He nodded sagely. “Hm. I take your point. He was going to tell me how he first met the AVM, but he never did.”
“Well, I heard it was at Tangmere in ’37, but I don’t know the details. Next time we see him, we’ll have to ask.”
“Who? Granny or AVM Park?”
“Either of them, neither of them, both of them, who cares? I don’t. Not in the slightest. They’re wonderful men of course, but all that matters to me is being with you.” She took his hand and wiped his oily fingers with her napkin. “You could be as grubby as a tramp, but I’d still love you.”
Molly looked closely at his face, there were fine lines there now that hadn’t been there in January, and his eyes were weary and red-rimmed. “How are you feeling, my darling? You look all-in, you must get some rest.”
“Yes, I’m fine, my gorgeous. I’ll go and get a bit of kip later; I want to be with you right now, these nights on duty mean I hardly get to see you for almost two days. I really feel it when I’m not with you. It’s a lot safer than flying over France every day on those Circus operations. That’s crazy, and it’s a waste of good crews. At least the Luftwaffe fighters can’t escort the bombers at night time. Last year it was so difficult getting through the screens of fighters to get to the bombers,” he shuddered, “but now it’s just a matter of finding the blighters, their single-engine fighters are no good in the darkness.”
Hope that’s still true…
Best not mention that old Doggie had been on the receiving end of a German machine gun, nor how difficult it was to actually find a target or to be able to stay in range. This night fighting lark had its own hazardous set of peculiarities and difficulties.
“I’m glad the two days are over. I hear that you did well, got another one? That’s eleven confirmed now, isn’t it? And, um, three for young Chalky?”
Rose smiled slightly, she knew exactly what his score was, but she’d let him confirm it and then accept her admiring glances. What a terrific girl she was.
“Yes, sweetheart, we managed to down a Dornier last night. Had a real fight with another bandit earlier, but he was a wily fox and we lost him, and you know about the Wimpy we almost shot down the night before?”
“Goodness, yes. It’s a good thing it was identified as a friendly in the end.”
“Yes, I couldn’t bear it if we’d shot it down. Thank goodness we didn’t catch it, although its par for the course to be vectored onto friendlies, they’re not always that easy to identify on our equipment. We often tend to chase a couple of our own every night, that’s why it’s really important to identify what we’re chasing before we try and shoot it down. That’s why I always ask Chalky to have a look and see if he sees the same thing as I do.”
Molly lowered her voice conspiratorially, “I hear it’s actually quite easy to do. Apparently, a pilot from 604 shot down a Beaufighter from his own squadron, but don’t tell anyone, for goodness’ sake. All a bit hush-hush.”
His eyes widened in shock and surprise, “Cripes! What rotten luck, poor chap. And the poor blighters in the Beau. God, what a mess. What a nightmare. Did you hear if the crew get out OK?” A chill swept over him at the thought of shooting down one of their own.
“Don’t know. I’ll try and find out. Just be careful, Harry. For me. Maybe you don’t need to worry about being bounced by 109s anymore, but you need to watch out for our own. I don’t think some of them are actually that careful about identification, there’re always a few press-on types, aren’t there?”
“Don’t worry, love, the controller gives us permission to attack, so it must have been some breakdown in the system. Unfortunately, this sort of thing happens in wartime.”
He thought pensively for a moment, “Actually, it happens in peacetime, too. Just a bit of ghastly rotten luck. I’ve got Genevieve with me, so you’ve nothing to worry about, alright, my sweetest morsel?”
Then he remembered something that Kelly had mentioned earlier in passing, “The Adj told me that the Sadlers Wells Ballet will be visiting us next month!”
Molly adored ballet. Rose found it monstrously boring, but endured it for her. Anything for her.
“Oh, how wonderful! I’d love to see them perform!”
“Don’t worry; my sweetest of girls, we’ll get the chance to do so together. I’ll make sure we get the best seats in the house.”
She touched his face then, dark eyes filled with adoration and tenderness. “I think you’re simply wondeful, my darling, et Je t’aime.”
Oh Lord, time to dredge up his French again…
Erm, um…
”Je t'aime plus, mon cher fille. I wish that I could just lie down and sleep in the sanctuary of your arms. The warmth of your body is like the heat of the sun.”
She smiled beautifully, alluringly, entrancing him. Their ankles were already interlocked beneath the table, and now she took both his hands in hers.
I must’ve said the right thing. Wish I could take her into my arms and give her a kiss, or something much more. Ooh, rather a bit more. But if I did, I’d probably be up on a charge as well.
Oh well. Even just holding hands with Molly was really rather nice too.
Her chin tilted slightly, “Harry, you’re having lecherous thoughts again,” she admonished him reprovingly.
“No, no, my sweet girl, I was just admiring your glorious beauty and the clear purity of your soul.” He mumbled defensively.
How can I look at you and not have lecherous thoughts? You’re bloody gorgeous! I want to undress you and have you splayed open and welcoming beneath me…
One perfect eyebrow arched. “Don’t fib, I know you too well, you horrid, beastly man, I know exactly what you’re thinking, and I’m surprised you have the energy after all that flying and combat last night.”
Molly sighed regretfully, “But I’m afraid that you’ll have to wait until this evening to have your wicked way with me, because I’ve got to sort out Elsie today and that other poor girl who was caught with her by the SPs.”
“Je veux vous lécher et vous embrasser partout, je veux te goûter, à lécher les ouvertures douces, but I’ll wait, because you’re more than worth it.”
She laughed softly in delight at the rather saucy promise, and then shyly glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear them.
As usual, they were considerately given a little space to themselves by the others. “You nasty, naughty boy, I’ll hold you to that.”
He was exhausted, and he could feel his eyelids drooping and his mind dulling, but still he managed to reward her with a bright smile, “You’d better, lovely girl, because I can’t wait!”
But first, I need a damned good sleep, I’m completely bushed.
Chapter 18
With the rearmost part of the Junkers 88’s gondola opened, Bruno scrambled swiftly up the ladder that led inside the cockpit, grabbing the handholds carefully, making sure that none of the switches or adjustable controls was snagged by his clothing.
Before settling onto his seat, he quickly checked his controls, making sure everything was in place and as it should be. Then he checked the automatic fuses in the box. He did not switch them on as he would pre-flight, but ensured all was in place, then checked the valves for the oxygen bottles, ensuring they were in the ‘off’ position.
All seemed in order, and as the fuse box to the left of his seat was close enough to easily toggle his other switches, and allowed himself to relax with satisfaction.
Bruno checked his seat (mind the bomb release lever!); the position was just right, feet onto the rudder pedals. He closed his eyes and thought about the previous night, ignoring the ground crew performing maintenance of the starboard motor.
The opera Elektra in Amsterdam the previous evening had captivated Anja, but his own performance later at her friend’s apartment he felt certain had impressed her more, and he’d even impressed himself.
Leutnant Bruno Von Ritter. Master of aerial combat, champion of the bed chamber.
&nbs
p; Opera meant nothing to him, the impressive repertoire and skills shown by the lead in this most complex of operas, but it was Anja’s great love, and she had adored the show.
The sight of her slim, lean nakedness on the soft sheets was indelibly imprinted onto his mind, and he relived with pleasure the way her skin felt beneath his palms, warm and smooth. Her easy smile and her little gasps and cries of pleasure as he mercilessly ploughed himself into her, her desperate need matching his as she rhythmically thrust herself up onto him in turn, the shared climax flinging them into a tempestuous world of pleasure that was finally stilled in the deep and dreamless sleep of total exhaustion.
They’d awoken and loved one another twice more that night, more tenderly than the first time, gently, and he realised that he was lost completely, totally besotted by the softly spoken, long-limbed lovely girl with the cheeky yet enigmatic smile and the thick mane of hair.
And he had found that she didn’t wear uniform-issue knickers after all, but instead a sheer confection of delicate lacy black French silk.
It was but a few hours since that hot, prolonged farewell kiss at the entrance gate to Gilze-Rijen, and he pursed his lips with enjoyment as he remembered the softness of her lips, the taste of her mouth..
Bruno had had more than his fair share of women, but Anja was somehow completely different.
Not just was he in love with her, he was quite simply totally obsessed by her.
He sighed and opened his eyes. Staring back at him with interest through the windscreen was a member of the ground crew, wiping the clean Perspex industriously with a piece of cotton.
As soon as he realised that Bruno’s eyes were open, and staring back into his, the Gefreiter averted his fascinated gaze but continued wiping.
It was time to go. He got up and carefully made his way back out of the aircraft. Walking slowly up the flight line, he stopped to look at Oberleutnant Stein’s machine. The groundcrew had removed the propeller and were refitting the oil-cooling annular radiators of the starboard engine.
Stein had ventured over a Tommy airfield last night, bagged a Wellington in the landing circuit with its navigation lights on, and then shot up what he could see of the hangars. On the journey home, he’d also managed to claim a second British bomber, a Blenheim.
Despite basking in the memories of the night before, Bruno felt a spark of irritation and resentment. Stein had a score of eight now, and he was close enough to vie for the Gruppe’s plaudits as top scorer.
Doubtless he, too, had a chronic case of the ‘throatache’, the all-encompassing desire to be awarded a Ritterkreuz, but Bruno would be damned if he allowed that hide-bound Swabian bastard Stein to beat him in the race to the Knight’s Cross.
He stared morosely at one of the newly arrived Dornier Do 215B-5 fighter conversions that they were supposed to be trialling. With four machine guns and two cannon, the sleek converted bomber looked every inch a deadly nocturnal hunter.
I have to get another, he thought petulantly, at least one more tonight. I’m going to attack a Tommy aerodrome tonight, but unlike Stein, I shan’t forget to drop my bombs on the swine.
Despite his successful night, Stein had been mortified to discover on his return that he’d forgotten to drop his bombs in the adrenaline charged excitement of his daring raid, instead bringing them safely home to his immense chagrin.
Bruno looked around; saw his crew chief watching him quizzically, “Petersen! Petersen, you old hound! Load her up with some eggs. I’m visiting our English relatives and I want to leave them a present to remember us by.”
The lined and greying Oberfeldwebel snapped to attention with a smile. He was covered in oil and dust, so that even his lapel tabs, originally a bright golden-yellow, were now a dull and tarnished orange. “Leutnant Von Ritter, sir?”
“My dear fellow, I want some 250kg bombs loaded on her tonight, we’re going to visit Frau Tommy at home, and I want to leave her a nice present.”
The senior NCO nodded respectfully, “Yes, sir. Would four be acceptable? Two and two underwing grouping?”
“Thank you, Petersen, sounds perfect. Will she be ready on time?”
“She’ll be ready, sir. I’ll go and do it now. If the Herr Leutnant will excuse me?” the crew chief saluted and strode off to make the arrangements.
Bruno turned to look back at his aircraft.
Damn Stein! Tonight we are going to give Tommy a beating that he’ll not forget.
And when we return, if she’s free, I’m going to give my lovely Anja an evening that she won’t forget.
One hour after sunset, the Junkers 88 passed low over the rocky cliff face of the coast of Yorkshire, nose pointing directly at the target Bruno had chosen after consultation with the Gruppe Intelligence Officer, Hauptman Baum.
RAF station Driffield was a Bomber Command base located south-west of Great Driffield, on the northern side of the road running between Great Driffield and Market Weighton.
The Aerodrome consisted of closely grouped RAF station buildings and wide runways. As with standard RAF practice, the munitions storage area was sensibly placed some distance from the main buildings, at the North West corner of the airfield.
A raid by the Luftwaffe the previous summer damaged the base badly, crowed intelligence, killing countless RAF personnel and destroying many Whitley bombers.
A huge success.
Badly damaged, the airfield became non-operational following the attack, but Baum had recently received information that RAF Bomber Command had now assigned a squadron of Wellingtons to Driffield, and that they were working up for operational readiness.
It was Bruno’s intention to take advantage of the inexperience of the fresh bomber aircrews.
A short while later, the large German fighter was circling the RAF airfield at a distance of five miles.
“Boys, keep a good lookout, we should get a customer shortly. The night-flying program here should be quite busy as they work up.”
Rudi snorted, “It’s as black as a witch’s tit out there, sir. It’s not going to be easy to catch them this low down.”
“No Rudi, they’re not operational yet, I expect to catch one of their crews blundering around up here getting accustomed to night-flying from Driffield…”
Even as he was speaking, the Junkers was suddenly buffeted as it passed through the slipstream of another aircraft.
“That was something! Can you see it? It’s got to be close by…”
Almost immediately, slightly to port and below, a set of navigation lights winked on about a kilometre ahead. They had crossed paths so close with the other aircraft; it was incredible that they had missed one another!
“There! I see him!” increasing the throttles, Bruno rapidly closed the distance between the two aircraft, to reveal a Wellington bomber, wheels down as it gradually descended, losing height every second, but he held his fire, the enemy aircraft now framed by and seeming huge and looming in the windscreen.
“In range,” breathed Rudi imploringly, staring at the machine guns in the rear turret of the looming Wellington, but the gunner was looking down, caught in some inner reverie.
“No,” replied Bruno, caressing the firing button lovingly, “Not yet, I’m waiting until the runway lights up for this wandering sheep. I want to see the Tommy base.”
He reduced height and speed to keep station with it as it bumbled slowly downwards, and then ahead of them two parallel lines of lights winked on as the bomber began its landing approach, guiding their British enemy onwards to safety.
The Junkers 88C was now less than a couple of kilometres from the airfield perimeter.
“Now?” asked Rudi again. Oh God, what are you waiting for?
“Yes, Rudi, now,” Bruno checked once more that the large twin-engine bomber was centred in his cross-hairs, pushed down hard on the firing button, and poured a vicious fusillade of cannon shells and bullets along the length of the bomber’s fuselage, simultaneously ripping through delicate instruments, flyin
g controls and fragile human beings.
Small explosions erupted violently within the bomber, one detonation ripping out a section of fuselage to flick down, and it sparkled and shook with hits and puffs of smoke and burning flecks of metal.
With its crew dead or dying, now no longer under control, the Wellington reared up like a startled stallion, and as its speed bled off and it lost lift, it yawed to port and spun downwards into the ground. From a height of five hundred feet it only took a few seconds for it to smash into the ground in a boiling eruption of fire and light and sound that they could see and hear and feel.
Mouse looked with satisfaction for a moment at the conflagration as it passed behind them, then resumed his careful searching of the sky behind, even though the flames had damaged his night vision.
“Good shooting, Herr Leutnant. Can you give me something to shoot at for a change now, please?”
They were passing over the perimeter fence now, the flaming ruins of the bomber left behind now.
“Thank you, Mouse. If you see targets, give them a good long burst. There’ll be buildings to my starboard, give them a squirt.”
Already he was turning slightly to starboard, lining up on them, “I’m going to bomb the hangars, give them and the buildings a good long burst.”
And still no flak. The lights of the runway were still on, giving Bruno an excellent reference point in his rapid approach to the hangars and airfield buildings.
Even now, the people on the ground were confused and the defences remained silent.
There. He had chosen the paired hangars as his target, difficult to miss. As they loomed closer, he rested his fingers on the lever.
Still no flak!
At long last the runway lights flicked off, but it was too late, for he knew exactly where he was in the darkness, and where his intended target was.
Here goes… push the bomb jettison lever, and then the Junkers seemed to lift as it was relieved of 1000kgs of weight, and he struggled with a racing heart to keep her down as the bombs were falling.
“Bombs gone!” the Junkers bounding up, pull to full throttle, run from the blast, head down and run, run fast…
Beaufighter Blitz Page 19