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Explorer
972 Posts |
 Posted - June 11 2006 : 08:48:45 AM
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"Thunderbolt Over Burma"
By Explorer
{This story contains violence (military combat), sex, and possible profanity, and is rated MATURE. Before reading it, be sure that you are of legal age (usually 18) to read Adult content material where you reside. If your parents might object, ask before reading this. Characters and situations are fictitious, or are used fictitiously, and no resemblance to any person other than historical figures is intended. Certain historical figures are used in a fictitious context. Some places are also used fictitiously. "Blackpool" was real, commanded with distinction in the face of great odds by Brevet Brig. John Masters, DSO.}
Certain characters are from the television show, "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World", and others are their adult children. I do not own rights to this show, and the mating of these characters was not portrayed on that show. Arthur and Caroline Challenger are my own creations. Lord and Lady Roxton and George and Finn Challenger are from the show, although neither couple was married when that show ended.
This story is dedicated to Dr. Mathilde Egyed, who enjoyed it, and who made an accompanying video.
September, 1944, Over Burma
Tom Howard looked across the hundred feet of sky separating him from his wingman, and saw Frank Stevens look back. Stevens shrugged: he had had no sight of the enemy, either. Yet, they must be close...
Fifteen minutes before, the two P-47D Thunderbolts had been patrolling 190 miles NE of their base in eastern India, mainly getting in hours to draw their flight pay for the month. The Japs hadn't sent many planes their way for awhile, and those that had come had been engaged by RAF Spitfire MK VIII's before they were in range of the U.S. Army Air Corps base from which Howard and Stevens flew. The only action that Howard had seen since arriving two months before had been escorting B-25 Mitchell medium bombers to their ground targets and home on a few occasions. There had been no aerial opposition, the enemy not being as strong a presence as they had in previous days. At one time, they had menaced India, and Allied forces had been lucky to retreat with no more losses than the terrible ones that they had suffered when the Japs came into Burma after the fall of Singapore. Now, the momentum was swinging the other way, and the chance for an air kill was fairly rare.
Howard had transferred to Burma after almost four years of fighting Germans, first as an American volunteer in the RAF, then transferring to the USAAF after America entered the war and got fighter units to Britain in 1942. He had had to bail out after his P-47, the earlier version called a razorback, had taken heavy hits from the cannon on an FW-190 that was attacking a formation of B-17's over Alsace, en route home after bombing a ball-bearing factory in Germany. Howard had been assisted by French underground agents, and been recovered by a Lysander one dark night, after fighting for three weeks as a guerilla with the French.
On returning to Britain, he had been reminded that he could no longer fly over France, lest he be shot down and be forced to reveal his French connections to the Nazis. The D-Day invasion had been over a month away, and no one much below Eisenhower's staff had realized how close it was. Howard had been offered an instructor's job in the States, or taking this assignment to Burma. Wanting to see more action and possibly ring up additional kills before the war was over, he had chosen to see scenic Burma. Promoted to Major, he was now the executive officer of a fighter wing operating a mix of Thunderbolts and Mustangs. Eventually, there would be all Mustangs, but the newer planes were in short supply, with most still being designated for service in Europe or to escort B-29's over the Japanese home islands, where their great range was much appreciated.
Howard had taken off that morning in his usual mount, a P-47D with the new "bubble" canopy inspired by the one on the British Hawker Tempest, and now being fitted also to recent P-51 Mustangs. It gave a terrific view compared to the older "razorback" P-47, but lowering the fuselage to fit the big, clear canopy had created a degree of turbulence that came into play as speed dropped for landing and on takeoff. One had to pay more attention at these times, lest the plane yaw abruptly, but he was used to it, and loved the better view in the improved cockpit. His plane bore the painted-on name of Texas Ranger, beside the replica of a badge of that famous law enforcement outfit. His wingman was from New England, and had designated his own fighter as Yankee Clipper, with a painting of a tall tea ship on the cowling. Both planes were basically the natural silver without camoflage paint, save that they had a broad strip of olive drab in front of the canopy, to prevent reflections off of the bright aluminum. The ends of the cowls were painted yellow, as were the tips of the black propellers.
They had been cruising at 18,000 feet, looking for targets of opportunity, when the radio had crackled with an order to go to Channel Two and speak to the controller from RAF Station Rammalabad, codenamed Ancestor after Air Commodore Charles Redgrave had been notified last month that his daughter had turned him into a grandfather. Redgrave, senior RAF officer in the area, hadn't been content to hand out cigars and buy a round of drinks in the officers' club, so they had a new codename to remember...
Howard had switched frequencies and hailed the controller: "Hello, Ancestor, this is Ranger One. You rang for us?"
"Hallo, Ranger One, this is Ancestor. Yes, indeed, we have some trade for you about 40 miles to your SE port, a formation of bogies that we think are enemy. Radar paints some 25 aircraft, and they aren't ours or yours. We have directed a returning flight of Beaufighters and their Spitfire escort to close with them, but our chaps are getting low on fuel and ammunition; they have already hit their target and are returning to base. I'm sure they'd fancy some help if you'd like to lend a hand." He gave coordinates.
"Ranger One acknowledging. Turning toward target. Thanks for the work, Ancestor. Things were pretty boring up here until now."
"Ranger One, roger, and good hunting. I say, you lot do know what Beaufighters and Spits look like, don't you? Can't have you popping off at our lads..."
"Roger, Ancestor; I used to fly Spits. I'm one of The Few," Howard assured the controller, and signalled across to Stevens to follow him as he turned sharply to port (left) and followed the directions given.
Now, the two big American fighters held 300 miles per hour, scanning the sky, glad they were above the clouds, stalking their prey. Stevens, who had exceptional eyesight, even for a pilot, spotted the quarry first. "Ranger One, I see bogies at ten o'clock, angels 15, moving toward Blackpool." Blackpool was a British base and the Jap bombers were probably after it, or the supply base on the river below Blackpool.
"Roger, Ranger Two, I see them. Let's head that way." Howard turned the stick, and the flight of two moved toward probable action.
Howard was first to discern the outlines of the Betty bombers and the accompanying fighters. One plane shifted slightly, and he could make out the Rising Sun emblem on its starboard wing.
"Tallyho, Ranger Flight," he called. "Ancestor, where are your aircraft? We have confirmed bandits in sight, 20- plus. Bettys with a mix of Oscar and Tony escorts." He gave his position.
"Ranger One, Ancestor. We anticipate our elements arriving in one to two minutes. Will you wait, or attack now? Those people are getting awfully close to the supply depot for Blackpool..."
"Roger, Ancestor. We'll attack now. We'll make a firing pass on the bombers and get out for a second run, hopefully without getting hit. Tell your men to hurry. We're good pilots, but the odds are pretty high here."
Ancestor signalled accord, and Howard spoke to his wingman.
"Frank, lets swing in fast as Hell and see if we can drop a bomber each before they catch on that we're here. If the fighters try to corner us, dive hard and disengage and meet me at angels 18 about a mile to their rear. Drop your auxilliary fuel tanks now. Got all that?"
Stevens replied that he had. Then, "Lay on MacDuff, and damned be him who first cries, 'hold, enough'!"
Howard, who had also read Shakespeare and whose favorite play was either, "MacBeth" or, "Julius Caesar" (he could never decide) laughed and said, "Roger, attacking now. Give 'em Hell, Frank."
He reached for the throttle, and the powerful Pratt & Whitney 2800 radial engine roared as he increased power and began a shallow dive into the formation of enemy aircraft. He flicked off the safety to the guns and blessed the punch the eight .50 caliber Brownings gave. He silently prayed, "Lo, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, Thou art with me. Lord of Hosts, Lord of Battles, grant me thy grace, that I may triumph over these odds and do thy will unto these heathen foe." The irony that the enemy probably didn't consider themselves heathen, by their standards, didn't cross his mind. The things that they had done at Pearl Harbor, at the Rape of Nanking, on the trail of tears after the fall of Bataan and Singapore, left him in no doubt that the men he was about to kill were heathen, by his standards. He pushed the stick forward, diving fast now, hoping to get in a few bursts from his guns before the agile Jap fighters reacted.
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Edited by - Explorer on August 07 2006 9:05:41 PM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - June 12 2006 : 11:33:55 AM
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A thousand yards...get in close, damn, you, Howard, he thought. Make this first burst count...
The Japanese fighter leader saw the Thunderbolts as they closed to within five hundred yards. Their noses were pointing dead-on at his flight, or he would surely have seen them sooner. He called a break, and his element of Tonys, the Kawasaki Ki-61 Hien, to give them their official name instead of the Allied recognition code, broke right and tried to turn into the Americans. The slower Oscars moved forward to better shield the Betty naval bombers.
Howard howled past the turning Tonys and found an Oscar Ki-43 Hayabusa in his gun sight. He pressed the trigger and the eight Browning .50's roared and shook the plane. The awesome firepower stretched out to the Oscar, raking it from the left wingroot forward to the engine cowling. The lightly built enemy fighter shuddered and burst into flames as Howard quit firing and pulled up the P-47's nose to avoid the doomed foe.
The Oscar spun out and began a flat spin, the pilot probably dead. Howard drilled past another Oscar and aimed at the fuselage of the nearest bomber. They sometimes called the Betty the Flying Cigar, for the shape of its fuselage. A cigar with wings, one that had no armor and fuel tanks that weren't self sealing, and were very vulnerable to machine gun or aerial cannon fire.
He saw the gunner send a spray of tracer bullets his way, and several pinged into his mount. Then, he drew a bead and squeezed the trigger again. The tail gunner on his quarry convulsed and fell backward in a shower of his own blood. A second burst from the P-47 hammered the rudder and the horizontal stablizers, and the Jap pilot tried to pull up. This just exposed the back of the plane to another burst from the eight .50's, which had a gruesome blow at this range, under 150 yards and closing. Howard walked the stream of tracers and armor-piercing incendiaries along the Betty, swinging wildly to port as the first flames from the forward fuel tanks blossomed and the Betty bucked in his sights.
He heard Stevens yelling into his radio headset. "Ranger One, break left, harder! There's an Oscar on your tail!"
He glanced back and saw the nimble Ki-43 swing in tightly, tracking him, and dual columns of tracer from the nose guns leaped out toward him.
He was immediately involved in a deadly dogfight, and dived, something that a Thunderbolt could do better than any other plane in the world. But there was a mountain range thrusting up below, and he realized that he hadn't room to lose his attacker. Howard instead pulled up and executed a three-dimensional roll, something that the P-47's finely harmonized controls allowed in spite of its size and power. He had no hope of turning with a German fighter, let alone the still more aerobatic Japanese models, but that complex roll often astonished the enemy, and could substitute for inability to turn tightly, per se.
The roll brought him screaming down right into the face of the enemy pilot, who looked frightened out of his wits, which he had cause to be! Both pilots had time to fire a short burst at one another, and Howard felt the 12.7mm bullets thud into his engine and one skewed off the propeller, marking a shiny path across the spinning blades. Another cracked the top of his canopy. Then, the Oscar tried to turn, but neither pilot had room to evade. The fighters collided, and Howard felt a nasty jolt as the lighter "Jap job" slammed into his starboard wing.
He pulled up and looked around, seeing the Oscar spinning out of control, its port wing completely gone. The Thunderbolt was still flying and Howard turned toward a Betty, whose dorsal gunner was sending fire his way. He steadied the P-47 and slammed a three second burst into the side of the bomber, then swerved to avoid a second collision.
He got down out of the melee as he heard the RAF fighters joining in, and took stock of his situation. The damaged wing had a deep dent, with scraping of the finish across the whole wing, and the aeliron was partly impaired, although it worked if he applied force. His engine was overheating, probably pierced by enemy fire, and Howard knew that it would be suicidal to rejoin the fray. He turned slowly, trying to see Stevens.
What he saw instead was a Tony detach itself and come down after him.
"I think I'm about to have a very bad day," he muttered, yelling for Stevens to help if he could see them.
"Break left, Yank, and dive, if you can," came over the radio. The accent was the patrician tones of an upper class Englishman.
Howard complied, as best he could, telling whoever had called that he was in a bad way. The Thunderbolt was tough, but even it had limits...
The Tony turned effortlessly and Howard saw the pilot open up, flashes coming from both nose and wing guns. The Ki-61 was essentially a Jap revision of the basic Messerschmidt 109, using a copy of its BMW fuel-injected engine. It wasn't quite as quick to turn as the famed Zero or the Oscar, but it was certainly more manuverable than the big US fighter, even if Howard's plane hadn't been damaged. As was, he had no hope of evasion. He thought for an instant of turning on his tormentor and risking a second collision.
Then, he saw the Tony yaw and veer off, smoke coming from the engine. Flashes sprang out along its side and along the underside of the wings as the Tony rolled and showed its belly.
A Spitfire flashed past, then turned, watching the Tony to be certain that it was out of the fight. The British pilot wanted to avoid firing any more than he had to, having used half his ammunition in strafing a ground target after his Beaufighter fighter-bombers had worked it over. Satisfied that the Jap was indeed out of the fight, Group Capt. Arthur Challenger, DFC, OBE, etc. called over to his American counterpart, asking how airworthy his Thunderbolt was.
"Come take a look at me, if you will," answered Howard. "I think I'm hit fairly badly, and an Oscar flew right into my starboard wing."
"Righto, I saw that. Very stimulating to watch, I must say," came the response. Challenger brought his Spitfire alongside the P-47, dipping below to better see the damage, then looking hard at the fluid leaking from the abused engine.
"You're for it, Yank," he said somberly. "You probably have a minute or so to decide whether to see if your parachute was packed right or elect to crash land. You're losing oil,badly, and your engine is starting to glow. Get out, now! We have troops in the area below. Try to stay clear of the Japs, and look for them!"
He pulled off to give Howard room to bail out, and saw the damaged canopy open. Howard spoke a last time into his microphone before disconnecting it and unbuckling his harness. "Hey, Spitfire man! See if you can find my wingman and tell him what happened to me!" He heard a promise to do so, and then ripped off the microphone, and turned the big Thunderbolt on its back and dropped into space.
Challenger saw the parachute open several thousand feet below him, and swung his nose up. He could fight another minute or so, then low fuel would compel him to break and run for home. A few more short bursts, and both his cannon and his .303 machine guns would run dry, too.
He glanced up and saw a Beaufighter make a run on a Betty bomber, its quartet of 20mm cannon and the six .303's in the wings flashing. The Betty erupted in flames, then exploded, and Challenger swung his nose hard to starboard to avoid the burning debris. He silently wished the American pilot luck. He would need a full ration of that: the jungle below held not only enemy troops, but a profusion of other dangers from cobras to tigers and leopards and wild elephants.
Two thousand feet above the green tops of the trees, Howard tried to steer his parachute toward a small clearing. He had no desire to have the 'chute become entangled in the tree tops, swinging him helplessly until he starved or a Jap soldier saw him and gave him a bullet to end his despair.
"That's two P-47's I've lost now for Uncle Sam," he thought. "But I've given better than I've taken. I made my 23rd kill today. I just hope this wasn't the last one..." He braced for impact as his feet neared the ground, thankfully beyond the trees.
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Edited by - Explorer on July 31 2006 7:59:57 PM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - June 14 2006 : 5:32:29 PM
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Howard saw the ground reaching up to him, put his ankles together, and remembered to roll as he hit the surface, his landing being cushioned somewhat by the tall grass.
He rolled, got his parachute under control in the mild breeze, and discarded it under some nearby foliage, where the Japanese would hopefully have trouble finding it. A rotting log helped to conceal it.
Taking a leafy bough that he found on the ground, he brushed out his tracks as best he could, and went into the jungle to take stock of his situation.
He examined the contents of his clothing and gear, wishing that he had had a way to carry a pack in the 'plane, but bulk and the need to not snag anything as one bailed out had precluded that. In future generations, that need would be addressed by a special seat pack that fit below the parachute. For him, that was, "pie in the sky, by-and-by"...
He had a Smith & Wesson .45 revolver (a privately purchased version of the M-1917 Army model) and a box of fifty cartridges, plus the six in the gun and the 12 rounds in pouches on his webbing belt. He also had a Beretta M-34 pistol in the official Italian-issued holster that he had bartered from a Scottish soldier who had captured it in Tunisia. After confirming that its "9mm Corto" cartridges were the same as the American .380 ACP, he had bought a box of Remington ammunition for it while on leave in the States, and had the gun and its spare magazine loaded with that. The extra magazine fit in a pocket sewn on the front of the dull green Italian holster, but he had only the 16 shots in this gun and the spare "clip". It reposed in a pocket of his flight jacket.
He wore a Remington RH-36 knife with a six-inch blade and a leather handle capped with a metal pommel, and had a whetstone to keep it sharp. In his right pants pocket was a Case brand Boy Scout utility pocketknife, and he had a full canteen on the belt. He had matches, the waterproof sort, a silk map of the region, gold coins, a candle, water purification tablets, fishing hooks, a few other useful bits and pieces of kit that might let him survive in the jungle long enough to be rescued. Perhaps best of all, he had the attitude that he was going to come through this, heck or high water.
Howard moved off the area where he had landed, trying to step on rocks and hard spots of ground until he was some distance away from the parachute. Unless the Japs or local villagers they impressed had dogs, he might well evade them, if they didn't find him quickly. He doubted that many of them could track well. Unlike the Germans, whose forces included many hunters trained to track, inluding some professional jaegers and gamekeepers, the Japanese had no hunting cultural background to speak of, and this should work to his advantage. Did they have Boy Scouts? He laughed as soon as the thought struck him. He would have trouble imagining a nationality less suited to the Scout code or to Western principles.
He had gone barely a mile of tortuous travel in the ferns and undergrowth that covered the ground when he heard someone or something moving ahead of him, to his left. Howard immediately went to ground under a big fern that should break up his outline and shade him. A large tree might act as cover if he was fired on, too. He drew the Smith & Wesson and tried to breathe as silently as possible.
The noise paused, as if someone was listening, then continued. The steps turned in his direction, and his heart almost stopped beating!
HIs finger tightened on the trigger, and he prepared to sell his life as dearly as he could. He had no intention of being captured alive by the Japanese, who were known for such fun as using prisoners for bayonet practice.
There was a sudden bark and a thrashing of hooves as a muntjac (barking deer) exploded from the jungle before him. It had probably caught his scent in the shifting air currents, and panicked. Howard hoped that no tiger or Jap listening had heard its alarm call.
He had decided that it was safe to proceed, and was getting up when he heard another sound of stealthy approach. This time, he knew in his gut that the noise was made by humans. He had no more than thought this, when he heard muffled speech. He had been found! |
Edited by - Explorer on June 15 2006 5:47:43 PM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - June 15 2006 : 3:45:47 PM
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Keeping as silent as he could, Howard parted the fern slightly, and saw a column of men passing by some 25 feet away. They looked around carefully, but not down at the ground, and he was well covered by the foliage.
He realized with a start that although the men were Oriental, they didn't look Japanese, and the few words that passed between them didn't sound like Jap talk. Then, he realized with a start that their green uniforms and equipment were British!
Just as his mind registered this, a white officer walked up to talk to the man leading the column. They parlayed in the odd language, and Howard was wondering how to introduce himself without getting shot from surprise, when he heard motion at his rear, and a voice called, "Huzoor, Sahib!" There was a man standing there, Lee-Enfield rifle held ready, although not pointed quite at him...
He called out to the white man, who was walking over, Sten gun ready. He helped Howard crawl out from his refuge, and introduced himself: Lt. John Hammond, of The Duke of York's Own XIVth Ghurka Rifles.
Howard explained his plight, and the platoon of Ghurka (Nepalese mercenary) troops and their two British officers took him in tow, giving him some bully beef and crackers. He had been rescued!
The platoon completed its patrol and joined a company sweeping the area near the approaches to the supply dump servicing Blackpool. Howard was soon taken on a boat to the supply center. He was welcomed in the officers' mess, and two days later, was picked up by a Lysander that landed on the airstrip used to deliver supplies by the much larger Dakotas, the British name for the American C-47 transport aircraft. C-47's carried everything from mules to rice to paratroopers.
The Lysander took Howard to the RAF base called Ancestor, where he was assigned quarters and invited to the mess for dinner. His host would be Group Captain Challenger, the pilot who had shot the Tony off his tail! Small world, thought Howard... |
Edited by - Explorer on July 05 2006 4:35:44 PM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - June 18 2006 : 10:19:24 AM
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An orderly, called a "batman", arrived to launder his uniform and he was loaned RAF clothing while this was done.
At seven that evening, he arrived at the door of the mess, as instructed. An Indian doorman looked at him dubiously, and told him that, "pistol should be left in quarters, and dress uniform required for dinner, Sahib. You meeting British officer host here, yes, perhaps?"
"It's all right, Gupta," said a voice from within, and an RAF officer stepped forward and asked if he was Maj. Howard. When told that this was so, the man said, "Right, Gupta, this fellow is the OC's guest tonight. Will you follow me, Sir? I'm Flying Officer Graham, by the way." He offered his hand, which Howard shook.
Graham led the way to a table with two other officers, one wearing the stripes of a Group Captain on his jacket. He also wore the ribbon for the Distinguished Flying Cross. Howard happily noted the three ladies present. He had not seen attractive white women in months, and tried not to stare.
Challenger introduced himself, Squadron Leader Phillip Smyth, and the women. One was Lady Diana Hamilton, an elegant brunette with a twinkle in her eye and a smile that melted Howard's heart. The other two, both blonde, were introduced as refugees from the Netherlands East Indies. The taller was Astrid van Rijn, the other, Kirstin Mulder.
Howard apologized for his appearance, and explained his flying uniform. "I wasn't expecting to be here tonight, but several Japs shot the bejabbers out of my P-47, and I had to bail out and impose on these gentlemen for their hospitality. Had I known that you ladies would be here, I'd have tried to get shot down sooner!"
Everyone laughed politely, and Lady Diana shot him a speculative look, as if she was wondering how much he was being gallant and how much of his compliment was pure "BS". He felt certain that Lady Diana was skilled in detecting insincere men...
"Right, " said Challenger, "who's drinking what?" He summoned a club steward and ordered a whisky and water. The others placed their requests, with Howard agreeing with Challenger's choice, specifying Dewar's scotch. He noticed that Lady Diana ordered gin and tonic. He decided to notice a lot about Lady Diana. Of course, with his luck, she was probably married to the Viceroy, or something, but Howard was at an age when a man's hope sprang eternal...
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Edited by - Explorer on June 18 2006 10:34:53 AM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - June 29 2006 : 8:28:03 PM
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"Have you heard anything about my wingman, Lt. Stevens?", asked Howard of his host.
"Yes," said Challenger. "Actually, I talked to him on the radio, and told him your fate, and he said that he'd notify your base, which we have also done. But Stevens's plane was shot up rather badly, and his radio was destroyed, just after I talked to him. He did land safely, although wounded. I'm told that he's in the base hospital, and expected to recover, but that his Thunderbolt is a loss, not worth repairing. "
"The good news," he continued, "is that Stevens shot down a Betty and an Oscar, which we confirmed, and you are confirmed with two Oscars, including the one whose wing your plane tore off, and one and a half Betty bombers. Moreover, in view of your courage and the outstanding airmanship that you demonstrated, the Air Commodore has recommended you for our Distinguished Flying Cross (he touched the ribbon on his breast) and suggested to your own commander that you be considered for the US version of this medal. Stevens will almost surely get an Air Medal, at least. He also had a rugged time of things, and is lucky to be alive. You two fellows showed a lot of pluck in attacking that big formation."
"Why didn't I get credited with both Bettys I hit?", asked Howard. "That last one took a three-second burst from eight .50 caliber guns, and I saw his left wing and engine brew up before I turned."
Both RAF officers looked a bit embarrassed, and Challenger explained, "Well, a Beaufghter was also firing at that plane, and he undoubtedly finished it off. I saw it; his claim is valid. I don't doubt that it would have exploded within a few more seconds, or just gone down in flames. As is, the diplomatic answer was to split that kill between you. We did. The Beaufighter pilot has never before scored in the air, and this means a lot to him. Do you mind very much?"
Howard said that he didn't object, given the explanation, and asked that his congratulations be passed to the other pilot sharing the kill.
Someone came to the door and gestured to Challenger. "Excuse me just a sec, will you, all? I'd better see what this is about."
When he had gone, and everyone was wondering who should speak next, Howard asked, as politely as possible, how long Challenger had been in the RAF. "He seems very competent and certainly has some nice awards, but isn't he pretty young to be a Group Captain? That's the equivalent of an American lieutenant colonel!"
"Yes", said Smyth, " he is rather young for the rest of us to refer to him as The Old Man, but he passed out of RAF Cranwell with honors, and has been flying fighters since. He's been in this war since '40, and casualties in some squadrons being what they were, especially during the Battle of Britain, he got promoted sooner than usual, even for wartime. His parents are very distinguished, of course, and his mother has raised quite a lot of money for the war effort, selling her jungle adventure books and devoting some of the profits of their films to the RAF. She also tours on speaking engagements, raising more funds. I suspect that being the son of Baron and Baroness Challenger hasn't hurt his career any, but the OC is a man who has real merit on his own. They say he's quite probably a genius, by the way, like his father."
Howard was impressed. "I think I've read about his parents, then. Isn't his father a bigtime inventor or something? And both parents write about their lives exploring remote jungles?"
"Yes, that's them: George and Nicole Challenger. Her friends call her Finn, and that's how she autographs some of her books. Her maiden name was Finnegan, I think, and she uses it as a nickname. His father was created a baron in the 1930's, to honor his inventions. Very distinguished gentleman; I've met him. His mum is more outgoing, much younger, and quite funny when she wants. She has her lecture audiences in stitches half the time, and her books are really something. She's the big game hunter of the two, her husband being more involved in studying local flora and fauna. She was to come here to raise money in India, but her husband is 78 now, and didn't feel up to the trip, so she stayed home with him. But Arthur's sister is coming, and that may what the chap at the door wanted. Her plane may have come in. I say, would you like another of those? I'll just wave the steward over." He gestured at Howard's glass.
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Edited by - Explorer on June 30 2006 07:31:02 AM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 10 2006 : 7:07:31 PM
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Howard declined another drink until he'd eaten, but asked for tea. This had just arrived,when a rustle of movement in the hall outside attracted their attention.
Then, Challenger led in a procession that caused all to rise, the men standing to attention. Not only was there a very attractive blonde girl, probably Challenger's sister, but the Air Commodore was there, and also an Air Vice-Marshal, the equivalent of a Major- General in the Army.
"Stand at ease, everyone," instructed the senior visitor. "Challenger, introduce me to your messmates and these other guests, if you will."
Challenger introduced everyone, it developing that Air Vice Marshal Sir John Thomas was the Air Attache to the Viceroy himself, out from his offices in New Delhi. One of the entourage was an Indian, a Flight Lieutenant with wings on his breast and the ribbons for two Air Medals. This man was the eldest son of the Maharajah of Rammalapur, whose impressive palace was just four miles distant from the base, and where the ladies stayed when not helping at the base hospital. His name was Ranjit Singh, and his father, the Maharajah, was one of the most powerful native rulers in the Raj, who was known to have the ear of the Viceroy, and personal connections even to the Royal family, having been knighted by the King-Emperor, George VI, himself. He was a valuable ally, to be coddled, and now his son was here in the mess. Howard, as well as the British officers, understood the importance of making a good impression on the son, who at least, was a fellow pilot.
As for Caroline Challenger, she stole his breath. The girl was young- he knew from talking with his new friends that she was 19- but she seemed more mature. Serene, regal, self assured, she was Quality with a capital "Q", and clearly knew it. But she also seeemed open and candid, with little pretense. She deferred to the senior officers and the Crown Prince of Rammalapur, but it was for her brother that she reserved her fondest looks. Clearly, the two were close, and seemed to share a special bond that many siblings did not. Howard was very taken with her, and it must have showed, for he noticed Lady Diana looking at him with amusement and a little jealousy. He hastily offered his hand to the officers, apologizing for his appearance and explaining that he had been shot down, and didn't have his dress uniforms with him.
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Edited by - Explorer on July 11 2006 9:22:33 PM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 12 2006 : 8:02:44 PM
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Sir John looked him up and down and mumbled something to the effect that, "we are all subject to Fate", and asked how long Howard would be staying at Ancestor base.
Challenger stepped in, deftly deflecting further displeasure on the Air Vice-Marshal's part by announcing that the American would be leaving in two days' time when the supply Dakota touched down. It was a USAAF C-47, and could return Howard to his base.
Dinner was announced, and Challenger led the way to a long table in the main room of the mess, where Howard found himself seated next to Lady Caroline, and almost across from Lady Diana. Arthur Challenger sat to his sister's left, near the head of the table, where Sir John had been invited to preside, although as Officer Commanding of the base, Group Captain Challenger would normally have occupied that seat. The Air Commodore sat to Sir John's right, then the Crown Prince, although Challenger outranked him, militarily.
Wine was brought, a Chateau LaTour of excellent vintage for red, and Le Montrachet for those preferring white wine. After learning that a fish course would be followed by chicken, Howard opted for a glass of each. When he saw the elegant preparation of the dishes, the Texan was impressed., Clearly, Challenger had known that VIP's were coming, or he was very fond of his sister. Howard had seldom seen so fine a meal since the war began. |
Edited by - Explorer on July 12 2006 8:05:00 PM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 13 2006 : 01:45:32 AM
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Dinner was as scrumptuous as it was elegant, and Howard ate heartily. But he was careful to listen to both Caroline Challenger and to the Hamilton woman, and spoke to each when he could think of anything worth saying.
Caroline asked how he had come to be shot down, and he told her, stressing the importance of her brother's contribution in saving his life from the Tony whose pilot had him in his sights.
"You mean that you and Lt. Stevens attacked over 20 Japanese planes on your own?!", Caroline exclaimed.
He modestly admitted that this was true, and he had her attention as he explained why he and his wingman thought they had the proverbial snowball's chance in Hell of surviving. It had largely to do with the Thunderbolt's speed, diving ability, the heavy firepower, and their raw audacity.
"I expect that your, ah, audacity, comes in handy in fighting those Comanches that you have back in Texas, eh?" teased Caroline. " I see them in the movies, you know. I'm sure the movies are accurate, aren't they? What's your horse's name? Don't all cowboys have horses? Do you really live on a ranch?"
Howard told her that he did indeed have a ranch; his family owned two, running cattle on one. The other was mainly for hunting, fishing, and nature study, and was his pride and joy. "Most of the family money today is really in oil, though," he admitted.
"Are you awfully rich, then?," Lady Diana wanted to know. "That black, smelly stuff must sell for rather a lot, especially with the war on."
"Yes, " he admitted. "The family is very well off, which is how I was able to attend university in Britain, which is what I was doing when the war broke out. But my brother is the main businessman, with our parents. I plan to teach paleontology at a Dallas university and manage my private investments. One of the things I look forward to is getting back on my ranch and helping to excavate a dinosaur skeleton that we discovered there in 1940."
This prompted an outburst of questions, and he explained that the skeleton was that of a trachodon, a duck-billed Cretaceous species, and then as soon as he could, shifted the conversation to the Challengers and their illustrious parents.
Caroline explained that she was selling autographed copies of their books, to one of which she and Arthur had each contributed a chapter. THe funds raised would go to buying new aircraft and for charity work among RAF families who had lost their men in battle.
After a time, Sir John broke in to ask if Caroline would sell some of the books and attend tea at the Maharajah's palace the next afternoon. She could show her mother's films of wild animals and her famous hunts. The Maharajah had especially requested her presence and that of her brother.
Ranjit Singh interceded enthusiastically. "My father will be pleased to provide you with full facilities for this, and you will be welcome at a tiger hunt on Friday, if you will honor us with your presence. You, too, of course, Group Captain."
It was decided that the events would be a delight for the Challenger siblings, and Challenger asked Smythe to stand in for him whle he was at the palace and hunting.
That settled, talk turned to the war and to what might lie after, with the issue of Indian independence looming so large in everyone's minds.
"I fear greatly for our future if Britain leaves this area and such people as Ghandi and this man Nehru come to power, " said Ranjit Singh. He explained to Howard that a central government elected by those common people who supported independence would probably abolish the separate states and other holdings of the Maharajahs, and institute a socialist government run by themselves. "In time," he prophesied, "an independent India might well break ways with our traditional alliances, and even pose a threat to the West. My father and I are greviously concerned."
And, so it went, Howard taking all this in, while slipping in what he could to Caroline and Arthur Challenger. He noted that the young Group Captain seemed very sophisticated for a man of his years, and that his senior officers were often impressed with what he had to say. Howard made careful note of this. In fact, he was impressed, himself. So was Astrid van Rijn, whom Challenger seemed to know rather well, Howard noticed...
Conversation then drifted, as always, to discussion of planes and tactics, and Howard found himself invited to test fly a Spitfire in the morning. Well, he thought: this has been a productive evening. First I get the best meal that I've had in months, with high-ranking, exotic company, now I also get to fly a MK. VIII! I must be doing something right, or the Lord is taking pity on little old me. He returned to his visitors quarters' room feeling very good, indeed.
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Edited by - Explorer on July 15 2006 11:28:51 AM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 13 2006 : 03:57:44 AM
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Many miles away, Rear Admiral Shinji Yamahiro was also having a nice evening. The weather was calm, and submarines sent ahead to scout his route reported no Allied warships in his path. He took a last look at the stars with his binocular, then scanned the sea on all sides. He saw nothing, save the cruisers and destroyers shielding his two aircraft carriers. One of the destroyers was returning at flank speed from investigating a possible British submarine that had proven to be a false sonar signal. The bow frothed white as it sliced through the sea, and Yamahiro thought that the sight was both dramatic and beautiful.
"Sir, all is ready. You should get some rest before dawn," said his aide, Lt. Commander Fuchida, a distant relative of the officer who had led the Pearl Harbor attack.
"Very well, Fuchida," the admiral conceded. "I shall be in my cabin. Have me roused when we enter the Bay of Bengal. We will conduct officers' call in the wardroom at six, with my address to the fleet. I expect that all planes flying in this operation will be ready to depart by 0800 hours. (Eight AM.)" And he headed for his cabin and a fleeting, much needed nap. |
Edited by - Explorer on July 17 2006 11:32:00 PM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 15 2006 : 11:43:49 AM
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Tom Howard rose early, called his base to confirm his transport on the incoming C-47 the next day, and caught up on gossip in the squadron. He then had breakfast, which involved real eggs, from jungle fowl that were kept by the cook in a wire enclosure. These were a delicacy to an American who had been served powdered eggs in his own mess hall, far too often. The war's food and fuel shortages were one of its worst aspects for the average soldier...
After eating with the members of the officers' mess, he was taken out to the flight line in a Jeep. He was shown to a Spitfire MK. VIII, and updated on the changes in the controls since he had flown earlier Marks. Then he got in and waited while Challenger and Ranjit Singh entered their fighters. Singh normally flew Beaufighters, but was also rated for single engine fighters, and wanted to refresh his skills in one. As a dignitary, his request was readily granted, and he was joining Challenger and Howard in an early morning patrol east of the base.
Howard started the powerful Rolls-Royce Merlin engine and idled it as he ran a check of the control panel, then strapped into his seat. When Challenger signalled to do so, he closed the canopy and they taxied out to the takeoff point, a ground crewman riding on the left wing of each Spitfire. He directed the pilot, who couldn't see over the long nose until he got up enough speed to lift the tail and have a level view.
Now ready, the Spitfires revved their engines and the tower signalled, "Finn Flight, you are cleared for takeoff. Good hunting, Skipper."
Challenger acknowledged, then they accelerated down the runway. Howard had seen Challenger's craft up close earlier, and knew that the pilot had named it, "Finn's Fancy", after his explorer mother. This name was painted on the nose, as his Thunderbolt had carried the Texas Ranger label. The Group Captain had sentimentally told the tower to designate this element as Finn Flight, and so they were now known, for the duration of the mission. A simple patrol...
Howard felt the controls respond and raised his landing gear as he cleared the packed dirt runway. The Spitfire felt like a thing alive, compared to his big American Thunderbolt. It was even faster and more manueverable than the older examples that he had flown from the Battle Of Britain through early 1943. It would turn on the proverbial dime, making it a deadly foe for German fighters that could sometimes outclimb or outdive it, although the margin was now slim between this splendid machine and a Focke-Wulf 190. It still couldn't outmanuever the best Jap fighters at low speeds, but above about 275 miles per hour, he had a good chance of doing so. If it came to an all-out speed contest, the Japanese fighters, other than the new Kawanishi "Frank", would seldom make much over 360 miles per hour. The MK. VIII Spit would exceed 400 miles an hour! Of course, his P-47 would do even better, and was more rugged, but harder to turn. He felt that in the Spit, he was driving a sports car, compared to the truck feel of the P-47!
Challenger took them on a wide sweep of the jungle to the east, and Howard hoped that the Crown Prince was enjoying the flight as much as he was. From 12,000 feet (Angels 12), they had a good view of the terrain, and enough height to clear any local hills. They could also see either air or ground targets well.
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Edited by - Explorer on July 15 2006 12:03:50 PM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 15 2006 : 12:18:41 PM
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Standing out some 45 miles to sea, Rear Admiral Yamahiro consulted his meteorology officer, getting the latest weather report. All was well.
He checked his watch. Seven-forty AM. He nodded to the captain of the aircraft carrier that was his flagship, and that officer commanded, "Turn into the wind. Pilots will start their engines."
"Hai!" said the helmsman, and gave the order to turn. Lamps flashed the signal to the fleet, and the ships began a gradual forty degree turn to bring their bows in line with the wind...and the land, for they were now aimed at the coast of Burma, not far from the Indian border.
The dive bombers went off first, from both carriers. Sixty Vals, climbing to 14,000 feet. Then, the faster Zero escorts left the decks, climbing to 18,000 feet, hopefully above any British or American fighters they might encounter. In this theater of war, really high altitude missions, as found over Europe, were rare.
"Have you consulted with our Army colleagues?", asked the admiral of his air boss.
"Yes, Sir. The code signal confirmed that all 75 Army planes were brought forward from their Thai bases to Burma, and they are inbound toward target. Our fliers should see them soon."
The admiral smiled, and accepted tea from his orderly. He sat down and examined his sword as an enlisted man trained in sword polishing brought it in. Yamahiro took care to avoid the fine old blade rusting at sea, and treasured this heirloom weapon, handed down in his family for three centuries. As he fondled it, sipping his green tea, he reflected on how different weapons had become since this sword had ridden astride a horse, wielded by a samurai warrior. Now, the Emperor's legions went to war in great ships and launched many aircraft. But death was still too often the outcome, and victory a prize grasped only through skill, cunning, and luck.
Yamahiro wondered who would have the most luck this day, him or Admiral Lord Mountbatten, his ultimate rival. Time would soon reveal that secret. |
Edited by - Explorer on July 21 2006 11:13:18 AM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 18 2006 : 11:07:38 AM
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Challenger led his three-plane flight over some ruins of ancient temples, and Howard marvelled at the strange civilization in this part of the world.
They had been aloft only some 20 minutes when the tower at the RAF base came on the air.
"Finn Flight, this is Ancestor. Urgent message: radar has detected large numbers of unknown aircraft, probably bandits, well past the Burmese coast and headed this way. Formations are of forty- plus in one case, and another formation of nearly 100. Request that you identify, and be aware that we have ordered a full strength scramble. We anticipate that your American guest's base is also responding. Look out for their aircraft. " The speaker gave range and bearing, suggesting a climb to angels 20 before intercepting.
"Roger, Ancestor. Finn Flight will investigate," Challenger's tone was clipped, businesslike. All three pilots knew that they might be flying into a hornets' nest, and that each breath from now on might be their final one.
"Finn 2, do you feel confident in proceeding? The plane doing well by you? Finn 3?"
Told by both Howard and Singh that they were ready for whatever came, Challenger led the trio of Spitfires in search of the bogies. They began with a steep climb that thrilled Howard as the trim craft clawed for altitude.
They found the enemy some 50 miles from their own headquarters, and rapidly decided to break up the formation, causing as much confusion as they could until more British or American fighters arrived. Challenger qiickly outlined a plan whereby he and Howard, as wingmen, would strike at the rear flight of the Japanese, with Singh trailing a half mile behind, to cover their tails.
With no more to say, Challenger called, "Hallo, Ancestor! Confirm bandits, forty-plus. Val dive bombers, and Zeke fighters. This is a naval effort on their part. Attacking now. Rush help to us. Even I need assistance, sometimes!"
"Roger, Skipper. All available aircraft are inbound to your location. Good hunting! Ancestor out."
"Right, everyone," Challenger spoke to his flight. "They sent plenty for each of us. Don't anyone feel greedy if you shoot down all that you can. Tallyho! Follow me! It's our guts on the ground or glory, lads!" And he dived steeply, aligning his gunsight on a Zero-Sen (code name Zeke) fighter. In his peripheral vison, he saw Howard on his right, keeping pace.
Within a minute, they would be in the nastiest dogfight of their lives, and those lives would be forever altered by the outcome of this desperate battle. |
Edited by - Explorer on July 21 2006 11:24:15 AM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 21 2006 : 11:08:13 AM
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Petty Officer Mitsuo Ozawa was leading the rear element of the Japanese fighter cover. He was scanning the sky as usual, watching his rear, too, always vital in a combat zone. He saw specks that materialized into two fighter planes coming down in a shallow dive, almost as if attacking. He could now see that they didn't have radial engines, as did most of his nation's planes, but thought that they were probably Ki-61 Hiens (Allied codename Tony) from the Army air units sent to join them and to strike mainly just to the east. Maybe they had been sent to guide the Navy planes to their targets, for the Army fliers were more familiar with the area. Still he should have been told...He felt irritation at this lapse more than fear, for it was inconceivable that just two Allied pilots would attack this large force.
It wasn't until he saw the flashes coming from the wings of the planes and saw tracer bullets zip past and than ping into his fuselage that the awful truth dawned on him. He could now see the shapes better, and the shooting confirmed his shocked realization: "Spitfires!", he shouted into his radio. It was the final thing he said in this life, for a 20mm cannon shell entered his cockpit, exploding on the dash, sending splinters of steel into him even before several .303 machine gun bullets arrived to finish killing him. His Zero snapped out and went into an unrecoverable spin. He was Arthur Challenger's 24th kill...
Flying hard on Challenger's wing, Howard pressed the firing button and saw his tracers and armor-piercing incendiary bullets raking the fighter ahead and to the right of Ozawa's. It, too, broke formation, rolling and going down trailing a thick plume of smoke. It caught the attention of the formation leader and several of his shipmates, and their radios rang with Japanese chatter as they realized that enemy fighters were among them, and had already killed two fellow pilots.
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Edited by - Explorer on July 21 2006 11:35:45 AM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 22 2006 : 10:03:08 AM
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There was an instant, violent melee, with confusion in the Japanese ranks, compounded by the unreliable radios in some of their aircraft.
But there was no doubt that the Spitfires and the men who flew them were hunted, with fierce determination.
A Zero got on Howard's tail, and the pilot stuck to him through several evasive manuevers. Desperate, the American made the tightest right turn he could manage, then, as the Jap pilot followed, he dropped his flaps and swung in an even tighter arc.
The Zero skidded out of control, unable to turn that closely. Had he realized what Howard was about to do and had he been one of Japan's top pilots who had given the Zero its formidable reputation, he would have been prepared, and could have probably made a tighter turn, resulting in the Texan's parents getting one of those dreaded messages from the War Department that begins, "We deeply regret to inform you that...". No American family ever wants to receive one of those telegrams.
As Howard recovered and raised his flaps, he saw the errant Zero come under the guns of Ranjit Singh, who had now closed the gap between him and the Anglo pilots in his flight. The Zero blew up, scattering flaming fuel and wreckage across the sky. Singh's Spitfire was hit by some, but he flew though the fireball and emerged ready for battle.
Howard saw Challenger on the tail of one Zero, with two others on his own rear.
"Singh, kill that man on Challenger's left; I'll get the other," radioed Howard, pushing the stick around to loop his plane and come down in firing position as he passed the unfortunate Japanese fighter that he had designated as his target.
"Righto, Major, I mean Finn Two. I shall blast him to smithereens! This plane flies like a dream. Surely, we shall score many victories today!" His laughter that followed took Challenger and Howard aback, and they hoped that Singh was only experiencing the emotional "high" of battle and not having a breakdown. Still, both Anglo pilots felt a similar elation as each pressed trigger on their own targets, sending them down as smoking, reeling wrecks. Only one parachute blossomed. |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 25 2006 : 8:45:27 PM
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The Jap fighter commander saw what was happening, and ordered several of his best pilots to engage the Spitfires and the remainder of his large flight closed up to better cover the dive bombers.
One very skilled Jap pilot saw Singh's plane. He was a veteran of the war in China since 1938, and had dueled American Navy Wildcats and Hellcats and Army P-39's and P-40's over Guadacanal and New Guinea. He had also downed several Corsairs, but was unfamiliar with the Spitfire and the Royal Navy variant, the Seafire. He knew their reputation, and realized the MK VIII was faster than he was, and could dive better. He would try to lure Singh into aerobatics below 300 MPH if he could. First, he'd try a dive from 1,000 feet above and see if that worked.
It did, and Singh felt the clatter of 13.2mm machinegun bullets and 20mm cannon shells on his plane. He turned sideways, exposing his fuselage, but minimizing the wide target that his fuel-laden wings offered. If the petrol or ammunition in those wings exploded, he would never sit on his father's throne, and he knew it...
The Jap pursued him into a dive. The enemy plane was an A6M5, the latest Zero in combat, and the skin had been beefed up to withstand higher speed dives, to at least 350 MPH, some 50 MPH beyond what the early versions would take before risking structural damage. The light weight that gave them such astounding manueverability and long range was a design minus when strength and diving speed were factored in. Both the Crown Prince and the Japanese pilot knew that the Zero had to catch the Spitfire quickly, before Singh's dive outdistanced his pursuer. Singh swung slightly right, a manuever that placed additional strain on the Zero's wings, but was too late, and again felt and heard the rattle of bullets striking his plane. He warped to port, feeling two 20mm cannon shells blow off his left aileron. He had trouble holding the Spitfire steady, and another burst from the Jap plane might be all that was needed to end the dogfight.
Howard saw what was happening, and swung his Spitfire after the Zero, firing all guns as his sights came to bear. The Zero was raked from engine to rudder, and smoke billowed from the engine. Howard started a starboard turn, accelerating as the Zero's fuel tanks blew, and flew through a fireball as the plane came violently apart. Something struck his port wing and rocked the Spitfire. He swore, words that were wholly unft for mixed company, but this situation was far from the dinner party of the night before!
Howard saw Singh steer away and heard him call out his damage and ask permission to return to base. Howard saw that his own port wing was dented, but the Spit seemed airworthy. Whether his port guns would work was a good question to which a Zero would soon demand an answer!
He looked around for Challenger, and saw him with four Zeros trying to box him in, and went to his aid.
One Jap pilot saw Howard coming, and flipped his plane over to meet the Spitfire head-on. He was a fraction late, and several cannon shells impacted his propeller and some bullets reached his engine and the right wing root. He flinched off, and Howard didn't pursue, opting to tackle another enemy hard on Challenger's tail. He put a quick burst into it, and saw it rock, then his port cannon jammed. The .303 gun still worked, but the heavier recoil from the starboard guns made marksmanship shakier than usual. Still, he hit the Jap's canopy, which disintegrated, and the pilot was blown clear of the plane as two cannon shells exploded under his seat. Another threat downed!
Correcting to fly wing with his British friend, Howard saw him wave and salute. At that moment, another fighter flashed across his vision and Howard almost sprayed it before he recognized the shape of a Mustang! The P-51B must be from either his own base or the Air Commando Wing operating in support of British ground forces. Reinforcements were arriving!
He called out to Challenger to be careful of his targets, and that officer replied that he had also seen the Mustang, and that others were coming down from above. The Anglo pilots located Singh, and followed him out of the melee, Challenger ordering Singh to return to base if he could still fly well enough.
Singh said that his lateral stability was impaired, and it became apparent that his rudder had also been chewed by enemy fire. But he was willing to risk flying home and trying to land the damaged fighter safely. Bailing out here would subject him to the jungle dangers that Howard had avoided by being rescued so quickly. Here, there was no infantry support below, and it might be weeks before he could walk out to safety. Japs and cobras might get him first.
Challenger and Howard swung back into the fray, and were soon embroiled in nasty dogfights that left both planes repeatedly holed, but downed three more Zeros before Challenger heard radio calls that made it clear that the fighter elements from his base had arrived.
Further up, two Vals and another Zero twirled out of the sky, trailing smoke. A Spitfire joined them, but the British pilot opened the canopy and rolled the plane, and his parachute soon showed. A Zero saw and headed down to shoot the man hanging below it. This distasteful act was common in this theater of war, less so when fighting the more chivalrous Germans. But it could happen anywhere that men fought for control of the air. A Beaufighter pilot after the Vals saw, and eased over and blasted the Zero with the force of the four 20mm cannon in its nose, and the threat vanished in a swirl of black smoke and orange flame.
Challenger and Howard each got another kill, then Howard damaged another Zero as his guns ran dry. He called out his status to Challenger, who was also now low on ammunition. The Englishman contacted the RAF formation leader and described his situation. The other man, probably Smyth, said, "Roger, Skipper, get home and reload and refuel. The Yanks are here now, too, and we seem to be breaking this lot up. I don't think they'll linger for long."
Challenger and Howard swung clear and found Singh, who was making barely 200MPH, favoring his lame mount. Challenger's plane was also so badly damaged that it shuddered above 300MPH. Howard's was the only fit Spitfire of the three, and his port guns were jammed and the starboard set empty! As they left the scene of the violent, swirling battle, five Zeros saw them leave and chased them.
Challenger looped carefully and fired a short burst that caught one Zero in a wing, and the enemy pilot panicked and swerved. Howard dived at another that was closing on Challenger, and this Zero also broke off and left. Howard made several passes at other Zeros as they approached, and they also broke off and ran. Probably new pilots who were afraid to tackle the skilled Spitfire ace, who seemed able to destroy them. Another had gained on Challenger when he saw Howard closing on him and he, too, broke and ran.
"I say, old man," called Challenger, "I thought you said that you were out of ammo!"
"Hell, I AM!," responded Howard. "But they didn't know it, thank God! Sir, can we vacate the premises now? I don't think I can keep getting away with this stuff with dry guns."
"Righto," the Englishman answered. "Follow me. I'm almost out of ammo, too, and this plane is shaking like a Masai dancer. Howard, I owe you a drink when the dust settles. You bailed me out three times today, and I'll make sure that your commander knows about it. I'll see you get some sort of gong for this, if I have to make it a British one."
"Thanks, Group Captain. You did pretty well, yourself. Finn Three, are you still coming along okay?"
Singh said that he was having trouble, but that base wasn't too far, and that if the Japs didn't bomb it first, he thought he could land.
And so, the three damaged Spitfires struggled to reach Ancestor base. But before they left the battle, they had seen a total of 12 enemy fighters and one dive bomber fall beneath their guns. It might not be a record for three pilots in one engagement, but it was very fine work, and they knew pride with the relief and anxiety that filled them. Now, if only they could land safely...was their runway even still there, or was it pockmarked so badly with Japanese bombs as to be useless?
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Edited by - Explorer on July 27 2006 3:20:55 PM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 27 2006 : 4:00:24 PM
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"Hallo, Ancestor?", called Challenger as they approached base. "This is Finn One. Can you give me landing instructions? How's our runway?"
"Finn One, Ancestor. Skipper, we've got a pockmarked runway. Looks like my sister when she had acne! Sir, can you divert please to the Maharajah's private runway? We're diverting traffic there for the moment. The ground crews are working like mad to get the holes filled in, and I think we'll be back in service here in about four hours. But now? We took maybe 20 to 25 bombs, and they did us no good. Buildings are mostly intact, but they went for the runways in earnest. Bloody Nips!"
Challenger acknowledged and called Finn Three, who assured them that his father's palace had ample runway length for modern fighters to land. They were soon on approach there, having alerted the palace through Ancestor's telephone link.
Singh landed first, babying the stricken Spitfire, aware of the narrow undercarriage that made landing trickier than with aircraft with wider-spaced wheels. He had flown Hawker Hurricanes before switching to Beaufighters, and he missed the Hurri's wonderful, wide landing gear now...
He touched ground, but his starboard tire collapsed, and he went into a skid. The plane swerved off the runway, and slammed into a tall tree. A Jeep at once started up and ran to rescue the royal pilot, heir to the Tiger Throne of Rammalapur.
The other Spitfires circled until their companion was pulled from the cockpit and the Jeep had withdrawn Then, Challenger, whose fuel was lowest, made the next approach. He saw a Thunderbolt II (the RAF issued P-47) and a Mosquito fighter-bomber, parked off to the side of the runway. Some Allied aircraft had already sought this haven.
Challenger landed safely, and taxied over toward the Mosquito. He called for Howard to land, and told him that the earth on the runway was solid, with no grass or pits to endanger landing.
Howard lined up his Spitfire and was soon safely on the ground. He taxied over toward Challenger, and parked his plane alongside the daring Englishman's.
Everyone was gathered around Singh, who was receiving a transfusion from Lady Diana and an Indian nurse. He lay on a cot, some of his uniform cut away, and his Webley's gunbelt held by an aide. His turban was askew, and Lady Diana gently unwound and removed it as they talked. Another aide rushed up with orange juice and water on a tray. Howard noticed the parachute lying beside the cot, and was glad that Singh hadn't had to use it, especially while wounded.
It developed that Ranjit Singh had suffered bullet wounds in both legs and shell fragments had raked his ribs. The bleeding was heavy, but now being stopped. He moaned, but was coherent and made his report to Challenger. He remembered to thank Howard profusely: "Major, had it not been for your courage and self sacrifice, I should not be alive now, contemplating these lovely women assisting me, oh so much! Lady Diana, I have no stomach wound. Please to give a glass of that juice here; I will be drinking it with much pleasure! Sir, I am deeply shamed to have had my aircraft so damaged by the monkeys from the East!"
Challenger told him not to worry, that they had all been struck by enemy fire, and that he was grateful that Singh had survived.
"Flight Lieutenent Singh, I saw how you behaved in battle, even after being wounded, and I will leave no stone unturned to see that you receive the Distinguished Flying Cross or the DSO for your conduct today. Your father will be proud, and so will all your squadron mates. You were a tiger in the air, and I salute you."
At that moment, the Maharajah himself and the Air Commodore and Sir John drove up in the native ruler's Rolls-Royce.
They saw to Singh being removed to a quiet room in the palace and the royal physician being sent to attend him. Then, the Maharajah turned to the officers, who had been receiving Challenger's report.
"Gentlemen, I have overheard your conversation. Group Captain; Major Howard: I have only the highest praise for you, and I thank you for the life of my eldest son, the heir to my throne. We listened on Sir John's radio to the conversation between you in the skies today, and I insist that you officers attend dinner with me tonight. I will see that you receive the highest award of my realm, the Tiger Star, and I think I can say with certainty that both British and American medals will be coming your way as well. Sir John, am I not correct? You have the ear of the Viceroy himself. Will he not hear of this gallantry? My word, Major Howard attacked many times without ammunition! Can there be greater courage? Thanks to him, Group Captain Challenger and the Crown Prince still live! I shall give thanks to Krishna this very night. You must also thank your Christian God. This has been an extraordinary event, has it not?"
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Edited by - Explorer on July 27 2006 9:16:19 PM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 27 2006 : 4:40:43 PM
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Everyone thanked the Maharajah, and agreed that it was a fortuitous thing that all three pilots had survived, and that their forces had driven off the Japnese air flotilla with minimal loss to Allied aircraft and to their bases.
Sir John announced that additional Thunderbolt II's and Mosquitos from the RAF base codenamed Hotspur were seeking the Japanese fleet in the Bay of Bengal. The Royal Navy had been alerted, and had sent a task force and two submarines after the enemy fleet.
It was as they gathered their parachutes and other gear and entered the Jeep and the Rolls-Royce that Lady Caroline stepped from behind the Mosquito and took her brother by one hand and Tom Howard by the other. "You two ride with me in the second Jeep," she commanded. "I have some things to say to both of you."
Arthur Challenger looked sheepish, but told Howard that they had better do as she said. "Caroline has much of Mum in her. It's best to keep her happy, the brazen wench."
Howard grinned, and followed them to the Jeep, getting into the back seat with Caroline. He noticed that her eyes were shining and that she had been crying, but she beamed with pride at her brother and when she looked at Howard, she actually blushed as he studied her features. |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 27 2006 : 9:53:02 PM
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Fifty miles at sea, Rear Admiral Yamahiro watched as the last of his aircraft landed. "That is the last plane, Sir", noted Fuchida.
"What are our final losses?" demanded the admiral.
Fuchida checked his score sheet. "Admiral, we launched 68 planes in all, from both carriers. Just 27 have returned, and several crews are wounded. It is possible that some aircraft cannot be repaired. We have not yet received a loss report from the Army air units supporting us, but they are known to have also suffered heavy casualties. But we badly damaged two RAF bases and the American base on our target list. That base may be inoperative for weeks. The English bases were less badly struck, but will be down for days. We also struck the supply depot below their base called Blackpool. The extent of damage is unknown, but heavy."
Yamahiro thought. "Fuchida, all pilots not needing to go to the infirmary will report to me at once in the wardroom. I want details. We will have to apologize to the high command for these heavy losses. I want to know anything that may help our case. In the meantime, the fleet will turn on the coordinates that we discussed, and proceed at flank speed. The Royal Navy and land based Allied warplanes will soon arrive. I do not wish further losses. Warn the destroyers to be especially alert for British submarines. That is all for now."
"Sir!" Fuchida came to attention as the admiral and his staff left for the wardroom, then turned to the helmsman. "You heard the admiral. Signal for the turn and get underway at speed. The watch will be very alert for enemy air or surface craft." Then, he.too, went to the meeting.
The sailor watching with huge binoculars from a cruiser to port of the aircraft carriers was the first to see what was coming. A swarm of aircraft headed out from the Burma coast turned toward the fleet, and he sounded the alarm. It was among his final acts. Five minutes later, a Mosquito strafed his ship, and 20mm cannon hammered him and several of his shipmates into oblivion. |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 28 2006 : 5:32:36 PM
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The attack intensified, as American Thunderbolts carrying 250 and 500 pound bombs arrived, escorted by P-51 Mustangs. When the Mustang pilots saw that there was no enemy fighter opposition, they also strafed and bombed the Japanese fleet, oblivious to the heavy anti-aircraft fire pouring aloft from every vessel.
As is this was not enough, a quintet of B-25 Mitchell medium bombers arrived, their bomb bays stuffed with 500 pounders with additional bombs hung under the wings. These were late models, B-25J's, and had been fitted with four .50 caliber machineguns in the forward fuselage, as well as the nose guns, handled by the bombadier when he wasn't at his more critical task of sighting the bomb drops. One B-25 was even fitted with a solid nose containing a 75mm cannon! Another solid-nosed example carried 12 .50 guns. It was a devastating strafing machine.
An hour later, the remnants of the Japanese fleet steamed for Malaya. They had left behind one carrier, a cruiser, three destroyers, and most of their pride. The attacking force had lost 14 aircraft, but the victory had been theirs, given the relative losses. Several downed aircrews had been rescued by naval forces. None of the Japanese survived to be captured. A few committed hara-kiri, and sharks and the sea took the others, for their vessels had been sunk quickly, with heavy exposions causing horrendous damage. The land-based B-25's all carried heavier payloads than did naval bombers, and the Thunderbolts, many being flown by men who had honed their skills earlier in Italy, had been used as dive bombers, being faster than naval equivalents and carrying much the same bombload. These big fighter bombers had been lethal, dropping their bombs, then strafing with their eight .50 caliber guns, and escaping at speeds unknown in naval fighters, save perhaps the Corsair. The Japanese gunners had had a very difficult time following them in their sights.
Yamahiro's carrier had survived, with heavy damage. It remained seaworthy, and continued to be his flagship. He met on the bridge with his staff and ordered that the decks be repaired as promptly as possible, and was told that this was underway, but could take several days.
"Admiral," said one officer, " we have suffered devasting blows, and cannot launch aircraft until we reach port facilities, perhaps in Japan. The deck is ruined. I have ordered that refueling and rearming the aircraft cease, for they will become an additional hazard if we are attacked again. Our other carrier was lost largely because the attackers set ablaze the refueling equipment and the planes on deck. The bombs there also exploded, and the situation was hopeless, as bad as at Midway, when the Yankees caught some of our carriers with their planes down."
"Do not speak to me of Midway, Yamaguchi; I have had too bad a day to want to recall that disaster," rapped Yamahiro. "Helm, set course for Singapore, and use evasive tactics. There will be ships pursuing us, and we must evade until night falls."
His fleet sailed on, but Yamahiro's heart was heavy.
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Edited by - Explorer on July 28 2006 5:51:50 PM |
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Explorer
972 Posts |
Posted - July 29 2006 : 7:17:15 PM
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Caroline Challenger took her brother and Howard aside as soon as they reached Rammalapur Palace and berated each of them for taking foolish chances, then told them how enormously proud she was and that she would convey the story of their daring to their parents.
She told Tom that she wanted to speak to him later, and he saw Arthur's eyebrows rise in surprise and a little concern. What was his sister thinking now?! She did seem attracted to this American, and Challenger admitted to himself that Howard impressed him better than had some of Caroline's other suitors, if that is what Howard turned out to be. If so, and he was serious, Challenger would have to think about matters. An American brother-in-law was a concept that he hadn't previously considered. But Howard had said that his family was well off. Perhaps he and Caroline could visit Britain a couple or three times a year, and it wouldn't be so bad. And the Challengers were actually wealthy, so return visits would be easy, although his father was too elderly to travel often now.
He put the issue into the back of his mind as the dignitaries surrounded them, and the party moved into a grand room for dinner at a European style table. Nonetheess, the decorations were partially Indian, and Howard was impressed by the skins of tiger and water buffalo, and tall carved tigers at each corner of the room. He felt as if he had stepped onto a movie set. All of this couldn't be real.
He asked Caroline if he might sit next to her, and was told that that would be "lovely". He noticed that the Air Commodore, Sir John Thomas, and Challenger were all looking at him, and decided that he had better not seem too eager. But he wanted very much to know this energetic, beautiful English girl better.
Sir John commented that he had just sent a message to Howard's commander telling him that Howard was safe, and was detained at the palace because of ruined runways at both bases, and that he was viewed as a hero, congratulating the USAAF on having a pilot of this caliber. The Maharajah had added his thanks for Howard's having saved his son, and the Texan was glad that his absence was being accounted for. But he knew that he had better get to a telephone and check in with Col. Fowler soon.
"Howard, you may be with us for a few more days", said Challenger. "While you and Caroline were talking, I checked with Ancestor, and two of our bulldozers were knocked out by the raid. It may be three days or so before we can land aircraft as large as a Dakota, so you won't be leaving tomorrow, after all. The supply plane can't get in. Fortunately, we aren't crictically short of anything."
"What about a Lysander or a US light plane? Can that land?", Howard wanted to know. "My boss may think I'm having too much fun here."
Everyone chuckled, and Challenger replied that no Lysanders were on hand, the two that they had having been strafed. "Total losses, the both of them," he admitted.
"Do not be concerned, Major," intoned the Maharajah. "I will see that no problems occur. It is known to me that your Gen. Stillwell is not fond of the British, but I know your ambassador in New Delhi, and I will see that he understands that it is at my insistence that you have remained, plus the unavoidable damage to the airstrips at Ancestor. In any event, Stillwell is in China now, and your presence here will probably not reach his ears. I think you need have no concerns, and we will treat you well. I wish to invite you and the rest of our group here to a tiger shoot tomorrow. It may be something that a man of your courage will enjoy. I think you may find it almost as exciting as air combat." He smiled thinly, knowing just how "thrilling" it could be if a tiger charged the elephants on which the hunters rode.
"I thank Your Highness, but I'm not sure that my S&W .45 is the right gun for tiger.", said Howard, and the others laughed.
"Fear not, Major Howard. I have plenty of spare guns for guests, and you will be able to find something that fits you and is of suitable caliber. I believe that only Sir John has brought his own rifles, so after we dine, we will adjourn to the gun room and see who prefers what. Lady Caroline, I have a rifle that I think you will like. It was used by your mother on a visit here in 1939, before the war began."
Talk turned to the air battle that day, with the ruler telling them that his son had been seen by the doctor. He would receive another pint of blood, but was resting as comfortably as could be expected. The British officers consented to seeing that Singh was awarded convalescent leave to recover at his father's home.
Howard managed to direct conversation to the Challenger family and the books that Caroline had brought to sell for the war effort. Two titles were available, as well as copies of a new book by a man named Jim Corbett. "Man-Eaters of Kumaon" was the first volume by this modest, courageous man, who had achieved considerable fame as a naturalist and hunter. No one present had any idea that his books would become world famous and be great classics of hunting literature.
Dinner was served, with wine for the Europeans. The main dish was some sort of chicken presentation that Howard found to be a bit spicy for his taste, but very good. Venison was also available, and he chose that. He was told that the deer involved were chital, or Axis deer. The meat was wonderful, better than the whitetailed deer of his home state.
After the meal, all gathered in a nearby room, and Caroline got out the books. Howard immediately wanted both by Baroness Challenger. He saw her photos, and realized that she had a strong resemblance to her daughter in her younger pictures, although one could easily tell one from the other. He also found photos of the Challenger siblings in both volumes, pictures showing them from around ten years of age until 1942, the last being taken in Scotland while deer stalking, war or no war. Howard decided that Caroline photographed as well as she looked, and hoped that she might age as well as her mother, who was obviously still well preserved, trim, with no sign of middle- aged sag or bag. Baron Challenger was a bit intimidating, a large man who still looked strong in pictures taken only a few years before. He didn't miss the fond look the elder Challengers were giving one another in a photo of them together in Africa in 1932.
"Your parents seem to be very happy with one another," he ventured when he managed to isolate Caroline for a moment. "You are lucky to have had such a nice family and such an adventurous life. Did you travel with them often, to jungles and whatnot?"
"Yes," she said. "Arthur was actually born in Brazil, while they were stranded on a remote plateau. I came along a few years later, when they already had our home in Kent. Father was famous by then, and Mum not much less so. Maybe a bit infamous, too, as Mum is Father's second wife. His first died of flu while he was away in Brazil, and he and Mum met while he was on that expedition. The death avoided some nasty issues that might have faced them when they arrived in Britain, but they had already had Arthur, and there was a bit of a scandal when people realized that Father must have had a liason with Mum while being unaware that his wife was dead. They were already married by the time that I arrived, so I'm untainted by the unsavory aura surrounding my brother." She saw Arthur watching, and stuck out her tongue at him. Howard laughed, and saw Arthur grin. No one else noticed, being absorbed by the books and their own conversations and the brandy and port brought in by servants. Tom Howard felt something stir in him, and he realized that he felt happy to have shared this private humor with the Challenger siblings. |
Edited by - Explorer on August 02 2006 10:35:33 PM |
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"Thunderbolt Over Burma!"
