"There's no point trying to make it back to HQ through this lot," he muttered. "Let's just get down there and see what we can do."
As the two men made their way down the street a woman ran round the corner ahead of them, screaming as she came.
"My baby! My baby!"
Joe ran to her. "What's wrong?"
"My baby was asleep so I didn't go to the shelter. My house is gone! Where's my baby?"
She turned and ran back around the corner. Joe followed close behind. A whole row of houses had been flattened by a stick of bombs, leaving little recognisable behind. The woman ran to the rubble and began to dig with her bare hands.
"She's here somewhere! I know she is!"
Joe pulled her gently away.
"Wait in the street, love. Bob and I will see what we can do."
Over to his right a ruptured pipe spurted flaming gas into the air. Somewhere behind a weakened wall toppled, and fell with a crashing of bricks as the two men carefully began to remove the rubble. It was not long before their bodies were soaked with sweat, their hands bruised and bleeding. After almost half an hour they found the family’s pet dog, a mongrel whose skull had been crushed by falling masonry. Joe looked at Bob, but said nothing. They both knew that the chances of a child remaining alive in this were remote. They dug on, slowly clearing an area of the more moveable debris. Then Joe stopped, his head to one side as though listening to something.
"What is it?"
Joe held up his hand, and Bob fell silent. Then Joe began to dig frantically, a little to the right of where they had been before.
"I'm sure I heard a baby cry," he whispered as he removed part of a roof timber. Sure enough there was the edge of a white lace shawl, covered in red brick-dust. They were close to the child. Joe began to move more carefully now. A door had fallen against a partially demolished wall, leaving a small triangular space at its base. Joe reached carefully inside. To his immense relief his hand made contact with a warm, moving bundle. Gently he eased the child from its sanctuary and handed it up to Bob.
"She must be the luckiest baby alive. There isn't even a scratch on her. That door saved her life."
Bob made his way carefully across the rubble. He handed the baby to her sobbing mother.
"There you are, love. Now you get yourself and your little girl to a shelter. Fast."
She smiled up at him through her tears.
"Thank you."
Bob turned and called to Joe. "Come on. Let's see what else we can do to help."
The hours passed quickly. Sometimes the two men helped to dig in the rubble for survivors, though they lifted out more than one for whom the raid had spelt death. At other times they helped fight the fires which raged throughout the city, a task made increasingly difficult now that the water supply was totally unreliable. Clouds of choking black smoke hung in the air obliterating the stars, and also the waves of the enemy, but the drone of their engines could still be heard, along with the explosions of their bombs. Joe lost all sense of direction and had no idea where he was. The scale of destruction was so awesome that he was lost in the city which had been home to him all his life. Midnight came and went with no slackening of the raid. Dirty and exhausted, Joe thrust his face into a bucket of water for a moment, then shook it to send drops of water flying in all directions. Feeling only a little revived by the icy water, he surveyed the carnage surrounding him, and prayed that Sarah and her mother were safe.
34
There was a shocked silence in the Anderson shelter as the first bombs fell. Then Alice spoke.
"Well, it looks like this is going to be the real one we've all been waiting for."
"How far away are the bombs, Mummy?"
Mary smiled reassuringly at Tommy.
"Don't worry, love. We're quite safe here."
"Can Daddy hear the bombs?"
Mary shook her head.
"I shouldn't think so, he's in the army now. Remember?"
Tommy nodded.
"He's a long way from home, so a few bombs here won't worry him."
There was the sound of more explosions, seeming to be closer, and Sarah felt a tingling in her feet, as though the very earth was trying to tell her of its pain.
“How long will this go on for?"
Alice looked at Mrs. Cook and shrugged. There was no answer.
For a time they listened to the droning aircraft and the crash of bombs, at a loss for words. Then they heard the screaming sound of a bomb tearing through the air close by. It landed not far away with a terrific explosion. This time Sarah did feel the earth shudder. Moments later, debris rained down on the shelter, the thumps and bangs waking little Lucy who began to cry fearfully. Mary lifted her down from the top bunk and held her close.
"There, there, darling. There's nothing to be afraid of."
The strange noises, and obviously nervous adults, filled the child with fear, and she continued to cry, despite her mother’s best attempts to quieten her. For a time the child's sobbing was the only accompaniment to the awful cacophony from outside. Then a small, frightened whisper came from the top bunk.
"I'm scared, Mummy."
Mary's hands were full with little Lucy. She looked pleadingly at Sarah, who nodded reassuringly. She got up from the lower bunk and climbed up next to the little boy, having to lie down so she did not hit her head on the curved roof.
"It's all right, Tommy. We're quite safe here."
The six year old looked at her with frightened eyes.
"Really?"
"Really. Would you like me to tell you a story?"
The small boy nodded and snuggled close to Sarah as she began to tell him the tale of Goldilocks and the Three Bears.
35
The whole city seemed to be ablaze. Streets were blocked by rubble, hampering the fire engines and ambulances in their work. Even if the vehicles were able to get through, there were far too few to make the slightest impact on the devastation. Joe and Bob attached themselves to a fire-fighting team and their whole world shrank to the size of the small road where they were working. It was a world of heat and flames, roiling black smoke, screams and cries, the shouts of men trying to bring order to the chaos. All the time the planes droned overhead. The barrels of the anti-aircraft guns followed them through the sky until, locked in the cross beams of the searchlights, they fired at the monsters which were spewing so much death and destruction on what had so recently been a calm, ordered world.
Joe was exhausted after a day of working in the aircraft factory and half a night lost in the confusion of the air raid. Working under the orders of the senior fireman on the scene, he moved from one task to another like an automaton. The carnage no longer broke through the barrier his mind had erected to carry him through the night. The sight of a doll, its head crushed by a falling brick, touched him with a tinge of sadness, but as he helped yet another injured person from the ruins of her home and bandaged her wounds, the pain and blood moved him not at all. Joe wondered at this total detachment. He could only see it as a mental escape valve to enable him to preserve his diminishing energy.
The dark night was moving slowly and inexorably towards dawn when the 'Raiders Past' signal finally sounded at nineteen minutes past six, almost twelve hours since the first bomb dropped on the unsuspecting city. For a moment the rescue workers paused and raised their weary eyes in relief. The sky was now empty of planes, but they did not halt for long. The raid might be over, but the task of clearing the devastation would take days, probably weeks, of continued backbreaking effort.
Joe and Bob were directed into a house with part of the roof and wall missing. Their instructions were to search for survivors. Initially there seemed to be little damage. Dust hung in the air like a midsummer haze, but it did little to impede their view. The front room was undisturbed. The embers of a fire glowed in the hearth, a mug of cold tea stood on the table. As the two men moved out into the hall they heard a sound, perhaps a groan, coming from the direction of the partially d
emolished staircase.
"Is there anybody there?
Joe listened to the silence for a moment, then the groan came again. Within seconds Bob and Joe were at the staircase, carefully removing the shattered remnants of the banisters. They had soon uncovered part of a torso, a man, and Joe began clearing towards the head. The injured man was old and frail. A blow to the head had rendered him unconscious, but Joe did not think he was seriously hurt. A sudden intake of breath from where Bob was uncovering the man's legs caused Joe to turn and look.
"What is it? Are his legs badly hurt?"
Bob shook his head. "No. They're just trapped under the thing that made such a bloody great hole in his roof, and demolished this staircase."
Joe felt his throat go dry and his hands clammy. He licked his lips.
"You don't mean...?"
"Yes." Bob nodded. "A damned great German bomb. I doubt it was brought all the way over here just to make a hole in a roof, so I guess that it's liable to explode at any moment."
"Then we've got to get this old fellow out."
Bob sucked in his lower lip thoughtfully, then nodded.
"I think we can do it. The bomb's resting on a pile of timbers and tiles and is trapping the leg against the wall. If I prop it up with a few more timbers, we should be able to ease him out."
Joe nodded. "The poor old fellow must have been sheltering under the stairs."
"That bomb certainly seems to have had his name on it." Bob gently eased the timbers aside, his forehead beaded with sweat, his brow furrowed with concentration. Joe watched, unable to offer more help than to hold the man’s shoulders and keep him still. The seconds ticked by, each one seeming an hour, each minute a day. At last Bob looked up.
"I think we can get him out now."
Joe released his breath. He had not realised he was holding it. Gradually he dragged the old man clear. One of his legs was lying at an awkward angle, obviously broken, and Joe was relieved that the unconscious man could feel no pain.
"Come on then, Bob. Let's get out of here."
"That could be a bit of a problem."
Joe looked across at his companion, who spoke fearfully through gritted teeth.
"The timbers have slipped. The bomb is only supported by me now. I'm afraid that if I move it will go off." He licked his dry lips. "Get the old fellow out of here. Then send someone in to prop up this bomb."
Joe hoisted the man over his shoulder. "I'll be back before you can say Jack Robinson."
"You don't have to come back, Joe."
"I do. You're my mate. Now just hang on a minute."
Joe began to make his way along the hall. His burden was light, for the old man was frail, and it only took him a few seconds to reach the front door. The blast took him there, throwing him and the old man through the door with the force of the explosion, leaving them lying there on the pavement like two discarded rag dolls.
36
Tony lay on his stomach, his back brushing the lowest branches of the hedge. It was a cold, cloudless night; the stars shone brightly and he knew there would be a frost before morning. His face and hands were blackened with streaks of river mud, so that his pale skin would not give him away. Ahead of him was a stretch of open ground leading to a barbed wire fence. At each end of the fence, which stretched for about half a mile, was a tower with a sentry. At frequent intervals, a foot soldier walked slowly along the inside of the fence, rifle slung across his shoulder. As Tony watched, the shadowy figure of the guard passed in front of him. He looked at his watch. Twenty-eight minutes. The same as last time. He licked his dry lips and reviewed the events which had brought him to this damp hedge bottom.
Jim had called Tony and Adam Banks into a small room two days before to explain their final passing-out test.
"You have three days to break into the army camp five miles down the road, where you will find and steal a machine gun. The idea is that you're in France, trying to get the weapon for your local resistance group." He smiled as he took in the two impassive faces across the desk. "We obviously don't want to make it too easy for you, so the local police and the army camp have been given your description. Imagine that they are the local Gestapo and do your best not to get noticed. The soldiers will be armed with live ammunition; after all we are at war. The camp CO has been warned that you'll be trying to break in sometime in the next three weeks. He’s issued instructions that all intruders are to be taken alive if possible. So take care. If you're spotted, give yourselves up immediately, or you risk being shot."
The two men opposite frowned and Jim nodded.
"I'm glad to see that you are taking this seriously. It's as close to the real thing as we can get without actually sending you to France. All that remains for me to do is to wish you good luck in your mission."
Tony glanced across at Adam, who lay beneath the adjacent bush. They had thought and planned hard and, after observing the camp for two days, had decided that the best way in would be under the wire at night. The sound of the sentry's footsteps diminished. Tony signalled to Adam, who ran forwards, crouched low to the ground, then threw himself flat against the earth, his hand tightly clutching a pair of wire cutters, painted black so that they would not reflect any light. He began to cut the lowest wires in the fence; each snap seemed like rifle fire to his ears, but the sentries in the watchtowers did not appear to hear. Within moments there was a gap large enough for a man to slither through on his stomach. He beckoned to Tony. From his concealed position, Tony glanced at both watchtowers. The sentries were not looking his way, so he ran at a crouch across the open space, and wormed his way through the gap in the fence which Adam held open for him. Once through, Tony turned and held the wires for his companion. Within moments they were both inside the fence and running towards the shadowy buildings ahead of them.
They had entered the camp in the south-west corner, and knew that the ammunition store, the third building on their left, was their best chance of getting a machine gun and getting out again unseen. Tony looked at his watch. Seven minutes had elapsed from the time the guard had appeared. That left them eighteen minutes to get out again before the sentry checked the fence and found the hole. Adam was now working on the padlock of the ammunition store. Two minutes later they were inside. It was a dark, windowless shed so Tony was able to switch on a pencil torch and swing it around amongst the cases of munitions. Adam touched him on the shoulder and pointed to their left.
"Machine gun."
His voice was a whisper. Tony turned to look as Adam picked up the gun.
"Let's go."
Tony shook his head. "Hang on. What use is a gun without ammunition?" He lifted a box of ammunition for the gun. It was heavy but he did not think it would slow him down on the way out. He looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes.
"Let's go, then.” he said as he moved towards the door. On the way he passed a box of grenades and, on impulse, forced it open and put three grenades into each coat pocket. Then they were outside again, pressed against the side of the building. Their dark clothes and blackened skin made them all but invisible. Everything was quiet, the only sound and movement coming from the northeast, where the Mess was situated. The two men looked at each other and nodded, then raced towards the fence. It was not so easy to get through, encumbered as they were with their booty. But they managed it and were soon back under the welcome cover of the trees, a hundred yards from the fence.
Tony looked at his watch once again. Twenty-one minutes. They had five minutes or so before the sentry discovered their entry point. The two men ran for half a mile to the bushes where they had hidden their motorbike and sidecar, borrowed from a local garage. Adam loaded their booty into the sidecar and climbed in with it as Tony gunned the engine into life and roared off down the road. Behind them the wailing of a siren rent the air as the break-in at the camp was discovered. But they were well away now. As the two men roared off down the little country lane towards the training centre they were both laughing.
Jim
was in the middle of some paperwork when Tony and Adam knocked at his door.
"Come in." He closed the folder and screwed the top on his pen as he spoke. The door opened to admit the two very dishevelled, but smiling, young men. He took in their blackened faces and the bulky objects wrapped in sacking and smiled.
"I take it that you two have accomplished your mission?"
Adam nodded. “Yes, sir."
"Did you get the gun?"
Tony grinned boyishly as Adam unwrapped the gun and laid it on the table.
"We thought the gun would be useless on its own, so we brought a few extras." Tony unwrapped the sacking around the case of ammunition and placed it on Jim's desk. Then he took the grenades from his pockets, and placed them on top.
Jim laughed. "It seems that your mission was a success. You should both make good agents. Now go and get yourselves cleaned up, I'll see you down in the mess later."
"What about the gun?"
"Leave it with me, Tony. I shall have to return it to the army camp. The CO is no doubt reviewing his security at this very moment."
The two young men, their blackened faces clean, and dressed once more in dry clothes, were drinking a warming whisky in the mess some forty minutes later. Adam sipped his drink and gazed at his companion.
"You seem rather friendly with Lieutenant Briggs."
Tony nodded. "When you have been through what we've been through together, you're bound to build up a relationship."
Adam raised a quizzical eyebrow but said nothing. Tony took a sip of whisky while deciding what to say, then placed his glass with great care upon the bar.
"We were at Dunkirk together."
"Dunkirk!" Adams eyes widened in amazement. "I didn't think you were a regular!"
Tony shook his head. "I'm not. I was a civilian at the time."
"How come you were there, then?"
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