Beaufighter Blitz

by Russell Sullman

“Firing…”

  The cannon and machine guns once more barked out their song of destruction, and he held D-Dog’s nose firmly in position as the Beaufighter bucked, again spraying the bomber’s shadowy shape with deadly metal.

  His heart was thundering still, yet he found with surprise that he was enjoying the destructive power in his grasp.

  Another flurry of erratic flashing and sparkling registered their successful hits, a ribbon of flame licked hungrily back from one engine, followed by a sudden bright red flash within the body of the enemy bomber.

  I wish I’d had this firepower last year, he thought, revelling in the destruction, we could’ve knocked down a lot more of the bastards…

  And suddenly the raucous din from the nose gun ports stopped, replaced by the empty clattering of the cannon drums.

  Their machine guns continued to chatter, the sound diminished and as nothing against the thunder from his cannon but he lifted his finger from the firing button.

  No, no, no! His cannon had run dry!

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  He fought to keep his voice steady. “Chalky? The drums for the cannon are empty! Can you change them?”

  “Flying Officer Rose, sir! I think he’s going down, look! Off to starboard! You got him!” White was almost screaming with delight. “Oh my! Look at him go down! Hurrah! He’s finished, has to be!”

  Sure enough, the Heinkel was burning now, diving and turning away, bright flames streaming angrily from it, merging and creating a swiftly expanding and curving comet’s tail as the turning and diving bomber quickly and precipitously lost height.

  More burning pieces broke away, fiery streamers to mark its fall, lighting up the clouds beneath them with a falling constellation of flaring pinpoints of curving light.

  The adrenaline pounded through him as he watched the enemy fall.

  We got him! Bugger me, we actually got him!

  “We got him Chalky!” He managed, his nerves were singing and he fought to control his voice, “Well done, chum, and thank you. Thank you for your magic. You got him right into our sights. That was superb!”

  “Oh God! Oh my God! Wow, look at him go down! Congratulations, sir! Oh my God!” Rose winced as White triumphantly screeched his obvious pleasure ear-piercingly into his pilot’s earphones.

  The Heinkel was falling more steeply now, sliding steep out of control, slipping almost vertically, and their gleefully victorious eyes followed it down, until suddenly it exploded shockingly into an expanding and boiling ball of blistering white fire.

  The searing flames must have finally reached the bomb load and the fuel it was carrying, blowing it into scorching, fragmented ruin.

  Euphoria burst hot through him like a magnificent, glittering starburst, and he felt a sudden urge to throw the Beaufighter into a victory roll, but Granny’s severe face appeared in his mind’s eye (‘Never grandstand! What if your kite is damaged?) and he restrained himself.

  He’d done it! And that was number nine, ta very much!

  But, much more importantly of course, it was the very first one for young Chalky. He remembered for a self-indulgent moment his own first time, that incredible feeling of victory in the friendless July skies of last year.

  And now here he was, successful again, and one less of the enemy. Already the darkness rushed in to quash the scattered embers of the German bomber’s death.

  His heart was still banging hard and erratic against his breastbone.

  Wish I could tell Molly we got him…

  Rose clutched the bear gratefully. Lady Luck was flying with them tonight. After all this time, she’d not deserted him.

  But how long would it last? Could he dare to hope…?

  Rose exhaled long and hard as he struggled to calm himself.

  “Well, that’s our first. We’ve opened our innings in style, pal.” Nice. Keep calm, sound nonchalant, even though you may want to scream out your triumph.

  “And heartfelt congratulations, Chalky my old son, you guided me perfectly. Could you reload the cannon? I’ll hold her steady. If I need you to get back onto your seat, I’ll rock the wings. Remember to keep checking in with me. Keep taking breaths, too.”

  “Yes, Mum!” laughed White elatedly, and with one last exultant look at the remaining glowing, fading remnants of the falling wreckage, he carefully unstrapped, took a quick and deep pull of precious oxygen from the mask, and began the difficult and dangerous job of reloading the cannon in the dark and rough interior of the Beaufighter’s rear compartment.

  Each of the four drums would have to be detached separately, put away carefully into stowage, and a fresh new drum loaded into place, mindful all the while of errant shell casings rolling underfoot.

  In between each drum, White would need to continue taking regular breaths from his oxygen supply, and report he had done so in the pre-arranged pattern set by Rose.

  What a bind.

  And then he felt ashamed by his pique.

  It was poor White who was the one who needed to crawl around the confined space to reload their cannon.

  Rose had it easy by comparison. He just needed to keep her in level flight whilst White fought and struggled with the recalcitrant drums.

  “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, please scratch one Heinkel north of Sudbury, possibly two crew parachutes, Dagger 3 now re-joining cab rank.”

  He could feel his chest swell with pride. Scratch one Heinkel, God that sounded so good! Hope we get to repeat that many more times!

  Rose could catch the sound of the broad smile through the crackling in the other’s voice over the R/T.

  “Well done, Dagger 3! Understood scratch one Heinkel. Good work! Congratulations! Do you need to pancake?”

  They still had enough fuel and ammunition for at least another hour or so, so Rose decided they would stay up. “No, Lamplight. We can continue, thank you, please direct.”

  “Dagger 3, please go to angels twelve and orbit Dumpling.”

  “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, received and understood, climbing to angels twelve and will hold at Dumpling.”

  As they flew back, the racing exhilaration of their victory steadily turned into a warm and satisfied glow in their hearts. They’d kept one bomb load from falling on their land. And they’d killed a number of the enemy.

  “Reloaded, sir.” Gasped White, at last.

  “Chalky, can you see any damage to Doggie?”

  White stretched against the harness to look carefully through his Perspex dome, checked the fuselage and wings, the engine fairings, the control surfaces as best he could. “Everything seems alright as far as I can see, sir.”

  “Thank you, Chalky. I’m ready for the next one, how about you?”

  “Show me the way, sir! That was great! The best thing I’ve ever done! Let’s do it again, please?” Was there a hint of hysteria in the boy’s voice? Life could never be the same again for White.

  Rose looked out at the darkness. During The Battle last year he and his friends would pray for the night, so that they might enjoy a few hours of rest after each tense day of fighting. And now, now the night was still his friend. It had hidden and protected him from enemy eyes and allowed him to triumph once more.

  He gently patted the soft bump in his breast pocket formed by the little pink teddy bear, and touched Molly’s photograph with a tender fingertip, wistfully imagining the sweet softness of her lips.

  Thank you, dear God, for all the mercies you give me.

  He smiled. Still lucky!

  D-Dog stayed in the air on patrol for some time, but they were not called upon again.

  An hour after their success, they landed safely at Dimple Heath, and taxied weary but cheerful to dispersals.

  As they scrambled out, Rose quickly turned and held out his hand, “Here’s to more, eh?”

  White eagerly gripped it. “Hope so, sir!” his face was gaunt, and pale, deadly pale except for the dark rings around his feverishly excited eyes, the red marks from the rubber of his facemask gaudy against t
he white skin.

  White spat out a few drops of blood, and noticing Rose’s concern, shook his head ruefully, “Sorry, sir. It’s nothing, I was so bloody excited when we downed the Hun that I bit my tongue whilst I was shouting.”

  Kelly was waiting with a big smile, matched only by those on the faces of the ground crew.

  Even the crew chief was finding it difficult in maintaining his usual mournful expression. The leathery face kept crinkling around the eyes and the corners of his mouth continued to twitch and quirk upwards.

  “Well done, Flash, old chum, one destroyed, confirmed, on your first combat! You’ve started off swimmingly! Here’s to more, eh?” Kelly’s face was animated, and he was rocking backwards and forwards, almost bouncing on the soles his feet.

  “The Old Man’s rather pleased, and the Intelligence bod’s waiting to take an after-action report, after which I’ll get you back to the crew hut. Billy damaged one and got a probable too, but they picked up a spot of German lead, nothing serious, but they did have a draughty ride home. They’re thawing out in dispersals. You’re the only two crews who were involved in actual combats.”

  “Thank you, sir,” He looked at the stained and tired but jubilant face of his operator, and indicated him to Kelly with a gentle tilt of his head, “I think I picked a really good ‘un! Most of the credit ought to go to Chalky here, without him the Heinkel would be on its way back to Hunland by now. I’d have had no chance of finding the blighter up there by myself. No chance at all.”

  Rose placed one hand on White’s shoulder and squeezed gently.

  Beneath the sweat, oil-stains and dust, his eyes red and hair plastered down with sweat, White bit his lip and blushed with embarrassment and pleasure.

  Kelly nodded quickly. “Oh, yes, of course, well done, Chalky, old man, damn good show! One on your first trip! You lucky hound!”

  White’s beaming smile was so wide that it made the muscles of Rose’s own face ache just by looking at it.

  He tried to smile back but his teeth and gums felt as if they were stuck tight to his lips.

  It was quite interesting to see the mixture of emotions chasing across White’s face, fierce elation vying with the deflating flatness of anti-climax, and above all, the surprise and gladness of having lived to remember it.

  I’ll have to have a word with him about the nausea that comes later.

  Was that what it was like for me? Is that how I looked? That young Pilot Officer Rose from a lifetime ago seemed like a stranger he no longer knew.

  White was speaking, “Thank you, sir. I still can’t believe that we got him. Mr Rose’s a damned good shot, if you’ll pardon my saying so, sir! Your aim was dead-on, the Heinkel was done for!”

  Rose lowered his voice, “Just this once, Chalky, my old son. But I think we were a bit lucky too. That always helps. I think it might be a good idea to thank Mandy too, and you’ll both have to come up with a suitable name for our little striped friend.”

  He could feel the knot of his stomach tighten, and he swallowed.

  Rose nodded meaningfully at White’s pocket, where a little bump showed that White still had the little cuddly zebra with him. He felt his own pocket discreetly. “Looks like it works after all, eh?”

  White nodded enthusiastically, “I think it does, sir!”

  Rose tapped the side of his nose, “Better hang on to it, then!”

  “Oh, I will sir, I will.” He said fervently. A moment’s hesitation, then, shyly, “And sir? Thank you.”

  “Good grief, what for? I should be thanking you, my old son!”

  “I’ll not say it, but I think you know, sir.” The boy’s voice was trembling now, and his eyes were suspiciously bright.

  Rose put an arm around White’s shoulder, “Come on, then, you soft, silly bugger, let’s go and fill out the action report with the IO, and get a nice hot cuppa, try and warm up a bit before we go back up again.”

  “Wouldn’t say no, sir, I’m parched!” the boy’s tummy rumbled loudly.

  “Perhaps a quick bite to eat, too? I could do with a sandwich or a bun or something, I’m famished! One thing, though, Chalky, my old china?”

  “Sir?”

  “Would you say we’re friends?”

  “I would be very proud if you thought of me as your friend, sir.” Surprisingly, White’s eyes were wet now, and he pressed his lips tightly together.

  Rose nodded. “Well, my friends call me Flash, and after what we’ve just accomplished together, I think I’d like it very much if you did the same. At least when the Old Man’s not around. He might think it’s contrary to military discipline or some such twaddle.”

  White’s eyes were like saucers. “Oh, sir, I couldn’t!”

  “Why not, you silly sod? We’re a crew!”

  White sounded scandalised, as if Rose had asked him to sleep with a nun. “I’m sorry, sir, I couldn’t possibly! It wouldn’t be right! A week ago, I was clearing a blockage in the latrines, and tonight I helped you shoot down a Jerry bomber. I’ve never been so excited in all my life! Please don’t ask me to, sir.”

  Rose blinked in surprise, and he tried not to smile. “Good gracious, alright, Chalky, my dear chap, don’t get your knickers in a knot, old son. But, if it means that much to you, let’s just keep things as they are!”

  Before following White and Kelly to the car, Rose turned for a moment to the ground crew working on the smoke-stained Beau, despite the cold of the night, there were no gloves and their faces were pinched and sallow from the cold.

  What a grand bunch of lads!

  Already they had brought out the stencil and painted D-Dog’s newest victory at the end of the line of swastikas on her snub nose, just beneath Rose’s cockpit. She now proudly wore five of the victory symbols, and they looked good.

  “Thank you very much, chaps,” he called to them, “she was an absolute dream up there and everything worked perfectly. We got that one because of you. They hadn’t even dropped their eggs. You earned that kill with all that hard graft. Good job! Well done!”

  His stomach churned, and he swallowed hurriedly.

  Whoops, time to go…

  As Rose turned and walked away, the crew chief nodded approvingly at his men.

  That Rose seemed a decent cove.

  It looked like they’d been lucky and their Beau would once again be flown by a crew that got results.

  He’d had his doubts over having that bloody jinx, that poor little bugger, ol’ ‘Shite’ White, flying as an operator in his beloved D-Dog, but tonight seemed to show that things might not be as bad as he’d feared. He’d done alright by them.

  If he weren’t a jinx after all (and now the Chief had to admit to himself it really looked like the young operator might not actually be cursed after all), it was possible that Rose and White, with a spot of luck, and a lot of hard work from his erks, could become a top night fighter crew.

  After all, a successful crew could only be effective with a good aeroplane, and a good aeroplane only came about from the hard graft of the boys on the ground. Can’t shoot anything down with a bent kite, eh?

  Yes, Rose and White might be worthy of dear Doggie.

  He began to whistle tunelessly as he cast a possessive eye over ‘his’ Beaufighter, gaze stopping at the newly-added additional swastika at the end of the line.

  His eyes caressed the new victory symbol lovingly, the smell of the paint still fresh.

  Hm, now that was something worth looking at, Doggie had done for five of the enemy now. She was an Ace.

  Good girl.

  The newly-extended row of small white swastikas looked good on her, just as those silky-soft cream camiknickers fit just right around the missus’ arse, and he felt the urge to gently stroke her metal skin, now cold in the night air. Lovely.

  Good girl. He stuck his hands into his pockets, and cast a jaundiced eye over his team.

  Struggling with the heavy and unwieldy ammunition belts, the machine gun loader grinned and furtively winked
at his mate as the Chief ruined a very popular dance hall song with a tortuous rendition.

  Cor, blimey! Sounds like the old bastard actually approved of the new crew! Would miracles never cease?

  “Bates, you lazy little bastard, stop dreaming and move your fucking lardy arse!”

  The loader stopped grinning and hurriedly picked up the pace, getting entangled in the ammunition belt and almost falling as he did so.

  Watching him struggle, the crew chief allowed himself a secret moment of grim satisfaction. Couldn’t let the cheeky beggars think he was getting soft.

  The others began to work faster in grim silence, not looking at each other, or at him.

  The chief’s face was stony. “Don’t rush it, fer fuck’s sake! Do it properly!” he shook his head gloomily, “‘Strewth, what did I do wrong to get lumbered with such a lazy, useless bunch of wankers?”

  He coughed up some phlegm, and spat it disdainfully onto the hardstanding. “They must have made a mistake when they gave you lot to me. To think I queued on that fucking jetty in Dunkirk for this.”

  Wish they’d left you back there, you old bastard, Bates thought savagely to himself.

  The pace had picked up, and the Chief nodded approvingly to himself.

  That’s more like it, thank you very much; he mused smugly with more than a little satisfaction as he watched his men strain.

  “Come on then, girls, chop, chop!”

  Merci beaucoup, madames et messieurs, normal service has been resumed.

  Chapter 10

  The following night, B-Flight’s dusk patrol pair of Beaufighters, A-Able and B-Baker, were sent off first to get into position early over the North Sea. With luck, there might be a chance of getting in amongst some of the first of the nights raiders.

  In the meantime, the remaining four crews of B-Flight remained on immediate readiness.

  As they had successfully scored the previous evening, Rose and White were placed sixth on the duty roster, with Barr and Dear fifth.

  Following their Heinkel kill last night, they had been sent up again for another patrol, but there had been no more action, and they had been able to enjoy their flying supper in the early morning as the sun crawled over the horizon.