However, Todd knew exactly what was coming next, as the PM continued.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I have one more request to make of you before you depart, and I beg you to listen to your own Air Marshal Morrissey, who will explain.’
The assembled group turned as one to face the AVM and listened intently – although many had already guessed the outcome. He commenced his slick explanation:
‘I know that none of you wanted to be here and that you are all desperate to travel back next week. I'm also aware that none of you like me very much. Nevertheless, this is not a popularity contest and I really couldn’t care less. However, as the PM stated, the Germans could actually be in England within days and that would ruin any chance of us getting home. British Forces - we - have to make sure that they do not cross the English Channel before the ninth of September – in order that we can fly away. You must see that it is essential to our own survival?’
‘What the fucking hell do you want of us?’ shouted an anonymous voice, ‘haven’t we already done enough? How many more of us have to die?’
Sir Henry continued un-fazed.
‘The British intelligence agencies have discovered the two main operating bases for the German Me 262s. Both are in France. You will have read in your smuggled-in newspapers that these phenomenal jet aircraft have been tearing the RAF here in 1940 to pieces.’
He was interrupted again.
‘They haven’t done too badly against us, either,’ someone shouted belligerently.
‘Quite so, exactly my point. These aircraft need to be stopped – at least temporarily – or we’ll never get home. It's only a matter of time before they attack us here in Cardington – and then we would be utterly lost! Trapped in the past forever – under Nazi rule!’
Another pause for the information to fully soak in.
‘Therefore, we must consider the Prime Minister’s final request. We must attack and destroy the Me 262s on the ground with one last massive attack. The RAF is going to muster a one-thousand bomber raid in three nights time – the fourth/fifth of September and we are needed to protect that force against Me 262 night fighters. The three Tornados will protect the bomber force, the ECM Canberra will help with jamming and the Recce Canberra will monitor and photograph the raid from high level.
It's a relatively low risk mission – but essential to our survival. What do you say? Todd?’
Todd Morrissey spoke for the entire team.
‘Well, quite frankly, as far I as I can determine, our contribution to this raid is insignificant and not worth the risk – so, sir; Prime Minister, the answer is no – you can shove your mission where the sun don’t shine.’
There was another cheer and spontaneous round of applause for Todd from his team.
Churchill turned to Dowding and Sir Peter Andrews as Force 1992 voiced their agreement with Todd.
However, Sir Henry looked grim. He spoke again.
‘I'm afraid that a negative response is not an option. I am informed by our hosts that if we do not co-operate, our aircraft will be impounded and we shall all be transferred to prison – or psychiatric hospitals if we persist with our time-travel stories. We will never get home.’
He paused and changed tack, smiling thinly. His eyes were as steel.
‘However, as a gesture of good faith, our three wounded compatriots have been returned and are now being loaded out of the ambulance – please assist them.’
‘So we have no choice – fight or be imprisoned. What option do we have - none?’ objected Todd.
‘Yes Todd, it's that good old Hobson’s Choice again.’
Todd turned to his men and sighed. He was furious at this blatant and immoral blackmail, but was powerless to do anything about it. He realised the impossibility of their position, and was too damned tired to fight it anymore.
‘Okay, you win. We’ll do it – under protest – but we want assurances that you won't renege on our agreement. We must be allowed our chance to get home.’
The AVM quickly responded.
‘I give you my word, Todd, we WILL get a chance at the escape next week. I have taken certain steps to ensure it.’
Sir Henry glanced at Churchill, who nodded imperceptibly before speaking.
‘The country, indeed your country, thanks you and I wish you every success. You will probably not see me again, so I also wish you ‘Bon Voyage’. Good day ladies and gentlemen. The troops will remain on station to ensure your…er…continued co-operation.’
With that, the three returned to their car and drove away, leaving the AVM and Todd to pick up the pieces.
The 1992 team was in uproar and it took Todd several minutes to quell their fury.
‘Look, we have no option but to comply. Let's just fly this one mission. We’ll keep our heads down and hopefully suffer no losses in the air. You heard the AVM, we WILL get a crack at the window next week. Frankly, I'm too exhausted to argue any more. Let's just do it. At least our three mates are back. Let's look after them and get the jets ready for three nights hence. Agreed?’
The crowd had quietened by now and slowly nodded their assent. Todd – no; Churchill - had won the day.
‘Well done, Todd. Good job,’ congratulated his father.
Todd was not in a receptive mood.
‘Fuck you, you scheming, lying bastard!’ he snarled, and walked away to console the wounded.
51
RAF Cardington
4 September 1940
The next three days were spent feverishly preparing the remaining six aircraft. However, the C-130 received special attention. All of the collective knowledge remaining was employed tuning the engines to near-perfection. The interior was prepared to carry groundcrew, non-flying aircrew and to stow any remaining equipment or stores. The team were taking no chances on this aircraft going unserviceable at the last minute. It was fully fuelled and ready to go by close of play on the fourth. Even the AVM turned out and assisted with some of the loading, although the groundcrew gave him a wide berth. However, this didn’t improve his popularity rating and he was left to sit alone in the cockpit.
The three Tornados, including the Recce jet were prepared for Air Defensive duties. The last of the AA missiles were attached, bullets loaded and fuel tanks removed. Their flight endurance would be limited but that suited the aircrew, the sooner they were back on the ground, the better. The ECM Canberra would be at high level and potentially well out of range of any Me 262 action. The Recce Canberra would float around at forty-thousand feet and photograph the two targets, before and after the massed bombing rain early on the fifth.
With a bit of luck, all five aircraft would recover in one piece to await the eighth of September in relative safety.
The flying crews were picked by choosing lots.
Todd and Stumpy, Jim Davis and Bill Earle would fly the IDS, Harry South and Anwar Salim the Recce, Phil Merry and Al Gibson the PR Canberra and the ECM crew was fixed in any case. The remainder would wait and watch.
The sortie was planned with the trigger happy soldiers from 1940 watching every move. Nobody was allowed to leave the hangar unescorted – every exchange was monitored closely. Nobody was going to be given a chance to escape – as if any would even try with the eighth fast approaching!
The RAF bomber fleet would begin their sorties by forming up over East Anglia and attack each target with five waves of one-hundred aircraft. The Tornados would get airborne as the first wave coasted out and do their best to protect the bombers against Nazi night fighters.
Todd considered it to be a pointless mission and had briefed the three crews to stay out of trouble. The high-flyers should be safe enough. He was taking no more unnecessary risks – Churchill or no Churchill!
***
Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering was in Adolf Hitler’s very best of books.
The aerial war against Britain was going exceptionally well. Since Hitler had ordered the twin-pronged attacks against major cities and RAF stations, the Luftwaffe ha
d achieved exceptional success. All fifty of the Me 262s had been utilised and were bombing and strafing their way to the eagerly anticipated ultimate victory.
Although several of the ‘Blaue-Tod’ had been lost to enemy fire, it was a small price to pay for such tactical and strategic progress. However, the Fuhrer was still mildly nervous.
‘Have the Britisher jets re-appeared, Hermann?’
‘Nein, mein Fuhrer, nothing has been seen of them since we attacked their airfield in Norfolk. I believe they are hiding in fear of the Messerschmitt. Either that or they are all destroyed.’
Hitler was not so confident – he didn’t trust Hermann and his bullshit.
‘I do not wish to see any repeats of the attacks we have suffered in the past. I demand that you carry out the following orders. Firstly, seek out and destroy their new base immediately. I want to see positive evidence of their utter destruction. Get Canaris to make it his top priority. Secondly, you must keep the ‘Blaue-Tod’ on the move. The British clearly have superb intelligence – so the Messerschmitt must be moved to safety on a regular basis.’
‘Of course, Fuhrer. I will move them every seven days to new stations and rotate them randomly to confuse the enemy.’
Hitler was still not satisfied.
‘No, Hermann. Make it every three days and split the force into four units. We must outwit the British. Today is the fourth of September – move them today and then every three days until we have invaded Britain. Verstehe?’
‘Jawohl, mein Fuhrer – as you command!’
Goering returned to his office and issued the appropriate orders. His squadron commanders were not best pleased, but obeyed nonetheless. The Me 262s were split into four squadrons and dispatched to random airfields across France. Their equipment and groundcrews followed in slow time.
By that evening, the Me 262 squadrons were settling in at their new locations. A couple of hundred miles way, a thousand bomber crews were completing their final briefings before they took off at 2300 hours for their targets in France.
Unfortunately for them, all they would bomb was concrete, grass and empty hangars.
***
Todd completed his final briefing at around 2200 and the crews walked to their aircraft. The ECM and Recce Canberra would get airborne as the conventional bombers were forming up overhead Essex and then lurk at high level. If the ECM discovered any chatter, it would jam the German frequencies as required. The PR Canberra would cruise up and down, waiting to swoop in and take shots of the two airfields in question. They would both then recover to Bedford. The three Tornados would climb to mount a CAP above the Channel as the leading bombers crossed over the British coast heading for the French airfields. It seemed a simple enough plan. In any case, unless the three Tornados were directly attacked, Todd had secretly ordered them to stay clear of any action.
However, the Germans were waiting for them, once again. The excellent replacement Freya radars picked up the fleets of bombers, and relayed the information to the night fighter units in France, which included the four Me 262 squadrons. Conventional German night fighters scrambled and headed straight for the British formations. Flak units sprang into life and pounded the bombers, and RAF aircraft started to fall from the skies.
The Me 262s bided their time and waited for the British jets to appear before they got airborne. Conventional British night-fighters were helping their colleagues and as a result, a high percentage got through to their targets. They laid a devastating carpet of high explosive and incendiary bombs onto their targets, and promptly turned for home – only to face more Flak and now the Me 262s, as the Tornados sat on CAP and did nothing.
The Luftwaffe tore into the returning RAF fleet and although the ECM Canberra did its best to distract them, the Germans had a field day.
They decimated the fleeing bombers until Todd Morrissey could stand no more.
‘Ok, boys,’ he transmitted to his two pals, ‘let's see what we can do.’
And this was when they fell straight into the trap.
These were not ADV Tornados – fighters – they were two bombers and a Recce jet. They crews had neither the experience nor the equipment to deal with night fighting. As a consequence, when a full squadron of ten Me 262 night fighters were vectored onto their position, they stood little or no chance.
The Recce jet was shot to bits on the first pass and exploded in the night sky, killing both crewmen instantly.
Todd saw the flash and Stumpy dived towards the sea as fast and steeply as he dare, screaming to his number two to do the same.
However, it was too late for them. Their aircraft was severely crippled by gunfire, and both crew had no choice but to eject into the darkness as their Tornado preceded them into a very cold North Sea. No-one ever recovered the aircraft or the crew.
Todd and Stumpy were zooming towards the sea and as they reached three thousand feet, Stumpy pulled 4g and levelled out at under three hundred feet above the waves doing over six hundred knots. They were heading directly for Bedford and jinking wildly in an attempt to shake off any Me 262s. Unbeknown to them two ‘Blaue-Tod’ had crashed into the sea when the aircraft overstressed their airframes and broke up in vain attempts to keep up with the fleeing Tornado.
The remainder gave up the chase and returned to base – fuel expended and aircraft severely overstressed.
Stumpy jettisoned his missiles and continued to Cardington at maximum speed. They landed without further incident as the Me 262s had no chance of catching them at such low level in the dark. Todd activated his terrain following radar (TFR) and used it to good effect.
High up above, the ECM Canberra realised what was going on, as they intercepted several transmissions from an extremely alarmed Todd and his pilot. They decided to return to base, but made the error of starting their descent from thirty-thousand feet far too soon. A four-ship of German jets intercepted them over Flamborough Head in Yorkshire and made short work of the undefended Electronic Counter Measures Canberra. They riddled it with bullets and the crew was dead well before it plunged into the sea about ten miles off the coast.
The Recce Canberra had also been listening out, and really didn’t know what to do. They were cruising at forty thousand feet when the last of the bombers dropped their loads on the wrong airfields. The big question was – should they complete their mission as briefed or run for home?
It was a difficult decision. They had no radar for low level night navigation and it was clear that the three Tornados had been attacked and possibly shot down.
In the final analysis, they decided to scarper. They considered that this was a fight they could definitely not win.
So they turned for home and continued towards Birmingham at high level before letting down to Cardington. They contacted the tower at their home base and had it confirmed that they had made the correct decision. The air over the Channel was alive with waves of Me 262s and conventional night-fighters. They were ordered to land asap.
They continued to their descent point as hundreds of British bombers from the raid limped back home. Over three hundred had been lost – shot down, hit by Flak or as a result of mid-air collisions in the panic.
In the Canberra PR9, navigator Al Gibson gave Phil Merry the instruction to descend and Phil pulled back on the throttles to start the journey down. However, Al and Phil were not having a good day. As the throttles were eased to idle, both engines wound down.
‘Shit!’ cried Phil, ‘that shouldn’t happen, it's probably this dodgy 1940s fuel. Ok, trying a relight.’
He tried to relight the engines, but it wouldn't work.
‘You need to get lower, Phil. They won't relight up here,’ advised Al.
The glided down another twenty five thousand feet before Phil tried again.
Still no luck. Phil Merry made his assessment.
‘We’ve got two choices if these bastards don’t relight Al. We either jump out or crash land. I suggest you blow your hatch whilst you still can. And find me a bloody ai
rfield to stick this down on - if we have to.’
Al agreed and blew the hatch above his head, which immediately allowed all of his loose paperwork to be sucked out into the night. It also made inter-cockpit communication extremely difficult.
Meanwhile, Phil was transmitting a Mayday and requesting a landing field for the possible crash landing.
‘Purple Eleven, your Mayday is acknowledged. Proceed to RAF Baginton near Coventry. They will be ready for your arrival. The airfield would be on your maps as Coventry Airport. Copy the co-ordinates for your TANS.’ Gloria was on top form.
As the information was passed, the navigator transferred it to his nav equipment, and the pilot struggled to keep control of his aircraft and steer it towards Coventry.
They passed through ten-thousand feet and the engines would not relight. Phil tried several times but at five thousand, he gave Al the choice.
JET LAG! Page 25
