Beaufighter Blitz

by Russell Sullman

  “Dear God, quickly, bring her in, bring her in.”

  Inside, James pulled out a chair and Elsie’s erstwhile assistants helped her into it. Molly helped her remove the ridiculous headgear and wiped her strained face.

  James felt an icy hand settle over his heart, the girl looked so vulnerable as Molly fussed with her hair.

  As they settled her in the chair, James strode to the telephone, snatched up the receiver, and bellowed into it at the sleepy WAAF on the switchboard, “Where’s that bloody doctor! Get him here NOW!” he banged down the telephone so hard Molly feared it would break.

  Molly took his elbow. “Sir, there’s something fishy going on, Elsie’s been shot, but she insisted on talking to you before getting medical attention.”

  James knelt before Elsie, “Elsie? You wanted to tell me something?” his voice was soft, little more than a whisper. “What was it?”

  A single tear tracked down one filthy and already tear-stained cheek.

  “Sir, I heard either Caspersen or Fosse say something about taking a plane to some place called Hillsy-something. When they thought I’d heard something, they kidnapped me and they would have hurt me but for the fact that I stuck a hair pin into Fosse.”

  “Take a plane to Hillsy something?” James’ face was thoughtful. “Suggs?”

  “The Norwegian gentlemen,” Suggs began, but then he grimaced, Fosse and Caspersen were not gentlemen in any shape or form, and he’d not address them as such.

  “I mean those officers, arrived at the front gate about an hour ago, sir, and they said that they’d been in an accident, there was blood all over their uniforms, so I asked them to go directly to the sick quarters.”

  Suggs swallowed, “Sir, I’m sorry if I’ve done wrong, but, they might still be there? Do you want me to get an escort and get them? The both looked to be in a bit of a bad way...”

  James face was wooden, and he nodded, “Yes, go and get them, in shackles if you must.”

  Suggs reached for the telephone on the desk.

  Just then the door crashed open and the duty doctor, a fleshy, amiable and highly capable Flight Lieutenant by the name of Andrew ‘Bruiser’ Brown, lumbered into the room.

  “Bruiser! Thank goodness you’re here! You need you to look at Elsie, as quick as you like. Are Fosse and Caspersen still in the sick quarters or have they been discharged?”

  Brown was already kneeling before Elsie, gentle fingers pulling back the shoulder strap of the dungarees, exposing the torn flesh.

  “Hm, nasty. I need to get you back to the sick quarters, Elsie, no peeling potatoes for a little while, I fear. I’ll miss your chips. Fosse and Caspersen you say, sir?”

  “The new crew on B-Flight, the Norwegians?”

  Brown raised his eyebrows and puffed out his cheeks as he unclipped his bag and pulled out a dressing. Outside, the sound of engines grumbled as the crews continued their preparations for the night’s preparations.

  ”Still bleeding, let’s dress it before moving you, Elsie, don’t want to lose any more of the red sauce than you have already, my dear. Not to worry, have you right as rain in a tick.” He nodded at the uniform jacket she still wore, “I see you’ve been promoted again.”

  Brown deftly unrolled a bandage with one hand, “Norwegians, sir? The only Norwegian I’ve seen today was the other lad from B-Flight, that young Olaf. Had a nasty crack on the ol’ noggin, I’ve given him a sedative. Should be fine, no flying for a while, though. I say, Elsie! Isn’t he your young man?”

  Worry flooded across the girl’s face. “Olaf? Oh no! He was supposed to meet me after I came out of the lavatory.”

  James looked bewildered for an instant, before his face cleared, “They never went to the sick quarters! So where…?”

  And then he smacked the wall in anger. Suggs flinched, “Of course, I’ve been an idiot! They came back here for their Beaufighter! They must be Nazi sympathisers! Hillsy-something you said, Elsie? Oh my God! I know what they intend to do now. They’re going to steal their kite and fly it to Gilze-Rijen in Holland. The Luftwaffe has a major night-fighter base over there!”

  He strode back to the telephone, “Get me the control tower.” He waited for a moment, and then, “Johnny? This is James. Hm? Yes, yes, thank you. Johnny, now, have you given flying clearance for any members of B-Flight? Rose and Barr? What’s that? Caspersen’s just asked for it? Last minute air test?” he looked at the others, his face drawn with tension. “We’re too late, they’re already taxiing!”

  He turned to the duty officer sitting aghast in the corner. “Sutton, alert the defences, target the Beaufighter.”

  “Uh, which one, sir?” she asked.

  James looked crestfallen, “Mm, see your point. Can’t have the AA bods shooting at Beaufighters willy nilly, could cause a lot of confusion. Don’t want the silly buggers shooting down our own ones.”

  Molly jumped up, “Corporal, come with me, and bring that rifle of yours.” She patted Brown’s shoulder, “Look after her, Bruiser, she’s been through a lot.”

  He didn’t look up, “I will, Ma’am. She’ll be fine, she’s a fighter.”

  James stood, “I’ll drive, Molly, you stay here.”

  Molly shook her head, “No, sir, you need to alert the authorities. We need to stop them getting away. Can’t let the Nazis get their hands on that Beaufighter.”

  James nodded regretfully, not liking it but there was no time to argue, and Molly’s words made sense. “You’re right, of course. I’ll contact Group, get fighters in the air. Good luck to you, then, Molly.”

  “And to you, sir.”

  Chapter 42

  The little red sports car careered wildly towards the main runway as the Beaufighter turned onto it from Dimple Heath’s southern ancillary runway.

  Suggs gritted his teeth, checked the rifle clip and made sure for the umpteenth time that the safety was off.

  He was always telling her to go slow, but now he wished she’d go faster!

  What a crazy fucking world it was!

  Come on, woman, floor that bloody accelerator! Go faster!

  “Get ready, Suggs!” she shouted. Her hat was gone, and her hair streamed back like a banner in the half-light.

  What a woman. Like Boudicca racing into battle!

  That Flying Officer Rose was one lucky bastard.

  “Ma’am. “He half-stood, bracing himself with his right thigh and knee against the backrest and the seat, left leg ramrod straight holding him in position, boots firm in place, and hoping she wouldn’t make him pay to clean it.

  They were closer, now, and Caspersen opened the throttles.

  As the Beaufighter jumped forwards, Molly brought the car alongside, but they would not be able to match the aeroplane’s speed for long. She struggled with the wheel, trying to keep the car level with the aeroplane’s wingtip.

  If they were to get caught in the slipstream, the car would be tossed around or flipped over like a desiccated autumnal leaf.

  The car sprung and bounced and Suggs hung on for grim life, his backside slipping and sliding dangerously against the seat back, but his braced legs kept him in.

  He brought the rifle up to his shoulder, sighting carefully along the iron sight.

  Don’t shoot her, for fucks sake…

  She could hear them now, inside her mind. Her girls were calling out to her, avenge us.

  It was a struggle for him to aim the rifle as they bounded around, but he’d fought on the Northwestern Frontier, where the unwary died a horrible death.

  He’d learnt to shoot on the limits of the empire, and he’d make each of the bullets in his 10-round magazine count.

  Suggs sighted carefully on the Perspex bubble of the Beaufighter, and there was the pale blob of a staring face looking back at him.

  Elsie’s poor tortured and dirt-stained face came into his mind’s eye and he pulled the trigger just as Molly screamed out:

  “NOW SUGGS! NOW!”

  CRACK! The rifle shot snapped o
ut, and Suggs kept pulling the trigger, sending one .303 round after another into the shape of the speeding Beaufighter.

  CRACK!

  The Perspex bubble crazed as the round smacked into it. Thank God the Beaufighter wasn’t fitted with a rear-facing gun!

  CRACK!

  Molly saw the Perspex bubble crack and splinter, the cacophany from the shots, the screaming Bristol engines and her car’s wildly racing engine deafening her.

  CRACK!

  Suggs legs strained to keep him braced as the car jounced along, the recoil from his rifle threatening to knock him off his feet.

  CRACK!

  She would have grabbed his greatcoat to help keep him stable, but she daren’t let go of the wheel.

  CRACK!

  Please God, don’t let a tyre puncture, she prayed silently. At this speed they’d have no chance.

  The aeroplane was pulling away now, holes appearing as if by magic in its fuselage as the bullets ripped into it.

  CRACK! There were three holes now against the AI operator’s position. Suggs must be aiming to damage the box of tricks.

  I hope that hit you too, you damned pervert, she thought vengefully. In her ears, blending into the harsh dissonance of the screaming engines, screeching tyres and rifle shots, she could hear the merciless cries of her dead girls for revenge. If Suggs fell she would drive into the tailplane and destabilise the aeroplane’s takeoff.

  CRACK! Another shot spat out at the squat shape alongside. The Beaufighter was ahead now, and she could feel the effect of the propeller wash and its slipstream.

  She fought with the wheel to keep it steady. Her arms and legs aching brutally as the aircraft gradually began to open the distance between them.

  Don’t waste your shots, she ached to cry out but she couldn’t utter a sound, fire at the fucking engines!

  How Suggs had managed to stay inside the car and shoot so well was anybody’s guess.

  CRACK!

  She didn’t see the penultimate .303 round bury itself in the starboard engine. Her eyes felt as if they’d been immersed in a bucket of sand, her tongue stuck against the roof of her mouth and she could feel the car slipping, whipping wildly, any second now she’d have to finish this.

  For an instant she lost control but regained it almost instantaneously before they slipped off the runway. Her heart was banging wickedly inside her, and her hands were slipping on the wheel now.

  Oh God, we’re too close, can’t hold her steady...open the distance between us before we get flipped over…

  Is this what it was like for Harry? The excitement and the numbing fear of impending death?

  She could feel the satisfaction of her dead girls as the rifle thumped out again so close above her head.

  CRACK! Another round, last one, again into the engine, but it continued to roar smoothly.

  The big fighter’s wheels lifted from the runway.

  Time to go! Gratefully Molly eased off the accelerator, let the car slow and skirt the edge of the runway as the Beaufighter, carrying all ten of Sugg’s .303 rounds with it, thundered off into the approaching darkness.

  James must have told Dimple Heath’s defences not to engage the Beaufighter, for it disappeared without a single AA shell being fired at it.

  Too close to the edge, the car bumped and lurched as the rear tyre caught the rougher earth.

  Molly’s right nearside tyre slipped onto soft grass and the car slewed around, flinging Suggs from the car, his rifle pirouetting to smash against the side of the car.

  The soldier was there one moment, and gone the next, disappearing without a sound. Amazingly, he did not catch her with his boots on his way out.

  Something smacked and ripped at the car’s underside.

  A cry was torn from her lips as Molly felt herself losing control, see-sawing as a tyre blew against a stone, and, just as she expected the car to flip completely, it suddenly bedded down into the soft earth and stopped dead.

  She sat motionless in the car for a moment, unable to believe that she was still alive. The engine was still running, and she reached forward and switched off.

  After the deafening noise, the sudden hush was thunderous.

  Dearest Harry was always groaning and moaning about her seatbelt, so much so that putting it on had become automatic, and now she thanked God for it. The little leather strap had held her in safely in her seat.

  The car hissed and sighed and ticked, and she patted it affectionately. She felt a sudden urge to burst into tears and with an effort she controlled herself.

  They had done all they could, and with a bit of luck, they’d inflicted enough damage to spoil Fosse and Caspersen’s day, although if truth be told, Elsie had been responsible in large part for doing that already.

  She closed her eyes, breathed out and took another long, deep breath in.

  Her nostrils were filled with the dizzying blend of fresh earth, dope, oil, acrid smoke from the Beaufighter’s exhausts, hot metal, and petrol.

  Petrol? Oh no…!

  Desperately, Molly ripped off her seat belt and knocked open the door, it caught on the earth, and she kicked it hard, stubbing her toes and jarring her leg, but it opened further and she launched herself out of her seat, fighting her way out of the car.

  One of her shoes had come off but she left it where it was, she was scrabbling on her hands and knees on the grass and she fought her way onto her feet and ran as fast as she could away from the car, her injured leg aching.

  She could see Suggs lying motionless on the darkened edge of the runway, and she ran unsteadily to him, limping, expecting any moment to hear the fuel tank in her little car blow.

  “Corporal Suggs!”

  He was lying on his back, eyes wide, and at first she feared the worst, but as she came up to him, he sat up with a groan, face heavily lined with pain.

  “Blinkin’ heck, that was a ride and a half!” he turned his head one way then the other, testing his neck. “I think I understand now why Mr Rose always looks a bit pale, Ma’am, poor blighter.”

  Molly giggled with relief. “Don’t be cheeky, Corporal!”

  He turned to look at her. “I’ve lost my bloody rifle!” he peered up at her, made as if to get to his feet, swayed, thought better of it and stayed where he was.

  “Well done, Ma’am. You were amazing. How you kept the car under control in that slipstream beats the hell out of me!” he groaned, looked at her feet, “you’ve lost a shoe.”

  Suggs shook his head and looked at her dazedly. “Fuck me, what a night. Pardon the French. Are you OK, Ma’am?”

  She smiled shakily back at him, “Quite well, thank you, Suggs. That was very good shooting. I’m sure you did some damage. Hopefully at least one of them collected a bullet in the guts!”

  “I shot at both crew positions and the engine, Ma’am.“ He shifted his position, and she saw the agony on his face. He hadn’t escaped scot-free. “I’ve guarded the kites during maintenance. The lads told me where the box of tricks was. I had an idea where to shoot,” he gasped.

  She looked towards the eastern night sky, but the Beaufighter had disappeared. “Did we do enough…?”

  Behind her the flames reached the torn fuel tank at last, but it was nearly empty, and there was a little, almost apologetic Whump! That they felt more than heard, but it ensured that Molly would never drive her car ever again.

  Molly didn’t turn to look. She didn’t want to see her little red car, such an important piece of her life, die. It was like the death of the dearest of friends.

  The damned Luftwaffe (curse them!) had been unable to destroy her dear little car even when they had destroyed the rest of RAF Foxton. And killed her girls.

  But their cries for retribution, cries that never fully left her mind for so long, were silent now.

  At her feet Suggs lay back down, trying to clear his befuddled mind as waves of pain deluged his senses.

  Tears welled in her eyes, but she smiled through them as James pulled up in his car
.

  His face was appalled as he stepped onto the runway, “Molly?” his eyes took in the montage of his people and the flames bright behind them.

  “We did our best, Sir. I just hope it was enough.”

  She nodded at him calmly, dark liquid eyes serene, despite the trembling of her hands, a girl with one shoe, dishevelled uniform and torn stockings, tear stains down her cheeks, cut and bruised and with her open hair a dark halo catching the breeze. She looked magnificent, a warrior. Bloodied but unbowed.

  At her feet lay the winded, injured soldier, knocked about and dazed, gasping in pain, looking about him as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was, whilst some distance behind her the little red car she adored so much burned quietly in its last resting place, a worthy combatant in its own personal Viking funeral.

  It was unutterably splendid and a sight he would never, ever, forget.

  “Your best was truly amazing. Amazing. Truly. I can see why the powers-that-be saw fit to award you a George Cross.” He shook his head in wonder.

  Molly smiled tremulously at him, trying to calm the quivering, but her ears were still ringing, almost deafened by the rifle firing so close above her head, and the thunderous sound of the screaming Hercules.

  “Every day I find out how incredible my people are,” he spoke softly, almost to himself. “I can’t find words to describe what I’ve just witnessed. All I can say is that the spirit of British heroism lives on. Come on, let’s get you back. Get a nice hot cup of sweet tea into you.”

  James looked uncertainly at the soldier sprawled on the runway.” Both of you.” He added, “Are you alright, Suggs, old chap? Can you get up, at all?”

  The soldier tried stiffly to get to his feet, and promptly fell back onto his backside with a low moan as his leg gave way.

  “I’ve lost my rifle, sir.” His face was drawn.

  Suggs sounded distraught at the loss. Luckily, he hadn’t yet realised that his helmet had disappeared somewhere, too. The bloody man would be suicidal if he knew that was missing as well.

  “Don’t worry about that now, for goodness sake! The ambulance and fire truck are on their way...”