Beaufighter Blitz

by Russell Sullman

  James heaved a sigh, he could feel the treacherous prickling of tears behind his eyes, and there was curious thickness developing in his throat and nose.

  Don’t cry...

  In the distance behind he could hear shouts and the tinkle of the ambulance and fire tender, and a proud tear ran down his cheek.

  His voice was gruff, stiff with emotion. “Forget about the bloody rifle, Sergeant Suggs, I’m going to make sure you get a third stripe and a decoration for your actions this evening, same for our Elsie.”

  He coughed to clear his throat and smiled again at the tired and stained girl, “You and Elsie and our unbelievably extraordinary Squadron Officer here. I could not have asked for more. Courage, quick thinking and action. Amazing. Bloody amazing.”

  Molly closed her eyes for a moment, and he steadied her gently as she swayed. Suggs groaned quietly and passed out.

  James had to pause for a moment, lest the depth of his pride betray him, “I’m so very proud of you both, of all three of you. You acted in the very finest traditions of the service.” He looked away so that she would not see the brimming glisten of his eyes.

  “All I can say is thank you. It seems a bit inadequate, but it’s all I have to give you for the moment. Your deeds were mighty, yours and Elsie’s. I’ll see that your actions are recognised.”

  His voice caught in his throat, “Thank you.”

  Chapter 43

  Bruno was panting with exertion as he hauled the Junkers from the runway, the screaming Jumo 211 engines pushing them dangerously close to the emergency speed at low-level.

  There had been no warning of the scrambling series of urgent take-offs. Already two Junkers 88s of his staffel had disappeared into the darkness, and his was the third of the four crews available being sent out.

  It had been less than an fifteen minutes since the crews had been roused by the shrilly squawking tannoy from a late snack of knockwurst, brötchen and hot black coffee.

  “Alarm, Notruf-Alarm!”

  As Gilze-Rijen vanished into the murk behind them, Rudi diffidently turned to his pilot.

  “Herr Leutnant, care to tell us what’s going on?”

  “You won’t believe it; I don’t believe it, it’s like something out of a film!”

  “What is?”

  Bruno hesitated, but how much could he divulge to his lads? Oh sod it! Telling wouldn’t make any difference now. If the German crew got away they’d got away, talking about it wouldn’t make a difference now.

  “We’re on a special mission. It looks as if the Abwehr managed to get a couple of our aircrew boys past British Intelligence, and it seems they’ve managed to steal one of their night fighters. We’re not sure where, if, they’re coming in so we’re to form a welcoming cordon, and if necessary, provide protective cover. Hope they make it.”

  Rudi looked confused, but Mouse crowed, “Whoo-hoo! If that’s so it’ll make our job so much easier!” It’ll become so much easier for us to fight if we get the same tools! “I hope it’s true, Herr Leutnant!”

  Sitting behind them, Mouse pulled out a knockwurst wrapped in a thick slice of black bread and bit into it contentedly. The fragrance of his snack filled the interior of the cockpit, and Rudi shook his head in disgust.

  Mouse was happy. It didn’t matter to him why they were flying, all that it meant was that, with a bit of luck, he might get the chance of firing his beloved guns at some damned Tommies.

  Herbert banged the side of B-Baker’s cockpit with one hand, “C’mon Trolley, can you see them?”

  ‘Trolley’ Trent’s voice sounded apologetically over the intercom. “Sorry, boss, nothing doing.”

  Herbert cursed foully, then, “Dagger 5 to Lamplight, still no joy. Can you help?”

  “Lamplight to Dagger 5, the bandit is one mile ahead and below you one angel. Intercept and destroy, immediate. Bandit is confirmed as hostile.”

  Herbert’s forehead creased in bafflement. Bandit is confirmed as hostile? What on earth did they mean? Must be hostile, wouldn’t be a bandit otherwise. Would it?

  “Something a bit queer’s going on, Trolley, any luck?”

  “Nothing.” Trent’s voice was heavy with disgust. “Can’t pick up a blessed thing”

  “Well give the fucking thing a kick, then!” Herbert pushed the Beaufighter into a sharper descent, they were so damned low, ground-return was interfering badly with the interception.

  He sighed and relented, “Trolley, sorry for being snappy, just keep trying to pick it up, OK?”

  “That’s OK, guv, I understand how you feel. I got crabs from a bint in Southend once. I know what’s its like having itchy balls.”

  Herbert grinned despite himself, “Just keep searching, you cheeky wanker…”

  The knockwurst was long gone, and Mouse belched reflectively, brushed crumbs from his lap. “Herr Leutnant, I’m getting really bored. When’re you going to give me something to shoot at and kill?”

  “Patience, Mouse, patience.“ Bruno could feel that prickling in his fingers, they were close, he was sure of it.

  But was his Junkers close enough?

  The Brass had told Bruno and his fellow Staffel-mates in that rushed briefing to get as close to the English coast as possible. The chance of stealing enemy technology did not come every day.

  With the enemy’s magic, Luftwaffe crews would turn the airspace of Britain into a happy hunting ground.

  They were to get close and fly offshore, but Bruno decided to go one better.

  His Junkers was drawing closer to the coast, and he intended to fly along the coastline, just inland, in a pattern that covered the sector assigned to his crew. But he would stay low, really low.

  And if they managed to bag a bomber or two while they were there, then all the better.

  He explained the plan to them, but Rudi was doubtful of Bruno’s wisdom. What if they’d missed the rogue RAF aeroplane? They’d be wandering around up there waiting for someone to notice and shoot them down.

  The British night fighters were uncannily good in their interceptions.

  Hell, they might even be shot down by their eager Staffel-mates in a case of mistaken identity.

  “Herr Leutnant, perhaps we’re a bit closer than we ought to be?” Rudi tried to keep his voice level.

  “No, we’ll stay here for a little while. If they’re out over the water, we’ll cover their arses, close the door on any pursuit.” He was less certain than he sounded, and there was quite a bit of area to cover.

  “Don’t worry, Rudi,” rumbled Mouse, “Don’t piss yourself, we aren’t close enough yet. I can’t smell the haggis yet.”

  Rudi turned to give Mouse a withering look. “You damned moron, haggis is Scottish, not English. You are so dumb, I can’t believe it, how did an idiot like you manage to get into the Luftwaffe?”

  Ignoring the banter, Bruno muttered a prayer beneath his breath. The Knight’s Cross made a man a champion, but it also meant that he was the one expected to succeed.

  The one who had to succeed. Time after time.

  A blessing and a curse, all rolled into one, which was the lot of the champion.

  But it was not something he would change. Ever.

  The medal felt good at his throat. It was a symbol that showed he was the one the others would look to, the one that others would follow.

  And come what may, he would be successful.

  “Contact! Dead ahead and a little below, range half a mile. See anything, boss?”

  At the same moment as Trent called out the contact, Herbert noticed a thin line of smoke tenuously stretching out ahead of the Beaufighter.

  “OK, I can see something, but don’t lose touch with what you have, I may still need you to guide me in, Trolley. There’s some kind of smoke trail in front of us, I’ll follow it, hopefully should lead us to the target. Are we drawing closer, pal?”

  “We’re closing fast, Boss, down to a quarter of a mile, ease off the throttles, we’re still a little above. Yuck, I can sme
ll that smoke, bit grim, isn’t it?”

  Even as Herbert eased the snarl of the engines back into a grumbling roar, and the vibration in the airframe lessened, the opacity of the banner of smoke deepened, and suddenly the target aircraft appeared, a vague outline towing the streamer of stinking smoke behind it.

  The bitter odour of scorched metal and burnt oil filled their nostrils, but amazingly there were still no visible flames from that injured port engine on the other aircraft, and it continued on its way.

  “I can see it, Trolley! Bandit dead ahead, we’re catching up fast, I think he’s a Junkers, twin engine job, take a look. See what I see?”

  “Gotcha, boss. Definitely a twin, um, could be a Junkers 88. Wait...stop! It looks like a Beau!”

  Herbert stared in disbelief at the dim shape. Despite the poor light, Trent was right.

  With every passing second, they were drawing closer to an aircraft identical in shape to their own and bearing the same markings but one from which smoke belched.

  But despite the smoke, there were no flames, and the prop was still turning normally. Its nose was pointed unerringly into the North Sea, not for home.

  “What the hell? It’s one of ours! Fuck, it’s those Froggies!”

  It was surreal, the Beaufighter before them flying steadily as if they were not there, no acknowledgement to their presence.

  “They’re Norwegians, you bloody plank, not blinking Frenchmen!” Something was really wrong here, Herbert wondered, why, with a damaged motor, was it heading away from Dimple Heath?

  “Dagger 5 to Lamplight, bogey is friendly. Repeat, bogey is friendly, bogey is Dagger 6.”

  The coast was close, would pass beneath the nose of their fighter in a few seconds.

  “Dagger 5, bogey is not friendly, bogey is a hostile, engage immediately!”

  What was this madness? Dagger 6 was a hostile? There had to be some kind of mistake, surely?

  “Dagger 5 to lamplight, please repeat? Dagger 6 is hostile? Confirm, please?” Hostile? What the hell?

  “Lamplight to Dagger 5, engage, Dagger 5, engage immediately! Destroy your target! Confirmed hostile!”

  Fucking hell! “Hang on to your bollocks, Trolley, we’re attacking.”

  Bruno felt like shouting with joy when he saw the Beaufighter, drawing a line a thin trail of smoke behind it as it sped over the coast and headed eastwards in the general direction of Holland.

  It was them! Their timing could not have been more perfect. He had been right!

  “My God!” breathed Rudi in awe, staring up as the shadow passed above them, “How did you manage to do that?”

  And then he started in shock, for above them a second shape had joined the first, slipping into formation behind and to one side of the smoking fighter.

  “Nobody said anything about two enemy aeroplanes! Can you see what’s he doing?” Bruno eased back and pulled up his big night fighter, turning gently to cautiously bring the Junkers upwards, but remaining below and behind the two British night fighters.

  “Might the agents have pinched two Beaufighters, Herr Leutnant?”

  “I don’t believe so, Rudi, I think our boys are in the wounded one. They didn’t get away easily, by the looks of it. Looks as if the second one intercepted them but he doesn’t know what to do next, he’s either confused or having second thoughts, he’s not sure about killing them. They can’t have been told yet the target is one of their own.”

  Bruno shifted in his seat, “Stand by, boys, I’m going to sit back behind and below the second one. If he moves into firing position, on the first one, I’m going to blast him from the sky. If he stays in formation, we’ll just keep an eye on him. He’s so busy gawping at the first one, he hasn’t seen us yet.”

  But, as soon as their Junkers was positioned comfortably behind and below the second, undamaged Beaufighter, it shifted hesitantly and began to fall back, throttling back to slide behind the damaged aircraft.

  “He’s decided.” Bruno glanced quickly at his controls to ensure everything was in order, “Alright. Here goes…”

  Chapter 44

  Rose yawned, blinked to clear his tired, dry eyes, and yawned again. Trade was quiet so far, but it was early yet. “Are you eating sweets back there, you cheeky bugger?”

  White sounded hurt. “No, Flash, I only had a couple of humbugs left and I’ve eaten them both. I think we need to go back for supplies.”

  “Anymore of those sweets and we won’t be able to get you through the hatch.”

  “What are you trying to say? Are you telling me you think I’m getting fat?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t quite say that, old son,” Rose said dryly, “it’s just that whenever I look at you from behind, the words ‘ugly’, ‘barrage’ and ‘balloon’ come to mind. Dunno why.”

  White sniffed disdainfully, “You know, sometimes you can go right off someone. I’d be grateful if you didn’t disturb me for a while. Much as I love the sound of your voice I’ve far better things to do than chat sweet nothings to you. I’m just going to do an inventory check. I might have a toffee or a pear drop stashed away in one of my pockets. I’m afraid there probably won’t be any for you.” White didn’t sound at all sorry.

  Rose smiled to himself, looked down to where Molly’s picture graced his control panel. He idly wondered what she was doing.

  He scanned his instruments again and began to hum quietly.

  “Lamplight to Dagger 3, vector three-two-zero degrees, angels two. Immediate, acknowledge, please.”

  Immediate? What on earth? What was the range?

  “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, vector three-two-zero, angels two, acknowledged.”

  “Dagger 3 to Lamplight. Received.” So, how far to the bandit? Stern chase or an interception? He waited.

  But Lamplight remained silent.

  Strange. What was going on? “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, any further gen?” Are we close or not? Do I need to lose height fast?

  “Lamplight to Dagger 3, please follow instructions faithfully, you will be fully debriefed on your return.”

  Hm, OK. If that was the way they wanted to play it, “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, understood.” Keep it succinct.

  “Grab yer gnashers, Chalky old chap, we’re on.”

  “I heard Flash, Just when I was hoping they’d call us back for tea and buns and sweeties.”

  Rose gently pushed forward the throttles and the control column, and the Beaufighter began to descend, the tempo of the engines sending sparks of excitement and apprehension through him.

  They were at twelve thousand feet already, so it would take some time to get to two thousand at the current rate of descent.

  D-Dog was at six thousand feet and still descending leisurely.

  When they’d first crewed together, Rose impressed on White the importance of a good awareness of what was happening around their aircraft.

  After flying Hurricanes in daylight, initially Rose found it a significant challenge to adapt to the position of being unable to keep an eye on what was happening to his rear.

  Granny had hammered into his head the importance of keeping one eye on his rear-view mirrors, a lesson which greatly helped him in surviving the savagery of last year’s desperate fighting when others had not, but such visibility in the Beaufighter was relatively hampered.

  With White aboard, and flying by night in limited visibility when enemy interception was a lot less likely, Rose relaxed a little, even though he still found his eyes anxiously straying to the side mirrors he insisted on installing, despite the grinding of Chiefy’s teeth, and the (very) slight degradation in aircraft performance.

  True, White’s dome and the large tailplane limited visibility considerably, and of course in the darkness there was very little visible at all in the mirrors, and certainly the mirrors kept breaking off in the air when Rose heaved the big fighter around in combat, yet Rose continued to insisted new ones be fitted. Their presence made him feel secure, although they were doing the Chief’s teeth no favours
at all.

  The recent shoot down of the Wellington, the deaths of Barlow and Cole and the wreckage of the enemy night fighter found nearby made all of them brutally aware that the hunter so easily turned into the hunted, and that the Luftwaffe was sending marauders ever more frequently into British skies.

  When not actively engaged with his AI set, White now spent a lot more time watching the airspace behind and around them.

  Even now, as he wistfully rooted through his pockets for a sweet, his eyes were searching the darkened firmament through the Perspex of his dome.

  “Lamplight to Dagger 3, please make your angels two, range closing.”

  “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, am increasing rate of descent to angels two.”

  Rose pushed the fighter into a steeper downward slope.

  They were passing over the coast now, and Rose watched it pass beneath them regretfully.

  The previous year, many RAF aircrew shot down over The Channel were found dead of hypothermia when help finally reached them, and Rose hated being over water. The thought of being shot down into ‘the drink’ scared him more than he would care to admit.

  Like many of his anxieties, Rose’s fear of open water was something he chose not to share with Molly, preferring instead to be the kind of man he thought he ought to be for her, the kind of man such an extraordinary woman deserved..

  “Lamplight to Dagger 3, range four miles, flash your weapon, please.”

  Almost immediately White piped up, “Contact! I have contact, no, wait, two, no, multiple contacts! Bloody hell, Flash! I have more than one!”

  Rose’s heart slammed uncontrollably hard against his sternum.

  Fuck!

  What now?

  The Beaufighter was speeding after the contacts, trembling and eager like a thoroughbred and the control column stiff in his grip, the enemy was less than a few miles away, and Rose found himself rocking nervously in his harness as they strove to catch up.

  “Stand by, Trolley, firing…” the message from Lamplight was clear, the Beaufighter in front of them had to be destroyed.