by E. R. Mason
The command for radio silence came in along with the unnecessary reminder to keep a sharp eye out for night fighters. Far in the distance the fearful lights of civilization began to twinkle into view. Everyone had visited this place just three days ago. Everyone knew what to expect.
It was at that moment, the unexpected occurred. As Mick leaned back in his seat to check engine gauges, he called out. “Uh-oh, big fluctuation in oil pressure on the number 4, Captain. I don’t like it.”
“It had to come now,” replied Jax.
“It’s not just fluctuating, Jacks. It’s hitting the bottom and the top of the gauge, over and over. That can’t be the gauge. It’s either a sensor problem or oil flow is coming in spurts. We’re screwed.”
Jax considered the dilemma. Turn back or keep going. Those were the only two choices. This was a particularly bad place to break formation and leave a hole, and it was just as bad a place to break radio silence to tell group leader.
“We’ll continue on, Mick. Let me know if it dies completely.”
The request was unnecessary. Suddenly a bang and jolt from the left wing shocked the airplane.
“There it goes!” yelled Mick as he strained his neck to look out at the wing. “Oil is flowing out the back end of it.”
Jax raced to feather the number 4 engine and bring power up on the others while trimming off the airplane.
“It looks real ugly from back here,” yelled Buzz, the rear gunner. “I’m getting smoked.”
Bomb aimer Sharpy was twisted back trying to see from the nose of the airplane.
“Oil flow is dying out,” called Mick. “The engine has dumped its load. There’s no sign of fire or anything. What you gonna do, Jacks?”
“Yeah, what are you going to do about it, Jacks?” asked Buzz.
Jax contemplated his options. The airplane could fly on only two good engines. At present, there were three. The only problem was they would not be able to keep up with the group. They were already starting to slip behind. To add to the intensity of the situation, far ahead, bomb bay doors were opening on the lead aircraft. As Easy Money continued to lose ground with the formation Jax had to lower the nose and drop down to avoid crowding the airplanes following him. While considered the dilemma, he watched other planes start to pass by overhead, their prop wash kicking the Easy Money around. After only a minute or two, the entire assault stream was ahead and leaving them farther and farther behind. Spotlights began to sweep the sky as flak bursts flashed above and below the group.
“Well, that’s it fellas,” suggested Sharpy. “We can’t take on those guns by ourselves. We’d be shot out of the air.”
Before Jax could respond, bombs began dropping from the formation, now quite far ahead. They fell to the coast and lit up the shore like a massive fireworks display. Incendiary bombs spread fire everywhere. The shoreline became lighted by the bursts.
Something startled Jax. The coastline was wrong. There was a small peninsula where one should not have been. Using the light from the continuing bombing, Jax searched the shoreline. In disbelief he could make out the Weser shipyard ten degrees to the right of where the bombs were falling. The main group was hitting the wrong target. They were bombing a decoy set up to confuse them.
“Listen up, everybody. Our guys are hitting the wrong target. The shipyard is 10 degrees north. Let’s drop down and go in and hit that thing ourselves. The antiaircraft is following the main group. Chances are they won’t even see us. Sharpy, can you see it?”
“My God, I see it, Cap. The real target is already in my sights. Let’s get it!”
“Anyone have any objections?”
Silence.
Jax eased the plane over and down and backed off power on the three good engines. He dove in straight for the target. As the shipyard loomed larger in the window, he called to his bomb aimer. “Sharpy, you got a lock?”
“Dead center, Jax.”
“You have the airplane.”
Easy Money’s Bombay doors swung open. The airplane skidded right and left as Sharpy fine-tuned his sites. “Bombs gone!” he practically screamed.
With the bay doors closed, Jax powered up, climbed and banked back toward the ocean. “I need a heading, Hawk.”
“250 degrees, Jacks.”
Buzz came over the intercom, yelling so loudly it was distorted. “Hooooly, man we hit the thing square on. Everything down there is burning. You remember the camera, Jacks?”
“The film is running.”
“They are gonna like what they see back home,” added Buzz.
“Sounding like a couple days leave to me, boys,” said Butch.
“You know, I’m thinking I wouldn’t want to be the one to explain this to the group commander,” said Hawk.
Muted laughter came over the intercom.
It was then that Jax picked up sight of the tail end of the main group passing by as they headed back to base. At the same time, the group leader began polling his aircraft for damage and casualty reports. Several aircraft did not answer. When it came to Easy Money, Jax realized if he did not respond, they would think the ship and crew had been lost. At the same time, Hawk’s warning about reporting stuck in his mind.
“Commander, Easy Money’s behind formation but okay, no injuries, number 4 engine out, heading back to base. We’ll be late.” Jax hoped that would be enough.
It was not. The group commander came back. “Jacks, it was reported you dropped out just before the target run. Are you still carrying ordnance or have you disposed of it in the sea yet?”
Jax bit his lip. “Sir, we are no longer carrying ordnance.”
There was a long pause. “Easy Money, where did you deposit your load?”
Jax winced and heard other crew members snickering on the intercom. “Sir, we dropped our ordnance on the target area.”
Another long pause. “Jacks, are you saying you continued on to the primary target area alone after losing an engine?”
“Sir, we’re pretty busy here, would it be alright if we waited for debriefing to discuss this?”
Another long pause. More snickering from the crew.
Group commander still not satisfied, “Okay Jacks, what are you doing? Where did you drop your bombs?”
“We dropped on the main target, sir.”
Finally the commander decided further information would just not be forthcoming. “Easy Money crew, I’ll see all of you at debriefing.”
There was quiet celebration aboard the Easy Money as the crew opened their Clark bars and looked forward to home.
Because they were so late returning, the Easy Money crew was the last to be debriefed. To Jax’s surprised the debriefing officers still did not know the main group had bombed the wrong target. As the questioning began, the crew remained disciplined and quiet despite their inner celebration. When Jax was finally forced to speak the first words about the decoy target and the main groups bombing of it, a heavy, threatening silence fell over the room. It was as though the debriefing had been hit by a bombshell of its own. The debriefing was immediately placed in recess. The main officers left the room looking stolid. The crew sat twiddling their thumbs while film from the Easy Money was rushed into development and evaluated. An hour later, the debriefing officers returned in stiff form, this time with the mission group commander in tow. He chose to stand by the door and listen.
There was a long pregnant pause as though no one knew what to say. The main inquiry officer finally rose. “Gentlemen, I believe no further information is needed from you. Dismissed.”
As the crew shuffled out of the meeting room, the mission group commander beckoned Jax with a wave. Jax prepared himself for the worst and went to him.
“Jacks, thank you for not broadcasting it. It would have been a bad time for the group to hear about it.” The commander reached out and shook Jax’s hand. He nodded appreciatively, turned, and left through the side door.
Chapter 21
Jax awoke late in the day but instinctively in time
to make the evening meal. He entered the mess hall still rubbing his eyes, completely unprepared for the notoriety the previous evening’s mission had earned him. As he walked to the serving counter, an abrupt silence came over the room. It lasted only a few seconds after which the normal drone of conversations quickly picked back up. At the serving line, the servers seemed to eye him with a new respect, as though they were privy to something they were not supposed to be. Tray in hand, he found an empty spot in corner shadows and continued to try to shake the sleep away. As the first forkful of blessedly hot food touched his lips, a messenger arrived and insisted there was an urgent call for him at the commodore’s office. Jax dropped his fork and hung his head. He rode in the jeep dreaming of the hot food he had left on the table.
“You haven’t forgotten me, have you?” a sensuous voice from the other end of the line asked. Alaina gave her haughty laugh.
“God, it’s good to hear your voice, even when I’m starved,” he replied.
“So I’ll pick you up at the main gate tomorrow morning at 08:00. Okay?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Huh? The Easy Money crew commendations came with two-day passes. You’re not seeing someone else already, are you?”
Jax laughed so hard he could not speak. When he finally regained his composure, he replied, “Alaina, you are like a dream come true, you know that?”
“I am? Well, I do like that. Tomorrow I’ll make more of your dreams come true. Eight o’clock. The main gate. Okay?”
“Five hundred pound bombs could not keep me away.”
“Byyyyeee,” she cooed and hung up.
Jax hung up the phone to find a girl behind the counter handing him an envelope. “I’ve never seen a commendation go through that fast,” she laughed.
“And yet I still seem to be the last to know,” replied Jax.
Back at the mess hall, Jax’s table had been cleared. He went back through the serving line and this time the attendants seemed to be laughing behind their eyes. How could they know so quickly? But, the smell of the hot food made him not care.
The next two days were hours of blissful forgetting. There was no war, there was only Alaina, a hotel room with surprisingly good room service, the local shops, and a movie theater showing “A Window in London” with war newsreels interruptions.
At the end of the two days, Alaina dropped Jax off with an alcohol induced smile frozen on his face, and a slow stagger that barely brought him to his bunk.
Two weeks and two milk run missions later, Jax found himself again seated in the commodore’s office wondering if he had somehow screwed up. Commodore Decker entered talking profusely to group leader Roberts. When they spotted Jax, they stopped abruptly. The Commodore took his seat behind his desk. Captain Roberts grabbed a chair next to it.
“Neil, sorry we’re a bit late. Thanks for waiting.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The Captain here has checked you off on all the class material. You’ve finished up in record time. Scored very high as I’m told. Congratulations on that.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“So one of the reasons we called you in, Captain Wellington has been released and will be reinstated to flight status tomorrow. Have you heard that?”
“Yes, sir. I bumped into Hawk in the mess hall.”
“So Easy Money will have her pilot back now which frees you up again.”
“It was a privilege flying with her crew, sir.”
Captain Roberts cut in. “You’ve got some friends there, Neil.”
The Commodore continued, “Anyway, we’ve got some good news and some good news. You can’t beat that, can you?”
Jax raised an eyebrow.
“The first part is this, when a trainee finishes up at the top of his class like you did, sometimes he’ll be offered a commission. That’s the first good news. You’re being offered a commission. Interested?”
“What would I have to do?”
“Just sign on the dotted line that you agree to a longer contract with us. And at some point you’d need to attend officer’s training school and until you do the appointment would be listed as temporary, but ironically we don’t see any time in the near future when we could spare you for that long so chances are they’d end up waving the requirement anyway. So what do you think? Can we start calling you Lieutenant?”
Jax stood. “Where do I sign?”
When the deed was done, the Commodore smiled and nodded to Roberts then turned to Jax. He drew an envelope from his desk and handed it to him. “That’s your new insignia, Lieutenant. I was pretty sure you’d sign on the dotted line. And there’s a tradition of sorts for an occasion like this. Usually the new officer buys his sponsors drinks in the officer’s lounge.”
“Officer’s lounge? I can already use the officer’s lounge?”
“Actually, you may have trouble going in the other place now,” laughed the Captain.
It was a short walk from the Commodore’s office. Upon entering, there were a few exaggerated looks but a total lack of surprise shown, as though once again everyone already knew. The three men took seats at a small round table near the bar. An attractive young woman hurried to the Commodore’s table and took drink orders.
“So now that Captain Wellington is back online you are without an airplane, Neil,” said Roberts.
“Yes, sir. I guess I’m grounded,” replied Jax.
“That’s the second part of the good news, Lieutenant. Three more Lancasters arrived today. One of them has been assigned to you.”
Jax looked up with a doubtful expression. “You wouldn’t joke about that, would you, sir?”
Roberts answered. “We’re all pilots at this table, Neil. You really think we’d joke about that?”
“But you said I’ve got a plane. You meant that?”
“You can go check it out after this, Neil. Maybe touching it will help.”
Jax sat in stunned exhilaration.
“And if that isn’t enough,” laughed Roberts.
“Oh yes, you haven’t got a crew, Neil. Know anybody that’ll fly with you?”
Roberts laughed out loud.
Before Jax could reply, the Commodore accepted his drink from the server and raised his glass. “Here’s to Hanger Day, when all the trainees that have just completed their courses gather in Hanger Y to meet and figure out who wants to be in which new crew. I believe all your old friends from Cranwell will be in that group, Neil.”
A spike of excitement flushed through Jax at the thought of a reunion with his old classmates.
“So Jax,” said the Commodore. “You’ve got a pretty good serving of flak time under your vest these days. How are you handling it? Got any second thoughts lingering way in back somewhere?”
Jax nodded and sipped his drink. “It’s a strange feeling. I get a lot of satisfaction making it to the target area and getting the mission done. Then getting everyone back in one piece adds to it. But, I’ve never been about to feel proud about any of it.”
Roberts nodded to the Commodore and took a hit of his drink. “That’s it, Deck. He’s one of us.”
The Commodore replied, “It means you’re normal, Neil. But, I think you know why it’s that way.”
Jax eyed them both. “The word on the street is that we’re hitting a lot of civilians.”
The Commodore circled his glass in one hand and looked up with a tired eye. “We’ll always be straight with you, Neil. You’re putting us on the spot with that. But here it is. Yes, we’re hitting civilians, a lot of them. Add to that I am very afraid that before this war is over things will get a whole lot dirtier.”
“It’s the best we can do?”
Roberts answered. “The House of Commons keeps having meetings about the war plan because they hate what is happening. The problem is, a lot of them are afraid their families and homes will be bombed while they’re away. That makes for a real tough sales pitch.”
The Commodore nodded. “You already know this
stuff, Neil, but your mind would like to find a better answer and there is none. There’s no way yet to send fighter cover for the bombers, but if we go in daylight the losses are extreme. So we have to go at night. It’s bad enough even then. Hitler loves to put his factories in townships so the workforce is easily available. Those factories are pumping out the bombs and munitions you see being dropped on London. If we do not hit those factories they will continue pumping out bombs. So you put me on the spot, now I’ll turn it back on you. You have three choices: pack up and leave England and wait for Hitler to come find you, or surrender and let Hitler take over England, or keep fighting. What’s your choice, Neil?”
Jax froze at the question. “I . . . don’t know.”
“Nope. That answer is not allowed. England is under attack. You must do one of the three. Which is it, Neil? You’re on the spot. Do you run away, or surrender?”
“Those aren’t even choices,” replied Jax.
“So what does that leave you, Neil?”
The Commodore finished his drink and stood. “In some ways, we know you better than you know yourself, Neil. We’ve seen you fight alongside us. If Hitler ever does land on British soil, the three of us will still be here fighting to the end. I’ve got to get back to the office. By the way, you get the day off tomorrow, Lieutenant. Your bird’s not ready to fly yet. I’ll see you at Hanger Y on Saturday.”
Captain Roberts raised his glass and the Commodore turned and left. He turned to Jax. “Neil, I heard you flew with Pappy awhile.”
“He was my instructor at Brough. He was really something.”
“The next time you run into him, ask him what France was like under Hitler. He spent some time there.”
The Captain stood, left a tip on the table and patted Jax on the shoulder. He waved to other friends and left.
Neil stretched out on his bunk, marveling at the day’s good fortune. He locked his hands behind his head to consider all that had happened but quickly fell into a restless sleep filled with angry dreams where the future and past collided together in a spinning, chaotic storm. Desperate to escape, he pushed forward on oversized Lancaster throttles and the chaos morphed into flak, spotlights, and explosions. Somewhere, through the swirling fog of war, a vague, lone figure seemed to be calling him.