Goshawk Squadron by Derek Robinson Page A

believe the figure mentioned was one and a half million in rifle strength.”
    â€œGood Christ,” said Killion, before he could remember to stammer.
    â€œOf course I got that from a chap in Intelligence,” Woodruffe said. “They’re always wrong.”
    â€œWhat I can’t understand,” Richards said, “is why we have to wait. Why don’t we hit them first?”
    â€œIt’s been tried,” Lambert told him. “Remember Passchendaele? That was our idea.”
    â€œPasschendaele,” said Dickinson softly “Passion Dale. There’s something almost Miltonic about it. Or do I mean Bunyanesque? Ranks of valiant warriors crashing to catastrophe, with a great deal of rolling thunder and rather too much sulfur and brimstone.”
    â€œIt was pretty horrible,” said Kimberley severely.
    â€œDon’t tell
me,
chum. I was there. I flew forty-three patrols in one week.”
    â€œHave you really been in the Corps that long?” Woodruffe asked in surprise. “I had no idea it was
that
long.”
    â€œOnly last July,” Dickinson said.
    â€œStill …” Woodruffe peered at him thoughtfully.
    â€œIf I were Jerry,” said Finlayson, “I’d go for the French. They don’t want to fight anymore. Our froggy friends have had enough.”
    â€œI say, is it really true that the French artillery had to fire on their infantry?” Delaforce asked. “To drive them over the top?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” Finlayson said. “They had a mutiny. The troops wouldn’t leave the trenches, so the French generals laid down a barrage on them. That soon shifted them.”
    â€œWhat happened afterward?”
    â€œAfterward? There was no afterward. Why d’you think they didn’t want to get out of the trenches?”
    â€œIt makes me feel sick,” Rogers said. “Physically sick.”
    â€œMind you, the other side has the same problem,” Dickinson said. “I’ve seen the Jerries running up and down behind their men, waving pistols. It’s the same for both sides.”
    â€œWhat a filthy war it is,” Richards said. “It’s all so cramped. There’s no room for a bit of cut and thrust, it’s just … it’s like … two great stupid fellows standing toe to toe and …
bludgeoning.”
    Woodruffe listened to all this with deepening anxiety. “I was at Corps yesterday,” he said, “and General Somebody was telling people how things looked, and he said we were definitely on top. He thought that one big blow would knock the Germans right out. He said there was every reason for optimism.”
    â€œGod,” Lambert said. “I didn’t know things were as bad as
that”
    As soon as the rain stopped, Woolley had the planes warmed up. He went to the middle of the field and spread out a small tablecloth. Then he rang his handbell and waited for the pilots to assemble.
    â€œThis,” he said, “is your life insurance policy. Read the small print carefully.” He walked across the white square. Delaforce and Richards looked at his footprints doubtfully. Church twisted his head sideways as if the writing were the wrong way round. The others stood and smoked, or twitched, or shrugged, or blinked, or nodded, or performed whatever other small compulsion their nervous systems required of them these days. Gabriel noticed how gray the hairs were on the back of Woolley’s neck. Finlayson stood behind Kimberley.
    â€œThis cloth is today’s target,” Woolley said. “It makes a good target, for two reasons. First, you attack it from above. Always attack from above. When we get into action, some ofyou will forget that. They will be killed. Height is an advantage. Always try to fight with an advantage.” Woolley pursed his thin lips and addressed Rogers and Kimberley in particular. “I have been described as lacking in