Authors: Ryan Clifford
The Tornado veered violently and struggled to get airborne, and had already lost contact with the Herc. The brief for this eventuality was to turn left thirty degrees, whilst the Herc continued straight ahead to avoid a collision. Stumpy called his actions on the RT.
‘Purple One turning left thirty and climbing to ten thousand. Proceed as briefed. See you in the area. We’ll search for a clearance.’
‘Purple Two, acknowledged. We’ll proceed independently. Hold at the RV at twelve thousand. Keep an eye out for bandits.’
‘Roger, Purple two. Our ETA at the RV is 0918. Call at RV. We’ll be two thousand above.’
Todd and Stumpy climbed away, desperately looking for a break in the thunderstorm clouds – as there usually was. They weren’t like pure rain clouds – there would be patches of clear air between the showers.
‘At least the bloody Germans will be grounded in this. The last thing we want is an Me 262 at the RV,’ grumbled Stumpy.
It was 0915.
The Tornado reached the RV and mercifully it
was
in clear air. However, about ten miles to the west was the mother of all storms, flashing and rumbling and moving closer.
‘Purple Two, do you read?’
‘Affirmative, One, we are two minutes to RV. We are at ten thousand feet and in the clear. How about you?
Todd answered.
‘Purple One is in the clear at twelve thousand and, standby, yes……we have you contact – two thousand below. We are descending to formate on you. Circle at the RV and wait for the window. There is an enormous stormcloud heading our way.’
It was 0930.
Stumpy manoeuvred the Tornado down to ten thousand feet and slipped in behind the C-130 as it began to orbit at the pre-briefed co-ordinates.
It was 0933.
‘Joined up, Purple Two. What now?’
The AVM replied.
‘Continue to orbit.’
‘Roger, Purple One standing-by.’
It was 0934.
Both aircraft were now being overtaken by the leading edge of the Cumulonimbus cloud which caused terrible turbulence, throwing the passengers in the Hercules transport violently from side to side in their seats. Several people had already been sick and panic was beginning to set in.
It was 0935.
‘Purple Two from One, do you read?’ Todd was losing patience.
At which point a massive bolt of lightning struck both aircraft, cruelly jolting crews and passengers alike. The air was filled with the stench of burning metal and both aeroplanes hovered as if suspended in time.
Then all of a sudden, the storm had passed and the two aircraft were in calm, still air.
The AVM gathered his wits first.
‘Purple One, do you read?’
Twenty seconds of silence followed before Todd replied.
‘Affirmative, Purple Two, loud and clear. What now?’
‘I suggest you call Marham on approach frequency and see if we get an answer? I think that we might be home.’
55 -1
Norfolk
8 September 1992
Air Vice Marshal Sir Henry Morrissey was a selfish and calculating individual, totally devoted to and besotted by his late wife, Lady Constance Andrews. He had gone along with her plans to arrange for the ‘re-birth’ of her brother because he loved and cherished her every act.
He had taken a bit of convincing in the early days, but when she produced evidence which proved that the scheme would – indeed, must – work, he became completely dedicated to the inevitable. She had introduced him, in 1975, to a young and aspiring MP for Huntingdon. They became firm friends and after some detailed research, it was discovered that the politician had been born in 1941 and adopted by a family working in a travelling circus. The man’s mother was Patsy Jackson, his father Todd Morrissey and the MP’s name was John Major.
When Major became Prime Minister after the fall of Margaret Thatcher, he conspired with Sir Henry and Lady Constance to allow the flypast to take place. He allowed Sir Henry far too much latitude, but of course, if they didn’t go back – then John Major would never have existed. It was a stranglehold which Lady Constance tightened over the years.
Sir Henry mapped out his career meticulously, aided by Sir Peter Andrews, who's influence with most Prime Ministers since the war was impressive. The AVM was well aware of his wife’s determination to rescue her brother and happily tolerated the obsession it became.
What he really didn’t understand were the issues surrounding time travel, and the potential paradoxes they produced. However, he was well aware that there were many possible parallel universes to which he might return – and indeed it had a been a huge risk returning to 1940 in the first place. The Flypast aircraft from 1992 might have ended up anywhere and Constance could easily have been thwarted.
He was well aware of the theories postulated by Jim Charles – and really didn’t give a damn. Once Constance had achieved her main goal, he was satisfied. When she died, the flame of life extinguished within him. He really didn’t care whether he returned to 1992 or not – in which ever universe it might be. He postulated that he might end up somewhere dreadful – a nasty dystopian world far worse than this – and what good would that do him?
He also realised that he would have a lot of questions to answer, and his life would become extremely unpleasant when the survivors made their views plain.
It was with all of this in mind that he did what he did next.
What he wasn’t aware of was that this was the fifty-seventh time that an Air Vice Marshal Morrissey had attempted to cross the space-time continuum. All previous attempts had ended in eventual failure and Constance had spent an eternity trying to save her brother.
Would this crossing be any different?
***
‘Affirmative, Purple Two, loud and clear. What now?’
‘I suggest you call Marham on ‘Guard’ frequency and see if we get an answer? I think that we might be home.’
‘Roger Purple Two, break-break, Marham Approach, this is Purple Lead on Guard, do you read, over.’
One could almost see the giant thinks-bubble appear over RAF Marham.
‘Aircraft calling Marham, say again your callsign.’
Todd exploded with relief as Stumpy let out a loud whoop from the front seat.
‘Marham, this is Purple One, requesting radar vectors to radar to land. We are two aircraft, one jet and one C-130.’
More thinks bubbles.
‘Purple Lead, are you making some sort of sick joke. Clarify your position and squawk 7145, turn onto heading 360 degrees for identification and please explain again exactly who you are.’
Todd was a mite perturbed and mystified.
‘Marham, this is Purple One, Wing Commander Todd Morrissey, commanding the residue of the Falklands Victory Flypast Formation. We request radar assistance to land at Marham. Turning onto a heading of 360 and squawking as requested.’
Air Traffic at Marham could not believe their ears. The officer on station gave several sharp orders to his assistant.
‘Get SATCO, the Station Commander, OC Ops and OC Police Flight up here on the double, whilst I vector these jokers a bit closer and stall for time.’
The ATC Officer drew breath and continued.
‘Purple formation, confirm that you are two aircraft. Give number of persons on board and re-state your intentions.’
Todd decided to play along. There was clearly an issue on the ground to be resolved.
‘Roger Marham. Two aircraft, two POB on the 619 Squadron Tornado and five-zero POB on the 47 Squadron Hercules, including Air Vice Marshal Sir Henry Morrissey. Do you copy?’
‘Roger Purple one, turn right onto zero-niner-zero. We are authenticating your message.’
‘Shit,’ thought Todd, ‘we've come back to a different time.’ He then had a brainwave.
‘Marham, Purple One requesting todays date?’
The ATC Officer was becoming more and more bamboozled.
‘Roger, Purple One, it's the eighth of September.’
‘And year,’ requested Todd.
‘1992 – what are you playing at Purple One?’ answered the incredulous ATCO.
Todd and Stumpy let out a collective sigh of relief.
‘Thank fuck for that,’ shouted Stumpy.
‘Hang on mate, we’re six months late. No wonder they are confused down there. I should check some other stuff.’
‘Marham, Purple One, could you please indulge me some more and just answer two more questions. One, when did the Second World War end and when did Winston Churchill die?’
At that point in the conversation the four senior officers had reached the tower and the Station Commander took over.
‘Todd, if that's who you are, this is Group Captain Martin Osborne. We know each other and I recognise your voice, so for the time being I’ll indulge you, but I just hope you are who you say you are. The Second World War ended in 1945 and Churchill died in ’65 if I'm not mistaken.’
‘Martin, it's me Todd. I know we must be causing you some consternation down there, but I swear it's me. Apologies for the delay in our arrival, but we've got a lot to explain. Please let us land – we’re exhausted.’
The Station Commander looked at his colleagues for some sort of support, but all three just shrugged their shoulders in puzzlement. The CO made a decision.
‘Okay Todd, I’ll give you permission to land, but you’ve got some fast talking to do. You’re supposed to be dead – six months since!’
Todd tried to placate the staff in the tower.
‘I understand, but all will become clear – well, as clear as I can make it anyway.’
‘I’ll hand you over to ATC now Todd and they’ll vector you home,’ advised the CO.
Sir Henry Morrissey had been listening to all of this conversation and had been doing some checking of his own. He had been listening to the World Service on the Herc radio, and they had confirmed the time and date during a news bulletin at 10am. It was good enough for him.
ATC vectored the two aircraft towards Marham and positioned the C-130 for landing ahead of the Tornado. As the aircraft approached five miles finals, the captain attempted to deploy the landing gear, but to his dismay, he had three red lights on the indicator.
Unbeknownst to him, the AVM had removed the relevant fuse shortly after take-off and the wheels would never come down. Nonetheless, the captain needed to act.
‘Marham, Purple Two, I have a landing gear problem and request an inspection by Purple One, it may just be an indicator issue.’
‘Roger, Purple Two, wilco. Break – break, Purple One did you read that? Can you approach Purple one to complete an undercarriage check. I’ll climb him to two thousand feet and turn him onto zero-niner-zero.’
Todd replied in the affirmative, but could not help wondering what was going to happen next.
The Tornado visually picked up the C-130, and manoeuvred itself to formate underneath the propeller aircraft, to enable an undercarriage inspection from close range.
Stumpy was struggling at these low speeds – especially with the turbulence caused by four propellers, but managed to creep up underneath the Herc and called his position.