World War Two Fighter Pilot 03.To Play The Fox by Frank Barnard

Author:Frank Barnard [Frank Barnard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780755350919
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2009-02-19T00:00:00+00:00

Eight

For almost a week now Ossie had not flown the Storch, although the ghibli had long passed, heading north across the Mediterranean Sea to southern Europe, where it changed its name, depending on its landfall – sirokos in Greece, sirocco in Italy, xlokk in Malta, leveche in Spain – bringing to each country its cool, moist, violent storms and dusting of red Saharan sand.

Ossie acquired these inconsequential facts, at least to him, from Kommandant Mulholland, as he once more turned him down for flying. Ossie’s briefings by Mulholland had, to Ossie, but a single purpose – to get back in the air. To Mulholland, they were to assess the American’s reserves of physical endurance as they moved him on to learn the art of silent killing.

In these exchanges Ossie found Mulholland an enigma, one moment harsh, intolerant, quick to punish, fierce in his convictions and tough, yes, plenty tough; the next a fuzzy academic who talked of anything but war, who liked to parade his knowledge quite as much as his fake army of Palestinian volunteers.

But Ossie feigned interest in whatever turn their one-sided talks might take – the customs of the Berber tribes, Cambridge between the wars, fly-fishing on the chalk beds of the River Test in Hampshire – none of which meant a hill of beans to Ossie, intent only on putting himself in solid with the boss and getting back behind the Storch controls. And yet, despite his doglike focus, and positive reports on his stamina and staying power from those hard nuts training him to fight and kill, Mulholland did not relent and kept him firmly on the ground. Nor was Ossie ‘dear boy’ any longer. Now, clearly, ‘Wolf ’ would do, until he had redeemed himself by strenuous endeavour, tested against the rigours of the camp’s routine. If that was what it took, reflected Ossie, then that was what it took. Besides, he got a kick from knowing he could deal with whatever the instructors cared to throw his way, learning how to fight without the Queensberry rules, so-called ‘foul methods’ to help him kill more quickly, attacking an opponent’s weakest points with edge of hand, thumb up, the whole hand tensed, arm bent, chopping from the elbow using his full body weight, striking a variety of points: back of neck; the head from bridge of nose to base of throat; either side of head or throat; the fore and upper arms; the kidneys and the base of the spine.

The principal instructor, Hyman Jabotinsky, was blunt. ‘Kill as fast as you can. In this business, a prisoner is a handicap and a danger. He’ll attack you if he has a chance. Don’t give him one.’

To this deadly education was added tuition in kicks, in finger jabs, the use of knee and head and elbows; how to escape from body holds, both front and rear; the use of the fighting knife – techniques of thrust and slash; sentry killing by strangulation, the crushing of testicles and snapping of limbs.

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