The Adjacent (16 page)

As we left the wardroom, Lieutenant Bartlett introduced me to three of the other pilot officers, but their aura of easy camaraderie and flyers’ slang, their familiar joshing with each other and a kind of reckless acknowledgement of the dangers of their job, made me feel more than ever an interloper. The four young men chatted together for a few minutes, discussing the weather report for the day, including the wind direction. Everyone always paid attention to the forecasts, because of the risk that the Germans might release poison gas. Under suitable wind circumstances, tendrils of the gas could reach even as far as this airfield. In fact the forecast for later that day was a light south-westerly breeze, so those fears at least were allayed for a while.

Lieutenant Bartlett led me back out to the field and across to where one of the warplanes was waiting. Most of the other aircraft
were gone – I had heard planes taking off while we were eating breakfast. As we approached the aircraft, an airman standing beside it, who had been leaning over to speak to one of the mechanics working on the underside of the wing, spotted us and immediately straightened. He stiffened to attention, then saluted us both. Bartlett responded automatically – I saluted a second or two later.

‘This is my crewman,’ Bartlett said, as we all relaxed our manner. ‘Observer Sub-Lieutenant Astrum. Astrum, this is Lieutenant-Commander Trent, who has come to work with the squadron as an adviser on camouflage.’

‘Good morning, sir,’ Astrum said, showing no apparent surprise at my appearance. He had a pleasant West Country accent. I was at least twice the age of everyone I had so far seen on the base, adding to my sense of being an outsider. But Sub-Lieutenant Astrum was smiling and he extended his hand in a friendly way. ‘Welcome aboard.’

‘Mr Astrum flies with me as observer and gunner,’ Lieutenant Bartlett said. ‘This morning we plan to carry out one of our regular recces of the German lines, which are to the north-east of here. It’s a particular area called Bois Bailleu. No trees there now, unfortunately. It’s a sector where the archie is usually pretty fierce. We think there might be something going on there they don’t want us to know about, because they make it so hot for us. Of course, that makes it all the more interesting, so we keep having to go back for another look and each time the ack-ack is a bit worse.’

Sub-Lieutenant Astrum pointed out an area of the tailplane, near to where he was standing. I could see that the fabric had been patched in several places, then roughly repainted.

‘That happened two days ago, sir,’ he said. ‘Right over where Bailleu Wood used to be. It wasn’t too serious – not the closest they’ve come to shooting us down, but pretty bad.’

‘You came back all right?’

‘We made it home,’ said Bartlett, and he glanced at his wristwatch. ‘We’re going to have to take off in a few minutes for a proving flight, but before we do I want to show you the problem we need you to work on. Let’s take a look at the underside.’

He threw aside his flying jacket and indicated I should remove my tunic too. He lay down on his back in the long grass and signalled me to join him. Together we wriggled until we were beneath the lower of the two wing planes. It was of course the closest I had ever been to an aircraft of any kind, let alone a fully armed and fuelled warplane. With the wing surface just a few inches above my face, I
suddenly felt terrified of the machine. The pungent smell from the varnish they had used to tighten the wing fabric, obviously high in ether or alcohol, wafted around us. Lieutenant Bartlett must have detected my reaction.

‘You’ll get used to the smell in a day or two, sir,’ he said. ‘Try not to inhale it directly. But these kites wouldn’t stay in the air without it.’

I made no reply. I used a similar-smelling liquid in one of my illusions, in which a spectacular burst of flame appeared (or seemed to appear) from nowhere. I was always nervous of the volatile, highly inflammable liquid, treating it with respect, yet these aircraft were coated in it or something very like it. It was all too easy to imagine what would happen if an ack-ack shell were to explode close to the aircraft, or even if a hot bullet were to pass through the fabric.

Bartlett was indicating the canvas under the wing, drumming his fingertips on it to show how tautly it was stretched. It was painted silvery blue. They had clearly been thinking about the same camouflage ideas as me.

‘You see what we’re trying?’

‘Yes, I do. Does it help? Is the plane less easy to see?’

‘Not that we would ever know. They still keep shooting at us. The problem is, we can’t go on experimenting with different colours. Every coat of paint increases the weight of the plane, and it tends to soften the dope we’ve used on the canvas. Maybe one more coat would be possible. What do you think?’

‘I’m not sure paint is the answer,’ I said. ‘It’s a first step, but I think I might know a better way.’

‘Can you tell me what it is?’

‘Not yet. I need to carry out some research.’

‘Every day counts, sir.’

‘I know. I can work quickly.’

We pulled ourselves out from under the wing and stood up. The heady feeling induced by the dope fumes began to dispel. Bartlett scanned the sky and in a moment pointed out an aircraft flying low in the distance, away from the German lines.

‘I think that might be Mr Jenkinson,’ he said. ‘Flight Lieutenant Jenkinson. He’s been out on a gunnery test and will be passing overhead in a minute. You can see for yourself the effect the silver paint has.’

Sure enough the aircraft tipped its wings and turned towards the airfield. We shaded our eyes with our hands as he flew towards us. He went into a shallow climb and passed at some height above us. Even before he was directly overhead I could see for myself that
the silver paint idea was never going to work. Irrespective of the underside colour, his aircraft was a black silhouette against the sky.

‘The Germans don’t even go to the trouble of camouflaging themselves any more,’ Simeon Bartlett said, as Lieutenant Jenkinson went into a steep turn then lined up on the airfield to make a landing. ‘They paint their crates every colour you can think of.’

‘Presumably they’re not trying to observe our lines without being noticed?’

‘No, the ones I’m talking about are their fighters. They’re the real danger to us. No one likes ack-ack but when the Hun sends up a school of fighters then it’s every man for himself. We can cope with that. It’s an equal fight. We give as good as we get, but unless we’re on the ball they can come at us without warning. We usually get a hint that they’re around if the guns on the ground stop firing at us. What we have to do then is stop looking down and start looking up.’

‘Have you been in any battles yourself?’

The young officer looked uneasy, and glanced around to see if we were being overheard. ‘That would be over-stating it a bit, you know. Not battles. If we were in the infantry we would describe what we get involved with as skirmishes. Here we call them dogfights, because that’s what they are like. A lot of scrapping, barging around, chasing our tails, trying to get off a squirt of ammo at them before they get one off at us. Camouflage doesn’t matter a damn then, because we’re all up in the sky and the odds are the same for both sides.’

‘So what am I to do?’ I said.

‘Surveying the German lines is our main job, the big effort. We’re here in support of the ground troops, because in the end they are the ones who will have to win the war for us. But it’s getting dangerous and we need effective camouflage.’

As if to underline what he said, another of the squadron’s planes flew across the airfield, this time waggling its wings as a signal. As it approached the centre of the airfield, roughly above where Lieutenant Bartlett and I were standing beside his plane, it climbed steeply before levelling off, its engine coughing. Puffs of black smoke blew out of the engine exhausts. The display of high spirits by the pilot served once again to show how distinct a plane’s outline was when seen from the ground.

‘You know, part of the problem is the shadow,’ I said.

‘Shadow?’

‘Not on the ground, but the shadow on the underside of the plane. It strikes me that could be changed by putting a light on the
aircraft.’ I was thinking quickly, if not all that appropriately. ‘One light in the belly of the plane, and a couple more along the leading edge of each lower wing. That would fix it. No more shadow, and you’d be difficult to see.’

Lieutenant Bartlett looked aghast. ‘Go into battle carrying lights?’ he said.

‘Well, yes.’

‘I think not.’

‘But if they –’

Embarrassed, I let the matter drop as suddenly as it had arisen. The challenge of solving a problem had carried me away, making me forget this was not just a technical issue, a puzzle to be solved, but involved the lives of these young men who were risking everything.

LIEUTENANT BARTLETT TURNED AWAY FROM ME AND WALKED
across to where Astrum was pulling on his heavy leather flying jacket. They spoke quietly for a moment, with Simeon Bartlett looking back at me more than once. It was a moment of real impasse, which made me realize how serious the problems were, and that my foolish suggestion had probably undermined his confidence in me.

At that moment, to make me feel even worse, another officer came striding across the grass towards me. He was clearly more senior than any of the airmen I had so far met. The ground crew around me stiffened, and saluted.

He ignored them and came directly to me.

‘I want a word with you,’ he said to me without preamble, jabbing a finger aggressively.

‘Yes, sir,’ I said.

We stepped a distance away from Lieutenant Bartlett’s aircraft, and stood with our backs to the other men.

‘I think I know who you are, Mr Trent,’ he said, his voice an authoritarian treble. ‘You’re a civvy, I believe.’

‘Well, yes –’

‘I don’t know how you came to my station, or into my command, or what your orders are. But there’s no room for civilians on this base.’

‘I’m on a temporary commission, sir, and I am carrying written orders from the Admiral of the Fleet’s office at the Admiralty.’ I had the orders somewhere inside my luggage, and in fact I had
transferred them from one bag to the other when I arrived. I realized I should have sought out this commanding officer as soon as I arrived and presented him with my orders. They had emphasized at the Admiralty that that was what I had to do, but Lieutenant Bartlett’s informal greeting at the station had made me overlook this service nicety. ‘I apologize, sir,’ I said inadequately. ‘This is my first posting. I have been sent as a special consultancy detachment.’

‘Not at my request.’

‘May I provide you with my orders, sir?’

‘Later. I only found out this morning you were here. Just do what you came here to do, don’t make a nuisance of yourself, then clear out. These boys are exposed to danger every day, and they don’t need to be distracted from their duties by some damned illusionist who thinks he can win the war single-handed. You clear on that? You understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

But he was already striding across the grass, saluting in an absent-minded way as he passed other young pilot officers heading out to the airstrip, ready for the next sortie.

While this brief and unpleasant exchange was going on, Lieutenant Bartlett had climbed into the cockpit of his plane, with Astrum in the observer’s seat behind. They had pulled on their helmets. A mechanic stood by to swing the propeller, while two others waited for the order to remove the wheel chocks. I walked across to the aircraft. Simeon Bartlett inclined his head towards me.

‘We have to make a couple of circuits on a test flight – just checking a problem with the controls. Then I thought you might like to come up with me instead of Astrum here, and have a good close look at the German lines. See what we have to put up with.’

Something lurched horribly inside me. ‘Today? This morning?’

‘No time like the present. The need is urgent.’

‘Are you sure that would be all right with the commanding officer?’

‘What did Henry say to you?’

‘Henry?’

‘The C.O. – Lieutenant-Commander Montacute.’

‘He told me to make myself scarce. He said I was not welcome.’

‘Then he can hardly complain if I take you into the line of fire!’ Simeon Bartlett laughed cynically. ‘Don’t worry about what he said. I had a strip torn off me before you arrived yesterday, because he thought I had gone to the Admiralty behind his back. Well, in fact I did, because it was my Uncle Timothy who decided you should be
brought out here. So I did go behind Henry’s back, or over his head, and he doesn’t like it. But because the Admiralty has already approved you there’s nothing he can do. Hand him your written orders as soon as possible and if he says anything more about it I’ll speak up for you. The simple fact is that I have family in the Navy and he hasn’t.’ He leaned away from me, peering along the cowl of the front-mounted engine. He shouted to the mechanic. ‘All right, Seaman Walters!’

The young man standing at the front pulled down hard on the two-bladed propeller, stepping back in the same instant. The prop went through half a turn, then bounced back with what sounded like a wheezing noise from the engine. The effort was repeated several times, until finally the engine took. With a great bursting cloud of blue smoke, pouring out from everywhere around the engine, the propeller began to spin.

Lieutenant Bartlett turned towards me again, just as I was about to back away.

‘Get yourself into a flying suit, sir!’ he shouted over the racket. ‘There are several in one of the huts over there. I’ll see you back here in about ten minutes, and I’ll take you for a good close look at the Germans.’

One of the mechanics stepped forward, and produced a hand-pistol with a thick barrel. He moved in front of Lieutenant Bartlett’s aircraft, looked around in all directions, then took the pistol in both hands. Pointing it into the sky he fired a single shot. A bright red light went shooting upwards, arcing through the sunshine. At the top of its flight it emitted a brilliant red flare, then began to fall slowly towards the ground.