“Yes,” Tubby answered.
“All right.” The veins on Saeton’s forehead seemed to swell. “But remember this; join Harcourt’s outfit and you’re through with this company. Understand?”
“I understand,” Tubby said in a level tone.
“You bloody fool!” Saeton said, and went out, slamming the door.
I was pretty tired and my head ached. I followed him out and was asleep almost before my head touched the pillow.
I awoke in a mood of despair. My job was gone and I was broke. The future was bleak. I longed to be back at the bench, driven beyond physical endurance to complete something that I believed in.
It was a chill, grey morning, frost riming the windows and the wind moaning round the building. Tubby produced tea and bacon and eggs in a mood of contrition for deserting us. Breakfast did nothing to lift us out of our gloom. We ate in silence and went out to the hangar. I suppose in the five weeks I had been there I had gradually come to identify my future with the plane. Seeing it lying there in the drab light, its metal all broken and twisted, the tail completely severed and lying like a piece of discarded junk gave me a sense of sudden loneliness. This was the end of our work together. We were no longer a team, but three individuals going our own separate ways. It was this, I think, that made me feel so wretched. I’d felt safe here and complete. I’d been doing something I’d come to believe in and there had been a goal to work for. Now there was nothing.
We cleared the torn metal away from the fuselage, working to reach the undercarriage and find out what had gone wrong. It was a useless investigation. Whatever we discovered, it wouldn’t help us. We worked slowly, almost unwillingly, and in silence. Shortly before eleven the phone rang. It was Harcourt asking for Tubby. Saeton and I stood and listened. “Yes … Yes, I’ll be there. Diana is already in Germany … Well, maybe she’ll fix it to get to the Gatow canteen … Fine. I’ll meet you there.” Tubby’s eyes gleamed excitedly and he was whistling happily to himself as he replaced the receiver.
“Well, when do you leave?” Saeton barked in the hard, impersonal tone he used when he wished to hide his own feelings.
“He wants me down at Northolt at ten o’clock to-morrow,” Tubby answered.
“Then you’d better get moving,” Saeton said abruptly.
“It’s all right. I’ll get a train this evening. I don’t want to leave without knowing what the trouble was.”
“Hell, man! What difference does it make?”
“I’d like to know all the same,” Tubby answered woodenly.
Saeton turned away with a shrug of his shoulders. “Well, let’s get on with the post-mortem.”
It was useless for him to pretend that he didn’t care what had caused the break. He did care. He was looking for something to fight. He was that sort. But when we got to the connecting rod it showed a clean break and unmistakable signs of faulty casting.
“So it wasn’t Else after all,” I said.
“No.” He threw the broken rod on to the concrete and turned away. “Better see if you can fix Fraser up with a job on the airlift,” he said to Tubby over his shoulder, and he slammed out of the hangar.
Tubby left that afternoon and with his departure a tense, brooding gloom settled on the quarters. Saeton was impossible. It wasn’t only that he wouldn’t talk. He prowled up and down, constantly, irritably on the move, lost in his own morose thoughts. He was racking his brains for a means of getting on the airlift with the engines by 25th January. Once he turned to me, his eyes wild, his face looking grey and slightly crazy with the nose covered with adhesive plaster. “I’m desperate,” he said. “I’d do anything to get hold of a plane. Anything, do you hear?”
At that moment I was prepared to believe he’d commit murder if he were sure of getting another aircraft as a result of it. The man was desperate. It showed in his eyes, in the way he talked. He hadn’t given up hope. I think that was what made the atmosphere so frightening. He wasn’t quite sane. A sane man would see that the thing was impossible. But he wouldn’t. He was still thinking in terms of getting those engines into the air. It was incredible—incredible and frightening. No man should be driven by such violent singleness of purpose. “You’re crazy,” I said.
“Crazy?” He laughed and his laugh was pitched a shade too high. Then he suddenly smiled in an odd, secretive way. “Yes, perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I am crazy. All pioneers are crazy. But believe me, I’ll get into the air if I have to steal a plane.” He stopped then and stared at me fixedly in an odd sort of way. Then he smiled again. “Yes,” he said slowly, reflectively. “I’ll get on to the airlift somehow.” He went out then and I heard his feet dragging slowly down the frost-bound path until the sound lost itself in the noise of the wind blowing through the trees.
I went down to the manor to see Else. I wanted to tell her that we knew she had had nothing to do with the failure of the undercarriage, that it was in fact an accident. But she had already gone. She had taken the afternoon train to London because she had to be at Harwich early the following morning to catch the boat. I returned to the quarters feeling that my last link with the past few weeks had gone.
The next two days were hell. I just drifted, clinging desperately to Membury, to the hangar and the quarters. I just couldn’t nerve myself to face the outside world. I was afraid of it; afraid of the fact that I had no job and only a few pounds left in my account. The memory of Else haunted me. God knows why. I wasn’t in love with her. I told myself that a hundred times. But it made no difference. I needed a woman, someone to attach myself to. I was as rudderless as the wreck lying in the hangar.
To give me something to do Saeton had told me to get to work with the oxy-acetylene cutter and clean up the mess. It was like operating on the broken body of a friend. We lifted our two engines out of her and she looked like a toothless old hag waiting for the inevitable end. I could have wept for what might have been. A thousand times I remembered those supreme moments up in the air over Membury when we had climbed, superbly, majestically, on the power of the engines we’d made. I had felt then as though all the world lay within my grasp. And now I was cleaning up the wreck, cutting out the sections that had been torn to strips of tin by the concrete of the runway.
Saeton didn’t even pretend that we were working to repair the plane. And yet he wasn’t morose any more. There was a sort of jauntiness in the way he walked and every now and then I’d catch him watching me with a soft, secretive smile. His manner wasn’t natural and I found myself wishing that he’d begin cursing again, wishing he’d make up my mind for me by throwing me off the place.
Well, I had my wish in the end. He made up my mind for me. But it wasn’t at all the way I had expected. It was the third evening after Tubby’s departure. We were back in the quarters and the phone rang. Saeton leapt up eagerly and went into the office, the room that Tubby and Diana had had as a bedroom. I heard the murmur of his voice and then the sound of the bell as he replaced the receiver. There was a pause before his footsteps came slowly across the passage and the door of the mess room opened.
He didn’t close it immediately, but stood there, framed in the doorway, staring at me, his head sunk into his shoulders, his chin thrust slightly out, a queer glint of excitement in his eyes. “That was Tubby,” he said slowly. “He’s found you a job.”
“A job?” I felt a tingle of apprehension run along my nerves. “What sort of a job?”
“Flying for the Harcourt Charter Company.” He came in and shut the door. His movements were oddly slow and deliberate. He reminded me of a big cat. He sat himself down on the trestle table. His thick, powerful body seemed to tower above me. “You’re to pilot one of Harcourt’s new Tudors. I got on to Tubby two days ago about it and he’s fixed it.”
I began to stammer my thanks. My voice sounded odd and far away from me, as though it were somebody else speaking. I was in a panic. I didn’t want to leave Membury. I didn’t want to lose that illusion of security the place had given me.
“You’re to meet Harcourt at Northolt for lunch to-morrow,” Saeton went on. “One o’clock at the canteen. Tubby will be there to introduce you. It’s an incredible piece of luck.” The excitement had spread from his eyes to his voice now. “The pilot he had engaged has gone down with pneumonia.” He stopped arid stared at me, his face faintly flushed as though he had been drinking, his eyes sparkling like a kid that sees the thing he’s dreamed of come true at last. “How much do these engines we’ve built mean to you, Neil?” he asked suddenly.
I didn’t know quite what to say. But apparently he didn’t expect an answer, for he added quickly, “Listen. Those engines are okay. You’ve seen that for yourself. You’ve got to take my word for it about the saving in fuel consumption. It’s about 50 per cent. Tubby and I proved that in the bench tests on the first engine. Now, suppose we got into the air as planned on January 10——”
“But we can’t,” I cried. “You know very well——”
“The engines are all right, aren’t they? All we need is a new plane.” He was leaning down over me now, his eyes fixed on mine as though trying to mesmerise me. “We’ve still got a chance, Neil. Harcourt’s planes are Tudors. In a few days’ time you’ll be at Wunstorf and flying into Berlin. Suppose something went wrong with the engines over the Russian Zone?” He paused, watching for my reaction. But I didn’t say anything. I suddenly felt ice-cold inside. “All you’ve got to do is order your crew to bale out,” he went on, speaking slowly as though talking to a child. “It’s as easy as that. A little play-acting, a little organised panic and you’ll be alone in the cockpit of a Tudor. All you’ve got to do then is to make straight for Membury.”
I stared at him foolishly. “You are crazy,” I heard myself say. “You’d never get away with it. There’d be an inquiry. The plane would be recognised when they saw it again. Harcourt’s not a fool. Besides——”
He stopped me with a wave of his hand. “You’re wrong. To begin with an inquiry would show nothing. The crew would say the plane had made a forced landing in the Russian Zone. The Russians would deny it. Nobody would believe them. As for the plane being recognised, why should it? Nobody knows we’ve crashed our machine here. At least they don’t know how badly. All that happens is that a plane disappears on the Berlin Airlift and on January 10 another flies in to take its place. Harcourt’s all right—he gets his insurance. The country’s all right, for the number of Tudors remains the same. God, man—it sticks out a mile. You’ll make a fortune. We’ll both of us make a fortune.”
“You’d never get away with it,” I repeated obstinately.
“Of course I’ll get away with it. Why should they ever suspect anything? And if they did, what then? Look. Part numbers and engine numbers can be altered to those of our wrecked Tudor. Our own two engines will be in her. As for our own plane, we’ll cut it up into small bits. You’ve already started on that work. In a few days we could have the whole plane in fragments. A load of those fragments can be strewn over Russian territory. The rest we’ll dump in that pond over on the far side of the airfield. God! It’s too easy. All I need is for you to fly Harcourt’s plane back here.”
“Well, I won’t do it,” I said angrily.
“Do you want the Germans to be the first to produce these engines?” His hand came out and gripped my shoulder. “Just think before you refuse. Damn it, haven’t you a spark of adventure in you? A slight risk and this country can have the biggest fleet of freighters in the world—a global monopoly.” His eyes were blazing and I suddenly felt scared. The man was a fanatic.
“I won’t do it,” I repeated stubbornly.
“When you’ve flown the plane in here all we have to do is drop you just inside the British Zone,” he went on. “You report back to Wunstorf with the story that you made a forced landing in the Russian Zone and got back under your own steam across the frontier. It’s child’s play.”
“I won’t do it.”
He gave an ugly laugh. “Scared, eh?”
I hesitated, trying to sort out in my mind whether it was because I was scared or whether my refusal was on moral grounds. I couldn’t sort it out. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be mixed up in anything like this. I wanted to forget that sense of being hunted. I didn’t want ever again to have anything on my conscience, to have to run and hide—I didn’t want to be afraid of the world any more.
He suddenly let go my arm. “All right,” he said, and I didn’t like the softness in his voice and the way he smiled down at me. “All right, if that’s the way you feel.” He paused, watching me with an odd expression in his eyes. “Do you remember the other evening I said I’d do anything to get hold of a plane?”
I nodded.
“Well, I meant that. I meant every word of it. I said I was desperate. I am desperate. If one man’s life stood between me and getting into the air, I’d kill that man. I’d brush him out of my way without a thought. Bigger things than a single life are involved. It’s not just my own future I’m thinking of. Don’t think that. I happen to believe in my country. And I believe that these engines are the greatest contribution I can make to my country. There’s nothing I won’t do to see these engines are operated by a British concern. Nothing. Nothing.” His voice had risen and there was a wild look in his eyes. “Forget about yourself. Forget about me. Won’t you do this for your country?”
“No,” I said.
“God, man! You fought for your country in war. You risked your life. Have some imagination. Can’t you fight for her in peacetime? I’m not asking you to risk your life. All I’m asking you to do is to fly that plane back here. What’s the trouble? You’re not damaging Harcourt. Or is it the risk you’re afraid of? I tell you, there isn’t any risk. Do it the way I’ve planned it and you’re as safe as houses. You’ve nothing to be afraid of.”
“I’m not afraid,” I answered hotly.
“What’s the trouble then?”
“I just don’t like it and I won’t do it.”
He sighed and eased himself off the edge of the table. “All right. If that’s the way you want it——” He stood for a moment, looking down at me. The room was suddenly very silent. I felt my nerves tightening so that I wanted to shout at him, to do anything to relieve the tension. At length he said, “If you don’t do what I want you to I’ll turn you over to the police.” He spoke quite flatly and my inside seemed to curl up into a tight ball. “You were in a prison camp, weren’t you? You know what it’s like then. Three years in prison is quite a slice out of a man’s life. Do you think you could stand it? You’d go mad, wouldn’t you? You were on the edge of hysteria when you came here. You’re all right now, but in prison——”
“You bastard!” I screamed at him, suddenly finding my voice. I called him a lot of other names. I had got to my feet and I was trembling all over, the sweat breaking out in prickling patches across my scalp and trickling down my forehead. I was cold with fear and anger. And he just stood there, watching me, his shoulders hunched a little forward as though expecting me to charge him, a quiet, confident smile on his lips.
“Well?” he said as I paused for breath. “Which is it to be?”
“You’re crazy,” I cried. “And you’re trying to drive me crazy, too. I won’t do it. Suppose one of the crew were killed? Suppose they did discover what had happened? And if I did it—then I’d have something on you. You wouldn’t stand for that. Somehow you’d get rid of me. You’re not doing this for your country. You’re doing it for yourself. Your love of power is driving you—driving you over the edge of reason. You can’t get away with a thing like——”
“Which is it to be?” he cut in, his lips tightening and his voice suddenly cold and metallic. “Do you take this job with Harcourt or do I telephone the police? I’ll give you half an hour to make up your mind.” He hesitated and then said slowly, “Just remember what it’s like to be locked away in a cell, seeing the sun through iron bars, with no hope—and no future when you do get out. I’m offering you a f
lying job—and a future. Now sit down and make up your mind.” He turned abruptly then and went out.
With the closing of the door the room seemed suddenly empty and silent. The key grated in the lock. It was like the turning of the key in the solitary confinement cells—only there the door had been of metal and had clanged. Stalag Luft I, with its lines of huts, the barbed wire, the endless march of the guards, the searchlights at night, the deadly monotony, was there in my mind, as vivid as though I had only just escaped. Surely to God I’d had enough of life behind bars. Surely to God. …
V
I WON’T ATTEMPT to defend my decision. Saeton had asked me to steal a plane and I agreed to do it. I must take full responsibility, therefore, for all that happened afterwards as a result of that decision.
We went down to Ramsbury and in the smoky warmth of the pub that faces the old oak, he went over the plan in detail. I know it sounds incredible—to steal a plane off such a highly organised operation as the Berlin Airlift and then, after replacing two of the engines, to fly it back to Germany and operate it from the same airfield from which it had been stolen. But he had it all worked out. And when he had gone over all the details, it didn’t seem incredible any more.
The devil of it was the man’s enthusiasm was infectious. I can see him now, talking softly in the hubbub of the bar, his eyes glittering with excitement, smoking cigarette after cigarette, his voice vibrant as he reached out into my mind to give me the sense of adventure that he felt himself. The essence of his personality was that he could make others believe what he believed. In any project, he gave himself to it so completely that it was impossible not to follow him. He was a born leader. From being an unwilling participant, I became a willing one. Out of apparent failure he conjured the hope of success, and he gave me something positive to work for. I think it was the daring of the plan that attracted me more than anything else. And, of course, I was up to the hilt in the thing financially. I may have thought it was money better thrown away considering how I’d got it, but no one likes to be broke when he is shown a way to make a fortune. The only thing he didn’t allow for was the human factor.
Air Bridge Page 13
