"Sometimes all that is needed for the strongest, most fearsome man to break are words. Words alone."
Paul turned to his left. Heydrich stood there as always, silent.
"Turn on the radio. BBC," Paul ordered.
Heydrich nodded wordlessly and switched the device on. It crackled for a moment, then a clear, calm voice filled the room.
"People of Britain…"
Liverpool, Underground Bunker
Churchill's hand froze mid-gesture. The Lieutenant General was still speaking, but the Prime Minister no longer heard him. Slowly he turned his head toward the damp concrete wall where a small radio stood.
"That voice…" he whispered.
He stepped away from the table, ignoring the bewildered looks of his officers, and walked toward the young signals officer.
"What is this?" Churchill asked, almost in a trance, pointing at the radio.
"BBC, Sir!" The officer immediately stood up.
"Turn the volume up. Now!"
The voice continued, steady and painfully familiar:
"You may or may not recognise my voice. I am Edward, once King of this country.
"Tonight a dark hour, perhaps the darkest this nation has ever faced, has come for Britain. While you suffer injustice... pain... hunger and death, the Royal Family, the government and the powerful have already fled London. Cowardly and quickly they abandoned your city to the wolves. They left you behind to fend for yourselves.
"I am deeply disappointed by this act of betrayal. And I will no longer tolerate it."
Churchill slammed both fists on the table, his face twisted with fury.
"Traitor!" he bellowed. "Damn him to hell!"
Balmoral Castle, Scotland
The living room was deathly silent. The entire Royal Family was gathered, some on the large sofa, others standing by the windows. In the centre sat King George VI, shoulders hunched, a glass of whisky forgotten in his hand.
His own name rang out from the radio like a slap.
"King George VI and the Royal Family have failed you all. Together with the government under Churchill they have prolonged your suffering. They have prolonged this war."
Edward's voice grew heavier, filled with sorrow and anger:
"For years they told you that victory was near. They promised you glory, honour, and a swift end to the fighting. Instead they gave you rubble, graves, and empty stomachs. How many more fathers, sons and brothers must die before we admit the truth?
"I have seen the reality with my own eyes. The German Army stands at the gates of London."
Edward's voice cracked slightly as he corrected himself.
"No… the German Army has already breached them. In this moment our soldiers are being overrun by their forces."
London, inner city
"For Germany!"
"For Germany!"
The battle cry thundered through the burning streets as the final great storm broke over London. All German army groups had been ordered to advance simultaneously. On land and from the air, the entire force pushed forward in one massive, crushing assault.
Guderian, Bock and Manteuffel had finally met at a single point. All three generals stood inside a ruined building while hundreds of tanks rolled past them on the street in an endless steel column, their engines roaring like thunder.
Guderian lit a cigarette, his eyes never leaving the advancing tanks outside. Manteuffel smiled coldly while Bock simply nodded in grim satisfaction. Around them, German soldiers charged forward with renewed energy, the voice of the former British King still echoing from the broken radio beneath the rubble.
"To the brave soldiers still fighting in these ruins, to the families hiding in the Underground, to every man, woman and child who still believes in Britain, I say this: You have already done more than enough.
"But courage cannot stop steel and fire forever. I beg you, do not throw your lives away for leaders who have already fled. Lay down your arms. Show white flags. The German High Command has assured me that those who surrender will be treated with the highest of honour."
London, BBC
Charlotte sat slumped against the cold concrete wall. The door shuddered violently under heavy blows. Wood splintered. The banging grew louder, more desperate, more furious.
She gulped hard, tears streaming silently down her dirt-streaked face. Her gaze drifted to the other side of the room.
The technician lay there motionless. A dark pool of blood slowly spread across the floor from the wound in his chest. In his final moments he had realised what was happening. He had tried to stop the broadcast. He had begged her.
But it was too late.
Gunshots suddenly rang out in the corridor. The doorframe cracked under the impact.
Charlotte's face darkened. Without a word she threw the pistol into the far corner of the room. It clattered loudly against the floor and slid under a metal cabinet.
Then she closed her eyes.
The darkness brought her a strange, bitter relief.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, she opened her eyes again. The ringing in her ears slowly faded as the sounds of the world returned. Heavy boots, voices, the crackle of radios.
She blinked.
A hand hovered in front of her.
It belonged to a tall man in a black uniform, his face calm and unreadable. Behind him stood a dozen Wehrmacht soldiers securing the room, rifles ready, moving with practiced efficiency.
Charlotte stared at the outstretched hand. Her own fingers trembled as they rose slowly to meet it. They felt like ice.
"So this is what the devil's hand looks like," she whispered, barely audible.
She took it.
For a moment she remained completely still. Then a silent, bitter laugh escaped her. More a scoff than anything else.
"It's warm," she murmured.
"Thank you, Herr Soldat," she answered plainly.
The radio continued to transmit in the background.
Somewhere far away
The rhythmic sound of chopping filled the cramped kitchen. It smelled of fresh vegetables, hot broth, and sweat.
"So you are the one who couldn't take it anymore?"
The man who had been cutting vegetables slowed down, then stopped. He laid the knife aside.
"Well… better in the kitchen than in training," he replied, pulling his white kitchen hat lower over his forehead. "I figured I ought to do something for my country sooner rather than later."
"So you chose to become a kitchen assistant instead of a soldier in the navy?"
"Yes…"
He paused suddenly and looked up. Werner's face was caught in the dim light of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling as the ship swayed gently.
His eyes remained fixed on the small radio standing on the shelf above them.
"There is still a connection?" he asked the man who had questioned him.
"We are still close enough to the coast," the other answered. "But once we enter the Atlantic, of course there won't be."
-------------------------------------
Thank you all for the support! I appreciate every Power Stone, comment, and review.