Find Your North Star


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Also by 
 Rohan West
 Broken Vows
 
 
 
 
 
 Copyright © 2023 Rohan West
 
 The moral right of the author has been asserted.
 
 
 Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
 
 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
 
 
 Matador
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 ISBN 978 1803134 451
 
 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data. 
 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
 
 
 Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
 
 
 To Jim, Daphne, Ray and Lyneve
 Contents
 Preface
 Chapter One
 Chapter Two
 Chapter Three
 Chapter Four
 Chapter Five
 Chapter Six
 Chapter Seven
 Chapter Eight
 Chapter Nine
 Chapter Ten
 Chapter Eleven
 Chapter Twelve
 Chapter Thirteen
 Chapter Fourteen
 Chapter Fifteen
 Chapter Sixteen
 Acknowledgements
 
 
 Preface
 Four and a half years have passed since Father Albert Robertson left his life as a Catholic Priest, and married the love of his life, Abigail McCarthy. Defrocked and excommunicated by the Church, and shunned by both families, Albert and Abigail begin a life together in Auckland, New Zealand. Neither family has contacted them since 1937.
 These events cut Albert’s younger brother, William Robertson, to the core. It was William who’d broken the news of Albert’s elopement, setting off the chain of events tearing their family apart.
 With the flames of World War II now engulfing the world, William is a volunteer in the Royal New Zealand Air Force. After completing training as a navigator, William is assigned to 75 New Zealand Squadron, within RAF Bomber Command, based at RAF Feltwell, Norfolk, Great Britain.
 With a casualty rate of forty percent, William’s chances of survival are amongst the lowest in the Allied Armed Forces. It’s little wonder then that his first tour of operations is off to a bad start.
 
 
 Chapter One
 Date – 27 December 1941
 Tour of Operations Count – Operation 1
 Target Location – Brest, France
 Assigned Aircraft – Wellington Mk.Ic Z.8971 AA-E
 Take-off – 16:30
 
 ‘Dear, merciful Lord. Let me live. Don’t take me. Not on my first op.’ William Robertson crossed himself and kissed his St Christopher’s medal then stuffed it back under his thick, brown leather flight jacket. He continued throwing out the last of any materials and supplies they didn’t need, making the aircraft as light as possible; anything to give them an extra few feet of altitude.
 Gordon Bolshaw, the wireless operator, heard his prayer. ‘Not to fear Robbie. We’ll be fine. We’re bailing out but we’ll be back over Blighty when we jump,’ he said in a clipped, matter of fact, English accent, raising his voice to be heard over the screams and moans of the dying aircraft. ‘Don’t worry, old boy. Keep doing your job.’ He winked and returned to his instrument panel, alternating between tapping out a Mayday and current coordinates, and making calls on the radio. Bolshaw let out a heavy sigh and crossed himself.
 ‘“Don’t worry, old boy?” The bloody plane’s going to crash,’ William whispered to himself. Returning to his position, he looked at his charts and tried to concentrate. Next to impossible with the cold night air rushing through the plane. He looked back at the two by one-foot hole in the fuselage where they had taken some flak. The anti-aircraft shell had knocked out the port side engine, causing them to limp back across the Channel on half power.
 William’s first operation nerves oscillated between mild to severe. His hands shook for minutes at a time, throughout the flight. He’d been surprised the actual bombing part of the raid was when he was at his most calm and focussed. It was running the gauntlet of anti-aircraft flak that raised his stress exponentially. The flashes of light, noise and aircraft shuddering as each shell exploded around them, made him jump and twitch at every vibration and unexpected sound. When shell fragments ripped into their aircraft, he was compelled to set aside his fear to survey the damage and report back to the pilot. They’d got halfway across the Channel before one engine coughed, spluttered and finally petered out.
 According to the instruments and William’s calculations, they were only a handful of miles from the Devon coast. He’d told the pilot to fly in a direct line from France after a bombing raid on Brest. He calculated they would cross land almost directly over Salcombe, then follow the Kingsbridge Estuary directly north.
 The pilot, Harry Machin, boomed over the radio and jolted William away from his charts. ‘Lads, we’ve passed over the coastline. Give it another five minutes before you bailout, so you don’t get blown back out to sea. Top effort, chaps. Great work bringing her home. See you all on the ground. Over.’
 William let out a large sigh, dropped his head, crossed himself twice, then went back to his charts.
 ‘Stay on task, young man. Plot the course so I can tell the lads where we are when we jump,’ yelled Bolshaw.
 William estimated they should pass four miles west of Totnes, on a heading north towards Ashburton. Exeter to the northeast and Plymouth to the southwest are the biggest towns, with