A Deadly Caper by Andrew Wareham

Author:Andrew Wareham [Wareham, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Electronic Book Company
Published: 2017-01-08T00:00:00+00:00

“That’s where we have the need, Tommy. Unless you want to take him on with Gun Flight, for old time’s sake.”

“Not if it means getting rid of one of my existing lads, sir. That would be wrong. All he needs do is wait, anyway.”

Major Salmond made no comment.

“Weather should be dry tomorrow, Tommy. This rain is expected to pass over before morning.”

“Then we should get the Lewises put up on the Bristols, sir. Still can’t make my mind up where is the best place for them.”

“Obliquely on the lower wing, Tommy. At least you can reload there and continue to make a noise. Shows willing, whatever the outcome. I expect a visit from General Henderson tomorrow, Tommy, with a photographer, coming to give us three cheers, you know. He’ll probably want a shot of himself in conversation with the brave boys, a Bristol with a Lewis Gun as a background. The Bristol shows up as more modern – the Parasol smacks of string and sealing-wax.”

“There’s a reason for that, sir. It is far too light and flimsy a machine. Copper-Bum was lucky to bring his back with a hole in it; they fall to bits far too easily.”

“You mentioned parachutes yesterday, Tommy. Do you think we should have them?”

“Not yet, sir. I would like one that would allow me to drift to earth like a piece of thistledown, but they are too big and heavy for these machines. I could not sit in the cockpit wearing a parachute, and I’m not the biggest of men! When the planes get bigger and more powerful, then yes, good idea, but at the moment, impractical.”

“I agree. I would like them, but not yet. What have you in mind for tomorrow?”

“Patrols, three and three, alternating, along our trench line at four or five thousand feet depending on the cloud, looking out for scouts. Any that are seen, chase them off, firing the guns gleefully. Not a snowball in hell’s chance of hitting anything, but we can make a Hun change his knickerbockers perhaps.”

“Seriously?”

“Get within fifty feet and it might be possible to score some hits. Other than that, pure joss, sir.”

“I’m out of touch, Tommy. Hardly get a chance to fly these days. What are the longer-term plans?”

“Request targets to be supplied by Wing, sir. Give us somewhere worthwhile to go and something worth hitting. Say go out on raids two or three times in a week, and patrol up and down our trenches the other days – show busy and let the boys in the front line see that we are there and trying to look after them.”

It sounded cynical, and probably was, but they could do no more.

“They say it’s bad in the trenches, Tommy.”

“It’s what they don’t say that worries me, sir. My wife’s father went to Haslar Hospital a few times while I was off – his only son, sir, blown almost to bits and going slowly, poor fellow! He said to me that the wounded were coming in a steady stream, more of them every day – and only the really bad cases get to Haslar.

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