Attack Alarm (7 page)

“I should think that would get through all right,” she replied.

I hesitated. A wire was not quite so private as a ’phone call or a letter. But it seemed the only thing. “Will you send a wire, then?”

“Of course. I’m off duty till this evening.”

I scribbled it down on the back of an envelope. “Please obtain full details Vayle librarian Thor by
since thirty-six stop May be of vital importance stop Will ’phone for results early Friday.” I wasn’t too happy about it. It would have been so much more satisfactory to have spoken to him. I could only hope that he would read between the lines and realise just how important it was. I handed it to Marion. “I hope you can read it,” I said.

She glanced through it. There was a slight lift to her eyebrows. But that was the only sign she gave that it was unusual. She asked no questions. And I was not inclined to explain the situation. Now that it came to committing myself to paper I felt too uncertain to risk any discussion of my suspicions.

She slipped the envelope into her pocket. “I’ll send it off as soon as I’ve had my lunch,” she promised.

“That reminds me,” I said. “I suppose I ought to go and have mine. I’m on again at one.”

“Then you haven’t much time—it’s twenty to already.”

I got up. “What about a drink this evening?”

“I’d love to. But I’m on duty at eight.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “I come off at seven. I’ll meet you here as soon after as I can make it. That is, of course, Hitler permitting.”

“I hope he will.” She smiled. It gave me a sudden sense of confidence, that smile. It made me want to stay and talk the whole thing over with her. But I had to get my lunch, and so I left her there, sipping her beer.

The afternoon went slowly. There were no alarms and I had plenty of time for reflection. When we came off at three we tried to get some sleep. This afternoon siesta was now a daily ritual. Without it, I am certain, we could never have kept going. It was easy to see who were the town dwellers and who were accustomed to working in the open air. Micky and Fuller went to sleep on their beds in the hut, not bothering to take
off anything but their battle blouse and with at least one blanket over them. The rest of us stripped down and lay out in the sun.

Though I had plenty on my mind, I had no difficulty in going to sleep. We were wakened at a quarter to five. As usual, I felt worse after my brief sleep. It would probably have been more intelligent to rest under cover, but the sun attracted me too much. The sense of leisure was infinite. The thought of the hot, dusty streets of London made Thorby seem for a brief period a holiday camp.

I did not bother to go down to the mess for tea, even though it was the last good meal of the day. The sun had made me very weak and the idea of putting on battle dress and walking down to the square was quite repugnant. What several of us did was to make tea on the site. This was a much better proposition in every way, for the tea in the mess was really quite undrinkable. Then in the evening we would get food in the Naafi.

We were off again at seven and I went straight down to the canteen tent. It was already crowded. Several of the lads from the other site were there. I looked round, but could see no sign of Marion Sheldon. In the end I got myself a drink and went over and joined the others.

I kept a close watch on the entrance, but she did not come. At first
I thought she must have been delayed. But by half-past seven I was wondering whether she had forgotten all about it. I began to feel rather peeked. Trevors had joined us and the whole of our detachment was there. The number of bottles on the table mounted rapidly. The place was insufferably hot and beginning to get noisy. I felt out of tune with it and very tired.

Shortly after eight Elaine came in and joined us. I didn’t know how friendly she was with Marion, but I thought she might be able to tell me what had happened to her. But it was rather awkward. She was sitting at the end of the table with Trevors and the two sergeants. I waited, trying to pluck up courage to approach her. But I fought shy of the laughter that my concern about a particular Waaf would certainly evoke.

Then one or two began talking about going to the supper canteen for food, and when they got up I joined them.

As I passed Elaine I said: “What’s happened to Marion to-night?”

She looked up at me over her shoulder. “Oh, she’s got herself into trouble over something. Four days fatigues. Shall I give her your love?” There was a wicked gleam in her eyes.

I felt a sudden emptiness inside me. “What’s she in trouble over?” I asked.

“She was very secretive about it, my dear.” Again I was aware of that gleam in her eye. I felt uncomfortable. “You’re not by any chance the cause of it, are you? You didn’t seem to waste much time last night.”

I didn’t know what to say. I had a horrid premonition. And because I feared that she might be right, I felt tongue-tied. I was suddenly aware that the whole table was silent, listening to our conversation.

She squeezed my arm in a friendly gesture. “It’s all right. I’ll give her your love.” And she gave me a sugar-sweet smile.

I replied with what I fancy must have been a very sheepish grin and went with the others out of the tent. As we crossed the square to the big block of the Naafi Institute, behind which was the supper canteen, Kan said: “She’s a little bitch, isn’t she?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I was a bit vulnerable,
wasn’t I? I’d arranged to meet Marion there at seven and she didn’t turn up.”

He laughed. “She’s still a little bitch. You don’t know Elaine. She can be really sweet, though her ‘my dears’ are a bit reminiscent of the cheap side of Piccadilly. At other times she’s just a cat. Tiny thinks she’s a paragon of all the virtues. He’s very simple. But she’s as promiscuous as it’s possible to be in a camp. She just naturally wants every man she sees.”

I said nothing. What was there to say? I didn’t care a damn about Elaine. What was worrying me was why Marion had got into trouble.

“You’re very moody, old boy,” Kan said. “You’re surely not worrying about your girl friend. I mean, a few fatigues are nothing in any one’s life.”

“I’m just a bit tired, that’s all,” I said.

The canteen was already pretty full. We took the only table that was vacant. It was against the wall nearest the kitchen. The heat was almost unbearable. We all ordered steak and onions. Whilst we waited for it we had more beer.

“Well, here’s to our night’s bag, Kan,” said Chetwood, raising his glass to his lips.

“What do you mean—your night’s bag?” demanded Beasley, a youngish lad from the other site.

It started quite good-naturedly. But it soon became heated.

“Well, what fuse were you firing? Fuse twelve? Well, listen, ducky, that ’plane crashed on the edge of the ’drome. It couldn’t have been more than three to four thousand yards away when you opened fire. Fuse twelve would have been well beyond the target.”

“My dear fellow, I saw it burst just by the nose of the ’plane.”

“Well, John had the glasses on it and he says ours burst just outside the wing. And it was the wing that
crumpled. Anyway, you were a layer, weren’t you? How the hell could you see? I was laying too, and I could see nothing. The flash was absolutely blinding.”

The argument was interminable. It seemed rather pointless. The main thing was that the troop had brought the ’plane down. At last we got our food. I had just started eating when I saw Andrew Mason come in. He stopped in the doorway to look round the room and then made straight for our table. He looked agitated.

“You’re wanted at the office at once, Hanson. Mr. Ogilvie wants to see you.”

He sounded urgent. I found I had my fork suspended half-way to my mouth. I put it down. “Oh, hell!” I said. “What’s he want to see me about?” But I knew already. And I felt like a cub reporter facing his first awkward interview with the editor.

“I don’t know,” said Mason. “But Wing-Commander Winton is with him. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

I got to my feet. “Don’t be a fool—finish your supper first,” said Kan. I hesitated. “I think you’d better come now,” said Mason. “It seemed to be urgent and I’ve already been some time trying to find you.”

“All right,” I said. I put my cap on and followed him out of the canteen. I felt nervous. Something must have gone wrong over that wire. And if it had, I was in a proper mess. It was hardly likely that Ogilvie would understand my explanation. Thank God Vayle didn’t hold a King’s commission. His civilian status made a lot of difference.

Mason took me straight into the inner office. Wing-Commander Winton was seated in a chair beside Ogilvie’s desk. They looked up as I entered. I saluted. “You wanted to see me, sir?” I was rigidly at attention.

“Did you give a Waaf named Sheldon a telegram to send for you to-day?”

So I was right. I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Is that the telegram?”

He handed me an inland telegram form. The message I had scribbled on the back of an envelope in the Naafi that morning was written on it in a clear feminine hand. “Yes, sir, that is the telegram.”

“It’s incredible, Gunner Hanson—quite incredible. You realise that by implication you are accusing Mr. Vayle of something that you don’t dare to state? What are you accusing him of?”

“I was not aware that I was accusing him of anything.” I replied.

“Then why do you write to your friend asking for full details about him? You must have had some reason for it.”

“It was a purely private communication to a colleague on my newspaper, sir.”

“Nothing is private once you are in the Army. You are fortunate at this station in that there is no censorship as such. But this telegram was so startling that the postmistress at Thorby thought it wise to ring up Station H.Q. to find out whether the Waaf in question had authority to send it.” He paused and glanced across at the Wing-Commander. “Perhaps you would like to question the man, sir.”

The C.O. Thorby was a big, heavy-jowled man with steady, alert eyes. He came straight to the point. “As Mr. Ogilvie says, this telegram of yours accuses Mr. Vayle by implication of something that you are evidently unwilling to put down on paper. You require from your friend details of Mr. Vayle’s life prior to 1936. You say it may be of vital importance. Perhaps you would explain.”

I hesitated. Winton was easier to talk to than Ogilvie. Probably because he had had more experience
of men. But I was uncertain what line to take. In the end I decided on frankness. “I sent that wire because my suspicions had been aroused, sir,” I said. I then went on to explain how the German pilot had stopped talking the moment he saw Vayle, how I had learnt that Vayle had spoken to the pilot before he went before the Intelligence officer, and how I was doubtful whether the pilot would have taken the line he did without guidance. “I could find out nothing about him prior to 1936, sir,” I finished. “So I decided to wire my colleague and see whether he could discover something of Mr. Vayle’s background. I was bearing in mind the fact that a plan of the ground defences of the aerodrome had already found its way into enemy hands.”

“I see. In other words, you suspected Mr. Vayle of being a Nazi agent?”

The C.O.’s heavy brows were drawn downwards over his eyes and he spoke very quietly. I sensed a menace in his words. But I could do nothing to stave it off. I said, “Yes, sir.”

“You realise that the proper course would have been to explain your suspicions to your commanding officer or alternatively to have asked him to arrange for you to see me? If you had done so I should have been able to tell you that Mr. Vayle came to this station from a well-known public school, and that we have the most complete confidence in him. Instead, you start a little personal investigation without any authority to do so.” He gave me a suddenly keen glance. “What were you before you joined up?”

“Journalist, sir.”

He glanced at the address on the telegram. “
The Globe
?”

“Yes, sir.

“And this man Trent—what is his position on the paper?”

“Crime reporter, sir.”

“I see. A sensation-seeking paper and a sensation-seeking man.” I was conscious of a very unpleasant feeling of loneliness. “I regard this matter very seriously.” His voice was cold, distant. “The reasons for your suspicions seem to me quite inadequate. Apart from that, however, your communication with your newshound friend might have had very unfortunate repercussions. Mr. Vayle, though of British nationality, was for a number of years lecturer at a Berlin University. Being of Jewish extraction, he was forced to leave in 1934. As I have said, we think very highly of him at this station. Had your wire not been intercepted, I can well imagine what a stunt article your friend would have written.”

He got up abruptly. “I leave you to deal with this man, Mr. Ogilvie. You know my wishes. I want no repetition of this at my station.”

Ogilvie got his feet. “I’ll see that it does not occur again, sir.”

I hesitated.

But as the C.O. moved to the door, I said: “Excuse me, sir.”

He paused with his hand on the door. “What is it?” he said, and his tone was not inviting.

“In the first place,” I said, “Trent would never have used any information he obtained without my permission. Secondly, because I have joined the Army I have not forfeited my right as a citizen to take any steps I think proper in the interests of my country. My suspicions were flimsy, I knew that. It was out of the question at that stage to raise the matter with any one in authority. I took the only course open to me to attempt to satisfy those suspicions one way or the other.”

“The interests of your country would have been best served by your bringing your suspicions to me,
not to a newspaper.” He still spoke quietly, but there was a tremor of anger in his voice.

I suppose it was foolish of me to pursue the matter. But I said: “Had I done that, without first seeing whether there were any grounds for my suspicions, I could hardly expect the matter to be taken any more seriously than my views about the information of a plan for immobilising our fighter ’dromes given me by the German pilot.”