Darkest Hour Read Free Page B

to
you!' he said. 'Who the hell do you think you are? I offer you an olive branch and
you have the nerve to spit in my face.'
    'Don't give me that crap. What the hell did you
expect? You listen to me. Whether we like it not, we're both here, and for the
sake of the company I'll work with you, but don't expect me to like you and
don't expect me to trust you. Not until you've proved to me that you've
changed. Now, I thought you were taking me to see the OC so let's bloody get on
with it.'
    Blackstone laughed mirthlessly. 'Oh dear,' he said.
'You always were an obstinate beggar. I can promise you this much, though,
Jack. It's really not worth getting on the wrong side of me. It wasn't back
then, and it certainly isn't now.'
    'Just as I thought,' snarled Tanner. 'You haven't
changed.'
    'You're making a big mistake, Jack,' said Blackstone,
slowly. 'Believe me - a very big mistake.'
     
     

Chapter 2

     
    By the time he reached Manston Squadron Leader Lyell
was already in a bad mood, but his spirits fell further when he saw the wagons
dousing the flames of Robson's Hurricane - or, rather, what was left of it: the
fuselage was nothing more than a crumpled black skeleton. Then, clambering out
of the cockpit, he saw Cartwright, his rigger, examining what was evidently
damage along his own fuselage.
    'Don't worry, sir,' said Cartwright. 'Only a couple of
bullet holes.'
    'I didn't notice any difference,' Lyell muttered.
    'No - looks like they went clean through. Soon patch
that up.'
    'What about Robson?'
    'Believe he's all right, sir. His kite didn't blow
until he was well clear.'
    'That's something, then.' He began to head back, but
Smith, his fitter, called after him.
    'Did you get it, sir? The Dornier?'
    Lyell stopped. 'Put it this way, Smith, I doubt very
much that it will have made France.' As he walked on across the grass, he
decided to continue with the lie, but it did little to improve his mood or
assuage the humiliation and anger he felt at having been foxed by a lone
German reconnaissance plane. Christ, how many times had they practised their
aerial attacks? Almost every day since the war began! Each attack procedure had
been assiduously drilled into every pilot, yet the first time they had tried
the Number One Attack - which was also the most straightforward - it had failed
hopelessly. He had been thrown by the Dornier's return fire, but what had
really shocked him was the ineffectiveness of the .303 Browning bullets. Was it
the range, or their velocity? He wasn't sure. And his ammunition had run dry so
quickly. Fifteen seconds had always seemed a reasonable amount during gunnery
practice, but in the heat of combat, it had gone by in a trice. Had their
training been wrong or were the German aircrew simply better?
    As he neared the dispersal hut he saw Dennison, the
intelligence officer, hovering by the doorway, itching to ask him about the
sortie. Lyell felt a further flash of irritation.
    'So what happened, Skip?' Dennison asked as Lyell
dropped his flying helmet into a deck-chair in front of the wooden hut.
    'Did you get the bastard?' asked Granby, the commander
of B Flight.
    'I caught up with him, all right,' Lyell told them.
The other pilots were also listening now. 'He was a wily sod, though, making
the most of the cloud. Still, I managed to get in a couple of bursts and I'm
pretty sure I knocked out his port engine. Must have got the rear-gunner too
because he shut up shop pretty quickly. Anyway, she was losing height and
trailing a fair amount of smoke when she disappeared into a large bank of
cloud.'
    'Probably in the Channel by now, then,' said Granby.
    'I'd have thought so.' Lyell glanced up at the almost
perfectly clear sky above them. 'Bloody weather. Why couldn't it have been like
this all the way to France?' He looked at Dennison. 'Don't worry,' he said to
the IO, 'I know we can't claim it.' He paused to light a cigarette, exhaled and
said, 'I hear Robbo's all right.'
    'Bloody lucky,' said Granby. 'Another few