“Steady, steady.” They were nearly there when his thought process was broken by a massive flash. The dry dock suddenly lit up in stark relief. It looked like the whole front of the ship had disintegrated as a huge explosion reached skywards. Spots danced in front of his eyes and he shook his head to clear them. He sighted on the rush of flames, waited two more seconds and then hit the release.
“BOMBS GONE!” he shouted in the excitement of the moment.
Carter dived away to port after the camera took its picture, heading north, out over the water. Woods came up from the nose, jubilant, his eyes shining. He leaned in close to Carter and shouted.
“Bloody marvellous, skip. You should have seen it! Someone got right on the money tonight.” He gave an excited thumbs up and almost floated back to his seat. He’d never seen anything like that. Normally, he saw bombs exploding amongst factories and buildings. Some ammo or something must have gone up to produce a huge explosion like that. As they headed home, a huge plume of smoke went billowing into the air, hanging over Kiel as the flak guns continued to send up their barrage.
They were in buoyant mood when they got back. After the recent weeks of minelaying and duff weather it felt like they had actually earned their pay for once. This was what it was all about, hitting the target and getting home to tell the tale.
The recce photos showed the full story later in the day. The whole front of the Gneisenau, forward of the bridge structure was blackened and smoking. Fire crews could be seen still spraying water on the hull. By all reports, Scharnhorst had hit at least one mine during that headlong dash up The Channel and would have to be repaired before she could put to sea. Gneisenau was clearly out of commission and Prinz Eugen was stuck in Norway. That was that. After more than one thousand sorties, the three bogeymen had finally been laid low. Tirpitz was still lurking up in Norway but they could worry about her later. Harris was pleased. The Royal Navy was more pleased. Too many ships had been kept in reserve in case these monsters ever put to sea. Those ships could now be freed up for convoy duty and other action.
35 - Without, Which, Not
Carter papped the horn. After talking to Georgette the night before, he had been counting the hours until he could see her. The gossip round the station was that ops were off but it wasn’t until after breakfast that Group stood them down. He covered the short distance to Grantham and parked outside her digs. Mrs Lloyd stared balefully at him through the net curtains. Georgette came down the steps and got in the car. She kissed him quickly and yelped as he let in the clutch and they were off.
He drove into the countryside, weaving along the narrow lanes. Georgette gripped the door handle tightly with one hand while the other clung on to her seat.
“Careful darling, I would like to get there in one piece.” Carter grinned and let his foot off the accelerator. The lithe sports car slowed down a fraction. “Incidentally, where are we going?” she asked him.
“A little place in the country someone told me about,” he said, distracted as he spotted a truck ahead of them coming in the opposite direction. He slowed down and pulled over to give it room to get by on the narrow road.
Saunderson had told him about this place a week or so ago when Carter had been pondering where to take Georgette. Carter was getting sick of Lincoln and he wanted to get away from having eyes on him.
The Fairfax coaching inn straddled the road between Grantham and Skegness. It was a lovely old fashioned building, built as a square around a central courtyard. Two sides were the inn, another the old stables, some of which had also been converted into rooms. The front of it was two storeys high, covered in white stucco and an archway gave entrance to the inner courtyard. The quaint old fashioned look was completed by a big thatched roof. The whole building had a feeling of being big and solid. Carter wondered how on earth Saunderson knew about the place.
Georgette was pleased to find Carter in buoyant mood. After his funk at The Madison she had been worried for a time, but their time in York had done wonders to settle her worries. It was good to see he’d put it all behind him.
As it was a weekend, the inn was quite busy. The locals had gathered after the morning church service and the landlord was doing brisk business. Seeing the place so crowded, Carter was expecting at least one person to collar him and expound their views about the war but they were good enough to leave him and Georgette alone.
They ordered drinks and sandwiches and waited while they were made. Carter felt like he was floating. It had been a week since he had last seen Georgette, and a month since their leave in York, it felt like forever. He watched her and she him, the unspoken connection between them strong.
Of course she worried, he knew she did, despite what she said to reassure him but he felt closer to her than he ever had with Mary. Physically and in temperament, Mary and Georgette weren’t alike at all, but it was more than that. With Mary there had always been a brittle edge to things, particularly when she moved up to Lincoln during his tour. With Georgette, he actually believed there would be a tomorrow and that perhaps was the difference.
Georgette reached across the table and held his hand, her eyes smiling. They sat like that in silence until the barmaid came with their sandwiches and drinks on a tray. Carter ate like a starving man, his appetite stimulated by the drive.
They made reservations for dinner and then went for a drive. Carter parked the car at the edge of the Fens. The wide expanse of The Wash was in front of them, mile upon mile of salt marshes and farm land. Some sheep grazed among the tough grasses. They set off along a well worn path and walked until they got to a low lying hill where the earth had been piled up to provide a break from the wind for two bench seats. One of them had a brass plate on it, but it was so worn, Carter couldn’t read the inscription.
Sat here, overlooking The Fens, it was like being in the middle of nowhere. There was not another soul in sight. A pair of Harriers swooped on the afternoon breeze, combing the ground below with their keen eyesight. Carter shaded his eyes and watched as suddenly, one of them braked in flight, it’s wings spread wide and then it stooped, going down like a rocket. It flared at the last moment, talons extended and landed on something.
Georgette snuggled up to him, holding him close. He chuckled and she asked what he was laughing about.
“You,” he told her. “Clinging on to me.” He put his arm around her shoulders and tilted his head so their foreheads were touching. “I’m not going anywhere you know; not without you.”
That pleased her and she sighed.
“I worry you know,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
“No you don’t,” she told him. “I don’t mean ops. I’ll always worry about them until your tours over, but that’s part of who you are.” She traced a hand down his cheek and followed the line of his scar. He moved his head so he could kiss her fingers. “I mean, I worry about us. I didn’t think I would be happy again after, Charles.”
He shivered a little at her words. Her voice was so bleak at the end. He tightened his arm around her and kissed her forehead. She burrowed into him, her face pressed against his chest. Her shoulders shook slightly and he leaned back. Georgette turned her face away, reaching for a hanky she had stuffed up her sleeve. He wiped a tear off her cheek, his thumb stroking. Her eyes glittered, sparkling with tears.
“Goodgie,” she laugh-hiccuped at his use of her nickname. “Darling, I love you.” He kissed her as her eyes went wide. “I love you so much,” he said again as the words registered and she half sobbed as she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Similar platitudes were being expressed elsewhere. In Lincoln, Vos had gone for a walk with Denise. He’d grown a little tired of their room and wanted some fresh air. They went up Steep Hill towards the castle and Cathedral. They had to stop halfway because Denise was tired and felt a little ill. Vos offered to go back, but Denise insisted on carrying on to the top. She wasn’t about to let a steep hill get the better of her. At the top,
the narrow road opened out into a large square. To the right was the Cathedral, the left, Lincoln Castle.
Denise pulled Vos to he right. She wanted to see the Cathedral. He fell into step beside her and she gripped his hand tightly. They had arrived not long before the afternoon service. They walked around the Cathedral slowly. Denise marvelled at the stained glass windows but also found the church too plain for her tastes. Even the small church in Saint Omer she had gone to with her family was more decorated than this grand structure. There were no statues of the Virgin or murals on the walls; nothing.
The Priest appeared from somewhere and started the service. Denise felt caught. She’d not intended to stay for the service. She hadn’t been to church for a long time. Conscious that it would be rude to stay standing, she seated herself in one of the pews near the back. Vos sat next to her, remembering going to church with his family on Sundays while the priest solemnly gabbled away in a dead language.
The service was unlike anything he’d seen before. It was all in English and neither of them knew the hymns. Vos said plenty of prayers to be spared more dangers and brought safely home. Denise prayed for the same.
She was terrified that one day he would just never come back. She had no idea what she would do if that happened. In the months since he had brought her from London she had come to love this man who was sat next to her. He was quiet and withdrawn sometimes but so was she. They needed each other very much. He was kind and gentle and he had done everything for her, she felt very humbled by that.
Vos pleaded god for forgiveness as he knelt in the pew. Every day they went out dropping bombs that must have killed hundreds, perhaps thousands of people. He felt torn inside. Part of him wanted to wield a huge sword and cut a swathe through the Nazis, revenge for all the ills and hurts they had inflicted on the world. In the same instant he was squirming for absolution for killing civilians, families, children. He felt awful. His head started pounding. It became too much. He was overcome by a feeling of doom, like he was about to die and the ground would open and swallow him up. He rose suddenly and fled from the Cathedral.
Outside, he gasped for air, his head was reeling and he came close to being sick. His stomach clenched as he leaned forwards, hands on his knees. Denise ran out to find him sat on the steps, his head between his knees, sucking down big gasps of air. His skin was clammy, his back wet with sweat.
“Mon cher,” she said. “Qu’est ce qui ne va pas?”
He retched again and she fumbled in her bag for a tissue or a handkerchief. She rubbed his shoulders. He was shaking. An old woman took in this little scene as she walked past and scowled and tutted. Denise shot her a venomous look in return.
Gradually, Vos took command of himself again. He coughed to clear his throat and sat up properly. He eyes were red rimmed, wide. He got unsteadily to his feet, leaning on the wall for support.
“Are you okay?” she asked him. “What’s wrong?”
He cleared his throat again and straightened.
“Nothing, it’s nothing.”
“Cheri, it’s not nothing, you can tell me.”
“I’m fine,” he bit out, embarrassed at such a display. He lit a cigarette and drew into himself. His world narrowing to the cigarette in his fingers as he focused on the glowing tip, seeing burning cities in the embers.
Denise busied herself with her make up. She extracted a small compact from her bag and flicked open the lid, looking at herself in the mirror. She tilted her head from different angles, seeing the glow of her cheeks. Her stomach churned again and she suddenly felt very tired. She pulled out a lipstick and applied some, pursing her lips as she looked in the mirror.
Vos finished his cigarette and the mood passed and he was his normal self again. He gave her his best smile as he offered his arm. Smiling, she took it and they walked towards the castle. They walked the grounds and saw the outside of the old prison. To the east was the Crown Court building which was still in use. They abandoned the idea of walking the walls after Denise said she didn’t feel well again.
Concerned, Vos shepherded her back to the square and they found a tea room. They sat for a while, lingering over a cup of tea and saying little to each other. She didn’t ask him what had happened in the service and he volunteered nothing about his thoughts of doom. Vos left payment on the table as they went to catch a bus back to their room.
Mrs Peck had a vegetable casserole ready when they got in. She pressed Vos to stay and he sat in the parlour while she brought him a small bowl along with a buttered roll. He polished it off quickly, his appetite stimulated from the walk and the fresh air.
Afterwards, he suddenly felt very tired and Denise took him upstairs. He dozed on her bed and he woke in the middle of the afternoon to find the room stifling, Denise had a good fire going in the hearth and she sat with her feet up, darning his socks. He felt drained. He sat up and stretched.
“Hello,” she said quietly. She snipped the thread with a small pair of scissors and tied off the loose end. She bunched the socks into a ball and threw them at him. He caught them and put them back on.
He rubbed a hand over his face and went to the basin in the corner. He wet a flannel and rubbed his face, patting with a towel afterwards.
“Sorry about earlier,” he said sheepishly. He sat down by the fire and crossed his legs as he stared into the embers. He chewed on the pad of his thumb.
“God forgives all things,” she said.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her. She shrugged and put away her sewing things. The queasy feelings had passed and she felt much better now.
“How am I feeling?” she arched an eyebrow. “How are you feeling?”
He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He attributed it to something he ate. Denise had seen some subtle changes in him the last few months, the way he buried his fears deep inside. He told her very little about ops but she could read newspapers. She heard snippets from people at work who had family in the services. It had to come out some time, why not in a church?
“Christophe, don’t be scared to tell me things. I won’t break.” He grunted in response. She decided then. “Shall I tell you something?” she asked him.
He tore himself away from looking into the fire and stared sideways at her. A worm of concern gnawed at him, wondering what she was going to say. Since they had been together, he had studiously ignored asking anything about her time in London. He didn’t want to know about such things.
“I once said that this was all a dream, do you remember?” He nodded slowly. “This is more than a dream now, you helped make it so.” She got down from her armchair and joined him on the floor. “This is real.” She kissed his fingers and then moved to his right shoulder, his neck. She looked at him. “I love you. Je t’aime.”
He covered her mouth with his and she pushed him back onto the floor, straddling him with her legs.
36 - Send In The Heavies
With the Battleships taken care of, Harris wanted to open his bombing campaign with a real maximum effort, something that would make a statement and set the tone of operations to come. Every morning he would come into the operations room at High Wycombe to be told the casualty rate from the previous nights ops. Target photographs showing damage would be ready for his inspection. More detailed briefs were prepared and ready for him if he wanted some specific piece of information.
After that, there would be discussion of that days business and what options there would be for operations that evening. The meteorologists would be consulted and possible targets would be looked at in more detail. Eventually, Harris would make his choice and that would be the days morning prayers concluded.
On this occasion, the Air Ministry had asked Bomber Command to attempt a raid on one of the French factories that was known to be supplying the German war machine with materials. A target was selected but Harris was well aware of the political dimensions to such an attack.
France may have been occupied by the Germans but it wasn’t the same as bom
bing Germany itself. With the row over the Butt report and the recent mess over the German Battleships, there was a real need to avoid providing Bomber Commands enemies with even more ammunition to damage the service. Civilian casualties had to be avoided at all costs.
The weather forecast for that night was good so he was comfortable selecting a target that had such political significance attached to it, but he was conscious that there would be no second chance at this. If he was going to send in his bombers, they would have to smash this target in one go. The orders went out later that morning and the wheels began turning at Group and then at squadron level.
At Amber Hill, the station swung into action; gates were closed, the phones were turned off and aircraft were tested; the sense of anticipation palpable as it always was when ops were on. While the crews were called to briefing at 5pm, the erks got to work checking the kites, filling the fuel tanks, loading the ammunition and bombing up.
Carter slumped into his chair at briefing with a horrible headache. It had been building all day and his forehead was throbbing. He forced himself to pay attention while Everett got things started. He would be leading this one and Church sat on the stage, listening as his Flight Commander went through the route and the target. Everett gave them both barrels to grab their attention.
“Tonight, we will be taking part in the biggest raid Bomber Command has yet staged in the war.” That focused the mind and Carter blinked as the room erupted in murmurs of surprise. Everett let them confer for a few moments before continuing. “Up until now, there has been an embargo on bombing of French industrial targets to avoid the possibility of civilian casualties. That ends tonight.”
He strode over to the back of the stage and picked up the stick leaning against the map board. He slapped the pointer at Paris.
Maximum Effort Page 42
