George joined him.
“Telephone call from Baring, Tommy. One Camel down on the right side of the advance; pilot rescued from drowning in the mud and on his way to Base Hospital. Wounds to legs. Unconscious, identified by medal ribbons, a VC. Condition otherwise unknown.”
“Noah. At least he ain’t dead yet. Thanks, George. Get me a call to England, will you? To Lord Holt, in Norfolk. He’ll be able to organise a doctor and an ambulance to England rather than take his chances on a train. No sense having strings if you don’t pull them, George.”
It was theoretically impossible to make private telephone calls to England using the Army exchanges, unless one happened to be a staff officer. Provided the need was great and the privilege was rarely used, it was feasible to circumvent the system, particularly in the late evening and night, when the staff officers were asleep. Tommy was talking to Lord Holt inside the hour.
“He’ll be in England as soon as he’s fit to move, George. Now then, how many have we lost? Have you spoken to Wing?”
One captain arrived at dawn, driven up from the Central Air Park; another was promised from England within the day. Two newly trained men appeared in mid-morning - neither had even seen a Camel; both flew on patrol that afternoon and one came back, to Tommy’s surprise.
“Good to see you again. What’s your name? You’ll be in my Flight.”
It rained again next day, heavily, and closed the field. Tommy sat in his office and tried to take stock. The telephone rang and he was called across to the receiver.
“General! Good morning, sir. What’s happening? Very little, sir. Another failure on the ground – it might not be the Army’s fault this time, sir. The mud must be feet thick, and the valley they have reached is no more than a morass. Don’t know its name, but it ain’t possible to fight in it, sir. Cancelling the naval landing? Good idea, sir. Could never link up with it. Cancel the battle as well? No? Pity. It’s impossible, sir.”
Trenchard was not surprised, had been speaking to Brigade and Wing and other squadrons earlier, receiving the same message.
“I hear… Arkwright… is hurt, Stark.”
“Seriously, at first report, sir. I don’t know the details. I have contacted his family, sir.”
“Well done… good man… that one. Need to… save any… we can. Not so… many left… of the old… hands. Want him… after the… war. Americans… coming soon. Might win… yet.”
Tommy had never heard Trenchard admit even the possibility of defeat. He was rarely depressed – Boom was one of the pillars to lean on – solid and reliable. If he was in doubt then they were in trouble.
“George, can you ask the new captains to see me – I should have spoken to them yesterday.”
Two unknowns, one carrying MC and bar, obviously experienced.
“Got sent to Italy, sir, with my squadron, earlier this year. Bloody shambles, sir! Italian Air Force well set up for bombing and reconnaissance, and brilliant at sea, but not so hot at fighters. The Austrians ain’t much better, fortunately – very keen but pretty hopeless. Germans sent their Jastas across so we went out to balance it all. Nasty stuff, flying through those bloody mountains!”
“Easier here, at least. Jeremy is it?”
“Jack, sir.”
“Good enough. Pull your Flight together, Jack – we’ve got a few new boys again – and I say ‘boy’ meaning it. The weather is murderous – you’ll have time to get to know them!” Tommy turned to the other man. “Martin, is it not?”
“Yes, sir. Jolly proud to be out here, sir. Soon get the old Flight together, sir. No problems there, ha, ha!”
“Good. I am glad to hear that. What were you doing before this, Martin?”
“Oh, this and that, sir.”
“Specifically?”
“Well, I was at HQ for the last thirty months or so, in London. Got my Wings in ’14, you know and was posted to HQ and could never get out into the field, where I wanted to be. Got here now, sir. Make up for lost time and all that! Looking forward to flying again!”
“Oh, good. I’m glad to hear that. Look after your lads – they’re a bit upset for losing Henry – he was a very pleasant chap and they liked working with him. Talk with them about flying a Camel – they’re not the easiest of planes at first.”
“No worries about that, sir! I don’t doubt I shall be on top of the crate within minutes!”
“Just as long as the crate is not on top of you, Martin. Best talk to your chaps now, while you have the chance.”
The captains left and Tommy called George into his office.
“Have a word with Colonel Sarratt, will you, George? We will need a new captain very soon. Within an hour of the field getting dry enough to fly, I would estimate.”
“Jolly good show, sir!”
“Ah! You have met Martin. Any word on Noah?”
“Spoke to the bods at Base Hospital just now. They say that he has been put into an ambulance – hired from a private hospital in Paris, no expense spared - and is on the way to Calais now. Fit enough to move, but will be months, at least, before he flies again. Left leg well bent, it would seem, and cut up a bit here and there. Awake and no great damage to his head. They say, I quote, that nine out of ten like him will survive and walk again; half will probably be fit to fly, eventually.”
“Then a year or more before he’s out here again – you know that man, he’ll force his legs to work. Another year and he might, just possibly survive to the end of it all – we can’t keep this up for too many more years, George. By 1920 we shall be absolutely knackered.”
“So we shall… Well, not me, of course, Tommy, I’ve got it easy. You chaps in the air will be exhausted by then. What’s this, just pulling up in the front?”
The window from Tommy’s office was slantwise to the entrance and the cars had moved out of sight before he could see.
“Staff cars?”
“Big and shiny.”
“Where’s my bloody hat? Is my tie straight, George? Let’s get out there. Boom did not say he was coming across here, so it could be anyone.”
There were no fewer than four Rolls-Royces outside the main entrance, flunkeys busily opening doors and bowing their occupants out.
“Bloody Royalty, Tommy. I’ll speak to the Mess Sergeant.”
Two elderly gentlemen in the uniforms of Lieutenant-Generals, both presumably put out to grass because of age and put on display on ceremonial occasions. A younger man showing the markings of a full General, surrounded by braided and feathered sycophants busily looking busy.
Tommy recognised none of them and brought himself to a hopeful salute.
“HRH the Prince of Wales. I presume you are Major Stark?”
The question was asked by an irritated colonel, a man who seemed to be habitually bad-tempered, ill-manners a natural state.
“Yes, sir. Welcome to St Rigobert, sir.”
“Where’s the other man, Arkwright? Can’t be flying in this weather.”
“On the hospital ship to England, sir. Shot down yesterday afternoon. May never fly again, sir.”
“Bugger that! HRH wanted to be seen with a VC – good for the newspapers. Waste of time coming here now, really. He wants to speak to you as well, but there’s not so many headlines in that.”
The colonel whispered to the younger of the lieutenant-generals, who in turn spoke to HRH who paced across to Tommy.
“Major Stark?”
“Your Highness.”
“Shan’t come inside now – we can go to our next call early – going to eat there. Wished to be seen to congratulate you on your actions in protecting the King of the Belgians from attack. Bad sort of business! I am sure that Willy would have known nothing of it – even he’s not that much of a lout! Well done, anyway! Sorry to hear that Arkwright has been shot down. Pal of yours, ain’t he? No doubt I shall see you again, Major Stark – probably to add to that collection on your chest, sir!”
HRH stepped back and Tommy saluted, again becaus
e he had no idea what else to do. ‘If in doubt, stand to attention and salute’ – it was the oldest of military maxims and commonly worked. It seemed sufficient in this case as the mob piled back into the cars and they disappeared as rapidly as they had arrived. For the first time, he spotted a dozen of Vauxhalls parked up at the rear, the bulk of the press running to get into place in the convoy.
Two gentlemen of the press moved towards him; he pasted on a smile.
They took the obligatory photographs first.
“Try not to show too much of the buildings, please. I don’t want Jerry to work out where I am and drop a calling card or two.”
That seemed not unreasonable and they came closer, showing only the doors to the Mess behind him. They asked the normal questions and he told them how pleased he had felt to have been so fortunate as to protect the life of Royalty, even if of the foreign and inferior sub-variety. He confirmed that he was married with two small children, and yes, he missed them very much but duty had to come first. They noted their questions but did not bother to record his answers – they would supply them.
“What happened to Major Arkwright, sir?”
“He shot down two more Albatroses, put his score up to forty, I believe.” Tommy had no idea how many Noah had shot down, but forty was a nice round number for the press. “Then he was forced to tackle three at once and didn’t quite succeed. He crashed on our side of the lines and is on his way to hospital in England now. His wife and family will look after him – married to Lord Holt’s eldest girl, you know – and he will be back in a few months.”
They were genuinely grateful for that – they could mention an earl’s name in their article, and aristocrats were good for sales. Their editor would certainly give them a byline for an earl.
Nancy came into the Mess, grinning.
“Boom on the telephone, just to say he was tickled pink by your handling of the Royal party. Apparently you came across as strong, silent and modest – all that a young flier should be. There will be a new CO for Noah’s squadron and you are to keep up the good work. The weather forecast is for nothing better than this for the next several days – so fly while you can, but don’t kill yourself. The Big Push ain’t going nowhere, so just hold on. Oh, the King of the Belgians wants you to get something, but we can’t work out what yet. You will find out in a few weeks.”
“So, keep doing what we are doing for the while.”
“Nothing else to do, Tommy. Keep plugging on. The war will end one day, but not this year, it would seem.”
“Next year?”
“If the Americans come. If the French don’t collapse. If Haig doesn’t kill all of us first. Lots of ‘ifs’ and probably a good few ‘buts’ in the background.”
Tommy shrugged and glanced at the sky.
“George, if it stops raining, we’ll run a squadron patrol. If not, we’ll be out at dawn. Maybe.”
# # #
Thank you for reading Bursting Balloons. If you get a spare moment, please consider leaving a short online review for the book wherever you can. The sixth and final book in the series is expected to be released in late 2017. In the meantime, please take look at the author’s other books listed on the following pages.
By the Same Author
A Poor Man at the Gate Series: Book One: The Privateersman is FREE on Kindle -Escaping the hangman’s noose in England, commoner Tom Andrews finds himself aboard a privateering ship before fleeing to New York at the time of the Revolutionary War. It is a place where opportunities abound for the unscrupulous. Hastily forced to return to England, he ruthlessly chases riches in the early industrial boom. But will wealth buy him love and social respectability?
Kindle links to the whole series:
US/worldwide
http://tinyurl.com/A-Poor-Man
UK only
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The Duty and Destiny Series: These superbly-crafted novel length sea/land stories are set in the period of the French Revolutionary War (1793 – 1802). The series follows the naval career and love-life of Frederick Harris, the second son of a middling Hampshire landowner, a brave but somewhat reluctant mariner. (Book One was first published in 2014.) Please note: This series is currently available to Kindle Unlimited subscribers.
Kindle links to the whole series:
US/worldwide:
http://tinyurl.com/Duty-and-Destiny-Series
UK only:
http://tinyurl.com/Duty-and-Destiny-Series-UK
Man of Conflict Series: Youngest son of a wealthy English merchant, Septimus Pearce is an utterly spoiled brat whose disgraceful conduct threatens his family’s good name. His father forces him to join the army in an attempt to reform him, but even the disciplines of army life where he sees bloody action in three countries fail to exorcise his nastier character traits. Please note: This series is currently available to Kindle Unlimited subscribers.
Book One Kindle Link http://getBook.at/Conflict-1
Born in a home for fallen women, at the age of eight the barefooted and waiflike Harry is sent out to work. After years of unpaid toil and hunger, he runs away and is cajoled into believing that the Army is his only option. He joins a battalion that is sent to Africa’s Slave Coast where disease is the biggest killer of men. When the much-thinned battalion returns to England and is disbanded, he drifts into smuggling in order to survive. All goes well until he is betrayed and forced back on the run. Leaving the West Country behind, he enlists in a Sussex regiment which is sent to quell rioting in the north where he faces danger from the angry Mob, and from the rage of a sadistic young ensign who is out for Harry’s blood.
Universal Kindle Link
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Book One: Long Way Place
In the early 1900s gutter rat, Ned Hawkins aims to rise from the grinding poverty of an English slum, but is forced to flee the country and ends up in Papua. It is a dangerous place where cannibalism and cannibals are never far away. Despite this menacing backdrop, he prospers and almost by accident, finds love. However, there are ominous stirrings in the land that bode ill for the future. Note: Book Two is now available on Kindle.
Universal Kindle Link: http://getbook.at/Cannibal-One
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Bursting Balloons (Innocents At War Series, Book 5) Page 28
