Victory for the Ops Room Girls

by Vicki Beeby

  On the fifth morning after VE Day, he reluctantly decided to turn his thoughts to his family. Just as he was planning another trip to the Czechoslovak government-in-exile, he was summoned to a briefing. Wondering what on earth he was expected to photograph now the Germans had surrendered, he collected his kit. When he clambered into the Humber that would take him to the Intelligence Room, he saw Jiří was already inside.

  ‘So you have been summoned too,’ he said to his friend.

  Jiří nodded. ‘Any idea what this is about? I thought all missions would have finished.’

  They found out when the briefing started. ‘Intelligence have requested information on German troop movements,’ their commanding officer told them. ‘They need to see if the surrender is proceeding according to agreement. The two of you will take a Mosquito to photograph troop positions in Germany.’ He went on to list a series of targets, finishing with, ‘And your final target is here, just outside Dresden.’ Milan looked at the map and the germ of an idea formed. It was madness, he knew, but it buzzed around his head and refused to be ignored.

  He held his silence until they were airborne, not daring to speak in case someone overheard. It was only when he could see the glistening ribbon of the Channel below them that he finally put his thoughts into words.

  ‘Dresden is not so far from Prague,’ he said, adjusting his oxygen mask which vibrated against his face as he spoke into it. He twisted in his seat, glancing back at Jiří, sitting in the navigator’s seat behind him. From force of habit, he scanned the skies for enemy fighters. Then it struck him with an odd sense of dislocation that there would be no enemy fighters in the skies ever again.

  He couldn’t see much of Jiří’s face beneath his mask apart from his eyes, which seemed to glint even brighter than the sunlight on the sea.

  ‘You want to fly over Prague?’

  While they usually spoke English when flying missions together, now they both spoke Czech. It seemed only natural.

  ‘I can do better than that. I think we’re due for a little engine trouble, don’t you?’

  Jiří’s voice went an octave higher. ‘You’re going to land?’

  ‘Only if you agree.’ Milan shot another glance at Jiří. ‘What do you say? Fancy a trip to Prague?’

  ‘I thought I was the mad one.’ This was muttered under Jiří’s breath, and Milan wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly, but Jiří’s wide eyes spoke volumes.

  ‘I promised to come to Prague with you.’

  ‘Yes. After leaving the RAF.’

  Milan shrugged. ‘If you haven’t got the guts…’

  ‘I didn’t say no. I just… let me think.’

  ‘You’ve got until Dresden.’

  They didn’t say much after that, apart from Jiří’s instructions to keep Milan on course. It was a good thing there weren’t any enemy aircraft to evade, because Milan was too busy thinking about the possibility of seeing his home. His head was so full of thoughts of how much his family home had changed that he wouldn’t notice if a Messerschmitt flew nose to nose with the Mosquito. If Jiří agreed, they could be there in a couple of hours. He resisted the temptation to try and persuade Jiří, knowing his friend would be more likely to agree if left to think things over for himself.

  Unfortunately, that gave Milan time to brood over Jess. As far as he could see, her decision did at least relieve him of the agonising choice of where to make his home. If she didn’t want him, there was no reason to remain in England once he was finally out of the RAF.

  After a long silence, Jiří’s voice crackled over the intercom. ‘Final target in five minutes.’ Then, after a pause, ‘What will the CO do when he finds out?’

  ‘Who says he will?’

  ‘We’ll be hours late returning to Benson. How do we explain it?’

  ‘We tell him we had engine trouble, had to make a forced landing to fix it. He need never know the truth.’

  Another pause. Then, ‘Very well. I’m in. On one condition – we look for my family first.’

  Milan’s stomach was in knots as he photographed the area around Dresden – the last known position of the 4th Panzer Army. In any other circumstances he would have been eager to look for signs of their retreat and surrender to the Red Army; now he strained his eyes to look south east, across the Czech frontier. That was where his home lay.

  Jiří continued to give bearings, although Milan didn’t need them now. Memories of training flights from his time in the Czechoslovak Air Force guided his way. Far below the silvery Elbe pointed him towards Prague until it doubled back on itself, then a little further on Milan caught his first glimpse of the Vltava for six years. He was losing height now, and he could make out individual fields, roads and clusters of buildings. Somewhere down there were his sister and nephew. He desperately prayed they were, at any rate. His longing for home was now so intense it was a physical pain gnawing at his stomach.

  Jiří’s voice crackled across the intercom. ‘Where are we landing – Kbely?’ This was the military airfield on the outskirts of Prague where they had been based in their Czechoslovak Air Force days.

  Milan shook his head. ‘We don’t know if the Luftwaffe are still there. If they are, I don’t fancy landing a British plane in the middle of them. The same goes for Ruzynĕ.’

  ‘But there’s nowhere else anywhere near Prague.’

  ‘I know a place.’ He banked, continuing to lose height. ‘I got lost on my first solo cross-country flight. Didn’t quite have enough fuel to make it to Kbely and had to make a forced landing in a field.’

  ‘You’re going to put us down in a field? Are you crazy?’ Jiří’s voice was sliding up the scale again.

  ‘I did it before.’

  ‘That was in a B-534. The Mosquito is twice the size.’

  There was no denying Jiří had a point. An unseen obstacle such as a burrow or patch of soft ground could be enough to cause a crash. When Milan had landed in the field seven years ago, the short grass had concealed no obstacles and the ground was as hard as concrete. If nothing had changed, it would be safe to land there. However, seven years was a long time.

  He glanced back at Jiří, eyebrows raised. ‘If you’ve changed your mind, just say the word. I’ll turn back.’

  Jiří shook his head. ‘I’ve not come this far only to return without finding my family.’

  Milan turned his attention to the ground. Far below he could see the landing strip at Kbely and, further east, the line of trees that marked the edge of the field he was looking for. Holding his breath, he swooped low over the field, craning his neck to examine the ground. It looked just the same as it had the last time he had landed there with no visible obstructions.

  ‘This is your last chance to back out.’

  ‘No way.’ Jiří’s voice was strained but definite.

  Milan circled the field, doing his best to judge wind direction then, every muscle in his body rigid with tension, glided down to land. The wheels hit firm ground, and the Mosquito bounced once then settled on the field.

  Jiří swore as it rumbled over the rough surface and came to a controlled stop not far from the trees. ‘Promise you’ll never put me through anything like that again.’

  Only when the propellers had swished to a stop did Milan shrug off his parachute and Mae West with trembling hands and undo his harness. He swivelled round and grinned at Jiří. ‘Admit it, you enjoyed it.’

  Jiří was still swearing as they climbed out onto the wing and jumped down to the ground. The first time Milan’s feet had touched Czech soil for six years. He was tempted to kneel down and plunge his hands into the earth, but there was no time for melodramatic gestures. They had two families to find, and Milan wanted to get back to Britain before dark. While the Mosquito was equipped for night flying, he didn’t want to risk a night flight unless he absolutely had to.

  ‘How do we get from here to Prague?’ Jiří asked.

  Milan opened his mouth then bit off his answer at the sound of sho
uts and running feet. Five men burst through the trees, armed with pitchforks and other dangerous looking farm equipment.

  ‘Hands up,’ cried one, first in Czech then in halting English. ‘Who are you?’

  Milan raised his hands in the air, and Jiří did likewise. ‘Friends,’ he called in Czech.

  The men approached, their makeshift weapons raised. ‘Prove it,’ another called.

  Milan gave a helpless shrug. ‘How? We are both Czechs who have been flying with the British during the war.’ He hesitated a moment then pulled his Foreign Air Personnel identity card from his breast pocket. It proclaimed that he was serving in the Czechoslovak Air Force and listed his ranks held in the RAF. He handed it to the man who seemed to be the leader, a tall, fair haired man in his forties or early fifties. Jiří did the same.

  The man examined the cards, paying particular attention to the Air Ministry stamp. Finally he handed them back. ‘They look genuine,’ he said to the other men, who lowered their weapons. The man turned back to Milan and Jiří. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘Vyšehrad,’ Jiří said.

  The leader jerked his head at Milan. ‘And you?’

  ‘Roztoky.’

  ‘Why have the RAF sent you here?’

  ‘If it’s to aid the uprising, they’re too late,’ a scowling dark haired man said. ‘The Red Army are here now. They saved us from the Nazis when the British and Americans left us to be shot like dogs.’ Another man clasped him on the shoulder, and the dark haired man subsided.

  Milan had a feeling he was missing something but didn’t want to get involved in these men’s problems. He could guess it was to do with the Americans withdrawing from Czechoslovakia after liberating Pilsen instead of pushing forwards into Prague, leaving the liberation of Czechoslovakia to the Russians. Much as he thought that decision was a terrible mistake, especially following the accidental bombing in February, it wasn’t a discussion he was prepared to get into with strangers. ‘The RAF didn’t send us. We were on a mission to Dresden but took a little detour.’

  This statement earned grins and nods of approval.

  ‘Then why are you here?’ the leader asked.

  ‘To get news of our families. We haven’t seen or heard from them in years. When Jiří here heard Vyšehrad had been bombed, I promised to come with him to Prague at the earliest opportunity.’

  ‘You can’t go around Prague in your uniforms.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s not safe. There are still members of the SS holed up and Nazi sympathisers. If you bump into the wrong crowd you could end up being lynched.’

  Milan glanced at Jiří, his heart sinking. Coming here had been an impulse. He’d assumed that with the end of the war, all hostilities would be over. ‘We have to go. We haven’t come all this way just to fly home.’

  The leader scratched his chin. ‘I was going to visit my aunt in Prague tomorrow. I could go today instead and give you a lift. I’ll find a couple of raincoats you can wear to cover up your uniforms. You must take care, though. It is not only Nazi sympathisers you must avoid. There are plenty of people who do not forget that the British abandoned Czechoslovakia at the start of the war, and the British and Americans refused to help us fight the Nazis at the end, even when we appealed for help. Many people believe our future lies with Russia. Czechoslovakia is not safe for men who joined the British.’

  Jiří scowled. ‘Even though we fought the Nazis?’

  The man looked sad. ‘No one saw you fight. All the people here know is that we were left without help when the Nazis stormed our villages and shot men, women and children.’

  * * *

  The man dropped them near to the central train station, telling them he would drive out to Roztoky and meet them in the town centre at three if they wanted a ride back to the field. Before leaving, he pressed a few Bohemian koruny into Milan’s hand. ‘I’m not so poor I can’t afford it,’ he said when Milan tried to hand the money back.

  Seeing Czech names on shops and street signs, and hearing Czech spoken all around them, Milan felt as though he had awoken from a long and feverish dream. It was surreal to walk onto the streets and find everything looked pretty much as he remembered. Having seen the devastation of the Blitz in London, Milan had feared he would see similar destruction in Prague. Now, however, he realised the Nazis had no reason to bomb a city they had been allowed to walk into with no resistance. He glanced at Jiří, who gazed around him looking like a sleeper who had been startled awake.

  Suddenly overcome with a desire to see the Vltava, along whose banks he had strolled so many times, he said, ‘Let’s walk to the river. We can pick up a tram from there.’ If anywhere could convince him he was finally home, it would be a sight of the river.

  Jiří nodded, still looking dazed. They walked along Mezibranská and then turned right down Žitná. Without needing to say a word to each other, they both picked up their pace now they were heading directly for the river.

  They were approaching Karlovo náměstí when Jiří gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘The church. Look.’ He pointed to where the church of St Ignatius stood. Or, rather, where it had stood.

  Milan froze. A large section of the roof and walls had gone, exposing the interior. A pile of rubble was now all that remained of the outer stonework; snapped and charred beams lay scattered like discarded matchsticks. Further up the square, he could see the hospital had also been hit. The area around Karlovo náměstí was clearly one of the casualties of the tragic mistaken bombing on St Valentine’s Day. This was a sight he was all too familiar with.

  Unbidden, images of Jess’s house flashed into his mind. Of picking his way through rubble in search of Hannah and Vera. Of holding Jess in his arms as she had sobbed in relief and poured out the truth about her past. At the time he had hoped that moment would mark a deepening of their relationship. He swallowed and rubbed his eyes as though it could erase the painful memory.

  ‘This is awful,’ Jiří said, white-faced. ‘Worse than the London bombings somehow.’

  Milan knew what he meant. Perhaps if they had known London before the war, he would have felt the same shock Jess had always displayed when they had passed a crater where once a place known to Jess had stood. He had been sickened by the loss of life, of course, but he couldn’t feel the sorrow Jess felt at the damage to a much-loved city. Now, however, he guessed she must have felt the same sense of deep loss and wrongness he felt at seeing rubble instead of the beautiful Baroque church.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Come on. Let’s see if the trams are still running.’ Now, more than ever, he needed to find what had happened to his sister. He toyed with the idea of leaving Jiří while he went to Roztoky alone. Another glance at Jiří’s face changed his mind. His friend was shaking, as though he had been struck by all the horrors of the war at once. He could not leave him to face what could be the loss of his whole family alone.

  There was more shock to come when they reached the river and the wide road that ran parallel to its banks. The building that stood on the corner, facing the river, was now roofless and its interior a burnt-out shell.

  He turned away from it and gazed across the river. With his back to the wreckage he could almost believe Prague had escaped the war unscathed. The water sparkled in the sunshine; the trees lining the banks whispered in the gentle breeze. On the far side, the wooded slopes of Petřín Hill rose up just as they had always done. The buildings that lined the banks on the west side looked largely untouched. Hearing the chug of boats, the hum of the crowds and the rattle of trams, he could almost believe the intervening years had been a dream and he was still an earnest music student with a glittering career ahead of him. Almost.

  Jiří tugged his arm and pointed to a tram that had just pulled up at a stop. ‘That’s going the right way,’ he said.

  They jumped on board, and the tram moved off, ringing its bell as it followed the river south. When they passed the Palacký Bridge, Milan could see that, too, had been damaged
. A sick knot of fear twisted in his stomach as the ramparts of Vyšehrad came into view. What would they find up there? The twin spires of the St Peter and Paul church were still thankfully intact. After seeing the damage to St Ignatius church, it was a relief to know that the church dominating the skyline in this part of Prague had survived.

  They left the tram at the foot of the ramparts; Jiří led them up a narrow cobbled lane that climbed steeply up to meet the huddle of streets behind the historic fortifications.

  ‘How far to your house?’ Milan clutched a stitch in his side. After so long in the Mosquito, his muscles were protesting at the exercise.

  ‘Not far. It is just around—’ Jiří stopped short with a choking cry. The reason was all too clear. The street beyond had been reduced to rubble.

  Milan, seeing Jiří swaying in shock, grabbed him by the arm. ‘It might not be as bad as it looks,’ he said. ‘They might not have been in the house. Where else could they be?’ This was all too horribly like seeing Jess’s home destroyed.

  At first, Jiří gave no sign that he had heard. He continued to stare at the ruins. ‘Our apartment was just there.’ He pointed to the middle of the rubble.

  Milan gripped Jiří’s arm harder. ‘Think. Where would they have gone?’

  Jiří seemed to emerge from his daze. ‘My aunt’s house, perhaps.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Milan could see they would not be going to Roztoky any time soon but he couldn’t leave Jiří in this state.

  ‘Not far.’ Jiří pointed vaguely back towards the ramparts.

  Milan’s hopes rose. The area around the ancient fortifications had appeared relatively unscathed. ‘If they were there they might have escaped,’ he said. ‘Your aunt at least will be able to tell you what has happened.’