Chapter 1

Storm Clouds

The Minister for War rasped a hand over his unshaven chin and picked up the manila folders for a third time. He stared at the names scrawled over the top in thick black pen and slammed them to the table.

He turned to the red-capped man stood at ease by the door. "Are they here yet?"

            The sergeant of military police shrugged and said, "I don't know Sir, would you like me to check?"

            "If I needed to check I could just buzz the front office," the minister said tersely. He immediately regretted the harsh words. "I'm sorry sergeant."

            The soldier sniffed and peered from under the peak of his cap. "Don't worry Sir, I know you have a lot on your mind."

            The Minister rubbed his face again and sighed heavily as he leant back. "Don't I just. Why don't you sit down at the table? You've been standing there for hours and you're making me feel bloody uncomfortable."

            Sergeant Foster smiled broadly at the offer and gratefully accepted with reservations. "I better not make myself too comfortable, but if you don't mind I could pull a chair over by the door?" The minister nodded and Foster pulled the nearest chair to where he had been standing. He sat with a huge sigh and said, "Aw, that's better, my bleeding feet were killing me."

            Minster For War Walton smiled inwardly; Foster had given no prior outward expression of his discomfort.

            When a loud knock came at the door Foster jumped as if scalded and looked at the minister before loosening his sidearm. He opened the door only a crack, then fully when he saw it was his commanding officer, Colonel Jamieson, accompanied by an army Warrant Officer and a senior Naval Officer.

            "Come in please gentlemen, we don't have time for niceties," Walton said without moving from his seat.

            When everyone was seated, with the exception of Sergeant Foster who took his usual position at ease by the door, Colonel Jamieson turned to the minister to introduce his companions.

            "This is Warrant Officer First Class Wicke," he said and pointed to the soldier, "and this is Commander Dawes."

            Walton stayed silent for some moments and used the seconds to study the men he had read so much about but had never met. He felt he knew them intimately but it came as a shock to see them in person; the speech on duty he had rehearsed so many times seemed superfluous now. These were real men, not names and descriptions written on a page of paper, and the mission he would ask them to perform may be to oblivion.

            The silence stretched on and Warrant Officer Wicke's mind wandered as he looked at the bank of clocks showing different time zones from around the world.

The distraction annoyed Walton and he croaked loudly, cleared his throat, and went straight to the point. "Neither of you know why you are here, but I don't need to tell you that what I have to say is to be held in the strictest confidence; all the information I may divulge is strictly top secret."

            "We've been fully briefed Minister, there's no need to beat about the bush," Commander Dawes said.

            Wicke leant back and crossed his legs. "Fully briefed, and we know it's not an invite to the Queens garden party."
            Walton stood and went to the wall. He pulled open a section of wood panelling to reveal a huge flat television set and picked up a set of remote control buttons. Flicking a switch, the screen burst into life and glowed a dull blue. Within a few seconds a scene appeared showing the stock market and Walton immediately pressed a button to pause the screen.

            "For the past ten years war has been fought here," he said and pointed to the screen with the remote, "in places just like this. Bullets and bombs are obsolete and have been replaced by the pound, the dollar, the yen, the euro. Soldiers, sailors and airmen have been replaced by stock brokers, accountants and businessmen. Money drives our world now, not armies; though they still have their place."

            Wicke gave a strangled snort. "Tell us something we poor underpaid cannon fodder don't fucking know," he said wryly.

            Colonel Jamieson turned angrily to Wicke. "That's enough. If you are going to have an attitude, Warrant Officer, keep your mouth shut until you are asked."

            Wicke shot Jamieson a dark look and shrugged. "Fair enough Sir, this piece of cannon fodder shit will keep his mouth shut until one of his betters tells him otherwise."

            Jamieson's angry reply to Wicke was cut short and every head turned sharply to stare at Minister Walton when he shouted, "No!" They all waited for him to say something more. Finally his shoulders sagged and he said softly, "No, there will be no mouths kept shut here for any reason. We are all equals in this room right now, if anyone has anything to say they can speak, whatever it is. Rank is suspended." Walton indicated Wicke with a nod.

            Wicke smirked in Jamieson's direction. "All you're telling us about the stock markets we already know, or at least we should. Maybe you should skip the slide show and get to the point, Sir."

            Walton laughed and threw the remote control on a shelf by the television. "Maybe I should at that." He returned to the table and sat heavily. Walton turned and raised his hands in surrender. "We're losing the war gentlemen, and we're losing it badly."

            Wicke nodded sagely. "And we're here as part of a marvellous new strategy, right?"

            Walton nodded.

            Commander Dawes fingers drummed on the table. "The emphasis of your presentation was economics, which I understand fully, and I agree with Mr Wicke here, the military is marginalized. What do we few military types have to do with any new economic strategy?"

            Walton smiled and his shoulders moved as he chuckled inwardly. He picked up Dawes file and tapped it. "It says here you are particularly astute."

            "Why don't you cut the crap minister? I'm a killer and a warmonger, I wouldn't be here if there wasn't something nasty you wanted doing," Wicke said.

            "You have nothing merely nasty to do Mr Wicke, but it is important for the mission you are to be asked to undertake for you to have a full overview of what we plan, and the background that forms the basis for the undertaking," Colonel Jamieson said quickly.

            Wicke nodded and looked at Walton for an explanation.

            "I'll keep it as succinct and brief as I can. We in the West hold all the cards in economic terms," Walton said, then held up a finger as he added poignantly, "at the moment. The East has become our manufacturing base, our workforce if you will; we have nothing tangible. The East is becoming stronger and sending out tendrils into our areas, they now own great swathes of our service industry and business base, they are turning the tide on us. The United States and Europe has de-developed the workforce and we have chronic skill shortages. Within the next few years the developed world will be a global phenomena and we have an ageing and relatively small populace; we are becoming poorer and less able to defend ourselves. We have dwindling natural resources and must rely on our competitors for everything."

            "This is nothing new," Dawes said, "we've been in this position in the past and come through unscathed."

            Walton held up his hands. "Quite right, this is nothing new, but now we have the scenario where our skills do not outstrip the less developed nations; they are now at the forefront of technology and it is us who lag. More than that, we are no longer the military power we were and cannot exert influence through force of arms."

            Dawes nodded. "True, so where do we come into the equation?"

            "Patience Mr Dawes please, it's important to me personally that you understand and appreciate what we will attempt to do. The instability the emerging countries in the East are projected to cause will be immense, and we further predict the West could become bankrupt if we do not take decisive, forceful, and radical action now," Walton said.

            "By that I take it to mean we're going to destabilise the rest of the world and step in to take some kind of control?" Wicke asked.

            Walton was taken aback by Wicke and hesitated with his mouth hanging open. When he spoke, it was in a soft voice, "That is very near the mark. We intend to create instability to preserve our own long term stability."

            Wicke laughed loudly and slapped the table. "You really are a fucking politician aren't you? Only a politician could come up with that kind of twisted logic. How many people are going to die this time?"

            Walton's face was ashen.

Jamieson turned to Wicke. "You're sailing very close to the wind Wicke."

Wicke turned coldly to Jamieson. "Am I really Colonel? Well boo fucking hoo."

Jamieson half rose from his seat and was about to give an angry retort when Walton stopped him. "But he's right Colonel Jamieson. All our major conflicts have been driven by economic instability; why should this be any different? We are merely taking pre-emptive and decisive action before our instability causes war against each other in our own backyards, which has happened all too often," he said.

            "So we're going to war?" Dawes asked.

            "Of course we bloody are," Wicke said with a tinge of derision, "the times right anyway; the worlds over populated and we aren't in charge. A decent war will change that and put us back on top. What do the Yanks think?"

            "Would I be relaying this plan without their prior knowledge Mr Wicke?"

            Wicke shrugged, smiled, and sat back with a contented sigh. "I suppose not minister, I suppose not."

            "This decision has not been taken lightly," Walton said apologetically.

            Wicke leant forward across the table. "If I thought it had been, I'd kill you before this lot could stop me."

            "And that is why you are here Mr Wicke," Walton said, holding his ground against Wicke's gaze.

            Dawes fingers began tapping the table again. "And what's our part to be? You said we were to be involved in nothing merely nasty."

            Walton stood with his back to the table. "The war will be global but centred on China. We predict the use of nuclear arms but only after a matter of months. Russia will take only a small role and will play a part on the Chinese side; they too see where their proverbial economic bread is buttered. When the nuclear war breaks out the first items to be sacrificed by all sides will be satellite communications. Indeed we envisage all satellites will be destroyed within weeks. This would be a matter of course for us in any case, but intelligence recently indicated the Chinese have a similar strategy."

            "We need the satellites. We can't win a war of attrition on the ground against the East," Wicke said.

            "We know."

            Dawes put a finger to his mouth and looked at the high vaulted ceiling thoughtfully "You intend to start a war that you know you can't win, and a nuclear war at that. I'm intrigued as to why?"

            "As I said, because of our impending economic instability, and also because nuclear proliferation around the globe is beginning to gain pace. A major conflict now would bring long-term benefits to us all. Maintaining the tentative status quo can only result in us being further weakened while our competitors grow in strength and sophistication. Any chance we have of winning diminishes with time. We must strike now or not at all," Walton explained.

            "And we were frightened of the Eastern Block for all those years. Now it's us who are the aggressors?" Wicke's said.

            Walton nodded and wiped a tear from his eye. "I don't like it, but I don't see any other way."

            Wicke looked thoughtful and shook his head. "It's twisted logic, but I can see the merits. It still doesn't give me any clue to why I'm here though."

            Colonel Jamieson took over the explanation while Walton wiped his eyes and blew his nose loudly into a crisp white handkerchief. "Wicke, you are our best man in survival techniques. You are experienced in all forms of warfare and you have a degree in engineering. A psychological profile suggests you have a certain moral flexibility and a fierce commitment to duty. You are single with no family. All in all you were selected as the best man we have to accompany Commander Dawes."

            "Accompany me where and to do what?" Dawes asked.

            Walton replaced the handkerchief in the top pocket of his jacket, after a cursory inspection, before answering, "You have much the same attributes as Mr Wicke, only your degree is in electronics," he hesitated, "you have one other thing in common."

            "Which is?" Dawes prompted.

            "You both formed part of the British contingent of the international space programme and were only dropped as candidates for astronauts because of a lack of places," Walton said and indicated Jamieson should continue.

            "If not for a lack of money, you would be in the military section of NASA right now," Jamieson said.

            A silence ensued until Wicke finally broke it with a thin chuckle. "I'm beginning to like the sound of this. Tell us more," he said.

            "This meeting is not a briefing as such, and it is being held in such a relaxed manner because we need you to volunteer and appreciate fully all the implications of what the mission actually involves. Our future, if you decided to accept the mission, will be in your hands and the chances of success is not great in any case," Walton said, "there are no paper records and no outside involvement other than myself and those you see here, with the exception of the Prime Minister, the Presidents of France, Italy, the United States, and the Chancellor of Germany."

            "I wouldn't have thought that lot would agree to this being a purely British undertaking, especially not the Yanks," Wicke said.

            "That is quite true, but it was felt we had the best chance of success through the experience from our Sky Lark programme."

            Dawes looked surprised and asked, "But Sky Lark was scrapped years ago, although it was the first true space programme. How is that relevant now?"

            Jamieson pointed a knowing finger and smiled. "Skylark was scrapped, but the facilities have never been dismantled, and have in fact been retained and upgraded. We can launch a rocket into orbit with a minimum of preparation, especially with the help of our allies. That is the point you see, all space shuttle launches from the continental USA would be tracked and known about, as would all European Ariane launches, but Skylark is that quaint British institution that, hopefully, would be overlooked."

            "Why not send up a couple of space shuttles now, prior to the opening of hostilities?" Dawes asked.

            Walton nodded and appreciated the question. "This mission will be long term, the shuttle is not equipped and could not be refitted, it's just too small. The same goes for Ariane, it's not equipped for the mission we have in mind."

            "Which is?" Wicke asked.

            "I don't see the problem you're indicating," Dawes said, "surely the other space programmes are adequate at least?"

            "Virtually everything you will use on the mission, the equipment, the space vehicle, the electronics, the processes including life support, will all be completely new, a one of a kind. Most of it is only prototype but all so far advanced we can't risk it being shot down or intercepted; it will be our one shot at success. I can assure you that you will be using the most technologically advanced pieces of equipment ever devised by man, if not for this mission it would still be approaching fifty years ahead of it's time, and I mean everything. We are expending the last of our technical expertise and lead over the East in this mission," Jamieson said.

            Wicke banged a fist on the table. "You've all been hedging round telling us what the actual mission is, this is all superfluous information right now. Tell us what we are going to do."

            Walton hesitated and looked away. When he turned back he was biting his lip, then suddenly blurted out the explanation Wicke was intent on. "We intend to send you into space for a period of eight years on a wide trajectory. When you come back you'll be in a position to either swing the balance in our favour or start a new war against a depleted enemy; either way we'll be awaiting your return."