Hammond Innes - Attack Alarm

Then he went on to talk of old school friends that he had met. He was full of news of those who had joined the Services. And as we talked I was turning over in my mind whether to take him into my confidence and tell him of my suspicions about Vayle. It seemed such a heavensent opportunity. R.A.F. officers were given plenty of freedom. He probably had a car. He would have plenty of chances to ‘phone a wire from some exchange at a reasonable distance. He might even be going up to Town the next day, in which case he could ‘phone Bill Trent direct. And yet I was chary of getting myself into further trouble. Not that he was the sort of fellow to report anything I told him — but I did not know how discreet he would be.

At length he said, ‘Well, I must be getting along, I suppose, or they’ll be sending out a search party.’

I looked at my watch. It was just on two.

‘You’ve passed my guard nice and quickly for me,’ I said.

‘Good.’ He got down from the parapet. ‘Look, you must come and dine with me somewhere soon and we’ll have a really good talk over old times.’

I laughed. ‘I should like to,’ I said regretfully. ‘But I’m afraid it’s not possible. We’re not allowed outside the camp, and at the moment I’m confined to my site.’

‘Oh, have you been getting into trouble, then?’

I hesitated. And then I told him the whole thing — or rather, not quite all. I didn’t mention the plan for immobilising fighter stations. I didn’t want to run the risk of being thought too credulous again. But I told him about the pilot’s story of a raid on Friday and how the man had shut up like a clam as soon as he saw Vayle. I told him what I had learnt about the librarian and the attitude Winton had taken when it was discovered I had been wiring a colleague for information about Vayle. I explained, too, that a plan of the ground defences of the aerodrome had been found on a Nazi agent.

‘Yes, I heard about that,’ he said. ‘It’s rather extraordinary, because it was more than just a plan. It gave the approximate number of rounds on each gun site, and a complete plan of the wiring of Ops., Gun Ops. and the runway lights. The plan was made out by someone who had access to a great variety of information that is not usually available.’

‘That points to someone in authority,’ I said. ‘Vayle could get details like that. But I’ve got nothing on Vayle — nothing definite at all. It’s just that I’m suspicious, and I shan’t be satisfied till I know for certain whether my suspicions are justified or not.

“Is this fellow short with a rather fine head and iron-grey hair?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Long, almost sardonic features.’

That’s right. I met him tonight at the Spinning Wheel. It’s a sort of farmhouse turned night club up on the other side of the valley. He was there with a Waaf.’

‘Did he talk to anyone?’

‘Oh, he said cheerio to a number of pilots. The place practically lives on flying officers. Yes, he did have a chat with two fellows from Mitchet. But most of the evening he spent with this girl Elaine.’

‘Elaine?’ I was interested. I remembered what Kan had said. Promiscuity might be very useful to an agent.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘Can you get a message through to a fellow called Bill Trent on the Globe?’

‘Well, you know the ‘phones are very difficult and I believe there’s great delay on telegrams.’ He hesitated, and then he said: ‘But I might run up to Town tomorrow evening. I could ‘phone him then, if that’s any use to you. Mind you, I can’t promise. But I should be free. Anyway, I’ll do what I can. What do you want me to tell him?’

‘Just ask him to get all the information he can about Vayle. Tell him it may be of vital importance. You needn’t worry about him being indiscreet.’

‘O.K. I’ll do it if I can. What’s his home number?’ I told him. ‘Right. Well, I’ll be seeing you.’ He raised his hand in salute and strode off towards the officer’s mess. I went across to the hut and called Chetwood, who was my relief guard. It was two-fifteen. In a few minutes he came out and took over. I was so concerned about the steps I had taken to contact Bill Trent that I forgot to tell him anything about John Nightingale’s escapade. The atmosphere in the hut smelt stale behind the blackout curtains after the fresh night air. But I was too sleepy to worry about it as I tumbled into bed.

I woke to the clatter of workmen as they entered the hut just after seven-thirty. There were two of them. They had come to put in some panes of glass that had been broken when the hut was built. Strange and incredible are the ways of Government workmen. The hut had been erected about a month ago, and as soon as the roof was on the workmen had disappeared, though panes were missing from the windows, no interior boarding or decoration had been done, and the promised electric light had not been installed. And because the tents, though camouflaged, had been thought too conspicuous from the air, these had been struck and the whole gun team had had to move into the bare and half-completed hut.

Now, out of the blue, these two workmen came clumping in without any consideration for the fact that the occupants were trying to sleep. They were met by a liberal dose of invective. This had no effect on the elder of the two, a hatchet-faced man with a white, leathery skin. But his mate, who was little more than a boy, had the grace to say, ‘Sorry to disturb you lads.’

I was slow to arrive at full consciousness. But suddenly I realised it was Thursday. I shall always remember that Thursday. Until then I don’t think I had realised quite what I was up against. Subconsciously it had been something of a game, a diversion from the monotony of constant raids. But on that Thursday I discovered how far removed I was from a David in search of a Goliath, and by that evening I was almost sick in the face of a fear that came at me from every quarter.

It began rather better than most other days since I had been on the site. No alarm disturbed our breakfast. In fact, there was no alarm until just after eleven, and then it was only half a dozen hostile and did not last long For once we were able to get washed and shaved in comfort. But inevitably there was no ease in the lull. A lull had become unusual. And jaded nerves were suspicious of the unusual. Everyone seemed strangely reluctant to, enjoy the blessed comfort of not having to take post. It meant something worse to come — that’s the way they looked at it. There was no false optimism. We listened eagerly every night for the ever-mounting number of German ‘planes shot down. But though the proportion of British to German losses exceeded all expectations, we knew only too well what it was costing us in worn-out pilots and unserviceable machines.

It was not long before somebody mentioned my talk with the Jerry pilot, and instantly everyone saw in this lull the preparation for a raid on Thorby. That, of course, was ridiculous. They would not hold off for one day just to prepare for a raid on a single aerodrome. But the fact that they were holding off looked ominous. A big attack against a number of fighter stations might be followed almost immediately by an actual landing, since it seemed reasonable that they would strike while conditions in the aerodromes were chaotic. In a moment I was the centre of tense speculation. Questions were hurled at me right and left, and I was again conscious of that undercurrent of suspicion. I was the rooky who knew more than they did. That in itself inspired a subconscious hostility in most of them. At the same time, balked by any certainty about the morrow, they felt that I must be holding something back.

‘Have you told Mr Ogilvie?’ asked Bombardier Hood.

‘Yes, he knows about it,’ I replied.