Day of Vengeance (7 page)

“It’s an aerodrome. There’s perimeter fencing and big hangers and stuff. I can see some aircraft parked up. Look – they’re letting Pendelshape’s car through…”

Angus slowed down. They watched as the black car pulled up to a sentry box which guarded a large gate. Sandbags were stacked up all around. The sentry leaned in to the car and then stepped away. The gate started to open. They were only a hundred metres from the aerodrome gate as Angus pulled up. The arrival of a double-decker London bus was starting to cause some interest from the sentries and one of them left his post to walk up the road towards them. Just at that point, the police car pulled up beside the bus. Two burly policemen got out.

“Switch off your engine and get out.” Jack stuck his head out of the window.

“Officer, there’s a man in the back of that car – we think he’s been kidnapped, er, or something.”

The red-faced policeman yelled at them through the side window.

“Don’t give me a cock-and-bull story… you two are in serious trouble – now do as I say and GET OUT OF THE BUS!”

Jack looked at Angus, expectantly.

But Angus didn’t need to be told. He gunned the vast engine of the bus. The whole thing started to shake as it shot off towards the aerodrome gate, belching black smoke. The sentry leaped to the side and the bus swung in to the entrance. It crashed through the gate, which was still partially ajar, and headed into the aerodrome. They did not have time to notice the helpful
sign inside the gate which read:
Welcome to RAF Northolt
.

“Over there!”

In the distance, they could see a large, twin-engine, civilian aircraft with its motor running. The black car was parked nearby and a man was being lifted on a stretcher from the back of the car and towards the aircraft.

“That’s Pendelshape. He’s flat out. Something’s happened to him.”

Angus pointed the bus in the direction of the aircraft and it lumbered on across the grass of the aerodrome, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. But that was nothing to what came next. Suddenly, the ground ripped open right in front of the bus and mud spurted upwards in a giant plume. Angus threw the bus sideways to avoid the crater, which had breached the ground directly in front of them. The bus lurched violently to one side, Angus corrected it, but swung the wheel too far and it veered in the opposite direction and then fell onto its side, scraping along the ground, before finally coming to a halt.

Touching the Face of God

Jack was dazed. He touched his head and looked at his hand. Miraculously there was no blood. He looked forward. The windscreen of the bus had shattered and Angus was already climbing through.

“Come on!” he shouted.

Jack staggered forward and stepped through the windscreen into the open. Perhaps they should have stayed where they were. A squadron of Stuka dive-bombers screamed down, one after the other, pummelling the airfield and the surrounding buildings and aeroplanes. Then the Messerschmitt 109s came in, flying just a few metres above the ground, guns blazing. Jack saw a row of parked Hurricanes strafed. Then, one after another, the fighter planes exploded in puffs of black smoke and orange flame. Soon, the whole place was stinking of burning gasoline. Incredibly, one or two pilots on the ground had made it to their aircraft and were desperately coaxing their engines to life.

At the far end of the runway Jack could see the civilian plane preparing for take-off – with Pendelshape inside. It started to make its way along the airstrip, picking up speed. Incredibly, the plane remained cocooned from the maelstrom all around. It was as if it were somehow protected.

Jack and Angus dashed forward. Twenty metres ahead, a lone Spitfire bravely nosed its way towards the runway. So far it had avoided being hit. That was about to change. Jack saw a 109 swoop in low, strafing the helpless plane. Bullets ripped into the fuselage and the pilot slumped forward onto the controls in his cockpit. The Spitfire ground to a halt right in front of them, its engine still running.

“We need to help him,” Jack shouted.

Angus clambered up onto the wing of the Spitfire and peered into the open canopy. The pilot groaned.

“He’s alive! Get him out.”

The pilot flipped off his helmet and mask and gasped for breath. Angus and Jack heaved him from the cockpit onto the wing and then manhandled him down onto the grass. An ominous dark patch had appeared on his leather flying jacket. Jack scanned the airfield for any sign of help, but the scene around them was one of utter chaos: people were running away screaming; smoke poured from a number of the buildings. But the attack did not let up.

“You all right?” Angus asked the pilot.

The pilot looked up at them and grimaced in pain. He couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. “I’ll be fine. It’s only a scratch. Ambulance will be here soon.”

He jerked his head towards his Spitfire. “If either of you are pilots – take my Spit and get one of those bastards for me…”

A hundred metres away, the civilian plane was just lifting off the runway and heading up into the sky. Jack and Angus looked at each other. If they stayed out on the open airfield they risked death.

Jack looked up at the Spitfire. “Do you think you can drive this thing?”

Angus clambered back up onto the wing and peered into the cockpit.

“It all looks exactly like the simulator, but we do have a problem…” He glanced down at Jack, still tending to the pilot on the ground. “It’s going to be a tight squeeze. We’ll need to ditch our packs.”

Jack clambered up and looked over Angus’s shoulder. “You’ll have to kind of sit on me.” Jack looked up to where Pendelshape’s aeroplane climbed slowly up into the sky. “If we don’t follow him now we’ll lose him for ever and we’ll never get home again.”

Another pair of 109s screamed in over them, guns flaming.

“That’s it – I’m not hanging round.”

They squeezed in to the cockpit. Angus flung the canopy shut and took the controls.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Piece of cake.”

But looking at the dials and levers in front of them, it seemed anything but a piece of cake. And Jack noticed another thing: the visibility was shocking. All he could see was the long nose of the Spitfire pointing up into the sky in front of them and the spinning propeller. Jack was squashed on one half of the pilot’s seat with Angus’s large frame plonked half on top of him. And for Angus, pressed up against the side of the cockpit, it wasn’t easy to see the ground and tell where they were going. Undeterred, Angus put on the pilot’s mask and helmet, found the control pedals with his feet and grabbed the joystick.

Spitfires in flight

“I guess we head for the runway,” he shouted, as the Merlin engine roared and the whole machine jerked forward.

“Ooops – bit too much.”

“I think you’ll have to weave around a bit so you can kind of see where you’re going.”

In seconds they were on the runway. Jack scanned the sky through the canopy.

“Is the raid stopping? They seem to be wheeling away…”

Angus was too busy to pay any attention. “Right, we’re ready, bit of power, flaps, er, other important stuff, and…”

“Don’t you have to say ‘chocs away’ or something?”

Suddenly, the noise from the mighty Merlin engine crescendoed and black exhaust blew from the pipes on either side of the engine cowling. The airframe shook as they surged forward, then bumped along the ground, faster and faster. Angus increased the power again then, miraculously, they were airborne.

“You’re going left! You’re going left! Straighten up!” Jack shouted.

Angus overcorrected and they veered right. After a couple more wild corrections, they straightened up: Angus was in control.

“Yes!” he shouted in exhilaration. “Come on!”

“That sign,” Jack shouted, “says ‘wheels down’ – you need them up, don’t you? Get them up. Up!”

“OK, OK, I know how to do that.” Angus pulled a lever and the sign changed to ‘wheels up’.

They heard a clunk under the aircraft.

“More throttle.”

The Merlin responded again with a great roar and Jack felt
himself being pushed back into the seat as they surged forward, with Angus still half sitting on top of him. Soon they were hammering up strong and steady into a cloud-dappled sky.

“Red Two, Red Two, this is Acorn Leader, glad to see you have finally decided to join us.”

“I’ve got someone talking to me on the radio in my ears,” Angus said.

“Red Two, yes, you idiot it’s Acorn Leader, we are ordered to follow but not engage, repeat NOT engage until we have reinforcements…”

Angus pulled the mask from his face. “I’ve got someone called ‘Acorn Leader’ babbling something on the radio – what do I do?” Angus shouted back to Jack.

“Ignore him – we’re trying to keep on the tail of Pendelshape, can you see him yet?”

Angus levelled out. The altimeter indicated just over seven thousand feet. Below them, Jack could see the rolling English countryside and already, not far beyond, the sparkling grey-blue of the English Channel.

“Over there!” Jack shouted. Sure enough, about half a mile away, they could see a cluster of aircraft in the sky. In the centre they could make out the larger outline of the civilian aircraft looking like a fat bumble bee. It was surrounded, above, below and on each side by the 109s and the Stukas that had just completed the devastating surprise raid on the Northolt base.

“Looks like Pendelshape’s plane is being escorted by all those fighters,” Angus said.

Jack thought for a moment. “We need to follow – but keep a distance – can you do that?”

“Yes – I think so.”

The radio crackled in Angus’s ears a second time – this time the voice was different.

“Acorn Leader this is Red One, over.”

“Red One – Acorn Leader here, delighted you have joined us. We are to follow but await reinforcements before engaging…”

“Acorn Leader, I am terribly sorry but I must protest in the strongest possible terms… I do believe that our foe is planning further mischief and I would like to propose a course of action to dissuade him from this intent…”

“Shut up Red One.”

“Thank you for your thoughtful suggestion, Acorn Leader, however, I would like to add that my morning constitutional has been rudely curtailed by the action of our enemy and I feel it necessary to indicate my sincere displeasure…”

“Red One – get off the R/T – we are to wait backup – do not engage, repeat do not engage.”

Angus half-turned to Jack. “You should hear this on the radio – someone called Red One, I think we’re called Red Two, he wants to attack, but the leader guy is not letting him…”

The voice of Red One came over the radio again,
“I am terribly sorry, Acorn Leader, my radio seems to be playing up somewhat, I understood you to say ‘engage the enemy… engage’. I do declare that is a most capital idea and shall engage forthwith. Always at your service. Tally-ho! Tally-ho!”

Although Angus could hear the radio transmissions through his helmet, he had no idea where either ‘Acorn Leader’ or ‘Red One’ were. But suddenly, from below and off to their left, a lone
Hurricane screamed past them and banked sharply right to pursue the swarm of German planes ahead.

“There he goes! Red One… he’s mad… he’s totally outnumbered. They’ll crucify him,” Angus cried as he banked their Spitfire into a more gentle turn and raised the throttle a notch to pursue Red One.

“Don’t get too close, Angus, we don’t want to get into trouble…” Jack said.

Angus could hear Acorn Leader screaming down the radio,
“Red One – Disengage! DISENGAGE! Red Two – do not follow, repeat await support, AWAIT SUPPORT!”

Angus raised the mask to his face, “Er, yes, confirmed,” Angus, still unsure of what to say, added, “Always at your service…”

Angus and Jack stared though the canopy, mesmerised, as they watched Red One steadily approach the English Channel and close in rapidly on the swarm of German aircraft. The German planes maintained a tight formation around the larger civilian aircraft, which forced them to fly at its much slower speed. It was becoming apparent that their role was to shield and protect the civilian aircraft with Pendelshape aboard, now he had safely escaped from the Northolt airfield. However, they had not allowed for Red One, who was closing in on them. Fast.

Red One picked an outlier from the central stack of planes and Jack saw a whiff of powdery smoke from his wings as he opened fire. Almost immediately, there was a corresponding puff of white from an enemy aircraft, and it arced slowly off its course towards the ground. Even though they were still some distance behind, Jack could clearly see the enemy pilot release his canopy and leap from the dying plane. He deployed his parachute, but it refused
to open. Instead, a ten-metre plume of tangled cord and silk flailed wildly from the wretched pilot’s shoulders as he plummeted earthwards. Jack stared on in horror. He knew they called it a ‘Roman Candle’ when a parachute failed to open in this way. Now he understood why – because that’s exactly what the pilot looked like – a black stick, with a trailing plume of white parachute flapping high into the air above.

Two 109s now broke from the main fleet to deal with Red One, who, following his success, had already circled and was coming in for a second attack. He struck again – and a second fighter caught fire. This time, Red One did not get away so easily. The two 109s locked on to his tail and Red One threw his Hurricane into a series of violent twists and turns to try and break free. Jack and Angus edged closer to the melée. The main body of German aircraft either did not spot them or simply were not interested. Despite the unwelcome attention of Red One, they seemed intent on getting across the Channel with the civilian aircraft intact as quickly as possible.

“He’s shaken them off!” Angus shouted.

Ahead, Red One had rid himself of the pursuing 109s, but incredibly, instead of giving up, he looped up and over and for a
third
time swooped back into the swarm, guns blazing.

“He’s going in
again
,” Angus said, awe-struck. “This Red One guy’s a maniac…”

Red One came out of his attack empty-handed but once again was tracked closely by the two 109s. This time there was one important difference. “They’re heading straight for us! Do something!”

Angus flicked the gun button to fire. But the combined closing velocity of Red One and his pursuing 109s with Angus and Jack’s Spitfire must have topped five hundred miles an hour. In three seconds there would be a head-on collision. At the last moment, Red One pulled up and the belly of the oncoming Hurricane flashed over their canopy with centimetres to spare. But the 109s were right on his tail. Their guns flashed. Jack closed his eyes as Angus stabbed his thumb on the fire button. Their machine guns fired in a staccato burst that sounded like tearing Velcro and the cockpit filled with the smell of cordite. The first 109 flashed past almost scraping the roof of the Spitfire, followed seconds later by the second, which flew even closer. Jack opened his eyes. They were still alive.