Free Pearl Harbour - A novel of December 8th by William R. Forstchen, Newt Gingrich

being wrapped up in a copy of the London Times.
    The friendship was warm, courteous; he would often be invited for evening tea to watch a sunset or moonrise. There had even been polite and very circumspect hints on several occasions regarding his bachelorhood, but mention of Allison, who had died along with the twins in an auto accident right after the end of the war, had stilled those inquiries.
    It had been a warm, pleasant assignment, teaching English at Etajima, but of course it had to come to an end, and in the last year, he could sense things changing. His students were, as always, polite to a fault, but the number attending the teas dropped off, and at one uncomfortable session the tradition of not discussing politics had broken down, a firebrand student asking for justifications for European colonialism and why Japan was not viewed as an equal partner in the global community. The others had sat silent, heads slightly bowed, and yet he could sense that what was being revealed was what was being discussed openly when he was not present.
    He noticed a certain distancing when in the faculty mess, a few times even an embarrassed silence when he walked in, a sense that conversations were suddenly changed. And thus it was no surprise when, in the middle of the autumn semester, he was informed that his wonderful services were no longer required, regretfully due to budget concerns. No surprise either that a Japanese instructor would take his place.
    Though he missed Japan, especially upon returning to London on a raw winter day, not really sure of what his “prospects” for the future held, still it was good to be home again.
    They chatted politely for several minutes, catching up on life. Long ago, before going to “Room Forty,” a secret naval decoding center, Cecil had first come to Winston’s notice as a young adjutant, enlisted then commissioned right after graduation from Cambridge with a degree in Oriental studies, serving in the Admiralty. Upon discovery that he had attended Harrow, the boarding school that had changed Winston’s life, a bond formed, since Cecil, though twenty years younger, had studied under many of the same teachers who had guided Winston.
    When things started to go wrong in Gallipoli, meaning on the very first day, Winston had dispatched him there as a personal observer of the fiasco that eventually caused his fall from the Admiralty.
    Cecil had stayed on in the Med, posted as a liaison to the Japanese naval squadron in the Mediterranean, before transferring to Room Forty for the last year of the war. Winston and he had stayed in touch on and off over the years, and yet Cecil was surprised that Winston somehow knew he was back in England after his long stint at Etajima and had sent an invitation for him to come out to the countryside for an overnight visit and “chat.”
    Winston had aged tremendously since last he had seen him, nearly a decade ago. It wasn’t just the physical aging though; there was a seasoning to him. The youthful enthusiasm had lessened; it was obvious he was burdened down. When Cecil had mentioned to a few friends where he was going to spend the weekend, there had been almost outright horror or disdain shown by them... “That madman, he’ll get us into another war the way he talks!”
    Winston, it seemed, was now something of a social pariah with his outspoken criticism of the government and his calls of alarm over the rising of that “goose-stepping little corporal,” as the Times had quoted him just a few days past.
    They shared their drink and cigars, catching up on family news for Winston, with a respectful avoidance of the subject regarding Cecil’s own.
    “Guess you know why I asked you here,” Winston finally said, cutting to the chase, “delighted to see you, Cecil, but I need to get your insights now.”
    “You want to talk about the coup attempt by the army in Tokyo last week?”
    Winston nodded vigorously.
    “Not just that, but things there in