Dogfight

by Craig Simpson

  He was right! A steady crosswind had pushed us westwards. ‘How long has she been like this?’ I asked.

  ‘God knows! Your guess is as good as mine.’

  I snatched up the chart and examined the series of straight lines I’d drawn. I marked a cross where I estimated we were, based on my calculations. ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I’ve kept an eye on our airspeed, so I reckon my estimate of distance covered is OK. Agreed?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘OK.’ I drew an arc of about ninety degrees, cutting the cross I’d marked about mid way. ‘So we must be somewhere on this curve.’

  ‘If we’re flying south and she’s drifting to starboard, we must be west of where you thought.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘Right, Finn. So turn ten degrees east.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes. That’ll bring us back on course.’ He looked confident.

  ‘Let’s hope you’re right!’

  Our fuel gauges showed our tanks were now just a quarter full. I knew that flying low burned fuel quicker than at altitude but the speed at which the needles were dropping scared the hell out of me. Visions of ditching into the sea flashed into my head. I wondered if the Luftwaffe supplied their aircrews with life rafts and, if they did, where they were and how they worked.

  When I shared my fears with Loki, he climbed out of his seat and went to search for the safety equipment. While he was gone, I noticed the horizon to the east. It was getting light. Dawn would soon break. On the bright side we’d be able to spot land. On the down side the RAF would be able to spot us!

  Loki returned. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’

  ‘Whichever.’

  ‘Well, the Luftwaffe has kindly furnished us with a life raft. That’s the good news.’

  ‘Great! So what’s the bad news?’

  ‘I’ve absolutely no idea how to inflate it.’

  ‘Oh. Don’t suppose there are any parachutes, are there?’

  ‘Afraid not.’

  ‘Damn. Still, it’s getting light,’ I said cheerfully.

  Loki sat back down and thrummed his fingers nervously on the controls. ‘Let’s climb,’ he said. ‘Better chance of spotting land.’

  At six thousand feet, and with the early morning light, we could see far and wide. ‘There! You were right, Loki. It did bring us back on course. Land!’

  I punched the air with delight. Our destination was no more than a greyish smudge on the horizon but that was enough to make me rejoice. We were almost there.

  Suddenly I heard pinging sounds. Then I saw a stream of bright, white lights hurtle past us. Our plane lurched. More pinging. More white flashes. This time, our port wing dipped a few degrees.

  Tracer fire! I looked to my left. There was a string of bullet holes in the wing. I didn’t think they’d hit the engine – it looked fine. From behind us, to our left, maybe no more than sixty feet above us, a dark shape screamed past and climbed steeply.

  ‘What was that?’ I shouted.

  ‘Spitfire!’ Loki replied.

  ‘Wow! She looks fantastic!’ I said, peering after her.

  ‘I agree,’ said Loki, ‘but I’d prefer it if she wasn’t firing at us!’

  Another Spitfire screamed past us, then another. I was transfixed. So that was what Father had flown. No wonder he enthused so much. Their curves looked amazing, their elliptical wings with pointed tips making them seem more akin to birds than fighter aircraft. And so fast!

  Loki began to undress.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I stared at him.

  ‘Get on the radio, Finn. See if you can make contact. Try and stop them from shooting us down.’

  I grabbed the headphones, slipped them on and set about scanning the radio frequencies to pick up the pilots’ transmissions. By now Loki had his shirt off and was peeling off his vest. I thought he’d flipped, until it clicked. Of course, a white vest, a signal of surrender. He opened the cockpit window an inch. The icy wind raced in and blew my chart and papers into a flapping frenzy. He tore his vest and tied one end onto a catch on the inside of the window. He fed the vest out through the narrow opening, and then closed the cockpit canopy. Inspecting his handiwork, he cursed, got up out of his seat again and disappeared.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Had another idea. Just keep trying that radio.’

  I saw the Spitfires arcing in a turn that would bring them round and in for a second attacking run. I hit the transmit button, and tried the best English I could manage in the situation. ‘We is Norwegian, over. Escaped, over. Don’t shoot, over!’ I listened. No response. I switched frequencies and repeated my message. Again and again, I broadcast my plea. I couldn’t see the Spitfires any more. They had to be behind us. No way could I outmanoeuvre them.

  Loki returned carrying an odd-looking pistol. I recognized it. We’d kept a similar one on our fathers’ plane. It was called a Very pistol, and it fired flares. He snapped it open and inserted a cartridge. Yanking the cockpit window open again, he reached out and pulled the trigger. ‘OK, Finn. There’s not much else we can do. We’re going to have to land this bird and hope for the best.’

  The three Spitfires buzzed round us like flies, but thankfully they decided not to blast us out of the sky. Either the flare or Loki’s vest had done the trick. I kept on trying to send radio messages, even taking on board Loki’s idea of broadcasting maydays. But I got no reply.

  The coast seemed much nearer. I could see craggy cliffs, skerries and wide, sweeping bays. We eased our columns forward and began a slow descent. I throttled right back and watched our airspeed drop. Loki adjusted the flaps. ‘Looks a bit choppy down there,’ I said. ‘See those waves?’

  ‘I think it’s going to be a rough landing, Finn.’

  Seeing us descend, I think the Spitfire pilots understood our intention to land because two peeled off and headed away while the third shadowed us, remaining close to our wing tip. I tried waving to the pilot. I saw him looking at me but he didn’t wave back.

  The water seemed very close now. ‘Loki,’ I said, ‘have you ever actually landed a plane?’

  ‘Erm, no. Have you?’

  ‘No.’

  We looked at each other, and then both burst out laughing. It wasn’t funny, of course. It was ridiculous. And frightening too. But after all we’d been through, laughter was the only way we could cope. ‘First time for everything, I guess,’ I said.

  ‘Let’s head for that bay,’ Loki suggested, pointing slightly to his left. ‘We’ll beach her on the shore.’ He reached down and adjusted the flaps a notch. I felt the effect immediately on the column, and our airspeed dropped. I gave the throttles a tweak. ‘Gently does it,’ he said. ‘Better to come in slow than too fast. Just remember to lift her nose before touchdown. We’ll glide her in, just like that Lysander pilot did.’

  I began to sweat. My breathing grew laboured. My grip on the column tightened.

  ‘Easy does it,’ said Loki. ‘Nice and slow.’

  I glanced at our airspeed – ninety-five miles per hour.

  I looked at the altimeter – just under two hundred feet.

  I peered out of the cockpit window – the coastline looked close, and there were a lot of rocks poking through the waves.

  ‘Here goes,’ Loki announced. ‘Say a quick prayer, Finn.’ He grabbed the throttles and yanked them to their minimum setting. The engine note dropped and I immediately felt our descent quicken.

  ‘Read out our altitude,’ I shouted.

  ‘One hundred and twenty feet … one hundred … eighty … sixty …’

  I pulled the column back slightly, lifting the plane’s nose.

  ‘Forty …’

  We smacked the surface of the sea and the jolt jarred my spine before we lifted back up and tilted horribly to our left. Thinking we’d spin and crash back down, I grabbed the throttles, all set to take her back up again, but Loki reached out to stop me. ‘We’re OK, Finn.’ He threw his column to the
right. We seemed to straighten up. Then we hit the waves again – hard. We lifted again, but not so high.

  On striking the waves for a third time, we barely bounced. Instead, the floats settled and we decelerated fast, as if we’d braked really hard. Suddenly we were still, bobbing in the swell.

  Loki turned and grinned at me in delight. ‘We’ve done it, Finn! My God, we’ve actually done it! We’ve landed safely. We’re alive! I can’t believe it. That’s Scotland over there.’ He pointed. ‘Unoccupied territory. No Germans! Finn, we’re free.’

  I looked at my friend. Tears of exhaustion and joy were streaming down his cheeks.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s beach this wonderful bird and say hello to the natives.’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  A Very British Welcome

  ROLLING BREAKERS HELPED bring us ashore. We shut down the engines and hurried to get out. Loki was first down the ladder. On his heels, I ran along the float and leaped onto the beach. Loki fell to his knees and kissed the ground.

  I dropped Jack’s briefcase onto the sand, knelt down and scooped up big handfuls of Scotland. We were euphoric, unable to contain our joy. Loki stood up, placed his hands on his hips, peered towards the dunes and scrub vegetation, and inhaled deep breaths. ‘Looks like a fine country, Finn,’ he declared.

  ‘Aren’t you cold?’ I said.

  ‘No! Look, Finn, there’s no snow. It’s winter and there’s no snow!’

  ‘Even so.’

  He had only put his shirt back on, and it was still unbuttoned. A stiff breeze whipped along the beach. As I had both an anorak and flying jacket on, I took off my anorak and handed it to him. ‘I wonder where the nearest town or village is,’ I said.

  ‘Can’t be far. We’ll head inland. We’re bound to come across a road or farmhouse, or something. We haven’t gone unnoticed, remember.’

  I looked up and shielded my eyes. The Spitfire that had shadowed us sped past, flying parallel with the shore and barely more than fifty feet in the air. Her engine sounded fantastic, unlike any other aircraft I’d heard before. The Rolls-Royce Merlin engine! I’d read about it. People said that once you heard it, you would never forget it. They were right. God, she was magnificent. I pictured Father flying her. I reached up and waved.

  ‘I bet he’s on his radio, telling headquarters we’re ashore. They’re bound to send a welcoming party, Finn.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’ I looked back at the Heinkel. ‘I think we should try and anchor her, Loki. I bet the British can’t wait to get their hands on her.’

  ‘There’s some rope inside. I’ll grab it.’

  Loki disappeared back into the plane. I can’t explain it, but I felt really odd. We’d set foot on a foreign land. We’d flown all the way alone. It was so incredible I couldn’t get my head round it. It was as if my brain just wasn’t big enough to comprehend it all. Suddenly I heard someone shout. I spun round.

  A man stood on top of a sand dune about forty yards from me. Then another appeared next to him. They carried rifles but they didn’t look like soldiers. They yelled something at me. The wind snatched most of their words, though I doubted whether I’d have understood them anyway.

  Loki reappeared at my shoulder clutching a large coil of rope. ‘They don’t look too happy to see us, do they?’

  The two men slid down the dune and began hurrying towards us, their rifles held out in front of them. ‘Loki,’ I said, ‘I think it might be a good idea if we raised our hands.’

  The two Scotsmen stopped some ten yards from us. Both looked elderly but sharp-eyed. I think they were as scared of us as we were of them.

  I smiled and searched for the right words in my less than perfect English. ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Is this Scotland?’

  They looked at each other. ‘Aye,’ one said suspiciously.

  I took it to mean yes. ‘My name is Finn,’ I added. ‘Finn Gunnersen. This Loki Larson, my friend. We Norwegian. We escaped.’

  They frowned. I don’t think they believed me. ‘Norwegian!’ I repeated. ‘Friends. Allies.’

  They whispered to one another and then, suddenly, both looked exceedingly alarmed. They twisted and turned, aiming their rifles at everything and nothing.

  ‘What’s the matter with them?’ said Loki.

  ‘No idea,’ I replied. ‘My arms are beginning to ache. Not sure I can keep them up much longer.’

  ‘I know,’ Loki said. ‘They can’t figure it out. They can see we’re just boys. They’re thinking there must be others somewhere, the flight crew or whoever.’

  ‘Just us two,’ I called out.

  They spoke to each other but I couldn’t understand. Then the thinner of the two men edged forward towards us. He kept his rifle aimed at me. When close enough to smell my breath, he peered fearfully into my face and said something to the other man.

  ‘What did he say, Finn?’

  ‘No idea, Loki.’

  The man prodded his rifle into my stomach, reached out and gave me the once over. I guessed he was looking for a gun.

  The Scotsman took a few steps back and his friend stepped forward to join him, before speaking again.

  I only understood the words ‘spies’, ‘Hitler’ and ‘trouble’, but I didn’t need a textbook on English grammar to figure out their meaning. ‘No!’ I shouted with such venom they both jumped with surprise.

  Loki stepped forward and held out a hand. It was a mistake. They raised their rifles to their shoulders and spoke in urgent voices. I heard the word ‘Germans’.

  ‘Wait!’ I shouted. I had an idea. They hesitated. ‘Please!’ I added, lowering one hand slowly towards my chest. Gently I pulled open my flying jacket. The morning sun glinted on Father’s medal. ‘Norwegian Cross,’ I said, pointing at it. ‘See! Our flag.’

  One of the men peered at it curiously. He waved a hand, beckoning me to throw it to him. I unfastened it and lobbed it to him. He caught it and examined it closely. I had another idea. ‘Please!’ I said again. The man looked up. I slipped a hand into my pocket and drew out the tobacco tin. I popped its lid and turned it so the inside of the lid faced them. ‘My father,’ I said, pointing to the small photograph. ‘With Spitfire,’ I added. Again the man beckoned me to throw it to him. So I did and it seemed to do the trick. They began to relax.

  ‘Well done, Finn. Thought we were in trouble for a minute there.’

  ‘So did I, Loki. So did I.’

  Soldiers suddenly burst over the top of the dunes. There were dozens of them. It took all of us, including the two men, by surprise. Quickly we were surrounded. Rifles were aimed at us and an officer strode purposefully down the beach, barking orders. He arrived and examined us, pacing to and fro.

  Loki tried to explain in broken English but the officer didn’t appear to be interested. A soldier ran up, saluted and handed the officer Jack’s briefcase, which I’d dropped onto the sand. Unfastening the bag, the officer took out the photographs and maps, scrutinized them and then frowned. He looked up at us enquiringly.

  ‘Bald Eagle’s maps,’ I said.

  He stared at me blankly.

  ‘British agent parachuted into Norway. Bald Eagle dead. We brought you his maps.’ I spoke slowly and as clearly as I could.

  ‘I see.’ He put the maps back into the bag. ‘OK. Take them away.’ We understood that.

  Shoved and jostled up the beach, Loki and I were thrown into the back of a truck. Four grim-faced soldiers clambered in after us. Moments later we were bumping along a track, and within minutes we were on a winding road.

  Loki looked frightened. ‘Not quite what I expected, Finn.’

  ‘Me neither,’ I said.

  ‘Have we done the right thing?’

  ‘Of course we have,’ I said. ‘Everything will sort itself out. Just think about Freya.’

  A soldier sitting opposite me bellowed, ‘Be quiet!’

  * * *

  Two hours later we found ourselves standing in front of a table, opposite three rather stern-lo
oking men, all high-ranking army officers, judging by the swathes of medals on their tunics. Behind us stood two armed guards. The British evidently weren’t taking any chances. For a while nobody said a word. Then the door opened and a young man in a blue uniform marched in, stood to attention and saluted. A pair of wings was stitched to his tunic – RAF!

  ‘Ah, Captain Jacobsen. Thank you for coming,’ said one of the officers, rising from his chair to shake the captain’s hand.

  Loki and I gasped. Jacobsen!

  I turned. ‘Are you related to Anders Jacobsen?’ I asked.

  He understood my Norwegian perfectly. And he looked startled. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I’m his brother, Nils.’

  ‘Now I understand,’ I said.

  The army officer spoke for a few minutes to Nils Jacobsen, showing him Jack’s maps and Father’s medal and photograph. Finally Nils turned and spoke to us. ‘I’ve been asked to act as your interpreter,’ he said. ‘From the looks of things, you two have quite a story to tell. But first of all, I’d like to know how you know my brother.’

  I explained how ‘SS Officer’ Anders Jacobsen had helped us escape. And then, for the rest of the day, Loki and I told our story. As Nils translated sentence by sentence, and as notes were scribbled furiously, our audience listened without interruption and with jaws dangling.

  ‘So you see,’ I concluded, ‘with our families arrested, Freya already over here, and knowing just how vital Bald Eagle’s maps were, we figured it was down to us to get the maps to London without delay. It was a bit crazy but we didn’t have many choices.’

  The end of our story was met by an uneasy hush in the room. Nils stepped forward. ‘With your permission, General,’ I think he said. He turned to me and Loki and smiled. ‘I never thought I’d actually meet the man on the other end of the S-phone,’ he said in Norwegian, a broad grin forming on his lips.

  My eyes widened in shock. ‘So you were Viper?’ I replied.

  ‘Yes. A few of us Norwegian pilots are based up here in Scotland for missions back over Norway. We know our way around.’ He reached out and picked up Father’s medal and photograph. He stared at the picture for a moment. Then he handed them back to me, and held out his other hand for me to shake. ‘I had the privilege of training with your father,’ he said. ‘He was a fine pilot.’