Reach for the Sky by Paul Brickhill

Author:Paul Brickhill
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Military, World War II, History
ISBN: 9781557502223
Publisher: Ballentine
Published: 1967-01-01T14:00:00+00:00

15

Behind a tidy desk sat the austere Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh Dowding, eyes pale and cold under tufty eyebrows and lips pursed in the craggy face. Known as “Stuffy” because he could be very stuffy, he gazed unwinking and said baldly: “What’s all this about equipment and that signal of yours, Bader?”

Bader explained that he had done everything he could to get tools and spares, and then decided he would have to do something extra because if the Germans attacked, his squadron would soon be unable to get off the ground. Without a word Dowding passed a typewritten report over and Bader saw it was from the equipment officer — an account of the phone conversation. He glanced over it and said:

“I did have an acrimonious conversation with an equipment officer, sir, but it was between two officers of equal rank. He tried to shake me by saying you were furious about my signal and that annoyed me.”

“Oh, he said I was furious, did he?” Dowding pressed his buzzer.

In a minute the equipment squadron leader came in. His eyes flickered at Bader, whose eyes flickered back.

“Did you say I was furious about the signal from 242 Squadron?” Dowding asked.

“Yes, sir,” said the squadron leader. “I knew you would be very angry about such a signal.”

Dowding said coldly: “I will not have any officer taking my name in vain or predicting my emotions. Your job is — or was — to help the squadrons in the field. You will be off this headquarters in twenty-four hours.”

After the equipment officer went out Dowding seemed to relax. He pressed another buzzer and shortly a grey-haired air vice marshal walked in — “Daddy” Nichol, who looked after all equipment for Fighter Command. He listened to Bader repeating his story and then took him by the arm, and said cheerfully: “All right. Now you come with me and we’ll fix this up.”

At Coltishall the following day Beisiegel held an inquiry into the affair of 242 Squadron’s equipment, and next morning, even before the Coltishall stores officer, too, had finished clearing his desk for his successor, the lorries were rolling past the guardroom and up to the maintenance hangar where West, with brisk good humour, supervised his fitters unloading crates of spare wheels, spark plugs, oleo legs, spanners, files, piston rings and about 400 other assorted bits and pieces. By evening, after the last lorry had gone, West was surrounded by piles of boxes.

“Have you got enough, Mr. West?” Bader asked.

“Enough?” declaimed West. “I’ve got enough here for ten squadrons, sir. What I want now is somewhere to stow it.”

“That’s your problem,” the C.O. said. “I’m leaving the aircraft side to you now while I get busy with the pilots. This is going to be the best squadron in the command if it kills me.”

He drove to his office and sent a signal to Group, with a copy to Fighter Command:

“242 Squadron now fully operational.”

As a matter of fact, the pilots already thought they were the best squadron in Fighter Command, a distinct change from their opinions of a few days before.

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