‘Of course, but where are you going?’
‘Dover.’ Rose was already pinning her WVS badge on to her coat. ‘They’re going to need all the help they can get when they start bringing the poor buggers home.’
Annie stood up, all thought of a leisurely few days disappearing. ‘I’ll come with you.’
4
Reid Lascells sat down and looked at the meal in front of him. He was so damned tired! He had been promoted to squadron leader only last week when Dan Holdsworth had been shot down and killed over France. It was a hell of a way to gain promotion, and it gave him no pleasure to try to fill that fine man’s shoes in this way. He picked up his knife and fork just as the sound of the bell to scramble jangled through his head. He was on his feet and running, leaving his breakfast untouched on the table. They weren’t even having time to eat, and he couldn’t remember when he’d had more than three hours’ sleep at a time, but the fatigue was forgotten as he hurtled towards his Spitfire. Those poor devils on the beaches were undoubtedly more tired than he was.
‘All ready for you, sir.’ The ground crew sprang into action as he reached the plane. ‘We’ve repaired the damage and she’s as good as new.’
‘Thanks.’ They strapped him in and he cast them a quick smile; he didn’t know what they’d do without these men. They were totally dedicated to keeping the planes flying, and he knew they waited anxiously to see if their pilot returned after a sortie.
He climbed, and as tired as he was he felt the usual exhilaration as the sweet Merlin engine responded to his touch. After checking that the squadron was airborne, trying to ignore the blank spaces of those they’d lost, they banked and headed for the Calais-Dunkirk patrol.
‘Hell! Look at that,’ came through Reid’s headset. The airways began to crackle with voices.
‘They’re not going to try and take them off the beaches in those, surely?’
‘They’re pleasure boats.’
‘And barges.’
‘Where’s the navy?’
‘On fire! Look to your left.’
‘Oh, hell, what a mess.’
‘Hey they’re shooting at us!’
‘Blue leader here, climb! climb!’ Reid commanded.
When they had regrouped above the clouds, one pilot swore, ‘Christ, don’t they know the difference between us and the MEs?’
‘I’d be shooting at everything if I was down there,’ muttered another pilot understandingly.
‘OK, shut up, everyone,’ Reid ordered.
‘Bandits! Three o’clock!’
In the mêlée that followed, Reid shot down two ME 109s, and saw one Spitfire blown apart and, just for a split second, he wondered where his brother was, but it was foolhardy to let your concentration wander when some swine was trying to kill you.
Kenley airfield was a welcome sight, and so were the ground crew who rushed up to help him out. ‘How many missing?’ he asked, as soon as his feet touched the ground.
‘Three, sir, but there’s always the chance they’ve landed somewhere else.’
He knew that for sure one of them was gone, and he started to walk towards the debriefing hut, trying not to wonder who he wasn’t going to see again.
‘Sir, what’s it like over there?’ One of the ground crew looked at him anxiously. ‘We’ll be in a mess if we lose our army.’
Reid summoned up a smile; though he was so damned tired he wasn’t sure if it came out as a grimace. ‘You don’t have to worry, lads, the navy will get them home.’
‘’Course they will.’ The men gathered around him nodded in agreement.
‘Did you make a kill today, sir?’
‘Yes, two definite.’
The men cheered, and then started to clamber all over the plane to check for damage.
Reid walked across the grass deep in thought and cursing under his breath. He hoped they did manage to rescue the troops because they were losing quite a few planes in this operation, and worse still was the loss of the pilots. Many of them didn’t look much more than kids. They hadn’t had any experience of life before they were shot out of the skies.
They flew sortie after sortie that day, until they were exhausted. Their day started about three in the morning and continued until dusk, and he decided that if he survived this he was going to sleep for a week.
He was in the air again just as dawn was creeping over the horizon, and they were in battle as soon as they crossed the French coast.
‘On your tail, Skip!’
Reid dived, then climbed and turned, trying to shake off the German fighter. The Spitfire didn’t let him down and the position was soon reversed. He was just lining up for the kill when he heard a thud and the plane shuddered.
‘You’re trailing smoke!’ someone yelled. ‘Bail out!’
But Reid was too far inland so he banked and headed for the coast. He knew he was risking his life by staying in the air but the last thing he wanted was to land behind enemy lines and end up as a prisoner for the rest of the war. As soon as he saw the smoking ruins of Dunkirk in the distance he searched for a suitable landing place. He couldn’t bail out now, he was too low, so he made for a small field just below him. The thought of dying never occurred to him, his main worry as he headed for the field was capture. That possibility made his insides clench in apprehension …
As he hit the ground his undercarriage collapsed; he crashed through a fence and came to rest on a dirt road. His head smacked against the side of the cockpit, knocking the breath out of him. For a split-second he didn’t move, but as the smoke began to billow in front of him he shot back the canopy and slithered to the ground.
He stood there dazed and disorientated. The air was full of different smells, smoke, burning oil, and something else. He frowned and licked his lips, tasting blood, and then he turned his head and was staring straight into the eyes of a doleful-looking cow, busily chewing. In his befuddled state he thought its expression was accusing.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, reaching out to stroke its velvet face. ‘Have I made a mess of your field?’
The animal burped noisily and Reid started to laugh. ‘I should have spoken in French.’
A strange noise coming from the Spitfire brought him back to his senses. My God! He was standing here as if he was on a casual day out in the country, and talking to a cow.
At that moment three men came running through the gap in the fence waving their arms frantically and yelling at the tops of their voices. Two of them grabbed hold of the cow and started to tow it back into its field, the other one didn’t stop running but caught hold of Reid and dragged him away from the plane. They had just made it when the Spitfire exploded and knocked them to the ground.
Reid was horrified. What was the matter with him? He should have been running for his life as soon as he’d got out of the plane, instead he’d been trying to have a conversation with a cow! That knock on the head must have scrambled his brains.
‘You must get to Dunkirk,’ he was urged. ‘The Germans will be here soon.’
A young boy came hurtling towards him on a bike, and when he reached Reid he leapt off and thrust the bicycle at him. ‘You go, quickly. That way.’
Reid was off and pedalling as fast as he could. It was an obstacle course, the road was littered with abandoned trucks, tanks, cars, dead bodies and animals, but he ignored the scenes of devastation, and pedalled like a man possessed. The irony of the situation did not escape him; he was going to end up on the beach they had been trying so desperately to protect. What chance of survival there? About fifty-fifty, he assessed, but it was his only hope, and he wanted to live so very much. Every time he went into battle, never knowing if he was going to survive had made him realize how precious life was.
He hadn’t gone far when the bike had a puncture, but he kept riding, the rim of the wheel screeching as it spun on the road. It was either this or walk, and that would take him hours.
‘That won’t get you far,’ a cultured English voice said.
Reid was gasping for breath by now, and looked up to see a motorbike idling along beside him. It contained an army officer and a bedraggled soldier of indistinguishable rank on the pillion.
‘Hop on,’ said the officer.
‘But there isn’t room.’
‘’Course there is, mate, I’ll move up a bit.’ The soldier patted a couple of spare inches behind him. ‘You should be able to get your backside on there all right. I shouldn’t hang about ’cos Jerry’s right on our tail.’
He didn’t argue; it would be better than the pedal bike, and quicker. Tucking his legs up, he hung on grimly to the man in front of him, and the bike sped off towards the clouds of billowing smoke that was the remains of Dunkirk.
An hour later he fell off the bike, thanked the unknown driver who had probably saved his life, and ran on to the beach. As he collapsed on the sand in exhaustion he became aware that his head was pounding and he could feel dried blood all over his face. Strange, but in the urgent dash to reach Dunkirk he hadn’t been aware of his injuries.
‘Blimey! The air force has arrived, at last,’ a voice shouted scornfully. ‘Where you been, mate?’
Reid dragged himself to his knees and stared at the sea of hostile faces around him. He pointed to the sky. ‘Up there, fighting like bloody maniacs.’
‘You could have fooled us, mate,’ another man jeered.
Reid was now on his feet, bristling with anger. ‘I’ve lost half my squadron trying to protect you. Planes and pilots we’re going to need to defend Britain since you couldn’t bloody well keep the Germans out of France.’
‘We did our best,’ one soldier told him defensively.
Reid dropped wearily to his knees again; this was stupid. ‘I know you did, and so have we.’
‘Sorry, mate, we’re just frustrated trying to get off this bleeding beach.’ The man, who was a sergeant, knelt beside him. ‘There’s no need to take it out on you, though. That’s a nasty gash you’ve got there. Dave!’ he yelled, ‘see if you can find a medic.’
‘What did you do, bail out?’ another soldier asked.
‘No, I had to land in a field. The locals got me away just before she blew up.’ There was no way he was going to tell them that they had found him talking to a cow!
‘Christ!’ the soldier muttered.
‘Sorry, Sergeant.’ The corporal returned. ‘They’re all busy.’
Reid waved his hand. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Here they come again!’ the shout went up.
The two soldiers grabbed hold of Reid and dragged him towards a large crater. The next few minutes were sheer bedlam, screaming fighters strafing the beach, bombs falling, men shouting and cursing. And then, suddenly, it was all over and the only sound was an irate seagull screeching above their heads. Gradually Reid became aware of the moans and cries for help coming from the injured. If there was such a place as hell, then it must be like this. He lifted his head, looked at the sergeant and swore with ferocity, ‘I’d rather be in a Spitfire, at least I can shoot back.’
The man held his hand out. ‘My name’s Ron.’
‘Reid.’ He shook his hand.
‘Well, Squadron Leader, we’d better see if we can get you on a ship, because you’re right, we are going to need you in the months to come.’
‘Hey, Sergeant, that destroyer’s coming back.’
The beach was suddenly alive with activity, and Reid was impressed with the way the men behaved. Every one of them must be frantic to get off the beach, but they were taking orders from their officers and forming orderly queues. The men started to walk into the sea and wait for the few remaining small boats to pick them up and ferry them to the large ship. It was an impressive sight but Reid didn’t miss the anxious glances at the sky as they waited for the German planes to return again. Reid didn’t rate his chances of getting on a boat very high.
‘There’s another small boat over there, Sergeant,’ the corporal shouted. ‘Let’s get the Air Commodore on that.’
Reid grinned, but felt like weeping. These men had been here for God knows how long, but even in a situation as desperate as this, they could still joke.
He was hoisted into the boat and he reached out to give them a hand up.
‘Not me, mate, I’ve still got some of my men on the beach, but the corp will come with you.’
‘I’m staying.’ The corporal grabbed hold of another man and tossed him into the boat.
Ron nodded, as if this was only what he’d expected, and then they began to help others into the small vessel until it was dangerously overloaded. The sea was only inches from the top and one more passenger would have made it pour in and sink them.
As they headed towards the destroyer, Reid swallowed a lump in his throat as he wondered if those men would survive. He hoped to God they did. And what was going to happen to Britain now with only the strip of Channel between them and the might of the Germans?
The destroyer was in a dreadful state. She had obviously taken a real pounding, and he wondered how many trips she had made. It was quite a few by the look of the damage.
The men scrambling aboard were a mixture of British, French, civilians and sailors from ships that had been sunk, but as far as he could see he was the only pilot.
When she was full to capacity, the vessel headed out to sea, and all eyes were fixed on the horizon, waiting for the first glimpse of Dover.
‘Sir?’
Reid turned to the sailor who had appeared beside him.
‘The captain asks if you would like to come to the bridge?’
They pushed their way through the crowds of men and up a flight of steps. The man who greeted him was above average height, greying slightly at the temples, with deep lines of fatigue etched on his face. But there was a calmness about him that was balm to Reid’s jangled nerves. As dangerous as flying was, he would rather be up there than down in this hell.
‘You looked out of place with all the khaki.’
Reid grinned, taking an instant liking to the tall, impressive man. ‘I’m surprised I wasn’t thrown overboard. Some of them seem to think the RAF hasn’t done much to protect them.’
‘That’s just their anger talking. Any fool knows that you couldn’t provide continuous air cover. Do you know what the losses are to date?’
‘I don’t know the exact figures, but it’s far too many.’
The captain grimaced. ‘We’ve lost ships as well, but thank God we’ve been able to get a lot of the troops off the beach.’
‘The soldiers seemed to recognize you. How many trips have you made?’
‘Four, but we were damaged on the last run …’
‘Captain Freeman!’
The sailor who had just come on the bridge was covered in oil and dirt, and dripping wet, but he still had a wry smile on his face.
‘We’ve sprung another leak, sir. The pumps are coping but we’ll need a repair crew as soon as we dock, or we won’t be able to do another run.’
The captain nodded. ‘I’ll see that it’s arranged. In the meantime, can you make a temporary repair?’
‘Yes, sir.’ The dripping sailor’s face broke into a grin. ‘We’ll stick our fingers in the holes if necessary.’
‘Have you got enough men for that?’ the captain asked drily.
‘Oh, I expect we could persuade the army to help us. We ain’t got enough lifeboats for this lot, and I’m damned sure they won’t want to swim home.’
Reid watched this light-hearted exchange and had a vivid picture of the pilots diving into action, the courage of the soldiers on the beach, and now the crew of this battered destroyer. He was seeing a different side to his fellow man, and it was awe-inspiring. And at that moment he knew that no matter how desperate the plight of the country there was no way they could lose this war. A lot of them wouldn’t see the end, of course, but they would win!
He walked forward and gazed out to sea for a while, then turned and watched Captain Freeman issuing orders in a quiet, un
ruffled manner. That his crew respected him was very clear, and his placid nature by no means hid the strength of the man.
‘I’m sorry we can’t offer you something stronger.’
A sailor carrying a tray of steaming cups thrust a mug of tea into his hand. Reid curled his fingers around it gratefully. ‘Thanks. This will do just fine.’
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ The captain pointed to his own chair. ‘You look just about done in.’
‘I am. God what a day!’ Reid sat and rubbed his hand over his eyes, then started to gently probe the injury to his temple.
‘There will be nurses to take care of you when we dock.’ Captain Freeman turned away to deal with the business of getting his ship back to Dover.
Reid watched the captain and officers on the bridge spring into action as another crisis erupted. But he took little notice of it as reaction was beginning to set in, and his mind started to shut down. He had survived and was going home, that’s all that mattered at the moment. And the ship wasn’t going to sink, the captain had said so, and he believed him.
He wasn’t aware of the passing of time as he sat there, the mug was replaced with a fresh one every so often, and the activity all around him was just so much background noise. He watched the sea, noting the different colours and shades, his mind drifting and thinking of nothing in particular …
He was roused out of his stupor when the destroyer’s guns shattered the quiet. Rushing to the front of the bridge, he looked up into the sky and eagerly grabbed the binoculars being held out to him. It took him only a few seconds to identify the planes as German, but there, just above them … ‘Stop shooting,’ he yelled, ‘those are our fighters coming to intercept them.’
Orders were quickly given and the guns fell silent. Reid breathed a sigh of relief, walked back to the chair and almost collapsed on to it. ‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered, ‘we’re going to have to do better at identification than this.’
Wings of the Morning Page 5
