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

by Andrew Wareham

  “That may well be the cause of some upset in the German press, Colonel Kettle.”

  “How distressing, sir!”

  “I shall not mention the fact to Boom – he has some very strange ideas, sometimes. Quaintly old-fashioned occasionally, in fact.”

  The Flight Commanders sat down with Tommy, discussing what was to be done about the large new bombers.

  “Not much, is the first thing that comes to mind.”

  Tommy explained that Bridge was even then on his way to HQ to beg information from Intelligence.

  “We know nothing of this machine, except that it is ‘very big’, and flies high.”

  They agreed this was unspecific.

  “I have told Bridge to discover how many guns it has, and where located. If he can find out its speed and rate of climb, that will help. Number of crew would be useful, too. Always a chance that a big plane might have two or three gunners. The Russian job is supposed to have four, spread out between nose and tail.”

  They agreed that could be disconcerting.

  “Not the most complex of problems, Tommy.”

  Fred seemed inclined to be dismissive of German gunners and offered a simple solution.

  “Flights of four, Tommy, to attack one bomber at a time. One man nominated to try for the engines, a second to aim for the pilot’s cockpit, three and four to go for the gunners. Finish one and go for the next, if they’ve hung about. If they’ve gone home, they’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Frank demurred.

  “What if they fly as a squadron, Tommy? Say you put twelve of them together, maybe in boxes of four. You remember with the RE7s, when that pair of Halberstadts attacked and we were able to concentrate our fire? And that was with just thirteen guns. If they have a pair of gunners, there’s a chance they could fire twenty-four guns at a time.”

  They considered his argument, and decided they did not like it. Flying into two dozen Parabellums, with competent gunners and five hundred and fifty rounds each, was a recipe for never coming home again.

  “Very nasty! Let us take a look at them first before we do anything premature. Fred, your Flight at two o’clock, go out over the battlefield, climbing to fifteen thousand feet and staying there for say thirty minutes, then dropping back to the field. Two hours of patrol. I’ll take my Flight out at about three-thirty and do the same. Blue, you go at five-thirty. Frank, take dawn patrol. Have another meeting at about nine tomorrow morning and work out what, if anything we have seen, and what we should do next. Tell the lads to remember all they can, and to keep their eyes out above as well as below. We might have to push up to seventeen thousand, if they are up that high.”

  “Attack anything we see, Tommy?”

  “Naturally. Always attack. Never let anything we see go without a bullet fired.”

  They patrolled and saw an empty sky, which was not in itself displeasing – they were in solitary mastery, for a while. Although tedious at times, it was pleasant to have regained command of the air, lost to the first Fokkers and now theirs again, for a month or two.

  Bridge came back from HQ and gave a squadron briefing, which lasted for five minutes – Intelligence had not concerned itself too much with the performance of aircraft, had been more inclined to discover matters of strategy.

  “The AEG IV is a twin-engined biplane, said to have a maximum speed of about one hundred mph, but to cruise at operational height at about ninety. It can reach more than fourteen thousand feet, but will probably habitually fly lower than that; there is no reason to suppose they have any bomb sight that will be useful at that height. The crew is of three, which suggests two gunners and probably blind from underneath the tail; it needs a third gunner to cover the belly. The plane is mostly of metal construction, a frame of steel tubing. There is some armour around the cockpits and possibly around the engine casings. Bomb load of about four hundred pounds. And that is it. No idea of range, where they are based, how many squadrons, bombardment policy, day or night, or, in fact, most of the useful details we would like to know. I asked if it could fly on one engine, and they had no answer.”

  “Armour?”

  “Yes, Tommy. Against bullets. Steel sheeting, I believe.”

  “Means they waste power on carrying extra weight. Probably reduces their ability to bank and turn. Certainly slows them in the climb, but might give them speed in the dive… steel tubing says very strong… expect them to respond to attack by power dives and turns. Worth knowing.”

  Bridge was impressed by the analysis, was glad that his information was of some value.

  “Do we know anything about their behaviour on raids, Bridge? Single machines or Flights, for example?”

  “Unknown, Tommy. Reports from soldiers on the ground talk of high-flying planes, well separated.”

  “Do they attack every day? Possibly at different parts of the Front? What do the French have to say?”

  Bridge shrugged.

  “The French say very little to us, especially since we ended the assault to the north of the Somme. They wanted it to continue to pull German divisions away from Verdun – which was what they needed the Somme to do in the first instance. They never expected the Somme to be more than a diversionary battle and have stopped talking to us since it failed.”

  “We joined this war on the wrong side! Too late now, I suppose!”

  Tommy thought for a few seconds, was unable to see that Bridge’s information made any difference to their plans. He stood and took over the briefing.

  “We must continue to patrol for at least another two days, still in Flights and following the same pattern. I think we must expect to attack these AEGs one at a time. I suspect that if we try them one on one then we might get a bloody nose – four to one seems a much wiser idea.”

  The newer pilots were not so sure it was necessary, but were unwilling to say so, or not to Tommy.

  “Have we any two-engine machines in development, do you know, Tommy?”

  “Good question, Rozzer. Probably. Vickers and de Havilland are both looking at bigger machines – but for what date, I have no idea.”

  “There was talk in the newspapers of strategic bombing, Tommy. Of sending, I quote, ‘air fleets’ to destroy German industry and particularly their manufacturers of airships and Gotha bombers. It is thought that the new Gothas will be able to reach London.”

  “Gothas, Rozzer? The only one I have heard of is a peculiar-looking beast with its fuselage suspended off the upper wing. Pusher configuration. They built about a dozen and sent them off to the Eastern front, or the Balkans, maybe – distant from us, anyway. Slow and unwieldy and with no great operating height – a delight for Archie. I must imagine they will have improved their design, but I know nothing of them attacking London. Unlikely, if you ask me – no gain to it. Spend a lot of money, use skilled men to build the machines, and then send them off to kill a few civilians at random over England – where’s the gain to that?”

  It certainly seemed irrational, but so increasingly did the whole of the war.

  “By the way, Bridge, do we know how often these AEGs have been bombing over the Somme?”

  “Most days, Tommy. Certainly, there have been reports on every fine day.”

  “Then it’s a question of catching them. It’s a big battlefield.”

  Fred looked up; he had been distracted for a few minutes, scribbling on a sheet of paper.

  “Just had a thought, Tommy.”

  Tommy responded automatically that it was a bad habit, thinking never to be encouraged among pilots.

  “If we ever thought about this game, we’d all give up and go home, Fred. Do tell us the results of your mental labours.”

  “They won’t be attacking the immediate fighting area of the battlefield, Tommy, not if they are dropping from height. Be as likely to hit their own people as ours.”

  They all knew that bombing from height was wildly inaccurate.

  “So, they will look to attack the rear areas, at least one mile, and better
two, distant from their own soldiers.”

  “Pretty much pointless, Fred – that’s an inactive sort of area. Might find field gun batteries there, but not much else. The reserves and the QM and cookhouses and such will all be closer to five miles back.”

  “Agreed. That’s where we should be, Tommy. Generally speaking, they are busiest in those areas in the early mornings, getting their mule trains and wagons and trucks loaded at first light and sent off to meet the requisitions sent down from the Front on the previous evening.”

  They knew that Fred was a general’s son and must have grown up with some understanding of how armies worked.

  “Right, Fred. Patrol of two Flights over the rear areas at what, ten thousand feet? Higher?”

  “How much can you see from ten thou’, Tommy?”

  “Not a lot. They’ll more likely be at eight, a thousand or two less maybe, I would think. Agreed Blue, Frank?”

  It seemed good to them.

  “Fred, you and Blue to be over the rear at eight thousand feet for dawn. Frank and myself to follow after two hours, then you come out again when you’ve refuelled. Turn about for the next four days, full cover for the first six hours of the day. We’ll run a squadron patrol in the afternoon over the rear of the German lines, just so they can see us and try to work off their bad temper on us.”

  The AEG was larger than the RE7, a wider wingspan and longer in the body. It carried a gunner in the nose and another towards the tail, both with wide arcs of fire and a stable plane to fire from. It was not an easy target.

  There were two of them over the battlefield when Tommy’s patrol arrived, both, as predicted, lower than the Flight’s eight thousand feet. Tommy waved and pointed and led his four into the attack. Frank held off and watched, as had been agreed, positioning himself within striking distance of the second bomber.

  Rozzer swooped down onto the tail gunner and fired a burst; the gunner returned the compliment and Rozzer broke away at fifty yards, sure that he had achieved some hits and knowing that he had taken some as well. He made height and banked to come in again. The AEG was diving hard, and turning to starboard, putting a massive strain onto its powerful structure, a tighter bank than the Pups could achieve.

  He spotted David cutting across in a steep dive and coming to port, putting a sustained burst into the wing and across one engine. The AEG tried to change its bank and found Tommy directly to its front, firing a short burst directly into the front gunner and then along the nose and into the cockpit. Their fourth man, Sebastian, one of the newest pilots in the squadron, was sticking to Tommy’s tail, copied his every movement and finished off the pilot. The bomber’s nose dropped and it fell into a vertical dive; smoke poured from one engine; it was finished.

  Frank observed and then turned into the second, about a mile distant, dropping its bombs and turning east, losing height in an attempt to put on speed.

  The AEG’s tail gunner opened fire at a quarter of a mile, far out of practical range; a new man at the trade, Frank presumed. He signalled his Flight to take their pre-arranged positions – it seemed their first ideas might work. He chose the front gunner as his own target and side-slipped in a flat turn onto the nose, the fire from the Parabellum not catching up with him. A brief burst at thirty yards sufficed for the gunner and gave him just time to climb above the diving plane. He watched as Callaghan tried the same at the tail, with less success, falling away in a ball of fire. His two young followers pressed in close, one concentrating on wings and engine, stopping the left propeller, the other shooting into the cockpit, finishing the job in workmanlike fashion.

  They returned to formation, followed Tommy back to St Michel, holding off as Rozzer fired a red flare and landed first, taxying very cautiously back to the hangars.

  They clustered around Bridge, shrugging as he noticed there were no more than seven.

  “Manoeuvrable, Bridge, and strong. We need a heavier gun. Said it before, no doubt will do so again – it needs a half-inch round to damage a metal plane. Quarter of a kill each for the four of us, Bridge. Good work by Sebastian, exactly where he should have been at all times, locked onto my tail. David and Rozzer both played their part, and well.”

  Bridge wrote everything in his notes, turned then to Rozzer, David and Sebastian in their turn and took their reports, brief and precisely worded. He nodded his approval to Sebastian, who had simply said that he had followed Tommy and opened fire when he was given the opportunity.

  “Makes you four and a quarter, Sebastian. Well done!”

  Frank brought his pair and agreed with Tommy’s conclusion that the AEG was hard to knock down.

  “What happened to Callaghan?”

  “He was shot down, Bridge. What did you think happened? Found a convenient cloud and swanned off into it? He caught a bad case of dead!”

  They led Frank away, shaking their heads and tutting at the ill-manners displayed by penguins who had forgotten what it was to fly.

  “Jim! A new pilot and plane to replace whatever-his-name-was.”

  The dead were forgotten; they had never existed.

  The seven sat down to discuss how best to deal with the next AEG they came across.

  Frank opened the discussion.

  “Treat ‘em like a balloon, Tommy; distract the gunners. Two come down from high, port and starboard, opening fire when distant. The others dive and zoom, together, stitching her up from underneath the tail.”

  Tommy nodded; it was a practical solution.

  “What’s the possibility of making feints from either beam, Mac? You know about guns. Repeated attacks by a pair from either side, until the gunners run out of ammunition?”

  “Not a chance, Tommy! According to the little I have been told, the Parabellum is belt fed with more than five hundred rounds to hand. It would take a lot of short bursts to empty that gun.”

  Mac had been the machine-gun officer attached to a cavalry regiment before transferring to the RFC, having grown tired of being sneered at by men who knew that the sabre was the sole legitimate weapon of war.

  “Five hundred? That’s a lot, Mac. What’s this I hear about steel-jacketed rounds, by the way?”

  “The Spandau works is said to produce them. Armour-piercing in effect. Haven’t seen ‘em myself, but that’s no reason to disbelieve in them. Never seen a crocodile, but I ain’t going bathing in the Nile.”

  That comment was somewhat subtle for Tommy, but he agreed it to be wise.

  Fred and Blue landed, reporting a blank patrol.

  Tommy knocked on Pot’s door, wanting him to send a request for more information to HQ.

  “Best thing, sir, is to discover where these things are based and then send the RE7s across to stir them up in their hangars. I have this feeling that they’re better dealt with on the ground, sir. Lost one today, but it could have been four just as easily. A slightly better gunner would have had me, as an example. Rozzer was well-peppered in the upper wings – that could easily have been the cockpit.”

  “I shall pass the word up the line, Tommy. Why are they so hard to down?”

  “Steel frames and armour plate, sir. I put a good twenty rounds into the immediate area of the cockpit, and Sebastian finished the job with at least as many. We have to assume that only a couple got through to the pilot. Twin guns would help, or heavier calibre. Have you seen these Le Prieur rockets, sir? Could they be used against a large plane?”

  Pot had heard of them, knew that they regularly missed balloons; such being the case, a moving and smaller target was fairly safe from them.

  “No. Not a good idea, Tommy. The next Sopwith is expected to carry two guns. But not yet for a while. The Frogs are said to be playing with a thirty-seven millimetre cannon, but it’s single-shot, of course. There’s an experiment with the FEs as well, putting a two-pounder quick-firer into the nose. It don’t work, it seems. Recoil.”

  It occurred to Tommy that it might not have been difficult to work out that even a little field-gun was not best suite
d to use in the air.

  “Told the mad Irishman at the Royal Aircraft Factory that it wouldn’t do, a twelvemonth since. O’Gorman wouldn’t listen, of course.”

  Pot had never met the gentleman, but had heard of him.

  “I understand that he cannot be told anything, Tommy.”

  “We are left with bombing on the ground, sir. Very low on a moonlit night. For the while, we shall patrol the rear areas this afternoon. Squadron strength. Any word on Jerry, sir?”

  “Still training up the new units. The new Albatri are being worked up in Germany, will not come to the Front until they are fit for action.”

  “Albatri?”

  “Thought by the Classically gifted to be the plural of Albatros. Jolly witty, don’t you know!”

  “Bunch of pricks!”

  “Hear, hear!”

  They took off on patrol, fifteen strong, Tommy wanting as many bodies as possible at his back; he had a feeling that they should not take any risks while Jerry was feeling cross with the squadron.

  Ten thousand feet was ample, he felt, until the new squadrons had worked up and were let out of Germany. The Flights were stepped up, echeloned to starboard, a hundred yards laterally and to the rear, two hundred feet in height, the Flight Commanders at liberty to lead their pilots as they fancied when they caught sight of a target.

  The anti-aircraft fire was light, and filled Tommy with suspicion, bursts clumped together and serving, he thought, more as a wake-up call to distant aircraft than to try to kill them. He looked low and left, that being his Flight’s allotted sector. He knew that Blue would be searching directly in front to the east and giving attention to the air from five thousand feet upwards, while Fred would check to the south. Frank, highest of the Flights, and one short, would have the upper air to cover, probably with the least activity to be found.