1916 Angels over the Somme (British Ace Book 3)

Published by Sword Books Ltd 2014

Copyright © Griff Hosker First Edition

The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
 

All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

Cover by Design for Writers

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Wilfred Owen

June 25
th
London

I had a week left of my convalescent leave and I was looking forward to spending more time with Nurse Beatrice Porter. I had blessed my wound for it had brought me in contact with the woman I knew I would spend my life with. I had been presented with a medal by the King himself and another by a high ranking French diplomat but they paled next to the joy of Beatrice and what she had brought to my life. She had filled a void I didn’t even know I had. I now knew that she felt the same way about me.  Even better was the fact that she and my sister, Alice, had met and got on like a house on fire.  My life could not get any better. The walks in Hyde Park and the laughter made my heart lift. It all ended on the 25
th
of June.

It began normally enough. I was woken by the night shift with a cup of tea.  Since I had been walking out with Beatrice the night staff had all been much nicer and more attentive towards me. They were all male orderlies and they would chat to me about the war at the front.  I suspect they felt guilty that they had what was deemed a cushy number here in Blighty. It made my life more pleasant.  I had been incapacitated for the first week but I was much improved. I could now dress myself and so after my tea I would wash, shave and then dress.  I had never paid much attention to my appearance until I met Nurse Porter but now I trimmed my moustache and used a sharp razor to make sure I looked as smart as possible for the arrival of Nurse Beatrice Porter.

My day really began when the day shift and Nurse Porter in particular, arrived with our breakfast. The two of us always felt like naughty children for she managed to bring me something special each day; one day it might be a flower, another, a newspaper, sometimes just my toast cut a special way.  It was our little game.  She had to avoid the glares and starts of the matron and the sister but we were masters of the po face when they were present.

She had just brought my tray in with a huge smile on her face when Joe, the orderly from medical records came hurtling through the door.

“Captain Harsker, sir, a telegram!” He handed me the brown envelope and stood back.

Beatrice and I both shivered; telegrams never brought good news.  My mother had only had two and they had both told her of the deaths of her sons. Who had died? Joe stood expectantly at the door. “Well go on sir.  It must be important.”

I took the knife from the breakfast tray and carefully opened the envelope.  I took out the telegram as though it was wired with explosives. I read it and my heart sank. I looked at Beatrice while wishing that Joe would disappear. Annoyingly he said, “Well sir, what does it say?” I gave him an irritated look and he spread his arms.  “It’s not me sir it’s Matron, she was in the office and she said I should wait in case there is a reply.”

Matron had taken a great deal of interest in me since I had been awarded the Military Cross by the king. I sighed, “I have been recalled to active service.”

Beatrice forgot herself for a moment, “They can’t take you! You aren’t ready to go.” Aware that she had spoken before Joe she looked around at him and then said to me, “When?”

I folded up the letter and stepped on to the floor. “Joe can you pack my bag for me?”

“Of course sir.”

He went to the cupboard containing my clothes and my kit bag.

I looked at Beatrice. “They are sending a car for me.  It will be here in less than an hour.”

Her hand went to her mouth.  There would be no romantic goodbye. No lingering kiss.  We would not even be able to hold hands. While Joe was in the cupboard I took a step towards her but at the moment when I was going to grab her hand and kiss her, Matron appeared at the door.

“There is a staff car for you downstairs, Captain Harsker.” She sounded impressed. She took in Joe packing my bag and Beatrice standing there. “Nurse Porter, lend a hand there.  Captain Harsker hasn’t got time to lollygag with you.  Come on girl!”

I could said a few choice words to the silly old dragon but it would not have helped Beatrice. I went to fetch my toilet bag.  As I placed it in my kitbag my fingers touched the back of Beatrice’s hand.  I saw the sudden flush.  It was as close as we were going to get to a goodbye kiss.

Joe annoyingly fastened the bag up quickly. He put the toilet bag in the outside pocket. “There you go sir! All sorted! I’ll carry it down for you.”

I stood, feeling like a spare part.  Matron said, “Well Nurse Porter get the bed linen off we will have new patients soon.” She put her arm around my back to guide me from the room. “And you, Captain Harsker, are too important to remain here. Your country needs you.  You have to return to the front.”

“Er what about forwarding letters?”

Matron and I turned at the same time. “What Nurse Porter?”

“I was just saying, Matron, that I will need a forwarding address to send the captain’s post to him.” I saw the glower on matron’s face and then Beatrice played her trump card. “Lady Burscough said she would write to the captain.”

Matron’s attitude changed in an instant, “Of course, a sensible idea.  Would you be so kind as to write the address out for your letters, Captain Harsker?” She actually smiled at Beatrice, “Quick thinking Nurse Porter.”

I grabbed a piece of paper and, after writing the address of the airfield added, ‘
And I love you, xx please write
.’ I folded it and gave it to her. She opened it and nodded. “Thank you, Captain Harsker and good luck.”

“Thank you, Nurse Porter, for all that you have done for me.”

I was propelled through the door by Matron using a hand which could have done service in a blacksmith’s!

Joe had spread the word and there were two lines of nurses and orderlies outside the doors as I left the hospital.  They all applauded and began cheering.  Even Matron joined in. When I got to the door of the car Joe said, “Your bag’s in the car sir.  I hope to see your name in the paper with another twenty kills eh sir?”

I nodded and turned to speak with them, “Thank you all. You have made my stay here more than pleasant. I feel as though I have stayed with dear friends.” I spoke to them all but my eyes were on Beatrice. 

I stepped in to the car and back into the war. The door slamming shut seemed ominous. The driver, a corporal said, “We’ll have to get a move on, sir. There is a bit of a flap on.”

He put his foot down and we sped through the London streets. I suddenly noticed that it was a very luxurious staff car. “Whose car is this corporal?”

“Why it is General Henderson’s sir. He sent it special for you.  There’s something happening in France and they need you back there.  I am taking you to the airfield at Greenwich.  There’s an aeroplane waiting to take you over to France.”

I closed my eyes.  I had not had much of a rest. The thought of flying over the chilly Channel did nothing to make me feel any better. I suddenly remembered that I had no flying gear. “Hang on Corporal, I haven’t got a flying coat.  I’ll freeze up there.”

I heard a laugh, “The general thought of that sir. You’ll find my greatcoat next to you.  You can use that.”

“But what about you Corporal?  Won’t you need it?”

He tapped his nose as he looked at me through the driving mirror, “Don’t you worry about that, sir.  I’ll end up with a better one.  And there’s a flying helmet and goggles there too, sir.  The general thinks of everything.”

“He does indeed, Corporal, he does indeed.” This efficiency was not what I wanted but I would have to live with it. Now resigned to being back in France I began to work out what it meant.  There could only be one real answer, an offensive and they needed every experienced pilot they could lay their hands on.  I suspected that the promise of a new bus would have to go by the board. It would be the old Gunbus for me.

The airfield at Greenwich was a familiar one. I had flown from here before. The corporal took my bag out and then held the greatcoat, goggles and flying helmet. He handed me my hat.  He saluted.  “Good luck, Captain Harsker,” he pointed to the medal ribbons on my chest, “you’ll be after a V.C. next, eh sir?”

Then he jumped in the car and roared off towards Central London once more. I put the greatcoat on to free up one hand. I jammed the goggles and the helmet into the greatcoat’s pocket and trudged over to the office.  The duty sergeant glanced up and, seeing the corporal’s greatcoat returned to his lists and said, “What can I do for you corporal?”

“Er that would be Captain Harsker and I believe I am flying today.”

The sergeant leapt to his feet and saluted, “Sorry sir, I should have recognised you.  It was the jacket that threw me.” He pointed to the end of the airfield where there was a Gunbus waiting. “It’s over there sir. I’ll go and get the duty officer.”

He disappeared into the office and a young lieutenant came out.  He shook my hand, “I say, what an honour, Captain Harsker, a real ace. I saw the photograph of you with the King.  I wish I was over there flying with you chaps.  The knights of the skies and all that; it sounds like jolly good fun.”

The reality was somewhat different to the public’s perception. It was not the lieutenant’s fault. “I believe I am flying today?”

“Er yes sir, Lieutenant Carstairs is your pilot.  He is joining your squadron.” I looked around to see if I had missed the pilot. “Oh he is on his way from town I believe.”

“Well I was rushed here and told that it was urgent, where is he?”

The lieutenant looked embarrassed and the sergeant found his paperwork more interesting. “Er Jamie, that is Lieutenant Carstairs, wanted to see a show in town last night so…”

“I see. Well I shall wait by the Gunbus.  Sergeant, make sure he gets to the bus as soon as he arrives. I do not like hanging around for second lieutenants who just want a good time.” I glared at the young lieutenant, “There is a war on, apparently!”

The sergeant grinned at the lieutenant’s discomfort, “Righto sir.  I’ll chase him up the minute he comes through the gate.”

I hefted my bag onto my shoulder and began to walk down to the aeroplane. I jammed the bag into the front cockpit and took the opportunity to examine the aeroplane. It was factory new.  I hoped that the mechanics had serviced and run it.  The men who built them did not have to fly them. I did not relish a swim in the icy Channel. I put my cap in the cockpit and donned my flying helmet. I walked around to the engine and saw, to my relief, that it was fitted with the Rolls Royce Eagle engine and not the older Gnome. I peered in to see if there were any modifications.

I heard a voice, “Well don’t just stand there, get the damned thing started, I haven’t got all day! The sergeant said you had been here for some time, come on airman; I have a war to win!”

I looked up and saw the pilot. He had seen me near the engine wearing the corporal’s greatcoat and assumed I was a gunner. There was something about him I didn’t like.  He reminded me of Second Lieutenant Garrington-Jones who had been a very arrogant pilot.  I decided to play along and find out what kind of pilot he was.

I held the propeller and shouted, “Contact!”

“Well let me get in the damned bus!” I smiled and waited. “Righto, Contact!”

I spun the propeller and was delighted when it caught first time.  I raced to the front and whipped the chocks away.  Annoyingly the young pilot was not waiting for me to climb in before moving.  Luckily I had done this a few times and I quickly scrambled on board.

He was not a good pilot. He tried to lift up three times before he succeeded.  Luckily the FE.2 did not need a great deal of grass and eventually we were in the air. We wobbled alarmingly as he, I assumed, tried to look at the map and fly the aeroplane.  This did not bode well! He should have planned his route before we took off and not while we flew. Also, the first part of the flight was easy, you just followed the Thames.  When we reached the sea it might be interesting.