The thought of Australia being torpedoed was a nightmare. The ship was packed tight with men; her own crew, the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry Battalion and some ‘passengers’ that nobody was talking about. She had men sleeping in every open space of the ship. Simply feeding everybody was straining the ship’s facilities to the utmost. Beaumont had his own cooks in the galleys helping out where they could, but with almost 1,600 men on board even that was little more than a gesture. It was going to be a cold, hungry crossing. The mood of his men was such that they preferred that to staying in a country that was suddenly unwelcoming.
They were being unfair and Beaumont knew it. The evidence was literally all around them. The number of men on board wasn’t the only reason why Australia was crowded. The ship was packed with cargo; every square foot appeared to sprout crates, covered and lashed down. Even the gun turrets had packages and parcels stowed in them. Australia was in no condition to fight even a minor warship. When the ship had been stored for her transit across the Atlantic, the Royal Navy had filled her to capacity and beyond.
“You might still be. One of the things I want your men ta do is get every machine gun they can lashed ta the railings in the superstructure. God knows, they’ve got enough of them.” Beaumont snorted; the British Army had equipped his battalion for its return to Canada on the apparent assumption that every Canadian soldier carried both a Bren gun and a Vickers gun in addition to his rifle, pistols and a terrifying number of hand grenades. He’d been quite amazed to discover that his battalion headquarters now included a six-pounder antitank gun. Beaumont would have been prepared to swear that the weapon only existed as a prototype, but one such gun was lashed to the deck amidships and a case of blueprints was stowed in A Turret magazine.
Stewart grinned understandingly. “It’s all right for you; your people just have ta clean them. I’ve got ta worry about carrying them. This poor old girl is loaded so deep, her plimsoll line is completely submerged. We’ve got every round of ammunition we can fit in on board. But we might need those machine guns though. We can outrun submarines, even loaded the way we are; a Condor is a different matter. If they show up, we’ll need that flak.”
“You going home after you drop us off?” Beaumont watched Graemsay Island passing behind them. He felt the shudder as the engines picked up power. He was no seaman, but he could feel the ship was sluggish with the load she was carrying.
“We are, by way of Jamaica. We’re taking some top brass down there for a conference, then heading through the Panama Canal for home. What we do there is anybody’s guess. The rumor mill says patrol duty in the Indian Ocean ta replace Hobart. Who knows? We might get another one of those damned raiders. The boys would like ta get some payback in.”
“Is everything ready?” Lord Linlithgow looked around the room.
“It is.” Sir Eric Haohoa confirmed the fact. “We have had some preliminary discussions with the other Commonwealth representatives and the ground rules have been agreed. The Middle East is our primary area of strategic importance and it is there that our defense investments will be concentrated, in the short term at least. The Hawk 81s will be sent there. The rest of us will have to make do with the Hawk 75s. The same applies to the bombers and the patrol aircraft. We will send whatever equipment is needed to the Middle East and then divide up the rest.”
“And payment for all this equipment?” Nehru had an inbred dislike for spending money on military equipment, no matter how pressing the need appeared to be.
“The ex-British equipment needs not be paid for. The monies for it are held in the United States and we, the Commonwealth countries, inherit it. The ex-French equipment is more difficult. I understand the Americans have refunded the purchase price of that equipment to the French but then impounded the monies. They ‘offered’ to invest the money for the French against the time when the funds would be released, an offer the French couldn’t refuse. The Americans are now ‘investing’ that money by loaning it to us so we can purchase the ex-French aircraft.”
“That’s generous of them.” HH sounded more than slightly sarcastic.
“I suspect not.” Sir Martyn Sharpe had a shrewd idea about what the Americans had in mind. “They intend to ensure that we are dependent on American equipment for our defense and industrial sectors. Already, there are moves by their robber barons to put money into our industrial development programs. A Mister Essington Lewis of Broken Hill Proprietory wants to establish joint ventures for steel production and there are rumors that American capitalists are behind him. It is a clear objective of American government policy to oppose colonialism and break up the great empires. I would say they have seen a major opportunity for them to do just that.”
Sir Eric nodded in agreement. The position of Cabinet Secretary included supervision of the intelligence and security services. One of the things he was doing at the moment was reorganizing both to meet India’s needs. “We believe that is exactly the case. The Americans are playing a deep game here and we’re just pawns. Their primary target is Germany, but dismantling the colonial empires is still something they view with favor.”
“And Halifax opened the door for them.” The Marquess of Linlithgow sounded almost personally aggrieved. “He always disliked the Americans and was prejudiced against them. I cannot help but think that weighed in his calculations when he decided to set upon the course he has chosen. It would be ironic if it was his acts that gave them the opening they seek. It adds all the more emphasis to the importance of the Commonwealth meeting in Jamaica. We must stand together and we must resist American efforts to break us asunder. If we are to go our separate ways, it must be at a time of our own choosing and for our own reasons. How are we going to get to Jamaica?”
“The delegation will fly there, Your Excellency. We will be using the Golden Hind, one of the three Short flying boats that arrived recently. We will be going by way of Cape Town where we will pick up the delegation from South Africa. The Canadians will be arriving by cruiser; the Australians flying in.”
“Very good.” Lord Linlithgow nodded enthusiastically. “That will reflect well on our delegation. Modern image, and all that. Pandit, as a lifelong socialist, you will of course want to ride steerage class on the Golden Hind? As a gesture against privilege and class distinctions?”
Nehru’s jaw dropped with a combination of shock and outrage. He had been smiling happily at the thought of sampling the fabled luxuries of one of the great flying boats that dominated long-range air transportation. Now, the thought of sitting in the cramped steerage compartment for days on end faced him. It was only when he looked around and saw the grins on the face of the other members of the meeting that he realized his leg was being pulled. “But, of course. In fact, I will insist on it. And I will expect you all to join me there.”
There was a ripple of laughter and appreciative applause at the rejoinder. Sir Eric answered gravely, “I am sorry, Pandit, but we will have to refuse your request. There is no steerage class on an S-26. You’ll have to travel first class like the rest of us.”
Nehru shook his head in simulated grief. “Well, in that case, I suppose I will have to sacrifice my principles for the common good. Just this once, you understand. It is a dirty job, but somebody will have to do it.”