by Alex Scarrow
Bob calmly twisted his arm and pushed him aside without any apparent effort. They steppedthrough the doors and into the White House.
The carpeted entrance hall was thick with the stretched-out bodies of wounded soldiers, onetrembling, harried army medic moving among them and tending them with little more thanmercifully lethal shots of morphine. Ahead was a double doorway leading further into thebuilding and the west wing. Holding position behind a hastily assembled blockade of furniturewere a dozen more soldiers, grim faced and clearly ready to go downdefending their president to the last.
‘My God, Bob,’ uttered Liam, ‘this is the president’s laststand!’
Bob scanned the hall, the blockade, the marines ready to die.
‘Correct. The president called Eisenhower must be in this building.’
‘What do we do? Save him?’
Bob turned to Liam. ‘You are the mission operative.Tactical decisions can only be made by the operative, not the support unit.’
‘What?’
‘You are in charge, Liam O’Connor.’
‘I… I… I don’t know what we should do.’
He looked out through the glass doors. Through the mist he could see little, but he couldimagine hundreds more faceless soldiers hidden behind gas masks forming up on the lawn infront of the grand steps and the portico and readying themselves for a final devastatingassault on the building.
We’re here to observe, that’s all. Here to learn whathappened. Nothing more.
Well, he’d already guessed that the American people hadn’t politely invited theseNazis to come on over and run their affairs. But they needed more details, details that wouldhelp them pinpoint the moment further back in the past where history had taken a turn in thisdirection.
‘We need to find out how things got like this.’ He turned to Bob.‘Right?’
‘Correct. Mission priority one: obtain information.’
‘OK,’ he replied, looking around the hall. ‘So we need to grab someone andask questions?’
‘Correct.’
Liam stepped forward through the dead and the dying. To their left was adoorway that led to a communications room. He could see soldiers on field radios, civilians ontelephones, typists and telephonists all making hurried calls, situation reports or, more thanlikely, final messages to loved ones.
To the right was a room full of desks and filing cabinets. It looked less busy. Liam steppedacross the carpet of bodies into the room. Some of the smoke from outside had leaked inthrough several shattered windows and the air was tinged with a fine yellow mist.
He spotted a man in a smart blue suit sitting on the floor between two filing cabinets, hisface covered in dust and dry-caked blood from a head wound.
The man stared into space in front of him. ‘This is it,’ he muttered, his voicecracked and tired. ‘It’s all over. They’re coming for us… coming toget us… to get us…’
Liam squatted down in front of him. ‘The Germans? Nazis?’
The man didn’t seem to hear the question, his eyes unfocused. ‘We should’veknown… should’ve prepared… should’ve realized this was going to happeneventually.’
Bob mimicked Liam’s posture and stooped down in front of the man. ‘Informationrequest: please tell us everything about your divergent history timeline.’
‘Bob?’
‘Yes, Liam?’
‘Let me try first, eh?’
He nodded. ‘You are the mission operative.’
Liam reached a hand out to the man and rested it on his shoulder.
‘Hello? Mister?’
The man’s eyes focused on him.
‘There isn’t much time,’ said Liam. ‘Listen to me, things canbe changed. This isn’t how it was meant to be. We’re here to putthis — ’
‘No…’ replied the man, shaking his head. ‘No, you’re goddamn right this isn’t how it should be! They surprised us,just like them Japs did back in ’41.’
Liam looked at Bob questioningly.
‘Information: in the twentieth century, the Japanese launched a surprise attack on theUS naval base at Pearl Harbor. This act effectively brought America into the Second World-’
Liam held a hand up to hush him. ‘Tell me what’s been happening.’
‘What? Where on earth have you been?’ the man asked.
He shrugged. ‘At sea… for a long time.’
‘The Nazis launched an assault on the beaches of New England a couple of months ago.Overwhelmed our Atlantic defences like they were nothing, took New York inside of a week. Wemustered everything we had to hold ’em outside Washington. But… but they crushedour boys, swiped ’em aside. Their Fuhrer offeredterms,’ he snorted. ‘Our president and his cabinet and chiefs of staff to behanded over as prisoners — or they’d come in and get ’em.’
The man suddenly looked up at Bob then back at Liam. ‘Wait! You said this isn’thow it should be. What’s going on? Who are you guys? SOE? Secret Serviceguys?’
‘This may sound incredibly strange,’ said Liam, ‘but you need to believewhat I’m about to say.’
‘What?’ The man shook his head. ‘What is it?’
‘We’re from the future. From the year 2001. And right now is a bit of historythat shouldn’t be happening.’
The man’s face hardened. ‘This ain’t a time to play the fool, son. I-’
‘He is correct,’ said Bob.
‘We’re sort of agents sent from thefuture to gather information on what’s going on here,’ said Liam. ‘We needto find out what’s been happening.’
The man stared at them both in silence. ‘You’re crazy.’
Liam shrugged. ‘I wish I could show you something to prove what I’m saying. But Ican’t.’
‘Mission parameter: we have nothing on us from the future. This is an observation-onlymission.’
Through the shattered windows they heard movement going on outside above the drone comingfrom the sky: men barking orders, the jangle of equipment belts, the cocking of weapons.
‘Oh Jesus, we’re dead men,’ cried the man. ‘There are rumours theirFuhrer wants to completely wipe clean America’s government: the president,Congress, the Senate, all the top-level civil servants. They’ll kill every last personthey find in the White House.’
‘Listen,’ said Liam, ‘we’re going to change this. We’re goingto stop this Hiffler from doing what — ’
The man looked up at him. ‘Hiffler? What the heck you talking about, son? You talking’bout Adolf Hitler?’
‘Yes, that’s it, Hitler. That’s the correctname, right?’ He looked at Bob for confirmation. ‘Did I say it right?’
‘Correct. Adolf Hitler, the Fuhrer, leader of the Nazi Party and the ThirdReich.’
‘But that guy, Hitler, died about ten years ago. You guysgonna try telling me you don’t know that?’
Liam and Bob stared at each other. ‘Assessment: history diverged at least ten yearsearlier than this time.’
‘1946 instead of ’56?’ Liam spoke under his breath. ‘We have to goback another ten years?’
‘That is correct.’
The man studied them both suspiciously. ‘Dammit, who are you guys,really? You Secret Service guys? Some kind of special forces or something? Tell me you gotsome secret plan… some kinda super weapon we can use back on ’em Nazis.Right?’
The sound of gunfire around the front entrance suddenly intensified.
‘They are coming now,’ said Bob. ‘We must leave. The portal is due to openin exactly one hour and thirty-three minutes.’
‘Right… but we know now that we’ve got to go back again… but further back next time?’
‘Correct.’
The man in the suit reached out and grasped Liam. ‘Have we got something secret hiddenaway? Some weapon we gonna fight back with?’
Bob answered. ‘There is nothing. In this timeline you and all the people in thisbuilding have a high probability of dying in less than five minutes.’ Bob mimickedLiam’s attempt to calm the
man and rested a large palm on his trembling shoulder.‘But be reassured, citizen, this timeline will be completely eradicated once we havecorrected the time contamination.’
Liam shook his head as the hapless man stared at him in bewildered silence.
Yes, very reassuring, Bob.
The support unit turned to Liam. ‘We must leave now.’
CHAPTER 37
2001, New York
‘There must be some way to hack past their security and access the rest ofthe online history database,’ said Maddy.
‘Maybe there isn’t any more?’ asked Foster. ‘Maybe the rulers of thistime consider history before this date, before the conquering of America, as irrelevant. Oneway they could have chosen to keep control of the American people is to delete records oftheir national history, maybe even world history.’
Maddy shrugged. ‘But these are the Nazis, right? Surely they’d want to keeprecords of Hitler’s rise to power, the Second World War and how in this screwed-uphistory they actually won it? I’m sure Adolf Hitler wouldwant all his subjects to know how brilliant he was and how hard a struggle he had as a youngerman… and all that rags-to-riches rubbish.’
Foster sighed. ‘It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know why all that’snot there, Madelaine. I really don’t. Perhaps, for these Nazis, the day they tookcontrol of America is all that counts. Everything before that was of no importance?’
Sal coughed politely and the other two turned to face her.
‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘maybe the Hitler guy died and the one who took overfrom him, you know, didn’t like him or something? Decided to remove Hitler from therecords?’
Foster nodded. ‘Sal might be right. We’ve been assuming DerFuhrer is Hitler.’
Maddy’s eyes widened. She looked for a search function on the mainpage and after a minute of trying various buttons labelled in German gave up.
‘God, these Nazis really suck at laying out a web page.’
‘Perhaps in this version of the year 2001 the Internet is a brand-new thing.’
She gave up on the idea of doing a search on the name ‘Hitler’. Instead sheclicked through the various article tabs along the timeline chart — scanning eacharticle for the name.
Five minutes later she shook her head.
‘No mention at all of Adolf. It’s like he never existed.’
‘But plenty of mentions of Der Fuhrer… theleader,’ added Foster.
Maddy ground her teeth with frustration. ‘So who exactly isDer Fuhrer?’ She accessed the computer’son-site database, a vast encyclopedia of correct history, andpulled up files on Hitler’s high command, his inner cabinet… the men most likelyto succeed him. ‘Heinrich Himmler? Hermann Goring? Martin Bormann? JosephGoebbels?’ She turned to Foster and Sal. ‘One of them maybe?’
Foster splayed his hands. ‘It could be any ofthem.’
Sal spoke quietly. ‘Or perhaps none of them?’
1956, Washington DC
Splinters of plaster erupted around Liam’s head.
‘Oh God help us!’ he yelped, ducking down behind a desk. ‘They’re inthe entrance hall!’
The air was thick with the percussive rattle of machine-gun fire, and the throaty burr of theinvaders’ pulse rifles.
Bob pointed down to the far end of the room. ‘Recommendation: go to the end and takecover.’
‘What about you?’
‘I shall secure tactical advantage.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Bob shoved him. ‘Please go now,’ he said calmly as bullets from the entrance hallsprayed in through the open door and noisily shredded the typewriter and telephone on the deskthey were crouching behind.
‘What about me?’ asked the man in the suit.
Liam half smiled. ‘Come with us for now, but we can’t take you back withus.’
‘Jeez… I’ll be happy staying alive just a little while longer.’
‘You must go now,’ insisted Bob.
Liam pulled himself to his feet, poked his head round the desk and stole a glance through theopen door into the entrance hall. He could see a couple of dozen black-suited men firing onthe marines’ blockaded position. The staccato chatter of the marines’ guns waslessening against the incessant snatched purr of the pulse rifles.
Liam realized the Germans had whittled down the defenders to one or two marines. The fightwas all but over.
We have to move now.
He pulled himself out and sprinted down an aisle between two rows of desks, away from theopen door and the one-sided battle. He came up against a wooden-panelled door at the farend.
The man in the suit was right behind him.
‘Where does this door lead?’
‘A hallway. If we turn right there’s an exterior door that leads us out to therose gardens.’
Liam looked back the way they’d come. At the far end where they’d been hiding wasthe mustard-coloured mist. He could only just make out a dark blob that might have beenBob.
‘Your friend coming?’ asked the man.
‘I hope so.’
The dark shape moved suddenly, lunging out from behind the desk, and then it was gone throughthe doorway and into the main hall. A moment later Liam heard a renewed and intense burst ofgunfire: pulse rifles. He heard cries of alarm and panic, muffled voices barking hastycommands in German. He heard several loud screams that ended abruptly, the sound of aferocious struggle, something toppling over and shattering.
‘What in the heck is happening back there?’
It’s Bob happening.
For the briefest moment, as he imagined what those powerful arms could do to mere flesh andbone, he almost felt sorry for them.
A moment later, emerging through the mist, he saw something lunging like a charging bull downthe aisle towards them. Bob emerged from the smoke, his face and chest spattered with blood,none of which appeared to be his own.
‘I have acquired a tactical advantage.’
Hands slick with fresh blood, he held out a gas mask and a black rubber hood.‘Suggestion: Liam O’Connor, you wear the mask and hood. You will appear to be oneof them from distances greater than ten feet.’
‘What about me?’ asked the man.
Bob regarded him dispassionately. ‘You are not a mission priority.’
Liam took the hood, wet with blood. ‘You killed one of them?’
‘Incorrect. Seven enemy units were killed.’
‘With just your hands?’
Bob looked sternly at both of them. ‘There is insufficient time for thisconversation.’
Liam noticed several ragged fleshy wounds across Bob’s hip and waist.‘Jay-zus! Bob, you’ve been shot! More than once it looks like.’
‘The wounds will heal in no more than three days. The blood is already coagulating.This is not a priority.’
The support unit then turned swiftly to the man.
‘Question: do you have detailed information on the floor plans of thisstructure?’
The man looked at Liam. ‘Uh?’
‘I think he’s asking if you know of another way out.’
‘Oh… yeah, it’s just up ahead.’
Bob nodded. ‘This is good.’
‘Hey,’ said Liam. ‘I think I’ve got a better idea how we might getback across the gardens to those trees.’
‘Please explain now,’ said Bob.
CHAPTER 38
1956, Washington DC
Liam and the man in the suit stepped out through the door into the rose garden,their hands raised. The smokescreen was still relatively thick out here and through thewafting mist he could see squads of soldiers fanning out across the lawn, rounding upable-bodied prisoners and shooting those marines too wounded to get to their feet.
Inside the building, sporadic gunfire could still be heard as the men in dark rubber hoodsand suits moved from one room to another, finishing off the last few pockets ofresistance.
As they stepped through the decorative maze of bushes towards the main lawn,
Liam looked upat the sky and saw that the giant saucer had moved along, slowly drifting across towardsdowntown Washington DC, spraying out occasional jets of black dots from the dark trapdoors inits underbelly; squads of men dropped swiftly down to the ground, no doubt with key objectivesin mind, to hastily secure administrative buildings, critical utilities and intersections.
Behind them Bob marched stiffly, a pulse rifle levelled at their backs, the bloodied hood andmask stretched over his thick skull.
A soldier nearby, unhooded and unmasked, called out to them across the waist-high rosebushes.
Bob replied in German.
‘What did he say?’ hissed Liam out of the side of his mouth.
‘I told the man you were being taken for questioning.’
‘That’s very good, Bob,’ whispered Liam almost proudly. ‘Very goodthinking.’
‘I am programmed to mimic human traits such as lying and also duplicate-’
‘Shhh, save it for later, Bob,’ muttered Liam.
They walked through the garden and diagonally across the White House’s north lawntowards the copse of trees they’d first arrived in. Liam stared wide-eyed at the corpseslittering the ground. He had seen only a couple of German bodies, but was now staring at noless than a hundred dead marines. Clearly, while they’d been inside, many more Americansoldiers had bravely converged on the White House in a vain attempt to defend theirpresident.
The smokescreen had hidden a massacre out here before the building, those pulse rifles mowingthem down as they charged pointlessly into the mist to save their commander-in-chief.
He looked for the copse of cedar trees amid the clearing smoke and finally found it. Hisheart sank as he spotted a platoon of German soldiers resting in and around the small stand ofcedars. They had removed their hoods and masks and chatted animatedly, many lighting upcigarettes.
‘Dammit! They’re covering our way home!’
‘Way home?’ The man looked askance at him. ‘It’s just a bunch oftrees!’
‘Our exit window will appear there,’ said Bob beneath his hood. He accessed hisinternal mission clock. ‘The window will open in precisely one hour and seventeenminutes and thirty-four seconds.’