For the remaining Luftwaffe aircraft, the reprieve was momentary at best. Four of the remaining ten remaining aircraft were heavy fighters, and the closest of those decided to take on the F-35E as the jet came out of its turn pointing directly at the formation. As the J-13C banked in toward Thorne, it opened up with its nose-mounted guns and a blistering barrage of tracer roared past off the Australian’s starboard wing a second later that was far too close for comfort.
No more than a thousand metres between them, the range was far too close to be certain of a kill with a medium-range missile, but he fired two anyway, desperate to protect himself and the cargo aircraft below and making himself an ace at the same time. An AMRAAM hissed angrily from beneath each wing, instantly arcing away on divergent courses as they sought out separate targets. One dealt a direct hit to the J-13A that had fired on him, while the second detonated its 22kg proximity warhead beneath the belly of an enemy fast bomber. There was little wreckage left to fall in either case as both disappeared in clouds of flame and billowing black smoke.
The loss of those last two aircraft finally broke the will of the eight remaining pilots and the formation split apart as they all came to the same decision simultaneously and aborted the attack. Thorne drew even closer as they broke and found himself on the tail of one of the bomber for a few seconds, his gunsight pipper’s central dot aligning perfectly with the centre of the twin-engined Junkers as he pressed down his gun trigger.
There was a roar as the 25mm cannon beneath his belly hammered away with a quick burst, tracer ripping through the B-13A’s starboard engine and wing and tearing them completely from the fuselage near the root. The bomber began to spiral away out of control, the aircrew left with no time to clamber from their cockpit and in any case far too low to bail out as it dashed itself to pieces against the ground three hundred metres below, the wreckage slamming into a storage shed behind the main hangars and exploding in a large fireball.
Three of the seven remaining enemy appeared to be on a path that would take them far too close to the runway for Thorne’s liking, and he began to turn the Lightning II sharply back toward them in the hope of bringing his cannon to bear. All seven remaining attackers suddenly exploded around him in quick succession, the event occurring so fast that it seemed almost simultaneous.
Davies’ F-22A Raptor had quickly roared up to five thousand metres following take off, its powerful Pratt & Whitney turbofans on full afterburner as it reached the zenith of its climb, and it seemed to pause for a moment before flipping sharply onto its back. As it rolled through 180º, the Raptor’s nose began to once more point earthward and Davies’ acquisition radar instantly locked onto the all seven remaining enemies as they split formation below. In lightning-fast succession, Davies had released all six of the AMRAAMs carried within the Raptor’s main weapons bay.
The advanced missiles, sometimes nicknamed ‘Fido’ in the USAF (as in ‘Go get him, Fido!’), were a ‘fire-and-forget’ weapon, and each was assigned a different target by the jet’s fire control systems as they were kicked free of their mountings one by one. All six ran true, smashing what was left of the attack from the skies as Davies swooped down from the sky above in their wake, the F-22’s 20mm Vulcan cannon releasing a deadly stream of shells that obliterated the last, lone B-13A.
Wild-eyed and running on pure adrenalin, the Texan released a long whoop of elation over the radio as he roared past off Thorne’s nose at full throttle, levelling out some distance away, quite close to the earth. His flight path carried him on across the grassy slopes of Hoy Island, past Ward Hill and beyond, and out over the North Atlantic. He joyously executed a transonic victory roll that carried back to the men of the base the sound of what was for most their first sonic boom.
Alec Trumbull had watched the entire show from a slit trench close to a nearby flak emplacement and had been left dumbstruck. He’d watched the opening engagements as the Tunguskas had torn apart half of the entire attack and had been amazed. As he watched the diving streak of the F-22 release six AIM-120s and destroy as many aircraft a few seconds later to end the attack, he was left completely in awe.
In that moment following the battle, as others cheered and clapped, Trumbull shook his head in stunned, open-mouthed relief and watched the Raptor thunder away out of sight to the west, the enormity of the things he’d learned over the last month coming savagely home as he finally, truly believed what Thorne had told him. He saw the great chasm that was the ‘gap’ between the technologies of his time and the technology Thorne and Hindsight had brought with them. He saw how completely that technology could shatter forces that hugely outnumbered them… and Thorne had said that they’d actually been ill-prepared. The Australian claimed the German force opposing them — these ‘New Eagles’ — had been planning their trip back through time for possibly as long as five years. A shudder ran through him and he was suddenly very afraid: afraid for himself, afraid for his family, and afraid for The Empire as a whole.
Eoin Kelly, still ‘luxuriating’ in one of Hindsight’s security cells and due to be flown back to Ireland within days, had been allowed out of his confinement — a very kind gesture in his opinion — and had been escorted to the safety of his own slit trench. He too had been in a prime position to watch the battle overhead, although he’d have thought that descriptive term quite generous in reference to such a one-sided affair.
A month after arriving there at Hindsight, he still remained torn to some extent over the proposition Thorne had put to him upon his arrival. The demonstration of smallarms he’d viewed however had paled into insignificance compared to what he’d just seen in the sky above Hindsight that morning, and although no one had explained anything to him, he was certain that some incredible things were going on there at the base. The other idea he took away from the events of that morning was the thought that if Thorne, possessed of such powerful aircraft and technology, was still frightened of the might of Germany, perhaps the Irish also had something to fear after all. If he’d been undecided before that moment, the aerial battle and its outcome had made up his mind.
Twenty minutes later, both Thorne and Davies had landed their aircraft once more. Major problems had been uncovered in their defensive systems in a number of areas, and there were lessons that needed to be learned — quickly — as a result. Post-battle analysis revealed that the western radar unit had gone down unexpectedly just minutes before that attack, and it didn’t seem possible that could’ve been by coincidence.
“I want a full fucking investigation and I want an armed guard posted with each unit — day and fucking night!” Thorne snarled with vehemence, still wearing his flight suit as he stormed into his office with Kransky in tow. The American was now seeing the ‘bad’ side of the Australian for the first time, and he had no problem with that: the circumstances suggested foul play as clearly to him as to Thorne, and that was something that made him equally enraged and determined.
“You’ll have both immediately… and a report on your desk by six this evening.” Kransky stated with certainty as they halted by a small pot-bellied stove that was maintained with wood all day by Thorne’s batman — the same man who kept well out of the way in the outer office area upon seeing the mood the CO was in.
“There’ll have to be some pretty damned unequivocal evidence to convince me that radar outage was anything but deliberate…” Thorne growled darkly “…and if it was deliberate, it means just one of two things… either they landed someone last night, or we have someone here at Hindsight who’s not all they seem.”