JET LAG! (12 page)

              As Todd’s jet circled the field for the third time, Todd was becoming angry.

              ‘Marham, for Christ’s sake, we’re British and we’re in trouble – let us land.’

              ‘Sorry, old chap, can’t do that – you could be an invasion force – been expectin’ one for some time. I’m blockin’ the runway.’

              Todd was now getting worried and angry.

              ‘Look Marham, in less than three-zero minutes our aircraft and crews are going to start crashing and dying. For pity’s sake let us land safely.’

              The CO at Marham was not for giving in.

              ‘Again, got to say sorry, old chap, I’m scramblin’ fighters to sort you out.’

              Todd was now worried, angry and was starting to panic. He’d already lost one jet. He had to think fast.

              ‘Listen Marham, can’t you authenticate us to check that we’re genuine? You know; something that only a Brit would know. Please try – what have you got to lose?’

              ‘Roger, Purple – let us think about it. Be back in a jiffy, old bean.’

              Todd sank back in his ejection seat. This was one to tell the grandchildren. However, in the meantime he needed to check with his formation.

              ‘Red Two – check status’

              ‘Roger, Purple lead, all aircraft safely in the hold – fuel critical in four-zero minutes’

              ‘Roger, Red two, copied and understood.’

              Marham then came back on the radio.

              ‘Ok, Purple lead, one question which no Gerry would be likely to know at such short notice. Answer me this and you’ve got thirty seconds to reply accurately. At which five cricket grounds do England play their Ashes cricket Tests at home?

              Unfortunately, Todd Morrissey abhorred bloody cricket. So he immediately went for the radio button to seek help. But before he could do so, Yellow Five broke in.

              ‘Marham, here’s your answer, Old Trafford, Headingley, Edgbaston, Lords & the Oval. I think you’ll find that is ticketty-boo!’

              Todd swore. His father again. But at least he’d answered the fucking ‘Question of Sport’ quiz.

              ‘Roger, Purple formation, you are clear to land at Middle Fleckney aerodrome, which is six miles south of Marham. You’ll recognise it as it has a concrete runway and two large hangars. But be warned old chap, there will be a reception party waiting, so no nonsense. You are clear to start landin’ in thirty minutes’

              ‘Thanks, Marham, we will commence landing in  three-zero minutes at Middle Fleckney.’

              Todd had never heard of it, but Stumpy interrupted by stating that he could see it clearly to the south – and the runway looked East/West. Todd thanked him and then got back on the radio to issue instructions to his team.

              ‘Purple formation, Purple lead. Commence recovery procedures to land at Middle Fleckney – six miles south of Marham. Runway two-seven –ish. We’ll go first and let you know. Beware of FOD – there could be plenty and there will be no radio or radar assistance, time to earn your pay, chaps - acknowledge.’

FOD was Foreign Object Damage – small pieces of litter or flotsam and jetsam which inhabited old disused airfields. It could be sucked up and could wreak havoc with jet engines and cause permanent damage.

              As the rest of the formation acknowledged, Todd requested the airfield pressure or QFE, and passed it back after adjusting his altimeter. At least they could get their approaches right. Stumpy rolled the aircraft to the south and overflew Middle Fleckney. Marham were right. It had a concrete strip he estimated to be around six thousand feet long with two large hangars and various other outbuildings. The strip was reasonably clear but grass was growing on the taxiways. Apart from the large two-seven painted on the end of the runway to denote the direction – the airfield was quiet. Or was it. As they circled for the eighth time – Todd notice a menacing sight. Around twenty large trucks arrived at the runway edge and armed soldiers started jumping out and taking up defensive positions.

              There certainly would be a reception committee.

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Middle Fleckney

1 July 1940

              ‘Purple lead, Yellow Five, do you read?’

              Todd attempted to control his growing anger with his father. He clearly knew something – or more likely, everything concerning this debacle – and had deliberately said nothing. If you couldn’t trust your own father, then just who
could
you trust?

              ‘Roger, Yellow Five – what other surprises have you got up your sleeve?’ Todd thinly disguised the sarcasm in his voice.

              ‘Purple lead, I am now taking control of this formation. Purple acknowledge by flights.’

              Purple remained silent for some seconds. Everything was now moving just too fast for Todd. In some strange way he was grateful for this relief of command – but his pride was still hurt. Nevertheless, Todd reached for the transmit button.

              ‘Purple lead, acknowledged – Yellow Five has the lead – Purple formation check in.’

              Instant responses came from the remaining twelve aircraft. Yellow Five – AVM Morrissey – was now running the show. What would he do next? Todd had but a few seconds to wait.

              ‘Purple Formation and Marham Ground Control, this is Yellow Five, Air Vice Marshal Morrissey commanding. All fourteen aircraft will land at Middle Fleckney and aircrews will remain in their aircraft with engines shut down until further notice. Marham, I suggest you contact Downing Street immediately – I wish to speak with the Prime Minister as soon as possible, over.’

Well, well, well. Todd’s father was in it up to his neck. Was this a military coup – no it couldn’t be. Other wild ideas flashed through Todd’s mind as his father spoke again.

              ‘Purple lead, you land first and co-ordinate the recovery of the other thirteen aircraft, I can’t do that from here.’

              ‘Roger, Yellow Five, we are finals, three greens to land, runway two-seven, QFE one-zero-two-three. We will taxy off at the first exit and control landings from there. There seems to be a hard standing about half way down. The aircraft can park there in order. Be advised we have a welcoming party of about two hundred soldiers in Dad’s Army gear – armed to the teeth, so be careful.’

              Purple formation acknowledged and Marham interjected and passed a discrete VHF frequency for the formation to use.

              ‘That’s our Operations secondary frequency, Purple. At least no-one else will hear what’s going on.’

              Yellow Five spoke again.

              ‘Marham, from Yellow Five, I would be obliged if your ground controllers kept any Air Defence aircraft away from us. We’ve already lost one aircraft to friendly fire!’

              ‘Roger Yellow Five, the area is now clear’

              Better late than never, thought Todd, as Stumpy landed the jet at the end of runway two-seven at Middle Fleckney. The runway was bumpier that he was used to, but it was wide and almost FOD free – which was a surprise. They engaged the reverse thrust and slowed down rapidly. When Stumpy reached the first exit, he turned off left, did a complete one-eighty degree turn, so that his nose was pointing towards the centre of the airfield. He would be able see the aircraft landing from here, and could direct them to the second exit and back up the taxiway to park just behind and to the left of him. There was a nice wide concreted area – very convenient.

              As Stumpy shut down the engines, he restarted the APU, (auxiliary power unit ) so that he could use his radio to shepherd the remainder of the formation onto the ground without flattening his battery. However, as they came to a full stop, about twenty soldiers – all heavily armed, surrounded the aircraft. They were a hotchpotch of men, some teenagers but many elderly soldiers with an array of different weapons. However, Todd was taking no risks. He would take his father’s advice and stay securely in the jet. Nevertheless, he needed to communicate with these men. So he wrote a short message, in big capital letters, on the back of a map he had in the cockpit.

              ‘PLEASE DO NOT BE ALARMED. WE ARE FRIENDLY. WE ARE MEMBERS OF THE RAF. WE ARE KEEPING OUR AUXILIARY ENGINE RUNNING SO THAT WE MAY CO-ORDINATE THE LANDING OF OUR OTHER AIRCRAFT. PLEASE GIVE A THUMBS UP IF ALL IS OK.’

              The soldier outside, a sergeant Todd reckoned, slowly read the message and gave a thumbs up. He then scuttled out of site and returned about two minutes later with his own message.

              ‘DO NOT ATTEMPT TO LEAVE THE AEROPLANE OR MOVE IT. WE WILL SHOOT IF YOU DO.’

              Friendly bunch, thought Todd. However, they held the nap hand. He would stay put till further notice. Anyway, he had to remain by the radio to shepherd home his flock, who were now making moves to land behind him. He now realised that his team were probably suffering from shock and disorientation. It would be wise to recover them as soon as possible. Fuel must also be a consideration – the Air Defence Tornados were probably quite low on juice.

              ‘Purple formation, this is Purple lead, currently on the ground at Middle Fleckney. Prepare to recover.’

              Todd passed the latitude and longitude for the airfield with a brief description of the layout. He also passed landing instructions and information. The formation would land in flypast order. Tornados first, Canberras second, VC10 next followed by the C-130 with his father aboard. The crews acknowledged and estimated landing the first Tornado in eight minutes. Marham chimed in with an acknowledgement as well.

              During the next five minutes Todd had time to think about just exactly what had happened this morning. He recalled his father’s warning, ‘to keep an open mind’, but even though he could see what was happening – he just could not BELIEVE it! It was just too fantastic.

              ‘Stumpy, are you sure we’re not dreaming?’

              ‘I have no fucking idea - if we are, we’re dreaming the same bloody dream as the rest of them. No, this is real and if it's what I think it is – we’re in deep shit!’

              Todd agreed. The whole episode was mind-blowing – and three people had been killed already. One thing for sure, his father would have a lot of explaining to do.

              Todd was shaken out of his thoughts by a call on the radio.

              ‘Purple lead, this is Red Two, finals, three greens to land’

              ‘Red Two, clear land, wind calm.’

              Todd mouthed a silent prayer. Let’s just hope they all get down safely

18

Somewhere beneath 10 Downing Street

             
The Prime Minister was taking one of famous catnaps. He could drop off at any time – and it always had the same effect. Even a fifteen minute sleep completely revitalised him, and he could then go on for  another twenty-four hours if necessary.

              The phone rang.

              He sat up on his cot and picked up the receiver.

              He remained silent as the caller passed a message which took almost two minutes to complete.

              The PM put the phone down and called for his private secretary. He barked out his orders.

              ‘Get a car – with a police escort. Inform Croydon that we will require an aeroplane to fly to Norfolk as soon as we arrive there – probably in less than an hour. Get Dowding and tell him to meet me at Croydon. No excuses – just be there. I leave in five minutes.’

              The secretary turned on her heels. She knew that the PM disliked repeating himself or being questioned. She had learned that on the first day in his service.

              The Prime Minister dressed quickly and ascended the stairs to floor level. The car was waiting as were four police motorcycle outriders. He got in the car without a word to any of his staff – and barked out another order to the driver. The car did a U-turn and raced away in the direction of Croydon aerodrome.

              Thirty minutes later the PM was seated in a DC-3 alongside Air Chief Marshal Dowding. His PA had been dismissed as had other local officials. The two of them sat in silence until the aircraft had taken off. After about five minutes had elapsed Winston Churchill turned to the Air Marshal and whispered in utter disbelief:

              ‘Dowding, something extra-ordinary has happened – and it just might be the answer to our prayers’

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