Hammond Innes - Attack Alarm

‘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!’