Valors way, p.30
Valor's Way, page 30
I need to get him medical attention. That wound should have clotted by now. It really needs some stitches.
Talbot came to a right turn and stopped when he heard Hun soldiers. Stealing a glance around the corner, he saw another mortar position. He stood Winslow against the wall and gave him a quick smile. "Cover me. Think you can do that?"
"We can go back, sir. You don't need to do this."
Talbot smiled grimly. "They're in our way."
He slipped around the corner and hugged the walls as he approached the mortar position. The sound of the weapon firing covered his movement. A slow walk and he found himself standing less than ten feet away.
A soldier dropped a round into the mortar tube and turned to open another crate. His eyes met Talbot's for only a moment. Talbot fired one long burst and doubled him over. He kept firing short ones until no one moved. With several Hun medical kits in his hands, he returned to Winslow.
"We could have backtracked or gone around them, Mr. Talbot."
"No, we couldn't have. They were in our way. Besides, I have to get you back to our lines and a proper doctor. An officer's first responsibility is to his men."
"Mr. Talbot, you're only seventeen. Nobody expects you to—"
"Expects me to what? Act like a real officer? Act like an adult?"
"That's not what I meant, sir. I didn' mean it like that."
"You're looking at one of the highest scoring pilots in the Flying Corps, Thomas, and you're right—nobody expects me to act the way I do or to do what I do. Now, shut up and let's get out of here."
Talbot sat him on a wooden box while he gathered up more ammunition from the mortar position.
"We're getting close, sir. I hear Bren guns. Probably just a few blocks away."
"How do you fire this?" Talbot pointed to the mortar.
"You just drop the shell in. It has a propellant charge that fires it out of the tube. The straighter the tube points up, the shorter the range."
Talbot lifted the mortar's legs and turned it to face the way they came. He picked up a shell and dropped it down the tube. The sound of it firing brought a smile to his lips. A half-dozen shells later, he wrecked the tube and moved on with Winslow.
They continued ducking into doorways and into cover. The number of enemy soldiers was heavier now. The sound of machine guns and rifle fire created a constant sea of noise.
Talbot looked at Winslow as they waited and could see the corporal's reserves slipping away. I need to get him to one of our doctors, and I need to do it now.
At the end of the alley was a barricade and a machine gun position.
"Almost there, Thomas. I'll be back in a minute." Talbot left him in the relative safety of their hiding place and edged his way along the wall toward the Hun position. He was halfway there when he was spotted. He dove into a doorway as they opened fire on him. Shards of brick took flight as bullets struck around him.
Well, this is it, John. Going out in a blaze of glory as they say in the newspapers.
A grenade bounced off the wall and landed next to him. He stared at it for what seemed a lifetime. "Not bloody likely, you bastards!" He grabbed the grenade and threw it back. It exploded just short of the machine gun. He advanced from cover to cover, shooting and running. He kept firing until the machine pistol was empty, then used the Hun pistol stuck in his belt. Bullets plucked at his jacket as he reached the last doorway. An enemy soldier rushed him. The Hun's nose disappeared from a point-blank shot.
A wide street lay beyond the pile of debris and sandbags. Talbot crouched down and pulled a pair of binoculars from a body. He recognized the uniforms in the houses across the street.
Bloody marvelous. Bloody wonderful Royal bloody Marines.
Talbot hurried back to Winslow. "On the other side of that barricade is a street and on the other side of that street are our forces. I'm getting you to a doctor, Thomas. Let's get moving."
Winslow's movements were slower as they moved to their last barrier.
Talbot set him down by the barricade and picked up several ammunition clips. He loaded both machine pistols and hung one around Winslow's neck. He slung the other around his own neck. Talbot placed his last full clip into the Colt and stuffed it into his belt along with a Hun pistol.
Talbot looked around at the buildings on either side of the barricade before returning to Winslow. "I'm going to toss a grenade into the buildings on either side of us. Then we're going to cross the street like it was a three-legged race. Understand?"
"You're bloody nuts, you know that, John?"
"I've got a girl that I want to see again."
He picked up two grenades from a corpse and crouched at the alley entrance. Talbot reached into his back pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. Ignoring the rifle fire, he moved from behind the barricade. He looked at the row house across from him and waved the handkerchief over his head several times. The firing seemed to lessen. After tossing a grenade into the front display window of the building on the right, he ran over and repeated it to the other building. He returned to the cover of the barricade and picked the corporal up. With Winslow's right arm around his shoulder and holding onto the corporal's belt, Talbot said, "Go."
They started across the street. Winslow's feet dragged more than walked. Bullets impacted around them. He felt several tug at his clothes. Winslow cried out in pain and slipped from his grasp.
Talbot glanced down and Winslow was holding his left leg, trying to staunch the blood flowing from the new wound. He stepped over, then half-knelt in front of Winslow, shielding him as best he could from the enemy fire. He unslung the machine pistol and started shooting. Short bursts aimed at any sight of a Hun shooting at them. Enemy fire also came from the second and third-floor windows of nearby buildings. He quickly used up the extra clips he had stuffed in his pockets.
Movement of an arm caught his attention and he emptied the rest of the last clip into an upper window. Seconds later the second-floor window erupted. The grenade's detonation showered them with debris from the window frame.
Everything was in slow motion. He reached for the other machine pistol and kept firing as he tried to drag Winslow to safety. His feet kept slipping on the rubble.
His world was now a small area of street surrounded by battle-torn buildings. The sky, the aircraft overhead, the artillery fire all ceased to exist at that point in time.
He could count each bullet as it left the machine pistol and clearly hear the sound it made. Every spent cartridge created its own unique clink as it was ejected. Every Hun bullet possessed its own distinct sound as they struck around them. Every angry bee had its own voice. The fabric of his uniform shrieked as bullets plucked at the cloth.
He emptied the machine pistol and looked down to see an ammunition clip lying inches away. It took only seconds to pick it up and reload and a lifetime to watch himself do it.
The enemy fire was still heavy and he quickly emptied the clip. He continued to fire with the pistol he had stuffed into his belt, until it was also empty. He tossed it away and reached for the Colt.
He fired four shots before a hand grabbed his shoulder. He whirled around and almost pulled the trigger.
"Let's go, sir! We have the corporal! Time to get out of this bloody street and under cover!"
Talbot stared at the squad of Royal Marines around him. They were firing at the same buildings that were his targets. He jumped up and ran into the closest building.
He was whisked through the damaged building past faces that looked at him with smiles and nods. Quite a few added a thumbs-up.
"I'm sure the major will want to speak to you, sir," a private in the lead, said.
Talbot wasn't sure if his feet were even touching the ground as he moved through the house, out the backdoor, through a small garden, across an alley, and into another house.
He finally stopped in what was once a brightly-decorated parlor. The wallpaper was marked with scores of bullet holes and lathe showed where bits of the plaster were missing. In defiance to all around it, a small crystal chandelier hung undamaged from the ceiling. In an adjoining room lay Winslow, being attended to by a medical orderly.
His guide looked at him and smiled. "We got to you as quickly as we could, sir. Fritzy was doin' a good job of keepin' us pinned down and we couldn't get out the door. After that grenade exploded upstairs in that buildin', it seemed to take some of the starch out of 'em."
"The thought never entered my mind. Thank you for coming for us."
The private left and Talbot turned back to the room. A makeshift table stood nearby covered with maps. Several marine officers looked at him.
"So you’re the one taking on the Hun all by yourself."
"I—uh—I wouldn't say that, sir. I was just trying to get Corporal Winslow to medical attention. His thigh wound wouldn't stop bleeding."
"As soon as we can, we'll get him to the regimental aid station. How long were you behind their lines?"
"Only since yesterday, sir. An artillery barrage gave us a chance to escape. We detoured around numerous Hun positions and fought our way through several others."
"Do you remember where those bypassed positions were?" The major gestured toward the maps.
Talbot forced himself to remain calm and speak slowly as he pointed out the positions. For some reason, he remembered looking at the nearest street sign every time they made a detour. Right now he wanted to scream, to cry, to yell, anything except stand there and act as if everything happening was the most natural thing in the world.
Winslow was placed on a stretcher and carried several streets to an aid station. Talbot walked along next to him.
As soon as they entered the tent, several doctors started working on Winslow. Talbot was quickly looked over and told to wait by a Bren Gun Carrier and they would be driven to a hospital in the rear.
While he leaned against the small, squat, tracked vehicle someone thrust a mug of chai and a cigarette at him. He felt the hot liquid explore his empty stomach.
"Excuse us, sir. Could you smile for the camera and tell us your name and rank?"
He looked up and smiled. He even gave a small wave to the movie camera across the road from him. "Pilot Officer John Talbot." And I'm bloody tired so leave me the bloody hell alone. The camera crew appeared intent on filming everything going on at this point just behind the front.
Winslow's stretcher was lifted onto the back of the carrier and Talbot climbed in alongside the driver. The vehicle lurched forward and roared down the street, past columns of advancing infantry and dark-colored tanks. Their carrier soon joined a long queue of slow moving lorries with red crosses on their sides.
Talbot looked over at a semi-alert Winslow. "I'd ask how you feel, but somehow I think the answer is rather obvious." A bottle of plasma hung from a short pole attached to the carrier's side. A thin tube supplied Winslow with the precious fluid.
"To be truthful, sir. With the morphine they gave me, I feel almost bearable. Though it may be a while before I go dancin'." Winslow paused for a moment. "Mr. Talbot, I just want to say thank you. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here. But, thank you doesn't seem good enough. Doesn't say it all."
"It sounds fine to me. I have to thank you for the same thing. We did it together." An officer's first responsibility is to his men.
Thirty minutes later the carrier came to a stop in front of a large building. There was a steady stream of orderlies bringing in stretchers from the ambulances.
A tired-looking army nurse glanced at the tag on Talbot's uniform and led him to a small room. Reminds me of the room at the navy hospital at Harwich. Was that a few months ago or a few years?
A doctor came in shortly and examined Talbot. "Where did you pick this up?" Feeling the large bruise on Talbot's stomach, the doctor pressed on it.
He winced slightly. "A Hun rifle butt and a kick."
Looking at Talbot's wings, he said, "Your squadron M.O. will need to clear you for flying. I'm sure he'll go over you much more thoroughly than I am. Let him know if that bruise starts to hurt or gets tender. You don't appear to need any other attention, so you're free to go, Pilot Officer. I'm sure you can use a good meal, but all we have is the mess. Someone will be by to collect you and take you back to your unit."
Talbot made his way through the crowded corridors to the tented area outside serving as the Mess.
He turned around to look at the large building. It could be a copy of Sevenoaks. Winslow is in there somewhere. Maybe another group of doctors are working on his legs or perhaps a lovely nurse is giving him a sponge bath before taking him to a nice clean bed.
Finding a table away from everyone else, he sat down with a cup of chai and a small sandwich. As he raised the cup to his lips, it started shaking. Chai spilled onto the table and his lap until he steadied it with his other hand. It took all his strength to keep from dropping it. The last two days came and went in splashes of color and fear. You're bloody lucky to be alive, you know that? You could have ended up like any one of those Huns you killed. You need to get word to Lynette. Does she even know you were shot down?
The lorry ride was mostly in silence. Smalltalk was not high on his list of interests at the moment. Fatigue started catching up to him and, from what he could see, the other pilots as well. The lorry made several stops before arriving at Redhill. Cleared through the gate, the lorry drove to the dispersal hut. Getting out, he thanked the driver, then looked around the airfield.
The dispersal areas were empty. So peaceful, so quiet. How long since they took-off?
Mayfield was standing at Corporal Gilmore's empty desk as he entered. "John, thank God you're all right. How are you feeling?"
"Bruised and tired. I need to recommend someone for a decoration."
"In good time, my boy, in good time. Let's get you taken care of first. Are you hungry? I'll have some food brought over."
"Thank you, sir. I tried to eat a while ago, but I couldn't. Now I'm starving."
"I'll go see about the food and you need to make a telephone call. Swanson called your girlfriend and told her you'd been posted missing. You may want to ring your parents, also. I'm sure the Ministry has notified them by now about your being posted missing. It's against the regs, but tell the operator Zed-One priority and they'll put the calls through."
Talbot sat down at the desk and lifted the handset as Mayfield left the hut. Speaking softly, he waited for the call to go through several operators. The WAAC at the Air Intelligence section seemed surprised to hear his name when he asked for Lynette.
"John, is that you?" Lynette's voice quivered in his ear.
"I'm not sure what to say. Hello doesn't seem right."
"Hello is just fine, Darling. It's wonderful, in fact. Absolutely wonderful. Are you all right—are you hurt?"
"A few bruises and scrapes, but I'm all right."
"Terry rang me up and told me what happened."
He could hear it in her voice. She was close to tears.
"I've just gotten back to the squadron. In fact, I haven't even eaten yet or been debriefed. I miss you."
"I miss you too, Darling." Her voice quivered again.
"Stop that. I'm back and it's not the time for tears. Besides, you might get me started."
"All right." She tried a small laugh. "As soon as we can, we have to see each other."
"Even if only for an hour."
"Yes, no matter how short a time."
"I have to go now, Lynette. I'll ring you again as soon as I can."
"All right, Darling. Ring me up as soon as you can. I love you."
"I love you, too."
He replaced the handset and took several deep breaths before making the second telephone call.
#
Talbot was busy devouring the meal of tinned beef, mashed potatoes, and green beans, when Mayfield sat down across from him.
"Say the word and I'll have Williams fetch another plateful."
"That probably won't be necessary. Archibald said that when he went to the cookhouse, he made sure they knew who the food was for and that he wouldn't leave unless it was at least a double helping." He stopped and took a drink of chai.
"Telephone calls go all right?"
He stopped eating and slightly shook his head. "The first one, yes. The second one to my parents, no."
"What happened, if you don't mind my asking? I would have thought that after the ministry person informed them you were posted missing, they would be relieved to hear your voice?"
"That was the bloody problem, sir. A Flight Lieutenant Newton, from the Air Ministry, was sitting in the parlor giving them the bad news when I rang up."
"Oh, bugger." Mayfield visibly cringed.
"My mum thought I was playing a joke on her and said that she didn't appreciate it."
"Oh, dear."
"That's the same thing the flight lieutenant said, sir."
"I'll ring up your parents and explain everything. I'm really sorry, John. I'll get it all smoothed over."
"Thank you, sir. That would really help, but be prepared for an earful. Could you also let Intelligence know that I'd like to be debriefed as soon as possible."
Within a few minutes an Air Intelligence officer was sitting across from him and Talbot recounted his last two days. The room soon filled as the pilots returned from their last sortie and listened in. The silence stood guard during his explanation.
". . .I want to recommend Corporal Thomas Winslow, The Kings Third Royal Fusiliers, for a decoration—a DSM—something like that. He deserves it."
"I'll write it up for you," the Intelligence Officer said.
Talbot looked over at Ramsey. "Sir, if I'm done here, I'd really like to clean up. The doctor at the aid station said I looked all right, so I'd like to wait until morning to see the M.O."
"Go ahead, John. If any questions come up, I'll ask you in the morning." After Talbot walked out the door, Ramsey looked over at the Intelligence officer.
