The Long Hard Road

Chapter Twenty-Four: Revenge Weapons

Ten Downing Street

London, United Kingdom

3^rd May 1942

Hanover allowed no trace of his concern over the Mortimer situation to appear on his face. There were more important matters to deal with, starting with the German missile attack. As his cabinet took their places, he watched them, gauging their moods. McLachlan wanted to hammer the Germans; Noreen, oddly enough, and Anna Hathaway, seemed to agree with him. On the other side, Adam Toulouse, the Secretary of State for Defence, wanted to restrict British strikes to military targets only.

Hanover scowled as he remembered that conversation. The habit of allowing soldiers to be sued for any injuries they might accidentally inflict on an enemy civilian had been blown out of the water – he’d managed to wipe that law from the books after becoming Prime Minister – but it still worried Toulouse. He shrugged; public opinion, after the missile strikes, would hardly permit any repeat of that error.

“This is an emergency meeting, so I think we’ll skip the formalities,” he said. “Any objections?”

There were none, not even from Armin Prushank. “This has been a night of terror,” he said. “General?”

General Cunningham activated the display. A map of London and the other two cities appeared in front of them. “Approximately one hundred and thirteen V2 missiles landed within the cities,” he said. “Twelve more came down in the countryside – no deaths reported – and the others exploded in flight or came down in the sea. Fortunately, they haven’t managed to get their missiles fully working, let alone the guidance system.

“What they have managed is quite enough,” he continued. “The missiles carried two different types of warhead; a high explosive warhead and something loosely comparable to a FAE bomb, although with far less impact. Despite that, they managed to inflict considerable damage on us and the death toll, so far, is chilling.”

He met Hanover’s eyes. “So far, we have two hundred and seven confirmed deaths, and nearly three hundred injuries,” he said. “Sir, we cannot let this go on.”

Hanover nodded. “I’ve been on the direct line to President Truman,” he said grimly. “The Americans were struck with only ten missiles, but they each carried more explosive and both New York and Washington were hit. Worst of all, the Americans are demanding major retaliation; they have decided to order the 5^th Air Force, based in Britain, to attack a major German city.”

“This is an excellent idea,” Hathaway said. Her face, always stern, had become even grimmer as the death tolls were reported. “We have to prevent them from trying that again.”

McLachlan coughed. “I won’t say that I disapprove of the act,” he said. “I don’t. However, I am concerned about the effect of striking at civilian populations on the Bundeswehr. Some of them will have families there.”

“The lynching of Germans is back again,” Hathaway said. “The German Embassy was stoned this morning.”

Hanover frowned behind his steepled fingers. It had been a policy since its inception to keep the Bundeswehr out of the mainland, just in case. If it was brought back to take part in the invasion of Germany, then it would face popular anger.

Prushank coughed. “I cannot say that I approve of the idea of wasting munitions on civilian targets,” he said. The room listened; Prushank rarely offered opinions on matters outside his sphere. “However, we have to show the Germans that we’re not cowed. If we were to subject the German bases in France to a full attack, using completely ruthless methods…”

“Which wouldn’t stop the Americans,” McLachlan said. “I would in fact assume that they would be relaying on us providing them with air cover.”

Cunningham nodded. “We have been preparing the RAF for such a mission,” he said. “Almost all of the air force has been stressed, hunting German launching sites. The bastards can set on up in ten minutes, hardly long enough to get a strike in place.” He waved a hand at the map. “Quite frankly, we’re going to have to reverse our policy and flatten every German base, or we would have to pull one of the aircraft we were using in Norway back to Britain and keep it on station permanently.”

“Which would provide the Germans with a perfect targeting opportunity,” Admiral Grisham said. “Their new proximity fuses and those missiles are proving a dangerous combination.”

Hanover tapped the table. “Let’s try and stay focused,” he said. “I don’t see that we have a choice, but to accompany the Americans in blasting a German city. Any opposing statements?”

There was a long uncomfortable silence. Not everyone was happy about the decision, but they understood it. “For our part,” Hanover continued, “we will hammer the German bases in France and Germany itself. We have plenty of weapons for once, we can really go medieval on them.”

“Would it not be a lot easier if we were in the Middle Ages, or even the Thirty Years War?” Admiral Grisham said. “Think how little opposition we’d face.”

Hanover snorted. “Let’s think about the war,” he said. “Now… Anna; what’s the mode on the streets?”

“They’re rather unhappy about it,” Hathaway said wryly. “Some of the old women of Parliament, particularly the male ones, have been asking why we haven’t deployed the Patriot missiles against them.”

General Cunningham scowled mightily. He turned it into an unconvincing smile on Hanover’s sharp look. “With all due respect to the old ladies of both genders” – Hathaway favoured him with a razor-sharp smile – “the Patriot system was designed to handle the MRBMs that countries such as Morocco and Algeria were deploying by 2010. It was not designed, in the worst nightmares of the people purchasing it, to handle more than ten missiles, let along nearly two hundred.”

He scowled openly. “As the MOD of that time warned Parliament, the European Union, for reasons of diplomacy, limited Patriot deployments, with the net result that there were serious flaws in the system we had, along with limited radar coverage. By trying the system into RAF Fylingdales – and to a lesser extent the American base at RAF Feltwell – we have managed to solve the radar coverage problem, but no amount of covert activity, against the European Union’s rules, I might add, managed to obtain more than a small number of Patriot missiles.

“We can deploy Patriots against V2s,” he continued. “The V2s do not have the wide variety of counter-measures that Scuds were deploying during the last Arab-Israeli spat. Unfortunately, we can knock down two hundred… and that’s it. We don’t have any more and as some of the electronics were classified American systems, we will have to reverse-engineer them, which will take time.”

Prushank coughed. This was within his sphere. “Perhaps a less… capable anti-missile missile could be designed,” he said. “I believe that the Americans developed several other missile designs, some of which might have been shared with us. Failing that, perhaps Colonel Palter could be of assistance.”

“I doubt it,” Cunningham said. “We don’t give colonels stationed overseas information on how to build one of our most advanced systems.”

Hanover nodded. “We’ll ask Palter anyway,” he said. “If he doesn’t have any ideas, then we’ve lost nothing. Armin, please see to assembling additional missiles from our own designs, if possible.” He smiled. “General, what are the Patriots currently doing?”

Cunningham blinked. He knew that Hanover knew the answer; he’d given the orders himself. “At the moment, we’ve granted fire authority to engage a missile that looks like it’s going to come down on any of our bases,” he said. “So far, the bastards have concentrated on terror bombing.”

A distant explosion underlined his words. Hanover flicked an eyebrow at one of the assistants, who left the room. “Good enough,” he said. “Now, Major Dashwood has come to us at considerable difficulty to report on the recent development in space.”

Dashwood picked up the control and took control of the display. “Last night, the Germans managed to launch a satellite into space,” he said. There was an immediate burst of chatter. Hanover tapped the table sharply. “The satellite, which we believe was a recon design, made three orbits, crossing over America, Russia, the Middle East and here, before coming back into the atmosphere. Unlike an American design, the entire satellite re-entered, although we believe that it suffered serious damage before it could deploy its parachutes and make a landing.”

“RAF Strike Command launched an attack on the crash site,” Cunningham injected.

Dashwood nodded. “Satellite recon suggests that the bastards did succeed in recovering it before hand,” he said. “Unfortunately, we don’t know how much they might have recovered; if it was designed properly, it might well have managed to land. We didn’t get a good look at it with any of our own systems, so we don’t know.”

Grisham snorted. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but surely they could not save the film from the heat of re-entry,” she said.

“We think that the satellite had a heat shield,” Dashwood said. “The design is basically simple, like an umbrella; the satellite rotates in space and comes in with the heat shield pointing down.”

He adjusted the display. “This adds a certain degree of risk to the space station, to both space stations,” he said. “Commander Salamander has given orders for the second station – which is still awaiting a name – to be moved into an orbit that would be difficult for the Germans to attack with their rockets, although with sufficient persistence they could do it.

“For the moment, we’ve started mass production of brilliant pebbles, such as the Americans deployed in 2011, and we’ve rushed a shipment of BVRAAM missiles to Churchill, which we’ll send into space today.”

“Hang on,” Cunningham said. “You’re stealing missiles from the RAF?”

“The modified BAE BVRAAM missile can accept orders from the station’s computers,” Dashwood said. “The missile will plunge down and intercept any rocket coming up, hopefully.” He scowled. “It’s never been tested, even in drills.”

Hanover nodded. “And Project Thor?”

“The lunar exploration mission leaves later today,” Dashwood said. “It’s going to be a slower flight than Apollo was, but they have more room and supplies. Once they get there, they’ll spend another week patching together the lunar station, and then start landing and picking up rocks.”

Grisham blinked. “That quickly?”

Dashwood nodded. “The technique for using the interconnections to link together the habitat tanks, which are then filled with compressed air, is well understood,” he said. “Part of what we sent them was a rock compressor, which was lifted onboard a heavy booster and then sent into a lunar transfer orbit. The SSTO will lift the rocks into orbit, where they will be compressed into boulders.” He grinned. “I don’t think that it would be very accurate at first, but we’ll learn quickly.”

The assistant re-entered the room. Hanover nodded at him. “Sir, it was another of those missiles,” he said. “It landed near the Docklands.”

“Blast,” Hanover said mildly. “Major, I think we’re going to need those weapons quicker than I suspected.”

Dashwood nodded. “It’ll still be about a month,” he said. “Of course, by that point we should have a tiny base on the moon, which will then be British.”

Hanover nodded. “General, please make the arrangements for launching the strike against the Germans,” he said. “Meeting adjourned.”

Medical Research Lab

Germany

3^rd May 1942

Stewart staggered to her feet as the door opened, trying to hide herself. It was futile; they’d taken away her clothes the first night she’d spent in the research laboratory. The room was supposed to be soundproofed, but she could hear distant screaming echoing down the corridors.

“I trust you had a pleasant night?” Josef Mengele asked. His eyes swept over her body. It was worse than being leered at; he didn’t even see her as an attractive piece of meat. “We will have an interesting day today, ja?”

His two assistants slipped past him and produced their handcuffs. She no longer had the strength to struggle; they handcuffed her hands and feet without difficulty, taking the opportunity to grope her as they did, then they picked her up effortlessly.

“Come along,” Mengele said, and they carried her out of the door. She glanced around her as she did, trained reporter instincts coming to the fore, but there was nothing helpful around, even assuming that she could have used it with her hands and feet bound. “Do you know what this place was?”

Stewart said nothing. Mengele nodded to one of the guards, who reached out and twisted her nipple. Stewart screamed in pain, before shaking her head desperately.

“Next time, talk,” Mengele said, still in a disinterested tone. “This place was once the home of a madhouse, where the… secrets of the Royal Family were dissected. I believe that there is some relationship with your royal family, yes? They might have a history of madness too?”

Stewart hesitated, but the hand reaching for her other breast was too much. “Yes,” she said. “Some of them went mad.”

“How interesting,” Mengele said. A note of interest had entered his voice for the first time. “You are quite a fascinating person, did you know that?”

Stewart spoke quickly. “I’ve always had a high opinion of myself,” she said.

“You spent nearly a year and a half here,” Mengele said. His voice was calmly interested as they entered a room. The guards dumped her on the cold hard floor, and then stood at the door. “During that time, you never passed blood at all.”

Stewart flushed. She supposed that it would have been easy for the Nazis to monitor her monthly periods, had she had any, but it wasn’t something she was comfortable discussing.

“You were having an affair with Obergruppenfuehrer Herman Roth,” Mengele continued. The two guards snickered; Stewart didn’t look at them. She knew what they were looking at. “During that time, you neither had a period, nor did you become pregnant. Why?”

Stewart hesitated. “I’ve got a permanent contraceptive in my blood,” she said finally, as Mengele prepared to signal one of the guards to hurt her. “Until I’m injected with the antidote, I will never have children.”

“How fascinating,” Mengele said. “How does it work?”

Stewart shook her head, and then cringed. “I don’t know,” she said, and braced herself.

“We will find out,” Mengele said. He nodded to the guards, who picked her up and laid her down on a table, face down. They attached her feet to the table, and then unlocked the handcuffs on her feet, forcing her legs open. She shuddered; one of the guards was touching her on her suddenly exposed anus.

“First, the blood,” Mengele said. He pulled out a set of needles, and started to draw blood from her body. Helpless, unable to move, she could only scream as he drew nearly three pints from her body. “Now, let’s see what you look like inside.”

Stewart could only scream as he produced a tool and started to examine her private parts. It hurt…

Himmler watched dispassionately through the one-way glass as Mengele’s two assistants had their fun with the broken British women. He turned as Mengele himself entered the room and saluted.

“I trust that this is really necessary?” He asked. He didn’t care about the pain Stewart went through for anything that they needed, but torture for the sake of torture was so inefficient. “We have so few British captives that we can hardly afford to lose one.”

“I prefer my research subjects broken,” Mengele said absently. “By inflicting damage on her body, indeed, by attempting to make her pregnant, we will have an opportunity to see how her body… counteracts the sperm cells. Although she herself knows nothing of the technique used to avoid pregnancy, we hope to be able to duplicate it – it must be part of the strange substances in her blood.”

Himmler nodded to himself. “If we could learn a way to make the contraceptive ourselves, we could ensure that we are the only ones to breed,” he said.

Mengele nodded, eager to please. “My research into genetics is continuing,” he said. “We have already performed remarkable experiments, based on the future.”

“The priority is improving the medical services for our brave soldiers,” Himmler said. He noticed how his two bodyguards orientated on Mengele as he spoke. “Your experiments are second to that, understand?”

Mengele looked rebellious, but nodded his head. “We found something interesting,” he said. “We were testing the subjects blood cells against other samples, and we found something interesting. She seems to have almost no resistance to Smallpox, which as you know the Russians have been developing into a weapon.”

Himmler lifted an eyebrow. “She is not vaccinated?” He asked. Every German had been vaccinated for years. “They don’t know how to do it?”

Mengele smiled. “According to their history books, Smallpox was destroyed in the 1970s,” he said. “At the moment, it would be a virgin field epidemic.”

Himmler considered. “We never even thought of Smallpox,” he said. “We assumed that they would be immune.”

“Ah, but have they thought of it?” Mengele asked. Himmler frowned; there was no way to know. “Given the attacks we’ve suffered today…”

Himmler stared him down. “This is a struggle for the supremacy of the Reich,” he said. “It is not a chance for you to learn more about diseases.” He scowled. “How could we infect them?”

Mengele winced, cringing backwards from his gaze. “Their soldiers are clearly vaccinated already,” he said. “It would have to be delivered in a rocket and…”

“Not good enough,” Himmler snapped. “We would need proof that the British civilians are not immune. I will have to ask some of our sources.” He met Mengele’s eyes, forcing him backwards. “This is very much a final resort,” he said. “If you conduct any unauthorised tests on unsuspecting Britain, you will be used as a test subject yourself.” He smiled. “Perhaps those dwarves of yours would agree to act as your jailors.”

Mengele blinked. His eyes were streaming. “Mein Fuhrer, if we can hit them with this…”

Himmler looked at him. “They can hit us worse,” he said. “This is a method of last resort, Doctor Mengele; do not use it without my permission, or the Reich will go up in flames.”