Luciano's Luck (7 page)

now, Padre,' Barbera told him. 'Don Antonio's grand-daughter is coming, Maria.' The old man looked up, astonishment on his face. 'You mean to the Cammarata? But how can this be?' 'I've had word on the radio. Carter returns, very soon now.' Padre Giovanni stubbed out his cigarette angrily. 'The fool. I told him when he was last here that enough was enough. He seeks death, that one. But tell me more about the girl? Carter brings her with him, does he? They hope she will influence Don Antonio in a way no one else has been able to.' He shrugged. 'I'm not too sure that they are right.' Barbera said, 'There's more, Padre, a great deal more. Luciano comes with them.' The old man stared at him. 'Lucania?' he whispered, using Luciano's Sicilian name. 'Salvatore Lucania comes here? But he is in prison.' Then comprehension dawned. 'Ah, I see now - the whole strategy. Lucky Luciano and the old Don's grand-daughter. Harry Carter must think the game is his.' 'And you, padre? What is your opinion?' 'How could that be of the slightest importance? I will see that one of my little friends here,' he touched the pigeon loft, 'takes news of this to Don Antonio. He will act as he sees fit. When do they come?' 107 'Within the next few days, I'll be getting a further radio communication.' 'When you have the exact date, let me know. Have you spoken of this to the district committee?' 'No,' Barbera said. District committees had been set up during the previous summer to co-ordinate the activities of the various groups which made up the resistance movement. Padre Giovanni put a hand on Barbera's shoulder. 'And now, my friend, you will join me at the table. Something to susta^i you on the journey back to Bellona.' Harry Carter was waiting on the terrace of the villa at dar el Ouad when Eisenhower rode into the courtyard. The General dismounted, gave his reins to a groom and went up the steps to the entrance, acknowledging the salute of the sentries. As he moved into the hall, Cusak stood up at his desk. 'Colonel Carter's waiting, General.' Eisenhower turned as Carter came in from the terrace. He looked at him fixedly for a moment, then said, 'Come in, Colonel/ and led the way into his office. He dropped his riding crop on the table. 'I've read your . report, Colonel. You've been busy.' 'A fair description, General.' 'Where are you staying?' 'A small villa near the airfield at Maison Blanche, sir.* 'Comfortable?' 'Adequate, sir.' 'Luciano and this man, Luca's, grand-daughter. That's like aces back-to-back. Sit down.' Carter did as he was told. 'The invasion's still on, sir?' 'Oh, yes. Of course, they know about our preparations, we know that. They're expecting us any day now. Our deception plan is that any attack on Sicily will only be a 108 feint; that the real targets are Sardinia and Greece.' Carter said, 'When, sir?' 'Privileged information, Colonel, for your ears only. You don't tell the rest of your party except in circumstances of some extraordinary nature.' 'Very well, sir.' 'The ninth.' Eisenhower flipped the date pages of the desk calendar and smiled. 'It says here: A good day to sit back and take stock of your life.' Carter was astonished. 'But that only gives us four days.' 'I know, but the weather boys have ^guaranteed us storms on that day. The Italians won't be expecting any attack in that kind of weather.' 'Then if we go, it would have to be tomorrow night at the latest and that would only give us three days to work in.' 'How much time do you need?' Eisenhower said. 'One meeting with this man Luca is all it takes. If he decides to join us, the rest is simply his people spreading the word, isn't that so?' 'In theory, sir.' 'Well, theory is all we've got.' Eisenhower stood up, went to the map and jabbed his finegr at the Cammarata. 'Here, overlooking the two main roads we'll be using to reach Palermo. Mainly Italian troops with artillery of every description, including 88s, and you know what they do to our tanks. They've even got a few Tigers up there as well. If they decide to fight, they could hold us for weeks. If they surrender, then the few German units in the area will have to get out fast leaving the road to Palermo clear for George Patton.' 'Yes, sir, I'm well aware of the situation.' 'What you don't know is that since we last talked, information's reached us from Rome that the whole house of cards is ready to fall. Mussolini's on the verge of being 109 kicked out. One more push is all it takes and Marshal Badoglio takes over and that means a negotiated peace with Italy.' Carter said, 'There is another aspect to consider. I called in at Maison Blanche before coming here to make arrangements for the drop with Wing Commander Grant. He tells me the AOC has suspended any further operations. It seems they lost the last four Halifaxes they sent to Sicily.' 'Yes, I know about that,' Eisenhower said calmly. 'But the written authority you hold allows you to countermand that order.' 'The point is that, in Grant's opinion, the odds are heavily against one of their Halifaxes being able to reach the target.' 'You mean he says it's impossible?' Carter remembered Grant's exact words and rephrased ?� them. 'Let's just say that he didn't rate our chances very highly.' Eisenhower said, 'Are you saying it's not on?' 'No, sir, I'm simply being realistic' Eisenhower stood up and walked to the window. He spoke, gazing out into the garden at the same time. 'You know something I've discovered about command, Colonel? That even Napoleon was only as good as his worst soldier. No matter how well you plan, the success of an entire battle can come down to half-a-dozen brave men denying a bridge to the enemy. My personal theory is that every battle is like that. Somewhere in the middle of all the action, although we may never know it, a single incident can be the balance that decides which way victory will go.' 'Yes, I think I'd go along with that, General,' Carter said. Eisenhower turned. 'Whatever happens, we go into Sicily. We take our chances. We may win with heavy no casualties, but for all I know, this man Luca could be the kind of balance point I'm talking about. The difference between winning and losing.' 'So we go, sir?' This time the smile was touched with sadness. 'Difficult decisions have always been the privilege of rank, Colonel. I say you go and take your chances.' He held out his hand. 'I can only wish you luck.' Harvey Grant, seated at his office desk at Maison Blanche, finished reading the two letters of authorization from General Eisenhower and President Roosevelt. He passed them back to Carter. 'As good a way of committing suicide as I can imagine. Like I told you, I can't even offer you a fifty-fifty chance. Another thing, we've not been grounded just because of losses. I know the invasion's coming any day now. They'll tell you that in every bazaar in Algiers plus the fact that it's just a part of a mammoth deception to fool the enemy. For Sicily, read Sardinia. What the eye doesn't see.' 'I can't comment on that,' Carter started to say, and Grant suddenly slammed a hand against the window-sill. 'Christ, Harry, I think I've got it. What the eye doesn't see. Correction, what the eye expects to see, it ignores.' 'I don't follow you.' 'You will. Come on, I'll show you.' They went down the steps and walked towards the hangers. 'How many did you say there'll be?' 'Five. Four men and a woman.' 'A woman?' Grant said. 'My God. Still, I think it should do.' 'What exactly?' 'This.' Grant waved and led the way into the end hangar where the black-painted JU88S night fighter crouched in the gloom. 'You really think it would work?' Carter said. 'We'll need a quick paint job. Replace those RAF rondels with Lu^ffiaffe markings again. The point is, this baby has arrengine boosting system that takes it up to around four hundred. That means we can hit your drop zone in just under an hour from here. In and out, Harry, and to anyone around, we're just another night fighter.' Carter nodded slowly. 'You could be right.' Grant said impatiently. 'The krauts used the thing for the same purposes themselves, so it has the right modification, that special door they've fitted for a fast exit. More than coincidence, Harry. The Gods are smiling.' 'All right,' Carter said. 'Let's say it works, but how about coming back? This thing will have eveTy RAF fighter in the area on its back the moment it crosses the coast.' 'No problem,' Grant said. 'Naturally, I'll have to tell the AOC, Air Marshall Sloane that I'm going, but there won't be any problem there, not when he sees your authorization. He'll arrange the right kind of reception for me when I get back.' Carter said, 'You're grounded, Harvey, remember?' 'Not on this one, old son.' Grant patted the side of the Junkers. 'I'm not saying I'm the only pilot in the squadron who can fly this plane, but I'm the only one who can give this operation half a chance. I'll take Joe Collinson with me, the squadron's senior navigator. He's flown as many hours as I have in her so he's familiar with the equipment.' Carter, no choice in the matter now, nodded. 'All right, Harvey.' 'When do we go?' 'Tomorrow night, if that suits you.* 'The same drop zone as you used last time outside Bellona?' �Yes.' 'If you come with me now to the met. office we'll check on the weather, but all things being equal, I'd say you could send a message to your people in Bellonju telling them to expect you around eleven.' < 'Fine by me.' 'Good, then let's get moving. There's work to be done.' In Palermo, at his temporary headquarters in the Grand Hotel General Alfred Guzzoni, commanding the Italian Sixth Army, was holding a staff conference. It was attended mainly by Italian officers although there were a handful of Germans present, among them Meyer and Koenig. Guzzoni, a first-rate soldier and veteran of numerous campaigns, had spent an hour explaining the strategic situation in the Mediterranean. 'So, gentlemen,' he ended. 'They come soon, we know that. A feint at some point on the Sicilian coast and the main attack probably Sardinia. One thing seems certain. We can expect no activity for at least a week. 'Any questions? The meteorological report indicates some very stormy weather.' There were a few and after a while, Meyer raised his hand. 'General, I'd like to discuss the question of partisan activity in the mountains.' Guzzoni said, 'In what respect, Major?' 'A question of co-operation, General,' Meyer said. 'I expect none from these damn peasants in the mountains, but when I experience what I can only describe as a total lack of assistance from units of the Italian Army ... There was an angry murmur from the Italian officers present and it was Koenig who defused the situation by standing up and saying, 'You must excuse Major Meyer, Geneiial. He is perhaps not familiar with the fact that Italian dead lie as far east as the outskirts of Moscow and in considerable number in Stalingrad. I have been lucky enough to have them on my flank on more than one occasion and have been grateful for it.' A number of Italian officers around him broke into spontaneous applause. Meyer glanced at him calmly, picked up his briefcase and walked out. Guzzoni walked through the crowd and held out his hand. 'You've made an enemy there, I think.' 'Then I'll just have to live with it, sir.' Guzzoni put a hand around his shoulder. 'I had the pleasure of meeting your father in Berlin when I attended the OK.W conference last month. Come and have lunch with me and I'll tell you how he was.' The villa Carter's party was using was five miles along the coast from Maison Blanche. It wasn't much of a place, being run down and badly in need of a coat of whitewash, but the area behind it was astonishingly beautiful. Sand dunes separated the overgrown garden from the sea. Beyond them, a white beach ran as far as the eye could see. Carter had assembled the whole party in the living room of the villa for a general briefing. There was a map of Sicily on the wall and several large envelopes on the table. Most of what he said was simply a re-working of what had already been discussed before. When he was finished, he said, 'Any questions?' Detweiler asked, 'When is the invasion to take place. Colonel?' 'No need for you to know that yet,' Carter said. 'I believe it's a sound principle to keep knowledge of dates, facts, identities of sympathizers to a minimum when going into the field. The less you know, the less you can disclose under pressure. False papers have, of course, been prepared for each of you.' Savage said, 'But if anything goes wrong with the landing? If one of us becomes separated from the others, where do we make for?' 'Here, at the head of the valley. The Franciscan mona� 114 stery of the Crown of Thorns. That will be our general headquarters. Any further questions?' There was silence. Maria was sitting in a hollow in the dunes when Luciano found her. He flung himself down beside her and lit a cigarette. 'Carter's back. He wants to see us all together in thirty minutes.' 'Is it on?'she said. 'Apparently.' She turned away, gazing out to sea, hugging her knees and he said, 'What are you trying to see -Sicily?' 'It's been a long time.' 'And your grandfather. That's been a long time, too.' 'Yes,' she said. 'Maybe too long for both of us. Have you considered that?' 'I have, but I don't think the Professor has.' She shook her head. 'The omnipotent Luciano. Is nothing impossible to you ?' 'Some things. Even the Devil has his off days.' He held out a hand and pulled her to her feet. 'Come on, time to eat.' They walked away side-by-side and disappeared over the sand dunes. There was a stirring in a patch of long grass near by and Detweiler stood up. He brushed sand from his fatigues for a moment, a strange, dazed look in his eyes, and then went after them. In the living room of his house at the back of the mortuary, Vito Barbera presided over a meeting of the district committee. There was Pietro Mori, the schoolmaster, a thin, intense man of forty-six with steel-rimmed glasses, who had fought with the International Brigade in Spain. So had Ettore Russo, the one thing they had in common, for the fact that Russo had inherited his father's sheep farm made him suspect in the minds of many of the comrades. The Christian Democrats were represented by Father Collura, the parish priest for the Bellona district, and the Separatists by Verga, the innkeeper. And although it was not stated, had never needed to be, Vito Barbera stood there for the Honoured Society - for Mafia. When he finished talking, there was a long pause. It was Mori who spoke first. 'So, what do you want us to do? Genuflect because this Mafia cut-throat comes amongst us?' 'Salvatore comes as a saviour,' Ettore Russo mocked. 'Who from?' 'The Germans,' Barbera suggested. 'Yes, but not from Mafia.' It was Verga, the innkeeper speaking now. 'We of the Separatist movement want a Sicily that is genuinely free, not just separated
from Italy, but with the same old Mafia gang running things as before.' Father Collura said mildly, 'Shouldn't our primary task be to aid the American invasion as much as possible? The 116 Question of who is going to run the country can come afterwards. A matter of free democratic election.' 'Marvellous,' Mori said. 'Free democratic election with a Mafia hand on every throat.' Barbera said, 'Whatever else may be said, Mafia has always stood outside politics. I think no one here can deny that.' 'And behind whoever was in power,' Russo replied. Barbera sighed. 'I may take it, then, that no one is in favour of any concerted action at the moment?' 'When the Americans come, we will rise in the mountains,' Mori said. 'But as for Luciano. To hell with him.' 'And Don Antonio Luca's granddaughter? To hell with her also?' There was silence at the mention of that name. Mori glanced at Russo and forced a smile. 'Now look, Vito, old friend, we certainly meant no offence to Don Antonio.' 'No, that's what I thought.' Barbera looked at his watch and stood up. 'My friends will be dropping in approximately three hours, so you must excuse me. I know, of course, that this information is safe with you. If anything did go wrong, one would so obviously know where to start looking.' He shrugged, smiling. 'But what am I saying.' They moved out into the darkness of the side street and went their separate ways except for Mori and Russo who walked together for a while. Mori said, 'I know we don't always see eye to eye but in this present affair, I sense a considerable agreement.' 'If you mean something should be done about Luciano, then I'm with you,' Russo told him. Mori put an arm around his shoulders. 'Come back to my house for supper. We can talk things over in peace there and I have an excellent bottle of Chianti.' At Maison Blanche, a heavy damp fog rolling in off the Mediterranean reduced visibility to no more than two 117 hundred yards. The Junkers, once more with Luftwaffe � markings, squatted on the runway, had been there for something like half-an-hour. Carter and the rest of his party were crowded together into the narrow fuselage, their bodies swollen with parachutes and equipment. Flight Lieutenant Collinson, the navigator, was already on board, familiarizing his eyes with the Lichtenstein radar set that, in effect, enabled the Junkers to see in the dark. Harvey Grant stood outside the crew room with Air Marshal Sloane who had come down to see them off personally. 'It's not good, Harvey,' he said. 'About as bad as I've seen. If you go, you might not be able to land, even if you get back.' A young pilot officer appeared and handed Grant a weather report. 'Rain and thunderstorms predicted,' Grant said cheerfully. 'That's good enough for me, sir. See you in a couple of hours. This soup will all be washed away by then.' He turned and walked towards the Junkers, pulling on his flying helmet. Sloane watched him go up the ladder and pull it up behind him. A moment later, the engines, which had already been warmed up, rumbled into life. As Grant boosted power, the Junkers moved forward with increasing speed, following the line of flares. The fog swallowed it from sight and Sloane and the others standing outside the crew room, waited, holding breath. Not that there was any need, for at precisely the right moment, Grant hauled back the column, and the Junkers lifted, climbing up out of the fog into clear air. Grant put pressure on the right rudder and turned out to sea. After a while he spoke to Carter over the intercom which had been specially set up. 'How are things back there?' 118 1 �pine,' Carter said. 'Good. Estimated time of arrival in the target area, fifty minutes. The weather isn't too good there. Raining, but visibility should be okay. Thunderstorms forecast so it may get bumpy.' He settled the Junkers at a thousand feet exactly and sat back, barely touching the controls, thoroughly enjoying himself as they skimmed the surface of the fog. Twenty minutes from target and sixty miles southwest of Cape Granitola in Sicily, Collinson, leaning over the Lichtenstein set, gave a sudden cry. 'I've got something, sir, probably a night fighter.' Grant said over the intercom, 'Red alert, Harry, we've got company.' In their cramped quarters in the body of the Junkers, Carter, Luciano and the others couldn't see a thing. Carter said, 'Are you sure?' 'Now I am,' Grant told him as a Junkers, twin to his own, burst out of the fog to starboard and took up station. Grant raised a hand and could see the pilot of the other plane return the gesture. It stayed with them for a while, then peeled off to starboard and vanished into the night. 'Worked perfectly,' Grant said cheerfully over the intercom to Carter. 'He's just pissed off. We've got exactly fifteen minutes so better make sure you're ready.' In a meadow at the head of the valley beyond the Contessa di Bellona's villa, Vito Barbera and Rosa waited. It was raining steadily and they sheltered under the trees at the edge of the meadow. Rosa wore a tweed cap and an old belted raincoat. 'Are you all right?' Barbera asked. 'This stinking weather is something I hadn't counted on.' 'Why don't you worry about something important like n9 those Communist bastards, Mori and Russo? They could bring the Germans down on us any time they liked.' 'No,' he said. 'I don't think so. Mori is no fool. He wouldn't put his head on the block so stupidly.' She grabbed his arm. 'Listen, they come.' In the distance, there was the rumble of engines. He said, 'You know what to do.' She ran across to the far side of the field and Barbera tossed a match to the petrol-soaked bonfire they had prepared an hour earlier. It roared into life and on the other side of the meadow flame blossomed also as Rosa performed her part. Barbera looked up into the night and waited. The Junkers was down to a thousand feet when Harvey Grant saw the two fires marking the north and south edges of the meadow. 'Did you see that, Joe?' he said to Collinson. 'Go it, sir.' Grant banked to starboard, lifting over a ridge, turned and started his run. 'You've got two minutes, Harry,' he called over the intercom. Carter said, 'Fine, Harvey, all we need.' He nodded to the rest of the group and they all stood, crouching awkwardly in the confined space and clipped their static lines which opened the parachute automatically when they jumped to the anchor cable. Carter moved down the line, checking each of them personally, first Maria, then Savage followed by Luciano, Detweiler bringing up the rear. He went back to the head of the line, clipped his own static line in place, then slid back the exit door. Rain and cold air rushed in and a moment later, the green light flashed above his head. Carter, already aware of the fire blossoming in the night below, jumped without hesitation. Maria froze for the briefest of moments only and Savage shoved her out bodily and went after her. What happened next was not by any design. It was a kind of reflex gesture, a reflection of hate Detweiler had come to bear Luciano. He pulled the razor-sharp gravity knife from its scabbard on his right knee. Luciano, poised in the entrance clutching his supply bag, was aware of the knife slicing through the static line above his head before the sergeant shoved him out into space. Collinson, looking back through the open door of the cockpit, saw nothing of this action; in the half-light knew only that Detweiler was still with them for the sergeant had paused in the doorway, frozen, his mind numb, stunned by the enormity of what he had done. Grant, already way beyond the target, was pulling back the column to take the Junkers over the ridge ahead and Collinson clapped him on the shoulder. 'We've still got company.' And then, as the line of the ridge lifted to meet them, Grant boosted power and banked to port and Detweiler lost his balance and pitched headfirst into darkness. At four hundred feet, it takes twenty seconds to hit the ground. Luciano falling, past the half-way mark, remembered Carter's words in the Dakota at Ringway. He turned over once, twice, then released the supply bag he had been clutching and his fingers tore at the cover of the emergency chute, strapped across his belly, found the handle of the ripcord and pulled. There was a sudden jerk, the crack of the chute catching air no more than a hundred feet to go and then he was swinging beneath that dark khaki umbrella, the supply bag below on the end of a line clipped to his waist. And he was right on target, dropping fast towards the fire at the north end of the meadow, aware of Carter and Maria L.L.-E 121 already down. He glanced up, but there was no sign of Detweiler's parachute. He drifted in over Savage as the captain hit the grass and then the fire seemed to be rushing towards him and he was aware of someone standing there looking up at him, a boy in an old raincoat and cloth cap. The supply bag hit the ground with a solid thump, warning him to get ready. He followed it a split second later, rolling into wet grass, the breath going out of him. The the boy in the raincoat and tweed cap was moving in to help, clutching the billowing waves of silk, and Luciano saw that it was a young girl. He stood up, unlocking the quick release on his harness and she paused, examining him in the firelight. 'You are Luciano?' 'That's right. And you?' 'Rose Barbera - Vito's niece.' She started to bundle up the parachute and Harry Carter arrived on the run, Savage not far behind. 'Where's Detweiler? Vito says you were the last to jump, then the plane passed over into the next valley.' Luciano divested himself of the main chute, the one which hadn't opened, and held up the static line, the clean knife-cut evident to all. 'I knew the bastard didn't like me. I just didn't realize how much.' Detweiler, drifting down into the next valley, landed in a pinewood, his parachute snagging in branches, leaving him suspended ten feet above the ground. He snapped the release buckle, fell to the turf and lay there for a moment. What in the hell was he going to do now? He hadn't intended it, not any of it. It had been a moment of pure madness which had left him on the wrong side of the mountain and miles off target, alone and totally vulnerable. 122 I One thing was certain. He had to get moving fast and to reach Bellona on his own. He unzipped the flying suit in which he had jumped. Underneath he wore a patched tweed suit and shirt without collar. There was a cap in one pocket. He pulled it on, crouched down and opened the supply bag. He took out a Colt .45 automatic pistol and an Mi, slipped the Colt in one pocket and slung the Mi over his shoulder. He threw the supply bag into the bushes and pulled on the parachute to bring it down. It refused to budge so he abandoned it and started to work his way cautiously down through the wood. It had stopped raining for the moment and a pale moon showed through a gap in the clouds. In its light, he saw a dirt road on the far side of a low stone wall and scrambled over. He could smell woodsmoke, saw a farmhouse down below, a light in the window. He paused, slipping a hand inside his jacket to make sure the wallet was there containing the false papers Carter had given him at Maison Blanche. Reassured, he carried on down the track and turned in at the farmyard, leaving the Mi still slung from his shoulder, but with a hand in his pocket on the butt of the Colt. A dog barked excitedly inside the house as he walked through the mud of the farmyard to the door. He knocked. There was a certain amount of movement and then the top half of the door opened. Smoke drifted out into the cold air and in the dim light of an oil lamp, Detweiler was aware of a man standing there, holding a shotgun. He was perhaps sixty, with hollow cheeks and unshaven face and wore incredibly patched clothes. A small, ragged boy of about twelve stood beside him. Beyond them by the open fire, an old woman, face as wizened as an Egyptian mummy's, lay back in a wooden Tocking chair, swaddled in blankets. "What do you want?' the man asked hoarsely. 'I'm a shepherd,' Detweiler said. 'I was walking over the top of the next valley and lost my way, then it got dark. Can you put me up for the night?' The man nodded, 'Sure, why not. You can sleep in the barn. Giorgio here can put you on your way in the morning.' He patted the boy on the head, who drew a sleeve across his nose, but said nothing. The man eyed Detweiler speculatively. 'Tell me the truth now. Aren't you with the boys in the mountains?' Detweiler was uncertain what to say, but decided to take a chance. 'Perhaps.' 'I knew it.' The old man smiled suddenly, revealing blackened teeth. 'You've come to the right place, son, believe me. We're all patriots here,' and he opened the lower half of the door and drew Detweiler in. The atmosphere inside the Junkers was of tremendous excitement as they roared through the night to the Sicilian coast line. Collinson said over the intercom, 'Cape Grani-tola coming up fast. We did it, sir. We did itl A perfect drop.' 'Except for that stupid sod cocking things up at the end,' Grant replied. 'God knows where he's ended up. We were miles off target by the time he jumped. What in the hell was he playing at?' And then Collinson, staring into the Lichtenstein set, said, 'We've got company. Big trouble.' A Junkers emerged from the cloud to starboard. A second later another took up station to port. Collinson said, 'Better check your tail. There's another bastard there. Now what?' 'I suspect the clever thing to do would be to switch to their air-to-air frequency,' Grant said and did just that. There was a little static and a voice said in fair English, 'Big black bird, we've been lonely without you. Last seen over Algeria a month ago. You've taken your time com- 124 � a home. Now let's all go down nice and friendly, land at Otranto base and sort things out.' 'Go and fuck yourself!' Grant said and dropped his flaps as on that memorable occasion in the Dakota on his way back back from Malta. The pilot of the Junkers on his tail shoved his column forward desperately and went into a steep dive, passing underneath, and Grant went after him, switching to his G* system to boost power, holding his fire like all great pilots until he was close. His thumb pressed on the button, cannon shell and tracer ripped into the other plane, tearing great chunks out of the fuselage. There was a sudden tongue of flame in the night that mushroomed into fireball as the Junkers disintegrated. In the same moment, Grant's own aircraft staggered under the impact of cannon shell as one of the other planes came in on his tail. He went into a corkscrew instantly, the reflex of several years of combat flying coming to his aid, and a moment later was engulfed in cloud. 'Everything okay?' he called. 'We're in a mess back here,' Collinson told him. 'Hole in the fuselage you could drive a Morris Ten