The Thirty Days' War

by Max Hennessy

  The AVM frowned. He was far from unaware of the facts. ‘I see no alternative,’ he said.

  * * *

  It was decided to make the first attempt that night.

  The day went much the same as previous days, with the aeroplanes in the air from the minute it grew light. The Irazhis clearly disliked the dive-bombing of the Audaxes and bolted for cover from their positions as soon as they appeared above them. But a few daring individuals brought a pom-pom close to the wire, at a point near the gate the raiding party had used, and set it up at the edge of the field behind the marker’s hut on the rifle range, smack in the path of any large aircraft trying to land.

  By great good luck the Dakota at which it fired its first shots was missed by inches and the others were warned off until the gun could be dealt with. Crews were hurriedly scrambled together for the available aircraft and Boumphrey and Darling found themselves flying a Hart in place of a crew who had been wounded by shell splinters. The machine was plastered with patches and the engine was running roughly, but the Hart-Audax series had always been good aeroplanes and, despite their failings, the old machines had responded nobly to the demands being made on them and were well capable of carrying five hundred pounds of bombs beneath the wings and fuselage.

  Boumphrey and Darling had the second machine in a flight of three and, as they climbed aboard, Boumphrey warned Darling gently. ‘Just don’t use that gun of yours when we’re doing a bit of intricate manoeuvring,’ he said. ‘It’s been discovered that the gunner has as much control of the machine as the pilot. In return, I’ll try not to stand you on your head.’

  Darling wasn’t sure what the last cryptic remark meant.

  They took off from the polo ground and lifted over the trees, Darling crouching in his seat behind the armadillo plates of the heavy revolving turret. The Harts had originally been built as light day bombers and later converted to two-seater fighters but, with the arrival of fast monoplanes, had become obsolete overnight and were now reduced to the status of trainers or the drudgery of target towing. Only the crisis at Kubaiyah had restored to them some of their former dignity and the machine still looked a thoroughbred despite the patches and the oil smears on the cowling.

  Fogarty was flying the leading aircraft, with Jenno – like Boumphrey, again brought back to flying duties because of the dire need for aircrew – flying the third machine, and as they roared over the trees that lined the polo ground, they could see faces lifting up to them. It was Darling’s first trip in the open rear cockpit of a Hart and the whip of air from the propeller as the speed built up began to lift his helmet. He hadn’t strapped it on as tight as he might have and, as it began to balloon above his head, he had to open his mouth and hold it in place with his jaw.

  As Fogarty led them over the guns to take a look at the situation, he saw bullet holes being punched through the wings. As they turned for their run in, one of the anti-aircraft guns opened up on them and Boumphrey banked steeply to the left. Darling, who had just swung the turret to the left in the hope of getting in a pot shot, suddenly realized what Boumphrey’s warning meant. The turret seemed to run away with him under its own weight and swung down sharply so that the bank became steeper and he found himself hanging head-down in his straps over nothing at all.

  The CFI’s machine banked sharply. The starboard wing came up, the nose went down and the machine dropped almost vertically, flattened out and streaked across the ground at not much more than six feet, hidden by the buildings. As it lifted and pulled away, Darling saw puffs of smoke and the flashes as the bombs landed twenty yards beyond the gun.

  As Boumphrey followed Fogarty down, Darling was fully expecting the Hart’s wings to fall off. His face was drawn down, his eyes seemed to be bulging from his head and for a moment he thought he was going to black out. Then they were racing across the airfield close to the ground. He stared in alarm at the tracers whipping past and the holes being punched in the wings, then he heard a tremendous bang and the whine of a bullet whirring off whatever it was it had hit. As Boumphrey dropped his bomb, he saw the look of horror on the faces of the gunners.

  * * *

  Everybody was a little subdued as the end of the day came. Jenno’s bombs had destroyed the gun but, in the afternoon, during the attacks on the airfields round Mandadad, one of the Oxfords had been hit by a shell as it was taking off, while one of the Audaxes had failed to return. They were silent as they walked away from the machines because, in the past, men landing in the desert had been subjected to ghastly mutilations by the Irazhi tribesmen.

  By this time only six of the original twenty-seven Oxfords were still serviceable and these had had to be given to the more advanced pupils who were ordered to fly a straight course, drop their bombs and land again as quickly as possible. The crews had been made up by ground staff, one of them even a sergeant of the Loyals who claimed to be a dead shot with a machine gun.

  All the machines were looking battered now and the technical warrant officer’s face was growing longer. There were problems with temperature, mag drops, hydraulics and a variety of other things, and a tremendous reality in the minds of the men who were doing the flying. They had always known there was an element of doubt about their future but it seemed to be increasing with every day. There had been no rest, no time off, and the diminishing band of pilots was weary to the point when they could hardly bully the remains of their machines into the air. The early enthusiasm and defiance was wearing thin and they were beginning to look strained and jaded under a feeling of blank resignation.

  And with darkness the guns, which had been silent during the day, started again – and with growing accuracy.

  * * *

  Boumphrey had managed to get Prudence Wood-Withnell to himself for a moment and as darkness came they were among the trees near the hospital. She was glad to be out of the building. Twice that day, with bullets ripping through the roof and walls, she had had to lie flat on the floor with the nurses and patients. She was tired enough simply to be happy to be doing nothing and to be with Boumphrey was a bonus. It was some time before she noticed the extra stripe on his shoulder.

  ‘Ratter,’ she said. ‘They’ve promoted you!’

  ‘They gave me the Audax-Hart flight.’

  Her pride was unbelievable. ‘Oh, Ratter,’ she said. ‘How wonderful!’

  ‘Nobody else,’ Boumphrey said deprecatingly. ‘Had to be me.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ she insisted. ‘It’s because of what you’ve done. I’ve heard about it. People in the hospital have told me.’

  ‘Nothing, really,’ Boumphrey said modestly. ‘All I did was say “Go”. It was the boys who did the work.’

  ‘What about the others?’

  ‘Others?’

  ‘Your friends.’

  Boumphrey was silent for a moment. ‘A few have bought it,’ he admitted.

  She felt her eyes prickle. Her father was a soldier, so she knew what Boumphrey meant, and she thought of the few she knew personally, who were suddenly symbolic of all the dead pilots all over the world, all the young men who were dying to destroy Nazism.

  They were still silent when they heard the first bang. As they heard the shell whistle overhead and drop just beyond the perimeter near the river, Boumphrey pulled her into one of the drainage ditches that bordered the road, empty and dusty in the dry season.

  ‘Better keep our heads down, old thing,’ he suggested. ‘Splinters and so on.’

  She sat alongside him in the ditch, making no fuss. She was quite calm and unafraid and he gave her a glance of admiration. Unfortunately, the next shell was nearer and dropped close by, then there was a whole flurry of shelling and they could hear the splinters whirring overhead. Instinctively they clung together, Boumphrey’s arms round her, her cheek against his, her eyes blinking at the bangs, flinching at the earth and stones that were flung over them.

  ‘It’ll stop soon,’ Boumphrey said.

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ she replied. ‘Not wit
h you here, Ratter.’

  ‘Wouldn’t have thought it made that much difference.’

  ‘You’d be surprised.’

  They were silent for a moment then between the explosions she asked, ‘What’ll happen here when it’s all over, Ratter?’

  ‘Go back to the usual somnolence, I expect.’

  ‘I meant, what about you?’

  ‘Same as before, I suppose. Bit of instructin’. Bit of work with the armoured cars under Jenno. Bit of work with the Mounted Legion. Nothin’ very excitin’.’

  ‘They might promote you again and send you somewhere else.’

  ‘Not me.’

  The shelling intensified and this time it was a little more erratic so that the shells seemed to be landing everywhere. As they ducked, they heard the scream of another missile approaching. It grew louder and louder until it filled the ears and they were convinced that someone was aiming at them personally. Boumphrey grabbed Prudence and pulled her to the bottom of the ditch. As the shell burst with an ear-shattering crash at the other side of the road, they were covered with dust and fragments of palm fronds torn off by blast. Then suddenly the shelling died as suddenly as it started.

  They lifted their heads cautiously, kneeling together in the bottom of the ditch, face to face as if they were praying. Without even thinking, Boumphrey kissed her.

  There were flames nearby that lit up the angles and planes of their faces and he saw she was staring at him wide-eyed. Faintly embarrassed by her expression, he started to brush the dust and fragments of palm fronds from her. But she caught at his hands, though not to put them away from her, and instead pulled him to her, making joyous little sounds in his ear so that the noise of the camp was shut out as their mouths began to search eagerly for each other. Boumphrey held her tight, suddenly a little afraid, of dying, that he might lose her, and he could feel her trembling, almost as though shock waves were passing through her body to his.

  After a while they came to their senses and sat back on their heels.

  ‘Funny sort of place to start kissin’ a girl,’ Boumphrey said. ‘In a drainage ditch in the middle of an air raid.’

  ‘Best place in the world,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘Has to be genuine in a place like this.’

  He stared at her. ‘Marry me, Prue,’ he said, almost without thinking.

  ‘Of course, Ratter. I wondered when you were going to get round to it.’

  ‘Won’t be just yet, of course,’ he admitted. ‘Because we don’t know what’s going to happen.’

  ‘It’ll work out all right,’ she said. ‘Now. It’s bound to.’

  He smiled. ‘Well, you know the old saying. “Captains might marry. Majors should. Colonels must.” They upped me to flight lieutenant, which is equivalent to a captain. It’ll be all right.’

  They stared at each other, half smiling, indifferent to what was going on around them. The guns had stropped completely now but they could hear voices and the growling of engines as vehicles moved about. Gradually the sounds forced themselves into their consciousness, and Boumphrey looked up.

  ‘Think we’d better move,’ he observed. ‘People will be asking questions.’

  ‘I expect there’ll be work for me at the hospital, too,’ Prudence said.

  ‘Just as well nobody saw us here. People would talk.’

  ‘I don’t mind. I don’t mind a bit. Can we tell people, Ratter? Father, for instance?’

  ‘I suppose he’s entitled to know. Why not?’

  They climbed out of the ditch and began to hurry towards the hospital, their hands clutching each other. At the door, they stopped and Boumphrey gave her another quick peck.

  ‘Oh, Ratter,’ she said. ‘I’m so pleased! And so proud!’

  As he turned away, she called after him. ‘Ratter,’ she said. ‘Do be careful. Especially now.’

  * * *

  The damage from the shelling turned out to be not too bad. A corner of the hospital had been hit but nobody had been seriously hurt, though the station education officer had been slightly wounded when a shell had burst on the roof of AHQ. It had brought down slates and iron sheeting, together with the education officer, who now had a sprained wrist, a knee cut on corrugated iron, and a small wound from a shell splinter in his thigh.

  ‘The storks are still there, though,’ he said with a weary attempt at cheerfulness. ‘The youngsters are growing like billyo, too. Any day now they’ll be off on their first solo.’

  There was a little moon and it was decided that the Audaxes should try to get off from the polo field by its light. But first of all an attempt was to be made by the CFI himself with Flight Sergeant Waldo to take off from the main airfield under instruments in one of the few remaining Oxfords. Everybody who wasn’t asleep turned out to see what happened.

  Fogarty’s face was grim and they noticed that both he and Waldo had stop watches. They had worked out that by setting the throttles for a fast tick-over to give a taxiing speed of between eight and ten miles an hour they could be led through the gate by torches then turn on to a course of 135 degrees for four and a half minutes, which would take them to the edge of the airfield where they were to turn 300 degrees to leave the hangars on their right, open the throttles to full and do an instrument take-off. It was something that needed skill and Fogarty had decided that, under the circumstances, he was the one who ought to have first try. If all went as it should, the aircraft should clear the ten-foot dyke that lay at the end of the airfield. Once airborne, they would turn on the cockpit lights to give their eyes a chance to recover.

  The return would be somewhat more alarming because their lives would depend on instrument flying at a time when they were tired and under stress. They were to follow the line of the river which would be visible in the starlight, flying at 1000 feet with the camp on their right, and turn off the cockpit lights in time for their night vision to return. At the far end of the field the river made two right-angle bends and when Waldo informed Fogarty that the machine was directly above them, Fogarty was to throttle back and begin a careful rate one turn to the right, descending by instruments to two hundred feet, which would leave them fifty feet above the highest part of the escarpment. When they reached the reciprocal of their original heading, they expected to be just over the lip of the plateau and facing the airfield, and they could then descend to fifty feet by instruments. At that height they would be in a position to turn on their landing light and descend to just above ground level. They would see the road and the ditch at the end of the airfield, so they could land straight ahead, snap off the landing light and keep the aeroplane straight by compass. By the hangars someone would be waiting at the gate to guide them quickly through to safety. It all sounded very tricky.

  As they climbed into the Oxford and the engines were started nobody spoke. A jackal somewhere out on the plain was skirling to the moon. It sounded eerie as it always did and Boumphrey shivered.

  ‘I’m glad I’m not having first go,’ he murmured.

  Because of the darkness, it was safe to wait on the airfield to watch what was to happen. If the experiment worked, everybody using the airfield was to use the same method for night flying, while, as the moon rose, the Audaxes would take off from the polo field to give support. It was a bold piece of improvisation but, because of the wastage among the aircraft, only a limited number could be used and the number of pilots with sufficient experience was small. While the aircraft were on the move, however, night patrols by the levies, the Loyals and Boumphrey’s men under Ghadbhbhan were to stir up alarm and despondency among the besiegers.

  The fire engine edged out on to the field, followed by the ambulance and the crash truck, then they heard the roar as Fogarty revved the Oxford’s engines. Boumphrey found he was holding his breath.

  ‘Here he comes!’

  The dim shape of the Oxford appeared through the darkness, following a man with a torch. At the gate, more torches flashed to indicate the opening and the Oxford rolled through. Immediately, it tu
rned on to its course and vanished quickly into the darkness, though they could hear the engines echoing and re-echoing from the flat sides of the hangars. By this time it was totally invisible.

  There was a moment as the engines’ pounding dwindled, then they heard the throttles opened wide and the howl as the engines gave full power. Very faintly they saw the machine roll past them, its tail already in the air, then it vanished again into the darkness. The blood waggons followed cautiously.

  ‘He’s up!’

  It was possible to see a faint light at the end of the airfield that indicated the cockpit lights had been switched on, then someone spotted a tiny moving shape against the paler sky.

  ‘All he’s got to do now,’ Jenno observed, ‘is get down. And, as everybody knows, it’s getting down that’s important.’

  It was impossible to see the machine now but they heard it to the north, apparently following the river, and shortly afterwards they saw a line of flashes along the plateau and heard the crack of the bombs.

  ‘So far, so good,’ Jenno said.

  The aircraft passed overhead as it turned away from its bomb run, and they heard it cross the airfield and finally turn north. Heads turned with it, listening as the sound of the engine passed from west to east, following the river, then they heard it approaching the plateau, the sound taking on a strange note as the engine’s roar raised an echo from the plateau.

  ‘He’s coming on to final approach.’

  Boumphrey found his hands were clenched as he waited, then suddenly, abruptly, unexpectedly, the aircraft’s landing light appeared, shining its beam along the airfield. The machine was at the decided fifty feet.

  ‘My God,’ Jenno breathed, ‘it’s going to work!’

  They saw the Oxford pass in front of them, landing away from the plateau. A machine gun opened up against it and they saw tracer bullets streaking like white slots through the darkness and leaping into the air as they struck the ground. But the landing light snapped off immediately and the roar of the engines died; the machine gun stopped firing at its target became hidden once more in the darkness.