Free Vengeance 10 by Joe Poyer Page A

fifty-kilogram payload a thousand kilometres or a six-thousand-kilogram payload ten kilometres.’
    Paul was watching the sunset, and Memling wondered if he was really listening. ‘Von Braun told me two years ago that their major problem was to contain the twenty-nine-hundred-degree-centigrade temperatures developed in the combustion chamber. He mentioned at the time they were using liquid oxygen. The only fuels that combine with liquid oxygen to produce that temperature are petrol and alcohol. Knowing the fuel and oxidiser, the combustion temperature, and approximating the rate of propellant/oxidiser feed - which is dictated by the combustion rate - it is possible to calculate speed and range versus payload. The targets are obvious and all within a four-hundred-kilometre range of occupied European territory.
    ‘For instance, a rocket capable of striking London from this side of the Channel will travel approximately two hundred kilometres from, say, the vicinity of Antwerp. If we assume that the rocket must travel at least three hundred metres per second, and the fuel consumption is thirty kilograms per second, or twice the acceleration of gravity, you can calculate to find that the rocket must produce five hundred and sixty thousand horsepower. With that figure you can refine your assumptions and define such characteristics as fuel load, desirable payload in explosives, and so on. These, of course, provide you with the maximum and minimum dimensions of the rocket.’
    Paul had remained silent throughout the discourse, and Memling was afraid that he had overdone it. The Belgian was staring out over the city to the western horizon where the storm clouds had regrouped, forcing the sun to retreat.
    ‘You are certain of these calculations?’ he asked, and when Memling nodded, he smiled. ‘I was an artillery officer, of the rank of lieutenant colonel. I am an engineer by training.’ He was silent a moment, then stood and motioned Memling to walk with him. They started back along the path, Memling pushing his bicycle and cursing his rumbling stomach.
    ‘I will do this much,’ Paul said after they had covered half the distance. ‘A message will be sent to London briefly describing your information and conclusions. They may well want a follow-up report.’
    Memling clenched his fists on the handlebars and strove to keep his voice normal. He shook his head. ‘That won’t do.’
    Paul glanced at him in surprise. ‘Why not, may one ask?’
    Memling described the reception his report had received in 1938.
    ‘Perhaps things have changed ... new personnel. ..’
    ‘Maybe,’ Memling replied doubtfully. ‘But my superior, the man with whom they will check, is the same as then.’
    Paul nodded. ‘I understand. However, there is nothing else I can do. Our contacts with London are as yet quite limited. Your government is only beginning to pay attention to resistance organisations on the Continent. They are still preoccupied with a Nazi invasion threat.’ He glanced about suddenly.
    ‘I have spent far too much time here as it is. I will send a report through as soon as possible, and if there are further requests for information, they will be passed on to you. Otherwise’ - he paused and laid a hand on Memling’s arm - ‘everything will remain as before. Do not contact us except in an emergency. You have done quite well to date. If I need any further information, the request will come through Maria.’
    Memling could not keep the concern from his face, and Paul chuckled. ‘If you doubt her reliability, then she has done well. Believe me when I tell you her attitude towards the Nazi is an act. She is my most valuable source of information. You may continue to trust her with your life.’ Paul stressed the word continue .
    The Belgian clapped him on the arm and walked away without looking back. Memling leaned on his bicycle and found a cigarette. Two in one day was extravagant, but in view of the risk, the tension, the