Todd scrambled out of the rear turret and sat against the spar behind Woods and Vos. In the dark, he suddenly found the power of prayer. Not a particularly religious man, Todd had not been to church in years, but now seemed an appropriate time to offer up a few words to the divine powers to spare his miserable life.
In the cockpit, Jensen and Carter had their work cut out for them. With so little height to play with there was no time to get creative. Carter had already decided to go in wheels up. There was no guarantee they would find a nice big level field and with the undercarriage down they could ground loop or worse on touchdown. Carter and Jensen craned their necks, hunting for somewhere to put down. The land ahead was mercifully flat but it was dotted with trees, walls and other obstructions. Dropping steeply at eight hundred feet a minute, Carter spotted a large flat area surrounded with a thin tree line dead ahead. If they could just make it over those trees he could set her down there.
He dropped the nose to keep up their airspeed and set up for the final approach. As they got closer he could see they weren’t going to make it, they simply lacked the height to be able to stretch the glide that far. He sideslipped to the left, aiming the nose at a gap in the trees. At fifty feet, Carter and Jensen hauled back on the stick, flaring off the remaining airspeed but they were still doing over one hundred knots when the tailwheel touched down.
The nose dropped with a thud and smashed into the ground so hard it made their teeth rattle. L-London slithered along the field on her belly. The propellors were bent back like pipecleaners as twenty tons of aircraft barrelled along towards the tree line.
Along for the ride, Carter and Jensen clung on to the yoke. In the back, Todd howled in pain as he’d jolted his back when they touched down. There was a loud tearing sound around him, like paper ripping and then the tail parted company with the rest of the fuselage. The rudder, elevators and his turret started to tumble end over end and smashed into an Elm tree. The outer section of the port wing was ripped off beyond the engine and the starboard wingtip was left behind, peeled away like the lid of a tin can.
What was left of the bomber tore through the tree line into the field beyond. The problem was it wasn’t a field but a large lake. The Manchester skipped off the surface of the water like a flat stone and then came to a juddering halt as it touched down for the second time. The nose dug in and water cascaded over the canopy as she began to settle down. Murphy appeared from the nose like a scalded cat and scrambled over Jensen. The bomb aimers perspex blister had been smashed in and Murphy had been half drowned as a wall of water flooded in.
The Manchester sank quickly, going down at a steepening angle as water filled her up. Vos and Woods scrambled out of the escape hatch in the roof. Todd bit down the pain as he crawled up the fuselage and jumped out the hole in the back. He howled from the shock of the freezing water and started doggy paddling to shore, his Mae West only half inflated.
Jensen unfastened his straps and scrambled back up the fuselage with Murphy hot on his heels. The water was freezing and already around his knees. He gripped the sides of the escape hatch and hauled himself outside, adrenalin giving him the strength to do it.
Vos and Woods were sat astride the top of the fuselage and they clung on to each other, trying to maintain their balance on the wet metal. Jensen pulled the toggles on his Mae West and was reassured when the lifejacket inflated with a sudden rush of air. They slid into the ice cold water as the bomber sank deeper.
“Ye gods, it’s freezing,” gasped Jensen between clenched teeth.
“Over here,” shouted Todd from the bank. He had managed to haul himself up and he was stood, hands tucked under his armpits, stamping his feet to get feeling back into them as water dripped off his sodden clothes. They started swimming towards him, the cold seeping into their bones, dulling their muscles and making every movement slow. It was only then that they realised Carter was still inside the bomber.
They turned, treading water as the Manchester took the final plunge, going down at a forty five degree angle, nose heavy with the inrush of water. The canopy was underwater and rear of the wings were just breaking the surface of the lake.
“Skipper!” Woods shouted. “SKIPPER!”
When L-London had plunged into the water, Carter had been flung forward in his seat. For once, he had been lax and only loosely fastened his straps and he paid the price when he bashed his face on the yoke and the instrument panel. He woke up when the chill of the water stabbed through his clothes. He tasted blood and his chin and neck were killing him.
Bleary eyed, he looked around the cockpit to find he was up to his chest in freezing water. Loose items bobbed around on the surface and his nostrils stung from the stench of petrol and oil. The Manchester was sinking fast, slicing into the lake and she was taking him down with her. He grappled with the release for the harness but when his stiffening fingers failed him, he squirmed out of the seat, the loose straps giving him the room to do it.
His legs flailed, looking for purchase so he could start hauling himself up the steep floor to the world above him. He just managed to grab hold of something when the Manchester lurched and went down for the final time. The cockpit was plunged into darkness as it slid below the surface of the lake.
Fear gripped him and gave him new strength as he pulled upwards. His head disappeared underneath the rising water and he spat to clear his mouth. He was losing the race. He kicked again with his legs and pushed off from the back of the pilots seat. He kept his eyes fixed on the square of light that was the upper escape hatch behind the cockpit canopy. Water was already beginning to pour through it from the lower edge. His voice echoed of the walls, all whimpers and whines, like an animal fighting to get out of a sack thrown into a river.
His fingers scrabbled with the edges of the hatch, desperately trying to pull himself through. As he got his face out of the hatch, he was met by a wall of water that rushed in. Choking, he went under again. He fought back the panic that was beginning to take hold of him, half remembered terrors playing with him, laughing at his feeble efforts to cling to life.
When then doctor asked him later, he had no idea how he got out. He remembered his Mae West caught on something and he kicked and kicked as he felt himself being dragged down. The world went dark and then he found himself bobbing on the surface, Woods and Vos swimming towards him. He floated amongst the debris, staring up at the sky as he sucked down great lungfuls of air. They dragged him to shore and helping hands pulled him out of the water.
They lay on the bank, wet through as they stared at the bit of the fuselage that stuck up in the middle of the lake. They giggled inanely when the dinghy suddenly appeared. It popped up, like a cork in a bath and stayed there on the surface, still tethered to the wreck.
Woods took the roll call. They were all cold, shocked at how rapidly things had gone wrong but no one had broken anything which was a small mercy. Vos had a hanky pressed to the back of his head where he had caught his scalp going out the hatch. The back of his neck was red were the blood had flowed.
Todd lay on the ground, complaining that his back hurt. He was finding it hard to bend or move. Woods sucked his thumb where he had torn a nail. Murphy sported a gorgeous bump on the back of his head where he had banged it when they plunged into the lake. Only Jensen had got away with a few scrapes.
Carter felt around his jaw and wiggled his teeth. His neck hurt and he worked his jaw open and closed. He ran a finger around inside of his mouth between his lips and gums. It felt like he had gone six rounds in the ring. He stood up, his balance shaky. Water sloshed inside his left flying boot. He had no idea where the other one was.
He looked at what was left of his plane sticking out of the water. That was L-London done. Even if they managed to pull her out of the lake she was going to be a write off.
After ten minutes, a dog barked and came bounding through the trees. A large energetic Red Setter, it fussed around them and went charging back out of sight. It was joined by a rather port
ly figure clad in a thick winter coat and tweed pants. He pointed the end of his walking stick towards them.
“I say, are you chaps okay?” he asked in a plumby accent.
“We’re alive,” Woods replied.
“You’ve made a mess of my field,” the man complained, his tone plaintive. He gestured behind him, indicating the line that L-London had taken across the ground.
“Sorry, no choice,” said Carter, his voice shaky, detached, almost robotic. “Spot of engine trouble.”
The man grumbled and walked round the lake, gesturing to the wreck in the water, the rainbow sheen of the oil and petrol on the surface.
Ambulances magically appeared half an hour later and they were whisked off to Coningsby and taken straight to bed. All the way back, Murphy had gabbled away, talking a million miles an hour. The orderlies watched him closely, shock did odd things to a chap.
Todd was carried out on a stretcher, finding it hard to move. All of them were dunked in warm baths and then put to bed with a hot water bottle and a stiff drink. They wouldn’t be going anywhere for at least twenty four hours while the doctors kept an eye on them.
Dickinson and Asher came to see them that evening. After the obligatory pleasantries, they assured Carter there was no need to hurry back. Carter did his best to smile at the weak joke. He was lucky to be alive and knew it. He winced as his neck twinged and reminded him not to move too quickly. A purple bruise was coming up nicely on his chin.
On the drive over from Amber Hill, Asher and Dickinson had already agreed that once the hospital released them they would be sent on leave. They were due a forty eight anyway so it made sense to send them on their way after a close shave like that.
“You can take that girl of yours away for a few days,” Dickinson teased him and Carter had blushed to the tips of his ears.
After leaving them in the hospital, Asher and Dickinson went to the lake. In the gathering dark there wasn’t much to see. Work parties had already cleared away the bits of wing and a long trailer was loading what was left of the tail section. A guard of three men had been put on the lake until daylight when a recovery team would see how they were going to drag the remains of L-London out of the water. The landowner reappeared with his dog and buttonholed them.
“Disgraceful,” the man complained. “The lake’s ruined. I shall be expecting compensation of course.”
Dickinson glanced at Asher and could see his anger building. Asher was sorely tempted to kick the Red Setter as it sniffed around their trousers. He made sympathetic noises and the landowner took this as an invitation to continue.
“Yes, mark my words, compensation. It’ll cost a pretty penny for all this. Trees damaged and as for the stupid aeroplane in my lake; well.” He shrugged theatrically. “What about my fish? Eh? I expect them to be replaced.”
That threw Asher, “Fish?” he asked.
“Fish, sir. FISH!” The man grabbed Asher by the right bicep and pulled him towards the bank of the lake. He used his stick for emphasis and pointed to the white oblongs that bobbed all over the surface of the lake. “There, sir. There.” The stick pointed again and again. “And there. Trout, dead because of the petrol you’ve spilled into my lovely lake.”
“It was an accident, sir,” Dickinson soothed, his tone conciliatory. The man snorted, his nose twitching.
“That as may be. But this was a lake of prize fish. I expect to be compensated.” He sniffed in indignation, outraged that his word should be questioned.
“You will be,” Asher said with supreme calm. “You will be.”
28 - On The Fence
The crew went their separate ways for their short leave. Carter took Georgette to York. Woods returned to London and took Jensen with him. His second dicky had never been to the big city so Woods took it upon himself to begin the lads education. Murphy stayed at Amber Hill and made a few phone calls. He spoke to Muriel and arranged to see her that evening and then spoke to Joan and made his plans for the following day.
Todd cleared out and checked into a guest house on the other side of Lincoln near Scampton. He wanted somewhere with a bit of scenery and a few walks. There was no chance of that at Amber Hill and if he went to a hotel in Lincoln it would cost an arm and a leg. Going to the other side of Lincoln got him away from the squadron which was the main thing.
The guest house when he got there, and that is what it was really, was a small row of three houses with thatched roof that had been knocked together to make one building. The roof space had been turned into extra bedrooms and he had to duck when he was shown to his room. The bed was soft, the room warm and it was quiet. Even the sound of aero engines from the airfields was far enough away he could ignore them. It was perfect. No one else was in so the landlady heated him up some hot water special and ran him a bath. Todd sank gratefully into it and let the heat penetrate his aching bones.
Vos couldn’t get out of the main gate fast enough and went straight round to see Denise. She was at work but he let himself in with the spare key the landlady had given him. Denise came back to find him stretched out in the armchair, a blanket covering his legs and his head covered in bandages.
She showered him in loving kisses and bid him sit on the floor while she sat on the bed and massaged his shoulders and neck. He dozed under her touch and woke refreshed. She gave him a cup of tea and he drank deeply, relaxing for the first time since the accident.
He told her a little bit about what happened, not wanting to worry her too much. He saw her jaw tense when he airily dismissed the risks and he thought there might be an argument but the moment passed without further incident.
She traded her shift at work for the following day and they went to the coast on the train. There wasn’t much to see, but the sea air was fresh and blew away the cobwebs. Vos watched her on the train, as she stared out the window at the countryside rushing by. She had changed in many ways in the three months since she had journeyed up with him from London.
She had put on weight, the harsh angles of her face had softened. Her hair was longer, glossier now that she had more time to look after herself, not wondering where the next meal was coming from. There were times when he would be reminded just how young she was, but others, she looked at him with adult eyes, the girl wiped away. She looked at him then in the train, catching him staring at her and those same eyes softened and looked at him with such need and affection. He put his arm out and she snuggled next to him and sighed in contentment.
The tide was in so they walked along the length of the prom. They got to the end and paused in one of the wooden shelters that were spaced periodically along the seafront. They sat, huddling in their heavy winter coats as the breeze rushed past them, not touching them.
She stretched out a shapely leg and angled her foot left and right, admiring her new red square heeled shoe. She turned and put her arms around his shoulders, settling herself in his lap. His arms circled her waist. She was still tiny, a china doll in his embrace. They said little, content to be in each others company. They didn’t discuss the future much. Vos measured his life out in small chunks, from op to op; to do otherwise was foolish, the war had taught him that. The next milestone on the horizon was their long leave but that would not be for a few weeks yet.
They talked a bit about where they might go but made no definite plans. Lunch was in a tea room by the train station before they went back to Lincoln. It had been a simple day but neither of them would have changed it for the world. On the way back, he saw a few windmills in the fields, their sails turning in the evening breeze and that reminded him a little of home.
Carter stood leaning on the old stone of the city walls next to Monk Bar. He turned and faced into the wind, his eyes slitted as the remains of the setting sun dipped below the horizon. To his left loomed the large bulk of the Minster and he glanced once again at the big building. He had bombed churches like this in Germany and he wondered if they were still standing. It all seemed wrong somehow to think that he could have destroy
ed something like this which had seen so much history across the centuries.
Georgette tucked in next to him and he put an arm around her shoulders, keeping her close. She had been mad keen to get straight out when they arrived in York and they had already done the walk around the wall. Carter was tired and his legs were protesting at having to do so much walking, particularly after the accident. He moved his head around and grimaced as stabbing pains shot up the side of his neck.
Carter had packed a suitcase and met Georgette at Lincoln train Station. A quick phone call had Freddie square everything and she was granted leave at short notice. She made a fuss of him and he let her, as long as he was not expected to move too quickly. The Doctor had told him he had whiplash but it was nothing rest and a soak in a bath couldn’t cure. He was given some painkillers and waved on his way.
Carter let all thoughts of his crew and flying drift away on the breeze and focused back on the woman beside him. She had listened attentively to his account of the crash on the train asking the occasional question to prompt his memory. He omitted how hard it had been to get out. That would have only worried her and he didn’t particularly care to think about that bit again.
Her face had lit up as they discussed what to do in York. They had modified their plans slightly to accommodate his injuries but she had insisted they still do the walk first to work up an appetite.
It was a good few miles around the limit of the city walls but they took their time, they were in no hurry after all. To start with he had been a bit stiff but the walk did him good and by the end his muscles had loosened up. They had started at one of the great medieval gates that granted entrance to the city and walked round the southern walls till they ran out at Cliffords Tower. Then they had walked back along the river and did the northern bit of wall that ran from the western entrance and round the back of the great cathedral ending at Monk Bar.
Maximum Effort Page 34
