Kransky had spent a large part of the night roaming about the island as if on field ops, pack slung on his back and the huge Barrett rifle over one shoulder. He was always back on base for his morning run with Eileen Donelson, and following that he generally spent a large part of most days working with Thorne and others to ensure the security of the base remained tight. That had taken up a great deal of his time in that first week of arrival as he and the rest of the officers and NCOs arriving with him had formed up as a cohesive unit, but as the weeks passed and security in their section of the base became more of a routine than new procedure, he found more and more spare time available for other things.
A lot of that new-found free time concerned itself with learning more about Hindsight itself, and the incredible world the members of that unit had come from. His nights — a good part of them — were spent roaming the bleak expanses of the grassy hills and eastern lowlands of Hoy, getting to know every crest, nook and cranny. He generally made do with three or four hours sleep at most — sometimes not even that — and his body had actually become accustomed to that routine over time. After years of life on the land in hostile environments, he’d developed the ability to memorise the surrounding terrain quickly, and he’d already stored details of most of the terrain of Hoy and Mainland in his mind.
He hefted the large rifle in his hands and turned away from the emplacement, drawing away from his vantage point and down the summit’s gradual reverse slope. The weapon Eileen and Thorne had given him to replace his Mauser was nearly a metre and a half long and weighed almost 13 kilograms — nearly three times the weight of the old rifle. He didn’t mind that as much as might’ve been expected as he was not only strong but also quite tall, and the size of the weapon was therefore relatively less of an issue as a result.
When he finally judged himself to be far enough away from the emplacement to avoid detection, Kransky stood fully and started walking at a more normal pace. It wouldn’t have mattered to the gun crews and guards had he been spotted — indeed, that would’ve been better event for them from the point of view of the base security officer — but it was a matter of personal pride in his own capabilities that he’d take every possible step to ensure both his approach and departure from a potential target area were as stealthy as possible.
He took a glance at his watch, noting that it was not long after four and that he probably wasn’t going to make it back in time for breakfast and a shower by seven for his morning run. He’d use the radio at his belt to let Eileen know he was going to be late: with a hearty walk ahead of him just getting back to base, another run that day was probably superfluous anyway.
“Kennel calling Pack Leader… come in please, Pack Leader… over…” The sound of Warrant Officer Clarke, the officer on duty in the radar control bunker at Hindsight, suddenly called softly to him from the radio speaker/mike clipped to his left shoulder. ‘Pack Leader’ was his call sign, and he answered the signal immediately.
“Pack Leader reading you loud and clear: what’s up, Tom… over?”
“Looks like we have a malfunction at one of the Doghouses, Pack Leader… one of the Terriers is refusing to hunt… over.” The coded signal was quite clear: that the radar unit stationed at one of their gun emplacements had ceased operating.
“Understood, Kennel…” Kransky replied with a vague frown, belatedly deciding he too should probably adhere to the use of official code and call signs, being the Chief of Security and all. “Which Doghouse needs extra training… over?”
“Doghouse William, Pack Leader… repeat… Doghouse William… over…” The frown on his face grew significantly less faint: the four radar units were named ‘Nigel’, ‘Simon’, ‘Edward’ and “William’ and each name’s first letter corresponded with that of the appropriate point of the compass. Doghouse William’ therefore was the westernmost radar unit… the one positioned at Rora Head he’d barely walked away from minutes earlier.
“As luck would have it, I’m just a few minutes away from William myself, Kennel: I’ll get over there and see what I can find out… over.”
“Roger that, Pack Leader… understood… please investigate and advise… Kennel over and out…”
Kransky turned back toward the western hills and the brightening sky beyond. The gun emplacement was no more than two or three minutes brisk walk back the way he’d come, but he paused for a moment as the immediate frustration of having to retrace his steps was suddenly supplanted by an uneasy sensation of vague concern. It was at that moment the faint, mournful sound of air raid sirens disrupted an otherwise peaceful sunrise. As he broke into a run, back toward the Rora Head fortifications, a rather ironic thought flared for a moment in his mind that it now seemed certain he’d get his morning’s exercise after all.
The flight of B-13A Seeräuber fast bombers, escorted by their almost identical J-13C heavy fighter escorts, approached low from the west following a wide detour that had taken them right around the Orkneys in the hours before to sunrise. Staging out of Luftwaffe airbases in Norway, they’d circled north of the islands, staying just above the wave tops at all times to avoid radar detection in the hope a dawn attack from an unexpected direction might catch the base’s defences off guard. Every second an alert was delayed would help their cause, and there’d have been no possibility of surprise unless the western radar at Rora Head was put out of action, which had suddenly and rather effectively just occurred.
Twelve bombers of II/KG30 came in low and fast in three distinct groups of ‘finger-four’ formation, accompanied by a similar number of their fighter brethren from I/ZG76. Both types were variants of the same original Junkers Model 388 and were a brand new model being phased in to replace the same company’s versatile B-88s and J-88s currently filling similar roles. The aircraft even looked like little more than an enlarged and modernised version of the older ‘Eighty-Eight’, but beneath the surface they were a generation ahead of those being replaced, as was the case with many of the new aircraft currently coming into Luftwaffe service.
Both models were incredibly fast for a twin-engined aircraft; capable of speeds comparable to the Spitfire and greater than a Hurricane. They were also able to fly missions of far greater range than was possible with a single-engined aircraft, and with a pair of 250-litre auxiliary tanks beneath their inner wings (as these now carried), the distances they could fly were could be quite remarkable. They were also substantially larger than the Model-88 they replaced with a wingspan of 22 metres and a maximum take off weight of almost fifteen tonnes.
Save for a remotely-controlled turret in the extreme tail mounting a pair of 13mm machine guns, the B-13A bomber variant was unarmed, relying on speed alone to carry it to its target and allow it to deliver its 3,000kg bombload. Its three-seat cockpit included a clear Perspex nose that provided an excellent forward view for the bombardier on approach to target. The J-13C fighter variant also carried the tail turret mounting, but instead carried a streamlined, solid nose and two 23mm cannon and four 13mm machine guns it a ventral mounting in place of an internal bombload. Four hardpoints beneath the wings and one beneath the fuselage also allowed the carriage of extra fuel and/or up to 1,500kg of external weapons such as bombs or rockets.