Read Online Piece of Cake by Derek Robinson - Free Book Online

faster as Barton threw stones at them.
    For fifty yards behind the Hurricanes the grass was flattened by the wash from their propellers.
    Hornet squadron, twelve-strong, was drawn up in the arrowhead formation that the Ram favored for battle climb. Each section of three aircraft formed a V. The Ram, being squadron leader, was at the point of the leading section. Two of the other sections positioned themselves to right and left so as to form a larger V, while the fourth section was tucked in behind. Kingsmere had no runways. Once the squadron was formed-up and heading into the wind it was ready for takeoff.
    The Ram glanced left and right to make sure everyone was watching him. The control tower had given them clearance. No Battles were wandering in or out of the aerodrome. He checked his watch: nineteen minutes since he gave the order. Not bad. The ground crews had been on duty already, so warming-up the planes had been quite straightforward; nevertheless the pilots must have got themselves kitted out and plugged-in and taxied-out and formed-up in double-quick time. Showed what they could do when they took their fingers out. He released his brakes and eased the throttle open.
    Standing on the edge of the field, Kellaway and Dicky Starr watched the squadron start to roll. Dicky was reserve pilot that day; and when the trembling thunder of engines suddenly magnified to an aggressive, ear-battering bellow, he couldn’t keep still. He walked and skipped a few paces, his fists clenched in encouragement. The Hurricanes bounced and rocked as they gained speed; stray leaves and bits of paper and old grass cuttings got hurled into the air. When the Hurricanes’ tails came up, smoothly and quickly, it was as if large weights had slipped off them. Simultaneously the engine-notes altered, booming bigger and harder now that the wings were cutting the air more cleanly. Dicky Starr watched, and flew with them in his imagination: left hand on the throttle (keep her speed up), right hand on the control column (keep her nose up), feet hooked into the rudder-pedal stirrups (hold her straight), eyes, ears and backside acutely aware of the shape of the formation all around, of the health of the engine in front, of the racing judder of the wheels beneath.
    The Ram’s Hurricane detached itself from the ground first. As it skimmed the grass the others lifted themselves. Within seconds their wheels were folding inwards and the squadron was climbing hard. The thunder faded to a soft roar, the roar to a growl. The planes diminished to a bundle of dots, which merged into one large speck and was lost to sight.
    â€œDicky, d’you know anything about rugger?” Kellaway asked.
    â€œNot much.” Starr was cautious. “Damn-all, really. They have scrums and things, don’t they? And the ball always bounces the wrong way. Why?”
    â€œThe Ram’s told me to fix up a game against the Battle boys later on this morning. I’m just wondering—”
    â€œRugger? Us? Against
them?”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œWell …” For a moment Starr didn’t know where to start. “It’s Sunday,” he said. “Nobody plays rugger on Sunday.”
    â€œEvidently the Ram does. He’s already had a word with their CO. His chaps are quite enthusiastic.”
    â€œI bet they are. Have you seen them? They’re gorillas. They’ll murder us, adj.”
    â€œNonsense. They’re a jolly decent bunch. Anyway, the Ramreckons you all need a bit of toughening-up. He thinks you’ve been having it too easy.”
    â€œThey’ll kill us,” Starr said gloomily. “They’re maniacs. Anyone who flies a Battle must be loopy. That’s how they get picked. If you can think, and feel pain, they won’t have you.” He brightened up. “Anyway, we’re bound to get put on readiness again, so rugger’s out of the question, isn’t it?”
    â€œWrong, old boy.