Hammond Innes: Attack Alarm

I should explain that throughout the day we were at that time working in two-hour shifts — an exception being the first period, which was of three hours. The idea of this constant manning was, of course, to guard against surprise attack. With twelve men on the site and no leave, it was possible to have six in each detachment, which was ample for manning. During the day, however, those off duty had to man as soon as a ‘Take Post’ was given. But at night we only manned on an alarm. Since I had been on the site, night alarms had been fairly constant. Hence the new arrangement whereby the duty detachment only manned on a night alarm unless there was a preliminary air-raid warning, or the detachment commander thought it necessary.

The other detachment went off to breakfast. Having had none ourselves, several of us produced chocolate. For myself, I was not hungry. The sleep I had had, which, though it was only three and a half hours, was the longest since I had been on the site, seemed only to have made me more tired. Moreover, my mind was once again occupied with the memory of my conversation with the German pilot in the early hours of the morning.

In the pleasant warmth of the sun his words seemed much less important. Yet I suddenly remembered what Trevors had told us in the Naafi. Was there some link between the attempt to secure a plan of the ground defences of the station and the idea that the Germans had a plan for immobilising all our fighter ‘dromes? It all seemed very melodramatic. But I remembered stories of the last war. War was melodramatic. And the German was fond of melodrama. The whole history of the Nazi rise to power was the crudest melodrama. We were not used to it in England. But on the Continent melodrama had become commonplace.

The ‘phone rang. Langdon answered it. As soon as he had replaced the receiver, he turned to me. ‘You’re to report to the orderly room immediately. Mr Ogilvie wants to see you.’ It took me back to my schooldays — The headmaster wants to see you in his study.’

The orderly room — our troop headquarters, as Mr Ogilvie liked it to be called — was at the south side of the landing field, a part of the station headquarters block. When I got there, I asked Andrew Mason, the office clerk, what Ogilvie wanted to see me about. He said he did not know, but added that an R.A.F. officer had been in just before he had been told to ‘phone for me.

Mason opened the farther door and announced me. I went in, walked up to the desk at which Ogilvie was seated, saluted and stood to attention. The office was a mixture of tidiness and disorder. The corner by the window was taken up with stores — boxes of gas equipment, a heap of battle dresses, steel helmets, gum boots. The sergeant-major’s desk, which was against the wall opposite the door, was a litter of papers, note-books and passes. There was an old-fashioned safe in the corner next to it. The falling plaster of the walls, which were distempered a rather sickly shade of green, was adorned with copies of standing orders, aircraft recognition charts, and posters of big-chested men in peculiar postures illustrating the more elementary physical training exercises.

But the corner of the room occupied by Mr Ogilvie’s desk was homely by comparison. Orderly batches of papers lay beside the yellow blotter and the desk itself rested on a strip of red carpet. The walls behind were practically intact. And beside the desk was a bookcase with a clock and the polished case of a three-inch shell.

Mr Ogilvie looked up as I saluted. ‘Ah, yes, Hanson,’ ae said, leaning back and taking his pipe from his mouth. About this conversation you had with the German pilot. I nave just had a visit from the Intelligence officer who interrogated him this morning. I had told him what the pilot lad said to you. The man didn’t deny it. In fact, he repeated it in the most truculent and boastful manner. But when questions were put to him about the nature of the plan, he could give no details at all. He spoke at length of the might of the Luftwaffe and how Britain’s fighter bases would be annihilated and our resistance crushed. He spoke darkly of a plan. But he said nothing that convinced the officer that there was in fact any specific scheme for destroying the bases other than a general plan that they should be destroyed.’

He produced a box of matches and relit his pipe. ‘On the subject of the raid on Thorby,’ he continued, ‘it does seem probable that he knows something. He was very evasive about it, said it was no more than a rumour and he couldn’t remember what day it was. The Intelligence officer had the impression that he was covering up. It is possible, of course, that it is a false scent. The German Air Force have apparently done that sort of thing before. They give the pilots false information, so that if they get shot down and are inclined to be talkative they won’t be giving anything away. However, I have been assured that all necessary steps will be taken to protect the station on Friday. I thought you would like to know as you were instrumental in bringing the matter to the notice of the authorities.’

I thought it was nice of him to give me such a full account of the position. But I was troubled. It seemed to me that the German pilot had been inconsistent. I said so. ‘There is only one motive he could have had in telling me the plan,’ I said. ‘Bitter at the loss of his plane, he wanted to frighten us. Now, either this plan was a pure fabrication or else there really is a plan and, knowing of it, he used his knowledge in the heat of the moment to achieve his aim.’

‘Come to the point.’ Ogilvie’s voice was staccato again.

‘Well, sir, if it was a pure fabrication he wouldn’t have hesitated to invent details.’ At that moment the whole thing seemed crystal clear to me. ‘My own view is that in the heat of the moment he let slip something he should not have done. He was in a very dazed condition. When the Intelligence officer questioned him about the plan, he knew it would only increase his suspicions to deny having said anything about it to me. Instead he repeated his statement, and when pressed for details made vague and grandiose claims that he knew would throw doubt on the whole thing. But about the proposed raid on Thorby he covered up in an obvious manner. Apparently he achieved his object in drawing the officer’s interest away from the plan for the raid.’

Ogilvie clicked his pipe stem up and down against his teeth. ‘Well, I’m afraid the Intelligence officer doesn’t take that view at all. He is experienced in these matters. I think you may take it that he is right.’

But the Intelligence officer had not seen the German pilot close up like a clam in the middle of a sentence as his eyes met Vayle’s. That seemed to be the key to the whole problem. ‘Could you tell me, sir, whether the Intelligence officer is making a report to Air Intelligence on the matter?’ I asked.

‘He didn’t say anything about it. I imagine it will be included in the daily report to the C.O.’

It was just as I had feared. ‘I think a report on the matter should go to A.I. without delay,’ I said.

‘I’m afraid what you think or do not think, Hanson, is of little importance,’ Ogilvie said curtly. ‘The matter rests with the R.A.F. and their Intelligence officer has formed his own views.’ He hesitated. ‘If you like, you can make out a report and I’ll send it in to Battery.’

I saw I was up against a brick wall here. Though I knew it was pretty useless, I said I would make out a report. He gave me paper and I settled down at the Sergeant-major’s desk. It took me some time to write it out. It had to be brief, yet comprehensive. There Was always the chance that it might get to somebody who would take the same view of its importance that I did.