Death Ray (2 page)

Nils grimaced. ‘Winning the Battle of Britain was only a partial victory, Finn. It hasn’t stopped the bombing, but on the plus side, we’ve forced the Luftwaffe to limit most of its raids to the hours of darkness. Their losses would be unsustainable otherwise. And it has almost certainly delayed an invasion: Hitler won’t risk crossing the Channel unless he has absolute air superiority.’

‘Is there any way of stopping them once and for all?’ I asked.

‘Doubt it,’ Nils replied with a little shrug. ‘Our RDF system’s good, but not that good.’

Freya briefly opened her eyes. ‘What’s RDF?’

‘Radio Direction Finding,’ Nils replied. ‘Some call it
radar
.’

We’d never heard of it but wanted to know more.

Nils explained. ‘The system uses radio waves, just like wireless sets, only much more powerful. Transmitters along the coastline send out pulses. These pulses bounce off anything solid – like aircraft – and get reflected back. Sensitive receivers pick up the return signals. The aerials are directional and, using the time it takes for the pulses to return, it’s possible to work out how far away the aircraft are. The radar operators relay the information to us pilots and then it’s down to us to intercept the enemy.’

Nils reached out and took my paper from me. Removing a pen from his pocket, he drew a diagram to illustrate. ‘The aerials are huge, Finn, about three hundred feet tall. You can’t miss them. I’ve seen them myself while flying coastal patrols.’

Loki leaned forward for a better look at Nils’ picture. ‘If they’re that big, surely Fritz has seen them too? Why haven’t they just bombed the hell out of them?’

Scratching his chin, Nils pulled a face. ‘Good point, Loki. If I was Fritz and knew what these aerials were for, I’d make destroying them my first priority. Blow them to smithereens. The fact that hasn’t happened suggests that Fritz doesn’t know what they are. Maybe he just thinks they’re ordinary radio transmitters.’

Nils had taken part in many frenetic dogfights. He’d flown alongside my father, who’d travelled to England and joined the RAF when war broke out. Father had been determined to play his part. And his wish was fulfilled, although ultimately it cost him his life. I was proud of him. People had begun calling Pilots like him
the few
, men to whom so much was owed. Of course
the few
had become
fewer
. Britain was desperately short of pilots. ‘Was radar much use to you during the Battle of Britain?’ I asked.

After a little thought Nils answered my question. ‘Yes. Without radar our fighter squadrons wouldn’t have been scrambled in time. It gave us a few precious minutes to get airborne, achieve sufficient altitude and locate the enemy.’ He paused before continuing. ‘Even now they pick up the incoming night bombers while they’re still
out
over the sea. Our lads try their best to intercept them but darkness gives the enemy the edge.’ He began chewing the end of his pen. ‘What we really need is to have some sort of radar inside our cockpits. Then we’d effectively be able to see in the dark.’

Loki stretched out a leg and gave Nils a friendly kick. ‘Why don’t you just eat more carrots?’ he joked.

We laughed. It was said that British pilots ate lots of carrots because they thought it helped them to see in the dark.

‘Do the Germans have this
radar
as well?’ asked Freya.

Nils nodded. ‘We believe so. In fact, there’s a nasty rumour that they have developed a new long-range system, one which gives them even more time to get their fighters airborne.’

‘Do you think it’s true?’

‘It would make sense. Bomber Command has been experiencing horrendous losses recently. No sooner do they reach the French coast than the enemy swarms about them like flies around a rotting carcass. It’s one hell of a problem.’

‘Well, if they do have it, it must look very different,’ Loki observed.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘If their system’s like ours with all those weird tall aerials, our fighter patrols would have spotted them, wouldn’t they? Presumably they haven’t or we’d know about it. So Fritz’s radar system must look different.’

‘I expect you’re right,’ said Nils.

I resumed reading for about twenty minutes before
noticing
that everyone else looked as though they were dozing off. Loki, Freya and me were bound together by more than just a lifetime’s friendship. Loki’s parents, Freya’s father, and my mother and sister all languished back home in the dark, dank prison cells of Trondheim’s Kristiansten Fortress – all guests of the infamous Gestapo. The fate of our loved ones was as uncertain as our own and the three of us were united by the dream of their safe release, or of one day returning to free them. With Germany seemingly winning the war, a happy outcome felt far, far away – way beyond our reach.

Our helplessness frequently bubbled to the surface as anger and frustration. We leaned heavily on each other for support. Nils played his part too, reminding us that as far as we knew they were still alive. ‘Where there’s life, there’s hope,’ he’d say. Often,
hope
on its own just didn’t seem enough.

Loki started to snore. I pressed my head against the back of the seat and closed my eyes too. At Arisaig we’d been up before dawn every day, out running in all weathers over gruelling terrain, then ordered to swim back and forth in the icy waters of the lochs. That was part one of our training. It was no holiday, or like any school I’d ever been to before. It was tough. No allowances were made for the fact we were just kids. We all knew that should we fail or display weakness, our time in Special Ops would be over. We’d learned a lot. Stuff like how to camouflage ourselves in the wilderness, how to avoid detection when crossing
open
ground, how to build shelters, blow up railway lines – basically how to hit the enemy hard and survive on the run.

Although we’d now left the Highlands behind, our training was far from over. There was a second phase, a second school, somewhere incredibly secret, where we were to be taught spycraft and Lord knows what else. That’s where we were heading now. It was a daunting prospect not least because it brought us a step closer to active service, to our first real Special Operation.

IT WAS EARLY
evening when we arrived in London. The blackout meant there were few lights to see by. The air was thick with steam and soot, and my nose itched like mad.

‘There should be a car waiting outside the station,’ Nils announced as we all jumped down onto the platform. ‘We have to go across the city to catch the next train from Waterloo. But we’ve got plenty of time.’

Ambling alongside waiting trains, I watched women on tiptoe hug their men, refusing to let go. There were tears and handkerchiefs, sobs and laughter, smiles and frowns – a whole kaleidoscope of emotions. I realized it was their last desperate moment before parting and I knew that for some there’d be no return. There were lines of small children too, their raincoats buttoned up, their hats and caps pulled down over their ears. Each wore a name tag as though they were an item of luggage, and each carried their gas mask in a little box with shoulder straps. At their feet rested small bags and suitcases, just one each, as though they were off on a short holiday. Some looked excited, a few bewildered, but a good many were crying their eyes out. Women with clipboards were clucking round them, keeping them
in
line and doing their best to be cheerful. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

‘They’re being evacuated. Should have gone months ago,’ Nils replied.

‘Evacuated where?’

‘All over the place. Basically, anywhere outside the city. Families will take them in and look after them until it’s safe for them to return.’

Many of the children were incredibly young. Poor blighters. I smiled as I passed two small grinning boys with cheap-looking toy tin helmets on their heads and wooden rifles in their hands. I saluted them and laughed when they stood to attention and saluted me back. We had something in common – we were all going on an adventure. I just hoped theirs would be less dangerous than ours.

Exiting the station, Nils set about searching for our transport. I’d never been to London before and I soaked up the atmosphere: the hectic streets, the buses, the men on street corners selling newspapers. The city was bustling, frantic, alive. I took a deep breath. After hours of being cooped up on the train it felt good to stretch my legs. There were posters everywhere. One showed a soldier pointing at us and bore the words, ‘
Is your journey really necessary?’ Yes!
I found myself thinking. Another showed a sinking ship with the caption, ‘
A few careless words may end in this
’. It was a reminder to avoid discussing the movements of ships or troops. Not all were so threatening though. One showed a boy clutching a spade and said ‘
Dig for Victory
’.

‘Look at those!’ Loki announced excitedly, pointing upwards.

‘What?’ Following his outstretched arm, I gazed to the heavens and saw shapes in the moonlight. They resembled flabby inflatable elephants and were rapidly rising into the night sky – barrage balloons. I’d read about them. They were huge, over sixty feet long and thirty feet tall, and were filled with hydrogen. Tethered to the ground by a long steel cable, they could be winched up or down thousands of feet in just minutes. I felt alarmed by the sight of them and the inevitable question that sprang to mind. Did they always raise them after dusk, or was trouble heading our way?

Loki yawned. ‘At least they’ll force the Luftwaffe to keep to higher altitudes.’

‘Uh-huh. I’d hate to fly into the supporting cables. They’d cut an aircraft in half.’ We both peered up a while. ‘I wonder what would happen if one exploded? I wouldn’t want to be standing beneath it!’

‘Yeah, imagine thousands of feet of cable falling out of the sky.’

Nils ran from one parked car to another, tapping on windows and asking the drivers if they were under orders to escort us across town. Finally, he reached the last vehicle, looked back towards us and shrugged apologetically.

‘Oh great!’ Freya cursed. ‘What do we do now?’

Suddenly something cut through the air. It began as a low-pitched hum but rapidly rose into a screaming whine before oscillating between the two extremes – an
air-raid
siren! The wailing horror put the fear of God into me. Raising the barrage balloons was no exercise, I realized. Someone knew the enemy was coming! People stopped whatever they were doing and scurried for cover. Nils hurried back and shouted, ‘Just what we didn’t need. We’ll head for the nearest shelter.’

We quickly found ourselves amid a huddle making for the entrance to an underground station. Caught up in the mêlée, we descended the steps. It felt as if we were being carried along on a tidal wave. People pushed and shoved, swore and complained. ‘Get a bleedin’ move on!’ yelled a tall fellow impatiently.

‘Faff off!’ someone else replied angrily.

I was amazed people didn’t trip and fall and disappear beneath a hundred trampling feet. Then again, I supposed Londoners were used to the drill. Eventually we found ourselves in a long corridor close to the subterranean platform, at least fifty feet below ground level. I heard someone shout, ‘Mind the gap’, and moments later caught a glimpse of a train slowly snaking its way towards the black of a tunnel. We didn’t have underground railways back home, except those that ran through the mountains. Gradually panic was replaced by a sense of relief sweeping through the crowds. We’d made it! We were safe.

‘How long will we have to stay down here?’ asked Freya. ‘It’s awful. It stinks.’

‘As long as it takes,’ Nils replied. ‘Until we get the all clear.’

The station filled rapidly. I noticed that most came
prepared
, some with books, games and blankets under their arms, others weighed down with bags of food. Some looked as if they’d been here for hours already.

The atmosphere was humid and heavy, the air smelling stale, full of dirt and grime. But the people of London seemed a cheery lot, and I heard laughter as well as babies crying. I watched four men play cards and one of them lose half a crown to the others. To my right an elderly chap began a tune on his mouth organ while tapping his feet. Young children sat in a circle and amused themselves with games.

The first bomb fell. It sounded little more than a dull, distant thud. It was strangely reassuring – sounding so far away it surely meant we were safe. But it was quickly followed by more vibrating thumps and bangs: the detonations arrived in clusters, and they grew louder. And louder!

The chatter ceased. Only the cries of griping toddlers broke the hush. It was as if everyone was holding their breath. I tried to imagine what the crews of the German bombers were thinking as they reached out and flipped their bomb-release toggles, their planes lurching upwards, their heavy load of munitions tumbling from the belly of their metallic death machines. Did they care about the horror they’d unleashed? Or was it all too far away, too unreal,
too unimaginable
?

A bomb fell nearby. I flinched as the lights flickered. Another struck. The lights went out for a few seconds and then came back on. People lifted
newspapers
to shield their heads from the dust and dirt falling from cracks between the bricks in the ceiling. Then more bombs arrived. The place shook. I shook. Loki seized Freya and held her tightly. I heard people praying aloud. We all knew the truth: our place of refuge was safe – unless it suffered a direct hit. Then we might be killed or buried alive. The thunder above us seemed unrelenting, as if an angry giant’s boot was stamping down on us. The lights went out, and this time they didn’t come back on. People switched on their torches. I felt a hand reach out and grasp mine. It was Freya’s. I squeezed it tightly. Another bomb struck and our underground world shook. To my left a woman cried out.

Then it stopped. There were no more bombs.

Eventually the siren wailed the all clear.