“They suggest buying a flying boat and landing it Scotland somewhere. Either at the coast or in one of the lochs.”
“They’re very free with our money. Have they no idea how much a Boeing will cost us? Leave this one with me, Iggie. I want you to go out to Bangkok with the Noth report and deliver it to Suriyothai. Lillith has your tickets. Spending more money on Pan American’s clipper service has broken her heart, but we’ve got no choice at this time. I need you back here as soon as Snake has that report.”
“No time for shopping?” Igrat sounded heartbroken as well.
“None. Not this time. Straight in and out. If you can fit a shopping expedition in between flights, do so, but don’t delay getting back here. No ‘missing the plane’ and ‘getting the next one out’.” Stuyvesant picked up the cavity magnetron and twisted it around in his hands. “I wonder why Samuel Colt didn’t think of this.”
Headquarters, Middle East Command, Cairo, Egypt
With nine hours difference between Canberra and Cairo, there was a tendency for things to turn up at awkward hours. Annoying as that might have been, when dispatches from home did arrive during business hours it was usually a good indication of trouble. Trouble was all Lieutenant-General Thomas Blarney could see in this latest communication from his Government. After an hour’s solid contemplation and a telephone call, he summoned his staff car and left word to inform GOC-in-C Middle East Command to expect him forthwith.
Archibald Percival Wavell, General Officer Commanding in Chief of His Majesty’s forces in Egypt, Sudan, Trans-Jordan, Palestine, British Somaliland, Cyprus, Aden, and the Persian Gulf, who’s concerns extended to Libya, Ethiopia, Eritrea, Greece, Rhodes and such trifles, was waiting on the front steps when Blarney’s car rolled up. Admittedly, he was as surprised to see the Australian as Blarney was to be met in person. Blarney had just swept up the drive when another General, Major-General George Noble Molesworth, alighted from another staff car.
‘Molely’ Molesworth might not have been on par with the Lieutenant-Generals in rank, but as Deputy Chief of General Staff for the Indian Army he was more than due his share of official curtsey. In any event, his arrival had been telegraphed in advance. Quite unlike Bernard Freyberg, Major-General, VC, CMG, DSO** and General Officer Commanding the 2nd New Zealand Expeditionary Force, who hauled his large and much abused frame out of the Chevrolet behind Blarney.
If Wavell was in the least put out by receiving three visitors for the price of one, he gave little sign. Instead, he welcomed them all warmly and made polite conversation about the weather, the tribulations of air travel and Cairo traffic until the four men were safely seated in his office, drinks in hand and doors shut.
“Well gentlemen, it would be too much to ask if you were all here for Genie’s birthday ... ?”
It was almost inevitable Blarney opened the batting. Never much of a diplomat at the best of times, and hardly one of the boys in such company, he wasn’t inclined to take the back seat to anyone. Yet, for as far as Wavell had come to know his man, he was surprised by quiet almost tentative tone from the bullish fellow
“Sir ... I received instructions this morning that umm . . . My government would like my opinion on the future movements of the Australian Imperial Force. They ask if the AIF should be withdrawn to Australia wholesale, or if it might be more advisable to move directly to Singapore. I’m also to inform them of the earliest we can leave Egypt and
...”
Blarney choked down a curse. “The lilly livered bastards also want to know how much kit I can screw out of you before we go. I’m not meant to be telling you that obviously, but... Christ. It’s one thing to cut and run. I’m not playing snake in the grass for the buggers too. Sorry sir, I’m so bloody sorry …”
Wavell’s look of polite interest hardly wavered as he listened to this toll of doom ring out. “That’s alright, Tom; and thank you, I do appreciate your honesty.” He had, after all, been half expecting something along these lines. His only real surprise was that it had taken so long, and that Blarney was so upset about it.
On the other end of the settee Freyberg coughed, “My government,” he rumbled, “has only asked my advice on the desirability of redeploying my command. We . . . that is, Tom and I, rather think our Governments have been talking between themselves, as the options I am to consider are essentially the same as his: Singapore or Australia. However mine are not orders, and Wellington say they will be guided by my opinion.”
Again Wavell nodded politely. “Thank you, Bernard” He turned to Molesworth, who was already blushing. “I take it you are here for my Indians, Moley?”
Molesworth nodded, “Yes, Archie. We seem to have a political accord developing with the Congress Party, but they don’t much like the idea of Indian troops defending British interests.”
Wavell raised a curious eyebrow “Any you may well need them for keeping order too, dare I say?”
“If Jinnah’s AML can’t be kept under control then yes, I rather fear we will.” Molesworth agreed sadly. “I knew it was going to leave you in the most dreadful bind, but I had not realized things would be this bad.” He glanced across at the two Dominion generals.
“No, that is quite alright, old man,” smiled Wavell gently “Perfectly understandable, given the circumstances.”
“So that’s it then,” said Blarney into the air before turning to Wavell. “Where do you intend to take the British forces? I’m instructed to invite you to Australia, but I’d understand if you told me to go and roger myself.”
Wavell looked blank. “I’m sorry--take whom where? I assure you, Tom, I’ve no intention of going anywhere at all, nor shall I without orders.”
“Oh come on, man” snapped Blarney. “Making bricks without straw is one thing, but you’re not holding Egypt with the rest of us bottling out.”
Wavell nodded “I take your point, Tom, and I dare say you are right, but I intend to do my best.”
“So you intend to stay?” asked Freyberg.
“Yes” replied Wavell simply.
“Good.” said Freyberg soberly. “Then so shall we. And I will inform Wellington to that effect.”
For the first time, Wavell showed some trace of passion “Really? Oh Ber ... Thank you, Bernard. I thank you, and the Empire thanks you.”
“What’s left of it” muttered Blarney.
“That is rather the point, isn’t it,” said Freyberg, accepting Wavell’s gratitude with a gentle nod. “This is the Empire now, or so far as I can see.”
A sigh ran around the group. Someone had to say it, and it was typical of Freyberg to grasp the nettle.
“What are your instructions from London--if I may inquire?” Molesworth asked.
“As they have always been,” smiled Wavell. “London has had no end of things to say, but there has been no change to my strategic guidance.”
“What are they thinking?” muttered Freyberg.
“God only knows.” Blarney’s laugh was drier than dust. “God knows if they are thinking at all.”
“Be that as it may,” Wavell carefully avoided any trace of a smile, “My position is clear, and not a little easier thanks to Bernard’s great generosity. But any further help ... I should not like to beg, but I need troops and time, gentlemen, and any of either you might spare would not go unwelcome.”
Freyberg scratched his chin. “London may have gone mad, but our immediate problem, Archie, is that Tom over here is cursed with politicians not given the strategic vision the good Lord gave an ant. And, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, the Indian Government appears to be rather flustered. Not without reason, but history offers little sympathy for even the best excuses.”
“Is this really the sort of conversation we ought to be having?” asked Molesworth cautiously.
“If not us, then who?” asked Freyberg with no caution at all. “As far as I can see, everyone is worried over their own little patch, and praying like hell someone else is looking to the whole.”
“And no bugger is” agreed Blarney reluctantly.
Room 208, Munitions Building, Washington, DC, USA
“It can’t be done.” Jack Hunderford sounded really regretful. He’d been flattered by the invitation to attend the meeting and even more so that his opinions were heard so intently.
“But, we can get a Boeing 314 there, even if it does need some extra fuel tanks.” Secretary Cordell Hull was determined to make this rescue happen. Overnight the electronics engineers at the Naval Aircraft Radio Laboratory had studied the mysterious piece of equipment; they were already stunned by its implications. They’d wanted to know where it had come from and how, but those questions had been carefully evaded. The message was very clear, though; the technology the Tizard escapees would be bringing with them was worth its weight in gold. That was a separate issue from the political importance of bringing Churchill out.
“That’s not the problem.” Hunderford was the head of flying boat operations for Pan American and was reputed to be the only man Juan Trippe ever listened to. There was nobody around who knew more about operating big flying boats. That was why he was in the room. “Landing flying boats on water is a very difficult operation. We make it look easy because we train the living daylights out of our crews and only fly in and out of carefully-maintained operating bases. Every one of our pilots has landed a dozen times or more at each base on the route before we let them take a Clipper in there. Landing at an unknown Scottish loch, or even worse, a lake, is impossible. Think of it this way. The flying boats that could do it can’t get there and the ones that can get there can’t do it. The Clippers look big and tough, but that’s just their size. They’re really very fragile. Rough water or a floating log will do for them. You’d be better off with one of the British boats. The Empires are much tougher than our Clippers. That’s why ours are economically viable and theirs aren’t.”
“Any other problems?” Hull was disappointed by the blunt rejection of the initial plan.
“Navigation will be the big one. We have homing beacons at all our staging points and the pilots fly to them. You won’t have that for this flight. That alone rules a flying boat out. After three thousand miles, you could be hundreds of miles off and one lake or bay looks much like another. No, if this is going to work you need a landplane and you need the best navigator in the world. He has to fly that aircraft right to the airfield and get down first time. He can’t mess around flying search circles or he’ll have fighters on his back.”
“We haven’t got a landplane that can make a direct flight from the East Coast to Scotland and back. Not yet anyway.” General Arnold sounded depressed. He’d seen the hurried first report on the cavity magnetron as well and wanted more. “We could fly in from Iceland, though. We have a base there; the British occupied it under Churchill in May and the Marines took it over immediately after Halifax pulled the plug. The last thing we wanted was an enemy-controlled base that close to us. A Flying Fortress could get from Iceland to Scotland and back. If a suitable airfield in Scotland can be found, of course.”
“That doesn’t solve the navigational problem.” Hunderford was slightly relieved at the course the discussion was taking. He had been terrified that one of his beloved Boeing 314 Clippers would be commandeered for this madcap mission.
“If we’re going to use the Flying Fortress, it might well. Remember the interception of the liner
Rex
a couple of years back? Well, the intercept was plotted by a Lieutenant Curtis LeMay; he gave up flying pursuit ships in order to become a navigator and a bombardment man. Well, he’s a Captain now and he’s available for this mission. Jack wanted the best navigator in the world? He’s it. I can even offer you some aircraft. The British wanted Flying Fortresses, so we have arranged for twenty of the new B-17Cs to be delivered off the production line for them. The first B-17C flew a few days ago, but there is no way in hell we’re going to deliver the British ones. Not this year and not next year when they were due to get theirs. We can paint that prototype B-17C up in British colors and fly it over there. With LeMay doing the navigation, we’ve got a good chance of pulling this off. Worst comes to the worst, we can always claim we were delivering the aircraft according to contract.”
The meeting cracked up laughing at the idea of an unannounced midnight landing at an unknown airport in potentially hostile territory being a delivery according to contract. Eventually, Secretary Stimson wiped his eyes and shook his head. “This might just be crazy enough to work. Find that Captain LeMay. Tell him what needs to be done and see that he gets the mission ready. This raises another question, in passing. Those twenty B-17Cs the British wanted aren’t all the aircraft we have stockpiled here for them. My staff tells me we’ve got 230 Hawk 75s of assorted types, 250 P-40Bs and P-40Cs and a hundred Hudsons all sitting on airports waiting for an owner. Why hasn’t the Air Force taken them over?”
“They’re all export birds, Mister Secretary. The Hawk 75s have 7.5mm French machine guns or .303inch British ones. Their throttles are French-style, meaning the pilot has to pull them back to increase power, not push them forward. There’s other differences as well; mostly metric instrumentation and minor differences in the engine. The P-40s aren’t really P-40s; they’re Hawk 81s. Wrong caliber machine guns again, French-style throttles and instruments, different engines. They’d need a major rebuild to make them suitable for our use and they still wouldn’t be up to the standard of the current production models. All taking them over would achieve is slowing down production of the ones we really need. We’d be better off giving them away. I reckon the Chinese could use them.” Arnold looked around to see the other members of the meeting nodding.
