The Bluebirds Trilogy Box Set by Melvyn Fickling

Author:Melvyn Fickling [Fickling, Melvyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Book Conspiracy Limited
Published: 2020-03-25T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Wednesday, 20 November 1940

Bryan sniffed the air as he strolled along the perimeter track. It was only mid-morning, but the importance of this day had levered him from his bed early. A full month away from combat flying had chiselled at his previously calloused outlook and something akin to stage fright bubbled around in his vitals. He paused to light a cigarette and pulled his greatcoat closer about his neck to ward off the chilled northerly breeze.

Another figure moved through the morning. Bryan recognised the adjutant, ploughing a determined course through the damp grass from the stores back to his office. The other man noticed the smoker on the perimeter and deviated his track.

‘Morning,’ Campbell called as he approached. ‘Did you hear the good news?’

‘Not that I’m aware,’ Bryan called back and waited for the adjutant to close the gap.

He arrived, slightly breathless and beamed Bryan a wide smile. ‘Moss bagged a raider last night.’ Campbell’s gloved hand bunched into a fist that he shook in his excitement. ‘A Junkers 88,’ Campbell continued. ‘The cheeky bugger came in with his navigation lights on. Moss tracked him in and put a burst into his belly. Crashed in flames somewhere near Chichester. That’ll teach him.’

Both men set off walking in the direction of the office block.

‘Moss picked him up on a visual?’ Bryan frowned. ‘What about the AI set?’

Campbell gave Bryan a sidelong glance: ‘Well, obviously the AI helped him stay with his target and close in to killing range.’

‘So, what’s our score so far?’ Bryan asked.

‘That’s our first.’

‘And the other night-fighter squadrons?’

‘They’ve had no joy so far; young Moss has broken our duck.’

‘How big was the raid?’

‘Between Birmingham and Leicester, they estimate several hundred.’

Bryan grunted: ‘And we got one.’

The two men walked in silence for several yards.

‘It seems the Germans might be catching on to the same game,’ the older man offered, almost apologetically. ‘On Saturday night, one of our Wellington bombers reported coming under attack from a fighter over Germany. They made no more transmissions. They’re posted as missing.’ The adjutant brightened: ‘Still, it’s your first crack at them tonight, isn’t it?’

Bryan nodded and lit a fresh cigarette.

‘I’ve heard good things about your crew, Hale.’ The man’s fist waggled again. ‘I’m sure this is the beginning of great things.’

***

Bryan’s eyes reflected the faint glow of the dimmed instrument lights as he ran through the pre-flight checks one final time.

He flicked on the intercom: ‘Comms check, operator?’

‘Loud and clear, Flight’ – Tommy’s voice crackled back – ‘strapped in and ready to go.’

Bryan switched to transmit: ‘Blackbird C-Charlie, awaiting clearance. Listening out.’

Static hummed against a backdrop of silence for long moments, then the controller’s smooth voice filled his earphones.

‘Good evening, Blackbird C-Charlie. You are clear to take-off. Patrol Channel, angels fifteen.’

Bryan scanned the darkening sky above and ahead of the Beaufighter’s stubby nose in a last check for descending aircraft, then pushed the throttles forward. Power surged through the airframe, dragging the fighter across the field and up into the void.

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