`Well, sir, it might have been one of the practice droppings we've carted out so often here. It was quite dark, no flak, nothing to see, no excitement. In fact it's difficult to believe that we've had anything to do with opening up the Second Front.'
To Gregory that was the best possible news. It meant that his friends in the Deception Section had achieved an almost unbelievable triumph. The enemy could have known neither the date nor place of the expected assault. General Montgomery had been given the dream of all Commanders when opening a great battle: complete tactical surprise. Our losses during the landings a few hours hence would now be only a tithe of what they would have been against an alerted opposition.
As other pilots came in this splendid news was confirmed. Only the later comers had seen anything. Not till after they had dropped their parachutists had some enemy batteries opened up with light flak. Then `Holly', safely returned, said that he had seen the synchronized attack by heavy bombers on the fortified battery-,a last attempt to destroy it by pinpoint bombing. All who had seen the terrific explosions by which the redoubt had been lit up agreed that very few of its German garrison of one hundred and eight could still be alive or in any state to lay a gun.
But then, to discount this excellent beginning, a little group of face-blackened paratroopers came in. Their team had included their Brigade Major and it was he who was to lead the way down. He was a big man and had got stuck in the hatch; they could not push him through or pull him out. The pilot had taken the aircraft out to sea and ran it up and down the coast for half an hour, but the Major's men could not get him either in or out. At length he had lost consciousness, so it had been decided that the only thing to do was to return to England. Only after the aircraft had landed had they succeeded in getting him free. The pilot pleaded desperately to be allowed to make a second run so that at least the others might join in the battle, but Surplice would not let him. The air over the whole Channel was now alive with aircraft on exactly timed and carefully planned routes; so for a lone 'plane to attempt to pass through them would have been much too dangerous.
Worse was to come. A pale-faced young pilot entered the room and came up to his Station Commander. `I'm sorry, sir,' he reported. `I don't know what to say, but my string broke. We lost our glider about three miles from the French coast.'
Surplice laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. `I'm sure it wasn't your fault. Tell me what happened.'
`Well, sir, it was those bloody Met. men who let us down. Our orders were to drop the gliders off at sixteen hundred feet. But there was cloud down to eight hundred and no moon coming through.’ It was as black as pitch. I went down as low as I dared to try to get in the clear but in the darkness the glider must have lost my tail light and have become unmanageable… With him trailing wild, the strain snapped the tow-rope. There was nothing we could do about it.'
It was estimated that the glider might have had enough height to make the beach or, at least, shallow water. But it was certain that the load of stores it carried would never reach the leading paratroops for their urgent operations.
A few minutes later a second tug pilot came in. The same sad story. Low cloud several miles before he had reached the French coast, the following glider suddenly losing control and its tow-rope snapping. The third and fourth pilots arrived, white-faced and shaken. They, too, had lost their gliders out over the sea.
The Briefing Room was now crowded with returned air crews drinking tea and munching hot scones while waiting to make their detailed reports to the Intelligence Officers… But they spoke in low voices. Whispered word of the bad news had gone round and the atmosphere was one of gloom.
It was now about a quarter to three in the morning, and the next two hours were grim. Gregory, having no duties to perform, had accepted the many drinks pressed upon him during the long evening. It had turned cold and misty and he felt stale from the amount of liquor he had consumed. He would have given a lot to go back to the mess and brace himself up a little with a brandy and soda; but he did not like to suggest it.
With Surplice, Squadron Leader Pound, the little Welsh doctor and a few others, he stood miserably about waiting fearfully for news. If all four of the first flight, of gliders had gone into the `drink' what chance had General Gale and his string of twenty-five and all the other flights that had headed for the same area with the rest of the Airborne Division from other stations in the Group?
Dozens of those young daredevils who had been drinking so cheerfully in the mess only a few hours before were now almost certainly dead, and others, weighed down by their heavy equipment, must be swimming desperately for their lives in the cold waters of the Channel. Hundreds more might be crashing and drowning while Gregory and his companions stood miserably waiting for news.
If the General and a large part of the Airborne Division were lost their task would remain unaccomplished and the left flank of the. British Army would then be left open to attack. There were hours to go yet before the first seaborne troops were due to splash their way ashore, and the Germans must now have known for over three hours that the invasion had really started. If the airborne operation failed the enemy would counter-attack the open beaches in the morning and quite possibly hurl our troops back into the sea, rendering the whole vast plan for liberating Europe a complete failure. The strain of waiting for news was appalling, and for Gregory, so used to action, so unused to patient vigil, it was a positive agony.
At last, soon after half past four, they heard the drone of aircraft. The tugs of the second wave were returning. At a quarter to five the first air crew came in. The Briefing Room was now still with a breathless silence. Scores of anxious eyes searched the faces of the newcomers for a verdict. They looked about them in surprise at this tense reception. Then they reported. The cloud had lifted and they had cast off their gliders dead on the mark.
Crew after crew appeared with the same glad tidings. When Macnamara came in there was a rush towards him. He was smiling, laughing. He had put General Gale down at half past two exactly at the place where he had planned to land… Soon afterward it was known that not a single glider in the second wave had been lost.
Douglas Warth, an official war reporter, had gone over with the first wave of paratroops. Since his return he had been waiting only to learn what had happened to General Gale and the others. Three days ago, that now seemed like a week, he had come down in a jeep, and he offered to take Gregory back to London in it.
Gregory gladly accepted… As he was saying good-bye to Surplice and thanking him for his kindness, the Chief Intelligence Officer came up with a message from the Control Room; he said, `All aircraft safely landed, sir, and no casualties.'
Beaming with delight, Gregory congratulated the Station Commander and shook hands with several other new friends he had made during those never-to-be-forgotten days. He then collected his kit and accompanied Warth to the jeep. No longer tired but filled- with elation they drove through the summer dawn, with birds singing in the hedgerows, back to London.
By seven o'clock he was in the Cabinet Offices War Room and got the broader picture. Of the two hundred and eighty six aircraft despatched to land the Airborne Division only eight had failed to return and the glider losses had been far fewer than anticipated. A few hours later he learned that