'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 his nose covered with adhesive plaster. 'I'm desperate,' he said. 'I'd do anything to get hold of a plane. Anything, do you hear?' January. Once he turned to me, his eyes wild, his face looking grey and slightly crazy with his 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 frostbound 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 h.e.l.l. 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. G.o.d 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 ever)' new 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. 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 pa.s.sage 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 tomorrow,' Saeton went on. 'One o'clock in 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 and 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 to 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 c.o.c.kpit 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. n.o.body would believe them. As for the plane being recognised, why should it? n.o.body 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. G.o.d, 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. G.o.d! 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, d.a.m.n 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.

'G.o.d, 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d!' 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 p.r.i.c.kling 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 get out. I'm offering you a flying 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 1, 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

CHAPTER FIVE.

I wont 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 partic.i.p.ant, 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.

As we left the pub he said, 'You'll be seeing Tubby tomorrow. Don't tell him anything about this. You understand? He's not to know. His family were Methodists.' He grinned at me as though that explained everything that const.i.tuted Tubby Carter's make-up.

Early the following morning Saeton drove me to Hungerford Station. Riding behind him on the old motor bike through the white of the frozen Kennet valley I felt a wild sense of exhilaration. For over five weeks I hadn't been more than a few miles from Membury aerodrome. Now I was going back into the world. Twenty-four Hours ago I should have been scared at the prospect, afraid that I might be picked up by the police. Now I didn't think about it. I was bound for Germany, riding a mood of adventure that left no room in my mind for the routine activities of the law.

Tubby met me at Northolt. 'Glad to see you, Neil,' he said, beaming all over his face, his hand gripping my arm. 'Bit of luck Morgan going sick. Not that I wish the poor chap any harm, but it just happened right for you. Harcourt leaves for Wunstorf with one of the Tudors this evening. You're flying a test with him this afternoon in our plane.'

I glanced at him quickly. 'Our plane?'

He nodded, grinning. 'That's right. You're skipper. I'm engineer. A youngster called Harry Westrop is radio operator and the navigator is a fellow named Field. Come on up to the canteen and meet them. They're all here.'

I could have wished that Tubby wasn't to be a member of the crew. I immediately wanted to tell him the whole thing. Maybe it would have been better if I had. But I remembered what Saeton had said, and seeing Tubby's honest, friendly features, I knew Saeton was right. It was out of the question. Duty, not adventure, was his business in life. But it was going to make it that bit more difficult when I ordered the crew to bale out.

I began to feel nervous then. It was a long time since I'd flown operationally, a long time since I'd skippered an air crew. We went into the bar, and Tubby introduced me to the rest of the crew. Westrop was tall and rather shy with fair, crinkly hair. He was little more than a kid. Field was much older, a small, sour-looking man with sharp eyes and a sharper nose. "What are you having, skipper?' Field asked. The word 'skipper' brought back memories of almost-forgotten nights of bombing. I ordered a Scotch.

'Field is just out of the R.A.F.,' Tubby said. 'He's been flying the airlift since the early days at Wunstorf.'

'Why did you pack up your commission?' I asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders. 'I got bored. Besides, there's more money in civil flying.' He looked at me narrowly out of his small, unsmiling eyes. 'I hear you were in 101 Squadron. Do you remember' That started the reminiscences. And then suddenly he said: 'You got a gong for that escape of yours, didn't you?'

I nodded.

He looked at the ceiling and pursed his thin lips. I could see the man's mind thinking back. 'I remember now. Longest tunnel escape of the war and then three weeks on the run before' He hesitated and then snapped his fingers. 'Of course. You were the bloke that flew a Jerry plane out, weren't you?'

'Yes,' I said. I was feeling suddenly tight inside. Any moment he'd ask me what I'd been doing since then.

'By Jove! That's wizard!' Westrop's voice was boyish and eager. 'What happened? How did you get the plane?'

'I'd rather not talk about it,' I said awkwardly.

'Oh, but dash it. I mean'

'I tell you, I don't want to talk about it.' d.a.m.n it! Suppose his parachute didn't open? I didn't want any hero-worship. I must keep apart from the crew until after the first night flight.

'I only thought'

'Shut up!' My voice sounded harsh and violent.

'Here's your drink,' Tubby said quietly, pushing the gla.s.s towards me. Then he turned to Westrop. 'Better go and check over your radar equipment, Harry.'

'But I've just checked it.'

'Then check it again,' Tubby said in the same quiet voice. Westrop hesitated, glancing from Tubby to me. Then he turned away with a crestfallen look. 'He's only a kid,' Tubby said and picked up his drink. 'Well, here's to the airlift!' Here's to the airlift! I wondered whether he remembered the four of us drinking that toast in the mess room at Membury. It all seemed a long time ago. I turned to Field. 'What planes were you navigating on the lift?' I asked him.

'Yorks,' he replied. 'Wunstorf to Gatow with food for the b.l.o.o.d.y Jerry.' He knocked back his drink. 'Queer, isn't it? Just over three years ago I was navigating bombers to Berlin loaded with five hundred pounders. Now, for the last four months I've been delivering flour to them - flour that's paid for by Britain and America. Do you think they'd have done that for us?' He gave a bitter laugh. 'Well, here's to the Ruskies, G.o.d rot 'em! But for them we could have been a lot tougher.'

'You don't like the Germans?' I asked, glad of the change in conversation.

He gave me a thin-lipped smile. 'You should know about them. You've been inside one of their camps. They give me the creeps. They're a grim, humourless lot of b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. As for Democracy, they think it's the biggest joke since Hitler wiped out Lidice. Ever read Milton's Paradise Lost? Well, that's Germany. Don't let's talk about it. Do you know Wunstorf?'

'I bombed it once in the early days,' I said.

'It's changed a bit since then. So has Gatow. We've enlarged them a bit. I think you'll be quite impressed. And the run in to Gatow is like nothing you've ever done before. You just go in like a bus service, and you keep rolling after touchdown because you know d.a.m.n well there's either another kite coming down or taking off right on your tail. But they'll give you a full briefing at Wunstorf. It's reduced to a system so that it's almost automatic. Trouble is it's b.l.o.o.d.y boring - two flights a day, eight hours of duty, whatever the weather. I tried for B.O.A.C., but they didn't want any navigators. So here I am, back on the airlift, blast it!' His gaze swung to the entrance. 'Ah, here's the governor,' he said.

Harcourt was one of those men born for organisation, not leadership. He was very short with a small, neat moustache and sandy hair. He had tight, rather orderly features and a clipped manner of speech that finished sentences abruptly like an adding machine. His method of approach was impersonal - a few short questions, punctuated by sharp little nods, and then silence while shrewd grey eyes stared at me unblinkingly. Lunch was an awkward affair carried chiefly by Tubby, Harcourt had an aura of quiet efficiency about him, but it wasn't friendly efficiency. He was the sort of man who knows precisely what he wants and uses his fellow creatures much as a carpenter uses his tools. It made it a lot easier from my point of view.

Nevertheless, I found the test flight something of an ordeal. It was the machine that was supposed to be on test. He'd only just taken delivery. But I knew as we walked out to the plane that it was really I who was being tested. He sat in the second pilot's seat and I was conscious all through the take-off of his cold gaze fixed on my face and not on the instrument panel.

Once in the air, however, my confidence returned. She handled very easily and the fact that she was so like the one we'd flown only a few days before made it easier. Apparently I satisfied him, for as we walked across the airfield to the B.E.A. offices, he said, 'Get all the details cleared up, Eraser, and leave tomorrow lunchtime. That'll give you a daylight flight. I'll see you in Wunstorf.'

We left Northolt the following day in cold, brittle sunshine that turned to cloud as we crossed the North Sea. Field was right about Wunstorf. It had changed a lot since I'd been briefed for that raid nearly eight years ago. I came out of the cloud at about a thousand feet and there it was straight ahead of me through the windshield, an, enormous flat field with a broad runway like an autobahn running across it and a huge tarmac ap.r.o.n littered with Yorks. There were excavations marking new work in progress and a railway line had been pushed out right to the edge of the field. Beyond it stretched the Westphalian plain, grim and desolate, with a line of fir-clad hills marching back along the horizon.

I came in to land through a thick downpour. The runway was a cold, shining ribbon of grey, half-obscured by a haze of driven rain. I went in steeply, pulled back the stick and touched down like silk. I was glad about that landing. Somehow it seemed an omen.

I kicked the rudder and swung on to the perimeter track, the rain beating up from the concrete and sweeping across the field so that the litter of planes became no more than a vague shadow in the murk.

'Dear old Wunstorf!' Field's voice crackled over the intercom. 'What a dump! It was raining when I left. Probably been raining ever since.'

A truck came out to meet us. We dumped our kit in it and it drove us to the airport buildings. They were a drab olive green; bleak utilitarian blocks of concrete. The Operations Room was on the ground floor. I reported to the squadron leader in charge. 'If you care to go up to the mess they'll fix you up.' Then he saw Field. 'Good G.o.d! You back already, Bob?'

'A fortnight's leave, that's all I got out of getting demobilised,' Field answered.

'And a rise in pay I'll bet.' The squadron leader turned to me. 'He'll get things sorted out for you. Report here in the morning and we'll let you know what your timings are.'

The station commander came in as he finished speaking, a big blond Alsatian at his heels. 'Any news of that Skymaster yet?' he asked.

'Not yet, sir,' replied the squadron leader. 'Celle have just been on again. They're getting worried. It's twenty minutes overdue. There's been a h.e.l.l of a storm over the Russian Zone.'

'What about the other bases?'

'Lubeck, Fuhlsb.u.t.tel, Fa.s.sberg - they've all made negative reports, sir. It looks as though it's force-landed somewhere. Berlin are in touch with the Russians, but so far Safety Centre hasn't reported anything.'

'Next wave goes out at seventeen hundred, doesn't it? If the plane hasn't been located by then have all pilots briefed to keep a lookout for it, will you?' He turned to go and then stopped as he saw us. 'Back in civvies, eh, Field? I must say it doesn't make you look any smarter.' He smiled and then his eyes met mine. 'You must be Fraser.' He held out his hand to me. 'Glad to have you with us. Harcourt's up at the mess now. He's expecting you.' He turned to the squadron leader. 'Give the mess a ring and tell Wing-Commander Harcourt that his other Tudor has arrived.'

'Very good, sir.'

'We'll have a drink sometime, Fraser.' The station commander nodded and hurried out with his dog.

'I'll get you a car,' the squadron leader said. He went out and his shout of 'Fahrer!' echoed in the stone corridor.

The mess was a huge building; block on block of grey concrete, large enough to house a division. When I gave my name to the German at the desk he ran his finger down a long list. 'Block C, sir - rooms 231 and 235. Just place your baggage there, please. I will arrange for it. And come this way, gentlemen. Wing-Commander Harcourt is wishing to speak with you.' So Harcourt retained his Air Force t.i.tle out here! We followed the clerk into the lounge. It had a dreary waiting-room atmosphere. Harcourt came straight over. 'Good trip?' he asked.

'Pretty fair,' I said.

'What's visibility now?'