“Wait ‘til they start carting the new ones around: that’ll shut the whingeing bastards up!” Thorne grinned slightly. The new squad light machine gun, provisionally named the Vickers-Enfield Mk.I and based on the Realtime Soviet RPK, had a high level of commonality with the AKM rifle, and was about three kilograms lighter that the Bren gun it was replacing, even when loaded with a 75-round drum magazine.
“The real question will be whether they can supply enough ammunition… they’re going to need everything they can get!” Hal continued with a knowing smile. “Getting enough of the new ammo has been difficult.”
The new short round was basically a direct copy of the Soviet rimless round fired by Kalashnikov rifles and light machine guns in Realtime, the only change being the slight increase in calibre to 7.7mm (.303-inch) to facilitate manufacturing equipment already set up for that established British standard. The .303 inch Rimless Mark I cartridge, as it had become known, proved just as effective as the round from which it had been derived, and the improvement on available firepower for the British infantry squad promised to be great indeed.
“It’s all just a question of time in the end, Max,” Markowicz shrugged again, “and whether we’ll have enough of it.”
“We’re hoping we can buy some more time, Hal,” Thorne said with more seriousness than the scientist expected, and they stopped walking for a moment as the solemn expression on the Australian’s face captured all of the older man’s attention. “We need you to arm one of the ‘Three Stooges’.”
“I was afraid it would come to this,” Hal said sadly, shaking his head. “After I heard they’d hit us here at Hindsight, I was afraid.”
“It was already on due to a request from the PM, but the attack damn sure sealed the matter,” Thorne growled darkly. “I just hope it’s enough to really make them back the fuck off! That’s why I want those reports you’re bringing back with you: we need to make sure we hit something valuable enough not to need a follow up strike. With any luck, those intelligence reports will give us something to work with as an appropriate strategic military target.”
“And if a military target can’t be found…?” Hal enquired pointedly, instantly picking up on the emphasis in Thorne’s last sentence.
“I don’t want to take out Berlin unless I have to… or Munich…” The Australian answered finally after a long pause, giving the answer Markowicz had feared. In Thorne’s mind, the latter of the cities mentioned was probably a better target, as the Bavarian capital had been Hitler’s political ‘birthplace’.
“And if they strike back in kind… either here or against London…?”
“We intercepted the transport carrying Reuters’ nuclear research, tank guns and some other shit before it got out of Realtime,” Thorne pointed out, unhappy with the magnitude of the decision before him and rationalising somewhat as a result.
“And they’ve also had years here to start developing something indigenous.” Markowicz shot back. “Where does it leave is if they have a ‘Fatman’ or ‘Little Boy’ to send over with their next ‘B-29’?”
“I personally think they’d have sent one over under a fucking Flanker by now, if they did have one,” Thorne growled, “and the effort they’ve put in so far attacking us suggests we’d probably have warranted it.” He began to walk again, striding ahead as the others hurried to catch up. “Of course, we’ll all be fucked if I’m wrong…!” He muttered sourly, but it was under his breath, and none of the others heard.
Wehrmacht Western Theatre Forward HQ
Amiens, Northern France
Wednesday,
August 21, 1940
The disagreement playing out that morning was one of the more agitated ever to arise between the heads of New Eagles since their arrival in Pre-War Germany, notable not so much for volume or aggression, which were both kept well in check, but for its intensity and the polarised nature of the opposing viewpoints. The mood around the headquarters had been poor at best in the days following the loss of Ritter’s flight and most of SKG1 over Scapa Flow, with the apathetic and despondent lack of emotion generally displayed by the Reichsmarschall quickly spreading to those in his immediate vicinity, including Müller and even the usually irrepressible Schiller.
The major point of contention surrounded Reuters’ reluctance to send another reconnaissance flight over Scapa Flow, to determine once and for all whether the outcome of the disastrous raid had actually been successful. The loss of their agent on site had shut down any direct information, and there’d also been a complete cessation of reports regarding Hindsight or Scapa Flow in general from any of the other sources they had in Great Britain… something that could be taken to mean one of two things.
Reuters preferred — wanted — to believe it was an indication the raid had indeed been a success, and that there was therefore no continuing information on Hindsight or Max Thorne available to be circulated. Prior to the raid, the man’s name and the unit itself had figured quite regularly in certain areas of intelligence to which they had access, but this was no longer the case. Reuters was loathe however to seek out any real confirmation of that assumption, something the two men closest to him were uncomfortable with to say the least, and both had to admit their CO hadn’t quite been the same man following the revelation that Carl Ritter had been listed as missing over Scapa Flow.
“It’s equally likely there’s simply been an artificial blackout placed on information concerning the base Hindsight or, alternately, codenames have been changed to hide that information from prying eyes,” Müller was trying to point out as the three men sat alone in Reuters’ favourite briefing room, his tone clearly indicating the exasperation he felt. “Unless we have photographic evidence of what’s happened one way or the other, we simply can’t be certain!”
“And I have already made it clear I’ve no intention of risking either of the remaining Flankers on such a dubious mission,” an irritable Reuters stonewalled from his usual seat opposite the others at the large table. “The likelihood of anything useful coming out of it doesn’t measure up against the damage another loss would do to us.”
“A loss which can’t be possible if the base has already been destroyed and there’s no longer a threat, as you’re choosing to believe,” Müller shot back tartly, gaining a glare but no immediate reply from his superior.
“I understand how difficult this must be,” Schiller ventured, trying a softer tack, “but we have to know one way or the other. If we’re wrong, and Hindsight does still exist…”
“Whether we’re right or wrong is of no relevance!” Reuters growled angrily, cutting him off. “Hindsight exists no more as far as The Führer’s concerned, and he’s going to continue to believe that.”
“‘Confirming’ the base’s destruction to him was premature, Kurt… it wasn’t a good idea.”
“And if we send this recon flight, and it comes back with evidence we failed…?” Reuters’ voice was soft, but the tone was savage. “That’ll be me finished in his eyes… and the rest of you with me! Do you think that would be a ‘good idea’? That raid was a ‘success’ whatever the actual outcome.”