“Fascinating indeed! I’m glad to be no more than a flier.”
“You’re not, Thomas. Your family is now closely related to those in the middle of the plotting. If the Appeasers win, you will be posted to command a squadron of Gladiators in East Africa – if you’re lucky.”
“Bloody hell! Anything but that! Gladiators!”
She laughed.
“That’s the best that will happen if they win.”
“Better make sure you don’t lose, Cissie!”
They talked and ate surprisingly well and took walks around the Forest and the local coast, a week of avoiding the war, and then made their farewells as Thomas left on the trains to London and then Dover for the slow return journey.
“You might well have a busy summer, Thomas. Watch out for the Hun in the sun!”
“You too, Old Man. Don’t go playing with Battles – bad for you at your age!”
“Rod – anything happened in my absence?”
“Very little, Thomas. Dick and Terence were brought back from Paris by the Provosts, having enjoyed themselves a little too vigorously in a bar there. We can thank the shortage of pilots for so mild a response from the brass.”
“Wild buggers – I’ll speak to them, very mildly. Anything else?”
“Complaints from the local Frogs – our noisy planes upset their cattle and reduce the milk yields.”
“Sod them!”
“That’s what I said. We have had an order from on high telling us to respect the Luxembourg border, but expressed vaguely as if they didn’t really care. The word is that Germany claimed we attacked their Ju 88 over Luxembourg soil although it crashed in France.”
“Sod them, too!”
“The brass or Germany?”
“All of our enemies.”
Germany attacked into Denmark and Norway.
The Danes put up almost no fight – they could not, massively outnumbered and living in a small, flat country with almost no natural defences. They settled into a dogged refusal to cooperate with their conquerors, ignoring them where possible.
Norway was mountainous and its people lived in little towns and villages and were in the habit where possible of defying their own government. They fought and continued to resist even when, theoretically, conquered. The German campaign was slowed by the unexpected fighting and Britain was able to land a few troops and planes, too few to win, too many to lose casually. The Navy distinguished itself and created a feeling that the Germans were not so very good, after all.
The squadrons in France followed the fighting and relaxed to an extent. If the Germans attacked them, they would do better than a small country such as Norway could achieve.
Major Curtis turned up and invited Thomas to join him for a meal at a local restaurant.
“No rationing for the Frogs, Thomas. They see no need – which is bloody stupid! They have called up virtually every agricultural labourer and the bulk of their employers. The peasant farms have almost no men left – yet the government thinks they will produce a good harvest this year. Patriotism will overcome the lack of manpower!”
“Makes a change for a French government to think at all, doesn’t it?”
Curtis almost laughed.
“They are in absolute disunity, Thomas. Daladier and Reynaud are concerned only to score off each other and the rest are no better. The Communists are obeying orders from Moscow. The extreme right want to create a French dictatorship – in exactly the same way that ours do. The middle ground is split between those who want to fight each other more than they wish to resist the Germans and the relatively few who want what is best for France. Half of them would rather fight Britain than Germany. Some want to attack Italy now so as to open a front against Austria in the Brenner Pass – they would rather fight on Italian soil than French. Of those who do wish to go to battle, all want the armies to advance into Belgium so as not to have the war inside the French borders. The politicians will be the death of France.”
“No prospect of a government of national unity, sir?”
“None. The only leader with any authority, respected by the bulk of the nation, is Petain. He is so far right that he makes Hitler seem a bit pink! He wishes to kill every trade union leader, and their followers; he wants to abolish all forms of representation; he hopes to imprison every non-Catholic schoolteacher; he is determined to expand the French empire. Even Churchill thinks Petain is an extremist.”
Thomas was immediately convinced that Petain was not a good man.
“What’s to be done, sir?”
“If the Germans attack, be ready to evacuate. Everything that can be stored on a lorry, should be. Make sure you know where your reserve fields are. Get your non-combatant hands out of the way. Don’t trust a word the French say. Especially, do not expect the French air force to fly. Some will, many will prefer to decamp. Among their senior officers there is a very distinct unwillingness to fight. The majority of their best fighters – the Dewoitine – are still parked well south at the factories. The better part of four hundred planes, each of them capable of matching a Me 109, and they will not be sent into this war. That stinks of treachery to me.”
They ate steaks and enjoyed their lavish meal. There was no shortage of alcohol either, it seemed. The restaurant was full of fleshy, well clothed businessmen, none showing any apparent awareness of war or crisis.
“Eat, drink, be merry, for tomorrow we die?”
“No, Thomas. Tomorrow we carve out a deal with the Germans, part of which will be to cut wages by fifty per cent. This lot are looking forward to a profitable defeat. Drink up! I don’t like the company.”
In the car back Thomas asked where he should send his spare bodies when the real war started.
“To the Channel coast, quickly. We won’t be staying here in France.”
“Is defeat so certain, sir?”
“Unavoidable. Gort has all the strategical nous of a village idiot. When he is left on his own he will have no idea of how to respond to anything other than a trench war – and he ain’t going to get one of those. You heard of how Gort spent his first meeting with his divisional generals? Two hours on whether the tin hat should be strapped to the left shoulder or the right when it was not worn on the head!”
“Seriously?”
“Honestly. He had noticed some private soldiers with the helmet carried left, and others with it on the right! This – as you will appreciate – is quite intolerable. He could hardly sleep for worrying about it. The decision needed long and careful discussion, so much so that no other issues could be raised that day.”
“God help the BEF!”
“Someone needs to!”
“Who is his senior, sir?”
“Ironside, to an extent. The thing is, Gort stepped down from the most senior administrative post in the Army to take the British Expeditionary Force – so his successor doesn’t feel able to give him orders. Ironside is in any case not the most outstanding intellect in the Army – though he is more able than Gort. Mind you, my pet pussy cat is probably brighter than Gort.”
“What is the plan at the moment, sir?”
“Advance into Belgium to meet the German attack. Act defensively on one of the natural defence lines, which one depends on circumstance and how the wind is blowing and whether the staff had a party the night before.”
Curtis snorted his contempt.
“The defence does make sense, you know, Stark. In a year from now we will have another eight hundred fighter planes – possibly more - and a thousand heavy tanks. Our artillery will be twice the size of the German army’s and we will have three motorised vehicles to their one. The Phoney War has been much to our advantage, Thomas. British industrial output far outstrips that of Germany – unless they get hold of the French iron and steel industry to add to the Czech factories they have already stolen. We will have trained the conscripts and new pilots. The defence makes good sense for us – provided it holds, which means that the French must not collapse.”
“Who knows? What Stalin will do next is known to nobody, probably including Stalin. The word is that he’s poxed, you know, well into syphilis and all of its psychoses. His doctors have spoken to our people at the Embassy, asking for the latest drugs available in the West.”
Thomas returned to the squadron in a state of some puzzlement. He called Rod to him and instructed him to make all ready for a rout.
“Can’t trust the Frogs, Rod.”
“Never could, Thomas.”
“Be ready to get the hell out of it. If the retreat commences, commandeer extra vehicles – pinch ‘em off the Frogs – and leg it off to the Channel with all of the noncombatants and any of the spare materiel you can get hold of. Calais ideally but no farther north.”
They flew every day, the weather improving markedly through April and into May. The rules were still the same, however, as Thomas outlined at a morning briefing.
“Don’t cross the Belgian border. Keep clear of Luxembourg. The Belgian air force is flying patrols and you must not get tangled up with them. Luxembourg has no planes, so less to worry about there. There is word of German reconnaissance flights coming over at twenty-five thousand plus.”
“Are we to fly high, Thomas?”
“Orders are that we should patrol at ten to fifteen thousand feet, in sight of the soldiers on the ground so that they will know we are here. We shall certainly obey that order, Dick, for at least part of every outing. Squadron sortie this morning – for training purposes. We shall climb to twenty-eight thousand feet and there take up an extended formation, one that enables us to observe all that is going on below us. If we fortuitously spot the Hun… Well, we cannot simply ignore them, as I am sure you will agree. I will send Flights against specific targets if the occasion arises.”
It was a week before their morning sweeps bore fruit.
“Red One to Thomas. Bandits at angels twenty at two o’clock. Heinkels, I think. Over.”
The Heinkel 111 had a particularly large wing area, could be picked out at a distance.
“Thomas. Roger, Red One. I count six in two lines of three. Over Luxembourg still. Over.”
“Red One. Three and three, second line two thousand feet higher. Over.”
Thomas waited a few seconds, decided that the Heinkels’ course would soon bring them over France.
“Thomas to Green One. Take the rear, high three. Go now. Over.”
Thomas watched as his four planes turned on their sides and dived towards the bombers. He gave them ten seconds.
“Thomas to Red One. Kill the remaining three. Over.”
“Red One. Roger. Over.”
“Thomas to Blue One. Close on me. Over.”
They watched Tex dive onto the rear Heinkels. The German planes absorbed a lot of punishment, continuing to fly despite a five second burst apiece. The Hurricanes came in for a second run and took fire from the defensive guns before the three big planes began to fall, one flaming, two simply dropping away out of control. Jan hit his section just as they began to break out of level flight having spotted the attack to their rear. He killed the first with a burst into the cockpit and turned onto the second which was diving hard and banking away from Walenky. Behind him, Feliks and Jerzy were locked onto the tail of the third.
“Thomas to Red One and Green One. Come back home to father. Well done. Over.”
“Red One to Thomas. Is got those bastards. Over.”
“Thomas to Red One and Green One. Ammunition status? Over.”
He listened as the Flights reported to their commanders. They came back to him concerned that they had all used up about ten seconds on the Heinkels.
“Thomas. Squadron will return to base. Over.”
They sat down with their tea and coffee and worried whether they had been profligate in their expenditure of rounds.
“Ten seconds to one Heinkel says we won’t get two in an outing. We have thirteen seconds of ammunition in the wings, as you know. I think the rule has to be bursts of no more than three seconds, aimed at close range into cockpit, ideally, engine if not.”
“Into bomb bay, maybe, Thomas?”
“Not at fifty bloody yards, Feliks! Not by intent.”
“Maybe not. Big bang!”
A message came from the radio room. Thomas read it and tried to show innocent.
“Reply, ‘Heinkels were over French territory, turned away towards Luxembourg as they were shot down.’”
“Yes, sir.”
Sergeant Molyneux did not say ‘bloody liar’, but it was clear from his attitude.
The Idiot Boy appeared, slightly nervous in the company of all of the pilots, convinced that they had little respect for him.
“Confirmed six, sir. Three to each Flight.”
“Excellent! Always good to have a little blood before lunchtime. Sets the digestion up, you know.”
The Idiot was unconvinced.
“Pork steaks, sir, with fried eggs and chips. Will you want tomato ketchup as well?”
“Of course? Why not? I’m a good Digger, as we Australians a commonly known as – tomato sauce with everything. Make the most of the food, lads. Won’t be so good when we get back to England.”
Wag, appeared from the hangars with a clipboard and a lugubrious expression.
“Two planes with cosmetic damage – unimportant bullet holes which have already been patched. Three grounded for two days while repairs are made to control cables and surfaces to flaps and rudder. Also a need to check damage to Jan’s engine – a row of bullet holes in the cowlings suggest a possibility of unseen hits so we will dig around to see if anything has been nicked. Wouldn’t want fuel or oil lines to suddenly break under pressure. Three spare aircraft so you are down to twelve flying for the next forty-eight hours.”
Thomas responded quickly, preventing any arguments.
“I’ll fly Red One for the next two days, Jan. You can sit in my office and pick up on the basic routines. Rod will run you through the paperwork. You need to know how to do it. Hank and Tex will take their turns. Big expansion in Fighter Command over the next year or two means all three of you can expect to rise in the world.”
Jan grunted acceptance of the order – discipline was ingrained into him as a result of his service in the Czech air force, a far more formal organisation than the RAF.
“Rod, what’s the chance of an additional Hurricane?”
“I’ll try it, Thomas. More planes than pilots by a long way so it ought to be possible, provided they’ve got them in France. I don’t know where the spares are coming from. The Great War had an aircraft park in France, but I don’t know if we’ve done that this time.”
“Probably not – nobody thinks we’re staying.”
“It’s a different war this time. My father told me of the atmosphere in ’14 – all was enthusiasm and ‘Onwards to Berlin’. It ain’t like that this time round.”
Thomas agreed – they were fighting because to most of them the alternative was somewhat worse. There was no sense of a need to defend the greatest empire the world had ever seen.
“The newspapers need to pull their fingers out – they’re reporting the wrong lies.”
They laughed and forgot the topic.
Over the following week they saw reconnaissance aircraft almost every day and caught a couple of them. Word came that the other squadrons in France were also picking off the odd intruder.
Group Captain Peters flew in on a routine inspection of the field and mentioned the increase in activity.
“Might be spring fever, Stark – the Luftwaffe poking its nose out of its shell after a cold winter. More likely they’re feeling the way, checking out levels of alertness. The French have reported no kills this week. Either they are not looking for trade or the Luftwaffe are confining themselves to
our areas. I know which I think more likely!”
“So do I, sir. Is there a chance of one or two extra planes as spares? We are finding that we have one or two kites grounded for a few hours or a day every time we come up against a bomber. They throw out a lot of rounds and a few hit in the nature of things.”
“You’re well forward, close to the frontier – which is why you got this field. The Frogs didn’t fancy being this close to trouble. Might be the field would be overrun and you could lose stuff on the ground.”
“An extra couple of lorries would be handy, sir. As well, another platoon of gate guards with hand grenades and orders to leave nothing in one piece if they had to pull out.”
“That would solve the problem, certainly… I will see what can be done, Stark. On the quiet – we don’t want the French getting the idea that we are planning to retreat.”
“No, sir. They might get the feeling that we were trying to outrun them.”
“You’ll have to be quick to do that, Stark. Some of the French army are unbelievable, you know. Old men and undisciplined and poorly equipped. I have seen battalions marching up without enough rifles to go between them, the men unshaven and without a full uniform and all out of step. You will note I said ‘marching’ – many of the battalions have no transport at all.”
Thomas was not surprised – all he had heard of the French said that some of their army was modern and of good fighting spirit but that the bulk of the Reserves who had been called up were anything but enthusiastic.
“They have a lot of big tanks, sir.”
“They do – more of them and better than anything the Germans have got. But their generals have no idea how to use them from all I have been told. Those who think at all regard tanks as mobile artillery.”
That seemed not unreasonable to Thomas, but he knew nothing of ground war.
“Have we any plans for reserve fields, sir?”
“No. We can’t ask the French to designate airfields for us – they would immediately suspect we were planning to fall back.”
The Breaking Storm (Innocent No More Series, Book 2) Page 8
