JET LAG! (11 page)

Todd was now getting worried. Perhaps his radio was u/s. But no, he had just checked it. Everyone else in the formation could hear it. Right, then, he’d try something else.

‘Blue One – try Marham for me?’

‘Roger, Purple lead ………….Marham, Purple formation DO YOU READ?’

Yet more silence.

‘This is crazy,’ thought Todd, bewildered. 'What the hell were Marham playing at?’

Blue lead repeated his call but still nothing came back.

Time to try the next stage.

‘Stumpy, try your radio box.’

Which he did to no avail.

Todd was now extremely troubled. But he had to keep calm.

‘Purple from Purple lead, check and confirm that you are all serviceable and continue to hold at briefed heights and positions?’

Purple aircraft all replied in turn and in the affirmative.

At least the aircraft were safe. But he still had to contact Marham.

‘Let’s try something else. Green One, climb to fifteen thousand feet and try Marham from there. Give ‘Guard’ a go as well.’

‘Guard’ was the aviators term for 243.0 – the international UHF emergency frequency. It was like dialling ‘999’ or ‘911’ in the air.

‘Roger lead, wilco,’ replied Green One.

As the formation continued to circle, Todd did some mental arithmetic and found that they could stay up here for at least another seventy-five minutes. So there was no real problem with fuel – yet!’

The Reconnaissance Tornado levelled at fifteen thousand feet and made his call – but again there was no reply. He tried three more times on differing frequencies but each time – nothing. Purple formation heard all of the calls and waited.

‘Try VHF Green One,’ Todd pleaded.

Green One tried but again with no luck.

Todd was now running out of ideas.

He called Yellow One.

‘Yellow lead, you’ve got the best radios – see if you can contact anyone? Any station – any frequency – anything, but just get someone.’

‘Roger, Purple.’

Todd was at a complete loss. Quite frankly he was starting to become panicky. How could none of the radios be working? Hang on though; they were working, because aircraft in the formation could speak to each other.

Why was no-one replying?

Where was everybody?

He spoke again with Green One, who was still circling at fifteen thousand feet.

‘Green One, Purple Lead, recover to Marham and let them know what’s going on and that we will probably need a no radio approach for fifteen aircraft at two minute intervals. Hopefully, Radar can cope with that? In addition Blue Four, climb to five thousand feet and give the formation some top cover.’

‘Roger Purple, Green Three recovering to base. Will keep you informed. As a matter of interest we’re not up here alone. We’ve seen the Battle of Britain Flight Spitfire practising aerobatics about twenty miles north-east of Scampton.’

Blue Four also acknowledged the instruction and started his climb.

‘Roger, Green Three & Blue Four, keep in touch.’

At this point Todd considered putting out a PAN call or even a MAYDAY. However, Green One would be at Marham in less than ten minutes. He
wouldn’t
panic yet. Although he was already bloody close to it!

Todd put out another call to the formation.

‘Purple formation, this is Purple lead. You have heard my brief to Green One. When we get the all clear, we will make
individual
recoveries to Marham in the following order. Red, Blue, Green, Yellow. Dump fuel as required. Do you all copy?’

Purple all acknowledged as did Green One, who was fast approaching Marham airfield. They let Todd know that no contact had been made but were continuing their approach for a run and break. This was a high speed approach over the runway, joining the ATC pattern at one thousand feet downwind for immediate landing.

The crew in Green One were pretty experienced, but this situation was starting to get scary. They were now ten miles from the field when the navigator, Anwar Salim, made an observation to the pilot, Squadron Leader Al MacDonald.

‘I thought that there was a new estate out here. The wife and I went to see it last month. We were thinking of buying a house there. But I can’t see it now. Strange.’

‘Don’t worry about that now Anwar, just point me at the runway.’

‘OK, sir, there it is seven miles on the nose, can you see the hangars yet?

‘No. Anwar, are you sure you’ve got the correct co-ordinates in the kit? I can’t see a bloody thing. We’re not lost are we?’

‘Ok, I’ll recheck. The Inertial Nav is a bit knackered after the strike but I fixed our position as we coasted in.  Marham should now be on the nose at five miles.’

Al Macdonald was getting grumpy.

‘Anwar, I’m telling you that the bloody airfield is not there and this area is not famili…………….’

Al Macdonald broke off suddenly.’

‘Jesus Christ – what the hell is happening?’

At that, Al Macdonald dipped the right wing so that Anwar could see the ground directly beneath the Tornado.

He could barely believe his eyes.

14

Norfolk

              Lady Rose Andrews went upstairs to take a glass of milk and some chocolate biscuits to her daughter, Constance. Her husband had been given the biscuits by a grateful American contact at the ministry. It was a rare treat in these difficult times. Her daughter loved the chocolate, so Lady Rose saved them all for the little girl. Constance was playing in her bedroom, so Lady Rose tiptoed quietly up to the door and pushed it ajar so that she could watch the child of nine playing, unobserved.

              However, Constance wasn’t playing at all. She was fast asleep on her bed. Fully clothed with her shoes still on. Lady Rose entered the room and placed the milk and biscuits on the bedside table. Constance looked so serene just lying there and it would have been cruel to awaken her. So Lady Rose removed Constance’s shoes, covered her with a spare blanket from the cupboard, kissed her gently on the cheek and left the room. It wouldn’t hurt to let her sleep a while longer.

              Later that day, when Lady Rose returned from supervising her gardener, she climbed the stairs to Constance’s room to see if she had enjoyed the chocolate biscuits. To her surprise, Constance was still asleep and the snack had not been touched. Strange, thought Lady Rose. So she approached Constance’s bed and gently tried to shake her awake whilst calling her name. However, Constance was in a very deep sleep and despite some more vigorous shaking and repeated calls, she remained in what resembled a coma.

              Lady Rose was now extremely alarmed. She turned on her heels and rushed out into the hall.

              ‘Doris, DORIS!’ - she called the housekeeper-come-nanny.

              ‘Yes, ma’am,’ came the reply from the nursery downstairs.

              ‘Doris, has Constance been asleep all this time?’

              Startled, Doris gave her reply,

              ‘I’m not sure what you mean, your ladyship. I’ve been down here since late morning, rearranging the nursery as you requested. Why, what’s the problem?’

              ‘Doris, Constance won’t wake up. She’s breathing OK but she won’t wake up!’

              Doris dropped the duster she was carrying and scampered up the stairs to join Lady Rose. They both stepped back into the bedroom and tried again to awaken the little girl. However, Constance was deeply asleep and would not respond. Lady Rose was now particularly agitated.

              ‘Doris, find George and tell him to
run
and fetch the doctor.’

***

              The doctor arrived some two hours later and took a good look at Constance. He immediately tried smelling salts but to no avail. She was alive but would not respond. After thirty minutes of exhaustive efforts to rouse Constance, he turned to Lady Rose and gave his verdict.

              ‘I’m afraid to say, your Ladyship, that although your daughter seems to be in the best of health, she appears to have  slipped into a coma - and I am unable to determine a cause or say whether or when she may recover.’

15

Monday 1 July 1940

              The Reconnaissance Tornado, Green Three, turned left and climbed to one thousand feet and reduced speed to three hundred knots. The astounded crew wanted a better and slower look at Marham airfield. They wanted to be sure that this was indeed Marham and if confirmed – they needed to give Purple Lead a concise report. What they had witnessed – indeed were witnessing still – was unbelievable and baffling.

              ‘Anwar, are you absolutely stone-bonking sure that this is definitely Marham. Because if it is we’re in the shit up to our eyeballs?’

              The navigator, somewhat irritated by now, confirmed his professional opinion to the pilot of their Tornado.

‘Sir, please have some faith; I positively checked our position as we coasted in; I updated the Inertial Nav and can point out three indisputable landmarks. There in your four o’clock position is Marham village. You can clearly see the Manners Arms – although I didn’t realise that it had a thatched roof. Secondly, Hutch Farm is there in your one o’clock – on its own – nothing within ten miles and finally, the River Ouse is there in our twelve o’clock crossing at right angles. Yes, sir this is definitely Marham – which means we are definitely in the shit up to our eyeballs.’

              The pilot had been fairly sure before the diatribe from the back seat, but everyone makes mistakes, so he
had
to double-check.

              ‘OK, Anwar, you don’t need to apply to the navigators union for back-up. I believe you. I spotted a board with the letters ‘M-A-R’ on the ground outside that ramshackle Air Traffic tower. However, the more immediate problem is how to report this to Todd Morrissey? He will just not believe it.’

              ‘We can but try,’ answered the navigator laconically.

              At that point Al Macdonald let out another expletive.

              ‘Now they’re firing Verey Pistols at us.’

              A series of red flares flew up to the sky from a building near the centre of the airfield.

              ‘Righto, we’d better get out of here and re-join Purple. I’m not looking forward to this. Wing Commander Morrissey is going to have kittens!’

              The Tornado accelerated to three hundred and sixty knots, and Al Macdonald pressed the transmit button.

              ‘Purple lead, Green One, do you read?’

              ‘Affirmative Green One, loud and clear. Is Marham clear and have you contacted anyone?’ Todd was getting more and more desperate.

              ‘Well, sort of – yes & no.’ Al Macdonald was unsure where to start.

              Todd Morrissey came back sharply.

              ‘Spit it out Green One and stop pissing about!’

              ‘Well, you asked for it and please don’t shoot the messenger. We updated our nav kit, got a positive fix over the coast and have positively identified the airfield known as Marham.’

              Al MacDonald paused momentarily and then gave Todd the  unwanted news:

‘Except ……..RAF Marham as we know it isn’t there.’

              ‘What do you mean Green One – isn’t there – it must be.’

              At this point Yellow Five broke in.

              ‘Keep an open mind, son.’

              Todd was now totally confused. Why was his bloody father sticking his nose in, yet again?

              ‘Green One – please give your report clearly and concisely. We haven’t got time for amateur theatricals.’

              Al Macdonald took a deep breath and continued.

              ‘Purple lead, I say again, RAF Marham is not where it's supposed to be. In its place is a large grassy area with a concrete strip about five thousand feet long. There is only one hangar, a ramshackle Air Traffic tower, no married patch, no hardened aircraft shelters, no station buildings to speak of – and there are a few second world war aircraft parked on the grass. We know that someone is there because they fired a series of red flares at us. I’m sorry, but that’s the story – like it or lump it.’

              Todd was silent for a good twenty seconds. He could hear the ‘thinks bubbles’ coming from every aircraft in the formation. However, his extensive and expensive training then took over.

              ‘Purple formation, did you copy the Green One report, Check in by flight.’

              The formation checked in. Now they all knew. The main question now was – what was Todd going to do next?

***

              He didn’t have much time to think about it – the radio burst into life’

              ‘Purple lead, from Blue Four – we’re under attack – something’s firing on us. Jesus Christ - it's that Battle of Britain Spitfire – and he’s got a friend. Taking evasi…..’

              The radio cut off.

              ‘Blue Four, are you OK, what’s going on?’

              Todd was now frantic. He thought he must be dreaming or if not, he was surely going mad. Nothing else made sense!

              ‘Purple lead, from Blue Four.’

              Dave Stewart, the pilot of Blue Four was now screaming.

              ‘We’re hit, gunfire. I think Rocky’s had it. The canopy is shattered – shit, here they come again – I can’t out-turn them. Shit. I’m jumping out……………….’

              Todd blurted out orders.

              ‘Blue Lead, go and help him. Blue Two and Three give the rest of the formation cover,’

He tried the aircraft in distress once again.

              ‘Blue Four, do you read?’

              Nothing

              ‘Blue Lead do you have visual contact with Blue four?

              ‘Affirmative, Purple Lead, Dave’s jet is  out of control……………. Shit - it's in the water!’

              ‘Is there a parachute?’

              Blue lead took about ten seconds to answer.

              ‘Doesn’t look like it, Purple lead, I think they’re both gone!’

16

Norfolk

1 July 1940

              Todd Morrissey’s world was now crumbling around him. Three people dead, no radios working and a crazy report from Green One. His brain literally started to hurt.

              ‘Purple lead from Blue One, instructions?’

              Todd gathered up as much strength as he could and tried to appear calm as he replied.

              ‘Roger, Blue One, circle the area just to make sure no-one got out. And watch out for those crazy bastards in the Spitfires. There’ll be hell to pay when I get to Scampton!’

              Todd’s priority now was to calm everything down and get these aircraft down on the ground ASAP.  But where? Green Three said Marham had disappeared. There was only one thing for it – he’d have to go and look himself.

              ‘Purple formation, this is Purple lead. Try to keep calm and maintain position in the hold. Blue aircraft, I’m depending on you to protect us. I’m going to Marham to see for myself. Red Two you have the lead. All formations acknowledge’

              They all did so as Todd & Stumpy set off for Marham. It was only a seven or eight minute trip so he’d get answers quickly.

              And then it dawned on him. Why didn’t he think of it before. He could transmit on Guard – the emergency frequency that ALL aircraft and ATC agencies monitored. They were bound to hear him. Todd switched to the pre-set frequency and gave it a go.

              ‘All stations, all stations this is Purple formation – fifteen – correction - fourteen aircraft holding two-five miles to the north-east of RAF Marham. We are in distress and require assistance. Do you copy?’

              Almost immediately came back a reply.

              ‘Purple formation, this is Marham tower, what assistance do you require, what is your airfield of departure and type of aircraft.’

              Todd almost audibly let out a great sigh of relief.

              ‘Thank God, Marham tower, we’ve been trying for ages to contact someone. We are thirteen jets and one turbo-prop aircraft. I am currently on three-mile finals to Marham. We are requesting a radar service for recovery to Marham. Also we have lost one aircraft due to hostile fire from what appeared to be a Battle of Britain Flight Spitfire. Can you please contact all units that we are the Royal Flypast Formation and that a rogue Spitfire is airborne. Suggest you scramble someone to deal with him.’

              At that, Todd’s aircraft passed down the runway at Marham, at five hundred feet and four hundred knots. Both he and Stumpy were flabbergasted at what they saw. Green One had been absolutely right. The Marham that they knew was
just not there
. A series of red flares was coming from a tatty building near the runway. Clearly, the occupants could see the Tornado.

              ‘Purple formation this Marham Tower, we have the C.O. here who will take over control of the situation.’

              Todd sighed more relief. Now the puzzle would be solved.

              ‘Purple formation, this is Group Captain Johnson – the Station Commander. I’m afraid we don’t understand your message, old chap. Could you explain? We can see your kite but don’t recognise it. Are you British?’

              Stumpy spoke first.

              ‘Johnson? Where the hell is our CO, Todd?’

              ‘Shut-up Stumpy, for God’s sake, I’m trying to think. What the hell is going on? Keep circling the airfield whilst I work it out.’

              Clearly, there was something very wrong here. He stabbed himself very hard with a pencil from his flying suit. No, he wasn’t dreaming. The only – crazy and clearly
impossible
– alternative, was now beginning to slowly dawn on him.

              ‘Marham, please standby for three-zero seconds – BREAK, BREAK – Yellow Five, do you read?’

              ‘Yes I do, son. What you see is what you think it is. I said keep an open mind. If I were you I’d get the boys down on the ground and we can talk about this later. Just convince that airfield to let us in.’

              Todd again was set dramatically back on his heels. Apparently his father was in on this. He was now beginning to understand a lot of things. This is why he insisted on coming on this sortie, and why he had forced them all into the storm clouds.

              Then another thought struck him……

……….ohhh, of course - it was some kind of weird test of Todd’s abilities. Right, he’d just have to show him what he was made of. He’d play their stupid game ……………but was it a game – there were three dead? If they weren’t, that would mean everyone was in on it.

But they couldn’t be.

His head was spinning and paranoia was now starting to set in.

              ‘Roger, Yellow Five, BREAK, BREAK, Marham tower, this is Purple formation. Affirmative; we are British and have been briefed by Command. We request permission to land ASAP at Marham.’

              ‘Purple, this is Group Captain Johnson. Sorry old chap, but we’ve checked and no-one knows about you. Can’t let you land here, old boy, you could be Gerry.’