Moon Squadron (7 page)

"Like those who had gone, we made no farewells. We simply faded out. Lucien was wearing an untidy suit of unmistakably French cut. Nobody would look twice at him in a Paris street. I wore a skirt and a blouse, with a loose topcoat and a coloured scarf over my head. I hoped that nobody would like twice at me either.

"A car called for us. It was driven by another of those cheerful, healthy F.A.N.Y.s. We went along a winding lane and had to wait for a minute or two at some closed railway gates. Beyond it, in the gloom, was a flat expanse of land, with some farm buildings. I asked where we were and realised at once that it was a foolish question. The F.A.N.Y. driver said evasively that it was the place where we took off from. The railway gates opened and we went on. It didn't look like an airfield but I now know it to be Tempsford. We arrived at what I thought vaguely was a cowshed. It turned out to be a Nissen hut and it had been made warm and welcoming with a blazing fire. There we were greeted by an R.A.F. officer who called us by our code names and helped us once again to check all our clothes and belongings. No British labels on the coat; no betraying, forgotten 'bus tickets to Baker Street; and what about this handkerchief with an embroidered initial other than that of the new name I had now assumed? The final check was as thorough as it was necessary. Then I turned out my handbag. Lipstick, comb, powder-puff-all unmistakably French; the silver powder compact given to me by Colonel Buckmaster. No doubt at all about where that had come from - Paris.

"Now for the money. The Nissen hut within the cowshed was suddenly transformed into a sort of surrealist bank. After the search, I had struggled into my jumping suit, pulling on the trousers over my topcoat. A bundle of five hundred thousand franc banknotes was slid, as a sort of cushion, into the small of my back by the obliging cashier in R.A.F. uniform. Lucien was given even more and, over and above these large sums, we were each handed some small change for immediate necessities.

"I found it almost impossible to move once my parachute harness was strapped on over my suit. My handbag was on my front, hanging from a string round my neck, inside the suit. All this trussing up business gave me a slightly comic sense of unreality. And then, on a small table, I saw my crystals, my loaded Colt revolver-and my lethal tablet. The sight of this last item wiped the smile from my lips. My instinct was not to take it with me, not even to have it in my possession, and that instinct proved to be abundantly right. There were moments to come when I could have been tempted. So I left it where it was. The other things were stowed in their respective pockets, a protective rubber helmet was put on my head and I was ready to go. Lucien had been similarly trussed up and armed and, there we were, cap-a-pie!

"After a last and curiously observant glance around that warm and comfortable room, we hobbled out into the spring night. It was cold and full of the scents of the country. Vera and the escorting officer came with us. Once again, we were taken by car but, this time, only a hundred yards or so. We got out under the wing of a Hudson. In the gloom, the aircraft looked compact, friendly and determined and all of a sudden, I felt safe and happy about the whole thing. Lucien and I were introduced to
the pilot and to the dispatcher, but not by any name. We simply were their anonymous passengers. To them, this was just a routine job, chucking out a couple of Joes - or rather one Joe and one Joe-ess. But they made us welcome and looked after us as if we were their special friends. Not only were the men of the Moon Squadron efficient at their job. They transmitted their confidence to us.

"I said good
bye to the R.A.F. escorting officer and then to Vera. Little did I realise how soon I was to see her again. Inside the Hudson, there was very little room. We lay down on the hard, cold metal floor, not helped by our parachute harness. A green light that shone over the dispatcher's head made everything look eerie and strange, rather like a haunted dungeon. We lay amidships, between weird shapes that had been stowed forward and aft while the dispatcher himself moved about the aircraft, stepping over us occasionally with a friendly grin. We heard the propellers swing and the engines start. After a very short space, they revved up and the metal floor began to tremble beneath us. They died down again and we felt the wheels begin to move, bumping a little as the aircraft taxied to the end of the runway. Once again, we heard the aircraft's thunder and were conscious of a sense of bumping speed that suddenly became smooth.

"Lucien and I were now on our way to France, in the deft and capable hands of the Moon Squadron."

In the Operations Room at Tempsford, it was laconically noted that Hudson so-and-so had taken off to the minute. The met. report was a good one. Should be a piece of cake.

In the country house nearby, two names - those of Lucien and Yvonne - were wiped off the dusty blackboard. Those who still waited to be called forward noticed vaguely that two of their number were no longer there. They went back to table tennis and the rehearsal of their own cover stories. Perhaps tomorrow would be
their
lucky day.

When the aircraft's sound had died away into the silence of the night, Vera considered whether she should return to London or stay the night at Tempsford. It was already late. She decided to go back to Baker Street in the morning.

"
In the Hudson," said Yvonne, "it became colder and colder…I hardly noticed it at first. I had already experienced a switchback of emotions, ranging from the quality of nightmare to a feeling of buoyancy. Now, as we flew through the night sky, my thoughts were anywhere other than in the present. I had a great sense of relief at being at last actually on my way. Mixed up with this was a recurring dread of the future, a dread which kept coming back and back with the insistence of a nagging tooth, Suddenly, sharply, I was jerked from the unforeseeable future into the immediate split second.

"A burst of machine-gun fire crackled shatteringly over the even roar of the engines. So we had already met the enemy.... I tried to flatten myself against the floor but my parachute and harness got into the way. I had a vision of
Luftwaffe
fighters zooming alongside us, getting into position for the kill-and for some extraordinary reason, I thought that if I were flat against the floor, I would stand less chance of being hit before we crashed. I tried to shout to Lucien but I couldn't make my voice heard over the surge and thunder of the engines. As suddenly as they had begun, the machine guns stopped and we were still flying. Not only were we flying, but flying steadily. The dispatcher made his way to me and squatted down on his haunches. He had a Thermos flask in his hand and a grin on his face. I passionately envied him his calm and asked him rather tremulously if we had beaten them off. His grin spread. Cupping his hands over my ear, he told me what had been going on.

"
Been clearing out machine-guns over the Channel. You never know. We might have to use 'em so we test 'em out. Sorry. My fault. Should have warned you.”

"I swallowed. No further comment . . .

"Two hours went by. In spite of the fact that the dispatcher appeared as regularly as clock-work with hot tea and reassuring words, I was stiff, cramped and bitterly cold. The noise of the engines was deafening and the floor like ice. But lying in the gloom and cold, my thoughts raced. Would the reception committee already be on its way to its secret rendezvous with Lucien and me? But before I would see these brave people, there was the matter of the jump itself. No small matter. I did not know that area of France and I had never been there. That was a good thing for it meant that nobody could come up to me in the street and recognise me, no matter with what innocent intention. And suppose I were to be arrested. How sound was my cover story-and would it stand up to detailed investigation and analysis by people whose professional job it was to break cover stories? All these things and these thoughts were on the debit side. There was much on the credit side too. At long last, I had been given the chance to be of real use in the war. As a wireless operator, I would have the honour of being a link between the two countries that I loved. But how soon would I be able to get my set working? I knew that, in a certain place in England, swift and skilful operators would be waiting for my call sign. I ran over my code again, making sure I was letter perfect. There were so many things to think about in the cold and resonant gloom and things that I thought I had forgotten about were tangled up in my thoughts. Even golliwogs from my nursery days and crucifixes. The dispatcher, that cheerful, essentially English person who, a few hours hence, would be in England, became a foreigner because we flew over France. He came to me and cupped his hands once more.

"In ten minutes, we would be over the DZ or dropping zone. It was time to get ready. He hooked my parachute on to the static line and opened the hatch. I could hardly move towards it because I was so stiff and cold. I had asked that I should be the first to jump and this was allowed me. I sat with Lucien just behind me, my toes dangling and tingling. On the five practice jumps I had done at Ringway, I had had to push myself out through a hole-falling into nothingness. This seemed to me to be far easier. I could just slide down without any muscular effort and find myself swinging in the starry sky. This, if not my cup of tea,
was at least my glass of claret! From my vantage point, I could clearly see the fields and woods flow past me in the clear moonlight. It was extraordinary how strongly the soil beneath me tugged at my heart, beckoning me down. We found our field. We were flying at eight hundred feet or even less and we circled it, peering down. The dispatcher, who had a friendly and almost protective hand on my arm, passed me a message from the pilot, the demi-god who sat in the Olympus called the cockpit. This was our field. It was bang on. No doubt at all. Our field. But there was no signal, no glimmer of torches, no chaps waiting for us. Couldn't cast us out unless there were chaps. He proposed to circle round for a few minutes more to give the chaps every chance. The starboard wing lifted and we swung round. As we came over the dropping zone again, I prayed with all my strength for one, even for one little flash of light that would send us on our way. The field, bare and bloodless in the moonlight, lay flat, friendless and empty. Already, alerted by the sound of our engines, enemy aircraft were revving up to take off from a nearby airfield. The pilot of the Hudson, risking all, did one more low run over the field where we longed to be. There were no torches. There was no sign. His instructions were clear and categoric. There was to be no jump unless the signal was given.

"I drew my half-frozen feet up. We turned for home. Lucien's heart and mine were filled with dread when we thought of the possible fate of those who had organised our coming, of those who might have set out to meet us. We both knew the terms of the General Order issued in September, 1941, over the signature of Field-Marshal Keitel. It was known in France as the 'Hostages Code.' Here is one of its provisions:

“If
an
incident
occurs
which
,
according
to
my
announcement
of
August
21st
,
1941
,
necessitates
the
shooting
of
hostages
,
the
execution
must
immediately
follow
the
order
.
The
district
commanders
,
therefore
,
must
select
from
the
total
number
of
hostages
in
their
own
districts
those
who
,
from
a
practical
point
of
view
,
may
be
considered
for
execution
and
enter
them
on
a
list
of
hostages
. '

"We were an incident.
”

"We were sick with disappointment and, suddenly, utterly exhausted. The dispatcher unhooked our parachutes from the static line and helped us off with our harness. He gave us blankets, more hot tea and words of commiseration and encouragement-for next time. We were too weary, both physically and in spirit, even to contemplate 'a next time.' The flight back seemed endless and our thoughts all the time were with those who had failed to meet us. In a state between sleeping and waking, the sound of our engines became to me the repeated banging of the rifles of execution squads and I prayed for those below.

"Tempsford once again, with the first streaks of dawn in the sky. I half stumbled out of the Hudson and hobbled back to the Nissen hut I had left a few hours before. Vera was there to meet us. There she was! I was delighted but not surprised. She seemed always to be there in times of trouble or distress. By her presence and by her calm words, she did much to dispel the almost overwhelming sense of failure. I got out of my jumping suit, returned my crystals, my Colt and the fabulous sum of money I had carried in the small of my back. The Royal Mint and I stickily parted company and I knew that, tomorrow, I would once again consider the cost of meals, my eye going down the right hand side of the menu before I even looked at the left.