LITMIR.BIZ

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but Reinecke always appeared whenever there were enemy planes in the sector and finally August worked with him one night. Incredibly it was that night that the thousand-bomber raid upon Cologne passed overhead. Willi Reinecke didn’t have the lightness of touch for which the training school would give high marks. He stumbled up the steps of the ladder to the plotting-table and swore loudly when August needed silence. It was a rare night in which Willi didn’t drop his Kneemeyer measure two or three times or kick the table as he hastily gauged the speed of the bomber that the radar held in its beam. Willi’s value was in the way he could guess the intentions of the quarry. Some of them had a device that told them they were held in the invisible radar beam. These would jink and turn desperately. Willi would poise his marker over a point where he expected the bomber to go while August guided the fighter pilot on to it. It was surprising how often Willi outguessed the Tommis.

      Willi Reinecke had a wife and two children. He didn’t smoke, rarely drank alcohol and lately he had shown an interest in August’s bird-watching. He was very proud of his first attempt at taxidermy and prouder still when August put it in a place of honour on his desk. In short, Willi Reinecke was a conundrum and that, more than any other thing, was what drew August close to him.

      Willi removed his belt and special flak Service greatcoat with its wool lining and the stripes on both cuffs that, in the Wehrmacht, marked the company’s senior NCO. He hung it behind the door. August remained in his armchair and Willi sat erect in the seat at the desk. He nodded his thanks as the chocolate was pushed towards him. He sipped it and held his scarred hands around the cup for a moment before giving his report. He unfolded a piece of paper and read the names.

      ‘Two men sick since you left on Friday: one of the plotting-table orderlies – Gefreiter Path – said he had tonsillitis, but I took a look at him.’ Willi looked up. ‘He’s running a slight temperature but it’s only a sore throat. I’ve put him on light duties outdoors. That should do the trick and meanwhile he’s not breathing sore-throat bugs all around the Seeburg table.’ Again he referred to his paper. ‘The other case was Gefreiter Kick – the cook with the handlebar moustache – he complained of stomach pains. Too tender for indigestion and the wrong side for appendicitis. Regular colicky stabs of pain. I sent him into Rotterdam with the ration lorry; the hospital are holding him for observation. Meanwhile Unteroffizier Zewlinski will work the last shift until Kick returns or we get a replacement. There’s not much work on that shift except counting the stores.’

      ‘And you think Zewlinski can count the stores unaided?’

      ‘I’ll be keeping an eye on him.’

      ‘You are quite a physician, Willi. I’m very impressed.’

      ‘I’ve had a lot of cavalry experience and men are just like horses. I could always tell the horse-pox or colic (which just needed isolation and a rest) from the lymph cases and the strangles that have to be sent back down the line as fast as possible.’

      ‘To the slaughterhouse?’

      ‘Sometimes, sir.’

      ‘And you sent Kick back?’ Bach grinned but Reinecke didn’t.

      ‘We shan’t see him again,’ pronounced the old man grimly. ‘But I let Unteroffizier Zewlinski think he’d only be doing the extra duties for a day or two.’

      ‘I understand, Willi.’

      Willi peered at his piece of typed paper again. ‘Two men to divisional signals course, three on the gas course, six men guarding the unoccupied gun site near the village with Rimm in charge of them. The cook that HQ borrowed is still there.’ Willi looked up. ‘He plays the accordion,’ he added significantly.

      ‘He wasn’t much of a cook,’ said Bach.

      ‘We should try to write him off and ask for a replacement.’ Bach nodded. ‘Three in hospital in Rotterdam including Kick, ten on leave, four on day pass, three on ration detail: one hundred and fourteen men present and correct.’

      Bach nodded.

      ‘Two more bicycles stolen,’ said Willi Reinecke.

      ‘This time they are for it.’

      ‘The men who lost them are on open arrest. I thought you’d probably sentence them tomorrow after the cashing-up is done. Then they can go into Rotterdam tomorrow afternoon as soon as the second shift go on.’

      ‘You have informed the local civilian police? They got the last one back, didn’t they?’

      ‘Yes, sir, but riding a Wehrmacht bicycle is a risky business for a Dutch civilian. To get home one night after curfew perhaps …’

      ‘Yes, if you spot one outside a bar, unlocked and waiting to be stolen. It’s just carelessness.’

      ‘Exactly, sir. Either that or they are going farther afield in the back of one of the wagons. I have informed the military police office in Rotterdam.’

      ‘I will sentence them tomorrow. Air activity?’

      ‘Little or nothing.’

      ‘They are expected tonight.’

      ‘We had the alert. I have assigned Lemmers’ crew to the Freya and I have rearranged the shifts as you ordered. The best crews will take over their radars at midnight.’

      ‘It’s a short night for them. Let’s hope it’s to be the Ruhr, then they might cross this sector on the outward as well as the return.’

      Suddenly August realized that Willi’s family lived in the Ruhr. Confused and embarrassed, he searched for something else to say. ‘Moonrise is …’; he tried to see the time from the chart.

      ‘Moonrise tonight is 00.30, sir. Yes, it will be nice to get two cracks at them.’

      ‘And sunrise is 05.46. They will have come and gone by 03.00, I would say.’

      ‘I told the crews that if the target is in the Ruhr it will be a four-hour shift. If the Tommis go farther than that, the number two crews will stand them down for a break and we’ll put them back on for the return.’

      ‘Good, Willi. You out-think me every time.’

      Willi smiled. They both knew it wasn’t true, but it was nice to hear the Oberleutnant say it. They drank the hot chocolate. Willi knew that there was no more official business.

      ‘A good weekend, sir?’

      ‘Wonderful, Willi.’

      ‘Your small son is well?’

      ‘He runs me into the ground. I don’t know where he finds the energy.’

      ‘My two are the same. I’m glad to get back here for a rest.’

      Willi looked round the Oberleutnant’s room. He felt privileged to be allowed into it. Even the senior officers who came on visits to the radar station were seldom invited here. On the wall above a desk cluttered with glue, wire and soldering equipment there was a sheet of white card upon which August Bach had been reconstructing the bones of a gull’s wing. Alongside it were pasted reproductions of Leonardo drawings of a wing and some photos of gulls, avocets and harriers in flight.

      ‘The sparrowhawk came back.’

      ‘Photo?’

      ‘I’m not as quick as you are, sir.’

      ‘It’s just practice.’

      ‘We got some interesting movements on the radar last night.’

      ‘Birds?’

      ‘No doubt.’

      ‘Log it all, Willi. We’re in a unique position that could make a real contribution. Until now the ornithologists didn’t know that birds flew at night.’

      ‘The operator made a note of the time.’

      On the desk there was the blackheaded gull that Willi had wired and mounted. He hadn’t mastered the

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