“I hope not,” Nelson concluded, entering his office and closing the door quietly behind him.
He tried to contact Daphne before lunch, but was told she wasn’t available as she was out of the section, so leaving a message to say he would see her later that evening he made his way to the mess. It was only a short walk to where the aircraft stood waiting in front of No 2 hangar where the repairs had been carried out; once aboard he sat in the crew rest position trying to make conversation with a ground radio bod who was also going aloft to check the wireless equipment.
“This should while away a couple of hours,” he shouted, over the noise of the four engines being opened up for take-off, but only getting a sickly nod of acknowledgement. Once airborne he left the company of his not-so over-talkative friend and made his way to the rear turret; checking everything was in working order and reporting it so, he slowly traversed the turret from side to side, keeping a wary eye on all around him as he listened to the cross chatter between the other crew members.
They were an hour into the air test when he heard the flight engineer raise concerns about the port inner engine running rough and it starting to overheat and after a lengthy discussion with ground control, a decision was made to abort the remainder of the air test and return to base, the pilot bringing the aircraft down safely on three engines with a strong cross-wind blowing.
He was leaving the squadron office when he bumped into Squadron Leader Walker and seized the opportunity to have a word about any further flights that may be in the offing, and if so, “he would be up for it.”
“I’ll bear it in mind,” Walker winked, squeezing Will’s elbow as he went past.
That evening he met Daphne for a drink, but their privacy was short-lived and interrupted by returning aircrew crowding into the bar. Keith with some of his crew were among them and pushing several tables together the beer soon started to flow.
“We’ve just heard about the air test on P-Peter, you had a bit of a shaky do, Will, landed on three by all accounts?” His remark made Daphne shoot both men a questioning look.
He grimaced at Keith’s untimely comment and stroked his forehead.
“You never mentioned that?” she said, sharply.
“Sorry Will, thought she knew.”
“I was just about to tell her when you noisy sods came in,” he answered, hoping his reason would suffice.
The evening turned into a bawdy affair with Daphne being paid a lot of attention as the only female there and it wasn’t until later in the evening when two more WAAF officers joined their group that he was able to explain in more detail what had happened during the air test.
Daphne studied him with a fixed expression. “Apart from doing air tests, which I know you have to do, why are you volunteering for these Met flights Will, when you are supposed to be on your rest period?” she queried, as they watched the main bulk of their party head for the billiard table, where the girls were being given some close tuition on the best way to hold a cue.
“Squadron Leader Walker asked me if I could do it, they were a gunner short.”
“You could have turned him down and if you want my opinion Will, you should have done, I think you’ve done enough with two tours.”
“Yes, I suppose I could,” he replied in a subdued voice.
“But you didn’t want to, did you? All the same you flyers, you never know when you’ve had enough, keep pushing and pushing until the inevitable happens – like it did with Pa—,” her words trailing off as she turned and looked away from him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had lost somebody close.”
“Shall we get out of here?” she said, quietly. “I’m not really in the mood for this lot tonight.”
Will smiled at her. “Neither am I.”
Although it was only their second time together she felt at ease with Will, like he’d always been there; maybe it was because he oozed strength and confidence, qualities she liked in a man. “It’s a lovely evening,” she said, looking up at the canopy of stars above them as they started to walk slowly back to her quarters.
Will felt she wanted to talk about her lost love but didn’t pursue the matter and it was only as they were nearing her quarters that she stopped walking and turned to face him.
“He was a navigator on Bomber Command. I met him at a dance in Huntingdon and it became serious between us and we got engaged. He had just finished his first tour and we were all set to spend some quality time together in a cottage in Wales.”
“And what happened?”
“He volunteered to do one more trip and never came back,” she sighed, taking out her handkerchief to wipe her eyes.
“You must have loved him very much?”
“Yes, I did! What a waste, 22 years old.”
“When did it happen?”
“Eleven months ago, and I know what you are going to say now Will, that there’s a chance that he may have bailed out and be in a prison of war camp – but surely we would have heard by now if that’s what happened?”
“Well, I would have thought so. It’s strange though that you’ve not heard anything one way or the other by now, which makes me wonder if he hasn’t been caught and he’s on the run.”
“But how often does that happen?” she asked, hopefully.
“I don’t know! We did have an air gunner at Thornton Spinney who had made a home run – it took him nearly twelve months to get back.”
She looked at him a few moments with the makings of a smile on her face. “I suppose there is a slim chance he could still be alive, but I’m not holding my breath. I’m slowly coming to terms that he’s gone but thanks for trying to be reassuring anyway,” she answered, leaning forward to kiss him tenderly. “Will I see you tomorrow evening? There’s a good film on at the camp cinema if you’re interested; if you are, give me a ring about lunch time?” she smiled.
*
Atlantic storms battered the islands and the west coast of Scotland with wind speeds being recorded between 55 and 63 miles per hour, classified as force 10 on the Beaufort scale. Will wondered if he had done the right thing, volunteering for the flight as he slid into the cold interior of the Halifax’s rear turret and went through the preliminary pre-flight checks. The airframe shuddered and flexed from the constant buffeting of the wind as they made the perilous journey around the perimeter track, with the constant fear of running off the hard concrete onto the wet grass and getting bogged down. Heavy rain streaked down the perspex in front of him as he felt the engines taken up to full power and the aircraft start to move down the rain-soaked runway. Sheets of spray thrown up by the huge smooth tyres swept back over the tail plane and down either side of the turret, disappearing into a swirling mass behind them, while a constant stream of obscenities came from the pilot as he fought with the controls to keep the heavy bomber in line with the runway until they got airborne.
Will had seen his fair share of bad weather over the continent but this was shaping up to be a storm of mammoth proportions as they climbed steadily through the dense grey cloud that enshrouded them. Partway into the first leg of the flight they encountered severe turbulence with 90mph headwinds and visibility down to zero. Will knew from past experience that the Halifax was a well-made kite and could take a hell of a lot of punishment, but just how much, he wondered, as a heavy rumble of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning lit up the sky off to his right, making him temporarily turn away. Concern in the voices of the other crew members grew as the weather intensified as they pushed on further out into the Atlantic. The ghostly glow of St Elmo’s Fire was seen on the propeller blades and wing tips and the wireless operator reported that he could hear a kind of “singing” or “hissing” sound like running up and down the musical scale, on the aircraft’s radio.
They finally reached their first turning point that would put them onto a northeast track and a distance of 400 nautical miles to be flown; the winds had now increased to speeds of 120mph and were hitting the aircraft fully on t
he port side, making it a constant battle for the pilot and navigator to keep on course. The thunder and lightning had intensified while the rain, which had turned to hail, pelted the fuselage with such ferocity that it was difficult to hear what the other members of the crew were saying.
They battled on for what seemed an eternity while going through the procedures to get the data that was expected of them as a Met crew and they had been at their operational height when they reached their second turning point which would take them on a course due south back to base.
He breathed steadily on the oxygen, thankful for once that the turret had not had the centre section cut away by a previous gunner to aid better visibility, as it was now taking the full impact of the storm’s fury. Will peered out over the barrels of the four machine guns and shook his head.
“There’s not a cat in hell’s chance of seeing anything stalking us in this bloody stuff,” he said quietly to himself as they descended down to a lower height and the order came: “Oxygen off.”
Listening to the cross chat between the pilot and the navigator, it soon became clear that they were off course by several degrees, which put them further east than they should have been. Will smiled to himself as he listened to the sharp exchange of words between the two men. Distant thoughts came flooding back to a certain cross country night flight over the mountains of Wales in a Vicker’s Wellington when they had been nearly forty miles off course due to poor navigation, but they had eventually bonded as a crew and gone on to complete fifteen operational sorties together before his crew mates had finally gone missing on a raid to Duisburg while he was grounded with a severe bout of tonsillitis.
With the aircraft now levelled off for its sea level run and some respite from the constant buffeting and hail stones due to the warmer air, he decided he would try to drink some of his coffee. Relaxing slightly as he drank, but still vigilant, he was suddenly surprised to see a break in the cloud appear, if only for a brief period, but enough time for him to make out the distinct features of an island, its sheer cliffs and rocky shoreline taking a merciless pounding from the sea’s fury. Reporting his sighting, he wondered what island it was as it suddenly reappeared, and if it was inhabited as his eyes were drawn to the tall grey structure of a lighthouse lit up by a sudden flash of lightning, standing defiantly against the elements on the island’s headland. As he looked down at the tower and cottages adjacent to it, he was suddenly surprised to see it emit two quick flashes of light, followed by one long flash then nothing more – total darkness, just as though it had been an intermittent signal of some kind.
“What the hell?” he said, sharply, as he recollected something Bob Roundtree had told him one evening over a drink in the bar at Thornton Spinney, that lighthouse lights had been switched off for the duration of the war so they did not aid the enemy, so what the hell was this one doing flashing?
“Everything okay back there rear gunner?” a voice asked, in a calm but direct tone.
Will told the skipper what he’d seen, but he made very little of it being still in discussion with the navigator about their position.
With two more course corrections they were finally lined-up with the main runway and touched-down ten hours and fifty minutes after take-off. The long and strenuous flight had taken its toll and showed on each man’s face as they stood around weighed down in heavy flying gear and carrying equipment, cursing impatiently in the cold evening air as they waited for the transport.
On the way back to de-briefing he managed to have a word with Bryant the navigator about the lighthouse incident, but in his tired state said he didn’t know what the island was called and most probably the three flashes he saw was lightning reflecting off the lens glass. Will wasn’t satisfied, he knew what he had seen and it wasn’t any reflection so he decided he would try and find out where their off-route course had taken them with help coming from their Met Operator, Flying Officer Yates while having their evening meal.
“It sounds to me like the lighthouse on Stracandra Island by the way you’ve described the tower and the buildings around it.”
“Do you know if there’s anybody living there – like keepers who tend the light?” Will asked, pushing his empty plate to one side.
“It’s quite possible there is, just to keep an eye on things; as regards the flashes that you saw, it most likely was the reflection from the lightning,” Yates replied wearily.
Will sat back in his chair and looked at him. “Maybe,” he answered, quietly.
Yates began to laugh. “You’re still not convinced are you, Will?”
“No, I’m not!”
“I have seen some strange things happen while I’ve been doing these Met flights. I remember one particular Bismuth sortie; we had just climbed up to 19,000 and levelled off when we saw this electric lightning running through the clouds below us which made like a ripple effect, you know what I mean?”
Will nodded in agreement, as he watched Yates go through the motions with the palm of his hand before continuing.
“There was no sound to it, but the weirdest part of it was if you looked upwards, you got a complete mirror image of the aircraft, silhouetted against the clouds above you – it was spooky; we eventually ran out of it as we came down to a lower height, so you see you get some strange things happen with electrical storms.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. I’ve seen the searchlights throw off a shadow of the cloud base above us and it looks as though there’s another aircraft directly above you; it’s a bit off-putting if you’re over the target and you think there may be a bloody load of bombs being unloaded on top of you.”
“Yes, I’ll bet it is,” Yates answered, with a serious look on his face.
“That particular night both the mid-upper and myself shouted a warning simultaneously of an aircraft above us which made the skipper kick her over to port, which in turn buggered-up the bombing run and we had to go round again to get lined up to the moans and groans of the rest of the crew, we weren’t very popular!” Will laughed, recalling the incident.
“I suppose that must happen a lot, what you have just said, aircraft being hit from bombs being dropped from above and mid-air collisions with so many aircraft over the target area at the same time. I’ve never flown on bomber sorties being a Met Operator so I’ve only heard what it’s like from you guys that have.”
“I don’t reckon we will ever know how many aircraft have been lost that way,” Will answered quietly, recollecting a previous raid on Essen when he had seen the tail plane and rear turret completely ripped off a Halifax by the bombs dropped from a Lancaster above; he had watched in horror as the aircraft turned over and spiralled down onto the burning city below with no one getting out of the stricken bomber.
Chapter Seven
BAYER FELT UNEASY about the instructions he had received from Abwehr headquarters. They wanted photographic details of the Meteor’s jet engine which could only be obtained by gaining access to the airfield at Moreton Valence. He wondered if this was achievable, feeling the cold penetrate the clothing he was wearing as he waited for the time he planned to make his assault on the airfield’s perimeter fence. The sound of someone approaching, whistling a popular tune of the day, made him retreat further into the bushes as he watched the greatcoated figure of a sentry appear out of the darkness on the inside of the fence, stop almost directly in front of him, then taking a cigarette from behind his ear, light it before moving off humming the tune he had previously been whistling. Waiting until the melodious sounds had faded Bayer then patiently watched the moon until it slipped in behind a mass of dark cloud. Seizing the opportunity, he silently moved in close to the fence and working quickly, cut a hole big enough for him to get through. Once inside he repositioned the wire back neatly, fastening it with two small strands of thin wire – to a passing guard the cut was unnoticeable. Pleased with his handiwork he set off at a steady pace working his way along the inside of the fence until it brought him in line with the building that he had kep
t under surveillance and where he had seen the new jet aircraft being housed. The distance between the two was only a few metres of open ground, but it was across a pathway that the guards used to make their patrol around the complex. Keeping a wary eye on the moon reappearing he sprinted across to the corner of the building and flattened himself against the wall to listen. The sound of a vehicle being started in the distance made him immediately crouch closer to the ground: who the hell was driving around at this time of night? he thought, looking at the luminous hands of his watch that showed 00:35. Satisfied all seemed as it should be, he edged his way along the side of the hangar until he saw the shape of a blacked-out window. On closer inspection Bayer saw that a piece of the bottom right-hand pane was missing and a crude attempt had been made to renovate it by taping over the offending hole to stop the light showing through from the inside. Taking out his switchblade he eased away the tape then with the point of the blade, gently pushed to one side a discarded paint tin. The hangar to his left was in total darkness apart from a solitary workbench light that had been left on, but to his right several lights glowed from within what looked like an office and stores section which also emitted from its interior the sound of a wireless playing light music. Leaning back against the hangar wall Bayer checked his watch, 00:43 and then contemplated the situation: he had come this far so there was no turning back now and also the guard could well turn up at any time, he thought, turning towards the window. Sliding his arm in through broken glass he unfastened the bottom latch then using his knife for added length he prised apart the central catch from its securing recess and the window swung open easily. Making sure there were no obstacles in the way that might fall and give the game away he climbed in. The building had the usual smell of oil and grease about it accompanied by an unusual odour which Bayer attributed to the fuel that the jet engine ran on. With the help from the light from the adjacent room, he ran a careful eye around the hangar’s dark interior until he saw what he was looking for; the dark shape of an aircraft. Slowly but ever vigilant for any would-be obstacles on the floor that could give away his presence he made his way towards the aeroplane and as he got nearer recognised it as one of the new jets. He couldn’t believe his eyes as he made a close inspection of the craft’s graceful lines; the outer panels had been removed exposing the jet engines and all its details. Bayer was puzzled as to why he had seen no movement of personnel from within the office/stores area and knowing he would have to use a flash attachment on the Leica camera to get the photographs Berlin wanted, he needed not to be disturbed. Crossing the open floor towards the smaller inner building he positioned himself near the half-opened door and with the knife at the ready, cast a cautious eye around the room. Finding the place empty he pushed the door fully open with the point of the blade and waited a few moments before entering. Slowly and methodically he checked each of the other rooms in turn and found them devoid of any human form. Quickly retracing his steps he checked the side doors and found them locked. Lady luck was certainly smiling down on him this night, he thought, as he made his way back to where the jet stood in the darkness, unconcerned that its secrets were now to be stolen. Taking out the Leica from its case he inserted a flash and positioning the camera took a frontal picture of the aircraft and its engines. Working quickly he stepped to one side to take a shot of the jet engine from a different angle, but in doing so his left leg brushed against something solid. Shining his torch at the offending object he was amazed to see sat neatly on a cradle a complete Welland engine, its details just begging to be photographed. After taking several shots of the engine he turned his attention to the aircraft’s airframe, cockpit interior and lastly the undercarriage. Satisfied with his work he replaced the camera back in its case and then retracing his footsteps made for his point of entry. Climbing onto the workbench he carefully pushed open the window and had just been about to lower himself to the ground when he saw the beam of light picking out the path from an approaching guard. Receding back into the darkness he suddenly realised he had made a fatal mistake by leaving the window open. Feeling in his coat pocket for his switchblade he cushioned the broadside of the blade against the palm of his hand so the blade would open slowly and quietly. Bayer could hear his own ragged breathing as he listened to the crunching of boots on the gravel as they got nearer and the eventual dark shape of a figure emerged from the corner of the building and to his relief carried on walking. Shifting his weight to take the pressure of a sports injury to his right knee he had sustained in his youth his foot inadvertently caught a glass jar which overturned, spilling out its contents of paint brushes and fluid they were soaking in. Bayer quietly let out a string of obscenities as he watched in horror as the glass crashed to the floor, the noise instantly bringing the guard’s beam to bear on the open window. Strangely he felt composed, at ease with what he had to do as he waited for his victim to come within striking distance. Shining his torch at the half-open window, the guard gently nudged it fully open with the barrel of his rifle, then did what Bayer hoped he would do, look in. With lightning speed he grabbed the man behind his head and smashed his face down hard against the window ledge then with one swift blow drove the knife deep into the base of the neck. Reeling backwards, his face covered in blood, the guard fell heavily onto the frost covered ground. Bayer couldn’t help but admire the soldier’s bravery as he dropped on the ground beside him and watched as he desperately tried to reach for his weapon. Kicking the guard hard in his side as he rolled over onto his back Bayer then drove the knife inwards to the area of the heart. After wiping the man’s blood from the blade on his greatcoat he put the knife back in his pocket then set about putting things back as he had found them before closing the window. How long it took the guards to make their patrols he had no way of knowing, but he knew that time was of the essence before he was reported being overdue. Grabbing the lifeless body with both hands he dragged it to a shallow ditch and rolled it in, then walking back to the path, turned and smiled to himself when he saw the body couldn’t be seen; at least it might buy him some time to make good his escape. Finding the cut in the perimeter fence he had made earlier, he undid his handiwork and slipped through; after rewiring it he picked up his pace, quickly reaching the opening in the hedgerow where he had concealed his bicycle from any inquisitive eyes. He began to whistle softly to himself as he peddled along the deserted lanes back to the cottage. For what he had achieved tonight he surely would come to the attention of Adolf Hitler, maybe even decorated by him personally, what a great honour that would be both for him and his family! The cold was beginning to take its toll on his tired body as he peddled hard to cover the last kilometre, his thoughts of glory and medals being pushed to the back of his mind as he thought of Griselda’s shapely body in the confines of a warm bed.
Stracandra Island Page 5