'At ease.' He faced Forrester, treating her as the senior officer in the room for the first time in a week. The admiral was smiling for the first time that Reed could recall. It suited Kendrick's lined face, giving it the air of a benevolent monarch. There was none of the weariness, none of the resignation that had weighed so heavily on him before. When he spoke, it had the ring of a royal proclamation.

'Captain, three hours ago I took your sterling work to the War Cabinet. It has convinced them. Tonight, Bomber Command will target Granville and the adjoining airfield. We'll blow Hartung, Steinmann and their superbomber right off the face of the Earth.'

Roz shifted in her seat as she spoke. 'But, sir, the reason that has never been done before is the danger to the French civilian population. Where next, Guernsey?'

There was no remorse in Kendrick's green eyes. 'The stakes are high. Captain Forrester, I understand your concerns, but if we don't take this action now then the whole course of the war will change. The sacrifice is necessary.'

Something about his answer nagged at Roz's mind.

G.o.ddess! He hadn't batted an eyelid when she'd mentioned Guernsey. She dare not accuse him here and now, but instinctively she knew that the War Cabinet had discussed the bombing of Guernsey if this raid wasn't a success. They They were going to bomb their own people were going to bomb their own people.

'Sir,' Reed began, 'there may be some evidence to suggest that there isn't a superbomber. We've found out what Hugin and Munin are.' He explained what they had discovered. Thought and Memory. A pair of birds that fly invisibly around the world. 'That doesn't sound like a short-range heavy bomber, sir.' Why was Reed agreeing with her now?

His conscience. Like her, Reed could picture the French civilians dying needlessly.

Kendrick considered the new information for a moment.

No, they don't sound like bombers. But Hartung is still working from Granville. Destroying the town will destroy Hugin and Munin, too, whatever they are.'

'Sir, Granville is a civilian target,' Reed said forcefully.

'Lieutenant, this is total war. There are no civilian targets.' More quietly, 'George, I sympathize, but there is too much at stake.'

'I strongly recommend, sir, that we don't go ahead with the raid until we know precisely what we are dealing with,'

Roz declared.

'My dear, the planes took off twenty minutes ago. They'll be in France in less than a quarter of an hour. An hour from now, Granville will have been removed from the map. After that, there will be nothing left of Hartung except... thought and memory.'

'That was impressive even for you, Doctor. You persuaded that man that you were a nun nun, of all things. That was the worst acting performance I have ever seen, and you got away with it!'

The Doctor gave a twirl, his borrowed habit spinning joyfully around him. He was almost certainly the least convincing nun the world had ever seen. 'Clothes maketh a man, Chris. Or woman. Think of it this way what's easier to believe: that I am a nun, or that I'm a man pretending to be a nun? The human mind has a great capacity to ignore things that make life difficult for it. It much prefers to turn a blind eye, say it's someone else's problem, or that it's nothing to do with - ' The Doctor stopped in his tracks, his head c.o.c.ked to one side.

'What's the matter...?' Chris began, but the Doctor ignored him. They were right in the middle of Granville's town square shortly before the curfew was due to begin, not a good place to stand around, especially in fancy dress. Chris tugged at the sleeve of the Doctor's habit, but before Chris could speak again, the air-raid sirens had started. Slightly higher in pitch than those in Britain, but unmistakable.

Searchlights began probing the evening sky. In the distance, further up the coast, antiaircraft guns were firing. The Doctor grabbed Chris's arm.

'It's the yellow alert. We haven't much time.'

The first bombs dropped in the harbour. The sea wall was breached, and over a dozen small boats were destroyed, along with a handful of storage sheds. At the same time, another plane attacked the coastal road, rendering a mile-long stretch impa.s.sable. British aerial reconnaissance had been focusing on the Granville area for some weeks, at the request of the SID. As a result, the RAF knew exactly which bridges to hit to cause maximum disruption to German damage control teams.

The main purpose of this first wave was to mark out targets more clearly. Flares were dropped in key areas, drifting down to the ground underneath their own miniature parachutes. Decoy flares were also dropped to cause confusion. A pair of larger targets, Granville's two pumping stations, were bombed, cutting off the town's water supplies.

A bomb hit Granville's main fire station, but failed to go off. It hardly mattered, as the (mostly French) firemen were all huddled deep underneath the building, in their shelters.

As yet there had been no casualties. This changed when a fuel storage area on the outskirts of the town was. .h.i.t, killing thirty soldiers stationed there. A chain reaction started, with each of the fuel tanks exploding in turn. The fire burned for three days. In the centre of Granville, the RAF missed the telephone exchange with their first three efforts, the bombs exploding in nearby residential areas. The fourth attack was successful. It took the Germans ten minutes to restore communications with the outside world.

'The church bells won't stop ringing. What does that mean?'

Chris asked.

'It means that the spire has been hit and the bell-ringing mechanism has been damaged,' the Doctor answered prosaically.

They had been on high ground when the fuel dump had exploded. From this distance - three miles, perhaps four - the string of explosions had been spectacular, an incredible display of air power. The earth pounded with each blast.

Night was falling, but a new sun had risen in the east, and the whole town was lit by the firelight. Cwej could hear the jangling bells of fire tenders making their way across town.

Chris glanced over at the Doctor. The little man was fascinated by the events unfurling beneath them, apparently oblivious to any danger they might be in. A couple of miles further up the coast to the north, there was a long, reverberating crash.

'The airfield,' said the Doctor.

'The British don't know about it,' Chris observed.

'Not the camouflaged one, the normal one. They probably think that Hartung is there.' There was a series of distant explosions from the direction the Doctor was looking.

'Perhaps he is. Or was.'

Isolated points on the landscape below them began to flare.

'They're beginning to target the town itself. There are only two searchlights for the whole of Granville. As far as I can tell, there are only three antiaircraft batteries.'

'Without the searchlights, they'd be firing blind. Looks like the good guys will win this one.'

'The RAF have the advantage, certainly,' the Doctor said dryly. 'We need to get down there, try to find a clue to Hartung's whereabouts.'

A small group of bombers had separated from the main party five minutes before the start of the attack, while the squadrons were still over the English Channel. At the airfield, the first reports of the attack on the harbour were being radioed in. Fighter crews were scrambled, but the RAF bombers arrived seconds before the pilots reached their planes. Not a single fighter was launched, and both runways were carpet-bombed. Over two dozen trained Luftwaffe pilots and a whole squadron of Messerschmitt fighters were caught in the explosions.

The RAF were free to continue their raid unmolested.

Fires had broken out by now in dozens of places all over the town. These lit the battlefield for the air force, allowing them a much clearer view. As yet, there wasn't any thick smoke to blot out the view.

It was time for the RAF to consolidate their position. It was time to drop the incendiaries. Thousands upon thousands of tiny devices were dropped, each one bursting into flame as it hit the ground. Before long, these little fires had joined up, and the whole of central Granville was ablaze.

Fire tore through the shopping streets.

'Run, Chris, run!'

All around was choking black smoke. Chris could hear the Doctor's voice, but couldn't see him. The ground rocked with each detonation. The bombardment was concentrated a little way behind them, but the explosions came as rapid as machine-gun fire, and were getting nearer. The sky was filled with incendiaries, pouring over the town like a rainstorm.

The Doctor was suddenly standing in front of him.

'It's too heavy. We won't reach the townhouse. We need to get into a shelter,' he was saying. 'Follow me.'

Chris was a pilot, he'd fought in simulated combat missions. Down here, though, he found it impossible to find his bearings: the planes seemed to be coming from all directions at once. They roared overhead, almost impossibly low.

There were screams to their right. The Doctor stopped in mid-step. He looked back at Chris. They had to help.

Edging across the rubble, they found a man trapped under a chunk of masonry. Chris looked around, trying to see if the slab had come from a building or from the road itself.

The Doctor motioned to him, and together they tried to move the slab away. After a moment, the little man let go.

'We're too late,' he said sadly.

Chris looked around. Why were there so many people on the streets? There were soldiers and firemen, but also civilians: a small crowd of men, women and children, all heading in one direction. As he watched some were blown off their feet, others were pelted with rubble. Why weren't they under cover?

'Doctor. They're heading for a public shelter!' he shouted over the clamour.

'It's our only chance!' replied the Doctor.

Together, they followed the stream of people.

The townhouse used by the Luftwaffe zbV as their regional headquarters had been completed in 1715. It was referred to by the experts as one of the finest of the early works of the architect Jean La.s.surance. It had been ordered by a wealthy naval officer, and had taken eight months to build.

It was partially demolished when a two-thousand-pound bomb exploded in the street outside. The facade of the house shattered, as did all the gla.s.s. The statues on the roof fell through the rafters. Shrapnel and debris tore holes in the walls in the rooms that faced the sea. There was no time for a fire to start: twenty seconds after the first explosion, the RAF scored a direct hit, and the building was blown apart. It had been built before the age of high explosive, and so not even the wine cellars were safe. The walls were thrown outwards, the roof collapsing to the ground. Fire swept through the wreckage, consuming every piece of antique furniture, every book in the library, every painting and tapestry.

They dashed across the park, which exploded around them.

Ahead was the entrance to the public shelter. A woman with a baby in her arms was at the entrance, being ushered in.

Thirty feet from the entrance, Chris tripped, stumbling on the broken ground. The Doctor hesitated, then turned back to help pull the large man to his feet.

And then the shelter was. .h.i.t.

It happened in slow motion. The plane swooping over their heads, deafening them. The black shape of a bomb the size of a car falling. Hurtling through the roof of the shelter, which splintered under the pressure. The searing flash, radiating outwards. The explosion deep below them. The violence as the shelter was blown apart. A storm of concrete, iron, brick and mud. Relief: I wasn't in there. The realization that everyone who had been in there was dead. Memories of the mother and her child.

The Doctor was shouting instructions to those who hadn't reached the shelter. Stay calm. Stay still. This park was safer than the streets: there was no risk here of collapsing walls or flying gla.s.s. The strongest men were to help cover the shelter with earth, put out the fire. Use the litter bins as buckets, fill them with water from the duckpond, use them to extinguish any incendiaries that dropped. No, there weren't any survivors down there. No, don't look.

The raid lasted a little under three hours. At half-past nine, the squadon leader ordered his group to break off. The mission had been a total success, the commander reported, he hadn't lost a single plane, every major target was confirmed destroyed. Granville was a dead city.

10 Blind Justice

Dampness on her face. Water.

Benny Summerfield was awake. Benny Summerfield was alive. Benny Summerfield was relieved. She opened her eyes and was surprised how quickly they focused. The nurse, Kitzel, was on the other side of the room, her back towards her. The nurse was hunched over something on the table.

They were alone. Benny pulled herself upright. Hearing the movement, Kitzel looked over her shoulder, a wave of blonde hair falling over the epaulette of her uniform. The nurse had Slavic features and grey eyes. In other surroundings, in different clothes, she would be beautiful. She reminded Benny a little of an old friend from her early teens. She had been beautiful, too.

'You are awake?' Kitzel spoke in stilted English.

'I can tell you've got medical training.' Benny wasn't surprised when the nurse failed to recognize the sarcasm.

They were in her cell. Where was that? An underground complex, Steinmann had said. There was a bed here, a chair, an empty bucket in the corner. The door was ever so slightly ajar.

'I have prepared you some food,' the nurse droned. She had brought over a metal tray with a steaming bowl of tomato soup and a hunk of bread. There was even a k.n.o.b of b.u.t.ter on the side of the plate. Benny took it from her, resting the tray on her pillow.

'There isn't a spoon. I haven't anything to spread the b.u.t.ter with,' Benny snapped. The nurse pa.s.sed the cutlery over, her face impa.s.sive. She stood, watching her prisoner.

Benny sipped at her soup. It had been watered down, but it was still too rich for her palate after so many days without proper food. The hot food burnt her tongue and the taste stung the side of her mouth.

She found the bread easier to digest, but could only nibble at it. It would be a while before she could hold down a full meal.

Pausing between bites, she made conversation. 'Do you know where the Doctor is?'