"Look out, Red Leader! Four Huns on your tails! I'm coming in to help!"
Jameson broke away from Yellow Section to fall in behind the attacking Messerschmitts, guns blazing.
"Let them have it, boys, then let's get out of here." Reynolds opened fire and the two other members of Red Section followed suit. David saw his bullets rip into one of the enemy, and prepared to fire another burst. His thumb pressed again on the button, but nothing happened.
"Red Two to Red Leader. My guns have jammed. As soon as we've shaken off these boys on our tails, I'm heading for home."
As David pulled his plane into a steep climb to avoid the enemy on his tail, he cursed angrily. The usual battle high was upon him, and to be unable to fire on the enemy galled him immensely. As he climbed higher, he saw Jameson bring down one of the raiders who had been on their tails.
"Well done, Yellow Two. I'll buy you a pint when we get back to base!"
Jameson laughed. "I'll hold you to that, David!"
David watched the battle raging around him and turned back towards Biggin Hill. He would make up for it next time he was sure, just as long as his guns did not jam again.
The thud of bullets ripping into his fuselage broke David's reverie, and he glanced in his mirror to see two fighters on his tail. Calling on all his experience and expertise, he rolled to the left to avoid them, but they stayed with him, firing all the time. Smoke began to pour from his engine, and a knot of fear settled in David's stomach.
"This is Red Two. Red Two. I've been hit and I've got no guns. Anyone free to help me?"
His words were flippant, but his anxiety was transmitted over the RT.
"This is Red Three. Hang on, David. I'm coming to get you."
Another burst of fire hit the Spitfire. David felt a pain like a fist punching him in the back. A warm wetness began to seep through his flying jacket as a wave of agony shot through him. His scream echoed over the RT. With a terrific effort of will, David forced himself to stay conscious.
"David? Are you all right? David?"
His head was spinning. He felt his control of the plane slipping. Flames were now pouring from the engine. He knew that he did not have long.
"I've taken a hit in the back. The plane is going down. I'm baling out."
"Good luck, David." Reynolds’ voice echoed in David's headphones.
"Thanks, sir." David unbuckled his harness as the plane began to fall forwards into a dive. He threw back the cockpit hood and tried to pull himself clear.
"I can't move my legs! I can't get out!" His mouth was dry and his hands shook. His vision was becoming blurred as the blood loss took hold.
"Come on, David! You can do it!"
David shook his head to clear it. "No. Not this time. When you write to my parents, tell them I love them."
The Spitfire was in a steep dive now. As the pain in his back expanded to fill his whole being David heard the scream of his plane rising in pitch. He watched the ground race closer, spiralling in a dizzying pattern that added to his disorientation. Soon, too soon, the green and brown of the land took on recognisable shapes - fields, roads, a stream. A clump of trees raced towards him, and David closed his eyes.
"I'm glad we parted as friends, Tony," he whispered.
He felt the first impact as the Spitfire ploughed into the trees and began to cartwheel. But long before the plane came to rest he knew no more, and would know nothing ever again.
29
Tony stood between his mother and grandmother, starring numbly at the wooden casket containing the final remains of his brother. He had returned home on leave before the next stage of his training, to be greeted with the devastating news of David's death; the funeral was planned for two days later and now here they stood, David's close family and a few friends from his youth, to pay their respects and say their final goodbyes.
Louise Kemshall stood dry-eyed at the graveside. For some time now she had been expecting to hear the dreadful news that her eldest son had not survived the battle for air supremacy over England, but the telegram had still numbed her and put her in a state of shock from which she had yet to recover. Tony placed a comforting hand on her arm and looked past her at his father, stony faced and silent as he stared at the heap of dark earth which would soon cover his son forever. He had said no more than a few words to Tony over the last two days, and seemed to have shrunken, withdrawn within himself with the thought that all his hopes and dreams for the future were now shattered. Tony turned his attention back to the minister at the head of the grave.
"He was a brave man," he was saying. "Without men like David the evil of Hitler and his Nazi regime would engulf the whole world. But with one man like David Kemshall willing to fight the tyrant, then the light of the Lord will not be overcome by the darkness of Germany's dictator." He opened the Prayer Book in his hand and began to read from Psalm 27.
"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked, even my enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell. Though a host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident. One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the House of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his Temple. For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in His pavilion: in the secret of his Tabernacle shall he hide me; he shall set me up upon a rock. And now shall my head be lifted up above my enemies round about me; therefore will I offer in His Tabernacle sacrifices of joy; I will sing, yea I will sing praise unto the Lord. Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice: have mercy also upon me and answer me..."
Sir Michael bent down to take a handful of earth and throw it down on the coffin. Louise did the same. As Tony knelt in the damp earth to say a final farewell to his brother, he felt the hot wetness of his mother’s tears fall onto the back of his hand and knew that she had broken through the barriers of shock at last.
When the family returned from the graveside, Chantrelle de Thierry gently led her daughter up to her room. The final release of her emotions left Louise feeling drained both physically and emotionally, and her mother had wisely decreed that she should rest. Sir Michael was left in the drawing room with his only surviving son. After pouring and handing him a whisky, he shook his head grimly.
"I suppose it had to happen eventually. We’ve lost so many good young men in these air battles. It was too much to hope that David would survive."
Tony sipped his whisky. "He was a hero, Dad. I shall always remember him with pride."
Sir Michael nodded. "I suppose that’s some consolation, but it doesn't heal the pain." He looked at Tony in silence for a few moments, then took a deep breath. "Last time you and David were home you seemed to get on well; just like when you were boys."
Tony nodded and smiled sadly.
"David and I discussed your job," Sir Michael continued. "He seemed to think it was important, and asked me to give you the benefit of the doubt. I’ve tried to do that, mainly for the sake of your mother.”
Tony took a deep breath. 'Not now!’ he thought. ‘We’ve just buried David, and now he’s going to have a go at me!’ But then he saw the steely look in his father’s eye. ‘Here it comes' he thought. He took another swallow of whisky.
"I suppose things will change now that David’s dead."
Tony boldly faced his father. "Why?"
Engulfed by grief, Sir Michael struggled to keep from shouting at the only child he had left.
"Why? Your only brother is dead! Killed by the Germans! You’ve just said that he was a hero. Surely you want to avenge him? I know that I do, and if I were young enough I’d be out there fighting now!" He gestured wildly towards the window. "Don't you feel like that too? Don't you feel a burning pain, an emptiness where David should be? He’ll never fill that emptiness again, Tony; don't you want to fill it, with anger and hate a
nd killing? Don't you want to avenge his death?"
"Yes, I want to avenge him. I loved David dearly. I’m truly proud of what he did, but I see my present job as the best way I can make a contribution, the best way I can pay Hitler back for what he’s done to us. David understood."
"Did he really, or was he just humouring you? You think the best you can do to avenge your brother’s death is to hold down a desk job that a man of my age could do? What's the matter with you, Tony? Are you really such a coward? You make me ashamed to be your father!" Hurt, pity, pain but most of all grief shone from Sir Michael's eyes as he spat out the words. But Tony was too wrapped up in his own pain to see, too buried in his own heartache to reach out a hand and bring the two of them close together again.
"I've had enough of this Dad!" Tony could contain his anger and frustration no longer. He slammed his glass down on the table and turned to face his tormentor. "You’re constantly criticising me! Even today, when we should be honouring David and all that he has done, you still take the time to tell me what I’m doing is wrong! I happen to believe that my job is worthwhile, and David felt the same. You've been in the army, Dad. Surely you don't think that those in authority would have given me this job, if they didn't think it was the best contribution I could make to the war effort?"
"I don't know what to think anymore!" Sir Michael was shouting now. "I was so proud of you when you came back from Dunkirk. I felt that both of my sons were heroes. Now you're content to sit behind a desk and let your brother’s death go unavenged! I don't know how you managed to persuade them to give you this job. All I can say is that I am ashamed of you. If I had my way I would never see you again!"
All the bitterness at the loss of David was in Sir Michael's voice as he turned away and looked out of the window, the view clouded by his tears of anger and grief. Tony stood in silence and stared at his father’s unrelenting back. The urge to tell his father the truth was almost unbearable. When he joined the S.O.E. he had expected difficulties at home, but never anything like this. He closed his eyes tightly and clenched his fists, fighting to control his feelings. At last he spoke, his voice little more than a whisper.
"Do you want me to leave, Dad? Are you throwing me out of the only home I’ve ever known?"
For a moment Sir Michael said nothing, then his shoulders slumped slightly as he sighed deeply and shook his head. Not able to turn back to face his son he continued to gaze out at the gardens.
"I would rather not see you again, but David asked me to be kind to you. For his sake, and for your mother who has just buried one son and could not face losing her last remaining child, I can’t throw you out. You can continue to live here, but don't expect to resume your old relationship with me. As far as I’m concerned you’re a disgrace to this family. I’ll speak to you no more than is absolutely necessary. Now leave me."
Tony stood in silence for a moment before turning to leave the room. His heart, already pained at the death of his brother, was now nearing breaking point at his father’s rejection. As he slipped quietly from the room, he did not see the tears in his father’s eyes. If he had, things might have turned out differently.
The slamming of the lodge door behind him did nothing to assuage the hurt and anger Tony felt. He stormed down the steps and headed towards the river, his pent up emotions adding speed to his steps. Here he was, not yet fully through training, almost wishing he had never heard of the SOE, never joined its secret ranks. True, he knew that the work was vital and he also knew he would not resign. But how he wished he could tell his father what it was all about. He knew that Sir Michael would be proud of him, for it takes a special kind of courage to live amongst the enemy, in constant danger of discovery, knowing that if you are caught you will be shot as a spy. Yet his father believed him to be a coward. Tony kicked at an old tree stump in frustration, and groaned as the pain jarred his foot. Turning around he gazed up at the warm, welcoming facade of Heronfield House. For a time his thoughts turned away from the war, and in his mind he re-lived his childhood. Suddenly it struck him; the one thing that angered him more than anything else about this situation was that he would never be able to tell David about his work with the SOE. His brother had died thinking Tony was trying to avoid active service. Slowly his anger was replaced by sadness and a keen sense of loss. No-one had ever been closer to him than David. No-one had ever known him quite so well. Now he was alone.
Tony turned back to the river and sat down, the peaceful flowing of the waters helping to soothe him. He had no idea how long he had been sitting there, when a shadow fell across the grass in front of him and he looked up.
Tony rose to his feet, the ghost of a welcoming smile lighting his face. "Sarah. It's good to see you."
Sarah smiled.
"I'm glad to see you too, Tony, though I wish it could have been under happier circumstances." She stopped smiling and laid a comforting hand on his arm. "I was so sorry to hear about your brother’s death. From what I've heard, he was a very brave man."
Tony nodded, trying desperately to control the tears.
"I shall miss him terribly, Sarah. Life just won't be the same without him."
Though Sarah said nothing, Tony could feel the warmth of her sympathy and all his pent up emotions broke through at last. As his tears flowed, Sarah reached up a hand to wipe them softly from his cheek. Tony felt his heart melt. After all of the confrontation at home here was someone with whom he could share his grief. Slowly he lowered his head, until it rested against Sarah's shoulder. For a moment she did not know how to respond then, almost of their own volition, Sarah's arms moved. She cradled him to her, then began to stroke his hair as she whispered words of comfort. After a time, Tony's tears ceased to flow and he became aware of himself being held in the comforting embrace of Sarah’s arms. He wished that he could remain there forever, safe from his father’s anger and rejection, safe from the emptiness of life without David, safe with someone who understood and cared. As if aware of Tony's thoughts, Sarah ceased to stroke his hair and gently stepped back. She gazed out over the river, giving him time to compose himself.
It was Tony who eventually broke the strained silence between them.
"Thank you, Sarah. You’ll make a good nurse. You know just what to do and say to help your patients!”
"I hope you will never be a patient of mine." Sarah turned to Tony. "I hope you will never be injured in this ghastly war."
Tony smiled, thinking of the courses he still had to attend before he could go out to France.
"Thank you for your concern, but I should be quite safe for the time being."
"Haven't you decided to transfer to an active unit?" Sarah asked. She was shocked by Tony's grim response.
"No. I have not. I’ll continue to do the job that my superiors think I’m best qualified to do. And if you or my father, think you can make me change my mind, then you can just think again!"
"Just a minute!" Sarah protested. "I thought you would want to fight to avenge your brother, but I wouldn't dream of trying to influence your decision. That’s not my place."
"Do you think I'm a coward?"
Sarah was silent for a moment, her gaze reflective, then she slowly shook her head. "I hardly know you, Tony, but you don't strike me as the cowardly sort. But I don't understand your reluctance to fight."
Tony sighed sadly. "I had hoped that you, of all people, might understand; or at least just accept me as I am." He reached out a hand to touch her cheek. "Please don't judge me until this war is over, Sarah. I may surprise you yet."
Sarah frowned, troubled by the strange inconsistencies in Tony's character, and stepped back so that his hand no longer touched her cheek. After a hesitant moment, Tony let his hand fall limply to his side.
"It's not my place to judge you, Tony. After all, I hardly know you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return to work."
Without waiting for a reply Sarah turned and walked away. As he watched her retreating figure, Tony realised that no matter how
short their acquaintance, nor what she thought of him, he was in love with Sarah Porter. As he contemplated the lie he must live until the end of the war, he knew that he would not be able to compete with her boyfriend in Coventry. He realised that the price he would have to pay for working with the SOE was going to be far higher than he had ever anticipated.
NOVEMBER - DECEMBER 1940
30
Tony was glad to be posted closer to home for the third part of his training, which took place in the New Forest. It felt good to be in familiar countryside and within reach of home, and of Sarah, even though he could not visit. The officers in charge were living at Beaulieu Manor while the agents in training, of whom Tony was just one of many, stayed in a group of country houses in the vicinity. They had all been vacated for the duration in the same manner as Heronfield, and he felt strangely at home. On his first morning there, Tony found himself in the company of nineteen other trainees in a small drawing room, which had been converted into a lecture hall. To his immense surprise, the man who stood up to speak to them was Lieutenant Jim Briggs.
Jim gave no sign of recognising Tony as he embarked upon a talk which he had obviously given before.
"You have all been through the first two stages of training," he began, "and can now be considered fit enough and capable enough with weapons to be of use to us overseas. Now we come to the most important part of your training. If you fail to learn all we have to teach you here, then you will not survive behind enemy lines." He surveyed the grim faces ranged in front of him.
"You all know France well enough for one reason or another, that’s why you’ve joined us; but before now you have always been an Englishman in France. You must now learn how to be a Frenchman, for it is the little things that will give you away to the enemy. The life of an agent won't be filled with endless excitement. There will be long periods of inactivity; but you must never forget that you’re playing a role, never forget your cover story or how to behave like a Frenchman. For instance, don't forget that the French drive on the right. You must look left then right before crossing the road, not right then left as you do at home. We lost agents to that simple mistake during the last war."
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