“Utterly unbelievable, sir!”
“No, Tommy. A few years of service in the Army and you will discover that nothing is unbelievable.”
“Are we to keep the Tabloids, sir?”
“For today, certainly. Tomorrow, who knows? I want you to go into town with the adjutant, Tommy, and assist him to buy map-boards and such things as you have in the Sopwiths. He will supply the cash on this occasion. Maps as well. Use your experience. I want to fit rifle brackets as well, to all of our machines. There will be an issue of infantry Lee-Enfields, today, I trust, and it may be possible to lay our hands upon the shorter-barrelled cavalry carbines for issue to the observers. All officers will be issued with sidearms, again, today. You have a revolver, do you not?”
“Yes, sir. The piece was given me at Bisley, sir, when I did some training there.”
“Good. We have an Armourer Sergeant now, arrived this morning; also a small workshop, in a remarkable act of efficiency by our masters!”
Tommy wondered whether to tell Major Salmond that Sergeant Arkwright had helped himself from the mass of stores piling up on the quayside at Calais; better for the poor fellow to retain his illusions, perhaps. The portable generator and lathe would come in very handy in the hangar as well, and the tools specific to the armourer’s trade could be used on any small machinery.
Tommy came back from town, the Crossley tender lightly burdened with a precious load of drawing equipment, and with two dozen copies of the Michelin maps, all they could discover in the bookshops. The adjutant seemed more concerned over the well-being of the crates and loose bottles that filled the rest of the space.
“You worry about the flying, Mr Stark. I’ll look after the officers’ bellies – and I know which of us will receive the cheers!”
Charlie was waiting in the Mess, announcing his delight on being reunited with Tommy; he had made a nuisance of himself with his own CO to organise the transfer.
“I’m flying a single-seater, Charlie, a Tabloid, much like the one I brought up to your place. How is everybody, by the way?”
“Fine, fine, flourishing, indeed! My little brother Fred said he ran into you a few days back? Talked to him on the telephone from Dover. He’s joining up, of course, going for a pilot! Clever young chap, you know, Tommy. He will do well! Spoke to Meg as well, she’s feeling better in herself, getting over it, you know. M’father’s been given a division! He thought he might be too old, but he’s to come out to France and put together a couple of brigades of troops from India being sent across in the next few months.”
“What, black men? To fight in a European war?”
“No, no, Tommy. Not a chance of that! Garrison troops, for sure.”
“Not heard anything from home yet, Charlie. Been buzzing about like a blue-arsed fly – Dover to Farnborough; a lorry convoy back to Dover, then to Calais; back to Dover then return to Calais; now here. All in the space of less than two weeks, old chap. Don’t know whether I’m on me head or me heels!”
“Got another pip out of it all, Tommy! You’ll have a squadron inside a year!”
“Maybe, Charlie. If we’re lucky and the war lasts long enough – who knows!”
The morning saw a daring innovation, the squadron taking off at fifteen second intervals and then forming into lines above the airfield before following Tommy across to the new base. A formation of such a size had never been tried before, they believed. Even at the concentration camp they had always flown well separate from each other. Now they were in line abreast, six and five no more than one hundred yards apart.
The new field came in sight, black smoke giving a wind direction and Tommy made his landing; it had been a cow pasture and the wheels threw up evidence of the fact. It promised to be a fragrant day or two.
Sergeant Arkwright greeted Tommy as he stepped out of his aeroplane.
“All in hand, Sergeant Arkwright? I see we have canvas hangars set up, as was promised. What about our own accommodation?”
“Tents, sir. Cookhouse is located, sir, working off horse-drawn wagons, but it will be able to feed us. Warrant Officer Moggridge has everything in hand, sir. Those Engineers thought they was going to do half a job and then bugger off, sir, if you’ll excuse my French! Mr Moggridge got into them and very soon changed their minds for them!”
“My mistake, it would seem, Sergeant Arkwright; it seems that dug-out reservists can be useful. Who is senior mechanic from Three Squadron?”
“Sergeant Backhouse, sir. Very good with the engines, sir, so they say.”
“Good. I shall put your name forward as an observer, and I hope you can be flying within a day or two. If we can work that, then the next step should be easy.”
“I shall be very pleased, sir, if it comes about. Mr Moggridge approaching, sir.”
Tommy turned to the Warrant Officer, undoing his flying coat so that the pips on his tunic could be seen; it was only fair to the man that he should be informed of his promotion.
“You have everything very well together, I see, Mr Moggridge. How soon do you think we will be able to commence flying operations?”
“I cannot say, sir, that being outside of my experience. I believe you will find the camp to be satisfactory, sir, for a temporary affair.”
“It certainly seems, so, Mr Moggridge. I would advise you to stand well clear of the field itself, Mr Moggridge. Few of the pilots will be used to landing so close to one another and they may wish to use every inch of space.”
Tommy set the example, retreating to the front of the nearest hangar tent and watching in some amaze as every machine landed and none hit each other or overshot the field by the fifty yards necessary to splash into the River Meuse.
Tommy made his report to the CO and adjutant.
“Good start, Tommy. We are to commence patrols as soon as possible, in an attempt to discover where the armies are. Note that plural.”
“But… Don’t the French know where their own people have got to? I can imagine that the whereabouts of the Belgians is doubtful; all I have heard is that they have a small army and that it must have fallen back. What about our troops?”
“The BEF? The infantry are marching north and east; they are accounted for. But the cavalry are a different matter. Some regiments reached the French and Belgian coast on the day after war was declared, on the Fifth, and at least one cavalry brigade sallied off into the blue, in search of the enemy. A week and a bit later and we still have no certainty where they may be.”
“So… Find them as a first priority, sir. Then try to discover the enemy?”
“That’s right. When can you fly?”
“Petrolling-up now, I trust, sir. Flown less than one hundred and fifty miles since she was last stripped down, so the engine should have another two hours in it. Myself and George Richardson, sir, should be able to do a first patrol. Where do you want us to go, sir?”
“North a few miles, along the river, then cut to the west, say twenty miles towards the coast. If you spot anything, come back and tell me. If not, then go north a little further and come back east before returning to this field. Fly in a square, what the navy calls a ‘box-search’.”
Tommy collected George and mapped out their rough course; it could not be more than an approximation, but if either failed to return they would have some idea of where they had gone down.
“Take off close behind me, George. I shall make a single left-hand circuit of the field and will come to within a couple of hundred yards of you, to your port.”
“Damned navy – why did we inherit their way of doing things, Tommy?”
“Port and starboard side; left and right turns – easy enough George, except when they start throwing ‘red’ and ‘green’ in.”
“That’s the easy bit, Tommy. Port wine is red.”
“Of course. Obvious! If you see something and I do not, then veer towards me and wave. I shall be watching you.”
Tommy assumed they would make a speed of about seventy-five miles an hour; labori
ous calculation said that ten miles would take about eight minutes. They would fly eight minutes along the river and then sixteen minutes west; where was the sun?
“Height, Tommy?”
“Two thousand feet at most. Less if we see anything. Follow my lead.”
Tommy took off and commenced his circle to the left, watching as George taxyed out, turned into the wind and began his take-off; he saw a wheel bounce, possibly catching in a plebeian rabbit-hole. The starboard wings touched the grass and crumpled and the aeroplane span around in a half circle, tail rising, propeller digging into the turf. Men were running and there were no flames; George might have survived. There was a war and he had orders; he turned onto his course, up the valley towards Namur.
There was a garrison in the forts around Namur, as was to be expected, but there were also cavalry units to the north, in the direction of Liege. Tommy could not tell whether they were Belgian or German – he knew neither uniform and could barely pick out the colours from on high. He became certain that there was a German presence when he saw a cavalry skirmish, squadrons charging each other and wheeling about in the meadows along the valley.
He discarded his original plan and flew further north until he was in sight of Liege and a very obvious siege. He could see artillery firing from the forts about the city and picked out massive explosions of enormous shells landing on them. A few minutes of watching and he became certain that the German forces had taken a portion of the town already and were probably edging forward, were closing in on the remainder. He turned and pointed his nose back to the field.
Almost over Namur and he saw movement in the distance, two at least of aeroplanes coming in from the north-east. They closed rapidly and he recognised the distinctive shape of the Taube, its wings imitating those of a bird, a gliding pigeon, the design used by several German manufacturers. They were a little higher and dived towards him, passing perhaps fifty yards to his front; they were two-seaters, the observers waving to him. He raised a hand in salute, watched as they banked away, turning north towards Liege. They were monoplanes, almost as small as the Tabloid, and using a system of wires to warp the wings rather than ailerons to change the airflow.
“Quite fast, sir, but very frail-seeming. I would say they out-dived a Tabloid, but I made no attempt to find out.”
Major Salmond and the adjutant took notes of all Tommy said, questioning him when he was unclear.
“Liege is falling, you believe, Tommy?”
“The besiegers were tightening round the forts, sir, seemed to have taken much of the fortifications already.”
“Cavalry down close to Namur, you say?”
“Very close, sir. I would not be surprised if we had visitors in a day or two. They could by-pass the city and come across the hills, sir. There are a number of lanes and tracks visible.”
“Send a messenger, Adjutant. Inform General Henderson of all we have discovered and request permission to fall back. We are too far forward here.”
A Crossley tender was waiting outside.
“How is George, sir?”
“On his way back to England, Tommy! Broke both his legs. We have no doctor, as you know, and the medical orderly had no idea what to do, so we have put him onto a stretcher and sent him back, directly to Calais. He’ll be at the coast by morning.”
“Nasty journey!”
“Very. These Taubes that you saw, Tommy. No aggression? No attempt to chase you away?”
“No, sir. A wave, that was all.”
“Well and good. Take your pistols with you henceforth, Tommy. Don’t mount the rifle, no need to show willing to fight, but keep something to hand in case.”
“Yes, sir. No letters, I suppose, sir?”
“Not yet. The postman don’t know our address, I expect.”
Annoying, but not unexpected.
“Do we know anything about Belgian uniforms, sir? For their horse, particularly?”
“Not a thing, Tommy. The Germans have got spikes on their heads, I think – but you probably won’t be able to see them anyway. Don’t matter much. If you see them fighting each other it’s a good bet they ain’t on the same side, so one or the other will be German.”
It seemed just a little too casual for Tommy’s taste, but, if that was the way of things, so be it. He went off in search of something to eat, having missed out at midday.
He spotted Charlie settling his flying coat on his shoulders.
“Damned hot at ground level, Tommy! Mid-August ain’t the time for thick coats!”
“Going north, Charlie?”
“Need to spot these cavalrymen of yours, Tommy. Alastair’s in the driving seat and there’s another three to make up a line all the way across the river valley and into the hills on either side!”
Captain Campbell was senior in the squadron, the immediate successor to Major Salmond if he became incapacitated.
“Have fun!”
“Name of the game, old chap!”
When Empires Collide
Chapter Ten
Four BE2s, three older ‘a’s and a modern ‘c’ flew out.
Three came back, one of the ‘a’s missing.
Charlie came into the tent that was serving as a mess for the officers.
“Rifle fire, from the ground. We were fairly low, five or six hundred feet, I suppose, getting a look at troops south of Liege, us down by the river and Johnny no more than a couple of hundred yards off to the right. We heard the rifles, must have been a whole company of them firing to order, and we saw Johnny drop forward in his seat and then he nose-dived, straight into the ground!”
“Well… we said back at the Central School that it would only take one rifle bullet in the right place, Charlie.”
“Thing is, Tommy, I don’t know that they were Germans. They could just as well have been Belgians for all I could tell. You had only seen cavalry down the river towards Namur, had you not?”
“Nothing to identify us on our machines, Charlie, and we know that there are German fliers about. Better talk to the major, don’t you think?”
The riggers painted Union Jacks on the underside of the wings that evening.
The adjutant came back in the middle of the night, tired and bedraggled after hours of bouncing about in the Crossley. He woke Major Salmond who called breakfast for dawn, kicking the fliers out of their beds before five o’clock, to their outrage, and to the amusement of the mechanics and riggers, many of whom had worked all night ensuring the aeroplanes were ready for flight.
Major Salmond examined the bleary eyes in front of him with some satisfaction, having had no more than two hours of sleep himself.
“The adjutant informed Army of our observations. They do not believe them to be correct as they have calculated that it is quite impossible for cavalry to have by-passed Liege by way of hill tracks. Furthermore, they know that the fortresses around Liege will take at least another month of siege before they fall. Therefore, we did not see what we saw. By order!”
They were glad to have been rousted out of bed in the middle of the night to be told that.
“General Henderson, however, believes that we are neither blind nor stupid – few of us being cavalry officers, and those unfortunates who were having been forced out of their regiments for malicious possession of more than three brain cells…” He waited for the laughter and shouted insults to die down. “As I was saying, General Henderson accepts that there may well be cavalry – Uhlans, is it?”
His question was unanswered; at that time of day none of his juniors knew or cared what the name of German cavalry might be.
“Anyway, gentleman, they may be only a few miles distant. We are to evacuate this airfield – yes, I know we have only just got here! Now we are going away again! We are to move in a generally westerly direction.” He glanced at the rising sun and pointed away from it, for the benefit of those who were unsure. “I shall have a precise location, I am told, within the hour. A dispatch rider, on a motor-cycle, will bring me the details.
For the while, we are to send patrols out in the direction of Namur and Liege, and to the north-east, in pairs. Four machines and two hour flights, at most, trying to locate the German spearheads, of which there should be a pair within our range. If we can spot the British or French armies, it will help.”
There was a mutter that it was a pointless exercise if they were not to be believed after they had performed it.
“The generals will wake up, in time, gentlemen. Just do your duty.”
Coffee and tea came at that point and the grumbling subsided and there were demands for toast in place of mutinous moaning.
The first patrols returned having seen very little.
“Logical, really, sir.” The adjutant had managed an hour of sleep, could now contribute to discussions. “The cavalry will have returned to base at the end of the day, to make their reports, and then they may well be sent out in a different direction, to scout another piece of country. They can’t have enough of them to be everywhere at once.”
“Same problem as we have, Adj!”
“Exactly so, sir!”
“Ready the next patrols, I must imagine. I wonder where that motor-cycle has got to? I might like to know where we are supposed to go!”
A BE2c and two of the Tabloids took off; Tommy walked away from his machine as a group of aircraftmen pushed it back to a hangar tent.
“Wash-out, sir! Replacement engine, Sergeant Arkwright thinks. Something about the crankshaft, bearings worn unevenly, or somesuch, thrown the cylinders out of true – or false, perhaps! Anyway, sir, it ain’t going to work, never no more! Take it away on a lorry, sir.”
“More like burn it as we leave, Tommy. We won’t have spare lorries for it if we evacuate in a hurry.”
“Pity, sir. I liked that machine, very nippy.”
“Down to ten, now. Take the first BE2 to be ready, and an observer will have to make a second flight this morning. Go back to Liege, see what has changed since yesterday.”
Andrew Wareham Page 24
