“We goin’ to introduce ourselves then?” Kelly ventured with forced cheer, trying to get as much of the disrespect out of his voice as possible in recognition of the man’s defence against his assault earlier.
“I already know your name, Volunteer Eoin Kelly,” Thorne replied with a sly grin, and the obvious humour in his voice allowed the man to feel a little more at ease.
“Ahh… that you do… but you have me at a disadvantage…”
“Air Vice Marshal Max Thorne, Royal Air Force…”
“Aye, the ‘air force’ part I’d already guessed, right enough… You mind tellin’ me where we’re off to on this little adventure tonight? Normally I’d not bother you, mind, but none of the other bastards I’ve been ‘graced’ with tonight have been particularly disposed to talkin’…”
“Figured this bastard might tell you, eh?” Thorne chuckled, and Kelly could tell there was no offence taken by the extrapolation of his remark. “We’re off to the Royal Naval Air Station at Ronaldsway on the Isle of Man, Mister Kelly… from there we’ll board a plane flying north. I’ve a few things I need to discuss with you once we get to where we’re headed and we’ve have a chance to have a few drinks and get comfortable.”
“And where we’re goin’ would be…?” Kelly was wondering what possibly reason the man could have to want to take him ‘further north’ of the Isle of Man, which in real terms had to mean somewhere in Scotland.
“What… and spoil the ‘surprise’?” Thorne returned, still grinning.
“I think you’re having a laugh at me, Mister Thorne,” Kelly observed, only vaguely miffed over the fact.
“I think, Mister Kelly, that if all I’m doing is laughing at you, then you’ll probably be all right.” Thorne pointed out, realising in that moment that the man was still bound. He ordered over one of the soldiers and directed that Kelly be cut free of his restraints.
“You’re takin’ a bit of a chance there, aren’t you, Mister Thorne… nasty, dangerous criminal like me?” The words were light, but Thorne could detect the underlying questions beneath: Kelly was trying to get an idea of where he stood, and was probing Thorne’s resolve and intelligence in the process.
“Not really,” Thorne replied evenly, his right hand appearing from beneath the folds of his coat holding a large automatic pistol of a type Kelly had never before seen. “I’ve got this, after all, and the men over there are well armed and will happily shoot out your legs if you try anything. I wouldn’t rate your chances going over the side, either, considering the temperature of that water: probably wouldn’t be too long before a shark took you.” Both of those arguments seemed quite legitimate to Kelly as he mentally sized up his chances and came up decidedly short.
“You make a strong argument for us stayin’ civil right now, I’ll grant you,” he conceded as the reluctant lance-corporal took out a knife and cut his hands and feet free, keeping his own weapon well out of the prisoner’s reach.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about with me, Kelly, so calm down and enjoy the ride.” Those words surprised the man as he rubbed feeling back into his wrists and stretched his legs out across the deck.
“Aye, I gathered that back at The Castle,” his voice trailed off for a moment, and Thorne could ‘hear’ the added words that Kelly found too difficult to actually speak.
“You’re welcome, mate,” Thorne grinned, saving the man a little pride. “That must’ve been hard to almost say. Kelly, we’re not taking you anywhere under arrest – if you’ll put up with me for a month or so, you’ll be released free as a bird after that.” Those words stunned the man more than anything else so far, the expression of disbelief on his face clearly evident. “I’ll even fly you back into Ireland myself if I have to,” Thorne added, and for the first time in quite a while, Volunteer Eoin Kelly literally had nothing to say.
HMS Proserpine, Home Fleet Naval Anchorage
Scapa Flow, Orkney Islands
Thursday
July 18, 1940
Holding the position of Security Chief under circumstances that were far more formal than he was used to was already both an interesting and challenging experience for Kransky after just a few days. A large part of that time had been involved in organising and orienting the rest of his mixed group of officers and NCOs, although Captain Merrill and the others were experienced professionals and generally managed to get up to speed quite quickly. He’d also needed to take some time to acquaint himself with the base and the island in general, and had done a lot of walking in whatever free time he’d managed to find since his arrival. His tall silhouette had quickly become a regular sight around the perimeter of the base with the worn, dirty backpack and all his usual equipment slung over his back; equipment that including the captured German machine pistol and scoped sniper rifle.
Although there was no requirement whatsoever for him to move about armed, he’d spent far too long in areas of combat for him to feel completely safe or comfortable without some kind of firearm in his possession. In any case, he also didn’t want to become accustomed to not carrying his gear: whether the assignment there as security chief lasted a few weeks or a few months, he’d eventually end up ‘back at the coal face’ and operating in the field once more, and he didn’t wish to dull his ‘edge’ if he could avoid it.
As always, the aircraft parked along the flight line consumed his attention as he walked near the hangars and control tower that morning, dominating the scene with their overpowering size and the impossibility of their existence. He’d been introduced to the leaders of the Hindsight unit – the officer cadre – and he was sharp enough to recognise that all of them knew much more about those aircraft and the circumstances surrounding their presence on the tarmac than anyone was telling. He also knew that the officers themselves were an unusual bunch, to say the least, and there was another story to be had there potentially as interesting as anything that might explain the planes before him.
Unfortunately, no one was telling that story or any other. The CO – Thorne – was off base somewhere, expected back that day, and Kransky was hoping to finally get a few explanations upon his return. He could understand there was a place for secrecy under the right circumstances, but as head of security he had good reason to require some insight into what was going on at the base he was charged to protect. Without a reasonable working knowledge of what was going on there at the Hindsight installation, there was a potential for him to perhaps not take enough precautions to guard against an attack, either from without or within: he couldn’t protect the security of the place if he had no idea what he was supposed to protect.
As he passed neat the access ladder by the Extender’s forward loading hatch, not far back from the aircraft’s nose, he was still so enthralled by the sight of the aircraft that he rather uncharacteristically failed to take care where he was walking. He barely caught the sight of a combat jacket and short, dark hair in his peripheral vision as something jogged his right arm, and he finally dragged his attention from the huge machine above him.
“Sorry, buddy,” he began quickly as he spun around, “my fault…”
“Aye, that was never in any doubt, major,” Eileen Donelson agreed with laughter in her voice as she also stopped and turned to face him from a distance of a metre or so, his features sagging with embarrassment as he saw who he’d actually collided with. “I think we could get to know each other a little better, though, before we start being each others’ ‘buddies’…!”
“Aw, I’m sorry Commander… didn’t see you there… no disrespect.” The man found himself unusually lost for words in the presence of the female officer whom he’d just met, for the first time, earlier that same morning. He’d spent very little time in the company of women in general in the last ten years, most of that time having been taken up with fighting of one sort or another, and he found himself quite uncomfortable as a result, often stumbling over his words a little in uncertainty and embarrassment. Although he wasn’t exactly sure of the naval rank s
tructure, he also had a sneaking suspicion that the commander slightly outranked him, making things decidedly more awkward.
“That’s quite all right, major,” she laughed again, the sound of her voice as she did so going a long way toward easing his discomfort. It was a laugh of good humour rather than any malice or mischief – she was definitely not laughing at him. “We all have our moments, I know… and the name’s Eileen, please. Max runs a fairly informal show here, as I’m sure you’ve already worked out.” She paused for a moment, cocking her head slightly sideways, as if sizing him up somehow. “That’s assuming you’ve no problem with me calling you ‘Richard’, of course…?”
“No!” He began, a little too definitively to not be embarrassed, and then continued more calmly: “No… Eileen… not at all: ‘Richard’ is just fine.”
“Going camping, are we?” She countered instantly, changing the subject as she eyed the pack and weapons slung on the man’s back. Kransky was substantially taller than Donelson and she was forced to tilt her head upward to look directly into his eyes.
“I like to keep myself used to carrying a full pack – it helps keeps me in shape among other things.”
“Looks a mite heavy to me,” Eileen replied with a friendly grimace. “I’ll stick to running, thanks all the same.”
“You like to run?” Kransky was genuinely surprised. The heavy combat jacket she wore was long and thick and gave no real indication as to her figure or physical condition – two things the man was definitely interested in seeing more of – and he didn’t remember too many of the women back home in ‘Jersey being particularly interested in exercise at all.
“Aye, I don’t mind putting in a kilometre or two in the mornings. You’re welcome to join me if you like: running on your own’s a bit boring, and the rest of the so-called ‘men’ around here are too bloody lazy to drag themselves out of bed at the times I prefer to exercise.”
“Ah… I don’t know…” Kransky began slowly, eager to say yes on a whim, but hesitant nevertheless: much as spending time with the female officer intrigued and appealed to him, he fancied his own fitness and took pride in his condition, and he didn’t think showing her up at something she liked doing would go down too well.
“Well, if you’re worried I’ll leave you behind, Richard,” she goaded, knowing exactly which buttons to push to engage the competitive nature of any man.
“No… no, that’s fine… what time?” There was only so much a male ego could take – he wasn’t going to have any woman think she was his better.
“Say… maybe… oh-seven-hundred-hours? Right here, near the tower?”
“Sounds just fine, ma’am… uh… Eileen…” He grinned, shaking his head as he corrected himself. “Looking forward to it.”
“My pleasure,” she quipped, turning to leave and then halting for a moment. “After we’re done, bring those weapons along to the workshops and we’ll see what we can do with them for you… maybe we can make a few improvements to the little arsenal you have there.” She turned and began walking this time, throwing over her shoulder: “See you tomorrow, Richard…”
There was no real point in replying as he’d need to shout far more loudly than he cared to as the distance between them increased. He instead took some time staring at her retreating form, as much intrigued as he was suddenly attracted to her. He had no qualms about that attraction, not thinking it any big thing in itself… he was a guy, after all, and a guy who’d spent a great deal of time not in the company of women at that: Commander Eileen Donelson would’ve needed to be far less attractive than his first impressions made her seem for him to not be thinking about her in the less than professional manner that he indeed was.
Her appearance from behind, despite the bulky shape of the jacket, certainly suggested her figure was one of someone accustomed to keeping in shape. He grinned and congratulated himself on his own style and ingenuity… he’d indeed make every effort to go ‘easy’ on her tomorrow morning and not get too far ahead: it never hurt to keep in the good books with an attractive woman.
All the same, although his experience with women wasn’t as great as it might’ve been, he was nevertheless a good judge of people generally and it was clear that Eileen Donelson wasn’t of a similar mould to any female he’d ever met. There were many much more subtle indicators than just the obvious one of the high rank that she held in such a conservative service as the Royal Navy, and her distinctly overt self-confidence was equally significant. He had no doubt that getting to know Commander Eileen Donelson was going to be an interesting exercise regardless of where it led, and silently reaffirmed his decision despite some protest from his ego: he would definitely go easy on her…
Thorne and Kelly arrived back at Scapa Flow not long after noon, following a long and completely uneventful flight from RNAS Ronaldsway in a Coastal Command Sunderland flying boat. A Morris light utility car had collected the pair from the docks at the naval base’s main anchorage and taken them south along a narrow, dirt track that ran up a slight rise past the Lyness Naval Cemetery. The track then ran on to the quite separate cluster of buildings and runway a kilometre or more further on that comprised the newly-constructed Hindsight base. Although he remained silent all the while, Kelly took in everything as they drove on, and his attention was suddenly and utterly consumed by the sight of two gigantic aircraft as they neared a set of gates on the northern side of the main hangar buildings and runway.
The son of an Irish farm worker, Kelly was quite well read and literate for all that, despite having been forced to teach himself a good part of his own education over the years. As Thorne’s credentials were checked and they moved on through those gates, it was immediately obvious to him that the aircraft he was staring at were far beyond the scope of anything he’d ever experienced. The IRA volunteer had seen warships at a distance, and what he thought to be relatively large freighters and ocean liners from closer up, mostly moored at the docks in Dublin and Belfast, but he’d seen no construction of man as impressive or as imposing as the KC-10A Extender and C-5B Galaxy.
“Interesting little ‘aviary’ you have up here, Mister Thorne: that, I’ll grant you,” he observed with a light tone as he peered intently out through the front windscreen over the driver’s shoulder, but there was deep interest and thought behind the words that didn’t pass unnoticed as the two men sat in the foldable rear seats of the Morris 8-cwt.
“We have some interesting toys to play with,” Thorne agreed, smiling faintly. “We’ll be able to have a nice chat about that over the next few days… and a few other things.”
“You going to keep me locked up until then, I gather?” Kelly was finding it hard to not like the Australian, but the man was the ‘enemy’ nevertheless – a servant of the hated British. He also wasn’t altogether happy with being dragged to the wilds of Scotland and beyond against his will – or at least without being asked first – despite how much the experience was arousing his ever-active curiosity.
“Well, we’re starting to understand each other all right here at the moment,” Thorne explained as the car trundled on slowly around the two transport aircraft, across the concrete runway, and on toward the main barracks and officers’ billets over open, grassed land. “I could ask you for your word that you won’t try to sabotage anything here or cause any mischief, but let’s be straight – you are a member of the Irish Republican Army, and as such you’ve sworn an oath or something similar is to fight for an Irish Republic. As such, whether I think so or not, any British target – to you – is probably a legitimate one, and I’d prefer not to test you at your word just yet… were you to waver in some way, we might just ‘spoil’ the nice rapport we’re building here. I could be wrong, but once we’ve had more of a chance to talk, I think I’ll be able to trust you not to do anything to upset me. That’s not a reflection on my opinion of you as much as it is a need to take a few precautions. That sound fair enough?”
Kelly fixed Thorne with a searching gaze and stared lon
g and hard at the man, trying to find anything other than honesty in the man’s face. He gave the Australian’s remarks a good deal of consideration and could find no real fault in the logic or good intention at face value.
“Fair enough,” he agreed finally with a shrug. “I’ll thank y’ for not asking me to fight against temptation then, and we’ll wait and see.”
“You may not believe this, but the way things stand at the moment, your goals aren’t much different to what mine are almost certain to become – something that I’ll be talking about very soon. Rest assured, I’m as interested in seeing a free and liberated Ireland as you are… although I think perhaps we see enemies from different directions.”
“You have an easy way of getting a fella to listen to you there, Mister Thorne, although I’m interested to see you convince me of what you’ve just said. Don’t leave me too long waiting for that ‘chat’, will you?”
“No – I won’t,” Thorne promised with a grin.
As the vehicle pulled up at the main admin buildings, the brig and adjacent security offices behind, the driver climbed out and held the door open as his passengers dismounted by clambering around the forward-folding front seats. Eileen Donelson and Nick Alpert had been expecting their arrival and stood close by, accompanied a pair of armed SAS troopers. The men carried automatic rifles that seemed utterly alien and deadly to a very interested Eoin Kelly.
“I see we rated a welcoming party,” Thorne called from a few paces as they began to walk over. “Nice of you all to stop by.”
“We thought we’d bring some ‘friends’ along to keep an eye on our guest, seeing as you insisted on coming back with him alone,” Eileen explained, her voice cold as she eyed the Republican volunteer with quite obvious distaste. Kelly returned her gaze with one that was equal parts self-confidence and lasciviousness as he overtly studied her up and down, probably the worst thing he could have done under the circumstances.
England Expects (Empires Lost) Page 35