by Stuart Slade
“Good Lord, no. I gave them a severe talking-to, more in sorrow than in anger, you know, then sent them back to their platoon. Their own shame at having betrayed their salt will punish them worse than anything I could award. Their fellows will treat them as outcasts until they’ve redeemed themselves.”
“Well, you know best, I suppose. Still, we have to ask what do we do now?”
“What do you mean?” Garry was suddenly very suspicious and very careful.
“We owe it to the better people here in India to restore our relationship with London as quickly as possible. If that means installing a new Viceroy who knows and understands his duty, then so be it.”
Are you totally insane? Garry stared at Cardew in shock. Have you forgotten what happened the last time the Indian Army rose in mutiny? And you want to risk bringing that horror back? When he replied, he did so very slowly and very carefully.
“I do not think there is a legal mechanism for removing a Viceroy other than to have London recall him. And, if I understand the situation correctly, any such order from London would be considered invalid. I believe the Cabinet here holds that the government in exile sitting in Ottawa is the legitimate government of Great Britain. Is this not so? Now if we can get an order from them, replacing Marquess Linlithgow as Viceroy, you may be on to something.”
“Of course, of course.” Cardew gulped down his brandy. “Pleasure to meet you, Colonel.”
Garry nodded as Cardew rose to his feet and stomped off. He waved to a steward and had another whisky-soda delivered. That gave him a few minutes to think the disturbing meeting over. By the time his second glass was empty, he had decided it was time to seek a meeting with Sir Eric Haohoa.
Building One, Consolidated Aircraft Corporation, San Diego, California
“Are you planning to cancel all our contracts?” Reuben H. Fleet put on a good show of polite courtesy, while inside he was boiling with fury. “We have a lot of production capacity here, you know. It seems a pity to let it go unused.”
“I don’t think that will happen. I happen to know the Navy is ordering a lot more Catalina flying boats. The problem is range. With Britain out of the war, we can’t rely on having foreign bases any more. So, the PB2Y is a dead duck; it doesn’t have the range we need. Nor does the XB-24.” Phillip Stuyvesant sounded eminently reasonable as well.
“The XB-24 has more range than the B-17. A lot more and it carries a heavier bombload as well. We’ve got six of them sitting on the ramp right now. The French ordered them. Now they’re just sitting there. That’s my company’s money sitting in the sun, doing nothing.”
“Had things panned out differently, the XB-24 might have been really something, that I grant you. But it doesn’t have the range we need. Nor does the XB-32, so that will have to go as well. If it’s any consolation, Boeing’s XB-29 is being cut back. But, it’s not the cancellations I’m here to talk about. It’s the long-range bomber. You and Boeing are competing for that one as well. Why don’t you show me what you’ve got?”
Fleet pulled a file out from a drawer and ran down the list of names cleared to see Consolidated Aircraft’s long range bomber proposal. “Right, Mr. Stuyvesant, you are cleared to see the work we’re doing. Come with me.”
He led the way to another section of the building, one which had armed guards in the corridors and combination locks on the access doors. Eventually, he opened a door to a room that contained models and drawings. “Let’s start with this.”
‘This’ was a model of a huge flying boat, powered by six engines . Stuyvesant looked at it curiously. “Why are the engines in the back of the wings?”
“Pusher configuration. It reduces drag. Everything about this flying boat is designed to reduce drag to a minimum. We used the Davis Wing design on the XB-24 due to its low-drag characteristics and that’s the primary reason why it outperforms the B-17. We’ve got a transport version of the XB-24 designed, by the way; one that might be very useful.”
“So, your proposed long-range bomber is a flying boat.” Stuyvesant was thoughtful. The idea made sense; all the long-range passenger aircraft in the world were flying boats.
“Good Lord, no. This is our proposal for the Pan American Super-Clipper; the aircraft they want to replace the Boeing 314. If they listen to us, we can give them an airliner that can carry at least a hundred people for six thousand nautical miles with a fuel burn comparable to that of the 314. It will revolutionize air transport, but Juan Trippe won’t bite.”
“Why not?” Stuyvesant frowned. “It seems like a major leap forward.”
“Two reasons. One is that the original specification was over-ambitious and Trippe has doubts about whether it would be possible to fill an aircraft this big with passengers. The other is that he has this picture of air transport as being some sort of super-luxury way of travel. Now, there is a good reason for that. The Pan-Am Clippers are relatively slow, so people are stuck in cramped surroundings for many hours. It’s not like traveling by sea, where people can walk around the ship and forget they are at sea. So, Trippe believes his passengers need the luxury to compensate for the discomfort of a small aircraft. We think he’s wrong; people will accept cramped conditions and a level of discomfort for a cheap and fast means of traveling between countries. But, he’s the customer.
“Anyway, we designed a really efficient wing for the Super-Clipper, one that makes even the XB-24 look primitive. We’ve designed a downsized version of the Super-Clipper, the XP4Y, for the Navy as a Catalina replacement. We’re waiting to hear if the Navy will bite. We used the same aircraft as a test-bed for our bomber. We took the full-size Super-Clipper wings and tail and mated them to a new fuselage, one that is optimized as a land-based bomber.”
Fleet put down the model of the flying boat and picked up another one. “Here she is. And she’s a monster; more than twice the size of Boeing’s B-29.I don’t want to bad-mouth another company, but I think Boeing is making a bad mistake with the B-29. They’re using a lot of advanced building techniques and unproven design art to get the performance they claim in the airframe size they want. There’s too much there that can go wrong. We’re sticking to design art we know: structural technology proven with our flying boats and the Davis Wing from the XB-24. The only really new thing we have, other than sheer size, is the pusher engine installation. We call this the Model 35.”
Stuyvesant took the model and inspected it carefully. He noted the smoothly contoured nose and the great twin fins and rudders at the back. Turning it upside down, his eyebrows rose at the sheer size of the bomb bay. “This aircraft will fulfill the long range bomber specifications we issued?”
“Fill and exceed.” Fleet’s pride was obvious. “The Model 35 will be able to hit targets five thousand nautical miles away with ten thousand pounds of bombs and return. It’s a truly intercontinental bomber.”
Stuyvesant looked carefully at the model again. “You know, Boeing is tied down with the B-29; they don’t have any design resources to spare. Jack Northrop is pushing a flying wing but that’s a step too far. Douglas, they have the same design staff problems that Boeing has. Frankly, this is the only convincing design that I’ve seen so far.”
Fleet grinned proudly. “And the Material Division agrees with you. They’ve endorsed our design. The Army Air Force has even given us a number for her. She’s going to be the B-36.”
Wardroom, Battleship HMS Valiant, Trincomalee, India
“We have the foundations of a great navy here.” Captain Edgar Porteous Woollcombe looked around the crowded wardroom and noted the mix of dark blue, light blue and khaki uniforms. “And a great Army and Air Force to go with it.”
“Well said.” General Auchinleck responded enthusiastically. “The Indian Army has always been the mainstay of the Empire and now we have the sea power to go with it.”
Admiral James F. Summerville coughed slightly. “Gentlemen, before we get too carried away with what we have, and while I also second Captain Woollcombe’s statements, we
must pay due diligence to what we lack.”
“And that is air power.” Despite Captain Woollcombe’s enthusiasm. Squadron Leader Baldwin was almost abashed at the slight force he brought to the meeting. The fact that he, a lowly squadron leader, was the senior RAF officer present said much.
“We have three squadrons of Indian Air Force aircraft here: two with Westland Wapitis and one with Audaxes. Mostly they have Royal Air Force personnel, but 16 officers and 144 other ranks are Indian. That’s about a third of the total. We’ve got a small training establishment with Tiger Moths, but we were left out of the Empire Air Training Scheme. The RAF in India adds six more squadrons to the total. One has Wapitis, two Audaxes, one Lysanders and one Blenheim bombers. We also have a squadron of Valentia transports. No fighters at all.”
“What about Singapore and Malaya?” Woollcombe looked at the appendages to India. “Do we have fighters there? And can we use them?”
“We have four squadrons of bombers in Singapore. 36 and 100 Squadrons have Vildebeest torpedo bombers; 34 and 60 Squadrons have Blenheims. There’s another squadron, 62, in Malaya with Blenheims. Nothing in Burma worthy of note.”
“We have no fighters in Singapore?” Woollcombe sounded incredulous.
“None.” Baldwin was defensive. “With the war in Europe, our modern fighters were concentrated there. Frankly, we didn’t take the Japanese very seriously. I do have some good news though. We’ve been searching around and we’ve managed to organize six Coastal Defense Flights with a mix of old aircraft we found in storage or used as hacks. Mostly Hawker Harts and Audaxes, but one CDF flight has six Blenheim Is. And we have the Short Singapore flying boats, of course. We actually have a round dozen of them.”
Summerville nodded. The situation was as bad as he and Auchinleck had feared. “We can add a little to that. We have HMS Hermes, of course; she has nine Swordfish on board. We also have the float planes on the cruisers and here on Valiant. That adds two Walrus and six Seafox. But….”
Auchinleck finished the phrase for him. “That still means there is not a single fighter in the whole of India. We have no air defenses; none at all.”
“I would suggest that we can shift our forces around a little to make better use of them. We can reassign the Wapitis from Number I squadron to the Coastal Defense Flights and replace them with the Audaxes in those flights. The Wapiti will be as useful for patrolling the sea as the Audax, but the Audaxes will be much superior for army cooperation flights.” Baldwin thought for a second. “Before That Man took Britain out of the war, we were converting some of the Blenheims back home into fighters. This meant fitting a four-Browning gun pack under the belly and taking out some of the equipment not needed for the fighter role. Perhaps we could do the same thing here? 27 Squadron has Blenheims suitable for the conversion. That would give us some fighters, at least. We can also see to training Number Six CDF, they’re the ones with Blenheims, to support the fleet. Admiral, may I ask the aid of your Fleet Air Arm pilots in doing so?”
There was a profound silence in the room. The idea of the Royal Air Force offering aid to the other services and asking for their guidance seemed shocking. In the middle of the room, Summerville and Auchinleck were speaking quietly to each other. Eventually, Auchinleck spoke to the meeting as a whole. “Squadron Leader, your comments and proposals are well-said and well-taken. We need to expand the Indian Air Force to meet the demands placed upon it. Your energy and initiative commend you to the command of the enlarged force. I am therefore, on my authority alone, going to promote you to the rank of Wing Commander with immediate effect. You understand that this promotion has only my personal authority behind it and it may be rescinded by higher authorities should they emerge when the political situation changes. Your first responsibility is to organize the conversion of 27 Squadron’s Blenheim bombers into fighters. This must take the highest priority.”
There was a murmur of approval at the decision, but few eyes were not focussed on the map of India that dominated the wall.
The Peninsula Hotel, Manila, Philippines
The man wouldn’t have been out of place on any street corner. In the dining room of the Peninsula Hotel, he stood out like a farmer in his dowdy go-to-town best, attending opening night at the opera. Igrat noticed him, of course. She always noticed everything going on around her, even if she gave no outward sign of doing so. She also noted that nobody else seemed to remark on the stocky middle aged man with a head full of slicked down sandy hair in a plain grey suit, so she concentrated on the superb breakfast instead. Her curiosity re-emerged when the same drab fellow appeared again the Pan-Am terminal. He was sitting quietly in a corner with a newspaper and pot of tea as they waited to board the Clipper.
It wasn’t until the Pan-American Hotel on Wake Island that their paths crossed again. In the early pre-dawn the silence awakened Igrat more than anything. If she strained every muscle, there was a faint throb that might be a distant generator; otherwise, there was only the rattling of palm fronds and slap of the sea on sand. On her journeys out to Asia, she had discovered an enchantment about the dawn here. The isolation, the peace, was something to be savored. Dressing hurriedly, she slipped out of the Pan-Am Hotel and down the path to the beach.
It was still dark between the stunted palm trees. Although Igrat had no difficulty staying on the path, she didn’t see the still figure standing at the head of the strand until she was far too close to back away. The man turned at the sound of her slippers. She recognized him as the curious ‘grey farmer’ from Manila.
“Good morning, Miss”
Igrat saw a square pugnacious face that could have been quite threatening if it wasn’t offset by an unusually high forehead. There was something else as well, a strange feeling as if a light was flickering softly in the back of her mind.
“Oh, good morning” returned Igrat “I am sorry if I disturbed you.”
“No, you stay as you are, Missie. I’ll move off if you’re looking for some room.” The voice had a gentle fatherly gruffness, although she couldn’t place the accent. “Not that I’d object to a bit of company either”
With any illusion of solitude shattered, Igrat decided to satisfy her curiosity instead. The light in her mind was still there and she was sure what it meant. “Oh I couldn’t ask you to do that. You were here first. Anyway, I like company.”
“No trouble,” returned the man. “There’s enough island for the two of us.”
“Barely,” laughed Igrat
“Ay,” he agreed. “And there’s not much here, either.”
“Except the sunsets and the dawn”
“I’ve seen worse.” he nodded. “There’s far worse to be had, that’s for certain. You’ll have to pardon me. Lewis, Essington Lewis; my friends call me Essie for obvious reasons.”
The hand he extended was warm and dry; the handshake firm but not hard,. Igrat took it in the same fashion. She’d already decided not to vamp this man. There was something about him she found attractive and, anyway, there was always the light flickering in her mind.
“Irene Shapiro. I’m an actress.”
“Well pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Shapiro, and I’d take Irene over Essington any day of the week. Oh, look out, here she comes.” He nodded at the horizon where the sky was turning a magnificent deep mauve. There was the tiniest spot of light forming where the sky met the sea. Before she could remark on it, a long streak of brilliant green leapt skywards. It formed a distinct pillar for a few seconds and then vanished as the leading edge of the sun’s disk peeped over the horizon.
“A green flash!” Igrat’s voice was awed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of those. Do you think it will bring us good luck?”
“I think it already has, for me anyway.” Lewis was looking at her oddly and a bit guardedly. Igrat knew why, but it was a subject that would have to wait for another time.
Student’s Canteen, Nottingham University, Nottingham, United Kingdom
“Just what i
s this?” Rachael looked at the meal on offer from the student’s canteen very doubtfully.
“Bubble and squeak.” David Newton sounded as doubtful as Rachael. “It’s a mixture of leftovers, mostly potatoes and cabbage, all mashed up together and deep fried with sausage. The fat from the sausages flavors the vegetables, you see.”
“Oh dear.” The truth was, Rachael was very hungry and had been looking forward to having something to eat.
“I’m sorry, love.” The woman behind the serving counter was genuinely apologetic. “It’s the rationing, see; we have to use every bit of everything we have. Can’t afford to throw anything away. More than our job’s worth to get caught wasting food. We put some potato and cabbage aside for you, though. Best we could do.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Rachael gave the cooking ladies a great beaming smile. In her heart, she guessed that the food that they had put aside had been ladled out with the pork fat soaked spoons that had been used elsewhere. Still, she didn’t know that was the case and ignorance was an acceptable excuse. But to mention such things would be to insult the ladies who had tried to help here. Rachael didn’t believe in knowingly giving offense to anybody, especially those who were doing their best to cope. She took the plate with the vegetables. “Thank you so much for being so thoughtful.”
When she joined her friends at their customary table, there was an air that she couldn’t quite understand. Almost conspiratorial. Colin Thomas looked at her plate and shook his head. “That doesn’t look very filling, Rachael. Why don’t you try this?”
He pushed a large bag over. She opened it curiously. Her heart skipped a beat when she started to smell the contents. It was a full kosher meal: a bowl of beef tsimmes, a noodle kugel and an apple-date Bundt cake. She was barely able to stop herself drooling.
“How? How did you manage this?”
“One of us knows a Jewish family that lives close our folks. So, our mam asked them what we should get for you. They spoke to some friends of theirs and they spoke to friends and, well, things got arranged and this turned up for you an hour or so ago. It’s cold I’m afraid, but at least you can eat it all. We’ll hide the other stuff so our cooks won’t be offended.”
