Rebel in Time

'Young man, you must understand the situation that existed at the time. The Germans were winning the war hands down. France and the Low Countries had been lost and the British were facing this deadly foe almost single-handedly. And they were fighting with few if any modern weapons. Despite all of the clear lessons about the future of modern warfare that the Spanish Civil War had spelled out, the British began the war without a submachinegun of any kind. It was a time of panic, the Germans were expected to invade at any moment. So any weapon was better than no weapon. This particular gun, the Sten-gun, was conceived in an atmosphere of extreme haste and emergency. Although it had all of the shortcomings I mentioned, it was nevertheless very simple to produce. Subcontractors literally made parts in converted barns and sheds. And it was cheap. Each one costing in the neighbourhood of around two pounds and ten shillings if my memory serves me correctly. That is less than six dollars. An unbelievable sum in this day of multi-million dollar weapons. So Sten-guns were churned out by the millions. This ugly little gun proved to be one of the most outstanding weapons in the Allied armoury. And that was only the Mark One, mind you. The Mark Two had an even more interesting history.'

Dryer laid the gun to one side, then unwrapped the other weapon that he had brought out of the storeroom. If it were possible, this one was even uglier than the previous one. There were file marks on the receiver, rough welds on the bolt housing. Dryer patted it affectionately.

'Over two million of these were made — in less than two years. Probably the most basic automatic weapon ever conceived, certainly the most basic submachinegun. The barrel is a simple steel tube held in place by a screwed-on jacket, the stock nothing but a piece of bent tubing. See, the firing mechanism could not be simpler, little more than a bolt and a spring. You pull the trigger and it blasts away. Sprays bullets like water from a hose. A deadly — yet simple — weapon.'

'Simple is the word. It couldn't be cruder if it were made by hand.'

Dryer smiled and patted the gun. 'But it was, Mr Harmon. Resistance fighters in many countries did make copies by hand. This one was manufactured in Copenhagen by the Danish resistance, right under the Germans' noses.'

The pieces of McCulloch's plan were beginning to click into place. Troy remembered very little about the weapons that the Civil War had been fought with — but he was certain that no gun like this had existed at the time. The colonel might be insane — but that did not mean that he was stupid. He knew weapons, he knew tactics — and he knew war. He had fought in Nam where a primitive army, fighting with weapons not even as good as this one, had licked the most technologically advanced country in the world. McCulloch must have learned his lesson well.

'Is there anything else I can tell you?' The words cut through Troy's dark thoughts, and he shook his head.

'No, no thank you, Mr Dryer. You've been of immense help. We'll let you know if there are any developments in this case. But just between the two of us, I think you had better write the gun and the blueprints off as shrinkage. You'll not get them back.'

'Oh, dear, that is bad news. The blueprints can of course be replaced, but the weapon itself was unique.'

'Sorry. Good day, Mr Dryer, and thank you again for the help.'

The drive out to the laboratory was a quick one, and Troy had only a single moment's worry as he drove up to the outer gate and the guard waved him down. Had Major Van Diver remembered his security pass — and had it cancelled?

'Message for you, Lieutenant. From Doctor Delcourt. She says for you to come to her office when you get in.'

'Thanks, Charley, I'll go there now.'

He drove the opposite way around the buildings to avoid the security office. If they had forgotten about his pass he wasn't going to remind them about it by letting them see him now. He used the back stairs that emerged close to the director's office.

The secretary sent him right in. Bob Kleiman was there, sprawled back in a chair and sipping from a mug of coffee; he waved hello with his free hand. Roxanne looked up from the papers spread across her desk and smiled.

'Troy, come in,' she said. 'You got my message then. Your office said that you weren't in, but they would let you know.'

'I was on my way here in any case: the guard at the gate told me you wanted to see me.'

'Yes. To let you know that we have pinned down exactly the temporal displacement your Colonel McCulloch used.' She picked a sheet of paper off her desk. 'He returned to this date, to the Fourth of July, eighteen fifty-eight. It appears that our friend the colonel must be quite a patriot.'

'I doubt that very much. He must have other reasons altogether. Probably wanted to be sure that he could arrive there without being seen. On the glorious Fourth everyone might be watching the parades and that kind of thing.'