Bursting Balloons (Innocents At War Series, Book 5)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Rupert Fotheringham, Tommy,” the Lancer introduced himself. He had an MC, Tommy noted, which was much in his favour. The accent was not, ‘Rupert’ coming very close to ‘Wupert’, an affectation of the cavalry.

  “Michael Prentice, Tommy.” The RFC jacket was bare of ribbon, which probably meant very little.

  “John Smythe-Smythe, Tommy. We have in fact met before, at a distance, you might say. I was one of Noah Arkwright’s trainee pilots last year.”

  A quick promotion, but not especially uncommon; he had survived a year and that said he was probably at least competent. Tommy still wondered just why he had left the Rifles.

  “You are to be Flight Commanders, of course, being captains. We might have a fourth turn up, always handy to have a spare, but we will see how things go. I shall take a Flight myself. We shall allocate the green hands more or less at random, I suppose, unless you know any of them and want them for yourself. The same for your gunners. We are under orders to work up the squadron inside one week, which is not quite impossible. I don’t know what we will be doing yet, but there is a possibility that we may be bombarding in the rear of the Lines as well as carrying out ground attacks. Most of the work will be at low-level, in the absence of a working bomb sight. I will want to try out any new ideas that you can come up with, as goes without saying, but mostly it will just be the old fifty feet diving raids. We will see if it is practical to set up twin Lewises for the gunners. The engine is said to be powerful, so it may be possible without losing too much in the way of climb.”

  They said very little to that – the experiment must be tried.

  “For the rest, we will be covered by Noah’s Nieuport Scouts when possible. Keep an eye on your pilots, make sure they are not drinking in the mornings or in the air. Other than that, the lightest of hands, if you please. No parades, no pack drill, a blind eye to just about everything. I will talk to you and to all of the boys individually, of course. If you get worried about any of them, speak to me. If we need to bounce any of them, it will be done. One important thing – we shall be sharing the Mess with men who have come up from the ranks; they will be officers, quite equally, irrespective of accents or any odd habits. Crack down hard on any of the little schoolboys who think that a dropped aitch is a sign of depravity!”

  Rupert was not at all sure that it was not, but he promised to be good.

  “You say no parades, sir. Does this mean none at all?”

  “Yes, John. We have no use for them on an airfield.”

  “Ah… I was speaking to a Padre, in fact, sir, down at the Central Air Park, and he thought that he might be able to get round the fields perhaps once a month. As we have two squadrons, sir, he said that we should be high on his list. So, sir, a Church Parade might be a very good idea, I thought.”

  “No.”

  “But… I am sure it would be good for the men, you know, sir.”

  “It would not be good for me. No. Don’t have Church Parades in the RFC. Padres are useful for burying people, and they can do that off the field and out of sight.”

  “It might smarten them up a bit, as well, sir. Some of those mechanics are not at all the thing, you know, sir.”

  “Mechanics exist to provide us with perfectly functioning planes. Most of the time, they do just that. We bend ‘em, they straighten them up again. My experience says that it takes me ten seconds to get a set of bullet holes in a plane, while they take as many hours to fix it afterwards. They have much better things to do when they come out of the hangars – like eating and sleeping; they are not to be wasting their time polishing buttons!”

  The CO had spoken, and it was not considered good form to argue, but John was unconvinced. He would, he thought, just have a quiet word with Colonel Kettle over a drink in the Mess one evening.

  Tommy nodded thoughtfully; he now knew why John had left the Rifles and it might be the very same reason for him leaving Eighty-One Squadron. The RFC and parades did not mix, and the bulk of pilots particularly had a sceptical attitude to sermonising padres.

  Bursting Balloons

  Chapter Three

  Noah’s Nieuports arrived as Tommy ended his meeting with the Flight Commanders. They all survived the landing, which was a sign of the times and the improvement in the planes, Tommy supposed. Thirty-two aircraft had arrived in the space of three days and not one had been written off in that first flight.

  “Terence, have you got a list of the pilots?”

  “Sixteen, Tommy, yourself included. One major, three captains, four lieutenants and eight second lieutenants. Two of the lieutenants have some experience in Home Defence squadrons, so they have a few hours in. The eight boys and the other two lieutenants total fewer than fifty solo hours between them, poor sods!”

  “One lieutenant and two boys to each Flight, Terence. Are there any coteries of old-school pals to be split up?”

  Terence knew of none.

  “I shall have Sergeant Devon as my observer. Draw the other names out of a hat – they will none of them want to be paired up with the boys, but they must put up with it.”

  “Flight Sergeant Davies tells me that some of the servants might wish to volunteer as observers, sir. They might be old, it seems, but some of them want to pull their weight.”

  Tommy felt that they were foolish if they did. Observers had the guns to swing around, and stood upright in the cold, the wind blowing hard about them, for large parts of each patrol or raid; the job involved unbroken work that could leave young men tired.

  “Give them the chance to fly, Terence. If they still fancy the job, then they can go on the replacement roster. We shall need new men within a very few days, I suspect.”

  Foolish or not, too old perhaps, they still had the right to fight, Tommy mused. He found that he could not really get interested in their wishes and actual needs. The war had dragged on for too long, and he was no longer able to worry about people. A few individuals, friends, perhaps, but the great mass were just that – amorphous, faceless, indistinguishable one from another; he lacked the energy to care.

  There was no point to flying without an observer; the pilots must get used to their presence, and to talking to them, and listening as well; they could have a day of rest.

  A Foden lorry chuffed past the window, pulling an open trailer full of plywood boxes; it turned the corner, going off towards the Armoury, he thought.

  It was time to inspect the domain, and it was better that Noah was with him, striding at his side in equality. The Other Ranks would soon get the idea that one squadron was junior to the other if they were not careful.

  Noah was engaged with his adjutant, trying to set up his Flights – he was short of one captain.

  “They have, in their jolly wisdom, old chap, sent me one captain and thirteen Second Lieutenants, Tommy. I have two Flight Commanders, and myself. Three Flights, it would seem, two of five and one of six, for the first few days. I shall send out a panic call to Wing, when Pot gets here, but it will take a few days. More important to get the boys aloft, I suspect, Tommy.”

  Tommy shrugged; they would have casualties to replace within a very few days and could deal with anomalies then.

  “I want to have a walk about the field, Noah. Particularly to have a look at the Armoury – just seen a wagon-load of boxes heading in that direction.”

  “Anti-aircraft guns, Tommy? I feel just a little naked at the moment.”

  “Me as well! Captain Marks has set up gun pits, but I would like to see them filled with something useful and ready for dawn and dusk at least. Is there a Station Warrant Officer, do you know? One of those could be useful for establishing the place.”

  Noah shook his head.

  “Can’t be. He would have started shouting by now. Do we really want one? You know what they’re like – useful for a small part of every day, a pain in the backside for the rest. This looks like the vehicle bay, Tommy. Loading bay for the flour mill, originally, I suspect.”

  A sergeant and six vehicle
mechanics, poor relations on an airfield, stood to attention. Tommy was not interested in them, and they could keep their problems to themselves. He returned their salutes and tried to speak politely to them.

  “I saw a Foden bring a loaded trailer round a few minutes ago, Sergeant.”

  “Parkhurst, sir. Consignment of stores, sir, to the Armourer, sir, what has taken over the sheds by the silos, sir. To the right, sir.”

  The silos were, it seemed, the great brick towers which lined the side opposite to the warehouses. There was a set of workshops, presumably to service whatever machinery had been in the silos. There had been a parts store as well, now turned to military use.

  The Armourer was opening the plywood boxes, with the assistance of three private soldiers. He pointed to four already laid bare.

  “Flight Sergeant Edwards, sir. Three-pound quick-firing guns, sir. They was Navy, but they been put ashore and set up with high-angle mountings, sir, what is actually no more than ramps to push them up. Might be useful, sir. Depends what munitions they send with ‘em, sir. They’ll be here tomorrow, according to the information sent to me. Besides them, sir, Vickers Guns on high-angle mountings, sir. Water-cooled, of course, and the better part of thirty Lewis Guns as well.”

  “Very good! Set up the airfield defence guns as a first priority. The three-pounders to point east, Vickers spread round the perimeter; all Lewis Guns for the planes. Can high-angle mountings also be used for ground fire, Sergeant Edwards?”

  It would require a minor modification to the ramps, to allow them to drop level, which he might be able to do in the squadron workshops, the sergeant thought; he would have a look at the guns and see what might be possible, but he could make no promises.

  “Do so. One of these days, Jerry is going to make his own Big Push, you know. We might well have to look after ourselves when he does.”

  That was a difficult concept for the sergeant to assimilate, but he finally accepted that it was not impossible.

  “When the airfield guns are up, and manned, then have a look at the DH4s, Flight Sergeant Edwards. I am told that other squadrons have modified the gun mountings so that they have twin-Lewises in the observer’s cockpit.”

  Flight Sergeant Edwards thought that might not be easy; he wondered if he might be allowed to visit one of the other fields and see what they had done.

  “There’s a man who might benefit from a posting, Noah.”

  “To somewhere far distant, Tommy. Macedonia, perhaps – I don’t know where it is, but the blokes in England turned pale at the prospect of being sent there.”

  “Excellent! Foreign travel broadens the mind, they say. There’s a mind that is far too narrow just at the moment. A new Armourer as a matter of urgency!”

  They circled round to the hangars, peered at the scurrying activity there.

  “Two dozen engines to strip and service by morning, Tommy. Thirty-two sets of wings to be checked for alignment and every wire examined and reset as necessary. The Nieuports are said to be sods to keep on line for stretching their wires, Tommy. Keep them busy at nights!”

  “Just as long as they don’t keep us too busy in the daytime, Noah! I don’t like the way your Nieuports are armed, brother! A single Lewis tucked away on the top wing – it ain’t my idea of fun.”

  “It ain’t what I would choose, either, Tommy, but the mounting is efficient – the gun slides down and the pilot can replace a pan in seconds. I thought of fitting a second gun, after you mentioned the DH4s, but I don’t see how it would work. It’s simply going to have to be the way Denham said – get ten feet behind them and cut loose with a single, accurate burst. He can do that. I expect I can – but God help the kiddies when they try it.”

  “They’ll learn quick, Noah.”

  “Or die fast. Not much room in between. Flying tomorrow, Tommy?”

  “As soon as the observers turn up. No sense to going up without them.”

  They ate their first dinner, the two squadrons together and reverently silent as the courses succeeded each other. More than half of the second lieutenants had progressed from school to training field, had no experience of institutional food that was less than appalling; they were amazed, and much encouraged – life at the Front was better than they could have imagined.

  “All they have ever been fed is boiled mutton – more of yellow fat than meat - cold spuds and watery cabbage, Tommy. Cooking at home hasn’t been a lot better. Poor little buggers!”

  Terence had memories of his own schooldays, was convinced that they had been fed badly as a matter of policy – hardships would make men of them, or so the masters had said.

  “Will you speak to them, Tommy?”

  “Not as a mob, no. Individually over the next couple of days, certainly. Looking at the sky this evening, it’s going to piss down with rain tomorrow, so I’ll take the opportunity then. Run them into the office by Flights, will you, Terence.”

  Noah made the same arrangements for his men.

  “Men, Tommy! Half of them haven’t seen their nineteenth birthday yet.”

  “I hadn’t, if you remember, Noah, when I knocked down my first Jerry. In that poor bloody excuse of a Taube – they should have shot the sods who sent them to war!”

  Noah could not find it in him to be indignant about the poor performance of enemy aircraft.

  “What do you reckon, Tommy? Teach them to work in Flights, or in pairs or on their own?”

  “Let them loose as soon as the first attack is made, Noah. Try to put them in pairs, protecting their tails, but I don’t think it will work. Squadron fighting Jasta – one great bloody mob, all hunting each other. Tell them to watch out for each other while they can, but mostly to kill the nearest Hun and be damned to it. I don’t know how it will work – I’m used to one on one, mostly. What are you intending?”

  Tommy was fairly sure that Noah would have thought the problem through, step by step, and wanted to talk over his solution rather than get new ideas.

  “Squadron together initially. Three or four Flights, one knowing that it must watch high, a second to look behind, the others to be confident that they won’t get jumped and to be the killers. Swap that about, each patrol. The leader – me or whoever has got the patrol, I won’t be able to go with every single excursion – will spot and manoeuvre for the attack and then wave them in. After that, if they can, stay together in their Flights. They will be split up, bound to be. If they make a diving attack, then take their first target and continue the dive and then zoom, get at least a thousand feet higher than the fight and go back in again. The top cover and rearguard will mix it if they get the chance, but their main job is to watch for reinforcements coming in.”

  “Sounds good, Noah. It’s better than to have no plan at all. What’s the rule for the end of a fight?”

  “Pair up if possible. If it ain’t, then go home. No place for lost little chaps stooging about looking for company.”

  “Sounds even better. You’ll have to persuade the knights in shining armour that going home is no disgrace – they’ll believe that one True-Blue sportsman is worth a dozen dastardly Huns, so they won’t see any problem in being on their own.”

  “What does ‘dastardly’ mean, Tommy?”

  “Same as ‘perfidious’; it’s what the enemy is in the newspapers.”

  “Ah!”

  They rose from the table and led the procession to the bar, noting with approval that there were four men behind the counter and six more waiting on the tables.

  “Should be sufficient to keep throats wet on a bad evening, Noah. Ten men for forty pilots and penguins – just enough. Where’s the engineer?”

  “Askey? Gone back to his hangars, I suspect. They’ll be working most of the night.”

  “Pity. It might be an idea if he got to know some of the pilots over a beer. Could lead to fewer arguments. Sod it! Nothing to be done tonight. Does your bloke have any idea when Pot’s due in?”

  “Not that he’s said. Terence saw him at Dover,
didn’t he?”

  “He never asked which way he was going – to London to see Henderson or to HQ to talk to Boom.”

  “Don’t blame him for not asking. None of his business, when you consider it. This is a comfortable room, Tommy. Where did Marks get the furniture from?”

  “Pinched it from an abandoned hotel, I expect. Plenty of places about, if you know your way round, which he does.”

  It rained in the morning and Tommy set about the tedious business of meeting his pilots. Face after face passed by, almost none sticking in his memory. They would become more familiar when he could attach some aspect of their flying to them; for the moment, they were no more than jolly young chaps.

  They came into the office, one after another, mostly politely diffident, well brought-up boys, over-awed by meeting Tommy, determined not to let down the RFC and squadron, and almost indistinguishable, one from another. They had all had a few hours after going solo, six or eight typically, not less than four or more than ten. The second lieutenants had all come into the RFC from school, from Eton in one case, Harrow and Rugby and Uppingham also mentioned, and others Tommy had never heard of; two were from South Africa and one was Australian, but all had been schoolboys.

  Two of the lieutenants had come from regiments at the Front; in fact, being cavalry, they had been in Reserve, waiting behind the Front for the breakthrough they now believed would never come. The other two had experienced Home Service, one having once seen a Zeppelin, far distant and too high to catch.

  They were green, and many of them would soon be dead, he was quite certain.

  He spoke encouragingly to them all, told them they had a good bus in the DH4 and that they should be ready to throw it about at low level. They should make an effort to get on good terms with their observers – a team would score far higher, he said, berating his own cynicism.

  The observers arrived and he called them together in the hangars, there being no room big enough otherwise without him trespassing into their Mess.