“Nothing changes, sir. I shall go and make a plan, sir. I will talk it over with you later and we will aim to go out tomorrow instead of taking our morning stroll about the trenches.”
Tommy ran a briefing for his flight, Major Salmond having given his approval.
“The six of us carrying bombs, this time. Leave the Lewises at home. Nothing complicated. Three and three, no more than fifty yards apart. The leader fires a flare and we all bomb immediately afterwards – you drop on sight of the green light. We then make turns to starboard, hard and fast and climbing to four thousand feet and straight home again. There is, Wing says, a railway which runs to a dump some two miles east of Hill 60. We shall hit that dump.”
They thought that was a very good idea.
“What with, Tommy?”
“Bristols will carry eight Cooper bombs. We have Hales bombs coming soon, by the way, but they ain’t much different, apparently. The Parasols will carry incendiaries and grenades. Mr May has worked out nets, as he calls them, to take five of the incendiaries at a time, so forty of them apiece.”
“What if they rattle together in their nets, Tommy?”
“Mr May does not think they will. If they do, you will probably not know about it. I will take a load up myself this afternoon and drop them into the nearest Hun trenches, just to check them out. Noah and Jack, you should come along to watch.”
Tommy considered working out a subtle plan of attack for the afternoon; then he decided that he would simply take the Germans by surprise.
The nets did not fill him with confidence – they looked like shopping bags, and just as fit to bear heavy weights. Mr May set them in the clamps under the wings and beside the cockpit and then placed a bundle of five bombs, carefully lashed together, horizontally into each.
“I have had the lanyards joined together, Captain Stark. One tug and all of the clamps open. The vanes on the top of the bombs will bring them to the vertical so that the detonators will contact the ground, or whatever your target may be, sir. Only a small charge of HE, sir, the bulk of the bomb being the jellied petroleum, so you may drop them from a low level in some safety, sir.”
“Excellent, Mr May. I have every confidence in your engineering ability.”
The three Bristols took off and Tommy led them to a thousand feet and crossed the British trenches, turning slowly to port, giving the gunners below a full view of the roundels. The message had evidently reached them, for none of the guns fired at him. He glanced down at the mud and mess of the terrain, looking like nothing so much as a corporation garbage tip in a hard winter, and shuddered at the thought of living like that; unendingly cold and wet, sleeping in a clay-floored dugout, the temperature hardly above freezing and trying to get warm under a frowsty, damp blanket. The dugout would have stank of rotting flesh and explosives, so he had been told, and would have been infested with rats, fleas and lice. Add to that shell fire, snipers and sergeant-majors. God help the poor bloody infantry!
He crossed the trenches feeling almost guilty that he was privileged to fly, and pulled into a fast diving turn to starboard, dropping to fifty feet, and remembering that the German trenches were set on a shallow hillside, were higher than the British. He pulled out of the dive at something very close to the maximum strain he dared put on the wings, listening to the sounds and wondering whether he was pushing his luck too far, slowing and heaving the plane to level flight following the trench line and tugging firmly on the lanyards before climbing hard to port, across the German second and third lines, thinking they would not expect him in that direction. He reached a thousand feet, rather to his surprise, looked to the sides and checked that the bombs had all dropped and then banked to starboard and jinked his way back across the trench line, diving and zooming and doing his best to be an unpredictable target. Noah and Jack appeared to either side, waving and giving him the thumbs up; they made directly to the airfield and landed abreast of each other.
“I thought you were going to rip her wings off, Tommy! You took that to the limit, old chap!”
“The rigger can check her over, Noah. She felt right. Everything was still tight and responding as it should. Mind you, a little faster or steeper and I don’t think she would have come home; much shallower and I would have been a target for the machine-guns. Did you see where the bombs landed? Did they all detonate?”
“Straight down the line of the trench, Tommy. I swear I saw a couple actually land inside the door to a dugout. Bloody great flares of burning petrol thrown up with each one, Tommy. No doubting that the nets work.”
Jack came into step with them as they headed towards the Mess.
“You hit a machine-gun and its ammunition boxes, Tommy. I saw the lot blow. Must have been like Guy Fawkes night just around there.”
“As long as it gave the lads in our trenches a thrill, well and good. So much mud there that I doubt anything stayed alight for long, but it showed that they work. Provided they’re dropped low and straight. What about this railway job, what height would make sense for that?”
“Low first time, Tommy. After that, they’ll be expecting us, so really high and see what might happen. If we don’t hit the line itself, we’ll probably scare someone.”
“Ourselves, most likely.”
The intelligence officer had been promoted and sent to Wing, they discovered; Major Salmond was present as they gave their report to the new man, a mild but bright-seeming lieutenant; he was not a very large or physically impressive young man and had been seconded to the RFC for being unable consistently to tell left from right and hence an irritation on his battalion’s parades. The request had come for officers to take administrative positions in the expanding RFC and his colonel had volunteered him on the spot.
“I don’t quite know how it came about, sir. One day I was being shouted at in Aldershot for stepping off on the right foot, the next I was here. Some rather keen sort of fellow – crowns on his shoulder, like yours, so he must have been a major – appeared and told me that I could read and write and the infantry did not require that in its subalterns so I should come here, where you did. Add to that, it would be in France and close to the trenches, so I would not be shirking off. I don’t think I would be very useful in a trench, sir, but I would not duck out of my duty.”
Major Salmond had reassured him that he was to perform a necessary and useful job.
“Listen to what the boys tell you, Lieutenant Lumley. Ask all the questions you need – you will soon find out which ones make sense – take your notes and then go to your office and quickly write a report for me. Compare the different stories you get and try to make sense of them. Each of the boys will remember differently, of course. They will see things for a second or two at seventy or eighty miles an hour – you must sort out what actually happened, as near as you can. By the way, what were you in civilian life?”
“Oh, well, actually, I don’t think I was very much at all, sir. I had hoped to be a poet, but I could not find a publisher for my work, and I have an income that is sufficient to live on, so it did not matter too much. In any case, sir, I am the oldest so I shall inherit the firm. Lumley’s Soap, you know, sir?”
Major Salmond had vaguely heard of the product, but it was the first revelation that worried him.
“A poet? I don’t think I would mention that to the lads, if I were you, Mr Lumley. I don’t think many of them are of a literary or artistic bent.”
Tommy reported last of the three, the others having merely to say what they saw from the sidelines on this occasion and dealt with very quickly.
“Can you tell me anything about the soldiers in the trench, Captain Stark?”
“Not usefully, no. Wet and muddy, I expect. All I saw was a very few diving flat out for cover.”
“They ran away, you would say, Captain Stark?”
“No I would not, sir! A plane suddenly appears, without warning, almost on top of you and you duck – you can’t help that. By the time you’ve got your head up again, it’s gon
e. Especially if you think it might be about to drop a bomb on you, or crash on you perhaps, you take cover.”
“I see. Can you estimate the casualties you caused, Captain Stark?”
“No. I left, at speed, before they could turn machine-guns on me. Noah and Jack saw more than me of what happened.”
“So… you made an attack at fifty feet at a speed of about sixty miles an hour and dropped all of your ordnance into a trench in the German front line?”
“Exactly.”
“Thank you, Captain Stark.”
Tommy made his way to his billet and sank into a hot bath, Smivvels having bagged the bathroom and the hour’s hot water for him. It was very useful, having a servant to act as valet, Tommy reflected, especially a willing man like Smivvels. He put on the mess dress laid out for him and wandered across with the intention of taking a quiet cup of tea.
It started to snow as he reached the doors.
“Snow, Tommy! No flying while the grass is covered.”
“Might not come to much. It will be easier for us if there is snow cover tomorrow, Noah. The railway lines should show up against the white. The tracks go through a cutting near the Caterpillar hills and might be difficult to spot otherwise. Apparently, the trains come up at night and dump their loads into a sort of siding there, the regiments sending carrying parties to collect their requisitions first thing in the morning, so Wing says. It’s just outside a sixty-pound gun’s range and so they haven’t been able to do much about it.”
“So, you think we should take off at first light, Tommy, and try to reach the dump while the working parties are there?”
“It might be our only chance, Noah. We will have to bomb from high up after the first raid. They will have machine-guns set up and waiting for us after that. I’m not convinced that bombing from three thousand feet will do a lot of good, but we can make this one a low-level attack and at least get them worried about us. From all that I have been told, if they place guns to deal with us, then they won’t have them in the front trench to shoot at the lads there.”
“My young brother joined up in November, Tommy. He might be one of the blokes up the line already – they only train them for a few weeks before sending them out as replacements.”
Noah did not specify who they were to replace; there was little need to say.
“With luck, there will be fewer guns aimed at him, Noah. Not as few as at my half-brother, though – he has made himself far too important in England ever to come out here.”
Noah raised an eyebrow, said nothing; he had not known Tommy had a brother and it was none of his affair.
“I’ll have a word down at the hangars, Noah, tell them we need six machines fully loaded with bombs for six o’clock.”
“It won’t get light before half after seven, Tommy.”
“Gives us the opportunity to brief the others and have a look at a map, Noah. Time for the mechanics to warm up the engines and make good and sure they are still running well. What did you think of the new bloke, the intelligence officer?”
“Harmless. Don’t know much. Might be he’ll learn. Bloody awkward name he’s got – what can you do with Lumley?”
Something would have to be done – he could not be left without a nickname.
“Major Salmond said he can’t tell his left from his right, Noah.”
“Or his arse from his elbow, probably, Tommy.”
“Poor old elbow!”
The man had a nickname, and Elbow was at least as good as any of the others.
Tommy spoke to the Engineering Officer, something he very rarely did, the man being bombastic and overbearing and habitually offensive to pilots who misused his aeroplanes.
“You want six planes for six o’clock, Captain Stark. Three Bristols and three Parasols. Bombed up, fuelled, and ready to fly.”
“That is correct. Warmed up as well, and the engines thoroughly checked. I spoke to my rigger and expect him to have given the machine a very thorough examination. I dived her hard and pulled out tightly this afternoon and may well have done her some damage.”
“I presume you will tell me it was unavoidable, Captain Stark?”
The man did not fly – who was he to question a pilot?
“Not entirely, no. It seemed to be the best way of achieving success, and enabled me to place every one of the bombs into the trench. As such, it was wholly justified. Had it not been successful, then it would, of course, have been shown to be wrong.”
“And what if you had crashed, Captain Stark?”
“Then I would have bloody died, of course! And I would not be standing here listening to yet more of your bloody stupidity! Six planes for six o’clock!”
The Engineering Officer was a captain, and many years senior to Tommy; he would have every right to lay a complaint before Major Salmond. Tommy thought it unlikely that he would do so, because the CO had already ordered him to be more cooperative with the fliers and would be unwilling to press disciplinary proceedings. A visit to Wing, however, might lead to enquiries about the state of discipline and morale in the squadron, and that could be annoying. Tommy made his way to the CO’s office.
“If the snowfall stops early enough, and the cover on the field is not so great as to prevent take offs, then I intend to go out at first light, sir, and try to hit the target on the railway line next to the Caterpillar, sir. From the information Wing sent, assuming that is correct, then the working parties from the battalions up in the trenches come to collect their stores about then. It should be possible to do a maximum of damage at that time, sir. The intention is to make this attack at low level. Everything after that will have to be from three thousand, I think, sir. But we should be able to get away with this one – they won’t have the guns set up yet.”
“What’s the plan, Tommy?”
“Two lines of three abreast, sir, all releasing together, a mixture of Coopers on the Bristols and incendiaries and grenades on the Parasols. Pick up the railway lines and follow them to the sidings and make height in a tight bank to starboard and away. It should work once.”
“It won’t be successful on a second occasion, Tommy. They will have machine-guns ready and will start firing in a barrage rather than trying to aim at individual planes. You will be able to drop your bombs, but you’ll be lucky to fly away. You have my permission to make this attack, but you will confirm with me before you make any other attempt to bomb at altitudes of less than three thousand feet. Clear, Tommy?”
“Sir.”
“Anything else before we shut up shop for the day?”
“I trod on Captain Anderson’s toes fairly thoroughly just now… I expect he’s rather upset with me.”
“Well, it is his job to present you with aeroplanes that function perfectly, Tommy.”
“And it’s mine to break them up, sir. Flying the planes to the limit is the only way to survive, sir, and if that means he has to rebuild them overnight, well, that’s what he’s there for!”
“Possibly you could make that point more tactfully, Tommy?”
“Why? He’s not a flier – he’s there to keep me in the air.”
Major Salmond wondered again whether he should have a second officers mess built, segregated, one for the winged, one for the ground staff – they rarely spoke to each other and almost never civilly - and would have the advantage that they could never get close enough to argue.
“Keep off Captain Anderson’s back, Tommy; he has a difficult job with too few men and a permanent shortage of parts that means he often has to make up his own in the workshop. I think he must be in that hangar, working on his lathes and things for fifteen hours out of the twenty-four of every day and more when it’s necessary. He does a remarkable job to keep you in the air at all. He is bound to become irritable under the pressure, because he knows that if he or his mechanics make a mistake then a pilot will die when his plane fails him. He has to be perfect every day, and most nights as well! I know he don’t fly, but that doesn’t mean he ain’t human
!”
“If he makes a mistake, I die, sir. If I make a mistake, I die. He’s got half of the mistakes, but I’ve got all of the dying.”
That, Tommy thought, was unanswerable; Major Salmond gave up the argument.
“Try to keep out of the hangars, Tommy. When you want planes, come to me or the Adjutant and we will discover what is available and talk to Captain Anderson. It may be easier that way.”
“Yes, sir. Will it be possible to have two or three of the BEs to take a look from a distance while we go in, sir? Much like we did on that first couple of raids? The whole attack is over in a bare minute, much too fast and too busy for us to see what we’re doing. They might be able to suggest a better angle to dive at, or whether we might not dive in line astern, or something of that nature. They can tell us how many bombs missed, and suggest whether we should use more of the big ones, or concentrate on incendiaries.”
“Good idea, Tommy. I’ll have a word with Fishy and get him to go across with a couple of his lads. Are you intending to go into dinner now? I’ll join you.”
They ate and drank a single glass with the meal and nothing afterwards, Tommy insisting that his pilots must be sober and not hungover on a morning flight. He was not entirely certain it was necessary, but he was convinced that it would be very easy to get into the habit of drinking to excess under the pressure of wartime flying.
“Is there any policy about sending the lads back to England for a few months after being out here for a time, sir? This war ain’t going to end in a hurry, sir, and I don’t think any of them can last at this pace for years unbroken.”
“I’ll bring it up when next I’m at Wing, Tommy. I think you’re right, but I don’t know what the brass will say.”
“General Henderson will listen, at least. I don’t know if he will be able to persuade London, though, sir.”
Major Salmond was unsure as well – there was too much politicking going on for his taste, too many senior men jockeying for positions of power, and decisions seemed sometimes to be made for the benefit of officers’ careers rather than for the prosecution of the war and the benefit of the RFC.
A Deadly Caper (Innocents At War Series, Book 2) Page 17