Attack Alarm

Chapter Four

I think I was very near to tears as I came out of the office. The sense of frustration was strong in me. I felt lonely and dispirited. I was cut off from the outside world. I felt like a prisoner who wants to tell the world he didn’t do it, but can’t. Thorby was a prison and the barbed-wire bars had closed with a vengeance.

Seated on a bench outside the office building were Fuller and Mason. They fell silent as I emerged. I did not speak to them. I felt so remote from them, as they sat there enjoying the pleasant warmth of the gathering dusk, that I could think of nothing to say. I wandered slowly up the road and across the asphalt in front of the hangars. The peace of a late August evening had settled on the place. The revving of engines, symbol of war in a fighter station, was no longer to be heard. All was still. Faintly came the strains of a waltz from the officer’s mess.

It was quiet. Too quiet. To me it seemed like the lull before the storm. Tomorrow was Thursday. And Friday was the fateful day. If the proposed raid was to prepare the way for an air landing on the ‘drome, any time after Friday might be zero hour. I was in a wretched position. Technically I had done all I could. Yet how could I leave the matter where it stood? Vayle had been a lecturer at a Berlin university. Winton might know him to be sound and my suspicions might be entirely unfounded. Yet the fact that he had been in Berlin at the time the Nazis came into power only served to increase my suspicions. British he might be, but there were Britons who believed in National Socialism. And there was certainly nothing about him to suggest the Jew.

As I approached our site I knew that somehow I had to go through with it. I had to find out whether or not I was right. But how — how? Easy to make the decision, but what was there I could do, confined to my gun site with all my communications with the outside world censored? And anyhow, wasn’t it far more likely that Winton was right? The headquarters’ staff, as he had said, was far better able to judge the reliability of the pilot’s story than I was. And as regards Vayle, Winton had known him intimately for several years, whereas I knew no more of the man than I had been told. It seemed absurd to proceed, when there was so little cause.

When I went into the hut, I found most of the other members of our detachment had already returned and were making their beds. It was nearly nine. I felt nervous. I thought everyone must know what had happened and would be watching me to see how I took it. I went straight over to my bed and began to make it. Kan looked across at me. ‘Well, what did the Little Man want?’ he asked.

‘Oh, nothing,‘I said.

He didn’t pursue the matter. At nine we went out to the pit and relieved the others. Fuller hadn’t yet turned up. There was only Kan, Chetwood, Micky and myself. ‘Where’s Langdon?’ I asked. It was unlike him to be late for stand-to.

‘He had to go down to the orderly room,’ Kan told me.

I was silent, gazing out across the ‘drome. The sky was very beautiful in the west — and very clear. Soon the nightly procession would start.

‘Got any fags to sell?’ Micky demanded of the gun pit at large.

There was a shout of laughter. ‘Not again,’ said Chetwood despairingly. ‘Why don’t you buy some once in a while?’

‘Once in a while! I like that. I bought ten only this morning.’

‘Then you’re smoking too much.’

‘You’re right there, mate. Do you know how many I smoke a day? Twenty!’

‘Good God!’ said Kan. That means we’re supplying you with seventy a week. Why don’t you buy yourself twenty at a time instead of only ten!’

‘I smoke ‘em too quick, that’s why.’

‘You mean, you don’t smoke enough of ours.’

‘Well, as long as you’re mugs enough.’ He grinned in his sudden mood of frankness. ‘I tell you, I wouldn’t starve — not as long as there was a sap left in the world.’

‘All right, we’re saps, are we? We’ll remember that, Micky.’

‘Well, give us a fag anyway. I ain’t got one — straight I ain’t — an’ I’m just dying for a smoke.’

His request was met by silence. ‘That wasn’t very well received, was it, Micky?’ Chetwood laughed.

‘All right, mate.’ He produced an old fag end. ‘Give us alight, someone.’

‘Oh, my God, no matches either!’

‘Would you like me to smoke it for you?’ This was Fuller, who had just arrived in the pit. He tossed Micky a box of matches.

At that moment the sirens began to wail. Micky paused on the point of lighting his cigarette and glanced up at the sky. ‘The bastards!’ he said.

‘You want to mind that light.’ It was John Langdon, who had just come up on his bike.

‘Well, be reasonable, John, it ain’t dark yet.’

‘All right, Micky, I was only kidding you.’ He propped his bike up against the parapet and vaulted into the pit. He produced two bottles of beer from beneath his battle blouse. He tossed one to Micky and the other to Chetwood.

‘I thought you went to the orderly room,’ said Kan.

‘I did,’ he replied. ‘But I stopped off at the Naafi on the way back.’

I was conscious that he glanced in my direction as he spoke. He went over to the gun and looked at the safety lever. The other four settled down on the bench, drinking from the bottles. The first ‘plane went over high, faintly throbbing. The searchlights wavered uncertainly.

Langdon came over to where I stood leaning against the sandbags. ‘You seem to have got yourself into a spot of trouble, Barry.’ He spoke quietly, so that the others should not hear. ‘You understand that you are confined to the site for the next four weeks, and that all letters and other communications must be handed in to me so that I can pass them on to Mr Ogilvie to be censored?’

I nodded.

‘I don’t want to pry into your affairs,’ he added, ‘but if you care to tell me about it, I’ll see what I can do to get the sentence mitigated. Ogilvie’s no fool. He knows the strain we’re living under.’

I hesitated. ‘It’s very nice of you,’ I said. ‘I may want to talk it over with you later, but at the moment — well — ‘ I stopped, uncertain how to explain.

‘All right.’ He patted my arm. ‘Any time you like. I know how you feel.’ I don’t know what he thought I’d done.

It was then I realised that the four on the bench were casting covert glances at me. They were leaning forward listening to Fuller, who was speaking softly. I heard the word ‘Friday’ and I guessed what they were talking about. I remembered that Fuller had been talking to Mason when I came out of the orderly room. Micky looked up and met my gaze. ‘Is that true, mate?’ he asked.

‘Is what true, Micky?’ I said.

‘Bill here says that that Jerry pilot told you this place was going to be wiped out on Friday.’

‘I didn’t say “wiped out”,’ put in Fuller.

‘You said a raid; didn’t you? What’s the difference?’ He turned to me again. ‘You can’t deny you was talking to the feller. I saw you wiv my own eyes. Chattin’ away in German you was like a couple of old cronies. Did ‘e really say we was for it on Friday?’

There was no point in pretending he hadn’t. I said, ‘Yes, that’s what he told me.’

‘Did ‘e say Friday?’

I nodded.

‘Cor blimey, mate, that’s practically tomorrow — an’ I was going to ‘ave a haircut on Saturday.’

‘Do you think he really knew anything? asked Kan.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It was probably just bravado. He wanted to frighten us.’

‘Well, he ain’t succeeded,’ put in Micky. ‘But, blimey — tomorrow! It makes ye think, don’t it? And we got to sit ‘ere and just wait for it. Wish I’d joined the ruddy infantry.’ His brows suddenly puckered. ‘Wot you confined to the site for?’ he asked.

The directness of the question rather disconcerted me. That was like Micky. One was always being faced with the problem of replying to remarks which other men would never think of making. I made no reply. There was an uncomfortable silence. Langdon broke it by asking about my conversation with the pilot. I told them what he had said. He made no comment. The others were silent too.

‘How come you speak German?’ Micky asked suddenly.

‘I worked in the Berlin office of my paper for some time,’ I explained.

He turned that information over in his mind for a moment. Then he muttered, ‘An’ you got yourself into trouble. Wasn’t anything to do with what you said to that Jerry, was it?’

I said, ‘No.’ Perhaps I denied it a little too quickly, for I sensed a sudden atmosphere of suspicion. I realised that I was not the only one who had been thinking over the fact that someone had attempted to get details of the ground defences of the aerodrome to the enemy. I sensed hostility. Jaded nerves did not make for clear thinking, and a newcomer is never easily absorbed into a community of men who have been working together for a long time. I felt the loneliness of my position acutely. If I was not careful I should be in difficulties with my own detachment as well as with the authorities,

‘Ever met the fellow before?’ It was Chetwood who asked the question.

Perhaps I read suspicion where none was intended. But as soon as I said, ‘Which fellow?’ I knew I had attempted to be too off-hand.

The Jerry pilot, of course.’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Why did he talk so freely?’ asked Chetwood. And Fuller said, ‘Are you sure he told you nothing else?’ I hesitated. I felt at bay. Kan, with his easy manner, would have turned the questions with a wisecrack. But I was more accustomed to writing than to conversation — it tends to make you slow in repartee. Micky followed up the other questions by asking, ‘Sure you told him nothing else?’

I felt bewildered. And then quite suddenly the conversation was turned from me by Kan saying, ‘Funny that Westley should have asked for special leave on Friday.’

‘What for?’ asked Micky.

‘Oh, it’s his uncle’s funeral or something.’

‘His uncle’s funeral!’ Micky snorted. ‘Just because his father’s an orderman in the City he gets given leave. If me muvver ‘ad died they wouldn’t give me leave. I tell you, that sort of thing wouldn’t happen in the real army.’

‘Well, has he been granted leave?’ asked Chetwood.

‘Yes, he’s got twelve hours.’

‘That should keep him out of danger on the fateful day. It does seem a bit clever, doesn’t it?’

‘I bet it was him that gave that information to the enemy.’

‘You shouldn’t make statements like that unless you know them to be true, Micky,’ Langdon cut in. His voice was patient but quite final.

‘Well, you must admit it’s a bit of a coincidence.’ said Chetwood.

‘Coincidences do happen,’ said Langdon. ‘If you want to discuss the matter, do it in front of him so that he can answer your charges.’

‘Oh, I wasn’t making no charge,’ muttered Micky. And then added defiantly, ‘A bloke’s got a right to ‘is suspicions, though, ain’t ‘e?’

I wondered where Vayle would be on Friday. And whilst my mind was occupied with this the conversation drifted to the arrival of the new squadron. They had come in that afternoon. They replaced 62A squadron, who had gone for a rest. Everyone had been sorry to see 62A go. They had put up a grand show. They had been a month at Thorby — and a month at a front-line fighter station at that time was a long while. In that month they had shot down more than seventy enemy ‘planes. But they had had a bad time, and if anyone deserved a rest, they did. The relieving squadron was 85B. Like its predecessor, it was equipped with Hurricanes. But we knew nothing about them. Langdon, however, who had been in the sergeants’ mess that evening, said that they had had a good deal of experience in France and had been taking a well-earned rest up in Scotland. ‘The squadron-leader is apparently one of our crack fighter pilots,’ said Langdon. ‘D.S.O. and bar and nineteen ‘planes to his credit. Crazy devil and always sings when he goes into a fight. Funny thing, his name is Nightingale.’

It was an unusual name and took me straight back to my schooldays. ‘Do you know his Christian name?’ I asked.

‘No. Why? Do you know him?’

‘I don’t know. We had a John Nightingale at school. He was crazy enough. His most spectacular feat was to put two — pieces of crockery, I think they were called — on top of the Naafi marquee at Tidworth Pennings on his last camp. I just wondered whether it was the same fellow. It’s rather an uncommon name, and he took one of those short-term commissions in the R.A.F. when he left school.’

‘What sort of a show did the squadron put up in France, do you know?’ asked Kan.

‘Pretty good, I gather,’ replied Langdon. ‘Anyway, they have a high opinion of themselves.’

‘Well, I hope they’re not over-estimating themselves — for their sakes as well as our own,’ said Chetwood. ‘I heard of a relieving squadron over at Mitchet who thought they were pretty good. They had come down from Scotland too. But they hadn’t any experience of dog-fighting their way through big formations. They acted mighty big in the mess their first night. And the next morning they went up and flew straight into a hundred and fifty Messerschmitts over Folkestone. They lost nearly half the squadron without bringing down a single Jerry. I don’t think they did much crowing after that.’

Micky held a bottle of beer out to me. I don’t think he was consciously trying to be friendly. It was just that his mood of suspicion had passed. The rest of stand-to passed pleasantly. Few ‘planes came over. We were relieved at ten and went straight to bed. It was already clouding over.

I was woken up to be told that the ‘All Clear’ had gone about a quarter of an hour ago. The hut was full of the soft stir of men breathing. It was five to one. I was the first guard of our detachment. I scrambled into my clothes and went out to the pit. It was still cloudy, but the moon had risen and the night was full of an opaque light.

‘Anything interesting happened?’ I asked Helson, who had been left on guard by the other detachment.

‘Nothing while the alarm was on,’ he replied. “They were coming over in an endless stream and several flares were dropped away to the north. Can’t think why they suddenly dried up. Harrison told me something rather exciting, though. He’s just come off Gun Ops. The squadron leader of 85B has taken a Hurricane up to intercept. Apparently he got annoyed at hearing them coming over without any attempt being made to stop them, so he asked the C.O. if he could take a ‘plane up. But the C.O. wouldn’t allow the flare-path to be put on for him. So he said that wouldn’t stop him, all he wanted was one landing light at the far end of the runway. But even this wasn’t allowed, so he said lights or no lights, he was going up. He went out from the dispersal point here. We saw him take off and wondered what he was up to. It was a crazy thing to do. It was as black as pitch at the time. But he got up all right.’

‘Did you see him at all?’ I asked.

‘No, I tell you, it was like pitch. There was a bit of a mist over the field. Well, that’s all the news. Enjoy your guard.’

He handed me the rifle and torch and left me to my thoughts. They were pretty chaotic, for I was dopey with sleep. My guard passed slowly, as it always does when you are sleepy, but daren’t go to sleep. It seemed unnaturally quiet. Occasionally I heard the movements of one of the guards patrolling the barbed-wire on the slope below our hut. Otherwise there was not a sound.

It was twenty to two — I had just looked at my watch — when I heard the sound of a ‘plane. It grew rapidly louder. It was very low and travelling fast. The ‘phone bell rang. I picked up the receiver. My heart was in my mouth. I expected a plot and I knew it would be on top of us before I could get the gun manned. Leisurely, Gun Ops. went the round of the sites. Then the voice at the other end said, ‘One Hurricane coming in to land.’ At the same moment the flare-path went on, a blinding swathe of light along the runway facing into the wind.

Then the plane appeared through the cloud with its navigation lights on. It came diving down at high speed straight for the gun. At not more than two hundred feet it flattened out. It passed right over my head and banked slightly on to the flare-path. The sound of it passing through the air rose to a scream. I could see the flame of the exhausts each side of the nose. And then it was lit up by the light of the flare-path and it began to roll over. It seemed very leisurely and easy. The ‘plane went right over in a superb victory roll, scarcely losing any height. It was a mad, lovely piece of flying. For an instant it shone silver as it rolled and then the night beyond the flare-path had swallowed it.

I could have shouted for sheer joy at that superbly executed symbol of victory. It lightened my spirits. I took it as an omen. It was one of the very first occasions on which one of our ‘planes had shot down a Jerry at night. I picked the ‘plane up again circling leisurely to the south of the ‘drome. It passed behind me and came in beyond the flare-path, two pin-points of light, one red, one green. Then suddenly there it was gliding along the flare-path, its brakes squealing as it slowed up. At the end of the runway it turned and taxied back across the field to the dispersal point a hundred yards to the north of our site.

A few minutes later I saw the pilot walking slowly along the road. I got the glasses out and watched him. He still had his flying suit on and I could not see his face. But I would have recognised that lithe yet curiously shambling gait anywhere. It was John Nightingale — no doubt about it. He was walking on the same side of the road as our pit and would pass within a few yards of me. It was strange to see him alone after having accomplished something so big. I felt that the least the C.O. could have done would be to come out and meet him in his car.

As he came abreast of me I said, ‘Squadron-Leader Nightingale?’

‘Yes.’ He stopped.

I saluted. ‘It’s John Nightingale, isn’t it?’ I asked.

‘That’s right. Who’s that?’

‘Barry Hanson.’

‘Barry Hanson?’ he repeated. Then, ‘Good God! Barry Hanson — of course.’ And he came over to the parapet and shook me by the hand. ‘What strange places one does meet people now.’ He grinned.

I could see his face in the diffused light of the moon. I should never have recognised him by his face, it was so changed. When I had last seen him he had been a fresh-complexioned lad of eighteen. Now his face was tanned and leathery, there were little lines at the corner of his eyes and he wore a small moustache along the edge of his upper lip. There was a white scar across his chin and the left cheek was disfigured by a burn. But his smile was the same. He smiled with his eyes as well as with his lips, and there was the old flash of gaiety and recklessness in it.

He vaulted to a seat on the parapet. ‘So you’re a gunner now? What were you doing before the war?’ I told him.

‘Well, well — so you didn’t like the insurance business. That was where you went from school, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘but it was too dead for me.’ And I told him how I’d cut out on my own. Then I asked him about himself. He had done his five years and then been accepted for permanent service. He had been promoted to squadron-leader shortly after war broke out, and had led his squadron in France.

‘What about your escapade tonight?’ I asked. ‘That crazy roll you did when you came in meant, I suppose, that you’d shot one down?’

‘Yes,’ he said with a careless laugh. ‘I was lucky. There’s only a thin layer of cloud at about two thousand. Above that it’s bright moonlight. I went up to twenty thousand, which is the height at which they were coming over. I figured that, as they were using a definite route, if I hung about right over the ‘drome I’d be sure to see one of them sooner or later. I hadn’t been up more than fifteen minutes when a Heinkel blundered right into me. I very nearly crashed it. I twisted on to his tail. I simply couldn’t miss him. He was like a great silver bird in the moonlight. Absolute sitter. After getting him, I hung about for a further half-hour in the hope of picking up another, but I had no luck, and in the end I had to come down. I gather they had stopped coming over.’

Then he went on to talk of old school friends that he had met. He was full of news of those who had joined the Services. And as we talked I was turning over in my mind whether to take him into my confidence and tell him of my suspicions about Vayle. It seemed such a heavensent opportunity. R.A.F. officers were given plenty of freedom. He probably had a car. He would have plenty of chances to ‘phone a wire from some exchange at a reasonable distance. He might even be going up to Town the next day, in which case he could ‘phone Bill Trent direct. And yet I was chary of getting myself into further trouble. Not that he was the sort of fellow to report anything I told him — but I did not know how discreet he would be.

At length he said, ‘Well, I must be getting along, I suppose, or they’ll be sending out a search party.’

I looked at my watch. It was just on two.

‘You’ve passed my guard nice and quickly for me,’ I said.

‘Good.’ He got down from the parapet. ‘Look, you must come and dine with me somewhere soon and we’ll have a really good talk over old times.’

I laughed. ‘I should like to,’ I said regretfully. ‘But I’m afraid it’s not possible. We’re not allowed outside the camp, and at the moment I’m confined to my site.’

‘Oh, have you been getting into trouble, then?’

I hesitated. And then I told him the whole thing — or rather, not quite all. I didn’t mention the plan for immobilising fighter stations. I didn’t want to run the risk of being thought too credulous again. But I told him about the pilot’s story of a raid on Friday and how the man had shut up like a clam as soon as he saw Vayle. I told him what I had learnt about the librarian and the attitude Winton had taken when it was discovered I had been wiring a colleague for information about Vayle. I explained, too, that a plan of the ground defences of the aerodrome had been found on a Nazi agent.

‘Yes, I heard about that,’ he said. ‘It’s rather extraordinary, because it was more than just a plan. It gave the approximate number of rounds on each gun site, and a complete plan of the wiring of Ops., Gun Ops. and the runway lights. The plan was made out by someone who had access to a great variety of information that is not usually available.’

‘That points to someone in authority,’ I said. ‘Vayle could get details like that. But I’ve got nothing on Vayle — nothing definite at all. It’s just that I’m suspicious, and I shan’t be satisfied till I know for certain whether my suspicions are justified or not.

“Is this fellow short with a rather fine head and iron-grey hair?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Long, almost sardonic features.’

That’s right. I met him tonight at the Spinning Wheel. It’s a sort of farmhouse turned night club up on the other side of the valley. He was there with a Waaf.’

‘Did he talk to anyone?’

‘Oh, he said cheerio to a number of pilots. The place practically lives on flying officers. Yes, he did have a chat with two fellows from Mitchet. But most of the evening he spent with this girl Elaine.’

‘Elaine?’ I was interested. I remembered what Kan had said. Promiscuity might be very useful to an agent.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘Can you get a message through to a fellow called Bill Trent on the Globe?’

‘Well, you know the ‘phones are very difficult and I believe there’s great delay on telegrams.’ He hesitated, and then he said: ‘But I might run up to Town tomorrow evening. I could ‘phone him then, if that’s any use to you. Mind you, I can’t promise. But I should be free. Anyway, I’ll do what I can. What do you want me to tell him?’

‘Just ask him to get all the information he can about Vayle. Tell him it may be of vital importance. You needn’t worry about him being indiscreet.’

‘O.K. I’ll do it if I can. What’s his home number?’ I told him. ‘Right. Well, I’ll be seeing you.’ He raised his hand in salute and strode off towards the officer’s mess. I went across to the hut and called Chetwood, who was my relief guard. It was two-fifteen. In a few minutes he came out and took over. I was so concerned about the steps I had taken to contact Bill Trent that I forgot to tell him anything about John Nightingale’s escapade. The atmosphere in the hut smelt stale behind the blackout curtains after the fresh night air. But I was too sleepy to worry about it as I tumbled into bed.

I woke to the clatter of workmen as they entered the hut just after seven-thirty. There were two of them. They had come to put in some panes of glass that had been broken when the hut was built. Strange and incredible are the ways of Government workmen. The hut had been erected about a month ago, and as soon as the roof was on the workmen had disappeared, though panes were missing from the windows, no interior boarding or decoration had been done, and the promised electric light had not been installed. And because the tents, though camouflaged, had been thought too conspicuous from the air, these had been struck and the whole gun team had had to move into the bare and half-completed hut.

Now, out of the blue, these two workmen came clumping in without any consideration for the fact that the occupants were trying to sleep. They were met by a liberal dose of invective. This had no effect on the elder of the two, a hatchet-faced man with a white, leathery skin. But his mate, who was little more than a boy, had the grace to say, ‘Sorry to disturb you lads.’

I was slow to arrive at full consciousness. But suddenly I realised it was Thursday. I shall always remember that Thursday. Until then I don’t think I had realised quite what I was up against. Subconsciously it had been something of a game, a diversion from the monotony of constant raids. But on that Thursday I discovered how far removed I was from a David in search of a Goliath, and by that evening I was almost sick in the face of a fear that came at me from every quarter.

It began rather better than most other days since I had been on the site. No alarm disturbed our breakfast. In fact, there was no alarm until just after eleven, and then it was only half a dozen hostile and did not last long For once we were able to get washed and shaved in comfort. But inevitably there was no ease in the lull. A lull had become unusual. And jaded nerves were suspicious of the unusual. Everyone seemed strangely reluctant to, enjoy the blessed comfort of not having to take post. It meant something worse to come — that’s the way they looked at it. There was no false optimism. We listened eagerly every night for the ever-mounting number of German ‘planes shot down. But though the proportion of British to German losses exceeded all expectations, we knew only too well what it was costing us in worn-out pilots and unserviceable machines.

It was not long before somebody mentioned my talk with the Jerry pilot, and instantly everyone saw in this lull the preparation for a raid on Thorby. That, of course, was ridiculous. They would not hold off for one day just to prepare for a raid on a single aerodrome. But the fact that they were holding off looked ominous. A big attack against a number of fighter stations might be followed almost immediately by an actual landing, since it seemed reasonable that they would strike while conditions in the aerodromes were chaotic. In a moment I was the centre of tense speculation. Questions were hurled at me right and left, and I was again conscious of that undercurrent of suspicion. I was the rooky who knew more than they did. That in itself inspired a subconscious hostility in most of them. At the same time, balked by any certainty about the morrow, they felt that I must be holding something back.

‘Have you told Mr Ogilvie?’ asked Bombardier Hood.

‘Yes, he knows about it,’ I replied.

‘What’s ‘e going’ to do about it, eh?’ Micky’s face looked white and strained. Anticipation is so much harder to bear than reality.

‘Don’t be a fool, Micky — what can he do about it?’

‘Well, they could have an umbrella of fighters up.’ This from Chetwood.

‘Yeah, a squadron — that’s what they’d give us, mate. An’ wot the hell’s the good of a squadron. You saw them when they came over Mitchet. Bloody fousands of ‘em there was, wasn’t there, Kan? — bloody fousands.’

‘Well, we did see as many as thirty odd of our fighters in the air at once the other day.’

I said: ‘I was assured that every precaution possible was being taken.’

‘Oh, you was assured, was you, mate? You’ve got a bloody nerve, you ‘ave. Who started all this? — you just tell me that. An’ you say you been assured it’s all O.K. Well, I’m scared, mate, I don’t mind telling you. Give me a baynet. Cold steel, that’s wot I like. But this waiting to be bombed! It ain’t war — not by rights it ain’t. I oughta have bin in the infantry. I would’ve too, only — ‘

‘Only the Buffs were full up,’ said Chetwood. ‘If you don’t like ack-ack, apply for a transfer — otherwise shut up.’

‘You don’t speak to me like that, mate,’ Micky grumbled on to himself, but he didn’t do anything about it.

‘Well, thank God we have some defence here,’ said Helson, ‘even if it is only the much-despised three-inch. I shouldn’t like to have to sit around at a place like Mitchet with nothing but Lewis guns, waiting for an attack.’

The conversation became general again, but every now and then a question was hurled at me. And always it was the same question put in a different way — hadn’t the pilot told me anything else? I felt helpless. There was nothing I could say that would satisfy their need of more information about what might be expected next day. God knows, I was anxious enough about it myself. But, perhaps because my mind was occupied with troubles of my own that centred around something that I felt was so much vaster than a raid on the aerodrome, it did not seem so very important.

I was saved at last from further questions by the air sentry, who opened the door to say that there was a Waaf outside asking for me. I went out to find Marion standing by the pit. It did me good to see her smile as I came up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I hear you’ve got into trouble ever that wire.’ Her grey eyes met mine and there seemed a bond of sympathy in the glance.

‘It’s I who should be sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got you into trouble. A pity it was all for nothing.’

‘Oh, but it wasn’t. You see, when the postmistress had read through the wire, she gave me one of those searching looks and asked me the rank of the sender. I had to hedge then. I knew she’d smelt a rat, and though she said she’d send it off, I had my doubts. Then as I was wandering down the street, I met a pilot officer I know. He gave me a lift back to the ‘drome. He was just going up to Town, so I asked him to ‘phone the message through to your friend. I don’t think he’d let me down.’

That’s marvellous,’ I said. I did not tell her I had got John Nightingale to do the same. It was all to the good. If Bill got both messages he would realise the urgency.

‘Do you know anything more?’ she asked.

I told her ‘No.’ But I hesitated. There might be something in it. ‘Is Elaine a particular friend of yours?’ I asked.

‘I haven’t been here long enough to have acquired any particular friends. I don’t make friends as easily as that.’ She smiled. ‘But she’s fun and we have quite a lot in common. Why?’

‘She was dining with Vayle at a sort of country club known as the Spinning Wheel last night.’

She nodded. ‘I know the place.’

‘I wondered, if she were a particular friend of Vayle’s, perhaps you could find out something from her.’

‘Yes, but what?’

I shrugged my shoulders. What did I want her to find out? ‘I don’t know. Anything you can that might help. Oh, yes, one thing — whether Vayle is going to be here tomorrow or not.’

‘I’ll do what I can.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I must be running along. I have my chores to do.’

‘Fatigues?’ I asked.

‘Yes. But it’s not much really — just ironing.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s wretched to be landed for a thing like that by doing something for someone else.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ She laid her hand on my arm. ‘It was rather fun. Anyway, I ought to have been more careful.’ She hesitated, and there was one of those awkward pauses. I thought she was going. But instead she suddenly said: ‘You know, if there really is something in your idea, then I don’t think your friend will be able to find out much for you. An important agent has his tracks covered up much too well.’

‘Yes, but what else do you suggest?’

‘I don’t think you’ll discover much outside this aerodrome. If there is anything, it’s here.’

I pondered this for a moment. But though I started to try and reason it out, I knew instinctively that she was right. If this were one of the ‘dromes to be attacked then the whole plan was here to be unravelled on the spot. And suddenly I had an idea. It was not a brilliant one. But it did constitute some sort of action — and it was action I needed. ‘Can you find out whether Vayle is going to be in this evening?’ I asked. And then I stopped. ‘No. That’s asking too much. You’re involved enough as it is.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘I’m as interested as you are. But what did you think of doing?’

‘I understand he lives over the Educational Institute. That’s right, isn’t it?’ And when she nodded, I said: ‘I was thinking I might have a look through his rooms. I mean, it seems the only thing to do. Probably I shouldn’t find anything, but — ‘ My voice trailed off. It seemed such a hopeless thing to do.

‘That’s rather dangerous, isn’t it?’

I was pleased at her concern. ‘Can you suggest anything else?’ I asked. ‘I’ve got to do something positive. I can’t just sit around waiting for something to turn up. It’s just a chance and I can’t think of anything else.’

‘He obviously wouldn’t leave anything incriminating about.’

‘No, but there might just possibly be something there that would make sense to me.’

‘I shudder to think what would happen if you were caught. You’d be charged with stealing, you know.’

I shrugged my shoulders. ‘What’s it matter?’ I said. ‘Tomorrow a bomb may land on this pit and blow us into little bits. Anyway, I hear there’s a waiting list for the Glasshouse.’ I was very conscious of the fact that she hadn’t vetoed it as useless. ‘If you can find out his movements, I think I’ll have a shot at it,’ I said.

She seemed on the point of raising some objection. But all she said was: ‘I’ll do my best. I’m on duly at eight. If I find that he’s going to be out, I’ll stroll up as far as your pit before going into Ops. If I can’t find out anything, or if I find he may be in, I won’t come. It might be thought rather odd if we were seen talking to each other twice in one day.’

‘Good idea,’ I said. ‘I’ll be watching for you. It’s sweet of you to do all this.’

She smiled. ‘Good luck!’ she said. ‘And don’t forget to let me know what happens.’

I stayed a moment watching her slim figure walking down the roadway. She didn’t look back, and I turned and went into the hut with a queer feeling of having burned my boats. I found myself hoping that she wouldn’t discover that Vayle was going to be out that night. Otherwise I was committed to an escapade that might seriously affect my life for the next few months.

The hut was seething with argument about food. John Langdon had come back from the orderly room with the news that as from lunch that day the three-inch teams would feed on their sites, the food being brought out in hay-boxes by the troop van. Most people seemed against the new arrangement. Partly it was the usual conservatism. Partly it was the prospect of being confined even more than before to the site. This was my own objection. But then my case was peculiar. It meant that I could only get away from the site to wash. Normally, however, I should have welcomed it, as I hated the queuing for food and the hurried, crowded eating that was inevitable in the over-full mess.

‘Soon we’ll be confined entirely to the site like Hanson here,’ said Chetwood.

‘With a well-meaning old dear coming round with a canteen twice a week to dispense tea.’

‘But do you mean to say, John, that we’ve just got to hang around here until the van comes along with the food?’ said Kan. ‘It’s absolutely fantastic. It’s bad enough in the mess. But getting the stuff half cold will make it quite impossible. I shall just go down to the mess as before. I mean, it’s frightful being stuck up here for meals as well.’

‘No, you can’t do that,’ said Langdon. ‘It’s a good idea really. It means we can all get food without leaving the site only half manned.’

So the argument went back and forth. It was so delightfully mundane, by comparison with my own thoughts, that I enjoyed it. And when the lunch actually did arrive, everyone found it much better than they expected. It came with a table and benches and masses of plates. What is more, it was hot.

Pleasantly full, I lay back on my bed to smoke a cigarette. For the moment I felt at peace with the world — tired and relaxed. God! how quickly that fleeting mood was shattered.

I had barely finished my cigarette when Mason came in. He fluttered some papers in his hands. ‘New aerodrome passes for old,’ he said.

They were the new passes issued to make it more difficult for unauthorised persons to gain entrance to the ‘drome. Our old ones had to be handed in in exchange. I took my Army pay-book out of my battle dress, which was lying on top of my suitcase beside my bed. From a pocket at the back I drew out my old pass. As I did so another folded slip of paper fell to the ground. I bent down from the bed and picked it up. Curious to know what it was, since I could not remember having put it there, I opened it.

When I saw what it was a cold shock of horror ran through me. Had it been my death warrant I could not have felt more frightened. I stared at it, stupefied. It was strange. That single sheet of paper with the two clear-cut creases where it had been folded was so completely damning.