The Gathering Clouds (Innocent No More Series, Book 1)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Rapide Stark, request take off.”

  “Control to Rapide Stark, you are clear to go.”

  Accelerating across the grass, exactly into the wind’s eye, the sole advantage of the grass field, and he waited for the tail to rise then pulled up into a gentle climb over the low ridge behind the field and turned slowly to port to take a line for Croydon. He could see across to Southampton and down the Water. There was a great liner coming up on the second of the port’s four tides – the Queen Mary, he thought, so large she could be nothing else. He wondered how soon he would be running escort for her, such a target as she would be for submarines. An eighty-thousand tonner, almost the greatest ship on the seas – she must not be lost.

  The Rapide bumped a little as he crossed the Downs and he turned his attention to flying, nursing her up to eight thousand feet and a hundred and fifty knots and watching for other planes. The southern skies should be busy with fighters out on exercises – war was so close there should be no weekends off for the defenders, yet he knew that most pilots would be doing the same as him, snatching their last chances of relaxation.

  He saw nothing until Croydon was in sight and he was talking with the Tower there. He waited in circuit for a couple of minutes while a civil airliner he did not immediately recognise took off and headed east.

  It had three engines which made it an Italian or a Junkers 52 of the German airline. He spotted a large swastika on the tail and wondered if that was the last time he would see one of those without shooting at it.

  He touched down neatly and parked as instructed and waved as Cissie walked decorously across the tarmac, followed by a laden porter.

  “Very smart, my love. Calf-high hemline – rather daring, is it not?”

  “The latest fashion! War is coming and hemlines are rising – coincidence, I expect.”

  The style was kind to the long-legged. Tommy was much in favour.

  “Have you the ring, my love?”

  She had, unsurprisingly, and allowed Tommy to slip it on her finger, laughing as he commented that someone had been washing down the tarmac and he was damned if he was kneeling in the puddles remaining.

  “Ornate, is it not?”

  She glanced at the confection – a huge central sapphire surrounded by brilliant diamonds, themselves of respectable size.

  “My father had no taste at all, Tommy! If it was big and shiny, he liked it!”

  Tommy remembered that her father had been one of the helots, the South African gold miners who had contributed so greatly to the causes of the Boer War. He said nothing.

  “We don’t need to refuel. Are you ready to go?”

  “Ready and willing,” she lied. “Where should I sit?”

  “Your choice. In the right-hand seat, next to me, if you wish. More comfortably in the accommodation to the rear.”

  “At your side, Tommy – where I belong.”

  He was delighted, did not notice the set jaw as she took her place and belted herself in.

  He took off into the easterly wind, unusual in southern England, and turned north to Norfolk, crossing the Thames Estuary and pointing up across Essex towards the Suffolk coast.

  “Advantage of a small country, love. In Australia, I would be glancing at a chart and compass to keep on course. Here, I need do no more than look out of the window. Less than an hour and no need to climb to her ceiling. Eight thousand feet purely for the view.”

  She found herself settling to the experience, actually enjoying looking out over the country which she knew within reason well from a car.

  Less than an hour and she spotted Norwich cathedral and Tommy pointed to Holt and the Lodge close to the little town.

  “No radio so I shall fly across at a thousand feet to warn them I’m coming in. I can see nothing in the sky and that the approach to the strip is empty. All safe to land…”

  He used the whole of the strip, touching down by the near hedge and running almost to the post and rail at the far end before turning to taxi in to park at the barn.

  “A welcoming committee, which is to be expected. To the left, holding hands with the young girl, Thomas and Grace. Lucy and Noah next to them. Tom, Noah’s son, next to his mother and Lucinda, who is nearly qualified as a doctor – passed her exams and doing her intern year – next to him. She doesn’t approve of pilots who exist to kill people; she might be right.”

  “It’s a point of view, Tommy. Not one I share. What of the son, Tom, is it?”

  “Undergraduate.”

  “Say no more – I am familiar with the breed!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Gathering Clouds

  The introductions took only a few minutes – the older generation having an immediate welcome for ‘Nancy’s sister’ and then spotting the engagement ring with loud delight. Thomas and Grace showed equally pleased while the whole business was quite meaningless to Tom and Lucinda.

  “We are thinking of getting married before the war starts, Noah.”

  “Then you’ll need a special licence, Tommy. The talks between Britain, France and Russia are failing, according to yesterday’s messages. They will end today and what Stalin will do then is anybody’s guess. Russia is winning its war with Japan and is evidently convinced it can stand alone in Europe.”

  None of the others had heard of the undeclared war in the east.

  “Stalin’s General Zhukov attacked the Japanese who had advanced out of Manchuria to threaten the Trans-Siberian Railway. First reports say he has wiped out a Japanese Army, inflicted casualties of eighty thousand in exchange for no more than sixteen thousand Russians. Accepting that Stalin’s figures are always lies, it still looks like a three to one ratio as a minimum. The Japanese have certainly been hammered.”

  “Revenge for the war of 1905, it would seem. The Japanese are allies of Germany, so we can’t regret their defeat, can we, Noah?”

  “No, not wholly. But it does mean that Russia now believes it does not need us as allies. The effect may be to encourage them to attempt to snatch back the independent Baltic states as soon as Germany moves into Poland. Finland, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania were Tsarist Grand Duchies and Stalin seems to think that makes them a natural part of Communist Russia. A strange logic, but he’s a peculiar man. Additionally, Germany is in the process of grabbing Slovakia to add to the rest of Czechoslovakia that it’s already taken over. No racial justification this time – straight aggression. Chamberlain is ignoring it.”

  They were united in their contempt for Chamberlain.

  “What’s wrong with the old fool, Noah? You hear more than we do, being in London.”

  “He’s lost, Tommy. He’s a Victorian and believes that the old realities still apply – a unity of class in Europe, all gentlemen together, don’t you know. It never was completely true. Now it’s a nonsense. He is a weakling and stubborn with it. He hates the Reds and believes the British Labour Party to be no more than a front organisation for revolutionaries – which is simply foolish. A pity that the sole alternative to him, the only man who could unite the bulk of the country, is Churchill, who is equally bigoted and can be blind to any reality that doesn’t fit with what he wants. He’ll make a figurehead - but it may not be possible to keep him under control. No choice, however, other than Mosley and his covert supporters – and if one of his people gets into Number Ten there will be an assassination within the week, several in fact. The intelligence services are ready and have their people placed to shoot any Fascist who climbs to power. Churchill put into Downing Street by a vote in the House of Commons is better than a more open coup. The people like to think their opinions count and prefer the decisions to appear to be made by the politicians.”

  “Tut! You’re growing cynical in your old age, Noah!”

  “Twenty years of watching what’s happening in this country would turn any man into a cynic, Tommy… Not to worry! Have you breakfasted yet?”

  “No. I preferred to fly up early. What of you, Cissie?”

  S
he shook her head, saying she had no appetite at all before flying for the first time.

  They were put into their rooms, Lucy innocently commenting that they just happened to be next to each other. Both blushed. When they had unpacked, they joined the rest of the family.

  Breakfast was welcomed, but not by Cissie. The whole family sitting down with the couple, having delayed till they arrived. Conversation was light, inevitably turning to flying, Noah and Grace wanting to know about the Sunderland and how it flew.

  “Have you picked up your twin licence yet, Grace?”

  “Not yet. The Air Ministry has better things to do than concern itself with civilian licences – which might actually be a fair point. The Dragon Rapide, Tommy – what is it like to fly?”

  “A bus – no vices and very little of interest.”

  “Can I fly the plane?”

  “Yes, you can. What’s the local weather likely to be?”

  “Dry. Sunny. No chance of a thundershower building today.”

  “Good. This afternoon, with your fiancé’s permission. I’ll take off a couple of times with you in the right-hand seat. That done, the controls will be yours. Thomas, will you come with us?”

  “Not a chance, Old Man! The pair of us arguing over the best way of landing her and disagreeing on throttle settings? Not what Grace needs, especially as we would both be right – a civilian tub will have no optimal performance. You’re more experienced than me when it comes to twins and multi-engines; better you should do the teaching.”

  Unspoken was Thomas’ intention to have a conversation with Cissie while the Old Man was out of the way and just make quite certain that she was right for his father. The old fellow had been solitary for two decades and might easily mistake loneliness for affection – his son might need to protect him from himself.

  They watched the plane take off for the third time with Grace at the controls, following precisely the same line as Tommy. Lucy suggested that Thomas might show Cissie the grounds while they waited for the lesson to be over, evidently having the same fears as Thomas.

  “As your prospective stepmother, Thomas, can I be forgiven a personal comment? You seem older than, what, twenty-two?”

  “Next month… What do I call you? Cissie or Mother?”

  “I am not a lot more than ten years your senior, Thomas! Cissie will do well. I notice you call Tommy ‘Old Man’ – I really do not fancy ‘Old Lady’!”

  He laughed, assured her he had not considered doing so.

  “As for my age, the Australian climate, Queensland especially, dries the face out. Add to that, being a pilot makes a boy grow up fast and I did two years of bush flying out of Port Moresby before coming across to Europe and getting tangled up in the Civil War. Spain was a good place to learn the trade, for those who survived the lessons. “

  “Rather bleak, Thomas?”

  “Realistic, Cissie. A short life and merry – too merry, too short, of course. But fighter pilots don’t look to die of old age, except for the few like Noah and the Old Man – very good and more than a little lucky.”

  “Noah doesn’t look like a wild hero of the skies. A quiet, considering man, I would have said.”

  “Twenty years has given him time to grow up. He needed it, never having had a childhood. I suppose the Old Man is the same – he was flying well before he was old enough to know the risks and had little time for playing games. Me too! Much more fun flying than running around with a ball.”

  “Crazy both of them, I suppose… And you, Thomas. What of your Grace?”

  “She’s one of us. From what I gather, my mother was an Edwardian lady, willing to stay home and create the family for the Old Man to come home to. Grace won’t do that, or not for a few years yet. When the war’s over, perhaps, and we both of us have a home together, which may well not be in England, we might be able to settle down. I suspect we’ll take turns flying for the airline. For the while – we will get married in a year or two, I don’t doubt, and then see what happens. It could be amusing.”

  She tried to assimilate all he had said, and the assumptions behind his words.

  “Fliers are wanderers, it seems, Thomas.”

  “They have a nest, but ain’t much good at building it. A solid home background is much to be desired, you might say, but the urge, the need, to fly is always there. We’re not the same as ordinary human beings.”

  “Is that them coming back? I can hear engines.”

  “Coming in from the coast. They’ll probably circle and then practice landings for a while. The most important part of flying – not so difficult to take off and easy to keep her up in the air, mostly, but stopping can be the hard part. Lining up now – she needs to put her down right at the foot of the strip, being a bigger plane than might generally use this place.”

  An hour saw the party together again and Thomas satisfied that Cissie was level-headed and in love with his father, not in search of a meal-ticket. He joined Grace happy that all was well.

  “What’s your opinion of the Rapide, little lady?”

  “Unexciting. When you consider it, that’s just what a civil airliner should be. Pick up the passengers and deliver them, quietly and peacefully to get on with their day’s business. Bread and butter work. It might be more fun up in this Territory of yours, Thomas. We might think of setting up there, when the war is over.”

  “Maybe. There are no roads up there. Everything goes by air. Plenty of room for a small airline to operate. Worth thinking about. Not so good for a family – lousy climate for children and too many tropical diseases. See what happens – it may be a lot of years yet before we have to consider civilian life.”

  They visited the Earl the next day, found him gloomy, convinced the end was nigh. He was pleased to meet Cissie, brightened up a little at the thought that she was to join the clan and said she could call him by his first name which was George.

  “I know your brother, of course. He’s one of us.”

  Who that was, he did not explain, assuming she must know. She could guess that it was a group of those opposed to Appeasement and to the extremes of Left and Right quite equally.

  She nodded wisely.

  “Word from Moscow is bad, gentlemen. Definitely no agreement with Britain and France. Probably because the bloody French were involved! Had it been Britain alone, there’s a chance that we could have talked with Stalin’s people, but they have little liking for the French. They don’t like us much, but they have a greater degree of trust, for some reason.”

  Noah had heard the same.

  “What comes next, George?”

  “The rumour is that bloody Ribbentrop is going to Moscow to negotiate, Noah. Seems unlikely, but not impossible. Some sort of neutrality, I suspect. Both to invade Poland and to stop at an agreed line. They both get some of the spoils then and avoid war with each other and Russia gets a free hand with the rest of the Baltic States. I much suspect there will be an unpublished addendum to any agreement, carving up the oil states of the Middle East without war. Give Persia to Russia and the more western parts to Germany. Been thought about for years. Only been British power in the Middle East that kept both out. Now they may not be convinced that we have any power. They may well be right.”

  The loss of access to Middle East oil would bring any war to a rapid end.

  “We came close to being grounded last time, George. At one point the RFC had no more than a week’s petrol in France. If the tanker coming in had been caught by a submarine we would all have been down.”

  “Hadn’t heard that, Tommy.”

  “It didn’t get to the newspapers. Well, that’s not correct, of course. The minions of the Press chose not to publish it – the truth was much too precious to be wasted on the masses.”

  “It will be the same this time. There will be a Defence of the Realm Act waiting in the wings. It’ll go to Parliament just as soon as war is declared.”

  “Dear old DORA again? Close the pubs and change the clocks; less overtly, sup
press all dissent?”

  “Just that. And a damned sight more besides. We’ll have a presence in France again, of course. Do you know who’s going, Noah?”

  “Not me – they won’t let me out of the planning rooms. Two squadrons of Gladiators, initially – damned useless! Three squadrons of Hurricanes which will go up to five when they side-line the Gladiators. All of the Battle squadrons and some of the Blenheims. The heavy bombers will all stay in England, which is a pity. Could do a lot of good with the heavies if Germany attempts to break into Belgium. Won’t happen though. The Army is putting a force together, command as yet unknown to me.”

  The Earl grimaced.

  “Gort.”

  “Viscount Gort?”

  “Even so.”

  “The man’s a fool! If he has a brain, he never uses it to think with!”

  “He’s brave, Noah.”

  “Incredibly – VC; DSO and bar; MC; eight Mentions.”

  “Almost unbelievable. He can fly as well.”

  “I know. What he can’t do is think. He cannot envisage anything new. He will outdo Haig when it comes to trench warfare, and if it comes to anything else, he will be lost! He’s a stuffed shirt of the old kind – even when he has a new idea, he discards it because it ain’t old. His idea of a battle is Waterloo – let’s hope nobody tells him he’s near Belgium!”

  The Earl was inclined to agree. Gort had been Chief of the Imperial General Staff in the Thirties and had put up a delaying action that had resulted in a number of cavalry regiments retaining their horses rather than converting to armoured cars until the previous year.

  “Add to that, the Minister for War, Hore-Belisha, is a Jew. Not popular with Gort and his pals! A guarantee of political trouble.”

  “Why appoint him?”

  “He is sixth Viscount – the whole of the party regards him as the best possible general for that fact alone. In addition, he has the medals. Don’t complain, Noah – you’ll be promoted soon on the strength of yours. A year and Tommy will be a wing commander – it’s the way the military think. A brave man is good in close combat? Excellent, make him a general!”