Free Hands of the Traitor by Christopher Wright Page A

off from its
small launch pad in the Netherlands on September 8 1944, and
crashed without warning on the houses of Chiswick in west London
during the evening mealtime.
    Alec Rider heard the explosion
from several miles away. He tried to discover the reason for the
noise by tuning to the BBC news. The explanation of a gas explosion
convinced nobody. Within days the capital reeled under an onslaught
of several hundred terrifying Wunderwaffen .
    At first the British authorities managed
to keep the worst details of the monster rocket secret, afraid that
panic might set in. But news soon got round amongst the Londoners.
Air raid warnings were useless, for the military experts could find
no way to detect a missile dropping vertically at five times the
speed of sound. One moment life was normal -- as normal as life
could be in a heavily bombed city -- then the clear and silent sky
brought an explosion of earthquake proportions, flattening houses
within a radius of many streets.
    Churchill was desperate to find a way
to halt the carnage. By now one thousand of the massive V2s had
been launched, with six hundred of them hitting London. The British
Prime Minister had already ordered heavy bombing raids against
German cities, but he admitted in secret that the Germans could win
the war within a matter of weeks.
    Alec Rider quickly came to the same
conclusion.
    The army sent a summons for him to
return from sick leave for questioning. No, he told Major Jackson
in the same office where he had been debriefed following the
pick-up from Strouanne, the compound in the Pas-de-Calais could not
possibly have been a launch pad for a giant rocket. Surely the
British knew all about the V1 sites by now, since they had already
overrun most of northern France close to the coast.
    "Thank you, Captain. It would appear
we have killed one monster, to be confronted by a worse contender
for a Nazi victory." The Major sat forward in his chair. "Feeling
better, old chap?"
    "I think so, Major. Are you getting
another team together?"
    "Perhaps, but nothing as erotic as
rescuing French beauties from the evil Hun. We might have a trip to
Holland lined up for a lucky few. That's where most of these big
rockets seem to be coming from. The Jerries are using mobile launch
sites -- in residential areas."
    "The MO says I should be fit
soon."
    "But the padre has some doubts I
gather."
    "With all due respect to Padre
Hawkins, Major, he's not exactly proper army, so to speak." Alec
tried to hide his disappointment at the rebuttal. He wanted to pay
the Nazis back for his ruined life.
    Padre Hawkins had been a good comforter, a
close friend through the early stages of recovery. He liked the
padre, a Canadian by birth, both of them thrown into life at the
deep end by this war, both struggling to stay afloat.
    Fergus Hawkins always had something
sensible to share each time they went under.
    "Our boys have had a little think
about the name you gave us. Heinemann wasn't it?"
    "Heinman, Major."
    "Same difference. It's still German.
We think you got confused about who was who over there." The Major
opened a drawer. "There's to be no gong I'm afraid, but you can
have these back as a little memento of a bloody good effort on
French soil. Besides, the army doesn't need jewelry." He tossed the
signet ring and small crucifix onto the desk. "Have a little chat
with the padre this afternoon. It's very healing, you
know."
    Alec reached for the objects. Healing?
The memory of that severed hand falling from the kit bag would
never heal. It had seared itself into his brain to stay for
eternity, but he could cope with it. What really screwed him up
were the half-memories of Sophie Bernay. Even in his sleep he could
see her face, taste her blood on his lips.
    "Thanks, Major, I'd like to see Padre
Hawkins again."
    "Good fellow. I'll fix up a
meeting."
    *
    THE TWO men sat alone.
    "I don't want you to think I'm a soft
touch or anything, Padre." Alec Rider felt anxious for the future.
"But I