It's a series (two so far) by Guy Saville about what Africa would look like under the Nazis post-successful Sea Lion. It follows a ex-British Army veteran who is sent to Afrika by the government for reasons I can't be bothered to look up and has general shenanigans around Nazi-occupied Africa
It's supposedly based on plans they had in place for post-war colonies and so forth, but it just degenerates into cliché - parade grounds formed of flattened skulls, the main bad guy is a Nazi with a duelling scar - just imagine a tepid Wilbur Smith ripoff with Nazis
I can't promise this won't be pulpy, I love pulp novels, but there won't be anything quite that cartoonish.
Hey, I love pulpy, pulp is good, it's just that Saville's books didn't seem to have the research base needed to portray anything decent - or even decent pulp
Chapter IV: 10/06/40
Chapter IV
10th June 1940
10th June 1940
The wireless hissed and Winston Churchill grumbled as he fiddled with its knobs. Finally, it found an agreeable wavelength and the slight Scots burr of Sir John Reith, the Minister of Information, began to intone gravely.
‘In light of the encirclement and capture of the British Expeditionary Force at Dunkirk, the occupation of the Channel ports by the German army, and the collapse of the French frontline, the governments of Britain and France sought terms with Germany, via the Italian government. Negotiations have now been concluded and an armistice reached.
‘Belgium and the Netherlands have been directly annexed into Germany, while France has made territorial concessions on their borders with Germany and Italy. The former Belgian and Dutch colonies are to be held in trust until a more permanent solution can be reached. The former German colonies in Africa, with the exception of Southwest Africa are to be returned. The French protectorate of Morocco will pass into the hands of Germany. The British colony of Malta is to be annexed by Italy, as is the French colony of Tunisia.
‘The French government led by Paul Reynaud has been dissolved, and Marshal Philippe Petain has taken his place leading an emergency government for the immediate future. The Prime Minister has not made any moves to dissolve the National Government.’ Winston growled, and turned off the wireless. It was as he suspected. Morale had already begun to falter when Belgium surrendered, and had outright collapsed when the bulk of the army was captured. He supposed that seeking terms was something of an inevitability at that point, especially when the French were in such a strait. But he would have preferred it if they had at least tried! Countries which meekly submit to conquerors do not tend to rise again.
He wheeled himself away from the wireless and approached a dusty decanter and a pair of upturned tumblers. His doctor had sternly warned him to avoid alcohol and tobacco, stating that they would not do any good to his condition. But if a man could not enjoy a drink when his country had just been humiliated in a matter of months, when could he. He poured out two glasses and gestured with one at the other man who had sat with him listening to the news.
‘Thank you, Winston.’ Murmured Clement Attlee, taking the proffered drink. Clement had resigned as Labour Leader along with his Deputy Arthur Greenwood when the decision to seek terms had been reached in the War Cabinet. Now Herbert Morrison led the party and had endorsed the Prime Minister’s decision.
‘What will you do now?’ rumbled Winston. ‘Join Maxton’s gang?’ Clement’s nose wrinkled.
‘I don’t think so. Back to the backbenches, at any rate. What about you?’
‘I think I will be joining you. This government has put the nation on the road to national suicide. I will do what I can to oppose them with every breath.’ Winston started coughing and he took a swig from his glass to clear his throat.
‘What can we actually do though? Three weeks ago, the country was harshly opposed to any sort of peace with Germany. Now they want to see our boys brought safely home.’ He sighed. There was a long moment of quiet between the two men, broken only by the sound of them sipping their drinks.
‘I suppose there will be an election.’ Murmured Winston. ‘What do you suppose will happen?’ Clement considered for a moment.
‘It depends on what Halifax plans to do next.’ He looked at Winston. ‘Whether he intends this to be a lasting peace. And from what I understand from amongst our own ranks, Morrison believes he does not.’
‘Ah, he intends this to be merely an armistice then.’ Winston moved to take a drink but found his glass empty. He considered filling it again, but the words of his doctor echoed inside his head. He decided on this occasion to follow the medical advice. Clement didn’t notice this internal discussion and continued to elaborate.
‘Yes. From what I hear, the talk inside the government is of “Preparation”. Presumably to reopen hostilities with Germany once the country is sufficiently rearmed.’ He shook his head. ‘They just handed the continent to Hitler. We could prepare for a decade and we wouldn’t be able to overthrow him now.’
‘Now, now. There’s no need for that kind of talk.’ Winston said, setting his glass back next to the decanter. ‘Were we not saying that if we allowed the country to simply roll over, we’d be condemning ourselves to a millennium of ignominy. We must fight not only for preparation but for war.’ His words didn’t seem to have any effect on Clement however. Winston picked up the decanter and poured a little more into Clement’s glass.
‘The election is going to be fought by the Government for Preparation. Any opposition to the Government can be construed as either foolhardy if you want war now, or treacherous if you want the peace to last.’ He looked away from Winston. ‘Not that that will matter. With the bulk of all three parties behind Preparation the only credible opposition will be from Maxton and Mosley. Neither of whom I’d regard as real alternatives.’
‘What about Priestly?’ wondered Winston. He noticed Clement’s bemused expression and explained. ‘He did some broadcasts before the disaster at Dunkirk. He made a, ahem, rather controversial speech on the radio about it and was summarily dismissed. Since then he’s been talking to all sorts of malcontents within the Government and without, talking about organising together against the creeping fascism and defeatism.’
‘That makes some amount of sense I suppose.’ Clement muttered. ‘If we could organise we might actually make the election competitive.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ cried Winston. ‘Here, that’s got some colour in your cheeks! Between the two of us, we can put some fighting spirit back into Britain!’ And he believed every word of it. He knew Anthony had his reservations about the peace, and Duff had even gone so far as to resign the Government Whip along with Winston when the move to peace was declared. The turn of the conversation reminded him of those now comparatively brighter days of the 1930s when he had conspired to bring down the Government over appeasement. And what was this peace, this talk of Preparation, other than appeasement by another more fragrant name? He refilled his glass, clinked it against Clement’s, and smiled. He’d never felt more alive.
"National Suicide, madam? Yes, that's three shelves over, underneath the National Tea"
(This is getting better and better Mumby - I'm loving the inside look in how politics began to reform post-Armistice, and the idea of a ragtag band of Churchill, Attlee and Priestley amongst others is deeply intriguing)
(This is getting better and better Mumby - I'm loving the inside look in how politics began to reform post-Armistice, and the idea of a ragtag band of Churchill, Attlee and Priestley amongst others is deeply intriguing)
Chapter V: 11/03/64
Chapter V
11th March 1964
11th March 1964
By the time Eddie reached Liverpool, the sun had already slipped below the horizon. Fortunately, it was a bright and clear night, with the Moon overhead bathing everything in a silvery glow. She manoeuvred her suitcase out of the narrow train carriage door, and took a moment to take in her surroundings. The station had been significantly rebuilt since the conclusion of the formal war with Germany, and everything around her was hewn from concrete, glass and rough stone. Modules locked into one another in the roof, forming ridges that flowed into thick columns that towered over the hundreds of individuals who milled around. The stark, unpolished concrete had been blackened by soot from the steam trains, and the stone tiles of the floor were smudged and smeared with the same dirt that mingled with the dust and grit of the outside, dragged in on peoples’ shoes.
Leaning against a nearby column, was a tall man dressed in a pale grey flannel suit, smoking a cigarette. He wore a hat, tilted forward so she couldn’t see his face and he had his hands in his pockets. As Eddie hefted her bag through the narrow doors and walked out onto the platform, she noticed his posture shift. He was watching her. She ignored him and began to walk out of the station. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him take one last drag then flick the stub away as he moved to follow her. She pretended she hadn’t noticed, keeping her pace steady. She looked ahead, taking in exits, then spotted the sign to the toilets. She peeled away from the crowd and made her way toward them. The man was still behind her, and as she turned she was able to catch a glimpse of his face. His expression was hard, his eyes wide and unblinking. Salt and pepper stubble coated his cheeks, and the pinkish blood shot colour of the whites of his eyes implied he hadn’t slept for some time. She quickened her pace, hurrying toward the relative safety of the toilets. She was under no illusions that he wouldn’t follow her but at least there was at least some privacy for her to confront him.
She rounded the corner into the toilets and immediately turned on her heel once she was no longer in the man’s direct line of sight. She pulled the pistol from her holster and when he came in, he practically walked into the barrel. He jumped slightly and she raised an eyebrow. She slipped the gun into her coat pocket, but kept her finger on the trigger.
‘Move.’ She hissed. He didn’t answer back, raising his hands in silent apology and walked back out of the toilets. She walked him steadily through the station, and outside into the cold evening air. She indicated a bench that faced the Grecian splendour of St George’s Hall. ‘Who are you? And why were you following me?’ she asked, her voice low and steady. She didn’t look at him, instead taking in the view.
‘My name is Albert,’ he murmured, ‘and I was following you because I wanted to talk to you.’ His accent was strange to her ears, its vowels elongated and rhythmic. He continued, ‘You are… secret police?’ He turned to look at her and she felt compelled to look back. She shook her head.
‘Mass Observation.’ She replied. It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘I’m not a police officer. I can’t arrest anyone, I just gather information-’
‘You investigate criminals and interrogate them too.’ He interrupted. ‘And you carry a gun. Sounds like secret police to me.’ She shrugged.
‘What’s your point?’
‘You’re here to investigate the Lennox case, right?’ he asked. She nodded, slowly. ‘And you have been assigned a partner from Special Operations.’ Again, she nodded and realisation suddenly dawned on her.
‘You’re my partner aren’t you.’ She stated flatly. His awkward silence was all the answer she needed. It was all she could to keep her voice at a strained whisper. ‘What the hell was all that skulking around? If this is how the SOE do things overseas, its no wonder we haven’t brought the Germans to their knees.’ He shook his head vigorously.
‘I didn’t tell them I was coming. I wanted to see you for myself and get the measure of you before we start.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t want to be working with just anyone.’
‘Did you know him? Lennox, I mean, before he died?’ she asked. He sighed and looked at his shoes.
‘Yeah. I did. I was his handler before he was reassigned to Katanga. I was effectively his only contact with the outside world back then. I wouldn’t go so far as to say we were friends… but I owe it to him to make sure we find whoever killed him.’ He clenched fist. ‘And punish them appropriately.’
She nodded and they sat in silence for a while, watching the bustle of the city. The light of the moon shone through the fug of coal fumes that came from the cars and buses, seeming to carpet the roads and wreath the buildings in glistening clouds of silver that shifted, dissipated and thickened constantly. The air smelt bitter and dirty, and she could taste the smog on her tongue – an acrid chemical flavour that dried her mouth and left it feeling gritty.
‘We should move.’ She eventually said, breaking the silence between the two of them. Albert shrugged. ‘Have you been to see him?’ she asked.
‘No.’ he grunted.
‘Well, now seems like a good time to me.’ She said, turning to look at him. He rose from the bench, slowly, as if he were carrying a great weight. ‘If you are serious about hunting his killers, we don’t have time to waste.’
‘You are right.’ He muttered. ‘Come with me. I have a car that we can drive to the morgue.’
They didn’t talk as they drove across town. Eddie had never been to Liverpool before and looked out of the window, watching the city move past. But her mind wasn’t concerned with the sights. She felt uncomfortable in Albert’s presence. The case had been complicated before she had met him, what with the intertwining of two different agencies’ jurisdictions and the mystery that cloaked the dead man’s intentions, but Albert’s emotional connection with Lennox added a whole other layer of problems that she hadn’t anticipated dealing with. The buildings passed by in a blur of blackened stone and orange light as her thoughts mulled around.
The car stopped in front of a low, squareish building of smog stained brick. She left her bag in the car and followed Albert inside. A pair of policemen in black tunics and peaked caps stood at either side of a set of double doors that led into the morgue. She and Albert showed them some identifying paperwork and they were let inside. As soon as the doors swung open, Eddie felt the dry, frosty chill and shivered. Albert shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. A doctor was stood next to a slab, over a heavily decomposed body whose stench the cold did little to mask. The doctor looked up sharply as they entered and grimaced.
‘I expected you nearly half an hour ago. Some of us have homes to go to.’ He rebuked sharply. Albert opened his mouth, his face apologetic. Eddie spoke quickly.
‘Terrible traffic.’ She explained. MO agents didn’t apologise. And she didn’t think the doctor needed an explanation of why they were really late. ‘I take it this is Lennox.’ The doctor narrowed his eyes at her, but clearly decided that getting home was a higher priority than having a drawn out argument.
‘Yes indeed.’ He pointed out the body’s chest, or what was left of it. ‘As you can see he was shot several times with great accuracy. I say that because it seems not to have been at point blank range but there is very little spread of the bullets, indicated each landed where the shooter wished them to.’ The bullets had made quite a mess, leaving several large exit wounds which had only been worsened by his time submerged in the docks.
‘I know all of that from the file.’ She said, pointedly not looking at the body. ‘What I can see is that you’ve carried out an autopsy. Anything I don’t know come of that?’ She glanced to her side at Albert. His eyes were locked on the ruined chest cavity of the man he had described as not being his friend, and he had gone rather pale. The doctor had a smirk on his face.
‘Actually yes.’ He said, and turned to fetch up a metal dish from a counter behind him. Inside it, in a shallow pool of black watery blood, was a few strips of thin plastic, twisted and crumpled. He raised one of the strips up with a pair of forceps and held it up to the light. Eddie stared at it, spotting the little square holes punched into the sides.
‘Is that-’ she began.
‘Film? Yes it is. It seems he consumed rather a lot of it before he died. Most of it was destroyed by his body and then being in an industrial dock for a week, but a few frames were recoverable and we are currently having them developed.’
‘Film, sorry what sort of film.’ Croaked Albert. The doctor turned to him, a look of mild amusement at Albert’s discomfort on his face.
‘From what we can tell, it’s cinema reel rather than photography film.’
‘This is probably what Lennox died for then.’ Muttered Albert, his eyes not moving from the body.
‘That does seem likely, yes.’ Replied the doctor. Albert didn’t reply, so Eddie spoke.
‘I think that’s all for now. Let us know when the film is developed and we’ll see what that can tell us.’ She turned to leave, but Albert remained rooted to the spot. She grabbed his elbow and dragged him with her.
‘Goodbye agents!’ called the doctor. ‘See you next time.’ She shook her head. There was something not right with that man. Once they were back in the car, she turned to Albert.
‘What was that?’ she demanded. He looked bewildered.
‘What was what?’
‘That performance back there. You told me you weren’t friends. You work for the SOE, don’t tell me you haven’t seen a dead body before.’ Her voice was harsh, and part of her twinged with guilt, especially when he looked back at her with sad watery eyes.
‘Alright. He was my friend. Maybe my best friend. We joined the SOE together, recruited into the same resistance cell in the Congo. I was eventually transferred to communications and found myself in London, he stayed in Africa. I haven’t seen him for a long time, and to see him now, on that slab, like that…’ he trailed off, a muscle in his jaw working. She put a hand on his shoulder.
‘Why didn’t you tell me that from the start?’ she asked, her tone softer.
‘We aren’t supposed to have friends. I thought if I admitted how close we were… you’d think less of me.’
‘I don’t think that. But for now, the best way to help him is to be honest with me and get to the bottom of what happened here. When it’s over, then you can grieve for as long as you want.’
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and nodded, starting the car. They drove away from the morgue and back into the night, into the shifting sea of silvery fog.
Chapter VI: 11/09/40
Chapter VI
11th September 1940
11th September 1940
As Herbert Morrison stepped out of the car and hurried into 10 Downing Street, he couldn’t help but be reminded of 1931. Over the last few months since the armistice he had continually fought with his backbenchers, trying to convince them that committing to the Prime Minister’s ‘Soldier’s Mandate’ was not the same as when Ramsay MacDonald had agreed to a National Government with the Conservatives. This was a matter of national survival, not merely one of economic hardship, and it required all responsible parties to come together in the national interest to prepare for a seemingly inevitable reopening of hostilities with Germany. But he found the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. He had been tempted, nearly ten years ago, to follow MacDonald into government and he knew the principle of National Government was not one that the Labour Party was intrinsically opposed to. But the idea of joining them on a coupon, of maintaining the electoral truce in peace time was one that rankled, that stank of collaboration with a party hitherto seen as the enemy.
It was not a situation helped by the behaviour of Clem since his resignation. While his departure along with Greenwood had opened the door for Morrison to take the leadership, he had not anticipated the former leader going so far as to turn against his own party and indeed shake hands with whatever Conservatives had fallen away from the government after the armistice. Their “War in ‘41 Committee” had grown more and more plausible as an actual alternative as the campaign had gone on. While Parliament had only been dissolved on the 24th August, the government had effectively been on a campaign footing from the moment Attlee and Greenwood had left the Cabinet, but they had taken too long to realise threat that the ‘41ers represented. They had spent too much time throwing their efforts against Maxton and Mosley, the flagbearers of pacifism and fascism respectively, neither of whom wanted to take the country into war either in 1941 or at whatever date the National Government felt prepared.
The ‘41ers had endured their setbacks of course. Once the government realised the threat they represented, they had thrown their efforts against them. And when poor old Winston died in his sleep in July, they had lost one of their most stolid and recognisable figures. But the sheer energy of their campaign had kept the National Government on the back foot the whole time, as Clem was driven from constituency to constituency at knuckle-whitening speed by his wife, as Priestley took to the airwaves to make the case for renewed war, and Victor Gollancz’s pamphlets seemed to find themselves into the hands of every other passerby. The faces of the key members of the Committee beamed out from colourful posters pasted to the walls, and an election that seemed to have been won before it took place some months ago, felt like it could be a real challenge.
Which was of course why he was here. It was very early in the morning, but the results that he had heard so far seemed to be taking shape in a way that he could make sense of. He knocked on the door to the Prime Minister’s office, and Lord Halifax’s weary voice called for him to enter. As Morrison walked in, he was struck by how tired Halifax looked. He had always looked somewhat skeletal, but his eyes seemed to be sunk deep in their sockets and he looked pale and drawn as he motioned for Morrison to sit.
‘So, Herbert,’ he said quietly, ‘what’s the damage.’ Morrison tried to smile reassuringly, but he wasn’t sure it had much affect.
‘It looks like we will keep our majority, if that’s any consolation. But the ‘41ers have gained a lot of seats and will almost certainly form the Opposition.’
‘You said “it looks like we will keep our majority”. I take it that there is a possibility we will lose it?’ replied Halifax, fixing Morrison with his bloodshot eyes, and making him feel like he was sinking into his chair.
‘While the ILP has held steady, we didn’t really spot the growth of Mosley’s movement. They have come closer than they have any right to in a lot of constituencies and have even won some seats. And it seems they have quite a mixture of supporters, from both of our parties’ bases. Lots of working class men who think the war is over and are voting against Preparation, along with people on the Tory right who hate that you are going into an election with us.’
‘What does that mean for the seat count?’
‘Like I said, we probably keep our majority, but with things as uncertain as they are in so many constituencies, it is difficult to predict. We could be looking at a very narrow minority government.’ He ran a hand through his curly hair. ‘Of course, even if that were the case, it seems unlikely that the ‘41ers and the Union Movement would be either able or willing to form a united front against us.’ His words didn’t seem to make any impact on the Prime Minister, who rose from his chair and poured himself a drink.
‘I suppose that’s something.’ He muttered. ‘But it doesn’t set us on a very auspicious start does it. The ‘National Government’ is something of a farce when it can’t even manage a decent majority in Parliament.’
‘That’s as may be, m’lord. But we will still be in government, and between Mosley’s shilling for Hitlerism and Priestley’s bloodthirsty rhetoric, we will appear the sensible option. In a few years, when we are good and ready, and the ‘41ers are no longer fashionable, they’ll fall in line.’
‘I wish I had your confidence.’
‘It’s not confidence. I am quite certain.’
‘Well, there’s no point in you staying here and waiting up. Go home, get a few hours of sleep.’ Halifax took a sip of his drink. Morrison had hoped that he would offer him a glass, but said nothing, nodding and saying goodnight.
Halifax was now alone. He looked out of the window, at London. The armistice may be in place, but the city still felt as if it were at war. Sandbags were stacked around the doorways of Whitehall, X-shapes of tape were stuck to the windows, and any chink of light in them were smothered by thick blackout curtains. The streetlights were still shut off, and everything was swathed in darkness. Beyond the buildings immediate to him, London itself dissolved into vague shadows, the boundaries of the buildings blurring into the sky. The blackout seemed to reflect his own bad mood.
The few months in which he had run the country had been the longest in his life. The catastrophe of the war itself seemed to have happened years ago. And every moment from that first clash with the War Cabinet over seeking terms via Mussolini had been a slog. The departure of Attlee and Greenwood had been a blow, but arguably the struggle with his own party had been worse. Churchill had commanded a loyal following on the backbenches, and even if the man hadn’t been a realistic contender for the premiership, his acolytes certainly believed they could be. Eden, Cooper, Amery, and a few others had all joined the Bulldog on the opposition benches in their ‘War Party’ which had affiliated to the War in ’41 Committee as soon as it was formed. And then, when he and Morrison had laid out their plans for Preparation, there had been a very different kind of outcry on another section of the backbenches. The armistice meant peace, and promising to break that peace at some point in the future spat upon ancient British principles of honour. The commitment to a continuing alignment with Socialists and potentially with the Communist Russians against the new order in Europe was unconscionable to that sect, and men like Archibald Ramsay and John Mackie had found a welcoming home in Oswald Mosley’s newly rebranded Union Movement.
Perhaps there was little wonder that their message had not made the impact that had been anticipated. Frustration and disquiet at the electoral truce had been there when the war had been quiet and far away. Now it had reach their doorstep, and the appetite for preparation simply didn’t exist. While it made rational sense, it was difficult to explain it on the doorstep. The people were polarised, between those who believed there shouldn’t have been an armistice in the first place, and those who now there was peace wanted to take it seriously and make it permanent. Preparation was in a muddy middle ground that pleased no-one, seeming to lack any firm principles.
Halifax swallowed the last of his drink and yawned. The shapes of the buildings in the distance seemed more distinct. They sky was growing pale, presaging the dawn of the sun’s light upon the city. The night had ceased to be late, and early morning had begun. He would be expected to make a speech or three tomorrow whatever the result was, and it would do if he looked and sounded half dead. He pulled the curtains closed and headed to bed.
Chapter VII: 12/04/64
Chapter VII
12th March 1964
12th March 1964
‘So how did you get into this?’
Eddie looked away from the window, her daydream broken by Albert’s voice. They hadn’t exchanged any words other than muttered pleasantries when he had parked outside her hotel that morning. The short drive to the police station, where the city’s Mass Observation office was located, had been awkward. She hadn’t expected the question, so she hadn’t quite heard what he said.
‘What, sorry, I wasn’t listening.’
‘How did you get into Mass Observation? It hardly seems like an obvious career path for a pretty little thing like you.’ He replied. She grimaced, and felt a spark of anger heat itself in her belly. But Albert didn’t notice the effect of his words, his eyes firmly on the road.
‘What would be an obvious career path exactly?’ she asked, her voice cold. Before he could reply, she continued. ‘I can’t type fast enough to be a secretary, I don’t have the patience to be a canary, and if I don’t have the patience for that I certainly don’t have enough to be a housewife. Does that answer your question?’
‘I didn’t mean-‘
‘I know!’ she bristled, ‘I know you didn’t mean anything by it. That’s what makes it so stupid.’ She turned back to the window, and the spark of anger burned in satisfaction for a moment. But after a few moments, it dissipated and the silence between hung heavy and thick like they’d been smothered in wet sheets. She sighed and turned back. ‘I got into it at university. I fell in with a bad crowd, you know some of those radical student types that want a proper peace with Germany. But I didn’t realise it at first. Peace, love, understanding. It all sounded so reasonable.’
‘What snapped you out of it?’ he asked, his voice tight.
‘I was invited to a special meeting, only a few of us would be attending. I thought it was something to do with the union, but we ended up some basement. A man arrived some time later-’
‘German?’ interrupted Albert and she snorted.
‘You’d hope so wouldn’t you? No, he was as English as they come. He was very straight-laced, a real contrast with us hippies. We were sitting there with our long hair and painted clothes, listening to him in his pomade and sharp suit. I think that might be what made me suspicious at first, but later on I realised what he was saying. What he was trying to persuade us to do.’
‘He was trying to recruit you.’ Nodded Albert.
‘Got it in one.’ She affirmed. ‘We had been chosen because we seemed genuinely enthusiastic about the goals of our group, but more importantly were still on course for good degrees. We could easily take a useful position for the Reich to exploit.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Well, when I worked out what was happening, I felt betrayed. I didn’t really have any friends outside the group, and now it was revealed to be a front, I couldn’t even look them in the eyes.’ She looked down at her hands, curling them into fists. ‘I did the only thing that seemed right. I went to the police and informed on them.’
‘That can’t have been easy.’ Albert murmured.
‘It was easier than I felt it should have been. But if anything it was harder afterwards. The whole group was arrested except for me, and it was horribly obvious who had been the traitor. Nobody looked at me straight, I couldn’t have a conversation with anyone, even the lecturers seemed to look at me like something on the bottom of their shoe. I stopped going to classes. I stayed in my room and read books, my grades suffered.’ She sighed. ‘And that was when Mass Observation got in touch. They said I wouldn’t get a good degree the way I was going, but they could enrol me at the Academy. I’d get training, a qualification, a career. I had felt like I was struggling uphill, but that offer made me feel like I’d finally got to the top, it was a second chance. I closed the university chapter of my life, and I’ve been writing the next one ever since.’
‘I didn’t have to worry about stuff like that. It was a pretty straightforward choice.’ Said Albert, his voice distant. Eddie immediately felt a stab of guilt and shame. There she was, making out how hard it was to face the rejection of her fellow students, when the man next to her had been born in the equatorial fascist hellscape of the Congo Free State. She’d seen her share of violence, but it was explicable and carried out by desperate individuals. Everyone knew the realities of German rule, even those who chose to delude themselves into believing different, and when that was fused with the existing colonial barbarity of the Free State, she shuddered to think what it had been like for him.
‘I’m sorry.’ She replied softly. ‘Everything I’ve just said must sound very childish to you.’ To her surprise, Albert just shrugged.
‘The two situations aren’t really comparable. Britain has never been occupied by the Nazis, and the choice between resistance and extermination doesn’t exist. Everything seems much clearer when that’s the only option, but for you the only information on Nazis is what the Ministry of Information approves of, or the Reich’s own targeted propaganda. It’s all too easy to come to the wrong conclusions. Just be glad you came to the right one.’
The car pulled up outside the police station, and as they entered Eddie felt a little relieved that Albert hadn’t seemed offended. Nevertheless, her stomach still felt a pang of guilt from what she had said.
The Mass Observation offices at the police station were subterranean, a legacy of 1940s bomber paranoia, and as they made their way through the cramped network of concrete corridors, they were surrounded by the echoing clatter of dozens of typewriters, the click and whirr of mechanical computers, and the muffled bark of orders and replies. Uncovered bulbs hung from the smooth, thickly painted ceilings, casting a dim yellowish light that turned doorways into dark holes from which they could faintly see the shadowy shapes of office workers moving from room to room across the corridor.
Eventually they arrived at a pair of wooden doors, varnished so heavily they were nearly black. Eddie knocked and after a brief pause there was dim murmur of assent. They opened the surprisingly heavy doors, and entered. The room was surprisingly large, and tastefully if austerely decorated. Immediately in front of them was a decent space before a long, dark desk that the city director sat behind. On the far left of them room to them, the wall was stacked high with metal file cabinets and there was a sliding ladder that allowed someone to reach the highest most files. Between those and the desk was a table that took up most of the space, and on it was a map of Liverpool, liberally decorated with colourful pins and thousands of pock marks from where pins once had been. A few simple but comfortable chairs were opposite the city director, facing him and one of them was already occupied. The doctor in the morgue had turned to face them, and the same cruel smirk he had had the night before was pasted across his face now. The director by contrast regarded them impassively. He was thick set, but with no spare weight and he wore the dark, almost black uniform that Mass Observation officers were unofficially permitted to wear. As was custom was devoid of the glints of metal and decoration that was ordinary for other military organisations. An eye patch of the same colour covered one of his eyes, the strap hooking under his ear and back over his several shorn scalp. A bristling grey moustache nearly obscured his mouth, and his one working eye glinted like a chip of cold grey-green glass.
‘Ah, Agents Nash and Kayembe. Please, take a seat. I hear you have already been introduced to the good doctor.’
‘Indeed we have.’ Replied Albert, his voice flat and dull. The doctor’s grin widened, but Albert paid no attention, drawing up a seat next to him. The director, either oblivious to this or simply choosing to ignore it, turned his attention to an open file in front of him.
‘So you know about film?’ he asked. Eddie and Albert confirmed that was the case, and the director pushed over a few photographs for them to look at. They were grainy and clearly badly damaged but between them it was reasonably easy to put together what the film had been supposed to depict. A verdant valley of dense rainforest had been cleared, to make way for an impressive installation. A hydroelectric dam had been built to contain the river, and the power from it fuelled the base. Much of the cleared ground had been covered with concrete and from what they could see, two or three domes emerged from the surface. On the opposite side of the complex was a transport hub including a helipad and a railway track. A sleek diesel locomotive rested in the attendant station, gleaming in the sun.
‘Impressive.’ Eddie said, sincerely. ‘What’s it all in aid of.’ The director reached over and indicated the domes.
‘These are the cupolas of missile launch facilities. However, given its location in Central Africa, far from any plausible target, we believe that the missiles are not intended for destruction.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘The German wartime fascination did not conclude with the end of formal hostilities. They have merely changed direction. They have been pushing the frontier of human exploration ever since. But the Americans are catching up. Last year, the Americans put the first man in space. The Germans matched that feat less than a month later, but the history books will remember Pete Conrad. The Hermann Goering Research Institute is under a great deal of pressure to achieve something spectacular which will make Conrad’s glorified flight pale into insignificance. We have known all this for several months.’
‘So what do these pictures reveal?’ Albert asked.
‘Very little. We do not know the base’s exact location, and the Germans have been extremely careful in concealing the existence of it. However, we now know it exists and we know from Lennox’s movements before he disappeared the rough location of it.’ He clasped his hands together. ‘This base is crucial in Nazi plans to make space a German domain. It is therefore a priority for us to confound whatever project is in development here.’ There was an uncomfortable pause, then the director looked at the doctor. ‘You may leave.’ He said curtly. It wasn’t quite an order, but it was clear that the coroner was no longer welcome. The smirk disappeared from his face, and he wordlessly rose and left the room. The door had closed for only a few seconds when another man entered the room. He was dressed in a dull gray uniform, that of the civilian arm of the SOE, and he carried a disorderly bundle of papers under one arm. He was very slight, so he seemed almost engulfed by his black battledress and his rustling papers.
‘I hope I’m not too late, Director.’ He panted as he came in. ‘We’ve been working on the mission briefing as fast as we could, but given the rather, er, vague parameters we’ve had to-’
‘Your timing could not have been better.’ Exclaimed the director, raising a hand to cut off the man’s garbled stream of speech. ‘Perhaps you had better start your briefing now, to ensure all your hard work does not go to waste?’ The man nodded and after a moment of consulting his papers he began.
‘From what we know of Lennox’s movements before his disappearance, he was in Katanga or at least its vicinity. This equatorial location is ideal for rocket tests, and it seems likely that Lennox need not have strayed too far from his mission parameters to stumble upon the base. We have cross referenced our knowledge of Lennox’s movements, with other clues that can be gleaned from the photos. Namely, its location in a river valley and an attendant railway connection. This is likely an exclusive track made specifically to supply the base with what it needs but it does need to link into the rest of the colonial railway network. And there are only so many rivers that can be dammed to supply a base of this size with its own electricity.’ He indicated a number of red dots on a map. ‘We have therefore pinpointed a number of plausible sites for the installation. You should be able to narrow down the choices yourselves.’
‘Um, how do you plan on getting us into Katanga?’ asked Albert. ‘In my experience, its easier said than done.’
‘I was just coming to that. Katanga is at the heart of German Africa, itself surrounded by German allies and client states. It’s no simple task but we haven’t kept up a supply line to the rebels there for twenty years without working out a system.’ He smiled to himself then passed them a brown envelope each. ‘You’ll set off for Sierra Leone later today. You will cross the border into Liberia. You will assume the identity of a pair of American business investors, looking for opportunities in mineral-rich Central Africa. From there you will board a ship to Leopoldstadt. We have a man there who will make contact with you, he will take you Katanga.’
‘I know the way.’ Interrupted Albert, his voice carrying an edge of irritation. ‘The Congo is my home.’
‘That may be true.’ Said the director. ‘But you are playing a role. It will look a little suspicious for the American entrepreneur who has never visited the Congo before to make an immediate beeline for Katanga without any apparent local help.’
‘More importantly, you have been out of Africa for quite some time, Agent Kayembe. You may know the geography passably well, but much has changed since you were transferred to communications.’ he shuffled through some papers, but carried on talking. ‘Your “guide” has more up to date information on the lay of the land, and his insights on the possible location of the rocket installation may be invaluable to you. He will also be able to link you up with the local resistance, who will also know more about a construction site of this impressive scale. Dammit I can’t find my portraits…’
‘I’m sure they can wait, Cutner.’ Sighed the director. He turned to Albert. ‘Does that explanation satisfy you?’ Albert only grunted.
‘In those envelopes are your passports and other paperwork along with contact information and your identity backgrounds. Memorise and destroy the latter.’ He paused and looked a little worried. ‘How are you at accents?’ Eddie grinned.
‘Passable.’ She replied, in a decent Boston accent. Cutner smiled ever so slightly, then looked Albert. He looked a little flustered. Fortunately what came out of his mouth wasn’t too shocking but both men winced.
‘Possibly let Agent Nash do more of the talking. A German won’t notice the difference, at least not at first.’
‘I am more than willing to let her take the lead if a Kraut wants to engage us in conversation. I don’t think they’d be especially interested in talking to me anyway.’ Albert grinned mirthlessly.
‘How magnanimous.’ She muttered sarcastically. The director rose from behind his seat and made his way to the door.
‘You will not, of course, be sent into the lion’s den unarmed.’ He intoned as he walked. ‘We’re preparing some clever little toys for you to use, the details of all that are all in your documents.’ He opened the door and looked back at the three of them. ‘I’d recommend you make yourselves as familiar with your identities as you can before you leave. Dismissed.’ The door closed behind him.
As Cutner expounded upon their route, and showed them the fake ticket stubs for their trip from New York to Monrovia, and she cast an eye over the passport for a Louisa O’Reilly who bore a striking resemblance to herself, Eddie couldn’t shake a cold feeling of dread in her belly. They were expected to memorise a whole identity in a day near enough. They’d have more time on the trip to Sierra Leone and even from there to Monrovia, but even then they had been given very little time to prepare. She felt apprehensive, not just because she had never been out of the country let alone been sent on a mission of quite this magnitude, but mostly because she felt they weren’t being given the complete truth. She thought about Lennox again, cold and dead on the slab of the morgue. He had clearly felt that speed was of the essence, rushing back to Britain without informing anyone. Perhaps that should be enough for her. But she could think of a few reasons why their superiors might choose to conceal something from them, and they all made her stomach turn to lead.