Courage in Combat: Volume 1 – The Flying Fighters
This new fiction book, very much a departure from my previous efforts and current-day genre, will introduce some characters that I will follow from 1938 to 1941. In possible further books in the series, I hope and intend to follow the characters from 1941 right through to the end of the war in 1945, and perhaps beyond. The book(s), while fiction, will be based on historical fact, and I hope to introduce readers to some lesser known facts, situations, and locations that formed part of the overall fighting in WWII. The book is intended for a Young Adult audience, and is initially about teenagers who signed up to be Air Force pilots.
Some of the characters will accurately portray Americans who traveled to Canada and to England US
I hope I will be able to bring that dramatic period of history to life for my readers.
There is not yet a planned release date for the first book in the series, Courage in Combat: Volume 1 – The Flying Fighters.
An short excerpt of the book follows:
**************************************
Height
above sea level, 252 feet
September
28, 1940, 1610 hours
Pilot
Officer Jon Sinclair climbed out of the cockpit of his Hawker Hurricane to be
met by the squadron’s second in command.
Jon had been the last one to make it back, and he’d had to nurse his
small fighter plane all the way in. By
the time he made it back, Flight Lieutenant Smallwood had firmly established
that this new Canadian addition to the squadron had met the standards necessary
to be considered an ace, with the downing of four more German planes on today’s
sortie.
“Welcome
back, Mr. Sinclair!” Smallwood’s
greeting was warm, genuine, and authentically congratulatory. “From what I’d heard, it was doubtful that
we’d see this plane back here at Attleborough.
Congratulations on making it back.”
“Thank
you, Sir,” acknowledged Jon. “I wasn’t
sure myself, but it kept together long enough.”
Twenty
minutes later, Smallwood and Jon were shown into the squadron leader’s office.
Squadron
Leader Alistair Greentree, DSO, DFC, looked up from his efforts to draft
another condolence letter.
“Gentlemen,”
he proclaimed. “I heard you were back,
Mr. Sinclair. I am truly glad to see
you.”
Jon
joined his squadron deputy at a slightly-relaxed attention in front of the
squadron leader’s desk. “I’m glad to be
here, Sir.”
Greentree
stood, and waved his hand at the paper on his desk. “I already have too many of these, and I am
glad I don’t have to write one to your family.”
Jon
just nodded, as he spoke the only word that was appropriate at that point.
“Sir.” He waited for the squadron leader to carry
on.
“Flight
Lieutenant Smallwood has already gathered the necessary statements, Mr.
Sinclair, so we can now confirm your status as an ace. Congratulations.”
Greentree
walked around the desk, and put out his hand.
Jon took it in a firm handshake.
Smallwood turned and offered his hand in a similar gesture.
“Good,
now that’s done,” Greentree said. “Let’s
do something about that.”
The
squadron commander went back to his desk and pulled out a bottle. In a moment, each of the three officers was
holding a small glass.
“To
our newest ace,” Greentree intoned, “And I daresay one of our youngest ones.”
“To
Pilot Officer Sinclair,” added Smallwood.
Jon
just nodded as he followed the example of his superiors and downed the small
amount of whiskey in a single shot. It
hit his throat and burned its way down.
With a supreme effort of will, Jon was able to keep from cough and
choking. However, that didn’t stop the
other two officers from noting the sudden redness of Jon’s face.
“Watch
that first bite of the day,” Greentree warned, with a little light laughter.
Jon
wondered what his commander would say if he knew this was the first alcohol
he’d ever had.
Greentree
had more to worry about, however. He was
going to have to break some bad news to his new young ace. Only that morning, Greentree’s Wing Commander
had informed him that they desperately needed well-qualified flight instructors
for British and Commonwealth pilots training in Canada
The
Wing Commander had also mentioned that their commander Air Vice Marshall
himself had expressed an interest in who was nominated, and woe betide those
squadron leaders who did not give their best.
As
he stood looking at Pilot Office Sinclair, there was no doubt in Squadron
Leader Greentree’s mind that Sinclair was the best he had, even if Sinclair was
the youngest looking eighteen-year-old he’d ever seen.
With
those thoughts in mind, Greentree dismissed Smallwood with the suggestion that
his second in command had urgent and pressing business to attend to.
A
moment later, Jon was sitting across from his commander and listening as
Greentree gave a preamble about the requirement for instructor pilots and then
broke the bad news.
As
Greentree expected, Jon expressed his objections in the strongest but most
respectful terms.
“But,
Sir,” was one of Jon’s arguments. “I
just got off the boat three weeks ago, and how you’re asking me to get right
back on? I’ve just barely had a crack at
the Germans.”
“Sinclair.” The squadron leader was ready with his
rebuttal. “You have accomplished more in
a short two weeks with this squadron than most of the pilots will ever
accomplish. You truly are a natural, and
you have developed great abilities as a combat pilot. You anticipate their moves, and you skills
allow you to move your airplane around the sky to put yourself where you need
to be and when you need to be, in order to do damage to the enemy. We need more like you, and the only way for
us to get that is for you to train some more.”
Jon
could see he was fighting a losing battle, but he also had an objection based
on his age. “Sir, I still have to wonder
about how my apparent youth will be accepted in a role as an instructor
pilot. Surely there will…”
Greentree
interrupted the younger officer. “Yes,
Sinclair, you look young, but as soon as they see you in the air, and with your
reputation as an ace, you’ll be the role model that they need.”
After
another ten minutes, Jon had to do something he hadn’t done in the air. He had to concede.
When
the young ace ran out of objections, Greentree glanced at his watch.
“Right,
Jon,” he said, using his young ace’s first name for the first time, “We’ve got
to get going. Group Captain Farnham is
expecting all of us by seventeen hundred.”
His
eyes wide, Jon glanced down at his miserable looking flight suit, and then up
at his commander.
Greentree knew what Sinclair was about to
say. “Sorry, old boy, no time to
change. Besides, an ace needs to look
like a real pilot, and right now, you certainly look like one.”
The
squadron leader looked at the oil and grease-stained flight suit and the tired,
worn face of the young man. Right now,
Sinclair looked as old as he’d ever seen him.
Greentree
softened his look for a moment. “I think
we have just enough time to visit the head, and then we’ll go. I think my driver will be anxious enough with
the little time I’ve given him to get us there.”
Just
under an hour later, Squadron Leader Greentree was standing beside Flying
Officer Sinclair as they waited in a semi-circle of about 24 officers. Group Captain Farnham was accompanying the
Commanding Air Vice Marshall who was making his way down the line, trailed by
group of senior officers along with press people and a movie camera.
As
the group got closer, Jon could see and hear that the Air Vice Marshall was
giving out Distinguished Flying Crosses and Distinguished Service Orders to the
various squadron leaders and pilots. Jon
was beginning to realize that all of the pilots such as himself were destined
for assignment as instructor pilots in Canada
Jon
also heard a few pilots getting promoted, and he supposed that they were
supposed to take heart in the little token as a way of making up for removing
them from the fight against the enemy.
A
moment later, the Air Vice Marshall was standing in front of Jon’s commander.
Without
making it appear to obvious, Jon looked out of the corner of his eye to watch
as he took in the conversation.
“Squadron
Leader Greentree,” the AVM intoned. “How
nice to see you again. I hear you’ve
brought with you the young man who is the fastest ace.”
“Yes,
Sir,” was Greentree’s inevitable reply.
“Right,”
stated the AVM. “Well done, but you’re
out of uniform.”
“Sir?”
The one word response was the only possible way for a junior to question a
senior.
The
AVM’s aide de camp handed over a paper.
“It would appear,” the AVM glanced at the paper, and continued, “That
you were promoted this morning, and we’re expecting you to take command of the
Wing at Attleborough next week.
Congratulations.”
The
AVM reached forward to shake Greentree’s hand.
Then, with a scarce pause, the AVM stepped in front of Jon.
“Pilot
Officer Sinclair,” the AVM stated.
“Sir,”
was Jon’s one word response.
“You,
too, are out of uniform. That stripe on
your shoulder needs to be wider.”
Jon
knew that the AVM was referring to the narrow single stripe of a Pilot Officer,
the most junior commissioned rank in the RCAF and RAF, or what would be a Second
Lieutenant back home. The wider single
stripe denoted a Flying Officer, or the equivalent of a Lieutenant in the US
Army Air Corps.
Jon
just gaped at the very senior officer in front of him, not knowing how to
respond.
The
AVM’s look softened a bit as he put out his hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Sinclair. You have done your country proud with your
service.”
Jon
suspected the AVM, as most people around him, knew that Jon was an American
who’d traveled to Canada
Jon
managed to find his voice enough to say, “Thank you, Sir.”
The
AVM glanced to his aide, who handed the AVM a small box. The AVM opened it, and pulled out a
medal. Jon recognized the ribbon colors
denoting a Distinguished Flying Cross.
“I
am honored to be able to present,” the AVM said, as he pinned the medal on the
left side of Jon’s chest, “This small token of our esteem for your service and
your example of courage and leadership.
You have truly done your part in the short time you’ve been here.”
For
the first time in years, Jon was now struggling to hold himself together. The memories of the past and realities of the
day were starting to hit home.
The
barely remembered times after his mother’s death, and the initial days after
his father’s death when he took over all of the crop dusting duties. Making his way to Canada
and then to Britain London
The
AVM watched the emotional response play on the face of the young man in front
of him. It was a far cry from the tough
and determined reputation that young Sinclair had established in the short two
weeks he’d been flying against the enemy.
“I
understand you really got home on a wing and a prayer, Mr. Sinclair.” The AVM’s voice was as kind and gentle as his
aide had ever heard. “I’m very glad you
made it.”
Jon
finally nodded. “Thank you very much,
Sir.” He’d regained control of his
emotions after the short lapse.
The
AVM’s tone sharpened up, just a bit.
“No. Thank you, Mr. Sinclair, and
congratulations, again.”
With
a final handshake, the AVM moved on.
A
moment later, Wing Commander Greentree turned to his young ace. “I will be very, very sad to lose you, Flying
Officer Sinclair, but I am sure you will continue to make your mark as a pilot,
and as a fine officer. Please accept my
congratulations on a well deserved promotion and medal.”
RAF
Attleborough
Height
above sea level, 252 feet
September
28, 1940, 1845 hours
Keeping
pace with Wing Commander Greentree, Jon entered the Officers’ Mess. In keeping with Air Force tradition, the
first officer to spot them called, ‘Mess,’ and all of the noise instantly
ceased as all of the officers came to attention.
“Gentlemen,”
intoned Greentree. “Thank you. Please stand at ease, but gather round. I need to say a few words.”
As
directed, the officers present in the mess relaxed somewhat, but started moving
toward the position of the new Wing Commander standing near the bar.
Greentree’s
arrival was expected, as he’d phoned ahead to Flight Lieutenant Smallwood and
asked him to gather all the officers for an important meeting.
After
waiting a few moments for all the officers to close in on him, Greentree spoke.
“Gentlemen,”
he started. “I have a few announcements,
and then I’m going to ask you to pay attention for a very important lesson.”
The
Wing Commander glanced around to satisfy himself that all present were paying
attention.
“As
you may have heard,” he spoke in a self-deprecating voice, “I will have to move
over to the Wing Commander’s office in two days.”
A
round of cheers interrupted his little speech.
“I
am sorry to leave you, but I will be nearby.
As you will expect, Flight Lieutenant Smallwood will take over as your
acting squadron commander for now.” He
paused. “But that’s not the main reason
I’ve called you here. I need for you all
to pay careful attention to what you’re going to hear in the next few
minutes. You are going to hear the
secret to beating those Jerry pilots.
You’re going to how to get inside them, and give them the beating they
deserve.”
All
eyes were on Greenwood
“I’d
like to introduce you to this evening’s instructor in advanced fighter
tactics.” Another pause, as Greentree
milked the moment. “Gentlemen, your
guest lecturer, a flying ace with five certified kills in just the last two
weeks, Flying Officer Jon Sinclair, Distinguished Flying Cross.”
For
just a fraction of a second, there was silence, so momentous was the news. Then a loud, long and dynamic cheer
overwhelmed the room.
Jon
felt the eyes of the whole mess upon him.
For a moment, he felt small and uncertain, but then a determined look
crossed his face. He knew how to battle
the Germans, and this was his chance to tell them all.
After
waiting at least two minutes, for the noise to start to die down, Jon started
to speak.
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