The Acorn
It was on May 12th 1944 at 7:43 am that the big oak came down. Edmond Eyre had been keeping an eye on that tree on Llancadle Farm for over a year. Ian had finally given him permission to harvest the tree and it came down with a resounding crash. It was cut up into proper lengths and hauled off to the lumber mill and turned into a number of large beams. One of which was destined to shore up the thatched roof of the Green Dragon Inn in Llancadle proper. The roof had a tendency to catch fire a couple times a century and the latest owners were looking for some security from previous mishaps.
The tree itself had an interesting history. The acorn it grew from was on its way to be roasted and used for flour by another man named Eyre. This man named Eyre came from Co Galeay, Ireland. His first name is lost to history but he was one of the fortunate few to escape the Irish Potato famine of 1847.
The good ship Wanderer docked in Newport and deposited 113 destitute men, women and children with 20 of them said to be close to death. Our man Eyre was one of them and was foraging far and wide a few months later when he came upon a great store of acorns near Alberthaw. The pile of acorns was on the grounds of what would become the Boys School there. He gathered all he could in his pockets and moved on to find other edible forage to bring back to his family. Acorns could be used for flour if properly treated and many a life was saved during times of famine in Europe. Eyre knew this and was hedging his bets. On the way back to New Port our acorn fell of his pocket and started to germinate that spring on Llancadle Farm.22
It was amazing to think that the huge oak just needed sunlight, water and some common nutrients to become the colossus it was. How from a little acorn no bigger than your big toe it turned into the towering shade tree that it had become. And then in another amazing transformation to the pieces of lumber that kept many a man women and child warm and out of the elements for possibly another century or more.
The tree that Edmond Eyre cut down was close to a hundred years old and was the spawn of our acorn. That 96 year old tree would have taken the life of Edmond Eyre’s distant relative, Commander Anthony Eyre on Saturday 16th, 1946. As fate would have it the huge oak was not there to send the metal rod through Edmonds heart, for all that was left was a stump. Therefore Commander Eyre’s Tempest NV787 had no obstacle to impede its progress as it plowed into the ground after a failure in the sleeve drive mechanism caused the engine to seize after takeoff.
Commander Eyre was an RAF ace with 9 victories before being shot down over France after being married for only 68 days. He was sent to the infamous Stalag Luft III for three years. After the war he was on a routine flight when the incident that should have taken his life occurred. Fate rules all and the tree that he should have crashed into was not there. Parts of it were scattered in places like the Green Dragon and surrounding homes in Llancadle.[lxiii] Anthony Eyre’s distant relative planted the tree that was destined to take his life. Another of his relatives cut it down thus saving his life.
Eyre was itching to get into the fight again. He had sat out the last three years of the war in Stalag III and was ready to fly in earnest once more. They offered him one of the Gloster Meteors but he preferred to stay with the Tempest for the upcoming festivities with the Soviets. Something about the roar of a propeller ripping through the air was ingrained in his heart. The high pitched whine of a jet engine just didn’t sound right to him yet just yet. He’d move on to the Meteor or Vampire soon he supposed.
After that close call with his last Tempest and the touchy drive sleeve mechanism he was a little jumpy. He had been told that his most likely opponents would be the Lag 7 and Yak 3. They had the range to fly at low and medium altitude over Group 11 and most of Group 12 with drop tanks. Both were formidable opponents flown by seasoned veterans. This would be interesting if the 5 to 1 odds turned out to be true.
He had of course crashed before, the first time in his first flight in a Gladiator. He never thought he would live that one down. The last war started in earnest and it was readily apparent that the Gladiator was obsolete with only one scoring an air to air victory against the 109. The switch to Hurricanes came just in time for Eyre to get 3 kills in May while his squadron was constantly on the move running from the marauding Panzers in France. During the Battle over Convoy Bosom in the Channel he shot down three more 109s. Being sent to Preswick for a little rest defending Group 13 became an unwelcome reprieve after only a few weeks while the battle raged on over the skies of Britain.
In December, 1941 the now Wing Commander Eyre was flying with the “Circus” and trying to lure German fighters into battle over France when he was shot down. By fighting over enemy territory you lose home field advantage and the pilots that do survive and end up jumping out of a damaged plane also end up in an enemy prison camp. On March 8th, 1944 the newly wed Eyre crashed landed once again but this time near Abbeville in his Spitfire and spent the remainder of the war as a POW.
But that was the last war. All he could do now was to work to prepare his men and their machines. He hated leaving his still newly wedded wife but duty was duty. This was going to be one hell of a fight.
Green Dragon Inn in Llancadle proper
Chapter Thirteen:
People of Note
50 Berkeley Square
The noise down in the basement was very unusual. For the last couple of lifetimes things had been very quiet down there. I just had to go down and see what was going on. I chose the usual way and went through the top 3 floors without drawing so much as a glance. One of the women who was making the most noise in the basement suddenly stopped and looked around. I guess she was one of those people who can sense things. Seeing nothing she went back to work.
They had gutted the whole basement and were putting in large tables and huge charts on the wall. I think they were putting in strings for those things they call phones and the noise was deafening.
I was not use to the noise. For a very long time I had the home to myself for the most part. Every once in a while someone would move in but eventually they would leave or die. I’ve had quite a few die in the house over the years. Many seemed to stay despite whatever I could do to dissuade them from remaining. They tried to ignore me for the most part. Children seemed particularly fascinated with me.
This new lot was particularly involved in what they were doing. It had been a long time since any improvements had been done to the home. I did not think what they were doing was an improvement. All these little rooms with a desk and phones…dozens and dozens of phones all connected by those strings or wires I guess you call them. I am learning many new words. Such things as yaks and squadrons, some really interesting terms and names are very intriguing.
The other day they were mentioning Listening Posts. Can you imagine a post with ears? Why would you have such a thing or just now they were talking about Spitfires. That must be a horrible thing: Something that spits fire on the loose and apparently is flying around. From what I can gather there are a lot of things flying around that are not birds out there. I cannot look outside to see for myself.
It seems the basement has been turned into a kind of headquarters for some kind of fighting. They have put down large maps of what I assume is Britain and the women are moving around and listening to something though contraptions they have about their heads. Apparently they can speak and hear something or someone that tells them to move little pieces of wood around on the maps using long thin sticks with a little hoe at the end. They push these wood blocks around and others watch them and then the men rush off to talk into those phones. So far the majority of the blocks have stayed in France from what I can figure out.
I remember another time when what sounded like explosions shook the house. Sometimes for what seemed like hours. Then the sirens would stop and all would be quiet. I wonder if that was going to happen again? I don’t get much excitement in my existence anymore. I had long ago stopped thinking of the reasons for my existence and just continued being.
English is not
my native language or I should say this version of English. I can catch some of the words but much of what is said is beyond my comprehension. I believe I have lost the ability to learn. This is most annoying considering that 3 of the upstairs floors are filled with books. I very rarely come down from the 4th floor and even more rarely come out of the room but the noise down the basement was too much of a temptation.
The air shaft provides a convenient passageway down and saves me from the look of horror when I am seen. I can be seen or not seen at my discretion but I prefer not to be touched. So the air shaft is a perfect conduit to the goings on in the basement. I will state most emphatically here and now that I do regret the deaths I have caused. Some were not my fault but one was. You see I can see into the hearts of the sentient beings I come in contact with. That is why I do not like to be touched or to touch anyone.
The person I killed or should I say frightened to death was a monster. Some drunk sailor that has just horribly raped a young girl as he had done many a time before. This time she had died. At the age of 13 she had been used and then strangled and then mutilated by this butcher. Shortly after this horrific deed he ended up stumbling into my room along with his partner. I was so startled by their sudden appearance that I was touched by him. I then saw what he had just done. So I made myself known and he died of fright I guess you would say. His friend escaped.
One of the men down in the basement almost reeked of malevolence. He was an evil man. I was very tempted to make myself known to him down in the basement but for some reason I felt it was against some unwritten rule. He was going or had done something very heinous to the others in the room and also to many others. He was going to cause the deaths of many yet would also save many; an interesting outcome that I did not quite understand. In war one sometimes forgets that there are two or more sides and when one side wins the others lose and the death of one can save the lives of many. This man I would have liked to meet face to face in the room upstairs.
I have overheard and understand that I am quite famous in certain quarters. The current residents in the lower 3 floors do not bother me but run their book business and leave me alone. I do prefer this. I really do not like frightening people. My home is called the most haunted house in London. I suppose I should be flattered but I do not know my role in the grand scheme of things. Why am I trapped here? What is my purpose? Have I been here for decades to just frighten to death that sailor? How do I find release and peace?
My address is 50 Berkeley Square London, England. Do not drop by for a visit. You will most likely be sorely disappointed…or depending on what is in your heart…possibly not.[lxiv]
Bader
Chief of the Air Staff 1st Baron Arthur Tedder couldn't believe what he read. His office walls seemed to close in on him as he tried to fathom what was before his eyes. They were actually listening to Douglas Bader. Douglas Bader of Big Wing fame ... of the useless Big Wing fame.
He thought the death of Leigh-Malory would put an end to this nonsense. He was so stunned that he was paralyzed with disbelief. Not only where they going to try and take the fight to the enemy and give up all of their home air space advantages by conducting useless fighter sweeps but they were going to concentrate their fighters in the larger fighter bases and defend them with massive amounts of AA guns making every one into a big flack trap.
For all he knew that part might work but the Big Wing controversy was supposed to be over and done with. It didn't work last time and he was certain it wouldn't work this time. But what could he do?
They were listening to Bader now. He couldn't for the life of him figure out how Park had been persuaded. It wasn't like him to give in so easily. Tedder knew he wasn't a fighter man anyway. They wouldn't listen to him for God's sake on matters involving Fighter Command.
His sense of foreboding was mounting the more he thought about it. Four or possibly five to one odds and now this.
He had to leave the office and take a long ... long walk. Possibly go home and see to his family and not think about what was to happen. Of all people Bader. Leigh-Malory's hand rises from the grave. It was too much he had to leave before he did something rash.[lxv]
Novikov Reports
Novikov paced outside the door of the most terrifying man in the world. He knew what game Stalin was playing. Hell he used it himself. He used it because it worked…Just like it was working on him. The trouble was he could not control himself.
Novikov thought…It’s the anticipation that does it. You just can’t help thinking about it. He knew what he was going to say. He had all the facts and figures. He had all the justification he needed to put the blame squarely on Beria. That little weasel had been out foxed by the RAF. His pool of spies had failed to alert the VVS of the upcoming attack. Without that advance information things were going to go wrong just like with any military operation. The only reason they had been almost completely successful in intercepting the Capitalist air raids was because of advanced notice. Without it Leningrad would be a smoking pile of radiation and more attacks would have followed on more cities.
What a monstrous invention the atomic bomb was. He actually hoped that the VVS will never be given the opportunity to use one. He didn’t know if he could sleep at night knowing he had created such wanton destruction. He wondered if the American commanders and pilots who detonated them over those two helpless cities in Japan had any regrets. Snap out of it Novikov … you have to be aggressive and have your facts in order.
Go over them one more time. Despite what the British press is saying we only lost 58 pilots and 116 planes. Out of tens of thousands of pilots that is not many. We lose more pilots per month in training then that. The destruction of facilities and supplies were well with in normal ranges for a day’s worth of combat. A pin prick your Excellency…no …Comrade.
I don’t want to seem too obsequious. He pretends to like that but in reality that is what gets you killed. He had seen it many times. Many times…
Concentrate Alexander… he is the most dangerous man on earth…yes a pin prick Comrade and easy healed. If Beria had warned us like he contends he can, this would not happened at all. If you will recall Excellency, Comrade Beria is the one who promised to inform us of any major raid by the RAF and USAAF. And I will say that so far he has been doing very well. But to blame me and the VVS for this is beyond reason. If anyone is to blame it is the NKVD under the direction of Lavrentiy Beria.
In his mind he takes a more conciliatory tone.
But do not be too hard on him comrade he has done very well so far and I have confidence in him (because he knows too many of my secrets) and I am sure he will not fail again. This and the attack by the Capitalist battleships were mistakes but correctable ones comrade. Do not go too hard on him.
It does not do any harm to try and soften the blow for Lavrentiy. He is a dangerous man to cross and this is not worthy of his ire.
Ouch…damn…my toe hurts. I must have gout or something. Of all the time for this to happen. Oh damn it …it hurt!
The door opens and an aide beckons Novikov inside.
How does he do that? How did he know my foot would be hurting? He must have a witch on his payroll…
“Alexander Novikov, Chief Marshal of Aviation reporting as ordered Comrade.”
The door closes behind the aide as the aide leaves the room without looking back.
Beria Interrupted
Lavrentiy Beria turned his thoughts from the rape of the young women in the next room to the list in front of him. It was hard to make the transition from the pleasures of the flesh, to thoughts of war, but not impossible. He had done it many times. Stalin had interrupted any number of sexual assaults, He had to run to the Cripple’s side and pretend that nothing was wrong any number of times.[lxvi] He had to lick the boots of the only man in the world who terrified him. So far he had been able to leave the pleasure he was experiencing and endured the torture of being in Stalin’s presence, so far.
Someday…soon, he would
have the pleasure of strangling the pock marked cripple with his own hands. At least that is what he fantasized about. Someday, but not today.
The list gave him almost as much pleasure as the young Georgian virgin he has just brutally attacked. On the list was his stable of spies spread throughout the world. Spies whose positions ranged from janitors and cooks to one of the men sitting next to President Truman. Spies who help decide what the vast factories of the Americans made and more importantly what they didn’t make. Amazing how one little piece of metal or a small spring, not produced in time, could do to a bomber, a tank or even the ammunition that each used.
The recruiter for the agents in the American War Production Board was incredible. He maybe too amazing. He would have to be interrogated to learn why he was so successful and possibly eliminated. You cannot have such a person, such an impressive recruiter, loose and uncontrolled.
The War Production Board had been called back into being, and many of his former agents were again deciding what should be produced and what shouldn’t. His agents did their job when America was producing the endless streams of bombers and tanks used to defeat the Nazi scum. They helped their allies make the right choices at the right time. They did anything to keep Lend Lease spewing forth its seemingly endless supply of war material. America went from producing 6,000 aircraft in 1940 to 85,000 in 1943 alone.
Now the situation had changed. With the Army Air Force switching to new jet planes and munitions, it would be quite understandable, if their production dropped dramatically and quality suffered with the transition. Yes, eventually the mistakes and errors would be discovered as deliberate. By that time the industrial and scientific might of the Soviet Union would be a match for even the Amerikosi. The Capitalist system was doomed, and the Communist system would prevail even without sabotage. It just needed time, and he would provide that time.
World War Three 1946 Series Boxed Set: Stalin Strikes First Page 64
