Attack Alarm

Chapter Ten

The crash of the lorry as it hit the bend seemed surprisingly loud. Automatically we halted, listening. The trees whispered amongst themselves, stirred by a faint breeze. There was no other sound. We crossed the trench where we had stumbled into each other only just over three hours ago. A ghostly pallor filtered through into the wood so that everywhere was shadow. We went stealthily, flitting from tree to tree. Reason told me that it was all right. A sentry would not leave the path without cause and, if he were anywhere near, his attention would be drawn towards the lorry. But reason could not still the flutter of my nerves. So much was at stake. We had to get back to the site without being caught. To be frustrated at the last moment by the obtuseness of a Guards’ corporal would be bitter in the extreme. And I knew that the wood was the easiest part. Beyond was the slope up to the barbed wire. It was bare of all cover and would be lit by the moon. Finally there was the barbed wire itself.

We reached the path, a broad white swathe in the moonlight, and crossed it without mishap. At last the trees thinned and their leafy boughs stood out against the white of the hillside. We pushed through the low-hanging fringe of the trees and paused, gazing up at that pale grassy slope. There was the dannert wire, a dark streak against the grass, and along it a figure moved slowly. At every step the man’s bayonet caught the moon and glinted white.

‘Cor!’ said Micky. This ain’t ‘alf going to be a job.’

I nodded. ‘I’m afraid the odds are against us,’ I said. ‘We’d better split up.’

‘O.K., mate. But what do I do if I get through and you don’t?’

‘Go to Gun Ops. and get in touch with anyone in authority. Tell them what you’ve heard and seen. And if a sentry challenges you, don’t try and get away. Good luck!’ I said. ‘If we both get through we’ll meet in the hut.’

‘See you in the ‘ut, then.’

‘I hope so,’ I replied. And we parted company, advancing into the open and moving obliquely up the slope. The sentry was going away from us along the wire. He was the only one visible. There might be another where the wire ran into some trees to the south of our hut, but I had to risk that. Crouching low, I moved quickly up the slope, my eyes on the sentry. Once he stopped and stood for a moment gazing down into the valley. I flattened myself into the grass. The moon seemed unnaturally bright. I felt he must see me. But at length he resumed his pacing northwards along the wire.

I was now less than a hundred yards from the wire. I could just see the barbs on it. I began to worm my way forward on my stomach. My whole instinct was to make a wild dash for it. Time was so precious. But I knew that I should lose far more if I were caught. So I continued to crawl forward, laboriously slow though it seemed. I was lost among a forest of grass tussocks. I could no longer see the sentry without craning my head up and I could see no sign of Micky.

At last I was in view of the whole length of the wire from the trees on my left to a dip away to the north. The sentry was returning along his beat. I lay low, burying my face in the grass, hoping that my head would pass for a shadow. The jingle of his equipment came nearer and nearer, until I felt he must stumble right over me. I longed to look up and see whether he was looking at me. Suddenly I knew he was past me. The rattle of his bayonet against the rifle boss gradually receded. Then it stopped abruptly.

I couldn’t resist the temptation. Cautiously I raised my head. He was standing stock still about thirty yards along the wire to my left. The moon was behind him so that he was a dark silhouette, reminiscent of countless memorial statues to men who had died in the war to end war. It seemed an age that he stood there motionless, gazing down the slope in front of him. Somewhere on that slope Micky must be lying, waiting, as I was lying, waiting.

God knows how long he stood there. I didn’t dare make the slight movement necessary to look at my wrist watch. The smell of the dried grass reminded me of the lazy peace of summer under an oak tree or the still quiet of the Sussex downs. The familiar scent brought an ache of longing to my heart for the days that were gone. At last he moved on, but only to stop a few yards farther on to gaze again down the moonlit slope. My heart began to thud against my ribs. Surely he must have seen Micky. His bayonet caught the moon and the steel of it shone white.

I thought he never would move on. Time was passing, and time was precious. Already I thought I could sense a slight lightening of the sky that was not due to the moon. Dawn would soon be here.

But at last he turned and resumed his measured pacing along the wire. He did not pause again, and finally disappeared into the little stretch of wood through which the wire ran. This wood was not more than fifty yards away to my left. Had time been less pressing, I should have waited until he came back along his beat and was walking away from me to the north. That would have been the safest thing to do. I could then have made certain that his back was towards me. But my watch showed the time to be already three thirty-five. If I waited until he returned it might easily be another quarter of an hour before I could cross the wire. I dared not wait that long. I had to chance it.

I raised my head up out of the grass. There was no sign of any other sentry patrolling the wire. I rose to my feet and, crouched low, made for the wire.

There was no retreat now. I reached the wire and parted the near side of a coil with my gloved hands. I did not even glance in the direction of the wood. If he were standing there watching me, there was nothing I could do about it. My whole attention was concentrated on getting through that wire in the quickest possible time. Had the slope been down instead of up, I am certain I should have risked jumping it. As it was I had to follow the more laborious procedure of climbing through it. And the angle of the slope made it more difficult.

I slipped into the gap I had made in the near side of the coil and then, pressing the farther side apart, swung my right leg high over the wire into the gap.

‘Halt! Who goes there?’

The challenge rang out clear and startling in the stillness. I froze, the barbs of the wire cutting into the flesh between my legs. Instinctively I looked in the direction of the wood. But before my eyes had seen that there was no one there, I had realised that the challenge had come from the opposite direction. As I turned my head I heard the sound of a man running. He was coming along the wire, up out of the dip, as fast as his equipment would allow him. His rifle, its bayonet gleaming, was held at the ready.

For an instant panic seized me. I wanted to run. But I was still astride the crossed coils of the wire. Before I could get clear he would have ample time to pick me off. I waited. There was nothing else I could do. The sweat broke out on my forehead with the sense of frustration that overwhelmed me. There was the hut and the gun pit. They were not more than fifty yards away and so plain in the moonlight that I could almost believe myself there. Just fifty yards between success and failure. It was heartbreaking. But perhaps Micky would get through.

‘What are ye doing?’ The man had halted a few yards from me and I saw his thumb on the safety catch of his rifle. He was a Scots Guard, big and heavily built, with a flattened nose and large hands.

‘Trying to get through the wire,’ I said. ‘Do you mind if I get my other leg over? It isn’t very comfortable in this position.’

‘All raight. But dinna play ony tricks. If ye du I’ll no hesitate to shoot.’

‘I won’t play any tricks,’ I said. I pressed the wire down and swung my other leg over. I managed it better this time and did not lose my balance.

‘Why are ye creeping into the camp like this?’ he demanded.

‘I broke camp,’ I replied. ‘That’s my gun site over there. I had a good reason for doing so.’

‘Och, mon, it willna du.’ He shook his head. ‘Ye’ve got yerself in an awfu’ mess.’

‘Look,’ I said. ‘Be a sport. I had my own reasons for breaking camp.’

‘Ye canna wheedle me. I know my duty. Ye’re under arrest.’

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Micky creeping up on the wire. I moved a little farther along so that the sentry had to turn away from Micky in order to keep facing me.’ Stand still!’ The rifle jerked threateningly.

‘Give me a break,’ I said. ‘We’ve been in this place more than a month without leave. We haven’t even had any local leave.’ Micky was at the wire now. ‘I had to see someone. It was urgent. The only way I could do it was by breaking camp. I bet you haven’t been long in this place. You’d understand if you had.’ I was scarcely thinking what I was saying. Anything would do so long as it kept his attention away from Micky, who was now clambering through the wire.

‘That sort o’ talk willna get ye onywhere.’ The man was ruffled. I felt he would like to have let me go, but he didn’t dare. ‘Ye’ll have to see the corporal. Ye might be a German parachutist for all I ken. Come on, now. Get going.’

At that moment there was a dull thud along the wire. Micky had lost his balance and fallen flat on his face.

The sentry swung round. Instantly his rifle was at his shoulder. ‘Halt!’

Micky had just got to his feet again. His head jerked quickly in our direction. His face looked very pale in the moonlight. I could even see his eyes. They were南arrowed and shifty looking. His momentary hesitation was obvious. In a flash my mind wondered how often he had looked at a policeman in that same indecisive manner. Suddenly he dived forward. He looked like a little rabbit scuttling to cover towards the hut.

‘Halt, or I fire!’ The sentry’s thumb pressed the safety catch forward.

I jumped forward. ‘Don’t fire!’- I said. ‘He’s my pal. Don’t fire!’

Micky might think he had a chance, but he was not a fast runner and he was not attempting to zigzag. To a good marksman he was an absolute sitter.

‘Micky!’ I yelled. ‘Micky! Stop!’

He glanced over his shoulder. I waved to him. ‘Come over here,’ I called. ‘Quick!’ And in practically the same breath I said to the Guardsman, ‘Hold your fire. He’s all right — only scared of being caught.’

Micky had stopped, doubtful what to do. ‘Come over here!’ I called to him again. Reluctantly he began to walk in our direction.

The sentry lowered his rifle. He turned to me. ‘Will ye tell me what’s going on here? Are there ony mair of ye?’

‘No,’ I replied. ‘There’s only two of us. And I didn’t break camp to meet my girl friend. We broke camp to get certain vital information from men we knew to be Nazi agents.’

‘It willna du.’ He shook his head. ‘Ye’d best tell the truth when ye see the corporal. Come on now. March!’ By changing my story I had lost his sympathy. It was a pity. But it couldn’t be helped. Pray God the corporal wasn’t a fool. The sentry fell in behind me. ‘Gang straight for that pill-box oop yonder.’

Micky joined me. He was still panting slightly. ‘Why the hell did you call me?’ he demanded gruffly, as he fell into step beside me. ‘I could ‘a’ made it.’

‘You could not,’ I told him.

‘I thought this information was important. It was worth the risk, wasn’t it?’

‘It wouldn’t have helped to have you shot,’ I said. ‘He couldn’t have missed at that range.’

He didn’t reply to that and we walked on in silence. We climbed the final slope of the hill. The pill-box, which was about a hundred yards to the north of our hut, looked squat and menacing in the moonlight.

‘Corporal! Corporal!’ called our guard as we approached the low concrete and brick structure. ‘Corporal!’

The corporal in charge came out, crouching to get through the low entrance of the pill-box. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he came up to us. He was short for a Guardsman, and he had reddish hair and a sharp, rather bitter face. This was going to be difficult.

‘What’s all this?’ he demanded. There was only the faintest trace of a Scottish accent.

‘A’ caught these two getting into the camp over the wire, Corporal.’ Our guard nodded in my direction. ‘First this laddie says he broke camp to meet his lassie. Then when I challenge the other laddie he says they broke camp together in order to get some information aboot Nazi agents. They say they belong to the gun over yonder.’

The corporal looked us up and down. His eyes were sharp and close-set. ‘Name and number?’ he demanded.

‘Hanson,’ I said, and gave him my number. Micky also gave the information he wanted. He then checked our papers and aerodrome passes.

‘Right,’ he said. Then, turning towards the pill-box, ‘Guard, turnout!’

They tumbled out, bleary-eyed and half awake, putting their tin hats on as they came.

‘McGregor and Baird, march these men down to the guardroom.’

I cleared my throat — I felt nervous. ‘Excuse me, Corporal,’ I said, ‘but — ‘

I got no further. ‘Anything you have to say, say it to the duty officer when you come on charge in the morning.’

‘I would like to see my sergeant before going to the guardroom.’

‘I will see him. If you really belong to the site, I will let him know that you have returned.’

‘But I must see him. It’s of vital importance — ‘

‘Don’t argue. March ‘em away.’

‘God in heaven, man,’ I cried, ‘do you want the Germans to land on the ‘drome without anyone having a chance to prevent them?’

‘Speak when you’re spoken to, Gunn,’ he barked.

‘You’re under arrest. Try to remember that. You’ll have a chance to think up all your crazy excuses for breaking camp in the guardroom. You,’ he said to the two Guardsmen detailed as escort, ‘take ‘em away.’

I broke free of them as they closed in on me. My sense of frustration was so great that I lost control of myself. ‘Listen, you fool!’ I began.

‘Don’t adopt that tone with me,’ he cried.

‘Shut up.’ I spoke quietly. And perhaps because there was a ring of authority in my voice, he did not interrupt me this time. ‘If you don’t let me see Sergeant Langdon, I can almost certainly guarantee that you will pay for your denseness with your life. At dawn this morning this and other fighter stations are going to be invaded from the air. Normally a landing on the ‘drome wouldn’t succeed. At this moment, three, possibly four, R.A.F. lorries manned by Nazi agents are approaching Thorby. They carry smoke containers. The wind is northeast.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘The time is now three-fifty. At any moment now those lorries will enter the camp and drive along the tarmac here. They will take up a position somewhat to the north of us. A smoke screen will then be laid across the ‘drome. Under cover of that smoke screen troop-carriers will land. And under cover of that smoke screen the ground defences will be stormed.’

I had shaken him. I could see it in his face. In my desperation my voice had probably carried conviction.

‘And how would the troop-carriers land if the runways were screened by smoke?’

They will land blind,’ I said. The start and finish of the runways will be marked by captive balloons flown at a definite height. Probably they will carry lights. There’s very little time if the other ‘dromes are to be warned. That’s why I want to see my sergeant.’

‘Why don’t you want to see the ground defence officer — eh?’ He was still suspicious.

‘Because by the time I had got him out of bed and convinced him that I wasn’t crazy, it might be too late to stop the smoke screen.’ I didn’t tell him that I was afraid the ground-defence officer might not believe me and that I wanted sufficient proof to leave him in no doubt of the position. ‘All I want to do is to have five minutes’ talk with Sergeant Langdon. That’s not an unreasonable request, surely?’

He hesitated. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it can’t do any harm.’ Then, with a resumption of his previous sharpness: ‘All right. March ‘em over to the hut yonder. Lance-Corporal Jackson, take charge.’

We were half way to the hut when I heard the sound of engines approaching from the direction of the square. A sudden excitement surged through me. An instant later the first of four R.A.F. lorries appeared from behind the low bulk of the hut. They lumbered past us along the tarmac, dark, cumbersome shapes against the moon. I turned to the corporal. ‘That’s them,’ I said.

‘They look all right to me,’ he said. But I could see that he was impressed.

I went in by the back entrance of our hut, the corporal following close on my heels. The door of the sergeant’s room was on the right. I went straight in. A hurricane lamp turned low stood on a table beside Langdon’s bed. I shook his shoulder. He mumbled and turned over with his eyes tight shut. I shook him. again. ‘What is it?’ Unwillingly he opened his eyes.

‘Good God, Hanson!’ He sat up in bed with a jerk. ‘Where the hell have you been? Is Micky with you?’

‘Before I could say anything the Guards’ corporal said: ‘This is one of your men, is he, Sergeant?’

‘Yes.’

‘We caught the two of them entering the camp over the wire just below your site.’

‘What’s going on here?’ It was Bombardier Hood’s voice. He pushed past the corporal into the room. ‘Oh, so you’re back, are you? I just came in to wake my relief and heard voices in here,’ he added by way of explanation. He was fully dressed with gas mask at the alert and he carried a rifle and bayonet.

‘Sergeant Langdon,’ I said.

‘Yes?’

‘I want you to give Bombardier Hood instructions to get everyone up and dressed as quickly as possible.’

‘But why?’

‘What the devil are you talking about?’ cut in Hood. ‘Do you realise that you’ve done a very serious thing, breaking camp. Your absence was reported to Mr. Ogilvie.’

‘There’s no time to waste,’ I told Langdon urgently. “There’s going to be an air invasion of the ‘drome at dawn. Four lorries carrying smoke containers have been got into the camp. They passed the site just before I woke you. The smoke will screen the landing.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ demanded Langdon, swinging his feet out of bed. ‘How do you know this?’

‘I’ve just watched Vayle superintending the loading of the lorries and issuing his instructions. It was at an isolated place called Cold Harbour Farm in Ashdown Forest. They caught us but we killed two of the guards and got away.’ I pulled the revolver I had taken from our guard out of my pocket and tossed it on to the bed.

‘There’s a revolver we took off one of them. I’ll give you the details as the others are getting dressed.’

Langdon hesitated. His face wore a puzzled frown. Suddenly he glanced up at Hood. ‘Have four lorries passed the pit?’

‘Yes, just before I came in to wake my relief,’ he replied. ‘But they were perfectly ordinary R.A.F. lorries. You’re surely not going to take any notice of this ridiculous story. Personally I think Hanson is trying to screen his own rather peculiar activities. You remember, just after he arrived here there was that business of a plan of the ground defences being found on a Nazi agent. Then he talked with that German pilot and later he was identified — ‘

‘Give a “Take post”,’ Langdon cut in.

‘But it’s a ridiculous story. R.A.F. lorries with smoke containers! It’s-‘

‘Give the “Take post”,’ Langdon cut in.

Hood went out sullenly. A second later came his shout of ‘Take post’. It was followed almost immediately by the sound of men scrambling out of bed and into their clothes. The thin partition wall only slightly muffled the noise, and the hut itself shook to the sudden burst of activity.

‘Now then, tell me the whole story,’ said Langdon as he slipped his trousers over his pyjamas.

Briefly I outlined the events of the night, with some reference to the things that had led up to them.

‘And what do you suggest this detachment does?’ he asked when I had finished.

‘Surrounds the lorries,’ I replied. ‘No officer is going to send out an urgent warning to all the other fighter ‘dromes unless this ridiculous story of mine is backed up by some concrete evidence. If you find these lorries are harmless, I don’t care what happens to me. Anyway, I know they’re not harmless.’

‘All right. We’ll do that. Are you willing to leave these two men in my charge, Corporal? I’ll make myself personally responsible for them?’

‘Very good, Sergeant.’

‘Oh, just a minute, Corporal,’ said Langdon as the other was leaving the room. ‘Hanson here expects the lorries to be parked somewhere on the northeast side of the landing field. Will you notify all Guards’ posts along this side of the field that in the event of rifle fire being heard they are to close in on four R.A.F. lorries. The personnel of these lorries are dressed in R.A.F. uniforms.’

‘Versa good, Sergeant. I’ll do that.’

As he went out, Micky appeared in the doorway, looking rather sheepish. ‘And I’ll bet you didn’t go out after fifth columnists,’ said Langdon as he put on his battle top.

Micky looked uncomfortable, but said nothing.

‘All right. Go and get your rifle,’ said Langdon.

A sudden glint of eagerness showed in Micky’s eyes. ‘An’ baynet, Sarge? Cold steel! That’s the stuff to give the bastards.’

‘All right.’ Langdon turned to me. ‘I don’t know whether it has any bearing on the position, but Squadron-Leader Nightingale drove up to the pit at about twelve-thirty. There was an alarm on at the time. He asked for you. When I told him that you were missing, he ran back to his car and drove off at a terrific lick. He had that Waaf of yours with him.’

‘He knows the situation,’ I said. ‘He got in touch with a fellow on my paper for me. He may have got some fresh information.’

Bombardier Hood came in. ‘Well, they’re all dressed, Sergeant. And I’ve kept them in the hut.’ His tone conveyed his complete disagreement with the arrangement.

‘All right. Come on, then, Hanson. And I hope to God this doesn’t prove to be a fool’s errand.’ Langdon led the way out of the room and into the hut, where one hurricane lamp was all that lit the gloom of the blackout.

Everyone was crowded round Micky. They fell silent as we entered. Every face was turned towards us. ‘Get your rifles,’ ordered Langdon. ‘Issue twenty rounds per man, Bombardier Hood. Fuller, you will remain as sentry.’ Whilst the rounds were being issued, Langdon said: ‘Hanson has returned to camp with a story of an air invasion at dawn. Four lorries have arrived on the landing ground which he says are manned by fifth columnists whose job it is to put a smoke screen across the ‘drome at the appropriate moment. I intend to investigate these lorries. We will surround one of them and I shall go forward and examine it myself. It will be your job to cover me, and if there’s any truth in Hanson’s story I shall rely on you to cover me properly. Micky, Chetwood, Helson and Hood, you will carry hand grenades. You’ll find them under my bed. Right, let’s get going.’

Outside the moon, though low in the west, was bright by comparison with the gloom of the hut. A faint pallor snowed in the eastern sky. I glanced at my watch. It was past four. ‘Dawn will soon be breaking,’ I said.

‘Will they attack before it’s light or after?’ Langdon asked me.

‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘I should think about half-light. They would want to get the troop-carriers in before it was light enough to make them an easy target for our fighters.’

As we passed the pit, the stocky barrel of the three-inch lifting darkly against the moon, Langdon said: ‘Helson, my bike is over there. Will you bring it along? I may want you to act as a runner if anything happens.’

‘O.K., John. Shall I bring the gun as well?’

The laughter that greeted his remark was derisive. Ken’s rather high-pitched laugh and Chetwood’s deep bellow rang out clear above the others. I glanced back. The detachment was following us in a ragged bunch, and I noticed that Kan and Chetwood were walking on either side of Hood. He was talking and they were listening intently. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but for a second his eyes met mine, and I knew that if by any chance the lorries turned out to be harmless it would go ill with me.

Half unconsciously I quickened my pace as we reached the tarmac edge of the landing field. Langdon and I walked in silence. For myself, I began to feel uneasy, almost frightened. The events of the night seemed more like a dream than the reality I knew them to be, and now that I had persuaded Langdon to action I had an unpleasant feeling that I might be wrong. All my self-confidence seemed to have been expended in my effort to obtain this positive action. Langdon, too, was anxious. If I was wrong, he would look a fool in the eyes of his detachment and would have some awkward questions to answer when I came up on charge in the morning.

We passed the dispersal point to the north of our site. We were half-way to the next dispersal point when Hood joined us. ‘Where are your lorries?’ he asked.

The question was pertinent but the way he put it was almost exultant. In that moment I came as near to hating anyone as I have ever done. Dimly I could now make out the trees and scrub at the north end of the ‘drome. The tarmac roadway, a ribbon of white in the moonlight, curved away to the left as it followed the perimeter of the landing field. Nowhere could I see any sign of the lorries. I felt a sudden sinking sensation inside me. The gravel pit by Cold Harbour Farm seemed so far away and unreal. I felt scared. ‘We’ll cut down behind the next dispersal point,’ I said. They’ve probably spread out along the slope in order to cover as much ground as possible with the smoke.’

Hood grunted. His disbelief was quite unmasked. I sensed that Langdon was feeling uncomfortable and ill at ease.

We struck off the tarmac on to the dry, coarse grass. We passed the crumbling sandbags of what had once been a Lewis gun pit. In places the grass gave way to bare, baked earth. The grass became thick and more plentiful, however, as we reached the slope and passed behind the great bank of the dispersal point. We threaded our way between two bomb craters, relics of Friday’s raid, stumbling over heaps of loose clay that were hard like bricks.

At last we came in sight of the wire that stretched like a dark snake across the grass half-way down the slope. Two men moved along it, carrying a heavy cylindrical object between them. They were in R.A.F. uniform. I touched Langdon’s arm. I had a sudden feeling of triumph. My relief was so great that I could hardly speak. ‘That looks like one of the smoke cylinders,’ I said.

We had stopped, and for a moment we watched the two men along the wire with their burden. The others crowded up behind us. They had stopped talking, sensing some development. ‘All right,’ Langdon said. ‘Leave your rifle, Hanson, and come on with me. The rest of you get down in the grass and don’t make a sound.’

Langdon and I went forward alone. We did not attempt to conceal ourselves. We walked diagonally along the slope and at every step more and more of the wire came into view. Two more men in R.A.F. uniform appeared, carrying another cylinder between them. And then at last we sighted an R.A.F. lorry parked against the wire at a crazy angle. Four men were busy unloading the cylinders from it. One of the Guards’ sentries was leaning on his rifle watching them.

‘Good enough,’ said Langdon. ‘So far as it goes you’re right.’

We turned and retraced our steps. ‘What do you mean — so far as it goes?’ I asked.

‘Well, I’ve got to satisfy myself that they shouldn’t be doing what they’re doing.’

‘But surely you believe what I have told you now?’

‘Yes. But it’s just possible you may have been mistaken. God knows, I hope not for your sake. But it is possible that they may be R.A.F. and that they may have orders to put those cylinders out along the wire. You see my point?’

‘What are you going to do, then?’ I asked.

‘Try and bluff them into showing their hand.’

We had reached the others now. ‘Get back to the road as quickly as possible,’ Langdon ordered. ‘Go quietly and keep low.’

I picked up my rifle and followed him. As soon as we were out of sight of the wire he broke into a trot. We rounded the end of the dispersal point and reached the tarmac. On the roadway we increased the pace. After doing about three hundred yards at the double, Langdon stopped. When the whole detachment had come up with us, he said: ‘There is an R.A.F. lorry almost directly be low us down the slope of the hill. That is our objective. I want you to spread out about twenty yards apart in a long line. We will then move forward. As soon as you come within sight of the lorry, get down and try to creep for ward without being seen. I want you to finish up in a big semi-circle round the lorry. That means the two flanks will close in. Your final position must not be more than two hundred yards from the lorry. You’ll have five minutes from the time we move forward to get into position. I shall then go forward on my own. You will not open fire until either I give the order or they open fire. If I give that order or if they fire on me, I shall rely on you to take the lorry in the quickest possible time. It will mean that they are there for the purpose of assisting an invasion of the ‘drome, and there will be very little time to spare. Is that understood?’

No-one said a word. ‘All right, then. Spread out on either side of me at the double.’

As soon as the detachment had spread out in a line along the edge of the roadway, Langdon waved his hand and started forward. Langdon, Hood and myself were together in a little bunch. Micky was twenty yards to the left of us, and Helson, who had left his bike on the edge of the roadway, was on our right. The line was not very impressive, there being only four men on either side of us. But it advanced with some pretensions of a line, and as a result looked reasonably like an infantry section in extended order.

We soon topped the brow of the hill, and before we had gone thirty yards down the slope we sighted the lorry. Langdon had judged it nicely. We ourselves were directly above it. We crouched down, moving forward more cautiously. The moon was low enough now for the sharper slope of the hill near the brow to be in shadow. This shadow completely swallowed up the detachment, so that, looking on either side of us, I could scarcely believe that we were not alone.

The slope gradually eased off and the shadow ended abruptly. We were less than a hundred yards from the lorry and we halted here. I touched Langdon’s arm and pointed along the wire to the north. The slope spread out here in a shoulder and on it, close against the wire, was parked a second R.A.F. lorry. Here, too, men dressed in R.A.F. uniform were carrying cylinders along the wire.

Langdon looked at his watch. ‘The five minutes is up,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and see what they’re up to.’

‘It’s suicide,’ I said. ‘If you force them to show their hand you’ll get killed. This is too big a thing for them to have any scruples.’

‘Well, at least I shall have died to some purpose,’ he said with a boyish laugh which sounded brittle and false to my sensitive ears.

‘Let me go,’ I said. ‘It’s my show.’

‘No, this part of it’s mine,’ he said. ‘You’ve done enough.’ His tone was quiet and final. He was, after all, the detachment commander.

‘Well, whoever you talk to, see that you don’t get in my line of fire. I used to be something of a shot when I was at school. I’ll keep him covered the whole time.’

‘Thanks.’ He rose to his feet and went down the slope, his slim figure suddenly showing up in the slanting light of the moon. Beyond him the eastern sky was paling.

It all seemed so strangely ordinary. And yet there was a difference. The slope down which John Langdon was walking and the line of dannert wire — I knew it all so well. In the stillness of the evenings I had walked along this hillside. And my rifle! It had just been something to take on night guards. Now all these familiar things took on a new significance. The hillside might suddenly become a miniature battlefield. My rifle was suddenly a weapon. And yet there was no visible indication of a change. Everything looked much the same.

Langdon had reached the lorry now. A man in the uniform of an R.A.F. sergeant jumped out of the back of it. Langdon moved slightly so that he did not screen the man. Quickly I cocked my rifle and raised it to my shoulder. It seemed rather unnecessary. The man was unarmed. I could see no sign of hostility.

Hood probably sensed my feeling, for he suddenly said: ‘Mind that thing doesn’t go off. You don’t get away with murder just because you’re in uniform.’

I made no reply. I felt distinctly uncomfortable.

The Guards’ sentry had continued on his beat. Langdon was alone. Two men were watching him from the tailboard of the lorry. I wished I had brought a pair of glasses with me. Langdon nodded in our direction. The R.A.F. sergeant glanced at the slope above him.

Then suddenly the whole atmosphere of the scene changed. The man had produced a small automatic from his pocket. I saw it glint in the moonlight as he waved Langdon towards the back of the lorry.

Automatically my forefinger had taken the first pressure on the trigger. Langdon moved slowly towards the lorry. The man covering him pivoted but did not actually move.

The foresight came up into the U of the backlight. I squeezed the trigger. The recoil was pleasantly reminiscent of the range at Bisley. There was no sense of killing. The man was just a target. He jerked forward with the force of the bullet’s impact, stumbled and slowly crumpled. I reloaded automatically without removing the rifle from my shoulder.

Langdon hesitated for a second, watching the man fall. It was like a ‘still’ from a film. The two men on the tailboard of the lorry gazed at their leader, fascinated, momentarily incapable of action. The men carrying the cylinders along the wire halted.

Then suddenly, like puppets, they all came to life. Langdon dived for the slope. The men along the wire dropped their cylinders and ran for the lorry. The two men on the tailboard disappeared inside. They reappeared, a second later, with rifles. Two more came out from behind the lorry, they also had rifles.

Langdon had reached the steepest part of the slope. He was running hard and zigzagged at the same time. I fired at the men on the tailboard. As I reloaded I heard the crack of Hood’s rifle just to the left of me. I fired again. Sporadic fire had now developed along the whole of our short line. One of the men on the tailboard toppled to the ground. The other disappeared inside. I turned my fire on the four men who were coming up along the wire. They were spread out, and though little spurts of earth were shooting up all round them, they made the lorry without being hit.

‘They’ve got down behind the wheels of the lorry,’ Hood said. Little spurts of flame showed in the dark behind the bulk of the lorry. I could hear the thud of bullets as they lashed into the grass at Langdon’s feet. I concentrated my aim on the pin-points of flame, firing rapidly; Others were doing the same. I don’t know whether we hit anyone, but our fire seemed to put them off their aim, for Langdon reached the shadow and jumped down beside us, panting heavily.

I stopped firing. I had only six rounds left. ‘What do we do now?’ I asked.

‘Send a runner back,’ Langdon replied breathlessly.

‘Keelson!’ he called.

‘Yes, sergeant,’ came his voice from the right of us.

‘Get on that bicycle. Ride to the pit and ‘phone Gun Ops. Tell ‘em what’s happened. We want reserves to put these lorries out of action. Tell ‘em to issue an Attack Alarm, have all ground defences manned — to prepare for an air invasion of the ‘drome within the next half-hour. O.K.?’

‘Right.’ Vaguely his form loomed up out of the grass as he scrambled to his feet and started back up the slope.

‘What about the armoured car over by Station H.Q.?’ said Hood. ‘It’s just the thing for this job.’

‘You’re right. When you’ve done that, Helson,’ Langdon called after him, ‘go down to Station H.Q. and rout out the R.A. lads who run that armoured car. Bring it back here.’

‘O.K.’ He disappeared from sight, merging into the shadow of the hillside.

‘They’re getting a Bern gun out,’ Hood said, and his rifle cracked. One of the men, who had appeared on the tailboard again, ducked. I raised my rifle and fired. I had the satisfaction of seeing his legs give under him. But he still continued to hand down first two guns and then four boxes of ammunition. I fired again at the men on the ground. Fire crackled out along the hillside once more. But they got the two guns into cover behind the lorry.

‘Hold your fire!’ Langdon yelled.

There was no alternative. Everyone’s ammunition was getting very low. We had to keep some reserve until reinforcements came up.

Langdon nudged my arm. The Guards are coming up along the wire. See?’ Two men were running along the wire with bayonets fixed and others were moving along the slope of the hill in extended formation.

I suddenly felt sorry for the poor devils behind the lorry. They were doing their job as they saw it, just as we were doing ours — and they hadn’t a hope, unless the time fixed for the landing was very near indeed. The sky was perceptibly lightening. I glanced at my watch. It was nearly four-twenty. I began to feel anxious. There were those other three lorries. So far we had done nothing about them. And though the cylinders which had been carried out along the barbed wire to the south of us were useless, this lorry could still contribute to the smoke screen with the cylinders that had not yet been removed from it.

‘We must do something about those other lorries,’ I said to Langdon.

‘Yes, but what?’ he replied. ‘The armoured car is the only thing that will fix them.’

‘But that may be too late.’

‘Yes, but what the hell can we do? We’ll have to wait for that.’

The paling night had become quiet again. It seemed like the lull before the storm. How long would this quiet last? I had a vision of those big Ju 52s coming in through the smoke, disgorging their hordes of field grey. Two a minute, we had been told, was the speed at which they could land. Something had to be done.

The quiet was shattered by the ugly clatter of a Bren gun. The fire was not directed at us, but at the line of Guards advancing along the slope.

In a flash inspiration came to me. ‘My God!’ I said to Langdon. ‘The Bofors. Number Five Pit has a field of fire right down the slope. It should be possible to bring it to bear on one of the lorries at any rate.’

‘You’re right, by God,’ he said. ‘Take charge, will you, Hood. Hanson and I are going up to Number Five pit.’

‘Wait,’ Hood said. We checked, half standing. ‘Christ! He’ll never make it.’ Hood’s voice was a tone higher than usual in his excitement.

We both crouched, breathless. I felt a horrible sick sensation inside me. At any moment I expected that small figure to double up and pitch headlong down the slope.

It was Micky. He had jumped to his feet and was running like a mad thing. His rifle, complete with bayonet, was slung across his shoulders. ‘What the hell is the fool up to?’ I muttered.

The Bren gun was chattering away. But its fire was still concentrated on the advancing Guards. Apparently they saw Micky too late, for when they checked their fire in order to train their gun on to him, he was already at the foot of the steep part of the slope and within some thirty yards of the lorry. He suddenly stopped and swung his right arm back. For an instant he stood poised like a javelin thrower. Then his arm came forward and a small object curved lazily through the air. At the same instant the Bren gun set up its rat-a-tat again, and Micky checked and staggered.

I lost sight of the Mills bomb he had thrown. But it must have been well aimed, for he had barely fallen to the hail of bullets that bit into the turf all round him, when there was a sudden flash beneath the lorry, followed by the sound of an explosion; not loud, but sharp. The lorry rocked slightly and several pieces of wood were flung into the air.

Complete silence followed the explosion. Then quietly, menacingly, smoke began to rise out of the back of the lorry. At first I thought it must be on fire. But the stuff began to pour out in a great cloud, thick and black like funnel smoke. Then I knew that the smoke cylinders had been hit.

Micky was on his feet again now and running rather jerkily towards the lorry. He made it just as one of the Bren gunners staggered out from behind it. Micky had unslung his rifle. The fellow tried to dive back into the lorry. But Micky was on him before he could turn. I saw a flash of steel in the moonlight and the man fell, pinned to the ground by the force of Micky’s lunge. The last I saw of Micky as the smoke enveloped the lorry, he was struggling to get his bayonet out of the poor wretch.

The smoke lay close to the ground like a thick amorphous blanket, gathering volume with every second. In an instant the lorry was lost to sight as the breeze rolled the smoke up the slope towards us.

‘Come on,’ said Langdon. ‘Let’s get to the Bofors.’

We scrambled up the slope and struck northwards along the brow of the hill. As we ran I asked Langdon what had made the fellow he had spoken to produce a gun. ‘He said he was acting under instructions from Winton,’ Langdon replied. They were going to test smoke as a means of defending the ‘drome against heavy air attacks. I asked to see his instructions. When he said that they were given to him verbally, I told him he would have to get the cylinders back into the lorry and return to Station H.Q. for written instructions. We argued for a bit, and when I made it clear that I suspected him and that I was determined to prevent the cylinders from being set off, he showed his hand.’

We were now in sight of Number Five pit. The slender barrel of the Bofors showed above the sandbagged parapet. Tin-hatted figures were moving about inside the pit and other members of the team were standing about outside their hut, fully dressed. The pit was perched just on the brow of the hill. One of the lorries was almost directly below it and another was just visible about seven hundred yards farther north along the wire.

When we arrived at the pit the sergeant in charge was at the ‘phone. We were challenged, but the guard recognised Langdon and let us enter the pit.

‘Sergeant Guest.’ Langdon’s interruption was met by a silencing wave of the hand. Langdon went over to the fellow and tapped him on the shoulder.

The sergeant turned impatiently. ‘Keep quiet,’ he said. This is important. They’re expecting an invasion at dawn.’

‘I know, I know,’ Langdon said. ‘It’s one of my fellows reporting to Gun Ops. Put that ‘phone down and listen a minute.’

Guest handed the receiver to his bombardier. ‘What do you mean — one of your fellows? What’s happening? There’s been firing — ‘

That was us,’ Langdon interrupted. Briefly he outlined the situation.

When he came to the point of our visit — that the Bofors should open fire on the two R.A.F. lorries visible from the pit, Sergeant Guest said: ‘I can’t very well do that without an officer’s permission. I mean, how am I to know that they aren’t really R.A.F. lorries?’

‘Well, get your men on to tearing down the sandbags so that we can lay on the lorries while we talk the matter over,’ Langdon said.

We had barely convinced him of the need for opening fire by the time sufficient parapet had been taken down, and then it was only with great reluctance that he gave the order to load and lay on the lorry immediately below the pit. He didn’t like it. I must say I couldn’t blame him. He had only our word for what was going on. I don’t think he would have done it at all if he hadn’t seen the dense blanket of smoke creeping over the brow of the hill to the south and spreading across the landing field.

‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘Layers on. Load! Lay on that R.A.F. lorry. Vertical zero, lateral zero.’

‘On, on,’ came from the two layers.

‘Set to auto. One burst. Fire!’

The pit shook at the sudden utterances of the gun — Umm-pom, umm-pom, umm-pom. The flame guard belched fire and the barrel thrust backwards and forwards at each shot. The tracer shells flew through the air like little flaming oranges chasing each other to the target. They hit the lorry square amidships and burst with soft plops. Five shots and the lorry had disintegrated into a great billow of smoke that poured out from its shattered sides and began immediately to creep up the hill, hugging the ground.

‘By God, Langdon, you’re right,’ cried Guest excitedly. ‘It is smoke.’

‘Get that other lorry,’ shouted Langdon. This stuff will be on top of us in a moment.’

The gun traversed left. More sandbags had to be removed from the parapet before the layers could get on target. The smoke rolled up the hill, thick and black and strangely menacing. The vanguard of it topped the hill to the south of us, putting a dense screen between ourselves and the dispersal point below which we had attacked the first lorry. It was clear we should miss the bulk of it, but the fringe of the wretched stuff was-only a few yards from us when the layers reported. ‘On, on.’

A moment later the Bofors spoke. It was like the sound of tom-toms in a mountain gorge, steady and angry. The first two little balls of fire hit the slope in the foreground. The layers elevated slightly and the fourth shell registered a direct hit on the cabin. Two more shells and Guest ordered ‘Cease fire!’ The last shell so shook the wreckage that it slowly toppled over on to the wire. Great volumes of black smoke poured lazily from it as it had from the other two.

‘Nice work,’ I said. I had a horrible feeling of exultation. ‘Now there’s only one left and the armoured car ought to be able to deal with that.’

‘If it can get through all this smoke,’ said Langdon.

‘No matter,’ I said. ‘One lorry won’t make much of a smokescreen.’

‘Yes, but supposing they came over now.’ He looked anxious. The whole field will be covered with smoke. The ground defences couldn’t do a thing.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I replied. ‘They couldn’t land. Don’t forget the whole thing depends on their having balloon markers at each end of the runway to guide them in. Besides, they won’t come yet. It must have been worked out to an intricate timetable. The cylinders wouldn’t have been distributed for at least ten minutes. And they would have had to allow some slight margin. I should say we have got another quarter of an hour. But we must warn other aerodromes.’

At that moment the Tannoy sounded faintly from the depths of the smoke, wisps of which were beginning to curl over the pit: ‘Attention, please! Attention, please! Attack Alarm! Attack Alarm! All ground defences to report immediately to their action stations. Crews to stand by at dispersal points. All other personnel to take cover. Anti-aircraft defences will be fully manned. All personnel throughout the camp will put on gas masks immediately.’ The message was repeated.

And then: Tiger and Swallowtail Squadrons to readiness immediately.’

‘Thank God for that,’ I said. ‘Helson has persuaded someone to take action.’

The phone rang. Sergeant Guest answered it. Then he put his hand over the mouthpiece and turned to us. ‘It’s the C.O. Thorby on the ‘phone. He wants to know if anyone in this gun pit has any accurate knowledge of what’s going on.’

‘I’ll talk to him,’ said Langdon.

He took the receiver. ‘Sergeant Langdon here, sir. The position is this: There was a plan to land troops on the aerodrome at dawn this morning under cover of a smoke screen. Four R.A.F. lorries entered the camp at roughly three-fifty hours carrying smoke cylinders and manned by fifth columnists in R.A.F. uniforms. Gunner Hanson of my detachment saw a large number of these lorries being loaded up in a gravel pit in Ashdown Forest. Mr Vayle was in charge. Yes, Vayle. The four lorries that entered Thorby distributed themselves along the wire to the northeast of the landing field — that is, to windward. My own detachment dealt with one of them and two more have just been destroyed by Bofors fire from Number Five pit. Yes, sir, as far as we know it’s only smoke. Gas would hamper their own troops as much as ours. Well, the cylinders must be fairly well shot to pieces. It shouldn’t take long to clear. No, they were to be guided in by balloons at a fixed height at each end of the runway. The last one must be practically at the north end of the ‘drome. The wind is northeast, you know. Yes, the runner who reported to Gun Ops. has gone on to get the armoured car. You’ll come out with it, sir? Very good. I’ll wait here at Number Five pit. Well, we think in about quarter of an hour. Can you send an urgent warning out to all ‘dromes in the south-eastern area? Yes, there isn’t much time. Very good, sir. I’ll be here.’

He put down the receiver. ‘He’s sending out a warning to other stations right away,’ Langdon told me.

‘Is Winton coming out here?’ I asked.

‘Yes — and the ground-defence officer.’

‘Aren’t you two going to put your masks on?’ came Guest’s muffled voice. He already had his on, and I suddenly realised that the whole of his detachment had put gas masks on. The smoke was curling into the pit and it smelt acrid and dirty. I had a moment of panic as I discovered that I hadn’t got mine with me. Langdon hadn’t got his either. In the excitement of the moment I don’t think any of our detachment had taken their masks with them. Langdon sniffed the air and then shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say, what will be will be. We examined the pit gas detectors. They were unmarked though the smoke was thickening all round us. To the north it was still light, but visibility was too bad for us to make out any details. To the south, however, it was still black.

It gave one an unpleasant feeling of being choked. At the same time I began to feel that expectant void in my stomach. Time was slipping by. In a few minutes it would be zero hour. I began to wonder what would happen. They might not have the smoke screen to help them, but that did not necessarily mean they wouldn’t land. And if they landed, — well, on paper it should be a massacre. But — I wasn’t sure.

‘I think we’d better get out of here whilst we can still see our way,’ Langdon said to me. ‘Winton will never get as far as the pit in this stuff. We’ll meet him on the road.’

Smoke from the lorry to the north of us was now pouring over the brow of the hill and rolling in a thick, lowlying cloud across the landing field. It didn’t spread much, however, so that there was quite a well-defined lane of pale light, part moon, part dawn, between this bank of smoke and the one behind us. The latter was already beginning to thin out, for the cylinders, having been shattered, had not much staying power.

We had barely reached the roadway when a pair of headlights nosed out of the smoke. At first I thought it was the armoured car. But when it cleared the smoke, it turned out to be a small sports car. As it drew up alongside us I recognised it for Nightingale’s. Three people were sitting in it. They looked strangely impersonal, for they had gas masks on. The two in front were in Air Force uniform. But the one behind was a civilian.

I knew who the two in front were before they removed their gas masks. The driver was Nightingale, and it was Marion who sat beside him. ‘Where have you been, Barry?’ Her voice was quiet. For a moment I thought her eyes looked reproachful, anxious. But there was a smile on her lips — a smile that made my heart race — and it spread from her lips to her eyes. Her whole face was suddenly lit up by that smile.

It was an exquisite moment, shared between us there in the pale light of the dawn with the trappings of war all around us. It was an oasis in that grim, exciting desert of useless action. All that she had to offer a man was in her eyes as the smile overwhelmed the anxiety in their depths like sunlight. And both.were for me. I felt pain in my heart, pain that was yet pleasure; pain that I had found beauty, but could not grasp it firmly for all time; pain because our moment was fleeting. Life is full of this ache for moments that cannot be held. War makes it greater, but because there is a futility and not an inevitability about the immediate cause of one’s inability to hold one’s moments.

I am sure I should have stood staring at her long oval face framed in her dishevelled page-boy’s hair and those sweet smiling eyes with no other thought till the troop-carriers came flocking to the ‘drome. But the spell was broken by the civilian in the back. ‘Well, you old dog, Barry — what have you been up to?’

I jerked my gaze from Marion. The fellow had removed his gas mask. It was Bill Trent. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I said. I fear my tone was bleak. He had broken the spell. And anyone who breaks the spell of that first discovery of love given and offered freely must surely expect a cold welcome.

‘I got back here from a forced landing near Redhill to find him waiting for me,’ John Nightingale explained.

‘He had tried to see Winton without any luck.’

‘He’s proved that Vayle’s a spy,’ Marion cut in, her voice sounding surprisingly matter-of-fact.

‘How you do know, Bill?’ I asked.

‘Because he’s not Vayle at all, old boy,’ Bill Trent replied. ‘Vayle was last seen in Dachau concentration camp in 1936. That was two years after the Vayle who is a librarian here returned to England.’

‘Yes, but how do you know?’ I asked.

‘After I’d got your message I did everything I could to find out Vayle’s background. I got details about the family, but all his relations seemed to be dead. I could unearth very little information about him prior to 1934. In desperation I combed through my refugee acquaintances. I knew a man who was one of the very few to escape from Dachau. He said he had been with Vayle for nearly two years in that camp. I knew he was telling the truth because he gave me Vayle’s life history, which tallied with what I had been able to discover. He said that when he escaped Vayle was still there, slowly dying of T.B.’

‘I got Winton to see Trent,’ John Nightingale put in. ‘It was a bit of a shock for him. Vayle is a very brilliant man and he has done a great deal for Fighter Command in working out tactics. A guard was sent to bring him in for questioning. But he had left the camp. That scared me. I told Winton everything that you had told me. He sent me out to your site to fetch you. It was then past midnight. You were missing. Miss Sheldon was on night duty at Ops. She told me which Cold Harbour Farm you had picked.’

‘And we went there and we found a dilapidated old farmhouse and a dear old gentleman in a night-cap and gown,’ Marion put in. ‘But you weren’t there. He spoke of two soldiers he’d given a meal to. We came back here. We were in Ops. when all this started, and then Winton spoke to your sergeant. What happened to you, Barry? You did find something, didn’t you?’

Briefly I told them of the gravel pit and the lorries — and Vayle. I explained the plan to them. And I was just beginning to tell them how we had destroyed the three lorries when out of the thinning smoke came the armoured car, followed by two R.A.F. cars. Langdon stepped forward and waved to them. They drew up just short of us.

Winton jumped out of his car, and Major Comyns and Ogilvie got out of the other. They had just taken their gas masks off and they were stuffing the face pieces into their haversacks as they came up to us.

Langdon stepped forward and saluted. In a few words he explained the situation. When he had finished, the C.O. turned to a young artillery lieutenant who was standing by the open door of the armoured car. ‘Ross,’ he called. ‘There is an R.A.F. lorry somewhere along this wire to the north. It must be put out of action at once. If possible, I want it captured intact. And I want prisoners. I’ll be at Ops.’

‘Very good, sir.’ His voice was muffled in his gas mask. The iron door of the armoured car clanged to, and the great lumbering vehicle roared off along the tarmac and disappeared into the smoke to the north of us, which was also beginning to thin out now.

Winton turned to me. ‘Good work, Hanson,’ he said. ‘I’ll not forget it. I’d like you to stay with me. Sergeant Langdon, get your detachment together and your gun manned as quickly as you can. Gun Ops. will keep you informed.’

‘Yes, sir.’

As Langdon disappeared, Winton nodded to me, and I followed him to his car. He paused with one foot on the running-board. ‘Mr Ogilvie, will you go round the gun sites. See that everything is all right, and above all see that they all know what their fields of fire are for action against planes landing on the ‘drome. They must stick rigidly to those fields. I don’t want them duelling with each other across the landing field. Comyns will take you in his car. You’ll be going round the ground defences, Major, won’t you? Excellent! Good luck!’ He climbed into the driving seat. ‘Come on, Hanson, jump in.’

I got in beside him and the big car shot forward, dipping sharply as he swung it round. The smoke was no more than a few thin wisps now, and in-front of us the familiar shapes of the station showed dimly in the cold grey light of dawn. We made a half-circle of the landing ground and swung in at the barbed-wire gates of Operations. Winton had driven fast, and all the time he plied me with questions. But as we descended the ramp to Operations he was suddenly silent.

His was a big responsibility. And in the minutes that followed I came to admire him greatly. He was conscious of the weight of that responsibility. It was a weight that could not be carried lightly. But he carried it calmly and without fuss. I think he was one of those men who are at their best in action. He was cool and he used imagination.

The first thing he did on entering Operations was to order two Hurricanes to be loaded with smoke and to send a dispatch rider to the meteorological tower for two balloons. ‘Tannoy!’ he called. ‘Give the All Clear for gas.’

Faintly from somewhere outside that big subterranean room came the echo of a voice that spoke quietly into a microphone in one corner: ‘Attention, please! Gas all clear. You can show your faces again, boys. It’s all clear for gas.’

The room was confusing at a first glance. There were so many girls sitting at telephones and so many officers and Waafs standing about, apparently doing nothing. And everything centred on a large table, the top of which was a map of south-eastern England and the Channel.

I suddenly found Marion at my elbow. She squeezed my arm and I looked down to find her eyes bright with excitement. ‘It’s all yours,’ she said. ‘Your show. I hope it goes well.’

‘Where’s Nightingale?’ I asked.

‘Gone to dispersals. In a few minutes he’ll be leading his squadron up.’

‘And Trent?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I left him at the entrance. He’s trying to get permission to come in here.’ She squeezed my arm again and crossed the room to a vacant desk on which was a telephone and a pad.

I stood there, bewildered and alone. I felt conscious of my dirty oil-stained battle dress, so out of place here where there was nothing but Air Force blue. I wished I could have been going up with a squadron to fight invasion. Action! I wanted action; to be on the gun — anything rather than the suspense of waiting with nothing to do.

Winton called me and handed me a message. On it was scrawled: ‘Mitchet report four smoke lorries captured.’ After that, one by one, the fighter ‘dromes of the southeast reported lorries containing smoke either captured or put out of action.

All at once my sense of bewilderment vanished. I no longer felt out of place down here in this strange room. It was like being suddenly transported back to journalism. Here was action and I was watching it. My brain would record impressions of it, and some day I’d use this material. God! What wouldn’t some Fleet Street boys give to be on the inside of this story. I felt the thrill of pride that comes of achievement.

A Waaf came up to Winton. ‘Mr Ross reports lorry captured intact, sir,’ she said. ‘He’s got seven prisoners.’

‘Good. Tell him to fetch the lorry and the prisoners down here at once.’

So much for Vayle’s attempt to help German troops to land at Thorby. I remembered how he had sent those lorries off. He had been so calm and so assured. Well, he had every right to be. It had been a clever plan. His luck had been out, that was all. And what would he do now? It seemed such a strange anti-climax for him to be arrested and shot as a spy. Yet that was what would probably happen. And Winton would, of course, have to be present at the court-martial.

Telephone buzzers sounded. The Waafs at their desks began writing furiously. Others took the slips of paper to the table. The whole room suddenly sprang to life. Everything was confusion; but it was the ordered confusion of a job being carried out.

Little wooden markers with arrows began to appear on that section of the table that represented the Channel. All the arrows pointed one way — towards the southeast coast. And the wooden markers had swastikas on them. They also had numbers. There were several thirties and one or two forties and fifties plotted within the space of a few seconds. Each marker meant a formation of enemy planes. I counted three hundred and forty plotted already.

‘Get both squadrons up,’ Winton ordered. And a moment later came the faint sound of the Tannoy: ‘Both squadrons scramble! Tiger Squadron scramble! Swallowtail Squadron scramble! Scramble! Off!’

I heard a Waaf on a telephone just near me saying: ‘Several large formations of hostile aircraft approaching from the southeast. They are believed to be troop-carriers with fighter escorts. Heights range from fifteen to twenty thousand feet. Guns are to hold their fire.’

The movement of the enemy air attack began to take shape as the markers were moved steadily forward with every observation report that came in. Other markers also appeared. These had the red, white and blue roundels of the R.A.F., and they were mainly inland from the coast.

The young artillery officer, Ross, came in. He went straight up to Winton. They conversed in low tones. Suddenly the C.O. said: ‘Balloons? With lights? Excellent. A green at the start of the runway and red at the end, eh?’

‘No, the other way about, sir. And it’s a red light and a white light.’

‘Sure the fellow isn’t trying to put one across you?’

‘I don’t think so, sir. He’s pretty badly hurt and very frightened.’

‘What height are they to be flown at?’

‘I don’t know, sir. I didn’t ask him.’

Winton turned to me. ‘Do you know what height these balloons are to be flown at, Hanson?’

‘Vayle said fifty feet, sir.’

‘Good. That means about thirty feet above the smoke. Get the balloons blown up and the lights attached. The red light will be above the hangars just east of Station H.Q., and the white one above the main gates. Fly the balloons at eighty feet. Can you get them in position in five minutes?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Very good. I’m giving orders for the smoke screen to be laid right away. It will be between thirty and fifty feet. See that the balloons are up by the time the smoke screen is finished.’

‘Yes, sir.’ He dashed out of the room.

Winton went over to the switchboard. ‘Give me Number Two dispersal,’ he told the Waaf telephonist. ‘Hallo! Marston? Are those two Hurricanes ready with smoke? They’re to take off at once and lay a smoke screen along the eastern edge of the ‘drome from the Thorby road to the north edge of the landing field. The smoke must not be loosed at less than thirty feet or at more than fifty feet, and they must cut off at the limits given. They will continue until the smoke is exhausted or they receive instructions to cease. Right. Tell ‘em to scramble.’

Winton had a number of ground-staff officers round him now. He was issuing orders in a quiet, precise voice. I only caught a few words here and there. From above ground came the faint murmur of engines revving up. On the table the swastika markers had moved forward over the coast. The attack was taking shape. Formations of about fifty bombers and a hundred fighters were closing in on each of the fighter stations. Two of these formations were heading in our direction.

An officer came to the telephone just beside me. ‘Gun Ops? Warn the guns that the two Hurricanes just taking off will be laying a smoke screen about fifty feet above the ‘drome. They are only to fire on enemy ‘planes landing on the field. They will not open fire at aircraft that crash. Any survivors will be mopped up by ground defences.’

Before he had finished speaking the Tannoy announced: ‘Attention, please! A smoke screen is being laid over the ‘drome by two of our machines. Hostile troop-carriers may be expected to attempt a landing. Some of these will probably crash. Ground defences will ensure that no hostile troops are allowed to take offensive action after their ‘planes have crashed. Care should be taken to avoid getting in the field of fire of the guns which have instructions to open fire on any hostile ‘planes that succeed in landing on the ‘drome. Off.’

‘Hanson!’ It was Winton calling me. ‘I think you had better report back to your gun site now.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘Any points that have not been covered?’

‘I don’t think so, sir.’

‘Right. Thank you for your help — and good luck.’

‘And to you, sir.’ I saluted and hurried out of Operations. Bill Trent was outside. ‘Look after yourself, Barry,’ he said. ‘I’ll want a story out of you when the show is over.’

‘You’ll be lucky if you’re allowed to print it,’ I said. And jumping on the first bike I saw, I rode up the ramp and out on to the tarmac. I could just make out our gun pit almost on the other side of the ‘drome. It stood out against the dull glow of the eastern horizon. The moon had set and the flying field looked pale and flat and cold. Tin hats — blue and khaki — showed above the ramparts of the ground-defence trenches. Soldiers stood waiting, their rifles ready, at the entrance to pill-boxes. There was an unpleasant atmosphere of expectancy.

As I crossed the tarmac in front of the hangars one of the Hurricanes made its first run along the eastern edge of the field. It was just a vague, shadowy thing in the half light, and it flew so low that I felt it must pile itself up on the first dispersal point. And it left behind it a thin line pencilled across the dull grey of the sky. The line spread and grew, a dark, menacing cloud. It ceased at the northern edge of the ‘drome. I could just make out the shape of the ‘plane as it banked away for the turn.

By the hangar nearest to Station H.Q. men were busy about a balloon that looked like a miniature barrage balloon. Just below it was fixed a red light. As I passed the hangar the balloon rose gently and steadily into the air.

Soon I was cycling down the roadway on the eastern edge of the field. It was getting very dark now. The smoke was overhead, a great billowy cloud that moved slowly south-west over the station. It was so low that I felt I must be able to touch it by putting my hand up. Here and there a stray wisp reached down to the ground, curling gently, and as I rode through them my nostrils filled with the thick, acrid smell of the stuff. As I passed the dispersal point just to the south of our pit the second Hurricane zoomed overhead. It was so close that instinctively I ducked. Yet I could not see it. The darkness increased as its smoke trail merged with the rest, and I almost rode past the gun site.

As I entered the pit my eyes searched the faces that I could barely see: Langdon, Chetwood, Hood, Fuller. But Micky wasn’t there. Nor was Kan. ‘What’s happened to Micky?’ I asked Langdon. Is he …‘I hesitated.

‘No,’ he said. ‘He’s got a bullet through the shoulder and another shattered his wrist. It’s a light let-off, considering the risk he took. We got him to the sick bay.’

‘What about Kan?‘I asked.

‘Dead,’ Langdon said. The boldness of his statement shocked me. ‘He leapt up to follow Micky and took it in the stomach.’

He didn’t add any detail and I didn’t ask any. I could well imagine how he had died. I could see him swept into the maelstrom of a fight by his sense of the dramatic. He would have leapt to his feet, a young Raleigh, a Hotspur, a d’Artagnan, imagination cloaking him in the swaggering fineries of the chivalry. And then a searing pain in his stomach, making him stagger and collapse as he had so often staggered and collapsed heroically for an audience. Then the sordid reality of blood on hard unyielding earth, of pain and finally of death. Poor Kan.

The silence in the pit that had followed Langdon’s words was shattered by the roar of a Hurricane as it passed just over our heads laying its smoke screen. The wind sang past its wings. It was unpleasantly close, yet we could see no sign of it. Over us was nothing but a dark fog of smoke, and every now and then a wisp curled into the pit, making us cough.

‘What the hell is the smoke for?’ Bombardier Hood asked me.

I started to explain, but the Tannoy suddenly blared out: ‘Mass formation attack alarm! Mass formation attack alarm! Two large formations of troop-carriers, escorted by fighters, are approaching the ‘drome from the southeast.’

The telephone rang. Langdon answered it. When at length he had put back the receiver, he said: They’re mostly Ju. 52s. They’re at eight thousand feet and coming lower. Gun Ops. say that fifty are expected to attempt a landing on the ‘drome.

‘Fifty!’ said Chetwood. ‘Good God!’

There was stunned silence.

Then Hood exclaimed: ‘How the hell are we expected to fire on them when this blasted smoke screen has made it so dark that we can barely see the hut over there?’

‘You don’t need to for the moment,’ I replied. ‘The idea is that they pile themselves up against the hangars.’ And I explained about the balloons and how they should mislead the Jerries.

‘Yes, but suppose they do manage to land?’ Hood insisted.

The ‘phone rang. I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t know the answer. That worried me. I hadn’t realised how dark it would be after the smoke screen had been laid over the ‘drome.

Langdon put down the receiver. ‘That’s the answer to your question,’ he told Hood. ‘As soon as they start coming in the searchlight on Station H.Q. will be switched on.’

‘Won’t that give the game away?’ asked Chetwood.

Langdon hesitated. ‘I don’t see why it should. After all, suppose this was their own smoke and they were feeling their way in, they would surely expect us to try and pierce the smoke with what lights we had available.’

‘Listen!’ cried Fuller.

For a second all I could hear was the steady drone of the two Hurricanes. The drone grew to a roar as one of them swept over us. The noise of its engines gradually lessened.

There suddenly behind that noise I thought I heard a steady throb. For a moment I was not sure. The other Hurricane swept over the pit. And when the sound of its engine had dropped to a distant drone, I knew I was right. Faint to the south was a low throb, deep and insistent. My inside seemed to turn to water. The moment had arrived.

The sound grew till it beat upon the air, drowning the engines of the Hurricanes except when they were very close. Like the ripping of calico came the sound of machine gun fire. Two bursts. The sound of the German ‘planes seemed to fill the heavens. I had a horrible sense of claustrophobia. I longed to tear that curtain of smoke away so that I could see what we had to face. More machine gun fire. Then the high-pitched drone of a ‘plane diving to the east of us. It rose to a crescendo of sound like a buzz-saw. And when I thought the noise of it could not rise any higher there was a tremendous crash.

‘Attention, please! Attention, please! Troop-carriers are now circling to land. They will come in from north to south. Gi’ ‘em a reet gude welcome, lads. Off!’

The throb of their engines had passed right over the ‘drome. But the sound had not then gradually faded. It seemed to split up. All round the ‘drome was this deep, persisting pulsing. I must admit I felt scared. I think we all did. The menace was unseen. There was only the sound of it. And the sound was all about us.

The gun was laid on the landing field. Chetwood and Red were in the layers’ seats. Two sandbags on the parapet marked the limits of our field of fire. Shells fused at a half and one stood ready in the lockers behind the gun.

One particular engine became noticeable above the general throb that filled the air. It was coming from the north. ‘Right. Fuse a half. Load!’ Langdon’s voice was clear and calm, and I recognised that boyish note in it that had struck me before.

The searchlight on Station H.Q. flickered and blazed into life. The great beam produced a queer effect. It was diffused by smoke so that the landing ground was lit by a sheen of white and not by a beam. It was rather like the moon seen through thin cloud. And above it the banks of rolling smoke looked inky black.

The throb of the approaching plane drew nearer. The beat of it was slower now, and I could almost hear the screws ploughing their way through the air. The throb became more and more sluggish. The sound crossed the ‘drome in front of us. It seemed as though it was feeling its way through the smoke.

Then suddenly landing wheels and a vague spread of wings showed white through the smoke. The moment of its appearance in the light of the searchlight seemed an age. It was dropping gently, searching with its wheels for the runway that should have been there. The whole ‘plane was visible now, like a huge silvery moth flying into the light of a street lamp on a misty night. There was an iridescent unreality about that great winged thing, so cumbersome yet so fairylike.

It came out of the smoke flying straight for B hangar. Too late the pilot saw the trap. Poor devil. He was feeling for a landing in thick smoke. Suddenly he had dropped right through the smoke, and in the dazzling light the dark shadow of a hangar loomed up in front of his cockpit.

The sudden frantic revving of the engines made the ‘plane buoyant. It lifted slightly. For a moment I thought he would clear the hangar. But his undercarriage caught the edge of the roof, and the great ‘plane tipped slowly up on to its nose and then over on to its back. There was a splintering crash and it disappeared from sight as the roof of the hangar collapsed.

The next one was already coming in. Above us the bursts of machine-gun fire were becoming more and more persistent. Somewhere up there in the cold light of the dawn a dog-fight was in progress. The next ‘plane was coming in to find its landing now. It was crossing the landing ground, feeling its way as the first one had done. Because I wanted a visual impression of the pit in that moment I glanced round it. All eyes were fixed, fascinated, on the white glare of the searchlight, waiting for the instant when the plane would become visible as it dropped gently through the smoke. I imagine the gaze of everyone around the landing field was fascinatedly fixed on the bright belly of the smoke above the hangars.

The Tannoy broke in upon our expectancy. ‘Ground defences south of B hangar to cover exits from the hangar. Cover exits from B hangar. Off.’

I hardly heard it. All my senses were concentrated on watching the ‘plane that was coming in. No-one in the pit stirred. No-one spoke.

One moment there was just the smoke made white by the searchlight. The next, the ‘plane was there. It looked just like the other, monstrously big and all silvery. I felt rather than heard the slight gasp as we saw it. It was dropping faster than the other. The pilot never seemed to see the hangar. The great ‘plane simply drifted straight into it. The wings crumpled, and as it fell in a shattered wreck to the ground we heard the crash of it. Several figures staggered out. They seemed dazed. There was a burst of machine gun fire. And then another. The figures crumpled.

I suddenly realised that it was getting lighter. The fog of smoke above our heads was thinning out. The Hurricanes had finished laying the smoke. Another Ju. 52 was coming in. Above our heads the sounds of machine-gun fire had become almost constant, and behind the throb of the circling troop-carriers was the high-pitched drone of fighters diving and twisting and climbing. A pale light filtered into the pit. And in a moment I could see the eastern sky all flushed with the light of the sun, which not yet risen above the horizon. The edge of the smoke, banked up in dark-brown billows, rolled away from the pit like a curtain, revealing a cold sky tinged with bluish green. To the east of us I could see a dozen or more big Junkers flying round and round in a circle, nose to tail for protection. It was not light enough yet to see the fighters, scrapping high overhead. But I could see one fighter diving on the formation of Junkers, letting rip with his guns and zooming away again.

‘Look!’ Langdon nudged my arm.

I swung back to the landing field. The breeze had freshened and the bank of smoke was rolling back fast. But it still covered two-thirds of the field. The light of the searchlight seemed fainter and farther away now that we were standing in daylight. And it showed another troop-carrier below the smoke. It had come through the smoke sooner than the others, and the pilot had time to see the danger. The roar of his engines as he revved seemed to shake the pit. But he scarcely lifted at all. Only his speed increased. He banked and his wing hit the hangar. The whole scene looked unreal. It was like watching a show. The presence of the smoke seemed to put a barrier between ourselves, who were standing in daylight, and the ‘plane and the hangars, which were in artificial darkness and lit by artificial light. Rather a similar effect to that of the footlights in a theatre.

The plane crumpled up much as the others had done. But there was a sudden explosion and a great sheet of flame was puffed up into the smoke. In an instant the flames had spread to the hangar. The belly of the smoke glowed red. It was a fantastic sight — the twisted, blazing wreckage and the flames licking up the battered side of the hangar. I thought I heard screams. It may have been my imagination. But I knew men were dying in that inferno, dying a horrible torturing death. The thought sickened me. I had not become sufficiently imbued with the bestiality of war to feel exultant, though I knew they were dying because they had come to destroy us. It was either them or us. I knew that. But it didn’t prevent me from feeling a direct responsibility for their death.

The next ‘plane coming in was frightened by that red glow. Its engines revved up and the sound began to come towards us. Suddenly it appeared out of the smoke, its wings balanced at a crazy angle as it banked. It was coming straight for us.

“Plane!’ yelled Langdon. ‘On, on,’ came the voices of the layers. And the barrel of the gun began to follow the target as it banked round and away from us. Langdon waited till it was side on to us and then ordered, ‘Fire!’

The gun cracked and before the flames of the charge had ceased to spurt from the barrel, it seemed, the shell had exploded. The noise of it was almost as loud as the noise of the gun. At that range it was impossible to miss. Langdon had judged the fuse range nicely. The shell burst just in front of the ‘plane. The wings folded down and the whole ‘plane seemed to disintegrate. The fuselage split in half. I saw men falling out. The wreckage strewed itself among the trees in the valley.

The smoke had rolled back now and exposed the whole aerodrome. It lay on the south-western edge of the ‘drome like a low cloud. It was getting really light now and the high cloud above us was tinged with a delicate pink. Against that lovely colouring little dark dots darted in and out amongst each other like flies.

All round the ‘drome big cumbersome Ju. 52s circled and circled incessantly like vultures waiting for their prey to die. And amongst them the fighters droned like angry hornets. To the northeast of us there were more over Mitchet.

What would they do now? They were full of troops, not bombs — thank God! I half expected them to sheer off homeward now that their plan had failed. But they continued to circle. I wasn’t sure whether they were undecided or whether they were waiting.for something.

But we were not left long in doubt. Some twenty German fighters, who were still flying in formation well above the dog-fight, went into a dive. It was Langdon who first pointed them out to us. He had been searching the sky with his glasses.

They came right down to the north of us. Only when they were at about two thousand did they flatten out. Then they began to circle, and one by one they dived out of their new formation and came straight for the ‘drome.

I had no doubt of their intention. Nor had Langdon. ‘Take cover!’ he yelled. And we flattened ourselves in a bunch against the parapet nearest the approaching fighters. He crouched down too, but he kept his head just above the sandbags so that he could see what was happening. There was a sharp burst of machine-gun fire and a second later an ME. 109 shot over us. The Bofors pit to the north of us had taken the full force of the first attack. From the other side of the ‘drome came the sound of a similar attack.

Then came the high-pitched drone of another German fighter. The staccato chatter of guns. The cinders on the floor of the pit kicked and little holes appeared in the sandbags opposite where we lay. One of the sandbags above me fell on my tin hat, covering me with sand. Zoom! The ‘plane flashed overhead. All round the ‘drome Lewis guns and Bren guns opened up, adding to the confusion.

‘Layers on,’ Langdon shouted above the din. ‘Fuller ammunition. Chester number six. Remainder stay under cover.’

I peeped over the parapet as the three men detailed sprang to their posts. A troop-carrier was just coming in to land. ‘Fuse one. Load. Fire!’ The drone of another Messerschmitt approaching could be heard even above the noise of the gun. We must have fired at practically the same moment as the other three-inch. There were two bursts just in front of the ‘plane, mixed up with streams of tracer shells from the Bofors. I saw it plunge. Then I ducked as the pit was sprayed again.

By the grace of God no-one was hit, though Langdon got his face cut by a bit of flying cinder.

Three times this happened. Each time we destroyed a ‘plane. The fourth time I found myself laying. Red had been killed outright, a bullet through his head. This had happened as we destroyed the second Junkers. The third time it was Blah who was hit. He got a bullet through his arm. Fuller got one in the foot.

Three twin-engined ‘planes appeared out of the north. At first we thought they were Me. 110s. But suddenly Langdon cried, ‘They’re Blenheims.’

And Blenheims they were, thrown in as fighters to make weight in the emergency. They came in at about two thousand feet. And high up we saw a squadron of Spitfires fire on the Messerschmitts that had been worrying us.

Then suddenly Junkers and Messerschmitts turned for home, the latter circling the troop-carriers to cover their retreat. It was all over in a few seconds. One moment the sky was full of Jerries and the din of battle. Then the sky emptied. The throb and drone of ‘planes died away. A great quiet settled on the Station, in which the crackle of the flames at B hangar was the only sound. I leaned back against the gun. Peace at last. It was over.

I think I passed out then. I didn’t faint. It was just that the reaction left my mind a blank. I wasn’t conscious of sound or sight. I came to to find Langdon getting the casualties to the sick bay. And the Tannoy was announcing: ‘All clear! All clear! All ground defences and gun teams will remain at the alert. All clear! All clear!’