Jonathan Paul Isaacs - The Hazards of War

RAF Sergeant Stephen James Cartwright shivered away in the empty fuselage of the Dakota cargo plane. The thin aluminum skin was no protection at altitude, nor was the sheepskin-lined clothing that covered everything but his eyes. Comfort was defined by rubbing the exposed parts of his face above his oxygen mask to keep his eyebrows from freezing. Cartwrights companion on the other side of the fuselage did the same, with about the same frequency.

Good God, Ive got to take a piss, Simon moaned. How long do you think itll take to get us home, now?

Why dont you go in the soup can? Cartwright asked.

Are you out of your mind? I dont want my equipment to freeze off. Theres no way Im whipping it out this high up. Maybe Ill just go in my trousers, bet thatd feel nice, eh?

Until your piss freezes, too. Then youd be worse off than you are now.

A barely visible furrow creased Simons forehead above his oxygen mask. Whats a man to do, then? How do they expect us to not turn into icicles back here? He shifted uncomfortably in his harness. Who the hell designed this plane? he added, attempting a joke.

Cartwright also struggled to find some amusement amidst the misery. He rubbed his eyebrows again. At least they were dry. Many bombing runs into Nazi Germany caused the crew to work up such a sweat manning the guns that the frozen perspiration on their skin made for a brutal flight back to England. A specialty mission like this was a cakewalk. Lieutenant Donner had shown up at just the right time.

He and Simon stared at each other. Cartwright watched as his mate apparently decided he couldnt hold it anymore. Simon unstrapped part of his parachute and busily pried his personal hydraulics through multiple layers of flight gear. He must have been bad off in order to take a piss at fifteen thousand feet.

Donners voice crackled through Cartwrights headset. Hang on back there, lads, weve got a little company.

Damn it, cant they wait until Im done? Theres no courtesy left in the world today, Stephen. No courtesy at all.

Did you expect any less from the Jerries?

The Dakota started to bank to the left as Cartwright grabbed hold of one of the cargo straps. The night sky would have been pitch black outside. How on Earth had the Germans seen them? That was why the British flew bombing runs at night, to avoid contact, unlike the brute defiance of the American daylight raids. Cartwright wondered if they had been picked up by ground radar like the English had used during the Battle of Britain. Even then, he wondered how good the fighter pilots could be when surrounded by blackness.

Simon sat on the opposite side of the fuselage several feet further down towards the tail. The only light inside the plane was provided by two working bulbs, and the dim light compounded the queasiness Cartwright felt as the plane pitched and rolled. He tried to talk to take his mind off their helplessness.

Did you use that soup can yet?

I dont think my aim is good enough, Simon replied. Why?

The plane banked to the right.

I need something to puke into.

Just aim away from me, and pray it freezes before it smells.

I think Ill aim directly at you, Cartwright said.

Then I will be forced to plant my foot in your arse.

The fuselage twisted left and pitched downward. Cartwright felt his stomach rise up into his brain.

The Old Man seems to be trying to do that for you.

For both of us, Simon quipped.

The plane continued through evasive maneuvers in the darkness. Cartwrights nerves were starting to fray. On a normal bombing run, the formation would stay on the straight and narrow in order to control the coverage over the target area, even if the flak from the 88s was thick and heavy. Hard evasive flying really wasnt something he was used to, something he hadnt really anticipated when he had volunteered for the mission.

A thunderous Crack sliced through the air.

The Dakota shuddered violently. Cartwright barely managed to hold onto his cargo strap and not tumble down toward the cockpit. Simon was not so lucky. The other Briton somersaulted through the air into a metal rib with a sickening thud.

Simon!

The plane nosed into a freefall. Cartwright clung desperately to the strap as his feet violently dangled about. What the hell had happened?

Donners voice crackled on the intercom, The wings gone! Get out! Get out!

Oh my God , Cartwright thought. His mind raced through ways to get to the rear hatch. He pulled his weightless body up towards the tail of the plane by grabbing any handhold he could find. Despite the formidable bulk of the Dakota, it kept trying to twist away from his grip as it hurdled out of control towards the Earth. He had to get out, and fast.

After what seemed like an eternity, Cartwright reached the rear hatch and grabbed the release lever. He fought for what little leverage he could manage and popped the hatch away and open from the fuselage. Light from the burning engine danced savagely on the remaining wing, flashing orange and yellow bursts that were quickly swallowed up by the darkness. Cartwright wedged himself in the hatch opening against the blast of cold air and looked back down the plane. Simons body floated limply in the dead air, and no one had come down from the cockpitnot Donner, not the co-pilot, no one. No one else was anywhere close to bailing out. Were they dead? Should he go back in and try to pull them out?

The dive was so steep that the fuselage was vertical. The whine from the engine was audible even over the rush of air. Time was running out.

Cartwright agonized on what to do. He had known Simon since the beginning of his enlistment. But the Old Man had said to bail out, and that was finalit was the captains job to manage what could be done to save the crew, not for the crew to second-guess his commands. They werent supposed to go back into the plane. They were supposed to get out.

Cartwright had thought he was as fatalistic as the other men of the RAF when it came to flying against the Germans, but at this moment of truth he realized he was terrified of dying.

With a twinge of fear and no small amount of regret, he looked one last time back at Simon, drew his lips tight, and hurdled out into the darkness.