Letters to Mrs Hernandez

by C S Gibbs

  Jacky was unimpressed.

  “You shot the poor sod as he was making a jump for it, Cully? That's not cricket, mate. I know they're the enemy and all that, but you could've let the bloke jump and take his chances.”

  “The Japs don't play cricket!” argued Cully, “I'm not going to let him get home and then go straight back up in the air the next day to do for a few of us. Not likely. They don't think about letting us go when they're crashing in to our ships, do they? They're just a bunch of yellow savages, so I'm not letting any of them off lightly. Every Jap we splash is a life spared for us, I say. I don't know about you, but I'm raring to go, tomorrow.”

  “I couldn't agree more,” said Jacky wearily, “I'm raring to go to the NAAFI. Tell you what, Hutch, why don't we go and get the low down from the boys. You owe me a beer in there, anyway!”

  Seizing the chance of escape from any further contact with Cully, Ben drained his glass and made for the exit, but something urged him to show some degree of courtesy – after all, they would all be relying on each other in the morning. Nodding to Cully, he said, “Get a good night's kip, eh? See you in the ready room, tomorrow.”

  Both he and Jacky knew that Cully would not lower himself to go and drink with the non-commissioned ranks, especially now that Stilton had been denied two days of shore leave for their recent spat.

  Dropping deeper in to the ship, the two men found Archie and Stilton, along with Seamen aplenty in the NAAFI. Unaccustomed to seeing officers on their patch, there was a flurry of salutes and a hasty smartening-up of unkempt uniforms, though this was hardly an issue in the circumstances. The summer heat had made things barely tolerable below decks and most crew were stripped down to shorts and shirts. Some men were lucky to have picked up rope-soled sandals, which made walking on the baking hot flight deck much easier in the searing sun.

  “Easy, fellas, easy,” smiled Jacky as Ben set off to grab those beers, “Save all that for above decks. It's only us two. What's the news on tomorrow?”

  Archie filled him in on the long-range fuel tanks and the amount of time that should give them in the air, then looked at the two young pilots with concern.

  “You two fellas'll be alright over there, won't you?”

  “Why shouldn't we be?” asked Ben.

  “I've been having a read of this paper, like,” said Archie, brandishing a recent copy of The White Ensign, “Have a listen to this, eh.” He began to recite:

  “The Japanese is a human being. He is not a physical freak, and he has all the ordinary human physical limitations.

  Where he differs from ourselves is in the field of ideas, where his upbringing, education, and traditions give him a very different view of life from our own.

  This upbringing and education, which are very thorough and consistent, tend to make him obedient, loyal, ready to endure and if necessary to die, with great love for his country and very strong sense of duty.”

  The men looked at one another and gave a mixture of grins, shrugs and nods. Ben bit his tongue, knowing that he might well be the only man on the ship, if not in the whole fleet, that had actually met anyone from Japan.

  The closest anyone else would have got to contact with a Japanese would have been the kamikaze pilot from earlier that day. Had the writer of this article even met anyone from Japan?

  Despite that, pondered Ben, Setsu was hardly a model for the Imperial war machine, but there were countless others who were. It was they that he was to fight. Archie continued.

  “In short, the Japanese must either be surprised, killed in battle, or starved.”

  Stilton had listened with a look of great concern and looked at the others for some sort of reassurance.

  “They don't sound like 'umans, do they? So they're not going to surrender unless we kills 'em all? How we gonna do that? There's gotta be millions of 'em!”

  The kamikaze attacks had struck fear in to everyone at first, but as with anything that happens with regularity, it became something of the norm. This is how the Japanese were and adaptations had to be made in order to fight them and beat them. No one was under any illusions that the coming invasion of mainland Japan was going to be anything other than the most catastrophic war of attrition.

  “I've heard,” said Jacky, “That the Yanks are pressing a million of those purple heart medals that they give to their wounded. Once their troops are in Japan, they expect that many casualties.”

  Archie found this bizarre and nearly spilled his precious beer.

  “Yer gets a medal for getting wounded?” he stammered, “I've heard it all, now. What if yer just sittin' on the khazi and a bomb goes off? Yer get's a bit of shrapnel in yer jacksie and you're a hero? Anyway, it's not the Japs that frighten me so much as the thought of bunking down next to Stilton again, tonight, with his stinky feet!”

  The big farmer's boy was all too often the butt of Archie's ribbings, especially when the two of them were working together, but he now felt a little empowered by the presence of Ben and Jacky.

  “Never you mind my feet,” came the repost, “What about you when you've had a belly full of those saveloys and peas? Oi've got to kip next to you whilst you gives off bloody poison gas all night!”

  All four men laughed. They were mutually sick of the same servings of tinned food, day in and day out. The only options on the menu seemed to be tinned saveloys or tinned herrings in tomato sauce (lovingly referred to as 'herrings-in'), whilst dessert offered a choice of tinned fruit or tinned fruit.

  “And not only that,” continued Stilton, who was now on something of a roll, “But 'e's not the only one who gasses off all night. I can tell half the blokes on our deck by the sounds they makes at night! They've all got their own accents, I tells yer. Like bird calls, they is, but at least birds fly away and don't leave no smell!”

  “Bird calls!” laughed Archie, “You sound like a bofors gun going off - that's how I know that it's you at night.”

  “Well, you sounds like a Spitfire on a cold morning, you does,” came back Stilton, “Phut, phut, phut, blaaaargh!”

  It felt good to laugh about such trivial and bawdy things and forget, even for a moment, the dangerous business that awaited everyone in the morning.

   

   

  Chapter Thirty-six - Tokyo Away Day

  The deck of the Indefatigable was packed with aircraft. Engines running, they taxied for take off one by one, their folded wings being lowered as they neared their place at the front, getting the right revs and waiting for their cue from bats, as crew men helped steady the wings, then crouch beneath them as the signal was given.

  Time after time the Avengers and Fireflies made their dash forward over the bow, then for a second they dropped almost from sight, only to bob up again and gain height, up to join the ever growing formation that was circling the fleet.

  Owing to their short range, the Seafires (sporting their huge, teardrop shaped fuel tanks under their bellies) were the last to go. Ben found taking off more disconcerting than landing-on, but managed again to lift his aircraft upward after that stomach-churning dip off the flight deck.

  Within minutes, the whole squadron had assembled and the entire force massed, setting forth to Japan.

  The briefing had been straightforward enough and every airman was clear on his task. The Avengers and Fireflies were armed with bombs and rockets to attack specific naval installations, whilst the Seafires were there to provide fighter protection, but were allowed to indulge in 'Ramrod' attacks on any target they deemed fit, should the opportunity arise.

  The weather was still unbearably hot. Up above the cloud there was nowhere to hide from the sun and Ben felt himself roasting in the cockpit. There was no need for a flying jacket, today. He had readied himself like all the other aircrew on this day, in preparation for the heat and also in case of his being shot down and captured in Japan.

  Regular dress shoes were much more comfortable in this climate, though shorts were eschewed, today, in favour of long, khaki tr
ousers with knee pockets for a map (magnetised buttons were stitched in to the trouser flies, to be used as a makeshift compass). Under his life jacket, he wore a plain, khaki shirt, with no insignia or sign of rank, nor any identification with the exception of dog tags – they had been told that Japanese intelligence served up their most horrific torture methods to captured officers, so it was best for everyone to pass themselves off as non-commissioned aircrew with no knowledge of any value.

  Ben's thought's suddenly dwelled on how his own father might have felt when he was getting ready to go 'over the top' in the trenches of The Great War. Dad had never spoken about the war – none of the men who came back ever said a word about it – so Ben could only wonder if they shared the same fears, all these years apart. Was there truly a 'bullet with your name on it'? It was best not to think on such things.

  “Keep in formation. We should be approaching the coastline, now,” came the assured voice of Rydall, who was watching from on high.

  He could not be sure, though, as thick cloud was ahead and stretched beyond the horizon.

  “That's a fair bit of quilt, there,” quipped Rydall. “We'll carry on and see if there's a break in it.”

  Ben had mixed emotions. There was a job to be done, here, a duty to fulfil. This was to be his small part in helping to bring this war to an end and he was prepared for it, yet he yearned to gaze down and see Setsu's homeland for the first time and could see nothing but cloud. Was she there? If only he could just fly straight down and find her.

  On they flew, over the endless blanket of white. No hostile aircraft came to greet them and they continued onward in a state of alertness and frustration.

  Rydall gave the order for Ben's flight and several others to drop their fuel tanks, then turn and head for home. There was no point in wasting fuel, time and men in this situation. The war would have to wait for another day.

  The sense of relief amongst the pilots was equalled by a sense of anti-climax, as all concerned had prepared themselves for action, but were to be denied on this day.

  Paired with Cully again, Ben found himself once more as a 'tail end Charlie', keeping watch over those ahead, though there really was no-one to watch over him. The cloud was starting to break up as he scanned the skies, catching sight of Cully, who was zogging once more from his Seafire.

  His signals were quite animated and spelled out the word 'ship'. Ben looked down over his port wing and, sure enough, through a small gap in the cloud, he caught a glimpse of a large vessel with a single funnel spouting black smoke. It was steaming for Japan and was boldly painted in green and white, which clearly identified it as a hospital ship. Such ships were to be treated as neutral and left well alone, so Ben looked for Cully to inform him of as much.

  Cully, though, had peeled away from the formation with the clear intent of investigating further and was making for the gap in the cloud.

  The decision to follow him was instantaneous. It was bad enough that Cully had broken ranks in the first place and to follow him and do likewise was madness, but Cully was driven by bloodlust, whilst Ben was weighed down with reason. The million to one notion that Setsu's brother could be one of the men on that ship was enough to make him drive his Seafire in pursuit of Cully.

  Breaking under the cloud cover, he saw Cully's Seafire make a low pass over the ship, which was enough for him to have a good look and see that it was unarmed. Surely he would now climb away and re-join the formation?

  Cully gained some height and swung around, but then began to head back towards the ship. He was preparing an attack!

  Ben raced over the ship. He could see men on the decks, some of whom were clearly sporting bandaged wounds, whilst others were on crutches. They had seen the two enemy planes and were hurrying below deck as best as they could, some were even carrying comrades who clearly could not move well.

  What to do? Cully had to be stopped. Ben steered his Seafire directly at the oncoming Cully to obstruct him. The two aircraft were heading straight for each other and every time Cully tried to manoeuvre for a better angle, Ben matched his move and blocked his attack. Someone would have to back out, but Ben was sure that it would not be him and pressed forward.

  A collision was imminent, but Cully pulled up and away, hurtling back over the ship. Not a bullet had been spent, but enough fuel had been wasted to make a second pass impossible.

  Both men knew that they had to get back to the formation and get back to the Indefatigable.

   

  ***

   

  The landings-on had gone remarkably well and Ben touched down softly, with fuel to spare.

  As he clambered from his cockpit, Archie and Stilton greeted him.

  “So, Sir, what was it like, eh? Your first look at Japan?” asked Stilton with the eagerness of a schoolboy.

  “It was closed for the day due to fog, so I came home,” said Ben with mock gloom.

  “So you went all that way for nothing and didn't even bring us back a souvenir, then?” smirked Archie.

  “Well, I would have, but you didn't give me any sweets for the journey!”

  “Ah, so that's where we're going wrong, Sir?” Archie turned to Stilton, “Well, you heard the man – next time we ready the kite, we need fuel tanks filled to the brim, all ammo cans loaded . . . and a bag of gobstoppers in the cockpit for Lord Muck, here!”

  “That's the ticket, lads! With organization like this, we'll win the war in no time!” Chuckled Ben, as he made his way off to de-briefing. The smile was to be short lived, though.

  “You bloody oaf! What were you playing at?”

  The outburst was accompanied by a shove in the back and Ben whirled around to face an incandescent Cully, who continued to push at Ben's chest. Archie, Stilton and others gathered around the fray.

  “What was I playing at? You need to get your bumps felt, mate! That was a hospital ship.”

  “It makes no odds! They're all as good as dead, anyway. I was just going to send those yellow monkeys on their way a bit sooner. Besides, you're no bloody good at shooting Japs for yourself and now you're stopping me from doing it for you! Your sort should know your place and leave this business to the right people.”

  Cully gave another shove and Ben responded by moving toward him, his hackles now raised. Archie stepped forward and grabbed Ben's clenched fist, whilst Stilton positioned his considerable bulk between the two pilots.

  “You two! What the bloody hell is going on?” called Rydall, who had leaped down from the wing of his Seafire to stop the fracas. “Get inside! I only hope for your sakes that the Admiral didn't see that!”

  Like two brawling schoolboys caught on the yard, the young pilots trudged and fumed in to the de-briefing room with Rydall in close attendance.

  “I wish,” pondered Archie, “That I'd let Mr Hutchinson hit that southern pillock.”

  “I knows what you mean,” agreed Stilton, “Oi'd love to see that, too. But Oi don't want to see Mr Hutchinson get himself court-martialled.”

  In the de-briefing room, Rydall ushered the pair in to a corner and set about nipping the whole situation in the bud.

  “What was all that about, eh, boys? Hutch, you speak first and make it short and sweet. I've got better things to do than deal with you two.”

  Ben had not felt like this since he had disappointed Charles Carruthers with some poor draftsmanship, but he steeled himself and looked Rydall in the eye.

  “Cully broke formation and was going to attack a Jap hospital ship. I followed him and put him off.”

  Rydall stared at him as he took in the information, then pursed his lips and took a long breath through his nose. His stare turned to Cully.

  “Is this true?”

  “It was a legitimate target, sir! We were on a ramrod!”

  “It was a hospital ship, you bloody fool!” bellowed Rydall, right in to Cully's face, causing the rest of the pilots in the room to fall silent, then turn away and start embarrassed small talk in hushed tones.


  “If word gets back to the Japs that we're attacking their wounded, then they'll take it out on our boys in the POW camps! Honestly, Cully, if we weren't so short of pilots, I'd fly you back to Sydney, myself. Get to your quarters. I'll deal with you, later. Hutch, I want to see you in the office, right after de-briefing.”

   

  ***

   

  With his flying clothes still damp with sweat, Ben entered the squadron's office. Rydall was hurriedly filling out a form on his desk and without looking up from the paper, instructed him to sit down. He continued to write as though no-one was there. Ben assumed that this was a tactic to make him feel uneasy and did his best not to prove that this was the case. Finally, Rydall looked up from the page.

  “It's bad enough, Hutch, that you broke formation, but to get involved in a caper like that was a bit of a shocker.”

  His tone was much calmer that Ben had expected – this did not sound like the pre-amble to a court-martial, or was this just the calm before the storm?

  “Hopefully,” continued Rydall, “Nothing more will come of this. I'm putting you and Cully on separate flights, to keep you out of each other's way. Oh, and you're docked a day's shore leave when we're next in port.”

  Ben winced a little, but realised that it could have been worse.

  “I'm docking Cully three days, though. Think yourselves lucky that no-one higher up saw it. You'd both be in hot water for that. The fact is that I need both of you here and on top of your games until this current stint is over. I expect you to be on your best behaviour from now on. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir!” Ben nodded.

  Rydall got up and strode to a cupboard. After unlocking it, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He filled both liberally and passed one to Ben.

  “I noticed that he took a dislike from you right from the off, Hutch,” he sighed.

  “Let me tell you a few things about Cully,” he continued. “I know the fellow from when he was a young lad. In fact, his elder brother George and I were at Cambridge together – we spent a couple of summers at his family estate, in Hampshire.

  “It would have been the summer of '23 when I first set eyes on young Howard – he would have been six or seven, then and he was as spoilt as could be. George's father was in the Great War, just like yours and mine, only Cully senior didn't make it back from Passchendale in '17.