Arthur...he had not always been Arthur...but like a king he had felt he had had a dynasty to live up to, a name to adopt once he had succeeded to the position, too soon...far too soon. The plane crash was but two years ago, but felt like an eternity now with all that had happened since. Even so the headlines came to haunt him at least once a week, those nights that he was able to sleep in a world in flames... 'Disaster At Paris', 'Second Duke of Connaught killed in aircrash !', 'Prince Arthur Dead !'. He had read it with stunned disbelief, the holiday in the Crimea with his children and his Imperial cousins destroyed in one sudden act, one senseless move of the fates that had cast him unready into the role he had struggled these two years to fulfil…
That had been the last Summer he had smiled, those last now lost few days at Livadia before the news came in from France, playing on the shore with Arthur, Albert and Sarah, his children...his children now dead...Sitting by the blacked out window he shuddered and looked again at the steely silver nemesis lying on the desk - what did it matter now ? The world was tearing itself apart and he had failed...What little remained !
He heard again the laughter of the Tsesarevitch, Georgi, his cousin and several years his senior, sitting in the rocking chair, his beautiful Tatiana in his lap, the child all had been surprised by, the fourth to be born, but ten years after her brothers. Ten she was...and now dead ? He could hold little hope it was otherwise...Saint Petersburg, Kiev, Warsaw, Moscow - all the Russian cities lay in ruins... What chance that the Imperial family had managed to escape this destruction ?
From outside came the roar of a bomber; he could picture the deadly flying wing soaring batlike over the burning Thames, its payload of death striking down into London's terrified population. A lone anti--aircraft battery opened up, too little, too far away and nothing against the forces ranged against it. He shook his head, brushed back the hair that had grown too long- not enough time, never enough time... And now there never would be....
His eyes flickered once more to the old revolver, lovingly polished - it had been his father's. Beneath it the message seemed to sway, to move and almost to heave in the reflected light of a thousand explosions that even the heaviest curtain could not keep out. With shaking hand he picked it up, blinking tears from his eyes - this was when he had known it was over, when there could be no way out....
To all commanders of
the British Empire - Urgent Priority !
King Edward VIII and
Queen Maria Konstantinovich have been confirmed dead in the ruins of St James
Palace. HRH Prince Alfred, Prince of Wales is missing presumed dead. HRH Prince
Henry, Duke of Gloucester has assumed the Regency from Edinburgh pending
confirmation. All communiqués from Edinburgh are to be considered to have the
force of Royal command. Long live the Empire !
IGHQ, Leeds Castle,
Kent
Duke of Norfolk,
General Commanding and Earl Marshal of Great Britain
Dead...The king and his Russian consort...And Prince Alfred, the talented and much admired heir to the throne ? On top of everything else this was too much. Britain was done for, there could be no escaping that now, and he had to take his share of the blame...
Another explosion shook the night. He had not wanted this, had not seen it coming when numb with the shock of his parents' death he had stepped off the plane at London Airport. But the world moved on with callous disregard for his grievances, with viciousness the order of the day across the continent of Europe and a rival power across the Atlantic flexing its blood-stained muscles.
For freedom and civilisation - the motto of the Grand Alliance... He had first heard it uttered by Tsar Michael at that first dinner in Stockholm; the start of a rapprochement that would bring Sweden and China into a Grand Alliance spanning the entirety of the Eurasian continent... The start of a new world order ? The end of an old world ? In more ways than any present could have imagined . . .
Kaiser Wilhelm III's Germany...He spat at the thought, the globule of spittle catching upon the edge of the desk and trickling slowly downwards... 1956, a year of destiny - that was what the Kaiser had called it, rounding up his brothers and their families, entertaining Ambassador Kennedy in the flames of a new Berlin and signing the Perpetual Alliance with President MacArthur's America....
Little had they known... A bomb blast shattered the remaining glass in an office down the corridor, causing the unlit chandelier to sway vigorously on its chain - go on fall, he thought, save me from having to do this myself...
Co-ordinator...what did he co-ordinate now in the ruins of a London battered unto destruction from both sides ? Grand Duke Dmitri, eldest son of the Tsesarevitch had died in his arms that fateful day in 1956; the German aircraft coming in so low over the Downs none had even suspected them let alone tracked their progress. It should have been he who died... He was surely their target, but he was to live a charmed life !
Likewise in August 1957 he had delayed returning home in order to receive the crew of the submarine Swordfish, their exploits against the Combined Fleets in the Arctic near legendary already, this their first visit to Britain since relocating to Murmansk on the outbreak of war. His delay had saved his life...had caused him to know of that of his Greek wife and their children. Never would he forgive the Germans or the Americans ! But what did it matter now ?
The door to the corridor opened, a dishevelled and soot-stained lieutenant staggering in. The Duke noticed the bloody gash to the head, allowed the man to find his tongue in his own time,
"Your highness" he spoke, almost a harsh whisper in the darkness, "The HorseGuards are destroyed, German paratroops land amongst them."
He could sense there was more, something that yet remained unspoken.
"And ?" he pressed, his eyes looking at the chandelier, a black smudge as it swayed in darkness against the greater dark behind it.
"They have found Prince Alfred's body"
"Leave" the Duke's voice was but a croak.
"Sire ?"
He coughed,
"I said leave"
The man left. Prince Arthur stared again at the gun on his desk; King Henry IX ? Last survivor of five brothers, the sons of George V ? John was dead decades ago, a weak constitution, an enfeebled body killing him before his father. Then Albert, Duke of York and George, Duke of Kent in the war - so sudden, so devastating the raids which had seen them slain. Now Edward, brave King Edward dead... And only Henry in Edinburgh left alive... And how much of this was his fault ?
He did not think he could ever know, but responsibility there had been - if only his father had remained alive! But that was on a par with all 'if onlies' - if only Prinz Adalbert had carried his plan of 1955 to depose his megalomaniac brother, if only Japan had not been so weak under her Ruling Council, if only Yuan's China had been able to provide troops for Europe...might as well say if only Sergei Witte had not drowned in 1912 ! Where was one to draw the line ?
He tensed - that sound ! He knew that sound. A Thunderbolt interceptor was roaring towards its target South of the Thames. Then a silence...then a sudden heat, a blinding flash upon the wall...
"Oh shit" he gasped, "Oh God protect the children..."
With unsteady hand he picked up the revolver and stared for one last minute around an office now shimmering in the light of the conflagration South of the river...
"I have done my part" he growled, anger overcoming all other emotions, "I have done my duty, paid the price !"
He cocked the trigger and raised it to his temple
"Long live the Empire !" he intoned almost ritually...
The single shot rang out ...
In the panic of the nuclear explosion over Battersea it would be hours before anyone found the body...