Mission to Britain Read online

  “Captain, I’m General Bigelow. I understand you have movement orders to take these enlisted men on this flight. Is that correct?”

  “General, my name is Jameson, and you are correct. These men are part of a special team scheduled on this flight. I cannot divulge any other details, sir.”

  The general did not like the answer or what he thought was impertinence from the navy captain. “Captain, I don’t give a damn what your orders say, my officers are desperately needed in England to start planning the next steps in the war effort. Do you have any idea how important that is?”

  “Yes, General, I do. But my orders . . .”

  “Damn it to hell, Captain, I’m a general officer in the United States Army and what I say goes. You put your men back on those trucks or so help me God, I will have you sacked for insubordination.”

  “General, I’m sorry if you feel that my carrying out my orders is insubordination. I would usually be happy to comply with your request, but I cannot, sir.” Jameson stood straight and tall and didn’t fear any Air Corps general who looked like he had not flown a plane in years even though he was wearing a set of wings. He had met many of these staff officers and rear echelon self-important SOBs in his military and corporate career. He also knew things were not going to end well.

  As the two senior officers glared at one another, young Lieutenant Boyd, who was assisting the science team and had seen the orders came over, even though he knew a lieutenant wouldn’t be able to solve this problem single-handedly. “General, may I be of assistance, sir?” Boyd said with all the self-assurance of a young man about to die in battle.

  “Yes, Lieutenant, I want you to get on the horn to the commanding officer of this operation and get them over here now. I will not be taken lightly, Captain. My orders are to get my men on this plane and get them to England.”

  Jameson looked at the lieutenant and spoke as he pulled a card from his pocket. “Lieutenant Boyd, if you would call this number first and tell whoever answers the phone that my team is here and there is a problem, perhaps we can get this solved to everyone’s satisfaction.”

  The card passed to Boyd who looked at the number and the name. “Yes sir, I will call for you now.”

  The general fumed, “And you had better be calling your commanding officer too.”

  The general turned and walked back to his officers who were all smiling at the aerial attack on the navy made by their commanding officer.

  It took about five minutes for Boyd to get the call through to Washington. When the phone was answered, Boyd informed the person on the other line he was calling for Captain Jameson who was having a problem with an army general about getting on the plane. The other person told the lieutenant to hold for it might take a few minutes to get back to him. Boyd agreed and stared out the window at the big plane. He thought Jameson seemed to be a very nice man who did not have any swagger to him. He then looked over at the brash Air Corps general, smoking a big cigar and talking loudly to his officers about what they were going to do when they hit London. The general had been in London before and would take his boys around to all the hot spots where the lovely, and lonely, English ladies would be happy to entertain them.

  Finally, someone picked up the phone and transferred the call. When Boyd again introduced himself, he was cut short by the other person. “Put Captain Jameson on the phone, son, and tell the general to stand by.” Boyd motioned to Jameson who walked slowly over to where Boyd was holding the phone behind the Pan American counter.

  “Captain Jameson here.”

  The captain did not say much for the next few minutes but “yes sir, no sir,” and “I’m sorry to inconvenience you, sir,” followed by short statements on military courtesy, appropriate security, and officer integrity. The general was smiling because the navy captain was getting his ass reamed by some senior officer in Washington. Finally, Jameson ended the call by saying, “Sir, thank you for your consideration, and I’m sorry you became involved. I will put the general on now, sir.” Jameson looked over to the smug brigadier and asked him to come to the phone.

  “Sir, the general, wants to speak to you,” Jameson said as he held out the phone.

  “Which general is that, Captain?” Jameson just handed the phone and stepped back to admire the fireworks.

  “This is General Bigelow. To whom am I speaking?” That was the last thing Bigelow said besides “no sir, yes sir,” and “sorry sir.”

  “General, this is General Arnold. Do you know who I am?” The thundering voice could be heard without amplification all the way from Washington.

  “General Arnold, sir, yes sir, I think we have met.”

  Arnold cut him off in mid-sentence. “Bigelow, you are a disgrace to the Air Corps. I must make a full report of this mess to General Marshall and maybe even to the president himself. You are to get on the first plane that flies to Washington where I will review your recent appointment to brigadier. You will not be going to London. You will be lucky to be a major when this is over. You will apologize to Captain Jameson, his entire team, and to the officers of your former command for being an ass. Who is your executive officer?”

  Bigelow was now shaking like a recruit. “Sir, my executive officer is Colonel Acker.”

  Arnold again cut him off, “Get Colonel Acker on the phone. You are relieved of command of this unit.”

  Bigelow acknowledged his career death by saying as strongly as he could, “Yes sir. Here’s Colonel Acker.”

  Colonel Acker walked over to the phone after being summoned by the general. He took the phone not knowing who was on the line.

  “This is Colonel Acker.” The other end of the phone boomed with the voice of the head of the United States Army Air Forces, Lt. Gen. Henry “Hap” Arnold.

  “Colonel Acker, this is General Arnold. I have just relieved General Bigelow of this command. You are now the commanding officer. You will take as many men as you can on the Clipper flight, and the others will follow. You will report to me via standard channels on how General Bigelow behaved. This situation is very embarrassing for the Air Corps. If you think that the general behaved even a little bit correctly in dealing with the navy captain whose orders come from the president, please tell me now.”

  Colonel Acker thought for only a few seconds. He had been working with Bigelow for about three months and knew him to be a blowhard, and a drunkard who should not be given command of a pair of boots let alone leading forward logistics in England. “General, I agree your comments are accurate, and I will forward an assessment to you upon my arrival in England.”

  “Good, Colonel, finally someone with some sense and common courtesy. I want you to tell Captain Jameson that you look forward to talking to him in the future, and if there is anything you can do for him or his team while they are in England, he is to call on you for all possible support. Got it, Colonel?”

  “Yes sir, General. Is there anything else, sir?”

  “Yes, Colonel, put Captain Jameson back on the line and good luck on your mission.”

  “Thank you, sir. I will get the captain.”

  Jameson was summoned and picked up the phone. “Sir, Captain Jameson here.”

  “Captain, we have only met briefly, but upon your return, please call on me with your young protégée to brief me on what you discover in England. I know you are working on several things vitally important to our needs and if you can take any opportunities to delve into any English black magic, that would be wonderful.”

  Arnold paused for a moment and cleared his throat. Jameson sensed he was preoccupied by other events, so he waited for the general to speak. “General Bigelow has been relieved of his command, and I’m glad you were the one to find out what an ass he is. I could only imagine the carnage he could have wrought with our Allies. We need to make sure that rank understands its privileges and not be overbearing. But what galls me most is his overall indiscretion and lack of military courtesy. Good luck in Britain and I look forward to speaking with you when you
return.”

  “Thank you, General, for your help and continuing support.”

  The line went dead, and as he hung up the phone, Lieutenant Boyd looked at the captain with awe and admiration. General Bigelow left without apologizing to Boyd, Jameson, or even to his former unit.

  Colonel Acker walked up to him saying, “Captain, I’m sorry for any inconvenience or pain that General Bigelow caused you and your team. I have worked for him about three months, and he’s not the brightest light in the Air Corps.”

  Jameson noticed the Air Corps team now staring at his people with a great deal of fear and respect. “Colonel, there are bad apples in all of the services, but it’s often hard to get them removed. The general forgot the rule about being human first. Only then can you be a general. He also overstepped his authority and tried to pull rank. One piece of advice for the duration, Colonel. Some people are not who you think they are and you should tread lightly. Security is very important in this war, and those who violate the rules will pay a terrible price personally, but more importantly, others may pay with their lives.”

  The colonel looked seriously at the navy captain.

  Then the man in dark blue uniform smiled and said, “Also, if you will buy me a drink or two in England, perhaps we can better cement inter-service relations.”

  Acker smiled back, replying, “Sure thing, and if you get a chance to give me a heads up on other matters of protocol and security that would be very helpful.”

  “It looks like we have a lot of hours to talk about things. Just stay clear of my young lieutenant. Tell your officers he’s off limits for the flight. If he starts talking to you or members of your team, that’s fine but leave it at that. All right?”

  “Sure thing, Captain. I’ll let our officers know about the lieutenant. Besides, if I take your meaning, one of those mean looking Marines is guarding him anyway. Most of my men are not warriors; they are supply and maintenance experts.”

  Jameson shook his head. “Colonel, the young lieutenant will drive them crazy with logistic ideas and high-level mathematics that will make them all sleepy very quickly, so I wouldn’t worry about the Marines.”

  The time to board the giant plane arrived, and the passengers walked out to the loading dock. From there a small boat would carry them over to the service barge tied to the plane. At the plane, stewards in stiffly starched white uniforms were waiting. The passengers were lucky to be on one of the Clippers that was still in its peacetime livery. Most of the planes were already stripped down to the essentials, and the nice soft seats and dining area were long gone. But the Air Corps knew one or two of these monster aircraft would need to be kept in peacetime shape for VIPs and military brass, so this one was still in civilian mode and could comfortably seat the peacetime passenger load and its crew.

  Each person went to their assigned seat. The Marines stored their duffel bags along with the other materials the team might need in England. The gunny had made sure all was loaded and went on board with the Pan Am crew to make sure the radio was stowed properly in the aft freight area. The Marines carried their weapons on board, plus a small canvas bag of personal items and spare clips for their weapons. The other army and navy personnel gave them a wide berth as the team was seated at the front of the passenger area.

  The Captain, Flannigan, and Brand sat in front on the bulkhead, along with Pharmacist Mate Jonathan Hamlin who would sit next to Flannigan and across the aisle from the two other officers. Doc Feldman had instructed Hamlin on what to look for just in case either Flannigan or Brand evidenced any discomfort from their previous injuries. Feldman didn’t anticipate any issues as it had been over two months since the broken ribs on Brand, but he knew Flannigan was still experiencing a great deal of discomfort from his burns that were slow in healing.

  After everyone was on board, a pilot came down the aisle and found Captain Jameson.

  “Captain Jameson, my name is Sullivan, and I’m the pilot for this flight.” The captain looked like a movie poster but was probably near the age of forty and an old hand at seaplanes.

  “Captain Sullivan, glad to meet you and we look forward to the flight. Any news on the weather conditions?” Jameson did not like the idea of flying to England in mid-March. Late winter storms, impenetrable fog, and bone-chilling cold were always possible, but if the pilot decided to fly, so be it.

  The Pan Am pilot gazed through the window at the gray sky. “This is as nice as it’s going to get for the next two days. I have confirmed good visibility at Botwood, Newfoundland, which is where we refuel for the next hop. We could make it to Iceland without getting more gas, but the weather can close in at any time, so it’s best to have lots of fuel. Iceland is all right for the moment with clouds and a wind of twenty-five knots from the north, and as for England, we’ll find out once we get to Iceland.”

  Jameson looked out the window thinking if this is the best it is going to be, how bad was this trip going to be? He quickly asked Sullivan, “You think this is going to be a rough ride all the way to Britain?”

  Looking out the window again, the dashing looking pilot replied in his best professional assessment, “Beats the hell out of me. You never know from one hour to the next this time of year. But this big bird is the most over-engineered plane in the world and we will make it across even though it might take longer than planned. Anyway, we plan to put down at a place called Oban on the Irish Sea in the northern part of Scotland. There’s a large seaplane base there, which can handle us well. If we were not so full of military people we would go into Ireland at Foynes, but they are neutral, and anyone in uniform causes them heartburn. Sometimes we fly into Northern Ireland or all the way down to Liverpool, but this time, they want us to head into Scotland. I’ll know a lot more once we reach Reykjavik.” The pilot smiled at Jameson and walked forward to the cockpit of the huge seaplane.

  Jameson knew that the end of the flight could be at any one of three, or possibly four locations in the UK, or even the Irish location. One of the bases was in Northern Ireland at Loch Erne. The facility was the seaplane base of the PBY that found the German battleship Bismarck in May 1941

  Before takeoff, the purser walked down the aisle, making sure every-one had their seatbelt fastened and was aware of how to extract the life jacket located under each seat. There was no mention of emergency exits or smoking limitations except when they were taking off. After the plane took off, it would be full of smoke with passengers in the front of the plane being better off for at least the first part of the flight. After a few hours, the smoke would be very heavy everywhere. Venting the smoke was dependent on whatever amount of air entered from the outside of the plane.

  After what seemed to be at least another thirty minutes, the plane’s first engine coughed to life. The plane did not shake and shudder much compared to the R4D that had brought them to New York. The next engine followed, and Brand could now see the huge propeller begin to turn as the Wright R-2600 radial engine throbbed to life. Each of the four engines could produce sixteen hundred horsepower, and once the plane was airborne, they would fly at a cruising speed of 180 miles per hour with a range of thirty-six hundred miles. This enormous range meant the plane could make it all the way to England without refueling but during the winter months, it was best not to take chances with one of only twelve Boeing Model 314 flying boats in existence.

  With all the engines now running, the plane began a slow slog down the channel and Brand could feel the gentle movement of water beneath the hull. The big Boeing had small outrigger wings called sponsons on each side of the boat that touched the water level. These helped keep the plane stable and added some lift while taking off. Finally, the plane turned into the wind, and the pilot started to test each engine. This “run up” was required to check the manifold pressure of each engine, the oil pressure, and power output, and to make sure each engine was running smoothly. Everything went quiet for a moment with each of the giant engines waiting for the throttle to move forward. A surge of noise hit
Brand. He again looked out the window as the plane began to dig into the water, seeming to want to dive into the dark fluid of the harbor. The plane picked up speed, and the engines kept the sound pitching even higher as more fuel reached each of the engines.

  Brand could now see the spray picking up from where the sponsons were attached. As the plane rolled a bit from side to side, he first saw a lot of spray from his side of the plane, and then it lessened. Then he felt a bit of a jump as the flying boat attempted to pull free of the water’s friction. The faster it went, the more lift it received from the huge wings. The power of the engines propelled the plane into the wind, and it gently lifted off the water and began to climb. Slowly at first, but as the speed increased the plane climbed to a hundred feet, then two hundred feet and beyond.

  Brand watched the dusky light of the setting sun, making out the buildings on Long Island. The pilot kept the plane over water in case an emergency required a quick landing and to avoid crashing into land formations or buildings. The plane gained more speed and altitude, and after a few minutes the engines reduced their noise as the pilot no longer needed full power. The plane was safely in the air, and the onboard navigator sitting behind the pilot began his job of safely plotting a course north to Newfoundland and beyond.

  During the early part of the flight, Brand moved about the cabin but stayed quiet. He asked a few questions to Flannigan about where they were, flight speed, and possible drift due to prevailing winds. Jameson noticed the discussion and asked Brand what was on his mind. After hearing James’ request for more information, the captain talked to the purser about getting some time for James with the navigator. The navigator welcomed the company. He was doing ten-minute course updates for Captain Sullivan, plus using his radio direction equipment to maintain his drift calculations. James was very excited about this, and in a few minutes, he was doing the calculations for the navigator. The navigator was astounded by the speed of the lieutenant’s ability to plot the course and the precision of his mathematics, which he did without the aid of a calculating device. Brand was also able to figure the approximate time for each of the three legs of the trip.