"Aye, she definately woon't be runnin' foor a while now," Gerald told us. "Dinnae talk t' me foor a bit, I gotta concentrate on gettin' this haggis doown."
Scotty and I just looked at each other with a puzzled look on one another's faces. Apparently, the Lysander was now a Haggis.......
The Lysander was creaking in the heavy winds and thunderstorm. I wasn't sure if Gerald could pilot a very wierd-looking glider back to England, and, to be honest, I don't think he was entirley sure either. I looked forward. He was sweating, and squinting ahead. Gerald, as a Lysander pilot, was a very skilled one, but even he was being shown the tough times of flying. At least he doesn't have to dogfight, but this could be more dangerous......good luck, Gerald, I thought.
I looked forward again and a massive cloud barrier blocked our view of safety. Somewhere behind these clouds was England. I thought of the safety it bought, like a defensive shield, from the German attacks - being an island nation, the only real way of reaching us was by air, by ship was too dangerous.
"Och aye, hold on fur yoour lives," Gerald called back over the howling wind and the creaky airframe.
We all grabbed the nearest thing to us. I held onto my seat, and Scotty grabbed Rory's leg - only to soon follow suit by grabbing his seat.
"Come on, Gerald," I called, "think of your family, think of your friends. you can do it!"
"Aye, laddie, I'll doo this fur' me' family. For the Mcmillians!" He called, and grabbed the control column.
Everything seemed to fall silent, even the creaking. There was that one small moment of peace - before we hit the ground with a thud and a triumphant cry from Gerald.
"So....now what do we do?" I asked.
"Well, we get oot and look for shelter," Gerald responded.
"But...I can't leave Rory in this state! He's near to death!" I cried.
"Hmm....aye, this ain't good," he said to me. I watched as his face soon filled with delight. "I have a little idea," he told me.
I found Gerald had formulated a plan. Scotty watched over Rory while we found a house and knocked on the door, asking for help.
"Let's goo!" Gerald called.
"Shh...do you hear that?" I asked.
"What, the thoonder and lightning?"
"No....." I could hear it. The unmistakable purr of a Pratt and Whitney.....it could only be one thing.......
"A Dakota!" I shouted, waving my arms madly at the passing aircraft. I saw the aircraft bank and lower the gear - they had seen us, amazingly.
"What aboot my Lysander?" Gerald asked me.
"Well, you can leave it for the officers to find or wait here in the cold for the officers to find you and your Lsander," I replied.
"I saw him look deep in thought. He cherished his Lysander, and saw it as part of his own family. "Well," he replied, as the Dakota landed near us, "I'll have to come with yoou."
The Dakota taxied towards us, on one engine, and the door swung open. An RAF officer jumped out.
"Who are you?" he said, taking note of my rank - Pilot Officer.
"Pilot Officer Dowzell, here," I said, saluting weakly. "This is Gerald McMillian, a Lysander pilot from our aerodrome."
"Well, hop aboard then, we need to be going!" he told us.
"But....we have another man and an injured man with us," I replied.
"Oh, b****y hell," he cursed, fumbling around for what looked like a pack of cigarettes. "Go on then, where are they?"
"In the Lysander, sir."
"Righto," he said, as he walked back into the Dakota. He came out with a few paratroopers and a stretcher.
We were all aboard soon. It was quite cramped onboard, and the Dakota only had one working engine, and the weather was terrible. I knew this would be an "interesting" flight.
Somehow, I felt the Dakota lurch skyward, but it wasn't long beofre we leveled off. I looked out into the murky night and estimated we were cruising at 1,500ft.
The officer came throught the loaded Dakota to us. "So, where have you been, boys, and where are you stationed?"
"I got shot down," I told him, taking a sip from a cup of water. "Gerald was flying the Lysander when he ran out of fuel and we crash landed where you found us."
"Sounds like an adventure," he replied, lighting his cigarette. I was expecting him to be more surprised. "So, remind me where you're based?"
"RAF Tinwald Down," I told him. "I'm part of a Fighter Wing and a bomber escort squadron."
"Tinwald Down?" he asked? "That's a fair way away, don't you know. And this very Dakota doesn't look ready to get all the way to Tinwald Down!"
"Sorry, sir, but that's where we're based."
"True," he said to me, "there isn't a lot anyone can do about this. I'll inform our pilot now." I saw the officer disappear into the Dakota cockpit.
More to come!
... glad to see you're not "afraid of the dark"... As long as one can pick out the composition, I think dark night shots are pretty neat.
