Major General Sir Alastair Godwin contemplated whether his new office was nicer than his previous one. He looked around and saw a picture of his younger self, from the time when he was part of a resistance group called Children of Europe.
These were other times. Back then, he looked like an image of a special forces operator; now, well, he still kept himself in good physical condition, but he wasn't as he used to be.
Godwin was born just before the bombing of the USA. He never knew what the pre-Armageddon world looked like. His parents told him often, but he never experienced it firsthand. When he was in kindergarten, the Russians invaded Great Britain, which remained the last European nation standing. The war was brief but brutal. His father, drafted to the front lines to protect the King and his land from the Russians, returned. But then, he was a changed man.
Alastair followed his father's example and decided to fight against the Russian oppressors and their puppet government. When he finished secondary school, he escaped in the middle of the night, finding refuge in the forests. It wasn't long before he came across the first rebels. He immediately joined and served as one of the soldiers. After a few ambushes and skirmishes with collaborationist forces and elements of the Russian Army, he got an opportunity to lead his first unit. He worked hard and dealt heavy losses to their enemies. However, that put him at the top of the Russian capture list.
He was constantly on the move with his unit, traveling by night and fighting by day—the old guerrilla cycle. But an unfortunate turn of events caused them to come across a stronger Russian unit. Equipped with heavy armor, it was the kind of unit the insurgents avoided, and yet, here they were.
The battle was fierce, and many of Godwin's soldiers died. He himself was shot in the left arm and stomach. He was captured and sent to a gulag deep in Siberia. His wounds healed, but his hatred for the Russians grew. With every person who arrived at the gulag, enduring these inhumane conditions, his dedication to fight the Russians until his last breath was fueled. He and an ex-British special forces operator created a plan to escape the gulag. They, along with 24 others, managed to escape, but Godwin and four of his comrades were captured. The others are still considered MIA.
He was then transported back to the gulag, though it was much more secure this time. He spent the Moscow Winter working in the cold Siberian forest, burying people who died in the state's prisons.
After the democratization of Russia, he and all other POWs were swiftly released and repatriated by their countries. He returned home to a hero's welcome. The Federation was soon formed, and he was immediately given the rank of Brigadier General. From there, he bounced around various commands before finally being promoted to Major General and given command of Command West.
Command West, as the name indicated, was tasked with protecting the Federation's western flank. Comprised of approximately 600,000 soldiers, it was the weakest command in the Federation. With frequent budget cuts, personnel relocations, and constant pressure from MPs and politicians in Brussels, Command West had no real fighting capability.
The Federation's western flank was considered a safe area. The war with the Last Chinese Empire dragged on in the East, and any attempt at a naval invasion in the West was swiftly dealt with by the Western Naval District. With North America destroyed for good, many residents of the Federation's western regions felt that the military was of no use there. It was better to deploy the soldiers to the LCE front, where they could contribute something meaningful.
However, Godwin knew better. It was the "what ifs" that he was afraid of. So, he fought every day to reverse the constant troubles that plagued the Command. Every decision, every action, was aimed at preparing for the unknown, ensuring that they would never be caught unprepared.
A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up, straightened his uniform, and swiftly tucked a notice from Admiral Lafontaine into his desk drawer.
"Come in!"
Captain Emilia Hayes opened the door, holding a leather portfolio under her arm and two steaming cups in her hands. Godwin's aide-de-camp, she was often the only person who could calm down the angry general when he was mad at dumb bureaucrats, silly politicians, or downright incompetent Lafontaine, or even more often, all three at the same time. She was neatly dressed in her uniform, sporting a blue-colored barrette on her head, indicating a new generation of Federation officers. She sat down in the seat opposite Godwin, setting down the cups and laying her portfolio on the desk.
"Which one is my tea?" Godwin asked, and when Hayes indicated the left one, he picked it up and took an appreciative sip of traditional English tea.
"Sir, I have your weekly report with me, as well as some new orders and a quarterly report from Admiral Lafontaine," Hayes told the general, opening her portfolio.
Godwin put down the cup and leaned back in his chair, stealing a glance out the window. Raindrops were falling onto the glass, slightly obscuring his view of London. Beneath him, people hung out in a café across the street, sheltering from the rain. He looked back at Hayes and nodded.
"Very well, Hayes. What indignities did Brussels and Lafontaine throw at me this week?" he asked.
"Well, sir, I'd suggest that first we take a look at the current state of Command West," Hayes suggested.
"Hayes, did I ever not take your advice?" Godwin asked sarcastically.
"Quite often actually, sir," Hayes responded, but after seeing the look in Godwin's eyes, she quickly shuffled through some papers and pulled out a stack. "Ehm, right, so... as of this moment, Command West has 600,000 men and women under arms. Out of that, 175,000 are combat soldiers. They are spread throughout three main operational zones. So, besides..."
"Quit with the details, Hayes. Focus on the important stuff. What's our forces breakdown?" Godwin shook his head, indicating that she should focus on other things.
"Right, sir. So we have around 100,000 soldiers in the British Isles. Most of our regional defenses are strong, but we lack proper coverage in the Midlands. Furthermore, most of our radar stations are understaffed, unmaintained, or both, so forget about spotting any Chinese shipping."
"Chinese, Chinese. Our friends in South Africa will take care of this elusive Chinese shipping. I'm more worried about the Americans. They're tough bastards," Godwin shook his head.
"They were destroyed."
"Life finds a way, Hayes."
Hayes contemplated these words for a second. The old general had quite a bit of wisdom in him. She knew he never finished university or staff college, but the man had seen more than his fair share of combat. Not to mention, he survived one of the most brutal prisons in Siberia, the Siberian Detention Unit B-2469. She nodded after a second of thought.
"Of course, sir. So moving on, we have 300,000 soldiers in the Low Countries and France. Out of that, we have approximately 89,000 combat soldiers. Most of them are over there for political reasons."
Godwin remained calm, though it was apparent that he was getting annoyed.
"Political reasons..." he scoffed. "They're there because our politicians are afraid to go out without a bodyguard, and they think that having a soldier looks great on front pages," Godwin again shook his head. "They think that every soldier's dream is to play a bodyguard to some MPs who can't even balance a budget. I'm not angry, Hayes, I'm just slightly annoyed."
Hayes knew better. Below the relatively calm exterior, the General was mad as hell. She decided to move on and leave this for another day—after all, there were still many more bad news to be given.
"This brings us to Western Spain and Portugal, where we have the remaining 200,000 soldiers. Most of them are there to protect the Western Naval District's principal naval base in Porto. Furthermore, we have to provide assistance to the police due to the illegal African cannabis trade. So, that ties up a large portion of our manpower there. In the case of a serious rebellion or foreign invasion, there wouldn't be much we could do."
"And what about Command Mediterranean? Would they lend assistance, or are they over-stretched?" Godwin asked sarcastically.
"They didn't give me a concrete yes or no," Hayes shook her head and briefly looked down at her boots, attempting to avoid the General's gaze. Needless to say, Godwin was looking somewhere out of the window.
They remained in silence for a while, Godwin doing his best to silently calm himself down. He took another sip of his tea and looked out on the street once again. The building itself—once a proud headquarters of the British Admiralty—was located in the center of London. Cars and the famous old British red double-decker buses were driving back and forth along Whitehall. The fact that Command West managed to have its headquarters in this historic building—one whose existence was tied to the Atlantic area—was a small win for him. He looked at the street and managed to relax. He turned back to Hayes, who was sipping her coffee, and nodded for her to continue.
Hayes pulled out a sheet of paper, giving it to the General. Godwin's eyes rapidly darted across it, his face growing darker. Finally, he put it down and looked at Hayes.
"Another round of budget cuts?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, sir. As of this week, Command West's budget will be cut by another 7%. This, on top of the 18% we suffered in the last two years, will put us at a 25% reduction in our funds," Hayes explained to the General.
"Thank you, Hayes, but I think I can still do math. Where is the money going?" Godwin smiled, though he already knew the answer.
"Money will be separated amongst commands with higher risks. The bulk will be allocated to Command East and Frontline Command. Though Brussels approved another bump in defense spending, they have told us that no money from it will be allocated to Command West," Hayes told the General and pulled out four sheets of paper. "Should we continue, General?"
"With what am I supposed to pay my soldiers? Coffee beans? Or are we running a volunteer militia here?" Godwin shook his head, clearly annoyed by the news. "Yes, Hayes, I'm sorry. Carry on, please."
Hayes passed four papers to Godwin.
"So, we have quite a few personnel relocations this week. Starting off with a regular 5,000 soldiers' deployment to the frontlines. Command East has, however, not yet cleared the previous bunch to return. They claim it's due to higher risks but have ensured me that when a new bunch of recruits is trained in two weeks, the 119th will return," Hayes broke the news to the General.
"That's a bloody farce, you know that, Hayes. They are just trying to steal my men. Put pressure on them, Hayes. Put bloody pressure on them," Godwin began to sound angry. Hayes wondered how much longer until he would start tearing orders apart and throwing the tennis ball that he kept in his desk at random objects in his office.
"Will do, sir. Then we have a second redeployment to Andalusia due to a rising number of riots. Brussels wants at least 10,000 troops over there," Hayes handed Godwin another sheet of paper.
"Riots? That's a riot for them? A few farmers, angry because Brussels lowered food subsidies? And we have to clean it up. Of course. We are shown no respect, and yet we are always here when our beautiful politicians fuck things up. Bloody terrific!" Godwin raised his voice.
"Sir, please... the 44th's commander volunteered to go, but that will worsen our defense in the Midlands. I'd suggest that the 132nd goes over there. Might be a better idea, you know?" Hayes prepared for what was coming. It was often when Godwin heard of commanders he didn't like that this happened. She could see him take a deep breath.
"The 44th? That's... Colonel Duval? Pierre Duval? I remember him. Son of a bitch! He always wants to suck up to the brass! Motherfu..." Godwin took a deep breath and looked at Hayes with an ice-cold stare. "He is the one that's after my position, ain't that right... Hayes?"
Hayes nodded.
"That's correct, sir. In Brussels, they see him as more... traditional and... subordinate," Hayes replied cautiously.
Godwin just chuckled.
"Hayes, that's the nicest thing somebody ever said to me! Very well! Carry on," Godwin continued to chuckle.
"Yes, sir. This brings us to the final and biggest redeployment in a while. 45,000 soldiers have to be sent to Africa for a peacekeeping mission, to safeguard the Federation's interests in the region before General Kwame Okoro manages to seize control of Central Sahara..." she could see the General stumble a little, as if he had been physically hit. "Furthermore, the instructions from Brussels are saying that this is non-negotiable. It's 45,000 and not one less, though they did say they don't mind if we send a few more."
Godwin was dangerously still. Hayes quickly picked up her coffee cup, pretending to take a sip. Godwin slammed his fist on the table, making Hayes flinch a little, even though she knew what would happen.
"Federation's interests?" Godwin spat. "They want to strip me of 45,000 bloody soldiers? They want to strip me of one-tenth of my force? I knew they were mad, but this? This is on another level! We're barely holding as it is, and they want to strip me of a full army? Who thought up this harebrained scheme?"
"Sir, stability in Africa is a high priority. We can't allow them to drift into the Chinese sphere of influence," Hayes replied, trying to keep her calm.
"We have as many problems with them right now as if they were in your 'Chinese sphere of influence'! And what Federation's interest? A few dusty trade routes and some copper mines that are, anyway, producing a rather sad amount? All of that while I'm left guarding Western Europe with barely enough men to form a rugby team! And do, pray tell, what is going to happen when our 'friends' in the East decide that they want to take a slice of Paris for themselves? Or when the Americans stop playing dead and decide to have a beautiful sightseeing trip? Come on, Hayes, we both know that there is something on the other side of the Atlantic!"
"Sir... if we are already talking about the Atlantic, I have Admiral Lafontaine's quarterly naval report here with me," Hayes passed him a stack of papers.
"He what? That man submits more reports than he does actual work!" Godwin exclaimed. "So, what did his genius come up with today?"
Hayes cleared her throat.
"Well, sir, for starters, he claims that too much money is spent on the Army and Air Force, and more should be invested in the Navy. He clearly emphasizes that the Navy is Western Europe's first line of defense and therefore it's only right to increase the funding."
Godwin looked like he might go all the way to the Western Naval District's headquarters and beat up its commander, Rear Admiral Jean-Luc Lafontaine.
"This man is clearly delusional. And where does he propose that we get the money? Should I sell the Tower of London or should we hold a bake sale? Hayes, be so kind and remind me about the state of the Western Naval District," Godwin barely contained his rage.
"Right, sir, just a second," Hayes read a few pages in silence.
Godwin sipped his now cold tea. On the outside, he looked relatively calm. His psychiatrist had told him he should try to keep his emotions under control. Not when dealing with this kind of idiots, Godwin thought. However, his mind was racing. Of course, Brussels would want to have fancy new ships—after all, they had signed off on the construction of an aircraft carrier for the Navy that cost so much that Command West could live on it for a few years. These idiotic fools, Godwin thought. Can't they see that no amount of fancy ships will help if we lose control on the ground?
Hayes looked up and sipped her coffee, then delved back into the papers. Godwin watched her for a second before turning around in his chair, glancing at the street. He found it somewhat ironic. His command was tasked with protecting Western Europe and the British Isles, yet their HQ was in an old Admiralty building—a place that had once housed the top commanders of the Royal Navy, the very force that had safeguarded the Isles for hundreds of years. And if that wasn't enough, he was now pushing back against increased funding for the Navy. It was all rather confusing, he admitted to himself.
"Alright, sir," Hayes woke the General from his thoughts.
"Hayes, please go ahead, enlighten me," Godwin joked.
A small smile played on Hayes' lips.
"Very well, sir. As of right now, the European Federation's Western Naval District operates with 9 shore patrol vessels, 3 corvettes, 14 frigates, 7 destroyers, and 11 submarines. Would you like a more detailed breakdown?" Hayes suggested.
"Hayes, nothing would make me angrier right now than a 'detailed breakdown'," Godwin replied coldly.
"Right... but some details?" Hayes hopefully suggested.
"Hayes..." Godwin warned her in a dangerously low tone.
"Very well, sir, so the basics?" Hayes conceded.
"If you'd be so kind?" Godwin leaned back in his chair.
"So, the shore patrol vessels, or as the Navy likes to call them, the SHVs, have no real offensive or defensive value..."
"Hayes, how about we focus on defensive value, since I don't see us invading anytime soon?" Godwin commented sarcastically.
"Yes, sir. Then we have corvettes. There aren't enough of them to make a serious difference. Right now, they are being mostly used to reinforce coastal defense and disturb the African-European cannabis trade," Hayes looked at Godwin, silently asking if she should continue. After a brief nod, she resumed, "Then we have 14 frigates, and quite frankly, they are the only ships with some real defensive value. Right now, the Western Naval District is using them to 'systematically' patrol the Atlantic. However, Henri Villeneuve is going to sail tomorrow, so a significant portion of the frigates, destroyers, and submarines will be assigned to it to form a so-called 'Carrier Task Force'..."
"What the hell is a 'Carrier Task Force'?" Godwin muttered, half to himself, half to Hayes.
"No idea, sir. I guess it's something that Navy came up with," Hayes responded.
"So, Henri Villeneuve is going to set sail tomorrow?"
"Yes, sir."
"Will I have to go over there?"
"Unfortunately, sir."
"Hayes, how is Navy's air arm?"
"Well, sir..." Hayes paused and dug out another sheet of paper, quickly scanning it. "We have two carrier-capable air squadrons, one multi-role and one interceptor. Though the interceptor squadron is maybe only half-operational."
"Great, so to summarize all of this: We've got a few ships, however most of them will be bound to a carrier, which, if I remember correctly, has no other offensive armaments than its airplanes and barely any defensive ones, and on this particular aircraft carrier, we can put just about one and a half squadrons. Does this sum it up nicely?" Godwin asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"I think that about covers it, yes sir," Hayes nodded.
"Un-fucking-believable. And now our great military minds in the Navy are asking for what? More funding? More projects that have nothing to do with our current military or strategic needs? Hayes, I ain't an Admiral, you best of all people know that, but I don't think that an aircraft carrier or two would solve our problems. Anyways, you can tell Lafontaine and Brussels to go fuck themselves. Maybe just..."
"Put it a little bit nicer, sir?" Hayes intervened.
"That would be it, Hayes," he slammed his fist on the table again, catching Hayes off guard and making her flinch. "I'm paid to wage war, not battle politicians. My psychiatrist told me it's not good for me. And yet here I am, stripped of funding, men, and gear for some harebrained schemes set up by Brussels and bloody Lafontaine. But Hayes, we will not surrender. We will resist them to the end!"
"Well said, sir," Hayes nodded wisely.
"Great!" Godwin clapped his hands. "Thank you for the briefing, Hayes. Off you go now. If you have any suggestions on how not to kill Lafontaine tomorrow, you know where to find me."
Hayes gathered her papers, placing them back in her portfolio. She stood up, straightened her uniform, and gave Godwin a crisp salute. Godwin simply nodded and waved her off. She silently shut the door behind her.
He looked around the office. It was nicer than the last one, he finally decided. There could be a Union Jack somewhere, though—just for the old times' sake. Right over there, by the picture of his old unit from the time of the Russian occupation—his first actual command. On that day, he swore to himself to put his men first, and he was determined to keep that promise. He stood up and walked over to the picture, picking it up and glancing at the faces. In its center, he stood, his hands tightly clutching an old British SA80.
"Don't worry, lads, we will never back down," he silently said to himself, before lowering himself back into his seat and picking up a report the secretary had brought in before Hayes arrived.
Things were just about to get interesting, he thought.