Valors way, p.24
Valor's Way, page 24
"We were hit the day before yesterday. They've put up Nissen huts to replace some of the buildings."
"Which ones?"
"Officer's Mess, Officer's Quarters, Sergeant's Quarters, the Infirmary, and a few storage buildings." Williams ticked them off his fingers as he recited the list.
"The bastards hit the Infirmary?"
"Damaged by a near-miss. They decided to move everyone into one of the huts until it's repaired."
#
Talbot sat and waited his turn to be debriefed again. So far the day was filled with too many scrambles. He centered his thoughts on the last sortie and walled them off from the previous ones. Having stopped to relieve a full bladder, two others were ahead of him. So he waited and half-listened to the sound of aircraft landing.
The thin, dark-haired Air intelligence officer wrote while Redding described his fight with a Ju88.
Williams appeared at the doorway with a tray full of mugs. He quietly handed each pilot one before putting the tray under his arm. Retreating to a corner, he listened to the pilots recount their last battle.
Other conversations filled the room as several more pilots entered. An occasional laugh floated above the murmur of voices.
"Your turn, John."
"What?" Talbot looked at Pender.
"You're next."
"Yes—all right." He stood up and walked over to the waiting chair.
"Hello again, John. This shouldn't take long. The last report for the day, then you can have some supper." Flying Officer Greene reached for a blank debriefing form and a sharp pencil.
Talbot rubbed his eyes.
"I'll try to keep this short. From which direction did you attack the enemy formation?"
"Their nine o'clock, out of the sun. I dove on the outside group of bombers and fired at the closest Ju88. I could see my bullets hit and some pieces tore loose."
"Anything look different on the Ju88s?"
"No, nothing that I noticed."
"All right, go on."
"I banked left to come around for another pass and saw a Hurricane coming toward me from ten o'clock. I broke hard right and dove. Things became a little confused as everyone was trying not to collide.
"I leveled out and did a quick look around and discovered that I'd lost Terry, I mean my number two. I saw a 109 about a thousand feet below me. I dropped in behind him and was about to fire, when he must have spotted me. He broke left and I followed. We started doing a scissors. I don't know why the silly bugger didn't just break off, he has the speed over me."
"How long did that continue?"
"Five or six times, then I was able to cut the corner and I fired. I saw my tracers hit his port wing and there was a small explosion. I must have hit his twenty-millimeter ammunition. Most of his wing was gone and he started to somersault down. I watched him for a few seconds, then climbed after the bombers."
"What type of markings on the 109?"
"Yellow cowl and a red four on the fuselage side."
"All right. Please go on."
"I closed on the bombers and picked one out. I started his starboard engine smoking before running out of ammunition. Then I dove to get the hell out of there."
"Well, no one has reported blowing the wing off a 109, so that's pretty straight forward and two more damaged. The rest must have done you good. You arrive back this morning and this is your third victory. That gives you twenty-two, John."
"The only thing I want to be given right now is Bangers and Mash and a pint." He looked over the report and signed the bottom of it.
#
Talbot dropped from the back of the lorry and looked at his new home. Swanson was right, it does look like a sewer pipe cut in half. Just what I need after flying four sorties today. But then you can't see it when you're sleeping.
The Nissen hut just sat there, twenty-odd feet wide, at the ground, and forty-some feet long. One of several, it was half round, gray corrugated metal with several small windows set in the sides. Green and brown paint appeared to have been hastily applied with a mop to camouflage it. The closest end held a door centered between two small windows.
He entered, walked past the blackout curtains and stopped. The building's curvature was more prominent when viewed from the inside. Canvas cots formed two parallel rows along the single room's length. Along the center aisle, at the end of each cot was a footlocker. Pushed against the curved walls were too-tall wardrobes. Above each row of beds, a string of bare light bulbs hung from the curved ceiling.
"Well, at least they tried to cover the interior. Otherwise we'd know what a tin of Heinz Beans looks like from the inside," Pender remarked as he walked past Talbot.
"For what it's worth, gentlemen, the loo is in the shower hut, two buildings away," Redding announced.
"That will be something to look forward to at three in the morning," Hammond stated. "Are they really expecting us to live like enlisted men?"
"From what I've been told, it's only temporary and it's better than a tent, Ivor," Redding replied.
"It's bad enough having to fly with them, now I have to live like a commoner," Hammond remarked. He chuckled, then ducked as a boot flew past his head.
#
Next day was bright with scattered clouds. He managed to get some sleep between scrambles. As the Hurricanes climbed southwest, Talbot left his canopy open. The chill air felt good on his face. As he passed five thousand feet he connected his oxygen mask and closed the canopy. Even before reaching fifteen thousand, he was searching the sky in front of him. The Channel lay ahead with the Isle of Wight to his right.
"Blue Three to Pigeon Leader! Bandits at twelve o'clock!"
"Pigeon Leader to flock. Blue Flight takes the fighters. Red and Yellow the bombers."
Same bloody place. I'm surprised Portsmouth is still there. I'm really starting to hate this area.
"Blue Four to Blue Leader. We've got company! Fighters coming down behind us."
Talbot pulled into a tight turn to meet the attackers.
Four Me109s fired at them and continued on. Lengthening his turn, Talbot lost sight of them and looked for anyone needing help.
"Blue Four to Blue Three, the bastards are back and my engine's bought it!"
He turned his head and saw Swanson bail out.
Talbot pushed the Hurricane's nose down and dove for the water. Four enemy fighters were strung out behind him. Four against one? Not today. He leveled out less than twenty feet off the water. Isn't this what Duncan and I discussed in training? I am so buggered right now! I can't outrun them and they outgun me. I am so bloody buggered!
Talbot kept his throttle open and constantly jinked to throw their aim off. Pulling the Emergency Boost knob, he watched his airspeed increase. Wonder which is going to happen first? They shoot me down or my engine blows up? Rows of miniature waterspouts erupted in front of him from their bullets. Numerous thuds announced holes that appeared in his wings.
Ahead were the forts. His nose was pointed right between them. Built in the last century to guard Spithead, they now mounted antiaircraft guns. As the distance closed, tracers formed a deadly cobweb. Explosions erupted around him like angry clouds.
He glanced at his mirror as one of the enemy fighters was ripped apart. Small pieces skipped across the water like flat stones. The rest of the aircraft scattered itself across the channel's surface.
The forts appeared off each wingtip for only a second. Open water lay ahead and he dropped even lower. At wavetop height he continued to jink from side-to-side. His airspeed indicator showed two hundred sixty miles-per-hour. The radiator's cooling flap was wide open and still the engine temperature needle stayed glued just below the danger area. In his mirror he could see the thin gray streamer from a radiator hit.
Less than a mile ahead was the last fort. Once again he became an antiaircraft target. The fire rocked his Hurricane and seemed intent on killing him.
The round stone mass of Spitsand Fort stood directly in his path. At the last moment he kicked the rudder and used the control column to skid around it.
His propeller created a wake on the water's surface. Miniature geysers followed his every move. The two remaining fighters sat on either side of his six o'clock.
To thread the needle was all he needed to do. To enter the narrow gap that opened onto the harbor. The two arms of land rushed toward him. A solid wall of explosions greeted his entry into the harbor. Moored ships added their fire to the curtain of steel he flew through.
He felt more than heard the explosion. The aircraft shuddered. Oil sprayed onto his windscreen and his canopy turned blackish-brown. The Hurricane bounced, then struck nose first. The stop was instantaneous. The tail rose almost to the vertical then dropped back down. The seat harness kept him from smashing his face on the gunsight.
Dazed, he stared at the water rising in the cockpit. It was peaceful now. There was no one chasing him, only the silent water. When it reached his groin, the cold woke him.
His hands moved of their own. It took only seconds to unstrap the seat harness and floatfall. A tug on the canopy and it remained closed.
"Not bloody likely you son-of-a bitch! I'll get out of here if I have to chew my way out!"
Terror-fed muscles slammed the canopy back. He stood up and stepped onto the water-level wing. Swimming away, he waited until he was clear of the sinking aircraft before inflating his floatation vest.
Treading water, the sounds overwhelmed him as he watched the air raid. The drone of aircraft engines, the change in pitch as one dove, and the exploding bombs. The chatter of machine guns was accompanied by the rhythmic crack of the twenty-millimeter Oerlikons. The steady crump. . .crump. . .crump of the forty-millimeter Bofors added the bass to this symphony of death.
The water's surface was littered with debris and smelled of fuel oil and garbage.
He looked around for a way out. The nearest jetty was a hundred yards away. Swimming toward it, he saw what appeared to be a ladder set into the concrete wall. Each stroke he took was harder than the last. As he climbed the ladder, his arms ached. Reaching the top he saw a sandbagged shelter twenty yards away. Half-crouching, he ran for it, collapsing just inside the entrance.
"Where the bloody hell did you come from?" one of the occupants yelled.
Gasping for air, Talbot looked at the sailor. "I was shot down over your bloody harbor!" He attempted to reply over the sound of the antiaircraft guns. Pulling off his flying boots, he emptied the water from each one, then put them back on.
A pack of cigarettes was handed to him, he took one and accepted the offered light. The sounds beyond the sandbags seemed intent to go on forever. The ground shook with each close detonation. Above he could see aircraft maneuvering and antiaircraft shells exploding. He shared the shelter with half-a-dozen occupants. Each one either occupied with his own thoughts or engaged in a discussion of this latest bombing raid.
It was barely a sound at all. A sandbag near the entrance started leaking in a steady stream. He stared at it, transfixed by the image. Is that how it was for Colleen? No sound at all, just the end? Blood flowing from her like that sand?
"Excuse me, sir? Are you all right? Are you wounded or anything?" the sailor who gave him the Dunhill asked.
"Just wet and browned off for getting shot down, that's all."
"Main thing is yer alive, sir."
"True and I'll be back up there again before the day's over."
A siren could be heard nearby and everyone smiled. The sound of aircraft disappeared several minutes past, but it didn't register on him until now.
"That's the All-Clear, we can leave now."
Talbot stood and removed his floatation vest. His legs felt cramped from sitting on the sandbag seats. "I need to get word to Air-Sea Rescue, my wingman was shot down about a mile east of Bembridge. I also need to get back to my squadron."
The cigarette sailor spoke again. "Headquarters is over that way, sir." He pointed down the jetty in the direction of the main base. "Big red brick building. They can tell you how to get back to your unit and help with your mate."
Floatation vest in hand, he walked down the jetty, past two moored minesweepers and into the naval base. Damaged buildings surrounded him, there wasn't one untouched structure. Debris littered each street he walked down. I'm surprised this place is still operational. Coming upon the large brick building, he walked inside and was met with what looked like semi-organized chaos.
"Excuse me—I'm an RFC pilot and I was shot down over the harbor. I need to notify Air-Sea Rescue about a downed pilot and find transport back to my unit."
The harried-looking sub-lieutenant at the desk was leafing through papers at breakneck speed and looked at him as if he had three heads. "What? What are you going on about?"
"I was told to come here. I was shot down over the harbor and need to get transport back to my squadron. I also have a pilot in the Channel needing rescue."
"What? Why would anyone tell you that? I've got people here with real problems."
"All right. Do you know who can help me then?"
"How should I know? I've got more important things to worry about. In fact you're wasting my time with your useless prattle. I don't have time to bother with children. So just go away!"
"Thank you for your help." Talbot walked away from the desk. "Useless bloody twit." Walking outside, he looked around.
"Excuse me? Pilot officer?"
Talbot turned toward the voice. An attractive, blonde Wren stood next to him. Her hair was cut short, which drew attention to her green eyes.
"I overheard your conversation. You'll need to excuse Nigel, he's usually a decent chap. I think he's getting a bit bomb-happy."
"He's getting a bit something."
"The Motor Transport Yard is over there. They can help you return to your unit," she said pointing, "It's three streets ahead then two to the right. You can't mistake it. And you said you have a pilot in the water?"
"Yes, about a mile off the eastern tip of the Isle of Wight."
"I'll ring up the rescue launch immediately."
"Thanks, I appreciate your help."
"You're welcome. You know, you're ever so much better looking in person than in that newspaper story," she said with a smile and a wink.
Talbot stared after her as she entered the building. No one's ever going to believe me about that one.
Following her directions he found the heavily damaged Motor Transport Yard. Within ten minutes he was being driven to a nearby airfield and then taken to an aircraft shelter.
Standing just outside the entrance was Redding. "They got you, too?" Talbot asked.
"I took a hit in the engine and bailed out nearby. What about you?"
"I had four of the bastards after me. I was knocked down over the harbor. Swanson bailed out over the Channel. Any idea if Geoff made it back?"
"No."
"John?"
Talbot turned to see Lynette. They stood looking at each other. "Fancy meeting you here, like they say in the cinema," he said.
"I was just thinking the same thing. I—Oh, the hell with regulations." Lynette dashed over and almost threw her arms around him, then recoiled just as fast. "John, where have you been? Your uniform is all wet. I love you, but you positively reek."
"I ditched in Portsmouth harbor."
"Well, that explains the smell. Are you all right?" Lynette shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I'll have to pass on the hug."
Redding stood chuckling at the both of them.
"Lynette, this is Ian Redding. Ian, this is Lynette Seymour."
"Nice to finally meet you, Ian. John's said many nice things about you."
Redding shook her hand. "It's nice to meet you, too. The things John's said about you don't do you justice."
"Come along, gentleman, your taxi is waiting," a flight lieutenant said as he walked past.
"I'll catch up, Ian." Talbot turned to her. "We arrived back yesterday. I was hoping for a better meeting than this."
"Are you all right? You sound tired."
"A bit. Four sorties yesterday and now this." I want you in my arms.
"I tried to get through to Redhill yesterday, but I wasn't able to."
"Things are a little hectic at the moment, but then you probably already know that. Soon we'll get together like we talked about. Remember?" Talbot saw Redding wave to him. "Just us—no war, no aircraft, nothing except us."
"Some time to ourselves. I'd like that."
"I have to go, Ian's waving to me."
Lynette took his face in her hands and kissed him. "That'll have to hold us until you've had a proper washing up. Do be careful, Darling. I love you."
"I love you, too. I'll ring you up when I can." He turned and hurried to the waiting Oxford.
He waved to her as the small transport taxied away. "So, do I really smell that bad, Ian?"
"To be truthful, you may want to think about burning that uniform."
#
He stood in the shower warming up and washing off the harbor. I never thought something good could come from being shot down. I did get to see Lynette, even if only for a few minutes. One kiss isn't enough though. She really is pretty, even in that uniform.
A clean uniform later, Talbot stood outside the hut looking at the empty dispersal area.
"Should be coming back anytime now, Mr. Talbot," Gilmore offered. "They scrambled shortly before you arrived."
He was watching the horizon when Midge walked up.
"Where is he, John?"
"We were jumped by 109s. He bailed out and I saw his floatfall open. Then they went after me."
"You said you'd watch him. You gave me your word."
"I did the best I could, Midge. I'm worried too. Air-Sea Rescue was told about him and I'm sure he's on his way here right now."
"I'm a big girl. Don't try to humor me."
"I'm not humoring you. I'm just—"
"C'mon Midge, let's get a cuppa." Gilmore appeared and put his arm around her shoulder. "I've got some new Royal Marine jokes to tell you." The two walked toward the closest aircraft shelter.
Great, I haven't got enough problems the way it is.
