Beaufighter Blitz

by Russell Sullman

  Rose had to look away, hiding his smile; Morrow seemed to have lost his absent-mindedness but none of his rather cutting means of delivering comments. But then, David had never been one to suffer fools gladly, particularly if he felt that his own expertise was being questioned.

  White held up a hand hesitantly, “What happens if the revolving, um, array thingy outside breaks down, sir? Do you have an engineer here?”

  Morrow chuckled quietly, but his eyes were serious. “Yes, we do have an extensive team of highly trained maintenance personnel, ready for every eventuality, but our array hasn’t broken down so far. It isn’t turned by a motor, you see, rather, we have a large team of volunteers who take it in turns to pedal the tandem bicycle that rotates it every night. We call them ‘Binders’, The Lord only knows why.”

  Billy laughed, “The poor sods probably find the job a bit of a bind, I should imagine!”

  Morrow looked startled at the interruption. “Oh! I hadn’t thought of that...it does make sense, I suppose.”

  He sniffed, “Hm. Well, anyway, the bicycle is in the aerial trailer, and the ensemble is termed a Type 8. The Crossley trucks hold some of the other important elements of the system.”

  He indicated a push button on the surface before him, “With this button, I can get the cyclists to pedal the other way. That way we can direct the system as required, when required.”

  “Are you here every night, sir?” asked Barlow respectfully.

  Morrow looked at him as if he were mad, “Every night? Good God, no! I’m the Senior Controller, but I’ve got a pair of other controllers, understudies if you will, with whom I share the duties. If I did this every night, I’d have gone stark, staring, bonkers weeks ago!” he blinked and shook his head. “No.”

  Outside the tarpaulin creaked as a sudden gust pulled at it. Rose noticed how cold it was in the trailer, how their breath became pale clouds that rapidly dispersed, and how the pitted walls behind the noticeboard, posters and the official notices was stained with mildew and damp.

  Life at the GCI station was clearly no easier than that for the night fighters themselves. At least in the air the Beaufighter crews had a better than sporting chance of seeing the blips as real aeroplanes and of pumping lead into them.

  The newspapers wrote about the crews, and they were the ones who were decorated, whilst the poor men and women actually behind the scenes, the ones who made it all happen, received little or no recognition.

  It was so bloody unfair.

  Terribly unfair, just as it was for the ground crews and all the other essential associated personnel who kept them fed, watered and flying.

  It was exactly as Granny had drummed into him, each member of the team was an integral part of a complex machine. Without one of those parts, the machine could not function.

  The credit of a successful interception belonged to them all.

  Eyes glazing, Rose forced himself to concentrate on Morrow, as he continued to explain in some detail how the system worked. The two dusk patrol Beaufighters from A-Flight had presented themselves for duty, and now Morrow was conducting a practice interception with them, just as the crews of B-Flight practised against each other whenever the opportunity presented itself.

  It was fascinating to see what was involved as Morrow smoothly brought the two fighters together on the screen.

  And then, it was time to go. Any minute now the first of the enemy raiders would appear on the screen, and Morrow and his team would need to be able to concentrate on the task of interception without a lot of useless bodies gawping gormlessly at them.

  Morrow smiled warmly at each of them, and then he clasped Rose’s hand sincerely, promising to meet up for a drink and a chat whenever time permitted, and assuring Rose he would definitely take up the offer for a ride in D-Dog.

  Wistfully he asked, “Perhaps I could cadge a lift on one of your patrols? We never did get a chance of bagging one of the blighters together, did we?”

  “I’ll run it by the Wingco, sir,” Rose replied earnestly, “I’m sure he’ll OK it. We owe you so much. It’s the least we can do. Why did they put you in a caravan, though? Wouldn’t a brick building be better? Even a Nissen hut?”

  Morrow shook his head. “It’s to allow the unit to keep a mobile facility, in case we need to move position. Unlikely, really, because security is really tight, we’ve got a good cover story, but you never know, old man. There’re so many fifth columnists, you can’t be too careful. That’s why we have the trucks. Besides, we may have to relocate to cover one of the other GCI stations.“

  “And anyway,” he added haughtily, “It’s not a caravan, it’s a Brockhouse 4 wheeled utility trailer.”

  As they left, Rose turned one last time and raised a hand in silent farewell.

  Morrow solemnly inclined his head slightly and mouthed, “Say hello to Molly from me, Flash. Good luck and God bless you both. Take care.” The cold light from the rotating trace lit his face fiendishly.

  A light rain was falling, and they slowly and carefully picked their way back to their vehicles through the mud. More than once their feet slipped and slid, but they managed to reach the cars and begin the long drive home without a dunking in the icy sludge.

  As they quietly drove away, deep in thought, ignoring Barr’s grousing about ruined shoes and desperate for a drink, they left behind them the architects of their success, leaving those patient warriors to another night of hard work in a cold, dank and mouldy old caravan (sorry, Brockhouse 4 wheeled utility trailer), draped over in a dirty old tarpaulin for camouflage, and planted unceremoniously in the middle of a muddy, furrowed field.

  Without glory or praise, indeed with very little recognition at all, they would continue to work diligently for freedom and for victory in their own uneven little corner of Britain.

  Chapter 25

  It was darkest night when the tired, muddy and rumpled crews of B-Flight returned home, the sliver scrape of moon weakly lighting their way to blacked-out Dimple Heath. More than once they got lost, but finally, thankfully, they arrived at the village of Dimple again.

  Glad to be back after the journey, Barr suggested a quick pint in Dimple’s public house, The Black Bull, but Chalky and the other sergeants decided to return to the airfield, and Rose wanted to get back to Molly.

  Doubtless Mandy would be waiting for White, and his impatience was clear. Rose smiled at him and winked, “Behave yourself and keep your hands to yourself, you cheeky blighter!”

  White blushed bright.

  “You’re no fun at all, Flash. I ain’t playing with you no more,” griped Barr sorrowfully, “Come on chaps, let’s have a quick jug at The Bull, and then we’ll see what’s on the menu in the Mess tonight. Hope they have some of that Lamb Hotpot. I quite fancy a bite. Perhaps I’ll be able to get Mabel to clean my poor shoes, too?”

  Barlow grunted morosely, for both his shoes were still in Morrow’s muddy field, sucked off his now very grimy stockinged feet.

  “Crumbs!” Dear shook his head in disgust, “That Hotpot’s oily muck! And the meat! You’ll eat anything, you will, Billy! I worry about you, I do, honestly!”

  Rose watched fondly as, still bickering, his friends wandered away, then turned and walked the remaining distance to their little home, enjoying the scent of the clean night air and the asphalt beneath his muddied shoes. What a pleasure it is to return home to the one you love, he thought, heart full with gladness.

  As soon as she saw him, Molly jumped from their threadbare settee, and he gasped as she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, soft and warm and immensely arousing. “Harry! There you are at last!”

  Savouring the lithe, firm body of the girl in his arms, he closed his eyes and buried his face in her loose mane of midnight hair, inhaling the scent of fresh flowers, cotton and her warm sweet womanhood.

  “Ah,” he sighed, “that’s wonderful. You smell magnificent, my sweetheart!” He held her close for a long moment, then he opened his eyes and noticed the
needlework on the settee, and her spectacles balanced on the low table.

  She released him and frowned, “You smell a bit muddy and ever so slightly of cow dung, young man; so, tell me, how was it?”

  “Amazing. It’s quite something to see how an interception’s handled from the ground. And Molly, guess what? You won’t believe it! I met David!”

  Her brow furrowed,“David? Not David Morrow, surely? Good God! How was he? And how’s Millie?”

  “He was the same, but the absent-mindedness has gone! He was so sharp and focussed! He’s the GCI Senior Controller for our sector, you know. I never realised that I was often talking to him over the last few weeks! And I forgot to ask him about Millie!”

  “I thought he would have been in some pokey little office at the Air Ministry performing an obscure but vital task, to be honest. He was quite brilliant.”

  “No, love. He was sitting in a rather tatty caravan in the middle of some forsaken muddy field, but his is the most vital of tasks, Molly! You know that without him we wouldn’t have an earthly of catching the Huns at night. The technology was unbelievable!”

  “Come and sit down, Harry. You must be tired. Shall we have a cup of tea, or would you like something to eat? Do you want to go to the pub?”

  “Lord, no! Billy and some of the others are having a pint. I’d much rather be here with you. Chalky was pretty keen to get back to the airfield, though. I think he’s got an assignation with the lovely Mandy.”

  “Talking of lovelies, I’ve heard that you were being chatted up by a pilot?”

  Rose’s brow crinkled, “Who? Billy?” Oh Lord!

  Molly sighed in exasperation, “Not Billy, you silly sausage. That ATA girl.”

  He grinned in discomfort. “Oh, her. No, my little frilly flower, the poor dear had only just landed and she asked me if I could direct her to the Mess, that’s all.”

  She gave him a knowing look. “Hmm. Mandy said that Chalky thought she was quite keen on you.”

  I’ll bloody kill him! The little...

  He laughed light-heartedly, “Chalky’s such a sweet lad. He thinks I’m some kind of superman. He thinks quite highly of me. By virtue of being married to me, I expect you can completely understand that!”

  Molly narrowed her eyes and elbowed him in the ribs, ignoring his groan of protest. “Superman? Hah! Just you remember, you cheeky man, that I’ll rip out the eyes of any bloody floozie that so much as looks at you!”

  “My sweet little rice pudding, you can’t do that! The girls on the base have to look at me,” he wheedled, “You’d have to rip out the eyes of half of Dimple Heath’s WAAFs! That really wouldn’t do. You might be the senior WAAF, with a GC and legs that go all the way up to your armpits an’ all that, but that doesn’t give you the right to rip out their eyeballs. Whatever did they teach you at WAAF totty officer school?”

  The girl raised her eyes to the heavens despairingly, “Oh my God! Where on earth did I find a creature like you?” she elbowed him again, none too gently, and he beat a hasty retreat away from her along the settee.

  Suddenly, Rose felt a sharp, lancing pain in his buttock, and he leapt up with a yelp.

  Molly jumped too, face filled with concern, “Oh Harry, what’s wrong?”

  Clutching his backside, he looked down into her concerned eyes, “I think I just sat down on your bloody needlework, I’ve just been poked in the bum! The damned thing’s shredded the seat of my pants!”

  She tried keep a straight face, but a giggle escaped her and she collapsed.

  “Good thing you weren’t at Thermopylae, Harry. You would’ve given poor Leonidas grey hair!”

  Rose scowled, still rubbing his stinging backside, “I’ve just been foully wounded and you’re laughing! I think you just broke one of my ribs with all that vicious elbowing an’ all, you coarse, brutish girl, and now your damned needlework’s just ripped a ragged hole in my poor arse! I feel faint, quick, quickly, check it, am I bleeding?”

  He lifted his tunic and presented his backside to her, which Molly promptly slapped, hard, and he jumped.

  “Aargh! Ow! What kind of girl are you? I thought you cared! It’s quite clear to me now that you are a monster.”

  Still giggling helplessly, Molly wiped her eyes, “My hero! I’m sorry, Harry, you just looked so comical standing there clutching your poor bum like that!” she collapsed into a fresh fit of giggling.

  “Ow! It hurts! I think I’m bleeding like a drain! D’you think I should go to the sick quarters at Dimple Heath?”

  She took his hand and pulled him down to sit beside her again. “I’m sorry, darling. Shall I kiss it better?” her eyes sparkled mischievously, and her hand slipped onto his thigh.

  Rose perked up, his wounded bottom forgotten, “Oh, I say, that would be lovely, would you mind?”

  Later, lying beside her, he sighed contentedly.

  “Enjoyed yourself, did you?” She asked, and he raised himself up onto his elbows. In the dim light he stared at her nakedness in frank appreciation.

  “I suppose you could say so.” Rose reached out and gently stroked her smooth leg, and, as his hand reached the top of her thigh, his forefinger reaching out to gently slip sideways along the wetness between her labia.

  “Oh dear, I seem to have married a dirty old man. You, Harry Rose, are a very bad man!” she shivered as the gently questing finger slid inside her.

  “I know, my darling.” Rose brought the finger up to his mouth and sucked it with enjoyment. “That’s why you can’t resist me, my sweetest, because I’m such a bad man. You’re helpless against my limitless and amazing charms. You are like a lump of clay in my masterful hands.”

  Molly looked unconvinced. “If you say so, dear.”

  “I do say so, and may I also take the opportunity to say that you taste absolutely wonderful?”

  She smiled dazzlingly, “Why thank you, kind sir! And, yes, I do seem to remember you saying something of the sort earlier.”

  He sighed.“I must say, my alluring sugared honey, that I still wish my tongue were a lot bigger.”

  “I think it’s absolutely perfect, my darling, and I ought to know, believe me.”

  Rose smacked his lips enthusiastically, “I wouldn’t mind another tasting, would you care for another kiss and a cuddle, you exceptionally gorgeous creature?”

  One hand reached for his, “Mm, I think I could perhaps manage it.”

  Their lips met, tenderly at first, gently, rising passion turning it ever more hungry, and his hand reached up to cup one lovely breast, squeezing and gripping it, the nipple hard against his palm as Molly turned to face him.

  And then he stopped, his eyes unfocussed, listening.

  “Harry?”

  “I thought I heard something, my love, um…yes…there. Can you hear it, Moll?”

  There was nothing but the distant scream of a fox out hunting, and of course the distant, almost inaudible, murmur of aircraft engines at the airfield, but it was something one got used to when working on and living close to a day and night-flying aerodrome.

  “Those engines...,” whispered Rose, almost to himself.

  Molly listened carefully, trying to understand his disquiet. She tried to focus on the distant murmur in the night sky.

  And then she could hear it too. “Is it a German? Von Plop, maybe?”

  No fear in his girl’s voice, brave and strong, sweetest Molly. Quite unlike his own quavering tones.

  The hateful desynchronised drone of Jumo engines whispered discordantly in the faraway distance.

  Smoothly, Rose rolled out of bed and padded to the window, ignoring the sudden, sharp ache in his leg, carefully pulling back the curtains, goose bumps prickling as the tendrils of cold prickled his bare skin.

  “You better put something on, Harry, if the ARP Warden catches sight of you in the altogether he might have a seizure,” she giggled behind him, and he heard the click of the lamp switch as the girl turned it off.

  The bed creaked behind him.r />
  In an instant she was beside him, pulling on her robe, “He can’t aim for toffee, Harry. I bet he can’t even find the ‘drome half the time.”

  The fragrance and heat of her body comforted him, and she handed him his trousers.

  Rose nodded, but his face showed his anxiety. “I know, my gorgeous flower. I just worry that one of the squadron might be vulnerable when the bugger turns up. He is a bit useless, but a Beau on landing approach or taking off is a target that would be a Godsend for even old Plop.”

  He reached out to open the little taped window.

  All flippancy aside, a well-placed bomb load could have a disastrous effect on any airfield.

  At RAF Ternhill the previous year, a solitary daring Junkers 88 had destroyed 13 Avro Anson training aircraft, and damaged 20 more in a single raid. Almost three squadrons of aircraft destroyed or damaged by a single enemy raider.

  As if to justify his feeling of utter trepidation there was the distant sound of another set of engines, separate from the first, and Rose could have kicked himself; wishing he hadn’t given voice to his concerns, as if by saying what he feared, he had made it happen.

  “Oh my God.” Molly’s voice was taut with tension, and she looked at him, “Those are Bristol Pegasus engines, aren’t they?”

  A little part of him proudly admired the fact that she could identify the muted sound of the distant engines.

  What a girl!

  But a far greater part feared for the vulnerable crew of the approaching RAF aircraft.

  Rose nodded, “Yes, Moll, it’s a Wellington. Hopefully control will warn him off.” Condensation dripped from the fogged glass onto the sill.

  His expert eyes carefully searched the darkness, and then he groaned in despair.

  Apprehension rushed dread cold through her veins, and she shivered, “What? Oh Harry, what is it?”

  He pointed, “Look!”

  She followed his finger and saw what he could see. Flying in from the east was the shape an aircraft with its landing lights on and wheels down. It was the Wellington they had heard, on landing approach. The aeroplane was a sitting duck as it slowly approached the runway.