Read Wings of War for Free Online

only ten days later.
    I met Cecil, a skinny man more than six feet tall and several years older than me, on the station platform as I changed trains in Toronto. He was struggling with a huge steamer trunk and I gave him a hand. “Thanks, awfully, old chap,” he said, sounding as if his cheeks were full of plums. He sat next to me on the long train journey to Halifax. At first, his accent made me think he was just an upper-class English snob, but I was wrong. Cecil was certainly upper class, he came from a very old, well-connected family, but as the third son, he had been sent out to Canada to make his own way in life. He had been everywhere, working with fur trappers way up north, helping surveyors in the Rocky Mountains and seal hunting in Newfoundland. He had not settled at anything, however, and somewhere along the way he’d learned to fly, so the war was a perfect opportunity for him to return to Europe and find some excitement. He’s as determined to be a pilot as I am, and we spent many happy hours on the train talking about our shared love of flying, the unfettered joy we both felt being at three thousand feet and our plans to contribute to the war effort.
    I met Alec on board the
Akrotiri
. He’s Cecil’s opposite, a rough and ready miner who’s barely five foot four and powerfully built. He’s on his way to join the Newfoundland Regiment in Egypt.
    “That old rust bucket,” Cecil says as we continue to stare at the freighter. “He cannot be doing more than a couple of knots. The poor chap’s a sitting duck if there are any U-boats around.”
    As if in response, a sleek shape breaks the calm surface beside the laboring freighter. “My heavens!” Cecil exclaims. “Look at that chap. On the surface in broad daylight as bold as brass.”
    Soldiers and sailors are shouting all around us, and dozens of men are rushing to the rail to watch the unfolding drama. Our ship’s whistle is sounding harshly. “Why’d he not just torpedo him?” Alec asks. “I thought that’s what submarines did.”
    “Indeed they do,” Cecil says as we watch hatches open on the U-boat’s deck and tiny black figures rush to man the forward gun. “But this way he saves a torpedo. The freighter’s not a threat and we’re unarmed, so he can attack us at his leisure.”
    Suddenly what I am watching becomes less of an interesting show and more of a threat.
    “Will he attack us?” I ask nervously.
    “If he can dispose of that chap quickly enough,” Cecil says. He seems remarkably calm amid all the shouting and running about. “Our best chance is to get far away while he’s busy. I doubt if he’s fast enough to catch us.”
    I look up at our three funnels, each one belching black smoke, and imagine the stokers in the bowels of the ship shoveling coal into the boilers for all they’re worth.
    “What’s he doing now?” Alec’s question draws me back to the drama in front of us. Instead of trying to run, the freighter has turned its side to the submarine. With a loud clang that we can hear quite clearly over the water, a massive panel on the freighter’s side drops down to reveal a gun much larger than the one on the U-boat.
    The U-boat fires first, but its shell explodes harmlessly in a column of water some distance away. The freighter replies, and a much larger fountain erupts very close to the U-boat’s side. A ragged cheer bursts from the sailors watching around us.
    “They’re giving up!” Alec shouts excitedly as men scurry across the submarine’s deck back toward the hatches.
    Just then, a second shell explodes beside the submarine, throwing several men into the water. The rest are below now, and the hatches close. The submarine’s bow dips beneath the waves. “She’s getting away!” someone yells. A third shell catches the U-boat about two-thirds of the way along its length. The rear section, which is still sticking out of the water,buckles awkwardly and the submerged bow rises up again.
    “That one’s