Attack Alarm (14 page)

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 any one 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. Certainly I had forgotten all about it. 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, every one 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 throughout 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: “Swallow-tail Squadron to 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 Swallow-tail 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 war-dance. “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. to-day, 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.” Every one 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 the ’phone,” Langdon told me. There was the usual scramble for cotton-wool. That was before every one 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 points were already gathering.

The ’phone went as the squadron began to take off. I picked up the receiver. “Four,” 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 south-east
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 every one 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 long words.

“Cor, you’re just the kiddy for ’em if they land,” said Micky. “You better lose that identity disk 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 engines, 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 to-day?” 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 to-day?”

“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 every one.

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 to 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 its 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.