Wings Over Persia (British Ace Book 7)

by Griff Hosker

  I wrote a report for Mr Balfour and took the report and the papers back to the office. I found an envelope and put the documents inside. “Any sealing wax, Sergeant Major?”

  “Yes sir.”

  I wrote the address on the envelope and then we sealed it. “See it gets on the next mail flight to England, Sergeant Major.”

  “Sir. Is it important?”

  “To me? No but the man I sent it to might find it useful.”

  I went to speak with Flight Lieutenant Ritchie. It was mainly to compliment him on keeping things going but I also warned him that we might be in action sooner rather than later. I headed to the sick bay. Major Fox looked much better. He had been shaved and looked a different man. I could tell that lying in bed did not sit well with him. “Sir! I am fine! Tell this blood sucker that I can rest just as easily in my quarters.”

  I smiled and held up my hands, “In this I am outranked by Doctor McClure. Besides you can do a little work for me here.” I handed him the two passports. “I took this from Ivan and his mate. Everything else was in Russian. I have sent the Russian material to London. These must be forgeries eh?”

  “Not necessarily sir. It could be that they have slipped someone a little bribe to buy one. These may be real passports. They don’t belong to the two Russians but they could be genuine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look at the dates of birth, sir. Both are from 1870. Those chaps we fought had had a tough life but they couldn’t have been above thirty years old. The men who had these could have died or some corrupt official has found their names and made a passport for them. These have to be renewed every two years, sir. They are both less than one-year old.”

  I smacked one hand into the palm of the other, “And now that we have the blue passports these will be of no use in two years’ time.”

  “There may be more of them.”

  “I know. I shall see Sir John and then your Captain Griffiths. I will ask to have random checks on everyone who is working with the British here.”

  When Sir John returned, two days’ later, he agreed with my assessment. “It was a good move to remove the locals from the airfield but I am afraid that there are too many people in Baghdad itself who may not be what they say they are. I will have the Military Police check the papers of everyone. I will begin with the residency. And I have to warn you that we believe war with Turkey is imminent. They will not call it war. They will say they are protecting Turkish citizens who live close to Mosul. It will be a smokescreen. I want you and Squadron Leader Thomson to base yourselves at Kirkuk. I have sent for a Sikh Battalion. They are on their way from India now and will be here within days. They are in Al Basra at the moment. I will keep the Vernons and one squadron of Ninaks here. When you get to Kirkuk I want you to be the first response. However, Wing Commander I have to caution you. We cannot risk us beginning any conflict with Turkey. The League of Nations gave us a clear mandate to protect Iraq. There are enough of our enemies who will see us as Empire building. What that means is that we have to let the Turks and Kurds attack us. You cannot cross the border. You can see why I am sending you, Bill. A great deal rests upon your shoulders.”

  The Air Vice Marshall looked as serious as I had ever seen him. He was worried.

  “Yes sir.”

  He handed me a thin pink folder. “Most of the messages I will send to you will be in plain language but here is the code we will use if there is anything which is for your eyes only. You do the same but I suspect that most of your messages will be in plain language.” He smiled, “It’s not changed much since France eh, Bill? Not enough buses not enough pilots and no time off! What did they say? If you can’t take a joke you should never have joined!” He left.

  I was pleased I had not asked about leave! I went to the office and sent for Jack and Flight Lieutenant Ritchie. “Get your bags packed! We are off to Kirkuk. There may be trouble brewing.”

  “Sir.”

  Major Fox had been allowed out of sick bay so long as he was desk bound. I popped my head into his office. “It looks like trouble is coming from the north west this time, Ralph. We are being sent there. I want Sergeants Williams and Swanston and ten good lads. Send them up to Kirkuk this afternoon by lorry. Send as many spare Lewis guns and grenades as we can manage. I have a feeling that it will be a hard posting. This time we are going to be fighting regulars with armour!”

  Sergeant Davis had been listening at the open door. “I will hang on to your mail, sir. The last radio message we had from Alexandria was that there was mail coming by sea. It is on a lorry now and heading here.”

  Sergeant Davis knew that I was waiting for a letter from my wife. “Thanks George, I appreciate that. You never know we may be back here in a day or so.”

  He nodded, “Aye sir and I might be the next Prima Ballerina at the Royal Ballet!”

  “Any sign of the radio for my bus?”

  “It is coming sir but it is with the equipment for the new squadron.”

  “That is alright. I will get it fitted at Kirkuk. I have a feeling that I will need it.”

  “Sergeant Hayes, in the radio room, said there have been problems up at Kirkuk with the radio since the new squadron went up there, sir.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “He doesn’t think they keep it manned all the time sir. When Sergeant Major Robson was there it was and the new bloke, Sergeant Major Hill, he is a proper soldier sir. It is just that we have tried to raise them and failed.”

  “You think it comes from higher up than the radio room?”

  He gave me an innocent smile, “Not for me to say sir. That is officers’ country. I just know that you wouldn’t allow it would you sir?”

  “No Sergeant Major.” He smiled. “Anything else I ought to know before I get up there?”

  “I don’t think so, sir.”

  I realised, as I headed back to my quarters that I didn’t know Squadron Leader Barnes. Everything had appeared fine when I had been at the airfield. He had seemed quite solicitous about our lack of uniform but I had been there just one night and I had been preoccupied. I would have to dig deeper before I took three squadrons into the air. Sergeant Major Davis would never have brought up the Squadron Leader if he didn’t have concerns. I had been a sergeant. NCO’s kept each other informed about officers. I would have to speak to this Sergeant Major Hill as soon as I arrived.

  We could have left immediately but I wanted every bus checking thoroughly. If we were at the front line then we could not afford to have mechanical problems. The mechanics, riggers and fitters would have three squadrons to service, not one! It also allowed all of us the opportunity to write letters home. If we were receiving mail then Sergeant Major Davis could send letters back to Blighty. Inevitably letters crossed in the air and there might be mixed messages. Just so long as our loved ones had one letter it might be enough. I knew that the press would be reporting the few deaths we had had as something of a catastrophe. As my dad used to say, ‘the best use for newspapers is to wrap chips in ’em!’ Perhaps he was right.

  That night the cooks excelled themselves. One good thing about living in the Middle East was that they had excellent lamb. Sergeant Major Davis must have used his contacts and we had a lamb dinner. I had no idea where he got the carrots and potatoes. Rice and aubergines were more likely to accompany lamb in these parts. With pots of mint sauce on the tables it felt like home. It was a nice touch. Instead of talking about the likelihood of death men spoke of meals in England and whose mothers cooked the best Yorkshire puddings. Memories of first visits to pubs before Sunday lunch were recalled and the evening became a celebration of all things English.

  Jack Thomson had a healthy quantity to drink. When he was like that he sang and he ended the night by leading us all in a loud and passionate rendition of Jerusalem. It seemed appropriate where we were.

  And did those feet in ancient time,

  Walk upon England’s mountains green:

  And was the holy
Lamb of God,

  On England’s pleasant pastures seen!

  And did the Countenance Divine,

  Shine forth upon our clouded hills?

  And was Jerusalem builded here,

  Among these dark Satanic Mills?

  Bring me my Bow of burning gold;

  Bring me my Arrows of desire:

  Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!

  Bring me my Chariot of fire!

  I will not cease from Mental Fight,

  Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:

  Till we have built Jerusalem,

  In England’s green and pleasant Land.

  We all cheered. We were going to war and we were as one.

  Chapter 10

  I left my number ones in my quarters but everything else I packed and stored it inside the Snipe’s fuselage. I had no idea how long we would be at Kirkuk. I did not want to run out of anything. My Snipes took off first and we flew, not directly towards Kirkuk, but up the Tigris Valley. Sir John was keen for us to show a presence. The DH 9A’s, with their longer range, would fly towards Sulaimaniya. He wanted the populace to see and fear the might of the R.A.F.

  Compared with the rest of Iraq the Tigris was like a long green snake. It was verdant and the people were, compared with other parts of the country, well fed. They were not normally rebellious. Empty stomachs made for rebels. The fly past was just a reminder to them that they should not join the hot heads. We landed at Kirkuk first. I saw the lorries which had brought our extra men were there already and they had tents erected. Some of the airmen would have to rough it too.

  The new Sergeant Major was Sergeant Major Hill. He was known as Daddy and was something of a legend. He had been in the R.F.C. and stayed on. He ran a tight squadron and was something of a martinet. I had known pilots who had served in the same squadron and they could not speak highly enough of him. I was pleased that he was the dragon whose den we had to enter.

  The Bristols were not to be seen and I guessed that they were on patrol. I went directly to the office. Sergeant Major Hill leapt to his feet and stood to attention, “Sir! Sergeant Major Hill.” The hint of a smile creased his lips. “I have been looking forward to serving with you, Wing Commander. I served with Flight Sergeant Richardson and Sergeant Major Lowery. They both spoke highly of you.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Major. I know you served in the Great War, I fear this posting could be as difficult as France.”

  “Aye sir, France with flies, sand and bucket loads of camel shit.” He put his hand to his mouth, “Pardon my French sir.”

  “If you worked with Percy and Raymond then you know that doesn’t upset me.”

  He nodded, “They told me sir. I have got your quarters all sorted. We will be a bit tight but you and Mr Thomson each have a room. The other pilots will have to double up.”

  “We’ll manage. Now I brought some of the R.A.F. regiment with me. I know you have sentries but the ones we have brought have Egypt, Somaliland and Baghdad under their belts. You can rely on them.”

  “I know sir. We had a chat last night in the sergeant’s mess. We’ll be fine. I know a good soldier when I see one and those two sergeants know their stuff. Will you be taking charge of the airfield, Wing Commander?”

  There was something in his tone which made me hesitate before I spoke. “I have no written orders but I suppose I am ranking officer.” I closed the door to the outer office, “Out with it Sarn’t Major, what was behind that question?”

  He lowered his voice, “Sir, Squadron Leader Barnes is a good officer but, well sir, he can be a little bit reckless. Brave as a lion but sometimes sir, you need to be a bit more cautious like, if you know what I mean. And discipline could be a little bit tighter.”

  “I do Sergeant Major. I appreciate the confidence.”

  “Like I said, sir, you have a reputation. I can see it is well deserved.”

  “Tell me about the rest of the squadron then, Sergeant Major.”

  “The pilots are a good lot sir. Young and keen as mustard. They just need someone to give them a guiding hand sir. You will be good for them.” Once again there were things unsaid. “The Non-Commissioned Officers are amongst the best I have known. Now the Erks? They are a mixed bag. The mechanics are kept in line by Sergeant Major Shaw. However, some of the others? I have only been with the squadron for a month or so. I’ll sort out the slackers. You know the type sir?” I nodded. He opened the door, “McIlroy, take the Wing Commander to his quarters! Chop! Chop! Have you your luggage in the kite sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll get one of the lads to bring it sir.”

  As McIlroy led me across the parade ground I saw Jack’s Ninaks come in to land. There was one short. Parr was still recovering. It was one thing to fire a machine gun one handed but it wouldn’t do to try flying one handed. When my bags arrived, I changed from my flying gear into cooler clothes and I organized my clothes. I had learned to do that when I was in the cavalry and I had not lost the habit. Then I lit my pipe and headed for the mess. I knew that Squadron Leader Barnes and Jack would head there once they had landed. It was important for us to have a quiet chat before we began operations.

  The mess was empty save for the duty steward. He was smoking a cigarette and reading a book. He looked flustered and quickly stubbed out the cigarette, “Sorry sir I wasn’t expecting anyone with the squadron being in the air and…”

  “What is your name?”

  “Aircraftsman Ramsden sir.”

  “You know better than to smoke while on duty.” I ran my finger down the bar. It was sticky. “Find jobs to do. This place needs cleaning. I am certain that shelves need to be filled with bottles and glasses. You have a cushy number here, Ramsden. You wouldn’t want to lose it would you?” He shook his head. “Now I will have a large whisky. When you have done that make this place presentable. I am certain there are many other duties you could be given and I do not think you would find them agreeable in the least.”

  “Sir.”

  I realised that I was coming on strong but I had been a sergeant and I knew that the Ramsdens of this world would take a mile if you gave them an inch. He brought the drink over and turned. I said, “Don’t you need my name for my mess bill, Ramsden?”

  “Yes sir, I mean no sir, you are Wing Commander Harsker sir. I made a note of it already.”

  I enjoyed my smoke and sipped my whisky as Ramsden cleaned and polished the bar. He had begun to do the same with the tables when Jack walked in. He had changed from his flying gear and was in a smart uniform. He grinned when he saw me. “Ready for another one, sir?”

  I stood, “I’ll stand the first corner. The same again, Ramsden, for both of us and put it on my mess bill. When Squadron Leader Barnes comes in give him his usual drink and that goes on my mess bill too.”

  “Sir!”

  I did not know this squadron. The best way to let the men know what you would and wouldn’t tolerate was to find someone who had done wrong. I had done that and Ramsden would waste no time in exaggerating and telling all and sundry what a bastard I was.

  When the drinks came Jack lit his pipe too. “How was Sulaimaniya?”

  “We didn’t fly over it, sir. They had some bigger guns. I saw them dug in along the valley you used. It seemed safer to fly low and just let them know where we were.”

  “If we have to take it out we will use the Vernons. Arthur’s home-made sight was very accurate. He thought that they could drop from three thousand feet and the margin of error would only be ten feet. We will take Sulaimaniya but I think the Turks and the Kurds will be the next enemy we fight. When Barnes comes in we will chat about what we will do tomorrow.”

  We heard his Bristols as they landed and he wasted no time in coming in to the mess. Unlike Jack and myself he had not changed out of his flying gear. Ramsden had a gin and tonic ready at the bar for him.

  “Good show Ramsden, you must be a bloody mind reader!”

  “Compliments of the Wing Commander sir.
”

  He came over and plopped down opposite me, “Good show sir, cheers!”

  I raised my glass. “Cheers!” Gesturing outside, with my pipe I asked, “Anything happening out there?”

  He shook his head, “Damned quiet. Flew to Mosul. The airfield is almost finished and then tootled up to the border and back. Nothing. No one even popped a gun at us.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  He took a deep swallow of the drink and then nodded, “Actually, come to think about it, it is. Normally they send up a fusillade. They never manage to hit us though. I just thought they were giving up wasting bullets.”

  I looked at Jack, “Or it may be they are moving troops around. How high were you flying?”

  “A thousand feet, why sir?”

  “Tomorrow we fly at two hundred.”

  “Two hundred sir? If we fly at that height they might actually hit us!”

  “And we will have more chance of seeing them. Don’t worry Squadron Leader. I will be leading. If anyone is going to get holes shot in their buses it will be my Snipes.” I could see he was confused. I smiled, “The Snipe has a wingspan of thirty-one feet and we are nineteen feet long. Your Bristols are five feet longer and have a wingspan of almost forty feet and the Ninaks are even bigger. We are a small target and we are nippy.”

  “Yes sir.”

  I saw Jack smile, “Another sir?”

  “Why not?”

  “What do you think; they are lying doggo eh sir?”