Riga Cassino

 

Riga Cassino

Riga manned a big gun. She scrabbled in the dirt. The dirt was scalded. It was damaged like the girl. Scalded by multiple explosions. She sat resting on her hands. The expended explosives and burnt soil irritated her hands. Multiple artillery explosions had done that. Cordite hung in the air. It reeked and indirectly reminded her of death and of her father. A direct reminder was the broken soldiers before her gun position. The ground sloped downwards. A detritus of war littered it. Riga was in charge of a 105. She could just about lift the heavy shell. Her gunners did this for her but she was trained on all aspects of the job. Including the hungry breech with the big bullet. Empty cases were everywhere. The brass slightly blackened by firing. The shells had long gone down range. Killing wounding blasting destroying. Her crew targeted enemy troops guns and supply lines.  They did the same and both sides achieved successes. They were all near the monastery. It was like the Moon now. Craters everywhere. As was death and war. The battle was hungry for dead. Imagine all the soldiers in all the armies that ever existed being sent here. All to be killed or maimed. Satan would be happy. How many shells would Riga and her crew fire? An infinite amount! Right now the Germans were massing for an attack. She had to be ready. She stood up from the burnt earth and rubbed the dirt from her hands. They were small hands hardly made for war or lofting shells. She looked about and composed her thoughts. Riga barked some orders. Her crew stirred and got ready. Much was to be done. How would they be after this? This holy monastery would decide the battle for Italy. Thousand had already been killed here. How many more would follow them? This wasn’t a place for a gal. Never mind the leader of an artillery position. A job needed doing and a war winning…

***

 

 

 

Riga Big Guns

Riga Big Guns

Riga's plane was pushed out of the hangar by the ground crew. It had just been serviced and was ready to go. The men pushed the plane onto the concrete. It was solid looking on its tricycle landing gear. A nose wheel and one under each wing.

 

The guns had been stripped down cleaned and oiled. There were many guns. Too many! Four 13 millimetre heavy machine guns. Two above the nose and two in each wing root. There were two 20 millimetre cannons also in the wing root. In the nose was a single 30 millimetre cannon. Two similar weapons were in the wings. One per side. All the guns could be fired together or separately. It was a heavy lethal armament.

 

Riga had used the plane in this configuration in combat. She wanted the machine guns removing. Against bombers they were of limited use. The big guns were fine.

 

The varied bullets and cannon shells were interesting. Some were armour piercing and others high explosive. Mixed in were tracer shells for added lethality and aiming.

 

Bombers were easy to hit with the large guns. Smaller agile fighters were challenging but it could be done. The lighter machine guns were fine for fighters. Yet all were added weight reducing speed climb and agility. It was a balancing act. Be fast enough to intercept the target then destroy it. How much was too much weight?

 

Riga's was a fine looking plane. She looked forward to a test flight and shooting ground targets on the range. Not combat but thrilling enough. It was time to put on her flight suit and parachute…

***

 

 

 

Riga With Pals Tattoo

 Riga With Pals Tattoo

A fitter in the instrument's section was a trained tattooist with his own kit. He tattooed the squadron pilots and those who wanted ink doing. Riga wanted a tattoo. She and three other pilots chose the same design. It was a bird in flight. It was a kind of lark. Sone lived and flew over the forest by the base. To Riga and the others the dark blue coloured bird symbolized something. Not an easy thing to identify but definitely something. A symbol of courage on adversity and freedom being too simple and cliched to describe it. It was similar but different. The blue bird had slightly iridescent feathers so was visible from further than normal in the sunlight. It sparkled a little.

The instruments guy inked them all after a drink on their down time. They were in the squadron bar. Pilots off duty were encouraged to drink to de-stress. Riga was having a vodka and orange with ice. Alison her female squadron mate had brandy. John had beer. Leroy drank beer too. Later the guys would move to spirits.



At this time the instruments inker was doing his work. Riga got her tattoo first. The others watched, drank and talked. It was a relaxed time the opposite from their aggressive combat missions. Alison drew the design for she was skilled in art. The inker improved it slightly and got it ready. A simple yet vivid blue bird with solid black outline. The wigs were outstretched for gliding flight. The image meant freedom independence and flight itself.



Riga had three other tattoos. They were by different tattooists and meant different things. This was her fourth and for a different reason. Some of her friends had others tattoos. Some did not. John and Leroy had never been inked before. Riga told them it only hurt a bit and the drink would help.



They all drank their fill while the inker did his craft. Riga's session took thirty minutes. He worked quickly and accurately. After Riga it was Alison's turn. The others admired Riga's new tattoo. It was an excellent piece, a dark blue lark in flight. A hint of green and purple was in the blue. It looked real. The real bird would be jealous!

The Captain

 

 

 

The Captain

The tank drove up the incline. It followed the road which turned to the left. Houses and small buildings were dotted here and there. The Captain was at the command position his hatch open. He held the 50 Cal and squeezed off short bursts at German civilians. They crumpled and fell and did not move. The Captain nodded and kept moving the gun and his head looking for targets. It was like they were connected. He squeezed off five round bursts. The reports echoed over the small town in the hills. This was enemy territory and the Captain pushed his crew and tank to race ahead. He was waging war in Germany! Dead civilians were proof of this. The Captain told himself war was war and he was paid to do a job and he was doing his job. America had given him a tank and the training to do this. This was what the Germans had done in Poland and Russia. It was what the Allies were doing in Germany. Who cared if they were civvies and not soldiers? He fired at a woman in a faded red dress who ran over the road. She stumbled and fell down dead. His tank drove over her body. War was war and he was paid to do a job. It was enjoyable.

***

He Fell Between Two Peaks

 

He Fell Between Two Peaks

A long time ago in Norway in World War 2 an event happened that spanned decades and brought two men together as brothers. A British four engine heavy bomber was out bombing German targets in the occupied country. The mission details were not known. What is known is what happened to the warplane. German gunfire accurately hit it. Mortal damage was done. Flames erupted from two or three engines and the burning aeroplane plunged down. Men would die in a situation like that. Young men in the early twenties fighting for freedom and the Allied side. Trying to defeat the Nazis, a tenacious capable lethal enemy.

 

Such an example was the hitting of the English bomber. It was dangerous to fly at low or medium altitudes in daylight. Enemy gun crews well trained and motivated manned all types of anti-aircraft guns. Their flak was a killer. The aircraft flew level losing altitude the fire getting worse. It had to land soon or control would be lost and any still alive would perish. The pilot flew the plane. This was a wild mountainous area with fjords, coastline, high ground and trees. Where could such a plane force land?

 

A local man watched the surreal scene. A large burning bomber falling from the sky. It flew between two mountain peaks. Without hitting either if crash landed beneath them. The plane touched the ground in tearing ripping screeching metal. Pieces were ripped off. The fire got worse and soon would explode the fuel tanks. The young Norwegian mountain man saw his chance.

 

As the plane came to a halt he ran to it. Risking an explosion he closed in on the wreckage. Orange flames blossomed forth feeding on alloy rubber bullets and flesh. Black smoke lazily wafted up. The man was desperate to free any trapped or wounded crew. It was the major mission of his life. Not enduring an enemy occupation but here and now. Trying to do the impossible. The fuel could go up any second.

 

By the luck of the Devil he rescued one shaken dazed but aware Allied flier who survived the crash. Quickly with both their lives in danger he led the airman away. They made it! Shortly after the smashed bomber plane exploded completely destroying itself.

 

The two men had a language issue. They were similar ages in their twenties. If it weren't for the war they wouldn't have met. Hitler changed all that and here they were. The man took the downed flier to a safe house. Here he was fed and given new clothes and a fake identity. Over the weeks he was smuggled out of Norway.

 

That wasn't the end of the story. The shoot down happened in 1944. Sixty years later on a beautiful summer's day they met again. The Norwegian rescuer and the crashed British airman. Saved by a local hero who dared brave a burning warplane to rescue any survivors. The Allied flier again thanked the Norwegian man. With tears in their eyes they shook hands and remember what happened here sixty years ago to the day.

 

A crippled burning bomber fell between to peaks. One man was saved that day. Six others paid the ultimate price for freedom against fascism. Rest In Peace the dead. Remember their sacrifice. They were young men with dreams and ideals. Often foolish often dreaming the dreams of the young.

 

So many gave their lives for an idea and cause. In this they believed and however they died they are not forgotten. That day young individuals from Norway and Britain were brought unforgettably together.