My most loyal Nick,
We have done it! Thank you for the cigars and the nice bottle in celebration of our victory. The Lagavulin will go down especially well and I’ll save you a dram to raise with me, hopefully tomorrow when you can come into the office. Maybe we can raise a toast to Mount, who’s return to the backbenches couldn’t have come soon enough.
Sorry it has taken me a little longer than usual to respond to you. There were some things that I wanted sorted in the background first, and as I’m sure you can appreciate I’ve not exactly had a whole lot of free time!
What a time to be in power, ey? I am still beaming, despite the best efforts of the Party, papers and all these fucking civil servants. They really are an awful tribe of vacuous pedants, aren’t they? I’m still umming about who I’ll saddle with the party chair. At least where you are, you have your soldiers to follow your orders.
I’ve not long sat down, so please forgive the twists and turns. It’s been a long few days – I’m sure you can imagine – from the church hall last night to Southall St’s negotiating table, to the Palace this morning, to shaking hands and trading pleasantries in the lobby – the Cabinet Secretary lined everyone up and introduced me. God. I won’t remember their names, I really don’t know why he must insist.
But that’s besides the point. On to brighter things!
We have won, and now the Unionists have finally lined up behind us, we can get to work.
There was a night not long before I left the Army. It was Op Granby, maybe? Sat on top of our old Chally, somewhere in the desert, where we talked about this. Me in my first command role, you newly promoted. Do you remember? One day, us rising to the top of our piles. You have risen far, and fast – maybe not so much the last few years, though through any fault of your own – Mount made sure of that now didn’t he?
I have lagged behind somewhat, taken a little longer, though the rungs on my ladder seem much further apart than yours. But I’m here now, meeting you at the top. I don’t know about you, Nick, but good God it’s been a bitter few years.
I watched Mount across the despatch box, every fucking Wednesday, watching his little pantomime premiership play itself out. Imagine your prime ministerial career looking, strings and all, like Flower Pot Men.
Well, he’s left me with a right old mess. I can’t help but wonder whether it was partly intentional. To dismember our great nation, to let pieces of it go and put more lines on maps. Our allies – if we truly have any left – have been watching, horrified, while enemies rejoiced. I had the ill fortune to run into the Secretary of State in Washington last December, and she told me as much herself – though not in as many words as you might think.
I have a glorious opportunity ahead of me. I am filled with purpose. My first task is to set this country off rebuilding. Rebuilding our economy after all these years of mismanagement, our alliances, our standing in the world. Our legacy does not have to be the one Charlie Mount left us.
I am not him, thank God. No. We are rid of him now and on the gusting sigh of my relief – and the brilliance of the British voter – he will be carried off into obscurity on the backbenches.
I will return us to our proper, rightful course. I have a great imagination, a great lover for this country, her people, my purpose.
We are only a small set of islands, but I heard once even small things can cast large shadows. Imagine, our great Britannic nation restored to her glory. A country our young King and great people can be proud of. A nation that once again dictates the winds of trade, of progress, of art and music and culture, that is not afraid to intervene in the lawless lands around us. That speaks with authority and whose demands are met out of respect. That our allies and enemies know gives with a gracious left hand, while the right is always ready to strike.
These last few years, I cannot imagine, must have been hard for you. The constant Integrated or Strategic Reviews, the border to the north, the poor contracts and strategic retreats. I heard you lost a lot of good friends to the last review, and for that I am sorry I could not get here faster.
But now, I am the Prime Minister, and thanks to my predecessor, our enemies both foreign and domestic are stronger than ever. Well, don’t I know I have work to do.
And that is where you’re going to help me, Nick, my old friend.
There is a funny first job that I have to do, almost immediately after taking this office. It comes with the desk, apparently (a very nice one, I’m told, that the President has the sister of it in the Oval).
For some, I’m sure these letters of last resort are things they’d rather avoid. Mulling the total destruction of the country you have just assumed dominion over must be an uncomfortable exercise. I am fortunate that, watching Charlie run riot, I have been thinking about it for some time.
I’m sure he had no issue writing them. In fact, I imagine they came easy to him. Before I sent the Cab Sec home, I assured him that I’d spend my evening writing them out (I think I’d much rather spend the time writing to you, if I’m honest, so that’s what I’m doing – at least first – and then there is still my Cabinet to appoint, and all the other nonsense that comes with my new office, but I’ll get to that as well in good time). In preparation, I read all the papers, the briefings, policy positions, treaties, memorandums on this (another wonderful gift having a permanent Civil Service offers us) that all say in no uncertain terms that we must only ever retaliate.
That when the world goes mad, we must sit and watch and then, only then, react.
So here we are, waiting.
Patiently, I’m sure. For the Russians and the Chinese to take the first step. Or for Iran, God forbid, or North Korea to finally drag themselves up by their bootstrings. For Israel, maybe, or Pakistan or India. Or perhaps some enterprising young thing from Somewhereistan in Central Anywheria to build themselves a dirty bomb. That’s the kind of company we’re waiting for?
What a ridiculous void of a position that is for this great country to occupy. That any sane, real leader could endorse such stupidity is beyond me.
I have never understood this coward’s argument. That we squander the capability so many of our great scientists developed for us. That restraint from using this power is somehow noble. That it sends (for fucks sake) the right message. I have heard all the analogies, that it is our insurance policy, or our membership card to club of greater powers (I have much better memberships to much nicer clubs, let me be clear about that!).
But this is craven, outdated and not to mention counterproductive. It is performative wishwash bullshit for the woken liberal, lefty lunatics who for too long have led us while we rotted away.
And that’s not even before I get to the other dreadful ‘options.’ To let the Americans – ha – or the Australians (who by the way can’t even keep a Parliament going for long enough to make up their own fucking minds) decide for us. For us? When they show us such little respect. Us, who without, they wouldn’t even exist. They forget too soon that it was us that made it possible for them to have a seat at the table in the first place.
I will not even entertain the usual final choice. That some submarine commander who’s been stewing in a metal tube for 6 months with little contact with the outside world could make up their mind for, I’m sure, a grateful (but probably already destroyed) people.
It is not that I misunderstand their bravery, their capability or their commitment to our country. Far from it. But as their Prime Minister, it would be totally wrong for me to delegate this most awesome responsibility. How could I, in good faith, knowing now what I do?
No. I have better ideas.
And my first concerns you, old friend. I am sure you have been reading all this wondering what I was getting at. Well this is it. We sat together somewhere outside Kuwait City so many years ago, remaking the world with our words.
Now it’s time for action.
Tomorrow, as I mentioned, I will be appointing my Cabinet, chief among them my foreign secretary (I have a couple of ideas) to whom I will set a certain condition – do you see it yet?
That condition will be that they will appoint you as Chief of the Defence Staff and chief military adviser to both me, and the Crown. I will make you, my old friend, the most senior soldier in the country, the top of the pile, the height of the ladder.
And at this dizzying career height, you will hold at your disposal, and with the blessing of this Great Office, the greatest power this world has yet conjured. Your responsibilities will be many, your counsel required, and we will talk about all that if not tomorrow, then soon.
But the most important of them will already be familiar to you. That is, your duty to our great country. I will count on you for many things, but the first will always be your loyalty and willingness to do what must be done.
I will write my letters to the four commanders tonight. I have set out my vision to you here. And I will hold you, and all your soldiers, responsible for striking fast and first at any sign of an impending nuclear attack.
You cannot allow us to be annihilated, or for our great cities – London, Birmingham (your old playground, no less), Liverpool, Leeds, or for any patch of our soil – to become the new Hiroshima, or Nagasaki. Your job will be to make sure our people do not die in vain or become shadows burned onto empty streets.
The consequences of your failure will be far greater than those of your success.
And I’m sure this is a sentiment you will share – that we are not victims, that we in this great country do not bow our heads to the whims of others. We do not allow decisions to made on our behalf. No. No, chart our own course.
I will make this government one that will never be intimated or cowed by countries or people that wish us harm. It has always been our duty to lead – yours and mine, our countries. I hope that’s not something which has changed for you. I hope, truly, that you will join me in this great endeavour.
Writing you has given me such peace tonight, and all these years we have remained in touch. Isn’t it a relief, a privilege really, knowing what lies ahead? What we will do together?
It seems so long since that quiet night in Kuwait, but I am glad to have called you friend for so long. I go into my time in office heartened by our continued confidence, our shared mission – the re-ennobled defence of our awesome realm.
As always, it is probably best we keep our correspondence private, you know, between us. We can hash out all the technical, political nonsense when you take up your new post. In the meantime, you have your orders, Nick. Burn after reading.
In renewed, Great British spirit, your friend
D.
Artwork courtesy of my friend, Linds, @liverdrawthis, and huge thanks to PV for your never-ending support and help bringing my ideas to life.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DRYSTONE. 