There was a long silence as the pair locked eyes, each daring the other to break away first and neither faltering. Kelly thought long and hard before beginning to speak.
“When I was a young man, I went to a football match at Croke Park,” Kelly began slowly, choosing his words with care. “The Tans arrived during the game and locked the doors on us, stopping’ anyone from getting out. They started firing into the crowd… an unarmed and defenceless crowd, mark ye…” He met Thorne’s gaze with one as cold and hard as steel. “Twelve people died that day and another sixty were wounded. You sit there wearin’ the uniform of the bastards that’ve been Ireland’s bane for as long as we’ve had a history and tell me you want to ‘help’ me… want to ‘help’ Ireland? How’s the Empire ever helped Ireland, save for crushin’ her under its boot heel and killin’ her men, women and children?” He looked away for a moment as he considered Donelson’s story. “I’m real sorry for what happened to your lady friend’s father — I truly am — but I’ve seen too much of the same done to my own people at the hands of the Tans and other bastards just as bad to cry all that much about it.” He gave a faint smile. “You’ve got me here ‘cause the Germans have put the wind up the British, and no mistake. You’re worried they’ll make a deal with the IRA, and you’ll have to be watching under your own beds for trouble. Well y’ should be scared o’ the Germans — very fookin’ scared! You can offer me all the guns and other bollocks y’ like, but in a month or three, like as much there won’t be a British Empire to stand over my country anymore.” It was Kelly’s turn to shrug. “And y’ can rest assured, I’ll have a drink in yer honour, Mister Thorne… or your memory.”
The look on Thorne’s face was one of controlled anger, but the Irishman knew he’d finally got under the officer’s defences; something that’d been his intention all along. He was deeply offended the Australian had thought him so easily bought out, and had set out to retaliate with his own words.
“Yes, Eoin, I am scared of the Germans… I’m scared shitless!” Thorne admitted coldly, refusing to lose his temper as he took a deep breath. “They’re coming across the Channel sometime soon, and there’s sweet fuck-all Britain can do to stop them, that’s the truth. But have a think about that for a moment…” He took another breath. “You know the Yanks are implicitly in support of Britain, if not to the point of declaring war on Germany right at this moment, and I know that’s had a detrimental effect on the IRA’s fundraising as a result. Now it’s as may be that perhaps an invasion of Great Britain might just be the straw that broke the camel’s back, and maybe the US finally does declare war, or at least seems likely to. What are we left with? Hitler controls all of Europe, including Britain, and the United States can’t really do anything about it even if they wanted to, being thousands of miles across the Atlantic Ocean and all… except…” he paused for dramatic effect “…except… just a few miles off the coast of Germany’s newest acquisition — England — there’s this neutral and militarily weak country that’s the only possible launching place for an American invasion or counter-strike, should they desire to do so.
“This so called Irish ‘neutrality’ already favours Britain — the Royal Navy relinquishes its naval bases to Ireland while Leinster House allows overflights by British aircraft and doesn’t intern RAF servicemen who’ve crash-landed or bailed out over Irish soil. Does Germany enjoy similar benefits in this ‘neutrality’? Oh, I know the Krauts have ‘reassured’ Ireland that they ‘understand’ the nature of your country’s ‘peculiar’ position…” He grimaced. “I trust you can hear all the inverted commas in that sentence! Do you really think the Germans are at all trustworthy?” He allowed that to sink in completely. “You must know enough about history to know what the Nazis’ promises are worth! What did Hitler say about the Sudetenland in ‘Thirty-Eight? ‘It is the last territorial claim which I have to make in Europe’? History shows how long that promise lasted! Will he make a similar ‘promise’ to Ireland after Britain falls?”
That the Germans could be a threat to Ireland had never occurred to Kelly even though he himself had held serious doubts about the nation’s usefulness as an ally. The Irish Government was overtly neutral, and the IRA was actively engaged in attempts to curry German favour — that there was a chance all that would mean nothing to the Nazis hadn’t even crossed his mind, and yet the arguments Thorne made carried weight. The recent past had shown exactly how little Nazi guarantees were worth, and how little the Great Powers’ appeasement of Hitler had accomplished in relation to a continued peace.
“I don’t want you to sell your people or your cause to the British, Eoin,” Thorne continued, mellowing somewhat now he thought he’d made his point and, more importantly, that he felt he’d regained the initiative in the conversation. “I’m offering you the chance to be armed and prepared when the Germans cross the Irish Sea — and believe me, if Britain can’t stop them, they will come. There won’t be any Britain by the time you get any support from me or the organisations I’m setting up: under circumstances such as those, how can there be any problem with you accepting my offer of arms?”
“Can y’ understand how hard this is for me to accept?” Kelly asked plaintively. “You’re makin’ all these claims and sayin’ y’ want to help The Cause, and yet you’re sittin’ there wearin’ that bloody uniform!”
“You still think you can’t trust me? What if I told you I know you were lying about Frank Ryan earlier today?” The man’s eyebrow rose at that but he didn’t try to deny it. “Ryan’s in Germany right now, isn’t he… trying to work in with the Germans?” Another paused for effect. “And what about Jim Crofton…?” At the mention of the IRA’s man inside Special Branch, Kelly’s eyes flew wide with surprise and shock. “He was one of the men sent to the Curragh to collect you, wasn’t he? But he’s also passing inside information to the IRA about Special Branch. How d’you think Leinster House would react if they knew about that? Yet I haven’t passed that on to them, nor do I intend to.” Thorne shook his head slowly. “I don’t want the IRA disbanded or damaged — when the Germans come across the Channel, Ireland will need every able-bodied and armed man it can lay its hands on, IRA included! All I want you to do is go back and report to the Army Council with what you’ve seen and heard here. You can tell them I know about Crofton and they’ll be able to see that I haven’t informed anyone of it. You can also take back a few ‘samples’ of what you saw today for the council to have a look at, although I’ll not give you enough ammunition for anything more than a test firing, and you’ll have details on how to contact me again if the IRA want to do business. That’s all I’m asking at this point — you can all walk away from it if there’s anything about what I’m doing you can’t trust or accept at face value.”
“I’ll need to think about this… think hard about it…” Kelly admitted, too confused to feel confident of making a rational decision.
“You’ll have all the time in the world,” Thorne said softly, smiling faintly once more. “It’ll be a month or so before we’ll have any spare weapons to send back with you, so you’ve at least that long. I’m sorry I can’t allow you to wander around unaccompanied while you’re here, but we should be able to manage an escort that hopefully isn’t too obtrusive. There will be areas we won’t be able to allow you access to, but if you need anything or want to talk any further, just ask for me.”
“Oh, I’ll be wantin’ to talk to you again about this, sure enough,” Kelly admitted, almost grinning at the wry truth of that but not quite able. “Once I’ve had a chance to get my head around it all!”
“I don’t know what’s possible on technical grounds, but I also have no problem with you making attempts at contacting your current Council, either to confer or simply to let them know that we haven’t killed you up here.” He shrugged. “Again, as long as you give no indication of exactly where you are or what’s going on here, you’re welcome to speak freely if you can get hold of someone by radio or phone or something.”
/>
Kelly waved an accusing finger at that remark. “Oh no: now you’re really playin’ with my head there, Mister!”
“How better to screw with someone’s mind that to use the truth, eh?” Thorne grinned back, thinking the conversation had finally turned positive, if still uncertain. He nodded at Kelly’s glass. “You look like you could do with a refill.”
“I think I could do with one or half a dozen, sure enough…” And the Irishman held the glass up for Thorne to take, a genuine smile on his face for the first time.
10. Down Time
Wednesday
July 24, 1940
Despite an initial soreness in the joints and muscles that would last for a few days, Kransky joined Eileen on her run the next morning, and in the days to follow. At first he’d have admitted — to anyone other than Donelson, of course — that his actions were driven more by physical attraction than any real enjoyment of the exercise itself. By the end of that first week however, his body, already fit and relatively well toned to begin with, had started to become accustomed to the increased effort. By that time he was also managing to keep up with the commander most of the time, and the pair generally ran together side by side — although he’d have been mortified to discover Eileen was still holding her pace back slightly to be kind.
As they ran together, they were also able to talk, and Kransky was also able to actually get to know his new running partner as a result. Before he’d realised it, he was suddenly enjoying the running more for the positive effect on his own fitness than anything else, and was also thinking of the woman running beside him more as a friend; her potential as a possible sexual conquest beginning to fade as a result. He still wasn’t convinced she wasn’t flirting with him some of the time, but unless proven otherwise, he was willing to assume that his suspicions were simply a combination of his relative inexperience with women and his not being accustomed to women of her era — an assumption that was mostly correct.
Refreshed by a shower and change of clothes after that morning’s run, Richard Kransky made his way past the admin buildings and over to the flight line just before noon that Wednesday, heading for one of the larger hangars. Eileen had asked him to meet her there to go over some work she’d had done on the machine pistol and rifle he’d brought with him from France. She’d been less than forthcoming on what modifications or alterations she intended to make, and although he trusted her judgement he was by nature less than comfortable being without either weapon, or with trusting their care and maintenance to another person.
A well-equipped machine shop had been set up in the rear corner of the nearest hangar, half-hidden away beneath poor natural lighting and ventilation. Although the standard of the equipment, which included a large lathe and a ten-ton press, was nowhere near that of the computer-aided examples Eileen Donelson was accustomed to dealing with at the start of the 21st Century, she’d been well aware of what to expect and had spent quite a few months reacquainting herself with manually-operated equipment she’d not used since completing her engineering degree.
As Kransky walked through the hangar, Eileen was wearing a long and slightly over-sized white lab coat that hung open over jeans and a nondescript, loose-fitting T-shirt of neutral grey. A blue baseball cap marked “CG54 USS Antietam” in gold braid was snugged down on her head above a pair of orange-tinted protective goggles.
“Does the ‘Engineer Look’ suit me, d’you think?” She smiled as he drew near, holding her arms out from her sides and drawing attention to her dress.
“I’m sure that will be the style in Paris next year,” Kransky replied with a grin, now relaxed enough around her to make jokes he’d never dreamed of, not so long ago.
“Actually, sir, I must correct you there,” she smiled back, removing the goggles and placing them in the pocket of her lab coat. “I do believe Field Grey will be all the rage in Paris for quite a few years.”
“I’d say it’ll probably be ‘required wearing’ in Westminster too, soon enough,” Kransky conceded with a wry nod, “although I’m hoping maybe we can do something to delay that. You had a few things to show me?”
“Aye, that I did, Richard… and that I do.” She gestured for him to follow her across the concrete floor to a long set of workbench that lay hidden amid lathes, presses and other large pieces of machinery. Bare light globes providing barely adequate illumination hung suspended on single long, twisted cables from the hangar’s roof, and the atmosphere in general was tinged with the faintly acrid smell of machined metal and the operation of heavy electrical equipment: evidence enough that Eileen, the only other person in the building other than Kransky, had been working there just before he’d had arrived.
She lifted his prized MP2K machine pistol from the nearest bench and handed it across to him. Its curved magazine had been removed, but Kransky also noted that it was now carrying several quite obvious modifications. A 20cm sound suppressor had been fitted to the muzzle, adding around half a kilogram to the weapon’s weight and making it notably more ‘muzzle heavy’ — something Kransky suspected would probably help keep the weapon under control and reduce its tendency to rise under recoil.
Above the weapon’s receiver, a strange type of sight had also been fitted. Its base was no more than 120mm long, and atop the rear half of it was mounted a thin metal tube perhaps half that length and slightly less than 50mm in diameter. From an acute angle, the inside of the tube appeared to be clear, but as Kransky instinctively lifted the MP2K and squinted down along the top of its receiver, he found that a small, amber-coloured dot appeared within the centre of the sight’s lens. As he turned and moved the weapon with him, still staring through the sight, he found that the dot tracked true to the weapon’s aim no matter where he pointed.
“You’ll find it’s best used with both eyes open,” Eileen suggested, watching intently, “and it’ll make bringing the weapon onto target much faster. It’s called a ‘reflex’ sight… again made by Trijicon, the same as the scope on the Barrett rifle.” It seemed irrelevant for her to mention the manufacturer, considering there was no likelihood it’d be in any way significant to Kransky, but she felt compelled to anyway: it was in Eileen’s nature to concern herself with detail and minutiae when it came to ordnance.
He raised the machine pistol again, this time experimenting with keeping both eyes open as he aimed. He was impressed that his eye seemed to naturally find the sight and the aiming point beyond it. He could instantly see how much faster he’d be able to effectively bring the weapon into action in a firefight with the sight fitted.
“I know the thing’s not goin’ to be a ‘tack driver’ at the best o’ times with a barrel of only three or four inches,” Eileen explained, moving to stand beside him as he continued to practice aiming, “but with the right sights, the nasty little bugger should be combat effective for single shots out to fifty or sixty yards — maybe a hundred, if you’re good enough…”
“Hey…!” Kransky shot back, catching the cheeky glint in her eye. “You might have the edge on me out on the track, but don’t rag on me about my shootin’…!” He’d learned the truth over the last few days regarding the woman’s prowess at long distance running, and had felt extremely embarrassed that his ego had allowed him to be so easily fooled by her pretty face.
“Mister, I don’t care how good you are; if you can hit anything smaller than a tank with this thing at a hundred yards, I will kiss your arse!”
“Yes… you’re probably right…” he admitted rather lamely, having no idea at all how to reply to that remark. “That silencer will come in very handy…” It was time to change the subject, and both of them were in agreement on that judging by the suddenly-uncomfortable expressions on both faces.
“Aye, that it will… and so will this…” She turned and picked up what appeared to be a small and quite compact pair of binoculars, pressing a small button on the unit’s top surface, between the lenses before handing them over.
“I need a new set of field glasses
…?” Kransky began to ask, MP2K in one hand as he lifted the binoculars with the other.
“Look at the far end of the hangar, then press and release the large button on the top,” she replied simply, and he did exactly that. Leaning across to gently return the machine pistol to the bench, he raised the field glasses to his eyes and focussed them on the far corner of the hangar. The 8 x 45 magnification brought the distant walls into clear view, and a small red circle appeared at the centre of his field of view as he pressed the larger of the two buttons atop the unit. As he followed Eileen’s instructions and released it once more, a small set of red digits reading — ‘56’ — appeared directly beneath the aiming circle.
Kransky lowered the binoculars with a frown and stared hard at the point he’d focussed on. Thinking carefully, he picked out a slightly closer point on the opposite wall and repeated the process. This time, the readout came up with the numbers — ‘52’ — in the same position directly below the aiming point.
England Expects el-1 Page 38