Attack Alarm (25 page)

“What are ye doing?” The man had halted a few yards from me and I saw his thumb on the safety-catch of his rifle. He was a Scots Guard, big and heavily built, with a flattened nose and large hands.

“Trying to get through the wire,” I said. “Do you mind if I get my other leg over. It isn’t very comfortable in this position.”

“All raight. But dinna play ony tricks. If ye du I’ll no hesitate to shoot.”

“I won’t play any tricks,” I said. I pressed the wire down and swung my other leg over. I managed it better this time and did not lose my balance.

“Why are ye doing creeping into the camp like this?” he demanded.

“I broke camp,” I replied. “That’s my gun site over there. I had a good reason for doing so.”

“Och, mon, it willna du.” He shook his head. “Ye’ve got yerself in an awfu’ mess.”

“Look,” I said. “Be a sport. I had my own reasons for breaking camp.”

“Ye canna wheedle me. I know my duty. Ye’re under arrest.”

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Micky creeping up on the wire. I moved a little farther along so that the sentry had to turn away from Micky in order to keep facing me. “Stand still!” The rifle jerked threateningly.

“Give me a break,” I said. “We’ve been in this place more than a month without leave. We haven’t even had any local leave.” Micky was at the wire
now. “I had to see someone. It was urgent. The only way I could do it was by breaking camp. I bet you haven’t been long in this place. You’d understand if you had.” I was scarcely thinking what I was saying. Anything would do so long as it kept his attention away from Micky, who was now clambering through the wire.

“That sort o’ talk willna get ye onywhere.” The man was ruffled. I felt he would like to have let me go, but he didn’t dare. “Ye’ll have to see the corporal. Ye might be a German parachutist for all I ken. Come on, now. Get going.”

At that moment there was a dull thud along the wire. Micky had lost his balance and fallen flat on his face.

The sentry swung round. Instantly his rifle was at his shoulder. “Halt!”

Micky had just got to his feet again. His head jerked quickly in our direction. His face looked very pale in the moonlight. I could even see his eyes. They were narrowed and shifty-looking. His momentary hesitation was obvious. In a flash my mind wondered how often he had looked at a policeman in that same indecisive manner. Suddenly he dived forward. He looked like a little rabbit scuttling to cover towards the hut.

“Halt, or I fire!” The sentry’s thumb pressed the safety-catch forward.

I jumped forward. “Don’t fire!” I said. “He’s my pal. Don’t fire!”

Micky might think he had a chance, but he was not a fast runner and he was not attempting to zigzag. To a good marksman he was an absolute sitter.

“Micky!” I yelled. “Micky! Stop!”

He glanced over his shoulder. I waved to him. “Come over here,” I called. “Quick!” And in practically the same breath I said to the Guardsman,
“Hold your fire. He’s all right—only scared of being caught.”

Micky had stopped, doubtful what to do. “Come over here!” I called to him again. Reluctantly he began to walk in our direction.

The sentry lowered his rifle. He turned to me. “Will ye tell me what’s going on here? Are there ony mair of ye?”

“No,” I replied. “There’s only the two of us. And I didn’t break camp to meet my girl friend. We broke camp to get certain vital information from men we knew to be Nazi agents.”

“It willna du.” He shook his head. “Ye’d best tell the truth when ye see the corporal. Come on now. March!” By changing my story I had lost his sympathy. It was a pity. But it couldn’t be helped. Pray God the corporal wasn’t a fool. The sentry fell in behind me. “Gang straight for that pill-box oop yonder.”

Micky joined me. He was still panting slightly. “Why the hell did you call me?” he demanded gruffly, as he fell into step beside me. “I could ’a’ made it.”

“You could not,” I told him.

“I thought this information was important. It was worth the risk, wasn’t it?”

“It wouldn’t have helped to have you shot,” I said. “He couldn’t have missed at that range.”

He didn’t reply to that and we walked on in silence. We climbed the final slope of the hill. The pill-box, which was about a hundred yards to the north of our hut, looked squat and menacing in the moonlight.

“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 immediately 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.”