Spitfire!

by Don Patterson

  Spitfire!

  By Don Patterson

  Illustrated by Sonny Schug/Studio West

  Edited by Mary Parenteau

  Production by Kline/Phoenix Advertising Graphics

  © 2000, 2010 Hindsight Limited

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be produced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts in reviews.

  Published in Minneapolis, MN by Rising Star Studios, LLC.

  Picture Credits

  Many thanks to the following organizations for giving permission to reprint illustrations and text used in the “In Hindsight” section of this book:

  Air and Space, Bullfinch Press, New York (Courtesy of the Smithsonian Institute)

  Profile Publications, Albatross D5, Surrey, England (Courtesy of the Imperial War Museum)

  Publisher's Cataloging-In-Publication Data

  (Prepared by The Donohue Group, Inc.)

  Patterson, Don, 1961-

  Spitfire! / by Don Patterson ; illustrated by Sonny Schug.

  p. : col. ill. ; cm. -- (Tales of the RAF ; bk. 3)

  Originally published in 2000 by Hindsight Ltd.

  Summary: Colonel Harrison receives orders to keep unauthorized personnel off the Royal Air Force base; unfortunately that includes twelve-year-old Harry Winslow. When Harry discovers something that can save the air base from German bombs, he must break the rules or risk destruction of Hampton Airfield.

  Interest age level: 007-010.

  ISBN: 978-1-936770-14-4 (epub)

  1. Spitfire (Fighter planes)--Juvenile fiction. 2. Great Britain. Royal Air Force--Juvenile fiction. 3. Fighter pilots--Great Britain--Juvenile fiction. 4. World War, 1939-1945--Children--Great Britain--Juvenile fiction. 5. Spitfire (Fighter planes)--Fiction. 6. Great Britain. Royal Air Force--Fiction. 7. Fighter pilots--Great Britain--Fiction. 8. World War, 1939-1945--Children--Great Britain--Fiction. I. Schug, Sonny. II. Title. III. Series: Patterson, Don, 1961- Tales of the RAF ; bk. 3.

  PZ7.P3884 Sp 2010

  [Fic] 2009942882

  To those with the

  wisdom to do what's

  right, when it's needed.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  "SPITFIRE!"

  1 ONLY AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL

  2 THE NEW ARRIVALS

  3 "SPITFIRE!"

  4 AN UNAUTHORIZED VISITOR

  5 SCRAMBLE THE HURRICANES

  6 INTERCEPT AT DOVER

  7 HAMPTON FIELD IS UNDER ATTACK

  8 THE HURRICANES ARE LOST

  9 FIRE UP THE SPITFIRES

  10 SPITFIRES DEFEND HAMPTON

  11 REPAIR THE DAMAGED AIRFIELD!

  12 THE 14th SQUADRON RETURNS

  13 A NEW MEMBER

  14 THE MOST IMPORTANT REQUEST

  IN HINDSIGHT

  CHAPTER ONE

  ONLY AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL

  Colonel Harrison, the Commanding Officer of Hampton Airfield, stood at the window in his office peering through a pair of binoculars. Turning back and forth, his square shoulders stretched the seams of his neatly pressed Royal Air Force uniform while he searched the sky.

  Finally spotting what he was looking for, Harrison quickly focused his field glasses. Out in the distance, a formation of RAF Hawker Hurricanes was flying just above the horizon. Not having seen action for days, the pilots of the 14th Squadron were sharpening their skills by practicing combat tactics over the countryside surrounding the airfield.

  "Captain Dawson really has those lads snapping up there," Harrison said to himself while observing the fighter planes climb and then dive for the tree tops.

  After several more minutes of turning and twisting, the squadron leveled out from their maneuvers and approached the airfield to land. One by one, the RAF fighters smartly set down on the grassy airstrip, ending their training mission. When the last Hurricane touched earth, a proud smile stretched across Colonel Harrison's face.

  Even though the practice flight had ended, Harrison continued to observe the activity on the field. While watching the line of fighter planes taxi to the hardstand, he noticed a group of people gathered by one of the maintenance hangers. The cluster of men and women were bent over, picking something up from the ground.

  Colonel Harrison shouted for his secretary, Susan Winslow, "Susan! Come in here!"

  "Colonel, what's wrong?" she asked while pulling at her jacket to straighten it.

  "Who is that down on the field?" Harrison demanded, pointing at the men and women outside. "And tell me what they're doing!"

  Susan stepped to the window. Scanning the field, she saw the people carefully picking up spent bullet casings and other bits of metal.

  "They're picking up scraps of metal for recycling, sir," she replied.

  "Who authorized them to be on the base?" Colonel Harrison sternly asked.

  "No one, really," Susan explained. "They just come here once a month and pick up the scrap metal lying about. It's for a good cause, sir."

  Colonel Harrison crossed his arms in a huff, "Those people are not authorized to be here! Look, Susan, I'm getting real heat from Fighter Command about unauthorized personnel on the base. I just received another memo about it today."

  "But sir," Susan interrupted, "They help us by returning the metal scraps to be reused for building new fighter planes."

  Unimpressed, Harrison replied, "What if one of those people got hurt? What if a pilot, like that Gainey character, pulled some idiotic stunt such as a low level fly-by and crashed his plane down there?"

  Susan rolled her eyes at the Colonel's outlandish suggestion. "But Colonel, even Lieutenant Gainey knows that low level flying is expressly forbidden by RAF rules."

  "That's exactly my point Susan," Harrison firmly replied. "Everyone knows that RAF rules also forbid unauthorized personnel! Now there'll be no more discussion. Go down there and send those people home!"

  "Yes sir," Susan complied in a resigned voice as she turned to step out of the office.

  "Susan", Colonel Harrison called out, "there's...well...one other thing." Struggling to find the words, he continued, "I'm afraid that means your brother Harry, too."

  Twelve year old Harry Winslow lived with his mother and sister, Susan, on the Winslow farm bordering Hampton Airfield. Living so close to the RAF fighter base, it had become an important part of their lives. When the war started, Mr. Winslow left to serve in the British Intelligence. Susan returned home from college to help her mother. In order to earn some extra money she took a job on base as Colonel Harrison's secretary. It also allowed her to keep an eye on her brother, Harry. A frequent visitor to the base, Harry loved the pilots and planes of Hampton Airfield. They filled an emptiness in his heart while his father was away in London.

  Susan stopped in her tracks upon hearing the harsh order and pleaded, "But Colonel, being around the pilots is so important to Harry. Sending him away will break his heart. Isn't there anything else we can do?"

  "I'm not happy about it either," Harrison barked. "I know how close he is to Dawson and the others, but the lad could get hurt around here. You must tell him to stay away."

  Harrison snatched the letter from Fighter Command regarding unauthorized visitors and held it up to Susan, "These are my orders. Tell Harry that six years from now he can enlist and earn his RAF wings. Then I'll make it my duty to keep him on the base twenty-four hours a day. But until then, rules are rules!"

  Susan was ready to beg Colonel Harrison to reconsider. But when she looked at him, she could see the strain in his face. The Colonel was clearly upset with the letter from Fighter Command. Nevertheless, she knew no amount of begging would stop
him from carrying out his orders.

  Colonel Harrison was a career RAF man. He joined the service in 1918, during World War I. A natural combat pilot, young Alfred Harrison scored four victories over enemy fighters in just three days. At the time, it was an RAF record. But before he would battle the enemy again, the Armistice was declared and the war was over. Young Pilot Officer Harrison never had a chance to down a fifth enemy plane and achieve the fame of being a fighter ace.

  After the war, Harrison chose to stay with the RAF. Even though the status and acclaim of being an ace eluded him, he was highly regarded for his leadership. Alfred Harrison was known as a man who could get things done. In 1939, when war threatened again, he was assigned command of the RAF fighter base at Hampton.

  Now, as base commander, Colonel Harrison was responsible for the operation of Hampton Airfield according to RAF regulations. Harrison enjoyed having Harry around as much as anyone, but he had to obey orders. RAF rules were made for everyone's safety.

  With a nod of her head, Susan reluctantly acknowledged the Colonel's command to dismiss all the unauthorized visitors, including Harry. Although sending the people picking up scrap metal away seemed harsh, telling her brother he wasn't allowed on the base would be heart wrenching.

  Regardless, Susan always obeyed the Colonel's orders to the letter. Marching out of the Operations Building, she walked to the field and in a determined voice sent the group of unauthorized scrap collectors home. Then she went looking for Harry.

  While searching for her younger brother, Susan half-hoped she wouldn't find him. If Harry wasn't with the men out on the airfield she would be spared the heartache of sending him away. Harry worshipped the pilots and crews of Hampton. In return, they had made him a part of their RAF family. The rule on unauthorized personnel was clear, but Susan wondered who would suffer the most, Harry or everyone else at Hampton Airfield.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE NEW ARRIVALS

  Finished with their training flight, Dawson and the other pilots taxied their Hurricanes to the hardstand in front of the maintenance hangers. As each pilot cut power, the thunderous roar from the engines died down. When the whirling propellers stopped, the awaiting air crews quickly surrounded the planes in order to refuel them and meet with the pilots. After every flight, the pilot and his flight mechanic would discuss any repairs or changes needed to keep the airplane in peak fighting condition.

  Throwing back the glass canopy to his cockpit, Captain Dawson called out to his mechanic, Sergeant Thomas Pendleton, "Thomas, you really tightened up that rudder for me."

  Releasing the straps to his seat, Dawson climbed from the cockpit and stepped onto the wing of the plane. The stocky Sergeant stretched out his hand to help Dawson hop down to the ground.

  "Was it too tight, sir?" Pendleton asked.

  Dawson straightened up from his jump to the dirt and replied, "Not at all! She kicks from side to side, with no slip. It's just the way I like it."

  Proud of his work, Pendleton replied, "I aim to please, sir!" He finished by punctuating his words with a sharp salute.

  Captain Dawson smiled at his mechanic's playful show of respect and then looked down the row of fighter planes on the hardstand. Turning to walk away, Dawson said, "Well, Thomas, I'd better see to the others. Carry on!"

  "Have a good evening, sir," Sergeant Pendleton responded in a preoccupied tone. Constantly fretting over Dawson's Hurricane, he was already reaching into the engine housing to check the oil and coolant levels.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Dawson noticed how quickly Pendleton went to work on the plane. "You know, Thomas," he called back to the diligent flight mechanic, "it's only because you do your job so well, that I get a chance to do mine."

  "Just remember me at Christmas, sir!" Pendleton replied laughingly. With his head deep inside the engine housing, the Sergeant's voice echoed out across the field. Then, in a quiet whisper he spoke to himself, "With you in the air, we're all a little safer."

  Dawson said, "Well, Thomas, I'd better see to the others..."

  Captain Dawson walked down the hardstand calling to his pilots, "On to the briefing room, gentlemen! Follow me."

  The other pilots hurried to finish the conversations with their flight mechanics. Catching up to Dawson at the door to the Operations Building, the close knit group of fliers walked down the hall and filed into the briefing room.

  The Squadron Leader, Captain Dawson, made his way to an oak desk at the front of the room, while the rest of the men took their seats. Dawson had been in the RAF for four years. In addition to being an outstanding combat pilot, he had earned leadership of the squadron by being a wise decision maker in times of crisis.

  Confidently stepping behind the desk, he began erasing some old notes scribbled on the blackboard in order to draw example pictures for discussion. After wiping the board clean, he took a piece of chalk and started sketching airplanes in different positions. The other pilots watched while Dawson outlined the steps used in the maneuvers they performed during their training flight.

  Looking over his illustration, Dawson explained, "I've drawn our positions for the bank and roll. Now we can talk about what we did right, and what we did wrong out there today."

  Dawson turned from the blackboard to face his men. Clapping his hands to clean them of chalk dust, he began, "Okay lads, let's start with..."

  The Squadron Leader stopped in mid sentence. Dawson expected to see a group of attentive pilots in front of him ready to discuss the training flight. Instead, they were all crowded around the window like schoolboys watching the first snowfall.

  Bewildered at the men's behavior, Dawson asked, "What in blazes is so interesting out there?"

  With wide eyes, Lieutenant Hyatt looked back at Dawson and shouted, "Captain, they're delivering the 'Spits'!"

  Interested, Dawson stepped past the desk to join the men. Scratching his head, he mumbled to himself, "I thought the new Spitfires weren't going to be delivered until next month."

  Working through the crowd of pilots straining to see the new airplanes, Dawson peered out the window. Through the filmy glass, he saw a group of trucks pulling three Supermarine Spitfire fighter planes to the blast pen shelters at the far end of the field. Even though gray canvas still covered most of the cockpit on each plane, the wide wings and sleek body hinted at the gracefulness of the new fighters. With his pilots so distracted by the arrival of the Spitfires, Dawson knew continuing the meeting would be a waste of time.

  "Attention!" Captain Dawson barked.

  Hearing the snap in his voice, the men immediately turned to face their Squadron Leader. In a more casual tone, Dawson finished, "All in all, we had a good training run today. You're dismissed."

  Captain Dawson stepped to the side and held the door open for the other pilots. Flashing quick salutes, they bolted out of the room and rushed to the airfield to examine the new Spitfires.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "SPITFIRE!"

  Captain Dawson slowly walked across the field, trying to hide his excitement about the Spitfires. Racing to the line of earthen blast pens housing the planes, the younger pilots swarmed on the fresh fighters. Only Captain Simms, second in command of the squadron, patiently waited for Dawson to join him.

  "Ted," Simms called to Dawson, "who would have thought they would be here a full month early?"

  Fascinated by the three new planes, Dawson replied, "They're surely a sight to see, aren't they, Andy?"

  Together, the two Captains stepped to the first Spitfire in the row. The veteran pilots examined the sculpted lines and smooth silhouette of the powerful fighter plane. Then a distracted Simms jabbed at Dawson with his elbow to get his attention.

  "Look," Simms said in a low voice, "even the 'old man' is coming over to see them."

  Dawson turned to see Colonel Harrison approaching. Without question, the three Spitfires had become the center of attention throughout the entire airfield.

  Colonel Harrison had been requesting the ne
w fighters for quite some time. The Spitfire was faster and more maneuverable than the rugged Hawker Hurricane. Harrison knew his men stood a better chance against the enemy if they were flying Spitfires.

  "There they are, gentlemen," Colonel Harrison announced to Simms and Dawson, while pointing at the new planes. "Spitfires will eventually replace all the Hurricanes in our squadron. They've already switched over in some of the other fighter groups."

  The three men stood together silently, gazing at the sleek fighters. Then Harrison stepped over to the cockpit of one of the planes and ran his hand across the side of the fuselage.

  "With 1500 horsepower, six guns, and a top speed of 385 miles per hour, our pilots should gain a real advantage over the German Messerschmitts we've been fighting."

  "Colonel, when will they be air ready?" Captain Dawson asked.

  "Actually, Ted, the only thing holding us up right now is that we can't get a Spitfire flight instructor out here for another week. Supermarine is making the planes faster than they can teach us how to fly them."

  Captain Simms nervously cleared his throat and asked shyly, "Who is going to get first crack at learning how to fly these birds, Colonel?"

  "I'll decide that a week from now, when the instructor gets here," Harrison replied. "Until then, gentlemen, make sure your rather curious pilots don't scratch the paint on my new airplanes!"

  With that, Colonel Harrison marched back to his office in the Operations Building. Both Dawson and Simms grew red faced at the Colonel's remark. All they could do was watch while the young pilots under their command crawled upon the new fighters like children on a playground.

  Sheepishly leaning over to speak in Dawson's ear, Simms asked in a whisper, "Should we bother telling them what the Colonel said?"

  "What's the use, Andy?" Dawson replied while shaking his head. "They're so excited they won't listen to us anyway. You and I might just as well plan on coming back here tonight to polish over any scuffs the men leave when they're done."