A Wretched Victory (Innocents At War Series, Book 6)

by Andrew Wareham

  There was silence for a few seconds.

  “Railway engines!”

  Boom made the announcement loudly and with pride.

  “Yards… with goods… trains. Fires and… steam!”

  There was a murmur of surprised agreement. Railway yards were to be found only a few miles distant from any front.

  Tommy rather reluctantly supported the suggestion.

  “Flying under a moon, sir, it would be possible to pick up railway lines – they are quite shiny. They would lead us to the yards. Big targets, as well. Warn our Archie, sir, on nights when we are out. We lost three planes over Ypres coming home one night last month. They thought we must be Gothas.”

  They agreed that the railways would make excellent targets, being both visible and valuable. Both generals were struck by the demand for a moon.

  “What happens in the absence of moonlight, Colonel Stark?”

  “Very little, I much fear, sir. I do not see that we can find any targets without moonlight. When the moon is at full, we are much exposed to fighters and to Archie, sir; we need a half-moon. Practically, sir, I doubt we have ten flying nights a month. If it rains or there is heavy cloud, well, you know we cannot fly then.”

  “Can you not fly at all in the day, Colonel Stark?”

  “The O400s and the FE2bs cannot, sir – that is an absolute, sir. The DH4s, as we have shown, can live at very low level, going in fast at fifty feet. The FE2bs are slow, and do not handle as well as the DH4s, sir. I have not tried to fly an O400 at fifty feet, but I know it to be a slow and unresponsive plane. I will, if you so desire, attempt the experiment.”

  “No, Stark… it would… kill even… you.”

  Those who had seen an O400 agreed.

  “Then, gentlemen, the FE2bs and the O400s will fly when the moon is right for them. The DH4s will engage in daylight raids when they cannot fly at night. What should we do with the idle aircraft, gentlemen?”

  “Use them for training, sir, well away from the German lines, if possible. Send out young men with a few hours and give them some useful experience.”

  They agreed it would be better than leaving the planes idle all day.

  Chapter Ten

  A Wretched Victory

  “Colonel Stark… I have a… Colonel Naismith… with me. He tells… me… he is… known to… you.”

  It was early in the morning, a bright, sunny summer’s day and Tommy’s head hurt from the previous evening. It had been a moonless night, the squadrons grounded and thirsty. Tommy tried his best to sound wide awake during the brief telephone conversation.

  “Yes, General, I believe he is, though I cannot recall offhand from where – it must have been two years ago at least… I have it. Pigeons, sir. Behind the lines in Belgium and picking up that poor little banker.”

  “So it… was. He is… seeking…. something… similar. But not… the same. Please to… assist him, if… possible.”

  “Certainly, sir. Am I to come to HQ or will you send him to me, sir?”

  “Better not… be seen… here. Too many… mouths, Stark. Once bitten… you know!”

  Tommy agreed, though what to, he was uncertain. Flying dogs, perhaps? After the call had ended he asked Nancy for his opinion.

  “Wolfpacks, Tommy! Ever since you broached the possibility there have been proposals for them, you know! Rabid, probably and to be dropped by parachute into the front lines.”

  Nancy then collapsed in near-hysteria; Tommy did not think it funny. His idea for crying wolf with balloons had been very sensible, he was sure.

  “Seriously, Nancy! Why would Boom say ‘once bitten’?”

  “Cherries, Tommy! He wants to take a second bite at the cherry, I don’t doubt!”

  “What cherry?”

  “The ones you find on these Bavarian chocolate cakes, I expect. He probably wants you to drop bombs on the Crown Prince of Bavaria – one of their leading generals, you know.”

  “Well, he’s got a bloody strange way of saying so. Where’s his headquarters?”

  “Good question!” Nancy relented – he did not want to cause lasting offence. “Thinking deeper, Tommy, Boom might have meant ‘once bitten, twice shy’, referring to secrecy – you remember that big-mouthed soldier boy, what was his name, Peabody-Smirk, was it? The one who cost you almost the whole squadron?”

  Tommy did, and still had not forgiven the revolting brat.

  “I might take a trip to India after the war, just to meet him again and punch his teeth down his throat, Nancy. There’s one who should have been put up against a wall and shot! You mean Colonel Naismith has some sort of secret plan that he don’t want talked about? Good idea not to say anything at HQ – all bloody mouth those staff officers. Get them in bed with a whore – and they seem to spend half their lives there – and they run off at both ends!”

  “Whores make an uncritical audience, Tommy – they don’t care about their customers and simply say ‘yes’ when told what important fellows they really are. Most staff officers spend hours admiring themselves in front of their mirrors – the whores do the same job for them and can talk as well.”

  That was another part of the world Tommy was wholly ignorant of; he was happy to stay that way.

  “Getting back to Naismith, Nancy, you think that he wants us to land behind the lines again?”

  Nancy had no idea, and he would not guess.

  “He’ll be here in the morning, Tommy. He’ll tell you then.”

  “’Us’, Nancy. I would prefer company this time. Last time I met him, I was a captain and said ‘yes, sir’. This time, I’m a colonel too.”

  Nancy was alarmed, shook his head emphatically.

  “No, Tommy, not so at all. He’s a colonel in name, but he has got the clout of a general. This is a very senior man, Tommy. I have heard of him – distantly. He’s way high in the sky, as the Yanks say. He’s the man who pulled the Belgian banker out of his hat, and found the better part of one hundred million dollars for their war costs; biggest coup of the war, that one.”

  “You mean that little bugger who puked all the way from Namur to HQ was that important?”

  “Was that you, Tommy? You flew him out?”

  “Me and Barbry and a young pilot – forget his name, he went down during the Somme.”

  “They should have given the three of you knighthoods for that one, Tommy – seriously!”

  “It was only flying, Nancy. I knew it was fairly big, but not as important as you say! I might have panicked if I had known it was.”

  Nancy was left almost lost for words, a rare circumstance and short-lasting.

  “Bloody hell! Anyway, don’t go thinking that because he chooses to be a colonel, he is only a colonel. He ain’t. Thing is, colonels are two a penny at HQ; brigadiers are a bit less common and the generals are all known – colonel is important, but unseen. Better I should not be there at the beginning – if you want me in, ask his permission. You’d do better with Noah. Any money you like, the colonel will want to use an O400, for the range and the ability to carry two passengers as well as pilot and navigator. Better you should get some time in flying an O400, Tommy. Chubby can help you with the navigation.”

  Tommy took the advice, dug Chubby out of his office and found Noah.

  “Need to get some hours in on the O400, Noah. Something might be coming up.”

  “As the actress said to the bishop.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Popular line in England, these days, Tommy. Everybody’s saying it.”

  “Ah. I see. Oh, yes, quite funny, that. Anyway, I think I need to handle the O400, get the feel of it. Chubby up as navigator.”

  “Let us see Knell.”

  “We have two spares, Tommy, the last in. Don’t want to give you one of the lads’ own planes, after all. Do you need gunners?”

  “Only for the weight. No bomb load… but they might want to carry some odds and sods, I suppose. We’ll see about that, Knell.”

  An hour saw the pair
sat high above the ground in the huge open, unstreamlined biplane; it was said to be the largest plane in the world, bigger even than the Russian Ilya Mouromets. Starting two engines was unusual, using compressed air and dope shots, or so the mechanics said, though they did not say what ‘dope’ was, but otherwise all was familiar – it was another plane, just a bit more of it. They trundled out from the apron and turned towards the end of the field, Noah having assured Tommy that he would be wise to use all of the grass, the clinker strip still not built. Into the wind, both throttles to full and holding the triple rudder against the slight swing generated by the pair of engines turning in the same direction; a long, slow build in speed, reminding Tommy of the old RE7, always reluctant to take to the air.

  The tail lifted and Tommy waited for the nose to follow – patiently holding the stick and feeling for the twitch, the lift that must come. The rumbling of the wheels grew less as weight transferred to the wings and then she slowly lifted off – smoothly, he supposed, happy to be in the air when she had finally got there.

  The rate of climb was the slowest he had known since ’14, barely two hundred feet a minute. He made no attempt to turn to his course for ten minutes, nursing her up close to two thousand feet and then pushing the speed up to a safe, comfortable cruising seventy-five. Noah had said that she was certainly capable of twenty miles an hour more, for perhaps thirty minutes, though there was a risk of the engines overheating and provided the pilot was content to lose two hours of range – she was thirsty at higher speeds.

  “I never wanted to be an engine-driver, Chubby! Must feel the same in a steam locomotive.”

  “Easy navigating, Tommy – plenty of time to spot landmarks.”

  “What about at night?”

  “High sides to the cockpit and lots of room. Space for a light and a map board down low. Not too difficult, provided you can see the ground.”

  “Good. Hang on. Do up your lap belt. I want to see if one can throw her about.”

  The great, one-hundred-foot span wings showed resistant to any violent manoeuvre, and unenthusiastic for anything milder. The O400 would turn and bank, if asked politely, and would dive with some enthusiasm, but zoom far less. Tommy gave up on the very thought of taking her to low level.

  “Three gun positions, Chubby – twins to bows and dorsal and a single ventral firing down and behind, five guns in all. Keep the nose gunner with his twin-Lewises, I think, but leave the other three guns at home at night.”

  “Possibly, certainly keep the nose guns and if we can afford the weight, midships guns and gunner. No need for the ventral gun, I agree, Tommy.”

  Tommy did not think it was worth an argument, still less pulling rank.

  “They could be useful – you never know. If we were to land in the night, we might like to have something to hand to speak to any Jerry who objected to our taking off again. They’re on a Scarff ring mounting which gives a wide angle both sides.”

  “Where could you land this thing in the night, Tommy?”

  “Bloody good question!”

  Colonel Naismith was happy to make Tommy’s acquaintance again.

  “Had this idea – came up in discussion in London – and I thought of you immediately, Colonel Stark. Mentioned your name and your people agreed instantly and sent me out to France to talk to General Trenchard. He don’t like the idea much, but says that if anyone can pull it off for me, you can – so here I am.”

  “Glad to see you again, sir. I had thought you were in Washington.”

  “I was. Came back again a few months ago – got a bit blown on, you know.”

  Tommy did not.

  “There are a lot of Germans in America, millions of them in fact, in the north and the wheat-growing plains. Some of them were against America joining the war. A few wanted the States in on the German side; not many and not too much organised, particularly after the Zimmerman business - few of them were traitors to the States. But those few tried to make a nuisance of themselves and the Embassy dealt with some of them, the American lawmen being fairly much incompetent for dealing with anything more complicated than chasing off in a posse to catch cattle rustlers and stagecoach robbers. I took a small part in the tidying up and was noticed, so it was better for me to come home again.”

  “My late and unlamented half-brother came to his well-deserved end in the States not so long back, sir…”

  “I know. Not me, personally, but I was aware that certain of our people had taken a ‘direct’, shall we say, interest in ending his malpractices. I was fairly certain you would have no objections.”

  “None at all. To the best of my understanding he was a vile beast. You heard of the food poisoning – what was it? Got it on the tip of my tongue… botulism. Killed some scores of recruits in a camp on the Plain, for him selling contaminated tins of corned beef, knowingly.”

  Colonel Naismith was almost angered, but decided he had heard worse, even if not often.

  “Hadn’t heard of that; nothing surprises me with the war-profiteers. Makes it a bullet well-used, Colonel Stark. Mind you, there’s a good few more of that sort still about in London – the only thing that makes him different is getting caught!”

  “Agreed, sir. So my wife’s father has implied, more than once.”

  “Lord Moncur? He’s one of the clean sort – well-known, of course, there being so few of them! Not to worry – business. You have heard of Lenin?”

  Tommy knew he was a Russian, understood him to be a Bolshie, but he was not entirely certain just what they were, except that they had allowed Jerry to send a hundred thousand extra men to the Western Front.

  “He is as responsible as any man for the second Russian Revolution, the one that destroyed any hope Russia ever had of becoming civilised. He is a Red.”

  Tommy knew what a Red was, to the extent that he was reliably informed they were very evil men who wanted to change the natural order of government and country. This puzzled him a little, as he wanted no more than to stand every politician against the nearest wall and then start again on running the country; he was within reason certain that the great majority of those soldiers who had ever seen the real war thought the same. Not to worry – if the Reds were particularly wicked, so be it.

  “I had heard, Colonel Naismith, that the Reds were by way of causing some problems in Germany, might even close the factories over winter.”

  “That, Colonel Stark, is almost true. Only ‘almost’ because the German police and army are busily arresting and shooting every Red they can lay their hands on. The agitators are active in the German Navy as well, may be able to stop their Fleet from sailing, but only if there are enough of them free and able to organise. The most senior men, and one or two women, have recently been arrested, but there are a number who have fled to Holland and to Switzerland, and a dozen or two who migrated to England before the war, and some of the most significant are willing to go back to lead a Revolution in Germany.”

  “I see. They cannot get across the Dutch or Swiss borders, or in from Denmark overland, I suppose, sir?”

  “Their faces are known, Colonel Stark. Their photographs are on the wall of every border police station and Customs shed. So, it occurs to us that we might provide them with transport. Poetic justice, for the Germans provided Lenin with a train from Switzerland to Russia, to create revolution there.”

  “How many, sir, and where to?”

  “Can you carry two at a time over three consecutive nights?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But?”

  “The O400 is big, and noisy – three times to the same field?”

  “Perhaps not, Colonel Stark; pitchers to the well, and all that… Let me think… Can you carry more than two passengers?”

  “How much baggage will they require?”

  “Good point. I don’t know. Why?”

  “I don’t know either, Colonel Naismith, but the O400 can carry theoretically a ton of bombs, in its newest version, which we have two of. I will talk
with Knell and discover whether it might be possible to bodge seating for six men and a little bag each – that should be no more than half a ton load, at most.”

  “Knell?”

  “Engineering officer, Major Morton – the French called him Mort in ’14, hence Death Knell, which was shortened.”

  “Logical, of course. I would not wish there to be too wide a discussion of our plans, Colonel Stark. Secrecy might be wiser. I will detail the landing ground when we are sure that we will use it. What is the range of your plane, by the way?”

  “Around six hundred miles, give or take a bit, depending on how high one wishes to climb, or how strong the winds might be and what the load is. I would be happy to go out for, say, two hundred and eighty miles with an immediate landing and take off. The problem lies too often in actually finding the target and spending time and fuel hunting it.”

  “I can give you a long field close to a major river, Colonel Stark. I cannot guarantee that it will be directly into the wind, however.”

  “Provided the wind is not too strong, that need not be a major problem. I must talk with Noah, by the way – his squadron, his planes.”

  “Major Arkwright, is that? I would be privileged to meet that gentleman, Colonel Stark. Will you need to persuade him to give his consent?”

  “Good God, no, sir! Not that, he would not consider refusing, even though he could. He will have ideas for the best way of doing the job – he is a far better flier than me, you know. He is a technical man – flies with his brain.”

  Colonel Naismith had not known that such fliers existed.

  “I shall be even more pleased to be introduced to him.”

  “Noah, this is Colonel Naismith.”

  Naismith was in uniform, the simplest way to be invisible among hundreds of thousands of soldiers; he knew how to behave and gave an impeccable salute.

  “Thank you, Colonel. Tommy tells me you have a plan of some sort, sir – but he has not said what.”

  “Landing behind the lines, in Germany in fact, Major Arkwright. Using, with your permission, one of your Handley-Pages.”