Dark Earth: A New Jerusalem

A New Jerusalem Part 20

Chequers
December 30th 1964

“And so that was Christmas. And what have we done? The first few months over and a new year almost begun.”

“Yes, Prime Minister?”

“Just a thought, Richard, just a thought. We’ve only just started, but it seems like we’ve made no headway whatsoever.”

“Even grand designs have humble beginnings, PM.”

“Aye. It will need a good year or more to really see the results of what we’re doing, but we’ll gather pace as we go. You’ve seen our rockets. They barely seem to be moving after they lift off, but within a minute or so, they’re blasting faster than a speeding bullet.” The third man in the room spoke gruffly as he swirled his scotch in its glass. David Seabridge was the closest thing to a friend that Stanley Barton had and even then the man was sometimes just unreadable.

Barton shook his head tersely and stood up from his chair, pacing across to the talk windows that looked out from the well appointed drawing room onto the nightscape of the estate. It was cold without, and there would be snow, but the fire kept them quite warm, along with that curious golden ring with the ruby that the strange old professor had insisted he keep in his pocket.

“I don’t mean that. Both defence and industry will take their time, as we’ve known. Setting the big changes in train will show results in due course. I’m not talking about what we can’t change in the short term. It is just that we hurled all the slings and arrows at the Tories for their inaction, their lack of dynamism and we don’t have a big win to show for the first stretch.”

“I see. Do we really need one, Prime Minister?”

“Well, no…and yes. Perception is the key, Richard, perception. If we can be perceived as being in the same rank as the Soviets and the Americans, it will help immeasurably. What we do in the quiet and behind closed doors is what counts, but we need to be seen to win. Even the Belgians are getting more notice than us at the moment!”

“True enough, although it is their former colony.”

“And our present and future interest.”

“Well, the German trip in the new year will make for a moment in the sun.”

Barton nodded at this. He would be the first British leader since Chamberlain to formally visit Germany, at least while it was a state in its own right again. Getting the old enemy, or the new old enemy more properly, onside with Britain’s European policy would be the type of sign of leadership that was so desirable. The Jerries were keen to come in from the cold, as it were, and they were both literally and figuratively at the heart of the conundrum of the Continent. Moscow’s very real threat provided some degree of unity of direction, but the next step was one of unity of policy and vision.

“You’re right. Germany could be handy, both in the outcome and the world perception of it.”

“You never seemed to be concerned about these things before, Stanley. Substance before polish, that was the watchword.”

“I wasn’t Prime Minister then, David. I am now. The role brings its own concerns and realisations with it.” Some of them beyond top secret…

“Point made. You think we can get them to bite?”

“Perhaps. We can offer then what they want - normalisation of trade and more importantly, normalisation of relations. They want to put the past behind them and it is time enough for that. It’s simpler than that, really. It is time for Europe to shrug off what is left of the war.”

It was a time for change, a time for a renewed Continent. Not the vainglorious Monetist dreams of a unified Europe or other such nonsense. Those had died a lonely death in the ditch of intractable Franco-German and Italo-Spanish enmity, Austrian identity and bit of clever British work behind the scenes, to the disappointment of Washington, but there were other, better dreams closer to the confluence of their mutual interests. The bickering powers of Europe, once Great, may not like each other, but they could work towards some measure of amity and comity - a Europe of nations, as it were.

The key would be Germany, the central economic, industrial and political engine room of the Continent’s incipient power and potential. Helped to reach the right degree of rapprochement with the Low Countries and Scandinavia on the right terms, she could stand as the first piece in the puzzle and France would be drawn in by the logic of trade and strategic gravity. Left to her own designs, and with a sea change from Austria-Hungary, then a German dominated bloc in the fulcrum of power would be irresistible. Indeed, that particular Teutonic combination was seen as perhaps the only potential ‘superpower’ challenge to Britain on the Continent by virtue of its near three hundred millions, huge resources, military might and sheer industrial heft. No, it was safer to have Germany moving on a path parallel to British interests, far safer.

He viewed the policy as sensible and worth pursuing, at least to secure and make safe that strategic space across the Channel. If other matters proceeded well, then a Western European sphere of influence could be added to their others in India, Africa, Australasia, the Middle East and South America. That would make the other tasks easier in their course, should they come. Divide and conquer was the old siren call from last century and before; now was a different age.

And if it didn’t work, then there was the sea, always the sea, and beyond it, the Empire. The French and Americans also had their designs, but like the latter, Britain was not quite limited to the Continent alone. In any case, even if the gambit of Europe failed, then they would have the sea. On it and over it and under it and through it, they would drive trade, trade, trade, that lifeblood of Britannia’s reign o’er the waves. That trade would make England a sceptred isle again and not just in the flourishes of verse. That was the first step in the long march towards…

“Penny for them, PM?”

“Keep your coins, Richard. I was thinking. Just thinking, that’s all. The time is coming when we’ll be done with thinking and can move to the doing. We’ll get the first impact on growth within a year, then comes the time for action.”

“Within reason, Stanley. Memento minoritas - remember, Prime Minister, that thou hast a minority government and have to keep the Liberals onside.”

“Not very likely that I’ll forget. Their right wing is our succour and support in the worst case for now and also one of the Big Four targets for the next election.” Barton grimaced at that particular task. To win a true majority, they’d need to cut into the Liberal heartlands in the Midlands, take the key southern cities from the Tories, rip out the Socialists from the East End and turn over two dozen seats in Ireland; a hefty task, but one that would be necessary for Labour to truly govern.

“Lucky for us that they support the very means we’ll use to beat them, as necessary. Growth and Security made for the right mix this time around.” Seabridge, as Party Chairman, had been just as responsible for the manifesto and overall direction that had bought them this far, so felt more than a smidgeon of justified pride in it.

“It’s up to us to keep the country working and heading up. That’s the way we’ll beat the other side.”

“The Tories?”

“No, Richard. The Reds.”

“We’ve got our work cut out for us there, PM, even though I know we can do it. All of our economic intel points towards them pulling away for the foreseeable future and that gives their forces a big boost.”

“But we can catch the devils, no matter their advantage! I saw Eric Liddell run once, back in the 20s.” Seabridge leaned forward, warming to his own story. “It was at a meet against the Frogs in a 400. He fell early in the piece and it looked all gone, but not for him, by God! He made up a good twenty metre gap and beat the all. It was never over with him, you see -“

“-Until his head was back, yes. You’ve mentioned that just a few times before, David. I like the comparison between our country and a man like that; I’ll let him know next time I speak to him.”

“David is right, PM. With the right momentum, we can do it. We’ve just got to make it through the next ten years of this war first, is all. It is as dangerous as the last two, all things considered.

“You’re right, chaps. Now, I think it is almost time to call it a night; I don’t fancy keeping Mary waiting ‘til all hours yet again.”

Pendragon and Seabridge made their farewells and left the Prime Minister alone to contemplate the dying embers of the fireplace.

Richard had been wrong, he thought.

The current war, regardless of any momentary flaws, was far more dangerous than the first two world wars. Then, threats had been measured in weeks and months and most of the battles had been fought far from home. Now, the enemy could attack every heartland of the Empire within the first hours and deal such dreadful damage as to break the back of its warmaking capacity. The efforts currently underway to counter that offensive threat with a new shield would take much time and much treasure, but that was infinitely better than much blood and much ruin. Until such time, Britain's aegis was the sure and certain knowledge of her response, distributed as it was around the world beyond the reach of one single fell blow. Yet at the same time, this inherently dangerous and unstable world was in itself a perversely stabilising one, with the presence of the Sword of Damocles above every nation, East and West. The shadow of the atom provided for decidedly more circumspection when it came to international adventures, risk and aggression, as did the knowledge that few secrets could be kept from the ever-present and ever-watchful eyes high above.

For all of the threat of sudden Armageddon, there was a profound sense of being able to recognise the steps that would lead mankind towards a last fateful midnight. No longer would nations be blind to a sudden blow without all warning, as the very nature of the complex steps that would take a modern superpower towards war were unmistakable. It would take a dereliction of duty bordering on catastrophic willful blindness to ignore the signs and Barton was sure that neither he nor any honourable, sound leader would do so. No, what it came down to was time, but an unclear notion of it. So they must dwell as they did in this strange greyness, this cold half-life between peace and destruction where armies and fleets must stand ever ready should tomorrow be another 1956, another 1939 or even another 1914. So much of the Empire's wealth was sunk into the dark engines of war and the preparations for the unthinkable, yet this was an insurance against the worst of all cases. By standing armed and ready, war was not only less and less likely, but the path of preparation should the alarum ring out much, much clearer. Such was the calculus of destruction in these last days of this year of our Lord 1964 - as rational as an unthinking machine and as obscene as cancer.

How long did they have? There seemed to be no war likely in the immediate future, but there also seemed to be no likelihood of peace. Ten years. A decade. That is what the generals and admirals, the spies and the wizards and all the terrible thinkers had agreed upon. The Ten Year Rule, they called it - the principle that the British Empire was at most ten years away from a great war. This had driven British strategic planning since the last war, even as it had been proved wrong in Korea and right in Egypt. It was an awesome and terrible thought that the youngest of his sons would not see his twelfth summer come in happiness and innocence before the dark powers of destruction unleashed by science, unleashed by ignorance, unleashed by mistrust engulfed all of humanity, black and white, East and West, in that final planned or accidental end.

Both awesome and terrible, yea, but not certain.

For there was another option and another hope.

Victory.

Not the victory of rolling tanks into Red Square as they had come into Berlin, back at the beginning of his journey, although that could not be ruled out. Not the victory of the last smouldering remnant standing from a world gone mad, although they had to prepare to be that should the day come. This victory he sought was far greater and far better. They would bury the enemy not in fire and death, not in blood and iron, but in freedom and in science, in faith and in progress. Britain could be comfortable for a brief flickering time and fade away into decline and fall, into the ignominious irrelevancy of those who once were warriors and adventurers and were now mere echoes of a long forgotten music of hope and glory, into a time when even the largesse of self-satisfaction was long-lost, or it could choose another path.

It could set aside the ease of green pastures and still waters to tread the steep and rugged pathway of destiny, of trial and of greatness. The cost was far, far greater, but it was a challenge and a crusade that Stanley Barton believed could not and should not be shirked. His Grand Design was the first step towards that goal of a renewed and proud Great Britain at the head of an ever greater Empire, both here on Earth and beyond, in the stars. Dominion would give power and they could use it, beating down that bastion of wickedness, the Iron Wall, and the empire of evil that lay enslaved beyond it. Simple was his plan, yet even simplicity conceals endless layers of inner complexity. He planned to do what his counterpart across the Atlantic spoke of - end disease, end poverty and end war itself. This would take great wealth and great power, with both driving the march of unity towards great change. It was a grand and difficult journey, but he was determined, utterly determined, to persuade, inspire and lead the people, the nation and the Empire towards their rendezvous with destiny, the reason for the rise of the last five centuries. Defeat the foe without fighting now, and not just the Empire alone could look towards the broad, sunlit uplands of peace and prosperity, but the entire world.

In this, all men would have the equal chance to share in the common wealth, to truly share in the peace, prosperity and freedom of a better world. It was not just for England that he fought, but for all mankind.

Stanley Barton looked out of his window upon the silent blackness of the night sky. Nary a sound broke through the thick glass and it seemed as if they were for a moment adrift in the timeless expanse of space. Yet even as it seemed such, a single light broke into being, sparkling alone yet hopeful in the distance, against the immensity of the darkness. A light on the hill. Fitting it seemed, for the beginnings of this New Jerusalem.

He turned to the table and picked up the telephone.

"Jenkins? Get onto the Ministry of Space. Tell them it is a go. Launch the Dreadnought."

Have a look at the timeline for 1965, 1966, 1967 and 1968. It’s all there.

The short answer is not quite and not yet.

HM first visited West Germany in 1965 in @. Given that there is an even frostier relationship, I can’t see that happening earlier here.

Naturally. A State visit is still an act of state, after all.

Well wonder what they want.

Socialist and Radicals, that is a nice combination.