No Longer A Game (Innocents At War Series, Book 3)

by Andrew Wareham

  Tommy bent to the communication tube.

  “Flight, will you note down as I shout to you? Number 3863 is wandering and correcting, drifting off to port. 3912 is lagging below, not climbing hard…”

  Three machines stood out as unable or unwilling to hold formation. It could be that the planes themselves were of poorer performance – Tommy knew that some had the Royal Aircraft Factory one hundred and fifty Vee engine, though he had little idea of its actual power output. Being a Vee configuration it might be lighter than the Beardmore and so equally effective as an engine.

  An hour and Tommy had seen all he needed of the squadron; most of the pilots were competent, and the three laggards might have an excuse – he would only be able to tell when he reached the ground and they discussed the exercise. It was time to discover what the machine could do; he expected that the answer would be ‘not very much’.

  “I am going to see what I can get from her, Flight. Hold tight!”

  He put the nose down and dived and zoomed, very sedately, for the machine showed no enthusiasm at all for anything out of the straight and level. He banked and found that the very concept of a tight turn had been alien to the designer. A Fokker would run rings around the machine. He debated a loop, then decided it might not be very wise; the RE7 felt much more likely to stall than to perform anything so adventurous. He thought about a little of low-level work, then decided to chase the contours of a cloud instead; a sensible move, because the machine displayed no agility at all and would certainly not hop over hills and down into valleys.

  “Home, Flight. What course?”

  “Three hundred and fifty degrees, zur, a little west of north.”

  Tommy acknowledged and turned on the given heading. He knew this part of Southern England like the back of his hand, having been flying over it for five years and more, but it was good to know that Balcombe was capable of his job.

  Twenty slow minutes and the airfield was in sight.

  “Fire a green, Balcombe. Let them know we are coming in. Is that one of ours I see taxying?”

  “Yes, zur. Mr Fowles, sir, in 3912, zur. He generally does come in before the others, zur. Normally because the gentleman can hear summat wrong with the engine, zur.”

  “Got good hearing, has he?”

  “Better than me, zur, for I can’t ever recall hearing nothing mezelf.”

  No Longer A Game

  Chapter Ten

  “Lieutenant Fowles, can you explain why you abandoned your Flight and returned early to the field?”

  Fowles was smartly dressed in Number Ones, had evidently bathed and taken time to present himself at his best.

  “Yes, sir. I heard a change in the engine noise, sir, and decided that it was in unsafe condition.”

  Tommy was prepared for the response; a fuming Captain Ross, about to spend more time stripping a good engine, had told him it was a certainty.

  “Then you were, of course, perfectly correct to land. You chose, however, to fly over five separate training fields, at any of which you could have put down. Why did you not make an emergency landing at the nearest of them?”

  Fowles had been smiling confidently, sure that he could not be challenged. His face fell.

  “I thought I should bring the plane home, sir.”

  “Despite being in unsafe condition? That displays very poor judgement on your part, Lieutenant Fowles. Records in the hangar show this to be the fifth time that you have returned early from an exercise. Not once has Captain Ross been able to discover a fault in your engine.”

  “Perhaps, sir, it only malfunctions at height?”

  “Unusual in my experience, Lieutenant Fowles. Particularly as Captain Ross has changed your engine twice. When placed in other airframes, the engines have shown ordinary reliability. It seems to me, Lieutenant Fowles, that the unreliability is to be discovered other than in your engines, sir!”

  Fowles sneered, back on sure ground.

  “I protest, sir. You cannot adduce evidence for such an allegation.”

  Tommy had been warned that Fowles was a would-be lawyer. He was one of the few pilots who had taken his degree; he had been eating his dinners in the Inns of Court when war had broken out and he had volunteered.

  “Ah, yes. I saw that you were training for the Bar, Lieutenant Fowles. No doubt your legal knowledge will assist you to produce a defence. Your engine is about to be stripped by Captain Ross, in the presence of Flight-Sergeant Bolton, who was chief mechanic to Stark Aeroplanes before becoming a senior foreman in the Royal Aircraft Factory; they should be acceptable as expert witnesses. Should they find no fault in your engine, Lieutenant Fowles, then you will face court-martial.”

  Fowles admitted defeat, changed tack, became confidential, man to man, shifting from one argument to the next, in best legal fashion.

  “I don’t think we need go to such lengths, sir. I must admit that I chose to return home early, but I am due attend an important occasion tonight, sir. I needed to change and, in fact, I really should be driving out now, sir.”

  “And what is this occasion that is more important than your duty, Lieutenant Fowles?”

  Fowles smiled proudly.

  “Well, sir, the County Cricket Club meets every month out of season for an evening, sir, over at Devizes; the selectors will be there, and the captain. I played for the Second Eleven this year, and may well be selected for the Firsts next summer. I know that Wiltshire is only a Minor County, sir, but you will appreciate that such an honour is terribly important!”

  Tommy could hardly believe his ears.

  “You will be in France this summer, Lieutenant Fowles. You will be there either as a pilot, or as a private in an infantry battalion. You are confined to camp, sir, for two months. Adjutant, inform the gate that Lieutenant Fowles may not pass out.”

  “Sir.”

  “You will be Orderly Officer every Friday, Saturday and Sunday, Lieutenant Fowles, performing all of the duties unfailingly. The least breach of this order will result in full disciplinary proceedings against you. I have no patience with officers who are of so poor a quality that they will put cricket before duty. If you ever find your machine to be in dangerous condition then you will put down at the nearest field, with my full support. If you ever again lie about the condition of your engine, I will see you broken! Get out of my office!”

  The Adjutant stood as Fowles left, unbelieving.

  “I will speak to the Station Warrant Officer, sir. He must be given full details of the conditions imposed on Lieutenant Fowles.”

  “Do it, Jim. I think I should have broken him, you know. A cheap liar who will treat the RFC with contempt in order to play bloody cricket! Had it not been for Mathers, I would have, I believe, but one court-martial at a time is enough.”

  “No decision on him yet, Tommy. I thought we might have heard today.”

  “Arguments at high level, no doubt, Jim. I shall put my faith in Lloyd George. Let’s have a look at the Flight Commanders’ reports.”

  “Noah states that all of his eventually managed to attain their place in the formation and keep it. They required practice, but tried to follow orders. The other two say the same.”

  “Good. A brief squadron meeting and they may go off to their last free weekend.”

  “This exercise was a beginning, gentlemen. In two months, you will be in France. A fortnight after that, you will be making bombing raids into Belgium, possibly into Germany itself. From Monday you will be carrying practice bombs. By Friday next, weather permitting, you will be dropping live ordnance on the Plain. If we cannot achieve high-level accuracy, then we shall practice bombing from fifty feet. We shall support the Army, gentlemen, or die trying. That is all. Enjoy your weekend of freedom.”

  “Jim, will you wish to leave camp over the weekend?”

  “No, Tommy. I used to have a wife but she was not enthralled at marriage to a ‘deformed cripple’. We made the arrangements for a divorce; decree nisi is due in four months. I shall remain o
n camp. You and Noah will wish to go home, I do not doubt. I shall endeavour to keep Lieutenant Fowles company. I am sure he will find something to talk about.”

  “Thank you, Jim.”

  Divorce was possible only on very limited grounds, the simplest of which was proven wife-beating. A gentleman whose wife demanded an end to their marriage could make arrangements with one of the many firms of private detectives to provide a doctor who would give evidence that the wife had suffered significant violence at her husband’s hands; they would also bring forward witnesses – normally maidservants - who would testify that they had seen her to be heavily and frequently bruised. Most judges accepted this sham, though a few might object when presented with the same evidence from the same witnesses, week after week. Divorce law was an open farce, but the Archbishops wailed their outrage at any attempt to create honesty in the expensive travesty and the law remained unreformed. In peacetime, an officer who was divorced must resign his commission; in war that could be shelved.

  The camp emptied in a matter of minutes, officers and the bulk of observers disappearing by car and a bus to the railway station organised by the Adjutant.

  Tommy and Noah were home within the hour.

  “Dinner with Mrs Wyndham tomorrow, gentlemen? She has extended her invitation and I have presumed to accept for you.”

  Both smiled their satisfaction at the arrangement.

  “My father is busy at the moment – I believe he is travelling to Holland to discuss their importation of food supplies through the blockade. It would seem that the Germans have refused to provide food to occupied Belgium and that the people there are close to famine. There is an international committee organising relief, and putting pressure directly on the Kaiser, how I do not know, and details have to be finalised of the actual means of delivery of rations from the States and ensuring that none of the food is stolen by the German Army. I understand that Switzerland and America and Sweden are involved at high level, and that the banks in all three countries have been informed that they may be called upon to freeze the personal assets of many of the leading Prussian families.”

  “Kick an aristocrat where it hurts – in his bank account – and it is amazing what a humanitarian soul he may become.”

  “Just so, Tommy! My father asked me to tell you that the court-martial will be held on Tuesday next, and that you will not be required to give evidence as there will be a plea of guilty entered in return for a guarantee of leniency.”

  It was inevitable that the judicial process would have been fixed; Tommy shrugged his acceptance.

  “Lord Cecil has been charged with – let me see, I wrote the wording down, here it is – ‘conduct prejudicial’ and ‘wilfully rendering himself unfit for duty’. I do not know the significance of those charges, Tommy?”

  Tommy scowled – Lloyd George had done his very best, and ensured that there would be feud forever.

  “The first is relatively minor, could easily result in a reprimand, no more. The second is a catch-all and normally relates to self-inflicted wounds and carries the death penalty or such lesser sentence as may be decided. If he pleads guilty to that then he cannot get away lightly. The prosecution will have argued that he has deliberately made himself unfit to fly by his drinking, and that is a gross dereliction of duty. He cannot expect to keep his commission.”

  “You seem worried at the prospect, Tommy?”

  “The family will want my guts for garters, my love! Word will get out – Lloyd George will take care that it does – and they will be humiliated. Several members of the family have places in the government and this may force one or two to resign – they will be seen as tinged by scandal and will lose support in their Party. Nothing will happen until the end of the war, but thereafter I shall be in trouble, unless, of course, I become a politician. They are Liberals, so I would have to become a Tory member, and would then be able to call the great and good of the Party to stand at my shoulder. The alternative would be to leave the country; any business I was involved in here would find itself forced into bankruptcy – contracts made and broken quite deliberately.”

  “I don’t know that you would make a politician, Tommy. I would like to see America.”

  Noah sat long in conversation with Monkey that evening, seeking first advice, then approval and finally help with the wording of a proposal of marriage; he had very little experience in the romantic field, he said.

  He found the opportunity to speak privately with Mrs Wyndham after their dinner, came back into the room handfast, smiling proudly.

  “I must ask my Commanding Officer’s permission before I may take a wife, Tommy.”

  “Refused, of course – we are much too busy and I cannot have you thinking of other things just at the moment!”

  Tommy ducked while Monkey looked for something to throw at him.

  “Seriously speaking, Noah – the sooner the better! I am delighted for you both!”

  The squadron flew in bombardment formation on Monday morning, in two lines abreast at five thousand feet and then in line astern returning at four thousand. Discussing the exercise afterwards the last men in line suggested that they thought they would be passing over exploding bombs, which was no great problem at four thousand feet, but might be at lower altitudes.

  “It must be two lines abreast, gentlemen. You are right. No more than two hundred feet between the lines and it will work. Bomb aiming, now, have you any ideas?”

  They had nothing to offer, other than to fly into the wind so that the bombs would not be blown to either side.

  “That makes sense, especially as the wind is almost always from the west, so we will be dropping on the homeward leg.”

  Captain Ross had been sat at the rear, now asked permission to speak.

  “If you know your speed over the ground, sir, then it becomes a simple matter to work out the distance from the target at which you must drop. The higher you are, the longer the time you must allow, of course.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “I have made a small sort of sextant thing, sir, which enables you to time exactly how long it takes to pass over two points and which will then tell you how fast you are going. If you have the height exactly, sir, then it measures the distance between two landmarks for you to read off the speed from a set of tables. You would have to do this a few minutes before you reached the target of course, because of the time it takes, and hope that the wind did not alter in its speed. Then, sir, we can draw a set of lines on the side of the cockpit. As they come on the target you can choose the right one and make your drop as the target comes under it. All of the others drop at the same time as you, sir.”

  “Lines on the cockpit?”

  “Like a protractor, sir. The thing you used at school to measure angles? Semi-circular?”

  Noah had seen one, knew what Captain Ross was talking about. He thought the idea might work. Tommy accepted his word for it.

  “Fit it to my machine, Captain Ross. Who works the sextant thing?”

  “The observer, sir. He will tell you when to fly straight and level for him to use it.”

  “Right. Give it a try.”

  “Be ready tomorrow, sir.”

  “Very good. If it works, then make one for each Flight Commander. We shall be on the training range tomorrow. Take offs and landings this afternoon with practice bombs aboard, gentlemen. I hope we will not generally have to land loaded, but it is sensible to be practiced in the technique. Lieutenant Barker, would you remain behind a moment, please.”

  Barker was one of the older men, in his mid-twenties; he was also carrying a hip-flask which he had raised to his mouth when flying, thinking himself unobserved in his cockpit.

  “Feeling unwell, Lieutenant Barker? Taking medicine for the stomach, perhaps?”

  “No, sir. A bit cold today – just warming myself up, you might say, sir.”

  “What is in the flask, Lieutenant Barker? Hot cocoa, perhaps?”

  “Navy Rum, sir.”

 
“You are dismissed from the squadron, Lieutenant Barker. Immediate effect. Report to Wing at Upavon by one o’clock or you will be listed as a deserter.”

  “But… what will happen to me, sir?”

  “I do not know. I shall recommend that you be dismissed from the service. Cashiered. You may then expect to be conscripted as a private soldier when the Act is passed in a month or two from now; it is due to become law in January, I am told. You are unreliable, Lieutenant Barker, and I hope you will never fly again.”

  “But it was only a sip or two to keep me warm!”

  “Get out, and get off my airfield!”

  Another enemy – he hoped that Barker did not have powerful relatives.

  It was lunch time.

  “We understand that Mess Fees have been reduced, sir.”

  Captain Ferrier, Commander of Red Flight, was not a happy man; his hedonistic life was being wantonly destroyed.

  “Yes. We are a working squadron, not a dining club.”

  “But we have prided ourselves on our catering, sir. It is a part of the squadron’s traditions!”

  “The squadron has existed since mid-August. It is now the beginning of December. That is a short time for a tradition.”

  “The Wine Committee will have to meet, sir, to consider the matter of funds. That is myself, Captain Templeton and Lieutenant Barker, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Barker has left the squadron.”

  “What? When?”

  “I sacked him ten minutes ago, for breach of the standing order on alcohol.”

  A disapproving silence fell among the original members of the squadron; they scowled at the lively conversation taking place between the new men.