Even Alan Wilson knew that with Hyderabad's location and demographics, it was almost impossible for it to resist an Indian Army offensive. But for the sake of money, it was still the most "professional" army in South Asia.
Compared to his nominal post as British Resident in Hyderabad, Alan was now clearly more invested in acting as the Nizam's behind-the-scenes adviser. After all, the British Indian salary was fixed, and nowhere near as tempting as the resources of a former world's richest man.
In his past life, Alan had been just another armchair commentator online. In this life, his exposure to military logistics had only been through his father, Old Wilson, and he had nothing like the deep impression left by the Bengal Famine.
Still, when it came to the shambolic armies of South Asia, he had the right to speak — and as Hyderabad's Resident and now the ruler's close confidant, he was determined to worry over the state's future. Even if Britain's military strength did not lie in its army.
Hiding his essential ignorance of military matters, Alan used the Axis giant — the Third Reich's army — as his benchmark, claiming that tanks were the one weapon Hyderabad absolutely needed.
"Europe has started two world wars in just a few decades. Out of such destruction have come new ideas and tactics — a small consolation for such devastation. The Hyderabad army must have enough tanks to deter potential enemies," Alan declared with absolute conviction, the way only a military amateur could.
Phrases like "king of the battlefield" and "infantry–armor coordination" rolled smoothly off his tongue. With a mask of inscrutable seriousness — concealing the fact he was just winging it — he easily awed Hyderabad's high-caste Muslim officers.
"The war is clearly in its final stage now, with winners and losers apparent," Alan went on as they walked. "Afterward, there will be the problem of how to dispose of the surplus weapons. Hyderabad will need them, of course — but so will many princely states, even Jinnah and Nehru. But whether for national reasons or personal ones, I'd rather see those arms in the hands of friends."
"Hyderabad's friendship with the British Empire has been proven in battle, time and again," Prince Azam Jah said in a half-official, half-personal tone. "It has been tested by blood and by practice."
"I know that. But London sees things from a wider perspective. Those politicians never put morality first. In some ways, my young assistants and I might still make irrational judgments — but those old men never would," Alan said with a faint smile. "Anyway, as a friend, I'm more than qualified. I'll do my best to protect Hyderabad's interests."
This wasn't entirely self-praise — his importance to Hyderabad was real enough. Nor was his view of London's politicians entirely slander. Anyone who'd seen America, Britain's wayward offspring, in action knew exactly what he meant.
Back in the British residential quarters, Alan discussed the matter with his assistants. Not all agreed with him. For many, fresh from university, British India's real place in the imperial structure was still hazy.
"Mr. Wilson, why should we care so much about a princely state?" asked Eliza, one of his ten aides — the only woman to speak up. She was a year older than him, not a classic beauty but undeniably attractive, with long red hair draped over her shoulders. At the moment, she stood poised before him, fair-skinned face full of puzzlement. "Besides, this isn't something we can decide ourselves. Shouldn't we just inform Delhi?"
"Anyone else feel like Eliza?" Alan lit a cigarette and waved his other hand to invite a show of hands.
Four assistants raised theirs. Alan nodded. "I'm not hiding this from you — I'm treating you as insiders. And to be frank, you and I are in the same position. Many people don't fully understand the ground we stand on. But at least you all know that both the Congress and the Muslim League are pushing for independence, yes?"
"So what?" one aide protested. "If London doesn't allow it, how could they force us out?"
"You think that after this war, Britain will get the same breathing space it had after the last one?" Alan's lips curved slightly. "If we did, that would be ideal. But will the Americans or the Soviets give us that time?"
This was the downside of bringing fresh graduates rather than seasoned civil servants. The latter would grasp his meaning with a single rhetorical question; these youngsters needed everything spelled out.
So Alan reluctantly fell back on his old life's habits, giving them a quick primer on the world situation. External pressure from the US and USSR, internal pressure from Nehru and Jinnah — in his telling, Britain now faced more danger than during the Nazi onslaught.
Which was not far from the truth. Even standing alone against Nazi Germany, Britain — with the empire's support — might have been able to recreate the glories of 1918.
But with US and Soviet pressure, and an Indian elite no longer aligned with British interests, holding India by force was all but impossible.
The scale of American and Soviet power now was far beyond anything these colonial youths could see from here.
History later proved the point. Britain, recognizing the inevitable, chose a soft landing — granting independence in stages, starting with the jewel of the crown, British India. It was a tacit admission to Washington and Moscow that Britain's age of global primacy was over.
Even knowing the future, Alan had no power to alter it. The US and USSR weren't about to let Britain keep India — how else would they be convinced that London had truly given up its imperial ambitions?
But during that "soft landing," keeping a few strategically vital and easily controlled territories — not letting everything go — seemed entirely possible to him.
Three million square kilometers of colonies, and he was only thinking of holding on to a few hundred thousand. Not unreasonable.
And Britain wasn't alone in this. France, the Netherlands, Belgium, even Portugal were all faded aristocrats of empire.