“Corporal! Corporal!” called our guard as we approached the low concrete and brick structure. “Corporal!”
The corporal in charge came out, crouching to get through the low entrance of the pill-box. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he came up to us. He was short for a Guardsman, and he had reddish hair and a sharp, rather bitter face. This was going to be difficult.
“What’s all this?” he demanded. There was only the faintest trace of a Scotch accent.
“A’ caught these two getting into the camp over the wire, Corporal.” Our guard nodded in my direction. “First this laddie says he broke camp to meet his lassie. Then when I challenge the other laddie he says they broke camp together in order to get some information aboot Nazi agents. They say they belong to the gun over yonder.”
The corporal looked us up and down. His eyes were sharp and close-set. “Name and number?” he demanded.
“Hanson,” I said, and gave him my number. Micky also gave him the information he wanted. He then checked our papers and aerodrome passes.
“Right,” he said. Then, turning towards the pill-box, “Guard, turn out!”
They tumbled out, bleary-eyed and half awake, putting their tin hats on as they came.
“McGregor and Baird, march these men down to the guardroom.”
I cleared my throat—I felt nervous. “Excuse me, Corporal,” I said, “but——”
I got no further. “Anything you have to say, say it to the duty officer when you come on charge in the morning.”
“I would like to see my sergeant before going to the guardroom.”
“I will see him. If you really belong to the site, I will let him know that you have returned.”
“But I must see him. It’s of vital importance——”
“Don’t argue. March ’em away.”
“God in heaven, man,” I cried, “do you want the Germans to land on the ’drome without any one having a chance to prevent them?”
“Speak when you’re spoken to, Gunner,” he barked. “You’re under arrest. Try to remember that. You’ll have a chance to think up all your crazy excuses for breaking camp in the guardroom. You,” he said to the two Guardsmen detailed as escort, “take ’em away.”
I broke free of them as they closed in on me. My sense of frustration was so great that I lost control of myself. “Listen, you fool!” I began.
“Don’t adopt that tone with me,” he cried.
“Shut up.” I spoke quietly. And perhaps because there was a ring of authority in my voice, he did not interrupt me this time. “If you don’t let me see Sergeant Langdon, I can almost certainly guarantee that you will pay for your denseness with your life. At dawn this morning this and other fighter stations are going to be invaded from the air. Normally a landing on the ’drome wouldn’t succeed. At this moment three, possibly four, R.A.F. lorries manned by Nazi agents are approaching Thorby. They carry smoke containers. The wind is north-east.” I glanced at my watch. “The time is now three-forty. At any moment now those lorries will enter the camp and drive along the tarmac here. They will take up a position somewhat to the north of us. A smoke screen will then be laid across the ’drome. Under cover of that smoke screen troop-carriers will land. And under cover of that smoke screen the ground defences will be stormed.”
I had shaken him. I could see it in his face. In my desperation my voice had probably carried conviction. “And how would the troop-carriers land if the runways were screened by smoke?”
“They will land blind,” I said. “The start and finish of the runways will be marked by captive balloons flown at a definite height. Probably they will carry lights. There’s very little time if the other ’dromes are to be warned. That’s why I want to see my sergeant.”
“Why don’t you want to see the ground-defence officer—eh?” He was still suspicious.
“Because by the time I had got him out of bed and convinced him that I wasn’t crazy, it might be too late to stop the smoke screen.” I didn’t tell him that I was afraid the ground-defence officer might not believe me and that I wanted sufficient proof to leave him in no doubt of the position. “All I want to do is to have five minutes’ talk with Sergeant Langdon. That’s not an unreasonable request, surely?”
He hesitated. “Well,” he said, “it can’t do any harm.” Then, with a resumption of his previous sharpness: “All right. March ’em over to the hut yonder. Lance-Corporal Jackson, take charge.”
We were half-way to the hut when I heard the sound of engines approaching from the direction of the square. A sudden excitement surged through me. An instant later the first of four R.A.F. lorries appeared from behind the low bulk of the hut. They lumbered past us along the tarmac, dark, cumbersome shapes against the moon. I turned to the corporal. “That’s them,” I said.
“They look all right to me,” he said. But I could see that he was impressed.
I went in by the back entrance of our hut, the corporal following close on my heels. The door of the sergeant’s room was on the right. I went straight in. A hurricane lamp turned low stood on a table beside Langdon’s bed. I shook his shoulder. He mumbled and turned over with his eyes tight shut. I shook him again. “What is it?” Unwillingly he opened his eyes.
“Good God, Hanson!” He sat up in bed with a jerk. “Where the hell have you been? Is Micky with you?”
Before I could say anything the Guards’ corporal said: “This is one of your men, is he, Sergeant?”
“Yes.”
“We caught the two of them entering the camp over the wire just below your site.”
“What’s going on here?” It was Bombardier Hood’s voice. He pushed past the corporal into the room. “Oh, so you’re back, are you? I just came in to wake my relief and heard voices in here,” he added by way of explanation. He was fully dressed with gas mask at the alert and he carried a rifle and bayonet.
“Sergeant Langdon,” I said.
“Yes?”
“I want you to give Bombardier Hood instructions to get every one up and dressed as quickly as possible.”
“But why?”
“What the devil are you talking about?” cut in Hood. “Do you realise that you’ve done a very serious thing, breaking camp. Your absence was reported to Mr. Ogilvie.”
“There’s no time to waste,” I told Langdon urgently. “There’s going to be an air invasion of the ’drome at dawn. Four lorries carrying smoke containers have been got into the camp. They passed the site just before I woke you. The smoke will screen the landing.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Langdon, swinging his feet out of bed. “How do you know this?”
“I’ve just watched Vayle superintending the loading of the lorries and issuing his instructions. It was at an isolated place called Cold Harbour Farm in Ashdown Forest. They caught us, but we killed two of the guards and got away.” I pulled the revolver I had taken from our guard out of my pocket and tossed it on to the bed. “There’s a revolver we took off one of them. Ill give you the details as the others are getting dressed.”
Langdon hesitated. His face wore a puzzled frown. Suddenly he glanced up at Hood. “Have four lorries passed the pit?”
“Yes, just before I came in to wake my relief,” he replied. “But they were perfectly ordinary R.A.F. lorries. You’re surely not going to take any notice of this ridiculous story. Personally I think Hanson is trying to screen his own rather peculiar activities. You remember, just after he arrived here there was that business of a plan of the ground defences being found on a Nazi agent. Then he talked with that German pilot and later he was identified”
“Give a ‘Take post’,” Langdon cut in.
“But it’s a ridiculous story. R.A.F. lorries with smoke containers! It’s——”
“Give the ‘take post’,” Langdon ordered. “We’ll soon find out if there’s any truth in it.”
Hood went out sullenly. A second later came his shout of “Take post.” It was followed almost immediat
ely by the sound of men scrambling out of bed and into their clothes. The thin partition wall only slightly muffled the noise, and the hut itself shook to the sudden burst of activity.
“Now then, tell me the whole story,” said Langdon as he slipped his trousers on over his pyjamas.
Briefly I outlined the events of the night, with some reference to the things that had led up to them.
“And what do you suggest this detachment does?” he asked when I had finished.
“Surrounds the lorries,” I replied. “No officer is going to send out an urgent warning to all the other fighter ’dromes unless this ridiculous story of mine is backed up by some concrete evidence. If you find those lorries are harmless, I don’t care what happens to me. Anyway, I know they’re not harmless.”
“All right. We’ll do that. Are you willing to leave these two men in my charge, Corporal? I’ll make myself personally responsible for them.”
“Very good, Sergeant.”
“Oh, just a minute, Corporal,” said Langdon as the other was leaving the room. “Hanson here expects the lorries to be parked somewhere on the north-east side of the landing field. Will you notify all Guards’ posts along this side of the field that in the event of rifle fire being heard they are to close in on four R.A.F. lorries. The personnel of these lorries are dressed in R.A.F. uniforms.”
“Verra good, Sergeant. I’ll do that.”
As he went out, Micky appeared in the doorway, looking rather sheepish. “And I’ll bet you didn’t go out after fifth columnists,” said Langdon as he put on his battle top.
Micky looked uncomfortable, but said nothing.
“All right. Go and get your rifle,” said Langdon.
A sudden glint of eagerness showed in Micky’s eyes. “An’ baynet, Sarge? Cold steel! That’s the stuff to give the bastards.”
“All right.” Langdon turned to me. “I don’t knew whether it has any bearing on the position, but Squadron-Leader Nightingale drove up to the pit at about twelve-thirty. There was an alarm on at the time. He asked for you. When I told him that you were missing, he ran back to his car and drove off at a terrific lick. He had that Waaf of yours with him.”
“He knows the situation,” I said. “He got in touch with a fellow on my paper for me. He may have got some fresh information.”
Bombardier Hood came in. “Well, they’re all dressed, Sergeant. And I’ve kept them in the hut.” His tone conveyed his complete disagreement with the arrangement.
“All right. Come on, then, Hanson. And I hope to God this doesn’t prove to be a fool’s errand.” Langdon led the way out of the room and into the hut, where one hurricane lamp was all that lit the gloom of the blackout.
Every one was crowded round Micky. They fell silent as we entered. Every face was turned towards us. “Get your rifles,” ordered Langdon. “Issue twenty rounds per man, Bombardier Hood. Fuller, you will remain as sentry.” Whilst the rounds were being issued, Langdon said: “Hanson has returned to camp with a story of an air invasion at dawn. Four lorries have arrived on the landing ground which he says are manned by fifth columnists whose job it is to put a smoke screen across the ’drome at the appropriate moment. I intend to investigate these lorries. We will surround one of them and I shall go forward and examine it myself. It will be your job to cover me. And if there’s any truth in Hanson’s story I shall rely on you to cover me properly. Micky, Chetwood, Helson and Hood, you will carry hand grenades. You’ll find them under my bed. Right, let’s get going.”
Outside the moon, though low in the west, was bright by comparison with the gloom of the hut. A faint pallor showed in the eastern sky. I glanced at my watch. It was past four. “Dawn will soon be breaking” I said.
“Will they attack before it’s light or after?” Langdon asked me.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I should think about half light. They would want to get the troop-carriers in before it was light enough to make them an easy target for our fighters.”
As we passed the pit, the stocky barrel of the three-inch lifting darkly against the moon, Langdon said: “Helson, my bike is over there. Will you bring it along? I may want you to act as runner if anything happens.”
“O.K., John. Shall I bring the gun as well?”
The laughter that greeted his remark was derisive. Kan’s rather high-pitched laugh and Chetwood’s deep bellow rang out clear above the others. I glanced back. The detachment was following us in a ragged bunch, and I noticed that Kan and Chetwood were walking on either side of Hood. He was talking and they were listening intently. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but for a second his eyes met mine, and I knew that if by any chance the lorries turned out to be harmless it would go ill with me.
Half unconsciously I quickened my pace as we reached the tarmac edge of the landing field. Langdon and I walked in silence. For myself, I began to feel uneasy, almost frightened. The events of the night seemed more like a dream than the reality I knew them to be, and now that I had persuaded Langdon to action I had an unpleasant feeling that I might be wrong. All my self-confidence seemed to have been expended in my effort to obtain this positive action. Langdon, too, was anxious. If I were wrong, he would look a fool in the eyes of his detachment and would have some awkward questions to answer when I came up on charge in the morning.
We passed the dispersal point to the north of our site. We were half-way to the next dispersal point when Hood joined us. “Where are your lorries?” he asked.
The question was pertinent, but the way he put it was almost exultant. In that moment I came as near to hating any one as I have ever done. Dimly I could now make out the trees and scrub at the north end of the ’drome. The tarmac roadway, a ribbon of white in the moonlight, curved away to the left as it followed the perimeter of the landing field. Nowhere could I see any sign of the lorries. I felt a sudden sinking sensation inside me. The gravel pit by Cold Harbour Farm seemed so far away and unreal. I felt scared. “We’ll cut down behind the next dispersal point,” I said. “They’ve probably spread out along the slope in order to cover as much ground as possible with the smoke.”
Hood grunted. His disbelief was quite unmasked. I sensed that Langdon was feeling uncomfortable and ill at ease.
We struck off the tarmac on to the dry, coarse grass. We passed the crumbling sandbags of what had once been a Lewis gun pit. In places the grass gave way to bare, baked earth. The grass became thicker and more plentiful, however, as we reached the slope and passed behind the great bank of the dispersal point. We threaded our way between two bomb craters, relics of Friday’s raid, stumbling over heaps of loose clay that were hard like bricks.
At last we came in sight of the wire that stretched like a dark snake across the grass half-way down the slope. Two men moved along it, carrying a heavy cylindrical object between them. They were in R.A.F. uniform. I touched Langdon’s arm. I had a sudden feeling of triumph. My relief was so great that I could hardly speak. “That looks like one of the smoke cylinders,” I said.
We had stopped, and for a moment we watched the two men moving along the wire with their burden. The others crowded up behind us. They had stopped talking, sensing some development. “All right,” Langdon said. “Leave your rifle, Hanson, and come on with me. The rest of you get down in the grass and don’t make a sound.”
Langdon and I went forward alone. We did not attempt to conceal ourselves. We walked diagonally along the slope and at every step more and more of the wire came into view. Two more men in R.A.F. uniform appeared, carrying another cylinder between them. And then at last we sighted an R.A.F. lorry parked close against the wire at a crazy angle. Four men were busy unloading the cylinders from it. One of the Guards’ sentries was leaning on his rifle watching them.
“Good enough,” said Langdon. “So far as it goes you’re right.”
We turned and retraced our steps. “What do you mean—so far as it goes?” I asked.
“Well, I’ve got to satisfy myself that they shouldn’t be doing wha
t they are doing.”
“But surely you believe what I have told you now?”
“Yes. But it’s just possible you may have been mistaken. God knows, I hope not for your sake. But it is possible that they may be R.A.F. and that they may have orders to put those cylinders out along the wire. You see my point?”
“What are you going to do, then?” I asked.
“Try and bluff them into showing their hand.”
We had reached the others now. “Get back to the road as quickly as possible,” Langdon ordered. “Go quietly and keep low.”
I picked up my rifle and followed him. As soon as we were out of sight of the wire he broke into a trot. We rounded the end of the dispersal point and reached the tarmac. On the roadway we increased the pace. After doing about three hundred yards at the double, Langdon stopped. When the whole detachment had come up with us, he said: “There is an R.A.F. lorry almost directly below us down the slope of the hill. That is our objective. I want you to spread out about twenty yards apart in a long line. We will then move forward. As soon as you come within sight of the lorry, get down and try to creep forward without being seen. I want you to finish up in a big semicircle round the lorry. That means the two flanks will close in. Your final position must not be more than two hundred yards from the lorry. You’ll have five minutes from the time we move forward to get into position. I shall then go forward on my own. You will not open fire until either I give the order or they open fire. If I give that order or if they fire on me, I shall rely on you to take the lorry in the quickest possible time. It will mean that they are there for the purpose of assisting an invasion of the ’drome, and there will be very little time to spare. Is that understood?” No one said a word. “All right, then. Spread out on either side of me at the double.”
As soon as the detachment had spread out in a line along the edge of the roadway, Langdon waved his hand and started forward. Langdon, Hood and myself were together in a little bunch. Micky was twenty yards to the left of us, and Helson, who had left his bike on the edge of the roadway, was on our right. The line was not very impressive, their being only four men on either side of us. But it advanced with some pretensions of a line, and as a result looked reasonably like an infantry section in extended order.
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