April 4, Unified Year 1941

Quisal, Iberian Colony of Setswana

John Harrison was on the docks of the shithole little port, watching his cargo ship, Sweet Anna being loaded. Setswana had to be the asshole of the world. It was miserably hot, wet, and about as civilized as a backwoods whorehouse in Mississippi. He was probably the only white man in this whole forsaken country. He'd spent six long months surrounded by the local negroes and a handful of greasy, Iberians who were barely half a step up. They were greedy, lazy, and corrupt as Hell. It was amazing he'd managed to get anything done at all. Half the money he'd spent on the mining operation disappeared into the pockets of the local police and officials. There was not a single paved road in the whole damn colony. Just getting the mining equipment from Quisal to the field had taken two weeks on the dirt trails that passed for roads here.

The only good thing had been that there were plenty of locals with strong backs ready to work. He paid them a dollar a day and they worked from sun up to sun set. He had to stay on site to make sure they earned their pay, if he didn't the lazy bastards would just lie around and do nothing. Digging up the blackish, silverfish rocks and transporting them to a warehouse in town had been no joy either. In the end though, he'd gotten a thousand tons of uranium out of the ground. Once he delivered it to Pelle, Prussia the job was done and he would collect forty thousand American dollars.

The Prussians were a strange bunch, they worried about secrets and not letting anyone know where his cargo was headed. Or maybe it was just Albert who was weird. Part of the contract had been a clause that he not disclose either their business relationship or the destination of the cargo. Albert claimed there was a huge demand for uranium and he didn't want any of his competitors to know about the mine. John had worked about twenty years in the mining industry and had run a small operation in Arizona that had dug out copper. Things had been going well until the crash, when everything went to shit. All his buyers stopped buying, he had to close the mine and lost everything. He went from having his own company to not even having a job. He'd been prospecting for gold out in the Yukon when Albert approached him.

The dapper little guy had offered him this job and enough money up front to cover all the expenses. He'd thought Albert some kind of snake oil salesman, but the money was real and the guy not only helped him form a new company, he got him all the licenses and special authorizations he needed for Setswana. Given how corrupt this place was that couldn't have been cheap. According to the colonial administration his company, Harrison Developers Inc., owned all the land and equipment. Albert provided the funds though, and John had no idea who he represented.

In his twenty years, he'd worked in coal mines, iron, silver, lead, copper, and panned for gold. He'd never even heard of uranium before coming to this place. He had no clue what the stuff was used for. It obviously had to pretty valuable for something, given the expense and trouble Albert had gone through. It was heavier than lead, maybe it was part of some new industry or something. Well, it didn't matter, not like he was an expert. The important thing was he'd be leaving this shithole. He'd collect his money and go home to Dallas in style.

XXX

Two days later the loading was complete and John left aboard the Sweet Anna. The ship had an American flag and registry, and the crew were all white and spoke English. But they had the same weird accent Albert had had. That evening, John shared a good dinner with the captain and his bridge crew. They even had cold schnapps to go along with beef and potatoes. It wasn't exactly beer, but close enough. It was the best meal he'd had in months.

Afterwards, the captain and his officers invited him up on deck for a brief talk. The captain personally thanked him for his efforts and then gave him his sincere regrets. John was a little inebriated and the man's English was worse than a New Yorker's. He was about to ask what he meant when the captain took out a revolver and put it in his face.

There was a flash.

XXX

April 6, Unified Year 1941

Roma, Ildoan Kingdom

"On behalf of his majesty, King Victor Emmanuelle the second, and his government, I must say I am very pleased with your President's support." Prime Minister Antonio Salandra said. "The situation with our nationals has become quite intolerable, signora. As a Great Power, we can show only so much restraint before honor compels us to take action."

Viktoriya nodded her head. The Prime Minister had kissed her hand and told her she was a rare beauty and kept referring to her as signora rather than as Foreign Minister, as would be proper. He'd also invited her to dinner. His behavior mirrored ambassador Ciano's. She wondered if all Ildoan politicians were like this. Not that Viktoriya really minded, so long as Salandra was friendly and open.

"President Degurechaff deeply appreciates your aid in our time of need. She wants to lend you our full support in return."

Salandra nodded. "That is what we hoped for. Her offer of an alliance goes far beyond all expectation."

"In the Great War, our Empire was completely isolated, we had no allies. My President doesn't want Prussia to ever be in that situation again. Ah, you do understand it's a defensive treaty? Both parties are only obligated to fight if the other is attacked. If there's an incident in Libya, and you feel compelled to intervene, this treaty won't require our involvement."

"We don't expect you to fight for us. We are a powerful country and can protect our own interests." He hesitated. "Well, so long as the Republic and Allied Kingdom are disinterested. We don't expect them to involve themselves, but anything that makes that less likely is welcome."

Viktoriya smiled. "My President feels the exact same way!"

Salandra chuckled. "She does have a wonderful sense of the dramatic though, doesn't she? The Pact of Steel, quite a grandiose name."

"Well, she has hopes that there will be more countries joining in the future."

"That suits us fine, signora."

XXX

April 10, Unified Year 1941

Londinium, Allied Kingdom

Prime Minister Cromwell was hosting a meeting of his cabinet. They had just discussed the strikes in Colchester and the public demands for an expansion of government relief. The papers and the man in the street all seemed to believe every problem could be solved by throwing money at it. The British Empire was the greatest in the history in the world. That didn't mean they had unlimited resources and could just spend willy nilly to suit people. International trade was about a quarter of what it had been four years ago, their gold reserves were shrinking, the dominions were growing more hostile and independent, the situation in Punjab and elsewhere meant a decrease in military spending was out of the question, and the international situation remained volatile. All Cromwell wanted was peace, and to maintain the international status quo. The British Empire was becoming dangerously overextended; economically, militarily, and politically.

"There's been a new series of violent uprisings in the Kashmir region," his Chief of Staff Field Marshal Ian Hamilton said. "We'll need to redeploy the 87th and 112th aerial mage battalions."

Cromwell frowned. "I thought they were needed to suppress the fighting in Bihar province. Have things quieted there?"

"I'm afraid not. The whole countryside is still up in arms."

"Then why are you pulling troops out?"

"It can't be helped, I'm afraid." Hamilton said. "Kashmir is mountainous and there are few proper roads. We need aerial mages to hunt down the guerillas. I intend to replace them with the 33rd Infantry and the Coldstream Guards Regiment."

Cromwell frowned but didn't object. The Coldstream Guards were an elite unit. The fact they were needed to hunt down bands of poorly equipped rebels said everything about how overtaxed the British Army was right now.

"The guerillas are blowing up many of the bridges and rail lines in country," Hamilton continued. "The sheer size of the place is the biggest challenge for us, no sooner do we put out one fire than there is another, hundreds of miles away. Aerial mages are the key. They can reach trouble spots in hours, where infantry will take days or sometimes weeks. More aerial mages would help quiet things. If we could transfer the 48th and 50th battalions-"

"Absolutely not!" The Home Secretary jumped in. "You start pulling troops out of the Celtic Isle and it will explode! You think the bombing of the Cork courthouse was bad? You pull our men out you'll have a dozen inside of a week!"

"Damn Celts," the Secretary for Transportation muttered. "They're part of the kingdom now, not the empire, they have representatives in parliament. What more do they want?"

"Home rule," Foreign Minister Jeremy Hunt said. Home rule was a synonym for Celtic independence from the crown. Or at the absolute minimum dominion status.

"They can't have it!" The Secretary for Transportation snapped. "They're right next door to us, not across the pond or halfway around the globe! The only thing worse than having them inside the kingdom is having them out of it."

"Which is why we can't pull any soldiers out of the Celtic Isle," the Home Secretary said.

"If you deny me the reinforcements I need I can't resolve the situation in Punjab." Hamilton said.

"What would you need to bring everything there fully under control?" Cromwell asked.

"At minimum, two hundred thousand more ground troops and six additional mage battalions. And even with that I expect it would take a year or two."

Cromwell gave a shake of his head. Unless he were to call up some of his reserves, meetings those numbers would mean stripping the colonies and home islands of almost all of their soldiers. More than half the British Army was already deployed in Punjab. The colony was swallowing up soldiers the way a desert swallowed rain drops.

"I will try and get you more troops, but those numbers are impossible. We have too many other commitments. The Celtic Isle, Egypt, and Wulan for example."

"Is there any way the dominions could help us?" The Secretary for Education asked.

"No," the Foreign Minister said flatly. "After the losses they suffered in the Great War they aren't giving us any aid to hold onto a colony."

There were unhappy looks up and down the table. It was disappointing to see how ungrateful people could be.

"What about the Prussian treaty?" Chancellor of the Exchequer asked.

The Foreign Minister frowned. "Which one do you mean? The one they just signed with the Ildoans or the naval treaty?"

"Why would I ever care about the Ildoans? Are we going to sign the treaty or not? I'm in favor of anything that prevents a new arms race."

The Secretary of the Navy frowned at that.

"We'll likely agree to it," Cromwell said with a discontent look. "Before we do, we will need to hammer out details about this potential confederation."

"Why do we have to agree to anything?" General Greg Clark Secretary of Veteran Affairs demanded. "Has everyone here forgotten we won the damn war? Degurechaff's the Devil! Except for the Kaiser she probably caused us more harm than anyone! Why are we letting her get away with flouting the treaty? Why are we helping her do it?"

"Because she is the lesser evil," Cromwell said.

The general looked sickened.

"Believe me, I have no illusions that Degurechaff is some heavenly creature. But she is, at least, someone with whom we can work. She is not some insane ideologue like Vorshilov trying to set the world alight. She's a nationalist who wants to squeeze out every advantage she can for herself and her country. Degurechaff will push to the very edge of the line, but not step over it. We can deal with her."

General Clark did not seem pleased, but did not raise any further objections.

XXX

The meeting dragged on.

They decided to send the super dreadnaught Queen Victoria and a suitable task force to Wulan. To show their support for the Middle Kingdom and remind Vorshilov the British would not tolerate an invasion. Emperor Puyi had pleaded for a British army detachment, but for obvious reasons that was impossible. The warships would have to do.

There was a discussion about contingencies for Egypt. If, as now seemed likely, the Ildoans invaded Libya the Allied Kingdom would have to act. The Suez Canal was vital to the British Empire's wellbeing and defense. It had been built through massive investment by British companies and banks. They could accept its being under the control of a weak and pliant Sultan. Under no circumstances would they allow another European power to possess it.

They would open negotiations with the Celtic opposition parties to try and deescalate the tensions there. Maybe some new public works could be started to help the local economy.

Complaints from all over the empire and beyond were addressed until the meeting mercifully drew near an end. That was when the Director of MI-6 mentioned something.

"This is a small matter, Prime Minister, but I thought I should bring it up. It seems that professor Albert Einstein and a great many of his contemporaries have dropped out of sight. Many of the leading physicists of Prussia and the other successor states have resigned from teaching and research positions and have more or less vanished from view."

Cromwell's eyebrows raised and he looked concerned. "Don't tell me Degurechaff is performing one of those purges of her own intelligentsia." It would be a bad sign if she started behaving like the communists.

To the Prime Minister's relief, the Director shook his head. "It wouldn't seem so, there have been no reports of arrests, abductions, or trials. Certainly, the newspapers haven't condemned Einstein or his theories. That sort of behavior is rather standard in a purge."

"Then what happened?"

"We don't know at present. It's not something we were investigating, but the absence has become noticeable. One theory is that they might be part of some sort of research project."

"What sort of research?"

The Director shrugged. "My people have no idea, it's only a theory. If you like, we could use some of our assets to try and track them down."

"Would you be taking these assets from the Celtic Isle or the investigation of communist cells?"

"No more than one or two agents."

Cromwell immediately shook his head. "We're stretched thin enough as it is. Keep your people focused on the important things."

The Director nodded. "Of course, Prime Minister. As I said, it's a small matter."

XXX

April 11, Unified Year 1941

Boulder, Colorado, United States of America

Paul Lester was a former manager with Ajax Mining. Before the economy had gone to Hell he'd overseen two thousand coal miners near Wheeling, West Virginia. Now he was stuck working in a rail yard, struggling to just get by.

He was at a cheap bar called the Copper Cellar when a short man in a grey suit and tie with a fedora approached him. He spoke with an accent.

"Pardon me, sir. Would you be Mr. Paul Lester of the Ajax Mining Company?"

Paul looked at him suspiciously. "Maybe. Depends who's asking."

The man tipped his hat to him. "My name is Albert Smith and I work for a company called Harrison Developers. We have a very lucrative job opportunity available for a man of your experience. It involves running a mine in Africa. The contract is for one year, and the work is difficult, but you will be very well compensated."

Paul remained suspicious, but if the guy was on the level it beat working for nothing loading trains all day. "If you buy me a beer I'll listen to what you have to say."