Hammond Innes - Attack Alarm

‘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.