_Pilots' Plans_
"There we are!" Group Captain Ball said and tossed the fourth or fifth
burnt match into the ash tray on Markham's desk. "Now, about those
photo patrols. Well, when we learned that Jerry had developed some new
secret weapon that could guard Europe's coastline from the tip of the
Netherlands to the south of France, we got to work to find out what it
could be. Naturally, the first step was to take pictures from the air.
Pictures, and more pictures, until we had found some kind of a clue.
Then we would concentrate upon that particular area, and try to learn
more.
"Well, under my direction, at least thirty picture patrols a day were
made to various points along the entire coastline. Light bombers and
reconnaisance planes took the pictures. And a fighter unit or two went
along as escort and protection. There were air scrambles, of course, on
every patrol. We suffered a slight loss in pilots and planes, but we
did get our pictures. Well, for the first few days those pictures told
us absolutely nothing that we didn't already know. Then it suddenly
became very apparent that there was something going on in Zone K Dash
Twenty-Four. That Zone, for your information, extends from Dunkirk to
Ostende, to Calais, to Boulogne, to Dieppe. In other words, the strip
of Occupied France shoreline closest to the British Isles. There the
photos told us that changes were being made every day. Pictures taken
on two successive days simply didn't match up with each other at all.
Gun implacements were different, ammo depots and the like were all
changed around, anti-aircraft battery posts, and signs of troops and
motorized unit movements were different. In other words, the whole
blasted length of shoreline, and inland for fifteen miles or more, was
a different kind of a jumble from day to day."
The Air Ministry official paused, frowned at his dead pipe, and pulled
out some more matches. Dave started to ask a question, hesitated a
second, and Freddy Farmer beat him to it.
"That sounds like the Jerries were on to you, sir," he said quietly. "I
mean, that they mussed up things on purpose so that you couldn't make
out head nor tail of what was going on in that Zone."
Group Captain Ball blew a cloud of thick smoke toward the ceiling,
smiled at Freddy, and nodded.
"Good lad, Farmer," he said. "That's exactly the way we figured
it. We decided definitely that they were playing a bit of a game
with us. Pulling our leg, you know. And then we got pictures on the
Twenty-Fifth. That was three days ago. They were the most mystifying
of the lot. Every blessed one of them showed definite signs that the
Zone had been completely evacuated. Yes, sir! Completely evacuated.
Even the pilots taking part in the picture patrol reported they saw no
signs of occupancy. True, they were at altitude, and the Jerry planes,
of course, were there to give them trouble. But what little opportunity
they did have to observe the terrain below resulted in nothing of
value. Eye witnesses and photographs assured us that the German forces
had just up and cleared out."
The Air Ministry office made a faint motion with his hand, and snorted
softly.
"Naturally we suspected some kind of a trick at once," he continued in
a moment. "We knew, perfectly well that Hitler wasn't going to up and
walk away from ground that had cost him so much in men and guns. No,
not that greedy one! No, it was obvious that they had simply dug places
where they could hide during the day, and did their work, whatever it
was, during the night. And so we made arrangements to top them on that
little game."
Group Captain Ball cut off the last short and stared fixedly at his
pipe. It had gone out again, but it was plain that he was not even
conscious of the fact. His thoughts were on something completely
removed from his hand carved stove. To Dave and Freddy the senior
officer's face seemed to suddenly age a dozen years or more. His
shoulders sagged slightly, and his lips were pressed tightly together
in a grimace of bitter self-reproach. Then presently he lifted his head
and got his shoulders back.
"I'd give my life if I could recall that order," he said in a husky
voice. "The order was for the light bomber-photo planes to go over
at night, as though on a bombing mission. When they were over their
objective they were to release the new powerful magnesium flares used
nowadays for night photography. They were to dive, catch those on the
ground by surprise, and take their pictures."
"The pictures still showed evidence of complete evacuation, sir?"
Freddy Farmer put the question when the Air Ministry official stopped
and didn't go on.
"There were no pictures," the man said harshly.
"No pictures, sir?" Dave echoed. Then as a wild guess, "Oh, you mean
the patrol was washed-out?"
Group Captain Ball turned his head and stared at him out of eyes filled
with sorrow.
"I mean that the patrol was _wiped out_!" he said in a heavy voice.
"Not a single plane or pilot returned to base. Ten Lockheed Hudsons and
not a one of them has been heard from since. They all just completely
disappeared!"
The senior officer stopped abruptly and a tingling silence settled over
the interior of the Squadron Office. Dave wanted to say something,
but he could not think of the right words. A lump of lead was rolling
around inside his stomach, and the palms of his hands had suddenly
become strangely hot and clammy. Ten Lockheed Hudsons roaring out
over the Channel, and on into complete and utter oblivion? It wasn't
a pleasant thought. It was the sort of thing that seemed to drain
the blood from a fellow's body, and dumped ice cubes on his brain,
no matter how many times he had personally battled with death. The
known you could always take. It was the unknown, the eerie, and the
mysterious that cut your heart up into small pieces, and clawed your
nerves to shreds.
"No report at all on what happened, sir?" Dave presently asked, though
he knew full well what the answer would be.
"No, none at all," Group Captain Ball replied without looking at him.
"The patrol took off, and never came back."
"I might add," Colonel Trevor spoke up quietly, "that Intelligence
H.Q. contacted every one of its agents in the Occupied Zones. That is,
all whom it was possible to contact. Not one of them could give us a
satisfactory explanation."
"I say!" Freddy Farmer suddenly gasped, and then instantly subsided
into silence.
Group Captain Ball swiveled around in his chair and shot the English
youth a keen look.
"You say, what?" he demanded. "You've just thought of something?"
Freddy started to shake his head, and then to Dave's surprise he shot
a guilty look at Squadron Leader Markham. Eighty-Four's O.C. took the
look with a puzzled frown.
"What now, Farmer?" he asked. "Your face has a bit of a telltale
expression, you know. Spoke out of turn, eh?"
"In a way, sir, I guess," Freddy said with an apologetic smile. "Never
thought I'd mention it, but.... Well, after all that's been said,
perhaps I'd better mention it."
"If it has a bearing on our present problem," Group Captain Ball said
sharply, "I'm giving you an order to mention it! And jolly well right
now!"
The English youth stared at him and nodded meekly.
"Of course, sir," he said. Then, "It was two nights ago ... Tuesday
night ... the photo patrol took off and never returned?"
"That's correct," the Air Ministry official said with a curt nod.
"Tuesday night."
"That Zone covers quite a bit of ground, sir," Freddy said next.
"Naturally, the patrol didn't expect to photo the entire area. Do
you happen to know what their main objective was? I mean, the exact
location?"
"Certainly I do!" the Group Captain snapped in an annoyed tone.
"The area between Boulogne and Lille. Day to day changes there had
attracted our interest the most. We.... Now what? What the devil,
Farmer? You're turning pale as a blasted ghost. For Heaven's sake,
what's on your mind, lad?"
Freddy gulped, swallowed hard, and shot another guilty look at Squadron
Leader Markham.
"You won't like this, sir," he said, "but I'd better tell it now. Last
Tuesday night I took up one of the night flying planes for a little
test hop about the field. You remember, sir?"
"I do," the Squadron Leader said, and fixed him with a hard stare. "You
were up almost three hours. Matter of fact, I've been meaning to tell
you to make your night test hops shorter in future. I know that was a
special plane with extra tanks to permit lengthy practice. But three
hours is too long. Yes, I remember. So what about it?"
"I did not make my test hop within sight of the field, sir," Freddy
said as his face turned a bit red. "Fact is.... Well, I sort of went
hunting for trouble. I mean.... Well, I came across a flight from our
Bomber Command on its way over to Naziland. I tagged along hoping that
a Jerry night fighter or two would come up once they reached the other
side of the Channel."
"Well, I'll be hanged!" Squadron Leader Markham breathed as Freddy
faltered. "Remind me to make an example of you to the rest of the
Squadron, my lad. Lots of pilots have been jolly well broken out of
Service for less."
"Yes, I know, sir," Freddy said in a crestfallen tone. "I was a perfect
idiot."
"You were completely balmy!" the Squadron Leader growled. "But never
mind that for the present. Did night fighters come up after the
bombers?"
"No, sir!" Freddy said, brightening a little. "There wasn't a single
bit of action. Not even anti-aircraft guns or searchlights. I tagged
the patrol a bit farther inland, and then turned back and headed for
home. I had almost reached the Jerry side of the Channel when there was
what seemed to be a terrific explosion to my southeast. The whole earth
seemed to explode fire and smoke. It was miles from my position yet the
glare actually blinded me for an instant. Then the light died down to a
reddish glow in the distance. But, I didn't go and investigate, sir."
"Blessed wonder you didn't!" Squadron Leader Markham said, and hid a
faint smile by wiping his mouth with his hand. "You figured the spot
where the explosion occurred, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir," Freddy replied instantly. "From my own position I judged
it to be about half way between Boulogne and Lille. I didn't go and
investigate because I assumed that it was the bombers I had tagged
blasting some Jerry ammo dump, or something. So I just came on back
home, and landed. Sorry, sir, but.... Well, I thought it best I tell
you, considering."
"Well, fessing up may help you a little," Markham grunted. "Doesn't
excuse your being a crazy idiot, though."
Freddy started to apologize again, but checked it as Colonel Trevor
leaned toward him.
"The location of that explosion, Farmer!" he said sharply. "You are
sure of it? Positive?"
"Oh quite, sir," the English youth assured him. "Fact is, the blinking
glare lighted up some landmarks that I recognized easily. But, as I
say, it was probably those bombers of ours giving a Jerry ammo dump, or
rail-head, a good drubbing."
"It wasn't!" Group Captain Ball cut in with a violent shake of his
head. "The Bomber Command received very definite orders not to send a
single unit over that area Tuesday night. It was to be left strictly
alone so that the photo patrol planes would be able to work unhindered.
No, none of our bombers were over that point Tuesday night."
"By the way, Farmer," Colonel Trevor got in quickly. "Did you happen to
note the time of the explosion, by any chance?"
The English youth pursued his lips and squinted his eyes at the office
wall in a mannerism of deep and concentrated thought. After a moment he
sat up a bit straighter and nodded.
"Yes, of course, I did, sir!" he replied. "I distinctly remember
glancing at the instrument board watch. I remember because I was flying
with all dash lights out, and the glare of the explosion was bright
enough for me to see the time. It was exactly twenty-seven minutes
before midnight, sir!"
Colonel Trevor slowly let clamped air from his lungs, leaned back in
his chair and looked at Group Captain Ball. The Air Ministry official
returned the look and slowly nodded his head up and down as though it
were hinged in the middle.
"Yes," he said as though talking to himself, "that time would just
about put the photo patrol over their first objective. Yes, that
explosion, or whatever it was ... must have been the end of those brave
chaps. Blast this war! Blast me for issuing that order!"
No one said anything for a moment or two after the senior officer
stopped speaking. Then Colonel Trevor spoke to Freddy again.
"You'd better go into detail on that little off the record night flight
you made, Farmer," he said. "Did anything else happen? See anything
else that didn't seem quite right to you?"
The English youth went into his thinking act again, and came out of it
shrugging his shoulders.
"No, sir," he said. "Can't say, that there was anything else. It did
seem a bit strange, though, that Jerry ground gunners and searchlight
lads didn't do anything about that bomber flight passing over. And, of
course, there wasn't a thing done about me when I returned back over
the Channel. Quiet as could be, and twice as dark below. Fact is, I
don't recall spotting a single light on the ground. But, of course,
that's not unusual. Jerry knows quite a bit about black-out technique,
too."
Colonel Trevor nodded, said nothing, and fell to studying his
fingernails some more. Dave waited for somebody to say something, and
when the silence continued he offered his suggestion to Group Captain
Ball.
"If it hasn't already been made, sir," he said, "why not have a
daylight photo patrol made over that area?"
"I thought of that," the Air Ministry official replied with a nod. "In
fact I had arranged for a patrol to be made. Only...."
The senior officer paused and smiled at Squadron Leader Markham.
"Only the arrangements went haywire," he said. "My orders came here
instead of going to another Squadron. However, as I've already said, I
consider that fortunate rather than unfortunate. Frankly, I'd rather
have Eighty-Four tackle the job."
"There's nothing particularly hard about escort work, sir," Markham
spoke up quietly. "In my opinion any squadron in the Fighter Command is
just as good as the next."
"Don't be modest, Markham!" Group Captain Ball said with a chuckle.
"I appreciate your desire to keep your squadron working as a unit.
However, the job I have in mind is not exactly a routine affair. True,
nothing out of the way may happen. On the other hand it is possible
that Jerry may be planning something very special, knowing full well
that the photo planes are over there to try and find out what happened
to the missing patrol. You see?"
The Squadron Leader nodded and smiled faintly.
"I didn't expect you to let us out of it, sir," he said and broadened
his smile. "Just the old hen looking out for her chicks, if you
understand what I mean, sir. Rather fond of my lads, and want to keep
them around as long as I can. However, I have a suggestion to make."
"By all means, Markham!" the senior officer said quickly. "By all
means. What is it?"
"Make it a voluntary affair, as stated in your orders, sir,"
Eighty-Four's O.C. said, "but permit the entire Squadron to volunteer.
I know every one of my chaps will be eager to go along. And if there is
trouble, and I fancy there will be, then the more escort pilots there
are along the safer it will be for the photo planes."
"Splendid, Markham!" Group Captain Ball cried. "A splendid idea. Of
course, that means you want to lead the Patrol?"
"Yes, sir," Markham replied. "Naturally, I wouldn't want to ... er,
miss any of the fun."
"I suspected as much," the Adastral House official said with a
chuckle. "Very well, then, Markham. We'll tackle it on that basis. I'll
inform the Fifty-Fifth Bomber Command Squadron that you will serve
as their escort. We'll schedule the patrol for first thing at dawn
tomorrow, and...."
"Why not today, sir?" Markham interrupted with an apologetic gesture.
"We've got all afternoon, and the sooner you get those pictures, the
sooner you may be able to find out something ... I hope."
"True," Group Captain Ball said. "Quite true, Markham. On the other
hand, delaying things another day may give Jerry the idea we're no
longer interested in that Zone. Sort of catch him off guard, you might
say. It's a chance worth taking. We jolly well might profit from it."
"Yes, I see your point, sir," Markham said with a nod. "And, after all,
we've got a little preparing to do. Checking planes, engines, and all
that sort of thing. Right you are, sir. Tomorrow morning at dawn it is."
"Good!" Group Captain Ball said. Then turning toward Dave and Freddy he
continued, "And now I have a bit of a surprise for you two chaps. In
recognition of your...."
The Air Ministry official stopped short and stared hard at Dave Dawson,
who seemed not to be listening. The Yank born R.A.F. ace was gazing
out the Squadron Office window with a look on his face that seemed to
indicate his thoughts were a million miles away.
Group Captain Ball cleared his throat, and reached out a hand and
tapped Dave on the knee.
"Day dreaming, Dawson?" he asked sharply. "All this sort of bores you,
eh?"
Dave jumped as though he had been shot, swallowed hard, and went beet
red to the roots of his hair.
"No, sir, of course not!" he said hastily. "I was.... Well, I was just
thinking, sir."
"Really?" the senior officer murmured. "Mind telling us about what,
Dawson?"
Dave turned even a shade redder, and avoided Group Captain Ball's
steady gaze.
"About the photo patrol you're planning, sir," he finally said after a
couple of false starts. "It seems to me.... That is.... Well, I mean
sir, I...."
"Come, come, Dawson!" the Adastral House official jacked him up as he
stumbled. "Just what do you mean, anyway?"
Dave hesitated, then took a deep breath, and sort of squared his
shoulders.
"Begging your pardon, sir," he said, "but I'm not in favor of your plan
at all. Frankly, I don't think you'd gain any more from it than you
have from the others. To tell the truth, I've got a hunch it would be a
waste of time, and perhaps a loss of pilots and planes!"