Doctor Who_ Just War - Lance Parkin [29]
Admiral Kendrick was over by the far wall, plotting something on a vast wallchart. Forrester was staring into the middle of the tabletop map, as though she were trying to find her own place on it.
‘What’s the matter, Roz?’ he whispered.
‘I’m worried about Chris,’ she said, distracted.
‘It looked like Cwej could handle the Bentley.’
‘I’m not worried about that, he’s got a car in every port.
I’m worried about him in France,’ she snapped.
‘Well, yes, I know. Sorry, that line about the Bentley, it was meant to be a joke.’
‘I don’t like jokes.’
Reed tried to suppress a smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. He turned away, only to face Kendrick, who had stepped over to the map. His face fell quickly, and he winced as he saw Kendrick’s disapproving look.
‘Smile when you’ve worked out the solution, George, and not a moment before. Do try to remember that there are lives at stake here.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Forrester, could you make a jug of coffee?’ Reed heard her acknowledge the order and turned to watch her head for the small kitchen just outside their office. Kendrick was bent over the map.
‘How can we defend against this? We’ve got radar, a string of observers. There must be a way of predicting what the Luftwaffe will do, and reacting in time to stop the bombs falling. When I was on the Atlantic convoys, we could second-guess the U-boat captains, and we should be able to do the same with Hartung and Steinmann now.’
Kendrick was right, George thought. It ought to be possible to trace the flights of individual bombers by the trail of destruction that they left. Untangle the web, and you could tailor your defences accordingly, find out which planes were targeting which sites. At this rate it would take them months to work it out, by which time there wouldn’t be any factories left to defend. George looked at the map again. Sometimes he thought their task was hopeless.
As it was all my fault, I thought I might sacrifice myself.
For the rest of my life, I will regret that I never got the chance. It was all over so quickly. I tried to dive into the path of one of the bullets, but they only fired six, all at once. It was eerie: people just got up afterwards and carried on to work.
They were glad that it hadn’t been them, I suppose, and didn’t want to hang around. I was a little shocked. I didn’t stay either, I didn’t want to arouse too much suspicion, and I know what a dead body looks like. I went straight to the town hall, finished my rounds, ate my lunch. All around me were islanders who had been lined up with me, but no one discussed what they had been through. Everyone chatted at lunch, as usual, but no one spoke about what the Germans had done. Everyone just kept their head down and avoided eye contact with each other. I did the same, I’m not claiming I didn’t.
Slowly, as the day went on, I managed to shut up the rage inside me. So, when I opened up Room 214 and found Marie Simmonds on the bed underneath some sweaty little Hauptsturmführer, I didn’t kill them there and then. I could tell that Marie had recognized me, I saw her expression, and I could hear it in her breathing: Oh, I’m all right, Celia, I was already up here at nine o’clock, safe and sound. Oh yes, I’ve been here all day. Very safe, and, oh, so very sound. I did hear some shooting, though, somewhere in the distance. I felt a primal urge to kill them both that transcended law and consequence. I wanted Marie to watch me kill her lover, then hear her scream as I tore her apart. I could have done it, I know I could have done, but instead I mumbled my apologies and left. I closed the door and walked away. Cleaned some rooms, scrubbed some wash-basins. As I left the town hall, my rage had dissipated into a vague sense of annoyance.
And I managed to walk a full hundred yards past the flowers resting on those peculiar new circles of sawdust in Smith Street before I remembered why they were there.
I’m a strong person. I’ve faced