by David Evans
“No. No, we did not.”
“That’s a lie! You picked that car, lined up, and told your copilot when to release. And ... you destroyed ... the most ... beautiful girl in the world.”
Sudden horror grabbed Werner Ruperle. There had to have been something between this enraged man and the girl he mentioned. “No, I could not have done any sort of a thing,” he protested fervently, fighting for the proper English words.
“Yes, you did, you murdering Nazi son of a bitch. They could not find enough of her left to bury.”
Still shocked, Werner pushed on with his explanation. “I was not over any road. There were fields, trees; my bombardier had his brains sprayed all around the cupola. No matter that, my bombs would not have gone off. Didn’t you see for yourself? Or did they not tell you? The arming wires for my bomb load were not on the toggle boards. They fell without being able to detonate. They were still—how do you say—safetied.”
Brian’s jaw sagged. Stunned to the core by this revelation, he lost his voice. The words that came from the German colonel salved his burning heart. “Young man, Brian? I have no idea who might be responsible, but I would not have harmed your friend. I know what it is to have a loved one taken from you. My wife is sick, dying of yellow jaundice, and my son was recently forced to join the Hitler Youth. I am sorry that this happened to you. Sorry and ashamed that a countryman of mine could have done such a thing.”
The next moment Werner Ruperle came to his feet. He crossed the short distance and found himself embracing the MI-5 agent named Brian. Overpowered by their emotion, they both wept.
Time: 1707, GMT, November 3, 1940
Place: Time Station London,
Thameside, London, England
Brian Moore joined Dianna Basehart at the London Time Station shortly after five the next afternoon. They went to the small holding cell beside the Beamer room. With one on each side, they escorted Clive Beattie out and along to his final destination. His hands secured behind him, ankles joined by leg irons, he made no effort to resist until Brian eased him into a sitting position in the middle of the Beamer.
Brian read the intention in Clive’s eyes. “I wouldn’t try jumping out, Gunther. Only half of you might be left here with us.”
“I can still make you very rich.”
Brian nodded to Vito, who flipped the master switch. A hum filled the cellar. Brian and Dianna stepped back as the containment field shimmered into existence. Another second and Clive Beattie left the world of 1940. He did so with a curse and a scream.
“Now that’s done,” Brian said, with forced lightness.
“Steve, I waited to say this. It may be out of place, but I wanted to offer my sincere condolences over the death of Samantha Trillby. I only recently learned how close you two had become. I’m sorry she had to die so horribly.”
“Thank you, Di. Right now it hurts too much to talk about it. Truth to tell, I seriously considered marriage. And a life in the here and now. With her it would have been worth it.”
“I’m not going to comment on that right now. All hell is going to break loose four days from now when Sandra Hammond disappears. How are you going to handle it?”
“I’ll work out something. Probably conduct the investigation myself. There’ll be a massive man—er—woman hunt. She can’t get off the island, they’ll reason. I’ll do what I can to push the idea of an escape by U-boat. That’s not the most important thing.”
Brian suddenly awakened to the everyday world of a Temporal Warden. A beaming smile blossomed on his relieved face. Why had he not thought of that before? If it worked going one way, it could work in the reverse. He would have to clear it with Arkady, but that should be easy. Dianna read his expression with puzzlement.
“What is it, Brian?”
“I’ve been a fool. There is a way to save Samantha. And it does not involve a Paradox. Not if she is recruited as a Temporal Warden.”
Dianna saw it at once. “You just remembered it, didn’t you? You pulled Sandra Hammond out of the grasp of the Royal Army Corps, and you can pull Samantha out of her car. Tricky timing, but you can carry it off if anyone can.”
“Yeah,” Brian agreed. “Though it leaves me to recruit her. Warden Central will come as a shock to her.”
Dryly, Dianna answered him. “No doubt. What’s next, Brian?”
“After clearing up this little matter, a new assignment. This just came in from Arkady.” He opened the folded sheet and read off it to Dianna. “A new ripple has occurred in the fabric of Time. It threatens the stability of all the future. Dianna is to remain in London to assist you. The historical log indicates that a conspiracy exists between half a dozen rogue travelers to provide refined plutonium to the Germans, along with the schematic diagrams of how to build a nuclear bomb. If the Nazis get the atomic bomb, it will so seriously destabilize the time track that, Paradox factor or not, all of the future could permanently change.”
Brian read on, then added, “If that’s not enough, there are some other rogues who are believed to be involved in a white slave ring that kidnaps children who, according to history, died in the Blitz, and are being taken forward in time to provide for the hunger of pedophiles in other eras.”
That caught Dianna off balance. It also greatly angered her. “We should get on this right away. The bomb thing doesn’t bother me as much as what is happening to those poor children.”
“I agree. Something just occurred to me. Perhaps this time, MI-5 will assist the Warden Corps instead of the other way around. There were some files I saw the other day, while I was worrying about Coventry, that need a better going-over. I’m off to my office. Watch the store, love.” So saying, Brian stepped close and gave Dianna a brief, platonic kiss.
After his departure, Dianna stood, wondering to herself if for all time Brian’s kiss would lack its usual fire.
Time: 0950 GMT, November 1, 1940
Place: M-43 Highway, Coventry to London, England
Samantha Trillby started out for London at ten minutes to ten that morning. She was well into the country when the air raid sirens went off in Coventry. She puckered her mouth in a grim moue a bit later when she saw the black blossoms of antiaircraft fire through the rearview mirror.
They were coming a lot closer to Coventry this time, she thought. A squadron of Spitfires snarled by low overhead, followed by two of Hurricanes. Abruptly they climbed steeply to engage the advance columns of the enemy. Samantha drove a little faster. With the window down, she could hear the machine-gun fire. A chill clutched her spine. They were going to Coventry this time.
What for? There was nothing there worth bombing. Another question burned through her. Had there been enough warning? Who would survive? Nervously she began to chew her lower lip. Far above her and some distance behind, another flight of bombers, this time Ju 88-A’s, ran into the furious resistance that had plagued Col. Ruperle’s squadron.
Unseen by Samantha, one of the Junkers, shot to hell, struggled furiously to escape the deadly circus that spun around them. One engine was afire, thick smoke trailed behind. Following regulations, in the same manner as Col. Ruperle, the pilot gave the order to lighten his craft by dumping his bombs.
During the time it took him to reach this decision, he had turned completely to the south and flew over the road to London. This time, when the bombardier salvoed the stick, the safety wires had been attached to their tethers. As the bombs fell free they armed themselves.
Wobbling through the air, the 4,960 pounds of explosives dropped in irregular lines down toward the highway.
Before the first bombs detonated, a shimmering formed beside the car. Samantha looked over to see Brian Moore in a Morris Minor, racing alongside.
“Pull over,” he shouted. “Pull to the side.”
She did and Brian braked furiously. He ran to the driver’s side and yanked open the door of Samantha’
s car. Dragging her by the arm he hauled her from the seat and hurtled toward the Morris. They tumbled inside, and the shimmering happened again. Before the first two erupted, the Morris Minor disappeared. Then the proximity fuses fired and the bombs erupted in a blinding, searing flash, totally disintegrating Samantha Trillby’s empty car.
Time: 1350 Warden Central Time
Place: Temporal Warden Central
“Welcome to the future, darling,” Brian Moore murmured in the ear of Samantha Trillby. “This is the secret behind two of me rescuing you from those Nazi agents.”
Samantha looked around her to see a fantastic world far removed in style and time from London in 1940. She gasped and recoiled from the strangeness.
“Easy, easy, Sam. You’ll learn to love it. I did.”
Grinning in relief and elation, Brian Moore/Steven Whitefeather lifted Samantha Trillby to her feet and kissed her soundly. In the background, Arkady Gallubin applauded softly.
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