Maximum Effort

by Vincent Formosa

  “What seems to be the trouble?”

  “I’m not sure.” She stood back from him, hands behind her back. “It just stopped.”

  He walked over to the car and lifted one of the bonnets side panels. The light of the moon was just enough to see what he was doing. She moved around behind him and peered over his shoulder. He could feel her stood there, her coat brushing against his legs. A hint of perfume wafted around him while he had a further rummage around.

  He paused and half turned towards her. He held out a glove hand. “We were never actually introduced before. I’m Alex Carter.”

  She paused for a moment before smiling slightly at the absurdity of it all and shook his hand in return.

  “Georgette Waters.”

  Now the pleasantries were out of the way, he went back to rooting around in the engine. He found the throttle cable and followed it to the engine. That was connected so no problem there. He checked the dipstick. There was oil in so that was fine. Lacking tools, there wasn’t much he could do. He stood up and scratched his head.

  “Give it a try,” he told her. She got into the car and pulled out the choke. Saying a silent prayer, she turned the key. The engine turned over. Carter twirled his hand, telling her to keep going. It kept on turning but didn’t catch. She stopped.

  “You have got petrol in here?” his asked, his tone sceptical. She almost shot out of the car to stand in front of him, her chin jutting forward, hands on her hips, as she unleashed the frustrations of the last hour.

  “I’m not a total idiot you know,” she flared. “The engine stopped. There’s plenty of petrol in the tank, I made sure I had enough before I left, and there’s a can in the boot.” She folded her arms. He held up his hands to ward off her anger.

  “Okay, okay, it was only a question.” He carried on poking. He found one of the ignition leads were disconnected and the others were loose, so he pushed them home on the spark plugs. “Try it again,” he suggested.

  She stared down her nose at him, a haughty look that made his stomach flip flop. Her eyes were blazing and her skin was pale under the moonlight, her dark hair framing her face.

  She got in and turned the key again. The engine turned once, coughed, turned and then caught. The sudden roar shattered the silence of the night. She eased off on the throttle as the engine settled down to a steady hum. When she closed the choke, the engine note dipped but she caught it deftly and gave it a bit more on the pedal.

  Carter stood staring at the engine but it was more for show than anything else. It sounded like everything was working, beyond that he had no clue. He fastened the bonnet panels and got in the car.

  “Where do you need to go?” she asked.

  “RAF Amber Hill please, or as close to it as you can.”

  “I can manage that,” she told him.

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “I do,” she said primly as she put the car in gear and pulled away.

  Carter remembered then that Walsh had told him she was a WAAF but where she was stationed escaped his memory.

  “Where were you going?” he asked her, fishing for more information. She hesitated for a moment before answering him.

  “Group,” she said, half distracted as she concentrated on driving in the dark. With the headlamps rigged for blackout, only a small slither of light illuminated the way ahead. She was grateful it was a full moon, that helped a little.

  “Grantham,” she elaborated.

  They nearly went into a ditch when the road suddenly kinked right with little warning. She wrenched on the wheel and kept them going.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, concentrating on the road ahead. “How come you were out walking?” she asked him. “It’s a bit far for a midnight stroll.”

  “We were in town for New Year’s. I missed the last bus home so I thought I’d walk back.” She looked askance at him, sure he was joking.

  “You’re serious?”

  “I am. It’s not that far.”

  “If you’re so keen on walking, I could drop you here if you want,” she said, teasing. He laughed then and the ice broke a little.

  “No, it’s all right. This is fine,” he assured her. His feet reminded him they had done quite enough walking for one night. “What about you? What have you been up to?”

  “I was seeing my friend off. The one I was at the dance with,” she reminded him. Carter nodded, gripping his seat as they jolted over a few potholes. He remembered the girl who had danced the night away with Archer. Georgette elaborated. “She goes back home tomorrow so it was my last chance to see her before she left.”

  She’d wangled a forty eight hour leave and spent it at Laura’s hotel, availing herself of the facilities. There may have been a war on but one thing that wasn’t rationed was hot water. She’d enjoyed a long and lazy hot bath and a big bed with feather pillows, a marked change from her digs in Grantham. The hotel had put on a good spread in the afternoon for New Years Eve and then they had gone out for some drinks, a final goodbye before Georgette headed back to Grantham.

  “Nice night,” she said, making small talk, filling the silence, very conscious that he was sitting right next to her. “I suppose you love it.”

  “Sometimes. Flying at night is a challenge even before you add flak and everything else.” He scratched his cheek, the scar tingling from the cold as some feeling came back into his face. “And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer by,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “Poetry; Masefield,” he explained, smiling. The moon glittered brightly, a glowing disc of white. “Of course, I’m just a poor pilot. I suppose you types at Group know more than I do,” he said, trying to ferret some information out of her.

  “Oh, we just throw darts at a map and use divining rods,” she told him offhand, her voice teasing. Carter grinned, the tension easing away.

  “I’d ask what you do, but I know you can’t tell me.”

  “Nothing very glamorous I assure you,” she told him. She took another sharp corner and increased the speed a bit.

  “You’re not going to suddenly appear at the squadron one day to deliver a target analysis briefing are you?”

  “Good lord, I hope not.” She laughed, glancing quickly at him. His mind did jump about.

  “Just checking,” he replied, his teeth showing in the dark as he smiled.

  “How long have you been at Amber Hill?” she asked, trying a different topic.

  “Only a couple of months. It’s okay to tell you that I suppose. One squadrons very much like another.”

  She made the last turn onto the road that led to the airfield and pulled up outside the guardhouse. They sat for a moment in the car. Neither of them quite knew what to say.

  He turned to face her and she smiled, her eyes hidden in the dark. The rest of her was wrapped under the thick grey coat but he remembered how she had looked in the dance hall. The dress had been a dark blue and she had worn matching shoes. He remembered seeing them while he watched her dancing with Walsh.

  “Here we are,” she said, breaking the spell.

  “Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.”

  “So are you. You got the car running. I was just about to break out the blankets and settle down for the night.”

  He got out of the car and went round to her side. She wound the window down and looked up at him, her eyes dark unfathomable pools.

  “Goodnight, Miss Waters.”

  She inclined her head in a slight nod.

  “Mister Carter.”

  He stepped back as she let in the clutch and pulled away. She turned around smartly and gave him a wave as she drove past, back up the road they had come. He watched the brake lights recede into the distance before going into the guardhouse.

  20 - Milk Runs

  Apart from the op to Dusseldorf on the 27th December, the Christmas period remained relatively quiet for 363. The officers served the non commissioned men their dinner in their Mess on Christmas Day and a light dusting of
snow on Boxing Day provided the only excitement.

  None of his crew came a cropper after Carter left them in town on New Years Eve. For the right price, they had prevailed on a B&B to let them have two rooms and some extra blankets. When they returned, White spent the rest of the day in bed nursing a monumental hangover, swearing off booze for the rest of his life.

  Carter received a letter from home. He wrote back telling his mother what he could about life at Amber Hill and about his crew. He glossed over the mechanical problems and instead he wrote about Woods coming all the way from Canada to join the fight and what it had been like going back on operations. His mother knew the drill, she could read between the lines with the best of them.

  Bomber Command stirred itself on the 5th of January and 1942’s roll of operations finally got under way. They were to begin the year the same way they had ended it, with another run to to Brest and another chance to hit the three German warships. While Bomber Commands future was being debated by the Air Ministry, they made themselves useful. Gneisenau, Prinz Eugen and Scharnhorst were priority targets, so that was where they went.

  Half bombed the ships, half went for the naval installations along the waterfront. It wasn’t a full moon but Woods had been able to pick out the docks easily enough. As they went into their run, smoke pots were set off. Woods lost his aiming point as a thick grey cloud began to blanket the harbour. The warehouses, cranes, docks and ships all dissolved into the grey murk.

  He thought he saw flashes from the ships flak guns amongst the smoke so he tried to keep the sight on them but it was difficult. The flak intensified and their Manchester rocked from the blasts as they got closer. Woods let the bombs go but no one saw where they went. There were some dull explosions amongst the smoke but what that signified was anyones guess.

  The squadron suffered no losses and were sent back on the 8th to do it all again. There was almost a groan when Dickinson announced the target at the afternoon briefing. Brest had been attacked all week. Wellingtons had gone in on the 6th and 7th for little discernible result so the heavies were being sent back in to see what they could do.

  The airfield rocked to the sound of the engines at startup time. It was like the place came alive from a deep slumber. Nesting birds shot into the sky, rudely awakened. Asher watched from the control tower along with the rest of the ground staff as the squadron went to war again. The air thundered as the Manchester’s taxied round the peri track to the end of the runway.

  “Do you think they’ll do all right, sir?” Kent asked the CO as they watched Dickinson lead off.

  “Mr Kent, I would think they could probably get there and do it blindfolded,” Asher told him curtly, his frustration coming out and the Intelligence Officer slid back along the rail to watch them go up to give the CO some space.

  Asher hated being on the ground. He wanted to be out there, leading his squadron but he knew he couldn’t fly every mission. He led from the front as much as he could, but he had to be choosy, as did the Flight Commanders. He leaned on the rail and wrung his hands while he thought about what was waiting for them. This was the fourth raid in four nights. The Germans would be tired, but they would also be ready for them. Their defences had been tested and they had those blasted smoke pots to make things difficult.

  Those bloody Battleships seemed to lead a charmed life. Reports said Prinz Eugen had suffered some damage below the waterline but that was unconfirmed. Tons of bombs had been dropped on them and they were still there, lurking on the fringe, threatening great and terrible things if ever they put to sea again.

  Dickinson started his takeoff roll and the staff cheered. The big bomber lumbered along the runway, the tail went up as it barrelled along, then it lifted into the dark. Before he even took off, the next bomber swung onto the runway. It paused only a moment while the ground controller made sure there were no obstructions and then he gave them the green. They started their roll.

  Outward bound over the Channel, Carter let White fly. This was their fifth op together and he had been happy with his performance so far. The whole point of his stint as second dicky was to gain experience to progress and get a crew of his own. Only that morning, Dickinson had asked Carter how White was doing so he took the hint. It was time he gave him a real test. Brest was a short hop, but a raid was a raid. Getting them there and back and making the decisions under his supervision would go a long way to seeing if he was ready.

  He watched in silence, adopting his OTU instructors pose as White flew. Carter’s feet rode the rudder pedals but he kept his hands off the yoke and folded his arms in front of him so White could see he was doing it without interference.

  White did his job well. He had Vos keep watch from the astrodome. He threw in some gentle weaving, banking from side to side to give the gunners a chance to see underneath. Woods brought them in to the target on time. It was all very hum drum but there of course was the danger. They might go back to Brest twenty more times but it was when you let your guard down that things went wrong. A fighter might catch you napping, a navigator might miss a pinpoint. White did the rounds of the crew on intercom and told Todd off for being slow to respond.

  They ran in to the target, and this time they came in from the city side which made Woods very happy indeed. They came in at nine thousand, dropped their load and came home without a scratch. No fighters put in an appearance, they didn’t even see anyone go down.

  Carter was content to let him take them home. They got back at 3am and taxied in. White shut down and pulled his helmet off his head. His ears were ringing but his face was shining. His first op, on his own.

  “How was that?” asked Carter, smiling broadly.

  “That was grand, sir.” White did nothing to hide the excitement in his voice. That was it, everything he had been training for.

  Carter laughed. White floated his way out to the three tonner and all the way through interrogation. Kent asked his usual questions and noted down the answers on his clipboard. Todd was enthusiastic when he described seeing the bombs go in.

  Kent bit his tongue. This was the fourth crew he’d heard say they’d plastered the target. If he had a shilling for every time he’d been told that he’d be a very rich man indeed. Todd went into vivid detail about seeing fires on the dock. Kent asked a few supplementary questions around the target, the flak and their flight home. He scribbled some extra notes in the margin but fully expected the ships to still be there come the morning reconnaissance photos despite what anybody said.

  “Thank you gentlemen. That’ll be all. Get yourselves off so you can get your egg.” He gestured to Everett and his crew who were waiting. Everett sat down, the ever present cigarette hanging from his lips.

  “Bang on target,” he drawled, almost horizontal as he lounged on his chair. “Buckets of smoke, no fighters, didn’t see anyone go down.” He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and tapped off a bit of ash from the end.

  Kent covered his smile with his hand. Next to Fish Salmon, Everett was the most senior man on the. His laconic exterior hid a steely determination that surprised many when they got on the wrong side of his temper.

  “I, ah, have a few questions if it’s not too much trouble,” said Kent, trying to keep his voice neutral.

  “Oh all right, old man. I was just trying to save you the trouble that’s all.” Everett sat up and started going into more detail.

  As Carter left interrogation, Dickinson caught his eye. One eyebrow went up. Carter gave him a slight nod and Dickinson smiled.

  After a good sleep Carter went prowling for something to do. The problem with not knowing what you were doing a few days in advance was that people tended to default to the easy things. They went to the Mess, had drinks, went to sleep, had an air test, repeat. That was fine as far as things went, but Carter had run out of funny stories and he was sick of hearing the same old ones from everyone else.

  The Padre played at least three films a week but he got the cast offs from cinemas in town. The newsreels were
sometimes weeks out of date and the films tended to be the B-grade movies that played for a week and then got shunted off to make way for something else. Occasionally he was able to do a trade with some of the other stations but it was poor fare. Carter checked the notice board but nothing grabbed his attention.

  Carter would have gone to the theater in Lincoln but it was sold out so he took Woods and White to The Duck and Drake instead. They had a leisurely game of darts and a few pints to while away the hours.

  Todd and Murphy skipped the invitation and went to town with Vos instead. Vos went to see Denise the same as he always did any night they weren’t flying. Todd and Murphy peeled off and went to The Crown on Clasketgate. Murphy had an easy approach with a pretty blonde behind the bar and was doing his best to turn that into an evening out.

  “Why don’t you chuck the towel in?” Todd asked him.

  “Because she’s coming round,” said Murphy, smooth as you like, his face brimming with confidence. “She’s warming up to me.”

  Todd snorted. Murphy had been trying since before Christmas with this one.

  As was usual, when ops were off, the place was busy, stuffed full of aircrew. According to rumour, the secret police practically lived here. A story did the rounds that on one occasion, a Flight Sergeant had been propping up the bar when the barmaid asked him what he was doing there as there was a flap on back at his station and the target was so and so. Murphy didn’t believe it himself. If that had really happened, the place would have been shut down.

  Regardless, Muriel was working so that was his evening taken care of. He slithered through the crowd and shouldered himself a space at the bar. He waited patiently while she served someone else which was fine as it gave him the perfect opportunity to watch her.

  As tall as him, she had legs that went on for miles and he got a nice view of her stockinged calves below a floral print dress. She was very thin, broad shouldered, with an athletes figure and she had a dazzling wide smile that made her chocolate brown eyes dance in good humour.