by Conor Bender
“We’ll have to remain cognizant of her. Is there an alternate way into the house?”
“There’s an entrance in the living room that leads to a small backyard with a low wall separating it from a street that leads up to the main road,” Talia said as she tied a purple scarf over her hair.
“We’ll alternate entrances so as to keep Madame Delacroix on her toes; see if we have any observers or tails.”
“You should see the town center. There’s a bakery we can stop at that will give you a chance to inspect the area.”
Cutter agreed and they made their way into town. As they walked, Cutter made mental notes about the town layout, the width of the streets, and how easily the town could be fortified. The village was tiny, quiet, and had potential as a possible assembly area for a raid. It wasn’t too far from the beach and, by the looks of it, was a crossroads with roads leading inland and east and west. “What is the enemy disposition around here?”
“A platoon of Germans patrols the surrounding villages. They come through every other day.”
Cutter eyed the roads and noticed the dirt was churned up running through the town. Probably a half-track, if Cutter had to guess. The tracks weren’t deep enough to be a tank. He would have to request anti-armor equipment as soon as he started setting up supply drops.
Talia led Cutter to the town center; it was nothing expansive. The center consisted of one long road that, for the most part, was empty on both sides save for a bakery, a butcher’s shop, and the local constable’s office. They walked into the bakery and were greeted by the warm, sensuous aromas of baked bread and pastries.
“Bonjour, Claude.”
“Bonjour, Talia, how are you?” Claude, the baker, smiled as he walked up to his cash register. His thick eyebrows furrowed as he gave Cutter a questioning and suspicious look. “And who is this?”
“This is my friend from Cherbourg, Olivier Deschamps. He’s visiting some family in the region and decided to come visit.”
“Nice to meet you, Olivier. What do you do in Cherbourg?”
“The pleasure is mine,” Cutter responded in French. “I was a student at the university but with the German occupation it closed down, so now I’m a scholar without an occupation trying to survive the war.”
Claude grunted but didn’t respond. He turned to Talia. “What can I get you?”
“Two baguettes, please.”
Cutter didn’t like Claude’s dismissive behavior. Something about it seemed off. I’m one of the few strangers they encounter from a big city and he’s not asking me questions. Why? Claude’s lack of curiosity put Cutter on edge. Maybe he’s just a prick? It was an easy reason for his behavior, but it didn’t satisfy Cutter.
Claude turned around and grabbed two baguettes from the oven, wrapped them, and gave them to Talia. “Any plans today?”
“I think we’re going to see Madame Renault and then maybe have a picnic.”
“Wonderful. Be sure to announce yourself before barging in on Madame Renault. Her condition has worsened these past few weeks. Nice to meet you, Olivier.” Claude nodded to them and, without another word, returned to his work.
“You as well.” Cutter forced smile and a wave. As they walked away from the bakery, Cutter looked at Talia. “What the hell was that?”
“What was what?”
“You told him where we were going.”
“He asked.”
Cutter opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. Maybe he was being too paranoid.They walked on in silence for a few moments before Cutter spoke, “Who is Madame Renault?”
“A widower. Her husband was killed in the Great War and her two sons died when Germany invaded. The community takes care of her as much as we can. It’s a good excuse to take you around the village.”
Cutter grunted but didn’t say anything. He didn’t like that his contact had been killed a week before his arrival and he was being ferried around by his contact’s never-before-mentioned niece. It was all all a bit too coincidental for his taste. They walked down the road toward the coast and finally arrived at Madame Renault’s cottage. It was an isolated house at the edge of the town. As they approached, Cutter eyed the empty windows of the house and the unkempt grass covering the path to the front door. He had a feeling something was off.
Talia stopped and looked at him. “What is it?”
Cutter wasn’t sure. Something was off, but he couldn’t place it. “I don’t know.”
“Well, come on.” She gave him an annoyed look and turned around and started for the cottage. She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. “Madame Renault?” she called, but there was no response. She hesitated, then opened the door.
Cutter followed her, but stopped at the doorway. His sense of unease amplifying as he eyed the unkempt nature of the living room. A musty smell of decay filled his nostrils, and he wondered how an old woman could live this way.
“Madame Renault? It’s me, Talia!” Talia made her way into the kitchen, searching for the old lady. As she did so Cutter took a step into the living room. Before both feet were planted, the sound of a floorboard creaked behind him to his left. He tried to spin around to face the noise, but before he could, he felt a sharp pain in his head as something cracked against his skull.
He groaned and staggered to the ground and looked up. He locked eyes with Talia as she walked out of the kitchen and looked down at him. Before he blacked out, Cutter met her eyes and saw the calm and collected look she shot him, and realized he was a dead man.
CHAPTER 5
SHOOT AND SCOOT
Faraday checked his tail and pulled back on the stick, making sure to not fly the same line for more than 15 seconds. He scanned the skies and rolled over to check below him. As he did so, he pulled back on the stick again, going into a steep dive. The cloud cover was scattered but gave him good concealment for an ambush. As Faraday leveled out he spotted his two students above him. He darted into a cloud and started to climb, anticipating where they were heading. As he pulled out of the cloud he spotted his students. He was directly below and behind them, right in their blind spot. Faraday grinned and lined up a shot.
“Red 2 and 3, you make beautiful corpses. I’ll enjoy watching this highlight reel during the debrief. That’s three for three that you’ve lost! Set up again, and remember, watch each other’s back!” Faraday pushed down on the stick and darted back into the clouds, when the control tower came on the radio: “Red Flight, this is Control, we are tracking a formation of German fighters and bombers heading in your direction.”
Faraday checked the map on his kneeboard; they were twenty miles south of Edinburgh. “Control, this is Red Flight, copy, where are they heading?”
“It looks like Edinburgh, maybe Glasgow.”
“Do we have fighters on an intercept vector?”
“We have fighters scrambling, estimated time of intercept is ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes? They may as well not bother. We’re closer,” Faust called over the radio, pointing out the same thing Faraday was already thinking.
“Red Leader, we can assist. We should go,” Chambers agreed.
It took Faraday a minute to respond. His students were his responsibility, but his flight’s guns were armed for aerial gunnery practice in the afternoon; they were in a spot to assist when no one else could. “Control, Red Flight is moving to intercept. Estimated time of intercept is five minutes.”
“Negative, Red Flight, your orders are to return to base.” Control’s voice was frantic. Faraday could hear in the background someone shouting a delayed intercept.
“Didn’t quite catch that, Control, you’re coming in broken and unreadable. If you are receiving, we are moving to intercept. Red Flight, this is Red Leader. Form up on me.”
“Copy, Red Leader.” They both fell in behind Faraday’s Spitfire.
What was he doing? Faraday prayed he hadn’t made a rash decision. He knowingly had just pu
t his flight at risk. It wasn’t their responsibility; no one had told them to do it. They could turn back to base and let the seasoned fighter pilots engage the bombers over the city. Faraday swore softly. He knew they needed to intercept. If they could shoot down just one bomber, it may save hundreds.
“Alright, you two, listen up. We’re the nearest flight to intercept. We’re going to make two gun runs. Our targets are the bombers. Ignore the fighters and stay on my ass.” His flight turned east, and the coast quickly came into view. “Remember what I taught you: lead your target, two seconds bursts on the gun.”
Both students responded, but otherwise stayed silent, no doubt a little jittery about their first dogfight.
Faraday checked his fuel and tried to steady his breathing. His grip on the stick was like a vice. This would be his first engagement since getting shot down, and that knowledge left room for doubt in his mind. Was he making the right decision? Was his plan the right thing to do? Self-doubt nagged at him as his flight cruised closer and closer to the German formation. He tried to relax and looked over at his wing mates. Whatever he was feeling he was sure it was worse for them. “If we get separated, don’t engage, just dive toward the deck. Their fighter escort won’t follow.”
“Copy.”
“Roger.”
As they closed on the enemy formation, the controller came on the radio, her tone resigned to help them, “Red Flight, this is Control. Turn northeast to 0-1-5 degrees, climb to Angels 1-5, you are five miles to intercept.”
“Copy, Control. Estimated time of reinforcement?”
“Three minutes.”
“Great, we’ll be dead in two,” Faraday muttered under his breath. They turned to 0-1-5 degrees and climbed to 16,000 feet. “Eyes up, boys, watch for enemy fighters.”
“I see them, a flight of enemy bombers below us, one mile away!”
“Calm down, Red 2, don’t get excited. I see them.” Four wings of bombers were flying northwest toward Edinburgh. Faraday could see ME109s buzzing around them like angry bees. “Alright, listen up, we’re attacking from above and behind. We’ll hit them from above, and when we dive below we’ll strafe the front and then run like hell back to base.”
“Roger.”
“Copy.”
“Do NOT engage the ME109s. Neither of you are ready to tangle with them. If you try to be a hero I will ground your ass permanently, understand?”
“Understood.”
Faraday pushed the throttle forward and sunk back into his seat from the acceleration. The ME109s caught sight of Faraday’s flight and started to move toward them.
“Don’t worry about the fighters; they have strict orders to stay with the bombers,” Faraday said, hoping the Luftwaffe’s tactics hadn’t changed since the Blitz. They climbed high above the German formation, quickly catching up with the bombers.
As predicted, the ME109s stayed with the bombers until they were very close. They were half a mile away before ME109s started to peel away from the bombers to engage them. Unfortunately for the ME109s, Red Flight was too close and too fast for them to attack. Faraday’s flight crashed past the cordon of fighters and went straight for the bombers at the rear of the formation.
Faraday lined up a shot on the lead bomber of the rear flight. “Engage targets at will!” He pulled the trigger back for two seconds and watched as an angry streak of tracers shot through the right wing of a bomber. They dove through the formation and in seconds were already under them. Out of the corner of his eye, Faraday saw smoke billow from at least two bombers as they flew under them.
Turret gunners quickly recovered from the shock of the lone Spitfire flight’s daring attack and started to fire at Faraday and his students. Tracers streaked down between the three Spitfires as they hurtled toward the front of the formation for one last gun run.
“Shoot and scoot!” Faraday called as he opened up on another bomber. He could see the tail gunner moving his gun frantically, trying to hit his aircraft. As he did so, Faraday’s rounds found the left engine of another bomber which started to flame out.
“Bandits on our tail!”
“Dive toward the deck!”
Red Flight dove toward the ground and away from the formation. Faraday looked over his shoulder, expecting to see ME109s giving chase, but saw nothing of the sort.
“Red Flight, this is Baker Leader. Nice work. We have Able, Charlie, and Easter Flight one mile from intercept. We’ll take it from here.”
“Roger, Baker Leader. Red Flight is returning to base.”
“Holy shit, that was incred—”
“Cut the chatter, Red 3,” Faraday barked. They continued the rest of the flight in muted silence except for a comm check and an inspection of everyone’s aircraft. Each aircraft had bullet holes covering the frame, but they were surprisingly intact. Faraday exhaled a heavy breath and loosened his grip on the joystick. His heart was still beating a mile a minute. He struggled to control his breathing and steady his heart rate. After a minute he gave up and pulled his oxygen mask off. “Christ!” He grinned and laughed hysterically. It felt good getting back into the fight. After all these months up in Scotland after bailing in the Channel, Faraday had started to wonder privately if he had lost his nerve. Tangling with those bombers had assuaged his fears. He smiled as he put his mask back on, the confidence he felt making him feel invincible.
When they landed the aircrews greeted them raucously. A crowd gathered around Faust and Chambers’s aircraft as they clambered out. Fellow students greeted them with jubilant cries, both jealous and amazed that they survived their first intercept mission.
Faraday clambered out of his aircraft and found Squadron Leader Bailey and fellow instructor, Flight Lieutenant Ben Royce, waiting for him.
“Sir.” Faraday saluted once he was on the ground.
Bailey returned it. “On the one hand I’m very happy to see you in one piece; on the other I’m a bit peeved that you disobeyed a direct order from Control to return to base.”
“Nice to see you too, sir.”
Bailey smiled weakly and extended his hand. “Nice work.” He nodded up to Faraday’s aircraft. “She’ll need some repairs.” Faraday turned and looked at his aircraft. She was streaked with bullet holes all down the fuselage, including one directly behind the cockpit.
“If you were a little slower, that one would have gotten you,” Royce pointed out.
Faraday shot him a look.
Royce chuckled and clapped him on the back. “Nice job, Ian.”
“Thanks, Ben.”
“We’re giving the lads an evening liberty pass. We’ll hit them in the morning with a lecture on not trying to go off and be a hero.”
“I assume everyone and their brother now wants to be called on to conduct an intercept mission.”
Royce snorted. “My students are already begging me to do one.”
“Won’t happen again,” Bailey said simply. The three of them started to make their way toward the crowd of students.
“I’ll get them debriefed, sir, and deflate their bubble a little before they go out on the town.”
“Good man. The chaps are talking about going to Edinburgh this evening and I don’t think it’s a half-bad idea.”
“I’ll brief and change over and meet you in town.” Faraday walked toward his students. “Faust, Chambers! If you want to survive your next dogfight without me being there I suggest you get your asses to the debrief room.”
The pair of them exchanged sheepish grins with their classmates and trudged after Faraday. Debrief took longer than expected simply because it was Faust’s and Chambers’s first dogfight. As they reviewed the shot film, both of them learned more than Faraday could have taught them in a school environment. By the end of the debrief both of them walked away with a greater understanding of dogfighting as well as intercept tactics. When they finished, Faraday sent
them off to enjoy the night and went home to change. As soon as he was ready, he hopped on his motorcycle and headed toward Edinburgh. As he drove into town he surveyed the damage from the day’s bombing raid, and was impressed by the limited destruction. Thirteen Group had done a good job repelling the raid. They had done a nice job mopping up the remaining bombers.
Faraday parked his motorcycle and walked down the street. It was a cold evening, and a frost hung in the air. Even with his wool-lined bomber jacket and wool turtleneck the wintry air made him shiver. He turned his collar up and made his way down the cobblestone streets of Edinburgh. After walking a block, Faraday found the pub he was looking for: The Plump Goose.
When he walked in he found the pub crowded with people, including Bailey and half the instructors, most of whom were half in the bag.
“The hero of Edinburgh!” someone called as he walked in the pub.
“Hey, can I get your autograph?” another instructor called.
“All of you can piss up a rope.”
“Oi, were you Red Leader today during that intercept?” a man Faraday didn’t recognize asked up at the bar.
