The seven men who’d arrived on the aircraft outside were standing by the fireplace and engaged in conversation with the six ‘officials’ of the Hindsight unit as Thorne entered the mess a few minutes later, and if any of his colleagues felt the same nervous terror he was feeling within, they were doing a fine job of concealing it. All eyes turned in his direction as he entered, causing him to halt momentarily before stepping forward to join the group. Each of the eight men present were vital to Hindsight’s continued existence and ultimate success in their own way, and Thorne recognised and revered each and every one of them as the significant figures in modern history (as he knew it) that they genuinely were.
Standing to one side of the group were three tall men, each representing one of the services of the British Armed Forces. Wearing dress whites was Admiral Sir John Tovey, commander of the Fleet Home Forces and the man who’d commanded (Was yet to command? Thorne’s mind threw in to be difficult) the successful pursuit and subsequent destruction of the Bismarck — something that was now extremely unlikely to happen at all under current circumstances. Fifty-five years of age, he was a tall, solid man with a serious face, sharp eyes and a shallow, greying widow’s peak of hair above a broad forehead.
In the middle of the trio stood General Sir John Dill, Chief of Imperial General Staff, ADC to the King, and military commander of the British Army. Born on Christmas Day of the year 1881 in County Armagh, Northern Ireland, he’d set his sights on a military career from a very early age. Following attendance at Royal Military College Sandhurst, Dill had received a commission as a second lieutenant in 1901, just in time to see action in the Second Boer War. Well-respected in Britain and abroad, he was a capable officer with a gifted ability for instruction and had served the army well for almost forty years.
Standing beside Dill was a man as recognisable to Thorne as any in that room. Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh Dowding remained almost aloof from the proceedings, turning to utter a word or two here and there as conversation was directed his way, but seeming to have a barely-disguised desire to be ‘somewhere else’. Thorne suspected that was more than likely: a hero and inspired leader in the eyes of many historians of Thorne’s time, ‘Stuffy’ Dowding had made few friends with the superiors of his own time. On more than one occasion he’d gone so far as to alienate Churchill himself in pursuit of a course of action he believed correct.
At the beginning of the war, Dowding had already been under extension of planned retirement due to the emergency at hand, and in an unaltered historical timeline he’d subsequently be vilified by the RAF hierarchy and summarily dismissed following the end of the Realtime Battle of Britain. His huge contribution to the defeat of the Luftwaffe over England would go largely ignored and pushed aside in Government publications following the Battle, and in this almost criminal treatment of the man who more than any other had single-handedly masterminded the aerial defence of the United Kingdom, Churchill must’ve been at least sympathetic if not directly involved. It was said that due to Dowding’s abrasive and cautious nature he wasn’t well liked by the Prime Minister, and the fate of those Prime Minister Churchill disliked could at times be all too final and abrupt.
Indeed, Sir Winston Churchill seemed to be barely tolerating the Air Chief Marshal’s presence as he stood close by with the remaining three arrivals. Thorne almost laughed in disbelief at the reality of a man so similar in appearance to the caricatures of history. Even though he wore an army Field Marshal’s uniform rather than his usual suit and hat, he was ‘in character’ with the half-chewed cigar clenched between his teeth. The uniform, although of note, didn’t surprise Thorne. It was well known that Churchill liked to consider himself the overall ‘Chief’ of the war effort, often using the uniform of one of the three services to illustrate that point, and in a way it made the Australian a little relieved: it indicated the Prime Minister was taking the whole thing quite seriously indeed.
Beside Churchill and slightly to the rear of the group was Brigadier Stewart Menzies, the Chief of the British Secret Intelligence Service and often referred to only as ‘C’ in official circles, the letter being the traditional codename for the head of MI6. Also in his fifties, he was a man with intense and intelligent eyes, receding dark hair and a trimmed moustache. A man who in his youth had excelled at hunting and running in addition his studies at Eton, Menzies had joined the Grenadier Guards straight out of school and served in France during the First World War. Seeing combat in numerous engagements, including the First and Second Battles of Ypres (during which he was wounded for a second time in a gas attack), he’d received the Distinguished Service Order from King George V personally.
Almost side by side with Menzies and seemingly as comfortable in remaining detached from the rest, Sir Richard Trumbull KCB, KCMG, MC appeared just as happy to remain an observer rather than contributor to the conversations going on in the room. Although a good half-head shorter than Alec and far more heavyset, Thorne could nevertheless clearly see the resemblance to his son. British Under-Secretary of State for War, Richard Trumbull was also a close personal friend of Churchill’s and had historically been considered one of the Prime Minister’s most trusted personal advisors and confidantes. Upon his original arrival in 1939, Nick Alpert had brought with him a reel of film intended purely for Richard Trumbull’s viewing: a film that the 85-year-old Laurence of 2010 had also had a hand in preparing. It had been instrumental in Alpert’s securing the attention and support of the man who held influence over someone soon to become Prime Minister in that first desperate year of war, and had paved the way for provision of the facilities they were now using as a result.
The last of the newcomers present had caused the most consternation among those of the Hindsight team present, and indeed also created a great deal of excitement for the ground crew attending to the aircraft they’d arrived in. At forty-six, he was the youngest of the group by a number of years and looked it. Perhaps not quite as tall as most of the others, he was nevertheless a tall man who stood straight and strong in a beautifully-tailored Savile Row suit jacket and trousers. Despite his age, there still seemed to be a youthful, almost boyish innocence in the man’s features, although Thorne also thought he could make out a deep sadness in the man’s eyes. Considering what he’d learned from Nick following his arrival, he could understand the source of the melancholy, and truth be told, Max Thorne could empathise all too well.
He pushed dark thoughts of his own past aside in that moment however and stepped forward to officially greet King Edward VIII.
“Your Majesty,” he spoke the soft reverence one would expect in meeting a monarch, and as he drew near, Thorne lowered his head in a gentle bow.
“Please, Mister Thorne…no need for formality here,” Edward replied immediately, raising a hand dismissively. “It’s we who are your guests here, and you honour us with your presence today.” There was honesty and directness in the man’s voice and eyes, and his manner instantly put Thorne at ease, making his job substantially less difficult. “From what Brigadier Alpert has been telling us over the last year, you’ve all come a terribly long way in more ways than one, and the amazing aircraft you have outside clearly confirm that.”