Beaufighter Blitz

by Russell Sullman

  He stood there for a moment, eyes closed against the sun, the fragrance in his nostrils, revelling in the moment.

  Was it his imagination that the air somehow smelt fresher this morning, the sunlight warmer?

  But Molly was inside, and if he didn’t get a move on he’d be meeting her on her way out to begin today’s duty at Dimple Heath.

  With one last glance around, and a very self-satisfied smirk at the rather less sporty 1928 Ford Model A Tudor car now parked sedately like a large shiny box on the kerb outside their cottage, he closed the gate behind him.

  Molly appeared appreciative when he had presented it to her as a replacement for the little red car, but the rather slower pace (no matter what she did with the gears) was so much kinder to Rose’s heartrate and that of everyone else they encountered on the roads.

  Sometimes, when they were bumbling along the road at a leisurely snail’s pace (Thank the dear Lord!), he would gleefully wonder if the grating and grinding was from the recalcitrant gears or from her clenched teeth.

  Suggs was still recovering from a broken leg and collarbone, but the news of his award of a Military Medal and promotion to Sergeant had cheered him up immensely.

  The good sergeant would be very pleased on his return to see the new Ford chugging unhurriedly up to the gate when he returned to duty. It would be difficult to get squashed by Molly’s new mount.

  With a little smug nod to himself, Rose pulled out his keyring and pushed it into the lock in the front door and let himself in.

  The back door was open, and Rose could hear the girl singing softly to herself in the back garden.

  He smiled, closed his eyes and listened blissfully for a moment, revelling in the sweetness of the sound. But he could not remain inside for long when she was waiting for him, and Rose made his way outside, stopping only momentarily to place his tin hat, gas mask and the laden satchel carefully onto the kitchen table.

  Molly heard his steps and turned to him, and the radiant smile on her beautiful face made his heart dance with pleasure.

  As expected, she was in uniform, ready for her morning duty, and his eyes happily noted for a moment how pleasing the bright red and white ribbon with the crossed silver oak leaves of the MBE for Gallantry looked amongst her already rather impressive line of decorations.

  Molly was his Boudicca, his courageous Warrior Queen, the proud ribbons on her uniform and the ragged striations of the scars on her back testimony to her courage and strength and resilience, and he found with wonder that he admired and loved her more and more with each passing day.

  Gentle, beautiful and unflinchingly fearless, she was, quite simply, incredible.

  For the umpteenth time since their wedding, he thanked God for the incredible gift of her love.

  What was it that such an exceptional woman saw in someone as boringly normal like him? How on earth had he managed to excite and then maintain an interest from someone like her? Whatever it was, Thank God for it.

  Her dark liquid eyes danced and sparkled in the brightness, and his grateful gaze relished the way in which the nimble breeze played with the strands of her hair and how the sunshine created flickering golden and scarlet highlights in her rich midnight tresses.

  “Harry!” she called out, so much happiness and pleasure in that one word, and oh, how lovely his name sounded when she uttered it!

  Her eyes glowed with heartfelt pleasure when she caught sight of Rose, and she came eagerly to him.

  He took her into his arms and held her tightly, savouring the feel of her body against his as if it were for the first time. “Hello, my darling.”

  She smiled radiantly, eyes searching his face, “How was your night? Any luck?”

  He raised his arms momentarily like a triumphant and strutting prize-fighter.

  “Chalky and I got another last night. A Dornier.”

  Her teeth shone. “Good, I’m glad.” She said simply, and took a step back to look at him, “And, even better, you’ve come back safe and sound.”

  “Nothing to it. Piece of cake,” he told her casually, every bit the consummate and supremely nonchalant fighter pilot.

  It was time to share the good news; he couldn’t keep it inside any longer.

  “It was our last trip, Molly! The CO’s taken Chalky and I off operations. He’s resting us. It’s all over. The tour’s over!”

  Her fingers tightened around his, and her face shone. “I know. I’m so glad, Harry. He told me. I wasn’t allowed to say anything.”

  “Who? James?” Why, she already knew!

  She nodded. “He also told me to take the day off today. Poor old chap must be getting soft in his old age!”

  His heart skipped with delight. “So I’ve got you all to myself! Today just gets better!” he pulled her gently into another embrace. He could feel her heart flickering as she enfolded herself against him.

  “Oh Harry, I thought last night would never end. It seemed to go on and on forever. I couldn’t wait for you to come home.” One finger lightly stroked his cheek.

  He kissed her forehead gently. “I missed you at breakfast, my love, had to eat the egg by myself.”

  That egg had tasted even better knowing his tour was over and that he had survived it. He could hope for a future with Molly once more…

  “The boys gave Chalky and I a little send-off, but it just wasn’t the same without you there.”

  He kissed her again, lingeringly, enjoying the warm softness of her lips. “Mmmm, lovely. You taste delicious. I love you, Squadron Officer, Ma’am.”

  “Mm. I think I’ll keep you after all, then. I love you too, more than I could ever say, Flight-Lieutenant.”

  He smiled at her emphasis of his new rank. “Acting Flight-Lieutenant, Ma’am. You know I’m still only a war substantive Flying Officer.”

  She ran a forefinger lightly over his line of ribbons. “Hm, whatever you say. That DSO ribbon looks good on your chest, Harry.”

  He looked down at the ribbon. “I feel a bit of a fraud, really. You and Suggs were the ones who foiled the Nazis. Chalky and I just helped them on their way. They weren’t going to make it.”

  She smiled. “You made sure of it, you daft man. And you both did account for a few others. You earned it.”

  For a moment, his eyes were far away. He had fought as part of a team, and he felt that any recognition should have been the same for both of them.

  “I really think Chalky ought to have got one, too, but he seems happy enough with the DFC to add to his DFM, poor sod, bless him.”

  He made a disgruntled face. “I still think that they don’t appreciate the boys in the back as much as they ought to. We run all the same risks, after all. Cunningham’s always in the papers, and good for him, of course, but there’s hardly ever anything about Jimmy Rawnsley. And the ground crews get sweet Fanny Adams, despite all their efforts.”

  But he was too happy to remain miserable for long. Rose cupped her left breast in one hand and squeezed it playfully, enjoying the firmness of it against his palm, his fingertips resting against her line of ribbons.

  “However, that MBE ribbon looks really good on your chest, Ma’am, although I must say that, on balance, given the choice, I much prefer the look of your chest a great deal better without the uniform! You’ve got the most remarkably fabulous tits!”

  She giggled, and made as if to smack him. “Why, what a terrible sort you are, Mr Rose!”

  “Don’t I know it! But that’s why all the girls find me simply irresistible. All the girls love bad men, and of course, as you know, I’m a very bad man! Why d’you think you find me so desirable?”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Oh. Yes. I see. I had been wondering what it was that women saw in you. Thank you for explaining that to me, otherwise I might never have known!”

  They laughed happily in unison, relishing their shared bliss. And he held out the (now slightly squashed) flower to her.

  “I saw this and thought of you, honey. Beautiful, elegant, fragran
t and lovely in blue.”

  Oh, you silver-tongued, smooth talking old rogue, you. What an irresistible charmer you are!

  Molly stroked his cheek, her fingertips catching the stubble on his cheek, her thumb soft against his lips, “Harry, my beloved darling, I have something very important to tell you.”

  “Oh yes?” he sighed with pleasure, watching a Red Admiral butterfly fluttering brightly over Molly’s shoulder, enjoying the warmth and scent of her body.

  “After the incident at the airfield, the doctor has been keeping an eye on me. Just to make sure there were no delayed effects of the car crash, such as it was.”

  What? Warning bells began to ring in his head. What did she mean? Doctor? Delayed effects?

  Oh God. What exactly was Molly trying to say?

  “I’ve been feeling a little bit funny for the last month or so, so I went to see him. He did some tests, hummed and hawed, and then he sent me to a specialist. And that specialist did some more tests, and then he sent me to another specialist.”

  Feeling a bit funny? Specialist?

  What?

  Something stirred strangely, painfully, in his stomach.

  Her moist eyes were wide and bright, the gloriously thick dark lashes suddenly wet.

  “They said that sometimes a sudden shock or a powerful visceral experience can have unforeseen physical effects on a person. They can cause changes.”

  A single tear, a shimmering clear liquid crystal in the warm sunlight, spilled down onto her smooth cheek, and his breath hitched cruelly in his chest as it painted a glittering trail down one cheek.

  Oh God!

  A frozen barb of cruel ice pierced him with a painful jolt, lancing through his heart, and he began to tremble involuntarily as an overpowering surge of pure terror thumped uncontrollably through him.

  Rose’s limbs felt suddenly weak, the energy draining swiftly through the soles of his feet.

  Even as he faltered, his mind inexplicably recalled the scene from the film Rebecca, in which a stiff, brittle and rather feeble-looking (to Rose, at least. Molly, however, had thought Laurence Olivier appeared terribly noble and rather tragic) DeWinter finally learns the truth from his first wife’s physician that Rebecca had actually been terminally ill before her untimely demise. An awful secret she had kept from them all.

  They had suffered so much already, oh, so much cruel hurt and loss. How much more awfulness must they face and endure?

  She was so very wonderful, the sun in his sky, the air beneath his wings.

  Oh, dear God! Oh sweet, merciful God, save my Molly, please let her be alright! Please. Please let her be alright. If I did something wrong, forgive me, forgive me if I have displeased you. Please just don’t take my Molly from me, oh, please God…

  She was everything, all that there could ever be for him.

  The thought of losing her was unbearable. The garden seemed to spin overwhelmingly for an awful second, and he felt as if he might fall.

  “Oh, Harry! Goodness me! You’re trembling!” She said in surprise, “Come here, my silly, darling man.”

  She pulled him back into her warm and fragrant embrace, hugging him tightly to her and he desperately returned her hug as a drowning man would fight for the smallest shred of driftwood in a churning and hungry sea.

  In truth, he felt he could no longer stand unsupported on his own two feet.

  The tears were already forming heavy in his eyes, and the sticky lump in his throat ensured that he was unable to utter a word.

  He knew that he would certainly fall without her arms to hold him.

  She kissed him gently then, and sighed contentedly against him, the softly soothing zephyr of her breath playfully dancing lightly over the surface of his crumpling face.

  “I love you, my dearest, sweetest man, my beloved darling,” she breathed, “and I have something wonderful to tell you, a wonderful, incredible present for you.”

  Wonderful? Incredible? What...?

  A Wellington bomber mumbled its way distantly across the light blue sky, out for an air-test for tonight’s operations perhaps, and all around them, the birds were twittering.

  But he did not, could not, hear anything else but the sound of her voice.

  There could be no one else ever for him in this life but Molly, and she was all that really, truly mattered in the world.

  She was the light, the brilliant radiance that illuminated his heart and soul.

  The centre of Everything That There Could Ever Be in his life.

  Her cheek was soft against his, their warm tears mingling, her lips oh-so gentle against his ear, hair warm and fragrant against his face, the harmony of her voice sweet music, bursting uncontrollably with infinite happiness, and now she softly whispered to him:

  “The doctors have confirmed it,” her voice caught raggedly for a moment, with raw, joyous emotion, and she took a deep breath, “Harry; you’re going to be a father!”

  Afterword

  As a schoolboy in the 1970s, I discovered a copy of Rawnsley and Wright’s superlative ‘Nightfighter’ in the local library, and their incredible story immediately captured my imagination.

  Rawnsley’s account describes his war-time career as an RAF AI operator, and tells us of the incredible men and women who made the night time defence of our country possible using (at the time) cutting edge technology, and their incredible deeds enthralled and inspired me.

  In 1940, successfully intercepting enemy bombers (let alone shooting them down) in the night skies was an almost impossible task, but the introduction of AI changed everything, allowing the RAF to give the Luftwaffe a bloody nose at night, just as they had done during the great aerial battles in the Battle of Britain.

  Of course, the RAF’s night fighters were just one part of many in the defences of Great Britain, whilst a well-organised and extensive anti-aircraft system was another.

  Despite the best efforts of the defences, however, the Luftwaffe still inflicted a great deal of damage and devastation during ‘The Blitz’, but was ultimately unable to deliver the knockout blow promised to Hitler.

  After reading Nightfighter, I searched for more books of aerial night fighting, but whilst there were numerous accounts from the Nachtjager of the Luftwaffe, there was almost nothing written by RAF Flyers (Lewis Brandon’s account in Night Flyer being one of a few exceptions).

  Yet these outstanding people were the ones who pioneered, improvised and adapted this kind of combat, fine-tuning and developing a system that was to make the skies over Britain very hazardous to health for the bomber crews of the Luftwaffe.

  These experiences and their subsequent developments also made it possible to devise and conduct successful night intruder and bomber support operations using AI over the continent later in the war, and helped to create the all-weather combat aircraft.

  Rawnsley’s Nightfighter is an excellent source of information and references, illustrating how the night fighter war evolved and developed during the course of the war, whilst also suggesting storyline scenarios, and it was invaluable in the writing of Harry Rose’s night time adventures with Chalky White.

  Other excellent accounts describing the work of RAF night fighter crews and their operations during this period are the aforementioned Night Flyer by Lewis Brandon, and Richard Pike’s moving and exceptional Beaufighter Ace.

  I would highly recommend reading these books to find out more about the cold, lonely and perilous defensive war fought in the dark heights of the night skies of Britain during the Second World War.

  We owe these incomparable men and women an immense debt of gratitude, and in tribute to them, I placed Harry Rose amongst their ranks to continue his war against the airmen of Nazi Germany.

  I hope I will be forgiven by the gallant Norwegians who resisted the Nazis whenever and wherever possible for including two Quislings in this story. The truly incredible contribution provided to Britain’s war effort by servicemen and women from abroad is incalculable.

  To my am
azing wife and children, Thank You Lots for your endless love and support, which remains a shining constant in my life, and of course, thanks to my friend John Humphreys, London Underground Maestro, who told me of the story of the Tube’s runaway monkeys.

  The Luftwaffe planned The Blitz as an overwhelming night aerial offensive to defeat the UK following their failure during the Battle of Britain.

  But once again they were beaten, and many bomber crews, expecting minimal opposition by night, experienced instead their own destructive blitz of death and destruction at the hands of RAF night fighters.

  Beaufighter Blitz.