‘Yes, I see them,’ said Fuller.
Langdon was searching with his glasses. I strained my eyes, but could see nothing. A ‘plane may be quite easily visible, yet if you haven’t focused your eyes for the correct distance you can’t see it.
‘Here, you take a look,’ said Langdon, handing Chetwood the glasses. ‘If there are only twenty-one I don’t expect it’s Jerry. But a squadron may have got over London without being spotted.’
Chetwood took the glasses. After a moment he said, ‘It’s all right. They’re Hurricanes.’
The ‘phone rang.
A queer chill feeling spread inside me as I listened to the voice from Gun Ops. I put the receiver back and turned to Langdon.
‘Come on, mate, tell us wot it is,’ Micky said before I could open my mouth.
‘That first raid has been broken up,’ I said. ‘But there’s another raid just crossing the coast. There are fifty bombers escorted by two very large formations of fighters. The bombers are at twenty thousand and the fighters at twenty-five and thirty thousand.’
Nobody spoke. Unconsciously we all began watching the sky again. Micky was muttering to himself. I glanced round at the upturned faces. We were a scruffy-looking lot. Hardly any of us had managed to get a shave that morning. And though we were all burnt brown with the sun, our skin looked pale and tired under the tan.
Up above, the two squadrons of Hurricanes were circling over the ‘drome. Every now and then the tail-arse Charlie of each squadron — that is, the ‘plane that weaves from side to side across the formation to guard its rear — sparkled like a pin-point of silver tinsel in the sun.
I don’t know how long we waited, watching the sky. It seemed an age. Nothing happened. Only those two squadrons circling and circling. It was the first time we had ever had two squadrons patrolling the base. Time seemed to pass without our knowing it. There was very little conversation. Even Micky, always full of wisecracks, was silent. The strain of waiting was telling on everyone.
Suddenly the Tannoy blared forth again. ‘Attention, please! In a few moments aircraft will be landing for refuelling and rearming. All crews to stand by. The ‘planes are to be got into the air again as quickly as possible. All crews stand by. Off.’
‘Must be some fighting somewhere,’ said Chetwood.
‘Wish they’d fight nearer here,’ said Micky. ‘I’d like to see the Jerries tumbling down and the old gun going bang, bang, bang! Wouldn’t half put the wind up ‘em, I tell you. Eh, John?’
‘You may regret that wish yet, Micky,’ Langdon said.
I glanced at my watch. It was ten-past eleven. Those raids must surely have been turned back. I looked up at the sound of a ‘plane much nearer than any we had yet heard. It came in fast and low from the east. ‘What is it?’ someone asked.
‘Hurricane,‘Langdon told him.
It was one of Tiger Squadron. It circled the ‘drome only once and then landed very bumpily. The crew were ready with the petrol lorry. Other aircraft began to straggle in — one with his tail badly shattered by a cannon shell, another with a wing riddled. Mostly they landed shakily in their haste. Some did not even bother to circle the ‘drome once, but landed on the grass regardless of the slight wind.
The crews worked like fiends, filling their tanks and reloading their guns. Most of them were off again in little over ten minutes. Others began to come in. Several of Swallowtail Squadron, Nightingale amongst them. And one or two Spitfires from another ‘drome. I saw Nightingale go off again, and wondered if it felt much different than to stay down here waiting to be bombed.
A quarter to twelve. The pit seemed easier now — less strained. It looked as though the raid had petered out, though obviously fighting was still going on. Twice we had rung Gun Ops., but they knew nothing more.
Then suddenly someone said, ‘Listen!’
Faintly came a low, solid-sounding hum. It was very far away. We looked up at the two squadrons overhead. They were still circling. Then the Tannoy went again. ‘Attention, please! Attention, please! Mass formation attack alarm! Mass formation attack alarm! All aircraft that can be got off the ground to take off immediately. All aircraft scramble!’
Uncontrollable, my heart was suddenly in my mouth. It was the first time we had had a mass formation attack alarm.
The sound grew steadily louder. There was no throb about it. Only a deep hum. The aerodrome was alive with revving engines and figures buzzing like flies round every dispersal point as the ‘planes were got into the air. And then, as suddenly, the place became dead. The ‘planes had gone, black dots in the sky, rapidly dwindling as they scattered, some unfuelled, some unarmed, some almost unserviceable, and one or two Miles Magister trainers. Not a soul was to be seen over the whole landing field, and not a ‘plane, save those few incapable of taking the air. Only the heat blazed on the tarmac, making the air dance above it.
There they are. Look!’
I turned and, shading my eyes, gazed up in the direction Bombardier Hood was pointing. He began counting. And then gave it up. ‘God! There are more up above. See them?’ For the moment I could see nothing. There was not a cloud in the sky now — even the little wisps had been burnt out of it. I strained my eyes until I was seeing a myriad tiny specks of light in the heat. I closed them and shook my head. All the time the noise of engines was getting louder. It was coming up from the southeast. Langdon was gazing intently up through his glasses. I could see our fighters. I watched them as they ceased circling and streaked off into the sun. Then suddenly I saw the approaching formation. It was quite clearly visible as our fighters raced to meet it. It seemed unbelieveable that I had not been able to see it before.
The Jerries were massed in solid formation at about twenty thousand feet — dark dots against the blue sky. And above them more, just specks of tin that caught the sun. The gun barrel moved slowly up as the layers followed the approach of the formation. Langdon still watched it through his glasses. At length he lowered them. ‘I think it’s us,’ he said very calmly. ‘Fuse twenty-five. Load!’
Bombardier Hood set the fuse of the shell he had ready beside him on the parapet and handed it to Fuller, who rushed it to the gun, Micky rammed it home with his gloved hand and the breech-block rose with a clang. The layers reported On.
Langdon waited. I felt chill, though the glare of the sun was terrific. The heavy drone grew louder every second. Even without glasses I could make out the shape of them.
‘Junkers 88,’ pronounced Langdon.
‘Must be about fifty of ‘em,’ said Hood
‘Them’s fighters up above, ain’t they?’ freked Micky.
Langdon nodded. ‘Swarms of them.’
It was impossible to see the shape of the fighters with the naked eye. But I could see that they were spread out in a great fan formation above and behind the bombers.
Suddenly, out of the glare of the sun, came more ‘planes in a wide sweep. ‘There go our fighters,’ cried someone. We all watched, breathless. Twenty-one against more than two hundred. It seemed so hopeless — such futile heroism. My fists were clenched and my eyes were tired as I strained upwards. I wanted to look away. But the sight of those few ‘planes — British ‘planes — sweeping in to the attack of that huge formation fascinated me. I felt a surge of pride at being of the same race and fighting side by side for the same things as those reckless fools.
The bomber formation came on steadily, almost slowly. There was the inevitability of a steam-roller about it. I thought of the Armada and Drake’s frigates. But in this case the enemy had a superabundance of frigates themselves. Down they came upon those two defending squadrons in steep, fierce dives. The squadrons broke before they had reached the bombers. But I saw one or two get through to that steady attacking formation. The solid hum of aircraft rose to a furious snarl as we began to get the noise of those steep dives with engines flat out. And then above the noise of revved engines came the sound of machine-gun fire. It was a noise that set one’s teeth on edge. It was like tearing calico.