D for Daisy (The Blind Sleuth Mysteries 1)

D for Daisy Part 7: 1943

One by one the engines coughed into life and started humming endlessly. All manner of mutterings went back and forth through the intercom, still concerning the checklist for take-off, but there was also a lot of nervous bantering. Then at last the flag signal was given by a man on the ground outside. Radio traffic was kept to a minimum; you didn't want to give away the game to the enemy. It was now their turn to roll off the dispersal area and take their position in the line of Lancs lumbering to their starting position at the head of the runways. Daisy could feel the wheels wobbling over the grass of the airfield. After taxiing like this for a while they finally reached the tarmac. A tanker lorry was waiting there to top them up with petrol at the last possible moment. And then it was their turn.

The take-off of a fully loaded Lancaster bomber was a terrifying experience. Four Rolls Royce Merlin V12 supercharger engines, roaring at full throttle for endless minutes, produced an overwhelming din. The fourfold thundering, at very close range, went through the metal innards of the aircraft and right through the bones of each of its occupants. The flight engineer had to kneel down next to the pilot to help manage the throttles, as the bomber hurtled along the runway, trying to pick up sufficient speed to get its 26 tons into the air before running out of tarmac. The engines could take such punishment for only five minutes before overheating and seizing up.

What Daisy couldn't see were the flames coming off the exhausts, eight parallel streams of fire licking over the top of the wings, four to each wing, right next to the more than 2,000 gallons of pure petrol that were stored in the tanks inside those same wings. What Daisy was not aware of, either, were the miles of copper conduits containing highly inflammable hydraulic oil for controls and flaps and gun turrets, altogether 150 gallons of oil. Then there were six tons of lethal high explosive and pyrotechnic stores in the bomb bay, and 14,000 rounds of ammunition in aluminium alloy tracks extending along the fuselage to guide the belted ammunition to the gunner's turrets. There were oxygen ducts, electrical wiring, intercommunication lines and a host of other fittings closely packed together all around you. A highly explosive behemoth hurtling through the night to the end of the tarmac strip...

At the side of the runway that was brightly illuminated by floodlights, visible only to those crew-members who at that moment could look out of a gun turret, there stood a small group of ground crew and WAAFs who waved farewell to the departing bombers. A little ritual they had in Bomber Command. Sometimes even Major Mannings stood there and saluted, but from a departing bomber you could never make out if it was really him.

As she got up to speed, D-Daisy started to shake and rattle like the hapless victim of a spasmodic fit. Finally, after what felt like ages, they were airborne, climbing slowly and circling into their allotted position within the bomber stream. Then they headed out over the North Sea.

"Time to ditch those extra bombs, skipper!"

"Dream on, wireless, dream on..."

"What extra bombs?" Daisy asked into the oxygen mask while briefly pushing her call button.

"Well, for the raids on Berlin, Bomber Harris has ordered us to take on an extra two thousand pounds. Of course that puts rather a strain on a four-hour flight over enemy territory... The rumour goes that some skippers just ditch those two thousand pounds in the drink..."

"Would Ralph ever have done a thing like that?"

"Oh, no! He was a stickler for obeying orders, just like the new skipper here..."

"And is that bad, Tim?"

"No, not bad. Don't take everything we say at face value... But really, if this rumour were true, it would reflect rottenly on those who did it; I wouldn't want to be part of such a crew..."