From Arctic Snow to Desert Sand

by Griff Hosker

  “You have plenty of spares?”

  “Yes sir. Two of everything and three of the parts we are likely to need more often.”

  I nodded, “The oil, fuel and the ammunition we will be getting from the Navy. They are flying Sopwiths too. Without wishing them ill if anything happens to them we can cannibalise them for spares. I have a feeling that, until the rest of the flight get here, we will be well worked.”

  “We were told, March, sir.”

  “That is more than I was told but I will believe that when it happens. Anyway, I need to go and do more homework about our allies and the terrain.”

  The wind was blowing too hard for me to read on the deck and so I went to the officer’s mess where I could lay all the paper out. In terms of numbers there were not a huge number of British soldiers: 236th Infantry Brigade, 548th (Dundee) Army Troops Company, Royal Engineers, 2/10th Royal Scots, some Royal Dublin Fusiliers, 52 Battalion Manchester Regt. These were all based around Arkhangelsk. The Americans, Estonians and Italians had far more men. In addition, a Major Bruce commanded a number of tanks further south. We had the only aeroplanes and the only ships. That was useful information.

  I then looked at the men alongside whom I would be operating. The commanding officer was a count. Count Yuri Fydorervich. I learned little from the notes that Mr. Balfour had provided save that he was young and had fought against the Germans. He was based at Memel.

  I looked at the airfield we would be using. There were no photographs but, from the description, it had not been used very much and appeared to have been abandoned in October 1917 when the Revolution took place. From the map, it appeared to be close to the coast and I could only hope that it might be snow free. The maps of the front were crude and, from Mr. Balfour’s notes, unreliable. What I did know was that the range of the German aeroplanes the Bolsheviks would be using was considerably less than the Sopwith. I had a three-hundred-mile range whereas the Fokker Triplane could only manage one hundred and eight five miles. That gave me a distinct advantage. In the hands of Richthofen the triplane was deadly but, as the Germans had found to their cost, in the hands of a lesser pilot its superior climb, speed and ceiling could cause unexpected crashes. I just had to use my range and my speed to defeat them.

  I leaned back and lit my pipe. It helped me to think. The base at Memel was no good for a number of reasons. It was over four hundred miles from the British Flotilla. More than that, it was over two hundred miles to the front line. I needed to be based closer to both. According to Mr. Balfour the Estonians had just driven the Bolsheviks from most of Estonia and General Yudenich had asked for British support. It struck me that Reval might be a better base. We would be only a hundred miles from the British Flotilla and the same from the front. We would have safety and the ability to strike at the enemy. I went up on deck for some air.

  Captain Hesketh waved down to me from the bridge. “Settled in, Squadron Leader?”

  “Aye, aye captain. Are we on schedule?”

  “The wind is a little against us but we should be there in a week or so. Enjoy the voyage.”

  “A little grey, isn’t it?”

  “Make the most of the grey. Soon it will be white!”

  He was right. As we ploughed north the weather became increasingly windy and stormy. We had flecks of snow which became a blizzard on the third night out of London. You needed a strong stomach to hold down your food.

  I spent the time studying maps and intelligence gathered by Mr. Balfour. I learned that, like our present voyage, it would not all be plain sailing. There were factions in the White Russian army and there were traitors and rebels all around. There had been an attempt at sabotage on the engines of a British warship in port. That was worrying. According to Mr. Balfour they didn’t know if it was Bolsheviks or sympathisers on the ship itself. I remembered when we had had German saboteurs trying to attack our airfield. We had managed to control that easily. How would we do it in a land where we did not speak the language? I saw now that Mr. Churchill had given me a poisoned chalice.

  I also had information about the old Russian air force and, after reading it, discovered why they had bought from the Germans. The best aeroplane the Russians had had was the Nieuport 17. Ensign Vasili Yanchenko had sixteen victories in the fighter before he was shot by Bolsheviks. The rest of their aeroplanes had been Spad A4s or Lebed X11. Their top speed was just 87 mph. Their pilots had either defected or they had been executed. Either way the Bolsheviks were starting from scratch.

  By the time, we entered the Baltic I was familiar with the material. I took to walking the deck more rather than being closeted below decks. I was anxious to see the land. The sea was calmer as we headed east but there was a sheen of ice on the sea. I did not see how we could operate while the winter gripped the land. Although the land we were passing was at peace, as in England, the people were still suffering shortages and trying to repair the most devastating war the planet had ever suffered.

  My two crew wandered over. They had gradually become used to my addressing them by their first names. George looked at Bert who nodded and spoke. “Sir, we are just two ordinary blokes. We are not certain about this war we are getting into. I mean the other war, the Great War, that was easy to understand. The Kaiser invaded Belgium. We went to help them but this is a civil war. Isn’t it just blokes like us who rose up to throw off the shackles of the oppressor?”

  I laughed, “That doesn’t sound like you Bert. Where did you get that from?”

  He took out a pamphlet from his tunic. “Some ex- soldiers were giving them out at the docks. We hadn’t read it until last night and we got bored.”

  I shook my head, “This is what they call propaganda. The revolution in 1917 did get rid of their Emperor but what they have put in place is just as bad. These Bolsheviks are killing anyone who disagrees with them. That isn’t the British way is it lads?”

  George threw his cigarette butt over the side. “I don’t know, sir. How is it right that some folk have all the money and others don’t?”

  I saw this was more serious than I had first thought. “Let’s be honest, George. You think that because I am an officer I am a toff and I have money.”

  He looked shocked, “Well no, sir. Look I am not being insubordinate sir I…”

  “My mum and dad worked on the estate of a lord. They owned nothing. My brothers also thought that money should be shared around too so I understand what you are saying but I am an example of what you can achieve in England. I began life as a trooper who was shovelling horse muck. Bert, you could be an officer.”

  “I am just a sergeant, sir.”

  “And so was I. You live in England and that means you can be whatever you want to be. But you don’t want someone telling you what to think do you?”

  “Of course not, sir. A man has the right to his opinions.”

  I played my trump card, “Not in Bolshevik Russia they don’t and that is why we are fighting so that the Russian working man can say what he wants without his leaders disagreeing and having him shot.” I was aware that I had simplified it but, in essence, what I had said was the truth. “Just think about it, eh lads? And remember, you can talk to me.”

  Bert nodded, “I know sir. I know.” He nodded to George, “I told you the Squadron Leader would explain it.” Turning back to me he said, “What do we do about speaking the language sir? I mean in France we picked up the odd word or two but this is Russian!”

  “We will just have to muddle through together. One thing, I intend to have us moved a little closer to the front. Don’t bother to put the Camel together. Keep it all packed up. Captain Hesketh can’t take us but I am certain we can move it closer to the front.”

  “What about the other Sopwiths, sir?”

  “That’s the thing, George. They aren’t even at Memel. They are in Finland! The weather there is even colder than in Estonia and Petrograd. I intend to move us all to Reval as soon as possible.”

  “Can you do that, sir?”


  I smiled, “The orders I was given, Sergeant, was to take charge of the air war against the Bolsheviks. I think that puts me in charge but if they are unhappy back in Whitehall, they can always recall me.” My words were full of bravado but I knew that if they had had another option they would have used it. I had no doubt that I was a stop gap until the men who ran the Royal Air Force could find someone who would do their bidding. I took some comfort from the fact that the new Secretary of State had appointed me. Speaking with Mr. Churchill I gathered the impression that he knew his own mind and would do things his way.

  Memel was not a large port but it was a busy one. There were no warships but many freighters and coastal vessels. The papers in the satchel told me that the Military Attaché here was a man called Mervyn Rees and he would be my first point of contact.

  As we were guided in by a pilot I stood next to the captain. We had had many chats during the voyage. I liked him. He took me to the lee of the bridge. “A word of advice, Bill, the folks hereabouts rarely know who their master is. Sometimes it is the Germans, sometimes the Poles and sometimes the Russians. The Lithuanians used to have their own country. I have drunk with some of their captains. They are a proud people. They do not want to be used. It wouldn’t surprise me if they didn’t try to be independent again. Now I am telling you this because they like the English. We are among the few people who haven’t tried to rule them.” He laughed, “God knows we have done that in enough other countries. So, if things go wrong or you need help then go to a Lithuanian.”

  I stared at him, “What about the White Russians?”

  “They are Russians and I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could spit. But I am biased. You will have to make your own mind up. This is just an opinion.” He tapped his pipe out. “Anyway, I do this voyage once a month. I hope I shall see you again.”

  I had written a long letter to Beattie. “Could you post this for me when you get back? It is for my wife.”

  “Of course. Glad to. I’ll have the stewards sort your bags out for you. I daresay you will be busy with your aeroplane and finding your Mr. Rees.” He shook my hand. “Good luck.”

  He went back to the pilot and I left the bridge to get a closer look at this new country. It was covered in snow but the buildings looked to be medieval. I was surprised at how many were made of wood. It surprised me. As we neared the dock I saw a couple of lorries and a man who had to be Mr. Rees. He just looked dapper. He had a Homburg hat and a tailored overcoat. He wore white kid gloves which I took to be an affectation for the others around him had thick coats and mittens. He also used a smart walking stick. The head was that of a dog and it looked to be silver. He looked to be an official who spent his life in foreign postings such as this. The Empire had been run by them. It was a good sign that he was waiting for us. He had his finger on the pulse and he was efficient. That was a start.

  The port was busy and it took us some time to finally dock. As the gangway was lowered I descended leaving my two air crew to stay with the Camel. It was Mr. Rees who was waiting for me. He strode up to me and held out his hand. “Mervyn Reece, Military Attaché to the Russian Government in Memel.”

  The fact he said Russian Government so loudly told me that he was speaking for the benefit of those around him as well as me.

  “Squadron Leader Bill Harsker, commander of the Air Task Force supporting the Russian Government.” I saw his eyes crinkle into the hint of a smile. I had done the right thing.

  “Now I have a couple of lorries to take your aeroplane to the airfield. It is a three-hour drive from here.”

  I leaned in and spoke quietly, “Mr. Rees would it be possible just to load them on the lorries? I would like to chat to you about that.”

  He nodded, “There is a café over there. They serve a nice cup of tea. I will have a word with these fellows. I should have your air crew supervise them while your camel is being loaded.”

  “They don’t speak the language.”

  He waved over a youth. He looked to be no more than eighteen. “Vladimir, would you accompany these two gentlemen?” Hepplewhite and Baker had arrived. “Help them to give instructions to the workers.”

  “Of course, Mr. Rees.” He managed to give Rees an extra couple of syllables but he looked keen enough.

  “You two chaps see to the loading of the Camel. The steward will bring our bags over.” I looked at the attaché. “Do we put them in the car?”

  “Of course, but I would suggest your men travel with the Camel. It is a valuable piece of equipment.”

  “You heard the gentleman. We will be over shortly.”

  As we strolled towards the café he said, “Vladimir is a bright young chap. His family were killed in 1917. How he got here I have no idea but I found him starving and close to death. He had had all of his belongings stolen. I felt sorry for him and took him on. That was a year ago. He has more than repaid me. His family were close to the Royal Family and he can speak six languages. I don’t know what I would do without him. He has just begun to recover what was lost; both his dignity and his possessions.”

  We sat in the café and Mr. Rees imperiously waved over a waiter. He rattled something off in the local language and then turned to face me. “Now then Squadron Leader. What is wrong with our airfield?”

  “Quite simply it is too far from the front. In addition, the other aeroplanes are in Finland!”

  “There are plans for them to be brought over on the Vindictive when the weather improves.”

  “Good but that still means that we are too far away from where we are needed.” I lowered my voice. “You know about the German aeroplanes?”

  He smiled, “It was I who sent the message to London.”

  I was impressed, “I am amazed that you found out that information.”

  “Oh no, you misunderstand me. Captain Crombie was the naval attaché in Petrograd. He had a network of spies there. He got the information to me before he was killed. A shame, he was a fine chap. Yes, I know about them and it is all accurate.”

  “Then you know where they will be based.”

  “Of course. Just south of Petrograd a place called Peterhof. The Bolsheviks have their fleet at Kronstadt and the aeroplanes can attack our ships if they get too close. You will destroy them.”

  “Then we will have to be closer. How about Reval?”

  “Politically that is a little sensitive. The Estonians are allies of the White Russians and they have almost recovered the whole of their land but they want independence.”

  “How about the British base then? Terijoki?”

  Our tea had arrived and he paid for it and sipped it, “Acceptable. Actually, Squadron Leader, that is not a bad idea except that you would have to fly over the sea and I understand you pilots are not keen on that.”

  “We prefer land. It is easier to navigate. They don’t call them landmarks for nothing. However it is the shortest route and so we would live with that.”

  He chuckled, “Very droll, Squadron Leader. I would have to ask the Count but if he agrees then that would be possible. Of course you would still have the problem of getting there.”

  I pointed out of the window with my cup. “There are plenty of ships here.”

  He pointed further east, “And there is a Russian fleet there. Still we might be able to get you a ship from Reval. The only problem is that the Bolsheviks invaded two weeks ago, and are quite close to Reval.” He drained his cup. “I will tell you what, I will go back to the consulate. We have a radio there. I will get in touch with the Rear Admiral and speak to your Mr. Balfour.”

  “And what do I do?”

  “Well I would suggest you keep an eye on your aeroplane, Squadron Leader. We wouldn’t want it stolen before it could be used eh? I will leave Vladimir with you. I should only be gone a couple of hours. Stretch your legs eh?”

  He strode away. Although older than I was he was spritely and I had to stretch my legs to keep up with him. He reached the car and waved Vladimir over, “Keep the Squadron Lead
er company eh, there’s a good fellow. I shan’t be long.”

  With that he was gone. I had only been in the country for half an hour and already things were going awry. This did not bode well. Vladimir smiled up at me. “You have many medals. Have you killed many Bolsheviks?”

  He sounded so earnest that I looked at him again. He had almost a girl’s face. I had expected Russians to have heavy beards but the young man appeared to have delicate features. His words belied his face. “I have yet to fight the Bolsheviks. It was the Germans I fought.”

  “General von der Goltz is an ally of ours. He leads a German army. They fight and kill Bolsheviks.” I nodded. “You fly an aeroplane?” He gestured to the lorries.

  “Yes, a Sopwith Camel.”

  “It has guns?”

  “Two machine guns.”

  “If the Bolsheviks had not killed my family then I would have done as my father did and joined the cavalry.”

  “I was in the cavalry but the day of the horse on the battlefield is over. Our horses were slaughtered by machine guns.”

  “Even the Bolsheviks use horses but I would not like to see horses killed in that way.”

  We had reached my men. “Well sir, what’s goin’ on then?”

  “Mr. Rees is speaking with London. We may not be staying here. If we travel I want you two in the lorries.”

  “Aye sir, a wise move.” He looked at Vladimir.

  I said, “You can trust this gentleman, Sergeant.”

  He sniffed. It was a sign he did not agree but he would defer to me. “A couple of these fellows have shifty eyes, sir.”

  “Listen, we have to watch out for everybody, shifty eyed or not.” I pointed to their tunics. “You haven’t got your side arms. Go and get them and from now on wear them at all times. If you have to then sleep with them!”

  The saluted and scurried off. Vladimir said, “Mr. Rees will not let me have a pistol. He said it would invite trouble.”

  “He might be right but in my experience a loaded gun is always a nice piece of insurance.”

  The snow was falling, again, and so we hurried to the cafe and sat in its cosy warmth. We had more tea. They knew how to make tea in this part of the world but they did not serve it with milk. I smiled. My old comrades, Ted and Gordy would not have been happy about that. They liked lots of milk and heaped sugars.