V4 Vengeance Read online

  “It seems a long time since we developed these flying bombs,” said the Professor, “so much has happened since then. Sadly not all of it good for our country.” He sighed and turning to the two operators gave the launch order.

  The pulse jet mounted on the spine of the missile roared into pounding life and settled down to the rhythmic pulsations of the engine. The holding clamps released and the missile accelerated rapidly up the ramp and into the gray, forbidding sky. With the danger of a launch explosion past, the two men stepped outside the safety of the command bunker and watched the missile, looking like a small aircraft, climb and disappear into the overcast. This one seemed to be working well, unlike the last that had burned out its engine and nosed into a field no more than a kilometer from the launch ramp.

  “Another gift for Mr. Churchill,” said the uniformed Oberleutnant.

  “Indeed,” said the Professor. “Just a pity we will not know which part of London it lands on. It has the range, but at this distance not the accuracy we might wish for. We can but hope it will be on something the British value highly.”

  They turned away and the officer escorted his distinguished guest toward the staff car waiting under the cover of the trees.

  “These longer range rockets are allowing us to continue to operate, even though our launch sites in France have been overrun, but it is a shame we cannot put a bigger fuel tank on them and give the Americans a taste of war in their own country,” said Gehrlich a little sadly.

  The Professor stopped. “Why the Americans particularly?”

  “They have been shielded from the true meaning of this war. Their cities are untouched and their civilians carry on making money as usual. Plus, of course, I owe them for this,” he said, indicating the stump of his left arm.

  The Professor nodded, “Yet you still serve your country. My compliments. And I can tell you that the Führer has had the same thoughts. He issued a directive, some months ago, to prepare two new weapons to visit death and destruction on the cities of the USA. One system will be ready in just a few days and the other is also nearing the end of its development. One day you will have your wish as our weapons bring down our vengeance on the Americans.”

  Chapter 1

  The Present Day – Southern England

  His head would probably not fall off if he kept it still but the urgent need to find a bathroom was making that impossible. He sat up in the narrow single bed. The room spun around him and he thought there was a very real possibility that he was going to be violently sick. He managed to get to his feet by levering himself up on the bedhead. Slowly, so as not to disturb the monster in his head, he stepped forward. As his foot touched down the throb in his head made sure he knew this was not going to be a good morning. Holding on to the wall, to stop it moving, he made it to the communal bathroom. He managed to stand at the urinal even though the room was definitely in motion. That task completed, he struggled to the sink and rinsed his face. My God, the creature in the mirror looked rough, as rough as he felt. The skin was pale and the eyes were seriously bloodshot. He was far too old to be drinking in the Sergeants’ Mess. Still, that would not be a problem from now on. This morning he was still Major Jim Wilson of the Corps of Royal Engineers, respected by his men so that they laid on a special formal dinner in the Sergeants’ Mess to say goodbye to a mere company commander. By this afternoon he would be another unemployed civilian, courtesy of a government that knew the cost of everything and the value of nothing. He managed to make it back to his room in the overflow annex of the Officers’ Mess. He checked his watch, once he found it under the bed. He needed to get a move on. He had an appointment with the Colonel in less than half an hour.

  The shave was painful and the cleaning of his teeth a challenge to keep yesterday’s festivities down. The shower helped and he could almost stand the sunlight as he stepped out of the building and walked across to Regimental HQ. He had decided to wear civilian clothes this morning. No point stringing out the pain of parting from the Army after nearly sixteen years. Where had the time gone? He had served around the world, as Royal Engineers do. His experience was varied and deep. He had commanded an armored engineer company in combat, had run the drone troop with its UAVs, been part of airfield construction teams, commanded a Tank Landing Ship down at Marchwood and even been a Chemical Warfare Instructor at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst for a while. His company was well run and effective. Commanding tough and intelligent soldiers had been a wonderful experience, even if it had cost him his marriage. His belly was still flat and he could still keep up with the young soldiers on the physical fitness tests, though probably not this morning.

  Yet the last three promotion boards had passed him over for advancement in the rapidly shrinking Army that was now smaller than it had been since before the Napoleonic War. Opportunities were drying up and that had been enough for the bean counters to identify him for compulsory redundancy. Well, he was in good company, some damned fine soldiers had been kicked out over the last few months.

  As he entered the front door of the imposing HQ building he acknowledged the salutes of a number of senior NCOs waiting outside the post room. Now why weren’t they with their soldiers at this time of the morning? Not his problem anymore.

  He made his way carefully up the stairs and headed for his Commanding Officer’s office. The young female corporal in the outer office smiled at him as he entered. It was sympathy and nothing more.

  “He’s waiting for you, sir. Go straight in and I’ll bring the coffee.”

  He could have kissed her, coffee was badly needed and the sooner the better. He pushed the door open. Lieutenant Colonel John Whittaker was behind his desk shuffling the normal pile of papers expected of a battalion commander; he pushed them aside grateful for the interruption.

  “Well Jim, I see the Sergeants’ Mess gave you a good send off last night.”

  Jim smiled weakly and sat down without waiting to be invited. He really needed that coffee now. John nodded indulgently. They had been friends for years and John’s promotion at the last board had not affected that, at least in private.

  “You weren’t playing your whisky game with them again were you?”

  Jim started to nod but remembered the pain that would cause. He was famous in many parts of the army for being able to recognize any scotch whisky put in front of him by smell and taste. It was a completely useless talent, but it amused the Sergeants’ Mess every Christmas. They would search high and low for the most obscure whiskies from the outer islands and the deep glens to try to beat him. Last night they had trotted out as much as they could to finally catch him out and he was paying the price this morning. The coffee arrived and the young corporal had the good sense to bring a large pot and two decent sized mugs. The pain killers were tucked discretely at the edge of the tray. This girl was a treasure. John let him get the first coffee down and made a point of not noticing the tablets.

  “Well Jim, I will be sad to see you go and I am certain B Company will miss you. At this point I am supposed to talk you through the party line about it being for the good of the service, but even if you didn’t have the hangover already I think that might make you vomit. Jim, the government has royally screwed up, I only hope they realize and bring you and a lot of others back before the Army loses all its best talent.”

  He didn’t comment; he knew John meant well, but he could not imagine coming back after this had been done to him. The bond of trust, so important to soldiers, had been broken. There was more small talk and he got up to leave. John came round the desk to shake his hand, but had the compassion not to slap his back. His head was not up to that yet. As he left he went to give the packet of pain killers back to the Corporal.

  “Keep them, sir,” she said. “I think you need them more than me.”

  He nodded his thanks and immediately regretted it.

  At the top of the sweeping staircase he looked down into the foyer. Company Sergeant Major Ivan Thomas was standing there, waiting for hi
m. He had a sheet of folded white paper in his hand, which was quivering. When CSM Thomas quivered that was usually the sign of an impending verbal explosion. He was probably the best soldier Jimmy had ever commanded, but he had a fierce temper. It had cost him at least two promotions over the years. He walked down to meet him.

  “Well Mr. Thomas, the end of an era for me and now you have to train up a new company commander to your standards.”

  “Not really sir,” he said and handed the white paper over.

  Jim read it and looked at the CSM with disbelief. “They’ve made you redundant too? But you’ve only got, what, less than two years to a full pension? That’s criminal.”

  The CSM nodded, “Not just me sir, about a third of the Senior NCOs got the same letter this morning. That’s what we were summoned here to collect.”

  Jim put a hand on the man’s immaculately ironed shoulder tabs “Ivan, I am so sorry. If I can ever help let me know.”

  They shook hands and the CSM gave him his last salute as an officer. He walked out of the Regimental HQ and stood with his back to the large oak doors, taking his last look out across the empty parade square with the neat white stones around the flag pole. He sighed then squared his shoulders and walked down the wide stone steps and got into his car. With a last, sad look around the barracks he drove out through the gate and into an unknown future.

  He had no home of his own to go to, that had gone to his wife in the divorce settlement. He had received the papers halfway through his last overseas combat tour. He didn’t blame her. She had stuck it out with him for longer than he had a right to expect, but the Army was a harsh mistress and demanded sacrifice. Some women managed to live through the separations and loneliness, others gave up. Maybe if there had been children things could have been different.

  His younger sister had offered him a bed at her home in East Anglia until he sorted himself out with a permanent place to live. He couldn’t do that until he found a job and during a recession was the wrong time to be looking for a new career.

  The drive through the fen country was uneventful. Miles of flat country rolling beneath his wheels with canals and drainage dykes by the side of the road. He pulled into the driveway of the classic English thatched cottage that looked like it had been there for two hundred years or more. In truth it was a modern prefabricated kit that arrived here on the back of a fleet of trucks five years ago. The inside looked just as rustic with massive exposed beams and large, black, iron fixing pins, but with every modern convenience and modern wiring. Although it did look convincing as the evening mists rolled in from the North Sea.

  His sister stood in the small porch waiting for him. She smiled, but the nervous entwining of her fingers gave the lie to that greeting.

  “Hello Jimmy, You’ve just got time to wash up before dinner.”

  “Hi, Sandra. Everything OK with you?”

  “Yes everything’s fine. We’re looking forward to having you with us.”

  Now that was a lie and they both knew it, but he could do nothing to help until she asked.

  Dinner that night was the usual mixture of inconsequential chatter from his sister and grumbles and moans from his brother-in-law, with the customary barbed comments about the army. At least the conversation with his nephew, David, was pleasant as always. He was a fine boy. It was sometimes difficult to believe that the sour-faced man sweating at the head of the table was really his father.

  The next morning he rose early and ran through the fens in a long circuit of obscure pathways he had discovered over the years, scaring birds out of the reed beds as he passed and listening to the protests of the white beaked Coots in their water side nests.

  No point letting his belly grow and hang over his belt like his brother-in-law. Returning to the house, he showered and shaved. Wiping the misted mirror with the towel he checked his reflection, no beer belly, a full head of hair with just a touch of gray starting at the temples, and clear blue eyes that did not need glasses yet. After breakfast he scanned the newspapers and the Internet for jobs. Not many and even less for a man who could destroy bridges, build airfields and command troops in combat.

  He walked down to the village pub for lunch. Now there was a building that really had been in place for well over a hundred years. Some of the locals looked as though they had been on the original building crew. They knew him from his leaves between combat tours over the last couple of years. He had stayed with his sister after each of his recent deployments in the Middle East and the permanence of these uncomplicated people had calmed him. They acknowledged him with nods or a quiet raising of a sunburned hand from a scarred, oak table. Even the black Labrador by the fire only managed to slap his tail twice before drifting back to sleep in the patch of sunlight from the window.

  The barman had his pint of locally brewed beer on the bar by the time he reached it. He was tempted to ruin the moment by ordering something else, but that would not be fair to kind people.

  The barman looked at him with a raised eyebrow, “The usual?”

  Six months since he had last been here and when he said “Yes,” the Plowman’s Lunch was straight out in front of him. Crusty, warm bread from the village bakery and rich, tangy cheese from local farms. Pickled onions from somewhere with a sense of humor. He always left them.

  In the afternoons, to keep in trim, he rowed his nephew’s small boat though the waterways of the Norfolk Broads. Occasionally he dangled a line in the water to try to catch a fish or two and to have an excuse to stay away from the poisonous atmosphere in the house.

  His routine was set. On the weekends his nephew David ran with him and egged him on to run faster, teasing him with comments about his advanced age. But on school days he ran alone with just the birds scattering from the reeds for company. In the afternoons he carried on with his fruitless job search. This enforced tedium went on for nearly a month until the day when his sister was waiting for him as he ran back into the garden.

  “You’ve had a phone call. No message, but they left a number and they want you to call back.”

  “Who was it?”

  She shrugged “They wouldn’t say, but they did say it’s about a job.”

  The signs were there in her expression; he was outstaying his welcome. It was probably his delightful brother-in-law being a pain in the neck, as usual, about his presence. He showered and then rang the number she had taken down.

  The phone was answered quickly, “Ah Major Wilson, thank you for ringing back. I think we should meet. I have an employment opportunity for you.”

  “That’s interesting, but could you tell me a little more about it?”

  “I do not want to discuss it over the phone, but since I will pay your expenses, what have you got to lose?”

  “I’m not sure I want to drag myself all the way down to London for nothing and I’m wary of secrets. How legal is this?”

  “It’s far from being nothing, Major. You will not infringe a single law of this country and if it’s successful you may even be making a little bit of history. I promise you it will be worth your while to listen to my proposition.”

  Despite his misgivings, Jim was intrigued and allowed himself to be persuaded to meet. They discussed places of mutual convenience and decided to meet in London at the Thistle Hotel located on Victoria Station. The man on the phone refused to give him a name. Odd.

  “And by the way, it’s not Major Wilson anymore, in my view that’s reserved for Golf Club secretaries and I don’t play the game.”

  He heard the chuckle from the other end of the line as the phone went down.

  Chapter 2

  As he came out of the tunnel of the Underground, Victoria Mainline Station was the customary mad crush of commuters dashing this way and that to get to whatever dreary office they worked in. His shirt felt clammy from the heat in the underground tunnels and the moist breath of the crowds in the train. At least he had been spared this nightmare for the last sixteen years. He hoped the proposition he was heading tow
ard did not involve anything to do with traveling on the London Underground. He was not keen on enclosed spaces at the best of times and ones filled to overflowing with people who were overdue an appointment with soap and water did not thrill him at all.

  Finding his way to the hotel located in the corner of the main concourse, he wandered through the winding passages to the reception area and waited as a family from Wisconsin checked out. The piles of baggage they were trying to manoeuver were impressive. Eventually he made it to the desk and announced himself. The desk clerk nodded and turned to the letter rack behind him. Turning back, the harassed receptionist wordlessly handed him an envelope with his name on it and turned to deal with the next client.

  Inside the envelope was a single sheet of paper that simply asked him to go to room 504. It seemed a strange way to conduct a job interview, but he was still prepared to investigate almost anything that might allow him to escape the rapidly growing boredom and awkward atmosphere in East Anglia.

  He walked to the lift and went up to the fifth floor. The corridor carpet was a little threadbare in places, unlike the reception area which had been at a high standard. Finding 504 he knocked on the door and waited until it was opened by a nondescript man in a cheap charcoal gray suit, with a white shirt that had seen better days and a plain blue tie. His sallow complexion added to the feeling of bland grayness. He could have been any one of a thousand middle-grade civil servants scurrying through the station below.

  “Ah there you are, Major, do come in.” He stepped back and made way for Jim to walk through. “Would you care for a coffee or something to eat?”

  Jim shrugged. “A coffee would be welcome.”

  He was trying hard to work out what this man did for a living and why he would want to talk to him. The lack of any identifiable accent didn’t help. With the coffee poured and handed over, the man in the gray suit sat down.