The ISIC and World War Two
by Mr. David R. Dorrycott
© 2004, 2006, 2009
Authors Note;
This was written back when the ISIC was a ‘furry’ universe. It isn’t now, so when I have the desire I will transfer it to the current ISIC ‘human’ world. This is not as easy as it seems, believe me. There is still an error in the ISIC book. Even after a year of re-writing.
This isn’t our world, so your, the readers, pre-conceived ‘reality’ doesn’t fit. Don’t even try to make it fit, it won’t. Please remember that this is a world much like ours, yet enough different that many liberties may, and will, be taken. With history, geology, mythology and reality. Majik works, likewise your favorite God/Goddess isn’t EXACTLY the same, sometimes not even close. If you want exactness, read a history book, or pick up a pen and write your own stories. Nor is time or the things of time (timelines) unchanged. As such, though the major events fairly well follow our own worlds events, it does not mean that individual’s may act or react as they did in our world. In this story Hitler is depicted somewhat differently than he is in our world. Yet, as in our world, in the later days of his life his brain was under attack by the disease Syphilis. This disease has about a twenty year span between infection and its final assault. It often destroys ones brain, turning even the mildest mannered creature into a vicious, insane killer.
Most historical events are accurate, however where and when required by the writers desires changes have been made. Most are small, some are major. Other than the major historical characters, all others are figments of the writers insane imagination. If the writer happened to hit your Uncle Charles dead on, it was accidental. If your favorite myth has been changed to fit the story, its because it had to be to work. If history doesn’t quit follow what you were taught in school, blame your school books. If you don’t like something, its your responsibility not to read it.
Mr. David Reese Dorrycott
Intro;
A mortal began to exhale in his sleep, untroubled by dream or fear. At that same moment unguessed powers shifted, stirred, turning unnameable attention again towards mortal life. Upon their planets surface an infection was detected, growing, building in strength. Building until it might destroy all that was, forever. Creatures unknowable by mortals conferred, determining which path best should be taken. Direct intervention was immediately rejected, for not only had mortals advanced so far as such would cripple them forever, this darkness was one of the Great One’s own making. As such, direct intervention would simply spread the infection farther. In the span of half a mortals breath uncountable paths were explored, examined, rejected. Until, as that one mortal’s lungs again began to expand, bringing within it life giving gasses, a decision was made. Though all agreed that, due to their mortal’s scientific advancements, this time its survival could not be guaranteed.
Isis’s Hand would open again.
March 26th, 1933
Phileana and Elizabeth Wycliffe
Manchester, England
Phileana Wycliffe, apparently a teddy bear, sat with her feet propped up in her companion’s lap, calmly reading the evening paper. Elizabeth Marie Wycliffe, a Persian cat, and the teddy bears love from over a millennium past, was creating yet another needlepoint disaster. “You’ll never learn” Phileana commented from behind her paper. “You never have.”
“Yes. You would know old one” Elizabeth agreed, refusing to set down her work. “Still, one would think that after ninety years...”
“Ninety two”
“Ninety two” Elizabeth corrected herself, “Years of attempting I would yet learn such a simple mechanical skill.”
“One would” Phileana agreed. “Looks like war again.”
Elizabeth sat her work in her lap. “Was not the last one horrible enough? Now they have machines that fly in the air, to drop death upon those below. It took a world crippling disease to stop them last time. How could it become worse?” Her companion didn’t answer, causing the feline to lean over, pulling the newspaper down from its top. “I did ask you a question you know.”
“Exploding stars, planets reduced to tiny bits of rubble, left free floating in space, entire species removed from the timestream as though they had never been. In truth would never be. Yes my love, it can become a great deal worse. Consider yourself lucky to live on a world where technological advancement was crippled, reversed by ignorant religious insanity. Else now we would be on another star, or drifting through the space between galaxy’s in some great ship. Yes Liz, I have seen a great deal worse.”
“I do like it when you call me Liz” Elizabeth laughed. “Now oh great Scientist, who has lived so long she calls the Great Queen Wycliffe Liz, with no fear of retribution. What does tell you there will be war?”
“Hitler’s passed his Enabling Act on the twenty-third” Phileana answered. “He’s now supreme ruler of Germany. Or as he puts it ‘The day of the Third Reich has come.’”
“That alone tells you...” Elizabeth stopped, looking into her loves eyes. “It does tell you, I see that now. Will it be a world wide war again?”
Phileana sat down her paper. “Italy dreams of their ancient past. If they can truly regain their pride they will be a formidable foe. Japan has already invaded China, their lust for Empire fed by their defeat then capture of the Russian Navy. America shrinks back from the world. They have yet to become a true nation. England totters like an old man, her colonies beginning to demand freedom. As do all colonies eventually. France is still full of themselves from the Napoleonic era. Their government is filled with corruption, her military is as weak as a child. You remember what a danger that little weasel was. It took the Hand to stop him at the end. They haven’t had a true leader since then. Their weak, still believing themselves undefeatable by anyone.”
“Had not the influenza epidemic occurred” Elizabeth whispered, a hidden guilt in her voice. “There would have been a longer war.”
“True” Phileana agreed, “and it took all your power, and my gentle suggestions, to break that death. Twice as many more would have died. Look at this world Liz. Without a strong single nation to lead them they have again fallen into petty little squabbles. Squabbles that do nothing but destroy what they really want to build. All in the name of whatever happens to be handy at the time. There hasn’t been true peace since Rome fell.”
“Even the Hand could not stand against the Dark that time” Elizabeth agreed. “Though it did stop total destruction. Will the Hand open again? Will we again have to waken those others, to stand against darkness you and I cannot deal with? It has only been one generation since the last calling.”
“I know” Phileana admitted. “I know. You and I, we’ve had so much life together. They so little, though they never know it. If the Hand is opened, we will wake them. Until then... Want your back rubbed?”
March 29th, 1933
Duke Robert Phillip Bulmer Surtees and Wife;
Chur, Switzerland
Major Thomas Surtees looked across the tiny table at his Egyptian bride and smiled. He’d been lucky he knew. She was a very beautiful woman. Her ears had originally been what had caught his attention, Serval’s having such unique ears. That it turned out she was an intelligent, English educated, curious woman had been the final hook for his heart. Why Wisal Mintoff had fallen in love with him he didn’t understand, nor was he about to explore that area. They had married seven months ago, arrived here three weeks ago ‘on vacation.’ Soon they would be returning to his homeland, where he planned to retire from the Army and enter public service.
“My love” Wisal whispered, her voice reminding him of dark desert nights. When the wind whispered softly across sands older than England herself. “I must tell you something. Something very important.”
Thomas sat up, setting his sherry aside. Though tall for his species, he was shorter than his wife by almost a full head. Of course, no hamster could possible grow as tall as a Serval. Still the hotel have made of discrete point of insuring his chair placed him just above eye level with his wife. “Your stolen the Greek Crown” he answered, his voice heavy with seriousness. “And there are twenty Swiss police bobbies coming up the steps behind us.” He shook his head, “Luv, my revolver holds only six rounds. Will you hold them off with your eyes while I reload?”
Her laughter surprised a few diners, those few who hadn’t already experienced Major Surtees sense of humor, and his constant ribbing of his wife. “No my dear love” Wisal managed between giggles, her voice carrying easily to several diners near them. “I’m with child. Your going to be a father.”
Silence, broken only by an expanding wave of whispers as her proclamation was spread among diners. Thomas himself slowly picked up his Sherry, gulping it down like a glass of water. “So you say” he managed, unaware as a waiter refilled his glass even as he tried to process the information. “You are certain?”
“Thomas” Wisal giggled, replying with some slight irritation. “I would not have spoken so, were I not certain. I have missed my last three moons.”
“Ah.. I...” Thomas drained his glass again, still trying to understand. “But... HOW?”
“The normal way you fool” Wisal answered, breaking into full blown laughter. “As if you didn’t have a helping... um.. Hand in the matter.”
Both were suddenly reminded of their fellow diners when dozens of voices joined Wisal’s laugh. Thomas’s face started to darken in embarrassment. ‘What a fool thing to say in public’ he chided himself. Suddenly he was off his chair, surrounded by dozens of men. “Congratulations old man” one said. Before the hamster could realize what was going on he found himself being herded towards the bar, his wife’s gentle laughter following him.
April 2nd, 1933
Commodore Marcus Ball, HMS
Pearl Harbor
Hawaii
“A very useful Naval anchorage” Marcus Ball admitted, looking out over the American fleet at dock. “I should say your defenses are more than adequate. Still, I worry about an air attack. Your ships do make a tempting target. Lined up like that.”
Beside the impressive looking British mouse stood an American Naval Captain, who currently was beginning to think he understood just why America had originally kicked the British from their shores. “Sir” the bulldog answered. “No aggressor air power can possibly extend its umbrella this far. Not even the Nip’s could, its simply logistically impossible. We’d see them long before they became a danger. Nothing can defeat the Pacific fleet.”
“Quite so, quite so” Commodore Ball agreed, though the bulldog was certain he really wasn’t. Britain had devolved as a major power since the Great War, that Ball was aware of. It was the new upstarts, America and Japan that held power now. Military power that was, though he was well aware America’s isolationist policies had crippled her military. Broomsticks for guns, wheelbarrows for tanks. Now this chap Hitler had rescinded the German constitution. With MacDonald as Prime Minister anything could happen. Scots were hot headed fellows.
“Wire for Commandore Ball” a female voice announced. Marcus turned, accepting a sealed envelope from a rather pretty rabbit. He noted she couldn’t be more than fifteen years old, if that. “Japanese?” he asked softly.
“Megan Yano MacKay sir” she answered. “Scots Japanese. I’m a volunteer runner for communications today. I plan to try and join the Navy when I’m eighteen.” She whispered the next, so that only Ball could hear. “Four years from now.”
“Ah, my mistake” he smiled. “I keep forgetting America is filled with people of every nation. This is?” he lifted the envelope.
“Eyes only sir. Direct from decode. If I read it, you’d have to kill me. All I know sir is, they said it was time critical.”
“So I would. Pity. Your such a pretty thing. Wait a moment please?” he smiled, turning away as he slid a claw under the envelopes sealed flap. Removing the paper he unfolded it, reading what few lines were on it several times before he refolded it. “My sister, it seems, has delivered her husband another son” he announced with a sigh. “That makes four, and two girls. She’s as bad as a rab... Eyes only my...” He turned to find the young rabbit had stepped several feet away from him, well out of harms way and was currently grinning from ear to very long ear.
“Congratulations sir” she said, then managed a rather smart about face, for a civilian, before she quick marched herself out of the dayroom.
He felt a heavy hand slap his back. “Congratulations sir” his bulldog companion said. “Don’t mind Megan, she’s really useful. Speaks Japanese fluently.” He coughed suddenly, “Gaelic too and she’s learning German. I think she called me the South end of a Northbound donkey last week, but I could never prove it. Communications keeps her on as their mascot, and occasional translator. Couldn’t find a more dedicated seaman. Pity she can’t be cleared for the really important stuff. She’s part nip you understand.”
April 4th, 1933
Duchess Katherine Margaret Fetherstonerhaugh
Northhumberland
England
Gunshots filled the tiny glade, gunshots followed by a flurry of sparrows as they climbed for the clouds. Behind them they left two figures, Duchess Fetherstonehaugh and her handmaid Rebecca Greene. Smoke drifted away from the two in the mornings light breeze, smoke and the scent of cordite. One figure, a hound, began the process of reloading her weapon while the other, a squirrel, skirts held higher than socially acceptable, hurried to a standing target several dozens of meters away.
“Very good again Your Grace” Rebecca reported, holding up a paper target with one ragged hole in it. “All six through the center, and at thirty meters.”
“Thank you Rebecca” the hound replied, carefully setting her reloaded weapon aside. “Now if I could just get Mark Winters to stand in the same place.”
“Your GRACE!” Rebecca laughed as she ran back. “Would that you could. I much dislike him myself, he and his Socialist ideas. Yet I would not at all enjoy watching your body swing at the end of a King’s rope.”
“Yes you would Rebecca” Duchess Fetherstonerhaugh answered. “Then you would come home, steal all the silver and run off with that oily husband of yours.”
“Frances is only oily, Your Grace, because you pay him to keep your automobiles running. I will have you know that he is a very clean man.”
“In or out of bed?”
“YOUR GRACE!” Rebecca blushed, her face turning dark under its cover of thin, delicate fur. She covered her mouth, hiding a laugh. “Both” she managed in a much softer voice.
“Thought so” the hound said, carefully folding her target. “So, when are you going to make me a godmother. Its been years.”
“As soon as you marry your Grace. I’ve told you that many times already.”
“Yet I simply refuse to marry. Have you any idea how insulting most men are?” She slide her target into a folder. “Not a Ladys place, such a manly figure.... Half are so full of themselves they see nothing else, the other half are scandalized that a woman would even attempt to think for herself.”
“My sister asks to see you Your Grace” Rebecca reminded her employer.
Duchess Katherine Margaret Fetherstonerhaugh turned to her handmaid. “Not my path Rebecca. You know that. I’ve no interest in woman.”
Rebecca sighed, they’d been through this she didn’t know how many times. “Your Grace” she continued in a much softer voice. “You approach thirty. Soon you will be too old for children. I’m only twenty-three, I’ve much time left to me. Yet there are no more suitors at your door. Not since you said no to your last caller in such an... Energetic manner. They have turned to younger choices, less adventuresome women. Less forceful women. My sister your Grace, wishes only to see you. She is as adventurous as you. Yes, once she expressed her love for you. You said no, she accepted that. That was ten years ago Your Grace. This request has nothing to do with... That. Do you still refuse to speak with her? All she asks is will you allow her to be your friend again. As she was before... Her mistake. So that she may share with you her adventures. I don’t think you know, but she has a life companion now.”
“A life companion” Duchess Katherine repeated. “She’s found someone then. Good for her. All right. Ask her to come to tea... Thursday. And bring her lady.” Katherine picked up her revolver again, seeming to study it. “Your certain there have been no other inquires?”
“Other than Mark Winters your Grace. I’m sorry. Shall I enquire further?”
“You mean should you lower the bar. Not just yet my fair Rebecca. Not just yet.” She laid down her revolver again, picking up the morning paper. “Germany is making more noise. War you think?”
“That, I could not know” Rebecca admitted. “It is beyond my understanding.”
“Meaning it hasn’t anything to do with me, so its not important to you either. Right?”
“Yes your Grace.”
“Its important to me now Rebecca.”
“Then I shall inquire Your Grace. Do you wish marmalade, or butter with your toast?”
April 11th, 1933
Adolf Hitler
Berlin
Germany
“With the new laws in effect we now have control Mien Fuhrer. Soon all Germany will see the Jewish as our enemies.”
“True Wilhelm” the rooms single dachshund agreed. “I do not much like this, it easily could get out of hand. Yet we need an internal threat. One all can agree upon. Anti-Jewish sentiment has bubbled below the surface for generations. We must thank our Catholic ‘brothers’ for beginning this hate so many centuries ago. It has simplified many things.
“True Mien Fuhrer” the taller Shepard agreed. “Yet, what are we to do with them?”
“Do? DO? We use the strong as labor. The rest. We deport them. That is what we do. Germany is a poor nation. We haven’t the funds for anything else. Let the world deal with this problem. Even the vaunted American’s hate the Jews as much as anyone else. What of the Gestapo Hermann.”
“Twenty-forth mien Fuhrer” answered an ornately dressed bulldog.
“And special projects?”
“I have those folders with me that appear viable mine Fuhrer” a light furred weasel replied. “There are a few... interesting ideas.”
“How many” the dachshund demanded.
“Nine that deserve priority. Seven I would think that would benefit from further study. All the rest are still dreams.”
“Push them, hard. Very hard” the dachshund ordered. “My luftwaffa?”
A very fat tabbycat stood. “We are training pilots using civilian aircraft. What we need is combat experience.”
“Find a war. Anything else? No? Good-day.” As soon as his last boot-licker had departed the dachshund rang a bell. Behind him the rooms single other door opened, allowing three individuals to enter. “Opinions” he demanded.
Not a word was uttered until all three had settled down into chairs recently vacated by their technology based opposite numbers. Before the ruler of Germany sat three of the most evil persons he could locate. A vampire bat named Don Alba, an peaceful looking white coated ferret, who seemed harmless until one looked into his eyes. His name was simply Tom. Of the three though, Hitler trusted the female most. A vivacious fox, dark red fur turned to enticing black where it should, a single white splash at her throat. Her name he’d never know, if he truly wanted to live.
Don Alba spoke first. “Very good plans” he admitted. “They will waffel, your enemy. Waffel until you take that trigger country of peasants, Poland. By then it will be too late. You said ‘find a war.’ My country is boiling. It would not take much. A word, a few deeds. Spain will erupt into a civil war.”
“You can guarantee this?”
“Yes my leader. This I can, and will guarantee. Back Franco, you will win. Peasants have no taste for long wars. They expect a quick victory, then back to their lives.”
“Do this then. It will balance our debt. And you Tom. What have you to say?”
“Italy is not the Lady she once was. I can promise you only that we will try. Our blood is thinned, true war no longer burns in our veins. Only greed. You will have problems. Still, I will give you what I can. I may only hope it is enough to pay for what I want.”
“Destruction of the Vatican? Only if this mad bomb my scientist speak of can be made. If so, grant me two years binding the English in Africa. It will be enough. And you Lady?”
Lady, she was known by many many names, though few in Europe. When she spoke her heritage was obvious. “My Emperor is a weak man, son of God that he is. He wishes only peace. Tojo is willing to strike, strike long and hard. I will give you your Pacific war, if you can give me my price.”
“A single cat” the dachshund asked. “Why would you do so much for a single cats life. It makes no sense, things that make no sense I will not trust.”
She laughed, a full throated sound. “She carries within her power equal to my own. Once I feast upon her body, it will bind itself to me. That, little corporal, is why I want that cat.”
“LITTLE!” He stepped forward, only to stop as her eyes glowed. He was mere mortal. She was Kitsune. Push come to shove, his chance of survival was the same as a bug under a tanks tread. “Very well, when?”
“It is... 1933. You will take time to build your machine, as I need time to build my forces. As they do theirs. You need a small war, Alba will grant you that. Italy will take time to seduce, and as Tom says, a seduced woman is not always what you need. Seven, eight years. Perhaps nine but no more.”
“Your forces will strike then between 1940 and forty two. Then it is settled. We will rule this planet, and all the planets we can reach.”
“Nippon is enough for me” the vixen responded. “I have no use for anything more. Not a single grain of sand more, or less. China first, then the American ‘tiger.’ We shall see what her claws are really like.”
April 15th, 1937;
Commodore Marcus Ball, HMS
London
England
Admiral William McDonnell was pacing his office, the rooms only other occupant was Commodore Marcus Ball, a rather sturdy looking mouse fresh back from America. “So its understood” a large bulldog was saying. “Hitler, with his experience in Spain, will soon advance. They will dissolve the treaty. What can we expect from the America’s Commander.”
“Promises” Ball admitted. “Some materials, little else. At this moment sir the Americans have no stomach for fighting. ‘Let Europe deal with Europe’s problems. ‘ is their by-word now. Their military is a joke. Outdated ships, poor designs, not even enough equipment to train troops in basic knowledge. What little modern equipment they do have is mainly in the Pacific. Yet their manufacturing base leaves ours looking like a cottage industry.”
“Is there nothing you can do Commodore?”
“Nothing sir. They have their heads in the sand. It would take a larger boot than England now has to lift them from it. Or a price.”
“Price? Those colonials ask a PRICE? From England? Who do they think they are?”
“Our only hope to survive sir. Business run their government as much as they run ours. Not to forget sir, we did burn their Capital.”
“Ball...” The bulldog shivered with repressed rage. “Nazism in Germany, Communism in Russia, Imperialism in Japan and Fascism in Italy. Not to forget the colonies are beginning to revolt.”
“Colonialism has always been revolting sir.”
“Do not presum to make jokes with me Commander Ball. Else you’ll find yourself in Canada, counting penguins.”
Ball sighed, anger made his commander narrowminded. Best he take it out on his assistant than carry it to the King. “Sir, there are no penguins in Canada.”
“Which will make your life rather boring I should think.”
“Yes sir.”
“What do they want” McDonnell demanded.
“All our holdings in the Pacific sir. They know we can’t hold them. Not and defend England at the same time.”
“Two front war, yes. No one since Rome has ever won a two front war” the bulldog admitted. “But ALL our holdings?”
“They assume that we will strip all installations, remove as much of value as we can. It’s the lands they care about sir. Not property. America is a rich country sir.”
“As England was once. Did you meet anyone worth bribing to come to our cause?”
Ball smiled, “Almost a dozen sir. Most military, one however that springs to mind is a very intelligent young lady. She speaks Japanese, Gaelic and was learning German when I met her four years ago. I just last month received a message that she was denied service in her military.”
“She wrote you? You always have had a thing with the women.”
“Um... Sir. She was fourteen when I met her and no, a young naval officer I’ve kept contact with. He’s another I’d name.”
“Why would the United States refuse an applicant, is she... weak?”
“No sir, she’s half Japanese and lives in Hawaii. Their rather abrupt about orientals, especially there.”
“What’s her other half? Eskimo?”
“No sir, Scots.” Ball noted the sudden interest in his commanders eyes at that information.
“Scots... How interesting. And she speaks several useful languages too. All right Ball, I’m going to dump something in your court. How are your intelligence skills?”
“I know better than to spit in front of the Queen sir” Ball admitted.
“Not those skills, MI-5 skills.”
“MI.. Sir, I’ve no interest in serving with Military Intelligence. If it pleases the Admiral.”
“It so pleases the Admiral” McDonnell admitted. “MI-5 has given us information leading to several serious decisions. Your aware of Hitler’s obsession with the Occult?”
“Somewhat sir. I haven’t kept up” Ball admitted.
“I’m offering you something new. Something I can’t tell you much about until you accept” the bulldog admitted. “All I can tell you is that it deals with intelligence work, but not MI-5. It deals with military and non military personal, and you’d be in command.”
Ball almost gasped. “My own command sir? I had hoped for a ship sir...”
“I could arrange a costal patrol boat” McDonnell admitted. “Maybe a cutter, when one comes available. But I’ll be honest with you Ball. Your not senior enough to rate anything more. Much as I like you, my weight isn’t in that arena. Would you rather a patrol boat?”
“Verses?”
“A shadow command. That’s all I can tell you. Think about it, call me tomorrow. I’ll understand if...”
“I’ll take the command sir” Ball suddenly decided. “If the Admiral pleases.”
McDonnell smiled, walked to his desk and opened a locked drawer. Taking out a sealed red envelope he tossed it on his desk. “The Admiral pleases” he admitted. “I have a luncheon, then I have to take your news to the King. You have until two. That envelope never leaves this office. Not until you have your own secure quarters. Once you’ve read it, there is a second, blue envelope in that same drawer. You can take the blue one with you. It has a list of names. It’s up to you to create your command Mr. Ball. Chose carefully.”
April 23rd, 1937;
Residence of Duke Robert Phillip Bulmer Surtees and Wife;
Surry
England
“Dear, I’m home” Thomas Surtees called as he shut his front door behind him. As was his habit he placed his umbrella in its stand before leaving his gloves on the hall table. “Wisal?” he called again, wondering if she was upstairs with the children.
“Parlor my love” his wife’s voice answered him. “You have a visitor.”
‘Visitor?’ the hamster asked himself as he turned towards the parlor, his case still in hand. Stepping in he found his wife, her belly again filling out with what would be their third child, tending tea with a naval officer. A quick glance told Thomas the mouse’s rank. “I am no longer in service sir” he said in greeting. “And am of an age that I cannot be recalled.”
“Thomas” his wife scolded. “I haven’t introduced you and you speak thus? Shameful. It is not done.”
Thomas sighed, he’d stepped on one of his wife’s rules again. Never insult a guest until you know his name, then strike freely. “And this is?” he asked, setting his case behind his favorite chair.
Ball started to speak, only to be hushed by Mrs Sutrees. “This is Commodore Marcus Ball, of the Royal Navy. He has come to offer you a position. As a civilian. I think it is one you should accept.”
“She is very... curious” Ball admitted.
“Nosey as a ferret you mean” Thomas agreed. He smiled at the face his wife made, reaching over to touch her tongue before she could hide it. “Thank you my dear. Now if you would please fetch my dueling pistols I’ll deal with the Commodore. After which we shall have dinner. Then...” he paused a moment. “A most delightful desert.”
“Thomas” Wisal giggled, her face darkening under her fur as she stood. “In front of company?”
“If your game luv” he answered with a leer. His wife laughed, departing as quickly as she was able. He turned to his visitor, thinking of the bottle of sherry she would be returning with as he settled into his chair. “Now commander, I’ve done my time. I won’t return to the military even if the King begged me on bended knee. So. While we wait for my wife’s return, what possible reason do you have for wasting my time?”