by Dan Walsh
They had been flying Hurricanes for two weeks now. Jack and Joe enjoyed flying them so much, they couldn’t imagine now how flying a Spitfire could be that much better. This was only their second combat mission. Pretty much the same assignment as yesterday. Escort two squadrons of Blenheim bombers across the English Channel, trying to keep German fighters from shooting them down, while the Blenheims bombed German airfields in northern France.
Yesterday, they had been lucky. The Germans must not have expected them. The British bombers had gotten in and out, dropped all their bombs right on target, before any of the German fighter planes got airborne to retaliate.
In their briefing an hour ago, the Group Captain had said they should never expect to be that lucky again.
After making the altitude adjustment, all the British bombers could now be plainly seen. Jack realized that meant they could be easily seen by German fighters, too.
“Keep a sharp lookout, Gents. We’ve just crossed the halfway point. We don’t think the Germans have radar active in this area, but ME-109’s and 110’s could be on patrol this far out.”
They flew along for the next ten minutes without incident. Jack’s mind began to wander. So much had happened in the last two weeks. The promised Hurricane squadrons had arrived in Middle Wallop and the Americans had all been cleared to fly them. So far, no one else in the squadron had died.
Bigger events quickly grabbed everyone’s attention. France had completely collapsed, forcing the rest of the British forces to the coast. What happened next was unbelievable. Hundreds of British vessels, even small fishing boats that could hold no more than a dozen men, had rushed across the Channel to take part in an emergency evacuation. Over a seven-day period, 350,000 British troops had been successfully ferried back across the Channel. Instead of being annihilated as many had expected, these soldiers would live to fight another day.
Over the last week, people had become so elated and encouraged by the achievement (the press had dubbed it, “The Miracle of Dunkirk”) that Winston Churchill had to remind everyone over the radio: “We must be very careful not to assign to this deliverance the attributes of a victory. Wars are not won by evacuations.”
Jack really liked the new Prime Minister, Churchill. He reminded him a little of FDR. Not the way he sounded, certainly not the accent. But he had that same eloquence—maybe even more so than FDR—and he bred that same sense of confidence in people when he spoke.
The mission Jack’s squadron was flying today and yesterday had been created by another major event recently announced in the news. France had officially surrendered and requested an armistice with Germany. All their troops in northern France had either laid down their arms or fled south. With the Brits out of France, and now the French army gone as well, the Luftwaffe quickly moved in and began to take over all the airfields close to the northern coast.
This meant that the Nazis were now close enough to England to start launching bombing raids across the Channel. They were within striking distance of London, as well as every coastal town, warehouse and seaport in southern England. Everyone was bracing for the coming invasion.
RAF commanders were convinced that before the swarms of Nazi armies came sailing across the Channel, Luftwaffe fighters and bombers would be sent first, by the thousands, to prepare the way. So, Bomber Command was sending every available RAF squadron to northern France to attack all these newly-acquired airfields. Hoping to catch the Luftwaffe with their pants down.
One of the British pilots flying with Jack’s squadron today said during the briefing that the airfield they were targeting today was the very same airfield his old squadron had used three weeks ago.
Suddenly, Jack’s headphones filled with static, refocusing his mind on the task at hand.
“Tally-ho, Gents.” It was their squadron leader. “Two ME-110’s patrolling in the clouds, at two o’clock high. Looks like Angels 15. Don’t seem to have noticed our bombers yet, but I’m sure they will any second. Jack, you and your mates up to the task?”
“Roger that, sir.” Jack looked up through the cockpit to his right. There they were.
“Right then, you go after them and we’ll stay with the bombers. Don’t forget, 110’s have a tail gunner. Best to come in underneath. Short bursts, gentlemen. Jack, when you’re done, check your fuel. Decide whether to rejoin us or head back to base.”
“Roger that. Joe? Seth? You’re with me.”
The three Hurricanes banked to the right and split off from the rest of the squadron. They really hadn’t received any training yet on tactics, just some informal instructions in chats with a few experienced British pilots. But Jack knew Joe and Seth would stay close and mirror what he did.
The tip the Brit pilots kept emphasizing was, “Don’t shoot at the enemy. Shoot ahead of him, so that he flies into your bullet stream.”
As they gained altitude, he made a wide arcing turn so that their planes would come in from below and directly behind. Hopefully, out of view from the pilots and tail gunners. “Guy’s, I’ll take the lead plane. You two focus on the wingman. Remember, all we got is twenty seconds of ammo. So, short bursts. Two to three seconds max. Don’t shoot until I do. Watch your tracers. As soon as we start hitting them, they’re going to bank and dive. Stay on the wingman. I’ll stay with the leader. We’ll meet up after.”
“Roger that,” Seth said.
“Got you, Big Daddy,” Joe said.
Jack hated when he called him that. They continued to climb and close the distance between them and their prey. Apparently, Jack’s approach had worked. Neither plane had moved.
He couldn’t believe it. He was doing it. He was flying a fighter plane on a combat mission and about to fire his guns into a Nazi plane. There was the swastika on the tail. He waited to fire until he had almost come too close, then he let him have it. His plane shuddered. He had fired the guns several times before in practice but still wasn’t used to the sensation.
His aim was dead on. Instantly pieces of the center fuselage began tearing off. Then Joe and Seth began firing at the wing man. As expected, the lead plane instantly banked to the left and dove down. Jack followed. The wing man banked to the right and dove in the other direction.
Jack had definitely hit the lead fighter but apparently didn’t cause too much damage. But now that the 110 had dived below his altitude, the rear gunner saw him. Instantly, he began to fire. Due to the tight curve of the dive, the tracers came in behind Jack’s Hurricane. But Jack knew this was likely an experienced gunner. He’d make the necessary corrections any second. Without hesitation, Jack fired a short burst to see where his tracers landed. Then he tightened his turn just enough to move his gun sights forward a couple of yards. He fired, instantly killing the gunner who slumped forward then slid partially out of view.
He had just killed a man. But he had no choice. And he was about to kill another. Keeping his angle and aim intact, he was about to fire straight into the cockpit. But he stopped. Without a rear gunner, he was no longer in any real danger. The 110 pilot must have known the rear of his plane was unprotected. He kept weaving it back and forth and up and down, as if trying to throw off Jack’s aim.
Jack wondered why he wasn’t taking more evasive action. Like this, he was a sitting duck. Then he realized, his controls must be damaged. Jack decided to give the man a fighting chance and aimed for the left engine. A three-second burst later, it was on fire. The German pilot straightened out and kept flying forward. Jack realized he was heading toward France.
“No, no, no.” Jack wasn’t going to let this guy fly his plane back to base, so it could be repaired and flown again. He gave a short burst into the right engine. It didn’t catch fire, but it started to smoke. The pilot got the idea. Jack watched him bail out. Just as his parachute opened, the 110 began to spin wildly out of control, headed for the ocean.
“Get him off me! Seth, get him off.” Jack heard Joe’s frantic cry over the radio.
“I’m trying, Joe. I dove down too
far. But I’m climbing up now. I see you.”
“My plane’s shot up. It’s not working right. He gets me again, I’m going into the drink.”
“I’m coming, Joe,” Seth said. “Hold on.”
“I see you, Joe,” Jack said. “I’m at the same altitude, but the 110 is too far away for a good shot. Close the gap for me.”
“How Jack?”
“Dive down then pull up into a loop.”
“If I do that, he’ll follow me. My plane’ll stall. I’ll be a sitting duck.”
“Just do it. Trust me. Now.”
Joe obeyed, and sure enough the 110 followed him into the dive then up into the loop. This caused both planes to slow way down, allowing Jack to close the gap. More importantly, it took the 110’s rear gunner out of commission. He could no longer fire on Jack. Two seconds later, Jack released a three-second burst straight into the cockpit of the ME-110, which was now facing straight up. Both the German pilot and rear gunner were killed instantly.
The plane stopped climbing. It stalled, hung there in space for a second then fell backwards into a spin.
Joe screamed into the radio, “You did it, Jack!”
Jack looked up at Joe’s plane just as his nose came over the top and began heading back toward earth. Joe quickly got it under control. Jack took a look at the compass and banked to the right until they were on a heading that would take them back to Middle Wallop. A few moments later, Joe pulled into his proper slot on Jack’s left.
“I’m right behind you guys,” Seth said. “If you slow down a little, I can catch up.”
“We can do that,” Jack said.
“I saw what you did, Jack,” Seth said. “Saw the whole thing. It was friggin’ amazing.”
“Yes, it was,” Joe said. “I owe you…bigtime.”
22
The three American pilots reached the airfield at Middle Wallop without further incident, although at a much slower airspeed than on the way out, due to Joe’s plane damage. They got quite a scare as they came in for the landing. Joe couldn’t tell whether his landing gear had locked in place. Seth had to fly in a circle around Joe to confirm everything looked okay.
Once on the ground, they taxied to their designated spots and turned off their engines. Jack and Seth got out first and made their way toward Joe’s Hurricane. For some reason, he hadn’t left the cockpit.
“Man, look at that,” Seth said. “He really took some hits.”
Jack surveyed the damage, amazed Joe had even been able to fly the plane home. He counted twenty-three separate bullet holes. Instantly, his respect for the Hurricane’s durability shot up several notches.
“What’s he doing in there?” Seth asked.
Jack banged on the side of the plane. “You coming out?”
Joe finally slid the canopy back. “I’m coming. Just needed a moment to get my wits…and to thank the Man Upstairs.” He looked down at his two friends. “For a few minutes back there, I was sure I was done for.” He looked at Jack. He pointed up. “I thanked him, so now I’m thanking you.”
“You’re welcome. You’d have done the same if it was me. And I’ll probably need you to do the same for me several more times before this is over.”
“In some countries,” Seth said, “a guy saves your life, you become his slave for life.”
Joe started climbing down from the cockpit. “I think I’m already his slave, so we have to come up with something else.”
“I’m just glad things worked out,” Jack said.
“Don’t look now,” Seth said, “but we got company.”
Jack turned. It was Flight Lieutenant Rodney Hughes, their Intelligence Officer, walking across the field, pen and paper already out, the pipe he always smoked clenched in his teeth.
“Debriefing time,” Joe said.
“You Yanks are the first ones back. From the sounds of it, the boys had a pretty rough time of it over the German airfield. Not the cakewalk we found yesterday. They’re on their way back now.”
“Did we lose anyone?”
“Two bombers and one Hurricane. One of the Polish chaps. Not sure how to pronounce his name.”
“We almost lost a second Hurricane,” Seth said, “except for some quick thinking on Jack’s part.”
“Well, that’s what I’m here for. Tell me all about it.” Over the next ten minutes, they did. Joe did most of the talking. Seth added a few of the finer points Joe missed. When they finished, Hughes said, “Well done Flight Officer Turner. We’ll have to confirm things from the gun cameras, but looks like you’ve racked up your first two confirmed kills.” In fighter pilot lingo, each downed plane was considered a kill. He walked over to Joe’s plane and gave it a closer inspection. “You’ll need to get with the mechanics on this battle damage. You said it’s more than cosmetic, correct?”
“Cosmetic?” Joe said.
“He means superficial,” Jack said. “But yes, he’s got way more than cosmetic damage here. He had a rough time flying this kite back. Tell them to check the whole thing over, including the landing gear.”
“How long will that take, to get her back in shape again?” Joe said.
“Not my expertise,” Hughes said. “But we don’t have any extra Hurricanes to spare, so my guess is you’ll be grounded for at least a couple of days.”
“Couple of days,” Joe repeated. “You mean like, I’ll just be sitting on my butt while the rest of the guys go out on missions?”
“Unless you’ve learned how to fly like Peter Pan,” Seth said.
“That’s how it’ll be for a while,” Hughes said, “until our manufacturing facilities get up to snuff. They’ve got orders to build hundreds more but, for now, we’ve none to spare. But the boys will get your bird good as new in no time. Anything else to report?” He looked at all three men, who shook their heads no. “All right then, get yourselves cleaned up. Lunch will be served shortly in the Officer’s mess.” With that, he closed his notepad and walked back the way he came.
After lunch, and after Jack and Joe had conferred with the flight mechanics, they were able to take a short break back in their room. Jack sat at the desk, Joe stretched out on his bunk.
“I keep seeing, and feeling, that moment when my plane was straight up in the air, just hanging there about to stall. I winced, expecting those bullets from that ME-110 to start tearing into my back. Then nothing happened. I bank and start coming down and see you go whizzing by below me, and that Nazi fighter spinning out of control, smoke pouring out of it.” Joe sat up. “My insides are all mixed up, you know? One extreme to the other. Total terror then total joy. You think we’ll ever get used to this?”
“I don’t know, Joe.” It was funny. Jack understood why Joe was wrestling with things. What he didn’t understand was why he wasn’t. He never felt like he was in danger even once during that mission, but he had just killed four German airmen and destroyed two German planes. That was pretty big stuff. Why wasn’t he all tied up in knots like Joe?
Joe lay down again. “I’ll tell you one thing, it’s not going to do me any good to be sitting around here the next two days by myself, while you guys go off on missions. I want to get back in the saddle again, you know? The sooner, the better.”
Jack was having the opposite reaction. He was envious of Joe. What he wouldn’t give for two days leave right now. They had been so busy ever since arriving at the airfield; they’d only been given two days leave total. Jack had wanted to go to London, but could only get permission for a staff car for one of those days. He had made it to London, and he had found a library that kept a thick directory filled with all the names of British aristocracy.
The operative word here was “thick.” Between the drive there and back, and the two hours he’d spent driving around London trying to find the library, he’d only had four total hours to search that thick directory. Even if he had two full days, based on the time he’d already put in, he’d maybe get through a third of it.
Of course the problem was, he didn
’t know his grandfather’s last name. It certainly wasn’t Turner, because that was his father’s name. It would have been his mother’s maiden name; a name he’d never heard anyone mention. Jack was told that, in this directory, the living heirs of the current noblemen, regardless of their last name, would be indented and listed after the last name of the nobleman. So far, he hadn’t found any secondary heirs named Elliot Turner, which made him wonder…what if his brother hadn’t kept, or been allowed to keep, their father’s last name? If this had something to do with a scandal, something they were trying to hide, perhaps Elliot’s last name was different than his. That was a possibility Jack had to consider.
If that was the case, how would Jack ever find him in the directory, whether he’d gotten two days leave or twenty?
“Jack?”
“Huh? What?”
“Would you?”
“Would I what?”
“See, I knew you weren’t listening. Would you do me a favor?”
“I guess. If I can. What is it?”
“Well, I’m thinking you and me can switch places over the next couple of days. The only reason I’m grounded is they need to fix my plane. Your plane’s just fine. Not a scratch on it. How about, I fly your plane and you get grounded for two days. You’ve been wanting to get back to London. Well, here’s your chance.”
This was actually a great idea. “We can’t just do something like that on our own.”
“Then we’ll go get permission. Let’s do it now. We got nothing going on the next few hours. Let’s go talk to the Group Captain. I can’t see why he’d turn us down. Somebody’s got to sit out the next few days. I don’t want to be stuck here on my butt, and you’ve got that project you’re working on. You can tell him you’ve got some personal business to attend to. You’ve got to be on his good side right now after shooting down those two Nazi planes. It’s worth a try at least, don’t you think?”
Jack stood up. “It’s definitely worth a try. Let’s go.”