Dragon Flight

By David H. Olsen

Ive followed your magnificent exploits with the utmost interest Captain Duncan, Churchill blustered, his jowly cheeks pulsating with nervous energy.

Its 1917 and Royal Flying Corp Captain James Angus Duncan, an ace with twenty-eight victories, has come a long way from being the son of a Vancouver Island dairy farmer. Jimmy is wearing the medals presented to him by King George the Fifth and is now the darling of the British aristocracy. The girl he left behind is faithfully waiting, but an Irish beauty has entered his life and thoughts of home are fading fast. Hard on the heels of a very personal tragedy, James ecounters the stunningly beautiful Lady Sarah Atherley. His life will be a dream come true, if he and Red Dragon; his Sopwith Camel can survive a series of vicious air battles with Manfred Von Richthofen and his knights of the flying circus.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Oct 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490746654

David H. Olsen

David H. Olsen, author of Summer of ’61, graduated from the University of Guelph in 1967. Now retired from teaching high school, he lives in the Cowichan Valley on Vancouver Island.

Book preview

1

The morning sun a hand’s breadth above the smoky blue horizon, the white puffs of their breath mingling with the low ground-fog, the two hunters hunkered shoulder-to-shoulder among the pond’s tall bullrushes.

Here they come. Remember to lead them, his father whispered. James Duncan held the stock of the 12-gauge, double-barreled shotgun tightly against his cheek and fired well ahead of the first duck that rocketed downwind. A second shot cannonaded over the windswept cattails and two fat mallards plummeted like stones into the brackish beaver pond.

Fetch ‘em, Holly girl! James shouted.

The black Labrador Retriever, waiting eagerly beside the two men, splashed into the frigid water and swam straight for the nearest bird. A few minutes later a pair of plump drakes were safely stowed in the game bag. These, along with a brace of pintails already resting in the bottom of the bulging supper sac would be more than enough for the Duncan family’s Thanksgiving dinner. Feeling satisfied with the morning’s harvest, father and son walked slowly back to the tethered horses. Holly’s nose held high and working the thick brush, they rode at a clip-clop pace along the well worn trail to their sturdy log farmhouse. The Duncan’s fortress-like home was the focal point of a large Vancouver Island dairy farm. Grandfather Duncan had cleared the fertile one-hundred acre land grant shortly after the Cowichan Valley was settled in 1862.

*

As they led the frisky stallion and placid mare to a small stable directly across from the milking barn, James, a solidly built, brown-eyed, six footer, sighed apprehensively before asking, Do you think this war will ever end?

That would be my most heartfelt wish, laddie, Angus Duncan smiled ruefully. Any more battles like the Somme and we’ll be bled dry.

Thinking this was as good a time as any, James blurted, I’m going to join the Royal Flying Corps in the spring.

Angus was expecting this, but reflexively his heart went cold at the thought of losing his only son. The war had been an insatiable meat grinder and casualties were mounting daily.

Thirty thousand Canadians had already died in the slugging trench warfare that was devastating continental Europe.

I need you here on the farm this summer, his father reasoned.

Half the guys at school are volunteering and if I don’t go I’ll never be able to hold my head up, James erupted, nervously running a hand through his curly, black hair.

Your physics professor told me he wanted you to do war related research in Ottawa, Angus countered.

It’s not the same as serving overseas and you know it!

You’ll be twenty-one soon, and then there’s nothing I can do to stop you, but it’ll break your mother’s heart.

I’m sorry sir, but you and Mom will just have to get used to the idea.

Son, it’s Thanksgiving weekend. Let’s not argue anymore, but keep this to yourself till the New year, for your mother’s sake.

I promise, sir, James willingly grasped his father’s outstretched, work-toughened hand.

*

Later that afternoon the tantalizing aroma of roast duck wafted in from the kitchen as Barbara Duncan, a petite woman who carried her middle years graciously, entered the parlor to talk to her son.

What time does your train leave Cobble Hill station tomorrow? She smiled, absently wiping her hands on a crisp clean apron.

According to the E&N schedule it should depart at four-thirty.

You’ll be able to make it home again before Christmas? his mother asked hopefully.

I doubt it, Mom. I’ve mid-terms soon and piles of work to catch up. Playing football this fall has really cost me.

A wrinkled frown furrowed her forehead then disappeared quickly. Well, in that case, she burbled, we’ll just have to wait for you and Santa Claus to visit us around the twenty-fifth of December.

*

The dinner was magnificent. Feeling satisfied with the day and fine meal, father and son retired to the parlor for an after-supper whiskey. Angus Duncan, smaller in stature than Jimmy but strong as an ox, wasn’t a drinking man, however, on special occasions he did enjoy a wee dram. He was proud of his boy, who stood near the top of the inaugural Civil Engineering class at the recently opened University of British Columbia.

In addition to his academic and athletic abilities, James had been blessed with exceptional eyesight. He was a crack shot with rifle or shotgun. Following his twelfth birthday he and his father had hunted together whenever they got the opportunity.

Will you be going over to see Deborah in the morning? his father asked between sips of a smoky single malt.

You’ve been reading my mind, Dad. I was thinking about dropping by the Armstrong’s farm tomorrow. Jimmy and Debbie had been sweet on each other since elementary school, but thoughts of going overseas had forced him to reconsider their future plans of marriage and children.

Well, make it early; that train down-island waits for no man.

His mother had served Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday so James could leave for Victoria on holiday Monday. When the dishes were done, Angus and James left the parlor and joined Barbara Duncan in the tiny music room where they gathered around the upright piano and sang several hymns to honour the Sabbath. Jimmy was tired and knew there would be an early wake-up call to get the milking done. Stifling a yawn he excused himself then went up to his bedroom. He was fast asleep before the pillow warmed up, dreaming about flying a Nieuport scout behind enemy lines.

Shortly after ten, the chores finished, James rode the buckskin stallion slowly along an overgrown logging grade leading to the Armstrong’s property. Several minutes later he was knocking on the door of the Tudor-style farmhouse where Deborah lived.

I-I thought you’d forgotten about me, Debbie, a well proportioned, blue-eyed beauty, stammered nervously when she appeared on the front step.

Sorry, but I’ve been busy helping Dad.

There was an awkward pause as she walked timidly down the wide set of stairs to ground level. She brushed a strand of strawberry blonde hair from the corner of her right eye then stood directly in front of James, fearing the worst.

It’s over between us, isn’t it? she snuffled, tears beginning to flow down her freckled cheeks.

God, I wish we could go back to simpler times, but now that I’m at university, and with this war in the way–– He paused to get the tightness out of his throat, ––I think we should wait a year or two before doing anything serious.

You’re going to join up, aren’t you? she flared accusingly.

I told my dad I was enlisting in the RFC next spring, but Mom doesn’t know. Whatever you do, Deb, please don’t say a word.

All right, if that’s the way you want it, but what about us?

When I go overseas, there’s a real possibility I’ll never come back, he lied, secretly believing in his own immortality.

I’ll wait for you!

Debbie, I really don’t think that would be––

She launched herself into his arms, and burrowed her head into his chest. Gently, he tilted Debbie’s face upward and kissed her tenderly. He didn’t want to say any more or hurt her further, but he knew deep in his heart it would never be the same between them. They talked quietly on the porch for twenty minutes before he politely took his leave.

*

Good-bye, Mom, I’ll see you at Christmas, James grinned, enfolding her in a mighty bear hug.

Now you take care son, his father cautioned, as Jimmy climbed aboard the last passenger car.

The large steam engine coughed a hazy grey cloud of smoke into the air, as it chuffed slowly by the crowded platform. He waved to his parents who were standing near the station house. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed Debbie hiding in the shadows of the grimy, rough-hewn building.

2

During the following weeks James felt anxious and confused, his mind torn between the realities of school life and the ongoing fantasy of being posted to an aerodrome in France. Lectures, labs, football and mid-terms filled his waking hours.

On a dark, grey, late November day, however, things changed abruptly. The letter from his mother was at first a welcome event, but the words on the tearstained pages filled him with horror and grief. David Brown, his best friend at high school, had been killed near Ypres in Belgium. After the initial shock, a white-hot anger exploded into a determined resolve. The next morning he was the first one in line at the Vancouver Recruits Depot.

*

James was poked, prodded and questioned by a military doctor prior to filling out a series of forms. Finally, he was ordered to present himself to the head recruiting officer.

How old are you son? the Militia Major asked. His desk was thick with piles of official documents.

I’ll be twenty-one in the spring, sir.

In that case, with your academic record, medical certificate, and the fact that you can ride a horse, you should qualify for cadet training in England with the Royal Flying Corp.

Will I be shipped overseas right away, sir?

After a short period of home leave, I suspect you’ll be on your way in the new year. The Major coughed loudly, impatient to get on to the next candidate.

He signed in all the right places and was ushered on to the induction officer.

You’ll report to the CPR’s maritime platform for transport at eleven hundred hours January 3rd. From this point on you can consider yourself as having the temporary rank of a 2nd Lieutenant, a tall, mustached Captain announced, in precise military tones.

Yes sir, Jimmy shouted, snapping to attention.

*

James Duncan was in a state of shock as he entered the university’s dining hall for the evening meal. He sat at a table with several classmates, but couldn’t control his runaway excitement.

Addressing the class president, Alexander McCabe, he blurted, I joined up Sandy.

Alex, choking loudly on an inhaled fragment of potato, shook his head, trying to digest the unexpected news. Between red faced coughs he gasped, Good God, Duncan, are you daft? Can’t it wait till after graduation?

No way. The Hun’s just killed my best friend, and I’m going to get those bloody bastards.

Carl Foster, Jimmy’s roommate, mouth agape, managed to squeak out, What will your parents say, and how about Deb?

This goes beyond family and childish love, James snarled defensively.

Harry Arthurs, the massive Varsity guard who’d faithfully blocked for Jimmy all season, brought them back to the ultimate decision they’d all been toying with. I think Dunc’s right. Eventually, we’ll have to join up, so why not tomorrow?

The others bowed their heads in abject submission, realizing the chilling truth of Artie’s rhetoric.

Yeah, you might have started something, Sandy murmured, wrestling with his own thoughts. What branch of the service?

The RFC. James’ chin jutted forward.

A birdman! Carl, the runt of the litter, crowed loudly. We’ll be heros.

Harry, grinning coast to coast, bellowed, For King and Country boys, for King and Country!

Well, lads, it’s unanimous. I intend to be first in line, the tall, cadaverous Sandy beamed, exuding false confidence.

Only if you beat me to it, Carl laughed uneasily.

*

Four prideful volunteers went home for Christmas knowing this could be their last, before heading to war. The holidays shot by like a shell from a dreadnought’s mammoth gun, and the third day of 1917 found James Angus on the maritime platform of Vancouver’s CPR station, awaiting a train bound for Halifax. Sandy, Carl and Artie had been given a departure date of mid-January and would follow him to England.

I love you, Mom, he quavered, tears streaming unashamedly down his cheeks.

Now you take care, James, and remember to dress warmly, his mother murmured between sobs and snuffles.

Good luck, laddie, his father stiff-upper-lipped as they shook hands. Give em’ hell! Barbara and Angus Duncan then moved away to allow Debbie a moment alone with their only son.

Don’t wait for me Deb. James’ voice was thick with emotion.

Why you silly man, she whispered. Of course I will! You’re the only one I’ve ever loved and I don’t intend to change now.

She gave him a lingering kiss then reluctantly released him to the cruel Goddess of War. A portly conductor cried, "All aboaaard," and Jimmy walked quickly towards the train, that would rush him towards a new life and away from all he held most dear.

*

He was wearing a newly issued uniform which identified him as a 2nd Lieutenant. However, his commission wouldn’t become official until he reported to RFC headquarters in London. Looking out the rain spattered coach window, Jimmy began reflecting on his uncertain future. The war was there waiting for him, gaudily adorned in glory and valour. He knew that danger lurked in the distance, but was too excited to allow worry to dampen his enthusiasm. James Angus Duncan, along with thousands of patriotic young men from all corners of the British Empire was now on his way to a great adventure. He wasn’t naive. He knew that the enemy, in response, had assembled the pride of their beloved country and were equally well prepared for battle. The train steamed onward, over the Rockies, across the vast prairies, through the forests and lakes of Ontario, along the mighty St. Lawrence, and finally the Maritime Provinces. At the end of the line, a fresh flock of sacrificial lambs was disgorged on to the docks of Halifax.

His Majesty’s Transport Ship Olympic, the surviving pride of the White Star Line, towered above the harbour’s long piers. In 1912 her ill-fated sister, the Titanic, had struck an iceberg on its much publicized maiden voyage and sank in less than three hours with the loss of fifteen-hundred souls. Four years later the Britannic, another member of the family, had ploughed into a German mine off the coast of Greece and plunged to the bottom of the Mediterranean before she could be beached. The sobering fate of the two demised ocean giants was a topic of morbid discussion amongst the soldiers and airmen waiting to go overseas.

Submarines in the war zone, however, were more of a concern. To partially counteract this threat, the speedy Olympic had been chosen to transport Jimmy and four thousand other Canadians to Great Britain.

An admix of nagging terror and unbridled excitement crackled throughout the supercharged nervous system of 2nd Lieutenant James Angus Duncan, as he marched with measured, determined steps up the slanted, canvas covered gangway of the floating giant.

3

James had been assigned a small stateroom on ‘A’ deck, one of the privileges of being an officer. His posh accommodations were in stark contrast to the hammocks and crowded conditions afforded the enlisted men below. He shared the well appointed twin cabin with Bobby Jackson an RFC cadet from Calgary. After settling in, the two roommates entered the promenade deck and gazed open-mouthed at Halifax and her stately Citadel.

Look at that beauty riding at anchor! Bobby, a short, sturdily built carrot top, bugled, pointing to an imposing warship.

"That’s the cruiser Cumberland," James replied, recalling a previous conversation with one of the stewards.

I sure hope she’ll be with us all the way across the Atlantic, Bobby muttered, his mind alive with nightmarish fears of burning ships, and stalking U-boats.

Hey, look at that work of art over there, a starry-eyed 2nd Lieutenant Duncan marvelled.

Bobby sighted along Jimmy’s ‘Colt .45’ finger and his heart missed a beat. The loveliest creature in the universe was standing near the entrance to the first class salon. Her full length burgundy coat was ablaze in the cold afternoon sun. Her head was uncovered, revealing long, lustrous auburn hair. Even from a distance her dancing grey-green eyes flashed like emeralds caught in the luxurious light of a full moon.

M-My God, she must be a Princess, Bobby stammered, immobilized by her beauty.

James Angus was the first to come to his senses. As if awakening from a dream, he left Bobby’s side and felt as though he was floating toward Princess Burgundy, the name his spinning mind had assigned to the most exquisite woman on the planet.

Exhibiting a boldness that shocked him Jimmy moved to a position next to her and managed to sputter, A-Are you travelling to England, Miss?

I surely hope so. After all, this ship isn’t bound for Spain.

Embarrassment rose like a hot liquid up his neck to the crest of his sheared head. Eyes inspecting the deck planks, he mumbled, I’m sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t have bothered you.

He began to walk away, feet heavy as iron shoes on a magnet. Unexpectedly, her hand gently grasped his arm. The touch was electric and he stopped as if paralyzed, a mannequin trapped in a shop window. Bobby observing all this from a distance was highly amused at James’ discomfiture.

Please forgive me. I see you’re going overseas, but where are the identifying badges Lieutenant?

I’m a cadet in the RFC, but I won’t be wearing the Victoria Cross till I get across the pond, he grinned devilishly.

She started to laugh, Well at least you’ve got a sense of humour.

Why are you on your way to Britain? he asked, beginning to relax.

Her eyes instantly filled with tears. In a broken breath flood of soul weary grief she cried, To visit my husband’s grave.

Stunned and unable to speak he held out his arms. Instinctively, she pressed herself against him burying her right cheek into the rough fabric of his khaki uniform. An emotional weir had burst, releasing months of pent-up sorrow.

I’m so sorry, but I still miss him, she finally managed to whimper.

No need to apologize ma’am, I just lost my best friend over there and I truly understand what you’re going through.

What’s your name? she asked, in a slim, quavering voice.

James Duncan, he smiled warmly. I’ll leave you now, if that’s your wish.

Please stay with me for a moment longer James. I’m Aggie Lewis, she rasped, extending a dainty, gloved hand.

Pleased to meet you Mrs. Lewis, he nodded formally, feeling slightly hollow when he let go of her hand.

I must get back to my cabin but I’d very much like to see you again. I’ll be sitting next to the Captain’s table this evening. Perhaps you’d care to dine with me.

That would be a pleasure beyond all expectation Mrs. Lewis! James bowed gallantly, before taking his leave.

He was riding higher than the silver thin clouds racing across the darkening Nova Scotia sky when he returned to where Bobby was standing.

*

HMTS Olympic got underway at five-fifteen, as the murky cloak of night enveloped the harbour.

It was to be her last voyage prior to being outfitted with additional armament to combat the ever-present submarine menace. A prolonged period at dry dock in Belfast would accomplish this task. Her current firepower was a forward, rapid-firing 4.7 inch gun. This along with an incredible turn of speed had been sufficient in previous voyages, but the underwater threat was becoming more serious with each ship sent to the bottom of the stygian Atlantic.

*

Second Lieutenant James Angus Duncan entered the opulent, first class dining room at seven. He had his fingers crossed behind his back, willing Aggie to be there. He spotted the lovely widow immediately and proceeded towards the table set for two. Moving forward, in what seemed to him a sleepwalk gait, he was captivated by the tight, green silk gown, accentuating her creamy white skin.

I was hoping that you’d come, she purred seductively.

He impulsively kissed the back of her hand before stating bluntly, You’re a war widow and I feel guilty as hell, but I just couldn’t stay away.

James, I need your company, she soothed, "and believe it or not, you may