Free Attack Alarm by Hammond Innes Page B

been thinking over the fact that someone had attempted to get details of the ground defences of the aerodrome to the enemy. I sensed hostility. Jaded nerves did not make for clear thinking, and a newcomer is never easily absorbed into a community of men who have been working together for a long time. I felt the loneliness of my position acutely. If I was not careful I should be in difficulties with my own detachment as well as with the authorities.
    “Ever met the fellow before?” It was Chetwood who asked the question.
    Perhaps I read suspicion where none was intended. But as soon as I said, “Which fellow?” I knew I had attempted to be too off-hand.
    “The Jerry pilot, of course.”
    “No,” I said.
    “Why did he talk so freely?” asked Chetwood. And Fuller said, “Are you sure he told you nothing else?” I hesitated. I felt at bay. Kan, with his easy manner, would have turned the questions with a wisecrack. But I was more accustomed to writing than to conversation—it tends to make you slow in repartee. Micky followed up the other questions by asking, “Sure you told him nothink else?”
    I felt bewildered. And then quite suddenly the conversation was turned from me by Kan saying,“Funny that Westley should have asked for special leave on Friday.”
    “What for?” asked Micky.
    “Oh, it’s his uncle’s funeral or something.”
    “His uncle’s funeral!” Micky snorted. “Just because his father’s an orderman in the City he gets given leave. If me muvver ’ad died they wouldn’t give me leave. I tell you, that sort of thing wouldn’t happen in the real army.”
    “Well, has he been granted leave?” asked Chetwood.
    “Yes, he’s got twelve hours.”
    “That should keep him out of danger on the fateful day. It does seem a bit clever, doesn’t it.”
    “I bet it was him that gave that information to the enemy.”
    “You shouldn’t make statements like that unless you know them to be true, Micky,” Langdon cut in. His voice was patient but quite final.
    “Well, you must admit it’s a bit of a coincidence,” said Chetwood.
    “Coincidences do happen,” said Langdon. “If you want to discuss the matter, do it in front of him so that he can answer your charges.”
    “Oh, I wasn’t making no charge,” muttered Micky. And then added defiantly, “A bloke’s got a right to ’is suspicions, though, ain’t ’e?”
    I wondered where Vayle would be on Friday. And whilst my mind was occupied with this the conversation drifted to the arrival of the new squadron. They had come in that afternoon. They replaced 62A squadron, who had gone for a rest. Every one had been sorry to see 62A go. They had put up a grand show. They had been a month at Thorby—and a month at a front-line fighter station at that time was a long while. In that month they had shot down more than seventy enemy ’planes. But they had had a badtime, and if any one deserved a rest, they did. The relieving squadron was 85B. Like its predecessor, it was equipped with Hurricanes. But we knew nothing about them. Langdon, however, who had been in the sergeant’s mess that evening, said that they had had a good deal of experience in France and had been taking a well-earned rest up in Scotland. “The squadron-leader is apparently one of our crack fighter pilots,” said Langdon. “D.S.O. and bar and nineteen ’planes to his credit. Crazy devil and always sings when he goes into a fight. Funny thing, his name is Nightingale.”
    It was an unusual name and took me straight back to my schooldays. “Do you know his Christian name?” I asked.
    “No. Why? Do you know him?”
    “I don’t know. We had a John Nightingale at school. He was crazy enough. His most spectacular feat was to put two—pieces of crockery, I think they were called—on top of the Naafi marquee at Tidworth Pennings on his last camp. I just wondered whether it was the same fellow. It’s rather an uncommon name, and he took one of those short-term commissions