Attack Alarm

Chapter Six

We got no sleep that night. They seemed to come over in an endless stream. Sometimes we could see them in the searchlights. But we got no chance to fire. No ‘planes went up from Thorby. It was unpleasantly cold with a chilly mist rising from the valley. We were able to sleep from one to four, whilst the other detachment was on duty. But when we came on again at four an occasional machine was still drifting home and the All Clear did not go until just before Stand-to.

I had plenty to occupy my mind during those long cold hours. Vayle’s attitude, after all, had not been unreasonable, and I was only too conscious of the fact that my suspicions, which had at one time seemed so certain, were founded on little more than conjecture. What had impressed me, I think, more than anything was the frank and easy way in which he had explained the photograph. After all, one does suddenly meet old acquaintances in strange places. There were Marion Sheldon and John Nightingale to prove that coincidences of that kind are not uncommon. Yet I refused to believe that I wasn’t on the right track. Vayle was a clever man with a hypnotic personality. And after all, he had not had me arrested. My own explanation of this was, I felt, as good as his — though I had to admit that his was reasonable enough.

It was lucky that I did have something to think about, for during our later period of duty I found myself alone on one side of the gun pit whilst the rest were congregated round Bombardier Hood on the other, talking in low tones. I did not notice this at first. When I did I wandered over to the group, thinking they were discussing something of general interest. As I came up to them I heard Hood saying, ‘Well, anyway, that’s what Langdon told me.’

‘I’d like to know — ‘ Chetwood began, and then he saw me and stopped. There was an awkward silence. The group gradually broke up. I was uncomfortably aware that I was the cause.

I lit a cigarette and went out of the pit and got a deck-chair. I remembered once being sent to Coventry at my prep, school. The sensation was much the same. But lying in my deck-chair with my eyes half closed, it seemed so transient and unimportant.

Time and again I went over my encounter with Vayle and all the papers I had been through in his rooms. But I got no further forward. I felt stale. And I had a sort of feeling that things were developing. Every now and again I noticed the little group near the telephone, which had reformed. I was conscious, too, of the fact that I was at any rate partly the subject of conversation, for occasionally they glanced over in my direction.

I wished Langdon were in charge. He would have stopped it. Instead Bombardier Hood and Chetwood were leading the discussion. Gradually the sense of being an outcast intruded on my thoughts. I began to feel uneasy, though common sense told me that it wasn’t important. It was getting on my nerves. I found myself glancing more and more often in their direction. And every time one of them seemed to be watching me with a stealthy, almost furtive glance. I had a sudden sense of being trapped — caged like a prisoner. My superiors were against me. And now, it seemed, I was becoming cut off from my own companions. Even Kan, whom I had got on with so well, was there, glancing surreptitiously in my direction when he thought I wasn’t looking.

At last I could stand it no longer. I rose to my feet and went across to them. They watched me in silence as I approached. There were Hood and Chetwood and Kan standing a little apart from the rest, Micky and a small man called Blah whose nose and dark, wavy hair betrayed his nationality. He had replaced Fuller who was billet orderly. The undercurrent of hostility was almost defiant.

Their antagonism was that of uneasy consciences. I sensed with pleasure that they were almost afraid of the fact that I was going to take the initiative.

The knowledge of this gave me confidence. ‘Don’t you think that you’ve discussed me amongst yourselves long enough without making any comments you wish to make about me to my face?’ I tried to appear off-hand, but the tremor in my voice betrayed my emotion.

‘I don’t follow you.’ This from Bombardier Hood, and there was the inevitable truculence in his tone.

‘I can’t put it very much plainer.’ I turned to Kan. ‘Perhaps you’d tell me exactly what the trouble is.’

He glanced uneasily at Hood. ‘It’s nothing, really, dear boy. I mean it’s not important, what.’

‘That’s right. Not important at all,’ Chetwood put in.

Then out of the blue Micky put in: ‘Not important! Cor, stone me. You blokes make me sick. You take a man’s bloody character away, crowing over it like a lot of old women, yet you daren’t say a word to ‘is face.’

‘Thanks, Micky,’ I said. I turned to the others. I felt suddenly angry with them. ‘Now then, let’s have this out. What was it that Langdon told you, Bombardier Hood?’ I asked.

He hesitated a second. Then, with a slight shrug of the shoulders, he said: ‘Well, if you want to know, Sergeant Langdon was told in the sergeants’ mess that the Jerry pilot we brought down mentioned something about a plan to capture British fighter stations when he was questioned by the Intelligence officer. What we’re wondering is just exactly what it was that you and the Jerry found to talk about.’

‘We noticed you pretty soon shut up when Winton and Vayle came along,’ put in Chetwood.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘Here’s the whole conversation as I remember it.’ When I had told them all the German had said, I added: ‘Next time you want to accuse anyone of being a Nazi, have the guts to discuss the matter with him direct.’

As I turned away I felt that the little sermon might just as well be applied to myself and my suspicions of Vayle. When I next glanced round at the group it had broken up somewhat. Hood was standing by himself. Of one thing I was certain. I had made an enemy of Hood. He was not the man whom you could put in an ignominious position with impunity. He was too much on his dignity. But I didn’t care. It was too trivial to worry about.

Then somebody — Kan, I think it was — remembered that it was now Friday. For a time I was forgotten in an animated discussion of what, if anything, might be expected to happen. It produced a queer change in the mood of the pit. Micky began muttering to himself. He looked old and rather pinched. Any sort of strain seemed to cause the flesh to sag on his skull. I imagine he had had a hard life. I glanced round the pit. Dawn was beginning to break, and in that pale light it was incredible how white, almost ill, everyone looked. God! how tired we were at that time!

We got to bed again at six thirty — all except an air sentry. It was worth missing breakfast for the sake of that extra sleep. When I woke up again, it was half-past nine and the Tannoy was going. ‘Mussolini’s act in declaring war at that precise time was a dagger in the back of stricken France. This dictator has thoroughly played the part of a jackal to his — ‘ It was a Tannoy test with extracts from the previous day’s papers.

I ate some chocolate whilst getting into my clothes, and then went down to the barrack block to get a wash. I was just crossing the square when the Tannoy blared out, ‘Attention, please! Attention, please! Tiger Squadron to readiness immediately.’ Even though I was alone I could not help laughing. The announcer had a marked lisp, all his R’s were pronounced as W’s. The roar of aircraft engines being revved up awoke on the flying field. Almost immediately the Tannoy ordered: ‘Tiger Squadron scramble. Tiger Squadron scramble immediately. Scramble.’ The lisp was very marked in the word ‘scramble’, which became ‘scwamble’. Then: ‘Swallowtail Squadron stand by.’

I hesitated. Was there time for a shave? I was half-way across the square, within fifty yards of the wash-house. I might just manage it. But I did hate the idea of being caught by a flap with my face covered in lather. I decided to risk it. But I had not reached the edge of the square before the Tannoy called Swallowtail Squadron — that was the new one — to readiness immediately. That decided me to turn back. With both squadrons going up a flap must be imminent. As I recrossed the square, Tiger Squadron roared overhead in four flights of three.

‘Good morning.’

It was a girl’s voice. I turned. Marion Sheldon was standing there, looking very slim and boyish.

‘Don’t we know each other any more?’ she said, smiling.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked a little vaguely. The truth is, I was wondering what this activity portended and trying rather unsuccessfully to quieten the fluttering of my stomach.

‘Why, you walked right past me and cut me dead.’ She laughed. ‘What were you thinking about so intensely?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ I replied. ‘How’s things? Finished those fatigues yet?’

‘Not quite. Two more days.’ She came forward so that she was quite close to me. I remember thinking how beautifully clear the whites of her eyes were and how ridiculously tip-tilted and saucy her nose looked. ‘What happened last night?’ she asked. ‘I was so worried about you.’

I told her briefly. When I had finished she said: ‘I’m glad it wasn’t altogether wasted. Did you by any chance find out his Christian name?’

I thought for a moment, trying to recall it from the letters I had glanced through. ‘Joshua, I think,’ I said. ‘Yes, Joshua.’

Lightly her feet moved in a little wardance. ‘It all fits in,’ she said. ‘Elaine was talking in her sleep last night.

I’ve got the next bed to hers. I woke up to hear her saying, “I won’t stay, Joshua, I won’t stay. You must get me out.” Then there was a lot of gibberish I couldn’t make any sense out of. Then: “You must get me away, Joshua. You must. They’ll hit the hangars.” What’s that suggest to you? I should add that she got up this morning looking positively haggard and was as jumpy as anything.’

The chill in my stomach told me what it suggested to me. But I didn’t see any point in frightening her unnecessarily. ‘Did she say anything else?’

‘Oh, quite a lot, but just a jumble of words. She kept on talking about her birthday and Cold Harbour Farm — that’s the name of a book, isn’t it?’

‘No, Cold Comfort Farm,’ I told her, and we laughed.

‘Of course it is,’ she said. ‘Anyway, there was nothing else of interest, only what I’ve told you.’

At that moment the sirens began to go in the distance. I glanced round the square. A soldier on a bike with tin hat on and gas mask at the alert came pedalling down the roadway from our orderly room. ‘Here it is!’ I said. ‘Take post! I thought we shouldn’t have long to wait.’ It was Mason on the bike. I waved to him to acknowledge that I had received the summons. ‘You’re not on Ops. today, are you?’ I asked Marion.

‘No, I’ve just come off,’ she said. ‘Why?’

Thank God!’ I exclaimed. ‘See that you get into a shelter when there are alarms on. I must go now. Cheerio.’ I waved my hand to her. As I broke into a run, the Tannoy announced Preliminary Air-Raid Warning. ‘All personnel not servicing aircraft or on ground defence to take cover.’ Everyone began running — the guards to their posts, the rest to the dug-out shelters.

Just as I reached the edge of the flying field itself, Micky came up with me, riding Langdon’s bicycle. ‘All go, ain’t it, mate,’ he said. But his cheerfulness was very forced. His eyes looked wildly bright in the pallor of his face. As he rode on I thought that probably there were bombees, just as there were murderees. And if ever there was a bombee, I thought Micky must be one.

Most of the detachment were already in the pit by the time I got there. There’s a big raid crossing the coast,’ I heard someone say. I put my tin hat on and my gas mask at the alert. ‘You’d better look after that ‘phone,’ Langdon told me. There was the usual scramble for cotton-wool. That was before everyone was issued with proper ear-plugs. On a three-inch it is absolutely essential to have something in your ears. The trouble is that the gun is an old naval weapon converted for anti-aircraft work, and in order to get the necessary degree of elevation the recoil had been reduced from two feet to eleven inches with a consequent big increase in the noise of the charge.

‘Attention, please! Attention, please! Swallowtail Squadron scramble! Scramble!’

A car swept by carrying pilot officers from the mess to the dispersal points. Several more of them came running down the roadway. They were in full kit. Among them I recognised John Nightingale. He was running with that easy, shambling gait of his. As he passed our pit he waved his hand to me. I acknowledged the salute.

‘That’s Nightingale, isn’t it?’ asked Kan.

‘Yes, we were at school together,’ I said. I couldn’t help it. I glanced first at Hood, then at Chetwood. In view of their recent attitude, I felt it was almost a claim to respectability to know the ace leader of the new squadron.

Nightingale had disappeared into the dispersal point just past our pit. The sound of engines revving was shatteringly loud. A moment later his ‘plane came out of it. He had the hood of the cockpit thrown back, and I saw him wave to his crew. The ‘plane’s number was TZ05. He slid the hood over his head and the ‘plane taxied at a tremendous rate over to the start of the runway, where aircraft from the dispersal’s point were already gathering.

The ‘phone went as the squadron began to take off. I picked up the receiver. Tour,’ I said as our number was called out. ‘Hold on a minute,’ came the voice of Gun Ops. There’s a plot coming through.’ I waited. Then: There’s a formation of about two hundred ‘planes twenty-five miles away to the southeast flying north-west. Height, twenty thousand feet.’

I passed on the information to Langdon. The pit received the news in silence. We were accustomed by now to big formations. But I knew what everyone was thinking. I was thinking it too. Was Thorby their objective?

‘Attention, please. Attention, please!’ The Tannoy again. ‘Attack alarm! Attack alarm! All personnel to take cover immediately. Take cover immediately. Attack alarm! Off.’

We waited, tense, watching the sky. It was very blue, except for little wisps of cloud high up. Swallowtail Squadron disappeared, tiny specks, climbing south-eastwards. Langdon had the glasses. Every now and then he searched the sky in an arc south and east. Though it was only a little after ten, it was very hot in the pit. The glare of the sun was terrific, so that one’s eyes felt hot and tired trying to see little specks that would only show when the sun glinted on them high up in the azure bowl of the sky.

‘They’ll be coming right out of the sun,’ said Helson.

‘Yes, it’s just right for them,’ added Blah. ‘We won’t be able to see a thing.’ He was nicknamed Blah because he had a rather exaggeratedly aristocratic voice and was fond of words.

‘Cor, you’re just the kiddy for ‘em if they land,’ said Micky. ‘You better lose that identity disc of yours, I tell you — that is, if you’ve got your religion down as Yiddish.’

We laughed. It was a relief to laugh at something. Blah laughed too. ‘I’ve already lost it,’ he said. ‘The trouble is I can’t lose my nose.’

‘You could cut it off,’ suggested somebody.

‘Spoil my beauty! Kan wouldn’t give me a part after the war if I did.’

‘Listen!’ said Bombardier Hood.

Faintly came the sound of distant engine, flying high.

‘Sounds like them,’ Chetwood said.

‘Christ! And not a single fighter of our own in sight,’ said Kan.

The throb grew louder. ‘Did that Jerry really say we were to be bombed today?’ Micky asked me.

I nodded.

There was silence.

‘Cor, I’d like to git at ‘em wiv a baynet. Come down, you bastards! Come down!’ Micky’s face was strained as he muttered his challenge to the sky. He turned to Langdon. ‘Wot d’you think, John. Is it our turn today?’

‘Oh, give it a rest,’ said Bombardier Hood.

‘Look! Up there!’ Chetwood was pointing high up to the north-west. ‘It glinted in the sun just for a second.’

We strained our eyes. But none of us could see anything, though we could hear the throb of the engines very plainly now. The sound seemed to come from the direction in which he was pointing.

‘There it is again,’ Chetwood said. ‘I can see them all now.’ He began to count. ‘Twenty-one, I make it.’

‘Yes, I see them,’ said Fuller.

Langdon was searching with his glasses. I strained my eyes, but could see nothing. A ‘plane may be quite easily visible, yet if you haven’t focused your eyes for the correct distance you can’t see it.

‘Here, you take a look,’ said Langdon, handing Chetwood the glasses. ‘If there are only twenty-one I don’t expect it’s Jerry. But a squadron may have got over London without being spotted.’

Chetwood took the glasses. After a moment he said, ‘It’s all right. They’re Hurricanes.’

The ‘phone rang.

A queer chill feeling spread inside me as I listened to the voice from Gun Ops. I put the receiver back and turned to Langdon.

‘Come on, mate, tell us wot it is,’ Micky said before I could open my mouth.

‘That first raid has been broken up,’ I said. ‘But there’s another raid just crossing the coast. There are fifty bombers escorted by two very large formations of fighters. The bombers are at twenty thousand and the fighters at twenty-five and thirty thousand.’

Nobody spoke. Unconsciously we all began watching the sky again. Micky was muttering to himself. I glanced round at the upturned faces. We were a scruffy-looking lot. Hardly any of us had managed to get a shave that morning. And though we were all burnt brown with the sun, our skin looked pale and tired under the tan.

Up above, the two squadrons of Hurricanes were circling over the ‘drome. Every now and then the tail-arse Charlie of each squadron — that is, the ‘plane that weaves from side to side across the formation to guard its rear — sparkled like a pin-point of silver tinsel in the sun.

I don’t know how long we waited, watching the sky. It seemed an age. Nothing happened. Only those two squadrons circling and circling. It was the first time we had ever had two squadrons patrolling the base. Time seemed to pass without our knowing it. There was very little conversation. Even Micky, always full of wisecracks, was silent. The strain of waiting was telling on everyone.

Suddenly the Tannoy blared forth again. ‘Attention, please! In a few moments aircraft will be landing for refuelling and rearming. All crews to stand by. The ‘planes are to be got into the air again as quickly as possible. All crews stand by. Off.’

‘Must be some fighting somewhere,’ said Chetwood.

‘Wish they’d fight nearer here,’ said Micky. ‘I’d like to see the Jerries tumbling down and the old gun going bang, bang, bang! Wouldn’t half put the wind up ‘em, I tell you. Eh, John?’

‘You may regret that wish yet, Micky,’ Langdon said.

I glanced at my watch. It was ten-past eleven. Those raids must surely have been turned back. I looked up at the sound of a ‘plane much nearer than any we had yet heard. It came in fast and low from the east. ‘What is it?’ someone asked.

‘Hurricane,‘Langdon told him.

It was one of Tiger Squadron. It circled the ‘drome only once and then landed very bumpily. The crew were ready with the petrol lorry. Other aircraft began to straggle in — one with his tail badly shattered by a cannon shell, another with a wing riddled. Mostly they landed shakily in their haste. Some did not even bother to circle the ‘drome once, but landed on the grass regardless of the slight wind.

The crews worked like fiends, filling their tanks and reloading their guns. Most of them were off again in little over ten minutes. Others began to come in. Several of Swallowtail Squadron, Nightingale amongst them. And one or two Spitfires from another ‘drome. I saw Nightingale go off again, and wondered if it felt much different than to stay down here waiting to be bombed.

A quarter to twelve. The pit seemed easier now — less strained. It looked as though the raid had petered out, though obviously fighting was still going on. Twice we had rung Gun Ops., but they knew nothing more.

Then suddenly someone said, ‘Listen!’

Faintly came a low, solid-sounding hum. It was very far away. We looked up at the two squadrons overhead. They were still circling. Then the Tannoy went again. ‘Attention, please! Attention, please! Mass formation attack alarm! Mass formation attack alarm! All aircraft that can be got off the ground to take off immediately. All aircraft scramble!’

Uncontrollable, my heart was suddenly in my mouth. It was the first time we had had a mass formation attack alarm.

The sound grew steadily louder. There was no throb about it. Only a deep hum. The aerodrome was alive with revving engines and figures buzzing like flies round every dispersal point as the ‘planes were got into the air. And then, as suddenly, the place became dead. The ‘planes had gone, black dots in the sky, rapidly dwindling as they scattered, some unfuelled, some unarmed, some almost unserviceable, and one or two Miles Magister trainers. Not a soul was to be seen over the whole landing field, and not a ‘plane, save those few incapable of taking the air. Only the heat blazed on the tarmac, making the air dance above it.

There they are. Look!’

I turned and, shading my eyes, gazed up in the direction Bombardier Hood was pointing. He began counting. And then gave it up. ‘God! There are more up above. See them?’ For the moment I could see nothing. There was not a cloud in the sky now — even the little wisps had been burnt out of it. I strained my eyes until I was seeing a myriad tiny specks of light in the heat. I closed them and shook my head. All the time the noise of engines was getting louder. It was coming up from the southeast. Langdon was gazing intently up through his glasses. I could see our fighters. I watched them as they ceased circling and streaked off into the sun. Then suddenly I saw the approaching formation. It was quite clearly visible as our fighters raced to meet it. It seemed unbelieveable that I had not been able to see it before.

The Jerries were massed in solid formation at about twenty thousand feet — dark dots against the blue sky. And above them more, just specks of tin that caught the sun. The gun barrel moved slowly up as the layers followed the approach of the formation. Langdon still watched it through his glasses. At length he lowered them. ‘I think it’s us,’ he said very calmly. ‘Fuse twenty-five. Load!’

Bombardier Hood set the fuse of the shell he had ready beside him on the parapet and handed it to Fuller, who rushed it to the gun, Micky rammed it home with his gloved hand and the breech-block rose with a clang. The layers reported On.

Langdon waited. I felt chill, though the glare of the sun was terrific. The heavy drone grew louder every second. Even without glasses I could make out the shape of them.

‘Junkers 88,’ pronounced Langdon.

‘Must be about fifty of ‘em,’ said Hood

‘Them’s fighters up above, ain’t they?’ freked Micky.

Langdon nodded. ‘Swarms of them.’

It was impossible to see the shape of the fighters with the naked eye. But I could see that they were spread out in a great fan formation above and behind the bombers.

Suddenly, out of the glare of the sun, came more ‘planes in a wide sweep. ‘There go our fighters,’ cried someone. We all watched, breathless. Twenty-one against more than two hundred. It seemed so hopeless — such futile heroism. My fists were clenched and my eyes were tired as I strained upwards. I wanted to look away. But the sight of those few ‘planes — British ‘planes — sweeping in to the attack of that huge formation fascinated me. I felt a surge of pride at being of the same race and fighting side by side for the same things as those reckless fools.

The bomber formation came on steadily, almost slowly. There was the inevitability of a steam-roller about it. I thought of the Armada and Drake’s frigates. But in this case the enemy had a superabundance of frigates themselves. Down they came upon those two defending squadrons in steep, fierce dives. The squadrons broke before they had reached the bombers. But I saw one or two get through to that steady attacking formation. The solid hum of aircraft rose to a furious snarl as we began to get the noise of those steep dives with engines flat out. And then above the noise of revved engines came the sound of machine-gun fire. It was a noise that set one’s teeth on edge. It was like tearing calico.

One bomber fell away from the formation, smoke pouring from it. I heard myself shouting excitedly. I was too worked up to have a very clear impression of what was happening. Everyone in the pit was muttering or shouting with excitement. Another bomber fell, but it pulled out of its dive and made for home. The air was full of the roar of engines and the distant chatter of machine-gun fire. It was impossible to make out our own fighters from the Messerschmitt 109s. All were inextricably mixed in a milling, dog-fighting mass. But the bomber formation came inexorably on. And high above it the topmost tier of defending fighters kept formation. In ones and twos our machines came racing to join in the fight, some almost certainly short of fuel and ammunition after fighting over the coast.

And above the din of the engines and the fight came the Tannoy: ‘Ground defences take great care before opening fire. Our fighters are attacking the formation.’

But Langdon, who was watching through glasses, said: ‘Take the leading flight of bombers. Anyone see any of our fighters there?’

No-one could. The layers reported On. Langdon waited a moment, gauging the range. The formation seemed to be passing to the east of the ‘drome now; it was well strung out in flights of three.

‘Fire!’

The gun crashed. I saw the breech-ring recoil and flame and smoke pour from it. I heard the whistle of the shell as it left the barrel. Another ammunition number ran up with a second shell. Micky rammed it home and the gun fired again. The noise was shatteringly loud. Hood had several shells already fused. The ammunition numbers were holding them ready. I braced myself for the next shot.

Not till we had fired five rounds did I glance upwards.

Four puffs of white smoke showed well amongst the leading flight. As I watched, another puff of smoke appeared just behind the leader. The ‘plane seemed to buck and then dived away in a streamer of smoke. And as it fell it suddenly exploded. A flash and only a little cloud of smoke showed where a second before,a German bomber had been.

‘Fuse twenty-two!’ Langdon yelled.

Hood worked furiously with the fuse key — a circle of metal which fitted over the nose-cap of the shell so that it could be turned and set to the correct fuse.

Steadily the gun went on firing. And in the intervals between our own shots I could hear the other three-inch cracking away furiously. Little cotton-wool balls of smoke marked the passage of the formation.

‘Fuse twenty!’

They were almost east of the ‘drome now. In a moment they would be past us, heading for London. I glanced away at the dog-fight between the fighters. And even in that glance I saw two ‘planes spin out of the melee in a long spiral of smoke. The fight had moved almost over our heads. Suddenly the scream of a diving ‘plane sounded above the din of the action. I looked quickly round. For a second I was at a loss to know where it came from. Then I saw it. Just north of the ‘drome it was, falling absolutely perpendicularly, its engines flat out. I saw it plan view as it dived out of control behind some trees. I saw the spout of earth and smoke it shot up. I felt slightly sick at the sight. I could imagine some poor devil fighting at the controls and then desperately trying to pull back a hood that had jammed. It had dived into the ground at quite 500 m.p.h. And all the time these thoughts were running in a flash through my mind I could still hear the growing crescendo of the engine. It was as though I had been shown in a dream what was going to happen. And then came the sickening crash, terrifyingly loud, to relieve my suspense.

I looked up again at the formation of Junkers. The leaders were turning slowly westwards, towards Thorby, puffs of smoke all round them. The gun kept up a constant fire. I was getting used to the noise now. My ears were singing, but I no longer braced myself involuntarily before each shot.

And as I watched the German ‘planes bank I knew what was going to happen. And sure enough as they banked they began to drop into a dive. I had seen the same thing happen to Mitchet. Now it was our turn. Strangely enough, I felt no fear. I seemed outside myself and comfortingly detached. With a critical eye I seemed to watch the completely automatic actions of my body as it ducked down, head thrown back, watching those silvery eggs fall from beneath each ‘plane.

It seemed an age that I waited, tense and expectant.

The only sounds were the three-inches, the screaming engines of the dive-bombers and the more distant sound of machine-gun fire.

And then suddenly all hell seemed to be let loose on the ‘drome. As the Jerries pulled out of their dives at about seven thousand feet, the Bofors and Hispano and Lewis guns all let loose. The red tracer shells of the Bofors, like little flaming oranges, could been streaming lazily up to meet the bombers.

Then a fountain of earth shot into the air just behind the dispersal point to the north of us and shook the pit. Pandemonium broke loose as bomb after bomb fell. All over the aerodrome great gouts of earth hung for a second in the air, and as they fell, others rose.

And all the time Langdon stood there easily, just behind the gun, controlling the fire. Many of the team were crouching against the parapet for shelter. But the layers were still on their seats and Micky was engrossed completely in the business of firing. There was a momentary pause when no shell was brought up to the gun, though Hood was still there fusing them. Without thinking, I ran across the pit, grabbed a round and held it for Micky to punch home.

For the next few minutes I knew nothing of what was happening as my whole attention was concentrated on the task of keeping the gun supplied. All I knew was that outside that concentration of effort absolute pandemonium was going on. Shrapnel was flying all over the place, bits of metal whining as they flew through the air just above the pit.

Others began to join Fuller and myself in taking shells to the gun. We were beginning to get used to the continual crump of bombs which shook the pit as though there was an earthquake. I remember once hearing the whine of a bomb — it was particularly loud — and looking up to see the thing coming straight for us. Instinctively I fell flat on my face. It fell, a second later, barely twenty yards from the pit. The noise was deafening. Part of the sandbag parapet crumbled inwards and great clods of earth and stones fell all round us. One fellow — Helson, it was — was knocked right out. But a second later the old gun was going again. We got one ‘plane, I know. We got it in the midst of its dive, and it continued straight on, crashing into one of the hangars and blowing up in a great burst of flame.

And in the midst of all this racket the telephone rang. It was just luck that I heard it. I dived for it. I picked up the receiver to find the message already coming through. ‘ — low to the south. Another raid coming in low to the south — Very low. Another raid coming — ‘ The voice from Gun Ops. sounded frightened and jerky.

‘How near?’ I cut in.

‘Very near,’ came the answer.

I caught Langdon’s arm and yelled the message into his ear. ‘Stop,’ he shouted. ‘Lay just over the hangars. Shrapnel, fuse two. Load!’ The gun swung round.