I woke to the clatter of workmen as they entered the hut just after seven-thirty. There were two of them. They had come to put in some panes of glass that had been broken when the hut was built. Strange and incredible are the ways of Government workmen. The hut had been erected about a month ago, and as soon as the roof was on the workmen had disappeared, though panes were missing from the windows, no interior boarding or decoration had been done, and the promised electric light had not been installed. And because the tents, though camouflaged, had been thought too conspicuous from the air, these had been struck and the whole gun team had had to move into the bare and half-completed hut.
Now, out of the blue, these two workmen came clumping in without any consideration for the fact that the occupants were trying to sleep. They were met by a liberal dose of invective. This had no effect on the elder of the two, a hatchet-faced man with a white, leathery skin. But his mate, who was little more than a boy, had the grace to say, ‘Sorry to disturb you lads.’
I was slow to arrive at full consciousness. But suddenly I realised it was Thursday. I shall always remember that Thursday. Until then I don’t think I had realised quite what I was up against. Subconsciously it had been something of a game, a diversion from the monotony of constant raids. But on that Thursday I discovered how far removed I was from a David in search of a Goliath, and by that evening I was almost sick in the face of a fear that came at me from every quarter.
It began rather better than most other days since I had been on the site. No alarm disturbed our breakfast. In fact, there was no alarm until just after eleven, and then it was only half a dozen hostile and did not last long For once we were able to get washed and shaved in comfort. But inevitably there was no ease in the lull. A lull had become unusual. And jaded nerves were suspicious of the unusual. Everyone seemed strangely reluctant to, enjoy the blessed comfort of not having to take post. It meant something worse to come — that’s the way they looked at it. There was no false optimism. We listened eagerly every night for the ever-mounting number of German ‘planes shot down. But though the proportion of British to German losses exceeded all expectations, we knew only too well what it was costing us in worn-out pilots and unserviceable machines.
It was not long before somebody mentioned my talk with the Jerry pilot, and instantly everyone saw in this lull the preparation for a raid on Thorby. That, of course, was ridiculous. They would not hold off for one day just to prepare for a raid on a single aerodrome. But the fact that they were holding off looked ominous. A big attack against a number of fighter stations might be followed almost immediately by an actual landing, since it seemed reasonable that they would strike while conditions in the aerodromes were chaotic. In a moment I was the centre of tense speculation. Questions were hurled at me right and left, and I was again conscious of that undercurrent of suspicion. I was the rooky who knew more than they did. That in itself inspired a subconscious hostility in most of them. At the same time, balked by any certainty about the morrow, they felt that I must be holding something back.
‘Have you told Mr Ogilvie?’ asked Bombardier Hood.
‘Yes, he knows about it,’ I replied.
‘What’s ‘e going’ to do about it, eh?’ Micky’s face looked white and strained. Anticipation is so much harder to bear than reality.
‘Don’t be a fool, Micky — what can he do about it?’
‘Well, they could have an umbrella of fighters up.’ This from Chetwood.
‘Yeah, a squadron — that’s what they’d give us, mate. An’ wot the hell’s the good of a squadron. You saw them when they came over Mitchet. Bloody fousands of ‘em there was, wasn’t there, Kan? — bloody fousands.’
‘Well, we did see as many as thirty odd of our fighters in the air at once the other day.’
I said: ‘I was assured that every precaution possible was being taken.’
‘Oh, you was assured, was you, mate? You’ve got a bloody nerve, you ‘ave. Who started all this? — you just tell me that. An’ you say you been assured it’s all O.K. Well, I’m scared, mate, I don’t mind telling you. Give me a baynet. Cold steel, that’s wot I like. But this waiting to be bombed! It ain’t war — not by rights it ain’t. I oughta have bin in the infantry. I would’ve too, only — ‘
‘Only the Buffs were full up,’ said Chetwood. ‘If you don’t like ack-ack, apply for a transfer — otherwise shut up.’
‘You don’t speak to me like that, mate,’ Micky grumbled on to himself, but he didn’t do anything about it.
‘Well, thank God we have some defence here,’ said Helson, ‘even if it is only the much-despised three-inch. I shouldn’t like to have to sit around at a place like Mitchet with nothing but Lewis guns, waiting for an attack.’
The conversation became general again, but every now and then a question was hurled at me. And always it was the same question put in a different way — hadn’t the pilot told me anything else? I felt helpless. There was nothing I could say that would satisfy their need of more information about what might be expected next day. God knows, I was anxious enough about it myself. But, perhaps because my mind was occupied with troubles of my own that centred around something that I felt was so much vaster than a raid on the aerodrome, it did not seem so very important.
I was saved at last from further questions by the air sentry, who opened the door to say that there was a Waaf outside asking for me. I went out to find Marion standing by the pit. It did me good to see her smile as I came up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I hear you’ve got into trouble ever that wire.’ Her grey eyes met mine and there seemed a bond of sympathy in the glance.
‘It’s I who should be sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got you into trouble. A pity it was all for nothing.’
‘Oh, but it wasn’t. You see, when the postmistress had read through the wire, she gave me one of those searching looks and asked me the rank of the sender. I had to hedge then. I knew she’d smelt a rat, and though she said she’d send it off, I had my doubts. Then as I was wandering down the street, I met a pilot officer I know. He gave me a lift back to the ‘drome. He was just going up to Town, so I asked him to ‘phone the message through to your friend. I don’t think he’d let me down.’
That’s marvellous,’ I said. I did not tell her I had got John Nightingale to do the same. It was all to the good. If Bill got both messages he would realise the urgency.
‘Do you know anything more?’ she asked.
I told her ‘No.’ But I hesitated. There might be something in it. ‘Is Elaine a particular friend of yours?’ I asked.
‘I haven’t been here long enough to have acquired any particular friends. I don’t make friends as easily as that.’ She smiled. ‘But she’s fun and we have quite a lot in common. Why?’
‘She was dining with Vayle at a sort of country club known as the Spinning Wheel last night.’
She nodded. ‘I know the place.’
‘I wondered, if she were a particular friend of Vayle’s, perhaps you could find out something from her.’
‘Yes, but what?’
I shrugged my shoulders. What did I want her to find out? ‘I don’t know. Anything you can that might help. Oh, yes, one thing — whether Vayle is going to be here tomorrow or not.’
‘I’ll do what I can.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I must be running along. I have my chores to do.’
‘Fatigues?’ I asked.
‘Yes. But it’s not much really — just ironing.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s wretched to be landed for a thing like that by doing something for someone else.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ She laid her hand on my arm. ‘It was rather fun. Anyway, I ought to have been more careful.’ She hesitated, and there was one of those awkward pauses. I thought she was going. But instead she suddenly said: ‘You know, if there really is something in your idea, then I don’t think your friend will be able to find out much for you. An important agent has his tracks covered up much too well.’