“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.”