Fragile Hero

By Stephen C. Challis

Mark Sinclair, a young pilot who is thrust into the air war over southern England, facing ruthless and unyielding opposition while flying his Spitfire against the enemy in a ratio of 4 to 1 outnumbering the RAF.  This battle became known as the Battle of Britain.  With increasing pressure, he loses friends and experiences the loss of his ideals of being a knight of the air.  The airborne man seems unstoppable, while on the ground he is enveloped by nightmares.  Two wars are being fought by Mark Sinclair, one against the Germans and the other against himself.  The one woman who cares for him is struggling to keep him sane.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen C. Challis
• Release date: Feb 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224250653

Stephen C. Challis

Steve Challis was born in 1948 in the United Kingdom.  Steve grew up in the rural Cotswold's where he learned shooting and hunting on the farm where his Father worked.  Following 5 years of service in the military (RAF), Steve joined the Hampshire Constabulary in 1969 and served as an officer for 21 years.  In 2006, Steve met his wife Eva via the internet, and then in 2007 they became engaged.  The following year in November, Steve moved to the USA and he and Eva were married in Ketchikan, Alaska. Now a permanent US resident, Steve is the author of several books on gun rights and historical fiction.  

Book preview

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Spitfire Cockpit

[HFL Restorations - Aircraft Restoration Company]

Stress of combat etched in the face of this Squadron Leader taken immediately after a mission. (Public Domain)

Dedication

This book, published on the 100th Anniversary of the founding of the Royal Air Force, is dedicated to the men and women who fought on both sides in the greatest air battle of the war.  Some lie buried in their home countries, and some remain forever, at the bottom of the English Channel.

Acknowledgements

Richard Hillary The authorised biography of a world war two fighter pilot.

First Light Geoffrey Wellum (Penguin Books)

Spitfire Pilot Flt Lt David Crook DFC. (Endeavour Press) Spitfire, the experiences of a battle of Britain fighter pilot

Brian Lane (Endeavour Press)

Ginger Lacey, Fighter Pilot

Richard Townsend Vickers (Endeavour Press) Life as a Battle of Britain

Jonathon Falconer (The History press)

The Author also wishes to thank the following for their help in the producing this book. 

Eva Challis

Graham Guinn

Senator Dr Ralph Alvarado MD.

Cover photo, Lukasz Kasperczyk

Contents

Chapter  1 Sutton heath

Chapter  2 down time

Chapter  3 the killing machine

Chapter  4 Triumph and tragedy

Chapter  5 the living and the dead

Chapter  6 postings

Chapter 7 Aston down

Chapter  8 The Gathering

storm

Chapter  9 first contact

Chapter 10 Cornwall

Chapter 11 Operations

Chapter 12 Black Thursday

Chapter 13 Death from the Sky

Chapter 14 Delivery Flight

Chapter 15 into the Fray

Chapter 16 the Legless Legend

Chapter 17 the Hammer Below

Chapter 18 Bloodied but Unbowed

Chapter 19 London Interlude

Chapter 20 Invasion Planning

Chapter 21 Time out at a place Called Thorney Island

Chapter 22 Back to the Fray

Chapter 23 High Tide for the

Luftwaffe

Chapter 24  The tide turns

Chapter 25 Grounded

Chapter 26 Heroes Return

Chapter 27 One of our aircraft is missing

Chapter 28 Fragile Hero

Biographies

Glossary

FRAGILE HERO

Introduction

In 1969 I was a newly married airman in my first year with the Royal Air Force.  The release of the new blockbuster film ‘The Battle of Britain’ had just rekindled respect for the RAF not seen since WW2.  My wife requested that I take her to the film and wear my uniform to the opening Saturday night show.  I reluctantly agreed, and was surprised at the reception I received, admiring glances and handshakes.  It made me feel a bit of a fraud, and I wondered if these cinema goers realised I was far too young to have flown in the Battle.  They did not seem to care. To them, I was the face of the RAF, and that seemed all that mattered.  As my life continued, I was privileged to meet several Spitfire and Hurricane pilots who fought in the battle, and later air combat in the war.  These were quiet, spoken, unassuming men, who in 1940 rose to defend, not only Britain and Europe in the greatest air battle the world had ever seen, but also the free world.  It would be over a year before the attack on Pearl Harbour brought America into the war.  Germany had conquered all of Europe and now amassed a huge invasion force to take the last remaining outpost, the Island nation of Britain, just 22 miles from the French coast.  The German air force outnumbered the RAF by more than 4 to 1.  In London, the American Ambassador gave Britain zero chance of survival, commenting to the US he gave them 2 weeks at the most.  The odds seemed impossible.  The defeat of British forces in France had left the army critically short of men and equipment.  British Prime Minister Winston Churchill addressed the nation in a sombre and defiant mood, throwing down the gauntlet and vowing to fight to the last. 

Britain’s only defence lay in its air force.  The RAF had lost 435 pilots in the Battle of France, and had just over 1,000 fighter pilots at the start of the battle, most with little or no combat experience, and barely adequate training against 1,500 more experienced Luftwaffe pilots.

I was 21 years old, the same age as many of the pilots.  I began to wonder how they achieved the impossible, and kept Britain free until 1942, when American forces arrived to bolster the RAF, and this of course culminated in D Day.  Had Britain lost, there would have been no D Day.  Any invasion would have had to be launched from the US.

These young, happy go lucky men did it.  I cannot fathom out how they did it, but let us be thankful they did.  I knew then that their story needed to be told.  Many of these pilots, like Geoffrey Wellum, David Crook, and Ginger Lacy, survived the war and wrote of their experiences.  Many good history books have been written about them and the Battle.  Sadly, most will not be read by the young generation of today; and it is them this book is intended to reach.

I wrote Fragile Hero as a historic novel.  Told though the eyes of a fictitious, 41 Squadron pilot who faced these dangers daily, and the night fears that accompanied them.  I have therefore had to describe interactions between the fictional and real characters that tell the story, though of course those conversations did not happen.

In doing so, my intention was not to diminish them or glamorise them, just to humanise the characters and put faces to them.  Fragile Hero is based on much research, and could be described as a Historical Romance, or fact based fiction.  In researching the people and places involved, I have come to know ‘The Few’.

In doing so, my respect has deepened for them and the debt we owe them.  I have added a biography of the men and women who fought in the battle for real, so the reader can do their own research.  I trust you will enjoy the book and glean a greater understanding of the significance of the ‘Battle of Britain’ and those who fought and died during it. The call signs used by squadrons and stations are the ones actually used at the time.  Having lived near Cirencester in the 60s, I know the town and area quite well, and served for a time at RAF Thorney Island in the early 70s.  The base had changed little since its wartime use.  It was while serving in the RAF; I got the idea of writing Fragile Hero, and started - but abandoned the project some 30 years ago.  I needed access to more data and research to complete the work.  This was simply not possible in the pre internet age.  I wish to acknowledge the help and assistance of many people in completing this task; in particular, my good friend and RAF historian Graham Guinn, who lives in retirement outside London, and painstakingly read through the manuscript and suggested certain changes. As a pilot himself, his contribution was very welcome.  And lastly, my long suffering wife and copy editor that worked late into the night to ensure the manuscript would pass Amazon’s standards.

Although a work of fiction, as regards to the characters and lives of Sue Dawson, her family, and of Course Mark Sinclair and his, I have taken care to convey the personalities, hopes and fears of the men and women who fought the Battle of Britain.  Not because they wanted to, but because they had to.

Stephen Challis

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Pilots of 41 Squadron

(Public Domain)

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(Public Domain)

Prologue

Susan Dawson took a deep breath.  For the first time, she was alone at the controls of the De Havilland Tiger Moth biplane.  Moments earlier, her instructor had been behind her as they completed a perfect circuit. As they had taxied to a halt, his voice came over the headset speakers encased in her leather helmet.

Keep her running Sue.

He climbed out of the cockpit and disconnected his headset. He leaned close to her, and she raised the flap over her right ear to hear his words.

Ok girl, let’s do that again.  I’ll watch from the ground.

He smiled and jumped to the ground.  Sue had known this day was coming, but she had not expected today would be her first solo.  She patted the instrument panel, and whispered, Ready girl, before turning her attention to the marshaller.

She reached the threshold and turned into the wind. The lightweight aeroplane rocked as Sue checked the flaps and rudder controls.  She released the brakes, and the plane rolled forward.  It seemed lighter without the added weight of the instructor. She slowly increased the throttle, and the Tiger moth lifted gently into the air.

On the ground, her instructor watched. He had taken the chance to give the young 20 year old a solo, knowing that time was running out, if she was to qualify for her private pilot’s licence. It was July 1939, and war in Europe seemed increasingly likely. If it broke out and England got involved, then civilian flying would, in all likelihood, be banned.

Though he could not have known it, at that moment, German divisions were being mobilised. And relations between Britain and Germany were becoming increasingly frayed. 

Chapter 1

Sutton Heath

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For the two young airmen who stepped off the bus, the sight of Royal Air Force Station Sutton Heath was not that impressive; a collection of Nissan huts, and blister hangers, and 3 US made, Harvard Mk-1, 2 seat trainers parked on the nearby apron.  Of course, the weather hardly helped.  The steady rain and overcast skies made the camp look drearier than normal.  Pilot Officers, Mark Sinclair, and Andrew Authurs had known each other for just a few weeks, having met at basic flying training where both had learned to fly Tiger Moth, Biplane aircraft.  Both had shown the ability to learn quickly and had graduated in the top 10 of their class, hence their being posted to No 6 Operational Training Unit.  Here, they would receive advanced training on the modern fighter aircraft that would take them to the war.

They pulled their raincoat collars up, grabbed their kit bags, and quickly entered the guardroom situated at the camp entrance.  An RAF police sergeant sitting at the desk looked up as they entered.  Without being asked, both produced their papers.  Mark handed his over with a short, "Good morning, sergeant.  Here are our orders to report here for advance training."

The Sergeant scanned the papers before replying. 

Well Mr Sinclair, and Mr Authurs; welcome to Lincolnshire; sorry the weather is playing up today.

He gave a cursory salute before picking up the telephone.  A minute or so later, a Morris saloon car pulled up outside, and both officers scrambled into the back.  The driver was a young woman with dark hair, wearing a WAAF uniform.  She smiled at the two young men.

I’ll take you to your billet, gentlemen.  She said with a flirting grin. 

Mark glanced out of the car window as they sped past the Harvard’s, and an open hanger that revealed a Hawker Hurricane fighter being worked on by three ground crew.  Andrew suddenly grabbed his arm and pointed across the field to a line of Supermarine Mk1a Spitfire fighter aircraft parked in a dispersal area.  The aircraft bore the codes UO on the fuselage alongside the RAF roundels, the markings of the 266 Rhodesia Squadron.  These were not trainers; they both knew that 266 was the second operational squadron to use the Spitfire.  The WAAF driver saw them in her rear view mirror and smiled.

All the boys loved the Spitfire, and the boys who flew them were the envy of the service.  But she also knew that the girls on the base were reluctant to get to know them too well.  That led to heartbreak, and not due to infidelity.  The life expectancy of a fighter pilot was not good, and was about to get a whole lot worse.

The Morris stopped outside 3 Nissan huts, marked unsurprisingly as I, 2, and 3.  You’re assigned Hut 2, Sirs.

Mark returned the WAAF’s salute before the Morris sped off into the rain.

Across the flight apron At 266 operations, Squadron Leader, Pinkham, watched the two pilots scurry into the hut.  He turned to his flight commander.

That makes 6 so far this morning.  Looks like the OTU will have a full class for the morning.  

His number 2 nodded. 

Let’s hope they all check out.  Jerry won’t hang back forever.

Pinkham shook his head before replying

"And nor can we.  I have received orders this morning that we are to redeploy to Martlesham Heath.  Seems as though the brass are concentrating our fighters in the south."

The flight lieutenant seemed happy at the news. 

Good!  The lads are itching to get at the jerries, sir.

Pinkham knew that without being told.  Morale was high.  But being the squadron commander, he also knew the truth.

The RAF was short of both pilots and aircraft.  The trainees were keen, but pretty green and often made stupid mistakes.  Across the channel, the Luftwaffe pilots outnumbered the British by over 2 to 1.  In addition, the Germans had been in constant combat up to March 1940, and had forced the allied expeditionary force back to an area around the French port of Dunkirk.  They were good pilots with much combat experience.  On paper, it looked hopeless.  But no one had seriously considered giving in.  That was the reality at Sutton Bridge in March 1940.

All right, listen up.  You men think you are fighter pilots?  You are not.  You think you are better than any Jerry pilot?  You are not.  And above all, you think you don’t require to be taught how to fly a plane.  Well, you I am here to tell you that you are here to prove to me that you have the ability to become an asset to the RAF, not a liability.

The CFI paused for effect before continuing. 

Before you, are a set of pilot’s notes for the American Harvard twin seat trainer.  This aircraft is unlike anything you have flown in the past.  It has a 600 horsepower Pratt and Whitney Wasp radial engine, a cruise speed of 145 miles per hour, and a range of 730 miles.  Gentlemen; this aircraft is a beast.  Not only will you have to fly it, you will need to become an expert.  When and only when your instructor is satisfied; will I let you anywhere near a Hurricane?  There are 10 of you here, and you will be designated B flight.

Mark flipped through the Pilot’s notes.  He stopped at the instrument panel.  Pleased to see it had the standard instruments, including the RAF blind flying panel, the same type fitted to the old tiger moth, and in fact; to all current RAF aircraft.  The starting procedure seemed to be straightforward.  The Harvard had an inertia flywheel starter that had to be hand cranked.  That would be the job of the ground crew. 

The CFI finished his intro with an announcement that today would be spent firmly on the ground, familiarising themselves with the aircraft and its controls.  Only then would they be allowed to take to the air under the watchful eye of the instructor, seated behind them. 

––––––––

Air Chief Marshal Hugh Dowding was a worried man.  He had been studying the reports coming from France, as the German forces pushed the French and allied defenders back towards the English Channel.  The newly created head of Fighter Command had seen the reports of allied aircraft losses.  The RAF was flying sorties every day alongside their French counterparts, but it was becoming pretty obvious that they were no match for the Luftwaffe fighters.  If the Germans succeeded in capturing France and Belgium, it was obvious that the full weight of Hitler’s Reich would be thrown at Britain.  The fighters would be needed to defend the homeland from the massive air assault that would precede an invasion.   

The British Prime Minister Winston Churchill had promised to continue to supply squadrons of Spitfires and Hurricanes to support the French.  But many of those aircraft now lay shattered and burnt out in the French countryside.  He summoned his secretary and dictated the following letter.

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Chapter 2

Down Time

––––––––

It was good to get some down time.  Andy and Mark had joined several others in the bar of the New Inn, a local pub in the village.  There was the usual mixture of locals and servicemen.  Some older men, dressed in the battledress of the newly formed Home Guard, were seated with civilians, who were most likely family members.  To the civilians, the RAF men seemed all the same; most wore the service blue barathea uniforms, with the white RAF wings above the right breast pocket.  All were in their 20s; however, a closer look would reveal that several had their top tunic buttons unfastened.  This apparent sloppiness was nothing of the sort.  It marked the pilots as operational fighter pilots as opposed to the trainees from the OTU.  They were all from 266 squadron, and most spoke with Deep South African accents.  That gave them an air of being foreigners.  They seemed very popular with the local girls, and this was sometimes a source of resentment among the locals. 

But not tonight. 

Among the men in the bar was a middle aged police sergeant smoking a pipe and chatting with two local Home Guard men.  Mark deduced correctly that they were all local men and were good friends.  A young barmaid with dark hair was chatting to them, having arrived to collect empty glasses. 

Andy had excused himself and gone to the toilets, leaving Mark alone with his thoughts.  The training had gone well, and was finally complete on the Harvard; tomorrow they would be introduced to the Hawker Hurricane fighter.  That was a different matter.  Single seat, no instructor behind him.  His thoughts were interrupted. 

Mind if I have a seat, old boy?

Mark looked up at the 266 man, somewhat confused; these flyers rarely spoke to OTU pilots.

Be my guest, sir.  He replied.

The South African sat down, pulling out a packet of Woodbines, and offered one to Mark, who politely refused.

It was Mark who spoke first.

You’re from 266 aren’t you, Flying Spits?

Well maybe.  But one thing you should learn; never discuss your unit in a bar.  Not where you can be overheard.  Walls have ears, and all that.

Mark apologised, but went on.

What’s it like to fly one, sir?  You see, I will be starting on Hurricanes tomorrow, and hope to get a posting to a spit squadron.  I would appreciate any advice you may have.

His companion studied his beer for a moment; he smiled softly, remembering how enthusiastic he had been in training. 

Well, you will find the Hurricane a lot like the Hawker Hart, made by the same company.  But the Merlin has twice the power of the Harts Kestrel.  The Spit is different in other ways, apart from the power.  It’s smooth to the touch, very responsive, not as fast as Jerry, but better in the dive.

The conversation was interrupted by a crash, and the sound of breaking glass.  Andy was returning to the table and had quickened his pace upon seeing the 266 pilot; he had not seen the barmaid until he collided with her, knocking the tray from her hand.  The impact had knocked her off balance, but Andy steadied her, preventing her from falling.  She glared angrily at him, but softened when she saw the devastated look on his face. 

I’m so sorry, miss.  I should have watched where I was going.  Are you alright?

He bent down to help her retrieve the broken glasses and put them back on the tray.  The incident had momentarily upset the decorum of the bar, but things quickly settled back to normal.  Andy finished clearing the