“You’re sure you don’t mind flying the Lightning?” Thorne asked Davies as the Texan dismounted the first truck and the pair walked together toward the parked aircraft.
“Nahh…” Davies shook his head dismissively. “Hell, I’ve got more hours in that thing than you’ve had hot dinners.” He shrugged. “I’m a fighter jock anyway: who the hell’d wanna be cooped up in one of those Goddamn barges for two damn days?” He changed the subject as they walked on. “Good to hear Trumbull’s family got away…”
“Yeah,” Thorne agreed with a nod. “Both his parents and the younger brother headed out last night with the Royal Family aboard King George V. They’ll meet up with Force H off Gibraltar, and head on into the Mediterranean and through the Suez Canal from there. They won’t reach Australia as quickly as we will, but they’re on their way. Alec was over the moon when he found out.”
“The King’s staying though… for the moment at least…?”
“For as long as he can,” Thorne shrugged, not sure whether the idea was good or bad. “It’ll mean a lot for morale, knowing he’s still in England, but whether they’ll be able to get him out as things get worse will be difficult to call. We all know his brother can take over if he has to, but I’d much rather Edward be gotten away to safety too, all things considered.”
“And Sir Winston…?”
“Well…” Thorne gave a thin smile. “…From what I can gather, he’s also staying put for the moment. I got the distinct feeling he’s of the opinion a martyr is worth more than a Prime Minister in exile.”
“The man’s got moxie, I’ll give him that!”
“‘Moxie’…?” Thorne was more than a little amused at Davies unexpected use of 1940s vernacular. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…! We really gotta get you ‘back to the future’…!”
“One of those Deloreans would be a nice start!”
“You wish…!” Thorne laughed in return.
Out on the tarmac thirty minutes later, flight crew were warming the howling engines of the KC-10A Extender and C-5M Galaxy as the sun lit the horizon over the southern reaches of Sanday, four kilometres east across the Bay of London. The F-35E was also winding up for take off nearby as Davies strapped himself in, the pair of tanks hanging from the inboard pylons beneath his wings refilled with fuel. He was glad of the gun pod and the missiles, but he doubted he’d need them: although they’d all be flying through some potentially hostile airspace during the initial leg of their journey, they’d be travelling too fast and too high for any interception to be possible.
With clearance from the transports, Davies took the Lightning into a short, rolling take off and leapt skyward on a trail of exhaust, climbing quickly and circling while he awaited his slower colleagues. The tanker began to rumble along the tarmac seconds later, its speed increasing quickly as throttles were pushed forward. The aircraft finally clawed its way desperately skyward, its three turbofan engines howling as if in defiance of the skewed world it was leaving behind as it banked to port and its undercarriage folded upward. The Galaxy began its own take-off run soon after, it too powering along the concrete strip with a rate of acceleration that seemed impossibly fast for such a behemoth. Within moments, it was struggling into the air after the others, its main banks of landing wheels neatly stowed in the bulges along its fuselage sides. As the transports continued to climb through a light, patchy cloud cover, the F-35E fell in behind and above them, active systems scanning for any threat, and the flight turned south for the run down the length of the British Isles: the first leg of a far longer journey to come.
Church of St. Michael and All Angels
Kingsnorth, Kent
Historically an area of marshes and densely woodland, there was evidence to suggest that the village of Kingsnorth, just a few kilometres south of Ashford, had been settled as long ago as 28,000 years. There’d certainly been discoveries of flint tools from the Mesolithic Period in the area (approximately 9,000 BC), and there’d also been later settlements during the Iron and Bronze Ages, and through Early Roman times. The Church of St. Michael and All Angels itself dated from the 13th Century, and boasted a fine example of stained glass of the period in a depiction of St. Michael slaying the dragon, while its sanctuary also held the marble tomb of Baronet Sir Humphrey Clarke. Constructed of Kentish Ragstone, as were many of the churches, castles and other historic buildings throughout Southern England, it was a small building with a high roof and a tall, stone belltower that stood a dozen metres or more above Church Lane to the west.
Like much of the surrounding area, Kingsnorth had been evacuated, and the place was now no better than an empty ghost town. Remnants of the 1st London Division had been reinforced overnight, and a second defensive line had been set up a thousand metres or so to the south-east, running along the Marshlink Rail Line and parallel to the B2070 between Ashford and Bromley Green to the south. The hastily-constructed diggings turned east above Kingsnorth, passed through the southern outskirts of Sevington, and eventually crossed the Hythe Road near Willesborough Lees before continuing on to the north-east through Hinxhill and beyond to Brook. For the most part, the lines were probably no more than five thousand metres north-west of Wehrmacht advanced units in that area, and the point where the defences crossed the A20 were perhaps four kilometres down the Hythe Road from where Trumbull had landed the F-35E the night before to pick up Max Thorne.
Richard Kransky could see the line of troops and guns through his powerful scope sight as he looked out across the roof of the church, from a small arched window near the top of the tall belltower. They were only a kilometre away from his position at their nearest point, and from his vantage point he could see much further across the seemingly endless run of hedgerows, fields and woods that covered the eastern horizon. He’d moved quickly the evening before, once he’d left Thorne and Ritter, and had managed to make it as far as that abandoned church before deciding to rest for the night.
St. Michaels made for an excellent observation or shooting position. Church towers and spires were often the tallest structures to be found in most villages, and as such they generally stood high above the surrounding buildings and trees, and provided clear views of the surrounding area for many miles. Any enemy advance would therefore be visible at quite a distance, and Kransky was in possession of several boxes of powerful armour-piercing rounds for the M82A1 Barrett's rifle with which he could penetrate the top armour of any vehicle the Wehrmacht used, save for the P-4A Panther tank. Even if he couldn’t damage the Panther itself, a well-aimed shot could still break a track, which would be enough to cause significant delays.
With an effective range of up to a mile or more against vehicle-sized targets, the Barrett allowed him to reach perhaps five hundred metres beyond the British defenders at their closest — enough range to cause any assaulting troops some real difficulty. He suspected it would be only be a matter of time until the lines collapsed once more, but any delay they could provide allowed more time for the establishment of far better defences and fortifications closer to London, and Kransky was prepared to make every effort he could to assist the men in the newly-dug trenches before him. All the same, the abandoned Triumph Tiger T100 motorcycle he’d found in a nearby shed was now waiting for him outside the church when the time came to leave. For all his determination, Kransky wasn’t feeling the slightest bit suicidal, and he intended to keep a viable escape route available.