Spitfire Ringers

by Ian Lindsey

After the long trip, the cadre of men pulled in to two slips at Dover, leaving one empty. The small rubber boats bobbed behind until the soldiers pulled them in by their tow ropes. They arrived nearly three hours later than anticipated. Clara burst across the docks from the shore looking white as a ghost with apprehension at only two boats returning. She quickly scanned the boats and gasped when Dylan emerged from the tattered bridge of the Eitan a little wobbly from the lost blood staining his clothes.

  “I’m so glad you’re back.” She cried as he stepped off the boat.

  “Did you miss me too?” her brother asked jovially as he walked over from his boat.

  “Yes, but not nearly as much.” she zinged him back. “What happened?”

  “Our main contact was killed, so we ventured inland a little where Dylan got dinged.” Payton explained. “And then the Eriu took a direct shell hit before we could get it loaded. Fortune shined on us and we all made it out alive, so no complaints from me.”

  “I’ll be okay.” Dylan added, though he was starting to feel more pain as the morphine wore off. Clara hugged Dylan tightly to relieve the stress building in her over the last three hours spent fretting and worrying. “Not so tight.” Dylan grunted. “Really, I’m fine though.”

  “Nonsense. Come with me, I’m taking you to a hospital.” Clara demanded.

  “Yes ma’am. I'm a military man, I know how to follow orders.” Dylan grinned as Clara gently took his good right arm to lead him down the dock.

  “I wouldn’t have said no to her either. Your brother is right smart to follow that one, its best for his health to listen to my sister.” Timothy said. “Not because she’s taking him to a hospital, but because she’d have hurt him even more if he’d have ignored her good advice!” Timothy finished about his sister with a good natured laugh showing even his relief at returning to Dover in one piece.

  “Did you talk with your father on the way back?” Dylan asked.

  “Yes, I found a radio signal that worked for about twenty minutes just before we made port.” Timothy answered. “I think my mother may have been more worried than Clara. She convinced him to rescind our sailing orders. After losing a boat I think he’d rather not lose another. I didn’t even tell him about Dylan and he still gave me a line about fulfilling our duty and asked us to sail home tomorrow morning if possible. He said the Royal Navy sent out advisories warning of the danger to smaller boats yesterday.”

  “He’ll get no argument from me.” Payton said. “If the Royal Navy can handle it from here then we should let them. The Major told us on the way back that the beaches were to be closed with the rest of the men shipped out of the harbor. I’d imagine they’ll still get some off the beaches in the next couple of days, but the shelling may deter that even more. Our little boats would just clog up the harbor at this point.”

  “I agree. Tonight we celebrate and tomorrow we head back to Dublin.” Timothy said.

  "I'll certainly drink to that." Payton said. "I've no idea where to go in Dover, but I'm sure we'll find a place."

  "It's only an hour and half to London. Let's check the train schedule and see if we can make it up there for the night. Our last encounter in London went reasonably well, so it could be fun again." Timothy replied. "Besides, I'm sure there will be more than a few soldiers up there that would happily pay for our service in drinks. And, I could call Simone."

  "Now we come to the real reason you want to go to London. You want to see her again!" Payton teased.

  "Of course I do. I'm surprised it took you that long to catch on!" Timothy chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll have her invite Caroline as well so you aren't a fifth wheel."

  "Your intentions are certainly noble, how could I refuse? We may have to warn off Maggie about your sister and Dylan. Where do you think she took him anyway? Let's go round them up and see if we can catch a ride up to London." Payton enthused warming up to the plan. They juxtaposition was lost in the moment, but the boys had gone from real danger and intimate proximity to German shells no more than three hours ago to making plans for an evening on the town in London. They quickly forgot the stress only the way the young can leave the immediate past behind while looking at a bright future, even if this future only included one night.

  "The hospital is just up the road. We'll have him sprung out of there in no time." Timothy answered. "Most of the wounded went to the military hospital, so I'll guess that he'll get quick service in and out at the county place. I'll go get us a cab."

  "Perfect, I'll finish tying everything down here and we'll be off." Payton said as both boys hurried to their tasks.

  Timothy's prophecy proved true. They found Dylan and Clara exiting the hospital less than an hour after entering. He looked no worse for wear, and at least he now wore a clean shirt minus the blood stains.

  "Glad you boys turned up. The hospital surgeon gave me a clean bill of health. He just stitched up my shoulder and said I was good and fine to heel. He didn't even prescribe any more pain medication, but did make Clara promise to keep the wound clean by re-dressing it every day." Dylan said by way of greeting.

  "Good to hear. Father has called us off. We thought we'd head to London for the evening before sailing back to Dublin tomorrow." Timothy explained without much in the way of greeting for his sister or friend.

  “We won’t be there until close to 10:30 tonight if we leave right now.” Clara protested mildly.

  “All right then, we’ll leave right now. The taxi is waiting and we’ve already gathered our things in to the trunk. Not the shortest taxi ride, but the cabbie said he’d give us a break on the long trip because he wants to go to London anyway. Where shall we have him drop us?”

  “The Savoy, of course.” Payton interjected quickly. “We’ll have to pay for it ourselves this time, but might as well. Hopefully they’ll remember us there.”

  “The Savoy it is, then.” Timothy confirmed as the four piled in to the taxi and headed to London.

  Chapter 16

  June 1st, 1940

  The previous night at the Savoy veered from the original plan only in that Simone and Caroline failed to join the group because of a previous engagement, but the four followed the rest of the celebratory plan un-hindered. The staff at the Savoy cheerfully greeted the twins after instantly recognizing them from their previous visit and arranged two splendid rooms for the group. The manager remembered their connection to the king so they were well taken care of from the moment they arrived. By the time the bell hop had delivered the twins to their room someone had already found and laid out perfectly pressed and fitted tuxedoes for them. Timothy and Clara found the same treatment in their rooms and so the four were properly outfitted for dinner in the River Restaurant again. Throughout dinner, Timothy occasionally cast a glance at the door hoping Simone might appear, but her arrival never came, so he satisfied himself with beer and the knowledge that the last few days stood firmly in the past and that memory included the survival of the whole group.

  After a wonderful dinner and some waltzing for Dylan and Clara as well as a few dances for Payton and Timothy with some lovely single ladies at dinner, they all met again in the morning for breakfast. With his duties held off-shore, Timothy finally had a chance to discuss the scene onshore from the last trip with Payton.

  "They really sat there playing cards?" Timothy asked incredulously.

  "Yep, though I think the Major ended the last hand so quickly because he was losing overall. I think he just wanted to cut his losses in more ways than one!" Payton joked, but quickly turned serious again. "Havoc dominated the entire coastline, and that might only cover half of it. They happily took our piecemeal solution because of the dire situation. They'll need better leadership if they ever want to keep Hitler off this island, let alone if they ever think they can take France back from him." And then, absently and to himself, he thought out loud “ I should tell the King first hand.”

  “You’ll have no argument from me.” Timothy confirmed Payton’s thoughts. “But I’m not sure t
here’s much to be done about it for us. I’ve cabled father that we’ll be home the 4th. I’m in no rush to get home, but I’m not sure there is much that we can do. You might need the King to sort out something like this.”

  “You might be right. You say we don’t need to head back to Dover until the day after tomorrow, then?” Payton asked.

  “That’s right. Unless you think you can gain an audience with the King for tomorrow we’ll content ourselves with the good that we’ve already accomplished.” Timothy teased.

  “I will let you know how my call with His Majesty goes and if he has a time to meet us tomorrow.” Payton quipped with a large smile to match.

  “What are you two going on about the King?” Clara interjected.

  “Payton thought he’d call up the King to explain the troubles in France.” Timothy explained lightly.

  “He seemed like the right man for the information.” Payton noted dryly.

  “Of course.” Clara said with her curt answer showing that she really didn’t believe him or find the joking as amusing as her brother.

  “Let’s go find you a dress for meeting the King.” Dylan offered, joining his brother in the joke to the chagrin of Clara.

  “I won’t pass up the chance to find a nice dress in London, but I don’t think it’s funny to joke about meeting the King. Father would be mortified for his Irish offspring to joke about meeting the King of England.” Clara said not hiding her irritation.

  “My apologies, my dear, but why don’t you and Timothy go shopping as you say. Payton and I do need to write a couple of letters back home and to the General officer who helped us get here. The sooner we can accomplish that the better.” Dylan offered to pacify Clara.

  “All right, that will be fine. We’ll meet again after lunch, then.” Clara said with her tone a touch calmer. “Timothy, we’ll go to Saville Row. I’m going up to the room to change and we’ll make our way over.”

  “Yes Ma’am.” Timothy said accepting his orders with grace.

  ***

  Once Timothy and Clara left, Dylan set to work writing back to Lt. Colonel Bradley.

  To: Lt. Colonel Bradley

  From: former Lt. Dylan Anders.

  RE: Findings of trip from London to Dublin and and English disposition in France

  The purpose of this note is to inform the General of relevant notes from our continuing mission in Europe. Upon last communication we were traveling to Dublin to secure passage to France. Upon arrival in Dublin we learned of the failing British Expeditionary Force and German occupation of nearly all of France, as I am sure you are by now well aware. Without the possibility of joining the French Air Force we began running rescue missions on the boats of the Irish friend mentioned last dispatch. We made eight runs between Dover and Dunkirk from 27 May through 31 May. On the last run we lost one of our three ships and sustained one slight wound that will fully heal in two weeks.

  The British in Dunkirk were beaten soundly, but remained resolute in their defiance. All queried said that they would return to England and defend their homeland from Hitler. Overall, spirits were low and leadership was lacking. The beaches and evacuation were scattered and disorganized at best. Will endeavor to also inform the King of such. If Hitler crosses the Channel now the outcome would be in doubt.

  In the course of rescue mission, we made contact with an associate of Air Marshall Sir Hugh Dowding. He provided an introduction letter for us to take to the Air Marshall. We plan to enlist his aid in joining the British Royal Air Force instead of the overrun French Air Force. We believe this will suffice for our mission as discussed with you before our departure.

  Continuing updates to follow.

  ***

  In all reality, Dylan and Payton had no idea whether or not Lt. Colonel Bradley approved of their current path, but had no way of getting feedback from him. Lt. Colonel Bradley had a reputation for being a GI’s General, in touch with the common soldier, so the twins hoped he’d agree with their decisions. They also had baseball in common. Bradley had played as an outfielder with a cannon arm and a slugger at the plate for three years at WestPoint, including on the 1914 team where ever member that stayed in the Army went on to become at least a General. Bradley graduated in 1915 along with Eisenhower and the rapid rise of that preeminent class now foreshadowed the true leaders that must guide the United States Military in this time of trouble. Army Chief of Staff General George Marshall lead the whole military, but the class of 1915 would advise him and lead the American forces in the field. Payton and Dylan hoped to add a little perspective and on the ground intelligence for Lt. Colonel Bradley, but they knew that their little mission did not amount to much in his world. So, they moved forward with their plan undaunted and determined to see it through.

  Meanwhile, Payton left Dylan to his writing and found the concierge to assist him in making two phone calls. The first call turned out as a much simpler task than the second, though Payton never thought calling the King could go more quickly than calling an Air Marshall. Payton returned to the room as Dylan sealed his dispatch to Lt. Colonel Bradley in an envelope and readied it for the mail.

  “Are we all set, then?” Dylan asked his brother.

  “Yes, we’ll go up to Bentley Priory this afternoon, and the king has about fifteen minutes available for us at 11:00 am tomorrow. That call was easier. The concierge connected me directly to the King’s secretary who knew immediately who I was. For Sir Dowding I had to talk my way through two sergeants of the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force before getting his actual Chief of Staff to schedule us only because I said we’d had a letter from Captain Lawrence for him. I tried to avoid that angle, but in the end I’m sure he wanted us to meet Sir Dowding. At least we can deliver the few personal effects we have for the family.” Payton explained.

  “What time is the meeting?” Dylan asked.

  “Two O’Clock. The timing should work out to make it back here before Clara and Timothy return. Good thing that the hotel pressed our suits last night. Too bad we can’t wear our uniforms.” Payton lamented.

  “Better get a move on if we want to make it. I have no idea how long a cab will take to get us there.” Dylan said.

  ***

  The ride to RAF Bentley Priory took less time than then twins thought it might as it was in the London Borough of Harrow, so they arrived with plenty of time to spare. The large square grey stone building housed RAF fighter command. The guard took their names at the gate and a rather stern WAAF corporal escorted them to an anteroom where she told them to wait. The boys sat down on the metal folding chairs against the wall and set Captain Lawrence’s rucksack on a third chair. Though they had arrived only thirty minutes early, they waited nearly an hour for the return of the WAAF corporal. She ushered them quickly down the hall and in to a book lined room that, although plenty large enough, seemed small to serve as the office of a man such as Air Chief Marshall Sir Hugh Dowding. At the far end of the room, behind a good sized desk, the stood the Air Chief Marshall whom the twins hoped could help them. He was of medium height and had kept in excellent shape for a man nearing sixty. His well groomed mustache spread across his narrow face below deep, piercing eyes. The boys walked over and stood at attention in front of his desk.

  “You must be the Anders boys that my great nephew wrote me about. I am sad to report that shortly after his letter arrived I was informed that he was killed in action.” Dowding said with very little introduction. “You are definitely military, of some sort. I can tell by the way you are standing. Please, relax and have a seat.” He finished and motioned toward two chairs opposite his desk.

  “Yes, sir, we know. We were the ones who found him.” Payton offered quietly as they sat down. “We’ve brought a few of his things for you in the hopes that you can pass them on to his family.” Payton said and handed over the rucksack.

  “That was rather kind of you. Thank you. I’ll see to it that his wife gets them, and I’m sure the children will one day be pleased to have some of his thin
gs to remember him by. I’m worried about his wife, Elsa, but our family in Moffat will make sure to look after her. Captain Lawrence mentioned that you wanted to help out the war effort as pilots, is that correct?” Sir Dowding asked, coming directly to the point.

  “Yes, sir, that’s correct.” Dylan replied. “Our background is in mechanical engineering and we’ve flown planes on our father’s farm since we were teenagers.”

  “Flying a crop duster is not the same as flying a military fighter plane.” Sir Dowding noted sternly.

  “No, sir, we understand that. We studied the fighter crafts in our Mechanical Engineering classes at WestPoint.” Dylan offered.

  “Ah, that makes more sense. I thought you might be military but no one had mentioned WestPoint before. Do your Generals know you are here, even though you are technically neutral?” The Air Chief Marshall asked.

  “Lt. Colonel Bradley is aware of our intentions, but no, no one officially knows our current status.” Payton answered diplomatically. “We hope to train with your men and then, should America enter the war, and we think she must, the US Army Air Force would have at least some fighting experience.”

  “In essence, you are trying to borrow the experience of the RAF, then? Fortunately for you, I’ve spent the last month fighting to save every plane and pilot I could for home defense. Churchill wanted me to waste them in France, but once Hitler ran through Belgium the outcome was already determined. We need pilots and planes to defend the Island. My great nephew spoke very highly of your bravery in Dunkirk. I’ll have you tested for basic flight training and if you pass that you’ll be posted to an operation training unit to learn to fly the Spitfire. That run is usually a year, but you’ll most likely have two to four weeks before being posted to a squadron. You’ll learn fast or crash quickly, we’ve no time to do it any other way at this point. You’ll be commissioned in the RAF as Flying Officers and most likely end up at Middle Wallop, north of Southampton. I’ll have my staff put together the paperwork. Tomorrow is Sunday, so please return here Monday at 0900 hours.” Sir Dowding clipped out in rapid succession.