Hammond Innes - Attack Alarm

And as I watched the German ‘planes bank I knew what was going to happen. And sure enough as they banked they began to drop into a dive. I had seen the same thing happen to Mitchet. Now it was our turn. Strangely enough, I felt no fear. I seemed outside myself and comfortingly detached. With a critical eye I seemed to watch the completely automatic actions of my body as it ducked down, head thrown back, watching those silvery eggs fall from beneath each ‘plane.

It seemed an age that I waited, tense and expectant.

The only sounds were the three-inches, the screaming engines of the dive-bombers and the more distant sound of machine-gun fire.

And then suddenly all hell seemed to be let loose on the ‘drome. As the Jerries pulled out of their dives at about seven thousand feet, the Bofors and Hispano and Lewis guns all let loose. The red tracer shells of the Bofors, like little flaming oranges, could been streaming lazily up to meet the bombers.

Then a fountain of earth shot into the air just behind the dispersal point to the north of us and shook the pit. Pandemonium broke loose as bomb after bomb fell. All over the aerodrome great gouts of earth hung for a second in the air, and as they fell, others rose.

And all the time Langdon stood there easily, just behind the gun, controlling the fire. Many of the team were crouching against the parapet for shelter. But the layers were still on their seats and Micky was engrossed completely in the business of firing. There was a momentary pause when no shell was brought up to the gun, though Hood was still there fusing them. Without thinking, I ran across the pit, grabbed a round and held it for Micky to punch home.

For the next few minutes I knew nothing of what was happening as my whole attention was concentrated on the task of keeping the gun supplied. All I knew was that outside that concentration of effort absolute pandemonium was going on. Shrapnel was flying all over the place, bits of metal whining as they flew through the air just above the pit.

Others began to join Fuller and myself in taking shells to the gun. We were beginning to get used to the continual crump of bombs which shook the pit as though there was an earthquake. I remember once hearing the whine of a bomb — it was particularly loud — and looking up to see the thing coming straight for us. Instinctively I fell flat on my face. It fell, a second later, barely twenty yards from the pit. The noise was deafening. Part of the sandbag parapet crumbled inwards and great clods of earth and stones fell all round us. One fellow — Helson, it was — was knocked right out. But a second later the old gun was going again. We got one ‘plane, I know. We got it in the midst of its dive, and it continued straight on, crashing into one of the hangars and blowing up in a great burst of flame.

And in the midst of all this racket the telephone rang. It was just luck that I heard it. I dived for it. I picked up the receiver to find the message already coming through. ‘ — low to the south. Another raid coming in low to the south — Very low. Another raid coming — ‘ The voice from Gun Ops. sounded frightened and jerky.

‘How near?’ I cut in.

‘Very near,’ came the answer.

I caught Langdon’s arm and yelled the message into his ear. ‘Stop,’ he shouted. ‘Lay just over the hangars. Shrapnel, fuse two. Load!’ The gun swung round.

It seemed such waste to cease fire and stay, waiting, with the gun pointing over the hangars, instead of firing at the dive bombers which were still coming down on us. To the south the sky was empty. It flashed across my mind that some fifth columnist might have tapped the line. But it didn’t really matter, for we should have had to cease firing anyway. The weight of the attack was falling off as our own ‘planes, reinforced by stragglers from other fighter stations and by reserve squadrons which had been thrown in, were worrying at the bombers, upsetting the precision of their dives and foiling their attempts to reform en masse as they pulled out of their attack.

The other three-inch had also ceased firing. There was only the roar of battle overhead and the dull thuds of the bombs falling on clay soil. For the first time since the action started I realised that my shirt was wet with sweat, yet I did not feel warm. In fact, I did not feel anything. I could have had my arm blown off and I wouldn’t have noticed it. I understood then why men continue to fight at the height of battle though mortally wounded. I could have done the same then. It wouldn’t have been heroism. I am not a heroic person. It was just that I had no feelings, recorded no impressions. I saw the hangar blazing where the Jerry had crashed, with the foam squad and other fire-fighters working to put it out. I saw half the officers’ mess was blown in and one of the barrack blocks by the square was just a shell. I noticed that there were few bombs on the flying field, but that the surrounds had been well plastered. I just noticed these things. I did not think about them. I made no move to help Helson, who was still lying on the cinder floor of the pit, blood oozing from a cut on his forehead. No-one moved to help him.

These observations took but a second. And then we heard the ominous sound — the whine of fast-flying aircraft low to the south. It grew in an instant to a roar that drowned the sounds above us. And then they were there, like magic, over the hangars. Strung out in a single line, they came fast and low — so low that I saw one of them lift his port wing to overtop the wireless mast by the main gates. They were not more than thirty feet above the barrack blocks as they laid their eggs. Wing tip to wing tip they seemed to be. I saw the bombs cascade from beneath their fuselages.

Sharply came Langdon’s order: ‘Fire!’

The gun cracked. And at the same moment the whole camp seemed to lift in a pall of smoke and high-thrown masonry and earth. The remains of the half-demolished barrack block appeared to rise into the air, blasted into a thousand pieces. At the same time there was a roar like thunder. And against these black spouts of smoke and buildings that had risen like a solid wall across the camp the ‘planes showed silver as they roared towards us through the hot sunlight. They seemed huge. Dorniers they were — Dornier 215’s. I recognised the hammer head. They seemed to fill the whole sky. And amongst them a great puff of black smoke. Two of them rocked violently as our shrapnel smashed into them. But still they came on.

The gun cracked again and then again. The other three-inch was firing too. But it had no effect. They were already too near for the fuse we were using. They had split up now. Breaking into two formations in line astern, they swept up each side of the landing field. Suddenly I was frightened. It was the first time I had felt frightened. For I knew in that instant, suddenly, what had been clear to my subconscious for some time: they were going for the ground defences. Not only the ground defences, but the personnel of the aerodrome as a whole. The bulk of the hangars stood clear and solid and undamaged against the pall of smoke and flame that was rolling over what had been the barrack blocks, the Naafi and the canteen. Yet I still stood there, fascinated, as the ‘planes swept down on us.

A bomb fell close to Gun Ops. and another by a Hispano pit. A brick and concrete pill-box only fifty yards from us was hit. One second it was standing there, just as it had been a fortnight back, and the next it had disintegrated into a pile of rubble spewed callously into the air. And then the first ‘plane was upon us. At point-blank range Langdon gave the order to fire, in the desperate hope that we should score a direct hit. I suppose we missed. At any rate it swept unfalteringly over us, its great wing span casting a shadow over the pit that seemed to me like the shadow of death. I could see the pilot, sitting woodenly in his cockpit. I saw his teeth bared and thought how it must take nerve to do what he was doing.