Church had been ready to nail someones hide to the wall for this. The last thing he needed was some hothead flinging his Lancaster around causing trouble. Now it all made sense. 44 and 97 had been practising for the run on Augsburg. Church was just a bit miffed that 363 hadn’t been invited to the party. Despite the risks, people would have killed to be part of this operation. Church knew he would have had a queue down the corridor and round the corner if he’d asked for volunteers.
He rang Group to have a moan but got little sympathy. The Augsburg raid had been one of Harris’ pet projects to see if the Lancs could do a precision raid in daylight. He’d even picked the target and gone toe to toe with the air Air Ministry who had wanted other targets hit instead.
Replacement men and aircraft came in to make up the squadrons losses and Carter talked to the new arrivals assigned to his flight. Once again, he took them up in a Manchester to start with before letting them loose with a Lancaster. Amber Hill hummed to the sound of engines, the skies full of aircraft.
Pullen worked the erks hard. Some of the new Lancs had come straight from the factory missing certain equipment. He had to harass the local stores to provide what they were short of to bring them up to spec. When some proved reluctant, moaning about channels and correct paperwork, Church went to bat. He turned the air blue, delivering rockets down the telephone with ferocity and cutting vective. The walls shook and the WAAF’s outside his office flinched when he slammed the phone down.
On the 19th, 363 sent five aircraft to go gardening off the Frisians. This was a nice easy one so Carter sent Harding to give him a chance to get his feet wet. He was on tenterhooks the whole evening until the lad came back. He did, eventually. His navigator got badly lost and they showed up over Amber Hill practically flying on fumes.
Carter had Harding in his office to find out why they hadn’t just put down at some other airfield. Harding explained he felt it was important to get home. They couldn’t just take the easy way out and he needed his navigator to improve.
“After all sir. If he can’t cope with this, what chance will I have over Germany?”
“The one thing we’re not short of is navigators,” Carter had advised him. “If your man’s no good, I could get you another one assigned, no problem.” Harding resisted. He’d brought his crew through OTU and he wanted them to keep together.
“You know best,” Carter said with a sigh. “Just think about it.”
One day, Church gathered up Everett and Carter and took them to a conference at Group. This was nothing unusual; every few weeks the AOC 5 Group liked to get his squadron commanders together for a bit of a chat to talk tactics and developments over tea and cake.
“If I’m going to be bored senseless, there’s no reason why I should go alone,” Church told them.
It was a dreary affair. As the meeting broke up for lunch, the deputy Group Commander asked Church and his Flight Commanders to stay. They sat patiently as everyone else left for sandwiches and mugs of tea. The deputy AOC waited until the room was clear before shoving some of the seats out of the way and sitting in front of them.
“Nothing to worry about gentlemen,” he reassured them. “I’m not one to make a show about certain things.” He addressed Carter. “I know such matters usually involve official dispatches and such like. I’m sure the paperwork will catch up eventually but from this moment, you are now promoted to Squadron Leader.” He stuck out his hand, “my warmest congratulations.”
“Thank you, sir,” stammered Carter, quite overwhelmed.
“Go see that girl of yours,” said Church as they went to catch up the rest to get some lunch. Carter almost floated along as he went to find Georgette. He found her in the archive, sorting through a target folder, a pencil between her teeth while she riffled through the papers.
“Jus a mi-ut,” she got out around the pencil.
Carter stood leaning against the filing cabinet, an amused smile on his face. He took the moment to admire her legs and her figure as she crouched down by the bottom drawer.
“I should come round more often,” he said. Georgette jumped up with a little squeal of surprise. Her pencil hit the floor unnoticed.
“Darling, what on earth are you doing here?” she asked, surprised at the interruption.
“Conference,” he explained, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “We’re on a break so what could be better than going for a walk with my girl?”
She checked her watch.
“I really shouldn’t” her mouth quirked as she let herself be rebellious for once, “but I don’t suppose ten minutes will matter.”
They walked briskly to their spot beyond the greenhouses. It was a lovely day, the early morning gloom blown away to be replaced with a bright, warm sky. They walked alongside each other, a good two feet apart to maintain decorum; at least until they were out of sight. He whistled to himself as he walked.
“You’re very happy today,” she commented.
“When you’ve been made a Squadron Leader maybe you will be too,” he beamed.
“Oh darling, that’s wonderful.” Past the trees she hugged him tight, letting her enjoyment show. “I told you that it would come.” She brushed down the lapels on his battledress, very proud of him.
They talked for a few minutes, making tentative plans for the next few days, ops depending of course. The Lady had been fixed so they were due whatever Church decided was good for them. All too soon, they went back to the hall and their day jobs.
After lunch, the meeting ran for another two hours. The AOC emphasised servicing rates and aircraft availability. He wanted to put up as many aircraft as possible whenever orders came through from Bomber Command HQ for a maximum effort.
The end of April marked a milestone for 363. They had their full complement of Lancasters at last and they participated in the next phase of Harris’ bomber campaign, the attack on Rostock.
On the northern coast of Germany in the Baltic, it was a long way. Two hundred bombers would be going, another big raid as Harris marshaled his strength to hit key targets in massed attacks. Only the year before a big raid would have been one hundred aircraft passing over a target in a period of four hours. Now their efforts were becoming more concentrated, two hundred aircraft or more going over in two hours or less.
In response, the German flak belts were getting thicker, the intensity of the barrages more pronounced. According to popular rumour, there were now hundreds of guns around the port cities like Kiel and Hamburg.
They’d sat with rapt attention in briefing while Church had explained the target and its importance. There was a Heinkel factory on the southern outskirts and Harris wanted it dealing with. 363 would be part of the main force to hit the centre of Rostock. An old city with narrow streets, the place should burn easily. Gee and flares would again be used to guide them on to the target.
Later, Carter watched silently as they winched a cookie into The Lady’s bomb bay. It hung there, a big green malevolent dustbin surrounded by incendiary canisters.
“Everything’s ready, sir.” Latimer said earnestly, holding out the clipboard and pen. Carter said nothing as he signed the Form 700. He knew Latimer had slaved over the Lancaster personally, double checking everything to make sure it was perfect.
It had been ten days since they had last been on an op so Carter took his time getting ready. He pulled on his gloves, settled himself in his seat and handled the yoke.
“Assume positions for take off!” he shouted down the fuselage.
Murphy and Todd sat behind the main spar. Flynn produced a paperback novel from a pocket and turned on a small torch so he could read. Vos smiled to himself in the dark, thinking about approaching fatherhood. He took it as a good sign for the future. Woods thought about Merlin. The poor animal had been quite upset at being locked in the billet. The whines of distress had cut him to the quick so much he’d brought the dopey dog to dispersal and Latimer had promised to look after him until they got back. His thoughts turned to Yvonne an
d he smiled.
The previous night they had gone into Lincoln. He’d found a quiet pub off the beaten track where they could have some time to themselves. Afterwards they went to the cinema and watched a re-run of Pimpernel Smith. He’d seen it before but Yvonne hadn’t. Woods enjoyed the sharp dialogue and double play on words, Yvonne thrilled at the sight of Leslie Howard as the titular hero.
Afterward they’d ridden the last bus back to Amber Hill. Woods got them seats in the back and he unscrewed the lightbulb so they could have some privacy. Yvonne snuggled into him, her head resting against his shoulder.
He walked her part of the way back to the WAAFery. In the lee of some trees on the road, he had drawn her to him and kissed her long and hard. Yvonne responded by moulding herself to him. She left him then, her perfume lingering as she disappeared into the dark.
Carter went through the routine with Byron. The back and forth flowing with well drilled practice.
“Switches? ARE OFF!”
“Tanks? INNER TANKS SET!”
“Pumps?” ARE ON!”
“Seat? SECURE!”
“Brakes and pressure? BRAKES ARE ON…PRESSURE IS GOOD!”
It went on, a droning mantra that they all knew. They went through the list. Engine controls, throttle settings, props and superchargers and radiators. Finally they were ready.
“Ready to start up, skipper.”
Byron jammed down on the starter button for the starboard inner. The airframe rattled and shook while the engines warmed up. Carter held the brakes on and waited while erks came out front, holding the chocks in view. Satisfied everything was ready, he released the brakes and the Lancaster moved forwards, sluggishly at first.
They picked up speed around the peri track and Byron juggled the throttles and Carter used the rudders to keep them going. It would screw everything up now if they strayed onto the grass and got stuck, everyone was behind them.
At three thousand feet the crew took up their stations. In the tail, Todd settled down to another six or seven hours in the freezer. This time he had brought a hot water bottle and he put it in his flying suit between layers. He flexed his fingers and gripped the control sticks, panning the turret left and right and elevating the guns.
He thought about Muriel. He’d been to the pub to see her twice. She’d been civil to him but it had been stiff and awkward. He wondered what he could do about that as he slowly froze.
After crossing the coast, they tested their guns and settled down for the long run to Rostock. Carter nagged them all the way there to keep their eyes open and he had Flynn make himself useful and get in the nose turret. Vos kept watch out of the astro dome.
Woods fussed over his charts. A long run over water left him little chance to get a fix. They were far enough off the coast that he couldn’t even get a sight of the Frisians. Of course that was a double edged sword, wander over the Frisians and a flak ship could nail you. Someone obviously got careless as Murphy spotted jewelled lines of light on the horizon to the south and an explosion immediately afterwards that was swallowed up by the dark.
Over the target, the flak was light. Carter almost enjoyed himself as it reminded him of the early days, weaving back and forth over Germany at eight thousand feet trying to find a juicy target to bomb. He lost his humour when Flynn asked him to go round again.
There was a stunned air of disbelief that Flynn wanted a second run at the target. The wind was light, the visibility was reasonable and there was very little flak that could cause a distraction. There were barely even any searchlights to cause problems either. It was like a training flight with knobs on.
“I lost it!” he shouted over the R/T.
He had sighted on a town square with tall tenement blocks around it. Suddenly he had lost it and for some perverse reason he wanted to hit that block specifically. Amongst all the damage, it looked untouched and that would not do at all.
“Well you better find it again, quick!” shouted Carter, not in the least bit amused.
The Lady jolted as a burst of flak exploded below, lifting them on the shockwave. Flynn searched frantically but there were fires on the ground confusing him. Ten more seconds went by. Carter drummed his fingers on the yoke. Byron peered over the edge of the canopy.
“Drop. The. Bombs!” Carter told him.
If Flynn was looking for pinpoint accuracy, he was dreaming. The cookie was a big, long dustbin with the ballistic properties of a brick. Once it left the bomb bay it could end up anywhere. The incendiaries were just as bad. Little 4lb bundles of flaming joy that fluttered on the breeze like the seeds off a dandelion.
“Drop them now!” he ordered.
Flynn cursed and pressed the release and the bomb load fell on the city below. Flynn closed the bomb doors and stayed down in the nose, looking at the fires.
That was the only excitement on an otherwise boring trip. The squadron suffered no losses and there was only one early return.
On the way back to interrogation, Carter tore a massive strip off Flynn in full view of the rest of the crew. For once, Carters normal contrariness of following the forms of behaviour slipped. He’d been steaming all the way back and it came flooding out in the back of the truck. Flynn’s ears burned but he had the good sense to keep his trap shut.
Recce photos showed the Heinkel factory was virtually untouched even though bombs had rained down all over the city, getting a good blaze going. Harris sent them back to Rostock the next night. Tired erks prepped the kites to go again.
Carter sat this one out, it was Everett’s turn to go. He cooled his heels in the Ops room, chatting with Wheeler and flicking through the squadron record book while he was plied with tea and biscuits. Before the squadron even got back, the word came from Group that they were on again that night, to the same target.
Church led the third trip but the men were tired, running on pure adrenalin. Two aircraft didn’t go. Taxying round the peri track, one tired pilot lost focus for a second and went straight into the back of the one in front. The propellors shredded the rudders and had a good nibble on the elevators. Everyone else made it back.
When the op order came through for the same target for a fourth night in a row, even Etheridge thought command had taken leave of their senses. After he calmed Church down, he went back to his office and called Group himself and voiced his objections personally to the AOC. He was politely listened to but it made no difference; Maximum Effort, everyone goes.
In briefing, the mood amongst the men was almost mutinous and Carter had to agree with them. He may have thought it, but he didn’t say it. Carter was a Flight Commander now, part of the machine, one of them. Even to his own crews grumbles he said, “let’s just get it over with.”
His own fears were confirmed when the flak was more intense than the first raid. The Germans had obviously brought up more guns over the last few days. It was nowhere near as bad as flying over Happy Valley, but even so, one gun in the right place could easily kill you, ten could just do it better.
Over Rostock, Carter was shocked by the scale of the devastation. The city was aglow, gutted by flame. The firemen must have given up in the end. What was the point of putting the fires out when the bombers kept coming back to start them again, night after night? This was what total war looked like. The systematic destruction of a town to dislocate the local population and disrupt war production.
Woods had found the way easily enough. It was a clear night and they saw the glow of the flames from miles away. Closer, the pall of smoke that hung over the city climbed thousands of feet into the sky.
When Flynn let the bombs go, Carter just felt it was a waste of time. The city was one massive conflagration, burning from end to end. Shells of gutted houses were silhouetted by the fires. Smoke billowed up and the Lancaster undulated over the roiled hot air.
It was very tired men that shambled into interrogation for the fourth time in four nights. Kent had instructed his staff to keep it mercifully short. Unless anyone had seen anything ou
t of the ordinary, it was a matter of a few questions and done. A few hardy souls stayed up for their hard earned bacon and eggs but most went straight to bed, past caring.
If the aircrews were tired, the ground staff were exhausted. After such a concentrated effort, Group had the good sense to call it a day and the squadron was stood down for twenty four hours. Men and machines both needed time to recover their strength.
Still running on adrenalin, Carter went to his office and sat with the door closed and the curtains down. In the gloom, he sat staring into the dark, contemplating the raid. He found himself questioning why they had bothered going back for a fourth time. His eyes fell on the unopened envelope on his desk. He turned on the desk lamp and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. Gripped by a mood of despair he suddenly tore the envelope open and pulled out the folded letter inside. He smoothed out the paper on his desk and then started reading.
My dear Carter,
If you’re reading this, then I didn’t come back from this one. Running in low to drop those bloody mines is not what I signed up for, but somebody has to do it I suppose. I don’t know what it is about minelaying, I just had a feeling this time, like someone was walking over my grave.
I’ve been troubled by the thought of bombing lately. Does that surprise you? I might present a tough face, but I do think about these things you know. I never told you but my parents were bombed out in the raids on Liverpool last year. One night they had a house, the next it was a stinking crater. My Aunt and Cousins were killed in one raid when a bomb hit their shelter. I suppose that gives me as much reason to hate the Germans as anyone, but I ask myself if two wrongs make a right?
I often think about German children who no longer have parents because of what I’ve done. I’ve come to the conclusion that there can’t be a god. I wonder if god was so merciful, why he lets such things happen. I don’t have an answer to that.
I’m sorry for snoring, but there’s some things I just can’t change about myself I’m afraid. I only hope my going doesn’t put anyone else on the spot, I don’t think I could bear that. Take any spare kit you want before anyone else manages to get their grubby fingers on it.
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