"Yes. That's what I said. 1942." Biggles took a sip from his mug and returned it to the table. "You're not from this time, are you? I don't know how you've arrived here – complete with this ship – but everything about you screams something very, very futuristic." He gave a lopsided, whimsical smile. "So the world survived its current madness?"
"Boat," corrected Mike absently, still lost for words. He noted the perplexity on the Squadron Leader's face and explained. "This is a Patrol Boat, technically not a ship." He sighed. "Is it possible for you to tell me what you're doing here? I'm not totally sure what to do. I need to think through the situation."
"Sir," offered his XO, "don't we have a duty to inform the nearest RAN HQ of our situation?"
"I'm aware of that, X," he snapped, then pushed his hand through his hair and glanced at her apologetically, although not offering anything verbally. "I don't even know where the nearest RAN HQ is. If it's really only two months since Darwin was first attacked…" His voice trailed off and he looked down into his coffee mug. "I thought I knew my history better than this," he muttered.
"Perhaps you'd find it helpful to tell me what happened and how you wound up here," suggested Biggles quietly, his eyes moving speculatively from one RAN officer to the other. Mike rubbed his hand across his brow and shook his head.
"If I knew, I'd be able to tell you and could probably even do something about it. All I know is we were on a routine patrol in Torres Strait when we ran into extremely foul weather. Some kind of electrical phenomenon came at us from nowhere and next thing we were here – being attacked by World War II Japanese fighters," his incredulity echoed through his words. "I have absolutely no idea how we wound up here, Squadron Leader. But I am going to have to do something about it," he finished resolutely.
Biggles smiled again. "My friends call me Biggles. I suspect you might be stuck with us for a while, so let's not stand too much on ceremony."
"Mike," nodded Flynn with a grin. Biggles turned to Kate quizzically and she smiled again.
"I'm Kate," she offered.
"But only off the boat," deadpanned Mike mischievously. He smirked as he watched her eyes flash dangerously.
"Of course, sir," she retorted, "only off the boat."
Mike turned from his game of Kate-baiting and faced the reality of their present situation, a reality made only too obvious by the man seated opposite him.
"You mentioned the…Gunadoo, I think you said?" When Biggles nodded an affirmative, Mike continued. "Am I allowed to ask about that situation? Why you thought we might be a rescue vessel?"
"The Gunadoo was on its way to pick up some prisoners of war being held at a mission station when it was torpedoed by a U-boat last week and several of the survivors are currently being looked after by my people. The navy said they'd be sending a boat to pick them up as soon as they could and I thought you might have been it." Biggles paused and glanced from one to the other of the two officers. "Obviously you're not, since you seem to be somewhat displaced in time."
"You're right on that score," agreed Mike, looking at Kate. "A U-boat? As in a German submarine? Not Japanese?"
"Definitely a U-boat," affirmed Biggles. "We knocked out their base but the sub escaped."
"Let me see if I've got this right?" Mike ran his hand across his brow and looked at the airman. "This is 1942, we're in the middle of World War II, there's a German U-boat on the loose in Australian waters and Japanese Zeros are likely to drop out of the skies at any moment."