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Spitfire Ringers

Page 25

by Ian Lindsey


  “I get one of those kills.” Dylan deadpanned in the heat of the battle while quickly lining up a shot at another bomber. Payton followed his line and between the two of them shot down the right side of a diamond flying formation. Moments later, the left side of that flying formation let loose a withering fusillade of bullets aimed at the twins. They expertly split, but not before each took several bullets to the tail sections of their planes. As they pulled back together, two more Messerchmitts dove out of the sun, headed directly for Dylan’s plane with gun barrels spitting tracers directly on target. Dylan’s plane immediately caught fire and began streaming flames behind it as he valiantly fought to keep it airborne.

  Dylan righted his plane briefly and slowed his descent enough to try and get his bearings. In his struggle to gain control of the damaged plane he’d drifted ever closer to the French coastline. Dylan pulled hard to the right on the stick, and mashed down on the rudder pedal trying desperately to head back west. If he survived at all, ditching in the ocean meant a chance of rescue by a British ship while ditching in France meant capture by the Nazi’s. The battered aircraft failed to respond. Severed control lines spewed hydraulic fluid in to the flames. At 10,000 feet the flames began licking the cockpit, and the remaining ammunition in the wings starting popping in their canisters like popcorn. Left without a choice, Dylan unstrapped from the plane fought to keep control of the stick with his knees while he pushed on the canopy.

  The angle and speed of his aircraft made opening the canopy exceedingly difficult under normal circumstances and more so under Dylan’s current duress. Letting the stick go with his knees Dylan heaved with all of his strength against the warped metal and glass holding him hostage. The canopy creaked open slightly, and then blew completely off. The front edge barely missed knocking Dylan unconscious as it flew scant inches above him. The wind screeched passed the young pilot’s ears with the howl of a hundred hurricanes. The better than gail force winds tried to root him in place, but Dylan felt the plane begin to roll. If he didn’t get out now, he’d be trapped in the cockpit facing earth unable to jump. Dylan planted one foot firmly on the edge of the cockpit, grabbed the front of the windscreen with his hand, and pushed with all of his might. Now the wind and momentum worked in his favor. The plane continued its death spiral while he was pushed clear of the flaming fuselage. He pulled the ripcord of his parachute and prayed.

  ***

  Payton watched in horror as his brother’s plane faltered, then recovered slightly as the flames engulfed the fuselage before gravity reasserted itself. Feeling helpless in the 10 seconds it took Dylan’s plane to cycle in to catastrophe, Payton could only attack. He saw Dylan’s attacker pull back around to finish off Dylan’s already dead plane and confirm a kill. Thinking he was alone, the German pilot never saw Payton attack at right angles from above, perfectly timing his shot to puncture the canopy and wings of the aircraft before it exploded. The revenge gave Payton no pleasure as he continued diving towards his brother’s plane.

  Dylan never saw the explosion above him, nor thought to be thankful that no one continued shooting at him. Payton caught up in time to see the canopy on his brother’s plane fly off, and he had to adjust course quickly to make sure it didn’t hit his plane. Pulling level just above the aircraft that looked more like a fireball now, Payton saw Dylan exit the cockpit and prayed along with him that the parachute would open, just as his parachute had during training.

  The white silk canopy opened beautifully, round and full like the top of a cotton bud. Dylan felt the jerk as his fall suddenly slowed dramatically, and both twins breathed a momentary sigh of relief. The relief, however, was only momentary. The prevailing winds immediately began pushing Dylan towards the beaches of the French coastline.

  The Germans had begun building the famed Atlantic wall, and since neither twin knew exactly where they were on the French coast, Payton assumed that as soon as he came in to sight his brother would draw fire from the machine guns on the high cliffs at best. At worst, the Germans would send a squad of SS men after him. Payton reacted quickly. He dove for the narrow stretch of beach where he guessed his brother would eventually land. Pulling up perilously close to the ground Payton commenced strafing the cliffs above the beach. He took three full runs attempting to negate any hidden emplacements before he ran out of ammunition. As he pulled up from his final attack Payton saw Dylan land gently on the beach, safe as could be. The wind shifted and Dylan’s parachute canopy pulled him slightly along the beach towards the south. Payton thought of the windsocks at the rutted dirt runway at home. Without hesitation, he swooped above the beach, put his landing gear down and commenced emergency landing procedures. His brother needed a ride and he would give it to him.

  ***

  Dylan touched down immediately grateful to feel solid ground under his feet again. During his float down to the ground Dylan watched his brother attack the cliffs over his not very intentional landing spot. Although he knew the foolishness of expending all of the remaining ammunition, Dylan appreciated what his brother did for him. He also knew he would have done the same thing if their situations were reversed. What his brother did next simply confounded Dylan, though. He watched Payton line up a landing approach and watched as his landing gear came down. The beach appeared big and flat from the air, so the inclination to land in his brother’s head was understandable. However, the moment Dylan saw the landing gear he realized the sandy beach was too soft. The tide flowed out enough that wet sand seemed firm and at fifty yards or so from cliff to water it was plenty wide enough, so Dylan fervently hoped he was wrong enough that his brother could land safely. Wanting to get out of the way, Dylan quickly gathered up his parachute and scurried towards the cliffs, once again glad that no one shot at him while doing so.

  Payton roared down the beach and touched down just past Dylan’s original landing spot. In a deft moment he flared the plan mere feet above the sand before settling down as gently as possible. But, it was not enough. As soon as the plane touched down the tires used to concrete sank deep in sand, slowing the plane almost instantly. Payton jerked forward against his restraints, and the landing gear buckled from momentum of the plane pushing against the nearly stopped struts. It seemed like the fuselage kept flying a few feet forward while the landing gear remained in place. All three wheels sheared off from the bottom of the plane before it settled on its belly in the sand. The airscrew still spun until it too dug in to the sand, twisting the blades at grotesque angles and rendering them useless. Now Payton’s aircraft would never fly again, just like Dylan’s.

  “Nice landing. What the hell were you thinking?” Dylan said exasperated as he trotted up to his brother’s plane.

  “I thought you might need a ride. It didn’t go as I expected it to.” Payton cheerfully answered as he scrambled out of the cockpit. Both twins hunkered down on the ocean side of the fuselage for cover and removed their Mae West life jackets. “At least we are both momentarily alive.” Payton finished in the same cheerful voice.

  “Grab your back up chute, it might be useful. I’ve got mine.” Dylan ordered as he pointed at his spare chute nicely tucked in its bag.

  “Good idea. Where’d you think of that? I’ll grab the emergency kit too.” Payton answered.

  “I had plenty of time to think falling from the sky.” Dylan answered, starting to feel a little better at their predicament. His anger at his brother for landing and putting them both in danger subsided at the thought of knowing he wouldn’t have to go through whatever lay ahead alone.

  “Let’s get off this beach, then we can take inventory.” Payton said. “The Germans will probably notice the downed planes soon enough. Eventually, the tide will wash over my plane, so I don’t think we need to blow it up.” He finished.

  “Right, the cliffs here aren’t going to let us up, so let’s get under them as best we can and follow the beach.” Dylan continued his brother’s line of thinking. “I think I saw a fissure in the cliffs about a half mile up. Maybe
we can get up there.” He concluded hopefully and set off towards the cliffs. Payton followed a half step behind, marveling at the massive luck that had gotten them this far, and hoping that it would hold out.

  The boys scrambled from wet sand to dry, and then across a small rocky section until they reached the base of the towering cliffs. The small rocks made for easy passage, almost a gravel trail, a small blessing instead of slogging through the sand. In short order they reached the fissure that Dylan had spotted from his parachute landing. They glanced briefly around the corner to insure no ambush awaited them, and seeing no one stepped in to the relative cover of the gap in the cliffs.

  “Would you look at that!” Payton exclaimed.

  “What?” Dylan asked.

  “Stairs, right to the top.” Payton said, satisfied at the discovery of a way off the beach.

  “They’re no elevator, but they’ll due.” Dylan noted dryly as they started scampering up the long, straight stone stairs carved in to the fissure in the cliffs. A platform with a railing at the top of the stairs announced their arrival on the bluffs. The lush countryside spread out in front of the twins and gave them their first true view of where they’d landed. Fortune again shined on them as they’d landed in a sparsely populated area clearly used for farming. A small trailhead extended from platform headed inland, with a small arrow sign pointed to the south east.

  “Octeville Sur Mer.” Dylan read. “We’re a lot further south than I thought. Le Havre should be four or five miles south of here.” He concluded.

  “Yep.” Payton confirmed. “Good to know, at the very least. Maybe if we make it there we can steal a boat or something and head back west.”

  “That’s as good a plan as any.” Dylan agreed as he looked further afield to see if he could see anything else useful. As we looked back north, he spotted a small column of black smoke rising from the edge of the cliffs about two hundred yards away. “Either someone is over there making s’mores, or you shot something.” Dylan noted pointing to an area that Payton had strafed minutes before.

  “I hope it’s Nazi, or I’ll feel badly for shooting it.” Payton said a little nervously. “Let’s go see, quietly. If it isn’t German maybe it will be someone that can help us. If it is an occupied German post, we’ll head back south and have a better idea what to look for as we make our way down to Le Havre.”

  Without answering, Dylan set off down the trail towards the column of smoke. Before long, Payton tapped him on the shoulder and indicated a gap between the few trees and tall brush as a good place to enter the woods for concealment before they got too close. The two spent the next several minutes picking their way quietly through the coastal foliage until they saw the smoldering remains that had drawn their attention. It was a fortified Nazi machine gun outpost that surely would have fired at Dylan as he descended, or waited until he was on the ground and fired at point blank range.

  “Good thing you got this one.” Dylan said quietly. “Do you see anything useful?” The small post contained the remains of a gunner, loader next to a machine gun, and what the twins assumed must have been the post commander sitting at a field desk inside a dug in and fortified timber enclosure. Payton had strafed right through the middle of the roof, killing all three in a hail of bullets.

  “I’ll check the desk. See if you can scrounge up some food.” Payton ordered thinking of primary needs first. This was war, no time for sympathy to ones enemies. Payton strode to the desk and began opening desk drawers while avoiding looking at the body slumped over the side of the chair. The simple metal desk had three drawers down the left side. The top drawer held some extra ammunition for a luger, which reminded Payton to reach over and secure the officers handgun for himself. The next drawer contained a treasure trove. “Maps!” Payton held up triumphantly for his brother to see.

  “Good find, anything else?” Dylan asked.

  “Nothing, no code book, no letters, this is it. You?” Payton asked.

  “A loaf of bread, and a couple of cans that maybe contain sausage, but I’m not sure. Hopefully not sardines.” Dylan answered. “What all do we have?” he asked as he walked over and laid out his supplies on the desk.

  “Our two colts” Payton said, referring to the not exactly standard issue Colt model 1911 that each had brought with them for just such an occasion. “And our spare clips make twenty shots each. Plus, I just pulled a Luger and two spare clips from the officer. That’s another twenty one shots, I think. We’ve got our knives, and reserve chutes, but other than the food, map, and medical kit that’s about it. Anything I’m missing?”

  “Sadly, that’s about it.” Dylan confirmed. “Looks like you got the radio too, so we should have a couple of minutes to get out of here before the cavalry arrives.” He added pointing to the bullet riddled radio set in the corner. Without another word the twins quickly packed up and headed out in the direction of Le Havre. They followed the original path inland while carefully keeping an eye out for anyone or anything. After about a quarter hour, they reached what appeared to be the main road running along the coast. Sticking to the culvert along the road provided a measure of cover, but it proved unneeded as the two made it almost an hour before a small truck rumbled by them. It was the first and only vehicle they saw that afternoon.

  As the sun began to set, the boys reached the outskirts of the city. They doubled back to a couple of small farm houses they’d just passed to seek shelter. Although it was only early evening both boys understandably felt exhausted. They carefully moved in tandem, using anything for cover, until they reached the barn out back of the farm house. They snuck in to the mostly empty barn, and climbed quietly in to the hay loft. The silence continued as both tucked themselves in to the far corners of the hayloft and fell instantly asleep, oblivious to their precarious situation for at least one night.

  Chapter 26

  July 15th, 1940

  The day dawned bright, and the twins woke with the sun. Although both had slept, neither had relaxed. “We probably should have slept in shifts and had a rotating watch. That was dumb. Now what?” Payton thought out loud. “Any better plan than yesterday, because I’ve got nothing.” Payton continued.

  “Nope, me neither. Let’s head in to city and discreetly see if we can come up with something. We’ll need a change of clothes first.” Dylan answered. “Keep an eye out for a clothes line. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” He hoped as he opened one of the cans they’d taken from the Germans. “Sardines, not exactly breakfast food.” Dylan moaned slightly as the salty smell assaulted is nostrils more harshly than even the dense sea air creeping inland from the English Channel.

  “Not ideal, but manageable. I’d rather have some smoked salmon from home, too.” Payton responded, reaching for his half of the morning meal. After gulping down the fish and swallowing the remnants in their canteens the twins quietly crept out of the barn before the tiny farm came to life. The next farm house over forgot to bring their laundry in the night before, so the boys stole a brown shirt and corduroy pants along with a peasants linen vest for Dylan and a loose light weight sweater for Payton. They felt bad for stealing from the meager looking farm, and from the occupied French people in general, but the with the clothes they passed as indistinguishable from any of the other common folk in the area as long as no one asked them anything in French. The twins set off down the road without hiding in the bushes. They were more confident that they looked like a pair of laborers on their way in to work. Covering ground more quickly they easily reached the city center just as the usual bustle began for the day.

  Eventually, they crossed the mouth of the Seine River before it poured out in to the English Channel. Following the river, they made their way to the harbor proper. The few fishing boats were not brave enough to risk a torpedo, so they remained anchored in the mouth of the harbor while various merchants set up booths for the day’s business in an adjacent market. Their wares included everything from fresh baked bread to hand crafted clothing and small farming tools. The tw
ins noticed that about half of the available space stood empty. The normally lively market operated under a cloud, as if in a mild stupor, afraid to step too far out of line by lowering their grim guardedness. Heads stared at the ground, uniformly bowed, grimaces transfixed upon faces, and eyes screwed nearly shut in squints that would deflect the sun, the sea salt air, and any questions.

  Soon, the twins saw why. A cortege of automobiles flying red Nazi swastika flags began rolling through the streets. Some stopped and took things from the market, while others headed directly to the largest building near the port. It appeared that the Nazi’s had taken over the admiralty building for the port as their local headquarters. The local citizens showed the deference of the truly frightened. No one wanted to enrage the men holding absolute power.

  While casually walking through the streets, the twins picked out the usual Nazi hangouts, sympathetic bars, large confiscated houses quartering particular occupation units, and the large movie theater sure to show the latest propaganda. Marked as places to avoid, the twins went in other directions, hoping to find some way home.

  “Let’s have a closer look at some of those boats still anchored in the harbor.” Payton suggested.

  “But not too close.” Dylan quietly cautioned, indicating two Nazi foot patrols marching back and forth along the harbor sidewalk and sea wall above a short sandy beach with a long wooden pier jutting out perpendicularly in to the water.

  “Perhaps we should wait until this evening then.” Payton thought out loud. “When the sun sets we’ll slip out on the pier and see what we can see. Until then, let’s see if we can hide under the pier somewhere. We can stay out of sight there but keep an eye on the harbor while we wait. The fewer Germans we talk to the better.” He said warming up to the mediocre plan.

  The two lingered quietly in the shadow of a doorway until the sentries passed each other and disappeared briefly out of sight. Without hesitating the twins took advantage of the window afforded them to walk briskly to the seawall’s edge, and slip over the side down to the beach. From there they ran until they could hunker down in the shadows of the sturdy timber pilings holding up the creosote soaked planks of the pier above. They found a shallow depression in the sand above the high tide line for further shelter. The relative safety of their new hiding place allowed the twins to relax for the first time in twenty four hours.

 

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