And that ended the doubts and objections, at least those spoken… at least until the mess table called them before they returned to continue with their planning… and at least until they flopped into bed exhausted by their labours, leaving the bones of the initial plan partially covered with substance.
Over the coming days, more and more of the plan was developed, assisted greatly by a fantastic scale model created by the indomitable Jenkins and her staff, combining the certainties of the above ground with the possibilities of what lay below.
The engineer section, supplied with willing hands from the rifle companies, created a reflection of the model in real scale, using anything from tarpaulins, to wooden frames, all to provide the best possible training to their men.
The Spruce Goose lay at anchor close in shore and parties attended in relay to learn about boarding and disembarking, and also so that Hughes and his band of merry men could develop the loading plan to ensure the best weight distribution.
Priorities changed as more information arrived and further assets became available, or in the case of the Curtiss Commando transport aircraft, were transferred from the Pacific by direct order of President Truman in the face of resistance by none other than MacArthur himself.
A USAAF liaison officer made recommendations, and a further group of Air Force officers arrived, all to put together the distraction, escort, and extraction planning, which snowballed in size and complexity the more minds were set to solving the issues.
One man arrived to act as an observer and answer questions, as far as he could, specifically related to his unit’s part in the mission.
Wing Commander Leonard Cheshire was rarely approached, often avoided, almost as if his unit was seen as the great relentless evil in the process.
Their part of the Viking mission, the ground attack and extraction, was given a name, one that Crisp suggested; a name that held great meaning for a number of those present.
Operation Kingsbury, named for a ship on the bottom of the Baltic, a ship in which many of his beloved troopers still lay unrecovered.
1154 hrs, Saturday, 29th March 1947, Karup Air Base, Denmark.
He recovered from his surprise and relaxed from his salute.
“General Donovan, Vice-Admiral, please.”
Banner gestured the two senior men towards some functional seating.
“How may I be of service, Sir?”
Donovan cleared his throat and pressed ahead.
“At this moment in time, this is for your ears only. Wing Commander Cheshire has been briefed in on the mission as far as I am about to brief you.”
He took the folder that Dalziel held out, a folder drenched in the signs of the highest secrecy.
Neither man knew that Rossiter had felt honour bound to be indiscrete with Crisp and his men and neither, pursuant to the marine’s earnest request, would ever learn that the men of the 1st SSF knew nearly as much as they did already.
“The mission has been developed further. The overall mission is Operation Viking. The air mission that you will be flying is part of that. The insertion group goes under the name of Operation Kingsbury. I have included the basic brief on Kingsbury for you. You’ll understand why. Admiral Dalziel’s man’ll be remaining with your unit as direct liaison and he’ll bring further details to you as they become known. The contents of this folder will be known only to you, and you will keep it secure under lock and key at any time it is not in your immediate possession. Is that clear?”
“Yes, General.”
Donovan accepted another copy from Sir Roger Dalziel, and the three read the information therein, two for the umpteenth time, one for the very first.
Both senior men knew that there would be a reaction, but not how bad it would be.
“You have gotta be fucking kidding, General?”
Donovan had been pre-warned about Banner’s approach to such matters, but still felt his anger rise.
“That’s the mission, Colonel… and if you don’t want it I’ll find someone who can handle it.”
Banner’s look conveyed every essence of contempt he could muster.
He took a deep breath and spoke much more calmly than he felt.
“General, it’s not a question of want. It’s a question of practicalities… in the first instance anyways.”
As if by silent agreement, both men relaxed back into their chairs.
“Go on, Colonel.”
“Sir, I’ve only two crews trained… actually training with the Jasper I have one, plus my own crew. I say training. We’ve still a long way to go before I can declare that delivery side combat ready. Plus just one aircraft converted to Jasper… SOP requires a stand-by bird at the very least… plus the forward air base, acclimatisation, specialist ground crew, the whol…”
“I understand that, Colonel. But this is all about window of opportunity and speed… and SOPs’ll be going to hell in a handcart.”
“That sort of shit gets folks killed, General.”
Donovan understood what the man meant… and wholly agreed.
“The mission is critical, Colonel.”
“They’re all goddamned critical in one way or another, General. Ain’t never been sent out on anything that wouldn’t shorten the war or save countless lives.”
Donovan chuckled inadvertently and the act removed much of the tension in the room, allowing Dalziel to speak.
“Colonel Banner, let me be frank. This site represents the enemy’s atomic resources, as best as we can ascertain. We simply have to deprive them of the means to retaliate in kind. The mission as described offers us the best opportunity to prevent the deployment of Soviet weapons for years to come.”
“With all due respect, Admiral… the mission as described is a FUBAR… a fuck up of monumental proportions… in my honest opinion, rushing something like this is only going to get men killed.”
“There’s no choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Admiral.”
Donovan stood up and moved to the window, stopping the two others in their tracks.
He took in the airfield, the lumbering bombers… the men going about their normal duties… a scene of relative normality…
Donovan pulled himself back from his thoughts.
“Colonel, I can tell you that this mission’s the most important operation with which I’ve been associated in my long career.”
Banner understood that, if Donovan was being genuine and not blowing smoke up his ass, then that meant something.
The general turned back to the room.
“This mission will fly. Men will die, some by design, some because the mission is a FUBAR… but this mission will fly. Your outfit is in this because you’ve the skills and experience to deliver your ordnance on the target… and from what I’ve heard… the balls!”
He moved back to the table and picked up a folder, holding it like a preacher of old would hold the Bible to demonstrate a point.
“The British 9 Squadron will do their part because they have the skills, and yes, some of them will die.”
Banner adjusted his position, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.
“Group Steel and Kingsbury… well… a lot of those boys are not coming home… but they’re going anyway… all volunteers… and yes… they know your part in this before you say anything.”
It was not the lie he supposed it to be.
Donovan dropped the folder on the table and waited for the sharp crack to die away before continuing.
“Colonel Banner, I know your reputation as a maverick, but I also know you… I’ve known men like you for my whole career… some real types in the old Rainbow Division I can tell you… hell, I was once like you myself!”
He leant forward with hands opened in concession.