Hammond Innes: Attack Alarm

‘All right, layers on,’ said Langdon. ‘Fuse nine — load!’ I handed the shell to Micky. He lowered the breech and rammed it home with his gloved hand. The breech rose with a clang. ‘Set to semi-automatic.’

Fuller came running back into the pit. The ‘plane was at about 5,000 feet now and still heading straight for us. The layers reported, ‘On, on!’ Langdon waited. The throb of the engines beat upon the air.

Suddenly came his order: ‘Fire!’

A flash of flame and the pit shook with the noise of the explosion. I found I had another round in my hands. I held it for Micky to ram home. The gun crashed. Fuller came up with another round. I had a vague impression of that bright spot in the midst of the searchlight; the flash of our own shells and those of the other three-inch exploding just to the right of it. And then it seemed to fall apart in mid-air. I stood stupefied, with the next shell ready in my hands. The port wing crumpled and the nose dropped, so that we could see the big double fin of a Dornier. And then it began to fall, the wing bending back and separating itself from the rest of the ‘plane.

‘My God!’ Kan cried. ‘It’s coming down. Oh, my God! This is too exciting.’

It fell very quickly. And as it fell it grew much larger, so that I suddenly realised that it was coming right down on the edge of the ‘drome. I had a momentary glimpse of the big black cross on its one remaining wing. Then it hit the ground. One searchlight had followed it right down so that we actually saw the nose strike into the ground among some bushes to the north of the ‘drome. The tail snapped off as it struck, and the whole plane appeared to crumple. An instant later came the sound of the impact. It was a dull thud splintered by the noise of rending metal. I remember being surprised that the sound of the crash should come after the ‘plane had hit the ground. There was something almost supernatural about it, as though it had spoken after it was dead. I noticed this apparent phenomenon many times afterwards and, though I knew it to be quite natural since sound travels slower than sight, it always surprised me. There was something rather horrible about it. I was one of the things that always made me feel sick inside.

Immediately the ‘plane had crashed, the searchlight swung upwards. For a moment I could see no sign of the ‘plane, though the light of the searchlights showed up the edge of the ‘drome quite clearly. Then suddenly I saw a pin-point of light. It grew. And then flung outwards in a flash of orange. A great umbrella of flame leaped upwards to a height of several hundred feet. And when it was gone, the light from the blazing wreckage showed a perfect ring of smoke drifting slowly skyward.

‘God! It’s horrible!’ Kan was standing up and his thin aesthetic face was working as though he himself were in the blazing wreck.

‘What d’you mean — horrible?’ demanded Micky.

They’re human beings just the same as us,’ replied Kan, his hands pressed tight together as though in prayer and his eyes fixed on the blaze, fascinated.

‘Bloody murderers — that’s what they are, mate, I tell you. You don’t want to waste no sympathy on them bastards.’

‘Look!’ cried Fuller, pointing up into the beams of the searchlights. ‘It’s a parachute. Two of ‘em.’

Our gaze swung from the wreckage up into the point in the searchlights where two white umbrellas of silk swung lazily earthwards. It was possible to see the men dangling from the parachutes as though held there by magic.

‘Who got it — us or the other site”?’ It was Bombardier

He was still only half dressed. The rest of his detachment, in various stages of undress, were streaming out behind him.

‘We did,’ Micky replied promptly. ‘An’ a bloody good shot it was, I tell you.’

‘It was impossible to say,’ Langdon said. ‘Philip’s gun was in action. I saw two bursts. One was away to the right and the other seemed close beside his port wing-tip. It was quite impossible to say which was ours. Confoundedly lucky shot anyway.’

At that moment the troop van drew up at the gun pit and Tiny Trevors got out, a big grin on his face. ‘Congratulations, Johnnie,’ he said. ‘Damn good shooting.’

‘There, I told you so,’ said Micky.

‘It was our shot, was it?’ asked Langdon.

‘I don’t think there’s any doubt about it. Though, of course, Site One are quite convinced they brought it down. But Philip’s first shot was definitely to the right. He was firing fuse twelve, and he never had time to alter it. Your first shot was definitely short. You didn’t change your fuse, did you?’

‘No. We fired three at fuse nine.’

‘Then it must have been yours. The Jerry ran right into it.’ He looked round the pit. ‘Your second detachment are due to take over, aren’t they? All right then, the others can pile into the van and we’ll go and have a look at the good work.’

We needed no second invitation. We were as excited as a bunch of school kids. We scrambled over the parapet of sandbags and into the back of the van, all talking at once. When we got to the north end of the ‘drome, the wreck was still burning. Several bushes had caught adding to the blaze. Ground defence guards had already arrived, but it was impossible to get nearer than fifty yards owing to the intense heat. It hit one in the face as though one were standing in front of the open door of a blast furnace. Everyone stood about helplessly, their faces ruddy in the glow and their eyes fascinated by the flames. The ‘plane was just a twisted mass of steel framework that stood out black against the flames, except here and there where the steel was white with heat and dissolving into molten metal.

It seemed incredible that a few minutes ago this mass of writhing steel had had power and a will of its own, and had been proudly flying through the night sky. I couldn’t believe that the transformation from a beautiful deadly weapon of modern warfare to this ugly mess was entirely due to the six of us — six ordinary men manning a gun.

There was a sudden shout and everyone’s gaze lifted skywards. Almost directly above us a parachute showed a dull orange in the glare. Slowly it descended, drifting silently through the still air. We watched it in silence. The only sound was the roar and crackling of the flames. Soon it was low enough for us to see the face of the man who dangled from it, swinging gently to and fro on the thin cords. His face was without expression. It was like a mask. It seemed a symbol of mass-production, and I immediately thought of the hordes that were pouring over Europe. Had all these men who had goose-stepped down the Champs-Elysees the same expressionless features? Was this the face of the new Germany — Hitler’s Germany?

It was surprising how long it took for him to reach the ground. Yet when he hit the tarmac on the edge of the ‘drome he seemed to be falling horribly fast. He managed to land with his feet first, and attempted to break his fall by rolling over. But at a distance of nearly a hundred yards the thud of his body striking the tarmac was sickeningly loud.

We all ran towards the spot where he had fallen. I was one of the first to reach him as he staggered to his feet, his face white and set with pain. He did not attempt to reach for the revolver in his belt or to raise his hands in surrender. He did nothing. There was nothing he could do.

One arm hung limp from the shoulder and he swayed steadily as though at any moment he must fall. But he kept on his feet and his face was no longer expressionless. Hate and mortification struggled for mastery of his features.

A guardsman seized the revolver from his belt. The German forced himself to attention. ‘Wo ist ein Offizier?’ He snapped. There was bitterness and contempt in his face, which bore the stamp of the Prussian Junker class. ‘Ich verlange den meinem Rang gebuhrenden Respekt.’