Something felt wrong, really wrong.
Relying on his instincts had saved Rose’s life on more than one occasion. There was no way he would ignore them, he was sure there was some kind of danger here, and he needed to get Molly away as fast as possible.
“Leave it, Molly, let’s go, come on, sweetheart, come on, quickly.” An inexplicable fear prickled along his spine.
Grabbing her sleeve and pulling her after him, he started to half run, half walk back down the way they had come, his erection had disappeared completely, and he ignored the faint objection of discomfort from his ankle.
At least the going was good downhill. Any minute, Rose expected a huge monster with slavering jaws and mad glowing eyes to come bounding out at them from within the mists, like a scene from The Hound of the Baskervilles.
Luckily nothing monstrous appeared behind them as they fled.
His heart was pounding like a gong against his ribs by the time they got back to the cab, to be greeted by an astonished Sporran. “My goodness, folks, that was quick. Did ye see any fairies?”
Rose leaned against the car to catch his breath for a moment. Molly was panting and her face was flushed, but she was smiling. ”Wow! That was exciting!”
His heart was beginning to settle, and he stared back up at the slopes.
“No fairies, Mr Sporran, but I think we’ve seen enough, thank you.” He took a deep breath, “Could we go back to the hotel, please?”
Sporran nodded slowly, “Aye, well, hop in, then. Let’s be off.” Shouldn’t have told these folk the fairy tales, he thought to himself reproachfully.
As they clambered breathlessly back into his cab Sporran shook his head. The most beautiful place in the world and they didn’t even stop to enjoy it.
They’d run back down all the way, and him, with a dodgy leg!
These English were such a peculiar folk…
Uphill, beside the rock upon which they had so recently been seated, there was a shifting of gravel and brush, and two figures emerged slowly as if from nowhere from the rocky ground.
One called up, “Bamford, you fucking twat, they saw you! If they’d been Jerry, you’d have a perforated pair of bollocks! Get that useless arse of yours down here right now!”
The other figure, huge and broad, brushed earth from his battledress, and swung his Lee-Enfield onto his shoulder.
“Shame, that, thought he was going to roger her right there on the rock. Would have been a nice show to break the monotony. She was a bit of a looker, wasn’t she, sir?”
“Chubby, you rascal, I’d have announced our presence well before he’d got her knickers off. Wouldn’t have been right to have ‘em go at it hammer and tongs in the middle of the platoon. Even if he was RAF.”
The officer raised his voice to a bellow, “OK, then, gentlemen, it’s time for a bite to eat.”
All around them, as if by magic, camouflaged figures appeared from their hidden positions in this mock-ambush site. The officer always found it useful to see how well his men could hide, and unsuspecting walkers never realised how many rifles were pointed at them as they used the path.
A shamefaced Bamford made his way downhill to the little group of Commandos.
The officer’s voice was stern, “Well! Why did you break cover, you simpering idiot?”
Bamford’s broad face was defiant. “Sorry, sir, I was dying for a piss. I didn’t know they were there. Once I saw ‘em I stood still.”
“In plain sight? Fuck me. A genius. How’re we going to win this shitty war?” The officer scowled, “Didn’t know they were there? Couldn’t you hear ‘em? Could have heard them a mile off.” He shook his head, “‘Strewth! We’d have been dead if it were the real thing. You’re lucky it wasn’t.”
His NCO took a swig from the tea, now somewhat cooled, pulled a sandwich from the abandoned knapsack, and took a huge bite. “Mm, Ploughman’s, delicious.”
Still chewing with enjoyment, he emptied the warm liquid from the tumbler into his mouth, and then threw it at Bamford.
His aim was true, and it hit the Private on the back with a dull metallic Cluuunk!
“Owww! Why’d you do that, Sarge?” frowned Bamford.
“To knock some sense into you, you silly cunt!” roared the NCO, “Next time, you thick wanker, I’m going to stick that ruddy rifle right up your fucking jacksie! We’ll see how still you can stand with that rammed up your useless fat arse!”
Bamford looked hurt, “Ain’t no call for that kind of talk, Sergeant. Can’t help it that I was busting. Couldn’t lay there and piss meself, now could I?” he replied reasonably.
Ignoring the reproving Private soldier, the grizzled mountain of an NCO turned his back and threw the remains of the sandwich into his mouth and chewed it furiously before it could make any attempt to escape.
Grinning and shaking his head, their officer checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes, brew up, eat up, take a piss, then back into your positions again, lads.”
As his men groaned dutifully, the officer turned back to his NCO, “Hey! Save me a sandwich, won’t you? Don’t you scoff the lot!”
Down below, Rose looked back fearfully at the mighty rocky parapets through the cab’s rear window and breathed a sigh of relief.
That was close. I’m not going back there ever again. Molly’s going to need a team of bloody Shire horses to drag me back up onto those bloody haunted rocks again.
He shivered suddenly, remembering the primitive terror he felt grip him whilst up on those mist-shrouded rocks. Molly, warm and soft, snuggled closer and giggled, “My hero!”
Harry Rose, champion of the air, destroyer of the enemy, and decorated by His Majesty the King himself at The Palace, for once vanquished and thrown into undignified retreat by the unearthly mists of Skye.
Give me the Luftwaffe any day, he thought grumpily, embarrassed and unable to meet her eyes, feeling feeble and useless, not at all the kind of man such an amazing girl truly deserved.
You know where you are when Fritz is trying drill your arse with lead. It’s quite another, being chased by the ghosts of otherworldly beasts amidst the silent mist-blanketed slopes.
Yes. I’d much rather face a Staffel of Bf109s on my lonesome than go back up into those haunted hills, he thought fervently.
Those bloody rock monsters and goblins and glastigs and other assorted beasties can stay right where they are, thank you very much.
Chapter 23
The indolent snuffling of the exhausts on either side of the cockpit was lulling him into a dangerous state of drowsiness, and Rose shook his head again, trying to clear the cobwebs of stupor and dispel the daydream he’d been in with Molly. The GCI controller remained silent, reflecting the emptiness of his screens.
He stifled a yawn. “Shall we see if we can find one for ourselves, Chalky?”
Now entering their fourth week on operations, the Luftwaffe’s campaign seemed to have run out of steam, and the enemy currently seemed to be taking a holiday from operations. Certainly the raiders continued to come over, but the numbers had fallen off sharply.
With the availability of custom currently patchy, it had been agreed by The Brass that, provided enough aircraft were available for interceptions, free hunting would be allowed for those not being gainfully employed. As a result, experienced crews would be given some autonomy to go hunting.
“Yes sir, do let’s!” White blared, “I’ve eaten all my sandwiches and finished off the tea, and I’m bored stiff! You’re the absolute best, ace pilot an’ all, but you’re not as pretty as Mandy! Way too hairy for a start!””
Rose laughed, “You cheeky so-and-so! You’re no oil painting yourself! OK, then, matey, I’ll ask the Controller for permission!” Then back onto the R/T, “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, if there’s nothing for us, would you mind awfully if we tried to find one for ourselves?”
“Dagger 3, wait a moment, I’ll check…” and a moment later, “Permission granted, but be back in time for tea!”
R
ose laughed, “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, understood. Thank you.”
“Lamplight to Dagger 3, I’ll call you if I have anything or if there’s a friendly fighter sniffing around you. Take care, good luck and good hunting!”
“Dagger 3 to Lamplight, Thanks!” Already he was turning for the coast, “Chalky, we’re going to head for the coast, see if we can catch one on their way in or going out. Perhaps we should go down a touch? Might even catch one of their blinkin’ mine-layers.”
“Good idea, sir. The bastards may be coming in or going out at low level. Be nice to catch one.”
“Mm-hm. We’ll get down to four thousand feet. You keep an eye on The Thing, chum, and I’ll see if I can catch anything with moonlight glinting off its upper surfaces. You never know, might strike lucky.”
“Sounds good to me, sir, fingers crossed.”
Relatively few Heinkels were needed for the mine-laying operations around the British coastline, but their efforts wrought havoc with the systems of defence.
The mine-layers generally flew well below 1,000 feet, so the only way that Rose and White might find them would be fly almost directly over them at more than 5,000 feet to cancel out the effect of the returns from ground clutter.
Once a contact was obtained, the night fighter would have to lose height in steps whilst trying not to lose touch.
And all the while they would be visible to the enemy gunners below.
Rose decided to fly the Beaufighter twenty miles out to sea, and then return via The Wash, turning back to their starting point as soon as the first of Peterborough’s searchlights flicked on, still well out of range.
Notoriously trigger happy, the AA Command gunners of Peterborough shot at whatever came close, no matter what markings it carried, so pilots with even just an ounce of common sense maintained a safe distance.
Twice they performed the circuit, and after a hurried discussion, White and Rose decided that they would try it just once more before heading back for refuelling.
Half way back across The Wash, White suddenly stiffened in his seat and stared carefully at the twin scopes, pushing his face harder against the visor, concentrating hard. Something undulated and bulged on the ‘Christmas tree’ on his screens.
What was that…?
“Sir, I’ve picking something up, just appeared to port, a bit faint, but it’s definitely there. A thousand feet above, crossing slowly from port to starboard. Range about four miles. I think it might be on a course at an angle to us. It’s not parallel. Yes, it’s indistinct, but there’s definitely something there. Steer one-four-five and climb to angels five, sir, please.”
Rose felt a thrill of excitement and fear course through him urgently, and the cold and frustration was suddenly forgotten. “Tremendous! Thank you, Chalky, steering one-four-five, climbing.”
Already he was pushing forward the throttles and staring into the darkness, but at the moment, despite the striking presence of the moon above and the clearness of the night, he could see nothing.
Wait a minute, though…were those navigation lights?
“Still ahead of us, sir, steer one-six-zero, range closing, still above.” There was a pause, then, “Hullo! This looks a bit strange…”
“What is it, Chalky?”
“There’s another blip. It’s actually a bit clearer. I think there might be another aircraft behind the one we’re chasing. Do you want a heading, sir?”
Two separate aircraft? What was going on here? “Yes, for the second one, not the leader, please. Height?”
“OK, sir. Steer one-four-zero, angels five, range one mile.”
God, they were drawing close! “OK, angels five, one-four-zero. Look, I’m going to make sure we don’t get caught in an interception. Follow the second trace, Chalky. I’d rather be behind those four cannon in a Beau than in front!”
Back on to the R/T, “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, do you have anything in our location?”
“Dagger 3, flash your weapon, please.” And then a moment later, “Negative, we have no intercepts currently in your location. Repeat, no friendly aircraft in your vicinity, you have permission to slap.”
“Dagger 3 to Lamplight, understood, will engage.”
And then back to White, “Chalky, permission received to engage. I’m going to identify and hopefully attack the rear contact first. The one in front might be bait.” Their Beaufighter bounded in the other’s slipstream.
“Yes, sir, steer one-five-five, stay at this height please, range now down to half a mile.”
This one had no navigation lights showing after all, but once again, judiciously using his peripheral vision, Rose soon could make out the vague ghostly reflection of moonlight on upper surfaces, and then he could also make out the exhaust flames of the other aircraft.
“Range, Chalky?”
“Five hundred yards, sir, What do you make of it, sir?”
Rose’s forehead creased, “Looks like an 88 to me,” he said uncertainly, “fancy a gander, chum? Tell me what it looks like to you.”
“Ooh, yes! Slim fuselage, twin engine, single vertical stabiliser, glasshouse cockpit, it’s a Junkers 88 alright!”
And then light flared in front of the Junkers, and luminous whiskers of tracer shot forwards from its nose.
“What on earth?”
White spoke urgently, “He’s shooting at the other contact! Quick sir, shoot him! The one in front must be one of ours!” His voice rose to a shout, “Shoot him!”
Rose did not need to be told twice. The enemy night fighter was already dead centre in his sights and with blood throbbing madly at his temples, he reflexively squeezed the button, completely forgetting to declare his action to White.
With a thunderous banging that made him jump even though he was prepared for it, the firepower from the cannon and machine guns lanced out and tore at the German fuselage, the familiar heavy stink of cordite and smoke sharp and bitter in his nostrils and mouth as a constellation of flashes and small explosions sparkled and glittered and died along the side of the darkened shape.
Finger firmly down, he emptied his four drums and machine guns into the other aircraft, watching his fire rip deep swathes of ruination into the enemy.
The haphazard pattern of twinkling flashes continued to light up against the length of the Junkers, one engine beginning to smoke badly, and a thin smear of dirty flame licking back as the German aircraft lost airspeed and shook beneath the impacts of bullets and shells.
There was a sudden burst of an explosion within the enemy’s interior, larger this time, closely followed by a second, then a third and a fourth, and the Junkers slowed down further, slowing almost to stalling speed, wobbling uncertainly with the nose slowly pulling up and tail falling.
As the Junkers teetered on the edge of a stall, the port motor flared explosively white, searing and clawing painfully at their vision.
The distance between them shrank quickly and he saw they were quickly overtaking the enemy aircraft and in danger of colliding with it as it continued to slow, and even now they were almost upon it.
Rose hauled back sharply on the stick, pulling D-Dog up into a steep climb, soaring straight over the slowing, stricken Junkers, now teetering in a stall, seemingly close enough to touch.
They came so close that for a moment he could hear the wickedly sharp crackling pop of the rear gunner’s machine gun ‘pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!’
Luckily (for Rose and White) the enemy rear gunner, already wounded in the head and arm by their telling burst, was firing at the Beaufighter wildly as it materialized from within the darkness like some evil presence and soared terrifyingly close over them, but his burst was hopelessly off, coming nowhere near the big RAF fighter, but blistering off to one side.
Shooting up almost vertically, Hercules engines howling and airframe vibrating crazily as their airspeed bled away, Rose, fighting the greying of his vision, struggled urgently with the Beaufighter’s stick and gasped out, “Chalky, are you OK? Chalky! Speak to me!”
Rose sighed with relief, heart jangling. “Yes, my old son. That was a bit close. He lost speed really fast, then. We almost crashed into him; I really thought we were a goner for a moment.” He fought in a breath.
“Oh my God!” He wheezed, sucking in more oxygen deeply, the weight gradually easing from his chest. “Can you see him?” one hand stole down to the bulge that was the little pink bear safely tucked into its pocket.
“I watched the whole attack!” White burbled breathlessly, “It was great! I think he was a night fighter, too! The other kite in front must be one of ours!”
White, still panting but grinning with excitement, rubbed his head where he had caught it on the edge of his Perspex dome when Rose pulled the Beaufighter into the climb. It had one hell of an edge - Ouch!
They were turning gently now, the engines throttled back, mumbling and cracking fretfully, the big fighter wallowing uncomfortably while Rose tried fruitlessly to locate the enemy fighter in the gloom below.
Calm down, calm down! Deep breaths, slow down…
“Chalky, tell me what you can see; where is he? I don’t want him crawling up our arse with his cannon!” And then he remembered, “Oh crumbs! Can you change the ammo drums, Chalky? I emptied them in the attack.”
And then he changed his mind, “No, hang on a mo’, we better find out where everyone is before reloading. Better make sure we’re safe before flying straight and level. Can you check in The Thing for me? See anything?”
“I can’t see him, sir, either outside or on my, er, Thingy.”
“Damn! OK, what about the other contact? The one our bandit was firing at?”
“I’ve got bugger all on the scopes, sir. I’m sorry. I reckon he was one of ours, though.”
“Don’t worry, chum, stay in your seat, let’s get help from Lamplight. Have a quick squint outside and check if you can see any damage to Doggie.” Back onto the R/T, “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, some help, please.”
Beaufighter Blitz Page 23