“What do you mean, they will not fly…?” The question was screamed with a volume and intensity that belied the Reichsmarschall’s advanced years and gave a clear indication that the man was a long way from being ready to retire. “We stand here at the cusp of handing the Verdammt English their greatest and most comprehensive defeat since the fall of Britain itself, and you’re telling me that my fucking Luftwaffe will not take off?”

There's no denying that this work opens in a bleak, ravished world. Yet hope is alive and everyone has moved on from where we left them, and the great war machine continues to grind out equipment and grind up personnel with astonishing rapidity and devistation. Our heroes, no longer trying to hold fast in Scotland, are spread around the world; and Britain, or chillingly now the Reich-Protektorat Grossbritannien, is shivering beneath the "jackboot of racism and oppression".

“Courage enough to threaten a fourteen-year-old boy over a few ill-chosen words, Mister McCaughey,” Levi observed coldly, not backing down for a moment. “What kind of strength d’you think you might find to take the fight to grown men who’ve killed your friends and enslaved your country?”

Pluck and courage rule the spirit, though, and just one of the incredible geographical expansions of this work gives us elements of the IRA doing their bit, and smuggling refugees across occupied borders is an exciting part of that for the reader. There's an amazing, spine-tingling naval battle in chapter 6 which I took delight in slowly reading and making explosion noises to myself in the early hours of the morning.

When Mr Jackson expands, he doesn't just add an element to things. We've spread our wings truly, the winds of change have blown an exiled British government as far as Australia, and the hight of the action in this novel climaxes in Egypt. Scotland isn't neglected, there's a rather important installation on the island of Soay in the St Kilda archipelago, and Australia and the Americas are represented as well. Italian combatants join the troops, and old faces make sometimes brief, but always exceptional appearances.

“I think I nearly made him say ‘fuck’ then,” Thorne remarked drily, as usual attempting to calm himself down through irreverence.
“He said ‘bollocks’ while you were gone,” Lloyd observed with a grin.
No prizes for guessing who they're talking about, our true Gentleman of the sky (who as I recall saved a lot of bacon last time) is back doing what he does here in that jet of his.

There are the chronological developments to take into consideration. Phillip Brandis is perhaps the most shockingly intriguing of these, although poor Max seems on the verge of mental collapse on occasion too. It's not confined to one side either, Reuters has a massive, volcanic shouting session at poor Albert during a major battle, and the mounting mental stress he's under seems at least partially to blame.

There's far too much I could mention to be comprehensive. The main body of action which has been building for a little more than the first half of the book goes on for many chapters, and although the last 20% of the work finishes up other details, the engagement still takes up many hundreds of words and had me captivated. The interesting point here is that we're talking about a single day of action which, because of the book's size, took me longer to read than it would have taken to see a Hollywood film, perhaps 2. That's the kind of reading to totally engage a brain, I can assure you!

There was a powerful, painful death at the end of chapter 17, even though we see it coming, it still stung. In chapter 22, seeing the perspectives after the camps from Schiller's point of view was almost as gutting as allied casualties,. The praying in the aircraft as it trundles down that runway was a scene so clear to picture, and the blood virus, such an invisible yet deadly detail, gives us us just one more thing to think about when next we step into this world, perfectly captured on the pages of Mr Jackson's pièce de résistance.

He mentions in the author's note that this eera is "the most written about subject in the entire genre of Alternate History". I'm not a history connoisseur. I enjoy the story and the characters, and can, I hope, appreciate a little some of the unfathomable level of effort and detail Mr Jackson puts into his writing as a result. Everything from sound and smell, through temperature and texture is set down on the page for a reader to absorb. I've read a few other alternative history works, of course, and the majority due indeed focus on the era, but none approach it with the richness, the clarity, the reality this can muster.

I have been privileged to spend another week with characters old and new, in places familiar and far afield, surrounded by language sometimes harsh, but always descriptive and a story with complexity, yes, but also with purpose and secrets yet to be revealed behind it. Charles Jackson has my gratitude and my money both, and these shall follow with, I hope, more installments to come. There's enough material here already to produce many hours of a slow-burning major TV series of the highest calibre. Why have Graphic Audio not come a-knocking at least? TO anyone reading these words, I can guarantee you a copy of this and its predecessor will give you hour upon hour of the most captivating, detailed writing you can find anywhere. A postscript: it's not just me, an Amazon reviewer calls it "perhaps the most absorbing WWII alternate history novel of all time".