Like Father Like Son - Parts One to Five

She was filled with love for him. It transcended the discomfort. His movements were gentle, controlled. The pain receded slightly but she still felt raw. The last mists of her own pleasure dissipated. He thrust faster, his breathing quickened and his muscles rippled under her fingers. Instinctively, she urged him on, ignoring the scratchy irritation, lost in her desire to please, to give herself to him utterly. His whole body went rigid and he gave a sharp cry that was a mixture of wonder and release and a deep sense of contentment surged through her as she looked at his contorted face. He collapsed upon her with a shuddering sigh and she held him, crooning softly, rocking her body against his. They lay joined together for a while, until his wilting penis slipped from the slick embrace and he rolled onto his back. 

“ I love you, Bethan.”

“And I love you.”

“Was it all right for you? Did it hurt so very much?”

“No so much. And it was wonderful. I’d never dreamed it could be – you know, so beautiful.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, truly. I love you, Phillip. I want to be a wife to you. It felt so, I don’t know, so right to have you there inside me. That’s part of being in love, isn’t it?”

“It felt so right to be in you, to feel you all around me like that, it was the most amazing feeling ever; like coming home for the very first time in my life.”

She smiled at his words and the strong feeling of pride they awoke in her. Now she really was his wife, his woman. And he was her man.

********************

February and March 1916 The Fighter Pilot

The four days flashed past. All of the plans for sightseeing and visits to the theatre vanished as there was little else they wanted to do but simply be with each other. They made love several times each day; on waking, in the afternoons and then again at night. Bethan endured the residual soreness but it prevented her from reaching true fulfilment when Phillip was inside her. He pleasured her in other ways and secretly blessed again his chance encounter with Anne-Marie. Without her gentle teaching, he admitted to himself, it would have been hopeless. Bethan grew in confidence as a lover. She opened up to him, blossoming and unfolding. On the couple of occasions that she was too sore to take him inside, she used her hands, experimenting with different caresses, playing with him as if he was a musical instrument. He lay quiescent under her touch, glorying in the beautiful creature who loved him and made love to him with such thrilling, tender intensity.

Then it was time for them to part once more. Bethan returned to Bentley Hall and Phillip made his way to Gloucestershire to join the training squadron. Rendcombe was a hive of activity. A new fighter Squadron was being formed with SE5s and a bomber squadron, just re-equipped with DH4s, was preparing to leave for France. The first four Bristol F2s had been delivered and another four were awaited eagerly. Bad weather prevented much flying but on the couple of occasions Phillip did get airborne, he was delighted with the Bristol’s performance. It was a big aeroplane, almost exactly the same size as the DH4 bombers with a wingspan of nearly forty feet. The engine was a Rolls Royce Falcon, which produced 190 horsepower, making it the most powerful machine Phillip had encountered to date. It was also the heaviest aeroplane to fly. He soon appreciated the evaluation pilot’s comments about circus strongmen. The ‘Biff,’ as the new plane was soon christened, was a handful. Phillip couldn’t help contrasting it with the lightness of the Sopwith ‘Pup.’ Still, he thought, it was strong, fast and responsive and one did get used to the heavy controls after a little while. 

The camp was buzzing with rumours of a new offensive in the spring. The more experienced aircrew greeted this news with barely concealed cynicism. Another offensive meant another period of intense air activity, as the RFC would be tasked with keeping the German reconnaissance machines away while carrying out their own photographic and artillery-spotting duties. It was obviously not going to be the best of times to return to the front. Hours were spent discussing how the new Bristol should operate in a fight. It was armed with a fixed, forward-firing Vickers machine gun and either a single or double Lewis for the observer. The body of opinion appeared to be that it was a fast two seater and should fight as such.

The favoured tactic was the so-called ‘Lufberry Circle.’ The two-seaters would circle almost nose to tail, relying on the combined firepower of the Lewis guns to keep the enemy at bay. Phillip found this thinking slightly puzzling. The Vickers machine guns would be of no use in such a formation and it was the Vickers guns, which had the greater rate of fire and carried the most ammunition. He was prepared to accept that he had no experience of flying a Scout in combat and that all his experience as an observer had been in relatively ponderous aircraft. It appeared to Phillip that too many of the pilots were ignoring the agility of the Bristol, accepting it as a merely another two-seater, albeit faster than most. He mentioned the comments of the Evaluation Flight pilots at Hern but his intervention was given an airy dismissal. 

At the beginning of February, Phillip received formal notification of his posting to 48 Squadron. The squadron was to be re-equipped with the new fighters as soon as production of the Rolls Royce engines caught up. Phillip was delighted to find that his Flight Commander was to be none other than William Leefe-Robinson, the pilot whose victory over the German Airship Phillip had witnessed the previous year. If Phillip expected greater tactical awareness, he was to be disappointed. Leefe-Robinson also subscribed to the ‘Lufberry Circle’ tactics and was firmly of the opinion that the Bristol was too big to be ‘chucked about like a Pup.’ 

The weather in February was uncharacteristically settled and 48 Squadron were able to fly almost every day. The squadron practised formation flying until Phillip was seeing Bristol Fighters in his sleep. The Bristol proved to be a very easy aircraft to fly, beautifully balanced and stable. There was a general belief that it was too big to be structurally strong and there were strict orders about avoiding violent manoeuvres. Phillip found this very much at odds with what he had heard from the evaluation pilots but his natural diffidence ensured that he kept his thoughts to himself. 

The pilots often flew together, one flying the plane and the other acting as the observer. This soon gave rise to a kind of daredevil game. The ‘observer’ would climb out of his cockpit, edge forward until he could reach in the pilot’s cockpit and take the joystick. The pilot would then climb out the other side and edge backwards to take the place of the observer, leaving this latter to climb into the front seat and take over as pilot. It became something of a competition to see how many times two aviators could swap places during the course of a single flight. The game would probably have gone indefinitely had not Wilkins and Cavanaugh overdone it. They quite simply forgot which one of them had originally been the designated pilot. They took off with Cavanaugh flying but landed with Wilkins in the front seat. The eagle-eyed Leefe-Robinson spotted this instantly and then there was some explaining some to do! Squadron Standing Orders were amended to ban the dangerous practice with any further occurrences punishable by dismissal from the squadron. 

Phillip was finding it difficult to fit in. Even though he was only twenty-two, he felt like an old man beside the youngsters in the squadron. Also, he was still only a lieutenant, despite having been in the war from the start. This was due to his transfer from the infantry – had he stayed with his regiment he would almost certainly be commanding a company by then – and the fact that he had been an observer, rather than a pilot. With 14 Squadron, there had been a greater sense of teamwork. 48 Squadron seemed to have more than its fair share of powerful egos. The senior members were very experienced pilots and often, like Leefe-Robinson, highly decorated. It did bother Phillip that few appeared to have any experience of conditions in France. Leefe-Robinson had spent the past year in a home defence squadron and, for all his obvious gallantry, he appeared to Phillip to be out of touch with current conditions at the front. 

Phillip’s greatest frustration stemmed from being viewed as ultra cautious. In his own mind, he felt that he was the only one who was prepared to take a chance on the Bristol’s true potential. One day he was slated to fly with Leefe-Robinson acting as observer and he resolved to bring matters to a head. He climbed to 12,000 feet and cut the throttle, pulled back on the stick to bring the plane to the point of stalling, and then deliberately crossed the controls to initiate a spin. The Bristol snapped into a vicious spin almost instantly but recovered equally quickly once Phillip centred the controls and applied the power. 

For ten exhilarating minutes, Phillip threw the machine into every aerobatic manoeuvre he could think of, looping, rolling and spinning. He was concentrating so hard he was unaware of the storm of protest coming from Leefe-Robinson in the rear seat. When the angry voice finally did make itself heard, Phillip was ordered to land forthwith.

Leefe-Robinson clambered down, white faced with fury.

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing? Are you a secret Hun, trying to kill us all?”

“I was just trying…”

“I know what you were ‘just trying,’ Welford-Barnes, you were trying to make me look a fool, weren’t you?”

Anger rose hot inside him and Phillip took a step towards his Flight Commander.

“It seems to me that you can manage that without any assistance from me. I was merely trying to demonstrate what this machine is really able to do. I was hoping to convince you that it is perfectly strong enough to be flown like that. I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with it at all.”

“Oh, don’t you, now? And precisely when did you become an expert on aircraft design? Or are you an engineer, perhaps? No? Didn’t think so. Now listen here and listen good. Until someone sees fit to give you command of a Flight, you will obey orders. You will fly in the manner prescribed by your superiors. If there is any repetition of this morning’s antics, I’ll have you posted out so fast your feet won’t touch the ground. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly. I regret to say, however, that does not prevent you from being wrong. I only hope we all live long enough for you to find out. Good day to you!”

Leefe-Robinson stared after Phillip’s retreating back. Had this reaction come from another pilot, he might have dismissed it out of hand. Phillip had always struck him as a serious type; keen enough but no madcap. Now, as his anger began to cool, he started to think about what Phillip had done with the Bristol. Perhaps it was stronger than they all thought, perhaps Welford-Barnes was right? But how could he be? Two-seaters could simply not be flung around like Scouts, particularly two-seaters that big. Maybe he should have a word with someone at the Evaluation Flight. Yes, that was it. The next opportunity he got, he would do just that. Funny it should be Welford-Barnes, though; he was normally as quiet as a mouse. 

On the positive side, Phillip was able to get away and spend a couple of weekends with Bethan and they renewed their joy of each other whenever the chance arose. His happiness seemed complete when he was granted a three-day leave prior to the squadron’s departure for France. Once again, Sister Hallam came up trumps and Bethan travelled to London to meet him for the whole of the leave. 

She was waiting in the hastily arranged hotel room when he arrived, a picture of radiance and happiness. 

“Oh Phillip, it’s so wonderful to see you!”

He silenced her with the first of many kisses. She struggled and pushed him away laughing.

“Plenty of time for that later. I’ve got the most exciting news. No, Phillip, I mean it; listen to me, now. I’m going to have a baby!”

Surprise, wonder and concern chased each other across his features as he stared at her. 

“Oh, Bethan, is it true? Are you sure? Are you feeling all right? Oh, I say, how absolutely splendid. Uh, when? I mean when did we? Oh, you know what I mean.”

“On our honeymoon, of course. I bet it was the very first time, wasn’t it? Are you pleased?”

“Of course! It couldn’t be more topping! But how about you? D’you feel well, er, not getting sick or anything?”

“I feel absolutely wonderful, darling. Never better. Oh, I get a little queasy in the morning but I don’t think I’ve felt so alive before. I love it!”

They went out to celebrate that evening and returned, clinging to each other, at about midnight. Phillip was feeling the effects of the champagne he had ordered. Bethan had scarcely touched her single glass and it had fallen to him to do the vintage justice. He climbed into bed and waited for her. His head was spinning slightly but the euphoria of the evening had not deserted him. He counted himself the luckiest man alive. He was somewhat shocked when Bethan slipped naked in beside him.

“Oh, I say, old girl, what about the baby?”

“There’s silly you are, Phillip. I’m only two months gone, we won’t hurt him, you know.”

“Uh, are you sure? I mean, is that right. We won’t hurt the little fellow?”

“Of course I’m sure, now come here.”

Phillip moved over her. He carefully inspected her stomach, as if he expected her to be bulging already. She laughed at the puzzled look on his face.

“I won’t really show for a little while yet.”

He grinned, a little sheepish.

“Well, it’s all a complete mystery to me. Good job you know what you’re doing.”

He did think her breasts were a trifle bigger, though, and he soon discovered that her nipples were a lot more sensitive. She started to twist beneath him as he nibbled and sucked. Her eyes were closed and her face wore a serene expression of contentment. His hand slipped between her thighs and he felt the wetness of her. She spread her legs wider to accommodate him and he gently manipulated her bud until she climaxed convulsively, trapping his hand and thrusting against his palm. He rose up to enter her but she pushed him onto his back. She straddled him, taking his engorged member in her hand. He felt her ease herself down onto him, encasing him in the moist, velvet heat. She rocked forward, offering her breasts to his kiss and she began to move with a slow, undulating rhythm, dancing to music that only she could hear. 

Phillip caught her swaying breasts in both hands, cupping them, rubbing her nipples and gently kneading her flesh. She gave an almost inaudible little moan, swooping down to kiss him and trailing her hanging hair over his face and shoulders. It smelt of freshness, like the meadow after rain. A little knot of urgency had gathered at the base of his spine and was sending darts of pleasure through the fork of his crotch. Bethan seemed to sense this and increased her tempo. She gave a sharp intake of breath and began to grind herself against his pubic bone. A subtle pink flush crept over her creamy skin and her breathing grew harsh and rapid. She flung her head back, her eyes opened wide and she gave a short, shrill scream. He felt her spasm, clasping and fluttering about him as she rode the wave of her pleasure, clamping and relaxing in time to his upward thrusts. Then he was hurtling towards his own release, pummelling himself into her and sucking frantically at her breasts. She hit another peak seconds before he exploded and he rode it with her in a series of wild thrusts that left them delirious and spent.

Afterwards, she curled against him, humming to herself and preening inwardly. That had been special, the very thing she wanted. She had almost given up hope of reaching fulfilment with him inside her. Now she felt complete. Phillip drowsed beside her. She looked at his face. The tension had fallen away leaving him young and vulnerable looking. She smiled to herself. This was what love should be. Each one giving to the other the thing they needed the most. Each one taking that which was freely given, with no place for self or petty concerns of modesty. Love demanded everything, nothing should be held back; for was not the source of that love infinite? Inexhaustible? That was what she believed and she fervently prayed she was right.

April 1917 Bloody April

The squadron arrived in France on 8th March and took up residence at Bellevue. Preparations were well advanced for the new spring offensive and nobody was surprised when the opening artillery barrage began about ten days later. Low cloud and strong winds kept the RFC on the ground for much of the month and High Command bemoaned the lack of reconnaissance. New aircraft were starting to appear on both sides. The British introduced the SE5 as well, of course, as the Bristol F2. On the German side, a new Albatros, the DIII, and a new Roland fighter were making their presence felt. 

Phillip did his best to settle into his new squadron. He was teamed with a Second Lieutenant by the name of Henry Jardine. Henry was a cheerful youngster with a mass of sandy hair and a rash of freckles. He was fresh from the Observers’ training school and was full of enthusiasm and had, to Phillip’s mind, that vital ingredient, a willingness to learn. Phillip passed on everything he could from his own experiences as an observer and Henry was soon hand-loading his Lewis drums just as Phillip had done. On the rare days in March that flying was possible, Phillip took every opportunity to get airborne. They practiced firing at ground targets and Henry showed himself to be an adequate gunner. They also practiced navigation and became familiar with the lay of the land on their side of the front.

By the end of the month the Squadron was declared ready for operations. The ground crew had been brought up to strength and a supply of spares and equipment had arrived from England. The biggest worry was over parts for the engines. Demand far outstripped supply and only a resourceful adjutant was able to get the squadron what it needed. Bad weather kept them on the ground until the morning of April 5th. Leefe-Robinson’s Flight was detailed to undertake a reconnaissance in force in the Douai sector of the front. They were in high spirits as they left the briefing. Two months of training with the new aeroplanes was to be put to the test at last.

Phillip and Henry were the fifth aircraft to take off and climb slowly into a patchwork sky. The patrol was to penetrate far behind the German lines. Phillip felt that familiar lethargy, which always seemed to precede imminent action. He did not feel unduly concerned. The ‘Biff’ was a much better aircraft than the old BE2s or even the RE8s. The Flight ascended through broken cloud before levelling off at the designated patrol height of 13,000 feet. As usual, it was bitterly cold in the clear air and Phillip was grateful for the deep cockpit of the Bristol. Behind him, Henry crouched down, checking their progress against the map and ensuring that the modified 97 round drums for his guns were stowed securely. Phillip issued a sharp reminder to be on the look out for HAs – hostile aircraft.

The first sign of trouble came when the rearmost aircraft waggled its wings. Phillip craned his neck and saw the pilot pointing upwards into the glare of the sun. Then the red Very light arced ahead of the formation as the observer fired a flare to warn the others. True to their drill, the ‘Biffs’ began to circle, each aircraft flying as close as possible to the one in front. The dots, initially barely visible against the sun, grew rapidly larger as the German planes plunged towards them. Tracer bullets began to flash through the formation and the stuttering of Henry’s Lewis guns sounded suddenly behind Phillip. He felt strangely calm and concentrated on getting as close to the plane in the front as he could. 

A red-painted Albatros shot by, pulling up steeply and climbing away out of range. Bullets ripped through the wing fabric a foot from Phillip’s head and he yawed the Bristol wildly with the rudder. A gap appeared in the formation as one of the British machines rolled onto its back and fell away, smoke gouting from the engine. The remaining planes closed up. Phillip counted five enemy aircraft. The leader’s machine was painted bright red and all the others had some part of their fuselages or wings in the same livery. They were good. Attacks came in coordinated waves, two or three at a time, approaching from different angles to divide the British fire. 

Another Bristol fell, spinning out of control. Phillip could make out the figure of the pilot slumped forward over the controls. Behind him, the observer continued to fire even though he must have known he was doomed. Leefe-Robinson was the next to go and then a fourth: a flamer. The remaining two aircraft separated. Phillip stood the Bristol on a wing tip and turned towards the attackers, getting in a raking burst at one red Albatros as it hurtled by. He was beside himself with rage and frustration. The ‘Lufberry Circle’ had been a disaster. He flew with a savage intensity. Henry kept the enemy planes away from their tail with the Lewis guns while Phillip threw the big ‘Biff’ into a series of evasive manoeuvres. He seemed to have the undivided attention of all five German fighters and felt sure that he would soon fall victim to their combined assault. 

The other surviving ‘Biff’ was heading for home, a thin plume of smoke bearing witness to the punishment it had taken. Phillip spotted a gap in the circling enemy planes and smartly reversed his turn. He slammed the stick forward and the Bristol dived away from the combat. The Germans took up the pursuit but the speed of the dive had taken them by surprise. Phillip muttered a quick prayer that the evaluation pilots had been right about the strength of the Bristol and steepened his dive, heading for the shelter of the broken cloud. The wires thrummed with the speed and the tattered fabric began to strip away where the enemy bullets had pierced the wings. The pursuing enemy planes were falling back, unable to match the Bristol’s speed in the dive. Then he welcomed the moist grey embrace of the clouds.