by Griff Hosker
“Sir, that is more than fifteen miles away.”
I smiled and checked my compass. “Nearer twenty actually we can’t go in a straight line like a Snipe. The sooner we start then the sooner we get there.”
To get to the path to the south we had to go east. We would be heading towards the Count and the rest of his men. I wondered just how many he had. He was like a cat with nine lives. The sun was beating down and I was grateful that we now had something on our heads. We had two canteens of water. It was as we turned a corner of rock to step onto the path that the thought struck me. The Kurds and the Russians had not had canteens with them. That meant that they were not far from the others. I pushed Marshall into the shelter of the rocks and looked around. Ahead of me I saw that the path turned sharply right and went down steeply. I lay on my belly and slithered like a snake to peer around the bend in the path. The car we had followed was five hundred yards from us. It was below us and we had to pass it to get to Sulaimaniya. Worse there were four men with it. I saw a fifth figure emerge from behind it and I recognised, even at that distance, the Count. He wore his leather coat with the Astrakhan collar.
Marshall said, “Sir what is it?” He had been seen. Once again, they fired prematurely. I turned and looked for a defensive position. We had to get back off the path and take shelter behind the rock we had just turned around.
“Marshall, back up the path!”
I turned and aimed the rifle at the four men who were now coming towards us. I had limited ammunition. I did not want to waste it. The Russians seemed to have plenty of ammunition for they fired at me. The bullets missed and I saw that Marshall had made the safety of the rocks. I ran and joined him. I could no longer see the car but I had only seen four men coming towards us. The Count was staying with his vehicle. Four to two were not good odds when one man could not fire a weapon.
I handed Marshall one of my pistols and said. “You can’t fire but hand me the next gun when I finish my magazines.” I laid the four spare Lee Enfield magazines next to him. You hold those, right?”
“Sir. Will we get out of this?”
“I will be honest, the odds are not good but we keep fighting. One thing, we don’t let them take us alive, John? If I am down then shoot me and then… well you know.”
“Right sir.”
I lay prone and wriggled so that I could see them as they came up the path. The only other route was up the scree like slope. I felt in my pocket and found the German grenade. I had seen them before and knew how they worked but I had never used one. I had two and I decided to take a chance. I smashed the porcelain top to reveal the priming cord. I pulled it and hurled the grenade over towards the scree slope. If they were coming that way it might hurt them or, at the very least, set off a small landslide. I heard the explosion and a scream followed by the thunder of rocks. I had no way of knowing if I had hurt them, I just had to wait.
I looked along the Lee Enfield’s sight. I saw a head appear and resisted the urge to fire. It was some time since I had fired it. My lack of aggression seemed to make them feel more confident and two of them sprinted to take cover closer to me. They were a hundred yards away and I fired three bullets. A cry told me that one had been hit. A third popped his head from the side of the path and emptied a magazine at me. I ducked behind the rock. Some of the bullets chipped splinters from the stone and they flew into the air. I raised the rifle and fired two bullets blindly. I held the rifle to the left. Marshall took it from me. I took out my German automatic and I fired, once again, blindly. Bullets cracked off the rocks and I heard feet as they ran up the path. This was no good. They were keeping my head down. I worked out that there were three of them.
Marshall handed me the Lee Enfield. I raised my head and fired. There was a Russian just thirty yards from me. My bullet caught him in the knee and he fell to the floor. I fired a second shot but he had rolled to safety. I suspected that one of them was working his way up the side of the path. I could shoot him but I would have to expose myself to the two men who lay hidden. I took out my last Mills bomb. I knew the fuses on my own grenades. I pulled the pin and released the handle. I counted to two and then threw it down the path. It went off four seconds later. This time when there was a cry I rose and stood looking down the path. One Russian had been hit by shrapnel. He was dying. The other two had been struck by bits of stone. I emptied the rifle and then dropped it. I drew my Webley and I emptied it at them. I ran to the side. They were dead.
I looked down the slope towards the car. The Count was there. He was sheltering behind the large vehicle. I saw that my landslide had sent rocks down. One had smashed into the bonnet. The Count was going nowhere. He raised his pistol to fire at me. It was pathetic. He was so far away that he had more chance of throwing a stone and hitting me.
“John, fetch the Lee Enfield magazines.” Where was the Sheikh and where were the Kurds? I picked up the Lee Enfield and loaded another magazine. I had one left. I took aim.
“Are you going to kill him, sir?”
I shook my head. “It would be a waste of bullets. Now the car, that is a different matter.” I knelt and took aim just above the left rear tyre. The petrol tank was there. I fired all five bullets to no effect. I reloaded the last magazine. The Count must have realised what I was trying to do for his head disappeared. I caught a movement to the left. It was my third last bullet which ignited the tank. I saw the Count thrown to the ground and the pall of black smoke rose in the sky. The smoke hid him from me.
“Come on, John. Let’s finish this.” He leaned on me as we started down the path. Just then I heard the sound of a Rolls Royce engine, so did Marshall. We both looked into the air. I saw that there was a Bristol. I reached into my pocket and found the mirror. I began to flash a message to the Bristol. The exploding car had drawn him here. Now I had to bring him closer. I kept flashing until I saw him descending. Marshall began waving his good arm and I kept signalling. I saw that it was Flight Lieutenant Cartwright. He made one pass and then, on the second something was thrown from the gunner’s cockpit.
I ran down the path to retrieve it. There was a note inside a flying helmet. I unrolled it. “Vimy on the way. We will cover you. Nasties all around you.”
I wondered who the ‘we’ was. His Bristol looked to be alone in the sky. I looked around. The nearest landing site was a good half a mile away down the path. The Count lay between me and it. I turned to Marshall. “I am going after the Russian. You make your way down the slope. Take it steady.” I handed him the improvised haversack. “There is water and food in here. If anything happens to me…”
“It won’t sir!”
I was not certain. I made sure the two German automatics were loaded and with them in each hand I headed down the path. Marshall shouted, encouragingly, “You look like Tom Mix sir!”
I had one grenade left and if the Count chose to hide then I would use it to flush him out. Above me I heard the Bristol as Cartwright made lazy circles just above my head. He was looking for Kurds and not western looking men. The Count would know to stay hidden. If Marshall was going to live I had to use myself as live bait.
I reached the car. The fire was just smouldering. The Count had disappeared down the path. As I cleared the car a gun cracked. It hit the ground just four feet from my foot. The gun fired again. The second shot hit me in the leg. I was not certain how seriously I was hurt. I rolled to the ground and levelled my two guns. I could not see him. I decided to talk to him. I wanted to find out roughly where he was. I spoke to him in Russian, “Count Yuri Fydorervich, we meet again. You are a hard man to kill!”
“Harsker? Ah it is you. I should have realised. You are a dead man. When my Kurdish allies find you, they will give you a slow death. They hate airmen!”
I knew roughly where he was, from the sound of his voice. I holstered one gun and took out the German grenade. I began to crawl. I was aware that I was bleeding from the bullet wound. “Your Sheikh soon abandoned you!”
I heard him laugh.
“I was not abandoned and besides my heroic service will bring me even more money when I reach his Persian heartland. There he will be surrounded by his tribal chiefs and you will never catch him. You, on the other hand, will lie in pieces here in this God forsaken country.”
I had continued to crawl while he spoke. I smashed the porcelain cap and pulled the lanyard. I hurled it high into the air and rolled to my right. It must have had a short fuse for it exploded above the rocks. I heard a scream. I was on my feet in an instant and limped as fast as I could towards him with a gun at the ready. I had no need to worry. The grenade had taken most of his head.
“Marshall, you can keep coming. It is safe.”
As if to prove me wrong the Bristol suddenly dived and I heard the twin Vickers. Marshall sheltered behind the car. I squatted next to the Count. I saw that his pockets were packed with gold coins. He had been right. He had been well paid. I took them. The widows of the men who had died would benefit. The Bristol zoomed overhead and Cartwright waggled his wings.
“Come on John. We had better get a move on. Put your arm around me. If I have to I will carry you.”
He shook his head as he joined me. “I don’t think so sir. Where is the dignity in that!”
The path twisted and turned. As we rounded one corner I saw the dead Kurds the Bristol had hit. In the distance, I heard the sound of a Vimy and as I peered south I saw it was escorted by two Snipes. Just then the Bristol dived. I could not see the target. It was hidden by a large rock but I heard the explosion as its bombs went off. We were just two hundred yards from the flat piece of ground. I recognised the Snipes, it was Simpkins and Barker. They zoomed overhead and I heard their guns open fire. I could not run. I felt blood sloshing around inside my flying boot. We could not afford to stop. I saw the Vimy preparing to land.
“Let us wait here. It is bad enough landing one of those at the best of times without two cripples getting in the way.”
“Cripples?” He looked down and saw my bloody leg, “Sir, you are wounded.”
I smiled, “So it would appear.”
I heard the six Vickers as they chased away the Kurds who were anxious to get to two airmen and a large aeroplane. The Vimy rolled to a halt and we began to make our way the last two hundred yards to it. I saw Pilot Officer Grundy climb out and open the hatch. He smiled when he saw me, “Good to see you again, sir.”
Marshall said, “The Wing Commander is wounded, in the leg!”
Grundy became all serious. “Lie on the bunk sir and let me look at it for you.”
As I did so I said, “Marshall here has a broken arm too.”
“Don’t you worry, sir. We will get you to Baghdad. There are a lot of people who are relieved that you are alive. When you were reported missing there was all hell on.”
He took my boot off and paroxysms of pain raced up my leg. Remembering how well Marshall had borne the pain I gritted my teeth.
“You have lost a great deal of blood sir. I will staunch the bleeding and then you had better have some sugar.” He looked up at Pilot Officer Marshall. “If you would pop up on the other bunk I will strap you in and we can get off straightaway.”
I knew that they would be worried. They had kept the engines running and that was never a good thing.
“That’s the best I can do, sir.” He strapped me in and handed me a bar of mint cake. I knew that it was pure sugar. He did the same to Marshall and then he shut the hatch and climbed up into the cockpit. I began to eat the sugary confection.
He leaned down once he was in the co-pilot’s seat, “You two just enjoy the ride. Next stop, Baghdad.”
I had my eyes closed when I heard Marshall say, “Well I didn’t expect to get out that alive sir.”
“We aren’t back yet. Pilot Officer Carruthers will not have an easy task taking off from here.” He had done well to land on the tiny piece of flat rock. He was a good pilot and I had to trust in him.
The engines made an incredibly loud noise as he raced along the short flat area he had found on which to land. As he lifted the nose I breathed a sigh of relief. I ate some more of the mint cake although it was far too sweet for me. As he banked I saw some of the dead Kurds my three aeroplanes had killed. The three would escort us back. We had left no dead this time. There were two dead Snipes but an aeroplane could be replaced. Men were harder! The throbbing of the engines sent me to sleep and I dreamed. I dreamed of Beattie and the children and I dreamed of England. I would put in for a home posting. I had done my bit for King and Country.
Epilogue
The sleep I had almost became a coma. I was unconscious for two days while the doctors in Baghdad worked on my leg. When I awoke I found myself in a room with Pilot Officer Marshall. He was grinning when I finally opened my eyes. “You had us worried sir. They only brought you back this afternoon.”
“How long since they picked us up, John?”
“Two days sir.”
“How is your arm?”
“Thanks to you, sir I won’t lose it. The doctor said you managed to join the broken ends. He said I owe my arm and my life to you.”
“Nonsense. Anyone else would have done the same.”
We had tea brought and the nurse said, as she helped me to sit up “You have a visitor Wing Commander. I have told him he can only stay for half an hour but he is most insistent.”
“Thank you, nurse.”
It was Sergeant Major Davis. “I am relieved to see you alive, sir. Everyone at the airfield, not to mention Mosul and Kirkuk have been asking after you. I had to see with my own eyes.”
I smiled, “It was just a scratch.”
“Scratch my… anyroad up you are well and that is all that counts, Wing Commander.”
I nodded, “Are my things here, John?”
“Yes sir, they are hanging in that cupboard.”
Sergeant Major, “If you look through my pockets you will find some coins.”
He went to the cupboard and searched my coat, “Bloody hell sir did you rob a bank?”
“No, Sergeant Major. I took them from a dead Russian Count. It is blood money. The Vikings called it weregeld. Would you see that they are sent to the next of kin of those fourteen pilots and gunners who died up at Mosul. Just say it is from the squadron.”
He nodded, “Aye sir. And Sir John is back in Baghdad. He wants to see you. Now that you are able to have visitors I will tell him.”
He spent twenty minutes filling me in on the details of how Sulaimaniya had been pacified and what had happened to the pilots and crews whose aeroplanes had been damaged. He was finally chased away by the nurse. Later that afternoon Pilot Officer Marshall was allowed to leave the hospital and return to the airfield to await transport home.
“I daresay I will see you before I leave sir but thanks again. I owe you a great deal.”
“We are brothers in arms, Marshall. The R.A.F. is like a family. We look after our own.”
The next day a sister and nurse came in to make sure the room was neat and tidy. I knew the reason. The Air Vice Marshall and Sir Percy Cunliffe appeared in the doorway. “I am pleased to see that you survived, Wing Commander.” Sir John gestured to the diplomat. Sir Percy has some questions for you.”
“Now then Wing Commander what do you think happened to Sheikh Mahmud?”
I said, “I know exactly what happened to him. He fled to his Persian heartland. He is with his tribal chiefs in Persia. I was told by his adviser, Count Yuri Fydorervich.”
“He was not killed with the other Kurds who tried to get to you?”
I shook my head. “Two cars escaped our bomb run. One was the Count’s and I destroyed that. Sergeant Major Davis told me that they found no sign of the other one. He escaped sir.”
He shook my hand, “I just wanted you to know from the horse’s mouth. You are a brave man Wing Commander and His Majesty’s Government is indebted to you.” He nodded and left.
Sir John gave me a wan smile, “That and tuppence will get you a cup of tea. The R.A.F
. can offer you something more substantial. You have been awarded a bar to your Military Cross and Pilot Officer Marshall the D.F.C. I wanted the V.C for you but it is not wartime and…”
I held up my hand, “Sir, don’t worry about it. I am just pleased that Marshall’s courage was recognised. As far as I am concerned all of my pilots deserve a medal.”
“They probably do. Now anything else I can do for you?”
I sat up, “Yes sir. I would like a home posting. I have been away from my family for a long time and you don’t need me here any longer. The other squadron leaders are all sound chaps.”
“You are right about the squadron leaders but I am not sure you are right about us not needing you. However, I think it is right that you be sent home. You will need time to recover in any case.” He shook my hand, “Thanks for all you have done, Bill.”
“And thank you sir, you have given me something more important than a medal; you have given me back my family.”
I left on the same flight as Pilot Officer Marshall. It was a longer flight than the one I had coming out but I didn’t mind that. I found that I was in less pain than Marshall. With me it had just been blood loss which had caused the problem. Marshall had bones knitting together.
When I, eventually, landed, at Rochford Beattie, Tom and Mary were there, waiting for me. They ran to meet me as I limped towards them. I had tried to resist the cane but I needed it. Poor Beattie was in tears and she threw her arms around me, sobbing.
Tom just said, “When we get home, Daddy, will you show me your wound?”
Beattie said, “Thomas Harsker!”
I smiled, “I don’t mind. I am home now and home to stay. This is the last wound I will have to suffer so why not show it to him? Come on you two. I want to hear all about the new house in France! We will plan a holiday for the summer eh?