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“I thought that it was government policy to aid the Americans in their space program,” Dashwood said. “As you may be aware, the priority is to establish as commanding a position as possible in space, and aiding the Americans is one way to ensure that competition is maintained – and at the same time allowing us a window into their program.”

“That is of course true,” Tilley said. It was more than true; it was the statement of the policy ordered by Hanover himself. “However… there is some disquiet over American determination in this field.”

“They would have been determined anyway,” Dashwood pointed out. It wasn’t quite true that the Americans would not be able to build their own SSTOs; Hanover and he had fiddled with the information they had provided the Americans. “However, as yet them have only managed to launch a couple of satellites – and they have had a handful of disasters. One of them, I might add, was worse than anything we have suffered.”

That was true; the Ministry of Space had sixty years of spaceflight knowledge to draw on, recreating a project that had had all of the false steps charted out and discovered by the Americans or the Russians. They were moving with what they knew would work, and the Americans… were not. A certain amount of trial and error was to be expected.

“We have at least twenty years before the Americans catch up with us,” he continued. “For the moment, we should at least attempt to help them get launch capability… its not as if they will be able to interfere with our profit margins.”

Tilley snorted. “Perhaps,” he said. “However… how long until you will be able to deploy the special weapons?”

“It depends,” Dashwood said. “We need to mass-produce a number of the weapons, a difficult task with the other requirements upon our advanced weapons production systems. Once they are mass-produced, we have to get them into orbit, and then command and control systems fitted to Hamilton. I live in hope of a month, but the current requirement to mass-produce JDAM weapons and precision missiles limits what the Ministry of Space can deploy.”

Tilley nodded. “I’ll take your words back to the Prime Minister,” he said, and the other members of the Committee nodded. “However, I have been asked to remind you that the Ministry of Space may well be the key to victory.” Dashwood nodded; he’d had no doubts on that score. “When can you start establishing the lunar base?”

Dashwood smiled at the sudden change in subject. “We’re boosting more Armstrong units now,” he said. “Although it won’t look pretty, some of them can be converted into a spacecraft slash space station fairly quickly, which can then be orbited to the Moon.” He smiled. “The basic plan is simple; we’ll use the third SSTO, once its built, to push it into lunar orbit, and use the SSTO for trips to the lunar surface, where a base can be set up.

“Once we have the station orbiting the moon,” he continued, “we’ll start dropping supplies to the lunar surface and start working on a base there. Now that we know what we’re doing, we can force forward development at a far higher pace, laying claim to the entire moon years before anyone else can get there. Once we have the moon, we can start building new industries there, opening up the gateway to the outer solar system… and beyond.”

He grinned. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Britannia; ruler of the stars!”

Chapter Four: Tanking About War

Fort Powell

Nevada, USA

25th March 1942

Fort Powell was new; one of the thousands of training camps that had sprung up over the United States of America. Ten miles of barracks, vehicle garages and training grounds, hidden under the burning sun. Built with the newly-released labour available to a nation at war, it had been named for a person who might not exist now… but had existed in an alternate future.

Captain Jackie Robinson, who would have been a baseball star in the shadowy other reality, and was a Captain in the 5th American Armoured Division in the only reality he’d ever known, examined the new tank with considerable interest. While he knew enough about the new tanks to recognise that it was derived from a British Firefly, one of the easy to manufacture tanks that had equipped the first American tank forces – to say nothing of British Commonwealth forces around the globe – it wasn’t a Firefly. The determination to produce an indigenous tank design had finally created the Franks tank, named after yet another person who might never exist.

Jackie was unusual in one respect – he knew who General Franks had been – but the entire 5th American Armoured Division was unusual in another; it was the first mixed-race tank force in America. There were a handful of black infantry regiments fighting in Norway – along with far more white divisions – but the brutal fighting there had chewed them up so badly that the survivors might end up being merged together.

He chuckled to himself as the crew of the tank came up to stand beside him. The 5th American Armoured Division had been promised some of the latest equipment and a role in what everyone expected to be an invasion of Europe. That alone had done what appeals to human decency could not; brought black and white together in a combat unit. After four months of heavy training, they were working together reasonably well; the only friction had been a drunken brawl in the bar.

“Age before beauty,” his gunner said. Jackie glared at him – he was hardly a child, even if he did command part of the Division – and climbed up onto the tank, opening the turret and peeking inside.

“Smells fresh,” he said. “No traces of oil or anything.”

“It’s probably the first model and they’ve cleaned it for us,” the driver said. He’d been a member of Black Power, which still existed in case it was needed again, and had been known for being pessimistic.

Jackie chuckled and folded himself into the tank. Inside, it was very much like a Firefly, although there were a handful of minor changes. The periscope, allowing the commander to look around without distracting the driver, was new; British equipment had intended a greater merging of 2015 and 1942 technology. Again, there was enough room for even his lanky frame, and that was an improvement on the training vehicles.

“We seem to have more machine guns,” the gunner noted. He examined it thoughtfully; the press of a button put two machine guns out at both sides of the tank, and two more on each side of the turret. “What on Earth is the purpose of those?”

“The Germans have been deploying those little anti-tank rockets,” Jackie reminded him. He grinned suddenly. “How about we take her for a spin?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” the driver said. He examined the engine; that too was new, far from the engines he’d worked on as a mechanic. He pushed the start button; the tank refused to start. “What the hell?”

Jackie examined the manual that had been left on the seat. “I think you’re supposed to insert the key… here,” he said, finding a small key taped to the manual. “What blasted idiot thought of that?”

“Some nutter in a headquarters miles behind the lines,” the driver muttered. He inserted the key and the engine roared to life. “Ride them, cowboy!”

Jackie laughed aloud as the tank leapt forward, its engine rumbling as it moved out of the compound, heading onto the practice field. He’d spent hours working with the simulator, the British device that simulated driving a tank, but this was far better.

“Target ahead,” the driver said. Jackie peered through the periscope… to see the base commander’s office. General Stillwell peered out, waving at them as the tank drove on.