Hammond Innes - Attack Alarm

Gradually the atmosphere in the pit changed, apprehension giving way to annoyance. Everyone seemed to become morose. Kan scarcely raised a smile when, in reply to a question from Oggie, he described the mid as ‘Too, too utterly, shattering, what, sir.’ The only bright spot was that his inexhaustible flow of personal supplies from Fortnum and Mason’s saved us from experiencing any serious inconvenience at the loss of our lunch. For a time the sight of Micky slinking back from the shelter of the neighbouring dispersal point gave the pit a topic of conversation.

During the afternoon I got permission from Langdon to go over to the dispersal point and find out what had happened to Nightingale. But they knew no more than I did. He was missing — that was all.

Finally, at three-forty-nine we were allowed to stand-down. By that time I had forgotten my own fears in my anxiety to find out what had happened to Marion. And then, of course, Langdon had to pick on me to do the first air sentry. It was my turn, it was true. But I could have burst into tears with impatience.

I wasn’t alone for long in the pit, for as soon as they had boiled some water on the primus, Langdon and Blah came out to clean the barrel and do a cursory examination of equipment. Half an hour of my hour’s guard passed very quickly. But after that it began to drag. I had been almost continuously on the pit for six hours. Reaction from the excitement of the action had left me tired and dispirited. Fortunately this had one advantage in that it dulled my sense of fear. I was too weary to think, and so imagination, the source of all fear, was numbed. The glaring heat of the sun seemed undiminished. A mug of tea and some cigarettes were brought out to me.

I didn’t seem hungry, but the tea was very welcome. And when I had finished it, I stood there in the sultry heat and stared at the wreck of Thorby, not consciously recording what my eyes saw. The fires were under control now and only an occasional wisp of smoke drifted up from the ruins. From where I stood there was little to show the fearful nature of the attack. The bulk of the hangars still stood intact, screening the desolation I had seen from the square. People came and went between the camp and the dispersal points, the cars weaving their way in and out among the craters that dotted the edge of the field. Lorry loads of Royal Engineers were brought out to fill up craters on the runways and to deal with D.A. bombs.

A car drew up just beyond the pit. It was an R.A.F. car and someone got out. I took no notice. I was watching a Hurricane, whose tail appeared to be badly damaged and whose undercarriage had failed to work, coming slowly in to a pancake landing.

‘Excuse me, could you tell me what hospital Gunner Hanson has been taken to?’

It was a girl’s voice. I turned, still watching the ‘plane out of the tail of my eye. ‘What did you say?’

‘Barry!’

I forgot about the plane. It was her voice. But my eyes were full of colours through staring into the sun. I did not recognise her at first. Her face was in shadow. But I knew the cut of her hair. ‘You’re all right, then.’ My voice sounded cold as I tried to hide my emotion. It was such a dull remark.

But she didn’t seem to notice it. ‘It really is you, isn’t it?’ There was a momentary break in her voice.

‘As far as I know,’ I said, and we laughed and the spell of awkwardness was gone.

‘I didn’t recognise you in your tin hat,’ she said. ‘You see I–I wasn’t expecting to find you here at all. I was told by a Waaf from the sick bay that a soldier with the name Hanson on his identity disc had been found in the square, badly wounded. I thought it must be you. But she didn’t know what hospital he had been taken to.’

‘Well, thank God, there is apparently another Hanson in the camp,’ I said. ‘Where were you?’

‘In a shelter at our quarters outside the ‘drome. It might have been worse, I suppose. A bomb fell on the wing of the house and it collapsed on the end of our shelter, but no-one was injured. Things are pretty bad down in the camp. All the barrack blocks are gutted, the Naafi, Station Headquarters and three shelters were hit. Have you seen the hut where the Guards and R.E.s were billeted?’ I shook my head. ‘Absolute shambles. They’re blown all over the place. Looks like one of those film shots of an American hurricane. And there’s no gas, water or electricity.’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose you regard this as

just a prelude?’

It was no use telling her ‘No.’ She wouldn’t have believed it. I said: The attack was against personnel and not against the ‘drome itself. The runways are fairly clear of bombs.’ I left her to figure out the significance of that.

‘You mean, they want to use it themselves — to land troops?’

We were silent for a moment, and I said: ‘It’s lovely now, isn’t it?’

It was not a very bright remark. But she understood what I meant. The peace and stillness of a late August day. It was so beautiful after the havoc. And again I found myself thinking of the river. It was such a perfect day for lazing in a boat. Marion in sailing rig — how well she would fit into the picture! How well she would fit into any picture that I could conceive!

I lowered my gaze hurriedly as she looked up at me. Strange that this should be such a perfect moment of beauty when all about us were the weapons and havoc of war. In.that moment I achieved a wonderful sense of peace. The realisation that whatever the horrors and disasters a man has to face he can still find beauty came to me suddenly, together with knowledge that only man-made things could be destroyed by war. Whatever happened there was always the sun and the stars and the beauty of nature to be shared. My mind, alert now, grasped at that — they had to be shared. That was the secret of the enjoyment of beauty. Alone, beauty had always seemed so painful in its transience. Time never stood still so that you could hold a moment and keep it. But shared, the beauty of a moment seemed complete. Instead of being purposeless, except for the delight of one’s gaze, it fulfilled itself by welding two personalities together. And in that brief moment that Marion stood there in silence I felt that we were very near. And I was content that it should be so.

The spell was broken by footsteps approaching the pit. It was my relief. ‘Are you going to Ops. now?’ I asked her.

‘No. I ought to go back to billets and help with the clearing up. They got the wing in which I sleep, so I’ve lost most of my things.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ll walk down with you as far as the main gates.’

I handed over to my relief and then clambered over the parapet and joined her. We didn’t say much at first and this time the silence was an embarrassed one. But suddenly she asked me if I’d seen anything of Vayle. ‘As far as I was able to discover, he remained in the camp,’ she said.

I told her of Elaine Stuart’s death and of how I had found Vayle standing over her in the deserted and half-ruined hangar. I went on, of course, to tell her of the workman who had spoken in German in his delirium and who had mentioned Cold Harbour Farm.

Then my brain suddenly clicked.

‘What was it Elaine said in her sleep about her birthday?’ I asked.

‘I don’t really think it had any bearing on what you’re after,’ she said slowly. ‘She just said, “It’s my birthday,” I think she said that twice. It was mixed up with a whole lot of babbling, which I couldn’t understand at all. It’s all so hazy now. I was half asleep myself. In fact, I’m not at all certain I didn’t dream it. I suppose she really did say something about Cold Harbour Farm. Funny that the workman should have mentioned it too.’