Episode 20: An Unexpected Invitation (2)
Just as Lieutenant Colonel Branson had said, a car came to pick me up before the bugle even sounded for reveille.
The person who came to meet me was none other than an officer with the rank of Captain.
Seeing him get out of the car, I saluted instinctively, but he waved his hand as if to say it wasn't necessary.
"There's no need to salute me, Second Lieutenant. If word got out that I received a salute from a hero, I'd catch an earful. Get in the car, our hero!"
"Hahaha... Understood, Captain."
Ugh. He kept going on about hero this and hero that; it was somehow embarrassing.
It's not like I'm the protagonist of some light novel or a boys' comic. A hero? Me? A mere small fry?
I laughed awkwardly and got into the car.
Inside the car, there was a faint scent of lemons. Had someone sprayed perfume?
Adam had been there with me at the scene back then, but strangely enough, I was the only one going to London.
What on earth was the reason for that?
Was it because I'm an officer and he's just a private?
Anyway, the two of us had accomplished the feat together, so I felt somewhat guilty about going as the sole representative. Though Adam himself seemed completely oblivious.
He was just surprised and envious when I said I was going to London.
"We'll go straight to the station from here and take a train directly to London."
As soon as the door closed, the car set off immediately toward the station.
While heading to the station, I could see the streets filled with marching protesters.
People holding placards and banners scrawled with various slogans and writings were facing off against the police.
Through the window, I could clearly hear the shouts they were hurling.
"No more war! We want peace!"
"Don't send the sons of our homeland to their deaths!"
"Does the warmonger Churchill intend to turn all of Britain into another Gallipoli?!"
As we passed alongside the procession of protesters, the Captain didn't utter a single word.
I too read the room and kept silent.
But the driver was the problem.
"It seems like the protests have increased quite a bit lately."
When the driver, sporting a Private's rank insignia, tactlessly opened his mouth, I sighed inwardly.
Ah, you idiot. Don't you know how to read the atmosphere?
Could this guy be a screw-up too?
He probably said it without thinking, but in times like these, there are things you can say and things you can't.
But what can you do? The water has already been spilled.
A heavy silence descended inside the car.
It had been a very long time since I'd experienced such terrifying silence.
This damn bastard didn't even know what he'd done wrong and kept trying to make conversation.
I wanted to tell him, "Please, I'm begging you, just shut up!" but I was afraid that opening my mouth would only be like fanning the flames of a burning house, so I kept quiet.
If I opened my mouth for no reason, the sparks might fly onto me too.
Shortly after, the Captain seated in the passenger seat softly spoke.
"That's right. They have increased."
Seeing the Captain heave a deep sigh, I interjected into the conversation in an attempt to salvage the situation somehow.
I felt like I could naturally gloss over this atmosphere with appropriate words right now.
"Still, what we must do remains unchanged."
"Well said, Second Lieutenant. No matter what people say, we simply need to do what we have to do."
Fortunately, the incident seemed to be wrapping up nicely.
But then...
"That aside, Private."
"Private Will Claude!"
"Keep your mouth firmly shut until we arrive at the station. Don't speak any nonsense. Understand?"
"...."
Even though someone else was getting scolded, I felt embarrassed.
It seems the memory of being called a screw-up in the past had left me with a trauma.
Sigh, such is my fate.
***
Churchill had been in poor spirits lately.
Extremely so.
Losing those precious elite troops at Dunkirk was painful enough, but now the citizens had risen up in protest, making it utter chaos.
Even at this very moment, protests were being held outside 10 Downing Street.
Heavily armed military police and regular police surrounded 10 Downing Street in multiple layers as a precaution, but the protesters were no pushovers either. As time passed, the number of people joining the protest continued to grow.
Not only that, but criticism was growing louder within the Conservative Party as well, not to mention the Labour Party.
To make matters worse, there were even open calls for him to take responsibility for the defeat in the French campaign and resign from his position as Prime Minister.
Whenever he tried to deliver a speech in the House of Commons, jeers poured in from all sides, making it impossible to concentrate.
And the House of Commons was still being relatively polite.
Whenever he tried to speak outside, anti-war protesters would swarm like demons, chanting slogans and throwing filth.
Nevertheless, Churchill tried to continue giving speeches to convey courage to the people, but he had no choice but to give up in the end due to the worsening public opinion and protests, as well as the "advice" from those around him to stop for safety reasons.
"As you all know, public opinion is very bad right now."
Churchill tapped his desk lightly with his fingertips.
"Isn't there a good way to quell public opinion? If anyone has one, speak up."
Dead silence.
Only silence hung in the spacious, packed conference room.
If you went by sound alone, it was as if no one was there.
Damn it. Every single one of them is nothing but a coward.
Fuming with anger, Churchill unconsciously slammed his fist on the desk.
"Damnation! It's bad enough that we lost in France, but now we can't even do anything about public opinion?! And they still expect us to fight a war!"
Each time he struck the desk with his fist in frustration, the cabinet ministers trembled.
Still, no one opened their mouths easily.
No one had any viable countermeasures in this situation.
***
The meeting ended just like that.
Having returned to his office, Churchill puffed away at his favorite cigar in an attempt to quell his anger.
But his anger still wouldn't subside.
Faintly audible from outside the window were the voices of protesters shouting their opposition to the war. Seething with rage, he grabbed the ashtray and hurled it.
"Damn it!"
Then a knock was heard. A familiar voice followed.
It was the voice of his longtime aide.
"Prime Minister, General Alexander has requested an audience."
"...?"
Alexander?
Churchill had heard that he had been recuperating after being wounded in the chest by shrapnel from a German artillery shell while commanding the evacuation operation at the Dunkirk battlefield.
He had come to visit despite being in poor health?
"Show him in."
"Yes, sir."
A minute later, Alexander appeared in Churchill's office looking somewhat gaunt compared to the last time they had met.
Still, seeing the good color in his face, it seemed his treatment was complete.
"Welcome, General. I heard you've had a difficult time. Is your injury alright?"
"Yes, Prime Minister. Thank you for your concern."
Churchill's secretary brought in a tray with black tea, sugar cubes, milk, and cream for the two of them.
He silently set down the cups and pot before quietly closing the door and leaving.
Churchill was famous for always drinking his black tea loaded with milk and cream.
Alexander, on the other hand, added only a splash of milk and a single sugar cube to his black tea.
"The aroma is excellent."
"Naturally. It's the finest black tea produced in Ceylon."
Churchill waited until Alexander had taken his first sip of black tea.
As the tea passed down his throat, Alexander's right eyebrow twitched.
"That aside, what brings you here? Some important news, perhaps?"
"Ah, nothing like that. The Jerries' movements are suspicious, but they are always suspicious. I've come today to speak of something else."
"Something else?"
Churchill tilted his head.
Was there something else to talk about besides the current war situation?
"I've heard that public opinion has deteriorated considerably of late, and that you are searching for a solution."
At Alexander's words, Churchill unconsciously furrowed his brow.
Naturally, his tone grew rougher.
"Please, don't even mention it. I'm already dying from a headache caused by the Jerries alone; now public opinion isn't cooperating either!"
"That is precisely why."
Alexander quietly began.
"I have an idea."
"What idea? Speak."
Then Alexander presented a single photograph and several reports.
"...? What is this?"
"Please read it."
As Alexander said, Churchill silently examined the photograph and reports he had handed over.
The man in the photograph was named Arthur Grey.
His rank was Second Lieutenant, his branch Armor.
Up to this point, there was nothing remarkable.
The problem was what came next.
As Churchill quietly read through the report, his expression gradually changed.
When he read the last line of the report, Alexander could see the smile blooming on Churchill's face.
He's taken the bait.
"...What do you think, Prime Minister?"
"Hmm, I like it. A friend who fits perfectly with the current times!"
Alexander didn't even need to hear what he had come to say. If he couldn't figure that out, he wouldn't be Prime Minister—he wouldn't even be able to serve as a Member of Parliament.
With consecutive defeats, the morale of the people was at an all-time low.
What was needed in such times were reports of victory and various heroic tales to boost the people's morale.
The front lines had been quiet lately so there were no victory reports, but there was a hero.
Arthur Grey.
This greenhorn Second Lieutenant had achieved astonishing results on the French battlefield.
Launching a surprise attack on the German rear with a single tank, killing dozens, and even rescuing allied troops who had been taken prisoner.
It was an unbelievable record of activity, closer to a movie than reality.
If they packaged this nicely and presented it to the masses, there would be no better propaganda!
While delivering hope to the people, they might even be able to suppress the voices of the anti-war faction (Churchill always called them a gathering of defeatists) that was growing stronger by the day!
Of course, it would also be of great help in leading the war against Germany.
In an instant, a perfect scenario was completed in his mind.
Alexander didn't miss the fact that the corners of Churchill's mouth had reached his ears.
As expected, it's a success.
With this, the military would be free from Churchill's pressure to produce results for the time being.
Ever since the heavy British losses during the Dunkirk evacuation, Churchill's unique brand of badgering had been growing increasingly severe.
Of course, he understood that as Britain's Prime Minister, he was under immense pressure.
But that didn't change the fact that he himself was suffering because of it.
He was a patient, after all.
He needed stability in either body or mind.
Anyway, he didn't know how long it would last, but wouldn't it buy them at least a month?
"Bring this friend to London immediately. And give the journalists a heads-up!"
"Yes, Prime Minister."
And so, our Arthur Grey was headed to London.