The quietness was neutrally deferential.
“It is My intention to locate My family close to the seat of Parliament in Oxford. Plans are afoot to this end at Blenheim Palace at Woodstock. Much of that estate is in use by the Ministry of Defence but one wing of the great house is being readied to receive myself, my children and the Queen Mother. Prince Philip will join us when he is fit enough to withstand the journey.”
The Queen glanced to Margaret Thatcher as if to say ‘one more thing and I will surrender the floor to you’.
“Please take me at my word when I say that I am fully cognisant of the uneasy constitutional role I have been required to fulfil in this crisis. My primary concern in moving from Scotland to be near My Parliament is to be closer to the representatives of My People. The Sovereign cannot and should not be aloof in times such as these.”
This said the diminutive woman took a chair and her Prime Minister stepped forward.
“Your Majesty, ladies and gentlemen,” Margaret Thatcher began, sparing a moment to flash a tight-lipped smile at Enoch Powell, “in normal times I would have been required to account for my actions before the House of Commons several times by now at Prime Minister’s Questions. Until that institution is restored I propose regular sessions such as this. While the format and protocol of PMQs is neither appropriate nor workable in the current circumstances I hope this will go some way to discharging my responsibility to communicate with the elected representatives of our People. It will also serve to better inform you, and I, in our future private and or, public dealings. Some matters of State are rightly secret; but most need not be. That will be my guiding principle in our discourse.”
Enoch Powell made as if to speak. He remained silent, waved away his partially formed, unspoken objection with his good hand.
“These are grave times,” Margaret Thatcher declared, setting her face against adversity and becoming the living embodiment of her alto ego, the Angry Widow.
“You may have heard of a sinister and mendacious movement known as Red Dawn.”
Everybody had heard that expression, it was like a curse that no amount of secrecy, D Notices or misinformation could crush.
“It is the unanimous opinion of the Chiefs of Staff Committee that all our Crown Colonies and Possessions in the Mediterranean, and all the territories of our remaining friends and of the neutrals alike in that part of the World, are threatened by hostile forces which survived the October War.”
She let this sink in.
“Admiral,” she went on, the Commander-in-Chief of All British and Commonwealth Forces in the Mediterranean Theatre had been promoted full Admiral, retrospectively effective as of 1st February, “Sir Julian Christopher anticipates that the Island of Cyprus will be invaded shortly. Given that Crete already appears to be in the hands of Red Dawn, as is the entire Aegean Basin, and that Greece, notwithstanding pockets of determined resistance — will surely fall in the next few hours or days, the strategic outlook in the Eastern Mediterranean is bleak. It might be that Red Dawn’s immediate objectives are the subjugation of Greece and the southern Balkans, and the capture of Cyprus. It is more likely, given the way Red Dawn seems to operate and the naval forces — mostly former Soviet — that we have detected exercising in the Sea of Crete and elsewhere, that Yugoslavia and Italy, and inevitably, Malta will be the next targets.”
“Forgive me, Prime Minister,” Enoch Powell interjected. “Surely we must hold Cyprus as a bulwark against further Red Dawn adventures in Asia Minor and the Levant?”
Margaret Thatcher shook her head.
“We cannot hold Cyprus, Mr Powell. Anymore than we could hold Crete in the Second War. If we had the active support of other countries in the region, as opposed to the wary neutrality of the Lebanese, the Syrians, the Israelis, and even the Jordanians, we might have some hope of mounting a meaningful defence of Cyprus. Frankly, we are too weak to be strong everywhere. Operation Manna saved our people from starvation and the worst ravages of the winter; but only at the price of exhausting the Fleet and scattering our men and resources across the Commonwealth. The cream of our offensive ground forces was destroyed in Germany in the October War, ever since the war the Home Army has been distracted in Ulster, or committed to supporting the Police, or guarding vital national assets like power stations, ports and communication hubs. Every spare man we have, the equivalent to perhaps ten front line infantry battalions has been sent to the Mediterranean. Every available ship that is in any sense fit to fight has been sent, or is even now departing for Gibraltar or Malta. Likewise, several of our surviving V-Bombers have been transferred to Gibraltar and Malta. However, we cannot be strong everywhere and Sir Julian Christopher refuses to reinforce an untenable situation on Cyprus. In the next few hours HMS Blake will sail from Limassol carrying away the thirty-eight nuclear warheads previous held at the CENTO storage facility at RAF Akrotiri. The majority of the aircraft based at Akrotiri and their support personnel have already been evacuated to Malta and Egypt.” She quirked half a smile. “Who would have thought that of all the leaders in the Middle East, that Mr Nasser would be the one man who has grasped the true dimensions of the catastrophe threatening the whole region?”
“Will the Egyptians fight with us?” Enoch Powell asked flatly.
“They may,” Margaret Thatcher replied. “Their ports and airfields in the Nile Delta are already open to us. The Foreign Secretary tells me that President Nasser is beset with factions inside his regime and his military, the Army mainly, who are intrinsically isolationist and anti-British.”
“It was ever thus,” the Member of Parliament for Wolverhampton South West agreed. “If Cyprus falls, then what?”
“If Cyprus falls I pray that we can hold on long enough for our American allies come to our rescue.”
Chapter 45
The flash signal from RAF Akrotiri landed on Admiral Sir Julian Christopher’s desk like a hand grenade. Except with this metaphorical live hand grenade there was no way he could put the safety pin back into the ‘locked’ position because the bomb had already gone off.
Initial reports indicate the detonation to be in the general range of ten to twenty kilotons. It is likely that the bomb was onboard a small ferry which had made the trip from Turkey heavily loaded with refugees and was being escorted into port in a sinking condition by HMS Londonderry. The detonation occurred approximately three hundred yards from where HMS Blake was moored. HMS Blake has partially capsized and is lying in forty feet of water. The wreck of HMS Londonderry partially obstructs the deep water channel of the inner port. No information regarding casualties is available at this time.