World War II Thriller Collection (107 page)

The pedals at his feet moved as Poul used the rudder to steer the aircraft across the grass. They taxied to the runway, which was marked by little flags, and turned into the wind, then they stopped, and Poul said, “A few more checks before we take off.”

For the first time, it occurred to Harald that what he was about to do was dangerous. His brother had been flying for years without an accident, but other pilots had crashed, and some had died. He told himself that people died in cars, on motorcycles, and aboard boats—but somehow this felt different. He made himself stop thinking about the dangers. He was not about to panic and disgrace himself in front of the class.

Suddenly the throttle lever beneath his hand moved smoothly forward, the engine roared louder, and the Tiger Moth eagerly moved along the runway. After only a few seconds, the control stick eased away from Harald's knees, and he felt himself tip forward slightly as the tail lifted behind him. The little aircraft gathered speed, rattling and shaking over the grass. Harald's blood seemed to thrill with excitement. Then the stick eased back under his hand, the aircraft seemed to jump from the ground, and they were airborne.

It was exhilarating. They climbed steadily. To one side, Harald could see a small village. In crowded Denmark, there were not many places from which you could not see a village. Poul banked right. Feeling himself tipped sideways, Harald fought the panicky notion that he was going to fall out of the cockpit.

To calm himself, he looked at the instruments. The rev counter showed two thousand rpm, and their speed was sixty miles per hour. They were at
an altitude of one thousand feet already. The needle on the turn-and-slip indicator pointed straight up.

The aircraft straightened out and leveled off. The throttle lever moved back, the engine note dipped, and the revs slipped back to nineteen hundred. Poul said, “Are you holding the stick?”

“Yes.”

“Check the line of the horizon. It probably goes through my head.”

“In one ear and out the other.”

“When I release the controls, I want you to simply keep the wings level and the horizon in the same place relative to my ears.”

Feeling nervous, Harald said, “Okay.”

“You have control.”

Harald felt the aircraft come alive in his hands, as every slight movement he made affected its flight. The line of the horizon fell to Poul's shoulders, showing that the nose had lifted, and he realized that a barely conscious fear of diving to the ground was making him pull back on the stick. He pushed it forward infinitesimally, and had the satisfaction of seeing the horizon line slowly rise to Poul's ears.

The aircraft lurched sideways and banked. Harald felt he had lost control and they were about to fall out of the sky. “What was that?” he cried.

“Just a gust of wind. Correct for it, but not too much.”

Fighting back panic, Harald moved the stick against the direction of bank. The aircraft lurched in the other direction, but at least he felt he was controlling it, and he corrected again with another small movement. Then he saw that he was climbing again, and brought the nose down. He found he had to concentrate fiercely on responding to the aircraft's slightest motion just to keep a steady course. He felt that a mistake could send him crashing to the ground.

When Poul spoke, Harald resented the interruption. “That's very good,” Poul said. “You're getting the hang of it.”

Harald felt he just needed to practice for another year or two.

“Now press lightly on the rudder pedals with both feet,” Poul said.

Harald had not thought about his feet for a while. “All right,” he said brusquely.

“Look at the turn-and-slip indicator.”

Harald wanted to say,
For God's sake, how can I do that and fly the aircraft at the same time?
He forced himself to take his eyes off the horizon for a second and look at the instrument panel. The needle was still in the twelve noon position. He looked back at the horizon and found that he had lifted the nose again. He corrected.

“When I take my feet off the rudder, you'll find the nose will yaw left and right with the turbulence. In case you're not sure, check the indicator. When the aircraft yaws left, the needle will move to the right, telling you to press down with your right foot to correct.”

“All right.”

Harald felt no sideways movement, but a few moments later, when he managed to steal a glance at the dial, he saw he was yawing left. He pressed down on the rudder pedal with his right foot. The needle did not move. He pressed harder. Slowly, the pointer edged back to the central position. He looked up and saw that he was diving slightly. He pulled the stick back. He checked the turn-and-slip indicator again. The needle was steady.

It would have seemed simple and easy if he had not been fifteen hundred feet up in the air.

Poul said, “Now let's try a turn.”

“Oh, shit,” said Harald.

“First, look left to see if there's anything in the way.”

Harald glanced to the left. In the far distance he could see another Tiger Moth, presumably with one of his classmates aboard, doing the same as he. That was reassuring. “Nothing nearby,” he said.

“Ease the stick to the left.”

Harald did so. The aircraft banked left and he again experienced the sickening feeling that he was going to fall out. But the aircraft began to swing around to the left, and Harald felt a surge of excitement as he realized he was actually steering the Tiger Moth.

“In a turn, the nose tends to dip,” Poul said. Harald saw that indeed the aircraft was heading downward, and he pulled back on the stick.

“Watch that turn-and-slip indicator,” Poul said. “You're doing the equivalent of a skid.”

Harald checked the dial and saw that the needle had moved to the right.
He pressed the rudder pedal with his right foot. Once again, it responded only slowly.

The aircraft had turned through ninety degrees, and Harald was eager to straighten up and feel safe again, but Poul seemed to read his mind—or perhaps all pupils felt the same way at this point—and said, “Keep turning, you're doing fine.”

The angle of bank seemed dangerously steep to Harald but he held the turn, keeping the nose up, checking the slip indicator every few seconds. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a bus driving along the road below, just as if nothing in the least dramatic was happening in the sky, and there was no danger of a Jansborg schoolboy dropping out of the heavens to his death on its roof.

He had turned through three-quarters of a circle before Poul at last said, “Straighten up.”

With relief, Harald eased the stick right, and the aircraft straightened.

“Watch that slip indicator.”

The needle had moved left. Harald pressed the rudder pedal with his left foot.

“Can you see the airfield?”

At first Harald could not. The countryside beneath him was a meaningless pattern of fields dotted with buildings. He had no idea what the air base would look like from above.

Poul helped him out. “A row of long white buildings beside a bright green field. Look to the left of the propeller.”

“I see it.”

“Head that way, keeping the airfield on the left of our nose.”

Until now, Harald had not thought about the course they were following. It had been all he could manage to keep the aircraft steady. Now he had to do all the things he had previously learned and at the same time head for home. There was always one thing too many to think about.

“You're climbing,” Poul said. “Throttle back an inch and bring us down to a thousand feet as we approach the buildings.”

Harald checked the altimeter and saw that the aircraft was indeed at two thousand feet. It had been fifteen hundred last time he looked. He throttled back and eased the stick forward.

“Dip the nose a bit more,” said Poul.

Harald felt the aircraft was in danger of diving vertically to the ground, but he forced himself to push the stick farther forward.

“Good,” said Poul.

By the time they were at a thousand feet, the base was below them.

“Turn left around the far side of that lake and bring us in line with the runway,” Poul ordered.

Harald leveled out and checked the slip indicator.

As he drew parallel with the end of the lake, he moved the stick left. This time, the feeling that he was going to fall out was not so bad.

“Watch that slip indicator.”

He had forgotten. Correcting with his foot, he brought the aircraft around.

“Throttle back an inch.”

Harald brought the lever back, and the engine note dipped sharply.

“Too much.”

Harald eased it forward again.

“Dip the nose.”

Harald pushed the control stick forward.

“That's it. But try to keep heading for the runway.”

Harald saw that he had wandered off course and was headed for the hangars. He put the aircraft into a shallow turn, correcting with the rudder, then lined it up with the runway again. But now he could see that he was too high.

“I'll take over from here,” Poul said.

Harald had thought Poul might talk him through a landing, but clearly he had not gained sufficient control for that. He felt disappointed.

Poul closed the throttle. The engine note fell abruptly, giving Harald the worrying feeling that there was nothing to keep the aircraft from falling straight down, but in fact it glided gradually to the runway. A few seconds before touchdown, Poul eased the stick back. The aircraft seemed to float along a few inches above the earth. Harald felt the footwell pedals moving constantly, and realized Poul was steering with the rudder now that they were too close to the ground to dip a wing. At last there was a bump as the wheels and the tailskid touched earth.

Poul turned off the runway and taxied toward their parking space. Harald was thrilled. It had been even more exciting than he had imagined. He was also exhausted from concentrating so hard. It had only been a short time, he thought, then he glanced at his watch, and saw to his astonishment that they had been airborne for forty-five minutes. It had felt like five.

Poul shut down the engine and climbed out. Harald pushed back his goggles, took off his helmet, fumbled with his safety harness, and struggled out of his seat. He stepped onto the reinforced strip on the wing and jumped to the ground.

“You did very well,” said Poul. “Showed quite a talent for it, in fact—just like your brother.”

“I'm sorry I couldn't bring it in to the runway.”

“I doubt if any of the other boys will even be allowed to try. Let's go and get changed.”

When Harald had got out of his flying suit, Poul said, “Come to my office for a minute.” Harald went with him to a door marked “CHIEF FLYING INSTRUCTOR” and entered a small room with a filing cabinet, a desk, and a couple of chairs.

“Would you mind making a drawing of that radio equipment you were describing to me earlier?” Poul's tone was casual, but his body was stiff with tension.

Harald had wondered whether that subject would come up again. “Sure.”

“It's quite important. I won't go into the reasons why.”

“That's all right.”

“Sit at the desk. There's a box of pencils and some paper in the drawer. Take your time. Do it over until you're satisfied.”

“Okay.”

“How long do you think you might need?”

“Maybe a quarter of an hour. It was dark so I can't draw details. But I have a clear outline in my head.”

“I'll leave you alone so you don't feel pressured. I'll come back in fifteen minutes.”

Poul left and Harald began to draw. He cast his mind back to that Saturday night in the pouring rain. There had been a circular concrete wall,
he recalled, about six feet high. The aerial had been a grid of wires looking like bedsprings. Its rotating base was inside the circular wall, and cables had run from the back of the aerial into a duct.

First he drew the wall with the aerial above. He vaguely recalled that there had been one or two similar structures nearby, so he sketched them in lightly. Then he drew the machinery as if the wall were not there, showing its base and the cables. He was no artist but he could render machinery accurately, probably because he liked it.

When he had finished, he turned the sheet of paper over and made a plan of the island of Sande, showing the position of the base and the restricted area of beach.

Poul came back after fifteen minutes. He studied the drawings intently, then said, “This is excellent—thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

He pointed to the ancillary structures Harald had sketched. “What are these?”

“I really don't know. I didn't look closely. But I thought I should put them in.”

“Quite right. One more question. This grid of wires, which is presumably an aerial. Is it flat, or dished?”