Scramble!

by Don Patterson

  Dawson used every trick he knew to try and break past the German fighter escort that protected the deadly bombers. However, it was clear that Dawson and his squadron were flying against some of the enemies' best. So far, every run he made at the bombers ended in quick thinking and smart flying to avoid machine gun fire from the nimble German Me 109 fighters.

  Dawson poured on the throttle and pulled back on the stick of his Hurricane in order to increase his altitude. Below, he could see his fellow pilots encountering the same punishing resistance he had.

  Throwing the yoke forward, Captain Dawson abruptly ended his climb, and dove for the formation. Dawson's experience taught him that speed can make the difference between a successful run or a disastrous one. Once again, when he approached one of the German bombers, two of the enemy Me 109 fighters met his Hurricane with a rain of bullets. Breaking off before he could get a clear shot at his target, Dawson could see that one of the Me 109s was now stalking him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE DANGEROUS GAME

  Twisting through the air, the two fighter planes hurled at speeds approaching four hundred miles per hour. Dawson was amazed at the ability of his foe to keep on his tail. At full throttle, the RAF Captain struggled with his controls, trying to out maneuver the German plane. Although he was unable to shake the fighter that pursued him, Dawson's skill as a pilot was, at least, keeping him out of the enemy's gun sights.

  "Enough of this!" Captain Dawson barked to himself. Pushing the yoke hard left, Dawson steered his Hurricane back toward the group of German bombers, back to the crowded battle between his men and the enemy aircraft. "If I can't shake you, then I'll lose you in the crowd...," Dawson mumbled to himself as he carefully steered his plane on a dangerous course into the heart of the German air fleet.

  Speeding past the battling German and English fighters, and through machine gun fire from the bombers, Dawson rolled and banked ever so close to the other planes. To his right, tracer bullets passed his cockpit, and he rolled hard left to avoid more fire from the sleek Messerschmitt that continued to stalk him.

  However, the roll that just saved Dawson from destruction by the Me 109's machine guns, put him on a collision course with one of the menacing Heinkel bombers. Dawson could see the gunner in the German plane frantically pointing and yelling to his commander that there was an English fighter plane hurling straight at them. Instinctively, Dawson again rolled his Hurricane over, and dove earthward to avoid the collision that the German gunner so desperately feared.

  Dawson righted his plane and looked up through his cockpit. Above him, he could see the aftermath of his dangerous game. Ironically, the German gunner had less to fear from the English fighter, than the German Me 109 that was immediately behind Dawson's plane. Although Dawson was able to miss the thundering Heinkel 111 bomber, the Me 109 that had so skillfully pursued Dawson, was unable to avoid a mid-air collision. The German fighter pilot's attempt to roll and bank out of the way failed. The Me 109's wing, nearly vertical due to the desperate hard turn, cut into the body of the bomber, shearing off the tail, and crippling both ships. Dawson watched the two German planes lurch and drop from the sky. After the uncontrolled hulks of the two enemy planes passed below his, Dawson noticed two, three, and then four parachutes open and slowly float to the ground.

  "The roll that just saved Dawson...put him on a collision course..."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  STILL HEADED FOR LONDON

  "Keep on the bombers, lads!" Dawson ordered into his radio. He could see that his pilots were accomplishing their task when the bomber formation began to spread apart. Dawson once more glanced down at the four white parachutes carrying the German fliers, outlined by the green fields below. Startled, Dawson realized that the battle had carried past the coast, and was now over land. The enemy formation was somewhat more ragged, but still headed for London.

  Time was growing short for the 14th Squadron as the German bombers neared their target. Surveying the battle in the sky, Captain Dawson noticed his men had been successful at eliminating the enemy fighter planes sent to protect the Heinkels and their devastating cargo.

  With the blanket of German fighters gone,finally the bombers could be targeted.

  "Men, form on me!" Captain Dawson shouted into his radio. Dawson then rolled his plane over to begin a looping dive. Joining him, two more Hurricanes followed. Pulling up, and again climbing, Dawson and the two other planes raced to the underside of the westward moving German aircraft. All three fighters unleashed a fury of machine gun fire into the bellies of the enemy bombers. Dawson didn't release the trigger to his eight, wing mounted guns until he and the other two Hurricanes screamed past the formation.

  "Again, lads!" shouted Dawson into his radio. When the three RAF fighters rolled over to begin the second pass, two additional members of the squadron were able to join. Like beads on a chain, the planes traced a diving arc, and again climbed to reach the underside of the enemy formation. This time, five Hurricanes fired their weapons at the now hapless, enemy bombers. While the hail of bullets from their combined guns smashed into the Heinkels, Captain Dawson noticed something different. The bomb bay doors of the remaining German aircraft were open.

  Straining to look back after his group climbed pass them, he could see one of the twin engine bombers plummeting to the ground below. Two more, with smoke trailing behind, broke formation to bank to the north and east in retreat. Then, twisting to his left, he saw that only four Heinkels were dropping their cargo. As quickly as the bombs released from their perches, the last enemy planes steeply banked to begin their return across the English Channel.

  Looking down, Dawson watched dark clouds of smoke rise from the ground where the bombs exploded below. It took almost five seconds for the sound to reach his cockpit due to his altitude over the area. Even though the bombs had been dropped, thankfully, they were falling on empty fields of hay and straw. Dawson and his men had successfully broken up the formation, and forced them north of their target. The few enemy planes that slipped through the 14th Squadron's defense, ended up dropping their deadly cargo only on abandoned fields instead of the heavily populated city of London.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A ROLL OF STAMPS

  Mrs. Winslow called up the staircase to Harry's bedroom, "Harry, it sounds like your cough is getting worse."

  Alone in his room, Harry struggled to keep from coughing any further. "I'm fine, Mom, really," Harry claimed, trying to sound as normal as possible with his fever and chills.

  Unconvinced, Mrs. Winslow continued to test Harry by pushing him further, "Harry, what are you doing up there?" she asked.

  Harry hesitated, and then replied in a scratchy voice, "Writing to Dad!"

  Feelings of love, pride, and loneliness washed over Mrs. Winslow at the thought of Harry writing to his father. Before the war, the two were as close as father and son could be. Although Mr. Winslow's commission in the Intelligence Service generally kept him out of harms way in London, he was still away from his family, caught in the middle of a war. Already he had been gone over two years and last saw Harry when he was ten.

  "This is such a difficult age for a boy to be away from his father," thought Mrs. Winslow.

  "Mom," Harry continued, "can I have some stamps to mail my letters?"

  "Certainly, dear," replied Mrs. Winslow, "I'll bring a couple up to you."

  "I'll need eight altogether."

  Mrs. Winslow shook her head and thought to herself, "That seems like a lot." She grabbed a roll of stamps to be sure there was enough, and climbed the stairs to Harry's room. Opening the door, she handed the stamps to her son.

  "Harry, you look pale. Are you sure you're all right?" she asked with a worried voice.

  "I'm fine," Harry protested and proceeded to stick the stamps to his envelopes.

  A melodic chime from the Winslow's antique grandfather clock announced it was four in the afternoon.

  Startled when he realized how late it was, Harry quickly
told his mother, "The squadron has already been gone over an hour. I have to get back to the airfield!"

  Harry bolted past a surprised Mrs. Winslow and raced down the stairs. Flying down two steps at a time, he ran squarely into his sister, Susan, just as she was starting up the steps.

  "Harry Winslow!" Susan scolded her brother. "Where are you going in such a hurry, young man?"

  "Sorry, Sis, but I have to get to the airfield," Harry replied with a little bit of apology in his tone. "The squadron should be back any minute!"

  Twenty year old Susan had postponed her studies in London to come home to the Winslow farm when her father left to serve his country. To help make ends meet, she took a job on the base as Colonel Harrison's secretary. It also gave her the opportunity to watch over young Harry for her mother.

  Susan looked at her little brother for a short moment and in a more gentle voice suggested, "Let's go together. Colonel Harrison asked me to send out some recruitment letters for him, so I was going to work at the base for a couple of hours anyway."

  "You mean send out some mail?" Harry questioned.

  "Yes, Harry, I have to mail those letters today," replied Susan.

  "Just a minute, Sis," Harry said and raced up the stairs. He returned in an instant with eight stamped envelopes. Out of breath and steadying himself on the railing, Harry handed the letters to Susan. "Will you send these with your other mail?" he asked.

  "For you, dear Harry Winslow, of course I will," Susan replied.

  Pleased his letters would soon be mailed, Harry reached for his coat, while Susan buttoned her sweater. Stepping out of the house, they started for Hampton Airfield.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ALONG THE PATH

  Harry and Susan Winslow walked together along the path leading to the RAF base, occasionally stepping over muddy puddles. Although the day had started with beautiful blue skies, it smelled of rain again. The winds had shifted and clouds gathered overhead. Susan tightly held the eight letters in her hand to stop the wind from taking them.

  "Did I overhear you tell Mother that you wrote to Father?"

  "Yeah," Harry replied, "I told him how all the rain had made the grass in the meadow grow a foot high, and without sheep to graze, it keeps getting higher. Harry paused for a moment and then continued, "I also told him I miss the times he and I used to walk through the fields together and pet the new spring lambs.

  You know, I wouldn't even mind it if he'd call me that silly name, 'Sir Harry of Hampton'. Actually, I kind of liked it when he used to tease me with that."

  Then Harry blurted, "Oh, Susan, I wish he were here! I want to play with him like we used to. I always felt important when he was with me."

  Susan reached out to pull her young brother close to her side and she rumpled his hair.

  "I miss him too, Harry. But, we both have to remember that no matter where he is or what he does, we will always be important to him."

  Harry managed a faint smile as a shiver ran through his body. The fever was rising and he felt weak from the headache and chills that were overtaking him.

  Unaware of Harry's worsening condition, Susan continued to console him. "Father will be pleased to receive eight letters from you all at once!"

  Preoccupied with avoiding a deep puddle, Harry mumbled, "Only wrote one to Dad, just mailing the rest for...," Harry abruptly stopped realizing he had said too much.

  "Mailing the rest for...who?" Susan questioned.

  Hesitating, Harry answered, "Umm...well.. Captain Dawson...asked me if I would mail them."

  Susan nodded her head, "That's nice of you to do that for him, Harry. Captain Dawson is pretty important to you, isn't he?"

  Harry quickly replied, "He's important to all of us, Sis. In fact, he's probably saving London from attack right now. Without Captain Dawson and the rest of the squadron, Dad..., I mean, people could get hurt."

  Susan stopped in her tracks and cut Harry off directly asking, "Is that why those men mean so much to you, Harry? Because they are protecting Father while he's in London? Is that why they're so important?"

  Harry and Susan had reached the end of the path. They were at the top of the small hill that looked out over Hampton Airfield. Harry stopped and turned to face Susan. Behind him Susan could see the operations building, the maintenance hangers, and the soggy strip of grass that was the launch and return point of the 14th Squadron. Out on the hardstand, the flight crews were assembling in anticipation of the return of Dawson and his pilots.

  The look in Harry's eyes told Susan every-thing she wanted to know. But, it also told her to stop asking any more questions. Understanding Harry's desire for privacy about his feelings for the pilots, Susan realized enough had been said.

  "Because they are protecting father...is that why they're so important?"

  Stepping forward, she put her hands on his shoulders and turned him towards the airfield.

  "Come on, young man," she said in a sympathetic voice. "The squadron will be back soon. Let's get you down to the hardstand."

  CHAPTER TEN

  CONDITION UNKNOWN

  The battle with the German formation was over, and it was time for the squadron to return to its home at Hampton Field. Having been in the air for over an hour, and most of that time spent fighting, the planes were low on fuel and ammunition. The pilots were exhausted as well.

  "Squadron," Dawson called into his radio, "form up on me." Then he spoke with a little more relaxed tone, "Good work gentlemen, we've sent them packing. Now let's go home!"

  Captain Simms was the first to regroup. Bringing his plane alongside Dawson's, Simms waved his hand, and then held up two fingers, signaling two planes shot down. Dawson nodded back, but was more concerned with the sight of a line of bullet holes dotting the fuselage of Simms' Hurricane.

  "Andy," Dawson radioed to Simms, "there are a lot of holes in your plane. Are you okay? What happened?"

  Simms keyed his radio, "I got myself in a bit of a row, but things are fine here." Examining Dawson's plane, Simms continued, "Actually Ted, yours would seem to be in a similar condition."

  Dawson couldn't see the damage, but he imagined his plane pretty much resembled Simms'. "It was a close call for both of us," Dawson replied.

  Through his cockpit canopy, Dawson watched the rest of the planes from the squadron begin to assemble around him. First to line up were the planes that joined in on the sweeping attacks through the bomber formation. Three more Hurricanes, the ones that had been holding off the last of the German fighter escort, joined the group. Finally, Lieutenants Tate and Tomlin returned from chasing the remaining four bombers out over the English Channel.

  "Tomlin and I were able to send one more bomber into the drink, Captain!" Lieutenant Tate boasted over the radio to Dawson.

  "One less for tomorrow," Dawson replied. "Good work, lads."

  No sooner had Dawson acknowledged the return of Tomlin and Tate, when he noticed that Mathews and Hyatt were still missing from the group. "Who's seen Mathews or Hyatt?" Dawson's voice urgently sparked across the radio.

  "I saw Hyatt go down over the Channel, Captain." Brian Gainey reported to Dawson.

  "Did you see a 'chute' lad?" Dawson asked the young Lieutenant.

  "Yes sir, I did." Gainey replied, "I saw his parachute open."

  "I saw it too," confirmed another pilot.

  "What about Mathews? Did any of you see Mathews go down?" Dawson again asked the rest of the squadron.

  "I haven't seen Mathews since we made the coast," said Simms.

  "Last I saw of him," began Lieutenant Tomlin, "we were making a run at one of the bombers. I had to break hard right, and he dove.

  Then I had two bandits on my tail." Tomlin took a heavy breath and finished, "I got a bit busy with the German fighters and lost track of him after that."

  Alone in his plane, even the roar of the powerful engine could not drown out the thoughts passing through Dawson's head. "Are the men alive?" he wondered. "Was there anything, anyone could
have done? Could they pass over the area and find the downed pilots?"

  The responsibility for the men flying in his squadron rested squarely on Dawson's shoulders. It was a responsibility that he was proud to carry. Yet, in times like these, the weight seemed almost unbearable. Dawson knew that by successfully driving off the German bombers, they had saved hundreds of lives. And just as importantly, that ten planes were returning to Hampton, ready to defend England again tomorrow. However, the success of the mission did little to ease the wrenching pain of not knowing what had happened to the two young pilots under his command.

  After a long pause over the radio, Dawson summarized the situation in a resigned voice, "Roger. Mathews and Hyatt down. Condition unknown."

  The group turned south to return to their airfield. Two spaces in their formation, the ones normally occupied by the missing pilots, remained empty. The radio was silent for the rest of the flight home.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WAITING FOR FURTHER ORDERS

  Leading the squadron back to Hampton, Captain Dawson could see clouds gathering on the western horizon. As the formation of Hurricanes approached home, the mid-afternoon sun was blocked out by the building gray clouds. Descending to the airfield, the pilots landed their fighter planes in groups of two, with Captain Simms and the commander, Captain Dawson, touching down last.