Flight to Dungavel

By Jacques Evans

In 1918 a sergeant saves the life of a pilot who crashes in no-man's-land. After the war the two ex-soldiers construct a bootlegging empire. To account for their illegal income, they finance two engineers who claim to have discovered diamonds in British Guiana. Certain the venture will fail, they 'cook' the books to show income from the mine.

In 1933 they are forced to flee the country. In British Guiana they find the mine is successful and take an active role—they buy a British Avro, hack an airfield out of the jungle, and fly supplies to the mine. In 1934 the mine produces an enormous cache of diamonds.

The sack of diamonds is loaded aboard the Avro that crashes in an unexplored, inaccessible area of Guiana populated by aborigines. The fact that diamonds were aboard is closely held. In 1940, Hitler learns that diamonds were aboard the biplane and orders the SS to recover them. Churchill learns of the plan...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jacques Evans
• Release date: Oct 8, 2009
• ISBN: 9781452307312

Jacques Evans

Jacques Evans retired from the U.S. Air Force and is a life member of the American Society of Mechanical Engineers. He has worked on numerous aerospace projects and spent years at Cape Kennedy as a member of the Apollo team. He is the author of action/adventure novels. His favorite novelists are Nevil Shute and Patrick O'Brian.

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Flight to Dungavel

by

Jacques Evans

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2007 Jacques Evans

All rights reserved.

Also by Jacques Evans

Scammed

Fraser's Run

Mizrahi's Prison

Kuchma's Dictum

South of Cayenne

Flight to Dungavel

The Betty G's Gold

The Mannerheim Line

The Czar's Last Soldier

Von Weizsacker's Diary

Last Bridge to Baghdad

Last Flight of the Blue Goose

This book is for personal use only. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without the prior written consent of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a newspaper, magazine or journal article.

While this is a work of fiction, some of the events described actually occurred. Prohibition lasted from January 1920 through December 1933—for some law-abiding citizens it was a long time between drinks. Any similarities between characters and persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 ~ France, 1917 - 1918

Chapter 2 ~ New York, 1919 - 1920

Chapter 3 ~ New York, Nevada, California, 1921 - 1933

Chapter 4 ~ British Guiana, 1933

Chapter 5 ~ British Guiana, 1933 - 1934

Chapter 6 ~ British Guiana, 1934

Chapter 7 ~ British Guiana, 1934

Chapter 8 ~ British Guiana, 1934 - 1935

Chapter 9 ~ British Guiana, 1935 - 1937

Chapter 10 ~ New York, Georgia, 1938 - 1941

Chapter 11 ~ New York, Berlin, British Guiana, 1938 - 1941

Chapter 12 ~ Washington D.C., Maryland, Ft. Benning, MacDill Field, 1941

Chapter 13 ~ Howard Field, British Guiana, 1941

Chapter 14 ~ Berlin, North Atlantic, New York, 1941

Chapter 15 ~ North Atlantic, Norway, Germany, 1941

Chapter 16 ~ New York, 1941

Chapter 17 ~ New York, 1941

Chapter 18 ~ British Guiana, California, New York, 1941 - 1942

Chapter 19 ~ New York, District of Columbia, Nebraska, 1942 - 1943

Epilogue

Author's Notes

Prologue ~ British Guiana, 1934

Clifford Medford Huff left the hangar and started across the ramp lugging a toolbox. He angled across the grass and headed toward a single-engine, yellow, dual cockpit biplane. His British built Avro 504 was an N model built in 1928. Three months before he changed the Lynx radial engine and installed a new, zero time engine. With 2,400 hours on the airframe the new engine accumulated seventy-eight hours of flight time.

For the past year, Huff flew personnel and supplies to the Gordon and Hall Mine located on the side of a mountain thirty-five minutes by air from Georgetown, British Guiana. A 2,500 foot runway had been blasted on the side of the mountain to avoid a ten day trek through the jungle. On the side of the narrow runway, there was a sheer drop of 1,200 feet into the valley below.

Huff, an American and part owner of the mine, made the round trip from Georgetown to the mine over a hundred times. His flying career spanned sixteen years. Huff was not concerned with the runway—he was concerned with the Avro's engine. On his last flight, the Lynx engine ran rough when he started his letdown at Georgetown.

Huff spent most of Sunday morning checking the Avro's engine. He placed a chalk mark on each exhaust stack then started the engine. After he shut the engine down, he ran his hand over each cylinder and found one that felt slightly cooler than the rest. He checked the chalk mark on the cylinder's exhaust stack, noticed it was not discolored, and felt sure he found the problem, a cold cylinder.

Huff installed two new spark plugs. As a precaution he removed the oil screen. Satisfied there were no metal particles on the screen, he washed the screen in a bucket of gasoline then reinstalled it.

Huff started the engine again. It ran smoothly through the entire range and the magneto check showed no loss of RPM. He shut the engine down then visually checked for leaks. After checking the accessory section, he replaced the cowling then filled out the maintenance log.

Huff made a quick preflight inspection of the aircraft then lugged his toolbox back to the hangar. He made his way around two Avro 504s parked in the hangar then placed his toolbox on top of a workbench.

The airfield at Georgetown consisted of a grass runway, one wooden hangar and a windsock. A small shack butted against the side of the hangar and served as an office. Over the door of the shack, a large sign read 'Wilson Air Service.'

Huff entered the vacant office and placed a telephone call to his passenger. The office was sparsely furnished. The furniture consisted of a desk, three chairs and a crudely made wooden clothes tree littered with coveralls, helmets and goggles. Unpainted, three quarter inch thick board walls lined with aviation photographs completed the decor.

Two days before, Huff flew to the mine and brought Lawrence Gordon, a British mining engineer and part owner, back to Georgetown to attend Huff's engagement party. Ten Indian employees remained behind, on the mountain, to work the mine. Although the Indians were capable of working the mine without an owner present, it was only done on special occasions.

Huff leaned back in the swivel chair and placed both feet on the desk. He let his eyes stray over the framed photographs while he waited for his passenger. The photographs were neatly arranged and surrounded the room. Huff let his eyes rest on a photograph of the new Douglas DC-2 then closed his eyes.

Though he never worked in the field, Huff graduated from New York University as a mechanical engineer. After graduation, he joined the army and flew in France during the war. If his engineering career had not been interrupted, Huff would have liked to work for Donald Douglas designing the new all metal DC-2s he read about. He was particularly interested in the DC-2's power plant and variable-pitch propeller installation. Huff knew if he had to choose between flying a DC-2 or working on a drawing board he would choose to fly. Fifteen minutes later, he opened his eyes when he heard a car approach.

Huff left the office and greeted Thomas Hall, a mining engineer, part owner and Gordon's replacement. With Hall in the front cockpit, Huff took off and headed for the diamond mine. The thirty-five minute flight was uneventful. After the Avro landed, the Indians escorted Huff and his passenger to a tent and proudly showed them an enormous pile of stones spread on a blanket.

Hall sorted through the diamonds in disbelief. One stone appeared to be over two hundred carats. Most were over twenty carats; he smiled, We must have hit a pipe! This is a major find—probably the largest ever found on this continent!

Huff watched as Hall held a large stone up to the light and slowly twirled it. Hall's excitement rubbed off on Huff who picked up a large stone. While Huff was looking at the diamond, he felt something crawl along his right arm. He slapped his arm and killed a large black ant. Hall turned and saw the ant then said, We better put some salve on that.

Hall opened a first aid kit. He spread some ointment on the bite and covered it with a piece of gauze then asked, Does it hurt?

It did for a second—I'm fine.

Maybe you should stay the night?

I'm OK, there isn't any pain.

Hall returned to the pile of stones and carefully placed them in a large canvas sack. He kept out a handful of diamonds of varying sizes to examine later. Hall pulled the drawstring shut then lifted the sack a few inches off the ground. He estimated the weight to be twenty-five pounds and surmised the sack contained fifty to sixty thousand carats. Except for a stint with the British Army, Hall spent most of his life searching for diamonds. All his finds were modest, never in his wildest dreams had he envisioned a cache of diamonds this large.

Huff slung the canvas sack across his shoulder and carried it to the Avro. He climbed onto the wing, placed the sack in the front cockpit then securely strapped it in place. After Huff strapped himself into the rear cockpit, Hall and the Indians turned the Avro around on the narrow runway and positioned it for take-off. Huff checked that the propeller was clear then started the engine. After the cylinder head temperature stabilized, Huff checked both magnetos. He lowered his goggles, waved to the Indians then shoved the throttle against the stop.

When Huff reached cruising altitude and started to level off, he felt a sharp pain in his chest and momentarily blacked out. Huff quickly came to and pushed the nose down to maintain level flight. Afraid he would blackout again, he decided to return to the mine. Huff changed course, trimmed the aircraft for level flight, and fought to stay awake—to no avail.

When Huff finally opened his eyes, the Avro was in straight and level flight. He checked the clock on the instrument panel and found he passed out for fifty minutes. Huff checked his compass. The Avro was on a southwesterly heading. He had over flown the mine, was over dense jungle, and heading toward Brazil.

Huff made a 180 degree turn and searched for familiar landmarks. Below, as far as he could see, a canopy of trees covered the ground. Huff was in trouble. He searched for open ground. Thoughts of becoming a permanent part of the scenery entered his mind.

As time passed, his fuel supply ran low. The Lynx engine sputtered. Huff's right hand moved to the wobble pump. He pumped furiously while he tried to gain as much altitude as possible. The engine backfired, sputtered a few more times, then finally died before his hand came off the pump handle. Huff stretched his glide northeast searching for open ground. Gradually he lost altitude. Huff shielded his face with his arms as the Avro slammed into the jungle beside a stream.

***

Chapter 1 ~ France, 1917 - 1918

Two miles east of Soissons, the men of the 26th Infantry tried to shut out the sound of incoming artillery. German shells raked and collapsed the connecting trenches on the right and left flank of C Company. Tracts of open ground, uprooted trees and huge depressions separated the company from the rest of the division. Overhead in the cool, sun filled afternoon a tethered balloon directing artillery fire was shot out of the sky by an American Spad. Two parachutes left the balloon's basket and gently floated to earth behind German lines. Black bursts of 77mm anti-aircraft shells searched for the Spad.

As soon as the anti-aircraft batteries stopped firing, three Fokker biplanes attacked the lone Spad. Suddenly another Spad dove out of the sun and came up behind the D-7s with its guns blazing. Smoke streamed from the rearmost Fokker as it spiraled toward the ground. Fifty feet above the ground, the pilot regained control and the Fokker, still streaming smoke, limped back toward its base.

In what was once a 1,000 yard long trench a sergeant, corporal and handful of men from C Company were the only survivors. The eyes of the men in the trench were riveted to the sky. They watched the tangled gyrations as the pilots fought for their lives. Oblivious to the aerial combat, Sergeant First Class Murphy ordered both machine gun crews to reposition their weapons to each end of the 50 yard long trench that was still intact. The outlook was bleak. Murphy knew that if the Germans attacked they would pour around his flanks to avoid a frontal attack.

When he heard sporadic rifle fire, Murphy raised a periscope. The impact of a sharpshooter's bullet wrenched it from his hand. German sharpshooters, from three companies, concentrated their fire on C Company's foreshortened trench. They fired at anything that moved. Murphy moved a few yards away and poked his Springfield through a slot between the sandbags. He adjusted his rear sight for 150 yards and waited. When he saw movement, Murphy squeezed off a round. Although he didn't know it, the round passed through a junior officer's blanket being aired on a clothesline.

Murphy was well aware that the defense usually enjoyed a three to one advantage. The thought gave him little comfort as he was opposed by at least three companies and perhaps a fourth in reserve. Some of them, he was sure, were at full strength. Murphy concluded that his position was hopeless. Unless a miracle happened, his choice was to surrender or have his position overrun. Across the line a German oberst came to the same conclusion. As a career soldier he wished to avoid unnecessary casualties. The oberst ordered a leutnant to offer the Americans a chance to surrender before he attacked.

Murphy saw movement and was about to squeeze off another round when he saw a white flag appear above the German trench. Hold your fire! he shouted to his men.

Murphy gazed across the barren, cratered no-man's-land and saw a lone German officer walk toward the American trench carrying a white flag. Another white flag was tied to one of his epaulettes. Murphy laid his rifle down, removed his forty-five from its holster, slid a round into the chamber then thumbed the safety catch on. He left the flap of his holster open, climbed out of the trench, and walked across no-man's-land to meet the German officer. To the sergeant, the leutnant appeared to be in his teens. Murphy doubted that the officer was old enough to shave. The leutnant returned Murphy's salute. In broken English the officer, who was actually a year older than the sergeant said, I wish to speak to the officer in command.

You're talking to him.

You misunderstand. I must talk to an officer.

Murphy gazed at the dogfight in the sky then fixed his eyes on the leutnant, He's taking a crap and authorized me to speak for him. I'm Sergeant Murphy, C Company, 26th Infantry. Who the hell are you?

Leutnant Horn, 12th Bavarian Grenadiers. I have been instructed to ask for your surrender. You only have a handful of men and are isolated from your regiment. To prevent needless bloodshed, the oberst has instructed me to ask for your surrender.

I'll need time to discuss it with the captain; afterward, I'll give you our answer, Murphy lied.

Sergeant, we will hold our fire for exactly one hour.

Murphy saluted. The leutnant returned the salute. Both men turned and walked back to their lines. Murphy repeated the conversation to his men then said, In the next hour chow up, get some rest and make peace with your God because our orders are to hold this damn piece of ground.

Glumly the men returned to their positions and once again turned their eyes to the dogfight in the sky. Neither the Spads nor the D-7s seemed to be making any progress. They continued buzzing around each other. Suddenly pieces of fabric were seen flapping in the breeze from one of the D-7's wings and a Spad seemed to be in trouble. The Fokkers broke off the engagement and turned away from the battle.

Wary of the Germans, Murphy raised a periscope. He moved the periscope through a wide arc then slowly moved it back. His eyes swept across no-man's-land. Satisfied that the Germans were holding their fire, he relaxed. A second later he saw a Spad with its propeller stationary, a few feet above the ground head straight for no-man's-land. Pieces fell from the airplane as it skidded across the ground. It slid until it was twenty yards ahead of C Company then nosed over in the barbed wire emplacement, its tail high in the air.

Murphy grabbed a pair of wire cutters and shouted at Corporal Campbell to take over. He scrambled over the trench, cut through the barbed wire, yanked debris from the side of the aircraft then pulled the trapped pilot from the cockpit. When he saw the lieutenant could stand he asked, Can you run?

Hell yes!

Follow me! Keep the plane at your back—between us and the krauts!

In the American and German trenches, all eyes were on the downed Spad. A veteran 12th Bavarian Grenadier feldwebel watched as an American sergeant freed the pilot from the cockpit. As the feldwebel moved to obtain a better viewing position, he tripped and accidentally discharged his weapon. Chaos ensued. Rifle fire erupted from both trenches. Corporal Campbell shouted to cease fire but the order was not heard or disregarded. Bullets whistled by as Murphy and the pilot ran across the twenty yards that separated the barbed wire emplacement from the trench. Murphy jumped into the trench with the pilot close behind.

When Murphy saw that the lieutenant reached the trench safely, he checked his watch. The cease fire lasted for exactly thirty minutes. He turned toward the pilot, You're lucky lieutenant, the krauts held their fire.

Held their fire my ass! Those were real bullets!

A kraut officer asked us to surrender and gave us an hour to mull it over. We were thirty minutes into a cease fire when the bastards opened fire.

At the sound of artillery fire, Murphy and the pilot ducked as clumps of dirt fell into the trench. When the artillery stops, the whole kraut army is coming our way. You just inherited command lieutenant—I'm the ranking man left.

Sergeant, I'm not an infantry officer—I'm in the air service. Just give me a rifle and point me the right way. What's your name?

Bill Murphy, the only other non-com left is Corporal Campbell. Campbell!

Yes, sergeant.

Give the order to fix bayonets then get the lieutenant a rifle, gas mask, bayonet and a couple of bandoliers.

Fix bayonets! Campbell shouted.

I'm Sanford Hughes, sergeant, you're still in command. They gave your platoon a lot of ground to cover.

Platoon hell! We started out with a company! This is all that's left. We were supposed to be reinforced days ago but it never happened. The krauts have gone over the top every day for the last three days. We've barely managed to hold and don't have any artillery support. We have two machine guns and dug out plenty of ammo but we don't have enough men to hold. You landed in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Murphy, I didn't land—I crashed. My engine froze while I was trying to get behind a Fokker. If you hadn't cleared the debris from the cockpit, I would have died out there—twenty yards won't make that much difference.

Lieutenant, when they attack the important thing is to keep both machine guns firing. If one of the crew gets hit, yank him out and get somebody else in there.

Campbell attached a bayonet, handed the lieutenant