“Major Stirling,” Hanover said, “you may begin.”
Stirling was one of Hanover’s favourites; a young officer who’d proven his adaptability in the face of the Transition. From working with the Oversight Committee, he had the knowledge to operate on Hanover’s behalf and a wide-ranging brief.
“There are two items of note today,” Stirling said. “The first one is that the British Space Centre, and the Americans we recruited through Mr Oliver, has finally managed to draw up a production plan for a basic launching booster. Next week, we’ll launch the first reconnaissance satellite in the world – this timeline – and orbit it over the Reich.”
He passed around briefing folders. “The rocket, a Trident missile removed from one of the boomers and stripped of its warheads, will blast the satellite into orbit. It won’t be a stable orbit and we’ll have to replace it in a couple of years, but it will serve. Now that we have a procedure for building the satellites, and secure lines of supply, we can develop a full reconnaissance and relay network fairly quickly, perhaps within six months.”
“Excellent,” Hanover said.
“The only problem is political,” Stirling admitted. “We hired a number of Americans to aid with the project, and some American generals aren’t happy about it.”
“That would be MacArthur,” Hanover said. History had judged him harshly for abandoning his men in the shadowy other future – and it had nearly torpedoed his career. Roosevelt had recalled him to the United States after he was nearly killed – fragged – by one of his own men.
“Yes, sir,” Stirling said.
“Screw him,” Hanover said, after a moment’s thought. “If the Americans don’t make use of their skills, I don’t see how they can blame us for Oliver’s good sense in recruiting them.”
He nodded to himself. Jim Oliver, a former German prisoner, had been recruited to work in the United States by the Bracken Consortium, and had proven himself to be capable, a formidable ally for the British.
“The second, grimmer item of note is this,” he said, passing over a reconnaissance picture. “That’s a modified V2, one modified according to a plan drawn up in 1960 by the MOD when we were looking into developing a tactical rocket of our own. You’ll notice that it doesn’t have a nose cone? It has this instead.”
Hanover felt his mouth fall open. “What the hell is that?”
Stirling’s face was grim. “We’re not quite certain,” he admitted. “At first glance, it appears to be a prototype spaceplane, such as the Mir-class craft the Russians finally produced in 2010. We’re looking into producing them ourselves now. The Oversight Committee is unwilling to predict that it’ll work as a spaceplane – it may be a way to take the war to America – but it’s not beyond possibility.”
“Fat chance,” Admiral Grisham, First Sea Lord, muttered.
Stirling nodded. “The Oversight Committee majority opinion is that it’ll blow up when they try to launch another one; the RAF blasted this one on the ground. Strategically, the only motive for building one is to place a rocket in space – and the implications are disturbing. Prime Minister, the Germans did have an idea like this, but only towards the end of the war.”
Hanover felt his blood run cold. “One of the hostages suggested it?”
“Quite possibly,” Stirling said. “However, its not impossible that they have… agents within the nation here, or within America.”
“Who would work for Nazi Germany?” Hanover asked. “It’s not as if they were communists.”
“I don’t know,” Stirling admitted. “MI5 is looking into it, but very quietly. The last thing we need is a witch hunt.”
Hanover nodded. “We’ll discuss this later,” he said. “John?”
John McLachlan, Foreign Minister, nodded to the table. He was Hanover’s… ally, if not exactly friend; both men wanted a renewed Britain. “As you may have heard,” he said bluntly, “the Americans are preparing to send troops here to attack the Germans, as well as their first bombers. They believe that with the massive firepower of the new aircraft – they think that they have worked out all the bugs of the B-29 – they can crush Germany.
“For the moment, they want to know what we can supply them in the way of bases and support,” he continued. “They don’t want to carry the weight of an Operation Overlord on their own.”
“It’s still too premature,” General Cunningham, the Chief of Joint Operations, protested. “We are heavily engaged in the Middle East, and we have commitments to India and Australia. Even if we only provide the bases and RAF support, we will be dangerously exposed. The new Hawk aircraft are very useful for air defence, but we need tactical support in the Middle East.”
“There are also problems with providing the logistical support they will need,” Armin Prushank, the Minister for War Production, droned. His dull voice was one of dust and eternal dryness. “While production of tanks and aircraft is increasing, there are other requirements to fulfil. We need to open up the lines to Saudi, for we need more oil.”
“Not exactly easy,” General Cunningham commented. “At last report, the Soviets were shelling or bombing the oil wells from time to time, and of course the Mosul wells are in Turkish hands and were destroyed to prevent the Germans using them.”
Prushank scowled. “The department has prepared a plan for a hydrogen-powered Firefly tank, which the Americans can put into mass production, but I was given to understand that that was a bad idea.”
“There are also social issues involved,” Noreen Adam, the Public Affairs Representative, said calmly. A scarred Asian woman, Noreen had been given a Cabinet post in exchange for support in what had once been Saudi Arabia. “You know; in 1943 America was the rich land, and we the poor. Now… the positions have been reversed. We might want to keep them in their camps.”
“That will really do wonders for their morale,” General Cunningham muttered. “Prime Minister, they will want rest and relaxation, and of course there is the little issue of who does what. Would it be so bad if we left the liberation of Germany to Rommel and the Americans?”
“We need a political and military presence,” Hanover said mildly. The firmness in his tone was velvety. “Unfortunately, we have other problems; how long will it be before the American are a formidable fighting force?”
McLachlan coughed. “Some time,” he admitted. “They haven’t fought a war for quite some time, so they think that it will be a while before they can land. Some of their politicians are talking about landing in 1941…”
“Fanciful,” Cunningham interrupted.
“That’s what Bradley thinks,” McLachlan agreed. “That plan depends on us doing a lot of the work. More practically, they’re thinking about mid-1942; they want to train their soldiers and put them in with our forces for experience.”
“The Middle East might make a good place for that,” Cunningham said. “Perhaps they could take on the Soviets as well and…”
“I’ll discuss the matter with Roosevelt,” Hanover said. “For the moment, we won’t be launching any invasion ourselves until the new regiments are ready, and we have peace in the Middle East. Speaking of which…?”
“General Flynn is in command,” Cunningham said. Hanover nodded impatiently. “For the moment, he’s holding a line running from Jordan to Baghdad to Basra, so the Republic of Arabia – which is providing some of the rear-area defence – is safe, for the moment.”