Just Ordinary Men

Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. All original characters are my own invention and any similarity to actual persons living or dead is coincidental. Where actual historical figures are mentioned any dialogue or actions attributed to them is to be similarly viewed, unless the incident concerned is a matter of historical record. 

A.N. I have in this chapter specified the unit and location of Ashton's command. Although the squadron selected did exist in this location and did indeed fly Hurricanes these are the only details that are factual. As per the main disclaimer any reference to identified posts in the squadron is not to be inferred to be any actual individual who held the post(s) in reality. 

Leaving Johnno Everett at the aircraft Ashton stalked back to his office in a black mood, barely acknowledging the salutes of the station staff and other pilots as he entered the admin block, marching up to his office and slamming the door behind him.  He sat heavily in his chair reaching in his breast pocket for the cigarette case, and his trouser pocket for his lighter.  Extracting a cigarette from the case he held it between two fingers and thumbed the lighter, noting with some irritation the cigarette tremor slightly.  'Bollocks!' crushing the newly lit cigarette in the ashtray he scowled and muttered 'Getting too old John.. one day your luck old son..'  He pursed his lips, tongue between his teeth as he hissed his annoyance.. at himself.. at the Germans.. at the world in general.  Closing his eyes he breathed deeply, slowly, feeling his tension slowly ebbing away.  He made his decision and reached for the telephone to call but as he did so suddenly it rang startling him.  'Yes.. Ashton here..' surprised tone; Uxbridge - the 11 Group HQ - seemed to have an almost prescient sense of when to call '.. I was just about to call you sir.. Yes.. about our losses.. no sir.. four..' he sighed heavily 'Flying Officer Warren.. we just heard ourselves.. hit the silk.. came down in a forest.. broken neck..'

He could almost hear the wince from the Wing Commander at the other end of the call; when you hit the silk, assuming the parachute opened you had a right to feel you had survived.  Not so for poor Nick Warren.  A thought struck him 'Sorry sir.. you called me.. obviously there was a reason?'

Both men collected their wits and he heard the summary from the other end 'So basically you're down to two-thirds strength.. eight out of twelve..'

Ashton nodded 'Yes sir.'

The voice took on a decisive tone 'Well that makes the decision even easier John..'

Ashton raised his eyebrow at the use of his first name, not liking where the conversation was headed 'Uh.. what decision sir?'

A pause 'You're being withdrawn from the Order of Battle..' but before Ashton could protest the voice continued '.. don't argue the decision was made even before I knew you'd lost another pilot.  It's not permanent but you've lost one senior flight commander and three others, and Group feel you should be withdrawn to give their replacements time to settle into an operational squadron before hurling them against the Germans.'

Ashton growled although he had to concede the sense of the decision.  'So what happens to us sir?'  There was a knock at the door and he mouthed a silent curse 'One moment sir..' covering the mouthpiece with his hand 'Come in!'  A courier opened the door and presented him with a telegram 'Sign please sir.'  With a quizzical look Ashton picked up his pen and scrawled 'Ashton, J A, Sqn Ldr' on the receipt form being held out, and with that the courier saluted and left the room.  Picking up the receiver again he spoke 'My apologies sir.. a despatch rider with a telegram for..'

The Wing Commander cut in 'Good God.. he was fast.. good.. that will be your orders.  If you could read them please so we can clarify any queries you may have?'