The Lads Army

The LADS Army

Kev Flannigan

Copyright 2011 by Kev Flannigan

Smashwords Edition

chapter one

Wednesday 10th April 1940 : 08:03hrs

The morning silence in the bedroom was interrupted by the haunting wail of the air raid siren screaming; death is coming unless you bloody well run.

‘Shit…bugger…shit.’ filled the room as Will bolted up from his bed still half asleep. As usual, hanging out of his back pocket was a dog-eared copy of Drake Tempest, his favourite comic book, and his number one survival guide.

Wearing only a pair of shorts and a dirty coloured vest, William knew the drill. Throwing on his boots and pulling on his maroon V-neck jumper over his wiry mop of strawberry blonde hair he legged it towards the shelter at the bottom of the garden.

Being thirteen years old and a lanky streak of skin and bone he could run a lot faster than his little sister Maggie, so he was given the task of grabbing Nigel, the family mutt. His mum cradled Maggie in her arms as they all ran as fast as they could to the relative safety of the shelter.

Will’s Grandma and Grandpa Hughes shared the shelter with them. They lived in the small converted outhouse half way down the back garden that Will’s dad made into a house for them before the war. Grandma Hilda and Grandpa Joe were getting on a bit but they still had all their faculties, not to mention plenty of fighting spirit.

Grandpa Joe shook his fist at the sky and shouted obscenities to the approaching Germans as he waddled his way as briskly as his old aching joints could manoeuvre him down to the waiting shelter, only fifty or so shuffles from his front door.

With all the family, and the dog inside they set about their tasks to make their stay in hotel la tin shack as comfortable as possible. All except little Mags, she was only five and she still couldn’t get used to the panic and the commotion of an imminent attack from the bad men in the sky.

'Settle down poppet, we’re safe now.' Her mum said in a calm and reassuring voice.

'Why don’t you get your doll out from the toy box and we can play mummies and babies?'

'Okay mummy.’ sniffled Maggie wiping the tears from her eyes as she conducted a watery-eyed search of the toy box for the elusive rag doll that offered comfort to her when she needed it most.

The shelter had been dug deep into the garden where Will’s mum used to spend hours pruning her flowers before the war. The beautiful roses and the well-kept mature garden made way for the construction of the makeshift haven that the family found themselves in more and more as the air raids intensified.

The walls and floor of the shelter where constructed from wood with a roof of corrugated tin. The only way in and out was the wooden door that once belonged to the coal shed. The slopping path, that led up to the door, was lined either side with a row of soil filled sandbags giving a little more protection.

The shelter was a dank, cold and uninviting place. Every time it rained the path sloping downhill towards the door would collect puddles of muddy water. Just a few centimetres behind the wooden walls lay tonnes of cold wet mud. With dampness constantly seeped through, making everything cold and clammy.

Tasked with lighting the two storm lamps and the handful of candles that had been placed around the shelter, Will lit the place up knowing exactly where everything was, as six months prior he had helped his dad build it.

In-fact, William spent days mastering his sketches and blueprints for the shelter before he and his dad set about destroying his mums prized garden. He saw himself as a bit of a doer, the fixerman about the house. He was always mending things as well as inventing cool gadgets, and he did a pretty good job of it too.

Once there was sufficient light in the shelter, Will’s mum set about the most important job of all; putting the kettle on. They may have been in danger, but there is nothing like a good cuppa to settle the nerves. It has been said that the British Empire depends on resilience, stiff upper lip and plentiful mugs of tea!

As she lit the small gas stove to boil the water her mum, Grandma Hilda, set about getting the blankets out to snuggle up to.

'There you go my dear.’ Hilda said to Grandpa Joe. 'Try and settle down, I think we might be here for a little while.'

'God damn it.’ Joe huffed, 'Those blasted Huns! somebody get me a gun and I’ll show them. They can’t mess with us, eh William.'

Foaming at the mouth with anger he spurted on, 'During the last war I killed Germans with my bare hands!' he shouted, as he looked up and shook his fist in defiance.

'Oh hush.' Grandma Hilda bellowed, 'You’re scaring the

young uns.'

Will stood to attention like a proud solider on parade 'He’s not scaring me Grandma. We’ll fight ‘em all, won’t we Grandpa?'

He too was now gesturing to the planes in the sky. 'Go home you Hun or we’ll blast your arse back to Nazisland!'

'William shush! Please don’t use words like that and please don’t shout, you’ll scare Maggie.' his mum said in a stern but calm voice.

Will turned on his heels and gestured to his little sister, ‘Little Maggie doesn’t mind do you squirt, you hate the Germans too, don’t you?'

She never got the chance to answer, now Grandpa Joe had his breath back he stuck up for Will, 'Evelyn, leave the boy alone, if he wants to shout at them then let him.' He carried on, 'God knows how long this blasted war will last, for all we know he could be off fighting the Hun in a few years.'

Shocked by his outburst both Evelyn and Grandma Hilda scolded Grandpa Joe with a look of distaste that only a woman could master. Grandpa Joe was a brave old dog, and indeed did fight in some of the bloodiest encounters of the First World War, but even he knew that he was no match for the double death stare of two women scorned.

Sinking back into his chair Grandpa Joe ruffled his blanket as a gesture of submission as Will sat back down on the bottom of his bed. He began to wonder what it would be like to go off to fight and come back a hero. The thought of fighting against the Germans didn’t scare him, in fact it excited him. After all, he was from a family steeped in military tradition.

His two grandfathers fought in the Great War, his Papa George was killed in a trench somewhere in Belgium before Will was even born. Grandpa Joe fought like a true warrior and had a chest full of medals to prove it. Will’s dad, Squadron Leader Charlie Philips, was a great pilot and flew loads of sorties over Nazi occupied Europe before he was shot down somewhere over Germany just over a month ago. Even though his dad was missing in action and presumed dead, Will never gave up on the thought of being reunited with him one day.

Coming to the boil, the kettle whistled louder and louder but the watery chorus was not loud enough to cover the drone of the advancing fleet of German bombers getting closer and closer.

The family knew what was coming as they had been through it many times before, but it never made the anticipation any more bearable. As Evelyn took the kettle off the stove the first thuds of destruction could be heard in the distance as the bombs began to fall.

Calmly Evelyn continued making the cups of tea. A petite woman in her late thirties she was always impeccably dressed with not a hair out of place. As a proud housewife she always kept the shelter as spotless as she could, after all, what would her neighbours think if they ever had the chance to peek inside.

As the explosions drew closer and closer, louder and louder, Evelyn passed the cups of tea to her mum and dad and calmly sat in the chair ready to wait it out with the rest of them. No sooner had she sat down Maggie clambered off her cot bed and jumped up to sit on her mums lap to snuggle up with her. Using her mums apron to good effect, she snuggled in tight to her make shift comfort blanket.

Lying on the old metal-framed bed with his hands behind his head and his feet crossed, Will gazed up at the tin roof as it creaked and groaned. Courtesy of His Majesties Royal Air Force, Will’s dad managed to get hold of a bed, mattress and blankets from Taffy, the Sergeant in charge of the supply squadron at RAF Northolt. It wasn’t exactly comfy but it was better than sleeping on the dank floor.

The roaring chorus of the planes flying overhead and the clatter of bombs exploding, made the whole shelter shudder and creak, but that didn’t seem to bother him. Occasionally Will turned to glance at the photograph of his dad pinned to a wooden upright, just next to his pillow, but most of the time he lay on the bed looking upwards. It didn’t seem normal, he should have been scared witless, instead he adopted the pose you would expect from a boy lying in a field looking up at the bright blue sky on a warm summers evening without a care in the world.

The dog stole Maggie’s place on her now vacant bed, after all, it was warmer than the cold damp floor he had just come from. As Nigel curled up into a ball he lay there trying to block out the noises by constantly looking for reassurance from everyone else in the shelter. It was some comfort to him that the humans didn’t look scared then he had no reason to be, but reassurance or not, he obviously hated being in there.

Will and his family were as protected and as comfy as they could be under the circumstances. The raid was in full swing; it was down to fate or good luck if they were all to get out alive.

chapter two

Five weeks earlier

Friday 1st March 1940 : 06:33hrs

As the rain rattled at the bedroom window trying its hardest to get in, Charlie kissed Maggie goodbye on the forehead as she lay fast asleep in her warm cosy bed. Using his cigar lighter as a dim glow to find his way around the dark winters morning, he tiptoed his way over to Will’s bed.

Even though it was early he was already awake, lying in his bed reading Drake Tempest. Observing the strict blackout rules that had been drilled into him by Norma Bishop, the local Air Raid Warden, Will had built a makeshift den on top of his bed with a few blankets draped over an old broomstick and a bit of string. With a candle by his bed he could read his comic without too much light shining out from within the den.

Charlie pulled back one end of the blanket and crawled in to say goodbye to his son. As he sat down on the edge of the bed, Will turned to him and said, 'Dad, Drake Tempest just outwitted the four spies that were following him. He killed them all, retrieved the stolen files and got back home in time for supper with his missus! How many Nazis have you killed Dad?'

'Wow son, Drake Tempest sounds like a real superhero, but it’s not all about guts and glory you know.' Charlie continued, 'I have flown on some pretty scary missions. You know that I can’t tell you about them and you know I don’t kill people, but part of what we do results in lots of people being killed. In war it’s either them or us. It’s not nice knowing that the bombs our planes drop kill boys like you, or women like your mum but I know that we’re making a real difference and hopefully this blasted war will be over soon.'

Sitting higher up in his bed Will rolled his comic into a tube like shape and said, 'Dad, I hope the war isn’t over soon cause as soon as I’m old enough I’m gonna join the RAF and blast the Germans to smithereens.' Using his comic as an imaginary rifle Will spluttered off a burst of machine gun fire, 'Brrrrrrr, Brrrrrrr, Brrrrrrr, take that.'

Wiping the speckles of spit that sprayed his face like a hail of bullets, Charlie returned fire with his index finger, 'Brrr, Brrr, Brrr....Come here you!' He said grabbing Will, giving him a big squeezy hug and ruffling his already messy bed hair.

'Listen soldier, I’ve got to go now, you stay here and keep guard. You’re the man of the house when I’m away so look after everyone. I love you son.' The two hugged each other tightly knowing that that moment might be the last time they would see each other, but somehow they both managed to put that to the back of their minds.

Charlie left the den as Will proudly said, 'Dad, you know that you’re my hero right? Not Drake Tempest.' Charlie turned and smiled, 'I know son, I know…take care William.'

Evelyn was in the kitchen finishing off Charlie’s bag of goodies. The kitchen was the only place in the house that the family used freely. The good blackout curtains allowed the normal use of lights and the heat from the stove made the kitchen a natural gathering place for the family.

She packed the sandwiches and an apple carefully in Charlie’s bag that lay on the kitchen table. 'Thank you.’ Charlie said as he approached her to say goodbye. The couple embraced as he kissed her on the cheek and looked longingly into her eyes with a false smile of reassurance. Wiping away a tear Evelyn whimpered, 'Take care my sweet. God bless you Charlie.' With one last squeeze he let go of her, grabbed his kit bag and left.

Gently closing the front door behind him he jumped on his bicycle and headed towards the camp to start his day proper. Cycling through the cold dark streets in the driving rain he had a bad feeling that he was in for a long, hard day.

***

RAF Northolt was a strategic airfield, one of a few bases around London that formed part of the RAF’s fighter command. With six flying squadrons it was always buzzing with planes and men. No.1 AIDU squadron, otherwise known as the Aeronautical Intelligence Defence Unit, consisted of only three aeroplanes. These modified light bombers were used as reconnaissance planes specially fitted with the latest communications and camera equipment. Essentially, all of the heavy weaponry, armour plating and anything that wasn’t bolted down, was striped out to make them as light and as fast as possible. Flying in low and fast meant they could get the reconnaissance images they needed and get out again pretty sharpish.

The down side to all the modifications meant that basic protection made way for gadgetry. With no room for machine guns or bombs it meant that the dozen or so brave men that flew in them knew that it was virtually a suicide mission every time they took off, Charlie included.

All the flying squadrons, bar AIDU, were based on the south side of the camp over on the far side of the runway. Charlie and his specially trained crewmates had their very own little plot on the north side, tucked away from everyone else.

07:06hrs

The dreary morning gave way to daylight as Charlie pulled up to the entrance gate. The sentry on duty checked his identity card, lifted the barrier and promptly saluted as he made his way to the far corner of the camp. After a brief detour via the Officers Mess to grab some breakfast, he met up with the rest of the guys from AIDU in their hanger.

This was Charlie’s home from home. Along the inside of the northern wall were four smallish rooms; the Rest Room, the Planning Room, the Briefing Room and the Crapper.

Charlie plonked himself down on a vacant chair in the Rest Room next to Dickie Thomas who was reading the morning paper.

'Morning mate.’ Dickie welcomed without lifting his head out of his paper.

'Something grabbed your attention in there then?' Charlie replied, gesturing with his head towards the paper that was sprawled out over the table.

'Yeah, look at that. It’s a bloody disgrace what they did.’ he bleated as he repeatedly stabbed his tobacco stained fingers at the news headline that made him so angry.

Standing up to get a better view, Charlie towered over his shoulder, 'Where, what are you on about man?'

'There, look in black and white!' Dickie exclaimed, 'That bloody Tottenham, they beat us 4-0, what a bunch of twats!'

Sitting back down Charlie laughed, 'Jesus Dickie, the way you go on you act like you bloody own West Ham, I thought you were talking about real news.'

Riled by Charlie’s retort Dickie snapped, 'Piss off Charlie, this is real news to me. I bet ten shillings with Rick McAvoy over in 157 squadron that we’d stuff them lot.'

Changing the tone as he sat back in his chair Charlie said, 'Well I think you might be okay on that one cos I saw Matt Jenkins in the Mess twenty minutes ago and he told me Sticky Ricky and his crew bought it last night. Their plane along with three others never made it back.'

'Shit, what luck.' Dickie sighed with relief as a rye smile appeared on his face.

'You heartless bugger Dickie.’ Charlie replied as more men filtered into the room.

Dickie winked and simply said, 'Maybe so Charlie but you know it’s just a numbers game. When your numbers up it’s up and there’s bugger all you can do about it.'

Warrant Officer Dickie Thomas was Charlie’s best friend in the squadron. They had known each other for over a year and had been in and out of more scraps than they would care to remember. The two of them made up half of the four-man crew that flew together under the call sign Alpha13.

All three call signs flew with a four-man crew on board; the Navigator, the Pilot, the Surveillance Officer and the Communications Operator, all of which played a vital part in every mission. With life or death decisions being made every time they flew together it was only natural for the men to form a close bond.

Alpha13 was the lead plane with all four crewmen racking up a combined total of over five hundred hours in the skies behind enemy lines. Warrant Officer Dickie Thomas was the Surveillance Officer. He was a Londoner born and bred, and as the only non-commissioned officer in the crew he was from a lesser, more working class background but he was always treated the same as the rest of the guys.

Flight Lieutenant Anthony Joshua Foley was the Navigator. From a background of pomp and nonsense set deep in a Hertfordshire country estate, AJ joined the RAF to