LITMIR.BIZ

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known to its inmates as ‘the hole’. The air was clean and at constant temperature and the bright lights shone unchanging night and day. Here arrived the strategic requirements from Churchill’s Cabinet War Room and from Air Ministry. From here went the orders that sent four or five thousand airmen into a three-dimensional night battle over Germany.

      Every square foot of wall space was crammed with information. At desks around it sat the top brass of Bomber Command, an awe-inspiring array of rank. An Army officer sat near a hot line to the C-in-C Home Forces and a naval captain clutched an armful of Enemy Shipping reports. Two American officers had small change spread across a desk top while a WAAF officer explained for the third time that thirty of these big coins made half a crown. ‘Then what makes a whole crown?’

      ‘Nothing makes a whole crown,’ said his colleague, ‘it’s like saying what makes a bit. Two bits may be a quarter but you can’t have a bit.’

      ‘I think I’ve got it,’ said the first American doubtfully.

      At this moment the SASO (Senior Air Staff Officer) and the Group Captain i/c Operations began to give the C-in-C a summary of the previous night’s bombing of Germany. All eyes were on the thirty-foot-wide blackboard upon which the previous night’s objectives and orders were chalked in yellow and results added in red.

      Even as they spoke a sergeant climbed the ladder and altered the Failed to Return tally from 26 to 25. ‘What’s that make it?’ asked the C-in-C.

      ‘Four point five per cent.’

      ‘Not bad, I was expecting worse.’

      ‘What are we going to get tonight?’ the Met man was asked.

      ‘Here are the predicted positions of the fronts for midnight. Well-broken cloud all along the north-west coast but clear from Hamburg northwards. Residual thundercloud with thunderstorms near the cold front.’

      ‘The Ruhr?’ The elderly Wing Commander heard the C-in-C’s question to the Met man and nodded significantly.

      The Met man shuffled his notes. ‘At present thunderstorms are moving across the Rhine with this cold front but they will clear by this afternoon. Midnight: thin layer of medium cloud somewhere between 1,000 and 20,000 feet but it will probably have gone by 01.00 hours. There’s a chance of a little stratocumulus at 2,000 to 3,000 feet. Expected visibility moderate.’

      ‘What about Northern France?’

      ‘Fine; moderate visibility. Well-broken layer cloud in north-west.’

      ‘And the weather over UK for the aircraft’s return?’

      ‘Fine. A little stratocumulus at 2,000 or 3,000 feet. Excellent visibility.’

      The C-in-C walked slowly across the highly polished floor to look at the quarter-inch map of Northern Europe that almost covered one wall. Each of the target towns was marked by a colour-coded reference on a flat pin. He looked back towards the moon chart, then moved nearer to peer at the Ruhr. The short routes were marked with coloured tapes and his eyes scanned them, calculating the flying times and fuel-loads that each target would demand.

      As the C-in-C followed the routes a knot of staff officers moved with him, murmuring discreetly like Harley Street specialists about to collaborate on an expensive job of surgery. Always their glances went back to the Met wall. As the moment of decision arrived the officers ceased to talk. The only sounds were the air-conditioning and the clock. Suddenly the voices began again; the decision had been taken.

      ‘Target files, Harry,’ a young Group Captain called to the elderly Wing Commander, for, although it was a high rank on the squadrons, in this place a Wingco was a dogsbody. Nora Ashton pushed it towards him. Once again they had guessed the target to within a few files.

      ‘Krefeld as primary, Bremen as weather alternative,’ said the C-in-C. ‘H-Hour will be 01.30 hours. No gardening tonight.’

      In the centre of the room were large drafting-tables. On one was a map showing enemy radar and night-fighter units. Another displayed overlapping photographs mounted together to make a mosaic of the whole Ruhr. The C-in-C walked across to one and tipped it flat. The Krefeld target file was open and large-scale maps, target maps, plans, diagrams and vertical photos were arranged around it.

      ‘What’s our availability?’

      ‘We’ve much better deliveries from the factories this month. We are showing 783 heavy bombers, 148 mediums. The strength of the training units is unchanged.’

      ‘Well, I’ll use 650 heavies and 100 mediums. This target will give them all a chance.’

      ‘Very good, sir.’ The Staff Officer put a form headed ‘C-in-C’s Daily Allotment of Targets’ on the table, and arranged the most recent reconnaissance photos of the target.

      ‘Krefeld then, with 750 aircraft. I’m going to increase the proportion of high explosive to incendiary bombs slightly. I know that the HE raises dust at the beginning but we need the blast damage in order to expose the interiors and have something to set alight. Let’s have twenty-five minutes’ pause before the second wave goes in. That increases the risk from night fighters but gives us a chance of killing his firemen and policemen and air-raid people. I’ll give that second wave mostly HE; one-third of the aircraft will carry one bomb fused for long delay to keep them worried.’

      While he was talking, the C-in-C filled in the Daily Allotment of Targets form.

      ‘Put some Mosquitoes over Berlin to make the sirens go and some leaflets on to Ostend. I want the Berlin route and the Ostend route near enough to our main stream route to confuse them.’ The C-in-C passed the written order to the Controller. He got up slowly and left the Operations Room.

      As he stepped out into the daylight the sentry gave a smart salute. Bomber Command HQ was hidden in thickly wooded countryside but the sky seen through the beech trees was clear and blue.

      The centre of the depression had moved across Northern England and out into sea-area Dogger. It was a young, vigorous depression and pulled the cold front eastwards after it, leaving England to enjoy a period of anticyclonic weather. There would be no rain.

      Even before the C-in-C was through the door the SASO was on the phone to the first of the Group commanders.

      ‘It’s Krefeld tonight, old boy. Weather alternative Bremen. Our Met chaps seem sure the weather will clear but we’ll have the usual Met conference call. I want to leave it as late as possible today. Naturally you’ll plan for sky marking just in case …’

      He glanced at the clock marked Double British Summer Time. It showed 09.55 hours. Alongside it another clock set to Central European Time showed that German clocks were set to the same time.

       Chapter Three

      ‘Aren’t you glad we no longer live in Krefeld?’ Anna-Luisa asked.

      ‘You said there would be lions and tigers, and wild animals,’ the little boy said accusingly.

      ‘There are lions and tigers, and yesterday I saw an elephant in the woods near Frau Richter’s farm.’

      ‘You’re always saying that,’ the little boy said with a chuckle. ‘You just make those stories up.’

      ‘If you’ve finished your egg you ought to get along to school. It’s nearly nine o’clock.’

      She took a handkerchief and wiped a trace of egg from his lips. Hansl hurried to get his schoolbooks. ‘Take your raincoat, Hansl,’ she called. ‘I’m sure it will rain.’

      Anna-Luisa made sure his coat was buttoned and his collar straight. She checked the schoolbooks in his case and ran a comb through his short hair. When all was approved she gave him a little salute. ‘All is in order, Herr Leutnant, say goodbye to Pappi.’

      The little boy saluted gravely.

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