Free Flames over France by Robert Jackson Page B

Colonel Villeneuve, a man bearing a celebrated name in the annals of French history. Lean and pipe-smoking, with a weatherbeaten face and thoughtful grey eyes that seemed to focus on something a long way off, Villeneuve had no hesitation in authorising Armstrong to fly with the group until such time as he could be returned to the RAF.
    “We are short of pilots,” he said, “and you seem to have acquired an aircraft for yourself. Perhaps we might discuss tactics to our mutual advantage?”
    Armstrong hesitated to explain that he had been flying an unarmed photo-reconnaissance Spitfire for the past nine months, and that the fighter tactics he had learned on a frontline fighter squadron might now be out of date. From what he had seen so far, there didn’t seem to be much difference between the combat formations used by the French and the British; both were much too tight to provide adequate room for manoeuvre, forcing the pilots to concentrate more on keeping station with one another than on keeping a good lookout. Like the RAF, the French used a ‘weaver’, a solitary aircraft bringing up the rear of the formation, weaving back and forth to keep an eye on the sky above and behind. Armstrong thought that there was little benefit in the method; all the weaver did was use up fuel faster than the other aircraft in the formation, and run the risk of being shot down first in the event of a ‘bounce’. It would make far more sense to adopt a fluid fighter formation such as the Germans used, based on a pair of aircraft, with the number two watching out for the leader all the time. Two pairs of aircraft, flying in a formation that resembled the outspread fingertips of one’s hand, could cover one another constantly, their pilots having a good view of all quarters of the sky.
    Armstrong flew three sorties with the French during the next couple of days, and saw nothing. The action, it seemed, was further north; the RAF’s Air Component, supporting the British Expeditionary Force, must be having a busy time. Then, early on the morning of 14 May, a grim-faced Villeneuve called all the pilots together for an open-air briefing. A map had been pinned to an easel and he referred to it now, pointing to the relevant places as he spoke.
    “The enemy has broken through in strength here, at Sedan,” he told the men. “The British are already attacking the pontoon bridges that have been erected across the Meuse, and have suffered many losses.” He glanced briefly at Armstrong, who wondered how bad the losses really were.
    “Now it is the turn of the French,” Villeneuve continued. “The bridges and the troop concentrations in their vicinity will be attacked later this morning by eighteen Amiot 143 bombers from la Ferte-Gaucher and Nangis.”
    The pilots exchanged glances, and Armstrong knew why. The twin-engined Amiot 143, an angular, slab-sided aircraft that carried a crew of five, had already been out of date when it made its first flight in 1935. With a top speed that barely touched 150 miles per hour, it was completely unsuited to daylight operations against heavily-defended targets. If ever there was a suicide mission, this was it.
    Villeneuve noticed their expressions. “I understand that all the bomber crews will be volunteers,” he told them quietly. “Close fighter escort will be provided by twelve Moranes, twelve Bloch 152s and nine Dewoitine 520s. We shall provide distant cover, and our task will be to keep the Messerschmitts at arm’s length. Our orders are to patrol the Luxembourg border and intercept any enemy fighters heading for Sedan from the south-east; the RAF will be patrolling to the north. I need not tell you that we shall be close to the limit of our combat radius and that consequently it will be very important to conserve fuel. Take-off will be at 0800.”
    But the take-off was delayed, and delayed again, and it was well after eleven o’clock before the Hawks were ordered into the air. They formed up into