Surrender was absolutely not an option, no matter what it was that befell them, no matter how many of it’s peoples were left Britain would not surrender. Certainly not while Albert was still alive anyway.
Feelers had been put out and with a rather brisk message from a Canadian messenger, John-Robert found himself with a request from the British Monarch. A small destroyer was sent to pick him up and while he had a choice in the whole matter, it became rather clear when they arrived on Scottish shores, that the choices were becoming much narrower.
Inside a bunker, hidden in miles upon miles of tunnels was King George. His fountain pen scratched away at a document in front of him and he did not at first lift his head to look at the man he had summoned. There was a small line of yellow tape a few feet from the desk, a mark not to cross! Beside the King’s left side was a loaded pistol, brashly displayed on the surface though of course both knew it would do no significant harm. This was not at all like the former polite, proper and gentle meetings before the invasion.
“How long was the -wait on the decision not -to help us during the invasion?” He continued scratching at the paper, his voice cold and ruthless, his stammer constantly repressed by a very real anger in nearly ever syllable. “How long did it -take to decide that the States would -not -come to our aid? Weeks?” Finally he looked up to him, there was no longer any shyness, no restraint on his blatant outrage for congress. “Days? Hours?” His brows raised and he set the pen down heavily and expectantly. “We were the -final stop on the European -side. Now there is nothing in the way of the -Reich and indeed it’s new -favourite ally, -Japan, so now what?”
