Bursting Balloons (Innocents At War Series, Book 5)

by Andrew Wareham

  Tommy thought through the answer Nancy was giving him.

  “We killed a number of captains and majors and possibly a colonel or two, to pass the warning that generals might come next?”

  “That’s right, Tommy! ‘Naughty Kaiser Bill – keep to the rules of civilised behaviour or we shall be more Hunnish than thee’!”

  “I might have preferred not to have been told that, Nancy – I haven’t got the stomach for diplomacy. I’ll just stick to killing people in the old-fashioned way. My talents seem to lie more in that direction.”

  Nancy laughed, but very kindly.

  “First reports, by the way, say that you were very effective, Tommy. The initial bombing of the cars may have killed or seriously wounded twenty officers; the machine-gunning at the very end caught a full colonel and his staff who had run down the corridor to see what was happening and were hit by rounds that smashed through the door and ricocheted off the walls. You also started a fire in one of the offices that destroyed a number of files, some of which were not duplicated elsewhere!”

  Tommy could not quite comprehend the significance of Nancy’s last comment.

  “There will be a Committee of Enquiry, Tommy, to discover why procedure had not been followed. A great horde of Jerry bureaucrats will be unleashed to dig out the originals of the reports that had been correlated to create the lost files, in order to replicate them. A number of officers will be subjected to disciplinary proceedings; some of them are certain to be demoted. The repercussions of the lost files will be felt for at least a decade – some promising careers will be blighted, for sure.”

  “Unbelievable!”

  “Kill a few thousand of your own soldiers and you may be regarded as a little careless, even cavalier. Lose the contents of a filing cabinet and you will be broken. The pen is mightier than the sword, Tommy.”

  It would have been a very witty comment, Nancy realised, if only Tommy had ever heard the expression.

  “So… what does that all mean for me, Nancy?”

  “Boom will speak, from on high, and you will innocently inform him that you followed orders. You thought them a little strange, but they did come from Colonel Ponsonby. I shall let it be known that I had carelessly informed Colonel Ponsonby of the existence of the chateau at Cortemarck, while explaining the differences in British and German organisation. He had thought – very slowly - about its importance and had come to the conclusion that something should be done. They won’t believe either of us, but that don’t matter, because it is an adequate excuse. The correct inferences will be drawn and the proper lies will have been told to cover them. I would expect a new colonel to arrive within the day. I also expect that the German long-range guns will rapidly be pointed at suitably innocuous targets.”

  “Such as civilians, miles behind the front?”

  “Of course – no complaints for killing a few civilians – it’s not as if they were important to the war effort.”

  “What are we to do next, by the way?”

  “Patrol. High. We are to expect ‘an extension of strategic bombing’ in the immediate future.”

  “Heavy bombers attacking the deep rear?”

  “Some are expected to go for Paris – which won’t be our concern. Others will attempt raids on Calais and associated ports. Daylight in the first instance, as they will have a chance of seeing what they are doing and aiming their bombs. If you can get into them, then you will force them to night bombing, which is so inaccurate as to be pointless.”

  “By ‘high’, you mean what?”

  “Maximum operational ceiling, Tommy. If you can get up to nineteen thousand, do so.”

  It was the theoretical ceiling of the Camel. Tommy had not tried it, for discovering no need ot do so.

  “There is talk of issuing small bottle of oxygen for the pilots to suck at, Tommy. Just a metal flask with a rubber hose and a tap. You stick the hose in your mouth and breath the stuff as well as air through your nose. Supposed to be useful.”

  “I’ll talk to Wing, when he appears. See if he can get some.”

  They patrolled and found that it took a good half of an hour to reach nineteen thousand feet, and an hour to descend slowly. They saw nothing while they were up there.

  Three squadron patrols in a day and the evening was very quiet, every man having a thundering headache and some vomiting after a single pint.

  “One high patrol Nancy, first thing in the morning. Rest till lunchtime and then a patrol at eight to ten thou’, no more. Next day, two or three at a max of ten thousand. High again on the third day. It’s a killer. We will lose pilots for blacking-out in the air, Nancy.”

  They slept, some uneasily, some almost in a coma, and stirred out for breakfast, thankfully recognising rainclouds. The pilots would not take off while it seemed probable that there would be rain that morning. They sat down to a quiet morning of tea and coffee, the loudest noise a complaint that the Mess had run out of garibaldi biscuits.

  A staff car drew up and disgorged a lieutenant-colonel, wearing RFC uniform, but without wings. Noah was mildly curious.

  “Unusual sort of beast, Tommy. Can’t have made half-colonel since joining in ’14, so transferred to RFC but not a pilot. Wonder what he is?”

  The Mess Sergeant came up to them.

  “Beg pardon, sir, but Colonel Sarratt has arrived. He is to be Wing, sir, and requests permission to enter the Mess.”

  Strictly speaking, the Wing Commander did not belong to either squadron and therefore could be no more than a guest in the Mess. Very few officers would have been quite such sticklers for the rules as to request permission to enter.

  “Dear me, Tommy! Have we got one of those?”

  “Probably. I’ll go out and personally invite him in. Discover whether he has breakfasted, will you, Sergeant.”

  Colonel Sarratt had eaten, immediately after he had risen, that being the healthy way of doing things, he said.

  “Rise at dawn, take some exercise, eat well and get busy! That’s the way to live a full life, Major Stark!”

  “I’m not ambitious, sir. Half-full will do me!”

  Colonel Sarratt had no sense of humour; he failed to understand.

  “Now then, Major Stark! I am to command your squadron and Major Arkwright’s and three others posted quite close to hand. The RFC has expanded to such an extent that there is to be a reorganisation into larger Wings. Of course, as you may know, there is some serious discussion of the new shape of our fighting forces in the air – possibly the creation of an Air Force, to include the RNAS and RFC under a single command.”

  Tommy had heard vague rumours that something was to happen; he had ignored them on the grounds that fighting the war was slightly more important than organising the careers of generals.

  “Sounds very interesting, sir. Where will you be located? We have some facilities here, but lack any separate mess that you could take as your own. The two squadrons in fact share the same large set of rooms; our offices are separate, of course. Very satisfactory while we have two similar squadrons, but could become difficult, we both think, if you had say bombardment two-seaters and single-seater fighters on the field.”

  “I believe the correct term is ‘scout’ rather than ‘fighter’, Major Stark.”

  “Depends who one is talking to, sir. General Trenchard much prefers ‘fighter’, while General Henderson uses ‘scout’ still. Out here, under Trenchard’s command, we bow to him.”

  Colonel Sarratt was amazed, and very glad to be corrected – he might have blundered in the company of a general.

  “Quite right that you should, Major Stark. Thank you for telling me. I have spent the past years in England, of course, and had not been aware of the differences. As for location, well, that is to be decided. Colonel Ponsonby had his base here, did he not?”

  “He did, sir. A very comfortable suite of rooms upstairs, and bedrooms close to hand, sir. The sole objection I can see is that the other three squadrons might be inclined to feel th
at by staying here with us, you tended to favour us. In the nature of things, if five squadrons are patrolling in any week, some will have more kills, or lose more planes, than others. It would become very easy to imagine that the more successful squadrons were being given better sectors to work.”

  Colonel Sarratt could see that was possible.

  “Better to distance myself equally from you all, you would say?”

  “Necessary, probably, sir. A nuisance, but we cannot afford to create problems – we have enough of those already! With the Big Push due very soon, sir, we will need to work together.”

  “How do you know of an attack, Major Stark?”

  “Flying over the Front, sir, one can see the build-up of guns and ammunition dumps, and the movement of battalions into new camps. Light railways as well – new lines are being put in behind Ypres. Add to that, sir – there is very poor secrecy in France. I sometimes think that the staff officers compete for who can open his mouth loudest and longest!”

  Colonel Sarratt could not approve of such sentiments; he had been informed, however of the Board of Enquiry into the events of May 2nd.

  “I am sure things will improve rapidly, Major Stark.”

  “But not before the attack on Pilckem Ridge on the 31st, sir.”

  Colonel Sarratt was not sure where Pilckem Ridge might be, and had not himself been told of any attack there. He said nothing as they walked upstairs.

  “What an excellent set of offices, Major Stark! One could certainly work here!”

  “Space for your staff as well, sir. If you choose to work here then you have almost everything you will need, other than a telephone. We have only the one instrument, sir, downstairs and shared by the squadrons, which you might find a nuisance.”

  It did not occur to Colonel Sarratt that he might organise an additional line – he was not technically gifted. To Tommy’s great relief, he decided that the lack of telephonic facilities was an insuperable problem – he could not base himself at St Rigobert.

  “We might, however, think of having get togethers here, Major Stark. There is space and to spare for five Squadron Commanders and their Adjutants. We could discuss our activities for each week, perhaps, and I could issue orders when you were all here. That would as well solve the problems of jealousy that you mentioned.”

  Tommy thought that to be highly sensible; he led Colonel Sarratt downstairs to meet Noah.

  “Before you introduce me, Major Stark, you might just tell me a thing or two about Major Arkwright. You see, I’ve never met a VC before – being based in England. Tell me, is he very much one to stand on his dignity – remote, one might say?”

  “Not at all, sir.” Tommy resisted temptation, for once; he tried to be candid and helpful, though it went against his better nature. “Noah is the most unassuming of men. He is an outstanding pilot, of course, and a very fine gentleman, but a very good friend as well.”

  “Of course – we have all heard of your close friendship, Major Stark – proof that something good may come out even of this war.”

  “Indeed, sir. Proof perhaps that the newspapers are inclined to publish a lot of nonsense as well. However, I am proud to call Noah a friend, and our wives are close as well.”

  Tommy thought it could not hurt to remind the new colonel that Noah was married into the old aristocracy.

  “Ah, yes! I had heard you know, that Major Arkwright was wed to the Earl of Holt’s eldest daughter. Bobby Frittlewell told me just a few days ago – you know Bobby, do you? Terribly good chap!”

  “Well, no, sir. Unless he was an habitué of the field at Brooklands before the war, I would not have met him. I am afraid I had a very limited social life.”

  “Oh! I thought everyone knew Bobby – he is one of those people one does know, you know.”

  “I am sure that I will meet him after the war. What regiment is he?”

  It seemed that Bobby had not been able to join up – something about his heart, Colonel Sarratt believed.

  “But I am sure he does his very best in London, you know, Major Stark.”

  “I have no doubt he does, sir. Here is Noah – no flying this morning, of course.”

  “Rain is coming in now, Tommy. Good morning, sir.”

  Noah had discovered a hat, so that Colonel Sarratt could salute him, as he so dearly wished. “I am pleased indeed to meet you, Major Arkwright, and am very glad that you will be part of my command. What is your advice for our patrols over the next few days?”

  “Tommy and I have agreed that we shall perform a few of very high patrols, looking for strategic bombers, which may be busy, we have been told. Apart from that, we wish to continue training up our young pilots – three patrols a day at eight to ten thousand feet. Hopefully we can add at least thirty hours a week to their logbooks and give them the experience they need. We shall have to go balloon-busting in the middle of July, we have been told, to reduce Jerry’s information on the build-up towards Ypres. That will cost us men and machines, of course, but fewer if they have better flying skills by then.”

  Colonel Sarratt did not understand.

  “The balloons are guarded by heavy concentrations of anti-aircraft guns, sir. We have been in the habit of attacking balloon sites in full squadron raids, to split the gunfire. I have been thinking about that, by the way, Tommy. We need to talk about balloons.”

  “But of course, old boy. Later.”

  Colonel Sarratt slowly concluded there was rather a lot he did not know.

  “What will your part be when the, ah, Big Push, commences?”

  “Three possibilities, sir,” Noah replied. “We fly over the top and try to prevent Jerry from attacking our boys. Or, we get down to ground level and attack Jerry on the ground. Or, we escort our bombardment machines to destroy Jerry fields and gunlines. The Camel has a very limited bomb load, so I hope we will not be involved in ground-strafing, sir.”

  Tommy added his hopes for a more profitable occupation than ground attack in a Camel.

  “Attacking their aircraft is the best option, in my mind, sir. Of course, we must expect that their Jastas will be operating to protect them, and we can expect to be fighting them as much as getting at the ground attack planes. It may be best to put all of our squadrons up and say that three go for the ground attack planes while the other two mix it with the Jastas. Whatever, the boys will need to be better pilots than they are now.”

  Colonel Sarratt replied that he had understood that the RFC had the best pilots in the world.

  “They have, sir – me and Noah. The rest are a bit ropey though.”

  The colonel still showed no signs of a sense of humour.

  “If I am to take care to avoid any show of favouritism, then I must visit my other squadrons today. I must not take luncheon here, I believe, though I must say that I like the smells coming from your kitchens, gentlemen!”

  “Yes, sir. We have been very lucky. There was a shortage of cooks when the field here was opened and arrangements were made with the Belgians to employ some of their people in our kitchens. They have remained, doing an excellent job. You will appreciate, of course, that very many of the Belgian people fled in front of the German invasion and were at their wit’s end to make a living. The Belgian authorities were, and are, pleased that we offered assistance to them.”

  “Ah! And very wise to do so, Major Stark! Extending the hand of friendship to our valiant allies – a noble act!”

  “Damned good cooks as well, sir.”

  “There is that indeed, Major Stark.”

  “Excellent, sir. You are leaving now, of course. What was your previous posting, by the way, sir?”

  “I was number two in the Newspapers Liaison Office, Major Stark. Not, I think, a wholly unimportant function.”

  Bursting Balloons

  Chapter Ten

  “I must first welcome you all to St Rigobert, gentlemen. The building here is by far the most comfortable for our meetings – due, I do not doubt, to a little of inspired string-pul
ling by the squadron majors here! The Wing is mixed, as you will have realised, and has three squadrons of Camels and two of DH4s, the intention being that we shall be able to respond to the Army’s demands from our own resources, if the need arises, the Camels able to provide cover to the DH4s. I believe that you do not all know each other, so I would like you to stand and introduce yourselves. We should start with the Camel squadrons first.”

  Colonel Sarratt leaned back in his comfortable boardroom chair in the offices at St Rigobert. There was a smell of coffee from the little kitchen where a pair of soldier-servants were bustling, ears flapping, no doubt. Tommy rose first, as pre-arranged.

  “Tommy Stark. I know some of you, but the RFC is getting bigger and I don’t recognise everyone. In ’14 we all knew each other and could work informally. These days we are so much larger that we need to organise ourselves. Especially, we need to work together in the air. We did well over the Somme, as many of you know, but we lost a lot of men and machines. We did badly at Arras, and lost even more pilots and planes. Now we have another battle due at Ypres – we need to do as well as we managed at the Somme, and kill a damned sight fewer of ourselves in the process.”

  Tommy sat and Noah rose.

  “Noah Arkwright – again, I know some of you, but not all. We can’t just be all pals together, not any longer. Colonel Sarratt has some ideas to coordinate our flying. Some I like; some I don’t – but we still need them. The old days of each of us running our own little show are over, I think.”