Attack Alarm

Chapter Three

A detachment of Guards had been detailed by Major Comyns, the ground defence officer, to keep people a hundred yards from the burning wreck. No attempt was made to put out the flames. The authorities feared that there might be unexploded bombs. The rest of our detachment moved to the nearest point from which they could watch the spectacle, which was the edge of the roadway that circled the landing field. The blaze seemed to fascinate them. Subconsciously their reaction to it was the same as mine had been — amazement that they were responsible for it. Both Wing-Commander Winton and Major Comyns had spoken to Trevors and Langdon before they left and congratulated them on the detachment’s success.

But though I stood with the rest and watched the flames consuming the mass of twisted steel, I was barely conscious of what I saw. And when a second German was brought to the roadway to wait for a car, I only noticed that he was very young, that his face was covered with Hood from a big cut on his forehead, and that he was crying — great uncontrollable sobs that seemed to shake his small frame. I could not crowd round like the others to gape at him in his boyish misery. My mind was occupied with my own problem.

The navigator must have been trapped in the ‘plane,’ I beard Trevors say as an R.A.F. car took the boy away. ‘Only two were seen to come down.’

‘Perhaps his parachute failed to open,’ said a sergeant of the Guards.

‘Perhaps,’ Trevors agreed. ‘In which case his body will be found in the morning. Poor devil!’

‘What do you mean — poor devil? If you’d seen what I’d seen in France you wouldn’t be saying poor devil!’

I lost the rest of the conversation. I was trying to figure out whether the pilot with whom I had spoken had really known something or whether he was just bluffing when he had talked of a plan. It was so difficult to be sure with a man in his condition. I tried to place myself in his position and consider what I should have felt like, and what I should have done if I had had his training and background.

Obviously he had been bitter at the loss of his ‘plane. A pilot, I felt, must acquire for his machine at least some of the affection that a captain does for his ship. He would want to hit back at the men who had transformed it from a winged thing, full of life and beauty, to a blazing wreck. I remembered the circle of hostile faces showing in the light of the flames. He could only hit back in one way and that was by frightening them. I could speak German and so it was through me that he had had to hit back.

And yet what had made him tell me that they had a plan for getting control of British fighter ‘dromes? What had made him give me such specific information about an attack on Thorby? Was that just bravado?

It seemed hardly credible that a mere pilot would know about a plan to seize our fighter stations. Such a plan would for obvious reasons be kept a closely guarded secret and be known only to the higher officers of the Luftwaffe. But it was of course possible that the rumour that such a plan existed had permeated the messes. Or it might be just a case of wishful thinking. Obviously it was highly desirable that the fighter defences of this country should be immobilized if invasion were to succeed. For this reason, German airmen may have come to the conclusion that their High Command had a plan to achieve this end. Alternatively, he may just have thought that they ought to have such a plan, and in his moment of bitterness had produced it as a fact in the hope that it would assist the state of fear into which he would almost certainly imagine the British had been thrown by the collapse of France.

And yet he had seemed so sure of himself, so definite.

And was he really in a condition to think up the idea of a plan if he was not aware that one existed? It was all very complicated.

His statement that Thorby was to be dive-bombed on Friday was understandable. A pilot might quite easily know the date on which a certain target was to be attacked. And I could well understand his use of that information to add conviction to a statement that was untrue. If I reported the conversation — and I knew that I should have to — the authorities might well regard the idea — of a secret plan with scepticism. But if his prediction of the raid on Thorby turned out to be accurate, it would add considerable weight to his first statement.

But there were two things that puzzled me. First, that he should have wasted his bravado on a mere gunner. He must have known that in a very short while he would be interviewed by an Intelligence officer. Surely that would have been the time to release his information if it was to have its maximum effect? The second was, why had he closed up on me the moment he saw Vayle? I could have understood it if it had been the C.O. who had caused him to stop in the middle of a sentence. But Vayle — a man in civilian clothes! It seemed rather extraordinary — almost as though he knew the librarian.

In the end I gave it up. My brain had reached a state when it was impossible for me to argue my way to a solution one way or the other. There seemed so much to suggest that the idea of planting the information about a plan in my mind was dictated by the instinct for revenge, and yet so much to suggest that it had slipped out in the bitterness of the moment when he was too dazed to control his tongue.

I edged my way to where Tiny Trevors was talking to Ogilvie, who had just arrived on the scene. I waited. At length Ogilvie went across to speak to a Guards officer. Trevors turned and saw me. ‘Hallo, Hanson,’ he said. ‘You haven’t waited long to get your first ‘plane. There was something I wanted to speak to you about. Oh, yes.

You were talking in German to that pilot. What did he have to say?’

‘Well, I was just coming to speak to you about it,’ I said. And I gave him the gist of the conversation.

‘I think you had better see Mr Ogilvie,’ he said. ‘There may be nothing in it, but, as you say, the man was pretty shaken. Though I can’t believe a pilot would have information of that kind.’ He look across at the group of officers that Ogilvie had joined. ‘Hang around for a bit and when the Little Man is free I’ll take you — Better catch him now.’ I followed him along the edge of the roadway and we intercepted Ogilvie just as he was entering the Guards officer’s car.

‘Just a minute, sir,’ said Trevors. ‘Hanson has some information which seems interesting.’

Ogilvie paused, one foot on the running-board. ‘Well, what is it?’ he demanded in his sharp staccato voice.

He was a man of small stature, inclined to stoutness, with a round, uninteresting face and horn-rimmed glasses. He lacked a natural command of men. And in place of it he had built an air of aloofness about himself. This did not make him popular. I think he had been in the insurance business before the war. At any rate he was not an O.C.T.U. product, but had obtained his commission in the Territorials. It was perhaps unfortunate that he was in command of a unit in which most of the senior N.C.O.s were socially his superiors. Inevitably, it resulted in his standing on his dignity to an extent that was unnatural. His staccato manner, which was not, I am sure, natural to him, was the noticeable result.

I gave him an account of my conversation with the German. But when I came to my views on the reliability of the information, he cut me short. ‘Quite. I understand. I’ll pass on your information to the proper authorities. Goodnight, Sergeant-major.’ And with that he climbed into the car and left us.

I watched the car disappear with a feeling that the responsibility of bringing the conversation to the notice of men who would know how to assess its value was still time. The proper authorities to whom Ogilvie referred were probably the C.O. Thorby or the Intelligence officer attached to the station. In due course a report on the matter would reach the Air Ministry. But, in all probability, it would be part of the routine reports and would be filed away without even being brought to the notice of those higher officials who were best able to judge its importance. On the other hand, I knew the assistant director if Air Ministry Press Section, and I felt that I ought to a rite to him giving him the details of the conversation.

I mentioned this to Trevors. But he said, ‘For God’s sake don’t do that. You’ll only get yourself into trouble. You’re in the Army now, and in the Army there are formalities to be considered. Any report has to pass through our Officer and thence via Battery and Regiment to Brigade. You can’t go direct to the fountain head.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ I said. ‘But if there is anything in this idea of a plan it is vitally important.’

‘If there is anything in it, then no doubt Intelligence know all about it,’ he replied. ‘In any case, the responsibility is no longer yours.’

But I didn’t feel that way. As a journalist I had seen too much of the delays of red tape not to feel some misgivings as to what would happen to my information in its passage through the official channels. My main concern, as I lay awake in bed that morning, was to decide whether or not the German pilot had really known something and let it slip in the heat of the moment. But the more I thought about it, the more uncertain I was. And if I was uncertain, I knew that whoever was responsible for reporting the matter to the Air Ministry would be disinclined to make much of it. Everything depended on the result of the examination of the prisoner.

In this knowledge I fell asleep, dead tired. We were on again at four, a very tired detachment. The events of the night seemed like a dream. But at the north end of the ‘drome the burnt-out wreck of the ‘plane stood as a monument to our achievement. We were relieved at seven, but instead of going to the mess for breakfast most of us went straight back to bed. The next thing I remember is being wakened by the sound of engines revving in the dispersal point near our hut. The din was terrific and the vibration made my bed shake.

I heard somebody say, ‘Sounds as though there’s a flap coming.’ I did not open my eyes. But I had scarcely turned over when the Tannoy broke in on my sleep. ‘Attention, please! Attention, please! Tiger Squadron scramble! Tiger Squadron scramble! Scramble! Scramble! Off.’

‘All right, we’ll come quietly,’ I heard Chetwood say. ‘No peace for the wicked.’ His bed creaked as he got up.

I waited, unwilling to wake up, yet my nerves fully awake. The engines roared as the ‘planes left the dispersal point for the runway. I waited, dreading the inevitable patter of feet that would mean leaving the comfort of my bed. It came almost immediately — the sound of running feet, the bursting open of the door and the cry of Take post!’

My limbs reacted automatically. But my eyes were still tight shut as I reached blindly for my battle blouse. ‘What’s the plot?’ I heard someone ask. Twenty hostile southeast, flying north-west at twenty-five thousand feet,’ was the reply.

I opened my eyes as I felt under my bed for my canvas shoes. Sunlight was streaming into the darkened hut through cracks in the blackout curtains. Outside I found a clear blue sky and a haze over the ground. It was already beginning to get warm, for the air was very still. As I reached the pit the last flight was just taking off. The leading flight of three was already disappearing into the mist, flying southeast and climbing steeply.

‘Attention, please! Attention, please! Preliminary air-raid warning! Preliminary air-raid warning!’

‘A bit much, don’t you think,’ said Kan. ‘I mean, it’s so frightfully early in the morning for this sort of thing.’

‘Funny how he always comes at meal-times,’ said Helson. ‘He missed breakfast yesterday, but he was over for lunch and tea.’

‘All part of the war of nerves,’ said Langdon.

‘What’s that up there?’ Micky’s outstretched arm was pointing high up to the east. A ‘plane glinted in the sun for a second. Langdon raised his glasses.

But it was only our own Hurricane squadron circling. We saw no sign of the enemy and eventually Gun Ops. reported that the raid had been dispersed. The Tannoy gave the ‘All Clear,’ but it was some little time before we were allowed to stand down. When we were, it was past nine and our detachment was on duty.

I should explain that throughout the day we were at that time working in two-hour shifts — an exception being the first period, which was of three hours. The idea of this constant manning was, of course, to guard against surprise attack. With twelve men on the site and no leave, it was possible to have six in each detachment, which was ample for manning. During the day, however, those off duty had to man as soon as a ‘Take Post’ was given. But at night we only manned on an alarm. Since I had been on the site, night alarms had been fairly constant. Hence the new arrangement whereby the duty detachment only manned on a night alarm unless there was a preliminary air-raid warning, or the detachment commander thought it necessary.

The other detachment went off to breakfast. Having had none ourselves, several of us produced chocolate. For myself, I was not hungry. The sleep I had had, which, though it was only three and a half hours, was the longest since I had been on the site, seemed only to have made me more tired. Moreover, my mind was once again occupied with the memory of my conversation with the German pilot in the early hours of the morning.

In the pleasant warmth of the sun his words seemed much less important. Yet I suddenly remembered what Trevors had told us in the Naafi. Was there some link between the attempt to secure a plan of the ground defences of the station and the idea that the Germans had a plan for immobilising all our fighter ‘dromes? It all seemed very melodramatic. But I remembered stories of the last war. War was melodramatic. And the German was fond of melodrama. The whole history of the Nazi rise to power was the crudest melodrama. We were not used to it in England. But on the Continent melodrama had become commonplace.

The ‘phone rang. Langdon answered it. As soon as he had replaced the receiver, he turned to me. ‘You’re to report to the orderly room immediately. Mr Ogilvie wants to see you.’ It took me back to my schooldays — The headmaster wants to see you in his study.’

The orderly room — our troop headquarters, as Mr Ogilvie liked it to be called — was at the south side of the landing field, a part of the station headquarters block. When I got there, I asked Andrew Mason, the office clerk, what Ogilvie wanted to see me about. He said he did not know, but added that an R.A.F. officer had been in just before he had been told to ‘phone for me.

Mason opened the farther door and announced me. I went in, walked up to the desk at which Ogilvie was seated, saluted and stood to attention. The office was a mixture of tidiness and disorder. The corner by the window was taken up with stores — boxes of gas equipment, a heap of battle dresses, steel helmets, gum boots. The sergeant-major’s desk, which was against the wall opposite the door, was a litter of papers, note-books and passes. There was an old-fashioned safe in the corner next to it. The falling plaster of the walls, which were distempered a rather sickly shade of green, was adorned with copies of standing orders, aircraft recognition charts, and posters of big-chested men in peculiar postures illustrating the more elementary physical training exercises.

But the corner of the room occupied by Mr Ogilvie’s desk was homely by comparison. Orderly batches of papers lay beside the yellow blotter and the desk itself rested on a strip of red carpet. The walls behind were practically intact. And beside the desk was a bookcase with a clock and the polished case of a three-inch shell.

Mr Ogilvie looked up as I saluted. ‘Ah, yes, Hanson,’ ae said, leaning back and taking his pipe from his mouth. About this conversation you had with the German pilot. I nave just had a visit from the Intelligence officer who interrogated him this morning. I had told him what the pilot lad said to you. The man didn’t deny it. In fact, he repeated it in the most truculent and boastful manner. But when questions were put to him about the nature of the plan, he could give no details at all. He spoke at length of the might of the Luftwaffe and how Britain’s fighter bases would be annihilated and our resistance crushed. He spoke darkly of a plan. But he said nothing that convinced the officer that there was in fact any specific scheme for destroying the bases other than a general plan that they should be destroyed.’

He produced a box of matches and relit his pipe. ‘On the subject of the raid on Thorby,’ he continued, ‘it does seem probable that he knows something. He was very evasive about it, said it was no more than a rumour and he couldn’t remember what day it was. The Intelligence officer had the impression that he was covering up. It is possible, of course, that it is a false scent. The German Air Force have apparently done that sort of thing before. They give the pilots false information, so that if they get shot down and are inclined to be talkative they won’t be giving anything away. However, I have been assured that all necessary steps will be taken to protect the station on Friday. I thought you would like to know as you were instrumental in bringing the matter to the notice of the authorities.’

I thought it was nice of him to give me such a full account of the position. But I was troubled. It seemed to me that the German pilot had been inconsistent. I said so. ‘There is only one motive he could have had in telling me the plan,’ I said. ‘Bitter at the loss of his plane, he wanted to frighten us. Now, either this plan was a pure fabrication or else there really is a plan and, knowing of it, he used his knowledge in the heat of the moment to achieve his aim.’

‘Come to the point.’ Ogilvie’s voice was staccato again.

‘Well, sir, if it was a pure fabrication he wouldn’t have hesitated to invent details.’ At that moment the whole thing seemed crystal clear to me. ‘My own view is that in the heat of the moment he let slip something he should not have done. He was in a very dazed condition. When the Intelligence officer questioned him about the plan, he knew it would only increase his suspicions to deny having said anything about it to me. Instead he repeated his statement, and when pressed for details made vague and grandiose claims that he knew would throw doubt on the whole thing. But about the proposed raid on Thorby he covered up in an obvious manner. Apparently he achieved his object in drawing the officer’s interest away from the plan for the raid.’

Ogilvie clicked his pipe stem up and down against his teeth. ‘Well, I’m afraid the Intelligence officer doesn’t take that view at all. He is experienced in these matters. I think you may take it that he is right.’

But the Intelligence officer had not seen the German pilot close up like a clam in the middle of a sentence as his eyes met Vayle’s. That seemed to be the key to the whole problem. ‘Could you tell me, sir, whether the Intelligence officer is making a report to Air Intelligence on the matter?’ I asked.

‘He didn’t say anything about it. I imagine it will be included in the daily report to the C.O.’

It was just as I had feared. ‘I think a report on the matter should go to A.I. without delay,’ I said.

‘I’m afraid what you think or do not think, Hanson, is of little importance,’ Ogilvie said curtly. ‘The matter rests with the R.A.F. and their Intelligence officer has formed his own views.’ He hesitated. ‘If you like, you can make out a report and I’ll send it in to Battery.’

I saw I was up against a brick wall here. Though I knew it was pretty useless, I said I would make out a report. He gave me paper and I settled down at the Sergeant-major’s desk. It took me some time to write it out. It had to be brief, yet comprehensive. There Was always the chance that it might get to somebody who would take the same view of its importance that I did.

By the time I got back to the pit it was nearly ten-thirty. Micky, who could never restrain his curiosity, immediately asked me what Ogilvie had wanted to see me about.

‘My grandmother has just died,’ I said. ‘He’s given me a week’s compassionate to see her decently buried.’

‘A week! No kidding. You ain’t got a week? Just because your grandmuvver’s dead? This is a lousy battery. You people all hang together. If it’s one of the nobs and he just happens to feel tired, why, give ‘im leave, give ‘im leave. A week because your grandmuvver’s died! Cor, stuff me with little green apples! If it was one of the roughs like me and Fuller, it would be go chase yourself. It ain’t right, mate. It wouldn’t happen in the real Army. Not bloody likely. Infantry, that’s what I ought to be in.’

Micky was very class conscious. But he was unintelligent about it. He saw privilege where there was none. This and his constant grumbling over nothing made him very annoying at times. He was always hardly done by, yet in point of fact he got away with more than anyone else.

‘Oh, don’t be a fool, Micky,’ said Langdon. ‘He hasn’t got leave. He’s just telling you politely to mind your own business.’

‘Oh, I get you.’ Micky was all smiles again. ‘Sorry, mate. I didn’t rumble it.’

Langdon had started examination of equipment, which was carried out on our gun every morning between ten and eleven. As there were already quite enough on the job, I sat down on the bench by the telephone. I was still worried. Most men, I suppose, would have considered the matter closed. If the Intelligence officer was satisfied, why should I worry? But journalism makes it instinctive in one to follow up a story to the bitter end. The Intelligence officer might be right. But what worried me was the way the German had broken off as soon as he saw Vayle. It was almost as if he had been caught saying something he should not have said. That alone explained the abruptness with which he had ceased speaking. And that suggested that he knew Vayle — that Vayle was, in fact, a fifth columnist.

When we were relieved at eleven by Bombardier Hood’s detachment, I got hold of Kan as he left the pit. ‘You’ve been here some time, Kan,’ I said. ‘Do you happen to know anyone in the station who can tell me anything about Vayle — you know, the librarian?’

He gave me a quick glance. But he did not ask me why I wanted to know about Vayle. ‘There’s an R.A.F. lad we used to meet in the airmen’s Naafi — that was before they put the marquee up. I think his name was Davidson. Anyway, he was assistant librarian. We got to know him because Vayle used to take those who were applying for commissions in trig. A dear fellow, he used to help us no end. I expect he’s still here.’

‘Could you introduce him to me?’ I asked.

‘Why, of course, dear boy. Any time you like.’

‘Now?’

‘Now?’ Again that quick look. For a second questions were on the tip of his tongue. But all he said was, ‘Right-o. I want to go down to the square to wash. I’ll take you in on the way.’

I thanked him. ‘I’d be very glad if you didn’t mention this to any of the others,’ I said. ‘I’ll explain some time.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘But if you’re free-lancing, be careful. Though God knows I shouldn’t have thought there was a story in poor little Vayle.’

‘Why “poor little Vayle”?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I don’t know. He’s rather precious, don’t you think? Oh, I don’t suppose you’ve met him. He once told me that what he really wanted to be was an actor.’ We went into the hut and he got his washing things out of his suitcase. As we set off past the dispersal point, he said: ‘I’ve often wondered why he became librarian at a place like this. He’s been here nearly four years, you know.

And he’s a clever man. I should think he would have done well in your own profession.’

Four years! That made it 1936. ‘Do you know what he did before he came here?’ I asked.

‘No, I don’t know, old boy. He didn’t come from another station, I’m certain of that. I should think he’d been a schoolmaster. He was very interesting when he was holding those trig, classes. Occasionally, when we had finished the routine work, he would talk about aerial tactics. I believe he’s writing a book about it. Perhaps that’s why you’re interested in him? I should think he’s travelled pretty extensively. At any rate, he’s studied internal continental politics. He told us a lot that I didn’t know about the Nazi rise to power and the behind-the-scenes activities in French politics. He didn’t exactly prophesy the collapse of France, but after what he had told us of the internal situation I wasn’t surprised when it happened.’

This was interesting. Vayle, with his pale face and grey hair, was beginning to take shape in my mind. Everything depended on what he had been before he came to Thorby — or, rather, where he had been.

Kan could tell me nothing more about him that was helpful. The impression I got from him, however, was that Vayle was no ordinary station librarian. He appeared to have a very wide knowledge of European affairs. And why, if he was such a brilliant student of contemporary affairs, had he been content to remain for four years at the station?

The library shared a block with the Y.M.C.A. just behind Station H.Q. It was, in reality, an educational centre. Kan took me in and introduced me to Davidson, a thin wisp of a man with reddish hair and freckles. I told him I had come to see what the chances were of another trigonometry course. But when Kan had left, I led the conversation round to Vayle. Davidson, however, could tell me little more than I had already learnt from Kan. Though he had been working with Vayle for more than eighteen months, he did not know where he had been before he became librarian at Thorby.

He admired Vayle greatly. He thought him a brilliant man. ‘His talents are wasted here,’ he said, his rather watery eyes fixed on my face. So it came back to the same thing — why had Vayle been content to stay at Thorby?

Then he began talking about the night’s action. ‘Mr Vayle told me all about it this morning,’ he said. ‘He talked to both the prisoners, you know.’ He was full of information. The younger one was only a boy — just turned seventeen. But the other was over thirty, with masses of decorations, including the Iron Cross, first and second class. It must be interesting to be in a position like Vayle now that there’s a war on,’ he added reflectively. ‘Being a civilian he’s not subject to the restraint of rank. He’s very highly thought of by the C.O. I think he often consults him about things. He knows everything that goes on here, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t have a say in the strategy we adopt. What he doesn’t know about aerial tactics isn’t worth knowing.’

‘Did he actually talk to the prisoners?’ I asked.

‘Oh, yes. He’s a great linguist. I think he knows five different languages. He’d be able to talk to them in German. And I bet he got more out of them than the Intelligence Officer.’

‘Did he tell you what they said?’

‘Oh, he said the older man was very truculent — a proper hard-boiled Nazi, I gather. The boy was still in a terrible state of fright.’

‘When did he see them?’ I asked.

‘As soon as they were brought in, I think. He said he and the C.O. were with them when the M.O. was dressing their wounds.’

This was incredible. Yet because it was incredible, I felt it must be true. The whole position was once again as clear as it had seemed when I had been talking to Ogilvie. One thing had been puzzling me. That was whether a man of the type I had judged the pilot to be was sufficiently astute to divert the Intelligence Officer’s attention from the plan for the projected raid. If Vayle were a secret agent, that was explained. He had told the airman what line to take. True, the C.O. and the M.O. had been present, but the probability was that neither of them understood German.

I left Davidson in a very thoughtful mood. A horrible feeling of responsibility was growing on me. I knew only too well how a journalist’s enthusiasm for sensation can run away with his discretion. Yet I felt there was something here that I could neither forget nor ignore. But I knew I must tread warily. If I went to the authorities, I should only get into trouble without achieving anything. Vayle was in a very strong position in the station. My suspicions, based solely on conjecture, would be laughed at. And it would be little consolation, when the place was in German hands, to be able to say, ‘I told you so.’

There was only one thing to do. I must find out Vayle’s background prior to 1936.

The square was hot and dusty in the glare of the sun. It was past twelve and the Naafi tent was open. I felt in need of a beer. It was stiflingly hot in the marquee, although there were few people there. I took my beer to a table near an open flap. The liquid was warm and gassy. I lit a cigarette.

Suppose I ‘phoned Bill Trent? He was the Globe’s crime reporter. Bill would know how to get hold of the information I wanted. But it would be folly to ‘phone from a call box in the camp. They went through an R.A.F. switchboard. I couldn’t be sure that the operator would not be listening in. I had no idea how strict the censorship was in the station. The nearest call box outside the camp was in Thorby village. To go down there would be breaking camp. This was too dangerous.

I suddenly remembered that we were on again at one. I ought to get my lunch. I was not very enthusiastic. One of the things I disliked about Thorby more than anything else was its messing arrangements. I suppose the airmen’s mess had originally been built to seat about four or five hundred. It now had to accommodate about two thousand.

It would be hot and smelly. The tables would be messy and there would be the inevitable queue. And there would be beans. There had been no other vegetable for weeks.

I had just finished my beer and was getting up to go when Marion Sheldon came in. She looked fresh and cool despite the heat of the day. She saw me and smiled. Before I knew what I was doing I had ordered beer and we were sitting down at my table together. Then suddenly I realised that here was the solution to my difficulties. The Waafs were billeted out and were allowed considerable freedom. Moreover, I felt she was the one person in the camp I could really trust.

‘Look, will you do something for me?’ I asked.

‘Of course. What is it?’

‘I want to get a message though to Bill Trent. It’s rather private and I don’t want to ‘phone from the ‘drome. I wondered if you’d put a call through, to him from the village. I can’t do it myself. We’re tied to the camp.’

‘I would with pleasure. But I don’t think it’s much use. Several girls have tried to get through to London this morning. But they’re only accepting priority calls. I think the lines must have been put out of action by that raid on Mitchet yesterday.’

This was a bit of a blow. I could write, of course. But that meant delay. ‘What about a wire?’ I asked.

‘I should think that would get through all right,’ she replied.

I hesitated. A wire was not quite so private as a ‘phone call or a letter. But it seemed the only thing. ‘Will you send a wire, then?’

‘Of course, I’m off duty till this evening.’

I scribbled it down on the back of an envelope. ‘Please obtain full details Vayle librarian Thorby since thirty-six stop May be of vital importance stop Will phone for results early Friday.’ I wasn’t too happy about it. It would have been so much more satisfactory to have spoken to him. I could only hope that he would read between the lines and realise just how important it was”.

I handed it to Marion. ‘I hope you can read it,’ I said.

She glanced through it. There was a slight lift to her eyebrows. But that was the only sign she gave that it was unusual. She asked no questions. And I was not inclined to explain the situation. Now that it came to committing myself on paper I felt too uncertain to risk any discussion of my suspicions.

She slipped the envelope into her pocket. ‘I’ll send it off as soon as I’ve had my lunch,’ she promised.

‘That reminds me,’ I said. ‘I suppose I ought to go and have mine. I’m on again at one.’

“Then you haven’t much time-it’s twenty to already.’

I got up. ‘What about a drink this evening?’

‘I’d love to. But I’m on duty at eight.’

That’s fine,’ I said. ‘I come off at seven. I’ll meet you here as soon after as I can make it. That is, of course, Hitler permitting.’

‘I hope he will.’ She smiled. It gave me a sudden sense of confidence, that smile. It made me want to stay and talk the whole thing over with her. But I had to get my lunch, and so I left her there, sipping her beer.

The afternoon went slowly. There were no alarms and I had plenty of time for reflection. When we came off at three we tried to get some sleep. This afternoon siesta was now a daily ritual. Without it, I am certain, we could never have kept going. It was easy to see who were the town dwellers and who were accustomed to working in the open air. Micky and Fuller went to sleep on their beds in the hut, not bothering to take off anything but their battle blouse and with at least one blanket over them. The rest of us stripped down and lay out in the sun.

Though I had plenty on my mind, I had no difficulty in going to sleep. We were wakened at a quarter to five. As usual, I felt worse after my brief sleep. It would probably have been more intelligent to rest under cover, but the sun attracted me too much. The sense of leisure was infinite. The thought of the hot, dusty streets of London made Thorby seem for a brief period a holiday camp.

I did not bother to go down to the mess for tea, even though it was the last good meal of the day. The sun had made me very weak and the idea of putting on battle dress and walking down to the square was quite repugnant. What several of us did was to make tea on the site. This was a much better proposition in every way, for the tea in the mess was really quite undrinkable. Then in the evening we would get food in the Naafi.

We were off again at seven and I went straight down to the canteen tent. It was already crowded. Several of the lads from the other site were there. I looked round, but could see no sign of Marion Sheldon. In the end I got myself a drink and went over and joined the others.

I kept a close watch on the entrance, but she did not come. At first I thought she must have been delayed. But by half-past seven I was wondering whether she had forgotten all about it. I began to feel rather peeked. Trevors had joined us and the whole of our detachment was there. The number of bottles on the table mounted rapidly. The place was insufferably hot and beginning to get noisy. I felt out of tune with it and very tired.

Shortly after eight Elaine came in and joined us. I didn’t know how friendly she was with Marion, but I thought she might be able to tell me what had happened to her. But it was rather awkward. She was sitting at the end of the table with Trevors and the two sergeants. I waited, trying to pluck up courage to approach her. But I fought shy of the laughter that my concern about a particular Waaf would certainly evoke.

Then one or two began talking about going to the supper canteen for food, and when they got up I joined them.

As I passed Elaine I said: ‘What’s happened to Marion tonight?’

She looked up at me over her shoulder. ‘Oh, she’s got herself into trouble over something. Four days fatigues. Shall I give her your love?’ There was a wicked gleam in her eyes.

I felt a sudden emptiness inside me. ‘What’s she in trouble over?’ I asked.

“She was very secretive about it, my dear.’ Again I was a are of that gleam in her eye. I felt uncomfortable. You’re not by any chance the cause of it, are you? You didn’t seem to waste much time last night.’

I didn’t know what to say. I had a horrid premonition. And because I feared that she might be right, I felt tongue-tied. I was suddenly aware that the whole table was silent, listening to our conversation.

She squeezed my arm in a friendly gesture. ‘It’s all right. I’ll give her your love.’ And she gave me a sugar-sweet smile.

I replied with what I fancy must have been a very sheepish grin and went with the others out of the tent. As we crossed the square to the big block of the Naafi Institute, behind which was the supper canteen, Kan said: ‘She’s a little bitch, isn’t she?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I was a bit vulnerable, wasn’t I? I’d arranged to meet Marion there at seven and she didn’t turn up.’

He laughed. ‘She’s still a little bitch. You don’t know Elaine. She can be really sweet, though her “my dears” are a bit reminiscent of the cheap side of Piccadilly. At other times she’s just a cat. Tiny thinks she’s a paragon of all the virtues. He’s very simple. But she’s as promiscuous as it’s possible to be in a camp. She just naturally wants every man she sees.’

I said nothing. What was there to say? I didn’t care a damn about Elaine. What was worrying me was why Marion had got into trouble.

‘You’re very moody, old boy,’ Kan said. ‘You’re surely not worrying about your girl friend. I mean, a few fatigues are nothing in anyone’s life.’

‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all,’ I said.

The canteen was already pretty full. We took the only table that was vacant. It was against the wall nearest the kitchen. The heat was almost unbearable. We all ordered steak and onions. Whilst we waited for it we had more beer.

‘Well, here’s to our night’s bag, Kan,’ said Chetwood, raising his glass to his lips.

‘What do you mean — your night’s bag?’ demanded Beasley, a youngish lad from the other side.

It started quite good-naturedly. But it soon became heated.

‘Well, what fuse were you firing? Fuse twelve? Well, listen, ducky, that ‘plane crashed on the edge of the ‘drome. It couldn’t have been more than three to four thousand yards away when you opened fire. Fuse twelve would have been well beyond the target.’

‘My dear fellow, I saw it burst just by the nose of the ‘plane.’

‘Well, John had the glasses on it and he says ours burst just outside the wing. And it was the wing that crumpled. Anyway, you were a layer, weren’t you? How the hell could you see? I was laying too, and I could see nothing. The flash was absolutely blinding.’

The argument was interminable. It seemed rather pointless. The main thing was that the troop had brought the plane down. At last we got our food. I had just started eating when I saw Andrew Mason come in. He stopped in the doorway to look round the room and then made straight for our table. He looked agitated.

‘You’re wanted at the office at once, Hanson. Mr Ogilvie wants to see you.’

He sounded urgent. I found I had my fork suspended half-way to my mouth. I put it down. ‘Oh, hell!’ I said. ‘What’s he want to see me about?’ But I knew already. And I felt like a cub reporter facing his first awkward interview with the editor.

‘I don’t know,’ said Mason. ‘But Wing-Commander Winton is with him. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

I got to my feet. ‘Don’t be a fool — finish your supper first,’ said Kan. I hesitated. ‘I think you’d better come now,’ said Mason. ‘It seemed to be urgent and I’ve already been some time trying to find you.’

‘All right,’ I said. I put my cap on and followed him out of the canteen. I felt nervous. Something must have gone wrong over that wire. And if it had, I was in a proper mess. It was hardly likely that Ogilvie would understand my explanation. Thank God Vayle didn’t hold a King’s commission. His civilian status made a lot of difference.

Mason took me straight into the inner office. Wing-Commander Winton was seated in a chair beside Ogilvie’s desk. They looked up as I entered. I saluted. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ I was rigid at attention.

‘Did you give a Waaf named Sheldon a telegram to send for you today?’

So I was right. I nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Is that the telegram?’

He handed me an inland telegram form. The message I had scribbled on the back of an envelope in the Naafi that morning was written on it in a clear feminine hand. ‘Yes, sir, that is the telegram.’

‘It’s incredible, Gunner Hanson — quite incredible. You realise that by implication you are accusing Mr Vayle of something that you don’t dare to state? What are you accusing him of?’

‘I was not aware that I was accusing him of anything,’ I replied.

‘Then why do you write to your friend asking for full details about him? You must have had some reason for it.’

‘It was a purely private communication to a colleague on my newspaper, sir.’

‘Nothing is private once you are in the Army. You are fortunate at this station in that there is no censorship as such. But this telegram was so startling that the postmistress at Thorby thought it wise to ring up Station H.Q. to find out whether the Waaf in question had authority to send it.’ He paused and glanced across at the Wing-Commander. ‘Perhaps you would like to question the man, sir.’

The C.O. Thorby was a big heavy-jowled man with steady, alert eyes. He came straight to the point. ‘As Mr Ogilvie says, this telegram of yours accuses Mr Vayle by implication of something that you are evidently unwilling to put down on paper. You require from your friend details of Mr Vayle’s life prior to 1936. You say it may be of vital importance. Perhaps you would explain.’

I hesitated. Winton was easier to talk to than Ogilvie. Probably because he had had more experience of men. But I was uncertain what line to take. In the end I decided on frankness. ‘I sent that wire because my suspicions had been aroused, sir,’ I said. I then went on to explain how the German pilot had stopped talking the moment he saw Vayle, how I had learnt that Vayle had spoken to the pilot before he went before the Intelligence officer, and how I was doubtful whether the pilot would have taken the line he did without guidance. ‘I could find out nothing about him prior to 1936, sir,’ I finished. ‘So I decided to wire my colleague and see whether he could discover something of Mr Vayle’s background. I was bearing in mind the fact that a plan of the ground defences of the aerodrome had already found its way into enemy hands.

‘I see. In other words, you suspected Mr Vayle of being a Nazi agent?’

The C.O.‘s heavy brows were drawn downwards over his eyes and he spoke very quietly. I sensed a menace in his words. But I could do nothing to stave it off. I said, ‘Yes, sir.’

‘You realise that the proper course would have been to explain your suspicions to your commanding officer or alternatively to have asked him to arrange for you to see me? If you had done so I should have been able to tell you that Mr Vayle came to this station from a well-known public school, and that we have the most complete confidence in him. Instead, you start a little personal investigation without any authority to do so.’ He gave me a suddenly keen glance. ‘What were you before you joined up?’

‘Journalist, sir.’

He glanced at the address on the telegram. ‘The Globe?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And this man Trent — what is his position on the paper?’

‘Crime reporter, sir.’

‘I see. A sensation-seeking paper and a sensation-seeking man.’ I was conscious of a very unpleasant feeling of loneliness. ‘I regard this matter very seriously.’ His voice was cold, distant. ‘The reasons for your suspicions seem to me quite inadequate. Apart from that, however, your communication with your newshound friend might have had very unfortunate repercussions. Mr Vayle, though of British nationality, was for a number of years lecturer at a Berlin University. Being of Jewish extraction, he was forced to leave in 1934. As I have said, we think very highly of him at this station. Had your wire not been intercepted, I can well imagine what a stunt article your friend would have written.’

He got up abruptly. ‘I leave you to deal with this man, Mr Ogilvie. You know my wishes. I want no repetition of this at my station.’

Ogilvie got to his feet. ‘I’ll see that it does not occur again, sir.’

I hesitated.

But as the C.O. moved to the door, I said: ‘Excuse me, sir.’

He paused with his hand on the door. ‘What is it?’ he said, and his tone was not inviting.

‘In the first place,’ I said, Trent would never have used any information he obtained without my permission. Secondly, because I have joined the Army I have not forfeited my right as a citizen to take any steps I think proper in the interests of my country. My suspicions were flimsy. I knew that. It was out of the question at that stage to raise the matter with anyone in authority. I took the only course open to me to attempt to satisfy those suspicions one way or the other.’

The interests of your country would have been best served by your bringing your suspicions to me, not to a newspaper.’ He still spoke quietly, but there was a tremor of anger in his voice.

I suppose it was foolish of me to pursue the matter. But I said: ‘Had I done that, without first seeing whether there were any grounds for my suspicions, I could hardly expect the matter to be taken any more seriously than my views about the information of a plan for immobilising our fighter ‘dromes given me by the German pilot.’

‘The headquarters staff of the station is better able to judge the importance of information than you are. I think it would be wise if you forgot that you’d ever been a journalist and remembered only that you’re a gunner in the British Army.’ He turned to Ogilvie. ‘Whatever you decide, I look to you to see that this sort of thing does not occur again.’

‘Very good, sir.’ Ogilvie opened the door for him.

When he had left, Ogilvie went back to his desk and lit his pipe. ‘You haven’t made it any easier for me by taking the line you did, Hanson,’ he said. ‘Wing-Commander Winton expressed a desire that I should have you transferred to another troop or even another battery, so long as you did not remain at this camp any longer than necessary. However, I am not prepared to go as far as that.’ He took his pipe from his mouth. ‘You will be confined to your site for twenty-eight days, and you will only leave it to get your meals and to wash. All letters and other communications during that period will be delivered to this office for me to censor. I will instruct Sergeant Langdon accordingly. All right. Dismiss!’