Dave Dawson with the R.A.F. Read online

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  DAVE DAWSON WITH THE R.A.F.

  _by_ R. SIDNEY BOWEN

  _Author of_ "DAVE DAWSON AT DUNKIRK"

  THE WAR ADVENTURE SERIES

  [Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

  THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY AKRON, OHIO NEW YORK

  COPYRIGHT, 1941, BY CROWN PUBLISHERS PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  * * * * *

  _THE WAR ADVENTURE BOOKS_

  Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer are the youngest licensed pilots of the R.A.F. Thrills aplenty are in store for them as they bag German plane after German plane in a series of dare-devil maneuvers. Dropped by parachute into Belgium, deep in Nazi-occupied territory, on a dangerous spy mission, they escape at the risk of their lives with the secret information which enables England to foil the planned German invasion. A fast-moving, pulse-quickening narrative!

  CONTENTS

  PAGE

  I TWO JUNKERS LESS! 9

  II MYSTERIOUS ORDERS 24

  III NIGHT RAID 34

  IV NAZI WINGS OVER LONDON 47

  V AIR VICE-MARSHAL SAUNDERS 68

  VI ENGLAND MUST NEVER DIE 84

  VII BRAVE WINGS FLY EASTWARD 101

  VIII TERROR RIDES THE NIGHT SKY 115

  IX IN THE ENEMY'S COUNTRY 128

  X TRAPPED! 141

  XI FLIGHT FROM NAZI GUNS 157

  XII QUICK THINKING 175

  XIII SIXTEEN RUE CHARTRES 194

  XIV PIERRE DESCHAUD SPEAKS 210

  XV DANGER IN THE DARK 223

  XVI WINGS OF THE R.A.F. 237

  CHAPTER ONE

  _Two Junkers Less!_

  Dave Dawson lay on his back, fingers laced behind his head for a pillow,and lazily watched white patches of cloud play tag with each other atsome eighteen thousand feet over England. It was the tenth day ofSeptember, 1940, and the most glorious summer the British hadexperienced in forty years was still very much in evidence. The sun wasa brassy ball in the heavens that flooded the earth with a warmcomforting glow. The birds, the bees, and the butterflies were allaround. And the emerald green of the surrounding landscape gave him thefeeling that the snow and the cold of winter were two things that wouldnever be experienced in England again.

  A perfect summer day! The warm sun, the singing birds, the flowers inbloom--and the war! Twenty miles across the English Channel, less thanthree minutes by air, Nazi hordes were working day and night toward thatgreat moment when their leader, Adolf Hitler, would give them the orderto begin their attempted invasion of England. And on this side of thatChannel some forty odd millions of people were also working day andnight so that when the order was given, not a single German booted footwould succeed in touching English soil. A beautiful summer day, and thepeople of the greatest empire on earth were waiting, ready to fight anddie to the last man that their empire might continue to survive.

  "Well, Pilot Officer Dave Dawson, of His Majesty's Royal Air Force," avoice suddenly spoke in Dave's ear, "I'll give you a penny for yourthoughts. No, wait, let me guess. You were thinking about your home inBoston, Massachusetts, back in the States?"

  Dave sat up and grinned down at the good-looking, sun-bronzed youthsprawled out on the grass at his side. He shook his head and held outhis hand.

  "Wrong, Pilot Officer Freddy Farmer, of the same Royal Air Force," hesaid. "So pay me the penny. I was thinking that it sure is one swellday. And I was wondering if we were going to get a little action, or ifHitler had found out we were now regular active service pilots, and haddecided to call off the war."

  "Hardly," the English youth said with a chuckle. "True, he's probablyscared stiff now that you and I are in the R.A.F. I fancy, though, heisn't that scared. But it's pretty wonderful, isn't it? I mean, to be inthe R.A.F."

  Dave didn't answer. He let his gaze wander over to the line ofSupermarine Spitfires powered with 1030 hp. Rolls Royce "Merlin"engines. Just looking at those swift, man-made metal birds of war madehis heart start pounding and the blood surge through his body. An honestto goodness Spitfire pilot in the Royal Air Force! It was like living awonderful dream, and it was doubly wonderful because it was true. Thetraining and the concentrated study were all behind Freddy and himself,now. Each wore the highly prized wings above the upper left pocket ofhis tunic. But perhaps even more important was the fact that they hadalready received their baptism under fire. Each had got himself a Germanplane, the first payment in return for the training and instructionEngland had given them. For a month, now, they had been stationed withNo. 207 Squadron, located on the east coast of England, just a few milesnorth of Chelmsford. Only a month so far on active duty--the "Babies" ofthe Squadron--but because of the speed with which wars are being foughtthese days, with each day filled with twenty-four hours of service andactivity, they were just as much veterans as most of the older pilots.

  "Stop daydreaming," Freddy cut into Dave's thoughts. "You are glad to bein the R.A.F., aren't you?"

  Dave looked at him and raised both his eyebrows.

  "Glad?" he echoed. "Boy, I'm tickled pink! Right now I wouldn't swapplaces with anybody else in all the world. Glad? Holy smokes! Is that adumb question! And say, come across with that penny. Pay up, pal!"

  Freddy made a face, fished a penny from his pocket and tossed it over.

  "Right you are, there," he said. "I'll have you know an Englishmanalways pays his debts. What do you think, Dave?"

  "About what?"

  "About the blighters across the Channel," Freddy said. "Think they'll befools enough to try and invade us? I mean, seriously."

  "I don't know," Dave said with a shrug. He plucked a blade of grass andstarted chewing on it thoughtfully. "No, I don't know if Hitler's thatcrazy, or not," he continued after a moment. "All I can say is I surehope he tries it. We'll give him a beating he won't forget in a hurry.Gee! That makes me feel good!"

  "What makes you feel good?" Freddy wanted to know.

  "Saying that," Dave grunted. "Saying _we'll_ give him a beating. Gosh, afew months ago I was an American citizen, standing on the sidelineswatching things. Now, though, I'm a part of it. When I speak of Englanddoing this or that, I'm including me, because I'm really a little partof it, now. It sure gives me a kick to feel that way, and to know it'strue."

  "And England is grateful, Dave," Freddy said solemnly. "I guess youmight say that England's fighting to save the world, and--"

  The young Englishman didn't finish the rest. At that moment the phonebell in the Dispersal Office not far away rang harshly. In a flash theywere both on their feet, because the ringing of that phone bell alwaysmeant just one thing. It meant that German planes had been sightedapproaching 207's patrol area. The voice at the other end of that phonewould state where the planes were, how many in number, the types, thealtitude, direction, and so forth. To pilots on stand-to duty theringing of that bell meant ac
tion coming up. And so, as their flightleader answered the call, Dave and Freddy started pulling on theirhelmets and zipping up their flying suits, for although it was summer onthe ground it was cold up around twenty thousand feet where they usuallydid battle.

  A moment later Flight Lieutenant Barton-Woods, leader of their flight,known as Green Flight, came dashing out of the Dispersal Office.

  "Right-o, chaps!" he called out to them, and hurried toward his plane."A couple of Junkers 88s cutting across Zone H at twenty-two thousand.Let's go up and chase the beggars down into the sea."

  In less than a minute the three Spitfires streaked off the field andwent wind screaming up for altitude. As soon as they were clear, FlightLieutenant Barton-Woods checked his radio with the field's station, andthen checked with the two members of his flight.

  "Radio check, chaps!" came the words in Dave's helmet phones.

  "Check, sir," he spoke into the disc-shaped mike in front of his mouth.

  "Check, also, sir," he heard Freddy sing out.

  "Right you are, lads," the flight lieutenant replied. "Don't forget toturn on your oxygen at five thousand, so's you won't forget it attwenty."

  Dave reached forward and turned the little valve knob that would feedhim oxygen through a mouthpiece. He didn't need it yet, of course, butit was a practice to turn the thing on at low altitudes so that it wouldbe ready for instant use at higher altitudes. If you waited until youneeded oxygen, you might be too busy at that moment fighting for yourlife to have time to turn the knob. And then it would be just toobad--for you.

  And so Dave made sure ahead of time, then concentrated on keeping hisplace in the V-shaped formation, and following his flight leader high upinto the cloud-dotted blue. In less time than it takes to tell about it,England was just a blur of browns and greens far down under their wings;just a tiny island completely surrounded by water and almost withinbroad jumping distance of Nazi-conquered Europe. Dave, however, didn'tbother about admiring the sight. He had seen it countless times before.And besides, he needed his eyes now for things above, not under him.Somewhere up in that vast expanse of white-dotted blue two GermanJunkers were trying to sneak in to drop their bomb loads on Englishsoil. Two of Air Marshal Goering's winged vultures were hoping to--

  "There they are, chaps!" Flight Lieutenant Barton-Woods' voice camethrough the earphones. "Turn right a quarter, and a thousand feet aboveus. Tally-ho, lads! The blighters! They spotted us and are turning back!After them, Green Flight!"

  Dave and Freddy had already spotted the two would-be raiders off totheir right front and a thousand feet or so higher. The huge twin-enginecraft were halfway around in a bank back toward the east, and the raysof the sun on their metal wings and sides made them look likeprehistoric birds of glistening silver cutting through the air.

  Keeping his eyes glued to them, Dave hunched forward slightly in hisseat and slid one thumb up to rest on the trigger button on his controlstick. One jab at that button and the eight Vickers high speed machineguns cowled into the Spitfire's wings, four on each side, would spew outa shower of destruction at the rate of over nine thousand bullets aminute. All eight guns were sighted to converge at a point some twohundred yards in front of the ship. And anything that crossed that spotwhen those eight guns were hammering out their song was doomed to a lotof trouble--and nine times out of ten just plain, naturally doomed.

  For a split second Dave took his eyes off the Junkers trying to scootback home and shot a quick glance at Freddy Farmer. His lips twistedback in a happy smile, and a warm comforting glow drifted through him.Good old Freddy. Always there just off his wingtip. A pilot in amillion, as far as Dave was concerned. They flew like a team that hadbeen working together for years instead of only a few months. Eachseemed to sense instantly, whether on a routine practice patrol or inthe middle of a bullet-barking dog fight, just what the other was goingto do. And as a result of the perfect coordination between them, moretimes than not they got exactly what they went after. As Squadron LeaderTrenton, 207's commanding officer, had once remarked:

  "They're the babies of the Squadron, but I jolly well wish I had a wholesquadron of babies!"

  At that moment a short, savage burst from Flight LieutenantBarton-Woods' guns snapped Dave's eyes back to the Junkers. They werestill quite a ways off but the Green Flight leader had let go with achallenging burst hoping that the Germans would give up thoughts ofescape and turn back to give battle. However, it was instantly obviousthat the Junkers pilots and their crews didn't want any truck with threeSpitfire pilots. The nose of each ship was pushed down a bit to addspeed to the get away attempt. And a moment later Dave saw the flash ofsunlight on bombs dropping harmlessly down into the rolling grey-greenswells where the Channel blends in with the North Sea.

  "Not this day, my little Jerries!" Flight Lieutenant Barton-Woods' voiceboomed over the radio. "Let's make the beggars pay for dropping bombs inour Channel, Green Flight! Give it to them!"

  The last was more or less the signal that each pilot was on his own.Dave waited until he saw his flight leader swerve off to slam in at theJunkers to the right. Then he touched rudder, and with Freddy stickingright with him, swerved off after the other German raider. They werereal close now, well within gun range, and as the pair slid out to takeup attack positions the Junkers' gunners started throwing nickeljacketed lead. The wavy smoke of tracers whipped and zipped by a fewfeet over Dave's head. He laughed into his mike and dropped his nose andcut sharply off to the right. Freddy did the same, only off to the left.

  No sooner had they started the cutting away maneuver than they cut rightback in again. The German gunners saw them coming and fired their gunssavagely, but those two R.A.F. lads tore in like a couple of man-madebirds gone completely crazy. It was as though they both intended to flyright straight into the Junkers. Then when there were no less than acouple of split seconds left before just that would happen, FreddyFarmer's voice sang out in Dave's earphones.

  "Right-o, Dave!" he shouted. "This one for us!"

  They both jabbed their trigger button and sixteen Vickers machine gunspoured a withering blast of destruction into that Junkers 88. For a fewseconds the German raider continued to roar eastward. Then suddenly itsport engine belched out a cloud of red flame and oily black smoke. Thenas though the craft had hooked its left wing on some invisible wall inthe sky, the Junkers staggered to the left and down. Its tail gunnerkept up his fire as Dave and Freddy skipped past and zoomed up to diveattack again. But that German might just as well have tried to shoot ata couple of lightning bolts flashing by.

  Cutting short their zoom Dave and Freddy rolled their Spitfires over andlet them drop by the nose. Down they came again, holding their fireuntil the last few seconds. The Junkers now was more like a moving cloudof smoke than an airplane flying through the air. And when Dave andFreddy jabbed their trigger buttons again it was the death blow for thatGerman raider. The right wing broke off clean at the stub, and carriedthe starboard engine along with it. From nose to tail the Junkers becameno more than a moving ball of fire. Then suddenly the gas tanks let go.The whole sky was filled with barbs of darting flame and billowingclouds of black smoke. The sky trembled and shook ... and then theJunkers 88 just wasn't there any more. It was a shower of smoking andflaming debris slithering down into the North Sea.

  "Good lad, Dave!" Freddy sang out. "Your bursts did it!"

  "My bursts, nothing!" Dave called back to him. "I didn't even come closeto the guy. That was your plane, Freddy. Congratulations!"

  "Rot!" Freddy snorted into his disc mike, also known as the "flap" mike."We'll split the beggar and each take half, eh? Oh, oh, Dave! The flightlieutenant's in trouble!"

  It was true. Perhaps there was a better pilot in the other Junkers, orperhaps gunners with a better aim, or it was even possible FlightLieutenant Barton-Woods had become careless for a moment or so. Anyway,he had not nailed his man, and the Junkers gunners were giving him quitean uncomfortable time as he zoomed up into the clear. Dave and Freddydidn't speak a sing
le word between them. They simply wheeled across thesky in perfect attack formation, and then roared down on the Junkers.

  Its rear gunner was no novice, and he had courage. He stuck to his gunsand returned their own savage fire. Dave felt his plane quiver slightly,and knew that German bullets were hitting his ship. But he didn't swervean inch. His wing howled down at the German and he held his fire untilthe right moment. This time he shouted the signal.

  "Smack it, Freddy!"

  Their guns hammered and yammered out their song, and Dave could clearlysee their tracers zinging down into the German plane. No man-madeairplane on earth could have withstood that blasting fire from thesixteen guns between the two youths. And that Junkers 88 was noexception to prove the rule. It burst into flame and went careeningcrazily off on one wing. Then it dropped by the nose, and startedhowling seaward in a vertical power dive. After it had dropped three orfour hundred feet, five black dots popped out from it like peas out of apod. They instantly became men in Dave's vision, and they slowly turnedover and over as they fell down through the air. At the end of almostthirty seconds a puff of white shot up from each man's back. They spreadout into parachute envelopes, and five German airmen drifted slowly downtoward the surface of the North Sea where British motorboats waited topull them in as captured prisoners.

  Dave and Freddy didn't bother watching the five German airmen floatdownward. Instead they pulled up out of the dives, closed in on FlightLieutenant Barton-Woods and took up formation positions. Their leadergrinned at them, and they heard his voice coming over the radio.

  "Stout work, you two," he said. "Made an awful mess of it, myself. Butyou two were along, so I knew everything would be fine. Well, let's tooton back home and report to the O.C."