Night Mission Read online

  As the sun dipped into the western horizon, the busy crew hurried to finish preparing the ebony colored Spitfires for take off. Then, two men dressed in flight suits and carrying parachutes, joined the others on the hardstand. Harry knew they were the pilots, but in the dim light couldn't identify them. When the fuel truck pulled away from the planes, its shining headlights flashed across the hardstand and landed on the men. In the narrow beam of light, Harry recognized them. Captain Simms, and Lieutenant Brian Gainey stood by the rumbling planes, ready to begin their mission.

  Anxiously waiting on the hardstand, Captain Simms busied himself by examining the machine guns mounted in the wing of his plane. Reaching up, he rubbed the strip of red canvass tape covering the gun barrels to protect them from filling with dirt and sand kicked up by the propeller.

  When one of the mechanics passed by, Simms asked somewhat impatiently, "Are we ready yet, Sergeant?"

  "Yes sir, Captain, she's all set to go!" the flight mechanic shouted over the din of the Spitfire's idling engine.

  "Indeed! And with practically ten minutes of daylight to spare," Simms teased.

  Quickly stiffening to attention, the sergeant saluted Captain Simms, and added, "Good hunting tonight, sir."

  Simms winked in reply. Eager to take off before darkness shrouded the field, he stepped behind his plane to check on Lieutenant Gainey. There, kneeling under the wing of his Spitfire, Brian Gainey was busy explaining something to his crew chief.

  Gainey shows his mechanic the problem.

  Boyish in stature, but an experienced fighter pilot, Gainey shouted in his mechanic's ear. Still, the words were being lost in the thunder of the Spitfire's popping engine. Squinting in the low light, Simms watched as the young pilot gestured and grabbed at the leg of the left landing gear in an effort to show his mechanic the problem. Nodding his agreement, the mechanic pulled a wrench from his pocket and reached up to tighten a hydraulic line. Gainey started patting the man on the back, satisfied with the repair, and motioned for him to clear from under the wing.

  Captain Simms shouted over the roaring engines and waved to get the attention of his fellow pilot.

  "Ready, Gainey?" he bellowed between his cupped hands.

  Looking up from the fixed wheel brake, Gainey waved back, signaling he was ready. Simms tapped at his watch, and then pointed to the cockpit of his Spitfire. The lieutenant understood it was time to go, and acknowledged his Captain's message by flashing a quick salute.

  Stepping out from under the wing of his Spitfire, Gainey stopped when something caught his eye on the edge of the hardstand. Looking in the direction of the Winslow hedge, the young pilot put his hands on his waist and continued staring across the airfield.

  Sitting in the grass on the other side of the bushy fence, it didn't didn't take long for Harry and his friends to realize Lieutenant Gainey was looking at them.

  Once again caught spying on the pilots, Harry, Stuart and Erin stood up from their spot on the hill behind the hedgerow and sheepishly waved at Gainey.

  "We'll be back in an hour or so, Harry," the Lieutenant shouted. "It'll be dark when we land, so stay clear of the runway!"

  Harry nodded emphatically. Captain Dawson and the other pilots had told him before how dangerous night missions could be. According to Dawson, unless there was a problem, the airfield would be completely dark when the planes returned. One wrong move could mean a disastrous landing and a lost pilot.

  Without further delay, Gainey climbed into the cockpit of his plane. Already strapped in the seat of his Spitfire, Captain Simms pointed at the ground, signaling the aircrew to remove the chocks bracing the wheels. Cleared for take off, Simms and Gainey throttled up the engines of their fighter planes and proceeded down the grassy runway. Side by side, the thundering Spitfires bounced on the turf, lifted from the field and climbed into the dim red sky.

  Dusk settled in as the pilots raced away from Hampton. Still standing on the hill behind the hedge, the children watched the black camouflaged fighters vanish into the fading light. Once the roar of the Spitfires passed out of earshot, the field suddenly grew quiet.

  "Surprise, surprise," Susan Winslow's sarcastic voice broke the silence. Coming from behind, she startled the three children. "I can't believe I found Harry Winslow and his best friends Stuart and Erin out here by the airfield."

  "Susan," they all excitedly chimed in unison, "Captain Simms and Lieutenant Gainey are flying a night mission!"

  "So they are," Susan replied, pretending not to know. "But, shouldn't you children be heading for home before it gets dark? And, Harry, Mother is counting on you to have everything ready for fleecing in the morning. Once you've finished, she wants you home and in bed. Tomorrow is going to be a long, hard day working with the wool cutters. You'll need your sleep."

  "But Susan," Harry blurted excitedly, "the pilots will be back in an hour. We have to wait so we can watch them land. Then I'll round up the flock."

  Stuart and Erin nodded their heads in support. "We'll help Harry after the planes come back," Stuart volunteered.

  "I'm sure one more hour won't matter," Erin added.

  Susan surveyed the sky, trying to measure the amount of remaining daylight and then scolded her younger brother. "In twenty minutes it will be too dark to gather the sheep from the fields. You've been putting it off all day, Harry. The time has come to do your chores!"

  Harry realized his sister was right. He also knew his mother depended on him to make things ready at the wool shed. Sheepishly Harry replied, "You're right, Sis, we'll get cracking. With Stuart and Erin's help it won't take long. Then I'll come home, straight away."

  Susan nodded her head. With a smile she rumpled her younger brother's head of thick brown hair and urged, "Get along with you then."

  She watched Harry and his friends run back up the worn dirt path. The three allies immediately began herding sheep. Satisfied they would be able to finish before dark, she continued on her way to the airfield.

  Thanks to Stuart's and Erin's help, it didn't take long to collect the sheep grazing in the fields. As the children herded the flock back along the path toward the holding pen, Harry looked up and noticed the first stars twinkling in the early dusk.

  Prodding the flock of sheep in the dim light, Harry was amazed how quickly night had fallen on Hampton. The darkness reminded him of his two RAF pilot friends, flying practically blind in the murky air.

  "Come on, Stuart," Harry said. "We'll run the sheep into the pen and start cleaning out the wool shed. Erin, you find a few pails, collect some water from the well and bring it to the trough. The sheep must be thirsty."

  "Wait a minute, Harry. It's getting dark," Erin objected. "I can't see a thing. How am I going to find those pails?"

  "Yeah, Harry," Stuart agreed. "It's almost pitch-black out there. Why don't you give her the torch you found so she's not stumbling around in the dark."

  Harry handed Erin the small RAF flashlight they had found earlier and showed her how to turn it on.

  "Will you be okay?" Harry asked.

  "Yeah," Erin assured both boys, "I'll be fine now."

  Erin ran off to pump water for the sheep. Harry smiled as he watched the beam from the flashlight trace an erratic path around the yard while Erin searched for pails to fill.

  In the meantime, the two boys pressed the last of the sheep into the pen. Closing the gate behind them, Harry and Stuart pushed their way through the flock and stumbled to the shed. Connected to the back of the fence, the shed had been home to many shearings. It smelled of sweet new hay and felt warm in the chilly night air. Inside, Harry lit a small lamp and set about tidying up for tomorrow's wool cutting. Out of habit, he looked up and again wondered about the two pilots flying in the night.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NIGHT SPOTTING

  The two black camouflaged Spitfires raced through the night, invisible in the dark. Captain Andrew Simms, the oldest member of the 14th Squadron, led Lieutenant Gainey on their night patrol. Fascin
ated by the stories of battling biplanes in the First World War, Simms had joined the peacetime Royal Air Force ready to become a test pilot. But when another war threatened, being one of the few trained pilots active in the RAF, Simms was promoted and reassigned to fighter duty. On the other hand, while young Brian Gainey proved himself a natural flyer, he often mentioned that his choice of the RAF over any other branch of the military was because the food was better.

  An hour before take off, Colonel Harrison had briefed Simms and Gainey on the specifics of their mission. Night raids by German bombers were taking their toll. Small formations of enemy planes attacked ships in the English Channel and weapons factories located in the port cities along the English coastline. In order to stop the German raiders, special night fighters patrolled the coast. From dusk to dawn, RAF planes crossed the sky above the English Channel ready to protect their homeland and save lives.

  A seasoned veteran in the Royal Air Force, night missions were far from the favorite of Captain Simms. Even for experienced pilots, night combat conditions posed a daunting challenge. Flying in the dark provided a most breathtaking experience, but it was also the most dangerous. Finding the enemy at night was hard enough, but fighting in the dark, when one can barely tell the difference between up and down, proved even harder. And for many pilots, night combat was less frightening than trying to land on a dark airfield.

  Because of the difficulties of night patrols, each squadron depended on skilled veterans, like Captain Simms, to lead the missions. It was up to Simms to teach Lieutenant Gainey, and other less experienced pilots in their squadron, the finer points of surviving in the dark.

  Sitting in the cockpit of his Spitfire, a nervous Lieutenant Gainey surveyed the ground below. Unlike flying in daylight, at night familiar landmarks vanished in the darkness. Once he and Captain Simms climbed to their patrol altitude of 20,000 feet, Gainey found it hard to tell the difference between sky and earth.

  Captain Simms keyed his radio, "Brian, bank to the south and we'll come up the coast line at Dover."

  "Roger," replied the young Lieutenant in a poorly practiced matter-of-fact tone. He tried his best to sound calm, but Captain Simms knew the younger pilot was unsettled.

  "Let me know when you see the beach," Simms called, secretly testing Gainey's observation skills.

  "Yeah..., sure." Hopelessly absorbed in searching through the blackness, Gainey caught himself, "I mean... Roger, Captain."

  Continuing to scan the dark outlines below, the two fighter pilots tried to distinguish land from sea. Experienced at flying in the dark, Simms learned long ago to rely on the white crests of waves breaking along the coastline to provide the most reliable information about their location.

  Since the start of the war, and especially during the recent rash of enemy night raids, seaboard cities followed "blackout" rules. At night people covered their windows and doused the street lamps to prevent enemy pilots from navigating by the light shining from buildings and roadways. Without lights to identify them, individual targets were almost impossible to find. Sheer darkness had proven the most effective protection from enemy night attacks. Even to experienced bomber pilots, the difference between city and countryside at night was nothing more than shades of gray.

  Captain Simms radioed Lieutenant Gainey, "Do you see it, Brian? That's Dover down there."

  Gainey peered into the darkness trying to see for himself the outlines that told Captain Simms there was a city below. In a skeptical tone, Gainey replied, "Sure... If you say so, Captain. I think I see it."

  Lieutenant Gainey was the newest member of the 14th, joining the squadron fresh from RAF fighter pilot training. Regardless of how hard he tried to hide his young age, Gainey's boyish looks and mischievous manners betrayed his youth. Still, he was one of the best fighter pilots in the squadron.

  When he first arrived at Hampton, the other, older pilots, were concerned about flying with the young pilot. Captain Simms took it upon himself to teach Lieutenant Gainey the discipline required for air combat. But, it didn't take long for Simms and the entire squadron to realize Gainey was one of the few, natural born fliers. Since then, Captain Simms and Lieutenant Gainey had seen plenty of action and lived to tell about it.

  Trying to train Gainey how to determine his location at night, Captain Simms continued testing him, "Can't you see the north edge of town?"

  "I can see...well, I think... No," Gainey admitted, entirely unsure of himself.

  "You see the cliffs, don't you?" Simms asked.

  Gainey paused, still trying to identify something in the gray darkness below. "I'm sorry, Captain. I can't make out a thing down there."

  "Well, keep trying, lad," Simms radioed back, hoping to bolster the young pilot's confidence. "You'll learn night spotting in due time. Now let's bank east, head five miles over the Channel and then turn north."

  "Roger, bank east five miles and head north," Gainey repeated. "That's something I can do!"

  Lieutenant Gainey smartly rolled his Spitfire hard left and followed Captain Simms out over the Channel. A little anxious, Gainey swallowed hard. If he couldn't identify landmarks when they were flying above the coast, he worried even more about determining their location over water.

  CHAPTER SIX

  NIGHT RAIDERS

  Five miles east of the English coastline, the two RAF Spitfires turned north to continue their patrol. Lieutenant Gainey had flown with Captain Simms since first being assigned to the squadron. When flying in formation with his captain, he knew exactly where to position his plane. Instinctively, Gainey lined up 30 yards off Simms' right wingtip and 10 yards back.

  Continuing north, flying at 20,000 feet, the pilots scanned the dark world around them. To the right, they could make out the white trails of ships chopping through the black waters in the English Channel. And to the left, faintly flickering in the distance, they saw the headlights of a lone truck driving on the coastal roadway. Straight ahead, however, was a featureless black curtain, dotted with stars, occasionally interrupted by a ghostly cloud.

  Slowly starting to understand how at night features can be discerned by slight changes in shade and shadow, Lieutenant Gainey noticed something. Below and to the east he could see faint black outlines silhouetted against the white crests of the ocean waves. At first glance, they seemed to be nothing more than random blurs, like shadows on shadows. But these shadows were definitely moving. Narrowing his eyes and concentrating hard, Gainey focused on three outlines clearly heading west in a straight line toward the English coast!

  "Captain," the Lieutenant quickly called into his radio, "two o'clock low. I see three bandits moving west!"

  Captain Simms leaned to the side of his cockpit and looked out over his right wing. "Now you're getting the hang of night spotting," Simms replied, confirming Gainey's sighting.

  To the right and below their Spitfires, Gainey spotted three enemy aircraft, German Junkers 88 twin engine medium range bombers. Although they were flying west toward the coast, the German formation was somewhat off course, if they were headed for either London or Dover.

  "They're even worse at night flying than you are, Lieutenant!" Captain Simms teased over the radio. "They're too far north if they're bound for Dover, and too far south if they're headed for London."

  "What does it matter where they think they're going?" Gainey replied. "Let's put them in the drink!"

  "Yes, lad," Simms agreed. "Just like Dawson would say, let's send them packing. But first, I'll call in our position to headquarters."

  Lieutenant Gainey anxiously waited while Simms radioed their location and the number of enemy planes they found to Coastal Command Headquarters. The few moments it took, seemed like hours. When his radio finally sparked with a message from Simms, Gainey jumped in his seat.

  "Okay, Brian. Headquarters knows our location, so let's get ready. Break on my mark!"

  A moment later, Simms snapped, "Break!"

  On Simms' command, the pilots threw open their engine thrott
les to increase speed and pushed their yokes hard right, steering toward the German bombers. In tight formation, the roaring Spitfires banked together and began a steep dive to intercept the westward moving enemy planes.

  A moment later, Simms snapped, "Break!"

  When the RAF fighters neared the Junkers, Simms and Gainey took aim at the enemy and triggered their guns. Surprised by the English attack, the three German planes scattered in different directions, right, left, and down. In hot pursuit, Simms and Gainey split up, each choosing a single target to follow.

  The enemy bombers were slower than the Spitfires, but they bristled with deadly machine guns. Disoriented by the darkness, Lieutenant Gainey had no idea how dangerously close he trailed his target until he heard the repeating crack of machine guns over the roar of his engine.

  The German crew continued firing on Gainey's Spitfire as he chased the enemy bomber through the night sky. While the young RAF pilot maneuvered to return fire, bright flashes from tracer bullets hurled past his cockpit. Locked in a dangerous game of cat and mouse, Gainey struggled to find the right position that allowed him to both dodge the hail of enemy gunfire and still hit his target.

  Meanwhile, Captain Simms chased one of the other German planes. In the first attack, Simms caught the lead bomber in his gun sight and opened fire. Otherwise lost in the black sky, the trail of glowing tracers provided the only clue to the destination of his bullets. Guided by the dotted line tearing from his guns, Captain Simms held his Spitfire steady and continued firing on the enemy bomber.

  Along with the white hot tracers, hundreds of bullets poured into the left engine of the lumbering German Ju 88. In an orange flash, pieces of the powerful motor exploded into the air. Following the explosion, clouds of white smoke began to pour from the crippled plane.