“We have to get out of here,” she snapped, for once losing the breathy tone in her voice. “The pigs will be on their way right now and if they find out that you took that pill, you’ll be stuffed in jail.”
“They can’t put me in jail,” Shepherd said, as his mind fought to stay awake. “The Captain would kill me!”
Chapter Fifteen: Setbacks and Promises
Ten Downing Street
London, United Kingdom
29th April 1941
“Thirty-two reported incidents of rape, thirteen deaths, one hundred and forty people wounded and millions of pounds worth of damage… General, would you care to explain how this happened?”
Hanover’s voice was cold and hard. He watched as General Eisenhower flinched nervously; the sheer violence of the incident had stunned him. The BBC had been having a field day so far, reporting on the violence that had erupted in Newcastle; in many ways it had been worse than the violence in France of 2011, when the streets had risen against the National Front Government.
“Apparently, a soldier thought that a girl was being inviting,” Eisenhower said. Hanover felt a flicker of sympathy; the Americans clearly had even less idea of what had happened than the British had. Given the almost spontaneous nature of the… riot, it was possible that there had been several incidents, or just one that got blown out of hand.
“Americans are not used to being made to feel… inferior,” Eisenhower continued, scrambling for words. “This place is so… rich, and there’s so much bad feeling that…”
“Parliament is going to be asking questions,” Hanover said grimly. “I confess… we expected some trouble from mixing people together, but nothing like this.”
“And then the MPs overreacted,” Eisenhower said. “They started cracking heads, as per standard procedure, and then your police turned up and…”
“At which point a general anti-Americanism had erupted,” Hanover said wryly. “I do not recall giving your military police authority to… crack heads.” He sighed. “At the moment, there are fifty-seven Americans in jail, facing various charges from rape to manslaughter.”
“Some of them might have been innocent,” Eisenhower protested.
“Half of them were caught in the act by the police, once your military police had been rounded up,” Hanover said. “Others had left… traces of their presence on the girls. This does pose something of a problem; under the Status of Forces Revised act we have jurisdiction over American servicemen in such matters.”
Eisenhower steepled his fingers. “They’ve annoyed George Patton,” he said, and Hanover nodded. Patton’s obsession with getting the offensive off the ground was becoming a legend at the PJHQ and the MOD. “I would not imagine that they’re getting away with it. Still… what would happen if they were convicted and found guilty?”
Hanover scowled. He’d been arguing with the Supreme Court over that matter. “They should be flogged,” he said. “Unfortunately, that would be illegal. If they plead guilty, the murderers would be looking at ten to twenty years in jail, and the rapists five to ten. If they plead not guilty, it might be more than that.”
“We need them for the offensive,” Eisenhower said grimly. “We’re building up forces for Norway before…”
His voice trailed off. The invasion had to go ahead – and it had to be a success – before American support for the war vanished utterly.
“I am going to lean on the police,” Hanover said. “The police unions hate being leant on; they go terribly moralistic. It’s not good politics, and it could rebound really badly, but we should be able to get your guys out of jail on bail.” He smiled at Eisenhower’s expression. “However… they will have to wear escort tags and be confined to the barracks except when escorted. They will also have to face a court after the war ends.”
“I was thinking of ordering all of the troops confined to barracks,” Eisenhower admitted. “Everyone was expecting your people to be pleased to see us and…”
Hanover nodded. In the first history, American troops had been warmly welcomed to a Britain that was poor and desperately in need of help, rather than the self-confident Britain of 2015, or 1941PT. The British of 1944 had been more than willing to tolerate the Americans – at least the women had – but 2015 had different attitudes. Subconsciously, Hanover realised grimly, they’d expected the refined and capable Americans from 2015, rather than the semi-trained mob that had arrived.
“I think that’s a bit extreme,” he said. “I imagine that we could put together escort parties, if we tried. However, your MPs have no authority outside the barracks and might end up getting sued.” He shook his head. “This is going to be a pain.”
Parliament had agreed to convene in the afternoon, prompting the burning of tons of fuel to gather the MPs back together in London. The debate was due to begin at 2pm, but Hanover had one last meeting first. While waiting, he discussed the matter with Newcastle’s city councillors and MPs, and then discussed other matters with the head of the police force.
“Your one o’clock is here,” his secretary said.
“Ah, good,” Hanover said. “Send him in.”
Major John Dashwood entered and saluted. Hanover saluted back and then waved him to a chair. “It’s good to see you again, John,” he said. “How’s events with the Ministry of Space?”
Dashwood grinned. “So you’re calling it that too,” he said. “Everything is going well enough, I suppose.”
Hanover smiled as Dashwood lit up a cigar. He’d never acquired the habit himself, but didn’t mind others smoking in his presence. “Excellent,” Hanover said. “Now… I had Patton in here begging for a single satellite of his own, and Ike and the others want some as well. PJHQ is very impressed as well, although they would like more coverage of Germany and Japan.”
Dashwood shrugged. “At the moment, we haven’t put anything up in geo-stationary orbit,” he said. “The single satellite we did launch follows a slightly eccentric orbit; it passes near Germany, over Russia and then loops back over South America. Once we have the new boosters worked out – or you sign over the spare Tridents – we’ll have complete coverage within the month.”
Hanover smiled. Dashwood was a fanatic; a space-lover who’d always wanted Britain to have a proper space program. In the days after the Transition, he’d finally gotten his wish.
“Everyone is delighted with the one you did put up,” Hanover said. “While it’s not perfect, there is no sign that the Germans really understand what it means, so they’re not taking extra precautions.” He nodded down at Dashwood’s report. “Now, what about the future?”
“We have a three-pronged program,” Dashwood said. “Next week, we’ll test-fly the first rocket built mainly in America, using American resources. It’s a great deal cruder than a Trident, but it should be able to launch a satellite into orbit and leave the second stage in a decaying orbit.”
Hanover narrowed his eyes. “Won’t it crash-land somewhere?”
Dashwood shook his head. “No,” he assured Hanover. “It’s not made out of solid rock, so it’ll burn up in the atmosphere. However, if our further plans go ahead, it’ll provide building materials for a space station.”
He opened the briefing paper. “The second prong is a launcher that can put cargos in a stable orbit, including people,” he said. “We hope to have one of those ready by early 1942; there are so many other things to check. Finally, we have teams exploring duplicating the Russian spaceplane or the American SSTO designs. Unfortunately…”