the title for japanese admirals is taishõ see also: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Comparative_military_ranks_of_World_War_II
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Fu Manchu will never win against America... At least I hope not( he probably has some devious virus up his sleeve
Yep, that's yer bunny.
Oh, and the correct usage IIRC would be name-title, so "Yamamoto-Taishõ"
A subordinate would probably adress him as "Taishõ-dono" or something If I'm not incorrect.
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Wewelsburg SS order Castle
Westphalia, German Reich
November 18th, 1939
Obersturmbannführer Prof. Dieter Scheel and his right hand man, Sturmbanführer Günther Duhrn stood on the triangular courtyard of Wewelsburg, looking with hard faces as workers milled about the ruins of the north tower, clearing away the rubble to make place for reconstruction. Grey clouds formed a solid and depressing canopy, and a cold wind howled between the black ramparts of the castle. Scheel and Duhrn were grateful for their black leather greatcoats, but wished they could have worn something more warming than the usual uniform cap. Winter was coming, but fortunately it had begun to look as if the war would be over before its onset. The news had been preceded by fanfares from Liszt’s “Les Préludes” on the national radio: Paris had been declared an open city by the French government and had fallen to the battered and bloodied but victorious forces of the Wehrmacht early in the afternoon. The French had fought with courage and determination but had not been able to deal with the superior tactics of the Wehrmacht and the crushing preponderance of the Luftwaffe. According to the rumour mill, the new French Premiére, Field Marshall Pétain, had already contacted Berlin with a request for terms. It seemed the war was as good as over.
‘I wonder if we can hope for indemnities from Paris to pay for the damage done to Wewelsburg?’ Scheel wondered aloud, half seriously and half jokingly.
Duhrn snorted. ‘Not impossible, all things considered. We’ve handed the Fransozen their asses – an exorbitant war indemnity, on top of repaying what we gave them after Versailles will be among the first stipulations of the peace treaty. But then, we can hardly set a price on the loss of Tess, can we?’
Scheel nodded glumly and let his bespectacled eyes wander to the south tower, in the dungeon of which the abomination in tortured and twisted flesh that had been Jürgen Tess howled and trashed.
‘No, hardly.’
The resuscitation of Tess had been Scheel’s greatest triumph for Sonderkommando Hex. The loss was doubly bitter to him. He sighed and made a little jump to get the blood flowing.
‘Well, life goes on! You were very lucky to get out of that tower in time, Günther! Nobody left inside survived, right?’
Duhrn nodded. ‘When those French commandos had us pinned inside, I realised we were sitting ducks for a big demolition charge – that’s what I would have done. Fortunately I remembered the secret escape passage, no medieval castle would be complete without it!’ he concluded with a smile.
‘Pity about the men that didn’t make it through in time…’ Scheel added, with certain venom in his voice.
Duhrn shrugged. ‘Yeah, but let’s face it, not one of those grunt guards were anywhere nearly as valuable to the Reich as I am… of course I didn’t wait until all the men had left like one of those buffoons of the Heer would have, out of some misdirected sense of honour… I know my worth to the Reich, and I can only serve it if I’m alive.’
‘A fine speech,’ Scheel commented dryly, ‘but one can wonder how valuable you really are right now. Don’t forget, I was the one that pieced together the incantations and procedures for the distillation and resurrection of the elemental salts. What have you achieved lately?’
Durhn wanted to scream ‘I have single-handedly saved the Führer from hypnotic enslavement by an Untermensch criminal, you self-righteous prick!’ but instead he just smiled apologetically. Screaming abuse at the boss had never been a smart career move.
‘Well, I have no definite results to show at the moment, but I have some interesting leads, and from an unexpected source too.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘Let’s take a walk outside, Obersturmbannführer Scheel.’ It was obvious that Duhrn wanted to make absolutely sure they were not overheard. The two SS-officers walked through the castle gates, casting critical glances at the shattered remains of the wooden doors that the enemy commandos had blown as a prelude to their furious assault on the castle. Following the path from the castle into the leafless woods where Duhrn used to run every morning for exercise, Scheel and Duhrn were soon completely alone.
‘Well?’
‘Believe it or not, but once we had the Pre- and Early History Department discontinue their… “research”… of Willigut’s fantasies about an Aryan pre-history, they’ve actually begun to pull their weight. Their latest finding is very interesting; I had them make a geographical correlation between pre-cataclysmic Europe and present day.’
‘Oh? You’re referring to the inter-cataclysmic period, the “Hyborian age”?’
Duhrn nodded. ‘Yes, as you know we’ve had only very sketchy information about that period, just what precious little was left of the Nemedian Chronicles. One of those documents, however, was a map. Well, the geology boffins of the department have tried to match the lay of the land on that map with our time, and come up with some very interesting conclusions.’
Scheel frowned, intrigued but unsure of where Duhrn was going with this. ‘Such as…?’
‘The mountain range that once separated the Hyborian Kingdoms of Aquilonia and Nemedia is still around, although somewhat diminished. We know it as the Schwarzwald in our time.’
‘Oh, and why would that be interesting?’ Scheel wondered with an arched eyebrow.
‘For one reason only, Obersturmbannführer: there’s a passage in the Nemedian Chronicles referring to the wars fought between Aquilonia and Nemedia during the reign of King Conan the Great. First, Nemedia managed to drive the Aquilonian king from his throne with the aid of a resuscitated sorcerer from the fallen Empire of Acheron.’
‘Yes, I remember reading something about that in the translation of the Chronicles. Frankly, I never paid them much attention; they seemed too… fanciful for credibility. Like a good story, nothing more.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, the sorcerer was eventually defeated; King Conan reclaimed his throne and put a puppet on the throne of Nemedia, which remained a vassal of Aquilonia until the fall of the brief Cimmerian dynasty two generations later. Now, the interesting part of this is that according to the Nemedian Chronicles, racially isolated tribes claiming descent from Acheron inhabited the border range. When the sorcerer, going by the name of Xaltotun died again after the final Nemedian defeat, it’s implied that the body was taken care of by these people and presumably buried with the greatest honours, befitting his rank.’
‘In the Schwarzwald, eh?’
‘Exactly. Now, consider the possibilities! Xaltotun was the last and greatest of the Acherionian mage-tyrants, possibly the greatest warlock since the fall of Atlantis! What things could he not teach us if we could find his body and force his secrets from him?’
‘And you think you have a chance at locating the body?’ Scheel said, something wolfish coming over his expression. The things Tess had had to tell were fantastic enough… the mere idea of learning from a sorcerer from before the last cataclysm was mind-boggling.
‘Sir… even those mountains are partially gone. The chances of even finding Xaltotun’s mummy, much less it being intact enough for a resurrection, well they’re slim, to put it conservatively. But suppose that we do? We do have some means not available to mundane researchers, after all…’
Scheel licked his lips. ‘Yes… yes! It’s worth a considerable effort, Duhrn! Well done! Give this your full attention, at least for a while. And report all your findings to me!’
Durhn smiled and gave his superior a crisp military salute. ‘Jawohl, Herr Obersturmbannführer!’
On a train in South Tirol
Kingdom of Italy
November 18th, 1939
Irene exhaled in relief as her train left the Italo-German border behind. Safe. She was back in Italy again, a country that despite the rhetorics of the Duce was still civilised enough that a nun in habit could feel reasonably safe from the authorities.
Her mind was in turmoil from what she had learnt from Hannah Reitsch. The Holy Father had been wrong, Hitler was not the prophesised Lord of Destruction that would rise in the East. Hitler had not even begun the new Great War. Undoubtedly, left to his own devices the German dictator would have plunged Europe into war sooner or later, but the fact of the matter was that he hadn’t. The man responsible for this war and The Lord of Destruction, she was certain of it, was the newly appointed Prime Minister of that new superpower of the Far East, the Pan-Asian Empire. The Lord of Destruction’s name was Fu Manchu.
She shuddered despite the comfortable temperature maintained in the wagon by the train’s heating system. The disaster foretold by Woynych manuscript, by Nostradamus and the ravings of sister Julia, psychic of the Vatican Intelligence was nigh – the Lord of Destruction had risen in the East; how long before Armageddon? How much time did she have left to complete the mission given to her by the dying Pope Pius? She feared it was not enough.
Westphalia, German Reich
November 18th, 1939
Obersturmbannführer Prof. Dieter Scheel and his right hand man, Sturmbanführer Günther Duhrn stood on the triangular courtyard of Wewelsburg, looking with hard faces as workers milled about the ruins of the north tower, clearing away the rubble to make place for reconstruction. Grey clouds formed a solid and depressing canopy, and a cold wind howled between the black ramparts of the castle. Scheel and Duhrn were grateful for their black leather greatcoats, but wished they could have worn something more warming than the usual uniform cap. Winter was coming, but fortunately it had begun to look as if the war would be over before its onset. The news had been preceded by fanfares from Liszt’s “Les Préludes” on the national radio: Paris had been declared an open city by the French government and had fallen to the battered and bloodied but victorious forces of the Wehrmacht early in the afternoon. The French had fought with courage and determination but had not been able to deal with the superior tactics of the Wehrmacht and the crushing preponderance of the Luftwaffe. According to the rumour mill, the new French Premiére, Field Marshall Pétain, had already contacted Berlin with a request for terms. It seemed the war was as good as over.
‘I wonder if we can hope for indemnities from Paris to pay for the damage done to Wewelsburg?’ Scheel wondered aloud, half seriously and half jokingly.
Duhrn snorted. ‘Not impossible, all things considered. We’ve handed the Fransozen their asses – an exorbitant war indemnity, on top of repaying what we gave them after Versailles will be among the first stipulations of the peace treaty. But then, we can hardly set a price on the loss of Tess, can we?’
Scheel nodded glumly and let his bespectacled eyes wander to the south tower, in the dungeon of which the abomination in tortured and twisted flesh that had been Jürgen Tess howled and trashed.
‘No, hardly.’
The resuscitation of Tess had been Scheel’s greatest triumph for Sonderkommando Hex. The loss was doubly bitter to him. He sighed and made a little jump to get the blood flowing.
‘Well, life goes on! You were very lucky to get out of that tower in time, Günther! Nobody left inside survived, right?’
Duhrn nodded. ‘When those French commandos had us pinned inside, I realised we were sitting ducks for a big demolition charge – that’s what I would have done. Fortunately I remembered the secret escape passage, no medieval castle would be complete without it!’ he concluded with a smile.
‘Pity about the men that didn’t make it through in time…’ Scheel added, with certain venom in his voice.
Duhrn shrugged. ‘Yeah, but let’s face it, not one of those grunt guards were anywhere nearly as valuable to the Reich as I am… of course I didn’t wait until all the men had left like one of those buffoons of the Heer would have, out of some misdirected sense of honour… I know my worth to the Reich, and I can only serve it if I’m alive.’
‘A fine speech,’ Scheel commented dryly, ‘but one can wonder how valuable you really are right now. Don’t forget, I was the one that pieced together the incantations and procedures for the distillation and resurrection of the elemental salts. What have you achieved lately?’
Durhn wanted to scream ‘I have single-handedly saved the Führer from hypnotic enslavement by an Untermensch criminal, you self-righteous prick!’ but instead he just smiled apologetically. Screaming abuse at the boss had never been a smart career move.
‘Well, I have no definite results to show at the moment, but I have some interesting leads, and from an unexpected source too.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘Let’s take a walk outside, Obersturmbannführer Scheel.’ It was obvious that Duhrn wanted to make absolutely sure they were not overheard. The two SS-officers walked through the castle gates, casting critical glances at the shattered remains of the wooden doors that the enemy commandos had blown as a prelude to their furious assault on the castle. Following the path from the castle into the leafless woods where Duhrn used to run every morning for exercise, Scheel and Duhrn were soon completely alone.
‘Well?’
‘Believe it or not, but once we had the Pre- and Early History Department discontinue their… “research”… of Willigut’s fantasies about an Aryan pre-history, they’ve actually begun to pull their weight. Their latest finding is very interesting; I had them make a geographical correlation between pre-cataclysmic Europe and present day.’
‘Oh? You’re referring to the inter-cataclysmic period, the “Hyborian age”?’
Duhrn nodded. ‘Yes, as you know we’ve had only very sketchy information about that period, just what precious little was left of the Nemedian Chronicles. One of those documents, however, was a map. Well, the geology boffins of the department have tried to match the lay of the land on that map with our time, and come up with some very interesting conclusions.’
Scheel frowned, intrigued but unsure of where Duhrn was going with this. ‘Such as…?’
‘The mountain range that once separated the Hyborian Kingdoms of Aquilonia and Nemedia is still around, although somewhat diminished. We know it as the Schwarzwald in our time.’
‘Oh, and why would that be interesting?’ Scheel wondered with an arched eyebrow.
‘For one reason only, Obersturmbannführer: there’s a passage in the Nemedian Chronicles referring to the wars fought between Aquilonia and Nemedia during the reign of King Conan the Great. First, Nemedia managed to drive the Aquilonian king from his throne with the aid of a resuscitated sorcerer from the fallen Empire of Acheron.’
‘Yes, I remember reading something about that in the translation of the Chronicles. Frankly, I never paid them much attention; they seemed too… fanciful for credibility. Like a good story, nothing more.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, the sorcerer was eventually defeated; King Conan reclaimed his throne and put a puppet on the throne of Nemedia, which remained a vassal of Aquilonia until the fall of the brief Cimmerian dynasty two generations later. Now, the interesting part of this is that according to the Nemedian Chronicles, racially isolated tribes claiming descent from Acheron inhabited the border range. When the sorcerer, going by the name of Xaltotun died again after the final Nemedian defeat, it’s implied that the body was taken care of by these people and presumably buried with the greatest honours, befitting his rank.’
‘In the Schwarzwald, eh?’
‘Exactly. Now, consider the possibilities! Xaltotun was the last and greatest of the Acherionian mage-tyrants, possibly the greatest warlock since the fall of Atlantis! What things could he not teach us if we could find his body and force his secrets from him?’
‘And you think you have a chance at locating the body?’ Scheel said, something wolfish coming over his expression. The things Tess had had to tell were fantastic enough… the mere idea of learning from a sorcerer from before the last cataclysm was mind-boggling.
‘Sir… even those mountains are partially gone. The chances of even finding Xaltotun’s mummy, much less it being intact enough for a resurrection, well they’re slim, to put it conservatively. But suppose that we do? We do have some means not available to mundane researchers, after all…’
Scheel licked his lips. ‘Yes… yes! It’s worth a considerable effort, Duhrn! Well done! Give this your full attention, at least for a while. And report all your findings to me!’
Durhn smiled and gave his superior a crisp military salute. ‘Jawohl, Herr Obersturmbannführer!’
***
On a train in South Tirol
Kingdom of Italy
November 18th, 1939
Irene exhaled in relief as her train left the Italo-German border behind. Safe. She was back in Italy again, a country that despite the rhetorics of the Duce was still civilised enough that a nun in habit could feel reasonably safe from the authorities.
Her mind was in turmoil from what she had learnt from Hannah Reitsch. The Holy Father had been wrong, Hitler was not the prophesised Lord of Destruction that would rise in the East. Hitler had not even begun the new Great War. Undoubtedly, left to his own devices the German dictator would have plunged Europe into war sooner or later, but the fact of the matter was that he hadn’t. The man responsible for this war and The Lord of Destruction, she was certain of it, was the newly appointed Prime Minister of that new superpower of the Far East, the Pan-Asian Empire. The Lord of Destruction’s name was Fu Manchu.
She shuddered despite the comfortable temperature maintained in the wagon by the train’s heating system. The disaster foretold by Woynych manuscript, by Nostradamus and the ravings of sister Julia, psychic of the Vatican Intelligence was nigh – the Lord of Destruction had risen in the East; how long before Armageddon? How much time did she have left to complete the mission given to her by the dying Pope Pius? She feared it was not enough.
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Xaltotun, eh... Oh bugger... Now I have to read my Conan's too.... Great update again! DW
yet another brilliant update, and i guess i need to dig all my old Conan books and cartoons out of retirement.
Excellent. Good to see Durhn plotting again. Maybe Fu Manchu will find an opponent worthy of his evil genious soon enough.
Yogi, I finally got to finnish reading this thing. Wonderfull, to say the least.
Now I am addicted to two of your aars and none of them are moving much. Oh dear...
But keep up this brilliant mixing pot of culture from the 40s!
Now I am addicted to two of your aars and none of them are moving much. Oh dear...
But keep up this brilliant mixing pot of culture from the 40s!
Thanks for all your comments, and welcome here Nuclear Winter! Glad to have you reading here too (well, only here, right now, but the time of the Eagle & The Lion is coming...)!
According to the history of the world created by Robert E. Howard (and I believe, adopted by Marvel Comics for their entire "Marvel Universe"), there were two great cataclysms which changed the face of the planet - the first lead to the continents of Atlantis and Lemuria sinking in the sea, the second caused the creation of the Mediterranean and the flooding of many other areas too. It was between these two cataclysms that the age of Conan, the "Hyborian Age", took place around 10 000 BC.
elbasto said:
According to the history of the world created by Robert E. Howard (and I believe, adopted by Marvel Comics for their entire "Marvel Universe"), there were two great cataclysms which changed the face of the planet - the first lead to the continents of Atlantis and Lemuria sinking in the sea, the second caused the creation of the Mediterranean and the flooding of many other areas too. It was between these two cataclysms that the age of Conan, the "Hyborian Age", took place around 10 000 BC.
The White House
Washington DC, United States of America
November 19th, 1939
They were five, sitting around a polished wooden conference table that could have accomodated five times their number. It was Sunday, and while they all wore their Sunday suits, there was no festive mood in the White House conference room, rather it was more in tone with the weather. Outside the large windows of the room, painted and papered in light blue and white, a dome of lead bloted out the sun and the blue sky, dispensing instead a drizzling rain on the shivering capital of the United States of America. It was bitterly cold outside. Autumn was nearly over, as the leafless trees could testify too and winter was coming fast.
At the head of the table, President Franklin D. Roosevelt threw a small pile of machine-typed papers on the shining table surface, disgust as clearly evident in the gesture as in every line of his face. ‘I assume I do not need to tell you why I’ve called for this meeting on a Sunday.’
‘It’s been one hell of a week, Mr President, and that’s no joke’, Vice President “Cactus Jack” Gardner muttered. ‘Cordell, I don’t envy you and your boys at the State Department. You must be running around like beheaded chicken right now.’
Cordell Hull, Secretary of State for Roosevelt since his first term, made a face as if he had bitten into a lemon. When he answered, his voice was dripping with bitter sarcasm. ‘Why? Just because the damn Nazis just took Paris and a new hostile Great Power has appeared overnight in Asia? Why would that upset the steady pace of work of the State Department, Mr Vice President?’
There was a snort of laughter from the Secretaries of War and of the Navy, Harry H. Woodring and Charles Edison. But it was bitter too – there was no place for any other kind today, when the President’s foreign policy was falling to pieces around his ears.
‘All right, let’s deal with this mess one thing at a time, see what we can fix and what we’ll have to live with’, the President said, trying to bring some method to bear on the situation. ‘Let’s start with Europe. Harry, what’s your take, does this mean the end of the war?’
Harry Woodring shook his head ruefully. ‘It means the end of France’s participation in it anyway. According to Donovan, the new French Premiér, Pétain, has asked the Germans for terms.’
Roosevelt looked shattered. ‘But… surely they cannot have been so completely defeated? Paris is in the north of the country, after all most of France is still unoccupied. Couldn’t they keep up the fight if they really wanted to?’
Again, Woodring shook his head. ‘Not for long, no. Let’s face it, the French gave all they had in Belgium and by all accounts they put up one hell of a fight. We estimate most German Panzer Divisions are down 30-50% from their pre-war strength. As you might all remember, we were initially very optimistic about their chances, since the Germans did just what the French expected them to do - retry the plan from the last war.’
‘Typical German unimaginative pig-headedness!’ said the President dismissively.
‘Perhaps. Or maybe they were so full of themselves they wanted to emulate the old Romans of the early Republic, who liked to warn their enemies of where and when Rome would attack so that they would know after their defeat that it was inevitable. Whatever the reason, the French Army was ready and waiting for the Boche – they were just not ready for HOW the Boche would fight: the armoured breakthroughs, close support by dive bombers, interdiction by bombers of supply routes… It’s a whole new way to make war. And the French have paid a heavy price – their air force has been all but annihilated and they might have lost as much as half their army in the encirclement battles after the German breakthrough at Brussels. And the British Expeditionary Corps, as you know, was among those formations forced to surrender, so Britain too has lost the cream of her Army.’
‘Well, there was precious little to loose anyway.’ Vice President Gardner objected. ‘Two divisions, that’s not an army, it’s a police force.’
‘They were professional soldiers, Jack.’ Roosevelt objected. ‘The British will miss those men before it’s over. And their loss, added to the fall of France, will have political consequences. Chamberlain’s government is going to fall, and God knows who’ll replace him. Lord Halifax? That could mean a negotiated peace. Or Churchill? If so, Britain will fight to the end.’
‘You’ve got that right, Mr President,’ Woodring agreed. ‘Damn! If only the Belgians hadn’t surrendered so quickly, if only they’ve held Brussels for a few more days…’
‘It’s no use Harry, let it be. OK, France is gone. Do you think the fall of Paris might have shaken Congress enough for them to look the other way while I ignore the Neutrality Act and help the British out?’
There was another round of bitter laughter. “Yeah, when Hell freezes over” was its wordless message.
Roosevelt smiled without mirth. ‘Of course not, how foolish of me. But they can’t very well object to me leasing British bases for our Navy in the Caribbean, can they Charles?’
The Acting Secretary of the Navy, Charles Edison looked perplexed. ‘I guess we could use bases in the Bahamas and the Antillas for anti-submarine patrols. What would we have to pay for them?’
‘I was thinking fifty destroyers would be a quite reasonable price…’ Roosevelt answered, looking perfectly innocent.
Harry Woodring threw back his head and laughed out loud, with genuine humour this time, while Vice President Gardner frowned and Edison looked stricken.
‘Careful, Franklin… One of these days you’ll go to far!’ Gardner warned.
‘But Mr President… Fifty! I… we can’t spare that many!’ protested the horrified Secretary of the Navy. ‘Not with the Pan-Asian Empire drooling over the Philippines!’
‘Which brings us nicely on to the next order of business!’ the President answered, smoothly avoiding any debate over the issue. ‘Cordell, what can we expect of this mismatched union? Will they put their money where they put their mouths? Will they try a land grab and who will be their target?’
Hull shrugged. ‘I… just can’t tell. I’ve spoken with Ambassador Horinouchi, who will now represent the Pan-Asian Empire instead of the Empire of Japan, and he seems as perplexed as we are. I got the distinct impression that he hasn’t received any instructions from the Imperial Government, so he doesn’t know if he should try to gloss over the imperialist rhetorics of the Twin Emperors regarding the European colonies or not. But if we make the safe assumption that they mean what they say, then my guess is that there will be an ultimatum to France demanding Indochina any day. The French will cave in, I believe. They cannot hold it and their citizens there will be defenceless. Then, I’d expect them to turn on the Dutch, because they’re neutral and weak. Britain, it’s possible while they’re busy fighting the Germans, but the Royal Navy is strong and will give them pause. We, I’d say, are last on their list, which doesn’t mean we’re not on it, but our Navy is strong too and we’re not under threat in our homeland. There will be extensive consolidation and a naval build up before we’re in any real danger.’
‘Is the Pan-Asian Empire bound by the Washington Naval Treaty like Japan was?’ Woodring wondered.
‘Oh, I guess they could easily argue that they’re not, if they want to.’ Hull answered with a shrug. ‘But honestly, the treaty hasn’t stopped the Japanese from building whatever caught their fancy.’
‘I actually worry more about what they are able to build than what they are allowed to by that treaty.’ Edison interjected. ‘The Japanese Imperial Navy was able to match us in carriers, light cruisers and submarines. With the industries and resources of China, and apparently soon also Indochina added to those of Japan, I think we might be looking at a new industrial giant here. How many and how big new ships will they have a couple of years from now, say in 1942?’
‘A sobering thought, Charles’, the President conceded. ‘I suspect we never imagined this would come from supporting the Chinese, but… but we had to do something to stem the rise of Fascism!’
‘And look how well that turned out!’ Vice President Gardner said mockingly. Taking in the angry looks he got from the others, he shrugged. ‘Sorry, Franklin, but you know that is what the House will think when you try to push through aid for Britain. This Pan-Asian business has damaged your standing in foreign policy, it can’t be helped.’
‘It’s a completely different situation!’ protested the President. ‘It’s not like Britain is going to join Hitler, form the Anglo-Germanic Empire and invade from Canada, right?’
There was polite laughter at the joke, but it was half-hearted. Who could know what to expect when bitter enemies like Japan and China could unite?
‘All right, Charles, from what both you and Cordell say, it seems we might be in for a naval race with the Pan-Asians. Look into what you think we’ll need to build to match them, and I’ll bring it to the House – somehow, I’ll make them see reason.’
‘Before or after you present them with your bases for destroyers scheme?’ the Vice President asked pointedly.
‘Before, I guess. In politics, timing is everything.’
Washington DC, United States of America
November 19th, 1939
They were five, sitting around a polished wooden conference table that could have accomodated five times their number. It was Sunday, and while they all wore their Sunday suits, there was no festive mood in the White House conference room, rather it was more in tone with the weather. Outside the large windows of the room, painted and papered in light blue and white, a dome of lead bloted out the sun and the blue sky, dispensing instead a drizzling rain on the shivering capital of the United States of America. It was bitterly cold outside. Autumn was nearly over, as the leafless trees could testify too and winter was coming fast.
At the head of the table, President Franklin D. Roosevelt threw a small pile of machine-typed papers on the shining table surface, disgust as clearly evident in the gesture as in every line of his face. ‘I assume I do not need to tell you why I’ve called for this meeting on a Sunday.’
‘It’s been one hell of a week, Mr President, and that’s no joke’, Vice President “Cactus Jack” Gardner muttered. ‘Cordell, I don’t envy you and your boys at the State Department. You must be running around like beheaded chicken right now.’
Cordell Hull, Secretary of State for Roosevelt since his first term, made a face as if he had bitten into a lemon. When he answered, his voice was dripping with bitter sarcasm. ‘Why? Just because the damn Nazis just took Paris and a new hostile Great Power has appeared overnight in Asia? Why would that upset the steady pace of work of the State Department, Mr Vice President?’
There was a snort of laughter from the Secretaries of War and of the Navy, Harry H. Woodring and Charles Edison. But it was bitter too – there was no place for any other kind today, when the President’s foreign policy was falling to pieces around his ears.
‘All right, let’s deal with this mess one thing at a time, see what we can fix and what we’ll have to live with’, the President said, trying to bring some method to bear on the situation. ‘Let’s start with Europe. Harry, what’s your take, does this mean the end of the war?’
Harry Woodring shook his head ruefully. ‘It means the end of France’s participation in it anyway. According to Donovan, the new French Premiér, Pétain, has asked the Germans for terms.’
Roosevelt looked shattered. ‘But… surely they cannot have been so completely defeated? Paris is in the north of the country, after all most of France is still unoccupied. Couldn’t they keep up the fight if they really wanted to?’
Again, Woodring shook his head. ‘Not for long, no. Let’s face it, the French gave all they had in Belgium and by all accounts they put up one hell of a fight. We estimate most German Panzer Divisions are down 30-50% from their pre-war strength. As you might all remember, we were initially very optimistic about their chances, since the Germans did just what the French expected them to do - retry the plan from the last war.’
‘Typical German unimaginative pig-headedness!’ said the President dismissively.
‘Perhaps. Or maybe they were so full of themselves they wanted to emulate the old Romans of the early Republic, who liked to warn their enemies of where and when Rome would attack so that they would know after their defeat that it was inevitable. Whatever the reason, the French Army was ready and waiting for the Boche – they were just not ready for HOW the Boche would fight: the armoured breakthroughs, close support by dive bombers, interdiction by bombers of supply routes… It’s a whole new way to make war. And the French have paid a heavy price – their air force has been all but annihilated and they might have lost as much as half their army in the encirclement battles after the German breakthrough at Brussels. And the British Expeditionary Corps, as you know, was among those formations forced to surrender, so Britain too has lost the cream of her Army.’
‘Well, there was precious little to loose anyway.’ Vice President Gardner objected. ‘Two divisions, that’s not an army, it’s a police force.’
‘They were professional soldiers, Jack.’ Roosevelt objected. ‘The British will miss those men before it’s over. And their loss, added to the fall of France, will have political consequences. Chamberlain’s government is going to fall, and God knows who’ll replace him. Lord Halifax? That could mean a negotiated peace. Or Churchill? If so, Britain will fight to the end.’
‘You’ve got that right, Mr President,’ Woodring agreed. ‘Damn! If only the Belgians hadn’t surrendered so quickly, if only they’ve held Brussels for a few more days…’
‘It’s no use Harry, let it be. OK, France is gone. Do you think the fall of Paris might have shaken Congress enough for them to look the other way while I ignore the Neutrality Act and help the British out?’
There was another round of bitter laughter. “Yeah, when Hell freezes over” was its wordless message.
Roosevelt smiled without mirth. ‘Of course not, how foolish of me. But they can’t very well object to me leasing British bases for our Navy in the Caribbean, can they Charles?’
The Acting Secretary of the Navy, Charles Edison looked perplexed. ‘I guess we could use bases in the Bahamas and the Antillas for anti-submarine patrols. What would we have to pay for them?’
‘I was thinking fifty destroyers would be a quite reasonable price…’ Roosevelt answered, looking perfectly innocent.
Harry Woodring threw back his head and laughed out loud, with genuine humour this time, while Vice President Gardner frowned and Edison looked stricken.
‘Careful, Franklin… One of these days you’ll go to far!’ Gardner warned.
‘But Mr President… Fifty! I… we can’t spare that many!’ protested the horrified Secretary of the Navy. ‘Not with the Pan-Asian Empire drooling over the Philippines!’
‘Which brings us nicely on to the next order of business!’ the President answered, smoothly avoiding any debate over the issue. ‘Cordell, what can we expect of this mismatched union? Will they put their money where they put their mouths? Will they try a land grab and who will be their target?’
Hull shrugged. ‘I… just can’t tell. I’ve spoken with Ambassador Horinouchi, who will now represent the Pan-Asian Empire instead of the Empire of Japan, and he seems as perplexed as we are. I got the distinct impression that he hasn’t received any instructions from the Imperial Government, so he doesn’t know if he should try to gloss over the imperialist rhetorics of the Twin Emperors regarding the European colonies or not. But if we make the safe assumption that they mean what they say, then my guess is that there will be an ultimatum to France demanding Indochina any day. The French will cave in, I believe. They cannot hold it and their citizens there will be defenceless. Then, I’d expect them to turn on the Dutch, because they’re neutral and weak. Britain, it’s possible while they’re busy fighting the Germans, but the Royal Navy is strong and will give them pause. We, I’d say, are last on their list, which doesn’t mean we’re not on it, but our Navy is strong too and we’re not under threat in our homeland. There will be extensive consolidation and a naval build up before we’re in any real danger.’
‘Is the Pan-Asian Empire bound by the Washington Naval Treaty like Japan was?’ Woodring wondered.
‘Oh, I guess they could easily argue that they’re not, if they want to.’ Hull answered with a shrug. ‘But honestly, the treaty hasn’t stopped the Japanese from building whatever caught their fancy.’
‘I actually worry more about what they are able to build than what they are allowed to by that treaty.’ Edison interjected. ‘The Japanese Imperial Navy was able to match us in carriers, light cruisers and submarines. With the industries and resources of China, and apparently soon also Indochina added to those of Japan, I think we might be looking at a new industrial giant here. How many and how big new ships will they have a couple of years from now, say in 1942?’
‘A sobering thought, Charles’, the President conceded. ‘I suspect we never imagined this would come from supporting the Chinese, but… but we had to do something to stem the rise of Fascism!’
‘And look how well that turned out!’ Vice President Gardner said mockingly. Taking in the angry looks he got from the others, he shrugged. ‘Sorry, Franklin, but you know that is what the House will think when you try to push through aid for Britain. This Pan-Asian business has damaged your standing in foreign policy, it can’t be helped.’
‘It’s a completely different situation!’ protested the President. ‘It’s not like Britain is going to join Hitler, form the Anglo-Germanic Empire and invade from Canada, right?’
There was polite laughter at the joke, but it was half-hearted. Who could know what to expect when bitter enemies like Japan and China could unite?
‘All right, Charles, from what both you and Cordell say, it seems we might be in for a naval race with the Pan-Asians. Look into what you think we’ll need to build to match them, and I’ll bring it to the House – somehow, I’ll make them see reason.’
‘Before or after you present them with your bases for destroyers scheme?’ the Vice President asked pointedly.
‘Before, I guess. In politics, timing is everything.’
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