The Maltese Defence

by Simon Brading

  ‘Unfortunately, yes.’ Campbell nodded, retaining her calm in the face of her long-time friend’s confrontational attitude. ‘We no longer have control of the skies, so all we can do is go back to weathering the storm as best we can, while taking advantage of any opportunities that present themselves. Which is what we’ve mostly been doing already anyway.’ She looked around the room taking in the long faces. ‘If Greece really has fallen, then the War Ministry has to support us and send proper reinforcements, otherwise we’ll lose all the Eastern Mediterranean and probably North Africa as well. We have to bunker down and last until then. There’s nothing else we can do.’

  ‘Actually, there is; we could destroy Bertha.’ Tanya’s quiet statement silenced the mutterings that had begun at Campbell’s rather disappointing statement. She looked around at the pilots who were now staring at her and shrugged. ‘That way we win this game.’

  ‘Game?’ Drake grinned at her.

  ‘Yes, it is like a chess game. First they move, then we move. Unless we take their most important piece we will go back and forth until the King must commit suicide.’

  ‘Resign, darling, resign.’

  Tanya shrugged again. ‘Resign, die, suicide. It is much the same in war because the winners get to do what they want afterwards.’

  There was a brief silence as the pilots contemplated Tanya’s bleak outlook on things before Bruce spoke up.

  ‘I’m all for knocking Bertha out of the sky and Gruber along with it, but how are we going to do that if we can’t find the damn thing? I mean, even the Barons need special instruments to find it.’

  Tanya smiled and craned her neck to peer over the top of the high-backed chairs. ‘You can help with that bit, right?’

  ‘I should be able to.’

  The pilots swivelled in their seats to see who she was speaking to and were shocked to find Owen standing by the door - in all the fuss they had completely forgotten that he was being released from hospital that morning. He had come in unnoticed while all the attention, apart from Tanya’s apparently, had been on the Muscovite, and was accompanied by Wendy, who watched him with some concern as he hobbled stiffly over to them. He was being as nonchalant as possible in the face of their surprise, but there were obvious signs of pain in his eyes as he moved. They faded somewhat when he was still again, but it was telling that he leaned on the back of a wooden chair rather than sitting down.

  It was the first time the Misfits were seeing their friend since he’d been burnt, without him being swathed in bandages, and for a few seconds they were lost for words and could only stare. They had all seen what had happened to pilots who had been caught in a burning aircraft, it happened far too often to bomber crews for them not to have, but they had never expected one of their own to end up the same way, especially because, since the advent of springs, fighter aircraft no longer had anything combustible in them, which made the sight all the more upsetting.

  When the bomb had exploded on the Arturo, Owen had wrapped his arms around Wendy and held her against his chest, lowering his head over hers to try to protect her further, leaving half of his face and the back of his head exposed to the intense heat and flames. His once thick and proudly cared-for hair had burnt away and most of his scalp had been seared and only a few untidy patches were growing back, but it was what had been done to the left half of his face, the side that had been turned towards the explosion, which had many of the Misfits fighting tears. It was almost as if the skin of his face had melted and run, pulling the corner of his eye and his mouth downwards and distorting his nose. The eyelid over his slightly milky left eye was thicker and didn’t seem to open fully and he had no eyebrows or eyelashes on that side. Neither did he have an ear.

  Owen saw the looks and smiled, although only half of his face moved. ‘Well, I don’t think it looks that bad and just think how much I’m going to save on haircuts!’

  The silence lasted a second or two, but then Abby cleared her throat. ‘Yes, but you’re going to have to spend a fortune on hats.’

  There was a shocked silence as everyone stared at Abby, wondering how she could be so callous, but then Owen started laughing.

  It hadn’t been a particularly funny joke and certainly didn’t warrant Owen’s reaction to it, but, as Gwen looked back and forth between the two friends, she realised what the woman was doing. Owen didn’t want pity from his friends, he didn’t want a big thing to be made of his injuries, he just wanted to go back to how things had been. Abby had picked up on that and, in following his joke, had made sure that everybody else knew that he didn’t need treating with kid gloves and his laugh owed as much to relief as anything else.

  She smiled and chuckled, earning a puzzled look from Kitty, then raised her mug of tea. ‘Welcome back!’

  ‘Yes, welcome back, Sheepish!’ called Bruce. He drew a few uncertain laughs from the other pilots but one by one their frowns disappeared and they each called out a greeting to the Welshman in their own way.

  Abby caught Gwen’s eye and gave her a small nod of thanks before leaning forward and banging her mug on the low table. ‘Alright, settle down, we’ll do this properly later.’

  Once the room was quiet again, Abby turned to Owen. ‘I take it you want to get Bloodhound in the air to find Bertha. Are you sure you’re up for that?’

  ‘For sitting on my arse and looking at a few screens?’ Owen leaned over the chair and slapped its back with a hand which was covered in scar tissue. ‘I think I can handle that. I’ve already checked Bloodhound - my fitters have done a good job and she’s ready to fly immediately. Let me do this, let’s destroy that monster for...’ He swallowed, welling emotion cutting off what he’d been about to say.

  Abby took a deep breath. ‘Unfortunately, knowing where Bertha is won’t be enough, though. There’s no way we can destroy her; we bombed her once before and barely even scratched her paintwork.’

  ‘And that’s where I come in.’ Wendy said, holding up her hand and grinning. ‘A shipment of brand new meltrockets will arrive tonight after the sun goes does. Lieutenant Commander Strangeways has managed to get together enough for the entire squadron, including Dreadnought.’

  ‘Meltrockets?’ Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

  Wendy glared at him. ‘You think of a better name! It’s not easy coming up with good names for all the interesting stuff in my head, especially because they all do more or less the same thing.’

  Bruce pursed his lips thoughtfully, but said nothing and after a couple of seconds Wendy nodded triumphantly. ‘See? So next time you start to criticise my name choosing...’

  She never got to finish the sentence because Bruce’s eyes lit up and he cut her off with a shout. ‘Bertha Busters! Let’s call them Bertha Busters!’

  Wendy automatically rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to pooh-pooh his idea, but then stopped herself when she actually thought about it. ‘Actually, that’s not bad at all.’ She sighed. ‘Alright, let’s call them that.’

  Monty groaned. ‘Can we at least call them “Bertha Breakers” or something? “Buster” sounds so... I don’t know, Antipodean.’

  He stuck his tongue out at Bruce, who crossed his eyes in return.

  After the laughter had died down, Abby brought the room to order. ‘We haven’t got time for this people; the Prussians will probably be back soon, so let’s have a serious conversation please.’

  ‘With those two in the room?’ Owen asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Abby gave the two men a stern look. ‘And if I have to separate them, I will.’

  ‘We’ll behave, I promise,’ Bruce said earnestly.

  ‘Scout’s honour!’ said Monty, putting his fist to the side of his head and puffing out his chest.

  Abby stared at him as he held the ridiculous salute, then shook her head in exasperation. ‘Yes. Well.’ She pointedly turned away from the two men and looked at Campbell. ‘Dot?’

  The Sky Commodore just shook her head as she finished her tea. She stood up and looked
down at Abby. ‘This is your show. You plan it. Use whatever resources you need, just run it by me when you have something, please.’

  ‘Will do.’ Abby nodded. She waited until Campbell was out of the room before addressing the pilots.

  ‘Right then, we’re only going to get one chance at this, because as soon as Gruber knows we can see Bertha he’ll pull back beyond our reach, so we have to make it count. We’ll do it tomorrow, while the Prussians still think they have us over a barrel, but if the weather is bad, Bertha is too far away, or any of us sees any other problem, then we call it off and try again another time.’

  She looked around, making sure everybody understood before continuing. ‘The fitters will install the rockets tonight. Owen will go up in the dark, a few hours before dawn, and find Bertha. He’ll be escorted by 261 Squadron.’ She glanced over at the commander of the Spitsteam squadron. ‘For all we know Bertha could be above our heads right now, so you’ll stay with Squadron Leader Llewellyn until he determines whether there are any enemy aircraft in the area. Then, as soon as it is light enough to do so, you’ll land and rewind in order to face the morning raid with 126 and 185 squadrons.’ She met the eyes of the Harridan commanders briefly, giving them a nod, before looking around at the inner circle of Misfit Squadron pilots. ‘As for us - we’ll take off an hour before first light and climb to our maximum height over the island. Hopefully that will put us above Bertha and they won’t see us until it’s too late.’

  She let the information sink in, then looked at Wendy. ‘Tell us about your rockets. Will they melt through as much metal as the bombs? And how do they need to be targeted?’

  Wendy grinned. ‘They’re quite comparable to the bombs for sheer destruction, although Bertha is much bigger than any ship and I can’t guarantee that the acid will burn all the way from top to bottom. As for delivery, well, Strange and I figured that they were mostly going to hit something side on, rather than from above like the bombs, so we developed armour-piercing heads for them and adjusted the shaped charge so that, after they’ve penetrated, the explosion will be mostly directed forwards afterwards. That way the acid will hopefully be spread as far as possible into the target before gravity does its work.’

  ‘Good,’ said Abby.

  ‘But what good is that going to do? That thing’s lost its propulsion before and didn’t come out much the worse for wear. I don’t think a few holes in the side are going to bother it too much.’

  ‘The envelopes.’ Gwen said. ‘We have to put enough holes in them so that it falls out of the sky.’

  Abby nodded. ‘Sounds good, although to make sure we hit as many of the hulls as possible it would probably be best to fly over the top and drop meltbombs.’

  Gwen shrugged. ‘Then we take bombs and rockets. It’ll make us very heavy, but Excalibur and the rest of our aircraft can probably cope and the Spitsteams can always jettison the bombs if they have to. We launch the rockets at the fans from a distance, knock as many of those out as possible, then go in for a run on the envelopes with the bombs.’

  Bruce chuckled. ‘You make it sound so simple, Gwen. Are you forgetting that thing has as many guns at the Javelins did?’

  Gwen shook her head. ‘I’m not. We go in high enough to fly over Bertha and fire the rockets at a downward angle at the fans. That way we can offload everything in just one run, reducing the risk.’

  Gwen looked to Abby. Having examined Drake’s sketches of Bertha, she knew that her plan was solid and would work, but it would be her wingmate’s call as to how the attack would be made.

  The rest of the pilots followed Gwen’s example and waited for Abby to make her decision, but before she could the air raid warning sounded and the opportunity was lost in the race for the door.

  It wasn’t until they were in the air and climbing hard to meet the incoming raid that Abby came over the general frequency and finally gave her answer. ‘We’ll do it Gwen’s way. First thing tomorrow, we’re going to put Bertha in the drink.’

  The Coalition mounted two more raids that day and the British fighters met them each time, suffering losses amongst the Harridan and Spitsteam squadrons, but the Nelson remained silent and protected in their bunkers.

  After flying was over for the day, the Misfits trudged up the road to the house at Birzebbuga, forced to walk because the road had taken quite a few hits and the autocars couldn’t get through. They were exhausted, emotionally, physically and mentally, and, apart from Bruce and Monty, who stayed up to play a couple of games of chess over a few drinks before retiring, they went directly to their bedrooms and fell on their beds.

  Gwen couldn’t sleep, though, and she lay face up listening to the gentle, and not so gentle, sounds of snoring coming from the surrounding rooms.

  The morning’s mission was going to be just as dangerous as the attack on the Javelins, if not more so because of the height that they were going to have to fly at and the loss of power and manoeuvrability that would mean. It wasn’t that which was keeping her awake, though, because every time a pilot took to the skies in war there was always a very real chance they wouldn’t come back. Rather it was the thought of what the destruction of Bertha could mean for the war as a whole. It wouldn’t end the conflict, not in itself, but it might bring about a cascade of events that would bring it to a close in favour of the British and their allies far earlier than it otherwise would.

  The immediate effect would be the return of air superiority over Malta to the British, meaning that more convoys with reinforcements could be brought in safely, the island held and the shipping lanes to North Africa controlled. That would limit the ability of the Coalition to reinforce their troops, while allowing the British to do so freely and the fight in Africa would then turn in the favour of the British. They would be able to push the enemy away from the borders of the weak Ottoman Empire, which protested neutrality while at the same time appeasing the encroaching Prussians by selling them its vast gas reserves for its huge war machine. The Prussian armies throughout Europe would find themselves suddenly without the hydrogen they needed for their machines, while Britain and a reassured Muscovy would have an excess. The Prussians would be forced back from the lands they had taken and the push for Berlin would begin from all sides.

  The war could be over by Midwinter.

  The Misfits would then be freed from their duties and disbanded, after the obligatory round of victory parades, celebrations, and dinners, and she would be freed to start her life with Kitty.

  Gwen smiled and shifted happily at the thought.

  There was a groan from her side and Kitty lifted her head to peer at her with bleary eyes.

  ‘If you’re going to keep us awake we might as well use the time constructively.’

  Gwen’s smile widened as she rolled into the waiting arms of her lover.

  Chapter 21

  By the time the Misfits rolled out of bed, Owen had been in the air for half an hour. It was still dark when they left the house to begin the walk to the airfield and there was no way that they would have been able to see Bloodhound, but that didn’t stop most of the pilots from peering up into the starry sky anyway.

  The pilots hurried, not because they were late, but because they were eager to hear Owen’s report, to know whether they had a mission to look forward to or just another gruelling day of facing wave after wave of enemy aircraft. They made it to the gates of the air base in record time. They were waved through the barrier by a Military Guard, who grinned and wished them luck as they passed - it seemed that the news of the mission had gotten around, even though Dorothy Campbell had insisted on keeping a lid on it, just in case.

  The underground hangar was a hive of activity. Brightly lit, it was full of fitters and mechanics, all working frantically. The Misfit aircraft had carried rockets and bombs before, so the necessary hard points were already in place on them and it hadn’t taken too long to fit them, but it seemed that the men and women had continued working all night, making absolutely sure that the machines w
ere in tiptop condition. They had even polished them, bringing them to a high shine in the harsh overhead working lights, something that many pilots swore gave them a touch of extra speed.

  While Abby went to get Dorothy Campbell, the other pilots made their way to the mess for breakfast. The few times they’d been in the mess at that time of the morning, the room had been deserted apart from a few sleepy cooks and the occasional group of servicemen and women coming off duty, but that day it was filled almost to capacity. However, nobody was doing much in the way of eating. They were just nursing mugs of tea or idly picking at toast. They didn’t do a very good job of pretending not to watch the Misfits either, but the Misfits didn’t mind and presented a confident front as they went about their business.

  Wendy was already at the base, having gotten up early to see Owen off, and she joined them at their table after a few minutes.

  ‘Everything’s ready. You’ve all got a full complement of rockets and bombs and I’ve had release buttons for the meltbomb pods added to the weapons panel as well, so now you can jettison the pods before getting into a dogfight. Try not to unless you really have to, please; they were a bugger to make.’

  Bruce leaned across the table and met her eyes seriously. ‘When you say full complement you mean we each have six meltbombs and eight Bertha Busters, right?’ He put special emphasis on his name for the rockets, glancing sideways at Monty as he did so.

  Wendy shook her head. ‘These rockets are bigger and heavier than the ones we’ve used before so you only get two, one under each wing.’

  ‘Oh.’ Bruce blinked, surprised and not a little disappointed. ‘Which brings me to my next question - what exactly is a full complement of meltbombs and Bertha Busters on Dreadnought?’

  Wendy grinned sheepishly. ‘Sixty bombs and forty rockets.’

  The Misfits laughed, but at that moment, the mess door opened and Abby and Dorothy Campbell appeared at the end of the short path through the bushes.