Blood Wings by Phil Ward

Author:Phil Ward [Ward, Phil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Military Publishers
Published: 2012-08-08T04:00:00+00:00

An open-topped black Rolls Royce Shooting Brake arrived at the airstrip with six passengers onboard. One was easily identifiable as His Imperial Majesty Haile Selassie I by the ornate, multicolored umbrella his slave riding on the running board was holding to protect the Lion of Judah from the harmful rays of the midday sun. This was the Official State Umbrella – HIM being the only head of state on the planet to have an officially designated one. Sitting next to the Emperor in the back wearing a scruffy beard, rumpled uniform and an old-fashioned Colonel Blimp-style pith helmet that appeared to be three sizes too large for his head was Maj. Orde Wingate. Maj. Edwin Chapman-Andrews, political advisor to His Imperial Majesty, rode in the front seat next to the chauffeur. Seated between the political advisor and the chauffeur was a smooth-cheeked youth in a beautifully-tailored jungle-green BDU wearing a sidearm in a highly-polished brown flap holster.

“So much for bloody Highly Salacious remaining incognito,” Maj. Gen. James “Baldie” Taylor groused in disgust. “Time for you to link up with your interpreter, John. Better late than never.”

They walked over to the Rolls Royce. Maj. John Randal gave a crisp salute, which the Emperor acknowledged with a limp-wristed semi-wave. Major Wingate glared piercingly from a pair of deep sunken eyes but did not offer any acknowledgment.

Major Chapman-Andrews introduced the smooth-faced youth wearing the sidearm, a Smith & Wesson .38 Special Military and Police Model.

“Gentlemen, this is Kaldi, the Emperor’s wife’s cousin. Because you will be operating in areas where that relationship may not always be something that is desirable to advertise, for this operation he will be going by his first name only.

“Kaldi completed a little over two years at the French Military Academy, Saint-Cyr before the Nazi blitzkrieg forced him to flee to England.

“By selecting a member of his own family to accompany your mission, the Emperor hopes to emphasize the great importance he places on your success. HIM wishes you Godspeed and good hunting, Major.”

The effeminate-looking Kaldi got out of the automobile, went around to the trunk of the car and retrieved a heavy pack and a U.S. Springfield .30-caliber rifle Model 1903 A-1.

Walking back on the way to the Vincent bomber, Major Randal inquired, “Made many jumps, Kaldi?”

“No, sire. Today will be my first.”

“Do much training to make one?”

“I spent an entire afternoon mastering the art of the parachute landing fall, sire.”

“Outstanding, this jump should be a piece of cake,” Major Randal lied, remembering how difficult “mastering” the PLF had been for him at No. 1 British Parachute School.

“I like cake, sire.”

“Then you’re going to love jumping from an aircraft in flight.”

“I am quite looking forward to the experience. Have you many parachutings, sire?”

“One or two.”

The Royal Air Force Vickers Vincent was a single-engine bi-plane with three open cupolas. The pilot rode in the front cockpit, Major Randal rode in the second cupola with the bombardier, and he put Kaldi and Bimbashi Butch Hoolihan in the third open cupola.

“When

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