Wednesday 2 December 2020

37: Doing good by stealth

‘Oh dear, I’ve been summoned.’

‘Aunt Elisabeth?’

‘No, Daphne, old flame of my youth. “Buy me lunch, today, at the club, explain to me what my mad husband is up to”.’

‘And that makes sense to you.’

‘Not, entirely. She means sit, listen, calm her down, then explain what Barmy has done in terms she can understand. The obligations of old friendship.’

‘What has Barmy done?’

‘No idea until she tells me.’

‘I’ll drive you, I’ve a couple of projects that need attention.’


On the road I attempted an explanation of just who and what Daphne and Barmy really were, an effort to deflect any lingering doubts Sparkwell might harbour as to where my loyalties and affections lay. I concluded, as we were entering the Park, with a description of their living arrangements; ‘So, the most unlikely of outcomes as you might imagine, having grown up in a German castle he chooses to live out his life in suburban England. I mean it’s a lovely house, detached, four bedrooms, nice bit of garden front and back, garage, all mod-cons. Daphne, very spick and span domestically of course. But the man has a garden shed. Outwardly it looks quite distressed, inwardly more like the bridge of a star ship!’

‘No pudding,’ was her only response, cutting the engine.

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’


‘Oh! Was that the Valette disappearing down the corridor?’

‘Indeed, but she’s promised to leave us in peace. So, what ails?

‘Barmy announced last night he’s moving all his family’s assets to the UK - well, all those over which he has effective control.’

‘Really! Thinks he’ll be better off post-Brexit. Well, a touching faith in UK plc I must say.’

‘It’s a bit more than that actually, he’s changing his job too, very hush-hush, he’s been headhunted by the Americans with a view to being seconded to the Royal Navy.’

‘Well I’ll be damned, gosh, so he’ll be operating by stealth in the future then?’

‘Now that’s my point, you get there in one, he spent the whole evening explaining and I can’t say I’m any the wiser.’

‘Well he’ll be bound by the Official Secrets Act now, I on the other hand… Pretty demanding work though, they say that although the hardware should have a shelf life of a couple of years, novel software could be required well, as often as your mobile insists on system updating.’

‘Right, now just stop there. Go right back to the beginning, just what is he going to be doing because he says it involves him leading periodic training on board ship.’

‘Well, difficult to know where to start. Try this, the aircraft designers are planning on this being the last piloted fighter/bomber, okay. Now that’s not just because drones can do more and more, it’s because the plane comes in kit form, each module gets updated separately over the years to come - and all that’s possible, or necessary you might say, because the bodyshell is not only the best right now, it’s impossible to improve.’

‘But that doesn’t make sense. How do they know?’

‘Well the clue is in the title. For what it is required to do, it’s the best aerodynamically you can get.’

‘And?’

‘Well you know it can’t get better because it begins to display stealth properties simply by virtue of its shape. The more, easily it moves let’s say, the less sign it leaves that it was ever there, if you see what I mean. In the end nobody invented stealth capability, it was revealed as an emergent property of the body shape itself. You then just add all the stuff you know already helps the whole thing along, the metal, the outer surface or coating, more even finer curved surfaces, less kit inside that signals it’s presence etc.’

‘But surely in time the enemy must get the same capability?’

‘Eventually, sure. But even so the game has changed.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Some wags who don’t get it, say “oh but it’s not as good in a dogfight as such and such”. It doesn’t do dogfights, it’s a mobile missile launcher, it hunts, gets close enough, releases its payload, goes home, indeed could be halfway home already, doesn’t matter, it’s the bow, the missile the arrow, only the arrow can navigate on its own, up to a point. Opposing aircraft not only don’t see you, they may well be hundreds of miles away!’

‘So what of the pilots and their latest computer kit?’

‘They, are tracking, stalking, then playing a game of short-term anticipation on their screens about future action in a real space and time they will never enter.’ I paused. ‘Barmy’s work in science, even in the schoolroom, always has been an act of imagination, that’s the real reason he got called Barmy, although I admit some of his personal habits are strange.’

‘I get annoyed with him when he stares out of the window for hours on end, that’s why I insisted on the shed. Perhaps I was unkind?’

‘No, no, we chaps understand sheds.’

‘How about one of the gooier desserts?’

‘You choose, I can never decide.’


A while later I stopped by the office, it seemed deserted, then I realised the staff must still be on lunch break.

‘If you continue to break the rules I shall have to impose counter measures.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake, where have you been hiding?’

‘I was watching the two of you, live on screen, audio wasn’t up to much, but nonetheless.’

‘Don’t tell me, you told your new asset in security to take a hike in the grounds. I’m impressed.’

‘You should be. Do I inform Naval Intelligence or were you talking total bollocks?’

‘Ask Barmy the next time you’re ministering to the injured in the Games Room.’

‘I might just.’

‘Still, it’s a nice day, fancy an exploration of the rooftops?’


‘So, if you let your eye follow the road past the bungalows you get to the derelict stable block, further on, on the same levelled site is the remains of the walled garden, now used as a sort of temporary overflow carpark. The high clump of trees behind are the windbreak of the walled garden, which along with the twelve-foot walls and the glasshouses made the micro climate that put fruit and veg on the table three hundred and sixty-five days a year. It’s the obvious site for a modest apartment building following the shape and on the same scale as the stable yard which becomes a court, as it were, literally sheltered housing.’

‘Another cash cow?’

‘Well, there is one small problem, the veg and flower garden were at the very end of the water supply. It’s not at all clear how far off we are from the water usage of the house in it’s heyday. It’s the same problem as the pond, the water for the house has always had to be pumped back up from the lowest point on the estate, the only point where it’s a proper flowing river. At some point, as yet unknown, you need a new pumping station and several miles of underground piping. I suspect that is the tipping point, where the whole thing stops being a going concern.’

‘There’ll never be a championship golf course then?’

‘Certainly not, they can have their eighteen holes, but they’ll have to make do with what nature provides.’

‘Why didn’t you join the road to the helipad?’

‘To make sure it can’t be used, without using the club facilities as well. Right then, let’s take a look at the state of the flagpole. How many different flags do you think we need?’

‘Coat of arms. County flag? Union Jack. EU?’

‘Screw that.’

‘UN?’

‘No chance.’

‘Flags of all nations, for those visiting foreign statesmen of yours?’

‘Strictly Anglosphere.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That’s the big project.’

‘What are you on about?’

‘Behind the Eurosceptic, the Brexiteer, is the new Victorian free-trader. The Anglosphere are the nations whose first language is English, by which we mean the constitution and legal system is grounded in English common law, the law of contract and international trade. UK, US, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Hong Kong and Singapore - plus various hangers-on.’

‘Oh my God, Britannia rules the waves!’

‘Yes, but not the bureaucratic, empire building bit, rather the buccaneer free-traders. Three players, China, Russia and the Anglosphere. Ultimately we bury the hatchet, clear away sanctions, tariffs. Plus; “We take the golden road to Samarkand”, the new silk road, only it’s a bloody great new railway line from China through the heart of Russia, linking the Pacific to the Atlantic, once upon a time in Eurasia.’

‘It’s the view, its gone to your head.’

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