Unexploded Love

by Paul Gait

  Contents

  Title

  Thanks

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Part One Getting to Know You

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Part Two Excavation

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Part Three Detonation

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Post Script

  Also by the Same Author

  The Godsons Legacy

  The Godsons Inheritance

  Copyright

  Thanks

  To my wife Helen, for allowing me to spend

  countless hours to develop yet another story;

  To family and friends, for continued

  support and encouragement.

  To Janet for again spending many hours

  proof reading my manuscript.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the Explosive Ordnance Disposal and de-mining teams around the world.

  CHAPTER 1

  2.45AM THURSDAY JUNE 1ST 1944

  The peace of the Belgium countryside was broken by the drone of large numbers of heavy bombers returning to England after night time bombing raids. Their missions had been to bomb the German transport infrastructure and attack enemy radar installations prior to the D – Day Normandy landings planned for 6th June.

  A huge, four engine Halifax bomber is trailing behind the main body of aircraft. Closing in very quickly behind the lumbering giant are two Messerschmitt ME109 fighters, like sharks hunting their prey. The German fighters’ speed and manoeuvrability are vastly superior to their target and they will surely take down the bomber like a ‘sitting duck.

  Desperately the pilot of the Halifax is wringing every bit of speed out of the Bristol Hercules engines. He knew within the formation of Lancaster bombers there would be an escort of Blenheim Mk IF night fighters which could offer protection.

  It is a race against time as the 350 mph Messerschmitts hunt down their quarry. The Halifax is an unwieldy aircraft with a maximum speed of 200mph.

  As they come in to range both pursuers start firing their MG 17 machine guns at the bomber. The shots do not find their target.

  However, their high speed approach has already been spotted on the radar equipped Blenheims and four night fighters peel off from the formation to attack the two intruders.

  Vastly outnumbered the German Me. 109 pilots make a hasty retreat and use every aerobatic manoeuvre to evade the formation’s aerial bodyguards and make good their escape.

  The mass formation of returning aircraft included planes which had taken part in large scale raids over Germany, France and Belgium. Also within the formation are two bombers from a small specialist raid on the vital railway network near the University town of Göttingen in Lower Saxony.

  Although the Halifax is not damaged, many of the group in the formation are wearing the scars of battle. Some are clearly struggling, just limping home with smoking or failed engines. Gaping holes in wings and fuselage, rear gunner turrets smashed.

  The Halifax pilot manoeuvred his heavy bomber into the back of the pack but struggled with the controls to keep his aircraft flying straight and level in the turbulence caused by the preceding planes.

  After seeing off the Messerschmitts, two of the fighter escorts pulled along either side of the Halifax and checked it out.

  However, strict radio silence, enforced on all ops, meant that no Morse code radio contact was undertaken with the newcomer. Instead, friendly gestures between the Halifax and fighter pilots reassured them of the integrity of the newcomer.

  Although cold and mentally exhausted by their long nocturnal missions the crews summoned their final reserves to maintain a high level of surveillance against any potential threat.

  To relax at this stage would be fatal. They had already survived attacks by enemy night fighters and the heavy defences surrounding their bombing targets.

  As the formation approached the Ack-ack guns on the German Atlantic Wall coastal defences over Belgium the tension increased.

  Fortunately tonight low cloud helped to hide their return to home shores and consequently very little flack came up to disrupt their homeward journey.

  The long adrenaline fuelled hours dragged on but there was a growing anticipation that ‘Lady Luck’ had helped them survive yet another mission. The Lancaster crews silently prayed that the drone of the four Rolls-Royce Merlin engines would continue until they got home.

  None of the airmen would admit that they were superstitious, but many crewmen secreted ‘lucky mascots in their personal kit bags and went through exactly the same ritual on every mission in case the change of routine would compromise their luck.

  Crews, hopeful but realistic, ticked off the obstacles to their safe return.

  The next one was crossing the relatively short span of the English Channel without having to ditch.

  Then, the final agonising part of their journey was to reach their home airfield hoping that Mother Nature wouldn’t throw a last minute meteorological surprise of fog or gale force winds at them.

  As they neared the English coast the formation split up and diverted to their various home airfields, relieved to have made it thus far.

  Finally having survived all those major challenges, they hoped that the landing gear hadn’t suffered any combat damage.

  However, the newcomer had fallen back from the formation.

  But the Halifax was still airworthy. It made the coast near Folkestone at low level. Coastal batteries and the ever watchful eyes and ears of the Royal Observer Corp recognised the unique sound of the Halifax. However they assumed that the plane was flying low because of battle damage.

  The ‘all seeing eye’ of the newly developed microwave radar saw the Halifax crossing the coast. But the trackers lost sight of it on their screens as it lost altitude. Fighter command waited for the report of a plane down, but nothing came in and were much relieved to receive reports of a bomber heading west over Reading flying at low altitude.

  Meanwhile, the plane quickly crossed southern England until it reached the Bristol Channel near Weston Super Mare. It then changed course and headed north following the meandering River Severn towards Gloucester startling early morning poachers illegally netting salmon as it zoomed over still at low altitude.

  Near the spire of Gloucester cathedral it turned inland.

  It was now 4.00am. In the distance the pilot could see a thin line of light sky as dawn backlit the Cotswold escarpment, the silhouette confirming his course.

  The defence batteries near Barnwood tracked the passing aeroplane as it flew overhead but were reassured by the familiar sound of the four Bristol Hercules engines and assumed that its destination was the nearby Gloucester Aircraft Company airfield at Brockworth.

  Their
assumption proved right, but they were dismayed to subsequently hear the sound of explosions, which, they assumed, was the plane crash landing and setting off sympathetic explosions at the site.

  However, the Halifax had not crashed but had deliberately dropped a string of delayed detonation high incendiary oil bombs on the factories and airfield.

  One of their own dropping bombs on their home soil! Surely a mistake?

  Confused by the unfolding events, the ack-ack battery surrounding the airdrome didn’t fire on the ‘friendly’ aircraft, but watched open mouthed as the plane flew away and appeared to fly into the side of the Cotswold escarpment and explode in a fireball.

  PART ONE

  Getting to know you

  CHAPTER 2

  Present day

  Frank strode along the corridor into the back bar of the Flying Machine pub, his Blackrock safety boots leaving a muddy trail of clay fragments behind him.

  As he pushed open the black, gloss painted door into the public bar, he could see there were no other customers in the small room.

  The bar furniture was sparse, but orderly. Chairs were neatly fitted under the round, varnished wooden tables. Four cardboard beer mats were neatly stacked in the centre of each table. There was a strong smell of paint about the place.

  Behind the counter Liz looked up as the young man strode over to the bar.

  ‘Pint of real ale, please,’ he asked, feasting his eyes lustfully over her trim frame. ‘Well now. I haven’t seen you in here before,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘Likewise, and if you come in here again with dirty boots it will be the last time too,’ she added, working the pull handle of the beer pump.

  ‘Oh, I like a domineering woman. I bet those beer engines are good for improving the bust too,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘Do you mind? We don’t want that sort of talk in here,’ she said, indignantly.

  ‘I was only going to say it’s working, that’s all,’ he explained artfully.

  ‘Look, do you want this pint in the glass or over your head?’ she added.

  ‘In the glass would be good, but whichever way you want to serve it is fine by me,’ he teased.

  ‘You’re a bit cocky aren’t you?’ she said, continuing to concentrate on expertly filling the glass with the brown liquid.

  ‘I have to say before I came in here, I was feeling a little off,’ he confessed, ‘but you definitely turned me on.’

  ‘Are you Irish?’ she asked, placing the filled glass in front of him.

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Well you’re certainly full of the blarney.’

  ‘Oh very good,’ he said offering her a fiver held unconventionally between his index and middle fingers.

  As she went to take it from him, he gripped her hand gently and said, ‘Would you hold this for me while we go for a walk?’

  ‘The only walking we’ll be doing together will be to the pub door to eject you,’ she added, slowly pulling her hand away.’

  ‘Can I buy you a drink then, it’s my birthday soon. We can celebrate together.’

  ‘Well for your cheek I’ll have a coffee, thank you. So where do you and your muddy boots come from?’ she asked going to the till and depositing the money.

  As he took a swig of beer he looked over the rim of his pint glass and gazed at her shapely figure and noted her long legs.

  ‘We’re doing some work on the site of the old Gloster Aircraft Company factory across the way, about half a mile away from here. I’ve been sat in a hot, sweaty JCB cab, digging holes all morning and felt in need of rehydrating myself.’

  ‘What are they going to do over there after all these years?’ she asked, returning opposite to him.

  ‘Supposed to be the start of a big development, Retail Park, houses, roads, you name it.’

  ‘I gather it’s been a bit of an eyesore for years. Let’s hope they’ve thought about the inevitable build-up of the traffic. It’s a nightmare as it is without adding to the chaos,’ she commented.

  ‘Probably not. You know what these developers are like,’ he said, supping his beer. ‘Cram ‘em in and maximise the profit. That’s what it’s all about.’

  ‘How long’s it likely to take?’ she queried

  ‘Oh I won’t be here all that time. We’re just preparing for surveying the ground works so the architects know what’s there. Apparently the factory produced thousands of planes during the Second World War.’

  ‘Really? What type of planes did they build?’

  ‘Apparently it was Hurricanes and Typhoons.’

  ‘Oh. It was obviously very important to the war effort then.’

  ‘It was an old airfield too and they reckon that there is a warren of tunnels which they used during the war to go between the various factory buildings.’

  ‘I suppose it must have had its fair share of bombing then.’

  ‘Yeah, so we were told. Anyway enough of this old history,’ he said perching on the bar stool. ‘Lets’ talk about something more interesting.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘Oh here we go again.’ Liz said, shaking her head in disbelief at his continued nonsense.

  ‘Of all the many beautiful things about you, your smile is my favourite.’ he added fixing her with a smile.

  ‘You can do better than that surely?’ she said returning his gaze.

  ‘Let me guess what you do when you’re not pulling pints. I bet you’re a prima ballerina in between jobs.’

  ‘Are you always like this with your corny chat up lines?’

  ‘No I’m normally much more forward,’ he quipped. ‘Anyway, with beautiful long legs like that, you can’t possible hide them serving behind the bar all day.’

  Liz felt herself colour up. She hadn’t experienced this level of compliments for years, for although she had lived on an army base; her husband’s rank probably protected her from any ribald remarks.

  At 35, Liz Witherton prided herself on her appearance. She spent an inordinate amount of time meticulously applying her makeup and looking after her distinctive shoulder length ginger hair. She was especially careful about choosing her clothes. It was retail therapy that kept her sane while husband William was serving the regiment as an Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) officer.

  ‘What’s your name cheeky boy?’ she asked.

  ‘People call me Frank. But you can call me tonight,’ he oozed.

  To Liz’s embarrassment and discomfort she saw Frank blatantly staring at her breasts. In fact, he was reading the name badge pinned on her polo shirt. ‘If that boob’s called Liz, what’s the other one called?’ he asked saucily.

  ‘Yes very funny. As if I hadn’t heard that one before a hundred times,’ she rebuffed.

  ‘Anyway, I think you’re much too sophisticated to be merely a Liz. I think you’re an Elizabeth,’ he observed.

  Embarrassed but liking the repartee, Liz moved away from the good-looking young man. There was an excitement building in her that she had not felt since she started dating William nearly fifteen years previously.

  ‘Do you do food?’ he asked putting his half empty beer glass down.

  ‘Yes, here’s the bar snack menu,’ she said, handing it to him.

  ‘What would you recommend?’ he asked, ignoring it.

  ‘Depends what you want,’ she asked innocently without thinking.

  ‘You know what I want?’ he smoozed.

  ‘When you’re ready to order food, let me know,’ she said trying to sound stern. So doing, she dropped the menu on the bar, turned away, poured herself a cup of coffee and started taking glasses out of the dishwasher, so that he couldn’t see her embarrassment.

  Frank picked up the list and quickly made his choice.

  ‘If I can’t have you for lunch, I’ll just have to order a BLT on brown and a large bowl of cheesy chips please.’

  ‘So that’s where you get your cheesy chat up lines from is it?

  ‘Oh, touché,’ he said, smiling,
pleased that she had returned his banter and looking forward to developing their relationship.

  ‘That’ll be £8:50 please,’ she said holding out her hand. He dug a ten pound note out of his back pocket and offered it to her as before but she pulled her hand away before he could clutch it again.

  She put the order through the till to the kitchen and gave him his change.

  ‘So what do you do when you’re not serving behind the bar?’ he quizzed.

  ‘Nothing that you would be interested in,’ she said, still busying herself behind the bar, not wishing to divulge anything else about herself. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Oh I do a bit of ‘keep fit’ down at the gym and play rugby.’

  ‘Yes, I could see that when you strutted into the bar.’

  ‘Well if you’ve got a good body, you’ve got to flaunt it. Same as yourself,’ he said flexing his biceps to reinforce the point.

  ‘You can hardly say that I’m flaunting myself dressed in a black polo shirt and black slacks.’

  ‘It depends on whose body that it’s wrapped around. In your case it fits in all the right places,’ he beamed, undressing her with his eyes.

  Liz blushed again, for as much as she wanted to reject his compliments she was also feeling very flattered by them too.

  In the kitchen the chef rang a bell to indicate the food was ready. Relieved to duck out of the full on raft of compliments Liz went through the small door behind the bar that led into the small kitchen.

  ‘Busy out there?’ the chef quizzed.

  ‘No. Only one in at the moment. Trying to chat me up,’ she added picking up the plate and bowl.

  ‘Don’t blame him. Why, if I was twenty years younger I’d…’

  ‘Oh don’t you start too. I shall be having you all for sexual harassment,’ she laughed, backing out through the swing door into the bar.

  ‘Oh that’s a beautiful sight,’ Frank said, watching her back her way into the bar.

  ‘You are so full of it,’ she replied putting the plate and bowl in front of him.

  ‘I meant the food of course,’ he added quickly. ‘What else did you think I meant?’