Beaufighter Blitz

by Russell Sullman

  Anja enticed him from Kammhuber’s side at the party after the ceremony had finished, and he did not even notice when the chief left the party later that evening, so entranced had he been in her company.

  Whilst sweet faced and outwardly innocent in presence, the girl had not been shy in her approach, and he was quite flattered by her interest in him and in the way she monopolised his attention, whilst excluding all of the other girls in their company.

  Strong and handsome in medals and uniform, Bruno was used to the approval and interest in women’s eyes, but this one was different, and it helped that she was very attractive indeed.

  He was captivated, and wanted to see her again desperately. Perhaps he might visit the base hospital on their return, and ask her to dinner?

  As if reading his thoughts, Rudi now spoke from the seat to his right, “That girl seemed nice, sir, will you be seeing her again?”

  In a voice that was harsher than he had intended, Bruno snapped, “Don’t worry about girls right now, Rudi, you just concentrate on the task ahead of us.”

  Rudi stiffened, seeming to concentrate on the dials before him, and Bruno mentally cursed himself for the unnecessarily severe tone in his voice.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Poor Rudi had intended no impudence, had just been making small talk. He deserved far better than that.

  Bruno felt Mouse shift reproachfully in the seat behind him, and he sighed, eyes searching the darkness before the smoothly climbing fighter.

  Better get that damned olive branch out. “We’ll talk about girls when we get back, eh? Perhaps over some celebratory schnapps?”

  There was a broad smile in Rudi’s voice, “Yes sir! Hopefully celebrating more than one!”

  Bruno turned his head slightly. “See anything, yet, Mouse?”

  “Nothing interesting, sir, the sky’s empty.” Mouse told him grumpily. “I’m bored.”

  “Hopefully not for long, my friend.”

  “Let’s hope, sir. The guns are getting bored and cold. And so am I.”

  All was well. Crisis averted, thank goodness.

  Almost an hour later, lurking in the darkness, Rudi looked out into the night sky hoping to see the mouth of the Elbe in the distance, and instead caught sight of a moon glinting on something below them.

  And then it was gone.

  “I thought I saw something below us, sir, below and a couple of miles away in front.”

  Bruno craned his head, but could see nothing, “Surface or aerial object?”

  “I’m not sure, sir, too far to tell.”

  “Heading?”

  “Thirty degrees, last I saw, and quite low down, sir.” Minelaying aircraft usually flew low at fifty or sixty feet.

  In a moderate turn, the Junkers 88 turned its fearsomely armed nose like a shark catching the first scent of prey, seeking it out in the darkened depths of the cold night.

  “Anything? Rudi, Mouse?”

  They both answered in the negative.

  “I’m going to level out at a thousand feet, boys, we’ll head out for twenty kilometres, and then we’ll double back. It might have been a mine-laying bomber or a low-level raider. Either way I want his scalp.”

  The fast moving Junkers fighter ate up the distance in a matter of minutes, and in no time at all they had flown twenty kilometres along the heading Rudi had suggested, but the search had been futile, and he cursed his luck.

  “My friends? Anything?”

  They both answered him in the negative, and he exhaled bitterly in disappointment.

  “OK, boys, I’m taking it back along the way we came. Looks like we lost that one.”

  But even as he wheeled the heavy fighter into another wide and sweeping turn, there was a shout from behind, “Herr Leutnant, Sir, aircraft below and behind us, at your six o’clock, now moving into your five o’clock.”

  Bruno’s heart leapt gladly. “Height, Mouse?” he asked quickly.

  “Really low, Sir, it really could be one of those RAF mine layers.”

  He couldn’t see it yet, “Rudi?”

  “I see it sir, Mouse is right, it’s really low, it looks like a surface vessel…but, no, it is an aircraft, no doubt about it, I see the wings now, oh my, I think it’s a Wellington bomber, sir! They’re mining the approaches to the Elbe, the damned wretches!” Rudi turned to Bruno, “It’s about fifty feet up, head zero-six-five degrees.”

  Bruno snorted. “Hah, we’ll teach the cheeky swine.” He pushed down the nose and turned onto Rudi’s heading, and sure enough, his eyes made out the cruciform shadow in the darkness ahead. A little part of his mind reminded him that the bomber carried a crew of six, all of whom would soon be dead.

  Pulling up into the enemy’s spreading slipstream, he caressed the gun button, aim for the rear turret and hose your fire along the fuselage, make it quick and clean.

  Right then, you bastard swine-hounds…

  Shockingly, the rear of the enemy bomber suddenly flared brilliantly, startling them and searing away their night vision, needles of light cutting out at them.

  Instinctively Bruno violently pulled up and to starboard – what the FUCK? Beside him Rudi started in shock, gulped convulsively and grabbed for a stanchion.

  And then fiery orange-red comets of tracer were pulsing past and then downwards as the bullets from the Wellington’s rear turret raced after them.

  They continued to climb and turn away and the enemy guns stopped firing, allowing the comfort of darkness to hide the Wellington bomber.

  They fled into the safety of that darkness, pursued even out of range by British bullets.

  “He saw us,” There was grudging respect in Mouse’s voice, one rear gunner appreciating another’s craft. “He must have the eyes of a fox, that one.”

  Bruno said nothing, muscles straining and gasping, lights still sparkling in his eyes, damn it, how did Mouse manage to keep talking? It was hard enough to just keep breathing under these stresses.

  The enemy fire evaded, Bruno tested the controls as he levelled out at a thousand feet further up, hidden from the enemy by the cloak of darkness.

  Had the enemy gunner found them, and more importantly, had he damaged anything?

  But no, she responded like the thoroughbred she was, and unconsciously he patted the side of his seat. They’d been lucky, very lucky indeed.

  A second or two more, a few meters closer, and the unknown enemy gunner’s expertise would have claimed their scalps. How easily positions could change in this black arena.

  At last Rudi let out a shuddering breath, “Mein Gott!” he looked pale and sick, terrified eyes wide and staring.

  My God. That’s how I feel, do I look like that too?

  “My God, indeed, Rudi. They almost got us! My fault, I’m getting too confident, too damned relaxed like some great fat sheep. I’m sorry. I should have crept up on him; instead I just went on in like some blundering dolt!”

  He shook his head in disgust. “Did you see where he went? I want his head.”

  “I lost him sir; I was too busy trying not to shit my pants, I’m sorry, I lost all sense of direction.” Rudi confessed, shamefacedly.

  Mouse said nothing for a few seconds, and then, “I can’t see him, sir, he should be off to port, but I can’t see anything at all down there.” He barked out a gruff laugh, “Fuck, Rudi, you’re such a little girl.”

  “Shut your stinking hole, you big, brainless lout,” Rudi replied, his voice quivering.

  Bruno blinked rapidly trying to clear his vision, heart thudding and his guts still as cold as ice as he relived again the shocking flash of the enemy guns and the speeding web of light that seemed to reach out for the Junkers, to ensnare them within its mesh of death.

  To ensnare him.

  “Damn it!” He grated, “Keep looking!”

  The cockpit was filled with a brittle tension as they searched for the Wellington bomber, but it had gone, making good its escape into the all-encompassing darkness.

 
The Junkers speed advantage was of no help now as it headed away from its prey. With every second that passed, the Jumos hauled them further and further from the British bomber.

  Some miles away, cloaked by the comforting night, the gunner unscrewed his thermos and poured himself a beaker of stewed tea. The steam curled comfortably around his turret.

  Lovely.

  “Any sign of that Jerry, Des?”

  “No sign of them, skip, I think ol’ Jerry’s given up. Shame, it would have been nice to shoot one down. I almost had him then, you know…”

  The steam was fogging his turret and he hastily wiped the Perspex with the cleaning pad he’d been given.

  “Yeah, OK chum. Maybe if he’d been ten yards away and as broad as a barn door, you might have hit him. I’ll have a wee chat with the MO when we get home. Get you nice spiffy pair of specs?”

  As the outraged gunner responded caustically to his sniggering pilot, the Junkers turned again in its search pattern, slowly widening the distance between them even further, and at the same time reducing the distance between the Wellington crew and their night flying supper.

  Once so warm, but now no longer. Getting colder, colder…and colder still…and…gone.

  Tonight the mine-laying Wellington had been successful in the deadly game of hide-and-seek.

  After another half hour of unrewarded searching, fuel beginning to run low, they turned back for home, with Bruno seething and frustrated by the skill and vigilance of an unknown rear gunner RAF sergeant.

  That was a crew that would live to fight another day, Bruno fumed.

  Worse, there had been no other enemy mine-layer bombers they could hunt down before having to return home.

  They had missed the one chance there was.

  Another wasted night! Going home without even firing my bloody guns! How did we lose him so easily?

  Bruno felt almost sick with anger, and livid that they’d not made the kill, but at least they had survived, and that was no small thing, for they had come precariously close to the end of everything themselves.

  They were still alive, and life was precious.

  And he still had the chance to see if Anja’s knickers were regulation issue or not…

  Mmm.

  The thought of her gentle smile, those dark, beguiling eyes, and of what lay hidden beneath her uniform soothed him, and the sourness of the loss of their prey was lessened as his thoughts turned warmly to her.

  And at least, their survival tonight meant there would be a next time.

  Enjoy your egg supper tonight, my British friend, because the next time we meet, things will be very different…

  Chapter 15

  “Cor! Will you look at the Bristol’s’ on that!” ‘Trolley’ Trent held up the copy of Men Only and displayed the picture of the centrefold nude to the room.

  His pilot, Pilot Officer ‘Pepper’ Herbert, looked up from his writing and peered at the picture.

  “Hm. Yes. Very nice, Trolley. Very nice indeed.” He agreed, and returned to his scrawling.

  Billy Barr stared uncertainly at the magazine in the semi darkness for a long moment, then, “What is it, Trolley, a picture of a rabbit?”

  “No Sir! It’s a very tasty picture of a blonde. Nice piece of skirt. Or lack thereof, I ought to say.”

  “Well it’s no bloody good showing it to us, is it, old stick?” replied Barr, indicating the night-vision goggles he and the other crews were wearing.

  Being last on the duty roster, Herbert and Trent weren’t wearing the blessed things.

  Trent put the magazine back on the table and ogled the centrefold wistfully. “Well pardon me for leching. It’s not my fault I’m a man.”

  Heather shifted his backside comfortably and the chair complained, “Good Lord! You’re a man? Incredible revelations! I hadn’t realised, mate. My congratulations. Do you know the names of each of the bits?”

  Trent didn’t look up, “Oh yes, my old fruit, of course I do. One may have the mind and body of a weak and feeble thing; but one has the rampant genitalia of a real man.”

  “Mm, how interesting. Where’d you find ‘em, old cock?”

  Trent shrugged. “Oh, there was some old bloke sleeping by the main gate so I pinched ‘em from him.”

  They all laughed, and Dear stood up and checked the stove.

  Rose continued to fear that the blessed thing would explode like a bomb because of the way in which Barr would insist on lighting it.

  The B-Flight commander had discovered an insane way of lighting the stove from some questionable chum of his on 604 Squadron, involving the use of a disturbing mix of paraffin, coke and the phosphorous from a signal cartridge.

  As Dear warmed his backside contentedly, Rose breathed a sigh of relief, it didn’t look like the damned stove was going to blow anytime soon, although the flame was shot through with a rather peculiar greenish tinge.

  White looked at Rose. “Talking of pictures, sir, Mandy gave me a picture of herself. Though not quite like the one in the magazine old Trolley was waving at us.”

  He patted his breast pocket. “I keep it where you keep yours, sir. I’ll show it to you when we get a chance.” He looked around surreptitiously, “I ain’t gonna show it around these animals.”

  Rose raised an eyebrow questioningly, “Getting a bit serious, then, Chalky?”

  “She’s lovely, sir. Really sweet, and kind. She’s the nicest girl I ever met, and she’s a real looker, prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, um, excepting the Flight Officer, of course,” White added hurriedly.

  “Of course,” Rose agreed, grinning amiably.

  “We went for a bike ride yesterday afternoon, but the ground was a little bit icy and I slipped and took a bit of a tumble near the Post Office at Dimple village.”

  Rose sat up a little in concern. “Are you alright? Didn’t hurt yourself, did you, old man? Any injuries?”

  “I’m quite alright, sir, thank you. Honest.” he grimaced ruefully, “I was just playing silly beggars, showing off, really, trying to impress her. Don’t worry, I’m OK, twisted my ankle a little, but the MO has had a look, and he said it’ll be right as rain in a couple of days.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be OK to fly, chum? I could ask the CO to give you a day or two off?”

  “Oh yes, sir, no problem. The best part was that Mandy helped me to the MO, gave me a chance to get my arm round her waist.” He sighed dreamily, “She smells quite nice too.”

  “Oh dear, my blood-crazed fiend of an RO is besotted!”

  “I like her a lot, sir. More than a lot, if truth be told. And, I’m not sure, but I think the feeling is reciprocated.”

  “Ah-ha.” Rose nodded sagely, then asked helpfully, “Do I need to give you a lecture on the birds and the bees?”

  White was mortified, and his lips pinched together furtively, an uncomfortable, hunted look appearing in his eyes, “Oh no, sir,” And then, ever respectful, “But, thank you for asking.”

  Barr stretched and yawned bedside them, “Good God, man, there’re so many lovelies to choose from, how can you settle on one already? Got to sample the field, so to speak, give ‘em all a taste, doncha’ know?”

  White’s lips pinched further, almost disappearing in chagrin, and he made no reply. It wouldn’t do to cheek the flight commander.

  Barr shook his head sadly, “You don’t know what you’re missing, old chap. Although, I must say that your young lady seems quite a catch. I’d hardly call her ugly. I suppose it’s quite possible to see how she might have turned your head.”

  He pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his pocket and looked at it pensively. “It would, of course, be most unkind to deny myself to all of womankind.”

  Rose leaned closer so no-one else could hear and lowered his voice, “Chalky, my old son, if you ever need a spot of advice from a married man?”

  “Oh no, sir,” White said quickly, “that’s not necessary, Mandy’s a nice girl, she’s not like that.”

  Fair
enough, mate, thought Rose blithely, but just you wait ‘til you’re both caught up in the passion of the moment.

  Simple, chaste kisses swiftly progress before you know it, oh-so easily, into something more. A lot more.

  Nice girls like a bit of the other as well, and I should know. I’m married to an incredibly lovely, super-terrific girl. And she’s no shrinking violet in the bedroom, quite the opposite, thank goodness!

  Trent put down the magazine with a sigh and looked around. “Anybody fancy a cup of coffee?”

  There was a flurry of raised hands.

  Trent sat back comfortably, “Wonderful! Make me one when you make yours, would you?”

  Barr put down his hand. “Don’t be a cheeky little basket, Sergeant,” he huffed, “move your insolent arse, and don’t forget, plenty of sugar in mine.”

  Trent jumped up, “Yes sir, pardon the insolence, who else wanted one?” he asked again.

  The telephone suddenly jangled and they all froze. Rose felt a shiver of fear course through his body, but kept his features blank. White was immobile beside him.

  “B-Flight dispersals? Yes? Oh, alright, thank you.”

  The orderly replaced the receiver carefully in its cradle. “E-Emma returning to rearm and refuel. Sector requests two aircraft onto standing patrol immediately.”

  Bollocks.

  Reluctantly, Rose stood up, vacating the warm and comfortable embrace of his sagging couch.

  “Cancel our coffee, Trolley, looks like we’ll be busy for a while, come on Chalky, pass me my flying helmet, please, yes that’s the one, thanks.”

  Barr got to his feet with a groan, “Make mine anyway, Trolley, my old son, leave it on top of the stove, that’ll keep it warm, ta very much. Come on Trevor, my old lad, duty calls, don’t dawdle.”

  The two Beaufighters orbited the beacon for over an hour, D-Dog maintaining a height of sixteen thousand feet, a solid layer of thick cloud below, talking desultorily, and Rose told White of the first time Molly and he met, of the fighting he’d taken part in the previous summer.