Dawson's Down! Page 3

  Regaining his senses, Dawson twisted in his seat to survey the situation around him. Scattered about, the broken formation of Luftwaffe planes desperately tried to gain altitude. Smoke trailed behind two of the Stukas still flying. Below, the smashed hulk of one German bomber bobbed on the surface of the water. Two others had already passed below the frothing ocean waves.

  White against the rich blue sky, a group of parachutes caught Dawson's attention. After jumping from their crippled planes, the German airmen drifted toward the water. Below them, the convoy of British cargo ships continued on their way to port, unharmed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "DAWSON'S DOWN!"

  Captain Dawson circled the area above the group of freighters making their way through the water. Soon, the three Spitfires piloted by Captain Simms and Lieutenants Gainey and Hyatt had joined him. Together, the four RAF fighters watched over the ships steaming to safe harbor on the English coast.

  Simms radioed to Dawson, "You don't plan to lead us on another dive like that again in the near future, do you?"

  Dawson wiped the sweat from his forehead and replied, "No, Andy. At least I hope not. For a moment there, I was regretting the fact I never learned how to swim."

  Catching his breath, Dawson continued, "Okay, gentlemen, the holiday is over. We better get back up and help the lads with those Me 109s."

  Above, the rest of the squadron continued their dogfight with the German Messerschmitts. At full throttle, the four RAF planes raced to join the others. But the Spitfires, with their more powerful engines and advanced design, were climbing faster than Dawson's rugged Hurricane. Realizing his friend was lagging behind, Captain Simms purposely held back to provide support for the slower plane.

  Trailing after Hyatt and Gainey, Dawson and Simms were the last to approach the battling fighter planes. Focused on the heated skirmish above, Dawson was surprised when a flash of bullets hurled past his cockpit. Frantically searching for the source of the gunfire, the RAF captain realized a German Me 109 had lined up behind him.

  Caught while struggling to gain altitude, Dawson was an easy target. And yet, the German fighter all but ignored the vulnerable Hurricane. Seeking the prize of downing a Spitfire, the greedy Messerschmitt pilot fixed his sights on Simms and opened fire. Trying to escape, Simms poured on the throttle to his engine. But the sleek enemy plane continued to bare down on the Spitfire, tracing its every move.

  Amazed how the German pilot continued to ignore his Hurricane, Dawson was determined to put such error in judgment to good use. Throwing his controls from side to side, the Squadron Leader tried to reposition himself on the Me 109 stalking the twisting Spitfire.

  "Andy," Dawson radioed, "jink away and I'll follow behind!"

  "Roger," Simms replied.

  Simms rolled his Spitfire along a dizzying path, successfully dodging a rain of bullets from the Me 109 long enough for Dawson to take aim. When the Messerschmitt lined up in his cross-hairs, Captain Dawson fired. Bullets from the Hurricane's guns pounded on the Me 109's engine housing. Smoke began to spew from the exhaust ports. Losing power, the crippled German fighter fell away from the RAF planes.

  However, no sooner had Dawson saved Simms, than his own life was in peril. The time spent pursuing the Me 109 threatening Simms left Dawson open to attack. Taking advantage of the situation, another Messerschmitt now hunted the Hurricane. Unfortunately for Dawson, this German pilot had no intention of letting him out of his sights.

  Suddenly, bullets from the Me 109 smashed through Dawson's canopy and into the front of his plane. The pistons in his engine started to grind until the rods snapped. Oil and smoke began pouring from the exhausts.

  Captain Dawson and his Hurricane struggled for survival. A few more hits from the German Messerschmitt, and the beaten fighter would most likely burst into flames. In desperation, Dawson rolled over and started to dive trying to escape the final fury of the Me 109.

  Smoke filled the cockpit, and wind whistled through the shattered glass canopy as the crippled Hurricane twisted earthward. Dawson shouted into his radio, hoping someone would hear.

  "I'm bailing out! I'm bailing out!"

  Instantly, Dawson's headset sparked with messages returning from the other pilots, "Roger, Dawson's down!"

  Plummeting through the sky, Captain Dawson had no time to respond. The forceful spin of the airplane made every move that much harder to make. Each thought was that much more confusing. Pulling at the lever, he struggled to open the canopy. Unstrapping the belts to his seat and crawling out of the cockpit, Dawson lifted his legs over the side and onto the bullet riddled wing of his Hurricane.

  ...before his headset pulled from its plug, Dawson heard one last message...

  Just before his headset pulled from its plug, Dawson heard one last message that brought him some comfort. The voice of his closest friend, Captain Simms, crackled, "Ted, I'm coming. I'll follow you down."

  Dawson grabbed the release ring to his parachute. Tearing the pin from his chest pack, he could feel the pull of the fabric as it spilled into the sky. Suddenly, the bundle of silk and cords filled with air, violently yanking him away from the twisting airplane.

  Dawson watched his feet clear from the wing and then felt a sharp pain in his head. His vision narrowed to darkness. The last thing he recognized was the spiraling tail of his Hurricane falling toward the choppy waters of the English Channel. Unconscious, Dawson's limp body drifted through the bright blue sky, down to the cold waves below.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE SQUADRON RETURNS

  Unsuccessful at damaging any allied ships, the German raiders turned east and headed home. While the rest of the squadron patrolled the sky looking for any remaining enemy planes, Captain Simms followed the trail of smoke left by Dawson's battered Hurricane. Searching the area, Simms felt a wave of relief when he spotted the open parachute of his wounded friend. And yet, flying in his Spitfire, all he could do was helplessly watch the drifting pilot float down and settle into the sea.

  Circling over the patch of ocean where Dawson hit the water, Simms realized he couldn't watch over the downed Squadron Leader for long. Low on fuel, he and the other RAF pilots would have to leave the area before they could ensure his safety. Simms urgently radioed Coastal Command to inform them of Dawson's location. Hopefully, they would quickly launch a rescue and return him to Hampton before dark.

  It was up to Captain Simms, as second in command, to lead the remaining planes in Dawson's absence. He was the Squadron Leader now. Weighing the safety of the rest of the men against that of one downed pilot, Simms knew he had to order the squadron to return to Hampton. The RAF pilots were a family. Abandoning a fellow flier was painful, but sometimes necessary. Short of fuel and ammunition, if enemy fighters were to attack now, the entire squadron would be lost.

  After contacting Coastal Command, Simms ordered his pilots to return home. As the squadron turned west without Dawson, the heart of each pilot sank. Nothing more was said for the rest of the flight.

  Less than twenty minutes later, the planes of the 14th Squadron roared over Hampton Airfield. On the ground, the command officers looked up to the sky and the aircrews rushed out to the hardstand. While the Hurricanes and Spitfires approached the field to land, Colonel Harrison automatically counted the planes. Alarmed to see only eleven returning, he headed to the airfield looking for answers.

  The pilots landed their thundering fighters on the grassy runway and taxied to the hardstand. With the usual flurry of activity upon their return, flight crews swarmed on the planes. Before the propellers stopped spinning, the eager mechanics set to work refueling the tanks and rearming the guns.

  Spent from the mission, Captain Simms slowly rolled back the canopy to his Spitfire and jumped to the ground. The other pilots raced across the hardstand to talk to him. Noticing the frenzy, Colonel Harrison stopped short of the field. From the distance, Harrison searched the mob of pilots for Captain Dawson.

  "Surely," Harrison said to hims
elf, "Dawson can explain what's going on."

  On the hardstand, Captain Simms stood among the rush of people wanting to know what happened. Even the ground crews were asking about Dawson. Simms grew hoarse trying to explain. While answering all of the questions thrown at him, he noticed something that made him stop.

  On the other side of the hedgerow fence stood Harry Winslow. Simms could see the young boy's eyes search the crowd gathered on the hardstand. Without a doubt, he knew Harry was looking for Captain Dawson. Simms also knew Harry was searching in vain.

  When Harry's eyes met Captain Simms', the fact that Dawson hadn't returned with the squadron became painfully apparent to both the boy and the veteran pilot. Standing alone on the hill, Harry's knees went weak and tears swelled in his eyes. His most special friend, Captain Dawson, was lost. Sadness devoured the twelve year old. Desperate for comfort, Harry turned and raced home.

  Simms watched the broken-hearted boy run back up the dirt path leading away from the airfield. Frustrated and angry, he turned from the mournful crowd and whipped his head gear to the ground. Tired of the chaos on the hardstand, Simms stormed off to meet Colonel Harrison and explain the situation.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE SACRIFICE

  Harry Winslow ran the entire way back to his house and bolted up the stairs. Winded from running so far, Harry struggled to catch his breath. Tears poured down his cheeks.

  Hearing the clamor, Mrs. Winslow called for her son. "Harry, what's wrong? What happened?"

  Harry timidly entered the room where his mother was sitting with her sewing. Standing in the doorway trying to be strong, Harry collected himself and started to explain. "The squadron is back. But, Captain Dawson wasn't...he didn't..."

  Mrs. Winslow looked up from her needle and thread. Harry's tears and his brief explanation were enough to tell her what happened. Hoping to soothe her hurting son, she held her arms out inviting him to sit on her lap. Without hesitation, Harry ran to his mother. Mrs. Winslow held him tight. But even in her warm embrace, Harry couldn't stop crying.

  "Sweetheart," Mrs. Winslow started in a soft voice, "Captain Dawson has been fighting to save Britain for a long time. He's sacrificed much in order to help us all."

  Harry nodded his head. Through his tears, he added, "Erin's father is missing, too."

  "I know, Harry," Mrs. Winslow said softly. "I spoke with Erin's mother earlier. Thankfully, the Bentleys and Captain Dawson have faith and hope on their side. But we must help, too."

  "What can we do?" Harry mourned.

  Hesitating for a moment to think, she replied, "You see, Harry, what's important isn't always what we do to help, but that we are willing to do what we can. Even if that means we must sacrifice a bit of ourselves. Our hearts will tell us best what to do when the time comes."

  Harry listened closely to his mother's brave words, but they did little to make him feel better. He couldn't believe both Erin's father and Captain Dawson were lost, and still worse, at the same time. While the clock on the wall ticked away, Harry and his mother sat quietly in the comfort of each other's arms.

  Suddenly, the door to the house flew open. Harry's sister, Susan, had rushed home from Colonel Harrison's office with important news. Susan dashed from room to room looking for her brother. Racing through the house she shouted, "Harry, Captain Dawson is alive!"

  Relieved, Mrs. Winslow quickly called, "Susan, we're up here in the sewing room."

  When Susan found Harry and her mother she eagerly announced, "I overheard Captain Simms reporting to Colonel Harrison. Captain Dawson was shot down, but he bailed out of his plane in time. He's alive somewhere in the water off the coast."

  Harry jumped from his mother's lap, shouting, "Sis, that's wonderful news!"

  "It is certainly the most wonderful news," Mrs. Winslow agreed. "I'll go downstairs and put on a pot of tea and you can tell us all about it."

  After Mrs. Winslow left for the kitchen, Harry looked at Susan and asked, "When will Captain Dawson be picked up?"

  Susan took a deep breath. The excitement drained from her face.

  "Harry," Susan explained, "Captain Dawson is alive, but there's a problem. There's so much German activity in the channel that Coastal Command can't risk sending anyone to pick him up right now."

  "But, Susan," Harry shot back, "if they don't rescue him soon, he could die out there."

  Susan took Harry's hand, "Harry, right now even more people could die trying to reach Captain Dawson. That's the last thing he would want."

  Harry looked at Susan. He understood the problem, but wanted Captain Dawson safe, just the same.

  "Colonel Harrison will find a way to get Captain Dawson back," she finished, trying to offer some hope.

  With that, Susan left to help Mrs. Winslow in the kitchen. Alone in his mother's sewing room, Harry sat down in her rocking chair to think. He desperately wanted to help, but didn't know how.

  Looking around the room, Harry eyed some of his mother's sewing projects. A pile of socks to be darned and some shirts in need of new buttons were heaped on the floor. Then, some long strips of the same silk his mother used to make the aviator scarves caught his attention. Thumbing through the pieces, he counted eleven lengths. Harry's mother had cut enough fabric to make a scarf for each member of the squadron.

  Still thinking about Dawson, Harry started to rub the smooth silk between his fingers. Looking up, he noticed his mother's old wedding gown laying on the table. Harry remembered how much she loved that dress. Every year on his parent's wedding anniversary she took it out of the box and showed it to his father. She would hold it in front of her and dance around the room. Just then, Harry realized he had forgotten something. Today was his parent's wedding anniversary!

  Harry looked closer at the wedding dress. He could tell something was wrong. In the past, it had always been carefully laid out. This time it was spread apart and cut into pieces. When he saw that the the long silk train of the beautiful gown had been cut away, he realized where his mother had gotten the fabric for his scarf. Mrs. Winslow used her precious gown to help Harry and the pilots of the 14th Squadron in her own way.

  Astonished but proud of his mother's sacrifice, Harry looked at a picture of his parents hanging on the wall. Once again, Harry thought about his father and how much he missed him. He was confident his dad would know what to do in a time like this.

  Staring at the family portrait, Harry suddenly had an idea. Realizing he found the answer, Harry bolted down the stairs and flew out the door shouting to his mother and sister, "I know who can help Captain Dawson!"

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE LIFE RAFT

  Barely able to open his eyes, a dazed Captain Dawson struggled to concentrate through the numbness in his head. Ever so slowly his senses started to return. Looking up, Dawson made out wispy clouds in the sky. He recognized the smell and bitter taste of salt water. When he noticed his head rocking back and forth, Dawson was startled to realize he was floating on a raft in the ocean.

  "Hello my Cap-i-tan," a distinct voice called.

  Confused by his whereabouts, Dawson focused on the sounds echoing in his head. Dizzy from a concussion suffered while jumping from his Hurricane, he lay still, listening to the voice calling him.

  "Hello my Cap-i-tan."

  This time, the words came clearer. Dawson's senses were finally reaching the point of being useful, even capable of telling him about his surroundings. But, a sinking feeling of fear caused his entire body to tense when he started to understand the situation. Captain Dawson was floating in a life raft somewhere in the English Channel, with someone.

  "Hello my Cap-i-tan. I am glad to see you are still with me, yes?"

  The thick German accent and broken English spoken by the other person in the raft sent chills up Dawson's spine. The man sitting across from him was German, most likely the pilot of an enemy plane he, or one of his men, shot down. Instinctively, the RAF Squadron Leader reached for his side arm. Dawson's sudden movement sent a wa
ve of crippling pain through his body, ending with a sickening pounding in his head.

  "I'm afraid you will find your gun is missing," the German pilot explained. "I tossed it into the water. I have found that guns and rubber life rafts do not mix, yes? It could make a hole."

  Captain Dawson stopped searching for his weapon. Defiantly, he replied, "No matter. A British ship will soon be here to rescue me. I must advise you that you are now my prisoner."

  The German pilot let out a hardy laugh. Leaning over to Dawson he spoke in a soft but firm tone, "I'm afraid, Captain, that you are my prisoner. Soon a German U-boat will pick us up, and you will be sent to one of our fine prisoner-of-war camps."

  Sitting up in the raft, Dawson squinted in the bright sunlight while he studied the man across from him. The face of the German pilot had fine features topped by thick, lightly colored hair. The insignias on his tan flight suit indicated he was a Luftwaffe group leader of some sort. Dawson guessed at the man's age. Although he was probably in his mid twenties, the worn look on the German's face made him seem older than his years.

  "You forget, old chap, this is the English Channel," Dawson reminded his raft mate.

  The other pilot laughed once more. "We shall make a bet, you and me, about who rescues us first. We will consider it a friendly wager..., between enemies."

  While the German spoke, a sparkle of light reflected from the buckle of his belt. The darting flashes caught Dawson's attention, and the grim reality of the situation struck him full force. Strapped to the German pilot's belt was a holster. In the holster rested a pistol. For now, the German was right, Dawson was his prisoner.