Once More the Hawks by Max Hennessy Read Free Book Online Page A

worth taking a risk to double check so, heading beyond the German frontier, he swung round in a wide arc and headed south just inside the German border. At once he saw tents, lorries and tanks. As he swung round for a second look, he spotted two dots in the sky and realised that the Germans had picked him up. The machines were 109s and he pushed the boost through the barrier so that the stripped-down Spitfire leapt away from the Germans as if they were standing still.
    Barratt was delighted with his report. ‘I’ll send a man to London at once and ask for Bomber Command’s help,’ he said.
    The following day, with the Spitfire on its way back to England, Dicken was called to Barratt’s office. French attachés in Switzerland were saying that the German attack would come near Sedan some time between May 7 and May 10. Barratt had also discovered that, despite what the French claimed, it was felt by the British that the Ardennes would not present the barrier to an armoured force that had been thought.
    Nevertheless, Bomber Command could offer no help. ‘They get their orders from the Air Staff after they’ve been approved by the War Cabinet,’ Barratt said. ‘And their plans are laid days, weeks and even months ahead. They expect to be bombing the Ruhr, not targets along the border.’
    The countryside was gay in the full bloom of spring. Trees were in blossom and the grass wore the young yellow-green of its first appearance. The French villages were bright and clean in the sunshine and the only fly in the ointment was the arrival at Headquarters of Diplock. His duties seemed to be nebulous but he seemed to have furnished himself with the authority to interfere as he liked, and his interest in aerial photography soon convinced Dicken that he was there to check on Cotton’s activities. Cotton was only a reserve squadron leader with the temporary rank of wing commander but, with his natural Australian bounce, was running his own show and it was obvious that Diplock was watching for any misdemeanours which would enable him to be put in his place.
    On May 9th, Dicken was sent to talk to the French commander in Metz. Despite the reaction in London, Barratt was still worried and felt the local commanders should be warned of what they had discovered. It was a warm day with a soft breeze and the city was full of soldiers. The little lime trees towards the Ile de Saulcy showed glimpses of the tall steep-roofed mansions on the wooded slopes beyond the Ban St Martin, and the lace-like stonework of the cathedral spire stood out against a blue cloud-flecked sky.
    Sitting at a pavement table under a gaily-striped awning in the Place de la République, it was pleasant to relax in the sunshine. Booted and spurred French officers strolled by, with pilots of the Armée de l’Air and Troupes de Forteresse from the Maginot Line.
    Dicken watched them with interest. He had heard disquieting rumours that, despite their supposed élan, they were not what they seemed and, while some of the regular units were excellent, many reservists were indifferently equipped and badly led. Like the British, they had spent all the years between the two wars being ruled by the same old political gang and they seemed curiously apathetic and not very impressed by the posters he saw everywhere, ‘Nous vaincrons parce que nous sommes les plus forts.’ We shall win because we are stronger. It seemed a curiously uninspired way of putting the point across.
    As he left the city in the evening, the setting sun was touching the turrets and spires with golden fingers. As the car climbed the hill from the Porte Serpenoise, Dicken stopped it and turned to the driver.
    ‘Can you hear anything?’ he asked. The sound was faint, a mere murmur from the east.
    ‘There’s something, sir.’
    As they listened, the sound came again, more distinct, and they looked at each other. Then it came a third time and this time it sounded like distant thunder.
    ‘Guns,’ the driver