Tail-end Charlie

The Channel

  Dawn was rapidly spreading her pink and apricot streamers westward as Lil Lucy cleared the Netherlands coast. Frank was tired, very tired. After Dusseldorf a great weariness had begun to descend upon him. Like his fellow gunner, Buzz Billington, he had swallowed his "Wake-Wakey" pill (Benzedrine Sulphate) well before they had cleared the German border, yet his eyes ached abominably. It felt as if the lids were somehow glued to his helmet and that was all that was keeping them open. He had heard the story that told of gunners  unable to properly close their eyes for almost four hours after landing; now he believed them. Non-stop, unblinking staring at the night sky was a painful business and as the mornings painted fingers, so brilliant and piercing, spread from the east, the beauty of the light burned his already dry eyes. He was cold, stiff and exhausted, but he forced himself to focus, to methodically scan every inch of sky within range of the turret.

  The sun finally lifted her face and peeped over the horizon throwing a glistening path across the gunmetal surface of the English Channel. With style and daring the first Messerschmitt bf 109 shot out of the sudden brilliance of that celestial smile. Wings glinting, her single propeller a spinning blur, the German fighter bore down upon Lil Lucy spitting fire as would an avenging dragon. 

 "Corkscrew, Skip!

   Frank yelled his warning and began returning the German's fire simultaneously, even though he had barely centered the 109 in his sights. Lead flew into the sunrise, none of it hitting the 109 but Frank felt the jarring vibrations of the German bullets impacting on Lil Lucy. The Lancaster shuddered almost as a frightened child and Todd threw her into a steep dive, corkscrewing away to port. In the rear turret Frank was still firing at the 109 as it followed them down, his stomach lurched as the Lancaster dived, throwing it's tail high before it plunged earthwards. It was like riding some bizarre roller-coaster with the heavens swirling pink and apricot about him. Seconds later Todd pulled back hard on the stick and Lil Lucy began to climb hard away to starboard. The G force gripped Frank's head, its pressure as a ton of wet cement forced his chin down onto his chest and it was impossible to breathe for the weight upon his chest. He was still firing; the  Brownings spewing bullets into the ether; the 109 had vanished.

  Todd levelled the Lancaster, kept her on a course for the Lincolnshire coast and head-counted his crew. Buzz Billington didn't reply. Frank, recovering fast from the rigors of the corkscrew, listened as  Bouncer Wilson struggled back to check on the mid-gunner, but he missed what the Bomb Aimer said for the 109 appeared once more, firing her cannons as she dove down on their starboard side. Swiveling the turret  Frank opened up and sent a prolonged burst of fire into the face of the German craft. 

  Smoke pouring, flames streaming, the 109 went into a crazy tail spin toward the channel. It seemed like an eternity before a small object detached from the plummeting plane and a parachute billowed. Frank sighed heavily; he was glad the young German had escaped and though he was in for a miserable time in the cold water of the Channel, he did have a chance to live. 

  Frank never saw the German pilot splash into the water, he had his work cut out for him as another 109 had latched onto Lil Lucy's tail, firing round upon round at the Lancaster's port side. Frank hung on tight to the juddering Brownings, fighting to keep the 109 in his sights. Bullets smashed home on Lil Lucy's port outboard engine. Flames erupted and smoke trailed, the engine coughed and spluttered but the propeller still spun. Todd made a quick assessment and proceeded to feather the engine, desperate to quell the fire before it sounded the Lancaster's death knell. Once, twice, three times he tried and on the third attempt he saw the flames die. Sighing, he relaxed just a little; there was still a long way to go before Lil Lucy touched home soil. 

  In the rear turret Frank knew nothing of the engine fire. He was intent on scanning for enemy fighters. The sky was bright now, dawn washed and cloudless, but the sun was rising blindingly, a friend to the enemy. He remembered his instructors saying over and over, "Beware the Hun in the sun!". But the sky was empty. No sign of friend or enemy. Lil Lucy flew alone, a great black bird reaching for home. The Channel,  smooth and gleaming, reflected the glory of the day's birth and looked so much friendlier than it had the night before; Frank tore his gaze from its serene beauty, realising he could so easily become seduced into forgetting his duty. Lil Lucy still had a long way to go.

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  A lone Lancaster was easy prey for a pack of fighters. Reliant upon the skill of her young pilot and the vigilance of her two gunners for protection, a lone bomber wasn't quite the safe stronghold her bulk might lead one to belief she was. Lil Lucy, with one engine lost, was a wounded bomber, separated from her fellows, alone and vulnerable. She flew west toward the Lincolnshire coast, a limping war bird desperate for its nest.

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