Attack Alarm Page 16

  “No, but you could search through them. It would take some time, I know, but——”

  “I certainly will not,” she cut in. “I’ll do nothing to help you embark on this crazy expedition.”

  My troubles seemed suddenly to roll away as I gazed down at her defiant, anxious little face. “That’s sweet of you, Marion. But please—you must help me. It’s just as dangerous if I stay here. And if I didn’t go and what I am afraid of happened, you’d never forgive yourself, I know.”

  She hesitated.

  “Please,” I said. “It’s the only chance.”

  “But you can’t be certain that what I heard Elaine say in her sleep had any deep significance.”

  “Yes, but what about the injured workman?”

  “I can understand your regarding the coincidence of their both speaking of Cold Harbour Farm as significant, but Elaine’s birthday probably has no bearing on the business.”

  “Three more fighter ’dromes were attacked to-day,” I said. “During the last three or four days practically every fighter station of any size in south-east England has had a bad pasting. It just happens that the date of her birthday is about the time I think they will strike if they’re going to. Your arguments are just the sort of arguments that I know would be raised by the authorities if I went to them. I’ve made up my mind that I’m on the right track. The only question now is, will you help me or not, Marion?”

  She didn’t say anything, and for a moment I thought she was going to refuse.

  “Well?” I asked, and I spoke abruptly, for I was afraid that I had lost her as an ally.

  “Of course I will,” she said simply. But she spoke slowly, as though considering something. Then suddenly she became businesslike, almost brusque. “I’ll go and look through those maps right away. I’ll come back and tell you the result of my labours as soon as possible.”

  “You’ll find it somewhere in the centre of a ring drawn round the fighter ’dromes, I expect,” I said as she turned to go.

  “I understand,” she said.

  I watched her walk briskly away, thinking how strange it was that people should have different sides to their personalities. I had just seen Marion for the first time as the efficient secretary. My God! I thought, and she would be efficient too. What a wife for a journalist! The thought was in my mind before I realised it. And suddenly I knew that she was the one girl for me. And then I kicked myself mentally as I realised that I had been thinking only of the things she could give me, and had not given a thought to what I could give her. And what could I give her? “Hell!” I said aloud. And then went back into the hut as I saw Fuller looking at me curiously.

  The next few hours dragged terribly. I was not afraid, thank Heavens! I had something concrete to do now and there was no room in my thoughts for fear. But as the evening wore slowly on I experienced the sinking sensation that one gets just before a big match. I passed part of the time reconnoitring my line of escape. The barbed wire, I knew, would not be difficult to negotiate. It was dannet, that coiled wire which is stretched so that it stand in hoops. By parting two of the hoops it was fairly easy to step through it. It was the sentries I was worried about. I went over and had a chat with the Guards’ corporal at the neighbouring pill-box. By fairly persistent, but not too obvious questioning, I discovered that there was roughly one sentry to each five hundred yards of wire. There were also some sentries in the wood along the valley. But they were very few—one at each end. They were supposed to meet in the middle once every hour. There was a path running through the middle of the wood. These shouldn’t worry me, but because they were the unknown factor they worried me a good deal more than the sentries along the wire.

  Marion did not turn up until nearly ten. I was on stand-to then. I went out of the pit to meet her. “I think I’ve got it,” she said as I reached her. “I found two. One down in Romney Marshes. That isn’t any good, is it?”

  “No,” I said. “Nightingale told me of that one.”

  “The other isn’t quite in the centre of the southeastern fighter area, but it’s not far off. It’s just off the Eastbourne road in Ashdown Forest.”

  “That sounds hopeful,” I said. “There were no others?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I went very methodically through the maps for Kent and Sussex. I don’t think I missed anything.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It must have been a frightful job.”

  “No, it was rather fun in a way—all the peculiar place-names one had never heard of before, and some that one had. You know the Eastbourne road, don’t you? You go through East Grinstead and Forest Row and up to Wych Cross, where the Lewes road forks off. You keep left here on the Eastbourne road and about half a mile farther on there are one or two cottages on the left. Another half-mile and there is a lane turning off to the right. Take this, fork right along what appears to be a track, and you’ll come to Cold Harbour Farm.”

  “Marvellous,” I said.

  “When do you start?”

  “As soon as it’s dark—about eleven. The moon doesn’t rise till late now. My detachment doesn’t go on until one, so I shall have two hours before they miss me.”

  “Do you think you can get out all right, though?”

  “Unless I have bad luck, it should be easy.”

  “Well, good luck, then,” she said, and squeezed my hand. “I must get back. Your boys are already beginning to talk about us.”

  She had half turned to go when she stopped. “By the way, Vayle went off in his car just before eight this evening. He won’t be back to-night.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “A boy I know in Ops. told me. He’s studying to become a navigator. He saw Vayle getting into his car and asked him whether he could come and have a word with him later in the evening about some problem he was stuck on. Vayle is apparently good about helping people. But he told him that he couldn’t as he wouldn’t be back to-night.”

  “That looks hopeful,” I said.

  She nodded. “That’s what I thought. And if you’re not back before dawn I shall see Winton myself.”

  “Bless you,” I said.

  For a second she hesitated and her eyes held mine. I often wonder whether she was trying to memorise my features for fear she should never see me again. We were very near to each other in that moment. And then she turned quickly on her heels and left me.

  When I got back to the pit I came in for a good bit of chaff, but it passed me by. I was thinking of other things. “You and Micky are a pair,” said Chetwood. “Both of you look worried and secretive.”

  “Don’t talk so bloody daft,” said Micky violently.

  The violence of his reply should have told me something. But it didn’t. I was engrossed in my own thoughts and barely noticed it. Zero hour was very close now.

  CHAPTER NINE

  COLD HARBOUR

  AT TEN we were relieved. Usually the whole detachment went straight to bed in order to get as much sleep as possible. But, of course, Kan and Chetwood had to choose this evening of all evenings to start a discussion about the stage, Chetwood holding forth about the full-blooded qualities of the ham actor, and Kan naturally standing by the more sophisticated modern school. They sat up arguing over a hurricane lamp till a quarter to eleven while I lay in bed and fumed.

  At last quiet descended upon the hut. I waited till eleven-fifteen to make certain that every one should be sound asleep. The place was full of the soft, sibilant sound of steady breathing. I slipped out of bed and put on my battle blouse. Except for this, I had gone to bed fully clothed. For the sake of quietness, and if necessary speed, I put on canvas shoes. Before leaving I thrust my kit-bag and overcoat under my blankets, so that when the guard came in to wake his relief he would think I was still sleeping.

  None of the recumbent figures stirred as I opened the back door of the hut. It was dark outside save along the western sky where the last light of day still lingered, throwing the pit into silhouett
e with the muzzle of the gun and the sentry’s tin hat quite visible. I closed the door of the hut softly and paused to listen. Not a sound from inside. I went a little down the slope towards the wire and there sat down to watch and accustom myself to the light. The nearest I had ever got before to my present escapade was stalking in Scotland, and I knew enough not to hurry even though time pressed.

  Gradually I was able to see more and more until at last I could make out the thin coils of dannet stretched tenuously out along the slope of the hill, and behind loomed vaguely the black bulk of the trees at the bottom. But still I waited. I had to know the position of the sentry.

  At last I heard him. He was pacing slowly along the inside edge of the wire and every now and then his bayonet clanked in its rifle socket. I waited till he had passed. I was just rising to my feet when I heard a sound behind me. It was a click. I thought for a moment that it must be the latch of the hut door. But there was no further sound, and at length I rose to my feet and moved softly towards the wire. And at that moment the sirens went. I hesitated, cursing. And then I hurried on, realising that their wail would cover any slight noise I might make getting through the wire.

  In a second I had reached the sentry-beaten path inside the wire. I glanced quickly along it in each direction. There was no sign of the sentry. I had brought a pair of leather gloves I had had in my case, and with these on my hands I parted two of the coils and stepped into the gap. I then parted the farther side of the two coils and, raising myself on tiptoe, swung my right foot over into this gap. But to bring my left foot over as well seemed an impossibility. The wire barbs were digging into me painfully. I set my teeth and lifted my left leg back and round. I thought I had done it, but a barb just caught my canvas shoes. I lost my balance and fell headlong. I caught my head on the ground—it was as hard as concrete—and there was a searing pain in my left leg.

  But when I staggered to my feet I found I was clear of the wire. I listened. The still night air was silent. No one seemed to have heard my fall. Crouching low and taking advantage of what little cover there was on that bare slope, I hurried down to the shelter of the wood. Looking back, I could see no movement. At the top of the slope there was the vague silhouette of the hut and the gun, and away to the right was the bulk of the dispersal point.

  I went cautiously forward into the wood. It was pitch dark here and I had to feel my way, working round trees and bushes by hand. Every yard of progress seemed to take an age, but though my one desire was to get through the wood as quickly as possible to the road beyond, I steadfastly refused to be hurried by nerves.

  It is a very unnerving sensation to pass from open country into a wooded place when you are going in fear of your life. For ten days I had been living on the bare hill-top of the ’drome. I knew all the sounds of that open stretch of ruined downland. During that time I had never heard the rustle of a tree in a current of air, the scamper of a squirrel through light branches, or the movement of dried leaves and twigs caused by the night life of a wood. It was all new to me, and each sound, terrifying at first, had to be sorted out and understood before I dared move forward again.

  Once, behind me, I heard the snap of a twig where something heavier than usual had pressed on it. That sound alone held me poised with one foot forward for fully a minute.

  At last I made the path that ran through the centre of the wood. There was no sound apart from the faint stirring of the branches high above my head. I crossed the ten feet of open ground without a challenge. This gave me confidence and I pressed forward faster. My lack of caution brought its own reward, for I tripped over a mound of earth and only just saved myself from falling into a deep trench. There was more barbed wire beyond it, but it was just a few strands, not dannet, and quite easily negotiated.

  It took time, however, and as I slipped over the last strand a twig snapped only a few yards behind me. The sound of it seemed loud in the stillness. I froze. My senses warned me that it was not one of the usual noises of the wood. A second later came the unmistakable sound of somebody stumbling and the thud of a body as it pitched into the trench I had just crossed. A muttered curse and I heard the man pick himself up cautiously.

  Silence for a moment. Then he began to negotiate the barbed wire. I slid quietly behind a tree, my heart pounding against my ribs. My immediate reaction was that one of the Guards was trailing me. But reason told me that if it was one of the Guards he would have known the position of the trench and would not have fallen into it. Moreover, I had heard no clatter of a rifle as he fell. And that muttered curse! Surely he would not have uttered it if he had been trailing me.

  The man, whoever he was, was very near me now. I could hear the pant of his breathing. Then the sound was lost in the whir of a car coming up the road. The wood about me suddenly took shape as the blacked-out headlights swept past only a few yards beyond where I stood. It only lit the wood up for a second before it drew level and was gone, but in that second I saw the man who was coming towards me and recognised him.

  “Good God, Micky!” I said. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  I sensed the shock of my voice as the car swept on and the blackness, more impenetrable than ever, settled once more on the wood.

  “Who’s that?” His voice sounded hoarse and frightened.

  I hesitated. The road was close, much closer than I had expected. Once on it I could give him the slip and he would never know who it was. “Is anybody there?”

  And because I felt his fear, I said: “It’s Hanson.”

  “Hanson?” he whispered. “Cor lumme, you didn’t ’alf give me a fright.”

  “What the devil are you doing?” I asked.

  “Doing a bunk, same as you. Though I didn’t think you was that scared.”

  “Good God!” I said. “You mean you’re deserting?”

  “Who says I’m deserting? I ain’t deserting. I’m transferring. I’m going to volunteer in the Buffs.”

  “But why?” I asked.

  “Cos I ain’t gonna stay in that bleeding aerodrome to provide target practice for Jerries. That ain’t fighting. It’s bloody murder. I want to be in something where I can fight the Jerry proper. I want to get at ’em wiv a rifle and baynet.”

  “But if you’re caught you’ll be regarded as a deserter.”

  “Admitted. So will you. But I ain’t aiming to get caught.”

  “The odds are against you, Micky,” I said. “Why not go back now while you’ve got the chance.”

  “And be bombed again without being able to do nothing to stop it. Not bloody likely. Wot about you, anyway?”

  “Well,” I said. “I’m not exactly deserting.”

  “I suppose you’re resigning. You got a nerve telling me to go back, whilst you’re running like hell yourself. Wot d’you think I am? Are you going to volunteer in some other unit?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Well, I am—see? I want ter fight for me country. I ain’t deserting. Come on, let’s get out o’ here while the going’s good.”

  It was no use arguing with him. Time was too precious and at any moment we might be overheard, I followed him down a gentle slope and over a wooden stile on to the road. “There’s a garage just down the road,” I said. “We’ll get a car from there.”

  But we were in luck. We hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards when we heard a car coming towards us. “Stand by to board,” I said to Micky. And as the dull headlights came round the bend ahead of us, I stepped out into the middle of the road and signalled it to stop. It pulled up with a shriek of brakes. It wasn’t a car at all but a Bedford truck.

  “Can I see your identity card?” I asked as the driver leaned out of the window of the cab. I glanced at it and then flashed the torch I had brought with me in his face. “I’m afraid you’ll have to get down while we search your cabin,” I said.

  “What the hell’s the matter?” he grumbled.

  He showed no signs of moving. “Come on, look sharp!” I barked. “I haven’t got a
ll night to waste.”

  “All right, mate, all right,” he muttered as he climbed out. “What’s the trouble, anyway?”

  “Looking for a Bedford truck full of H.E.,” I told him.

  “Well, you’ve only got to look at the bloody thing to see it’s empty,” he said.

  “The driver may have dumped it,” I explained. Then to Micky I said: “You search the other side. Come on, look sharp. The fellow doesn’t want to waste all night. He’s probably late back already.”

  “You’re right there, sir.” I think he thought by my voice and the way I had spoken to Micky that I was an officer in battle dress. “Shan’t be in bed till one and due to clock out again at eight in the morning.”

  I had climbed up into the driver’s seat and made a pretence of searching with my torch, whilst in reality I was noting the position of the gears and foot controls. “That’s too bad,” I said. At the same time I slammed home the gears, revved the engine and let the clutch in with a bang.

  I heard the beginning of his shout, but lost it in the noise of the engine as I raced through the gears. In a second it seems I had swept past the turning that led to the main gates of the aerodrome. And in less than ten minutes I had swung left on to the main Eastbourne road and was making for East Grinstead. Fortune had favoured us. A Bedford truck, empty, has a pretty turn of speed. The moon was just rising and the added light enabled me to push her. On the straight stretches I was showing nearly sixty on the clock.

  In less than half an hour from the time I had expropriated the lorry I had passed through East Grinstead and Forest Row and was climbing the long winding hill that leads up to Ashdown Forest.

  Just past the Roebuck at Wych Cross I forked left, and about a mile farther on I came upon the turning off to the right of which Marion had spoken. I switched my lights off. The moonlight was quite strong now. “Well, Micky,” I said. “This is where I leave you.”

  “Wot’s the game?” he demanded suspiciously.

  “How do you mean?” I asked.

  “Ain’t I good enough for you, then.”