Hammond Innes - Attack Alarm

Uncontrollable, my heart was suddenly in my mouth. It was the first time we had had a mass formation attack alarm.

The sound grew steadily louder. There was no throb about it. Only a deep hum. The aerodrome was alive with revving engines and figures buzzing like flies round every dispersal point as the ‘planes were got into the air. And then, as suddenly, the place became dead. The ‘planes had gone, black dots in the sky, rapidly dwindling as they scattered, some unfuelled, some unarmed, some almost unserviceable, and one or two Miles Magister trainers. Not a soul was to be seen over the whole landing field, and not a ‘plane, save those few incapable of taking the air. Only the heat blazed on the tarmac, making the air dance above it.

There they are. Look!’

I turned and, shading my eyes, gazed up in the direction Bombardier Hood was pointing. He began counting. And then gave it up. ‘God! There are more up above. See them?’ For the moment I could see nothing. There was not a cloud in the sky now — even the little wisps had been burnt out of it. I strained my eyes until I was seeing a myriad tiny specks of light in the heat. I closed them and shook my head. All the time the noise of engines was getting louder. It was coming up from the southeast. Langdon was gazing intently up through his glasses. I could see our fighters. I watched them as they ceased circling and streaked off into the sun. Then suddenly I saw the approaching formation. It was quite clearly visible as our fighters raced to meet it. It seemed unbelieveable that I had not been able to see it before.

The Jerries were massed in solid formation at about twenty thousand feet — dark dots against the blue sky. And above them more, just specks of tin that caught the sun. The gun barrel moved slowly up as the layers followed the approach of the formation. Langdon still watched it through his glasses. At length he lowered them. ‘I think it’s us,’ he said very calmly. ‘Fuse twenty-five. Load!’

Bombardier Hood set the fuse of the shell he had ready beside him on the parapet and handed it to Fuller, who rushed it to the gun, Micky rammed it home with his gloved hand and the breech-block rose with a clang. The layers reported On.

Langdon waited. I felt chill, though the glare of the sun was terrific. The heavy drone grew louder every second. Even without glasses I could make out the shape of them.

‘Junkers 88,’ pronounced Langdon.

‘Must be about fifty of ‘em,’ said Hood

‘Them’s fighters up above, ain’t they?’ freked Micky.

Langdon nodded. ‘Swarms of them.’

It was impossible to see the shape of the fighters with the naked eye. But I could see that they were spread out in a great fan formation above and behind the bombers.

Suddenly, out of the glare of the sun, came more ‘planes in a wide sweep. ‘There go our fighters,’ cried someone. We all watched, breathless. Twenty-one against more than two hundred. It seemed so hopeless — such futile heroism. My fists were clenched and my eyes were tired as I strained upwards. I wanted to look away. But the sight of those few ‘planes — British ‘planes — sweeping in to the attack of that huge formation fascinated me. I felt a surge of pride at being of the same race and fighting side by side for the same things as those reckless fools.

The bomber formation came on steadily, almost slowly. There was the inevitability of a steam-roller about it. I thought of the Armada and Drake’s frigates. But in this case the enemy had a superabundance of frigates themselves. Down they came upon those two defending squadrons in steep, fierce dives. The squadrons broke before they had reached the bombers. But I saw one or two get through to that steady attacking formation. The solid hum of aircraft rose to a furious snarl as we began to get the noise of those steep dives with engines flat out. And then above the noise of revved engines came the sound of machine-gun fire. It was a noise that set one’s teeth on edge. It was like tearing calico.

One bomber fell away from the formation, smoke pouring from it. I heard myself shouting excitedly. I was too worked up to have a very clear impression of what was happening. Everyone in the pit was muttering or shouting with excitement. Another bomber fell, but it pulled out of its dive and made for home. The air was full of the roar of engines and the distant chatter of machine-gun fire. It was impossible to make out our own fighters from the Messerschmitt 109s. All were inextricably mixed in a milling, dog-fighting mass. But the bomber formation came inexorably on. And high above it the topmost tier of defending fighters kept formation. In ones and twos our machines came racing to join in the fight, some almost certainly short of fuel and ammunition after fighting over the coast.

And above the din of the engines and the fight came the Tannoy: ‘Ground defences take great care before opening fire. Our fighters are attacking the formation.’

But Langdon, who was watching through glasses, said: ‘Take the leading flight of bombers. Anyone see any of our fighters there?’

No-one could. The layers reported On. Langdon waited a moment, gauging the range. The formation seemed to be passing to the east of the ‘drome now; it was well strung out in flights of three.

‘Fire!’

The gun crashed. I saw the breech-ring recoil and flame and smoke pour from it. I heard the whistle of the shell as it left the barrel. Another ammunition number ran up with a second shell. Micky rammed it home and the gun fired again. The noise was shatteringly loud. Hood had several shells already fused. The ammunition numbers were holding them ready. I braced myself for the next shot.

Not till we had fired five rounds did I glance upwards.

Four puffs of white smoke showed well amongst the leading flight. As I watched, another puff of smoke appeared just behind the leader. The ‘plane seemed to buck and then dived away in a streamer of smoke. And as it fell it suddenly exploded. A flash and only a little cloud of smoke showed where a second before,a German bomber had been.

‘Fuse twenty-two!’ Langdon yelled.

Hood worked furiously with the fuse key — a circle of metal which fitted over the nose-cap of the shell so that it could be turned and set to the correct fuse.

Steadily the gun went on firing. And in the intervals between our own shots I could hear the other three-inch cracking away furiously. Little cotton-wool balls of smoke marked the passage of the formation.

‘Fuse twenty!’

They were almost east of the ‘drome now. In a moment they would be past us, heading for London. I glanced away at the dog-fight between the fighters. And even in that glance I saw two ‘planes spin out of the melee in a long spiral of smoke. The fight had moved almost over our heads. Suddenly the scream of a diving ‘plane sounded above the din of the action. I looked quickly round. For a second I was at a loss to know where it came from. Then I saw it. Just north of the ‘drome it was, falling absolutely perpendicularly, its engines flat out. I saw it plan view as it dived out of control behind some trees. I saw the spout of earth and smoke it shot up. I felt slightly sick at the sight. I could imagine some poor devil fighting at the controls and then desperately trying to pull back a hood that had jammed. It had dived into the ground at quite 500 m.p.h. And all the time these thoughts were running in a flash through my mind I could still hear the growing crescendo of the engine. It was as though I had been shown in a dream what was going to happen. And then came the sickening crash, terrifyingly loud, to relieve my suspense.

I looked up again at the formation of Junkers. The leaders were turning slowly westwards, towards Thorby, puffs of smoke all round them. The gun kept up a constant fire. I was getting used to the noise now. My ears were singing, but I no longer braced myself involuntarily before each shot.