Jack Ludlow: The Burning Sky

Without metalled roads in very rough country, the Italians would only move in daylight over that which their engineers had provided — a dusty bulldozed track that would not survive the rains when they came — with the added safety of their air superiority to protect them. Even then they could not do so quickly; any build-up should be evident, which would obviate the need to remain over enemy air space for a long period.

The column was not immediately visible but the dust they were sending up was plain for miles, rising on the warm air currents, especially as the Potez was still flying frighteningly low, skimming through slight depressions to stay hidden and near to touching the scrub-covered ground in more open areas. Jardine spent as much time looking at the mounds he was sure de Billancourt was going to plough into as he did searching the sky for enemy fighters, thinking the risk from the former was probably greater than from the latter: the fixed undercarriage was often so close to the earth he feared it might be ripped off by an unseen boulder or tree.

For all his concerns, it was the only safe way to fly and had to be accepted: altitude increased danger, and it takes more than sharp eyes from above to spot a camouflaged aircraft against a same-coloured backdrop over up to a mile — it takes luck. Also, if de Billancourt was an arrogant bastard and a daredevil sod, he was also a damned-good pilot, so Jardine concentrated on keeping his breakfast coffee in his gut as the Potez jinked, rose, swooped and occasionally dropped at a rate that left his stomach under his chin.

The Frenchman was making for the billowing dust, even though that would likewise be visible to, and might attract the attention of, Italian pilots, working on the assumption of there being so few Ethiopian planes they were a rare problem on the front lines and non-existent behind them. So, unless a radio message had been sent from the point of crossing to say that one had entered this particular rear area, it was not something the enemy would expect or look out for with too much zeal.

After a last check of the sky, Jardine got himself into position to use his Vickers; he had no need to be told what was required: having been on the receiving end of aerial gunfire he knew what the pilot would do. Through the dust de Billancourt could now see a line of ten trucks making their way along a rough roadway created by their engineers to get supplies up to the front-line forces. Unprotected on the assumption such a thing was seen as unnecessary, they paid the price as he banked to fly up their line.

Jardine had no need to depress his weapons, the angle of the plane did that for him, and he began his primary burst just before they came level with the lead vehicle, aiming for the driver, then raking the canvas covering in the hope it was carrying infantry. There was no return fire at all; all the drivers did was swing their steering wheels in an attempt to lessen the impact — pretty futile given that Jardine only had to lift or drop his muzzles to compensate.

To the rear of the last truck the Potez swooped up, then made a tight turn so de Billancourt could run down the line of trucks, still close enough to form one because, on both sides of the engineers’ roadway, the ground was so broken that to seek to pull off was to invite disaster. The Frenchman was now strafing through his propeller, and as they flew by, Jardine could see that some drivers were abandoning their trucks and running for cover, while others were seeking to accelerate out of trouble.

One was ablaze, while another had left the road, either through terror or wounding, and tipped onto its side. Obviously, whatever they were carrying, it was not troops, given no bodies were either emerging or being flung clear, and while it had to be a pleasure to do what he was about, de Billancourt was also conscious of the need to preserve ammunition for his own defence.

He did one more non-firing run, getting not even a rifle bullet in response, before banking away, heading for some low hills in the distance, this while Jardine observed the remaining trucks re-forming and continuing on their way at as much speed as they could muster; if there was anyone hurt, they were not hanging about to find out.

Facing forward again and curious, Jardine tapped the Frenchman and indicated downwards with his hand, the response a drop in the aircraft speed as de Billancourt acknowledged the message; he was flying a plane that could land anywhere and very likely he, too, was wondering the same as his temporary observer-gunner: what were those trucks carrying if not troops?

It wasn’t ammunition, since no explosions were coming from the burning truck now sending a plume of black smoke skywards. What was it? If they landed, some information might be gleaned from the contents.

It was necessary to stay behind those low hills and jink about for a while to let the remaining trucks get clear, but after a short while they re-emerged to see the plume of smoke still rising, now to a point that made watching the sky paramount: if they could see it miles away, an Italian fighter scouting at higher altitude could see it as well, so there was a degree of caution in the approach. Finally thinking it safe, de Billancourt lined up on the roadway and brought the bouncing Potez in to land past the blazing truck, so that Jardine could provide cover in case they were shot at.

There was one inert body on the road but no sign of movement. The plane was taken far enough away to provide room for an emergency take-off, before the Frenchman spun it round and, with a feathering propeller, bumped along the less-than-even surface, taking them closer to the wrecked truck before turning back again to face the way he had come. Jardine was ready to jump out, his pistol in one hand, but he took a last searching look skywards before he executed it: if he was out of the plane and an enemy appeared, any pilot — and quite rightly — would take off, even if he could not get back aboard in time.

His feet had only just hit the ground when two very sad-eyed and dust-covered Italian soldiers emerged from behind the rolled-over truck, with their hands in the air. Searching and failing to see any weapons, he heard them both babbling away in what he took to be a plea to surrender.

A wave of his Colt had them on their knees, while behind him, even with an idling aircraft engine, he could hear de Billancourt laughing, albeit the Frenchman had his pistol out and aimed at the two men who were now looking skywards but praying.

Ignoring them, Jardine pushed past to the turned-over truck, to examine the boxes which had been thrown out, one of which had broken open, scattering its contents. There were no rifles or pistols, which he had half-expected, nor was it food.

The item Jardine picked up was something he had not seen for a long time; still the mere sight of it made him shudder and that made him climb into the truck. There he saw that all the containers were like the one he had found split open.

Back out again, he picked one of the items up; he took it back to the two kneeling Italians, a pair of badly uniformed unshaven louts who could only be drivers, and conscripted ones at that, both with that look in their eye that told him they were sure they were going to die.

He held up the gas mask and used the few Italian words he hoped would make sense, all from a trio of operas, wishing Vince was here now, because to get this wrong was not a good idea. Pointing hard at the mask, he barked his question.

‘ Maschera! Tutti camion maschera ?’

The eager nods chilled him instead of pleasing him.

‘ Cappa impermeable ,’ one of the drivers shouted in a desperate tone, he too pointing after the trucks, before gesturing something covering his body.

Gas masks and capes! He tried to calculate the number of these things that truck convoy must have been carrying and what it meant. Walking over to de Billancourt he showed the gas mask to him and the effect on the Frenchman was equally profound. He was also sharp enough to state an obvious act, which had not occurred to Jardine.