White had still been staring backwards into the darkness, who knew how many German fighters were out there. There was every chance that they could be jumped again. It was like friggin’ Piccadilly Circus at rush hour out there tonight!
He’d jumped when the sudden flash lit up everything around, signifying the death of the second enemy fighter.
Resisting the urge to look forwards, he was treated to the sight of two separated and burning wings pirouetting downwards just before D-Dog passed through the fireball and night turned to day fleetingly. Instinctively his eyes closed against the harsh glare and sudden heat.
Something whanged! Off his Perspex dome and he ducked as fragments of the Junkers scratched and skittered against the Beaufighter.
And then they were through the maelstrom, the fireball behind them dissipating into a dimming and shrinking glow, pieces still falling from within it.
Of the Junker’s fuselage itself, there was no sign.
There was a strange gurgling sound over the intercom. Fear swept through White. Oh God! What if Rose were injured? He groped anxiously for his good luck charm.
“Flash? Are you OK? Flash?”
“Mm.” Rose grunted, knowing his voice would sound thick with emotion, and he cleared his throat noisily. Already, his sight was returning.
Thank God.
“Sorry, Chalky, caught a whiff of that Junkers, made my eyes water, I can tell you!” Rose cleared his throat again, and wiped his eyes carefully. His eyesight had returned almost to normal.
White chuckled. He sounded quite cheerful now. “Crikey! I know, stinks something chronic, doesn’t it?”
“Not half! “ His heart rate was settling and he felt ashamed at his unchecked emotions, but also incredibly grateful to have survived a combat involving not one but two Junker 88 fighters. You bloody great baby...
“Chalky, any sign of the first Junkers?”
“Can’t see anything out there, chum. It’s blacker than anything out there!”
“Right-oh, OK mate, have a quick shufti around, then change the ammo drums. Lord knows what’s going on, but there may be more Jerries out there. I’ll get on to Lamplight and ask ‘em to search for our crew.” He thought for a moment, “We’d better check on that other kite with the dodgy engine. I think it was one of ours.”
“Gotcha, Flash. Just rock the wings if you need me.”
Still ashamed of his moment of weakness, Rose searched the dark sky for other aircraft. Somehow, they’d survived.
One more time.
Thank God.
Chapter 46
“Lamplight to Dagger 3. Are you receiving me?”
Whoever it was on the other end, they sounded incredibly relieved to hear Rose when he replied, “Dagger 3 to Lamplight, receiving.”
“Lamplight to Dagger 3, please report. Did you destroy the bandit?”
“Dagger 3 to Lamplight, two Junker 88s engaged, got one for sure and are claiming the other as a probable. Regret to report the loss of Dagger 5, but crew managed to escape, could you please arrange ASR? We are in the vicinity.”
“Lamplight to Dagger 3, two Junkers? Dagger 5? What about the bandit?”
What?
Rose’s brow creased in bewilderment, his mind turning with confusion. Lamplight didn’t sound at all interested in their combats and success.
Not even a word of congratulations. Miserable old beggers!
“Dagger 3 to Lamplight, I don’t understand your last request…please clarify?”
“Lamplight to Dagger 3, the bandit has RAF markings.” The voice sounded peevish.
A cold dread trickled down his spine.
Oh God, not the Beau with the dodgy engine? Was it the real bandit? Had some Nazi spies stolen it?
It didn’t bear thinking about the secrets of AI being captured by the enemy. The thought of enemy bombers coming over with AI-equipped fighters was terrifying.
Before he could reply, “Lamplight to Dagger 3, the bandit is a Beau. Repeat, the bandit is a Beaufighter. Locate and destroy, repeat, locate and destroy. Confirm.”
Shit. So that’s why the damaged Beaufighter had been heading east. Why hadn’t they said so before?
“Dagger 3 to Lamplight, confirmed, locate and destroy the, er, bandit…can you give me a vector?”
“Lamplight to Dagger 3, we do not have contact.”
Damn and blast and bloody blue bollocks! Rose waggled his wings gently.
Because the hunt wasn’t over yet. There would be more pain and killing this eventful night.
Come on, Chalky, chop, chop, get back into your seat. He waggled his wings again.
Breathlessly, “Flash, I’ve changed three drums, is that enough?” white sounded winded as well as exhausted.
“That’ll do nicely, you rascal, now get back onto your seat and get belted up, we’ve not finished yet.”
Exasperation peered through the exhaustion in his operator’s voice. “Blimey! We’ve shot down two already! What more do they want? Capture ol’ Goering and bring him back with us? Cor, luvaduck! We need to get back home. I’ve got no sweets left and I could do wiv a brew!”
“Forget your bloody sweeties, you ‘orrible bloody tart,” Rose scolded, “There’re a lot of Jerry fighters around, Chalky, so I’ll need you to keep an eye on the sky outside. Thing is, we’ve got to find that last kite with the dodgy Hercules. Seems the bandit is a Beau, and it’s flying to Hunland with a serviceable AI set.”
“No! The bandit’s a Beaufighter? You’re kidding me! Cripes!” the enormity of it sank in, “Oh, cripes!”
“Quite. We’ve got to find it and shoot it down, matey, and sharpish. It was heading east last time we saw it. It’s probably on the same heading, and I need you to find it for me.” Rose paused, “Lamplight can’t see it, I’ve asked. It’s just me and thee.”
“So, what’s new?” grumbled the youngster in the back.
Rose found he was clenching his jaw tightly again, and he forced himself to relax. His teeth were aching from the pressure, and Rose ran his tongue gingerly over them.
“Mmm.” He could almost hear the gears in White’s head whirring as he pondered. “We’ll go east, then cut a north-south search line. Flash, take a heading of eighty degrees, full throttle for twenty miles. Then ten degrees for ten miles, and then one-seven-zero for twenty.” White’s voice still sounded unsteady.
Rose chewed his lip. “Er, what, um, what was that first heading again?”
“Gawd help us.” White sighed theatrically, “Take a heading eight-five degrees, driver.”
Rose grinned into his oxygen mask and mentally doffed a non-existent cap, “Yes, guv’nor.”
So far so good. Lady Luck was still with them. We’ve not finished yet, Ma’am, stay with us, please…
He caught sight of the flames from afar, a fiery dot glowing like a flaming ember in the darkness, visible from many miles away, the intense glare twinned with the reflected yellow-white blotch on the surging waves close below.
The other Beaufighter was low, so low (How on earth can he still be flying?), perhaps less than a couple of a hundred feet up, standing out clearly against the fretful waves and the dark sky, a silver speck lit up by the brightness of the fiery streamer and the thick, flame-lit smoke trail it towed grudgingly behind it.
And then he could smell its burning, sickly sweet, rank and horrid.
Although the rogue aircraft was still flying, it had lost a lot of height since they’d seen it last, and was gradually losing what little was left whilst still far from landfall.
The port wing was blanketed in flames, streaming back in a long yellow-white sheet, the plume of smoke blooming out in a thick cloak that reached almost down to the clutching, agitated sea.
“Contact!” yelled White triumphantly, “I’ve got him, Flash! He’s close but awfully low, though. Ugh-phew! I think I can smell him. Whoa, what a stink! Hope that’s not us! Can you see him?”
Rose shook himself guiltily from his musing. There was no
need for the AI with their target lit up like a beacon. He really ought to have told White as soon as he’d caught sight of it.
“Yes, I can, thanks. It’s alright, Chalky, he’s not going to get away. Have a look, old chap, but keep ‘em peeled on the sky. I’m feeling twitchy after seeing all these Junkers. If we can see him, so will others.”
“Don’t I know it! Just like buses, wait for weeks to catch one, then two come along at the same time!” White sounded thoroughly pleased with himself, the shakiness all but gone.
“There may be a third one out here, maybe more, and that Beau’s a juicy looking target. He’ll light us up a bit, too.” Rose paused for a moment. “I suppose we’d better finish it.”
“We better had, Flash.” White’s voice was quiet now, “If there are more Jerries about, we may not get another chance.”
How the aircraft was still flying with his wing alight like that was anybody’s guess. Throughout the air battle, it had not taken any avoiding action whatsoever.
“He is going down.” Rose looked at the burning aircraft doubtfully. “He’s done for, doesn’t need our help.” Somehow, the thought of firing on the stricken aircraft seemed horribly unfair.
“What if he ditches and the AI’s recoverable? Better do it, Flash. Best kill ’em too, Jerry could pick their brains for information. I don’t reckon they’d resist. And anyway, we need to get the kite home, soon as. Flying through the fireball of that Junkers might have damaged us.”
They couldn’t afford to lose the edge that AI gave them. The thought of similarly equipped Nazi night fighters ranging over Europe and Britain was terrifying.
Why the hell was he dithering around like an old fart? The target was a Beaufighter, certainly, and indeed the crewmen within wore the same uniform as he, but they were the enemy.
He was wasting time and placing both his and White’s life at risk with each passing mile.
He sighed, feeling suddenly weary.
Time to get on with it.
He closed the distance on the other aircraft rapidly, agitatedly stroking the firing button as they drew closer to it.
“Firing pass from starboard to port, stand by, Chalky, and watch our arse, OK?”
“Gotcha, Flash. Do it.”
Rose licked his cracked lips and eased back on the throttles now they were closer, just keeping enough power on to creep up slowly on the other aircraft, smoke continued to billow back thickly, and his nostrils were crammed full by the odour of the burning ‘enemy’ Beaufighter, dense and pungent and broiling hot.
The other pilot must be straining desperately at the controls, he thought, to hold the burning Beau in the air, and he pressed down firmly on the button.
The cannon thumped and the machine guns chattered once more, and their angry message burned across the distance between them to ply awful destruction.
Almost instantly one of the cannon suffered a stoppage, but although the steady thump of the cannon was weaker, there was still enough weight of cannon fire to ruin what remained of Caspersen’s day.
Caspersen, hunched and sweating in his seat, never even knew D-Dog was there, and he only heard a fleeting whirlwind of sound like a sudden hailstorm, and his mind was just beginning to register and wonder what it was before the incoming fire instantly pounded him into a bag of torn flesh and shattered bone, spurting and leaking blood, smashed shapeless against the side of the cockpit.
Rose’s torrent of fire tracked along to tear through the operator’s compartment, wrecking its contents and tearing the AI equipment into useless, sparking shards.
It also tore a gaping hole straight through Fosse’s chest as he lolled in his seat, but he felt nothing as his ribcage and innards were blown out, for one of the bullets from Suggs’ rifle had already ripped out his throat, and he had been alone in the dark as his life bled out, dying and unable to respond to his pilot’s desperate queries.
D-Dog’s fearsome metal bite crunched down hard, Rose directing a constant stream of bullets with minimal deflection into an easy target that still took no avoiding action.
Like shooting fish in a barrel.
Caspersen’s Beaufighter, after flying so far and holding together so well despite the mortal damage already done to it through Molly and Sugg’s efforts, bloomed bright, exploding catastrophically in a searing boil of angry light, and it came apart like wet tissue paper, showering the sea with flaming and guttering pieces.
Rose’s eyes, already squinting against the glare from the target’s fiery port wing, snapped shut in the sudden flaring of light.
His finger came off the firing button, the thunder of the guns fell silent, and he pushed upwards into a smooth climbing turn into the thick line of smoke, fearful that he would frame himself nicely against the flames to any lurking Junkers if he turned away.
For a moment the shadowed world outside disappeared into blackness, and for an instant the memory of a desperate scrambling take-off through a cloud of choking smoke over RAF Foxton came back hard, the fear stabbing at him, and he quashed the rising unbidden memory of that awful day of blood and pain and stolen dreams when Goering’s best had killed so many of those who had become his family, wounding his beloved Molly so cruelly, and broken his heart.
And then D-Dog erupted back out into the lesser blackness of night over the North Sea, torn ribbons of black and grey smoke trailing back from its wingtips, and he hunched as he waited for German bullets to tear into him, but there were no enemy fighters waiting.
The sky was empty, and they soared away.
Rose glanced quickly at Molly’s picture, tears coming from nowhere, it’s over, Moll, and we’re coming home. I can’t wait to see you. I love you.
He thought of the sanctuary of her arms, as he pulled the Beaufighter up and around and pointed the nose back towards the English coast, checking his fuel levels and pushing the throttles forward. The sooner he was back over Britain and at Dimple Heath, the better.
He needed her, and a hot cup of tea to wash away the bitter taste of what they had had to do.
“Chalky, you still with me? Course for home, please.”
“Still here, Flash, well done, they’ll not find anything to recover. All they’ll find is little tiny pieces after that, no chance they’ll learn anything, thank goodness.”
White sounded deflated. “I feel knackered, and I could do with a drink. Head two-eight-zero.”
Rose dashed the drying tears of the past from his eyes and glanced searchingly through the canopy. They had been successful, but the victory tasted of ashes.
“I know how you feel, mate, didn’t feel good at all, did it? Two, maybe three kills, but I feel like crap.”
“It felt so wrong Flash, really wrong,” his young operator said disconsolately, “But we done what we had to. Could easily have been us.”
Below and behind the last of the burning fragments were quenched by the icy spray and disappeared into the deep waters. The other crew could not have survived the livid fireball, of that he was certain.
“But it wasn’t us, pal, it was them, thank God. We had no choice, remember that. And keep your eyes open. I’ll be happier when we’re back over friendly territory. There may still be more enemy fighters around.”
But he need not have worried, the other fighters scrambled alongside Bruno were patrolling further north.
There but be for the grace of God…
Rose shuddered and one hand reached for the little bear in his pocket, giving it a squeeze to reassure and comfort himself.
Lady Luck…
The thick smoke, so dense and thick moments ago, dissipated and cleared quickly, leaving nothing behind within seconds to show for an ingenious but ultimately desperate attempt to steal knowledge which might have swung the course of the war in favour of the Axis forces by a pair of carefully chosen and well placed agents.
When Rose’s confirmation of success reached James, he breathed a deep and truly heartfelt sigh of relief and offered up a prayer of thanks.
/> Admiral Canaris and the Abwehr would never know now of how close their agents came to pulling off an incredible coup, thwarted by the bravery and tenacity of a girl with Viking blood and an indomitable spirit, a young WAAF with the heart and courage of a warrior, and a grizzled soldier with a sure eye and a steady finger.
With men and women like that, they’ll never beat us.
Meanwhile, out over the North Sea, the sound of D-Dog’s Hercules faded until the only sound was the rushing lap of the waves and the moaning of the wind.
But there was no one left alive to hear it.
Epilogue (1)
The night had drawn in earlier than normal this mid-September evening, and Rose felt comfortable, nestled in the darkness at sixteen thousand feet, the stippled blackness of The Wash laying open below them as they orbited in a wide clockwise turning circle around the beacon.
High above, at twenty thousand, he could see the other Beaufighter in the ‘cab rank’ waiting for ‘custom’, but the last hour had been dead quiet.
The Germans were already getting bogged down in their Russian adventure, and resources which could have been used in the bombing campaign against Britain were now being funnelled off in even greater numbers to satisfy the needs of the units fighting on an Eastern Front, a campaign in which the advances were stalling.
The Citadel of Moscow would be seen, but not touched by the German armies of the East, the Ostheer slowed and finally halted by sheer bravery, sacrifice, and a reorganisation of the State into a mechanism single-mindedly focussed on the production and maintenance of war-fighting capability, bolstered very substantially by Lend-Lease help from Russia’s new allies.
Barr and Dear had gone, Billy being promoted to command a night fighter unit in North Africa.
“Think of me, old chap, when the winter draws in, will you? I’ll be sunbathing, taking a dip in the Med, and scouring the fleshpots of Cairo. When your balls finally do drop, if they ever do of course, and I have my doubts, you might get the chance to join the big boys.” He leered and winked, “We’ll make a man of you yet.”
Beaufighter Blitz Page 42