“Regardless of the appearance of any threat, we will be taking off no later than first light tomorrow morning and setting course for Bolthole with all available aircraft.” He took another breath. “Everyone should be crystal clear that Hindsight will be in the air at dawn, and there will be no waiting for any stragglers, so I suggest everyone ensure they’re waiting at Alternate and prepared to leave well before time. We’ve had plenty of tents and bedding set up over there, so there should be space for everyone.” Another pause, this time for impact rather than any need for air.
“This is one of the contingencies we’ve had planned for a long time… even before arriving here. This is going to be hard for all of us, but we need to accept the fact that we can’t remain in Britain and stay safe. Should the invasion be turned back or defeated outright, we can return within days, but the truth is it’s unlikely we’ll ever set foot in the United Kingdom again. The next twenty-four hours are going to be difficult for everyone, but there’s going to be plenty to do to keep everyone busy, and I’m asking you all to hang in there and bear with us.” There was another pause.
“That’s pretty much all I have for you right now… normally I’d throw it open for questions right now, but time is against us and I’ll instead ask you to direct any questions to your respective unit commanders, who’ve all been fully briefed. I’ll be off base today on field ops, and Commander Donelson will be in command during my absence. That’s about it… thanks for your time… dismissed…”
Their equipment was already waiting as Thorne, Ritter and Kransky arrived five minutes later at the open grassed area near the ruins of the Hindsight base that the Mustang fighters had been using as a landing strip. It was still quite dark and exceptionally cold in the open, exposed to the gusting winds and a misting rain, and all three men wore thick flying jackets over their flight suits. Eileen and Trumbull were present also, standing nearby and wearing parkas over their own uniforms. None of the five were particularly reassured by the appearance of the aircraft before them on the flight line.
The Fairey Swordfish Mark I had first entering service in 1934, and was the foremost torpedo bomber of the Royal Navy’s Fleet Air Arm. In Realtime, it had given sterling service in that role throughout the war, operating from British aircraft carriers in every theatre in which they served. Nevertheless, the fact remained that the Swordfish, affectionately nicknamed the ‘Stringbag’ by those who flew it, was an obsolescent biplane of a largely bygone era. That being said, the aircraft had also developed a reputation for ruggedness and versatility that belied its antiquated appearance, and its nickname had been earned as a result of its ability to perform a wide variety of duties: like a string bag, it could carry a substantial amount of stores and ‘conform’ itself to suit whatever the situation at hand required.
The aircraft’s fuselage sides and upper surfaces were painted in broad, irregular stripes of grey and dark green — the Fleet Air Arm’s standard Temperate Sea Scheme camouflage — and it mounted just two machine guns as armament over and above the torpedo normally slung beneath the fuselage between its main undercarriage legs. One fixed .303 Browning in the nose fired forward, while a single Lewis gun of similar calibre was mounted on a flexible mount in the rearmost of the three cockpits… cockpits that were completely open to the elements. There was no torpedo carried by this particular aircraft, and an external fuel tank had been fixed in its place to provide added range.
The Swordfish was an exemplary platform for launching torpedoes at enemy shipping because of its slow speed and excellent flying characteristics, but Thorne and Eileen, with the benefit of historical hindsight, also knew how vulnerable the aircraft might prove if thrown into combat areas where effective enemy fighter cover and flak were present. With such a slow speed — no better than 160km/hr — the aircraft would be flying in daylight for most of the five-hour trip south, and would therefore be exposed to the danger of interception during the entire time. As ground crew finished last-minute checks on the aircraft, Thorne drew Ritter aside somewhat, knowing Eileen would want a few moments to say farewell to Kransky — a ‘farewell’ that might well be forever.
“We’re going to go ahead as planned this evening and release you as close to the front lines in Kent as we can get,” Thorne explained quickly, “assuming of course the invasion isn’t repulsed.”
“And if it is…?”
“It won’t be,” Thorne stated with unhappy certainty, but if it is, we can work something out.”
“That’s assuming we actually make it, Max,” Ritter observed dubiously, unable to shift his concerned gaze from the aircraft itself and thinking exactly how long it might last under fire from a J-4 fighter, or even one of his own S-2Ds… the answer that entered his mind being ‘…not long at all…’
“It may look rough, but it’s the only three-seater they could spare us!” Thorne growled, no happier. “I originally requested two fighter aircraft, with the idea of letting you fly one of them, but the CO here wouldn’t be in it for some strange reason…” he grinned “…they’re just not all that trusting, these days…”
“I hardly blame them,” Ritter conceded with a wry smile, “although if I were to fly away on my own, it’d merely serve to get me where you want me anyway… and a good deal faster at that!”
“Might be a bit hard to explain how you got hold of the plane, matey,” Thorne observed with a chuckle, “if you managed to make it somewhere safe without getting your arse shot off along the way.” He gave the German a pat on the shoulder. “Come on… let’s get this crap loaded while we’re waiting for Richard there…”
“Anything I say’s going to sound really stupid, I think,” Eileen began slowly, outright sadness in her eyes as she and Kransky stood close together on their own, a few metres away from Thorne and Ritter.
“Same here,” Kransky added lamely after a long pause. There was no way for him to explain the feelings within him at that moment… they were feelings he’d never before experienced, and were well beyond his ability to fully understand in such a short time.
“I know what you’re going to be doing,” she said softly, reaching out and taking his hand in hers, “and I know the truth is this’ll probably be the last time we see each other… ever…” The last word was unnecessary, but she somehow felt it needed to be said.
“I always knew I’d be going back into the field,” Kransky began, struggling with sentiments that were alien to his world, “and since I’ve known you, I’ve been thinking hard about what I was gonna say when this moment arrived.” He swallowed hard and took a breath, his eyes unable to meet hers for a few moments and searching the dark skies above for the right words. “There are a lot of things I could say, but the most important of them is ‘thank you’.”
“You’re thanking me?” That was something Eileen hadn’t expected at all, considering their circumstances and her inability to fully reciprocate the feelings she knew he felt for her. “What on earth for…?”