“Garden Leader. Green and Yellow Flights, into Me 110s covering at angels twelve. Blue Flight, target the bombers. Tally-ho. Over.”
There were Junkers 88s making low level attacks from the east while Stukas dived from directly above. Avoiding one might well render a ship vulnerable to the other. Red Flight was in close contact with the Ju 87s and there were Me 110s diving onto them. Thomas estimated fifty bandits in total.
He led his Flight low across the bows of the leading ship, an armed trawler, and head on into the 88s, levelling off at a bare one hundred feet and closing too fast. He throttled back and the three of the Flight caught up with him, as they had trained, and they attacked in line abreast.
“Garden Leader. Hold… Hold… Nearer yet… Not yet… Fire!”
Thomas noticed a hole in his wing, wondered how it had got there. The nose went down and he hauled on the stick, pushing the throttle wide open, jerking just above the German bomber as it went into the sea. He made an Immelmann, trying to shout into the intercom at the same time, blood seeming to drain out of his head as he forced the manoeuvre as hard as he could without fully blacking out.
“Garden Leader. Back into them. Over.”
It was a fairly pointless command, but they might as well hear his voice.
“Break, Peter!”
“Red Flight. Reform on me.”
“I’m hit. Shit it hurts.”
“On fire. Baling out.”
There were other shouts, impossible to pick out as they overrode each other. Thomas saw a flaming fighter hit the sea; he could not spot a parachute. He looked about, could not see his wingman either. There was a Stuka making its clumsy recovery from a bombing run, to starboard, three hundred feet below…
He banked hard, brought his nose onto the dive-bomber, a beam attack, which he did not like. He aimed off a little, too far, brought his bullet stream along the nose and through the cockpit. Successful but too long a burst. He flicked into a hard turn and climbed left and changed quickly to the right, trying to see what was happening.
They had been fighting for nearly three minutes, time to travel twelve miles, well away from the convoy. He pulled back towards the ships, opening the throttle. He might have had two seconds of ammunition left, enough to be useful, to annoy a bomber if not kill it.
The sky above the convoy was empty. The ships had ceased fire. There was smoke coming from one collier, no other sign of damage.
“Garden Leader. Undamaged Garden aircraft to me over the convoy. Out of ammunition or damaged, pancake. Over.”
There were no acknowledgements – but there was no point to announcing what they intended.
“Garden Leader, Control. Commencing patrol of convoy. Low on ammunition. Over.”
“Garden Leader. Relief arriving minutes five. Over.”
Thomas landed, still without a wingman and discovering that he had taken more damage than the hole in the wing he knew about. The controls were sloppy. He bounced and skewed to port and was lucky to bring the plane back on line, moving cautiously to the hangars.
His fitter and rigger came across to him, shaking their heads.
“Not flying this one again today, sir. Could put me head in that hole in the wing, sir.”
“Sorry. I think I got too close to the Navy. Got an 88 and a Stuka in exchange.”
“Oh, that’s alright then, sir. ‘Fair exchange is no robbery’, that’s what my mum always said.”
Thomas stood back, trying to take a count. He could see no more than fourteen Hurricanes in front of the hangars. He spotted Jim, waved him across.
“Can you see who we’ve lost?”
“Ivor turned the wrong way. Took a full load from a 110. Flamer. His parachute became alight as he baled out.”
“Exit Ivor. Pity. I had hoped we had trained him up enough. Did you see anyone else? We’re missing two.”
“Jack Entwhistle shouted he was hit. I never saw him.”
George came over.
“Saw Jack, Thomas. Low and heading back to the coast. Might have made it. Broke me duck, Thomas! Got a 110, all of me own! Filled his cockpit from fifty yards, just the way you said, dear boy! Was getting worried, you know – didn’t know if I could do it, as the bishop said to the actress!”
“Well done. I thought you’d get something pretty quickly, George. Knew you’d got the makings of a fighter pilot.”
Sometimes a squadron leader had to tell lies, Thomas reflected, but all in a good cause. He looked about, spotted the queue in front of the Idiot, joined them to make his own report. Martin was just in front of him.
“Didn’t see you in the fight, Martin?”
“I went wide when you flew through the ack-ack, Thomas. Couldn’t pull up on you. I damaged an 88 and then put some hits onto a Stuka. Nothing went down.”
“Fair enough. I suppose it was a foolish thing for me to do. Try to keep up next time.”
“Am I still your wingman, Thomas?”
“Of course. Why shouldn’t you be? Flying into a barrage ain’t the wisest of actions.”
The Idiot was busy. He could handle four pilots at a time; fourteen was excessive. He did not think he should depute his own sergeant to interrogate the pilots – considerations of rank supervened.
“Simon saw your 88, Thomas, so that’s confirmed. For the Stuka – there’s eight claimed and you know how likely that is. The Navy will report how many they saw go down. Two 110s are certain, by the way. Gorgeous George definitely got one and Peter took the other - and shot the gunner as he jumped.”
“How unfortunate. Don’t claim the gunner.”
“No, Thomas. Did he not ought to be stopped from killing parachutists, Thomas?”
“I shall tell him it’s a bad habit. Other than that – he is too good a pilot to ground.”
They were told two hours later that Jack Entwhistle had reached dry land, crashing on the cliffs with a bullet through his calf, and would be hospitalised for some days.
“Could be worse, Tony. One dead, one injured but returning to duty eventually. Two planes lost. Four damaged and out of use for some days. All four to be picked up and taken off by road for repair at the civilian central repair stations.”
“New planes in by the end of the day, so they tell me, Thomas. No replacement pilots, but we are well supplied with them already.”
They flew two more patrols during the day, single Flights who spent boring hours circling an innocent convoy as it plugged through the Channel at eight knots.
“Must get the coal through, Thomas. Every electrical power station on the south coast burns coal and the railways cannot carry the extra tonnage. The colliers must sail.”
It was the worst sort of duty – the fighters could be watched from the French coast, or by spotter planes at a safe distance, and strikes could be called as the escorts changed. A window of as little as five minutes would allow a raid to get through.
The replacement Hurricanes arrived that evening, six of them, ferried in from the station at Brooklands. Four of the pilots were women, including Grace. The whole of the ground staff cheered as she greeted Thomas.
“Careless of you, husband! Bending six kites in one day!”
“Happens, love. Especially trying to nursemaid bloody convoys. We have to fly through the Navy’s barrage to get at the bombers. What have we got here? All Mark IIs?”
“I think so. Variable pitch and metal wings and armour plate behind the seat. Warn the ground crew that the guns are loaded, Thomas.”
Thomas passed the message hurriedly.
“Unofficial policy now. The Hun has been seen over the coast so we are permitted to carry loaded guns – as long as we are not known to use them, of course. Can’t have women firing guns, Thomas.”
“Quite right, too, love. You’ll have the Dowding Spread so get very close before you open fire.”
“I shan’t forget, but the need won’t arise unless we’re unlucky. On that topic, still no news of Tom. It looks certain that he did not come bac
k by way of Dunkirk. Posted ‘missing’. Nancy is trying to get news through his sources. The last thing we know for sure is that Gort personally put him in charge of an anti-aircraft section which may then have set up on the dunes.”
“Not good news, love. How’s the rest of the family?”
“Lucinda is in London, still. At Barts. She will be remaining there as a surgeon. She thinks it’s a wonderful opportunity, professionally. Daddy is due to go overseas. He thinks he may be sent to Malta now that Italy is in the war. Might be Egypt instead. Probably as Air Vice Marshal. Mother is busy organising the community, especially in the growing of vegetables, it would seem. I saw Tommy a couple of days ago. He’s promoted and has his anti-shipping command, though he’s now short of planes.”
“He’ll be happy. Always was much more in the way of bombing and ground attack and such.”
A Dominie came in low and landed.
“That’s our transport, Thomas. I must go, my love. I don’t doubt I shall see you again in the next few days.”
“I’ll try not to bend too many.”
“It may well be out of your hands, my love.”
She climbed in, turning to give a final wave.
Thomas watched the plane out of sight and called for his flight lieutenants.
“Busy times a-coming, gentlemen. We should organise the Flights and set up rosters for the pilots. I want to see all of us taking time off flying, one day in four should be the aim. Mind you, that all depends on Fat Hermann. When he finally pulls his finger out, we will all be busy.”
# # #
Thank you for reading The Breaking Storm. Note: The author’s Innocents at War Series, has received much critical acclaim and comes highly recommended. Find out more here:
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By the Same Author
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Man of Conflict Series: Youngest son of a wealthy English merchant, Septimus Pearce is an utterly spoiled brat whose disgraceful conduct threatens his family’s good name. His father forces him to join the army in an attempt to reform him, but even the disciplines of army life where he sees bloody action in three countries fail to exorcise his nastier character traits. Please note: This series is currently available to Kindle Unlimited subscribers.
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Innocents at War Series: The Royal Flying Corps grew from the amateur hobbyists flying the earliest and most dangerous machines. Mostly drawn from the Army and Navy, the pilots regarded themselves as gentlemen members of a new club. The Great War saw the death of amateurism - except in the higher ranks - and the unplanned, fortuitous creation of a professional force.
Innocents at War follows the career of Anglo-American flier, Tommy Stark, an enthusiastic boy forced to grow up quickly as many around him die. His deep affection for squire’s daughter, Grace is his only certainty as the bitter conflict threatens to strip the world of its innocence.
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The Duty and Destiny Series: These superbly-crafted novel length sea/land stories are set in the period of the French Revolutionary War (1793 – 1802). The series follows the naval career and love-life of Frederick Harris, the second son of a middling Hampshire landowner, a brave but somewhat reluctant mariner. (Book One was first published in 2014.) Please note: This series is currently available to Kindle Unlimited subscribers.
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Hungry Harry: An Orphan in the Ranks: Born in a home for fallen women, at the age of eight the barefooted and waiflike Harry is sent out to work. After years of unpaid toil and hunger, he runs away and is cajoled into believing that the Army is his only option. He joins a battalion that is sent to Africa’s Slave Coast where disease is the biggest killer of men. When the much-thinned battalion returns to England and is disbanded, he drifts into smuggling in order to survive. All goes well until he is betrayed and forced back on the run. Leaving the West Country behind, he enlists in a Sussex regiment which is sent to quell rioting in the north where he faces danger from the angry Mob, and from the rage of a sadistic young ensign who is out for Harry’s blood.
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Book One: Long Way Place: In the early 1900s gutter rat, Ned Hawkins aims to rise from the grinding poverty of an English slum, but is forced to flee the country and ends up in Papua. It is a dangerous place where cannibalism and cannibals are never far away. Despite this menacing backdrop, he prospers and almost by accident, finds love. However, there are ominous stirrings in the land that bode ill for the future. Note: All three books are now available on Kindle.
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The Breaking Storm (Innocent No More Series, Book 2) Page 28