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Title: A Letter
Author: Sashataakheru
Fandom: The Chaser RPS
Starring: Charles Firth
Word Count: 765
Prompt: Alternate History: Major Historical Event Changed for [livejournal.com profile] au_bingo (my card)
Contains: war themes, depression, brief talk of suicide and violence
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not true in any way, shape or form.
Author’s Notes/Summary: Sequel, of sorts, to From The Sun To The World, a WWII AU where Edward VIII did not abdicate, Tiem Lord!Jeff Lynne crashed his spaceship into the Earth, and Britain kinda got invaded by both Germans and aliens. (Read it if you haven't already, it's awesome. :P) It's the same 'verse at any rate. Charles, still trapped in London, puts pen to paper while he still can. Set two weeks after the end of From The Sun To The World.

A Letter
May 8th, 1942
London, or what's left of it

To whoever's still left alive to read this, I hope you're safe. I really do. I'm writing this in a bunker somewhere in London. It's been two weeks since I arrived, and I am still barely scraping together an existence. Every day is a struggle. Maybe this will be the last thing I ever write before they come for me.

You see, I feel I ought to explain a few things while I still have a chance. It's 1942, and we are at war with Germany. At least, we used to be at war with Germany. Through some evil machinations, our dear beloved King, as useless as he was, was bought by the Germans and glorious London has fallen. He should have abdicated, oh yes he should have abdicated, and then we would not be in such a mess, I am sure of it.

I tear my heart out as I admit I knew what was being planned a year ago. I did nothing to stop it, did not want to think about what was happening. No, I had just mistranslated the German Chancellor. That must be it.

It is a useless exercise. I knew what they said, knew the King also understood, and I stood there, translating as best I could, hoping in vain that this was just a misunderstanding. But what could I do? No one seemed to share my fears, so I kept silent, and we have been dealt a fatal blow.

The city is in ruins. London has been bombed to within an inch of her life, sacrificed and hidden from her people as if it might make things better. I haven't heard any news from outside. I know the German propaganda, that they have killed anyone who didn't survive the bombing, and it depresses me greatly. I am posing as a German officer in the hopes I will not be found out and killed like everyone else. I am the last survivor of my group anyway. The last of the Imperial Guard are gone. They did not return some nights ago, and I assume they were caught and killed. That no one has come for me reassures me I have not been discovered yet, but I cannot pretend I will never be caught.

I am alone now. All alone. I scrounge what food I can, and try and learn whatever news I can, but the Germans are everywhere, always looking for anyone who's still here, still trying to fight them. The street battles are becoming few and far between. I hold no hope we will ever win back our city. There is no one left who can fight, no one at all. I suspect anyone left still alive has been enslaved, or sent to the camps, or killed.

Great Britain no longer is.

Perhaps I should kill myself before they come for me, and hide this letter where no one can find it. Maybe one day someone will find this, maybe when Britan lives again, and I can only hope they can forgive me for letting her fall in the first place. I was in no position to do anything to stop it. I was helpless. I was just a translator, I had no power.

Wait. That's a lie. I had plenty of power. I was an officer. That's how I got stuck in London. I was called to a war meeting on that fateful day. So I went, and that's when I discovered London had fallen. I left my men back in Birmingham, left them to fend for themselves. I wonder if any survived. Probably not. I daresay they have all been killed or imprisoned. How I have failed my own people.

I don't think there is anything left to tell. Maybe they will come for me tonight as I sleep in this bunker, too afraid to leave for fear someone might follow me here. I have no one to keep watch. And yet I must sleep because I am tired and exhausted from this struggle and I am not quite ready to give up yet. But there is not much hope left. We were sorely beaten, sorely tricked into this humiliation, and now we are suffering for it. I will never trust a German ever again.

Ahh, I must stop now. I am running short of lamplight, and I can hear a patrol coming. If I am alive when they are gone, perhaps I will continue this.

For the glory of the Kingdom of Great Britain,
Cyrus, MI5 Agent
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