Air Bridge

CHAPTER EIGHT

The next quarter of an hour was a nightmare. I started by trying to convince the Intelligence Officer that the Russian report was nonsense. It was a mistake. He believed the information the Russians had given him. What’s more, the lieutenant who had driven me to Gatow had reported to him after dropping me at the Malcolm Club. He knew that I’d held a German orderly up with a revolver. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying — or what you’re doing, Fraser,’ he said. His voice was cold and practical. ‘Better come up to my office and then I’ll take you along to the sick bay.’

I thought of the little patrol of Red Army men in the woods near Hollmind. They knew damn well the plane hadn’t dived into the ground. ‘Can I see this report?’ I asked him.

‘It’s up at my office now.’

‘Does the report give any details?’

‘Oh, yes. It’s quite detailed. No question about it being your plane. They’ve even got the number

Two-five-two.’ He turned to the medical orderly who had returned. ‘Take Mrs Carter back to her quarters.’

‘Wait,’ I said. If I couldn’t convince him, at least I might be able to convince Diana. I pulled myself out of my seat and went over to her, catching hold of her shoulders and shaking her in my desperate urge to get her to concentrate on what I had to tell her. ‘You’ve got to listen to me, Diana.’ She lifted her head and stared at me through tear-dimmed eyes. ‘I was with Tubby yesterday. He is alive.’

The desire to believe me was there in her face. Hope showed for an instant in her eyes, but then it died and she clenched her teeth. ‘Take him away from me, please,’ she said in a whisper.

The I.O. pulled my hand away from her shoulder. ‘The Russians wouldn’t say he was dead if he wasn’t.’ He pushed me gently back into the chair. ‘Just take it › easy. You’re a bit upset — but it’s no good raising Mrs Carter’s hopes. Carter’s dead. No question of that. Now all I want from you-’

‘He’s not dead,’ I cut in angrily. ‘He’s badly injured, but he’s alive. He’s at a farm-’

‘Stop it, Neil!’ Diana screamed at me. ‘For God’s sake stop it! Why do you keep saying he’s alive when you know he’s dead? If it hadn’t been for me,’ she added in a lifeless tone, ‘he’d never have taken the job. He’d still have been with Saeton. Bill wouldn’t have crashed him. He’d have been all right with Bill. Oh, God!’

She was beside herself and I sat there staring at the misery which made her face look wild and wondering how the devil I could convince her that her husband was alive. I turned to the I.O. ‘I want to see the station commander,’ I said. ‘I want a plane put at my disposal tonight. Do you think he’d do that?’

‘What do you want a plane for?’ His tone was the sort you use to placate an excited child and I saw him exchange a quick glance with the medical orderly.

‘I want to fly to Hollmind Airfield,’ I answered quickly. ‘If I can land at Hollmind I can get Carter out.’

‘Is that ambulance still here?’ he asked the medical orderly.

‘Yes, sir. Mr Fraser told me to send it away, but I thought I’d better-’ He stared at me without finishing the sentence.

‘Good! Come along, Fraser. You need a good, hot drink, warmth and a bed. We’ll soon have you fixed up.’ His hand was on my arm, gently but firmly raising me from my seat.

I flung him off. ‘Can’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you? Tubby Carter is alive. He didn’t die in any crash.’ It was on the tip of my tongue to say there hadn’t been any crash, but I knew he wouldn’t believe that, not unless I told him the whole story and I wasn’t going to do that until I had seen Saeton. ‘He’s at a farm, being cared for by the local doctor. He’s got a broken arm, several broken ribs and a pierced lung and he needs treatment.’

‘Now, be reasonable, Fraser.’ The I.O.‘s hand was back on my arm. ‘We all understand how you feel. But it’s no good pretending he’s alive just because you’re worried that you jumped when he was still in the plane. We’ll get all that sorted out later. Now come on up to the sick bay.’

So they were going to pin that on me! I felt the blood rush, hammering, to my head. Damn them! At least that wasn’t the truth. I’d gone back for him, hadn’t I? I felt a sense of utter frustration taking hold of me.

And then Diana’s hand was on my arm. ‘Why do you keep on talking about a farm?’ she asked. The desire to believe me was back in her face.

I told her about the Kleffmanns then and about their son Hans. Tubby is lying in Hans’s old room,’ I said. I half-closed my eyes, forcing into my mind the picture of that room. ‘The wallpaper has butterflies on it and it’s littered with faded photographs of Hans. The bedstead is of iron and brass and the single dormer window looks out on to the roof of a barn.’ I seized hold of her shoulder again. ‘You’ve got to believe me, Diana. You’ve got to help me persuade Saeton to fly in to Hollmind tonight. Please — please, for God’s sake believe what I’m trying to tell you.’

She stared at me and then she nodded slowly, half-dazed. ‘I must believe you,’ she said half to herself. Her eyes searched my face. ‘You do know what you’re saying, don’t you? You aren’t lying — just to protect yourself?’

‘To protect myself?’

‘Yes — so that we’d think you didn’t leave him to-’ She stopped and bit hold of her lip. ‘No. I can’t believe you’d do that. I guess you mean what you say.’ She looked up quickly at the I.O. ‘Leave us a minute. Do you mind? I’d like to talk to him.’

The I.O. hesitated and then turned away to the coffee counter.

‘How did you know Bill was here?’ She was leaning forward and the unexpectedness of her question nearly caught me off my guard. I was feeling wretchedly tired. The warmth of the stove was making me sleepy. I pushed my hand over my face. ‘One of the air crews, a fellow from Wunstorf, told me,’ I answered. I shook myself, trying to keep my mind clear. I mustn’t tell her what really happened. If I did that Saeton wouldn’t help me. ‘Can you find out when he’ll be in?’ I asked her. ‘I’ve got to speak to him. Once I get up there in the terminal building they’ll start questioning me and then they’ll push me off to hospital or something. Saeton must take me to Hollmind. Tubby’s got to be flown out tonight.’

‘Why are you so set on Bill going?’ she asked. ‘He was a friend of Tubby’s,’ I said. ‘It was Tubby who got those engines made for him, wasn’t it? Damn it, he owes Tubby that.’

‘There’s no other reason?’ She hesitated, staring at me hard. ‘You say you jumped, leaving Tubby in the plane?’

Again the quickness of her question almost caught me off my guard. ‘I said nothing of the sort. Don’t try and pin anything like that on to me,’ I added angrily.

‘Then why was he hurt and not you?’

‘Because-’ I dropped my head into my hand, pressing at the corners of my eyes with finger and thumb, trying to loosen the band of strain that was tightening across my forehead. ‘I don’t know,’ I said wearily. ‘For God’s sake stop asking me questions. All I want you to do is to get Saeton for me.’

Diana caught hold of the lapels of my German greatcoat. ‘You’re lying!’ Her voice hissed between her clamped teeth. ‘You’re lying, Neil. I know you are. You’re hiding something. What is it? You must tell me what it is.’ She was shaking me violently. ‘What happened? What really happened?’

‘Leave me alone, can’t you?’ I whispered. If only she’d leave me alone, let me think. ‘Get Saeton,’ I added. ‘I want to talk to Saeton.’

‘Something happened that night. Didn’t it? Something happened. Neil — what was it? Please tell me what it was.’ She was kneeling beside me now and her voice had risen hysterically. I could feel the sudden silence in the room, feel them staring at me — the regular air crew boys, men who knew nothing about my story, who would be judging me in the light of Diana clinging to my greatcoat and crying out, ‘What happened? What happened that night?’ ‘Wait till Saeton comes,’ I said wearily.

‘What’s Bill got to do with it? Was he the cause of it?’ she looked wildly” round and then swung fiercely back on me. ‘Will you talk if Bill is here? Will you tell me that really happened then?’

‘Yes, if you’ll get him to fly out to Hollmind tonight. He can land at the airfield and then we’ll get Tubby out. Tubby will be all right then.’

‘Hollmind is a disused aerodrome. I checked that yesterday when I got the news. Are you sure he’ll be able to land there?’

‘He’s done it once.’

‘What do you mean?’

I pressed my head into my hand. ‘Nothing,’ I said. If I didn’t get some sleep soon I’d be saying the first thing that came into my mind. ‘I didn’t mean anything,’ I murmured. ‘I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m very tired, Diana. Get Saeton for me, will you; and stop asking me questions.’

She hesitated as though on the brink of another question. But all she said was, ‘Bill isn’t here yet.’

The I.O. was back at my side now. ‘You want Saeton? He’ll be here any minute now. The first Tudor has just come in. You worked with him on these engines of his, I understand?’

‘Yes,’ I didn’t want to talk any more. The idea that the authorities wouldn’t help me was firmly fixed in my mind. Saeton was the only man who could help me. I sat there, stupid with the warmth of the stove and the fatigue of my body, feeling the blood drying in a crust on my temple, watching the door. Air crews moved in and out and as they passed they stared at us silently as though we were some queer tableau entirely divorced from the solid, everyday routine of flying in and out of Berlin.

Then at last the door was pushed open and Saeton came striding in followed by his crew. He was almost past us before he saw me. He checked, rocking back on his heels as though for an instant he had been caught off balance. Then his features set themselves into a smile of welcome. ‘Hallo, Neil!’ He reached down and grasped my shoulder. ‘Glad you’re safe.’ But I noticed that his eyes didn’t light up with his face. They were hard as slate and withdrawn as though wrestling with the problem of my presence. He had a silk sweat rag knotted round his throat and his flying suit was unzipped, making him appear more solid than ever. ‘Well, what happened? How did you get out?’

‘I hitched a ride and walked the rest,’ I said.

There was an awkward silence. He seemed to want to put a question, but his eyes slid to the others and he remained silent. I knew suddenly that he was nervous. I hadn’t thought of him as a man who could ever be nervous, but as he lit a cigarette his hands were trembling. ‘You’ve heard the news, have you? About the engines, I mean. They’re proving even better than we expected — twenty per cent increase in power and a forty-five per cent reduction in fuel consumption. They’re going to be-’

‘Tubby is alive,’ I said.

‘Alive?’ The echo of my statement was jerked out of him as though I’d hit him below the belt. Then he recovered himself. ‘Are you sure? You’re not-’ He stopped, conscious of the silence of the others watching him. ‘Where is he?’

‘In a farmhouse near Hollmind Airfield.’

‘I see.’ He took a long pull at his cigarette. The news had jolted him and I could see he didn’t know what to do about it. He glanced at Diana and then at the I.O. who drew him on one side. I saw the man’s lips frame the words ‘Russian report’ and I could almost have laughed at the thought of an R.A.F. Intelligence Officer giving Saeton the details of what had happened to that plane when all the time it was sitting out there on the FASO apron unloading fuel.

At length Saeton said, ‘All right. I’ll see if I can get some sense out of him. Mind if I talk to him alone?’

The I.O. agreed and led Diana away. Saeton came and stood over me. He was smiling. ‘For some reason the Russians have been very helpful,’ he said. He was quite sure of himself again now. ‘You’ve heard about this report, have you? They say they found the remains of one of the crew.’ I made no comment. His head was in silhouette against the light. It hung over me as it had done that first night at Membury. And he was smiling. ‘Well, how did you find him?’ I told him about the search and when I had finished he said, ‘So he’s injured. Badly?’

‘Broken arm and ribs and a pierced lung,’ I said. ‘We’ve got to get him out. He needs hospital treatment.’

‘And if he doesn’t get it?’

‘I don’t know,’ I answered. ‘There’s a German doctor looking after him. But Tubby is pretty bad. I think he might die.’

‘I see.’ He ran his thumb along the blue line of his jaw. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘I can’t do anything. That bloody little Intelligence Officer doesn’t believe me. I want you to tell them you believe what I’m saying — persuade them to give us a plane.’

‘Us?’ He gave a quick laugh.

‘Tubby won’t talk,’ I said quickly. ‘He promised me.’

‘I’m on the very edge of success,’ he said and I realised that he had room for nothing else in that queer, urgent mind of his.

‘Yes, I heard about that,’ I said. ‘Is it true officials are coming out from England?’

He nodded, his eyes lighting up. ‘Everything’s gone marvellously. First trip my flight engineer was staggered by the performance of the engines. Within twenty-four hours it was all over the mess at Wunstorf and R.A.F. engineers were flying the airlift with me, checking for themselves. Now the Ministry of Civil Aviation and the Ministry of Supply are sending their experts out, including a boffin from Farnborough. By this afternoon-’

‘What about Tubby?’ I said. ‘You can’t abandon him. You’ve got to get him out.’

‘You should have thought about him before you told me you were going to the authorities as soon as you got back here.’

‘I won’t talk,’ I said hastily. ‘Nor will Tubby.’

‘It’s too late to say that now.’ And then he added slowly, ‘As far as I’m concerned Tubby is dead.’

He said it without any emotion and I stared up at him, seeing the hard line of his jaw, the cold slatiness of his eyes, unable to believe even then that he meant what he said.

‘We’ve got to get him out,’ I insisted.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘You know damn’ well I can’t accept your story. It would be fatal.’

I didn’t believe him at first. ‘You can’t leave Tubby out there in the Russian Zone.’

‘I’ll do nothing to betray the belief of the authorities in this Russian report,’ was his reply.

The full horror of what he was saying dawned on me slowly. ‘You mean-’ The words choked in my throat.

‘I mean I’ll do nothing,’ he said.

All right. If he was as cold-blooded as that… ‘Do you remember how you blackmailed me into stealing that plane?’ I asked.

He nodded slowly, that cold smile back on his lips.

‘Well, I’m going to blackmail you now,’ I said. ‘Either you fly me into Hollmind tonight to pick up Tubby or I tell the I.O. here everything — how I pinched the plane, how I nearly killed Tubby, how you altered the numbers and we strewed the wreckage of our old Tudor through the Hollmind woods and how you set fire to the hangar at Membury so that there would be no trace.’

‘You think he’d believe you?’ There was almost a sneer in his voice.

‘Get him out, Saeton,’ I whispered urgently. ‘If you don’t, I’ll bust the whole game wide open. Understand?’

His eyes narrowed slightly. That was the only sign he gave that he took my threat seriously. ‘Don’t think I haven’t taken care of the possibility of your reaching Berlin,’ he said quietly. He glanced round at Diana and the I.O. and then in a louder voice: ‘No wonder you get scared when it comes to jumping. You’re about the most imaginative flier I ever met.’ He turned and nodded to the I.O. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I can’t get any sense out of him.’ He drew the officer to one side. ‘I’m afraid he’s pretty bad. Concussion or something. He keeps on talking about pinching a plane and having a fight with Carter. I think he’s all mixed up in his mind with that escape he did from Germany in 1944.’ They began whispering together and I heard the I.O. mention the word ‘psychiatrist’. Diana was staring at me dully, all hope gone from her eyes, her body slumped at the shoulders in an attitude of dejection. Saeton and the I.O. came back towards me and I heard Saeton saying, ‘.. if we knew what happened when the plane crashed.’

‘You know damn’ well it didn’t crash,’ I jerked out.

Sudden, overwhelming hatred of him swept me to my feet. ‘I know what it is. You want Tubby dead. You know damn’ well the credit for those engines is his.

You want him dead.’

They stared at me like humans looking through bars at a caged animal. ‘I’ll get him away,’ the I.O. whispered quickly to Saeton and Saeton nodded.

I turned to Diana then. She was the person I had to convince. She knew Saeton, knew the set-up — above all she was the only one of them that wanted to believe that Tubby was alive. ‘Diana, you must listen to me,’ I implored her. ‘You’ve got to believe me. Tubby isn’t dead. I saw him yesterday afternoon.’ My head was swimming and I pressed my hands to my temples. ‘No, it wasn’t yesterday. It was the day before. He was badly injured, but he could talk. I promised I’d come back for him. If you love him, Diana, you’ve got to help me. You’ve got to make the people here believe-’

A hand grasped my shoulder and spun me round. ‘Shut up!’ Saeton’s face was thrust close to mine. ‘Shut up, do you hear? Tubby’s dead. You’re just saying this to cover yourself. Can’t you realise how Diana feels? Until you turned up there was a good chance he was alive. Everybody thought the body the Russians found in the plane must be yours. You were the skipper. But you turn up. So it’s Tubby who is dead, and now you try to raise false hopes in an effort to-’

I flung his hand off. ‘You devil!’ I said. ‘You’re the cause of all this. It’s all your fault he’s out there in the Russian Zone.’ I turned to Diana. ‘The plane didn’t crash at all,’ I cried. ‘I flew it back to Membury. Saeton forced me to do it. Tubby tried to prevent me. There was a struggle and-’ I could see they didn’t believe me.

‘Get him out of here,’ I heard Saeton say. ‘Get him out before he drives Mrs Carter crazy.’ Hands closed on my arms and I was dragged across the room to the door. I screwed my head round and saw Saeton standing alone, his face grey and tired looking, and Diana was staring across at him, her lips trembling. Behind them the air crews stood in silence looking on. Then the door closed in my face and I was out in the grey dawn of Gatow Airfield with the roar of planes and the deliberate, operational movements of lorries and German labour teams.

I had a brief glimpse of the FASO apron, gleaming dully in its leaden mantle of slush. Close by a German labour team was hauling sacks of coal from the belly of a Dak and beyond it another Dak was swinging off the perimeter track and an R.A.F. corporal was signalling it into position. A lorry rolled past us to meet it. A sergeant of the R.A.F. Police had the ambulance doors open and I was bundled in: The Intelligence Officer climbed in beside me. The sergeant saluted stiffly and the doors closed, boxing us into a dark little world that shook with the roar of planes. A slight vibration of the stretcher bunk on which I had been sat told me the engine was running, and then we moved off, slithering on the wet surface as we swung round the fuel standing at Piccadilly Circus. ‘Where are we going?’ I asked the I.O.

‘Sick bay,’ he answered. ‘I rang up Squadron Leader Gentry from the Malcolm Club. He’s the M.O. He’s expecting you.’

I was conscious of that sense of helplessness that comes to the individual when he is in process of being absorbed into the machine of an organised unit. Once I was in the M.O.‘s clutches anything could happen — they’d regard any request as prejudicial to the patient’s recovery. They might even drug me. ‘I want to see the station commander,’ I said.

The intelligence officer didn’t answer. I repeated my request. Take my advice, Fraser,’ he said coldly. ‘See the M.O. first.’

I hesitated. Somehow his voice seemed to carry a note of warning. But I wasn’t thinking about myself. I was thinking about Tubby. ‘I’ve got to see the station commander,’ I said.

‘Well, you can’t. I’m taking you to the M.O. Put your request to him if you want to.’ In the half-light I could see his eyes watching me. ‘I’m saying that for your own good.’

‘For my own good?’ His eyes had turned away as though breaking off the conversation. All I could see was the pale outline of his face under the peaked cap. ‘I’m not worrying about myself,’ I said. ‘It’s Carter I’m worried about.’

‘I should have thought that was a waste of time now.’

The tone of his voice stung me. ‘Civil airlift pilots come under R.A.F. for administration and discipline, don’t they?’ I asked. The line of his head nodded slowly. ‘Very well, then. Take me to the station commander’s office. That’s a formal request.’

His eyes were back on my face again now. ‘Have it your own way,’ he said. ‘But if you’re fit enough to see the station commander, you’re fit enough to see Squadron Leader Pierce, R.A.F. Police.’ He turned and tapped on the partition separating us from the driver. A small hatch slid back. ‘Terminal building first,’ he ordered the driver.

‘What did you mean about R.A.F. Police?’ I asked.

‘Pierce is very anxious to see you. Some question of an identity check.’

Identity check! ‘What do you mean?’ For a moment the thought of Tubby was thrust out of my mind. Identity check! Had Saeton talked about me? Was that what he meant when he had said he had taken care of the possibility of my reaching Berlin? Was this his attempt to discredit me? ‘Whose instructions is he acting on?’ I asked.

‘I know nothing about it,’ the I.O. answered in that same cold, deliberate voice.

Before I could question him further the ambulance had stopped and we were getting out. The terminal building was a lifeless hulk of concrete in the cloud-skimmed dawn. The tall windows of the control tower looked with dead eyes upon the runway where a single Tudor was lining up for take-off. There was no outward sign that this was the hub and heart of the world’s busiest air traffic centre; beyond it the wings of a Dak widened against the dull cloud-scape over Berlin as it dropped towards the runway like a toy pulled by an unseen string. As we went through the swing doors the Tudor took off with a roar that split the dawn-cold stillness.

The I.O. took me up to the first floor. Little placards stood out from the doors of wood-partitioned offices; Flight Lieutenant Symes, Intelligence Officer — white on blue next to Public Relations. The I.O. pushed open the door. ‘Wait here, will you, Fraser. I’ll go down and see if the station commander has come in yet. He usually shows up about this time. Likes to have a look around before breakfast.’ He turned to the medical orderly. ‘You wait here with Mr Fraser, corporal.’ He glanced at me quickly, but his eyes slid away from mine and I went into his office, wondering whether he thought I was going to try and escape. The corporal shut the door as I stood there listening to the I.O.‘s footsteps fading down the wide corridor.

The office was a big one with two windows looking out across the standing and the hangars to the FASO apron still barely visible in the reluctant daylight of that bleak January morning. The arc lamps had been switched off, but runway and perimeter lights still burned, a complicated network of yellow and purple. The Dak was landing now and another Tudor was moving up the perimeter tracks towards the control tower. I could almost hear the pilot calling his number over the R/T, requesting permission from Traffic Control to taxi, and I wondered whether it was Saeton. Beyond the hangars lorries moved in a steady stream from the off-loading platform, moving slowly and positively towards Berlin with their loads of Ruhr coal.

‘Fraser!’

I turned. The door behind me had opened and the I.O. was standing there, holding it open for a short, burly man in a wing commander’s uniform. ‘This is the station commander,’ the I.O. said, closing the door and switching on the light.

‘Sit down, Fraser.’ The station commander nodded to a chair. ‘Glad you got back all right. But I’m sorry about Carter.’ His voice was quiet, impersonal. He placed his cap on the top of a steel filing cabinet and seated himself at the desk. In the naked lights I saw that the beaverboard walls of the office were covered with maps and charts, a kaleidoscope of colour — Russian tanks, Russian planes, survey maps of Berlin, Germany with the air corridors marked in white tape, a huge map of the British Zone dotted with flags bearing squadron numbers and a smaller map of

Eastern Germany covered with chinograph on which had been scribbled in different colours the numbers of Russian units. The whole room was a litter of secret and semi-secret information, most of it relating one way and another to the Russians. ‘Understand you wanted to see me?’ The slight rise of inflection in the station commander’s voice at the end of the sentence was, I knew, my cue. But I hesitated, reluctant to commit myself to a line of approach. ‘Well?’

I gripped hold of the wooden arms of the chair. The walls of the room were beginning to move again. It seemed very hot in there and the lights were blinding. ‘I want a plane, sir. Tonight. Carter’s alive and I’ve got to get him out. We can land at Hollmind. He’s at a farm about three miles from the airfield.’ The words came out in a rush, tumbling incoherently over each other, not a bit as I had intended. ‘It would only take a couple of hours. The airfield’s quite deserted and the runway is sound.’

‘How do you know?’

I stared at him. It sounded like a trap, the way he barked the question at me. His face kept blurring so that I couldn’t see his expression. ‘How do I know?’ I moved my fingers back and forth along the dirt-caked lines of my forehead. ‘I just know,’ I heard myself mumble. ‘I just know. That’s all.’ I straightened my body up. ‘Will you let me have a plane, sir — tonight?’

The door behind me opened and a squadron leader came over to the desk, a thin file in his hand. ‘Here’s the report you wanted, sir.’ The man’s eyes glanced curiously in my direction. ‘I’ve rung for the M.O. and Pierce is in my office now. Shall I let him come up?’

The station commander glanced quickly across at me and then nodded. ‘All right. Any further news about that threat of ack-ack practice in the exit corridor?’

‘No more than we know already, sir. Air Safety Centre have lodged protests, but as far as we’re concerned at the moment the Russians will be firing to 20,000 feet in the exit corridor. I don’t think we’re going to give way.’

‘I should damn well hope not. They’re just bluffing. They know what it means if they start shooting our boys down.’ He gave a long sigh. ‘All right, Freddie. But let me know as soon as you get any news.’ The door closed and the station commander stared for a moment out through the windows to where another freighter was thundering down the runway. He watched it rise, watched it until it disappeared into the low cloud, a small speck carrying an air crew of four headed for base through the exit corridor. His eyes switched slowly to me. ‘Where were we? Oh, yes. You claim Carter is alive.’ He picked up the file his adjutant had brought in, opened it and handed me a slip of paper. ‘Read that, Fraser. It’s the Russian report on your aircraft.’

I took it and held it in my hands, the print blurring into solid, straight lines. I let my hand drop, not bothering to go through it. ‘I know about this,’ I said. ‘It’s completely phoney. It didn’t dive into the ground. And they didn’t find the charred remains of a body. They don’t know anything about the plane — they’re just guessing. The wreckage is strewn for miles around.

‘How do you mean?’ The station commander’s voice was sharp and practical.

I pressed my fingers to my temples. How was I going to make them understand what had really happened? It was quite clear to me — ordinary and straightforward. But as soon as I tried to put it into words I knew it would sound fantastic.

‘I think we’d better do it by questions, sir.’ The I.O.‘s voice seemed oddly remote, yet it rattled in my ears like the sharp, dry sound of a porcupine’s quills. ‘He’s just about dead beat.’

‘All right, Symes. Go ahead.’

I wanted to tell the station commander to let me tell it in my own way, but before I could say anything. the I.O.‘s sharp, insistent voice was saying, ‘You claim Carter is alive, that he’s lying injured at a farmhouse near Hollmind. Hollmind is thirty miles from the point where Westrop and Field jumped. That’s almost ten minutes’ flying time. What happened in those ten minutes? Didn’t Carter jump with the others?’

‘No.’

‘He stayed in the plane with you?’

‘Yes. He knew I didn’t like jumping-’ I was determined now that they should have every detail of the thing. If I told them everything, kept nothing back, they must believe me. ‘We had to jump once before at Membury, when the undercarriage of Saeton’s Tudor jammed; that’s how he knew I was scared. He came back to see me out. Then I got the engines going and started to fly to Membury. He got angry then and-’

‘You mean Gatow, don’t you?’

‘No, Membury.’ I stared at him, trying to force him to understand that I meant Membury. ‘I was taking the Tudor back to Membury. That’s why I took the job with Harcourt. It was all planned. I was to steal a plane from the airlift and-’ My voice trailed away as I saw the look of bewilderment on the station commander’s face. If only they’d let me tell it my own way.

‘I don’t understand this sequence of events at all, Fraser.’ His voice was kindly, but there was an underlying impatience. ‘Go back to where you and Carter are alone in the plane. Westrop and Field had jumped. Who went out next?’

‘Please-’ I implored, ‘let me tell it my own way. When I reached Membury-’

‘Just answer my questions, will you, Fraser?’ The voice was authoritative, commanding — it reminded me of Saeton’s voice. ‘Who jumped next?’

All my muscles seemed rigid with the violence of my need to tell it to them as a straight story. But I couldn’t fight him. I hadn’t the energy. It was so much easier just to answer the questions. ‘Carter,’ I said in a dull voice.

‘But I thought you said he came back to see you out?’

‘I pushed him out.’

‘I see. You pushed him out.’ I could tell by the tone in which he repeated the phrase that he didn’t believe me. ‘And then what happened?’

‘I flew the plane back to Membury. It was moonlight all the way. I found the airfield quite easily and when I landed-’

‘Please, Fraser … I want to get at what happened in that plane. Now try to help me. What happened after Carter went out? We know the plane dived into the ground. I want to know how-’

‘It didn’t dive into the ground,’ I said. ‘I told you what happened. I flew it back to Membury.’

He got up and came over to me. ‘Now pull yourself together, please.’ His hand pressed gently on my shoulder. ‘We naturally want to know what happened. There’s no question of the accuracy of the Russian report. They’ve even sent us a piece of the tailplane. The plane is yours all right. It has your flight number on it and it’s unquestionably a Tudor. Now what caused it to crash?’

‘It didn’t crash,’ I said wearily. ‘I tell you, I flew it ‘Then if it didn’t crash, how the devil are the Russians able to send us a sample of the wreckage that clearly shows it to be your plane?’

‘I tell you, we put it there,’ I replied desperately. ‘We loaded it into the plane and flew it there. Saeton stooged around whilst I pushed the bits out. Then he landed me at Hollmind. That was when he flew out to Wunstorf to join the airlift. I searched all that night and all the next day for some trace of Carter. Then I found his helmet. It was just after the snow had started. It was lying on the snow and-’

‘I just can’t follow what you’re saying,’ the station commander interrupted. ‘Will you please stick to what happened in the plane.’

But before I could answer, the door of the room opened. ‘Come in, Pierce. You, too, Gentry.’ The station commander crossed over to the taller of the two men, drawing him aside and speaking to him in a low voice. I could see the two of them glancing covertly in my direction. Symes was beating an impatient tattoo on the edge of the desk with his long fingers, his dark eyes fixed curiously on my face.

I felt as though an invisible curtain was being lowered, separating me from contact with.them, and I pulled myself to my feet. ‘You don’t understand,’ 1 said angrily. ‘I joined Harcourt’s outfit in order to get hold of one of his planes. We’d crashed ours. It had to be replaced. We had to get hold of another plane in order to test the engines. Saeton was due on the airlift on the 25th. We had to have another plane. The only place we could get one was in Germany — off the airlift. It had to be a Tudor. That was why-’ My voice trailed away as I saw them all staring at me as though I were crazy.

The man who was talking to the station commander said quietly, ‘It’s obvious he’s had a nasty shock. He’s suffering from some sort of mental disturbance — he’s all mixed up with that escape he did. I’ll get him down to the sick bay.’

The station commander stared at me and then nodded. ‘All right. But I wish to God I could find out what happened to that plane of yours.’

‘Nothing happened to it,’ I cried angrily. There was nothing wrong with it at all. I flew it back to Membury. All the Russians have found-’

‘Yes, yes,’ the station commander cut in impatiently. ‘We’ve heard all about that. All right, Gentry. Take him down to the sick bay. Only for God’s sake get some reasonable statement out of him as soon as possible.’

The M.O. nodded and started towards me. It was then that the other man stepped forward. ‘Mind if I have a word with him first, sir?’

The station commander shrugged his shoulders. ‘Just as you like, Pierce. I suppose you think in his present muddled state he’s more likely to tell you the truth.’ He gave a quick laugh. ‘I hope you make better progress than we have.’ He crossed to the door and paused with his hand on the handle. ‘I’d like a word with you, Symes, after breakfast.’

The I.O. rose to his feet. ‘Very good, sir.’

The door closed behind the station commander and as I slid wearily back into my seat the policeman came and leaned on the edge of the desk, his hard, slightly pitted features seeming to hang over me, a dark blur against the lights. ‘My name’s Pierce,’ he said. ‘R.A.F. Policy. You’re Fraser?’

I nodded hopelessly. All chance of a plane had vanished with the departure of the station commander and I felt drained and utterly exhausted. If only they’d let me tell my story the way I’d wanted to. But I knew that even then they wouldn’t have believed me. Put into words it immediately became fantastic.

‘Christian name’s Neil Leyden?’

Again I nodded. It was stupid of him asking me my name when everybody in the room knew damn’ well who I was.

‘I’ve been instructed to ask you a few questions.’ His voice was quiet, almost gentle; very different from his features. ‘Do you remember the night of November 18th last year?’

I thought back. What an age it seemed. That was the night I’d arrived at Membury. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I began working with Saeton that night.’

‘At Membury?’

‘Yes.’

‘How did you get there — by car?’

‘Yes, by car. There’s no train service to Membury.’

‘A car was found that night at the foot of Baydon Hill. That was your car, wasn’t it?’

I stared at him, struggling to understand the drift of his questions. My hand reached up almost automatically to the crust of blood where my forehead was cut. ‘I had a crash,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘You’ve another name, haven’t you? Callahan.’

I started involuntarily. So that was it. This was what Saeton had meant. I stared up at him, meeting his steady gaze, knowing they’d got me and thinking that I might just as well have refused when Saeton had forced me to take that job with Harcourt. But it didn’t matter now. So much had happened, nothing seemed to matter any more. It was as though in some queer way I was now paying the price for what I’d done to Tubby. ‘Yes,’ I said in a whisper. ‘I’m Callahan.’ And then in the silence that gripped the room I asked, ‘What happens now?’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s nothing to do with me, old man. I’ll send back a report to England. In due course I imagine you’ll be flown back and they’ll decide what they’re going to do about you. There’s no warrant for your arrest or anything like that at the moment.’ He coughed awkwardly. ‘Sorry to have to put the questions so soon after your escape from the Russian Zone. Now, I think you’d better go along with Squadron Leader Gentry here. It’s time you had that cut cleaned up and you look as though you could do with a bit of rest. I shan’t be worrying you again — not for some time anyway. So you can just relax.’

I thought how reasonable and logical his questions had been. If I could get him to do the questioning about what had happened to Tubby — they’d believe me then. I pulled myself to my feet again. He was already at the door. ‘Just a minute,’ I gasped, feeling the room reel. ‘I’ve got to tell you something.’ He had stopped in the doorway and was looking at me with a slight frown. ‘You got this from Saeton, didn’t you? It was Saeton who told the authorities who I was. You know why he did that? It was because he was afraid I’d talk. I didn’t want to pinch” the plane. But he made me do it. He said if I didn’t he’d-’ I closed my eyes trying to shut out the blurred movement of the room. The engines of a plane thundered on the perimeter track just outside the building. The windows rattled, the sound merging with the din in my ears. The sound was like the roar of a great fall; it went on and on. ‘Don’t you see?’ I gasped. ‘He blackmailed me-’ My knees trembled and gave. Somebody called out something and I felt myself slipping. Hands caught hold of me as I fell, supporting me whilst my legs seemed to trickle away like used-up water from the base of my body. Everything was remote and indistinct as I slipped into unconsciousness.

I suppose they gave me something for I don’t remember anything more till I woke up in bed with a nurse standing over me. ‘Feeling better?’ Her voice was gentle and soothing.

‘Yes, thanks.’ I closed my eyes, searching in my mind for what had happened, gradually piecing it together.

‘Open your mouth, please. I want to take your temperature.’ I obeyed her automatically and she pushed a thermometer under my tongue. ‘You were a bit feverish when they brought you in and you’ve been talking a lot.’

‘Delirious? What was I saying?’

‘Keep your mouth closed now. All about your flight and a friend of yours in the Russian Zone. Squadron Leader Pierce was here for a time. They’re flying you out tomorrow — that is if the M.O. says you’re fit enough.’

‘Flying me out tomorrow?’ I thrust at the bed, forcing myself up into a sitting position. If they flew me out tomorrow nothing could ever be done about Tubby.

‘Now don’t get excited otherwise we shan’t allow you to go.’ Her hands touched my shoulders, pushing me gently back against the pillows.

My eyes went past her, searching the room. At least I was on my own. A single window rattled to the sound of planes behind black curtains. ‘What’s the time?’ I mumbled the question, my tongue still closed over the thermometer.

‘Don’t talk, please. It’s nearly seven and if you’re good you can have some supper.’ She reached down and took the thermometer out of my mouth, peering at it through her thick-lensed glasses. ‘That’s fine. We’re back to normal now.’ She shook it down with a neat, practised flick of the wrist. ‘I’ll get you some food. Are you hungry?’

I realised then what the faint feeling in the pit of my stomach was. I couldn’t remember when I’d last had a meal. ‘Very,’ I said.

She smiled in her efficient, impersonal way. ‘Just a minute, nurse,’ I said as she was going out. ‘I’m still at Gatow, aren’t I?’ She nodded. ‘Will you get a message to someone for me? It’s for Mrs Carter. She works in the Malcolm Club. I want her to come and see me — right away. It’s urgent, tell her.’

‘Mrs Carter. Is she the wife of your friend?’ She nodded. ‘I’ll see she gets the message.’

She went out, closing the door, and I lay there staring at the light which hurt my eyes, listening to the planes coming in and taking off, and going over and over in my mind what I would say to Diana when she came. There must be no mistake this time. I had to convince her. She was my one hope. If they flew me out in the morning I’d be able to do nothing more for Tubby. And then I began to think about Saeton. I was angry then and I wished to God I had never met the man.

The nurse wasn’t away long and when she returned she had a tray full of dishes. ‘I brought you extra big helpings of everything,’ she said. ‘They told me you probably hadn’t had a proper meal for some time.’

‘What about Mrs Carter?’ I asked. ‘Is she coming?’

‘I haven’t been able to get your message to her yet.’

‘You must,’ I said desperately. ‘Please, sister. It’s urgent.’

‘All right. Don’t you fuss now. I’ll see she gets your message. Now you eat that.’

I thanked her for the food and she left me. For a time I could think of nothing but the joy of eating again. I ate until I was full and then I lay back replete and the thought of Tubby was nagging at my mind again. Perhaps if I put it all down on paper… The thought excited me. That was the answer. If they read it as a straightforward report… I would address it to Squadron Leader Pierce. He had a logical, reasonable mind. They couldn’t ignore it if it was sent to them in the form of a factual report. I lay there planning how I’d write it until the nurse returned.

‘You must have been hungry,’ she said as she saw the empty plates. ‘You look better, too. The M.O. will be round later. I don’t think you need be afraid he’ll stop you from going out on the P 19 in the morning.’

‘What about Mrs Carter? Did you get my message to her?’ I asked.

‘Yes. I went all the way down to the Malcolm Club myself. I’m sorry, Mr Fraser, but she won’t see you.’

‘Didn’t you tell her it was urgent?’ The sense of being boxed in with an invisible wall of disbelief was back with me again.

‘Yes, I told her that. I even told her it might affect your recovery.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She said there was no point in her seeing you.’

I lay back and closed my eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted. What was the good of going on fighting? Then I remembered the report I was going to write. ‘Can I have a pencil and some paper, please?’

She smiled. ‘You want to write to your girl-friend?’

‘Yes. Yes, that’s it.’ I nodded. ‘Can I have them quickly, please. It’s urgent. I must write now.’

She laughed. I remember it was a pleasant laugh. ‘Everything is always urgent with you, isn’t it?’

‘I’d like a pen if possible,’ I added. It would be 1 better if it was written in ink. Somehow it seemed to make it more formal, more definite than if I scribbled it in pencil. ‘Where are my clothes? There’s a pen in my flying suit.’

‘They’re in the cupboard just outside. I’ll get it for you. I haven’t any note-paper, I’m afraid. Will typing paper do?’

‘Yes, anything. Only hurry, please. I’ve got a lot to write and I want to get it finished before the M.O. comes round.’

But the M.O. didn’t come round. Propped up in bed I set it all down right from the time of my arrival at Membury. I had no reason to hide anything now and my pen fairly flew over the paper. And when I was in the middle of it the door opened and Saeton walked in. He was dressed in his flying kit. ‘Feeling better?’ he asked as he crossed the room.

‘I thought you were flying tests,’ I said.

‘So I am. But they can’t spare tankers off the fuel run. The boffins are flying routine flights with me.’

It was odd how matter-of-fact our conversation was and Saeton kept it that way. He came over and sat down on my bed. ‘Writing a report?’

‘Yes.’

He nodded. ‘I guessed you’d do that. It won’t help you, you know, Neil — unless Tubby gets back to corroborate your statement.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve only got about five minutes so I’ll say what I’ve got to say right away.’ He hesitated as though marshalling his thoughts. ‘You’ve put a lot of money and work into the company. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m not grateful and I wouldn’t want you to lose by it.’ I think he meant that. ‘You’ve seen Pierce?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘And you’ve guessed that it was I who put them on to you?’

I nodded.

‘Well, you didn’t give me much alternative, did you? I was convinced Tubby was dead and you made it quite clear that if you didn’t find him you’d give yourself up to the police. I couldn’t risk that. I had to discredit you in advance.’ He took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and tossed me one. His eyes were watching my face as he lit it for me. ‘I’m very near to success now, Neil. I’m so near success that the authorities would be most unwilling to believe any report that you made. The Rauch Motoren have got the Americans behind them. If your report were accepted, it would mean a trial and the whole thing would become public. In those circumstances the Americans would bring pressure to bear on our people and the engines might have to be handed back to the Rauch Motoren. At best the design would become generally available for any company in any country. You see what I’m driving at?’

‘You want me to keep my mouth shut?’

‘Exactly. I want you to admit that the Russian report is correct.’ I started to say something, but he held up his hand. ‘I know it’s tough on you. You’ll go to jail for this Callahan business. But as an airlift pilot I don’t imagine you’ll get more than a year, perhaps less. After all, you’ve got a fine record. As for the fact that you came out of the crash alive, you could say it was Tubby, not you, who was scared of jumping.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting one thing?’ I said.

‘What’s that?’

‘That Tubby is alive.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten that.’ He leaned closer to me, his eyes still on my face. ‘I can cope with your evidence or Tubby’s evidence, but riot the two of you together.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If you do as I want you to, it doesn’t matter to me if Tubby does get out alive. A fantastic story told by a man who has been badly injured wouldn’t carry much weight. Now as regards compensation for yourself. I’m prepared to offer you £10,000 and of course your posi tion as a director of the firm would stand. And don’t think I won’t have the money to pay you. I’ll have all the money I want in a few days’ time.’

‘And you’ll leave Tubby to rot in that farmhouse?’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can’t do anything about getting him out, if that’s what you mean. If you admit the Russian report to be true, then I must accept it that he’s dead.’

‘And if I send in this report?’ I asked.

He glanced at his watch and then got to his feet. Time I was going.’ He paused, looking down at me. ‘If you send in that report, nothing will come of it. That I can assure you. Without Tubby’s corroborative evidence it will be disregarded. And I’ll see to it that there is no corroborative evidence.’

I stared at him. His tone was so easy and natural it was difficult to believe that there was any sort of a threat behind his words. ‘What do you mean by that?’ I asked him.

‘Think it out for yourself, Neil. But remember this. I haven’t come all this way with those engines to be beaten now.’

‘And either way Tubby doesn’t get brought back for hospital treatment?’

He nodded. ‘Either way Tubby remains where he is.’

‘By God, you’re a callous bastard,’ I said. ‘I thought he was the only man you were ever fond of?’

That touched him on the raw and his face darkened with sudden passion. ‘Do you think I like the thought of him out there in the Russian Zone? But I can’t help it. This thing is a lot bigger than the comfort of one man. I think I told you once that if one man stood between me and getting those engines into the air, I’d brush him aside. Well, that still holds good. As far as I’m concerned, Tubby is dead.’ He glanced at his watch again. ‘Well, think it over, Neil.’ His tone was once more even and friendly. ‘Either way you won’t help Tubby, so you might just as well tear up that report.’ He hesitated and then he said gently, ‘We’ve come a long way together in a short time, Neil. I’d like to know that we were going on together. You’ve done all you could to help when the going was tough. Don’t shut yourself out from the thing just as it’s starting to go well. I’d like us to continue the partnership.’ He nodded cheerily and opened the door. A moment later it had closed on his thick, burly figure and I was alone again.

I lay there for a moment going over in my mind that incredible conversation, appalled at Saeton’s complete lack of any moral sense. This was the third time in our short acquaintance that he had forced a desperate choice on me. But this time it never entered my head to agree to his terms. I didn’t even consider them. I was Chinking only of Tubby. Somehow I had got to get him out.

I don’t know quite when I reached the decision to get out of the sick bay. It just seemed to come as a logical answer to my problem. So long as I remained there, I should be taken out on the P 19 flight in the morning and then there would be no chance of doing anything for Tubby. On the other hand, if I were clear of Gatow, free of the whole organisation, then there might still be a chance.

As soon as I had reached that decision I set to work again on the report. By ten-fifteen it was done. After that I lay back, shielding my eyes from the light, waiting. Shortly before eleven the nurse came in. ‘Lights not out yet?’ She patted the pillows into place. ‘You’re looking tired now. My! What a lot you have written to your girl-friend.’

‘It isn’t to my girl-friend,’ I said rather sharply. ‘Where’s the M.O.?’

‘He’s not coming to see you tonight. But don’t worry. He’ll be here first thing in the morning.’

The morning was no good. This must be read tonight by somebody in authority. ‘Do you know Squadron Leader Pierce?’ I asked.

‘Of course.’

‘Will you do something for me? Will you get this to him tonight?’ I folded the numbered sheets across and handed them to her. ‘Will you see that he gets it personally?’

‘And I suppose it’s urgent?’ She smiled indulgently as she took the sheets from me. ‘All right. I’ll see he gets it if you promise to be a good boy and go to sleep.’

‘I’ll sleep if I know that will reach Pierce tonight. Will you promise that, sister? When he’s read it, he’ll understand the urgency.’

She nodded seriously, humouring me with an imitation of my own mood. ‘Now, you go to sleep. Goodnight.’

The room was suddenly in darkness as she switched out the light. I had to suppress an urge to leap out of bed and go with her to the mess. But it wouldn’t help. She’d only think I was mad and she’d call the M.O. and between them they’d drug me into a coma until I was on that damned plane and out of Berlin. The door closed with a decisive click and I lay there suddenly aware that I was alone again and all that stood between Tubby and complete disbelief of his need for help were a few flimsy sheets of paper in the hands of a nurse who thought I was slightly nuts.

I waited for about half an hour and then I slipped out of bed and groped my way to the door. A blast of cold air swept past me as I opened it. A blue-painted bulb showed me the top of some stairs and a corridor. The concrete flooring was bitterly cold against the soles of my feet.

I found the cupboard. My clothes were still there and I bundled them over my arm and slipped back into the room. It took me some time to dress in the dark, fumbling awkwardly with the laces of my cold, wet shoes, tugging at the zip of my flying suit. Finally I struggled into the heavy German greatcoat and jammed the forage cap over the bandages that circled my head.

Thinking back on it now I suppose I was still a little dazed with the exhaustion of the last few days, for I had no plan and as far as I can remember my mind made no effort to grapple with the problem of what I intended to do. I just knew I had to get out of the clutches of the Gatow authorities before they flew me out and, like an automaton who can only manage one idea at a time, I worked towards that end without a thought to the future.

As soon as I was dressed I felt my way to the door and opened it. The single blue-painted light bulb threw a weird light on to the empty corridor and the deserted stair-head. There was no sound except the intermittent murmur of the planes. I closed the door and went boldly down the stairs. There were two flights, each with its blue light, and then I was in the entrance hall. The light was bright here and a man’s figure lounged by the open doorway where a car was drawn up. I hesitated. But there was no point in skulking in the shadows. I crossed the hall and went quickly out through the door to the accompaniment of a murmured ‘Gute Nachf from the German driver who stood there.

I replied ‘Gute Nacht’, my heart hammering against my ribs. But he made no move to stop me and in a moment the night had swallowed me with its blackness and its murmuring of the wind in the firs. I kept to the road, walking quickly, the sound of the planes on the airfield over my left shoulder, and in a few minutes I came out on to the road which ran from the entrance gates down past the mess to the terminal building. I recognised it at once in the lights of a Volkswagen saloon that went careering past me. I waited until its lights had completely disappeared and then I crossed the road and slipped into the sheltering anonymity of the fir woods.

I had no difficulty getting out of Gatow unobserved. I simply pressed on through the woods, keeping the sound of the airfield at my back. I had occasional glimpses of the lights of buildings and the swift rush of cars’ headlights. The rest was utter blackness with the branches clutching at my bandaged head and roots tripping at my feet. I met no one and in a comparatively short time I was brought up by a wire boundary fence. After that I was in the open with the lights of a lorry showing me the Kladowerdamm and the way to Berlin.

There was some advantage in wearing Hans’s discarded greatcoat and cap, for I was able to stop the first lorry that came along. The truck was a Bedford, one of a continuous line that moved through the night from the FASO apron to Berlin. I suppose the driver took me for one of the German labour teams slogging my way home. I climbed in and lay back on piled-up bags of flour that tickled my nostrils with their fine dust as we clattered over the pot-holed road We went into Berlin by way of the An Der Heer Strasse with its glimpse of Havel Lake where the Sunderlands had landed through the summer. There were lights along the An Der Heer Strasse, for the power, like that of Gatow itself, came from the Russian Zone. But darkness closed in with the trees of the Grunewald and the broad, straight line of the Kaiserdamm was like a dark cleft in the waste of ruins dimly seen from the swaying back of the lorry.

At length the truck slowed and the driver shouted to me,’ Wo wollen Sie hin?’ ‘Anywhere in the centre of Berlin will do,’ I answered in German.

‘I drop you at the Gedachtniskirche.’

The Gedachtniskirche I knew — the Kaiser Wilhelm memorial church, one of the most conspicuous buildings in Berlin. It had been pointed out to me more than once during operational briefings. ‘Danke schon,’ I said.

A few minutes later the lorry stopped again. Leaning out I saw a gigantic, ruined tower rearing above us into the darkness. A train hooted eerily and clattered by, wheels rattling hollow on the rails of a viaduct. I climbed over the tail-board and dropped to the ground. ‘Danke schon,’ I called to the driver. ‘Cute Nacht.’ ‘Gute Nacht.’ His voice was almost drowned in the roar of the engine as the heavily-laden lorry rolled on with its load of flour. I watched it disappear round the bend of the platz and then I was alone in the darkness with the monstrous hulk of the Gedachtniskirche above me, its colossal tower so battered by bombs, that it looked as though it must topple into the street.

I turned and walked slowly up the Kurfurstendamm. This had been the Piccadilly of Berlin. Now it was a broken, ruined thoroughfare, the shops ground-floor affairs of wood and plaster board whose flimsy construction seemed constantly threatened by the rubble of the upper stories. There was no lighting in the Kurfurstendamm; all allied Berlin was under drastic power-cut now that fuel had to be flown in. But it was possible to see as though the thousands who huddled- behind the broken facades of the buildings emanated a sort of radiance.

It was past midnight now, but despite the cold there were still prostitutes on the sidewalks, wandering up and down past the deserted street cafes. There were cars, too — black-marketeers’ cars and taxis with American Negroes trading currency. Prowlers moved in the shadows, pimps and currency dealers, men who brushed by with a muttered, ‘Funf Ost fur eine West.’ Bundles of rags lay huddled in doorways or dragged slowly along with a clop of wooden shoes as they searched the dustbins in the rich heart of Berlin.

I drifted up the Kurfurstendamm, only half conscious of the dim, shadowy life around me, my mind suddenly face-to-face with the problem of what I was going to do now. Until that moment my only thought had been to escape from the organised world that centred around the airlift at Gatow and so avoid being.flown out on the P 19 passenger service in the morning. But now, in the heart of occupied Berlin, dressed half as a British civilian flier and half as a German labourer with no German money and no one I knew, I felt suddenly lost and slightly foolish.

But I wasn’t cold any more and I had food inside me. My head was painful, but my mind was clear as I grappled with the problem. A dim figure slid past me with its muttered, ‘Ich tausche Ost gegen West.’ I stopped him. ‘Do you exchange English pounds?’ I asked him in German.

‘Englische Pfunde?’ ‘Ja’

‘You want Deutschmark or Bafs?’

‘West Deutschmark,’ I answered. ‘What is the rate of exchange?’

‘I give you thirty-two Deutschmark for one pound sterling.’ Gold teeth glittered with a drool of saliva as the lights of a car slid past. The man had a wide-brimmed black hat and his face was swarthy with greasy sideboards. The long Semitic nose was thrust inquisitively into my face. A Greek or perhaps a Pole — certainly not a German.

I changed ten pounds with this shadow of the Berlin underworld and with the Deutschmark forming a wad in the pocket of my flying suit I felt that the first hurdle was past. But what next? I stood on a corner by one of those circular poster hoardings that look like overgrown pillar boxes and wondered how I could get Tubby out of the Russian Zone. If I could get Tubby out, then there’d be no doubt about my story.

But in all Berlin I had no friend to help me.