Fly Boy (21 page)

“What’s our altitude?” I asked Drew.

“Forty-nine hundred. Still directly on course.”

“Good, thanks.”

We were flying just above an extensive bank of clouds that extended below us for hundreds of miles. I wanted to be in clear skies but have a place to hide if we were attacked. The plane was crippled and there was no way I had the skills to pilot any meaningful evasive action. We were nothing more than a limping, injured duck, easy pickings for any enemy fighter that happened upon us.

“How are you doing?” Drew asked.

“I’m fine, but my arms are tired.
All
of me is tired.” I paused. “The controls are slow and floppy.”

“What do you think is wrong?”

“We might have taken some damage to the tail … maybe the rudders, maybe the elevators. Once it’s light we can do a visual inspection.”

“That won’t be too long. And if we do have to bail, it’s better in the light.”

“Better, but still … How’s Jed?”

“I’ll check.”

He got out of his seat and I felt even more alone and scared.

“His breathing is shallow, but his pulse is strong,” he said
when he came back. “He’s unconscious, but that might have more to do with the morphine than anything else. I think he’s comfortable.”

I was so grateful he was still alive, but I knew that left me with no choice. I hated to admit it—even quietly to myself in my mind—but if Jed had died, I could have abandoned the plane. I didn’t want to hit the silk, but really, could I land a Lancaster? Wasn’t I just going to kill him and me both when we hit the deck? Did I really think I could—

My attention was caught by a line on the panel. One of the lights was red.

“Drew, the light on the console—is that an engine light?”

“It’s engine four.”

“Outside starboard. Can you tell what’s wrong with it?”

“I’m not a flight engineer, but it looks like it’s running too hot. The temperature gauge shows it’s running much higher than the other two engines.”

“Can you see any problem?” I asked as I peered out of the window at the engine.

“I can’t see anything. It’s not on fire, I don’t see any— No, wait—there’s some smoke coming out … not a lot, but some, definitely some. What does that mean? What do we do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should … maybe we should … reduce the power to that engine, not run it as hard. Does that make sense?”

“I guess so. We can run on two engines if we need to … right?”

“Yes, we can fly with two engines. I read that in the manuals.” I paused. “Have you ever seen a Lancaster flying with only two engines?”

“No, but if the manuals say we can, then we can.”

“Okay, then let’s throttle back a little on that engine and add some throttle to the inside starboard.”

I put my hand on the throttles. With my fingers I pulled the throttle back on the one engine while simultaneously using my thumb to increase the throttle on the other. I felt the plane’s attitude change and I compensated with the yoke to level us out and—

“It’s on fire! There are flames coming out of the outside engine!”

Without saying a word, I reached over and flipped up the cover and hit the fire extinguisher. I watched as the foam streamed out, smothering the flames. The plane suddenly slowed and slumped. I thrust forward the throttles on the two remaining engines, pushing them past the gate until they were almost all the way to the wall.

“We’re still flying,” Drew said.

“You sound surprised.”

“Aren’t you?”

“A little.”

“Jacko, can you update us on position?” Drew asked.

“I can give you a rough plotting. I wish we had a navigator to do it right.”

“So do I,” I agreed.

“I think we’d better keep him up front,” Drew said. “If you want to take the flight engineer’s spot, I’ll try to plot a course.”

“Let’s just keep a few of us in spots where we know what we’re doing,” Jacko replied. “I have a pretty good reckoning at just over one hundred and thirty miles from the coast.”

“At our present airspeed we’ll make the Channel in about twenty … no, twenty-five minutes,” I said.

We were almost home. A short skip across the Channel and then we’d be over England. When the crew bailed, they’d be in friendly hands—they’d be safe. Then it would just be Jed and me in the plane when I tried to bring it down.

“We have company!” Jacko yelled out. “Echoes on the fishpond!”

I started us down toward the clouds. We couldn’t outrun anything, but I had to hope that we could dive into the clouds and play possum and—

“It’s Spitfires!” Jacko yelled. “It’s Spits! It’s our guys! I’ve got them on the radio—patching you through, Skip!”

I felt such a rush of relief that tears came to my eyes. I tried to snuffle them back. I pulled back on the yoke to keep us above the clouds. I was happier to be able to see where we were flying.

“This is Spitfire leader to Lancaster pilot.” It was a distinctly English accent.

“This is the Lancaster pilot. You won’t believe how happy we are to hear your voice.”

“We’re rather pleased to speak to you as well. We’ll make sure you’re safe and secure all the way home.”

I wished he could take me all the way to my real home— in Canada.

“Does anybody see them?” I asked over the intercom.

“Nothing,” Glen said from the top turret. “Still too dark.”

“I’m starting to see the sun coming up behind us,” Sandy added. “It’ll soon catch us, especially at this speed.”

“That’s the only thing I’m happy to be caught by,” I said.

It was almost light and we were under the protection of
our fighters. The coast was almost in sight and we’d soon be over the English countryside and safe … Well, at least some of us would be safe.

The light from the rising sun started to stream in through the top of the canopy. I could see now that there were multiple holes in the canopy, one smaller panel of glass was shattered, and blood was splattered all along the starboard-side window. Drew had done his best with material and adhesive tape from the first aid kit to cover up as many of the holes as possible. His repairs had blocked off some of the air entering the cockpit but didn’t completely stop the flow of bitter, freezing wind. My whole body was cold and numb. I flexed my fingers repeatedly, trying to keep them supple and able to work the controls.

In the growing light I could now see members of our escort. There were two Spitfires off our port side, just ahead and above, and another pair high and off to the starboard. We were now safe from enemy attack.

“Glennie, Sandy, you can stand down.”

“Thanks, Skipper.”

Skipper
—that was so familiar and so strange at the same time, because they were talking to
me
.

The sunlight had completely caught up to us. Daylight had arrived. I hoped that the rays would start to warm the cockpit a bit. I could also get some warmth by dropping down to a lower elevation, but I needed to do one thing before that.

“Spitfire leader, this is Lancaster pilot requesting a visual inspection.”

“Affirmative on that request,” he replied.

The lead Spit dropped back and dipped until he was sitting no more than fifteen yards off my port wing.

“I would imagine you’re aware that you’re only running on two engines,” he said.

“We did notice that,” I replied.

“Just thought I should mention it. There are also numerous bullet holes in your wing and some other marks visible on the main fuselage.”

He reduced his airspeed and dropped back again until he was sitting right off our tail.

“Do you have full rudder and elevator?” he asked.

“It’s a bit sluggish.”

“I would imagine that would be the case since your right rudder is full of holes and it appears that part of your elevator is no longer attached to your aircraft.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“You’ve done remarkably well, chaps, to get this bird home. Ten more minutes and you’ll reach the coast, and then another fifteen and you’re over friendly territory. I want you to fall in behind me and we’ll lead you home.”

“Appreciated.”

The Spitfire came back alongside and the pilot waved. I waved back. It did feel reassuring to have somebody else not only by our side but plotting the course, and now leading the way.

“Lancaster leader, are you planning on attempting a landing or looking for a place to bail?”

“Both,” I said.

“Both? I don’t understand.”

“We’re going to have crew members hit the silk before I attempt to land.”

“Not quite the vote of confidence I’d want from my crew if I was the pilot,” he answered.

“That’s the problem. I’m not the pilot. I’m the navigator.”

There was a pause at the other end. “Please, say again that message.”

“I’m the navigator.”

Again there was no instant response. “Have you ever landed a plane?” he asked.

“Negative.”

“Lancaster, um, pilot, would you consider having all crew members including yourself bail out and abandoning the craft?”

“Negative. We have an injured crew member who is not capable of abandoning the plane. I have to attempt a landing.”

“Understood … and respected. Please stay on my tail and I’ll get you home.”

I was glad he understood and glad he respected the decision, but really, what choice did I have?

I made a big circle of the field. I could see the runways, the buildings, the trees alongside, and in the distance the village and the Anglican church, its spire rising high into the sky. It was all so familiar, all so good to see. I thought of all the times I’d flown back in after a mission—twenty-three times before—and how welcome a sight it always was. This was what I had been silently praying for the whole return trip, all I’d wanted, just to get back here. But now that I was here, I knew I was much more than simply at the end of my journey. I was possibly, simply, at the end.

“This is control tower. Preparations on the ground are complete.”

I knew all about the preparations. On our last pass I’d seen the heat and meat trucks—the fire trucks along with six waiting ambulances. One was for Jed. The other five were for the rest of the crew.

“You are clear to have crew begin evacuation. Commence on your next pass.”

“Affirmative.”

I turned to Drew, still sitting in the flight engineer’s seat.

“Altitude?” I asked.

“Fifteen hundred feet.”

Right behind me, Jacko, Glen, and Sandy were all standing,
chutes attached to their harnesses, ready to jump. Drew had his chute beside him on the floor, ready to hook onto his harness.

At their feet was Jed. He was quiet and comfortable, the morphine dulling the pain, his vital signs strong, the bleeding stopped. Jacko, who had received first aid training, thought he was stable and was going to make it—assuming I could get him down to the ground. Scottie’s body had been moved to the back and covered—wrapped in his parachute, out of respect.

“Okay, I’m going to bring us around again, right over the field,” I said. “Get ready to jump.”

Jacko put a hand on my shoulder. “Skip, thanks for what you did … You got us back home.”

“Yeah, without you we would have gone down over France, one way or another,” Glen agreed.

“I was just doing what had to be done,” I said.

“Maybe we should all stay with the plane,” Sandy added.

“No, you shouldn’t!” I exclaimed. “I need you all to leave. All of you, now … please.”

“I think he’s just afraid to join the Caterpillar Club,” Jacko said. “Come on, mate, I’ll promise to hold your hand all the way down.”

“We’re coming around in less than thirty seconds. You all have to get to the door.”

There were three slaps on the back and then Drew got up from the flight engineer’s seat. “Your wheels are down and locked.”

“Thanks. Thanks for being there beside me,” I said.

“Thank
you
. I’m alive because of what you did.”

“I just want you to
stay
alive. Go now, please.”

He reached over and offered me his hand. I took one hand off the yoke and we shook.

“I’ll see you on the ground,” I said.

“I’m counting on it.”

“Okay,
go
.”

He clipped on his chute and rushed toward the hatch.

I levelled out of the bank and brought us in flat and slow. I kept it straight the whole length of the field. When I’d cleared the field, I banked to avoid the church steeple at the end of the runway. And as I made the bank, I caught sight of a chute! And then a second and a third and … where was the fourth? I banked harder to keep the chutes in sight. There were still only three. Had the fourth chute malfunctioned? Had somebody plummeted to the ground?

“Hey, Skip.” It was Drew!

“What are you doing here?” I exclaimed.

“I decided to stay with the ship.” He sat down in the flight engineer’s seat. “I thought you might have a better shot at landing this crate with the help of a flight engineer.”

“But you’re not a flight engineer.”

“Yeah, and you’re not really a pilot, but I won’t mention that again if you don’t mention that ‘not a flight engineer’ stuff again.”

“Drew, you have to jump.”