Dark Earth: Never Had it So Good

Never Had it So Good Part 16

He was alone. Alone and cold.

It was the woods, but it no longer seemed a charming and inviting place. Instead, the trees loomed up around him, twisted shadows looming through the depths of the night, filled with a thousand baleful eyes all staring at him with hatred and hunger. He tried to run, but could barely move, as if his limbs were trapped in freezing mud and a great invisible pressure bore down on his chest and shoulders. The world spun and spun and spun and the scene disintegrated away like a house torn apart by a silent hurricane.

Now it was the old scene again, the barren moor awash with thick, swirling mist. He still found himself rooted in place as something out there moved languidly on towards him, stretching out the moments in abject terror. He looked around for something to aid him, screaming in his mind for HELP! He could smell the bestial stink as it swelled around him, crushing out breath and senses alike. For a moment, he thought he could hear strange discordant whispers. Hot breath touched his neck and he tried to look away as the mist cleared -

The sound of a horn rang out through the horror, clear and pure and wild, echoing into the distance of this strange realm. Darkness parted and a warm golden light flowed down from the sky above, chasing back with effortless grace whatever foul presence that had been on the verge of taking him. Now the world shone and was good and the horn played on and on and -

Sam sat up with a start, his heart racing at a hundred miles an hour. Another nightmare, and much the same stuff as the other ones. Already, it started to fall from the errant grasp of his memory, chased away by the morning light that shone through the window. Yet still, it left him profoundly disquieted. All the magical machines and elves and songs of wizards were fine enough in daytime, albeit thoroughly confusing and discombobulating, but at night, alone, in the depths of sleep, who knew what else existed in this world? He shivered slightly despite the warmth of the morning.

Rolling out of bed, he put aside his nagging perturbation and prepared to face the day. Only three more of them and then he would be on his way home, if Simon and his ‘friends’ were to be trusted; but, if not them, then who else could help? Walking over to the window, he opened it and looked out over the Bailey’s garden while breathing in the crisp morning air. A small red hat and a tiny hoe bobbed along through the flowers as Nils went about his business and several small birds flitted about from tree to tree, gaily twittering their melodious song. This bucolic vision did much to dispel his earlier mood, although one robin did fix him with a strangely direct gaze from its perch atop a spreading chestnut tree.

A quick refreshing bath completed the transformation and a short time later, Sam strolled into the dining room, which hummed with the usual busy domesticity of excitably babbling children and rattling sounds from the kitchen. Bailey nodded his greetings and set down The Times as Victoria swept in and bid him a bright good morning.

“A bright good morning to you, Sam. Would you care for some tea?”

“Only if it promised to love me for who I am.” The corny line had its intended effect and Victoria gave a short peal of polite laughter as she filled the fine china cup with the amber ambrosia.

“Very droll, old boy, very droll.” Simon folded the newspaper and passed it over to Sam. “I would reply in kind, but there are the children to think of.”

“Shouldn’t they be back at school?”

“Ordinarily, yes. However, given the special circumstances of your unannounced visit, Victoria and I thought it better that they stay back here for the rest of the week. Their headmasters and headmistresses have been most understanding.” His slightly raised eyebrow indicated to Sam that there may have been another reason for keeping the children back at home, but that it was best unsaid in current circumstances. He was becoming exceptionally adroit at eyebrow reading of late.

“Isn’t it simply super?” exclaimed Richard, his eyes bright with excitement. “An extra week of holidays and we get to go to the fair!”

“I know! Imagine who might be there! There could be witches or goblins or smugglers or spies!” Elizabeth was similarly enthusiastic, setting aside her half-buttered toast.

“Lor lummy! You really think there will be smuggler wizards and goblin spies?” Susan squeaked with wide open eyes.

“More likely the same old talking horses, merry-go-rounds, sickly fairy floss and whatever else they manage to pack on that rickety carnival train.” Simon quipped drily, sipping his tea.

“Oh, Father!” chorused the children in good-natured exasperation at his injection of cynical reality into their morning fantasy, before settling back into their breakfast and general chatter about what fun was to be had on this fortuitous holiday.

Piling his plate with the excellent provender, Sam turned his attention to the newspaper. The main story on the front page was full of effusive praise for the success of President Kennedy’s state visit, praising his youthful energy and admiringly quoting his words that ‘the destinies of the United States and Britain are inextricably intertwined; in times of peace just as in times of peril, blood is thicker than water.’ There was apparently new impetus towards a proposed atomic test moratorium, although the offhand mention of the three members of the ‘100 Megaton Club’ sent a chill down Sam’s spine. A fair bit seemed to be happening on the military front, with a parade of the Red Army through the streets of Warsaw having displayed several new curious vehicles and missiles and a pair of Royal Air Force helicopters had rescued a group of German schoolchildren from a sinking ship in the North Sea. Japan’s Prime Minister had insisted that his nation’s military build-up was entirely defensive at the launch of a new aircraft carrier at Kobe. The Kirov Ballet was to begin a series of performances in Paris and a young Belgian detective had discovered a sunken treasure of gold bars in the Aegean. South Africa was enjoying a wave of tourism due to the Cape Town World Fair, Spanish wizards had developed something called a luminous farristroph and a spokesgnome in Zurich announced that the release of annual League of Nations economic statistics would be delayed after an unspecified fondue incident. A final short piece about the anniversary of the Dunkirk evacuation struck him as being distinctly different from what he remembered of the operation.

“I thought Dynamo was all over by June 4th.”

“Not quite, old boy, you must be thinking about one of the other evacuation operations.” replied Simon with a knowing flash of his eyes. “We knocked the Jerries back to the Yser after the beginning of the second half of the Battle of France, but lost a lot of our heavies and Dreadnoughts in the process. Churchill and the War Office decided to start evacuating the troops from Dunkirk and the Channel ports on May 28th and we got them off by June 6th. My brother Jonathan was in the RAF back then, flying Spitfires. He said the sight of it all down below was like nothing he had ever seen before – the Thousand Little Ships, of course, the hundreds of vessels of the Channel Fleet and the Army they came to bring home. They were sending over everything that could float, including old Great War battlewagons and ironclads. He lost a lot of mates over Dunkirk, but it was worth it.” Bailey stood up and went to look out of the window, seeming to brush at some dust in his eye. After a few moments, he returned to the table, having set aside his momentary reverie and his upper lip having resumed its usual stiff and seemly posture.

“Interesting to see Japan building up carriers so soon after the war.”

“I can imagine that would be of particular relevance to an Australian. As you know,” Simon slipped in a lightning quick wink “they’ve been rearming since the beginning of the war in Korea all those years ago in reaction to the Russians and Chinese, but Nippon has really hit its straps in the last few years under Akira Tanaka, the ‘New Shogun’ as some rather creative Fleet Street types have dubbed him. He always says that ‘there can be no prosperity without security’, whether it is regarding carriers, capital ships, aircraft or guided weapons.”

“They can afford a fair bit with their economic miracle, then?” Sam hazarded a guess, remembering what bits and pieces he knew about Japan.

“Most certainly! Initially, that made the Yanks and then us extremely happy, as they were a magnificent market for surplus and new equipment. They’re reaching where Germany was a few years ago with their own domestic land, sea and air designs, although the export restriction stops them from really hitting their straps. But the political will and determination to push through with a less-than-popular policy like full rearmament…that’s the biggest factor. He’s a great man, Tanaka; he’s done more than any other single figure to hold the Pacific Treaty states together.”

“You admire him?”

“In a way. I met him a few years ago when I was out in the Orient for work. He’s as inscrutable and ferociously driven as most of his type, but he has a very droll sense of humour. But I know, I know. The Japs are a big concern for your lot and the Kiwis down in the South Pacific as they spread their wings once again. No wonder Menzies got the funding for your submarine program through. Better to have them on our side this time.”

Sam decided to become acquainted with some toast soldiers and a soft-boiled egg and their friendship with his mouth was becoming most amiable when the musical chime of the front doorbell disturbed the regular business of the morning.

“Whoever could that be at this time of morning?” wondered Victoria aloud.

“I really don’t have the foggiest, dearest. It is a bit early for any social callers.”

Lucy came to the door and bobbed her head lightly. “Excuse me, sir, ma’am. A Master Stronghammer is here to see you.”

Bailey leapt up from his seat in excitement. “Well, show him in by all means! This is a wonderful surprise!”

Within a moment, Lucy had returned with a short, heavily muscled figure with a resplendent flowing brown beard that ended in an elaborate braid. He wore an intricate necklace of iron chains over a long crimson velvet jacket that stretched halfway down his stocky legs to his black leather boots. An old scar ran across the left hand side of his weathered forehead, giving a slightly ferocious cast to his generally friendly visage and his sparkling silver-blue eyes. He held a battered bowler hat in his gnarled hands and fumbled with it awkwardly as he gave a bow of welcome. Sam didn’t need too much thought to work out that their new arrival was most definitely a dwarf.

“As I live and breath, Torgin Stronghammer. An enormous pleasure to see you, old comrade!”

“The pleasure is all mine, Bailey. Mrs. Bailey, honoured as ever.” He gave a somewhat surprisingly shy wave to the children, who were enraptured by their unexpected visitor.

“Thank you, Torgin.”

“May I introduce you to Sam Johnson? Sam, this is Brigadier Torgin Stronghammer, formerly of Her Majesty’s Royal Dwarven Mountain Corps and now on secondment to the Foreign Office.”

“Pleased to meet you, Master Johnson. Simon, someone down at your office in London asked me to drop by and pass along a message next time I was passing through on my way up north. As luck would have it, I found myself heading up to Scotland this morning with some packages for the clan.” He beamed meaningfully, a somewhat terrifying sight.

“Very kind of you. Let’s go through to my study. If you will excuse us momentarily, my dear; this shan’t take a tick. Sam, will you join us, please?”

They walked through to the relative privacy of Bailey’s study, where none but the disapproving stare of a stuffed owl could overhear their counsel. All the same, Simon made sure to check that the window was firmly closed before turning about and nodding to Torgin.

“Very good. The scuttlebutt out of Stockholm is filtering down fairly quickly and it doesn’t look peachy, despite the lauding in the papers and public. The Russians made an offer to accept a reversion of sorts to the old situation for Germany, with only a few predictable conditions, such as Berlin remaining without its own bomb and some easily bypassed force caps. We know there is something more to it, they know that we know and we know they know we know, but everyone is pretending they aren’t in the know.”

“Quite true, old boy, but you wouldn’t have come up here to tell me something as straightforward enough as that.”

“Of course. Our lords and masters seem to believe that mayhap there is something else at play, and that both you and Master Johnson might be able to help. One of our agents in Siberia transmitted this image last night.” The dwarf drew forth a tan envelope and extracted a black and white photograph from inside. “We would be particularly interested as to what this might be.”

It was a rough image of a compact tank with a medium silhouette, a large gun and a profile that Sam found somehow familiar. A number of soldiers and civilians stood next to it, providing some sense of scale. It looked like a cross between a T-64 and something else, considerably different in size, based on the size of the crew and onlookers. The turret looked noticeably larger than the T-64, both in the gun and the amount of armour.

“This is a completely different one, Torgin, although it does bear a resemblance to the pictures I saw last year of what was thought was the new Soviet beast. That definitely looks like a 130mm gun at the very least. Looking at the size, that should be a 50 tonner at least. Remind you of anything at your end, Sam?”

“…To be honest, it looks like a cross between the Russian T-64 and a German-American tank project of the 1960s, the MBT-70.”

“Curious. Quite curious. The Germans and the Yanks have been getting gradually closer over the last few years, but nowhere near to that level, from what we know.”

Torgin walked over to look out the window for a long moment. “This puts another twist in the game, Simon, beyond our ken.” He finally spoke quietly yet deliberately. “At least three men died getting that out to us on the Afghan border. I’m not sure what it means yet, but…I’ve taken up far too much of your morning on a fruitless errand, Bailey. I will leave you now. May your blade ever be strong.”

“As strong as the roots of the mountain realm, my friend.”

Torgin nodded sternly and raised his hand in farewell to Sam as he walked out of the study. Simon sat back on the corner of his desk and tented his fingers in thought.

“Well, well. A strange new tank is always a different way to start the day. The Russians were supposed to be moving away from the idea of heavies, although there have been some indications that they see a need to batter through the Berlin Wall.”

“Wait – Berlin Wall?”

“Yes, it is the semi-formal name of the defensive lines the Germans have been building up around Berlin what with the Red Army only being a hundred miles away across the Oder. It often gets a bit of attention as a symbol of freedom and democracy in the New Germany on the newsreels and television; I think President Kennedy is supposed to visit it and give a speech in a few days.”

Sam tried unsuccessfully to not let his surprise show, but to no avail.

“Bit of a difference for you, no doubt. I know the feeling. Two new tanks. Dear me. This could change the correlation of forces on the ground in Europe slightly, as the Reds are often want to say. But not so much as old Stronghammer and his lads down in the Circus would think it. If the Russians are good at anything, it is concealments and playing at being those jolly dolls of theirs.”

“Maskirovka?”

“Exactly. They know how to play a long game on their side of the Iron Wall, but they aren’t the only ones. Anyway, Sam, it is nothing that can’t wait until we finish breakfast. After that, you might have to excuse me for a little while; I dare say I might need to put together my thoughts on this and send them down to the office. I’m sure you’ll find something interesting in the library to keep you occupied. After that, we must be off out hunting and gathering.”

“I take it you don’t mean cladding ourselves in animal skins, scavenging desperately for leaves and berries and slinging a bone spear into the hindquarters of an outraged mammoth?”

“Of course not; this isn’t Lancashire. Victoria has ordered in a few bits and pieces for a little dinner we had planned later in the week that have arrived and we need to pick up some more supplies to cater for the extended presence of the voracious child-beasts. It will be a little adventure for you.”

“Sorry to break it to you, Simon, but I have been food shopping before.”

“Really? You’ve got one over on me there. Victoria, Lucy and Mrs. Beaton mostly handle that sort of thing, not that there is a great call for it; the milkman, butcher, bakery, greengrocer, fishmonger and the nutter cater for what we need that we can’t get out of the garden.”

“Don’t you think it would be more efficient to have all of those different shops together in one place?”

“Like a supermarket? They have them over in America from what I remember. I don’t believe it will ever catch on here; self-service isn’t the way of the future, mark my words.”

Sam turned up his hands in mock agreement, unsuccessfully attempting to suppress a grin at the sheer incongruity of this strange world.
“Glad to see you agree. Now, speaking of scavenging, I’m going to try and rescue a couple of the last rashers of bacon from the ravenous claws of my beloved offspring.”

Bailey was only slightly exaggerating the confluence of the extent of the children’s appetite and the remains of breakfast and Sam counted himself decidedly lucky to snare half a sausage and a forlorn tomato from the detritus of their repast. Nonetheless replete, he retired from the crash of washing dishes and the unceasing shrieks and chatter of the young to the relative sanctuary of the library, whereupon he settled in one of the easy chairs and began flipping through a couple of choice tomes.

The first, 20,000 Islands: The New East Indies, was a fascinating yet disturbing little monograph on the emergence of Indonesia since independence. It seemed that here, it was distinctly closer to the orbit of the Soviet Union, and the author’s lurid descriptions of masses of modern military hardware put what he had gleaned elsewhere about British and Commonwealth presence in Malaya and Singapore into a clearer, more sobering light. Australia, his erstwhile home, was positioned very much on the front line of the Cold War in South East Asia and he sensed that the offhand reference to its atomic stockpile was not the only surprise in that direction.

Sunrise on the Dark Continent, an appraisal of the future of Africa in the 1960s and beyond, was less worrying, but contained a lot of jarring information that sent his mind flying about – there were different names of countries, peoples and landmarks, which was to be expected, but the dinosaurs, lizardmen, sub-Saharan pyramids, lost civilisations and Zulu armies were not quite what he was expecting. Virtually all of the continent still lay under colonial rule, but from the author’s tone, it seemed that this was not perceived as a long-lasting state of affairs. The section on ‘White Africa’ stuck in his craw, but there didn’t seem to be any mention of apartheid and, at least on paper, South Africa, Rhodesia and Kenya were described as democratic states.

‘He who holds Africa will control the world.’ The final stark line of the book made its import clear.

Facing it was a picture that Sam was familiar with – a mighty figure, bestride the entire continent from Cape to Cairo.

“Ah, the Rhodes Colossus! Jolly spiffing picture, that is!”

He, like other wartime carrier aviators, would be among the first recalled for the renewed IJN.

Quite naturally, given continued IJN service.

Yes, although their aircraft firms are working on adapted designs, their current carrier air wings are based around licensed production of the Tiger and Skyhawk.

Well then some of them have to join the 1,000 megaton club if that is possible.

stevep i think you quoted you entire post.

Yep much better.