#war2

Several officers filed down the corridor carrying their caps under their arms, their sombre expressions only meant their job that day was to deliver sad news to the King. In his own office, Albert was sat with his fingers lightly wrapped around a glass of whiskey, lost in deep thought.

Knowing what it was that was planned for them was half of the battle. As the enemy forces seemingly geared up for an attack, Britain had to prepare to retaliate by what means they could. The spitfire was a prized and proud invention and the King, as a former pilot himself, always looked forward to seeing the machines and meeting the pilots.

How? After months of guarding the boarder, how could the advance have been so poorly planned that there was a large gaping wound of a gap left for the Germans to get through and begin their invasion of France? Then came news of what Reynaud had said to Churchill, as if the man had already given up. What simply added to the fear and frustration was the startlingly quick surrender of Denmark and the Netherlands. Nations were falling all around Europe and France and Britain were next.

The king had worked his way through a pack of twenty cigarettes by mid morning and was pouring over the latest information from the new cabinet war rooms. His heel shaking nervously under his chair while his right hand helped him through his twenty-first cigarette of the morning, a headache growing in his determination to make sense of what had happened. Had information been leaked? Was it even possible to trace where it might have been?

After news hit the cabinet of the sinking of HMS Hood, the hunt for the Bismarck began in full swing. Albert had little to do with the direct manurers but he had a keen eye himself, calling upon those with a naval eye to match his own, which included Lieutenant James Norrington. He did not summon his officers to the Palace, instead going to see them at their various bases and since James was the son of his First Admiral, it was he who the King went to see.

With the German surrender, it was time to see the true horrors his and his allies troops had endured passed boarders originally beyond their reach. Arriving with a huge escort of armed guards, the King stepped out from the car and cast his eyes over the camp, seeing the wire fences, the various cabins, the dirt floor, the numerous tracks of perhaps a whole pack of dogs.

The Blitz. Parts of the country were in abysmal ruins, Buckingham Palace had been hit again on the previous night and after an assessment of the damage, the King still decided to operate out of the damaged building, a gesture of resilience or stubbornness.

War was a dreadful thing, one world war was one too many, but to be King during a second after having fought in the first, he simply could not hide away abroad as many wanted he and his family to do, no, if the country was at war then so was he! Though he couldn’t fight in the war himself, he took it upon himself to boost the morale of his peoples at home.

One such attempt of morale boosting was a visit to allied camps before the push they had planned. This time, his wife Elizabeth did not accompany him and he was at the camp alone, or as alone as a King could be. Arriving in the state car and stepping out gracefully, despite the mud while eagerly looking around to gather something of a mental note of the numbers that were currently helping his nation as they prepared for their own invasion.

After the rather ceremonial introductions and greetings, the King managed to dodge a speech for the time being, he was free to wonder the camp and meet those within it. Shaking their hands politely and wanting to hear their stories, no matter how brief the encounter was. It was then when he spotted a young woman stood among the ranks, smiling to her as he offered his hand to shake.