“Stuart, what’s the matter?” Seeing her brother put his hand to his mouth and sit quite still, Claire reached out and touched him anxiously on the arm.
Looking round at his family, Stuart spoke softly. “There’ve been references to this in some of the documents that Brendan translated for us. Not sure how, but the allies have been able to intercept some of the Germans’ communications regarding new categories of weapons that they’re developing.”
“What sort of weapons?”
“Well, we do know that the Germans are developing some sort of rocket with bombs loaded up front that can fly without a pilot. There have also been a couple of documents that indicated that they’re developing a new type of bomb based on those atomic energy discoveries some years ago by our Earnest Rutherford. The British and possibly the Americans are probably researching the same area. However we assumed that the Germans were concentrating on developing their armed rockets.”
The three of them sat silently for a long moment until his father asked quietly, “If the Germans have developed this atom-type bomb before we have, and it’s very very powerful, God help us, they could use it to win the war!” He paused and looked hard at his eldest son. “Is that what you think, Stuart?”
Stuart shook his head. “Let’s not panic just yet. I’ll see if I can phone the professor at home.”
Seating himself at the phone table in the hallway Stuart lifted the handset off its hook, placed it to his ear and dialled the number. The professor answered almost immediately and Stuart leaned forward towards the mouthpiece.
“Good evening, sir. It’s me, Stuart.”
“Ah yes,” came the reply. “I suppose you’ve heard the news.”
“About the bomb? Yes, sir. Is it as bad as it sounds?”
“I’m afraid it probably is, my boy. A large area has been completely devastated by this one bomb. The Germans decided to drop it on the Orkneys as a warning. Probably used an airfield in occupied Norway, courtesy of their puppet governor Vidkun Quisling. Clearly they didn’t want to destroy a large part of a British city as they probably hope to keep it intact for their future occupation. What I’ve just heard, however, is that they have issued an ultimatum to London demanding an immediate and unconditional surrender; otherwise a similar bomb will be dropped on a British city within forty eight hours.”
“Is it the sort of bomb we were discussing the other day, sir?”
“The atomic-based weapon? Yes, it very much looks that way. It has previously unheard of powers of destruction. Who would have thought those bastards would beat us to it?”
Stuart had never heard Professor Sterling swear before. In spite of the gravity of the situation he smiled wryly. Things must be bad for Sterling, however temporarily, to discard his academic objectivity.
There wasn’t much more that the professor could tell him. Both of them had seen the sketchy information on the Germans development of new weapons but had never imagined that the enemy was so far advanced with their atomic research. The conversation finished with an agreement to listen to the six o’clock BBC radio news that evening and to contact each other to share impressions.
Stuart slowly replaced the black handset to its cradle and walking back to the dining room sat down heavily. Resting his elbows on the table he clenched his fists together and pushing them hard against his mouth, stared straight ahead. His family sat silently watching him. Finally he sighed, shook his head and looked up.
“Professor Sterling says that the situation is very grave,” he said bleakly. He looked at his mother. “As your friend told you, the Germans dropped the bomb on the Orkneys to demonstrate its destructive powers. They’ve told the British they’ll do the same to a city in England unless they surrender within forty-eight hours. He told us to listen to the six o’clock news from London tonight because he’s pretty sure that Britain will have no alternative but to agree.”
They all sat silently and then his mother began to cry. “My aunt often talked about the Orkneys – the kind people, their pretty fishing villages and wonderful historical sites. How could they?”
“And so it is with a heavy heart that I announce the British Empire armed forces on land, sea and air will immediately cease all operations against the forces of Nazi Germany.”
The family sat in silence by the large polished radio cabinet as the sonorous voice of British Prime Minister Winston Churchill filled the lounge.
“The government of Nazi Germany has threatened to systematically devastate our historic cities and their civilian inhabitants with their new atomic weapon. Our surveillance aircraft have confirmed that the devastation on the Orkney Islands is on a scale previously unknown to mankind. I have no doubt that the Nazis will carry out further terrible action of this kind unless we immediately capitulate. More detailed information will be made available to you in the coming days. In the meantime I ask you not to lose faith but to show the spirit that has sustained our island nation and its Empire throughout its long and glorious history.”
The crackling of the short wave broadcast ceased and a New Zealand voice announced,
“That was British Prime Minister Mr. Winston Churchill. Here now is the New Zealand Prime Minister Mr. Peter Fraser.”
There was a short pause and then Fraser’s Scottish burr filled the room.
“People of New Zealand, at an emergency meeting of the coalition cabinet this morning we have agreed that New Zealand has no alternative but to also surrender particularly as this action is about to be taken by Australia, Canada, South Africa and other parts of the British Empire and Commonwealth.
“Thousands of our servicemen and women are overseas. The British surrender makes them particularly vulnerable to the German forces. Furthermore, as a small island nation that relies for its prosperity on sea trade, we have no chance of sustaining a campaign against a very powerful enemy.
“Be assured that your government will do everything in its power to obtain surrender terms that will enable us to maintain the way of life of which we are all so justly proud.”
Hearing her stifled sob Stuart leaned forward and put his arm across his mother’s shoulder. “Don’t cry, Mum,” he murmured. “It’ll be OK. You’ll see.”
Momentarily she stopped and looked up at him. The rivulets of tears ran down the lines in a face that had noticeably aged. A series of spasms shook her hunched shoulders.
“No, Stuart, that’s the trouble. It won’t be OK. Not any more.”
Chapter 12
“A letter from Carol, Fred.”
Her husband looked up from The Dominion. “You read it Ruth and then I’ll have a look through it.”
“I’ve already read it while you were listening to the midday news.”
“How’s she getting on? Seeing plenty of Hamish I hope.”
Ruth sat down in the opposite chair and leaned closer to the fire.
“She only mentioned him once – sort of in passing. Seems to be enjoying the position at the Northern Club. Also said she’d made some new friends at the local church.”
“Female, I hope.”
“I’m sure they are, Fred. We both know she went to Auckland to be with Hamish.”
“I should think so, too. We’re deeply indebted to David Beavis and his son for saving us from the poor house. Furthermore, when Hamish said he’d stand by Carol he was as good as his word. Saved my good name from being dragged through the mud. She ought to be damned grateful to him. He’s offered to marry her so why doesn’t she get on with it?”
He thrust his paper in front of his face to signal an end to the matter. Used to her husband taking extreme positions on issues great and small, Ruth maintained her position by his chair.
“I’m sure she’ll eventually accept Hamish’s offer of marriage.” She paused. “Doesn’t have any choice really.” There was no response from her husband so she pressed on. “Anyway when Ian comes home I’m sure he’ll be a great support for her and for us. A surrender to the Germans is not what we expected Fred,
but with Ian back in the family, I’m sure we’ll manage in the difficult times ahead. Once Carol has settled down we’ll be able to give Ian our full support in making something of himself.” She sighed. “I just wish we’d heard from him.”
Her husband looked over the top of his paper and his expression softened. “I know, Ruth. But there’s bound to be a foul up in the mail system with the surrender and all that. Don’t worry, the fighting’s only just stopped and I’m sure we’ll hear something soon.”
Soft words from her husband, even under difficult circumstances, were always welcome, and she smiled. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” She stood up. “I’ll go and make us both a nice cuppa.”
Walking into the kitchen she began to prepare the tea. Putting the teapot and cups on a tray, she carried them through the dining room towards the lounge. On hearing the familiar opening click of the front gate she looked out of the window and gasped. Mr. Roberts, the Postmaster was walking slowly down the winding front path. Everyone knew that the Postmaster only came to the front door for one reason – to hand over a telegram from the War Office.
With a splintering crash the teapot, cups, milk jug and sugar bowl cascaded onto the carpet as, trembling she hurried down the hallway. She managed to call, “Fred!” but she needn’t have bothered. Her husband was already reaching for the doorknob as Mr. Roberts walked up the front steps onto the veranda.
“Telegram. I am very sorry, Mr. Peterson.”
Ruth, who had instinctively stood behind her husband, reached out for him as he slowly crumpled.
Chapter 13
“Stuart. Hullo. It’s me.”
“Are you telephoning me from the Northern Club? You wicked girl! You’ll get into-----.”
“No, Stuart, I’m phoning from the railway station. Mum phoned. A toll call from Wellington. It’s Ian.”
“Ian? He can’t be home already. The fighting’s only just stopped.”
“No, he’s not home. He’ll never come home.” Her voice faltered. “He’s dead. Mum and Dad got a telegram.”
An involuntary shiver traversed his upper body.
“Dead? But, the war’s over, Carol!”
“I know. But it must have happened a few days before the end, before the, you know----.”
She began to cry.
“Before we surrendered. God, Carol, that’s appalling! Are you sure?”
“The telegram came today. It said he’d been killed in action in the desert somewhere in North Africa. I’m catching the train in a few minutes. Hamish is coming with me.”
“Hamish!”
“Sorry, Stuart, but Mum rang him and he caught a taxi and came straight over. I have to go home. Mum and Dad are traumatized. I don’t think they’ll ever get over this------.”
“But, Carol, you can’t just leave like this, with Hamish. I have to see you before------.”
“Stuart, don’t you understand?” He heard her voice catch. “My brother’s dead! I have to go home.”
There was the sound of a guard’s whistle and the muffled shout of a male voice.
“Sorry, Stuart, I have to go. I’ll let you know------.”
The line went dead.
Stuart hung up the phone and sat at his desk staring out the window. Her brother was dead and she was travelling to Wellington on the train - with Hamish. The sound of a small crack and a brief sharp pain made him realise that he’d snapped in half the pencil he’d been holding. Dropping the broken pieces on the floor he left his office and strode along the corridor to Professor Sterling’s. Without knocking he opened the door.
The professor looked up annoyed but when he saw the expression on Stuart’s face he asked, “Stuart is there anything wrong?”
Stuart immediately noticed the young woman seated in front of Sterling’s desk. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t know you had a visitor. Should have knocked.”
“It’s alright, my boy. Come in. Meet my niece Susan. I’ve probably mentioned her to you. She’s reading English. Is anything wrong?”
Stuart managed to smile briefly at the young woman. “It’s Carol’s brother Ian, sir. They’ve just heard that he’s been killed. It was only a few days before the bloody war ended.” Glancing at Susan he added, “Sorry, for swearing.”
“Good God. Are you sure?”
“A telegram came. Killed in action. There seems to be no doubt about it. She just phoned from the station. Was about to catch the train to Wellington.”
“Sit down, Stuart.”
Stuart sat down in the chair next to Susan.
“Carol? Your girlfriend?” she asked.
“Yes, sort of. Her brother was fighting with the Eighth Army in North Africa. They hadn’t heard from him for several weeks but as soon as the surrender was signed they assumed he’d be OK.” He sighed heavily. “Bloody war. Bloody Germans.” He glanced awkwardly at Susan. “Sorry.”
She smiled reassuringly. “That’s alright.”
“You say she caught the Wellington train a few minutes ago?” asked Sterling.
“Yes, sir.”
“Understandable of course. Her parents must be devastated.”
“Yes, sir, of course. Unfortunately he went with her.”
“‘He’?” asked Susan.
“Hamish Beavis. Her, er, other boyfriend. His parents also live in Wellington. They’re family friends.”
“Hmm,” growled the professor. “No wonder you’re angry as well as upset. Nothing much I can suggest except to say that these are difficult times and that for the foreseeable future at least I doubt if it’s going to get much better. But, I am sorry, Stuart. This really is dreadful news.”
“I know, sir. And I feel so helpless.” He clenched his fists in frustration. “There’s nothing I can do.”
There was an awkward pause and then Susan reached out and briefly touched him on the arm.
“Are you helping Uncle David on the research project?”
Stuart looked up and stared at her for a moment. “What? Oh, yes, I am.”
“I’m sorry if this sounds silly, but I’m off to the 2 o’clock pictures at the Civic to give myself a break. Maybe you’d like to be alone, but maybe, if it’s OK with Uncle David, you could have the afternoon off and come to the pictures. There’s nothing you can do about the bad news. So?”
A little embarrassed at her forwardness and the probable inappropriateness of the invitation, she shrugged and looked at her uncle. He smiled encouragingly.
“It’s a little unusual but maybe Susan’s right,” smiled her uncle. “Always been an impulsive young woman. Of course you can have the afternoon off, Stuart. If you want to go to the pictures, well, that’s up to you.”
Stuart looked at the girl for the first time. Her brown hair was pulled back off a round but pleasant face and her eyes, behind rimmed glasses, looked sympathetic. He sighed.
“What’s on?”
“A musical, ‘The Wizard of Oz’. Do you like musicals?”
“Dunno.” He shrugged. “They’re OK I suppose.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” she replied with a touch of irritation. “If you’d rather not, I quite understand.” She began to stand, smoothing down her dark skirt over her knees.
“Apologies,” he replied hastily. “I’ve had a shock, but I do appreciate the thought. I’d like to come. The Civic, you said?”
“Yes,” interrupted Sterling, taking his watch from his waistcoat pocket. “You’ve got 20 minutes. Off you go the pair of you. In any case, I don’t quite approve of young ladies going to the pictures unaccompanied.”
“Oh, Uncle David, don’t be so old fashioned.”
“Can’t be too careful nowadays, my dear. Now, off you go.”
As they crossed Princes Street and cut towards downtown through Albert Park, Stuart felt a jolt as he caught a glimpse of the statues of the Boer War soldier and Sir George Grey.
“You all right?” asked Susan, seeing him check his stride. He shook his head like a boxer after a heavy blow. “Yes, I’m OK. Just
a twitch of memory.”
“Oh.”
Deciding that silence was the best alternative, Susan continued walking beside him. As they approached the Art Gallery he turned to her.
“You’re taking English?”
“Yes, second year. I’m loving it. Dad didn’t want me to go to university and mum, of course, wanted me to get a job, save some money and fill up------.”
“Your hope chest.”
She chuckled. “Have you got a sister?”
“Yes, but she’s too young for hope chests.” With an effort he asked, “Why did your parents finally let you go to university?”
“Uncle David. Told them I’d love it. And he said that even if I did get married, I could pass my education on to my children.”
“Is that your intention?”
She laughed. “Not straight away, of course not. I love the subject and I would like to pass it on as a teacher, not as a mother.”
“Hmm.”
“Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“No. It’s a splendid idea. Sorry, I’m not really myself.”
“Quite understandable. Never mind, we’re here. Have you got enough money for the tickets?” she asked as they joined the queue of patrons seeking escape in the ornate picture palace from the realities of rationing. “I’ll buy the ice creams.”
“No, it’s OK. I’ll buy them. Just wait while I get the tickets.”
“My idea. My treat. Now, you stay in the queue and buy the tickets.” She held up her hand as he began to protest. “I’m buying the ice creams.”
He held up both palms in a surrender gesture.
“Is vanilla OK?”
“Vanilla. Yes. My favourite.”
“Mine too. Anyway, it’s the only one they’ve got.”
She smiled warmly and, after a moment’s hesitation he smiled back.
Chapter 14
“Stuart, is Brendan with you?” asked the professor.
Uncommon Enemy Page 7
