Perhaps then we would be rid of this wretched exercise requirement, he thought grimly. They had to spend a pre-set amount of time, per day, exercising, even when they’d worked all day in space. It had nearly caused a mutiny once; Commander Salamander hadn’t backed down at all.
As if the thought was enough to summon her, his pager vibrated. “All personnel to the main hall, at once,” she said, through the communicator. Abernathy sighed and started to pull himself out of the observation pod, along one of the new corridors, and into the main cylinder. Calling it the ‘main hall’ was an exaggeration, even if it were the largest room on the station.
Abernathy swam into the main hall and smiled at some of the crewmen. The station’s population was only expanding; only three people had gone back to Earth. The station was growing all the time; it now held fifty people, some new from Earth.
“If I could have your attention please,” Commander Caroline Salamander said. Tall and thin, firm and tough in ways that made a man go limp, Abernathy knew that almost all of the men and half of the women considered her a ball-buster. She knew her job, no one doubted that, but she was incredibly strict. Some of the wags had muttered about her carrying a ruler around, but no one had mentioned that to her yet.
“Britain is under attack,” she said, and everyone focused on her. This caused a chain reaction in the men who weren’t holding on to handholds; they drifted across the room until they hit the wall. “The Germans have launched a missile attack at Britain and America.”
No one said anything. “There’s worse news,” she said. Someone more… compassionate would have smiled. “The Germans also managed to launch something into a temporary orbit.”
“Fuck me,” someone breathed.
“I have told you before that such things are to be kept out of sight,” Salamander said. Her tone was icy. “The German success means several things; one of which should be obvious. They now have the capability to attack this station directly.”
Her icy stare kept anyone from commenting. “We are on a war footing now,” she said. “By order of Major Dashwood and the Space Committee, we will proceed at once with Project Lunar.”
Abernathy smiled. One of the projects they had been working on was sending some of the habitat tanks and supplies to lunar orbit, just so a base could be established. The problem with orbital weapons was that they had to be hauled up from Earth, but if the moon was mined for rocks and some of the rocks were sent back into Earth orbit.
“The craft is ready,” Salamander continued. Abernathy smiled; the SSTO that would push the three habitat tanks had reached orbit only three days ago. “The supplies in lunar orbit, while not enough to sustain the twenty-man team we had anticipated, will be enough for ten men, if they don’t mind being cramped.
Abernathy grinned openly. If the price for seeing the moon was being cramped, he could live with it. From the glances coming from the others, they’d come to the same conclusion. He smiled; some of the women on the station were ones he really wouldn’t mind being cramped with.
Salamander coughed loudly. “There are some other things we’re going to do,” she said. “Station Two will be moved slightly, and we will transfer some of the crew and MSV units to the station. At worst, that will give the Germans two targets to shoot at. Any questions?”
Abernathy waved a hand. “Are we going to get some weapons?” He asked. “I heard that some remarkable progress had been made with space-based lasers.”
“We’re going to get some missiles,” Salamander said. She frowned. “They won’t be here for a while yet, they’re working on adapting them for space action. As you should be aware, what we’d really need to do is push the missile or whatever away from the station.”
She looked at them all. Her face softened slightly. “I have faith that we will rise to the challenge,” she said. “The Germans will be trying to destroy us, but they will not succeed. Dismissed!”
Chapter Twenty-Four: Revenge Weapons
Ten Downing Street
London, United Kingdom
3rd 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 5th 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…”