Stripes

by Ian Dowding 

iandowding@madasafish.com

                                                      

Harry was feeling nervous.  All the others seemed so confident.  He hung back a bit watching their friendly camaraderie.  They’d all flown loads of missions.  Some didn’t come back of course, but nobody talked about them. Morale, that was the watchword here. 

‘Harry, Harry, come over here and meet Spud.’ Ginger had spotted him.  That was another thing, they all had nicknames and they all meant something connected with great acts of bravery or narrow escapes.

‘First time for Harry,’ Ginger said to Spud.  Spud looked Harry in the eye.  He was sure Spud would spot how nervous he felt, so he grinned, hoping to seem as cavalier as the rest of them.

‘Nothing to it,’ said Spud.

‘I’m not nervous,’ Harry lied.  

‘No need to be, the bastards can’t hit anything.  They’re as useless as a butterfly in a storm.’

Some of the others gathered round hearing Spud about to start on one of his tirades.

‘It’s simple tactics, you fly straight at ’em, it makes the buggers panic.’

All the others laughed, and Harry perceived they were laughing a touch too heartily.  Perhaps they were all as scared as him but hid it well.  Spud was enjoying his audience and Harry realised the reason that they all liked it was because Spud’s bluster and tough talk calmed them.

‘Get the sun behind you and go straight in.  Dodge around a bit of course - don’t give them an easy target.’

‘S’pose they’ve got the sun behind them,’ said a youth, who Harry recognised as Buster, risking his reputation as a young gun to put this question to an old campaigner. 

Spud liked a dramatic pause, and he used it to look Buster over carefully.  But Buster was arrogant and stared straight back.  There was almost a battle of wills.  Then Spud said in measured tones, ‘Then you attack ’em from behind and sting ’em up the arse.’  Everyone bellowed with laughter and relieved tension.  The others began to talk amongst themselves and Spud spoke quietly to Harry.

‘We’re all scared shitless, make no mistake.  It’s natural. We’ll just go out and hit a few targets then back to the old nest.  You’ll be OK, it’ll be a picnic.’

‘Gentlemen,’ Spud said loudly.  The talking dropped to a murmur and then stopped altogether. ‘Gentlemen, the Queen.’

‘The Queen,’ they all echoed, standing to attention, heads erect.

 

They all filed out and within minutes were airborne, streaking across the sky effortlessly, the land dropping away beneath them as they gained height.  Spud and Ginger led, along with all their cronies with Buster just behind.  Being on the move took away some of Harry’s nervousness and in his mind he went through all the training and advice.  Spud and Ginger turned slightly and dropped a bit of height.  The others followed suit and Harry felt a wave of excitement. They’d spotted a target – yes, you could almost smell it.  Then Spud went into a sudden dive and Harry saw it, down below on the ground, a patch of colour and the enemy.

 

***

 

Felicity screamed, flapping with a napkin.

‘Rodney, do something, they’re everywhere’.

‘Bastards are on the trifle now,’ shouted Nigel, lashing out with the plastic lid of a margarine tub and succeeding in knocking over a bottle of wine.

‘I’m stung, I’m stung,’ yelled Rachel clutching her neck. 

Rodney stood up, snatched the Panama hat from his head and rolled it up.

Harry just about missed a swipe from it and then flew up out of reach.  He looked down.  The others had scattered but Ginger was there squashed against an enemy neck. 

And there was poor old brave Spud, upside down, frantically semaphoring for help with his legs, his wings stuck fast in raspberry jam.           

 

©2008 Ian Dowding

Ian would love to hear what you think of his writing - email him now

BACK