“There’s a ‘disturbance’ in the force…!”
“Don’t make me hurt you!” Thorne continued to laugh, reaching forward in his seat and tapping his friend lightly on the back of his flight helmet before another thought occurred to him. “Would I be correct in assuming this little jaunt wasn’t authorised by everyone’s favourite RN commander?”
“It became necessary to turn the radio off in the end, Max,” Trumbull explained, trying to sound a little disapproving but also unable to stop smirking. “It really is a shame about the language to which that good lady sometimes feels the need to resort…”
“Oh, I’d really keep out of her way when we get back, if I were you, matey!” Thorne almost giggled, knowing exactly how annoyed Eileen would be as a commanding officer that Trumbull had disobeyed her, even if it mightn’t last long in the face his successful rescue. “If she gets hold of you, there’ll be a ‘disturbance’ in the force all right: the disturbance of her foot being forced right up your arse!” A few silent moments followed as Thorne caught some more of his breath, and the mood began to grow calm and more sombre.
“It’s that bad down there?” Alec finally asked as the Lightning flew on high above the solid cloud cover, the last final glow of the preceding day barely visible now against the western horizon beneath the dark, star filled sky.
“Yeah,” Thorne replied in the end, his mood sobering as he considered the question. “Yeah, it’s bad, Alec… less than twenty-four hours, and its already gone to shit.” He shook his head in frustration and disappointment. “They’re fighting hard, and giving the Krauts a few bloody noses here and there, but there aren’t enough with the experience to stand against battle-hardened shock troops and armour, backed up by shitloads of air support and artillery. Has there been any news from the other fronts?”
“The last reports we had before I left were that we’d smashed the beachhead in Hampshire, mostly thanks to the new equipment,” Trumbull offered, receiving a grunt of approval from his passenger, “but the landings in Sussex have been as successful as they’ve been in Kent. If they can reinforce and re-equip overnight, they’re hoping to hit the flanks of the Sussex beachhead in the morning with the Fiftieth and the Twenty-first Tank, coming over from Hampshire, but with the lines falling so quickly in the South-East, they may be called back to dig in around London itself.”
“Well, they’ve pushed up maybe six miles where you picked me up, and probably just as far around Dover, I’d warrant… once they reach Margate and the North Foreland, they’ll be able to secure the entire peninsula and then push past The Swale, right on up to the southern mouth of the Thames. The heavier guns can take their new panzers, but our tanks don’t have a hope — slugs from the two-pounders just bounce off, or shatter against the heavies, and even with the new main guns, they’ll have to get suicidally close to make a dent on their frontal armour.”
“I took a small detour on the way down here, which was why I’m a bit late… apologies for that, Old Chap,” Trumbull continued. “Ran across the aftermath of an engagement between the Home Fleet and the Kriegsmarine off The Dogger Bank and did a quick recce.”
“Would it be optimistic to ask if it went well?”
“Somewhat,” Trumbull answered sadly. “The fleet gave good account of itself all the same, but it wasn’t enough…”
“Never could’ve gone any other way,” Thorne stated sourly. “Reuters was never gonna let the Home Fleet get in the way…”
“What was left of the German fleet held the field of battle, but they were given a savaging for it, judging by what I saw… cloud cover was only three or four hundred metres in places, but I managed to get down low enough to get quite a bit of good footage on the EOTS.” The F-35E’s Electro-Optical Targeting System had low-light and thermal imaging capability, and could record anything viewed through its cameras for analysis at a later date.
“You’re really on top of flying this baby now, Alec,” Thorne complimented with more than a little vicarious pride, noting how comfortable Trumbull had become with the aircraft.
“But of course, sir… jolly easy when you get used to it…”…and for emphasis, he executed another victory roll that left the unexpected Thorne a little dazed and out of breath.
“Whoa… take it easy there, mate… I don’t have a bloody flight suit on!”
“Sorry about that,” Trumbull shot back, genuinely apologetic but nevertheless beaming with pride at such praise from a man he respected. “Got a bit carried away there…”
“I guess we’d better get onto Alternate and let ‘em know I’m okay,” Thorne observed, making a grimace behind his oxygen mask. “Might be better if I make the call, all things considered… you’re not going to be too popular for a little while with certain people.” As Trumbull nodded fervently, he opened the radio channels to the appropriate frequency and began transmitting.
“Phoenix-Leader to Alternate… Phoenix-Leader calling Alternate… come in please… over…”
“Alternate reading you loud and clear, Phoenix-Leader,” the reply came after just a moment or two, the unexpected voice instantly recognisable as belonging to Evan Lloyd. “Glad to hear you’re okay, sir…”
“Not half as glad as I am, Evan,” Thorne grinned. “They’ve got you holding the fort, have they? All the officers off bludging, as usual…?”
“The CO at Lyness has called a special briefing for all officer ranks regarding the situation down south — they’ve all headed over there to attend,” the amusement at Thorne’s remark was clear in the young man’s voice.
“All the better,” Thorne decided, thinking quickly. “I wanted to get everyone together myself, to go over what I’ve seen… I’m sure the rear-admiral will want the rest of Lyness in on it.” He paused, then continued. “Evan, can you please get onto communications over at Proserpine, and perhaps ask the duty NCO at the OR’s mess if we can use it for an impromptu meeting? We’re gonna need somewhere pretty big to fit everyone in, and we could all probably do with a drink or two afterward.” He grinned. “Maybe you and the rest of the boys you’ve been practising with can give us a few songs afterward, by way of saying ‘farewell’?”
“Only if you’ll agree to sit in, sir: our vocalist and our other guitarist both shipped out on Warspite this morning, and we’re two down as a result.” Both successfully managed to bypass the implication that the men were now probably dead.
“You drive a hard bargain, Corporal, but I suppose I could help out.” Thorne paused once more as another thought occurred to him. “I’ve a better idea regarding vocals though… while you’re in the Galaxy there, Evan, could you also have a quick look in Commander Donelson’s personal locker for me… there should be a folder full of sheet music in there that I’d like you to bring along.” This time there was a longer pause, the young man obviously considering the ramifications of the request.
“Is this going to get me into trouble, sir…?” Lloyd’s tone was distinctly dubious.
“‘You’… probably not,” Thorne grinned as he replied, not really answering the question. “Just keep it to yourself, there’s a good lad… combination should be five-five-nine-six… run along now… we should be back at Lyness in about an hour, so if you could have everyone else there at Alternate on their way over by then, it’d be a big help… Phoenix-Leader over and out…”