24.03.2009, 05:19
16:00 hrs, 23rd August 1941, Vayenga Airfield
I stood to attention in front of General Sir Hugh Wynchett. An older man certainly, but one who retained sharp faculties and had that energy about him that almost guaranteed his position as commander of British Forces in Murmansk.
"So you're Hendon? The silly young officer who upset the Russians yesterday?"
"Sir, the attitude of..."
"Enough!" Barked the General. He looked up and slapped his swagger stick on the desk in front of him. "I don't want to hear it. As the commanding officer in this theatre I have the thankless task of keeping our hosts happy. You will get along with them and thats an order. You will not upset the Russians any more. Is that understood?"
There was no choice but to understand. "Yes Sir. Sorry Sir."
"Hmm. That's better. You've done well here Hendon. Don't spoil it for yourself. Good grief man, I'm supposed to be here to hand you a Distinguished Flying Medal. Adjutant, will do the honours?... Congratulations, Squadron Leader. Good show."
Of course, the show must go on. Having survived the Generals visit our order of the day was to patrol the approach to Murmansk out on the Barents Sea. The Expeditionary Force were expecting vital supplies by sea and no German intereference was to be tolerated.
My flight waited for me at the dispersal. Our new number four was Pilot Officer Elton Stephens. I knew him from England. A decent enough chap, quite a carouser. He and Benson ought to get along like a house on... I stopped myself from thinking about it.
Kenneth Davids was a fresh faced lad, somewhat nervous of his new role as my wingman. I told him to stick with me no matter what. Don't go swanning off on your own. He nodded intently. I saw his inner fear through his eyes. I said "Don't worry Davids, they can't get all of us. Churchill won't allow it."
We made our way to the aeroplanes waiting on the grass. For a moment, I thought I saw a despondent mood in one or two of the mechanics. I gave mine a cheery thumbs up anyway. The Merlin gave a short whine then burst into life as expected. Temperatures and pressures ok. I glance across at Davids waiting on my right side, looking back at me for any hint of an instruction. You stick with me, boy. You stick with me.
We took off and headed north over the slate grey Barents Sea, my Hurricane bouncing on thermals as if riding on cobbled air. The cumulus drifted past us, about 5/10ths at 3,000 ft.
At length we found the convoy, a number of ships cruising in formation in a southerly direction. We were now at 15,000 ft and those ships looked vanishingly small down there, visible only by the wake they left in the water.
![[Image: e3df53f6684038da5a0cd5246138ee106g.jpg]](http://www4.mediafire.com/imgbnc.php/e3df53f6684038da5a0cd5246138ee106g.jpg)
It was Stephens who spotted the the Junkers recconaisance aeroplane shadowing the convoy. We all turned to intercept. Davids, you're falling behind, keep up! Stephens caught the Ju88 effortlessly. What's he got in that fuel tank, vodka? He fired a long burst then turned away. I saw the crew bailing out. I didn't envy their chances in the freezing waters of the Barents Sea.
We learned later that Kilpyavr got hit again. The Luftwaffe want that airfield out of action completely. Dimitri is proving to be easily bribed with cigarettes, and he tells us that many of the Russian planes there were destroyed, small Polikarpov fighters and some twin engined light bombers I've never heard of. There's a rumour the Russians are not going to take this lightly.
I stood to attention in front of General Sir Hugh Wynchett. An older man certainly, but one who retained sharp faculties and had that energy about him that almost guaranteed his position as commander of British Forces in Murmansk.
"So you're Hendon? The silly young officer who upset the Russians yesterday?"
"Sir, the attitude of..."
"Enough!" Barked the General. He looked up and slapped his swagger stick on the desk in front of him. "I don't want to hear it. As the commanding officer in this theatre I have the thankless task of keeping our hosts happy. You will get along with them and thats an order. You will not upset the Russians any more. Is that understood?"
There was no choice but to understand. "Yes Sir. Sorry Sir."
"Hmm. That's better. You've done well here Hendon. Don't spoil it for yourself. Good grief man, I'm supposed to be here to hand you a Distinguished Flying Medal. Adjutant, will do the honours?... Congratulations, Squadron Leader. Good show."
Of course, the show must go on. Having survived the Generals visit our order of the day was to patrol the approach to Murmansk out on the Barents Sea. The Expeditionary Force were expecting vital supplies by sea and no German intereference was to be tolerated.
My flight waited for me at the dispersal. Our new number four was Pilot Officer Elton Stephens. I knew him from England. A decent enough chap, quite a carouser. He and Benson ought to get along like a house on... I stopped myself from thinking about it.
Kenneth Davids was a fresh faced lad, somewhat nervous of his new role as my wingman. I told him to stick with me no matter what. Don't go swanning off on your own. He nodded intently. I saw his inner fear through his eyes. I said "Don't worry Davids, they can't get all of us. Churchill won't allow it."
We made our way to the aeroplanes waiting on the grass. For a moment, I thought I saw a despondent mood in one or two of the mechanics. I gave mine a cheery thumbs up anyway. The Merlin gave a short whine then burst into life as expected. Temperatures and pressures ok. I glance across at Davids waiting on my right side, looking back at me for any hint of an instruction. You stick with me, boy. You stick with me.
We took off and headed north over the slate grey Barents Sea, my Hurricane bouncing on thermals as if riding on cobbled air. The cumulus drifted past us, about 5/10ths at 3,000 ft.
At length we found the convoy, a number of ships cruising in formation in a southerly direction. We were now at 15,000 ft and those ships looked vanishingly small down there, visible only by the wake they left in the water.
It was Stephens who spotted the the Junkers recconaisance aeroplane shadowing the convoy. We all turned to intercept. Davids, you're falling behind, keep up! Stephens caught the Ju88 effortlessly. What's he got in that fuel tank, vodka? He fired a long burst then turned away. I saw the crew bailing out. I didn't envy their chances in the freezing waters of the Barents Sea.
We learned later that Kilpyavr got hit again. The Luftwaffe want that airfield out of action completely. Dimitri is proving to be easily bribed with cigarettes, and he tells us that many of the Russian planes there were destroyed, small Polikarpov fighters and some twin engined light bombers I've never heard of. There's a rumour the Russians are not going to take this lightly.