Hammond Innes - Attack Alarm

‘No. Why?’ I asked.

‘Cor, tell ‘im, somebody,’ said Micky.

‘You’re as white as a sheet,’ said Kan.

I told them what had happened. ‘You ought to report it, mate,’ said Micky. ‘It’s only bloody carelessness. Same thing happened to a bloke called Tennyson in May. Only just missed him.’

‘Hallo,’ said Hood. ‘Jones is with us again.’ Micky had been back at his post on the gun that morning, but he had been silent and morose, which was definitely out of character.

‘I want no vulgartisms from you or anybody,’ said Micky. He hated being called by his surname.

‘Vulgartisms!’ echoed his faithful stooge, Fuller, with a hoarse cackle, and everyone laughed.

Take post!’

We scrambled out of the hut just as Tiger squadron, which had been revving up for the last five minutes, left their dispersal points for the runway!

We were on the gun for nearly two hours that time, and though we saw a dog-fight over towards Maidstone, nothing came our way. Swallowtail Squadron followed Tiger Squadron into the air, and I caught a glimpse of John Nightingale as he flashed by in his little green sports car. I wondered anxiously whether he had remembered to see about those maps. It was the third time he had been up today. It hardly seemed likely that he could have found either the time or the energy to go routing out maps for crazy-seeming gunners.

But this did not worry me for long, because fear returned to oust all other thoughts from my head. The preliminary air-raid warning had not then been given. Three workmen were engaged in repairing the telephone line between our pit and the dispersal point to the north of us. I became conscious after a time of the fact that one of them, a small, sharp-featured little man with steel-rimmed glasses, kept on pausing in his work to gaze at us. At first I just wondered why he found us so interesting. And then I found myself watching them, waiting for him to look up. Once it seemed that our eyes met, though it was quite impossible for me to tell at that distance. But after that he did not look in our direction again. He seemed consciously to avoid doing so, and it was then that I began to feel uneasy.

I tried to argue that my nerves were frayed with all that had happened during the last few days and that I was badly in need of sleep. But it was no good. I could not argue myself out of that sense of unease, which was so like the feeling I had experienced on guard the previous night when I had jumped at all the common sounds that I had never been conscious of before. I remembered only too clearly the sharp jerk of my neck as that bullet struck the back of my tin hat, and the stream of tracer bullets that had flashed past me only an hour ago.

When the preliminary warning went on the Tannoy, now in full working order again, the three men laid down their tools and hurried along the tarmac past our pit on their way to the station shelters. I watched the man closely as he passed us. He had pale eyes set too close together above a thin nose, and it seemed to me there was something furtive about him. Not once did he glance in our direction. He had a smooth loping walk and he did not talk to either of his mates.

I tried to forget about him. And for a while I succeeded as I watched the dog-fight high in the blue bowl of the heavens to the southeast of us.

And then suddenly I caught sight of him standing by the dispersal point between us and the camp — the one from which I had been nearly killed. I don’t know why, but my heart leaped into my mouth as I saw him standing there. He was gazing in our direction. It seems amazing that I should recognise him at that distance. But I did. I confirmed his identity by borrowing Langdon’s glasses, ostensibly to look at an imaginary ‘plane.

I never did discover whether he was a fifth columnist. I never saw him again. But whether or not he was watching me, he certainly had me scared. And when I looked up and found he was no longer standing by the dispersal point — was, in fact, nowhere in sight — my sense of uneasiness increased. I found myself watching furtively all the vantage points from which a shot could be fired into the pit. It is an unpleasant feeling to be waiting for the impact of a

bullet that may come from anywhere at any moment. I felt chilly despite the glare and the palms of my hands were wet with the sweat of my fear.

The alarm seemed interminable. We watched ‘plane after ‘plane come in, looking at them eagerly through the glasses to see if the canvas coverings of their gun ports had been shot away — sure sign that they had been in action.

A pilot officer whom Langdon knew came and chatted with us for a few minutes. He had been in the dog-fight over Maidstone and had shot down two Me. 109s. He was with Swallowtail Squadron and told us that he had seen Nightingale bale out after diving his machine, which was on fire, into a German fighter. But the news that upset me most was that Crayton Aerodrome had been the target, and that two more fighter stations had been attacked in the morning. It all seemed to fit so easily into the German plan as I had envisaged it.

It was then that I realised that I had to get out of Thorby.! tried to kid myself that I had come to this conclusion because more fighter stations had been attacked and I was the only person who realised the significance of these raids. But all the time I knew that it was because I was afraid. I wonder how many people have been really afraid in their lives. The sensation is a horrible one. I was cold vet the sweat poured off me. My knees felt weak and I dared not look anyone in the face for fear they should see what I knew was mirrored in my eyes. I had lost all confidence in myself. The sense of being caged in Thorby was more acute than ever. I could just see the barbed-wire boundary half-way down the slope between our hut and the trees at the bottom of the valley. It seemed such a slender line to mark the boundary between death and safety. Yet I knew that I should not be safe until I was on the other side of it. There had been two attempts on my life, and by the grace of God I was still alive. The next time — the third time — I might not be so fortunate. I had to get out of Thorby. I just had to get out of the place. The urgency of my fear drummed the phrase through my head to the beat of the blood in my ears.

‘Come on, wake up!’ I came suddenly out of my absorption to find Blah offering me a cigarette.

‘Sorry,’ I said and took one.

He produced his lighter which had been given to him on his birthday earlier in the week. It was a heavy silver one and he was still rather proud of possessing it. He snapped it open. There was a spark, but nothing happened. He tried again and again whilst the detachment watched with sly amusement. But it wouldn’t light. At last, exasperated, he exclaimed, ‘You Anti-Semitic swine,’ and put the thing in his pocket.

It was a little thing, but it changed my whole mood for the moment. I couldn’t help laughing at the way he said it. And after I had laughed, Thorby seemed somehow less hostile. And when I looked about me again it was at any aerodrome baking peacefully in the sunshine and not at a prison with barbed-wire bars.

It was nearly five before we were allowed to stand-down. As soon as we had finished tea I got Kan to play a game of chess with me. Anything to keep my mind occupied. But I couldn’t concentrate. We hadn’t been playing more than ten minutes before he had taken my Queen. In a fit of annoyance I swept the board and gave him the game. ‘It’s no use,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t concentrate.’

Chetwood took my place. I went over to my bed and began to make it. The loss of my Queen seemed so symbolic. Everything seemed to be going wrong. Marion hadn’t turned up. Nightingale had baled out — God knows when he would be able to produce the maps I wanted. And I had to get out of the place. I just had to, before I was murdered. I felt very near to tears as I unfolded my blankets. How was I to get out? The main gate was out of the question. And there were Guards all round the barbed-wire boundaries, patrolling night and day. The only way was to slip through the wire at night and take a chance that I shouldn’t be seen. But it was a big risk. Almost as big a risk as staying. And there were Guards in the woods at the bottom. Automatically I was considering the wire below the hut as the best place to get through. But I couldn’t leave until I knew where Cold Harbour Farm was and when the plan was due to break. ‘But I must get away. I must get away.’ I found suddenly that I was muttering this to myself over and over again, my eyes filling with tears because of my tiredness and my frustration. My mind was uncontrolled, incoherent — full of nameless terrors that would not exist if I could only think the matter out calmly.