JET LAG!

by Ryan Clifford

  ‘Martin, it's me Todd. I know we must be causing you some consternation down there, but I swear it's me. Apologies for the delay in our arrival, but we've got a lot to explain. Please let us land – we’re exhausted.’

  The Station Commander looked at his colleagues for some sort of support, but all three just shrugged their shoulders in puzzlement. The CO made a decision.

  ‘Okay Todd, I’ll give you permission to land, but you’ve got some fast talking to do. You’re supposed to be dead – six months since!’

  Todd tried to placate the staff in the tower.

  ‘I understand, but all will become clear – well, as clear as I can make it anyway.’

  ‘I’ll hand you over to ATC now Todd and they’ll vector you home,’ advised the CO.

  Sir Henry Morrissey had been listening to all of this conversation and had been doing some checking of his own. He had been listening to the World Service on the Herc radio, and they had confirmed the time and date during a news bulletin at 10am. It was good enough for him.

  ATC vectored the two aircraft towards Marham and positioned the C-130 for landing ahead of the Tornado. As the aircraft approached five miles finals, the captain attempted to deploy the landing gear, but to his dismay, he had three red lights on the indicator.

  Unbeknownst to him, the AVM had removed the relevant fuse shortly after take-off and the wheels would never come down. Nonetheless, the captain needed to act.

  ‘Marham, Purple Two, I have a landing gear problem and request an inspection by Purple One, it may just be an indicator issue.’

  ‘Roger, Purple Two, wilco. Break – break, Purple One did you read that? Can you approach Purple one to complete an undercarriage check. I’ll climb him to two thousand feet and turn him onto zero-niner-zero.’

  Todd replied in the affirmative, but could not help wondering what was going to happen next.

  The Tornado visually picked up the C-130, and manoeuvred itself to formate underneath the propeller aircraft, to enable an undercarriage inspection from close range.

  Stumpy was struggling at these low speeds – especially with the turbulence caused by four propellers, but managed to creep up underneath the Herc and called his position.

  ‘Roger, Purple Two from One. All wheels appear up. No sign of any undercarriage down.’

  This was exactly what Sir Henry Morrissey had been waiting for.

  He was determined that no-one should ever know the truth – it would never be believed anyway and the Prime Minister had emphasised that nobody could ever return alive from this mission.

  So, Sir Henry seized the controls of the Hercules as the Tornado was positioned exactly beneath and about twenty feet below and pushed with all of his might. The large transport aircraft bunted forwards and smashed into the cockpit of the Tornado, killing Todd and Stumpy instantly. The Tornado fuselage crashed into the belly of the C-130 and both aircraft exploded on impact, sending debris and bodies plunging towards the Norfolk countryside two thousand feet below.

  They two planes hit the ground within seconds, fragments of burning fuselage scattering over a wide area.

  Nobody survived.

  ***

  Rescue services responded, but nothing of any real value as evidence survived the inferno.

  The authorities investigating the accident blamed pilot error, but were unable to throw any further light onto the mystery of the disappearance of the Falklands Flypast Formation.

  Only the tapes in the Marham tower gave any clue to the matter, and after a few short months, the entire matter faded into memory.

  There was yet another briefing for families of the Flypast team, but no amount of investigation could explain the disappearance and brief partial re-appearance.

  A final service of remembrance was held on the first of April 1993 and a small monument of remembrance was erected in Marham village after a very successful public subscription. The fifty two bodies were taken from the wreckage, identified from dog-tags and given a fitting burial. There was closure for some of the families.

  Newly installed Prime Minister Tony Benn attended in person and dedicated the ceremony to those gallant airmen of the Falklands Flypast.

  THE END

  Well, it's almost the end.

  Dear reader, I hope you have enjoyed this ‘flight’ of fantasy, but perhaps you found the ending unsatisfactory? Perhaps it was too harsh on Todd and the survivors – perhaps they deserved better.

  Well, perhaps they did.

  It is not unprecedented for novels or films to have alternate endings – I refer to ‘Sailor of the King’ with Michael Rennie and Jeffrey Hunter. The audience were invited to view an alternate ending and vote for their favourite.

  Consequently, I offer you three alternate endings – perhaps you could suggest more? Let me know. billkce54@gmail.com

  Enjoy.

  55 - 2

  Norfolk

  8 September 1992

  ‘Affirmative, Purple Two, loud and clear. What now?’

  ‘I suggest you call Marham on ‘Guard’ frequency and see if we get an answer? I think that we might be home.’

  ‘Roger Purple Two, break-break, Marham Approach, this is Purple Lead transmitting on Guard, do you read, over.’

  One could almost see the giant thinks-bubble appear over Marham.

  ‘Aircraft calling Marham, say again your callsign.’

  Todd exploded with relief as Stumpy let out a loud whoop from the front seat.

  ‘Marham, this is Purple One, requesting radar vectors to radar to land. We are two aircraft, one jet and one C-130.’

  More thinks bubbles.

  ‘Purple Lead, are you making some sort of joke. Clarify your position and squawk 7145, turn onto heading 360 degrees and please explain again who you are. Your aircraft are not recognised and not authorised for operations in this sector.’

  Todd was now more than a fraction perturbed and mystified.

  ‘Marham, this is Purple One, Wing Commander Todd Morrissey, commanding the residue of the Falklands Flypast Formation. We request radar to land at Marham. Turning onto a heading of three-six-zero degrees and squawking as requested.’

  Air Traffic at Marham could not believe their ears. The officer on watch gave several sharp orders to his assistant.

  ‘Get SATCO, the Commandant, OC Operations and OC Police Flight up here on the double, whilst I vector these jokers out to sea and stall for time. Meanwhile, get onto Coningsby and get a couple of fighters scrambled.’

  The ATC Officer drew breath and continued.

  ‘Purple formation, confirm that you are two aircraft. Give number of persons on board, and re-state your intentions and operating authority.’

  Todd decided to play along. There was clearly an issue on the ground to be resolved.

  ‘Roger Marham. Two aircraft, two POB on the 619 Squadron Tornado and five-zero POB on the 47 Squadron Hercules, including Air Vice Marshal Sir Henry Morrissey. Do you copy?’

  ‘Roger Purple one, turn right onto zero-niner-zero. We are authenticating your message.’

  ‘Shit,’ thought Todd, ‘maybe we've come back to a different bloody time.’ He then had a brainwave.

  ‘Marham, Purple One requesting todays date?’

  The ATC Officer was becoming more and more bamboozled.

  ‘Roger, Purple One, it's the eighth of September.’

  ‘And year?’ requested Todd.

  ‘1992 – what are you playing at Purple One? You will have to answer for this insubordination,’ answered the now incredulous ATCO.

  Todd and Stumpy let out a collective sigh of relief.

  ‘Thank fuck for that,’ shouted Stumpy.

  However, Air Traffic Control at Marham were running out of patience with Todd and his irrational behaviour.

  ‘Purple formation, I repeat that your callsign and other details are not recognised by this unit, and we are compelled to treat you as hostile. Are you armed, Purple Formation?’

  Todd and Stumpy were becomi
ng more and more alarmed, as was the crew of the C-130. Their troubles doubled when two fighters appeared – one on Todd’s port side and one to the right of the Hercules.

  ‘Shit, we've got company,’ muttered Stumpy.

  Todd stared at the two jets but couldn’t identify them as anything he'd ever seen before.

  ‘Stumpy, you're good at aircraft recognition, what type are those fighters?’

  Stumpy was also foxed.

  ‘I'm fucked if I know. They look like cross between an F-14 and a MiG-23 – I'm baffled – but look at those markings – I don’t get it!’

  Marham came back on the radio.

  ‘I repeat, Purple Lead, are you armed. Our fighters report that you have missiles on your wings. Are they live?’

  ‘Marham, yes we are armed but we are NOT hostile. I assure you that we are friendly and only wish to land safely. We can explain everything when we shut down.’

  Marham was having none of it.

  ‘Purple formation, your request is denied. You will continue to orbit your current position, escorted by our fighters until we obtain permission from higher authority. Stand-by.’

  Todd needed advice.

  ‘Purple Two, what do you make of all this?’

  The AVM was unable to help.

  ‘I don’t recognise those aircraft, but the markings are very familiar. I believe that our worst nightmares are about to come true!’

  Todd made no reply as the two aircraft continued to orbit with their unwanted guests, and about ten minutes later Marham piped up again.

  ‘Purple Formation, your request to land has been granted. The propeller aircraft will land first, followed by the jet. Be advised that any resistance or trickery will be met by deadly force. Acknowledge Purple!’

  Todd had mixed feelings about the permission to land – he was beginning to comprehend just what might be going on.

  ‘Roger Marham, the prop aircraft will land first, followed by us. Requesting vectors to radar to PAR. Perhaps your fighter could lead me in – break – Purple Two, you're on your own, happy landings.’

  Purple Two acknowledged and there followed a series of instructions from Marham Air Traffic which allowed the C-130 to touch down around fifteen minutes later. Todd and Stumpy flew a formation approach with the two fighters, landing five minutes after the Herc. The two escorting fighters then returned to their own base.

  As the Tornado taxied in, it passed lines of parked bombers which resembled F-111s and Sukhoi types, but were significantly different.

  However, one thing that they all had in common were the markings on their fuselage and tail.

  Just below the cockpits were large Luftwaffe Iron Crosses and on each tail was a bright red Swastika. Just like the two fighters!

  Todd’s father had been correct – it was the scenario from hell.

  As the Tornado taxied to a halt the aircraft was quickly surrounded by heavily armed Stormtroopers, APCs, fire wagons, police cars and limousines. Todd supposed that these large Mercedes carried the station big-wigs.

  He wasn’t wrong. ATC continued:

  ‘Purple Formation, the propeller aircraft is to shut down and all personnel are to remain on board. Acknowledge.’

  The Herc Captain complied.

  ‘Purple Lead you are to shut down, open your canopy and throw out any personal weapons you might have in the cockpit. Acknowledge!’

  There was nothing much that the disconsolate pair could do but obey. Stumpy shut down whilst Todd prepared to throw out his Walther when the canopy came up.

  ATC was relentless.

  ‘Throw out your weapons and stand up on your ejection seats. Raise your hands and await for security officers to approach you. No tricks, or you will be fired upon!’

  Todd and Stumpy disconnected their PECs (Personal Equipment Connectors) which in turn severed their radio contact and cut off the happy-chappy in Air Traffic – which was at least some respite.

  Portable metal stairs were rapidly wheeled up to the side of the cockpit, and two burly policemen climbed up to escort Todd and Stumpy onto the tarmac. On reaching the ground, they were roughly handcuffed and escorted towards one of the waiting limousines. Three uniformed officers were standing, almost arrogantly, with their hands behind their backs, sneering cynically. Todd and Stumpy were brought to a halt in front of who appeared to be the senior officer.

  He was wearing a blue-grey dress uniform and sported the rank of full colonel. Around his neck was an Iron Cross tinged with blue and gold.

  ‘Good morning, Wing Commander – a rank which I believe disappeared some years ago – so perhaps we shall address you as Colonel. I am Oberst Fritz Maier, Commandant of Flugplatz Marham. May I introduce Herr Major Dieter Richards, OC Operations and Herr Major Manfred Jones, OC Flying Operations. And finally, perhaps you should meet Obersturmbannfuhrer Miller, of the Gestapo, who has many questions to ask of you. Now perhaps you should go with him, whilst we greet your friends in the wonderful transport aeroplane which accompanied you. Goodbye for the present, Herr Oberst, perhaps we shall dine together this evening?’

  The Colonel clicked his heels and saluted smartly, before moving off towards the Hercules, which was now receiving the full attention of the security forces.

  Todd and Stumpy were bundled into the Gestapo car and driven away sedately to a building at the centre of the camp. When Stumpy tried to speak the Gestapo man reacted violently.

  ‘Silence! You will have plenty of opportunity to talk later!’

  Stumpy took the hint and shut up – glancing worriedly at Todd who looked stupefied.

  They were taken into the Gestapo HQ and processed in complete silence. They were forced to strip naked, comprehensively searched – including internally, their penises inspected for signs of circumcision, and were finally given dungarees and trainers to wear. They were both then escorted to separate cells and left to stew – for four hours. No food or drink was provided.

  Meanwhile, at the Hercules, the remainder of the 1992 Flypast team were treated equally harshly. They were bundled into trucks, driven to barrack blocks, where they were subjected to the same inhuman treatment as Todd and Stumpy.

  The only exceptions were the aircrew and other officers who were taken to Gestapo HQ, similarly processed and eventually placed in cells adjacent to Todd and Stumpy.

  The Air Vice Marshal was escorted away by the Camp Commandant to his office, where they had tea and discussed the entire matter for some four hours. Extensive notes were taken and the conversations recorded, for onward transmission to Berlin. Sir Henry Morrissey related the entire story to a bemused Oberst Maier who at first was incredulous. However, after a while – with the evidence lying out on the tarmac – he was forced to concede that Sir Henry might be telling something resembling the truth.

  After three hours of talks, a document was delivered to the Commandant’s office and this sealed the issue.

  There were records from the archives dating back to 1940 which confirmed the AVM’s story. There was evidence which suggested that a squadron of British jets had intervened in the fighting of August and September of that summer, but had mysteriously disappeared without trace. In addition, the graves of several mystery airmen had been discovered in Norwich and the personal files of Winston Churchill had revealed that such a force had really existed. In the fifties the remains of a strange jet aircraft had been discovered in an abandoned warehouse in Preston, and in 1972, a team of construction workers building a new housing estate had dug up a similar aircraft in East Anglia. There was a series of other corroborating statements and evidence which gave credence to the account, including two bodies and a mystery aircraft recovered in Konigsberg.

  It had all been kept secret simply because the Nazis enjoyed secrecy, and saw no profit in admitting that the British may have had superior technology in 1940. That was certainly not good for German propaganda at the time. In addition, Hitler had summarily declared that time travel was impossible, so the entire file was buried deeply in
the intelligence archives. The Fuhrer had bigger fish to fry!

  Only now, there was a problem.

  What were they going to do with fifty or more airmen and women from a different time-line? It was a potential giant banana-skin!

  Clearly, they must be interrogated and squeezed of any useful information. The two aircraft would be of incalculable use, but the fates of the men and women hung in the balance.

  However, in the short term, Todd and his father were invited to dinner at the Commandant’s quarters that evening, where a select band of officers and other important individuals would be present.