“A, of course, and I think it was followed by a 5, but it could have been a 6,” she said slowly. “I was looking out the window and it was at an angle, you see. I’m sorry.”
He smiled engagingly and tipped his hat to her. “That’s quite all right, ma’am. You’ve been very helpful. I wish you the best of luck.”
London
10am
Bill strode into his office and took off his coat. He’d just returned from a meeting in Whitehall and his mood was even more grim than it had been when he departed two hours before. After hanging up his coat and removing his hat, he turned to go to his desk. Picking up the telephone, he dialed the radio room.
“This is Buckley,” he said when it was picked up. “Anything yet?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Thank you.”
He hung up and the scowl on his face grew. It had been over eight hours since Evelyn’s last transmission. She should have contacted again by now. Where the devil was she? Daniel Carew had sent three messages over the course of the past four hours, keeping him updated with the progress of the Germans. Things were not looking good at all, and he would feel much better once he’d heard from Evelyn.
The door opened and Wesley came in carrying a tray with a teapot, cups and saucers.
“I saw you come back and thought you could probably use some tea,” he said, carrying the tray over to the desk. “How did it go?”
“It’s not good.” Bill dropped into his chair. “The Germans have taken control of all the airfields in Norway. Paratroopers secured them at the same time that the Luftwaffe was busy dropping bombs on all the major ports. Their Blitzkrieg is carving the Norwegians up, and it all looks like child’s play.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned his head back tiredly. “Narvik has fallen, as well as Bergen, Trondheim and Stavanger. Oslo is overrun. They marched in behind a bloody brass band, for God’s sake!”
Wesley glanced up from where he was pouring tea into the cups. “What of Kristiansand?”
“The same. The Germans are already past the landing points and moving inland.” Bill dropped his hand and exhaled heavily. “No word yet on the King. As far as we know, he’s still safe.”
“If the Germans manage to get him, rest assured, they’ll crow it loud enough for the world to hear,” Wesley said, handing him a cup of tea. “No news is good news, I’m sure.”
“I wish I could say the same with confidence about Jian,” Bill muttered, taking the cup and saucer.
“Still no word?”
“No. We should have heard something by now.”
“Do we know what she’s using for a radio?”
“It’s a private wireless. I have no idea whose it is, or who’s transmitting, but they know our call signs, frequency, and her code, so they must be with her.” He sipped the hot tea and sighed again. “One thing working in her favor is that no one knows she’s there, so no one will be looking for her. If she can avoid the advancing troops, she’ll be safe enough until we can get her out.”
“How will you do that, sir?” Wesley sat down with his tea. “If she can’t get to Sweden, how do you propose to extract her from Norway in the middle of all this?”
“Montclair is arranging it. The navy has ships on the way. One of them will land Royal Marines at Namsos. If she can get there at the same time, the captain has agreed to take her aboard and get her to Scapa Flow.”
“When are they expected to land?”
“On the 14th.”
Wesley shook his head. “That’s five days from now,” he said. “Will she last five days?”
“She’ll have to.” Bill set down his tea and rubbed his face. “Carew thinks that translator who helped her in Stockholm is with her. If she is, then I like Jian’s chances of making it out of there.”
“Could the translator be the one with the radio?”
“It’s possible.”
“It could be that they just haven’t been able to get through,” Wesley said after a moment. “It must be insane there right now. Perhaps they’re trying and just can’t get a signal out.”
“That’s what I’m pinning all my hope on,” Bill told him grimly. “The alternative is...well, you know what the alternative is.”
His assistant nodded soberly and sipped his tea. After a moment, he glanced up.
“What of the Norwegian forces?” he asked. “What will they do?”
“The King is still alive and urging resistance. They’ll regroup. Hitler caught them unprepared and surprised them, but they will rally quickly behind their king.”
“And if the King is captured?”
“Then God help them all.”
RAF Duxford
Miles watched as the ground rushed up to meet him and felt his wheels bounce once before the Spitfire settled onto the grass and began to coast along the landing strip. He reached up and slid the canopy back, taking a deep breath as fresh air rushed into the cockpit. Chris was coming around to land behind him and he steered the plane to the end of the strip, turning it to park it alongside Rob’s kite. Shutting the engine down, he stood up and turned to climb out of the cockpit onto the wing.
“Have a good flight, sir?” called Jones, one of the ground crew sergeants, running over to push chocks in front of the wheels.
“It was extremely uneventful, Jones,” he replied, jumping off the wing onto the ground.
“Don’t worry, sir. It’ll pick up now.”
Miles looked at him curiously, but before he could question the man, Rob called to him from across the grass.
“Ho, Miles!” he yelled. “Hurry!”
Miles raised his eyebrows and started towards the dispersal hut, glancing up as Chris came into land. Both his wheels were down, he noted wryly, watching as the Spitfire seemed to float down to settle on the ground. The Yank had had a rather dodgy run of bad luck a few months ago,
