Product Description

“The action is nonstop, the characters very real–and very different from each other–and, to coin a phrase, it makes you think.”
–S. M. Stirling, author of Island in the Sea of Time

In the year 2021 a multinational fleet–experimenting with untested weapons technology–pitched through time, crash-landing in 1942. The world is thrown into chaos as Roosevelt, Hitler, Churchill, Tojo, and Stalin scramble to adapt to new, high-tech killing tools, and twenty-first-century ways of war.

For “uptimers” like Britain’s Prince Harry and the men and women who serve aboard the supercarrier USS Hillary Clinton, war is a constant struggle with their own downtime allies, who are mired in ignorance and bigotry.

As the Allies counter the Nazi assault and set off for the coast of France, Japan begins to buckle, soon every battle will be played out in a lethal dance of might and intelligence, unholy alliances and desperate gambles, and each clash will be fought with the ultimate weapon; knowledge from the future.

Thanks to the historical records, all sides know that two superpowers will emerge, while the losers will be pounded into submission. But time has shifted on its axis, so none know who will survive, or how peace will take hold in a world turned upside down. These are the questions that John Birmingham brilliantly answers in his critically acclaimed adventure of war and imagination.

Praise for John Birmingham’s Weapons of Choice

“Birmingham’s enthralling battleground mixes provocative historical fiction and socially conscious futurism.”
–Entertainment Weekly

“High-tech intrigue and suspense similar to the works of Tom Clancy.”
–Library Journal

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #156333 in Books
• Published on: 2007-01-30
• Released on: 2007-01-30
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 350 pages

From Publishers Weekly
The eagerly awaited conclusion to Birmingham's popular Axis of Time trilogy (after Designated Targets and Weapons of Choice) deftly explores how a temporally displaced 21st-century naval battle group changes the outcome of WWII, both militarily and socially. In 1944, the Germans and the Japanese may be close to developing an atom bomb, while the swift Russian advance in the east threatens to engulf all of Europe. Admiral Kolhammer and his future warriors, veterans of 20 or so years of the war on terror, can be just as ruthless as the Axis. How the social changes inspired by Southern California's multicultural "zone" will fare in the face of opposition from the followers of the outed (and self-slain) J. Edgar Hoover remains an open question. Since the western Allies are left facing a Soviet Union that refuses to accept the judgment of history, it's clear that the author has the makings for a sequel. Alternate history fans can only hope Kolhammer and crew will soon be back. (Jan.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

From Bookmarks Magazine
What of a writer who once penned a book called He Died with a Falafel in His Hand? The conclusion to John Birmingham's Axis of Time trilogy is another imaginative and logistical tour de force (previous volumes include Weapons of Choice and Designated Targets). Birmingham has credited fellow Aussie and adventure novelist Matt Reilly (Ice Station, Contest, Seven Deadly Wonders) as an influence in his foray into popular fiction. The result garners broad praise from critics, who compare Birmingham's alternate histories favorably to those of genre veterans Eric Flint and Harry Turtledove. The work inspires devotion from general readers as well, with its careful plotting, full-throttle action, social commentary, and a sly sense of humor as the author plays with history and its familiar figures.
Copyright © 2004 Phillips & Nelson Media, Inc.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1

D-Day. 3 May 1944. 0300 hours.

In transit.

The lead helicopter hammered across the English Channel at the edge of its performance envelope, close enough to the waves that Lieutenant Gil Amundson thought he could feel a fine mist of sea spray stirred up by their passage through the darkness.

The seven men in his chalk were quiet, each alone in his own cocoon of anticipation and fear. Amundson could hear Sergeant Nunez beside him, reciting rapid-fire Hail Marys, working through a set of rosary beads in what looked to the young cavalry officer like record time. Across the cabin Private Clarke was nervously tapping his heel on the steel plating of the floor, the tempo increasing until it sounded like one of those rock-and-roll drummers. Then he'd curse, punch himself on the leg, and go still for a moment before starting all over again.

On either side of him a couple of the boys were dozing fitfully. Or at least pretending to.

That's how it went the whole way across. Each man playing out what might be his last hour as he saw fit. Some checked their equipment, before checking their buddy's. Some leaned over to get a view of the invasion fleet as it headed for the coast. Corporal Gadsden craned his head skyward, the bulky lens of his Gen2 Starlite goggles tracking his gaze as he picked out Dakotas, gliders, Mustang night fighters, and, at one point, a squadron of Sabers miles overhead, all screaming toward France.

Amundson forced himself to go through the plan again. The rapid insertion, the assembly point for his platoon, the mental map of their objective.

He used what little space he had in the chopper to perform a set of isometric exercises, lest his butt fall asleep before they jumped into Hitler's front garden. He stretched his arms and legs and craned his neck from side to side, a full extension in each direction, which gave him a clear view of the rest of the cav squadron as it thundered toward the enemy in 132 Hueys, with another forty Cobra gunships riding shotgun.

It seemed that the demonic roar of so many engines, the great thudding of all those rotors, could surely be heard in Berlin itself. But as quickly as the thought came to him, it was gone.

A quick glance forward through the armored glass canopy revealed the firestorm that was engulfing the Pas de Calais. So much high explosive had been dropped on that small region of France, it would be a wonder if anything bigger than a flea still lived down there. There'd even been talk back in England that Ike might bust a nuke over the krauts, although Amundson doubted that. They hadn't been outfitted to fight in radioactive terrain.

That wouldn't stop the Nazis, though, he supposed. Axis Sally had been taunting the Allies for weeks now, claiming that the Reich was just waiting for them to set foot on the Continent, giving them an excuse to use the first of their many, many A-bombs. Amundson glanced down, then back at the lead elements of the great fleet headed for the beaches of Calais. At least his squadron was probably too small a target to justify the use of such a weapon.

No, they were probably just gonna get chewed to bits by German jet fighters.

Ah, screw it.

He figured the same doubts were gnawing through every man in the operation. Eisenhower himself was probably being tortured by the same sort of fears. Ever since the Transition, so much was known, but so much more was unknowable.

There was one person who didn't seem to give a shit, though, and she was sitting directly across from him. She was a civilian, but she'd seen more combat than any of them. Maybe even anyone in the whole squadron. Amundson knew a few guys who'd fought in the Pacific, but almost everyone else in the Seventh had never fired a shot-not in combat. Nor had they come under fire themselves.

But they'd trained as hard as any outfit in the world. And in one of those weird, head-spinning paradoxes, they'd learned the lessons of another

D-Day, one that had taken place on another world. Amundson knew, for instance, that a field full of French cows most likely wasn't mined, but if those cows kept staring at a bush or a hedgerow, there was probably a German hiding there. Their equipment was without a doubt the best. The poor old infantry, down in those Higgins boats, they didn't get any Starlite goggles, or even body armor. And they were still armed with the M1 Garand, not the brand-new assault rifles with integrated grenade launchers.

But even though he'd been honed to a razor's edge and was riding at the head of the most powerful cavalry unit ever assembled, Gil Amundson couldn't help but wonder. Would he crumble when the first bullet zipped past? Would he freeze up over the Landing Zone? Would he fail his men? And would he look like a coward in front of this woman who seemed not to give a damn that they were less than an hour away from certain death?

The chopper banked sharply as the dark sky to the north suddenly filled with dozens of beautiful, sinuous lines of light. Tracer fire. Where the hell had that come from? They'd been told that the air force was going to bomb the coast back to the Stone Age.

He struggled to get a view back to the rest of the squadron, which followed the lead chopper. He heard the copilot calling in a position estimate for the antiaircraft batteries and half expected to see a couple of gunships peeling away to deal with them. But everyone stayed in formation, pressing on toward the objective.

They left the lead elements of the fleet behind them. The only movement on the sea was a rippling crescent of reflected moonlight as they sped on. The pilot's voice crackled out of a speaker above Amundson's head. "We'll be over the coastline in five minutes."

Amundson looked south as four gunships pulled ahead, their job to rake the ground clear of defenders. When he looked back at the woman, she was talking to Gadsden. Or rather he was yelling something in her ear. She smiled and nodded.

Amundson felt a brief, irrational surge of jealousy. He slowly and deliberately stamped it down. She wasn't his girl, after all. They'd shared a bed in London for a couple of nights, made love in ways he hadn't thought possible-and which wouldn't have been, if he wasn't in such amazing physical shape. But she'd made it clear that she wanted nothing more than sex. She didn't even like to cuddle. The couple of times he'd tried, she had rolled on top of him, fucked him insensible, then rolled off and gone back to sleep.

When he'd told his best buddies, lieutenants Savo and Lobes, they'd stared at him like he'd just won the Kentucky Derby. And actually, it kinda bugged him, them just looking at him like he was out of his mind.

Julia Duffy was famous. And beautiful. And rumor had it that she was as rich as a Rockefeller. So if he didn't feel like sharing her bed, then Savo and Lobes reckoned they'd be more than happy to volunteer. After all, if she was good enough for the president of the United States of America-well, he'd be president someday, at least, if he survived the war-then who were they to turn her away?

Amundson caught himself staring at her just before she locked eyes with him. He glanced away guiltily.

Julia kicked him. It would have hurt if he hadn't been wearing a thick rubber knee pad.

"You and your boys, you'll be fine, Lieutenant," she called out over the noise. "Don't sweat it. You're gonna eat those fuckers alive. Garry-fuckin'-owen."

The men in his chalk roared back.

"Garryowen!"

Amundson smiled. But he felt sick in the pit of his stomach.

About three months after the Allies had retaken Hawaii, a package had arrived for Julia at The New York Times. She'd been back home for a month by then. After the slaughter on Oahu, the paper had insisted that she take a proper vacation, and to everyone's surprise she had agreed.

She'd still been with Dan at that point, but she hadn't gone out to the Zone. Hadn't even bothered to phone and tell him she was back. Mostly, she just stayed drunk.

She did manage to visit Rosanna's family, and for about three hours in their company she felt half human. But she fell apart when Poppi Ugo brought out the family album and insisted on taking her through every shot they had of Rosanna. She'd guzzled down nearly three- quarters of a bottle of grappa, crying hysterically all the time, and had passed out on the couch. She woke up at three in the morning, shivering under the Natoli family quilt, then vomited and snuck out the front door, leaving twenty dollars to cover the dry-cleaning bill. Hours later she remembered that dry cleaning as she knew it didn't exist yet.

She'd gone back to apologize, but the Natoli clan refused to hear it. They tried to talk her into staying for another 188-course dinner, but-fearing a meltdown-she had begged off and fled back to the city. The next she heard from them was when this package turned up at the Times.

The mailroom cleared about a thousand items a week for Julia. Letters from servicemen she'd written about. Cookies baked by their moms. Crayola drawings by little girls who said they wanted to grow up and be just like her. And at the other extreme, hate mail and death threats from fans of the former FBI director who blamed her for his ruin, or from nutjobs who just didn't like her. There were plenty of those. Many of them working for the same paper as her.

The package from Rosanna's family lay on her desk for about two weeks before she could bring herself to do anything about it. Worried that she might fall apart in front of her colleagues, Julia had carried the parcel back to her apartment and left it in a closet for nearly a month.

It took a fifteen-hour liquid lunch at the Bayswater before she could get it back out of the closet, and two pots of black coffee before she could take a knife to the packing tape without cutting a finger off.

She had no idea what was waiting in there. Part of her thought the Natolis might have sent the quil...

Customer Reviews

A Thunder Clap of a Book
Final Impact concludes World War 2.1 with literally a bang. Or, perhaps, a whole lot of bangs as the Allies, armed with the weapons developed by crew of the 21st Century battle fleet that popped into the middle of the Battle of Midway, close in on both Nazi Germany and Japan. But the Nazis and the Japanese, armed with their own weapons and a desperation born from the foreknowledge of what was due to happen to them in the old timeline, will not go down without a fight. And the Soviets, who are also armed to the teeth, will not accept the verdict of original history and go into that good night.

Though the revised version of World War II concludes with a blood letting even greater than what occured in our history, it may be only the beginning. John Birmingham has allowed himself room for ample sequals for a Cold War 2.0, which may not be "Cold" for very long.

Highly recommended for fans of technothriller, action, and historical fiction.

Gripping conclusion to an alternative history epic

I found the first two episodes in this trilogy so fascinating that when I learned that the final instalment had been published in Australia several months before the US and UK releases I could not wait, but had to order this one from Oz. It didn't disappoint me.

The full "Axis of Time" trilogy is

Weapons of Choice
Designated Targets
Final Impact

In the first book, "Weapons of Choice" a multinational force from the 21st century is accidentally sent back in time to 1942 when a scientific experiment goes wrong. The first unfortunate effect of their arrival is that the Japanese fleet which was about to be sunk at Midway gets wind of something unusual, retreats and consequently survives. The second is that elements of the multinational force turn up all over the world and some are captured by the Imperial Japanese, Nazis, and Soviet Union - all of whom resolve not to repeat the mistakes which in our world consigned them to the dustbin of history.

In this volume a very different and even more brutal second world war is grinding towards its conclusion. The Allies, the Soviets, and the Nazis are all desperately trying to expedite their Atomic weapon programmes, and Stalin is determined that when the Axis powers have been defeated he will control much more of the world than in "original" history so as to go into the Cold War in a stronger position.

Meanwhile the men and women from the 21st Century face a continuing struggle both to adapt to the very different world they find themselves in, and to persuade the "temps" (short for contemporary) from their own side to accept such things as an African-American U.S. Marine colonel, and an RN Commander who is a half-asian woman. I would like to think that my parents and grandparents' generations would have treated members of the 21st century forces better than they are treated in this book: however, no doubt that Mr Birmingham is right that some people would have treated them well and others very badly.

The action scenes in the book are very well done and make it almost impossible to put down; there is also some excellent use of humour. One of the members of the multinational force from the 21st Century is Prince Harry, who has become a Colonel in the S.A.S. and has some very funny lines. Another moment which had me laughing was the incongruity of Himmler struggling with a Windows laptop and threatening dire revenge against the family of Bill Gates.

None of the books in this trilogy are suitable for those of a squeamish disposition. Faced with Axis and Soviet powers who have become even more cruel and ruthless in their desperation to avoid defeat, the allies have to be almost equally brutal to defeat them. I can't remember reading a story in which the "good" guys kill so many innocent people since E.E. "Doc" Smith's Lensman series.

Bottom line: if you are into alternative history or war stories, you will almost certainly enjoy the "Axis of Time" trilogy.

Disapointing but Worthwhile
I really loved the first volume of the AXIS OF TIME trilogy. I enjoyed the second one as well, though, like most trilogies, I thought it not up to the first. I was prepared for the third installment to make everything right once again. Unfortunately, it was the least of the series.

The scenario is that of a multinational naval task force from the year 2021 finding itself thrust back through time to the second world war. This causes disruptions for both the allies and the axis. Most of the fleet winds up in the hands of the allies but a few wind up in Japanese or Russian hands. The armaments of this fleet of the future are quite welcome but the historical references to things that have not yet happened are bound to be chaotic. Even more intriguing are the interaction between those from the future and those from the 40s. Black or Japanese officers are treated with suspicion and women are not really taken seriously. It would be expected that the Nazis would be insulted by having so many of their plans thwarted by a woman commanding an uptime British ship and they consider their injuries even worse since the woman is of Muslim descent. The really awful thing is that she is treated as a pariah by her own countrymen as well. This is just one of the many examples of cultures in conflict.

In this third installment, things finally come to a climax. The Russians under Stalin have been busy and want to avoid the mistakes of the alternate history. That they are the first in this world to develop nuclear weapons seems to put them in the catbird seat. The American admiral from the future recognizes the Soviets as an even bigger threat than the Nazis and Japanese but passions are so inflamed over the latter that his warnings are not taken seriously until too late. The uptimers are in conflict with the downtimers (who appreciate the toys but don't want to play by "modern" rules) and it is a wonder that anybody really has time to fight a world war.

In the first two volumes, Birmingham did a good job of setting up conflicts and situations that the reader would reasonably expect to be solved by the third volume. They were but they were not done so in a particularly pleasing manner. What seemed like major story lines are solved with hardly a whimper and the war itself is ended almost on a note of anticlimax.

Having read the first two, this one was certainly worth the effort to finish but it could have been more. The story ends with the possibility of further sequels but now I am unsure if I would want to invest time in them.