Hullo all,

Long time lurker - first time poster.

This is a silly little idea that I have had rolling through my head for a while now. In my day to day life, I'm a political researcher, whilst in my down-time, I tend to be a keen writer of alternate history, and a reader of actual history) - I am also, obviously, a massive Eva fan.

Most of my past alternate histories have tended to be entirely rooted in reality, what we may call "for want of a nail" alternate history. To give a typical example from one of my personal favourites - "Fight And Be Right", a letter that in OTL (our time line) caused a minor scandal for the then-Prince of Wales in 1876 goes amiss, with the end result being a much more successful career for a fairly obscure politician, then a rising star, called Lord Randolph Churchill (the father of Winston.)

A current one I am working on, nearly finished, begins with young Harold Wilson, later to become the British Prime Minister, being recruited at Oxford as a spy for the Soviet Union.

All well and good, but perhaps a little bit too dry for the Evangelion Universe. In this respect, I have decided to go with a sub-genre that some of us like to call “ASB” - an initialism for so-called “Alien Space Bats” – a dramatic conceit to explain bizarre and fantastical aspects deliberately inserted into many works of counter-factual history. A common variation, popularised by the American author S. M. Stirling, is the “Island in the Sea of Time” (ISOT) concept, in which an area – or just the people – are transported to another time or universe. In Stirling’s ‘Nantucket Series’ the entire island of Nantucket, Massachusetts is transported to the Bronze Age. The islanders’ corresponding interaction with the Native Americans (and later, the rest of the world) forms the bulk of the narrative.

In "And All's Right With The World", we begin with only a single person being sent back, more of a Peggy Sue I suppose.

Let's wind things up and see what happens...

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"A pretty mechanical toy, but of very limited military value.”
-Lord Kitchener, upon witnessing an early demonstration of the tank

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[center]Prologue[/center]
There were two of them in the dugout. There would usually have been more, but the freezing weather had served to incapacitate far more troops than German machine fire. Indeed, so many had been sent back to recuperate that a flustered telegram from district headquarters had asked if there were enough troops left to actually garrison the defences properly.

Captain Greenwood, 146th Infantry Brigade, was the last person to want to cause a fuss - especially given the chaos that had resulted from Sir John French's recent dismissal - and had swiftly telegraphed back to insist that his section of the front was doing just fine, thank-you very much.

It was a lie, of course, but even the Germans looked as though they were not going to bother attacking in the face of the current wind-chill, which he was suddenly reminded of as the crudely hammered door was blown open and - after a brief struggle - returned it back to the latch.

"What now?" Greenwood snarled as the unfortunate Private ('what was the fool's name? Smith? Maddox?') entered the room with an apologetic salute.

There was a pause. The younger man froze suddenly, as if he was having second thoughts as to give out his message. After a couple of seconds, the internal debate was resolved.

"Apologies, Captain" the junior figure said, betraying his thick Leeds accent, "but the Sentries noticed a strange sight a couple of minutes ago. Usually, I wouldn't have wanted to bother you - but..."

There was the pause again. Greenwood felt his anger subside - Rawlings ('that was the name!') was a decent boy, barely nineteen, and had proven his worth on numerous occasions. He had barely flinched on his first day in the trenches, even when the latest casualty had been stretchered passed him, organs hanging out.

No, Rawlings was a tough nut, so it seemed curious - even on a bitter night such as this - to have looked so spooked. On such regular patrol on a comparatively quiet part of the front, there seemed little reason to suspect that anything was amiss.

Rawlings had re-gathered his thoughts. "...but Davids and Boyce said that they saw summet fall from the sky, a couple of yards away from Wingrove's observation post."

"Probably an unexploded shell," Lieutenant Atkinson said, witheringly, "they do it all the time near Wipers - it's just to put the fear of god into you."

Greenwood had never much cared for his current deputy, Atkinson was more battle-scarred than either of them, but getting grazed in the shoulder in Flanders did not turn you into the Duke of Wellington, however much he banged on about how many Germans he'd shot.

The Private swallowed, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing up and down like a child's bandalore. "See, that's what we thought at first, uh, sir" he replied, "but we had to discount that theory when we heard groaning."

The Captain found himself leaning forwards. "An airman?"

Rawlings flashed his eyes back towards the senior officer, "We all assumed so, but when we looked out over the parapet, it was obvious that he wasn't one - certainly, he wasn't wearing anything like any uniform I haven't seen."

"A spy then?" Atkinson yelled, spittle flying in Rawlings' face, "why the fuck have't you brought him here? If you've fucking lost him..."

Rawlings had taken a step backwards in light of the ferocity, hands slightly raised in mock-surrender.

"No, no, nothing like that sir," he said, looking as though he regretted being the one to have offered to bring the news in the first place, "he certainly isn't a Jerry, we think - well, come and see for yourself."

The Captain and Lieutenant shared a glance, but followed the Private outside, buffeted by the winds as the left they mounted the short ladder to the trench proper. The three men half-jogged, half were blown, along the fortification to the lower - slightly larger, bunker that served as the 'ordinaries' quarters. Ducking down, they entered.

Despite the best efforts of the Regiment to give the place a familiar, jaunty name, 'The King's Head' was very far removed from the cozy, pub atmosphere that the title implied. Water, near-frozen in the current climate, slid down the timber props, whilst the inexpertly stacked sandbags did little to dull the constant whistling of the wind. A long table - barely more than a large plank of wood that most decorators would have sneered at to use for wallpapering - ran down the centre of the 'room', whilst crates and old ammunition boxes served as rudimentary chairs. At this time, most of the troops would be either outside, or slumbering as best as they could, but almost all of those off-patrol duty were gathered around a man seated at the far side of the room, where he was clutching an bloody rag to his forehead.

As the man turned his face to the newcomers, Captain Greenwood conceded that the idea of the man being a German spy was somewhat misplaced. The stranger was clearly Oriental in origin, with deep-set eyes - one of which was rapidly swelling up to the size of a golf ball. A fussy black beard - basically a goatee - was caked in congealing mud, whilst a trickle of blood ran down his face and neck.

He was also completely naked - although one enterprising corporal had managed to find a blanket that preserved what little modesty the man had remaining.

A curious sight, all told, Greenwood thought to himself as the hubbub around the man petered out. The captain summered his energy, walking towards the man who was now facing him directly.

"Do you speak English?" Greenwood said in the slowest voice he could manage.

The stranger put his fingers slightly apart - the international signal for 'a bit'.

"My name is Captain Ernest Greenwood of His Majesty's 146th Infantry Brigade. You are Chinese, are you not?"

"Japanese." came the reply.

"Ah! Like The Mikado"

The man gave a puzzled look. His good eye darted around, as if he was still seeing the world for the first time. Greenwood assumed concussion.

"Can you hear me okay?" he said, as if talking to an elderly relative.

"I..." the stranger said, seemingly struggling to articulate more than one word at a time, "...I...uh...wonder if you could...tell me where I am?"

Greenwood looked at Atkinson, it was hardly going to do to write the field report if the man had amnesia.

"You're in Belgium, twenty miles from the French border."

"Fren...yes, I mean what date?"

Greenwood furrowed his brow - good question, the days tended to blur into one week-long mesh after a while.

"Saturday the ten..."

"Eleventh" the ever-officious Atkinson replied.

"Yes, the eleventh" Greenwood corrected, flashing his eyes in annoyance.

"Year?"

Of all the...

"Nineteen-Fifteen."

The man slumped forward with such force that Greenwood, for a moment, assumed that he must have fainted. There was a sudden spasm in his bare shoulders.

Astonishingly, he was laughing and murmuring to himself in his native tongue. After a short while, he recovered.

"Wonderful. That gives us time..."

"Time?"

The man had drawn himself to his feet - dropping his hands towards Greenwood to make for a handshake. The Captain noticed that the rag he had been using to dab at the wound in his head had stuck there.

"I really cannot thank you and your men for rescuing me. If I may - however - I would very much like to make my own way home."

Atkinson almost sputtered in range.

"Nonsense!" he yelled, "You can hardly drop in - quite literally - unannounced from the sky, trample around naked, and then waltz off into the night!"

The man paused.

"I cannot?"

Greenwood, against himself, sided with Atkinson.

"Certainly not sir - you will need to remain here for the rest of the night whilst I file a full report and make some enquiries. I certainly will need to at least take your name."

There was another pause, far more serious than the ones before.

"My name?"

Atkinson had already produced a notepad and pencil from his pouch. The Lieutenant gave his best - 'get on with it' face.

"Yes...my name."

Two dozen eyes and ears were proffered.

"It's Gendo. Ikari Gendo."

Gendo needs to star in more fanfics. I approve. The tricky part, however, will be giving him a motivation to do anything that makes any sort of sense if there's no Yui to save on the horizon.

NemZ wrote:Gendo needs to star in more fanfics. I approve. The tricky part, however, will be giving him a motivation to do anything that makes any sort of sense if there's no Yui to save on the horizon.

Indeed - I know roughly where I shall be taking this and he certainly is the sort of person that is liable to be rather adaptable to circumstances - even if he is a century behind the present tech level.

It was never actually stated if the Evangelion universe shared the same history as ours prior to Second Impact, I'm going with the idea that it did.

I do hope that you'll stick around to read more!

“If you want to know who we are,
We are gentlemen of Japan:
On many a vase and jar
On many a screen and fan
We figure in lively paint:
Our attitude's queer and quaint
You're wrong if you think it ain't - oh!”
-From The Mikado
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One[/center]
(Taken from 'Report concerning a Falling Airman - one Gendo Ikari - in the trenches on the outskirts of Ypres, Belgium, 11th December, 1915' by Ernest Greenwood, cited in “Military Records of the Great War - Vol III” Prenderghast 1965)

“Sir,

Shortly after mid-night on Saturday, 11th December, I was informed of the sudden and inexplicable arrival of a Japanese individual, claiming to be forty-one years of age and going by the name Gendo Ikari (nee Rokubungi - according to the terms of his marriage in Japan), which Privates G. Davids and H. N. Boyce claim to have fallen into the ground closely behind the machine gun entrenchment occupied by Corporal F. Wingrove.

Privates Boyce and Davids, risking possible detection by German sentries, showed commendable initiative in retrieving Mr Ikari, who was at the time claimed to be conscious, if somewhat disassociated with his surroundings. Upon being taken to the nearby troop dug-out, I was then informed of the developing situation by Private C. Rawlings - electing to speak with the man, given the possibility of his being in the presence of sensitive, clandestine information - I was informed at the time as to the curious nature of his arrival, as well as his claimed nationality.

After being informed of Mr Ikari’s name, I spoke with him at length with regard to the provenance of his claims, finding them to be somewhat confused and concerning. Owing to the head wound Mr Ikari is believed to have suffered during his fall, I assumed concussion. A transcript of the discussion between Mr Ikari and myself is attached;

[...]

Ernest Greenwood: I must first ask you how you came to be your current position.

Gendo Ikari: I express an element of confusion on my part, I feel that the [unknown - poss. ‘Ellseal’?] may have caused short-term amnesia.

EG: You have no recollection of flying over this area?

GI: None whatsoever, I presume that I may have been knocked off my intended course. This certainly may explain my lack of attire.

EG: But you do claim to be of military extraction?

GI: Certainly, although my position may be of limited jurisdiction at the present time.

EG: It has fallen into abeyance?

GI: I suppose that would be the best way of describing it.

[...]

EG: You are a subject of Japan?

GI: In a manner of speaking.

EG: Given your confused state of mind, is it likely that the Japanese authorities in Paris may know the details of your mission?

GI: Possibly - I would need to contact them directly.

EG: It is not something that I can deal with?

GI: I strongly doubt it.

[...]

GI: You have no reports of others in the area?

EG: None, were you accompanied?

GI: Not to my knowledge, but it is possible that others may have wished to follow me and met the same fate.

[...]

Despite initially claiming to be a ‘Commander’ in an unspecified section of the Japanese military, the lack of any documentation, coupled with the evasive nature of Mr Ikari’s response to my questions - I deemed it fit to place him under guard in the support trenches, pending further investigation.

I have permitted Mr Ikari access to writing paper and materials, but refused him access to direct correspondence until such a time as his identity can be confirmed.

I remain sir, yours aye,

Ernest

Captain E. H. Greenwood,
Company ‘A’
146th Infantry Brigade
49th (West Riding) Infantry Division
Ypres
BELGIUM”

-----

(Taken from “Deadlock: The Great War in 1915” Basil Liddell-Hart, Hammond 1954)

“Whilst the arrival of Gendo Ikari would do much to alter the physical structure of the war in hitherto unprecedented ways - the initial stages of what has been termed “Second Impact” were barely noticed within the context of a conflict that had surrendered the mobile opportunities that had presented themselves the previous summer. On the Entente side, the realities of the trench deadlock produced different solutions and reactions. Unlike the German aims for static defence, directed towards holding onto 1914's territorial gains in the hope of forcing an advantageous peace settlement, French strategy was focused on the recovery of the same territory - lost during the summer and autumn of the previous year.

Whilst the armed forces of the two power blocks arguably justified the level of mental and material concentration on the Western Front, the lack of any significant means of breaking the armoured lines served only to knock the allied armies to pieces. Winter attacks in Artois, on the Aisne, in Champagne and the Woëvre spoke only of the remarkable strength afforded to the Reich's skill in trench fighting. With the singular lack of any new ideas emulating from the French, Britain’s trouble tended towards the opposite, an excess of ideas, many of them half-baked, coupled with the absence of any bringing these mental seeds to fruition - this is to say nothing of the professional opinions of both the General Staff and Whitehall - who tended towards an attitude of blank opposition, rather than guidance. British solutions to breaking the deadlock, at least prior to Ikari’s arrival, focused into two (often feuding) groups, one focused on the strategic, the other on the tactical.

The former saw their solution as being focused simply on by-passing the trench barrier. Advocates of this approach - sometimes referred to as the “Eastern” solution (in contrast to the “Western” solution promoted by the tacticians) - argued that the enemy alliances should be view ‘in the round’, arguing that modern developments had altered the military conception of distance, allowing for a strategic ‘strike’ on one of the Central Powers would affect the marital and economic pressures upon to the others. In October 1914, Lord Fisher, recently recalled as First Sea Lord, had proposed an amphibious assault on the North German coast. The following January, Lord Kitchener suggested a similar idea, aimed at disrupting the Ottoman line of eastern communication by means of a landing in the Gulf of Alexandretta. Whilst exciting and radical, such proposals served only to underestimate the dominance of defensive technologies above offensive ones - although it must be said that the failure of the Gallipoli expedition was far more down to execution, rather than conception. Writing to Hindenburg in May 1915, General Lorenz warned - ‘if the straits between the Mediterranean and the Black Sea are not permanently closed to traffic between the Western Powers and Russia, the chances of total victory on either front will be greatly diminished” - the failure is clear, and if the British and Anzac force in Turkey had been even a fraction of those proposed in the initial stages, the possibility of knocking the southern ally out of the conflict by the end of 1915 may well have come to pass.

In contrast, tactical solutions aimed at ending the ‘unbreachable’ nature of the trenches by the development of a machine that could surmount the obstacles, restoring the tactical balance that he been upset by the preponderance of defence over offensive power. The concept of a machine such as this was initially developed by Sir Ernest Swinton in October 1914, nursed by Winston Churchill, then First Lord of Admiralty, and ultimately into the maturity afforded by the tanks of 1916, where they would serve ably as supporting fire for the first prototype metabiological “Walker” or “Evangeliser”, developed by Gendo Ikari.”

-----

(Near Ypres
11th December, 1915)

Gendo Ikari considered his position. The moments prior to hitting the soft, freezing mud of this foul place had been somewhat of a muddle.

Unit 01 - or, at the very least, a spectral version of it - had been unyielding in his punishment. Broken and battered though he had been, there had still been some sensation of standing - alone save from the body of Akagi - in the depths of Terminal Dogma. Had the sensation of death been one aspect of failed third impact? Perhaps, although the bite had seemed real enough.

The reality of the battlefields of Europe were the new constant, unlikely though the experience was. It certainly bore no reality to what Instrumentality was supposed to be - whilst being very similar to what he knew the First World War to have been like. He had not meant to have been so non-committal with the British man who had interrogated him, but if - as he now strongly suspected - he had been ‘sent back’, the truth would have been so curious and inexplicable than to have sounded worse than nonsense.

‘Probably would have just been shot as a spy’ he thought darkly to himself, settling into the dugout that had be set aside as a holding pen.

No, the truth was not the best road to go down - at least for the time-being. Technological acceleration seemed to be the prudent course of action, but he could achieve little for the time being.

He gave an intake of breath, wrinkling his nose in discuss at the foul air that he was forced to breath. He had heard the stories of the trenches, but a television documentary only went so far in bringing across the horrors of total war. The aftermath of the 10th Angel had been horrendous, as had the snached images that he had seen during the JSDF assault on the GeoFront, but the scale of the Western Front was almost unfathomable.

There was a murmur from outside. A private, hardly out of puberty, entered the makeshift prison and set down a tray of rations. Despite himself, Gendo found himself rather touched by the gesture, he had clearly been fortuitous in arriving where he had done. A hundred yards to the East would have left him trapped in No Man’s Land.

The priorities were clear; to convince the British authorities of his usefulness would be fairly straightforward, as would demonstrating his skills as a technician. Whilst replicating the Eva was probably impossible at this point, developing the metaphysical-biological principles were at least sound, even without the Akagis being around.

Still, he would still have to adapt to a world where developing the Hayflick phenomenon was still the best part of fifty years away. Acceleration was possible, development, less so.

There was time though, he thought, wincing as he took his inaugural forkful of bully beef, and for the first time in years, time seemed to be on his side.

Interesting. Looks like Gendo might have the chance to actually do some good.

Or even worse evil, I suppose.

It occurs to me that if he's starting this early he might be able to take control of Seele himself. But he's gonna be WAY too old for Yui if she isn't even born yet, so still not seeing what the hell he hopes to accomplish here.

Atropos wrote:Interesting. Looks like Gendo might have the chance to actually do some good.

Or even worse evil, I suppose.

Heh, I can categorically state that what happened to Gendo was entirely unplanned, at least from his point of view. As to what his formal plans are - you'll have to wait for a while, I think he may be of two minds about things for a while.

NemZ wrote:It occurs to me that if he's starting this early he might be able to take control of Seele himself. But he's gonna be WAY too old for Yui if she isn't even born yet, so still not seeing what the hell he hopes to accomplish here.

Oh, I do have a number of plans for Seele. I also assure you that the time divergences will not be brushed off.

Incidentally - here is the full-sized poster from the opening title.

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“After lunch we went into the garden for coffee and I turned on the Surgeon General with his graphics and percentages of the sick and wounded to entertain the Premier”
- Douglas Haig, on a meeting with Herbert Asquith

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Two[/center]

(Caserne du Cygne, Saint-Omer
15th December, 1915)

“The primary issue that I have, Major, is that no one seems to have heard of him.”

Christmas was approaching, and with the autumn campaigns finally over, the headquarters of the British Expeditionary Force in Europe were quieter than they had been for some time. The identity of the replacement Commander-in-Chief and his staff had been the main preoccupation of the staff offices of the Caserne du Cygne for a number of weeks now, with all the sniping and power plays that that involved. As a typically petulant example, Sir John French was stubbornly refusing to relinquish occupation of his private apartments until the last possible moment.

For Colonel Horace Latchford, dealing the Ikari case had been a rare opportunity to absolve himself of dealing with the change in management, although he was beginning to think that he should never have bothered.

“No one at all?” Major Frank Atchison replied, his head barely visible over a mound of paperwork.

“Well,” Latchford said, re-reading the telegrams, “no one from the Japanese Embassies in London, Paris or Washington at the very least.”

“So he is lying then” Atchison said, dismissively.

“I think that may be a little bit harsh, sir ” the third man at the table piped up.

Latchford looked to his right, having almost forgotten that Captain Greenwood was still present.

“Harsh?” Latchford said, “May I rather pointedly remind you of your senior officer, Captain Greenwood.”

Greenwood stared back, chastised but defiant.

“I quite concede the point that he may be in a state of some disorientation, sir”, he said, “but that must be expected from the circumstances surrounding his arrival. Whilst he appears perfectly lucid, the medics think it may be perfectly possible for him to be suffering from some sort of memory loss resulting from the trauma, I have no reason to think that he isn’t simply befuddled as to his origins.”

The two senior officers looked dismissively at one another.

“What you have to say about the matter is largely immaterial,” Atchison retorted, hitting the table with enough force to send a letter opener falling to the floor. “I am increasingly of the opinion that you are willfully setting out to disrupt this investigation, perhaps with an ulterior motive to set a spy free.”

Greenwood’s expression darkened. Latchford decided to calm emotions.

“I believe that that may be a rather untoward allegation, Major” the Colonel said, “especially considering Captain Greenwood’s hitherto blotless record.”

Atchison fell silent, although he continued to eyeball Greenwood with distrust.

“The simple matter is, however, that I am sceptical of how much we can do for a paperless man who claims to be a citizen of another country, even if one that is an allied power.”

The Captain thought for a moment, before suddenly producing a scrap of paper from his tunic pocket.

“Given Mr Ikari’s,” he paused, struggling for the correct word, “ambiguous position at the present time. I felt it that, whilst direct communication would be entirely improper, I had no reason to deny him reading and writing material.”

Latchford gave Greenwood his best ‘hurry up with it’ expression.

“Well,” the Captain hesitated, before making up his mind, “take a look what he pressed into my hand as I was leaving this morning.”

Despite his bluff, somewhat traditionalist air, Latchford had always considered himself to be a man open to new ideas. Neither Sir John, nor Douglas Haig (who everyone knew was by far the most likely replacement) were seen as especially radical thinkers - a year of stalemate was proof positive of that - but the young Colonel had been one of the many supporters of the group of middle-ranking figures who had approached the War Office the previous year in support of an armoured vehicle aimed at protecting against the machine gun.

The army had largely sneared at the concept, leaving the project in the hands of Churchill and his boys at the Admiralty, but Latchford had continued to take a keen interest in the idea, if only by dint of having a brother in the artillery corps.

Nevertheless, he found himself unable to avoid giving a gasp at the sketch in front of him.

A few dud lines aside, the schematic was perfect in execution, if far more advanced than even the latest prototypes he had seen. Latchford was not an engineer, more a interested bystander, but it, well, it couldn’t possibly work, could it?

“Are you feeling ill, sir?” Atchison said, briskly.

“No,” Latchford replied, “but I do rather think it would be of benefit to meet with Mr Ikari at a personal level.”

The other two men look surprised at the comment, although Greenwood knew his place well enough to avoid saying anything. This was not a view shared by Atchison.

“Are you quite sure about that, sir?” the Major said, with the air of a nanny suggesting to a six year-old that it may not be advisable to jump from the pier into the sea at low tide.

Latchford did not reply for ten seconds.

“Yes.” he responded, “given the current pause in direct confrontation, coupled with the fact that the new C-and-C is not due to arrive for another couple of days, I rather think that I can spare an hour or so.”

“That was less my point, sir,” Atchison continued, “more the fact that it may not do to be seen talking to someone so candidly when they are under suspicion of clandestine activities.”

“I hardly think that will be an issue.” Latchford said, effortlessly.

“Why so?”

“Because I don’t think that we need to tell anyone - at least for the time-being.”

-----

(Taken from “The Eagle and the Lion: Anglo-German Relations, 1889-1919”, Clio 2001)

“Anglo-German rivalries in the run-up to the outbreak of the great war can be summed up in the national attitude towards, of all things, maps. Whilst the great Dutch cartographers had been the traditional rivals for their English counterparts, the unification of Germany had led to a renaissance in that nation’s attitude towards mapmaking. By the turn of the century, it was commonly held that the works of Perthes, Velhagen & Klasing and the other major publishing houses of the Reich had advanced the principles of ‘scientific cartography’ to the very heights of human capability. Indeed, in 1902 - the English geographer John George Bartholomew (later to distinguish himself for his surveys of Antarctica during the First Ikari Expedition) could already write of his perceived inferiority of the national attitude to the sciences when compared to that of the Reich;

“the German critical appreciation of merit in all its details - in contrast to the British view that ‘one map is as good as another, possibly better, if brightly coloured' - is perhaps best explained by the fact that if the Germans are essentially conservative in politics, they are liberal in science - for an educated aristocracy rule Germany - and if the British are liberals in politics, they are conservative in science - for a half educated democracy runs the British Empire!”

In the face of such perceptions (the question of ‘National Efficiency’ following the Boer War being another), it is hardly surprising that attitudes towards the question of Britain’s struggle to retain her pre-eminence in the European sphere. Rivalries over trade and exports - not helped by Germany overtaking the United Kingdom in terms of coal, iron and steel production by 1910 - contributed to a nationalist view that any future diplomatic moves by Whitehall to leave Salisbury’s ‘Glorious Isolation’ in favour of a more assertive overseas policy had to be in a way in which the Reich had to be considered as a rival, rather than an ally. In 1907 Arthur Balfour, the former Prime Minister informed the prominent American diplomat Henry White that,“we are probably fools not to find a reason for declaring war on Germany before she builds too many ships and takes away our trade.” Although Britain had conclusively won the naval race by 1914 (the Royal Navy was double the size of the Kaiserliche Marine - with the gap growing, not shrinking) a reconciliation of views was at this point insurmountable. Britain was firmly within the Franco-Russian sphere, Germany, the Austro-Turkish one. It is curious, therefore, how much Britain’s return to dominance in the technological arena would owe to a native of one of her newest allies, Japan...”

-----

(Taken from “Understanding Guf: A Brief Introduction to Metaphysical Biology” Olga Mishkin, University of Zurich 1954)

“With the outbreak of the Great War in 1914, the pace of scientific development for the sake of curiosity and peaceful advancement stalled, as university residences were emptied as young men went out to die on the fields of Northern Europe and as academics were press-ganged into government service with a view to advancing the power of the military. In many nations, not least the United Kingdom, the conflict was only the second major one to involved the country since the Education Act of 1870 - for the first time in English military history, the volunteers who went to war would be literate volunteers, many of them scions of the aristocracy, educated at Eton and Harrow, at Oxford and Cambridge, but also grammar school boys - the sons of clerks, doctors and merchants. Even the poorest of recruits brought with them a basic level of reading and writing, sufficient for all-classes to share a common literacy across the classes. The first tranches of ‘Kitchener’s Army’ were a novelty in the country at the time - an organisation where even the most humble of privates could at least hold a basic conversation with their superiors from the highest echelons of society.

Colleagues at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, especially Professor Arthur Langley, have cited this socio-political tendency as being vital to the development of what is variously referred to as “Instrumentality”, “Complementation” or even by Kabbalistic terms such as “Tikkun Olam” - although the academic consensus has increasingly moved towards the former. Within metaphysical biology - this represents the outcome of field collapse, a phenomenon where one’s humanity is physically broken down, whilst group consciousness is retained - whilst technically possible at any level of sentence, proponents of the so-called “New England” or “Harmony” Schools have argued that the closer a populace comes towards a shared level of basic understanding, the greater the ease with which it can be achieved.

The cultural and socio-economic changes resulting from the Great War were of tremendous influence on the development of metaphysical biology, with numerous correspondences being made between early theorists, not least Schrödinger, Planck and...”

-----

(Near Ypres
16th December, 1915)

Gendo Ikari found himself being shaken awake. After two uncomfortable nights in the dugout, Greenwood had been accommodating enough to find him shelter a mile or so behind the trench network - in a blockhouse that had previously been farmstead, now long-since abandoned and home to division headquarters. Whilst somewhat removed from invariably hellish battleground of the salient proper, Ikari still considered himself to be trapped by powers beyond his control - a condition that he was disgusted by. Even when Seele had moved against Nerv, bringing their MP Evas against his own creations, he still acted with a freedom that was now, seemingly, beyond him.

Had it been a mistake to show his technical abilities in such a way? Tanks were simple - a diversion even for someone who lacked the overarching capabilities of the Project E leads - but they were still a fraction of what he new that he could do, given the right technology.

Despite everything, he was still decades adrift of Yui’s birth even assuming that she would actually be born in this new timeline. His semi-interment had left him, for the first time in as long as he could remember, genuinely remorseful.

The silence that filled the room seemed to stretch on forever, it permeated everything, wrapping itself around Gendo and insulating himself from the wider world. Five days on from his arrival, he had begun to think that he would never been summoned.

There was a scrape at the door, followed by a sound of a lock being turned. The noise dispelled his thoughts as suddenly as they had arrived.

The Captain from earlier in the week entered the room, flanked by a pair of nervous-looking Privates carrying Lee-Enfields.

“Mr Ikari,” Greenwood said, “I trust that you have been well-accommodated over the past few days?”

Gendo shrugged, he had been granted paper and had not been physically assaulted, but there was little more that could be said.

With a flash of annoyance, Greenwood pressed on.

“Regardless,” he continued, “I have been informed by a superior that they would care to discuss your design principles in further detail. Whilst we have yet to clarify your position, I have no reason to suspect you of espionage at the present time, although your countrymen do not seem to have knowledge of your name.”

“Our record system are notoriously tricky,” Gendo found himself saying, “it may take them some time to dig out the requisite file from the Ministry of War.”

Greenwood furrowed his brow.

“You have nothing to say about your schematics?”

“I assumed that my compliance was assumed,” Gendo replied, “I did give them to you to hand over, after all.”

“I, well...”

“Shall we leave now?”

Greenwood signed, beckoning the other man to follow. As Ikari followed him in step, he resolved to put the previous minute out of his mind, the war was confusing enough already without having to fathom out what was in the minds of his superiors.

“I think he has a very unusual intellectual ability, but at the same time he seems to have a very unbalanced mind, which is a real danger at a time like this”
- Andrew Bonar Law on Winston Churchill
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Three[/center]
(Taken from “Deadlock: The Great War in 1915” by Basil Liddell-Hart, Hammond 1954)

In January 1915, Lieutenant Colonel Ernest Swinton formally approached the War Office with his ambitious proposals for a ‘machine gun destroyer’ - an armour-plated mechanical vehicle with a crew of ten, mounted on tracks, and armed with repeating rifles. Shielded from enemy fire, the machine would be able to methodically advance at a speed of approximately four miles an hour, destroying the German positions and allowing the regular infantry to capture the trenches during the initial shock-wave. The concept was immediately supported by both Churchill and the Secretary of the War Council, Maurice Hankey. After internal discussions, the three men were able to persuade the War Office to trial the idea. When the prototype fell into a trench and was unable to escape during trials, the War Office abandoned the idea, but Churchill was by then already personally pursuing an alternative plan that had been submitted by Major Hetherington of the Royal Naval Air Service.

In his capacity as First Lord of the Admiralty, Churchill appointed a ‘Landships Committee’ the following month, under the Director of Naval Construction, Tennyson d’Eyncourt (relative of the former Poet Laureate) to further develop the idea. In March, Churchill took the controversial step of approaching a £70,000 budget for the project - despite clearly having nothing to do with the Admiralty’s jurisdiction. Whilst the Committee’s early plans for something that amounted to little more than an armoured personnel character bore little resemblance to Gendo Ikari’s ‘Unit 01’ that would play such a crucial role in the Somme the following year, Churchill nevertheless deserves to take considerable credit for promoting the concept of the ‘Barrel’ and - obviously - the ‘Evangeliser’ at Cabinet Level.

The rest of the Cabinet eventually stumbled upon the Committee’s existence in the summer, with the Committee becoming a joint Admiralty-War Office affair that June. Under the guidance of the new First Lord - Arthur Balfour - trials into the prototype “Mks. I, II & III” took place over the following few months, although many of the forthcoming designs would later be superseded by the Ikari-led designs, which were to come to light during the Christmas period.”

-----

(Taken from “Churchill - A Life” by Emily Fitzsimmons, Blue House 1965)

The Gallipoli campaign dragged on throughout the summer and autumn. Despite the mounting number of casualties and almost total lack of progress in terms of advancing against the Ottoman lines, Churchill continued to mount constant support for the operation, despite the growing objections of his associates. By the end of October, he was almost entirely isolated within the Dardanelles Committee, the majority of whom had come to the conclusion that the entire operation was unsalvageable.

This was not the first time Churchill’s stubborn self-belief had boarded on the delusional. The previous year, the First Lord had visited Antwerp and taken personal charge of the defence of the city, overruling Royal Navy commanders in the field by requesting three battalions of the Royal Marines be sent to take up positions to defend against the German attack. Both the British and the French War Offices were unable to do so, and the city consequently fell on the 9th October. Despite mounting criticism in the press, Churchill telegrammed Asquith, offering to resign in position in the Cabinet in exchange for a high-level command in the field. When the Prime Minister read out the message to the Cabinet, there was a tremendous cry of laughter, and Churchill was recalled home, narrowly avoiding being sacked.

In early November, the Cabinet met to discuss the future of the campaign, with a majority deciding that all troops within Gallipoli should be withdrawn by the end of January. Already demoted to Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster as part of the Conservative conditions on entering the coalition government, Churchill was left with little choice but to resign from Cabinet entirely on 15th November. It was clearly unfair that the First Lord should have been left as the scapegoat for the botched campaign, especially given that Kitchener had been the first senior official to call for an amphibious invasion of the peninsular, and that formal authorisation had fallen upon Asquith personally. Despite being a serving Member of Parliament, he requested (and was granted) a commanding position on the Western Front in January 1916, although he would immediately transfer to a position in Gendo Ikari’s ‘NERVE’ Corps, following his appointment as a temporary Lieutenant Colonel.”

-----

(War Office, London
24th December, 1915)

Eustace Tennyson d’Eyncourt surveyed the room. Despite the door being set fast, the winds nevertheless had found their way through cracks in the frame, as well as gaps in the window planes. The lamp in the corner swayed ominously as another gust swept through the Committee room. At the other end of the table, the civil servant who had been serving as Secretary to the committee sneezed.

“Bless you,” the Chairman of the ‘Landships Committee’ said as the mandarin apologetically snorted into a handkerchief, “and I do apologise for keeping you all so late, gentlemen.”

There was a non-committal murmur from the rest of the room. Rooks Crompton, the committee’s consulting engineer, gave a stare was even icier than the wind.

“This does bring us back to the papers and schematics that have been submitted under Annex Five of the files that you have in front of you,” d’Eyncourt continued, “which I understand have already aroused considerable debate amongst many of you.”

That was putting it mildly. The autumn tests of the Mk. I had been inconclusive, to the extent of threatening the entire existence of the project, with the War Office, and later the Ministry of Munitions, both suggesting that the whole scheme be scrapped and the funding re-diverted into the trench budget. d’Eyncourt, Swinton and the rest of the Committee had been able to mount a spirited defence - aided when the Mk. II had impressed the top brass during later demonstrations. The support of both Sir John French and Douglas Haig - a rare consensus between the two - had also helped matters, and d’Eyncourt had continued to develop the principles over the next few months.

That was, until the mad Japanese professor had appeared. A naked man of Oriental extraction falling from the sky was a curious enough thing in itself, but when the same person had produced - apparently from no-where - schematics for armoured vehicles that were far advanced from those of the entire War Office, heads had turned. Crompton, who had spent the best part of a week pouring over the designs, had been furious at having a year’s work rendered obsolete - but had been talked out of resignation by the Minister of Munitions, who had insisted that the veteran engineer be allowed to take the majority of credit for them. As it was, the Minister - as well as a number of his colleagues - had decided to attend the meeting in person.

“They have indeed caused some - ahem - ‘muted’ discussions at Cabinet,” David Lloyd George said with a wily grin, “if I remember correctly, Lord Kitchener actually asked me if the proposals had been the work of witchcraft.”

“I hope that you didn’t tell him that they may possibly have done so, Minister?” d’Eyncourt replied, “I note that we have yet to receive any confirmation of Mr Ikari’s origins from any of the clerks at the Japanese Embassy.”

“Witchcraft or not,” Colonel Swinton said, “there’s no doubt that the man is a genius, the only question is whether or not we actually manufacture half of the component parts we need to physically construct the thing.”

“And that’s the whole - damn - point,” Crompton yelled, “we have halted construction on a number of machines that are practically complete in exchange for little more than the wild imaginings of a Japanese da Vinci!”

“da Vinci was still a genius,” Lloyd George pointed out.

“But he achieved little of lasting note in the mechanical sciences,” Crompton responded, irately.

“If we can construct them though,” Harold Tennant, the Under-Secretary for War, noted, “surely it is immaterial?”

Lloyd George and Swinton nodded. Crompton glowered.

“What I mean,” Tennant continued, “is that so long as we keep Mr Ikari out of the attention of the media for as long as possible - there is no reason to suggest that these, ‘tanks’ or whatever we call them - emerged from anything less than domestic British ingenuity.”

“DORA will certainly help us in that respect,” the Earl Curzon replied, “that media have always acquiesced to all of our demands in terms of reporting on matters pertaining to military innovation - I see no reason why this should be any different, especially with regard to the presence of a foreign national within the corps.”

“Probably helps us, frankly,” Swinton added, “gives us someone to blame if the whole thing becomes unworkable.”

“I note that we only had these proposals sent to us six days ago,” d’Eyncourt said, scanning the agenda, “how long will it be before we actually have any evidence as to the viability of producing a working prototype?”

Albert Stern, the Committee’s Secretary, quickly looked through his papers.

“Assuming that Colonel Crompton’s works are able to cope with the manufacturing principles,” he said, ignoring another glare, “I estimate that we could have something approaching a working model within the next three months.”

“Excellent,” Lloyd George said, giving an approving nod, “I have every confidence that we can arrange for the Prime Minister to attend the demonstration at Hatfield Park, even if we have to move it to March rather than February.”

“I still advise caution,” Crompton said, arms folded, “I am still uncomfortable at treating a man we know nothing about into the highest echelons of His Majesty’s government.”

“That does remind me,” Swinton replied, “where is our mysterious benefactor?”

“I have taken the liberty of suggesting that he be relocated, under guard at Foster’s - William Tritton’s Lincolnshire works,” Stern replied, “he is being transferred there from Saint-Omer on St Stephen’s Day.”

“What is his current state of mind?” Lloyd George asked.

“He remains calm, but curiously evasive apparently,” Stern said, “which does - obviously - make me question his motives.”

“A political refugee, perhaps?” the Earl Curzon suggested.

“Quite possibly, sir,” Stern continued, “at the very least, he is a man with much to hide, but as of yet - I have no reason to question his capabilities, only his motives.”

“And that,” Lloyd George said, “is surely immaterial so long as it helps us to achieve victory in this conflagration.”

“I still find it totally unacceptable that we have taken this fellow’s designs at face value,” Crompton muttered, “especially one with no credentials.”

“We did it because he is good!” Swinton snapped, “look at them” he said, throwing the blueprints down on the table, “he practically sketched these out from memory on the back of some blotting paper - we cannot ignore talent like that, regardless of the providence!”

“Quite so,” Tennant said, “although it would not do much good to project his influence much further - the diplomatic consequences of doing so could be - a-ha - rather unpredictable.”

d’Eyncourt clapped his hands together.

“If I may bring this matter to a close, gentlemen,” he said, “I would like to now draw the Committee’s attention to the proposed timetable presented for your deliberations on page nine...”

-----

(Taken from ‘The Ikari Doctrine: Technological Developments as Wartime Propaganda’ by William Dalrymple in “The Journal of Military History” April 1981)

“Gendo Ikari’s initial involvement in the development of military hardware was kept entirely out of the public domain. His initial appearance on the front lines, well out of the way of the war reporters, was easy to hide - as was his transfer from military custody on the Western Front to the engineering works in Lincoln. The Defence of the Realm Act of 1914 (better known as DORA) had already given the government de jure as well as de facto control over the media - whilst all civilians involved in munitions production remained tightly monitored by military police.

It is certainly true to say that racism played a role in the unwillingness to acknowledge Gendo Ikari’s initial work, although perhaps not as much as would be assumed. In the Edwardian period, Japan - the first ‘Asian’ country to fully industrialise was fundamentally considered to be a western nation in outlook, if not ethnicity - and many prominent figures remained respectful of their colleagues in Tokyo, especially following the Japanese Navy’s role in subduing the Sepoy Mutiny in Singapore in February 1915.

However, the obvious propaganda difficulties in associating a foreigner (not to mention one lacking any formal documentation) with the pinnacle of wartime engineering was obvious. Upon his transfer to the United Kingdom on 26th December, Ikari was refused any communication with the outside world, aside from figures directly involved with the Landship Committee (later to become the Tank Committee, and later the Evangeliser and Bio-Mechanised Infantry Division) - whilst perfectly understandable of the time, surprisingly few objections seemed to be raised regarding how Ikari’s relative isolation from the public eye could be used to his own advantage...”

-----

(Stadtschloss, Berlin
26th December, 1915)

Kaiser Wilhelm had not enjoyed the Christmas period. Already outmanoeuvred at a personal level by the likes of Falkenhayn and Hindenburg, the Kaiser had spent most of the year watching his nominal position as Supreme Warlord be reduced to little more than a figurehead. On his most recent visit to Große Hauptquartier earlier that month, he had done little more than chop wood, hand out a few derisory medals and be lectured at by Ludendorff.

He gave an approving nod at the man sat opposite him in his salon. General Lorenz was one of the few senior members of the Supreme Command that actually seemed to treat him genuine respect, rather than a propaganda tool.

“Even if the lines hold,” Lorenz said, “which - admittedly - I believe that they will, it still ignores the fact that our supply lines are entirely reliant on the successful utilisation of the Home Front, which is simply not what is happening at the moment in time.”

On his few excursions throughout Berlin, the Kaiser had noticed the gradual changes amongst the population. The growing wanness and listlessness of the civilians, the darned clothes, the flowers slowly being replaced with vegetables. The effect was subtle, but it was increasingly apparent that things were not quite as rosy as Command insisted.

“You sound like you have something in mind, my deal Kiel,” the Kaiser said.

“Not quite yet, sire,” the General said, “but I have allies, friends almost, that remain close to the levers of power in other capitals - I do wonder if plans are emerging that could prove of benefit.”

A dark look came over the man’s eyes.

“Matters are coming to ahead at a rate that I am surprised by,” he said, “it seems odd that man can so easily be swayed from his predetermined path, even as God insists that he takes the one that had been created for him.”

The Kaiser chuckled.

“You sound like you have been speaking to praeses Winckler again!”

“It is a spiritual time for all of us, mein Kaiser”, the General replied, “I suppose I am still rather full of the Christian zeal.”

For a while, the two man said nothing, simply relishing a rare moment of silence. After a minute or so, Lorenz spoke again.

“If I may be so bold, sire,” the General said, “it may be time for us to consider reaffirming the Christian morality of our fighting men - whilst I quite understand the difficulties associated with getting the Catholics and the Calvinists to agree on anything much - I think we can all agree on the benefits of a sound moral and theological underpinning of our mission.”

The Emperor of Germany and King of Prussia leaned forwards.

“You sound as if you have something in mind.”

Lorenz paused for a moment, before walking across to the map of the world that covered one wall of the room. He pointed to a location somewhere in the Near East.

“You know,” he said, “it is nearly two-thousand years since the Messiah was born around there.”

The Kaiser raised an eyebrow.

“With respect, General, I am quite aware of that.”

“Of course, sire,” Lorenz replied, “I am just conscious of the cultural sensitivity of the region, especially given the threatened Anglo-Egyptian incursions into the Sinai and Palestine - Herr von Kressenstein is a superb commander, but...”

“Yes?”

“I fear for a number of matters if the Holy Land is threatened. Tell me, mein Kaiser, I wonder if you are familiar with the theological history of the Dead Sea?”

I want to like this, but it's just so dry. The idea of piecing the whole thing together out of books written after the fact is an interesting concept, but the story as a whole really suffers from the lack of a clear protagonist. As it is I can't place any emotional attachment to any of it, just vague curiosity about what will happen.

As much as I love this idea and all of the awesome detail put into it, I have to agree with the statement above. I feel we should be exploring this story more through the characters as opposed to the excerpts from the books.

All of those little bits of detail are great, but give us more on the immediate story with Greenwood, Gendo, Kiel and whoever else. That's what I'm really interested in reading about. Write and flesh out the story as told by the characters and the bits from the books will compliment the story instead of drive it.

Either way, its a really interesting idea and deserves to be expounded on.