A Mighty Endeavor (34 page)

“What
really
happened. Rod?” Glynn’s father was a senior civil servant in the Jamaican government and it was presumed that the Captain of HMS
Frobisher
had his ear to the ground.

Glynn looked around to make sure nobody other than the Royal Navy Captains were present. “You might not know this, but there’s a lot of discussion been going on about the future out here. Basically, London wants all the West Indies assembled into a federation that can then be given Dominion status. That’s not popular because the rich trading islands believe that they’ll end up subsidizing the poorer fishing ones. Since the existing administration is run by sugar planters and banana merchants, that argument carries a lot of weight. So, there was a Royal Commission appointed to examine the situation and come up with a workable solution.

“Well, they did. The problem is the disparity of development spread across the islands that makes up the West Indies. So, invest money in the development of the poorer islands, bring them up to the standard of the rest and the objections to Federation go away. So, the Royal Commission recommended that a grant of five million pounds a year be made from the Colonial Development Fund for that purpose. Just for good measure, they tossed in an extra half million a year for research into the development of viable industries.

“So far, so good. Only when the results of the Royal Commission were due to be released in the House, Butler announced that the whole report was being kept secret and we were told that the promised funds would only be made available if we stuck to the London line. If we didn’t, we could go and whistle for the money. Of course, that went down like the proverbial lead balloon.”

Glynn shook his head. “You know, if they’d done that quietly and privately, they’d probably have got away with it. But, announcing it in the House? There was no way the planters would allow it. Clem Attlee said just that in the House, of course, and much good it did anybody. Anyway, the West Indies are in, and there’s the funny thing. Those Yanks who are ‘observers’ here? They were last seen heading in to the GGs office.

Governor’s Office, Kingston
,
Jamaica

Henry Morgenthau looked across the polished wood of the great desk, taking in the surroundings that threatened to engulf him. The sheer volume of British historical associations tended to be overwhelming to those not accustomed to them. Sir Arthur Frederick Richards, Governor of Jamaica and now, for want of anybody better-qualified and drawing on the Daventry Message for authority, apparent leader of the West Indies, was fully aware of the impact this office had on visitors. That was why the meeting was being held here. Morgenthau cleared his throat and tried to concentrate on the issue at hand.

“I am empowered to state that the United States of America views with favor the decision by the West Indies, Australia, Canada, India and South Africa to join together in establishing the Sovereign as an international trading currency. I am also authorized, as Secretary of the Treasury, to advise you that that United States will accept the Sovereign in payment of international debts at the exchange rate specified. I am also empowered to state that the United States will no longer be accepting the pound sterling for payment of such debts, except in cases where the value of the pound sterling is expressed in Sovereigns.”

The collective intake of breath that ran around the office was profound. The American decision had given the Dominions an economic weapon they could use against London. Morgenthau looked around at those present and nodded slowly. They got the message.
The pound is dead; all hail the Sovereign. And that is a blow right to the heart of the British Empire.

“We are also prepared to loan your governments adequate funds to purchase necessary defense equipment and make the fundamental changes needed to your economic structures.” Morgenthau looked around again. The response to this was less unified. It didn’t matter much to South Africa and Canada. The former had its gold and precious stone sales to fall back on, while the Canadian economy was linked closely to the United States. India was staggering from day to day, trying to make ends meet and just about managing. It was Australia and New Zealand that were sliding downwards into a severe economic depression the fastest. Morgenthau was already convinced that New Zealand couldn’t survive on its own. Australia? That was less obvious.

“Secretary Stimson has asked if you have come to any agreement on the issue of the ex-British and ex-French aircraft currently in our custody?”

There was a general exchange of glances. Morgenthau got the feeling that a hard battle was going on behind the scenes. Eventually, John Fisher Boyd from Canada took the lead in replying. “Since Canada still faces a submarine threat from Germany, we have first call on the patrol aircraft. The six LB-30s and the Flying Fortresses will be the long-range element of that force. I assume we will be given a discount on one of the Fortresses since it has been--ahem--used?”

“They’re already paid for.” Not having been briefed on exactly how Churchill had been spirited out of Britain, Morgenthau couldn’t understand why Boyd’s comment had been considered so amusing. “And the Hudsons?”

“We believe there are one hundred of them outstanding? Thirty will go to India to replace the old biplanes they are using for coastal patrol and the balance will come to us in Canada. I trust that is agreeable to the United States?”

Morgenthau nodded.

“India will also have first call on the ex-French DB-7s, on the understanding that at least three squadrons of them will be deployed to the Middle East once the squadrons are up and running. Australia has surrendered any claim on them, since they will interfere with production of its own Hudsons and the Beaufort program. Canada has no use for short-range tactical bombers. The Marylands will go to the Middle East Air Force, where their greater range will be of use.”

“And the Hawk 75s?”

“They will be divided between India and Australia, on the understanding that each country will send at least two squadrons to Singapore and Malaya. At the moment, there are insufficient trained pilots for all of them, so a school will be set up in South Africa with the earliest Hawk 75s being sent there.”

“There is another issue which India wishes to raise with the United States.” Pandit Nehru spoke softly, but there was a firm passion in his voice. “We agree that the Middle East must take absolute priority. The revelation of the Noth plan shows that. But India cannot forget it has a back door, and that back door is threatened by a powerful and militaristic Japan. Fortunately, we have an ally who guards that door for us, yet we are alarmed to discover that ally is not well-regarded in your capital. So much so that military equipment, bought and paid-for, remains undelivered. I refer, of course, to the Kingdom of Thailand. We ask you to reconsider your position with regard to our ally, lest you drive it into the hands of Japan and thus leave the back door to my country unlocked and inviting.”

Morgenthau frowned. This wasn’t in the brief he had been given and he didn’t have an answer to hand. “I cannot answer this question at this time. I will consult with Secretaries Hull and Stimson. They will explain to me what our position on this issue is and why it has been adopted. Perhaps we can revisit this issue once those consultations have been completed.”

Buna Field, Kenya

“Just what good are we supposed to be doing out here, anyway?”

Pim Bosede snarled out the question, quite disregarding the superior rank of the officer he was addressing. Fortunately for him, Petrus van Bram overlooked the near-insubordination, not least because he was equally frustrated at the lack of success.

“We are maintaining an air presence. And we are gaining experience that will be put to good use once we get better aircraft.” van Bram reflected that the latter at least was true. The squadron had gained experience and shed many of its old, bad habits. The tight V-formation had gone and the aircraft now flew in loose pairs. The old three flights of six aircraft had been replaced by four flights of four; although the loss of two aircraft had been as responsible for that as any sudden insight into tactical logic.

“And when will that be?” Bosede wasn’t going to be mollified easily.

“Strange you should mention that.”

van Bram had guessed this conversation would be coming up. It was hardly surprising, since the squadron’s operations over the last two months had been one long exercise in futility. The Italian SM.79 and SM.81 bombers were actually faster than the South African Fury fighters, while the few aircraft that the Fury could catch were always heavily escorted by CR.42s.

The same problems affected any effort at offensive air operations. The handful of Blenheims and Ju-86s operated by the South Africans were too fast to be escorted by the Furies but not fast enough to escape interception by the CR.42s. In truth, the existing South African aircraft in Kenya were doing no good at all; it was only Italian inertia that was preventing them from further advances. The news he had now would change all that.

“You said you had experience flying Curtiss aircraft?”

“Travel Air 6000s. Flying mail.”

“That’s close enough. We’ve been told that we’re getting the latest American fighters sent here. Something called a Tomahawk.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Well, you have now. They’re being shipped to Mombasa and assembled there. You and three other pilots from this squadron who have experience with Curtiss aircraft will pick the first four up, get some orientation on them and bring them back here. The brass decided to convert the two Fury squadrons flight by flight, rather than squadron by squadron. Curtiss has sent some Americans over to help you convert. You’ll have a week to get ready. Then we’ll start taking the war to the Italians.”

New Government Buildings, New Delhi, India

There were times when a man’s duty was hard to perceive and times when he had to trust to his own judgment and the voice inside him that said he had to do thus and so, for the good of his soul. For Lieutenant Colonel Pierce Harvey Garry, this was one of those times.

Ever since Sir Richard Cardew had approached him in the Calcutta United Service Club, Colonel Garry had been tom by the belief that what he was doing was fundamentally dishonorable; yet he was also sure that not following the path he had chosen would have appalling consequences for the country he loved and the people he knew. That dichotomy, between what he knew to be right and what he knew to be necessary, had led him to the place and time he occupied now. Just as inexorably, it had led him to the actions that he was about to commit, for better or for worse.

“Pickets are in place. There’s no movement yet.” Captain Shashi Madhav was less uncertain of the rights and wrongs of this issue. To him, India was independent at last; broken away from the British who had ruled the country for so long and standing on its own feet. The regiment was in position to guard that independence and reverse the changes that had been made over the last four months. Had he had his way and followed his heart, the British would have been removed completely from power and sent packing, but he was a hard-headed, realistic man who understood the difference between wishes and practical reality. A transition period was needed to make the transfer of power as smooth as possible. The events that would be taking place here tonight confirmed that. They had shown Madhav something else; his Colonel’s determination to defend the Indian government and, by definition, India’s independence meant that some, at least, of the British were as Indian as he was.

“They’ll be coming down the main road.” Garry’s voice was heavy at the impending tragedy. “In lorries. The plan was for us to open the way for them. Instead, we’ll have to bar it.”

The plan that had been explained to him was quite simple and yet profoundly, irretrievably, flawed. His Third Battalion, 7th Rajputs was assigned to guard the government complex in New Delhi. Instead, they were to secure that complex and await reinforcements from several more regiments that would converge on New Delhi and fortify the area. Sir Richard Cardew would then contact London, secure an appointment as the new Viceroy and take over the administration of India. His first responsibility once his authority was secured would be to arrest the previous Viceroy and his followers. A very simple plan indeed. Its primary flaw was also a very simple one. As any good civil servant would, Cardew had made the presumption that the center of administration, New Delhi, was also the center of power.

It was not. It would be, one day, but here and now, in October 1940, the center of political power still resided in Calcutta, not the nominal capital New Delhi. General Auchinleck had expressed it beautifully. “The idiot is trying to commandeer the train by taking over the dining car.” That, of course, had highlighted the other minor flaw in the plan.

It presumed Garry would do his part by seizing the administrative complex for the mutineers; he was actually wholeheartedly on the side of the existing government and had been keeping their intelligence service under Sir Eric Haohoa fully advised on the situation. Once the mutineers had been committed by their attempt to join the troops they believed would be holding the Administrative Complex, other loyal Indian regiments would be moving to disarm them. Garry shook his head at that. The loyal troops would mostly be Ghurkas, the one force in India the existing government could depend upon without question. There was an age-old rivalry between the Rajputs and the Ghurkas and Garry would have been a lot happier if he could have had his Rajputs gain the honor of putting down the rebellion. Instead they would have to make do with firing the first shots.