"That's about it," agreed Biggles amiably.
"You seem to be taking our sudden arrival rather well." Mike looked across the table quizzically. "Please don't ask me to believe this is an every day occurrence for you."
"It's not," laughed Biggles. "I've seen and experienced some very strange things over the years, but this is the first time I've come across a time travelling naval boat and its crew."
"Let me assure you, this boat and crew would be much happier if this had never happened!" He looked at his XO. "X, assemble the crew on the boat deck immediately. I need to brief them." His mouth twitched, "I'd give a lot to be a fly on the wall at NavCom right now while they're trying to figure out what's happened to us!" He pushed his chair back and rose, looking again at Biggles as the XO left. "I wonder if you'd mind coming with me. I might need you to corroborate my briefing."
Biggles rose but held up his hand to forestall the Patrol Boat captain. "Before you speak to your crew, can I ask what you think you might do next?"
"Do next?" Mike stared then shrugged helplessly. "I really don't know," he added. "I suppose I really should try to contact the Navy and let them know we're here. The problem is, I know the future – how all of this pans out. We all do." He stopped and rubbed his hands through his hair. "Somehow I've brought a $50,000,000 warship back in time and ethically, I'm not even sure I can let anyone know."
"Things aren't going so well for Australia at the moment. Another ship for your navy, in these waters, could make a big difference – just the difference that's needed. I can assure you that if the enemy got their hands on this boat of yours, they would have absolutely no hesitation in using it against us." Biggles broke off and looked incredulously at the other man. "Did you say fifty million dollars?"
"Yes."
"That's a lot of money in anyone's currency," Biggles shook his head. "But that's not the issue here. Your country is facing the biggest and most desperate fight in its history, and you could help."
"Squadron Leader, I can assure you that if my crew and I were from this time, we wouldn't hesitate. In fact I'm quite sure each and every one of us would be on active service if we were actually from the here and now…" Mike stopped. "This is giving me a headache and I've only been here a few minutes!"
"I have a suggestion," Biggles offered. "My fellows are going to be wanting to rescue me fairly soon and they're not going to be able to do that while we're in the middle of the sea. Why don't you take me back to my base and we'll see what we can work out?"
"And your base is…where?"
"I could show you on your charts. But it's not too far."
"And you have somewhere I could dock this boat?"
"Actually, I don't. But there's deep water where you could anchor and come ashore in those inflatable dinghies of yours."
"I don't think I have much choice, do I?" sighed Mike. "I'd better go up and speak to my crew."
Biggles followed the captain up to the deck where a group of twenty or so young men and women stood waiting.
As their captain approached, the group smartened themselves into a parade rest stance and gave him their full attention.
"Hammersley, we've been through some challenging times together over the past few years and we've always come through – more often than not with flying colours – and you've made me very proud to be your captain. Today, though, we're facing something that is a long, long way out of what we've previously experienced." He paused and looked at each crew member individually, drawing a deep breath as he did so. "There's no easy way to say this, and some of you may have already been considering this highly improbable conclusion, so I'll say it bluntly. We appear to have travelled back in time and have arrived in 1942. Those Zeros were the real thing. Squadron Leader Bigglesworth is the CO of an RAF outfit that's been seconded to our RAAF to assist in the defence of Australia – our country. I'm not sure exactly what that's going to mean for us at this stage. Ultimately, I'll be doing everything I can to find a way to take us home to our own time, but in the meantime, I've accepted the Squadron Leader's offer of hospitality and we'll be taking the Hammersley to his base. In the meantime, we need to come to combat readiness and mount a constant lookout for attack from the enemy. Buffer, I want the Typhoon and the Brownings manned and deck crew issued with F88s. I'm not going to ask for any questions at this point, because quite frankly, I don't have any answers. I expect each and every one of you to continue to uphold the honour and tradition of the service as you have always done. I'll ask Squadron Leader Bigglesworth to give you a quick update on the current situation here and then we'll set our course for his base."
Mike turned to Biggles who smiled his agreement and stepped forward to stand beside the Hammersley's CO.
"First of all, thank you again for pulling me out of the drink so quickly – and for the dry clothes. They're certainly a little different," he added humourously, noting the grins that swept around the assembled crewmembers. "As your captain has quite accurately summarised, by whatever means it happened, you have arrived in April 1942 and the world is in the midst of a world war on a scale not previously experienced. I imagine this is ancient history to all of you and at the moment your CO and I haven't quite come to grips with the implications for you, but take it from me, this is real. We are at war and you have landed in the thick of it and we'll do our best to look after you until things are sorted out." He nodded to the crew as he finished and turned a quizzical glance towards Mike.
"You all heard the Squadron Leader. We've still got a job to do, so let's get on with it. Buffer, Swain sort out the weapons. All Bridge crew to the Bridge at the rush." As Mike dismissed his crew, he turned to Biggles. "Please join us on the Bridge."
Biggles looked at the naval map spread across the navigator's table on the Bridge and laid a finger on a small island to the west.
"That's our base. Foote Island – or Handy Cay, as it seems to be more commonly known."
"Plot a course, Nav," ordered Mike to the young female lieutenant who stood beside the table.
"Sir," she acknowledged and bent over the table, rising shortly to give her captain the coordinates which he repeated to the helmsman.
"Take us there, top of the green, Charge," Mike ordered and Biggles heard the change in the engines as they picked up and the boat changed course for their new destination.
Biggles gazed around the Bridge in fascination, his eyes taking in the myriad of screens, and the highly sophisticated control systems on display.
"Lost your windscreen in the attack, I see," he observed. "Hope it's not too inconvenient for you."
"Not as long as the weather holds," answered Kate with a smile. "Could be a nuisance if we had to sail through a storm without it. We'd need our wet weather gear!"
"And could seriously damage our electronics systems, Ma'am" added the tousle-haired Leading Seaman seated at the Helm.
"Then you might start earning your pay, ET," remarked Mike. "Although I suspect the status of our electronics systems is not going to really be an issue in 1942."
Biggles stood to one side and quietly observed the easy interaction amongst the Bridge crew. The female XO, in particular, interacted quietly and efficiently, obviously commanding as much respect as her CO. He hid a smile when Mike gave young Lieutenant Nikki Caetano an order, only to be informed she'd already anticipated and initiated that particular command.
"Just once, Nav, I'd like to get in ahead of you," muttered the captain, shaking his head with a grin.
"In your dreams, sir," she responded with a grin of her own, prompting chuckles around the entire Bridge.
Still shaking his head and grinning ruefully, Mike came to stand beside his guest.
"Believe it or not, Squadron Leader, but I do happen to have the best Patrol Boat crew in the Fleet."
"I'm sure you do, Lt Commander," agreed Biggles with his own grin. He liked what he had seen. The easy camaraderie, tempered by obvious respect for their superior officers, was obvious even in the short time he'd been aboard. He realised that there was a high level of trust evident in the crew's response to both their CO and the XO. He wondered what past episodes in the crew's service together had bonded them into such a close unit, especially a peace-time service. He had watched as the man they called Buffer had returned to the Bridge and directed the young seaman referred to as 'Spider' to man the typhoon. To Biggles' surprise he had seated himself at a control console on the Bridge, from where he moved some controls and the very sophisticated piece of gunnery on the deck began to move.
"But will it fire, with all the electronics down, Buff?" asked the young man anxiously.
"Good question, Spider," responded Buffer, turning to raise his brows at his CO.
"ET, see if we can still fire the typhoon remotely now the computers are down," ordered Mike, moving over to the Captain's chair as the Electronics Technician moved from the helmsman's seat beside him.
"Captain has the ship," Kate's clear voice rang out suddenly.
"Captain has the ship," affirmed the CO, seating himself and nodding Buffer into the seat vacated by ET.
"Your gunnery is remotely controlled?" asked Biggles with raised brows.
"Normally it's controlled by our computers and aimed and fired from the Bridge. But we do have a fail-safe back up system. I just need ET here to see if we still have enough control in what electronics we have remaining in our internal systems." Mike cupped his chin in his hand and contemplated the console under which ET had all but vanished.
"But your other defences are okay?" queried Biggles.
"Oh, yes. Everything else is fine – until we run out of ammunition."