A Splendid Little War Read Online Free PDF Page B

Russia?”
    Another pause for thought.
    â€œI remember reading a letter to
The Times
,” Sir Franklyn said. “Something along these lines: If we withdraw our forces now, we should be letting down our loyal Russian friends. We came to their aid once. They need us more than ever now.” He looked around. “Maybe it’s the decent thing to do.”
    â€œHonest broker,” Weatherby said. “That’s us. Hold the ring. Give the real Russians a fair chance. How does that sound?”
    â€œSimple comradeship,” Stattaford said. “Shoulder to shoulder. Guarantee a fair fight.”
    Nobody could improve on that. “So we’re doing the decent thing,” Fitzroy said. “I think the P.M. might like that. Thank you, gentlemen. Shall I ring for tea?”

FRIGHTFUL BRIGANDS
1
    Seven Sopwith Camels hung in the sky. Suppose a peasant, half a mile below, straightened his back and saw the ragged arrowhead and heard their faraway drone, it would be as meaningless as luck, as irrelevant as flies on a wall. Long before they faded to a tiny blur, he would have gone back to his toil.
    Griffin was at the point of the arrowhead. He had almost lost the sense of going somewhere. Nothing changed, nothing moved, except the Russian landscape which drifted backwards like a vast drab carpet being very slowly unrolled, and even that never really changed. Griffin was not a deep thinker. War had discouraged deep thought: waste of time and effort, why strain your brain when it might be dead tomorrow? But now he glanced down at the unrolling carpet, always the same old pattern, grey and brown, the bloody endless Russian steppe, as bleak as the sky, and he couldn’t shake off the foolish thought that this journey could last forever.
    It was their fifth hour in the air, and he knew he was dangerously cold. When the R.T.O.’s lorries had taken his squadron to the airfield at Ekaterinodar, he had found seven Camels and a brigadier with fresh orders for him. “Fly your Camels to Beketofka, which is the aerodrome for Tsaritsyn. You can’t miss it. Go east and follow the railway line for six hundred kilometres. There’s a splendid little war going on at Tsaritsyn, you’ll like it.”
    â€œAnd the rest of my squadron, sir?” Griffin asked.
    â€œSeven Camels is all we have. Your other chaps remain here until we can arrange something. Don’t worry, you’ll get them all.”
    Griffin chose six pilots and told them the plan. “Get a good night’s sleep. We’re off tomorrow, after breakfast. Take a toothbrush, that’s all. The lighter your load, the further she’ll fly. So move your bowels too.”
    â€œSix hundred kilometres, sir,” Hackett said. “Camel’s range is two hundred, two-fifty with a big tail wind. Have we got a big tail wind?”
    â€œFull tanks, cruising speed, watch your throttle settings,” Griffin said.“We’ll refuel twice. There are petrol dumps beside the railway.”
    â€œDoes each dump have an airfield, sir?” Jessop asked.
    â€œNo need. The entire Russian steppe is one long landing ground. That’s what I’m told.”
    Nobody crashed, but the steppe was no bowling green, and the Camels bounced hard on landing and rocked like tightrope walkers. The pilots refilled their tanks, emptied their bladders, ate some chocolate, took off and did it all again two hours later.
    Griffin checked his watch. Open cockpits were essential, they gave you a good all-round view, but by God you paid for it. Today’s wintry blasts were no worse than usual but five hours of them sucked all the warmth from a man’s body and the cold numbed his mind. Cold could be a killer. After a while it made a pilot shrink inside himself and forget his surroundings, which might be a stalking enemy or a sudden snow-covered hill.
    Griffin waggled his wings and they all climbed three hundred feet. Now he had