Part 31 (2/2)

'Where are we headed?'

'Don't worry, the TARDIS won't crash into anything. It's quite capable of flying itself,' Chris a.s.sured her.

'That's not what I asked.' She shooed Wolsey away from her Harrods bag.

Chris scanned the readout. 'Canterbury. Twentyfirst-century time zone.'

'They will have central heating there, though, won't they?' Roz asked Benny hopefully.

The archaeologist yawned. 'Central heating, electric blankets and global warming,' she a.s.sured Roz. 'I'm off to my room to write up my diary. It looks like we could all catch up on our sleep. Especially you, Captain Forrester.' She giggled as she left.

'What did she mean by that? Was there an air-raid last night that kept you awake?' Chris asked curiously. Roz just scowled.

The Doctor sat alone in the centre of the Infinity Chamber, remembering. Above him holographic stars twinkled far away in a fake night sky.

In another time and another place, the Doctor sipped at his lemonade. He was sitting outside, on the balcony of the Grand Imperial Hotel, watching the moon and stars. It was cool, now. Earlier, Mel and Emil had been the centre of attention on the dance floor, dancing a mean tango. They were sitting in a darkened corner of the ballroom now, and the Doctor knew enough about human nature to give them some privacy.

Was Mel leaving him so soon? She wouldn't stay with him forever, the Doctor knew that. Then, the last link with his past self would be severed and he would have to make the first move in a new game. There was so much to do, so much unfinished business. Wolves and ravens were gathering at the fringe of the battlefield. Long-forgotten forces from the ancient past and the distant future had returned, and he could feel their eyes watching him.

The Doctor angled his straw and sucked up the last dregs of his lemonade.

There was a distinctive scream from inside the hotel, and Mel came running onto the balcony, hoisting up her skirt so that she could run all the faster. The Doctor was already standing. 'Mel, what's the matter?'

'Doctor, Emil's a German.'

The Doctor furrowed his brow, baffled. 'Well, yes.'

'It's 1936. We'll be at war soon!' she reminded him.

'We? I'm not human, let alone English, and you won't even be born for another thirty years.'

'Twenty-eight. That's not the point. My grandfather died in the war.'

'Hartung didn't kill him.'

'But he's a n.a.z.i, he just told me. He's a Party member.'

'Most Germans were in the 'thirties. Your ancestors supported slavery, workhouses, fox-hunting and burning witches at the stake. Most of them were nice people. Emil's a nice person.'

Mel shot him an accusing look. 'I've got to get out of here.'

The Doctor smiled thinly. 'I know.'

The rocket arced over the forest high into the clear blue sky.

It was Christmas Eve 1942. Generalmajor Oskar Steinmann watched the vapour trail rend the sky in half.

The future was unfolding around him. He'd memorized the chapter in Summerfield's book, watched each one of its predictions come true in turn. His warnings had gone unheeded, his actions had made no effect. 24/12/42 - The 24/12/42 - The first test of the 'flying bomb' at Peenemunde first test of the 'flying bomb' at Peenemunde.

It had all changed in the last eighteen months. The attack on Russia had started only a couple of months after the destruction of the Hartung Project. Britain was undefeated, and Germany suddenly found itself fighting wars on two fronts, just as it had in the Great War. At first it had seemed to make sense - there were untold resources in Russia: land, slaves, oil, grain, metals. On the first day of the attack, the Luftwaffe had wreaked havoc - destroying nearly two thousand Russian planes, wiping out an entire country's airforce. German forces advanced forty miles into Russia every day, capturing more Soviet soldiers than they were able to process, moving so fast that the Wehrmacht couldn't establish their supply lines fast enough. The Baltic States fell easily. At the great battles of Bialystock, Kiev and Vyazma-Briansk, the Germans captured over two million soldiers - more men than were in the entire British Army. Soon the Wehrmacht had advanced one thousand miles into Russia, along a two-thousand-mile front. Joyfully, the radio announced success after success. Soon the propagandists had been forced to tone down reports of the victories because no one believed them.

And then, within sight of Moscow, the first snow fell, and the German army ground to a halt. The Russians, prepared for the conditions, fighting for their own land, drove the Germans back. Steinmann had been transferred from Guernsey at that time to sh.o.r.e up the Eastern Front. His Luftwaffe squadrons had managed to halt the advance of the Russian tanks, fortified and supplied strategic towns, blocked Russian supply routes. The Germans, though, had been forced to all but abandon bombing raids against the United Kingdom and all plans to invade England were shelved.

The character of the war changed at that moment, became defensive, vindictive. Suddenly, Berlin became worried. There were witch-hunts. A lot of good officers were punished, civilian dissidents were ruthlessly purged. No one could question a command now, however insane it seemed.

Any talk that Germany might be defeated was treason.

Where was the n.o.bility in killing unarmed women and children, whatever race they might be?

And then the unthinkable happened. America entered the war, adding its ma.s.sive resources to the British and Soviet efforts. Suddenly, it was Germany that stood alone. It was around that time that Steinmann had been called back to develop wunderwaffen here. He was working with many of the team that had a.s.sisted Hartung; they had pieced together what they could of his discoveries. But it was a hopeless task. 23/4/45 - Russians on outskirts of Berlin; 28/4/45 - 23/4/45 - Russians on outskirts of Berlin; 28/4/45 - Mussolini executed; 30/4/45 - Suicide of - 'Impressive, isn't it, sir?'

Steinmann glanced over to the seventeen-year-old Unteroffizier. 'It is a magnificent achievement, but won't win us the war.'

'It will strike terror into our enemies and -'

'It is a psychological weapon, that is all. It is still a year and half from any practical application, and will never be able to carry the same explosive payload of even a light conventional bomber.'

'That is defeatist talk, sir. This is our only hope of beating the British - you are saying that we will be defeated.'

'Perhaps I am.'

'Traitor!' the soldier shouted.

'We all have our part to play in history, soldier. But remember that we can't all be on the winning side.'

The Unteroffizier turned away, disgusted by what he had heard. Steinmann stood for a minute in silence, staring at the vapour trail, remembering the future, remembering all the millions who would die. Then he too turned away.

Glossary

Banzai - j.a.panese battle-cry, literal meaning 'ten thousand years'. - j.a.panese battle-cry, literal meaning 'ten thousand years'.

Chain Home - The British south coast radar stations. - The British south coast radar stations.

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