“You still here? Get on with it, woman!”
* * * *
“Godwin—have you thought this through? What if you do defeat the Magmoids? It's absurd—but what if you did? What then?”
“Oh, there's plenty more to do.”
“Like what?”
“A reordering of the Earth. Take China, for example. Vastly overpopulated, but all those warm bodies make it formidable. Immense industries, enormous armies, and so forth.”
“So?”
“So, a little radiological reconstruction would sort that out. A string of cobalt bombs, for example, across North China. A blanket of heavy-particle fallout. Two hundred megadeaths, maybe three.”
“'Megadeaths.’ Millions of deaths?”
“And then there's Russia.”
“Ah, of course.”
“Now with the Russians you have a different problem. There you have a highly industrialised nation. What you want to do with them is to take them back to the Middle Ages.”
“Cobalt bombs again?”
“Clinical strikes against the cities and the industrial belts. Let the next generation grow up knowing nothing but tools of stone and wood. They'd soon forget they were ever civilised. This isn't warfare, Jones. It's corrective surgery.”
“What a visionary you are.”
“But you see that vision. Jones, we're alike, you and I—like it or not.”
* * * *
Thelma found Clare at a field kitchen.
Clare said, “This army tea is worse than in a cop shop, and that's saying something.”
“Phillips pumped you dry, I imagine.”
“Told them all I knew. Layout of Godwin's command centre—all that was said in there. I think they're getting ready for some kind of operation against the base.”
“Good. Well, finish your cuppa. We've got work to do.”
“Okay. What?”
“Calculating machines. It's for this analysis project of Jones's. We don't have computers, but Tremayne says hand-cranked calculators will do.”
“Hmm. That's not so hard. The post offices have them, for instance. I can put out a call. What's trickier will be getting people to work them.”
“I hadn't thought of that—oh.”
“What?”
“It so happens I know just where we can find plenty of office workers. The refugee camps on the main roads, where half the population of Newcastle is spending the night. We'll find all the girls we need there. We'll need a truck or two, I suppose.”
“I can organise that too.”
“Thank you . . .” Thelma studied Clare, who stood cradling her tea, her police uniform scuffed and stained, her face streaked with mud and blood. “You know, Clare—you don't question, you don't complain, you just get on with it, whatever's thrown at you. I do so admire that.”
“Yes, well, you can write a letter to my sergeant when all this is over. Come on, let's get cracking.”
* * * *
Phillips assembled his team outside the camp.
“All right, gentlemen. Now remember your orders. Use pin-down fire if you can, and shoot to disable, not to kill. I'd much prefer to avoid casualties. They are our allies in there. All right, let's go. Corporal Harris on the right, Chivers on the left, and I'll lead the centre. Wire cutters at the ready. Go, go!”
They broke from cover and ran forward, to be greeted by an immediate rattle of machine-gun fire. Phillips had no choice but to throw himself to the ground.
Buck called, “Get down! Fall back!”
“How many down?”
Buck glanced around. “Three already. Wounded only. They're shooting to disable too.”
“That's not much comfort, Sergeant. We've only made, what, ten yards? And we're pinned down by those machine-gun nests. It's like the bloody Somme.”
“This isn't going to work, is it, sir?”
“But we don't have much choice. All right, men, get ready again—”
There was a tremendous explosion.
Phillips said, “What the—what's that? Are they shelling us?”
“No. The base isn't equipped for that. And look, sir, that's not a shell crater.”
“Then what?”
Another huge explosion. Dirt showered over them.
Phillips said, “My God. That time it was inside the compound. That wasn't our boys, for sure.”
Buck pointed. “I saw it that time, sir. It's like it just burst up from under the ground.”
“Like a mine?”
“Something like that. But there are no mines around here.”
A blur of light shot overhead, shrieking.
Buck stared. “Doctor Jones called that a ‘Grendel,’ didn't he?”
“I don't like the look of this, Sergeant. Fall back, fall back!”
The detonations were like approaching footsteps.
Jones said, “Hear that, Godwin? The bangs getting bigger and bigger? That's the Magmoids, man. They're hitting back at the base—at you. So it begins.”
“Let them come. My strategy is panning out.”
“I actually believe you're enjoying this, aren't you, Godwin? Makes up for all your failures, does it?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You were involved in Suez, weren't you? Tremayne told me. What a cock-up that was. The end of empire—and the end of your career too? You're just a poor boy from the north of England, aren't you, Godwin? Who had to make his way in an armed force ridden with class and privilege. Chip on your shoulder, have you? You're just a sad little boy who wants to get back at the bullies who tormented you.”
“Oh, this is all—hot in here, isn't it?”
“What?”
Godwin stood, pushing back his chair. “Will you join me in a drink, Jones?”
* * * *
The air was full of Grendels now.
Phillips, dug in as best he could with his troops, said, “Up there, corporal. Two rounds if you please.”
The corporal obediently fired; the bullets sang through the Grendel without effect.
Buck ran up, breathless. “Sir.”
“Situation, Sergeant?”
“Well, the British are shooting at the Americans, and the Americans are shooting at the British, and we're both shooting at these—ghosts. I've had word from SHAPE. All the other Project Hades bases, worldwide, are under attack. Just like this. From underneath. There's no sign of ordinance. No shells or mines. Just explosions. Somehow they can make the ground just burst open under you.”
“I suspect Professor Tremayne or Doctor Jones would say these are seismic effects, Sergeant. You can feel it in your gut. And we can't do anything about those Casper-the-Friendly-Ghosts up above. I suspect they are only spotters, anyhow. The explosions follow where they have been hovering about.”
“Yeah. But how do you strike at something that comes at you out of the ground?”
“This is war, isn't it? Man against the Magmoids. Sounds like a bad B-Movie, doesn't it?”
“I wouldn't know, sir. I go for romantic comedies myself. Doris Day, Rock Hudson—”
“You have hidden depths, Sergeant.”
The Grendels screamed and swooped lower.
* * * *
Orderlies hurried into the tent with boxes of gear.
“Ah, the calculators!” Tremayne opened a box, selected a specimen, and began happily turning its handle. “Ever used one of these beauties, Winston? Here are the registers, the carry key, and to perform the computation you turn the handle. Now, what we're going to perform is a deconvolution integral.”
“Professor, I got kicked out of school long before O-level maths.”
“Well, that's of no consequence to me, your mind seems more than adequate.”
“It does?” Winston felt unreasonably pleased. “So what's a deconvolution integral?”
“The principle is simple. We're going to take all this data and try to separate out the signal from the background noise. All right?”
“What do I
do?”
“Just multiply this list of numbers by that list, and total up the products. All right?”
“I guess so.”
“The sooner our battery of clerks gets here the better, but we can make a start. Off you go!”
* * * *
The truck rushed down the A-road to the refugee camp. It was a fast trip as the road was now being kept clear by police and military, though the refugees still clustered to either side.
When she got to the camp Thelma had identified, Clare wasn't surprised to find Hope Stubbins, sitting on a canvas chair, at the centre of operations.
“Police Constable Baines. Fancy seeing you here.”
“Winston told me I'd find you.” Clare glanced around. This had evidently been an improvised soup kitchen, with big tureens, mobile gas stoves, and tin plates, but soldiers were now packing the stuff up. Outside, people milled around, picking up blankets from the ground and waking reluctant children. “They're moving you?”
“Ay, well, they say we're a bit too close to the fighting at Aldmoor. Clare—how's the lad?”
“Winston's fine.”
“He's back at that base, is he?”
“Yes. There is fighting, but he's well away from it. He's working with a professor.”
“Is he now? He always was a bright lad.”
“Listen, Mrs. Stubbins, I need your help. The army wants office clerks who can work a calculating machine. There must be a few in this crowd.”
“Office lasses, eh? Well, there's Mabel over there for a start. She works at the Baltic, don't you, dear? And little Annie there works the turnstiles at Saint James’ Park. How do you fancy cuddling up to a few soldier boys?”
The girls laughed.
“Thanks, Mrs. Stubbins. What about the rest of you—where will they take you?”
“Oh, they're not telling us that. Miserable business, like. To move once is all right, and you think you're through with it, and you get settled, you know? Then you've got to do it all again. Hard for the bairns.”
“Will you be all right?”
“Oh, don't worry about me. Listen. Just tell them buggers in the Army to get this lot put a stop to, all right?”
“I'll get the trucks ready.”
“Clare.”
“Yes?”
“You couldn't leave us a walkie-talkie? I'd like to know what's going on with Winston.”
“I'll see what I can do.”
* * * *
Another crash rattled the room.
“Do you know, I think I'll have another. You sure you won't join me? You look like a G&T man to me.” Godwin walked to a cabinet at the back of the room. “I always keep a decanter. Visiting officers, you know.”
“Umm—actually, on second thought—fine. Make it a large one, will you?”
“Certainly.”
“Got any ice?” And now, while Godwin's back was turned, Jones had a chance. He found a tannoy microphone and flicked a switch, and spoke urgently but quietly. “This is Doctor Chapman Jones. I'm speaking from the command centre. Godwin is planning a second strike against the Magmoids. Repeat, a second strike. The first strike will have provoked a limited Magmoid response against military facilities. The second response will be global. Repeat, global. The base must be breached. Godwin must be stopped. Repeat. This is Doctor Jones . . .”
* * * *
Jones's voice, relayed by a tannoy, floated out of the besieged base, above the crack of gunfire.
Phillips said, “Grady! Can you hear that?”
“Yeah. It's that little guy in the trenchcoat—Doctor Jones.”
“A second strike, eh?”
“If the Magmoids strike at other cities as they've already struck at Newcastle—”
“We really have got to put a stop to this.”
“You can say that again, sir. But how? We just don't have the manpower to storm the place building by building. And these damn Magmoid attacks are disrupting everything we try to do. . . .”
“There is one option.”
“Sir?”
“Air strike. Just bomb the place to smithereens. That would put a stop to all these shenanigans. Messy, of course. Best avoided if possible. But still . . . All right, let's fall back and regroup.”
Buck said, “Casper overhead!”
A Grendel wailed, and bullets tore through it.
* * * *
Jones kept repeating his message. “The first strike will have provoked a limited Magmoid response against military facilities. The second response will be global. Repeat, global. The base must be breached. Godwin must be stopped—” A heavy glass smashed down on his hand, and the shards cut into his flesh. He cried out.
Godwin said, “I rather suspected you'd try something like that. How predictable you are.”
Jones clutched his hand, shivering, breathing hard. “Calm, calm, bang, Godwin?”
“Here, have a cloth. And wipe up that gin when you're done, would you? What a waste.” He sipped his own drink. “Aah. That's better. Wish I had more ice.”
Jones said, “Still enjoying yourself, Godwin, are you? Still enjoying smashing everything up? Listen to what's going on out there! You're risking global destruction!”
“But this is the logic of total war, Jones. Such wars must be won, whatever the cost. And I am ready to command an empire of ruins, if that's what it takes to win.”
“You really are quite bananas, aren't you?”
* * * *
The tent was soon filled with the clatter and ringing of the calculating machines, operated by Winston and a team of drafted-in orderlies.
Thelma and Clare walked in. Thelma said, “Gentlemen. We've brought some help for you.” She beckoned and a dozen girls followed her. “Experienced machine operatives from the city. They're a bit grubby and tired, but they'll get the job done.”
Winston grinned. “Come on. I'll help you girls get set up.”
Clare said, “Yes, and just you keep your mind on the job, Winston Stubbins.”
Tremayne beamed. “Thank you, Miss Bennet. Do you know the first atomic weapon of all, the Manhattan Project, was designed largely using teams of manual computators? You can solve the most complex mathematical problem in such a way, as long as you break it down correctly. We'll soon have your Doctor Jones's data analysed.”
“That's wonderful. But none of it will be any use unless we can get to Jones himself. Keep working, Professor. I think I need a talk with the soldiers.”
* * * *
“How long left until your ‘second strike,’ Godwin?”
“Half an hour, or less. It's coincidental, but it's roughly timed for the next of your Magmoids’ ninety-minute cycles, at about six. Maybe that's for the best. Create the biggest bang we can—what?”
“Godwin, I implore you to reconsider what you're doing.”
“Reconsider? But if such power as this exists, how can a man resist using it? ‘Hast thou, spirit, performed to point the tempest that I bade thee?'”
"The Tempest. Prospero to Ariel.”
“My favourite play at school.”
“Oh, for pity's sake—”
“Our vigil will soon be over, Jones. ‘The hour's now come, the very minute bids thee open thine ear; obey, and be attentive.’ Can't you see the parallels, Jones? I am Prospero, exiled here in this island in the earth. Tremayne, of course, is my Ariel, my airy atomic spirit.”
Jones huddled over his wounded hand. “In that case, Godwin, I am your Caliban. I am your conscience.”
* * * *
Thelma stood with Phillips, surveying the war zone that was the base perimeter.
“We simply have to find a way into that base, Captain Phillips. If we can't get to Doctor Jones it may be the end of everything.”
Phillips said, “Look, Miss Bennet—I told you I might have some grave decisions to make tonight. As far as my commanders are concerned, my main priority is to stop any more nuclear weapons being used. I am authorised to call in an air strike.”
&
nbsp; “But Doctor Jones would be killed!”
“Then give me another option.”
Buck said, “Look out, bogies above!”
Again the Grendels ducked low and were greeted by gunfire.
Thelma cried, “Oh, Jones, if only you could hear me!”
Phillips said, “Time's up, I'm afraid. Give me that radio, Sergeant. This is Captain Phillips at Aldmoor calling RAF Boulmer. Code four eight fifteen. Send in the Vulcans. Repeat—send in the Vulcans!”
* * * *
6
0610.
The deep-buried control room began to shudder, as explosions erupted from the bowels of the Earth once more. Another ninety-minute cycle was up, Jones realised; once again the Magmoids had come to attack their pinprick assailants. He wondered how much longer this battered base could last—and himself, in this metal tomb.
Then he heard jets howl overhead. “Ah. Hear that, Godwin?”
Godwin was still drinking, though the alcohol seemed to have no effect on him. “Vulcan bombers, if I'm not mistaken.”
“That's the RAF. Your own colleagues, come to bomb you to bits. Give it up!”
“I am prepared to give my life. And if I die here, they will build a statue to me a thousand feet high.”
“I think they're coming back. Brace yourself, Ozymandias.”
* * * *
The transmissions from the Vulcans were relayed to Phillips, outside the base fence.
"V-1 to V-wing, V-1 to V-wing. Target in sight. Hard to miss with all those detonations going on down there. One recce pass then we'll go in. Follow my lead. Out . . . Ground, this is V-1. Preparing for final pass."
Phillips thumbed his radio. “Roger, Vulcan leader.” He glanced around. “I rather suggest we all take cover.”
Thelma felt anxiety twist her stomach. From within the fence, a series of deep throaty detonations could be heard—the Magmoids’ latest attack. And, somewhere in there, Chapman Jones was pinned between lethal peril from above and below. “Wave them off, Captain Phillips, I beg you.”
Buck said, “Listen, ma'am, they're my buddies in that base too. But the Captain just hasn't got the manpower to fight his way in—”
Hope Stubbins called, “He has now.”
Thelma turned, shocked to hear her voice. Hope was riding a wheelbarrow pushed by a sturdy-looking Geordie in a workman's overalls and flat cap. Clare Baines was at her side, grinning. And behind them followed a loose column of people, all adults, grim and silent, that stretched back along the track that led from the A-road.
Analog SFF, July-August 2010 Page 37