Conflict Overhead: An Historical Novel

By Charlie Cox

The main character in the book is Gordon William Grey, a young man from Australia who was raised in the bush. It’s the 1930s, and his love for flying takes him to Victoria, where he joins the RAAF. Circumstances then take him and a group of RAAF pilots to England.
Great Britain’s Fighter Command does not fall for Hitler’s political rhetoric of peace. They believe a war is imminent. As a result, RAAF Flight Lieutenant Gordon Grey and his Australian contingent are retained and must join the RAF as fighter pilots.
In the theatre of war, all sensations are accentuated. Fear, happiness, pain, love, heartbreak, and hate, and in this story, all those experiences materialise.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Dec 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781504323970

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Copyright © 2021 Charlie Cox.

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ISBN: 978-1-5043-2393-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-2397-0 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 12/17/2020

DISCLAIMER

T his story is an historical novel. Much of the story is based on fact, but some of it is fiction. The life of Gordon during his youth in the country was similar to my youth, but of course, I lived there some twenty years later.

It must be said that I am most certainly not as talented as Gordon and that Grizzly’s nature was the opposite to my father’s. However, my mother’s nature was similar to Beryl. The story of the Battle of Britain section was mostly accurate, and the horrible atrocities inflicted on Biggin Hill were true.

For fear of misrepresenting these brave people, some names are similar, some fiction, and some, such as the military leaders, are correct.

I researched many facts of the facts on the novel but cannot guarantee they are correct; I sincerely apologise for any errors made in names, places, or dates.

FOREWORD

T he main character in the book is Gordon William Grey, a young man from Australia who was raised in the bush. It’s the 1930s, and his love for flying takes him to Victoria, where he joins the RAAF. Circumstances then take him and a group of RAAF pilots to England.

Great Britain’s Fighter Command does not fall for Hitler’s political rhetoric of peace. They believe a war is imminent. As a result, RAAF Flight Lieutenant Gordon Grey and his Australian contingent are retained and must join the RAF as fighter pilots.

In the theatre of war, all sensations are accentuated. Fear, happiness, pain, love, heartbreak, and hate, and in this story, all those experiences materialise.

CONTENTS

Disclaimer

Foreword

Chapter 1    1940: Somewhere Over SE England

Chapter 2    RAAF Flight School in Australia

Chapter 3    Biggin Hill

Chapter 4    Britain Goes to War

Chapter 5    Dunkirk

Chapter 6    Heartbreak

Chapter 7    Battle on the East Coast

Chapter 8    Love Is in the Air

Chapter 9    The Battle Rages

Chapter 10    Gordon Crashes

Chapter 11    A Terrible Event at the Hospital

Chapter 12    Biggin Hill Pilots Downed

Chapter 13    A Reprieve for Biggin Hill

Chapter 14    Wedding Bells

Chapter 15    The Decisive Day

Chapter 16    Tragedy

CHAPTER 1

1940: SOMEWHERE OVER SE ENGLAND

7 2 Squadron was not the first to sight the enemy. Squadrons from Kenley and Hornchurch, flying at twenty thousand feet, and flying from the south and north, began preparing their line of attack.

‘That’s gutsy,’ Paddy pronounced resolutely into the speaker, forgetting that every person hooked up to his frequency could hear, but not caring all the same. He had bigger fish to fry.

By the time 72 Squadron reached twenty-two thousand feet, it was time to prepare their own assault sequence.

Ralph, leading his yellow section, and Harry, leading his white section, were quite familiar with Gordon’s close-range strike strategy. However, those who hadn’t spent much time with the squadron were unfamiliar with it.

‘Talk to your flights, section leaders,’ Gordon said calmly, ‘and make sure they keep close to you in attack. Talk them through it. Good luck.’

The Hurricanes from Biggin Hill trailed less than ten minutes behind.

As 72 Squadron commenced their descent into their attack, many formations had already dispersed, due to earlier confrontations with the Spitfires.

The armada of Third Reich aircraft was so vast that some of them had no idea the battle had begun.

Within minutes, Allied aircraft engaged fighting, up and down the south-east of England.

The entire scene illustrated an intense feeling of abnormal, crazy individuals, performing the maddest acts known to humans, but they were not crazy.

Under normal circumstances, they were regular, peaceful folk who, for the most part, lived ordinary lives.

Now they were desperate and performed the most unnatural act known to anyone: kill or be killed.

English fighter planes attacked German fighter planes, many smoking and gliding uncontrollably out of the battle. Many flying machines, a one-time custodian for their occupants, now a horrifying inferno, spiralling down to armistice.

Further eastward, Hurricanes harassed bombers, causing further death and destruction, and similarly, German bomber gunners were desperately discharging millions of rounds of bullets in an attempt to spoil the attacker’s intentions.

A three-second discharge of cannon fire from Gordon’s Spitfire was enough to flame a BF 109. Then he saw another 109 on Harry’s tail.

Harry was too preoccupied to perceive the danger he was in. He was downright duty-bound to destroy his own adversary, a German ace with a nineteen-kill symbol painted on the tail of his Messerschmitt.

‘I’ll knock those bloody symbols off your arse, you bastard,’ Harry yelled angrily into his mouthpiece.

Immediately, the German ace became conscious of his attacker and turned a sharp right and then left, followed by a vicious dive. Then he turned left again, a sudden right, and a split second later, he pulled his harried aircraft upward, climbing stalwartly for five seconds and levelled off, convinced he had eluded the Hurricane. Why would he think otherwise? It was enough to evade his foes before.

Abruptly, the face of the German ace changed from smug satisfaction to amazed horror, as he looked behind him and saw the menacing sight of Harry’s Hurricane cannons.

It was too late. The sound that all military aviators dread: the clinking and shattering sound of bullets smashing through their plane.

‘How?’ he muttered, perplexed, as he desperately, but unsuccessfully, attempted to avoid death.

This conqueror of the skies, German hero and ace, had believed he was the best of the best, but in a split second, he found he was no longer the master. Bullets ripped through his cockpit and smashed into his body. One cartridge struck his skull, showering blood and brains against the broken glass of his aircraft’s canopy.

Harry’s previous attacker had been disorientated and was unable to follow the brilliant duel between the Hurricane and the 109; he broke off to seek another opponent. He was lucky today, because Gordon was also mesmerised; watching Harry’s accomplishment, he did not pursue him. He could not help but take time out and watch the dogfight and, in doing so, allowed Harry’s opponent to escape.

The next instant, Gordon jolted himself into reality. This will get you killed, he chastised himself. Never stop looking for the enemy, and never lose concentration.

CHAPTER 2

RAAF FLIGHT SCHOOL IN AUSTRALIA

I n February 1938, Gordon Grey began to learn to fly in Australia.

‘Pre-flight inspection,’ Squadron Leader Geoffrey Paulsey began his instruction. ‘Start at the cockpit and walk clockwise around the airplane. Check flying wire tension on the left wing, and note the aileron differential. On the right side of the engine, check the oil level; it should be at least two-thirds full; check that the propeller is not loose and the spinner is tight. Keep walking to the left side of the engine and check magneto wiring, exhaust manifold nuts, and gaskets. Prime the carburettor and exhaust pipe. Climb up on the cowl for fuel contents and wing top inspection and make sure right-wing flying wire is secure. Walk to the rear of the plane and check the tail is secure and the tail fin spar is not cracked. During the inspection, make sure there are no wrinkles in the fabric.’

Paulsey paused, looked amusingly at his confused audience, and continued, ‘and this is before you start the bloody thing.’

Nervous laughter was his reward.

Group Captain William Bent preferred that the trainers and lecturers offer some amusement to the novice flyers.

He believed this kept the attention of the young men, who averaged nineteen years old, and if the lecturer grabbed their interest, they learnt. Failure to learn correctly by the book on the ground often meant death in the air.

Gordon Grey had already made some good friends. Strangely, he felt more comfortable with these people than the ones he had grown up with (except for his next-door neighbour, Bob, and his mum, of course).

These young air force trainees from the Seventh Squad were looking for something new in life, something exciting, something challenging; they relished the camaraderie. They were all keen, and this made for good comradery.

Paddy Odonohue boasted a stocky build and bushy red hair. Although born in Australia, his father was full Irish decent and his mother English.

Fortunately, he adopted his mother’s happy-go-lucky personality but managed to maintain his father’s ability to make people laugh. He developed this aptitude at a very young age. Whenever the group of trainees were heard laughing, Paddy was usually seen in the centre.

Gordon became close friends with another nineteen-year-old trainee who had a similar background to himself.

John Form was tall and thin but athletic. He never smiled or laughed at anything he didn’t think was funny, and that was most of the time. However, Paddy was always someone who could make him to laugh openly.

Born west of Tamworth in New South Wales, John’s family bred ten thousand head of fine wool merino sheep. Similar to Gordon, he loved the work, but somehow, incarcerated in their souls, they desired something more.

They were all bored with the social life in the area they grew up in. They thought differently than their mates at home.

John and Gordon were often seen talking quietly to each other for hours, bouncing their radical thoughts off each other.

Although most of these young Australians came from different walks of life and from all over the country, they were different from those they grew up with. But here, they enjoyed the comfort of similar feelings, desires, and dreams.

Gordon felt so at ease in this new environment that he found it difficult to give any thought to his life before, but he knew he had to make the effort. After all, if not for his mother, he would never be here.

Studying an Air Force book always appealed to his liking when the opportunity arose, but he also realised that writing a letter to his mother was just as important.

14 May 1938

Dear Mum,

Thank you so much for giving me the support to pursue my dreams to fly. I am very happy here and have made wonderful friends. I love being in the RAAF. I even enjoy the discipline. Learning to march is not my cup of tea. I prefer to spend all my time learning to fly, but if that is what I have to do to learn, then so be it.

Our officers are really good, and I am sure they will teach us to be very good pilots.

I hope Dad is getting on well with Jack and they are not driving you crazy with their fighting.

If you get the time, can you give Bob a call for me and tell him I am happy, and I hope he and Jenny are enjoying their marriage.

Must go and do some study.

I love you, Mum; say g’day to all the others.

Love, Gordon

Squadron Leader Geoffrey Paulsey was a slightly built man who had been in the Royal Australian Air Force for fifteen years. He sported a thin white moustache which curled down either side of his mouth and stopped abruptly at his jaw line. He loved this moustache and constantly stroked it during his lectures.

He liked and respected these young men, and they liked and respected him. This made for good results.

‘Now we will see what you are made of, young Gordon,’ Squadron Leader Paulsey announced with authority. ‘You have past all your tests with flying colours, but this is your biggest test.’

Gordon began his preflight check, narrating his actions to the examiner.

‘Chocks in position. Throttle closed, switches off, and stick hard back,’ he announced clearly.

One of the ground crew, nicknamed Crazy, proceeded to pull the propeller through four times.

‘Throttle wide open,’ the young Australian stated loudly. This gave Crazy the instruction to pull the propeller through eight times in reverse.

‘Throttle three-sixteenth open, magneto switches on,’ came from the pilot seat, and with that, Crazy pulled the propellers through. The de Havilland Gipsy engine instantly roared into life, shaking the aircraft and spilling enough exhaust to obscure Crazy from Gordon’s view.

Paulsey, sitting in the back seat, had to yell to be heard over the Gipsy, yelled, ‘Well done. Now you can proceed.’

The young man smiled. He wasn’t falling for this one. His mind was alert. If he had opened the throttle at this point, he would have failed the test. Even though it was summer, and the plane didn’t need to warm up for very long, it was essential to wait a few minutes.

Revs to 1000rpm and then idle; oil pressure good, stick back and full throttle at 2100rpm. The Tiger Moth rolled forward. Gordon looked ahead past the side cowling for a reference in the distance. As the aircraft picked up speed, he pushed the stick forward about halfway. The tail lifted off the tarmac.

Within seconds, his de Havilland lifted off and climbed into air. He had done it.

‘Well done, young man. Perfect,’ the squadron leader shouted.

‘Thank you, sir.’

The young Australian always believed he might have been born with a natural gift to fly, but now he knew for sure. He felt as though he had been flying for years, and he was just going for a joy ride.

High into the sky they flew, banking right and left. He let the aircraft climb, and then the young pilot suddenly pushed the stick forward, forcing it to drop like a wounded eagle.

The young Australian bushy had experienced the sensation of flying before, at Glenfield, but this was better. This time, he was in control.

After landing the Tiger Moth and rolling to a stop, Gordon switched the fuel off and allowed the engine to idle for two or three minutes. Full throttle preceded engine stop.

‘There’s be a lot more you have to learn about flying,’ Paulsey said before they climbed out, ‘particularly about handling aircraft in extreme conditions, but I have to say that you’re the most gifted of all the trainees I have taught.’

‘Thank you, sir. I appreciate your opinion.’ The young man from Mingoola beamed, not thinking of anyone or anything, just captivating the moment.

For the squad, one hour of physical training, one hour marching, two hours technical study and lectures, and three hours flying in a Tiger Moth were the daily routine for the first four months. They also practised parachute jumping twice per week.

Captain Bent believed his men were the best RAAF pilots in Australia, and only the highest standard of training would achieve that.

‘Congratulations, men,’ Captain Bent said to the Seventh Squad. ‘After eight months of full training, you have all earned your wings. I can honestly say, you are the finest group I’ve ever had the pleasure of commanding, and I am sure you will all do your country proud over your lifetime. We haven’t conducted dogfight training in our Moths, but you’ll soon be transferred to Hawker Demon 1s. With the Demon 1, you will learn to dogfight against a potential enemy.’

‘Yay,’ the men yelled in response.

They were getting bored with the old Tiger Moth and looked forward to something faster and more exciting.

Over the past two years, Captain Bent had kept himself well informed through military contacts in Europe. As a result, he believed Adolf Hitler had ambitions beyond Germany’ borders, despite his public rhetoric.

‘What I am about to say is not official. It is my personal opinion only, but I believe Hitler’s intentions are to make war and invade countries like Poland and other European countries, and this does not look good for us.’

For the first time since the squad began training, their leader showed no sign of making a joke.

Paddy raised his hand.

‘Yes, Paddy?’ Captain Bent responded.

‘Sir, how are Hitler’s actions going to affect us? Europe is the other side of the world.’

‘You are quite correct, Paddy, but so was the Great War, and Australians became very much involved in that one. England is still our mother country, and if there is any threat to her by an enemy, we will go to her aid.’

Billy had always been shy when growing up in Perth, but here, he displayed a very different character.

He felt at home amongst these young Australian pilots, as did everyone in the squad. He was a very good pilot and felt very confident for the first time in his life.

‘Sir, how can Hitler become a threat to England,’ Billy asked, "if you believe he’s only going to invade the countries of Europe?’

‘Good question, Billy,’ the captain replied. ‘We have a large British contingent stationed in France; England would become very much involved if Hitler attempted to invade France, and my opinion, I believe he will. If England was to declare war on Germany, then I believe your services will be called upon. You will soon undergo combat training, and once you’ve completed forty hours in the Demon 1, you’ll become operational, the best RAAF pilots in the country and vital to the defence of your nation.’

The entire squad was silent. Many thoughts raced through their minds. Suddenly life seemed more serious. Their youth and naivety no longer their whole being.

5 July 1939

Dear Mum,

As you know, we’ve completed our training and are now RAAF pilots.

I don’t know why they have chosen us, but orders are to be obeyed. The RAAF are sending us to England so we can collect some flying boats and fly them back to Australia.

This is very exciting for us and will give us some excellent experience.

Give my love to everyone, and don’t worry. We’ll be back before you know it.

Your loving son,

Gordon. X O

After travelling by train from the Tilbury Docks, London, the Seventh Squad arrived at Calshot, Hampshire, on 23 August 1939. They were then taken to the spit hangars, where the commander’s office was located.

Sergeant Graham Roley, very stiff and official, saluted them and said, ‘Welcome to England. Air Commodore Lance Winton wishes to speak with Flight Lieutenant Gordon Grey only. He says his office is too small to accommodate you all, so I will escort the rest of you to the barracks. Flight Lieutenant Grey will join you later. Sir, if you could follow me.’

Gordon was surprised how plain the office was, considering the man’s rank of air commodore. However, he noticed all paperwork, documents, and books were neatly organised.

Sergeant Roley was about to introduce his guest, when his commander interjected, ‘Good afternoon, Flight Lieutenant; my name is Lance Winton.’

Both saluted sharply. ‘Sir. My name is Gordon Grey.’

‘Yes, I know all about you. Sit down, young man; we need to talk.’

Gordon obeyed, feeling extremely intimidated.

‘Normally, Air Commodore Winton continued, I’d think it a very poor decision to send a squadron of young, inexperienced airmen to the other side of the world with orders to take delivery of three Sunderlands and fly them back to Australia. However, a friend of mine knows your Group Captain Bent very well, and he claims the man to be a fine officer and gentleman. I read his report, and he spoke very highly of you and your men, so I assume he has confidence in you to complete the task successfully.’

‘Yes, sir; thank you, sir,’ the Australian replied modestly, surprised at how much information this officer had at his disposal.

‘As you know, the German war machine is getting stronger by the day, and our intelligence informs us that their intentions are to invade Poland, and who knows what their intentions are after that.’

‘Yes, sir. Group Captain Bent thinks the same,’ Gordon said, surprising himself by feeling more comfortable participating in this high-level meeting.

‘Hmm. Sounds like he has done his stuff,’ the commander muttered. ‘Therefore, on account of what I have just told you, our British Defence Alliance must consider the worst.’

The young RAAF pilot believed he should say nothing and just listen, but he continued to feel comfortable and was eager to contribute. ‘Do you think the worst correlates with a German invasion of France, sir, and maybe even an attempt on England?’

The air commodore was slightly taken back with the lieutenant analysis. He hesitated before responding, impressed with this young officer from the other side of the world.

‘Yes, Flight Lieutenant. It does correlate with that, which is why I must rescind your original orders to return to Australia.’

The young pilot’s heart missed a beat. He remained motionless, unwilling to react in any way to what he just heard. This time, he chose to say nothing.

‘In light of our conversation, you and your squadron now have orders to remain in England and conduct further combat training with the RAF. We are very short of trained pilots, let alone skilled ones like yourselves. If Hitler chooses to attack England, you will play a vital role in our defence.’

Gordon knew he should respond, but his mouth had become dry. Staying calm, he quickly regained his composure and responded with a clear and strong tone, ‘Yes, sir Thank you, sir.’

‘Good. I will contact Group Captain Bent in Australia, and he will convey my orders to RAAF command. The Commonwealth countries will be signing an agreement with England to allow British subjects to train and enter into combat as part of the Royal Air Force. As this is not yet official, I’ll ask you to sign a form stating you’ve volunteered to stay in England and train for operational duties.’

By now, the young Australian flight lieutenant had collected himself and understood his position. He realised there was no choice; he was a military officer, and orders had to be obeyed.

‘Sir,’ he began, ‘just now, I can only speak for myself. I have no hesitation signing the form, and I am confident my group will do likewise, but I need to speak with them before confirming that officially.’

A broad, agreeable smile broke across Air Commodore Winton’s face. ‘You have an old head on young shoulders, Flight Lieutenant Grey. I am sure you will make a fine officer. Of course, join your men in our barracks, and come see me tomorrow.’

The next day, nine young Australian airmen were sitting quietly in a train carriage, heading north.

No one spoke; all eyes were on the floor.

Vulnerable, pensive minds searched for something more familiar, something more tangible, something more comforting. They felt scared and had no idea what lay ahead. Their minds drifted back to life before the air force.

Gordon’s recollections went back to the days when they began growing tobacco and the pleasure he obtained when training his sheepdogs and breaking in a new horse.

John could remember the sweet smell of lanolin on wool and the pleasure of loading a hundred bales of it onto a truck destined for Sydney, the major wool market.

Geoffrey, one of the quietest of the group, kept to himself. However, it didn’t prevent him from pondering the sad memory of embarrassing himself in front of all his mates when he declared his love for a girl; he thought she loved him as much as he loved her, but he was wrong. He has avoided the company of girls ever since.

Some reminisced about the fun times they had at Point Cook and then to their long sailing trip to England; now they were heading somewhere else in England.

Oh, how their lives had changed so much, so dramatically.

At Point Cook, they often talked of how the RAAF would offer the opportunity to travel and the excitement of change, but this. They oozed so much confidence in their own country, but now they were in an unfamiliar foreign country, they felt vulnerable and less sure of their capabilities.

At this point, insecurity seemed to be their enemy.

The carriage rocked to and fro, and the only sound was the clatter of steel wheels against the tracks.

Breaking the silence in the carriage, Paddy looked up and mimicked a baby, crying, ‘I want my Mummy.’

Instantly, wholehearted laughter echoed from the carriage, followed by relieved jollity.

The giggles from George could be heard over everyone else; his high-pitched titters made everyone else laugh