"Though peace be made, it is interest that keeps peace."
***
If the man before him was truly his son, the Prime Minister couldn't tell from his appearance alone. The youthful, handsome face of his eldest son had been twisted and refashioned into something far more sinister. This was the face of the enemy, of the Legion of St George and the Britons that marched in step with Hitler's armies. The eyes were cold and the cheeks were hollow, as if John had risen from the grave. He should be in one, by rights. He resolved to stay the judgment of the courts, to circumvent the course of justice instead. May God forgive him his actions, so that I might be forgiven mine.
A wry smile appeared on John's lips as he reached out his arms. "Father! I-..."
"Take a seat," Leo interrupted. The observer that MI5 had sent shot his eyes to John, muttering some vague threat into his ear. The Prime Minister's son complied and took his seat, ever mindful of the armed guard watching over the proceedings. "It has been a long time... far too long."
John's brief return from Spain in the spring of '39, when the war was all but won by Mola's forces, was the last time in Leo's recollections that he'd seen his son. Then, it was off to Berlin to drink and screw his way through the Reich like a black-shirted Byron. The war came next, when father and son were set against each other. Chamberlain resigned and Amery found he was the only man who could speak for England, and so the premiership fell into his lap in the darkest days of 1940.
Had Winston been there... But, Churchill was dead before Hitler had even stepped into the Reichstag.
"Yes, father. But now I'm back! The war is over and the Empire remains." John's father wore an unflinching frown.
"Back? You should be dead, son. If anyone got word of you being here, then we'd both be in the dock for treason." He coughed suddenly, and then continued. "Do... do you understand?"
The young Amery looked over his soldier at his MI5 watchman, his fingers dancing over the grip of his pistol. He turned back and said, "Of course."
Finally, he is using his brain.
"This meeting doesn't exist... and neither do you. You are missing and presumed dead by all official accounts." The words were not easily said; they pained the Prime Minister with every syllable. He wasn't really condemning his son to death, but it amounted to just the same in everyone else's minds. No - this is saving his life, not taking it away.
"There are bodies in the rubble of Berlin waiting to stand in for you, Amery," the agent piped up.
John's head fell into his hands and he let out a sigh of resignation. "Right, well... what is all this for then? Why am I here?"
"To stay alive, son, and serve the Empire." Those words bonded father to son. Both men had believed themselves protectors of Britain and its Empire, and yet their methods were hundreds of miles apart. "That is all we want... and I know that is all you want."
"Father, I... I don't know what to say. I cannot thank you enough." The platitudes continued for a while, without Leo having inserted a word in to elaborate upon his son's service for King and country. Halfway through, he gestured to the agent to vacate his office. Eventually, a lull in John's speech came and the opportunity for the Prime Minister was leapt upon with haste.
"John, you have to understand what this freedom entails."
"I-..."
"You will be working, ostensibly, with MI6. We have a new task now that the real war is beginning, son: a new operation, known as Halberd." His son was struck dumb, unable to vocalise much more than "I" over and over again. Leo produced a brown envelope from his desk's top drawer and placed it on the desk, close to his person and out of his son's reach. "John - this is your chance to live again. I... I need you to take it."
"I will not choose death if my country needs me. I didn't choose it in Germany, and I won't choose it now." A fire burned in his eyes. He means this... he wants this more than anything. The war had changed him beyond all recognition. There was little left of the wide-eyed young man who existed before the war, aside from his loyalty to the Empire. That was, as his defence went, the cornerstone of his decision to raise the Legion of St George and march across the scorched earth of Byelorussia and the Ukraine. The war against Bolshevism, the Prime Minister thought to himself. He was a few years too early. But now, there was the chance. Now, the war that both father and son had warned of for over a decade was rearing its head.
Leo passed the envelope to his son, who studied it carefully.
"You have contacts, correct?”
“Contacts?”
“Men and women, military or otherwise, willing to fight the Soviet menace should Molotov make an… unwise move.” The game the powers had played since Stalin’s heart gave out last year was growing more dangerous by the day. They’ll have the bomb next, and then there’s nothing to stop them. The weight upon his son’s shoulders – a traitor’s shoulders – was unimaginable. The Soviets were poised to take the offensive should a single Western hair slip into their territory, or so the reports from the Berlin underground suggested. Amery might have preferred his son to have died rather than face the nuclear fire. “We have need of them, son.”
“I know people, yes. But they’d never gladly fight for Britain – you’ve spent the past five years savaging their homeland. Do you expect them to obey blindly?” The Prime Minister knew his son was right. He resented the Germans and their war machine, the bloody havoc they caused and the misery they wrought upon God’s chosen people. The real enemy is the East, though. The Soviet territories brushed the isle of Zealand to the north and Venice to the south, a great, red swathe cut out of Europe. The new war terrified Amery, however much he’d foreseen it. Molotov must feel the same.
“I don’t want them to fight for anything. All they must do is hate the Russians more than they hate us. Operation Halberd isn’t concerned with the old allegiances, not anymore.” John leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin over with his fingers. “There is-…”
“I could persuade them. There are men… old SS men who could be persuaded.” The Prime Minister had little doubt they could. They sold their soul to one devil.
He called the guard back in and John was quickly escorted away after a shake of the hand. The Prime Minister slumped back into his chair as fears flooded into his mind. If John was ever found, the family name would be nothing. The legacy of father to son, of Leo to Julian, could be shattered at once by his uncovering. He thought of his younger son and knew that Julian was not meant for their world or the tragedies that may come.
The new world was to be made by men like Leo and John, whose eyes had witnessed horrors and whose convictions were steel. The old qualms had dissipated. This is for the Empire, for Britain... for something greater than ourselves.
We are more alike than he could know.
A wry smile appeared on John's lips as he reached out his arms. "Father! I-..."
"Take a seat," Leo interrupted. The observer that MI5 had sent shot his eyes to John, muttering some vague threat into his ear. The Prime Minister's son complied and took his seat, ever mindful of the armed guard watching over the proceedings. "It has been a long time... far too long."
John's brief return from Spain in the spring of '39, when the war was all but won by Mola's forces, was the last time in Leo's recollections that he'd seen his son. Then, it was off to Berlin to drink and screw his way through the Reich like a black-shirted Byron. The war came next, when father and son were set against each other. Chamberlain resigned and Amery found he was the only man who could speak for England, and so the premiership fell into his lap in the darkest days of 1940.
Had Winston been there... But, Churchill was dead before Hitler had even stepped into the Reichstag.
"Yes, father. But now I'm back! The war is over and the Empire remains." John's father wore an unflinching frown.
"Back? You should be dead, son. If anyone got word of you being here, then we'd both be in the dock for treason." He coughed suddenly, and then continued. "Do... do you understand?"
The young Amery looked over his soldier at his MI5 watchman, his fingers dancing over the grip of his pistol. He turned back and said, "Of course."
Finally, he is using his brain.
"This meeting doesn't exist... and neither do you. You are missing and presumed dead by all official accounts." The words were not easily said; they pained the Prime Minister with every syllable. He wasn't really condemning his son to death, but it amounted to just the same in everyone else's minds. No - this is saving his life, not taking it away.
"There are bodies in the rubble of Berlin waiting to stand in for you, Amery," the agent piped up.
John's head fell into his hands and he let out a sigh of resignation. "Right, well... what is all this for then? Why am I here?"
"To stay alive, son, and serve the Empire." Those words bonded father to son. Both men had believed themselves protectors of Britain and its Empire, and yet their methods were hundreds of miles apart. "That is all we want... and I know that is all you want."
"Father, I... I don't know what to say. I cannot thank you enough." The platitudes continued for a while, without Leo having inserted a word in to elaborate upon his son's service for King and country. Halfway through, he gestured to the agent to vacate his office. Eventually, a lull in John's speech came and the opportunity for the Prime Minister was leapt upon with haste.
"John, you have to understand what this freedom entails."
"I-..."
"You will be working, ostensibly, with MI6. We have a new task now that the real war is beginning, son: a new operation, known as Halberd." His son was struck dumb, unable to vocalise much more than "I" over and over again. Leo produced a brown envelope from his desk's top drawer and placed it on the desk, close to his person and out of his son's reach. "John - this is your chance to live again. I... I need you to take it."
"I will not choose death if my country needs me. I didn't choose it in Germany, and I won't choose it now." A fire burned in his eyes. He means this... he wants this more than anything. The war had changed him beyond all recognition. There was little left of the wide-eyed young man who existed before the war, aside from his loyalty to the Empire. That was, as his defence went, the cornerstone of his decision to raise the Legion of St George and march across the scorched earth of Byelorussia and the Ukraine. The war against Bolshevism, the Prime Minister thought to himself. He was a few years too early. But now, there was the chance. Now, the war that both father and son had warned of for over a decade was rearing its head.
Leo passed the envelope to his son, who studied it carefully.
"You have contacts, correct?”
“Contacts?”
“Men and women, military or otherwise, willing to fight the Soviet menace should Molotov make an… unwise move.” The game the powers had played since Stalin’s heart gave out last year was growing more dangerous by the day. They’ll have the bomb next, and then there’s nothing to stop them. The weight upon his son’s shoulders – a traitor’s shoulders – was unimaginable. The Soviets were poised to take the offensive should a single Western hair slip into their territory, or so the reports from the Berlin underground suggested. Amery might have preferred his son to have died rather than face the nuclear fire. “We have need of them, son.”
“I know people, yes. But they’d never gladly fight for Britain – you’ve spent the past five years savaging their homeland. Do you expect them to obey blindly?” The Prime Minister knew his son was right. He resented the Germans and their war machine, the bloody havoc they caused and the misery they wrought upon God’s chosen people. The real enemy is the East, though. The Soviet territories brushed the isle of Zealand to the north and Venice to the south, a great, red swathe cut out of Europe. The new war terrified Amery, however much he’d foreseen it. Molotov must feel the same.
“I don’t want them to fight for anything. All they must do is hate the Russians more than they hate us. Operation Halberd isn’t concerned with the old allegiances, not anymore.” John leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin over with his fingers. “There is-…”
“I could persuade them. There are men… old SS men who could be persuaded.” The Prime Minister had little doubt they could. They sold their soul to one devil.
He called the guard back in and John was quickly escorted away after a shake of the hand. The Prime Minister slumped back into his chair as fears flooded into his mind. If John was ever found, the family name would be nothing. The legacy of father to son, of Leo to Julian, could be shattered at once by his uncovering. He thought of his younger son and knew that Julian was not meant for their world or the tragedies that may come.
The new world was to be made by men like Leo and John, whose eyes had witnessed horrors and whose convictions were steel. The old qualms had dissipated. This is for the Empire, for Britain... for something greater than ourselves.
We are more alike than he could know.
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