The Maltese Defence

by Simon Brading

Chapter 24

  There was a single Spitsteam at Hal Far when Gwen flew over, but it was upside down, having apparently made a forced landing and hit one of the holes from the bombing. A gang of men and women were working to hook it up to a crane, while a medical vehicle was racing away from it, swerving around potholes. Gwen peered at the aircraft as it was lifted, but it was impossible to make out whose it was, or even whether it was a Misfit or Gladiator machine. She just hoped whoever it belonged to wasn’t too badly hurt.

  True to Campbell’s promise, there was a big enough patch of the airfield repaired and marked with white cloths for the British aircraft to start landing when they arrived and the Misfits, having been up the longest, were lowest on tension and given clearance to land first. They were taken straight down into the hangar where they found Bloodhound tucked out of the way to one side, but no Misfit Spitsteams.

  Gwen jumped out and gave her fitters the barest of greetings before running over to Dragon, arriving just as Owen and Scarlet did.

  Abby held up a hand to forestall her before she could say anything. ‘I know. Come on, let’s go see Dot.’

  Drake fell in with them before they were half way across the hangar. ‘The Spit outside is one of Gladiator’s. The pilot’s a bit knocked about, but she’s going to be fine.’ He pointedly gazed around the hangar. ‘So...’

  Abby interrupted without looking at him or slowing her march. ‘We’re going to find out now.’

  The five pilots went past the guards posted outside the door of the operations room, through the blast curtains and into the room.

  The operations room at Hal Far was very similar to the ones the Misfits had seen in England. It was dominated by a huge map table in the centre of the room, which showed the five hundred miles around Malta, most of it blue. A dozen men and women stood around it with long poles, like snooker rests, waiting to push wooden markers around it when prompted by the operators serving the long desk of radio receivers sitting along one wall. A huge board, displaying the status of the fighter squadrons on the island, covered the far wall and lights on it showed the Misfits and 261 squadron as “rearm - rewind”, but 126 and 185 squadrons as still being “engaged”.

  A small balcony, accessed via a short flight of stairs next to the door, overlooked the room and that was where they found Dorothy Campbell, frowning down at the map as she spoke into her headset. She looked up as they came in, but, as Abby started to mount the steps onto the balcony, she held up her hand to stop her, then handed a sheet of paper to the man sitting next to her, covering her microphone to say a few words to him. When she was done she gave Abby an apologetic smile, but then returned her attention to the map table and the markers being pushed around on it which represented the men and women in mortal combat high above.

  The man, an aviator lieutenant with grey hair, stood and hurried down the stairs. He motioned for the Misfits to precede him from the room and, once the door was closed behind them, he nodded to Abby. ‘Group Captain, the Sky Commodore apologises for not speaking to you in person, but she won’t leave her post until our fighters are home. She told me to give you this and answer any questions you might have.’

  He handed the piece of paper to Abby, who scanned it quickly. Her face fell and she slowly turned to look at Gwen.

  ‘No...’ said Gwen, recoiling, her eyes prickling. ‘Please...’

  ‘She’s alive, Gwen, but she’s hurt badly.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Abby waved the paper. There were only a few short sentences on it, scribbled quickly by Campbell when she’d had a chance. ‘It doesn’t say.’

  ‘I have to go to her.’ Tears were now flooding Gwen’s eyes and she turned to go, but, before she could take a step, Abby’s hand caught her arm and pulled her to a halt.

  ‘You can’t, Gwen.’ Abby said. ‘You’re needed here.’

  ‘Kitty needs me too! I have to...’ Gwen pulled at the hand, but Abby was unrelenting.

  ‘No, Gwen! I’m sorry, but Kitty doesn’t need you; she needs doctors and a safe hospital and you need to keep flying so we can stop the Prussians from taking that away.’

  Gwen made one last effort to pull away from her, but it was half-hearted; while her heart desperately wanted her to run to Kitty’s side, her head understood what Abby was saying and knew that the best way to help her was to stay and fight. She nodded reluctantly. ‘Alright. But I need to know more.’

  She looked at the man, who nodded. ‘I’ll do what I can to find out how whatever I can.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ The man nodded at her then looked at Abby. ‘Commodore Campbell said you should go to fifteen minute readiness and asked me to tell you that she would come and find you when she could get away.’

  ‘Good. Thank you.’

  The man waited a beat, but when Abby didn’t say anything more he gestured in the direction of the door behind him. ‘If there’s nothing else? I should get back to my post, ma’am.’

  ‘Of course, please don’t let us keep you, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ The man hurried back into the command centre.

  ‘Where are Tanya and the others, Abby?’

  Gwen started; she had been so caught up in her worry for Kitty that she had completely forgotten about the rest of the squadron. She looked at Drake and found him staring at Abby with a strained expression, the tan he’d picked up during his months in the Mediterranean faded almost to yellow.

  ‘Tanya ditched her Spit in the Grand Harbour - she’s got a few bruises, but she’s fine and bagged a Baron apparently. Derek landed his glidewings in one of the main streets in Valletta and is on his way here, but Farrier and Chastity are missing.’

  Drake’s expression softened slightly in relief at the news of his wife, but his worry didn’t completely disappear. ‘Missing? What does that mean? Surely they know more than that? I mean, we were fighting above the island, someone must have seen something, or heard their radio calls.’

  Abby shrugged and waved the paper again. ‘Sorry, you know as much as I do.’ She looked around at the frantic activity in the hangar. ‘There’s no use waiting around here, I suggest we get some food, then go and see how our aircraft are.’

  She began leading the way towards the ready room, but a shout from behind them had them turning back.

  ‘Abby!’ Campbell came out of the command centre and hurried towards them. Her hair had been hastily pinned back, she had black bags under her eyes and didn’t even have the most rudimentary of makeup in place - she had obviously been turfed out of bed as unceremoniously as they had.

  ‘Dot! Is there any news?’

  Campbell looked at Gwen and nodded. ‘I’ve just heard from Valletta hospital. Kitty made it there alive and is in the operating theatre now.’

  ‘What happened to her?’ asked Gwen.

  ‘She bailed out and managed to deploy her glidewings, but then lost consciousness on the way down. The wind pushed her north, but one of the launches spotted her and followed her. They grabbed her as soon as she fell into the sea and rushed her back to Valletta.’

  Gwen swallowed; it was just as well the glidewings were designed to come down on their own if a pilot lost consciousness, but Kitty could have drifted out to sea and never been seen again if it weren’t for the Navy’s rescue boats. ‘How bad is she?’

  Campbell hesitated and glanced at Abby who shrugged. ‘She’s going to worry all day anyway. You might as well tell her.’

  Campbell gave her a small nod, then gave Gwen a sympathetic look. ‘She got hit by a couple of machine gun rounds, one in the leg, one in the side. The one in her leg tore a pretty big hole in her thigh, but isn’t serious, the one in her side is another matter. There are signs of internal bleeding and the doctors have to open her up to find out what’s been damaged.’

  ‘Oh, god.’ The world seemed to fade away for a second as pictures of Kitty lying on an operating table, her skin peeled back and faceless men
and women rooting around inside her flashed in front of her eyes.

  ‘Excu...’

  She covered her mouth, cutting herself off, and ran to the side, only just managing to reach the fire bucket she’d been going for before ridding herself of what she’d eaten before flying. It didn’t take long and she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth before straightening. To her shame she found the others watching her, waiting until she was ready to continue the conversation.

  Campbell looked at her with clear concern. ‘I know the medics cleared you after your injury yesterday, Gwen, but are you sure you’re alright to fly?’

  Gwen nodded, then winced as that made her head swim. ‘I’m fine. Nothing a bacon sarnie won’t sort.’

  Campbell frowned doubtfully, but nodded her acceptance. ‘I can’t say I believe you, but we need everyone in the air.’ She looked at Abby and dropped her voice so that the noise in the hangar prevented any of the men and women hurrying about from hearing her. ‘It’s not even ten in the morning and we’ve lost about half our fighters. Most of the pilots have bailed out and will be ready to get back in the air as soon as they get here, but we don’t have the aircraft for them. Too many raids like that and there won’t be enough to repel a landing.’

  Abby shook her head. ‘There won’t be any more raids like that. They lost too many aircraft themselves and for what? To put a few holes in the airfields that they know we can patch? No, there was something else behind today’s raid.’

  ‘They were after me, weren’t they?’ Owen said.

  ‘Yes...’ Abby said, unconvinced. ‘But I don’t think that was the main objective either.’

  ‘Then what was?’ asked Campbell.

  ‘I wish I knew.’

  The door to the command centre opened and the grey-haired aviator lieutenant from before appeared. ‘Commodore! You’re needed!’

  He beckoned to her urgently and Campbell gave the Misfits a wry smile. ‘I think we’re about to find out.’

  She rushed off and the door closed behind her.

  The Misfits stared at the door as if willing it to open and disgorge information on the Prussian plans, but it didn’t and eventually Abby turned to her pilots. ‘Someone said something about a bacon sandwich...’

  The Misfits barely had time to go to the bathroom then put their feet up before they were ordered to the briefing room, almost as brusquely as they had been woken only a couple of hours earlier.

  The pilots of the other squadrons, many of whom had been in the medical centre, had also been summoned, along with the rest of the base’s senior officers, but even so it was an all too small group of people that gathered at the front of the room to listen to what Campbell had to tell them.

  The Sky Commodore’s expression was grin when she entered the room and the pilots watched her come down the aisle in silence, not joking or catcalling as they usually did. She didn’t bother climbing onto the platform, but just stood in front of them, leaning tiredly back against it. There was no preamble from her, or even a greeting, she just launched straight into her report.

  ‘Half an hour ago, more than two thousand glidewing troops suddenly appeared over Gozo.’ She jerked a thumb over her shoulder to the large map on one of the corkboards which showed the twenty-one islands which made up the archipelago of Malta. Gozo was the second largest of them, lying only three miles off the west of Malta. ‘They penetrated our defences and made a landing and have begun consolidating a position at Mgarr, a fishing town with a harbour on the southeastern shore nearest to Malta. However, that is not the only threat we are facing right now. Navy scouts have also spotted a large group of ships steaming towards us. They will be here in less than four hours and will probably use the foothold created by the glidewing troops to occupy Mgarr harbour and land more forces.’

  She wearily held her hand up to silence the dismayed muttering that naturally begun to swell up.

  ‘I’m not going to lie to you - we’re in trouble. It’s going to be hard enough to get rid of just those troops with the limited forces we have, but if the ships bring in more then we’re done for, so they have to be stopped.

  ‘To that end, the Nelsons are even now loading torpedoes. They will take off as soon as they are ready to attack the ships and we will be flying escort on them. Once they’re back you’ll rearm and rewind if you need to, then fly to Gozo to strafe the Prussian troops. After you’ve done as much as you can at Mgarr, you’ll return and rearm again. Then, depending on whether the enemy fleet is still coming or not, you’ll either fly escort again or continue to attack the ground troops.

  ‘It’s going to be a very long day, so go and get some rest while you can. I’ll send someone to let you know when we have an update on the readiness of the Nelsons. That’s it. Dismissed.’

  Without another word, she pushed herself away from the platform and trudged back up the aisle.

  Chapter 25

  While the Harridans of Warrior and Soldier Squadrons flew close cover on the Nelsons, the three Misfit aircraft, along with the eight remaining pilots of Gladiator Squadron, were given the job of high-level coverage and ascended to twenty-five thousand feet before following the bombers as they flew low over Valletta, then north out over the sea.

  None of the fast-moving naval launches, nor the civilian spotters on the island could find any trace of enemy aircraft in the sky, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any and the bombers were too precious a resource to risk sending out on their own. Owen had offered to take Bloodhound up to take a look, but Campbell had refused to allow him; the mysterious high-altitude aircraft had disappeared into thin air in the chaos of that morning’s fight and could still be lurking around, ready to pounce.

  Gwen interrupted her scan of the sky to peer down at the sea. From so high up the enemy ships were clearly visible, even without the help of the awful RAC lenses, their wakes stretching out behind them, seemingly forever. They were almost half-way between Sicily and Malta and steaming at an estimated fifteen knots, which would put them off the north coast of Malta in only three hours.

  The undersea boat which had spotted them leaving Catania, on the east coast of Sicily, and relayed their position to Malta was still shadowing them and several others had been called in from their positions around Sicily, but there were too few of them to make a difference, even if the screening ships allowed them to get close enough, and it was the bombers who would have to put the largest dent in the enemy fleet.

  Gwen winced as she turned her gaze back upwards; the stress of the morning’s fight and the worry over Kitty had made her headache a lot worse and every time she scanned the heavens, bright sparks flared in her eyes accompanied by a sharp pain. It took a moment, therefore, for her to realise that the flashes she was seeing high overhead weren’t fruit of her mind playing tricks on her.

  ‘Incoming fire!’

  ‘I see it, Two.’ Abby said. ‘Trafalgar Leader, you have anti-aircraft fire incoming from Bertha.’

  Abby’s warning came just as the first dense black clouds of flack burst among the bomber formation.

  The undersea boat had reported that the enemy fleet didn’t include any dedicated anti-aircraft ships, like the Italian Javelins, so the bombers had expected only a moderate amount of fire from the war ships and were in a tight formation to protect themselves from any fighters that came. That only served to make them easy targets for the ferocious bombardment, though, and the first salvo sent three of them spiralling into the sea, sending huge cascades of water into the sky.

  The Nelsons hastily spread apart, but it only prolonged their survival and the fire coming from the Prussian airship still found them.

  One bomber disappeared into a huge black cloud and never re-emerged. A few others were torn apart and tumbled from the sky. A couple just dropped their nose or a wing and flew deceptively gently into the water. The lucky ones survived their damage, letting off great gouts of steam as their engines were hit, or shedding pieces of wing or tail, and turned to struggle home.r />
  Gwen glanced across at Abby, wondering why she wasn’t already ordering them to the attack, but the woman’s distraught expression told her what she had known all along; there was absolutely nothing that could be done to help the men and women below, nothing they could do to protect them or prevent their destruction. With Bertha so high overhead there was not even anything they could do in reply.

  They were still more than ten miles from the enemy fleet when the call came from Campbell to call off the attack.

  Fully a third of the Nelsons had been destroyed in the few minutes that they had braved the bombardment in the struggle to reach the enemy fleet and now the remaining bombers had to endure it for an equal amount of time before they reached safety. More and more were destroyed, falling into the sea and dragging their crews down to the depths with them. After what seemed like a lifetime, though, they were out of range of the guns of the giant airship and, when the few survivors reached the Maltese coast, their escorts were finally freed to seek vengeance for their fallen brethren.

  The glidewing troops had occupied Fort Chambray, a sprawling ruin dating back almost two hundred years on top of the hill overlooking the town and harbour of Mgarr. Despite the fact that it was not much more than a collection of walls and crumbling bastions it was a commanding position, easily defensible against a ground attack. It hadn’t been designed to protect against enemies in the skies, though.

  As the RAC fighters swooped down on them, small calibre machine gun fire reached up towards them from more than a dozen positions on the walls, but the few rounds that hit pattered off their metal fuselages and armoured windscreens like rain on a tin roof.

  The return fire was far more effective.

  A large group of soldiers had been caught by surprise, resting in the main courtyard, and the Harridans and Spitsteams went straight in to strafe them as they raced for cover. They could have just used their machine guns; they would have been more than enough to kill anyone touched by the metal, but that felt too much like mercy to the pilots who’d just watched hundreds of their colleagues die. They didn’t just want as many of the enemy dead as possible, they wanted them punished and the survivors to know what fate awaited them.