“Well, why on earth are you jabbering on like some lovelorn youth about a blonde girl, then?”
“I don’t know why I mentioned the blonde bit, honestly, but her name’s Helen, and she’s brilliant, despite her age. She’s learnt a lot and I’ve asked for her to be promoted immediately to Flight Officer. I want her to take over a new GCI site, she’s really awfully good, but every time I make a request, the twerps at the Air Ministry ignore it.”
“What do you expect, David? They’re still getting used to the idea of the fairer sex actually wearing the uniform; the thought of a woman in charge of a station would likely give the old duffers a seizure.”
Rose gazed longingly at the photograph in front of him. “Just look at my Molly, she’s intelligent, brave and capable. Far more than I’ll ever be, but the daft old brass’ll never ever allow her to command an RAF station. It’s not the safest job, but I’m not complaining. She’s not one to shy from danger or shirk responsibility. I think they should give her an airfield to command of her own, but of course they won’t.”
Rose sniffed, readjusted his face mask. “Nevertheless, you should keep trying, David. Things will change one day, but it’ll take time. Don’t expect miracles, but don’t give up.”
“It’s a waste, Flash, if we’re to win this bloody war, we need the right people in the right places.” sighed Morrow. “But I’ll keep trying.”
Rose laughed, “Please do, just don’t hold your breath, chum!”
A quarter of an hour later, Morrow’s young blonde, Helen, in her official guise of Lamplight, directed them onto an approaching contact.
Over the next few minutes she deftly brought the two blips on her PPI screen closer together, all whilst the two aircraft were still out over the sea.
“Dagger 3, I have you four miles behind the bogey, angels one below. He’s quite fast, Please flash your weapon.”
“David?”
“No joy, Flash, not a bean.” Morrow sounded annoyed and frustrated.
“OK, not to worry, we’ll soon remedy that, hold onto your hat!”
Rose pushed the throttles as far as they could go, the airframe quivering and bucking as he tried to follow the enemy raider, the engines shrieking thunderously.
The once glittering sheet of water below was now a flat black expanse, the horizon a faint, blurred line.
Every time the Beaufighter juddered so, Rose half-feared that she would fly apart, despite knowing how sturdily the aircraft was made.
His eyes flicked across the controls nervously. “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, more help, please.”
“Range is less than three miles now, still one angels below, maintain your current heading.”
“Thank you, Lamplight.”
Suddenly, “Flash, I think I’ve got him! Stay at this angels, but turn five degrees starboard. I have the range as three miles. We’ll approach him just below.” And then, “See? Told you she was good.”
“Hmm. Turning five degrees starboard, arming guns.” Fruitlessly for a moment, Rose scrutinised the darkness ahead, but then, almost immediately he could make out a just-discernible hazily glowing point of light, no, two sets of glowing points higher up.
His heart reeled with excitement and he took a deep lungful of oxygen, easing back the stick to reduce the difference in altitude.
“I think I can see him, David, but keep following him on the set, call out any changes.”
Each of the pair of sparks gradually further resolved as they drew closer into twinned glimmers of yellow-blue flame, and he reduced throttle automatically without realising it, until the Beaufighter was holding station five hundred feet behind the other aircraft, and just below.
Hopefully they should blend into the black expanse below.
“OK, David, have a look and tell me what you can see.” A Heinkel 111 bomber by the looks of it, but it would be interesting to see if Morrow could identify it.
The guns were armed and waiting as he watched tensely for a response from the enemy bomber.
Warily, he eased the fighter closer, ready to twist them away at the first sign of trouble; and still no response from the bomber.
His fingers twitched.
Quickly now, David! Quick!
“Oh my! A Heinkel One-Eleven, I’d say. My God, I can’t believe we’re so close to it!” Morrow’s voice shook with excitement, and he was whispering, as if the enemy would hear him.
Remembering his own reaction on seeing an enemy bomber at night for the first time, Rose smiled, but his eyes were hard, voice carefully controlled, “Let’s wake him up, then, shall we? Mind your eyes. Firing.”
A gentle pressure on the firing button and a tight burst of bullets and cannon shells spat out into the night and connected with the Heinkel, but without appreciable effect.
Rose cursed and fired again, but the Heinkel was already sliding to starboard, and a burst of return fire lanced out from the bomber towards them, surprisingly well aimed, and passing terrifyingly close beneath them.
Fuck!
“Bloody hell!” cried out Morrow in shock, even as Rose turned the controls.
His heart was hammering so hard that it felt as if it would bash its way out of his chest, and his vision blurred as he threw the Beaufighter into a sharp turn to port, hearing Morrow grunt behind him, and then back to starboard, before levelling off behind the diving Heinkel, which itself was now turning to starboard.
Again the enemy rear gunner fired a burst at them, but the range was too great and it rose towards them, but then fell uselessly away as Rose opened the range whilst trying to keep the enemy in sight.
“Flash! Flash, are you OK?”
“Fine, David.” Rose was gasping with the effort, chest hurting and throat raw, and he lined up for another shot at the enemy bomber, automatically calculating the deflection even as he curved in smoothly behind the jinking Heinkel 111.
Once more he pressed the firing button, and again the fighter bucked and swayed, and a swathe of death swept across and onto the fleeing bomber.
This time their efforts were rewarded with a sparkling shimmer of hits and a small explosion on the starboard wing of the Heinkel, followed by a streamer of white flame that flared and then disappeared within seconds.
“Oh, good shooting! Well done! Oh, I say! You hit him, Flash!”
“Yeah,” Rose rasped drily, “but he’s still running, and it doesn’t look like he’s hurt all that much.”
The twin engine bomber was diving desperately away from them now, the angle steepening further, and angrily Rose pushed D-Dog’s nose down and chased after it.
Another line of flaming traced reached out for them, but the range was still too far, and although it did them no harm, the sweat stood out on his forehead.
Again Rose slammed forward the throttles, throwing the fighter into an ever deepening dive after the enemy, the engines screaming as he fought to catch the bomber as it sought sanctuary below.
The bandit passed through seven thousand feet, the dive even steeper than before. It was pulling away from them, even though the Beaufighter was diving after it at full speed, shaking wildly now, and despairingly, Rose pushed the firing button down for a fourth time.
The cannon banged again deafeningly, and then ran silent. Once more the target sparkled, and a few more pieces flew off, but it continued to dive, the altitude falling away at an alarming rate.
“David, I’m out of ammo, have you still got him on the set?”
We’re too low! Damn it, these controls are stiff! Got to pull out…
Morrow was panting, and he was breathless over the intercom. “I’m sorry, Flash, the ground return’s just swallowed him up. I’ve nothing on the set.”
Pull back! “Nothing at all, chum?” he gasped.
Rose heaved back even harder on the stick, and the Beaufighters’ nose began to come up, if we can regain contact, I’ll hold him while David reloads.
But he knew there was little chance of seeing it again (unless of course Sir I
saac, the Black Knight, claimed the Heinkel in a final fiery blast on the ground).
“I don’t have him. I think you got him, though, he was going down quite steeply.”
Rose was not so sure. “Maybe, old chap. Keep a look out below, we might see him hit the ground.”
They circled the area for a while, but there was no death flash on the ground. Finally, Rose spoke. “Could you reload, please, David?”
Morrow was deflated, “Yes, of course, Flash. Sorry.”
What for? Forgetting to change the drums or for losing the bandit in the ground clutter? Nothing to be sorry for.
“Don’t worry, chum, he probably went straight in, I don’t think there was any chance of him pulling out. We almost went in ourselves. His angle was far too steep for his velocity.” He shuddered involuntarily. “There’s little chance he recovered. But we didn’t see him crash, we’ll likely only get awarded a probable.”
“Wish we could be sure.”
Rose’s heart was slowing to a more reasonable pace, and he wiped his face. He was slippery with sweat.
“At least we hit him a couple of times, David. His gunner came close, but no coconut. Best change the drums, I’ll give you a shout if I need you. If it’s a bit hard to change ‘em while your leads are connected, so leave your flying helmet on the seat. I know we’re fairly low, but just make sure you keep taking gulps of oxygen, and keep on checking in with me. If you can leave your flying helmet on though, leave it on. I’ll rock my wings if I need you back in place, OK?”
“Fair enough.”
“Meantime, I’ll call your little blonde and tell her what happened.”
“Don’t joke about it, you cheeky blighter. And if you call her ‘my little blonde’ in front of Millie I’m going to punch you right on the nose. Squadron Leaders are allowed to do that with snotty juniors. And don’t forget, wherever you hide, I’ll find you. They don’t call me the King of the Intercept for nothing, y’know.”
Rose chuckled and squeezed the little pink bear in his pocket. It had been a bit close that time, but in the end, not quite close enough to really make a difference.
And hopefully, with a bit of luck, the Heinkel hadn’t pulled out of that dive.
If he’d bought it tonight, Chalky would have never forgiven Flash or himself for not being there.
And Molly? Dear God. Rose shuddered at the awful nearness of death and of what might have been. He could almost feel the beat of Sir Isaac’s scaly wings.
He could still see the flaming red rounds streak past in his mind, and he closed his eyes for a moment. They hadn’t got the bomber for sure, but they had survived.
It was enough.
Thank God.
In any event, there were no more contacts for them that evening, although there was some enemy activity in neighbouring sectors.
After a couple of hours in the air, Morrow’s little blonde understudy finally gave them permission to return to Dimple Heath.
The Flight would be on Readiness of thirty minutes, and there would be the chance of a cup of tea, a bite to eat, and a little kip.
“It was good to fly with you again, Flash. I wish we’d been able to get that one for sure, though. You’ll have to give me a ride again. Let me have another go. You’ve given me a taste for it, now.”
Rose stifled a tired yawn and nodded, “I’d like that, David, very much. Anytime you’d like.”
Morrow chuckled, “Not too soon, though. I think young Chalky would have a fit if I took his seat again. He looked positively murderous just before we took off.”
The night duty finished without further incident, and at the end of it, Morrow got to enjoy his first operational fried egg.
“I’ve never tasted an egg as delicious as this one,” he smiled beatifically as he forked the last of it into his mouth.
White watched him darkly, before directing his attention back to carefully mopping up the last of his own yolk with a buttered crust.
Enjoy it, chum, Squadron-Leader or not, it’ll be a long time before I let you fly with Flash again!
Chapter 37
The following night, Chalky was back where he belonged, in his own seat, the old pretender banished back to his cold utility trailer in the muddy field. White surveyed the darkened sky carefully, seeing nothing untoward but grateful that life had returned to its normal routine.
They had been in the air for over two hours now, with not a single contact to show for the boredom.
He stifled a yawn and tapped his fingers on the coaming of the perspex dome.
Ho-hum.
A quick all-around check through his dome again, nothing to see out there, no German bomber trying to stick a bullet or two up their collective arse, just miles and miles of emptiness around them.
Bored, bored, bored.
Even the throb of the powerful Hercules engines sounded petulant and fed up, Bor-rring-bor-rring-bor-rring-bor-rring-bor-rring…
Removing one glove, he rummaged around in his pocket until he found the crumpled little paper bag, picking out one of the boiled sweets Mandy had given him earlier.
Unwrapping it carefully, and tucking the wrapper tidily away into a pocket, he lifted the oxygen mask from his face for a moment and popped the sweet into his mouth.
Ooh, a lemon sherbet!
Yummy.
Mandy knew exactly what he liked, he thought blissfully, slobbering on the sweet, trying not to crunch.
In fact Mandy knew everything there was to know about him, everything, and yet she loved him still. Absent-mindedly he held his hand before the air vent to warm it in the weakly warm waft coming from it, before putting the glove back on.
Dearest Mandy, the girl was an angel, and more important than anything else in this world, she was his angel.
Beautiful and strong and gentle and kind and compassionate.
And such sweet, soft lovely lips.
White still found it hard to believe that she had actually said ‘yes’ to him and that she was now his fiancée, and he wondered for the thousandth time what it was she could see in him.
Scant months earlier he had been a part of the dregs of Dimple Heath, and somehow his luck had changed.
Neither Rose nor Mandy cared what he had been, or from where he came.
They only saw him, and wonder of wonders, they’d both liked what they’d seen.
He closed his eyes again and thought of those soft lips, sighing again, but this time not in boredom but contentment.
White resisted the urge to bite down as sherbet powder leaked onto his tingling tongue. He peered quickly but carefully out at the sky again.
The sweet felt nice, but when she kissed him, it was her tongue which made his entire body tingle. He wriggled his fingers inside the glove and flexed it into a comfortable position.
Over the intercom, White heard the voice of Morrow calling out to Rose, the Squadron Leader now back on his own seat, once more in his usual guise of Lamplight, and the young operator stopped sucking the sweet for a moment to listen better.
“Dagger 3, thank you for waiting so patiently, we might have some custom for you. Please confirm angels and heading.”
“Lamplight, good to hear your voice. Angels ten, heading zero-four-zero. What’s the gen?”
“We have an empty for you, please adopt heading zero-zero-five, maintain angels, he is one above but currently descending, range fifteen miles.”
An ‘empty’ was the term used for a bomber which had already dropped its bomb load and was heading for home, lighter and faster. The window of opportunity for the attack would be small.
Before very long, they had been brought to within three miles of the bandit and Morrow asked them to flash their weapon.
White was ready and waiting, but he was still surprised to see the blip of the bandit bright on his scope, five thousand feet and below. He juggled the remnants of the hollowed sweet hurriedly around as he tried to speak, pushed it into one cheek.
“Got him! Bandit is closing, sli
ghtly to port and below five hundred feet, closing fast, looks like a head-on, turn to starboard immediately onto one-nine-zero!” the words literally fell out of his mouth as he gabbled the instructions out quickly. The sweet shifted in position and almost lodged itself in his throat.
White braced himself, his head painfully catching the side of the Perspex dome as the Beaufighter tilted over, Rose dragging D-Dog around into a turn even before his operator had finished speaking.
The engines were howling now, and White crunched down on the lemon sherbet, wincing as a shard scratched the side of his tongue, but his eyes remained resolutely on his scopes.
The blip had disappeared from the set, but any moment Rose would pull out of the turn and he would need to pick up the trace again to continue the interception. His cut tongue stung as the last sherbet crystals found it, lemon with the metallic taste of blood.
OK, where are you?
Crunch, crunch. Quick, quick! Finish the bloody sweet, you’ve got to give directions…
There! Sliding in from the right side of the scope. “OK, Flash, regained contact, level out, where do you want him?”
“A little to starboard and above, please Chalky.”
Crunch, crunch, ouch! Those pieces are sharp! He tasted more blood.
White licked his lips, “OK, er, steer five degrees port, lose five hundred feet, range less than four thousand.”
Rose pushed the throttles forward, edged the fighter to port, settled on course, “Range?”
“Just over three thousand, still closing.”
“Tell me when we get to a thousand feet, Chalky, how’s his height?”
“You’re just below, Flash, about a hundred feet below now. Range three thousand, steer five degrees to starboard.”
The ear-splitting racket of the screaming, howling engines increased, and the tiny howling draughts of freezing air continued to whistle in to torment him through the interior of the fuselage.
They flew in silence for a minute or two, and Rose began to fear something would fall off the madly vibrating Bristol fighter if this continued for any longer, “She’s getting difficult to control, how’re we doing, Chalky?”
Beaufighter Blitz Page 35