Maximum Effort

by Vincent Formosa

  “The thing to remember. These kites are tough. It might feel like you’re going to pull the wings off, but you won’t. When the bullets are flying, hesitation will get you killed. You’ve got to learn to react instinctively. Now you try.”

  Carter handed back control and talked Harding through the maneuver.

  Vos sat on the corner of her bed, shocked to the core. She stood by the fire, head down, hands behind her back. He hair was loose and hung down in front of her face. The silence was heavy in the air. Vos didn’t know what to say.

  He looked at Denise as she chewed on her bottom lip, becoming more worried the longer the silence went on. Georgette had convinced her everything would be okay. She’d come on the Sunday as she promised and the two of them had sat for over an hour talking about what to do.

  This was when Georgette saw how young Denise really was. The thought of being pregnant terrified her. With no family to support her, it weighed heavily on her. What worried her more was that Vos would leave her once he knew and that she’d be on her own.

  Georgette did her best to soothe her fears but she was never able to answer the one key question; what would Vos’ reaction be? In the end, logic prevailed. Georgette pointed out that there would come a time when Denise could no longer hide her condition from anyone. She would have to tell Vos eventually, so it would be better to tell him at a time of her choosing.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to know how you stand?” Georgette had asked her. Denise knew she was right but the prospect still terrified her.

  He’d come round on Monday evening once she’d finished work. Thankfully she hadn’t been sick but she’d eaten little all day. Mrs Peck had tried to tempt her with some stew, telling her she needed to keep her strength up.

  Vos could tell she wasn’t well as soon as he saw came into the room. She was pale and listless and he made a fuss of her to try and cheer her up to no avail. Later in the evening she sat in his lap, a blanket drawn up around them as he read to her from a book of French poetry.

  One of the poems struck a chord with her and she sat up suddenly. She stared into the fire, consumed with thoughts of loss. Her parents, home, family, all gone. She steeled her nerve and turned to face him, searching his face, trying to see deep into his eyes. Her expression concerned him. She looked almost frantic, her eyes wide, the whites showing.

  “Beloved, I, I have something to tell you.” Fear gnawed at Vos, wondering what could worry her so much. “I know why I’ve been sick for the last few weeks.” He looked up then, eyes fearful that it might be something terrible. “It’s morning sickness,” she blurted out in a rush. He had nodded, mute. “I’m going to have a baby.”

  “You..we.” Words failed him. He blinked twice and sat up. Scared, she had read his hesitation as rejection and she got to her feet to stand by the fire. Vos paced around the room, struck by the enormity of what she had said, the boundaries of his world shifting around him. Before, he had been alone, a stranger far from home, fighting the enemy who had taken him away from everything he held dear. Then he’d come to love another and now this. It just took him a while for his brain to catch up.

  He crossed the room to sit on the bed and look at her again. He sorted through the feelings crashing through his head. He was going to be a father.

  “I’m going to be a father,” he said aloud, his voice lost in wonder. He went to her then, a smile creasing his face, his eyes alive and dancing in good cheer. He covered her cheeks in kisses and brushed away the tears that glistened at the corner of her eyes.

  “I love you, Denise. I love you. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  She sobbed then, the weeks of pent up fear releasing itself in one moment.

  48 - Picking Up The Pieces

  Vos told his crew the news the following day. Carter acted suitably surprised and they went out that night to celebrate. They could have gone on all night, but prudence tempered their good cheer and they got back to Amber Hill before midnight nursing heavy heads. It was a good job too. The new day brought orders from Group.

  The squadron was going back to the Ruhr but they were going to Dortmund this time for a bit of variety. Good as his word, Church sent him out on this one. Carter felt like he was floating as he walked around on his pre-flight. He hadn’t felt like this since the first op on his first tour way back in the dark ages.

  Being a Flight Commander came with one privilege, you got to go first. He lined up, got a green and was on his way. They sped past the tower and took off into the night, climbing away from Amber Hill and heading for the coast.

  The trip out was routine. The crew had settled down in the intervening weeks and Byron and Flynn had settled down without any problems. Vos got a good fix and passed the position to Woods who marked the location on his chart.

  In the tail, Todd debated how wise it had been to get Latimer to remove the middle perspex panel in his turret. He could see a treat. There were no reflections or misting to obscure his view, but by god it was cold. By the time they went on to oxygen, his teeth were chattering, his nose had gone numb and the whistling of the slipstream past his turret was getting annoying.

  Before take off, he’d scrounged around for extra clothing to stay warm. Carter had given him a thin pair of silk gloves to wear under this gauntlets. At least his fingers were nice and toasty. He had pulled on an extra pair of socks to help keep his feet warm and that was working so far. He debated getting a hot water bottle for the next time.

  Halfway over The North Sea, it all went wrong. It wasn’t so obvious at first. The port inner began to lose power and Byron spent a good ten minutes tapping dials and juggling the throttles to try and figure it out.

  “No dice skipper,” he said in the end. “Either the plugs are fouled or there’s some crap in the fuel tank. The other engines are running okay so we’re still good to carry on.”

  Carter nodded while he considered his options. They were a hair under seventeen thousand feet and still a long way from the target. Their airspeed had reduced which would mean they would be late. Being late held little concern for him, they’d been late before.

  “Skip it, it might clear on it’s own,” he told Byron. “We’ll press on.”

  Byron went back to his panel, fretting over the engines and trying to will the port inner to work. Twenty miles from the Dutch coast, the starboard inner packed up.

  Carter felt the engine let go, there was a massive judder through the airframe and a gout of sparks out of the exhaust. The revs dropped off and the prop started to windmill.

  With the sudden loss of power, the Lancaster slewed to the right and Carter had to work hard to get them back on an even keel. The R/T came alive as the crew asked what was going on and Carter shouted at them to keep quiet.

  “Talk to me, Byron.”

  The Flight Engineer was not one to sugar coat it.

  “Starboard inners buggered.”

  He looked over the canopy at the offending engine a few feet away as he feathered the prop. Smoke was spilling out from the exhaust stubs in a steady stream.

  “Spud, can you see any flames?” he asked.

  That focused everyones attention. In the tail, Todd went pale and he suddenly thought about grabbing his parachute just in case. Murphy span his turret so he could take a look. He peered into the gloom. He could see the stream of smoke, gray against the black, but there was no orange lick of flame visible.

  “No fire that I can see.”

  “Watch it,” said Carter.

  They tried to bring up the power on the port inner but it wasn’t playing along. They flew on for another few minutes but Carter knew he was fooling himself. No inner engines meant no hydraulic power for the bomb doors, the flaps or the undercarriage. They could drop the bomb doors by using a hand pump but it would take fifteen minutes to manage that and once they were down, they couldn’t get them back up again. The inner engines also powered the electrical generators which meant no extinguishers and no power for the fuel booster pumps amongst
a whole host of other things.

  “Woody, course for home,” he said in clipped tone, his anger building. It was the first time he had ever had to turn back in his operational career, but there was no way he was risking his and everyone else’s life just to keep going. “I’m sorry lads, but its an early shower for us. Flynn, let the bombs go as soon as you can.”

  They were subdued on the way back. Coming home early left a bad taste in their mouth. They all knew it was the right decision, but to actually come back without even making the coast, they felt awful. The final slap in the face was that the port inner picked up again when they were twenty minutes from home. It suddenly burst back into life and acted as if nothing had happened, mocking them. Carter felt sick to his stomach when he called up Amber Hill on the radio and asked for permission to land.

  With the port inner playing along, Carter dropped the flaps and the undercart and came straight in. He literally thumped the Lancaster down and then used aggressive bursts of throttle to get back to dispersal. He dabbed the brakes and then kicked the throttle, giving one last savage burst of power to swing round. In the back, Todd felt like he was on a waltzer at the fairground.

  No one was waiting for them when they disembarked. They had to wait a few minutes before a Bedford turned up to take them back to interrogation. While they waited, Murphy looked at the Lancaster, throwing daggers in its direction.

  Interrogation was quick. The form was easily completed, ER, Early Return. They dumped their kit and split up. Woods and Carter went for a walk. Still running on adrenalin it would be hours before they’d get to sleep. The air was damp and wisps of ground mist swirled around their feet as they walked. Moisture soaked the bottom of their uniform trousers and their shoes. Neither of them particularly cared about that, the mood they were in.

  They got as far as the butts, a big mound of sand surrounded by high bricks walls. Carter sat down on a stack of wooden boxes. He suddenly deflated. He had never had to abort an op before. He knew these things happened, he just never imagined it would ever happen to him. He felt embarrassed more than anything, especially now that he was a Flight Commander.

  “Come on,” said Woods. He tugged on Carters sleeve. Carter stood up and they walked back towards civilisation. Carter lit up. He stopped and blew smoke up to the sky and let out a sigh. It was pitch black up there.

  “Bombers moon,” he whispered. He carried on walking and checked his watch. Right now they should be on their way back from Dortmund, threading their way through the flak. They rounded the hangars and headed towards the ops room.

  Woods went with him, curious for once to see what went on in the background. There were no other early returns and when the squadron got back in the wee small hours no one else was missing either. A good night overall.

  Carter went to interrogation and circled the room, listening to the crews; his crews now, telling their stories to the Intel staff. Carter felt embarrassed to be in the same room as them. Etheridge tried to gee him up.

  “Don’t worry about it, Carter. You aren’t the first person to abort; you won’t be the last either.”

  Carters mouth twisted in a moue of disgust with himself. After interrogation, he went in search of Pullen. The Engineering Officer was in his office in the main hangar going over the snag list for the night. While no aircraft had been shot down, a number of the Lancs had sustained flak damage that would need to be put right before they went up again.

  He assured Carter that he was top of his list. Merlin engines were proven and generally reliable and the fact he had suffered a double engine failure was cause for concern. If it was because of negligence, Pullen would have someones pelt on the mat, rest assured. In the morning, the Lancaster was towed to the hangar and Latimer and the erks removed the two inner engines. She looked rather sorry for herself with the firewalls exposed and puddles of oil and hydraulic fluid on the floor beneath her. Both engines were stripped down.

  The starboard inner was easy. In the sump they found an interesting collection of metal particles and cracks in two of the cylinders. Some bearing bolts had sheared and the engine had literally torn itself to bits when it conked out.

  The port inner proved more mysterious. The fact it had cut out and then picked up again pointed to something else. At Pullen’s direction, Latimer had the fuel tank out, the pumps were checked, the fuel filter and the lines were examined but they found no blockages or contamination to explain it. The port inner was put back on while a new engine was fitted as the starboard inner.

  She was ground run first and then Carter took her up for a short air test. Pullen rode along, standing behind Carters seat the entire time, listening intently to the engines in the air. Byron watched the gauges like a hawk, looking for any fluctuation in temperatures. She passed.

  That evening the squadron was on again and with their Lanc laid up and Carter now on a rotation system, Woods had the evening off. With ops on, Yvonne was busy so he took Merlin for a walk. The Labrador sprang up, tongue lolling, face happy. Woods clipped the lead on his collar and they were off, the dog taking him past the hangars. Banging noises came from inside as the evening shift were hard at work. He waited while Merlin cocked a leg and relieved himself against the side of the hangar. Woods kept an eye out for any SP’s on the prowl, they would just love to write him up for that.

  They circled back to the admin blocks and Woods hung around, waiting for her to come out for some fresh air. He didn’t have long to wait.

  “Hello, darling.” It was dark enough to risk a kiss. Yvonne bent down to the Labrador.

  “Hello, Merlin. Who’s a good boy? Has daddy been looking after you?” The dog barked in obvious pleasure and zoomed around her legs, tail wagging like mad. “He’s lovely. I always wanted a dog. My mother couldn’t stand animals.”

  Woods produced a ball from his pocket. Merlin got one look at it and barked loudly. Woods threw it and he was off like a blonde missile.

  “You are clever,” said Yvonne as she watched the dog overshoot the ball and then double back to collect it. He gathered it into his mouth and came flying back towards them.

  “More like sneaky,” Woods said. “I knew you had to come out some time. You’re always telling me it gets too hot in there and you need a breather.”

  She looked sideways at him, a smile twitching her lips.

  “I never think of you as sneaky.”

  “Start. Any way I can figure out to see you, I’ll try.”

  She laughed and sat down on the bench at the side of the building. Woods sat down next to her. Merlin bounded up to them, dumped the ball in Woods lap and he sent it sailing off into the night again.

  “Your tours almost up soon,” she said aloud and Woods caught the note of concern in her voice. Worry for him, worry for her and what happened next.

  “Nine to go, yesterdays debacle doesn’t count,” he told her. “Still a ways to go yet.” She tucked her hands under her legs. “This isn’t a casual thing for me, you know,” he said.

  “Me neither,” she replied, looking at him.

  They sat for a few minutes, Woods absently stroking the dogs head.

  “Gosh, is that the time,” Yvonne said suddenly. She got to her feet. “Some of us have to work for a living.”

  They said good night and arranged to go to town their next free evening. Woods left then, chasing after Merlin, trying to get the ball from him.

  49 - Flogging A Dead Horse

  Life settled into a new pattern for Carter. His mornings were usually spent in the office, seeing to personnel issues, training requirements, leave requests and other admin. Most afternoons he escaped to prowl around the station. He spent quite a few of them with Pullen, discussing the Lancs in his Flight and making sure the new aircraft were up to scratch.

  The squadron went up again on the 17th to Hamburg and lost three. After a few weeks with no losses, it was a hard blow and a stark reminder that life was measured out a day at a time. Church spent the following day writing letters to fami
ly while Everett and Carter helped Saunderson sort through some of the mens more personal affects.

  The BBC made little mention of the raid on Hamburg the following day, they were a mere footnote; ‘some of our aircraft are missing’. The airwaves were full of a startling daylight raid on Augsburg by Lancasters from 44 and 97 Squadron. The crews gathered around the radios in the Mess and listened, rapt as the BBC communique trumpeted details of the raid led by Squadron Leader Nettleton, 44’s CO. The attack had been pressed home at very low level. There had been some casualties, but the damage to the MAN U-boat factory was described as extensive and the operation was hailed as one of the bravest acts of the war.

  Carter shuddered at the thought of flying a thousand miles over enemy occupied territory in daylight. The Wimpy’s and Hampdens had tried it at the beginning of the war and the fighters had chopped their formations to pieces. It had been one of the reasons why Bomber Command had been switched over to night bombing. Now some madman at HQ was having another go at sending them out again in daylight.

  As soon as the news of the Augsburg raid hit the airwaves, Church realised what all the complaints he’d been receiving had been about. For the last week the squadron had been getting inundated with complaints about four engined bombers flying low and causing mayhem. Only yesterday, Saunderson had come into his office with a raft of letters from farmers and the local constabulary. One vicar had complained his service had been disrupted by the drone of low flying aircraft. A local MP had complained about the noise upsetting his chickens.