Hammond Innes - Attack Alarm

‘No. Why? Do you know him?’

‘I don’t know. We had a John Nightingale at school. He was crazy enough. His most spectacular feat was to put two — pieces of crockery, I think they were called — on top of the Naafi marquee at Tidworth Pennings on his last camp. I just wondered whether it was the same fellow. It’s rather an uncommon name, and he took one of those short-term commissions in the R.A.F. when he left school.’

‘What sort of a show did the squadron put up in France, do you know?’ asked Kan.

‘Pretty good, I gather,’ replied Langdon. ‘Anyway, they have a high opinion of themselves.’

‘Well, I hope they’re not over-estimating themselves — for their sakes as well as our own,’ said Chetwood. ‘I heard of a relieving squadron over at Mitchet who thought they were pretty good. They had come down from Scotland too. But they hadn’t any experience of dog-fighting their way through big formations. They acted mighty big in the mess their first night. And the next morning they went up and flew straight into a hundred and fifty Messerschmitts over Folkestone. They lost nearly half the squadron without bringing down a single Jerry. I don’t think they did much crowing after that.’

Micky held a bottle of beer out to me. I don’t think he was consciously trying to be friendly. It was just that his mood of suspicion had passed. The rest of stand-to passed pleasantly. Few ‘planes came over. We were relieved at ten and went straight to bed. It was already clouding over.

I was woken up to be told that the ‘All Clear’ had gone about a quarter of an hour ago. The hut was full of the soft stir of men breathing. It was five to one. I was the first guard of our detachment. I scrambled into my clothes and went out to the pit. It was still cloudy, but the moon had risen and the night was full of an opaque light.

‘Anything interesting happened?’ I asked Helson, who had been left on guard by the other detachment.

‘Nothing while the alarm was on,’ he replied. “They were coming over in an endless stream and several flares were dropped away to the north. Can’t think why they suddenly dried up. Harrison told me something rather exciting, though. He’s just come off Gun Ops. The squadron leader of 85B has taken a Hurricane up to intercept. Apparently he got annoyed at hearing them coming over without any attempt being made to stop them, so he asked the C.O. if he could take a ‘plane up. But the C.O. wouldn’t allow the flare-path to be put on for him. So he said that wouldn’t stop him, all he wanted was one landing light at the far end of the runway. But even this wasn’t allowed, so he said lights or no lights, he was going up. He went out from the dispersal point here. We saw him take off and wondered what he was up to. It was a crazy thing to do. It was as black as pitch at the time. But he got up all right.’

‘Did you see him at all?’ I asked.

‘No, I tell you, it was like pitch. There was a bit of a mist over the field. Well, that’s all the news. Enjoy your guard.’

He handed me the rifle and torch and left me to my thoughts. They were pretty chaotic, for I was dopey with sleep. My guard passed slowly, as it always does when you are sleepy, but daren’t go to sleep. It seemed unnaturally quiet. Occasionally I heard the movements of one of the guards patrolling the barbed-wire on the slope below our hut. Otherwise there was not a sound.

It was twenty to two — I had just looked at my watch — when I heard the sound of a ‘plane. It grew rapidly louder. It was very low and travelling fast. The ‘phone bell rang. I picked up the receiver. My heart was in my mouth. I expected a plot and I knew it would be on top of us before I could get the gun manned. Leisurely, Gun Ops. went the round of the sites. Then the voice at the other end said, ‘One Hurricane coming in to land.’ At the same moment the flare-path went on, a blinding swathe of light along the runway facing into the wind.

Then the plane appeared through the cloud with its navigation lights on. It came diving down at high speed straight for the gun. At not more than two hundred feet it flattened out. It passed right over my head and banked slightly on to the flare-path. The sound of it passing through the air rose to a scream. I could see the flame of the exhausts each side of the nose. And then it was lit up by the light of the flare-path and it began to roll over. It seemed very leisurely and easy. The ‘plane went right over in a superb victory roll, scarcely losing any height. It was a mad, lovely piece of flying. For an instant it shone silver as it rolled and then the night beyond the flare-path had swallowed it.

I could have shouted for sheer joy at that superbly executed symbol of victory. It lightened my spirits. I took it as an omen. It was one of the very first occasions on which one of our ‘planes had shot down a Jerry at night. I picked the ‘plane up again circling leisurely to the south of the ‘drome. It passed behind me and came in beyond the flare-path, two pin-points of light, one red, one green. Then suddenly there it was gliding along the flare-path, its brakes squealing as it slowed up. At the end of the runway it turned and taxied back across the field to the dispersal point a hundred yards to the north of our site.

A few minutes later I saw the pilot walking slowly along the road. I got the glasses out and watched him. He still had his flying suit on and I could not see his face. But I would have recognised that lithe yet curiously shambling gait anywhere. It was John Nightingale — no doubt about it. He was walking on the same side of the road as our pit and would pass within a few yards of me. It was strange to see him alone after having accomplished something so big. I felt that the least the C.O. could have done would be to come out and meet him in his car.

As he came abreast of me I said, ‘Squadron-Leader Nightingale?’

‘Yes.’ He stopped.

I saluted. ‘It’s John Nightingale, isn’t it?’ I asked.

‘That’s right. Who’s that?’

‘Barry Hanson.’

‘Barry Hanson?’ he repeated. Then, ‘Good God! Barry Hanson — of course.’ And he came over to the parapet and shook me by the hand. ‘What strange places one does meet people now.’ He grinned.

I could see his face in the diffused light of the moon. I should never have recognised him by his face, it was so changed. When I had last seen him he had been a fresh-complexioned lad of eighteen. Now his face was tanned and leathery, there were little lines at the corner of his eyes and he wore a small moustache along the edge of his upper lip. There was a white scar across his chin and the left cheek was disfigured by a burn. But his smile was the same. He smiled with his eyes as well as with his lips, and there was the old flash of gaiety and recklessness in it.

He vaulted to a seat on the parapet. ‘So you’re a gunner now? What were you doing before the war?’ I told him.

‘Well, well — so you didn’t like the insurance business. That was where you went from school, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘but it was too dead for me.’ And I told him how I’d cut out on my own. Then I asked him about himself. He had done his five years and then been accepted for permanent service. He had been promoted to squadron-leader shortly after war broke out, and had led his squadron in France.

‘What about your escapade tonight?’ I asked. ‘That crazy roll you did when you came in meant, I suppose, that you’d shot one down?’

‘Yes,’ he said with a careless laugh. ‘I was lucky. There’s only a thin layer of cloud at about two thousand. Above that it’s bright moonlight. I went up to twenty thousand, which is the height at which they were coming over. I figured that, as they were using a definite route, if I hung about right over the ‘drome I’d be sure to see one of them sooner or later. I hadn’t been up more than fifteen minutes when a Heinkel blundered right into me. I very nearly crashed it. I twisted on to his tail. I simply couldn’t miss him. He was like a great silver bird in the moonlight. Absolute sitter. After getting him, I hung about for a further half-hour in the hope of picking up another, but I had no luck, and in the end I had to come down. I gather they had stopped coming over.’