by Conor Bender
Faust looked around the empty ready room and shot Faraday a questioning look. “Any idea why we’re here?”
“No clue; maybe something to do with that locomotive you hit yesterday.”
“Or maybe we’re here because Danny and I just got our fifth kill!” Chambers grinned. “We’re aces now!”
“Join the club.” Faraday shot his two protégés a flat look, deliberately deflating Chambers’s ego.
“Maybe we’re getting new aircraft?”
“I highly doubt it. The squadrons intercepting the bombers get priority over us.”
“Boss, you really can be a dour sport.”
Squadron Leader King strode into the ready room with two unknown Flying Officers following behind him in full flight kit. Faraday, Faust, and Chambers all stood up as he walked in.
“Keep your seats.” King walked up to the podium at the front of the room and shifted his gaze between the three members of Reese Flight. The flying officers who had entered with him took a seat near the door.
“Gentlemen, I know you are going out on a Rhubarb mission; and based on our analysis you should have limited opposition in the air. As a result, I’m integrating two more pilots into your flight.” King motioned to the two flying officers. “Flying Officers O’Brien and Argyle are being attached to Reese Flight. They both were part of Victor Flight until I disbanded it yesterday.”
Everyone knew why Victor Flight had been disbanded. Seventy percent of the flight had been shot down the week before during a Rodeo mission over Brittany. Faraday had taken the news hard, since Clyde Baker had been the flight leader.
King looked around the room. “Unless there are any questions, you are dismissed.” He pointed at Faraday. “Except for you, Flying Lieutenant.” The rest of Reese Flight trickled out of the room.
“Argyle, right?” Faraday heard Faust ask. “I’m Danny Faust, and this is Alex Chambers.”
“Damn shame about Clyde,” King said once Faraday’s flight was out of earshot.
“His wife is in London. She’s four months pregnant.”
“I know, I’ve sent a letter. I plan to check in on her at the end of the month.”
Faraday ran a hand furiously through his hair. “What about Victor Flight?”
“We won’t be standing that flight up for a while. Fighter Command has diverted all new pilots to 12 Group; they’re getting hit pretty hard.”
“That leaves Reese and Swift Flights; we’ve already stood down Ulster Flight. We’re now at fifty percent,” Faraday said in disbelief. “How the hell are we supposed to conduct sweeps like this?”
“Other squadrons will be picking up our slack, but we will be at seventy-five percent readiness at all times.”
Faraday played with the straps of the Mae West life preserver hanging from his shoulder. He thought back to the constant state of alert last summer and grimaced. “If we go up any higher in our readiness posture we’ll begin to see losses due to fatigue. And unlike during the Battle of Britain, if our pilots bail out they won’t be landing in a friendly farmer’s field in Suffolk.”
“I know, I know,” King agreed. “I am pushing Leigh-Mallory for more men.”
“Push harder, Mike,” Faraday pressed as he started to secure his Mae West and move toward the door.
“I am.” King followed him out the door. “You’ve lost your accent.”
“Scotland killed the Boston in me. I have that Cary Grant mid-Atlantic accent now.”
“Don’t tell Leigh-Mallory. He’ll pull you from the Eagle Squadrons and send you to a proper English one.”
Faraday chuckled and looked back over his shoulder at King. “My squadron leader wouldn’t dare sell me out like that!” Faraday walked over to his aircraft where Reese Flight was huddled around his wing.
“Alright, lads, quick meet and greet. I assume you’ve become familiar with Faust and Chambers. Who are you and where are you from?”
“Cameron Argyle. I’m from Hartford, Connecticut.”
“Harry O’Brien. I’m from San Francisco, California.”
“A long way from home,” Faraday said and grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “Alright, lads, I’m Flying Lieutenant Ian Faraday of Boston, Massachusetts. Before you ask, no, I didn’t always talk like this; I had a very annoying Boston accent that I lost when I was in Scotland.”
The pair of them chuckled dutifully, and Faraday continued, “Clyde Baker was a hell of a pilot and will be missed, but you are no longer flying with Victor Flight. You’re with Reese now, which means I’m flight leader, and we’re flying my way.”
Both O’Brien and Argyle made a face but kept their mouths shut and nodded slowly. They understood the situation; they just needed a sharp jolt to realize things had changed.
Faraday studied the pair of them for a moment. “Not to dig through old injuries, but did Clyde bail out?”
“We aren’t sure, sir. I could’ve sworn I saw him jump, but I never saw a chute.”
“Stevens said he saw a chute, but seconds later he was blown out of the sky, too.”
Faraday nodded soberly. “Best leave it then. Losing your flight is hard but you’re with Reese now; we’re your family.”
O’Brien and Argyle shook their heads solemnly but said nothing.
“We’ve got a Rhubarb mission into Brittany, in addition to engaging targets of opportunity; Command wants us to keep our eyes open for any sub pens or airfields along our route. Since nothing has been spotted so far in the area, if you see something say something.” Faraday looked around at the group, pausing for any questions. “Alright, get to your aircraft and stand by for takeoff.”
Reese Flight dispersed to their Spitfires and started to conduct their preflight checks. Faraday clambered up on the wing of his aircraft after conducting a walk-around check to ensure nothing was out of the ordinary. He checked the feed belt for his guns on both wings and made sure they were clear of any debris that would trigger a jam. He walked across the wing back to the cockpit and inspected all his controls, making sure everything was as it should be. He sniffed the air, checking that there wasn’t a petrol or hydraulic leak. Satisfied, he climbed into the cockpit and put on his parachute and then strapped on his safety harness. He took his flight cap off the joystick and put it on and adjusted the chinstrap. The head of his flight crew, Sergeant Taylor Roland, hopped on the wing and crouched next to him.
“Everything alright, sir?”
Faraday nodded as he put his gloves on. “Everything looks in order. Were you able to fix the sluggishness in the rudder?”
“I hit it a few times with a wrench, sir, so you should be fine.”
“Oh, marvelous. I don’t know what I would do without you.” Faraday wiggled the stick and checked the ailerons. He turned around and looked at the vertical stabilizer as he pushed on the rudders. “Looks good.”
“I aim to please. If you aren’t satisfied, maybe you can find a mechanic in France who can fix it for you.”
“Roland, I honestly would if only I spoke German. Now bugger off and let me do my job.”
Roland smiled. “Best of luck, sir.” He walked off the wing and stood a good distance away and motioned for Faraday to start the engine. Faraday primed the engine and pressed the ignition plunger. The engine coughed and the propeller slowly started to turn. The engine continued to sputter until just when Faraday thought there was an issue, it caught. The engine growled to life and the propeller accelerated into a spinning disc as the engine settled to a steady purr. Faraday keyed his mic and said, “Reese Flight, this is Reese Leader. Radio check, over.”
“Reese 2, loud and clear.”
“Reese 3, loud and clear.”
“Reese 4, loud and clear.”
“Reese 5, loud and clear.”
Faraday switched channels. “Ops, this is Reese Flight, requesting permission for takeoff.”
“Reese Flight, stand by. We are awaiting word from Control.”
“Roger, Ops. What is the delay?” Faraday’s r
adio chirped but no one responded. “Guess we’re playing the waiting game.”
After twenty minutes, Faraday looked around the airfield in annoyance. “Ops, this is Reese Leader. How much longer are we to sit here, my engine is overheating as is my temper.”
“Roger, Reese Flight, you are cleared for takeoff when ready. The field is yours.”
Faraday switched channels back to Reese’s interior channel, keeping the channel with Control open but not speaking with them.
“Reese Flight, cleared for takeoff. Assemble at Angels 7, heading 2-0-5. Over.” Faraday turned to Roland and gave him the signal to remove the safety chocks in front of the wheels. Roland repeated the motion and two flight crew moved under the wings and removed the chocks. Faraday pushed down on the brakes, keeping the plane in place as he increased power. Roland waved his hands and motioned for him to conduct a brake check. Faraday released the brakes just enough for the plane to inch forward and reapplied pressure and stopped. He decreased power and looked down at Roland.
Roland nodded and motioned that Faraday was cleared to depart. Faraday pushed down on the left rudder and continued to apply pressure on the left brake, making the aircraft turn left toward the runway. He let go of both brakes and increased power so that he was moving toward the runway at a steady pace. He looked around, keeping an eye out for any aircraft or animals that may move into his path. He had seen a flight of geese fly across the path of a Spitfire before. The result had been three geese turning into tiny pieces across the windshield and the aircraft being dead lined until all the bones and feathers had been removed from the engine.
Seeing that he was clear, Faraday pushed down on the throttle giving the engine full power. The Spitfire accelerated quickly down the runway. As he started to climb he banked sharply and found his heading. He reached 7,000 feet quickly and started to search for the rest of Reese Flight.
“Reese 4 on your six,” Faraday heard Argyle call over the radio.
“Reese 5 on your left wing.”
“Reese 3 on your right.”
“Reese 2, I’m on five’s left wing.”
“Reese 4, move to three’s right wing. Wing formation,” Faraday called as he inspected their formation. It wasn’t bad. A few things that could be fine-tuned, but for the first time working together they looked good.
“Alright, gentlemen, looking good. Loosen up and keep your distance. We aren’t up here to impress anyone. One-hundred meter distance between each wingtip.”
“Copy,” everyone called over the radio.
Faraday looked out the front of his cockpit. Cloud cover was low and scattered. He could see the Channel shining through the clouds.
“Control, this is Reese Flight. We are Angels 7 at 2-0-5, over the channel.”
“Roger. Be advised we are tracking bogeys twenty miles west of you.”
“Roger, Control.”
“Reese Leader, are we intercepting?”
“Negative. Swift Flight is on standby to intercept.” Faraday checked his map and marked the bogeys with his grease pen. “Increase speed to 3-2-5.” He increased power to the engine and inspected the odometer and did some rough math. They would be over France in five minutes. He pulled back slightly on the stick and started to climb. The rest of Reese followed suit. He leveled off at 18,000 feet and adjusted his oxygen mask, double-checking to make sure it was working. Normandy started to come into view to the south as they continued to cruise at a fast speed.
“Alright, Reese Flight, head on a swivel, we’re in Indian territory now.”
The rest of the flight rogered up. Faraday looked out his window to the south; he could see the Cotentin peninsula and could barely make out Cherbourg at the tip of it. They flew past and continued on, straddling the isles of Jersey and Guernsey. Faraday checked his watch; twenty minutes had passed since they had taken off. He checked his fuel and made sure there wasn’t a leak. As they passed the isles, Faraday called over the radio and started to turn. “Reese Flight, turn to 1-7-0.” The rest of Reese Flight acknowledged him and the flight started to turn south. Faraday spotted the town of Saint-Malo, a catching feature he had marked to help identify that they were on course.
Seeing the town of Saint-Malo, Faraday keyed his mic and said, “Alright, Reese, proceed to drop external tanks and switch to your internal fuel lines. Keep an eye on your petrol.” He pulled the lever and felt the tank drop with a thud. “Descend to Angels 2.” Faraday didn’t wait for a response but went ahead and started to drop to 2,000 feet.
As they crossed the coastline and started to penetrate into the French countryside, Faraday kept an eye peeled for antiair emplacements. The last thing he wanted to do was repeat what happened to Victor Flight, which was the reason they were flying so low. The lower they were, the harder it was for antiair guns to hit them. The ground flew past as they crossed forests and farms into Brittany. Minutes ticked by without an issue, and Reese Flight came upon their second terrain marker a few miles to the south where the town of Rennes stood.
“Reese Lead, this is Reese 5. We’ve got flak firing above the town to the east,” Faust called. “No idea what they’re shooting at; we’re well out of range.”
“Roger, I see them. Continue on present course and watch for enemy fighters.”
They continued south. As they went, the intensity of flak continued to increase. Shells started to explode around the flight, but with limited effect. Reese was moving too fast and too low for the antiair to be effective. Nonetheless, the German forces tried all the same. What the hell is around here? Faraday never encountered such heavy flak this far west. They started to approach the city of Nantes, split in two by the Loire river and along the Bay of Biscay it was easy to identify. As they got closer, tracer fire erupted on the edge of the city and raked Reese Flight. Tracers whizzed past Faraday’s cockpit.
“Watch the fires!”
“I’m hit,” Argyle called.
“How bad?”
Argyle paused before responding, “I’m clipped pretty good, but I’m still flying.”
“Bandits! Coming in fast. Check six! Check six!”
Faraday turned around and searched the skies. A flight of three ME109s was bearing down on them.
“Reese 5 and 2, break off, Reese 4 and 3 stay with me.”
“Roger,” Faust called, taking the lead of his element with Chambers. Argyle and O’Brien stuck with Faraday.
Faraday turned west, breaking away from the tracer fire, his eyes scanning for any other fighters.
The three German fighters were alone and ignored Faust and Chambers and took off after Faraday.
“Break formation!”
Both Argyle and O’Brien peeled out of the formation in different directions, but the Germans stayed with Faraday, no doubt looking for a quick kill. They didn’t see Faust and Chambers come in behind them until it was too late.
Faust and Chambers opened fire on the last ME109, scaring the flight and making them break ranks.
The flight scattered and Faust and Chambers took off after one lone ME109 that had broken a little too far from his compatriots.
Faraday whipped back around, clear of the city, and angled for the two ME109s still together. They were chasing after Faust and Chambers, trying to save their wing mate.
“Reese 5, watch your tail. You have the other two coming after you.”
“Roger, Reese Leader. We almost have this one.”
Faraday angled for a better vector and started to sight in using the pipper in the windshield. He was close to having a shot. His thumb hovered above the trigger, ready to shoot.
“Bandit down. Breaking right.” Faust and Chambers banked and yanked, turning hard right and away from the two ME109s on their tail. As they banked, the two ME109s tried to follow suit, flying straight into Faraday’s pipper. Faraday depressed the trigger, leading both planes and raking them with rounds from his eight Browning machine guns. The lead ME109’s left wing tore off as it went into a spin. Faraday smiled in grim satisfact
ion as he watched the ME109 slam into a grassy hill on the edge of the Loire.
“The other bandit is fleeing!”
“Leave him, reform up on heading 2-7-0.” Faraday leveled his wings and a hail of tracer fire started to erupt all around him. “Jesus Christ.” He pulled on the stick and climbed, evading the fire.
“Scatter! Scatter! This fire is too intense. Push west out to sea and reform.” Faraday looked around for the source of the fire. Their dogfight had dragged them closer to the coast and the mouth of the Loire. Faraday looked out the side of his cockpit and saw angry flashes emanating from the town on the north bank. He continued to search the city as he flew away. He spotted something as he flew out of range of the guns. Along the north bank, right on the river, dredging of the harbor was underway. Faraday consulted the map on his kneeboard and made a note of the dredging next to the town of Saint-Nazaire. As far as he was concerned it wasn’t anything special, but the head shed would want to know about it.
Reese flight linked up two miles out over the ocean and turned north back home. Once England was in sight they called into Control and vectored for RAF Martlesham Heath. When they landed at the airfield Faraday was greeted by Sergeant Roland.
“How nice to see you, sir, and without a single hole, I daresay.”
“That’s a miracle, considering the amount of flak we received. Argyle’s aircraft got dinged up.”
“I already saw. I’ll have to check her out, but she may be our new hangar queen. She looks like a dingy bird; most of her parts may be cannibalized.”
Faraday grunted and hopped out of the cockpit. “Just see what you can do.”
He hopped off the wing of his Spitfire and took a moment to get his footing. His knees were shaky and his mouth was dry. It took a minute for his heartbeat to settle. He looked over and spotted Faust and O’Brien and nodded to them.
“Get over to the ready room for debrief.” Operations would definitely want to know about dredging at Saint-Nazaire.
