Doctor Who_ Just War - Lance Parkin [34]
‘Well, yes.’ The remark wrong-footed her, as Kendrick had intended it to.
‘Is that the mark of a civilized lady?’ he asked. It was, by anyone’s standard, a reasonable enough question.
‘It was the —’ Why the hell had Chris told them?
‘Yes or no?’ he pressed.
‘It was... Listen, Admiral, I’m trying to help.’ Roz had realized that not only had she overstepped the mark, but that she was in an untenable position. Kendrick swept from the room. Reed kept his eyes fixed on the desk. Roz covered her head with her hands. Bad day just got worse.
The Doctor was munching a triangle of toast when Steinmann entered.
The dining-room was on the floor below his guest quarters. The view of the sea was better down here and the decoration was just as opulent. There was a dark patch on the ceiling where a crystal chandelier must have swung before the war, discoloured patches on the wall where paintings had once hung. A row of bullet holes in one of the walls, presumably acquired when the Germans captured the building, had been crudely plastered up and repainted.
The Doctor continued to eat, but sized up the new arrival.
Oberst Oskar Steinmann was in his fifties, his white hair was thin and combed back over his scalp. He had a Roman profile: aquiline nose, high forehead. He was not a tall man
— then again, mused the Doctor, who am I to speak? — but he was thin and well-proportioned. He carried himself like a man born to command. Naturally, not a single part of his ironed and pressed uniform was out of place.
‘I take it your English breakfast was satisfactory?’
The Doctor dabbed his top lip with a napkin and replaced it on his silver tray. ‘Perfectly.’
‘Like they serve in England?’
‘Oh yes.’ Steinmann beamed, but the Doctor went on,
‘I’m not English myself, but this is definitely a breakfast like they serve in England. Herr Steinmann, please don’t try to ask me trick questions, because I’m cleverer than you and I’ll see through them.’
Steinmann’s face fell. The Doctor stood, paced the room for a moment, then whirled to face the German officer. ‘I don’t mind direct questions. Here’s one: why didn’t Wolff shoot me on the beach? It’s obvious I know exactly what you’ve got down there. It would be safer to have me shot.’ The Doctor realized what he had said, and gave a nervous smile that he hoped would be disarming.
Doktor, you mustn’t judge the Reich by the standards set by the English. If you were a German agent captured in England, you would indeed have been shot. We, however, choose to keep all spies sent to the Channel Islands alive.
Unlike your own government, even the British agents we pick up in plain clothes are treated as military prisoners of war, with all the rights and privileges that status entails. The same goes in France and the Netherlands.’
‘Of course, you want to find out exactly what they know.
What I know.’ The Doctor had moved back to the window, and stood staring out to sea. He heard Steinmann come up behind him.
‘Naturally. But we are a more civilized people than the English,’ he said quietly.
‘Forgive me if I don’t believe you.’
‘You mustn’t believe the propaganda of our enemies: we observe a Christmas cease-fire, the British do not; unlike Britain, women don’t serve in our armies, they stay at home where they belong; we only target industrial and military sites, the RAF deliberately bomb German civilians; the British use phosphorous bombs and dum-dum bullets, we have banned the use of both. And, of course, it was the British and French who started this war by refusing to negotiate back in October
‘39’.
Steinmann counted these examples off on his fingers.
‘You invaded Poland.’
‘A state created a mere twenty years ago by the Allies in a draconian treaty, in order to punish us, a state that contains millions of German people. Already in this war, the British have conquered Iceland, Iran and Madagascar: once neutral countries, now part of the British Empire.’
‘What about the three concentration camps