Pursuit of Passy Read online

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  Two hours passed. We lay in the grass at the edge of the trees and watched the distant aircraft with an anxiety that I cannot describe.

  Once or twice I fancied that I heard the baying of dogs in the woods behind us and I believe Carnac did too because he cocked his head up and, listened. Our time was running out.

  The anxiety wasn't lessened by a discovery that Giselle made. We were scanning the aerodrome carefully when she touched my arm and pointed away to the left.

  “There are some men hidden over there,” she whispered. “Just to the right of that clump of bushes.”

  We stared at the spot. She was quite right. About four hundred yards away was a well camouflaged light flak position and occasionally we could see the gun crew moving inside. As soon as we got up they were bound to see us, and they couldn't miss at that range if they were quick-witted and let fly with their gun.

  Soon after eight o'clock several aircraft were started up and the roar of their engines reverberated across the aerodrome. A few minutes later Carnac seized my arm in a grip like steel.

  “Look,” he whispered, “they're moving.”

  Three aircraft were taxiing out. After they had gone a hundred yards there was no mistaking their direction.

  “It's no good,” I said as steadily as I could. “They're not coming over here.”

  They took off straight ahead and roared into the air over the wood where we lay, disappearing behind the trees in a gentle climbing turn. I dare not look at the others just then. England was less than an hour's flight away. We were so near home and yet we might be a thousand miles away for all the difference it made.

  I can't remember how long we waited. I was past knowing or caring about time.

  Sometime later I heard the sound of engines in the sky. The Messerschmidts were coming back. They circled the aerodrome, put their wheels down and came in to land.

  By now there was a little wind and suddenly I was alert again. They were landing up towards our corner.

  I whispered to Carnac. “They’re coming in this way. It's now or never. We must run out and get the last man as he taxies past.”

  He never questioned it, but nodded and said, “You bring Giselle. I'll deal with the pilot.”

  I gripped her arm. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  The three fighters rumbled in to land. They were in echelon starboard and they touched down some distance short of us. For an awful moment I thought they would pull up before reaching us, but they were going very fast and rolled on past the wood. They pulled up, gave a burst of engine as they turned round and came taxiing back towards us. The last man had swung away a bit on landing and he was a good hundred yards behind the others.

  The leader and Number Two came rolling past. Number Three ambled along in their wake. In front of me Carnac crouched like a panther in the grass. I drew up my feet in readiness, put my hands on the ground and braced myself for the effort of a lifetime. A silly pun occurred to me suddenly. “The quick and the dead.”

  NOW! Carnac bounded to his feet and went off like an arrow towards the 109. I never saw a man sprint like that. I seized Giselle by the wrist and we ran forward.

  Carnac had nearly covered the distance now. The other two 109s in front couldn't see us; we were out of their line of vision and the pilot of this one was peering ahead. He never saw the man running in from the side till it was too late. Carnac sprang on to the wing, wrenched open the cockpit hood and gave the surprised pilot several tremendous blows in the face. Unfortunately the throttle still remained slightly open and the aircraft rolled gently forward.

  I caught up and jumped on beside Carnac who was fumbling with the quick release harness, not knowing quite how it worked. I pulled out the pin, tore loose the oxygen and R.T. connections from his helmet and then bent down and with a supreme effort hoisted the nearly unconscious pilot out of his seat. Carnac got hold round his waist too and we toppled him out of the cockpit. He fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Carnac jumped down and helped Giselle in. She sat down immediately as I'd told her and I climbed in and sat on her knees, and then glanced round.

  Carnac was standing by the wingtip. He waved and grinned a little breathlessly. I never admired his guts or unselfishness so much as at that moment.

  “Now run like hell!” I shouted desperately. “Go on! And good luck!”

  He waved again and then turned round and started to run back towards the wood. Still not a shot was fired. It had all happened within sixty seconds; perhaps nobody had seen us yet.

  My last vision of Carnac was a small figure in a blue suit running very easily but very fast and nearly into the trees. God bless you, Charles.

  I swung the 109 slightly, closed the hood and opened the throttle. She accelerated rapidly and just as we left the ground I saw the other Messerschmidts flash by close underneath with their pilots looking up in obvious surprise. I bet they wondered what damn-fool tricks their Number Three was up to.

  We came near to crashing within ten seconds of take-off. The pilot had left the tail trim wound back after landing and as I hadn't time to alter it the aircraft tried to climb at far too steep an angle. She was very nearly stalled and it required a tremendous effort to force the stick forward and keep her down. I glanced round the cockpit quickly to find the trim. There were two wheels down on the left hand side, in much the same position as a Spit or Hurricane. I took a chance, wound the nearest one forward and the pressure ceased and she flew easily again.

  As soon as I got her trimmed I turned left and flew along at about a hundred feet trying to puzzle out the cockpit and find the undercarriage and pitch control. It wasn't easy to do while travelling so fast near the ground, but I knew that low flying all the way was the best hope of getting away from both flak and pursuing fighters.

  There seemed to be no gate for the undercart as on our fighters, but I saw a handle on the dashboard with two positions AUS and EIN. The arrow was at AUS now. EIN must be UP. I pulled and turned the arrow. The vibration of the aircraft lessened considerably, the speed rose and two red lights appeared on the dashboard. Lucky again.

  I couldn't see the pitch control and decided to keep in fine pitch and trust to Herr Daimler Benz or whatever his name is designing his engines to stand up to a bit of bad handling.

  I throttled back a little and left it at that. The engine ran beautifully and never gave me a moment's anxiety there-after. I reckoned that the fuel would be sufficient to reach the English coast and the main danger now was being intercepted near the French coast by fighters who had been warned to expect me—and also of course R.A.F. fighters. That would be worst of all. I decided to put my undercart down and hope they'd understand the signal. Even that wouldn't work with people like Johnny whose motto always was, if in doubt, shoot first and apologise later. I couldn't find a map in the cockpit but steered about 330° which wasn't a bad guess actually and a little later we roared across the roof tops of a town. I believe now it was Arras. I glanced back once; still no pursuit. I began to hope a little, and twisted my head round to see Giselle. She must have been horribly uncomfortable with my bulk on top of her, but she smiled cheerfully. An anxious few minutes ensued. I knew we ought to see the coast soon if my course was right. I peered anxiously at the countryside sweeping past our wings and then glanced again at the compass, hoping that the Luftwaffe was more conscientious about regular compass swinging than I had been in the past. Oh God, I said, don't let me make any mistake now. And then, quite suddenly, the coast loomed up in front, and we roared out over the beach and across the sea. The little waves danced and sparkled in the sun and I didn't care any longer. We were out of the power of the Gestapo whatever happened, and as the French coast slipped away rapidly behind I felt like a man waking from a long nightmare. The worst now would be to descend in the drink and get drowned, and that was a clean death anyway. (These were my feelings at the time; they aren't now.) A few minutes later I saw the white cliffs 'of England ahead. I was determin
ed to land at the first possible moment to avoid being shot down and I held the 109 right down on the sea and then pulled her up at the last moment and we lifted easily over the green fields of Kent. I throttled back and looked for the flaps but couldn't find them. What the hell anyway! I was just in that dangerous mood; I've not forgotten it either.

  I saw a field, circled it once and then came in to land far too fast, with neither flaps nor undercarriage down. We touched the ground, still going at a hell of a speed, and slewed round violently. I realised in a flash that I'd asked for it and was probably going to get it. There was a terrific crunching and tearing, clouds of dust, tremendous thuds and then we hit a bank and stopped dead. I had no harness and was thrown forward with my head on the reflector sight and nearly stunned myself.

  I crawled out of the wreckage feeling more dead than alive and helped Giselle out. She had me as a very substantial cushion in front of her and seemed none the worse.

  There remains a hazy recollection of men running across the field towards us, farmers, policemen, Home Guards and small boys all waving truncheons and sticks and shotguns and cups of tea in the best 1940 tradition and standing over us in a most threatening way.

  “It’s all right,” I said wearily. “You can put away your bloody guns. I'm English.”

  They didn't seem to believe it all, and gazed in astonishment at Giselle. “Gawd!” shouted a small boy in the crowd, “they've got women pilots!”

  And Giselle, who had been so composed, so cool and so brave all through this terrible business, now suddenly broke down and burst into tears. I suppose it was the reaction after a long strain that had been nearly intolerable for her. I put my arm clumsily round her and kissed her forehead while the crowd looked on in silent astonishment. But she went on crying and I thought she would never stop.

  A little later we were escorted to the police station. I was feeling light-headed by this time and very dizzy and faint. Everybody seemed to be standing a great distance away. I refused to say anything but demanded to see Group Captain Leighton at Air Ministry. They told me I couldn't do anything of the sort. I was in a very serious position, etc., etc. What was my name? Who was my companion? What was I doing in civilian clothes.

  I still declined to reply, and said finally that if I couldn't see Group Captain Leighton, would they at any rate send a message? A big conference ensued between the police and the Home Guard, both of whom seemed to regard me as their own private trophy. At length they said yes, what was the message?

  The room and everybody in it was going round and round. Their faces swam in blurred shapes before my eyes. I knew I was going to pass out and also knew enough to realise that it must be a guarded message.

  “Tell him,” I said suddenly, “that Peter Pan has killed Captain Hook and brought Wendy back from the Never Never Land.”

  And then everything spun round very fast indeed and a shutter seemed to close in my brain.