Two of the soldiers remained with Thorne as he and Kelly sat on the corvette’s afterdeck, the central part of the decking taken up by an armoured mount sporting a pair of 20mm Oerlikon cannon surrounded by depth charges, supplies and other equipment. The naval rating manning the guns was alert despite the onset of night — there were no guarantees of safety after nightfall these days, particularly in light of the Luftwaffe’s marked aerial superiority.
Sitting beside Kelly, Thorne had donned a warm black parka with a multitude of pockets and had directed that a thick woollen pea coat be draped about the Irishman’s shoulders as the two guards stood off a few metres, nevertheless remaining alert.
“We goin’ to introduce ourselves then?” Kelly ventured with forced cheer, trying to get as much of the disrespect out of his voice as possible in recognition of the man’s defence against his assault earlier.
“I already know your name, Volunteer Eoin Kelly,” Thorne replied with a sly grin, and the obvious humour in his voice allowed the man to feel a little more at ease.
“Ahh… that you do… but you have me at a disadvantage…”
“Air Vice Marshal Max Thorne, Royal Air Force…”
“Aye, the ‘air force’ part I’d already guessed, right enough… You mind tellin’ me where we’re off to on this little adventure tonight? Normally I’d not bother you, mind, but none of the other bastards I’ve been ‘graced’ with tonight have been particularly disposed to talkin’…”
“Figured this bastard might tell you, eh?” Thorne chuckled, and Kelly could tell there was no offence taken by the extrapolation of his remark. “We’re off to the Royal Naval Air Station at Ronaldsway on the Isle of Man, Mister Kelly… from there we’ll board a plane flying north. I’ve a few things I need to discuss with you once we get to where we’re headed and we’ve have a chance to have a few drinks and get comfortable.”
“And where we’re goin’ would be…?” Kelly was wondering what possibly reason the man could have to want to take him ‘further north’ of the Isle of Man, which in real terms had to mean somewhere in Scotland.
“What… and spoil the ‘surprise’?” Thorne returned, still grinning.
“I think you’re having a laugh at me, Mister Thorne,” Kelly observed, only vaguely miffed over the fact.
“I think, Mister Kelly, that if all I’m doing is laughing at you, then you’ll probably be all right.” Thorne pointed out, realising in that moment that the man was still bound. He ordered over one of the soldiers and directed that Kelly be cut free of his restraints.
“You’re takin’ a bit of a chance there, aren’t you, Mister Thorne… nasty, dangerous criminal like me?” The words were light, but Thorne could detect the underlying questions beneath: Kelly was trying to get an idea of where he stood, and was probing Thorne’s resolve and intelligence in the process.
“Not really,” Thorne replied evenly, his right hand appearing from beneath the folds of his coat holding a large automatic pistol of a type Kelly had never before seen. “I’ve got this, after all, and the men over there are well armed and will happily shoot out your legs if you try anything. I wouldn’t rate your chances going over the side, either, considering the temperature of that water: probably wouldn’t be too long before a shark took you.” Both of those arguments seemed quite legitimate to Kelly as he mentally sized up his chances and came up decidedly short.
“You make a strong argument for us stayin’ civil right now, I’ll grant you,” he conceded as the reluctant lance-corporal took out a knife and cut his hands and feet free, keeping his own weapon well out of the prisoner’s reach.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about with me, Kelly, so calm down and enjoy the ride.” Those words surprised the man as he rubbed feeling back into his wrists and stretched his legs out across the deck.
“Aye, I gathered that back at The Castle,” his voice trailed off for a moment, and Thorne could ‘hear’ the added words that Kelly found too difficult to actually speak.
“You’re welcome, mate,” Thorne grinned, saving the man a little pride. “That must’ve been hard to almost say. Kelly, we’re not taking you anywhere under arrest — if you’ll put up with me for a month or so, you’ll be released free as a bird after that.” Those words stunned the man more than anything else so far, the expression of disbelief on his face clearly evident. “I’ll even fly you back into Ireland myself if I have to,” Thorne added, and for the first time in quite a while, Volunteer Eoin Kelly literally had nothing to say.
HMS Proserpine, Home Fleet Naval Anchorage
Scapa Flow, Orkney Islands
Thursday
July 18, 1940
Holding the position of Security Chief under circumstances that were far more formal than he was used to was already both an interesting and challenging experience for Kransky after just a few days. A large part of that time had been involved in organising and orienting the rest of his mixed group of officers and NCOs, although Captain Merrill and the others were experienced professionals and generally managed to get up to speed quite quickly. He’d also needed to take some time to acquaint himself with the base and the island in general, and had done a lot of walking in whatever free time he’d managed to find since his arrival. His tall silhouette had quickly become a regular sight around the perimeter of the base with the worn, dirty backpack and all his usual equipment slung over his back; equipment that including the captured German machine pistol and scoped sniper rifle.
Although there was no requirement whatsoever for him to move about armed, he’d spent far too long in areas of combat for him to feel completely safe or comfortable without some kind of firearm in his possession. In any case, he also didn’t want to become accustomed to not carrying his gear: whether the assignment there as security chief lasted a few weeks or a few months, he’d eventually end up ‘back at the coal face’ and operating in the field once more, and he didn’t wish to dull his ‘edge’ if he could avoid it.
As always, the aircraft parked along the flight line consumed his attention as he walked near the hangars and control tower that morning, dominating the scene with their overpowering size and the impossibility of their existence. He’d been introduced to the leaders of the Hindsight unit — the officer cadre — and he was sharp enough to recognise that all of them knew much more about those aircraft and the circumstances surrounding their presence on the tarmac than anyone was telling. He also knew that the officers themselves were an unusual bunch, to say the least, and there was another story to be had there potentially as interesting as anything that might explain the planes before him.
Unfortunately, no one was telling that story or any other. The CO — Thorne — was off base somewhere, expected back that day, and Kransky was hoping to finally get a few explanations upon his return. He could understand there was a place for secrecy under the right circumstances, but as head of security he had good reason to require some insight into what was going on at the base he was charged to protect. Without a reasonable working knowledge of what was going on there at the Hindsight installation, there was a potential for him to perhaps not take enough precautions to guard against an attack, either from without or within: he couldn’t protect the security of the place if he had no idea what he was supposed to protect.