“Harbinger, this is Icebreaker — we have a bit of a problem here… Over.”
“Reading you, Icebreaker…” Thorne responded quickly, instantly alert and concerned. “What’s up?”
“We’ve received an urgent message from the Prime Minister’s office direct. It seems that Alec Trumbull has got into a bit of bother off the south coast and is in need of assistance. Over…”
“He was supposed to be grounded today!” Thorne growled in reply, ignoring normal R/T procedure in reaction to the unexpected situation. “That was a precondition of Laurence’s assistance!”
“Yes, Harbinger — sorry about that. The message from Fighter Command apparently arrived at his squadron too late — he’d already scrambled. Seems he has engine trouble and there’s a bit of a stoush going on down that way as we speak. The request did come from the Prime Minister himself…”
“Actually, I did hear that the first time, Icebreaker,” Thorne pointed out sourly in return and gave the new information a few seconds of thought as the ocean rushed past 200 metres below him at an incredible rate. He’d refuelled just before displacement, but the aircraft didn’t have external tanks mounted and a high-speed run down the length of Britain and back would use a substantial amount of his fuel… he’d be cutting things very fine if he ran into anything other than local opposition or was forced to loiter in the area for any reason.
“Anything other than the ‘usual’ stuff about, Icebreaker…?” He inquired, still thinking.
“Nothing as far as we’re aware, Harbinger — all seems to be contemporary.”
“Fuck it…” Thorne muttered to himself finally, the decision made. He keyed the transmitter once more. “Get me a bearing on that, Icebreaker and I’ll go and have a look for you.”
The new co-ordinates had been entered into his flight computer just a moment later in preparation for the impromptu trip south and the aircraft’s autopilot took over, instantly bringing the F-35E into a tight, high-G turn that brought it back onto a southerly heading. His afterburner kicked in for a few moments, forcing him back in his seat as the jet accelerated and climbed at the same time, levelling out as it passed through 10,000 metres.
“Comms: music — play Iron Maiden.”
The F-35E model (pre-production model EF-1) was a one-off, two-seat prototype developed from the original single-seat F-35B STOVL variant. Originally intended as a demonstrator and test aircraft for the viability of a two-seat cockpit due to pressure from some of Lockheed’s prospective international customers, aircraft EF-1 had been commandeered by the US Government and supplied on open-ended ‘loan’ to Thorne’s special unit as it was the only aircraft available that was able to fill a quite specific set of required mission parameters.
Thorne, who’d become the primary pilot, had spend several months in simulator and real flight training with the F-35E as a result and had almost become part of the development team himself as the last of its initial bugs and idiosyncrasies were ironed out. As he’d provided a great deal of input during the final stages of its operational status and had also been required to personally program the cockpit’s speech-recognition command system to attune it to his voice, he’d also had some of his own requests factored into the aircraft’s features.
One of them had included the provision of a non-standard socket interface mounted just ahead of the throttle control, into which was currently inserted a small 16GB iPod Nano. The Apple music player was filled with a personal collection of Thorne’s favourite music in MPEG audio format and could be piped through his headset on request. The quality of the sound reproduction wasn’t fantastic but it was better than nothing in Thorne’s estimation.
As the distinctive opening guitar riffs of Iron Maiden’s song The Trooper blasted in his ears, Thorne settled into his seat and tried to remain calm as he contemplated the potential dangers ahead and the F-35E hurtled through the cold, darkening sky southward at close to the speed of sound.
High above the English Channel north of Guernsey, Leutnant Keller and his wingman cruised along effortlessly in their new Focke-Wulf J-4A fighters. Flying in standard Luftwaffe paired formation (known as a ‘rotte’) they belonged to 8 Staffel of III/LG2 based at Cherbourg. As an instructional unit, Lehrgeschwader-2 was preparing for the commencement of the conversion of front-line Luftwaffe fighter wings to the new fighter aircraft they were now testing.
Although they’d now had those two particular examples of the new J-4A flying for a few weeks, the aircraft’s capabilities still impressed them. Larger in all respects than the J-109 ‘Emil’ it was about to replace, the Würger — or ‘Shrike’ — was packed with improvements and innovations. The aircraft was heavier than its predecessor, but the larger Junkers V-12 engine that powered it was still able to give the aircraft a top speed substantially greater than the fastest Spitfire either at sea level or at altitude.
The rear fuselage was cut down and a sliding, ‘tear-drop’ canopy was provided, both factors resulting in greatly superior all-round visibility for the pilot. There was also the added benefit of the ability to leave the canopy hood open, something that was impossible with the side-opening design on the J-109. It was a luxury both pilots were making the most of at that moment.
“Herr Leutnant!” The call came over the radio from Keller’s wingman. “Aircraft off to port…!” The lieutenant craned his neck to the left, and dipping that wing slightly he caught sight — barely — of the aircraft in question. It was travelling at far lower altitude — no more than 2,000 metres above the Channel — and was at least ten kilometres away. Save for the last vestiges of full sunlight glinting off its wings and upper surfaces, it might well have passed unseen.
“Well spotted, Hans,” Keller acknowledged “A flying boat, I think. Shall we take a closer look?” He threw his Shrike onto its port wing and increased throttle, banking sharply westward as he armed his guns.
Smoke poured from the port, inboard engine of Short Sunderland ‘G-for-Grace’ of Royal Australian Air Force Number 10 Squadron as Flight-Lieutenant Edward Whittaker watched from the pilot’s seat with more than a little apprehension. Its starboard counterpart already lay dormant off the right side of the cockpit, the three-bladed propeller feathered and spinning lazily as the flying boat struggled to maintain a constant airspeed. Five hours earlier they’d run across a Focke-Wulf P-200C Condor over the Bay of Biscay and unlike most Condor pilots, this one had decided to attack in spite of the large German patrol aircraft’s generally fragile nature.
The Sunderland — an aircraft the Luftwaffe and Kriegsmarine respectfully referred to as ‘der Fliegende Stachelschwein’ (‘the Flying Porcupine’) — had beaten off the repeated attacks, and in all probability they’d dealt the enemy patrol bomber a beating from which it wouldn’t recover as it finally fled east once more trailing smoke. The P-200C’s heavy machine guns and 20mm cannon had given them a severe pummelling in return nevertheless: only two of their four engines were now functioning properly and their damaged, leaking fuel tanks meant they’d be lucky to make home base at Plymouth, or a Coastal Command safe haven anywhere else for that matter. Their compass was shattered and he suspected they were well off-course and a lot closer to German-controlled airspace than they’d have liked, but Whittaker kept fighting with his controls and refused to give up hope all the same.