Dark Days Of Summer (Innocents At War Series, Book 4)

by Andrew Wareham

  Tommy took off first, pushing into a fast climb and banking away to port, making height in order to watch them as they took off. He intended then to close on each of the temporary Flights, to watch them for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour.

  Noah took off, Keith, Piet and Roger in line behind him; they followed rigorously. Fred led Jeremy, Christopher and Nigel into the air, the line a little bumpy but within reason acceptable – they were trying. Blue had Barbry, Frank and Charles, starting in line astern but with Charles rapidly overtaking him and throwing his machine into a loop.

  Tommy watched and noted all. Blue took a wide bank to port and Charles either did not see or preferred to play on his own; he did not rejoin the Flight.

  The three brought their followers in after an almost exact hour; Charles buzzed the field at one hundred feet, coming in low over the town, to the amazement of all beholders, and landed fifteen minutes later after performing a series of clumsy rolls and banks.

  “What’s his surname, Nigel?”

  “Charles’, Tommy?”

  “Yes, that’s the one I need.”

  “Davenport, Tommy.”

  “Thank you, Nigel. You should stand back a distance now. Propriety demands that this interview should be within reason private. Go on into the canteen and take a bite to eat. You will be flying in an hour. Piece of advice, by the way – you are too tight when going into a turn. Ease off a little, relax the muscles – I know banking is the biggest worry in a rotary, but you must try to take it easily. Otherwise, you were one of the best pilots in the squadron – flying like a natural. You have the feel and will do very well with us! You are a man who will mark up a score and I am lucky to have you posted to my squadron.”

  Nigel was almost wholly won over – he had not felt so delighted since he had made the First Fifteen, had been given his Rugby Cap.

  “Thank you, Tommy. I shall deserve your praise! What about Charles?”

  “I must not say anything on that before I have spoken to him. Noah is on the telephone at the moment. He will be able to tell you unofficially when you eat.”

  Charles walked across, smiling broadly, white teeth gleaming, bareheaded, top button of his tunic undone, fair hair ruffled in the wind, handsome, devil-may-care yet debonair, the very picture, in his own mind, of the dashing pilot.

  “Second Lieutenant Davenport, you are incorrectly dressed. Present yourself in five minutes, sir!”

  “But…”

  “Do not disobey another order, Mr Davenport.”

  Noah appeared in the doorway to the offices, waved to Tommy to join him.

  “Nearest Redcaps are a detachment at the railway station, Tommy. There’s three barracks use the station so they have a picket there to pick up the drunks. They will be told to release two men to us and Mr Sopwith has sent his car off to collect them. Mr Sopwith was not at all pleased with our Mr Davenport; there is some feeling in the town about prototypes flying over them and he is rigorous in maintaining height. He is on the telephone now, demanding blood and supporting your action. Twenty minutes till the Redcaps get here.”

  “Good. Stay with me as witness to proceedings, Noah. Should be Jim, but we can do without him – must do, in fact. Ah, the little prick is coming back, his two dear pals with him… but now leaving his side. They are well advised to stay clear. They understand military discipline it seems, which is pleasing, because one of them will be good, the other useful enough; I don’t want to lose them.”

  Roger and Nigel had turned away, gone towards the staff dining-room, as instructed.

  Charles stamped to attention in front of the pair.

  “Second Lieutenant Davenport reporting, sir!”

  “So I see. Did you study Military Law as it applies to the RFC, Mr Davenport?”

  “Yes, sir. I passed the exam, sir. At the Training Camp, sir.”

  “Good. What is the law for flying over civilian housing, Mr Davenport?”

  “Not less than one thousand feet, sir, unless necessary when making one’s approach to a field, sir.”

  “Good again, Mr Davenport. Would you care to cast your eyes to the three sides of the field other than the factory. You may tell me what you see.”

  “Houses, sir.”

  “You will be charged first with low-flying over a built-up area, Mr Davenport. Have you anything to say?”

  “Well… No, sir.”

  “Noted. Please record Mr Davenport’s refusal to enter a defence to the charge, Captain Arkwright.”

  “It was only a joke, sir – just to play a little game.”

  “Captain Arkwright will note that as well. Next, Mr Davenport – I ordered you to fly in line astern and perform those manoeuvres initiated by your acting Flight Commander. Did you hear that order? Did you understand it?”

  “Yes, sir – but, I just wanted to show that it wasn’t necessary, sir. That was all.”

  “I see. You believed in fact that you know better than me. How many hours do you have in your logbook? Solo, that is?”

  “Twelve, sir, but there was the time in the Avro as well – the instructor was only watching me then.”

  “And you wish Captain Arkwright to note that you believe that your twelve hours outweighs my two thousand, Mr Davenport? I am sure the Court will be amused to hear that.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Finally, Mr Davenport, I ordered you to fly in company but you chose to go off on your own. Why?”

  “I lost sight of the others, sir, when I looped.”

  “So you did. What should you have done then?”

  “Returned to the field, sir – but I was enjoying the plane very much, sir. It is much better than the trainers, sir.”

  “Well, I am glad you will have the memory of flying a service machine. You are grounded pending court-martial, Mr Davenport. You will be held under arrest until a further decision is taken on your future. You are dismissed from my squadron, Mr Davenport. I shall recommend that you be cashiered from the RFC, irrespective of the decision of the court-martial. It is my hope that you will never fly again, sir, for you cannot be trusted to behave like an officer and a soldier. The Military Police will soon be here to collect you and take you to the nearest place of detention.”

  Mr Davenport was shocked, horrified in fact – this was no way for one gentleman to behave to another. He had expected a rocket, perhaps a day or two confined to camp, accompanied by a wink – recognition of his high-spirited manliness and impatience with mere regulations.

  “But… Can I at least resign my commission, sir, and seek another in the Army?”

  “No. You are not fit to be an officer. You will wait here until your escort arrives.”

  Five silent minutes and the car came and disgorged a corporal and a private of the Military Police.

  The corporal offered Tommy a salute and awaited his orders.

  “Thank you, Corporal. Where is the nearest convenient place of detention?”

  “None here, sir, not for the RFC. Best to take the prisoner into Waterloo, sir, where there is a set of cells, sir, used for deserters picked up there, mostly, sir.”

  “Organise that, if you will, Corporal. I shall make contact with RFC Headquarters and see what can be arranged. The car will convey you to the station.”

  “Certainly, sir. It is usual, sir, to put prisoners in cuffs, so that they cannot escape in transit, sir.”

  “Conform to normal practice in all respects.”

  The Redcaps took Charles away in chains, silent, unbelieving, very nearly broken. He could not come to terms with such vicious maltreatment, could not imagine why they were doing this to him – he had always been recognised as a wonderful chap at school.

  Noah went off to the telephone again.

  Tommy found the dining-room and took a sandwich. He could not fancy lamb cutlets, he found; the smell of grilled meat was a little too much after the experiences of the last days.

  “We shall take off at about two o’clock, gentlemen. A direct flight to A
mesbury, in the same order as for this morning’s exercise.”

  Roger and Nigel nervously approached Tommy as he sat with a cup of tea, having discovered the coffee to be appalling.

  “Sir, can we ask what has happened?”

  “Yes, of course you can. Members of my squadron are always free to ask me anything – even if I cannot promise that they will always like the answer. The second lieutenant has been placed under arrest and is on his way to the cells. He has been charged with three separate breaches of Military discipline, one of which is of the most serious category – wantonly hazarding the lives of civilians by flying at one hundred feet over housing. He is grounded and will never fly for this squadron; I doubt he will ever fly again, in fact. I cannot overstate just how seriously I view his misconduct. I believe that General Henderson will have no sympathy for the charges. I can assure you that if he had crashed into the houses and survived, he would have found himself facing a capital charge and a near-certainty of a firing squad.”

  They showed horror – gentlemen must not be shot, certainly not for accidentally causing the death of some of the lower orders.

  “He will be cashiered, sir?”

  “Possibly – I cannot make guesses about the results of a court martial. He may be so fortunate as to find himself posted as a lieutenant to an infantry battalion in an out-of-the-way place. I shall make no recommendation to the court, but I have informed my seniors of just how inadequate an officer he is.”

  “Will we be disloyal to you, sir, if we telephone his father? He has some influence, sir. The sooner he knows, the better.”

  “He is your friend, gentlemen. I would be disappointed in you if you did not do what you could for him. I shall never accept him in my squadron, because I could never trust him, but I shall not pursue him with malice. Speak to Noah and he will take you to the telephone.”

  Noah was a little surprised at Tommy’s generosity.

  “The boy is a fool rather than a criminal, Noah. He can never be relied on – he is useless to the RFC, but he could be dumped onto a New Army battalion as a subaltern. He would make good cannon-fodder. They would probably like him as he marched laughing and japing to his death. I must speak to Jim, get him to bend Henderson’s ear.”

  Jim was called to the telephone for what seemed like the tenth time in the day, was very patient as he explained that he had done everything already.

  “The boy has influence behind him, Tommy, and I have already been told that he will be allowed to make reparation for the black he has put up. General Henderson has insisted on sacking him as a pilot and I believe that he will go out to a local infantry battalion in East Africa, to the forces chasing Jerry through the bush there. Not a very pleasant posting – bugs and every plague known to the human race out there - but out of sight and with a chance of some fighting. As well, I have made the request for five more bodies, Tommy. Hopefully, they will be with us tomorrow – it seems that we are favoured again.”

  “Five?”

  “The unofficial word is that Noah is to have a squadron of DH2s – in England, posted to Home Defence. He will work them up for at least three months, possibly longer, and it is then envisaged that the squadron will be given the new Sopwith. The first production run is going to the RNAS, and the likelihood is that he won’t see them before autumn. Guesswork, obviously, but he is likely to remain in England until the newspapers have forgotten him – too big a setback for the public if he was to be lost in action. He will probably be promoted and posted within the week.”

  “Pity. He is good for this squadron, but he deserves his own. I will much miss having him at my shoulder, Jim. He will be wed inside the month, it seems, so at least he will get some time with his lady. He needs the break, too – he has flown a lot in a little time.”

  “So have you, Tommy.”

  “Born to it, Jim. Add to that, he’s a naturally responsible man and I ain’t. He worries more than I do. He needs a rest, and time to settle down with his wife. I would like the same chance, but I don’t need it.”

  They flew to Amesbury, tidily, in formation at eight thousand feet on a cloud-free day. It was the nearest to peace-time enjoyment that Tommy had known for more than a year, flying idly in the sunshine.

  He wondered just what was to be done about the problem of the observer, who would be sat in splendid isolation far to his rear, a good six feet away. If they could not speak to one another, perhaps they could pass written messages… he would canvass opinion among the mechanics. They might well be able to solve the problem.

  Four new pilots arrived next morning, accompanied by an experienced captain, substantive in the rank and senior to all except Tommy and therefore second-in-command.

  “Goossens, sir; Dutch originally, came over a hundred years ago. Had a slight mishap in a Parasol a few months ago – bent a few bits, but all working now. I understand I am to replace Noah Arkwright, sir. Overlapping by three or four days so that he can ease me into his job. Bloody hard act to follow, sir, standing in that man’s shoes!”

  “No man could do that. You must stand in your own – Swanee, is it?”

  “No such luck, sir. ‘Ducky’, they named me!”

  Tommy started to laugh. A nickname once given was immutable – it remained forever.

  “You’ll have your Flight, of course, but you need to know what’s going on and when. I have always worked unofficially with Noah, just telling him everything, whether he needs to know or not. He is in Jim’s office more than he’s out – you will be equally welcome, of course. If you don’t know what’s going on, then ask. I’m more likely to ask you what’s happening. Keep your finger on the Mess, Ducky. Watch ‘em for drinking at the wrong time, and let me know when I drive them too hard. Fault of mine – I push them too much, don’t let them rest when they should. For the others, watch the boys for silliness – no talk of flying under bridges or picking apples from the trees, that sort of bloody nonsense!”

  Goossens left the office feeling hopeful – there was a chance, he thought, that he might live to the end of the war, given the CO’s sensible approach to existence. He had long resigned himself to a short life-expectancy, but there was a possibility of a future now. He wondered if that would make everyday existence more or less tolerable.

  Noah left to go on leave and then join his new posting. But before that he had been carried out of the mess to his bed after the first bash thrown by the newly constituted squadron. Tommy forbade flying next day, every pilot being cross-eyed still.

  With that exception, and a few rainy days besides, they flew morning and afternoon for at least two hours, finding out the best ways of using the new machine. They had only one significant accident in the first month, Nigel experiencing engine failure at take off and managing to bring the Strutter down almost in one piece – he made no attempt to turn back and would have achieved a perfect landing had it not been for a badly-placed clump of beech trees. His observer stepped out of the rear cockpit almost unscathed and pulled Nigel out before the petrol tank blew.

  Tommy discovered that Quack was exultant.

  “One dislocated finger, sir – and I put that back in for him. Didn’t tell him anything and grabbed hold of it and popped it into place immediately. You wouldn’t imagine the things he called me, sir! I had thought him to be no more than a schoolboy!”

  “I am told that dislocations hurt, Quack.”

  “Only for a minute or two, sir. The pain gets better really quickly. Anyway, sir, it didn’t hurt me at all!”

  “When can he fly again, Quack?”

  “Two days, sir. The hand is bruised and swollen still and he has a headache.”

  Tommy called the three Flight Commanders together at the end of the fourth week.

  “Each of the lads has added eighty or more hours to his logbook, which is worthwhile in itself. Are you satisfied with your pilots? Do you want to wash any out?”

  Blue and Fred were both completely happy; Ducky was worried about one of the newest, the l
ast four who had joined with him.

  “David, the skinny little chap, Tommy. He’s too intense. Drives himself every moment to be best, to meet his own set of standards, higher than ours. I worry he’s going to break – lie in his bed one morning and find he can’t face getting up, poor little chap!”

  “He flies well – everything precise and snappy or so I’ve seen,” Tommy responded.

  “He never permits himself to make the least mistake, Tommy.”

  “What does his observer say?”

  “Not much.”

  That was indicative in itself.

  “Hard to ground him for being too good. Even though it will keep him alive.”

  “Can you talk to him, Tommy?”

  “I must, part of the job. What’s his background?”

  “Scholarship boy at Winchester; passed some sort of exam at his prep school and did so well he had his fees paid for him. His parents would have been hard-pressed to put him through the local grammar school, reading between the lines. Father is a church organist – a would-be musician who never quite made the grade and ended up earning a pound or two more than a farm labourer but needing to keep up the front of a gentleman. I gather David had won some sort of prize from Oxford as well – an Exhibition, whatever that may be – and was to go there as a student, but he joined us when he was eighteen. Very clever, and very used to being the poor boy in the corner.”

  “Dead man walking, Ducky!”

  “Almost for sure, and I cannot get to him – beautifully polite, naturally so, I think, and totally forbidding. Got a wall six feet thick in front of him.”

  “I must break the wall then. What’s the chance I shall break him?”

  “High, Tommy. I could see no way of doing it, not safely.”

  “Tell him to see me, will you… No, don’t. Send two of the others who came with him first, not together; let it be seen that I am having a personal chat with all of the newest lads.”

  “Will do. Angus, first – he won’t be nervous at being picked out.”

  “Why not, Ducky?”

  “Too dim. No imagination, nothing to think with, just about capable of learning to fly. He’ll make a first-class scout pilot at the Front, Tommy, for not knowing when he should be afraid.”