Beaufighter Blitz

by Russell Sullman

  “Contact! Contact regained, sir. Steer ten degrees port, range five miles, bandit below us, lose height please, sir.”

  Rose pulled back the throttles and pushed forward on the control column, nothing but darkness and emptiness before him.

  “Level out…now. OK, sir, Steer five degrees starboard, range two miles, still closing.”

  OK, what was it Cunningham did; lower his wheels to lose speed? Maybe try it out?

  No. No, I’m not brave enough to do that yet, just bleed off a little speed, watch airspeed, and check safeties…off? Yes. Quick visual sweep of the instrument panel, all OK.

  “Range down to one mile; we’re still gaining, but slowly now, sir. Bandit slightly above, course unchanged.”

  Each second strained past, and he continued to peer vainly into the murk of the night.

  “Range now four hundred yards, still closing slowly, slightly above and to starboard.”

  Oh, for goodness sake! Where the fuck was it?

  “Chalky, I’m sorry, I can’t see a bloody thing, have a quick gawp. Can you see the bastard?” as soon as he had opened his mouth he caught sight of something moving.

  Damn it! Spoke to soon!

  “Oh, wait, I see it now, I’m going to slide in under the tail, can’t make out what it is. What do you make of it?”

  Every time he looked directly at it, the shape seemed to disappear, but then it would reappear when he looked to one side.

  “Um, let’s see, oh, my gosh, it’s a bit close to us! Twin engine job, elliptical tail fin, single vertical stabiliser, it looks like another Heinkel 111 to me. About two hundred yards away, I’d say. Crikey! Never thought looking right up a Heinkel’s arse could be so exciting!””

  Good God, Chalky sounded so enthusiastic! The damned thing still looked like an irregular blob to Rose, but White’s opinion was good enough for him. “OK, Chalky,” aim carefully now, use the exhaust flames to help focus onto the target, “Firing…”

  The Beaufighter shuddered madly as its cannon and machine guns hosed out a metal spray of death, Rose holding the nose firmly pointed grimly at the enemy aeroplane, but allowing a slightly irregular side-to-side spraying action to maximise the area of destruction.

  One thousand and one, one thousand and two, arrowing, twisting grey smoke trails (imagined or seen?) converging hungrily towards the enemy, finger off the button.

  Can’t see anything, blink rapidly, try and locate that irregular smudge-like shape again.

  Ah, and there it was…the bomber had somehow drawn a little ahead, no indication of any damage apparent, though. No smoke, no flames, nothing.

  The Heinkel was turning away to port in a wide, flat curve, and then suddenly one wing dipped sharply and it was diving fast and hard to the cloud below. Rapidly the black shape fell away from them, diving for the sanctuary of concealment.

  Blast! Throttles forward, wheel around and follow it down, calculate deflection, a tentative burst, no return fire, might the gunner be injured or dead perhaps? Was it too much to hope for?

  A trio of sparkling hits, and an instant later something clattered against the leading edge of one wing, and he couldn’t even tell which one it was. But the Beau shrugged it off and continued on after its prey.

  And then the Heinkel had cut through the tattered sheet of cloud and was gone.

  “Chalky, have you got him?”

  “Lost contact, sir.” White sounded distraught, “I’ve lost him. I’ve got nothing!”

  He daren’t follow the Heinkel down through the cloud. Without knowing where he was there was too great a risk of collision. Cloud may extend low, in which case there was a good chance of them hitting the ground.

  Damn it!

  “OK, OK, I’m breaking off the combat. We’ll let it go, Chalky,” he soothed, “At least we got in some good licks before it disappeared. I’m sure we hurt it. Did you see any damage?”

  “I couldn’t tell, sir, but you’re right, you got in a lot of hits, ‘cause he lit up like a Christmas tree. Sparkled from one end to the other. I can’t believe he didn’t go down. You hit him hard. I’m sorry.”

  The young voice was bursting with the same bitter disappointment that now filled his heart. Gone was the excitement.

  “Don’t talk such a lot of old rot, Chalky, you did a great job of the interception, I was the one who made a balls-up of the shooting bit. At least we can claim a damaged. Their dive was a bit steep, and it may not come out of it.”

  Rose sighed, “It could have been worse. I’m going to call up control and see if they still have the bandit visible. If not, we’ll get back on the rank.”

  A little subdued, “Alright, sir.”

  Sod it. “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, contact lost. Can you help?”

  “Dagger 3, contact lost our end. Bad luck. Did you manage to engage?” the controller’s voice was thick with disappointment.

  “Bandit engaged. Contact lost through cloud. We did manage to hit it and are claiming a damaged, Lamplight. Am re-joining rank, please advise angels.”

  “Dagger 3, confirmed damaged, well done. Please re-join cab rank at angels twelve. Can you continue?”

  Rose thought of the glancing impact against the wing. “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, understood, angels twelve. We’re OK to continue.”

  As they pulled up into a power climb to twelve thousand, a subdued Chalky checked the parts of the aeroplane that he could see (which weren’t very many) and reported back that there was nothing untoward visible.

  She felt alright, and the loss of their escaped prey rankled. Rose was not ready to go home just yet.

  No need for them to refuel or rearm. They still had enough ammo and fuel. Might as well continue the patrol, and keep the old fingers crossed.

  Better luck next time...

  Chapter 12

  A very long fifty minutes later, flying a wide circular orbit at fifteen thousand feet, a despondent Rose was still furious with himself at the mediocre results of the last combat, and thoughtful about tactics.

  I should have been really close to that damned bomber, just as Granny taught me, so bloody close that there was no way I could miss. How did I forget that damned lesson? Granny kept bashing it into my head.

  Instead he’d allowed himself to fall back before firing, had been bumbling about from too far away, and as a result he’d let it get away.

  The damned thing had been trundling along in a straight line like a tram on Blackpool Seafront; flying in formation with it would have been a doddle.

  I should have emptied the drums into the damnable thing rather than gazing at it like a fat old cow for so long, he thought petulantly for the umpteenth time, and the fire of despair burned deep.

  It was one thing performing practice intercepts; the real thing was always different. The confirmed kill of the night before had made him over confident.

  Granny had drilled into him again and again the danger of complacency, and he had thought himself better than he really was.

  Enough, he thought sternly to himself, next chance we get, we’ll formate as close as possible, and then we’ll slow down as I fire a two second burst, start from in close with the distance opening safely as a result of recoil.

  Poor old Chalky had been very quiet in the back, probably blaming himself, and now that Rose had decided on a tactic and future course of action, he decided he would share it with him to try and cheer up his dejected operator.

  As he opened his mouth, the R/T crackled, “Lamplight to Dagger 3, fancy a spot of business?”

  Excitement coursed through him, a splash of cold water through his veins. “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, oh yes, please!”

  “Dagger 3, please vector one-zero-zero, angels ten.”

  “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, vector one-zero-zero, angels ten.”

  “Hear that, Chalky? Standby for a spot of action. There’s another bandit on the horizon, chum!”

  “Yes sir, standing by!” the possibility of action had even galvanised young White, and he no
w sounded a great deal more chipper than he had some minutes earlier.

  As the Beaufighter dropped like a hawk swooping downwards with outstretched claws, Rose scanned the instruments as carefully as he had a scant sixty seconds earlier, and still he found no change, everything was as it should be.

  The control column was vibrating like a live thing in his hands, he could feel the juddering of the airframe quivering through his fingers and into his bones, the thrill tingling through him, and could feel himself joining with the fighter once again.

  Anticipation, excitement and terror surged strongly through his body in equal measure. He grasped the little teddy bear momentarily through the fabric with one glove.

  Rose switched the gun-button back to ‘fire’, and for what seemed the hundredth time adjusted the brightness of the gunsight microscopically to get it just right. Not too bright, but bright enough.

  Levelling out at twelve thousand feet, he asked, “Lamplight from Dagger 3, please confirm vectors.”

  “Hallo, Dagger 3, yes, please change heading to one-five-five, angels nine, range around ten miles.”

  “Dagger 3, understood, range now ten, heading one-five-five, angels nine.” Then, “Chalky we’re about ten miles back, the bandit’s at angels nine and ahead of us.”

  “Checking, sir.”

  Push the snub-nose forward, throttles advanced, the snarling Hercules engines driving the Beaufighter through the cold night air.

  “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, please advise, any change in the bandit’s vector and angels?”

  “No change, wait, vector one-six-zero, angels nine, range seven miles, you should see it soon.”

  “Thank you Lamplight, one-six-zero.” OK, level out at ten thousand feet but maintain speed, even though the aeroplane was shaking madly as it raced after the enemy bomber at almost three hundred and thirty miles an hour.

  And then White was in, “Contact! Contact at three miles, steer twenty degrees to port and below,”

  Rose turned his fighter onto the new heading, bloody hell, the range had closed fast!

  There was nothing visible, but White maintained a constant patter, “Contact now directly ahead, still below, range two and a half miles, reduce speed at one-mile mark, please sir. I’ll warn you…”

  “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, contact, thank you very much, will be in touch.” Reduce the throttles a bit, but not too much, nose down a touch…

  “Range two miles, contact five hundred feet below, still directly ahead, range closing.”

  Uh-oh. He was far too high, way too high, and they needed to lose more height.

  Too late, because he could see it now, crawling slowly across the blanket of cloud like a swollen bug on a dirty bedsheet.

  “I can see it now, Chalky, but keep an eye on it in the AI, oops, I mean in the Thingie, but have a look if you like. See it? I’m going to give it a three second burst.” he would get them closer...

  “Can’t quite see it…ooh! Now I do! It’s another fat Heinkel!” White whooped in delight.

  Correct the aim for deflection, reduce the throttles just a touch more, lead the target’s expanding shape vibrating in the windscreen, aim carefully and, “Firing…” and a boiling storm of bullets and shells fanned out once more, spat out in a deadly fan before the speeding Beaufighter.

  Rose’s aim was good, approaching from above directly astern of the enemy bomber; he dropped into position just slightly to port and behind the Heinkel, still firing.

  And again there was no return fire to threaten them.

  The solid burst of ravening metal hail impacted just before the enemy cockpit, stitching a destructive path backwards through the fuselage at an angle to come out first through the starboard wing root and then cutting into the vertical fin and starboard stabiliser of the tailplane.

  At the same moment the rear upper gunner finally returned fire, his vision already failing and limbs weakening from the .303 bullet which slammed ruinously into his abdomen just seconds before, so that searing-hot red blobs of tracer leapt dangerously towards the Beaufighter, only to fall uselessly away even as the battered Heinkel checked, and slipped into a yaw to starboard as the damaged stabiliser and elevator failed.

  The big Bristol fighter shuddered in the churning disturbed air of the damaged enemy bomber’s slipstream, and Rose side-slipped to port as twisted, spinning remains of the Heinkel flicked past and to one side.

  Flame began to sheet back from the starboard wing, lighting up the Heinkel’s fuselage in silhouette from behind, and, lining up once again, Rose fired another burst into it, and there was the flowering burst of a small explosion inside the bomber in response.

  And all the while the insidious little voice in his head was whispering, don’t let this one get away…

  The gunner was dead, possibly the whole crew too, and there was no more return fire, as suddenly the starboard Jumo 211 engine exploded shockingly into ruin, tearing ailerons and most of the outer part of the starboard wing completely off, the bomber slowly rolling into a dive, flames enveloping the entire fuselage from just behind the glazed ‘fishbowl’ of the cockpit.

  They circled around to watch the plummeting and burning bomber as it continued to break up, finally disappearing from view into the expanse of cloud below, the light fading within it. A couple of seconds later and there was a monstrous flash that lit up the cloud from inside as the bombload in the fuselage of the flaming, falling Heinkel finally exploded.

  They were silent for a moment, and then Rose spoke breathlessly. “Well, that was more like it, thanks, Chalky. Did you notice any parachutes, chum?”

  “No, sir, none. Great shooting, sir.” White sounded breathless but mightily pleased.

  But not as pleased as me, matey. We didn’t let that one get away…

  “Thanks, pal. That’s one more that won’t be blowing up women and little children anymore. Best change the ammo drums, and have a quick shufti out, check the engines, see if you can make out any damage. I didn’t feel any hits, but you’d better check, just to make sure. You might see something I can’t.”

  He switched to the GCI controller, “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, scratch one big fat Heinkel, got any more?”

  “Good work, Dagger 3, big smiles this end, very well done, and we have something for you, vector zero-seven-five, what angels are you?”

  Rose quickly checked his instruments, “Um, angels eight, steering zero-seven-five.”

  “Dagger 3, contact looks like an empty,” an ‘empty’ was an enemy bomber which had already delivered its bombload and was outbound, “Adjust vector to zero-eight-zero, maintain angels, range ten miles.”

  Damn it. On its way home it would be lighter and faster, harder to catch. Rose pushed forward on the throttles, nosing the fighter slightly downwards, got to try and catch up…

  Uh-oh, better check that Chalky was belted up and secure before he began to throw the kite around…

  He reduced the rate of descent to one that was gentler, and waggled his wings gently. “Chalky mate, are we reloaded, chum?”

  “All four drums done, sir.” White wheezed; he must have done the reloading at super fast speed.

  “Good man, strap yourself in and hold onto your hat, we’re in for a chase, I reckon.”

  “Gotcha, sir.”

  For fifteen minutes, with continuing guidance from the controller, they chased after the outbound enemy bomber, but it gradually drew away from them, and when they were almost thirty miles out over the North Sea, and no nearer the enemy trace, the controller called them off.

  Frustration tempered with the success of earlier, Rose and White came off the cab-rank to refuel and rearm.

  With a score of one confirmed destroyed and one damaged, they were greeted as heroes and once more another swastika symbol was added victoriously by the beaming ‘erks’ to the side of their stained Beaufighter. It was D-Dog’s sixth individual victory, Rose’s tenth and White’s second.

  Enemy activity in their area that night dropped off fol
lowing their after-action combat report, and so a shooting-brake was called for them and they were taken back in it to dispersals.

  The Flight was put on thirty-minute readiness, and the crews which had successfully engaged in combats were toasted with large mugs of sweet tea carefully prepared by the orderly.

  The same night Barr and Dear also managed to successfully down a Heinkel 111 and damage another, Williams and Heather managed a probable, whilst Barlow and Cole had claimed two damaged.

  The Luftwaffe had been out in force, alright. And the bastards had been bloodied badly by the defences.

  However, the other crews of B-Flight were unable to manage a combat themselves, despite being vectored onto a series of contacts by GCI control.

  Clark and Jones fruitlessly followed a phantom contact over Norfolk, before being illuminated by the searchlights at King’s Lynn and being fired upon by the eager air defences.

  The crew of E-Emma had sensibly beaten a hasty retreat, creeping home, smoke-stained by AA shell bursts from ‘friendly-fire’.

  To Barlow’s utter despair, the container of pea soup remained untouched at dispersals, and Cole joyously half-emptied it into himself with great gusto and obvious pleasure.

  No further raids appeared that night in their area, and they were taken off readiness at three in the morning. Barlow heaved a sigh of relief in his salvation from Cole; as did Rose, his only desire now to hold Molly close in his arms, to breathe in her fragrance, and find the peace and comfort that only she could bring to him.

  Rose and White’s first two-day duty stint had passed, and in that time, they’d scored two confirmed victories and a damaged that may not have made it home.

  In that cruel and unforgiving unlit arena, they’d found success, and he was content that his fears of failure and cowardice were found to be unrealised. He and White had shown they were an effective crew.

  White began his first two days off-duty knowing that he and Rose had effectively prevented two bomb loads, possibly three, from being dropped, and that they had saved many lives in the course of taking others.