‘Thanks for confessing that. I should confess that I already know.’
‘We’ll both need a priest at this rate.’
‘I’ve already got one, haven’t I?’ He gave that odd little laugh again. ‘What about those coordinates?’
‘Wait one,’ I told him, and handed the handset to the RAF Sergeant alongside me, telling him, ‘Give this officer the coordinates of that bloody castle. The RAF’s going to lose it for us.’
The Sergeant surprised me. He said, ‘Yes, sir,’ before he took it from me.
By mid-evening the bar was nearly empty. I asked McKechnie. He said, ‘Steak night. In peacetime this always used to be steak night in the officers’ mess. So they kept the tradition going for the R & R areas.’
‘You mean there’s steaks on the menu?’
‘Hell no, buddy. Just some grey and pink stuff the Scotties serve up. What are you drinking?’
‘Ethanol,’ I told him. ‘I could get used to this stuff.’
‘Don’t. Stick to beer. It will leave you a few brain cells.’
‘Bad as that?’
‘Worse. Where are you kipping tonight?’
‘Hadn’t given it a thought yet; and I don’t know where the guys I came in with have got to.’
‘Can you remember the number seven?’
‘Sure. That’s my birthday.’
‘That’s the number of the tent I’m billeted in. Sleeps fifty. There’s at least twenty empty cots right now. That’s where you go if nothing else has been arranged.’
I waited until James, Jamie, Albie and Les were half cut before telling them that I had laid on an air display for the following morning. The word spread like gonorrhoea in a monastery.
The LD Colonel sat alongside me on the boardwalk in front of the Quonset, and his ADC stood behind us. The Colonel had a pocket watch he kept consulting. The ADC sniffed a lot. He had a radio operator with a field set by him. It was an interesting piece of kit, but far too big and heavy to lug around for long. We paid a dollar each for our chairs, and the first E & T. As much coffee as we liked came for free. I needed the damned stuff to un-fur my tongue. I had slept in old tent number seven, but had little idea how I got there. The water I had washed in was cold, and had a petroleum rainbow floating in it.
The weather over the target couldn’t have been better for day bombing: it was clear, and a lazy grey. Ten miles north of us a bank of thin cloud hung like a sheet in the air: our aircraft would fly out of it. If the guys in the castle hadn’t got radar, or weren’t talking to someone who did, they wouldn’t know what was about to hit them. The castle was about three miles away in a low natural amphitheatre. I could see it above the line of trees I had skulked in the day before. McKechnie was about four chairs along from me: he had his boots and socks off and was passing the time trimming his toenails with an enormous fighting knife, and crooning. It was a Benny Goodman number: ‘Sing’. I could smell him from where I was sitting. Someone would have to speak with him about that. My dad was a few seats after that, making friendly conversation with the girl I had first seen him dancing with. Uncle Tommy sat the other side of her looking glum. That was good: at least he was back to normal. Right at the end of the second row to my right was a little guy with slicked back dark hair wearing faded RAF blues. I was sure that I had seen him somewhere before, but couldn’t be sure where because his back was to me all of the time.
I kept my fingers crossed because I was still thinking that Cliff might let me down. I think that that was why the LD Colonel and his retinue were seated around me: if the RAF didn’t show I’d probably be on jankers before lunch. I jumped when the Adj tapped me on my shoulder, but it was only to offer me a fill of pipe tobacco to settle me down.
‘Thanks, I will. I’ve always hated waiting for something to happen.’
‘Don’t see why, old boy. In my experience the RAF is late for just about everything it does.’
‘Thanks again. I’ll remind you about that when we’ve lost your castle for you.’
‘Do. I shall be properly contrite. The Colonel will offer you a medal, won’t you, sir?’
The pipe tobacco was heavy and sweet: I drew deeply on it, and filled my mouth with cool smoke.
The Colonel said, ‘Command wouldn’t wear it, but I’ll ask the French. They have the next sector, and they’ll put you up for anything. Very good at medals, the French.’
Les was hiding behind James England. I heard him grunt, ‘Fuck-all good for anything else.’
‘Hark,’ the Colonel’s Adj said, ‘. . . the herald angels sing . . . and lot’s more than two of them, Mr Bassett. Look out for the black crosses on their wings everyone, and get ready to duck.’
Nobody took him seriously because the first planes through the veil of cloud were six Spitfires, flying at no more than two hundred feet. They echeloned into line astern, and took turns at hosing the castle with cannon fire. Lights twinkled along their grey and green wings, and puffs of grey dust appeared about the old masonry. The radio operator had two pairs of bins: he handed me the smaller. They had been made by Zeiss.
The Spitfires hadn’t intended to do any damage with their cannons, it was just a wake-up call to the poor sods inside. A statement of intent. Overture and beginners, my old skipper would have called it. The Lancasters came through the veil a bit higher. Say two or three thousand feet. That’s still not very high. If you
