JET LAG!

by Ryan Clifford

  ‘Decision time, mate. Jump out or try a landing? I'm easy either way if we can find the airfield.’

  Al Gibson could hear Phil more clearly now that they had slowed to around two fifty knots. He had been passing headings to steer towards their landing field.

  ‘I’d rather go for the landing if you don’t mind. Coventry airfield is eight miles on the nose. Can you make it. Phil?’

  ‘I'll give it a damn good try, mate,’ responded Phil as he struggled with the flying controls. ‘ I just hope the gear comes down.’

  It didn’t.

  It would be a belly landing.

  ‘Still want to crash land Al?’

  ‘Three miles and nine hundred feet – it looks good Phil. Give it a go. Ejecting from these PR9s is usually fatal for navs.’

  Phil Merry acknowledged his friend and concentrated on the airfield ahead. There were landing lights – after a fashion – in the middle of a completely blacked out landscape. In normal conditions he would never have found the tiny landing strip.

  Six hundred feet, four hundred, two hundred – Phil adopted the correct nose up attitude and slid the Canberra onto the grass, and as it hit he blew the cockpit canopy to ease his exit. In this case turf was preferable to concrete – fewer sparks to ignite fuel. The jet skidded across the field and eventually came to a stop up against a large oak tree on the periphery of the airport with a dull thud.

  Silence.

  ‘Al, can you get out, mate.’

  There was no answer. All Phil saw was a small shape in flying gear sprinting across the field away from the aircraft. Phil decided to follow suit, unstrapped, stood up, cocked his legs over the side and dropped the six feet to the ground. He stood up, unharmed and followed his navigator into the darkness, where he found him standing on the grass with a lit cigarette, about two hundred yards away from the Canberra .

  ‘Didn’t know you could run, Al?’

  ‘Never had to before,’ he joked.

  Both men sat down and awaited rescue.

  Meanwhile, the Force 1992 at Cardington had pulled out all the stops, and within an hour the crew were on their way home and the Canberra was covered in a huge tarpaulin with thirty puzzled MPs in attendance.

  Now there were only two surviving aircraft from 1992.

  As predicted, the night’s mission had been a fiasco.

  ***

  Todd climbed out of his Tornado and stormed up to his waiting father.

  For two pins, he might actually have struck him!

  But Todd restrained himself and assaulted him with words instead.

  ‘I fucking told you! I fucking told you! You just wouldn't bloody listen, would you? What sort of man are you? What hidden agendas are lurking beneath that staid, Machiavellian exterior? What is the real bloody mission here? Why did we really come back to this God-forsaken place? It's not even our timeline – which reminds me – where the hell is Jim Charles? Tell me now just what is going on – is it your plan that no-one returns home safely?’

  The Air Marshal stood impassively as Todd berated him in front of the entire 1992 team, who watched agog! They had never seen such a senior officer ‘bollocked’ in this fashion before. Sir Henry didn’t reply but summoned Todd to his office in order to put his explanation on the table. After the door was closed and uninvited ears excluded, the AVM spoke.

  ‘If you weren’t my son, Todd, I would put you under close arrest for gross insubordination. May I remind you, and not for the first time, that you are under military orders and as such you are compelled to follow my instructions – to the letter if necessary. I am not obliged to explain myself to you or anybody else on this detachment, so I suggest you calm down, go back to your men and prepare for the eighth. What is done is done. I cannot change it or bring back your friends and colleagues. I propose that you ‘get over it,’ Todd, and get back to work. Do I make myself clear?’

  Todd was flabbergasted.

  He had expected at least a small crack to appear in his father’s armour, but there was nothing. For the first time he realised that there were things going on far beyond his pay-scale or understanding. He decided not to continue bashing his head against a brick wall.

  ‘I'm going now father, but you’ll pay for all this when we get home – I promise you – on the lives of all of those lost in this debacle. Don’t bother speaking to me again. I am no longer your son.’

  Sir Henry viewed Todd with ever hardening eyes.

  ‘Have it your way Wing Commander. And by the way, I will be taking over as co-pilot of the C-130 when we depart. I am fully current on this type of aircraft, and you can reassure the Captain that I will not interfere.’

  Todd stood with his mouth agape for several seconds, turned and left the office, slamming the door viciously behind him.

  ‘What was the old fucker up to now?’ he pondered.

  ***

  ‘Yes, Fuhrer, a great success. Your advice to move the ‘Blaue-Tod’ was inspired – as usual. The British bombed the two unoccupied airfields into oblivion – flattening several small French villages in the process. The propaganda value is immense. The Messerschmitts were wonderful and they report three British jets destroyed. If we could only find their base, we could finish them once and for all!’

  Hitler was jubilant.

  ‘Yes, Hermann, a very good night. Also our bombers are pummelling the British in their cities – I am assured by our spies that their patience with Churchill is fast disappearing. I believe that we can bring forward the date of invasion. I have spoken with Kesselring and he advises me that all is ready with ‘Sealion’. I have decided to invade on the eighth – in three days’ time. Do you not agree?’

  Goering was not a man for bucking the trend or disagreeing with Adolf Hitler.

  ‘Absolutely, mein Fuhrer. My Luftwaffe will be ready to support the landings. I will devote myself to the task.’

  ‘Excellent, Hermann. I trust you will join me for lunch at Buckingham Palace in due course, and I will enjoy seeing that devil Churchill dangling at the end of a rope – nicht war?’

  Goering nodded his approval and left the room.

  His star was definitely rising.

  He would visit that fool Canaris and apply yet more pressure to find the British jet base. However, it was not now to be destroyed but captured. The advanced technology could help the Nazis in many ways.

  ***

  Sir Henry Morrissey had one more job to do before he could return to his own timeline. He wasn’t even sure if that they would indeed end up in their own 1992. It was a calculated gamble – but it was essential that he try.

  He summoned the wayward Patsy Jackson and confirmed with her that she was indeed pregnant and that Todd was the father. The interview was merciless – the AVM wanted the truth from the wretched girl. When he was satisfied, he summoned two military policemen who had been standing by outside and they escorted Patsy, via a side door, to a waiting car.

  Patsy was somewhat alarmed at the conduct of the AVM, and started to struggle as she was bundled into the car by the MPs.’

  ‘Please don’t give us any trouble, miss. You’ll only hurt yourself,’ warned one of the escorts.

  The car drove off and after about an hour, took a turning and travelled for ten minutes along a gravelled driveway and pulled up outside a large country house surrounded by woods and fields. It was totally secluded.

  A nurse met them at the entrance.

  ‘Miss Jackson, matron. She’s all yours now.’ The MP was matter of fact.

  The car drove off leaving Patsy staring at the nurse wondering what the hell was going on.

  ‘Please come inside dear. We’ll be looking after you now.’

  Patsy was really frightened by now.

  ‘But what about my friends at Cardington. I'm supposed to be going home in a couple of days! Why am I here?’

  The matron was calm and composed.

  ‘Please don’t worry about all that dear. This is your home now – at least for a w
hile. Please come inside and I’ll show you to your room.’

  Patsy was in a state of numbing shock, so meekly followed the nurse inside.

  Eight months later Patsy gave birth to a bouncing baby boy – and they called him John.

  She died in childbirth, as many girls did in those days; however her son was healthy and was adopted shortly afterwards by a family who belonged to a travelling circus.

  Todd was told that she had run away.

  Frankly, he was happy to believe the fabrication – he preferred to think that she would probably be better off that way.

  The trip home would be fraught with danger and he liked to consider that at least his unborn child was safe.

  52

  RAF Cardington

  7 September 1940

  A final memorial service was held for all of the airmen and women from 1992 lost in 1940. It was a sad and disheartening affair, but Todd reasoned that it might give some of his troops a crumb of comfort. They prayed for a safe journey home and returned to the task of preparing the two remaining aircraft for the short flight into the Wash the following day. The three wounded men were declared fit to fly by a local medical officer, and so special brackets were fitted on the C-130 to hold their stretchers.

  The weathermen were forecasting heavy thunderstorms for the next morning, which encouraged the team immensely. The prediction of a window back to 1992 might just be genuine after all.

  The AVM had been no more forthcoming and Todd kept his distance. People were surprised that Patsy had run away so close to the escape bid, but realised that there was little that they could do about it. It was her choice. Some considered that it might have been a very good idea.

  By 1700 hours on the seventh of September the two aeroplanes were fully prepared and loaded. They were full of fuel and as serviceable as they ever would be. All traces of 1992 equipment were stowed away – nothing could be left in 1940 which might give a clue to their presence. However, there must be thousands of local people now aware that something odd was going on in the skies of Britain. Clearly, the government would deny all knowledge of anything untoward, and subsequently put all of the unusual activity down to ‘scientific experiments’.

  The Tornado and Canberra Recce variants – or what was left of them – had been broken up, crated and transferred to a small hangar near Warton in Lancashire. The VC10 was scrap metal and was being actively recycled, and all of the other aircraft were with the fishes in the North Sea. Except for the ADV in the swamp near Middle Fleckney – there would be nothing left to find.

  All 1940’s RAF personnel were sworn to secrecy, and the military perimeter guard force was split up and posted to separate duties across the Empire. They would all soon forget their short time at Middle Fleckney and Cardington, as the war became more intense.

  Sir Peter Andrews returned to his parliamentary duties and spent many happy years bringing up his two children.

  At 1800, a staff car arrived at Cardington and the Prime Minister addressed Force 1992 for the final time. He wore his signature Homburg and smoked the customary cigar.

  ‘I drove here especially to thank you for your contribution to our war effort. Sadly, it may have all been in vain. The attack on the Nazi airfields in France was a total failure – the Me 262s were not there. I truly regret the loss of your comrades on such a fatal mission – but we had to try. In addition, our intelligence indicates that the Germans are on the verge of setting sail on an invasion of England. It could happen at any time, so your imminent departure is fortuitous. I wish you God speed on your journey home tomorrow and trust that you find your world as you left it. Goodbye and good luck to you all.’

  With that curt speech, the Prime Minister got back into his car and drove away.

  Force 1992, now down to forty five personnel, merely stood in silence as the vehicle disappeared through the hangar doors.

  Todd spoke first.

  ‘I think it's time for our final departure checks, a meal and an early night. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow - and our take-off time is 0900. There will be a final briefing at 0700 followed by breakfast. Are there any questions?’

  The silence was deafening.

  53

  17 May 1992

  St Clement Danes, London

  The cathedral was packed.

  Relatives, friends and colleagues sat next to politicians, senior officers and members of the public. Even the Queen and Prince Phillip sat quietly in the front row with the Prime Minister, John Major. The Archbishop of Canterbury was conducting the service, although it was secular in nature. The whole country watched on their television sets as all terrestrial channels took the broadcast.

  In fact, the whole nation was in mourning for the eighty-two men and women missing since the extraordinary events of the first of April. No trace of their aircraft or their bodies had yet been found. It was one of the most complex conundrums ever to confront the modern world. How could eighty-two professional military personnel - and their aircraft – disappear without trace in an instant from the skies above the North Sea? Experts throughout the world had put forward their theories, but none had yet solved the riddle. The search would continue in the North Sea in an attempt to recover something – even the slightest clue to help unravel the mystery.

  In the meantime the world grieved and this Service of Remembrance was being held as an interim mark of respect and mourning. Answers must and would be found – but for the time being the families of the missing servicemen were being given the chance to say goodbye.

  At the back of the church, mainly going unnoticed were two extremely interested parties. They had travelled down from Lancashire where they worked and shared a large house near Preston. Sir Phillip had been invited as the Chief Executive of British Aerospace, and represented the company’s interest in the disappearance of twelve of their aircraft.

  Yes, Sir Phillip and his sister, Constance Andrews were fascinated by the events of the first of April 1992.

  54

  Somewhere over the Wash

  8 September 1940

  Todd Morrissey hardly slept that last night before the planned flight back to 1992.

  He didn’t really believe that any of his surviving dribs and drabs did either.

  The only man that had probably slept soundly was his bloody father. Todd was still aghast at the unbelievable behaviour displayed by this very senior RAF officer. He had blatantly and unapologetically hoodwinked more than eighty people into travelling through a time portal into 1940 to take part in a bizarre lost cause!

  Well, it seemed like a lost cause to Todd. The invisible Jim Charles – who unbeknownst to Todd, had been permanently silenced on Churchill’s orders at 6am that morning – had tried to demonstrate that the timeline they currently inhabited was not ‘exactly’ the one expected by the AVM when he embarked on this unauthorised mission.

  The Me 262s were three years ahead of schedule – and God only knew what advances Hitler and his maniacs had made with the A-bomb. The United States more or less supported the Nazis, preferring a neutral non-interventionist stance, rather than getting involved in a European conflict. As a consequence, with Japan a minor power in this parallel world, the Americans probably hadn’t even considered setting up their ‘Manhattan Project’ – advanced research into the plausibility of an A-bomb – which was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Todd’s 1945. That would clearly never happen, so Hitler had a virtual free hand to completely overwhelm the British Empire and convert it to Nazi ideals.

  Only an undefeated Britain could stop them and it seemed that an invasion was imminent. If that German attack was successful – then the civilised world was doomed.

  It was a damned good thing that Todd and his team were getting the ‘hell out of Dodge’ that morning. It seemed to him that his father’s plan had failed. By some weird quirk of fate the Force 1992 had ended up in the wrong place – which led him to his next question.

  How could anyone guarantee returning to the c
orrect parallel universe later that day? And that was the point – if Jim Charles was right, then there were an infinite number of parallel and similar, but critically different universes, waiting to gobble them up.

  It was a terrifying scenario and Todd became dizzy just thinking about it. There was no point in going over the theories with his subordinates as it would achieve little – except to confuse and alarm them unnecessarily. He would leave well enough alone and hope for the best. He was eager to see his wife and children again – but what if he returned to the wrong time and another Todd Morrissey was already there?

  Oh, dear God…..it didn’t bear thinking about – so he stopped. It was time to get up and head for home.