Again, everyone said, “Here, here.” Everyone rose, mingling about the table to say their last goodbyes. James and Margret stayed seated a bit longer until James noticed Jameson giving him the high sign to get up and say goodbye to everyone. He jumped up and held the chair for Margret as she rose, and both moved about saying their fond farewells to all the guests. As they walked out to the waiting cars, Lord Mountbatten had a last word with his royal friends and cousins, Prince Henry and Prince George.
“I dare say they are a charming couple. I hope they can get together in the future, but with the war on, it is so difficult to say.” Lord Mountbatten watched the couple as they exited the Savoy.
Prince George asked, “Dickie, why is Lady Margret just a petty officer? She has more education than most of the officers in RAF staff. If I am not mistaken, she finished her second or third year at Cambridge. Can we get her promoted to doing something more important than driving a car around?
Prince Henry joined in, “I agree with my brother, Dickie, should I have a chat with Pound or can we just get this accomplished?
Mountbatten had expected this conversation and replied, “I have taken steps to do this, but I wanted to get the Americans out of the country before it happened. I think it would cause some ripples within the service if we promoted her while the Yanks were still here. I have talked to some people in the Intelligence branch, and they would love to have her.”
Prince George threw another thought into the three-way conversation. “Dickie, before we lock her up in a dark room looking at photographs or reading German manuals, why don’t we see if Field Marshal Dill needs a bright young female officer on his staff?”
Mountbatten laughed. “George, you were always a romantic. That is a good idea, and Dill would love to have her on the staff in Washington. There is a lot of staff work with the Joint Chiefs and a steady young person, who is also a stunning woman, would help. Also, I think you want Lady Margret to continue her relationship with the young genius. I also believe you have ulterior motives for having a genius for the future of the Empire.”
Both Prince George and Henry looked at their friend with big smiles. Prince Henry then looked serious but with a hint of a grin said, “Dickie, whatever gave you that idea? As members of the family, we are always looking out for the preservation of the Empire and having the best and brightest aligned with Britain is always a priority.”
Prince George dropped his voice and asked, “Dickie, how do we go about getting her to Washington? I think it would be wise to do it sooner and not later.”
20
6 April 1942
RAF Base, Prestwick, Scotland
• Luzon--On Bataan, II Corps counterattacks north toward reserve line in Sector D but meets enemy attack head on and falls back. In the center, Philippine 33rd Infantry followed by 42nd and 43rd, endeavors to drive north between Catmon and west slopes of Mt. Samat, but 33rd is surrounded and presumed lost, and units to the rear are routed.
The team had left London on the afternoon of April 5 on a night train heading to Manchester then onto Glasgow. The last evening in town had been one of sadness for James and Margret because they were not allowed to spend more time with each other after dinner at the Savoy. In the morning, Margret showed up early at the embassy, and for at least an hour, they were in seclusion in the office James had occupied. They talked about the war then moved on to talking about each other. The words affection, friendship, togetherness came up time and time again but only once did James utter the word love. Margret wanted to say she loved him but was afraid of the separation and the distances involved, so she did her best British stiff upper lip impression and held her emotions in check. Only as the time came for James to depart did they embrace and kiss. She marveled at how she felt for this man, and James was fighting his emotions to stay in Britain somehow and forget about his oath as an officer in the United States Navy. She had the words to convince him a future was still possible.
“James, we are silly. I like you a lot, and I think we can become quite a couple. But first, we must do our bit for the war effort. I know you are very important to this undertaking and until this thing is finished, we must be strong. If things work out for us, then we will find one another after the war.”
She looked at him with a grin, trying to be as light in mood as possible. Quietly she spoke, “But, we must say goodbye here and now. I will write to you, and you will write to me, and soon you will come back to Britain, and I will be waiting for you. I can promise you no more than that.”
James knew she spoke a great deal of sense. He smiled his shy smile and replied in kind but in an awkward manner. “You’re right, of course. We shall meet again soon. I think I’ll be coming back to England again then we can see how this relationship works out. Thank you for your time and your understanding.”
He took her in his arms and kissed her long and hard. When he stopped and pushed her back, he saw that she was crying. “Margret, you and I will meet again, just like the song says and things will be better. I will be waiting for you, and I hope you will wait for me.”
Just as she was about to say something, the knock came on the door, and she jumped up off his lap, and he jumped up as well and said, “Enter.”
Sergeant Laird came in apologizing because everyone on the team knew that she was in the office with him. “Sorry, sir, but the trucks, I mean lorries are here, and we have to go now. I have packed up all of your equipment, sir, including the typewriter, but the captain wants you to double check everything.”
Laird walked back out the door but didn’t close it to signify things were moving, and James had to get moving as well. He kissed Margret once more then left to check his baggage. The Embassy Marine guard had shown up to say goodbye to their fellow Marines, and the ambassador was saying farewell to everyone as well. He gave the captain a diplomatic pouch to take back to the States that included a series of requests to the president. Once everyone had relayed their goodbyes, and the two lorries were loaded, a lone staff car from the embassy with Jameson, Flannigan, and James headed to the train station. James turned as the car began to move to see Margret waving goodbye to him and the rest of the team.
Jameson had noticed the farewell and commented, “James, that is one fine young lady, and if things work out well, which I know they will, you will see her again soon. Remember, take your time in love and life, and you’ll do just fine.”
Flannigan looked at his young friend, whom he could tell was madly in love with the lovely English lady, smiled and added, “Sure, James, you will see her again and sooner than you think. Just concentrate on the war for now. Things will work out.”
The rest of the trip to the train station and on to Glasgow went well with James thinking about Margret. He was able to take his mind off her by thinking about radar systems, spigot mortars, commando raids, and aerial rockets. There were many areas for him to lose himself in and he tried very hard, but his mind kept coming back to Margret. He would have to fight the feelings he had for her so he could to get back to the mission.
At RAF Prestwick, they were met late in the afternoon by an RAF officer representing the Atlantic Ferry Organization (ATFERO) who had been told to expect them and to take very good care of them. The young officer had arranged for accommodations and meals, and had scheduled them for a flight to the U.S. the next morning, depending as always on the weather. The forecast was for patchy fog until 10:00 a.m. or so followed by rain around noon. Squalls were showing up to the north all the way to the Shetland Islands. The weather people across the Irish Sea in Londonderry kept them updated on conditions every two hours helping them be more precise in scheduling takeoffs and arrivals. Both RAF facilities worked to make sure incoming traffic had a safe place to land, so if the Scottish coast was fogged, but the Northern Ireland coast was clear, they would order the planes down there and have them fly the rest of the way to Scotland or deeper into Britain.
After they had settled into their accommodations, which were not ex
actly the Savoy, the three officers headed to the officer’s club to meet up with the RAF officer who was their liaison while at Prestwick. Hopefully, he would have better news for them getting a flight out of Scotland. As they entered the small club, they spotted a few Army Air Corps uniforms plus one or two navy people all surrounded by a sea of RAF blue. As they approached the bar, a familiar voice sounded from a table in the corner.
“Captain Jameson, over here!”
Jameson looked toward what he thought was the direction of the voice and spied a table of three Army Air Corps officers. One of them was their friend from the Clipper flight to Scotland, Colonel Acker. The three men moved to the table, and Acker and the other two officers stood to receive the new arrivals.
“Good to see you, Colonel. What are you doing here? I thought you were going further south to check out some new airfield sites.” Jameson saw the other two men had wings on their chest but were not the usual youngsters he usually saw in these settings. One man was a major and the other a captain.
“Glad to see you, Captain Jameson. And if I can remember the names correctly, it’s Flannigan and Brand.” The colonel seemed to be in good shape and only had a beer in front of him as did the pilots, so Jameson thought the encounter was going to be a good one.
“Good memory, Colonel, and who are these two members of the flying fraternity?”
“Captain, please meet Major Brock and Captain Newton of the Air Ferry Command. They flew in yesterday and hopefully will be flying back tomorrow.”
Everyone shook hands and began to engage in small talk while Flannigan went to find some beers for Jameson and himself and perhaps a Coca-Cola for Brand.
“The major was a TWA pilot until his services were needed and Captain Newton flew DC-3s for American Airlines. They have been bringing planes over such as the C-47 and recently some of the B-24s plus an occasional guest or two.” Acker picked up his beer and raised it to the two pilots who seemed tired but in good spirits.
“So, Major, are you flying back tomorrow, or do you stay in sunny Scotland long?” Jameson smiled knowing he had not seen the sun anytime he had been in Scotland.
“Sir, I hope to get out tomorrow, depending on what comes in this evening. I won’t be flying tomorrow, nor will my friend Captain Newton. We are supposed to get more downtime, but, and I say this in deepest trust, I hear there is a war on, and they need the planes over here.”
Jameson smiled as Flannigan placed two beers on the table and shook his head at Brand indicating there was no Coca-Cola to be found. Brand waved it off and concentrated on the pilots’ stories.
“Are you still hopping over from Gander or Bostwick or do your longer legged planes make it to Iceland in one hop?” Jameson picked up his beer to await the answer.
Captain Newton seeing his compatriot was sipping his beer took the question. “The short answer is, it depends. Weather is the primary factor for these flights. We ferry pilots have a lot of stick time and can navigate quite well. Overwater navigation is more difficult even for someone like Newton and me, but it scares the hell out of new kids with three hundred hours or so in the cockpit. The bombers, like the B-24, have navigators on board, but they are just out of school with zero reality time doing nighttime shots of stars. If the pilot cannot gain enough altitude to get out of the clouds, then it’s dead reckoning time. We have had planes lost from Newfoundland to Scotland, and by the time this war is over, we’ll probably have a mountain of metal under the sea.”
The senior pilot finished his sip of beer and then looking at Colonel Acker stated, “Some of the guys have told me they are going to have a lead plane with an experienced crew, like us, fly a group of planes over here in formation. Someone told me that they were even looking at flying a group of P-38s over here with a lead pilot in a bomber playing follow the leader. All it takes is one cloud bank, and some twenty-year-old kid gets disoriented and ends up in the water or the ice in Greenland. Not a pretty picture to think about.”
Flannigan joined the conversation to talk about their flight home. “So, Major, what do they usually use for the back-home trip? I would love to fly in the big Clipper again.”
Again, Captain Newton took the question and answered it in a very matter of fact way.
“Well, Captain, you’ll be lucky to get a B-24. They’ve gutted a few of them and put in what they call seats along each side and stuff the bomb bay with baggage, mail, and maybe some good Scotch for the brass back home. You’ll freeze all the way back to the States. These planes are good and as safe as possible but not comfortable. The 24 can make it all the way to Botwood or Gander, but they usually put down in Iceland for fuel. The headwinds are devilish until late spring, which is what some of the experienced Brits told me.”
The pilot moved a bit closer to the Marine and spoke softly. “Some of them have been flying planes back and forth since 1940. So, if it is twenty-two hundred miles from here to Gander, and we fly at two hundred fifteen mph cruising speed, figure without a big headwind, it will take ten and a half hours to get there. But, and it is a big but, figure at least a fifty-mile-per-hour headwind, and now we’re flying at a true airspeed of one hundred sixty-five miles per hour so now it’s going to take us thirteen and a half hours. Again, we must make constant adjustments for speed, headwinds, temperatures, gross weight of the plane and now you have a real range of maybe twelve hundred miles and no place to land but in the sea. If we have a good weather report, we’ll still try to top off the tanks in Iceland but be ready to divert to Thule in Greenland, or even turn back and start all over again. We just don’t have the planes yet that can make the Atlantic hop non-stop apart from the two Boeings.”
Flannigan quickly wanted to know more. “What Boeings are those?”
Newton answered by smiling at the Marine, “Captain, you’ve mentioned one of them already. Boeing built the Clipper, and it’s one hell of a plane. All of us would love to fly that monster but it’s a seaplane, and they are not the easiest beast to land and take off. The other Boeing is the 307 Stratoliner, or as the army calls it now, the C-75. Great plane and it’s the only passenger plane built so far that is pressurized. That means it can fly at a ceiling of over twenty-four thousand feet but is pressurized to eight thousand feet. No cold wind blowing like you experience in the B-24 or the DC-3. Warm as a bug in bed but only ten were built before the war began.”
The major spoke up adding his thoughts. “TWA and Pan Am were the only two companies to get them before the war began, but I understand Howard Hughes had one built and flies it around himself. The plane is based on the B-17 and uses the same wings, engines, tail, undercarriage, and rudder assemblies, but they widened the fuselage so that it could be pressurized. It looks like a pregnant bomber, but it is so nice inside. It can fly above the weather and is very smooth. I was going to get a chance to fly it, but the war interrupted my plan. Since there are only ten of them, they are using some to fly here, and then some are doing a run to South America, and now I understand, some are flying from Brazil to Africa. Hopefully, you will get a chance to get on one of those sweethearts.”
Flannigan wanted to know more, but Jameson cut him off. “So how about another beer since neither of you is going to be flying up front?”
The major smiled broadly and responded, “Always liked the navy for no other reason than they know how to buy drinks.”
Everyone laughed and Jameson walked to the bar with the pilots in tow.
Acker looked at the two remaining officers and, though he knew better, went fishing for information, “I hope your mission went well and you learned a lot to help us out.”
Brand responded to the colonel who had been nice to him on the flight over to the UK.
“Sir, we have had a very informative series of meetings and experiences. Our Allies pulled out all the stops and shared significant information with us, so to answer your question, this has been a successful trip. But, I think we’re ready to get back to the States and use this knowledge, as you say, to help our w
ar effort.”
Flannigan smiled at the diplomatic and non-informational answer. They had talked about this kind of thing on the trip from London. They expected to be peppered with questions on things they had seen and done, most of which were classified, so developing stock answers that provided a broad non-specific response was important.
Jameson and the older pilots were now engaged in a conversation about the merits of air travel before the war. No one noticed the young RAF liaison officer enter the club. He spotted his special visitors, and walked over with a senior officer in tow.
“Captain Jameson, I am sorry to barge into your conversation, but I would like you to meet Wing Commander Parsons, the base commander.”
Everyone at the table stood to attention. Jameson put out his hand to shake the already extended hand of the wing commander.
“Captain Jameson, it is terribly good to meet you. I did not mean to interrupt your conversation with your chums.” The wing commander was not very tall and had the wings of a senior pilot as well as the insignia of an RAF Wing Commander. Everyone also noted the patch over his right eye and he appeared to have suffered burns on the right side of his face.
Jameson introduced his team, and the other U.S. officers then praised the young RAF liaison officer. “Wing Commander, Lieutenant Wipple has been exceedingly efficient in helping us get settled for what we hope will be a short time at your base. I hope that did not sound in poor taste, but we wish to get back to the States as soon as possible.”
“No worry about being sad to say goodbye to Prestwick, Captain, for that is our job. We are not wanting you to sit around drinking all of our beer and flirting with the local ladies.” The wing commander smiled, and everyone laughed heartily at his joke.
Mission to Britain Page 25
