“Uh, yeah…” he agreed sheepishly, blushing slightly. “Yeah, good call!” He turned to reach for a robe hanging by his bed as Trumbull frowned at the terminology he’d used. “Guess I can’t meet the most notable English political and military figures of the twentieth century without my gear on, eh?”
“Yes,” Trumbull mused thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “I expect that should be an extremely…bad call?” He met Thorne’s glance at the use of the unfamiliar paraphrase with a single raised eyebrow and they both grinned.
Thorne knew he was holding things up as he finished dressing himself twenty minutes later. He was as nervous as he’d ever been in his entire life, knowing that the decisions made that day were in all likelihood going to effect the lives of every one of the personnel who’d arrived in that era with the Hindsight Unit, not to mention the entire population of the United Kingdom and to the rest of the world in a long term sense. As he stood in front of the mirror in the tiny bathroom attached to his quarters, Thorne almost gave a grimace at the uniform he wore. It was quite old — something he’d not worn in fifteen years — but it was immaculate and in fine condition nevertheless, and he was quite inwardly proud that in his mid-forties he could still comfortably fit into it. As a final touch, he snugged the officer’s cap down over his old RAAF Squadron Leader’s dress uniform and nodded approvingly to himself.
The seven men who’d arrived on the aircraft outside were standing by the fireplace and engaged in conversation with the six ‘officials’ of the Hindsight unit as Thorne entered the mess a few minutes later, and if any of his colleagues felt the same nervous terror he was feeling within, they were doing a fine job of concealing it. All eyes turned in his direction as he entered, causing him to halt momentarily before stepping forward to join the group. Each of the eight men present were vital to Hindsight’s continued existence and ultimate success in their own way, and Thorne recognised and revered each and every one of them as the significant figures in modern history (as he knew it) that they genuinely were.
Standing to one side of the group were three tall men, each representing one of the services of the British Armed Forces. Wearing dress whites was Admiral Sir John Tovey, commander of the Fleet Home Forces and the man who’d commanded (Was yet to command? Thorne’s mind threw in to be difficult) the successful pursuit and subsequent destruction of the Bismarck — something that was now extremely unlikely to happen at all under current circumstances. Fifty-five years of age, he was a tall, solid man with a serious face, sharp eyes and a shallow, greying widow’s peak of hair above a broad forehead.
In the middle of the trio stood General Sir John Dill, Chief of Imperial General Staff, ADC to the King, and military commander of the British Army. Born on Christmas Day of the year 1881 in County Armagh, Northern Ireland, he’d set his sights on a military career from a very early age. Following attendance at Royal Military College Sandhurst, Dill had received a commission as a second lieutenant in 1901, just in time to see action in the Second Boer War. Well-respected in Britain and abroad, he was a capable officer with a gifted ability for instruction and had served the army well for almost forty years.
Standing beside Dill was a man as recognisable to Thorne as any in that room. Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh Dowding remained almost aloof from the proceedings, turning to utter a word or two here and there as conversation was directed his way, but seeming to have a barely-disguised desire to be ‘somewhere else’. Thorne suspected that was more than likely: a hero and inspired leader in the eyes of many historians of Thorne’s time, ‘Stuffy’ Dowding had made few friends with the superiors of his own time. On more than one occasion he’d gone so far as to alienate Churchill himself in pursuit of a course of action he believed correct.
At the beginning of the war, Dowding had already been under extension of planned retirement due to the emergency at hand, and in an unaltered historical timeline he’d subsequently be vilified by the RAF hierarchy and summarily dismissed following the end of the Realtime Battle of Britain. His huge contribution to the defeat of the Luftwaffe over England would go largely ignored and pushed aside in Government publications following the Battle, and in this almost criminal treatment of the man who more than any other had single-handedly masterminded the aerial defence of the United Kingdom, Churchill must’ve been at least sympathetic if not directly involved. It was said that due to Dowding’s abrasive and cautious nature he wasn’t well liked by the Prime Minister, and the fate of those Prime Minister Churchill disliked could at times be all too final and abrupt.
Indeed, Sir Winston Churchill seemed to be barely tolerating the Air Chief Marshal’s presence as he stood close by with the remaining three arrivals. Thorne almost laughed in disbelief at the reality of a man so similar in appearance to the caricatures of history. Even though he wore an army Field Marshal’s uniform rather than his usual suit and hat, he was ‘in character’ with the half-chewed cigar clenched between his teeth. The uniform, although of note, didn’t surprise Thorne. It was well known that Churchill liked to consider himself the overall ‘Chief’ of the war effort, often using the uniform of one of the three services to illustrate that point, and in a way it made the Australian a little relieved: it indicated the Prime Minister was taking the whole thing quite seriously indeed.
Beside Churchill and slightly to the rear of the group was Brigadier Stewart Menzies, the Chief of the British Secret Intelligence Service and often referred to only as ‘C’ in official circles, the letter being the traditional codename for the head of MI6. Also in his fifties, he was a man with intense and intelligent eyes, receding dark hair and a trimmed moustache. A man who in his youth had excelled at hunting and running in addition his studies at Eton, Menzies had joined the Grenadier Guards straight out of school and served in France during the First World War. Seeing combat in numerous engagements, including the First and Second Battles of Ypres (during which he was wounded for a second time in a gas attack), he’d received the Distinguished Service Order from King George V personally.
Almost side by side with Menzies and seemingly as comfortable in remaining detached from the rest, Sir Richard Trumbull KCB, KCMG, MC appeared just as happy to remain an observer rather than contributor to the conversations going on in the room. Although a good half-head shorter than Alec and far more heavyset, Thorne could nevertheless clearly see the resemblance to his son. British Under-Secretary of State for War, Richard Trumbull was also a close personal friend of Churchill’s and had historically been considered one of the Prime Minister’s most trusted personal advisors and confidantes. Upon his original arrival in 1939, Nick Alpert had brought with him a reel of film intended purely for Richard Trumbull’s viewing: a film that the 85-year-old Laurence of 2010 had also had a hand in preparing. It had been instrumental in Alpert’s securing the attention and support of the man who held influence over someone soon to become Prime Minister in that first desperate year of war, and had paved the way for provision of the facilities they were now using as a result.
The last of the newcomers present had caused the most consternation among those of the Hindsight team present, and indeed also created a great deal of excitement for the ground crew attending to the aircraft they’d arrived in. At forty-six, he was the youngest of the group by a number of years and looked it. Perhaps not quite as tall as most of the others, he was nevertheless a tall man who stood straight and strong in a beautifully-tailored Savile Row suit jacket and trousers. Despite his age, there still seemed to be a youthful, almost boyish innocence in the man’s features, although Thorne also thought he could make out a deep sadness in the man’s eyes. Considering what he’d learned from Nick following his arrival, he could understand the source of the melancholy, and truth be told, Max Thorne could empathise all too well.
He pushed dark thoughts of his own past aside in that moment however and stepped forward to officially greet King Edward VIII.
“Your Majesty,” he spoke the soft reverence one would expect in meeting a monarch, and as he d
rew near, Thorne lowered his head in a gentle bow.
“Please, Mister Thorne…no need for formality here,” Edward replied immediately, raising a hand dismissively. “It’s we who are your guests here, and you honour us with your presence today.” There was honesty and directness in the man’s voice and eyes, and his manner instantly put Thorne at ease, making his job substantially less difficult. “From what Brigadier Alpert has been telling us over the last year, you’ve all come a terribly long way in more ways than one, and the amazing aircraft you have outside clearly confirm that.”
“That’s certainly true, Your Majesty,” Thorne nodded, managing an almost-relaxed grin, “and we’re grateful for the warm welcome! Has everyone been properly introduced?”
“Although we’ve all spoken briefly, we’ve been awaiting your arrival to begin official proceedings… please, dear fellow, feel free to take the conversation in any direction you choose: after setting our eyes upon the technology you have out there, we’re all eager to learn more.”
“Of course, Sire,” Thorne nodded once in recognition of the gently worded directive, and extended an encompassing arm as a gesture to all. “Your Majesty, Mister Prime Minister, General Dill, Air Chief Marshal Dowding, Admiral Tovey, Lord Trumbull, Brigadier Menzies: my name is Max Thorne, and as designated commander of this unit, I thank you all for the support you’ve provided in what we have here at Scapa Flow.” He moved around the group, all turning with him, and moved across to join his own team, singling out each one in turn. “Brigadier Alpert you already know, of course. May I also introduce Commander Eileen Donelson, Royal Navy; Colonel Robert Green, Australian Special Air Service; Doctor Hal Markowicz PhD, nuclear physicist; Captain Jack Davies, United States Air Force; and Colonel Michael Kowalski, United States Marine Corps. Between us, we constitute the ‘officer cadre’ of the Hindsight Interception Unit.” He took a deep breath. “Now, if everyone has a drink, shall we all sit down and have a little chat?”
With a single, silent nod of approval from The King, they all took chairs and formed a large circle at the centre of the room around several low tables, some of the Hindsight group sitting in a second row behind.
“Our unit…” Thorne continued, Alpert and Donelson seated at his left and right, “…was brought into being by the United Nations’ Security Council in August of the year Two Thousand and Nine AD. The United Nations of our era is an organisation not unlike your League of Nations, and came into being following the successful conclusion of the Second World War.” That information was received well by their guests, and he went on after a pause and a breath. “This unit was specifically created and sent back to your time to combat the intentions of a group of Neo-Nazis from the beginning of our new century who wished to change the course of history. As you can gather from the appearance of the aircraft we have out there…” he gestured again with a sweep of his hand, this time toward the mess windows facing the flight line “…the technology of the Twenty-First Century is far in advance of that of this era. Since our arrival we’ve already discovered in just a few days that this organisation of Nazis — called ‘New Eagles’ — has indeed begun to upgrade German military technology and alter the course of history.”
There was little surprise at that, as all the men present had been briefed on what to expect, and Churchill’s eyes fairly gleamed as Thorne spoke these words. It’d been he who’d secretly proposed the backing of Alpert’s operation when the man had first been brought before him by Richard Trumbull a year earlier. Fantastic as the man’s story had been, it’d been convincing enough for a soon-to-be Prime Minister faced with a seemingly unstoppable enemy to take a chance. He was now incredibly relieved that the story had been borne out by the unit’s arrival.
“Mister Thorne…” The Prime Minister cut in, dragging the cigar from the side of his mouth and silencing Thorne instantly. “The primary question on all our minds here today is quite straight forward…may I ask you, sir: will the Germans invade Great Britain?”
Thorne paused. “…In my world? No, sir — they did not. Operation ‘Sealion’ — as it was called — was delayed numerous times and eventually postponed indefinitely on the 17th of September of this year. Air Chief Marshal Dowding’s fine air defence strategy, sir, along with the good fortunes of war itself ensured that RAF Fighter Command was never beaten.” Dowding allowed himself a thin smile as he heard those words. “With the RAF triumphant, defeat of the Royal Navy or the subsequent safe transit of German landing craft couldn’t be guaranteed, and Sealion was never realised.” He continued quickly as Churchill made as if to speak once more. “Unfortunately, sir, the problem is that this is no longer the course of history as my men and I were taught. It seems that the RAF is indeed on the brink of defeat as a fighting force due to the new tactics and technology brought to the Wehrmacht by this New Eagles group. Reuters and his boys’ll be making sure Germany wins, this time.”
“‘Reuters’, you say?” Dowding inquired slowly, thinking carefully over the statement. “Would you mean Reichsmarschall Kurt Reuters — Commander of the German Armed Forces?”
“Yes sir, I’ve been informed that’s indeed his rank within the Wehrmacht , and understandably so considering the impact he’s had and will have on the course of an entire world war.” He grinned as Dowding nodded imperceptibly. “In our correct version of history — what we call ‘Realtime’ — it was Göring who was promoted to that rank following the end of the campaign in France.”
“Are you saying, Mister Thorne, that you expect the Germans to invade England?” That was from General Dill, and again Thorne was forced to pause, unhappy with the answer he truthfully had to give in this case.
“Yes sir, I believe that’s a certainty. As you’ll all see in the film documentaries we’ve prepared, the failure of the Wehrmacht to conquer the RAF and subsequently invade Great Britain was probably the one mistake — in my opinion at least — that cost them the war more than any other…save perhaps an premature and ill-advised invasion of the Soviet Union in the middle of 1941.” Alpert had been sparing in his provision of information on the future, and that statement raised an eyebrow or two. “There’s no way Reuters will allow them to make that mistake, this time.”
“Do you, as a group, intend to stop these New Eagles and save the British Empire?” Tovey spoke this time, leaning forward in his chair and asking the most difficult question so far.
“In an immediate sense, Admiral, I’m not certain there’s anything our unit can do to stop Operation Sealion going ahead should our enemy be sufficiently determined. In truth, it was quite likely the Germans could have taken England anyway in Realtime, should they have established a beachhead here. With hindsight and improved technology handed to them from Reuters and his men, there’ll be no way we could hold them off.”
“Are you telling me the aircraft out there with their obviously incredible capabilities could do nothing?” The admiral was more than a little annoyed at the answer he’d received — indeed none of the seven had liked hearing their greatest immediate fears affirmed by someone purporting to have knowledge of the future.
“Sir, I’m sure you’ll be able appreciate the problems we have before us. Certainly the two fighters — the Lightning and the Raptor — could inflict heavy damage upon any invasion force…but at what cost? As advanced as they are, any aircraft is vulnerable to sufficient volumes of anti-aircraft fire.” Thinking of the example of the RAF’s Tornado pilots who’d flown in Desert Storm, Davies nodded at the truth of that from his seat behind Alpert. British aircraft losses had been dramatically higher than those of the USAF purely because no matter how fast the aircraft or how good the pilot, flying at 200 feet rather than 40,000 meant there was nothing one could do when flak flew up in front of the aircraft.
“Also, sir…” Thorne continued, “…despite these aircraft’s great technological superiority, a sufficient number of conventional Luftwaffe fighters would still be able to overwhelm and destroy them. With a combat wing of either aircr
aft type we might defend England quite comfortably — provided the support systems were available, which they’re not — but two aircraft would at best prolong the inevitable…and not prolong it all that much. It’d be a terrible waste of those aircraft to lose them in such a futile gesture.”
“What do you suggest we do then?” The King asked that simple question, drawing all attention to him immediately.
“For that answer, I’ll pass you over to our resident weapons and engineering expert — Commander Eileen Donelson. Commander…”
Eileen had spent her entire adult life in the service of the Royal Navy, and during that time she’d studied extensively in the fields of engineering, mechanics and design. Her speciality was military hardware of all types, and there were few people of either gender who knew their stuff better. That fact was well known to Thorne, and he’d been a very close friend for some time. It’d been Thorne who’d personally demanded her inclusion on the Hindsight team.
The appearance of a woman in full naval uniform — not that of the WRNS (the Women’s Royal Naval Service) — had initially created mild interest among the men, particularly Tovey, but Donelson had consciously ignored it. Even in her era she’d been accustomed to some degree of discrimination lingering within the armed forces, and she’d been fully briefed on what to expect regarding attitudes to women in general in the 1940s.
“Gentlemen…” she began seriously in her Glasgow accent, ignoring the almost derisive expressions that momentarily spread across some of their faces. “As Mister Thorne here has already told you, my name is Commander Eileen Donelson. You may all be a little surprised at my uniform, so allow me to explain. In my era, women in the armed forces of the United Kingdom — as in many other ‘First World’ countries — are expected to serve in exactly the same roles as their male counterparts. We serve in combat situations and operate at every level as would any man. At the point in which we left the Twenty-First Century, women fly combat aircraft. One is executive officer on the carrier Illustrious. I can assure you, gentlemen, that I can perform the duties as well as any equivalent male in the Royal Navy, if not better.” Her prepared, ‘equality speech’ delivered, she got down to business before the shock wore off and they began throwing questions at her.
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