The barmaid returned and began to polish the bar counter; she was whistling a popular song. Roger dropped his voice.
“My mistake was pardonable, I think. In normal circumstances the pledges would have been honoured. Too much of the world had vanished into barbarism already; people were willing to make some sacrifices to save the rest.
“But charity still begins at home. That’s why I said it doesn’t matter whether they do succeed in getting the counter-virus back in shape. The fact is that the people who’ve got the food don’t believe they will. And as a result, they want to make sure they aren’t giving away stuff they will need themselves next winter. The last foodship from the other side of the Atlantic docked at Liverpool yesterday. There may be some still on the seas from Australasia, and they may or may not be recalled home before they reach us.”
John said: “I see.” He looked at Roger. “Is that what you meant about murdering bastards? But they do have to look after their own people. It’s hard on us…”
“No, that wasn’t what I meant I told you I had a pipe-line{67} up to the top. It was Haggerty, the P.M.”s secretary. I did him a good turn a few years ago. He’s done me a damn sight better turn in giving me the lowdown on what’s happening.
“Everything’s been at top-Governmental level. Our people knew what was going to happen a week ago. They’ve been trying to get the food-suppliers to change their minds—and hoping for a miracle, I suppose. But all they did get was secrecy—an undertaking that they would not be embarrassed in any steps they thought necessary for internal control by the news being spread round the world. That suited everybody’s book—the people across the ocean will have some measures of their own to take before the news breaks—not comparable with ours, of course, but best-prepared undisturbed.”
“And our measures?” John asked. “What are they?”
“The Government fell yesterday. Welling has taken over, but Lucas is still in the Cabinet. It’s very much a palace revolution{68}. Lucas doesn’t want the blood on his hands—that’s all.”
“Blood?”
“These islands hold about fifty-four million people. About forty-five million of them live in England. If a third of that number could be supported on a diet of roots, we should be doing well. The only difficulty is—how do you select the survivors?”
John said grimly: “I should have thought it was obvious—they select themselves.”
“It’s a wasteful method, and destructive of good order and discipline. We’ve taken our discipline fairly lightly in this country, but its roots run deep. It’s always likely to rise in a crisis.”
“Welling—” John said, “I’ve never cared for the sound of him.”
“The time throws up the man. I don’t like the swine myself, but something like him was inevitable. Lucas could never make up his mind about anything.” Roger looked straight ahead. “The Army is moving into position today on the outskirts of London and all other major population centres. The roads will be closed from dawn tomorrow.”
John said: “If that’s the best he can think of… no army in the world would stop a city from bursting out under pressure of hunger. What does he think he’s going to gain?”
Time. Enough of that precious commodity to complete the preparations for his second line of action.”
“And that is?”
“Atom bombs for the small cities, hydrogen bombs for places like Liverpool, Birmingham, Glasgow, Leeds—and two or three of them for London. It doesn’t matter about wasting them—they won’t be needed in the foreseeable future.”
For a moment, John was silent Then he said slowly:
“I can’t believe that No one could do that.”
“Lucas couldn’t. Lucas always was the common man’s Prime Minister—suburban constraints and suburban prejudices and emotions. But Lucas will stand by as a member of Welling’s Cabinet, ostentatiously washing his hands{69} while the plans go forward. What else do you expect of the common man?”
“They will never get people to man the planes.”
“We’re in a new era,” Roger said. “Or a very old one. Wide loyalties are civilized luxuries. Loyalties are going to be narrow from now on, and the narrower the fiercer. If it were the only way of saving Olivia and Steve, I’d man one of those planes myself.”
Revolted, John said: “No!”
“When I spoke about murdering bastards,” Roger said, “I spoke with admiration as well as disgust. From now on, I propose to be one where necessary, and I very much hope you are prepared to do the same.”
“But to drop hydrogen bombs on cities—of one’s own people…”
“Yes, that’s what Welling wants time for. I should think it will take at least twenty-four hours—perhaps as long as forty-eight Don’t be a fool, Johnny! It’s not so long ago that one’s own people were the people in the same village. As a matter of fact, he can put a good cloak of generosity over the act.”
“Generosity? Hydrogen bombs?”
“They’re going to die. In England, at least thirty million people are going to die before the rest can scrape a living. Which way’s best—of starvation or being killed for your flesh—or by a hydrogen bomb? It’s quick, after all. And you can keep the numbers down to thirty million that way and preserve the fields to grow the crops to support the rest. That’s the theory of it.”
From another part of the public-house, light music came to them as the barmaid switched on a portable wireless. The ordinary world continued, untouched, untroubled.
“It can’t work,” John said.
“I’m inclined to agree,” said Roger. “I think the news will leak, and I think the cities will burst their seams before Welling has got his bomber fleet properly lined up. But I’m not under any illusion that things will be any better that way. At my guess, it means fifty million dying instead of thirty, and a far more barbarous and primitive existence for those that do survive. Who is going to have the power to protect the potato fields against the roaming mob? Who is going to save seed potatoes for next year? Wetting’s a swine, but a clear-sighted swine. After his fashion, he’s trying to save the country.”
“You think the news will get out?”
In his mind he visualized a panic-stricken London, with himself and Ann caught in it—unable to get to the children.
Roger grinned. “Worrying, isn’t it? It’s a funny thing, but I have an idea we shall worry less about London’s teeming millions once we’re away from them. And the sooner we get away, the better.”
John said: The children…”
“Mary at Beckenham, and Davey at that place in Hertfordshire. I’ve thought about that. We can get Davey on the way north. Your job is to go and pick Mary up. Right away. I’ll go and get word to Ann. She can pack essentials. Olivia and Steve and I will be at your place, with our car loaded. When you get there with Mary, we’ll load your car and get moving. If possible, we should be clear of London well before nightfall.”
“I suppose we must,” John said.
Roger followed his gaze round the interior of the bar—flowers in a polished copper urn, a calendar blowing in a small breeze, floors still damp from scrubbing.
“Say goodbye to it,” he said. “That’s yesterday’s world. From now on, we’re peasants, and lucky at that.”
Beckenham, Roger had told him, was included in the area to be sealed off. He was shown into the study of Miss Errington, the headmistress, and waited there for her. The room was neat, but still feminine. It was a combination, he remembered, that had impressed Ann, as Miss Errington herself had done. She was a very tall woman, with a gentle humorousness.