Scramble! Read online

  Scramble!

  By Don Patterson

  Illustrated by Sonny Schug/Studio West

  Edited by Mary Parenteau

  Production by Kline/Phoenix Advertising Graphics

  © 1999, 2010 Hindsight Limited

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be produced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts in reviews.

  Published in Minneapolis, MN by Rising Star Studios, LLC.

  Picture Credits

  Many thanks to the following organizations for giving permission to reprint illustrations and text used in the “In Hindsight” section of this book:

  The RAF at War. Time Life Books, The Epic of Flight Series, Chicago IL. Courtesy of Imperial War Museum.

  Hurricane Aces 1939-40. Osprey Aircraft of the Aces, Reed Books Limited, London. Courtesy of Tony Holmes.

  Publisher's Cataloging-In-Publication Data

  (Prepared by The Donohue Group, Inc.)

  Patterson, Don, 1961-

  Scramble! / by Don Patterson ; illustrated by Sonny Schug.

  p. : col. ill. ; cm. -- (Tales of the RAF ; bk. 1)

  Originally published in 1999 by Hindsight Ltd.

  Summary: Twelve-year-old Harry Winslow's quiet life in the English countryside has been interrupted by World War II. Harry finds a special group of friends in the RAF fighter squadron stationed near his home.

  Interest age level: 007-010.

  ISBN: 978-1-936770-12-0 (epub)

  1. Great Britain. Royal Air Force--Juvenile fiction. 2. Fighter pilots--Great Britain--Juvenile fiction. 3. World War, 1939-1945--Children--Great Britain--Juvenile fiction. 4. Great Britain.

  Royal Air Force--Fiction. 5. Fighterpilots--Great Britain--Fiction. 6. World War,1939-1945-Children--Great Britain--Fiction. I. Schug, Sonny. II. Title. III. Series: Patterson, Don, 1961-Tales of the RAF ; bk. 1.

  PZ7.P3884 Sc 2010

  [Fic] 2009942880

  To My Son.

  What's Important To Me?

  You Are, Mr. Ian Patterson.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  "SCRAMBLE!"

  1 A RAINY DAY IN HAMPTON

  2 THE HOLIDAY IS OVER

  3 "SCRAMBLE!"

  4 NORTHEAST FOR INTERCEPT

  5 THE FIGHTERS ARE ONLY IN OUR WAY!

  6 THE DANGEROUS GAME

  7 STILL HEADED FOR LONDON

  8 A ROLL OF STAMPS

  9 ALONG THE PATH

  10 CONDITION UNKNOWN

  11 WAITING FOR FURTHER ORDERS

  12 THE BRIEFING ROOM

  13 WONDERFUL NEWS

  14 THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED

  IN HINDSIGHT

  CHAPTER ONE

  A RAINY DAY IN HAMPTON

  Rain continued to pour on the fields of Hampton county for the third straight day. Since most people took shelter from the bad weather, a still quiet settled over the gray, English countryside. As bleak as it was, the cold and rain couldn't keep young Harry Winslow from visiting his special friends. But now it was time for him to return home. Trudging back along the muddy path between his house and the hedgerow fence that separated the Winslow farm from its neighbor, Hampton Airfield, Harry pulled his thin coat tightly around his small shoulders. A British Royal Air Force base, Hampton field had been built three years earlier in anticipation of war.

  Soaked to the skin, Harry ran the last hundred yards to the front porch of the Winslow house. His light brown hair was matted and rain dripped down his face.

  Upon reaching the first step, Harry stomped the mud from his worn boots and kicked them off before sprinting up the remaining stairs to go inside.

  "Is that you, love?" Mrs. Winslow called from the kitchen when she heard the front door quickly close.

  "Yes Mother, it's just me," Harry replied and started to peel off his drenched, blue-gray coat.

  "Harry, you need to stay inside on days like this or you'll catch a fever!" Harry's mother continued, her concerned voice growing closer as she stepped around the corner to join him.

  Harry looked up at his mother and mumbled, "Three days of this weather. I can't stay inside forever!"

  Mrs. Winslow smiled and helped her son struggle out of the dripping coat. "No dear, I guess you can't," she said with a loving tone. "But run up to your room now and get some dry clothes on before you get sick."

  Just being around his mother made Harry feel a little warmer. Ever since his father had been commissioned to be a part of the British Intelligence and left to work in London, he had felt a sense of loneliness and apprehension. Mrs.

  Winslow worked hard to soothe the emptiness in Harry's heart, but sometimes her efforts simply made him miss his father that much more. Reminded of his loneliness, Harry swallowed hard. To keep his mother from worrying, Harry reached over and gave her a damp hug, hiding the sad look on his face. Then he ran up the creaking stairs into his room at the top of the landing to change his soggy clothes.

  Mrs. Winslow opened the hall closet to hang up her son's wet coat and thought, "I wonder if those RAF boys know just how important they are to him."

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE HOLIDAY IS OVER

  Pools of oily water on the hardstand of Hampton Airfield reflected the gray clouds sweeping across the sky above. Strangely enough, the Royal Air Force fighter pilots gathered in the barracks were in an upbeat and lively mood for such gloomy weather. The playful chatter of men passing time filled the air.

  Sitting in a leather chair in a corner of the room, the Squadron Leader, Captain Ted Dawson, quietly thumbed through the pages of the current issue of "Stick and Rudder". Only his sandy hair could be seen over the top of the magazine. Dawson was so intent on the article he was reading, that even the noise from the other men couldn't break his concentration.

  Across the room, seated at a small wooden table, Captain Simms and Lieutenant Gainey were in the middle of a rather loud game of checkers. Some of the other pilots played cards, and Lieutenant Hyatt, an art student before the war, sketched pictures of his friends and their activities in his sketch book. He quietly twirled a reddish pencil in his hand, looking questioningly at the sharp tip. The pencil color matched his unruly auburn hair. With short strokes, Hyatt used it to brighten the faces of the men in his drawing.

  Although, typically, most people would be frustrated by day after day of rain, the men in the barracks were relaxed and playful. Then again, these were not typical times, and this was not a normal summer. This year, most of the world was at war. Now, and especially for these men, bad weather created some of the cheeriest moments. Adverse weather was the only thing that grounded the air forces of both sides, temporarily ending the fight that was otherwise an everyday life and death struggle.

  "Say, by the way... Andy," Captain Dawson mumbled from behind the pages of his magazine. "Thanks for finding those lost buttons, and sewing them back on my dress uniform."

  Captain Simms looked up from the checker-board and cocked his head to one side. In a confused voice he replied, "Well... you're very welcome Ted, but I didn't sew any buttons on your uniform." The oldest flyer in the squadron, thirty year old Andrew Simms always looked out for the other pilots and their well-being

  "Both men began to survey the rest of the group..."

  "If you didn't do it, who did?" Captain Dawson asked. Simms shrugged his shoulders. Both men began to survey the rest of the group, searching for who among them could have been responsible for the secret favor. After scanning the entire room, Dawson and Simms, once again, looked at each other with complete bewilderment and shrugged their shoulders. Leaving the question unanswered, Dawson returned to his reading, a
nd Simms calculated his next move on the checkerboard.

  Concentrating on the red and black squares of the game board, Simms laughed lightly when his opponent, Brian Gainey, shared his thoughts.

  "One thing's for sure," Gainey said with authority, "we know it's not the enemy! I can't imagine why they would care how our uniforms look, especially when we send them packing!"

  Suddenly, the barracks door swung back on its hinges. The loud crack it made startled the men inside. Colonel Harrison, a career RAF man, crossed the threshold and stepped into the room, while brushing rain water from his blue-gray uniform. The jovial group of fighter pilots quickly rose to their feet and saluted their base commander.

  "Listen up lads! The weather forecast predicts lifting clouds tonight and partly cloudy skies tomorrow," Harrison gruffly announced to the now intent crew of twelve fighter pilots. "My guess is we'll be back at it by noon."

  With a quick salute, the Colonel turned and darted out of the barracks and back into the downpour. The lively air and party-like atmosphere followed him. Everyone knew Colonel Harrison was right, their short vacation would soon be over. By noon tomorrow, it was likely that every man in the fighter group would take to his Hawker Hurricane fighter plane and, once again, defend England from German air attack. It was also very likely that some of the brave men gathered in the room now, would not be alive to play cards or chat again tomorrow night. Without question, being a fighter pilot was dangerous business.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "SCRAMBLE!"

  The weather forecast could not have been more precise. Dawn broke to a spectacular sunrise. With blue sky overhead, Hampton Airfield filled with the sounds of flight mechanics and air crews readying fighter planes for the impending "scramble." The word scramble described the action most accurately. As incoming enemy planes were detected by English radar, Fighter Command Headquarters informed the individual RAF fighter squadrons of the enemy location and heading. At the sound of an alarm, fighter pilots would "scramble" to their planes and be airborne in minutes, flying to engage the incoming German aircraft and protect England.

  Taking in the bright morning sun, Dawson, Simms, and most of the other pilots had gathered out on the airfield. Sitting in the grass, anxiously waiting for the scream of the scramble alarm, Simms looked at Captain Dawson. "Ted," he started, "I told you, I didn't sew the buttons on your uniform."

  "I know that, Andy," Captain Dawson returned in a quick fashion.

  "Then why did you polish my shoes?" questioned Simms.

  "I didn't polish your shoes, old man!"Dawson shouted back.

  Lieutenant Gainey jumped into the conversation, "My shoes were polished too!

  I came back to my bunk last night and there they were, sitting on the end of my bed, shined better than I had ever seen them before!"

  Instantly, the entire group of pilots realized that all of their shoes had been shined, their uniforms brushed, and their quarters straighten-up. Lieutenant Hyatt added that even the pencils in his drawing kit had been sharpened.

  "Gentleman," Squadron Leader Captain Ted Dawson announced, "we have a serious mystery on our hands." The rest of the pilots agreed, and spent much of the morning struggling to determine who was spending so much time secretly taking care of the details in their lives.

  "It must be one of the crew chiefs," said Captain Simms. "They've always taken care of our planes and now they're taking care of us."

  "Nah," replied Captain Dawson bluntly. "Sergeant Pendleton keeps me in the air, but he would never sew buttons on my uniform or shine my shoes!"

  "What about one of the field engineers?" asked Hyatt shyly.

  "What would a field engineer have to gain by making a pilot happy?" Lieutenant Mathews snorted, in his low, grinding voice.

  "Could it be Colonel Harrison?" Brian Gainey quickly blurted out.

  The other pilots rolled their eyes and groaned at Gainey. Being the youngest pilot, Gainey was always doing and saying things that the others thought were rather idiotic.

  Captain Dawson summed up the feelings of the rest of the pilots when he snapped back to the young Lieutenant, "You're mad, Gainey. Colonels don't shine shoes! Now everyone think it over, and don't say another thing about it unless you can prove it with facts!" The men went silent,challenged to determine the identity of their mysterious ally.

  The day wore on, and serious anticipation of the "scramble" alarm settled over the entire airfield. Meanwhile, the tension grew as thick as the humid air, and by afternoon the pilots couldn't concentrate on the baffling mystery any longer.

  Out on the hardstand, a mechanic dropped his tool kit, and the rattle of the tools scattering across the ground brought the pilots and air crew to their feet.

  "Get a handle on it, lad!" echoed across the field from someone chastising the man for his simple mistake.

  Just as the mechanic picked up the last screwdriver, the scream of the "scramble" alarm pierced the air. In seconds, the whole airfield came alive with people rushing to their appointed stations. Air crews turned over the engines of the fighters. Scurrying pilots ran to the awaiting planes and jumped into the cockpits. Command officers made their way to the control room in order to provide vital information for the waves of fighter planes beginning to proceed down the runway. The thundering sound on the field was deafening as each fighter plane throttled up for take off. Plane after plane leapt to the sky.

  Within minutes, the entire 14th Squadron was airborne, the planes quickly climbing away from those still left on the ground. Then the field grew quiet again. Up in the sky, the twelve assembling Hawker Hurricanes shrank to small points as their distance from Hampton Airfield increased.

  Hearing the roar of the engines, Harry Winslow ran to his bedroom window and held his breath as he watched the squadron disappear.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NORTHEAST FOR INTERCEPT

  Instinctively, the squadron formed up on their commander, Captain Ted Dawson flying in the lead plane. Dawson was one of the best pilots in the Royal Air Force. Not only was he an exceptional pilot, he commanded his squadron in a way that achieved more victories with fewer losses than any other squadron in the entire RAF. Flying with Dawson practically insured the other pilots of coming home safely after a mission.

  Just to the right of Dawson in their formation, was the veteran, Captain Andrew Simms. Simms, the oldest pilot in the Squadron, was second in command. The other, younger, pilots thought of Simms as the "Father of the 14th." When Simms gave an order, the response was more often "Roger, Old Chap," rather than the usual "Yes, sir!" As second in command, Captain Simms would assume leadership of the squadron and the pilots on the outside chance that anything were to happen to Dawson.

  The other ten planes in the formation with Dawson and Simms were flown by young men from throughout England, including Lieutenant Brian Gainey. Rumor had it that young Gainey lied about his age when he enlisted to become a pilot. He was quite impulsive and always mischievous, as witnessed by the pranks he continually played on the other members of the squadron. In spite of his youthful enthusiasm, Gainey had proven himself a born flyer many times over, often by saving the lives of his fellow pilots.

  Captain Dawson leaned forward in order to look down the row of RAF fighter planes and keyed his radio. "All right gentlemen, the vacation is over. It's time for us to get back to work." Using his typical matter-of-fact tone, he continued, "Radar has the enemy formation and Control says it looks like they're heading for London. On my lead, follow northeast for intercept!"

  "Roger!" replied the rest of the squadron.

  From the corner of his eye, Dawson could see Simms adjust his goggles. Simms looked to his left and flashed Dawson the thumbs-up sign. Dawson nodded to Simms in response. Then, with a slight push of the yoke, Captain Dawson angled his Hurricane to the northeast. Throttling up his engine, he increased his speed in order for the squadron to reach the enemy planes while they were still over the water of the English Channel. Flying at well over three hundred m
iles per hour, everyone in the squadron knew they would engage their foe in minutes.

  Looking down, Captain Dawson could see the English coastline pass below. They had achieved the first goal of their mission, that is, to encounter the enemy over the water. While watching the beach pass under the wings of their planes, the pilots in the formation remembered Dawson's motto, "Send them packing before they see land!"

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE FIGHTERS ARE

  ONLY IN OUR WAY!

  "Bandits at two o'clock Captain!" The message in Dawson's headset crackled with a sense of urgency. Dawson recognized the low raspy voice of Lieutenant Collin Mathews. Mathews was flying the right most position in their formation. Quickly looking to his right, Dawson confirmed the young Lieutenant's sighting. Clearing from some light clouds, Dawson counted the enemy planes, seven twin engine Heinkel 111 bombers accompanied by a half dozen Messerschmitt 109 fighters. Flying due west, the German formation was on a heading straight for London, the capital of England.

  "Bold as day. Aren't they, Mathews," Captain Dawson called back to the Lieutenant over the radio. Dawson then reminded the entire formation, "Don't forget lads, the bombers are our target, the fighters are only in our way!" As the squadron closed in on the German planes, the English pilots tensed, waiting for the call from Dawson to attack.

  "Line up on me and let's go!" Captain Dawson called to his men and banked right, leading the formation head on into the cluster of enemy planes.

  The 14th Squadron swept through the enemy formation, immediately firing on the bombers. In response, the German fighter escort swarmed to protect their comrades. Within seconds, the battle had reached full force. The roaring din of Dawson's engine was interrupted by a multitude of sounds. As enemy fighters were diving and chasing his fellow fighter pilots, the rumble of engines and the repeating crack of machine gun fire echoed all around him. Previously quiet, the radio sparked with messages to and from Dawson's pilots as they maneuvered for position over the enemy fighter planes. Inside the cockpit of his Hurricane, Captain Dawson struggled to concentrate on the mission through the distracting blur of the battle.