Page 120 of Strangers in Time

“Made from sheet metal and plywood. They can fly four hundred miles per hour and carry a bomb payload of nearly a ton. Killed over six thousand people in southern England. They can’t reach the north, limited range. But we learned that by banking a plane sharply while flying close to the V-1, we can alter the flight path and drive the damn things into the ground.”

Oliver watched his friend’s tense features closely. “I take it the Germans have come up with something else of concern?”

Bryant sat forward, lowering his voice. “Have you heard any whisperings of the V-2program?”

“No, can’t say that I have.”

“Good, no need to inspire fear amongst the public.”

“Well, please feel free to inspire it in me,” said Oliver brightly.

“It’s a new type of bomb the Germans are readying to hurl against us.”

“I would have thought they had far too many of those already.”

“Like the V-1s, the bombs aren’t dropped from a plane. They have their own propulsion and advanced guidance systems, internal gyros, and external rudders and the like. They’re thirteen-ton missiles, really, and the damn things can fly thousands of miles an hour, with a payload of a thousand kilograms. They’ll be launched from the Dutch coast. They’ll strike here, of course, and perhaps Birmingham and Coventry as well, if they have the range.”

“And just when I thought things were going so splendidly. So when will they be coming?”

Bryant looked nervous. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but…”

Oliver looked expectant.

“They’ve already launched them against us. But we… meaning the government, have deemed them to be gas main explosions. Don’t want to panic the public and all, you see.”

Oliver did not look pleased by this. “Yes, I dosee.”

“The only saving grace is you’ll never hear the damn things coming, and you’ll be dead before you know it.”

“How reassuring.”

Bryant keenly studied his old friend. “You ever regret not going to work at Bletchley, Ignatius? They wanted you badly, you know. Your head for numbers and puzzles and all that. And your paper on cryptography outlining the possibilities of separate divisions of labor, mirrored with a shared purpose and folks from many different backgrounds and intellectual capabilities, is one of the reasons why they initiated a scheme like Bletchley in the first place. ‘Poets and physicists,’ I think you called it.”

“Careful, Major, you don’t want to run afoul of the Official Secrets Act.”

“Since it was on my strong recommendation, I know they had you down to work there,” Bryant replied. “And you could havehelped the war effort far more effectively than being an air raid warden.”

“Well, I had Imogen to consider.”

“Poor Imogen,” noted Bryant, no longer looking at him.

“Yes, poor Imogen,” repeated Oliver, staring at the blank page curled in the Crown typewriter.

ANGELS OFDEATH

CHARLIE RODE HIS BIKEacross the bridge to Clapham, passing the famous green along the way. He was excited, because there would be nearly eight miles to be paid for this one delivery.

He turned down a narrow street and, counting numbers, he pulled to a stop in front of a small brick house with dark shutters set behind a wrought iron fence that looked very much like its neighbors on either side.

He climbed off his bike, passed through the gate, and hurried up to the front door. He had many more messages yet to dispense, and the day was getting on.

He rapped on the door and waited. Presently, he heard the click of heels and the door opened, revealing a woman in her early twenties with soft brown hair and large, luminous eyes. She wore a calf-length, hunter-green dress.

“Yes?” she said.

“Telegram, ma’am,” said Charlie. “Are you Eleanor Drews?”

“Yes, I am.”

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