Words: 5,719
Summary: Churchill lies, Singapore falls, an empire abandons his children in a sea of wolves. When their brother finds out, there will be hell to pay.In early 1942, Alfred Jones travels across the globe to save his baby brother and sister from the betrayal of their father. When Arthur Kirkland returns at long last, his eldest is waiting for him, ready to spill blood.
Warnings: Language, mentions of death and bodily injury.
Author’s Note: I kept things very vague to make it easier for myself, but this takes place not too long after the Battle of Coral Sea in May 1942.
You can also read on Ao3 if you prefer
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Alfred Jones hadn’t wanted to kill his father this badly since 1781. Come to think of it, Alfred wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted to kill his father as much as he did now.
Sure, he hadn’t been pleased that President Roosevelt acquiesced to Britain’s insistence on a Germany-first strategy. The scar of Pearl Harbor was still fresh and livid, and he was spoiling for a chance to hunt Kiko down personally. Even so, he’d kept his mouth diplomatically shut and had taken heart when Churchill assured him that British forces in the pacific would hold, that the ANZACs would have plenty of reinforcements to hold allied territories there.
That, as it turned out, had been a massive lie. Gargantuan. Colossal. Titanic, in fact. His father might as well have designed the ship himself, stuck his two youngest on board without lifeboats bound straight for an ice field, and stayed cozy in Belfast while Alfred broke his back feeding coal to the Carpathia in a blind, unplanned panic. Churchill fiddled while Singapore fell, and Father fiddled along with him.
“Where is he?” Alfred demanded, ignoring the guard at the entrance who was trying to slow him down.“
“I’m sorry?” Asked the startled British soldier stationed at the war room door.
“Arthur Kirkland. Where is he?”
The soldier took a few tries to say, “General Kirkland hasn’t yet arrived, sir.”
“Fine. Which room will be his?”
“Sir, I’m so sorry, can I get your name, I’ll need to ask–”
“Where?” Alfred demanded, and there was something in his too-perfect voice, his too-blue eyes, that made the soldier startle and point immediately down the hall.
“End of the hall, on the left.”
Alfred stormed in that direction without a word. The soldier blinked a few times. A deer released from headlights, it took him a moment to get his bearings.
“Wait,” he called after Alfred, quickly jogging after him. “Wait sir, you’re not allowed to-” but Alfred was already inside, going around to sit in the officer’s chair behind the empty letter desk. “Sir, the General won’t be here for another five, six hours.”
“Fine,” Alfred said, and had this young Australian known him better, he would have known to be frightened by his stoic, collected anger. Facial expression unchanging, the American wheeled back in the chair and propped his feet on the desk. “I’ll wait.”
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