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Wraggles To The Rescue!
- Thread starter Wragg
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- original story
Squadron Leader James C. Wragglesworth, known to his friends as ‘Wraggles’, looked around the sky for the second time within a minute, seeking any sign of German aircraft. As with the last several hundred searches, there were no enemy aircraft in sight.
He sighed deeply, and settled deeper into the seat in the cockpit of his Mark XIV Spitfire. The Germans were on their last legs, and in this early spring of 1945, after five and a half years of war, it must surely soon be over. Nowadays the Germans had no aircraft to put up against them, or no fuel to put into the aircraft that they did have, and the allies had the skies to themselves.
Escorting bombers wasn’t much fun at the best of times, but nowadays it was just a tedious nursing exercise.
The radio crackled. “Allied land ahead, Blue Leader! Home sweet home!”
“Roger, M for Mother, well done everyone!” It wasn’t so many weeks ago that bringing all his aircraft home unscathed would have been a red letter day for the bomber leader, but this was the third trip in a row when as many planes were going home as had set out. Wraggles could hear the relief in the bomber pilot’s voice.
“Eagle leader, we’ll be fine now; thanks for your support!”
Wraggles thumbed his transmitter. “Roger, Blue leader, have a good day!” Then, to his fellow Spitfire pilots, “Mission accomplished, lads, ready to go home?”
“Just a minute!” ‘Ginger’ Windar, on his starboard wing, replied. “We have a bit of fuel left, plenty of ammo, and I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with ‘T’”
Wraggles was about to admonish him for wasting time on guessing games when he, too, spotted a tell tale wisp of white smoke far below, deep in enemy territory.
“Well spotted, Ginger! Algy, Bertie, are you game for a spot of train bashing?”
“Rather!” chortled Lord Bertie Jollyrei, bringing up the rear.
“Bring it on!” assented Algy Slave, on the port side. Good Old Slave, always there when you needed him.
“Great! It would be a shame to take all this unused ammo home. Ginger, you saw it first, lead us down!”
Ginger’s Spitfire rolled to starboard, and soon the four machines were in a steep drive towards the hapless train.
There was no return fire, it was just too easy. The 20mm cannon shells ripped into the train, Wraggles’ lips were set in a grim line as he imagined the carnage within the carriages.
“Get the locomotive, Algy!” he ordered.
Algy didn’t reply, but Wraggles banked his machine in time to see the locomotive explode in a cloud of smoke and steam. Good Old Slave.
By now, troops were spilling out of the train, but Jollyrei was in no danger as he strafed the wreckage.
“Nice job, boys!”
“Good God!” replied Ginger.
“What’s up, Ginger?”
“T-take a look at that farm, there’s a field near a barn….” Ginger sounded distressed.
Wraggles brought his machine round onto the course required, and then banked, so that he could get a better view.
“Great Scott!” ejaculated Wraggles, “It’s a naked woman on a cross!”
This time he did have to take evasive action, there were SS troops guarding the cross, and their aim was deadly.
“Bertie! Algy! Keep away! It’s a bit warm down there!” He eyed some nasty looking holes in the port wing. Luckily the machine responded to the controls and seemed undamaged.
“Not bally likely, old boy, it’s not every day you see a girl on a cross!” Wraggles watched, concerned, as Jollyrei’s Spitfire swooped down for a closer look.
“I say, she is a corker! I wonder what the poor girl did to deserve that!”
“Bertie! Get away from there!” thundered Wraggles.
Too late. The SS men had found their mark. Smoke began to trail from Jollyrei’s machine.
“Bother! I’ve been hit!”
“I warned you…. Can you climb?”
“Don’t think so…. Going to have to land it….”
The remaining three pilots watched helplessly as Jollyrei thumped his crippled Spitfire down into a field. The undercarriage gave up without a fight and the machine slewed to a stop. Relieved, they saw him clamber out and sprint away before the Spitfire exploded in a mass of white-hot flame. Grey clad troops emerged from some nearby trees. Jollyrei stood, hands held high.
Wraggles sighed, and turned for home, Ginger and Algy in close formation.
He wondered how he was going to explain this to Admi.
He sighed deeply, and settled deeper into the seat in the cockpit of his Mark XIV Spitfire. The Germans were on their last legs, and in this early spring of 1945, after five and a half years of war, it must surely soon be over. Nowadays the Germans had no aircraft to put up against them, or no fuel to put into the aircraft that they did have, and the allies had the skies to themselves.
Escorting bombers wasn’t much fun at the best of times, but nowadays it was just a tedious nursing exercise.
The radio crackled. “Allied land ahead, Blue Leader! Home sweet home!”
“Roger, M for Mother, well done everyone!” It wasn’t so many weeks ago that bringing all his aircraft home unscathed would have been a red letter day for the bomber leader, but this was the third trip in a row when as many planes were going home as had set out. Wraggles could hear the relief in the bomber pilot’s voice.
“Eagle leader, we’ll be fine now; thanks for your support!”
Wraggles thumbed his transmitter. “Roger, Blue leader, have a good day!” Then, to his fellow Spitfire pilots, “Mission accomplished, lads, ready to go home?”
“Just a minute!” ‘Ginger’ Windar, on his starboard wing, replied. “We have a bit of fuel left, plenty of ammo, and I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with ‘T’”
Wraggles was about to admonish him for wasting time on guessing games when he, too, spotted a tell tale wisp of white smoke far below, deep in enemy territory.
“Well spotted, Ginger! Algy, Bertie, are you game for a spot of train bashing?”
“Rather!” chortled Lord Bertie Jollyrei, bringing up the rear.
“Bring it on!” assented Algy Slave, on the port side. Good Old Slave, always there when you needed him.
“Great! It would be a shame to take all this unused ammo home. Ginger, you saw it first, lead us down!”
Ginger’s Spitfire rolled to starboard, and soon the four machines were in a steep drive towards the hapless train.
There was no return fire, it was just too easy. The 20mm cannon shells ripped into the train, Wraggles’ lips were set in a grim line as he imagined the carnage within the carriages.
“Get the locomotive, Algy!” he ordered.
Algy didn’t reply, but Wraggles banked his machine in time to see the locomotive explode in a cloud of smoke and steam. Good Old Slave.
By now, troops were spilling out of the train, but Jollyrei was in no danger as he strafed the wreckage.
“Nice job, boys!”
“Good God!” replied Ginger.
“What’s up, Ginger?”
“T-take a look at that farm, there’s a field near a barn….” Ginger sounded distressed.
Wraggles brought his machine round onto the course required, and then banked, so that he could get a better view.
“Great Scott!” ejaculated Wraggles, “It’s a naked woman on a cross!”
This time he did have to take evasive action, there were SS troops guarding the cross, and their aim was deadly.
“Bertie! Algy! Keep away! It’s a bit warm down there!” He eyed some nasty looking holes in the port wing. Luckily the machine responded to the controls and seemed undamaged.
“Not bally likely, old boy, it’s not every day you see a girl on a cross!” Wraggles watched, concerned, as Jollyrei’s Spitfire swooped down for a closer look.
“I say, she is a corker! I wonder what the poor girl did to deserve that!”
“Bertie! Get away from there!” thundered Wraggles.
Too late. The SS men had found their mark. Smoke began to trail from Jollyrei’s machine.
“Bother! I’ve been hit!”
“I warned you…. Can you climb?”
“Don’t think so…. Going to have to land it….”
The remaining three pilots watched helplessly as Jollyrei thumped his crippled Spitfire down into a field. The undercarriage gave up without a fight and the machine slewed to a stop. Relieved, they saw him clamber out and sprint away before the Spitfire exploded in a mass of white-hot flame. Grey clad troops emerged from some nearby trees. Jollyrei stood, hands held high.
Wraggles sighed, and turned for home, Ginger and Algy in close formation.
He wondered how he was going to explain this to Admi.
windar
Teller of Tales
Wasn't that ejaculation a bit premature, Wragg?
Blimey, chaps! My kite got pranged and copped it, and I've dropped my can right into bally Jerry's back garden. Look's a bit thick. Tell Wingco I might be late for tea.
Good lord, man! I never did!
Great idea, Wragg! I was looking for something fun to read.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
"Eagle Two to Eagle Leader! Naked woman on a cross three a'clock under!"
Well spotted guys! A good wingman means a lot!
Nice start, Squadron Leader Wragglesworth! I look up to the skies for the next episode .
But this wingman spots another reference:
Well spotted guys! A good wingman means a lot!
Nice start, Squadron Leader Wragglesworth! I look up to the skies for the next episode .
But this wingman spots another reference:
'M for Mother'. Incidently ever read Spencer Dunmore's novel 'Bomb Run' (Biggles for more grown up)? Or is it coincidence?
I did read it back in my teens, Loxuru, but I'd forgotten about it."Eagle Two to Eagle Leader! Naked woman on a cross three a'clock under!"
Well spotted guys! A good wingman means a lot!
Nice start, Squadron Leader Wragglesworth! I look up to the skies for the next episode .
But this wingman spots another reference:
'M for Mother'. Incidently ever read Spencer Dunmore's novel 'Bomb Run' (Biggles for more grown up)? Or is it coincidence?
A flashback, maybe?
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Just to recall. 'Bomb Run' is about a British bomber flight crew which is only one mission away from the end of their tour. If they would succeed, it would be extraordinary, considering the high combat losses, and particularly because the Original crew is still intact. But the captain is haunted by the fear he will not survive their last mission. This affects his concentration, in a way that he almost makes them crash during a technical test flight. Their Lancaster is damaged and they will have to fly their last mission with the plane from a crew on leave. That replacement plane is 'M for Mother'.
I'd hate you to be bored, Madiosi!
And a Messerschmitt pilot waiting for them.....
No, I don't want Schnapps, thanks all the same. I'm an RAF officer, and I will drink tea or nothing. I'm sure that's in the Geneva Convention. We didn't build an empire drinking Schnapps.
I me never boring!!I'd hate you to be bored, Madiosi!
And a Messerschmitt pilot waiting for them.....
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Spitfires Wragg? Spitfires? What on earth are these infernal machines? Do they reek of castor oil like the gallant old Camel? Does the pilot feel the wind on his face or does he sit in a bloody glasshouse like the SE?
Bet that damned Wragglesworth can't land one in a rough field as easily as Biggles could land his Camel.
Brilliant, Repertor!
If Madiosi deems the story worthy on an e book, maybe that's the cover?
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
I don't know. The story has just begun.
saved
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
I thought Jollyrei would be safer in a Spitfire than a Camel!