by Griff Hosker
From Arctic Snow to Desert Sand
Book 6 in the
British Ace Series
By
Griff Hosker
Published by Sword Books Ltd 2017
Copyright © Griff Hosker First Edition
The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
Cover by Design for Writers
The British Ace Series
1914
1915 Fokker Scourge
1916 Angels over the Somme
1917 Eagles Fall
1918 We will remember them
Prologue
1918
I had thought my war was over. I was wrong. On my return from France I had been told that I was to take over a new squadron in March. However, as I enjoyed my new son and family life, a hundred miles from London I was sent a message from the Air Ministry. A motor cycle despatch rider arrived mid-morning with a sealed envelope for me. I was ordered to report to speak with one of the civil servants. I had no idea why. Bates, my servant from the war, was still serving with me and he lived in our home.
“John, better pack an overnight bag for us. We are off to London.”
He frowned, “But, sir, it is almost Christmas. You do not take up your new post until March. This is a bit much, sir. Even for the Royal Flying Corps; sorry sir, the Royal Air Force.”
“Bates, you know the way the service works. I am still a serving officer. I have to go.”
“Very well, sir.”
He was not happy but he was a good soldier and he obeyed orders. Beattie, having served as a nurse, understood what orders meant. She was optimistic. “Perhaps this just means you will be taking up your post a little earlier. It would be nice to live in something which wasn’t rented. As a squadron leader, you should be entitled to a larger house.” Since having our son, Tom, she had become more of a nest builder. But she was right. The house was too small.
“Perhaps, but it is winter and the last thing you need with young Thomas here is for you to be setting up a new home on a new station. Perhaps I can persuade them to delay it. Surely I must have a little bit of clout left.”
She laughed, “You know that is not in your nature. You will salute and say, ‘yes sir, three bags full sir’!”
She was right. That was in my nature. Obeying orders. My son was asleep in her arms. I stroked the soft downy hair on his head. “But I begrudge even one night away from Thomas here. Perhaps we can get back tonight. I might not need to stay over, eh?”
“That is possible but the roads are atrocious at this time of year. You know what the A1 is like! Stay over. I will sleep easier that way.”
I kissed her, “I don’t deserve you.”
“Of course, you don’t! Now drive carefully. Bates is not as fond of speed as you, Ted and Gordy.”
It was my turn to laugh. “They are now out of the service and speed is the last thing on their mind.”
“I will put Tom in his cot. Don’t make a noise while you are getting ready. I don’t want him waking.”
“I will go and check out the old bus.” I had a pre-war Sunbeam 25/30. She was a beautiful car. His lordship would have loved her. Gordy and Ted had helped me to bring her back to her best and this would be the longest drive I had taken in her. She was big and she was fast. I was not certain that she was a family car but she suited me. I did a complete check before I was satisfied and I headed back into the house.
I washed up and put on my driving coat and hat. I looked at my watch. Time was wasting. A short while later Bates came from my bedroom. “I have packed your weapons from the war, sir.”
“What on earth for!”
He shrugged, “Force of habit. Should I unpack them?”
Shaking my head, I said, “We haven’t got time for that. Put the bags in the boot. We will stay at the Army and Navy club.”
“Yes sir.”
I hugged Beattie and kissed Thomas on the top of his sleeping head. She looked carefully at me, “Make sure you and Bates have a decent meal tonight.”
“I will. Now that the war is over the food will be better at the Army and Navy.”
As I pushed down on the accelerator I felt the power from one of the biggest cars Sunbeam had made. Beattie and I had planned for more than one child. This car would be big enough for now. We were soon on the A1. Parts of it dated back to the Romans and it was both long and straight. It was relatively quiet and I put my foot down. The Sunbeam could motor. I was aware, after twenty minutes, that Bates was being very quiet. Normally he chattered like a house sparrow. “Have you a problem, old chap?”
He coughed. That was a sure sign that he was uncomfortable. “Well sir, I am wondering what this journey means. Do you think you will be in action again?”
I burst out laughing. “There is no one left to fight. I can’t see it being that. Probably a change of orders. Is that what is worrying you?”
“Well sir not really, it is just.” He sighed, “Can I be brutally honest with you, sir?”
“John there are no secrets between us. You know that. Whatever you have to say then out with it. I promise that it will not upset me.”
Well, sir, I am happy to continue to be your servant. You are a gentleman and I enjoy serving a gentleman.”
“There is a but coming.”
He smiled, “Always a bright and perceptive gentleman! It is just that I am not certain you need me anymore. Not with Mr. s. Harsker and your son. I feel as though I am intruding.”
“Well you aren’t.”
“Hear me out, sir. I beg of you. When I said that I would stay on I had not thought things through. I had purpose at the front. I was no soldier but I could be there for you young men. Now I am redundant. If I am to be really honest sir I am not happy with the situation. I know it is one I chose. None of this is your fault in any shape or form.”
“I appreciate your honesty. Yet I am not certain what it is you wish to do.”
He sighed again, “There is something serendipitous about this journey, sir. I was already going to ask if I could have a few days in London.”
I nodded. “And I would have approved, you know that.”
“The thing is I have been offered a position.”
I jerked my head around, “As a servant?”
“Good grief, sir, no. I will not be another man’s servant. There is a small hotel in London, my cousin, a widow, owns it. She has asked me to help her to run it. She wants someone who can deal with the clients and to organize the staff. She thought with my experience in the military it might suit. I was going to ask if I could visit with her.”
“But of course, and if you wish to take her up on the offer then you have my full support. Although I shall hate to lose you.”
“You shall never lose me, sir. We have served together. We both know that there is an invisible bond which ties us and the other gentlemen together. I feel as close to you as any member of my family. Closer perhaps. No, sir, I will wait until you have had your meeting. We can chat during dinner.”
“That would be splendid, John.”
“Thank you, sir. I had been worried about
this conversation. You have, as always, made it much easier for me.”
After that he was the same chatty Bates who had helped my war be as civilised as it was. The rain had stopped by the time we drove down Pall Mall and we reached the club. It was just after noon and we had made excellent time. They had a room for me and one for Bates. Leaving him to see to the bags I decided to walk to Whitehall. It was only half a mile and I could go through St. James’ Park. I had often met Beattie there when we had been courting. That seemed a lifetime ago.
I was wearing my flying coat and, when I approached the building, the sentry recognised my cap. He smartly saluted. I stepped inside and took off the coat. I had the letter which had been delivered. It gave little away. It said I was to present myself and ask for a Mr. Balfour. That seemed strange. On the way down I had wondered at that. I had met Trenchard who had been the driving force behind the Corps and now the Royal Air Force but it was not him I was to meet. I had expected this to be a military meeting.
Mr. Balfour was a small and neat man with a permanent smile. He reminded me of a bird. “Squadron Leader or do you prefer Major?”
I shrugged. The new rank was just that, new. I would grow used to it. He took that to mean he could use the new title and nodded. “Whichever you are more comfortable with.”
His voice was a cheerful little voice. His sentences went up at the end. He sounded like a happy man. I wondered if he had spent his war safely ensconced in some building in Whitehall. He seemed like a clerk who might pore over the figures of dead and wounded. “If you would like to follow me, I will take you to Mr. Churchill.”
“The First Sea Lord?”
He laughed as he led me up the stairs. “Oh, you are behind the times, sir. He was the Minister of Munitions. He is about to relinquish that title but I expect he will tell you that. He is a very energetic man, I can tell you. Always the first in his office. He will soon sort this place out I expect. He will sweep through these dusty halls like a new broom.”
He led me through an office with four female clerks busy typing. Before the war, this would have been done by men. Things were changing. Mr. Balfour swept me through and into the office of Winston Churchill. I had heard of the man who had ordered the failed attack on Gallipoli. He was the exciting young aristocrat who had fought at Omdurman and escaped the Boers. He had a huge cigar and the room was filled with smoke.
He cocked an eye, “This is the chap then, Balfour?”
“Yes sir, Squadron Leader Harsker.”
“Right, well off you trot! I shan’t need you again for an hour or so! Make yourself useful eh? But stay close!”
Mr. Balfour seemed disappointed but he nodded and closed the door behind him. Mr. Churchill stood and poured two large brandies. He handed one to me and then sat down again. “I read your file. You are most unusual. Rose from the ranks to become the most successful ace who is still alive. V.C., M.M., M.C. You have it all. Trenchard says you are a good man and he rarely has a good word to say about anybody.” I nodded. I did not know what to say. “Drink up. You aren’t teetotal, are you?”
“Er, no sir. Sorry.” I drank some of the brandy. It was a good brandy.
“Smoke if you like.”
“Thank you, sir.” I took out my pipe and filled it. It was more to keep me occupied than anything.
“Now I am about to become Minster of the Air. It is both a new title and a new ministry. Officially I don’t start until January but I was keen and so I am here. Now your file shows that, in addition to shooting down the Hun you know how to fight ground troops. I like that. I see aeroplanes as aerial artillery. That was the trouble in the war; both sides knew when a barrage was coming and would take shelter. You chaps just appear out of the air. You have bombs and you have machine guns. One squadron is more effective than a battalion of infantry supported by a couple of batteries of artillery. Between you and I, young man, there are some around here who would like to see the Royal Air Force dead and buried. I don’t believe that. I see it as the future. I have great plans for it and for you.”
My pipe was going well and I sipped my brandy, nodding to show him that I was listening.
He stood and went to the wall. I saw that he had a map pinned to it. It was northern Russia. “There is a war going on here. These Bolsheviks are fighting the legitimate rulers of the country. We have men helping them there.” He pointed to the north. “There are some men here and,” he tapped a point just south of the Baltic, “and some here.” He puffed on his cigar and drank more of his brandy. “I am sending you here.” He pointed to the Arctic. “You will command the aeroplanes which are there.”
“But sir, it is winter and they have snow and ice there. We don’t fly in that kind of winter!”
He nodded, “I know. Hear me out. I have it on good authority that the Bolsheviks have managed to get their hands on some German aeroplanes. I think someone in Germany was keen to make some money before they are punished for the war. Anyway, the Bolsheviks have begun training pilots and by the time spring comes then they will have a putative air force. We can’t have that. We also know that they intend using them to attack White Russian troops on the ground. That would be disastrous and you will stop them. All we have at the moment is a flight of three Sopwith 11/2 Strutters flying for the Royal Navy. I want you to lead them. We want you, on the ground, so to speak. Your job is to stop the threat of Bolshevik air force threatening our flotilla.”
“A tall order, sir.”
He smiled. “I have not finished. You are temporary. I have a new commander training pilots to take over but it takes time to train new pilots. When he arrives then your work is done; there at least. We have more aeroplanes, Camels this time, down here on the Dnieper. When you have shown these Royal Navy fliers how to fight then you will head down there and lead those fellows too.” He leaned back in his chair, “I am using you, Squadron Leader to show the generals that this is the future. You will prove my theories for me. After the Baltic I intend to send you to the Middle East but that is for the future.”
“Do I have a choice, sir?”
“Of course, you have a choice. You can stay in the Royal Air Force or hand in your resignation. All men have choices.”
This was an ultimatum. I had heard that the former First Sea Lord was ruthless and now I had seen it for myself. “How long do I have to think it over then, sir?”
“Until you have finished the brandy. I want the answer before you leave this office. I have no time for shilly shallying!”
I picked up the brandy. I was tempted to down it in one and resign. It would be a magnificent gesture but it was not me. I wanted to stay in the air force. I knew ambitious officers but I was not one of them. I had become a Squadron Leader by accident. I liked flying and I liked the men who were in the Royal Air Force. This was a job I enjoyed. I would stay. I downed the brandy and said, “Well sir as I want to stay in the service I will accept your ultimatum!”
He laughed, “That’s what I like, spirit. You aren’t letting me bully you! Good show! It’s for the best. Now one thing to remember, Harsker, I don’t want this a full-blown war. We are there to help the Russians, not to fight their battles for them. You and your aeroplanes will destroy their aeroplanes and that will protect the flotilla up there. If you can support the Russians without risking your aeroplanes, then so much the better. I want as few casualties as possible. This country has just paid a high price in brave young men. I would not add to that number.”
“I understand sir. You want us to kill the enemy without getting killed ourselves. I think we would all agree with that sentiment, sir.”
“You have wit as well as intelligence! That bodes swell. Now there is a ship waiting for you at the Surrey Docks. She will be leaving on the early morning tide and you will be on it. Your aeroplane is already on board as well as two fitters. They will be attached to you. I will send other chaps to help you out but that will be in the New Year. I need you there first. The Squadron Commander, Major Donald, is busy training ne
w men. But I want you aboard tonight.”
“Tonight sir?”
“Of course. Everything you need is on board.”
“But what if I had refused?”
“I didn’t think that you would but I had another officer on standby. Not as good as you but he would have done at a pinch.”
I was going to ask who it was and then realised that I didn’t want to know. The information might colour my opinion of the officer and I might serve with him in the future. “Do you mind me asking how long the posting will be? I have a wife and a young son.”
“A fair question. We will say six months or until Major Donald arrives. Then you may return to the bosom of your family. How’s that? When you return, we will chat. I want weekly reports. You will address them to Mr. Balfour. He will give you all the information that you might need. The White Russians will keep you supplied with fuel, ammunition and that sort of thing.”
“Sir, this information about the German aeroplanes, is it accurate?”
He leaned forward, “I can say with all certainty that it is true. You need not worry about how I know but trust me that I have complete faith in the information. I can tell you how much was paid for each aeroplane and which official has pocketed the money. I chose you, Squadron Leader, because you are a thinker. You are not a glory hunter. You are a leader of men who has a brain. I need those qualities. Like you I have been stranded behind enemy lines and, like you, I was resourceful enough to get home. That is what I am looking for. I do not want a mindless killer. I want someone with a brain who can weigh people and situations up and make the right decisions. Rear Admiral Alexander-Sinclair is a good fellow but all he worries about are his ships. You will have to decide on the best strategy. The result I want is the putative Bolshevik air force destroying. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir.”
He stood. “A pleasure speaking with you. I am certain that we will speak again. Good luck, oh and Merry Christmas too!”
