“Ahoy there, captain: are ye waitin’ to be piped off the ship?” That soft, mirth-filled enquiry came from directly behind, bringing him abruptly back to reality. The voice belonged to Eileen Donelson, a slim, attractive brunette standing slightly shorter than Thorne. She wore the beautifully-tailored dress uniform of an officer in the Royal Navy, her long, dark hair pinned back into a bun beneath her peaked cap. The regulation headgear did little to keep away those same flies that had already plagued Thorne however, and she too was suddenly drawn into the same repetitive action of shooing them away from her face every few moments.
Rarely able to keep his own penchant for brazen irreverence in check for long, the first chance to rest in the fortnight since they’d arrived back in Australia had left Thorne feeling a good deal better and therefore, by default, also feeling far more courageous.
“Show a bit o’ respect there, filly… I’m about to greet the ‘natives’…!” He admonished in a tone of mock pomposity, a characteristic glint of devilry in his eyes as he spoke. He knew full well use of such a term was tantamount to a declaration of war, but a particularly good sleep the night before had left him in the mood to push his luck.
“‘Filly’…?” RN Captain Eileen Donelson exclaimed indignantly in a mild but noticeable Glaswegian brogue, making sure that no one else could see what she was doing as she pinched him seriously on the backside. “If that’s the way you’re going to carry on, fella…” she continued in a whisper, leaning in close to one ear “…I can think of at least one particular director and some-time air vice-marshal who’ll be sleeping by himself tonight…!”
“Thank Christ for that…!” Max shot back with a sly smile.
Don’t do it…! A soft, inner voice in his head warned in a vaguely amused tone, but it was already well past the point of no return.
“Too bloody hot anyway…” he continued seriously, making a great show of taking stock of the cloudless sky above and knowing he was about to go way too far. “Maybe I’ll get a decent bloody sleep for a change…!”
Oh, man… that was cold…!
With those silent, almost horrified thoughts echoing in his mind, Thorne knew there was an excellent chance Eileen’s reaction to that remark might well result in him not able to do anything with anyone at all… for a very long time… The fraction of a second it took for the words to sink in was more than enough for him to bolt down the steps at a greater pace than was either safe or seemly for someone dressed in such a business-like style.
Eileen also negotiated the steps at speed, indignant fury and determination evident on her face, and her self-control was barely adequate in preventing the choked off barrage of foul language that had been her initial, instinctive reaction. He’d gotten himself a good head start however, and managed to reach the waiting black sedan and its uniformed guard before she could overhaul him. With a potential audience present to witness the bloody vengeance that would almost certainly have otherwise been wrought on his body, Thorne knew that he was now relatively safe… for the time being at least.
“Air Vice-Marshal Thorne…?” The nearest of the two waiting NCOs was an older sergeant with the hardened, knowing expression of a career soldier.
“That’d be me, sergeant,” Thorne agreed, panting as he hunched for a moment to catch his breath and a red-faced Donelson also came to a halt beside him, shaking faintly with the immediate frustration of being unable to exact her revenge on his person. “Glad to see you boys waiting for me,” he added, slipping the glaring woman next to him an evil wink. “Unexpected as it was… to whom to we owe the pleasure…?”
“If you’ll get in, sir…?” Was the only response he received as the sergeant turned and opened the sedan’s rear door and waited expectantly.
“I’ve always loved our little talks, sergeant…” Thorne observed drily, accepting he wasn’t about to get an answer but at least nodding in recognition of the faint grin that flickered across the man’s face as he stood back and offered Eileen the courtesy of climbing into the car first.
“Moreso than the ‘little talk’ we are about to have no doubt, air vice-marshal…”
Those words greeted him from the front passenger seat as Thorne slid into the rear of the Packard beside Donelson and found himself staring directly at the face of Lieutenant-General Henry Gordon Bennett CB CMG DSO, 2IC (Second-in-Command) of the entire 2nd AIF (Australian Imperial Force).
An intense-looking man in his mid-fifties, he was of medium height; with bright eyes that lay beneath a broad forehead and remnants of grey hair that mantled a mostly-bald head. In the current hierarchy of the 2nd AIF, he stood below only General Sir Thomas Blamey, Chief of General Staff, and as a Lieutenant-General he also outranked Thorne, who held a rank roughly equivalent to an army major-general.
“G-General Bennett,” Thorne stammered, momentarily caught by surprise. “I knew we were expected in Melbourne, sir, but I wasn’t expecting this kind of reception.”
“This is a mostly unofficial meeting,” Bennett advised, in such a way that gave Thorne no actual reassurance whatsoever. “The War Cabinet is well aware that you’re primarily in town for a Royal appointment, however Prime Minister Curtin and General Blamey wanted to have a quiet word with you first. The drive in should suffice to explain… Eames: let’s be off, shall we…?”
The last word was directed toward the driver - a young corporal from the WRAAC (Women’s Royal Australian Army Corps) – who immediately turned the Packard’s engine over and selected first gear.
“You two have been right in the thick of it, it seems,” Bennett observed with a strange expression as the car pulled slowly away with just the faintest hint of a growl from its engine. “Both in North Africa and back here in Australia…”
“It’s been a hectic few weeks, sir, yes…” Thorne agreed cautiously. Some of his own actions whilst operating in Egypt over the last month had been in direct contravention of standing orders, and he didn’t doubt for a moment that Bennett was also aware of that fact. That he’d as yet received no direct communication or rebuke over the situation since his return to Australia was both a surprise and a matter for concern. “Good to be back home though… With the work I’ve been doing in the US and all, it’s been a lot longer ‘between drinks’ than I’d have liked.”
“Not as long as the last time you were away, I believe…” The general returned with a knowing expression. “That absence was quite a bit longer than most of us would believe, if reports are to be credited…”
“Yes, sir – a great deal longer indeed,” Thorne agreed, recognising through Bennett’s oblique observation that the general had obviously been briefed on his true background and the origins of the unit he commanded, known (with pun definitely intended) as Hindsight. That Bennett had already been apprised of the reality of Hindsight and its origins saved him a potentially lengthy and difficult explanation at a later date. “Nice to see you’ve already been brought up to speed on what Hindsight’s about.” He added.
“They occasionally like to keep us informed.” Bennett replied with a wry grin, all three sharing a knowing nod of understanding regarding problems experienced by military men the world over in obtaining up-to-date intelligence and information from their political commanders.
“So, to what do we owe the ‘red carpet treatment’ this morning, sir?” Thorne asked, getting back to the reasons for the meeting as the Packard turned off from the main taxi area and began to thread its way slowly between the airport administration buildings.
“Two main reasons…” Bennett began slowly with distinct emphasis. “Firstly, there’s the matter of the situation in North Africa…”
“Ah…” Thorne exclaimed softly, the discomfort clear in his tone. “I would assume that by ‘situation’, you’re talking specifically about my actions rather than the defeat as a whole…?”
That’s it… The voice in his head encouraged with stoic enthusiasm. No point dodging the issue… just stick a ramrod up your jacksy and meet it head on
…!
“That about covers it, yes,” Bennett agreed with a curt nod as Thorne pulled a grimace over his own mind’s poor choice of phrase. “Specifically, that you continually and wilfully ignored direct orders to evacuate your men and materiel; actions which cost us two extremely valuable prototypes and an irreplaceable mobile flak, not to mention almost resulting in a the death or capture of both yourself and Captain Donelson here, both of you also somewhat irreplaceable, I’m sure you’d agree…?”
“When all’s said and done, I’d rate the captain here as a far more valuable asset than myself, general,” Thorne answered with humble honesty, acknowledging Donelson’s engineering and technical expertise and her eidetic (photographic) memory. “...But I do take your point sir,” he continued quickly as he noted the flare of annoyance in Bennett’s eyes that perhaps they were wandering off topic.
“Saving those men… and the civilians…” Bennett added eventually, almost as an afterthought, “…was a fine gesture, but that’s pretty much all it was in the broader scheme of things…”
“I suspect the men and their families might consider it more than a mere ‘gesture’, sir,” Thorne shot back a little too quickly, bristling at the suggestion that having saved over a thousand lives might’ve been of no consequence whatsoever.
“Calm yourself, air vice-marshal,” Bennett countered with a dry smile. “Personally, I think you both did a bloody fine job getting all those boys out, but the official opinion of the War Cabinet is that the loss of those prototype tanks was unforgivable, and in that I’m afraid I’m inclined to agree with General Blamey. The data we’ve received back from the field tests you were able to carry out has been impressive, however the loss of both tanks to the enemy does rather throw a spanner into the works.”
“Sir, if you think the Krauts were dumb enough not to think we were designing better tanks than a bloody Sherman…”
“Of course they knew, man,” Bennett snapped in return, cutting him off, “but they didn’t know exactly what we were doing. Those big buggers were by your own admission an entire generation ahead of their current-model Panther, and now they know it, too…”
That scathing observation dampened Thorne’s growing temper, aided somewhat by a surreptitious warning squeeze against his leg from Eileen.
“How long do you think it will be now before Jerry fields a new model that isn’t a generation behind…?” The general added with a sigh of exasperation. “And when they get new toys, their allies often get them too… After two bloody years of playing catch-up, we are finally about to get one step ahead of the Axis, and your little Egyptian jaunt just made staying there a good deal more difficult.”
“Yes, sir…” was all Thorne could eventually mutter after a long, awkward silence that included some rather critical introspection.
“As I’ve already said, I think you did a damned fine job getting everyone out of Kibrit, but the problem of the lost equipment nevertheless remains. We’ll talk more on that later, but right now I’d prefer to get on with something else I’d like to discuss with you this morning. Air vice-marshal, General Blamey and the Prime Minister have also asked me to brief you personally on another situation that’s been developing a little closer to home over the last few weeks… They’re hoping that considering your rather special insight into current events, that both of you might have some advice to give…”
“Of course, sir,” Thorne nodded immediately, more than happy to have the subject of conversation move on to just about anything else at that moment, although Bennett’s expression suggested that what he had to say wasn’t likely to be good.
“I have a folder of supporting information for the both of you to peruse later, but there are two main issues we’d like your input on… issues we at least hope aren’t connected.
“I’ve no doubt you’re already both aware that the Berlin Pact and the conditions placed on Vichy has resulted in the both the Germans and the Japanese being allowed free access to refuelling and repair facilities at many of the French colonial naval facilities around the Pacific and South-East Asian regions…”
“…Which so far hasn’t been much of a problem despite our ostensibly still being at war…with Germany, at least…” Thorne added, nodding as the Packard passed through the main gates of the airport with barely a wave from the guards on duty and turned south toward Keilor Road. He found the cityscape captivating, and it was becoming difficult to ignore the passing scenery of a Melbourne so very different to the one he recalled from his youth. “The Krauts have had access to airfields and naval bases right through the region for almost two years now, and so far they’ve had the good sense to do nothing with them.” He pulled a face. “I suspect keeping the Japs and the Yanks happy – for very different reasons – has probably got a lot to do with it,” he mused thoughtfully, “and they’d also have to be close to the limits of their manpower and resources just keeping Europe under control anyway…”
Although it was true that the alliance between Germany, Italy, Vichy France and Japan – the Berlin Pact – had provided the Kriegsmarine and Luftwaffe with bases and airfields in Australia’s region, there had been almost no offensive moves by Germany in the Pacific, Indian Ocean or South-East Asia since the fall of the British Isles almost two years before, with good reason.
“Which would make perfect sense if, as you’ve advised the War Cabinet on many occasions, that Jerry’s real objective is conquest of the Soviet Union,” Bennett agreed with a nod of his own. “All our limited intelligence so far seems to back that up with confirmation of an increased military build-up along the Polish border with the USSR. However…” Bennett continued “…although we have no concrete evidence, we believe the Japanese are allowing German surface raiders to fly the Japanese ensign while in transit round The Horn, allowing them to basically thumb their noses at Commonwealth maritime patrols flying out of South Africa before reverting to their true colours to engage in combat operations in the Indian Ocean and South East Asian regions.” He shrugged with some resignation. “There’s not been much we could to do to stop it with a Japanese flag to protect them. Fortunately for us, the raiders we’ve detected so far have been few and far between, although how much that may change now that North Africa has fallen is open to conjecture.”
“I my time,” Thorne began with intentional emphasis, “it took the Egyptians almost a year to clear mines from the Canal after the Yom Kippur War of ‘Seventy-Three, and that was with the help of the US Navy…” he grimaced as he considered the issue at greater depth. “...Wouldn’t expect the Krauts to take that long about it though… the bloody thing’s too important, strategically. The increased capability alone for resupplying Madagascar and speeding up shipping between Europe and Japan is reason enough to get a move on, let alone having ready access to the Indian Ocean for the Kriegsmarine.”
“We shall have to wait and see on that score,” Bennett agreed in a faintly sour tone. “There is another issue however that you may not yet be aware of…” There was a pause as he took a deep breath, maintaining his gaze. “You have some knowledge, I assume, of the joint exploration operation being carried out in the Timor Sea at the moment between AMPOL and Royal Dutch Shell…? Well,” he continued as both nodded silently “…a month ago, one of their survey ships, Ocean Vintage, was lost with almost all hands, about two hundred and fifty miles north west of Darwin. Three weeks later, AMPOL also lost the first of its Bass Strait oil platforms, again with huge loss of life…”
“These were no accidents,” Donelson observed, stating the obvious.
“Based on eyewitness accounts, we believe both incidents to be the result of torpedo attacks carried out by a submarine of unknown origin.”
“‘Unknown’ origin…?” Thorne repeated, not liking the tone of that remark. “If it wasn’t a U-boat, that doesn’t leave too many other alternatives.”
“We’re not sure about Ocean Vintage, however in the case of the oil platform, at present we do not believe a German U-bo
at was responsible, as unpalatable as that idea may be. Considering the time delay between the two attacks, it is entirely possible that both were carried out by the same vessel, although that would be pure conjecture at this point.”
“What makes you so sure the Bass Strait attack wasn’t a U-boat…?” Donelson asked seriously. There was only one other nation likely to have been able to have mounted such an attack and no one present wanted to believe such a dangerous suggestion.
“As it so happens, William Walkley himself was visiting the platform at the time of the attack. Although his helicopter was shot down, he and his passengers were fortunate enough to survive with mostly minor injuries. They were all able to report sighting the unidentified submarine; a vessel mounting a large deck gun that fired upon both their aircraft and the platform…” Bennett left that statement hanging. He knew as well as they did what that information meant.
“How long since the Kriegsmarine used their Type-Eights operationally…?” Thorne asked sharply, throwing the question at the person most likely to be able to answer.
“The Type-Ten started coming off the slipways in ‘Thirty-Nine…” Donelson answered with barely a moment’s thought. “There might still be some of their older subs operating in Baltic or in coastal waters, but there’s no way one of them would have the legs to make Bass Strait and back unless they were operating out of Jap bases at Truk or Yap, and even then it would be pushing their limits with a detour through the Timor Sea.”
“Why haven’t we heard about this?” Thorne demanded, turning his attention back to Bennett. If the Japs are making a move on us, we need to be on full alert.”
“Air Vice-Marshal Thorne, the Australian and Allied militaries have spent the last two years fortifying and preparing for a Japanese attack in the Pacific and South-East Asia… an attack that was overdue a year ago according to the histories you yourself provided us,” the general countered evenly, the hint of a dry smile flickering across his face. “Everything that can be done with the limited resources we have has been done. No one in Canberra wanted to cause a panic however, so the government slapped a D-Notice on the whole thing to keep it out of the press. As far as you specifically not being told; need I remind you that you’ve just spent the better part of the last month or more in North Africa, not ‘returning our calls’ as it were? When exactly were we going to get a chance to fill you in, hmm…?
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 22
