Angels One Five Page #8

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... and plaster everything

while our backs are turned.

Speaking for myself,

I'm glad I wasn't here.

They didn't have it

all their own way, you know.

We managed to put up

an odds and sods section.

Good show! Any joy?

One Messerschmitt 110 certain,

fell just outside the perimeter ...

... and a couple of probables.

What about you chaps?

That's what I'm here to find out.

Well, there were about 50 Dorniers.

We came in above and behind them.

- 7 went down.

- All confirmed?

Absolutely, old boy.

I followed each one down personally.

Oh, have a heart. I've got to fill in a claim.

You make it 7, old boy.

And after that, a swarm of Me 109s

came out of the sun at us ...

... and things got a bit hectic.

- Any casualties?

- Yes.

Three unaccounted for so far.

Matthews might have got down at Hawkinge.

What happened here?

We're pretty lucky, on the whole.

One shelter hit, unfortunately,

and the Ops Room bought it.

Barry Clinton?

They all got out alive all right.

Where's this Me 110?

In a field behind the Royal Lion.

Come on, chaps. Into the truck!

Hey! Damn it! I've got to get a report!

Hello, Baird.

Hello.

Ever seen one of these before?

Oh, quite a few.

It was me who shot down this bird.

You, was it?

I didn't know you were flying ops.

Well, I got caught up in a scramble.

I see. Nice work anyway.

Do you think I might have a wee bit,

just for a souvenir?

You'll get me shot!

It's against regulations.

Well, just something

for the squadron's gallery.

Oh, well, as it's your first.

I'll look the other way.

How about a nice little altimeter?

What a prang!

Wotcher, Septic. Pinching enemy property?

I'm surprised at you, Plumber,

encouraging the lad.

Well, why not? He shot it down.

What! You never!

What a horrible lie!

I went up from the practice flight.

I was lucky, that's all.

Well, I'll be transmogrified.

Our own Septic's got himself a Jerry.

Let's do something about this, chaps.

Here we are!

Chair the victor! Come on, types!

Come on, you types.

Hey! Put that tail fin down!

# Oh, a brave aviator lay dying #

# And as on his deathbed he lay #

# Now, this is the end of our flying #

# And this now is all I could say #

# Take the connecting rod

out of my backbone #

# Take the crankshaft

from out of my brain #

# Take the sparking plugs out of my kidneys #

# And assemble the engine again #

# So raise up your glasses steady #

# Here's a toast to the men of the sky #

# Three cheers for the dead already #

# Hoorah for the next man to die #

# Oh, Septic's got a Jerry

in mobile, in mobile #

# Oh, Septic's got a Jerry

in mobile, in mobile #

# Oh, Septic's got a Jerry #

# And the Pimpernels are merry #

# For Septic's got a Jerry in mobile #

Choose your site, Septic.

Come on. He must have the place of honor.

Let's shift the derogatory finger.

Here, give us a hand, one of you louts.

Baird.

Come in here a moment, will you?

Shut the door.

I've just been over

inspecting my kill, sir.

I didn't call you in here

to congratulate you, Baird.

I know that, sir.

You're still a member of this squadron,

even if you are non-effective.

Of course, sir. That's why I was hanging

my piece of 110 on the wall, sir.

Stop nattering about that 110.

It's been done before, you know.

You come bursting in here,

grinning all over your face.

Did you report to intelligence?

I'm sorry, sir.

In the excitement, I must have forgotten.

This is an operational squadron,

not a flying circus.

We've no time for personal jamborees.

- We've got a job to do.

- I realise that, sir.

Perhaps you also realise

that you left your radio on transmit ...

... the whole time you were in the air.

- I did, sir?

- Yes, you ...

... the textbook pilot

who knows all the answers.

You jammed the channel

so that Operations couldn't speak ...

... to any pilot on your frequency.

Pilots returning from a grueling action ...

... shot up, short of juice ...

... not even knowing that

their base had been bombed.

How did you know it was me, sir?

Cause your aircraft was the only one ...

... in practice flight with a serviceable radio.

Thank God those that got back landed safely.

Otherwise, I'd run you off the station

with my own hands.

Let's face it, Baird.

You may know the training manuals

backwards by heart.

But until you've had

operational experience ...

... you aren't worth your rations

to this squadron.

It shan't happen again, sir.

Once is too often.

I will not have this squadron

made a laughingstock.

For that reason, as far as I'm concerned ...

... your black won't be published

outside these walls.

That is all.

Well, go on,

go and hang your trophy on the wall.

What ails you, Septic?

You look a trifle parboiled.

Nothing.

I'd rather not discuss it, if you don't mind.

OK, old man, if that's the way you feel.

Where's your trophy, Septic?

Come on, old boy, you must stick it up.

- It's squadron property.

- We can't have private looting, Septic.

Listen, chaps. I made a mistake.

I haven't had much experience yet,

you see, and well, I've been a mutt.

Shame!

That 110... I'm not so sure now.

Perhaps it wasn't mine after all.

- What's that?

- Come off it, Septic.

- What's the big idea?

- This modesty is most unbecoming.

Attention, please.

Will Pilot Officer Baird report

to the Station Commander immediately.

That is all.

What you been up to, Septic?

Better put some blotting paper

in your trousers, old man.

I shall decide whether you're going

to be any use to us ...

... after I've had a talk with

your squadron commander.

Meanwhile, I hope you've learned a lesson, Baird.

Discipline and procedure are just

as important as courage and skill.

Every man and woman

on this station has a part to play ...

... and a strict set of rules to play it by.

I've warned you before that we don't take kindly

to people who break the team's rules.

The others are only trying

to help you do your job ...

... and it's up to you

to help them do theirs.

Yes, sir.

All right. You can go.

Baird, come here.

Have a cigarette?

Well, go on.

Thank you, sir.

Sit down.

I called you back because ...

... well, because you weren't the only one

who let his personal feelings ...

... get the better of his service training today.

I'm just as guilty myself.

You, sir?

Yes. In the middle of the bombing, I lost

my temper and grabbed hold of a Lewis Gun ...

... and started pooping off at the Jerry planes.

Oh, a very natural thing to do, sir.

Natural, perhaps, Baird,

but wrong all the same.

I'm a Station Commander, not an ack-ack gunner.

But then, you see,

there's nobody here to tear me off a strip.

That's not fair, is it?

But you're the Station Commander, sir.

Exactly. That's what makes it

all the more inexcusable.

Yes, and another thing ...

You didn't see me when you were running

to the practice flight, did you?

No, sir.

Well, I was racing for that last Hurricane,

but I stopped and let you win.

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