Squadron Island

By Sabrina

WARNING: This book contains scenes of a sexully graphic nature and is intended for readers over the age of 18

 

The crew of the final Vickers Wellington plane from 99 squadron embark on a night time raid that will test their aircraft to the limit, and beyond as they soon find out as they are forced to land into the sea.

Stuck on an island the men begin to explore themselves and admit to their own pleasures as they live out their time deciding, do they really want to be rescued.  They seem content until one day when they are visited by the enemy and their lives become better for it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sabrina
• Release date: Feb 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215574317

Sabrina

Sabrina is an erotica author who loves to titalate with stories about ordinary people doing extraordinary things.   Sabrina loves to take walks in the park and is definately a people watcher, she likes to meet people and there is nothing more than interesting than listening to people's life story and learning so much from them.

Book preview

Squadron Island

By Sabrina

Chapter 1. 

As the Wellington Bomber approached the aerodrome the sun was rising and Charlie was always grateful that the sun rose in the east and was always behind them, he often thought how much of a bitch the journey home would be if the sun was in their faces for the last hundred miles.  It was the same if ever they did daytime bombing runs as normally the sun would be behind them as they set off east.  But as was normally the case it would be dark when their Vickers Wellington would begin its journey over the North Sea and in pursuit of their targets. 

Today as he steered his plane onward at least they were coming home, so many of their comrades did not, almost every night they seem to lose another crew, he often thought, it was no use getting too attached to any of the guys in the barracks as you didn’t know when you would see them again. 

Not that they got much chance of that, being on almost permanent night raids and never as part of a group, they were virtually cast into solitude by their commanding officers.

Charlie was shaken from his thoughts as he heard Gray speak over the radio to the tower, telling them that they were on their approach, he knew that the tower would have seen them on the radar, but it was rules and regulations that they confirm their approach and check that they had permission to land.  They always did but they knew that the first time they didn’t ask they would be some disaster that would have happened whilst they were on mission that could stop their scheduled landing.  Charlie laughed to himself, with so little fuel in the plane if they were refused then they would be done for anyway.

Gray shouted over the internal comms, ‘good to go Charlie, they will be happy to have another baby back home’.

Charlie thanked Gray and they all fell silent, it was always the case on the return journey, outward bound there would be chatter whilst they were in safe airspace but as they neared the enemy lines they would become alert and their training would take over, Simon and Peter on guns would be on constant look out for enemy and ready to defend the aircraft, whilst Bobby would look for their targets and when in the right position would drop their load as soon as they could and high tail it back home.  Their strategy had worked so far and ‘if it isn’t broke, then don’t fix it’, was their motto.

Eventually the runway was in sight and Charlie would pride himself at hitting exactly the same spot on the ground every time, it was a personal game but one that kept his mind active on the last seconds of a long night when his tiredness and the thought that the mission was over could lead to a lack of concentration and with unspent ammunition on board any bad landing could be a disaster.

As the aircraft dropped, he looked for the spot, a spot only he knew about and there it was, the yoke would be pushed forward and they would hit the grass field, a little bounce and they were down.  He cut power to the engine and gently applied the brakes, the plane slowed and at the same point every time Charlie moved off the grass strip and headed for his parking space.  It was normally the case that they didn’t need to clear the airstrip so quickly as they were often returning alone, but again regulations and rules required them to do so and he did.

They moved to their parking spot as quickly as they could, they all wanted to be out of the plane, wanted to get some sleep before they could be called out again. 

Normally they would do four or five night runs a week but that could change, and they might be called for some special mission, but it was getting less and less likely as the aging Vickers Wellington aircrafts that were based at the airfield were being replaced with Halifax’s and Lancaster’s and the newer planes were being used as they offered better defence against the enemy.  Charlie didn’t mind, he was happy not playing the hero, he’d joined the RAF a few years before the war, he loved the idea of flying and as he would never be able afford to buy a plane ticket he thought the best idea was to learn how to fly and then get paid for doing it, the Royal Air Force seemed the best option, but nobody told him there would be a war and that he would be expected to shoot at people or more so, they didn’t tell him that people would be shooting back at him.

As soon as the plane engine was turned off and the propellers stopped moving, they were out, it was a ritual that Charlie, being the pilot would be the last to leave and they would all wait for him by the door.  The boarded together, they flew together, and they disembarked together, that was their ritual and one they would not break in fear of them losing their good luck.  They walked toward the row of buildings, the one in the middle had the most lights illuminated and that was the mess hall, it served as a canteen and at night a bar.  The locals often vented their anger that whilst they had blackouts the base would leave light blaring out into the night sky, but the base had radar and could pick out enemy aircraft early enough to extinguish their lights should the need arise.

It was a quiet bar with drinking done in strict moderation due to the alertness needed of the crews the next day but occasionally girls from the nearby town would visit and, on those nights, it was a raucous evening but not one Charlie and his boys were too interested in.

This morning, with the mission over the guys headed for their beds, they were housed along with the other chaps of ninety-nine squadron in a long-dilapidated tin hut that housed almost twenty beds and a small locker that kept what few private possessions they had.

The boys entered as the last few awaking ninety-nine squadron men were departing.  A couple asked about their mission, and they answered as vaguely as they could, not because they wanted to keep things secret but because they were tired after the long flight and because they knew so little about the success of the mission. 

By the time the plane was over their target and the bombs were dropped they had only minutes to turn around and begin the flight back.  The bombs, having been dropped from such a high altitude took time to fall to the ground and by the time they hit their targets they were already on their way home.  Bobby as observer would be monitoring the best way he could from his vantage point in the plane but between the anti-aircraft fire, explosions and often low cloud conditions it was hard to see how much of their mission had been a success.  They often found out the next day when reports would be fed back to headquarters or if the next night, they were sent again looking for the same target as before.

But now all each of them could think about was sleep and they undressed to their underwear and threw themselves into the bed.  As often happened though, as soon as their head hit the pillow their eyes wouldn’t close and the first of them would speak.

Charlie would often start it, ‘are you guys ok?’

A few replies would be heard and then the inevitable questions would start, ‘Bobby, I know it’s hard to see but do you think we hit them tonight’.

Bobby would think for a few moments and almost answer the same every time, ‘it looked like we did, we made a hell of an explosion down there’.

Or there would be talk about the anti-aircraft fire they had negotiated; it was rare that they encountered any enemy aircraft whilst on their runs and Simon and Peter often felt they missed out on the action as they were the tail gunner and waist gunner respectively. 

Charlie wanted everyone to feel part of the team and would often include past encounters where their talents had saved the plane and reminded everyone that they were all needed to keep each other alive, even if on the odd mission it felt like they were not.

Eventually sleep would take them and silence would hit the tin hut as they all caught up on their missed rest and recuperation.

Later that day Simon was the first to open his eyes and hearing snoring coming from around him he laid still, not moving as he knew that would cause his bed to creek and he would wake the others.  Partly it was due to him not wanting to disturb his comrades, but mainly he wanted a few minutes of quiet time laid on his bunk.  It was his only time he could reflect on his life and all the things that were going on around him, particularly this crazy war that had been going on for almost three years and despite the news reels telling them otherwise, they knew things were not going well.  Europe was now almost all in the hands of the enemy and they expected they would begin some move to invade England when the enemy were ready.  He reminded himself that they lived on an Island and that small bit of water between them and Europe did give some protection from ground troops if not from the enemy bombers that caused so much havoc across the country and were killing so many innocent people, he thought about the children who were caught up in the senseless killing and had to stop his train of thought as he knew he would start to cry.  He would be reminded of his own sister whose house had been bombed a year ago, she’d been hurt but her young child had not been so lucky.  It was this heartache that drove him on, night after night, to make them pay for his sister’s pain.

The sun was streaming through the cracks in the blackout curtains and Simon staired at the lines in the corrugated tin hut that had been their home for over a year.  He knew he was one of the lucky ones, the poor sods that had been in Europe when the big push from the enemy