Читать книгу The Map Of Honour - Max Carmichael - Страница 8

Green smiled broadly and grasped the man’s hand, ‘Warrant Officer Bennett,’ he said.

‘Well son,’ said Bennet, stepping back and regarding Green with interest, ‘you look all right, and a sergeant too, I see. Let’s see, the first time I saw you was on the beach at ANZAC Cove. I didn’t know whether to hand you over to the MPs, or turn the other way while you flogged me stores!’

‘Instead, you helped me to whatever I wanted,’ laughed Green.

‘Shh! Not so loud, I don’t want these young buggers to think I’m a crook!’ Bennett nodded toward the working soldiers. ‘Could you handle a brew?’

‘Love one,’ replied Green and followed Bennet back into his office.

‘Take a seat.’ Bennet indicated a dusty wooden stool. ‘It’s good to see you again,’ he said. ‘How did you find me?’

‘Well truth is,’ admitted Green, ‘I didn’t. It’s a complete fluke. I am on my own and I saw your sign from the ferry.’

‘Milk?’

‘No thanks. Listen mate, I’m after a favour.’

Bennet laughed. ‘So nothing’s changed!’ He pushed a steaming cup of tea across the table that served as his desk. ‘Here you go,’ he said. ‘Now tell me, what’s going on? Are you posted across here as reinforcement?’

‘Nothing as easy as that,’ replied Green grimly. ‘Monash’s division will come across here soon and he’s sent me over to see how things are being done.’ He was now totally committed to Monash’s mission and the cover story came easily to his lips; even so, he felt some discomfort to be lying to a friend.

‘Sounds like a sensible thing to do,’ Bennett remarked, ‘and it’s no surprise he picked you. It was clear at ANZAC that he had a lot of time for you.’

‘Yeah well, you know what the Toff’s used to call me…Monash’s pet nigger!’

‘I know, I know. But that was then, and the blokes you were with, well, surely it’s different now?’

Green shrugged. ‘Yeah, most of them are all right. Some of the new ones still find it hard to take orders from a black fellow sergeant, but they get over it.’

‘So, where do you have to get to?’

‘3 Brigade.’

‘Shit! It could take you a week by train!’

‘So I’m told; that’s why I came in here. I was hoping to hitch a ride on a supply convoy.’

Bennett snorted. ‘That’s no problem at all, but it could take even longer. The roads down round the Somme are pretty bad at the best of times, and the Hun likes to bomb and shell supply trains whenever he can.’

Greed was despondent. ‘So maybe the train is the best way after all.’

‘Not a bit of it!’ Bennett retorted. ‘How’d you like to get there tomorrow morning?’

Green laughed. ‘What, you’re into magic now?’

‘Well, as good as, son. I’ve just received a stores request for urgent medical supplies from a Field Hospital at Amiens; 3 Brigade’s near there. Nothing big, but apparently the medicos need it. In fact, I was just going out to organise it when you arrived. What we’ve done a couple of times recently for this kind of thing has been to stick the package on an aeroplane and fly it there. I send one of my blokes to sit in the back seat of the thing and carry the stuff. I could send you to do the job.’

‘Sounds good,’ replied Green, ‘but I’ve never flown before. Are you sure it’s all right?’

‘Look, I won’t lie to you, son. It’s a dangerous trip. I reckon just flying is bad enough. Personally, I wouldn’t be seen dead in one of the bloody things. But aside from that, the Hun tries to shoot our aircraft down every time they see one and there are about one hundred and fifty miles of dangerous space between here and the Somme. The only plus for the whole idea is, if you survive, you get there in a about an hour and a half as compared to days in a bloody train.’

Green took a long sip at his tea and thought hard. There was an embarrassing flaw in Bennett’s plan; Green was terrified of heights. For a moment, he was about to thank Bennett and make his way to the railway station. Then he remembered another Boer War veteran’s advice to him as he embarked on the ship bound for Egypt: ‘take advantage of every experience that is offered you…’ The memory was enough.

‘Let’s do it,’ he said

Bennett smiled. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘You had best stay here until I square it all up. If you walk around outside, someone will spot you and order you on to the train. You can kip in here. Shitters are out the back, and we have enough extra rations to feed a battalion, so you won’t starve. I’ll make a few calls and then we should be ready to go sometime early tomorrow morning.’

As events turned out, Green’s flight was not quite as easy to arrange as Bennett had hoped. While there was no problem with his filling the observer’s seat in the aircraft, the Major commanding the Air Corps squadron was insistent that his pilot had an observer for the return flight too.

‘He will need someone to man the old Lewis gun,’ the Major complained. ‘Bad enough when the Hun tries to jump one when the bloody thing is manned. No hope at all if we have an empty seat back there. Sorry old man, no observer for the way home it just won’t do.’

Bennett was not to be defeated. A few more inquiries established that an able-bodied man at the Somme end, who was familiar with the workings of the Lewis gun, was going on leave in England. This man jumped at the opportunity to get to Calais in an hour and a bit, thus turning the two-day train journey into two days of additional time in the arms of his wife back in Britain. The man was happy, the pilot was happy, and Bennett was happy. Only Green remained as a less than enthusiastic party to the plot, particularly when the Major told him that he must be extremely vigilant during the whole flight and on no account could he close his eyes.

The next morning dawned damp and misty. Bennett had arrived at his warehouse office early and wakened Green. ‘Bacon sandwich, mate? Best thing they tell me for your first flight.’

Green arose from the floor and stretched. ‘Sounds good and smells even better,’ he said as he took the offered food and ate it contentedly.

‘Soon as you’ve finished, I’ve got a vehicle outside; we’ll drive down to the airstrip. I’ll just go and get the stuff for the medics.’

When Bennett returned, Green had his equipment on and his rifle and echelon bag safely stowed in the front of Bennett’s vehicle, a light truck that bore a strange resemblance to a child’s pram with an engine stuck on the front.

‘Jump in,’ said Bennett. ‘It’s about fifteen minutes down the track. I don’t know how you’ll go with this mist. The flyers don’t seem to like it much. But the bloke who’s flying you is a bit of a dare devil, so he’ll probably have a go at taking off.’

Bennett’s piece of casual advice in this regard did nothing for Green’s confidence, and he was starting to regret his decision to take the flight.

As Bennett guided the vehicle toward the airfield, the mist began to lift, enabling him to drive a little faster. They passed columns of marching men, some of whom shouted angrily as Bennet’s vehicle hit roadside puddles, showering the marching men with mud.

‘Get on with you!’ Bennett shouted back. ‘Mud’s good for you; it will make you grow!’

Green remained silent and concentrated on hanging on to his seat to avoid being thrown out onto the road. He constantly checked that his rifle was safe and that a leather cylindrical case attached to his big pack was not being damaged. The case held his spotting telescope; that and his rifle were the sniper’s essential tools. He doubted that even Bennett’s stores would be able to replace either item quickly should he lose or damage them.

In spite of Bennett’s erratic driving, they arrived at the airstrip safely. Bennet brought the vehicle to a halt beside a neat sign which proclaimed the single word, “Dispersal.” A Bell tent stood just beyond.

‘What do they disperse?’ asked Green as he gathered his gear.

‘Fuck knows,’ Bennet replied. ‘Come on, the bloke we want should be inside the tent.’

Captain James Rosher AIF was cleaning his brown top boots, the kind that come up over a horseman’s calves. On a chair next to him piled in neat order was a long leather coat, a thick woollen scarf, a pair of leather gloves, a flying helmet, and goggles. He looked up from his boot cleaning task as Bennett and Green entered the tent.

‘Hello Bennett, two loads to deliver this time, eh?’ Rosher returned to polishing his boot.

‘G’day, sir. This is Sergeant Green; he’s needed at 3 Brigade urgently, and these,’ he showed Rosher two small packages, ‘are wanted by the field hospital, also urgently.’

‘Right oh, I’ll just finish this boot and we shall be off! Ever flown before, Green?’

‘No sir, I haven’t.’

‘Didn’t think so; not many of you infantry types have. Can you handle a Lewis gun?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good, good, hope we don’t have to put that skill to the test, but one never knows.’ Rosher finished polishing the boot, stood it beside its mate, and inspected his work. ‘It will have to do,’ he pronounced. ‘Nobody up there is going to see them anyway!’ He then proceeded to squeeze his feet into the boots, stamping each foot on the ground to make sure he had achieved a comfortable fit. Rosher was already wearing a thick naval style polo necked jumper beneath his uniform tunic, but now he wriggled into yet another pullover before struggling into the leather coat.

‘It gets damn cold up there,’ he explained to Green and Bennett. ‘If you have any extra clothing in your kit bag, I recommend you wear it. Got a greatcoat?’

Green nodded.

‘Put that on over the lot; that should reduce the size of your kit bag as well… we don’t have a lot of space. Oh, by the way, if you need a leak or a shit, have it now. We don’t run to flying toilets.’

‘Where’s your crapper?’ asked Green. He felt very nervous, a little like he used to feel before the start of a game of football.

‘Round the back of the tent. You’ll see the hessian screen. Don’t be too long.’

Green was quick. His bowels were particularly active, and he made a brief but noisy deposit in the yawning pit that served as the pre-flight toilet. He returned to the tent feeling a little foolish at his nervous state and began to pull a heavy jersey over his tunic, before struggling into his great coat.

‘All finished? Wash your hands?’ Rosher seemed to be enjoying the situation. ‘Right oh Mister Bennett, you can shove off. Sergeant Green…let’s go.’

Bennett shook Green by the hand. ‘Good luck, mate. See you in about eight weeks.’

‘Sure, sure,’ replied Green. ‘I’ll let you know how I go, but I reckon I might come back by train.’

Bennett grinned. ‘I’ll watch you take off,’ he said, ‘should be good for a laugh.’

Green grimaced and followed Rosher out onto the airfield. Looming out of the mist, he saw the silhouette of the waiting aircraft. A mechanic was fussing over its engine, taking no notice of the approaching pilot and his passenger.

Rosher patted the side of the fuselage. ‘This,’ he said to Green, ‘is the Sopwith 1½ Strutter, a two-seater biplane multi-role aircraft. That is to say we use can her for dropping bombs, or as a fighter against Hun aircraft. She is as good an aircraft as we have at the moment and can reach a speed of around two hundred miles an hour if she has to.’

Green nodded, but the thought of reaching one hundred miles per hour, let alone two hundred, was beyond his comprehension.

Rosher pointed toward the front of the aircraft. ‘That’s where I sit and drive her. You will note I have a fixed machine gun which fires through the propeller. Don’t be alarmed; the weapon is synchronized and won’t cut the prop off. You will sit in the rear pit,’ Rosher pointed to the yawning observer bay situated immediately behind the pilot’s cockpit, ‘facing toward the tail. If we are attacked, you will operate that Lewis gun mounted there.’ Rosher paused and smiled at his passenger. ‘Don’t worry, my aim is to get you there in one piece, so I have no intention of stooging about looking for trouble. I plan to stay low and go like hell to reach the Somme. If we run into trouble, we may have to climb into some clouds to hide for a while, or maybe this damn mist might help hide us. Now one more thing, as well as being bloody cold, it is very, very noisy. If you need to tell me anything, you are going to have to yell, or turn around and pass me a note.’ He turned to the mechanic. ‘Syd, help Sergeant Green get his stuff on board and then strap him in.’

‘Come along now, Sergeant,’ directed Syd. ‘Careful where you put your feet now; we don’t want to make a hole in her skin now, do we?’

Syd placed Green’s kit bag and rifle in the body of the aircraft, making sure it was clear of the various control lines, and tied it in place securely. Then he strapped Green to his seat with a single leather belt, before handing him a flying helmet and some thick gloves.

‘Put these on Sarg; it gets a tad cold up there.’

‘So they tell me,’ replied Green nervously.

After making sure Green could reach and operate the Lewis gun, Syd jumped down from the aircraft and moved to its front where he grasped the propeller. Rosher was already in his place. He turned and gave the thumbs up signal to Green, before returning his attention to the mechanic.

‘Contact.’

The mechanic pulled down hard on the propeller and after several barking coughs, the Sopwith’s engine bellowed to life. A few seconds later, the aircraft began to move slowly across the grass. When Rosher was satisfied that his controls and engine indicators were functioning correctly, he opened the throttle and the Sopwith bounded across the grass.

Green had never travelled so fast in his life. The noise of the engine alone was almost overpowering; the wind created by the aircrafts charge along the ground pressed the leather flying helmet into the contours of his head. He caught a brief view of Bennett standing by his vehicle; then he was gone. Below him, the grass rushed past in an emerald blur; the posts of the fence that bounded the airfield flashed by in a staccato of light and dark forms. Then with a leap that seemed to leave Green’s stomach behind, they were airborne. He looked down in amazement at the rapidly receding airfield and then out toward the horizon. It was fantastic—he was actually flying! He glanced over his shoulder and saw they were heading toward a huge fluffy cloud, and then suddenly they were inside it, encased in a world of white. Moments later, the aircraft punched through the cloud mass, into brilliant sunshine.

Green gazed in wonder as an almost magical world of fluffy hills and valleys formed by the clouds below them was revealed to him. The sensation of speed that had so mesmerized him as they took off was gone and he felt he could step off the aircraft and walk around. Momentarily, he felt that he was an intruder, and he looked about half expecting to see some kind of guardian of the heavens, an angel, even God, watching him. But the feeling vanished in a throaty growl from the Sopwith’s engine.

Rosher climbed to about one thousand feet, and then banked the aircraft away toward the southeast and the Somme. He looked back toward Green just as the Sergeant looked forward. Rosher smiled cheerily and waved. Green waved back.

After about five minutes flying time, Rosher put the Sopwith into a gentle dive, levelling off at about one hundred feet. He turned back to Green and shouted at him to attract his attention. Finally, Green heard and looked over his shoulder toward the pilot. Conversation was impossible, so Rosher began a brief pantomime, the point of which was to remind Green that he had to be on the lookout for enemy aircraft. Green immediately understood and turned back to his Lewis gun and began to scan the sky, swinging the muzzle of the gun in the same direction he was looking. Satisfied, Rosher turned back to his own task, bringing the aircraft lower and lower, until the Sopwith was around fifty feet off the ground, and then he opened the throttle a little to achieve a cruising speed of about one hundred miles an hour.

For Green, the sensation of speed returned as the aircraft rocketed across the countryside. Rosher dodged trees, leap frogged hedges, and just missed the roofs of farm houses. Every twist and weaving, every sudden brief climb and rapid decent, made Green’s stomach heave. He had to force himself to concentrate on his allotted task and not to lean over the side and lose himself in a heaving vomit.

The glare of the sun came from their left front and it was in this quarter that Rosher was keeping his own watchful vigil, and after approximately half an hour into the journey, he was rewarded by a tiny flash of reflected light. Green, concentrating his watch to the rear, saw nothing, and the first warning of any alarm he received was a renewed bellow from the Sopwith’s engine as Rosher opened the throttle to its full extent and began to climb toward a thick bank of cloud.

Green looked over his shoulder toward his pilot. Rosher pointed frantically upwards with his left arm. Green swung the Lewis gun in that direction, staring into the blinding sunlight. He could see nothing. He looked again and then through the eye stinging glare of the morning sun, he saw two dark shapes wheeling like eagles above the Sopwith, and in sudden fear, he realized the shapes were enemy aircraft. Even as he watched, one of the aircraft began diving to cut the Sopwith off, while the other was positioning itself to come at its rear. Green concentrated all his attention on the aircraft making toward their rear.

The aircraft Green was watching was much closer now, and as it banked to come directly behind the Sopwith, he saw a large black cross painted on its fuselage. He swung the Lewis gun toward the black cross, but his aim was spoiled as Rosher threw the Sopwith on its side and let loose with a prolonged burst of fire from his own machine gun. A split second later, the other enemy aircraft tore past, its own machine gun blazing.

Green had only just enough time to regain his composure when the second enemy aircraft began its attack. He could see the blaze of deadly light coming from its machine gun. Rosher was still desperately climbing for the cloud bank, twisting the Sopwith first one way and then another. A row of holes suddenly appeared in the aircraft’s body inches from Green’s front. Desperately, he swung the Lewis gun toward the attacking German and fired a quick burst. His shots must have been close, for the German pilot rolled his aircraft away and took a few seconds to compose himself before joining with his mate to renew the attack.

The cloud bank was now thirty seconds away, and Rosher was extracting every last ounce of power from the Sopwith’s engine. The German pilots, sensing their quarry might yet escape them, redoubled their efforts. The first aircraft now attacked from above while the second came from the Sopwith’s starboard side. Rosher was faced with the decision of continuing his flight, leaving his fixed machine gun out of the fight and Green with two enemies attacking from different directions, or he could turn and fight.

There was really never any choice. At thirty seconds’ distance, the cloud bank might just as well have been a hundred miles away. Rosher knew he would have to fight. He threw the Sopwith into a diving corkscrew manoeuvre, spoiling the German’s immediate attack, and then desperately pulled his machine around in an effort to gain the tail of one of his opponents. Green could only hang on, but then as Rosher desperately tried to steady the Sopwith for a shot at the first German aircraft, for a fraction of a second the other German was in the Lewis gun’s sights and Green fired a prolonged burst. The German pilot shook as the stream of bullets struck him and tossed him into the corner of his cockpit; the nose of the German aircraft dropped and it began a long dive toward the ground. The other German pilot immediately broke off his attack and followed his stricken comrade. Rosher resumed his climb toward the safety of the cloud bank. The brief battle was over.