Published at 27th of January 2026 7:17 am

Chapter 842: The King’s English

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William Lyon Mackenzie King sat in his office in Canada’s capital. His hands trembled as he poured himself a stiff drink to help soothe his dread.

The United States was effectively in a state of anarchy. Few, if any, of its self-proclaimed republics dared to even call themselves the successor to Roosevelt’s failed regime.

And though he had received a few words of ’assurances’ from Delaware where President Roosevelt had relocated his administration. The reality was that what remained of the United States of America proper now existed solely as a rump state in the Northeast.

Even then, the last report received from Roosevelt himself was well over a month ago. King could only believe that Roosevelt was dead, dying, or otherwise incapacitated. And his Rump state would not live long enough to fulfill its promises of restoring federal authority over the nation.

Worse yet, Canada now had to worry about the Russians on its borders. Having invaded and annexed Alaska without anyone being any the wiser, the ’referendum’ held by the American territory was nothing more than a formality to invoke some international legitimacy to their act.

Canada now found itself in a unique position. They had entered this war because Roosevelt had assured them they would emerge victorious, and now the United States, the largest backer of the Allies had completely imploded upon itself.

The Latin American countries had just announced their unconditional surrender to the German Empire and the Central Powers.

All that truly remained capable of putting up a fight were the Dominion of Canada, which housed the exiled governments of Great Britain and France, as well as Australia and New Zealand.

And if King was being honest. Their chances of successfully defending their own countries let alone winning the war in their current state, were virtually non-existent.

Still, he couldn’t just give up on his remaining allies. Though he knew Canada should never have gotten itself involved in this war, he had an obligation to Australia and New Zealand.

Thus, after stilling his fingers, he dialed the number of the Australian prime minister. John Curtin picked up the other line almost instantly, and when he did, his voice was far from chipper.

"Well now, this is a right royal mess, now isn’t it? Those cunts in Berlin have really got our balls in a vice grip, wouldn’t you say?"

Ignoring the noticeable difference between their accents and mannerisms, King composed himself before expressing his opinions on the matter.

"I couldn’t have said it better myself... The only ones left now are our nations, plus your neighbors in New Zealand. And I fear we alone do not possess the might to continue this fight."

John Curtin spoke again, his crass tongue making King flinch.

"I’d say you’re right. We haven’t got enough tanks or planes to protect our own shores, and have you seen what the Kiwis are fielding? That’s a damn tractor with corrugated iron slapped onto it, mate, not a fucking tank."

King could only rub the bridge of his nose upon hearing this news. Yes, he knew all about the infamous "Bob Semple tank."

New Zealand had... perhaps out of fear and desperation. Adopted such a vehicle as its primary armored vehicle.

King, however, knew better. Having observed the Great War from afar, he saw Britain’s first attempts to match German Panzer Is, and they were remarkably simple to what New Zealand was fielding now.

In 1915 the British ’tanks’ were obliterated by their German opponents. And the current crop of Panzers were simply larger, better armored, bigger-bored versions of the ones that smoked the original British Mk Is back then.

Still... It was not like King didn’t understand the need to produce something, anything to abate the public’s fear.

With the Russians on their northwestern border. Amassing troops ’officially’ for the sake of grand infrastructure initiatives.’ Canadians were demanding answers for how King and his administration planned to act.

As he sat there thinking about their situation, John kept babbling on about how inept and useless the New Zealanders were, almost as if he was trying to console himself about his own inability to defend Australia.

In the end, King finally broke, speaking the words that the two of them had been avoiding the entire time.

"I suppose we have no choice but to follow the Latin American countries and negotiate a surrender. If this continues, the Russians will pour through the Northwest Territories like a Mongol horde, and Ottawa will fall within weeks, not years."

John didn’t say anything, not at first... He had finally ceased his chatter, finally taking in the true weight of what King had just said to him, and when he finally spoke again, there was almost a hint of relief in his voice.

"Very well, I’ll tell the Kiwis what you said. Honestly speaking, we never should have gotten involved in this damn war to begin with. Fucking Roosevelt, damn cunt...."

The line then went dead, and King could not help but pour himself another glass of liquor, downing its entire draught in one gulp before reaching towards his phone once more. This time, he dialed a very different number.

King’s index finger hesitated on the dial as it reached the last number. Almost as if his body was fighting his mind on what needed to be done.

Sweat began to pool on his forehead as his vision focused on the number so much that there was nothing else but him and the last digit. And then he rolled the dial into place.

Not through his own thought, but through some supernatural force compelling his finger to act without his control.

After connecting through an operator to the German side. The line rang once, then twice, then three times.

And on the fourth breath, a voice came from the other side. It was smooth, crisp, and cold. But more importantly, the English words spoken were so flawless, King almost didn’t recognize who he was speaking with.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to muster the courage to call me. I must say, I find it a bit strange it was my number you chose to dial, rather than the Kaiser’s. This is a request for surrender after all, is it not?"

It took a moment for King to realize that the man he was speaking with was Bruno. He had never actually met Bruno in person. In years past, he had listened to recorded speeches Bruno made to the world and the German public.

But those speeches had always been made in German. To hear the man speak perfect English, and in the King’s English no less. It was uncanny...

"I didn’t know you spoke English."

The response King received was not the one he was expecting. Bruno chuckled, not in a menacing or sadistic way. But in a genuinely amused, almost friendly tone.

"I have been speaking with proper Received Pronunciation since before you were born, William. You wouldn’t believe the number of languages I have mastered, and the accents I have perfected. It’s a trait I have passed on to my children as well. My sons and daughters can all blend in perfectly whether in the courts of Windsor, Versailles, the Hofburg or the Altes Palais."

King thought about the words Bruno had spoken and was surprised. Not only was his family educated to a standard in three languages, but they could all speak with courtly prose within various dialects.

But there was one thing in particular that stuck out to King, and he didn’t know if it was mere hyperbole, or if Bruno had been incorrect about something. Eithey way he felt a need to give voice to it.

"I’m sorry, you said you were speaking the King’s English since before I was born. But if memory serves correctly, I am five years your senior...."

Bruno did not hesitate to respond, and when he did, his words only served to confuse King more.

"If you were only accounting for this life, then you would be correct."

King sat in silence, staring at his phone as if he had just heard something either enlightening or absolutely maddening. He wanted to press Bruno further on what he had just said, but he was cut off before he could do so.

"Now, is this what you really wanted to speak about? Weren’t you going to formally surrender? I’m waiting to hear your conditions."

King had been so stricken by Bruno’s perfect mastery of the English language that he had damn near forgotten his reason for calling. He was quick to clear his throat as he forced himself to find the courage needed to say what he had long since decided upon.

"I, William Lyon Mackenzie King, the 10th Prime Minister of Canada, hereby request an armistice so that we may meet and discuss a formal end to this conflict."

King had not outright announced Canada’s surrender, but he didn’t need to. And Bruno was quick to respond.

"Very well... Since your friends in Australia and New Zealand will be attending this meeting, I’ll make it easy on the both of you. We will meet in Hanseong to discuss these matters in greater detail. I’ll have my aide send you the time and date. Do make sure to pass along my message to your allies."

Bruno then hung up, leaving King to collapse in his chair sweating profusely and gasping for breath. As if he had just sprinted a mile, despite sitting in his seat the entire time.

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