“We’ll run out of space stations a damn sight sooner,” Hanover snapped. “What about the second precaution?”
“We have attached extra fuel tanks and boosters to the MSVs, which can be used as independent automated units if necessary,” Dashwood said. “If they manage to put another object in orbit, we’ll shove it back down into the atmosphere.”
Hanover was unconvinced. “I hope that you’re right,” he said. “Unfortunately, Parliament will probably insist on an official enquiry, which could distract everyone from the real issues at hand. When will the Thor weapons be ready?”
“In around two weeks,” Dashwood said. “Unfortunately…”
Hanover’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Yes?”
“We were originally planning to deploy them from Hamilton,” Dashwood said. “If the Germans have figured out how to shoot the station down…”
Hanover nodded. It was a valid concern. “We were never that concerned with precision anyway,” he said. “The targets we have in mind won’t be moving.”
Dashwood nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said. “However, can we have a delay, long enough to get enough missiles into orbit.”
Hanover scowled. “After all this work, it would be irony indeed if the Ministry of Space was unable to play the decisive role in the war,” he said. “However, I understand your concerns and I trust your judgement.”
“Thank you, sir,” Dashwood said, and left the room. Hanover watched him go, his eyes hidden in shadow. Shaking his head, he returned to the details about the desperate need to resupply the Dutch with food; the Germans having not been too concerned about feeding them.
He scowled. It was taking a toll on British and American logistics, which meant that the Germans would have more time to prepare for the coming offensive. Everything depended on which side managed to get their attacked launched in time… and Hanover was seriously worried that it might be the German attack that kicked off first.
RAF Lyneham
Wiltshire, United Kingdom
7th June 1942
Kristy Stewart waited impatiently for the doctor to finish checking her over. She examined her naked body in the mirror as the female doctor poked and prodded at her; the bruises were fading rapidly. Her thighs and buttocks remained sore, but she could move again, and her experiences were a fading memory.
“The more we do to you, the less you believe we’re doing it,” Mengele had said, and she had long since realised that that was true. Her body was healing rapidly, thanks to the wonders of modern medicine, except one thing. The internal scarring had been bad, bad enough to prevent her from ever having children again.
“I never liked the little bastards anyway,” she’d said, making light of it, and she’d known that she’d never met a man she wanted to settle down with, but it hurt somehow, deep inside.
“You’re healing very well,” the doctor said, breaking into her thoughts. Stewart smiled at her; the Chinese woman had been more than willing to discuss her time in Germany with her. “Apart from the… well, you know.”
Stewart smiled absently. Everyone had been very apologetic about it, as if it had been their fault. “It’s fine, really,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
Sally Kim, the doctor, straightened up. Her figure was tall and boyishly slim, with only small breasts. Her long dark hair hung down her back, causing Stewart to smile. Her own blonde hair was short; Mengele’s goons had cut her long hair off her head.
“I must repeat my concerns about your… stability,” Sally said finally. Her voice was concerned; it was just what Stewart didn’t need. “You have been through a very traumatic experience and…”
“And I need to see justice done,” Stewart said. “Think of it as being in a rape courtroom, only on a far grander scale.”
“And now you’re being silly,” Sally said. Stewart felt a flicker of pure rage burning through her. “You are not healthy…”
Something of Stewart’s feelings must have shown on her face, for Sally took a step backwards. “You just certified me as healthy,” Stewart snapped. “I have a job to do…”
“Everyone in the country has seen those… images of you,” Sally said. Stewart nearly slapped her. “Please, Kristy; you don’t have to go back to work…”
“Excuse me,” an intern said. Stewart glared at him and he looked away from her body. Homosexual he might be, she still didn’t want a man looking at her naked body. “There is a man from the MOD here to see you.” He snorted. “He’s waiting in your quarters.”
“Thank you,” Stewart said, reaching for her dressing gown. “Sally, thank you for everything.”
“You’re welcome,” Sally said automatically. “I must repeat.”
“Thank you,” Stewart snapped. She swept out of the room, heading directly for her room. The RAF had been generous to the small number of civilians in confinement on the base; they had all the comforts of a luxury hotel. She waved to Jasmine Horton, a fellow sufferer, before entering her quarters.
“Good afternoon, Miss Stewart,” the man said. It took her a moment to place him; they’d met before she’d gone to Germany. Steve… Stirling, she remembered; that had been his name. “I trust that you are feeling better?”
Stewart nodded grimly. Violence or the threat of violence wouldn’t work with the man who’d once informed her that she went to Germany at her own risk. She studied him with convert interest; he now wore the uniform of a Major, with his blonde hair darker than before.
“I have been better,” she said. “I assume that you know what I want?”
“I read your request,” Stirling said. “Are you quite serious?”
Stewart felt a second flicker of burning rage, tearing away at her mind. “Yes,” she said. “I want to be embedded with the army as it heads into Germany.”
“For God’s sake, why?” Stirling asked sharply. “You have suffered quite badly in Germany, and your reputation is up shit creek.”
“Which is why I have to do it,” Stewart said, although it was only part of the answer. “If you can’t issue me with the necessary permission, tell me who to fucking lobby!”
Her raised voice concerned Stirling; she could see it in his eyes. If she could have borne it, she would have tried to seduce him, but she knew that it would be a long time before she could ever have sex again. Her body ached at the thought.
“Me,” Stirling said. “When your request arrived through the base commander, it was decided that I would interview you and make the final decision. I should inform you that embedded journalists do run the risk of being captured by the enemy.”
Stewart felt all of her reporter’s instincts come to life. “You’ve already had people unaccounted for?”
“Some have gone missing,” Stirling answered thoughtfully. “Some might have been killed and their bodies lost, others might have been captured. We don’t know and we may never know for certain.” He looked up at her. “The BBC might refuse to employ you,” he said. “If they do… well, we can’t do much about it.”
Stewart glared at him. “You can’t order them to take me?”
Stirling snorted. “Do you want to set a precedent for government control of the media?” He asked. “Even if we had that kind of control, I don’t know if anyone would want to use it.”
“You’re too naive,” Stewart snapped. “If Baron Edmund gives his permission, will I receive the official pass?”
Stirling looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes trying to look into her soul. “Very well,” he said finally. “If they agree to take you on, then you can go.” He scowled. “Personally, I think you’re crazy.”