Air Bridge Part 12

He shook my shoulder. 'Then you had a fight. That's what you told me.'

'Yes. He called me a dirty little crook. That made me mad. I cut the engine out then. I told him either we crashed or he let me take over. That's when he came at me with a spanner. The rest you know.' My eyelids felt heavy. I couldn't keep them open. 'What are you going to do?' I mumbled.

'How long between his returning to the c.o.c.kpit and the fight?'

'Five minutes ten minutes. I don't know.'

'What height were you when Tubby went out through the fuselage door?'

'I don't know. Yes. Wait a minute. About seven hundred. I climbed to over two thousand and then went down to five hundred again to search for him.'

'You mentioned a disused airfield.'

'Yes.' My head nodded forward uncontrollably and I felt him shaking me. There was a small town. There was a river, too, and a road ran north, quite straight, past the edge of the airfield.' I stared at him dully. He was peering at the map, marking off distances with a rule. 'Can you find it?' I asked.

He nodded. 'Yes. Hollmind. No doubt of it.'

'What are you going to do?' I asked again.

'Nothing much we can do,' he said. 'But an old friend of mine is at Lubeck, flying Daks. I'll cable him and have him search the area as he flies over in daylight.'

I nodded vaguely. I couldn't keep my eyes open.

'You're dead beat, Neil. Better get some sleep.' His voice sounded miles away. I felt his hands under my arm. 'Come on, old chap.'

I think Saeton must have put something in my drink, for I don't remember anything more until I woke to sunlight streaming into the familiar, comfortless little room. It had never done that before and when I glanced at my watch I found it was past two. I was still in my clothes and I had slept for nearly twelve hours. I fumbled for a cigarette, lit it and lay back.

The events of the night before came back to me then, like some nightmare half forgotten in waking. Tubby's death was no longer vivid in my memory. The whole thing had an unreal quality, until I went across to the hangar and saw the plane with Saeton already at work on the inboard engines.

'Feeling better?' he asked. 'I left some food out for you. Did you find it?'

'No.' I walked round to the front of the machine and saw that he had already got the starboard engine out. The single-purposed drive of the man was incredible.

'I'm having difficulty with the securing nuts of this engine,' he said. 'Can you come up and give me a hand?'

I didn't move. I stood there, staring at the shining sweep of the wings - hating the plane, hating Saeton, and hating myself worst of all. Slowly my eyes travelled from the plane to the litter of the hangar. G.o.d, how the man must have worked whilst I'd been at Wunstorf! He'd cut the old machine to pieces with an oxy-acetylene cutter; wings, tail, fuselage were a jumble of unrecognisable fragments piled along the walls. Only the engines were left intact.

He climbed down from the wheeled gantry. 'Snap out of it, Neil!' His voice was hard, almost violent. 'Put your overalls on and get to work on that engine.' His face, close to, looked grey and haggard, his eyes shadowed with sleeplessness. He looked old. 'I'm going to get some sleep.' He cleared a s.p.a.ce for himself on the bench and lay down. He kept his eyes open until I'd climbed the gantry and started work. After that he didn't stir until I switched the light plant on.

He brought some food over then and we worked on together until we had the port engine lowered on to the concrete floor. It was then eight forty-five. 'Nearly news time,' I said and lit a cigarette, my hands trembling.

We got the news on the plane's radio. There was nothing in the summary. With the earphones clamped to my ears the announcer's voice seemed to be there in my head, telling me of political wrangles, strikes, a depression over Iceland, anything but what I wanted to hear. Right at the end, however, he paused. There was a rustle of paper and then his voice was back in my ears and I gripped the edge of the seat.

News has fust come in that the Tudor aircraft, missing on the airlift since last night, has crashed in the Russian Zone of Germany. Two members of the crew, who baled out, crossed the frontier into the British Zone this morning. They are R. E. Field, navigator, and H. L. Westrop, radio operator. According to their report, the plane's engines failed shortly after it had turned into the northern approach corridor to Berlin and the captain ordered the crew to bale out. Still missing are N. L. Fraser, pilot, and R. C. Carter, flight engineer. The pilot of one of the planes following the missing Tudor has reported seeing a single parachute open at about a thousand feet. It was clearly visible in brilliant moonlight. As Field and Westrop came down together, it is thought that this parachute may belong to one of the other two members of the crew. So far the Russians have denied that any plane crashed in their territory or that they hold any of our aircrews. The plane was a Tudor tanker belonging to the Harcourt Charter Company. Squadron Leader Neil Fraser escaped from Germany during the war by Hying out a Messerschmitt after I switched it off and removed my headphones. A single parachute! 'Do you think he's alive?' The sudden relief of hope made my voice unsteady. Saeton made no answer. He was staring down the fuselage at nothing in particular. 'A single parachute! That must be Tubby. The others went out together. They came down together. The news said so.'

'We'll see what the papers say tomorrow.' Saeton got to his feet.

I caught hold of his arm as he pa.s.sed me. 'What's the matter? Aren't you glad?'

He looked down at me, his eyes grey like slate. 'Of course, I'm glad.' There was no enthusiasm in his voice.

His reaction left me with a sense of depression. The report was third or fourth hand. The pilot might have been seeing two parachutes as one. It might mean nothing - or everything. I got out on to the floor of the hangar and stood, staring at the plane. If only Saeton hadn't taken the inboard engines out. If the machine had been left as I had brought it in, we could have gone over landed on that disused airfield and searched the area. It was a crazy idea, but it stuck in my mind.

And as though Saeton had also thought of that, he pressed straight on with the installation of the first of our own engines. We finished it at three in the morning. But even then I couldn't sleep. My mind kept on seeing that single parachute, a white mushroom of silk in the moonlight, picturing Tubby forced to consciousness by the rush of cold air, tugging at the release. Pray G.o.d the papers carried more detail.

I was up at eight. The quarters were silent. There was no sign of Saeton. I thought he must be over at the hangar until I found a note on the mess table to say he'd gone into Baydon for the papers. By the time I'd cooked the bacon he was back. I saw at once he had some news. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes and his face looked younger as though all the sleeplessness had been wiped away. 'What is it?' I asked breathlessly. 'Have they found him?'

'No.'

'What then?'

Take a look at that.' He handed me a teleprint.

Your plane urgently required Wunstorf to replace Tudor tanker missing stop Ministry Civil Aviation agree rush C of A stop Report Wunstorf soonest possible notifying your E. T.A. Signed Aylmer B.E.A. I handed it back to him. 'I suppose you didn't bother to see what the papers say about the crew of the plane?'

'Can't you get your mind off what's happened?' he demanded Irritably.

'No,' I said. 'I can't. Have you got the papers?'

'Here you are.' He handed me a whole bundle of newspapers. 'They tell us nothing that we didn't know last night.'

I glanced quickly through them as he went past me to get his breakfast. All the reports were the same. It was obviously a hand-out. The only difference was that in two cases the position at which the pilot had seen that single parachute was given. The position was two miles north of Hollmind.

When I entered the mess room again Saeton was already there, the teleprint beside his plate. He was making notes whilst he ate. I thrust the paper in front of him. 'Have you seen that?' I asked.

He nodded, looking up at me, his mouth full.

'It means Tubby is alive,' I cried. 'He must have come to and pulled the release.'

'I hope you're right,' was all he said.

'What else could it mean?' I demanded.

'You remember I said I'd cable a friend of mine at Lubeck? I phoned it through that morning. This morning I got his reply. I'll read it to you.' He pulled a second teleprint out of his pocket and read it out to me. 'Regret no trace of Carter or Fraser stop All aircraft ordered from dawn third to keep sharp lookout Hollmind area stop Routes staggered to cover limits of Corridor stop Visibility perfect stop Two parachutes reported near frontier belonging Westrop Field stop No wreckage, parachute or signal reported target area stop Sorry signed Manning.' He pushed it into my hand. 'Read it yourself.'

It doesn't prove anything,' I said. 'He may have been hurt.'

'If he were he would have made some signal smoke or something.' He turned back to his breakfast.

'He may not have been able to. He may have been unconscious.'

'Then his parachute would have been seen.'

'Not necessarily. Hollmind airfield is surrounded by a belt of pine woods. His parachute could easily have been invisible from the air if he'd come down in the woods.'

'If he'd landed in the woods his parachute would have been caught in the trees. It would be clearly visible.'

'Then maybe he was seen coming down and picked up by a Russian patrol or some Germans.' I felt suddenly desperate. Tubby had to be alive. My mind clung desperately to the slender hope of this report of a parachute near Hollmind.

Saeton looked up at me again then. 'What time did Tubby drop?'

'I don't know. It must have been just near eleven-thirty.'

'On the evening of the second?'

I nodded.

"Within a few hours all pilots had been ordered to keep a sharp lookout. That means that from dawn onwards there was a constant stream of aircrews overhead searching the area. Do you seriously suggest that in the intervening seven hours of darkness Tubby would have been picked up?'

'There was a moon,' I said desperately.

'All right - five hours of moonlight. If Tubby pulled his parachute release, then he would still have been there on the ground at dawn. If he were hurt, then he wouldn't have been able to do anything about his parachute and it would have been clearly visible from above. And if he wasn't injured, then he'd have been able to signal.' He hesitated. 'On the other hand, if he never regained consciousness'

'My G.o.d!' I said. 'I believe you want him dead.'

He didn't say anything, ignoring me as I stood over him with my hands clenched. 'I've got to know what happened,' I cried. I caught hold of his shoulder. 'Can't you understand? I can't go through life thinking myself a murderer. I've got to go out there and find him.'

'Find him?' He looked at me as though I were crazy.

'Yes, find him,' I cried. 'I believe he's alive. I've got to believe that. If I didn't believe that' I moved my hand uncertainly. Couldn't the man see how I felt about it? 'If he's dead, then I killed him. That's murder, isn't it? I'm a murderer then. He's got to be alive.' I added desperately, 'He's got to be.'

'Better get on with your breakfast.' The gentleness was back in his voice. d.a.m.n him! I didn't want kindness, I wanted something to fight. I wanted action. 'When will the plane be ready?' I demanded thickly.

'Sometime tomorrow,' he answered. 'Why?'

'That's too late,' I said. 'It's got to be tonight.'

'Impossible,' he answered. 'We'll barely have got the second motor installed by this evening. Then there's the tests, refuelling, loading the remains of the old Tudor, fixing the'

'The remains of the old Tudor?' I stared at him. 'You mean you're going through with the plan? You'll leave Tubby out there another whole day just because'

'Tubby's dead,' he said, getting to his feet. 'The sooner you realise that, the better. He's dead and there's nothing you can do about it.'

'That's what you want to believe, isn't it?' I sneered. 'You want him dead because if he isn't dead, he'd give the whole game away.'

'I told you how I feel about Tubby.' His face was white and his tone dangerously quiet. 'Now shut up and get on with your breakfast.'

'If Tubby's dead,' I said, 'I'll do exactly what he would have done if he'd been alive. I'll go straight to the authorities'

'Just what is it you want me to do, Fraser?'

'Fly over there,' I said. 'It's no good a bunch of bored aircrews peering down at those woods from a height of three thousand or more. I want to fly over the area at nought feet. And if that doesn't produce any result, then I want to land at Hollmind airfield and search those woods on foot.'

He stood looking at me for a moment. 'All right,' he said.

'When?' I asked.

'When?' He hesitated. 'It's Tuesday today. We'll have the second engine installed this evening. Tomorrow I'll fly down for the C of A. Could be Friday night.'

'Friday night!' I stared at him aghast. 'But good G.o.d!' I exclaimed. 'You're not going to leave Tubby out there whilst you get a certificate of airworthiness? You can't do that. We must go tonight, as soon as we've'

'We'll go as soon as I've got the C of A.' His tone was final.

'But'

'Don't be a fool, Neil.' He leaned towards me across the table. 'I'm not leaving without a C of A. When I leave it's going to be for good. I'll be flying direct to Wunstorf. We'll call at Hollmind on the way. You must remember, I don't share your optimism. And now get some breakfast inside you. We've got a lot to do.'

'But I must get there tonight,' I insisted. 'You don't understand. I feel'

'I know very well how you feel,' he said sharply. 'Anybody would feel the same if he'd caused the death of a good man like Tubby. But I'm not leaving without a C of A and that's final.'

'But the C of A might take a week,' I said. 'Often it takes longer - two weeks.'

'We'll have to chance that. Aylmer of B.E.A. has said the Civil Aviation inspectors will rush it through. All right. I'm banking on it taking two days. If it takes longer, that's just too bad. Now get some breakfast inside you. The sooner we get to work, the sooner you'll be at Hollmind.'

There was nothing I could do. I got up slowly and fetched my bacon.

'Another thing,' he said as I sat down again. 'I'm not landing at Hollmind except in moonlight. If it's a pitch black night, you'll have to jump.'

I felt my stomach go cold at the thought of another jump. 'Why not go over in daylight?'

'Because it's Russian territory.'

'You mean because those engines are more important'

'For G.o.d's sake stop it, Neil.' His voice was suddenly violent. 'I've made a bargain with you. To land there at night will be dangerous enough. But I'm willing to do it - for the sake of your peace of mind.'

'But not for Tubby?'

He didn't answer. I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that if I'd described the scene accurately Tubby couldn't be alive. But at least he had agreed to look for him now and I held on to that.

The urge to find him drove me to work as I'd never worked the whole time I'd been at Membury. I worked with a concentrated frenzy that narrowed my world down to bolts and petrol unions and the complicated details of electrical wiring. Yet I was conscious at the same time of Saeton's divergent interest. The clack of his typewriter as he cleared up the company's business, the phone calls instructing the men he'd picked as a crew to report to R.A.F. Transport Command for priority flights to Biickeburg for Wunstorf - all reminded me that, whatever had happened, his driving purpose was still to get his engines on to the Berlin airlift. And I hated him for his callousness.

It was past midnight when the second engine was in and everything connected up. Saeton left at dawn the next morning. The pipes were all frozen and we got water by breaking the ice on the rainwater b.u.t.t. Membury was a frozen white world and the sun was hazed in mist so that it was a dull red ball as it came up over the downs. The mist swallowed the Tudor almost immediately. I turned back to the quarters, feeling shut in and wretched.

The next two days were the longest I ever remember. To keep me occupied Saeton had asked me to proceed with the cutting up of the old aircraft into smaller fragments. It occupied my hands. Nothing more. It was an automatic type of work that left my mind free to think. I couldn't leave the airfield. I couldn't go anywhere or see anybody. Saeton had been very insistent on that. If I showed my face anywhere and was recognised then he wouldn't go near Hollmind. It meant I couldn't even visit the Ellwoods. I was utterly alone and by Friday morning I was peering out of the hangar every few minutes searching the sky, listening for the drone of the returning Tudor, It was Sat.u.r.day afternoon that Saeton got in. He had got his C of A. His crew were on their way to Wunstorf. 'If it's clear we'll go over tonight,' he said. And we got straight on with the work of preparing for our final departure. We tanked up and he insisted on filling the fuselage of the plane with pieces of the old Tudor. He was still intent on going through with his plan. He kept on talking about the airworthiness tests. The inspectors were pretty puzzled by the engines,' he said. 'But I managed to avoid any check on petrol consumption. They know they're a new design. But they don't know their value - not yet.' The b.a.s.t.a.r.d could think of nothing else.

Dusk was falling as we finished loading. The interior of the hangar was still littered with debris, but Saeton made no attempt to dispose of it. We went back to the quarters. Night had fallen and I had seen the last of Membury. When the moon rose I should be in Germany. I lay in my blankets, barely conscious of the gripping cold, my thoughts clinging almost desperately to my memory of the place.

Saeton called me at ten-thirty. He had made tea and cooked some bacon. As soon as he had finished his meal he went out to the hangar. I lingered over a cigarette, unwilling to leave the warmth of the oil stove, thinking of what lay ahead of me. At length Saeton returned. He was wearing his heavy, fleece-lined flying jacket. 'Ready?'

'Yes, I'm ready,' I said and got slowly to my feet.

Outside it was freezing hard, the night crystal clear and filled with stars. Saeton carried the oil stove with him. At the edge of the woods he paused for a moment, staring at the dark bulk of the hangar with the ghostly shape of the plane waiting for us on the ap.r.o.n. 'A pity,' he said gruffly. 'I've got fond of this place.' When we reached the plane he ordered me to get the engines warmed up and went on to the hangar. He was gone about five minutes. When he climbed into the c.o.c.kpit he was breathing heavily as though he had been running. His clothes smelt faintly of petrol. 'Okay. Let's get going.' He slid into the pilot's seat and his hand reached for the throttle levers. But instead of taxiing out to the runway, he slewed the plane round so that we faced the hangar. The wicket door was still open and a dull light glowed inside. We sat there, the screws turning, the air frame juddering. 'What are we waiting for?' I asked.

'Just burning my boats behind me,' he said.

The rectangular opening of the hangar door flared red and I knew then what he had wanted the oil stove for. There was a m.u.f.fled explosion and flames shot out of the gap. The whole interior of the hangar was ablaze, a roaring inferno which almost drowned the sound of our engines.