THE H-BOMB GIRL Stephen Baxter (ebook and pdf reader TXT) 📖

The traffic was heavy that morning. Lots of police vehicles, and green army trucks rolling along in convoy. A bunch of squaddies sitting in the back of one truck leered at Laura and whistled.

There was a new air, she thought. Army lorries rolling through suburban streets. A sense of urgency. But people didn’t seem to mind. Most of the older folk looked quite happy, in fact. As if it was a holiday.

But on the other hand there were queues outside all the churches she passed. People wanting to make their confessions, she supposed.

There was a special assembly this morning, and all the kids streamed into the hall.

Laura found Bernadette and Joel. She was faintly surprised Bernadette had turned up at all, and it was a miracle she had managed to smarten up her one and only school uniform, which she’d been wearing down the Cavern.

They inspected each other’s battle scars. Bernadette’s worst problem was broken nails. Joel’s gouged fingers were out of their bandages but were swathed in Elastoplast. “Not as bad as it looks,” he whispered. But he had a big purple bruise on his forehead where that Ted had head-butted him.

Everybody stood up as the head walked on to the stage. The senior staff followed, Mrs Sweetman the deputy head, Miss Wells, the others. The teachers actually marched, like soldiers in the war they all remembered so well.

And they had a guest. A policeman in a black uniform and an officer’s peaked hat. He had a gun, a revolver, in a black holster at his waist.

A stir went around the hall. Outside her Dad’s military bases, Laura had never seen anybody carry a gun before. This big grey-haired scuffer with a gun at his waist, strutting across the stage of a school assembly hall, was a genuinely frightening sight.

Mr Britten led the school in brief prayers. The policeman joined in, hands clasped, head bowed.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard the news this morning,” Mr Britten said. “There’s a situation developing between the Americans and the Russians over Cuba. Well, it’s Britain’s duty now to stand firm with our ally. And it’s our duty, here at Saint Agnes’s, to do what we can to help the war effort.” He was a small, round, pompous man with tiny National Health specs. He looked pleased with himself at being able to make such a grave announcement. “You mustn’t be concerned. We’re here to guide you. All of us up here have been through this before, when old Hitler thought he could pull the tail of the British lion. Well, we showed Jerry and we’ll show comrade Khrushchev too.” There was a reluctant rumble, like a muted cheer.

“Now I’ll introduce you to our visitor. Chief Inspector Robert Gillespie, of the city constabulary. I’m sure you’re going to treat him with the usual Saint Agnes’s courtesy. And if you don’t you’ll be seeing me.” Just for a second there was a glimpse of the usual “Bulldog” Britten.

The scuffer remembered to smile. It was a horrible expression that looked as if his cheeks were being dragged back by wires.

“Gillespie,” Laura murmured. “Where do I know that name?”

Joel whispered, “His son plays lead guitar for the Woodbines.”

“Paul. Oh, yes.”

“Don’t know who’s more embarrassed, father or son,” Bernadette said.

“Now then,” the chief inspector said. “You heard what your headmaster said. Things are looking grave, and we must be prepared. That’s why I’m here today, with some of my officers. To help you prepare.

“Things are going to be different as long as the crisis lasts. As I speak the Houses of Parliament are meeting to pass an Emergency Powers Act. Everything will be reorganised, from the structure of the government itself, down to what we eat, and even what we watch on television.

“But while all this is going on, remember one thing. ‘Business as usual!’ That’s going to be your motto. Life will be harder in some ways. But you must keep up with your schoolwork. That’s your duty. For, you see, somebody is going to have to run the country when we all retire.” That ugly smirk again. “We’ll be seeing you all individually during the day.”

Bernadette murmured, “Why do they need to do that?”

“In the meantime, keep calm, do your duty, pull together, and we’ll see this thing through with our essential British liberties preserved.”

Joel stood up. “Like free speech?”

“Be quiet!” thundered the policeman.

“See me!” yelled the headmaster.

That morning, normal classes were suspended.

Mrs Sweetman, the deputy head, took Laura’s class. She had a copy of a slim government Civil Defence booklet called “Your Protection Against Nuclear Attack,” and she read extracts to the class.

If the sirens sounded, she said, that would mean Russian missiles had been spotted by radar on their way to Britain. “You will have four minutes’ warning before the first missiles land.”

Joel stuck his hand up. “Actually it would be more like three minutes. Perhaps as little as two and a half minutes.”

“Mister Christmas—”

“And if they launch from submarines off the coast, we might have no more than thirty seconds.”

“You may be right, Mister Christmas. But I have to give you the official figures.”

Bernadette put her hand up now. “Miss. Why are you reading this out? Why don’t we all have a copy?”

“Well, they aren’t about to give it away for free. This booklet cost ninepence, you know. Let’s get back to the sirens.”

“Mrs Sweetman,” Joel said.

She sighed. “Yes, Mister Christmas?”

“What if you’re deaf, and can’t hear the sirens?”

Mrs Sweetman flicked through the leaflet. “It doesn’t say. You would have to ask a hearing person what’s going on, I suppose.”

“Won’t they be in a bit of a rush? They’ll only have the four minutes.”

The class were enjoying watching Joel wind up Mrs Sweetman. But Laura felt sorry for her. About forty, plump, her hair grey, she seemed to be a decent woman, being asked to do a horrible thing to the children she was in charge of.

Laura asked, on impulse, “Do you have kids, Miss?”

“Yes. Younger than you. I’d rather be