<link href="style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"/> <meta content="urn:uuid:5f94e297-820e-41f5-84e7-a31198c4feff" name="Adept.expected.resource"/> </head> <body> <div id="c28"> <p class="figure"><img alt="" src="images/comm.jpg"/></p> <p class="chap">Chapter 28</p> <p class="c1"><i>September 1917</i></p> <p class="extract"><b><span class="drop">I</span> relaxed my vigilance as we neared the lines, standing with my back against Wellsey’s cockpit.</b> With the aftereffects of the adrenaline rush, I remained warm even with the frigid slipstream pushing into me. I turned and said, “We’re a damn good team, Wellsey! And Schweitzer, whoa boy! Gutsy man!” Wellsey grinned as he nodded, pointing ahead.</p> <p class="indent">“Ah, 21-Lighthouse at starboard.” I loaded the Very pistol with green shot.</p> <p class="indent">“Right-o, Bobby. Homeward we sail.”</p> <p class="indent">We arrived at the aerodrome and blinked our wing lights. The landing T lit up the welcoming flare path, and at about fifty feet, I released the parachute flare to light up the grassy field. We bounced twice before taxiing up to the hangars, the last aeroplane to arrive.</p> <p class="indent">Hardy and another mechanic helped us out of our sweaty Sidcots and fur boots, leaving them hanging over the tail of the Fee to air out. After we filed our report in the Ops Room, we met up with Schweitzer in the mess. Although it was after 0100 hours, we were looking forward to a drink or two.</p> <p class="indent">Tonight was typical of any after a sortie—glasses raised, pipes lit, and conversation robust as small groups sat or stood facing each other. The brazier held a crackling fire, but I couldn’t imagine being chilly after tonight’s excitement. I walked from the bar to catch up with Wellsey and Schweitzer, who were with Ace and Bean. Schweitzer turned to open the circle for me.</p> <p class="indent">“Successful night, Bobby! Good backup on that train. I wasn’t sure if I could continue alone until you showed up. Thought I might have to abandon a precious target!” Captain Viktor Schweitzer was of German heritage, and his family resided in Winnipeg. His broad figure, blond hair, and blue eyes told of his ancestry, and his humble demeanor was indicative of his family’s Canadian background.</p> <p class="indent">“Oh yeah, Vik, what a night! Damn, I was taken by surprise when we came out of the dark to see you blasting those one-pounders. Never would have thought they could destroy a train.”</p> <p class="indent">“And when I first saw them last week, I never thought the ole Fee could withstand the pom-poms’ strong kickback, what with bucking around like that,” reiterated Wellsey, “let alone being able to shoot accurately.”</p> <p class="indent">Schweitzer looked around our excited circle, not used to being in the spotlight as the night’s hero. “Yes, but be mindful that it takes a very lucky hit to do what I—er, what we did tonight,” he said humbly. “Only one shot in ten strikes the target, so it’s especially hard to take out a loco.”</p> <p class="indent">The captain had us all riveted to his story as he explained that the pom-pom had to be lined up from behind the locomotive’s firebox and aimed as conditions allowed. The gun had no lateral movement, so the aeroplane itself had to adjust the aim. And the Maxim one-pounder shell without shrapnel was ineffective against anything but a direct hit on a target. Another challenge was the inability to carry an observer since the gun muzzle protruded through the front nacelle, which meant the pilot needed to fly and shoot at the same time, with little accuracy.</p> <p class="indent">Schweitzer continued, “So, you see, the gun can level a train, but it needs perfect conditions and teamwork from additional, uh, support Fees. Having Wells and Pitman work along to distract the loco engineer and keep their machine gunners subdued allowed me just enough time to line up and shoot.”</p> <p class="indent">Wellsey, who had seen the gun work before, continued the narrative that, although the nature of the cannon’s pom-pom sound can strike terror into the enemy, its cumbersome need of reloading and re-aiming was why the weapon was seldom used. His perspective was that a skilled shooter operating the Lewis gun was much more effective.</p> <p class="indent">As the conversation had become technical, and the hour late, it died away. Characteristic of his perpetual wakefulness, Wellsey was game for another drink. I cheerfully obliged. We walked over to the bar that was bereft of officers, and although exhausted, we found our second wind and digressed into family matters. “What of your wife, Frank? How does she deal with being all the way back in Cape Town while you’re here in Europe?”</p> <p class="indent">“Ah, that’s the thing. Letters and packages go only so far, you know. Having a wife far away where you cannot visit on leave is damn difficult.”</p> <p class="indent">“Not being tied down myself, I’m not sure what it’s like for you.</p> <p class="indent">Did you marry long before the war?”</p> <p class="indent">He chuckled. “<i>Ja</i>, we were married young, before war clouds massed over Europe. I wanted to be a flyer down home, you know. Got my Royal Aero Club ticket, was on my way.”</p> <p class="indent">“You could have stayed, yes? Could have served in a South African home establishment?”</p> <p class="indent">Wellsey stood up straight, confident in his answer. “Nah, wasn’t going to be. It was my wife who encouraged me to do my bit. I don’t know. I don’t know at all if she regrets that now. Still, we don’t question it, just reassure each other there will be an end to this chaos and I’ll be returned home.”</p> <p class="indent">I looked thoughtfully at my friend. “I suppose that’s all you can do. I can’t imagine what it feels like for her, not knowing whether you are safe, trying not to think of some dreaded telegram.”</p> <p class="indent">“You have your Cissy, and you have family far enough away that you can’t visit on leave, either.”</p> <p class="indent">I thought that over, knowing it was true but having buried its reality. “Quite so, yet it’s not like I’ve made a life commitment to a lady. Cissy and I haven’t known each other long and are still in the beginnings of—of what, I’m not sure. It’s difficult to develop a deeper relationship through letter writing, as you can imagine.” Glancing across the now almost empty room, I looked dreamily back at Wellsey. “I do know I care for her a whole bunch.”</p> <p class="indent">He affectionately slapped me on the shoulder. “That’s obvious, old man! Your pondering her letters is striking. She’s certainly got your attention.”</p> <p class="indent">“Oh yes, Wellsey! She’s beautiful, has a sharp mind, and stirs me like I’ve never felt before. Quite the suffragette. A strong woman, which I think is a good part of my attraction for her. And so I’m rambling now, <i>mon pilote</i>. Time we retire, don’t you think?”</p> <p class="star">. . .</p> <div class="block"> <p class="extract"><i>Miss Hilda R. Pitman</i></p> <p class="nonindent"><i>426-8th Street East</i></p> <p class="nonindent"><i>Saskatoon, Saskatchewan</i></p> <p class="nonindent"><i>Dominion of Canada</i></p> <p class="extract"><i>10 September, 1917</i></p> <p class="extract"><i>My Dear Hilda,</i></p> <p class="indent"><i>Plain and simple, I miss you so. I imagine that at this time when summer is coming to a close you will be thinking of fall activities. I miss the autumn in Saskatoon, and I imagine it to be colorful and beautiful as always.</i></p> <p class="indent"><i>France has autumn, of course, but much of its beauty has been marred by the destructive forces of war. It makes me pine for the peacefulness that defines Canada. I’ll see you just as soon as we put an end to this madness.</i></p> <p class="indent"><i>I’m so pleased you are there to be with Mama and Papa. It must mean a lot to have their youngest child with them. You are seventeen now, my little darling. In spite of war, these are the best years a young lady has. (I pause as I reflect on now referring to you as a lady, as it seems we were playing hopscotch together not so long ago.) Enjoy them!</i></p> <p class="indent"><i>I am doing well, as well as expected in the thick of things here in western France. We are flying sorties over German territory in an attempt to wrench from them the very land that they so destructively stole from France and Belgium in 1914. I’m forbidden from telling you more or where I’m based, but be assured I’m safe. As safe as possible.</i></p> <p class="indent"><i>Do take care of yourself and stay well. If you feel up to it, another tin of that Saskatoon berry jam would be most welcome.</i></p> <p class="extract"><i>Love to you,</i></p> <p class="nonindent"><i>Bob</i></p> </div> <p class="star">. . .</p> <div class="block"> <p class="extract"><i>10 September, 1917</i></p> <p class="extract"><i>My Dearest Cissy,</i></p> <p class="indent"><i>As always, I woke this morning with you on my mind. Wellsey and I returned from a successful sortie last night and sat up talking about relationships and distance.</i></p> <p class="indent"><i>Wellsey’s wife is alone in South Africa, for which I feel sad as he cannot see her due to the great distance. Even with leave, there is insufficient time to travel home. That is the fate of Commonwealth soldiers, I’m afraid.</i></p> <p class="indent"><i>Their situation is not different from ours as circumstances dictate our emotional distance must remain wide. Yet we are lucky being only a few hundred miles from each other, and there must come a time when I am granted leave. I’ll be in Chilwell before you know it.</i></p> <p class="indent"><i>I only need close my eyes to see you, and I only need to think of you to get through the most difficult moments of our increasing number of sorties. I do trust you are keeping well and keeping that tractor on an even keel as you send more bombs to us at the front. I am proud of you, Cissy, and I told Wellsey that. You mustn’t think I go around talking to others too much about you, but they are curious about our frequent letter writing. Not much is private on an aerodrome. Mere distribution of the weekly mail brings teasing questions!</i></p> <p class="indent"><i>Around the airfield, word has it that 100 Squadron is to be quite busy supporting the ground offensives reported in the newspapers. Our job is to cease or at least slow the ability of the Germans to move matériel to the current struggle at Passchendaele. We have been successful in our own small way and will continue to bring justice to our foe. So please be patient with me if letters are not as regular. And please do not worry, as we are camouflaged nicely in the blackness of night.</i></p> <p class="indent"><i>Well, my canary girl, I wanted to let you know you are in my thoughts. There is nothing that could change my feelings for you.</i></p> <p class="extract"><i>Yours especially,</i></p> <p class="nonindent"><i>Bob</i></p> </div> </div> </body> </html>