Spitfire!

by Don Patterson

  As the sun set on Hampton, the three new airplanes were still the center of attention. The only pilots who weren't talking about the Spitfires over dinner in the mess hall, were the ones still out on the airfield examining the planes where they stood. "Spitfire" was the last word on the lips of practically every man in the squadron before retiring to bed. The potential life saving power of the new fighters made each RAF pilot sleep that much better.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AN UNAUTHORIZED VISITOR

  A new day arrived all too soon to Hampton Airfield. Before the sun climbed over the tree tops, the hardstand was busy with ground crews preparing the squadron's Hurricanes for flight. Over the last several weeks, the number of German air raids on English targets had decreased. In fact, it had been several days since the 14th Squadron last "scrambled" into action. Even though no mission was scheduled for the pilots, an enemy attack could happen at any moment. In preparation, the squadron's planes were required to be ready for combat at all times.

  After checking the progress of his men maintaining the Hawker Hurricanes, Sergeant Pendleton walked down the field to examine the Spitfires. Shying away from the commotion caused by their arrival yesterday, Pendleton was happy to have a quiet moment by himself with the new planes.

  Rubbing his hand along the tip of the wide wing, Sergeant Pendleton whispered to himself, "You are a beauty, aren't you?"

  "She sure is!" a small voice called back.

  Startled, the gruff Sergeant spun around searching for who made the reply. Then he spotted young Harry Winslow. Harry's tousled brown hair was barely visible above the long stretch of hedgerow fence that separated Hampton Airfield from the Winslow farm. A frequent visitor to the base, Harry was practically an adopted member of the RAF family.

  "They really are something to look at, aren't they, Sergeant?" Harry excitedly shouted from behind the bushes.

  "Stop sneaking up on me like that, Harry!" Pendleton playfully scolded his young friend. "You wouldn't want me to mistake you for an enemy spy and lock you up in the stockade!"

  Smiling at the good-natured teasing from Sergeant Pendleton, Harry stretched up on his toes to keep his head above the hedgerow fence. Earlier, Harry's sister Susan had informed him of Colonel Harrison's orders regarding unauthorized visitors. Harry felt very disappointed, but he accepted being banished from the base. At least he could watch the activity on the airfield from the Winslow side of the fence.

  "Sergeant Pendleton," Harry replied, "you wouldn't throw me in prison. But I guess Colonel Harrison would!"

  Recognizing the point of Harry's comment, Sergeant Pendleton tried to explain.

  "Now Harry," he started in a sympathetic tone, "you're being too hard on the Colonel. Everyone knows about the unauthorized visitor rule. You have to understand that the Colonel is stuck. He's the commander, so that makes him the one who has to enforce the rules. I've served under a lot of RAF officers and I'm telling you, Colonel Harrison is the best. But Fighter Command has given him orders. When headquarters gives an order, you obey. If you don't, you'd better have a good reason."

  A frustrated Harry complained to his friend, "I know. Sis told me all about the rules. And mom told me I have to stay on my side of the fence. But it doesn't seem fair. I've always tried to help around here. I thought Colonel Harrison liked me."

  Sergeant Pendleton wanted to comfort the young boy. Stepping over to the fence, he noticed how Harry was struggling to keep his head above the top of the hedge. Pushing the bushes aside to make a gap, he reached for Harry's arm and pulled him onto the airfield side.

  Then he told the boy, "You're one of us, Harry. We all count on you. Colonel Harrison does too, but..." The Sergeant was at a loss for words.

  Glad to be standing on the airfield again close to his friend, Harry thought about everything Pendleton had said. He knew it wasn't really about fairness. He also knew that Colonel Harrison and his other RAF friends had to follow regulations.

  Harry anxiously dug the toe of his boot into the grass. Then he asked abruptly, "Sergeant, are they going to fly the Spitfires today?"

  "No, probably not today, lad," Pendleton replied, relieved to talk about something else. "Colonel Harrison's orders are to wait until the Spitfire flight instructor arrives in a week or so."

  Surprised the pilots would need someone to teach them how to fly, Harry put his hands on his hips and said, "I can't believe Captain Dawson is going to wait for a silly flight instructor."

  "It's the Colonel's orders, lad," Pendleton explained. "The pilots can't fly 'em, so I'm supposed to hold off arming or fueling them until I receive my instructions."

  Harry was disappointed the graceful Spitfires wouldn't be flying anytime soon. Then he asked, "Don't you know where to put the fuel or how to load the machine guns?"

  "Of course I do, Harry," Pendleton shot back. "I've been preparing fighter planes for years. They're all pretty much the same."

  "Well," Harry replied, "don't you think Captain Dawson knows how to fly? Wouldn't it be just like him to march out here later today and take off in one of these Spitfires?"

  Sergeant Pendleton looked hard at Harry. The twelve year old was right. It would be just like Captain Dawson to clear things with the Colonel so he and a couple others could fly the new planes at the end of the day. And if they weren't ready, Dawson would come looking for his trusty flight mechanic to get them ready. On top of that, the proud Sergeant felt a little insulted at the thought of a civilian teaching him how to prepare and maintain an RAF fighter plane.

  But more importantly, the veteran crew chief knew the mechanic's unwritten rule that having unprepared fighter planes sitting on a military airfield could be dangerous. In an emergency, Dawson or one of the other pilots might need to scramble one of those planes. If it wasn't ready for combat, someone could get killed.

  "Considering everything," Sergeant Pendleton said, "maybe I should get these planes prepared, just in case. I'll supervise a crew to fuel and arm all three Spits so the pilots can take them up at any time. I think the Colonel would agree that having the planes ready and waiting would be best. But still, let's not broadcast what we're doing. You know, don't 'let the cat out of the bag'. Right, laddy?"

  "Yes sir, Sergeant. You can count on me to follow your orders!"

  Harry's response was interrupted by Colonel Harrison calling to Sergeant Pendleton from the steps of the Operations Building.

  "Sergeant Pendleton!" Harrison shouted. "We need to update our flight preparation checklist for the Spitfires."

  "Yes sir! I'll be right there," Pendleton called back.

  Trying to shield Harry from the Colonel and Fighter Command's unauthorized visitor rules, the stocky sergeant quickly lifted the boy over the bushes. Instantly, Harry was back on the Winslow side of the fence.

  "Go now, run along," Pendleton said, as he winked at Harry. "The Colonel has been under a lot of pressure about those rules lately. If he sees you, there'll be the Dickens to pay!"

  "Hey, I'm on my side of the fence," Harry replied defiantly. Sergeant Pendleton tilted his head and gave Harry a stern look. Realizing his RAF friend was just watching out for him, Harry continued with some apology in his voice, "But I'll get out of here so there's no trouble for anyone."

  Ducking down behind the hedge, Harry ran off toward the maintenance hangers. As Harry slipped out of sight, Sergeant Pendleton called out, "Remember, lad, don't let the cat out of the bag!"

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SCRAMBLE THE HURRICANES

  The morning sun continued to creep higher in the sky while the men on base waited for the "scramble" alarm. Although most of the pilots passed the time gathered out on the field, Dawson and Simms used the idle moments to help keep their squadron ready. Today, they were sorting through shelves of spare parts in the maintenance hangers. After a thorough inventory, Dawson put together a list of needed supplies.

  "Andy, I want you to drive to Chester and get these replacement engine parts before we run out," Dawson told Simms
and handed him the list. "I can just imagine trying to explain to the Colonel that we can't fly because we ran out of piston rods and manifold gaskets."

  Simms nodded his head, "That would be an ugly conversation. I'll take Hyatt and Gainey and make quick work of it."

  The two pilots were startled when behind them, an excited voice asked, "Can I go with you?"

  Trying to avoid Colonel Harrison, Harry was now skulking about the hedge where it ran behind the maintenance hangers. Although most twelve year old boys would find other ways to spend their time, Harry Winslow was happiest when he was with his RAF pilot friends.

  "Blast it, Harry!" Dawson chided in a teasing tone. "You'll do me in before an Me 109 does! Quit sneaking around like that."

  "Sorry, sir," Harry apologized while standing on the tips of his toes in order to keep his head above the fence. "I'll try harder not to surprise you next time. But sir, please can I go with Captain Simms?"

  Dawson looked into Harry's begging brown eyes and half-heartedly tried to scold the endearing young boy. "Harry, the word is out. According to Colonel Harrison, you're not even supposed to be here."

  Then Dawson looked at his friend and fellow pilot, Captain Simms, and he continued, "But then again, it's been so quiet lately, I don't see any harm in it, just this once. It's up to you, Andy. Do you have room in the lorry?"

  Simms looked at the eager Winslow boy and in a fatherly tone replied, "We'll make room. In fact, I consider it my duty. After all, a ride into Chester would keep the lad off the base now, wouldn't it?"

  Dawson laughed at the clever application of the unauthorized personnel rules. Then he turned back to Harry and nodded his acceptance to the boy's request.

  "Thank you, sir!" Harry excitedly called to Captain Simms. "I'll get on the..."

  "Wait right there, lad," Dawson interrupted. "It's okay with Andy and me, but you still need to clear this with your sister first."

  "Yes, sir! I'll go get her permission," Harry shouted as he quickly climbed through the bushes onto the airfield. Eager to find his sister, Susan, he rushed off to the Operations Building.

  While watching Harry scamper away, Captain Dawson turned to Simms.

  "Promise to take care of that lad, Andy. Make sure nothing happens to him. He's the most important thing we've got around here."

  Knowing full well what Dawson meant, Captain Simms agreed. "I'll promise you that. No harm will come with three RAF pilots looking out for him."

  Harry ran up the steps to the Operations Building. Then he bolted into the offices where his sister worked, startling Susan at her desk.

  "Harry!" Susan warned. "If Colonel Harrison sees you, there's nothing I will be able to do to help."

  "It's okay, Sis," Harry quickly explained. "I just need your permission to go to Chester with Captain Simms. If you let me go, you won't need to worry. I'll be off the base."

  Susan couldn't argue with Harry's logic, but was a little uneasy about letting him travel so far from home. However, when a young corporal, sympathetic to Harry's situation, announced that Colonel Harrison was crossing the field on his return to the Operations Building, Susan quickly agreed.

  "You mind Captain Simms," Susan told Harry, "and go straight home when you get back."

  While Harry was asking Susan for permission to go to Chester, Simms, Gainey and Hyatt loaded into a truck. Lieutenant Hyatt drove the canvas covered transport up to the steps of the Operations Building and stopped to pick up Harry.

  Dawson watched the spry Winslow boy jump down the steps and hop into the back. When they drove off through the front gate, he felt relieved to see them finally on their way to get the necessary supplies.

  Shortly after the truck left, a clerk spotted Dawson in front of the hanger and called out to him. "Captain Dawson," the corporal shouted, "Colonel Harrison wants to see you immediately."

  Captain Dawson hurried to the Operations Building, and walked down the hall to Colonel Harrison's office. After a quick knock on Harrison's office door, Dawson entered.

  "Colonel, you wanted to see me?"

  "Yes, Ted," Harrison replied. "Controllers at RAF headquarters have picked up a German formation to the south, headed for Dover. I want you to scramble the squadron to intercept. How many pilots do you have active right now?"

  "Nine," Dawson replied. "I just sent Simms, Gainey and Hyatt to Chester for parts and supplies."

  Harrison nodded and thought out loud, "Headquarters is also scrambling the 62nd Squadron...still, take your nine Hurricanes and help those lads out down there."

  "Yes sir!" Dawson said with a salute, and rushed to the airfield.

  For the first time in days the scramble alarm sounded. The remaining pilots of the 14th Squadron dashed to their planes. Dawson met his men on the hardstand and briefly informed them of their mission to Dover.

  Seconds later, the thundering roar of fighter plane engines echoed across the countryside. The powerful Hawker Hurricanes raced down the airfield and jumped to the sky. Within moments of being airborne, the squadron had formed up on Captain Dawson's lead. Then the nine rugged fighters gracefully banked to the southeast and passed out of sight.

  CHAPTER SIX

  INTERCEPT AT DOVER

  Captain Dawson keyed his radio, "Men, we're off to help the lads in the 62nd Squadron beat back a formation flying for Dover. Stay on my heading and we should intercept just past the coast. It's my guess that the 62nd will get there a bit before us, so keep your eyes open for the fight."

  The skilled pilots acknowledged Dawson's command. Then the radio fell silent while the airmen prepared for combat. Barely ten minutes out from Hampton Field, the nine Hawker Hurricanes roared across the northern end of the city of Dover. Dawson and his squadron continued east over the English Channel, in search of the enemy bomber formation.

  Once more Dawson keyed his radio, "What's our motto, lads?"

  Eight voices boomed in Dawson's headset, "Send them packing before they reach land!"

  "Roger! I'm glad you all remember," Dawson replied to his fellow pilots.

  Ahead of the RAF planes, clouds dotted the sky making it difficult for the British pilots to spot any other aircraft. Dawson squinted as he tried to see an outline or any movement that would expose the incoming enemy planes.

  Then, from the corner of his eye, Dawson thought he saw something. Focusing his attention to the left of their formation, Dawson strained to see anything other than the swirling patches of white and blue. Blurred spots seemed to move along with the clouds.

  A moment later, the radio crackled with the low voice of Lieutenant Collin Mathews. "Mathews here, Captain. There's quite a row up ahead, at three o'clock low."

  Dawson leaned forward in his cockpit and looked to his right in order to see what the lieutenant had spotted. Mathews was right. In front, and a bit below right of the RAF formation, the sky was filled with airplanes in the throws of battle.

  Just as Dawson had predicted, the 62nd Squadron had intercepted the incoming German formation first. With the targets now in sight, Dawson dismissed the blurred spots he noticed earlier.

  "It must have been the reflection of our planes in my canopy," he thought.

  The nine Hurricanes of the 14th Squadron rapidly closed in on the dogfight in the sky. Dawson counted twenty He 111 bombers, and with them, a fighter escort of a dozen German Messerschmitt 109s.

  "Let's mix it up lads!" Dawson barked into his radio. "Break on my mark!"

  Continuing his approach to the battle, Captain Dawson adjusted his goggles and shouted, "Break!"

  Throwing the yoke forward and right, Dawson rolled into a dive. The rest of the pilots followed their Squadron Leader. In a split second, the 14th Squadron joined the pilots of the 62nd in their defense of Dover. The addition of nine more RAF fighters instantly created even more havoc with the incoming German formation.

  However, the cunning Me 109 fighter escort sent to protect the German bombers refused to retreat. Regardless of being heavily outnumbered, the deadl
y Messerschmitts continued to swarm on the British planes. The raging battle filled the sky with crippling gun fire, trails of vapor, and danger!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HAMPTON FIELD IS

  UNDER ATTACK

  Back in Hampton County, a green and brown camouflaged transport truck rumbled down the road toward the air base. Captain Simms, Lieutenant Gainey, Lieutenant Hyatt, and Harry Winslow were returning from Chester with a load of spare parts and supplies for the squadron.

  Hyatt swerved the truck along the rough roadway attempting to avoid the ruts and potholes. Bouncing in the passenger seat, Captain Simms struggled to complete the volume of paper work that was generated by each supply requisition.

  "Now I know why Ted sent me for this stuff instead of going himself," mumbled Simms.

  "What was that, Captain?" asked a nervous Lieutenant Hyatt.

  "Nothing, Hyatt!" Simms snapped. "Just keep driving!"

  Hyatt gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Already a bit anxious about driving with Simms, Hyatt couldn't help but wonder what he did to upset the Captain. Forever in search of mischief, Lieutenant Gainey took great pleasure in making matters worse by criticizing Hyatt's driving.

  "Hyatt, if you keep driving like that, we'll hit a tree for sure!" Gainey teased. "Thank goodness there's only a mile left to base. I think I might be safer in a dogfight with two Me 109s than riding with you!"

  Young Harry Winslow had spent enough time around the pilots to know when it was best to say nothing and just enjoy the playfulness of the men. This was one of those times.

  Simms looked up from his paperwork and barked at Gainey, "That's enough, Lieutenant!" Then he turned to Hyatt, "Just get us home in one piece, Hyatt. That's all I ask."