Heronfield

by Dorinda Balchin

  David was waiting at the Dispersal Point to meet him when he returned, a beaming smile on his face.

  "Well done, Andy. I hear you got a kill."

  Andy smiled proudly at the compliment. "Yes, I suppose so. It was my bullets that finished him off, but he’d already been disabled by the rest of the section."

  David slapped him on the back. "Good work anyway. Martin would have been proud of you."

  Andy made his way to debriefing with a happy smile on his face. That was all the praise he needed.

  "Red Section Scramble! Red Section Scramble!"

  David was on his feet and running, his mind in a whirl. The second scramble of the day. Maybe this was it, the beginning of the real battle. He was soon airborne and climbing swiftly.

  "Hello Dysoe Leader. Hello Dysoe Leader. Angels over Dover."

  "Dysoe Leader. Message received. Over."

  The three Spitfires headed for the coast, still climbing, and before long they were over Dover. Sergeant Brennan spotted four Bf 109's on his starboard beam.

  "Tally Ho! Red Section into line astern!"

  The three Spitfires broke their normal Vic formation and came in one behind the other. David climbed beneath one of the enemy and opened fire, causing the 109 to do a half-roll and dive steeply to ground level. Determined to get his man, David dived too. The blood pounded in his head and spots began to appear before his eyes as the g-force increased, but he was not about to give in. The pressure proved too much however and he blacked out for a moment. When he came to, the ground was approaching at a terrifying speed and he pulled back sharply on the stick, watching as the nose of the Spitfire slowly, but surely, rose above the horizon.

  "I've got it, Red Two," came a voice over the RT, and David saw his quarry being pursued by Brennan. Another enemy fighter was flying at low level, and David went back down to attack it. The German fighter began contour chasing along the valleys behind Dover and Folkestone, with David desperately trying to follow each rapid twist and turn. Time and time again David thought he was about to get it into his sights, but the enemy veered away at the last moment. Sweat beaded his brow with the intensity of his concentration, but all the time he was drawing gradually closer to his quarry. Twice he had it in his sights, but only long enough to fire a short burst; the third time he was lucky, and his bullets found their mark. The 109 began to trail vapour as it banked steeply away and made a belly landing in a field where haymaking was in full swing. As David climbed back into the sky he saw farm workers rushing across, pitchforks held grimly before them, to take charge of the downed airman. Then his attention was focused once more on the battle which raged all about him.

  Amidst the confusion of racing aircraft, he saw that the enemy which Brennan had been chasing was enveloped in thick oily smoke, which trailed behind it as it plummeted to the ground. The sky was fast clearing of enemy aircraft as the squadron manoeuvred rapidly into superior attack positions. The Section Leader's voice rang out over the RT.

  "That's two down, boys, and the rest are heading for home. Well done!"

  With a whoop of joy Red Section re-grouped and returned to Manston.

  It was a beautiful morning two days later. The sky was a pale summer blue, flecked here and there with a wisp of white cloud. A Flight were patrolling the skies above base and David was engrossed in the peaceful scene down below him, so much like his flying days before the outbreak of the war. It was so relaxing, and he wanted the peaceful interlude to last forever.

  "Dysoe Leader. Dysoe Leader. Convoy under attack two miles east of Deal. Engage."

  The voice on the RT brought David’s thoughts back to the present as he heard Freeman acknowledge that they were on their way. Turning eastwards, the six Spitfires headed swiftly towards the conflict. Flying at twelve thousand feet they spied the enemy below them, a single bomber escorted by some thirty 109's, and, flying line astern, Red Section dived towards the enemy.

  There were planes everywhere. Over to his right David saw Freeman dive down to within fifty yards of one of the fighters before firing a short burst into it. The plane dropped like a stone, pilot obviously dead at the controls, but David did not have time to watch it fall. A swarm of the enemy flew at Freeman to avenge their fallen comrade, and the air was alive with bullets and flying tracer.

  "Get out of there, Red Leader!" David found himself yelling as Red Two swooped in and began to fire at one of the attacking planes.

  "I've been hit! I'm losing control!" Freeman's voice was tense over the RT. "Keep them occupied, boys, I have to get out of here."

  Freeman turned away and coaxed his ailing aircraft homewards as David entered the fray in an attempt to draw some of the fire from Brennan, who was flying Red Two. His sights were trained on a fighter whose pilot became aware of him at the last moment, and began a steep left hand turn as David opened fire. David watched as the line of bullets flashed through the air, ripping into the enemy wing, but before he could move in for the kill he had to climb swiftly away to avoid the German's wingman. He fired on a second fighter which was diving towards Brennan’s rear.

  "Look out! He's on your tail! I'm coming in!"

  The enemy made a half roll and dived away, evading David’s guns but relieving some of the pressure on Brennan.

  "Thanks, David. I owe you a pint for that. I'm losing control here; the plane looks like a sieve. See you back at the bar."

  With that Brennan dived away, leaving David as the sole member of Red Section engaged. Over to his left he could see Yellow Section having a busy time of it, but then he had to turn his attention back to the battle in hand.

  An enemy fighter dived past him, probably hoping to latch onto Brennan, and David plunged vertically after him, guns blazing. A deep satisfaction filled him as he saw smoke pouring from the engine. As he watched it fall, he felt the impact of bullets in his tail. Out of ammunition and flying alone, he turned and raced for home.

  "Red Three heading for home. How are Red One and Red Two? Over."

  Relief washed over him as Control's reply came over the RT.

  "Both made forced landings, but are down all right. Over."

  David landed without further incident, closely followed by Yellow Section who returned with all their planes intact and two kills to their credit. The exhausted pilots made their way to debriefing, before taking what rest they could at the Dispersal Point. This seemed to be the long awaited battle, and no-one doubted that they would see more action before the day was out.

  In the middle of the afternoon, while David was still waiting for Freeman and Brennan to be brought back in a ground transport, Yellow and Blue Sections were sent up, to reinforce the air cover of a convoy steaming past Dover. David watched as Andy leapt onto the running board of the truck which sped him across to his aircraft on the other side of the field. He prayed that he would come back alive.

  The bar of the Black Swan was noisy. Locals sitting quietly at the corner tables watched the crowd of young RAF officers clustered around the bar, loudly celebrating the day’s victories. The landlord smiled as he refilled the empty glasses on the bar, while a pilot began to pound out dance tunes on the piano in the corner.

  David led Andy to one side, a friendly arm around his shoulders.

  "How did it go then, Andy?"

  The young man smiled happily. "It was fantastic! There must have been a hundred planes up there. Bombers at four thousand feet with fighters stacked above them to about twelve thousand. Pellow hit a fighter and a bomber before running out of ammo. I don't know how he managed to get back to the coast. A swarm of fighters tacked on to him, but he made it somehow. Etheridge managed to hit two fighters before he broke off. He managed to get back without a scratch to his plane, though I don't know how he did it. I tagged on to a Vic of three bombers and managed to disable one, though I got no kills.

  "It was incredible!" he continued breathlessly. "The air was full of planes, enemy everywhere, but I didn't have time to feel afraid, I was just so excited. I would have
stayed up all day if I'd got unlimited ammo. Anyway, I eventually broke off and came back to base with Yellow Section, apart from Yellow One who only just managed a wheels-up landing at Lympne. They got a few good hits as well, but no confirmed kills."

  "Yes, Yellow Section has been busy today." David emptied his glass and ordered another round. "I can see that this sort of fighting is going to go on for some time. I only hope we don't lose too many planes in the process."

  Andy smiled. "We came off best today, and I'm sure we will again. We'll beat the Hun yet!"

  David raised his glass to toast this comment, as the door to the pub opened and two young women walked in. David winked at Andy.

  "That's enough about flying. I think it's about time we relaxed."

  Andy looked towards the door, then smiled.

  "OK, let's get some action!"

  With confident strides, the two young officers made their way over to the door and introduced themselves. It was not long before the four young people were sitting happily with their drinks, all thoughts of the coming conflict far from their minds.

  Two nights later, Manston was quiet and dark with all the pilots taking a well-earned rest when David was awoken by an ear-shattering crash. There were two more crashes as he sat up in the room that he shared with Andy and Etheridge.

  "Damned ack-ack," he said as he lay down again and tried to get back to sleep. The gun battery kept firing for most of the night. At times he could hear the desynchronised motors of the enemy aircraft passing overhead, but more often than not the heavy pounding of anti-aircraft guns drowned it out. Every now and then the whistle of descending bombs could be heard, followed by the crash as they hit the ground. He felt he would never be able to get to sleep, yet sleep he did eventually.

  At dawn he rose with the other pilots of 74 Squadron and, after a swift breakfast, collected his parachute and made his way to the Dispersal Point. It was all peaceful after the night’s bombardment, and he felt an intense relief. Suddenly, as he remembered the barrage of the night before, he thought of Tony on the beaches of Dunkirk. He had been under fire, not only for a few hours but constantly, night and day, for four days, with nowhere to shelter and no way to defend himself. As he tried to imagine himself in his brother’s position, David was surprised that the younger man had managed to keep his sanity, and wondered if the constant bombardment was the reason why Tony was now behaving in such a cowardly manner. For a moment he felt he had a clearer understanding of his brother’s motivation, yet he still felt that he could not forgive him for accepting an office job. He sighed deeply. It was a strange dichotomy, to love his brother and want to keep him safe, yet resent him for not putting himself into danger. Maybe they would have time to discuss it together during his next leave; right now he had to keep his mind focused on the job in hand, ready to take to the skies at a moment’s notice.

  David looked up at the overcast sky and saw what he took to be an Oxford Trainer circle the field. He watched as it began to dive towards the Dispersal Point, and only realised as the machine guns began to blaze that this was no training exercise. A stream of bullets ploughed into the ground behind him as he dived behind a wall of sandbags. A stick of bombs fell, tumbling in slow motion from the belly of the aircraft. Thump...thump...thump. The bombs hit and the air was filled with dust, smoke and debris. The plane began a steep climb into the clouds, the rear gunner firing a parting burst as it went.

  David rose to his feet, coughing to clear his lungs of the choking dust, and made a dash for his Spitfire, closely followed by the other members of Red and Blue Sections. The engines roared into life and the planes taxied swiftly across the airfield, but by the time they were airborne the enemy aircraft had disappeared. They returned dispirited to an airfield marred by three bomb craters but where, thankfully, no planes or pilots had been hit.

  After lunch, Red Section were scrambled to investigate a raid plotted some fifteen miles north east of Margate. They took off eagerly, keen to avenge the morning’s attack on the airfield, and were ready for action when they arrived on the scene, to find a ship under attack, anti-aircraft guns blazing.

  "Tally Ho!" Reynolds voice rang over the RT. "Let's get him, boys!"

  Reynolds led the attack, silencing the mid-upper gunner of the Heinkel on his first pass. Red Two and Three then joined the attack, their bullets thudding into the fuselage of the enemy plane in tremendous numbers, until the Hun at last fell away, spiralling slowly down towards the distant grey mass of the sea. Two parachutes mushroomed in its wake as the huge plane hit the water, sending a fountain of spray into the air. As David circled over the scene, he saw a boat launched from the ship and head out to where the parachutes were falling.

  "Well done, lads!" Reynolds’ voice was triumphant. "Another kill for Red Section. Let's go home."

  As they flew back to base, David found himself praying that if he were ever brought down over the sea, there would be a ship within easy reach, just as there had been for the two German airmen. Somehow he did not relish the idea of dying slowly in the cold embrace of the waters off the coast of his homeland.

  David leant against the stone wall, gazing across the fields full of ripening grain, which moved gently in the breeze. He sighed deeply.

  "What's wrong?"

  David turned to Andy. The two men had grown closer during the days of conflict, and David felt even more that Andy was a surrogate younger brother.

  "I was just thinking of home," David replied. "The hedges, the fields full of corn, the woods; it's all so much like where I grew up. I just hope home will still be there when this damned war is over."

  Andy nodded. "I know what you mean. It seems impossible to imagine that peace will ever come again after days of fighting."

  David turned to look back across the open countryside. "It would all be over quicker if everyone did their bit." His voice was bitter and Andy frowned. For a moment David remained silent, wondering if he could confide in his new friend. Then, with a shrug, he turned once more towards Andy. It would be better to get his worries off his chest, rather than taking them into battle with him.

  "It's my brother," he said softly. "I'm not sure he's doing his bit for the war."

  Andy raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Wasn't he at Dunkirk? And isn't he a Lieutenant now?"

  David nodded. "Yes. He acquitted himself well at Dunkirk and I thought he would be eager to get back into action, but now he's taken some desk job with the Ministry of Economic Warfare."

  "What does he do exactly?"

  David shrugged. "I'm not really sure. Some sort of liaison between the armaments factories and the forces."

  "Is he qualified for that?"

  David nodded.

  "Then what's the problem? He's in uniform and he's doing the job his superiors think he’s fit to do, the best he can contribute to the war effort."

  David turned an astonished countenance to the young man beside him.

  "I thought that you, of all people, would understand!" He was shocked at Andy's easy acceptance of Tony's job. "After losing your brother to the Germans, I thought you would be against anyone who was avoiding action."

  Andy shrugged. "I want to avenge Martin's death, but I can't expect complete strangers to feel the same as I do. We all have different skills. You and I can fly planes, while your brother can make sure that there will always be planes there for us to fly. I wouldn't say that one job is more important than the other."

  "But your brother wasn't a coward."

  Andy was struck by the bitterness in his friend’s voice and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  "Are you so certain that your brother is?"

  David frowned but said nothing. Andy's words gave him plenty to think about. Tony had certainly not proved himself a coward in France. On the contrary, it appeared that he had fought well, so maybe he did see his present job at the Ministry as being important rather than as an excuse to avoid fighting. Deep down he loved his brother, and really wanted to give him the benefi
t of the doubt; after all, they had always been so close. Yet his anger and shame at Tony's actions remained, and he had no idea how he was ever going to come to terms with his feelings.

  It was now the third week in July, and the battle for air supremacy was still localised. The main targets of the Luftwaffe were the Channel convoys and any military installations on the south coast. Sorties were being made inland in attempts to disable the airports and radar stations in southeast England, ready for the all-out offensive which the Germans planned to launch in early August. Beyond the south eastern sector, few civilians saw the air battles which raged throughout July. As David flew high above the white capped waves, he hoped people appreciated what the Air Force was doing for them.

  "Red Three to Dysoe Leader. Hun below."

  David had spied three bombers flying low over the sea in an attempt to evade the RAF patrols. Freeman, leading A Flight, acknowledged David's transmission.

  "Well spotted, Red Three. Let's get them, boys."

  The six Spitfires banked and dived steeply down towards the slate-grey waters. Someone on the bombers must have noticed the fighters, for the three planes executed a tight turn and headed back towards France, bomb bays full.

  The airwaves were full of the crackle of radio transmissions.

  "Look at the cowards go!"

  "Come on lads, they can't outrun us!"

  "The one on the right is mine!"

  David smiled grimly as the six fighters drew slowly but inexorably closer to the fleeing bombers. As the range closed, he slipped off the safety on his guns and began to train his sights on the planes.