“There are a lot of things we’ve had to live with over the last seven years,” Reuters observed pointedly and all nodded in agreement, if for different reasons. With as much silent pain as ever, Schiller thought about Rachel, whom he’d left behind and who would now never exist. They’d played with time, and time could do many things, but healing his soul wasn’t one of the things they could hope to accomplish.
HMS Proserpine, Home Fleet Naval Anchorage
Scapa Flow, Orkney Islands
Sunday
June 30, 1940
Trumbull still wasn’t asleep at 0130 hours on that freezing Sunday early morning. He’d been shown to more than adequate quarters within the officers’ billets and he was certainly exhausted, but the overwhelming power of his curiosity refused to give in to his body’s demands for much-needed rest. The room he’d been allocated was one with windows that provided an excellent view of the runway, hangars and concreted aircraft parking areas. All of those areas were still brightly illuminated and although they were hundreds of metres away, Trumbull could see quite clearly the hive of activity that continued to surround the new arrivals.
All four aircraft intrigued him equally. Although everyone had been far to busy to be able to answer many of his numerous questions, he’d at least been able to eventually ascertain that all four were American planes, and the three he’d watched arrive with Thorne and Alpert the evening before clearly displayed United States’ national insignia, unlike the F-35E he’d arrived in which displayed little other than the coloured strip of multinational flags he’d noted upon its first appearance. The information came as a surprise to Trumbull, to say the least, as the USA had continually and emphatically proclaimed its neutrality with regard to war in Europe. Certainly, the Americans had been sympathetic to Britain’s plight and there were rumours that military aid was indeed being secretly provided, but the presence of three such obviously military aircraft might well be viewed by the Axis as an outright act of war.
That was assuming for a moment that Trumbull believed the Americans capable of such technology, which he didn’t despite the aircraft’s obvious existence. Another inexplicable point was that the insignia on the craft all purported to belong to the ‘United States Air Force’. There was no such organisation that he was aware of — the Americans’ air power resided with the USAAC — the United States Army Air Corps — and Trumbull was certain he’d have been aware had there been such a major name change.
The second fighter aircraft had landed some minutes after the two larger planes and was generally similar in overall appearance to the F-35, although there were some notable differences as well. Its twin tails were canted dramatically outward much like the Lightning, and there didn’t seem to be a defined point at which the broad wings and tail actually joined the flattened, faired fuselage — the wings and body instead seemed to ‘blend’ together in a smooth fashion that Trumbull suspected was very aerodynamic. Save for the tricycle landing gear it rested upon there seemed to be almost no breaks at all in the smooth surfaces of its fuselage.
Trumbull had never seen a more streamlined or sleek craft: even the bubble-shaped canopy that covered the single-seat cockpit was low and ‘sculpted’ to fit in with the rest of its shape. He’d heard Thorne and Alpert refer to the fighter as a ‘Raptor’, which the dictionary defined as a bird of prey of some type…as he stared at the plane’s sleek, purposeful lines he thought the name was singularly appropriate.
The two larger aircraft were something else again. The smallest of the pair — Thorne had called it a ‘KC-10A Extender’ or something equally obscure — lay off to one side of a large concreted area close to the near end of the runway. At that point in time, none of the activity outside on that cold early morning appeared to be centred around it at all. As with all of the aircraft, it was painted all over in a low-visibility mid/dark grey with faded markings and insignia. Three engines powered the Extender (one mounted in the very tail with an intake set below the leading edge of the jet’s tall rudder to complement one under each wing), and beneath its tail was a singularly unusual piece of apparatus that in Trumbull’s opinion looked to all the world like some kind of huge, man-made ‘wasp’s sting’.
It was the largest of the arrivals however — obviously a gigantic transport aircraft of some kind — that was the centre of attention out in the landing area that night. They’d called it a C-5M ‘Super Galaxy’ and the grandeur of the name was more than suitable. The massive nose of the craft was hinged beneath the high-mounted cockpit glass and had lifted upward and completely out of the way, revealing a loading and a vast, spacious cargo bay beyond that ran down what appeared to be the entire length of the aircraft. At the far end, beneath the high tail, equally large ‘clamshell’ doors also opened on either side to reveal a second, rear loading ramp. Trumbull couldn’t even begin to estimate the carrying capacity but it was obviously massive, and to his mind the craft was one of the most intelligently designed things he’d ever seen. He was incredibly impressed by the potential and practicality of the Galaxy and what that could mean to any armed force that made use of it.
The front and rear doors of the Galaxy had opened within minutes of landing and the disembarkation and removal of personnel and cargo had begun. Still watching from the tower earlier in the night, Trumbull had been privy to a much better view of the goings-on. Two dozen men had emerged from the C-5M, filing down its forward ramp in twos and threes before assembling as a group in front of the huge plane and all dressed in various types of military fatigues. Some were of a similar type to those Trumbull had sometimes seen visiting US personnel wear, but others were of strange patterns indeed — splotches of green and black and browns against a light tan background. Rather than US-style forage caps or helmets, those men wore Slouch Hats in the fashion of Commonwealth troops: Australians or New Zealanders.
As the men had assembled on the tarmac below the plane in those first few moments they were almost uncontrollable. As they were met by Thorne and Alpert there were whoops and howls of joy as all embracing each other in an obvious show of relief that seemed to be going quite a bit overboard to Trumbull. After a bit more thought however he was willing to concede with a wry smile that a flight inside that huge thing might indeed make him feel as happy about being on land again as they obviously were.
They were a loud and boisterous lot — some of them were definitely American — and the enlisted men joked and chatted enthusiastically as they began to unload the first few cargo pallets, NCOs bellowing orders back and forth all the while. Trumbull also noted with some interest that there was at least one woman among them wearing the full uniform of an officer of the Royal Navy — as opposed to that of the WRNS (the Women’s Royal Naval Service).
Trumbull had watched with great interest as the first of the items of cargo the huge plane carried were unloaded that evening. He was intrigued as the first of a pair of vehicles trundled down the rear ramp wreathed in clouds of condensation and diesel exhaust. Although the vehicles were unlike any he’d before seen, the RAF pilot was quickly becoming desensitised to surprise to the point of simple acceptance…most things he’d seen that day had been unlike anything he’d seen before and he’d basically used up his capacity for amazement to the point that he was willing to hold it in check until some suitable explanations had been provided. Whoever held those answers was certainly going to be in for a lot of questions.