‘No, please don’t go, Bill. I'm sorry to have upset you, but I am not lying. One more thing, can you tell me. Did Germany invade Britain in 1940?’
‘Of course, you fool. They made us all Nazis and to be frank, we are better off now than when those murdering bastards were in control. Those bloody Yanks learned too late and those Kennedy’s have a lot to answer for.’
Todd was dumbstruck and out of things to say.
The Air Marshal chimed in.
‘Bill, this is Henry Morrissey. Can you answer me one more thing? Is it possible to live on the surface – anywhere in Europe?’
‘Look Henry, I don’t really know anything. All I can say is that I heard rumours on this radio that there are people in Iceland who are free from cloud and ash and living free. That's all I know?
‘Thank you Mr Forbes. We shan’t trouble you anymore. Good day to you.’
Todd was jolted into action by his father’s interruption.
‘What are you saying – that we should give up?’
‘No, son, it's obvious that from this poor man’s explanation and the weather we have experienced first-hand, that we cannot land here. We must head north. The C130 can make Iceland – but I'm afraid that you must make your own arrangements. What is your endurance, son?’
The C-130 started to turn onto north and commenced a slow climb to conserve fuel.’
Both Todd and Stumpy were astounded by the callousness of the Air Marshal’s unilateral actions.
‘We’ve only got about ninety minutes fuel remaining – we can't possibly make it. It must be a thousand miles to Reykjavik! That's at least an hour further than we’ve got fuel for. For Christ sake, dad, you can't just leave us!’
The AVM was matter of fact.
‘It's your call, son. You can land and take your chances, follow us and ditch in the Atlantic when you run out of fuel – or head for the Faeroes, they might be in the clear. And you're correct, it's one thousand miles and we cannot waste fuel waiting for you. I've got a plane full of men and women to consider.’
Todd was now thinking on his feet, but Stumpy interjected.
‘Why couldn’t we both land somewhere and then you could pick us up. You’ve got plenty of fuel.’
‘Certainly not in England, Stumpy, but maybe in the Shetlands or Orkneys. If the weather clears and we can get down safely, it's a possibility. But I must consider the people in my charge first.’
Todd was furious. He'd had just about enough of his father.
‘It's a bit fucking late for that now, you scheming, unfeeling bastard.’
‘I can understand your distress, son, but I have made my decision. Either follow us or go down and try your luck on the surface. Purple Two listening out.’
Todd tried to persuade his father to change his mind, but all they received over the radio was static. The AVM would not reply.
Bill Forbes had been listening to the exchange and made one very weak transmission as Stumpy turned north to follow the C-130.
‘Good luck, Purple – whoever you are……you’ll need it.’
55 - 4
Somewhere over Norfolk
8 September 1992
‘Affirmative, Purple Two, loud and clear. What now?’
‘I suggest you call Marham on the approach frequency and see if we can get an answer? I think that we might be home.’
Stumpy pointed the Tornado away from the huge Cu-Nimb cloud and towards Marham, whilst Todd handled the radios. The weather was clear and bright away from the storm and Todd smiled contentedly to himself as he selected the frequency for Marham.
‘Marham approach, this is Purple formation, two aircraft requesting radar pick up and vectors for landing.’
The voice that responded on the radio was excited yet clearly dubious.
‘Roger Purple, squawk 7345 and 46 and turn left thirty degrees for identification. Please confirm that you are ‘the’ Purple formation?’
Todd was not surprised that Marham was suspicious, so replied as calmly as he was able.
‘Affirmative, Marham, however we are only two aircraft – one Tornado and one C-130 with a total of forty-seven POB.’
There was a slight delay whilst the controller composed herself.
‘Acknowledged Purple, you are identified. Tornado head two-five-zero degrees and make your speed three-sixty knots for run and break. C-130 go to 345.9 for pick up and PAR to land in turn.’
The C-130 acknowledged and switched frequencies, happy to be controlled by ATC for the last part of the journey home. The Tornado continued towards Marham at three-sixty knots and would land several minutes in front of the Hercules.
However, the personnel at Marham were not entirely mollified.
‘Purple, this is Marham, go to tower frequency, where you will receive further instructions.’
‘Roger Marham - to tower, Purple One.’
‘They are probably wondering where the fuck we have all been – I wonder what the date is?’ mumbled Stumpy.
Before Todd could answer, a familiar voice came on the radio – it was his old squadron commander, Andy Millar.
‘Todd, it's Andy Millar, I'm CO here now. Where the hell have you been? The whole country has been searching for you for months – your explanation is going to make interesting listening!’
‘Hello Andy, you voice is music to my ears, and yes – we have a tale to tell. It's pretty startling – but we’ll answer all of your questions when we land.’
Andy Millar had one immediate question for Todd which couldn’t wait.
‘Where are the other aircraft, Todd. You are thirteen short. Are they en-route?’
Todd was tempted to respond but really wanted to wait until they landed before starting his full explanation. Fortunately, he was beaten to the microphone by his father.’
‘Marham Tower, this is Air Vice Marshal Morrissey. Group Captain Millar, all Purple personnel are to be confined upon landing and no contact is to be made with anyone on the base. The Prime Minister’s office is to be contacted immediately. He is to be requested to open an envelope labelled ‘Morrissey’ which he’ll find in the safe of the Cabinet Secretary. All personnel in the Tower are also to be confined - including yourself - and you are to await instructions from Downing Street. This action is Top Secret and no information concerning our arrival is to be disseminated. The Tornado is to be taxied into a vacant HAS and the C-130 to the south-eastern corner of the airfield. Do I make myself clear, Group Captain?’
‘Abundantly, sir,’ replied the bewildered Station Commander and proceeded to follow his orders.
Todd was thunderstruck yet again.
‘Purple Two from One, please explain?’
The Air Marshal was curt and uncompromising in his reply.
‘Purple One, you are to land and follow instructions. No arguments. Out!’
Once again, his father was taking control. What fiendish scheme did he now intend to hatch. However, Todd could do nothing from the cockpit, so he instructed Stumpy to land, which he did five minutes later, followed by the C-130 ten minutes after that. Both aircraft taxied as instructed and ten minutes later the Tornado was safely inside a Hardened Aircraft Shelter and the C-130 sat on a quiet pan in the quietest corner of the airfield. No one was dispatched to guard it, as the AVM gave strict orders for it to be isolated until the PM arrived.
Meanwhile, Andy Millar had contacted his Air Officer Commanding and after explaining the situation, the Prime Minister was politely extracted from his lunchtime appointment and briefed on the state of affairs. He summoned the Cabinet Secretary, who upon hearing the story, returned to his safe and fetched the envelope in question. It had been passed down over the years – in the strictest confidence – to each succeeding civil servant fulfilling the post of Cabinet Secretary and held securely for this very circumstance.
The tired and yellowing envelope was passed to the Prime Minister, and upon breaking the seal and opening it, discovered that it contained an inner envelope with a messa
ge scrawled on the front –
‘To be read in strict privacy by the Prime Minister – For His Eyes Only – and to be destroyed when fully understood.’
The Prime Minister was both intrigued and apprehensive as he sat alone in his sitting room in 10 Downing Street and read the letter.
It was written on Downing Street headed paper and dated 8 September 1945. The ink was scratchy, but bold and decisive:
‘Prime Minister,
I am not certain when this letter will be read, but if the information supplied by Air Marshal Morrissey is accurate, then it should be in 1992. The account I write is both remarkable and inexplicable – but I can assure you that the events I will relate DID actually happen, and until today – no-one – except one highly placed politician, Morrissey and his wife were privy to the secret. The Air Marshal and I had many discussions regarding the final outcome and we concluded that there could be only one solution.’
The letter went on to relate the saga of Purple Formation and their arrival in 1940, when Britain was on its knees. It told of how Todd Morrissey fought bravely and how many of his squadron gave their lives to stave off the German threat of invasion, and of their eventual return to 1992 – today. No detail was left out. It finished on a sombre note:
‘These men and women saved the country from disaster. We could never have delayed Hitler and his Nazi storm troopers if not for the action of your Purple Formation from the future. We would have been invaded in 1940, and it is very probable that we would have lost the war and that the history of the world would have been dramatically changed for ever.
We owe these ‘few’ a great deal. Everyone does.
However, how does one explain these unprecedented facts to an incredulous public?
How does one prevent an enormous public outcry and scandal?
How does one convince a sceptical parliament that these events really happened?
They will NOT believe a single word, and you will be very rapidly removed from office.
And therein lies a most challenging conundrum.
What will you do to resolve the issues I present you with today?
I do not envy you your important decisions – but surely there is only one realistic solution.
Air Marshal Morrissey is well aware of the facts and options, and has most likely isolated the remaining Purple personnel at your RAF Marham.
I wish you luck.
Winston Churchill
The Prime Minister was shocked beyond expression. He had only been in post for two months and the enormity of this devastating letter was phenomenal. Of course, he knew about the terrible disaster of the first of April 1992 – he had even attended the memorial service. However, he could never have imagined that this was the answer to all of the speculation regarding the fate of Purple Formation.
His mind was racing with a great many questions.
Who had been the ‘highly placed politician’ mentioned by Churchill?
What would happen if the press got hold of the story?
Was this Morrissey really who he thought he was?
Was it all true and not just a huge hoax?
What the hell should he do now?
He had to think!
Most importantly, as few people as possible could ever know about this. He could become a worldwide laughing stock. His career would be over before it had begun. It was an impossible nightmare.
Then it struck him. The highly placed politician must have been his predecessor. He consulted his personal address book and put a call through. A man answered.
‘John, it's Phillip. I need to speak to you – urgently – I have just read a letter – an unbelievable letter. You must come to Downing Street immediately.’
There was a momentary silence on the end of the line, before the man replied.
‘Prime Minister, there is nothing I can do to assist you. There is nothing I will ever do. Good day.’ He hung up, knowing full well the consequences of his actions.
The Prime Minister slumped back into his leather chair and stared at the phone handset in utter disbelief. Clearly, the bloody man was aware of the situation, but was not going to prejudice his own life or reputation an iota.
It wasn’t surprising really. Who would? It was a preposterous scenario, and he was slowly, but inevitably, coming to understand the subtle hint indicating which action he should take contained in Churchill’s letter.
There was only one solution.
Denial and damage control.
He called for his car and instructed his driver to head for RAF Marham. His mind was made up.
***
The Prime Minister needn’t have worried.
Sir Henry Morrissey had everything under control. He had used the aircraft radio to check one fact, and having done that was resolute and content to continue.
He knew exactly what had to be done. He couldn’t and wouldn't force Prime Minister Phillip Andrews into this horrendous act – for Constance’s sake.
He had prepared the ground during the time spent in 1940 and it was now time to carry out his final duty.
He had carried with him throughout the mission a small radio-controlled device attached to his key ring, and whilst the passengers in the C-130 waited to be disembarked, Air Vice Marshal Henry Morrissey, the true hero of the Battle of Britain, pressed the small control on the fob.
Almost instantly, the Hercules exploded as a dozen charges planted by the AVM at Middle Fleckney detonated simultaneously. Everyone on board died horribly and for one nanosecond, as he pushed the button, Henry Morrissey felt a tiny pang of regret.
It was a cruel and heartless act, but in keeping with his cold-hearted nature. He was determined man – and that determination ensured that his wife’s brother Phillip would not be forced to make the unpalatable decision with which he had been confronted that afternoon.
***
When the Prime Minister reached Marham and learned of the tragedy in a quiet corner of the airfield, he was both devastated and hugely relieved.
He had only three other problems to solve. The Marham personnel privy to the reappearance of the remains of Purple Formation, the Tornado crew and the letter.
The small group of airmen at RAF Marham who had become aware of the incident were assembled in the station main briefing room. They consisted of the Station Commander, half a dozen ATC officers and NCOs, a dozen policemen and a few engineers at the HAS. The PM briefed them personally explaining that this had been a cruel hoax and that the four ‘aircrew’ involved had been dealt with. There had been no passengers on the Hercules and the entire episode was to be treated as highly confidential. Apparently, an ex-RAF officer had been kidnapped, interrogated and tortured into revealing confidential information. Their plan was to lure the PM into a deadly trap. The terrorist on the C130 had committed suicide when he realised that they had been thwarted, and taken his co-conspirator with him.
Subsequently, the Marham personnel involved were interviewed individually, reminded of their responsibilities under the Official Secrets Act, promoted and posted around the world. None would ever cross paths again and the secret would be safe forever. In any case, who would doubt that it was all an awful terrorist inspired hoax?
However, Todd and Stumpy were a different matter.
After being removed from the Tornado, they were separated, transported to London and fully debriefed by MI6. The Prime Minister had no further involvement, as his perceived knowledge of the affair would only lend credence to their ‘story’. MI6 determined, after several months, that both men were either delusional or had been deeply brainwashed by the very terrorists who had carried out the hoax.
Both men spent the rest of their lives under heavy sedation in Broadmoor Psychiatric Hospital for the Criminally Insane.
As for the letter from Churchill?
Who knows what happened to it – or indeed, if it ever existed?
THE END
Acknowledgements:
Len Deighton – ‘Fighter.
’
Dan Sharp – ‘Messerschmitt Me 262 – Secret Projects and Experimental Prototypes’
If you enjoyed this story, try something different by the same author:
SNOW!
What would happen if it began to snow in the United Kingdom and didn’t stop for almost a month. Would anyone survive – would you?
And the sequels - THAW! and FLOOD!
or SCAPEGOAT!
dark political thriller.
JET LAG! Page 30
