15th April 1942,

The Great Hall, Berghof,

Berchtesgaden, Bavaria, Germany.

 

The atmosphere in the Great Hall of the Fuhrer’s Bavarian vacation home was tense. The world’s ever-changing news had reached the ears of the Führer, and safe to say, the leader of the German Reich was not one bit pleased with what he was hearing.

 

Winston Churchill, a thorn in the side of the fatherland, had landed right where the German War Machine could have wiped him off the playing board forever. His position had never broadcasted this before to the German intelligence agency, and a perfect plan was hatched to execute it.

 

The Luftwaffe would clear the sky of British land-based fighters and American carrier aviation. Before this so-called teleportation event, it was quite clear that they were no match to the Luftwaffe’s fighters. If successful, his assassination was expected to be a flogging for the Allies and a humiliation for the British Empire and her subjects as the Royal Air Force’s clear uselessness would be demonstrated for the entire world to see.

 

But what happened was nothing more than some of the most advanced Luftwaffe aircraft destroyed and highly experienced aces killed in a single operation. The single worst blow to their reputation. Forget eliminating the leader of the British Empire, they could not even make it to their bombing targets before getting wiped out, save for one pilot who returned limping in his stricken aircraft.

 

“So, Göring…,” The Fuhrer began, “Would you care to explain what happened on the 8th of this month?” The Fuhrer paused, refusing to look toward Goring to even show his disapproval. “I had high expectations for the mission you had planned.” He began to speak, now looking right into the eyes of the overweight man. It was clear that Göring’s morphine addiction resurfaced, but the Führer only cared for the job to be done.

 

“Mein Führer, our pilots performed exceptionally well, even the weapons our scientists in Reichs Forschungsrat performed beyond expectations, and even wiped out any RAF fighters in the air.” Göring quickly responded, his nervousness clear on his face.

 

“Göring.” Adolf Hitler said, stopping the fat man from spewing out excuses. “I read the mission report. I’m not concerned about who performed how or whether the Royal Air Force was wiped out.” The way Goring’s face was beginning to pale, everybody else mentally braced themselves. 

 

“I want to know how the mighty Luftwaffe failed to kill that Arschgeige after everything we had done to get him into that position?” The Fuhrer asked calmly as he set down his drink. “Now I do not wish to say this, but it seems like the Luftwaffe isn’t all that it's meant to be.”

 

“Mein Führer, we would have succeeded had it not been for those strange planes with American markings.” Göring began conveying what had happened before he was cut off-.

 

“I thought that American planes would not be a problem.” The Fuhrer cut in. “You guaranteed that we had people watching those carriers!”

 

“You are correct, Mein Fuhrer,” Goering said in agreement. “And those aircraft did not come from the American carriers stationed in English waters. At Least that’s what we believe.”

 

“Then where the hell did they come from?!” The Fuhrer asked, slipping a little bit of the tight control he was keeping on his emotions.

 

“Just as I said, Mein Fuhrer, we had believed we were keeping an eye on all the American carriers,” Goering said. “From what we understand, those carriers are possibly deployed near the Arctic. Perhaps somewhere off the coast of Faroe Islands.”

 

“Where on Earth is that?” The Fuhrer admitted.

 

“The Faroe Islands, Mein Fuhrer is a Danish island North of the United Kingdom. The British have been occupying after we invaded Denmark to go to Norway.” Admiral Erich Raeder spoke.

 

“We have U-boats and planes in Norway, right?” The Fuhrer asked, and everybody nodded. “Then I want everything over there taking care of that American Fleet! They will pay for making a mockery of our pilots!”

 

“I’ll see that the orders are sent.” Erich Raeder said.

 

“What else do we know, Herr Goering?” Hitler asked. 

 

“I do not know what happened to America, but the fighters our pilots faced, they were nothing we have seen before,” Goring explained. They were shot at from distances never expected before. It was as if they had weapons similar to ours, and had much longer to develop it.” He spoke up more confidently now that the ire of the Fuhrer was directed elsewhere.

 

Noting what was said, the Führer turned his attention towards Raeder.

 

“Herr Raeder, I need the plans for Unternehmen Seelöwe (Operation Sealion). We have to force the British hand. Also, while you hunt them down, I want you to investigate the naval capabilities of these ‘Americans’.”

 

“Regarding Unternehmen Seelöwe, Mein Führer, we still need time as we are still training our units for this mission.”

 

“And about the ‘Americans’, they are stronger than anything we faced before. This might be controversial, but I believe they outrange us in missile tech, and the fact they have been hunting down a lot of our Atlantic U-boats, suggests they are much more advanced than the Reich.” Erich Raeder bravely voiced his opinions to the Führer, which got the man thinking.

 

“Time is not what we have! If what you are saying is true, then we would not get any other window of opportunity to deal with a fatal strike on the United Kingdom. With the British out, the Americans will not have a staging ground and we’ll be able to deal with them by then.” The man responded, after thinking for a bit.

 

“Yes, Mein Führer, I will personally fast-track the preparations for it.”

 

With Raeder out of the room, the Führer turned his attention towards the remaining people seated in front of him.

 

"Now, tell me, gentlemen, why have our soldiers not reached Moscow yet? I was promised a military parade in the Red Square last autumn! How has there been no progress?!"

 

"Mein Führer, our supply chain needs time to recover from the failed Winter Offensive and the Soviet counterattack led by Marshal Shapashnikov, we are still overstretched." Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel replied. 

 

"Fischkopf! It is because of useless people like you in the Wehrmacht that I have been constantly sabotaged! You told me we would not have to worry about supplies. That we would be in Moscow with no issue, and that we outpowered the bastard communists.” The Führer angrily said, rage clouding his senses because nothing was going according to plan.

 

“Mein Fuhrer, by the end of two months, we will be able to initiate Case Blue, our offensive into Southern Russia to capture the oil fields there. Army Group South is about to finish final preparations.” Field Marshal Keitel reported. “And if we capture Stalingrad, the morale of the Soviets would plummet.”

 

“Bah!” The Fuhrer dismissively grunted as he allowed his palm to drop on the table, thinking of what could be done. That’s when he was hit by a brainwave. “Tanya! She was able to single-handedly destroy half of the French defensive line and she did not sabotage my plans!" He exclaimed, having seen how effective the General was, having seen her in action during the Great War as well. If there was a person he completely respected, it was her, and she was missing.

 

His inner circle could not answer him, while Himmler was sitting next to him, smirking at how he was treated better than the best. He had plans for Germany, but he still had to wait. 

 

"Herr Himmler, what is the progress with finding her?" He asked, now rather surprisingly calm.

 

"Mein Führer, she seems to have hidden her tracks well, expected from the best Mage we know. As of now, Obersturmbannführer Otto Skorzeny, one of her students, is currently tracking her down. The poor man is chasing multiple leads. For now, we believe she has fled to Norway or Switzerland." Himmler said. “But there was also a rumour that she was seen in Indonesia.”

 

“Indonesia?” Hitler asked in surprise. “Is she planning to defect to Japan?”

 

“That’s the thing,” Himmler said. “I contacted the Kempeitai, and they have assured me that no one matching her description was seen there or anywhere within the Japanese sphere of influence.”

 

“Tell me, Herr Himmler.” Hitler started. “How much of what these Japs said can we believe? For all we know, the Japs already have her and are using her for their goals in Asia.”

 

“Mein Fuhrer, if the Imperial Japanese Army’s mage units suddenly began making stunning reversals against their enemies, regardless of which side of the Pacific, we would have heard about it.” Himmler immediately replied, already expecting that question. “The man I corresponded with, staked his reputation when he informed me that he conducted a thorough search on all ‘liberated’ territories and he found nothing. I believe she is deliberately spreading falsehoods to distract us from finding her.”

 

"Very well, Herr Himmler. Now regarding India and its strange reports, somebody go out and see if Bose is here, he would be interested in this."

 

Half an hour later, the Indian Independence leader, Subhas Chandra Bose, commander of the Free Indian Legion [Infanterie-Regiment 950 (Indisches)], entered the meeting room and greeted The Führer with a handshake.

 

"Herr Bose, it has been decided, you are being sent to India to investigate what is happening to your Homeland. At Tempelhoff Airport, there is a plane waiting for you. Because of the fuel restrictions and to prevent you from being tracked by Allied aircraft, your flight will stopover in Turkey, before you land in Kabul, Afghanistan. From there, your friends can smuggle you in. However, I do not expect that to be very difficult given the situation there. A company of mages will also be provided to ensure your safety, just in case your plane is noticed." The Führer spoke.

 

Bose nodded to Hitler's proposition. "I understand, your Excellency. I have been troubled by what might have befallen my Motherland. There is no news from India, neither from the Colonial Government or any other sources."

 

"That is not entirely true, Herr Bose." A man in Kriegsmarine uniform and the rank of an Admiral spoke, and Bose turned towards the man.

 

"Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, head of the Abwehr." He introduced himself.

 

"We have intercepted several radio transmissions between the British Mainland and India. While we have yet to make any sense of it, one thing we understand is that there has been a major armed uprising. We believe that the British forces have been routed by the British Indian Army units." The man informed Bose.

 

Bose was completely stunned upon hearing this. "Why... Why wasn't the Special Bureau of India not informed about this?"

 

"We were still going through the facts we were able to get and to see if this was not just another minor mutiny that would be crushed in a few days, but we were wrong. A few days ago, there was a skirmish between the Royal Navy and a fleet of ships calling themselves the Indian Navy in the Arabian Sea, and according to the Italians in the region, it is our understanding that the Royal Navy was forced to retreat." Canaris reported the intelligence he had received.

 

Bose stood silent for an entire minute, using most of his brain’s power to digest all this information, "That means..."

 

"It seems that the entirety of India along with all the Former British Indian Army units have mutinied and have been fairly successful. We also intercepted reports coming from the Punjab province where British authorities have engaged in skirmishes with soldiers from the Indian Army and have seen armoured vehicles bearing the Indian Congress Flag." The Admiral added.

 

"I must go back as soon as possible to help and lead my people. Is there any way I could take the Legion with me?" Bose requested as he finally understood what was going on.

 

"Impossible." This time it was the Führer who spoke before he continued. "Until the Royal Navy has been dealt with completely, no transport ship can carry your men." 

 

“Fear not, your Excellency, I shall be fine. My countrymen have equally efficient alternatives should such an opportunity arise.”

 

“Are you sure?” The Führer said. Bose could see the lines of worry and skepticism on his forehead. 

 

“Yes, your Excellency. I have absolute faith in my people.”

 

“Fine then. As the Führer, I approve of this journey. Do what you need to make the safe journey home.” 

Bose nodded again. "Very well, your Excellency. I shall prepare for my departure post haste."

 

"Understandable. Have a safe journey, Herr Bose." The Führer said as both men shook hands.

 

"Thank you, your Excellency," Bose said before he left. As he got into his car, he pondered about everything he heard. Bose would admit he was flabbergasted about what was going on and in disbelief about how the Congress or any other group managed to pull such an act and how were they able to convince Gandhiji (Mahatma Gandhi) or his former colleagues of the Indian Congress Party to go along with this.

 

Nonetheless, a genuine smile formed on Bose’s face as he reached the base's exit and entered his car.

 

‘Freedom is not given, it’s taken. It seems my brethren back home have finally understood the will to achieve their freedom.’ He thought to himself as the car drove straight to the airstrip. From there, Bose went straight to the Free India Legion Garrison at Königsbrück, Saxony, and broke the news to his men.

 

"Oh Motherland, just wait, your sons abroad will soon return home and join your cause and fight for your freedom."

 

That day, it was said the Free Indian Legion sang their anthem the loudest and could be heard by the other German Units posted near them.

 

---[+]---

 

Pontarlier,

Bourgogne-Franche-Comté,

Occupied France.

 

In the small French town of Pontarlier, just beside the Swiss border, two boys idled outside the town’s only cafe. In front of them, the flag of the German Reich menacingly waved at the square, below the clear blue sky, reminding the citizens that they were under occupation.

 

The father of the two boys owned a restaurant and had managed to stay afloat by providing its services to their German occupiers. It did help that their father knew how to make German food, and the Wehrmacht officer in charge of the area essentially put their restaurant under his protection. The radio, set to the ‘Great Germany Radio’, continued spewing its canneries de propagande habituelles (usual propaganda bullshit).

 

Pierre, the older brother, returned inside when he spotted two German patrol men entering the restaurant. Meanwhile, the younger brother, Arthur, put on his newsboy cap and walked down the stone-paved avenue.

 

Now fourteen, Arthur once again began reminiscing about his time before the war. Before it had been announced that the Germans had made a mockery of the much-vaunted Maginot Line and were already occupying Paris. When France got partitioned between the Germans and the puppet state known as Vichy, his town unfortunately came under the jurisdiction of the former. Where once the Tricolore du drapeau français (Tricolour of the French Flag) proudly waved on the flagpole, since June 1940 (a time he remembered very well), it was replaced with the red, white, and black flag of the German Reich. 

 

Arthur didn't understand why, but a few weeks after the German occupation began he saw many of his Jewish friends and neighbors loaded onto trucks as if the farmers from the countryside were herding their cattle. What once used to be the residence of the Jews were either abandoned or was being used by the Wehrmacht for any reason under the sun 

 

As Arthur continued daydreaming, he found that his feet had taken him to the only electronic store in the town. As he did, every time he passed through the shop, Arthur pressed his face against the glass to see the new black-and-white television models. There wasn’t a day he could remember those things broadcasting anything other than the Großdeutsches Fernsehen or the Greater German Television (GGTV), the visual station of the Großdeutsches Reich. It seemed like the German soldiers may have taken some models with them, because today only one working model was there, with radios surrounding it. 

 

Arthur rolled his eyes when he saw the newsman on the TV, claiming the glory of the Reich. It was stupid the first time he saw it, it is stupid today, and it will remain stupid in the future.

 

Already bored, Arthur entered the shop. The shopkeeper, who was tinkering with some of the circuitry, momentarily looked at the boy before he continued working. “How’s your father, boy?” The shopkeeper asked. 

 

"Same as always," Arthur replied with a yawn as he sat on an empty stool behind the counter. He looked at the TV sets that were on display and realized that these were newer models. Which meant they’ve been selling in Berlin for around nine months now. Of course, his father wouldn’t be able to afford these newer models. Only the rich people, who right now were all collaborationists, could afford them.

 

Cranking the volume up, he can hear the newsman babble in German. "Audio has gone better than the older models," Arthur observed. 

 

"Don’t you know? Even hinting that German engineering is nothing short of perfect will get you a bullet.” The shopkeeper sarcastically said, making the young boy chuckle. “Anyway, the weather channel should be coming soon. That’s the only part of the news I can tolerate nowadays anyway.”

 

"As for tomorrow's weather, we're expecting mostly sunny in Bourgogne-Franche-Comté, but more cloudy in Centre-Val de Loire. Now, back to you-" With a raised eyebrow, Arthur watched the television begin to glitch before the weather lady got distorted into funny shapes and sizes.

 

"Hey, looks like there’s a problem in the oh-so-great German engineering,” Arthur said to the shop owner. “I see it.” The shop owner replied as he began investigating the problem. “Looks like there’s something up with the receiver antenna…”

 

As the shopkeeper tried to fix the TV, the distortion seemed to fix itself. However, instead of the weather lady, there were two men in suits. Curiously enough, both men had lapel pins of a rather familiar tricolor. 

 

"My fellow French citizens who are currently suffering under the occupying jackboot of the Nazi Regime of Germany and the collaborationist regime of Vichy; my name is Philippe Côté, the ambassador of the Fifth Republic of France to the United Nations, and with me is Francois Bonnet, the ambassador of the Fifth Republic of France to the United States of America.” The man called Philippe Côté began.

 

Meanwhile, Arthur counted on his fingers and remembered that it was the Third Republic of France that had capitulated to the Germans. So if this fellow said he was from the Fifth Republic... “Wait a minute! What happened to the Fourth Republic?!” Arthur asked the TV. But of course, the men on TV continued without answering. This time it was the ambassador to the USA speaking.

 

“Mes amies, our nation was founded on the principles of Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité.  

"Republic of France? Ambassador? Extermination? What is this man talking about?” The Shopkeeper mentioned as they watched.

 

"I want every one of you to look at this photo." The camera zooms in on a picture held by the man. 

 

"What you are seeing is the entrance to the Auschwitz concentration camp, Oświęcim, Poland. This is one of the major extermination camps used by the German regime. Along with it, are its sister camps, camp Dachau and Treblinka. 

 

“Now, you might ask, what is so important about these brick buildings?"

 

The man put down the photo, and spread out multiple other ones, on the wooden table. The camera smoothly slides, and the top views the photos. 

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is what the Nazis have done to your Jewish neighbors."

 

Arthur stood flabbergasted at the images. One of the Jewish prisoners standing on the other side of barbed wires, in striped pajamas, and much to Arthur’s horror, he was sure that one of them looked just like his friend. Another one shows Jewish prisoners cramped into wooden bunks, with the looks of malnourishment. The third picture shows the camp, in its aerial view, with markers at different locations. 

 

The commander's house, the camp kitchen, the prisoner registration building, the loot storage, the execution wall, and so much more. Finally, the last picture shows hundreds of brittle-boned bodies lying on top of each other. Like they were rubbish thrown into the ditch.

 

Arthur ran out of the shop while trying to keep his breakfast in. Luckily, he spotted a rubbish bin and ran towards it before ripping open the lid and emptying his stomach in it. 

 

After some time of dry heaving, Arthur lifted his head back up with a tired groan and began walking away from the store to try and think of anything else to forget the images of what he saw, however, he was unsuccessful at that as he saw the images on the display windows again as he passed the shop. However, he wasn’t alone this time as a squad of young Wehrmacht riflemen had also seen the visuals, and based on the stains on their uniforms, it was clear that they had the same reaction as he did.

---[+]---

Dehnawe Farza,

Kabul Province,

Kingdom of Afghanistan

 

In the barren expanse of the mountains, there was a small settlement towards which a lone man made his way to a small hamlet that was comfortably nestled just outside Kabul. After greeting some of the armed men in the courtyard he made his way inside.

 

“Sur Salam!” The man said as he gave a short salute.

 

A man dressed in traditional Pathan attire greeted him with a smile and returned the greeting.

 

“Jai Hind, aur Lal Salam.”

 

“I have brought some news beloved uncle-ehh… apologies… Bose Babu”

 

“It's fine Bhagat Ram, it is better to stay in character. There are more eyes and ears everywhere these days.”

 

“Then you shouldn’t be speaking my beloved uncle, you still are deaf and dumb to the world.”

 

Both men had a hearty laugh before calming down.

 

“Bose Babu, this  information I  got is still jumbled and broken … but it looks like one thing is clear..” Bhagat pulled out an Afghani newspaper in Pashtun from his bag and placed it on a table. 

 

“‘Raj in Disarray as India Rises in Revolt’.” Bose read before he turned to Bhagat Ram, and the latter could see the hope light up in his eyes. 

 

“Indeed, Bose Babu, it seems like the British oppressors are being beaten to a pulp. Celebrations are happening at Kabul’s Indian quarters… I even met Uttam Chandji and he was in a very jolly mood.”

Bose’s face lit up upon hearing this, “It is true then, our people have broken the shackles of oppression.”

 

“Well, there were rumours for me as well,” Bhagat responded. “That was until I met comrade Sajid Khan from Kirti Kisan Party (Workers and Peasants Party) who arrived in Kabul this morning.” 

 

“From what I have heard, the fields of Punjab have been turned into no man’s land between the British stooges and the rebel army. Even the cantonment in Peshawar was  bombed by those fast planes without propellers.”

“Jets,” Bose responded. “The rebels were so successful that they even managed to turn some of the jet pilots of the Royal Indian Air Force?”

“Yes, their screeching noise was deafening as our friend Sajid has narrated, it woke up the entire city…he even saw them with his own eyes, flames streaking from those planes' rear end as they flew away into the night undeterred by firing from AA batteries which were too slow to track them.” Bhagat continued to narrate the tale of events he had learned.

 

“The situation has also escalated in different parts of Punjab and North Western Frontier Province. The people are out in the streets rebelling, causing issues for the British troops. Many are being crushed easily, but they continue to resist. There was even heavy fighting being reported on the outskirts of Lahore.” The British are being pushed back inch by inch, by the rebel army. It is a bloodbath, Bose Babu.” Bhagat happily announced.

Bose lowered his head a bit and whispered a prayer, “Oh, brave fighters of the motherland. I pray for your sacrifices to be fruitful in liberating the rest of our motherland still in chains.”

 

“And God has heard your prayers, Bose Babu.” Bhagat smiled saying this. “According to the newspaper, the British Indian Military mutiny has broken the back of the Raj and the Empire is suing for peace. There may be a delegation from Delhi arriving soon to discuss terms with the British held at Afghanistan’s king’s palace.”

 

“Really?”

Bhagat Ram nodded with a smile.

 

“Hmmm..” Bose scratched his beard. 

 

He still couldn’t understand what changed to allow Gandhiji to accept such a violent method to drive the Britishers out. Even if Gandhiji perhaps wasn’t involved, the fact this rebel government is willing to sue for peace with London proves that whoever is at the helm is accepting Gandhiji’s counsel. Regardless, staying here was not going to answer his questions or quench his curiosity. Thus, he decided to take a risky step.

“Bhagat Ram.”

“Yes, Bose Babu ?”

 

“I want you to go back to Uttam Chand and inform him that I will be visiting his home soon. Also ask him to prepare a lodging for my men as well and not to forget, keep this a secret until we find out what is going on.”

 

Bhagat Ram thought for a while. He knew it wasn't going to be easy or safe, but he also knew how Bose Babu was. Refusing was simply pointless when it came to such things. After a moment, he nodded.  “I will do it at once Bose Babu.”

 

He stepped out of the hamlet leaving Bose in his thoughts.

 

--Linebreak--

 

It was not until a day later when Bose’s party made their way into the bustling capital of Afghanistan, Kabul. 

 

Their disguise was simple like before, Bhagat Ram was Rahmat Khan, Bose acted as his uncle Jiauddin Khan who had permanently become mute, and the rest of his Indian Legion associates acted as family members of Uttam Chand from Punjab.

 

“Mamaji (Uncle), Kabul is far more crowded than before so be careful.” 

 

Bhagat Ram cautioned Bose, who nodded in response, glancing at the growing number of British soldiers and civilians around. The Kabul authorities were hard-pressed to handle them and from the looks of it, most of the inns which were to handle European customers were full.

 

‘Refugees’ He thought to himself while watching his surroundings keenly like a hawk, ‘Good for us’

 

The chaotic situation was a boon for his travelling party as they casually passed through overburdened police and Afghan Army posts, blending among the crowds, slipping right under their noses, and entering the Indian district of the city. 

 

The environment here was the opposite of what he had witnessed a while ago on the streets. It was a combination of both Jubilation and confusion. It didn’t take long for Bose and his party to arrive at Uttam Chand’s place. A modest and inconspicuous crockery and radio repair shop.

Bose and Bhagat Ram went in to greet him as the rest of the party waited outside. As expected they were given a warm welcome by Uttam Chand ushered them to his modest house’s guest quarters on the first floor in their attic. 

 

“This is the second time I feel I have returned home since I left India.”

Uttam Chand smiled at this comment. “You are being too polite, it's just a poor man’s hut.”

Bose placed both hands on Chand’s shoulder. “This home has given me shelter once, Uttam Chandji, and I am honoured to stay here and I am further indebted to your kindness.”

“Don’t say that Subhas Babu, you graced us with your visit….we are honored to house you again… Last time you were leaving India behind… but now you will be returning home to our people as a hero.”

 

Bose chuckles “I am sure I will but first, we need to assess the situation...what is going back in India..that is the reason why I am still acting as a mute Pathan.

 

“But I am sure you must have heard what is going on back home,” Chand said as the two men sat down at a table where steaming cups of tea were already prepared. “Have you not gotten in contact directly with the rebels? How about anyone from the Congress Party?”

“Whatever I have heard Sajid Khan told Bhagat Ram a few weeks ago. That, and whatever I have read in the newspaper here.” Bose replied much to Chand’s surprise. “As for direct contact, all I can say is a simple no. I have tried to contemplate what could have happened to have Gandhiji allow this, and if he didn’t then did they simply ignore him and carry out their plan anyway?”

 

“When you put it like that…” Chand trailed off in agreement.

 

“I think the answers to my questions will be found here, in Kabul.” Bose declared, which made Chand look at him quizzically.

 

Uttam Chand scratched his head “What do you mean Subhas Babu?”

 

In response, Bose showed his host the latest newspaper. “You must have heard about the fact that Indian envoys of the Rebel government are coming to Kabul.”

 

“I have heard about it,” Chand said as he took the newspaper from Bose and read the front page. “But why is that important?”

 

“Because stabilising and securing the Durand Line will be one of the most important objectives any Indian Government needs to achieve in the immediate short term. Even the British used to do it through expeditions, diplomacy, and wars.” Bose explained.

 

“So when do you think these envoys will come then?” Chand asked.

 

“Soon,” Bose replied. “I would say around two weeks.”

 

“You sound sure, Subhas Babu,” Chand commented.

 

“Well… I’m not a prophet, Chandji. I can certainly be wrong.” Bose said with a shrug. “But until then, I am just a relative of yours from a far-off village.”

Chand chuckled at that, “Not to worry about Subhas Babu… consider this as your own home for you and for your men, I have already made some arrangements at my warehouse.”

 

–Linebreak–

 

In the intervening ten days since Bose shifted to Kabul to gather intelligence about the rebellion, he and his men had quickly learned that the news was developing at a breakneck speed. Already, there were reports of motorcades going to and fro from Bagram Airfield to the Royal Palace. 

 

There were also reports of strange-looking soldiers around Bagram and the rumour was that these were the Indian rebel soldiers. Uttam Chand had dispatched a man to confirm these rumours at Bose’s request, but he sheepishly returned saying that the Royal Afghan Army had completely sealed off the area around the airfield. It appeared that it was a similar case at the Royal Palace.

 

Meanwhile, Bose wrote letters to some friends and acquaintances who were either in the Afghan Government or were friends of persons who were working in the Afghan Government to inquire about what was going on. Bose had even asked some of Uttam Chand’s men to bribe people who worked in the Afghan Royal Palace and Foreign Ministry.

 

“Looks like you were right, Bose Babu.” Uttam Chand said. Both men were in the back of the shop, drinking tea. “The Rebel Government has sent diplomats to stabilise the Durand Line.”

 

“What about those strange soldiers at Bagram?” Bose asked.

 

“The rumours persist.” Uttam Chand replied. “Karim, who works as a local staff at the German Embassy, said that someone heard one of the German military officials say that the strange soldiers are somehow dressed like their own soldiers in Europe. They seemed surprised.”

 

“They should be,” Bose said. “Did the Germans see these soldiers?”

 

“Considering that staff and communications from Berlin regularly come to Kabul via the Berlin-Kabul Air Freight, it is highly possible that someone might have seen something.” Uttam Chand said.

 

“What else is happening in India?” Bose asked after some moments of compilation.

 

“It is all conjecture and hearsay, but in the East, the British have more or less surrendered. Soon, the British Indian Army fighting in Burma will be cut off from supplies. The Japanese will overrun them. In the West, the so-called Indian Navy has set up a blockade and the Royal Navy is keeping its distance. There are reports of fighting in Quetta and Peshawar but the rebel government is offering a ceasefire.”

 

“Why?”

 

“The rebels are claiming they have achieved their objectives. They have no interest in prolonging the fighting.”

 

“Or they could be running out of arms and ammunition.” Bose reasoned.

 

“Either way, the British cannot afford to divert any more men or material.” Uttam Chand said.

 

“British response?” Bose asked.

 

“Churchill is apparently in the USA. Either to get their help to retake India or to broker the ceasefire.” Uttam Chand said. “If it’s the latter, some think he will come to India to personally finalise the ceasefire and negotiate to allow supplies to continue to Burma.”

 

“The British Bulldog…” Bose said and lifted his tea cup as if it were a shot of alcohol, for a toast to the British Prime Minister. “Defiant to the very end.”

 

--Linebreak--

 

A few days later at the front of the shop, Abid Hasan stretched his back, “Oh the pain..” Sleeping in a cramped shed behind the shop for the last two weeks or so hadn’t been easy for his body. Especially when he had to share it with three more others.

With a sigh, he returned to his assigned post of acting as an errand boy and looking out for their host Uttam Chand.

 

The controlled chaos in Kabul has also brought a lot of customers to Uttam Chand’s store. Many wanted to get their hands on a new set of radios to keep abreast of the rapidly developing situation in Kabul. 

 

The rumours of the Indian rebels had only increased, and many people, including Hasan himself had finally managed to spot some of the rebel soldiers just outside Bagram Airfield. It sparked a frenzy because once again, those soldiers had disappeared into the airfield and the Royal Afghan Army had reinforced their presence around the airfield’s perimeter.

 

Some people had come to Uttam Chand’s shop to repair their damaged radios. One of these people currently at Uttam Chand’s shop was an English couple and Uttam Chand was attending to his new customers while looking at their radio incredulously. “You’re better off buying a new one.” Uttam Chand said after he inspected the radio.

 

“There must be something you can do?” The wife requested. “Our son bought this for us with his first salary.”

 

“I’m very sorry.” Uttam Chand said. “But considering the fact that there is a .303 bullet lodged inside, I’ll have to completely replace the internal mechanics of it. Considering how expensive that will be, you might as well just buy a new one. How did this happen anyway?”

 

“We were coming here through the Khyber Pass.” The husband said as he lit a pipe for himself. “Next thing we know those damn tribesmen started shooting. That radio saved my wife from being shot! I would prefer if you fixed this radio or we are more than willing to take our business elsewhere!” Despite the man’s abrasive tone, Uttam Chand could see the intermittent tremors in the man’s hand as he lit his pipe, making it clear how shaken he was.

 

“Even if I did, it’d end up being an entirely different radio.” Uttam Chand countered. “Madam here has sentimental value attached to it.”

 

“Will you do it or not?” The husband asked.

 

“Sure.” Uttam Chand said. “But like I said, it will be a different radio, expensive, and… Oh yeah! It will take time.”

 

“That will be fine.” The wife said. “How long?”

 

“I will have to first take out the bullet and then properly assess the damage.” Uttam Chand replied. “It is a delicate process. A week maybe.”

 

“Fine. It’s not like we have anything else to do while that rebellion is happening anyway.” The husband declared. Both took the chairs Uttam Chand offered once Hasan had got them from the back of the shop.

 

“What’s happening there anyway?” Uttam Chand asked as he began taking out his tools to start working. “I heard there was fighting at Peshawar and Quetta.”

 

“Not the rebel army.” The husband said as he smoked from his pipe. “They are sitting on the banks of the Indus and using Multan as a supply base after they captured it from the British Indian Army. The fighting you mentioned was started by revolutionaries, radical Congress workers, and the tribesmen.”

Hasan, who had overheard everything, only shook his head at the irony of how they were now receiving first-hand accounts of the rebellion in his homeland through the mouths of a few dislodged Englishmen. 

 

Meanwhile, Bose himself was sitting on a chair on the porch, enjoying the morning sun seemingly pretending as if the world around him didn’t exist. Of course, Hasan knew that was just an act. At the growing curiosity of the couple about Bose, Uttam Chand just told them the existing cover story of Bose being his uncle who happened to be mute and used to live near the border but was now living with him for his safety.

 

A week later, Uttam Chand had made significant progress on the radio, and once again, the couple was sitting on his porch. The husband, he had learned was named Elliot Wilford, a retired sergeant who had fought in the Great War. His wife was named Constance Wilford nee Rogers. 

 

Originally the couple were from Cornwall and had come to India to be with their son, who had been posted in the British Indian Army and last they heard had been fighting the rebels in Bengal. They were in Karachi when the rebellion began and had to soon join the procession of British refugees to Afghanistan once it was clear that the British were being beaten on the battlefield. 

 

They planned to continue their journey through British-occupied Southern Iran and the Kingdom of Iraq which was also occupied by the British before waiting at the British Mandate of Palestine until the situation at the Mediterranean Sea calmed down for them to catch a steamer to the United Kingdom.

 

“The rebels have an airforce.” Elliot Wilford said after he lit a pipe for himself, prompting everyone, including Bose, to turn to look at him. “They regularly fly in at that airfield… What’s it called again?”

 

“Bagram?” Uttam Chand asked to confirm as he fiddled with the Wilford’s radio antenna.

 

“Yeah, that.” Mr. Wilford said. “According to this bloke I met at the British Embassy, the rebels are close to finalising an agreement with the Afghan government.”

 

“Agreement about what?” Uttam Chand asked.

 

“Anything and everything.” Mr. WIlford said. “The rebels have everything they want. That bastard Churchill will capitulate, urged on by the bloody Americans, and the Allies will be lucky if India remains neutral.”

 

“What do you mean?” Uttam Chand asked again.

 

“Haven’t you heard? The Japanese are also trying to court the new Indian rebel government to join their side. If that happens, Australia might as well just surrender to the Japs.” Mr. Wilford explained.

 

“Wait a minute. What about the thing you just said about Churchill?” Hasan piped up. “Why did you call him… you know…”

 

“Son… I was at Gallipoli.” Mr. Wilford said as if that explained the world to the young man. It sure did to Bose and Uttam Chand, but explaining to Hasan in front of the Wilfords would ruin their cover.

 

“The Prime Minister was the First Sea Lord during the Great War. He was the man in charge of the Royal Navy.” Mrs. Wilford explained, inadvertently solving the issue for Bose and Uttam Chand. “He had pushed for and planned the invasion of Gallipoli to secure a route of supplies to Russia. It had failed and many young men had died there. Luckily my husband survived.” Mrs. Wilford finished as she held her husband’s hand to support him.

 

After that, talk subsided as Uttam Chand tried to get the antennas to catch some transmission. Meanwhile, Hasan decided to walk around the city to get more information from members of the Indian Independence League who were in Kabul.

 

It was the next day that the world’s axis for Subhash Chandra Bose, Uttam Chand, Abid Hasan, and many other people who prayed for Indian Independence completely shifted. Today it was Hasan who was putting the finishing touches on the radio while they waited for the Wilford couple to come by.

 

“How is it coming along?” Hasan turned to see Bose in his Pashtun disguise standing beside him. The independence activist was about to leave for his daily stroll around the Indian quarters.

“Theoretically, it should be working. The issue is that there is no coverage.” Hasan explained. 

 

“Honestly radio coverage is so much better in Berlin than here at Kabul.”

Bose chuckled. “I do hope I have not distracted you from your studies.”

“Mother India is much more important to me than my German engineering degree Netaji.” Hasan said with pride lacing his voice…”I joined the Indian Legion for that and if god willing I will get my degree, it will be from an Indian university.”

Bose smiled and patted his back, “That’s the spirit. You, kids, are our hope for the future. Getting independence is only the first step. We and the rebel government will have our work cut out for us. I am not foolish enough to think that our motherland will become a utopia overnight.” 

 

“There are many social and economic issues we have to deal with before we can even walk. That will be a gradual process. I may not be there to see it done, but I know that you, our children, will carry the torch forward.” Hasan could only look at his mentor with awe. 

 

However, it was interrupted when a static noise emanated from the radio, prompting both men to turn to look at it.

“I think it caught something…” 

A song in Hindi was heard from the radio

…Hatho ae duniya walo Hindustan hamara hai, Door Hatho..

“Yes! I’ve got the proper angle Netaji!” Hasan said jubilantly before he looked around to make sure no one else heard him. He then yelled inside the shop, “Uttam Chand bhai! It’s working! Come quickly!”

 

The song was still playing when Uttam Chand hurriedly came along to hear the radio. “Excellent work.” He praised.

Bzzzz… ndia Radio… and this is… ti Jain this son.. is dedicated to those patriots wh… los... their… life…(Pause) now on the lastest news… natio… mourns… the unprovoked attack on….

 

“What?” Hasan asked as his jubilant smile faded.

At some point, the Wilfords had arrived and Uttam Chand had tapped Bose’s shoulder to inform him to maintain cover. Nonetheless, everyone was paying attention, even Uttam Chand’s neighbors who had come to hear the broadcast.

… ennai… formerly known as Madras whic… faced a deva… raid by the Imperial Japanese Na resulting in hundreds of… ths and thous… wounded… the Office of the Prime… nister has condemned… aggression… pledged to avenge… betrayal of… trust. An official declaratio… Cabinet… Parlia… Pres… war… Jai Hind…

For Hasan, he felt like the ambient noise around him had been sucked out and replaced by a vacuum as he remained stunned as more information was heard about a surprise attack on Indian soil. It was only a moment later that he regained his senses and turned towards Bose.

 

It had seemed like he had been out of it for a bit as he had found himself inside the backroom of the shop with both Bose and Uttam Chand as the radio was now between them on the table. Bose’s face was bearing a deep frown that was now devoid of his previous expression of pride for Hasan.

 

“Do you think it is true?” Uttam Chand asked, breaking the tense silence between the three men.

 

“Why?” Hasan asked while Bose was still contemplating. “I thought the Japanese supported the cause of our independence! How the hell are we supposed to fight off the Empire and the Japanese at the same time?!” He hysterically asked.

 

“Hold your tongue, Hasan!” Uttam Chand admonished.

 

“Enough,” Bose said calmly, cutting through the rising emotions of both men. “Firstly, we need more information. But more importantly, we must be ready to hear bad news if the fact of the Japanese colluding with the British turns out to be true.”

 

“And if it is true?” Uttam Chand asked.

 

“We cross that bridge when get there,” Bose answered both men maintained eye contact before Uttam Chand relented.

 

“What would you have us do, Netaji?” Uttam Chand asked.

 

“Tell your men to start gathering information about this incident,” Bose ordered. “Also, I want to see Bagram for myself. Hasan, you will work with your comrades of the Indian Legion who came with us from Germany and our local allies to find a way for us to overlook Bagram Airfield. It is high time we ascertain these rumours for ourselves.”

 

“Yes sir.” Uttam Chand and Hasan said together.

 

One Week Later

 

The Indian Legion’s connection with the local Afghan tribesmen came in handy as soon all of them were introduced as guests to the village elder of Baghdara, a village overlooking the Bagram Airfield and only weekly visited by the Royal Afghan Army, who afforded them the fullest extent of Pashtun hospitality and assured Bose that he and his men had nothing to fear from the Royal Afghan Army’s cordon around Bagram.

 

Bose and his men had been camping in a cave that overlooked Bagram for a couple of days, but so far, no significant activity had taken place. However, Bose and his men had spotted quite a few strange men through their binoculars. Alongside the men of the Royal Afghan Army whom they could all easily identify, the other men were dressed in some kind of strange uniform that seemed to be olive green in colour.

 

More importantly, over their torso, they seemed to be wearing some kind of armour that reminded Bose of the SN-42 steel bibs (cuirass) that he had heard Stormtroopers of the Soviet Assault Engineer-Sapper Brigades were using and he had seen some photos of. 

 

Except, unlike the SN-42, the armour these men were wearing seemed to be smaller and perhaps even lighter. The entire set-up honestly reminded him of a more advanced version of what is being currently worn by German paratroopers. His men were also sure that these soldiers were wielding weapons that reminded them of the STG-44 they all knew were used by Panzergrenadiers.

 

One thing was seemingly becoming clearer to Bose: These men were Indians. What he did not understand was how his countrymen came to be like this, dressed in strange uniforms and wielding such strange weapons.

 

His interruption was mused when he and his companions began hearing a low humming sound that was steadily growing louder as if the surrounding hills and mountains were echoing the sound. “What is going on?” Bose asked generally as he looked around his surroundings.

 

“Netaji look!” Hasan yelled as he pointed to the distance with a tone of wonder in his voice.

 

Bose took a binocular and looked to where Hasan was pointing, many of his men did the same thing. After looking around, trying to find what Hasan was referring to, he briefly passed a large winged cylinder. Surprised, he quickly refocused again. He briefly left the binoculars vision to get an idea of the size of what he was looking at. 

 

Much to his surprise, and dare he say, even an instinctual level of fear, the object was now clearly visible against the distant backdrop of the mountains. He looked through his binoculars again and paid attention to what he was looking at.

 

It was an aircraft. It was a very large aircraft. It was a behemoth of an aircraft and Bose was sure that it was larger than the aircraft he had used to get to Kabul from Berlin. Additionally, the sound it was producing was only growing louder. From its direction, he understood he was looking at the port side of the aircraft.

 

The entire aircraft was coloured grey. On its tail, was a marking that according to one of his men was called a fin flash, consisting of three rectangles coloured orange, white, and green respectively. It reminded Bose of the flag of Ireland, except in reverse.

 

Above the rectangles, there was a series of letters and numbers ‘CB-8001’. For the life of him, Bose could not tell what that meant.

 

As he looked further left, he saw what he knew to be an Air Force roundel. Except unlike that of the British, which was blue and grey, this was again in orange, white, and green, with orange being the outermost circle and green being the innermost disc.

 

But Bose was sure his heart had leaped in his throat when he saw the words 'भारतीय वायुसेना' written near the cockpit. Many of his men who were seeing the same thing as him were reading the words written in the Devanagari script in sheer and utter disbelief.

 

Meanwhile, the aircraft in question began gradually listing port side, and Bose, while spotting the four engines below the wings (two each on either side), realised that it was lining up to land as he had noticed the landing gear had already been extended. “What the hell are they doing?!” Hasan yelled in fear. “That monster will crash!”

 

Unheeding Hasan’s doubts, the aircraft continued descending, backed up by the mid-afternoon sun and thus forcing Bose and his men to let go of the binoculars for a brief moment. They immediately began using it again when the aircraft was just about in front of them, ignoring the fact that it was now truly loud because they spotted the words ‘INDIAN AIR FORCE’ written in English on the starboard side of the aircraft, in the same place as its port side counterpart.

 

Much to the shock of everyone, the heavy aircraft smoothly landed on the grassy pitch, only kicking back a lot of dirt before it slowed down and began taxiing towards an area it was being beckoned to by some men of the Royal Afghan Army.

 

“Nobody can do that without experience…” One of Bose’s comrades, Trilochan Kumar Singh, who was familiar with aircraft muttered in awe as he continued looking at the aircraft.

 

“'भारतीय वायुसेना'... ‘INDIAN AIR FORCE’...” Hasan murmured as well, but loud enough to be heard by his comrades and Bose. “That means it's true, Netaji…” He said with tears in his eyes before yelling, “INDIA IS FREE!” Everyone else also joined in making the same declaration as they joyfully hugged each other and celebrated. Even Bose couldn’t hide his joy. “Thank the Gods… Our struggle has borne fruit.”

 

Bose briefly thought of home. How wonderful the celebrations would be, he thought. His mind conjured up images, and his jubilant mood took him to places. He imagined crowds of common people, men and women alike, cheering and shouting in joy. He mused how festive the mood in Bombay and Madras would be…..wait, he thought, what about Madras? 

 

His joy was immediately overshadowed by the fact that it was true that the Empire of Japan had declared war on his homeland. He was still unsure about exactly what happened, but from what intelligence he and his men gathered, his homeland refused to join the Co-Prosperity Sphere and the Japanese response was by attacking Madras just like how they had done Pearl Harbour. Even he knew that there were minimum defenses at Madras, but the fact they had done so, most probably for that reason alone, filled him with anger.

 

For Bose, it didn’t matter anymore. His quarrels with Gandhiji and his followers about how to achieve independence from the British were now water under the bridge by the mere fact that his motherland was free. He decided to make his way back home alongside his comrades. He would get a meeting with the leader of the Non-Violent Movement and bury the hatchet before convincing Gandhiji and the Indian National Congress to form a united front and take the fight to the Japanese. Or the British. It didn’t matter to him.

 

Bose had once promised that, “Give me blood and I will give you freedom!” Freedom was obtained, now it was the matter of giving blood. And by God, he would give his own blood to preserve India’s freedom.