nose as she snored softly. She was a comforting presence and Lily was grateful not to be alone.
“Thank you for staying with me, Aunt Gwen.” Lily said when Gwen woke up.
“Not at all, dear, not at all. Fancy a cup of tea, do you?”
“Yes, I think I do.”
Ch apter 17
Nick’s eyelids began to flutter as he finally regained consciousness. His mouth and nose were full of dirt severely limiting his intake of air and his field of vision was limited to a few feet all of which consisted of rich, dark soil. He tried to shift his position, but the agony even the slightest movement induced caused him to reconsider. Everything below his breastbone felt as if someone had beaten him with a lead pipe. He tried to experimentally move his legs. A flash of white, hot pain nearly rendered him senseless, leaving him gasping and moaning. All in all things didn’t look good.
Memories of the crash began to swim to the surface of his pain addled brain. They had left the airbase last night, at least he thought it was last night, on a reconnaissance mission to take photos of Wurzburg D land based gun radar systems used by the Luftwaffe. It was believed that a large number of them were operational in Germany and Nazi occupied France. Roger Field flew the airplane, while Nick was in charge of the new, improved F.24 camera with an 8 inch lens. A map marked with possible locations of the radars was in his lap.
The night was clear and cold with a multitude of stars sprinkling the moonless heavens. This was their third mission this week and some useful photos had already been forwarded on to headquarters earlier in the week. This time they planned to fly deeper into Germany hoping to capture images of locations not yet documented by British Intelligence. The Channel crossing was uneventful and Nick looked down over the port of Le Havre as they flew over it in the darkness. He saw the outline of numerous vessels of all shapes and sizes in the harbor and the lights of the town. Roger was humming a tune to himself while navigating the craft Eastward towards Germany. The night got much darker as they left the port city behind and flew over the darkened countryside. They could see the occasional light of a farmhouse or automobile, but otherwise the darkness was complete.
The Messerschmitt opened fire before they even realized it was behind them. Nick made for the gun while Roger tried to maneuver the craft to avoid enemy fire. They dipped and rose again, but the gunfire kept coming, ripping into the fuselage and finally hitting the 29 gallon fuel tank behind Roger. Nick remembered a ball of flame as the Spitfire plummeted towards the dark earth leaving a trail of fire and smoke behind it like the breath of a fire-breathing dragon. Then everything went dark.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been out, but unless he got out of the open and hid in the woods it wouldn’t be long before he was discovered. He spit the dirt out of his mouth, took a deep breath and tried to crawl. The pain was excruciating and he got a few feet closer to the copse of trees before hearing voices coming closer through the misty sunrise. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he knew he was speaking French as his fingers searched for a pulse in Nick’s neck.
“He is alive,” he called out to his companions and two more people approached. A bearded face leaned closer to Nick as the man squatted down next to him. “You will be all right,” he said in heavily accented English. “Don’t move.” Nick saw a young lad racing off as the two men tried to turn him over and examine his wounds.
“Roger...” Nick whispered through his dry, cracked lips.
“I am sorry, son, your friend did not stand a chance. We need to get you out of here before the Germans come. They will search the countryside, but we have to make them believe he was alone.”
The boy came running back a few minutes later carrying something under his arm and whispering in urgent
“Thank you for staying with me, Aunt Gwen.” Lily said when Gwen woke up.
“Not at all, dear, not at all. Fancy a cup of tea, do you?”
“Yes, I think I do.”
Ch apter 17
Nick’s eyelids began to flutter as he finally regained consciousness. His mouth and nose were full of dirt severely limiting his intake of air and his field of vision was limited to a few feet all of which consisted of rich, dark soil. He tried to shift his position, but the agony even the slightest movement induced caused him to reconsider. Everything below his breastbone felt as if someone had beaten him with a lead pipe. He tried to experimentally move his legs. A flash of white, hot pain nearly rendered him senseless, leaving him gasping and moaning. All in all things didn’t look good.
Memories of the crash began to swim to the surface of his pain addled brain. They had left the airbase last night, at least he thought it was last night, on a reconnaissance mission to take photos of Wurzburg D land based gun radar systems used by the Luftwaffe. It was believed that a large number of them were operational in Germany and Nazi occupied France. Roger Field flew the airplane, while Nick was in charge of the new, improved F.24 camera with an 8 inch lens. A map marked with possible locations of the radars was in his lap.
The night was clear and cold with a multitude of stars sprinkling the moonless heavens. This was their third mission this week and some useful photos had already been forwarded on to headquarters earlier in the week. This time they planned to fly deeper into Germany hoping to capture images of locations not yet documented by British Intelligence. The Channel crossing was uneventful and Nick looked down over the port of Le Havre as they flew over it in the darkness. He saw the outline of numerous vessels of all shapes and sizes in the harbor and the lights of the town. Roger was humming a tune to himself while navigating the craft Eastward towards Germany. The night got much darker as they left the port city behind and flew over the darkened countryside. They could see the occasional light of a farmhouse or automobile, but otherwise the darkness was complete.
The Messerschmitt opened fire before they even realized it was behind them. Nick made for the gun while Roger tried to maneuver the craft to avoid enemy fire. They dipped and rose again, but the gunfire kept coming, ripping into the fuselage and finally hitting the 29 gallon fuel tank behind Roger. Nick remembered a ball of flame as the Spitfire plummeted towards the dark earth leaving a trail of fire and smoke behind it like the breath of a fire-breathing dragon. Then everything went dark.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been out, but unless he got out of the open and hid in the woods it wouldn’t be long before he was discovered. He spit the dirt out of his mouth, took a deep breath and tried to crawl. The pain was excruciating and he got a few feet closer to the copse of trees before hearing voices coming closer through the misty sunrise. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he knew he was speaking French as his fingers searched for a pulse in Nick’s neck.
“He is alive,” he called out to his companions and two more people approached. A bearded face leaned closer to Nick as the man squatted down next to him. “You will be all right,” he said in heavily accented English. “Don’t move.” Nick saw a young lad racing off as the two men tried to turn him over and examine his wounds.
“Roger...” Nick whispered through his dry, cracked lips.
“I am sorry, son, your friend did not stand a chance. We need to get you out of here before the Germans come. They will search the countryside, but we have to make them believe he was alone.”
The boy came running back a few minutes later carrying something under his arm and whispering in urgent
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