A Wretched Victory (Innocents At War Series, Book 6)

by Andrew Wareham

  It was worth a try – it was at least a useful suggestion, something practical to attempt.

  “Right, gentlemen. What next for today?”

  “We saw seven different tented bases, Tommy.”

  “So we did, David. Let us do our little best with them. Incendiaries?”

  They flew, and did some damage, and came back without loss, reason to celebrate, they thought, particularly when Wing telephoned them in late afternoon to announce that General Salmond was delighted with their destruction of two full German units that morning. Both were reported to have been turned around and sent back to the rear to reform.

  “Our intelligence people have picked up on a telephone conversation, gentlemen. How, I am not certain,” Nancy said. “I suspect that Jerry is so foolish as to continue to use the existing Belgian lines, which can be listened in to by the original owners. Be that as it may, of an infantry battalion of eight hundred, more than six hundred are dead or wounded and the remainder are demoralised beyond immediate service. The cavalry lost almost one half of their number, being more spread out, but again are incapable of service as a regiment without months of reorganisation. Needless to say this is a major victory for the RAF and General Salmond is pleased to announce it as such. The sole aim of the operation was to attack ground forces known to be on the march – of course – and there was no failure to destroy the bridge, there having been no expectation of even damaging it. There will be Mentions, of course, to all those involved.”

  Mac and Abe were deeply impressed, asked Tommy if they were permitted to announce their honours in their letters home.

  “By all means, lads. There will be more to come for you if you continue as you have started. I am so pleased with your flying that I have requested that you both be made full lieutenants - whether that will come through, I don’t know. I have every expectation of success for you.”

  The prospect filled them with awe – their parents would be delighted at such a commendation from their squadron commander, a man, they told Tommy, whose name was a household word, known even in Canada.

  “Is it really? It will be forgotten within days of the war ending, I don’t doubt. It should be – when peace comes, there will be better things to delight in. Do you fancy a beer to celebrate?”

  Both men wondered whether they should – the others seemed to take such pleasure in alcohol, and one could do no harm, after all.

  Tommy felt almost guilty as he had them helped back to their room.

  “Time they grew up, Nancy.”

  “It will not hurt them, Tommy. Both need to relax. What have you planned for the morning?”

  “Squadron raid again, Nancy. I am inclined to keep us together in future. If it had been a single Flight at the bridge, we would have killed at most a quarter of either the infantry or the cavalry. We did much more damage for being together.”

  “I agree. I have never really been willing to talk about tactics, Tommy, being one of the wingless – and having very little desire ever to fly.”

  Tommy was aware of that – he could not understand it, but knew it was not cowardice – Nancy had no yellow in him, that he was certain of.

  “What have you been unwilling to suggest, Nancy?”

  “Currently, you hit a target one day, Tommy, then leave it alone, finding something else to bomb next. Have you considered going back, time after time? If you perform four raids in a day, all of them on the same target in squadron strength – you might break their spirit, cause them to run at the sound of you coming back. You remember how effective you were at the Somme?”

  “Never thought of it, Nancy. I suppose it would make sense… let them waste their efforts on putting out the fires and trying to reorganise, only to have everything blown up again. Worth a try. Have you any suggestion for a target?”

  Nancy had not, but he would talk to his contacts at HQ – they might have the location of something worthwhile.

  Flying stopped for three days as the squadron was hit by an outbreak of heavy colds – ‘flu’’ the afflicted insisted from their beds of sickness. Quack prescribed hot drinks laced with rum or Scotch, according to taste, on the grounds that it would help their sore throats and was probably less harmful than any other remedy. In any case, he said, they needed something, to know that they were being treated and feel better for realising that he cared.

  “Lucky, in some ways, Tommy. It probably is a mild flu’ and will protect them against anything worse. All I hear is that it’s sweeping the British ranks.”

  “Thirty miles distant, Tommy. Behind the old front line, an existing dump that has been enlarged and made into a corps facility, rather than brigade ready ammunition.”

  A little of explanation and Tommy comprehended the difference – stores were delivered from Germany to the corps, broken down into smaller convoys to the division and then sent as needed to replenish at brigade level.

  “If you say that a brigade, typically, is three battalions of infantry – except where immediate needs in the field have made them change it – and a division will have possibly three brigades of infantry and some batteries of field and medium artillery; or it may be essentially cavalry, but they aren’t to be found too far forward these days, as a general rule. A corps might have two or three or four divisions – that will vary depending on what it’s doing – garrison smaller than field, probably. But the effect is that a corps dump will have two to four weeks of supplies of all materiel of war, for as many as thirty thousand men. It makes a worthwhile target, especially now that the blockade is biting.”

  “Being ‘worthwhile’, Nancy – it must be well-guarded.”

  “Not as heavily as one might expect, Tommy. Ludendorff has authorised a reduction in anti-aircraft artillery and machine-guns, because more is needed at the front and the new planes have taken control of the air. There is less need for guns to be ‘wasted’, sat in readiness for air raids that do not come. So the great man has decreed, Tommy.”

  “Low level, it must be, still, Nancy. When are the Dolphins expected to fly?”

  “Four days at most, Tommy. Drongo has his people busy with them now – that’s why you haven’t seen him for three days. Back to the rear, well to the south of Calais, learning how to handle them. Very different to the Camel. Faster and capable of good performance at height. Not perfect, by a long way, but with a lot going for them.”

  “Good. Work out a list of targets that we could hit with the Dolphins giving us cover at height, please, Nancy. For the while, what’s the weather forecast?”

  “Typical May, Tommy – unpredictably wet.”

  “Pity. If it’s dry, we will try for the dump. Twenty pounders and incendiaries, I think. Not a lot of point to dropping anything bigger until we can loose off from six thousand.”

  The dump had very few machine-guns emplaced; the bulk of their protection comprised of larger guns, ready to fire a barrage at six to eight thousand feet, in expectation of attacks using the Drift Sight, Tommy presumed. German Intelligence must have been aware of the new sight and have issued instructions on the precautions to be taken.

  The squadron formed into line abreast and swept in from the east, following a four track railway line, evidence of busy traffic at night. Most dumps were served by single lines, needing no more than one train in at a time.

  There was a mass of large tents, dozens of wooden shacks and even a few brick buildings, most of those with earth banks built high and a single offset entrance. They dropped as soon as they had crossed the perimeter fence and peeled off right and left, machine-gunning randomly in the hope of doing some good with the hybrid rounds – they might set fire to something. As he crossed the far fence, speed rising, Tommy spotted a field of barrels on the northern side of the base – petrol, he presumed.

  “Lost Tyke, Tommy!”

  Sergeant Ormerod pointed to a DH4 trailing flames but still flying. Tommy watched for a few seconds, saw the inexperienced pilot dither, wonder just what he should do.

  “H
e can land yet, Ormerod!”

  There was an open expanse of turf to the front – rough and crossed by drainage ditches, but not wholly impossible. Tyke crossed it, made no attempt to come down. Tommy could see the observer yelling at his pilot, wondered just what he was saying.

  Twenty seconds and the flames suddenly flared high and then the tank blew, dropping the fiery mass into tangled, almost destroyed woodland, the trunks blasted by shellfire in the first advance. The petrol fire spread and wood took light, with a great cloud of smoke rising.

  Tommy swore – he must speak to Fred now, and would be forced to tell him the truth, that his young brother had died very unpleasantly. He remembered that Charlie had had little respect for the boy, hoped Fred might have felt the same. That was three brothers from five in the Petersham family – and still the chance that the remaining two would not survive.

  He landed in grim mood – which was not especially unusual, he realised.

  “One second lieutenant plus observer and plane, George.”

  George glanced at the three, said nothing, made his way to the telephone.

  “Nancy, you were right – a good target. Horatio, bomb up again, same mix. Have you any Brock rather than hybrid?”

  “A few set up for the Vickers, Tommy, almost all hybrid, these days.”

  “Which is best for petrol in barrels, in your opinion?”

  “You would probably get a better spray of flaming petroleum with the Brock rounds, Tommy, but I doubt it would make a great deal of difference. Really, either will do the job. Try twenty-pound bombs rather than incendiaries, I would advise. I think you might even manage to blow some flaming barrels into the air and perhaps spread the fire further.”

  “Right! Change the orders, load twenty-pound bombs only on the next raid.”

  Tommy used the telephone while waiting for the planes to be looked over by the mechanics and prepared for the next raid. Fred was flying, the adjutant said, working up the new aircraft.

  “Dolphins?”

  “Yes, sir. An improvement on the Camel, with perhaps a few trivial disadvantages, and, of course, the extra pair of guns – twin Lewises pointing upwards, sir!”

  “I had heard that was the case… What are they for?”

  “Definitely something, sir. We have not yet discovered quite what, but are utterly certain that it will be a terribly good idea on the part of a very clever designer, sir.”

  “I see. How much speed will you gain by removing their weight?”

  “Unknown as yet, sir. I do not doubt we shall soon discover. Major Petersham has commented to the effect that two sets of guns are somewhat difficult to operate with one set of hands and eyes, but he is sure he will master the concept of attacking two separate targets at once.”

  “Good. I shall be flying at least twice more today, probably three times, so the chance of being here when Fred returns the call is slight. His brother, James, did not come back from the first raid of the morning. I saw him go in, with a big bang. He won’t have got out of that one. One of his first raids, of course.”

  “I will tell him, sir. I did not know the young man was out here.”

  “He wasn’t for more than a week. Thank you.”

  Dropping bombs on drums of petrol was a colourful activity, Tommy decided, but not conducive to retirement on a pension. The DH4 carried twenty-two of the small bombs, releasing simultaneously in a shower, and throwing burning petrol high into the air – far higher than the planes’ fifty feet. He had opened the throttle to its fullest before dropping on this occasion, was glad to have done so; he would not have survived dropping at low speed.

  They left a great cloud of black smoke behind them, the fifteen planes in their Flights having cut four wide swathes across the field of drums and burning petrol having spread across another two or three acres of the dump. There were explosions to the side of the petrol store – possibly artillery shells; perhaps flammable foodstuffs – butter and this new imitation stuff that was made in a factory and came in barrels; might even be hydrogen cylinders for Drachens, he supposed. Whatever the cause, explosions would keep fire-fighters at a distance, aiding the process of destruction.

  Did they need to return?

  Nancy had no doubt they should.

  “They will be trying to salvage all they can, Tommy. You will be able to hit their transport, probably, certainly you will frighten their people. Most of the drivers will be second rate, unfit for the front line and not in the habit of being under fire – they will not take well to bombardment. Add to that, they are increasingly short of horses and wagons. Well worthwhile. Probably worth keeping an eye on the sky, Tommy. There will have been shouts of outrage at the fact that you have been able to raid twice, almost untouched. I would expect some attempt at providing cover.”

  “Would they have brought in more machine-guns?”

  “Doubt it, Tommy. They will be trying to get stuff out rather than add to what they have there.”

  Tommy split the squadron into separate Flights for the third raid.

  “Blue and Barbry to hit the dump again – look for any part that’s not burning and see what you can do. David, find the railway line, about five miles out and follow it in to the dump, or close to. If there’s a train, bomb it; if not, take a road out and do what you can with transport on it. I’ll take Mac and Abe round the outside, the perimeter, and try to find any command post or transport depot they’ve set up for the salvage job, or for some part that’s not burning. Watch high – we should have caused an amount of offence by now.”

  To their outrage, there was a squadron of Camels busy when they reached the dump.

  “Poaching! Can’t they find their own bloody game, Ormerod?”

  The Camels were bombing and machine-gunning a line of transport at what had presumably been a main gate.

  “Bloody amateurs, Ormerod. They’re using ball not hybrid!”

  Tommy led Mac and Abe away, found a section of the supply dump that was untouched, separate from the rest by a good fifty yards of cleared ground and with its own barbed wire fence. He wondered what had to be segregated like that, decided he preferred to keep well clear of it; he had suspicions of what it might be. He took a glance at the smoke and swung round so that they were flying into the wind when they returned to the enclosure. He waved to Mac and Abe, gave the drop signal and pumped his arm for a sharp climb.

  The bombs blew and a cloud of mist formed almost immediately; Tommy led the pair to a thousand feet, ignoring the risk of fighters, stayed there for almost a minute at top speed before dropping to ground level again.

  “Gas, Ormerod!”

  “Tents in an enclosure to the northeast of the dump, Nancy. Gas. Situated so that the prevailing wind will blow leaks away from the rest of the base. Any poor bugger within a mile of that place will be feeling sick by now. No fourth raid, certainly not at low level, the fires and smoke could have spread the gas anywhere. Speak to Wing and ask who sent Camels poaching, Nancy. Tell them to find their own targets in future!”

  Nancy very gravely said that he would pass the message.

  “Tell ‘em as well that ball is no good for ground attack, they need to load incendiary or explosive rounds.”

  Nancy made a note on his pad.

  “Wing has passed along the official response to the presence of the cavalry. Army HQ believes that what we saw was the transfer of Reserves from one location to another. There is no reason to suppose that there will be any other attack mounted. The squadron’s efforts have been noted and are much to be encouraged – it is particularly important to target cavalry who are still the most valuable arm in ‘normal’ warfare.”

  “’Normal’, Nancy.”

  “That is what the man said, Tommy. Being the greatest soldier since the Iron Duke, he must, of course, know what he is talking about.”

  “So he must. That was Wellington, wasn’t it, the Iron Duke?”

  “Yes, Tommy.”

  “He should have spent his time inventing
boots, Nancy. If that’s the way his successor thinks, he must have been in the wrong trade.”

  “Possibly Wellington would not agree with Haig’s opinions, Tommy. In fact, being in almost every possible way Haig’s opposite, I rather doubt he would have.”

  “Good. What shall we do to round the day off, Nancy? We are still under orders to maintain four raids a day, aren’t we?”

  “Take a risk, Tommy. The word is that the Germans are concentrating their Jastas to the east, over the French sector. Make a raid at height, using the big bombs. Try to hit the dump from on high.”

  “Will the gas have risen to six thousand feet?”

  “No. It’s heavier than air, slightly – it concentrates at ground level, that’s how it sticks together sufficiently to be dangerous.”

  Tommy delayed take off so that they had just sufficient time to return and land in daylight. He hoped that any fighters who were up would have gone home by then.

  The four Flights flew together in close formation, all at the same height, carrying one apiece of the three-hundredweight and one-hundred pounders. Sergeant Ormerod was to aim and give the signal for them all to drop, reducing the scatter, with luck. The other gunners would watch the sky, offering the possibility of a crossfire from thirty Lewises if there were fighters in the vicinity; they should, they thought, at least be able to keep them at a distance.

  They dropped their three tons of bombs into the fire and smoke of their earlier raids, caused a definite increase in the volume of smoke rising; more than that, they could not see.

  “Some of them hit the target, Nancy. How many, we do not know.”

  “Well done, Tommy. Message of congratulations from General Salmond. They have managed to take some photographs – why, I have no idea – and have no doubt that you have caused great harm to Jerry. Because the target is so visible, they will if possible send night bombers to add to the flames.”

  “Generous of him. What’s the weather forecast?”