Wings Over Persia (British Ace Book 7)

by Griff Hosker

  Sir John waved me over to him. “The Iranians say that, if you are chasing Sheikh Mahmud you have his permission to cross the border but if any Iranian citizen is hurt by the R.A.F. then it will have dire consequences.”

  “Understood sir. If I get it wrong then it is the end of my career.”

  “Exactly but I don’t think that it will be. Good luck tomorrow. I am off to meet with Lord Palmer and discuss who will take over in Sulaimaniya.”

  “You are confident we will succeed?”

  “Yes, Wing Commander. I have no doubts about that!”

  One advantage of our early departure was the temperature. It was cooler. As the engines were started I spoke with the three squadron leaders. “Flying in the dark is tricky. When we leave stick to the course and height we agreed. We will not be attacking until dawn anyway. Remember the Ninaks and Bristols will have to coordinate with Colonel Pemberton and his men. Good luck chaps. We will celebrate in the mess tonight.”

  “Good show, sir!”

  I climbed into the Snipe. My twelve aeroplanes were in four lines of three. This would be a test of their skills. We were flying at night for the first time. Admittedly dawn would soon break but, as we roared down the runway lit by Sergeant Major Hill’s lanterns it felt like jumping off a precipice as we climbed high into black night. We had the lowest altitude. We were flying at two thousand feet. It took just a few minutes to reach that altitude and I throttled back a little to conserve fuel.

  Ahead, I saw the sky lightening as dawn approached. Simpkins and Marshall were on station. Both were confident pilots. In the time we had been in Mesopotamia they had developed into much better pilots. They had known how to fly before I arrived but now they were pilots and more than that, they were combat pilots. They seemed able to read my thoughts and react to every movement of my Snipe.

  The sun began to rise and it illuminated the town when we were just two miles away. I began my descent. We would be bombing at less than eighty feet. Simpkins, Marshall and myself had scouted out the town and we knew where the residence was. It was hard to miss for it had the Sheikh’s own flag flying from its roofs and was ringed with guns. All the houses with a flat roof around the residence had guns on them. That was more evidence the Count was involved. He knew how to counter aeroplanes.

  As I glanced down I saw that Colonel Pemberton’s men had left their lorries and were moving in a skirmish line towards the walls. Our delayed action bombs had made holes through which they could enter. Behind me I saw the Ninaks and Bristols as they too dropped to ground level to begin their close support of the infantry.

  The sun suddenly blazed as we raced across the walls. We were still in darker skies but we were seen and bullets were thrown into the air. We flew through the lead storm. I heard bullets as they tore through the wings. The Snipe was a tough aeroplane. I saw the residence. I fired a very short burst with my right-hand Vickers. It was more to keep the enemy gunners’ heads down than anything else. I released all four bombs. Our plan was for the centre Snipe in the four flights to drop their bombs first. Then we would turn and form a line of eight Snipes which had not dropped their bombs. The four which had would act as flank guards.

  Roaring over the residence I pulled back on my stick and began to climb and to bank to port. Simpkins and Marshall banked to starboard. I rolled and fell in to the port side of Simpkins. We all began a slow turn to bring us back over the residence. I saw smoke and flames. Squadron Leader Ritchie was to the starboard side of Simpkins and the two of us began to machine gun the gunners on the roof. I used my right-hand Vickers sparingly. I did not know how many passes we would have to make. Flying over the residence I looked down and saw that we had destroyed it. There would be another seven bomb loads to come but they would ensure that Sheikh Mahmud’s residence was completely destroyed. When we reached the walls of the town I saw that the infantry had secured the gates and the walls. The Ninaks and Bristols were bombing selectively. They were targeting the strong points.

  I led my squadron to the north so that we could sweep around and catch any vehicles leaving the town. They would head east, to Maivan and Iran. We wanted to stop up all the rat holes. I saw that Squadron Leader Ritchie’s bus was smoking and I waved for him to return to Kirkuk. He nodded. In my mirror, I saw that five other Snipes had been damaged. The ground fire had been fiercer than we had expected. I knew that I had been hit but all my controls appeared to be functioning and the damage looked, to me, to be superficial. They too headed back to the base. Their work was done and the mopping up could be left to us. They would be back in Kirkuk in less than an hour. If I needed them I could radio Kirkuk.

  I climbed so that the remaining six of us could form two flights of three. I saw that Simpkins and Marshall had both emerged intact as had Barker. Smoke was now billowing and blowing across the burning rebel stronghold. We had to climb so that I could see beyond it. As we ascended I saw lorries and cars fleeing from the carnage of Sulaimaniya. I led my six aeroplanes down to attack them. I had not used my left-hand Vickers and so, as we neared the last vehicle in the convoy I opened fire. The Kurds who were aboard opened fire too. As I roared along the column, firing short bursts from my gun I was aware, from my mirror, that two of my Snipes had been damaged by fire from the walls and the fleeing vehicles. We were so low that damage was more likely. They peeled away, smoking from their engines.

  Barker still had a couple of bombs left. He had been the last bomber over the residence and, as we neared the head of the column he dropped the two bombs. We banked and climbed so that we could survey the damage we had done. Three vehicles lay wrecked two others were smoking but two were still intact and had left the main road to head into the hills. We had not yet reached the border but we were a good eight miles from Sulaimaniya and if the cars got into the hills then they could escape into Iran.

  Pilot Officer Barker tapped his guns to inform me that he was out of ammunition and Simpkins did the same. I waved them back to Kirkuk. I got on the radio and told them that Pilot Officer Marshall and myself were pursuing two vehicles in the direction of Maivan and that I had buses which were returning with damage. Sergeant Major Shaw would have men ready to deal with any emergency.

  In the time it had taken to bank and turn to follow the cars they had split up. We would have to drop low to find them. The road they had taken was not a real road. It was mud and stone. In the rainy season only horses could use it. It twisted and turned through defiles. The two cars would not be able to go quickly. What I did not know was that they were not moving at all. They had stopped and were setting up an ambush. We were just fifty feet above the road when the barrage began. They had a Lewis gun. My life was saved by the radio. It was behind my back and the bullets intended for me smashed into it and my fuselage. They had damaged my controls and the Snipe felt sluggish. I tried to climb and, looking in my mirror I saw that Marshall’s Snipe had also been hit but this time in the engine. I banked and came around. I emptied my Vickers into the area where the ambushers were hiding. I had no idea if I hit any but there were only a few shots as I passed over.

  I saw that Marshall was in trouble. He was descending. He was trying to crash land. He was heading towards Iran and that was not good. This was not the place for such a crash landing. There was very little land which was flat enough or long enough. I followed and then I noticed that I was almost flying on empty. I should have had enough fuel. One of the bullets must have hit my fuel tank. Not only Pilot Officer Marshall was going to crash land, I was going to join him.

  We were a good three or four miles from the ambush when Marshall finally put his Snipe on the ground. It was not a great landing. The undercarriage broke and the propeller dug into the ground throwing the Snipe upside down. I could not land close by and, as my engine began to splutter, I looked for any flat ground I could. I found a piece, thirty yards long. It sloped uphill. The engine, starved of fuel, stopped and I coasted towards the sloping piece of rock. My undercarriage also broke but my propeller did not bit
e into the ground. It was a hard landing and the Snipe spun around but it stayed horizontal. It was not a fiery death. I was alive and I had a chance. I might be far from any help but I was intact and I had my emergency supplies and weapons. If Marshall was alive then I would try to get us back to Sulaimaniya.

  Chapter 17

  As soon as my aeroplane stopped I unstrapped myself and I reached down to grab my rifle and my emergency equipment. I unclipped the net which held it. I would have to improvise it into some sort of haversack. I climbed out and laid the lifesaving equipment thirty feet from the Snipe. Taking my dagger, I climbed back up and cut the safety harness from the seat. I might need that to carry Marshall back, if he was wounded. I put the ammunition into my pockets and then used the straps to make the net into a haversack. I had a drink from my canteen before I put that in the net again. I had three Mills bombs. I would have to use one to destroy the Snipe. The Vickers machine guns were too valuable to leave for Kurds to take and use against us. I knew it would signal my position but I had little choice. I threw the grenade into the cockpit and then ran. I was well away when it went off but, even so, I was knocked to the ground.

  When I rose, I had to orientate myself. I had flown almost a mile after Marshall had crashed. In the distance, I saw the tail of his Snipe and I hurried across the uneven ground. The sun was now getting hotter. I wished I had brought the bisht with me. The Arabs knew how to stay cool in the heat. My flying coat was too hot but it contained my spare ammunition and compass. In addition, if we had to spend a night out here I would need it for the cold. I had no idea what sort of condition Marshall was going to be in when I found him. The men we had shot up were still around. I had them placed about two miles or more away. It would be close. I had to keep looking at the rough ground below my feet and then find a way point to lead me to the aeroplane. As I neared the Snipe I saw that he had been lucky where he had stopped. Thirty yards further on there was a gully and then a sheer drop. I saw his left arm hanging down from the cockpit. Was he alive or dead?

  When I reached him I said, “Marshall, can you move?”

  “Is that you sir? I think I have damaged my right arm. I can’t move it. The left arm I can.”

  I laid down my rifle and improvised haversack and took off my flying helmet. I felt the sun on my head as soon as I did. “Hang on I will try to get under and release your harness.” I lay on my back and slithered along the ground. I saw the bones sticking out of his torn tunic and flying jacket. He had broken his lower right arm. The ulna and radius had both fractured. I would have to open my medical kit. I held his body with my left arm as I reached up with my right to release the harness. I did not want him to fall. I did not want to aggravate his wounds. I flicked the buckle and I felt his weight on my left arm. I moved my right arm to try to support his weight.

  “Your right arm is broken. Can you try to roll out and take the weight on your left arm?”

  “I will try sir.”

  I felt his body weight shift and he wriggled. There was a sharp intake of breath as he caught his arm and then he suddenly tumbled and landed on the rocks. He gave a sharp cry. It could not be helped but if the rebels were around they would hear it. I remembered Squadron Leader Barnes. They would not take us without a fight. I scrambled out and helped him to sit up. He was pale and he was shaking. Beattie had told me about that. It was shock.

  I took out my whisky flask and opened it. “Take a swig.”

  He did so and I saw the glimmer of a smile, “Cheers, sir!”

  “Now support your right arm with your left. I will try to get a splint.”

  “Sir.”

  Running back to the wreck I found a pair of the struts on the Snipe. They had broken. I used my dagger to remove them from the wing. I picked up a small broken piece of wood at the same time. I cut the harness from the cockpit and cut two sections from it. Time was passing and we were exposed. I expected the crack of a rifle at any moment. When I returned to the pale Marshall I used my knife to carefully cut away the jacket, tunic and shirt. I exposed the wound. Marshall looked down at it. “That is a mess, sir.”

  “Lucky for you it is your forearm.” I moved him so that his shoulder was supported by a rock and the damaged arm lay flat on the ground. I began to use some of my precious water to clean the wound. I held the canteen for him. “Drink.” He did so. I took out the antiseptic powder and the dressing. “Look, Marshall, I won’t lie to you. This is going to hurt like hell. Bite on this piece of wood.” He opened his mouth and I put the wood in his mouth. I sprinkled the power on the open wound and I saw him wince. That was nothing compared with what I would have to do next. I gently placed the two pieces of wood alongside his forearm. Even the slightest touch made him start. “I am going to have to join the ends of the bone together and splint it. Take hold of my flying coat with your left hand.” He did so. I took the two ends of broken bones and moved them together. I felt his hand jerk my jacket and he bit through the wood then his head fell backwards to rest against the rock. He was unconscious. I worked quickly. I joined the bones as neatly and carefully as I could manage and, after applying the dressing, tied the two pieces of harness tightly around the splint.

  Out of the corner of my eye I caught a movement in the distance. Suddenly a rifle rang out. The Kurds had found us. I had seen the muzzle flash and they were a long way away. The rifleman had fired too soon. I ran to the cockpit. Marshall had a grenade. He also had a canteen. I took them both. The Vickers were under the engine but they were intact and would be a temptation. I took the pin from the Mills bomb and I used my feet to rock the Snipe. I jammed the grenade and its handle beneath the Vickers. If someone tried to get the Vickers then they would set off the booby trap.

  I could hear voices in the distance but I could see nothing for there were rocks in the way. I ran back to Marshall and, after putting the canteen in the improvised haversack I slipped it over my back with my Lee Enfield. I had seen the gully some two hundred yards away. If I tried to drag Marshall then the Kurds would see my tracks. There was no option. I picked up the unconscious pilot and draped him over my shoulders. He was a ton weight. I staggered to the gully. It was more than six feet deep. I laid Marshall on the top and climbed down. Then I pulled him down with me. I saw that there was an overhang just ten yards further on and I dragged him beneath it. We would be hidden from view. Of course, if there were snakes or scorpions there then we would be dead men and no one would ever find our bodies.

  It was as I took off Marshall’s flying helmet that I realised I had left mine some way from the aeroplane. It was too late to go back for it. I took out my German automatic and cocked it. I was just glad that Marshall was unconscious. If they found us then I would be able to save him any more pain. They would not take us alive.

  I heard voices. Two of them were Russian. I could not make out all of their words but I heard, ‘Vickers’. Then I heard Arabic. This time I could understand it for it was spoken by a Russian and was basic. “You, monkey! Go and search the aeroplane. See if you can get those Vickers. If the aeroplanes come back we can shoot them down, too.”

  “Yes effendi. Come Mohammed.”

  The Russians spoke to each other and I could not make out anything. I smelled cigarette smoke and knew that they were smoking. Suddenly there was an almighty explosion and screams. Not only did the grenade go off it set off the unused .303 ammo too. When the bullets stopped I could smell burning. The Snipe was on fire. The Russian voices drew close to me. I could hear them clearer.

  “Shit! That bastard pilot must still be alive.”

  “I told you when we found the helmet that he must be around. Do you think he went to the other aeroplane?”

  “I doubt it. We heard that aeroplane explode not long after it crashed. The Count will not be happy that we let him escape. He wanted to question him.”

  Just then Marshall began to wake. He could not help it. He moaned.

  I heard the sound of guns being cocked. A Russian voice shouted, urgently, �
��It came from the cliff!”

  I had no time to think. I had to act. I heard their boots as they ran across the stones. I hurried down the gulley to the place I had entered. As I reached it I heard one shout, “I can see him!” There was a narrow crack above Marshall. They would be able to shoot him.

  I just reacted. Had I thought it through I would have realised that they would not do him harm. They wanted him for questioning but I clambered out and as one of them raised his gun I fired four shots from a prone position. They both turned and fired at the same time. They fired at body height and their bullets zipped over my head. One of my bullets caught one of them. He stumbled and his foot caught in the crevasse beneath which Marshall sheltered. He screamed as he fell over the cliff. The noise would have been heard from miles around. On top of the exploding Snipe it marked our position for the Count and any who remained to hunt us.

  The second man now saw me and he brought his rifle around to aim at me. I squeezed the trigger and sent all five bullets into his body. His gun fired in the air as he tumbled back dead. I ran over to him to make sure and to see if any of the Arabs had survived. The three Kurds lay dead. I grabbed the headdresses from two of them. The Snipe was a wreck but the smoke spiralled in the air. I ran back to the gully. Marshall had managed to crawl along. I dropped back down and cupped my hands. He stepped on to the and that enabled him to pull himself over the side with his good hand. He shouted in pain as he did so. I retrieved my rifle and improvised haversack. I gave him another drink of the whisky. We were now in an even worse position than before. We had to get away from here as quickly as we could.

  I helped Marshall to his feet and wrapped one of the turbans around his head. “Just stand there while I see what the Russian has with him.” I wound the second turban around my own head. It would keep the worst of the sun from me. My bullets had made a mess of his body. He had a pistol. It was the same as mine and I took it and the ammunition. He had two German style grenades. They were called potato mashers. I put those in my pockets. Lastly, I found a Polish sausage. We had food. I ran back to Marshall. “Lean on me. We are going to walk back to Sulaimaniya.”