“Then we need aircraft that can get high enough to stop their Zeppelins. It’s maddening that they can take technology from the turn of the century and mate it with this monstrosity of a bomb.”
“There’s been work on getting a high-altitude fighter worth the name, as you well know. We did get modified Spitfires up as high as 45,000 feet over Egypt when Jerry was running those JU-86 Photo recon missions. They had to strip them down, adjust the engine compression, ditch fuel capacity, and swap out the 20mm cannons for lighter machineguns. They even put on wood propellers to lighten the load. The same sort of effort is being mounted here, with the Special Service Flight at Northolt. They’ve been working with Mark IX Spitfires. The guns tend to freeze up and jam above 40,000 feet, and the pilot needs an electrically heated flight suit, but the work is promising. It also takes a pressurized cabin and a better engine, but we can get up there. That new American fighter, the P-51, seems to be a good candidate for similar modifications, and then we have our other little secret project, the Meteor.”
“The jet aircraft?”
“Yes, but it will be some time, and I’m not sure of its specifications as yet. We’ll continue to look at defensive tactics to intercept their high-altitude attacks.”
“Indeed,” said Churchill. “I might have a word with Miss Fairchild. They have weapons that might help us out in the short run. And while we’re at it, we must also consider a more proactive approach. We know where they have their eggs, at Peenemünde. RAF had better get after the place. We might even see if my Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare can do something about that facility.”
Churchill was referring to the secret Special Operations Executive set up early in the war to conduct sabotage operations against the German war machine wherever they could find it. It was often called “Churchill’s Secret Army,” or went by names such as “The Baker Street Irregulars.” The Prime Minister preferred his own more colorful handle.
“Getting at Peenemünde with saboteurs would be somewhat chancy,” said Brooke. “However, Bomber Command has a plan calling for a 600-plane raid. They were thinking to make a go of it in August this year, but that’s been moved up. The code is Operation Hydra. It’s all a part of the entire Operation Crossbow effort to disrupt their special weapons programs. Can you imagine what would happen if they got these atomic warheads atop a missile?”
Churchill did not have to imagine it. He had been given a very detailed description of such an event by one Admiral John Tovey, who’s memory of all his many encounters with the ship they had once called Geronimo was now clarifying to an alarming degree. Tovey thought he was going right off his rocker at first, getting all these snippets of memories that seemed so real he could swear he lived them. But he knew at the same time that they had never happened… at least not in the life he had been living up until they emerged in his mind. That enterprising young Russian Captain Fedorov had a good long chat with Tovey, and now he finally understood what was happening to him.
The Prime Minister also did not know that the Germans already had such a warhead mounted on a missile. The bounty of Kaiser Wilhelm’s little jaunt to the South Atlantic had delivered this nightmare to the Reich. They had used one of the two missiles mounted warheads they received, but as yet, they had not replicated the design with weapons grade materials of their own. So the danger was not as imminent as it seemed, but the British acted sensibly as if it was.
Brooke was still rambling on. “We’ve got conventional weapons in the works that we might use by way of retaliation, but they’re nowhere near the scale of the thing that hit Victoria Park. We estimate that blast was about 1500 tons TNT equivalent. One of our new Grand Slam bombs packs only 6.5 tons of explosive power, and we were going to roll out 50 in the first batch. Even if we dropped them all on one target, that’s no more than 325 tons of TNT.”
“These dreadful atomic weapons will be the end of us, Brooke. If we can build one, will we dare use it, even against a madman like Hitler?”
“Assuming we’re still here, we can revisit that question when we’ve got the damn thing.” Brook put a fine point on the matter.
“Well, we need to find out just how advanced their program is at this stage,” said Churchill. “I had no idea they would be able to produce a real prototype this year.”
“Nor did anyone else. But things are changing rapidly now. We’ll have to be on our guard. I’ll issue that order to put the special protocols in place, but I assume there will be no rousing speeches in Parliament or public statements concerning this incident.”
“Right,” said Churchill. “Like a good boxer, you never want to let the other fellow know that he’s hurt you. But good lord, Brooke. I saw the last real cavalry charge mounted by the British Army at Omdurman in 1898…. Now this. Unfortunately, by the time you become aware that some ferocious new technology is in the works, it is already a clear and present danger. The nights are going to be a good deal more sleepless now. When Singapore finally fell after Montgomery packed up for Java, the Germans crowed that I was to be the undertaker of the British Empire. Well, with this development, the job title seems all the more probable.”
“Now don’t get all gloomy,” said Brooke. “However, you’ll be traveling a good deal now, every few days according to the protocols.”
“Every few days? How can I possibly get any work done hopping from one bunker to another like that?”
“Oh, it won’t always be bunkers. We’ve singled out safe houses in out of the way places where Jerry would never think to waste a bomb. They’ll be a small bunker in the cellar, but otherwise a nice country cottage will serve well enough, and we’re rigging them all out with good communications equipment. It’s time you got a little country air anyway, isn’t it?”
Brooke smiled, always one to lay on a cross of tasty frosting, even if the bun was burned….
Churchill summoned the Fairchild group to a secret meeting to discuss what had happened and consider defensive measures. The weapons possessed by Miss Elena Fairchild & Company were the Aster 30 missile system, with an operational ceiling of 20,000 meters, and a speed of Mach 4.5. With the Argos Fire sitting in the mouth of the Thames, it could see anything attempting to cross the Channel on its Sampson radar, and engage targets out to 120 kilometers, as far off as Dunkirk. From there it could also cover the whole of London, as far west as Oxford, or anything approaching the city from points north of Cambridge.
In effect, they would easily see the approach of any Zeppelin hoping to get close enough to deliver another bomb, but the worry was that the Germans might attempt to use regular bombers for the job. That would complicate the defense, because even though the attacker would be exposed to the RAF fighters, there would be no way to know which bomber might be carrying the bomb. To protect the city, they would have to get them all, and that was an unlikely prospect.
Yet defense against the high-altitude attack was at least something, until England could modify enough fighters to reach the 45,000 to 50,000-foot ceiling of the big German Zeppelins.
“I am much in your debt,” said Churchill to Elena. “You and your intrepid destroyer have been of immense help. Your sonar work on the Atlantic convoy runs helped us at a time when we most needed it. The job you did at St. Nazaire helped chase those German naval raiders from our doorstep, and now you receive my thanks, and those unspoken from tens of thousands of Londoners, for this watch you stand over the city. Your radar alone is of immense help—much more accurate than our own systems, which must seem primitive.”