[b]Mexico City, Distrito Federal[/b] [i]June 1955[/i] The Palacio Nacional was a flurry of activity the next morning, with no fewer than four motorcades lined up in front of the grand complex of lavish buildings. A traffic policeman hurriedly waved his hands and blew his whistle to stop civilian traffic on José María Pino Suárez Street as a dozen black staff cars crowded the sidewalk edge. Most of them bore flags and placards of Mexican government ministries, except for a curious set of vehicles in the back waving small flags depicting the rising sun of Japan. From those vehicles, two men emerged: Ambassador Saburo Ito, with a dark suit and a serious look upon his face, took the lead over a man in a tan double-breasted military uniform topped with yellow shoulderboards adorned by shining silver stars. Both of them shaded their faces from the public with brimmed hats; a fedora and a round service cap. The Japanese officials disappeared into the Palacio Nacional along with the other parties, before two stern Mexican troopers carrying rifles closed a set of wooden doors behind them. The group passed through a sally-port to emerge in a cobblestone-floored courtyard boxed in by arched windows. A solitary fountain trickled peacefully in the center. To the president, who was waiting in the center flanked by his aides and guards, the courtyard had always reminded him of Rome and classical Italy. Herrera stood beside Álvarez: the two men could almost be mistaken for brothers, with their tall, skinny frames and light skin. While Álvarez remained clean shaven and impeccably groomed to the latest fashion, Herrera allowed himself a mustache and longer hair that bordered on unruly. A movie star next to a politician from a history book. The Mexicans shook hands with the Japanese. Ambassador Ito went through the line of seniority, introducing himself first to Admiral Aguilar before moving on to the next man. The Japanese general came next, with a rigid personality befitting the notorious Imperial Japanese Army’s strict seriousness. The short and stocky naval officer shook the pair’s hands and nodded at the Japanese general officer, surveying the [i]shin guntō[/i] sword affixed to the man’s hip. Aguilar was famed in nautical circles for his interest in blades as a hobby. He had made his own officer’s uniform sword at a self-made forge in his [i]hacienda[/i] near the navy base at Veracruz, a fact that he bragged about to every foreign officer he met. In return, the Japanese general gave only a slight nod to acknowledge the presence of a fellow warrior. “Welcome, Mr. Ito,” greeted the next man in the line with a firm handshake. Minister Gabriel Torres was yet another retired general in service with the Mexican government, a longstanding tradition since the Revolution of the 1910s. He was not one for small talk, and quickly passed the Japanese ambassador onto the president standing next to him. He did the same for the general, before clasping his hands in front of his waist and waiting for Álvarez to finish the introductions. “Thank you for meeting me with such short notice,” Ambassador Ito said to Álvarez in accented Spanish. His words were measured and deliberate, much like his actions. “This is nothing, Mr. Ito. I appreciate your outreach to us,” coolly replied the president with a smile. “The fact that you trusted me with such a sensitive request means our nations’ friendship is unshakable.” “I agree. We have to remain close now that there are uncertain times ahead. Allies are few and far between. I feel we are the precipice of war, or at least something close to it,” the Japanese ambassador said, a hint of sagely wisdom creeping into his voice. President Álvarez didn’t know if he was misinterpreting a Japanese saying or not, but the message came across clearly nonetheless. “Well then, let us continue.” The party finished their introductions, with the Japanese ambassador walking alongside the Mexican president as they went into the government palace. The military officials trailed behinds, their aides now catching up to them carrying satchels of documents. Torres nodded to Álvarez and slipped past the group, catching up to a Colonel in his more drab service uniform as opposed to the more ceremonial dress of Aguilar: a black leather briefcase was handcuffed to his hand, containing nothing but a notebook with the combination of the lock to what had become known as the “war room.” Behind a steel door in a reinforced concrete room built just recently, the room had been constructed at the behest of the War Ministry in anticipation of a future global conflict. The door opened to reveal a humble vestibule with only two sets of wooden chairs lining either wall of the passageway. The Mexican and Japanese delegation crowded uncomfortably inside as Torres escorted the Colonel to unlock a second hefty metal door with another combination lock. With a metallic click, the door opened much like a ship’s hatch, squeaking as it revealed the main section of the war room. A world map appeared dramatically at the other end of the room with placards and strings depicting the great powers’ military forces arrayed as closely as Mexican intelligence could analyze. Two other blow-up maps were on similarly sized boards angled to the left and right of the world map, one depicting the US-Mexico border in its entirety, and the other one revealing the detailed locations of ships and military units scattered across the Caribbean. Álvarez invited the delegation to sit at one end of the table where another map had been laid out. Two officers emerged from the staff sections at either wing of the war room with briefing aids and files marked “[i]ULTRA SECRETO[/i].” One laid out copies to each of the Japanese and Mexican officials while the other, a Major who looked like he had just risen to the rank, prepared some icons and symbols to pin on the map of the Caribbean to their side. “We received a telegram from your Army Minister, Masami Hojo, last night,” Herrera said. Torres and Álvarez nodded in agreement. “We understand what the Japanese government wishes. Luckily, there needs to be no preparation of planning and only discussions of how we’ll execute.” Herrera deferred to Torres, who took charge of the conversation in his authoritative tone. He had given many such briefings before, to soldiers and diplomats and politicians alike. His voice was sternly confident, a sure commander who followed a simple rule to always at least appear to know what he was doing. “If you open the secret documents in front of you, this is our war plan for a fight against the British in the Caribbean. It was developed many years ago and has been continuously refined as you yourselves have gone to war. Don’t think we didn’t suspect this day would happen.” The War Minister shot a grin to Ambassador Ito, who merely nodded with a serious look on his face. President Álvarez cocked an eyebrow at the exchange, silently musing about the strictly businesslike nature of the Japanese men with their dark suits and round glasses. It was good to have these warriors on their side, at least, even if they didn’t know how to throw a party or crack a joke. “On a large scale,” continued Torres, “our first step would be to identify and track down British forces capable of transport or rapid attack against our own fleet.” He pointed to the Major manning the map of the Caribbean, who withdrew a pointer stick and began tapping red ship icons in the ocean. “The British don’t have a lot here, currently,” interrupted Aguilar. “They’ve withdrawn a lot of their ships, ironically to fight you.” “This, we know,” stated the Japanese general plainly. All of the Mexicans turned to look at him, surprised after he shattered their assumption that he would not speak unless spoken to by a superior. “We came to you to keep them divided from us.” Aguilar paused a second, allowing for the War Minister to take back over. “Correct. Our plan will simultaneously consist of patrolling and blockading strategic targets in an order of precedence while we prepare our land invasions. British garrisons in the Caribbean are run down, underfunded, and regiments have been withdrawn to handle their crises at home and in the Pacific. We are the perfect opportunity to launch an attack against critical components of their imperial pride and resource export.” Torres called the Major to begin his movement of Mexican military symbols from bases across the south of Mexico the British colony in Belize. “Most of these targets will be symbolic to British prestige at home,” explained Torres. “Belizeans are a bunch of banana and sugar farmers, with some rich [i]pinche Británicos[/i] going on holiday there.” The Admiral continued, offering his military perspective. “We have drilled the staff exercises to accomplish an attack on these Caribbean possessions in two weeks. A month if they put up stiff resistance, which is unlikely considering the British drawdowns. But our goal is the Belize City garrison alongside its government house. With that taken, the country will be ours. We don’t have to worry about a militant population, and in fact it is highly likely the local Belizeans will take our side on the matter.” “That is a bold assumption to make,” challenged the Japanese general again, leading forward to the table. “You are used to your vicious wars with enemy empires,” Aguilar countered, the point of his argument having instantly materialized in his head. His knowledge of history matched his fascination with swordmaking. “Years of war with Russia where your presence has been as an invader, and a foreign one at that. So foreign, in fact, that nobody could have ever thought an Oriental power could challenge a European in years prior. You are the yellow Japanese against white Russians! Of course there will be partisans to sabotage you behind enemy lines. We are liberators to Belize.” The Japanese general scowled at Admiral Aguilar, who suddenly realized how continental he had sounded with his comments. Immediately, the Mexican added: “We commend your country for its fight. You are an inspiration to us who seek glory outside of the European continent. But you must understand how our wars are not the same.” Placated for now, the Japanese man offered a grunt of acknowledgement and leaned back into his chair. Ambassador Ito watched the scene and offered his input. “What kind of pressure will this put onto the British? I wish to develop a full report to the Army Ministry on how they can expect your contributions will change this war.” “A naval task force, at least. Most likely initially drawn from colonial fleets like South Africa or other possessions, since they would want to send a response but our theater would be less important than yours,” Torres replied in an officially commanding manner, rapidly quenching the heated discussion between the two military men that threatened to become a counterproductive match of bickering debate. “Royal Marines from the British Isles proper would also need to be deployed to retake these possessions, as the British do not have amphibious capabilities even from their most fortified base in Bermuda.” The Japanese ambassador nodded. Torres flipped through the next few pages of the file. “There is a sequential plan after that consisting of an amphibious attack on the Cayman Islands. Again, another holiday destination for the British. There is a local police station there that will surrender or be quickly dispatched by the [i]marinas.[/i] We have two more targets on the list after Belize that should prove more difficult, but serve to expand the theater to draw in more British to our Caribbean killzone.” The Major at the wall pushed two separate task force icons from Mexico to islands in the sea. The largest one went to Jamaica, while another cruised south until it assembled by a island labeled in small print as Trinidad and Tobago. “Our campaign on the British West Indies concludes with attacks on Jamaica and Trinidad. These are identified as the two largest remaining garrisons of British troops and are important for different reasons. Jamaica is the ‘crown jewel’ of British Caribbean assets, while Trinidad and Tobago is inherently important to the oil exports from the area.” Both Ito and the Japanese general perked up at the mention of petroleum, a key topic of discussion In Japanese military circles. The basis of their imperial conquests could be boiled down to the search to acquire oil, rubber, and other industrial materials. The Japanese, long reliant on imports much like the British themselves, were in a unique position to understand how disrupting even a small part of the sensitive oil import system could yield important operational results. Trinidadian oil, even if it made up a small percentage of British imports, could make the difference between a fleet or army movement that a skilled Japanese leader could deftly exploit. “Again, these are lightly defended compared to their value as targets. Kingston in Jamaica maintains the largest British garrison outside of Bermuda, but we have a numerical advantage with our amphibious infantry and naval assets. Trinidad and Tobago has most of their targeting focused on oil refineries and the industrial areas there.” The next steps of the briefing consisted of a reconsolidation of Mexican forces to secure their gains. They would prepare for a British counterattack towards the islands, with a Royal Navy task force being drawn from diverse colonies. The Major demonstrated on the board as the British forces assembled and steamed towards the Caribbean, where they were quickly entrapped by Mexican naval forces in a series of hit-and-run attacks. British amphibious forces that survived would be outmatched by the defensive positions on the islands. To the Mexicans, it was a simple problem of geography that could be solved quickly and violently. It took cues from the Japanese strategy of island-hopping, a point that was not lost on the Japanese attaché in the meeting. “The strategy is sound then,” Ito stated, closing his notebook after taking down several pertinent notes in Japanese. The Mexican war plans were never allowed to leave the room, so he was transcribing as much general information as he could: in the background, another officer had been standing silently behind the Japanese men with his hands clasped in front of his waist. A fluent speaker of Japanese, his job was solely to monitor the ambassador as he took down classified notes. Ito, a veteran of foreign service, recognized the unwritten rules in place here, and respectfully kept his notebook free of specifics outside of what was considered acceptable by diplomatic etiquette. “Our concern comes to politics, then.” President Álvarez leaned forward to the table and locked eyes with Ambassador Ito. “Don’t worry about that, my friend,” he said. “I’ll work with Congress. We have our avenues to do this, and the warhawks are more than happy for an opportunity to show off.” Álvarez was, as Ito suspected, talking about the Americans. A fight with the British, a quick and easy demonstration of Mexican capabilities, was worth more than every parade and exercise from the past decade combined. The British and Americans had similar doctrines, forces, and structure. A quick conflict in the Caribbean would certainly light some fires underneath American military planners and change the calculus. Ambassador Ito leaned back into his chair and made a humming noise. The Japanese were on relatively good terms with the Americans, so the Mexicans would just be looking for trouble on their own. That was their problem. “Then I trust you can make the necessary diplomatic arrangements,” the Japanese diplomat said simply. “I will let you know when we start our campaign, if the newspapers don’t tell you already,” Álvarez replied with a nod. With an elegant motion, practiced in countless meetings during his time in politics, the president waved his hand and stood from his seat at the table. “Well, I think we have a plan going forward. Let’s retire to work our own ends.” The Japanese delegation and the Mexican military men all rose behind him, nodding and gathering their documents. Aides rushed to secure them in satchels and briefcases before standing obediently beside their superior officers. The Mexican staff officers in the war room began to erase their notes and remove their icons from the map boards, sanitizing the briefing so that they could resume their daily operations later. Álvarez and his officials escorted the Japanese from the room, passing through the security partition again before heading up from the basement of the palace. In the courtyard where they had met just a short time before, they engaged with the niceties of diplomatic conduct and bid their farewells. After the Japanese and Mexicans shook hands, the Ambassador and his attaché were escorted to the waiting motorcade on José María Pino Suárez Street. The gates of the Palacio Nacional closed shut behind them, and soldiers in ceremonial dress took their places flanking the wrought-iron metalwork. With little fanfare, the Japanese boarded their black diplomatic cars and drove away, leaving the seat of Mexican power to assess their own situation at the embassy. As the Japanese returned to their embassy, situated alongside the plain and unadorned [i]Glorieta de la Palma[/i] roundabout just fifteen minutes from the palace, the Mexicans returned to work to make the necessary preparations.