Spitfire Ringers

by Ian Lindsey

  The twins saw both of these planes close up as the transport pulled along the hangars before dropping them off at the main base headquarters. They also saw several pilots practicing touch and go landings before pulling back up in to the sky. The whole aerodrome buzzed with activity punctuated by the humming of engines turning to buzzing and then to an all out roar as a plane hurled past those earthbound mortals on the ground. The twins smiled at the roar because it reminded them of home and mock strafing the cows in their old crop duster biplane. The driver dumped them off at the front door with just a point to show them the general direction they should head. The twins grabbed their rucksacks and followed the modest directions in to the front door. The clerk shuffled them off to the WAAF secretary of the 609 squadron commander. Without their knowledge, Sir Dowding assigned them to the training squadron for the most advanced airplane the RAF had to offer. The luck of such an assignment for new recruits, not to mention new American recruits, stood beyond measure. Both stood ramrod straight and managed to avoid cracking a smile as they waited for their meeting with the commander of the group. Flight Commander Dreth buzzed his secretary to usher the new recruits in to his office.

  “Gentlemen, welcome to 609 squadron.” The small man behind the desk said while half standing to greet them. “You’ll need to forgive my brevity. We are quite busy around here at the moment, training pilots up as fast as we can. I see from your file that you’ve been in Dunkirk, so you certainly understand the urgency of our training.”

  “Thank you sir, yes, we understand the urgency.” Payton answered.

  “Excellent. You’ll have two weeks of flight training, including gunnery, followed by a week of flight training in the Spitfire. The rest of your training will take place within your squadron. It is not the best situation, but we do what we must.” The commander said as he stood. “Please report to hangar C, and you’ll begin instruction immediately. I’ll have my secretary arrange for your bags to be delivered to your bunks in Barracks No. 3. Good day and Good luck.”

  “Thank you sir!” The twins said in unison as they saluted and turned to exit.

  Dylan and Payton marched directly from the office to the large metal hangar emblazoned with a crimson C over the doors. Inside the arched cavern they found a meeting room with several desks arranged like a classroom. Two men sat by themselves inside while the twins followed a third in to the room. All five waited several minutes until a weary yet hard looking man strode purposely through the door. The recruits stood and saluted crisply the new man wearing the Captains insignia above flight wings. The captain saluted back quickly if not quite by the book and studied the men before him. The first recruit was a small bespectacled man with a shock of red hair pushed to the side. The small man seemed quite by nature, more scholarly than anything, but he looked at the Captain with an intent gaze of determination. He had a small round nose and ice blue eyes. To his right sat a barrel chested round man with dark curly hair and a mustache turned up slightly by a self knowing smirk. He proudly thrust the barrel chest forward so everyone could see the name Baker on his uniform. Finally, behind those two sat an older gentleman gray around the edges with deep set dark eyes and a wrinkled brow. He seemed as if he was hiding his nervousness by concentrating heavily on the desk in front of him. His name was not as proudly displayed as that of Baker, but his tag read Wallace none the less.

  Finally, the captain spoke in a clipped British Public school accent “Welcome to flight school. I’m Captain Benson. Usually we fill out this class every three months with the finest military men. However, now we begin the course once every three weeks with all willing and available men that can pass a written test. Does anyone here have any flight experience?” Payton and Dylan both raised their hands while none of the others obliged. “What type of plane?” Captain Benson commanded more than asked.

  “A crop dusting biplane.” Dylan answered succinctly.

  “American?” Benson followed up.

  “Yes, sir. From Oregon via WestPoint.” Payton answered this time.

  “As I suspected. You are the Flying Officers Anders I presume. There are precious few crop dusters in England. We are training to fly the Supermarine Spitfire, so you’ll find that the only similarities are that you have a stick and rudder pedals in both planes. Going from a biplane to a Spitfire is like going from a bicycle to motorcycle. Knowing how to ride one does not necessarily mean you can operate the other. Please keep that in mind.” Captain Benson instructed.

  The small man raised his hand and Captain Benson nodded at him to speak “Sir, you said three weeks?”

  “You must be Pilot Officer Quarles. That is correct I did say three weeks.” Benson responded. “You will learn to fly one of the most technologically advanced fighter aircraft in the world, including take off, landing, and basic gunnery in the next three weeks. We will work from dawn until dusk out on the airfield and then regroup for flight breakdowns after dinner. Once you are assigned to your squadrons the veteran pilots will teach you dog fighting tactics. The situation is not ideal, of course, but we soldier on as we must. Now let’s begin with a review of flight theory.”

  The small group spent the next two hours reviewing basic tenants of flight including Bernoulli’s principal and wing section theory. Bernoulli applied the universal gas law to theorize that air moving at a faster speed must be at a lower pressure. It took scientists and engineers several more centuries to put the principal to use with the theory of wing sections, or airfoils as the cross sections of a wing are called. By curving the top of an airfoil in roughly a tear drop shape while leaving the bottom flat and creating a faster flow of air over the top of that wing the first aeronautical engineers could create a pressure differential between the top and bottom of a wing. Bernoulli said that air had to travel faster over the top of a wing with a bigger bulge, and that the air moving faster was at a lower pressure. That meant the higher pressure air under the wing pushed up, creating lift. The bulge or asymmetry from the leading edge of the airfoil up to the top peak of the wing shape was known as the camber and determined the speed differential between the air on the bottom and the air on the top of the wing. The higher the pressure on the bottom of the wing the greater the lift, so the greater camber created a bigger pressure difference between the top and the bottom of the wing. That meant a wing with more camber, to a point, could create more lift. Therefore, the camber of the wing defined the lift a wing could create. However, with all engineering there were trade-offs. More camber created more lift in a wing at slower speeds, but also created more drag at higher speeds.

  To get the steady air flow over the cambered surface wing meant the aircraft had to move forward at sufficient speed. The great engineering feat of the Wright brothers was to create an engine at a light enough weight with enough horsepower to turn the propellers fast enough so they could produce enough thrust, or forward propulsion, to allow man to consistently pull away from the grasp of Earth’s gravity. That first simple flight had advanced in the forty years since to the sleek modern mono-wing all metal aircraft the scorched across the sky at nearly six hundred miles per hour. The fear of every pilot came when the airflow over the wings became insufficient to hold the plane in the air, which usually came on steep climbs, and the airplane stalled out before quickly falling back to earth.

  Captain Benson did not delve much further in to the theories behind flight, keeping it simple to the four main opposing forces affecting the aircraft: Gravity as defined by weight, lift to overcome that weight, thrust to create forward motion and drag pulling against that forward motion. The only other thing he mentioned was the complexity of moving through space in six dimensions. Whereas automobiles moved in two defined dimensions (forward, back, left, and right) an aircraft had to be controlled in six dimensions. Added to the standard two dimensions of the automobile was the up and down component. In addition each of the standard three dimensions of movement the aircraft needed to control the rolling or side forces exerted in the unbounded space high
up in the air. With regards to the tip and tail of the plane any sideways force created yaw, which meant the nose or tail of the play would slide to one side and conversely move the other end of the plane in the opposite direction. All planes controlled this with the vertical tail flap that could move left or right forcing the nose in the opposite direction. With regards to the wings any up or down force created roll, which pilots controlled by adjusting the horizontal wing flaps on either wing up or down. Finally, a vertical force applied to the nose or tail created pitch, forcing the nose of the plane up or down and controlled by the horizontal tail flaps.

  After understanding these fundamental forces acting on an airplane flight became more about feel and art than the hard science keeping the fighters aloft. Captain Benson, and to a certain extent Dylan and Payton, knew this and the accompanying hard truth that only flight hours logged could truly teach a pilot how to fly, and fighter pilots needed more time than any others to master the speed and agility of their advanced machines. Captain Benson must shepherd the small class, all of whom were on a true military airbase for the first time, from mere novices to hardened pilots flying for their lives each time they left the ground. Three months usually barely covered the basics of flight, but now two weeks covered the gamut.

  So, with the morning finished and the basics covered, the small class adjourned to the supply office for flight uniform fitting. The RAF standard issue war service dress consisted of the dark blue wool short jacket buttoned over matching dark blue wool trousers. The uniform was identical in cut and style to the standard Royal Army Battle Dress uniform save for the color. The jacket was really a waistcoat with two pockets on the front and a collar that could be worn either opened or closed. As officers, the twins were also issued collared shirts and ties to wear with the jacket open at the top while the enlisted men would button the jacket all the way up to the neck. The boys had seen Eisenhower wear a similar style jacket the last time he appeared at WestPoint. Black leather boots and slouch hats known to military men the world over finished the uniform. As aircrew, all of the men were also issued blue coveralls for flight operations, thick turtleneck sweaters and sheepskin lined leather jackets to help combat the blistering cold at altitude. With their gear in hand, the soon-to-be pilots followed their escort to change in the barracks that would serve as their home for at least a fortnight.

  After lunch, Captain Benson met the class of five back at the hangar, but instead of sitting in the class room he had all five crawling around a two seat trainer airplane. The Miles M.14A Magister Hawk Trainer III, built of plywood encased spruce, had two open cockpits and impersonated the similarly low slung wings of the Spitfire adequately. On the ground few people would mistake the two planes for each other, and in the air the difference only grew. It looked like a child’s rudimentary drawing of the sleek Spitfire, but as a first entry into the monoplane world of flight it served perfectly.

  Dylan and Payton took turns in the front trainee cockpit looking at the basic gauges and simple controls. Each moved the stick back and forth to control the rudder and tale flaps to get a feel for the movement of the control surfaces. Captain Benson sat behind each recruit and talked them through the basics of controlling the aircraft and reading the altimeter, horizon gauge, and airspeed. Since Dylan took the last turn in the cockpit, Captain Benson took the opportunity to impress upon the group the necessity of learning quickly by ordering the plane pushed out to the landing strip.

  “Gentlemen, we start flying today. We don’t have the luxury of time to wait.” The Captain ordered. Dylan took the orders in stride and went through his pre-flight checklist quickly and efficiently. He was saved by the fact that the trainer had more or less the same pre-flight routine as the old biplane at home since they’d only briefly touched on the routine before lunch. With Captain Benson’s approval from the rear cockpit, Dylan fired up the engines and taxied to the end of the runway. While pushing the throttle all the way to the stops as he released the brakes, Dylan felt the light trainer plane leap forward down the runway. He felt the familiar roar of the engine vibrating up his spine as the plane gathered speed running down the asphalt strip. At precisely the right moment, Dylan heaved back on the stick and the plane slid up in to the sky.

  “Well done, Flight Leftanant. Not many men know the correct time to leave the ground. We call that the rotation speed. However, taking off is the easy part. We’ll see how you do landing.” Captain Benson said over the intercom. “Please climb to a height of ten thousand feet and a bearing of 210.”

  “Yes sir, heading southwest and climbing.” Dylan responded back promptly. Captain Benson took Dylan through some simple maneuvers that Dylan executed easily. After impressing the Captain with his airmanship, Dylan landed the plane expertly and taxied back to the hangar.

  “Young man, you have the flying part down. It will be much faster in combat, but your feel for flying is second to none.” Captain Benson beamed. “I can teach you some dog fighting tricks and you will be a useful pilot for the RAF.”

  “Thank you, sir. I actually always thought that my brother was a better flyer than me. Please teach us everything you know. It might save us one day.” Dylan answered modestly.

  “The RAF is lucky to have two of you. We’ll need every man we can get in the air. The Luftwaffe is coming, of that I can assure you.” Captain Benson finished as he walked in to the hangar to fetch the next recruit.

  ***

  Directly across the Thames from the Palace of Westminster stood St. Thomas’ Hospital, a large square building looming over the river. On the north side of the hospital Clara and Ann took up residence in nurses’ housing before beginning their training. Unlike the long open barracks of the military, the nurses’ dormitory more resembled what the two were used to from university where they shared a small room down the hall from a common area and bathroom. Unlike the other new girls starting with them, at least they knew each other and thus could room with a familiar face. The hospital, founded nearly a millennium earlier, housed the Medical College and had a partnership with the Red Cross to train nurses. With the start of the war, the nursing school had doubled in size, with new classes starting every three months.

  “I’m not sure that this is what my father had in mind when he sent me down from Ireland.” Clara noted idly as she finished putting her few belongings in to the small dresser provided.

  “I’m not sure my father knows where I am!” Ann joked. “I’ll have to send him a letter. All I told him was that I wanted to help with the war and that I was going to London.”

  “Timothy will have to tell my parents where I am when he goes back to Dublin. For the moment I think he is going to stay around here to see if there is anything he can do.” Clara thought out loud at the plans of her brother.

  “Or he just wants to see if Simone will have him!” Ann laughed mischievously. “It certainly doesn’t hurt that he brought her in to see the King. That will impress a girl.”

  “It impressed me, that's for sure.” Clara said. “And I’m Irish! Where did those two American boys come from? They can’t be true, right?”

  “I suppose they are true enough.” Anne sighed. “I just hope that they don’t get themselves killed flying against some silly Germans.”

  “They’ll handle themselves well enough. My brother told me that they never flinched at Dunkirk. I never understand men that seek out a fight like Hitler, but at least in the air it will be on the boys’ terms. I’m mad at Hitler for putting them at risk, but then I think that we’d never have met if Hitler had stayed put. All we can do is keep saying our prayers.” Clara replied with a touch of melancholy in her voice. Ann too shared the melancholy of not knowing what the future held while knowing that the immediate future looked bleak indeed. They’d both decided to help as nurses, but in reality the nursing would help them grapple with their immediate future by giving them something worthwhile to do instead of just sitting and waiting. The Germans might jump across the Channel sooner rather than later, but
at least they’d be able to help in their own way, just like Dylan and Payton were.

  After lunch the twenty-five or so girls starting at the school that day gathered in one of the classrooms adjacent to the hospital. They each were issued their nurses uniforms and after a lecture about the importance of cleanliness in the hospital the head nurse paired the girls up and sent them off with a more experienced nurse to observe rounds at the hospital. By the time the class reconvened two hours later, four girls had dropped out unable to stomach the blood and pain presented to them. None of the girls thought less of those that left, but none of them really knew that they might soon see worse. Even Clara, after hearing the stories of Dunkirk and tending to Dylan at the hospital after their return, did not fully understand the challenge ahead.

  With the first day nearly done, the head nurse of the school delivered a stirring speech to her charges. She spoke of the true horrors she’d seen during the Great War and how she never slept without thinking of the poor souls missing limbs, burned horribly by mustard gas, or those simply left dead there. But then, with a bit tenderness, she spoke of the healing power of love, and how she’d seen men near death hold on either for the love of someone back home or simply because a nurse cared for them like a loved one. She implored all of the students to remember that they could save lives both through the great medical advances since then, and also with the oldest medicine of all. She said that she could teach them all the latest techniques, but that each nurse would have to find the love in their soul to care for these men. All the students had to pull up the ends of the aprons to dab away tears as the head nurse finished. Clara and Ann both knew where their motivation and love would flow from, and how they’d use every bit of it to help the patients they saw in the hopes that they would not have to see Dylan or Payton as one of their patients.