“Second, we will have to cut back on all forms of excess food use,” he continued, awaiting the protests. They didn’t come; he smiled grimly. There would be unity against the storm, until the shortages began to really bite. “The local councils will collect supplies of food, which will be distributed in food kitchens. We have to ensure that people receive their fair share, and all people who received benefits will receive some food in place of the benefits.
“Finally, we expect some trembling in the economy, particularly in businesses which were founded in the United States and other nations,” he concluded. “All we can really say is don’t panic; we will be placing orders for military equipment very soon, and we can expect that the rest of the 1940 world will be very interested in placing orders for non-military material of their own. For the moment, we have declared a freeze in stock market trading and changes in employment; we will re-open it once we manage to stabilise the situation.”
He spoke on and on, clarifying the situation in simple terms, and knew that they were eating out of his palm. Strong leadership was what they needed… and if they saw him as the architect, so much the better.
Permanent Joint Headquarters
London, United Kingdom
7th July 1940
The politicians were debating endlessly over whether or not they should declare war on Nazi Germany, but Stirling didn’t have time to worry about them. He kept one ear half-cocked on the radio, while examining the pictures from reconnaissance aircraft and working his way through tomes on history, in particular the Second World War.
He scowled. The Prime Minister had ordered that he take part in the newly forming Oversight Committee – a group of history and military researchers that would advise the War Cabinet – and General Cunningham had been more than happy to comply. He’d shown commendable initiative, the general had said, which didn’t conceal the fact that – for the moment – he was the Oversight Committee. Now that the Prime Minister had revealed just what had happened to Britain, it would become easier to recruit new members, but for the moment he wasn’t even sure just how much authority he had.
He sniggered to himself; if he’d done something wrong, the politicians would be quite happy to tell him – after the fact. For the moment, he worked through historical records of the German positions in France, learning that one writer had believed that the Germans could throw nearly 10’000 men across the channel in one leap. Carefully, he made a note about the possible – and planned – landing sites, and read on; there was a great deal of possible blackmail information.
The secured line rang. He picked it up. “Stirling speaking,” he said.
“Ah, Captain,” the RAF recon expert said. “I’m sending you some FLASH traffic. It’s important that you look at it at once.”
“Yes, sir,” Stirling said. He disconnected the phone from its wall socket and walked back over to his computer, opening the secured file. Decrypting it – a useless precaution against the primitive German computers – took minutes, but he waited. “Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed, and then remembered that he was still on the line.
“That was my response,” the expert said. “Sir, what the hell do we do about that?”
“I’m going to kick it upstairs,” Stirling said, looking down again at the picture. “This changes everything.”
Chapter Six: Preemptive Strike
Ten Downing Street
London, United Kingdom
7th July 1940
The picture was damning in its simplicity. A French field, near a village of a type that Hanover had believed to be extinct, with an aircraft in the centre. The aircraft was instantly recognisable as a Boeing 747; clearly crashed on the ground. German personal swarmed over it; the images suggested that the village had been cleared of all of its inhabitants. The Germans were stripping the aircraft, removing everything that could be moved, including its engines and wings.
“Well, that’s torn it,” Smith said. The Prime Minister shivered. “Now they have one of our aircraft, they will duplicate it and use it against us.”
The Chief of the Air Staff shook his head. Hanover marvelled at the respect in his voice. He felt no respect. “With respect, Prime Minister, even a relatively simple aircraft like a Boeing is well beyond what Germany can build at the moment. The Germans have good technicians and an innovative group of researchers, but they won’t be able to duplicate it. It will provide them with valuable clues, and perhaps save them from a few false paths, but they won’t be building them for a very long time.”
Hanover shook his head. “We have to destroy it,” he said. “It’s a source of possible technology for the Germans; the engines alone could give them ideas. They’re nothing like ready for us; Strike Command could destroy it within an hour.”
Smith nodded slowly. Hanover knew what he was thinking; the House of Commons was still arguing over the proposed declaration of war. If the British struck first, they would be charged with starting the war.
“Did any of the crew or passengers survive?” Smith asked. Hanover blinked; it was a surprisingly relevant question. “If so, they might be in German hands.”
Hanover nodded. “If a number of German pilots can evade the police, then its quite possible that they might be able to escape the Germans, but I very much doubt it.” He cursed softly. “In that case, the Germans will have people who can explain some of the technology – people who might know some history.”
Chapman lifted a hand and rubbed it over his face. “Won’t they keep quiet?” He asked. “Everyone knows how evil Hitler and his little wizards were.”
“We have ways of making you talk,” Hanover said, affecting a bad German accent. “They’ll make them talk, one way or the other. Coming to think of it, we’d better find out who was on that flight.”
“So we have to plan a rescue mission as well,” Smith said. “Do we have any idea where they might have been taken?”
“Not yet,” Chapman said. “Sir, we need to move at once; we have to destroy the plane before they can draw any more from it.”
“I understood,” Smith snapped, his face showing the stress he was under. “Very well; by order of the War Cabinet, you are to destroy that plane.”
“And the surrounding German tents,” Hanover added. “If they have scientists studying it, that’s where they’ll be.”
“Disgusting,” Smith muttered. “Please give the pilots a personal good luck message from me.”
“Yes, sir,” Chapman said, leaving the room to call Strike Command.
“Now, what about the public?” Hanover asked, feeling the glow of victory. “How are they taking it?”
“Surprisingly little panic so far,” the Press Secretary said. “Of course, it’s only been a few hours since the announcement, so…” He chuckled. “The only problem has been a number of unemployed women demanding the right to serve in the army. Their MPs are asking questions.”
“And to think we’re trying to debate a declaration of war,” Hanover said. “And the Press?”
“Someone is trying to sue the Daily Mail for claiming that he was a crackpot,” the Press Secretary said. “He worked it out very quickly; the newspaper didn’t believe it, but reported it with a ‘noo-nah’ by-line. So far, they’re still thinking about the issues at hand.”