******
The C.O., Johnny, Hamilton and several others were in the mess when I walked in. They seemed in very good form and were busy celebrating the latest Hun.
Johnny hailed me, tankard in hand. “Where the hell did you get to, Peter? We lost you in the cloud and then Ham and I had a terrific squirt at the Hun as he popped out of cloud but the bastard nipped back again before we could finish him off.”
“I heard you on the R.T.,” I said. “You were yelling like a couple of schoolgirls. I was just stooging about wondering where everybody had disappeared to, when I saw the Hun just below me. You two had certainly done your stuff because one engine had packed up and the crew were so paralytic that two of them baled out as soon as they saw me.”
“You’re a lucky devil Peter,” said Hamilton, “you arrived just in time to polish off the wounded, like Blücher and the Prussians after Waterloo.” Ham used to be a schoolmaster in the old days.
“Absolute balderdash,” I retorted. “He may have been wounded but the ruddy gunner put a couple, of bullets into my wing which is more than he did to you.”
“Stop arguing, children,” said the C.O. “It's another Hun on our scoreboard anyway and you're all getting one third apiece. Let's have another Pimm.”
Six more cool tankards arrived, each decorated with borrage, mint and cucumber. I felt a warming glow spread down my innards. A good party seemed to be getting under way; the recollection of the burnt out Heinkel and the dead pilot lying at my feet faded into the background and all I remembered was the glorious excitement of that hunt through the clouds after an elusive enemy and the fierce satisfaction as I saw him blow up in the field.
This is the life for me, I thought; plenty of flying, lots of excitement and the best companions in the world with whom to share it all.
A steward came down to the serving hatch where we were standing. “Flying Officer Claydon wanted on the telephone, please.”
“Hell,” I said. “Back in a minute anyway.” I went across to the telephone and picked up the receiver.
“Hallo Claydon,” said a voice, “Adjutant here. Air Ministry have just 'phoned through that you're to report there immediately. I don't know what it's all about but it sounds very urgent and I'm sending the Humber round to the mess now to pick you up.”
“Damn,” I said. “We’re just having a party in aid of that Hun today. I'll be off in a minute.”
“You’ll go now,” said the voice inexorably and he hung up.
I went back to the party by the hatch, finished my Pimm and took the C.O. aside.
“I’ve just heard from the Adj., sir, that I've got to report to Air Ministry.”
“What’s all this about, Peter?” said the C.O. “Have you been up to a spot of no good?”
“No, I think it's about something that occurred in France which I happened to see. And that Hun we shot down today had something to do with it too.”
“This all sounds very mysterious,” said the C.O. rather nettled, I think, by my refusal to give him any more details.
“I know, sir,” I said, “I'm sorry to be so hush-hush about it but I was told very definitely to keep my mouth shut. I'll probably be back tonight anyway and I may be able to say a bit more then.”
“O.K.,” said the C.O. “We’ll see you later then. So long.”
“Where are you off to now?” asked Johnny.
“I must go for a bit,” I said. “I’ll be back later.”
“A fine fellow,” said Ham. “You pinch our Hun and then sneak off from the party. From the gleam in your eye I suppose you've got designs on some popsy.”
“Rot,” I said. “Have a good party and don't do anything I wouldn't do. So long.” And I went out to find the car.
Pursuit of Passy Page 7