'They only used the one. They used it early in the raid, really early, about seven. It flew in through Greenwich, swept across Bermondsey, the City and Regent's Park, arced back and took out Paddington, Soho and Southwark.'

'Without anyone spotting it, not even radar?'

'What's one plane in a raid that size? I imagine that the Germans used this raid as cover. They sent in the superbomber early, then obliterated the evidence in the later stages of the raid. Look, it could be twice the size of a Heinkel before any of our radar operators got suspicious. It might have flown in at an odd angle, and that would have reduced its RCS.'

'Gosh.' Reed was still working his way through her report. 'I suppose you found out what Hoogin and Mooning are too.'

'No.' The words hadn't been in either the TARDIS memory store or the data store. This worried her.

'We need to get this back to Kendrick.'

'Yes. I thought I might need someone else on side before I did. Thank you for trusting me, George. Now, let's eat, I'm starving.'

Niclauss saw the young woman standing at the side of the road. As he got closer and closer, she turned his way. She must have heard the sound of his engine.

He broke hard, skidding to a halt just in front of her.

She was grinning broadly, impressed. She was young and very pretty, with long black hair.

'Can I help you, mademoiselle?' he said. She giggled and held out her hand.

'I can help you, brave soldier.' There was no doubt what sort of help she had in mind.

'I really have to get back to the... my job.' She looked so disappointed. He dismounted, and stepped towards her. She pouted, clearly realizing how arousing she looked with this expression.

Crack 'He looks so young,' Monique said.

Chris bent down, unb.u.t.toning the n.a.z.i's uniform. He hesitated. The soldier looked even younger than Monique, although Cwej knew that this couldn't be true. The age of conscription in the Reich wouldn't be lowered until the last few months of the war, when ten-year-old boys would be called on to defend Berlin.

'He wouldn't have felt anything. It's a standard move that snaps the spinal cord. My tutor claimed it was the quickest way to kill someone without making a noise. It certainly seems pretty efficient.'

Chris had undressed the corpse; now he began to strip.

Monique seemed more interested in watching him than looking out for Germans until he reminded her. Chris pulled himself into the uniform, and rolled the body into the ditch at the roadside.

'It's a bit tight.'

'It is those muscles of yours, Christophe.' Despite himself, Chris blushed. She was examining the contents of the dead man's doc.u.ment case.

'He was taking a message to the base,' she exclaimed.

'Excellent! That's my pa.s.sport in there. You had better go now, Monique. I'm going to rescue the Doctor,' he said, mounting the motorbike. He looked around to see how to start it. Monique leant forward, showing him the ignition. He gunned the engine.

'Good luck, Christophe. I have never kissed a man.' Cwej looked at her blankly. Monique hesitated, then launched herself forward, kissing him full on the lips. Chris didn't even try to resist until he ran out of breath, when he pulled back.

He couldn't think of anything to say. Monique blew him a second kiss. He gunned the engine, and the motorbike pulled unsteadily away from her. Gaining confidence, he pulled down on the accelerator.

'There is no permanent damage, sir.'

'You hear that, prisoner? Nurse Kitzel says you are all right.'

A weak moan.

'Sir, may I ask why you are continuing this process?'

'Standard interrogation procedure.'

'But, sir, you aren't asking questions any longer. She has said who she is, admitted spying at the airstrip, she's explained how she managed to sneak past the coastal defences in a rowing boat. She's reeled off statistics about how many planes took off each night and you haven't even cross-checked them. Whenever you demand that she tells you who sent her, she just asks for a doctor.'

Mumble.

'She might have more information.'

'But, sir, you aren't asking her for it, just hurting her. She has a broken hand, a ma.s.sive amount of bruising, she's lost blood, she's not eaten or slept for days, she's delirious now, or do you really think that she is an archaeologist from the future who has spent the last few years flying around all the planets in the heavens?'

'Thank you, Nurse Kitzel. Don't worry yourself, I think I have just about finished with her.'

The Doctor had been given a guided tour of the facilities, and now Keller had left him alone for a moment. As he suspected, the barracks were underground. It was relatively luxurious for an army base, s.p.a.cious lounges, even a small gymnasium and a library. There were a number of offices. It was difficult to judge, but he doubted that there were more than about one hundred and fifty people here. Leutnant Keller had been happy to show him the living quarters, but seemed reluctant to show him the laboratories, the test rigs or the hangars.

Steinmann wasn't here, and he hadn't been allowed anywhere near Hartung himself. Keller clearly had a scientific background, and the Doctor had been asking him leading questions, but hadn't gained much from the answers. Keller entered, carrying a sheaf of doc.u.ments under one arm, a briefcase in the other.

'Here you are, Herr Doktor, something to keep you occupied.'

The Doctor flicked through the papers. 'The plans for the jet engine?'

'Correct, Doktor. So, what do you think?'

The Doctor put the blueprints down, and looked Keller in the eye. 'Well, I've only had a second or so to look through them, but I think that it's clear that you've not quite mastered the liquid oxygen and alcohol mix, which is understandable because you are used to working with diesel. I like the large axial-flow gas turbine, that should really give it some oomph.

Fourteen thousand pounds of dry thrust, at least, that's ten times anything the British have managed. There must be a vast amount of vibration, I'd have thought. You've completely abandoned the cen trifugal compressor, I see.'

Keller was almost speechless. 'Doktor, that is remarkable. You are a match for Hartung himself. I can see why Steinmann sent you here.'

'Talking of Hartung, when do I get to meet him?'

'In good time.' The young officer placed the briefcase on the table, and opened it up. Inside was a very large number of bank notes. 'Herr Doktor, here are one million Reichsmarks which I have been authorized to give you. A man of your talents is wasted in Britain. Here you will have a chance to work alongside the greatest scientific minds in the world. You will have unlimited resources, both personal and professional. All you have to do is sign this contract, then you will be rich, famous and part of the victory of the German Reich.' He held out a piece of neatly typed paper.

The Doctor read it aloud. 'I, Doctor dot dot dot, agree that . . (If you could just fill your name in, and date it,' Keller suggested, handing the Doctor a fountain pen. The Doctor did so, pocketing the pen afterwards.) '...from today, er, March the fifth 1941, I shall become a loyal citizen of the German nation. I swear total allegiance to the authority of the Fuhrer and the rule of German law. From today, I shall work exclusively for the Luftwaffe zbV. I shall from today follow unquestioningly the orders of the director of this group, at this time Oberst Oskar Steinmann. For the duration of the war, I shall work untiringly for the final victory of the Reich, and the total,' the Doctor hesitated over the next word, 'extermination of its enemies. I shall today become a full and paid-up member of the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei, and I shall never deviate from its teaching. I renounce all previous a.s.sociations with foreign powers, organizations and individuals.

I am in full possession of my faculties and I am not signing this statement under duress.'

The Doctor read it back to himself, silently.

'I like this. No small print. No room for ambiguity. It all seems reasonable enough.' He took the pen and signed the contract at the bottom.

Interlude

The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS. Now in his seventh incarnation - or so he claimed - he was a smallish, dark-haired man. He wore shabby brown check trousers, a brown sports jacket with a garish Fair Isle tanktop beneath, and a jaunty straw hat. He carried a long black umbrella with a plain cane handle.

'...eyepatches!' he finished.

A young woman followed him out. She was even shorter than the Doctor, with the skinny figure that could only have been achieved through regular exercise. Her hair was a cascading mop of red curls. She was Melanie Bush - Mel for short - and she had been travelling with the Doctor for a number of years now. She wore a cream trouser-suit, and she sported a floppy straw sun-hat.

She gave a mock groan. 'That joke is terrible terrible.'

The Doctor was chucking to himself anyway. Mel looked around. They had landed in an oriental marketplace - there were Arabs in flowing white robes and burnooses bustling around the stalls, haggling amongst themselves over peculiar artefacts. She could just make out a camel in the middle distance. No one seemed to have noticed the TARDIS arrive, or if they had they weren't paying it any attention. The air was thick and hazy.

'It is very hot, Doctor. I don't think you'll be needing that umbrella,' she observed.

'Ah well, it would be hot: this is Cairo. You did say you fancied a holiday on Earth. What did you say? "I haven't been to Earth in ages." ' It was a pa.s.sable imitation of her high-pitched tones. 'After Troxos 4, I thought that we both needed a little break from adventuring.'

'I've never been to Cairo before.' Mel looked around. She would certainly have no difficulty finding a souvenir of this trip - carpets, tapestries, sculptures, prints, pictures painted onto papyrus, a cornucopia of treasures. A couple of yards away, a Western tourist, a man, was discussing the price of an ivory elephant with a merchant. Mel was surprised by his clothes: he wasn't wearing the typical tourist gear of jeans and T-shirts, but an altogether more formal outfit, a dark pin-striped suit.

'What year is this?'

'Oh, it doesn't really matter - Cairo market looks exactly the same whatever year you land in. Just relax and soak up the atmosphere.' Mel shot him an enquiring look, and the Doctor looked around. 'Well, judging by that tourist and the relative level of air pollution, this must be the mid-nineteen-thirties.'

'The past! I've only ever been to the future before,' she said excitedly.

'Well, yes, it's the past from your point of view. From another perspective this is the future. For that tourist over there it's the present.'

Mel was already bouncing over to introduce herself.

'h.e.l.lo there. I'm Melanie, and this,' the Doctor doffed his hat, 'is my... uncle, the Doctor.' Mel held her hand out, expecting a handshake. Instead, the gentleman lifted it gently to his mouth and kissed it. Mel grinned, and hoped she hadn't gone too doe-eyed. He was handsome, with thick black hair brushed back across his scalp and lacquered into place. He had penetrating dark eyes, and a lovely smile.

'Emil Hartung.' His voice was cultured, with the slight trace of a mid-European accent. 'Are you here to watch the race?'

Mel was about to tell him the truth when the Doctor stepped forward. 'Of course we are. Wouldn't miss it for the world. The roar of the greasepaint, the thrill of the chase.'

Emil smiled, clearly a little bemused. He looked back at Mel who realized that he was still holding her hand. 'Will you be coming to the party tonight at the Grand Imperial?' he asked her. 'O-of course,' Mel said.

'Then I shall see you there.' A thought struck him. 'Would you and your uncle like to watch the speed trials this afternoon?'

Mel nodded enthusiastically. With that, he kissed her hand again and disappeared into the crowd.

Mel watched him go, then she turned to the Doctor who was looking smug. 'What have I just let us in for?' Mel moaned playfully.

'An adventure,' the Doctor said excitedly. 'Emil Hartung is a very famous racing driver.'

'I've never heard of him,' Mel noted.

'Well, he's a little before your time.'

'Is he married?' she asked casually.

Mel. I didn't think he would be your type. Well, I'll be a Melanie's uncle.'

Mel blushed. 'That's not what I meant.'

The Doctor pinched her red cheek. 'He's one of the most eligible bachelors in the whole of Europe. He's a millionaire playboy - and it looks like you've caught his eye. Heaven knows why.'

'Do you think so?' Mel asked, before. 'Hey, wait a minute.'

The Doctor was chuckling. 'Come on, Mel.'

8 Taking Sides