England Expects (Empires Lost)

by Jackson, Charles S.

  “What on earth’s going on here, if I may ask, sir?” Trumbull finally ventured softly beside Thorne as they waited, able to remain silent no longer. Although he’d not yet ascertained the Australian’s rank, there was no doubt in his mind the Australian was in charge judging by his interaction with the officer they’d just met.

  “Just watch, mate,” Thorne grinned back, anticipation of the reaction he knew he’d get from Trumbull overcoming his nerves and fears for a moment. “All will become clear in a few minutes…” he chuckled a little to himself, then again added rather unhelpfully, as seemed to be his wont: “…well, clearer than they are now, anyway.”

  “Well it doesn’t take a genius to work out we’re waiting on an aircraft of some sort.” Trumbull replied, only a little miffed, and that more at the realisation the Australian was having fun at his expense rather than any lack of explanation.

  “We’re having a few friends drop in…”

  “I can hardly wait…” Trumbull retorted dryly, but was prevented from saying anything more by the flash.

  It was a brilliant burst of illumination far off above the horizon that momentarily lit up the anchorage and islands all around for great distances off to the north-west. As the sky returned to darkness once more, several tiny sets of lights were now visible where it had been, and although no larger than pinpricks they were obviously quite powerful. Setting the frequency of the main radio set into a console facing the runway, Alpert lifted a large microphone to his lips and keyed ‘transmit’.

  “Icebreaker calling Phoenix Flight: come in please…over.”

  “Icebreaker, this is Phoenix Flight reading you loud and clear.” The reply brought visible sighs of relief from Thorne and Alpert. “Phoenix-Two and –Three are status A-Okay and ready for landing. Is the area secure…over?” Trumbull found it intriguing that the voice appeared to be that of an American, considering the United States weren’t even at war...

  Canadians, he reasoned logically in an instant, obviously Canadians rather than Americans! Trumbull’s experience with Americans wasn’t broad enough for him to pick that the voice had carried a distinctly Texan tinge that placed its owner’s origins a long way from Canada.

  “The area is secure, Phoenix-One.” Alpert replied. “Harbinger was required to see off some uninvited guests earlier but everything’s fine now…over.”

  “Doing my job for me, Max?”

  “Someone has to make sure it’s done properly, Jack!” Thorne laughed, taking the mike from Alpert. “Don’t worry, mate: there’s still a few ‘nasties’ left out there for you.”

  “No problem, buddy: I’ll make a few circuits at high altitude and see if there’s anything sneaking about while Phoenix-Two and –Three come in. If anything’s around, I’ll find it!”

  The only break in the dark sky above was a pair of glowing exhausts as the aircraft Trumbull assumed must have been Phoenix-One roared past overhead a second or so later, the thunder of its engines making the tower shudder. Judging by the sound alone, it left an impression of being far more powerful than the F-35E.

  “Your friends…?” He inquired with a little nervousness.

  “Our friends…” Thorne assured, nodding and grinning smugly.

  “Oh good…!” The squadron leader remarked with faint sarcasm and mock geniality, unaware of how accurate that statement would indeed become. He returned his attention to the approaching lights in the sky, which were now much closer. At first, he thought there must be a number of planes out there flying in close formation, navigation lights blinking asymmetrically – red and green. It wasn’t long before he realised, incredulous, that all the lights he could see belonged instead to just two aircraft.

  “My God…!” He breathed in surprise.

  “Lockheed and Boeing, actually,” Thorne replied glibly, enjoying the moment immensely.

  The first of the giants was upon them in another moment, the landing gear beneath the craft’s massive bulk searching for the far end of the runway. Without GPS or an ILS, the pilot was forced to actually carry out the whole landing manually, something that was unusual and took some concentration. It dropped toward the concrete with three massive clusters of rubber-tyred wheels in an unusual, tricycle arrangement Trumbull had rarely seen, its airspeed still seemingly far too high for a landing in his opinion, and he saw it clearly for the first time as it passed the first of the runway markers at the far end and into the field lighting beyond.

  With a wingspan of 68 metres, a length of almost 76 and a basic operating weight of more than 150 tonnes, the Lockheed Galaxy C-5M, erstwhile of the United States Air Force Logistic Command, was far and away the largest flying thing Alec Trumbull had ever laid eyes on. Tyres bit into the concrete as it touched down, releasing chirps of protest and puffs of bluish smoke, and as the nose wheels also touched down, the roar of its General Electric engines changed pitch and increased in intensity as reverse thrust kicked in. Its speed of approach began to slow dramatically as it thundered on down the runway, and Trumbull could only stare on in stunned silence. The McDonnell KC-10A Extender tanker aircraft that landed with it a few moments later, although smaller, was no less impressive.

  Thirteen thousand metres above them, Captain Jack Davies of the United States Air Force completed three wide aerial circuits right around the Orkneys, his powerful radar systems telling him there were no threatening aircraft within detectable range. As it happened, the Luftwaffe aircraft Sentry had been forced to retire to its base at Wuppertal just thirty minutes earlier with minor engine problems and as such there was no equipment present that could detect the emissions of his AN/APG-77 radar. That was unfortunate in a way, as the interest the discovery of the F-35E Lightning II had created would’ve paled mightily into insignificance in comparison to knowledge of the appearance of an F-22A Raptor stealth air superiority fighter.

  4.

  Food for Thought

  Wehrmacht Western Theatre Forward HQ

  Amiens, Northern France

  Saturday

  June 29, 1940

  It was well after midnight before there was any sleep to be had at Amiens for Reichsmarschall Reuters or Albert Schiller. Late into the night they were both still in the briefing room of the mansion, joined now by another – a smallish man in his late fifties wearing a long civilian overcoat, waistcoat and trousers. Joachim Müller, once a physicist at a leading German university, was Reuters’ head technician and scientific advisor and was immensely capable in both roles. The three had been discussing the situation they were now presented with – the arrival of the F-35.

  A late communiqué from Berlin had also informed them, rather to Reuters’ dismay, that the Führer would be making a surprise visit the following afternoon on the way through to a ‘morale-booster’ tour of the forward army groups throughout France and Belgium. Reuters might well be the Oberbefehlshaber der Wehrmacht but a visit from Adolf Hitler was something anyone had to take seriously. He also knew questions would be asked regarding the unexpected and unpleasant arrival of the Lightning, and although there mightn’t be any immediate danger in a strategic sense, its arrival was still something that needed to be considered.

  “So we know what happened to at least one of our aircraft that failed the ‘jump’…” Schiller observed softly, following a long period of pregnant silence.

  “Under the circumstances, let’s assume NATO and the CIS captured or destroyed both C-123s.” Reuters countered from his comfortable chair as the three men sat about the map table, mostly hiding the sourness behind the remark.

  “…And delayed our turbine, tank armament and nuclear programs by years!” Müller observed with more obvious displeasure from the opposite side of the table. “Thank Christ we kept the exact time destination classified and preset the TDUs! At least we took the precaution of programming them to reset their data immediately after discharge or in case of power failure.” He caught Schiller’s quizzical stare and almost rolled his eyes. “You two still don’t grasp the ramification
s of this, do you?”

  “How much real trouble can this cause?” Schiller shot back in a friendly tone, sceptical and deciding to play Devil’s Advocate. “So we have one enemy jet turn up…just one...even if it is a bloody Joint Strike Fighter. The ‘Temporal Wave’ thingy or whatever you call it takes around 24 hours of Realtime to take effect, right? So they had a day – or part of one – to lash some kind of response together…so what?”

  “Assume for just a moment, dear Joachim, that both of us poor mortals here are the complete simpletons you’ve always suspected us to be,” Reuters added with a wry smile, cutting Müller off before he could give the reply that was about to accompany the exasperated expression Schiller’s remarks had elicited. He had no doubt that there was more to it than Schiller’s flippant dismissal, and knew his 2IC probably recognised that also. “Enlighten us with your thoughts on the matter, if you would.”

  “Well, to begin with: who says they’ve only had one day or part thereof?” Müller returned immediately. “Markowicz mightn’t have been the lead scientist on the project, but he was Lowenstein’s partner for ten years, and that sneaky bloody Yid would’ve known enough to give the UN a fair estimate of what their project was capable of. We grabbed Lowenstein the moment they’d gotten far enough to make it worthwhile, and that was a full twelve months before we jumped…” He fixed Schiller with a quite wilting gaze to match his sarcastic tone. “What do you suspect they imagined we were doing with their lead temporal research scientist during that time…playing hopscotch?”

  “You think there’ll be more aircraft?” Schiller queried, more serious now and taking no offence at his friend’s patronising tone.

  “You can bet your last Reichsmark they will,” Müller answered instantly. “Those TDUs are tough – we built them that way for a reason – and each aircraft carried two of the devices: one main unit and one back up. We must assume the worst case scenario that NATO captured all four in working order.”

  He took a short breath. “Markowicz and Lowenstein’s research was a fully-funded British MoD project right from the start and DARPA also got involved with further funding the moment it looked like it was going somewhere.” He shrugged. “I don’t know exactly how much cash was sunk into the research prior to us grabbing Lowenstein, but I can guarantee you it was in the range of several billion US dollars…and that was in spite of the Global Financial Crisis. The moment our involvement became known the whole thing was handed over to MI6 and they were basically given carte blanche to find us and wipe us off the map at all costs!” Joachim grimaced, ignoring the urge to touch a jagged scar at the back of his neck that was the result of an injury received from flying shrapnel as his C-123 cargo plane had been fired upon by Russian ground forces while taking off just moments prior to making their ‘jump’ into history. “Thorne and his bloody Hindsight unit had the complete financial and material backing of the UN Security Council, NATO, the United States, the European Union and the Russians. Those bastards just had to snap their fingers for money or anything else they wanted to start rolling in.”

  “And we’ve had seven years of unrestricted freedom in this world…” Reuters observed finally after a short pause, having absorbed and accepted everything Joachim had said “…and we prepared for five more years before that: planning, research, development and procurement. We may not have had he backing of ‘world powers’, that’s true, but you’d also have to admit, Joachim, that our own resources were by no means insubstantial. I can think of very few situations in which Hindsight or anyone else could get in the way of what we’re doing here.”

  “I can give you one right now, Kurt…” Müller pointed out with much less good humour. “Suppose for a moment that one of these four possible aircraft that arrives – even the F-35 we already know about – is loaded with tactical nuclear weapons? What’ll that do to our planning of Sealion or our occupation forces in France…or if the Strategic Air Command has ‘loaned’ them a B-1B Lancer or a B-2A Spirit with enough nukes to turn every major city in Germany to dust?”

  He gave a hollow laugh, already well aware of the real concern Reuters felt. “You’re worried more about what this new arrival might do to shake the Führer’s confidence in you…aren’t you? How d’you think turning Berlin being wiped out would shake that confidence…assuming, of course, any of us were all still here to bitch about it afterward anyway…?”

  “All right, all right, Joachim!” Reuters half growled, half laughed as Schiller shook his head, also smiling. “You’ve made your point.” He took a deep breath and a sip of water from a glass on the table before him. “You think I’m more worried about the Führer than I am about Hindsight or this jet that’s turned up, and you’re right…I am more worried about that!” He took another breath, and there was a genuine fear and seriousness in Reuters’ eyes now as he spoke.

  “When we made contact here for the first time, we couldn’t get anyone to take us seriously to begin with. Even with the few tasty little morsels of technology Schiller brought with him on that first mission, it took every ounce of his persuasion and three months of bargaining and pleading just to get access to a suitable airfield for the rest of us to land on another two months later. No one…and I mean no one…wanted us to get anywhere near Hitler ourselves, and it took a full year before I was actually able to speak to the Führer face to face. Hess, Bormann, Göbbels, Himmler, Göring, Rohm and a brace of others at or near the top of the Nazi Party hierarchy, and all of them hated and mistrusted us…” He took a short breath before continuing.

  “Seven years later, it’s true we’re in a far different position, with myself as Reichsmarschall and all of us in positions of great influence. Our core group has been almost entirely absorbed into the Wehrmacht now, and it is we who wield the power in Germany directly below Hitler himself. One thing hasn’t changed however, and that’s the fact that most of the other players in this little intrigue we might whimsically call the politics of the Nazi Party still hate and mistrust us…moreso now because of the power we control. The Reichsführer-SS Himmler has started to come around and warm to us, and there’s the potential for a real and useful ally in the SS to come out of this, but I suspect the others I’ve mentioned would all rate myself – and the rest of us by definition – somewhere lower than eel shit in the scheme of German society.” He took a deeper breath this time before continuing once more, both other men mesmerised by his words.

  “So now to address your question, Joachim, regarding the possibility of these irritating newcomers perhaps threatening or, indeed, using nuclear weapons against us…during Sealion or otherwise. Well – in light of what I’ve outlined above, what do you think the likely outcome would be if for any reason I suggested to the Führer that we perhaps ‘ease up’ a little on our Western Offensive? We’ve started something here in Germany that can’t easily be reversed or even slowed down – if at all! In the face of continued opposition from every sceptic and ‘doomsayer’ in the NSDAP, I’ve spent the last seven years convincing a reluctant Adolf Hitler that an invasion of Great Britain and its subsequent total subjugation is not just advisable but integral to the continued existence of Grossdeutschland once Western Europe is conquered. It was hard enough winning the confidence and trust of the man at all, let alone enough of that confidence for the Chancellor to permit me to take over the running and planning of the war entirely. If I go to him now and suggest that maybe we need to ‘slow down’ – to ‘hold off’ for a while – I’ll destroy everything we’ve accomplished here in a second.” He left another very pregnant pause hanging as the reality of what he’d said sunk in completely.

  “I’ve made too many deals and called in too many favours for this to fail for any reason! Remember what happened to Rohm and the SA: that can easily happen to anyone who gets far enough on the wrong side of Hitler for him to start hearing the words others are constantly whispering in his ears. Political power and military force can both be virtuoso musicians, gentlemen…” Reuters gave a wry smile “�
��but neither of them have any principles. They’ll play any tune you wish and play it for as long as you wish if they think you will pay…but sooner or later you do have to pay. The position we’ve carved for ourselves now controls us as much as we control it…nuclear threat or not. If this new enemy can destroy us then they will, and we’ll be dead. If we fail the Führer now, we’ll be ruined here and no better off…almost certainly eventually dead anyway, in all truth…and probably in a far more brutal and drawn out fashion than anything an atomic bomb could do to us. Whether these supposed nukes exist in reality or not is therefore in practical terms utterly irrelevant: we die or we succeed…it’s that simple. I, for one, intend to do everything I can to make sure we succeed.”

  “So that still leaves you with the problem of how to handle the Führer,” Schiller noted, diverting the subject slightly.

  “That, I’m painfully aware of,” Reuters admitted, smiling once more, if ruefully, “…and I’ll think seriously on it.”

  “…And of these newcomers…?” From Müller this time.

  “That’s another matter entirely, Joachim, and with the potential problems you’ve so eloquently put forward, it’s one we do need to deal with quickly.” He turned his gaze to his friend and 2IC. “Tell me, Herr Generalleutnant Schiller: as my capable master of intelligence, how do you imagine this changes our thoughts on the unexpected and very unhistorical expansions of Scapa Flow our reconnaissance aircraft have been observing over the last year? Not simply the result of a flow-on effect our own presence created, as we – it seems – rather arrogantly assumed originally?”

  “The benefits of twenty-twenty hindsight, Kurt…?” Schiller gave a wry smile, adding quickly: “No pun intended. Perhaps the obvious questions – particularly that of what might require the construction of several kilometres of runway – should’ve appeared more obvious? Original Abwehr and Naval Intelligence reports of those upgrades started surfacing roughly twelve months ago, before the war began…so we can imagine that Hindsight – I’ll assume its Hindsight until proven otherwise at this point – has had someone on the ground here for that long at least. Yet this Joint Strike Fighter appears today rather than any other time? Surely we’d have encountered some evidence of the bloody thing already if it’d arrived here before today? And what needs three thousand metres of runway? Not a fucking F-35B, that’s for sure…or any tactical strike aircraft worth its salt…” he grimaced “…strategic bombers, on the other hand…”