“Well, nothing in particular, sir. I hit a pair of cranes in the yard and knocked lumps off my wings and came down a mile or so distant, on flat grassland. I saw Noah passing by so I took a lift from him, sir.”
“Jolly good show! I notice that you hit two cranes, Major Stark. Was one not sufficient?”
“They were close together, sir, and the attempt to pass between them did not quite work.”
“Ah! I knew there would be a good reason. Captain Arkwright, what happened, from your point of view, that is?”
“Well, sir, there were no anti-aircraft guns or enemy planes about, so I decided to make a circuit of the yard to assess the damage done and watch the low attack. I saw the planes achieve some success – I can confirm the submarine and the small ship, sir, and two at least of dockyard cranes flattened – and I spotted one of our planes going down. I saw enemy soldiers firing rifles at it so I led my Flights down to discourage them with our Lewis Guns. Having done so, I saw the pilot was alive and active, and had chosen a stretch of safe, flat ground, so I landed to pick him up. To my pleasure I discovered it was Major Stark, sir. He came home as you saw, half in the observer’s cockpit, holding tight to the Lewis.”
“Ah, that explains all – you could not leave your closest friend behind!”
“Bloody newspapers!”
They debriefed for another hour but could not add to the tally of destroyed naval craft – though pointing out there was much in the way of smoke and confusion at ground level and more damage was probably hidden from them.
Orders came in mid-afternoon for the squadron to fly back to Netheravon next morning; they would return to France early in February but there was no field available for them yet. Another squadron would be sent back to Home Service in England, but all of the arrangements were not yet in hand.
“Captain Arkwright will lead the squadron back, Major Stark. I am to return to London tonight and you should accompany me. There is a fast boat waiting in Calais and we will take the train from Dover. For the moment, there is a Crossley Tender to take us to the port.”
The Crossley, with its solid rubber tyres, was an uncomfortable means of transport; staff officers normally expected better. Tommy much suspected that Brigadier Trenchard’s staff had provided the vehicle, in pursuance of their feud with General Henderson’s people.
Nearly two hours of bouncing to Calais, a distinctly uncomfortable experience and one that left Tommy more than ordinarily tired. He had had an exhausting day, he reflected.
There was an old destroyer waiting at Calais, a very small craft capable of more than twenty knots but so lightly armed as now to be of almost no value in battle. German destroyers operating in the North Sea were larger, faster and far more powerful and the little whaleback destroyer was now no more than a despatch boat. She was commanded by a junior lieutenant who was not in love with the idea of ferrying the RFC across the Channel. He ordered full speed, in the generous hope of a bumpy crossing for his passengers.
“You must come for a flight with us one day, Captain.”
Tommy smiled his ingenuous best, assuring the naval officer that turbulence was often so great as to throw their planes upside down, which could be an unpleasant experience when close to the ground.
The naval officer was not sure that he believed the pilot, but he noticed that both RFC officers stood upright on his little bridge, with their hands in their pockets.
Trains from Dover were more frequent than ever, reflecting the amount of Army traffic of additional troops going out and wounded coming in. Leave had now been organised on a more regular basis for the men in the trenches, all of them getting at least one week a year.
The First Class carriages were almost empty in mid-evening and Tommy dozed to Victoria and had to force himself awake on the cab ride to Headquarters.
General Henderson was in his office, accompanied by a Naval Commander.
“Major Stark, this is Commander Courtney, an expert on submarine warfare. Would you give us your report, in your own words, of today’s raid.”
Tommy went through the affair yet again, enlarging occasionally to explain the nature of the RE7 and the details of the bombs to hand.
General Henderson made notes and wondered if this raid had been as effective as it could have been.
“Would you have done better with hundred-pounders, Major Stark? Would say… let me count… fifty-two of them have done better than fifteen of the three-hundred and thirty-six pounders, and the scattering of Hales Bombs?”
“I don’t know, sir. I think we should try them on another occasion. Probably we would have hit more vessels, but I do not know how effectively. I incline to the view that when bombarding people, the best technique is to use small bombs, but for guns and buildings and suchlike, the larger the better. But this is rule of thumb stuff, sir – I cannot give a definite answer.”
“You are sure of one submarine and damage done to one other vessels, Major Stark?”
“’Sure’ is a big word, sir. We saw the submarine to have been knocked off the cradle it was resting in, to have fallen onto its side. I know nothing of submarines and the extent to which it would have damaged one.”
Commander Courtney said they could count that as a kill; the pressure hull must have sustained substantial damage.
“I would not dive that one, Major Stark. It is finished.”
“So, sir. One submarine for one RE7.”
General Henderson was perfectly happy about that aspect of the raid.
“A good rate of exchange, Major Stark. The more so, of course, because you were rescued. Captain Arkwright actually chose to land and pick you up, with soldiers firing their rifles not so far away!”
“A brave man, Noah Arkwright, sir!”
“You might well say, so, Major Stark.
General Henderson could hardly disguise his delight.
“I have already made my strongest representations to the appropriate people, Major Stark. You will hear more in the morning. For the moment, my congratulations to you, and to your squadron. You have worked miracles with those men, Major Stark! Why does that not surprise me? Commander Courtney, have you anything to add?”
Courtney expressed his pleasure.
“I will only say that you have demonstrated the value of the aeroplane, once again, Major Stark. The RNAS is to form a heavy bombing squadron using Breguets; you have shown this to be a very wise decision. Please to send my personal respects to your Captain Arkwright, sir.”
The General nodded his approval.
“There is time to catch the express to the West Country, Major Stark. It does not stop at Salisbury, but it will tonight. There will be a staff car at the station to take you to Wilton, sir. My aide will convey you to Waterloo.”
Tommy fell asleep within seconds of reaching his compartment on the train; the guard, forewarned, woke him and put him onto the platform at Salisbury where he was met and almost carried to the car. He stirred as they reached River Cottage.
“I thought you were overseas, Tommy!”
“I was, for a day. A rather busy day, love. Noah is bringing the squadron home in the morning.”
“Where is your plane, Tommy?”
“I’ll explain in the morning, love.”
Tommy drove the Lanchester to Netheravon in the morning, was waiting at the field when the squadron flew in.
He gathered the pilots in the Mess and explained that they could not fly again that day, the mechanics not being back.
“I cannot, in fact, give any orders at all this morning, for not knowing what General Henderson may want of us. I am to pass to all of you his extreme pleasure in your actions of yesterday. He informed me that the squadron was classified as active in his mind, and that we could expect to be sent to France at the earliest practical opportunity, having proved ourselves so thoroughly. I must add my own thanks as well – your initiative in machine-gunning the soldiers and sailors on the ground very definitely saved my neck!”
“What are
we to do today, sir?”
“Remain on the field until lunchtime, if you would be so good, Captain Ferrier. I will pass the word after that if I have received orders for the squadron. The Adjutant is on the telephone at the moment, trying to discover where the mechanics are – we can do very little without them. If I can, I will send you off to complete your leave – but, I do not know yet what is possible.”
“With respect, sir, I must imagine that most things are possible when you are involved!”
Tommy laughed and brushed the compliment aside – anything was possible when there was a good squadron behind him, as they had seen on the previous day.
General Henderson came through to him on the telephone just before they ate.
“Send your people off on leave, Major Stark. You go out to your field in France on Friday next – all of the fliers can take seven days. Make arrangements as you can for your mechanics. Lord Kitchener has spoken from on high and is very pleased with the raid, and deeply impressed by Captain Arkwright’s exploit, as we all are, I might add. Captain Arkwright has been awarded the Victoria Cross for his actions; he should put up the ribbon today and he will be called to the Palace at soonest. His observer has the Military Medal, again, with immediate effect. I am much afraid that the newspapers will once again be referring to the closeness of your friendship, Major Stark!”
Tommy made the appropriate noises and enquired whether anything further was known of the effects of the raid.
“Reports are coming in from Holland, Major Stark. We can already confirm one submarine destroyed and a torpedo-boat burned out on its slip. Other vessels were more or less damaged, including two submarines that will require substantial additional repair work. The yard itself will be doing very little for some days, due to the loss of, I quote, ‘dozens of skilled men’. The effect of the bombs landing on concrete slipways was greater than we expected – the mud of the trenches absorbs much of the blast and splinter effect, it would seem. Additionally, the guard detachment and ships’ crews suffered substantial casualties from machine-gun fire; numbers as yet unknown, but not small. In terms of facilities, no assessment has yet been made by the Germans, and we have been able to access none of their reports. We do know, however, that all of the dockyard facilities along the coast are to be equipped with anti-aircraft guns and soldiers to man them. Hundreds of guns and probably thousands of men who cannot be used in the trenches. Highly satisfactory!”
Tommy made his way into the Mess, called the mess-sergeant to him.
“Open the bar, just for this occasion. Pass the word to the sergeants that they may do the same.”
Tommy took his place at the head of the table, begged the indulgence of the President of the Mess and stood.
“Gentlemen, although your stomachs are rumbling with hunger, I must delay the meal while I indulge myself in a short speech.”
They moaned and muttered, in ritual protest, catching his mood.
“First, we are posted to France on Friday of next week. That will teach you to be efficient! If you had made a cock of yesterday’s business, you could have stayed in England for another month!”
Tommy ducked as bread rolls were thrown at him.
“Next! You may take seven days leave, with effect from two o’clock. Observers will be given the same. Travel warrants are being written out now. Please return in a state of reasonable good health and see your own doctors before returning – our sick bay is not yet equipped to treat the less reputable diseases.”
He ducked again.
“Finally, be so good as to allow the waiters to charge your glasses… All ready? I wish to congratulate Noah Arkwright, who has been awarded the VC for his actions of yesterday, and his observer, who has the MM for holding tight onto me during the trip home. Captain Arkwright!”
They raised their glasses, drank and bellowed, then accepted refills.
“I must go to the Sergeants Mess, gentlemen. Don’t scoff all the beef while I’m gone!”
Tommy repeated his speech to the sergeants – somewhat expurgated, they being much more tight-laced when it came to references to sexual matters.
Two hours later Tommy drove off camp, Noah at his side, and made directly for Salisbury and Gieves.
“Captain Arkwright has this morning been awarded the VC, with immediate effect. Would you be so good as to amend his working dress?
The tailors did so, simultaneously unpacking his bag and removing his mess dress and spare tunic and sewing the ribbon to them.
“If I may say so, sir, you would benefit from a replacement of all of your dress. My assistant will take your measurements, sir. There will, of course, be no charge on this occasion, sir. Have you correct dress for the Palace, sir? The stress and strain of active service often does not permit the gentleman to maintain his wardrobe. Please to come for fittings on Monday next, sir, and all will be made right.”
Noah was overwhelmed, said he would be good.
“May we offer our sincerest congratulations, sir? It is a pleasant rarity to meet holders of the country’s highest decoration!”
The road outside the tailor was narrow and Tommy had been forced to park in the Cathedral Close, a walk of a few hundred yards and an acute embarrassment for Noah as sharp eyes spotted the patch of scarlet on his chest. Passers-by offered words of congratulation, a few cheered, even respectable ladies raised their voices.
“Wait until you are seen in Wilton after the papers come out tomorrow, Noah. It will die away to an extent in time, but you will be carrying that ribbon forever. It means that you must be promoted very soon, of course. If you stay in the RFC – which will make a lot of sense for you – then you will certainly make Brigadier, if not higher. I have to say that I am delighted – not just for the decoration, but for saving my neck as well!”
“Don’t tell Monkey that I saved your life, Tommy! I don’t think I could stand being a hero to her!”
“I must do so, Noah. You won’t object to being a hero to Mrs Wyndham, surely!”
That was a different matter, he thought.
Smivvels and Noah’s man had reached River Cottage when they arrived, had said that the master would be home for a week and had offered no more, except to say that the new Missus would be even more pleased with her man.
Monkey was alert, ran her eyes over the pair as they entered.
“Noah! What have you been doing?”
“Saving my life, my love.”
“You must tell me the tale – while we are walking down to Mrs Wyndham’s, I think. No, stay in uniform, the pair of you – the neighbours’ curtains will all be twitching and they had as well see the whole from the very beginning.”
# # #
Thank you for reading No Longer A Game. If you get a spare moment, please consider leaving a short online review for the book wherever you can. The fourth book in the series is expected to be released in spring, 2017. In the meantime, please take look at the author’s other books listed on the following pages.
By the Same Author
A Poor Man at the Gate Series: Book One: The Privateersman is FREE on Kindle -Escaping the hangman’s noose in England, commoner Tom Andrews finds himself aboard a privateering ship before fleeing to New York at the time of the Revolutionary War. It is a place where opportunities abound for the unscrupulous. Hastily forced to return to England, he ruthlessly chases riches in the early industrial boom. But will wealth buy him love and social respectability?
Kindle links to the whole series:
US/worldwide
http://tinyurl.com/A-Poor-Man
UK only
http://tinyurl.com/A-Poor-Man-UK
The Duty and Destiny Series: These superbly-crafted novel length sea/land stories are set in the period of the French Revolutionary War (1793 – 1802). The series follows the naval career and love-life of Frederick Harris, the second son of a middling Hampshire landowner, a brave but somewhat reluctant mariner. (Book One was first published in 2014.) Please note: This series is currently a
vailable to Kindle Unlimited subscribers.
Kindle links to the whole series:
US/worldwide:
http://tinyurl.com/Duty-and-Destiny-Series
UK only:
http://tinyurl.com/Duty-and-Destiny-Series-UK
Man of Conflict Series: Youngest son of a wealthy English merchant, Septimus Pearce is an utterly spoiled brat whose disgraceful conduct threatens his family’s good name. His father forces him to join the army in an attempt to reform him, but even the disciplines of army life where he sees bloody action in three countries fail to exorcise his nastier character traits. Please note: This series is currently available to Kindle Unlimited subscribers.
Book One Kindle Link http://getBook.at/Conflict-1
Born in a home for fallen women, at the age of eight the barefooted and waiflike Harry is sent out to work. After years of unpaid toil and hunger, he runs away and is cajoled into believing that the Army is his only option. He joins a battalion that is sent to Africa’s Slave Coast where disease is the biggest killer of men. When the much-thinned battalion returns to England and is disbanded, he drifts into smuggling in order to survive. All goes well until he is betrayed and forced back on the run. Leaving the West Country behind, he enlists in a Sussex regiment which is sent to quell rioting in the north where he faces danger from the angry Mob, and from the rage of a sadistic young ensign who is out for Harry’s blood.
Universal Kindle Link
http://viewbook.at/Harry-One
Book One: Long Way Place
In the early 1900s gutter rat, Ned Hawkins aims to rise from the grinding poverty of an English slum, but is forced to flee the country and ends up in Papua. It is a dangerous place where cannibalism and cannibals are never far away. Despite this menacing backdrop, he prospers and almost by accident, finds love. However, there are ominous stirrings in the land that bode ill for the future. Note: Book Two is now available on Kindle.
No Longer A Game (Innocents At War Series, Book 3) Page 27