Bill readjusted the hat. ‘Well, I don’t suppose they could throw any more at us up there than they have here in Madrid, Sarge.’
‘Does that mean you’ll go?’
‘Are you going?’
The sergeant nodded.
‘Then I’ll go. But how do we get in? The Basque Country is cut off by the Nationalists to the south and by the sea to the north.’
Evans grinned. ‘I told you it would be risky. That’s why they’re asking for volunteers. The plan is to fly the gun crews into Bilbao, then get them dug in to mountain-top positions just as soon as possible.’
*
When spring finally came to Hampshire, Stephen had all but given up hope of hearing from Enrico. And as the long grey winter months passed without any word, even the idea of spending a limited time with Enrico’s legion of adventurers seemed unlikely. But one afternoon in early April, Stephen arrived home to find a telegram boy knocking on the door.
He tipped the boy sixpence and tore open the envelope. The message was short.
YOUR OBSERVERS REQUEST HAS BEEN APPROVED STOP
FLY TO FRANKFURT IMMEDIATELY STOP WIRE FLIGHT
DETAILS TO MAX WINKLER SIGNED ENRICO END
The next morning Stephen told the flying school he had to go to the continent on an urgent personal matter of uncertain duration. Two days later Stephen arrived at Frankfurt at mid-morning on an Imperial Airways flight from London. Outside the airport customs area he saw a young man holding up a sign with his name on it. The man’s blond hair was cut short in military fashion but he wore civilian clothes.
When Stephen identified himself the fair-haired man looked at him intently for a few moments. Then he said in fluent English, ‘I am Oberleutnant Hans Schimmer, Herr Fairchild. If I seem surprised, it is because I was expecting an older man. It is unusual for one so young to have friends in such high places. You will follow me, please.’
Outside the terminal, the German led Stephen to a waiting Mercedes. In less than half an hour they reached a small military airfield to the south-east of Frankfurt near the town of Offenbach. An airman at the gate waved the Mercedes through and they drove to a hanger at the far end of the aerodrome. Outside the hangar, ground crew were preparing an aircraft for takeoff. It looked new and of an advanced design. As the car approached the plane Stephen wound down the window to get a better look.
‘It’s a new Heinkel, One Eleven,’ Oberleutnant Schimmer said. ‘Medium-bomber, twin eight hundred and eighty horsepower engines. Crew of four. Maximum speed three hundred and seventy-five miles per hour. Armament, three machine guns. Bomb load, one thousand kilos. I am taking delivery of it for the Condor Legion. We leave for Spain within the hour.’
The Heinkel approached the Nationalist-held airfield at Vitoria in northern Spain in the late afternoon. As the aircraft descended over the coastal mountains Oberleutnant Schimmer was at the controls with Stephen seated beside him. Schimmer pointed out the lay of the land. He told Stephen the airfield was just thirty miles from Bilbao, on the northern edge of Nationalist-held territory and just five miles from the front line of the Basque Republican forces.
The Oberleutnant pointed to scores of humps in the mountain sides and told Stephen they were Basque gun emplacements, part of an elaborate and almost impregnable defense system known as the Iron Ring. Minutes later the Heinkel landed and taxied across the airfield to take its place in a row of identical bombers.
Stephen was amazed at what he saw. The whole airfield was a sea of airplanes. Besides the big Heinkel bombers, there were other types of big bombers and rows of fighters, dive- bombers and reconnaissance aircraft. Several bore the markings of the Spanish Nationalist Air Force and the Italian Air Force. A few were adorned with the personal emblems and nicknames of their pilots. But most of the aircraft had no markings at all.
Oberleutnant Schimmer told Stephen that aircraft of the Nationalist and Italian air forces were massing at several other airfields in the north in preparation for a massive air offensive against the Basque Provinces and particularly the seaport of Bilbao. He said the entire operation was to be directed by Colonel Von Richtoven and spearheaded by squadrons of the Condor Legion. And he said Von Richtoven had personally decreed that the Condor Legion’s aircraft were not to display markings of any kind.
The Heinkel came to rest and Schimmer feathered the engines. When the door of the aircraft swung open, Stephen was greeted by the stench of aviation fuel, scorched tires, and the sound of excited voices shouting over the scream of engines, as men and machines were prepared for battle.
Suddenly, Stephen was filled with foreboding. The peaceful English countryside and his little cottage in Rake flashed through his mind, followed by thoughts and images of Emma, and of Christopher and of Sydney Harbor in summer. Suddenly nothing seemed real anymore. Everything he knew seemed to be in some other world. And he wondered what on earth he was doing in Spain.
*
In all, sixteen machine-gun and anti-aircraft gun crews in Bill’s company volunteered to go to the Basque Country. They were flown into Bilbao under the cover of darkness. From there, each crew was assigned to a hastily constructed but strategic gun emplacement. Most were within ten miles of Bilbao in the surrounding mountains, and all were at much higher altitude than the impregnable concrete bunkers of the Iron Ring.
Sergeant Evans, Bill, another Australian and an Englishman made up a four-man crew which took up a mountain position to the east of Bilbao overlooking Guernica, a quiet country town near the coast. The town had no defenses and although it had historical significance as the spiritual home of the Basques it had no permanent strategic value. The reason a gun emplacement had been set up above it was because it was an ideal location to pick off enemy aircraft making bombing runs over an important railway junction at the nearby village of Durango.
Sergeant Evans said the visit to scenic Guernica would be more like a well-earned holiday and by late April, the gun crew were beginning to enjoy themselves. There had been no sightings of enemy aircraft and to relieve the boredom the sergeant let them go down go to the village from time to time. There they would to mix with the locals and buy cigarettes and the occasional bottle of wine.
*
The grim sense of foreboding and uncertainty which had descended over Stephen on his arrival at Vitoria had lifted a little when Enrico, wearing the uniform of a Luftwaffe Oberleutnant, greeted him a few minutes after the Heinkel touched down.
Later, Stephen and Enrico were driven in a staff car to a small but comfortable hotel, one of several in the town commandeered to house officers of the Condor Legion. That evening at dinner, Enrico introduced Stephen to a group of young pilots under his command. He told them Stephen would be with the Condor Legion for several weeks as an observer, his presence authorized by Colonel Von Richtoven himself.
All the officers were young. Stephen thought some could barely be out of their teens. But all were polite, confident and impeccably presented in immaculate white uniforms. In spite of the language barrier, Stephen found the aircrews’ youthful enthusiasm contagious and, moved by their camaraderie, felt honored to be treated as one of their own.
The next morning he was issued with khaki flying fatigues with no insignia of any kind and flew a routine mission with Enrico in a Junkers 87 bomber. Stephen was surprised at how easily the aircraft handled when Enrico briefly let him take the controls.
After that, as the build-up continued at the airfield, Stephen flew many practice missions with Enrico over the Basque Provinces and the coastal waters of the Bay of Biscay. The Junkers was equipped with two, two hundred and fifty kilo bombs and a flexible machine gun. Stephen was always relieved when they returned to Vitoria without having used the plane’s armaments or having been fired on from the ground.
After dinner on the evening of April 25th, a large crowd of officers gathered around a radio in the hotel lounge. Those who understood Spanish listened intently as the Nationalist radio in Salamanca repeatedly issued an ultimat
um to the Basque people: ‘Franco is about to deliver a mighty blow against which all resistance is useless. Basques—surrender now and your lives will be spared.’ The message was quickly translated to everyone in the room.
Enrico took Stephen to one side. ‘None of us know exactly what that message means,’ he said quietly. ‘I was only told this afternoon that tomorrow we are to be joined by Condor Legion units from Burgos for a massive air strike against the Basques if they don’t surrender by midday. Colonel Von Richtoven is to lead the attack himself. The target has not yet been revealed to anyone.’
Stephen said nothing as Enrico’s words sank in.
‘Things are hotting up, Stephen.’ Enrico grinned ‘Perhaps it is time to return to your Tiger Moth in Basingstoke. We have transport aircraft leaving Spain for Germany every day.’
Stephen ignored the suggestion. ‘Do you think the target will be Bilbao?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure. Our orders are never to attack the port by air when British ships are berthed there. If we did, public opinion in England would demand their armed forces retaliate. Because of that, the shipping companies make sure there is at least one British ship in the harbor.’ Enrico shrugged. ‘If there are no British ships in port, then the target may well be Bilbao. Otherwise I think it will be the port’s rail and road links. We probably won’t know our specific targets until we’re airborne.’’
‘And the attack will be just on bridges, roads, railway lines and the like?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then count me in, Enrico.’
*
With no surrender forthcoming from the Basques, squadrons of Condor Legion bombers and fighters took off from Vitoria in the late afternoon of April 26th. Once airborne they were joined by squadrons based at Burgos, about sixty-five miles to the south-west.
Soon the squadrons had formed into an immense and awesome strike formation which blackened the entire sky. Stephen could barely contain his excitement. As usual he was flying with Enrico in the Junkers dive-bomber and he could see that Enrico’s exhilaration had soared to new heights. As they flew, the radio crackled continuously with short urgent messages. Stephen wished he understood German, so he would know exactly what their role was in the plan of attack.
But within fifteen minutes of takeoff, Colonel Von Richtoven’s grand plan became terrifyingly clear. Stephen saw the leading wave of bombers directly ahead of them descend over the town of Guernica as low as the surrounding mountains would allow. Then he watched in horror as the big Heinkel and Junkers bombers disgorged their deadly cargo and hundreds of bombs and incendiaries rained down onto houses and streets filled with civilians.
The radio crackled again with more commands and Enrico’s squadron of dive-bombers swooped down low over the streets, machine guns blazing, strafing bewildered townspeople as they sought refuge from the bombers. When the dive-bombers roared over the centre of town they were so low Stephen could distinguish between the men, women and children in the streets. He felt the Junkers suddenly lighten as Enrico released the two huge bombs strapped to her underbelly and he watched them fall into the crowded market square.
Stephen couldn’t believe what was really happening. He looked back and cried out in anguish at the trail of bloody carnage on the ground behind them. When he saw a second wave of advancing bombers and fighters swoop down to repeat the outrage he couldn’t hold back an avalanche of vomit.
The Junkers cleared the mountain top by no more than a hundred feet. Enrico banked hard to the right towards the sea. Stephen clearly saw an anti-aircraft gun nest on the mountain top firing at them. The gun emplacement was so close he could see the four-man gun crew and the sun flashing on the ammunition belts chattering through their guns. Above him he saw two more Junkers, their guns spitting fire as they swooped down out of the sun to kill the gun nest.
At that moment the gunners on the mountain top found their mark and a hail of bullets slammed through the fuselage of Enrico’s plane. Blood patches appeared on Stephen’s khaki fatigues and a flood of blood burst from his mouth, even before he felt the searing pain of the bullets ripping through his legs.
The last thing he saw was the glass of the cockpit canopy turning crimson. And the last thing he heard was Enrico screaming in agony, as he too was riddled by a burst of machine-gun fire, just a second before the two Junkers destroyed the gun nest.
*
The war in Spain was far removed from the minds of the pampered passengers aboard the Sydney-bound SS Orion. And because the world’s press was reluctant to offend German sensibilities by reporting that thousands of defenseless civilians had been slaughtered at Guernica, the saturation bombing might as well have occurred on another planet. But on April 28th, Geoffrey Dawson, the editor of The Times, in London felt compelled to publish the report of his paper’s correspondent in Spain, who was one of the first people to arrive at the scene of the atrocity:
Guernica, the most ancient town of the Basques and the centre of their cultural tradition, was completely destroyed by insurgent air-raiders. The bombardment of this open town far behind the lines occupied precisely three hours and a quarter, during which a powerful fleet of airplanes consisting of three German types, Junkers, and Heinkel bombers and Heinkel fighters, did not cease unloading onto the town, bombs weighing from 1,000 lbs downwards and, it is calculated, more than 3,000 two-pounder aluminum incendiary projectiles. The fighters, meanwhile, plunged low over the centre of the town to machine-gun those of the civilian population who had taken refuge
Emma read the report in The Times two days out from Ceylon when copies of the London papers were brought aboard the ship at Colombo. And as always, when there was news of the war in Spain, she felt anxious for Bill. She was still reading newspapers in the lounge when she was joined by Bruce.
‘Where are Mother and Christopher?’ Emma asked.
‘Up on the sun deck watching the games. I thought this might be a good time for us to talk.’
Emma put her newspaper down.
Bruce said, ‘I’ll be going to Goondiwindi just as soon as we get back to Australia, like we discussed, Emma.’
‘What will you do? Buy and sell horses with Harmony again?’
‘Yes. I’ve saved my wages since I’ve been in Sydney. So I’ll be able to buy and sell a few of my own. If it goes well, I’d like to get a little place of my own some day.’
‘You know I’ll help you financially, Bruce.’
‘Thanks Emma, but I’d sooner do it on my own. What I wanted to ask you was, will you be able to cope when I go to Queensland, what with mother’s therapy and everything?’
‘Don’t worry about us,’ Emma said quickly. ‘Molly and I will manage.’ She paused for a moment, then added, ‘Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot lately. Maybe we should get a place in the country. It’s really where we all belong. Mother never says anything, but I know she would prefer it. I think it would be better for Christopher too. And heaven knows, I’ve only put up with everything in Sydney because I’ve had to.’
Bruce looked surprised. ‘What kind of a place in the country?’
‘A place where we could be a family again. A place where we would have room to breathe and to keep a few cattle and sheep.’ Emma smiled. ‘And maybe buy and sell a few horses…’
‘Do you mean it, Emma?’
‘Yes, I really do.’
‘But what would you do with Sydney Styles?’
‘Sell it, of course.’
*
When the SS Orion arrived in Sydney, the McKenna family had decided unanimously to return to the bush just as soon as a buyer was found for Sydney Styles. In the meantime Bruce would return to Queensland and look around for a suitable property near Goondiwindi.
When the ship docked at Darling Harbor, Bruce could hardly contain his joy at arriving home in Australia or his enthusiasm for the new life that lay ahead for the family. But his dreams were shattered the moment he set foot on the dock. Suddenly he was surrounded by uniformed policemen a
nd placed under arrest.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
‘It’s all my fault,’ Molly said bitterly. ‘When Mrs Coltrane telephoned and told me the authorities might be looking for Bruce, I should have been more careful. But nobody came to the house. There were a few phones calls for you, Emma. I just told the callers you were away and when you would be back. One of them must have been from the police.’
The family was sitting around the living room, still stunned by the incident on the dock earlier in the day which had ruined their homecoming. They were waiting for Dan Rankin, the solicitor who had defended Molly on her assault charge in the Domain, to return from seeing Bruce at the Darlinghurst lock-up.
Emma said ‘Tell us exactly what Laura said when she telephoned, Molly.’
‘She said she’d told Mr Coltrane that she was going to leave him. She said there was a terrible scene. He told her if she left, she’d go without a penny and with only the clothes she stood up in because it would ruin his chances in the federal election. She told him she didn’t care and that she’d sold a few of her personal things and put aside a little money to live on until she found some kind of work. Apparently he went berserk. He accused her of stealing and hit her. And he said if she went he’d tell the police where Bruce was.’
‘But how could Uncle Patrick have known he was here?’ Emma asked. ‘Aunt Laura would never have told him.’
‘Mr Coltrane had seen your picture in the Canberra newspaper,’ Molly said. ‘Apparently they ran the same story about the fascisti as the Sydney Chronicle. He said the police could soon find Bruce through you. That’s why she phoned to warn us.’ Molly shook her head. ‘But, I still can’t believe a man could do that to his own flesh and blood.’
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