The Dawn Patrol
Page 18
Chapter Fifteen
Luftwaffe Command
Directive issued August 23rd, 1940
Continue the fight against the enemy air force until further notice, with the aim of weakening the British fighter forces. The enemy is to be forced to use his fighters by means of ceaseless attacks. In addition the aircraft industry and the ground organization of the air force are to be attacked by means of individual aircraft by night and day, if weather conditions do not permit the use of complete formations.
Concentrated attacks should continue on airfields, with attempts to lure RAF fighters into the air. They must be destroyed if we are to succeed. Fighters are to stay close to the bombers to give them full protection.
Hermann Göering
It was very late at night, on the evening of August 24th, 1940. Many significant waves of bombers from Germany had engaged the RAF to attack airfields and factories. Franz Scherig was at the controls of a Heinkel 111 bomber, and he was resolute, but afraid; it was his first time on a raid over England. He was very tired, and the anti-aircraft fire popping all around him stretched his mind like taffy, almost to a breaking point, explosions and flashes and flames. He flinched as an explosion took hold of a bomber in formation in front of his plane, and lower, and he watched in horror as the wings detached and the plane dived towards the earth below. He looked around the inside of his plane, and felt nervous in spite of his extreme weariness, knowing the Heinkel 111 was weak on defensive armament.
Franz just wanted to drop his payload and get home. He pondered the 4,400 pounds of explosives in the main internal bomb bay, and the damage they could do, and he lamented the fact that he was not a fighter pilot, wishing to have more direct combat than fly over hostile territory with anti-aircraft guns trying to bring him down. The plane shuddered, and he cursed the extra weight they had loaded him down with. As if 4,400 pounds of explosives is not enough! They must add another 7900 pounds in the external bomb bays! He fought with the controls, fuming at the increased weight and drag, feeling injured that the performance of the aircraft was so affected, amazed that they would maniacally pack so much explosives on the plane that it had required rock assisted take-off!
He thought about Berlin, and walking through the busy, lively streets, and looked forward to his next leave. He thought of the bar he liked to go to, and the fried potatoes they had there, and he found himself shaking his head, and realized he had been in a reverie. He was so tired that he didn’t realize he had veered off course, and neither did the bomber, who naturally assumed that the pilot knew what he was doing, and proceeded to let the bombs go. Franz felt a sense of relief as the plane responded more nimbly to his controls, now that it had been relieved of over 12,000 pounds of explosives. Neither of them realized that they had just bombed London’s civilian population for the first time, in direct violation of Hitler’s orders.
--
The advisors and members of the War Cabinet were silent, and Winston Churchill was furious. How dare they attack London! He balled his fist and struck the table, and growled. He looked around the table.
“There’s only one thing to do.” he said. “We must respond in kind. Options?” A representative from the Air Ministry circulated a short memo, and they all felt like the entire world was crossing a threshold. Bombing itself was still leaving them in a daze – the destructive force was beyond anything the world had known. There had been so many bombers, more than they could cope with. The effects on Birmingham had been devastating. But to bomb civilian targets!
Winston Churchill reviewed the memo and looked around the table again; there were nods. “So be it. How many bombers will go, and what type?”
“It will be 80-odd Hampden bombers”
“Send them to Berlin.” Said Winston Churchill. “Tonight”.
--
Elicia Wallace was aghast as she listened to the radio, talking about the bombs that had been dropped on London the night before.
“There’s no point!” she muttered, under her breath, talk as she sometimes did to the radio. She set down her knitting needles, and was thankful that she now had a daughter in law. She admired Edith, her courage in ferrying planes about, and wished she had courage.
Elicia gazed at the pictures of her departed husband that were lined up in a row on the dresser, and she decided that the time for mourning was over. She felt restless and alone, and she picked up the paper, reading it aimlessly until she came across an advert seeking air raid wardens and ambulance drivers to work in the East End. Her eyes sparkled a bit and she thanked the stars that she had experience driving. In her usual habit, she began to dismiss the thought as a fantasy, always the domain of others, falling into the familiar sense of inadequacy. I’m not the type, she thought to herself.
But later the thought was still with her. She felt the ache of the empty space in the bed beside her. She was thankful that they had a full life together, but she honored and loved her husband, and she felt as though she needed to honor the spirit that had driven him to risk everything. Even if I feel like a wee little mouse in a wide wide world.
The next day she left a note for Eric, in case something happened to her.
Dear Eric,
Well you’ll be as surprised as I am to find that I’m off to see what I can do in terms of driving ambulances around in the East End, for potential air raids; I saw an advert today, and I want to go help out, and honor the memory of your father. It’s strange times we live in, when widows leave notes for their sons, and don’t know if the notes will ever be read. But if you do come by this note, know that I love you, Eric, and have always been proud of you. Do take good care of the Order of the Dragonfly.
Mom
And a spirit of creativity came to her – my, my, it’s been a long time since I’ve done any drawing. And as a grace note, she sketched a little dragonfly on the note.
She smiled, pleased, and tidied up a bit, re-arranging a few things here and there, and making a note to get more sugar, when it would be available. Then she gathered her bag, reached into her tin of savings and brought out some crisp Bank of England notes and various coins, took one last glance inside, and then shut the door, heading off to get a ride to the train station.
--
Eric and Edith arrived at the hospital a few hours after they heard where Rudy had been brought to. He was sitting there, grinning, with part of his hair singed off, and his arm in a sling. He looked up and waved.
“I’m finding it quite humorous that a well-meaning set of ladies from the local parish church brought me some cookies they had baked, and then this pile of Picture Post magazines.” He gestured at the pile strewn about his hospital bed and the chair. “Because I’ve read almost all of these 100 times at the base, waiting there at the airfield.” And he looked up at Eric. “But I’m still glad to read them again, because I’m glad to be alive, you know?” and his cheerfulness was a welcome relief from the shadow and horror of the month of August.
“Well Rudy, I’m humbled, because I came here to see if I can cheer you up, and here you go dashing into conversation and you’re the one who has cheered me up.” said Eric, and looked with an uncertain expression at the book in his hand. “All I’ve got is a book of Persian history, and I don’t know as it could ever measure up to Picture Post”. He opened the book and thumbed through it a bit, and then smiled. “But it does seem to have pictures”
“Give it here, Limey, what is it?!” and he reached for the book, completely unselfconscious, with some ugly looking patches on his skull and bandages. Edith smiled in spite of herself. Dear Rudy.
“Hi Edith, you’re looking marvelously married.” said Rudy, as he opened up the book.
“It’s a book about Persia, and Gryphons” said Eric. “When I was at Oxford, talking to that Professor Tolkien and his pals at the pub, we had a long conversation about myths and history from different cultures, and at one point we talked about Persia, and Gryphons. I remembered that you liked a picture of a gryphon you saw,
so I thought I’d bring you a bit of the history.”
“Ah well that’s grand. I’ve been considering making it my emblem, having one painted on my plane.”
“Well someday we’ll have to go to Persepolis, in Iran. They have some significant gryphons there.”
“What?” asked Rudy. Edith nudged Eric.
“Ah, quite” said Eric, remembering to try and come out of his own head and realize not everyone had the same enthusiasm for history and myth and poetry and symbolism. “Persepolis was the ceremonial capital of the Achaemenid Empire” and he looked thoughtful and drifted off, but then caught Edith’s eye, which seemed to say, come back to earth, fly boy. And he patted her knee.
“Ok, let’s say the Achaemenid Empire was around 550–330 BC”. And he opened the book and found a map, knowing how much Rudy liked them.
“Let's seem, Persepolis is situated 70 km northeast of city of Shiraz in Fars Province in Iran.”
“What’s the Achaemenid Empire?” asked Rudy
“The Achaemenid Empire was founded by Cyrus the Great. It was also called the First Persian Empire or Medo-Persian Empire, and it was in Iran.” He felt like he was pushing his luck with the look Edith was giving him, and he finished quickly. “So there you have it.”
“Well thanks, Eric, that’s mighty grand of you.” and he looked up at them, and smiled at the way they were holding hands unconsciously.
“How’s married life?” he asked, with a bit of mischief that both Eric and Edith recognized. Edith blushed. Here we all are, facing down death, and here I am. like a schoolgirl. Married life is just fine, thank you very much, and all the more precious knowing each day might be our last together. And I’m very much hoping to become pregnant if at all possible, and to survive this war.
Edith stood up, taking her husband’s hand, smiling, as Rudy continued grinning.
“And on that note, we must be away . . . . to married life.” and she led Eric away.
“See you later, mate” said Eric. “You never know with these ferry pilots.”