Last Plane out of Paris: Collectors Edition: Last Plane out of Paris, #7

Last Plane out of Paris

Collectors Edition

By Paul Moxham

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Contact Author:

Website: www.paulmoxham.com

Email: paulmoxhamauthor@yahoo.com

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Version Updated: 1st June 2014

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All rights reserved, without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means  without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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LAST PLANE OUT OF PARIS SERIES

Split into six parts, this adventure story is a rip roaring tale that is inspired by one of the darkest days of World War 2. 

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NOTE:

This story is set in 1940’s Europe  and is written in British English - not American English - so bear this in mind regarding the spelling of some words.

Chapter 1: Attacked!

Somewhere in France, 30th May, 1940

The moon was peeking out from behind the thick dark clouds as the Vickers Wellington, a medium-class British bomber, gradually made its way across France.

Bill Edwards, a youthful looking lad from North London, stared out of the cabin window. The cloud cover was fairly light so, every now and then, as they passed a town, lights would appear below. But, as the clouds increased and light rain began to hit the window, he could no longer see anything, so he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

His mind drifted back to last October, the month that his life had spiralled out of control. He didn’t want to keep thinking about that date, but knew that it would be forever burnt into his memory.

It was the day that he learnt about his parent’s fate. The life that he knew, and loved, had changed for the worse. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the chubby officer as it were yesterday. He’d looked spick and span in his uniform, but his solemn expression and sunken eyes revealed what he had been sent there to do.

Bill opened his eyes as the rain increased and he remembered where he was. As he glanced across at his red-haired friend, Jim Willow, he thought about all the happy times that they had enjoyed together. He had known him for nineteen years, all his life. They had grown up on the same street together, had gone to the same school, and had even dated the same girls.

They had also joined the Royal Air Force at the same time, just after turning seventeen. They had wanted to follow in their parents footsteps who had also been members of the British Armed Forces and had died for their country in an attack at the Scapa Flow Naval Base in Scotland. Both had sped through training and had soon risen to the top.

While Jim had risen to the rank of a Flying Officer, Bill had just become a Flight Lieutenant. Soon after these commissions, they had been contacted by Colonel Bond. Through various sources, he had learnt that while they were very experienced pilots, they also spoke German and French fluently, even better than some of the people that had lived in those countries their entire lives.  

The colonel, a stern faced but highly likeable character, one whom had served in the trenches in The Great War, was putting together a list of people that could be called in to do slightly irregular missions if all out war occurred.

Bill and Jim had accepted straight away. Nothing much happened for a few months and then, on the 10th of May, the Germans had invaded France, Belgium, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands. It had been a massive move for the Nazis, and Bill knew that if Britain won the war, the deaths of his parents would not have been in vain.

Colonel Bond had contacted them straight away and had let them know of a mission that he wanted them to do. Accepting, they were soon on a British bomber bound for Nancy, a medium-sized town forty-five miles south of the German border.

Bill looked at his watch. It was nearing three. They had arranged to meet a French Resistance agent at a quarter past three at the shoreline of a nearby lake. That meant they had roughly fifteen minutes to make it to the drop zone. From there, they would walk through darkness for five or so minutes until they got to the lake. If everything turned out as expected, a plane would rendezvous with them in a week’s time, just two miles south of where they were going to be dropped off. It would be the only chance for them to get back to Britain. If they didn’t catch that plane, they would have to find another way of getting back.

Bill climbed out of his seat and walked towards the cockpit. He leaned against the door as he spoke with the co-pilot, a curly haired fellow with a jolly-looking face. Everything going okay?

So far, so good, the co-pilot answered. We should be above the drop zone in ten minutes.

I’ll make sure that we’re ready to jump, Bill said. He started to walk back to his seat when the plane suddenly dived forward. He grabbed onto the nearest solid structure and tried to stop from sliding back into the cockpit.

A moment later, he heard a sound above the roar of the machine. He stiffened and looked out of the window. A Messerschmitt 109 whipped past the rear window, its bullets tearing holes in the woodwork of the British bomber.

He hurried back to his seat and strapped himself in as the pilot twisted and turned the plane, trying his hardest to lose the fighter.

This wasn’t successful. The pilot swung the machine around and headed towards the nearby clouds. The plane was soon enveloped in a thick, gloomy cloud. They burst through the other side of the cloud half a minute later and, within moments, bullets hit the engine, causing it to catch on fire. Bill jumped out of his seat and ran towards the cockpit. The left engine is on fire!

I know, the pilot replied. I thought I had lost him, but he was smart. He must have kept on circling the cloud from higher up and pounced on us when we came out of it. Hang on. I’m going to dive. It’s the only way to save the engine. If the fire spreads to the wingtip and engulfs it, we’ve had it.

Bill held on tightly as the pilot steepened the dive of the plane. The bullets were still hitting them, but he concentrated all his attention on the altimeter. They were at 17,000 feet. Was it enough to put out the fire? He hoped it was. Else, this was going to be a very short trip.

The altimeter fell rapidly as the bomber dived towards the ground. 15,000, 14,000, 13,000, 12,000, 11,000, 10,000, and still the flames remained.

The clouds began to diminish as they neared the ground. The pilot started to level out as the landmarks of the French countryside took shape. The houses came first, and then the trees, and finally the roads. The pilot braced himself as he tightened his grip on the stick and urged the plane to go up. It was touch and go, but just in time the plane levelled out as it tore past a telephone pole, missing it by inches.

Bill breathed a sigh of relief. They weren’t out of harm’s way, not by a long shot, but at least they were safe for the time being. He went to the back of the plane to check on Jim and the rear gunner, whose name was Peter. He came back a few moments later to tell the pilot that they were all right, just a little shaken up.

Good, the co-pilot replied, I don’t imagine that the Messerschmitt is still hanging about, but if it is, we’re in hot water. Most of our instruments got torn apart by the first few bullets, so I can’t tell you where we are exactly.

Jim joined the others in the cockpit. What do we do now?

We stay low and use our eyes to guide us to the lake, the pilot said. He looked towards the co-pilot. How much fuel do we have left?

There was a moment of silence as the co-pilot made some calculations. He then turned a worried eye towards them. I’m afraid that little excursion back there cost us a lot of fuel. There isn’t much left. So, if we’re going to get back in one piece, we will have to start back within five minutes.

The pilot frowned. That isn’t good news.

We have our orders, Bill said. We have to get to Nancy no matter what. So let’s try to find that lake of ours. If we don’t find it in time, we will just have to jump out.

Okay. The pilot pointed the plane in the direction of Nancy, or at least where he thought it would be, and stared out of the window.

Bill and Will headed back to the cabin and sat down, both staring out of opposite sides of the machine, each trying to spot the lake.

Bill saw trees, trees, and more trees, but no lake. Trying to think of another plan, he was torn from his thoughts as a sound reached his ears. Realising what it was, he ducked as bullets tore through the cabin window. The Messerschmitt had returned.

The machine was hit with a fusillade of bullets. They struck the fuselage, the wings, and the cockpit. The plane jerked and steepened its dive.

Bill ran into the cabin and saw that his worst fears were realised. The plane was out of control and both the pilot and co-pilot were dead. He tried to shove the pilot out of his seat as quickly as he could as the plane screamed towards the ground.

He had flown many a fighter plane while training, and had had scored excellent praise from his flight commander, but he had only once flown a bomber.

Jim rushed into the cabin and went to help him, but then yelled out. Look out!

Bill’s heart caught in his throat. The plane was heading directly towards one of the many telephone poles that dotted the landscape.

Bloody hell! Bill gave one last shove and the pilot tumbled out of the seat. Quickly sitting down, he pressed his foot down on the rudder pedals and banked the craft. The plane responded to his touch and turned 90 degrees. It swept past the pole, missing it by less than a foot.

The next thing he saw was the ground rushing up before the plane shuddered as it made a crash landing in an empty field. It skidded along the wet grass and headed towards a row of trees that bordered the property.

Bill only had enough time to strap himself in before the plane hit the trees. The dead pilot was thrown through the windscreen by the impact.

Bill slowly opened his eyes a few moments later. It was all over. Or so he thought. He could hear a dripping noise coming from the direction of the petrol tank. Realisation hit him. He didn’t know whether or not the Messerschmitt had caused it, or if it was the result of the crash they had just had, but petrol was now leaking. The plane could blow up at any moment.

He shifted the debris off his body and stumbled to his feet. He felt dizzy and, as he looked down, he noticed that blood was seeping from his left arm, up near his shoulder.

Putting his hand over the wound, he made his way to the cabin, searching for Jim. He found him dragging the body of Peter.

Is he alive? Bill asked, looking at the limp body of the gunner.

Jim nodded, stiffening as he noticed the red stain on Bill’s arm. What happened?

Bullet. Do you smell the fumes?

Yes. We need to get going. Bill helped Jim as they half-carried, half-dragged the rear gunner out of the plane. They didn’t stop until they were a good thirty feet away.

Jim laid the gunner beside him and turned around. We forgot to get our kit. I’ll quickly get it.

Don’t be a fool, Bill yelled. The plane could burst into flames at any minute. Come back!

Jim raced back towards the plane. When he was less than ten feet away, the machine exploded. The shockwave threw him to the ground. Bill held his breath as he waited for him to show some sign that he was fine. None came.

The thought that Jim might be injured, or even worse, made Bill sprint towards him. He smiled in relief as Jim gave him the okay sign. Another few seconds and you would have been toast.

Yeah, good thing I didn’t go earlier, hey? Jim grinned. He looked sorrowfully at the plane. The last remnants of it were slowly burning. Pity about our stuff though.

It couldn’t have been helped. Let’s get going. We need to find out how far away Nancy is.

They both helped to support the gunner as they slowly made their way out of the field and onto the road. They had agreed that, unless British intelligence reports were wrong, this part of France would still be in French hands. This meant that the chance of them coming across German soldiers would be very slim.

Bill looked at his watch. It was three thirty. Everyone would be asleep now. Their only chance of finding a house would be if the lights were still on. And, being so early in the morning, this was highly unlikely. But Bill wasn’t one to give up so easily. They walked along the road, hoping that they would encounter someone.

Chapter 2: Nancy

As the sun rose in the sky, three figures lay huddled next to an overgrown hedge, roughly nine kilometres from where a metal object protruded from an open field. The scarred plane had all but burnt itself out, and it would be very hard for anyone to tell whether there had been any survivors.

Bill awoke as he felt the warmth of the sun hit his face. He opened his eyes and thought back to last night. They had travelled a number of miles and hadn’t met anyone, so he had suggested that they stop. They had found an empty field and had nestled up next to one of the hedges that bordered the property.

He stood up and stretched his body, gazing around.

Jim, who had been awake for some time but hadn’t got up, did so now as he saw that his friend was up. Morning.

Bill nodded as he walked over to where Peter was still sleeping. He gently shook him awake. Hey, mate. How’s the leg feeling today?

Better than before, Peter replied.

Do you think you can support yourself?

Not sure. Peter stood up with the help of the others and then told them to let go of his arms.

It was an anxious moment. Bill held his breath. He knew that if Peter still needed their help, progress would be slow. Even though they were allies of the French, he didn’t want to be around when a local police officer found the burnt out plane. With the war coming closer and closer every day, there would be spies about. They needed to make contact with the French Resistance before the day ended, or they would be in a tricky situation, forcing them to spend another night out in the cold.

He smiled as Peter teetered and then steadied himself. He then took a few steps. This was successful, and so were the next lot.

Peter stopped and looked up at the others. The leg’s better just like I thought. I wouldn’t be able to run, but in time it should heal.

Okay. Now that’s settled, Bill said, we’d better make tracks. The sun is up, which means that people will be about. We need to find how far away we are from Nancy. So let’s make haste.

With Jim keeping watch at the rear, Bill led the procession down the road. They had been travelling like this for just less than a quarter of an hour when Jim stopped.

What’s up? Bill asked.

A lorry, coming behind us, Jim said, looking back the way they had come.

Bill shielded his eyes as he looked down the road. Approaching them, at no great speed, was an old farm lorry.

Maybe he’s going to Nancy, Jim suggested. Let’s ask him which way it is.

By this time the lorry was right behind them, and it would have passed if it weren’t for Bill putting out his hand and motioning for it to stop.

Excuse me, but is this the road to Nancy? Bill asked, speaking French.

The driver looked at them curiously. It is, he replied, also in French. Where have you come from?

We are labourers, working on the farms. We want to go to Nancy. How far away is it?

Roughly ten kilometres, the driver replied. I’m going there myself. I would offer to take you but as you can see, the lorry is full of flowers. By the way, you do know that the Germans are coming?

What do you mean?

The radio is buzzing with news that they launched a big push against us, just near the border, fifty-six kilometres from here. Luckily, we were able to stop them, but we probably won’t next time.

Okay. Thanks for that information. Hadn’t you better be pulling out before the Germans get here?

I’ve got a family to feed. I need to sell as many flowers as possible before my family and I flee to Spain. So I’d better get going.

Okay. No need to worry. We’ll walk.

The driver put the lorry in gear and drove off. The three coughed as the lorry spurted out black smoke as it passed them.

Jim, who also spoke French, turned to Bill. At least we know where we are now, remarked Jim, as he walked beside Bill.

Yes. Although I did notice that, even though I spoke to him in my best French, he seemed suspicious, Bill replied. But I don’t think we need to worry, as most Frenchmen are loyal to their country, but you never know. Anyway, let’s make haste. We need to get to Nancy as soon as possible.

The three men continued their journey down the road. It took a while to travel the distance, but, since it was still early in the morning, it didn’t really matter. They all smiled when they rounded a corner and could see the town only a small distance away.

Confident that they would be able to get in touch with the resistance people somehow, they made their way into town.

~

Leaving the others at a cafe in the main street, Bill went searching for a furniture shop, but