He leaned close to my ear and shouted, 'We must get out!' and I was dumb enough to nod my head at the obvious.
'Through that way!' I pointed towards an opening at the side of the big room which led past the cloakrooms and into the corridor where all the private dining rooms, including the Pinafore, were located.
Although I'd been unconscious at the time, I knew Hubble must have brought us along that way into the lounge.
We started off in that direction, moving as one, Cissie clinging to my bare arm as if afraid to let go, Stern on the other side, Sten gun held hip-high, covering the ground before us. Once again, survival instinct had kicked in, helping me to operate despite a groggy head and some stiffness from the beating, and we dodged around figures who seemed oblivious to us as they rushed around in the swirling smoke, afraid the whole building was gonna tumble down on them. But if we had the idea that all of Hubble's Blackshirts had forgotten about us we were soon corrected: a whole bunch of them were suddenly standing between us and our intended escape route, pistols and rifles raised towards us, staves and short axes brandished by the few women amongst them. They wouldn't want to kill us, I knew that - we were useless to them dead - but they could incapacitate us easily enough; besides, they had another reason for negotiation, a hostage.
In all the commotion and anxiety to get out of there fast, I'd forgotten about Albert Potter. He was on hands and knees, one of the Blackshirts crouched over him, holding a blade to his plump throat.
The three of us came to a halt, Cissie calling out the old warden's name, her fingers digging into the flesh of my arm. Stern brought the Sten gun up to his chest and aimed it at the group. I could only spit more dust from my mouth.
It was a stand-off, smoke swirling between us, the flames from the stairway and other parts of the room licking every-thing orange. The electric lights flickered again, dulled, came back, the generator in the hotel's basement beginning to run slow, then picking up; either the bombardment had caused problems, or three years of lying idle had upset the machinery. I didn't care which, I just prayed for a total blackout.
Sure, the fires would still provide some kind of light, but it would be unsteady as well as poor, and any edge was better than none at all.
Hubble was among the group holding us up, his ever-faithful goon, McGruder, by his side, supporting him. Hubble took an unsteady step forward, McGruder careful to go with him, making sure his leader didn't stumble.
'Don't make another move!' Hubble shouted in that weak, high-pitched way of his. 'If you do, this man will be killed instantly.' He pointed a shaky, dark-stained finger at Potter. The blade at the warden's throat pressed into the soft flesh, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make a furrow. 'His is old blood anyway and we'd prefer the younger, more healthy kind,' Hubble said, as if we'd appreciate his reasoning. 'Your kind, Mr Hoke. And your companions'. Good, vibrant blood.'
How long was it gonna take the mad bomber to make his turn and get back over target? He wouldn't let an opportunity like this go by without dropping every last bomb and incendiary on board. No, he'd douse those glowing lights with fires of his own making, and then he'd spit on the wreckage as he headed home to the Fatherland. C'mon, Fritz, knock this place out, gimme a chance.
I pulled Cissie behind me and scanned the immediate area for fallen weapons. Okay, the Blackshirts would go for non-fatal wounds, tricky for any marksmen. And they'd have to try for the kind that didn't bleed too much; off hand, I couldn't think of any. So: Dive for the nearest gun before they cut the legs from under you. Already tense, I tensed some more.
'Kill Hubble first,' I told Stern.
' No!' Cissie tugged at my arm. 'You can't do that, Hoke, they'll kill Albert.'
'They'll kill us all anyway,' I replied, still searching the floor. 'Do it, Stern, do it now.'
The German turned his head towards me, then looked back at Hubble. Something crashed in the foyer, beyond the wall of flame.
'Hoke, I cannot-'
'None of it matters!' I snapped, at last finding what I was searching for, a pistol lying close to an upturned chair on the littered floor. 'Shoot him now and let's finish it'
'You're insane,' said Cissie over my shoulder.
I felt myself grin. 'Yeah,' I agreed as I judged the distance between myself and the fallen weapon.
Stern levelled the Sten at the Blackshirt leader, who suddenly looked less sure of himself. But the German lowered the submachine gun, then dropped it onto the carpet
'It is senseless,' he whispered, as if to himself. It was as if not just his energy, but his spirit too, had drained from him. Then, to me: 'There has been too much killing. We must reason with these -'
A number of things happened before he'd completed the sentence: Hubble nodded at the goon with the long knife, who neatly slit Potter's throat; the lights surged, then fell almost to nothing; I went down, rolled forward and came up with the German's discarded Sten gun, finger already tightening on the trigger.
17
I'D FIRED TOO WILD and too soon, because McGruder pulled Hubble to the floor before I could take proper aim at him. The bullets caught a couple of Blackshirts who weren't quick enough to duck, while others in the group blocking our way scattered, some diving for the floor, others just scooting off, heading for cover. A mirror shattered on the far wall and splinters flew from a marble column. The lights brightened again as the generator below ground revived and I had the chance to pick out Hubble with the Sten gun. He was crouched on the floor, his loyal henchman's beefy arm thrown over his shoulder for protection, and he was watching me like a paralysed rabbit. His time was up sooner than he'd figured, and I was the gun-packing Reaper, both counts pretty hard for him to take.
I pulled the trigger and nothing happened.
Tried again, but it was useless. The gun was jammed or empty, God knows which, but it was all the same to me. I threw it away and went for the pistol I'd spotted earlier.
But even as I hit the deck it seemed to rise up beneath me, slamming into my body so that I turned over from the shock. The blast - heavy, thunderous, like nothing I'd heard before - overwhelmed all other noise, and the shell of the building juddered so violently I thought it must come tumbling down on us all.
The Bomber King had completed his turn and was back over target I guessed he'd dropped his whole bomb-load in his determination to blot out the beacon below. A great wind from the foyer swept through the lounge, carrying with it lethal shrapnel and fireballs, and I hugged carpet, pressing my body into its softness, riding the reverberations, sparks and burning cinders scorching my naked back and arms, pellets of masonry and splinters of wood raining down on me. My hands were over my head, but I heard more crashing sounds, then screams, shouts, and the floor beneath me continued to tremble. Although there were more close-set explosions, I decided it was time to be up and running again.
The broad stairway leading to the foyer and main entrance was totally engulfed in flames by now, and I knew everything beyond it - the reception area, reading lounge, and the staircase to Harry's Bar - would have been completely destroyed. Powdered glass and dust filled the air with thick smoke as other chandeliers broke loose from their fittings and hurtled to the floor, while whole ornamental mirrors fell from the walls and more pillars fissured as they shifted under the strain of the collapsing ceiling. But I was on my feet, looking round for Cissie and the German, swiping at the smoke with my hands as though it were concealing veils.