Wings Over Persia (British Ace Book 7)

by Griff Hosker

  “Yes sir. You didn’t need to do this you know, Wing Commander.”

  “I know but you must remember, Carruthers, that I started at the bottom of the ladder. I was an air gunner. The fact that I have achieved such an elevated rank is as much a surprise to me as anybody. We are all in this together. The day that I stop getting my hands dirty is the day I will retire.” As we flew I impressed upon Carruthers the need for vigilance in the dangerous world of Mesopotamia. He asked questions about the enemies we might be facing.

  “That is the trouble, Pilot Officer, friends and enemies could be in the same room and you would not know. The smiling face could conceal a dagger. Let us just say that I will be checking my bunk each night for snakes, scorpions and spiders! I will open each door carefully and I will be watching where I put my feet.”

  As we passed Corsica I handed the stick over to Pilot Officer Carruthers and I went to the cabin. Grundy was asleep. I hated to wake him but I knew that I had to. “Grundy, wakey, wakey!”

  He woke, almost startled, “Sorry sir I…”

  “You have nothing to apologise for. I said to sleep and you obeyed orders. Well done!”

  I watched the sun set to the west as we headed past Sardinia and then Sicily before we landed at the new airfield on Malta. We had been told that we would be sleeping under canvas and that was acceptable. With mechanics to check our engines we ate in the mess with the skeleton crew. Eventually this would become a vital aerodrome. On that first May night, it reminded me of the first airfields in Northern France. Tents and basic latrines were the order of the day. Surprisingly I slept better than I had for a long time.

  The next leg was shorter. We would have a slightly easier time of it and this time the two young officers did not seem as worried about sharing flying duties with an old fighter pilot.

  Heliopolis was no Malta. This was the front line. There was wire, machine guns and sandbagged bunkers. As we taxied along the runway a sergeant major signalled Pilot Officer Carruthers to move closer to the sandbagged guns and the huts which had been erected since last I had been here. Armed aircraftsmen ran to the side as the engines stopped.

  “Sergeant Major Wilkins sir. If you would come with me. We have to move a bit sharpish like.”

  “Trouble, Sergeant Major?”

  “It’s the locals, sir! They are always complaining about something or other and the buggers, pardon my French sir, are bloody violent. They have learned that if you put petrol in a bottle and jam a rag in the end it makes a handy little bomb. It cost a few of them burned skin to get it right but now they know that our buses go up like Roman candles. That is why we keep them well away from the perimeter.”

  “Who is the station commander now?”

  “Squadron Leader Jenkin; he only arrived last week.”

  Ours was a fledgling service and it was small. I had known a George Jenkin in France. He had been one of my pilots. He had survived! As we hurried in through the sandbagged doorway I saw that it was indeed, George Jenkin. He grinned as he saluted me, “Jolly glad to see you, sir. When I heard it was you who was coming I could not believe my luck.”

  I nodded, “Congratulations on the promotion. This is Pilot Officer Carruthers and Pilot Officer Grundy.”

  “Welcome to hell, gentleman! This is a lively posting. You should be glad that you are only here for one night! Sergeant Major Wilkins will show you to your quarters.”

  As they were led off George ushered me into his office. He took two glasses and a bottle from a cupboard. He poured two large whiskies. We had served together. We knew what the other liked.

  “Cheers! Old comrades!”

  I nodded, “The lads who never came back!”

  We did not down it, we sipped it.

  “Is it rough then, George?”

  “Oh yes sir and a bit of a shock to the system. I came from a training squadron to this. I think they thought my experience with you in France might help. It doesn’t. There you knew that everyone in a grey uniform was trying to kill you. Here you look sideways at the laundry boys who come in and when the boys go on raids it is even worse. Intelligence tells us where they ought to be and our lads attack. Then they bring in photographs. Women and children are with them and they have been killed too.” He poured us two more. “How can they put their wives and children in such danger? We would get them far away from it if we were in the same boat.”

  “This is a war we can never win.”

  “And your war, sir, can we win that one? I am pretty certain that as soon as we are thrown out of here we will end up there.”

  “I fear you are right. My only hope is that we are able to do what we did in Somaliland. We managed to defeat the Mad Mullah in four weeks. Mesopotamia is a bigger country but we can only try.”

  We chatted about the posting and then got on to the other war the Great War. There was a knock on the door and Sergeant Major Wilkins appeared, “Sir, will Wing Commander Harsker wish to wash and change before dinner?”

  George laughed, “Which is a polite way of saying get a move on sirs! Righto Sergeant Major. Will do.”

  The quarters were basic but given the predicament the squadrons found themselves in it was understandable. I did not have my number ones. They were still on the Vimy and so I made do with a good wash and shave. Squadron Leader Jenkins’ man removed the worst of the dust.

  Dinner was pleasant. I think George had told all the stories of our squadron before I had landed and I had to fend off questions about the future of the R.A.F. in this area. I think they believed I was privy to more information than I was. I did enjoy meeting the young pilots. They were keen, talented, and hopeful. When we left the next morning, I was not as depressed as I had been.

  The last hop to Baghdad was also the shortest. We landed well before dusk. I saw that the DH 9As and the Snipes were parked together on one side of the runaway while the two squadrons of huge Vernons was on the other. It was the largest assembly of aeroplanes I had ever see on one airfield and it was a daunting sight.

  As the ground crew ran over to us I said to Carruthers and Grundy, “Well done you two. That can’t have been easy having a senior officer watching your every move.”

  They were both more relaxed now, especially as their ordeal was over. “Not a problem sir. You were no trouble at all.”

  The Sergeant who led the ground crew saluted, “Would you be Wing Commander Harsker, sir?”

  “Yes sergeant.”

  “Group Captain Wainwright is waiting to see you sir.”

  “Righto. Have my bags taken to my quarters eh?”

  “Yes sir. Watson, get the officer’s bags to his quarters. If you would follow me, sir.” He led me towards the wooden buildings that made up the admin section. I saw the huts that were barracks, quarters and mess halls to my right. “Good flight sir? It is a long haul from Blighty.”

  “Yes sergeant. The Vimy is a nice bus. Slow but easy to fly.”

  “I remember you, sir, from France. I was an Erk then.” Erk was the R.A.F slang for Aircraftsman. I looked at him to try to see if I could remember him. He smiled, “I was clean shaven in those days sir. I worked on Lieutenant Fox’s bus. I am Sergeant Davis.” I nodded. “You will find this a bit different, sir.”

  I smiled, “I was in Somaliland when the Ninaks sorted out the Mad Mullah. Not quite as different as you might think, sergeant.”

  Group Captain Wainwright was a throwback to the early days of the R.F.C. He had no wings on his tunic. He was not a pilot. That, in itself, was not a bad thing. Our colonel in France was not a flier. The grey hairs told me that this would the last posting for this officer. The red rimmed eyes and the shaking hand were signs that he was under stress. He was a drinker. Again, that was understandable. I had seen it in pilots who had flown one too many missions.

  I smiled and held out my hand, “Wing Commander Harsker, pleased to meet you, sir.”

  I saw the relief on his face. I took off my flying coat and helmet. He nodded, “Too bally hot for those
out here, don’t ya know!”

  “Quite.”

  He opened a drawer and took out a bottle of whisky. He poured two very large ones. I would not be flying but I decided to nurse mine.

  “Awful posting Harsker!”

  “It is Bill! Yes, I know. I read the reports.”

  “Have you met Churchill?” I nodded. “Mad as a fish. He thinks we can control this country with just eight squadrons!”

  “I believe they think we can do more than ground troops alone.”

  “That is the trouble, Bill, the ground troops are so spread out that we just end up reacting to the problems. They radio they are under attack and we send out aeroplanes. Last week the Ninaks arrived just as the damned natives were chopping up our chaps into little bits. Damned distressing. They seem to have a Holy War against all non-Muslims.”

  I knew then why they had sent me. The Group Captain was out of his depth. He was an admin officer. I was the combat veteran. “Look sir, I think I can help. You know I was in Somaliland?”

  “Damned fine show. You should have had a medal.”

  I shrugged, “Medals mean nothing.”

  He laughed, “A man with a V.C. and M.C. can afford to say that.”

  “Anyway, why don’t I worry about the campaign and you can organise the airbase. It would be foolish to ignore my combat experience.”

  He looked relieved. I saw that he poured himself another stiff one, “If you are sure you don’t mind?” He leaned forward, “Truth is I should be retired.” He shook his head. “The family has a long history of service: Waterloo. Inkerman, Spion Kop. I can’t let the family name down. I am the last of the Wainwrights.”

  “Sir, you will not let your family down. First thing in the morning I will get the other squadron leaders together and the Intelligence Officer. Who is that, by the way?”

  “Major Fox, damned fine officer.”

  “Ralph Fox?”

  “You know him?”

  “We served in Egypt.” Already I was more confident. Ralph Fox had been a captain. When the civil war had threatened Heliopolis he and his R.A.F. regiment had behaved impeccably.

  “Good show. Another?”

  “Thank you but no. I will get myself sorted out first.”

  As I left the office I noticed that Sergeant Davis was in the outer office, “Sarn’t Davis, what is your role here?”

  He smiled, “Officially, sir, I am in charge of the clerks.”

  “And unofficially?”

  “Well sir, Sergeant Major Jennings had a funny turn last year and was returned to Blighty. We are awaiting his replacement. I sort of run the office.”

  “I will clear it with the Wing Commander tomorrow but you are now Sergeant Major Davis. We have a lot of work to do.”

  He did not seem put out. “Right sir. Where do we start?”

  “I would like a meeting with the squadron leaders and the intelligence officer tomorrow at nine ack emma!”

  “Roger sir! As soon as I heard you were coming I knew that you would shake things up a bit.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This is not France. I want a breakdown from you of the personnel here.”

  “Personnel, sir?”

  “Sergeant Major, don’t play the innocent. It doesn’t become you. Who are the chaps I can go to and who are the ones swinging the lead? This will be just between us two.”

  “Right sir. I just wanted to be clear. I will have that for you first thing.”

  My quarters were as I expected them, spartan. This was the front line. I had a bed, a table a chair, a chest of drawers and a curtain disguising a wardrobe rail. Beattie would not have been happy but I was comfortable in such functional quarters. I unpacked. I had not checked to see if they dressed in number ones for dinner. I just used the smarter of my two tunics.

  There was a knock on the door. I opened it and a senior aircraftman stood there with a bowl, a jug of water and a towel. “Sarn’t Davis send me sir, Aircraftman McHale, he thought you might want a wash and a shave.”

  “Perfect. Put them on the table there.”

  “I can shave you if you like sir. I shave the Group Captain.”

  “No thanks, McHale. But you can give me a bit of info.”

  “Sir.”

  “Is it number ones for dinner?”

  “No sir. Group Captain saves that for Saturday night sir.”

  As I washed and then shaved I guessed that the Group Captain might need a steady hand to help him shave.

  The R.A.F., in those days, was like one big family. As I found my way to the mess hall I recognised faces from France, Egypt and Somaliland. It was gratifying to see smiles accompanying the salutes. Group Captain Wainwright was at the bar. I recognised the other Squadron Leaders, Arthur Harris, Jack Thomson and Henry Woollett. Also with them was a grinning Major Fox.

  Jack was one of the best Ninak pilots I had ever met. He affected a bow, “Our leader has arrived. Welcome to the east. I am the genii of the mess. Your wish is our command.”

  I laughed, “I can see that you haven’t changed. My command is, oh genii of the candlestick, for a large whisky!”

  “It shall be so, master.”

  Arthur Harris was always the more serious of the squadron leaders. “What is the Vimy like, sir? And the two pilots. Technically they fly in my squadron.”

  “The bus is good. Slow but then you will be used to that. It has the same speed as the Vernon. The two pilots know their job.”

  “They will have to do. They are quite likely to be operating on their own.”

  I nodded, “I told them to make sure they were armed.”

  “They will need to be, last week…”

  Group Captain Wainwright said, “No shop talk eh chaps? Let’s welcome Bill here. Time enough for shop in the morning.”

  I caught Arthur’s eyes. He rolled them. The Group Captain was not only out of his depth, he had lost the confidence of some of the squadron leaders. We changed the chat to conversation about England. We spoke of Alcock and Brown’s flight across the Atlantic in the Vimy. We talked of cricket. England were going to be heading to Australia at Christmas to play the first test match since nineteen fourteen. The food was fine. R.A.F. cooks produced the same food no matter where the aerodrome was!

  As I headed for my quarters Major Fox walked with me. “Sir, any chance I could have a word with you before we meet the other officers?”

  I knew that Ralph was not trying to ingratiate himself. If he wished to see me privately then it was important. “Of course. I shall be having a look at my new bus first thing. Have a wander over eh? That will look natural. I assume that is what you want?”

  He grinned, “Spot on sir. I will be there!”

  Persia

  Chapter 2

  I woke early. I was still on English time. In addition, I remembered that it would get unbearably hot later on. It was barely dawn when I strolled over to the Snipes. They were all in the open. I was pleased to see a pair of sentries from the R.A.F. regiment. They saluted and I recognised one, “Williams! I see you made Corporal!”

  “Yes sir, and I am in with a chance of Sergeant too! Swanston is here and he made Sergeant after Egypt.” Williams had been my servant and bodyguard in Egypt. He nodded to the aircraftman who continued his patrol. “This is just as hairy as Heliopolis, sir. They would steal the pennies off a corpse!”

  “I think you are right. Listen, Williams, Major Fox will be coming to see me in a moment or two. Make sure we have some privacy eh?”

  “You can rely on me, sir.”

  I recognised my aeroplane. It was the only one which had not been flown. In addition, it had the letter A before the numbers. It was a neat little aircraft. I would have to take it up before I flew with the rest of the squadron. I knew that the ground crew would have made sure she was in sound mechanical order but I had flown for enough years to know how I wanted her set up.

  I heard feet pounding on the sand. I turned and saw Major Fox in shorts and vest. He grinne
d, “Keeps me fit and lets me get all over the place without anyone noticing.”

  I nodded, “I guessed that there is something you don’t want the others to know.”

  “Not really sir. It is just that there are some of the locals who work in the offices. They are cleaners and tea makers. You know the sort of thing. The Group Captain thinks that they are trustworthy but I don’t. We have had thefts and there has been minor sabotage. The Group Captain dismisses it as unimportant. There are too many occurrences for my liking. And I think that information is going from the airfield to the insurgents, sir. A couple of my lads were attacked the other day. They were the only two on leave. It was too much of a coincidence for me.”

  I nodded, “Do you have a solution to the problem?”

  “Yes sir. It involves Corporal Williams and Swanson. As you know they are both bright lads. I was going to make them your orderlies.”

  “I don’t need an orderly, let alone two.”

  “I know sir but it will give them the chance to sniff around the admin building and the officer block. They can watch the natives. In fact sir, the less you give them to do the better. They will make jobs up. They will catch the sneak thieves and find the ones who are rummaging around where they shouldn’t be.”

  “Then go ahead with that. Anything else?”

  “The other information is also for just the squadron leaders, sir. I will give you a heads up now and then more details in your briefing. This Sheikh Mahmud is stirring up the Kurds. He is supposed to be the governor. However, from what I can gather he is hiring mercenaries. He says he needs them for protection from the Turks but I think they are advising him on how to defeat us. Intelligence reports that the resistance is more organised now. Kirkuk is a hotbed of insurgents. If they rise then I can’t see how the garrison will cope.”

  “Right. You have given me something to chew on. I might join you on the early morning runs, Ralph.”

  “I didn’t know you were into keep fit, sir.”

  “I am not but it will give us the chance to examine the airfield and chat. I am not happy about the open nature of the field. If any of these buses are damaged it will be the devil’s own job to get replacements.”