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+{"text":" \nBy the same author:\n\nThe Men Who Breached the Dams\n\nBeyond the Dams to the Tirpitz\n\nFirst published in Great Britain in 1985 by\n\nWilliam Kimber & Co. Limited, 100 Jermyn Street, London, SW1Y 6EE\n\nPublished in paperback format in 2003\n\nby Airlife Publishing Ltd, Shrewsbury\n\nRe-printed in this format 2013 by\n\nPEN & SWORD AVIATION\n\nAn imprint of\n\nPen & Sword Books Ltd\n\n47 Church Street\n\nBarnsley\n\nSouth Yorkshire\n\nS70 2AS\n\nCopyright \u00a9 Alan W. Cooper, 1985, 2003, 2013\n\nISBN 978 1 78159 065 2  \neISBN 978 1 78303 651 6\n\nThe right of Alan W. Cooper to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.\n\nA CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library\n\nAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the Publisher in writing.\n\nTypeset in Sabon by Phoenix Typesetting, Auldgirth, Dumfriesshire\n\nPrinted and bound by\n\nCPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY\n\nPen & Sword Books Ltd incorporates the Imprints of Pen & Sword Aviation, Pen & Sword Family History, Pen & Sword Maritime, Pen & Sword Military, Pen & Sword Discovery, Pen & Sword Politics, Pen & Sword Archaeology, Pen & Sword Atlas, Wharncliffe Local History, Wharncliffe True Crime, Wharncliffe Transport, Pen & Sword Select, Pen & Sword Military Classics, Leo Cooper, The Praetorian Press, Claymore Press, Remember When, Seaforth Publishing and Frontline Publishing\n\nFor a complete list of Pen & Sword titles please contact\n\nPEN & SWORD BOOKS LIMITED\n\n47 Church Street, Barnsley, South Yorkshire, S70 2AS, England\n\nE-mail: enquiries@pen-and-sword.co.uk\n\nWebsite: www.pen-and-sword.co.uk\nContents\n\n|  | Acknowledgements  \n---|---|---  \nI |  | Target Berlin  \nII |  | The Battle Begins  \nIII |  | Going to the Big City  \nIV |  | No Respite   \nV |  | Over Berlin  \nVI |  | The New Year  \nVII |  | The Weather Sets In  \nVIII |  | The End is Near  \nIX |  | The End  \nX |  | The Outcome  \n|  | Appendices: Aircraft and crew losses in the Battle of Berlin  \n|  | Attacks on Berlin 1940-45  \n|  | Bomb Tonnage  \n|  | Sources\nList of Illustrations\n\nFlight Lieutenant Letford|  (IWM)  \n---|---  \nAir Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Harris and Lady Harris | (IWM)   \nFlight Engineer \u2014 Lancaster Bomber | (IWM)  \nDingy Drill  \nBomber Command HQ Operation Room | (IWM)  \n'Window Dropping' | (IWM)  \nMid Upper Gunner | (IWM)  \nBriefing Berlin \u2014 November 1943 \u2014 460 Sqdn| (Wing Commander Cairns)  \nA meal before the operation | (IWM)  \nCrew room | (IWM)  \nWaiting for the off|  (IWM)  \nLancaster waiting for off signal | (IWM)  \nFW 190 German Fighter | (IWM)  \nSquadron Leader Marshall's crew \u2014 101 Sqdn| (Ken Maun)   \n101 Squadron ABC Aircraft dropping leaflets| (IWM)  \nLancaster 'S' for sugar| (Alan Cooper)  \n207 Squadron Lancaster on return from Berlin| (W. Baker)   \nStirling being bombed up| (IWM)  \nF\/O Beetham and crew 50 Sqdn| (les Bartlett)  \nP\/O McClelland and crew 467 Sqdn (Steve Bethenall)  \nNight photography on the bombing run| (Public Records Office)   \nCrashed Halifax| (IWM)  \nCrashed Lancaster|  (IWM)  \nJimmy Flynn|  (Jimmy Flynn)  \nDe-briefing after Berlin raid  \nA 78 Squadron crew | (B. Downes)  \nLancaster bombing up with 4,000 cookie and incendiaries| (Wing Commander Cairns)   \nErnie Cummings' scarf| (Alan Cooper)  \nNavigator at work| (IWM)  \n619 Squadron crew|  (Nick Knilans)  \nControl tower Waddington awaiting returning aircraft| (IWM)   \nJU 88 German Fighter| (IWM)  \nA message for the enemy|  (IWM)  \nWinter 1944| (IWM)  \nBomber Command fights the snow  \n'Keep them flying at all costs'| (IWM)  \nTake off for Berlin Flight Sergeant Schuman and crew| (Syd Waller)   \nRAF Driffield \u2014 Flight Sergeant Schuman and crew, and groundcrew |  (Syd Waller)  \nY-Yorker 466 Squadron running up|  (Syd Waller)  \nUnexploded bombs, Berlin|  (IWM)  \nBerlin under attack| (IWM)  \nMe 109 German fighter|  (IWM)  \n'Did we hit it, or not ?'| (IWM)  \nA welcome drink| (IWM)  \nGordon Ritchie \u2014 429 Squadron before Berlin raid March 44| (Gordon Ritchie)  \nNorman Storey \u2014 103 Squadron and crew| (Norman Storey)   \nKen Maun \u2014 101 Squadron| (Ken Maun)  \nBombing up a Lancaster|  (IWM)  \nGround crews, a welcome break  \nReturn from Berlin \u2014 78 Squadron|  (B. Downes)  \nHalifax 76 Squadron in flight| (IWM)  \nBob Thomas, killed hours later, March 1944| (Jack Spark)  \nFred Brownings and crew| (Jack Spark)  \n550 Squadron Lancaster damaged over Berlin| (IWM)  \n'One of our aircraft is missing'| (IWM)  \n'A missing Lancaster'|  (IWM)  \n4,000 cookie being loaded into a Mosquito| (Dan Skillman)   \nSiemens Berlin| (IWM)  \nLancaster DV 372-F crew and groundcrew| (IWM)  \nDV 372-F today \u2014 IWM| (Alan Cooper)  \nWinston Churchill and daughter, Berlin 1945| (IWM)  \nRemains of Berlin  \nBerlin War Cemetery| (Commonwealth War Graves)  \nAir Vice Marshal Don Bennett, G\/Capt Hamish Mahaddie 1983| (Alan Cooper)  \nLes Bartlett in Berlin| (Bartlett)  \nBomber Command Association \u2014 1983| (Alan Cooper)  \n'View from the Cockpit' by Alf Huberman|  (Alan Cooper)\nLine Illustrations\n\nNight operations November 18\/19, 1943\n\nMe 110 Nightfighter\n\nLancaster Mk I\n\nNight operations November 22\/23, 1943\n\nNight operations November 23\/24, 1943\n\nNight operations November 26\/27, 1943\n\nNight operations December 2\/3, 1943\n\nNight operations December 16\/17, 1943\n\nNight operations December 23\/24, 1943\n\nNight operations December 29\/30, 1943\n\nArea of devastation in Berlin\n\nNight operations January 1\/2, 1944\n\nNight operations January 2\/3, 1944\n\nNight operations January 20\/21, 1944\n\nNight operations January 27\/28, 1944\n\nNight operations January 28\/29, 1944\n\nNight operations January 30\/31, 1944\n\nNight operations February 15\/16 1944,\n\nNight operations March 24\/25, 1944\n\nNight attack bomber stream\n\nThe diagrams are reproduced with permission from documents held at the Public Record Office.\nAcknowledgements\n\nTo enable me to write this book, I have had to rely on many people and organisations, and to the following I offer my grateful thanks:\n\nM J. Allen, Ralph Barker, Len Barnes, Les Bartlett DFM, Ken Bate, T. Beckett, Marshal of the Royal Air Force Sir Michael Beetham GCB, CBE, DFC, AFC, Air Marshal D.C.T. Bennett CB, CBE, DSO, Steve Bethell, Robert Boots, O. Brooks DFC, C. Bryant, Alan Bryett, W\/C G. Cairns, E. Cole, A. Cordon, H. Coverley, A. Crowley-Smith, Hal Croxson, Ernie Cummings DFM, Reg Davey, Jim Davis, Albert Dicken DFC, Norman Digwell, John Douglas, B. Downs, B.S. Downs, Eddie Edmunds DFC, Eddy Edwards, M.M. Emery, John Evans (for his great help with photographs), Chris Evett, G. Fairless, Jimmy Flynn, John Flynn, Alan Forsdike, Michael Foster DFC, R. Gardner, John Grett, Fred Hall, Jack Hambling DFC, Roland Hammersley DFM, Marshal of the Royal Air Force Sir Arthur Harris Bt GCB, OBE, AFC, LLD, R. Hartley DFC, Albert Hepworth, Bill Howarth DFM, A. Hughes, Mrs. Olivia Hughes (Pathfinder Association), Jimmy Hughes DFM, C. Hutchinson, Ron James, Dan Kelsh, Mrs. Noreen King, Nick Knilans DSO, DFC, Arthur Lee, Basil Leigh DFC, Norman Ling, Alf Lorimer, H. Mackinnon, Group Captain Hamish Mahaddie DSO, DFC, AFC, Ken Maun, John McDougall, J. McQuillan DFC, Martin Middlebrook, Bernard Moorcroft DSO, DFC, Reg Moore DFM, Peter Moran, E. Mulholland, Eric Nelson DFC, J.E. Nicholas, W. Ogilvie, William Parker DFC, Harry Pitcher DFM and Mrs Pitcher, Harry Prendergast, Alf Price, Syd Proctor, John Remmington, Gordon Ritchie DFC, Owen Roberts MBE, Bill Rust, A.J. Smith, J.R. Spark DFM, Norman Storey DFM, Arthur Tindall, Derek Tulloch DFC, DFM, John Tyler, Danny Walker DFC*, Syd Waller, Donald Westerman, W\/C Stephen Whetham DSO, DFC, Ian Willsher, H.D. Wood.\n\nLast, but not least, my thanks to Horst Muller for all his great support, Norman Franks for his help in the presentation of this book and to all the members of the staff of William Kimber & Co.\nCHAPTER ONE\n\nTarget Berlin\n\nBerlin. The Big City. 'Big B.' Whatever the Royal Air Force or American Air Force called it during the Second World War, it was an awe-inspiring target. In their minds the mere mention of Berlin conjured up a myriad of thoughts and fears. Some targets did that. Hamburg, the Ruhr Valley, Frankfurt, Hannover \u2013 Berlin...\n\nFor one thing, it was a long way away, deep inside Germany. So deep that to reach it and get back while it was still dark, attacks could only really be mounted during the winter when the nights were long. The RAF bombers knew from experience for they had been there before. It was the German capital, the very heart of the Nazi Germany they were fighting. As such it was well protected: flak, searchlights, and enemy night-fighters defended it tooth and nail. It was no 'Milk Run', no easy trip to add to one's tour of operations. To have flown to Berlin, and more importantly, to have got back, meant something. Something to tell the folks at home, perhaps to feel good about, it looked impressive in the log book, nice to drop into the conversation with a girl friend. Once done, the tour could continue with other targets, perhaps no less dangerous, but certainly less heart-stopping when the curtain that covered the map of Germany in the briefing room was pulled aside.\n\nYet in the winter of 1943-44, RAF Bomber Command went to Berlin on no less than sixteen occasions. Between November 1943 and March 1944, the curtains were swept back to reveal the red ribbon reaching out from home base to Berlin sixteen times. Many bomber crews who were just starting, were mid-way, or even nearing the end of their tours had to add Berlin to their log books almost repeatedly. Many others did not. They did not get home. They 'failed to return', were 'missing from air operations over Germany' or just 'missing' \u2013 which could mean they were dead, prisoners of war and even wounded, or bobbing about in a rubber dinghy in the deadly cold North Sea awaiting rescue or chilling death.\n\nThere were other targets too, of course. It was not Berlin night after night, but it was on sixteen nights. This is the story of those nights when the heart stopped a beat \u2013 for it was: Target Berlin.\n\nBerlin was a large target, 339 square miles. Including its suburbs it was 883 square miles. It was the seat of the German government as well as an important industrial city. In 1924, fifteen years before the war, it already had nearly 300,000 business concerns, employing over 700,000 people. Of these 60% were located in the six central districts of Berlin. Nine years later, with a population of 4,242,500, its built-up administration area covered 221,000 acres. Houses, factories and yards covered 43,600 acres, streets and railways another 25,000 acres, while open spaces, gardens, cemeteries and parks accounted for a further 10,500 acres.\n\nIt was a sprawling city with wide streets. A chain of lakes with the River Spree running through the city centre helped the flow of industrial output and brought raw materials to the factories, as Hitler's new regime brought life and work to a Germany crushed by World War One. The largest lake was the Wannsee \u2013 a landmark for future air raiders \u2013 and this, with the others, was formed by the Havel River on the western outskirts. By the end of the 1930s Berlin had one of the finest subway systems in Europe, consisting of 92 stations and 46.6 miles of track.\n\nIts industries were, in the main, textiles, iron and steelworks, rail cars, sewing machines, chemicals, china, breweries and machine works. After the war began, and Berlin went into top gear, its factories were producing one tenth of the Luftwaffe's aero engines and precision instruments; one third of Germany's electrical output, one quarter of the army's tanks and one half of its field artillery. Berlin was a political target, but nevertheless, an important industrial one too.\n\nIts importance was evident by 1938 when thoughts of a future war were in the air. Wing Commander R.V. Goddard at the Air Ministry, asked the Air Attach\u00e9 at the British Embassy in Berlin, what the reaction might be of the German people to an air bombardment in the event of war. Unfortunately the answers were not very conclusive but this shows the mode of thinking at that time \u2013 that a future air bombardment might be an eventuality.\n\nThe two largest concerns were Siemens (they still make a very good radio) and the AEG Company, producing electric cables and submarine motors. Another concern, Lorenz, made vital wireless transmitter equipment, while Alkett was the largest single tank factory in Germany. There were famous aircraft factories too, BMW, Dornier, Heinkel and Focke Wulf. Rheinmetal Borsig produced guns, Argus made aero engines, Deutsche Solvay Werke its chemicals. Most of these were in the outer part of the city, outside the Ringbahn, along the water and railway routes.\n\nAnother important target was the communications and traffic. Berlin, like all great cities, imported food stuffs and raw materials and also exported valuable manufacturing goods. This amounted to an annual average of about 30 million tons, of which 80% was inward traffic (coal, lignite, manures and chemicals). Of this two-thirds went by rail, one-third by water on the inward journey, four-fifths rail, one-fifth water on the outward routes.\n\nIn addition to its industrial might, Berlin was the entire centre of administrative and economic life. The German Air Ministry, built in 1935-6, was bounded on the north by Leipzigerstrasse and on the east by Wilhelmstrasse and the south by Prinz-Albrecht Strasse. On the western side was the building of the former Prussian House of Representatives, but by 1943 this housed the Aero Club. The site of the ministry covered 400,000 square feet, 250,000 of which was the building itself. It had, 2,800 rooms and offices, 4,000 staff and had extensive bomb and gas proofing.\n\nFour other important buildings were those of the German Foreign Office, the Ministry of Propaganda, The Reich Presidential Chancellery, and the Headquarters building of the Gestapo.\n\nThe city's suburban area lay far outside Berlin, built up between 1923 and 1943, and was not unlike London's suburbs. There were villas, single family houses either detached, semi-detached or in terraced rows. Like many large cities, blocks of flats were common, either two or three storied, and separated from each other by great areas of forests and lakes.\n\nWhen war came in 1939, the British and the Germans were very careful not to bomb each other's towns and cities, although the Germans had no such qualms about Warsaw and other Polish cities. Hermann G\u00f6ring, commander of the Luftwaffe, even boasted that no enemy aeroplanes would fly over Reich territory \u2013 an unfortunate prediction in the light of future history. The RAF were not only over Germany but over Berlin very early in the war. The first RAF squadron over the city was No 10 Squadron in September and October 1939, though they carried nothing more deadly than propaganda leaflets. Only three of the four that set off actually reached Berlin; the fourth dropped its load over Denmark and then failed to return to base.\n\nUp to August 1940, Berliners suffered many air raid warnings but no bombs were ever dropped. At this time, the German defences were limited, but reserves were being drafted in, including 29 heavy, 14 medium and some light AA batteries, as well as four railway flak units, plus two night fighter staffels.\n\nFinally, on 23\/24th August 1940, during the Battle of Britain, Luftwaffe bombs fell on London. After a day of fighting, Luftwaffe aircraft flew a night raid towards the oil storage tanks at Thameshaven \u2013 which they missed \u2013 but bombs fell in the East End of London. It was nothing of great import but the gauntlet had been thrown down and Churchill took up the challenge. A retaliatory raid was arranged for the night of 24\/25th August, but because of cloud, to say nothing of Bomber Command's lack of sophisticated navigational aids, of the 96 aircraft from 3, 4 and 5 Groups despatched, only 81 got off, and of these only 29 reached Berlin. Of the others, 21 turned back being unable to find Berlin, but eighteen of these bombed secondary targets. In all six aircraft failed to return, three ditched in the sea and two were damaged. The force was all made up of twin-engined aircraft (the later four-engined bombers were still in the design stages) such as Wellington, Whitley and Hampden bombers. It had been a 580 mile trip to Berlin, and in the 20 mph cross wind encountered, a bomber could be thrown off course by as much as 66 miles.\n\nA total of 22 tons of bombs had been dropped, a number of bombs having delay time fuses, and a large part of the German business area and private houses was affected. On their return, the bomber crews reported heavy defences over Berlin, and a need to avoid flak and searchlights.\n\nAs the war escalated, further raids took place in September against both London and Berlin, which changed the whole course of the war. Hitler, angry at the bombing of Berlin, ordered a change of emphasis in the air war against England, ordering G\u00f6ring to bomb London and not RAF Fighter Command's airfields. In so doing he lost the Battle of Britain. On 7th September the Luftwaffe sent 272 bombers against London. On the 15th, now known as Battle of Britain Day, four RAF bombers, two each from 58 and 77 Squadrons, were over Berlin \u2013 but at night. As the Battle of Britain ended and the Blitz began, Londoners began to learn how to 'take it' and other cities further north and in the south and south-west were bombed, such as Portsmouth, Exeter and of course Coventry in November.\n\nThe RAF raided Berlin 30 times in 1940 but only seventeen raids were sent in 1941. One of the latter, in March, occurred when the Japanese Minister of Foreign Affairs was visiting Berlin. It was known that he had taken the growing might of the RAF with a grain of salt, so Bomber Command was happy to show him just how strong, hoping the raid would, for him, prove salutary. The Chief of the Air Staff, Air Chief Marshal Sir Charles Portal, gave the instructions for the raid to be laid on during the Minister's visit, which took place on the night of 23\/24th March. Sixty-three bombers of 1, 3, and 4 Groups took part.\n\nIn October, the American Air Attach\u00e9 in Berlin sent back reports of the raids on the German capital. Damage had so far been light, casualties amounted to about 1,200, but the bombing had not been indiscriminate. Boldness, courage and determination of the RAF crews had been praised by the population, and the crews were obviously continuing to look for their specific targets and were not letting flak deter them.\n\nIn 1942, Air Marshal A.T. Harris, took command of Bomber Command, a post he was to retain until the end of the war. In the autumn of that year, Harris was urged to attack Berlin in strength, but having only 70 to 80 of the relatively new four-engined Avro Lancasters in his command, the task was impossible.\n\nOn 17th August, Winston Churchill sent a letter to the Secretary of State for Air, Sir Archibald Sinclair, stating that the Russian leader, Stalin, attached special importance to the bombing of Berlin. Stalin had said that they themselves were going to start bombing the city shortly \u2013 they had bombed it twice previously, on 7 th and 8th of August 1941, six weeks after the German invasion of Russia.\n\nIn reply to Churchill, the Secretary of State said:\n\n... during the next moon period, attacks could be made but our maximum strength of aircraft [of all types \u2013 Author] was 250 and that we consider the minimum number to be 500, necessary to saturate the defences and give a chance of effective damage and an acceptable rate of casualties of about 50 with such a force. If we started a bombing campaign on Berlin with less than 500, and suffered an anticipated rate of casualties of 50, our bombing effort would be crippled for a month. We are of course keen to meet the wishes of the Soviet Government in this project, but unless reasons of major policy necessitate early attacks regardless of cost, we would propose to wait until a larger force can be used.\n\nChurchill replied:\n\n... 250 far exceeds weight and numbers of any previous attacks on Berlin. What date will 500 be possible?... I had always understood darkness was the limiting factor, not numbers. Certainly no attack should be made regardless of cost, but Harris mentioned an attack in the August moon period. Can you do it in September?\n\nTo this Portal, as CAS, replied on the 20th:\n\n... number of aircraft and not hours of darkness is the limiting factor. In September we could have 300 aircraft, but neither Harris or myself is in favour of an attack in September.\n\nOn the 29th, Harris sent a letter to the CAS in which he said:\n\n... I'm as keen as anybody to bomb Berlin, but I am certain when we do this, we must make a good job of it. The facts are as follows:\n\n  1. Numerous reports indicate that Berlin is well defended by flak and searchlights and there is also in existence a very elaborate system of decoys.\n\n  2. Berlin is a city of four million inhabitants, which is five times as big as Cologne, and 1,000 heavy bombers would not be too many (the number which in fact attacked Cologne in 1942) if we are to inflict serious and impressive damage on it.\n\n  3. The attack should be sustained. One isolated attack would do more harm than good and would, like Dieppe, play into the hands of enemy propaganda.\n\nIt was not, therefore, following this exchange, until 16th January 1943 that another attack was mounted on the Big City. It is of interest that this was the first time a war correspondent went on a bombing raid with the RAF. The correspondent was Richard Dimbleby, his pilot Wing Commander Guy Gibson DSO DFC, then CO of 106 Squadron. (Gibson was later to win the Victoria Cross leading 617 Squadron on their famous Dams Raid in May 1943.) Another future VC winner who flew on this Berlin raid was Wing Commander Leonard Cheshire DSO DFC, who had flown on six previous Berlin raids. On the 16th he found it easier, reporting:\n\n... instead of the customary wall of anti-aircraft fire we saw only one small searchlight and flak was negligible. Identification was made difficult by cloud all the way across Germany, but clear patches over the city allowed the moon to combine with the flares in lighting up the place.\n\nThe attack lasted about an hour and 8,000 lb bombs were among the bombs dropped. Large fires were seen after the raid and only one aircraft was lost. The attack was resumed the following night, again with large bombs and good results were seen. However, losses were considerably more, 22 in all, but of course, this is the up and down nature of night bombing. It seemed that many more night fighters were to be seen and the flak was much heavier. Many guns seemed to have been rushed in following the previous night's attack.\n\nBerlin had woken up to the fact that they could be attacked and that the British had not given up. If you awaken a lion it may take a while for him fully to come to, but when he is, take warning \u2013 his attack can be formidable!\n\nFollowing the Casablanca Conference in January 1943, a directive was issued to Harris instructing him that his primary objective should be 'the progressive destruction and dislocation of the German military, industrial and economic system, and the undermining of the morale of the German people to a point where their capacity for armed resistance is fatally weakened. Accordingly in order of importance the targets should be German submarine construction yards, the aircraft industry, transportation, oil plants, other targets in war industry.' With his eyes set firmly on bombing of German cities, this would not have been in accord with Harris's own thinking, but the directive went on to add 'moreover other objectives of great importance either from the political or military point of view must be attacked. Examples of this are...' And the second example was Berlin 'which should be attacked when conditions are suitable for the attainment of specially valuable results unfavourable to the morale of the enemy or favourable to that of Russia.'\n\nBy January 1943, Germany had 4,491 heavy AA guns, 6,456 medium and light guns, 3,330 searchlights and 1,680 balloons, to meet the challenge of the RAF night raids and the growing might of the American 8th Air Force in England flying daylight raids.\n\nBefore the next Main Force attack on Berlin was executed, Mosquito aircraft made their first daylight raid on the city. This was on 30th January, and was as much a propaganda effort as anything else, the date being the tenth anniversary of Hitler's assumption of power as German Chancellor. Also it warned Berliners that they were now no longer safe from daylight attacks.\n\nThe Mosquitos returned to Berlin that same afternoon. It was also Luftwaffe Day in Berlin. On the morning raid, three Mosquitos of 105 Squadron from 2 Group, led by Squadron Leader R.W. Reynolds with his navigator Pilot Officer E.B. Sismore, hit Berlin at exactly 11 am just as G\u00f6ring was about to speak on the radio. They dropped two tons of bombs in a long stick to the north-east and west of the city, and as a result, the speech was delayed by one hour, the radio announcer having to make excuses for the delay. The 'Mossies' met no opposition from the AA defences; either their arrival was too much of a surprise or the gunners had been stood down for the celebrations.\n\nAt 4 pm Doctor Goebbels, the Propaganda Minister, was about to speak on the radio when three Mosquitos of 139 Squadron, led by Squadron Leader D. Darling, dropped three tons of bombs about a mile south of the city centre. However, the defences were alert this time and Donald Darling, who came from London, aged 24, was shot down and killed.\n\nOn 16th February 1943, Arthur Harris received a message from the CAS which read: 'Recent events on the Russian front have made it most desirable, in the opinion of the Cabinet, that we should rub in the Russian victory by further attacks on Berlin.' Harris was asked to 'act accordingly'.\n\nIt was, however, two weeks before the next attack could be arranged \u2013 1st March \u2013 and was the first time the new H2S (a radar navigation and blind-bombing aid) was used against Berlin. The H2S operators reported that the responses from the built-up areas entirely filled the radar screen, making it impossible to recognise the aiming points. Most of the bombing was centred on the south eastern outskirts, where heavy damage to industrial plants, business and residential properties was revealed by photo reconnaissance.\n\nWing Commander Hamish Mahaddie DSO DFC AFC, of 7 Squadron, recalled: 'It was an excellent trip; the marking undershot but despite this, Berlin was suffering a heavy attack.' In his log book he noted a signal that Harris had sent to all crews:\n\nTonight you go to the Big City. You have an opportunity to light a fire in the belly of the enemy and burn his Black Heart out.\n\nMahaddie, soon to be promoted to group captain, became the recruiting officer for the Path Finder Force.\n\nOn 3rd March, Stalin sent a message by personal telegram to Churchill:\n\nI welcome the British Air Force, which yesterday so successfully bombed Berlin. I regret that the Soviet Air Force, absorbed in the struggle against the Germans at the front, is not yet in a position to take part in the bombing of Berlin.\n\nIn the event, and despite earlier promises to join in, the Russians never did join a campaign against the German capital.\n\nTwo further attacks were carried out in March, on the 27th and 29th. On the latter, the H2S aircraft of the Pathfinders achieved a remarkably good grouping around the aiming point. During these March attacks the crews had to contend with hail, rain, electric storms and the dreaded icing, in addition to searchlights, flak, and on the 29th, night fighters. Weather over northern Europe is traditionally bad in the winter months, and often high winds caused major problems. Prior to March 1943, the upper winds were estimated by the London Met Office, given to Bomber Command HQ and passed to each Group HQ.\n\nIn the early part of 1943, it was decided that it would be better for all crews to be given the same wind information even if it had an appreciable error, than for some to receive one wind from their group while other groups issued other wind strengths to their squadrons. It was felt better for all aircraft to arrive together, rather than some to arrive at the exact zero hour while others arrived later.\n\nAs 1943 progressed, Bomber Command became stronger, and techniques of navigation and target marking were improving all the time. Hamburg was attacked on four occasions by Bomber Command between 24th July and 3rd August, plus two daylight raids by the Americans. The city was virtually destroyed and in one night alone 40,000 people were killed in a terrible firestorm. It was as great a success as the Command was to achieve, and naturally put fear into the hearts of the German leaders, that if it could happen to Hamburg, it could happen to any of their major cities.\n\nBy mid-August, Harris was being pressed for a date on which he thought heavy attacks could begin on Berlin, on the lines of the Hamburg raids. Harris's reply was that he intended to initiate operations as soon as possible, and when the present moon had waned. He estimated a total of 40,000 tons of bombs would be required if the Hamburg scale of attack was to be applied, but that the operation would be of a long term nature since it would be necessary to shift attacks intermittently to other major targets, so as to prevent an undue concentration of enemy defences around Berlin.\n\nAs a result of the attack in the spring against the Ruhr, the Luftwaffe defences were being reviewed. The night fighter zone in the west was to be increased in depth and extended to Denmark in the north and to eastern France in the south. Operational control was to be developed whereby two or more night fighters could be brought into action in any one night fighter area at the same time. Also, bombers would have to be attacked over the target which up till now was usually left to the flak gunners. The flak has to be consolidated into large batteries near the targets and concentrated at the most important of these targets. Above all, its accuracy had to be raised by the introduction of a large number of radar range finders. As a result of a suggestion by Major Hajo Herrmann \u2013 a former bomber pilot \u2013 single-engined day fighters were beginning to be used over Germany. First tried in July, their success in attacking RAF bombers was such that Herrmann was given the task of organizing these operations on a larger scale. Termed Helle Nachtjagd at first, it later became more famous under its later name of Wilde Sau \u2013 Wild Sow. It all called for close co-operation by the night fighters and the flak over the target and a dependable control of single-engine fighters over a wide area. For this purpose the flak, in co-operation with the night-fighters, was limited in its range height. Co-operation was achieved by visual signals and by radio. A sort of aerial flarepath to guide the fighters and a system of radio beacons were also established, around which night fighters could orbit until given a radar contact to follow from ground controllers. Once near the RAF bomber, the twin-engined night fighter radar crew member would be able to pick up the raider on his own airborne radar set and guide his pilot to it.\n\nThe flak in the Ruhr Valley was approximately doubled by bringing in all the reserves including all railway flak guns. They were consolidated into grossen Batterien (large batteries) \u2013 two or three single batteries joined together, which was later increased to six and eventually to eight. In order to nullify the RAF's flare and marker dropping by the Pathfinders, lighting media (flare rockets) were developed and used in conjunction with searchlights and dummy fires and other decoys were set up on the ground.\n\nThe first attack in August on Berlin was on the 23rd and it was by far the biggest assault \u2013 1,700 tons being dropped in 50 minutes. Smoke belched up, sometimes obscuring the fires, then shifted away to reveal burning streets and buildings.\n\nOn the arrival of the bombers, German fighters were sent up, which in turn limited the range of the flak to 5,000 meters, above which the fighters operated. In consequence the guns around Berlin seemed comparatively quiet and the defense left mainly to the fighters. The Germans used their new flare rockets, fired off by the gun batteries. The Luftwaffe pilots could see the silhouettes of the bombers moving across the sky. Field Marshal Erhard Mulch, State Secretary of the German Air Ministry and Armaments Chief of the Luftwaffe, described it as in these terms: 'It is like a fly on a tablecloth.'\n\nOf the 720 bombers dispatched, 625 bombed Berlin, but 56 failed to return, a high loss ratio of 9.1%, too high to be sustained for long.\n\nOne pilot remembers that night: an American, Flying Officer Bill Day, flying R-Robert of 90 Squadron. It was the crew's thirteenth trip and they were happy that cloud most of the way limited the Germans' defenses against them. Then about 60 miles from Berlin it started to ice up. Day took it down to 7,000 feet and just before they reached the city the sky became completely clear and they were welcomed by hundreds of searchlights but no flak \u2013 a sure sign fighters were up.\n\nThey made their way to the aiming point, dropped their incendiaries on the Target Indicators (TI's) dropped by the Pathfinders then put the nose down and headed for home. Just then a master searchlight hit them spot on. Within seconds they were coned by 50 others. Bill Day did his utmost to escape but it was impossible, and if the flak had been used they would not have survived. Suddenly they got a 'Boozer' warning \u2013 which was a light in the aircraft which came on to warn the crew that a fighter was near them, set off by radar. Moments later a Fokker Wolf 190 attacked from the rear, opened fire from about 500 yards, closing in to 100. By this time, Day had corkscrewed the aircraft, a defensive maneuver whereby the pilot went into a steep diving turn, and at the bottom of the dive he pulled up vertically. It was very unpleasant but in the main very effective.\n\nSergeant Michelson, the rear gunner, got in a good burst at the fighter which exploded, but then two more 190s were spotted, one on the port and another on the starboard quarter. The bomber was obviously 'the fly on the tablecloth!' The fighter on the port side was slightly below them and the mid-upper gunner, Sergeant Jimmy James, was unable to bring his guns to bear. The German pilot then came in very close and fired into the bomber's port wing, knocking out the inner engine, which put the upper turret out of action, its power coming from that engine.\n\nThey were now in a steep dive and a strong smell of burning was coming from the fuselage. To Jimmy James it seemed like the end. His life was flashing before him, he thought of his mother and girlfriend, and then suddenly it was as if he had passed through a barrier, his mind floating away from his body. He thought, if this is death, how wonderful.\n\nEventually Bill Day managed to pull the aircraft out of the dive, flying now low over the outskirts of Berlin, heading for the Baltic. He checked the crew but only the wireless operator, Jimmy Fen, had stopped a few cannon fragments in his leg, though he was not badly hurt. The aircraft was in a sorry state. Besides the port inner engine and upper turret, most of the cockpit instruments were useless, the bombing compartment was smashed; there were holes in the airframe and fuel several inches deep swilled about in the fuselage. They were lucky they had not caught fire.\n\nBy careful economy of the remaining fuel they made landfall in England. Putting out a May-Day call they were told to make for base but knew they could not make it. Just then they saw a row of lights in front of them which turned out to be Boney, Norfolk, the home of an American Thunderbolt unit who had only moved in that day.\n\nThe control tower was being manned by a Private First Class, who did not know the system so switched on everything he could find, hence the row of lights Day saw.\n\nHis landing was a bad one and the rear gunner Michelson was knocked out. Day had got down, however, and by coincidence the first American that he saw on climbing down from the aircraft was a friend he had last seen before leaving Canada to join the RAF; his friend had joined the USAAF and was now flying P47s. Bill Day received an immediate award of the DFC, Michelson the DFM. Luck remained with the crew, for they all finished their tour, and five went on to complete a second tour. Two of them, Jimmy James and Don Beaton, the bomb aimer, volunteered for a third tour but were turned down and given ground jobs. It was deemed they had done enough.\n\nOne Lancaster bomber on that 23rd August raid was attacked by six Messerschmitt 109s in the space of three minutes, during which it was damaged quite badly; but despite loss of fuel, they managed to get back to base, landing with just 80 gallons left. The only real grouse from the crew was that Jerry had upset and ruined their bombing point photograph!\n\nA further raid on Berlin was made on the 25th and again on the 31st. On this, the flarepath type of defensive measure was introduced. It was a great surprise to the bomber crews to find their tracks illuminated by flares. They were described as bright white lights, which slowly descended as if on parachutes. They were dropped in lines of about a dozen and made lanes of light which the bombers had to go through.\n\nOn 3rd September came the last attack before what was later called the Battle of Berlin began. The weather on this occasion was on the side of Bomber Command, with cloud up to 21,000 feet which gave uninterrupted cover, dampened the flak and hampered the fighters. On the fringe of the city, the cloud broke up, leaving a clear space and as if arranged, as the attack concluded, the cloud drifted back over the city. Some aircraft had combats with fighters, and one was seen going down in flames with its rear gunner still blazing away.\n\nOn this operation, history was being recorded in Lancaster ED586 'F' of 207 Squadron, piloted by Flight Lieutenant Ledford. On board was Wynford Vaughan-Thomas, the famous broadcaster and now war correspondent for the BBC. He, with the help of Mr. Pidsley, also of the BBC, made a recording of the flight, covering the Complete operation from take off to landing. They were engaged by a night fighter too, but the gunners, Warrant Officer Fieldhouse and Sergeant Devenish, shot it down.\n\nThe disc made of the sortie was rushed to London and broadcast the same day on the ten o'clock news. In all it was broadcast nine times in English and on numerous European and foreign programmers as well as the American network. It was described as 'the outstanding broadcast of the war'. Forty years later when Vaughan-Thomas was asked for his most vivid memory of the war while being a correspondent, he said it was this raid on Berlin that he remembered most.\n\nOn 3rd November, Arthur Harris sent a memorandum to the Prime Minister saying that the highest priority should be given to Berlin:\n\n... But I would not propose to wait for ever, or for long if the opportunity serves. We can wreck Berlin from end to end if the USA will come in on it. It will cost between us 400-500 aircraft. It will cost Germany the war.\n\nHowever, he was not given full support by the Americans \u2013 they had just been severely mauled in their second assault on Schweinfurt on 14th October, losing 60 four-engined bombers. (They had lost 60 on the first Schweinfurt-Regensburg raid in August.) Nor was Harris supported by his immediate superiors. The final conclusion, approved by the CAS, was that Harris should, when he saw fit and when suitable occasions when weather and other tactical conditions gave the most favourable chance, attack Berlin. He should not plan for a sustained and costly series of assault, or rely on assistance from the 8th Air Force.\n\nOn the same 3rd November, Harris also reacted strongly against any information being given to the Russians as to when his bombers had taken off to attack Berlin. His reasons were strictly ones for security as to be successful in any sustained attack, tactics of feints and diversions would have to be made, and any transmissions to the Russians by simple codes, might well imperil the security of subsequent missions.\n\nFlight Lieutenant Letford\n\nAir Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Harris and Lady Harris\nCHAPTER TWO\n\nThe Battle Begins\n\nThe Battle of Berlin officially began on Thursday, 18th November 1943, although some former aircrew members feel it had begun in September. Either way it matters little. Over the next four months the all-out attacks on the Big City were to be a fierce and bitterly fought campaign.\n\nThe First Raid\n\nRaid number one was to be a two-target operation. A force of 440 Lancasters and four Mosquitos were detailed to take part, while at the same time 395 aircraft, mostly Halifaxes and Stirlings, were to bomb Mannheim. In addition, Mosquitos were to make harassing attacks on Essen, Frankfurt and Aachen. Over the latter target, route markers were also dropped for the two Main bomber streams making for Berlin and Mannheim.\n\nAs part of the plan and to try and keep the enemy fighters busy, a force of seven Wellingtons would drop leaflets over Northern France, a duty shared by a small force of American Flying Fortresses. Meanwhile, under the cover of the bomber streams, 32 sea mines would be dropped off the Dutch coast and French Atlantic ports by sixteen Wellington aircraft.\n\nAt the time of this first raid, Bomber Command had some 513 Lancasters, 271 Halifaxes, 137 Stirlings, 23 Wellingtons, and 46 Mosquitos available. The force for this raid comprised:\n\n1 Group | \u2014 | 153 Lancasters  \n---|---|---  \n3 Group | \u2014 | 12 Lancasters  \n5 Group | \u2014 | 182 Lancasters  \n6 Group | \u2014 | 29 Lancasters  \n8 Group | \u2014 | 64 Lancasters and four Mosquitos.  \n|  |\n\n|  | 440  \n|  |\n\nThat day at the various airfields all over Lincolnshire and Yorkshire, crews were hanging around flight offices to see if ops were on that night, and if so (and more important) if they themselves were on the Order of Battle. This, of course, depended on the weather, not only in England but equally, over the course and target. It was also important to know the predictions in the weather for returning aircraft, lighter in load, possibly damaged, with men tense and tired, seeking the safety of their home bases \u2013 or any 'friendly' airfield!\n\nWhenever a crew was on for that night, the captain of each aircraft would come back from the ops room to tell the rest of his crew they were operating and an air of tension and of apprehension set in. For each member of the crew now there was a strict routine which had to be adhered to, a routine that could mean the difference between them returning or not returning safely.\n\nFor the pilot it meant a night flying test (NFT) or practice bombing exercise perhaps, combined with the NFT. The procedure for abandoning the aircraft and ditching in the sea was reviewed. Many a crew were saved after ditching because the captain had done his homework or practised regularly the procedure when landing in the sea. Flying on three or even two engines was carried out by some pilots, to experience for his own benefit and that of the others, flying with this loss of power and stability. Some pilots let their flight engineers take over the controls for a time in case the pilot was hit and could not fly the aircraft; other pilots were against this and allowed nobody in their seats. The oxygen system had to be checked as was the intercom, both the responsibility of the pilot, for both systems were vital on ops.\n\nThe flight engineer was responsible for the well-being and performance of the engines, the fuel and oil, and any repairs that were asked to be attended to by him or the pilot previously. He generally checked the aircraft over before start-up time, ensured that the chocks were under the wheels, that the fuel required had been taken aboard and that the take-off weight was checked with the pilot. Inside the aircraft he checked that the first aid kits, fire extinguishers and portable oxygen sets were all in place. Before take-off he checked all four engines before flight run-up, checking the magnetos and boost. This would be done as quickly as possible to save wear and tear on the engines.\n\nAs the pilot and engineer attended to their pre-flight checks so the other crew members had their individual tasks. The bomb-aimer was responsible for the bombs they carried, although until the briefing (along with the rest of the crew) he did not know the target, only details of the bomb load carried; for example one 4,000 lb, four to six 1,000 lb bombs and cans of incendiaries or any extra items such as propaganda news sheets printed in German, or 'Window' \u2014 narrow metallic strips carried in bundles which were pushed out in order to block the German radar. In the NFT, which usually lasted about half an hour, he had to check the bomb sight and bombing computer, plus all the electronics in his bombing compartment. He was also responsible for the rotation of the front turret and the elevation of the guns, its sight and, last but certainly not least, that the escape hatch in the floor of his front compartment opened easily in case of an emergency. Also, he must check that it was correctly locked in flight \u2014 very important as far as he was concerned, if for no other reason than his own safety. When on the bombing run he had to lie full length across the hatch door!\n\nFlightEngineer\u2013Lancaster Bomber\n\nDingy Drill\nThe air gunners did a daily inspection of their guns and turrets, which usually took about 25 minutes but on many occasions a gunner would find the armourer had checked it for him. The perspex of the turret had to be spotlessly cleaned. The slightest speck of grit or even a dead fly could, in flight at night, look like a fighter coming into attack. The middle perspex panel of the turret was usually devoid of perspex, many gunners preferring sore and red eyes and the blast of cold air rather than risk not returning because of a night fighter attack which they hadn't spotted quickly enough.\n\nThe Pathfinder squadrons also had to check their H2S sets \u2014 the Plan Position Indicator (or PPI as the main cathode ray tube was called) which gave a map-like representation of the ground beneath the aircraft. In H2S the centimetre wireless waves were generated by a transmitter in the aircraft, and then concentrated into a beam by the scanner which revolved in a cupola under the aircraft's fuselage. The scanner alternately sent the beam out and picked up the echoes returning from the ground. This sequence of transmission and reception took place 670 times during one rotation of the scanner, so there were 670 transmission and 670 sets of echoes received during a rotation of 360\u00b0. Thus there were that many sets of echoes which showed up as bright red spots or responses, on the radial line of the PPI, and the tube display during a complete revolution of the PPI recorded a map image of these responses. To identify such responses, the operator had to know three things: its identity, its range and its bearing from the aircraft.\n\nThe nature of a landmark may afterwards be decided by the shape and brightness of the response. Built-up areas gave strong echoes, water weak ones, hills, forests or open fields (generally known as ground returns) fell between the two.\n\nBomber Command HQ Operation Room\n\n'Window Dropping'\nWith all the engine and aircraft checks completed, the next stage was the planning and briefing for the operation that night. It was customary for the navigators to be called for their briefing an hour or so before the main briefing, which allowed them to work out their flight plan, using the Met winds that were forecast. This done, the navigators were ready to take part in the main crew briefing. This usually took place in a large room or hut with tables and chairs set in rows in the front of a stage. A heavy curtain covered the large wall map of Europe. The main topic of conversation quite naturally was where tonight's target was. Until the moment this was revealed, everything else was unimportant.\n\nWhen the Commanding Officer arrived, along with the flight commanders and perhaps the Station Commander, plus the various specialists such as the Met and Intelligence officers, the conversation stopped and crews were called to attention. The CO might begin: 'Good afternoon, gentlemen. Please be seated,' after which one could hear a pin drop. Everyone was awaiting for the curtain to be drawn aside, nothing else mattered. The target, once revealed, would bring gasps, cheers or sighs of relief, or occasionally cries of incredulity. On 18th November, the silence was broken: 'Berlin!' All eyes followed the tape that stretched out across the map to the target, and the low murmur of voices began \u2014 'The Big City', or for those who had been before, 'Berlin again!'\n\nThere were mixed feelings about the route. The experienced crews thought it maybe too straight, or too far north or too far south. To the new, or sprog, crews it was perhaps just a hell of a long way, the fear of the unknown, 'big league stuff', to other crews perhaps no reaction at all \u2013 they had heard and seen it all before.\n\nThe squadron commander then gave a general run down on the operation. The route was to be long, returning south instead of the well-known northern path. He also gave an outline of the Pathfinder marking over the target. Tonight it was to be marked on the outward journey by 156 Squadron, maintained by 'backers-up' of 97 and 156, plus 'blind markers' of 83 and 405 Squadrons. The supporters were from 7 and 405 Squadrons.\n\nThe method of attack was to use blind markers who were to mark the aiming point, or AP, with red target indicators by means of H2S, after a carefully timed run from Brandenburg. Mosquitos of 139 and 105 Squadrons were to drop white spoof flares to the centre of the target with TIs. Window would be dropped at the rate of one bundle every two minutes en route, two bundles every minute within twenty miles of the target and one bundle per minute on the return route.\n\nNext the Met Officer gave reports of expected weather at take-off, en route and over Berlin, and finally the weather expected when they returned to their bases. Not being an exact science, the weather men's information was usually greeted with a few choice expressions from the floor of the hall, all taken in good part, all part of the daily ritual on bomber stations.\n\nYet the weather men had help with their predictions. On this day No 1409 Met Flight had sent out two Mosquitos to examine the weather over Germany, Flying Officer W. Talbot (in LR309) and Flying Officer L.L.H. Dennis (ML903) examined the cloud along the route and found it to be 10\/10ths at 18,000 feet.\n\nThe Armament Officer was next, telling them of their bomb loads, then the Gunnery Leader for the make-up of the gunner's ammunition. Wireless operators were given written call signs and identification letters, including the colour of the day for their return over England if they were challenged or fired on by their own side. It was not always successful or foolproof \u2014 occasionally a bomber was shot down by a 'friendly' night fighter or gun battery.\n\nThen the Intelligence Officer gave details of enemy fighter airfields in close proximity to their routes and the expected flak areas to be avoided. He also gave them details of other aircraft types and numbers also operating. At this date, Berlin had 147 guns defending the city. Following the disaster at Hamburg, the German night fighter tactics underwent a massive re-organisation, as related earlier. In addition to Wilde Sau, there was 'Tame Boars', used by the Fighter Divisional HQ, on the ground. A controller would broadcast a running commentary on the location and position of the main bomber stream, together with orders to the fighters to make for certain radio beacons in the path of the raiders; here they would circle and await directions.\n\nUnlike the single-engined Wild Boars, the larger, twin-engined fighters carried their own radar, SN\/2 Naxos, used to home in on the new H2S sets, and Flensburg, which homed in on British 'Monica' transmissions, which was an early warning system fitted to bombers in 1943, which warned the crew of approaching enemy aircraft. These were both new developments to the basic radar, developed in the race to win the night war over Germany. For each such development or innovation, the other side had quickly to introduce a counter measure, once they discovered what the other side was using.\n\nMid Upper Gunner\n\nBriefing Berlin \u2014 November 1943 \u2013 460 Sqdn\nIn the briefing rooms now, the only final thing to do was to synchronise watches by the navigation officer's watch. Perhaps a few words of encouragement from the Station Commander, and a final, 'Good luck, chaps.'\n\nWith the briefing over, the next two or three hours were spent in trying to relax and having the traditional pre-op meal of egg and bacon. One ritual in 50 Squadron was to listen to the Andrew Sisters record of 'The Shrine of St Cecilia' on the Mess gramophone. If you were a superstitious type it was a must. Not to have done so was considered unlucky, and if the rest of the crew found you hadn't listened to it, then heaven help you!\n\nOther last minute details obviously differed from man to man. One pilot always shaved an hour or so before take-off. Others may have done this for a stubble inside the rubber oxygen mask could be irritating and leave a rash. Flasks of coffee, tea, were collected as well as sandwiches and glucose sweets. Some men kept their sweets in case they were shot down into the sea and had to spend time in a dinghy. All pockets had to be emptied before take-off, so that nothing helpful to the enemy could be found, either if you were taken prisoner \u2014 or your body was found! Long-Johns, extra thick stockings, flying boots and extra top clothing, such as a roll-neck sweater, were worn in the air to combat the low temperatures at operational height \u2014 anything up to 40\u00b0 below. One bomb-aimer carried a leather school satchel, in which he carried his target maps, escape kit, gloves, razor and blades, toothbrush and paste, comb, sticking plasters, cigarettes, string \u2014 anything which might help him evade capture if he had to bale out.\n\nThe wireless operators collected two pigeons in metal containers which were secured to the rest bed in the aircraft for use as a further means of communication in the event of the aircraft ditching. (This was later discontinued owing to very few cases being recorded of it being of any use. When one's aircraft is sinking, it is dark and one is scared stiff\u2014collecting the pigeons was not always uppermost in the mind!)\n\nThere was time for writing the 'last' letter before take-off (others had given the Adj or the padre a letter long before this raid, to be posted in the event...). Then perhaps a little sleep until it was time to go to the crew room to get dressed for the operation. Besides the warm clothing there was the flying kit, an electrically heated suit for the rear gunner, the important whistle worn on the lapel to be used to establish contact if down in the sea in the dark.\n\nA meal before the operation\n\nCrew room\nThe final collecting of parachutes, which had been diligently packed by the WAAFs \u2014 there were 10,000 prisoners of war from Bomber Command alone, many of whom had been grateful for the carefulness of the WAAF's packing. Then came the 'Mae West' life-jacket which would keep you afloat in the sea \u2014 long enough, hopefully, to give you time to get into the aircraft's dinghy. This was essential in winter \u2014 one didn't last long in an icy sea without a dinghy.\n\nThe only thing then was to wait for the transport out to the aircraft which could be anything up to two miles away on a big station. The journey was conducted in high spirits by the crews \u2014 most were little more than boys, many under 21, and many more only in their early twenties. It helped relieve the pressure and tension. Tonight might be their last night on this earth.\n\nMany men carried their own good luck charms, mascots or had their own lucky routines. One pilot put a little of his girlfriend's perfume on his battledress blouse cuff and each of his crew would have a sniff. A bomb aimer had lucky charms around the bomb sight \u2014 rabbit's foot, a Cornish Pixie, a silver threepenny bit and a lady's suspender. His final routine, like that of many, many others, was a final pee over the tail wheel of the aircraft. Great for morale, but not appreciated by the ground crews who had later to cope with corroded metal.\n\nChecks were again carried out as in the morning. The bomb aimer had a look at the bomb bay as the bomb doors were still open at this stage. They were closed when the engines were started up. The crew might write a little message on a bomb \u2014 'To Hitler, with love' etc:\n\nOn this night one crew of 50 Squadron had a very hurried time. They found their aircraft unserviceable (U\/S) and as 467 Squadron, at Waddington, had more aircraft than crews on the 18th, they were sent from their base at nearby Skellingthorpe, to borrow one. They arrived rather late, being able to do very little other than climb aboard and take off. It was a brand-new Lancaster and in the words of the rear gunner, John Flynn; 'It was as sluggish as riding a cow in the Derby.'the pilot, Len Durham, taxied the bomber out to the runway.\n\nWaiting for the off\n\nLancaster waiting for off signal\nAll over Lincolnshire and Yorkshire, crews began to climb into their bombers, each to his position. All went forward except the rear gunner who went into his rear turret. The mid-upper pulled himself into his turret while the others climbed over the huge main spar, which was about five foot high, and took their various seats, the flight engineer next to the pilot to assist in take-off. They both ran through the pre-take-off checks, then began to start up the engines in sequence. Once running the instruments checked for fuel, oil, temperatures, magneto, brake pressures, and all the others. Then they went through the following drill:\n\n  1. Ground to flight switch to 'flight'.\n\n  2. Navigation light to 'on'.\n\n  3. Main auto control switch to 'off'.\n\n  4. Mixer box switch to I\/C position.\n\n  5. DR compass switched 'on' and to setting.\n\n  6. Set altimeter (allowing for lag).\n\n  7. Check undercarriage warning light, change switch over.\n\n  8. Magneto switches locked 'on'.\n\n  9. Switch oxygen test.\n\n  10. Check brake reservoir pressure 300 lb pressure per square inch\n\nThe trolley accumulator that had been wheeled into position to start up the engines, was pulled away as the engines were throttled back. Then a green flare was fired, giving the OK to taxi out. The skipper checked the crew over the intercom \u2014 'OK rear gunner?' Reply: 'OK Skipper,' \u2014 and so on. The chocks were pulled away by the ground crew and the aircraft began to roll forward. All the bombers were queueing up at the end of the runway, each waiting its turn to take off. Some pilots were doing another check with the engineer on pressures and temperatures, and having been given the first course by the navigator, they waited.\n\nAt last, he was given the green light from the airfield caravan, and cheered off by groundcrews, WAAF's and anyone else who cared to do so; the aircraft moved onto the runway and with throttles eased forward to zero boost against the brakes, the brakes were released, the throttles pushed fully forward and they began to roll down the runway. The flight engineer followed up, holding the throttles forward so the pilot had both hands free for the control column, then he tightened the lock nut on the throttle quadrant. Owing to the heavy bomb load, the take-off speed had to be increased and therefore a longer run had to be made if the take -off speed of 110 mph were to be obtained. The boost read 3,000 revs, per minute, the bumps ceased and the aircraft, with seven men, 10,000 lbs of high explosives, oil and (for Berlin), 2,154 gallons of petrol, giving an all-up weight of around 65,000 lbs, was airborne.\n\nOnce airborne, the undercarriage was raised, then the flaps. The engineer loosened the lock nut on the throttles, and the skipper set his controls to climb to the operational height. They were on their way.\nCHAPTER THREE\n\nGoing to the Big City\n\nThe sky was full of Lancasters forming up in the dark or darkening sky to create the main bombing force for Berlin. The start of a battle which was set to last for four months had begun. For many, this target was to become familiar over these months, for others it would be a one-way trip. They would never again see the green fields of England\n\nLen Durham and his crew, who had made the hurried journey to borrow the 467 Squadron Lancaster, were late in taking off, to such an extent that they were told that if they did not reach the Dutch coast by a certain time, they were to abort as they would be classed as a straggler. However, having never returned early from a trip yet, they didn't intend to start now, so they pressed on.\n\nOnce airborne the gunners cocked their guns, switched the guns from 'safe' to 'fire' and then adjusted the gun-sight light for brightness. The mid-upper guns could fire at a rate of 2,300 rounds per minute and accurately up to 400 yards. The rear gunner, with four guns rather than the upper's two, had a rate of fire of 4,600 rounds. The mid-upper only had 2,000 rounds but the rear man had 11,000 rounds \u2014 quite an arsenal. When over the North Sea, they would receive permission to test-fire their guns.\n\nThe two gunners had to settle down quickly to searching the sky and to being the eyes of the aircraft. The experienced crews never flew straight and level, but always weaved about which didn't give the fighters or flak gunners a firm sight of them. Below them the English coast slipped away \u2014 they were over the sea.\n\nIt was difficult flying weather on the night of the 18th. The temperature was down to minus 41 centigrade. Ice quickly coated the windows and turrets, inside and out. At least one member of a crew spent a lot of his time scraping off the ice. Vapour trails astern from the hot engines began to confuse the pilot. The wind was changing frequently and causing navigators many problems. Inside the aircraft all available space in the fuselage was taken up with bundles of large brown paper parcels containing Window which were opened and ready to be dropped out twenty miles from the target, and to twenty miles on the return trip.\n\nThe wireless operator never used his morse key except in an emergency, as the enemy could plot his position from the signals and alert the fighters. He maintained a listening watch only with Group, who would broadcast every 30 minutes. If there was no message, a number from one to nine was transmitted and this was entered in the log to verify the broadcast had been received. 'Tinselling' was the code name given to jamming German broadcasts from the enemy controller to his fighters. Each wireless operator had a small area of waveband to search on his receiver and any talking he heard was jammed by his pressing the morse key linked to a generator motor which effectively drowned any conversation.\n\nHe had another piece of equipment known as 'Lulu', which was a visual system of showing up other aircraft in the vicinity. It consisted of two small screens on his table, one with a vertical line to define port and starboard, the other a horizontal line to indicate above or below. Blips on the screen showed where other aircraft were in relation to his own. Those that held a steady course were usually other RAF aircraft in the stream, but a fast moving, fast closing blip was deemed to be an enemy fighter. On seeing this the WOP would give rapid directions to the gunners and then tell the pilot to corkscrew to the left or right.\n\nHis duties took him off the intercom for periods, so that he might be unaware of events taking place, and if the aircraft was suddenly buffeted he had no idea if it was flak, slipstream, or fighter attack. When approaching the target, and over it, he provided another useful extra pair of eyes to watch out for converging aircraft or perhaps another coming in above them with bomb doors open!\n\nThe bombers met little cloud over England but it gradually increased over the North Sea. Over the Continent there was still cloud, but with some breaks. Above the cloud visibility was moderate but very poor below. Over Berlin the crews found 10\/10th cloud with tops at 10,000-12,000 feet, and below this another layer of cloud with tops of about 5,000 feet, with poor visibility and no moon. The wind strength over the city was 10 mph at 8-18,000 feet, 15 mph at 28,000 feet.\n\nOf the groups attacking, 5 Group, for example, had planned to attack between 9 and 9.12 pm, with 177 aircraft, assisted by 43 aircraft from 8 Group's Path Finder aircraft. The flight plan called for an outward flight at 16,000 feet to 20,000 feet, and the return at 23-25,000 feet. All crews reported 10\/10ths cloud and as the expected winds were incorrect, it led to a lot of aircraft straying.\n\nA good many crews later reported seeing the air space above Berlin bursting with flak and forests of weaving searchlight beams. The force had to rely on the H2S aircraft to mark the target as the weather was so bad; but of the 30 5 Group aircraft so equipped, only six identified the target at the time of bombing.\n\nThus of the 27 blind markers detailed to drop red TIs only four dropped their markers, the remainder retaining them due to unserviceability or unreliability of their H2S sets. The four loads of markers dropped were somewhat scattered but on time. The 'Backer-Up' markers of which there were thirteen, were detailed to drop Green TIs plus Yellow TIs and one red spot fire. Eight of these dropped their greens, achieving a nice continuity at 9.01 to 9.20 pm. Roughly two-thirds of the Main Force aimed at the greens and a quarter at the reds.\n\nOne special blind marker, Pilot Officer Britton DFM of 83 Squadron, was detailed to mark the exact aiming point with red TIs and a yellow in salvo. However, his H2S Mark III was useless and his gunner's electric suit failed, so he brought his bombs back and dropped them on Texel instead. Of the 98 aircraft of Main Force carrying H2S, only 45 found their equipment working over the target.\n\nOver the city, the bomb aimers were lying prone in the nose of their aircraft, feeling very vulnerable with little between them and the bursting flak shells. The run into the target had to be straight and level. Bomb aimer's directions to his pilot were given in the following manner: 'Left, left 10 degrees, left ...' In addition they would try to give the pilot an indication of the distance from the aiming point, and then they would say, 'Steady, steady, left a litle, steady ... Bombs gone! Bomb doors closed.'\n\nAll hell then seemed to let loose. Flashes from the photo flares, dull red explosions from the 'Cookies' and patches of fire from the incendiaries over a large area. The surrounding sky became so bright that night vision became impaired. Cones of searchlights were weaving back and forth. One flight engineer recalled: 'We saw one big explosion that came up through the clouds. This was the explosions of our 4,000 lb bombs. It lasted for about twenty seconds.'\n\nAt the end of the attack, four Mosquitos of 139 Squadron dropped dummy fighter flares in lanes to the north of the city to draw off the night fighters, while the bombers turned and headed out to the south. For the air gunners now was the time not to lose concentration and start thinking about home and a warm bed \u2014 very easy to do when it's minus 40\u00b0 outside. As they flew off it was the rear gunners who could see the burning target and it was equally easy to look with awe at what they had done. Before take-off they had taken caffeine tablets \u2014 'Wakey-wakey' pills \u2014 to help them stay awake and alert, but their effects did not last forever. The area of the sky to watch closely was the dark part, from where the fighters, if they had a choice, would attack. Once again the more experienced crews did not fly the same course for too long, which would make it easier for radar-controlled fighters to be directed onto them.\n\nLong before UK landfall, each wireless operator would tune into his own base to learn of any possible diversion or barometric pressures etc; with the airways crammed with frequencies it was sometimes difficult to get a good reception.\n\nThe number of enemy fighters encountered on this raid was considerably less than might have been expected. This was, maybe, because some twin-engined units of the Luftwaffe had been moved up to Norway during the 18th which tied up with the USAAF's attack on Oslo in which they lost nine aircraft. Also, owing to fog, fighters at Berlin were being ordered to land before the attack had begun. It also appears that the diversionary raid on Mannheim by 3, 4, 6 and 8 Groups took the majority of the fighters, as their losses were 23, of which ten were attributed to night fighters, whereas the nine lost on Berlin \u2014 a 2% loss rate \u2014 were all attributed to flak.\n\nNevertheless, some combats were recorded, two in the area of the Steinhude Meer. Most encounters were experienced shortly after leaving the target area; types seen were Ju88s, Me210s and three Focke Wulf 190s. A Junkers 88 was seen dropping fighter flares over Berlin from 19,000 feet.\n\nFlying Officer Wilson of 50 Squadron saw a FW190 on the homeward journey and his rear gunner, Sergeant Bateman, ordered Wilson to corkscrew as he fired one short burst, but only one gun fired, the others being frozen. Enemy fighter pilots considered the RAF corkscrew as a most effective evasive manoeuvre; a corkscrewing Halifax was an easier target to follow than a Lancaster, but the Lancaster caught fire easier when hit. Major Heinz-Wolfgang Schnaufer of NJG\/4 once described the corkscrew: 'It started with a steep dive and turn, and was usually most successful as the night fighter hadn't the speed to follow.' As Schnaufer ended the war as the top night fighter ace with 121 kills, he knew all about fighting the RAF bombers.\n\nFW 190 German Fighter\nThe aircraft in which Pilot Officer Noel Lloyd of 44 Squadron was a gunner was attacked four times by twin-engined aircraft. Each time he fired upon the fighter he skilfully directed his pilot in such a way that not a single shot hit their Lancaster. Sergeant Jimmy Flynn had the horrible experience of going through the target area with his turret and guns out of action. The oil pipe that fed the power to his turret burst, spraying hydraulic fluid into his face. He then had to contend with the nauseating smell of oil all the way back to base.\n\nBecause of the large numbers of aircraft operating over any target, the risk of mid-air collision was very great. Former aircrew still relate how other aircraft crossing their path just a few feet above or below them were so close sometimes that they could hear their engines. Another hazard was parachute flares, which were fired from the ground up to a height of the bomber stream where they hung seemingly motionless until they burnt out. They gave off a brilliant white light, which helped the fighters pick them out. Crews always knew when fighters were around, because the flak ceased. Flares were also dropped by the fighters, mainly by the experienced night fighters to assist the less experienced find the bomber stream and its direction.\n\nMe 110 Nightfighter\nMany a crew who survived being shot down were under the impression that they had been downed by flak, having been hit from below. Yet in many of these cases they had been shot down by a new type of armament in Messerschmitt 110 fighters. These were fitted with upwards firing cannon known as Schr\u00e4ge Musik by the Germans \u2014 the translation meaning Jazz or Oblique Music. These aircraft, with a crew of three, in the original model, had a large extra fuel tank in the aft part of the cabin. In the newer model Messerschmitt, this was removed and a pair of 20 mm cannon mounted in the fuselage, firing upwards at an angle of 10 to 20 degrees. The pilot had an extra reflector sight mounted above his head, and as the guns carried non-tracer ammunition, these attacks from below were not discovered for many months by the RAF. The gunner in the 110 was responsible for the cannons working satisfactorily and for replacing ammunition drums which normally carried 50 rounds, although a later type contained 90 rounds. Besides these guns the 110 had a rear machine gun fired by the gunner and a single forward firing cannon and two cannons below the fuselage.\n\nOne German pilot had attacked twenty to thirty RAF bombers with this method of attack from a range of about 80 yards. He claimed to have shot down three while the bombers were actually corkscrewing. He would usually aim to hit the bomber between the two engine nacelles on either of the wings, or if the rear gunner became troublesome, he would aim at him. Although such attacks came from such a surprise area that few gunners saw the attacker and thus believed they'd been hit by flak. It was obviously not a good tactic for the German pilot to fire up towards the bomber's bomb bay, and the wing shot would smash engines, fuel tanks and aileron control.\n\nThe uppermost thought of the crews after dropping their bombs was to get away quickly. However, on this night, for one crew of 619 Squadron, and especially the rear gunner, Sergeant Cairns, leaving the target was anything but normal. Just after leaving the target area his oxygen mask became frozen. The spare helmet and mask was too small and in trying to fit it he became anoxic. The skipper quickly dived the aircraft to 7,000 feet, at which level Cairns's original mask defrosted and on coming to, he was able to use it although by this time his ears had been frostbitten. On arrival back at Conningsby he was admitted to hospital. There were also reports of some gunners in 83 Squadron suffering frostbite.\n\nThe role of 101 Squadron based at Ludford Magna, Lines, was slightly different to other squadrons. Their Lancasters were distributed among the bomber stream each carrying a special operator, who stayed in a special cabin between the rest bed and mid-upper turret. He operated three special transmitters and tuned into German radio and jammed instructions being given to the night fighter pilots. The official title for this was 'Airborne Cigar' known as ABC. It was so hush-hush that even the remainder of the crew knew little about it. Ken Maun, wireless operator with Squadron Leader Johnny Marshall, A Flight commander, remembers that whenever any member of the crew passed the special operator he would turn off his sets. He was cut off from the rest of the crew on the intercom while he was working and relied on the call light if he was required to listen in.\n\nSquadron Leader Marshall's Crew \u2013 101 sqdn\n\n101 Squadron ABC Aircraft dropping leaflets\nWhenever Flying Officer 'Tug' Wilson flew with Marshall he always gave the remainder of the crew an address of a 'safe house' on each leg of the trip in case they were shot down. Of course, they had to memorise it. The other requirement of the operator was that he was able to speak German fluently.\n\nThe idea of a VHF jammer, given the name 'Jostle', was considered a requirement of Bomber Command from April 1943. The immediate plan was that 100 special transmitters and 30 special receivers should be manufactured. The first batch was to be fitted into Lancasters of 100 Squadron and the equipment per aircraft was to consist of:\n\n  1. Special Receiver with panoramic display.\n\n  2. Three transmitters each of 600 watts input.\n\n  3. Three special aerials actually seven foot span.\n\n  4. The necessary power supply.\n\nTo accommodate this equipment meant sacrificing 1,000 pounds of bomb load. However, 100 Squadron were due at that time to be fitted with H2S. and as 101 Squadron (also of 1 Group), were lowest in the H2S fitting programme, they were chosen as the Jostle Squadron. It was decided that the Cigar leader should be a flight lieutenant and his operators should be picked from the whole of Bomber Command.\n\nTraining began with 30 operators in July 1943 and the course was due to be completed by the end of August. The first operation using Jostle was on 7\/8th October on Stuttgart. It proved quite successful for out of the eight operational frequencies; only one was readable after jamming. The Germans called the system as Dudelsac.\n\nLancaster Mk I\n\nHaving crossed the Dutch coast on the return journey, the crews would relax a little and sample the Mess coffee. The usual opinion of the coffee served in Messes was horrible, but after six and a half hours of tense flying, it tasted excellent.\n\nOnce over English soil again, the crew could not completely relax as there were a lot of aircraft around and the risk of mid-air collision was very real \u2013 there might also be German intruder aircraft about; they occasionally made their way over in the returning bomber stream, picking off the odd bomber here and there, even in the airfield landing pattern.\n\nOnce down, the crews immediately went to de-briefing where they were interviewed by Intelligence Officers who asked them for every detail of the operation. The route they had flown, fighters, flak spots \u2014 anything that could be useful to them when planning future operations. The padre was usually in attendance at the debriefing, handing out cigarettes or a comforting word when and where it was needed. The WAAFs were there handing out mugs of tea laced with rum, a very welcome drink for crews who had been flying in sub-zero temperatures.\n\nSome crews were returning short of petrol or damaged on the 19th (a not unusual occurrence) and had to land away from their home bases. For instance, four aircraft from 100 Squadron landed away from their base. Flight Lieutenant Major, having deen damaged by flak, landed at Bossum, Pilot Officer Stow landed at Stomer, Squadron Leader Grant-Dalton at Boxted. Sergeant Crabtree landed at Bradwell Bay. His rear gunner had his oxygen pipe break and he was unconscious for two hours, suffering from frostbite.\n\nFlying Officer Parker and his crew had their bomber run out of fuel at 4,000 feet over England and baled out, the aircraft crashing at Horsham in Sussex. They all suffered minor injuries except the navigator who received serious injuries and was dangerously ill.\n\nFrom this raid, returning aircraft had, on average, 185 gallons left in their fuel tanks, which compared somewhat badly with the recent average of 235 gallons for long distance raids. The number of aircraft arriving at their bases with less than 100 gallons was 7.2%, and a number of these aircraft landed away from base.\n\nOne now famous aircraft, also damaged by flak over Bonn on this raid, was R5868 'S' for Sugar, of 467 Squadron, which on this occasion was flown by Pilot Officer McClelland. This Lancaster now resides in the Bomber Command Museum at Hendon, North London. It eventually completed over 100 operations during the war, including six ops to Berlin during the battle.\n\nLancaster 'S' for sugar\nNine aircraft were missing from this first Berlin trip. One was from 156 Squadron (JB363) and flown by the Commanding Officer, Wing Commander John White, aged 28 from Weybridge, Surrey. His aircraft crashed in the Berlin area. Flying Officer Charles McManus, aged 25, and his crew, crashed at Schoonebeek in Holland, was from 101 Squadron. This aircraft was found by the Germans and the ABC equipment captured. It was sent to Telefunken for examination. On 30th November, Colonel Schwenke reported the find to Field Marshal Milch who was also told that there were eight in the crew rather than the usual seven, and that the set was called 'T.3160' \u2013 the Airborne Cigar designation.\n\nPilot Officer Raymond Peate of 115 Squadron hailed from Australia and was only twenty years old. He and his crew came down at Oupeye in Belgium. Flight Sergeant Doughty of 100 Squadron and his crew were all taken prisoner after baling out. Pilot Officer Gordon Graham, a Canadian, and his 9 Squadron crew were all killed when their aircraft crashed at Burgwurben in Germany. Flight Lieutenant Gobbie and his crew of 57 Squadron were hit over Germany. Two of his crew were killed while the other, including Gobbie, were taken prisoner. Flight Sergeant James Gibson, aged 27, from Australia, and his crew of 460 RAAF Squadron were all killed after their Lancaster crashed at Zornigall, Germany.\n\nFlight Sergeant Johnson of 97 Squadron was killed when his aircraft crashed in Belgium. Two of his crew baled out, however, and taken prisoner, while the other four who baled out all evaded capture and reached England in March 1944. They had taken off from their base at Bourne at 5.30 pm, and their H2S set seemed in order but after crossing the English coast the navigator decided it had gone U\/S. He left his seat to see if, when it had warmed up a bit, the set would be working but it did not.\n\nAt the same time, the bomb aimer reported one of the front guns was out of action. The omens began to increase when over Hanover, the mid-upper reported that his turret had gone U\/S, so Johnson ordered him to the front turret. The bomb aimer was throwing out Window from the nose and Johnson ordered the WOP into the astrodome to look out for fighters. The navigator set a straight course for Berlin and on arrival they dropped their bombs, not on the TIs, but on salvo, making use of the red markers. The navigator then worked out the wind speed and direction and they set off on the return route.\n\nNear Aachen they were shot up by flak which hit one of the port engines although it did not catch fire. Johnson put the aircraft into a dive and went down to 10,000 feet, but it was still being hit by gunfire for perhaps four to five minutes, shrapnel clattering against the wings and fuselage. The rear gunner was injured in the hand, being attended to by the WOP; in addition his oxygen supply was cut and he partially lost consciousness. As the WOP was about to take his place in the rear turret, the Lancaster was hit again and another engine had to be shut down and feathered. With this Johnson ordered the crew to prepare to abandon the aircraft. He continued to fly it until they reached Liege when the flak opened up again and the mid-upper was wounded in the knee and the bomb aimer grazed by shell fragments.\n\nStill losing height, Johnson finally ordered the crew out. All got away except Johnson who was last seen with his parachute clipped on but was later killed when baling out. The navigator, Flight Lieutenant Pepper, bomb aimer Pilot Officer Williams, mid-upper Flight Sergeant Hesselden, despite being wounded, and the rear gunner, Flight Sergeant Billows, who was also wounded, all evaded capture and returned to England via Spain and Gibraltar. Pepper was on his 38th trip, Williams his 37th, Hesselden his 28th and Billows his 29th. Flight Sergeant Johnson was on his 23rd op, but was not the crew's regular pilot.\n\nThe WOP, Flight Sergeant John Sansam, landed safely and was helped by some Belgium people until captured. During his captivity he made one escape attempt but was re-captured, being finally liberated by the Russians in April 1945. Flight Sergeant Jackson, the engineer, was also captured and in a camp with Sansam.\n\nThe aircraft flown by Pilot Officer Lees of 9 Squadron, a peacetime policeman from Manchester, was in collision with a Lancaster of 207 Squadron (DV361 'V') about fifteen to thirty miles from the target. His aircraft was badly damaged while the 207 machine, piloted by Pilot Officer Bill Baker, had a badly damaged nose section, losing his bomb aimer who fell from the smashed front end. Baker managed to fly the aircraft back to base but lost fingers on both hands through frost bite. Before returning to base he went onto the target but found the bomb release gear was not working. On his return he was recommended for an immediate award of the DFC.\n\nIn the meantime, Pilot Officer Lees of 9 Squadron, with his rudder damaged, could not maintain height so he ordered his crew to abandon the aircraft. It crashed at Bornicke, Germany, and Sergeant Hand in the rear turret was killed. The remainder were taken prisoner. Flight Sergeant Fisher, from Huddersfield, and the navigator walked for five days before being picked up by a German policeman. While in a PoW camp, Fisher and Sergeant Alex Cordon exchanged identities with two army privates and both made an escape attempt but were later recaptured. However, on 14th April 1945, now on his third attempt, Fisher broke away from a march and ran into a wood. This time, he and two army privates got away and met up with a tank battalion of the US Army.\n\nThe story of the collision was brought to light when the flight engineer of Baker's aircraft ended up in the same camp as Cordon and Fisher. Baker is now a civil engineer in Canada \u2013 he has never flown again.\n\nAfter the raid, some conclusions were made:\n\n  1. Lack of photographic evidence made it impossible to assess bombing results.\n\n  2. Owing to 10\/10ths cloud, bombing was thought to be somewhat scattered.\n\n  3. Navigational errors due to unpredictable wind changes caused many flak defences to be brought into action.\n\n  4. Fighter activity was sub-normal due to the diversionary attack on Mannheim, and to the other counter measure operations.\n\nThe Times reported the raid on the 20th, stating that in 30 minutes 350 x 4,000 lb bombs had been dropped and that the temperature on the bombers' route was 40\u00b0 below.\n\nThe tonnage of bombs dropped by the 412 aircraft which attacked Berlin was 1,595.6, broken down to 798.2 tons of high explosives and 795 tons of incendiaries. This worked out at an average of 177 tons for each missing aircraft. A further breakdown showed that 8,969 lbs was dropped per Lancaster. The raid brought the total tonnage dropped on Berlin since the start of the war to 15,626 tons.\n\n207 Squadron Lancaster on return from Berlin\nThe serviceability of the H2S sets was very low. Of the 26 blind market aircraft despatched, only five reached the target with their sets working.\n\nA good proportion of the population of Berlin had been evacuated by Doctor Goebbels in August 1943, but by November many had returned. After this raid, plans were once again introduced to evacuate and only people whose presence was necessary were encouraged to stay. The weight of this raid had fallen in the south, north and north-west suburbs and considerable damage was caused by fire. The ARP and Fire Brigades, however, managed to prevent these fires spreading over a wider area with just a few exceptions.\n\nThe Chief of Police in Berlin reported 154 people killed and 443 others injured, and some 7,500 made homeless. His report included an estimate of the bombs dropped between 8.11 to 10.23 pm \u2013 11 mines, 75 high explosives, 1,600 incendiaries, 940 phosphorus bombs and 36 flares.\n\nThe German European Telegraph Service reported:\n\nThe heavy terror attack caused a great deal of damage and losses among the population and numerous disruptions of the working class generally. Reports have been received of the destruction of irreplaceable works of art and historical buildings.\nCHAPTER FOUR\n\nNo Respite\n\nThe Second Raid\n\nThe assault on Berlin was to continue. The largest force of bombers yet despatched to the Big City was sent just four nights later, 22\/23rd November \u2013 a total of 764 bombers, all heavies except for twelve Mosquitos. Once again the weather proved poor, 10\/10th cloud over the target.\n\nNevertheless, the good news was that with this type of weather the crews had high hopes of meeting little fighter opposition. The first wave of six Mosquitos would drop white drip flares over the aiming point but the Pathfinders were once again going to have to rely on H2S because of the cloud cover. The weather was also to prove ideal as far as searchlight activity was concerned, but flak turned out to be heavy and accurate despite this.\n\nThe air raid warning sounded in Berlin at about 7.30 pm, at which time Doctor Albert Speer, the German Armaments Minister, was holding a conference in his private office in the City. He was informed that a large force of bombers was heading towards the city when they had reached the Potsdam area. He went to a flak tower nearby, intending to watch the raid, but he had to take cover in a shelter as heavy bomb hits were shaking the tower's concrete walls. After about twenty minutes he came out of the shelter and saw his ministry building on fire. He immediately went over to try and save the files in his office, but where they were kept was just one big bomb crater.\n\nThe Pathfinders marked the target at 8 pm with red and green TIs, which was followed by an enormous explosion which lit up the sky for about ten to fifteen seconds. One Pathfinder aircraft was seen to blow up just before reaching the target area, and was presumed to have received a direct flak hit in the bomb bay.\n\nOn the ground, Speer saw that the fires were spreading to the Army Ordnance Office, and everybody was trying to save the valuable special telephones. Speer joined in, ripping them from their wires, then piling them up at a safe place in a basement. On the morning of the 23rd, General Leeb, the Chief of the Army Ordnance, visited Speer and said, 'The fire in my building was extinguished in the early morning hours but unfortunately we can't do any work now, as somebody has ripped all the telephones from the walls!'\n\nTo Speer, from his early vantage point of the flak tower, the raid on Berlin was an unforgettable sight with illuminating parachute flares, which the Berliners called 'Christmas Trees' floating in the night sky, followed by flashes from explosions which were caught and reflected by the clouds of smoke. Hitler was told of these raids but he did not want to listen, avoiding the subject each time it was brought up.\n\nThis is perhaps the moment to mention 'scarecrows' which were reported from time to time by bomber crews. They would talk of, 'An explosion releasing a quantity of smoke, coloured stars and flaming debris, resembling an aircraft which had been hit and destroyed.' It was suggested or even believed by some aircrews that this was some form of German morale-destroying weapon, but flak gunners who were asked about this after the war denied any knowledge of such a weapon or system. It is now felt with some certainty that it was indeed bombers exploding in mid-air.\n\nFor Flight Lieutenant Wilfred Riches and his crew from 97 Squadron, this raid on Berlin became a nightmare. It was his 23rd operation, and four of these 23 had already been on Berlin. On this night he was detailed for a leading role within the Pathfinder Force. On the approach to the target his aircraft was repeatedly hit by flak with the result that the port inner engine caught fire and had to be feathered. Despite this, Riches persisted in pressing on with his attack and continued to drop his bombs and markers accurately, and to fulfil the task assigned to him.\n\nOn the return flight, after flying on three engines for about two hours, and when about to cross the Dutch coast, the starboard outer engine failed. At this time Riches was at 14,000 feet but despite this he managed to get back across the North Sea to his base and make a safe landing. He was immediately recommended for the DFC. On a previous occasion his aircraft was attacked by an enemy fighter and the damage inflicted was severe and his rear gunner killed, but Riches avoided further attacks and made it home to base.\n\nIt was the first operation on Berlin for Flying Officer Mike Beetham (later Chief of the Air Staff Sir Michael Beetham and Marshal of the RAF), and his crew of 50 Squadron. His bomb aimer, Flight Sergeant Les Bartlett, was making final adjustments on his bombing panel. It was fifteen minutes to zero hour. Then the first TIs went down, yellow ones, followed by reds, cascading into greens, which gradually descended into the clouds, which were the ones they were to bomb on.\n\nStirling being bombed up\n\nF\/O Beetham and crew 50 Sqdn\n\nP\/0 McClelland and crew 467 Sqdn\n\nNight Photography on the bombing run\nThe first wave started their bombing at the same time as a line of fighter flares went down in brilliant white parallels to their track. It was about two miles away, but it had been laid by the Mosquito boys as a decoy.\n\nIn the final turn, Les Bartlett was straining to try and see everything at once, trying to decide which of the TIs were most accurate. He then gave the necessary corrections to Beetham so as to get to the chosen TIs. He ordered bomb doors open, but then way down below he saw a Halifax bomber. Mike Beetham made a quick weave, ending up on a parallel course and with a final, 'Left, left, steady...' Les pressed the 'tit' and the aircraft lurched as 4,000 lbs of bombs left the aircraft. He quickly threw the jettison bars across to ensure that there were no hang\u2013ups in the bomb bay. Beetham kept the aircraft straight and level for about 30 seconds, which seemed like 30 minutes, while the camera photographed the aiming point of their bombs. He then yelled, 'OK, camera operated, bomb doors closed.'\n\nThe clouds themselves were insufficient to hide the destruction going on. Everywhere for miles around seemed to be burning, throwing up a pink and scarlet haze through the cloud. It was so light one could read in the bombing compartment. The flak was moderate but falling short, bursting some 3,000 feet below them.\n\nOn their port bow, Beetham's crew saw an aircraft out of control falling earthwards with smoke pouring from it but no fire as far as could be seen. In this case the crew had a fair chance of baling out. Beetham set course out of the target area. Everything ahead looked black and very uninviting from a crew's point of view. This was the danger area where fighters would be waiting. They could see red Very lights used by the fighters to attract each other's attention in the air all around them. To avoid being jumped, Mike Beetham did a steady weave for about five minutes. With over 600 miles to go there was no need to get too anxious.\n\nThings began to quieten down, but to be on the safe side they would make a banking search occasionally, mainly to avoid being attacked from below. At 8,000 feet they were able to release their oxygen masks and breathe freely again, which was always a great relief after having had them clamped on their faces for several hours. Flasks of hot coffee were passed around and Beetham allowed a little conversation. They began to see other aircraft around them as the English coast was reached. All around was a great armada, as hundreds of red, green and white navigation lights could be seen. A message was sent to base: 'Hello Black Swan, This is Pilgrim D for Dog. May I pancake, please, over.' This was acknowledged and a glow of relief felt throughout the crew.\n\nFlying in Lancaster ED974, with Pilot Officer King DFC, was Wing Commander John MacGowan, Senior Medical Officer in 8 Group. He had been a fighter pilot in France in World War One and in 1922 completed medical studies to become a doctor. There were many problems medically for aircrew; one that Doc MacGowan was keen to solve was night vision and how to cope with the dazzle and glare from flares and target markers. Other problems involved the cold, adequate oxygen supply and frostbite, which could be caused by anything metal touching the bare skin, to frozen skin and poor circulation. Another was air sickness. Wing Commander MacGowan was to go on and complete some 52 operations in his pursuit of information, for which he was awarded a very well-earned DFC.\n\nAlthough the heavy bombers had finished their attack, the raid was not entirely over. A third wave of Mosquitos went to Berlin over an hour after the main raid, sending the Berliners scurrying back to the shelters. This was a planned attack of three waves \u2013 the first had dropped white flares, the second bombed after the heavies had done their work, followed by this third attack more than an hour later.\n\nThe London Times reported that 2,300 tons of bombs had been dropped on Berlin and among the damage had been Hitler's residence, which had been set on fire, Von Ribbentrop's palace destroyed, Speer's ministry destroyed except the ground floor. Other buildings destroyed were the Foreign Office and the Italian and Swedish legation buildings.\n\nBerlin was described as a 'Hell's Kitchen'. A German report of the raid stated that 130 mines, 900 high explosive, 200,000 incendiaries and 20,000 phosphorus bombs had been dropped as well as 60 flares. The casualty roll was 1,757 dead, 6,923 injured with some 180,000 people made homeless, for in the attack some 2,791 homes were destroyed with another 2,300 damaged. Industries and waterways had been destroyed or damaged, including the electrical firms of Osram and Telefunken. The Albrecht Armaments works was severely damaged in addition.\n\nThere was an understandable amount of panic in Berlin after the raid. Looting became widespread, and to add to the confusion, there were, for instance, over four million ration books destroyed, causing added disruption to everyday life. Almost any raid on a town caused this type of problem which, although only disruptive, was equally damaging. On the morning of the 23rd, a press conference was held by Doctor Schmidt, the Head of the Press Bureau in the General Foreign Office, at which many foreign correspondents were present. He talked about the British terror raids but the full significance of the conference can only be gauged when it is remembered that for the past few months the German Government had been making strenuous efforts to prevent foreign and neutral press observers visiting the scene of heavy Allied air raids \u2013 that is, before the debris had been cleared away. And the streets on the 23rd were impassable. Debris and especially the entanglement of tramway wires made passage impossible. Fires were still burning in many areas and gas mains had burst in several places. Fire fighting seemed to be becoming less and less effective. The reaction from the ARP services was: 'What can one do?' Berliners wouldn't do anything unless it was their own house or flat that was in danger.\n\nRAF casualties were 25 aircraft missing \u2013 eleven Lancasters, ten Halifaxes and four Stirlings. Three others had crashed on return to England, two of which had collided at Pocklington, both crews being killed. Ten of the losses were credited as follows: five to flak in the target area, three to controlled fighters over Berlin and two to controlled fighters in the Deelan area on the return route. Eighty aircraft were damaged by flak and one by fighter attack. Falling incendiaries had damaged another five, two more by collision and seven to other causes.\n\nOne Stirling aircraft of 214 Squadron (EF445 'J') flown by Flight Sergeant George Atkinson, aged twenty from Co. Durham, bombed Berlin at 8.06 pm from 12,000 feet. On the return flight, when twenty miles east of Hanover, the aircraft was hit by flak which damaged the intercom and wounded the rear gunner, Flight Sergeant Wilfred Sweeney, in the right leg. Then the port outer engine failed and to add to their problems, icing forced Atkinson to reduce height to between 1,500 and 2,000 feet.\n\nThey continued to fly at this height across Germany and Holland. The mid-upper and rear gunner, despite his wounds, returned the fire of several flak guns and they reckoned they damaged between fifteen and twenty searchlights! Then they were attacked by a FW190 which Sweeney managed to shoot down over the Zyder Zee.\n\nAt 10.31 pm they sent out an SOS to say they were running short of petrol; their problems increased when the starboard outer engine began to overheat and had to be shut down. They struggled on for another hour and a half, now well out over the North Sea, when at 25 minutes into the morning, the port inner engine cut as the petrol gave out. Atkinson had little choice now but to ditch. They hit the water at 00.34 am, in a choppy sea, on a dark night with no moon. The sea at the time had a 60-foot crest with waves across the swell at angles of 90\u00b0 The tail hit a crest and broke off 1\u00bd feet behind the mid-upper turret and the aircraft nosed in. Water rushed into the nose section via the pilot's escape hatch, while the tail section disappeared, taking the wounded 20-year-old Canadian gunner, Sweeney, with it. The front section too went down quickly, taking George Atkinson down with it, but the others struggled free. The bomb aimer and engineer could not inflate the dinghy in the darkness and the mid-upper, Sergeant Boutell, having inflated his Mae West in the aircraft, had some anxious moments getting out of the escape hatch until helped by the others.\n\nAttempts to inflate the dinghy all failed, and they spent the rest of the night supported by their life jackets. Luckily they were spotted by a rescue plane early next morning. A Lindholme lifeboat was dropped but it drifted past, for they were too weak to swim to it. But rescue was on the way and later they were picked up by an Air Sea Rescue launch \u2013 No 184 \u2013 from Yarmouth. Sergeant H. Friend, the bomb aimer, and navigator Sergeant D. Edwards, were cut and bruised. Sergeant J. Wilson, wireless operator, Sergeant Boutell, mid-upper, and Sergeant D. Hughes, the flight engineer, were all uninjured. Wilson gave credit to the others for his rescue, having been busy at his radio right to the end, enabling the rescue to come within twelve hours, although immersion in a winter sea for so long was far from pleasant.\n\nAn aircraft of 97 Squadron (JB238 'A') flown by Pilot Officer MacEgan, was hit by flak over Berlin and the return was made on two engines. They were hit again over Osnabriick and MacEgan gave the order to bale out when they were at 18,000 feet. Pilot Officer Adrian Spencer made his way towards the front of the aircraft and found the pilot's seat empty. He and the bomb aimer, Flying Officer Tyler, tried to keep the aircraft on a reasonable straight and level flight-path, and found that the WOP and mid-upper had baled out.\n\nCrashed Halifax\n\nCrashed Lancaster\n\nMacEgan had in fact collapsed over the front hatch and Tyler tried to help him but by this time the aircraft was down to 200 feet. Seconds later it struck the ground, ploughing into a farmyard six miles from Osnabriick aerodrome. Spencer, Sergeant Johnson, Sergeant Gibb and wireless operator, Warrant Officer Burke, all survived. Spencer was dazed by the crash and as he crawled out of the wreckage was captured by men of the German Home Guard. He was later taken to Frankfurt for interrogation and later to Stalag Luft 1 at Barth. He remained a prisoner until liberated by Russian troops in May 1945.\n\nOver England, Pilot Officer Hughes of 102 Squadron in Lancaster LW333 'K', was in a mid-air collision with a Lancaster of 77 Squadron killing both crews.\n\nFor many of the crews who had returned in the early hours of the morning of Sunday, 23rd November, there was to be no let up. A few hours' sleep and the call came for a morning attendance at the crew rooms to find out that they were flying again that night. The target again was Berlin.\n\nThe Third Raid\n\nFor this attack, 383 Lancasters, ten Halifaxes and six Mosquitos were on the line. The route would take them over the North Sea to Holland, then into Germany \u2013 'searchlight Alley' the men called it. They would have searchlights and guns on either side of them all the way to the Big City.\n\nThe method of attack for the Pathfinders was, first, primary blind markers, which would mark the aiming point with red TIs, and release one bundle of flares each \u2013 red with green stars \u2013 blindly on H2S. Special blind markers were to mark the exact aiming point with reds and yellows in salvo, also dropping four bundles of flares. Secondary blind markers were to drop green TIs and release one bundle of flares. Early backers-up were to aim greens at the salvoes of reds and yellows, that is, if the target was visible, otherwise at the centre of the reds with a two second overshoot.\n\nThe Main Force aircraft were to bomb on the centre of all visible greens with a two second overshoot, or in difficult conditions, to adopt the method prescribed for the supporters, which were to bomb on H2S unless of course, the sets were out of action, in which case they were to aim at the centre of the release point flares.\n\nOne member of 100 Squadron, Jimmy Flynn, awoke on the morning of the 23rd, having got to bed at 12.30 am, to hear the news that it was 'ops again' that night, but at the time he did not know the target. This he would discover at briefing later. He awoke with the sound of Merlin engines in his head from the night before and a taste in his mouth which he described as like a Christmas Tree, caused by the caffeine tablets taken the night before.\n\nHe had cause to remember this operation, too, as yet again his turret failed. It was very cold and he had to ensure that the saliva which ran down the oxygen mask and tube did not freeze up the flexible pipe which ran down into the main supply fitting. It was the policy to keep squeezing the tube to break up the small particles of ice which formed inside the tube. On this occasion it did not appear to work and he lapsed into unconsciousness. The last order he remembered was 'Bomb doors open' when coming up to the target. When he regained consciousness he was hanging inside the fuselage through the open turret doors, and could see the target burning behind him.\n\nThe wireless operator, Johnny MacAnaney, had somehow managed to extract him from the turret, not an easy job considering the amount of flying kit he was wearing. In doing so he would have had to disconnect the oxygen mask from the bayonet fitting and also from the intercom, and then slide him over the bulkhead into the fuselage while only wearing a small emergency oxygen bottle. He was later told by the mid-upper that while he was out a Ju88 was seen just above them, but luckily its pilot failed to see them.\n\nThe recollection of Jack Hamblin, also of 100 Squadron, was of seeing many miles ahead a large, ominous red glow in the sky. To the amazement of many crews, this turned out to be from the night before \u2013 fires still burning in the city. Then through a break in the clouds could be seen the outline of streets in the light of the fires. This break was probably caused by rising heat from the still burning city, which also threw the aircraft about like feathers over an updraught.\n\nOver the city, Jack Hamblin was coned by numerous searchlights and his aircraft hit on the port side of the fuselage by a burst of heavy flak. Hamblin was trying to hold the aircraft steady as it bucked like a bronco at a rodeo. There was a heavy smell of cordite and a lot of noise from exploding AA shells.\n\nThe Goebbels' diaries made mention of this raid:\n\nI just can't understand how the English are able to do so much damage to the Reich's capital during one air raid. The picture that greeted my eye in the Wilhelmplatz was one of utter desolation, blazing fires everywhere.\n\nJimmy Flynn\nFire engines were requisitioned from nearby towns and from as far away as Hamburg, while the Army had to supply two and a half divisions, some 50,000 men, whose sole job was to clear the main streets so that transport and food supplies could be resumed.\n\nAnother aircraft hit over Berlin, after releasing its bombs, was that flown by Flight Lieutenant Peter Williams of 7 Pathfinder Squadron. It was struck by a heavy burst of flak which severed the elevator controls. Williams immediately ordered the crew to don their parachutes in readiness to abandon the aircraft, but he found that by judicious handling of the engines and tail trimmers he was able to control the aircraft to a limited extent. He managed to gain height and set course for home. He eventually arrived over home base at 10,000 feet, but believing a safe landing was out of the question, he ordered the crew to bale out, though the navigator stayed with him. He then steered due north for some twenty miles and then both men baled out. For his efforts, he was recommended for an immediate DFC. It was his fifteenth trip.\n\nThe previous raid had been remarkable for the absence of fighters and for the accuracy and intensity of flak. On this night, the flak defences were about the same but the fighters made a greater effort. Ground controlled fighters could be heard along the route from the north of Holland to as far east as Quackenbruck, but they made no claims.\n\nThe running commentator directed freelance fighters from 6.12 pm, sending them towards Berlin at 7.30, and then concentrated them over Brandenburg at about eight o'clock \u2013 zero hour. From here they were directed to Berlin. The main body of fighters, it would appear, arrived over the city at about 8.08 pm. Two Lancasters of 50 Squadron were attacked here around about this time: Pilot Officer Dobbyn was attacked by a Ju88 which closed in from the port quarter and fired two bursts then broke away underneath. They reported a number of fighters over the target area. Flight Sergeant Loader was attacked by a Mel 10 and his mid-upper, Sergeant Tupman, opened up with a very long burst.\n\n  Hamish Hamilton, 1948.\n\nThe fighter replied with a short burst of cannon fire and broke away to port. The navigator, Flying Officer Candy, then saw a Ju88 overhead. Once again Tupman opened fire with a long burst. The German moved to the starboard side and Tupman fired again. The rear gunner, Sergeant Coulson, was unable to fire as his guns had frozen up. Tupman claimed the Mel 10 as damaged in the crew's report.\n\nA Lancaster of 100 Squadron (JB564), piloted by Warrant Officer Leman, was attacked on the way to Berlin by a fighter and the crew forced to bale out. Flight Lieutenant James Lake, the navigator, who had joined the army in 1940 and transferred to the RAF in 1941, landed in a field and after hiding his parachute and Mae West in a hollow tree, walked for some miles and met the bomb aimer, Flight Sergeant JefFeries. He had injured his back when landing and was too badly hurt to walk so they gave themselves up to a farmer; he sent for the army who came along to collect them. They were taken to a military barracks where they met Leman. After interrogation they were taken to a main camp and for the rest of the war remained PoWs. Sergeant Daniels, the engineer, was also captured but sadly the rear gunner, Sergeant Fuller, was lost and never found, and Sergeants Lloyd and Chandler also died.\n\nAnother Lancaster (JA865 'A') of 166 Squadron, flown by Warrant Officer Eric Grove, was attacked on its bombing run, being hit from below by an upward firing fighter, and the aircraft was set on fire. Attempts to put the fire out failed and so the order to bale out was given. The crew went out at 4,000 feet and five of them later became PoWs, but the two gunners were lost.\n\nNo German fighters were claimed destroyed, but observations suggest that two fighters were in fact brought down over Berlin. The missing RAF aircraft totalled 21, with 27 others damaged \u2013 14 to flak, four to fighters and nine to other causes. On the way to Berlin, four aircraft were seen to crash between the Dutch coast and Leeuwarden. The causes of the losses were obscure, as no fighter claims were heard on the air. Four more were shot down by fighters between Groningen and Hannover, and one to guns at Texel. Over Berlin three aircraft were destroyed by flak in the first fifteen minutes of the attack and five by fighters, one in the early stages, two towards the end, and two shortly after turning for home. Of the damaged aircraft, six were beyond repair, one from flak, the others as a result of landing accidents.\n\nA personal report by Major John Mullock of the Royal Artillery, attached to the Pathfinder Force as flak liaison officer, was made after this, his first, trip to Berlin. He flew in a Mosquito of 139 Squadron, flown by Group Captain L.C. Slee DSO DFC. They took off at 6.12 pm from RAF Wyton, carrying twelve white drip flares \u2013'spoofs'. They were to release them at twenty-second intervals while over the centre of Berlin. Major Mullock was kept busy dropping Window. One bundle of this represented one aircraft echo on enemy radar screens. It did not jam, but confused and 'cluttered-up' the screens. Mullock was also trying to rub ice off the inside of the perspex in the nose of the aircraft, which he found exhausting; it was 47\u00b0 outside and very warm inside resulting in heavy condensation.\n\nThey dropped their white flares at 8.12, from a height of 32,000 feet. He saw them ignite and thought how they compared with the ones the Germans used. They were in fact similar to those used by the Germans in their night fighters. Mullock later reported:\n\nAfter the attack had been going for four to five minutes the flak was entirely barrage, spread over a vast area and wildly dispersed in height. No bursts were seen above an approx height of 23,000 feet. There seemed to be no attempt to fire a barrage over any one part of the city as might have been expected. The rate of fire of most of the guns would appear to have been something in the region of five to six rounds per minute.\n\nSeveral of the blind markers were undoubtedly shot down in the early stages by predictor control (unseen fire). This was due to the fact that the backers-up were late and thus did not provide any cover. When the attack on Berlin had developed concentration and window cover obviously precluded the use of radar. The impression gained was that the defences were in a state of utter confusion and were firing blindly and wildly.\n\nMajor Mullock was destined to go to Berlin on two further occasions during the battle, and eventually made five visits to the Big City out of his 22 ops. He was recommended for the DFC in August 1944.\n\nThe radio counter-measure known as 'Corona' was once again used and caused considerably annoyance to the German commentators. They were forced to prefix many messages with code numbers. They also tried using a woman as a mouthpiece, but were immediately countered by a German-speaking female Corona operator in England who passed messages, including warnings such as fog at base and ordering German pilots to land as quickly as possible.\n\nThis system was first used in October 1943. It was introduced to counter the enemy's use of high power running commentary broadcasts known as 'Rapid Reporting Frequency'. The technique often involved using as many as three controllers on different frequencies. A system had to be found to confuse the enemy night fighter pilots by working on the same frequency as his own controllers. If these two signals were received by the fighters approximately equal in strength the frequency originated by the British could be modulated in such a way as to confuse and distract the enemy pilots by the transmission of conflicting instructions.\n\nThis was done by suitably placed transmitters in England of adequate power and relying on skywave propagation. The enemy pilot, when airborne, could be made to receive a very strong radio transmission signal comparable with the direct ray reception from his own ground station. The operators were fluent German-speaking, trained for the purpose and were told what to say to the enemy pilots. The controller at HQ, Bomber Command would pass, by scrambler, to the controller at Kingsdown in Kent, the bombers' route out and back, about an hour before take-off time, and also the times of main and diversionary attacks, the target, diversionary target and any feint raids.\n\nIf the German controllers seemed to choose the feint or the wrong target, or re-directed fighters away from the correct target, the Kingsdown operator would take no action. If doubt were shown as to the bombers' target, or the Germans seemed confused in his orders, Kingsdown would reinforce the incorrect conclusions. If the enemy selected the right target and directed their fighters towards it in time to intercept the bombers, then incorrect information would immediately be broadcast regarding position and direction of the bombers.\n\nOne Lancaster of 9 Squadron (ED656 'V') flown by Pilot Officer NJ. Robinson crashed in England on its return from Berlin at approximately 11.45 am, fog having set in the area of the crash. Villagers at Belchford, near Ludford Magna, heard the four-engined aircraft circling low in the fog. They saw a brief glimpse of it as it clipped the top of a row of trees close to the village church before it reared up, stalled and then crashed nose-down into a nearby field. Six of the crew were killed instantly, but the two gunners, Sergeant Casey and Flight Sergeant Mitchell, were thrown clear. Casey went to the assistant of Mitchell despite having facial burns, to find Mitchell with a fractured leg and burns to his face and hands. He had dragged himself clear before the aircraft went up in flames. Villagers gave them first aid before they went off to RAF Hospital, Rauceby.\n\nThe site of the crash is now owned by a farmer, himself a former pilot with 101 Squadron. Parts of the aircraft have been found in the area recently.\n\nAnother aircraft of 9 Squadron (DV327), flown by Pilot Officer C. Ward, crashed on making a turn to port on his second approach to land. It went into a shallow dive to starboard, did not respond to the controls and crashed, but luckily the crew escaped unhurt.\n\nThe Germans reported the raid as starting at 7.26 pm and estimated that 120 mines, 850 high explosive, 20,000 phosphorus bombs, 250,000 incendiaries, and 70 flares had been dropped. Some 1,989 houses were destroyed and 2,442 others severely and 20,000 slightly damaged. One military installation was destroyed and 21 damaged, 15 severely. Eight industrial targets were destroyed, with 22 more severely and 22 slightly damaged. In addition the power station at Spandau was destroyed. Casualties were 13,005 killed, 6,383 injured while 300,000 people were made homeless.\n\nOn the morning of the 24th, the bombed parts of Berlin looked ghastly. Prisoners of war were put to work excavating blocked cellars but the only people who seemed to be working well were German troops \u2013 infantry, Waffen SS and men of the Luftwaffe.\n\nThe Times reported that bomber crews having said they could see a glow from 100 miles of Berlin. The weight of bombs dropped per aircraft was: Halifaxes 26,623 pounds, and Lancasters 9,639 pounds. Bomber Command lost 5.49% of the raiding force \u2013 all Lancasters, the weight of bombs dropped per missing aircraft was 66.1 tons.\n\nA signal was sent by the Secretary of State for Air, to the C in C Bomber Command, Sir Arthur Harris:\n\nMy warmest congratulations to you and all ranks serving under your command on two crushing attacks upon the Nazi citadel. Berlin is not only the home of Nazi militarism and the capital of Nazi Government but is also the greatest single centre of war industry in Germany. Often before your squadrons have struck it hard. The most convincing measure of their success has been the huge deployment of the enemy's resources for its defence. Nevertheless, your attacks these last two nights have reached a new level of power and concentration and have proved that however much he may marshal his guns, searchlights and fighters, the enemy cannot match your skill and resource or the valour and determination of your crews.\n\nDe-briefing after Berlin raid\n\nA 78 Squadron crew\n\nThe Fourth Raid\n\nAnother attack on the Big City was planned for 25th November but was scrubbed through bad weather. Instead the next raid was arranged for the following night. One man, Ernie Cummings, a flight engineer with 83 Squadron \u2013 Pathfinders \u2013 awoke from a deep sleep feeling warm and snug between warm linen sheets \u2013 a great luxury in the services in WW2. It was 6.45 am and dawn was just breaking. He shared a large room at RAF Wyton, near Huntingdon, with thirteen other men. Because of the op being scrubbed the night before, he had spent the evening in the local haunt for aircrew, The George, in Huntingdon itself.\n\nAfter breakfast he joined his pilot, Alec Shipway, and the rest of the crew and they went to their various crew rooms. Here Ernie met fellow engineers and they discussed the problems and modification of their aircraft. Later he was to learn they were flying that night, but there was a good deal to do before dark. An air test on their new H2S set \u2013 known as H2S\u2013X (Mk III), hurriedly fitted to two aircraft of 83 Squadron being virtually hand-built. One was used by Flying Officer Bernard Moorcroft and the second by Flight Lieutenant Wilson \u2013 ex-83 but now a blind bombing staff officer at HQ 8 Group.\n\nThey had not been ready for the first Berlin operation on the 18th; in fact it was not until the 19th that they were even ready for trial testing over London, the nearest conditions to Berlin itself.\n\nIt was first used on the operation of the 22nd but at 10.50 pm near the Dutch coast Moorcroft had to enter in his log: 'Y burnt out.' They had to abort so as not to risk being shot down and the new set being captured. If it was, it might in turn be used by the Germans in a night raid on London. Obviously the crew were not happy at missing the chance to add another op to their eventual Pathfinder total of 45 missions. The set again went U\/S on the 23rd over Texel so once again they had to return. In fact, of ten ops to Berlin in which Moorcroft took part, three were aborted because of the set not working.\n\nThe Mark III had a three-centimetre, instead of the usual ten, waveband. By narrowing the waveband a clearer picture of the ground, and target area was given. The question of who was to get these greatly sought-after sets had been discussed earlier that month \u2013 was it to be Coastal or Bomber Command? Finally Bomber Command won and the Pathfinders were the first to receive them, for they had already begun to prove their worth in the earlier Berlin raids.\n\nThe flight Ernie Cummings and crew were to undertake to test the set was planned for over London and the aiming point was to be Fenchurch St. Railway Station. They took off at 10.35 am (in JB352) and were due over London at 11.15. Moorcroft directed them to the AP (aiming point) with his new set, as he had a complete map of the ground below the aircraft on the screen. He could clearly make out the River Thames and all the bridges and parks in London. He was asked by one of the crew if he could see the Windmill Theatre and to tell them what was showing at the time!\n\nThey made their 'bombing run' from Fenchurch Street and cameras were set and fixed to check their aiming point over two runs. The run-ups were carried out as if it were the real thing, right down to the opening of the bomb doors. Ernie wondered what people in the streets below made of this. As they were leaving London, 'Jock' Denoun, the mid-upper, sighted the Spitfire which was to make mock attacks on them. Only the gunners were allowed to speak over the intercom. The rear gunner, Flight Sergeant Phil Lewis, shouted: 'Fighter passing on starboard quarter!', then, 'Dive, dive, dive.' Alex Shipway immediately pushed the stick forward and turned very tightly; then they literally were falling out of the sky, their stomachs up in their chests. This was repeated for about twenty minutes, and all this right over London.\n\nThey arrived back at base at mid-day after an hour and 45 minutes' flying. Briefing for that night's op was at two o'clock, so little time was left for anything but lunch.\n\nAt briefing, the crews were told of their set-up. The Pathfinder blind markers would drop a bundle of release point flares (red with green stars) and mark with red TIs, while operating on H2S special blind markers \u2013 carrying the new H2S \u2013 would mark the exact aiming points with red and yellows in salvos and drop bundles of close point flares, once again on H2S. Secondary blind markers would bomb at regular intervals throughout the attack, keeping the AP illuminated with greens and release point flares, dropped blindly.\n\nLancaster bombing up with 4,000 cookie and incendiaries\n\nErnie Cummings' scarf\nEarly backers-up would drop greens at the salvos of reds and yellows if still visible otherwise at the centre of each with two second overshoots. Later backers-up would aim greens at the centre of all greens already dropped, once again with a small overshoot. Window of course would again be used.\n\nThree Mosquitos of 139 Squadron were to attack the target before the Main Force began, at zero, minus six minutes, also dropping bundles of Window. Four other Mossies of 139 would proceed to the target, then turn on a track of 145\u00b0 and fly for 3\u00bd minutes on this track, then release spoof fighter flares at 20-second intervals. Three more Mosquitos would attack after the Main Force, at zero plus 120 minutes.\n\nFlight Lieutenant Alex Shipway DFC 83 Squadron and his crew were to have a hectic start to the operation after their trip over London. While at dispersal, Flying Officer Hyde's aircraft blew up, killing several of its ground crew. It also damaged Flight Lieutenant Sambridge's aircraft, forcing him to cancel. The glare from the explosion was taken full in the face by Shipway's rear gunner, Phil Lewis, and so affected his night vision that he was replaced by Sergeant Adams.\n\nNevertheless, at exactly 5.39 pm, Shipway, from Bristol, with his engineer, Ernie Cummings, taxied out to the runway, turned the aircraft into the wind and took off. He reached the English coast at 6.10, having climbed to 14,000 feet, and was still climbing; all the crew had their oxygen masks firmly clipped in position. Looking down they were able to see the waves of the North Sea as it was not very dark; it looked like a solid mass of grease.\n\nThey reached 22,000 feet and levelled out, then reset the throttles and the propellers to cruising speed and pitch. At 6.35 came the first turning point. The navigator was checking the course to give to Shipway, so the bomb doors were opened just long enough for a white sky flare to be dropped. All the crew, on reaching the enemy coast, were checked by Shipway, the engines and controls were given a final once over, for from now on everything had to be tip-top. Shipway began to weave; no straight and level flying for him or any experienced crew. While weaving they would also drop down a few feet or so, then climb up again, giving less chance of being picked up by fighters. Another ploy to insure against being surprised from below was occasionally to turn the Lancaster over onto its wing tip and let the mid-upper get a view of the sky below.\n\nTheir next turning point was Brandenburg. From here they could go to any part of Germany, so as there was a diversionary raid on Stuttgart, the Germans would have some difficulty in deciding where the raid was to take place. To the left was Bremen and slightly ahead Hannover, both heavily defended, with searchlights already probing the sky for them. If they got a hold on an aircraft it became a cat and mouse game. The pilot would turn into them which made them pass by, then immediately swing back. The aircraft then turned again into the glare and once more it would miss.\n\nSuddenly the wireless operator came on the intercom: 'There's a fighter close by! '\n\nShipway started to corkscrew and the radio signal showed they had shaken it off. The gunners saw behind and to their left an aircraft blow up and another caught in the cone of a searchlight. Things were hotting up. It was all for real from now on.\n\nThe next turning point was passed and the bomb doors opened momentarily for a white flare to be dropped. A new course was given, putting the Lancaster on its last leg towards Berlin. This was what they had come for. The navigator estimated ETA in ten minutes. Run-up checks were carried out. They were to drop TIs and bomb with the new H2S set. All about them the flak became very intense. 'ETA four minutes.' The bomb doors were again opened. Shipway kept the aircraft straight and level for the bombing run. Searchlights were everywhere and the ride a little bumpy. Then they were coned by searchlights which followed them from west to south-east making it impossible for the operator to use his H2S screen to bomb. It was therefore decided to drop the 4,000 lb 'Cookie' on the next run and retain the TIs and flares. Letting go the Cookie, Shipway opened the throttles to the full and went into a dive, corkscrewing all the time. The speed reached 350 mph which was the recommended limit for a dive. Beyond this and it would take some pulling out, but the speed went up to 400 mph and it took the combined strength of both the pilot and Ernie Cummings to pull the aircraft out. To them it seemed like hours but in fact it had only taken eight minutes. Gradually a height of 22,000 feet and the correct course was reached.\n\nIn ED859 'V' of 619 Squadron, the crew were also having an eventful night. They had been briefed to fly towards Frankfurt, south of the Ruhr. Lieutenant Nick Knilans, an American with Bomber Command (later to fly with the famous 617 Dambuster Squadron), saw the TIs cascading down in the red, yellow and green streams as he flew north of Berlin. He then received a message on the intercom from the mid\u2014upper, Flight Sergeant Robinson:\n\n'My turret is U\/S! '\n\n'Okay, keep a sharp look out where you can.' Knilans replied.\n\nThe wireless op was receiving signals and called: 'Bandit at 6 o'clock at 600 yards!' Both gunners were asked if they could see anything:\n\n'Not yet,' came the replies.\n\nWith that a bright stream of tracer shells shot over the port wing and the rear gunner yelled: 'Corkscrew Port!' and opened fire with his four machine guns as the pilot dived and climbed in a corkscrew motion. One of the gunners shouted that it was a Ju88. The engineer, Ken Ryall, then said;\n\n'I'm feathering the port engine.'\n\nEverybody was looking for fighters, the WOP from the astrodome above his head, the engineer to port. In came the Ju88 again for another bite at the apple. Once again Knilans put the Lancaster into a dive and a side slip to port. The 88 flew a few feet over the fuselage with all its guns firing. It circled the Lancaster and the rear gunner was heard firing and the fighter seen to go down in flames.\n\nAs the German fighter tactics sometimes was to operate in pairs, one to draw the fire from the bomber, the other to use the exchange as an aiming point, they all kept a sharp look out. No sooner had the 88 gone down than a dark shape came hurtling towards them.\n\nKnilans put the aircraft into a dive at the same time shouted: 'shoot straight up, Roy,' to the rear gunner. Roy Learmouth's guns immediately chattered. The shape passed over them and the mid-upper yelled:\n\n'It's a Mel09.'\n\nThe attacks had put out the port inner engine and damaged the elevators in the tail assembly. Although he was still 240 miles from Berlin, Knilans decided to carry on. They eventually reached the city, dropped their bombs from 13,000 feet, and turned for home. The light from searchlights, explosions and fires below rocked the Lancaster and blinded Knilans so much that he had to lower his seat and fly on instruments. They then set a course for home though they were beginning to lose height. Whilst trying to keep up with the Main Force, by the time they were at the Dutch coast they were down to 2,000 feet.\n\nNavigator at work\n\n619 Squadron crew\nOn arrival at Woodall Spa, 619's base (later the home of 617 Squadron) they found the aerodrome shrouded in fog and were told by ground control to fly to Scotland. In their state this was impossible and so they made for nearby Spilsby and successfully landed there on three engines. From there they travelled to Woodall in a van but the journey was slow because of the fog and it needed a man walking in the front with a flashlight. By the time they arrived they had been away for over twelve hours. The problems did not always end when one had landed back in England! For his actions this time, Nick Knilans was awarded the DSO, the first awarded to 619 Squadron since its formation, and Roy Learmouth was awarded an immediate DFM.\n\nThe bad weather had kept the German fighter groups in the Berlin area grounded but when the bomber force was seen coming from the north-east, Fighter Group NJG\/5 were ordered up by Command Centre Operational HQ, regardless of cost or losses, as were the day fighters of JG\/3. Time, however, had been lost and the bombers had already bombed. Only the later waves were attacked and in all 27 bombers were lost and fourteen arrived back at base only fit for the scrap heap.\n\nAn aircraft of 50 Squadron, flown by Pilot Officer Weatherstone, was attacked by a Ju88 on the inward journey. The rear gunner, Sergeant Collingwood, opened fire only to find one out of his four guns working, the other three being frozen. However, he did manage to get a shot in and claimed the 88 as damaged.\n\nLancaster LL632 'G' of 432 Squadron, piloted by Flight Sergeant Dervine of the RCAF, was attacked by three Me210s while on the outskirts of Frankfurt and flying at 19,000 feet. A flare path had been laid down by fighters just after the 210s attacked. During the short period of four to five minutes, the fighters made three attacks. The rear gunner, Sergeant Quesnel, found his guns frozen and the mid-upper Sergeant Riding, had a stoppage in his left gun but managed to fire about 100 rounds. The Lancaster suffered about fifteen bullet holes.\n\nWing Commander Frederick Hilton AFC, of 7 Squadron, took off from Oakington at 5.30 pm. On the way to Berlin he was attacked by a fighter and the aircraft set on fire. Hilton gave the order to bale out and all got out except Pilot Officer Leonard who was killed. Hilton was later taken to Stalag Luft 1 at Barth and became Senior British Officer of the camp on and off till May 1945.\n\nBomb aimer Jack Hamblin of 100 Squadron was lying in his bomb aiming compartment watching the bombing area, directing his pilot when they were caught fair and square by a searchlight and held. His night vision went and for a moment he was blinded. Then came a fearful flash and explosion and the aircraft was lifted by an enormous blast. His perspex window was holed but within a few seconds his sight returned and he went on to bomb the target. He remembers stuffing the holes with paper and rags.\n\nPilot Officer John Pryor (LM366 'H') of 207 Squadron was also attacked by a fighter in the Frankfurt area. The Monica in the aircraft (the device that let you know when another aircraft was nearby) had gone U\/S and its pipping sound kept up all the way across the North Sea and continued as the WOP was instructed to use it at all times and never be put off by the rest of the crew complaining about the noise. He was finally ordered by Pryor to shut the thing off. Only ten minutes later came a terrific crack and a smell of acrid smoke. John Pryor immediately went into a corkscrew and the WOP \u2013 Albert Hepworth \u2013 turned on the Monica set and again it started pipping. By now smoke was entering the aircraft. On removing the covers over the bomb bay, sparks and flame came up and it became obvious that some of the incendiaries were on fire.\n\nCommon sense then prevailed and the bomb load jettisoned by Pilot Officer Pesme, the bomb aimer. The Monica continued to pip all the way back to the coast and just beyond when it suddenly stopped. They landed safely at Woodbridge.\n\nThe famous Lancaster S for Sugar (R5868) of 467 Squadron had a narrow squeak over Berlin. Its pilot, Jack Colpus, was flying straight and level, having completed the bombing run, allowing time for the photograph, when another Lancaster, taking evasive action from a fighter, corkscrewed into them. It hit Sugar on the starboard wing, bending but not breaking it, some twelve feet from the wing tip. The effect, however, was an uncontrollable descent from about 28,000 feet to 10,000, where Colpus finally managed to regain control. He flew it back to a safe landing at Tholthorpe in Yorkshire, not its own base at Waddington. The other aircraft, from 61 Squadron (DV311) flown by Pilot Officer J.W. Einarson, also got back and apologies were tended to Sugar's crew.\n\nSugar had to undergo major surgery, having to have a new wing. by this time she had flown some 80 ops. The 61 Squadron Lane too had to have repairs but flew again in the new year.\n\nOne aircraft of 460 Squadron was also in trouble over the target. It had just pulled away when it began to fill with smoke. The windows were opened and emergency oxygen used. The cause was found to be the two electric convertors associated with GEE and the radio system position, under the navigator's table. After the electric power had been closed down the smoke subsided and later it was discovered that the damage had occurred by shrapnel while the bomb doors were open.\n\nOnce again Group Captain Slee of 139 Squadron flew in a Mosquito (DZ601) and again with Major Mullock as his observer. As before, Mullock made a full report. They had taken off at 6.55 pm from Wyton and over Cologne they saw several aircraft coned and surrounded by intense flak. As they neared Koblenz, searchlights could be observed as far as the eye could see. Just south of Koblenz, some twenty searchlights made a determined effort to illuminate them and many fighters were seen around Frankfurt.\n\nThey approached Berlin from the west and could see the defences of Brunswick and Magdeburg in action with the vast amount of searchlights. One in particular \u2013 the master beam with its bright blue extra wide light \u2013 could be seen in a dense and wide belt all around Berlin. Some 31 beams were counted ahead of them, it seemed as light as day in the aircraft.\n\nThey had arranged to communicate with a Mosquito flight commander over Berlin, but when they were coned, they called: 'Hello Junior, Junior, do you see that poor fellow cornered up there, well that's us!' After they had dropped their spoof fighter flares they then dropped twelve bundles of Window.\n\nOn his return, Mullock remarked on their being coned over the city and concluded:\n\nConsidering the heavy bombers were beneath the Mosquito, it was most remarkable that the searchlights were able to select targets above. It would appear Radar could only operate successfully against aircraft considerably above the Main Force and out of the Window cover. The initial pick-up must have been accomplished by means of Radar after which it would appear that the control was visual. Condensation trials were a great help to searchlights. One pilot was coned at 28,000 feet over Berlin, escaping from the beams almost immediately after losing sufficient height to ensure that condensation trails did not occur. It was an old trick of the Germans to leave a gun blacked out until an unsuspecting aircraft was well within range of the majority of defences; many pilots were caught by this ruse.\n\nThe aircraft returning to base were up against foggy conditions and many were diverted to other fields. The weather had in fact worsened by 1 am in England, except in the West Midlands and South Coast areas. Many aircraft returning were peppered with light flak holes.\n\nMost of the bomb damage appeared to be in the Remchendorf\u2014Tegal area where there were a group of extremely important industries, including armaments and engineering factories. The Pathfinder reports showed eleven of the twelve primary blind marking points attacked; the twelfth aircraft was shot down. The German fighter controller seemed to have been misled into thinking the attack was on Frankfurt. Over Berlin some 40 fighters were seen and nine combats took place but later many came after bombers straying off course on their way home. These were picked up by controlled fighters operating between Bremen and the Ruhr. In the main these were Ju88s, also FW200s seen near Frankfurt and Berlin.\n\nThe RAF lost 27 aircraft with 79 more damaged, 40 to flak and 11 to fighters. Three suffered collision damage, the other 25 due to other causes. Of the 27 lost, nine went down over Berlin (seven to flak, two to fighters) and four to controlled fighters in the area between Bremen and the Ruhr. Nine went down on the outward route, three to flak between the Dutch coast and Coblenz, with two more down between Bremen and Hanover.\n\nThe weather was the cause of some of the crashes in England. Flying Officer Mike Beetham and his crew were directed to Pocklington because their base at Skellingthorpe was fogbound, but at a height of 5,000 feet the aircraft started to ice up, so they went lower to where the aircraft began to thaw out. At a height of 1,000 feet they crossed the coast near the Humber. Visibility was bad at Pocklington. The flarepath was visible but on calling up Pocklington, Beetham was told to go onto Melbourne to land. By now they were nearly out of fuel but they managed it and made a safe landing. They were the first of 50 Squadron's returning aircraft to land here.\n\nPilot Officer R. Neil in a Lancaster (ED873) of 106 Squadron, returned early with one starboard engine surging, and he was unable to maintain height. He jettisoned his bomb load and approached Methringham on three engines but overshot and crashed in a nearby field. The rear gunner was the only casualty, suffering a broken arm.\n\nPilot Officer Yell, an Australian flying a Lancaster (JB354 'O') of 12 Squadron, crash-landed near Binbrook (he was one of three 12 Squadron aircraft to crash land). Sergeant A. Twitchett (JB464) and Sergeant J. Jones (JB668 't) both had their aircraft damaged by flak. Both crews were unharmed, but sadly Twitchett and Yell were to be lost on the next operation.\n\nLancaster LM378 'J', piloted by Flying Officer R. Foote, landed at Woodbridge on their return at 1.05 am. Their return was far from smooth. They had been shot up by flak, had no hydraulics, were very low on fuel as their tanks had been hit and leaking petrol. In code, they broke radio silence to request emergency landing permission and were ordered to Woodbridge in Suffolk. The landing was hairy, to say the least. They straddled three runways before they came to a halt and later the aircraft was written off.\n\nThe crew, happily uninjured, had to stay the night \u2013 or what was left of it \u2013 at Woodbridge. The next morning at 8 am they were on Ipswich railway station, still in their flying kit and carrying parachutes. A dear old lady seeing the mid-upper struggling with his kit, offered to help him and grabbed his parachute by the release handle, at which the 'chute promptly spilled out, and she went careering down the platform with it billowing out as the breeze caught it. It certainly gave the Ipswich commuters something to smile at that morning. This crew later transferred to the Path Finder Force and took part in a further seven trips to Berlin during the battle.\n\nFlight Sergeant R. Lloyd, flying Lancaster DS712 'G' of 408 Squadron, had a very difficult outward trip. Just before reaching Berlin their starboard outer engine failed, causing the aircraft to lose height, but from 18,000 feet they still managed to bomb at 12.16 pm. The bombs, however, were seen to fall some distance short of the aiming point. The engine then magically restarted but then the intercom to the mid-upper went U\/S. Near Magdeburg they were hit by flak and the mid-upper, Sergeant Roberts, wounded in the foot. This was not the end of their troubles: to complete their night they were attacked by a Ju88 night fighter and the aircraft hit in the mid-upper turret. The engine pressure to the starboard inner engine fell and was feathered.\n\nThey set course for Stradishall but on reaching it safely, they decided to go on to Fiskerton. On arrival the starboard outer engine cut and the rudder trim packed up, sending the aircraft into a shallow spiral dive from 5,000 feet. The crew were ordered out, but this was countermanded as the escape hatch proved difficult to open, and it was decided to crash-land. A call of 'Darky' and 'May Day' on the radio, received no acknowledgment but they managed to pick up another aircraft and received some directions from them. They finally made a belly landing in a sewage disposal ground \\\\\\ miles south east of Lincoln.\n\nThis was the first operation of 463 Australian Squadron since its formation on 25th November, under its new CO, Wing Commander Rollo Kingsford-Smith, nephew of the late Air Commodore Sir Charles Kingsford Smith \u2013 the first man to fly across the Pacific from the USA to Australia. At 24, the Wing Commander was the youngest squadron commander in Bomber Command. He had good support from two flight commanders, Squadron Leader H.B. Locke DFC, with 26 ops to his name, and Squadron Leader Brill DFC, who had completed a tour on Wellingtons.\n\nThe Germans recorded the following for the night of 26\/27th November raid: Berlin was attacked between 8.52 and 10.30 pm and some 60 mines, 650 HE bombs, 10,000 phosphorus and 100 incendiary bombs, plus 100 flares, were dropped. 470 people died, 2,099 more injured and 25,000 made homeless. Eleven industrial firms were destroyed and 37 severely plus 42 slightly damaged. The official figure for HE bombs dropped was 859 plus 717 incendiaries.\n\nDr Goebbels in his diary recorded that this time it was the suburbs that were mainly hit, particularly the large munition plants in Reinickendorf. The Alekett factory, the most important German maker of field artillery, producing half of the entire output, was set on fire and despite attempts to put it out it was destroyed. The great Berlin Assembly Hall was burnt to the ground. The diary recorded:\n\nThat is a heavy blow. The Fiihrer too is very much depressed. The situation has become even more alarming since one industrial plant after another has been set on fire.\n\nThe central telephone exchange was destroyed but Hitler could still be reached by a still intact direct line, and this was when he ordered the fire departments in Berlin to the burning tank plant. When Albert Speer arrived at the plant the main workshop was mainly burnt out.\n\n  Hamish Hamilton 1948.\n\nIt was after this raid that regular troops of the Berlin garrison were taken off salvage and replaced by sapper units. Large numbers had been brought into Berlin and they worked magnificently in dousing still smouldering fires and in blowing up houses too badly damaged to be repaired, which had become dangerous. Confusion was beginning to set in among the people. For instance, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had been evacuated from the Wilhelmstrasse and nobody seemed to know where it had gone. The Military Postal Censorship Centre was completely wiped out which meant that about three-quarters of all foreign mail would lie in bags until it was finally destroyed, as mail uncollected for two weeks was simply burned. The problem of the administration of such a large city was that the evacuation of many Government organisations was out of the question. The furniture and staff, of course, could be evacuated, but once out of Berlin the departments concerned could not function effectively.\n\nBerlin was being damaged despite bad weather. This same weather was also stopping the required photographic evidence needed by Bomber Command. Almost continual cloud cover prevented the recce aircraft from seeing the ground. Bomber Command believed it was hitting hard, but just how hard they could not tell.\nCHAPTER FIVE\n\nOver Berlin\n\nOn 29th November the Chief of the Air Staff wrote to Lord Salisbury:\n\nThere is no change in the Government's bombing policy. Our aim is to dislocate and destroy the German military, industrial and economic system. I have never pretended that this is possible to pursue without inflicting terrible casualties on the population of Germany. But neither I nor any responsible speaker on behalf of the Government have ever gloated over the destruction of German homes.\n\nA reprisal policy we have resisted despite pressure from the Poles to do so. Also the Czechs after the destruction of Lidice. We refused and stuck to the policy of military targets. Harris said \u2014 'The heart of Germany must cease to beat.' He meant the residential heart, but he is an airman and thinks of Germany in terms of war. He thinks Berlin is the heart of the German War Organisation. Berlin is the greatest single centre of German War Industry, plus the principal centre of the canal system in Germany, also the centre of German Administration.\n\nThe Fifth Raid\n\nThe onslaught on Berlin continued into December. On the night of 2\/3rd December, 440 Lancasters, fifteen Halifaxes of 35 Squadron and eighteen Mosquitos of 139 Squadron were detailed. The weather forecast promised low cloud and a 40 mph wind at base, with 60 mph winds over Holland, but down to 30 mph over north-west Germany and even promised lower over Berlin itself \u2014 20 to 25 mph.\n\nThe plan of attack was much the same as the previous raids where cloudy conditions prevailed. Four Mosquitos were detailed to drop flares to the south of the city as feint attacks. Four others would drop Window and bombs while four more would bomb the centre of the fires. The PFF plans were for primary blind markers using H2S while secondary blind markers were to drop red TIs, either blindly or visually. The primary blind markers were to drop red TIs on the aiming point and release one bundle of sky-markers guided by Oboe \u2014 code-named 'Wanganui', \u2014 red with green stars. Thirty primary blind markers were despatched, including four equipped with H2S Mark III. These would not carry TIs of a distinctive colour as on previous operations. Of these aircraft, 24 attacked, three bombed alternative targets, one returned early and two failed to return. Over Berlin these markers dropped sixteen salvos of reds and fifteen bundles of 'Wanganui' flares. All seventeen secondary blind markers which set out attacked, ten dropping greens, but only seven used H2S as six of the sets went U\/S. The latter, therefore, had to act as backers-up.\n\nDespite the forecast winds, those actually found differed considerably. Once over the Dutch coast the winds veered sharply to the north between the Dutch and German borders and over Berlin. Most crews failed to notice this change and based their flight calculations on a southerly instead of northerly wind and were blown many miles south of track, consequently arriving late at the target. Some 'Y' aircraft (H2S) found their own winds from their H2S fixes on route, but those differed so much from those forecast that the latter was used in preference. Few of the blind markers successfully identified the starting point for their DR runs, while others, attempting to map read on H2S, probably mistook the towns of Gen thin-Brandenburg-Potsdam, for the parallel series, Stendal-Rathenow-Nauen, thus coming into the target on a track fifteen miles south of that which was intended. Many made an attempt on a DR run but tried to home directly on the built-up area of Berlin. As a result of these errors in navigation the Red TIs were scattered. The winds in fact experienced were 50 mph over bases, 20-30 mph over Berlin.\n\nThe aircraft were spread over a period of seventeen minutes. The red TIs, while scattered, made a resemblance of a concentration five to eight miles south-east of the aiming point which was then backed up by green TIs. These attracted about two-thirds of the Main Force aircraft and a moderately concentrated attack developed over an area of fifteen square miles, centred seven miles SSE of the AP on outlying suburbs. The remaining one-third of the Force was probably scattered over a wide area, but ground sources indicated that the raid completely disorganised the administrative machinery in the city.\n\nAt Nauen the Germans had the largest decoy fire site in the Berlin region. It was fifteen miles west of the city and extended for nine miles. Decoy TIs were dropped into the decoy fire site which then attracted the searchlights and flak guns, which took some of the heat off the bombers over Berlin. The ground defences at the beginning of the attack consisted of heavy flak fired in loose barrage up to 22,000 feet, around the marker flares, and was predicted at 'seen' targets through gaps in the cloud. A continuous belt of searchlights were reported between Hannover and Emden and flak was encountered from these towns as well as from Bremen, M\u00fcnster, Magdeburg, Osnabr\u00fcck, Texel and Amsterdam.\n\nFighters were almost entirely confined to the target area and the last part of the outward journey beyond Hannover \u2014 Ju88s predominated. Many illuminated targets were provided for the fighters over the capital. Corona was warning fighters of fog and telling them to land, which angered the German fighter commentators greatly. Four enemy fighters were claimed as destroyed in the air battles, two Ju88s by 1 Group aircraft, while 5 Group claimed a FW190 and a Me 109.\n\nOne Lancaster (DS707 'P') of 426 Squadron, flown by Flight Sergeant Colombe, was attacked by a Ju88 at 19,000 feet and the corkscrew order given by the mid-upper gunner, Sergeant MacKenzie, with which the fighter broke away. Two more attacks were spotted by the observant MacKenzie, followed by two more. On the last attack, MacKenzie saw his bullets richochet off the belly of the Junkers and it was last seen in a steep dive.\n\nThe Lancaster had been damaged in the attack, with wings, engines and hydraulics all hit and the R\/T was knocked out. The rear gunner, Flight Sergeant Jankun, had been blinded by a blue master searchlight. During the attacks a Me 109 was seen sitting off at 1,000 yards dropping white fighter flares. Despite their damage they got home safely. Flight Sergeant Colombe was soon commissioned after this action and received the DFC.\n\nWhile returning from Berlin, Flying Officer Wales, in a Lancaster (DS251 'D') of 432 RCAF Squadron, encountered an unidentified four-engined aircraft which was first spotted by the rear gunner, Sergeant Dickinson. It was flying astern and slightly below them. Dickinson instructed the pilot to corkscrew at which time the other aircraft opened up with a long burst of cannon and machine gun fire from a range of 600 yards. Dickinson returned the fire with interest. The Lancaster was hit on the side of its fuselage, severing the pressure line and rendering the mid-upper turret U\/S.\n\nThe unidentified aircraft followed two diving turns, opening fire at the start of each. On the third turn the mid-upper, Flight Lieutenant Ramville, instructed the pilot to alter course to port as the aircraft was closing in from that quarter, but it was not seen again.\n\nSome five minutes later a searchlight found them and fighter flares were dropped close to them. Shortly afterwards an enemy fighter was sighted by the rear gunner and corkscrewing began again, but thankfully they lost it quickly. The bomber was severely damaged and on landing the Lancaster overshot the runway as its hydraulics were gone, and ended up in a field at Eastmoor.\n\nAn aircraft of 50 Squadron was also involved in combats with fighters. Flown by Pilot Officer Lundy, P-Peter tangled with a Ju88 and the rear gunner ordered a corkscrew as he opened fire. The fighter returned the fire and then both rear and mid-upper gunners exchanged gunfire with the attacker. On the second pass by the Ju88 it made an attack from the starboard quarter, closed to 250 yards, pulled up into an apparent stall dead astern, which gave the gunners a belly shot at it. The 88 dropped out of sight, seemingly out of control and was claimed as probably destroyed.\n\nFor Pilot Officer Garth Hughes, an Australian in 514 Squadron, flying a Lancaster (DS783 'B'), the night of 2\/3rd December was probably the one he would remember for the rest of his life. At 8.30 pm flying at a height of 20,000 feet he had just completed his bombing run when he was attacked by a Me210. Its one and only burst of fire killed his rear gunner (Sergeant Wilson) and put the mid-upper turret out of action, as well as setting fire to the fuselage and bomb racks, and lasted for about 30 seconds. The mid-upper, Sergeant Moorhouse, had his clothing set alight, which compelled him to leave his turret. The fighter made a second attack, but Hughes made an effective corkscrew to starboard on instruction from the WOP, who was keeping watch in the astrodome, and lost the fighter.\n\nAttempts were made to extricate the dead rear gunner, but the turret was jammed with the guns pointing to starboard. About five minutes later a Ju88 was reported to be diving from the starboard side. Its fire hit the port inner engine and it had to be feathered, as well as smashing the hydraulics that controlled the bomb doors which dropped open. Ten minutes later the boost pressure on the outer starboard engine fell to minus four pounds per square inch. The aircraft became difficult to control but Hughes brought the damaged bomber back home where he executed a magnificent landing with a flat port tyre. He received an immediate DFC.\n\nFighters were not the only problems. Flight Sergeant Elmer Trotter, a Canadian flying a Lancaster of 101 Squadron on his fourth operational sortie; three of them had been to Berlin. The Lanc was hit by AA fire after releasing its bombs and thrown completely out of control and into a dive. Trotter ordered the crew to put on their parachutes while he struggled to regain control. With great skill he managed to do this, only to find he had scarcely any aileron control and no trimmers. His starboard main plane had been shot to pieces aft of the rear spa and there were three large holes inboard, between the two starboard engines. To add to this, his mid-upper turret and compass were U\/S.\n\nHis troubles were not over. As he left the target and tried to gain height, they were attacked by a fighter which Trotter evaded, though not before the port outer engine was damaged. On their way back to base they again ran into flak but avoided being hit and eventually made a safe landing. He too received an immediate DFC.\n\nDuring the initial bombing run, Warrant Officer Edward Ellis of 625 Squadron, who was initiating a new crew on their first operation, had his aircraft hit in the rear turret, wounding the gunner, Sergeant D. Wightman, and knocking out his turret. The bomb run was continued, and bombs released in a long stick on target, but as they went down a fighter attacked from below, raking the aircraft from stem to stern. The rear gunner was wounded again as well as the mid-upper, Sergeant W. Jones. Still Ellis carried on the run, the delay between the HEs and the incendiary bombs being carefully timed as briefed, despite another pass by the fighter. Only then did Ellis take evasive action.\n\nAfter leaving the target the crew took stock of the damage. The intercom was not working, the bomb doors would not close, the gun turrets were U\/S and the mainplane and fuselage damaged. The hydraulics were U\/S and, as they discovered later, the main wheel tyres were punctured. The oxygen began to run short so height was lost on the return journey. Just before crossing the Dutch coast the aircraft was again hit by flak. As fuel was also running low a landing was made at RAF Bardney, using the emergency method of lowering the undercarriage. Without flaps and with flat tyres, the aircraft nosed over on landing but then tipped back again. The crew were uninjured in the landing, but both wounded gunners were taken off to hospital. For his actions and cool courage, Ellis received the CGM \u2014 Conspicuous Gallantry Medal \u2014 the rarest award in the RAF for operational flying.\n\nFlight Lieutenant Riches of 97 Squadron flying Lancaster JA85 7 'G' was hit by heavy flak and was knocked out, but managed to come to and pull the aircraft out of a vertical dive.\n\nNot all the aircrew who were shot down on this night, or who were reported missing, were killed; there were quite a few who were made prisoners. One was Sergeant Owen Roberts who was flying in a Lancaster (JB372) of 49 Squadron, as mid-upper gunner. The rear gunner reported to the pilot, Warrant Officer R.W. Petty, when they were about halfway to Berlin, that his rear guns had gone U\/S, but Petty decided to press on. Within sight of Berlin they were attacked by a Me110 from the starboard quarter. Sergeant Roberts waited until it was in range, then opened fire. The fighter then opened up, Roberts continuing his fire although one of his guns then jammed, and the 110 broke away with one engine on fire.\n\nThey returned to their bombing run and the bomb aimer lined the aircraft up on the markets, when Roberts spotted another 110 about 50 feet below. He aimed and fired, or attempted to fire, as his second gun ran out of ammunition. The bomb aimer was now concentrating on the bomb run, then they were gone and he began to count the seconds before he took the bombing photograph \u2014 always the worst part of an attack, the pilot having to keep straight and level over the heart of a target. His count got to seven when they were hit by flak and the starboard inner burst into flames, and within moments, Petty gave the order to bale out.\n\nSergeant Roberts grabbed his parachute and made his way to the rear door, where the rear gunner was already waiting. He opened the door and baled out over the centre of Berlin right into the flak, fires, bombs and bomber stream, fully expecting a stream of machine gun bullets to come up the beam to met him, but it didn't.\n\nWhen he reached the ground he landed in a tree and injured himself dropping 40 feet to the ground. It was freezing, with snow on the ground. He lay here for sixteen hours before a German civilian, who himself had been a POW in the first war, found him. He was sympathetic to his plight and called the army. Roberts was taken to the Hermann G\u00f6ring Luftwaffe Hospital where he was given medical treatment and treated well by the staff. He was still there when the next Berlin raid came on 16th December and a German warrant officer took great delight in reminding him that the boot was now on the other foot!\n\nMeanwhile, other aircraft were meeting problems in the Berlin sky. The Navigation Officer of 514 Squadron, Flying Officer Emery, flying in a Lancaster (DS738 'J') was also shot down by a fighter. Having lost their port outer engine they had to bale out, to become the first POWs from 514 Squadron, and so were subjected to many questions at the Dulag Luft Interrogation Centre. Here Emery was taken into a room on which the walls were covered with his own navigation charts and maps, all showing some partial burning.\n\nThe trip for a crew of 35 Squadron was, in the words of Flight Sergeant McDougall 'a fiasco and should have been cancelled.' Due to the Met conditions several aircraft had been taken off the rota and so the number of squadron aircraft was considerably less than first planned. However, his pilot, Lieutenant Hoverstad, a Norwegian, was detailed to mark the target, so they were not stood down. Their Halifax (HX167 'C') had a Zeiss JKN Camera on a special stand mounted in front of the H2S set with which to certify the aiming point. On the way to Berlin they were hit by flak near Osnabruck. The bomb doors jammed, preventing the release or even the jettisoning of the bombs and markers. The aircraft was now on fire and Hoverstad gave the order to bale out. Everyone managed to get away except the Norwegian, who was killed when the aircraft crashed. He was one of two Norwegians in 35 Squadron at this time; the other was his engineer, Flight Sergeant Arne Storme. He and the others were all taken prisoner, remaining so until their release by the Russians in 1945.\n\nJohn McDougall had an eventful war. He was shot down on his twentieth operation, having been with 76 Squadron, where he had been wounded in the chest after tangling with a night fighter in June 1943.\n\nOn this night of 2nd December, the task of 627 Squadron, flying Mosquitos, was to bomb Berlin after the Main Force, to add more disruption in the German capital. These nuisance raids were usually made after the 'all clear' had been sounded. Six Mossies were sent on this occasion to undertake this task, one of which was DX479, flown by Flight Sergeant L. Simpson and his navigator, Sergeant Peter Walker. One hundred miles west of Berlin they were hit by flak but continued on their way to the target on one engine and minus their navigational aids. On the return journey Walker could not obtain any pin-points to help his navigation so they continued flying until their petrol ran out, then baled out, landing near La Beny Bocage. After some months of being passed from one escape organisation to another, Sergeant Walker finally reached Berne, Switzerland, in February 1944. He finally escaped into southern France, joined up with the Maquis, and later still American troops. He arrived back at his squadron in September 1944.\n\nBy the end of November 1943, war correspondents were becoming more interested in the Berlin raids and asked permission to be allowed to go on actual raids to the German capital. Permission was given by Harris to fly on the next raid. They were Captain Nordhal Greig, Mr Norman Stockton, of the Australian Associated News, and Ed Morrow of the American News, and another American named Lowell Bennett. Greig flew with an Australian, Flying Officer A. Mitchell, Stockton with Pilot Officer James English, another Australian \u2014 both of 460 Squadron at Binbrook. Ed Morrow flew with Wing Commander Jock Abercrombie while Bennett went with Flight Lieutenant Ian Bolton, a Scot \u2014 both pilots with 50 Squadron.\n\nAbercrombie's aircraft was coned over Berlin, but a dive shook them off. Later Morrow recorded: 'The incendiaries were going down like a fist full of rice on black velvet, and the cookies were burning below like sunflowers.' When over the target Morrow saw another Lancaster whip straight under their aircraft. 'Berlin was like an orchestral Hell,' he continued, 'a terrible symphony of light and flares. An unpleasant form of warfare, but to the men, just a job.'\n\nIan Bolton took off from Skellingthorpe at 5.45 pm. On route they were attacked by two fighters and his aircraft set on fire and he ordered everyone out. Both he and Lowell Bennett were taken prisoner and ended up at Stalag Luft 1 in Barth, where they remained until May 1945, when they were liberated by Russian troops. Some while after they were taken prisoner a message came to the Daily Express Office, which read: 'Inside Nazi Europe', by Bennett. How it was transmitted is not known, but in the Express, for whom Bennett worked, there appeared an article under the title of 'I was in a Lancaster'. He reported that as they approached Berlin an enemy fighter was seen climbing towards them from the right. The pilot swung the heavily laden bomber first one way then the other, but in a tightly packed stream of bombers the night fighter could hardly miss them. The world seemed to burst into an inferno of flames as cannon shells ripped into the two starboard engines which burst into flames. After feathering was to no avail, Bolton called, 'Okay, boys, bale out, Sorry.' As they put on their parachutes, Bolton said again, 'Hurry up, boys \u2014 can't hold it much longer.' As Lowell Bennett floated down in his 'chute, he recalled shouting to himself, 'You wanted a big story, well here it is!' When he hit the ground, he sank waist deep into a muddy river bank and struggle as he might he could not get free. As panic set in he yelled to himself, 'Your wife and baby are waiting, fight to get out of this.' Then two men appeared in a rowing boat and helped him out. Later taken to a camp near Berlin, he met up with Bolton, and Sergeant McCall the wireless operator. Bolton later received the DFC, having flown 25 ops, including three on Hamburg.\n\nOut of 458 aircraft despatched, 361 (78.896) attacked the primary target while 14 (3.1%) attacked alternative targets. Thirty-one aircraft had to abort because of technical defects or other problems. Another six returned because of icing, four by crew sickness and two late in taking-off \u2014 total 43 (9.4%).\n\nThe casualties were 40 aircraft missing (8.7%) and 79 damaged (53 to flak and eight to fighters, three to both flak and fighters and fifteen to non-enemy action). 1,685.6 tons of bombs were dropped which averaged 5,652 pounds for each Halifax attacking, 9,889 pounds for each Lancaster.\n\nThe old enemy, the unexpected force of the wind, caused aircraft to stray from the route allotted. Cloud gaps over the target enabled searchlights to illuminate the bombers and enemy fighters were in action over the target area as soon as the attack began. For their part, the Luftwaffe lost just three aircraft.\n\nFollowing the raid, all attempts to photograph Berlin by 542 PRU Squadron, were thwarted by cloud, but reports from reliable sources on the four raids prior to this latest one indicated that most of the attacks had hit the central, western and north-western districts of the city. All embassies and legations with the exception of the Spanish, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Home Office, Propaganda Ministry and several other Government Departments, were either damaged or had been destroyed. Potsdam Station was burnt out and five other stations damaged. In addition electricity and gas had been cut off.\n\nThe London Times Newspaper reported on the 4th, that 1,500 tons of bombs had fallen on Berlin in 30 minutes and that 41 aircraft were missing, including the ones in which Norman Stockton and Lowell Bennett had been flying.\n\nThe German reports of the raid makes interesting reading. They noted that the raid commenced at 9.21 pm, although the alarm sirens began to wail at 7.27. The raid was made by some 150 to 200 bombers, which dropped 30 mines, 200 HE and 20,000 incendiary bombs, 2,000 phosphorus bombs plus 50 flares. 107 people had died, 201 injured and 826 missing, from this and the two previous raids.\n\nThe Sixth Raid\n\nThere was a gap of nearly two weeks before Harris mounted the next raid on Berlin, which came on 16\/17 th December. He sent 418 Lancasters and nine Mosquitos on a blind bombing attack through 10\/10ths cloud.\n\nThe weather forecast for this night was for the cloud to break up near the hostile coast, becoming patchy over the continent but then much low cloud over southern Berlin. The weather the flyers actually found was 10\/10th cloud over Berlin with tops at 3\u20134,000 feet but good visibility above. The wind averaged 15 mph.\n\nFive Mosquitos attacked the target before the Main Force arrived, and four attacked at five minute intervals after the raid. The target was marked by Wanganui flares and red and green TIs. Even before briefing, the target could often be guessed at by the crews when they found out the amount of petrol being put in the aircraft. 1,250 gallons for a Ruhr trip, or 1,750 for Berlin. With the briefings concluded and the other rituals over, the men climbed aboard their four-engined bombers for the Big City \u2014 for some it was their fifth trip there in a row.\n\nOn take-off the cloud was solid from 2,000 to 18,000 feet, so the crews were hoping the cloud would be too full for icing conditions or for fighters to climb through or for even searchlights to pierce.\n\nThe outward route crossed the Dutch coast at Ijmuiden and apart from a slight right hand turn after Stendal, it led directly to the target. An unusual amount of fighter opposition was met on the way resulting in at least eighteen encounters, including seven attacks. The route of the bombers was accurately plotted by the running commentator, who ordered fighters to Osnabruck by 6.10 pm and then to Oldenburg at 6.40, then to Hanover at 7.14.\n\nAt 7.55 pm, five minutes before the RAF's zero hour, all the fighters were in the Brandenburg area \u2014 just a few minutes' flying time from the German capital. Some ten attacks were recorded over the city itself. In all five Lancaster gunners claimed to have destroyed enemy aircraft, one FW190, a Ju88 and two Messerschmitt 109s, plus an unidentified twin-engined aircraft on the way from Berlin.\n\nCorona and Airborne Cigar were used to hamper enemy communications and a new counter measure, called 'Light-up' \u2014 later known as Dartboard \u2014 was employed for the first time. This consisted of a jamming transmission, made on the frequency of the Stuttgart transmitter. From the Germans' strenuous efforts to overcome this obstacle, it would appear to have been successful, but returning crews reported that the original transmission could be heard through the jamming. Hundreds of flares were dropped by the fighters illuminating the sky over Berlin in a very few minutes, one crewman reporting that he had never seen so many before.\n\nFlight Sergeant Crombie of 514 Squadron \u2014 Lancaster LL820 'R' \u2014 was told by his rear gunner, Sergeant Hill, that a FW190 was flying on their starboard quarter, so he immediately went into a corkscrew as the gunner opened fire. The 190 was able to follow, closing to 140 yards before it too opened up. Both rear and mid-upper gunners fired at it, scored hits and claimed it as damaged. Sergeant Hill fired 250 rounds, Sergeant James in the upper turret 150.\n\nFlight Lieutenant Greenacre of 460 Squadron was attacked by a Ju88 and saw his rear gunner returning the fire of the German as it broke off the attack. The Lancaster was hit in several places but made it back. A Lanc of 97 Squadron (JB908) flown by Flight Sergeant William Coates, had a problem other than fighters. While over Berlin at 19,500 feet, incendiaries fell on him from an aircraft above. They hit the port wing, front turret and amidships, setting the aircraft on fire. The crew was ordered to put on their parachutes as Coates put the aircraft into a dive in an attempt to dislodge the burning incendiaries. This action toppled the DR compass, upsetting all the instruments connected to it. However, the fires were extinguished and they climbed back up to 21,000 feet. Some while later it was hit by flak which damaged the propeller tips of the starboard inner engine. One of the tips went through the fuselage cutting the hydraulic pipe lines and another piece damaged the tailplane. The starboard outer engine was also hit and with power lost in both motors on the starboard side, they had to be closed down. When twenty miles from the Danish coast, and losing height, the captain ordered everyone to take up ditching positions while the WOP sent out an SOS.\n\nThis call was eventually cancelled as he found he could maintain height at 5,000 feet. On arriving in the vicinity of base, he found weather conditions that made it impossible to land so he was diverted to Marham. They in turn sent him to Downham Market where the cloud base was down to 400 feet and visibility bad. Nevertheless, he made a perfect landing using the emergency air system for lowering the wheels. For his devotion to duty and superb captaincy, Flight Sergeant Coates was awarded the DFM.\n\nAs the bombers arrived over Berlin the Germans began putting up a box barrage, reaching to 21,000 feet, concentrating around the marker flares. Some of the crews thought that only parts of the defences were active in an attempt to conceal the full extent of the target area.\n\nPilot Officer Davies, flying a Lancaster of 426 Squadron, also had his own problems. The rear doors blew open on take-off due to a faulty lock and the mid-upper, Sergeant George, slipped getting out of his turret to close it, hurting his leg but told Davies he was all right. The aircraft was caught in the anti-aircraft defences north of Osnabriick and evasive action was taken, but the rear turret was hit and remained jammed for the rest of the flight. The electric system shorted and the rear gunner's electrically heated suit was made useless.\n\nNear Berlin the aircraft was hit again and petrol lost from the main port tank. The other tanks could not be used as the cocks could not be turned and the flight engineer calculated that there was only enough left for perhaps \\j hours to two hours flying. It was decided to try for Sweden. They reached the German coast but the port outer was spluttering and showering sparks behind them, so it was shut down. On reaching Sweden, Davies ordered the crew to jump but with the rear gunner's doors jammed, the mid-upper had to go back with an axe to release him. This took several minutes so Davies circled a small town. With the rear gunner finally released they were all ready to jump but Pilot Officer Garrick, the navigator, looking for incendiary device to put on his table (to ensure the aircraft's destruction) could not locate it, and as he searched the aircraft banked over, so he decided to forget it. The floor of his compartment was covered with bits of his torn-up maps and charts. With the order to jump given, the men tumbled out into the darkness, the bomb aimer, Sergeant Ginson having smashed the bomb sight with the axe as well as the Gee apparatus. The mid-upper was the only casualty with a broken leg, but this in fact was thought to have happened when he slipped soon after take-off.\n\nFlying Officer F.W. Rush, in his 7 Squadron Lancaster (JB656 'D', did not get any farther than the Dutch coast when he was engaged by a night fighter. The bomber was set on fire and went into a dive. The engineer, Sergeant Ogg, baled out but on landing could not find any of the others; he was found by a farmer who took him to Broek where he was given civilian clothes and a Dutch identity card. Remaining at Broek until after Christmas he was sent to Amsterdam in the New Year but an unsuccessful attempt to put him on his way to Lisbon resulted in him remaining where he was for a whole year. In March 1945 he went to Swiendrecht in order to cross the Bies Bose into Brabant; however some airmen had been captured just the night before so it was cancelled. He remained in Rotterdam until the liberation and only after his return to England did he learn why he had found none of his crew mates. They had all died that night seventeen months earlier.\n\nThe RAF missing list totalled 25: 5.1% of the attacking force. 427 of the 490 actually attacked the target, ten going for alternate ones. 31 had aborted, one failed to get off with another delayed so long their op was cancelled. 17 returned damaged by flak, five with fighter damage, while 31 crashed on their return. Five collided with other aircraft, four were damaged by falling incendiaries and two damaged by other causes. Of the 25 lost, ten were known to have been shot down by fighters on the outward route (two as they reached the Dutch coast, two more on the east coast of the Zyder Zee, and six before reaching Hannover) and three to flak. Over Berlin itself, one was shot down by flak, another by a fighter, while two were seen to collide and fall in flames. Another collision involving the destruction of both aircraft was seen on the way home. Of the six, there was no news.\n\nFor each missing RAF aircraft, 73 tons of bombs had been dropped. In addition to the aircraft lost, some 34 either crashed in England or the crews had to abandon their aircraft over the countryside. This resulted in 131 casualties, most caused by aircraft hitting the ground or from loss of control when low flying under cloud. Because of the large number lost in this way, an enquiry was set up, which blamed the weather conditions. Bad weather was expected when the aircraft returned, but not as bad as it turned out. The expected conditions were approximately 10\/10th cloud over base up to 1,500 feet with visibility around 2,000 yards or better. The actual conditions were cloud down to 900 feet with visibility between 1,500 and 3,000 yards, but in most places it was the latter.\n\nThe policy towards crews abandoning aircraft when short of fuel was that they were more valuable than the aircraft, and so captains were encouraged to abandon, if there was little real hope of making a safe landing. The decision to bale out was at all times left to him, although he might be advised from the ground. The conclusion of Bomber Command was that in the circumstances the losses were unavoidable. Flying Control and safety organisations could do little to help in such adverse weather conditions. In fact, that night, the only airfields not affected by weather were in either Scotland or Cornwall.\n\nAs many as 283 diversions to other fields was expected but few in fact were diverted \u2014 only 39. FIDO (Fog Disposal Installation) \u2014 burning petrol that through heat dispersed fog over an airfield \u2014 was not used as the trouble was low cloud and not horizontal visibility.\n\nOne Lancaster of 57 Squadron (JB373) had the misfortune to ditch in the North Sea; all of the crew except one were either killed or drowned, including the pilot, Sergeant John Hinde. Another crew of the same squadron thought they had reached home base at East Kirby, the pilot calling for assistance to reach their dispersal area. They were told it was waiting for them at the end of the runway, but none of the crew could see it. They followed a light which turned out to be a small van with direction lights. Eventually the penny dropped \u2014 they had landed at Spilsby, a satellite station. They were taken home the next morning and later asked: 'Please can we have our kite back?'\n\nThe German report of this raid, recorded that it had started at 9.04 pm, and that some 60 mines, 700 HE bombs, 15,000 incendiaries and 6,000 phosphorus bombs had been dropped on the city. Four industries were destroyed, twelve severely damaged with four more having medium damage, sixteen slight damage. The casualties were 545 people killed, 796 injured and 160 missing.\n\nDaylight reconnaissance photos of Berlin were at last obtained on 20\/21st December. They were obtained by a Spitfire of 541 PRU Squadron from RAF Benson. Warrant Officer K.G. Campbell DFC, an Australian from Sydney, (in EB149) made four runs over the city on the 21st, and Flying Officer A. Glover (BS499) had taken photographs the day before.\n\nThese photographs showed large areas of devastation covering some eight square miles, resulting almost entirely from fire. Besides the legations and embassies, the Great War Office building was partially demolished, the wing used by the Secret Service HQ of the armed forces was burnt out as well as the main income tax office. In addition several civil administrative buildings had been gutted. Altogether 1,250 acres of business and residential property in the fully built-up areas were affected. Five to six barracks, several military stores and depots and the military academy and artillery school in the north Tiergarten, were heavily damaged. In 25 hutted encampments, a total of 236 of 483 huts were destroyed.\n\nIt was later learned that the Foreign Department (Fremdenamt) of the Berlin Police, including the Jewish Section of the Gestapo, was hit, including a building which contained hundreds of tons of documents which burnt like a torch. All the files concerning foreigners in Germany, which the Gestapo had compiled over many years were destroyed. Many of Himmler's high ranking officials were buried and killed when the shelter in the Police HQ collapsed.\n\nOn the 22nd, Dr Goebbels, as Gauleiter of the City, received and addressed members of the Nazi Party Organisation, police, municipal authorities, and the ARP workers, to thank them after the heavy recent terror attacks, and for the excellent services they had rendered. He also expressed the F\u00fchrer's appreciation. He also stressed that there would undoubtedly be further attacks in the future. From an informant in Berlin during the time of the battle, came the following information. The people were passive after the recent big raids and of stunned stupefaction. The general feeling against the Nazi Party had been strongly accentuated by the attacks. On no occasion during these weeks did the source of this information, find a single expression of specific hatred against the British. On the contrary, the general attitude of people, people who had lost friends, relatives and property, was to hold the German Government responsible. After the 22nd November raid, production in the city came practically to a halt and in December it was still down to an absolute minimum. There was also an extraordinary lack of mutual co-operation and people just moved on when asked to help in ARP or fire fighting work. Men of the Gestapo mixed with the people listening for any signs of derogatory talk against the Party and if any was heard, those talking were arrested.\n\nControl tower Waddington awaiting returning aircraft\n\nJU 88 German Fighter\n\nThe Seventh Raid\n\nThe next attack was mounted just before Christmas \u2014 on the night of 23\/24th December \u2014 the seventh raid in five weeks. 379 aircraft were despatched: 326 Avro Lancasters, six Halifaxes and six Mosquitos.\n\nThe weather in England was variable with amounts of layer cloud and moderate visibility. North-west England, Scotland, Cornwall and Devon would remain clear but for 1, 5 and 8 Groups, with bases in eastern and north-eastern areas there was every chance the poor weather would force many returning bombers to divert after midnight. Over Germany they should meet little cloud in central and southern areas while over Berlin there was good chance of broken cloud. The winds would probably vary between 30 and 55 mph between England and Berlin.\n\nLittle flak was experienced on route, although the defences of Ijmuiden, Frankfurt, Leipzig and Osnabr\u00fcck were notably active. The running commentator plotted the bomber force accurately almost from the time it crossed the enemy coast but successfully mistook Frankfurt, Leipzig, Weimar or Auerbach as the main objectives. They were confused mainly by the feint attack on Leipzig by seven Mosquitos and Berlin was not recognised as the target until zero minus two minutes.\n\nThe most intense fighter opposition were met in three areas, the mouth of the River Scheldt, between Aachen and the north of Frankfurt, and then over Berlin itself. Although Luftwaffe night fighters did not reach the target in strength until the raid was well underway, they appeared to be experiencing severe trouble from the weather conditions too.\n\nOne fighter was destroyed by an aircraft of 5 Group. A Lancaster (LL625 'C'), flown by Flying Officer Kingswell of 514 Squadron, encountered a Ju88 approaching almost head-on. As the aircraft passed over the rear gunner, Warrant Officer Fidge, warned of its position, opened fire with a short burst as it passed over at 100 yards range. The 88 rapidly disappeared, but it was the first of three encounters this crew was to suffer. About eleven minutes later the bomb aimer reported another, or the same, Ju88 on the port bow. He yelled for Kingswell to corkscrew as the fighter opened fire. It passed overhead, followed by fire from the mid-upper, Sergeant Taylor. The third encounter came just four minutes later. This time a FW190 came in and Taylor opened up as he ordered the corkscrew to starboard. This fighter too was lost to view.\n\nA Lancaster of 50 Squadron flown by Pilot Officer Toovey, tangled with two twin-engined aircraft flying in formation. The rear gunner, Sergeant Rodgers, ordered a corkscrew to port and both he and the mid-upper, Sergeant Melbrick, opened fire. Tracer appeared to enter one of the fighters and it was claimed as probably damaged. Another crew from 50 Squadron, captained by Pilot Officer Smith, was attacked, the rear gunner, Sergeant Brown, saw tracer coming from the darkness then a fighter appeared. He and the mid-upper, Flight Sergeant Humphrey, beat off the fighter with their return fire.\n\nA third 50 Squadron crew engaged was that of Flight Lieutenant Short. His rear gunner, Pilot Officer Beale, saw a twin-engined aircraft and told Short to corkscrew as he opened fire. It broke off without opening fire and disappeared.\n\nA Lancaster of 166 Squadron (W4996) piloted by Pilot Officer Peedall, had been attacked by a Ju88 on the outward route, but it was hit by the rear gunner, Sergeant Harris. They were attacked again over Berlin, but this time Harris had fallen unconscious through lack of oxygen. Evasive tactics were ordered by the mid-upper, Sergeant Brown, and the fighter was shaken off. The bomber then lost an engine, but they made Coltishall for an emergency landing with fuel running short.\n\nSquadron Leader C.A.W. Dery, a member of the Pathfinder Force, in Lancaster 'T for Tommy' of 97 Squadron, was attacked by a Ju88, not on one occasion but eight times \u2014 and with all guns in the aircraft frozen. One engine was knocked out, the aircraft damaged, and the squadron leader himself lucky when a bullet hit the heel of his flying boot. 'Tommy' excelled itself and probably reached twice its normal speed when in a final effort to shake off the fighter the pilot dived it from 18,000 to below 6,000 feet before heading for home. Soon afterwards a second engine began to show signs of stress and had to be shut down.\n\nThey returned on two engines and on nearing base asked for an emergency landing, but their approach was as normal as could be expected in the circumstances. Unknown to them, the starboard tyre had been punctured, though they soon realised it when they touched down. Although the pilot was able to keep the aircraft straight, it pulled to the right eventually and they finished up off the runway. It was obvious that Tommy would not fly again. Following de-briefing it was between nine and ten o'clock before the crew got to bed, only to be awoken because it was Christmas Eve. With their groundcrew they went into Cambridge for a drink \u2014 in fact many drinks!\n\nFor Squadron Leader Joseph Marshall AFC of 101 Squadron, the trip was one he would remember. Shortly after he was airborne, one of his navigational aids caught fire, causing clouds of smoke inside the aircraft. He gave instruction to deal with the fire and ordered all windows to be slid open, hopefully to get rid of the smoke. The fire was put out and they decided to carry on.\n\nTwo aircraft of 550 Squadron (LM319 'G2') collided, flown by Sergeant H. Woods and Flight Sergeant W.R. Cooper (JB604 'K'). Both aircraft fell to the ground at Fulstow shortly after taking off from Waltham, near Grimsby, and everyone was killed.\n\nA member of one crew of 100 Squadron, Jimmy Flynn, remembers taking off at 12.48 \u2014 Christmas Eve and a very cold morning. They had quite a journey to the target but as they dropped their bombs they were hit by flak although it did little damage. Jimmy could hear the flak hitting the aircraft behind his turret in which he was sitting. His pilot, Bill Brooke, threw the aircraft across the sky and out into the comparative comfort of the darkness. The trip home was equally quiet until they went off track and flew directly over Emden. Without any warning the searchlights coned the aircraft and the guns opened up with a box barrage. Bill Brooke, known to his crew as Wilf, threw the Lancaster into turns and dives in ways that Jimmy had not thought possible. Despite this the aircraft was held in the beams so Brooke then put the bomber into a screaming dive from 21,000 feet down to 4,000. Then he yelled to Vic Condell, the flight engineer and oldest member of the crew, from Dublin, to use the trimmer as he was unable to pull out. Condell spun the trimmer back sharply, a little too sharply as it nearly pulled the wings off, but they managed to leave the area with the searchlights left still probing hopefully the piece of sky they had been in. Inspecting the aircraft after landing, they counted 40 holes through its wings and fuselage. It was 8.30 am \u2014 they had been out for over eight hours.\n\nThe attack was generally scattered owing to the failure of many of the H2S sets. In fact of the 23 primary blind markers sent by the PFF squadrons, only eleven sets remained operable. Of the secondary markers, six sets worked but three failed. The timing of the blind markers was good but owing to the high rate of unserviceability of H2S, there was a scarcity of TIs and flares throughout most of the raid.\n\nLosses were down for this raid, just fifteen failing to return \u2014 all Lancasters, a percentage loss of 4\u2105. Of these, four aircraft fell in combat on the way out \u2014 one over the mouth of the Scheldt and three north of Frankfurt. Three more went down over Berlin, and two on the way home at Lingen and Egmond. Flak losses were observed over Aachen (one), Berlin (two) and Egmond (two). Another 32 aircraft were damaged; sixteen to flak, five to fighters, four to damage by falling incendiaries, two to collision and five to other causes. The weight of bombs dropped per missing aircraft was 1,287.9 pounds, a total of 85.41 tons.\n\nTwo days after Christmas, German industrial munition workers were told: 'Be brave, keep up your ideals, let your ideals be sacred to you. Germany firmly believes in Adolf Hitler, the F\u00fchrer.\"\n\nThe Eighth Raid\n\nFive days after the seventh raid came number eight on 29th\/30th December. 457 Lancasters, 252 Halifaxes and three Mosquitos attacked the city, dropping 1,099.1 tons of HE 1,215.4 tons of incendiaries and 124 flares. This took the total tonnage dropped so far on Berlin during the battle to 14,074. In these eight raids, 4,081 aircraft had been despatched of which 3,646 had made Berlin their primary target.\n\nOn this December night the weather forecast at base was for 10\/10th cloud with light rain or drizzle, with cloud tops at 12,000 feet. Visibility was only moderate to good. Conditions over Berlin were expected to be similar except that the cloud tops should not be above 4,000 feet with poor visibility. The winds over England were 60 mph at 10,000 feet, increasing to 85 mph at 30,000. Over Berlin the wind was expected to be between 50 to 75 mph.\n\nA diversionary attack on Magdeburg and Leipzig was made by 8 Group Mosquitos who succeeded in holding the main German night fighter force back from the Berlin raiders until the attack was almost over. It must have been most frustrating for the German controllers, always aware that Berlin might be the target, but thinking too that with so many recent raids on the city, this time the RAF would outsmart them. Too late did they realise that the RAF had outsmarted them but not in the way they feared. Yet if they had immediately defended Berlin, then it was odds on that Berlin was not the target for that night. It really was a game of tactics, bluff and counter-bluff and of nerves. Also the Luftwaffe aircraft were as much affected by the severe winter weather as the RAF. It made nothing easier that they were flying over their own land. Weather can be a killer wherever one meets it. A German wireless message intercepted in England spoke of great difficulty caused by weather conditions.\n\nNevertheless, 45 interceptions were reported, resulting in twelve attacks, most of which occurred along the outward route. Thirteen interceptions were made in the Zyder Zee area alone but none at all for the next 100 miles and then a great many in the area of route markers north of Leipzig. Ten combats took place here resulting in six RAF losses. The fighters were first ordered to Magdeburg and few were seen over Berlin, not arriving in any force until zero hour plus 15 minutes.\n\nOne of the early interceptions involved Flying Officer Louis Greenburgh and his crew of 514 Squadron who were on their final Lancaster operation, were attacked by a Ju88 in the Meppen area at 6.15 pm. The rear gunner, Flight Sergeant Drake, exchanged fire with the German, but the Lancaster's petrol tanks were damaged which was to have an effect on the outcome of their flight home.\n\nA Halifax gunner of 35 Squadron (in HX168 'Y') piloted by Squadron Leader Whetham, saw a Ju88 as it turned to attack and the rear gunner, Sergeant Rees, ordered a corkscrew to port, by visual signs as the intercom had failed. The fighter passed over them and attacked again, with Rees firing at it although both lower guns jammed. The 88 was hit and did not open fire.\n\nA Lancaster of 50 Squadron flown by Pilot Officer Dobbyn, was over Berlin on a bombing run at 19,000 feet when his rear gunner, Sergeant Mason, saw a twin-engined aircraft on the port beam and opened fire with a burst of 180 rounds, the EA going away astern.\n\nEn route accurately predicted heavy flak was met at several points especially on the last leg from twenty miles north of Leipzig and on the northern leg out. One Ju88 was recorded as shot down by a Halifax. The flak was heavy but sparodic over Berlin, mostly in barrage form. Light flak was seen bursting near the PFF markers, hosepiping around them as they drifted down to the cloud top around a height of 15,000 feet. Some rocket flak and scarecrow flares were also observed in the target area, but only one aircraft was known to have been lost to Berlin's guns.\n\nIn Lancaster ED888 'V2' flown by Flying Officer Morgan, flew Sergeant Ben Frazier, an American staff correspondent. On his return, he wrote an article with the title 'Night Plane to Berlin'. His aircraft was a veteran of over 50 ops, and had the marking of the DFC ribbon painted on its fuselage to celebrate its 50th trip. The crew was of mixed nationality, the pilot being a Welshman, the navigator a Scot, and the bomb aimer an Australian.\n\nIt was all a great effort for the crew. The problems were flak, fighters and searchlights and last but not least, the weather. Ben Frazier wrote:\n\nSuddenly the whole city opened up. The flak poured through the cloud, it poured up in streams of red as if shaken from a hose \u2014 it went off in bright white puffs. The Pathfinders had arrived. In another moment they had dropped the target indicators, great shimmering Christmas trees of red and green lights; you couldn't miss it. It would be impossible to miss such a brilliantly marked objective. Bright flares started going off under the clouds, that would be the Cookies of the plane ahead. V for Victor started the bombing run. 'Left, left, steady, now right a bit, steady, steady, Cookie gone.'\n\nV for Victor shot upwards slightly. 'Standby!' came the voice of the rear gunner, Bob. 'Corkscrew, starboard!' he called. The pilot instantly went to starboard and dived headlong down.\n\nA stream of red tracer whipped out of the dark, past the rear turret and on past the wing tip missing both, by what seemed inches. Then the fighter shot passed.\n\n'A Me 109,' shouted Bob.\n\nThey went on corkscrewing over the sky and so the fighter was finally shaken off and a normal course resumed. The dark shapes of Lancasters could be seen all over the sky against the brilliant clouds below. The attack only took fifteen minutes.\n\nThen came, 'Standby \u2014 Ju88, starboard corkscrew,' from the rear gunner again.\n\nThe aircraft went into a dive and the tracer from the Ju88 missed. From there on the journey was uneventful \u2014 the searchlights of the English coast sent out a greeting of welcome.\n\nAs the pilot of Victor circled over their base, the WOP called ground control, 'V-Victor', he said. A girl's voice came over the intercom. 'V-Victor, prepare to pancake.' From the WOP, 'V-Victor, in the funnels.' \u2014 the girl's reply, 'V-Victor, pancake.'\n\nThe aircraft landed and gently ran down the runway and turned off onto the perimeter track. 'V-Victor, clear of flarepath.' The ground crew met them with questions: 'How was it?' the reply:\n\n'A piece of cake.'\n\nThe crew got out and the pilot had a look around the aircraft. One small hole through the aileron. Into the de-briefing by bus where a cup of hot tea laced with rum is waiting. Each pilot signed on the board as he came in.\n\nFlight Lieutenant Greenacre of 460 Squadron had a problem with his Cookie \u2014 it would not release and so he decided to go round again. Sergeant G. Cairns, later to reach the rank of wing commander before retiring from the RAF in 1978, stood ready with a fire axe to make sure the Cookie went this time. On a signal from the bomb aimer, Cairns thumped the bomb slip with the axe and the bomb fell away onto the target.\n\nFlying Officer Cyril 'Cy' Barton of 100 Squadron, later to be awarded the VC postumously on the famous Nuremburg raid in March 1944, bombed on the PFF markers and a large explosion was seen despite the cloud. On the return journey they found the compass was giving an incorrect reading and so their position had to be fixed by astronavigation. Their fuel situation was grave but they managed to make a field near Grimsby.\n\nHalifax LL136 of 434 Squadron, piloted by Pilot Officer R.A. Pratt, was attacked by a night fighter. The engineer, Sergeant A. Bostock, was killed instantly while taking astro shots and Pratt was slightly wounded. The starboard inner engine caught fire, both outers were hit and the aircraft badly holed \u2014 at least 65 holes being counted later.\n\nThe second pilot, Sergeant Stinson, on his first operation, coolly pressed onto the target and bombed it, while Sergeant Samson, the bomb aimer, took over the engineer's duties. Both men were later commissioned and awarded DFCs.\n\nAnother Halifax (JD318) of 429 Squadron, was hit by flak over the target after bombing but managed to fly back to Holland where it was hit again, this time by a night fighter, forcing the crew to bale out. The pilot, Flying Officer A. Merkley of the RCAF, landed close to Borne and buried his parachute. He met up with the underground fighters at Hengalo and moved from safe house to safe house. On 15th April 1944 he was taken by train to Antwerp but was arrested as he left the station. After interrogation he was sent to Brussels where he spent 60 days in prison. On 26th June he went to Stalag Luft IIIA at Luckenwalde where he remained until liberated in April 1945.\n\nA Lancaster of 115 Squadron (DS834 'F') flown by Flight Sergeant J. Lee, was attacked by a night fighter on the homeward journey, having just reached the Dutch coast when the attack came. Lee gave the order to bale out but before they could do so the aircraft blew up. Sergeant Herbert Pike found himself in mid-air with his parachute unopened. He pulled the rip cord and landed near to the Belgium border. He was captured at Li\u00e8ge on 6th January, remaining a prisoner until May 1945.\n\nAnother Lancaster (JB487 'S') of 103 Squadron, flown by Warrant Officer L.J. Grigg, was hit by flak after bombing. The two port engines were put out of action and the port fin and rudder shot away. They were down to 2,000 feet when Grigg finally gave the order to abandon the aircraft. Warrant Officer Alfred Warne baled out and landed in a field on the outskirts of Mettingen, about fifteen miles north west of Osnabr\u00fcck. He hid his parachute harness and Mae West, and then began walking across country but was captured. He met up with three others of his crew, Sergeants Fletcher, Lamb and Cunning. Later that day a party of Luftwaffe guards arrived by lorry with two coffins, also Sergeant Hatherley, another of the crew. He was asked to identify the bodies, but only one coffin was opened which contained the rear gunner, Warrant Officer Henderson. The other was said to be the pilot but Grigg was himself a prisoner, and in fact met up with him later. They spent most of their captivity in Stalag IVB at Muhlberg.\n\nWarne made three attempts to escape in February and June 1944 and then in February 1945. He was finally liberated by the Russians on 23rd April.\n\nMeanwhile, at 10 pm over Germany, Flying Officer Louis Greenburgh, whom we met earlier this night when his aeroplane's fuel tanks were holed by a Ju88 attack, was now struggling on the homeward leg. They were then attacked by another Junkers, seen by both gunners, Sergeant Carey and Flight Sergeant Drake. Both men opened fire and appeared to hit the fighter as it apparently went out of control, and the mid-upper saw a red glow from the centre of the fuselage so it was claimed as a probable.\n\nFifteen minutes later another Ju88 was spotted. As it closed in and began firing, both gunners opened up and it broke away but came in for a second attack, but again broke off the engagement.\n\nShortage of petrol from the leaking fuel tank was now causing concern. There was a good chance they would have to ditch in the sea. Then it seemed they might make the English coast so no distress call was sent, but when the engines suddenly cut out and they began to go down, the wireless operator, Sergeant Stromberg, put out the call but was only able to give a quick position before clamping the key down. He just managed to make his ditching position before they hit the sea. He had lost his torch and told the navigator, Sergeant Butler, as they could not tell the height of the aircraft above the water. He was about to tell the pilot but as he put his hand to the microphone he lost consciousness. His next memory was getting out of the aircraft. He must have leant forward to talk to the pilot at the very moment the aircraft ditched.\n\nThe mid-upper was also in his ditching position and thinks he was hit on the head by shelves fitted to carry the, special G-H equipment. The pilot, on feeling the spray on his cheek, pulled back on the stick and the aircraft hit the sea as he was flattening out. The tail broke off in the landing and because of this it took ten to fifteen minutes to get from the aircraft and into the dinghy which had not release itself through the action of the automatic or manual release mechanism. However, apart from cramp, the crew were okay.\n\nA photograph taken from a search plane twelve hours after the ditching, showed the aircraft still afloat with the tail gone aft of the mid-turret. When the ASR launch arrived, sixteen hours after coming down, it passed the still floating aircraft, and a further report 36 hours later said it was, incredibly, still afloat! The aircraft was DS821 'S for Sugar'.\n\nPilot Officer Horsley of 166 Squadron was recommended for the award of an immediate DFC on 2nd January 1944, for his part in the raid. When 40 miles beyond the Dutch coast on the outward journey, the port inner engine caught fire and had to be closed down. Nevertheless he pressed on and bombed Berlin as detailed despite a gradual loss of height, for his load had pulled him down to 13,000 feet. Over Berlin he then discovered that his bomb doors would not open. He turned to make a second run across the target while the crew atempted to release the 4,000 pound load and open the doors. Then the starboard outer engine was hit by light flak and caught fire. By prompt cutting of the fuel supply the fire was put out but by now they were down to 6,000 feet. They finally succeeded in releasing the bomb which fell to the north of the city. Horsley, an experienced captain flying his 23rd op, managed to fly the aircraft home on two engines, without an artificial horizon or directional gyro, both of which had gone U\/S. Passing over the Dutch coast he was coned by a couple of searchlights but fire from his gunners managed to douse them. He arrived back at base more than 2\u00bd hours overdue but made an excellent landing on a short runway.\n\nFlight Sergeant George Burcher also had his problems flying a Halifax of 10 Squadron. He had his starboard outer engine hit by flak two minutes from Berlin but continued into the target area. Whilst over the city two incendiary bombs struck his aeroplane, one striking the starboard fuselage side which cut the leads to the instrument gauges while the other one crashed through the starboard flaps. On the return journey they discovered a 2,000 lb hung up in the bomb bay. It could not be released in the normal manner so the bomb aimer tried to release it manually and finally did so, though it took him 1\u00bd hours. Shortly after crossing the English coast their port inner engine failed completely. Permission was given for an emergency landing at Swanton Morley and Burcher made a perfect two-engine landing. For his action he was awarded an immediate DFM.\n\nThe alarm in Berlin sounded at 7.23 pm and the all clear came at 8.56. They estimated the number of aircraft as 200 and that 300 HE bombs, 50 mines, 3,000 phosphorus and 100,000 incendiaries were dropped. The casualties were 151 dead, 514 injured, with 10,000 made homeless. Eight industrial targets were destroyed, 30 more severely damaged and 27 slightly damaged. Seven military installations were destroyed with another 24 damaged. The raid was the 94th on Berlin since 1940 and the glow from the fires could be seen from 200 miles away.\n\nThe number of RAF aircraft missing was well down at 18 (2.8%) \u2014nine Halifaxes and nine Lancasters. Another 104 were damaged \u2014 84 to flak, three to fighters, and seventeen to other causes. Of the eighteen lost, at least ten went down to fighters, and five to flak (the other three are unknown). The aircraft fell to ground defences at Leipzig, Bernberg, Bitterfield, Terschelling and Texel. Six were lost to fighters on the outward route in the areas of Weppel and Brunswick, and four over Bernberg and Leipzig. The other four went down on the homeward route to controlled fighters, mostly over Holland.\n\nThe rate of bombs per missing aircraft was 159.26 tons for Lancasters, and 63.43 for Halifaxes. The total tonnage overall was 2,314.5. During the year of 1943, Berlin had received 13,400 tons of bombs and was now the most heavily attacked city in the Reich.\n\nIn 115 Squadron a newsletter called Bang On, dated 31st December, gave a summary of the Berlin raids which read:\n\nThis summary reads like a tour on Berlin. Have patience, chaps, the Happy Valley is still there. Berlin it must be until the place is wiped out. It is the HQ, of nearly everything that matters to Germany. Armaments, engineering, food stuffs, administration. Berlin is the 'London of Germany'. Until Berlin is Hamburged, Jerry's mainspring is wound up. 115 and the others will bust it. One point emerges from this summary, the 'returned early' figure is high. Cast your memories back, chaps, to May this year when the Happy Valley was the principal target. The May figures read 115 aircraft detailed, two returned early against the December figure of 66 detailed and 11 returned early. What about it, 115? Look at this Berlin \u2014 29th December, detailed 19, attacked primary target 18, missing one. No early returns. Well done, chaps \u2014 one of your best shows! Preliminary evidence has shown extensive damage around the Tiergarten area and in Berlin's Whitehall. Goebbels, Goring and the whole bunch of those heathen sadistic Nazis have boasted that Berlin would never be bombed. The raid of the 29th was the 94th attack on Berlin.\n\nAt the end of 1943 the strength of the air defences of Germany was as follows: day fighters 450, night fighters 800, heavy flak guns 1,000, light flak guns 450, and searchlights 300. Considerable damage had been inflicted in the central district of Berlin where as in London the government and administration of the whole country have their officers in a well defined limited area. If the corresponding area of London had been bombed as Berlin had been, the government buildings in Whitehall would have suffered severely. The Treasury largely destroyed, the Foreign Office partially gutted, Scotland Yard would be soot black and ruined, the Ministry of Transport also. Downing Street would not have escaped, the Cabinet Offices at No 10 would be roofless and fire would have destroyed No 11. Many other well known landmarks in central London would have disappeared such as the British Museum Library, and the University would have been damaged, the Albert Hall and Drury Lane smouldering wrecks, office blocks like Shell Mex House and Bush House burnt out; the Ritz Hotel destroyed and the Savoy damaged by fire; the Cafe Royal would have been gutted from roof to basement. Hardly an embassy or legation would have escaped. Railway stations such as Euston, Victoria, King's Cross, would either be gutted or severely damaged by fire.\n\nThe Blitz in London early in the war could not be compared with the onslaught on Berlin. Fire services had to be called from as far as Frankfurt to deal with the fire. Over one third of the inhabitants and the largest part of the machinery of government have been driven from the capital.\n\nMain devastated areas in central Berlin superimposed upon corresponding London areas\nCHAPTER SIX\n\nThe New Year\n\nThe Ninth Raid\n\nThe New Year of 1944 began for Bomber Command with yet another raid on Berlin on the night of l\/2nd January. The force of 421 Lancasters comprised:\n\n117| from No 1 Group  \n---|---  \n31| from No 3 Group  \n161| from No 5 Group  \n31| from No 6 Group  \n81| from No 8 Group  \n421|\n\nThe original take-off time was delayed for some four to five hours because of deteriorating weather. While they waited, one ground crew chalked 'Happy New Year' on a bomb and attached to it a sprig of holly.\n\nThe weather forecast supplied to the Air Staff at 9.50 am that morning, predicted variable cloud, with a base not below 1,500 feet and in well broken layers to about 6,000 feet. Further broken layers above to over 20,000 feet with good clearances. On route the cloud would consolidate, becoming mainly 10\/10th over the Continent, with a base of 500 to 1,000 feet. By 4 am, over Berlin itself, the cloud was expected to be thinly layered and probably well broken at 6 to 9,000 feet.\n\nIn fact the weather actually encountered was variable layer cloud at about 2,000 feet over bases, broken layers on route, increasing to 10\/10th over enemy-held territory. The winds at 20,000 feet over Berlin were 70 mph.\n\nThe attack, according to the German commentators, fell on the south-eastern section of the city. The Pathfinders dropped sky and ground markers between 2.57 and 3.17 am but most crews reported sparse and somewhat widespread marking. While the ground marking was not visible under the cloud, the crews of 9 Squadron reported the PFF marking as well placed, which for them, resulted in a good attack.\n\nAs the Force droned its way to the Big City, the various problems that all too often occurred, began to happen. Squadron Leader Joseph Marshall of 101 Squadron had his intercom fail, and then had one of his crew suffer oxygen failure. Despite this he went on and bombed. He was put up for the DFC on 7th January, endorsed by Air Vice Marshal Don Bennett, AOC No 8 PFF Group.\n\nThere were large numbers of enemy fighters reported by returning bomber crews this night. A memory of one crew member, John McQuillan DFM, has lived with him ever since. Whilst sitting in his rear turret he saw the image of Christ, with a lamp of his shoulder. It followed the aircraft over the target and stayed with them most of the way back to the coast. He told his story to the others for the first time at a re-union in 1982 \u2013 it seemed to him to be an omen that they would get home. They in fact, landed at Wittering on the emergency runway at 8.30 am, following a trip of eight hours 50 minutes.\n\nFlight Lieutenant G. Coldray of 405 RCAF Squadron, in Lancaster JB699 'S', was attacked by two enemy aircraft, a Ju88 and a FW190. After seeing tracer over the port wing, Coldray went into a diving turn to port. The Ju88 made an attack from dead astern and broke off above them to the left. The mid-upper, Flight Sergeant Renaud, fired about 50 rounds at it as it did so. The Focke Wulf made its attack from dead astern and at the same level. The rear gunner, Sergeant R. Daoust, fired a short burst but in the exchange the Lancaster received extensive damage. The 88 was claimed as probably damaged.\n\nFlying Officer Bourke of 514 Squadron, in Lancaster LL672 'C', was attacked near Berlin at 3.13 am. His rear gunner, Sergeant Williston, reported a twin-engined aircraft which turned out to be a Me110, to starboard at 300 feet. Williston ordered a corkscrew to starboard at the same time as he opened fire as the 110 closed in. He suffered stoppages in two guns but despite this his tracer appeared to hit the fighter, which broke off into the darkness. A second attack came at 3.40, on the homeward journey, 25 miles east of Leipzig. Sergeant Williston was again alert, spotting a twin-engined aircraft which he later identified as a Ju88, on the port quarter. He again gave the order to corkscrew and fired a four second burst, but again suffered stoppages. The 88 made one firing pass and was away.\n\nA message for the enemy\nTwo enemy aircraft were reported being shot down on this raid, one by a Lancaster of 626 Squadron, west of Hannover at 2.23 am. One fighter attacked them four times before it fell away in flames. A few minutes later there was a violent explosion beneath the clouds, so it was claimed as destroyed.\n\nThe second was by a Lancaster of 7 Squadron whose gunners claimed an attacking Ju88 destroyed while making its third pass at them. It was seen to fall in flames.\n\nLieutenant Nick Knilans of 619 Squadron, flying Lancaster ED859 'V', had to make a sudden dive under about ten Mel09s that suddenly came out of the darkness right over the target.\n\n'Don't shoot,' he shouted to his gunners, 'they're not bothering us, don't attract their attention.'\n\nHis WOP tuned the rest of the crew into the intercom to listen to what he was receiving over his set. There seemed to be a terrible row going on between the German pilots and German Luftwaffe women on the ground. The WOP said that some of the girls' voices were English WAAFs giving wrong headings etc \u2013 in German \u2013 to the enemy pilots, causing them to run low on petrol while over the sea or over mountainous countryside.\n\nThe route to Berlin on this night was nearly direct. The return made via Le Treport. The flak over the city was intense at first but moderated upon the arrival of the night fighters. Many combats took place over the target; one Lancaster seen shot down by two fighters. Some ten aircraft were seen shot down by fighters between the Dutch coast and Berlin and over the same area, aircraft were seen shot down by flak \u2013 one at Bremen, and three by individual salvos from single batteries at Meppel, Texel and north-east of Hannover.\n\nOn the return flight losses to flak were witnessed over Brussels and Lille. Returning to base, some aircraft met slight snow flurries, but for some Lincoln based squadrons, they met the dreaded fog. Lieutenant Knilans was diverted to Fiskerton where they had a FIDO system in operation. As he approached it was lit up and they broke into clear air at about 100 feet. The flames from the system shot two walls of fire up to 50 feet as Knilans brought his Lancaster down between them. It was very impressive and a little awe-inspiring.\n\nA total of 28 Lancasters (6.7%) were missing from this operation. For each loss 50 tons of bombs had been dropped, the overall tonnage being 1,400.4. One of the missing aircraft was a Lancaster (DV307 'Z') of 101 Squadron, flown by Squadron Leader Robertson. He had in his crew Flight Lieutenant Duringer DFC, in the role of Special ABC Operator. He had taken the place of Pilot Officer Bill Parker. Parker had gone to London to collect his officer's uniform, having just been commissioned, and arrived back to find himself on that night's op. To let him settle into the Mess, Duringer took his place and asked him to look after his fiancee, Section Officer Knatchbull-Hugessen. Bill never forgot the tension of waiting for the aircraft to return, but it never did.\n\nThe Germans reported the raid lasting from 2.56 to 3.45 am, and that some 30 mines, 200 HE bombs, 10,000 incendiaries and 500 phosphorus bombs had been dropped. Damaged appeared somewhat lighter than previously; 21 houses destroyed, 28 severely damaged, 66 medium and 360 slightly damaged. Casualties were 79 dead, 117 injured. One industrial concern was destroyed and two damaged, while five military sites were also damaged. The target area and damage also embraced the Central Post Office, Exhibition Hall of the Fair Charlottenburg, Tempelhof goods station, a secondary flak battery at Wupperstraum and a gasometer in Neuhoellin.\n\nFlight Sergeant E.G. Bacon of 542 PRU Squadron tried to take photographs in Spitfire EN685 but was unsuccessful.\n\nGermany was becoming an even more dangerous place over which to fly. By January 1944 there were 6,716 heavy guns, 8,484 medium\/light guns and 6,320 searchlights and 1,968 balloons in their defence arsenal. Also in January 1944 there came a reorganisation of night fighters, by the formation of Luftflotte Reich. This was responsible for entire direction of the air defence and controlled the directions of fighter units as well as directing the strength of flak artillery. Meanwhile the First Fighter Corps directed the operations of both night and day fighters as well as training fighter units.\nCHAPTER SEVEN\n\nThe Weather Sets In\n\nBy the time many of the crews had run their engines down in their dispersal points on the morning of 2nd January 1944, the snow was falling thickly, and it was about 9 am before many of them got to their beds. Many went to sleep with the thought that the snow would curtail operations for at least that night. They were wrong. At around 3 pm, the men were being woken with the magic words: 'Ops again tonight, you lucky fellows!'\n\nThe Tenth Raid\n\nOn the affected airfields the snow had in fact been cleared by anyone who could hold a shovel, including even some Station Commanders. On some stations even aircrew who were flying that night had to give a hand in clearing the snow from the runways.\n\nA force of 383 aircraft were prepared, 362 Lancasters, nine Halifaxes and twelve Mosquitos:\n\n116| from No 1 Group  \n---|---  \n25| from No 3 Group  \n119| from No 5 Group  \n28| from No 6 Group  \n74| from No 8 Group plus  \n12| Mosquitos of 8 Group  \n9| Halifaxes  \n383|\n\nThe weather forecast supplied to the Air Staff at 9.45 am was for a front expected at 11 o'clock near the Humber which would reach the Thames Estuary by 7 am. At take-off time, 5 and 6 Groups might be affected but it was regarded as unlikely that any airfield would be unable to get their aircraft away. Nos 3 and 8 Groups could expect no trouble at all. On route and over the target, 10\/10ths stratus cloud with a base of 1,000 feet with tops at 5,000 feet was expected.\n\nThe return would be similar to the outward trip, but with frontal cloud to cross somewhere near Holland. The actual conditions experienced was 10\/10ths cloud but the tops of this cloud varied from 6 to 16,000 feet. The winds at 20,000 feet were 85 mph with some icing at 20,000. On their return to England they found rain or drizzle in south Yorkshire and Lincolnshire. Visibility in this rain was two to four miles.\n\nIn the cockpit of Lane Charlie II, of 626 Squadron, flown by Jack Currie, an unusual occurrence took place. The WOP picked up a broadcast on the Group operation frequency as they were climbing over base. It was a recall signal and they had to land at Exeter. As the weather looked all right they decided to press-on and wait for a repeat of the broadcast. Half an hour later when they were halfway across the North Sea, John Colles, the WOP reported to Currie again: 'Wireless operator to Skipper. You were right. I have just had a cancellation of the recall. We're to continue as briefed.'\n\nIt transpired that the original broadcast was intended for a small force of Wellingtons who were being kept out of the way of the Main Force effort, but the damage had already been partially done. 113 of the Main Force had indeed heeded the call and landed at Exeter. Of the 383 that took off, 295 Lancasters, five Halifaxes and 11 Mosquitos (total 311) attacked the target.\n\nWhen Jack Currie and his crew reached Berlin they received a warm welcome from the flak gunners. It seemed more intense and was as accurate as ever. His rear gunner called that he seemed starved of oxygen and was feeling dizzy, so Currie sent Colles back to check the supply. He found the gunner semi-conscious, his oxygen tube probably frozen as ice could be felt in it. He also felt very cold so the heating to his electric suit must also have failed. The WOP was told to get him out of the turret and got in himself. This was easier said than done, as every time he touched the gunner he woke up and refused to leave his position. Currie told him he must be got out at once, he tried again, but it was impossible. Currie then ordered him back to his radio.\n\nThey then commenced their bombing run. Their bomb aimer was new on the squadron and was doing things by the book, much of the time, to the displeasure of the rest of the crew. He wanted to do a dummy run, but Currie told him as calm as he could in the circumstances: 'You don't do dummy runs on Berlin! Let them go!' Out tumbled the bombs and the aircraft lifted as it was lightened of its load.\n\nOn arrival back at Wickenby, their base, conditions were very poor and control suggested they divert to Acklington, north of Newcastle. The reply from Currie was that they had a casualty on board and requested permission to land. He was asked the nature of the casualty and told them his rear gunner was cold and anoxic, with possible frostbite. His landing was successful.\n\nFlight Lieutenant Short of 50 Squadron was on the homeward journey when his bomb aimer, Pilot Officer Odgers, who was manning the front turret, sighted two lights approaching fast, below on the port bow at 600 yards. He identified it as a twin-engined aircraft and opened fire with long bursts of 250 rounds. The fighter did not attack but maintained its course and was lost to starboard.\n\nAnother Lancaster of 50 Squadron, flown by Pilot Officer Weatherstone, was also on the way home when two enemy fighters were seen \u2013 a FW190 and a Ju88. He immediately started to corkscrew; both gunners Sergeant Lineham and Flight Sergeant Collingwood, opened fire and continued to fire while the 190 flew out and above to 600 yards on the starboard side. Many hits were scored on the fighter and it broke off its attack. The Junkers then commenced its attack, the gunners hitting this also. Then both fighters joined up some distance to port where the gunners continued to fire at them until they were lost to sight, but both were claimed as damaged.\n\nA Lancaster of 432 RCAF Squadron (DS792 'U-Uncle'), from Eastmoor in Yorkshire was on its third raid to Berlin in this series, flown by Pilot Officer Jim McIntosh from British Columbia. On the way to the target his airspeed indicator and altimeter went U\/S. Just after turning for home at 3 am, an enemy fighter was seen by Sergeant Bandle, the rear gunner \u2013 a Me110. Both Bandle and the mid-upper, Sergeant Dedauw, opened fire as Bandle instructed the pilot to corkscrew. After a long burst from both gunners, the fighter was seen to stop firing but not before many shells had hit the Lancaster. The fighter's port engine caught fire and it was seen to go down in a dive, shrouded in smoke and flame. The engineer, Flight Sergeant Wally King, reported seeing the fighter spin out of control several times.\n\nMcIntosh was in trouble, for in making the corkscrew, hits were scored on the elevators which caused the control column to slam forward and sent the bomber into a dive. They lost twelve thousand feet but by putting both feet on the instrument panel and one arm around the control column and the other on the elevator trim, he managed by giving everything he had to force the aircraft up and out of the dive at about 10,000 feet. The compasses were out, the rudder controls jammed and there was now little response from the elevators. McIntosh, still keeping both arms around the control column to maintain height, made for Woodbridge aerodrome. Owing to shortage of fuel from a damaged tank, it was touch and go, and on landing he used all the runway, putting down on one wheel when they found the starboard tyre had been blown off, but he got them down safely. The damage to 'Uncle' was considerable. In addition to the damaged wheel, both starboard engine nacelles were gone, hydraulics smashed and twisted, two large tears in the starboard wing near the dinghy stowage (the dinghy itself was hanging out) and the tailplane riddled with cannon and machine guns hits. Through the fuselage there were five cannon shell holes, three of which had burst inside near the navigator. The rear and mid-upper turrets had cannon holes in them, one shell having travelled the entire length of the fuselage before exploding. Every propeller blade was holed and one split. Miraculously none of the crew was injured and Jim McIntosh was awarded an immediate DFC for his courage and determination to bring his machine and crew home.\n\nWinter 1944\n\nBomber Command fights the snow\nLancaster 'Q' of 12 Squadron encountered a Me110 over Potsdam. The engineer opened fire from the nose guns, his tracer seen to rake the Messerschmitt's fuselage from stem to stern. It broke away in a steep dive and was claimed as destroyed.\n\nLancaster 'K' of 49 Squadron was attacked by another 110 near Luckenwalde. The rear gunner fired and hits were observed, sending the fighter into a spin and was also claimed as destroyed. Lancaster 'A' of 550 Squadron shot down a Me 109 which went down with smoke and flame pouring from the engine to be claimed as a probable. Lancaster 'X' of 83 PFF Squadron identified a 110 over Berlin, but a long burst from the rear gunner was right on target and the fighter exploded and burst into flames. Another PFF Lane, 'M' of 97 Squadron, tangled with a FW190 north of Dessau. The rear gunner opened fire and the 190 caught fire, dived and seen later to explode on the ground.\n\nSix Lancaster crews of 5 Group claimed damage to Ju88s, while one 6 Group and an 8 Group crew also claimed Ju88s as damaged. Most of the night fighter activity was confined to the Berlin area and for about 30 miles on the homeward track. As can be seen, there were many combats, and the encounters were mainly with Ju88s, some Mel10s and about a dozen Mel09s and FW190s. One of the more successful Luftwaffe pilots and CO of NJG\/II, was Major Prince Sayn-Wittgenstein, who claimed six victories on this night.\n\nPilot Officer Derrick Bell in a Lancaster of 101 Squadron (DV308 'V') bombed successfully but on the return journey the main fuel tank was hit and set on fire. It could have been a flak hit or a night fighter; the crew had no idea! Bell gave the order to prepare to bale out and the crew started to put on their parachutes, but one man started to jump. The aircraft went into a dive and something hit the navigator, Sergeant Bailey, and he was knocked unconscious. When he recovered he was hanging in his parachute and landed in a wood near the village of Ranee, twenty miles south of Charleroi. He saw the aircraft burning on the ground nearby and heard the ammunition exploding. Bell landed in a wood in the vicinity of Beaumont, twenty miles south-east of Mons. A little later he found the bomb aimer, an American, Lieutenant Albert. Picked up by the French they were moved around until 26th May, by the various escape movements in France, but on this day they were finally captured by the Luftwaffe, having apparently been betrayed. They were taken to Stalag Luft III at Sagan.\n\nOver Berlin the crews experienced moderate heavy flak in a barrage at between 17,000 and 22,000 feet with intense light flak up to 16,000 around the marker flares. The Luftwaffe claimed to have destroyed 31 four-engined aircraft; in fact Bomber Command lost 27. There were no confirmed observations of any losses at all until Berlin was reached, but there seven aircraft were seen shot down between 2.44 and 3.04 am, of which five were seen to be hit by flak. After leaving the target a further four were seen shot down by flak in the Dessau area and three more by fighters.\n\nFlight Sergeant Burke of 460 Squadron had his fair share of problems on the return journey. His mid-upper's oxygen tube came apart and he became unconscious. The WOP and the engineer went to assist him and both fell unconscious themselves, but the navigator managed to revive all three, though not before an hour or so had gone by. The mid-upper also suffered frostbite which put him in hospital.\n\nThe Germans sounded the air raid alarm at fifty minutes into the morning of 3rd January, and the all clear exactly five hours later. They reported strong penetrations over Holland to Central Germany with the main attack centred on Berlin. About 300 aircraft, they estimated, attacked, 50 to 70 flying over the capital from a cloudy sky and in slight rain to drop their bombs. The main damage was caused to the east and south-east sectors of the city and they counted 60 mines, 35 HE bombs, 20,000 incendiary and 15,000 phosphorus bombs.\n\nSome 141 houses were destroyed, 435 severely damaged, 106 with medium damage and 1,018 with slight damage. Casualties totalled 77 dead, 215 injured, 85 missing, while 5,000 were added to the growing figure of those made homeless. One industrial concern was destroyed and 12 damaged, eight severely.\n\nThe RAF dropped 1,116.4 tons on the city, which was 41 tons for each missing aircraft. The Mosquito force attacked Berlin four minutes before the attack began and then 40 minutes after the Main Force had passed over.\n\nThe following was extracted from a German High Command Communique dated 3rd January referring to an attack by 284 RAF Lancasters:\n\nIn the hours of yesterday evening the British directive made a terror attack against Nuremburg which caused heavy damage to houses and losses among the civilian population. Irreplaceable cultural monuments were among targets of the enemy's senseless fury to destroy. The British heavy bombers also attacked towns in south-west Germany and half attacked the Reich Capital. The air defences shot down yesterday, 22 enemy aircraft, amongst them 14 four-engined aircraft.\n\nThere was in fact no attack on Nuremburg on this date and on the whole the German reports were very inaccurate. Photographs of Berlin were attempted by Mosquitos of 542 PRU but again, weather was the biggest problem, with the city shrouded in cloud.\n\nThe Eleventh Raid\n\nOver two weeks was to pass before the next raid was mounted. In between, Stettin and Brunswick were attacked by both the RAF and USAAF. Then on the night of 20\/21st January, Bomber Command put into motion its biggest and heaviest raid in the series so far \u2013 769 Lancasters and Halifaxes plus Mosquitos of 8 Group. There were also diversionary raids on Hannover, Dusseldorf and Kiel, all undertaken by 8 Group Mosquitos.\n\n'Keep them flying at all costs'\n\nTake off for Berlin Flight Sergeant Schuman and crew\n\nRAF Driffield \u2013 Flight Sergeant Schuman and crew, and groundcrew\n\nY\u2013Yorker 466 Squadron running up\nThe weather, as supplied by the Met boys to the Air Staff at 3.55 that afternoon, promised mainly 10\/10th cloud on route and over Berlin. Winds would be between 50 to 60 mph and the weather over enemy airfields cloudy to overcast with moderate to poor visibility and some local rain. The weather actually encountered was very near to that forecast, and for a change the weather over home bases remained fine all night.\n\nThe bombers approached Berlin from north-north-west, following land fall over Schleswig-Holstein, the route passing over the Kiel Canal, then between Hamburg and L\u00fcbeck. This route had not been followed previously in a large scale attack on Berlin and a small spoof attack was made on nearby Kiel.\n\nA concentrated sky-marking attack was delivered on Berlin and flak was very slight at first but developed to moderate intensity later. Heavy flak was mainly in a loose barrage between 17,000 and 20,000 feet. Light flak was experienced above the marker flares.\n\nA large number of enemy aircraft were reported along the route and over the target although the number of attacks and combats were comparatively few. Controlled night fighters could be heard between 5.30 and 10.20 pm of which twelve were active against British bombers. Identified areas of operation included the Schlising, Eindhoven, Enschede and Miinster localities, but no claims were made.\n\nThe German running commentator control was heard operating at 5.35 pm passing directions to aircraft of NJG\/I, II, III, IV, V and VI. Positions and heights of the bombers were passed and attempts were made to direct the fighters onto the bomber stream rather than to try and anticipate the likely destination. Berlin was mentioned as the probable target at 7.02 pm but specific instructions for the night fighters to proceed there were not issued until 7.34. Later, orders to remain over Berlin were heard while positions of the bomber stream continued to be passed after they left the target, to as far as the south-west of Magdeburg. In the Berlin area conditions appeared to be exceptionally favourable for night fighters. A layer of cloud at about 12,000 feet, illuminated by searchlights from below, formed a background against which aircraft could be silhouetted for the fighters and it is likely that many of the losses occurred as a direct result. An RAF Mosquito for instance, later reported that from 35,000 feet six Lancasters were quite visible below at one time, and many of the fighters were four to five thousand feet below the Mosquito's height.\n\nAlong the route, from the area between Hamburg and L\u00fcbeck to Berlin, and homewards as far as Bitterfield, fighters were active. In addition to directions from the running commentary they were guided into the bomber stream by a series of small red flares, apparently fired from the ground.\n\nAlthough few crews reported intense flak, 46 aircraft suffered damage and there was some reports of aircraft known to have been shot down. From these, it appears that losses occurred at Neuruppin and four in the Berlin area. There is a possibility that further losses occurred over Hamburg, Ascherban and Leipzig but they cannot be definitely attributed to AA fire.\n\nOne Halifax (LW441), flown by Flight Sergeant Lewis of 640 Squadron, was attacked by aju88 which came out of the cloud. In the attack the starboard aileron was damaged but the rear gunner, Sergeant Everson, returned the fighter's fire. The attack came as they were on their bombing run and it seemed to Sergeant Tom Beckett, the mid-upper, that the Halifax went over onto its back, diving out of control. He struggled out of his turret, plugged in his intercom near to the rear door, just in time to hear the pilot shout, 'Don't jump, I think I have got her!' He went back to his turret and saw a gaping hole in the wing \u2013 about five feet across. They landed at Coltishall after a seven hour flight, but the aircraft was a write-off.\n\nA Halifax of 102 Squadron encountered an enemy fighter at which the rear gunner fired about 500 rounds. It was seen to dive below in flames and was claimed as a probable. The mid-upper gunner of a 7 Squadron Lancaster, observed a Me110 as it opened fire. He let go a five-second burst which hit the fighter. It turned over, dived vertically and was claimed as destroyed. A Halifax of 578 Squadron also damaged a Ju88. In total, some 98 fighters were sent up to attack the bomber force, as the attack continued.\n\nThe crew of a Halifax (LK7 39 'P' of 428 Squadron, piloted by Flight Sergeant Reaine) were flying their first operation. They had been hit and began to lose height, twenty minutes from Berlin. The pilot then ordered the bomb load to be released as they were still losing height and already down to 12,500 feet. After releasing the bombs they managed to reach 19,000 and turned on a course for home. Fuel was pouring from No 3 petrol tank and the engineer, Flight Sergeant Fell, estimated they had enough fuel for another five minutes' flying. Reaine had little choice but to give the order to bale out.\n\nThe navigator, Flying Officer Fisher, engineer Sergeant Fell, and mid-upper Sergeant Lea Fryer together with the rear man, Sergeant Wynveen, all jumped from the front escape hatch. The bomb aimer, Flying Officer Lavoie, had been sick and when he jumped his feet were facing aft, so that his parachute pack got caught on the edge of the hatch. He put his elbows out and was unable to jump free. The WOP, Sergeant Banner, tried at first to pull him back in but was unable to do so; eventually Lavoie got himself free.\n\nSergeant Fryer landed in a pine tree in the Chalons area of France. After climbing down he spent the rest of the night under cover. In the morning he took down his 'chute and started to walk in a southerly direction. He eventually arrived in Switzerland on 3rd February. Sergeant Banner also fell into a tree and when he released his parachute, fell fifteen to twenty feet and was knocked out.\n\nAs the pilot left the aircraft, the port outer engine cut. Reaine opened his parachute but only one strap was attached, the other had pulled open, so he landed heavily hurting his spine. When the engineer's parachute opened, the straps hit him in the face cutting him about the jaw and mouth, but he made a safe landing.\n\nExceptionally, all the crew, apart from Sergeant Wynveen, evaded capture and got back home to England in the middle of 1944 \u2013Wynveen was captured.\n\nSquadron Leader Weetham's aircraft of 35 Squadron, flying over Berlin at 18,000 feet, was hit by incendiaries dropped from a Lancaster. Several smashed through the fuselage and port wing. The damage caused the dinghy to release and it, complete with ration packs, went floating down over Berlin. The brake pipes were also severed so on return Weetham was faced with a landing without brakes. He got down safely but swung off the runway and stopped dead when the starboard wheel went into a ditch. Still aboard was a 1,000 lb percussion fused bomb, which was swinging by its fins and held only by the spring doors. A member of the ground staff, an armaments warrant officer, was given a Mention in Despatches for making it safe before it was removed.\n\nIn Lancaster K-King (JB461) flown by Flight Lieutenant Roland King DFC, an Australian on his eleventh trip to Berlin, had just closed the bomb doors and was turning onto a new course when there was a crash and the aircraft went into a dive. The stick was dead in his hands, smoke and flames broke out in the port wing and he had somehow lost his flying helmet and intercom. He tried to check on the crew but could only see two of them. One, the flight engineer, Flight Sergeant Farmelow, was pressed to the roof of the aircraft, held there by the centrifugal force of the falling aeroplane. King released his harness and immediately shot upwards, hit the roof and bounced back in his seat. He tried to regain control but it was hopeless.\n\nThe next thing he remembered was falling through the air, his parachute unopen. He pulled the ripcord and the parachute spread out above his head. The raid was at its height. All round him was searchlights and exploding flak shells \u2013 the noise was terrific. He tugged on the parachute lines in an attempt to drift outside the city limits and eventually came down in a ploughed field south-west of Berlin, and soon afterwards, heard the 'all clear' sounded. He had hurt his head, and his face was covered in blood, while his left arm appeared to be broken while the right one he could not move at all. It was dark and raining. After walking for some while he was picked up by a German soldier and taken towards the burning city. At a barracks he was interrogated, then taken on a tour of Berlin, trying to find a hospital that would tend to his injuries but they were all full with air raid casualties. He was finally admitted to the Hermann G\u00f6ring Luftwaffe hospital. Here he was taken to a room, his clothes cut off and then knew nothing until he woke up on an operating table. His left arm was operated on five times and he had two blood transfusions, both supplied by other RAF prisoners. After ten weeks he was taken to Stalag Luft III. A year later he went to Lamsdorf by hospital train to be exchanged with a German prisoner. When he eventually arrived back in England, he was reunited with his wife and saw his baby son for the very first time.\n\nPilot Officer Whitehead of 76 Squadron flying Halifax LL116 'X', successfully bombed the target but as the bomb aimer called 'Bombs gone', the aircraft was hit in the nose by flak. The machine shuddered violently and was thrown upwards. The instrument panel was hit and knocked out the direction indicator, climb and descent indicator and artificial horizon as well as all four boost gauges. The bomb aimer, Flying Officer Morris, had suffered terrible injuries to the head. The navigator went to his aid, tried his pulse but found none, and was told by Whitehead to leave his body where it was.\n\nThe navigator's table was completely wrecked and a large part of the window and fuselage opposite him was missing. All his logs, charts and instruments were missing or U\/S. They were then hit by flak in the starboard inner engine area. Shell fragments sliced into the fuselage making another large hole in the starboard side while one fragment grazed the pilot's head, cutting his forehead and smashing his goggles. The WOP was also hit on the side of the head causing a long but not very deep gash, while the right side of his headphone earpiece was blown off. They also began to lose fuel and eventually forced to bale out when nearly out of petrol.\n\nWhitehead landed at Lens in France, seeing his aircraft crash with a blinding explosion west of the town. He evaded capture and arrived back in England in the middle of the year.\n\nFlight Sergeant Johnson of 434 Squadron had his aircraft hit twice by flak, first in the rear end of the bomb bay and then in the fuselage. The entrance door was badly damaged and the rudder controls sheared. The oxygen supply from the rest position back was U\/S as well as all the electrical wiring. The ailerons were shot away and the directional range master unit destroyed. The crew baled out over the Driffield area of Yorkshire on their return. Johnson received a broken jaw, facial injuries and lost seven teeth; the bomb aimer, Sergeant Campbell, arm injuries and the rear gunner, Sergeant Tofflemeir, injured his head and leg.\n\nFlying Officer Hall of 102 Squadron (HR716 'P') ran short of petrol and he and his crew made a successful parachute descent over Driffield. Flight Sergeant Proctor also from 102 (JD302 'D') crash-landed near Norwich and his bomb aimer, Flying Officer Turnbull, died of injuries received.\n\nFlight Sergeant Cozens in a Halifax of 427 Squadron (LL191 'N') crashed on landing at Coltishall when running out of fuel. On his third attempt at landing he missed the flarepath, hit a tree, house and high tension cable. Four of the crew were critically injured, including Cozens, and died later. Another was slightly hurt but the other two escaped. Cozens had only been married a month, and when he was killed was becoming one of the most proficient pilots on the squadron.\n\nIn total 35 aircraft failed to return, 6% of those despatched. From crew reports it appears that eight fell to flak, eighteen to fighters and nine to unknown causes, although it was thought most probable to fighter attack as they were so active. Of the total, thirteen Lancasters and 22 Halifaxes. The tonnage of bombs dropped was 2,400.6 which was 69 tons for each aircraft that was lost.\n\nUnexploded bombs, Berlin\n\nBerlin under attack\nA German report covering the period 5.05 to 8.30 pm, estimated some 400\u2013500 bombers had penetrated the North Sea and Holland on an easterly and south-easterly course. In all about twenty were reported shot down. In Berlin the alert sounded at 8.25. The Germans estimated a medium attack, launched by about 200\u2013250 aircraft of which ten were shot down over the city itself. Some 60 mines, 650 HE bombs, 4,500 phosphorus and 12,000 incendiary bombs fell during the raid. Damage to the city amounted to 463 houses destroyed, 657 severely damaged, 364 had medium damage and 1,800 were slightly damaged. Casualties were 243 dead, 465 injured, 40 missing and 10,000 made homeless. Five industrial concerns were destroyed, ten severely damaged while seventeen were listed as having medium damage and fourteen with slight damage. Some areas were without electric power, tramways, underground, while suburban railways were disrupted. In Brandenburg damage occurred in several places and a number of houses and business properties were destroyed and damaged.\n\nThe Twelfth Raid\n\nAnother week went by before the next raid on Berlin, scheduled for the night of 27\/28th January. The aircraft detailed were as follows:\n\n149| from 1 Group  \n---|---  \n62| from 3 Group  \n172| from 5 Group  \n48| from 6 Group  \n84| from 8 Group  \n21| Mosquitos of 8 Group  \n536|\n\nOf these 536 aircraft, 481 were to actually bomb Berlin.\n\nThe weather forecast supplied to the Air Staff at four o'clock that afternoon indicated weather over home bases fit for take-off. Over Berlin the weather should be 10\/10ths cloud, which was indeed that experienced, with tops at 8\u201310,000 feet. They also met 90 mph winds at 20,000 feet, increasing to 95 at times.\n\nPathfinder aircraft dropped sky markers to indicate various turning points on route to keep the main bomber stream together. It also caused problems, for the night fighters would swarm round and round, knowing the bombers must pass the markers. The whole show was a remarkable vivid firework display, the colours being magnificent in their brilliance.\n\nThe attack opened with the Mosquitos going in to mark with flares of green and red and then the main Pathfinder force with their blind bombing technique. This they achieved with skymarkers \u2013 red and green balls of fire, dripping slowly on parachutes until they disappeared through the cloud layers. This cloud was too thick for accurate assessment, but crews reported a good glow of fire and several large explosions. The glow of fires was visible for 150 miles on the homeward route.\n\nMosquitos once again bombed the city an hour or so after the Main Force and surprisingly, flak was only moderate. Searchlights were unable to penetrate the thick cloud but night fighters appeared in force.\n\nThe only German broadcast intercepted after the raid referred to 'another terror raid on the residential districts of Berlin'. They later stated that the raid had fallen on the south-eastern and eastern districts, particularly on industrial targets on both sides of the River Spree.\n\nThe running commentary control was heard plotting the buildup of the bombers over the Norwich area as early as 5.36 pm and from 6.06 aircraft were being sent to intercept them over the North Sea. Meanwhile the bomber stream moved northwards to a point west of Vlieland, and on towards the Hamburg area. Fighters from NJG\/I, II, III, IV, V, and VI were active. One claim was heard at 7.45 pm near Alkmaar, four more occurred between Minden and Magdeburg, seven over Berlin and two more by single-engined fighters on the way out near Frankfurt. Me110s, Me210s, and FW190s were reported, and over Berlin these were joined by ju88s and Mel09s.\n\nIn spite of this, a diversionary raid was successful in attracting the attention of a part of the enemy fighter force. This diversion was caused by 21 Halifax bombers of 8 Group who bombed Heligoland, and six Wellingtons from 1 Group with 74 Stirlings of 3 Group, who laid mines along the main sea route over which the Main Force aircraft flew.\n\nA Lancaster of 101 Squadron, flown by Squadron Leader Johnny Marshal AFC, was attacked by a Ju88. Hits were scored on the 88 by his gunners, Sergeant Fred Bence and Sergeant Jack Marsden, who claimed it as damaged. From the same squadron, a Lancaster was attacked twice by a FW190. Both gunners saw their fire bouncing off the fighter and it was last seen going down, trailing smoke behind it and was believed probably destroyed.\n\nFlight Lieutenant Keith of 50 Squadron was attacked by a Ju88 over the target area. His mid-upper, Sergeant Brown, was the first to see it but as his intercom went U\/S he had to give the pilot directions on its attack by the fighter attack indicator. The rear gunner, Sergeant Rowecliffe, got in one long burst but despite this their aircraft was hit amidships, damaging the upper turret and smashing the intercom to the rear gunner. The 88 attacked again opening fire from 500 yards, and again the Lane was hit, this time in both wings and the tail unit as well as the fuselage. The starboard inner petrol tank caught fire, but this was soon put out by diving the aircraft several times. Meanwhile the 88 had been hit by the gunners and damaged.\n\nOne Lancaster of 207 Squadron was in combat with a Focke Wulf, the gunners claiming it as probably damaged. Other enemy fighters were damaged by other gunners and the rear gunner of a 408 Squadron Lane claimed one destroyed.\n\nThe loss of a Lancaster of 626 Squadron (LM380 'S2') which crashed at Katzenel, was caused by an attack some twenty miles south-east of Koblenz. The fighter was a Me110 which attacked from below, once again a Schr\u00e4ge Musik attack. Its cannon shells hit the aircraft with a force which Arthur Lee, the navigator, described as like being hit with consecutive blows with an enormous hammer. He recalls three blows in as many seconds.\n\nThe Lancaster went into a steep dive and Lee emerged from his compartment to see flames streaming from both starboard engines. He slipped on his parachute knowing there could not be a lot of time left. The order soon came to abandon the aircraft. Prior to attaching his 'chute he had pulled off his helmet to ensure the leads from oxygen and intercom did not become entangled. He was to leave the aircraft by the forward hatch, but perhaps because of a brief lack of oxygen he became unconscious after moving forward. He came to lying on the floor and could smell burning \u2013 his hair was on fire! The Lancaster was spinning and he was pinned to the floor. He thought he was going to be killed as his harness and clothes were caught up in many projections. There seemed no quick way he could release himself before he would be burnt to death.\n\nAt this point he was miraculously flung through the escape hatch, from the intense heat of the burning aeroplane to the freezing January air outside. For some seconds he attempted to open his parachute but panic prevented him from doing so. Eventually he managed to pull the metal ripcord handle and the canopy cracked open above him. As he hung there, the blazing bomber howled passed him and disappeared into the cloud. Arthur Lee landed at the edge of a large wood on a hillside; the grass was wet and it was very cold. He felt alone and friendless, and not totally certain he was even alive! Perhaps he was dead, he thought, and this was the after life. The sound of heavy bombers overhead and the remains of his aircraft burning brightly in the wood nearby soon brought him back to reality. He had lost both his boots and was feeling pain from his burnt hands, face and head. In a short while a small party of men with torches came up the hillside towards him. He stood and raised his hands above his head \u2013 from then on he was a prisoner of war.\n\nThe rest of the crew were all killed and are buried in the Rheinburg War Cemetery. He understood they all died in the crash but the next day he was given the boots of John Lee, the bomb aimer, and they had no sign of burning or scorching. Another explanation was that his parachute had failed to open. The people of the village near where the Lancaster came down have erected a cross on the site. It is the custom of the village to read out the names of the men of that village who died in the war at the Sunday Service following the anniversary of their deaths. Now they do this for Flight Lieutenant William Belford (known as Noel Belford to his friends) and his crew. On an earlier raid 'Noel' Belford and crew had ditched in the sea returning from a raid on Stettin on 6th January but were rescued by ASR launch two hours later.\n\nA Lancaster of 625 Squadron (ND461 'W') flown by Pilot Officer Cook DFM, detailed to support the PFF, took off at 8 pm and reached Berlin to bomb it from 22,000 feet. On the homeward route the navigator, Flight Sergeant Berger, had a problem with his plotting and the Lancaster's course was well south of track, before reaching the Rhine, where a route marker was expected north of Koblenz. The Lane was then engaged by flak and hits sustained, causing fires in the Nos 1 and 2 tanks on the starboard side, also in the starboard engines, both of which stopped.\n\nSuddenly there was a great sheet of flame from an explosion in No 2 tank and the pilot put the aircraft into a dive hoping to extinguish the flames. The Lane went down at a rate of about 1,000 feet per minute and it was down to 13,000 feet before the fires went out. The starboard inner was restarted using petrol from No 1 tank. Eventually with only twenty minutes juice left, the WOP asked for and got a fix for Southampton. At this time their estimated position was north-west of Paris so a second fix was requested which placed them north of Guernsey. After all engines cut, the pilot gave the order to bale out. The bomb aimer got the front hatch up and jumped out first followed by the navigator, WOP Sergeant Henderson, engineer Flight Sergeant Brown, then the pilot. The gunners appear to have gone out by the rear door and on one parachute, as the rear gunner, Sergeant Ringwood, in jettisoning all the surplus weight in the aircraft, had accidentally thrown out his 'chute. The records show that Ringwood was killed, but that the mid\u2013upper, Sergeant Weller, survived. The crew, apart from Berger, were on their eighteenth trip, Berger being on his seventeeth. From the date of a report by Sergeant Brown \u2013 23rd April 1944 \u2013 it would appear he escaped to fight another day.\n\nSquadron Leader Lorraine Simpson DFC of 467 Squadron, flying a Lancaster (JB296), was shot down in the St Malo area on the return flight. He was captured on 2nd February and taken to Rennes civil prison, and then to a prison in Paris. After interrogation at the Dulag Luft Centre in Frankfurt, he was sent to Stalag Luft III. Flight Lieutenant Arthur Schrock, a fellow Australian in Simpson's crew, was also taken prisoner and sent to Stalag Luft IV.\n\nJack Currie, flying Lancaster JB559, which had previously been a 12 Squadron aircraft, and, as he described it, a very poor specimen of her type, was sluggish in control reponse and lacked the usual Lane character of stability and flight. They bombed the target and turned south\u2013west on the long route towards France, fighting a headwind of 100 mph. It seemed to take an age to reach the English coast. Despite this they were the first 626 Squadron crew to reach and land at their base at Wickenby.\n\nIn Lancaster W4315 of 61 Squadron, piloted by Pilot Officer E. Williams, the port engine was causing concern. It had been damaged by flak over Hannover on the outward journey and eventually they were forced to ditch. The engineer, Sergeant Beach, gunners Sergeants Acombe-Hill and Bowden, failed to reach the dinghy and were lost. Williams, his bomb aimer Sergeant Anderson and WOP Sergeant Parker were rescued at 6 pm on the 28th.\n\nFlying Officer Colin Grannum, flying Lancaster JB650 'E' of 12 Squadron, was hit by flak three times on the bomb run. The port inner engine was knocked out, the roof of the cockpit blown off and extensive damage caused to the entire port wing, which eventually put the port outer engine out of action. In addition to these problems, all the petrol tanks had been holed. When down to twenty gallons, Grannum gave the bale-out order and they all went through the front hatch. The engineer, Pilot Officer Hoare landed successfully at Bannoux near Sprimont, Li\u00e8ge province. Grannum baled out at 9,000 feet and was told later that when he left the aircraft it rolled over onto its back. He landed on the side of a hill, and in doing so hurt his knee which did not help the situation. Despite this injury he and his wireless operator, Flight Sergeant Quinn, made it to Switzerland and safety by 9th May.\n\nSome fifteen kilometres from Li\u00e8ge, Pilot Officer Hoare met up with Pilot Officer David Murphy, another member of the crew who came from Northern Ireland. They split up to make their way separately but Murphy was captured by a German patrol in the Tarbes area on 12th May after a month on the run. Flight Sergeant Harry Owen, the rear gunner, landed at Trees and was captured on 14th March at Li\u00e8ge. The navigator, Flying Officer Richard Taylor, from Nottingham and a former actor, managed to evade capture and after the invasion of France made contact with American forces in September.\n\nFlying Officer Mike Beetham in LD744, was on his thirteenth trip and his eighth to Berlin. They were on their bomb run when a fighter was seen approaching. The bomb aimer, Les Bartlett, had rapidly to leave the bomb sight for the front guns. The fighter pilot threw caution to the wind and came tearing in amongst its own flak but all was well and he left without making a serious attack. They then made their bomb drop. On return to base they found at least ten aircraft in the circuit below 1,000 feet, all waiting to land. When their turn came it was rather hurried and Les had no time to leave his front 'office'. However, Beetham was an excellent pilot and made a fine landing.\n\nJimmy Flynn of 100 Squadron saw a Me 109 hit over the target area. He remembers it being a lovely sight and was only sorry he had not shot it down. He also saw three Lancasters go down in flames and some parachutes open. It was the last trip of his first tour.\n\nPilot Officer William Parker was a special operator with 101 Squadron in a Lancaster (DV407 'V'), flown by Pilot Officer Norman Marsh, whom he described as a very cheerful Australian. On the return trip from Berlin his aircraft was attacked by a Ju88. The tail and port wing was damaged and on his ABC set he picked up an excited exchange between two German fighter pilots both claiming to have shot them down. They were obviously misled by the skilful evasive action of Norman Marsh. On this occasion his ABC set was modified to jam 'Benito'. Briefly, this was a method whereby individual fighters could be ranged and continually monitored while at the same time given the necessary control instructions from the ground station. It did not involve any radar principle, but depended upon the figher under control picking up a signal from his ground station which was alternately transmitted back to that ground station on a slightly different frequency. The essential feature of this Benito system was the re-transmitted ranging signal which was an audible tone of either 300 or 3,000 cycles, depending on the distance of the fighter from the ground station.\n\nRegarding ABC, the theory was that if this audio tone could be simulated by an exactly similar signal from the jamming aircraft, it should so confuse the ground station working with one genuine, and one or more spurious return signals it would prevent the fighter from being ranged. Since the ABC type of radio transmitter jamming could not greatly affect reception of this tone, a suitable modulator was designed for jamming Benito. The method of application was to tune the transmitter to the signal to be jammed, then adjust the modulator so that the audio note was exactly in pitch with the Benito tone. For his work with ABC during some 35 ops Parker received the DFC. In all he flew nine times to Berlin and later flew with 192 Squadron.\n\nMe 109 German fighter\n\nAt 10 am on the morning of 27 th January, Flight Lieutenant Stanley James, known as 'Jimmy', with his crew of 9 Squadron, checked over their aircraft as they were down for that night's attack on Berlin. They were the senior crew on the squadron at that time, having completed 23 ops, and after this trip, were on a posting to 617 Squadron.\n\nAs crews went they were very dedicated while in the air and knew what the job was all about. On the ground they liked to enjoy themselves. As Hal Croxson recalls, it seemed a little like flying and boozing \u2013 one night on ops, one night drinking, but of course the nights in the pub were more enjoyable. He had started as a trainee pilot in America but had to scrub it as he was sick for some while and could not catch up the course, so he re-mustered as an air gunner.\n\nHaving checked their Lancaster (LL745 'M-Mother'), they went for lunch, being careful not to drink too much liquid. Then came the briefing and preparation for the operation. At 4.30 they assembled at the aircraft, went through one or two final checks and at 5.15 they were airborne, circled, then set course towards Berlin. They were in the second wave of the five attacking waves, not a bad draw as the early waves often missed the majority of the fighter activity. Over Berlin 10\/10ths cloud made the searchlights non-effective. They bombed the target satisfactorily and all seemed set for the return flight. They were slightly off course perhaps and because of this were picked up by radar and hit by either flak or Schr\u00e4ge Musik attack. They were hit in the bomb bay, the shock being felt throughout the bomber. A fire started in the bay, one engine was set ablaze and, unknown to them, one of the tyres had burst.\n\nJimmy James warned the crew of the situation, and the bomb aimer managed to open the panel into the bomb bay and extinguish the flames there. Then he discovered two incendiary bombs had hung up and tried to release them by using the hand release. This did not work, so he put his arm through and pulled out some pins which secured the shackled holding the canisters and out they or manually. The burning engine was feathered and the fire went out. Now on three engines and with the pilot's altimeter damaged, James was told that the navigator had been hit by flak in the leg and was being treated by the WOP on the rest bed. Once attended to, the navigator immediately returned to his table to assist the pilot with a course home.\n\nThey were now down to 16,000 feet and twenty minutes later a second engine failed. James felt they could reach England but later decided that he had been too optimistic and that a ditching in the sea was inevitable. All surplus weight was jettisoned. With the use of the axe, Hal Croxson chopped away the flare chute and the elsan toilet. He broke away the ammunition belts to the rear turret and threw out over 12,000 rounds of .303 ammo, while the mid\u2013upper covered the rear of the aircraft. He even threw out the rest bed; it was not very heavy but everything would help. He then went back to his rear turret and clipped on his parachute.\n\nThen a third engine went and controlling the aircraft became very difficult. With this James gave the order to bale out. Hal swung his turret full starboard, disconnected his intercom, collected all his bits and pieces, pushed his bottom out as far as he could, put his feet on the gun butts and launched himself out, remembering to take hold of the rip cord handle. His parachute opened immediately once he got out into the slipstream.\n\nHal Croxson found the silence after the noise of the aircraft, very lonely. Only the swish of his canopy could be heard. Descending into what he thought was a thick black cloud he hit the deck hard. It was not a cloud but one side of a valley. He pulled on the lines as he had been trained to do which stopped him being pulled along the ground. He had lost a boot in the jump and felt as thought the whole of Germany was looking for him. Taking out his .38 revolver he cocked it and put it ready by his side. He thought that it would be ready to use or to hand over! To calm his nerves he lit a cigarette without thinking that the light might be seen. He did not finish it, for he laid back and fell asleep for about a quarter of an hour or so. When he awoke he discovered that his fingers were cut, and bound them with strips of parachute silk, keeping them bent to stop the bleeding.\n\nShortly afterwards, having prepared himself, he set off into some woods where he buried everything he did not need, including his flying helmet. On the front was written 'Horizontal' \u2013 a nickname from the crew, for in his spare time he would lie down horizontally and either think or sleep! Despite only having one boot he set off, using his escape compass. He evaded for three days, dodging several German patrols but was then picked up by a hunting party with dogs and shotguns. He was taken to the local village who handed him over to the Luftwaffe. Following a period in Stalag Luft VI in Lithuania he was moved to Stalag Luft IV. a journey best forgotten, for at one time his party was chained inside a cattle truck \u2013 even at one time having the officer incite the guards not to hesitate in using their bayonets if they tried to escape for these were the men who had bombed their cities and killed their families. The final 31\/2 kilometres had to be run, with prods from bayonets, clubbing if men fell, and with dogs barking and biting legs and arms as they staggered on.\n\nIn 1982 Hal returned to the crash sight. Four men had died in the crash and had been buried by local villagers and their names were entered in the village history book next to all the village men who had died in the war. When he returned home he sent the village a photograph of his crew showing the four men they had buried all those years before.\n\nThirty-two Lancasters failed to return from this night's mission which was a 696 loss ratio. Of these seventeen fell to fighters, and possibly even 21. Four were known to have been shot down by flak, two more had collided, and six others were missing from unknown causes. The tonnage dropped was 1,738.4, and, as Bomber Command liked to record, this was 53 tons for each aircraft lost.\n\nFor their part, the Germans estimated the raid had been carried out by a force of 200\u2013250 aircraft. Their alert sounded at 7.58 and the all clear at 9.20. Two aircraft were shot down over Berlin. They reckoned over one thousand mines and high explosive bombs had been dropped, as well as 20,000 phosphorus bombs and 25,000 incendiaries \u2013 and 200 oil bombs! The casualties were 90 dead, 292 injured and 200,000 made homeless.\n\nLocal and long distance railway lines had been severely affected and of six gas works hit, three had been closed down and the area of Neukeolin was without gas. The Air Ministry, Ministry of Economics, Ministry of the Interior and a number of embassy buildings, as well as police, army and Luftwaffe barracks and installations were hit. Among the industrial targets hit was the AEG Company, Telefunken, Osram, Agfa, Siemens, the Deutsche Waffen munitions factory, Daimler Benz and the Bavarian Nitrogen Works.\n\nThe Thirteenth Raid\n\nThe very next night, Bomber Command set out for Berlin again \u2013 the 28\/29th. A force of 682 aircraft were detailed:\n\n125| from No 1 Group  \n---|---  \n39| from No 3 Group  \n134| from No 4 Group  \n155| from No 5 Group  \n128| from No 6 Group  \n96| from No 8 Group  \n5| Mosquitos of 8 Group  \n682|\n\nSplit into types, this was 432 Lancasters, 245 Halifaxes and five Mosquitos.\n\nThe weather people supplied their daily report to the Air Staff which indicated weather fit for all night operations with considerable broken cloud, with a base of 1,500 feet or more. Over Berlin there was a good chance of 10\/10ths cloud with tops below, 10,000 feet, which proved almost totally correct in the event. Winds were calculated to be between 70 and 95 mph.\n\nDiversionary raids were flown by Mosquito aircraft of 8 Group against Hannover and the airfields at Gilze Reijen, Venlow, Deelan and Leeuwarden, plus four 8 Group Halifaxes and 63 Stirlings of 3 Group flying minelaying sorties.\n\nAs before the early attack was made by 8 Group Mossies. Three attacked from 27\u201318,000 feet through 7\u201310\/10ths cloud using navigational aids. They met no opposition although they saw searchlights and some night fighters about. Behind them came the Main Force, led by Pathfinders who had laid good route markers. Over Berlin the PFF men did their job despite heavy flak fire, but searchlights were only occasionally able to penetrate the clouds but not in sufficient numbers to form cones.\n\nOn the way to the target, the force had met considerable opposition from flak but the diversionary raids took away some of the reported night fighters,although the route lay too far north to attract the whole of the fighter force. Some attempts were made to intercept minelaying aircraft while others were airborne in readiness against a possible land target. Fighters from NJG\/I, II and V were heard operating in the Bremen area.\n\nThe fighter reaction to the Main Force stream was similar to that against the diversionary raids although aircraft from all night fighter units were used. It was thought that no great concentration of fighters was achieved in the bomber stream and that the main bulk of the fighters did not reach Berlin until the attack had started. There were, however, enough fighters in the stream across Denmark and from the north German coast to the target to claim a number of victims, possibly as many as twelve.\n\nThe Main Force was plotted at 1 am, 80 miles to the north-west of Texel and were followed from there along the route until 2.52 when it was announced that they were obviously making for Berlin. Aircraft from all night fighter groups were then heard being directed either into the stream or to rendezvous points on the way to the capital, depending on the areas in which they were based, and all that still had sufficient fuel had been ordered to Berlin by 3.10 am. Instructions to remain over Berlin were picked up until 3.33 after which positions of the bombers on their return route were passed on.\n\nIn the target area over 150 sightings were made including Ju88s, Me110s, Mel09s and FW190s. Eleven attacks were recorded. Of the RAF losses of 43 bombers it was not possible to account for more than 28. Four were considered lost to flak, 24 to fighters. This could be representative of the losses as a whole. There was no RAF sightings of aircraft lost to flak over the city, but four losses were seen \u2013 two over coastal defence positions on the Danish coast and two at Flensburg.\n\nFive fighter claims were made by air gunners. One Me 109 by a Halifax of 7 7 Squadron at 3.05 near Parchim. Both gunners opened fire and the 109 was seen to turn onto its back with flames coming from its fuselage, then fall in a vertical dive. Over Sylt a Lancaster of 550 Squadron opened fire on a Ju88 and it was seen to go down with both engines on fire. A Lancaster of 463 Squadron saw a FW190 north of Berlin, and the rear gunner hit it with a long burst and the fighter exploded and fell in flames. When a Ju88 attacked a 15 Squadron Lancaster, the rear gunner's fire went into the 88's cockpit and engine, and it fell out of control. Two RAF Mosquitos of 141 Squadron in 100 Group found enemy night fighters and shot down a Me 109 and a Me110. Eight other fighters were damaged, five being Ju88s.\n\nBig fires were soon raging in Berlin and exceptionally large and prolonged explosions were reported at the start of the attack with two more later. The fires and explosions could be seen from beyond the Baltic coast on the return flight and many experienced crews considered this to be the most effective raid they had witnessed on the city. The Germans for their part claimed that:\n\nBritish Terror Raiders continued their attacks on the Reich capital. Damage was caused in various parts of the City, including many residential quarters, churches, hospitals and cultural institutions.\n\nAlthough Mike Beetham did not get to bed until 4.30 am the previous day, the crew had been up by 9 am to pick up a 463 Squadron Lancaster from Waddington as theirs was U\/S. They were on the battle order that night and take-off was due at 11.45 pm. Sergeant Les Bartlett intended to get about three hours sleep before the op, but instead started a card game which didn't finish until around 9.30. This was followed by the usual bacon and egg supper. At 10.30 they got dressed then into the transport for the ride to the aircraft. Dead on time they were racing down the runway to take off. The night was crisp and clear and aircraft could be seen in all directions, circling around, gaining height and setting course from their bases.\n\nFor Jack Currie and his crew it was a shock to find their names on the ops board again. The next op was to be their last of their tour. For it to be a Berlin trip made Jack a little hot under the collar, to the extent he went to see his flight commander about it. He had promised them an easy one to finish on and Berlin was anything but easy. It would also be his eighth Berlin trip. But orders were orders and they had to go. Take-off time was postponed twice but was finally fixed for midnight. To fill in the time they went to the camp cinema to watch Casablanca. It was eight minutes past midnight when they taxied from their dispersal point and it was 12.18 when they got the green light to roll.\n\nThe first leg for Mike Beetham was long and tedious, taking over an hour. They encountered heavy flak as they passed over north Heligoland. The first opposition was encountered when crossing the Danish coast not far from Flensburg, where two aircraft were seen to go down. Searchlights were more active than usual, but the Pathfinder boys were doing their job well and put down course markers very accurately. The 10\/10th cloud gave maximum cover, but only until Rostock was reached where all cloud cleared leaving a clear sky about 40 miles from the target. The familiar red Very signals from fighter to fighter was everywhere in the sky.\n\nBeetham was in the fifth wave of the attack and practically the whole of the Main Force was ahead of them. Combats would be seen everywhere but luckily the majority appeared to be 3\u20134,000 feet below. By the time they reached Berlin the fighters had laid a flare path right across their track from east to west. They actually saw a Ju88, flying flat out, dropping its global flares at intervals of about 1,000 yards, making the whole area as bright as day. The raid was in full swing and numerous huge fires could be seen. One particular explosion seemed to light up the whole sky in a vivid orange flash which lasted for about ten seconds. At the critical moment Les Bartlett yelled, 'Bomb doors open,' followed by 'Bombs gone \u2013bomb doors closed!'\n\nJust as he was about to make the usual checks to ensure that no bombs were left hung up, Beetham yelled, 'There's a bloody fighter dead ahead attacking a Lancaster.' It was a Ju88. On hearing this, Les jumped into the front turret and opened fire. The Junkers went into a slow turn to the left, and spiralled earthwards.\n\nAbout 30 miles from the target on the homeward route, Les at last had time to check the bomb bay only to discover a bomb had failed to release. At the same time, through a break in the cloud he saw the lighting system of a German airfield, so he threw the jettison bars across and out went the bomb and much to his delight the lights went out also. On their return they found the cloud base down to 800 feet, so Beetham had to exercise great care when breaking cloud. He did this and to his great surprise were right over the English coast at Skegness. They landed at base at 8.40 am feeling tired and hungry. In the recommendation for Les Bartlett's DFM, this trip was mentioned with the shooting down of the Ju88.\n\nJack Currie, meantime, had set course for Denmark \u2013 distance of 360 miles, which took about two hours. At 2.19 am, they saw the first red marker flares go down. Their estimated time on target was 3.25. The first TIs went down at 3.10 and eight minutes later they saw a huge explosion. At 3.20 Currie's bomb aimer pressed the tit and the last trip of their tour was half over, and their last bomb load they would drop on Berlin was on its way down. The wind was estimated at 95 mph and being a tail wind it gave them a ground speed of 368 mph. The course that Currie should have held for three minutes did not look too healthy as it was lit on either side by fighter flares so he made for a darker piece of sky. At 3.26 die navigator estimated they had reached the turning point and altered course towards the north-west, straight into, instead of behind a wind of 95 mph and the ground speed fell to 144 mph.\n\nTheir journey home was quite uneventful. Currie was very aware of keeping away from known flak spots and soon Europe was behind them and only 360 miles of North Sea lay between them and England. One of the crew, a Welshman, sang on the intercom 'So Long Chop Land, and if I never see it again it will be too soon.' They saw their first friendly searchlight at 6.59 am and were over their home base at 7.17. They were given permission to land and congratulated by the controller on finishing their tour of ops. In the officers' mess a crate of beer had been put out by courtesy of the flight commander. Currie was told the CO was in the dining room having breakfast with the AOC, Air Vice Marshal Rice, and was invited to join them. Then it was offon two weeks' leave to London.\n\nUnlike Jack Currie, for Flying Officer John Gray, a Canadian with 433 Squadron, flying a Halifax (HX265), the raid on Berlin was his first. It was to prove anything but uneventful. Just after crossing the enemy coast at 20,000 feet, his aircraft was hit by a chance shot of heavy flak which caused loss of petrol from No 3 tank, on the starboard side. He realised that if they carried on he would be short of petrol on return. Despite this he decided to carry on and did bomb the target. On their return his navigational aids and wireless went U\/S and it was quickly evident he would not reach England and would have to ditch. They came down about 15 miles off the English coast off Hartlepool. The ditching was good, none of the crew was hurt and they all scrambled into the dinghy. They were soon picked up and brought to safety. Gray was awarded an immediate DFC.\n\nGray's was one of four ditchings on this night. The second was Flight Sergeant Corriveau of 431 Squadron flying Halifax LL150 'N'. The survivors were in the water for about 20\u201330 minutes but only four men were picked up when naval minesweepers reached the scene. Corriveau, Warrant Officer Barrie, and Sergeant Raymond all perished.\n\nThe third crew to come down in the sea was that of Flight Sergeant D.M.E. Pugh \u2013 Halifax JD165 'S'. It was only their second trip as a crew. They arrived over Berlin without mishap but after bombing the target their aircraft was hit and damaged by flak, the main damage being to the rudder controls and to Nos 5 and 6 starboard wing tanks. The flak had actually severed the block tube control at the tail end of the aircraft. The rear gunner, Sergeant Burgess, received a nasty head wound when a flak shell burst near to his turret. The explosion threw him against the side of the turret knocking him out and causing him slight concussion. When he came round he swopped places with the mid-upper, Sergeant Williams. The engineer, Sergeant Perkins, managed to repair the rudder controls when they reached the Danish coast, but as in the case of Gray's crew, they eventually became resigned to the fact that they were not going to make it. When down to 2,000 feet Pugh gave the order to prepare to ditch. It was now 8.45 am and they were something like 60\u201390 miles east of Dundee.\n\nThe WOP, Sergeant Cohen, had put the IFF to distress at 15,000 feet after leaving Denmark and at 8.25 he sent out an SOS. The engineer had just announced that they were down to 150 gallons of fuel while the rest of the crew took their ditching positions. The bomb aimer was lying on the starboard rest position with his feet braced on the front spa. The navigator was on the opposite rest spot, his intercom plugged in to listen to the pilot. The injured gunner was placed with his back to the main spa; then the mid\u2013upper gunner collected the axe and No 7 pack with attached paddles and dinghy cover, and sat on the port side with his back to the spa. They were now down to 500 feet. The WOP clamped the transmitter key down and sat in the centre of the rest position, resting his neck on his parachute pack which he had placed against the spa, having collected the dinghy radio and handed the kite container to the bomb aimer. The engineer stood at his position until the last possible moment, so he did not have time to reach his ditching spot; he placed himself against the WOP and braced his feet against the centre rest strut of the front spa. He had already grabbed the Very pistol and cartridges. All the hatches were open, the pilot's jettisoned for him, and each member of the crew had collected rations and torches.\n\nThe sea was very rough with waves rising to 15 to 20 feet with a medium swell, the crest to crest was 100 feet, and crest to trough 20 feet. The waves were running across the swell with the wind strength at 30 mph in a direction west to east. The direction of the swell was the same. It was now daylight and visibility about ten miles. The weather was good although the sea was very rough. On coming down to ditch the starboard inner cut, possibly from lack of petrol. There was no time to feather it as they were now down to 200 feet. Pugh used a flap setting of 30\u201340% and with an airspeed of 130 mph reducing to 110, the tail struck the water, and the rest of the bomber dropped onto the sea. The front part of the nose broke off and water came pouring through the gap and through the open pilot's hatch. The bomb doors were probably smashed on impact; water came through the access hatch and the crew were immersed immediately.\n\nThe mid-upper operated the manual dinghy release and the 19-year-old engineer, Sergeant Royston from Bristol, was first out followed by the rest within two or three minutes. Mae Wests were inflated and they were soon in the dinghy, but some time afterwards a 20 foot wave overturned them, but after some difficulty, not the least through cold, most were back in, although the engineer, bomb aimer and rear gunner had to remain in the water, clinging to it by ropes. The injured gunner was losing interest rapidly and appeared too ill to care about rescue; they tried again but failed to pull him in. As the cold set in the three men in the water were unable to hang on and one by one drifted away without a word, except a faint 'Good luck' from the rear gunner.\n\nThe survivors were spotted by a rescue Warwick later that day but were unable to get to a Lindholme lifeboat that was dropped to them. The next day, the 31st, another boat was dropped but again they were unable to get to it. They were finally rescued on the 31st by an ASR launch from Tayport, captained by Flight Lieutenant Cook and coxswain Flight Sergeant Lewis, when about 95 miles east of Tayport. Flight Sergeant Graham, the navigator, died on his way to land, but the others survived. The sea and cold had claimed four of the seven men.\n\nSevere icing was reported by some crews on this Berlin trip. Flight Sergeant Lew Lewis of the newly formed 640 Squadron, suffered icing and electrical storms on route; then his wireless transmitter broke down. In view of this he decided to abort. This was also the decision made by Pilot Officer Blundell of 35 Squadron when he encountered icing. They started to lose height and Sergeant Rhodes, in the upper turret, could see the build-up of ice and wondered if this, their fourth op, was going to be their last. They came under severe flak as they began to jettison all surplus weight, and managed to reach base, early, but safe.\n\nFlying Officer Flewelling of the RCAF flying with 434 Squadron (ED256) had a port engine cut as the aircraft was about to run up to the target so he turned and headed for home. As he reached England he was low on fuel when the starboard inner engine cut, as petrol ran out. They were then forced to bale out and they came down near Scarborough. The rear gunner, Sergeant Demers, was killed and the engineer, Sergeant Dobney, was injured.\n\nThe night's losses totalled 43: 6.3% (twenty Lancaster and twenty three Halifaxes) and the tonnage dropped was 1,933.2.\nCHAPTER EIGHT\n\nThe End is Near\n\nThe Fourteenth Raid\n\nThe next attack followed close on the heels of the thirteenth; the very next night. On the night of 30\/31st January a force of 540 aircraft were made ready to hit again at the German capital, 446 Lancasters, 82 Halifaxes and twelve Mossies.\n\n129| from 1 Group  \n---|---  \n44| from 3 Group  \n59| from 4 Group  \n156| from 5 Group  \n47| from 6 Group  \n93| from 8 Group  \n12| Mosquitos of 8 Group  \n540|\n\nThe all important weather forecast was for variable cloud over Bomber Command's bases with moderate to good visibility. The cloud extended from 1,500 to around 4,000 feet. Over Berlin the airmen could expect medium cloud, thin and well broken. The actual conditions met over the city were 7-10\/10ths cloud, reaching to between 10-12,000 feet, with 60 mph winds. On their return to England visibility remained moderate except in the Midlands and South Yorkshire, where early mist and fog became more general nearer dawn.\n\nAs the bomber force left England and headed towards Germany, so the plots on the bombers began to be passed to the night fighters when the spearhead was only 40 miles out from the English coast, but no directions were given to the fighters to fly out to sea to intercept. Fighters from all the usual night fighter Gruppen were concentrated in the Hamburg area, from which point some of the earlier arrivals were then sent out to sea while others were sent northwards or to Berlin according to their time of arrival at the rendezvous points. Instructions to proceed to Berlin were issued at 8.11 pm and at 8.25 aircraft were ordered to remain over the target. Aircraft of NJG\/V were also sent to Berlin. The planned time of attack was 8.15 to 8.27.\n\nFlak was encountered along the route but was not particularly effective, except at Den Helder where it was very accurate. Heavy flak barrages of moderate intensity became more sporadic as the fighter flares appeared and the ceiling of the flak explosions lowered to 16-18,000 feet. There was considerable light flak below that height, concentrated in the main around the sky markers laid by PFF aircraft. Searchlights were unable to penetrate the cloud but were, in a small way, eliminating the cloud base.\n\nOver and around Berlin a terrific air battle ensued, confirmed by the number of combats that were recorded. A Lancaster of 3 Group, at 8.07 pm, when still some 50 miles north of Berlin, spotted and recognised a Ju88. Both gunners opened fire and it was last seen diving enveloped in flames, to be claimed as destroyed.\n\nA Lancaster of 5 Group, flown by Flying Officer Weatherstone, was fired upon by a Ju88 on the homeward journey. The rear gunner, Flight Sergeant Collingwood, saw the enemy aircraft dead astern and below at 400 yards, closing rapidly. As it opened fire Weatherstone was ordered to corkscrew to starboard which enabled Collingwood to get a short burst on the enemy's blind side. Hits were observed on its fins and rudder and it broke away at 250 yards climbing straight up. The rear gunner fired again as the 88 turned over and made a diving attack and the Junkers caught fire, and continued its headlong dive completely enveloped in flames.\n\nPilot Officer Dobbyn of 50 Squadron was in the target area on the bombing run when the flight engineer reported a Ju88 on the starboard beam, below at 1,000 yards, as it followed another Lancaster. It then moved to the port quarter at their level. At 150 yards both gunners, Flight Sergeant Dincomber and Sergeant Mason, opened fire and saw their tracer appear to enter the wings and fuselages of the fighter. By this time the Lancaster was in a corkscrew to port and the fighter broke off but it was claimed as damaged.\n\nLancaster T-Tommy of 467 Squadron opened fire on a Me110 over Berlin, tracer seen to enter the fighter's cockpit. It then rolled over on its back and dived below; it was claimed as destroyed. Near Berlin a Lancaster of 44 Squadron sighted a Me210, first spotted by Pilot Officer Noel Lloyd who was later to join 617 Squadron. He saw it attacking another Lancaster and he directed his pilot towards the fight and opened fire. His burst set the enemy's port engine on fire and it was later confirmed as destroyed. Noel Lloyd finished his tour of ops on 7th May, 1944. On this last op he was wounded in the legs but insisted on remaining at his guns. He received the DFC in July.\n\nHalifax M-Mother (HX357) of 35 Squadron flown by Squadron Leader Wood, was south of Magdeburg when the mid-upper, Warrant Officer North, saw an enemy aircraft, later confirmed as a Ju88. It attacked from the port quarter and Warrant Officer Derek Tulloch, the rear gunner, opened fire. The bomber corkscrewed to port and the Junkers was lost without it having fired a shot. Tulloch completed some 80 operations and was awarded the DFC and DFM.\n\nFlying Officer William Breckenridge of 626 Squadron in Lancaster Me584 'Y2', was on the approach to the bomb run when they were attacked by a fighter. Its initial burst of fire killed the WOP, Sergeant J. Hall, and wounded both gunners. The mid-upper, Pilot Officer William Baker, was wounded in the right side of his face by cannon shell fragments as it burst inside his turret, tearing away his oxygen mask and the right hand earpiece of his flying helmet. The rear gunner, Sergeant Joe Schwartz, was wounded in the foot. Both men fell unconscious. Now over the target, bomb aimer Sergeant Val Ponshinsky, dropped the bombs but a minute later the enemy fighter came in again firing a long burst. Bill Breckenridge took violent evasive action but the aircraft was once again hit and this time the navigator was seriously wounded. After a further two minutes the enemy attacked a third time and further damaged the bomber. Breckenridge himself was grazed by a passing bullet.\n\nJust after leaving the target, Pilot Officer Baker regained consciousness. He discovered he had no intercom, no oxygen and his turret was U\/S; he climbed out of the turret and found the WOP dead and the rear gunner slumped forward on the rest bed. The navigator, Warrant Officer Richard Meek, on his sixth op, had received a bullet through his left shoulder blade but despite loss of blood and in great pain he managed to give the pilot a new course for base. He remained at his post throughout the entire journey, navigating with great skill and accuracy despite many of his aids being out of action. For his gallant actions he was recommended for the CGM.\n\nA Lancaster from 156 Squadron (JA702) was shot up by a fighter north of Hannover causing damage to the bomb bay. Ten minutes later it was attacked again. The bomber caught fire and then simply blew up. Warrant Officer Patrick Coyne, the wireless operator, found himself dropping through the clouds so he pulled his rip cord and the parachute opened. He landed about ten miles from Vollenhove in Holland, buried his 'chute and set off. After about fifteen minutes he met up with the navigator, Sergeant William Cottam. With the help of a Dutch policeman, who arranged for photographs to be taken and identity cards to be prepared, Pat Coyne, now in civilian clothes, was taken by car to an address in Hoogzand where he stayed until early August. Then he went to Antwerp, travelling by train, tram, horse drawn cart and bicycle. Two days later he was arrested by the Gestapo and remained a POW until April 1945.\n\nFlight Lieutenant Thomas Blackham, from Dunoon, Scotland, was flying a 50 Squadron Lancaster (DV368 'S') and had already been to Berlin four times. He was attacked by a fighter whose approach had not been seen or detected. The hydraulics and oxygen supply were damaged by shell splinters. The rear gunner, Flight Sergeant J. Shuttleworth, an Australian from Brisbane, was wounded and slumped unconscious in his turret. The port fin and rudder and the tailplane were shot up in the attack \u2013 the hole later found was large enough for a man to crawl through. The mid-upper turret had also been hit and the gunner wounded in the head. They were later to discover the left tyre had burst and a cannon shell had gone through the port tailplane; it also holed the outer petrol tank, but the self-sealing there had held. There were cannon shell holes all along the fuselage, but despite this carnage, they carried on and bombed the target.\n\nThe engineer, Sergeant Walton, from Birmingham, went back with an oxygen bottle for the rear gunner who was trapped in his turret. He feebly waved to him, his face covered in blood. He tried to work the dead-man's handle to release him but because of the lack of oxygen, Walton kept passing out. The bomb aimer, Sergeant Godfrey, from Paisley in Scotland, went back to find out what was happening and when he too failed to come back, the WOP, Sergeant Wilkins went aft \u2013 and he too passed out. It was left to the Welsh navigator, Pilot Officer Jones, to help. He found Godfrey, brought him round, then went back to sort out the engineer, but then Jones too passed out.\n\nThe WOP, who then came too, gave a running commentary to the pilot, it went: 'The navigator is down, no it's the flight engineer, the navigator is up, no he's down, the engineer is kicking him, yes the nav's on his feet...'\n\nThe engineer came around and the navigator got back to his seat. They were now about 30 minutes from the French coast and nearly out of oxygen, so Blackham got the aircraft down to 4,000 feet to cross the coast. They flew over the North Sea with their wheels down; it took the engineer twenty minutes to pump them down by hand. The rear gunner remained trapped until the aircraft was about to land, when the mid-upper, also from Wales, Sergeant Ridd, hacked the doors free with an axe and pulled him out. Despite a burst tyre they landed safely although petrol spilled out of ruptured fuel tanks. Shuttleworth had an operation on his damaged eye, as well as on a fractured forearm. Flight Lieutenant Blackham was shot down in May on a raid on Maily Camp and spent the rest of the war in a prison camp.\n\nA Lancaster of 550 Squadron, flown by Flying Officer Godfrey Morrison on his ninth mission, was approaching the target and was within a few minutes of his zero hour when a fighter attacked. It fired rockets, cannon and machine guns at the bomber and both gunners were killed outright, and the starboard outer engine knocked out. The controls were severely damaged, intercom, compass and air speed indicator all rendered useless. The bomber lost a considerable amount of height, and the bombs had to be jettisoned but fell in the general area of the target. On their return flight the Lane was again hit, this time by flak, but Morrison got them home and made a successful landing despite being overdue by some three hours. He received the DSO soon afterwards.\n\nWarrant Officer Lew Lewis of 640 Squadron, flying a Halifax (LW463 'A'), was attacked by fighters in the Kiel area. The rear turret was knocked out and the mid-upper had stoppages after firing a short burst. They were unable to defend themselves, leaving Lewis little option but to abort. Pilot Officer Len Barnes, flying Lancaster ND530, was alerted by his rear gunner after passing Magdeburg, that a fighter was coming in astern. He took immediate evasive action. The fighter made three passes at them and then broke away. The gunner thought the fighter had been hit but they had got away without a scratch. However, on their return they found the aircraft had several holes and the fuel jettison tube was dangling down like an elephant's trunk, and later an unexploded cannon shell was taken from the starboard petrol tank. Len Barnes asked for it as a souvenir but was told, 'Sorry, sir, this has to go to the Air Ministry.' He was later shot down in March, but escaped to rejoin his squadron. He is now a member of the RAF Escaping Society, whose members either escaped or evaded capture after being shot down.\n\nPilot Officer Louis Greenburgh was piloting his 514 Squadron Lancaster (LL727 'C2'). After bombing he was 25 miles due south of Berlin on the homeward route when the rear gunner Sergeant Fox, reported a twin-engined Me110. It closed in to 600 yards and commenced its attack. The rear gunner ordered Greenburgh to corkscrew to starboard, opening fire at the same time with a burst of three to four seconds. The fighter did not return the fire, but broke away quickly and was not seen again.\n\nOne crew of 578 Squadron, who had just been posted from 'C' Flight of 518 Squadron from which 578 had been formed, set off on their trip to Berlin at 5.29 pm but were back by 11.34. An armourer, when loading the guns in 'Timber' Woods' turret had failed to close a small window on the right hand side when he had finished his work. During the flight it opened and fouled the fairing on the fuselage around the turret. As a result it was impossible to operate the turret in normal drive.\n\nDespite all the night fighter activity, some crews reported the defence to be getting weaker. One crew commented that Berlin was like King's Cross in peacetime. Squadron Leader Chadwick of London, with some 53 ops completed in North Africa, and who was now on his fourth trip of his second tour, reported it being a very quiet operation. Added to the sky illumination, where dummy flares which the Germans set up from the ground to imitate the Pathfinder markers (though the colours were different, as well as the shape when they burst).\n\nPilot Officer Michael Foster, flying a Halifax (LW461 'D'), reported what he called a 'gen' trip: in other words everything went exceptionally well. He had no interference from anyone or anything on this raid. He had taken a second pilot, Sergeant Gibson from Canada, who was amazed at the lack of 'fireworks' over the city.\n\nMike Foster was serving with 51 Squadron at Snaith and he remembered 'Bomber' Harris visiting the squadron once, and earning great respect from everyone. Not by what he said, but by answering confidently questions on gunnery, aircraft, radio and navigation \u2013 in fact everything that was thrown at him. He certainly knew his stuff, 'even if he did choose his targets by getting Lady Harris to throw silver darts at the map of Europe.' (A popular aircrew myth.)\n\nThe Germans reported the alarm was sounded at 7.57 pm and the 'All Clear' at 9.15, and that it was a heavier raid than the previous night. They thought some 600 aircraft flew over their city, in rainy weather, and dropped an extraordinary large number of bombs of all kinds, estimated at 2,000 mines and 60,000 high explosive bombs, plus 40-50,000 phosphorus and 300 oil bombs. They recorded that the bombers made rendezvous to the north-west of the city and attacked in two waves in a south to east direction. The main weight fell on the districts of Charlottenburg Tiergarten, Wilmersdorf, Schoeneburg and Kreusberg. Seven aircraft were shot down over Berlin. German casualties were 102 dead, 531 injured with 20,000 made homeless.\n\nAll long distance railway lines, except that to Dresden, were closed. The surburban railway, underground and tramway system were similarly disrupted. The German radio admitted that extensive areas of Berlin were hit. The RAF lost 32 Lancasters.\n\nThe Fifteenth Raid\n\nThe next raid was well into February, on the 15\/16th. 891 aircraft were assigned, the largest force ever despatched to the Big City. It comprised:\n\n161| from 1 Group  \n---|---  \n66| from 3 Group  \n177| from 4 Group  \n226| from 5 Group  \n150| from 6 Group  \n95| from 8 Group  \n16| Mosquitos of 8 Group  \n891|\n\nThere were 561 Lancasters, 140 Halifaxes and 174 of the new Halifax Mark IIIs. At the same time, 8 Group sent 24 Lancasters to Frankfurt-on-Oder and a force of Mosquitos operating against Aachen, Leeuwarden, Deelan, Gilze Reijen, Twente, Enschede and Venlo airfields.\n\nAt 3.45 pm that afternoon the Air Staff received the weather forecast. Variable cloud at 2-3,000 feet over England while the route out would be similar. Over Berlin the crews could expect 10\/10th cloud below 8,000 feet and small amounts of stratus at around 30,000. In fact the weather experienced was moderate to poor visibility over England, aggravated in Yorkshire by smoke haze. The forecast of cloud increasing to 10\/10ths over the sea and 10\/10ths over Berlin proved correct; its base was down to 600-1,000 feet, topping at 6-8,000 feet. The wind speed was 35 mph.\n\nThe Luftwaffe directed its principal effort against the bomber stream along the route, leaving the target area to the flak gunners. The bombers were due over the enemy coast at 7.25 pm. However, at 6.16, the first bombers were plotted by German radar, 65 miles north-west of Harwich and fifteen minutes later a whole formation was reported as spread over a distance of 80 miles. From then on uninterrupted plots were given over the whole flight with particular concentrations at those points at which the German fighters hoped to intercept. That is to say, off the west coast of Denmark between Esbjerg and Flensburg, Odense and Kiel, and again on the return route and to the west of Magdeburg. At 10.29 the spearhead was estimated to be south-east of Emden and as late as 11.06 others were plotted three miles north of Amsterdam. Exceptionally few plots were made in the actual target area.\n\nBy 6.11 pm aircraft of NJG\/I, II, III and V, were airborne. They were ordered to fire a green recognition signal as soon as they came into contact with the bomber stream but were also warned that there were many of their own fighters on similar courses as the bombers. Many green flares were seen by RAF crews between Magdeburg and Berlin, similar to ones seen in the Denmark area later on during the return flight.\n\nAt 6.37 NJG\/I, II and II were ordered north to try to intercept the bombers between Westmerland and Esbjerg. As late as 7.43, German aircraft were still being directed north. The controllers of NJG\/V instructed their fighters to a point east of Parchin and repeatedly said they must avoid Berlin on the account of the flak there. By 9.24 all German pilots were still being told of the whereabouts of returning bombers and those of NJG\/V who still had sufficient fuel, were sent to south-west Berlin for a last attempt at intercepting.\n\nThe whole Main Force followed one route to the target, through southern Denmark, and approached Berlin from the north and north-west. The route home was split into two tracks, both fairly direct and on an average about 40 miles apart. There was little free-lance fighter activity along the homeward route but there was not enough evidence with which Bomber Command HQ could assess the success or otherwise of this tactic. The diversionary raid on Frankfurt had no effect at all. From observations the fighters appeared to have had success on the east coast of Denmark where fifteen bombers were seen to go down. It was on this leg that the greater number of enemy fighters were seen. Other losses were attributed to fighters south-west of Bork and another five on the return route, as the bombers re-crossed the Dutch coast. The very first exchange was when a four-engined aircraft tried to fire at a Halifax of 4 Group in the Denmark area \u2013 it was probably a nervous gunner from another RAF aircraft!\n\nAfter leaving Denmark there were 22 attacks and about 40 to 50 sightings, chiefly Ju88s, FW190s, and two Dornier 217s, one of which made an attack. One Ju88 was destroyed by an 8 Group Lancaster and a 1 Group Lane claimed another. In the target area, 30 enemy fighters were seen, Ju88s, some Mel09s as well as 110s and 210s. Here there were thirteen attacks \u2013 eight attacks and fifteen aircraft were encountered on the return trip.\n\nA Lancaster of 156 Squadron (JB444 'O'), flown by Flight Sergeant Doyle, had taken off at 5.46 pm as a blind backer-up. On the way to Berlin his rear gunner, Flight Sergeant Smith, sighted a Me110 dead astern and below at 700 yards, but it appeared to be a decoy for another aircraft. It closed in for an attack, however, and the gunners opened up as the fighter fired. The bomber was hit between the mid-upper turret and the radio transmitter, and the upper gunner, Sergeant Clarke, and Smith were wounded. Clarke received a compound fracture of the left leg from a cannon shell; Smith was hit in the right ankle. His leg was so severely injured that it was later amputated. Both turrets were put out of action, but Smith told Doyle that they had hit the Messerschmitt and that it had exploded. During the attack another fighter \u2013 a FW190 \u2013 attacked and opened fire but missed its target. Flight Sergeant Doyle came in on three engines at Woodbridge at 1.50 am. As he touched down the starboard tyre burst, but he landed safely.\n\nFlight Sergeant Geoffrey Smith, aged 25 from Sydney, New South Wales, was recommended for the CGM two days later. His citation mentioned the loss of a leg and despite his turret being U\/S he continued to manipulate the turret by hand until the Dutch coast was crossed. He was discharged from the service in November 1944.\n\nLancaster ND392 'Q', of 460 Squadron, was attacked by aju88 and an Me210. Its pilot, Pilot Officer R. Burke DFC, had previously been with 625 Squadron and he too came from New South Wales. He had just celebrated his 22nd birthday. In the action the Ju88 was shot down and the 210 damaged but the Lancaster suffered damage to the starboard wing and rudder, and had a hole in the starboard inner prop blade; the starboard outer engine also had a hole in it and there was a jagged hole in the fuselage. Cannon shell holes were found in the starboard inner engine. It was the crew's ninth op. Burke was killed in action in April 1944.\n\nA Lancaster of 50 Squadron, flown by Squadron Leader Chadwick, was attacked in the target area at 9.27, by a Ju88. The mid-upper, Flight Sergeant McDiermid, also fired, his tracer seen to bounce off the nose of the fighter. It broke away and was claimed as damaged. Another Lane from this squadron was attacked but the two gunners, Sergeant McCarthy and Sergeant Bacon, more than held their own and the fighter was claimed damaged.\n\nNineteen-year-old Pilot Officer Bradfield Lydon, known to the crew as Brian, his second Christian name, was flying Lancaster JB278 'L for London'. It was his fourteenth op to Berlin. He had been posted to 103 Squadron in September 1943. His aircraft was attacked by a FW190 and while taking evasive action he reported on the intercom that he had been hit. Then the flight engineer reported that the No 1 petrol tank had been hit and had drained. Having lost the 190, a discussion amongst the crew followed, as to whether they would reach England or play safe and head for Sweden. The rear gunner was for going home as he wanted to get back to the local pub in Scunthorpe \u2013 the 'Oswald' \u2013 for a drink. Having made some calculations, the engineer thought that they might make it if they flew a direct course. By using their H2S set this they did and landed safely at their base at Elsham Wolds.\n\nBrian Lydon was taken to hospital by ambulance and operated on by the Squadron MO, Flying Officer Henderson, who removed bits of metal and shrapnel from his head, face and right arm. To this day he still has some pieces in his head. While he was in hospital his crew were stood down for a week. During this period, his gunner, who had wanted his drink at the local, flew with another pilot and went missing.\n\nAnother crew of 103 Squadron, captained by Flight Lieutenant Berry (ND366) failed to return and were all killed. The navigator was Squadron Leader Harold Lindo DFC RCAF. His father, also named Harold, from Jamaica, donated a number of gold watches to be awarded to pilots who had contributed the most to the Battle of Berlin. Brian Lydon, who flew on fifteen of the sixteen raids, and rose from flight sergeant to pilot officer in that time, was one recipient, and he still wears the watch proudly to this day. He was recommended for the DFC on 19th January, by which time he had flown eighteen missions. Another 103 Squadron pilot, Len Young, also received a watch, which was presented to him by Lord Trenchard, known as the Father of the RAF. Len died in 1983.\n\nLen Young's crew, in fact, took off sixteen times for Berlin but had to abort on three occasions. One of his crew, Paul Howthorn, the mid-upper, had lied about his age when he joined up, being only sixteen. He was just seventeen when he completed his tour. Four of the crew where in the mid-30's and the other two were eighteen and nineteen respectively.\n\nThe flak over Berlin was moderate to intense, in a barrage form over a wide area, between 16,000 and 25,000 feet, with a maximum intensity in the vicinity of the sky markers, but this decreased as the raid progressed. The searchlights were rendered ineffective by the cloud which on this occasion seemed to have been so thick as not even to allow a silhouette role. The usual defended areas were observed in action and flak was reported heavy in the Emden, Den Helder and Amsterdam areas. Between the Danish coast and the north coast of Germany, seven aircraft were seen to go down to flak. Another lost to flak was seen to go down to the north of Berlin and two more in the actual target area.\n\nOn the homeward run, flak claimed three over Den Helder and one over Amsterdam. From the crew reports it was assessed that of the 41 aircraft lost, fourteen had been shot down by flak, sixteen to fighters with the other twelve unaccounted for. Crews were reporting that the gunfire over Berlin was much heavier than usual and very accurate and heavier at the enemy coast. One crewman wrote, 'We were ten minutes late over Berlin, with the result Jerry was firing everything at us.'\n\nSome of the crews were in the new Mark III Halifaxes, one being Pilot Officer Downes of 78 Squadron. The squadron had been stood down for three weeks while the conversion took place. He reported an excellent trip, especially with the greater performance, speed and increased altitude which gave a good deal more confidence to his crew. Another crew using the new Mark III was Flight Sergeant Schuman of 466 Squadron (LV837 'A'). Their old Halifax (HX336 also 'A') having been lost on operations while he and his crew were away on leave.\n\nFlying Officer Moorcroft of 83 Squadron was on his last operation of his tour, flying as navigator to Pilot Officer McLean. With him on this trip was Squadron Leader Wilson, the blind bombing staff officer from 8 Group HQ, as the H2S operator, but the set became unsatisfactory for marking so they bombed the target visually. Moorcroft remarked that the early days of H2S Mk III were frustrating!\n\nIt was also the last trip for Pilot Officer Michael Foster flying with 51 Squadron. He was glad to report it had been a very quiet and peaceful operation despite having a second pilot \u2013 a Squadron Leader Kentish. Foster remembers the aircraft excelling itself and climbing to 23,400 feet over Berlin. He also recalls writing in a letter home:\n\nOn the whole I shall say Berlin had rather a rough night with the heaviest attack ever. We were almost first in before they got organised. Everything indicated that Berlin is finished and I think we will probably be in at the death. That will be a fitting finish just as Hamburg was a fitting start.\n\nIn 1984 he observed: 'My prediction about Berlin's collapse was sadly wrong, but so were lots of other people's.'\n\nFlying Officer Horner, flying with Pilot Officer Dobbyn of 50 Squadron, was another on his last mission. He had been fifteen times to Berlin out of the sixteen. Being a navigator and spending most of his time behind a curtain with his instruments and maps he remembers the long silence suddenly broken by the voice of the rear gunner, shouting that he had seen something. On one of these occasions he jumped six inches out of his seat. He had flown with four different pilots in his time with the squadron. One, an Australian, was so nervous on the ground, but once in the air he was ice cool. The second, a Canadian, kept everybody going by cursing all the way to a target and back. The third was an excellent pilot but would persist in calling him up every few minutes to ask for the route. The last, Dobbyn, was as solid as a rock and both men had the utmost faith in each other's ability. He would have liked to stay with the squadron at the end of his tour but this was not possible. He only hoped that his next squadron would be half as good as 50 had been.\n\nWarrant Officer Lewis flying a Halifax (LW463), saw no sign of fighters and very little flak but he did have petrol problems. As it was very cold, his No 4 tank froze up. He just managed to get down at Binbrook flying on three engines and despite his hydraulics being U\/S. He and his crew were later shot down in May. Only three men survived, but Lewis was not one of them.\n\nResults were not observed in the early stages of the attack owing to the cloud, but later reports indicated that a good concentration had been achieved and several large explosions were seen. Mosquitos, over the target an hour after the main attack, dropped their bombs and the crews reported large areas of fires and columns of smoke rising to 20,000 feet. However, the Pathfinders reported a definite gap having developed in the sky marking. As a result the Main Force, for a short period of the raid, was forced to resort to bombing only the general area.\n\nPhotographic coverage of the Big City finally became available during the month of February. On the 19th, a PRU Mossie (LR424) of 540 Squadron flown by Flying Officer Holland, made four runs over Berlin to take photos. On the last run he came under intense ground fire. The next day a Spitfire, (EN666) flown by Flight Lieutenant Scargill of 541 PRU Squadron, found the city clear of cloud and he covered the whole area of Berlin with his cameras.\n\nA study of the damage showed that a satisfactory amount of devastation had been achieved but there was still much to be done. It was once said of London that it was impossible completely to obliterate a large city by bombing and really the same applied to Berlin. It rather implies that after a certain stage the amount of new damage produced by successive raids must decrease and eventually a point is reached where the amount of new damage obtained fails to justify the loss \u2013 or risk of loss \u2013 necessary to obtain it. If on the first attack 50% of a city is destroyed, then a 50% wastage of effort is wasted on the next attack and so on. The wastage of effort is directly comparable to the percentage of the city already knocked out, and in time a point must be reached when only isolated areas exist to be bombed and a great wastage of effort must be experienced to destroy it. There is no doubt that many areas of Berlin had been bombed and bombed again but there were districts were damage was comparatively light.\n\n'Did we hit it, or not?'\n\nA welcome drink\nOf this latest raid, the Germans reported:\n\nBritish aircraft made another terror raid on the Reich capital. From a cloud-covered sky a large number of HE and IBs were dropped on various quarters of the town. These caused damage in residential areas, to cultural monuments, churches and a hospital. In spite of unfavourable conditions for the defences, air defence forces have destroyed 48 terror bombers.\n\nIn fact the losses of 42 were 4.7 of the force. They consisted of 26 Lancasters, nine Halifaxes and seven Halifax Ills. In 39 minutes, 2,642 tons of bombs had been dropped. In addition to the losses, two aircraft crashed over England. An aircraft of 640 Squadron (LW439 'E') flown by Flight Sergeant Vicary, had been damaged by flak and was short of petrol. The crew was ordered to bale out and the Lancaster crashed near Thornaby, County Durham; all the men parachuted to safety. Flying Officer Barkley in another Lancaster of this squadron (LW500 'H'), while trying to contact base, flew into the high ground around Cloughton, near Scarborough. All the crew died in the 1.30 am crash.\n\nShortly after this raid, attacks on Berlin and other nothern targets in Germany, were temporarily halted. Raids on Leipzig and other southern cities were selected instead.\n\nUp to the period 25\/26th February 1944, the number of bombers that had attacked Berlin was 7,764. Of these 382 had been lost and the number of aircraft returning with heavy damage totalled another 355. The statistics were taken as from 24th July and so included the Berlin raids of August and September 1943. On the 24th February, there were 87 heavy flak batteries defending Berlin with 441 guns; 17 medium and light flak batteries with a further 445 guns and 35 searchlight batteries with a total of 420 searchlights. It was a formidable array and was, for instance, twice the strength of Hamburg's defences.\nCHAPTER NINE\n\nThe End\n\nThe Sixteenth Raid\n\nOn the night of 21\/22nd March 1944 came the final raid of the series, nearly five weeks after the fifteenth attack. Sir Arthur Harris sent the following message to he read out to the aircrews at their various briefing rooms:\n\nAlthough successful blind bombing attacks on Berlin have destroyed large areas of it, there is still a substantial section of this vital city more or less intact. To write this off, it is of great importance that tonight's attack should be closely concentrated on the aiming point. You must not think that the size of Berlin makes accurate bombing unimportant. There is no point in dropping bombs on the devastated areas in the west and south west. Weather over the target should be good. Go in and do the job.\n\nDespite this build-up of morale, the operation was cancelled owing to the threat of cloud over the target, at target indicator level. On the 21st, an intelligence report on the damage to date to Berlin mentioned damage to the electrical precision instrument factories and other industrial centres of heavy electrical equipment, turbines, cables, transformers and high tension switch gear. The largest two were Siemens and AEG. The tank factory, Alkett, the largest single tank-building factory in Germany, was put out of action for several months.\n\nMore than any other large town, Berlin depended on gas for heating and lighting. One third of the total gas produced had been destroyed and production plant put out of action, by the destruction of mains and gas holders. The population were given one candle each by the government as an emergency measure! The loss of gas proved a serious handicap in restarting the industrial life of the city. This was also seriously retarded by the evacuation of labour into surrounding districts and the very heavy destruction of municipal transport which proved a great handicap in the daily movement of this large labour force.\n\nThe sixteenth raid was postponed to 24th March. It was to prove the last heavy bomber raid by the RAF in the war on Berlin. 811 aircraft set out while a diversionary raid by 147 aircraft from several Bomber OTUs, was carried out over France, 70 miles south of Le Havre. Twelve Mosquitos of 105 Squadron attacked the night fighter bases at Twente, St Trond and Venlo, and another seventeen Mossies went ahead and dropped Window over the Berlin area before the attack commenced.\n\nThe daily weather report and forecast was supplied to the Air Staff at 1.10 pm which showed that 6 Group bases would have good clearances through the cloud. Other Groups could expect stratus cloud cover to hold during take-offs. Visibility, they were told, would be about 2,000 yards but better in 6 Group's area. The route to Berlin would have considerable cloud, tops probably below 8,000 feet. Denmark would probably be clear of low and medium cloud, and then there would be a chance of practically clear skies all the way to Berlin.\n\nThe weather actually encountered was generally good for take-off, with visibility at 2,000 to 4,000 yards but it was 10\/10ths over Lincoln and East Anglia with a base of 3,500 feet, topping at between 4,000 and 4,500 feet. Over Berlin variable stratus cloud from 8 to 9\/10ths with tops at 5,000 to 5,600 feet with moderate visibility. The winds at 20,000 feet were 100 mph but at times up to 105 mph - very much higher than had been forecast!\n\nThe planned method of attack was code-named 'Newhaven', with emergency sky marking. The aiming point chosen for the visual markers was at the eastern end of the Tiergarten. It was hoped to centre the raid on the eastern side of the city, which had received much lighter damage than the rest of the city in the previous attacks. Blind marker illuminators were to drop green TIs with white flares, if there was less than 7\/10ths cloud. If more they were to release greens and red flares with yellow stars. If H2S failed to help, all the markers were to hold their TIs and flares and bomb with the supporters. Visual markers were to mark the exact aiming point with mixed salvos of reds and greens. Those blind backers-up detailed to attack before zero plus seven minutes, were to aim at the centre of all TIs, if a Newhaven was in progress, but if cloud prevented this they were to drop sky markers blindly. Late arrivals were to drop both reds and sky markers blindly. Visual backers-up were to aim reds at the centre of mixed salvos, or at the centre of all TIs with a two-second overshoot. Supprters were to bomb blindly. If possible, the Main Force crews were to aim at the centre of all mixed salvos in the early stages of the raid. The bombing was to be between 10.25 and 10.43 pm, in five waves, each of three minutes' duration. The planned concentration was thus about 40 aircraft per minute.\n\nGordon Ritchie \u2013 429 Squadron before Berlin raid March 44\n\nNorman Storey \u2013 103 Squadron and crew\n\nKen Maun\u2013 101 Squadron\n\nBombing up a Lancaster\nA Mosquito and a Lancaster crew acted as master bombers with a call sign for the Mosquito of ' Pommy' and 'Red Skin' for the Lancaster. The ordered route crossed the Danish coast just north of Sylt, proceeding direct to Wustrov on the Baltic Coast, then turning near Perenslau to approach the target from the north-east.\n\nThe diversionary raid over France did not appear to have any effect on the night fighter movement, and all German Gruppen were disposed to meet the main attack. The fighter plan apparently was to use aircraft from NJG\/II and III for the route interceptions commencing at Sylt, with NJG\/V for route interceptions between the Baltic Coast and Berlin; NJG\/V and VI were to be in the target area and on the early part of the RAF's route home. It is possible that NJG\/I and IV were held in reserve for use against the returning stream at a later stage. This sort of plan would normally have resulted in heavy fighter opposition for the bombers.\n\nThe winds found en route were far stronger than those forecast and became as high as 120-130 mph. All aircraft were being blown south of track, particularly on the return route. As the winds were nearly double those expected (and many H2S aircraft operators thought their sets were unreliable) many bombers were blown way off course, while others overshot the target badly. Bombing was scattered but a considerable percentage of the bomber crews found Berlin and great credit was due to the many crews who made the best of a bad job. For example, one crew found themselves so blown off track as to be over Leipzig but returned to Berlin to bomb 45 minutes late! Because of the winds and crews over-shooting or arriving early, the bombing zero hour of 10.30 was brought forward to 10.25 pm. This change was only announced 23 minutes before the planned zero hour. In the opinion of some crews of 426 Squadron, it should have been ten minutes rather than five, which would have resulted in a better concentration of bombing. Radio commentaries by the master bombers helped to centre the raid by 'pulling in' many aircraft that would have otherwise overshot the target completely.\n\nIn the bomber stream all aircraft were to be spread evenly over a corridor of roughly 5,000 feet in depth while over enemy territory, and captains had to keep to this ordered corridor unless it impaired the success of their attack. Each group was given a varying height: 1 and 5 Groups, 20-24,000 feet; 3 and 6 Groups, 19-23,000 feet; and 4 Group, 19-24,000 feet. Despite the change in zero hour, 12% of the Main Force still managed to bomb before the briefed zero hour, 81% reported bombing within the planned period of twenty minutes, and 7% within 40 minutes (between 10 and 11 pm). The time between the first and last bombs was 62 minutes. The peak concentration was reached seven minutes after zero hour, when 38 aircraft were attacking each minute.\n\nNumerous early arrivals were forced to orbit what they believed to be the target and had then to return to an area over which markers were seen to fall, while other crews reported overshooting the target completely and then turning back to it. Some 73% of the whole force bombed within the allotted period. Similarly, 80% of the aircraft carrying serviceable H2S bombed in the same period. Losses among the H2S aircraft were 9.4%.\n\nFlight Lieutenant Alan Forsdike of 158 Squadron recalls the raid being basically a bad night for navigators. He flew as a spare navigator with Pilot Officer Lawrence, a Canadian pilot. Forsdike explained that good navigation depended on fixing the position of the aircraft at regular intervals, preferably every twenty minutes or so, plus calculation of the wind speed and direction, at the height flown. Once this was achieved the future movement of the aircraft could be predicted with some accuracy and confidence. The factors conspiring to defeat navigators on this night were, firstly, a strong north wind well in excess of that forecast, and a long sea crossing during which H2S equipment, even for those lucky enough to possess it, was of no help. Forsdike did not have H2S that night, as he was in an aircraft used by a relatively inexperienced crew. Seniority in a squadron tended not only to claim the best aircraft but also the H2S-equipped aircraft, provided, of course, the navigators had been trained in its use. He normally used an H2S when with his regular crew. All navigators carried forecast winds at heights up to 25,000 feet, however, on the long leg from the coast of Yorkshire to the East Coast of Denmark, a distance of 410 miles in a straight line, difficulties arose over fixing a position of the aircraft which seemed to escalate as the operation proceeded.\n\nOn crossing the North Sea his aircraft was drifting alarmingly to starboard of the required track, although corrections were made to port. The forecast winds of 45 mph at 15,000 feet, was later discovered to have increased to 92 mph at 21,000 feet. On approaching Denmark, Forsdike saw flak to port and guessed it was coming from the island of Sylt. He told the pilot to change course in that direction in order to regain track and the next concentration point, which was north of the island. The position of the aircraft was finally fixed by a pin-point at 9.39 pm over the island of Kegnaes on the east coast of Denmark. However, all this revealed was that their Halifax was still 35 miles south of track!\n\nThe problem was now resolved. It was clear that on the remaining legs of the route the ground speed of the aircraft would be high; in fact it reached 300 mph, so that they would arrived over Berlin ahead of the flight plan. Wireless messages from their Group controller in England were received at intervals giving increased wind velocity of 355% - to 90 mph. All the aircraft in the Main Force were required to keep their aircraft densely packed in an attempt to provide maximum cover from W\u00fcrzburg (Radar) and night fighter attacks.\n\nThe revised forecast winds could not be transmitted from England until enough example winds found over the route had been relayed back to England by the WOPs. In certain aircraft with experienced crews, the navigators were known as wind finders. The wind samplings were then averaged out by the experts and a single velocity sent by wireless to the Main Force aircraft.\n\nThe time on target for wave number one was between 10.33 and 10.36, and their estimated time of arrival at Berlin, according to Flight Lieutenant Forsdike, was 10.34. On the final approach to the target nothing at all could be seen \u2013 it was completely dark and the crew began to doubt his navigations. However, at that very moment target markers fell immediately below. Being too early to bomb they went round again. Returning on the required bombing run, the bombs were released right on the markers. Turning from the target, the wind velocity was again calculated and was found to be 93 mph. This abnormally high wind, even at 21,000 feet, had not been encountered by him before or after this operation.\n\nFlight Sergeant Les Bartlett of 50 Squadron, like the rest of Mike Beetham's crew, had just returned from a nine days' leave to find himself on the operation for that night. They took off at 7 pm and set course over the North Sea for a point off the German coast where they met their first spot of trouble. The winds were so variable that instead of passing the northern tip of Sylt they went bang over it and had to fly up the island's west coast, then round the top.\n\nMany aircraft were off course. In fact, in his words: '... all over the place and some got a good pasting over Flensburg.' The next leg took them over Denmark, and down to the Baltic Coast. Many crews got into trouble with the defences of Kiel, L\u00fcbeck and Rostock, and Les Bartlett saw at least four aircraft go down in a very short space of time. They also had a scrape at Rostock when the wind blew them into the defences and they were coned by four searchlights, but after a few violent manouevres, Mike Beetham managed to shake them off before the flak got their range.\n\nOnce Rostock was behind them it was a straight run into Berlin. With a 100 mph tail wind they arrived in no time at all. Over Berlin they found a thin layer of stratus cloud which made it difficult for the searchlights to pick them up. They had no trouble on the bomb run but night fighters started to put down a ring of flares. They then saw a few fighters but their luck held and they were not attacked. On the return trip their work was cut out keeping away from the defences at Leipzig, Brunswick, Osnabr\u00fcck and Hannover. Along this leg they cleared the Dutch coast, finding little cloud cover to help out, but before long it proved to be a nuisance. They received a message from their base at Skellingthorpe that they must divert to Docking in Norfolk. They found it and flew into the circuit with another aircraft from 50 Squadron but as they circled, a third aircraft in the landing order crashed on the flarepath which meant, as they were No 6 in line, that they were not able to land. They were given Coltishall as an alternative, and here they landed safely; then, however,they discovered how heavy the losses had been. 50 Squadron lost no aircraft at all, but it had been lucky. It was Beetham's twentieth trip of his tour.\n\nWeather and visibility at bases for returning bombers was good till around 4 am in the Yorkshire area, but in the Lincolnshire area it deteriorated after 2 am. Meanwhile, aircraft strung out over Germany were having increasing difficulties with the wind speeds.\n\nNavigator Fred Hall of 76 Squadron soon became aware that the wind was increasing from 90 to 140 mph. His pilot, Ray Bolt, steered to port to avoid Rostock, which was throwing up a lot of flak. Fred also found a tail wind to the target and prepared two plots which allowed for the wind forecast and the wind he was meeting. They bombed the target and made it successfully back to England, landing at a base in the south rather than their own in Yorkshire.\n\nOne navigator of 57 Squadron, Flying Officer Mackinnon, had already completed a tour of ops but these had been daylight missions on Boston aircraft, and night navigation was very different. His H2S set was not working, but luckily it suddenly came on for a few minutes, allowing him to identify the north German coast. He was then able to plot a course around Rostock before they whistled down to the Big City at something over 300 mph, and, like many others, overshot the target. He was later told that the spread of the bomber stream at the coast was around 180 miles.\n\nPilot Officer Downes of 78 Squadron remembers nerves getting a little frayed as it was their seventh op that month. His mid-upper, Sergeant Joiner \u2013 an Australian \u2013 was stood down for this operation and was replaced by a Royal Artillery major, who had been trained as an air gunner; his main role was to assess the enemy's flak defences. They arrived quite easily over Berlin a minute or two after the first flares went down. The target area was virtually clear \u2013 the time, 10.44 pm. It was the first time on their ops to Berlin that the extent of the searchlights could be appreciated. It was a dark night but at 20,000 feet the visibility was almost as good as daylight. The bomb aimer called, 'Bombs Gone,' but the flight engineer, Sergeant Jupp, checked through the inspection panel to the bomb bay and reported a 2,000 lb HE bomb had hung up. It was out of the question to go round again so they made for home with the bomb still aboard. Downes asked for a course to Magdeburg and gave instructions to release the bomb on H2S. The run-up to Magdeburg, which showed up clearly on the H2S screen, was without incident and Jupp released the bomb manually. They then altered course to regain track, when the flak opened up and began to creep nearer and nearer. The Artillery major wanted Downes to maintain as steady a course as he could to enable him to observe the shell fire, but Downes knew better. An isolated aircraft in range of radar predicted flak was no place to hang about so he took evasive action, but the flak still stayed too close for comfort. This continued for five to ten minutes, which at the time seemed like hours. Eventually they cleared the range of the guns and were hopefully back on track.\n\nAs they looked ahead they could seen an unexpected mass of searchlights and heavy flak explosions. They were heading directly for the middle of a massive defence area, which extended from Dortmund to the south of Cologne; they were 70 to 80 miles south of track! Downes thought the navigator, Sergeant Hendry, had made a mistake, but once again it was the wind blowing them off course. It seemed pointless now to try to regain the right course, so Downes decided to alter course to the south of Cologne, and then make a beeline for the nearest part of the coast. This seemed to work as they completed the run home successfully.\n\nGroundcrews, a welcome break\n\nReturn From Berlin \u2014 78 Squadron\nIn the target area at 10.31, Lancaster ND648 'B', flown by Squadron Leader Creswell of 35 Squadron, was about to turn away from his bomb run when the mid-upper \u2013 Sergeant Rhodes \u2013 saw a FW190 at 300 yards astern in a steep dive, and closing rapidly. He yelled for Creswell to corkscrew and as the Lancaster began to do so, the fighter opened fire. Red and green tracer lanced into the bomber, hitting the starboard tailplane. As the 190 broke away, both gunners opened fire and claimed hits on its underside before it appeared to roll over and dive.\n\nThe German fighter controllers could see from their radar screens that the bombers were being scattered over a wide area. They guided some fighters over the coast as the bombers began to come in and others sent after bombers in the Kiel area, north-east of L\u00fcbeck. Plots on the bombers were passed to the fighter pilots over the radio, reporting three main concentrations. One had approached the Danish coast, another converging from the North Sea, and later the largest one was to the west of Berlin. As Berlin as the target was confirmed, so too was the realisation that part of the bomber force was considerably off track to the south. NJG\/I, II and III operated in the bomber stream along the whole route, while NJG\/V and VI were finally ordered to the city at 10.16 pm. The RAF tried to jam over the whole VHF band and ABC was heard on 30 frequencies. It was then that the air battle began in earnest.\n\nFlight Lieutenant Blackham, as on previous occasions, was involved with a fighter. He was attacked over the target at 10.49 by a Ju88. Both of his gunners concentrated their fire on it as it fired at them. Strikes were seen on the 88 and it was claimed as damaged.\n\nPilot Officer Giddens in a Lancaster of 207 Squadron (DN521) was attacked by a FW190 over the target at 10.51. Standard corkscrew action was taken and the rear gunner, Sergeant Hall, fired. The mid-upper could just bring his guns to bear on the fighter, but the rear gunner kept up the return fire. As the attack continued, the mid-upper, Sergeant James, was found slumped in his turret. His oxygen supply had been shot away. Sergeant Walker, the WOP, managed to get him out and gave him the emergency oxygen supply, and plugged the gunner into the intercom. When Giddens later checked his crew over the radio, James replied, 'I am searching.' Giddens replied, 'Your turret has gone U\/S!' However, James wasn't delirious and said, 'I am searching through a hole in the side.'\n\nOn reaching England, Giddens made an emergency landing at Shipdown, Norfolk, an American base. Owing to a burst tyre the aircraft slewed off the runway and finished up the opposite way round on another runway. By the time it stopped an ambulance and fire engine had drawn up by its side. An American shone a light into the rear turret and remarked, 'Gee, Buddie, were you in there when that happened ?'\n\nOn examining the aircraft the following morning, the turret door showed several hits by cannon shells and the bulk-head door blown off. The rudder controls and trimmer tabs were also severely damaged and the aircraft had to be written off.\n\nFlying Officer Greenburgh of 514 Squadron, in Lancaster LL727 'C2', was attacked by a fighter south of Berlin. It was a Ju88 and the mid-upper saw it first, giving the order to corkscrew as he opened fire, followed by a burst from the rear gunner, Flight Sergeant Drake. The fighter opened fire almost at the same moment and then broke away. Two minutes later the rear gunner reported a Ju88 coming in at 400 yards. Sergeant Carey in the top turret and Drake opened up and strikes were seen on the 88. Eight minutes later the engineer reported an aircraft making an attack from starboard. It fired, putting a burst into the Lane's starboard outer engine that knocked it out. This caused the aircraft to begin a series of vicious spirals which soon became uncontrollable. All the instruments were knocked out and the aircraft was rapidly losing height, all but completely out of control. Greenburgh had no choice but to give the order to abandon the aircraft.\n\nThe engineer and bomb aimer jumped immediately and Greenburgh was half out of his seat but then decided to have another attempt at regaining control. He was also told that the navigator's parachute had been thrown out of the escape hatch during the spin. At about 7,000 feet he managed to get the aircraft on a more or less even keel. They returned to base at 9,000 feet and made a safe landing. The mid-upper and WOP had been literally standing by the hatch on the point of jumping when they realised the aircraft was under control and returned to their posts.\n\nAn aircraft of 83 Squadron, Lancaster ND529 'D' flown by Flight Lieutenant Eeggins, was homeward bound from Berlin when attacked by a Me 109. The rear gunner opened fire and hits were observed on its fuselage and it broke off to be claimed as damaged. Immediately afterwards the mid-upper reported a FW190 approaching, and both gunners began firing as did the 190. Hits were seen on the 190's wing and engine by the WOP and gunners. A few seconds later it came in again and the rear gunner continued to fire. This time the 190 broke away with smoke coming from its engine. It then burst into flames and was seen to hit the ground.\n\nSoon after leaving Berlin, Flight Lieutenant Picton of 550 Squadron, in Lancaster ME581 'D', was in combat with another 190 and both gunners, Sergeant Keen and Sergeant Porteous in the rear turret, received serious injuries from cannon fire. Sergeant Williams, the WOP, went into the astrodome, warning the pilot and giving him evasive instructions. With the attack apparently over, he then went back to the rear gunner whose oxygen tube had been severed, gave him his own oxygen mask and assisted him out of the turret. Williams later sent a radio message back to base, giving details of the casualties so that medical aid was waiting when the aircraft landed.\n\nPilot Officer Bowen-Bravery had his rear turret rendered U\/S and bombed a flak emplacement on the west coast of Denmark. Soon afterwards he was attacked by a single-engined aircraft and the mid-upper gave it a short burst from very short range. A short while later a burning aircraft was seen going down by three of the crew and then burning on the ground.\n\nFlight Lieutenant Everest, flying a Halifax (HX355 'D') of 78 Squadron, was attacked by a fighter over Berlin but was able to hold a course till over Rockanje, south of the Hague. Pilot Officer Alan Sinden baled out and was helped by Dutch farmers. They tried to get him back to England but this was found to be impossible and he was moved from house to house until December when he was captured and sent to Stalag 1, where he met the rest of his crew.\n\nThe flak was far worse than the fighters on this night. It was estimated to have accounted for at least 45 of the RAF's missing bombers. Because of the dispersion of the aircraft, many must have been without sufficient Window cover. This would have given ample scope to predicted flak on a night particularly suitable for co-operation with searchlights. Some aircraft reported being hit by flak at 22,000 feet and above. Another 30 aircraft were hit by flak between 16,000 and 22,000 feet. Altogether seventeen bombers were reported as being shot down on the outward route and 21 on the homeward. These were mostly in the area of Sylt, Flensburg, Kiel, Wilhelmshaven, Leipzig, Museburg, Magdeburg, Osnabr\u00fcck, M\u00fcn-ster, Deusau, Aachen and the Ruhr.\n\nOver Berlin the flak was reported as mainly in barrage form at 18,000 to 24,000 feet and there was intense searchlight activity. One pilot said, 'It seemed as though no aircraft could possibly get through the thick forest of their beams but there proved to be many ways round them.' Seven aircraft were reported to have been brought down over Berlin. Flight Lieutenant Clark of 625 Squadron was flying Lancaster ME684 'Z' when he was hit by flak and came down over the German frontier on the outward journey. Three members of the crew managed to evade capture. Sergeant Donald Beckwith baled out and landed three miles east of Haaksbergen. He was found by a farmer and taken from house to house in Holland and France, the aim being to get him into Switzerland. During August he fought with the Maquis in France and at the beginning of September he contacted the American Army and was soon on his way home. Flight Lieutenant Peter Armytage, from Victoria, Australia, landed on the German side of the Dutch\/German border and eventually got into Holland. He was, however, later picked up in Antwerp and sent to Stalag Luft III where he stayed until liberated in April 1945. Two other members of the crew successfully evaded, Sergeant Rimmington and Sergeant Munro, the rest were taken in captivity.\n\nFlying Officer Hentsch, flying Lancaster ND650 'Y', of 12 Squadron, was hit and shot down over Duisberg on the outward journey. Two men were taken into captivity, four died and the seventh, Sergeant Albert Keveren, baled out and swam across the river Maas. On the other side he was contacted by a Dutch boy who took him to the local organisation HQ where he remained for six weeks. He then crossed into Belgium and remained there for four weeks with nine other British and American airmen. They were given Belgium identity cards and remained in a farmhouse until mid-July when they walked to Eelen. From there they travelled to Seraing via Li\u00e8ge where they waited for advancing American soldiers.\n\nFlight Sergeant Hall of 106 Squadron made two runs over Berlin despite his aircraft being damaged by flak, and brought his machine back on three engines. It was a wonderful effort considering it was his first operation.\n\nPilot Officer McIntosh of 432 Squadron in a Halifax (LW593 'O') was shot down over the city and he and three of his crew taken prisoner; the other three died. Some time later McIntosh sent a message back to England: 'Please forward two Caterpillar Badges, one for myself and one for Flying Officer Small.' (These badges were given to all airmen whose lives had been saved by a parachute descent.)\n\nOne crew of 61 Squadron, led by Flight Lieutenant Burgess, a Canadian, were on their thirteenth trip, of which eleven had been successful and two aborted \u2013 both because of engine problems. Although John McQuillan, the rear gunner, had gone through the usual ritual of relieving himself against one of the aircraft's wheels, he found that soon after they had crossed the enemy coast he needed to go again. It was impossible, however, just to leave his turret at such a time to use the Elsan. He asked the pilot how long before he could do so with reasonable safety and was told, four to five hours, the rest of the crew finding his predicament somewhat amusing! An hour later he was feeling very uncomfortable but trying his hardest not to think about it. By the time they had bombed he was in agony. He saw aircraft going down in flames and wondered who was suffering most, them or him!! After leaving the target he again asked, 'How long now, Frank?' and was told about two hours by Frank Burgess. 'I cannot wait that long,' stated McQuillan. With all the fighters and flak about he managed to, or perhaps his mind was taken off his problem, although the rest of the crew were smiling and thinking it a bit of a joke. Eventually nature could not be ignored. It was impossible for him to stand up in the turret so he had to relieve himself where he sat.\n\nOn their return they were diverted to Metheringham where they landed at 2.30 am. He was, to say the least, uncomfortable after his experience and his presence in the sergeants' mess at Metheringham was not a popular one! McQuillan was later shot down in February 1945, but still the agony he suffered that night was never surpassed by anything before or since.\n\nFlight Sergeant Pydden, from Dover, was on his thirteenth trip of his second tour. He got through to the target successfully, and as it was his seventh op to Berlin, he found it the easiest. There was no heavy flak and very little light stuff coming up. They saw little until they were about 60-70 miles into the homeward trip, when a big flash lit up the night sky behind them, which they thought must be an oil or fuel dump going up. Their route took them just south of Magdeburg, then between Hannover and Osnabr\u00fcck, crossing the Dutch coast south of Den Helder. No route markers were seen, but they made it home safely.\n\nHalifax 76 Squadron in flight\n\nBob Thomas, killed hours later, March 1944\n\nFred Brownings and crew. L to R Arthur Richardson, Ron Walker, Bob Thomas and in cockpit Fred Brownings\nFlying Officer Wimberley, flying Halifax LW510, had taken off at 6.59. A fix on him was made at 10.45 and later a message was received, 'Aircraft returning to base \u2013 one engine U\/S,' followed by another fix at 10.55 when the Halifax was given permission to land at Cranfield. It crashed one mile ahead of the runway and all the crew were killed.\n\nPilot Officer K.S. Simpson, flying Halifax LW718 'T', had his WOP send a message when they were over the Dutch coast at 10.40. It stated that one engine on the port and one on the starboard side had failed. He then apparently carried on across the North Sea on two engines, crashing at the water's edge at Ingham, near Cromer, Norfolk at 11.11 pm, ploughing into a minefield where it blew up. All the crew were killed.\n\nFlight Sergeant Brownings in a 103 Squadron Lancaster (ND572 'M') took off at 9.30. When over the Danish coast the rear gunner, Bob Thomas, spotted a Ju88 but Brownings managed to shake it off and went on to bomb the target successfully. As they cleared the target they saw a fighter coned by its own searchlights and with flak all around it. It promptly fired off a red and white star Very flare and the searchlights went off and the flak stopped. Some while later a voice from the rear turret yelled for Brownings to corkscrew as a FW190 was coming in for the attack. This time Fred Brownings could not shake it off and they were raked from stem to stern, and believed they were only saved because the fighter ran out of ammunition. Their intercom was put out of action so Brownings had no idea of any damage or injuries to his crew.\n\nIt was left to Jack Spark to go back with a clip-on oxygen bottle and find out. He found it very cold and draughty down the fuselage, but the mid-upper, Sergeant Ken Smart was all right though his foot rest had been shot away, and the hydraulics that powered his turret had been shot out. Right down the tail, he found a very different story. Bob Thomas had taken a direct hit in the attack and was dead in his turret.\n\nTo add to their problems there was a five-foot gap in the top of the port wing and one of the tanks was open to the elements and the flaps damaged beyond repair. Brownings was having to use his legs to control the column to prevent the aircraft from stalling. The crew were told to strap on their parachutes but Jack Spark found his in shreds, having been hit by a cannon shell. They were then coned by searchlights so Jack, remembering the fighter's flare shot, fired off the only ones they had, three reds and three white stars. It worked, and the searchlights went straight out and the firing ceased.\n\nWith only about twenty minutes of fuel left they came down on Dunsfold airfield but all the lights were out as German intruders had been over the south of England that night. Without any air to ground radio, which had also been hit, they fired a red Very cartridge at intervals and eventually the lights came on and they came into land. His first attempt was too high so he went round again. On his second attempt he managed to get down but then they slewed off the runway and hit something, which brought them to an abrupt halt. They had hit an American B17 Flying Fortress named 'Passionate Witch' that had crashed two days earlier.\n\nThe body of the rear gunner was extricated from his turret; all the rest of the crew were uninjured apart from shock, to the extent that they could not sleep. In July, four of the crew were decorated. Fred Brownings was commissioned and together with Norman Barker and Arthur Richardson received the DFC, Jack Spark the DFM. Strangely, their trip to Berlin was not mentioned in their citations.\n\nPilot Officer Davies, flying Lancaster LW587 'V', was airborne when the WOP, Flight Sergeant Woodward, discovered he had left his parachute harness behind, so they jettisoned the bombs into the sea and returned to base. One wonders what sort of reception he got back at base.\n\nMany aircraft landed at Coltishall, a fighter station, having been diverted from their own bases due to weather. The quantities of surplus petrol in tanks on landing makes interesting reading. No 1 Bomber Group recorded that only nine of its aircraft returned with less than 100 gallons, but it is unlikely that petrol shortage through the strong wind, contributed to any losses.\n\nThe German European Service in English, broadcast at 10.30 pm on 25th March announced:\n\nThe general impression in Berlin after last night's raid was that the raid had been one of the lightest sort. Berliners on their way to work this morning, looked in vain for the bomb craters. It was not until military HQ issued the first reports that it was realised that a big raid had been planned, and had been frustrated by the German night fighters.\n\nA continuation of the report was made on the 26th when an air raid warden at one of the big Berlin bunkers described his experiences of the raid:\n\nI realised at once that something out of the ordinary was happening, for in previous raids I've always been able to notice the arrival over the City of the different waves of enemy bombers, but this time they came over all at six's and seven's, like an armada that had been scattered by the storm.\n\nThe German Telegraphic Service at 1.32 am on the 26th, reported:\n\nEnglish bombers again made a large scale attack on Berlin in the evening hours of Friday. The raid has definitely the character of a terror raid. The raiders dropped a large number of HEs and IBs on all parts of the city. German ack-ack batteries and night fighters attacked the raiders. How many enemy planes were shot down is not yet known as only incomplete reports are yet to hand.\n\nA further report at 2.16 am recorded:\n\nBritish formations approached the Reich and were intercepted between 9.00 and 10.00 on the evening of the 24th of March by strong German night fighter formations. The first of a series of aircraft shot down was between Freiberg and Kiel. Four streams of enemy bombers reached the Reich capital from the north west for more than an hour without pause. According to reports so far available, very heavy RAF losses may be expected. The attack was again aimed at Berlin, bombs were dropped at random in moderate visibility all over the built up area of the city \u2013 the terror nature of this attack is obvious. Many four-engined bombers were shot down over Berlin itself and the south-west suburbs. The enemy aircraft continued to be attacked as they flew off. In the west, small formations bombed the Leipzig and Weimar areas. 2,240 tons of bombs were dropped.\n\nWhen the crews had been debriefed and gone finally to their beds to try and sleep for what was left of the night, many could still feel and hear the throb of their engines. Often the RAF police would come into a billet and collect the kit of the crew who had not returned.\n\n550SquadroLan-caster damaged over Berlin\n\n'One of our aircraft is missing'\nThe next day only the memory of them remained.\n\nOn this night, when the last heavy bomber raid on Berlin by the RAF was made, another historic situation was developing not far away. Today it is known as 'The Great Escape', when 76 RAF and Allied airmen escaped from Stalag Luft III at Sagan. Of these 76, three reached safety. Of the others who were recaptured, 50 were murdered by the Gestapo.\n\nThe RAF Losses On this night were 72 aircraft, which was a loss ratio of 8.9%. Broken down it showed that out of the force of 809 bombers the Group's totals were:\n\nOf the force, 43 returned early. Of the 72 lost, 45 were estimated to have fallen to flak, 18 to night fighters, the other 9 unknown. Statistics shown another way record:\n\nThe Pathfinders marked between 10.25 and 10.27 pm\n\nThe first wave bombed between 10.30 and 10.33 pm\n\nThe second wave bombed between 10.32 and 10.36 pm\n\nThe third wave bombed between 10.36 and 10.30 pm\n\nThe fourth wave bombed between 10.39 and 10.42 pm\n\nThe fifth wave bombed between 10.42 and 10.45 pm\n\nThere were 26 ABC aircraft from 1 Group but all returned safely. The losses to flak were, seventeen on the outward journey, seven in the target area and 21 on the way home. To fighters, six on the outward, four over the target, eight on the homeward run. The German Fighter Corps IJ claimed 80 aircraft shot down and reported losing one fighter themselves. Goebbels Overseas News Agency claimed 110 aircraft destroyed.\n\nThe German AA Batteries at this time were using 128 mm guns with much higher and greater radius of bursts, concentrated in Grossen Batterien, huge groups of up to 40 guns that worked in rectangular patterns known as box barrages. This night resulted in the best score for German flak guns in the war thus far.\n\nUndoubtedly the major factor in the night's saga had been the wind. On the 25th March, the Meteorological Section of Bomber Command HQ was visited by the Director of the Met Office of the Air Ministry, Doctor Petterssen, to discuss the difficulties in forecasting winds from available data over enemy territory. It was agreed, particularly in the light of winds forecast, and the actual winds found on the night of the 24th\/25th, that more upper air data from Sweden would be of assistance on these occasions. An analysis of navigation for this Berlin raid was undertaken to discover reasons for the wide scatter of the force and its displacements to the south of the ordered track. The southerly displacement obviously resulted from a systematic error in the broadcast winds, both past and forecast, the strength being in all cases too low. This under-estimate of the strength was due in about equal proportions to:\n\n'A missing Lancaster'\n  1. Lack of belief in the unusual wind strength on the part of the many wind finders.\n\n  2. The time delay between the transmissions, by wind finders,and their reception at Bomber Command HQ.\n\nThe wind finders transmitted less than half the winds that they found, 40% used the recommended period from 15 to 30 minutes for wind determination. The main reason for the scatter was that only about 55% of the winds used by navigators was the correct broadcast winds. Very simply this meant that the wind finders just could not believe the winds speeds they were reading and reduced them by anything from 5 to 15 mph. In turn, the Met boys in England could not believe even these reduced figures. So winds of 115 mph were reduced to around 110 by the wind finders and down to around 95 mph by the Met people at Bomber Command. The estimated true winds coming from the north and the use of the slower wind estimations when calculated to courses to fly, caused the aircraft to drift more and more to the south off track and into the flak defences of towns they should have not flown near \u2013 hence the heavy losses. It really was a case of a war with the elements \u2013 and the elements won.\nCHAPTER TEN\n\nThe Outcome\n\nThe most important factor in the Battle of Berlin was its contribution to the Second Front created by Bomber Command's air attacks on Germany. The defences in Berlin along with the other defences throughout Germany and the occupied countries, took vital guns and fighters away from the Eastern (Russian) Front, which was the main campaign as far as Germany was concerned at that time. With the huge numbers of Russian tanks on that front, the use of the hundreds of German 88 mm guns used as anti-aircraft guns against the RAF and American Air Forces, could have caused untold casualties amongst our Russian allies and decimated its armour.\n\nAlso, under the German dispersal plan, hundreds of private homes in Berlin were factories in miniature. Since the battle began on 18th November 1943, Bomber Command had dropped nearly 45,000 tons of high explosives and incendiary bombs on the City. In thirteen of the sixteen raids, 30,000 tons went down.\n\nWhen the four-month battle came to an end, some 326 factories were left destroyed or damaged, including five priority ones, such as Krupps. The effect of the constant blitz was felt throughout the entire German war production. For instance, the destruction of the electrical engineering plants in Berlin, vital for synthetic oil production. Albert Speer, when interrogated in 1945, stated of this fact: 'There is no doubt!'\n\nThe effect of the German people having to live in this atmosphere of smoke and foul air caused by the severity of the fires was very upsetting and disturbing for their morale. Even in the daytime this was noticeable with the traffic jams in and around the city. The flak defences were under severe criticism and a jibe was made by the people: 'Flak is not a weapon, but an article of faith.'\n\nThe reactions to the bombing offensive on German morale was mentioned by Sir Arthur Harris on 25th February 1944. He stated that from secret sources he had found that the highest Nazi circles were regarding the bombing as something which would assure a German defeat comparatively quickly by producing a collapse of morale as well as of production on the Home Front. The Nazi Propaganda machine under Goebbels, spread the news of the bombing as one of 'apathy' to the German people.\n\n4,000 cookie being loaded into a Mosquito\n\nSiemens Berlins\nHarris had wanted the Americans to join in the battle but this was not to be. Would it have made a diference? We shall never really know but of course, round the clock bombing would obviously have had a considerable effect on the German people and production would have suffered so much more because of this. The American 8th Air Force did, however, contribute to the latter part of the battle with six raids in March 1944, beginning on the 3rd. This raid was foiled by bad weather and only the fighter escort reached the outskirts of Berlin. But when the raids on Berlin ceased by heavy bombers of the RAF, the Americans continued to attack the city right up until March 1945.\n\nThe British contribution to these attacks were taken up by the Mosquitos. They had also made attacks in between the heavy raids during the actual battle and they continued raiding it right through 1944, but it was in 1945 that the full weight of their attacks built up to a maximum. One must remember that the Mosquito could carry more bombs than the American Flying Fortress with its very small bomb bay.\n\nOn one raid on 1\/2nd February 1945, 116 Mosquitos from 8 Group dropped 133.9 tons of bombs on the city. Between 20\/21st February and 27\/28th March 1945, 36 consecutive operations were mounted on Berlin. A message of congratulation was sent for the raid of 1\/2nd February and at the end of all 36 raids, by Sir Charles Portal, Chief of Air Staff. The first message, dated 3rd February, to 8 Group says:\n\nLast night's attack was a fine contribution to the great and growing battle under which the enemy will finally succumb. Please convey my congratulations to all concerned and particularly the ground crews, without whose skilful effort the job could not have been done.\n\nA tribute of sorts was made to the Mosquito boys by the Germans at the end of the war. They said there was no answer to their kind of raid and their attacks were very effective.\n\n*\n\nThe losses in the battle were high, but no higher than Sir Arthur had predicted the previous November. He said it would cost his Command 500 aircraft and 495 had in fact been lost, and this was without the support of the Americans, certainly in the first three months of the battle. The loss percentage to Bomber Command's Main Force was 6% and to the Path Finder Force, 13%. One must also realise that if Berlin had not been attacked during this period there would have been other major targets to go for and losses would probably have been around the same figure. Up to the last raid the casualties were very moderate, especially considering the time of year and the weather conditions.\n\nIn a letter to the Under Secretary of State, dated 10th April 1944, Sir Arthur was commenting on the statements released to the press by the Directorate of Public Relations concerning the activities of Bomber Command. He stated that a lot of publicity had been given to the heavy losses on the Berlin raid of the 24th, and on Nuremburg on 31st March. Also a very successful raid on Frankfurt and notable achievements against Essen and Berlin itself. They had rather given the impression that the month of March as a whole was a failure. He pointed out that March had the second best minelaying figures of the war so far and included much outstanding and accurate work on factories and marshalling yards in occupied territory \u2014 mainly France. He ended by saying that at the end of March, all previous records in sorties and bomb tonnage had been greatly exceeded despite unfavourable weather and fierce enemy opposition and at the lowest rate of casualties experienced during the previous thirteen months.\n\n*\n\nA seventeenth raid was arranged for 21st June 1944 with a force of up to 2,000 heavy bombers which would have included 700 from Bomber Command. It was hoped that 6,500 tons of bombs might be dropped of which the RAF would drop 4,000 tons. A fighter escort from the Americans would have been provided as it was to be a daylight attack. It came at a time when London was being subjected to VI attacks from the Continent, just days following the invasion of Europe.\n\nIn a letter to the Prime Minister on 20th June, Portal ended his outline of the proposed raid saying it was to be an experiment of the US Air Force and Bomber Command working together in daylight, and that it would in any event be a pretty good answer to the German VI attacks. The PM replied, 'I entirely agree.'\n\nLancaster DV 372-F crew and groundcrew\n\nDV 372-F today \u2013 IWM\nUp to this time a 1,000 flying bombs had been launched on London and only three days before a flying bomb had made a direct hit on the Guard's Chapel in Birdcage Walk \u2013 a stone's throw from Buckingham Palace - and killed or injured over 200 people.\n\nHowever, this raid was cancelled on the 21st, on the basis that only 600 US bombers would be able to attack instead of 1,800. The Americans had decided to split their force and use only 600 on Berlin, and the remainder on other targets. Also, the original plan was for not less than 300 escort fighters at any one time but the plan showed this liable to a reduction of around 150 or even less. The Americans did however make the attack with the 600 bombers and only Mosquito aircraft of the RAF attacked Berlin that night.\n\nIt was a difficult period with so many targets needing attention from the heavy bombers and the continued threat of rockets and flying bombs. With Allied troops having now landed in Normandy and in constant need of direct or indirect support if their offensive was to succeed, the air forces had many things to contend with.\n\n*\n\nOne aircraft that took part in the raids on Berlin, completing six of the sixteen operations, was Lancaster S for Sugar (R5868). She had started her operational period on 8\/9th July 1942 as Q for Queenie (W5868), with 83 Squadron at Scampton and completed some 70 ops before going to 467 Squadron at Bottesford, when she became 'Sugar'. Here she flew some ten ops before 467 moved to Waddington, from where this grand old lady took part in the first raid of the battle, on 18\/19th November. She went on to complete a further 60 ops, ending on 23rd April 1945, against Flensburg. During her time with 83 its pilot on many occasions was Squadron Leader (later Wing Commander) R.L. Hilton DFC and bar, who was later to be killed in the Battle of Berlin. After the war Sugar became a 'Gate Guardian' at RAF Scampton for many years, but in 1972 was moved to the RAF Museum at Hendon where she can be seen today in all her splendour in the Bomber Command Museum, still wearing the wartime slogan, 'No Enemy Plane Will Fly Over Reich Territory, signed, Hermann G\u00f6ring.' On each of its engines is the name of one of the many pilots who flew it during its operational work. Former members of 467 paid a visit to Sugar in May 1975.\n\nAnother living memory of the battle is the fuselage of another Lancaster, also of 467 Squadron \u2013 DV372 'F'. It took part in some 49 operations between November 1943 and June 1944, with 467, including fourteen on Berlin. Its first op was 18\/19th November to Berlin and its last against Orl\u00e9ans on 10\/11 June 1944. It was struck off the RAF's charge in October 1945. Since 1946, the fuselage of this Lancaster, has been housed in the Imperial War Museum in London, still in its wartime markings of the goofy-figure from Brer Rabbit, with the words 'Old Fred' beneath it and its 49 trips marked on its side.\n\n*\n\nIt is not always possible to determine to the letter the ultimate success of a battle. One certainly can't in this case, judge its contribution to the war as a whole, but without doubt it kept many men, guns and fighters pinned down in the defence of Berlin, which otherwise would have been used on the Russian front and later in Normandy. These men, guns and aircraft could have made a vital difference and changed the course of history.\n\nAt the end of the war damage assessment for Berlin revealed that 6,427 acres of the city had been devastated. Of this 750 to 1,000 acres is credited to the American 8th Air Force. As no further major attacks were made on the city after March 1944, it is certain that the major portion of 5,427 acres of devastation must have been achieved by Bomber Command during the Battle. This was achieved in 9,112 sorties plus 162 Pathfinder Mosquitos \u2013 90% of whom actually bombed the City. It was a definite battle that Harris wanted to fight, but Bomber Command during the period flew a total of over 26,000 sorties against Germany, so Berlin only took up around a third of his effort. Harris had hoped that devastating Berlin and its war industry would herald the final collapse of Germany. If there had been a combined RAF\/USAAF assault it might have done, though probably it would have not caused a surrender, but merely written off the German capital. To be fair to Harris, he only promised that the destruction of Berlin would cost Germany the war, rather than the immediate collapse of the Nazi regime and with it the end of the war. What can no longer be in doubt is that his Battle against Berlin went a long way to costing Germany the war.\n\nWinston Churchill and daughter, Berlin 1945\n\nRemains of Berlin\nThe damage all but stopped production of war materials from the capital. The Armaments Minister, Albert Speer, was gradually able to bring production up to the level achieved before the bombing but as Speer himself stated, to catch up on lost production was not enough. Production of the essential needs of her Army, Navy and Air Force was far below what was desired. Any halt in this production had to cut deep into the German war machine. From that point of view alone, the Battle of Berlin was certainly no failure.\n\nGeneralfeldmarschall Erhard Milch, the Armaments Chief of the Luftwaffe, told his staff officers on 23rd February 1944:\n\nEveryone should pay a visit to Berlin. It would then be realised that experience such as we have undergone in the last few months cannot be endured indefinitely. That is impossible. When the big cities have been demolished it will be the turn of the smaller ones.\n\nBerlin War Cermetery\n\n(Left) Air Vice Marshal Don Bennett,\n\n(right) G\/Capt Hamish Mahaddie 1983\n\nLes Bartlett in Berlin\n\nBomber Command Association \u2013 1983\nA Tribute\n\n4th May 1984\n\nI am writing this in a free country, without fear thanks to Allied airman and all the others, fighting for a free world.\n\nI am only thirty one years old so I am an 'After the war-kid', but I and most people of my generation do realise the great things you did for us. Thanks!\n\nEric Le\u00ffenaur, Dronten, Holland.\n\n'View from the Cockpit' by Alf Huberman\nAppendices\n\nThe Battle of Berlin\n\nThe Battle of Berlin\n\nThe following information is drawn from operational records on file at the Public Record Office, Kew, Commonwealth War Graves, Air Historical Branch\n\nMissing Aircraft 18th\/19th November 1943\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n9 Sqdn:- Lane ED 871-Z\n\non loan from 467: Crashed Bornicke, Germany.\n\nSgt Harris Buried in Berlin.\n\nCollided with another Lancaster  | Crew\n\nP-0F.J.Lees POW Stalag L1 (Barth)\n\nSgt N. Hunn POW Stalag III\n\nSgt H. Fisher POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt Drake POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt D.T. Cordon POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt S. Hand Killed\n\nSgt L. N. Harris Killed\n\n---|---\n\n9 Sqdn: Lane DV 284-G\n\nCrashed west of Burgwurben, Germany. All the\n\ncrew buried in Berlin.\n\nHit by flak at 21.55 | PO G.A. Graham RCAF Killed\n\nF\/S J.G.Mc Comb Killed\n\nSgt W.G. Stratham Killed\n\nF\/O D. McDonald Killed\n\nSgt R .M.C. Mclnness Killed\n\nSgt A.F. Williamson RAAF Killed\n\nF\/S H.F. Altus RAAF Killed\n\nSgt K. Mellor Killed\n\n57 Sqdn: Lane JB 418-1\n\nCrashed Barnsdorf, Germany. Those killed have no known grave but are recorded on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/LtA.F. Gobbie POW Stalag L1 (Barth)\n\nSgt J.A. Hemming POW Stalag LIII (Sagan)\n\nF\/O A.E.W. Gardner DFC Killed\n\nF\/S R.W. Newcoms Killed\n\nF\/O T. Scott POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt T. Pool POW StalaglVB\n\nF\/S F.J. Lamble POW Stalag IVB\n\n---|---\n\n97 Sqdn: Lane JB 367-S\n\nCrashed Ch\u00e2teau at Voort, Belgium. is now buried in Heverlee War Cemetery, Leuven, Belgium.\n\nHit by flak over Acchen.  | F\/Sgt A.A. Johnson DFM RNZAF Killed Age 27\n\nF\/Lt A.P..W Pepper DFC Evaded\n\nP\/O F.T. Williams DFC Evaded\n\nF\/S J.J. Sansam POW Stalag IVB\n\nF\/S T Hesselden Evaded\n\nF\/S C.J. Billows Evaded\n\nF\/S W. Jackson POW Stalag 4B\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc JB 991-H\n\nCrashed Salzwedel, Germany.  | F\/S R.B. Doughty RCAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt H.N. Loton POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt R.E.. McPherson RCAF POW Stalag VB Heydekruge) later F\/Sgt\n\nSgt W.G. Gray RCAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nJ.H. Kerr POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt D.S.G. Wynbergen POW\n\nSgt F.R. Marsh POW\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc DS 370-K2\n\nCrashed Schoonebeek, Holland. All the crew buried in Schoonebeek, Drenthe, Holland.\n\nF\/O McManus hailed from Dublin, Ireland. | F\/O C.P. McManus Killed age 25\n\nSgt K. Jones Killed\n\nF\/O G.D. Spyers Killed\n\nSgt A.E. Rosen Killed\n\nF\/O B.K. Petyt Killed\n\nF\/S G.H. Gittins DFM Killed\n\nSgt C.H. Downs Killed\n\nWO II G.P. Herman RCAF Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc DS 680-L\n\nAll the crew buried in Heverlee War Cemetery, Leuven, Belgium.\n\nShot down by a nightfighter flown by Oblt Eckart\n\nWilhelm von Bonin of II\/NJG1\n\ncrashed at Hermee (Liege)  | Crew\n\nSgt N. MacKay Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F.B. Collenet Killed\n\nP\/O M.L. Richardson RCAF Killed\n\nWO II S.A. Anderson RCAF Killed\n\nSgt G.V. Sharrat Killed\n\nSgt H.G. Bannister Killed\n\nP\/O N.R.Shaw Killed\n\n---|---\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 363-K\n\nCrashed Doberitz\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | W\/C J.H. White DFC Killed age 28\n\nF\/Lt R. Robers DFC Killed\n\nP\/O M.J.E. Stonely DFM Killed\n\nP\/O W. Wilkinson DFC Killed\n\nP\/O J.C. Otter DFC Killed\n\nF\/Lt E.M. Thompson DFC Killed\n\nP\/O D.M.C Silverman DFM Killed\n\n207 Sqdn: Lanc DV 361-V\n\nSgt E.H. Shimeild, flying with P\/O W.H. Baker, was in collision with another Lanc over Berlin. He fell to his death and is now buried in the Hamburg War Cemetery.  | Sgt E.H. Shimeild Killed\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc DV 341-C2\n\nCrashed Zornigall, Germany. All the crew buried in Berlin.  | F\/Sgt J.G. Gibson RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.F.J. Manning RAAF Killed\n\nSgt D.O. Jones Killed\n\nF\/S J.D. Malcolm RAAF Killed\n\nSgt R.K. Megit RAAF Killed\n\nF\/O C.G. Slennett RAAF Killed\n\nP\/O H.S. Spain Killed\n\n22nd\/23rd November 1943\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc EE 119-N\n\nThe crew are buried in the Rheinburg Cemetery.  | Crew\n\nW\/O S.G. Dorrell Killed later P\/O\n\nSgt G. Hawgood Killed\n\nSgt F.E. Deavin Killed\n\nW\/O D. Gadson Killed later P\/O\n\nF\/S C.L. Hartman RCAF Killed\n\nSgt J.W. Harvey Killed\n\nSgt I.A. Hastings RAAF Killed later F\/Sgt\n\n---|---\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc JB 115-G\n\nCrashed near Hanover, Germany. Crew buried in Hanover.  | S\/L H.M. Nesbitt Killed\n\nF\/Lt J. Perfect DFC Killed\n\nF\/S FL. Chapman Killed\n\nF\/S W.M. Wilson Killed\n\nF\/Lt A. Seymour MID Killed\n\nF\/Lt G.J.B. Neil Killed\n\nF\/O A. Barker Killed\n\n10 Sqdn: Halifax JD 146-V\n\nThe crew have no known grave, but are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Lt D.S. Pont Killed\n\nSgt A. Buchan Killed\n\nSgt J. McMillan Killed\n\nSgt K. Lance Killed\n\nSgt D. McKensie Killed\n\nSgt T.H.R. McKeag Killed\n\nF\/O M.F. Baxter Killed\n\n10 Sqdn: Halifax JD 367-Z\n\nThe crew are buried in the Reichswald War Cemetery.  | F\/O T. Hall Killed\n\nSgt G.L. Skelton Killed\n\nSgt S.P. Rogers Killed\n\nSgt C.J. Ashton Killed\n\nSgt H.L. Anderson Killed\n\nSgt W.R. Zastrow Killed\n\nSgt J.R. Colebrook Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n49 Sqdn: Lanc JB 368-G\n\nThe crew have no known grave, but are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | Crew\n\nF\/O CM. Cottingham RCAF Killed\n\nSgt A.J. Mathieson Killed\n\nF\/O R.B. Richard RCAF Killed\n\nSgt G. Tabenor Killed\n\nF\/S C.E. Byers RCAF Killed\n\nF\/O MW. Wright Killed\n\nSgt G.F.A.J.. Falck Killed\n\nF\/O G.C. Bailey RCAF Killed\n\n---|---\n\n50 Sqdn: Lanc DV 366-R\n\nThe crew are all buried in the Berlin War Cemetery.  | W\/O J.H. Saxton Killed\n\nSgt P.H. Fryer Killed\n\nF\/S J.H.Jowett Killed\n\nSgt J.C.E. Rees Killed\n\nF\/S W.E. Coates Killed\n\nF\/S J.J. Zunti Killed\n\nSgt C. Watson Killed\n\n51 Sqdn: Halifax TR 726-B\n\nCrashed Grunewald, Germany. Crew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | W\/C C.L.Y. Wright Killed age 29\n\nSgt A.A. Brandon Killed\n\nSgt S. Grognet POW\n\nP\/O W. Martin POW Stalag Ll\n\nSgt A. Spurr Killed\n\nSgt R. Thorn Killed\n\nSgs W.E. Pyne Killed\n\n51 Sqdn: Halifax LW 286-H\n\nCrashed at sea. Crew names on the Runneymede Memorial.  | P\/O H.F. Farley Killed\n\nF\/O F.H. Moynihan Killed\n\nF\/O H. Hetterley Killed\n\nSgt A. Springett Killed\n\nSgt S.H. Godfrey Killed\n\nSgt F. Dyer Killed\n\nSgt J.E. Whitehead Killed\n\n75 Sqdn: Stirling U 453-K\n\nThe crew are buried in the Rheinburg War Cemetery.  | F\/Sgt K.R. Dingle Killed\n\nF\/O J. Brothwell Killed\n\nF\/S J. Margetts Killed\n\nSgt E.R. Whittington Killed\n\nSgt I.G. Holbrook Killed\n\nSgt V.S. Hughes Killed\n\nSgt A.G. Bernard Killed\n\n75 Sqdn: Stirling EF 148-R\n\nThe crew are buried in the Reichswald War Cemetery.  | F\/S J.C. Turner Killed\n\nP\/O S. MeKensie Killed\n\nP\/O W.G. Pagett Killed\n\nF\/S J.L. Cowie Killed\n\nSgt G.J. Blackman Killed\n\nSgt R. Mc. More Killed\n\nSgt T. McGloin Killed\n\n77 Sqdn: Halifax LW 290-IA\n\nCrashed at Kloster Zimma. Crew buried in Berlin. | F\/S J.A. Smart RCAF Killed later WOII\n\nSgt W. Eaton Killed\n\nSgt J. Robertson Killed\n\nF\/S W.E. Ackland Killed\n\nF\/S E.A. Davies Killed\n\nSgs L.L. Green Killed\n\nSgt W. Allen Killed\n\n83 Sqdn: Lanc JB 424-B\n\nThe crew are buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed in the Schiller Park, Berlin.  | P\/O R. Henderson DFM Killed\n\nSgt J.P. MeAdam Killed\n\nF\/S H.E.M. Dulieu Killed\n\nSgt F.J. Fay Killed\n\nF\/S J. Prendergast Killed\n\nSgt D.M. Rutter Killed\n\nSgt T. Cubitt Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 238-A\n\nCrashed near Osnabruck. Those killed buried in Reichswald War Cemetery, Germany.  | Crew\n\nF\/O E.F. McEgan RAAF Killed age 21\n\nP\/O PA. Spencer POW Stalag LI\n\nF\/O J.V. Tyler Killed\n\nSgt J.J.Johnson POW\n\nSgt W.S. Gibb POW Stalag LIII\n\nW\/O J.R.A. Burke DFM RAAF POW\n\nF\/S F.A. Williams RCAF Killed\n\n---|---\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 227-J\n\nThe crew have no known grave, but are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Lt J.F. Munro RCAF DFC Killed\n\nF\/S W.G. WaIler Killed\n\nF\/Lt A.J.W Silk DFM Killed\n\nF\/Lt F.P. Burbridge DFC Killed\n\nF\/S J.N. Underwood Killed\n\nF\/S R.S. Bennett DFM Killed\n\nW\/O W. Hill DFM RCAF Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc DS 782-K\n\nThe crew have no known grave, but are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | Sgt J. Harris Killed\n\nSgt M. Bools Killed\n\nSgt A. Wilson Killed\n\nP\/O S.M. Smith RCAF Killed\n\nF\/S D.C. Morley RAAF Killed\n\nSgt H.A.R Hurn Killed\n\nSgt D.H. Hughes Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc DS 764-S\n\nSgt Smith found in the aircraft.  | Sgt H. Smith Killed\n\nSgt F.C. Downs POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt C. Deakin POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt R. Strong POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt J.H. Ferguson RCAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt T.H. Schotchmer RCAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt E. Miller POW Stalag IVB\n\n115 Sqn: Lanc JB 238-A\n\nThose killed buried in the Reichswald War Cemetery\n\nCrashed Achmer | P\/O E.F McEgan RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F.A Williams RAAF Killed\n\nP\/O P.A.Spencer POW Stalag L1\n\nF\/O J.V.Tyler Killed\n\nSgt J.J.Johnson Stalag Wistritz Tephlitz\n\nSgt W.S.Gibb Stalag LIII\n\nWO1 J.R.A.Burke RCAF Stalag IVB\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 694\n\nCrashed in the Doeberiw Area; the crew have no known grave but are on the Runneymede Memorial.\n\nCrew buried 7\/12\/1943 but now no trace of graves.  | F\/Sgt T.G. Stephens DFM Killed\n\nSgt M.N. William Killed\n\nSgt T. Stocks DFM Killed\n\nSgt S.J. Ryan Killed\n\nSgt H. Truscott Killed\n\nSgt F. Phelan Killed\n\nSgt L. Bettaney Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 304-Z\n\nThe crew have no known grave, but on the b Runneymede Memorial. | S\/L D.C. Anset DFC Killed\n\nF\/Lt J.T. Smith DFC Killed\n\nF\/Lt W.A.G. Clark Killed\n\nSgt J. Walker Killed\n\nP\/O G.J.H. Stokes Killed\n\nF\/S R.O. Buckle Killed\n\nW\/O J.A.C. Lovis DFC Killed\n\n158 Sqdn: Halifax HR 977-A\n\nCrashed at Lingen. Crew buried in the Reichswald War Cemtery, Germany.  | P\/O J. Wood-Brown Killed\n\nP\/O L.A. Smith Killed\n\nSgt J.M. Phillips Killed\n\nSgt J.T. Sykes Killed\n\nSgt K. Williams POW\n\nSgt W.J. Middleton Killed\n\nSgt S.T. Hazel Killed\n\n---|---\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n214 Sqdn: Stirling EF 445-J\n\nCrashed at Lingen. Both are on the Runneymede\n\nMemorial; the remainder of the crew were saved.  | Crew\n\nSgt W. Sweeney Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.A. Atkinson Killed\n\n218 Sqdn: Stirling EF 180\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial.  | S\/L G.W. Prior DFC Killed\n\nSgt E.J. Lovell Killed\n\nSgt G.A. Wright Killed\n\nSgt F.C. Stoney Killed\n\nW\/O H.J. Hansell Killed\n\nSgt W.A.J. Baldwin Killed\n\nSgt J.A. Gartland Killed\n\n419 Sqdn: Halifax LW 231-F\n\nAn all-Canadian crew; Hunter was on his fourth trip and Lisage his 25th - he had filled in on Hunter's crew because of illness. Buried at Diever,\n\nHolland.  | Sgt W.L. Hunter Killed\n\nF\/O R.J. Newman Killed\n\nSgt M.A. McKellar Killed\n\nSgt B.A. Howitson Killed\n\nSgt W.B. Jones Killed\n\nSgt C.H. May Killed\n\nF\/S J.A. Lisage Killed\n\n428 Sqdn: Halifax LK 906-D\n\nCrashed Scherenbostel, Germany. Crew buried in Hannover.  | Sgt J.M. Jacobs Killed\n\nSgs W.R. Boucher Killed\n\nSgt A.B. Radhourne Killed\n\nSgt A. Ackland Killed\n\nSgt W.D. Bracken Killed\n\nSgt M.F. Donaldson Killed\n\nSgt G. Kemp Killed\n\n434 Sqdn: Halifax LK 702-F\n\nThe crew have no known grave, but are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/S B. Tedford Killed\n\nP\/O I. Armitage Killed\n\nSgt J.G. Tomlinson Killed\n\nSgt K. Plummer Killed\n\nSgt J.R. Wilson Killed\n\nP\/O J.R. Mayo Killed\n\nSgt N. Speight Killed\n\n434 Sqdn: Halifax LK 953-C\n\nThose killed buried Sage, Oldengerg, Germany.  | F\/O R. Savage POW Stalag LI\n\nF\/O J.A. Higgins POW Stalag LI\n\nP\/O J.E. WheellerPOWStalagLI\n\nSgt G. Woodruffe POW\n\nP\/O R.F. McGregor RCAF Killed\n\nSgt G.L. MacKay RCAF Killed\n\nSgt J.R. Molesworth Killed\n\n622 Sqdn: Stirling FE 150-F\n\nThe crew's seventh trip.  | F\/Lt K.H. Denham POW Stalag LI\n\nF\/O D.E. Woodward POW Stalag LI\n\nSgt E.Johnson POW Stalag LI\n\nSgt W. Hoggan POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/S G.E. Bartholmew POW Stalag LVI\n\nF\/O J. Carter POW Stalag LI\n\nSgt A. Littlewood POW Stalag LIII\n\nAircraft crashed in United Kingdom\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n77 Sqdn: Halifax 264-K\n\nCollided with an aircraft of 102 on return at\n\nBarmby Moor, Pocklington; time 2355; crew killed  | Crew\n\nPilot: F\/S C.C. Linehan.\n\nRemainder of crew\n\nSgt A.D West, F\/S E.B. Gosden, Sgt S. Tweddle,\n\nSgt S. Elder, Sgt J.L. Bennett, Sgt W.G. Thomson.\n\n---|---\n\n101Sqn: Lancaster DV 291-V\n\nCrashed on Take Off Ludford Magnor  | Pilot: P\/O E. Wallace\n\nRemainder of crew\n\nSgt L Crooks. Sgt P.L. Cairns, Sgt R Grundy,\n\nSgt L Condon, Sgt Dunbon, Sgt Powney, P\/O C Clothier\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n102 Sqdn: Halifax LW 333-K\n\nCollided with an aircraft of 77 on return both crews were killed  | Crew\n\nPilot: P\/OW Hughes.\n\nRamainder of the crew\n\nsgtw.W. Cottle, Sgt R.B. Bainbndge, F\/S D.\n\nWellington, Sgt J. Boxall, Sgt F.T. Dunn, Sgt R.A.\n\nDabnor.\n\n---|---\n\n166 Sqn: Lan W4966-C2\n\nHit by flak over target area and over Hannover on return also again at the Dutch Coast crashlanded at Bradwell Bay airfield 0035. On injuries to the crew. | Pilot : Sgt W.V. Butler.\n\nRemainder of the crew\n\nSgt R.E.W Cheeseman, Sgt J.W.Thomas, Sgt J.\n\nHolden, Sgt F.C.Colhns, Sgt Mclntyre, Sgt\n\nJ.M.Preston\n\n467 Sqn: Lancaster L7574\n\nCrashed on Take Off Waddington  | Pilot: Sgt C C Schombery RAAF\n\nRemainder of crew\n\nSgt H Steels, F\/Sgt L. R. Seton RAAF, Sgt C.\n\nGifford RAAF, F\/Sgt B.W.Fitzgerald, Sgt\n\nH.A.Brown RAAF, P\/O L.J. Calderwood RAAF\n\n23rd\/24th November 1943\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n7 Sqdn: Lane JA 932-M\n\nCrashed at Oudeschild on the island of Texel. Crew\n\nburied in Denburg Cemetery, Holland.\n\nHit by flak. | Crew\n\nF\/Sgt G.W. Tindle RNAF Killed age 23\n\nSgt C.H. Hollingsworth Killed\n\nSgt J.H. Pepper Killed\n\nSgt A.D. West Killed\n\nSgt J. Forrest Killed\n\nSgt G.W. Smith Killed\n\nSgt F.W. Harris Killed\n\n---|---\n\n7 Sqdn: Lane JB 480-N\n\nThe crew have no known grave, but are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Sgt F.R. Page Killed\n\nF\/Lt J. Bannon Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.J. Allum DFM Killed\n\nSgt A.J. Stanton Killed\n\nSgt E.H. Blanks Killed\n\nSgt W.J. Davies Killed\n\nSgt W.N. Kinsey Killed\n\n12 Sqdn: Lane JB 537-N\n\nThe crew are buried in the Reichswald War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed at Vrees.  | F\/O C.E Jones Killed\n\nF\/Lt G. Soulsby Killed\n\nSgt S. Knight Killed\n\nF\/Sgt T.W. Boynton Killed\n\nSgt B.H. Farndale Killed\n\nSgt W. Hazeldine Killed\n\nSgt H.E. Petersen RCAF Killed later F\/Sgt\n\n44 Sqdn: Lane DV 329-W\n\nCrashed Rastdorf Crew buried Reichswald War Cemetery, Germany.  | F\/Lt C.E. Hill Killed\n\nP\/O E.G. Wright Killed\n\nP\/O J. Marsden Killed\n\nF\/O C.W. Nunn Killed\n\nF\/Sgt T.W. Myerscough Killed\n\nSgt P.B. Kiewan POW Stalag 4B\n\nSgt R. Ledsham Killed\n\n44 Sqdn: Lane LM 373-V\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | P\/O W. Buckel Killed age 19\n\nSgt E. Ambrose Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Beebe Killed\n\nSgt P. Middleton Lees Killed\n\nSgt G.J. O'Brian Killed\n\ngt J. Taylor Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M.H. Hardy RAAF Killed\n\nSgt P.M. Lees Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n44 Sqdn: Lanc LM 374-S\n\nThe crew have no known grave, but are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | Crew\n\nP\/O C.K. Hanscomb Killed\n\nSgt C.C. Langley Killed\n\nP\/O H.J. Whitticks Killed\n\nSgt A. Reeves Killed\n\nF\/O C.S. Laxton Killed\n\nSgt A.C..M. Seaman Killed\n\nSgt R.C. Strickland RCAF Killed\n\n---|---\n\n83 Sqdn: Lanc JB 284-C\n\nThe crew are buried in Berlin.\n\nHit by flak crashed in the target area.  | W\/C R. Hilton DSO DFC Killed\n\nSgt F.E. Burton-Burgess Killed\n\nF\/Sgt S.J. Davis Killed\n\nF\/O G. Ainsworth Killed\n\nS\/L A.F. Chisholm DEC Killed\n\nSgt B.G. Tucker DFM Killed\n\nF\/Lt J.P. Crebbin DFC Killed\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 218-Y\n\nThose killed are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Sgt J.A. Penny POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt R.T. Fathers Killed\n\nSgt J. Graham Killed\n\nSgt R.A. Campbell Killed\n\nSgt J.R. Cowan Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.S. Mortham Killed\n\nF\/Sgt P.W. Dries RCAF Killed\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc JB 564\n\nThose killed are on the Runneymede Memorial.\n\nAbandon aircraft over target area and it came down into a river or lake near Berlin.  | WO S.C. Leman POW\n\nSgt L.F. Daniels POW Stalag IVB\n\nP\/O J.R. Lake POW Stalag LI\n\nF\/Sgt W.E Jefferies RCAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt F.A. Fuller Killed\n\nSgt W.E. Lloyd Killed\n\nSgt A.G. Chandler Killed\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc JB 528-Q\n\nCrashed at Werder-Havel, Germany. Those killed buried in Berlin.  | F\/O J.D. Johnston Killed\n\nSgt R. Crossley POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/O R.H. Kerr RCAF Killed\n\nSgt A.H. Stanton POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/O R.T. Jones POW Stalag L1\n\nSgt D. Clark Killed\n\nSgt J.B. Reilly Killed\n\n139 Sqdn: Mosquito DZ 614\n\nCrashed at Borkheide through flak over Berlin.\n\nP\/O Booker buried in Berlin.  | F\/Lt A.R. Head DFC POW Stalag LIII\n\nP\/O G.R. Brooker RAAF Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 223-M  | P\/O W.H. Rose RAAF DFC Killed age 22\n\nF\/Lt C.V. Harvey DFC MID Killed\n\nF\/O E.R. Mitchell DFM Killed\n\nF\/Sgt King, F\/O McDonald, F\/Lt Stewart buried in Berlin. Remainder names on the Runneymede Memorial.  | P\/O W. Anderson DFC Killed\n\nP\/O M.M. Patrick RAAF DFC Killed\n\nF\/O R.H. McDonald RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Lt H.W.J. Stewart RCAF DFC Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F P King Killed\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc JA 865-A\n\nThose killed are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | W\/O E.R. Grove POW Stalag III\n\nSgt A. Rossi POW Stalag IVB\n\nE\/Sgt E.W.D. Hunt RNZAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt Iverson buried in Berlin remainder name on the Runneymede Memorial.\n\nCrashed in the Leluin\/Emstal area.\n\nSgt Davies did survive descent. | Sgt A.C. Smith POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt S.G. Paterson POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt J.F.M. Davies Killed\n\nSgt J.E.W. Iverson Killed\n\n207 Sqdn: Lanc W 4959-S\n\nThe crew has no known grave, but are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Lt D.E. Reay Killed\n\nSgt C. Burton Killed\n\nF \/Sgt A.J.C. Williams Killed\n\nSgt C. O'Connor Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft  | Crew\n\nP\/O R.E. Mair Killed\n\nSgt J. Richardson Killed\n\nSgt L.J. Lewis Killed\n\n---|---\n\n405 Sqdn: Lanc JA 939-C\n\nCrashed Ter Apel Holland in Friesland Province.\n\nThose killed buried Vlagtwedde, Grongien, Holland.  | F\/Lt H. Le Froy RCAF DFC Killed\n\nF\/Lt C.W. Cole DFC POW Stalag Ll\n\nF\/O W.J. Lawrence RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Lt R.A. Gardiner RCAF DFC Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.G. O Dell RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.G.S. Kavanugh RCAF Killed\n\nP\/O P J Mc Scott Killed\n\n405 Sqdn: Lanc JB 182-O\n\nP\/O Scott is buried at Vlagtwedde Gen Cemetery,\n\nGroningen, Holland. The remainder of the crew are recorded on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/O H.T. Clark RCAF Killed\n\nP\/O E.J.B. Moss Killed\n\nSgt R.N.P Critchlow Killed\n\nSgt A.P. Hateley Killed\n\nSgt W.C. Higgs Killed\n\nSgt J.E. Goss Killed\n\n405 Sqdn: Lanc LL 623-J\n\nThe crew has no known grave, but are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/O D.M. Bell Killed\n\nF\/O R.A. Quinney Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.G. Williams Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H. Smith Killed\n\nSgt L.G. Hanton RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.O. Hiscock Killed\n\nSgt R.G.B. Shea Killed\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc ED 664-CJ2\n\nThose killed are buried in the Reichswald War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed near Modlen Bahonof  | F\/Sgt M.J. Freeman RAAF Killed age 28\n\nF\/Sgt A.F. Ashley POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt P.A.F. Liddle POW Stalag IVB\n\nE\/Sgt C.R. Kingsmill RAAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt D.A. Jackson POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt D.B. Aberle Killed\n\nSgt T. Elliott Killed\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc W 4162-A2\n\nThose killed are buried in Berlin.\n\nExploded near Luben after a nightfighter attack.  | F\/Sgt R. Brown RAAF Killed age 23\n\nF\/Sgt R.M. Henderson RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt D. Louthean RAAF Killed\n\nSgt G.S. Camm Killed\n\nSgt G. White Killed\n\nP\/O D.A. Crookston RAAF POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt J.W. Muntz RAAF Killed\n\n630 Sqdn: Lanc JB 135-L\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial.  | P\/O J. Howe Killed\n\nF\/Sgt N.J.Y. Goulding Killed\n\nF\/O D.E. Caudrey Killed\n\nP\/O A.J. Matthews Killed\n\nSgt T.N. Blanc Killed\n\nSgt R. Inglis Killed\n\nSgt J.G. Smith Killed\n\n630 Sqdn: Lanc JB 236-0\n\nCrashed on the bombing range at Fassberg. Those killed buried in the Hannover War Cemetery.  | F\/Lt F.L. Perrers RNZAF Killed age 30\n\nSgt C.H. Pell Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Clapperton Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.F. White Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.B. Mutum POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt L.H. Cooper Killed\n\nF\/Sgt E.C. Crowe POW\n\nAircraft which crashed on returning from Berlin\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n7 Sqn: Lan JA 971-J2  | Crew\n\nF\/O P.K.B Williams\n\n---|---\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\nHit by flak over target, elevator blown away five of the crew bales out and pilot and naviator baled out later about 20 miles north of UK airfield.  | Crew\n\nSgt N.B.Sefton\n\nW\/O J.M. Alexander\n\nSgt G. Stainforth\n\nF\/Sgt A.Frewin\n\nSgt L.G. Glaus\n\nSgt F.W.Harris\n\n9 Sqdn: Lanc DV 327-N\n\nOn making a turn to port for second approach at height of 500 feet, the aircraft made a shallow dive to starboard, did not respond to the controls and crashed landed near Bardney. The crew were unhurt.  | P\/O G. Ward\n\nSgt J. Sutton\n\nSgt F. Keene\n\nSgt G.L. James\n\nSgt G.E.K. Bedwell\n\nSgt N.F. Dixon\n\nSgt W.L. Doran RCAF\n\n9 Sqdn: Lanc ED 656-V\n\nCrashed at 2345 ten miles NE of Bardney at Ludford Magna, Sgt Casey and taken to RAF Hospital Rauceby.  | P\/O N.J. Robinson Killed B Derrinton, Ireland\n\nF\/O C.G. Hinton Killed B Cheltenham, Glos\n\nF\/O R.G. Taylor Killed Cambridge City Cem\n\nF\/Sgt T.R. Davis Killed Withernsea, Yorks\n\nF\/Sgt T.B.J. Pitman Killed B Stanford Orcas,Dorset\n\nSgt W.E.Jones Killed B Birkenhead, Cheshire\n\nF\/Sgt L.E. Mitchell Injured\n\nSgt J. Casey Injured\n\n12 Sqn: Lanc JB 465-V\n\nCrashed on take off at Wickenby.  | Sgt D.C.H. Maxwell\n\nSgt P.H. Lambert\n\nSgt Harrison\n\nP\/O C.W. Kruger RCAF\n\nSgt Wilcock\n\nSgt F.W. Peppeiatt\n\nSgt W.F.H Smedmore\n\n49 Sqdn: Lanc JB 229-S\n\nCrashed on the beach at Chapel St Leonard's, Skegness.  | F\/O D.G. Turner Unhurt\n\nSgt J.K. Finlayson Injured\n\nSgt J.N. Hughes Injured\n\nSgt L.H Nightingale Injured\n\nSgt J.N. Bennett Injured\n\nF\/O W. Pearce Injured\n\nSgt T.D. Horne Unhurt\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 293\n\nCrashed at Bercham Newton at 2322 (Manor Farm, Harpley).  | F\/Sgt G.W. Fordyce RCAF Killed\n\nB Cambridge City Cem\n\nSgt L.J. Collins Injured\n\nF\/Sgt A.E. Egan Injured\n\nSgt G. Johnson Killed B Leeds(Arnley) Cem\n\nSgt R. Harries Injured\n\nSgt R.M. Hodges Killed B Cambridge City Cem\n\nF\/Sgt J.S. Minogue Injured\n\n426 Sqdn: Lanc LL 629-G\n\nCrashed into rising ground at High Mowthorpe Farm nr Malton, Yorks after being hit by flak over Berlin, causing damage to one engine; it returned on three engines.\n\nHit high ground Marthorpe, Yorks.  | P\/O D.R. De Bloeme Injured\n\nF\/Lt J.B. Cleveland Unhurt\n\nSgt W.H. McGarrigan Unhurt\n\nF\/O G.D. Huffman RCAF Killed\n\nB Harrogate Cemetery\n\nSgt F.C. Borst Injured\n\nF\/Sgt W.G. Martin Injured\n\nF\/Sgt CD. Manders RCAF Killed\n\nB Harrogate City Cem\n\n26th\/27th November 1943\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc JB 538-G\n\nP\/O Leonard buried in the Durnbach War Cemetery, Germany.  | Crew\n\nW\/C. F.W. Hilton POW Stalag LI\n\nSgt J.C. Naylor POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt J. Lamb POW Stalag III\n\n---|---\n\nSquadron and Aircraft  | Crew\n\nSgt D. Spence POW\n\nSgt C. Dunmall POW Stalag 4B\n\nF\/Sgt C.H. Moody POW\n\nP\/O A.M. Leonard Killed\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc JB 303-F\n\nCrashed north of Frankfurt. Those killed buried in Hannover.\n\nAttacked by a nightfighter.\n\nCrashed at Winkels & Mergerskirchen  | F\/O G.A. Beaumont Killed\n\nF\/Sgt D. Wilson Killed\n\nSgt D. Ashworth Killed\n\nSgt W.A. Meek Killed\n\nP\/O A.E. Ansfield POW Stalag 1\n\nSgt P.J. Palmer Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.C.Turner RNZAF POW Stalag 4B\n\n49 Sqdn: Lanc JB 362-D\n\nCrashed near Gransee. Those killed buried in Berlin.  | W\/O R. Brunt Killed age 21\n\nSgt H. Bronsky Killed\n\nSgt F. E. Ashman Killed\n\nSgt R.W. Norley DFM Killed\n\nSgt A. Wilson Killed\n\nSgt J.G. Burrows POW\n\nSgt R.P. O'Dea RAAF Killed\n\n50 Sqdn: Lanc DV 178-N\n\nSgt Billett buried in Becklingen War Cemetery, Saltau, Germany.\n\nSgt Ward buried Sage War Cemetry.  | P\/O J.C. Adams RAAF POW Stalag I\n\nSgt T. Midgley POW 2\/Pilot\n\nSgt T. Raweliffe POW Stalag III\n\nF\/Sgt D.R.Crawford RAAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt G.M. Hastie POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt W.J. Ward Killed\n\nSgt C.W. Billett Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C Thomas POW Stalag 4B\n\n51 Sqdn: Lanc W 4198-H\n\nCrashed at Bad Zwischenahn.\n\nCrew buried Sage War Cemetery, Oldenberg, Germany.  | P\/O A.J. Eaves Killed age 24\n\nSgt J. Robertson Killed\n\nSgt R.C. Cantin Killed\n\nF\/O D.C. White Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F.K. Fuller RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.L. Sweet Killed\n\nSgt J.A. Weston Killed\n\n57 Sqdn: Lanc JB 485-L\n\nCrashed at Neuenlandrmoor. Those killed buried Sage, Oldengerg, Germany.\n\nShot down by a nighfighter and crashed near Bookholzberg-Neuenlands.  | Sgt H. Beaine Killed\n\nSgt L.A Williamson Killed\n\nSgt B.N. Deas POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt J.A. Armstrong RCAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt W. Dwyer Killed\n\nSgt J. MacKay Killed\n\nSgt F\/O R.G. Pickard RCAF Killed\n\n61 Sqdn: Lanc DV 297-O\n\nSgt Johnson is on the US Cemetery Margaten Memorial, Holland, remainder on the Runneymede Memorial  | P\/O A.P.E. Strange Killed\n\nP\/O C.J.B. Cogdell Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.B. Toombs RCAF Killed\n\nF\/O D.H. Calman Killed\n\nSgt E. Smith Killed\n\nSgt E.F. Johnson USAAF Killed\n\nF\/O J.A. Stephens RCAF Killed\n\n61 Sqdn: Lanc DV 339-W\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial.  | P\/O J.C. McAlpine RAAF Killed\n\nSgt E. Vine Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.W. Harris RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt V.A. Martin RAAF Killed\n\nP\/O S. Heald Killed\n\nSgt B.H. Varey RCAF Killed\n\nSgt H.S. Oldfield Killed\n\n61Sqn: Lanc W 4198-H\n\nCrashed Borgermoor, South of Sorwold.  | P\/O A.J.D. Eaves Killed\n\nSgt J.Robertson Killed\n\nF\/O D.C. White Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\nCrew buried Sage War Cemetery.  | Crew\n\nSgt R.C.H. Cantin Killed\n\nSgt J.A. Weston Killed\n\nF\/Sgt KR. Filler RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.L. Sweet Killed\n\n83 Sqdn: Lane JB 459-T\n\nCrashed at Seelenberg. Crew buried Durnbach War Cemetery, Germany.  | F\/O A.B. Smeaton Killed\n\nSgt A.W. Savoury Killed\n\nF\/O V.W.J. Nunn Killed\n\nSgt R.A. Gillam Killed\n\nF\/Lt R.M. Smalley DFC Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.S. Nelson RAAF Killed\n\nSgt W.S. Walton Killed\n\n83 Sqdn: Lanc JA 913-G\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial Crashed at Schonnalde nr Berlin.\n\nCrew buried Doberitz but could not be found after the war.  | P\/O K.R.G. Millar RCAF Killed age 22\n\nSgt F.R. Birks Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.H. Pennells DFM Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.H.S. Harsley Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M.H.. King Killed\n\nW\/O S.T. Stacey DFM Killed\n\nF\/Sgt KG. Davis RCAF DFM Killed Later WOII\n\nLater WOII\n\n101 Sqdn: Lane DV 268-0\n\nCrashed at Astrup (Visbek).\n\nThose killed buried in Sage War Cemetery, Oldenburg, Germany.\n\nSgt Josa repartriated 6\/2\/1945.  | Sgt P. R. Zanchi Killed later F\/Sgt\n\nSgt L.A. Crooks Killed\n\nSgt J.C.Jossa POW\n\nSgt H.S. Waller Killed\n\nSgt W. Rowland Killed\n\nSgt D.W. Timms Killed\n\nSgt A.G. Lovesay Killed\n\n101 Sqdn: Lane DV 289-T\n\nCrashed at Heuchelbein, Germany. All of those killed buried Berlin,F\/O Spofford died 21 July 1944, and is also buried in Berlin.  | F\/Sgt J.G. Bennett RCAF Killed\n\nSgt R.W. Hodgson Killed\n\nF\/Lt F.G.T. Collins Killed\n\nSgt H. Feeney Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M.J. Kennedy RCAF Killed\n\nSgt E. North Killed\n\nSgt A. McKeenan POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/O G.L. Spofford RCAF Died as a POW at\n\nStalag L1\n\n101 Sqn: Lane DV 285-Q\n\nShot down by a nighfighter flown by Hptm Eckart Wilhelm von Bonin II\/NJG1\n\nCrashed Aywaille (Liege)\n\nThose killed buried at Heverlee War Cem  | P\/O A.J.S Walker POW\n\nP\/O S. Mayer CGM Killed\n\nP\/O J.G. Blandford Evaded\n\nF\/O A.W. Gadd DFC Killed\n\nSgt J.K Robertson Killed\n\nSgt R.A. Hebditch POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/O K.N. Hicklin DFM Killed\n\nP\/O R. Scott DFM Killed\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc JB 458-V\n\nCrashed at Oberan, nr Altenstad, Germany. Those killed buried Berlin War Cemetery, Germany.  | Sgt E.S. Siddall Killed age 20\n\nSgt W.C. Buzan Killed\n\nSgt D. Blue Killed\n\nSgt AM. Grimson RCAF Killed\n\nSgt D.J.J Evans Killed\n\nSgt H. Wood POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt N.D. Taylor Killed\n\n103 Sqdn: Lane JB 350-L\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin.  | F\/O A.J. Sumner Killed\n\nSgt J. Gibson POW\n\nF\/Sgt R. Butler Killed\n\nSgt A.H. Masters Killed\n\nP\/O P.J. Duffy RCAF POW Stalag L1\n\nSgt P. Gallagher Killed\n\nSgt R.H. Bussell Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc JB 527-B\n\nAll the crew are buried in the Berlin War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed Ahiensfolde, near Berlin.  | Crew\n\nF\/O R.E.V. Pugh DFM Killed\n\nSgt P.A. Barnes Killed\n\nF\/O D.S. Thom RAAF Killed\n\nF\/O M.H. King Killed\n\nSgt G.W. Prescott Killed\n\nSgt A. Mavromatis Killed\n\nF\/O G. Booth Killed\n\n106 Sqdn: Lanc JB 592-W\n\nCrashed at Gross Karben, the Sqdn's first loss for a month. Crew buried in Durnbach War Cemetery F\/O Hoboken from Belgium.  | F\/O J.R.C. Van Hoboken DFC Killed age 32\n\nSgt G E.G Lucas DFM Killed\n\nF\/O J.P.J.Jenkins Killed\n\nP\/O J.C. Graham Killed\n\nF\/O AW. Read Killed\n\nSgt E.W. Davies Killed\n\nF\/O H.G. Stuffin Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc DS 793-L\n\nCrashed at Stockheim, Germany. Crew buried in Durnbach War Cemetery.  | F\/O E.B. Woolbouse Killed\n\nSgt W. Bell Killed\n\nP\/O W.A. Mitchell RCAF Killed\n\nSgt A.V. Baker Killed\n\nSgt H.H. Falls Killed\n\nSgt T.A. Monk Killed\n\nSgt J. Pallanca Killed\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc DV 247-F\n\nThose killed buried in the Reichswald War Cemetery, Germany.\n\nSgt Collins went to help Sgt O'Malley who was trapped but both perished.  | W\/O J.E. Thomas DFC POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt J.J. Robshaw POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt D.J. Edwards POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt W.G. Bell POW Stalag L III\n\nSgt E.M.L. Davies POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt A.V. Collins DFM Killed\n\nSgt W. O'Malley Killed\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc DV 387-W\n\nCrew buried in the Rheinberg War Cemetery,\n\nGermany. F\/O O'Brian from Tipperrary, Ireland.\n\nCrashed in the Mondengladbach area | F\/O D.H.P O'Brian Killed age 26\n\nSgt G.E.J. Ballard Killed\n\nSgt H.J. Beattie RCAF Killed\n\nF\/O J. Howe Killed\n\nSgt D.J. Howell Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F.E. Nowland RAAF Killed\n\nSgt W.A. Green Killed\n\n408 Sqdn: Lanc DS 723-L\n\nThey have no known grave, but are on the Runneymede Memorial. F\/O North was the Sqdn Navigation Leader and F\/Lt Glasspool, the Signals Leader.  | S\/L\/A\/W\/C A.C. Mair RCAF DFC Killed\n\nF\/O W.R.E. North DFC Killed\n\nF\/O A.W. Douglas Killed\n\nF\/Lt S.A.H. Glasspool Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G. Fielding Killed\n\nSgt L.H. Matthews Killed\n\nSgt C.F. Kirsch Killed\n\n426 Sqdn: Lanc DS 679-R\n\nThey have no known grave, but are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | S\/L A.J. Hughes RCAF Killed\n\nP\/O W.H. Boles RCAF Killed\n\nPLO F.D. Rawlings Killed\n\nF\/O G.H. Buchanan RCAF Killed\n\nSgt W.J. McLean Killed\n\nSgt F. Wikinson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt K.W. Sawyer RCAF Killed\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc ED 370-B2\n\nCrashed near Grossenkneten Railway Station, Oldenburg. Crew buried Berlin.  | Sgt E.J. Stones RAAF Killed\n\nSgt R.G. Jones Killed\n\nSgt N.W. McNair RCAF Killed\n\nSgt K.G. Smith Killed\n\nSgt W. Belton Killed\n\nSgt J.H. McIvor Killed\n\nSgt G.D. Arnott RCAF Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n463 Sqdn: Lanc DV 338-N\n\nAll this crew are buried in Berlin. 463 had only been formed on 25th November and this was their first casualty. The first man that took off for Berlin from 463 was P\/O G.F. Baker DFC at 1710 in V for Victor.  | Crew\n\nF\/Sgt J.W. Fowler Killed\n\nSgt J.L. Williams Killed\n\nSgt J.W. Barker Killed\n\nSgt J.E. Thomas Killed\n\nSgt J.P. Eerier Killed\n\nSgt W.T. Sherwin RCAF Killed\n\nSgt A.E.G. Thomas Killed\n\n467 Sqn: Lanc DV331-N\n\nCrashed at Trechwitz\n\nAll are buried in Berlin.  | P\/O J.W.Fowler RAAF Killed\n\nSgt J.L.Williams Killed\n\nSgt J.W. Barker Killed\n\nSgt J.E.Thomas Killed\n\nSgt J.P Ferrier Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.T. Sherwin RAAF Killed\n\nSgt A.E.G Thomas Killed\n\n514 Sqdn: Lanc DS 814-M\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | F\/O M.R. Cantin RCAF Killed age 21\n\nSgt S.E. Smith RCAF Killed\n\nSgt W.G.F. Saddler Killed\n\nSgt W.E.T. Mitchell Killed\n\nSgt L.F. Eyre Killed\n\nSgt R.N. Walne Killed\n\nSgt K.G. King Killed\n\n550 Sqdn Lanc LN 379-S (late 100 Sqdn)\n\nCrashed at Havel Bie, Potsdam, on the outskirts of Berlin. 550 had been formed on 25th November from 'C' Flight of 100 Sqdn. Those killed buried in Berlin. | F\/Lt P.J.M. Prangley Killed age 22\n\nSgt A.K. Ward Killed\n\nF\/O G.H.R.F. Harris Killed\n\nP\/O J.W. Lowe RCAF POW Stalag LI\n\nF\/Sgt P.W. Smith POW\n\nSgt R. Redfern Killed\n\nSgt F.C. Diggle Killed\n\n619 Sqn: Lanc DV 381-B | F\/Lt R.D.Rayment Killed\n\nSgt M.J.Lynch Killed\n\nF\/O J.Kellett Killed\n\nSgt G.\n\n625 Sqdn: Lanc ED 809-T\n\nCrashed at Apeldoorn. Gelderland, Holland.\n\nSgt Lynch buried Groesbeak, Sgt Green Buried Ughelen, Sgt Foulkes Buried Ughelen, Sgt Bolt buried On Runneymede Memorial, Sgt Paice buried at Ugchelen, F\/O McSorley buried at Ughelen. | F\/O M.C McSorley RCAF Killed age 22\n\nP\/O J.D. Lynch RCAF Killed\n\nSgt B.L. Gooding Killed\n\nF\/O G.F.R. Green Killed\n\nSgt E.L. Foulkes Killed\n\nSgt N. Bolt Killed\n\nP\/O P.R. Paice Killed\n\nShot down by a nighfighter flown by Uffz Amsberg of III\/NJG1.\n\nCrashed at theVarenna south of Apeldoom.\n\n|\n\n626 Sqdn: Lanc DV 388-S2\n\nCrashed at Finow nr Berlin. Buried in Berlin.  | F\/Sgt C.J.E. Kindt RCAF Killed Later WO2\n\nF\/Sgt J.R.R. Small RCAF Killed\n\nSgt T.G. Brady Killed\n\nSgt A.S. McDonald RCAF Killed\n\nSgr J.A. Calloway Killed\n\nSgt C.Johnson Killed\n\nSgt F. Matthews Killed\n\nAircraft crashed in the United Kingdom\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n12 Sqn:Lanc JB 354-O\n\nSwung off the runway on returning from Berlin.  | Crew\n\nP\/O R.S. Yell RAAF\n\nSgt W.J.C. MacDonald RCAF\n\nP\/O K.R. Middlemiss RCAF\n\nSgt T.A. Finch\n\nF\/Sgt J.H. Nutt\n\nSgt K.B. Reeves\n\nSgt S.Bates\n\n---|---\n\n12 Sqn:Lanc JB 464-D\n\nHit by flak and landed wheels up on return to Binbrook  | Sgt A.G. Twitchett\n\nSgt D. Leatherbarron\n\nSgt D. Robertson\n\nSgt S. Burnell\n\nSgt C.W. Farrant\n\nP\/O M. Hewitt\n\nSgt P.F.J.Sykes RCAF\n\n49 Sqdn: Lanc JB 235-C\n\nCrashed on the outer circuit on return from Berlin to Fiskerton and caught fire. | Sgt R.J. Richardson Killed\n\nSgt H.G Boswell Killed\n\nSgt Carr Killed\n\nSgt Cartwright Killed\n\nP\/O Lane Injured\n\nSgt Winterborn Injured\n\nSgt M.O Mahoney Injured\n\nP\/O H. Lowe Killed\n\n|\n\nP\/O Richardson buried-Cambridge City\n\nP\/O Lowe buried Biddulph,- Staffs\n\nSgt Boswell buried- Manchester\n\nSgt Carr buried \u2013Stockton-on-Tees\n\nSgt Cartwright buried -Bournemouth\n\nP\/O Lowe buried Biddulph, Staffs\n\n50 Sqn:Lanc DV 377\n\nStruck a van whilst landing at Skellingthoorpe and then collided with Lanc JA 961 which was bogged down in wet ground, both caught fire  | P\/O E.F. Weatherstone\n\nSgt D. Gregory\n\nF\/Sgt P.E. Thompson\n\nSgt P.H. Lane\n\nSgt A.D.F. Spruce\n\nSgt H.J. Lineham\n\nSgt R.A. Collingwood\n\n50 Sqdn: Lanc ED 393-K\n\nK-King had been trying to land for some while when it finally hit a farmhouse at Hayton nr Pocklington, killing the farmer and his wife; the cause was lack of fuel.  | F\/Sgt J.W. Thompson Killed\n\nSgt R.W. Laws Killed\n\nF\/Sgt S. Chapman Killed\n\nSgt A.F.Conlon Killed\n\nSgt C.R. Corbett Injured\n\nSgt T.A. Wyllie Injured\n\nSgt A.D. Spiers Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt Thompson buried \u2013 Greenford Park\n\nF\/Sgt Champman buried-Wimbledon\n\nSgt Conlon buried-Heworth. Durham\n\nSgt Spiers buried- Harrogate\n\n50 Sqn: Lanc JA 961-A\n\nOn return became booged down and then hit by DV 377 after it had collided with a van. | P\/O D.R Toovey\n\nSgt R.G.C. Pagett\n\nSgt J Olsson\n\nSgt W.J. Kelbrick\n\nF\/O F.T. Bedingham\n\nSgt J.P. Flynn\n\nSgt J.B. Knight\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---\n\n100 Sqn: Lanc JB 554-K2\n\nCrashed and burnt out at RAF Grimsby. | P\/O L.J.Stow\n\nSgt J.E. Lamb\n\nSgt A.D.Walker\n\nSgt D.R. Tapper\n\nSgt R.K.A. Grainger\n\nSgt. M.R. Shear\n\nSgt. D.J. Derlin\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc ED 417\n\nCollided with a Halifax JN966 while approaching\n\nthe base for landing. Crashed at Middleton-St-\n\nGeorge. | F\/O R.W. Brevitt Killed\n\nSgt M.W. Cartmell Killed\n\nSgt J.K. Cubey Killed\n\nSgt S.T.K. Bowyer Seriously Injured\n\nSgt I.B. Morgan Killed\n\nSgt S.T.K. Ingle Killed\n\nSgt G. Bruce Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/O Brevitt buried \u2013 Harrogate\n\nSgt Cartmell buried \u2013 Keswick\n\nSgt Cubey buried-Harrogate\n\nSgt Morgan buried \u2013 Llaneli, Wales\n\nSgt Ingle buried - Harrogate\n\nSgt Bruce buried -Caddonfoot, Selkirk\n\n103 Sqn: Lanc JB 423\n\nLanded at Croft a mile from Elsham Wolds on\n\nreturn. | W\/O W.H. Frost\n\nSgt J. Woodward\n\nSgt L.H. Wise\n\nSgt R. Huddart\n\nP\/O J.W. Lowrie\n\nSgt A. Burdett\n\nSgt C.H. Seldan\n\n106 Sqn: Lanc ED 873\n\nLost power on take off and turned back crashing in\n\na field near Metheringham at 20.15. | P\/O R.F. Neil\n\nSgt M.J. Sherwyn\n\nSgt J.F. Harmes\n\nF\/O G.L. Ashman\n\nF\/Sgt T.J. Robertson\n\nSgt R.P. Prothero\n\nSgt A.L. Parker\n\n408 Sqn: Lanc DS 712-G\n\nHit by flak over Magdeburg on the return leg\n\nwounding Sgt Robert in the foot.\n\nattacked by a nightfighter over Ijssemeer damaging\n\nthe starboard inner engineand then the starboard\n\nouter failed over Fiskerton crash landed 2 miles SE\n\nof Lincoln. | F\/Sgt R.T. Llloyd RCAF\n\nSgt H. Nightingale\n\nF\/O J.F. Fowler RCAF\n\nF\/Sgt G.E. Cameron RCAF\n\nSgt. L.Lowe\n\nSg E. Williams\n\nSgt M.A. Robert RCAF Injured\n\n619 Sqdn: Lanc DV 381-B\n\nDitched in the Sea.\n\nNames on the Runneymede Memorial | F\/Lt R.D. Rayment Killed\n\nSgt M.J. Lynch Killed\n\nF\/O J. Kellett Killed\n\nSgt D.W. Archibald Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.T. Richards Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C.S. Cook Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.A. Fowler Killed\n\n619 Sqdn: Lanc DV 336-U\n\nCrashed on return just south of Elvington airfield. | P\/O K.J. Mears Killed\n\nSgt L. Pearse Killed\n\nP\/O G.G. Salt Killed\n\nSgt D.W. Blundell Killed\n\nSgt A.R. Wilcher Killed\n\nSgtW.W.N. Knights RAAF Killed\n\nSgt H.V. Birch Killed\n\n|\n\nP\/O Mears buried Twickenham, Middx\n\nF\/Sgt Pearse buried-Harrogate\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nP\/O Salt buried-Harrogate\n\nF\/Sgt Knights buried- Harrogate\n\nF\/Sgt Birch buried Brompton,London\n\nSgt's Blundell and Wilcher names on the\n\nRunneymede Memorial\n\n619 Sqn: Lanc EE111\n\nCrashed on to Fourholme Sands on return, crew\n\nbaled out over Humber Estuary. | F\/Lt W.E.D. Bell\n\nSgt M.V. Pink\n\nF\/Sgt J.A. Featherstone\n\nF\/Sgt J.A. Walsh\n\nSgt J. Webster\n\nF\/O T.K. Graves\n\nF\/O J. Kemp\n\n619 Sqn: Lanc EE168\n\nCrashed on return near Hutton Cranswick Airfield, | F\/Lt Tomlinson\n\nF\/Sgt E.G. Cass\n\nYork caught fire.\n\nP\/O T.A. Peatfield\n\nF\/Sgt J. Simkin\n\nSgt H.W. Thompson\n\nSgt W. Dunham\n\nF\/Sgt P.D. Mitchell\n\n626 Sqn: Lanc LM 362-A2\n\nCrashed at Lissington. | F\/Lt V. Wood\n\nF\/O J. Wilkinson\n\nSgt C.G. Davis\n\nP\/O L.N. Kirby\n\nF\/Sgt G.H. Wood\n\nSgt W. Cruickshank\n\nSgt S.F. Hare\n\nF\/Sgt R. Hornby\n\n630 Sqn: Lanc JB 597\n\nCrashed Holme-on-Spallding-Moor on return. | F\/Sgt S.A. Edwards\n\nSgt D.H. Ryder\n\nF\/Lt R. Heap\n\nSgt H. Grant\n\nSgt H.M. Kent\n\nSgt G. J. Hill\n\nSgt. L. Diggle\n\n2nd\/3rd December 1943\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n9 Sqdn: Lanc DV 332-D\n\nThe crew are buried in the Berlin War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed N.E of Brunsenddorf at 23.00 | Crew\n\nF\/Lt R.F. Wells Killed\n\nSgt D.J. Nutunan Killed\n\nP\/O A.U. Duncan Killed\n\nF\/Sgt K. Garnett Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F. Smith Killed\n\nSgt W.E.. Gough Killed\n\nF\/Sgt S.V. Moss Killed\n\n---|---\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc JB 478-C\n\nThe crew are buried in the Berlin War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed near Bernan crew originally buried here. | W\/O L. Lawrence Killed\n\nSgt S.O.J. Boxhall Killed\n\nSgt H. Johnson Killed\n\nSgt J.L. Selkirk Killed\n\nSgt R.E. Ward Killed\n\nSgt G.H. Reveley Killed\n\nSgt E.W. Pritch Killed\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc JB 463-R\n\nCrashed Blankenfelde. | F\/O E.A. Taylor Killed\n\nF\/Lt C.T. Bassage Killed\n\nSgt A. Wiles Killed\n\nSgt Forward buried Berlin remainder names on the\n\nRunneymede Memorial | Sgt J.F. Cole Killed\n\nSgt F.D. Beattie Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft  | Crew\n\nSgt Forward;s body found elswhere possibly\n\nhaving baled out. | Sgt J. Broadhurst Killed\n\nSgt E.L. French Killed\n\nSgt A.H. Forward Killed\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc JB 285-G\n\nFlt Lt Goldsmith buried in Reichswald War Cemetery.\n\nHarris repatriated in 1945. | F\/O G. Goldsmith Killed age 25\n\nSgt G.B. Robertson POW Stalag III\n\nSgt J.W. Kirkbride POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt R.W. Robinson POW Stalag 4B\n\nSgt J.D. Veals POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt A.J. Harris POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt R.T. Prestage POW stalag IVB\n\n35 Sqdn: Halifax HX 167-C | Lt G. Hoverstad Killed\n\nSgt S.V. Brazier POW Stalag 4B\n\nF\/Sgt J.C. McDougall later F\/O POW Stalag 4B\n\nSgt A.G. Briggs POW Stalag IVB\n\nF\/Sgt W.J. Cooke POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt A.J. Williams POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt A. Storme POW Stalag IVB\n\n35 Sqdn: Halifax HR 876-S\n\nThe crew are buried in the Reichswald War\n\nCemetery. | F\/Sgt H.V. Stinson Killed\n\nSgt M.J. Day Killed\n\nSgt D. Richardson killed later P\/O\n\nF\/Sgt G. AIlso Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F.C. McCubbin shown as WO Killed\n\nSgt R.H. Wells Killed\n\nSgt G. Merrill Killed\n\n44 Sqdn: Lanc JA 700-P\n\nThe crew are buried in the Berlin War Cemetery.\n\nF\/O West's DFM Gazetted 12\/3\/1943 | F\/O G.A. West DFM Killed\n\nSgt A. Woodley Killed\n\nP\/O F.G. Cox Killed\n\nF\/O A.W. Hazell Killed\n\nSgt G.C. Cone Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.J. Smith Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.L. Clayton Killed\n\n44 Sqdn: Lanc EE 179-B\n\nThe crew are buried in the Berlin War Cemetery\n\nCrashed at Gross Kientz | F\/O W.F. Newell Killed\n\nSgt W.B. Curie Killed\n\nP\/O F.A. Dell Killed\n\nP\/O T. Rosser Killed\n\nSgt R.W. Jones Killed\n\nP\/O G.H. Kay Killed\n\nSgt W.P. Johnson Killed\n\n49 Sqdn: Lanc JB 371-J\n\nSgt Walker buried in Berlin, Sgt Smith has no\n\nknown grave, but is on the Runneymede Memorial.\n\nAttacked by a nightfighter and then hit by flak in\n\ntrying to get away from a seconds fighter.\n\nAbosnon in the air and crashed near Berlin. | W\/O R.W. Petty POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt G. Lumsden POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt T. Tulloch POW later F\/Sgt Stalag IVB\n\nSgt S.J. Richards POW later F\/Sgt Stalag IVB\n\nSgt O. Roberts POW later F\/Sgt Stalag IVB\n\nSgt W.A. Walker killed later F\/Sgt\n\nSgt E. Smith Killed\n\nSgt A.M. Tucker 2\/Pilot POW Stalag 4B\n\n50 Sqdn: Lanc DV 325-B\n\nSgt Moody is buried in Berlin.\n\nShot down by a nighfighter and crashed in the\n\ntarget area. | F\/Lt I.D. Bolton DEC POW Stalag I\n\nSgt G.E. Brown later F\/Sgt POW Stalag 4B\n\nP\/O A.Mc. Watson DFC later F\/Lt POW Stalag\n\nLIII\n\nSgt D. McCall POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt R.E. Moody Killed age 19\n\nF\/Sgt R.C. Forrester DFM POW Stalag 4B\n\nF\/Sgt A.A. McDougal RCAF POW Stalag 4B\n\nMr. L.L. Bennett POW War Correspondent\n\n57 Sqdn: Lanc JB 372-R | F\/O J.A. Williams Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nThe crew have no known grave, but are on the\n\nRunneymede Memorial. | Sgt E. Hibbert Killed\n\nF\/O B.P. Duval Killed\n\nSgt B. Thomasberg RCAF Killed\n\nSgt J.H. Chambers Killed\n\nSgt E.W. Graves Killed\n\nP\/O A.T. Hook RCAF Killed\n\n57 Sqdn: Lanc JB 529-P\n\nThe crew are buried in the Berlin War Cemetery. | P\/O E.H. Tansley Killed\n\nSgt J.P. Dalton Killed\n\nSgt L.C. Brown Killed\n\nSgt D. Park Killed\n\nSgt E.H. Patrick Killed\n\nSgt I. Groves Killed\n\nSgt R.A. Lewis Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.A. Moad RCAF Killed\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 190-V\n\nS\/L Garlick 'B' Flight Commander. This crew was\n\nleft out of the order of battle. S\/L Garlick is buried\n\nin Kiel War Cemetery, Germany.\n\nF\/Sgt Edwards on the Runneymede Memorial.\n\nAbandon near Kiel. | S\/L J.M. Garlick DFM& Bar Killed age 25\n\nP\/O A.G. Boyd POW Stalag LI later F\/O\n\nF\/Sgt E.O. Charlton DFM POW Stalag III\n\nF\/Sgt F. Edwards Killed\n\nW\/0 F.O.A. Dawkins POW Stalag 4B\n\nF\/Sgt J.M. Anderson POW Stalag 4B\n\nF\/Sgt M.T. Ward RAAF POW Stalag 7B\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc JB 128-U2 | S\/L H.M. Robertson POW Stalag 7B\n\nSgt S.T. Kones POW\n\nSgt A.K. Hill RAAF POW Stalag 4B\n\nSgt J. Ferguson POW Stalag 4B\n\nSgt J. English POW Stalag 4B\n\nSgt D. Lester POW Stalag 7B\n\nSgt E.G.C. Fennell POW\n\nF\/Sgt P.L.H. Fox POW Stalag 4B later W\/O\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc LM 364-N2\n\nCrashed at Rehfelde. Crew buried in Berlin War\n\nCemetery. | Sgt L.V. Murrell Killed later F\/Sgt\n\nSgt E. North Killed\n\nSgt R.W. Webb Killed\n\nSgt R.W. Hayes Killed\n\nSgt R.H. Kirby Killed\n\nSgt J. Cockroft Killed\n\nSgt J.W. Garland Killed\n\nSgt T.C. Bramley Killed\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc LM 363-P\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | F\/Lt G.A.J. Frazer-Hollins DFC Killed\n\nSgt C.H. Mortimer Killed later P\/O\n\nF\/O J.W.F. Deane Killed\n\nT\/Sgt buried US Cemetery Neuville-en.Condroz.\n\nSgt's Heap, F\/Lt Frazer-Hollins,F\/O Deane,P\/O\n\nTiller, Sgt'sWelson and Witham buried in the\n\nRheinberg War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed near Diepholz | Sgt H.W. Witham Killed\n\nP\/O H. Tiller Killed\n\nSgt E. Heap DFM Killed\n\nTech\/Sgt J.J. Kelly USAAF Killed\n\nF\/O A. Weldon DFM Killed\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc JB 400-K\n\nAt 42 P\/O Wakefield was much older than the\n\nremainder of the crew. Sgt Fox and F\/O Ready\n\nburied in Berlin. Remander names on the\n\nRunneymede Memorial. | F\/O C.P. Ready Killed age 33 later F\/Lt\n\nSgt W.G. Neale Killed\n\nP\/O A.J. Wakefield Killed\n\nSgt W. Ainscow Killed\n\nSgt S. Williams Killed\n\nSgt H. Fox Killed\n\nSgt W.E. Cheal Killed\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc JB 401-P\n\nThe crew are buried in the Berlin War Cemetery. | F\/LtE F.T. Hoppo DFC Killed\n\nSgt R.S. Imeson Killed\n\nP\/O F.J. Roberts RCAF DFM Killed\n\nSgt J.B. Daniel Killed\n\nSgt W.L. Sargent Killed\n\nSgt R. Thomas Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.E. Black RCAF Killed later WOII\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc JB 403-T\n\nThe crew are buried in the Berlin War Cemetery. | W\/O J.E. Bellamy Killed\n\nSgt H. Brown Killed\n\nSgt G.A. England Killed\n\nSgt T.M. Robbins Killed\n\nSgt E.G. Wyatt Killed\n\nSgt H.C. Haslam Killed\n\nSgt R.H. Tomlin Killed\n\n106 Sqdn: Lanc ED 874\n\nThe crew are buried in the Berlin War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed at Lindenberg | P\/O R.F. Neil Killed\n\nSgt M.J. Sheryn MID Killed\n\nSgt J.F. Harnes Killed\n\nF\/O G.L. Ashman Killed\n\nF\/ Sgt T.J. Robertson Killed\n\nSgt R.P. Prothero Killed\n\nSgt G.H. Stubbs Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 472-Z\n\nCrew buried in Becklingden War Cemetery, Soltau,\n\nGermany.\n\nCrashed near Fallingbostel where they were first\n\nburied. | W\/O R.R. Wicks RAAF Killed\n\nF\/ Sgt N. MacDonald RAAF POW\n\nF\/Sgt N.J. Edmonds RAAF Killed\n\nSgt P.E. Wells Killed\n\nW\/O R.K. Thomas RAAF Killed\n\nP\/O R.E. Inglis RAAF Killed\n\nW\/O K.A. Wood RAAF Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JA 697-V\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | F\/Lt B.J. Staniland Killed age 22\n\nSgt L.W. Fisher Killed\n\nSgt P.J. Smart Killed\n\nSgt C. Butler Killed\n\nSgt D.G. Craig Killed\n\nSgt W.A. Cox Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.E. Robinson Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 179-F | F\/Sgt J.G. Redfern Killed\n\nSgt B. Carroll Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Richmond Killed\n\nF\/Sgt Tinman, and Sgt Wood are buried in Berlin\n\nthe remainder are recorded on the Runneymede\n\nMemorial. | P\/O L.J. Johnson RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.R. Clarke RCAF Killed showing later WOII\n\nSgt K. Wood Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.R. Tinman RAAF Killed\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc JB 145-D\n\nCrashed at Hannover. Those killed buried in\n\nHannover. | F\/Sgt C.A. Cox Killed age 21 later WO\n\nSgt T. Lafferty Killed\n\nP\/O F.A. Denney Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F.A.C Efemey Killed\n\nSgt D.E.E Pitcher POW\n\nSgt S.J. Pope Killed\n\nSgt E. R. Claxton Killed\n\n207 Sqdn: Lanc ED 601\n\nAll are buried in the Berlin War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed near Saalon | P\/O A. Mann Killed\n\nSgt S. Martin Killed\n\nF\/O H.F.C. Bonner Killed\n\nSgt A.S. Rusby Killed\n\nF\/O E.V. Harley Killed\n\nSgt F.L. Brisco RCAF Killed\n\nSgt N.E. Petty Killed\n\n426 Sqdn: Lanc DS 770\n\nAll are buried in Berlin War Cemetery. | P\/O M.C. Shaw RCAF Killed\n\nF\/O R.F. Waddington RCAF Killed\n\nSgt D.E.P. Pearson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F.T.A. McKernon RCAF Killed\n\nSgt A.B. McDonald Killed\n\nP\/O J.T.E. Cummings-Bart RCAF Killed\n\nSgt H.A. Keast RCAF Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---\n\n432 Sqdn: Lanc LL 618-F\n\nThe crew are buried in the Berlin War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed at Mahlow originally buried at Kreis-Teltow | F\/Sgt A.E. Slegg RCAFKilled\n\nF\/Sgt G.P. Lowle RCAF Killed\n\nP\/O S.W.F Baker RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.R. Morgan RCAF Killed later WOII\n\nSgt W.E. Stinson RCAF Killed\n\nSgt W H. Green RCAF Killed\n\nSgt J. Wadsworth Killed\n\n2\/Pilot F\/Sgt J.R. Goodwin RCAF Killed\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc DV 296-E2\n\nAll are buried in the Berlin War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed at Teltow. | F\/Sgt C.H. Edwards RAAF Killed age 23\n\nSgt R. Tarlig Killed\n\nSgt A. McDougall Killed\n\nSgt D.J. Hobbs Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.I. McKee RAAF Killed\n\nSgt P.R. Webber Killed\n\nSgt F. Sullivan Killed\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc LM 316-H2\n\nP\/O's Boyd, Ellis and Sgt Keir are on the Runneymede Memorial the remainder are buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed near Doberitz | F\/O A.R. Mitchell RAAF Killed age 23\n\nSgt G.H. Cooper Killed\n\nF\/Sgt I.R. Phelan RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.O. Cole RAAF Killed\n\nP\/O J.0. Boyd RAAF Killed\n\nP\/O L.J. Ellis Killed\n\nSgt K.G.V. Keir Killed\n\nCaptain Nordahl Greig Killed\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc W 4881-K\n\nThose killed buried in the Berlin War Cemetery.\n\nExploded after an attack by a nightfighter. | P\/O J.H.J. English RAAF DFC Killed age 22\n\nSgt A.G. Cole Killed\n\nP\/O N.J. Anderson later F\/G POW Stalag LI\n\nF\/Sgt A.E. Kan RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.W. Catty POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt W.L. Miller POW Stalag IVB\n\nF\/Sgt I. Rodin RCAF Killed\n\nMr Norman Stockton War Correspondent Killed\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc JB 608-J\n\nBoth F\/O Alford an Australian and P\/O Howe-Brown are buried in Berlin War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed at Bucholz | F\/O T.D.H. Alford RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.E. Daley RAAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nF\/Sgt L. Leask RAAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nF\/Sgt N.L. Ginn RAAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt H.J. Follard POW Stalag IVB later F\/Sgt\n\nP\/O F.D.K. Howe-Brown Killed\n\nSgt S.T. Mason POW Stalag IVB\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc JB 61 l-R\n\nThe crew are buried in the Berlin War Cemetery. | S\/L E.G.M. Corser DFC MID Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.J.J. Brown RAAF Killed\n\nSgt WA. Young later F\/Sgt Killed\n\nSgt L.R. Price Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.W. Harrington Killed\n\nW\/O L.A. Kent RAAF DFC Killed\n\nSgt H.G. Keymer Killed\n\n514 Sqdn: Lanc DS 738-J\n\nSgt Curle's name is on the Runneymede Memorial. | F\/Lt G.H.D. Hinde POW Stalag LI\n\nF\/Sgt J.D. Alford POW\n\nF\/O M.S.C. Emery POW Stalag LI\n\nSgt W. Muskett POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt R. Galloway POW\n\nSgt R. Curle Killed age 20\n\nSgt W.J. Stephen POW\n\n514 Sqdn: Lanc DS 783-B\n\nBuried Cambridge City Cemetery. | Sgt L Wilton RCAF Killed age 26 in action over the target.\n\n550 Sqdn: Lanc LM 301-V\n\nCrashed at Washbuttel. Those killed buried in Hannover\n\nCrashed at Wasbuttel crew were at first buried here. | W\/O A.T.S. Collier RAAF Killed\n\nSgt F. Turner Killed\n\nF\/Sgt P.A. Lee Killed later P\/O\n\nF\/Sgt H.S. Bennett Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.A. Cromie RAAF POW Stalag 4B\n\nSgt W.E. Dowser Killed\n\nSgt E.A. Topham Killed\n\n576 Sqdn: Lanc W 4337-R2\n\nCrashed at Berlin (Stratum). Crew buried in the Rheinberg War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed near Monchengladbach crew were at first buried here.  | F\/Sgt J.M. Booth RAAF Killed age 21\n\nSgt G.H. Kaye Killed\n\nSgt L.W.L. Godfrey Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.E.D. Richards RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M.N.Jennings RAAF Killed\n\nSgt M.W. Jones RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt D.R.G. Taskis RAAF Killed\n\n---|---\n\n619 Sqdn: Lanc EF 170-N\n\nThose killed are buried in Berlin War Cemetery.\n\nHit by flak and burst into flamses and exploded to the north of Magdeburg | P\/O J.F. Ward Killed\n\nSgt C.W. Cross POW (wounded)Stalag 4B\n\nP\/O E.T. Hargraves Killed\n\nSgt J.H. Duncan Killed\n\nSgt W.J. Scott Killed\n\nSgt R. Smithers Killed\n\nSgt G.W. Arlett Killed\n\n619 Sqdn: Lanc JB 847-C\n\nF\/O Bower buried in Berlin the remainder killed are on the Runneymede Memorial Crashed into the Tegel, a wooded area near Berlin.  | F\/O J.F. Bower RCAF Killed\n\nF\/O F.E. Staker POW Stalag 1\n\nSgt E.C. Parrott POW\n\nF\/Sgt T.G. Conway POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt E.R. Thornhill POW Stalag L III\n\nF\/O R.W. MeManaman RCAF MID Killed\n\nSgt A.C. Leitch Killed\n\n626 Sqdn: Lanc JA 864-D2\n\nCrashed at Glienwick. Sgt Brittle and Whitmore are on the Runneymede Memorial the remainder killed are buried in Berlin.  | S\/L G.A. Roden DFC Killed\n\nSgt L.C.J. Street Killed\n\nSgt G.H. Brittle Killed\n\nSgt T.R. Jackson Killed\n\nSgt HA. Van Hal Killed\n\nSgt H.W. Whitmore Killed\n\nSgt A.G. Luke Killed\n\n2\/Pilot Sgt J.W. Stewart POW\n\n627 Sqdn: Mosquito DZ 479-F | F\/Sgt L.R. Simpson Evaded\n\nSgt P.W. Walker Evaded\n\n630 Sqdn: Lanc ED 777-Q\n\nCrashed NE of Gross Schubzendorf. Crew buried in the Berlin War Cemetery.  | P\/O W.A. Clark Killed\n\nSgs G. Crowe Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.H. Banks Killed\n\nF\/O L.R. Rinn RCAF Killed\n\nSgt J. Ford Killed\n\nSgt R. Hughes Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C.R. McLaren RAAF Killed\n\nAircraft crashed in United Kingdom\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---\n\n9 Sqdn: Lanc DV 334-C\n\nCrashed at RAF Gamston a satellite of RAF Ossington.  | P\/O K.E. Warwick Killed Buried Winkfield\n\nSgt R.W. Davison Killed Buried Longbenton,\n\nNorthumberland\n\nF\/Sgt T. Butterfield Killed Buried Middleton, Yorks\n\nF\/Sgt J. Graham Killed Buried Carlise\n\nSgt D.I.T. Munn Killed Buried Much Cowarne, Hereford\n\nSgt R.E. Jones Killed Buried Wallasey\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---  \n|\n\nF\/Sgt N.B. Owen RCAF Injured\n\nSgt C.W.A Rickard Injured\n\n432 Sqn: Lanc DS 851-D\n\nShot up by a nightfighter and crashed on return to base. | F\/O C Wales\n\nSgt J Dickinson\n\nF\/S J Evans\n\nSgt J Garvey\n\nSgt J Aplin\n\nSgt D Thomas\n\nF\/Lt G Ranville\n\n467 Sqn: Lanc JB 140\n\nBoth port engines cut on take off and collided with JB 138 of 61 Sqn. | F\/O R.I. Reynolds RAAF\n\nSgt W. King\n\nF\/S E.A. Joyce RAAF\n\nF\/S K.N.B Davies RAAF\n\nF\/S H.M. Kellenweth Injured\n\nSgt R.H Keating\n\nF\/S C.R. Frizzell Dided of Wounds 5\/12\/43\n\nBuried Cambridge City Cemetery\n\n625 Sqn: Lanc W 4999-G\n\nReturned to base after both port engines cut colldied with an obstruction and was wrecked. | W\/O P.R. Aslett\n\nSgt D.M. Blackmore\n\nSgt J.W. Bott\n\nSgt H.B. Cooper\n\nSgt H.B Jennings\n\nF\/S R.A. Kerry\n\nP\/O R.O. Budd\n\nSgt E.B. Thomas\n\n16th\/17th December 1943 Missing Aircraft\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc JB 552-K\n\nCrashed at Werte. Crew buried Sage War\n\nCemetery, Oldenberg. | F\/Lt J.R. Petrie RNAF DFC Killed age 26\n\nS\/L A. Gibson DFC Killed\n\nF\/O A. Jackson-Baker Killed\n\nP\/O A.W. Osborne Killed\n\nF\/O I.R. MacDonald Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.H. Hartshorn Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C.J. Seery Killed\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc JB 543-J\n\nThose killed buried the Reichswald War Cemetery. | P\/O G. Tyler RAAF Killed age 21\n\nF\/Sgt A. Smillie POW\n\nSgt A.A. Tucker Killed\n\nSgt C.R. Underhill Killed\n\nSgt D. Woolford POW\n\nF\/Sgt R.R. MacMillan RAAF Killed\n\nSgt W.R. Wilson Killed\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc JA 803-K\n\nWatson and Butterworth are on the Runneymede Memorial. The remainder of the crew are buried at Lemmerland Gen Cemetery. Shot down by Major Heinz Wolfgang Schnaufer of IV\/NJG1 using the Schrage Music(Upwar Firing Gun) method of attack. There is an interesting contrast of ages in this crew, F\/Sgt Hedges was 35 and Sgt Hurst only 19.\n\nCrashed on farm land at Follega. | W\/O W.A. Watson RAAF Killed age 21\n\nW\/O W.M. Wateman RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Butterworth RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.E. Hedges Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L. Robinson RAAF Killed\n\nSgt J. Hurst Killed\n\nSgt R.D. McWha RAAF Killed\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc JB 656-D\n\nCrashed Oberlegk (Alkmaar). Those killed buried | F\/O F.W. Rush RAAF Killed age 23\n\nSgt K. Wightman Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---\n\nOterleek, Noord-Holland, Holland. | Sgt H.B. Bushell Killed\n\nSgt J.S. Ogg Evaded\n\nF\/O W.V. Scott RAAF Killed\n\nP\/O C.P. Luther RAAF Killed\n\nSgt W.R. Buntain Killed\n\n9 Sqdn: Lanc EE 188-B\n\nThe crew are buried in the Reichswald War Cemetery.  | P\/O I.C.B. Black Killed\n\nSgt N.E. Adams Killed\n\nSgt D.T. Gordon Killed\n\nF\/O G.E. McTaggart RCAF Killed\n\nSgt G. Brothers Killed\n\nSgt A.E. Baumann Killed\n\nSgt E.L. Button\n\n9 Sqdn: Lanc DV 293-Y\n\nThe crew are buried in the Berlin War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed at Eberswalde Finow | P\/O R.A. Blaydon Killed\n\nSgt F.E. Cope Killed\n\nF\/O B. Otter Killed\n\nSgt J.K. Widdop Killed\n\nSgt E. Egan Killed\n\nSgt R.J. Baroni RCAF Killed\n\nSgt A. Richardson Killed\n\n44 Sqdn: Lanc DV 238-M\n\nCrashed Wetcher-Wissen. Those killed are buried at Hannover.  | P\/O DA. Rollin DFC Killed age 22\n\nSgt J.C. Blackmore Killed\n\nF\/Sgt T.B. Melia Killed\n\nF\/Sgt E.J. Tocher Killed\n\nSgt L. Barker POW Stalag 4B\n\nSgt B. Chew Killed\n\nSgt R. Standing Killed\n\n2\/Pilot P\/O A.T. Moodie Killed\n\n49 Sqdn: Lanc JB 545-O\n\nCrashed Wolvega. Crew buried Weststellingwer, Friesland, Holland.\n\nShot down on utward leg by a nighfighter flown by Obit Heinz-Walfgang Schnafer IV\/NJG1 crashed Sonnega.  | P\/O G.L. Ratcliffe Killed\n\nSgt A.E.A Marsland Killed\n\nSgt E. Holloway Killed\n\nSgt W.T. Rees Killed\n\nSgt R. Losa RCAF Killed\n\nSgt W.R. Day Killed\n\nF\/Sgt B.J.V. King RAAF Killed\n\n57 Sqdn: Lanc JB 373-N\n\nDitched in the sea. Crew names on the Runneymede Memorial.\n\nOn return at the time. Hurley picked up and continued to serve with 57.  | Sgt J.W. Hinde Killed age 21 later P\/O\n\nSgt D.F. Faulkner Killed\n\nSgt W.J. Bellinger Killed\n\nF\/O H. Clark Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C.H.T. Hunley Safe\n\nSgt A.W. Watson Killed\n\nSgt D.F. Butler Killed\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 963-Q\n\nP\/O's Butler, Little, F\/Sgt Battle and F\/O McIntrye are buried in Berlin and the remainder are on the Runneymede Memorial | F\/Lt D.J. Brill Killed age 22\n\nF\/Lt R.E. Handley DFM Killed\n\nSgt J. Stone Killed\n\nF\/O N.G. McIntyre RAAF Killed\n\nP\/O R. Butler Killed\n\nSgt H. Chappell Killed\n\nP\/O G.J. Little RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt E.J. Battle RAAF Killed\n\n97 Sqn: Lanc JB 531-Y\n\nCrew baled out near Ely crashed 4 miles NW of Oxford Ness, Suffolk | P\/0 E.Smith\n\nSgt F.E. Sum\n\nP\/0 J.W. Arthuson\n\nF\/Sgt J.A.Wilson\n\nSgt G.H. Townsend\n\nSgt N. Stewart\n\nSgt N.Stewart\n\nSgt C.A. Bradshaw\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc DV 299-K2\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | F\/Sgt P.E. Head Killed age 29 later P\/O\n\nSgt W. Welby Killed\n\nSgt R.A.C. Wilson Killed\n\nSgt H. Street Killed\n\nSgt D.J. Gibson RCAF Killed\n\nSgt R. Betts Killed\n\nSgt H.R. Lintern Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.M. Green Killed\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc DV 300-W\n\nCrashed at Lemsterland. Buried Lemsterland, Friesland, Holland.  | F\/O R.E. MacFarlane RCAF DFM Killed age 21\n\nSgt J.E. Clark Killed\n\nSgt L.D. Wilson Killed\n\nSgt D.B. Harvey Killed\n\nSgt F.R. Westall Killed\n\nSgt J. Ireland Killed\n\nSgt E.R.E. Jordan Killed\n\nP\/O L.E. Thompson RCAF Killed\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc JB 658\n\nCrashed at Doberitz. Crew buried Berlin.  | F\/Sgt H. Campbell RAAF Killed age 27 later WO\n\nSgt P.W. Alderton Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M. Hartley Killed\n\nSgt C. O'Neil Killed\n\nSgt D.J. McGrath Killed\n\nSgt T.W. Moore Killed\n\nSgt W.H. Chambers Killed\n\n106 Sqdn: Lanc 638-G\n\nCrashed at Achmer. Crew buried Reichswald War Cemetery, Germany.  | P\/O C.H. Storer Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Coulton Killed\n\nF\/Sgt E.G. Grundy Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.E. Hackett Killed\n\nSgt F.W. Kite Killed\n\nSgt C. Frankish Killed\n\nSgt M.J. Martin Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc DS 835-K\n\nCrashed Heemskirk 9 miles from Alkmaar, Holland. Crew buried Heemskwek, Noord-Holland, Holland.  | P\/O N.T. Newton RNZAF DFC Killed age 23\n\nP\/O E.J.H Downs Killed\n\nF\/Sgt I. Lewis Killed\n\nSgt G.A.W Ray Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.G.R Cowdrey Killed\n\nSgt R. Hawkins Killed\n\nSgt M. Saetter Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JR 216-W\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Lt C.O. Aubert RAAF DFM Killed\n\nF\/Lt J.F. Samuel RAAF DFC Killed\n\nS\/L R. Hadley RAAF DFC Killed\n\nP\/O R.S. Smith DFC Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.S. Fisher Killed\n\nF\/Lt N.T.R. Poulton RAAF DFM Killed\n\nF\/Lt T. Trilsbeck RCAF DFC Killed\n\nF\/Lt L.J. Powell RAAF DFC Killed\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc ED 411\n\nCrashed at Hannover. Crew buried Hannover.\n\nCrashed at Diepholz where they were originally buried.  | F\/O P.W.R. Pollett Killed age 22\n\nSgt F.R.M. Squair Killed\n\nSgt F.F. Clarke Killed\n\nF\/O G. Drake Killed\n\nSgt E. Speirs Killed\n\nSgt C. Cushing Killed\n\nSgt R.C. Clifford Killed\n\n207 Sqdn: Lanc EE 141-P\n\nCrashed at Hemsdorf. Crew that were killed are on the Runneymede Memorial.\n\nShot down by a nightfighter and crashed at Hemsdorf.  | F\/Lt R.J. Allen POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt D.J. Peppall POW Stalag 4B\n\nP\/O E.H. Stephenson POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt W.J. Vowles POW Stalag IVB\n\nF\/Sgt J.A. Brindle POW Stalag LIII\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nSgt R.J. Stone RCAF Killed Chute did not open.\n\nSgt E.J. Takle Killed\n\n---|---\n\n408 Sqdn: Lanc LL 676-E\n\nThe pilot was on the first trip of his second tour.\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial.\n\nMaitland DFM London Gazette 29\/5\/1942 with 420\n\nSqn. | F\/O W.J. Maitland RCAF DFM Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.E. Saunders RCAF Killed 25th trip later\n\nWOII\n\nSgt J.J.Robertson Killed 2nd trip\n\nF\/O T.C. Gierulski BA RAAF Killed 2nd trip\n\nF\/Sgt C.A. Besse RAAF Killed 1st trip\n\nF\/Sgt R. Pettitt RCAF Killed 4th trip\n\nSgt M. Maher Killed 1st trip\n\n426 Sqdn: Lanc DS 846-Y\n\nCrashed at Hoya, Hannover, shot down by a night\n\nfighter. Crew that were killed are buried in\n\nHannover. | P\/O L.P. Archibald RCAF Killed age 21\n\nP\/O J.L.R.R Lachance Killed\n\nP\/O N.B. Morrison Killed\n\nP\/O J.L. Wilson POW Stlaga LIII\n\nSgt R. Atkin Killed\n\nP\/O H.J. Hurley RCAF Killed\n\nWOII J.D. Newcombe RCAF Killed\n\n426 Sqdn: Lanc DS 762-V\n\nCrashed at Lake Asan, near Urshult Southern\n\nSweden.\n\nSgt George awarded an immediate DFM LG\n\n9\/5\/1944 | P\/O A.C. Davies RCAF Interned\n\nP\/O H.F. Gariock RCAF Interned\n\nSgt R. Engel RCAF Interned\n\nF\/Sgt F.T. Mudry RCAF Interned\n\nP\/O R.F. Richards RCAF Interned\n\nSgt E.O. George RCAF Interned injured\n\nF\/Sgt R.H. Ginson RCAF Interned\n\n432 Sqdn: Lanc DS 831-N\n\nCrashed at Huizum. Crew apart from F\/O Fisher\n\nthat were killed are buried in Leeuwarden,\n\nFriesland, Holland. He is buried in the US\n\nCemetery at Neuville-on-Condroz\n\nShot down by a nighfighter by Oblt Henry-\n\nWolfgan Schnauden IV\/NJG1 | F\/O W.C. Fisher USAAF Killed\n\n2\/Pilot F\/Sgt O.D. Lewis RCAF POW\n\nW\/O J.S. Briegel Killed\n\nF\/Sgt T.W. Pragnell RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M.A.T. Brudell POW Stalag LIII\n\nW\/O R.K. Saunders RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.A. Turner RCAF KilledI\n\nSgt R. Hughes Killed\n\n576 Sqdn: Lanc DV 342-G2\n\nCrashed at Lichtenberg, Berlin.\n\nF\/Sgt's Chapman and Russom are buried in Berlin\n\nthe remainder are on the Runneymede Memorial | F\/O R.S. McAra Killed\n\nSgt J.L. Barrett Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C. Champman Killed\n\nF\/O G.L. Blackmore RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt E. Russom Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M.G. Western RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.A. Harris RAAF Killed\n\n619 Sqdn: Lanc JA 867-X\n\nAll the crew are buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed Eberswalde-Finow | P\/O G.B. Loney RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Gray Killed\n\nF\/O H.A. De Vries Killed\n\nP\/O M. Gennis RCAF Killed\n\nSgt L. Banks Killed\n\nSgt D. Corbitt Killed\n\nSgt R.F. Dearden Killed\n\n625 Sqdn: Lanc LM 424-B\n\nCrashed at Wetcher Wiesen. Those killed are\n\nburied in Hannover. | W\/O D. Baker Killed age 20 later P\/O\n\nSgt W.H. Pallett POW\n\nSgt B.G Robinson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.W.F. Batchelor Killed\n\nW\/O G.E. Adams DFC Killed\n\nSgt K. Watmough Killed\n\nF\/Lt W.D. Crimmins DFC Killed (625 Gunnery\n\nLeader)\n\nAircraft crashed in the United Kingdom\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc JB 715-U\n\nThe rear gunner Sgt R.A. Whitley died on the\n\nafternoon of 17th December at Louth Hospital. The\n\naircraft crashed at Hainton on return. | Crew\n\nF\/Sgt H.R. Ross RAAF Killed buried Cambridge\n\nF\/Lt A. Walker Killed buried Whitehaven\n\nSgt H.R. McDowell RAAF Killed\n\nSgt H.P. Aldiss Killed buried East Dereham\n\nSgt F.G. Clark Killed buried Sunningdale\n\nSgt A.T. Broome Killed buried Bishops Castle\n\nSgt R.A. Whiteley injured died later buried Throop,\n\nBournemouth\n\n---|---\n\n83 Sqdn: Lanc JB 344-K\n\nAircraft crashed at Wyton. | P\/O F.F. McLean RAAF Injured\n\nSgt H. Day Inj\n\nF\/Sgt R.A. Lindsey RNZAF Unhurt\n\nSgt J. Henderson Injured\n\nF\/Sgt V.G. Tankard RAAF Died\n\nF\/Sgt L.E. Faithorn Injured\n\nSgt C.C. Reid Injured\n\nF\/Sgt Tankard is buried in Cambridge\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 119-F\n\nCrashed at Bourn while trying to land. | S\/L D.F. MacKenzie DFC Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.F. Marshall Injured\n\nF\/Sgt A. Hunter Injured\n\nF\/Sgt W.A. Lang RAAF Injured\n\nF\/Sgt K.L. Kirby Injured\n\nP\/O J.T. Pratt DFM Killed\n\nF\/O W.A. Colson DFM Killed\n\n|\n\nS\/L MacKenzie buried in Cambridge\n\nP\/O Pratt is buried in Clitheroe, Lancs\n\nF\/O Colson is buried in Willesden, Middx\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 176-K\n\nCrashed at Bourn on landing due to fog and low\n\ncloud. | F\/O E. Thackway Killed\n\nSgt G. Grundy Killed\n\nSgt J. Powell Killed\n\nP\/O L.K. Grant RCAF Killed\n\nSgt R. Lawrence Killed\n\nSgt PH. Mack Injured\n\nSgt L.A. Laver Uninjured\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 117-C\n\nCrashed near Gravely. | F\/O Thackway is buried in Killinghall\n\nSgt Grundy is buried Bradford\n\nSgt Powell Buried in Wakefield\n\nF\/O Grant in Cambridge\n\nF\/Sgt I.W.Mc Scott RAAF Killed\n\nSgt E.W. Collishaw Killed\n\nSgt S. J. Peek Killed\n\nSgt D.R. Irvine RCAF Killed\n\nSgt K.E. Foxcroft RAAF Killed\n\nSgt C.L. Hope RCAF Killed\n\nSgt S.G.Parrott Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt Scott, Irvine, Foxcroft and Sgt Hope\n\nIs buried in Cambridge.\n\nSgt Collishaw is buried in Nottingham\n\nSgt Peek is buried in the City of London\n\nSgt Parrott is buried in Liss, Hamps\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 243-P\n\nCrashed at Graveley on return. | S\/L E.A. Deverill DFC AFC DFM Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A. Russell Killed\n\nP\/O J.T. Brown Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Farr Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R. Crossgrove RNZAF DFM Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nW\/O D.J.Penfold DFM\n\nMid Upper W\/O J. Benbow DFM Injured taken to\n\nEly Hospital and died later\n\n|\n\nS\/L Deverill buried Cocking, Norfolk\n\nF\/S Russell buried Epsom, Sy\n\nF\/O Brown Buried Belfast\n\nF\/S Farr buried in Windsor\n\nP\/O Crossgrove buried in Cambridge\n\nW\/O's Benbow and Penfold are buried in\n\nWorthing, Sx\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 219-B\n\nCrashed near Gransden. | P\/O J. Kirkwood DFC Killed\n\nF\/Sgt E.G. Hubbard Killed\n\nSgt R.C. Stewart Killed\n\nF\/O G.A. Wigley Killed\n\nSgt R.G. Cleeve Killed\n\nSgt L. Madeley Killed\n\nSgt J. Killon Killed\n\n|\n\nP\/O Kirkwood buried in Kilwinning, Ayrshire\n\nF\/S Hubbard is buried in Croxton, Staffs\n\nSgt Stewart is buried Braemar, Aberdeenshire\n\nF\/O Wigley is buried in Carshalton, Sy\n\nSgt Cleeve is buried in Worth Matravers, Dorset\n\nSgt Madeley is buried in Manchester\n\nF\/S Killen is buried in Hollinfare, Lancs\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 482-S\n\nCrew baled out owing to conditions at base, and all\n\nlanded safely.\n\nAircraft crashed in the North Sea. | F\/O R.L. Mooney\n\nSgt F.B. Gray\n\nSgt G.A.Johnson\n\nF\/S J Worsdale\n\nSgt N.D. Cameron\n\nF\/Sgt G Woolf\n\nF\/Sgt L Smith\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc JB 560-N\n\nCrashed on return near Kelstern near the runway.\n\nW\/C Holford was the Commanding Officer of 100\n\nSqdn. | W\/C D.W. Holford DSO DFC Killed\n\nSgt J. Winderley Killed\n\nW\/O H.B. Wareham RCAF Killed\n\nSgt R.E. Mason Killed\n\nSgt R. Mackay Dangerously Injured\n\nF\/Sgt H. Whybrew Killed\n\nF\/Sgt D. Bolinbroke Dangerously Injured\n\n|\n\nW\/C Holford buried in Cambridge\n\nW\/O Wareham buried Cambridge\n\nSgt Wunderley buried Salford, Lancs\n\nSgt Mason buried Winchcomb, Glos\n\nF\/Sgt Wybrow buried Over, Cambs\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc JB 678-F\n\nCrashed at Binbrook, after collision with another\n\naircraft of 100 Sqdn JB 674 letter Q. | Sgt G.C. Denman Killed\n\nSgs A.H. Johnson Killed\n\nSgt I.A. Redman Killed\n\nSgt H.L. Blackwell Killed\n\nSgt J.W. Christmas Killed\n\nSgt R.G. Read Killed\n\nSgt C B Wallace RCAF inj died later on 8\/1\/1944\n\n|\n\nSgt Denman buried in Croydon\n\nSgt Johnson is buried in Stalham, Norfolk\n\nSgt Redman is buried Shaw, Wilts\n\nSgt Blackwell is buried in Cheltenham\n\nSgt Christmas is buried in Wandsworth, London\n\nSgt Read is buried in Little Stanmore, Middx\n\nSgt Wallace is buried in Cambridge\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc JB 674-Q\n\nCrashed at Binbrook, after collision with another\n\naircraft of 100 Sqdn JB 678 letter F. | Crew\n\nF\/Sgt A.J. Kevis Killed\n\nSgt D.S. Watson Killed\n\nW\/O W.H. Harras MID Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.R. Bateman RCAF Killed\n\nSgt R.M.J. Saffney Killed\n\nP\/O R.A. Van-Walwyk DFM Killed\n\nSgt T.E. Cain Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/S Kevis is buried in Sevonoaks, Kent\n\nSgt Watson is buried in Cambridge\n\nW\/O Harris is buried in Cambridge\n\nSgt Bateman is buried in Cambridge\n\nSgt Gaffney is buried in Mount Jerome, Dublin,\n\nIreland\n\nF\/O Van-Walwyk is buried in Brentford, Middx\n\nSgt Cain is buried in Warrington\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc JB 596-H\n\nCrashed at Rarnoldby-Le-Roeck. | F\/O R.L. Proudfoot Killed\n\nSgt S.D. Viggers Killed\n\nSgt L. Noyes Dangerously Injured\n\nSgt J. Bamford Killed\n\nSgt B. Phillips Dangerously Injured\n\nSgt F.H. Taylor Dangerously Injured\n\nSgt B Heaton Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/O Proudfoot buried Orsett, Essex\n\nSgt Viggers buried in Cardiff\n\nSgt Bamford buried Beeston, Notts\n\nSgt Heaton buried Crigglestone, Yorks\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc LM 389-Y\n\nCrashed at Holme, Yorks | Sgt V.M. Cooper Killed\n\nSgt W.O. Ross Injured\n\nW\/O H.P. Davis Injured\n\nSgt J.K. Watson Killed\n\nSgt R.K. Rye Killed\n\nSgt R.W.M. Spelman Killed\n\nSgt J. Gayden Killed\n\nSgt R.C. Custan Killed\n\nSgt Cooper buried in Cambridge\n\nSgt Rye, Hayden buried in Harrogate\n\nSgt Custance buried Highgate, London\n\nSgt Spelman buried Manchester\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc DV 283-P\n\nF\/O Lazenby was awarded an immediate DFC. | F\/O A.C. Lazenby and crew haled out at Ingham,\n\nall landing safely\n\n101 Sqn: Lanc LM 389-Y\n\nCrashed into a hillside Eastrington, Yorks | Sgt N.M. Cooper Killed\n\nSgt R.K. Rye Killed\n\nSgt R,C. Custance Killed\n\nSgt R.W. M. Spelman Killed\n\nSgt J.G. Hayden Killed\n\nSgt J.K. Watson Killed\n\nWO H.P. Davis injured\n\nSgt W.O. Ross injured\n\n|\n\nSgt Cooper Buried Cambridge\n\nSgt Rye Buried Harrogate\n\nSgt distance Burned Highgate\n\nSgt Spelman Buried Cambridge\n\nSgt Hayden Buried Harrogate\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc JB 670\n\nCrashed at Ulceby after take-off; believed to have | F\/Sgt V. Richter Killed\n\nSgt F.S. Copping Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\ncollided with an aircraft of 576 Squadron LM 322-\n\nLetter B2 | Crew\n\nF\/O C.R. Jacques Killed\n\nSgt C.W. Plampton Killed\n\nF\/Sgt T.L.H. Kay Killed\n\nSgt P. Coopman Killed\n\nSgt F.A. Furie Killed\n\n|\n\nAll but Sgt Furrie are buried in Cambridge\n\nHe is buried in New Stevenson, Scotland\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc JB 551\n\nCrashed in a ploughed field at Barton. | F\/O G.M Russell-Fry and crew uninjured.\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 282\n\nCrashed two miles south-west of Sutton, 1\u00bd miles\n\nfrom Garth. | F\/Sgt W.H. Watkins Killed\n\nSgt C.H. Reeve Killed\n\nSgt J.A. Watson Killed\n\nSgt H.A. Hadlow Killed\n\nSgt J. Beever Killed\n\nSgt E.W. Crouch Killed\n\nSgt L.F. Darlison Injured taken to Ely Hospital\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt Watkins buried in Lllaran, Glam\n\nSgt Hadlow buried in Poole, Dorset\n\nSgt Reeve is buried in Cambridge\n\nSgt Beever is buried in Holmfirth, Yorks\n\nSgt Watson is buried in Long Eaton, Derbys\n\nSgt Crouch is buried in Cambridge\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc JB 639\n\nCrashed near Barton on Humber. | F\/Sgt A.E. Brown Killed\n\nSgt C.G. Thompson Killed\n\nSgt D.W. Inglis Killed\n\nSgt N.P. Perry Killed\n\nSgt E.V. Smith Killed\n\nSgt H.A. Williams Killed\n\nSgt W.N. Griffin Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt Brown is buried in Ipswich\n\nSgt Thompson, Sgt Perry, are buried in Cambridge\n\nSgt Williams is buried in Crystal Palace\n\nSgt Griffin is buried in Hove, Sx\n\nSgt Smith is buried in Romford, Essex\n\nSgt Inglis is buried in Brigg, Lincs\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc LM 385\n\nCrashed at Caister time 2359. | Sgt S.F. Miller Killed\n\nSgt T. Rudden Killed\n\nSgt B.W. Haney Killed\n\nSgt H.G.A. Hine Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.H. Murphy Killed\n\nSgt H.E Miles Killed\n\nSgt W.W.A. Allen RCAF Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt Miller is buried in Scarborough, Yorks\n\nSgt Rudden is buried in Brigg, Lincs\n\nSgt Hine is buried in Cambridge\n\nF\/Sgt Haney is buried in Cambridge\n\nF\/Sgt Murphy is buried in Cambridge\n\nSgt Miles is buried in Wasperton, Warks\n\nSgt Allen is buried in Cambridge\n\n405 Sqdn: Lanc JB369 D\n\nCrashed near Gravely.\n\nSgt Nutting DFM LG 10\/9\/1943 | F\/O B.A.Mc. McLennan RCAF Killed (17th trip)\n\nSgt G.R. Schneider RCAF Killed\n\nF\/O W.F. Sheppard RCAF Killed\n\nSgt E. Halliwell Killed\n\nW\/O S.H. Nutting RCAF DFM Injured (45th trip)\n\nSgt .H.L. Cornwell Killed\n\nSgt M.F.V. Roobroeck RCAF Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nF\/O McLennan is buried in Cambridge\n\nSgt Cornwell is buried in Bottisham, Cambs\n\nF\/O Sheppard is buried in Cambridge\n\nWO2 Schneider is buried in Cambridge\n\nSgt Halliwell is buried in Blackpool\n\nSgt Roobroeck is buried in Cambridge\n\n---|---\n\n405 Sqdn: Lanc JB 481- R\n\nCrashed near Marham at 0130. | F\/O E.B. Drew RCAF Seriously Injured\n\nF\/Sgt V. Mienert RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.M. Saunders RCAF Killed\n\nWO2 W.L. Dohson RCAF Killed\n\nSgt H.R. Bessent RCAF Killed\n\nSgt L.A. McCrea RCAF Uninjured\n\nSgt W. Corrigan Uninjured\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt Mienert is buried in Cambridge\n\nWO2 Dobson is buried in Cambridge\n\nF\/Sgt Saunders is buried in Cambridge\n\nSgt Bessent is buried in Cambridge\n\n405 Sqdn: Lanc JB 477-O\n\nCrashed 2 miles from Graveley. | F\/Lt W.C. Allan RCAF Seriously Injured died later\n\n28\/1\/1943\n\nF\/O D.H. Stamers RCAF Killed\n\nP\/O M. Collier RCAF Killed\n\nSgt E.S. Joslyn Injured\n\nSgt G.L. Strang RCAF Killed\n\nSgt J.C. Egan RCAF Injured\n\nSgt A.E.S. Kiff Injured\n\n|\n\nF\/Lt Allan buried in Botley, Oxford\n\nF\/O Stamers is buried in Cambridge\n\nP\/O Collier is buried in Cambridge\n\nSgt Strang is buried Cambridge\n\n406 Sqdn: Lanc JB 613\n\nCrashed at Ludford Magna. | F\/Lt Greenacre and his crew. None of the crew was\n\ninjured.\n\n408 Sqdn: Lanc DS 737-C\n\nCrashed near Hawnby, Yorks, into a mountain.\n\nClark died later of his injuries; he was on his eighth\n\ntrip of his second tour. Peek, Wood, Marynowski\n\nand Yeo were also on their second tours. | F\/O B.S. Clark RCAF Seriously Injured\n\nSgt T.A. Dee Killed\n\nSgt N. Wood Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.G.E. Boilly RCAF Seriously Injured\n\nSgt L.A. Moran Slightly Injured\n\nF\/Sgt L.J. Yeo Injured\n\nF\/O M.R. Marynowski RCAF Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/O Marynowski is buried in Harrogate\n\nSgt Dee is buried in Croxton, Lincs\n\nSgt Wood is buried in Brighton\n\n426 Sqdn: Lanc DS 779-Q\n\nCrashed at Hunsingcre on the north side of the river\n\nNidd | F\/Sgt R.D. Stewart RCAF Killed\n\nF\/O H.P. Norris RCAF Killed\n\nSgt J. Greeenwell Killed\n\nF\/O W. Hamilton Killed\n\nSgt L. Sale Killed\n\nSgt A.S. Jamieson Injured\n\nSgt D.E. Stewart Injured\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt Stewart is buried in Harrogate\n\nSgt Sale is buried in Mexborough\n\nSgt Greenwell is buried in Willesden\n\nF\/O Hamilton is buried in Hove\n\n426 Sqdn: Lanc DS 837 | S\/L T.M. Kneale RCAF Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\nCrashed at Yearsley. | Crew\n\nP\/O G.M.A.C Jones RCAF Killed\n\nP\/O M.M. Prill RCAF Killed\n\nF\/O J. MacKay RCAF Killed\n\nP\/O R.P. Marks Injured\n\nSgt A.A. Johnston RCAF Killed\n\nSgt G C Foster Injured\n\nAll those killed buried in Harrogate\n\n432 Sqdn: Lanc DS 832-K\n\nThey had been diverted to Leeming for landing but\n\nwere unable to see the ground because of the poor\n\nvisibility. Abandon the aircraft in the air. | F\/O H.B. Hatfield RCAF and his crew baled out\n\nnear Thornaby; all uninjured apart from the W\/Opt\n\nSgt W.H. Poole who broke an arm.\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc JB 657\n\nAircraft crashed into an ammunition dump in a\n\nwood at Market Stainton. | F\/O F.A. Randall RAAF DFC Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.K. Halstead RAAF Killed\n\nF\/O H.G.D. Dedman RAAF Killed\n\nSgt H.H. Petersen RAAF Killed\n\nSgt J. McKenzie Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C.G. Howie RAAF Killed\n\nSgt R.A. Moynagh RAAF Killed\n\nAll buried in Cambridge\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc DV 173\n\nCrashed into a field in Normandy near Caister. | W\/O M. Stafford Uninjured\n\nSgt W.F.H. McIntyre Uninjured\n\nP\/O C.E. Hanson Uninjured\n\nF\/Sgt R. Mansfield Uninjured\n\nSgt E.D. Dixon Severely Injured\n\nSgt J. Davies Uninjured\n\nP\/O H.H. Garment Killed\n\nP\/O Garment buried Ruislip, Middx\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc JB 704\n\nCrashed in a field short of the runway at Rinhrook. | F\/Sgt K.J. Godwin and his crew. All uninjured.\n\n576 Sqdn: Lanc JA 957-X2\n\nOvershot the flare path at Wickenhy, having been\n\ndiverted there, and made a crash landing with the\n\nunder-carriage up in bad weather. | W\/O T.J. Bassett and his crew. Three crew injured.\n\n576 Sqdn: Lanc JB 746-B2\n\nCollided with an aircraft of 103 JB 670 and crashed\n\nat Ulceby. | F\/Sgt F.R. Scott RAAF Killed\n\nSgt S.V. Cull Killed\n\nSgt G.G. Critchley Killed\n\nSgt J.H. Caldwell Killed\n\nSgt B.P. Wicks RAAF Killed\n\nSgt J.W. Ross Killed\n\nSgt P.M.C. Ellis Killed\n\nAll buried in Cambridge\n\n619 Sqdn: Lanc EE 15O-F\n\nCrashed on return near the outer beacon at\n\nWoodhall Spa; the crew were all unharmed.\n\nF\/Lt Tomlin was awarded an immediate DFC.\n\nHad been attacked by a nighfighter on outward trip. | F\/Lt A.H. Tomlin and crew.\n\n625 Sqdn: Lanc ED 951-A\n\nCrashed at Gayton Le Wold at 2325 pm. The\n\ninjured were taken to Louth County Infirmary.\n\nF\/O Woolley was attached from the USAAF. | F\/O G.E. Woolley USAAF Injured\n\nSgt G.A. Draycott Killed\n\nSgt S.A. Taylor Killed\n\nF\/Lt G.E. Shannon Injured\n\nSgt D. Pascoe Injured\n\nSgt F.R. Johnson Injured\n\nSgt G.A. Richards Injured\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nSgt Taylor is buried in Leicester\n\nSgt Draycott is buried in Wigston\n\n625 Sqdn: Lanc W 4993-K\n\nOvershot the base at Kelstern and hit the ground\n\nslowly with the inner wing and belly landed\n\nwithout any injury to the crew. | W\/O E.S. Ellis and crew.\n\n625 Sqdn: Lanc LM 317-U\n\nLanded on three engines at Blyton. | P\/O R.G. Bowden DFM and crew uninjured except\n\nnavigator P\/O S.N. Cunnington, wounded.\n\n463 Sqdn: Lanc ED 949\n\nHit by flak. | P\/O D.C. Dunn and crew uninjured except bomber\n\nP\/O Coals wounded.\n\n23rd\/24th December 1943\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n44 Sqdn: Lanc R 5669-Z\n\nCrashed at Waldhof Elegeshausen (Greifenstein).\n\nCrew buried Hanover. | Crew\n\nP\/O T.H. Knight Killed\n\nSgt K.T. Cooper Killed\n\nSgt D.J. Symmonds Killed\n\nSgt A.R.C. Yeatman Killed\n\nSgt E. Birchall Killed\n\nSgt R.G. Tutt Killed\n\nSgt S.W. Whitney Killed\n\n2\/Pilot Sgt E.J. Blackley Killed\n\n---|---\n\n44 Sqdn: Lanc ED 999-X\n\nCrashed at Graftlage-Wetchen. Crew buried in\n\nHanover.\n\nShot down by a nightfighter said to be Oblt Paul\n\nZorner of 1\/NJG3\n\ncrashed at Diepholz | Sgt R.L. Hands Killed age 22\n\nSgs H. Bowles Killed\n\nSgt J.A. Wilde Killed\n\nSgt A.P. Coombe Killed\n\nSgt G.E. Phillips Killed\n\nSgt K.A. Beech Killed\n\nSgt C. Burgess Killed\n\n50 Sqdn: Lanc ED 445-L\n\nCrashed at Gotzen. Crew buried in Hannover. | F\/O D.W. Herbert Killed age 21\n\nSgt J. Russell Killed\n\nSgt P.A.E.Philip Rex Killed\n\nSgt D.J. Poole Killed\n\nP\/O C. Hughes Killed\n\nSgt C.H. Kewley Killed\n\nSgt T.L. North Killed\n\n57 Sqdn: Lanc JB 233-F\n\nCrashed at Meppen near Lingen.Those killed\n\nburied in the Reichswald War Cemetery. | F\/Sgt H.J. Knights RCAF POW Stalag 4B\n\nSgt D.A. Fisher,Killed\n\nF\/Sgt I.D. Forsyth RAAF POW Stalag 7B\n\nSgt J. Low RCAF POWStalag 4B\n\nSgt A.E. Eley Killed\n\nSgt J.Mc. Adamson RCAF Killed\n\nSgt R.R. Mutton Killed\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc JB 594-O\n\nAll are on the Runneymede Memorial. | F\/Sgt D.B. Jameson Killed age 29\n\nSgt W. Phillips Killed\n\nF\/O F.M. Connolly Killed\n\nSgt J.R. Jones Killed\n\nSgt R. Smith Killed\n\nSgt V.De. P. Brown Killed\n\nSgt A.B. Burke Killed\n\n103 Sqdn Lanc JB 730-P\n\nCrashed at Oborsair. Crew are buried in the\n\nRheinberg War Cemetery. | F\/Sgt M. McMahon RCAF Killed\n\nSgt R.B. Stocks Killed\n\nSgt J.W. Brewster Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nSgt G.E. Crawford Killed\n\nF\/O A.G. MacDonald RNZAF Killed\n\nSgt A.R. Fleming Killed\n\nSgt T. Thompson Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc DS 773-T\n\nAll but Sgt Davidson killed buried in Berlin.\n\nHe is on the Runneymede Memorial. | P\/O D.L. Pirie Killed\n\nP\/O K.D. Pearce Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W. Hardaker Killed\n\nSgt K. Davidson Killed\n\nSgt J. Southwell Killed\n\nSgt J. Calvert Killed\n\nSgt R.J. Heal Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 711-W\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | F\/O N.J. Warfield DFM Killed\n\nSgt J. Hill Killed\n\nP\/O R.R. Stain RAAF DFM Killed\n\nSgt T.E. Rees Killed\n\nSgt F.J. Manley Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F.H. Morgan Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.N.V. Daniel (Welsh Football Cap) Killed\n\n207 Sqdn: Lanc DV 188-J\n\nCrashed at Luckenwalde. Sgt Davies aged 20 is on\n\nthe Runneymede Memorial. | P\/O G.E. Moulton-Barrett POW Stalag III\n\nSgt T.H. Gladders POW Stalag 4B\n\nF\/O L.R. Roberts POW Stalag III\n\nF\/Sgt E.W. Burl POW Stalag 4B\n\nF\/Sgt J. Sherlock POW\n\nF\/Sgt I.W. Robinson RAAF POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt D.O. Davies Killed\n\n463 Sqdn: Lanc ED 420-L\n\nCrashed at Kaulsdorf.\n\nSgt Ryan and Sgt Tunnicliff are on the\n\nRunneymede Memorial remainder are buried in\n\nBerlin. | P\/O A.W. Heap RAAF Killed age 21\n\nSgt W.H. Carter Killed\n\nF\/O R.S. Gall Killed\n\nSgt D. McCreadie Killed\n\nSgt L.M. Ryan RAAF Killed\n\nSgt F.J. Tunnicliffe Killed\n\nF\/Sgt K.R.R. Glover RAAF Killed\n\n514 Sqdn: Lanc LL 671-A2B\n\nCrashed at Ostheim-Friedberg. Those killed buried\n\nin the Durnbach War Cemetery. | P\/O K.G. Whitting RAAF Killed age 25\n\nF\/Sgt D. Edwards Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.W. Basey Killed\n\nSgt W.A. Casey Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.E. Moloney RAAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt P.A.T. Nelson RCAF Killed\n\nSgt L.F. Bostock Killed\n\n550 Sqdn: Lanc DV 343-X2\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | P\/O D.C. Dripps RAAF Killed age 27\n\nSgt J.C. Scott Killed\n\nF\/O J.E. Stewart RCAF Killed\n\nSgt W.T. Sibley Killed\n\nSgt D. Campbell Killed\n\nSgt R. Gillies Killed\n\nP\/O G.C. Orme Killed\n\n576 Sqdn: Lanc ED 913-U2\n\nThose killed are buried in Berlin. | F\/O J.H. Richards Killed age 29\n\nF\/O B.J. Marks Killed 2nd Pilot\n\nSgt G. Evans POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt A.E. Hooper Killed\n\nSgt S.W. Irons Killed\n\nSgt C. Milburn Killed\n\nSgt H. Johnson Killed\n\nSgt H.S Mitchell Killed\n\n576 Sqdn: Lanc ED 713-W2\n\nCrashed at Lanzonhain in deep snow. Those killed | P\/O R.L. Hughes Killed later F\/O\n\nSgt J.E.F. Paton Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\nburied in Hannover. | Crew\n\nSgt F.H. Lanxon POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt D.A.H. Morris POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt J. Woodruff POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt J.P. Gray Killed\n\nSgt F.E.A. Rivett Killed\n\n625 Sqdn: Lanc LM 421-Q\n\nCrashed at Mittenualde east-north-east of\n\nRangsdoff.\n\nSgt's Walker and Whitmarsh are on the\n\nRunneymede Memorial remainder are buried in\n\nBerlin | Sgt G.F. Clark Killed age 22\n\nSgt D.W. Walker Killed\n\nSgt R. Parkinson Killed.\n\nSgt W.E. Whitmarsh Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C.R. Harrison Killed\n\nSgt F.A. Sugden Killed\n\nSgt A.E. Naylor Killed\n\nAircraft crashed in the United Kingdom\n\n7 Sqn: Lanc JB730-P\n\nCrashed after take off from Oakington | Crew\n\nP\/O H C Williams RNZAF Inj\n\nP\/O G H Falloon Inj\n\nF\/O Hewitt Inj\n\nF\/Sgt A L B Carson Inj\n\nP\/O W Swain Inj\n\nF\/O S A Strong Inj\n\nP\/O I G Kaye Inj\n\n---|---\n\n207 Sqn: Lanc DV361-V\n\nAbandon in the air | Crew\n\nSgt G A Baker\n\nSgt P W Groom\n\nSgt R Wellfare\n\nSgt L A Hinch\n\nF\/Sgt C E Ryall RCAF Killed\n\nSgt G C O'Neil Killed\n\nSgt T G Higgins Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt Ryall buried in Oxford\n\nSgt O'Neil buried Port Glasgow, Renfrewshire\n\nSgt Higgins buried Caerlaverock. Dumfiesshire\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n550 Sqdn: Lanc LM 319-G2\n\nCrashed at Fulstow, having collided with JB 604-K\n\nalso of 550 Sqdn. | Crew\n\nSgt H.F.J. Woods Killed\n\nSgt D.G. Davies Killed\n\nSgt M. Giles Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.R. Legere RCAF Killed\n\nSgt W.F. Wright Killed\n\nSgt J.C. Atherton RCAF Killed\n\nSgt J. McConnell Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt Woods buried Bristol\n\nSgt Davies buried Neath, Wales\n\nSgt Giles buried Gloucester\n\nF\/Sgt Legere buried Cambridge\n\nSgt Wright buried Hereford\n\nF\/Sgt Atherton buried Cambridge\n\nSgt McConnell buried Dalziel, Lanarkshire\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc ND 327-\n\nCrashed at Fulstow, having collided with LM\n\n319-G2 also of 550 | F\/Sgt W.R. Cooper Killed\n\nSgt G.W. Clayden Killed\n\nSgt A.R. Laurence Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.W. Guest Killed\n\nSgt R.W. Theobald Killed\n\nSgt J.A. Jordan Killed\n\nSgt J. Rawson Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nF\/Sgt Cooper buried Harrow\n\nSgt Claydon buried Walgrave, Northants\n\nSgt Laurence buried Bishops Hatfield, Herts\n\nSgt Guest buried Cambridge\n\nSgt Theobald unknown\n\nSgt Jordan buried Cambridge\n\nSgt Rawson buried Wickersley, Yorks\n\n550 Sqn:Lanc ED 730-G2\n\nCollied in mide air with Lanc ND 327-100 Sqn\n\nCrashed near Fulston | Sgt H.F.J Woods\n\nSgt D.G. Davies\n\nSgt M.E. Giles\n\nF\/Sgt J.R.E. Legere RCAF\n\nSgt L.F. Wright\n\nF\/Sgt J.C. Atherton\n\nSgt J. McConnell\n\n|\n\nSgt Woods Buried Bristol\n\nSgt Davies Buried Neath, S outh Wales\n\nSgt Giles Buried Gloucester\n\nF\/Sgt Legere Buried Cambridge\n\nSgt Wright Buried Hereford\n\nF\/Sgt Atherton Buried Cambridge\n\nSgt McConnell Buried Dalziel, Lanarkshire\n\n29th\/30th December 1943\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n10 Sqdn: Halifax JC 314-X\n\nNuinerwold Gen Cemetery, Drenthe, Holland. | Crew\n\nF\/Sgt P.B. Green Killed age 22\n\nSgt A. Colbourne Killed\n\nSgt R.E. Roos Killed\n\nF\/Sgt S. Webb Killed\n\nSgt D.R.C. Appleyard Killed\n\nSgt W.D. Hall Killed\n\nSgt P.J. Greruman Killed\n\n---|---\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc JB 407-A\n\nHit by light flak. Aircraft abandon near Dutch\n\nCoast.\n\nCrashed at Gangett where those killed were\n\noriginally buried.\n\nThose killed buried in the Rheinberg War Cemetery | Sgt J.H. Hawkesley-Hill POW Stalag IVB\n\nP\/O F.A. Hodgkinson POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt A.A. Mortimer POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt W.E. Doak USAAF POW\n\nF\/Sgt C. Toulson POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt E. Podborchinski RCAFKilled\n\nSgt R. Cooke Killed\n\n35 Sqdn: Halifax HR 986-G\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin. | F\/O R.C. Williams DFC Killed\n\nP\/O J. Hooson DEM Killed\n\nF\/O E.J. Stone DFC Killed\n\nF\/O G.R. Davidson DFM Killed\n\nSgt F.C. Redman POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt W.E.C. Dillow Killed\n\nSgt W. Laverick DFM Killed\n\n50 Sqdn: Lanc DV 375-E\n\nCrashed in the sea. Groves was picked up by a\n\ndestroyer, with minor injuries.F\/O Hales washed\n\nup on a German beach buried Sage. The remain der\n\nare on the Runneymede Memorial | F\/Lt D.G. McAlpine Killed age 29\n\nSgt W. Hope Killed\n\nSgt J. Greenwell Killed\n\nF\/O C.N. Hale Killed\n\nSgt J. Biggs Killed\n\nF\/O H. Mordue Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.E. Groves RAAF inj picked up\n\n51 Sqdn: Halifax JD 264-H | F\/Sgt A.R. Baird POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt R.M.Jones POW\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nP\/O P.O. Coryton POW\n\nSgt J.A. Horrell POW\n\nSgt G.B. Mowbrey POW\n\nSgt A.D. Gunn POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt C.D. Wilkes POW Stalag LIII\n\n61 Sqdn: Lanc DV399-R\n\nHit by flak caussed a fire in the fuselage P\/O\n\nThomas tried to extingusihed this seeing the rear\n\ngunner Sgt Stuart preapring to bale out and not in\n\nintercom contact he baled out at that moment the\n\naircraft blew up.\n\nAll those killed are buried in Berlin. | F\/Lt G.H. Harvey RAAF Killed age 22\n\nSgt J.S. Kennedy Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.W. Carver Killed\n\nF\/Sgt K. Prouten Killed\n\nSgt N.S.J. Meehan Killed\n\nP\/O D.F. Thomas RCAF POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt R.S. Stuart Killed\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc LM 371-T\n\nCrashed at Schillerslage, near Hanover.Sgt Morton\n\naged 22 buried in Hanover. | F\/Sgt J.W. Shearer POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt R.M. Lloyd POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt W.M. Smith RNZAF POW\n\nSgt D. Naylor POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt N.F. Worsnup POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt W.R. Coleman POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt J. Morton Killed\n\nSgt M. Cohen RCAF POW Stalag IVB\n\n102 Sqdn: Halifax HR 867-A\n\nHit by flak. | P\/O A.C. Fraser POW\n\nF\/O H.H. Hesketh POW\n\nSgt R. Day POW\n\nF\/Sgt N.L. Pearce Killed\n\nSgt R. Mundy POW\n\nSgt R.R. McWhinnie POW\n\nF\/O Carlson 2\/Pilot POW\n\n102 Sqdn: Halifax JD 412-X\n\nSgt Stokes is on the Runneymede Memorial. | Sgt F.F. Stokes RAAF Killed age 29 later P\/O\n\nSgt H.W. Parr POW\n\nSgt C.E. Habberley POW\n\nSgt E.H. Ricketts POW\n\nSgtJ. Thomson POW\n\nSgt T.G. Hatton POW\n\nF\/Sgt E. Bretherton POW\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc JB 748-G\n\nSgt Henderson age 19 is buried in the Reicswald\n\nWar Cemetery.\n\nHit by flak and suffred dameg to the tailplane and\n\nand loss of both port engines crashed Mettingen. | W\/O L.J. Grigg POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt A.R.G. Warne POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt A. Fletcher POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt R.W. Hatherley POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt W.A. Lamb RCAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgs C.H. Cunning POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt T.C. Henderson Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc DS 834-F\n\nThose Killed buried Weert (Tungelroi) Holland.\n\nHit by a nightfighter and crashed at Tungelroi | F\/Sgt J. Lee POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt H. Pike POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt L.H.Jones Killed\n\nSgt K.S. Bell RAAF Killed\n\nSgt A.M. Wilkinson RCAF Killed\n\nSgt G. Johnson Killed\n\nSgt A.F. Gunnell Evaded\n\n408 Sqdn: Lanc DS 718-R\n\nShot down Wietmanschen near Lingen,\n\ncrew originally buried here.\n\nF\/Lt Wilton buried in the Reichswald War\n\nCemetery\n\nSgt Feran, P\/O McCabe, WO2 Raban, Sgt Landing,\n\nF\/O Pildrem and P\/O Hoyle all buried in Hooton\n\nWar Cemetery | F\/Lt W.T. Wilton RCAF Killed age 24\n\nF\/Sgt D.A. McCabe RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H. Landing Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.E. Raban RCAF Killed\n\nF\/O R.A. Pildrem Killed\n\nF\/O F.H. Hoyle Killed\n\nSgt B.H. Kearn Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n419 Sqdn: Halifax LW 282-Y\n\nShot down over Berlin. | Crew\n\nF\/Sgt R.L. Thompson POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt F.H. Webb POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt S.J. Maloney POW Sealag IVB\n\nSgt R.G. Bilyard POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt G. Cooper POW\n\nSgt A.J. Carrol POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt W.J. Barry POW Stalag LIII\n\n429 Sqdn: Halifax JD 318-F\n\nShot down by a night fighter. Those killed buried\n\nTubergen, Overijssel, Holland. | P\/O A.L. Merkley POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/O R.O. Marion POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/O C.W. Peasland RCAF Killed\n\nSgt B.S. Ranson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt E.N. Parker Killed\n\nSgt R.H.J. Walsh Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.G. Innes Killed\n\n431 Sqdn: Halifax LK 701-L\n\nThose killed buried Hanover. | F\/O G.E. Bishops Killed\n\nF\/O R.A. Holtby RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G. Cummive Killed\n\nSgt N. Roffle POW\n\nSgt J.J. Whelan Killed\n\nSgt G.D. Kehoe Killed\n\nSgt A.E.F. Banning Killed\n\n431 Sqdn: Halifax LK 659-A\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin. | F\/O J.N. Nelson RCAF Killed later F\/Lt\n\nSgt P. Walker Killed\n\nF\/O F. Spencer Killed\n\nSgt L.C. Nosworthy Killed\n\nSgt A.H.R. Fielding Killed\n\nSgt J.R. Ruthvein Killed\n\nSgt F.G. Goodall Killed\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc JB 298-Q\n\nF\/O Poole. F\/O Beattie, F\/Sgt Irvin, buried in\n\nBerlin the remainder are on the Runneymede\n\nMemorial | F\/O R.K. McIntyre RAAF Killed age 20\n\nF\/O J. Poole RAAF Killed\n\nSgt R. Gartside Killed\n\nF\/O J.P. Grant RAAF Killed\n\nF\/O G.P. Beattie RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.H. Irvin RAAF Killed\n\nP\/O W.R. Read Killed\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc JB 607-N\n\nThose killed buried in the Reichswald War\n\nCemetery. | P\/O S.J. Ireland RAAF Killed age 30\n\nSgt W.A.H. Squire Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F.J. Seery RAAF POW Stalag LIII\n\nW\/O A.E. Blight RAAF Killed\n\nSgt C. Seddon Killed\n\nSgt R.J. Poulter Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M H Squires RAAF Killed\n\n467 Sqdn: Lanc ED 547-M\n\nA new crew to 467, the pilot only had three trips,\n\ntwo as second pilot. The aircraft M for Mother was\n\non its 65th trip. Crew buried in Berlin. | P\/O R.A. Tait RAAF Killed age 22\n\nSgt R.A. Yale Killed\n\nSgt F.A. Spencer Killed\n\nP\/O F.M.C. Allen Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.E. Lambert Killed\n\nSgt S. Allom Killed\n\nSgt D. Wetherell Killed\n\n514 Sqdn: Lanc DS 821-S\n\nAfter combat with a fighter, the aircraft ran out of\n\npetrol and had to ditch picked up by ASR. | F\/O L. Greenburgh and crew rescued uninjured.\n\nCrashed in the UK\n\n100 Sqn: Lanc JB 605-O\n\nAbandon in the Air | Crew\n\nF\/O R M Parker Inj\n\nSgt C W Ellis Inj\n\nF\/o H Ferguson Inj\n\nSgt G Wilverwood Inj\n\nSgt T Campbell Inj\n\nSgt E Stalkie Inj\n\nSgt G A Orchard Inj\n\n---|---\n\n405Sqn:Lanc JB 668-T\n\nHit by flak while bombing, damage to port inner\n\nand starboard outer engines then hit again by flak\n\nnear Bremen on return.\n\nLanded safely at Woodbridge airfield, Suffolk. | F\/Sgt A.R. McQuade RCAF\n\nSgt J. McCreadie\n\nWO2 D.M. Lunney RCAF\n\nF\/Sgt R.H. Law RCAF\n\nF\/Sgt J Fraser\n\nSgt W.C.Palater RCAF\n\nF\/Sgt G.E. Foster RCAF\n\n1st\/2nd January 1944\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc EE 129-V | Crew\n\nF\/Lt K.C. Kingsbury RNZAF DFC POW Stalag\n\nLIII\n\nF\/O D.W. Souchen RCAF POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt G.F. Mortimer POW\n\nSgt A.W.D. King POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt D.T.M. Ingram POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt E. Parr POW Stalag IVB\n\nF\/O E.G. Bedwell RCAF POW StalagLIII\n\n---|---\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc JB 682-A\n\nCrew buried in the Reichswald War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed at Ramsel | S\/L H.R. Jaggard Killed age 27\n\nF\/Lt AF. Taylor DFM Killed\n\nF\/O J.C. Osborne Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.V. Roberts Killed\n\nF\/O C.J. Donahue RCAF DFM Killed\n\nW\/O J.T. Williams Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.G. Warwick Killed\n\n9 Sqdn: Lanc JA 711-A\n\nCrew buried in Hanover. | P\/O C. Ward Killed Later F\/O\n\nSgt J. Sutton Killed\n\nSgt E.D. Keene Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.L. James Killed\n\nSgt G.F.K. Bedwell Killed\n\nF\/Sgt N.F. Dixon Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.L. Doran RCAF Killed\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc ND 325-G\n\nCrashed at Wingshach. Sgt Smith aged 21 is buried\n\nin Durnbach. Sgt Smith chute failed to open. | P\/O K.C. West POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt R.H. Pearce POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt D.L. Smith Died of injuries as a POW\n\nW\/O E.A. Walters RCAF POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt E. Waterhouse POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt K. Apps POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt V.A. Panniers POW Stalag IVB\n\n44 Sqdn: Lanc W4 831-C\n\nCrew buried in Berlin. | P\/O W.A. Holmes A'Court Killed\n\nP\/O J.W. Woods Killed\n\nF\/O O.D. Blaha Killed\n\nSgt A.R. Morris Killed\n\nSgt R.A. Kidley Killed\n\nF\/Sgt T.W. Black Killed\n\nSgt H.A. Norton Killed\n\n57 Sqdn: Lanc JB 548-Q | P\/O G.L. Grimbly POW Stalag III\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nSgt E.S.J. Michael POW\n\nF\/O J.R. Upton POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt W.A. Turner POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt C. Walker POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt D.F. Hall POW Stalag IVB\n\nF\/Sgt R.C. Lowe POW Stalag IVB\n\n61 Sqdn: Lanc LM 377-F\n\nCrew buried in Hanover. | F\/O G.E. Sharpe RCAF Killed age 23\n\nSgt B.G. Imber Killed\n\nF\/O E.A.C. Willard Killed\n\nF\/O A.V. Shirley Killed\n\nSgt A. Ross Killed\n\nSgt W.J. Churcher Killed\n\nSgt H. Pattrick Killed\n\n61 Sqdn: Lanc DV 344-V\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin. | F\/O R.P. Cunningham Killed\n\nSgt A.F. Gleadle Killed\n\nF\/O J. Storey Killed\n\nSgt M.S. Williams Killed\n\nSgt R.R. Barbour Killed\n\nSgt E. Lunnis Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.C. Butler Killed\n\n83 Sqdn: Lanc ND 354-A\n\nThose killed buried in Sage War Cemetery,\n\nOldenberg.\n\nCrashed at Lutten. | W\/C W. Abercromhy Killed age 33\n\nF\/Sgt A.F. Nairn Killed\n\nSgt L.H. Lewis POW\n\nF\/Sgt W.R. Halloran Killed\n\nSgt W.A. Wall Killed\n\nP\/O W.J.James Killed\n\nSgt R.W. Allen Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.B. Earson Killed\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JA 960-E\n\nCrew buried in the Rheinberg War Cemetery.\n\nHit by flak near Acchen and crashed. | F\/O R.L. Mooney DFM Killed age 23\n\nSgt F.B. Grey Killed\n\nSgt G.A. Johnson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Worsdale Killed\n\nSgt N.D. Cameron Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G. Woolf Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.E. Smith Killed\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc JB 740-R\n\nCrew buried in Hanover.\n\nCrashed at Rottorj on outward leg. | F\/Sgt R.W. Chinery Killed age 23\n\nSgt D.S. Fawcett Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.A. Dwelly Killed\n\nSgt D.R. Jessop Killed\n\nSgt G. John Killed\n\nSgt J.B. Gooravitch Killed\n\nSgt G. Monk Killed\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc DV 308-V\n\nThose killed are buried at Gosslies, Charleri,\n\nHainaut, Belgium. P\/O Zubic was only 18. | P\/O D.J. Bell POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt L.F. Somers POW\n\nSgt H. W. Bailey Evaded\n\nSgt E.H. Harris POW Stalag I\n\n1st Lt M.H. Albert (USAF) POW\n\nP\/O F.J. Zubic RCAF Killed\n\nF\/O W.E. Suddick Killed\n\nSgt G.C. Connon Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc DV 3O7-Z\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial | Crew\n\nS\/L I. Robertson DFC Killed age 22\n\nSgt R. Calvert Killed\n\nF\/O S.I. Kennedy Killed\n\nF\/Sgt S.T. Player Killed\n\nP\/O B.W. Zeal Killed\n\nP\/O T. Wright Killed\n\nTech Sgt E. Jones USAF Killed\n\nF\/Lt A.H. Duringer DFC DFM Killed\n\n---|---\n\n106 Sqdn: Lanc JB 645-F\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin. | P\/O E.C. Holbourne Killed\n\nSgt H.V. Walmsley Killed\n\nSgt E.N. Burton Killed\n\nSgt T.T. Powell Killed\n\nSgt J.H. Dyer Killed\n\nSgt T.H. Mallett Killed\n\nF\/Sgt S.R. Mattick Killed\n\n106 Sqdn: Lanc JB 642-J\n\nThose killed buried in Hanover.\n\nCrashed at Hoya on outward leg. | P\/O F.H. Garnett Killed age 21\n\nSgt D. McLean Killed\n\nF\/Sgt T.J. Thomas Killed\n\nSgt E.M.J. Pease Killed\n\nSgt E. Edge Killed\n\nSgt J.A. Withington Killed\n\nSgt A.A.E. Elsworthy POW\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 476-R\n\nCrew buried in Berlin | F\/O T. Doherty Killed\n\nP\/O C.L. Gynther Killed\n\nW\/O L.F. Gill Killed\n\nF\/O W. Raper Killed\n\nF\/O W.A. Robertson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W. Lumsden Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Murray Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc ND 384-D\n\nBuried Chievres, Hainaut, Belgium.\n\nCrashed at G landreu on return leg | P\/O G.P.R. Bond DFC Killed age 22\n\nP\/O A. Morassi Killed\n\nSgt G. Barry Killed\n\nP\/O C.E. Blanchette Killed\n\nF\/O A.R. Relsover Killed\n\nF\/O V. Waterhouse Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.Underwood Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 703-X\n\nCrew buried in Berlin | S\/L R.G.F. Stewart DFC Killed age 23\n\nF\/Sgt R.J. Hudson Killed\n\nP\/O C.M. Handley Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F. Thorington Killed\n\nF\/Lt M.S.Fletcher Killed\n\nF\/Lt C.F. Horner Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JA 925-L\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial | S\/L R.E. Fawcett DFC Killed\n\nP\/O P.R. Lyford Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Bell Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.J. Bowen Killed\n\nP\/O G. Vickers Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.M. Headley Killed\n\nF\/Sgt B.C Hinks Killed\n\n207 Sqdn: Lanc DV 370-L\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial | P\/O W.J. Bottrell Killed age 29 later F\/O\n\nSgt F. Holland Killed\n\nSgt S. Ecelestone Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nSgt F.W. Porteous Killed Sgt\n\nK.H.H. Wardle Killed\n\nSgt J. O'Mahony Killed\n\nSgt R Clark Killed\n\n207 Sqdn: Lanc W 4892-T\n\nSolmon had completed 24 trips and was due to\n\ncomplete his tour with the USAAF. He and\n\nDebardcleben Buried in the US Military Cemetery\n\nNeuville-en-Conoz\n\nRemainder of Crew buried in Berlin | Lt F. B. Solmon USAF Killed\n\nSgt W.J. Cant Killed\n\nLt W.A. Debardcleben USAF Killed\n\nSgt A.W. Lawrie Killed\n\nSgt F. Morgan Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.M. Scot Killed\n\nP\/O P.S. Watt Killed\n\nF\/S L.D.Gosney RCAF 2\/Pilot Killed\n\n405 Sqdn: Halifax JR 280-K\n\nCrashed at Berle, Holland. Crew buried\n\nSchoonebeek, Drenthe, Holland | F\/O T.H. Donnelly RCAF DFM Killed\n\nF\/O A.J. Salaba Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.L.J. Clark Killed\n\nSgt B.S.J. West Killed\n\nSgtR.E. Watts Killed\n\nSgt R. Zimmer Killed\n\nSgt L.G.R. Miller Killed\n\n405 Sqdn: Halifax JR 737-R\n\nThose killed buried St Pol, Pas de Calais, France\n\nCrashed on the home leg near St-Pol-Sun Ternoise. | F\/O A.P. Campbell RCAF Killed age 22\n\nP\/O T.D. Gavin Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.B. Dunne Killed\n\nSgt J. Redhead Killed\n\nP\/O D.N.Thompson POW\n\nF\/Sgt B.C.Cameron Killed\n\nSgt D.J. Leslie POW\n\n460 Sqn: JB 606-H\n\nAll are buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed at Muckenderf | F\/Sgt R.W. Rowley RAAF\n\nSgt W. Fleming\n\nF\/O E.C. Truscott RAAF\n\nF\/O A Robinson RAAF\n\nF\/Sgt L.A.Chester\n\nSgt R.H. Lawn RAAF\n\nP\/O H.E. Bennett\n\n463 Sqdn: Lanc W 4897-Q\n\nCrew name son the Runneymede Memorial | F\/Sgt S.W. Lawson RAAF Killed later P\/O\n\nSgt P. Chittenden Killed\n\nSgt A.G. Smith Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C.D. Redgrave Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M.E. Sadler RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.A. Sampey RAAF Killed\n\nSgt F.C. Eggleson Killed\n\n467 Sqdn: Lanc LM 372-K\n\nCrew are buried in Celle,Germany. | F\/O L.B. Patkin Killed\n\nSgt R. Chambers Killed\n\nF\/O R.J.A. Maidstone Killed\n\nSgt G.A.Litchfleld Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.D. Blackwell RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.D. Scott RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.N. Boetteher RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Mudie RAAF Killed\n\n550 Sqdn: Lanc DV 189-T2 | F\/O J.G. Bryson Killed\n\nCrew buried Hannover.\n\nAttacke dby a nightfighter on outward leg crashed\n\nto the south of Hoya. | Sgt T.F.M. Roxby Killed\n\nSgt D.F. Fadden POW\n\nF\/Sgt P.H. Evans POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt J.E. Donnan POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt J.J. Saukins POW\n\nSgt W.C. Gundry POW Stalag IVB\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n626 Sqdn: Lane DV 190-B2\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed at Garselegen | Crew\n\nSgt E. Berry Killed\n\nSgt J.B. Edwards Killed\n\nSgt S. Henderson Killed\n\nSgt R.H. Doull Killed\n\nSgt E.Atkinson Killed\n\nSgt V.H. Trayler Killed\n\nSgt J. Waters Killed\n\n630 Sqdn: Lane JB 532-X\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed at Grossbeuthen | F\/Lt D.A. MacDonald RCAF Killed age 20\n\nS\/L K.F. Vare 2\/Pilot Killed\n\nsgt R.F. Smale Killed\n\nF\/O N.E. Westergard Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.M. Turubull Killed\n\nSgt W.R. Tyrie Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W. Jenkins Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.J. Roche Killed\n\nCrashed in the UK\n\nS 796-E\n\norce landed at Stertham nr Ely | F\/Sgt R.E. Chantler\n\nSgt G Ralwings\n\nP\/O D.M.Drew\n\nF\/Sgt R\/L. Francis RCAF\n\nSgt D.P. Nash\n\nSgt K. Farmer\n\nSgt W.N.W. Brown\n\n---|---\n\nV 345-Z\n\nrashed on return at Whaphole Grove | F\/O R.H Mawle\n\nSgt P.P. O'Meara\n\nF\/O. de Menten de Home\n\nSgt J.R. Ransing\n\nSgt M.G. Capel\n\nSgt C.W. Taylor RCAF\n\nSgt E. Skelton\n\n|\n\nF\/O Mawle buried Eastbourne\n\nSgt O'Meara buried Thperary\n\nF\/O de Menten buried Melveren, Belgium\n\nSgt Ransing buried\n\nSgt Capel buried Cambridge\n\nSgt Taylor Buried Cambridge\n\nSgt Kelton buried Wold Newton\n\n2nd\/3rd January 1944\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n7 Sqdn Lane JB 677-U\n\nCrew names on Runneymede Memorial.\n\nCrashed at Fursteriwolde | Crew\n\nF\/Lt I.M. Pearson DFC Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W. Curie Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.T. Wilmshurst Killed\n\nP\/O R.J. Wheway Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M. Davies POW\n\nF\/Sgt S.W. Raynor Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.J. Davenport Killed\n\n---|---\n\n49 Sqdn: Lane JB 727-S\n\nCrew have no known grave, but are on the\n\nRunneymede Memorial. | F\/Lt C.J.E. Palmer Killed\n\nSgt P.O. Camm Killed\n\nF\/O G.T. Young Killed\n\nSgt H. Conrad Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nSgt D.F. Prusher Killed\n\nP\/O R. Stobo Killed\n\nSgt D.D.R. Dallaway Killed\n\n49 Sqdn: Lanc JB 231-N\n\nBeleived shot down by flak in target area. | F\/O J.E.M. Young RCAF POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt A.W. Vidow POW Stalag LIII\n\nP\/O J.M. Scott POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt E.B. Cachart POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt M.R.A. Mahony POW Stalag IVB\n\nP\/O L.M. Orchard POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt L.C. Crossman POW Stalag LIII\n\n57 Sqdn: Lanc JB 681-J\n\nCrew buried in Berlin. | F\/Sgt G. Ely RAAF Killed age 28 later P\/O\n\nSgt S.. Lewis RCAF Killed\n\nSgt R.W. Homewood Killed\n\nF\/O A.W.C. Nixon RCAF Killed\n\nSgt A.W.C. Ball RCAF Killed\n\nSgt A.S. Pilbeam Killed\n\nSgt K.H. Harper Killed\n\n57 Sqdn: Lanc JB 364-M\n\nShot down over Berlin. Crew buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed at Luhme | F\/O D.A. Shewan Killed\n\nSgt E.R. Hughes Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R. Stevenson Killed\n\nF\/O W.G. Cockwill Killed\n\nSgt A. Cohen Killed\n\nSgt D.A. Dixon Killed\n\nSgt P.J.. Parraball POW Wounded\n\n61 Sqdn: Lanc DV 401-Z\n\nCrew buried in Gaasterland, Friesland, Holland.\n\nCrashed at Mims | F\/O G.A. Tul Killed age 22\n\nSgt G.E. Heasman Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.S. Baldwin Killed\n\nSgt J. Stock Killed\n\nSgt C.G. Crosby Killed\n\nSgt C. Ablett Killed\n\n83 Sqdn: Lanc JB 355-J\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed nr Neuenhagen to Honow Road | F\/O F.C. Allcroft DFC Killed\n\nSgt A.W. Bell Killed\n\nP\/O A.W. Blakeman DFC Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R. Ellwood Killed\n\nP\/O R.P. Watts Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.A. Thomas Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.B. Wood Killed\n\n83 Sqdn: Lanc JB 114-Q\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin. | F\/Lt L.W. Munro Killed\n\nF\/Sgt D. Cromer DFM Killed\n\nF\/O P.H. Ewin Killed\n\nP\/O J.T. Hitchen Killed\n\nP\/O C.D. Wall Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.J. Hunter Killed\n\nF\/O G.R. Harris Killed\n\n83 Sqn: Lanc JB 453-F\n\nCrew buried in Berlin\n\nCrashed at Blankenburg | P\/O E.B.Stiles RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt P.Traynor Killed\n\nP\/O D.C.J. McKendry Killed\n\nF\/O W.H. Dyke Killed\n\nSgt J. Banks Killed\n\nSgt J. McDunlop Killed\n\nF\/O I.G. Allan Killed\n\n83 Sqn:Lanc ND 330-O\n\nCrew buried in Hannover\n\nCrashed at Wahoenholz | W\/O A.W.Robinson Killed\n\nSgt. W.J.Blakely RCAF Killed\n\nF\/O D.J.Elliott RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.R.Evans Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nF\/Sgt J.D.Clarke Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Anderson Killed\n\nWOII T.H. Nolan RCAF Killed\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc JB 549-C\n\nCrew names on Runneymede Memorial. | P\/O G.W. Henderson RCAF Killed age 22\n\nSgt L.J. Loewenson Killed\n\nF\/O J.McVie. Ogilvie Killed\n\nSgt G.H. Hendry Killed\n\nSgt N. Bowman Killed\n\nSgt R.E.L. McLaughlin Killed\n\nSgt E.C. McLaughlin Killed\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc DV 269-M\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed at Michendorf on retuen leg, | F\/Lt A.L. Lazenby DFC Killed\n\nSgt C. Lindsay Killed\n\nF\/O W. Craig Killed\n\nSgt A.A. Walton POW\n\nF\/O J. McClure POW\n\nSgt G.A. Beckett Killed\n\nSgt D.H. Stephens Killed\n\nSgt C.D. Browne Killed\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc JB 747-M\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed at Zehrensdorf | W\/O E..T. Townsend Killed\n\nSgt H.A. Joint Killed\n\nF\/O G.S. Palin Killed\n\nSgt C.R. Greenwell Killed\n\nSgt A.J. Larby Killed\n\nSgt J.W. Bateman Killed\n\nSgt R.G. Creber Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc DS 667-G\n\nF\/Sgt Hayes died 26 Jan 1944 aged 22 and is buried\n\nin Berlin. | F\/Sgt R.J. Hayes Died while a POW age 22\n\nW\/O B.N.M.A. Booth POW Stalag 4B\n\nSgt F.W. Wardale POW Stalag L3\n\nF\/O E.F. Bridgman POW Stalag L3\n\nSgt F. Pearson POW Stalag LVI Repatriated\n\n2\/2\/1945\n\nSgt J.R. Dodds POW Stalag LIII Repatriated\n\n6\/2\/1945\n\nSgt J. Weatherstone POW\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc ND 380-T\n\nCrew names on Runneymede Memorial.\n\nCrashed at Riesdorf. | F\/O C.G. Cairns DFM Killed age 23\n\nF\/Lt R.C. Blockley Killed\n\nSgt C.T.R. Morris Killed\n\nSgt H. Martin Killed\n\nSgt J.F. Haywood Killed\n\nSgt E.J. Sutton Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.P.R. Mount Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 640-V\n\nCrew names on Runneymede Memorial. | P\/O J.D.R. Cromarty Killed age 23\n\nSgt P.E. Woolven Killed\n\nSgt N.H. Colebatch Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.M. Lapthome Killed\n\nF\/Sgt D.F. Burtenshaw Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.J. Collens Killed\n\nF\/Sgt K.S.J. Chapman Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 553-J\n\nCrew names on Runneymede Memorial.\n\nShot down over Berlin and crashed on Reinkendafe\n\nStreet 3\/1\/1944. | P\/O J. Borland Killed age 20\n\nF\/Lt A.N. McGlashan Killed\n\nW\/O V.R. Purnal Killed\n\nSgt D.B. MacKensie Killed\n\nSgt J.S. Scott Killed\n\nF\/Sgt D.C.G. Snelling Killed\n\nSgt A.Wailer Killed\n\nW\/O L.J. Adair\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew  \n---|---\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 317-C\n\nThose killed are on the Runneymede Memorial.\n\nAttacked by a nightfighter near Bremen on outward\n\nleg.  | Sgt A.D. Barnes Killed age 20 later F\/Sgt\n\nP\/O R.S. Smith POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt R.V. Huliman Killed\n\nSgt W. Hall POW Stalag IVB\n\nF\/Sgt F.C.G. Colk POW\n\nSgt R. Davis POW\n\nSgt A.J. Hackett Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 810-O\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | F\/Lt J.C. Ralph RNAF DFM Killed age 24\n\nSgt C.R. King Killed\n\nSgt K. Aspinall Killed\n\nSgt K. Hunt Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.H. Hayward Killed\n\nSgt G. Griffiths Killed\n\nSgt P.E. Pout Killed\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc W 4780-H2\n\nCrew names on Runneymede Memorial.  | Sgt G. Firth Killed age 23\n\nSgt E.A. Oldham Killed\n\nSgt J. Birthwhistle Killed\n\nSgt P. Murray Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.P. Harrison Killed\n\nSgt J. Hamilton Killed\n\nSgt H.F. Hales Killed\n\n405 Sqdn: Lanc ND 380-O\n\nCrew buried in Hanover.  | W\/O A.W. Robinson Killed age 30\n\nF\/O D.J. Elliott Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.R. Evans Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.D. Clarke Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Anderson Killed\n\nW\/O T.F. Nolan Killed\n\nSgt W.J. Blakely Killed\n\n408 Sqdn: Lanc LL 681-G\n\nF\/Sgt Hilker from Canada was on his fourth trip.\n\nThose killed on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Sgt D.E. Hilker RCAF Killed age 20\n\nF\/O E. Deakin POW Stalag LIII\n\nP\/O G.C. Morlock POW Stalag LIII\n\nW02 L.P. Toepe POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgs H.J. Mouland Killed\n\nSgt S.R. Sweetzir POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt H.C. Hawkins POW Stalag IVB\n\n426 Sqdn: Lanc DS 760-M\n\nCrew names on Runneymede Memorial.  | P\/O CA. Griffiths RCAF Killed age 21\n\nF\/Sgt L. Offer Killed\n\nF\/Sgt P. AlIwell Killed\n\nP\/O R.H. Filby Killed\n\nP\/O G. Spooks POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt G. Jowett Killed\n\nSgt R.A. Cridland POW Stalag IVB\n\nWO2 F.R. Symons Killed\n\n432 Sqdn: Lanc DS 739-Y\n\nAll the Crew apart from Sgt Corbett are buried in\n\nBerlin. He is buried in Choloy in France having\n\nbeen re-interned by a US Graves investigation unit.  | F\/Lt J.A. Allen RCAF Killed age 23\n\nF\/O H. Doull RCAF Killed\n\nF\/O K. Crawford RCAF Killed\n\nW\/O J.E. Scott RCAF Killed\n\nSgt A.S. Dupois RCAF Killed\n\nSgt J.A. Corbett Killed\n\nSgt W.R. Collier Killed\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc JB 606-H\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin.  | F\/Sgt R.W. Rowley Killed\n\nSgt W. Fleming Killed\n\nP\/O A.J. Robinson Killed\n\nF\/O E.C. Truscott Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.A. Chester Killed\n\nSgt R.H. Lawn Killed\n\nP\/O H.E. Bennett Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---\n\n463 Sqdn: Lanc JA 902-D\n\nCrew buried in Vollenhove, Overrijssel, Holland.\n\nCrashed on what is now the Noord-Oost-Polder,\n\nthe Netherlands.  | F\/Sgt J. Weatherill RAAF Killed age 20 later P\/O\n\nSgt A.E. Cowell Killed\n\nP\/O J.W. Cage Killed\n\nSgt F.N. Looney Killed\n\nSgt W.D. Toohey Killed\n\nP\/O P.L. Symonds Killed\n\nSgt C. Hemingway Killed\n\n619 Sqdn: Lanc JB 123-D\n\nCrew buried in Hamburg.\n\nCrashed at Wense.  | F\/O J.A.F. Heffernan RCAF Killed age 25\n\nSgt K.W. Cheshire Killed\n\nF\/O L.C. Keeling Killed\n\nF\/O A.B. Bearcroft Killed\n\nF\/O W.C.J. Lord Killed\n\nF\/Sgt K.M. MacDonald Killed\n\nW\/O E.S.I. Evans Killed\n\n619 Sqdn: Lanc LM 423-H\n\nShot down by a fighter over Zyder Zee. Those\n\nkilled buried in the Reichswald War Cemetery.\n\nAbanson after a nighfighter attack.  | F\/Lt J.K. Cox Killed\n\nSgt G.J. Hawkins POW Stalag 4B\n\nF\/O R.W. Braid POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt C.G. Payne Killed\n\nSgt D. Burden Killed\n\nSgt J. Cooksey Killed\n\nSgt G.M.Braid Stalag LIII\n\nAircraft crashed in the United Kingdom\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc JB 738-T | Crew\n\nF\/Lt B.A. Knyvett Killed\n\n---|---\n\nTook off at 2380 completed a half circuit, then\n\ndived into the ground at 2336, a quarter of a mile\n\neast of Binbrook Village.  | Sgt R.D. Trett Killed\n\nSgt J. Dobinson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.W.A. Farthing Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.J. Gill Killed\n\nP\/O E.J. Ross Killed\n\nP\/O C.R. Pickworth Killed\n\n560 Sqdn: Lanc DV 845\n\nCrashed at Whaphole near Spalding on take off.  | F\/O R.H. Mawle Killed\n\nSgt P.P. O\ufffdMeara Killed\n\nF\/O G. Home Killed\n\nSgt J.R. Rounding Killed\n\nSgt M.G. Capel Killed\n\nSgt C.W. Taylor Killed\n\nSgt E. Skelton Killed\n\n20th\/21st January 1944\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc ND 368-U\n\nShot down by a nightfighter. Those killed buried in\n\nBerlin. Bartholmew was only 18 was brought in to\n\nhospital with a broken neck, having been hit with a\n\nrifle butt after bailing out. He was taken to the\n\noperating theatre and not seen again. But is known\n\nto have died six days later.\n\nCrashed at Doberitz.  | Crew\n\nS\/L M.J. Baird-Smith POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/O F.O Waddington POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Lt R.J. Andrews Killed\n\nP\/O D.C. Johostone Killed\n\nSgt E.F. Bartholmew died while a prisoner\n\nF\/Lt R.N. Ridley Killed\n\nW\/O W.D. Brown Killed\n\n---|---\n\n10 Sqdn: Halifax JD 470-S\n\nThose killed are recorded on the Runneymede\n\nMemorial | F\/Sgt D.A. Arthur Killed age 21\n\nSgt D.Jackson POW\n\nSgt D.H. Laraman POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt L. Dryer Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nSgt D.C. Bolton Killed\n\nSgt R.W. Branchflower Killed\n\nSgt A.J. Gilders Killed\n\n10 Sqdn: Halifax JN 899-T\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | P\/O F. Crothers Killed age 22\n\nF\/Lt H.C. Eaton Killed\n\nSgt D. Logue Killed\n\nSgt W. Good[ellow Killed\n\nSgt C. Mason Killed\n\nSgt R. Scotland Killed\n\nSgt T. Stones Killed\n\n57 Sqdn: Lanc JB 419-E\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed at Kienberg | P\/O J.C. MacGilvray Killed\n\nSgt F. Wilson Killed\n\nSgt N. Cottrell Killed\n\nSgt J.S. Whittle POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt R.S.W. Cowdrey Killed\n\nSgt D.R. Mills Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.P. Irwin Killed\n\n76 Sqdn: Halifax LK 958-Q\n\nCrashed at Luckstedt. Those killed buried in Berlin.  | P\/O G.C. Ive RAAF Killed age 24\n\nSgt K.C. Buchan POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt K.F. Hutson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M.F. Curry POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt J.C. Stones Killed\n\nSgt R.V. Turner Killed\n\nSgt A.J.E. Raven Killed\n\n76 Sqdn: Halifax LK 921-R\n\nCrashed 15 km NW of Burgkemnitz; crew all\n\nburied in Berlin.  | F\/Sgt V. Parrott Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.L.P. Gibson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.L. Miriams Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F.W. Hickman Killed\n\nSgt J.T. Hadland Killed\n\nSgt J. Vicary Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.J. McCrathy Killed\n\n76 Sqdn: Halifax LL 116-X\n\nCrash-landed at Lievin, 5 km west of Lens, France.\n\nF\/O Morris age 25 buried at Longuenesse(St Omer), Pas De Calais, France | P\/O G.G.A. Whitehead Evaded\n\nSgt R.G. Prior 2\/Pilot POW Stalag LVI\n\nF\/O H.D.G. Morris Killed\n\nW\/O J. McTrach Evaded\n\nSgt L. Stokes POW Stalag LVI Wounded\n\nSgt J.M. Fisher Evaded\n\nSgt B. Compton Evaded\n\n77 Sqdn: Halifax HR 946-X\n\nThose killed are recorded on the Runneymede\n\nMemorial.  | F\/Lt V.H. Surplice DFC Killed\n\nSgt A.A. Timson Killed\n\nSgt H.P. Hopkins Killed\n\nSgt J.L. Duffy DFM POW Stalag LI\n\nSgt T. King DFM Killed\n\nSgt K. Emeny Killed\n\nF\/Sgt B.H. Stevens Killed\n\nSgt L. Ashton Killed\n\n78 Sqdn: Halifax LW 291-M\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin.  | F\/Sgt F.R. Moffat RCAF Killed later WO age20\n\nF\/O R.L. McGregor POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/O R.G. Selman Killed\n\nSgt H. Bennet POW\n\nSgt N. Legg Killed\n\nSgt H.W. Rudlehoff Killed\n\nSgt J.A. Sewart Killed\n\n83 Sqdn: Lanc ED 974-Y\n\nThose killed are buried in Berlin. | P\/O G.I. Ransome RCAF Killed later F\/O\n\nSgt G.S. Mc MacKinnon POW\n\nF\/Sgt C.F. Plumb Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nSgt A.W. Coote Killed\n\nSgt F.T. West Killed\n\nSgt P.V. De Villies Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.E. Millard DFM Killed\n\n83 Sqdn: Lanc JB 461-L\n\nHit by flak and exploded. Those killed buried in\n\nBerlin. F\/Lt King was taken to the Herman Goring\n\nLuftwaffe hospital in a motor bike and side car. He\n\nhad a bad arm wound but apart from that was okay.\n\nHe wasrepatriated on the Letitia 2\/2\/1945 | F\/Lt R. King RAAF DFC POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt K.E.L. Farmelow Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.E. Borrow DFM Killed later P\/O\n\nF\/Sgt D.J. Phelan Killed\n\nF\/Lt W.G. Ross DFC DFM Killed\n\nF\/Sgt E.D.McPherson DFM Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.A. Adams DFM Killed\n\n83 Sqdn: Lanc ND 414-K\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin. S\/L Jones had\n\nalready served one tour with 75 NZ Squadron and\n\nF\/Lt Butler a tour with 99 Sqn.  | S\/L A.P. Jones DFC Wounded and POW Stalag\n\nLIII\n\nF\/Lt N. Butler DFC Wounded and POW Stalag\n\nLIII\n\nSgt A.J.H. Gainsborough-Allen Killed\n\nSgt W.S. Travers Killed\n\nP\/O E. Anderson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt E.R. Jacobs Killed\n\nF\/O H.L.G. Dobson DFM Killed\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc ND 367-K\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed at Zahrensdorf.  | P\/O C.A. Wakley Killed\n\nSgt G. Taylor POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt A.J. Alexander POW\n\nSgt E. Lowe POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt R.G. China Killed\n\nSgt J. Tye Killed\n\nSgt B.H. Stedman Killed\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc LM 387-O\n\nCrew have no known grave, but are on the\n\nRunneymede Memorial.  | F\/O S.W.W. Perry Killed\n\nSgt T.W. Dune Killed\n\nF\/Sgt N.G. Dowler Killed\n\nSgt P.F.. Searle Killed\n\nSgt R.A. Hart Killed\n\nW\/O F. Stokes Killed\n\nSgt W. Whifield Killed\n\nF\/O R.J. Wilson Killed\n\n102 Sqdn: Halifax EW 337-F\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin.  | F\/O G.A. Griffiths POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt K.F. Stanbridge RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.C. Wilson POW\n\nF\/Sgt E.A. Church Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C.G. Dupieis Killed\n\nSgt H.J. Bushell POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt J. Bremner POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/O L.A. Underwood POW Stalag LIII\n\n102 Sqdn: Halifax HX 187-H\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin.  | P\/O A.W. Dean POW\n\nSgt A. Whittle POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt S.R. Stone POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt D.S. Veale POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt J.H.L. Towler POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt A. Watson Killed\n\nSgt A. Landen Killed\n\nF\/O J. Nelson Killed\n\n102 Sqdn: Halifax JN 951-N\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin.  | F\/Sgt E. Render POW Stalag LVI\n\nF\/Sgt F.A. Dobson Killed\n\nSgt F.M. Obray Killed\n\nSgt J.E. Lyons Killed\n\nSgt R. Frankish Killed\n\nSgt G.H. Gayer Killed\n\nF\/O E.A. Richardson Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n102 Sqdn: Halifax 227-X\n\nShot down by a fighter.  | Crew\n\nW\/O R.G. Wilding POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt R.W. Chandler POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt T.K. Buxton POW Stalag LVI\n\nW\/0 F.F. Yeager POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt H. Sheppard POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt J.L. Corrigan POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt J.C. Heap POW Stalag LVI\n\n102 Sqdn: Halifax JD 461-V\n\nF\/Sgt Moss buried in Berlin.  | F\/Sgt R. Compston POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt E.W.B. Evans POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt W.J.M. Eastwood POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt E.R.P. Smith POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt DV. Metcalfe POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt D. Courtney POW Stalag IVB\n\nF\/Sgt F. Moss Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc LL 650-J\n\nShot down by a nightfighter. Those killed buried in\n\nBerlin.\n\nCrashed at Tetlow | P\/O D. Canning Killed age 21\n\nSgt J.D. Groves Killed\n\nSgt J. Hill Killed\n\nF\/Sgt B.J. Lobb Killed\n\nSgt A. Mickus Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.F.J. Hocking POW\n\nF\/Sgt R. Brotherton Killed\n\n158 Sqdn: Halifax LV 773-R\n\nCrew buried in Hamburg.  | F\/Sgt R.H. Thompson RCAF Killed\n\nSgt A.J. Poulton Killed\n\nSgt A. Radley Killed\n\nSgt R.J. Standley Killed\n\nSgt H.W. Spackman Killed\n\nSgt L.G. Neary Killed\n\nSgt D. Fowler Killed\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc R 5862-N2\n\nShot down by a night fighter over Berlin. Those\n\nkilled buried in Berlin.  | F\/Sgt R.W. Sutton Killed age 21\n\nSgt D.J. Edwards Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.W. Mattin Killed\n\nSgt M.F. Early POW Stalag LVI\n\nF\/Sgt C.B. Jeffery Killed\n\nSgt A.A. Mansfield Killed\n\nSgt C.H. Rusk POW Stalag IVB\n\n419 Sqdn: Halifax DT 731-M\n\nShot down by a night fighter, SW of Leipzig.  | F\/Sgt I.V. Hopkins POW\n\nF\/Sgt W E. McKenzie POW\n\nF\/Sgt F.A. Paules POW\n\nP\/O A. Cormack POW\n\nSgt J. Chambers POW\n\nSgt E.R. Jenkins POW Stalag IVB\n\nSgt W.D. MeCaghey POW Stalag LIII\n\n419 Sqdn: Halifax HX 162-X\n\nShot down by a night fighter. Most of the crew who\n\nsurvived were wounded in the action. Those killed\n\nburied Kiel, Germany.  | P\/O H.L. Bullis POW Stalag LIII\n\nW\/O A.H. Towers POW Stalag LVI\n\nF\/Sgt B.H. Boisvert RCAF POW\n\nSgt R. Bonathan RCAF Killed\n\nSgt D.J. Ferguson Killed\n\nSgt E.S. Sanderson Killed\n\nSgt M.A. Potter POW Stalag IVB\n\n426 Sqdn: Halifax LL 628-Y\n\nP\/O Polson's father had been killed in action on\n\n14th November 1917 with the 1st Ontario\n\nRegiment. Crew buried in Berlin.\n\nP\/O Ketcher's DFM Gazetted 15\/2\/ 1944\n\nThis crew had already sruvived a crash landing\n\n23\/24\/9\/1943 in Lancaster DS 714.  | F\/Lt L.N. McCaig RCAF DFC Killed age 28\n\nP\/O R.J. Orr Killed\n\nF\/Sgt T.J. Preece Killed\n\nP\/O R.D. Poison Killed\n\nP\/O R.W. Elliott Killed\n\nP\/O G.R. Ketcher DFM Killed\n\nWO2 E.S. Hawkes DFC Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---\n\n427 Sqdn: Halifax EB 246-S\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin. | P\/O N.E. Cook Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.G. Goflin Killed\n\nP\/O R.S. Thompson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C. Cook Killed\n\nSgt B.C. Prill Killed\n\nF\/Sgt B.E. Findlay Killed\n\nSgt J.S. Child Killed\n\n428 Sqdn: Halifax LK 739-P\n\nCrew baled out over France; Banner arrived back in the UK on 24th March 1944, Fryer evaded via Switzerland. | F\/Sgt F.E. Reaine POW\n\nF\/O A.R. Fisher POW\n\nF\/O J.G.Y. Lavoie POW\n\nF\/Sgt W.E. Fell POW\n\nF\/Sgt W.T. Banner Evaded\n\nSgt L.R. Fryer Evaded\n\nSgt W.R. Wynveen POW\n\n429 Sqdn: Halifax LL 197-L\n\nCrew buried Berlin. | F\/O H.D. Paddison RCAF Killed\n\nP\/O B.N. Forster Killed\n\nF\/O J. McRamsay Killed\n\nSgt W.H. Bryant Killed\n\nF\/O A.A. Ares Killed Sgt N.E. Carter Killed\n\nSgt R.A. Saffran POW\n\n434 Sqdn: Halifax LL 141-H\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin. | P\/O J.T. Clinkskill Killed\n\nF\/O W R. Sloan Killed\n\nSgt C.J. Jones Killed\n\nSgt C.C. Casey Killed\n\nSgt E.W. McCaffrey Killed\n\nSgt D.J. Gillam Killed\n\nSgt V.G. Baker Killed\n\n434 Sqdn: Halifax LL 179-K\n\nShot down by a night fighter. Those killed are on the Runneymede Memorial. | Sgt G.C. Mould RCAF Killed later F\/Sgt\n\nF\/Sgt A.M. Wilson POW\n\nP\/O W.C. Drumm POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt R.T. Cox POW\n\nSgt P. Dack POW\n\nSgt J.A. McKenna Killed\n\nSgt E. Porter Killed\n\n434 Sqdn: Halifax LL 135-R\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin. | F\/O C.S. Brest RCAF Killed\n\nP\/O W.M. Kipp POW\n\nP\/O J. Snowesell POW\n\nSgt L.H. Doe Killed\n\nP\/O M.C. Gnius Killed\n\nSgt H.B. Hill Killed\n\nSgt J. Morgan Killed\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc JB 739-E\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin. Attacked by a nightfighter and abandon in the air crashed at Mecklenburg | F\/Sgt A.J. Lynch Killed age 27\n\nSgt E. Mortimer Killed\n\nP\/O J.D. Vaughan POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt .S. Trinder POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/Sgt J.A. Cassidy POW Stalag 357\n\nP\/O D. Alexandtros POW Stalag LIII\n\nP\/O L.J. Lawler POW Stalag LIII\n\n466 Sqdn: Halifax HX 278-Z\n\nCrew buried Becklingen, Soltau, Germany. | F\/Lt W.G. Baldwin RAAF Killed age 33\n\nP\/O M.R. Sparrow Killed\n\nW\/O J.P. Morrow Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.T. Gilchrist Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F. Rushworth Killed\n\nW\/O K.E. Rimmington Killed\n\nSgt J.McM. Fleming Killed\n\nF\/O W.L. Clemo Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n622 Sqdn: Lanc W 5483-D\n\nCrew buried in Berlin. | F\/Lt D.A. Claydon RCAF Killed age 22\n\nP\/O W.H. Davies Killed\n\nSgt D.F. Bache Killed\n\nSgt P.J. Maher Killed\n\nSgt S.E. James Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F. Mosley Killed\n\nSgt H. Graham Killed\n\n622 Sqdn: Lanc R 5915-P\n\nShot down by a night fighter.\n\nThose killed buried at Becklingen, Soltau, Germany.\n\nCrashed near Bad Bevensen | F\/Sgt R.G. Deacon Killed\n\nF\/Sgt P.J. Irwin POW Wounded\n\nF\/Lt KR. Miller POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt J.H. Kidman Killed\n\nSgt N. Butler Killed\n\nSgt A.W. Woodcock Killed\n\nSgt J. Cunningham Killed\n\nSgt J.B. Strange Killed\n\n630 Sqn: Lanc JB 294-\n\nAll but Walker buried in Berlin.\n\nA diversionary Berlin operation, | F\/Sgt J.W. Homewood Killed\n\nSgt W.G. Yorke Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.W. Reedman Killed\n\nSgt G.S. Walker Stalag 357\n\nSgt A.C. Stopp Killed\n\nSgt J.D.Morris Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M.S. Marks RCAF Killed\n\nAircraft crashed in the United Kingdom\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---\n\n102 Sqdn: Halifax JD 302-D\n\nCrash-landed near Norwich. | F\/Sgt Proctor and crew uninjured except bomb\n\naimer F\/O Turnbull who died of his injuries.\n\n102 Sqdn: Halifax HR 716-P | F\/O Hall and his crew had to bale out owing to fuel\n\nshortage; all landed safely. Aircraft crashed in\n\nthe United Kingdom.\n\n427 Sqdn: Halifax LL 191-N\n\n|\n\nAfter three attempts overskidded the runway on landing, crashing into tree tops and ending up in a nearby field. The pilot F\/O Cozens, Navigator F\/O L.G. Biddicombe, F\/E Sgt J. McGowan, and Bomb Aimer Sgt W.L. Stockford were killed or died later. Sgt H.P. Whittaker was seriously injured and F\/Sgt C.L. Bernier and Sgt R.B. Naim were uninjured. F\/O Cozens had only been married for a month.\n\n484 Sqdn: Halifax LK 656\n\nAircraft crashed in Driffield area crew baled out. | F\/Sgt F. Johnson Injured\n\nP\/O R. Davis Uninjured\n\nSgt J. Campbell Injured\n\nSgt A. Hessian Uninjured\n\nSgt W. Whitton Uninjured\n\nSgt D. Tofflemeir Injured\n\nSgt S. Phillips Uninjured\n\n---|---\n\n622 Sqdn: Lanc L 7576 | F\/Sgt T. Hargreaves\n\nThe pilot, navigator Sgt R.L. Unwin and F\/E Sgt F. Williams were all hurt by flak, but despite this Sgt Urwin navigated the aircraft back to base then collapsed. He was recommended for an immediate DFM.\n\n27th\/28th January 1944\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---\n\n9 Sqdn: Lanc LL 745-M\n\nF\/Lt James was only 19; he had joined the RAF at | F\/Lt S. James Killed age 19\n\nSgt G.R. Tomlinson Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nthe age of 16. Those killed buried in the Durnbach War Cemetery.\n\nLast heard on the WT at 19.32 | F\/Sgt A.W. Archer Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.H. Howie POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt R.E. Burke Killed\n\nSgt R.E. Chivers POW Stalag LVI\n\nF\/Sgt H. Croxson POW Stalag LVI\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc JB 650-E\n\nCrashed between Gornze and Andoumont | F\/Lt C. Grannum Evaded\n\nP\/O R.H. Taylor Evaded\n\nF\/Sgt J. Quinn Evaded\n\nP\/O D.R. Murphy POW Stalag LI\n\nP\/O R.G. Hoare Evaded\n\nSgt K. Singleton POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/Sgt H. Owen POW Stalag 357\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc JB 283-W\n\nShot down by a night fighter. Those killed buried in the Rheinberg War Cemetery. | S\/L H.W. Goule DFC Killed age 26\n\nSgt S. Moller POW Stalag 357\n\nP\/O F.M. Kelleher Killed\n\nSgt D.W. Price Killed\n\nSgt H.S. Howie Killed\n\nF\/Sgt P.S. Carran Killed\n\nF\/Sgt B.K. Maunsell Killed\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc JB 358-J\n\nAbandon after a nightfighter attack over Franfurt and running out of fuel | F\/Sgt E.A. Webb POW\n\nF\/Sgt G.J. Munro POW\n\nF\/Sgt R.W. McLean POW Stalag VII\n\nSgt D.C. Bruce POW\n\nSgt E.J.T. Boardman POW\n\nSgt R..Jenks POW\n\nSgt F.C. Vaughan POW\n\n15 Sqdn: Lanc ED 323-D\n\nThose killed are on the Runneymede Memorial. | P\/O G. Clarke Killed\n\nSgt N.A. Mitchell POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/Sgt EL. Gold POW Stalag 357\n\nW\/O E.L.P. White Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.I. Probert POW Stalag LI\n\nSgt I.A. McPhee POW\n\nSgt R.F. King POW Stalag IVB\n\n49 Sqdn: Lanc JB 360-N\n\nThose killed are buried in Berlin. | P\/O K.O. Barnes RAAF DFC Killed age 20\n\nSgt G.E. Greenwood Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.C. Atkinson POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt A. Marshall POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt D.W. MePhee RCAF POW\n\nF\/Sgt D. Grimley POW Stalag VI\n\nW\/O J.T. Hill RCAF Killed\n\n57 Sqdn: Lanc JB 366-N\n\nShot down over Berlin. Those killed are on the Runneymede Memorial. | P\/O A.O. Wright Killed age 20\n\nSgt J.K. English POW Stalag LVI\n\nF\/Sgt D.N. Marsh POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/Sgt J. Rennie POW Stalag 4B\n\nSgt G.J. Huxtable POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt R. AndersonKilled\n\nF\/Sgt R.A. Cook RAAF Killed\n\n61 Sqdn: Lane DV 400-Y\n\nCrew buried in Hannover. | P\/O R.A. West Killed age 23\n\nSgt W. Warburton Killed\n\nF\/O A.V. Beetch Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.O. Cuming RCAF Killed\n\nSgt C.B. Clark Killed\n\nSgt A.P. Brander RAAF Killed\n\nP\/O F. Langley Killed\n\n61 Sqdn: Lanc W 4315-Q\n\nDitched in the sea north of Guernsey | P\/O E.A. Williams Uninjured\n\nSgt W. Beach Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nafter flak damage in the Hannover area.\n\nSgt Beach age 21 is buried in Fort George Military Cemetery, St Peter Port Channel Islands. | F\/Sgt A. D. Beesley Uninjured\n\nSgt A.D. Anderson Uninjured\n\nSgt J.L. Parker Uninjured\n\nSgt T. Bowden Killed\n\nSgt C.A. Acombe-Hill Killed\n\n83 Sqdn: Lanc JB 724-V\n\nCrew buried in Hotton War Cemetery, Hotton, Luxemberg, Belgium.\n\nShot down a by a nighfighter flown by Maj Wilhem Herget I\/NJG4\n\nCrashed at Sautour | F\/Lt S.H. Alcock DFC Killed age 24\n\nSgt S. Bullomore Killed\n\nF\/Lt E.W. Sargant DFC Killed\n\nF\/Lt L.G. Davis Killed\n\nP\/O R.H. Adainson Killed\n\nW\/O V.G. Osterloh Killed\n\nP\/O W.H. Hewson Killed\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc DV 231-A\n\nThose killed buried in Hanover.\n\nHit by flak and a nighfighter crashed beleived Hollenstredt Northeim. | F\/Sgt A.J. Sandford Killed age 22\n\nSgt A.H. Smallman POW Repatriated 6\/2\/1945 on\n\nArundel Castle\n\nSgt E.E. Baron Killed\n\nSgt T.D. Simpson Killed\n\nSgt R.T. Ottowell Killed\n\nSgt K. Bartholmew Killed\n\nSgt E.H. Alcock Killed\n\nF\/O J. Clark Killed\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc JB 277-M\n\nCrew buried in Berlin. | P\/O F.A. Whitehead Killed age 30 later F\/Lt\n\nSgt A.G. Palmer Killed\n\nP\/O L.J. Slatter Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.M. Cassady Killed\n\nSgt D.W.A. Udall Killed\n\nSgt W. Speakman Killed\n\nSgt D. Minor Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc LL 682-P\n\nCrew on the Runneymede Memorial. | Sgt A.C.N. Morris Killed age 23 later F\/Sgt\n\nSgt W. Ornnet Killed\n\nSgt R. Browne Killed\n\nP\/O J.R. Booth Killed\n\nSgt L. Stone Killed\n\nSgt A. Kell Killed\n\nSgt F.W. Booth Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc LL 668-H\n\nCrew buried in the Durnbach War Cemetery.\n\nCrashed at Steinberg | F\/O W.W. Ryder Killed age 20 Later F\/Lt\n\nF\/Sgt R.J. Rouse Killed\n\nSgt R.C.J. Iles Killed\n\nP\/O H.B.D. Pringle Killed\n\nSgt AM. Miller Killed\n\nSgt G.W. Rawlings Killed\n\nSgt P.Niel Killed\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc W 4996-R\n\nCrew are all buried in Berlin. | P\/O R.E. Hicks Killed age 22 later F\/O\n\nSgt J.W. Swann Killed\n\nSgt D.K. Ashton Killed\n\nP\/O A.E. Cook Killed\n\nSgt J.T. Ravenscroft Killed\n\nSgt A.J. Holdom Killed\n\nSgt H.B. Bell Killed\n\n408 Sqdn: Lanc DS 710-A\n\nS\/L Smith was on his 22nd Operation. For P\/O Wilson it was his first. Crew buried in the Rheinberg War Cemetery. | S\/L C.W. Smith RCAF DFC Killed age 26\n\nF\/O D. Mc Sim Killed\n\nP\/O J.D. Teskey RCAF Killed\n\nP\/O C.W. Frauts Killed\n\nP\/O T.K. Canning Killed\n\nP\/O J.G. Bennett RCAF Killed\n\nSgt M.F.R. Sorton Killed\n\n2\/Pilot P\/O H.R. Wilson RCAF Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n408 Sqdn: Lanc DS 709-P\n\nF\/L Kearl on his 17th trip, Sgt Brown on his first.\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed at Reichenwalde | F\/Lt E.E. Kearl RCAF DFC Killed\n\nP\/O J.P.D. Parise Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A. Smith Killed\n\nP\/O J. Adamson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.A. McLean Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.F. McManus Killed\n\n2\/Pilot P\/O E.R. Proud Killed\n\n408 Sqdn: Lanc DS 849-X\n\nCrew are buried in Hannover. F\/Lt Laine on his 20 trip and P\/O Baker's his first. Crew buried in Hannover.\n\nShot doiwn by a nighjfighter flown by Obt Wilhem Engel of III\/NJG6 crashed at Wurges. | F\/Lt S.R.W. Laine RCAF DFC Killed age 23\n\nP\/O J.G. Broadfood RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.J. Bradley RCAF Killed\n\nP\/O D.L. Wright RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.H. Scott RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.A. MacKay RCAF Killed\n\nP\/O A.E.Jones Killed\n\n2\/Pilot P\/O J.J. Baker RCAF Killed\n\n426 Sqdn: Lanc LL 688-R\n\nCrew have no known grave, but are on the Runneymede Memorial.\n\nWOII Patterson attached for operational experince. | P\/O R.E. Countess Killed\n\nWOII L.H. Patterson Killed\n\n2\/Pilot from 420 Sqdn\n\nP\/O KA. Solmundson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.G. Filer Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M. Kwas Killed\n\nSgt A.P. Readdy Killed\n\nF\/Sgt T.A. Thomson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt V.M. Lawson Killed\n\n426 Sqdn: Halifax DS 686-D\n\nThose killed are recorded on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Lt T.R. Shaw RCAF Killed age 27\n\nP\/O B.E. Lynn Killed\n\nSgt L.V. Langston POW Stalag LVI\n\nP\/O J.H. Dodge Killed\n\nSgt D.L. Huband Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H. Ellis Killed\n\nSgt T.R. King Killed\n\n426 Sqdn: Lanc LL 721-U\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin.\n\nAttacked 3 times by a nighfighter over target area out of control and burning crashed at Rausslitz. | F\/Lt M.C. Wilson POW\n\nP\/O J.P.A.R Jacques POW\n\nF\/Sgt M. MacDonald RCAF Killed\n\nP\/O L.H. Power POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt W. Lawson Killed\n\nSgt A. Carlson Killed\n\nWOII W.A. Park RCAF Killed\n\n426 Sqdn: Halifax DS 775-W\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin.\n\nAttacked by a nightfighter crashed 2 KM east of Kade. | F\/Lt A.T. Mattens Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F.J. Trevithick POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt A.J. Belton Killed\n\nWOII E.J. Houston RCAF POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt W.L. Pritchard Killed\n\nSgt R.S. Chesters Killed\n\nSgt A.Brooks Killed\n\n432 Sqdn: Lanc LL 638-M\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial.\n\nCrashed at Schmocklinz Where crew were at first buried.  | F\/O D.J. Patterson Killed\n\nF\/O A.D.G. Bell RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C.A. Sherwood RCAF Killed\n\nSgt F.W. Heinen Killed RCAF\n\nF\/Sgt R.P. Wilson Killed RCAF RCAF\n\nP\/O A.S. Gates Killed\n\nSgt W.R. Greenway Killed\n\n460 Sqdn: Lanc JB 296-K\n\nLost due to fuel suply problems | S\/L L.J. Simpson RAAF DFC POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt J. Nairn POW Stalag 357\n\nP\/O C.W. McLeod POW Stalag LIII\n\nP\/O A.G. Osborn POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/O J.A. Rydings POW Stalag 357\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---  \n|\n\nF\/0 A.R.B. Shcrock POW\n\nP\/O A. Kennedy POW Stalag LIII\n\n463 Sqdn: Lanc ME 563\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed Teltar area | F\/O A.J.D. Leslie RAAF Killed age 26\n\nP\/O T.V. Finn Killed\n\nF\/Sgt D.G. Barnett Killed\n\nSgt R.R. Jones Killed\n\nF\/O F.S.G. Chidgery Killed\n\nSgt A. Wiggins Killed\n\nSgt J. Falconer Killed\n\n467 Sqdn: Lanc JA 860-C2\n\nThose killed buried in Poznan, Poland. | F\/Sgt W.R. McLachlan RAAF Killed age 23\n\nSgt W.V. Murray Killed\n\nSgt J.M. Jones Killed\n\nSgt R.C. Yates Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.J. Rofe RAAF POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/Sgt S.W.A. Jonas RAAF POW\n\nSgt R.D. White POW Stalag 357\n\n467 Sqdn: Lanc ED 589-P\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | P\/O C. O'Brien RAAF Killed age 27\n\nSgt D.J. Coombe Killed\n\nP\/O G.H. Sudds Killed\n\nSgt H. Boardley Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.J. Simpson Killed\n\nSgt J.J. Melling Killed\n\nSgt F.H. Doncaster Killed\n\n467 Sqdn: Lanc ME 575-G\n\nCrew buried in Hannover.\n\nCrashed at Schiedel | P\/O S.C. Grugeon Killed\n\nSgt D. McKechnie Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A. Bryce Killed\n\nSgt W.A. Taylor Killed\n\nSgt K. Molyneux Killed\n\nSgt D.A. Taylor Killed\n\nF\/Sgt K E. Sehiedel Killed\n\n576 Sqdn: Lanc ME 593-T2\n\nCrew buried in Berlin. | F\/Sgt E.W. Ebsworth Killed\n\nSgt J.E. Novell Killed\n\nP\/O T.C. Laing Killed\n\nSgt G.A. Porter Killed\n\nSgt G. West Killed\n\nSgt L.R.H. Miehell Killed\n\nSgt W.C. Boot Killed\n\n622 Sqdn: Lanc ED 624-G\n\nShot down by night fighters. Crew buried in Berlin. Attacked by a nighfighter when leaving target order given to abort the aircraft which wa sout of control and burning. | F\/Sgt H.H. Craig Killed age 25\n\nF\/Sgt E.B. Sutherland POW\n\nSgt B.P. Dineen Killed\n\nP\/O G.G. Sproule POW\n\nSgt F.W. Flower Killed\n\nSgt F.G. Aldred Killed\n\nSgt D. Dart Killed\n\n625 Sqdn: Lane ND 461-W\n\nHit by flak over Leipzig, damage to boith satraborad inner engines and shortage of fuel but pilot managed to keep it flying to get to Gournay area of France before crashing. Those killed buried Marissel, Oise, France. | P\/O R.J. Cook RCAF DFM Killed age 22\n\nF\/Sgt D. Brown POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt V.H.N. Thompson POW Stalag VII\n\nF\/Sgt J. Berger POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt R. Henderson POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt R.V. Weller POW Stalag L III\n\nSgt J. Ringwood Killed\n\n626 Sqdn: Lane LM 380-S2\n\nCrashed at Katzenel. Those killed buried in the Rheinberg War Cemetery. | F\/Lt W.N. Belford RAAF Killed age 23\n\nF\/Sgt A.J.P. Lee POW\n\nSgt T.S. Trinder Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n|\n\nSgt A.J.P.. Lee Killed\n\nSgt H. Hill Killed\n\nSgt H.H. Mewburn Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R. Gould Killed\n\n28th\/29th January 1944\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc JB 717-V\n\nAll the killed are buried in Berlin. | Crew\n\nW\/C R.E. Young POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Lt T. Burger Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.G. Ryder POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/Sgt I.T. Taylor POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/Lt F.S. Whittlestone DFC Killed\n\nF\/Lt H.J. Miller Killed\n\nSgt S.G. Cohen Killed\n\n---|---\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc JA 718-T\n\nThose killed apart from Sgt Liddle buried in Berlin.\n\nHe has no known grave and is on the Runneymede Memorial.\n\nCrashed at Zuhlen. | W\/O N.J. Clifford POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt W. Fraser Killed\n\nSgt R.G. Brown Killed\n\nF\/Sgt S. Jarvis POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt R.W. Willmott Killed\n\nSgt S.M. Liddle Killed\n\nSgt R.G. Sharp Killed\n\n10 Sqdn: Halifax JP 133-D\n\nShot down by a fighter over Berlin. Crew killed are on the Runneymede Memorial. | F\/Lt N.W. Kilsby Killed age 20\n\nF\/Sgt D. Collumbell POW\n\nP\/O G.P. Woods POW\n\nP\/O S. Daggett Killed\n\nSgt P.B. Capper POW Wounded\n\nSgt W.R.C. Davies POW\n\nP\/O D.P. Shipley POW\n\n10 Sqdn: Halifax JN 891-P\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin or on the Runneymede Memorial. | Sgt D. Ling Killed age 21\n\nSgt J. Christie POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt G.W. Rushton POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt R. Biekell POW\n\nSgt J.B. Foster Killed\n\nSgt V. McQueen POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt J.C. Smith Killed\n\n10 Sqdn: Halifax HR 952-T\n\nThose killed on the Runneymede Memorial. | P\/O C. Large Killed\n\nSgt J.G. Hodgkinson Killed later F\/Sgt\n\nSgt J.B. Spark POW\n\nSgt R. Martin Killed\n\nSgt G. Armstrong Killed\n\nSgt K.R. Corbett Killed\n\nSgt C.E. Trebilcock Killed\n\n10 Sqdn: Halifax JD 273-Y\n\nCrew buried Aabenraa, Denmark. | Sgt A. O'Connor Killed age 24\n\nP\/O V.L. Miles Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.A. Twigge Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A. Mayes Killed\n\nSgt A. Saxty Killed\n\nSgt J. Watters Killed\n\nSgt T.K. Dudley Killed\n\n15 Sqdn: Lanc ED 610-C\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | F\/Lt D.C. Woodruff DFC Killed age 28\n\nP\/O A.J. Burcham Killed\n\nP\/O R.V. Newlyn Killed\n\nP\/O J.E. Hussey Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---  \n|\n\nSgt R.J. Batham Killed\n\nF\/Sgt P.K.R. Gericke DFM Killed\n\nSgt E.E. Appleby Killed\n\n50 Sqdn: Lanc LM 428-O\n\nCrashed at Steinberg. | F\/Lt R.P. Burtt Killed\n\nSgt R. Taylor Killed\n\nP\/O G.R. Presland Killed\n\nP\/O R.D. Betty Killed\n\nSgt E. Brookes Killed\n\nP\/O H.E. Daynes Killed\n\nSgt J.A. Parkman Killed\n\n51 Sqdn: Halifax LW 466-H\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin. | F\/Sgt T.G. Griffin Killed\n\nSgt H.J.C. Gwynn Killed\n\nSgt L.S. Hammett Killed\n\nW\/O R.F. Woods Killed\n\nSgt A.W. Canty Killed\n\nSgt M.A. Martin Killed\n\nSgt S. Cameron Killed\n\n57 Sqdn: Lanc JB 311-B\n\nCrew buried in Berlin. | P\/O K.C. McPhie Killed\n\nSgt F.S.G. Reeves Killed\n\nW\/O K. Moreton Killed\n\nW\/O J.F. MacMillan Killed\n\nSgt S.H. Davis Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.H. Andrews Killed\n\nSgt W.R. Weston Killed\n\n77 Sqdn: Halifax LK 711-V\n\nShot down by a fighter over Berlin. | F\/Sgt J.K. Pertigrew POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt L.G. Sandlands Killed\n\nF\/O A. Pawliuk POW Stalag LVI\n\nLt L.D. Runshe POW\n\nSgt J.E. Connor POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt A. Hague POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt E. Yates POW Stalag LVI\n\n77 Sqdn: Halifax LK 729-F\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | P\/O J. O. R. Webster Killed age 33\n\nP\/O B.J. Kearley Killed\n\nSgt G.C. Garner POW\n\nF\/Sgt L.R. Lewis Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.W. Robinson Killed\n\nSgt E.R. Prince Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.D. Morrison Killed\n\n77 Sqdn: Halifax LK 709-R\n\nCrew buried in Berlin. | F\/Sgt A.B. Walker Killed\n\nSgt T.E. Edwards Killed\n\nF\/Sgt N.T. Steele Killed\n\nSgt D.W. Jenkins Killed\n\nSgt K.J. Bray Killed\n\nSgt L.R. Bright Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.P. White Killed\n\n77 Sqdn: Halifax HR 841-T\n\nSgt Jarvis buried in Berlin. F\/Sgt Chalk's name is on the Runneymede Memorial. | F\/Sgt R. Mc. Duncan Killed\n\nSgt W. Cannon Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.H. Strecting Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.C. Thom Killed\n\nSgt F. Jarvis Killed\n\nSgt G.M. Jandron Killed\n\nF\/Sgt K.W. Chalk Killed\n\n83 Sqdn: Lanc JB 412-B\n\nThose killed buried Aabenraa, Denmark. | P\/O W. Simpson POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt T.K. McCash Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nF\/Sgt J.J. Martin Killed\n\nSgt W. Livesey POW Stalag LI\n\nP\/O R. Pilgrim POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt J.R. Tree Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.A. Fell POW Stalag 357\n\n---|---\n\n83 Sqdn: Lanc JA 967-S\n\nCrew buried Aabenraa,Denmark.\n\nCollied in the air with HK 537-S of 463 Sqn and crashed at Broballe on the Danish Coast of Als. | F\/Lt H.R. Hyde Killed age 32\n\nSgt R. McKerlay Killed\n\nF\/Lt C.C. Lockyer Killed\n\nF\/O W.B. Robson Killed\n\nF\/O B.A. James Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A. Waite Killed\n\nF\/O P.G. Davies Killed\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 353-L\n\nCrashed at Haagelsburg. Crew names on Runneymede Memorial. | F\/Lt C.T. Smith DFC Killed\n\nSgt T.W. Smith Killed\n\nF\/Lt G.W.S. Borthwick Killed\n\nF\/Lt G.A. Watling Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.G. Jones Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.K. Harper Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.J. Pleydell Killed\n\n2\/Pilot F\/Lt C.T. Wilson DFC Killed\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 712-U\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | F\/O F. Allison DFM Killed\n\nSgt E.S. Monaghen Killed\n\nSgt J.C. Reynolds Killed\n\nF\/Sgt T.W. Elder Killed\n\nSgt N.D.J. Vincent Killed\n\nSgt W. Woodward Killed\n\nSgt A.R.E. West Killed\n\n102 Sqdn: Halifax LW 277-Y\n\nHit by flak over Berlin. Those killed buried in Berlin. | P\/O E.W. Linsell POW Stalag LIII\n\nP\/O M.J. Connolly POW\n\nSgt G. CulHs POW\n\nSgt L.D. Hammond Killed age 19\n\nF\/Sgt W.H. Coderre POW Stalag LI\n\nSgt J.R. Coward POW\n\nW\/O W.T. Scott POW\n\nSgt D.E. Ward POW\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc DS 833-S\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | F\/Lt K. Harris Killed age 20\n\nF\/O J. Horn Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A. J.A. Chappel Killed\n\nF\/O J. Harrigan Killed\n\nSgt J. King Killed\n\nF\/Sgt T.F. McLeans Killed\n\nSgt D.R. Edmands Killed\n\n115 Sqn: LL 649-G | P\/O F.G.G. Tinn Killed\n\nP\/O G.R. Adamson POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt. H. Roberts Killed\n\nP\/O A.L.Prince Killed\n\nSgt. C.R.L Todd Killed\n\nSgt. P.G.Topping killed\n\nP\/O A. Chaulk Killed\n\n158 Sqdn: Halifax HX 333-J\n\nHit by flak; aircraft abandoned over Holland. | F\/Sgt D.A. Robinson POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt D.A Wilkinson POW Stalag LVI\n\nP\/O D. Rosenthal POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/O S.E. Chapman POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt G.E. Hale POW Stalag LIII\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---  \n|\n\nSgt C.N. Durdin POW Stalag LIII\n\nW\/O L.E.J Cote POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt L.A. Cradell POW Stalag LVI\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc ND 382-Z\n\nCrew buried in Berlin. | P\/O J. Horsley DFC Killed age 22\n\nSgt A.W. Pilgrim Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.G. Morgan Killed\n\nP\/O K.F. Cornwell DFC Killed\n\nSgt M. Smith-Crawshaw Killed\n\nSgt J.R. McCourt Killed\n\nSgt J. Davies Killed\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc DV 180\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin.\n\nCollided in the air when changing course on the return leg and explosion followed blowing off the nose and three of the crew were blown clear. | P\/O C.C. Phelps POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt E.P. Hillyard Killed\n\nMaster Sgt W.W. Mitchell (USAAF) Killed\n\nP\/O E.D. Nesbitt POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt R. Winder Killed\n\nSgt W.H. Clarke Killed\n\nSgt H.R. Gibbon Killed\n\n207 Sqdn: Lanc LM 366-H\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin. | F\/Lt J.G. Taylor Killed age 21\n\nSgt T.F. Westmorland Killed\n\nP\/O I. Mitchell Killed\n\nSgt L.A. Croxton POW\n\nSgt R. Hughes Killed\n\nSgt J.P. Rothera Killed\n\nF\/Sgt I.P. Chalmers Killed\n\n2\/Navigator Sgt D.A. Turner Killed\n\n419 Sqdn: Halifax JP 119-O\n\nCrew buried in Berlin. | F\/Sgt P.H. Palmer Killed\n\nP\/O P. Forrest Killed\n\nP\/O G.E. Lemerick Killed. Brother also died on service.\n\nF\/Sgt P.T. Reilly Killed\n\nSgt J.H. Parrott Killed\n\nSgt R. Tarbet Killed\n\nSgt E. Milner Killed\n\nP\/O S.J. Gibson Killed\n\n429 Sqdn: Halaifax LK 697-D\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin. The pilot had done three trips, the remainder of the crew two. Crew buried in Berlin. | P\/O T. Siltala Killed age 28\n\nP\/O W.A. Cook Killed\n\nP\/O A.C. McKersaic Killed\n\nSgt E.C. Richards Killed\n\nWOII E.H. Cornfield Killed\n\nSgt H. Howson Killed\n\nP\/O K.B. Malcolm Killed\n\n429 Sqdn: Halifax LK 746-K\n\nCrew buried in Berlin. | P\/Sgt J.L. Wilkinson POW Stalag LVI\n\nP\/O W.G. Hicks RCAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Begg Killed\n\nSgt R.S. Green POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt J.W. Ward Killed\n\nSgt R.S. Drewett Killed\n\nSgt H.C. Clay Killed\n\n431 Sqdn: Halifax LK 963-H\n\nHit by flak. Those killed on the Runneymede Memorial. | F\/Sgt M.J.J. Maher POW Stalag LVI\n\nP\/O M. Davis POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt D. Bonokoske Killed\n\nSgt D.H. Lockyer POW\n\nSgt B.S. Rowe RCAF Killed\n\nSgt J.R. Bothwell Killed\n\nSgt T. Boyd POW\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---\n\n431 Sqdn: Halifax LL 181-Q\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin. | P\/O W.R. Hewetson Killed\n\nP\/O R. MacLean Killed\n\nSgt AC. Thompson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.T. Moody Killed Sgt NA. Bell Killed\n\nSgt J. Melvor Killed\n\nSgt G.F. Carter Killed\n\n431 Sqdn: Halifax LL 150-N\n\nDitched in the sea; three crew lost with the aircraft; the others were picked up by HM Minesweepers Varonga, Prospect and Property. Sgt Raymond on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Sgt J. Corriveau Killed\n\nWOII J.D. Bane Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M.J. Charlebois Uninjured\n\nSgt S.C.B. Parker Uninjured\n\nSgt G.S. Webber Uninjured\n\nSgt J.P. Raymond RAAF Killed\n\nSgt R.S. Cole Uninjured\n\n434 Sqdn: Halifax LK 649-X\n\nCrew buried in Berlin. | F\/Sgt R.H. Stanley RCAF Killed later WO age 21\n\nP\/O R.C. Crompton Killed\n\nSgt D.I. Rose Killed\n\nSgt J.C.W. Olliffe Killed\n\nSgt D.L. Silverman Killed\n\nSgt J. Ledus Killed\n\nSgt S.J. Groucott Killed\n\n434 Sqdn: Halifax LL 134-U\n\nShot down by a fighter over Berlin.  | S\/L J.E. Hockey POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt L.C. Bannister POW Stalag LVI\n\nP\/O J. Perguson POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Lt G.B. Poad POW Stalag LIII\n\nP\/O J.P. Acquier Stalag LIII\n\nWOII S. Saprunoff Stalag LIII\n\nP\/O P.G. Hearsley Stalag LIII\n\nP\/O G. Borrett Stalag LIII\n\n434 Sqdn: Halifax LK 916-D\n\nCrew have no known grave, but are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | P\/O E.P. Devaney Killed\n\nWOII C.T.E. Lee Killed\n\nP\/O W.K. Maxwell Killed\n\nSgt K.J. Scales Killed\n\nSgt V.H. McKeown Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.H. Martin Killed\n\nSgt R.E. Parker Killed\n\n434 Sqdn: Halifax LK 740-V Crew buried in Berlin. | S\/L L.M. Linnell Killed age 26\n\nP\/O A.V. Heaton Killed\n\nP\/O A.W. Hornby Killed\n\nP\/O S.W. Taylor Killed\n\nSgt P.P. Wicks Killed\n\nSgt O.D. Culverwell DFM Killed\n\nSgt P.J. Elms Killed\n\n463 Sqdn: Lanc HK 537-S\n\nCrew buried Aabenraa, Denmark. Crashed on the Danish Coast after colliding with Lanc JA 967- of 83 Sqn while changing course for the homeword leg. | F\/Lt N.P. Cooper Killed age 31\n\nSgt P.C.W. Bull Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.H. Christmass Killed\n\nW\/O G.J. Kerr Killed\n\nSgt F.E. Robson Killed\n\nP\/Sgt H. Suthers Killed\n\nSgt R.J. Grist Killed\n\n466 Sqdn: Halifax HX 294-A | S\/L A.O. McCormack POW\n\nStalag L3\n\nF\/Sgt G. Walker POW Stalag LVI\n\nP\/O J.W. Tyler Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nF\/Sgt J.R. Clark POW Stalag LVI\n\nF\/Sgt R.A. Whitfield POW Stalag LVI\n\nF\/Sgt S.L. Smith POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt R. Collings POW\n\n---|---\n\n466 Sqdn: Halifax HX 233-C\n\nF\/Lt P.W. Mack Killed\n\nShot down by a night fighter near killed buried in Berlin.Berlin. Those  | F\/Lt P.W. Mack Killed\n\nF\/Sgt D.J. Cowin Killed\n\nP\/O H.G. Hunt POW\n\nP\/O N.E. Ward POW\n\nSgt C.J. Barton POW\n\nF\/Sgt D.S. Alexander RAAF Killed\n\n466 Sqdn: Halifax HX 345-Y\n\nShot down by a night fighter. Those killed buried in Berlin.  | P\/O G.B. Coombes POW Wounded\n\nF\/Sgt R.D. Hughes POW Stalag LVI\n\nP\/O R.R. Last POW\n\nP\/O L.D. Anderson RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt P.P. Balderston POW LVI\n\nP\/O C.J. Trotman Killed\n\nSgt R. Nelson Killed\n\nSgt J.T. Causier POW\n\n467 Sqdn: Lanc ED 867-L\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Lt I.G. Durston DFC Killed age 32\n\nSgt F.A. Aver Killed\n\nF\/Sgt S.J. Grifiliths Killed\n\nF\/Lt H.L. Fry Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.L. Ludlow Killed\n\nF\/Sgt P.R. Gill Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.W.A. Sutherland Killed\n\n576 Sqdn: Lanc ED 888-V2\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | P\/O E.H. Childs Killed\n\nSgt V.E.T. White POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt R. Johostone Killed\n\nSgt E. Bardsley POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt H.R. Bowles Killed\n\nSgt C.M. Brewster Killed\n\nSgt C.A. Giffard Killed\n\n576: Lanc ND 386\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | F\/Sgt E.G.Hart Killed\n\nSgt W.F. Ledingham Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.D. Grant RCAF POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/Sgt J.A.L. Martel RCAF Killed\n\nSgt A. Thompson Killed\n\nSgt W.A. Owen Killed\n\nSgt R.V. Fairley Killed\n\n625 Sqdn: Lanc DV 364-D\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Lt G.A. Spark DFC Killed\n\nSgt W.H. Lyssington DFM Killed\n\nSgt R. Latham Killed\n\nSgt J.E. Alves Killed\n\nSgt G. Bone Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.G. Carson Killed\n\nP\/O H.J. Watkins Killed\n\n630 Sqdn: Lanc JB 654-C\n\nCrew have no known grave, but are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | P\/O D.W. Story RAAF Killed age 24\n\nSgt D.E.James Killed\n\nP\/O F.J. Peacock Killed\n\nP\/O H.L.W. Cairns Killed\n\nSgt G.H. Barrington Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G. Dove Killed\n\nSgt H.J Barrons RCAF Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\nCrew\n\n630 Sqdn: Lanc JB 666 Crew buried in Berlin.  | W\/C J.D. Rollinson DFC Killed age 32\n\nSgt P.G. Kempen Killed\n\nF\/Lt L. Ehrman Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.J. Rosser Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.E. Broomfield Killed\n\nSgt S.R. Loades Killed\n\nW\/O L. Christie Killed\n\n---|---\n\nAircraft that crashed in the United Kingdom\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n76 Sqdn: Lanc DK 245-G | Crew\n\nF\/Sgt W.B. Ward crashed on take off Sgt Munson and Sgt Channon killed.\n\n---|---\n\n102 Sqdn Halifax JD 165-S\n\nDitched in sea.  | F\/S D.M.E. Pugh Pilot Safe\n\nSgt E. Campbell Died\n\nSgt A.A. Burgess Died\n\nSgt R.F. Purkiss Died\n\nRemainder of the crew saved.\n\n433 Sqdn: Halifax NK 285\n\nCrashed at Catfoss.  | F\/Sgt W.A. Stiles Killed\n\nSgt Ludlow\n\nSgt Boissevain Injured\n\n433 Sqdn: Halifax 231\n\nCrew baled out eight miles NE of Thirsk, Yorks having ran out of petrol after being attacked by a Ju88. The rear gunner F\/O Cox was killed after his chute fouled the aircraft on baling out.  | F\/Sgt J.E. Mitchell Uninjured.\n\n433 Sqdn Halifax HX 265\n\nDitched in the sea.  | F\/O J.M. Gray\n\nAll of the crew picked up safe.\n\n434 Sqdn: Halifax EB 256\n\nCrew baled out owing to a shortage of petrol and landed near Scarborough. Sgt W. Demers, the RIG, was killed and Sgt Dobney was injured. Sgt Demers was buried at Harrogate on 2nd February, and all his crew attended.  | P\/O M. Flewelling\n\n466 Sqdn: Halifax HX 239\n\nCrash-landed with hardly any fuel at Madask. The navigator P\/O A.F. Studdes and 2nd Pilot F\/Sgt F.C. Pope were slightly injured.\n\n466 Sqdn: Halifax HX 239\n\nCrash-landed with hardly any fuel at Matlask. The navigator P\/ A.F. Studdes and 2nd Pilot F\/Sgt F.C. Pope were slightly injured.\n\n30th\/31st January 1944\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n44 Sqdn: Lanc ND 514-C\n\nShot down by a fighter over Berlin. Crew buried in Berlin. Ordee given to bale out by Lyford.  | Crew\n\nP\/O N.J. Lyford RAAF Killed age 22\n\nF\/Sgt A. Semple POW Stalag LVI\n\nF\/Sgt J.R. Tijou POW StalagL1\n\nF\/Sgt G. Owen POW Stalag LVI F\/Sgt\n\nR.G. Keen POW Stalag LVI\n\n---|---\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nSgt H. Marrs POW Stalag Ll\n\nSgt J.A. Wainwright POW Stalag LVI\n\n---|---\n\n44 Sqdn: Lanc JA 843-O\n\nHit by flak over Berlin. Those killed buried in Berlin.\n\nAircraft began to fall and then exploded in the air throwing P\/O Johnston clear. | P\/O A. Johnston POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt G.R. Parker Killed\n\nSgt C.H. Gow Killed\n\nF\/Sgt S.J. Wareham Killed\n\nSgt J.W. McDonald Killed\n\nSgt F. McPrae Killed\n\nSgt T.M.Jones Killed\n\n83 Sqdn: Lanc JB 352-C\n\nShot down by a nightfighter on the outskirts of Berlin. And then fell out of control.\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | F\/Lt A.H.J. Sambridge DFC Killed\n\nP\/O H.O Scathard Killed\n\nP\/O T.E. Wilkins Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.J. Taylor Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.R. Maycock Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.B. Gilbertson Killed\n\nP\/O R. Cass Killed\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 535-Q\n\nCrew buried Barsingerhorn, Noord-Holland, Holland. F\/Lt Clarke came from Belfast, Northern Ireland.\n\nCrashed at Kolhorn.  | F\/Lt E.S. Clarke Killed age 22\n\nSgt R.V.T. Bowerman Killed\n\nP\/O E.J.L. Carpenter Killed\n\nF\/O N.C. Law Killed\n\nSgt G. Ridley Killed\n\nP\/O T.E. Charles Killed\n\nF\/Lt R.P. Wishart Killed\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 659-J\n\nCrew on their 13th Operation. The aircraft was shot down by a night fighter And crashed on a farmhouse at Halfweg home of the Van de Bilj family both the husband and wife plus four children died. P\/O Hart and WO Williams were buried shortly after the crash at Haarlemmermeer but the remainder of the crew were not recovered until 2001 and are now buried as a crew at Haarlemmermeer. Relatives of all seven were present at the burial.\n\nThis was a BBC TV documentry.  | P\/O A.R. Hart RAAF Killed age 22\n\nSgt K.F. Hicks Killed\n\nSgt L. Clifton Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.K. Boal RAAF Killed\n\nSgt C.l. Williams Killed later WO\n\nSgt W.J.Jones Killed\n\nSgt C.M. Price RCAF Killed later F\/Sgt\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc ND 360-N\n\nShot down by a nightfighter over Berlin. Crew buried in Berlin.  | W\/O J.K. Ives Killed\n\nSgt D.C. Cornes Killed\n\nW\/O2 I.F. Ruppel Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.G. Fenton POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt D.P.J. Savage Killed\n\nSgt Johnson RCAF Killed\n\nSgt D Sissons Killed\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc ND 398-B\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed at Karwe  | W\/O J.A. Crabtree Killed age 22 later P\/O\n\nSgt R.J. Davies Killed\n\nF\/O M.O. Rees Killed\n\nSgt J.W. Knight POW\n\nSgt F. Helm Killed\n\nSgt J.J. Whelan Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.W. Box Killed\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc JB 673-P\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | F\/O R.M. Parker Killed age 21\n\nSgt C.S. Ellis Killed\n\nF\/Sgt K.R.J.. Bradhury Killed\n\nSgt G. Silverwood Killed\n\nSgt T. Campbell Killed\n\nSgt E. Starkie Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nF\/Sgt G.A. Orchard Killed\n\n---|---\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc DV 3O3-U\n\nShot down by a fighter over Berlin. Crew buried in Berlin.  | Sgt D.W. Froggatt Killed later F\/Sgt\n\nSgt L.V. Houlton Killed\n\nSgt A.F. Graves POW Stalag VI\n\nSgt P.E.J. Carmichael POW Stalag VI\n\nSgt F. Charnnock POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt R.C. Wilson Killed\n\nSgt G.T.J. Heath Killed\n\nP\/O M. Marder Killed\n\n106 Sqdn: Lanc ND 336-Q\n\nCrew buried Vlieland, Friesland, Holland.\n\nCrashed in the North Sea.  | P\/O K.H.W. Kirkland RAAF Killed age 26\n\nSgt W.G. Mann Killed\n\nSgt K.W. Barry Killed\n\nF\/O J. Inston Killed\n\nSgt D. Naylor Killed\n\nSgt R.M. Winfindale Killed\n\nSgt R.J. Charters Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc LL 648-J\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | F\/Lt H.G. Hicks RNAF Killed age 28\n\nF\/O B.A.W. Beer DFC Killed\n\nP\/O C.F. Farquharson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.W. Todd Killed\n\nP\/O J.A. McLoughlin RAAF Killed\n\nF\/O M.G. Gladwell Killed\n\nSgt A.E. Elms Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 302-W\n\nShot down by a nightfighter over Berlin. Those killed buried in Berlin.  | W\/O P. Batman POW\n\nSgt F.E. Darycott POW\n\nSgt F. Habbershaw Killed\n\nSgt R.C. Crockett Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.E. Reay POW\n\nSgt J.E. Beattie Killed\n\nSgt D. McDonnell Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JA 702-Z\n\nThose killed buried Vollenhove, Overijssel, Holland.  | W\/O J.E. Rule RNAF Killed age 28 later P\/O\n\nSgt W.W. Cottam POW\n\nSgt P. Coyne POW\n\nSgt E.A. Shorter Killed\n\nF\/Sgt K.R. Ball Killed\n\nSgt G.A. Race Killed\n\nSgt J.J. Sloan Killed\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc DV 406-Y\n\nThose killed buried Berlin.\n\nNightfighter and probaly crashed into one of the Berlin lakes.  | P\/O J.F. Tosh Killed\n\nSgt D. Alletson POW\n\nSgt R.A. Morris Killed\n\nSgt F.H. Mosen Killed\n\nSgt E.J. Martin POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt R.L. Brown RCAF POW Stalag LVII\n\nSgt R. Walton Killed\n\n207 Sqdn: Lanc EE 173-K\n\nShot down by a nightfighter over Berlin.\n\nAbandon with port wing on fire.  | P\/O R. Burnet POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt G. Reed POW Stalag VI\n\nSgt K.W.C. Brown POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt L.J. Barnes POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt R.R. Hawkins POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt G.M. Gibb POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt A. Pullman Killed\n\n207 Sqdn: Lanc ED 758-V\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | P\/O A. Moore Killed age 29 later F\/O\n\nSgt K. Burrell Killed\n\nF\/O W.T. Tranmer Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nSgt J. Wilson Killed\n\nSgt A.J.O. Archer Killed\n\nF\/O E.L. Keeler Killed\n\n---|---\n\n207 Sqdn: Lanc DV371-M\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin.  | P\/O H.D. Broad Killed\n\nSgt S.K. Chalkin Killed\n\nF\/O C.E. Pointon Killed\n\nSgt E.W.D. Downey POW Stalag VI\n\nSgt J.B. Stewart Killed\n\nSgt C.R. Bailey Killed\n\nSgt G.A.N. Thompson Killed\n\n405 Sqdn: Halifax JA 924-R\n\nShot down by a nightfighter at 20,000 feet when leaving Berlin. Port wing on fire and spiraled out of control at 15,000 feet exploded two of the crew blown clear.\n\nThose killed on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Lt H.L. Shackleton POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt R.C. Gibson Killed\n\nF\/O A.H. Ashford Killed\n\nSgt H. Williams POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt J.W. Walker Killed\n\nSgt T. Newton Killed\n\nSgt W.R. Palmer Killed\n\n405 Sqdn: Halifax ND 493-S\n\nShot down by a nightfighter on outward leg caught fire and crashed at Teschendorf. Crew names on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Sgt A. Bonikowsky POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/O A.R. Laberge DFC POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt G.M. O\ufffdNeil RCAF Killed later P\/O\n\nW\/O G.R. Buchanan POW Stalag L IIII\n\nSgt S. Einarsson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.M.A.L. Charest Killed\n\nSgt F.S. Cole POW Stalag LVI\n\n405 Sqdn: Halifax ND 462-J\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed at Loburg.  | F\/Lt W.A. Roberts RCAFKilled age 23\n\nF\/O E.S. Guiton Killed\n\nF\/O D. Hackett DFC Killed\n\nW\/O A.B. Hazlehurst Killed\n\nW\/O 2 J.P.R. Boileau RCAF Killed\n\nP\/O A.B. Schultz RCAF Killed later F\/O\n\nSgt I.E. Smedley Killed\n\n463 Sqdn: Lanc ED 545-J\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed at Luthendorf  | F\/Sgt L.S. Fairclough RAAF Killed age 20 later P\/O\n\nSgt N.A. Vemer Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.R. Carius RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt P.K. Giles RAAF POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt A.J. White RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.G. McLean RAAF Killed\n\nSgt D. Robinson Killed\n\n463 Sqdn: Lanc JA 973-O\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed at Repente.  | P\/O P.E. Hanson RAAF Killed age 23\n\nSgt E.A. Hughes POW Repatriated 6\/2\/1945\n\nSgt M.A. Stevens Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.E. Edgecombe Killed\n\nSgt L. Bowes Killed\n\nSgt N.N. Bligh Killed\n\nSgt J.M.M. Wilson RAAF Killed\n\n463 Sqdn: Lanc ED 772-G\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.Crashed at Jabel  | P\/O G.L. Messenger RAAF Killed\n\nSgt H.W.H. Marshall Killed\n\nSgt M.F. Holmes POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt E. Brown POW Stalag LIII and 357\n\nSgt F. Wooldridge Killed\n\nSgt R.W. Young Killed\n\nSgt G.C. Borradaile Killed\n\n463 Sqdn: Lanc ED 949-A  | P\/O D.C. Dunn RAAF Killed age 22 later F\/O\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin.\n\nShot down and crashed at Newruppin.  | Crew\n\nSgt F.T.H. Adams Killed\n\nF\/O F.G. Fidler Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M.Y. Smith POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt A.C. McConnell Killed\n\nSgt H. Deakin Killed\n\nF\/Sgt E.F. Gloster RAAF Killed\n\n---|---\n\n467 Sqdn: Lanc DV 378-C\n\nHit by flak and aircraft exploded. Crew buried in Berlin.  | P\/O A.D. Riley RAAF Killed age 28 later F\/O\n\nSgt S.T. Tupper Killed\n\nW\/O 2 J. Valastin RCAF POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt N.W. Allen Killed Sgt J. Nixon Killed\n\nW\/O C.S. Baker Killed Sgt F. Barrett Killed\n\n514 Sqdn: Lanc DS 706-G\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Lt G.K. Boyd DFC killed age 25\n\nF\/Sgt P.D. Martindale Killed\n\nSgt L.S.J. Adkin Killed\n\nSgt J. Dowding Killed\n\nSgt R.A.D. Mirams Killed\n\nSgt A. Nicholson Killed\n\nSgt P.W. Webb Killed\n\n514 Sqdn: Lanc DS 735-A\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin.\n\nSgt Mortimer killed as a pow on a route march when attacked by RAF Typhoons 19\/4\/1945.  | F\/Lt G.J. Chequer RCAF Killed age 22\n\nF\/Sgt E.J. Wallington POW\n\nF\/Sgt K. Mortimer Killed\n\nSgt R. Montgomery Killed\n\nSgt J.L. O'Brien RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.J. Robertson RAAF POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt J.S. Carey Stalag 357\n\nF\/Sgt R.L. Gulliford POW Stalag 357\n\n550 Sqdn: Lanc ND 396-D\n\nHit by flak over Berlin.\n\nHit by flak and crash landed 1st Operation.  | Sgt G. Hunter POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt J.C. Cartwright POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/O G. Pickavance POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt L.I. Smith POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt W.C. Frost POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt T.W. Vittle POW Stalag LI\n\nSgt C.V. Gale POW Stalag 357\n\n576 Sqdn: Lanc W 4245-S2\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.\n\nSgt Bardsley killed on a pow route march when attacked by RAF Typhoons 19\/4\/1945.  | P\/O E.H. Childs Killed\n\nSgt V.E.T. White POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt RE. Johnstone Killed\n\nSgt E. Bardsley Died while a POW 9\/4\/1945 357\n\nSgt H.R. Bowles Killed\n\nSgt C.M. Brewster Killed\n\nSgt C.A. Giffard Killed\n\n622 Sqdn: Lanc ED 364-Q\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Lt R.J. Brown Killed age 23\n\nSgt A.T.W. Woolhouse Killed\n\nSgt F.E. Tidmas Killed\n\nSgt F.M. Forde Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.W. Robertshaw Killed\n\nSgt W.F.S. Wootten Killed\n\nF\/Sgt .J.L. Piche Killed\n\nSgt W.J.T. Brodie Killed\n\n625 Sqdn: Lanc JB 122-H\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | F\/Sgt R. Gallop Killed later P\/O\n\nSgt S.J. Harrison Killed\n\nSgt P. Rawlings Killed\n\nSgt G.A.J. Prigg Killed\n\nF\/Sgt P. Moylan Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nF\/O A.J. Normandin Killed\n\nW\/O D.W.T. Johnson Killed\n\n---|---\n\n626 Sqdn: Lanc ME 587-X2\n\nCrew name son the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/O J. Wilkinson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C.A.S. Noad Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.J. Neeson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.E. Lafferty Killed\n\nSgt W.A.M. Anderson Killed\n\nSgt J.S. Pomeroy Killed\n\nSgt R.E. Allan Killed\n\nAircraft that crashed in the United Kingdom\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n50 Sqdn: Lanc DV 368-S  | Crew\n\nF\/Lt Blackham\n\nF\/Sgt H.G. Ridd Wounded\n\nF\/Sgt J. Shuttleworth Wounded\n\n---|---\n\n405 Sqdn: Halifax Letter D\n\nCrashed at Coltishall with its wheels retracted, the undercarriage being U\/S after combat with a fighter.  | F\/O D.E. Biden\n\nF\/Sgt Wilkinson injured by flak in the right arm.\n\nF\/O Farb and W\/O Weaver wounded in the fighter attack.\n\n550 Sqdn: Lanc DK 305\n\nLanded at Woodbridge with both gunners dead after an attack by a fighter.  | F\/O R. Warren misunderstood an order in the air and baled out; he was later found to be a POW at Stalag LIII\n\nSgt J.M. Cantor Killed\n\nSgt J. McKenzie Killed\n\nSgt Cantor buried Willesden Jewish Cem. Middx.\n\nSgt McKenzie Havelock Cemtery, Middx.\n\n626 Sqdn: Lanc LN 584-Y2\n\nAttacked by a fighter.  | Pilot F\/O W. Breckenbridge\n\nSgt J. Hall Killed\n\nSgt J. Schwartz Wounded\n\nP\/O W.B. Baker Wounded\n\nW\/O R.J. Meek Wounded\n\n640 Sqdn: Lane LW 513-W\n\nCrashed near Catfoss. | P\/O D. Affleck Killed\n\nF\/Sgt D. Price Killed\n\nF\/Sgt S. Kennett Killed\n\nSgt W Milne Killed\n\nP\/O R. Andrews died later\n\nF\/Sgt C. Price Killed\n\nP\/O J. Cutler Killed\n\n15th\/16th February 1944\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc ND 365-L\n\nCrashed in the water at Vornaes, Tasinge, Denmark. The bodies of P\/O Alexander and WO Hawkins were found by Marious and Inger Erichsen but were taken over by the Germans who buried them at Skaro. The bodies of F\/Lt Ballantyne and F\/Sgt Sefton were not found until after the war. They had been buried by the  | Crew\n\nF\/Lt P.K.W. Williams DFC POW Stalag III\n\nF\/Lt A.J. Sayer Killed\n\nP\/O J.M. Alexander CGM Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.S. Staniforth POW Wounded Repatriated 6\/2\/1945\n\nW\/O W. Hawkins Killed\n\nF\/Sgt N.B. Sefton Killed\n\nF\/Lt R.R..S. Ballantyne Killed\n\n---|---\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\nGermans at Dragonkasernen and were later reburied at Svendborg. F\/Lt's Sayer and Glaus are buried at Landet, they were found on the 6th of March and 30th of June respectively. Two of the crew survived the initial crash Marius Erichsen pulled one out of the water and the other one landed by parachute in a field near the coast.\n\nShot down by a nighfighter and exploded over the Baltic, the survivors blown clear.  | Crew\n\nF\/Lt L.G. Glaus Killed\n\n---|---\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc ND 445-D\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed nr Griebenstrasse, Linke.  | S\/L R.D. Campling DSO DFC Killed\n\nF\/Lt R.J.H. Clayton DFC Killed\n\nF\/Lt D.F. Langham DFC Killed\n\nSgt G.E. Combe Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C.H.L. Wright DFM Killed\n\nF\/Sgt B.S. Cubbage DFM Killed\n\nW\/O C.L. Quinn DFC DFM Killed\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc JB 414-Y\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | S\/L J.A. Hegman RNAF DSO DFC Killed age 40\n\nW\/C J.D. Tatnall OBE Killed\n\nP\/O W.G.K. McLaren DFC Killed\n\nF\/Sgt D.E. Harrison DFM Killed (Brother also killed in action)\n\nF\/Sgt A.K. Buchanan DFM Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.K. Williams Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.D. Nichols DFM Killed\n\nSgt F.L. Cook POW Stalag LI\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc JB 224-W\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin. | F\/Lt R.L. Barnes DFC Killed\n\nP\/O J.T.D. MeLachlan Killed\n\nF\/Lt F.C. Jones DFC Killed P\/O\n\nR.C. Bett Killed\n\nSgt J.R. Dalziel Killed\n\nF\/Sgt E. Marshall Killed\n\nF\/Sgt E. Campbell Killed\n\n10 Sqdn: Halifax JN 883-S\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin. | F\/O W.G. Clarke Killed\n\nSgt A. Williams Killed\n\nSgt P.J. Ferguson Killed\n\nSgt R.P. Harris Killed\n\nSgt S.Jenkins Killed\n\nSgt H.J. Clarke Killed\n\nSgt F. Coffey Killed\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc ND 404-R\n\nHit by flak over the target causing all four engines to fail. The crew baled out but Auty's parachute got cuahft on the tial and he was drawn down with the stricken aircraft.  | F\/Sgt J.P.Jones POW Stalag 357\n\nLt L.K. Oldmixon POW\n\nSgt R. Smithson POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt T.H. Adderley POW\n\nSgt E. Auty Killed\n\nF\/O W.J. Maltby POW Stalag III\n\nSgt T. Hamilton POW Stalag IVB\n\n15 Sqdn: Lanc ED 628-O\n\nHarris buried in Berlin. The reaminder are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/O N.G. Totty Killed\n\nF\/Lt W. M. Harris RNAF Killed age 23\n\nW\/O H. Entwisle Killed\n\nCrashed into the Baltic nr Hiddensee.\n\nF\/O J.S. Ragliss Killed\n\nF\/Sgt B.W. Ralph Killed\n\nSgt H.C.. West Killed\n\nSgt E.C.. Sparkes Killed\n\n35 Sqdn: Halifax LV 861-O\n\nThose killed buried Diepenveen, Overijssel,  | P\/O C.F. Blundell RAAF Killed age 28\n\nF\/Lt PG. Ranalow Escaped\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---\n\nHolland. Shot down by a fighter on the homeward journey.  | W\/O A.W. Bennett Evaded\n\nF\/Sgt R. Moreton Evaded\n\nSgt R.V. Daniels Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J. Pogonoski Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A. Hazell Killed\n\n50 Sqdn: Lanc DV 376-F\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | F\/O HA. Litherland DFC Killed age 22\n\nSgt M.E. Green Killed\n\nF\/O R.A. Chilcott Killed\n\nSgt P. Harris Killed\n\nSgt E.C. Gornall Killed\n\nSgt M. Hartley Killed\n\nSgt A.W.R. Gross Killed\n\n57 Sqdn: Lanc JB 420-S\n\nCrew buried Blokzijl, Overrijssel, Holland.\n\nCrashed at Blokzyl.  | F\/O T.W. Briggs Killed age 29\n\nSgt P.J. Doyle Killed\n\nSgt L.S.D. Swanston Killed\n\nSgt A. Munday Killed\n\nSgt H. Lewis Killed\n\nSgt E. Mell Killed\n\nSgt L. North Killed\n\n76 Sqdn: Halifax LL 140-A\n\nCrashed near Schweinfurt shot down by a Ju88.\n\nThose killed are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Sgt D.A. Eaton POW Stalag LVI\n\nF\/Sgt R. Neal POW Stalag LVI\n\nF\/Sgt G.K. Wilson POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt J.C. Harding Killed\n\nSgt E.B. Upton Killed\n\nSgt R.S. Becker POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt J.A. Watson POW StalagL6\n\n77 Sqdn: Halifax LW 341-D\n\nCrashed at Western Baltic. Sgt Newell is buried at Kappel at Lolland, Denmark. F\/Sgt Edmonds and Sgt Tyler are on the Runneymede Memorial.  | F\/Sgt A.F. Edmonds Killed age 23 later WO\n\nSgt J.A. Coughlin Killed\n\nF\/O R.E. Padget Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.J.O. Kennedy Killed\n\nSgt C.O. Tyler Killed\n\nSgt N.L. Newell RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.W. Wheeler Killed\n\n77 Sqdn: Halifax LK 726-O\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.  | F\/O G. Bodden Killed age 25\n\nSgt J.L. Green Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.F.W. Gooding Killed\n\nSgt W.H. Beere Killed\n\nSgt R.C. Hall Killed\n\nSgt J. Smith Killed\n\nSgt A.L. Fairbrother Killed\n\n77 Sqdn: Halifax LL 244-T\n\nCrew buried Hanover.  | Sgt H. Blewett Killed age 22\n\nSgt B. Thorpe Killed\n\nSgt N.L. Holder Killed\n\nSgt J. Wood Killed\n\nSgt W. Baines Killed\n\nSgt G. Sullivan Killed\n\nSgt M. Gallagher Killed\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc ND 478-Q\n\nShot down by a nightfighter over Farborg the four bombs exploded smashing every window in the town. P\/O McLean landed at Horne Island and walked to Nyborg where he was taken to hospital and operated on for a bleeding ulcer. In September 1944 he was sent to Sweden and exchanged with a German POW's and sent back to the UK. Sgt's | P\/O J.F. McLean POW Stalag Ll Sgt W.D. French Killed\n\nSgt A. Pestell Killed\n\nP\/O L. Stevens POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt W.E. Brown Killed\n\nSgt R.T. Charles Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.D. Murdoch RAAF Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---\n\nBrown, Charles, French, and Pestel are buried at Faborg, as is F\/Sgt Murdoch.\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc ED 391-H\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial  | P\/O E.E. Tunstall Killed age 21\n\nF\/O G.R. Balcombe Killed\n\nSgt J. Duguid Killed\n\nSgt W.C. Sharp Killed\n\nSgt J.M. Garde Killed\n\nSgt R. Parsons Killed\n\nSgt D.W. Young Killed\n\nSgt R.F.N. Allison Killed\n\n101 Sqdn: Lanc DV 236-G\n\nShot down by a nightfighter over Berlin. Crew buried in Berlin | P\/O D.W. McConnel DFC Killed\n\nSgt C. Thompson POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt D. Hall POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/Sgt R.R. Clarke POW Stalag 357\n\nF\/Sgt D.W. Hall POW Stalag VI\n\nSgt L. Young DFM Killed (Brother died on service also)\n\nW\/O R.W. Brown POW Stalag LVI\n\nP\/O O. Fischl POW\n\n102 Sqdn: Halifax LW 339-F\n\nCrew buried Berlin | F\/Lt A. Hilton Killed age 23\n\nF\/Sgt R.J. Paige Killed\n\nSgt L.F. Can Killed\n\nSgt F.A. Pashell Killed\n\nSgt A. Dean Killed\n\nSgt E.A. Goslin POW Stalag LVI\n\nW\/O R.F. Sykes Killed\n\n102 Sqdn: Halifax HX 155-Q\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | P\/O A. Kularatne Killed age 22\n\nSgt R. Whitaker Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.F. Johnson Killed\n\nP\/O JA. Downs Killed\n\nP\/O A.J. Stapleton Killed\n\nF\/O J.M. Filmer Killed\n\nSgt K.W. Sherlock Killed\n\nP\/O W.M.M. Manser Killed\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc ND 363-A\n\nAll but Lindo and Minn buried Texel, Noord- Holland, Holland. | F\/Lt K.H. Berry DFM Killed age 20\n\nP\/O K. Wilcock Killed\n\nS\/L H.L. Lindo DFC Killed\n\nF\/O K.L. Atkins Killed\n\nCrashed into the Waddensee after bing shot down by a nightfighter flown by Oblt Heinz -WolfgangSchnaper IV\/NJG1. | F\/Sgt J.J. Peacock Killed\n\nW\/O W.E. Mitton Killed\n\nF\/O J.C. Southey Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc LL 651-A4\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed nr Neuruppin | F\/Sgt A.C. Whyte Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.A.K. Ellis POW\n\nSgt J. Landles Killed\n\nSgt A.M. Rogers Killed\n\nSgt J. Adams Killed\n\nSgt J.H. Jones Killed\n\nF\/O C.J. Lidhetter Killed\n\n116 Sqdn: Lanc LL 689-P\n\nThose killed on the Runneymede Memorial.\n\nShot down by a nightfighter over the Ijsselmeer flwon by Oblt Heinz -Woolfgang Schnaufer IV\/NJG1 | F\/Sgt J.P. Ralph Killed age 20 later P\/O\n\nSgt J. Johnston POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt D.J. Young Killed\n\nSgt J.D. Tomlin POW Stalag 357\n\nP\/O J.D. Dill-Russell Killed\n\nSgt B.S.J. Akehurst Killed\n\nSgt J. Rareliffe Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc ND 604\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | Crew\n\nF\/Lt M.C. Stimpson Killed age 22\n\nP\/O H.N. Jackson Killed\n\nF\/O J.H. Wright Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.J. Catchpole Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.L. Gurton Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.H. Smith Killed\n\nF\/Sgt T.R. Dutton Killed\n\n---|---\n\n158 Sqdn: Halifax LV 772-H\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin. | P\/O R.W. Hilton RAAF Killed age 23\n\nSgt J.A.T. Griffith Killed\n\nF\/O R. Runciman Killed\n\nP\/O M.S. Lynch Killed\n\nSgt J.G. Howell Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.L. Munro POW\n\nSgt G.W. Yates Killed\n\nSgt D.G. Whittaker Killed\n\n158 Sqdn: Halifax HX 348-O\n\nCrash landed at Trappe. | F\/Sgt W.C.M. Hogg POW\n\nF\/Sgt B.V. Millett POW\n\nSgt P. Chamberlain POW\n\nSgt R. McDonald POW\n\nSgt R.H.E. MeLaren POW\n\nF\/Sgt G.E. Ksendz POW\n\nSgt G.A. Naylor POW\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc ME 636-E\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin.\n\nShot down by a nighfighter and crashed between Hagenow and Jabel | W\/O G.A. Woodcock-Stevens Killed\n\nF\/O H.J. Miller Killed\n\nSgt C. Glen Killed\n\nF\/O H.J. Miller Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.J. Donaldson Killed\n\nSgt R.G. Potter Killed\n\nSgt H. Daggett Killed\n\nSgt R. Dent Killed\n\n166 Sqdn: Lanc ED 841-L\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed heavily into a forest nr Freudenberg. | F\/O R.J. Robinson Killed\n\nSgt H.K. Harrison POW Stalag LVI\n\nF\/Sgt R.A. Smith Killed\n\nSgt G.F. Clarke Killed\n\nF\/Sgt D.J. Stokes Killed\n\nSgt N.O. Jones Killed\n\n207 Sqdn: Lanc ND 510-T\n\nCrew name on the Runneymede Memorial. | P\/O F.W. Cosens DFC Killed age 28\n\nSgt E. White Killed\n\nSgt M.J. Litchfield Killed\n\nSgt J. Taylor Killed\n\nSgt L.H. Dunlop Killed\n\nSgt A.G. Owen Killed\n\nSgt L.A. Field Killed\n\n419 Sqdn: Halifax JD 456-B\n\nCrashed in the Western Baltic, Kiel Bay F\/Sgt Donald was found dead in the sea on the 17th Feb, Sgt\ufffds Fournier on the 18th June and Raine on the beach at Momark on the island of Also on the 21st Feb and buried o the 25th at Aabenraa. P\/O Parker on the Runneymede Memorial. F\/Sgt Donald buried Magleby, Langeland, Denmark. Sgt Raine is also buried in Aabenraa, Denmark. | F\/O J.A. Hartnett Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.L. Donald RCAF Killed\n\nSgt R.N. Ross Killed\n\nSgt H.T. Raine RCAF Killed\n\nSgt D.A. Hopper Killed\n\nSgt N.A.G. Fournier Killed\n\n424 Sqdn: Halifax HX 311-A | S\/L A.V. Reilander Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin. | Crew\n\nF\/O B.W. Foskett Killed\n\nP\/O R.W. Fisher Killed\n\nP\/O K.W. Janes Killed\n\nP\/O AF. Dowding Killed\n\nSgt S. Lucas Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F.W. Bartley Killed\n\nF\/Lt R.H. Penalagan Killed\n\n---|---\n\n426 Sqdn: Halifax DS 794\n\nAll but F\/Sgt's Love and Labach are on the Runneymede Memorial. | F\/Sgt B.W. Pattle RCAF Killed later P\/O\n\nF\/Sgt P. Labach Evaded\n\nSgt L.T. Proser Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.W. Hicks Killed\n\nSgt A.B. Chester Killed\n\nF\/Sgt W.K. Love Evaded\n\nSgt O.W. Hicks Killed\n\n434 Sqdn: Halifax LK 971\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | S\/L F.E. Carter RCAF Killed age 24\n\nF\/O W. McPherson Killed\n\nP\/O S.D. Jenkins Killed\n\nW\/O D.G. Goodfellow Killed\n\nP\/O E.G. Forde Killed\n\nP\/O W.E. Rood Killed\n\nP\/O J.W. Wheeler Killed\n\nP\/O J.J. Blanchard Killed\n\n466 Sqdn: Halifax HX 336-A | F\/Lt J.D. Cairns POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt W.N. Wiffen POW Stalag LVI\n\nP\/O P. Shine POW Stalag LIII\n\nF\/Sgt C. Righy POW Stalag LVI\n\nW\/O A.C.H. Oliver POW Stalag LVI\n\nF\/Sgt J.W. French POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt G.E.O. Haggard POW Stalag LVI\n\n466 Sqdn: Halifax HX 293-F\n\nBuried Grootegart, Groningen, Holland. | F\/Sgt J.D. Wormald Killed\n\nF\/S C. Sheldon Killed\n\nF\/Sgt F.K. Williams RAAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt H.C.L. Thomas Killed\n\nF\/Sgt T.F. Eastcott Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.J. Newell Killed\n\n550 Sqdn: Lanc JA 934-H\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | Sgt R.W. Woodger Killed age 20 later F\/Sgt\n\nSgt D.L. Jones Killed\n\nF\/Sgt A.H. Stockton Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.D. McIntosh Killed\n\nSgt V.H. Mate Killed\n\nSgt D. Willsden Killed\n\n579 Sqdn: Halifax LW S67-Q\n\nShot down by a fighter. Those killed buried in Berlin. | W\/O J.B. Horgan RAAF Killed age 27\n\nP\/O Linbridge POW Stalag LIII\n\nP\/O J.K. Kerr POW Stalag LIII\n\nSgt F.W. Haytnan POW Stalag LVI\n\nSgt M.K. Piper Killed\n\nSgt E.B. Blair Killed\n\nSgt W.J. Leiper POW Stalag LVI\n\n619 Sqdn: Lanc DV 330-O\n\nRumble, Coleman and Paterson buried Svino, Denmark. Having crashed in Smallandsfarvant, water between Zealand and Lolland. Sgt Cole is on the Runneymede Memorial. Crashed into the Baltic. | F\/O R.M. Rumble RCAF Killed age 23\n\nSgt J.P.V. Cole Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.H. Little Killed\n\nF\/O W.H.C. Pateman Killed\n\nSgt G.H. Carpenter Killed\n\nF\/O R.C. Parry Killed\n\nF\/O P.J. Coleman Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n622 Sqdn: Lanc W 4268-A\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed at Neu Gaarz | Crew\n\nF\/Lt G.A. Welch Killed age 22\n\nF\/Sgt J.R. Garbutt Killed\n\nSgt S.G. Rees Killed\n\nF\/Sgt K.Mc Neilson RNAF Killed\n\nSgt F.P. Bramley Killed\n\nSgt J. McSpadyen Killed\n\nF\/Sgt M.S. Pearson Killed\n\nSgt A. AlIsop Killed\n\n---|---\n\n622 Sqdn: Lanc W 4272-C\n\nCrew name son the Runneymede Memorial Shot down by a nightfighter on return leg and crashed into the Ijsslmeer. | F\/Lt T.L.A. Griffiths Killed\n\nSgt H. Morrall Killed\n\nF\/O R.C. Taylor Killed\n\nSgt J.W. Grifliths Killed\n\nSgt B.J. Allen Killed\n\nSgt P.W. Wright Killed\n\nSgt C.A. Brown Killed\n\nSgt F.E.W. Chapman Killed\n\n625 Sqdn: Lanc R 5702-Y\n\nCrashed in flames by a nightfighter at Avne Vig.\n\nCrew buried Aabenraa. The local people have placed a memorial stone at the place of the crash. | Sgt R.W.. Ashurst Killed\n\nSgt H.R. Reardon Killed\n\nF\/O H.J. Proskurniak POW Stalag LIII\n\nW\/O E.T. Edwards Killed\n\nSgt R.A. Campbell Killed\n\nF\/Sgt S.W. Downes Killed\n\nSgt C.F. Lewis Killed\n\n626 Sqdn: Lanc JB 595-02\n\nShot down by a fighter over Berlin.\n\nShot down in the area of Ejrfort by a nightfighter. | F\/Sgt S.Jacques POW\/Wounded Stalag 357\n\nSgt G.C. Farran POW Repatriated 612\/1945\n\nSgt J.G. Morton POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt A.A. Phillips POW\/Wounded\n\nSgt J.E. Holford POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt D.C. O'Donnell POW Repatriated 6\/2\/1945\n\nSgt Seddon Stalag 357\n\n630 Sqdn: Lanc JB 665-B\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed nr Gustrow. | F\/Lt W. English Killed age 22\n\nP\/O J.L. Richards Killed\n\nSgt N.H. Mitchell Killed\n\nF\/O J.E. Evans Killed\n\nSgt L.V. Fussell Killed\n\nF\/Sgt L.G. Lane Killed\n\nP\/O D.R. Carlile Killed\n\nP\/O W.P.R. Hewitt Killed\n\nAircraft that crashed in the United Kingdom\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n106 Sqdn: Lanc JB 534\n\nCrashed at Tumbeland Fen, hit the ground and broke in two after trying to avoid another Lancaster. | Crew\n\nP\/O R.W. Dickerson Killed\n\nSgt G.H. Boffey Killed\n\nF\/O R.H. Lewis Killed\n\nSgt F.O.W. Pauley Killed\n\nSgt W.C. Hills Killed\n\nSgt B. Krukowski Injured\n\nF\/O W.H.C. Ramsay Injured\n\nP\/O Dickerson buried Thetford\n\nSgt Boffey buried Ocker Hill, Staffs\n\nSgt Lewis buried Dagneham, Essex\n\nSgt Pauley buried Oakington, Cambs\n\n---|---\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\nSgt Hills buried Greenwich, London.\n\n---|---\n\n420 Sqdn: Halifax LW 396\n\nCrashed after several overshoots. | F\/O Dammard\n\nWOII L.L. Whale Killed\n\nSgt B. Downey Killed\n\n40 Sqdn: Lanc LW 439-E\n\nCrashed near Thornaby, Durham. | F\/S E. Vicary pilot\n\nCrew baled out safely.\n\n630 Sqn: Lanc JB 655-J\n\nCrashed nr Old Bolingbroke, Lincs. | F\/O K.Roberts RAAF\n\nSgt J.F.J. Forrest\n\nSgt J. Lett\n\nSgt W. De Kiell\n\nSgt J.H. Tucker\n\nSgt L.E. Williams\n\nSgt C.F. Virgo RAAF\n\n640 Sqdn: LW 500-H\n\nCrashed near Scarborough. | F\/O H. Barkley pilot Killed\n\nF\/O J. Sommerville Killed\n\nSgt W.Jackson Killed\n\nF\/S J. Smart Killed\n\nSgt E. Brown Killed\n\nSgt T. Leitch Killed\n\nSgt A. Elkington Killed\n\n24th\/25th March 1944\n\nSquadron and Aircraft\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc ND 581-M\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial.\n\nShot down by a nighfighter over Berlin wreckage spread over a wide area. | Crew\n\nF\/O J.M. Mee RNAF DFC Killed age 25\n\nP\/O D.P. Bain DFC RNAF Killed\n\nF\/Sgt V.V. Mortlock Killed\n\nF\/Sgt G.L. Grimes Killed\n\nF\/Lt L.T. Berrigan DFC Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.A. Webb Killed\n\nF\/Sgt D.N. Luxton RNAF\n\n---|---\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc ND 457-O\n\nCrashed at Schleswig Holstein. Those killed buried in Hamburg. | P\/O TE.B. Kyle RAAF Killed\n\nP\/O D.G W. Humpherys Killed\n\nF\/Sgt J.H.D. MacDonnell RAAF Killed\n\nSgt R.A. Hide POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt F.H. Fowler Killed\n\nSgt C. Butson Killed\n\nF\/Sgt C. Hughes POW Stalag LIII\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc ND 710-L\n\nShot down by a Ju99 fighter and crashed at Magdeberg. Crew buried in Berlin. | F\/O G.J.G. Mariguy Killed\n\nF\/Sgt R.G.W. Beer POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt S.G. Bentley Killed\n\nSgt P. Holland POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt J.S. Wright POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt G.W. Henson Killed\n\nSgt E.A. Anthony Killed\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc JB 359-Q\n\nCrew buried in Berlin.\n\nCrashed nr Harzerode on return leg. | F\/Lt J.H. Bracewell DFC Killed age 23\n\nF\/O D.A. Colombo DFC Killed\n\nF\/O R.H. Stevens Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---  \n|\n\nSgt Hills buried Greenwich, London.\n\n420 Sqdn: Halifax LW 396 | F\/0 Dammard\n\nCrashed after several overshoots. | WOII L.L. Whale Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt B. Downey Killed\n\n40 Sqdn: Lanc LW 439-E | F\/S E. Vicary pilot\n\nCrashed near Thornaby, Durham. | Crew baled out safely.\n\n630 Sqn: Lanc JB 655-J | F\/O K.Roberts RAAF\n\nCrashed nr Old Bolingbroke, Lincs. | Sgt J.F.J. Forrest\n\n|\n\nSgt J. Lett\n\n|\n\nSgt W. De Kiell\n\n|\n\nSgt J.H. Tucker\n\n|\n\nSgt L.E. Williams\n\n|\n\nSgt C.F. Virgo RAAF\n\n640 Sqdn: LW 500-H | F\/O H. Barkley pilot Killed\n\nCrashed near Scarborough. | F\/O J. Sommerville Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt W.Jackson Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/S J. Smart Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt E. Brown Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt T. Leitch Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt A. Elkington Killed\n\n24th\/25th March 1944\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n---|---\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc ND 581-M | F\/O J.M. Mee RNAF DFC Killed age 25\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | P\/O D.P. Bain DFC RNAF Killed\n\nShot down by a nighfighter over Berlin wreckage | F\/Sgt V.V. Mortlock Killed\n\nspread over a wide area. | F\/Sgt G.L. Grimes Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Lt L.T. Berrigan DFC Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt R.A. Webb Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt D.N. Luxton RNAF\n\n7 Sqdn: Lanc ND 457-O | P\/O TE.B. Kyle RAAF Killed\n\nCrashed at Schleswig Holstein. Those killed buried | P\/O D.G W. Humpherys Killed\n\nin Hamburg. | F\/Sgt J.H.D. MacDonnell RAAF Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt R.A. Hide POW Stalag 357\n\n|\n\nSgt F.H. Fowler Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt C. Butson Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt C. Hughes POW Stalag LIII\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc ND 710-L | F\/O G.J.G. Mariguy Killed\n\nShot down by a Ju99 fighter and crashed at | F\/Sgt R.G.W. Beer POW Stalag 357\n\nMagdeberg. Crew buried in Berlin. | Sgt S.G. Bentley Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt P. Holland POW Stalag 357\n\n|\n\nSgt J.S. Wright POW Stalag 357\n\n|\n\nSgt G.W. Henson Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt E.A. Anthony Killed\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc JB 359-Q | F\/Lt J.H. Bracewell DFC Killed age 23\n\nCrew buried in Berlin. | F\/O D.A. Colombo DFC Killed\n\nCrashed nr Harzerode on return leg. | F\/O R.H. Stevens Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n|\n\nF\/O A.B. Hunter Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Lt F.J. King RAAF Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt H.N. Norton Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt C.W. Hicks Killed\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc ND 439-K | F\/Sgt C.J. Bates POW Stalag 357\n\nShot down by a night fighter and crashed at | F\/Sgt J.A. Bramnsall Killed\n\nDalhausen. Those killed are buried in Berlin. | Sgt R. Plant Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt H.F. McPherson POW Stalag 357\n\n|\n\nSgt P.G.W. Hendon Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt P.C. Emms Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt D. Brown Killed\n\n12 Sqdn: Lanc ND 65O-X | F\/O F.C. Hentsch Killed\n\nHit by flak over Duisberg fire in the nose. | F\/O C. Rudyk POW\n\nAbandon well south of track and crashed at | Sgt E. Birch Killed\n\nGeldem-Keert. | Sgt A.J. Keveren Evaded\n\n|\n\nSgt R.M. Cringle Killed\n\nThose killed buried in the Reichswald War | Sgt A.C. Summers POW\n\nCemetery. | F\/O D.R. Wimlett Killed\n\n15 Sqdn: Lanc LM 490-L | F\/Sgt L. Wheeler Killed\n\nShot down by a night fighter and crashed at Tetlow. | Sgt R. McIntosh Killed\n\nThe crew are buried in Berlin. | Sgt F.D. Wells Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt A.E. Smith Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt E.D. MeCallum Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt J. Briggs Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt H. Longworth Killed\n\n15 Sqdn: Lanc LM 441-T | F\/Lt W.G. Grove Killed age 24\n\nAircraft shot down by flak. Crew buried in the | Sgt A.R. Jackson Killed\n\nRheinberg War Cemetery. | P\/O J.A. Sills Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt F.G. Holland Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt A. Thompson Killed\n\n|\n\nP\/O I. Tvrdeich Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt J.A. Johnson Killed\n\n35 Sqdn: Lanc ND 597-A | S\/L R.T. Fitzgerald RAAF DFC Killed\n\nCrashed at Schonebeck-Elbe after being hit by a | F\/O J.F. Savage Killed\n\nnightfighter and exploding crashing at Welsleben | F\/Lt W.S. Miego Stalag 9C\n\nsurvivors blown out by the blast. | W\/O R.A. Brewington Killed\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin. | F\/Sgt F.K. Smith Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt S.H. Boulton POW Stalag 357\n\n|\n\nP\/O C.J. Dineen Killed\n\n44 Sqdn: Lanc ME 672-A | P\/O B.M. Hayes Killed\n\nCrashed at Woensel. Crew buried in Eindhoven, | Sgt J.M. Ella Killed\n\nNoord \u2014 Brabant, Holland. | Sgt R. H.J. Wellfare Killed\n\nHit by a nighfighter. | Sgt M. Fedoruk POW\n\n|\n\nSgt W.K. Walker Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt K.L. Radcliffe Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt W.G. Perrie Killed\n\n44 Sqdn: Lanc ND 565-C | P\/O A. Evans Killed age 22\n\nHit by flak after drifting of track and crashing at | Sgt C.J. Evans Killed\n\nAngermund. | F\/O G.F. Garland Killed\n\nCrew buried in the Reichswald War Cemetery. | F\/Sgt P.J. Hatton Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt A.G. Terrell Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt A.P. Myles Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt M.E. Burnard Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt K.V. Miller Killed\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n51 Sqdn: Halifax LW 539-N2 | F\/O G. Mek McPherson POW Stalag LI\n\nSgt Bowthorpe is buried in Berlin. | F\/O W.B. Gillespie POW Stalag LI\n\n|\n\nF\/O R.J.H. Nelson POW Stalag LI\n\n|\n\nSgt D.F. Bowthorpe Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt S.D. Herbert POW\n\n|\n\nSgt T. Cloutier POW Stalag LI\n\n|\n\nSgt K. Davies POW\n\n51 Sqdn: Halifax MZ 507-P2 | F\/Lt R. Curtis Killed\n\nThose killed buried Parchim, Mecklenburg- | Sgt W.V. Willson Killed\n\nVorpommem, Germany. | F\/Sgt J.S. Scott Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt A. Sidebotham POW Stalag LVI\n\n|\n\nSgt R. Hepworth Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt J.L. Middleton Died while a POW\n\n|\n\nSgt A.L. Taylor Killed\n\n57 Sqdn: Lanc JB 539-S | P\/O E.P. Cliburn Killed\n\nShot down by a night fighter and crashed at | Sgt T.J. Evans Killed\n\nWestkirchen. Crew buried in the Reichswald War | F\/Sgt A. Hamilton Killed\n\nCemetery. | Sgt L.H. Green Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt P.R. Oxlcy Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt H.A. Spencer Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt P.J. MacInness Killed\n\n57 Sqdn: Lanc ND 671-I | P\/O G.A. Hampton RAAF Killed age 22\n\nCrashed at Geske. Crew buried in Hanover. | Sgt F.S. Bodkin Killed\n\nHit by flak and return trip crashed at Geseke. | Sgt K.E.G. Nuttall POW\n\n|\n\nSgt T.J. Adkison Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt J. Milfull POW Stalag 357\n\n|\n\nSgt C.W. Strom Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt D.C. Youngs Killed\n\n61 Sqdn: Lanc DV 397-W | P\/O D. Carbutt Killed\n\nAircraft crashed at Gehrden. Crew buried in Berlin. | Sgt J. MeCreavy Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt A. Fulker POW\n\n|\n\nF\/O J. Palmer Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt A.W. Sherwood Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt H.E.. Short Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt R.N. Cunningham Killed\n\n61 Sqdn: Lanc: JB 129-G | P\/O J.G. Cox RNAF Killed age 22\n\nShot down by a night fighter and crashed at | Sgt G.F. Lowe Killed\n\nRienbeck, near Wasburg. Crew buried in Hanover. | Sgt E.G. Grundy Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/O E.W.T. Mellander RCAF Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt R. Peacock Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt K. Finch Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt W. Broderick Killed\n\n76 Sqdn: Halifax LK 790-K | F\/Sgt L. Marshall RCAF Killed later P\/O\n\nCrashed near Gatow, Germany. Crew buried in | F\/Sgt TE. Wilkinson Killed\n\nBerlin. | F\/Sgt F.W. Kinch POW Stalag L1\n\n|\n\nSgt P.J.F. Cramp POW Stalag L1\n\n|\n\nSgt W. Longhorn POW\n\n|\n\nSgt W.E. Lawton POW\n\n|\n\nSgt E.J. Albon POW Stalag LI\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n78 Sqdn Halifax LV 903-H | F\/Lt D.F. Constable DFC Killed* age 24\n\nCrew buried Berlin. | Sgt C.H.A. MeLeod POW\n\n|\n\nSgt T. Rateliffe POW\n\n|\n\nF\/O A. Mace POW Stalag LI\n\n|\n\nSgt D.T. Cash Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt T.L. Scholar Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt E.T. Byford Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt G.T. Lovell\n\n* Awarded immediate DFC at the end of March 1944.\n\n78 Sqdn: Halifax LW 507-K | Sgt B.T. Smith Killed age 21 later F\/Sgt\n\n---|---\n\nCrashed at Proyzen. Crew buried in Berlin. | Sgt L.W. Edwards POW\n\n|\n\nSgt H. Middleton POW\n\n|\n\nSgt S. Johnson POW\n\n|\n\nSgt T. Willis POW\n\n|\n\nSgt R.J. Finn POW\n\n|\n\nSgt L. Daniels Killed\n\n78 Sqdn: Halifax LW 518-A | F\/Sgt K. Barden Killed\n\nCrashed at Fahlhorst after being hit by flak. Crew | F\/O A. Lees Killed\n\nburied in Berlin. | F\/Sgt S. Davidson Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt W. Spencer Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt F. Curtis Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt P. Cleal Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt J. Lincoln Killed\n\n78 Sqdn: Halifax HX 355-D | F\/Lt E.W. Everett POW Stalag L1\n\nHit by a fighter over Berlin, but did not crash until | Sgt J.R. Stewart POW Stalag L1\n\nthe Hague area. | F\/O J.K.M. Green POW\n\n|\n\nSgt J.E. Johnson POW\n\n|\n\nSgt K.H. Jones POW\n\n|\n\nP\/O A.P. Sinden POW Stalag LI\n\n|\n\nSgt J.P. Graham POW\n\n78 Sqdn: Halifax LW 589-G | F\/Sgt H. Jackson Killed\n\nCrashed at Fallove. Le-Hautes, Rivires, Ardennes, | Sgt J. Dear Killed\n\nFrance. | Sgt J. Smith Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt H.D. Petchett Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt P.J.S. Crawford Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt W.G. Baker Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt R.W. McNeil Killed\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc JB 671-A | P\/O W.D. Coates DFM Killed\n\nCrashed at Woensel, Eindhoven. Crew buried | Sgt B.H. Nicolas Killed\n\nEindhoven, Noord Brabant, Holland. | F\/Sgt S. Nuttall Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/O J.M. Baldwin Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt W. Chapman Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt W.L. York Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt F. Thompson Killed\n\n97 Sqdn: Lanc ND 440-H | F\/O P.H. Todd POW Stalag LI\n\nHit by flak over the Ruhr; sigual received near | Sgt S. Robson Killed\n\nCalais on return but nothing further. Aircraft | P\/O C.T.H Fuller POW\n\nditched between Dover and Calais Cap Gris Nez | F\/Sgt J.R. Duvall POW\n\nArea. | F\/Sgt W. Housley POW Stalag 357\n\nSgt Robson on the Runneymede Memorial | Sgt S. McCloskey POW Injured Stalag 357\n\n|\n\nSgt J. Cartwright POW Stalag 357\n\nSquadron and Aircraft | Crew\n\n100 Sqdn: Lanc ND 642-N | P\/O A.J. Jenkins Killed age 31\n\nCrew are buried in Berlin. | Sgt W.J. Moore Killed\n\nCrashed nr Gruna-Laussig shot down bya | F\/Sgt G.A. Saunders Killed\n\nnightfigher. | Sgt G. Pearson Killed\n\n|\n\nSgr R.Mc. Ross Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt D.G. Harris Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt FA.L.A. Farr Killed\n\n103 Sqdn: Lanc ME 665-C | S\/L K.G. Bickers DFC Killed\n\nCrew names on the Runneymede Memorial. | F\/Sgt J. Wadsworth Killed\n\nExploded and crashed nr Luckenwalde. | F\/O C.J. Plummer DFC Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt D. Cannon Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/O P.A.C. Bell Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/Sgt L.J. Coiner Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/O N. Tombs Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc DS 678-J | P\/O L.M. McCann RCAF Killed\n\nShot down by night fighters at Leipzig. Those | W\/O 2 H.L. Gray RCAF POW Stalag 357\n\nkilled names on the Runneymede Memorial. | Sgt W. Bowey Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt D.G. Geach POW Stalag 357\n\n|\n\nSgt D. Keeley Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt V.J. Watson Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt J.W. Burke Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc LL 694-W | P\/O T.E. Vipond Killed age 23\n\nCrashed at Epse, 4 to 5 KM SE of Deventer. Crew | F\/Sgt J.L. Duffy Killed\n\nburied Gorssel, Gelderland, Holland. | Sgt J.E. Hammond Killed\n\nShot down by a nightfighter flown by Hptm Martin | F\/O E.J. Deemer Killed\n\nDrewes III\/NJG1 crashed at Epse. | Sgt A.J. Hull Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt R.L. Coulter Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt A. Diggle Killed\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc LL 730-G | F\/Sgt I.G. Williams Killed\n\nThose killed buried in Berlin. | Sgt M.A. Ward Killed\n\nBoam load set on fire by a nightfighter an attempt | Sgt J.W. Kearley Killed\n\nmade to head for Sweden lost height and crashed in | Sgt E.A. Meikle POW Stalag L1\n\nOstseebad Renk. | Sgt T.C. Watson Killed\n\nSgt Meikle baled out just before the crash. | Sgt R. Howells Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt J.A. Morris POW Camp 344\n\n115 Sqdn: Lanc DS 664-A4K | F\/Sgt J.. Newman Killed\n\nShot down by a night fighter over Oberkirchen. | Sgt J.P. Cleary POW Stalag LVI Repartriated\n\nThose killed buried in Hanover. | 6\/2\/1945\n\nSgt Alkemade was found without a parachute in | Sgt G.R. Burwell POW Stalag LVI\n\nsnow. | Sgt C.A.ilder Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt N.S. Alkemade POW Stalag III\n\n|\n\nSgt J.J..McDonough Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt E.A. Warren Killed\n\n156 Sqdn: Lanc JB 667-T | F\/Lt R. Richmond Killed\n\nCrashed at Gross Benthen. Those killed buried in | Sgt H.L. Bird POW Stalag 357\n\nBerlin. | Sgt J.A. Green Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt G.P. Rae Killed\n\n|\n\nF\/O R. Kearney Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt R.J. Faulkner Killed\n\n|\n\nSgt K.A. Ward Killed\n\n158 Sqdn: Halifax LW 721-S | F\/Sgt A.R. Van Slyke RCAF Killed age 23\nAttacks on Berlin\n\n1940\n\n34 Attacks\n\n934 Aircraft despatched of which 573 attacked Berlin\n\n525 Tons of bombs dropped\n\n106 Aircraft missing\n\n1941\n\n21 Attacks\n\n1,011 Aircraft despatched of which 604 attacked Berlin\n\n860 Tons of bombs dropped\n\n20 Aircraft missing\n\n1943\n\n54 Attacks\n\n7,392 Aircraft despatched of which 6,400 attacked Berlin\n\n21,343 Tons of bombs dropped\n\n390 Aircraft missing\n\n1944\n\n76 Attacks\n\n7,055 Aircraft despatched of which 6,353 attacked Berlin\n\n18,262 Tons of bombs dropped\n\n340 Aircraft missing\n\n1945\n\n70 Attacks\n\n4,015 Aircraft depatched of which 3,802 attacked Berlin\n\n4,525 Tons of bombs dropped\n\n14 Aircraft missing\n\nTotal attacks 255\n\nTotal Aircraft Missing 870\nBomb Tonnage Nov 1943 \u2013 March 44\n\n18\/19th November 1943|  \u2013 | 1,593.6  \n---|---|---  \n22\/23rd November 1943|  \u2013 | 2,464.5  \n23\/24th November 1943|  \u2013 | 1,334.5  \n26\/27th November 1943|  \u2013 | 1,575.6  \n2\/3rd December 1943|  \u2013 | 1,685.6  \n16\/17th December 1943|  \u2013 | 1,815.0  \n23\/24th December 1943|  \u2013 | 1,287.9  \n29\/30th December 1943|  \u2013 | 2,314.5  \nl\/2nd January 1944|  \u2013 | 1,400.4  \n2\/3rd January 1944|  \u2013 | 1,116.4  \n20\/21st January 1944|  \u2013 | 2,400.6  \n27\/28th January 1944|  \u2013 | 1,760.5  \n28\/29 th January 1944|  \u2013 | 1,954.0  \n30\/31st January 1944|  \u2013 | 1,960.3  \n15\/16th February 1944|  \u2013 | 2,642.6  \n24\/25th March 1944|  \u2013 | 3,493.1\nSources\n\nPublic Record Office References\n\nAir 14\u2013905\n\nAir 14\u20132791\n\nAir 24\u2013261\n\nAir 50\u2013188\n\nAir 50\u2013185\n\nAir 24\u2013269\n\nAir 34\u2013551\n\nAir 14\u20133221\n\nAir 20\u20135748\n\nAir 27\u20131931\n\nAir 27\u2013482\n\nAir 27\u2013836\n\nAir 27\u20131980\n\nAir 50\u2013300\n\nAir 20\u2013842\n\nAir 24\u2013206\n\nAir 24\u2013265\n\nAir 20\u20134890\n\nAir 50\u2013232\n\nAir 8\u2013333\n\nAir 24\u2013280\n\nAir 24\u2013294\n\nAir 14\u20132222\n\nAir 14\u20133012\n\nPrem 3\/14\/2\n\nAir 27\u2013652\n\nAir 34\u2013544\n\nAir 20\u20135748\n\nAir 41\u201343\n\nAir 24\u2013263\n\nAir 22\u2013338\n\nAir 14\u2013621\n\nAir 24\u2013262\n\nAir 22\u201379\n\nAir 27\u20132037\n\nAir 14\u20131245\n\nAir 24\u2013266\n\nAir 24\u2013264\n\nAir 24\u2013263\n\nAir 20\u20138148\n\nAir 14\u20132476\n\nAir 2\u20134645\n\nAir 50\u2013271\n\nAir 14\u20132687\n\nAir 50\u2013260\n\nAir 27\u2013128\n\nAir 34\u2013543\n\nAir 14\u20132800\n\nAir 24\u2013304\n\nAir 27\u20131860\n\nAir 14\u20132234\n\nAir 22\u2013338\n\nAir 24\u2013262A\n\nAir 20\u2013842\n\nAir 25\u2013157\n\nAir 14\u20132226\n\nAir 8\u2013435\n\nAir 27\u2013687\n\nAir 8\u2013440\n\nAir 14\u20131616\n\nAir 40\u20131397\n\nAir 40\u20131345b\n\nAir 10\u20133870\n\nAir 40\u20131679\n\nAir 40\u20132108\nOfficial Sources\n\n(Individuals to whom I am indebted are listed in the Aknowledgments)\n\nAir Historical Branch (G\/Capt Probert, Eric Munday\n\nLes Howard, Mrs Cummins)\n\nImperial War Museum\n\nRAF Museum Hendon\n\nRAF Records, Gloucester\n\nCommonwealth War Graves\n\nBomber Command Association\n\nAircrew Association\n\nAir Gunners Association\n\nRAF Prisoners of War Association\n\nRAF Escaping Society (Elizabeth Harrison)\n\nHumberside Aircraft Preservation Society\n\nLincolnshire Lancaster Committee\n\nS\/L Scott-Anderson \u2014 Battle of Britain Memorial Flight\n\nForeign\n\nLandesarchiv, Berlin\n\nNewspapers\n\nThe Times\n\nOther Sources\n\nBattle Over The Reich \u2014 Alf Price\n\nLancaster Target \u2014 Jack Currie DFC\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":"\n\n# Copyright\n\nCopyright \u00a9 2017 by John C. Maxwell\n\nCover design by Jody Waldrup. Cover copyright \u00a9 2017 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.\n\nHachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.\n\nThe scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author's rights.\n\nThe author is represented by Yates & Yates, www.yates2.com.\n\nCenter Street\n\nHachette Book Group\n\n1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104\n\ncenterstreet.com\n\ntwitter.com\/centerstreet\n\nOriginally published as _Intentional Living_ in hardcover and ebook in October 2015 by Center Street\n\nFirst edition: October 2017\n\nCenter Street is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Center Street name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.\n\nThe publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.\n\nThe Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.HachetteSpeakersBureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.\n\nLibrary of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data\n\nNames: Maxwell, John C., 1947\u2013 author.\n\nTitle: The power of your leadership : making a difference with others \/ John C. Maxwell.\n\nOther titles: Intentional living\n\nDescription: First edition. | New York : Center Street, [2017] | \"Originally published as Intentional Living in hardcover and ebook in October 2015 by Center Street.\" | Includes bibliographical references.\n\nIdentifiers: LCCN 2017020195| ISBN 9781478922452 (paper over board) | ISBN 9781546082446 (large print) | ISBN 9781478923992 (audio book download) | ISBN 9781546082439 (spanish edition) | ISBN 9781478923985 (audio book cd) | ISBN 9781478922469 (ebook)\n\nSubjects: LCSH: Conduct of life. | Leadership\u2014Religious aspects.\n\nClassification: LCC BJ1589 .M286 2017 | DDC 158\u2014dc23\n\nLC record available at https:\/\/lccn.loc.gov\/2017020195\n\nISBNs: 978-1-4789-2245-2 (hardcover), 978-1-4789-2246-9 (ebook), 978-1-5460-8244-6 (large print)\n\nE3-20170810-JV-NF\n\n# Contents\n\n  1. Cover\n  2. Title Page\n  3. Copyright\n  4. 1. A Life That Matters\n  5. 2. Why Leaders Need to Put Other People First\n  6. 3. How to Begin Putting Others First\n  7. 4. Connecting with Like-Minded People\n  8. 5. Adding Value from Your Sweet Spot\n  9. 6. Partnering with Like-Valued People\n  10. Epilogue: The Making of a Movement\n  11. Acknowledgments\n  12. About the Author\n  13. Books by Dr. John C. Maxwell Can Teach You How to Be a REAL Success\n  14. Notes\n  15. Newsletters\n\n# Navigation\n\n  1. Begin Reading\n  2. Table of Contents\n\n#\n\n# A Life That Matters\n\nI want to start this book by asking you a simple question. Why do you want to lead others? I hope it's not for power or prestige or wealth. I hope you want to lead so that you can make a difference in the world with other people. I say that because the real power of leadership comes from what we can do with and for others. The value of leadership doesn't come from recognition. It's not about having a position. In fact, you don't need a title or designated role to work with others and lead them. Whether you're the official leader or you are just passionate about a cause, you can work with others to achieve a worthy goal.\n\nIf you want to make a difference, I hope you will find helpful guidance and inspiration in this book. The most influential leaders are powerful because of their unwavering belief in what they are trying to achieve. They have a drive to make a meaningful difference in the world; to improve the lives of countless people. They want their lives to matter, to be significant.\n\nIs that what you want? Is there something you believe in deeply? Do you want to work with others to achieve something great? Do you want to lead a life that matters? You can. Everyone is capable of achieving great things. It doesn't matter what your age, gender, nationality, or ethnicity is. It doesn't matter how much or how little money you have. You can be a leader of change.\n\nYou don't have to be a world-class leader to connect with like-minded people to make a difference. You don't have to be a Martin Luther King Jr. or a Mother Teresa or a Nelson Mandela to be part of something significant. I hope you know that. In fact, you don't have to be a \"leader\" at all. Most people who make a difference don't have any kind of formal leadership position. They're just intentional\u2014whether they are leading the team, working as part of the team, or supporting the team. One dedicated person can make a meaningful difference in the lives of others.\n\n# Anyone Can Make a Difference\n\nI want to tell you a story that illustrates this point. In 2013 at a speaking engagement I had in Bahrain, I sat across the table from Jaap Vaandrager at lunch. He is a highly successful businessman from the Netherlands who lives and works in Bahrain. During our conversation he asked me what I was writing. I briefly shared that I was writing this book about making a difference. He responded, \"My daughter Celine is making a difference in the lives of people, and she is only a teenager.\" He started to tell me her story, and I was blown away by it.\n\nGrowing up in the Netherlands, Celine knew how privileged she was. This became clear to her in India. Her father and grandfather had done many charity projects there, and she had gone there herself and witnessed the conditions. \"I have seen how many people live in extreme poverty,\" said Celine. \"The children in the slums and other less fortunate areas lack basic education and the only language they learn is the local language, which limits their opportunities later in life. Their greatest wish is to break out of the slums and start a life in the city with a stable job, a stable income, and a loving family.\"\n\nThe key, she realized, was education. \"I believe that it is one of the most important things in life, and it enables people to do whatever they desire with their life,\" said Celine. She thought that if children could be taught English, they would have a chance at a better life as they grew up.\n\nCeline had a plan. She would provide underprivileged children at a school with an English teacher. That would help them later in life and provide greater opportunities for them. After doing a lot of research and with the help of her friends in India, she found a school. It needed an English teacher, but didn't have enough money to pay for one. At this school and others like it, students received only the most basic supplies and a lunch, which for many is the only hot meal they get all day.\n\nThe school she found was called Mahadji Shinde Primary School. The children who attended, forty-four to a class, were some of the least fortunate children in all of India: 10 percent were orphans, 60 percent had only one parent, and 80 percent lived in sheds in the slums.\n\nFinding an English teacher for the school was not easy, but Celine did it in a month. The teacher was a young single woman whose entire family depended on her salary, including her father who had cancer. She had been unemployed and was grateful for the job. Now all Celine had to do was figure out how to pay her.\n\nShe began raising money by holding bake sales at her school. She also sponsored swims. But the amount of money was nowhere near enough to fulfill her aims.\n\nAs Celine's sixteenth birthday approached, she knew what she wanted to do. \"For my sixteenth birthday I stepped it up a notch, inviting all my friends, family's friends, and classmates to come to a birthday fund-raiser I was having, and I told them to bring a plus one.\"\n\nInstead of asking for gifts, she asked for donations for a charity she was creating called No Nation Without Education.\n\n\"Within hours the whole donation box was filled and I already knew I had achieved my target,\" said Celine. \"When I counted up the money I couldn't believe my eyes. We had... more than double the money required. Success!\"\n\nShe used the money to pay the teacher's salary for a year. That meant the children would get English lessons, the teacher would have a stable job for a year, and her father's cancer would be treated. With the extra money, Celine bought dozens of basic English books for the children and stuffed animals for the primary school. When Celine went there to deliver the books and toys, the children were overjoyed and welcomed her enthusiastically. On the same trip, she helped with other projects her grandfather had sponsored.\n\n\"I had such a fantastic time in India,\" said Celine. \"I couldn't thank everyone enough for helping me. It was a life-changing experience and one I will never forget.\"\n\nBut Celine's story doesn't end there. She says, \"My new mission? To build a school in Mumbai, India, for my eighteenth birthday.\"\n\nI wish I had read a story like Celine's when I was a teenager. Even with all of the advantages I had, no one ever pointed out that there were people doing significant things at that age. And it never occurred to me that I could make such a difference as a kid. Knowing this possibility then would have had a huge impact on me.\n\n# What's Your Story?\n\nEveryone's life tells a story. When I meet people for the first time, as soon as the introductions are out of the way I ask them to share their stories\u2014to tell me who they are and where they're from, where they've been and where they're going. I want to understand what matters to them. Maybe you do the same. The telling of our stories becomes an emotional connecting point for us. It bridges the gap between us.\n\nWhy is that?\n\nEveryone loves a good story\u2014we always have. Stories tell us who we are. They...\n\n\u2022 Inspire us.\n\n\u2022 Connect with us.\n\n\u2022 Animate our reasoning process.\n\n\u2022 Give us permission to act.\n\n\u2022 Fire our emotions.\n\n\u2022 Give us pictures of who we aspire to be.\n\nStories _are_ us.\n\nEvery day millions of people watch movies, read novels, and search the Internet for stories that inspire them or make them laugh. Every day we listen to our friends tell us about the dramatic or funny things that happen to them. Every day people take out their smartphones to show pictures and share stories. Stories are how we relate to others, learn, and remember.\n\nAs a communicator, I spend a good portion of my days sharing stories. People don't care a lot about cold facts. They don't want to look at pie charts. They want excitement. They like drama. They care about pictures. They want to laugh. They want to see and feel what happened. Statistics don't inspire people to do great things. Stories do!\n\nHave you ever seen the classic movie _It's a Wonderful Life_? It's the story of George Bailey, a man who dreams of traveling the world and building things, but who instead stays home in Bedford Falls, because he repeatedly chooses to do what he believes to be right for others. At one point in the movie George experiences a moment of crisis, and he comes to believe that everyone around him would be better off if he had never been born. What he's really saying is that his life doesn't matter.\n\nThe great twist in the story occurs when, with the help of an angel, George gets a chance to see what his town and others' lives would look like if he had never existed. Without him, it's a dark and negative place. George comes to recognize the positive impact he has made because, time after time, he took action to do what he knew was right and helped other people. As Clarence the angel tells him, \"Each man's life touches so many other lives.\" George had touched many lives in small ways and made a difference.\n\nHave you looked at your life from that angle? Have you thought about what you want your life story to be? How will your life connect with those around you? Will it make a difference?\n\nWe can't know what the future holds, but there is something you can do to make the most of your opportunities to make a difference with others. Do you know what that is?\n\n_Living each day with intentionality._\n\nWhen you live each day with intentionality, there's almost no limit to what you can do. You can transform yourself, your family, your community, and your nation. When enough people do that, they can change the world. When you intentionally use your everyday life to bring about positive change in the lives of others, you begin to live a life that matters.\n\n# Get into the Story\n\nMost people want to hear or tell a good story. But they don't realize they can and should _be_ the good story. That requires you to become the leader of your own life. And it means going first, even if there isn't anyone else following you. When unintentional people see the wrongs of the world, they say, \"Something should be done about that.\" They see or hear a story, and they react to it emotionally and intellectually. But they go no further.\n\nLeaders who live intentionally jump in and live the story themselves. The words of physicist Albert Einstein motivate them: \"The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing.\"\n\nWhy do so many people do nothing? I think it's because most of us look at the evils and injustice around us, and we become overwhelmed. The problems look too big for us to tackle. We say to ourselves, \"What can I do? I'm just one person.\"\n\nOne person is a start. One person can act and make a change by helping another. One person can inspire a second person to be intentional, and another. This is where leadership begins. Helping people work together makes an impact. It can even become a movement. We should never let what we _cannot_ do keep us from doing what we _can_ do. A passive life does not become a meaningful life. You cannot make a difference if you stand on the sidelines.\n\nI know that you may have a cause or a passion project you're already actively involved in. Or perhaps you possess the desire to start doing something good in your community. While my daily mission is to make a difference by adding value to leaders, yours might be raising money for the local homeless shelter or animal rescue. Maybe your dream is to help families by organizing a local food bank. Maybe you want to provide resources for special-needs children, or organize an effort to help victims of a natural disaster.\n\nTo have a life that matters, you just have to start. Start with yourself. Your _best_ story begins when you put yourself back into it. Be in the picture. Stop looking\u2014start living! And offer to help others. Not only will that change your life and positively impact others, it will grow your credibility and moral authority to inspire and lead others to make a difference.\n\n# Bringing Others into Your Story\n\nWhat you move toward moves toward you. For years I have taught that when a person moves toward his or her vision, resources begin to move toward that person. Those resources may be materials, money, or people. When a person stops moving, so do the resources. As you step into your story of significance and take action, you will find this to be true.\n\nI have taken this principle one step further by intentionally connecting with people. I don't just wait for people to move toward my vision; I invite them to join me. (I'll explain this in detail in chapter 4.) There's great power in asking others to share in your story and be part of achieving worthy goals. Don Miller illustrates this in _A Million Miles in a Thousand Years_. He writes,\n\nWhen we were in Uganda, I went with [my friend] Bob to break ground on a new school he was building. The school board was there, along with the local officials. The principal of the school had bought three trees that Bob, the government official, and the principal would plant to commemorate the breaking of the ground. Bob saw me standing off, taking pictures of the event, and walked over and asked if I would plant his tree for him.\n\n\"Are you sure?\" I asked.\n\n\"Absolutely,\" he said. \"It would be great for me to come back to this place and see the tree you planted, to be reminded of you every time I visit.\"\n\nI put down my camera and helped dig the hole and set the tree into the ground, covering it to its tiny trunk. And from that moment on, the school was no longer Bob's school; the better story was no longer Bob's story. It was my story too. I'd entered into the story with Bob. And it's a great story about providing an education to children who would otherwise go without. After that I donated funds to Bob's work in Uganda, and I'm even working to provide a scholarship to a child I met in a prison in Kampala who Bob and his lawyers helped free. I'm telling a better story with Bob.\n\nWhen you invite others to join you, you both change and have better stories to show for it. As poet Edwin Markham wrote,\n\n_There is a destiny that makes us brothers_\n\n_None goes his way alone._\n\n_All that we send into the lives of others_\n\n_Comes back into our own._\n\nMy greatest memories have come from the times others were in my story of significance with me. There is no joy that can equal that of people working together for common good. Today, my best friends are those who are taking the significance journey with me. Those friendships are heightened by meaningful experiences. Yours will be, too.\n\n# Discoveries in Your Story of Significance\n\nI hope you will take steps to put yourself fully into your story and lead others to join you. From the moment you start, it will have a positive, lasting effect on you. If you're still not sure you're ready to take that first step, let me help by telling you what it will do for you:\n\n## It Will Change You\n\nWhat is the number one catalyst for change? It's _action_. Understanding may be able to change minds, but action changes lives. If you take action, it will change your life. And that change will begin changing others.\n\nEntrepreneur and speaker Jim Rohn said, \"One of the best places to start to turn your life around is by doing whatever appears on your mental, 'I should' list.\" What task to help others keeps popping up on your \"I should\" list? I want to challenge you to develop the discipline of _doing_ in that area. Every time we choose action over ease we develop an increasing level of self-worth, self-respect, and self-confidence. In the final analysis, it is often how we feel about ourselves that provides the greatest reward from any activity.\n\nIn life, it is not what we _get_ that makes us valuable. It is what we _become_ in the process that brings value to our lives. Action is what converts human dreams into significance. It brings personal value that we can gain from no other source.\n\nWhen I was in college, I felt that I should do something positive in the poorest section of the city where I lived. Often I would hear others say that something should be done to help the people who lived there, but I didn't see anyone doing anything about it. So I decided to lead a cleanup effort in that area. For one month, volunteers did work to spruce up the neighborhood. Then we began helping the people who needed medical assistance. Soon people began to take ownership of the neighborhood, and things began to change. I vividly remember walking through that area with a great deal of pride of accomplishment. I was full of joy knowing that I had been part of a group of people who had made a difference in that community. As a result, the change inside of me was as great as the change in the neighborhood.\n\nWhen you take responsibility for your story and intentionally live a life of significance, you will empower yourself, and you will grow your leadership abilities.\n\n\u2022 _You will reaffirm your values._ Acting on what you value will clarify those values and make them a permanent priority in your life.\n\n\u2022 _You will find your voice._ Taking action will give you confidence to speak and live out what you believe in front of others. You will begin to develop a moral authority with people.\n\n\u2022 _You will develop your character._ Passive people allow their character to be influenced by others. Active people struggle to form and maintain their character. They grow and develop because of that struggle.\n\n\u2022 _You will experience inner fulfillment._ Contentment is found in being where you are supposed to be. It's found when your actions are aligned with who you are.\n\nWhen we live our lives intentionally for others as leaders, we begin to see the world through eyes other than our own, and that inspires us to do more than belong; we participate. We do more than care; we help. We go beyond being fair; we are kind. We go beyond dreaming; we work. Why? Because we want to make a difference.\n\nIf you want a better life, become intentional about your story and what you can achieve with and for others.\n\n## It Will Increase Your Appetite for More Significance\n\nCeline's story shows that when you make significance a part of your story, and partner with others to achieve your goals, it only increases your appetite to do more things that matter. Celine's work to provide an English teacher and books to children in India led her to set the larger goal of building a school in India. I know that once I started adding value to others, it became an obsession in the best sense of the word. The more I did it, the more I became intentional in finding other opportunities. A butterfly cannot go back to being a caterpillar. When you start living the significance story, you get a taste for making a difference and you won't go back.\n\n## It Will Outlive You\n\nIn my book _The Leadership Handbook_ , there is a chapter on legacy titled \"People Will Summarize Your Life in One Sentence\u2014Pick It Now.\" By getting into your story and becoming intentional about making a difference, you can choose your legacy. What an opportunity! Today you and I can decide to live a life that matters by helping others, and that will impact how we will be remembered after we're gone.\n\nMy wife, Margaret, was deeply moved by a book called _Forget-Me-Not: Timeless Sentiments for Lifelong Friends_ by Janda Sims Kelley. It is a collection of prose and poetry written in the 1800s. One of the entries particularly impacted her. It said,\n\n_To Viola,_\n\n_Dare to do right, dare to be true,_\n\n_You have a work that_\n\n_no other can do._\n\n_Do it so kindly,_\n\n_so bravely, so well,_\n\n_That angels will hasten_\n\n_the story to tell._\n\n_Your friend,_\n\n_Annie_\n\n_Haskinville, New York, February 08, 1890_\n\nIsn't that what all of us should strive to do? As Viktor Frankl said, \"Everyone has his own specific vocation or mission in life. Everyone must carry out a concrete assignment that demands fulfillment. Therein he cannot be replaced, nor can his life be repeated. Thus everyone's task is as unique as his specific opportunity to implement it.\"\n\n# Intentional Application\n\n## What Is Motivating You?\n\nCarefully consider the following questions and take time to write out the answers:\n\n1. Why do you want to be a leader?\n\n2. What are you passionate about doing to make a difference in the world?\n\n3. Who are you willing to invite into the journey with you?\n\n#\n\n# Why Leaders Need to Put Other People First\n\nMy start in making a difference as a leader was surely small. It happened in June 1969. In that month I graduated from college, married my high school sweetheart, Margaret, and accepted my first position as the pastor of a tiny church in rural Indiana, in a community called Hillham. The town had eleven houses, two garages, and one grocery store. Does that sound small enough?\n\nI had high hopes and unlimited energy. I was ready to help people, so I jumped in. The first service I held in Hillham had three people in attendance. And two of them were Margaret and me!\n\nI was not discouraged. I saw it as a challenge. I started doing what I could to help people in the community. I visited the sick, offered counseling, invited people to services, and taught messages to help people improve their lives. I did everything I knew how to do to add value to people.\n\nMargaret and I spent three years in Hillham. Those were fantastic years. We loved the people, we learned a lot, and we worked hard. When I first accepted the position, the board offered me a part-time salary because that was all they could afford to pay, but they said I was welcome to seek additional employment at the same time if I needed to. Margaret wouldn't hear of it. \"John's called to lead and grow this church, and that's what he's going to do,\" she told the board with all the confidence of a twenty-year-old. \"I'll do the extra work.\" She then proceeded to juggle three jobs to help us make ends meet. She taught school, worked in a jewelry store, and cleaned houses. No doubt you can tell that I married way above myself.\n\nWord started to spread about the good things we were doing in Hillham. People heard about our service, which had increased to 301 in attendance, and they marveled that a little country church like ours had been able to grow so dramatically. Regular attendance was so good that we had to acquire land and construct a new building to hold our growing congregation.\n\nI was also starting to receive a positive reputation for innovation and leadership. I was getting to be known as an up-and-comer.\n\n# Moving Up\n\nI was very pleased when I received a call from the largest church in our small denomination. They were interested in hiring me to become their new pastor. It was in Lancaster, Ohio\u2014a big step up from tiny Hillham. We saw it as a great opportunity, so we accepted the invitation and felt we were on our way.\n\nIn Hillham I had received the inspiration to build a large church. In Lancaster I felt we would get the chance to actually do it. \"We will build a great church here,\" I told the congregation after we arrived, and we set about doing exactly that.\n\nLancaster did, in fact, grow to be the church I had dreamed of. We helped a lot of people, and we made an impact on the community. It wasn't long before we were outgrowing our facilities and had to look for expansion options. We started buying up as much of the land around the church as we could. The lot closest to the church was owned by an older man named Charlie. When I first went to see him and ask about the church buying his land, he said he didn't want to sell it. \"I want to die here,\" he told me.\n\nI didn't pressure him. I just continued to visit him every week and build a relationship with him. After several months, one day he said, \"I can tell you're helping a lot of people. Young man, I want to help you, so I am going to let you buy my land from me.\" So we did. And we drew up plans to build a new sanctuary and to repurpose and refurbish our existing buildings.\n\nThat same year, 1975, our church became recognized as having the fastest-growing Sunday school in the state of Ohio. That may not sound big to you, but it was huge to me. It meant my leadership had gone to another level. And people in larger pastoral circles were starting to notice, too. I was receiving recognition. It was a validation of all the hard work we were doing.\n\nThose were heady days. My enthusiasm and emerging charisma got lots of people to join me and support my vision. And I started receiving favorable comparisons to people I admired. Because I had been born with leadership ability, I had the ability to see things before many others did, which gave me a head start in seizing opportunities and using my leadership giftedness to my advantage. I felt like I was winning all the time. And I liked it.\n\nBut there was another aspect to my personality that was threatening to limit my potential and derail me in the area of significance: my inherent competitive nature. It had been an asset when I played high school basketball, but it went to a whole new level during this season. I wanted to help people, but my motives were wrong. They were selfish. The things I was accomplishing fed my pride and my ego.\n\nThis could most easily be seen when I received the annual report of the denomination. It was a document that included the stats for every church: total attendance, percentage of attendance growth, total annual giving, number of baptisms that had been performed, number of people serving, total Sunday school attendance\u2014everything of note that had occurred in each church during the given year. It was a snapshot of every church in the denomination.\n\nNo matter what I was doing, no matter how busy I was, no matter how important the thing I was doing might be, the moment the annual report arrived in the mail, I stopped everything. I went off with it and spent two solid days analyzing all the numbers and comparing my church's results with everyone else's.\n\nWhere do _I_ rank?\n\nHow am _I_ doing?\n\nWhat am _I_ doing well?\n\nWhat do _I_ need to improve?\n\nHow do _I_ stand out now?\n\nWhat can _I_ do to stand out more?\n\nI was obsessed with finding out where I stood in comparison with the other churches. I became completely consumed with figuring out how I could move up and keep climbing the ladder while taking our church to the next level. I didn't stop until I had every possible scenario for personal advancement figured out.\n\nI already had an inclination to hoard good ideas, and that desire got stronger. I gave in to it. I leveraged every good idea to increase the size of my organization, and I didn't want to share my secrets with anybody else.\n\nWhy did I do all this? Because I wanted to win. I wanted to be first, and it felt like I could be first. I had the vision. I had the energy. I had the ability to attract people to myself and my cause. And I had the work ethic. When you have the potential to win, to be the best, how do you respond? Do you reach for it? I did!\n\nHowever, there was a problem. You've probably already figured out what it was. It was all about me. All my goals and my desire to reach them were totally self-centered. I wasn't intentionally doing anything wrong, but my pursuit of success tainted my motives. I was in it for myself more than for others. I saw the stats as evidence of my success as a leader. I didn't care about the other churches. I didn't take into account that I was part of a larger team: the denomination. The only church I wanted to help was my own. And the only leader I wanted to win was me. I had been the high scorer for my high school basketball team, and I wanted to be the high scorer again.\n\nWhile I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with achieving goals, charting progress, or tapping into natural competitiveness, I do think it's wrong to be self-centered, and that's what I was.\n\n# Shifting from Success to Significance\n\nAs I look back now, I can see that significance was beginning to be within my grasp, but instead I was reaching for success. Back then I didn't get that I couldn't have a life that mattered when it was all about me and what I accomplished. I didn't really understand that significance and the true value of leadership are about what we can do for others.\n\nPublisher Malcolm Forbes said, \"People who matter most are aware that everyone else does too.\" Think about this. Self-centeredness is the root of virtually every problem\u2014both personally and globally. And whether we want to admit it or not, it's a problem all of us have.\n\nIf you're tempted to believe it's not an issue for you, then let me ask a question. When you look at a group photo that you are in, who do you look for first? You look for yourself. So do I. We all look for ourselves before we look at others. If the image of us looks good, we say, \"What a great picture,\" no matter who else might have their eyes closed, their mouths open, or their heads turned. Our opinion is based on how good we look.\n\nSo what's the problem with being a little self-centered? From my point of view, there are many. Self-centered people don't create communities that endure. Selfishly believing that we are not our brother's keepers is not sustainable. If you want to tap into the true power of your leadership, then you need to become intentional about getting beyond yourself and putting other people first. We all do. It may not stop us completely from being selfish or from thinking of ourselves first, but it will help us to curb our self-centeredness. It will help us to shift our mind-set. It has been my observation that good leaders value people and can see the potential significance in each person.\n\nI look back now and realize that as a young leader, I lived a very self-centered life. I had a me-first attitude that showed up in many areas of my life. My competitiveness was often unbridled, and my desire to win oftentimes overwhelmed my judgment. The thing that opened my eyes to this was a conversation with Margaret in the early years of our marriage. In those days, whenever Margaret and I disagreed, I used every skill I had to win the argument. Not just occasionally, but every time. It didn't matter if the issue was large or small, philosophical or practical, personal or organizational. Every time it was a full-court press. And I won!\n\nHave you ever been in a situation where you lost by winning? For quite a long time, Margaret just put up with it. But then one day as I celebrated another victory, Margaret said simply, \"John, you're winning the arguments, but you're losing my love.\"\n\nWhoa! By winning, I was actually damaging my marriage, hurting the person I most loved. And it suddenly occurred to me that if I stayed on that same path, I had the potential to lose Margaret\u2014the love of my life and the best gift God ever gave me.\n\nThat was a wake-up call. It opened my eyes, perhaps for the first time, to how selfish and self-centered I was. I think marriage has a way of doing that to us. If you're married, maybe you agree. At any rate, that was the beginning of change for me. I wish I could say that I instantly became unselfish and never hurt Margaret's feelings again, but that wouldn't be true. However, I can say that it began a journey of change. Whenever I felt the desire to put winning ahead of my relationship with Margaret, I was _intentional_ about putting her first.\n\nThat opened the door for me, and before long I began to see my self-centeredness in other situations. So I started working on them, too. My improved attitude began to spread into these other areas of my life. As a leader, I started thinking more about others, about what they wanted and needed. You need to care about others and help them to get what they want. Do it not only because you want them to help you, but because it's the way to make a difference in the world.\n\nI honestly didn't even notice how big a difference this was making in my life until one year when the annual report arrived in the mail. Instead of dropping everything and spending two days charting my progress, I put the report to the side and thought, _I'll look at it when I have time_. It wasn't until later that I realized the significance of that decision. I had grown. I still possessed high intensity. I was still curious about where I stood. But it no longer consumed me. Why? Because helping others and leading them had become more important. My focus had begun to shift. I was starting to become preoccupied with how to help others improve rather than with how to improve my personal position.\n\n# Tapping into Significance\n\nWhat drives you when you get up in the morning? Most people settle into one of three areas: survival, success, or significance. If you're like many people, you may be struggling just to keep your head above water. You're in survival mode. Whether because of circumstances, setbacks, or poor choices, you have to put a tremendous amount of effort into just making it from day to day.\n\nIf you're working hard to make life better for yourself and your family, then I applaud you. Keep working. But once you've gotten to a place of stability, then what? What will you live for? Will you serve yourself or others? Will you put all of your energy into your own personal success, into trying to get farther ahead than others? Or will you work with others and use your leadership to help them achieve significance? Will you try to make a difference by helping others get ahead?\n\nMuch of my career as a speaker and writer has focused on helping people who have already achieved a level of success to find true meaning in their lives. For some that's a fairly smooth transition. For others it's not. Many people I interact with have gotten to a place where they've reached some of their financial goals\u2014or surpassed them\u2014which they thought would bring some kind of fulfillment. They went into their journeys thinking, _If I get more for me, I'll be happier._ They thought it would bring them satisfaction and fulfillment. But they've discovered that they're still not satisfied. In some cases they are actually less fulfilled than when they started their journeys. Their lives feel hollow.\n\nMany people tie their significance to their social position, their title, their net worth or bank balance, the car they drive, their prestigious address, the man or woman on their arm, or some other status symbol. Their mentality is, _If I do enough and have enough, even if I am self-centered, it will bring fulfillment._ The problem is that self-centeredness and fulfillment cannot peacefully coexist. They're incompatible.\n\nSometimes people struggling with this issue are uncertain about what to do. Often, they grapple with the idea of making a career change in their forties or fifties. When I encounter someone in this situation, I ask, \"Do you really want to switch careers, or do you want to switch to a life that matters?\" The problem usually isn't the job or career. When people are self-centered, they can make external changes, and they won't be any happier in their next career. No matter where they go, there they are.\n\nInstead, they need to shift to significance by putting other people first. Their thinking needs to change from _What's in it for me?_ to _What can I do for others?_ Until that change occurs, happiness, fulfillment, and significance will always be out of their reach.\n\nThat doesn't mean success is bad. The reality is that people must achieve a certain amount of success before they're ready for significance. They need to have found themselves, achieved something, and made themselves valuable before they have something to give to others.\n\nI saw this in my brother Larry. By the time he was forty years old, he had already made enough money that he would never have to work another day in his life. He once told me that his temptation was to quit working, but he knew retiring wouldn't make him happy. \"So now I work for another reason,\" he told me. \"I don't work for another home. I don't work for more money. All of the work I do now is going to allow me to give money away. I now work for a great cause\u2014I work to help other people.\"\n\nThere's an important lesson here. Larry understood that he shouldn't leave his gift zone to get outside of himself. He shouldn't give up the thing he was best at, which was making money, so that he could do something else that didn't suit him, like becoming a missionary. He continued to use his talents for a better purpose. His money would work for him and become a river of influence to positively impact other people. That is true intentional living and true significance. He is living a life that matters.\n\n# Making the Shift\n\nLike Larry, to pursue a life that mattered I had to learn to get beyond myself and think of others first. But I didn't try to get out of my strength zone. I stayed in it. I kept communicating. I kept leading. I kept rallying people to a greater purpose. I kept building. The main difference was that I was no longer doing it selfishly, self-centeredly. Maybe nobody else could tell the difference. But I could! My motives had changed.\n\nFor me, the process of changing was slow, and looked something like this:\n\n_I want to win._\n\n_But too often I'm self-centered._\n\n_My bent toward competitiveness and selfishness has been one of the reasons I have been successful. And my success has given me influence and privileges. I enjoy both immensely._\n\n_But my success now allows me to have options. Do I go for more success? Or do I try for significance?_\n\n_I am at a crossroad._\n\n_I want to use my options to add more value to me._\n\n_But I also want to use my options to add value to others._\n\n_What do I want my life to stand for? What do I want it to mean?_\n\n_I will choose to help others._\n\nThe first time I chose to think of others first, it was hard. But each time I made the right choice, it became a little bit easier. The selfishness was still there, but overcoming it became a little more natural. And as I became more intentional about putting others first in my life, my need to prove myself to others became less important. I began to focus on putting others first\u2014not coming in first. I had more compelling things driving me and fulfilling me that reached far beyond me.\n\nIf you find it difficult to choose between doing what you want for yourself and what you should do for others, don't despair. The process takes time. Think of it like an actual wrestling match. Most winning wrestlers don't end their matches instantly. They don't pin their opponents right away. They have to work at it, and eventually their opponent taps out or cries uncle. And then the match is over.\n\nAs you wrestle down your \"want-tos,\" you don't have to give them up quickly. Just be sure that whatever you give up, you give up for the right reasons and because you've thought it through. Otherwise you will look back with regret\u2014or worse yet, go back and try to pick them up again. It's hard to move forward with confidence if you're looking backward.\n\nAre you ready to start putting other people first, not just occasionally, but as a lifestyle? It's not an easy shift to go from thinking of yourself first to thinking of others first. But it's an essential one for anyone who wants to transition from success to significance and live a life that matters. I started the shift in my twenties, but it took me until my thirties to really get it.\n\nI hope you haven't waited as long as I did to serve others. But even if you have, you don't have to wait another day to change. It may take a while for you to work your way through your issues, just as I had to, but you can start the process today.\n\nSignificant leadership is always about _others_ , and serving them intentionally. When you can change your thinking from _What am I going to receive?_ to _What am I going to give?_ \u2014your entire life begins to turn around. And the gratification and pleasure you receive become deep and long lasting.\n\n# Intentional Application\n\n## Harness Your Success for Significance\n\nIn this chapter I discussed how my brother Larry didn't walk away from doing the things that made him successful in order to achieve significance. Instead, he shifted his focus to using his gifts and talents to benefit others.\n\nMake a list of your top successes, your big wins based on your best skills, talents, and opportunities. You may come up with only one or two things, or your list may be quite extensive. Then think about how you could harness that success to help others. Could you use it as a springboard to help people? Could you teach others on your team how to succeed using your experience? Has it given you resources or opportunities that you could share with someone else? Should you harness your leadership by starting an organization that could make a difference? Be creative. Significance comes from using what you have to benefit others.\n\n#\n\n# How to Begin Putting Others First\n\nI hope by now you recognize the importance of putting other people first as a leader. But knowing what you should do doesn't always tell you _how_ to accomplish it. If you want help looking beyond yourself so that you start thinking of others first, I want to give you some practical advice about how to do it. But before I do, I want to be open about what made the difference for me. It was my faith, so if that offends you, just skip ahead to my first point.\n\nAs a person of faith, I am most inspired to put others first by looking at the life of Jesus. He once asked His disciples, who were bickering over position and titles, \"Who would you rather be: the one who eats the dinner or the one who serves the dinner? You'd rather eat and be served, right? But I've taken my place among you as the one who serves.\" Jesus always valued others and always put them and their needs first.\n\nPutting others first is at the heart of my Christian faith. Having said the Lord's Prayer more times than I can count, I have realized that the prayer is very community centered. It took me years to understand that when I said the Lord's Prayer, it wasn't about me. The focus is on _us_. Yes, if we say the Lord's Prayer, we do pray for ourselves. But we also pray for others. It's a very inclusive prayer. It is a prayer that promotes a life that matters, that leads to significance. If you've prayed the prayer, think about how it starts. It says \"Our Father,\" and it says \"give us\" not \"give me.\"\n\nBut you don't have to be a person of faith to begin putting others first. No matter what you believe, you probably sense that putting others first is the right thing to do, don't you?\n\n# Five Ways to Put Others First\n\nIf you want help taking steps away from self-centeredness and toward significance, then try doing the following:\n\n## 1. Develop a Greater Appreciation for Other People\n\nRecently I spoke at a conference for ATB Financial in Edmonton, Canada. Their top three hundred leaders had gathered for a day of leadership training, and I was their keynote speaker. They had a banner draped across the stage that read, WHY WE LEAD\u2014TO BRING OUT THE VERY BEST IN OTHERS FOR OUTSTANDING RESULTS! I loved that.\n\nDuring the conference, Lorne Rubis, the organization's chief people officer, instructed the attendees to ask themselves this question: \"Who brings out the best of me?\" Right alongside the others, I took his advice. For the next thirty minutes I reflected and I wrote down the names of people who have continually added value to my life. Each time I added another name to this gratitude list, I would smile and remember something each person had said or done for me that added value to my life. My list could be endless. There isn't a week that goes by that I don't take action on something related to what was given to me by one of these people. One of my greatest motivations to add value to others is to do for others what so many have done for me.\n\nMaking such a list reminds me that I am not a self-made man. None of us can _really_ claim to have done anything alone, can we? We need others. And we should value them.\n\n## 2. Ask to Hear Other People's Stories\n\nIn chapter 1, I talked about the importance of stories and I encouraged you to recognize that your life can be a great story of significance. I hope you share in that belief, and I hope it motivates you personally. But does it motivate you to connect with others and learn their stories?\n\nIt should, because everyone you meet has a story. We can easily lose sight of this as we go about our busy days trying to get things done. So how do we counteract this? By asking people to tell us their stories. We have to slow down and take our attention off ourselves to do that.\n\nDo you know the stories of the people in your life? Do you know where they've come from? Are you acquainted with their struggles, their defining moments? Do you know about their hopes and dreams? Have you asked what they aspire to, and what motivates them?\n\nIt's hard to remain self-centered when your focus is on others. Hearing people's stories is a great way to get outside of yourself. Not only will their stories inspire you to help them, they will show you _ways_ you can help them.\n\n## 3. Put Yourself in Other People's Shoes\n\nI read a wonderful story in the news about a couple who were in a restaurant in Iowa celebrating their anniversary. But they didn't experience the romantic evening they were hoping for. Their waiter was overwhelmed, and the service was awful. It took twenty minutes to get water, forty minutes for an appetizer, and over an hour for their entr\u00e9es to arrive.\n\nPeople all around them were making fun of the restaurant and how bad the service was. After taking a look around, the couple noticed their server was working twelve tables by himself. The restaurant was clearly understaffed, and he was doing the best job he could under the circumstances. Despite the slow timing, the couple realized that the waiter remained upbeat, pleasant, and apologetic throughout the meal. He was absolutely delightful.\n\nThe husband and wife, who had both been servers earlier in life, recognized that the waiter had been set up to fail, and he was trying to do his best despite that. So they left him a one-hundred-dollar tip on a sixty-six-dollar tab, along with a note that simply read, \"We've been in your shoes... paying it forward.\"\n\nBecause this couple had done similar work to the waiter's, they had a relatively easy time putting themselves into his shoes. But you don't need to have worked a person's job to understand where he or she is coming from. You just need to make the effort to see from that person's point of view.\n\nHow often do you intentionally put yourself in other people's shoes? Do you continually try to see the world from the point of view of others? You'll be amazed by what it can do to your perspective and your attitude.\n\n## 4. Place Other People's Interests at the Top of Your List of Priorities\n\nIf you get to know people, appreciate them for who they are, learn their stories, and put yourself in their shoes, then you begin to understand what their interests are. What will you do with that information? Store it away hoping to use it for leverage one day? Or put it at the forefront of your thinking every day and use it to serve them?\n\nWhen we get up every day, we have one of two mind-sets. As you start your day, are you wondering what you will _reap_ , or are you wondering what you will _sow_? Are you waiting for others to do something _for you_ , or are you busy looking for something to do _for others_? Leaders who get outside of themselves and make a difference are looking for ways to _sow_. They put other people's interests at the top of their list of priorities every day.\n\n## 5. Make Winning a Group Activity\n\nWhen I started my career, I thought life was an individual hundred-yard dash. But life is really more of a relay race. While winning an individual race may feel great, crossing the finish line with your team is better. Not only is it more fun, but it's also more significant.\n\nJohn Wooden, who mentored me for many years, said, \"Selfishness is the greatest challenge for a coach. Most players are more concerned with making themselves better than the team.\" The result? Seldom do the best players make the best team. Wooden described an unselfish player as one who \"showed an eagerness to lose himself to the group for the goal of the team.\" Not only does that describe a good team member and a good leader, but it also describes an intentional person who lives a life that matters by making a difference.\n\n# Change Yourself before Expecting Change in Others\n\nBefore we leave the subject of getting outside of yourself and putting others first, I feel that I should caution you about a potential pitfall you may face as you make this shift\u2014the desire to change other people.\n\nWhen I first started out in my career, I thought that helping people meant trying to change them. So I made that my goal. I wanted to teach messages that would take people to a higher place in their lives. I gave lots of advice. I was young and idealistic. I didn't yet understand that people don't change because you want them to. They change because they want to, and it happens only when they're ready to.\n\nWhat I missed was that the first person we need to change is _ourselves_. Self-leadership always comes first. It is the prerequisite for leading others. If we want to change the world, then we must change. People can't be agents of change unless they've gone through positive change themselves. I learned that I had to travel within before I traveled without. In other words, I had to make some changes in myself before I could expect to effect change in others. I could not give what I did not have. If I wanted to see others transformed, I had to be transformed. I had to do the hard work myself.\n\nThis ultimately contributed to my shift from teacher to leader. I realized that if I changed, then put others' needs above my own and cared more about their wants than my own, I could make an impact. I could speak as a friend, as one who had been in the trenches, who had been where they are.\n\nIt is also one of the reasons that when I speak today I use so many personal illustrations. I know it's the most effective way to connect with people. All of my conviction and confidence comes from talking about things that happened to me. When I speak about my experiences, people relate mine to how their own experiences have affected them.\n\nThe power of personal transformation to help others can be seen in Global Teen Challenge, an organization that helps kids get off drugs. I serve on an advisory board to them, and when I hear the stories of transformation, it amazes and inspires me. Their organization's success rate is nearly 70 percent, while that of others trying to do the same things is closer to 18 percent.\n\nCurious about the staggering difference, I asked the president of Global Teen Challenge about it at one of our meetings. He responded, \"Almost all the people that do the teaching for Global Teen Challenge are former drug addicts. We don't bring in people who have studied the drug issue. We don't bring in educators to talk to people. There's tremendous change that happens in someone's life when the person who's trying to help them out of the ditch had to get out of the ditch him- or herself.\"\n\nThere is an amazing amount of motivation, hope, and credibility when someone has been there, done that, and gone on to become successful. If the person telling you to get off drugs hasn't been through the experience, there's no common ground\u2014or credibility. If they have done drugs, yet kicked the habit, they stand on higher ground saying, \"Come up to where I am standing.\" We lead better when it's from experience.\n\nBut the key change is not just in our experiences or our decisions. What really needs to change are our hearts. What must transform are our attitudes. What must be purified are our motives. We can't allow our lives to be all about us. That's not the way to do something that makes a difference. It's not the way to lead others. If we want to choose significance, to be effective leaders, we must put other people first.\n\n# Making It a Priority to Put Others First\n\nAfter I served in my second leadership role in Lancaster, I spent almost two years working in Indiana, which I'll talk about in chapter 6, and then I became the senior pastor at Skyline, a church in the San Diego area. I spent fourteen years there, and I loved it. We made a positive impact on our community. We donated significant amounts of money to the county for projects every year. And we led many people to lives of significance. In addition, people came from all over to visit the church, attend services, and worship among the thousands of congregants. Wherever I traveled, people would say, \"This is one of the most influential pastors in the country.\" In the eyes of many, I had reached the pinnacle of success as a pastor.\n\nWhile I was appreciative of the opportunities I'd been given throughout the years, and was grateful to be included in the company of leaders I viewed as better, faster, and smarter than I was, I had a sense that I could make an even greater impact. I felt I could be more significant by serving and adding value to people outside the church than I could if I remained in the pastorate.\n\nI recognized I could no longer hold on to all I had if I wanted to move on, serve more people, and do bigger things. I knew it would be impossible to keep leading Skyline and help even more people outside the church at the same time. I couldn't do both with excellence.\n\nThis wouldn't be an easy decision. All my life I had been able to point to something tangible as a symbol of my success. I worried that if I left the church, I would no longer have that, and the loss of this aspect of my personal identity gave me great hesitancy about resigning. However, I knew that I wanted to go toward my higher calling, where I knew I could serve others and make a difference. So I tendered my resignation at Skyline, and I started to focus my attention on putting others first by training leaders across the country.\n\nI had been leading leadership conferences for fourteen years by that time, and I noticed that more and more businesspeople had begun showing up to learn from me, even though the conferences were designed primarily for church leaders. So I knew I would continue teaching leadership, but I started to make it more inclusive.\n\nAt this time I also put more focus on writing books. I wanted to make a difference in the lives of people I would never get to meet or who would not attend my conferences. I began partnering with Charlie Wetzel as my writer. Since then, he and I have written nearly ninety books together.\n\nThe second area where I put more energy was in helping other church leaders raise money for building projects. One of the things I had done not only at Skyline but also in Lancaster and Hillham was raise money to construct new buildings and relocate our growing congregations. I remember thinking to myself, _If I can raise millions of dollars for my church, what would happen if I started a company that could help churches and pastors all over America to do that?_ I started another company and hired some good leaders I knew to become consultants to churches. Those consultants served many pastors and their churches. Together, we helped churches to raise $3 billion.\n\nBut perhaps the most significant change I made came when my brother Larry and I founded the nonprofit organization EQUIP. The seed for the idea was planted in 1985, when I was thirty-eight years old. I was coming home from a trip to Peru, where I had spent a week speaking to a group of American translators. They were a group of very smart and talented people, but they were consumed with their work. They were in leadership positions, and I spoke to them about improving their leadership skills, but they weren't especially responsive to my message, and, frankly, I was frustrated by their lack of interest in the help I was trying to offer them. They couldn't see beyond their pressing responsibilities to learn something new that would help them improve their leadership skills.\n\nOn the flight home, I turned to Margaret and said, \"I don't want to speak in other countries anymore. In America I can use all of my tools to impart what I've learned. I can fall back on my sense of humor to teach my leadership principles and get a response from nearly any audience. Whenever I speak internationally, the response is slow at best because there are cultural differences. It's hard work. I don't need to work that hard! I think I'll stay home.\"\n\nMargaret responded by asking, \"Is there a need to raise up solid leaders around the world?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" I replied.\n\n\"Do you believe that you can help them become better leaders?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I answered, \"but it's a slow, laborious process and it's not what I like to do.\"\n\n\"John, God didn't give you your gifts for you to please yourself. He gave them to you to help others.\"\n\nWow! Those words hit me in the gut. The moment she said it, I knew she was right. I needed to put other people's needs ahead of my own.\n\nI dropped the subject in our conversation, but I could not get rid of it in my mind. For the next several days I mentally and spiritually wrestled with the selfishness of my heart. I knew what I _should_ do, and boy, was it at odds with what I _wanted_ to do.\n\nThis wasn't going to be a situation where I could make a list of pros and cons and act on whichever column had more items listed. I knew the importance of the individual pros would have greater weight than the sheer number of cons. No matter how much I wanted to stay in my comfort zone, stay away from unfamiliar food, rely on my American humor, and stick with the relative ease of traveling within my own country, I had to face a decision.\n\nWhen I did sit down with a legal pad in my favorite thinking chair, I listed more than a dozen reasons why I didn't want to teach internationally on my con side of the list. On the pro side, there were only two:\n\n1. It was the right thing to do.\n\n2. I couldn't ignore my true calling.\n\nIn the end, I knew that if I didn't follow through, the loser would be me. Why? Because I wouldn't be doing the one thing I had committed myself to\u2014adding value to the lives of others. I had never put conditions on where people had to live when I made that commitment. If I wanted to reach my significance potential, I needed to be willing to put others first.\n\nFrom that time, I began to accept more invitations to teach leadership outside the United States. But my commitment to serving others outside the United States didn't go to the next level until Larry and I founded EQUIP, a nonprofit dedicated to training leadership internationally.\n\nNow, two decades later, I can look back and say that it's been an amazing journey. We have trained five million leaders from every country in the world. And today we're making efforts to put others first by teaching values, which we hope will transform nations.\n\n# Remember, Everyone Starts Small\n\nOne of my worries about telling you my story is that it might sound bigger and better than it really is. Don't forget that I started out in Hillham, and I spent twenty-six years working to add value to people before Larry and I started EQUIP. Is it true that EQUIP has trained more than five million people? Yes. Do Larry and I deserve the credit for that? No. It is the result of hundreds of volunteers and thousands of donors. We owe a lot to the original board of directors who bankrolled the entire organization, and to subsequent board members who supported the vision mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and financially. Because they put others first and provided leadership to make a difference, we have been able to serve many people.\n\nYou don't have to have an organization to put others first. And you don't have to want to do big things. Doing something for one person is big. The point is to get started and serve others. You can do that, and you can start today.\n\n# Intentional Application\n\n## Look for Clues in People's Stories\n\nDo you know the stories of the people in your life? Not just the stories of close family members, but also of your employees, co-workers, clients, neighbors, and friends? If not, make it your goal to ask at least one person to tell you his or her story this week and every week until you've heard them all. Listen not only to learn their histories, but also to discover their hopes, dreams, and aspirations. Make notes if needed to help you remember. And try to identify specific ways you would be able to make their interests one of your priorities. It's difficult to put others first when you don't know them or what they care about.\n\n#\n\n# Connecting with Like-Minded People\n\nIt is a fact that no person can achieve great things alone. It's never been done, nor will it ever be. People try to achieve significance by themselves mainly because of the size of their ego, their level of insecurity, their temperament, or simple na\u00efvet\u00e9. But it can't be done. That was a painful lesson I only needed to be taught once as a young leader. You may be able to achieve some degree of success by yourself, though even that is difficult. But it is impossible to live a life that matters and find significance without other people.\n\n# Attracting People to a Cause\n\nI have always been keenly aware that I have the kind of personality that attracts people to me and to whatever I'm excited about. The authors of the assessment tool _StrengthsFinder_ call this \"woo.\" While I was at Lancaster, I used this ability heavily. In fact, as soon as I realized that I needed to make a difference _with_ people to achieve significance\u2014instead of trying to make a difference _for_ people\u2014I started recruiting everybody I could to partner with me. I immediately began asking others to join my team. I became an Uncle Sam of significance. Everywhere I went, I pointed to everyone I saw and said, \"I Want You.\"\n\nIn those days, I had dreams of being a positive influencer in our small town of Lancaster, Ohio. I wanted to build a large auditorium to house our growing congregation. I needed to start social programs to help people in need. I had a great desire to host leadership conferences to help others lead more successfully. My dreams were bigger than me, but they certainly weren't out of reach. True significance will always be bigger than the person with the dream. That's why it requires a team of people working together to achieve it.\n\nI began to share my dream with anyone and everyone to see what it did to them. Whenever I spoke, I talked about my dream. If someone stopped me on the street or at the mall, he heard about my dream. If somebody passed me in a hallway, she heard my dream. I was looking for people with a heart to make a difference and who could make things happen. I was developing a leadership track, believing that people who could produce results could always get the job done. That didn't mean I only recruited leaders, but I felt certain if people could make good things happen for themselves, they could make positive things happen for others. I believed that if you have the heart to make a difference, there is always an answer, but if you have a heart of indifference, there is never an answer.\n\nAs I spread the word about what I wanted to do and how I wanted to include others, many people joined me. I was passionate, and passion is contagious. And that's a good thing because it takes a lot more energy to do something for other people than for ourselves. The good news is that I was moving from _me_ to _we_ during this time. But I still had a lot to learn.\n\nMany people eagerly climbed aboard the Maxwell train. I thought that was success. It took me a couple of years to figure out that the people who were joining me in the early days just wanted to come along for the ride. They liked my enthusiasm and energy, and they wanted to be close to me, but they didn't necessarily share the same passion I had for significance, for making a difference with others. They just wanted to hang out. They didn't have the same goal or purpose I did. We were on the same train but wanted to go in different directions.\n\nAt first I thought the problem was that they were on the _wrong_ train. Instead of asking, \"What can we do for others?\" they were asking, \"What can you do for me?\" But then it dawned on me\u2014they weren't on the wrong train. I had simply recruited the wrong people. I should have checked their tickets. I should have shared the purpose of the journey I was taking before I said, \"All aboard!\"\n\nThis required another shift in my thinking and a change in the way I led people. I had to stop the proverbial train and allow everyone who wasn't holding the right ticket to get off. Then I had to proactively go out and attract the _right_ people and begin the journey again.\n\nYou may find this to be true of your own goal. There may be people who are drawn to you by your passion for something instead of having their own passion for the mutual goal. So how can you recognize the right people?\n\nFor me, they were people who were already working toward the goal. They were the people already actively making a difference in the lives of others, not just wanting to hang out with those who were making a difference. There is a big difference between the two. When you surround yourself with people who share your vision and purpose, people who crave and are willing to work toward your common goal, there is always a way to achieve your purpose, no matter the obstacles.\n\nHow was I going to connect with these people? I realized I needed to have a clearer picture of what I was trying to accomplish. I needed to get clarity for myself and for my cause. Once I got that, I could declare it to others and see how they would respond.\n\n# Articulating a Dream\n\nSo I took the next six months to carefully construct a statement describing what I was seeking. It became my own version of \"I Have a Dream,\" inspired by the speech of the great Martin Luther King Jr. Certainly my version was not as good as his\u2014how could it be? But it was the best I could make it. It took me _at least_ fifty drafts before I finally got it to be a version I could live with. It was my first attempt at writing a vision statement that I thought would attract the right kind of people into my world, people who shared my passion to make a difference for others, and it stuck for a very long time.\n\nHere's what I wrote:\n\n# I Have a Dream\n\nHistory tells us that in every age there comes a time when leaders must come forth to meet the needs of the hour. Therefore, there is no potential leader who does not have an opportunity to better mankind. Those around him also have the same privilege. Fortunately, I believe that God has surrounded me with those who will accept the challenge of this hour.\n\nMy dream allows me to...\n\n1. Give up at any moment all that I am in order to receive all that I can become.\n\n2. Sense the invisible so I can do the impossible.\n\n3. Trust God's resources since the dream is bigger than all my abilities and acquaintances.\n\n4. Continue when discouraged, for where there is no faith in the future, there is no power in the present.\n\n5. Attract winners because big dreams draw big people.\n\n6. See myself and my people in the future. Our dream is the promise of what we shall one day be.\n\nYes, I have a dream. It is greater than any of my gifts. It is as large as the world but it begins with one. Won't you join me?\n\nI took what I wrote to a print shop and had it printed on laminated five-by-seven-inch cards so that I could hand them out. I gave hundreds of cards to people. Anytime I sensed that someone might be seeking significance, I gave him or her a card.\n\nWhen I gave it to people, there was no pressure, no strings attached, and no cultish sales pitch. All I did was hand them a card and say, \"Read this. If you want to join me, let me know.\" If they asked questions, I took no more than a couple of minutes to share my dream of significance with them. Every time someone reached out their hand, without realizing it they were accepting a little piece of me into their lives. Hundreds and eventually thousands of people joined me.\n\nIt turned out that my \"I Have a Dream\" card was an important piece of my significance journey because it told people who I was, what I did, and what I wanted to accomplish. It was a tangible way to express what I felt, to put my ideas out there and quickly identify like-minded people who would want to join me.\n\nRemember, after I figured out that I needed to consider who I was recruiting, I didn't give the card to just anyone. I only handed it to those I felt shared my mind-set. I used it selectively, and when I did, it was an easy way to say, \"The ball is in your court.\" Happily, the majority of those I chose to give the card to took that ball, looked me straight in the eyes, and said, \"Count me in!\" Now, that's what I call getting in the game.\n\nI intuitively knew that the way I wrote my dream card would appeal to the right people, because the wording was deliberate and meant to be an intentional eliminator. Why? Because my \"I Have a Dream\" was really a challenge. You see, great vision is a separator: People who migrated toward the vision wanted significance. Those who backed away from it wanted something else, which was fine. I didn't want to partner with people who didn't share my vision.\n\nI continued to print these cards and hand them out for two years. And I knew something special was happening when reactions started to change from \"Sure, I'll take this card,\" to \"Do you mind if I keep this?\" I never once asked anyone to join me. I just gave out the cards and said, \"Think about it. Get back to me.\" I left the decision in their hands. And I was attracting the exact people I'd been looking for.\n\nIf you want to make a difference with people, you just need to find like-minded people who share common goals for doing something significant. You just need to want to make a difference together and then do it!\n\n# Factors That Connect People of Significance\n\nMy wish for you is that you connect with people who will go with you on your significance journey. I want you to work with like-minded people, those who share your passion to make a difference in the world. And I believe you can.\n\nTo help you with that, allow me to show you nine factors that attract people of significance to one another. These observations are based on my version of \"I Have a Dream.\" To explain how this works, I'll break what I wrote for my card into sections and explain each of them in turn. They will help you as you seek like-minded people in search of significance.\n\n## 1. The Opportunity Factor\n\n_History tells us that in every age there comes a time when leaders must come forth to meet the needs of the hour. Therefore, there is no potential leader who does not have an opportunity to better mankind. Those around him also have the same privilege._\n\nSignificant acts almost always occur in response to opportunities. What opportunities do you see? Do you see a way to connect others to your mission? Or is someone inviting you to join him or her in doing something significant? If you see it, seize it. What you say yes to shapes your life. Sometimes the smallest step in the right direction ends up being the biggest step in your life. Tiptoe if you must, but take that first important step.\n\n_Question: What opportunity do you see right now to make a difference?_\n\n## 2. The Belief Factor\n\n_Fortunately, I believe that God has surrounded me with those who will accept the challenge of this hour._\n\nIf you don't believe in God, I don't have any desire to push my personal beliefs or faith on you. I place no judgment on anyone. I know without a doubt that every day since I started asking God to bring me people who desired significance, He has been sending them into my life so that we could make a difference together. And God continues to send them.\n\nBut you don't have to believe in God to believe that like-minded people will come into your life when you have it in your heart to do something meaningful. Do you believe that? Do you believe others want to connect with you to make a difference? When someone who wants to make a difference comes across your path, do you recognize him or her? Do you believe enough in that person to connect with him or her and to start thinking about what you might do together to make a difference? Belief is essential for creating significant change. Without belief, you will have a very difficult time leading the way to make meaningful change happen.\n\n_Question: Do you believe people are coming to you to help you make a difference?_\n\n## 3. The Possibility Factor\n\n_My dream allows me to give up at any moment all that I am in order to receive all that I can become._\n\nThe pathway of possibility is filled with trade-offs. Why? Because there is no significance without sacrifice. But the good news is that as you trade one thing for another, you will be moving toward a better and more fulfilling way of life. This isn't true just of leadership, but of life. Consider the sacrifices that come with all the benefits of starting a family or making radical changes to your everyday life.\n\nEach of us is faced with moments in life where we are forced to stop, reflect, and consider our options. Nearly every choice is a trade-off, and we start making them early in life. Will we watch television shows or play outside? Will we play in high school or work to get good grades? Will we take a job when we finish high school to make some money right away, or will we go to college? When we graduate, will we take the job that pays more money or will we choose the one that will give us better experience?\n\nAs a leader, you will be constantly faced with decisions, and many will not be easy. Choosing one path usually means sacrificing something else. And know this: the more successful you are, the greater and more challenging the trade-offs will be that you have to make. If you want to lead in a way that matters, you will have to make trade-offs. And they become harder as we become more successful. But know this: trade-offs never leave you the same. And if you trade up for significance over serving yourself, those changes will always be for the better.\n\n_Question: What are you willing to give up to make a difference?_\n\n## 4. The Faith Factor\n\n_My dream allows me to sense the invisible so I can do the impossible. Trust God's resources..._\n\nAgain, I frame this in the context of my faith, but the issue here is really about fear. Almost everything you and I want is on the other side of fear. How do we handle that? How do we get beyond our fears?\n\nFor me it's a faith issue. I try to leave everything in God's hands, and I usually see God's hand in everything. I don't believe God gives me a dream to frustrate me. He gives me a dream to be fulfilled.\n\nDo you want to know something amazing? Fear is the most prevalent reason why most people stop. Faith is what makes people start. Fear is the key that locks the door to the resources. Faith is the key that opens that door.\n\nIf you are motivated by a dream of significance that is right for you, it should increase your faith. You should believe your dream _can_ be accomplished, and that you are leading others in the right direction. Faith should help you see the invisible and do the impossible. It should help release the resources you need. Even if you have a different kind of dream from mine, I believe you can trust God's resources.\n\nThe faith factor encourages me to start walking and to believe the resources will come to me as I walk. I know they will not come if I sit still. If I stop, the resources stop. Resources come to us when we are on our missions, when we are fulfilling our callings.\n\nThe lesson I teach most often on faith is this: feed your faith and starve your fear. To do that you must give your faith more energy than your fear. You can't reduce fear by thinking about it. You reduce it by taking action away from it. How? By moving toward faith.\n\nFaith does not make things easy, but it makes things possible because it puts everything, including fear, into the right perspective. So if you want to become a stronger leader\u2014to learn, to grow, to achieve your dreams of significance, and to make a difference\u2014have faith.\n\n_Question: Is my faith greater than my fear?_\n\n## 5. The Challenge Factor\n\n... _the dream is bigger than all my abilities and acquaintances._\n\nSometimes I think there are no great men or women. There are just great challenges that ordinary people like you and me are willing to tackle. Why do I say that? Because nothing separates passionate people from passive people like a call to step up. Whenever I invite others to join me in doing something big by casting a vision of significance, I realize that some people will respond positively to it and others will run from it.\n\nToday I feel more challenged to make a difference than at any other time in my life. It is my passion to raise up people as intentional leaders so that they will rise up and become transformational leaders. As I have studied movements of transformation, I have endeavored to define what a transformational leader looks like. I believe transformational leaders influence people to think, speak, and act in such a way that it makes a positive difference in their lives and in the lives of others. It's my dream\u2014and my challenge\u2014to develop transformational leaders. It's much easier to define one than it is to develop one. However, I have accepted the challenge.\n\nMy hope is that this book will help you to move in this direction\u2014to become intentional in making a difference, and to help take others there as well. If you and I do that and help others to do the same, we can help transform individuals and communities.\n\n_Question: Are you challenged to stretch to significance?_\n\n## 6. The Attitude Factor\n\n_My dream allows me to continue when discouraged, for where there is no faith in the future, there is no power in the present._\n\nI've always been impressed by the leadership of Martin Luther King Jr. He was able to inspire so many people to perform significant acts during his relatively short lifetime. It led to a movement that created positive change for America. King once said, \"The biggest job in getting any movement off the ground is to keep together the people who form it.\" I believe a big part of his success in doing that came from his attitude. He never seemed to lose hope. He kept believing in the change he was working toward, up to the very end of his life.\n\nWhen I lived in Atlanta, I had the privilege of meeting numerous people who both marched with Dr. King and were jailed with him. They overcame a lot to make a difference for those who came behind them. And while King was alive, he kept them together. He helped people to keep their attitudes like his.\n\nI've often wondered why so many good people stop doing good things in their lives. I've concluded that people lose energy not because the work they do is hard, but because they forget why they started doing it in the first place. They lose their _why_ and as a result, they lose their way. When their attitudes slip, so do their efforts.\n\nI believe most people who try to make a difference start out with the right motives and attitudes. As a result, the people they help gain a tremendous amount from them. But what often starts to occur is a shift in thinking, from _I want to help people_ to _I want people to help me._ This is especially destructive when this shift occurs in the leaders. The moment that transition in attitude takes place, the leaders' motives change. Instead of enlisting people to whom they can add value and who will join them in adding value to others, the leaders want to attract people who can add value to _themselves_.\n\nWhen people are motivated by personal advantage, they've lost their way. As a result, they get off track and they can no longer make a difference. When you stop loving people, you stop serving them well. If you're wondering, _Why aren't others serving me?_ it becomes a source of discontent. And if you're a leader, you forfeit your leadership effectiveness.\n\nAttitude so often is the difference maker. I had a friend who once said to me, \"When life is sweet, say thank you and celebrate. When life is bitter, say thank you and grow.\" That's a great attitude. And it's the kind of attitude required to make a difference and connect with other difference makers.\n\nAnd let me say one more thing about attitude. It's easy to have a good attitude when life is good. The time a positive attitude really counts is when things are going badly. We don't always choose what happens to us, but we can always determine how we respond. When we choose the right attitude even when things are going wrong, that is highly attractive and appealing to the people who partner with us.\n\n_Question: Is your attitude an asset or liability?_\n\n## 7. The Winning Factor\n\n_My dream allows me to attract winners because big dreams draw big people._\n\nWhen I wrote the above sentence for my \"I Have a Dream\" card, I can remember how I felt. The dream that I possessed thrilled me, but it had not yet attracted many people who could help me achieve it. I wanted to connect with people motivated by significance who could make things happen. But I also wondered how such people might react to my invitation.\n\n_Would they understand my dream?_\n\n_Would my dream widen the gap between them and me?_\n\n_Would they criticize it?_\n\nWhen I looked at the people I knew, I was tempted to keep my dream to myself. Sharing a dream that has deep personal meaning is a risk. It can invite ridicule or rejection. But I also knew that if I wanted to achieve the goal of making a difference, I had to connect with good people so that we could work together. So I gathered my courage, took a leap of faith, and made the decision to tell others.\n\nThe responses I received were varied and interesting. Most people fell into one of three categories: survival, success, and significance. People interested only in survival hid. They wanted no part of my vision. Some people who were seeking success bought in. But the ones who most readily connected were those who wanted significance. Big dreams draw people with potential who want to jump in the deep end, way over their heads, and learn to swim.\n\nAnother discovery I made while sharing my dream was surprisingly delightful. Dreams often come one size too big so that we can grow into them. It's like when I was a child and my parents always bought my shoes half a size too big. They would say, \"John, you're growing. You're becoming a young man. You will grow into these in no time.\"\n\nThat's what I now say to people when they first put on their significance shoes. They may feel a little too big for you at the moment, but don't worry. As you start taking steps, you will grow into them and become the significant person you were created to be.\n\nAre you taking the risk of sharing your dream with others? And are talented, successful, motivated people connecting with you so that you can try to achieve those dreams together? You need those winning kinds of people to make a difference. And you need to _be_ one of those winners yourself!\n\nWhen it comes to significance, I still feel like I'm wearing shoes that are too big and I need to grow into them. I'm still in over my head and trying to swim. And that's good. I'm getting older in years, but younger in my dreams. That's what makes me love this journey I'm on.\n\n_Question: Are you connecting with winners to achieve significance?_\n\n## 8. The Promise Factor\n\n_My dream allows me to see myself and my people in the future. Our dream is the promise of what we shall one day be._\n\nWhen I wrote this phrase, I truly believed a worthy dream contained a promise of its fulfillment. But that was a naive mistake. I had made the same mistake most people make about dreams. I thought, _If you believe it, you can achieve it_. But that's not always true. A dream requires a partner: commitment.\n\nDreams are free. However, the journey to fulfill them isn't. You have to work for your dream. Your dream doesn't work for you. You have to work with the dream and for the dream. The dream is a _promise_ of what you can be, but _commitment_ is the reality of what you will become. What starts as a promise ends as a commitment.\n\n_Question: Have you committed to a path with great promise for you and others?_\n\n## 9. The Invitation Factor\n\n_Yes, I have a dream. It is greater than any of my gifts. It's as large as the world but it begins with one. Won't you join me?_\n\nWe all have a certain amount of luck in our lives, but the best luck is what I like to call \"who luck.\" Why? Because _who_ you connect with matters the most. The \"who luck\" in your life can be either good or bad, depending on who joins you. I'm sure you know that instinctively. Haven't you met people who worked with you who made it easier for both of you to make a difference? And haven't you also connected with people you later wished you'd never met\u2014because they hindered your ability to make a difference? I have.\n\nAll my life I've looked for ways to connect with others, as a church leader, a business leader, and a communicator. But you don't have to be a leader to invite people to something of significance. You just need to be committed to your cause and open to working with others to achieve it. If you think leadership is getting people to follow you, you may be a good leader. But if you think leadership is getting people to follow a great cause, you have the potential to be a great leader. If your _why_ is big enough to excite you, then, as you share it, it will excite others\u2014especially those who share your passion and dream. The size of your _why_ will determine the size of your response.\n\n_Question: Are you ready to start inviting others to join you in living a life that matters?_\n\nRight now are you only dreaming about making a difference, or are you actually doing things to connect with people who can join you on the significance journey? Movements don't begin with the masses\u2014they always start with one, and then they attract others to themselves and their causes. That was the case in the antiapartheid movement in South Africa. In 1941 this is what South African anti-apartheid activist Walter Sisulu wrote about Nelson Mandela: \"We wanted to be a mass movement and then one day a mass leader walked into the office.\"\n\n# Intentional Application\n\n## What Is Your Dream?\n\nMost people who would like to do something significant have ideas and intentions, but they rarely have specific, vivid pictures of their dreams written out. That lack of clarity makes it more difficult for them to achieve their dreams\u2014and to connect with other like-minded people who would be interested in partnering with them to accomplish those dreams.\n\nTake some time to write out your dream. It can contain your principles, as mine did. It can contain specifics, as Martin Luther King Jr.'s did. It can be a poem, a story, a list. Make it your own, but be sure to _write it down_. You may be able to write it in a sitting. Or it may take you months, as it did me. That's not important. The process of writing it forces you to clarify your thinking and know what you want.\n\nOnce it's done, you can decide who to share it with. I know it may seem risky and it may make you feel vulnerable, but you need to start telling others about your dream for making a difference. Begin sharing it with people who will encourage you, whether or not they are likely to join you. Then widen your circle. Begin telling people whom you believe to be like-minded, and see where it leads.\n\n#\n\n# Adding Value from Your Sweet Spot\n\nIt was the worst day of my young life as a pastor. Benny Harris, a board member and leader of the Hillham congregation, called me in Lancaster to share with me that my former church in Hillham was not doing well. Six months after I had left, the attendance had fallen from three hundred to less than a hundred. Benny's voice was broken as he asked, \"What's gone wrong?\"\n\nI had no answers for him. And I felt empty for not knowing how to respond.\n\nI went outside and walked around trying to clear my head. I felt terrible. I kept asking myself the same question: _What went wrong?_\n\nWhen I made the transition from the small church in Hillham to the larger church in Lancaster, I felt very satisfied and proud of my accomplishments at that first church. My reputation in the small Hillham church was like that of Superman, leaping tall buildings and growing the congregation from the ground up\u2014from three to over three hundred.\n\nI had worked so hard to grow the congregation. I had cared for those people as well as I could. A beautiful new church building had been built on a knoll, and it was filling up week after week before I left. Why was it slowly emptying after my departure? My sense of prideful self-satisfaction came crashing down quickly.\n\n_What happened?_ I wondered.\n\n_How could it all fall apart so fast?_\n\n_Why did it fall apart?_\n\n_Who was to blame?_\n\nIn my early twenties, I was long on energy but short on practical experience. It took me six months of thinking through all the possibilities of what went wrong, until it hit me like a ton of bricks. I finally figured out the problem. And when I did, I became even more discouraged by the realization.\n\nThe problem was me!\n\nHave you ever racked your brain to solve a problem only to discover that you were the cause? There is nothing worse than that. But that was where I found myself.\n\nWhat happened was actually a common rookie leadership mistake. I had done all the work myself in that little church. Well, not just me. Margaret and I did the work. She handled the youth, missions, special projects, and hospitality. I led the church, preached, visited people, recruited new people, developed programs, and handled problems.\n\nAs the congregation grew, I felt like a local rock star. My Volkswagen Beetle ran nonstop on those dusty dirt roads doing \"God's business\" for the community. People were enthralled by my boundless energy, wondering, \"How does he get it all done?\" As my reputation got bigger, unfortunately, so did my head. When pastors asked me how I was developing that little country church, I would proudly say, \"I work hard.\" Then I would go into great detail about the importance of working longer hours, putting in sweat equity, and paying the price if they wanted to build a great church.\n\nI didn't have a clue. I'm embarrassed by that now.\n\nNever once did I invest in people. I had loved the people, but I had never added value to them. After I left Hillham, many people were really no better off than they had been before I arrived there.\n\nI hadn't trained anyone to take over in my absence. While I was busy building my career, I didn't include other people along the way. Everyone around me was happy to let me do it all. More than that, they _loved_ me for it. And I gladly accepted the applause because I thought that was what a good leader was supposed to do\u2014work harder than everyone else and accept the accolades.\n\nBoy, was I wrong. I had built everything around _myself_ , so when I left, it all fell apart. It was a fast fall, too. I didn't realize what I had done until after I got the news from Benny. It was a result of my inexperience and na\u00efvet\u00e9.\n\nAfter licking my ego wounds for a few weeks, I had to figure out how to begin to fix what was broken in me. I didn't want to continue making the same mistakes as I went forward. Anything of real significance is lasting. It doesn't fall apart quickly once it no longer has your attention. That's especially true if you're a leader. The true measure of success is succession\u2014what happens after you're gone.\n\nI started to think about what I needed to do. The first step in my recovery was clear. I had to admit to myself that I was not indispensable. And I had to stop doing things that made me _feel_ indispensable. I needed to shift my focus. Instead of making a difference _for_ people, I would work to make a difference _with_ people. Instead of doing things to emphasize my value, I would focus on making others more valuable.\n\nThe pathway seemed clear to me. I would start by equipping people so that no matter what happened to me, they could carry on and make a difference. I would ask others to join me in doing the work and in leading, and I would add value to them. That would not only show them that I cared for them, but also help to develop them as individuals, improve their quality of life, and give them new skills that would benefit them, the organization, and others.\n\nAlthough the shift from making a difference _for_ people to making a difference _with_ people may sound like a subtle switch in behavior, it was actually a radical shift in my approach. When I arrogantly thought I was the entire picture, I could never see the bigger picture. But once I realized that my focus needed to be on others and on adding value to them, I was able to multiply my impact, fine-tune my purpose, and work within my best gifts.\n\n# Becoming Intentional in Adding Value\n\nIf you want to be significant and lead in a way that matters, you must add value to others. I know I'm repeating myself, but I have to say it again: significance and selfishness don't go together. You cannot be a selfish, self-centered person and be a good leader. You have to take the focus off yourself and put it on making the lives of others better.\n\n_What_ you must do to be significant is consistent for everyone. You must add value. _How_ you do that is as unique as you are. It begins with figuring out your purpose. And it continues with your unique gifts and talents, opportunities and resources. My two greatest gifts are communication and leadership. Where those two intersect is where I add the most value. It's my sweet spot. Why do I communicate? To add value to people. Why do I lead? To add value to people. That's how I make a difference.\n\nWhen someone comes to me and says he wants to become a leader, one of the first questions I ask is, why? Why do you want to become a leader? Is it because you want a corner office? Is it for a premium parking place or a top salary? Is it for the perks and recognition? All of these are wrong motives. People who want to become leaders for any reason other than adding value are way off base.\n\nFor most people who don't add value to others, their actions aren't motivated by hate or even self-centeredness\u2014they're usually caused by _indifference_. However, no one can be indifferent and live a life of significance. We have to _want_ to make life better for others to make a difference.\n\nMany people approach this too casually. They are prompted by circumstances. They see a person in trouble and stop to help. Or a friend calls needing assistance and they respond. That's good. But there is another, higher level of adding value that significant people embrace. It's intentional. It's proactive. It's a lifestyle.\n\nLeaders who have a meaningful impact on others make it their everyday goal to add value to people using their best gifts, skills, and resources. It's part of their _purpose_. They are always actively looking for ways to make the lives of other people better. That's both a responsibility of leadership and a privilege.\n\nMany of my friends who are leaders have developed strategies for investing in others daily. Real estate broker Dianna Kokoszka sets alerts on her phone twice a day. In the morning an alert pops up with this question: \"Who will you add value to today?\" At 8:00 p.m. the alert asks, \"How did you add value to others today?\" If she feels that she hasn't added value to someone that day, she doesn't go to bed until she has.\n\nEntrepreneur and author Chris Estes sends a one-minute phone message of encouragement to five people every day. Businessman and EQUIP board member Collin Sewell writes three personal notes every day. You don't have to be a superstar or an overachiever to add value to people. You just need to care and begin doing something about it.\n\n# Identifying Your Sweet Spot\n\nWhat is your purpose? Do you know what you were made for? And how can you tap into your sweet spot to help others and add value to them? If you are already an established leader, you may have leadership skills you can teach to others. But think beyond those skills to some of your other skills and to your resources. Who on your team struggles with an area that is a strength for you? How might they learn from you to improve in that area?\n\nIf you aren't experienced with adding value to others or are still not sure what your sweet spot is, that's okay. Adding value is a skill in itself. You can develop it. But that will happen only when you give it a try. Begin by doing your best to add value to a few people using the things you naturally do well, and keep fine-tuning your efforts until it aligns with your sweet spot.\n\n# The Five Essential Values of Adding Value to Others\n\nDo you have the desire to help other people and add value to them? If so, is it intentional and strategic? Are you willing to cultivate the desire so that it is more proactive? If so, there are five important insights about adding value to others that will help you. They helped strengthen my commitment to and vision of serving others, and I believe they will do the same for you.\n\n## 1. To Add Value to Others I Must First Value Myself\n\nAs parents, Margaret and I realized when our children were young that we couldn't teach them everything, so we came up with five essential principles we wanted to pass along that would help them be successful and feel good about who they are. We wanted to ground them in faith, responsibility, unconditional love (so they would know what it's like to prosper and thrive), gratitude, and self-worth.\n\nWe included self-worth because we understood that it's impossible to consistently behave in a way that is inconsistent with how we feel about ourselves on the inside. Self-image dictates daily behavior. How we see ourselves regulates what we consistently do, and our regular behavior is what defines us, not what we might do on a rare occasion. The ability to add value to others has to be based on more than just saying, \"I value people.\" It must be built upon the solid ground of believing in ourselves. The only way we can be consistent and authentic in valuing others is to see value in ourselves.\n\nObservers of human behavior have learned that people with low self-esteem are almost always self-centered and preoccupied with their own thoughts and actions. In contrast, people who help others tend to feel good about the people they help and to feel good about themselves. When you add value to others, there is an instant return of positive emotions that causes you to feel better about who you are. Haven't you experienced those positive feelings when you've helped someone in need? Positive thinking doesn't build self-image. Positive acts do. There's nothing wrong with positive thinking, but if you perform positive acts, not only will your self-image begin to rise, you will find yourself living a more significant life that matters.\n\nIf you're wondering whether you value yourself enough to add value to others, then think about this. You know you truly value yourself when each day you silently affirm that you are the type of person with whom you would like to spend the rest of your life. If you don't feel that way, then you still have some work to do on the inside to be in the best position to help others.\n\n## 2. To Add Value to Others I Must Value Others\n\nMother Teresa said, \"One of the greatest diseases is to be nobody to anybody.\" As a pastor, I spent a lot of time visiting people in nursing homes over the years. One of the heartbreaks for me was the people I saw who never had family visiting them. _Does anybody even know they're here?_ I'd wonder. _Does anyone even care?_\n\nWhen I did weekly hospital visits, I would often check in with the front desk to see if there were any people who had not been visited by anyone since my last call. And I did my best to look in on those who'd had no visitors. I didn't always get to everyone, but I surely tried.\n\nHow often do we look past others, not really seeing who they are? Not getting to know them? Not valuing them as individuals? Every person has value, and to be people who live lives that matter, we need to intentionally value others and express that value to them. It's not optional if we desire to be significant.\n\n## 3. To Add Value to Others I Must Value What Others Have Done for Me\n\nOne Thanksgiving a few years ago when our grandchildren were very young, Margaret and I decided to help them put on a Thanksgiving Day play for the whole family. Margaret was in charge of the costumes, I was the producer and director (I bet that's a surprise!), and the children were the talent. As I led them through rehearsal, they practiced their songs and memorized various inspirational quotes about Thanksgiving. Our grandson, little John, was five years old at the time. His only line was, \"We all should have an attitude of gratitude.\"\n\nThe morning of the play he came to me to practice his line. He kept saying \"gratitude\" before \"attitude.\" After a few times trying to get it right, he was flustered and tired. Falling down on the floor, he looked up at me and said, \"This gratitude stuff is exhausting.\"\n\nI laughed at his hilarious delivery, and then I immediately rewrote his part to include his statement with the dramatics of falling down. Later I thought, _Gratitude isn't supposed to be exhausting. It's supposed to be invigorating!_ But of course, when we put gratitude before attitude, it can be exhausting.\n\nIf you don't have an attitude of gratitude on Thanksgiving Day, then it is going to be hard to be appreciative any day of the year. Gratitude is the motivation for doing good things for others, and a positive attitude is what drives that action. Gratitude fuels us to want to do good things for others.\n\nHave you ever met people who think nothing good ever happens to them? It's like they walk around with dark clouds over their heads, and they always say things like, \"No one ever gives me a chance. I never get a break. Why doesn't anyone ever pick me?\" Such people live very self-consuming, selfish lives. How can they experience significance at all?\n\nWe've all heard the expression \"Count your blessings.\" But have you ever stopped to wonder what that really means? When we count our blessings and realize what others have done for us, it stimulates us to say, \"I want to do something for someone else.\" You have to count your blessings before you can be a blessing.\n\n## 4. To Add Value to Others I Must Know and Relate to What Others Value\n\nIn this world, I believe we all have _one_ thing we are really best at. For me, that's communication. I believe my strength in communication is being other-person focused, not focused on myself.\n\nEarly in my career, I came to the conclusion that all great speakers lose themselves in their audience. They have one desire, and that is to connect with people. You can't connect with an audience if you're above them. If you look down on people, you won't want to raise them up. But that psychological truth also comes into play physically. I like being down where the people are, so whenever possible I get off the platform. I leave the stage and walk among the crowd. It takes away barriers. If you move toward people, they move toward you. If you move away from people, they pull back, too.\n\nIf you want to impress people, talk about your successes. But if you want to impact people, talk about your failures. Telling self-deprecating stories in a conversational style helps me get to a place where I can communicate with people in a way that makes them feel comfortable, without my coming off as authoritarian. And that's when I have the best chance of adding value to them. Everything I do when I speak is intentional. But I'm sure that does not come as a surprise. By now you know intentionality is a lifestyle I've practiced for many years.\n\nIn 2010 I wrote a book called _Everyone Communicates, Few Connect_. In it I describe connecting practices that we can use to better connect with others. The first connecting principle is to find common ground. When we first meet someone, there is a relationship gap between us. We don't know them, they don't know us. Who will be the first to close that gap? The one who finds common ground. How do you do that? By embracing these seven qualities and practices:\n\n\u2022 Availability\u2014I will choose to spend time with others.\n\n\u2022 Listening\u2014I will listen my way to common ground.\n\n\u2022 Questions\u2014I will be interested enough in others to ask questions.\n\n\u2022 Thoughtfulness\u2014I will think of others and how to connect with them.\n\n\u2022 Openness\u2014I will let people into my life.\n\n\u2022 Likability\u2014I will care about people.\n\n\u2022 Humility\u2014I will think of myself less so I can think of others more.\n\nDo you know and relate to what others value? Do you go out of your way to connect with others? It doesn't have to be anything big, and it doesn't have to be limited to the people you lead. You can connect with people everywhere in simple ways. Get to know your neighbors and do something nice for them. Learn the name of your waitress and leave her a good tip. Talk with children to find out what's important to them, and then praise and encourage them. Do what you can wherever you are.\n\n## 5. To Add Value to Others I Must Make Myself More Valuable\n\nThe idea of adding value to people is dependent on the fact that you have something of value to give them. Adding value to someone is relatively easy to do once. But as a leader, you will want to add value to the people you lead consistently every day. To do that, you must continually grow and become more valuable. And to add the most value, you should try to stay in your sweet spot.\n\nEach of us right now has a lid on our potential. The only way to lift that lid is to intentionally develop and grow. As you do this you will make a wonderful discovery\u2014you can also lift the lids of others. I have always considered myself to be a lid lifter\u2014someone who sees the greatest potential in others and then gives them what they need to rise up and fly.\n\nI found this to be true in Lancaster. As I equipped and trained people to do specific tasks, I started to get additional opportunities to add value to them in other ways. I helped them to become better leaders. I challenged them to strive for excellence in other areas of their lives. I helped them improve the important relationships in their lives. And I supported them as they fought to strengthen their characters. Every time I learned a new skill or fought a personal battle, I had more to give. As I improved myself, I helped others to improve, too.\n\nGrow yourself\u2014grow others. Learn for yourself\u2014then pass it on. Lift your lid so that you can lift others'!\n\n# Knowing How You Can Add Value\n\nDo you agree that adding value to people, both as a leader and as an individual, has high value? Can you see that being intentional about it is a key to living a life of significance and having a life that matters? If so, then you're probably wondering _how_ you should try to add value. To know the answer, ask yourself these three questions:\n\n## 1. What Have I Been Given? (Looking Backward)\n\nWhat experiences have you had that have uniquely equipped you to add value to others? Those experiences could be positive, or they could be difficulties or negative circumstances that you have overcome. I know people who have had eating disorders and were able to come alongside others who struggled with that same issue and help them. I've known people who have made fortunes who used their money to build villages, rescue orphans, and construct hospitals. I know people with a knack for business who have helped budding entrepreneurs in developing countries.\n\nWhat accomplishments, resources, and experiences can you draw upon? What wisdom have you gained through the crucible of personal loss or tragedy? What can you draw upon to help others and add value to them?\n\n## 2. What Do I Have to Give? (Looking Inward)\n\nEveryone has qualities, talents, and skills that have the potential to add value to others. What is inside you that can help you make others better? What skills do you possess? What talents have been given to you? What personality traits do you have that can be used to add value to others? _Anything_ and _everything_ you have can be used to help others if you make adding value to people your priority and become intentional about it.\n\n## 3. What Can I Do? (Looking Outward)\n\nSo often we only see what we are prepared to see in others. But looking outward with an eagerness to add value to others changes how we see those same people. Ideally, it will inspire us to invest in others daily.\n\nEvery day I can be intentional in adding value to people's lives. Every day I can look at my schedule and ask myself, \"Who can I help today? How can I help them? When should I do that?\" You can do that same thing. You can approach the day looking for the potential in the people around you and opportunities for adding value to them.\n\nIn Lancaster I started where I was with the people I had, teaching them what I knew. I immediately began training them to do things they wanted to do. That became my main focus. And I developed a process that I still use to this day:\n\n**Model\u2014I do it.** Before I try to teach someone else, I work to become good at it so that I know what I'm doing.\n\n**Mentor\u2014I do it and you watch.** Learning begins when I show someone how to do what I do. I learned in Lancaster never to work alone. No matter what task I was doing, I always tried to take with me someone who wanted to learn.\n\n**Monitor\u2014You do it and I watch.** Nobody learns how to do something well on the first try. People need to be coached. When others do the task and I'm there to watch, I can help them troubleshoot problems and improve.\n\n**Motivate\u2014You do it.** I always try to hand off tasks as soon as possible and encourage the people I've trained. I become their biggest cheerleader.\n\n**Multiply\u2014You do it and someone else is with you.** This is the final step. I don't want the equipping cycle to end with me. I want it to continue. When I train someone to do something, I want them to turn around and train someone else, just as I did them.\n\nWho is already in your life that you can add value to? What can you do to help them? Opportunities are all around you. All you have to do is be willing to act. What do you have to give? What can you help someone on your team learn? How can you make life better for others? What you have to give is unique. What's your sweet spot? No one else can give what you can give.\n\nWe can all add value to people. And the biggest difference we can make will come from our sweet spot. We should not leave what we do best. We should stay with our best to give our best\u2014and make the greatest impact.\n\nThere is a passage in the book _Souls on Fire_ by Elie Wiesel in which he writes that when you die and you meet your Maker, you're not going to be asked why you didn't become a Messiah or find a cure for cancer. All you're going to be asked is, \"Why didn't you become you? Why didn't you become all that you are?\" To become all you are, you must use your best to add value to people.\n\n# Intentional Application\n\n## What Do You Have to Offer?\n\nThere are several ways to examine your life to discover how to add value from your sweet spot. Right now I'd like to offer two. One is analytical; the other is intuitive. First, the analytical method: use the perspective outlined in the chapter to determine how you can add value:\n\n\u2022 _Look backward\u2014what have I been given?_ What unique experiences and resulting insights can you use to add value to others?\n\n\u2022 _Look inward\u2014what do I have to give?_ What talents, strengths, and skills do you possess that you can use to add value to others?\n\n\u2022 _Look outward\u2014what can I do?_ What can you do _daily_ to add value to others?\n\nWrite your answers to these questions. Then become determined to leverage what you have for others _every day_.\n\nIf that method doesn't suit you, then try the intuitive method: pay attention to what you feel when you help people. When I add value to people by communicating with them, especially on the subject of leadership, it resonates within me.\n\nWhat resonates within you? When do you possess the sense that you were made to do a particular thing? Take time to brainstorm any and every moment in your life when you _felt_ you were doing what you were meant to do. Write down each of those moments, what you were doing, and what exactly resonated in you. Then spend time reflecting on them until you can see a pattern or otherwise make some sense of it.\n\n#\n\n# Partnering with Like-Valued People\n\nIn 1987 I turned forty. I saw this birthday as a major milestone, so I approached it as an athlete would halftime. I saw it as an opportunity to check the scoreboard of my life, assess my performance, analyze my deficiencies, and begin making adjustments before going back out on the field to play my second half. In the eyes of others, I had accomplished some major achievements. But when I stopped to examine my life, I was not satisfied. I felt there was something greater I wasn't doing.\n\n# The Next Steps in My Journey\n\nTo help you understand this, I need to catch you up on my story and tell you what I was doing during the ten years before my fortieth birthday. Margaret and I left Lancaster in 1979. Why would we leave people we loved, a church where we were making a difference, and an area where we felt at home? That's a fair question.\n\nWe were highly successful in Lancaster, but I began to want to do more. And I started to wonder if the leadership principles I was developing and the values I was embracing could be used in organizations I wasn't leading myself. In other words, I wondered if I could make a difference beyond my personal reach, through other leaders I trained in other parts of the country. Could I make a more significant impact?\n\nI got a chance to test that idea when I was offered a position with another ministry organization at their national office. The new position would allow me to spend all of my time training pastors in churches around the country who were part of that organization. Margaret and I packed up Elizabeth and Joel, our two young children, and we moved to central Indiana.\n\nThe good news was that I discovered that the leadership ideas I had developed in Hillham and Lancaster _did_ transfer. They really worked for anyone who valued leadership and was willing to become a better leader. Every leader I worked with who put my principles into practice was more successful. But there was also a downside. I was limited in whom I could help since I was allowed to work only with people in that one organization. I wanted to reach more people, and that made me realize that the best place for me to do that was as the pastor of a local church. When I got the invitation to lead Skyline (the church I mentioned in chapter 3), I gladly accepted, and our family moved from Indiana to California. That was in 1981.\n\nThe first thing I started doing when we got there was to get the church, which had plateaued, growing again. The task of building a great church was familiar territory for me. I understood that world and knew what it would take. I rebuilt the staff, changed how we did things, and found creative ways to reach out into the community. It wasn't long before Skyline was recognized as one of the most influential churches in America by Elmer Towns, a church growth expert and college professor whom I admired and who became a good friend.\n\nIn the early 1980s I also started teaching leadership conferences outside of the church. When I took the position at Skyline, the board understood that I wanted to add value to other leaders, and they agreed to give me the flexibility to do that. When I was invited to start speaking for a training organization, I chose to teach R-E-A-L, the four things every person needs to be successful: relationships, equipping, attitude, and leadership.\n\nBefore long, I realized I wanted to emphasize leadership more in my communication, so I created a company called INJOY and started hosting my own conferences. To say that I believed big but started small would be an understatement. The first leadership conference I hosted myself was in Kansas City, Missouri. Only fourteen people signed up for it, and I stood to lose a couple thousand dollars if I went through with it. A friend told me doing it would be a bad business decision. But I could see that it would be a good _significance_ decision, so I did it anyway.\n\nThat was the first of what became many dozens of conferences I ended up holding. Eventually hundreds and then thousands would attend and learn how to become better leaders. I wouldn't have described it this way at that time, but what I was really teaching leaders was intentional living.\n\nAt a small conference in a Holiday Inn in Jackson, Mississippi, a group of leaders told me that they were grateful for what I had taught them during the conference, but they wanted ongoing training. I wasn't sure what to do, but I wanted to help them. I could tell they wanted to make a difference. Have you ever been in a situation like that, where you felt compelled to do something, but you weren't sure how to make it happen?\n\nThen I had a thought. I asked, \"If I created a one-hour training tape every month, would you sign up for it as a subscription?\" They said yes, so I passed a legal pad around the room to get their information. All thirty-five attendees signed up for it. That's how my monthly leadership tape club was born. That small list of people eventually exploded into more than fifteen thousand subscribers, with each tape being listened to by an average of five people. I was thrilled, because I was adding value to leaders, and they were multiplying that value to others.\n\n# The Key to the Next Level\n\nSo by the time I turned forty, I had done a lot. When I looked at each of the things I had accomplished, I was happy with it. I felt what I had done had made a difference. So why was I feeling dissatisfied? Why wasn't I pleased? Why wasn't what I'd done enough? What had I missed?\n\nThat's when it hit me. I hadn't developed a team. There was no way I could be any more productive as an individual. For twenty years I'd found new and better ways to get more done. But I was at the limit. If I could develop a team, _we_ could be more productive. Not only that, but we could do things _better_ than I could do alone. I was living in _me_ world, and I needed to be living in _we_ world.\n\nHad I been training leaders? Yes. Had I been including others in my significance journey? Yes. But had I been truly developing my team and partnering with them? No.\n\nThis became the birthday that challenged me to make major changes in the way I did things. The change in my thinking was huge. It was in the top half-dozen most important decisions I ever made. And it was _the_ most important business decision of my life. I finally understood that life isn't made by what you can accomplish. It's made by what you can accomplish with others.\n\nFrom this point on in my life, every decision I made focused on developing others. And before long it began compounding. Not only did I accomplish more, but my team accomplished more. I watched as they developed as people. And I discovered that I actually found greater joy in seeing them succeed than I did in succeeding myself. Wow! What a change that was for me.\n\nI also began to develop my staff in new ways. How could I travel often to train and develop other leaders yet still lead the church effectively? By developing great leaders who could lead without me. I partnered with Dan Reiland, who became my executive pastor; Steve Babby, who oversaw finances; and Tim Elmore, who did research and developed sermon outlines that he and I both taught. Every key person I partnered with shared the same values I did. But each had his or her own personality and skill set that contributed to the bigger vision to make a difference.\n\nOut of this discovery came what later became the Law of the Inner Circle in _The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Leadership_. It states, \"A leader's potential is determined by those closest to him.\" The reason I have been successful in the years since my fortieth birthday is that I understand this law, and every decision I've made since then has been based on finding like-valued people, developing their potential, and partnering with them to accomplish a shared vision.\n\n# The Power of Partnership\n\nPartnership with like-valued people is powerful. Perhaps the best way for me to explain it is to recount a conversation I had not long ago with a small group of leaders from Latin America. The eighteen men and women I was meeting with collectively had forty-five to fifty million people under their leadership. Although each of them was already extremely successful, none was hitting 100 percent of his or her capacity. By my estimation, almost every person in the room was averaging somewhere between 75 and 80 percent. My goal that day was to show them how to move up to the next level of impact.\n\nWhen I asked the group their thoughts on how to make that happen, every answer they gave would have yielded only a very modest increase in their effectiveness\u2014their best idea adding perhaps at most a 5 percent increase.\n\nThis was a sophisticated group of achievers, yet they didn't give the answer that I knew was the key. I believed that if they'd been aware of the answer, they would have already been practicing it. I could sense that they were getting restless, so I finally gave them the solution. \"Partnerships,\" I said.\n\nThe room fell silent. It wasn't at all what they were expecting. But they got it immediately. We went on to have a great discussion of partnership and to trade ideas about potential partners.\n\nHere's the most important thing to know about partnerships and alliances: to be effective, they must be made with like-minded but\u2014more importantly\u2014 _like-valued_ people. If you aren't connecting and partnering with people who share your dream _and_ values, you have no shot at making these partnerships work.\n\nHaving the right partners will help you gain momentum and build your dream into something bigger. There's great strength in numbers. As the old adage says, two heads are better than one. Partnering with a community of like-valued people will help you multiply whatever dream you have of making a difference.\n\nA community helps us go farther, and when it's a community of talented, like-valued, complementary people, we can actually go faster, too. Great partnerships make you better than you are, multiply your value, enable you to do what you do best, allow you to help others do their best, give you more time, provide you with companionship, help you fulfill the desires of your heart, and compound your vision and effort.\n\nThe moment you partner with somebody, you tap into something you've never had access to before. You gain their knowledge, experience, influence, and potential. When you are already achieving at a highly effective level, you don't gain a great increase by getting significantly better yourself. You gain it by partnering or connecting with other good people who bring something different to the table. And that makes you better. If the partnerships you make are with like-valued people, there's no limit to the difference you can make!\n\nMany things can bring people together in the short term: passion, opportunity, urgency, convenience. However, if a partnership is to last over the long haul, there must be shared values. When people's values are different, there will inevitably be a parting of the ways.\n\nIt's important to know what you're looking for when it comes to shared values. Most people miss opportunities in life, not because the opportunity wasn't there, but because they didn't have a clue what it looked like when it arrived. They never took the time to figure out what they were looking for. It's all about intentionality. You have to know what you're looking for if you want to find it.\n\n# Finding the Right Partners\n\nEarly in my career, I had no clear picture of who I was looking for\u2014not when I entered the pastorate and not when I entered the business world. When I got started in my business life, I made some decisions to hire people who weren't the right fit. I had a blind spot when it came to people. I thought the best of everyone and couldn't always see people for who they really were. Despite those in my inner circle warning me and cautioning me, I always wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt. That got me into trouble more than once.\n\nSince the picture of who I needed wasn't clear, I then allowed others to paint the picture for me. Invariably, they always painted _their_ pictures. Then I discovered that the pictures they had painted of themselves had been greatly enhanced. They were like the glamour shots people take and then doctor in Photoshop.\n\nHow do I compensate for this now? I build in a 10 percent exaggeration factor.\n\nThe way this works became clear to me on the golf course. Bear with me for a moment, and you'll understand what I mean. Most golfers, you see, exaggerate their skills. It starts when they give their handicap. Unless they're sandbagging to try to win a bet, they typically overestimate their ability. Their best golf moment is on the first tee when they share their golf handicap. Then they hit the ball and their true game shows up.\n\nGolfers make the same mistake when they select a club during a round. Most golfers check their yardage, then select their club based on how far the ball would go if they hit a true shot with that club 100 percent of the time. Maybe one time they hit their 8 iron 150 yards with a pure swing. The rest of the time they hit it 135 yards. Their ball is lying at 150 yards, so what club do they choose? The 8 iron\u2014the club they think they _should_ hit 150 yards, not the club they actually _do_ hit 150 yards with most of the time.\n\nWhen I select a club for a shot, I subtract 10 percent of my distance from a perfect shot. In a round I may hit one 100 percent perfect shot, but I will hit twenty-five 90 percent shots. I select my clubs based upon what I most often do, not what I have done only once or twice in my whole life. Wrong club selection is the number one mistake of amateur golfers who hit the ball short of the hole.\n\nWhen partnering with people, don't choose based on what they _say_ they can do, or based on what they did _once_. Choose based on their regular behaviors. That's what tells you what their values are. Too often our choices are made by what we _could_ or think we _should_ do rather than what we _usually_ do. We are all human, so we should give everyone the benefit of the doubt. But we also need to be realistic. We need to have a picture of what we're shooting for.\n\n# The Twelve Qualities of People Who Make a Difference\n\nIf you're looking for people to join you in making a meaningful difference in the world, what do you look for? I've taken the time to identify what I look for in people when I am seeking to partner with them. I believe that this list will help you as you seek out people to partner with to achieve your goals.\n\n## 1. Good Partners Think of Others before Themselves\n\nMy favorite description of humility is this: people who are humble don't think less of themselves; they just think of themselves less. Maturity isn't growing older, nor getting wiser. It is developing the ability to see things from another person's point of view. When you combine humility with maturity you have the ideal person that I want to partner with, and probably the kind of like-valued person you want to look for, too. I'm drawn to people who understand that with one tiny exception, the world is composed of others.\n\n## 2. Good Partners Think Bigger than Themselves\n\nPeople who want to make a difference have expanded their worlds over the years from _me_ to _we_. They have broken out of their selfish what's-in-it-for-me mind-sets and have stretched beyond their own needs first. Their dreams now include helping others and reaching across fences to show that they are their brother's keepers. They are grateful for the opportunity to serve their communities. They always approach others with a win-win mind-set and always cross the finish line as relay team members, not single sprinters.\n\n## 3. Good Partners Have a Passion That's Contagious\n\nThe people I want to partner with have a love for people and life that can be easily felt by everyone around them. When they walk into a room, their presence is palpably positive. Others are energized by their spirits, lifted by their love, and valued by their actions. To know them is to want to be around them. Their presence marks others and soon, everyone is inspired to live on a higher level so they, too, can pass on the joys of significant living to others.\n\n## 4. Good Partners Have Complementary Gifts\n\nMother Teresa said, \"I cannot do what you can do. You cannot do what I can do. Together we can do great things.\" Nothing is more rewarding than a common mission being achieved by people with complementary gifts working together in harmony. For years, the members of my inner circle have made me better because they are gifted differently than I am. Each person brings something unique to the table, and they are not afraid to share their knowledge or perspectives. Their presence adds value to everything I do. No one is the total package. But if you put the right group of people together, you can create the total package.\n\n## 5. Good Partners Connect and Provide Great Support\n\nYou can't genuinely partner with people when you're not connected with them. Besides, today we live in a world of connections. There was a time when people could retreat to their own little castles, each surrounded by a moat to protect their privacy, and try to live in isolation. Today the moats are dried up.\n\nPartners need to connect, and they need to support one another. Some of my closest friends are those who help me carry out my mission every day. Our worlds are forever linked. I often ask myself, _What would I do without them?_ The answer is, _Not much._\n\n## 6. Good Partners Show a Can-Do Creative Spirit about Challenges\n\nIf we want to fulfill our dreams and live out our _whys_ , we need to partner with people who have a can-do spirit. Not everyone possesses that. When faced with obstacles, people have different responses. There are...\n\n\u2022 **\"I Can't\" People:** They are convinced that they can't, so they won't and don't.\n\n\u2022 **\"I Don't Think I Can\" People:** These people might be able to, but they talk themselves out of it. As a result they fulfill their words by not trying.\n\n\u2022 **\"Can I?\" People:** These individuals allow their doubts to control their actions, which can lead to failure.\n\n\u2022 **\"How Can I?\" People:** These people have already made the decision to tackle their tough assignments. The only substantial question they struggle with is how they are going to do it.\n\nThis last group is my kind of people. Why? Because when we work together, _everything_ is possible. It may take a while, but the vision will be accomplished.\n\n## 7. Good Partners Expand Our Influence\n\nFor more than forty years I have taught that leadership is influence. During those years I have intentionally expanded my influence with others because I know it allows me to make a greater difference in the world. However, twenty years ago I made a great discovery. When I partner with like-valued people, I go from increasing to multiplying my influence.\n\nSuccessful people understand that working hard at networking with other people is time well spent. It's the quickest and best way to find partners and opportunities to expand our influence.\n\n## 8. Good Partners Are Activists\n\nPeople who are willing to take a stand for what they believe in have an inherent bias toward action. There is no \"ready, aim, aim, aim... fire\" in their lives. If they err, it's on the side of \"ready, fire, aim.\"\n\nActivists don't merely accept their lives as they are; they lead their lives. They take things where they want them to go. They live their stories\u2014100 percent. Nothing less is good enough for them. Every day they maximize opportunity and seize the chance to make their day a masterpiece.\n\n## 9. Good Partners Are Ladder Builders, Not Ladder Climbers\n\nMy friend Sam Chand, the speaker and consultant, taught me the difference between ladder climbers and ladder builders. He says, \"We all start out life climbing our own ladders and living for ourselves. Over time, some people begin to shift from climbing to their own success, and they start building ladders for others to climb.\"\n\nSam has built a lot of ladders for others, including me. He's my kind of guy because he has dedicated his life to climbing with others toward a life of significance. If you want to make a difference, look for people like him.\n\n## 10. Good Partners Are Head and Shoulders above the Crowd\n\nThe kinds of people I enjoy partnering with are easy to find. Why do I say that? Because they stand out from others. They take action when others won't. They add value to others every day. And their growth as human beings is dramatic as a result of intentionally making a difference in the lives of others. The only time you can't see them is when they're stooping down to help someone else.\n\nMy kinds of people want others to do better than they do, so that they, too, can rise higher and accomplish more. Metaphorically, they allow others to stand on their shoulders. They are record setters who want to help others break their own records. As you look for partners who will help you make a difference, search for those who stand out in a crowd.\n\n## 11. Good Partners Provide Synergy That Gives a High Return\n\nWhen you partner with the right person, it's like 1 + 1 = 3. There is a synergy that comes when the right people are working together. It's similar to what happens when a group of horses work together. Maybe you've heard about that. For example, two horses can pull about nine thousand pounds together. How many pounds can four horses pull? Without synergy, you'd do the math and assume the answer is eighteen thousand pounds. That would be reasonable, but it would be wrong. Four horses working together can actually pull over thirty thousand pounds.\n\nWhen it comes to partnerships, synergy enables the group to outperform even its best individual members. That teamwork will produce an overall better result than if each person within the group was working toward the same goal individually. What can't be accomplished when there's synergy and commitment involved? United you can do much, much more!\n\n## 12. Good Partners Make a Difference in Us\n\nWhen I started partnering with other people, it was my intent that together we would make a difference for others. What surprised me was that the partnerships also made such a great difference for me. I discovered it is much more fun to do things together. But more important, I became a better person because of those who came alongside me.\n\nAs you seek out the right people to develop partnerships with, I need to let you know what the best foundation is for building a good partnership: similar capacity. Partnerships are lost more out of mismatched capacity than anything else. A solid partnership comes together because two people have something to offer each other, and what they give and receive are equally valued. It works like a scale. If one person is doing more giving than the other, then the partnership becomes unbalanced and it becomes strained. For the partnership to last, it has to come back into some kind of balance where the two feel the give-and-take works for both of them. And if the partnership is going to last, as it goes down the road and it grows, adapts, and evolves, both members must be able to change and adjust. If they don't, it will end. As long as each partner continues adding value to the other and as long as there is capacity on both sides, the partnership can blossom.\n\nMost times when you enter into a partnership, you don't know in advance how it will go or if it will last. For it to have a chance, you have to spend a lot of connecting time with your partner, nurturing the relationship like any other. If you don't nurture that relationship, it's like any other living thing you ignore: it dies. Partnership starts with finding common ground and common goals. From there it builds from the relational to the inspirational.\n\nAnd you have to remember that partnerships are more like movies than photographs. They change from moment to moment. Only time lets you know what's coming next. Capacity can't be predicted any more than trust can. But if you share intentionality, if you share vision, if you have common goals and a common purpose, if you're moving in the same direction, and if you are like-minded and like-valued, you've got a pretty good shot at making the partnership work. A strong partnership divides the effort and multiplies the effect. And if both keep giving, it has a shot at lasting.\n\nWhatever your passion is, think about how your effectiveness could be multiplied if you started connecting and partnering with the _right_ people. Whatever difference you're able to make will be multiplied.\n\nEvery person who has partnered with me over the years on this significance journey deserves credit, just as everyone who partners with you will deserve it. As you look for like-valued people to partner with, make sure they possess what I call \"the great separators.\" All of my most effective partners shared these qualities that make a difference. They possessed commitment. I always asked for that up front, because commitment separates the players from the pretenders. They thought beyond themselves, because to make a difference, people have to put others first. They had the capacity to dream big dreams. I wanted to partner with people who thought without limitations. And they possessed passion. This was most important, because passion is contagious and influences others. It invites energy and it creates movement.\n\nPerhaps at the time I could not have told you that these were the exact things I was looking for, because I didn't have enough experience yet to articulate them. But I followed my intuition. I sensed that much more energy was required to do something significant. And I knew I'd need a group of like-valued people around me\u2014people who wanted to make a difference.\n\nTeaming up with other people who want to make a difference is the multiplying factor that makes it possible for an individual to change a family, a community, a city, a country\u2014the world. If you have a vision of significance that promises to help other people, and you partner with others who share that same vision, there is no limit to what can be done.\n\nIn our busy and hectic lives, it is sometimes easy for us to overlook or forget the power of partnership. However, when you live with intentional significance, your inclusion of others also has to become intentional. As you make plans, you must involve other people and invite them not just to follow you as a leader, but also to become your partners. To receive their full engagement, you must be ready to commit, compromise, sacrifice, and connect with them. You don't get more than you give. But when you give those things, they are likely to reciprocate. And there's an amazing and powerful compounding effect that takes place.\n\n# Intentional Application\n\n## What Are Your Values?\n\nTo find like-valued people, it helps to know what you're looking for. Take some time to think about the values most important to you for making a difference in the lives of others. Write them down.\n\nNow begin looking for people who share your values. When you find them, connect with them. Start building your relationships with them so that you're ready to take the next step, which is to look for ways to work together to make a difference.\n\n# EPILOGUE\n\n# The Making of a Movement\n\nRight now are you only dreaming about making a difference, or are you actually doing things to connect with people who can join you on the significance journey? Movements don't begin with the masses\u2014they always start with one, and then they attract others to themselves and their causes.\n\nAnyone on the planet today can make a difference with others. You can, I can, and even the guy or gal sitting next to you on the plane, bus, or subway can. Movements are about mobilizing people to get behind a shared purpose. There is great power in helping other people because you can change the way people think, believe, and even live. And that group of people can end up changing their culture, if not the world.\n\nToday I have another dream. I want to see people become intentional in their living. I want to see them become transformational leaders who influence others to think, speak, and act in such a way that it makes a positive difference. Will it become a movement? I don't know. I have no control over that. I only have control over myself. I know that it has to start with me, and I feel moved to share it with you.\n\nThis book is my invitation for you to join me. I want you to embrace these ideas, and for the story of your life to change, as mine has. I want you to take action to make a positive difference in the lives of others. I want you to connect and partner with others and achieve significance. And my hope, someday, is to hear a million stories of changed lives because people like you and me tried to make a difference for others.\n\nIf you join me in my dream, maybe together we can help create a world where people think of others before themselves, where adding value to others is a priority, where financial gain is secondary to future potential, and where your self-worth is strengthened by acts of significance every day. It's my dream. I hope one day it becomes our reality. But it can come to be only if we connect with others and work together.\n\n# Leading with Purpose\n\nNow you know how to live a life of purpose with others, I want to ask you a series of questions. See how many you can honestly answer yes to:\n\n  Are you choosing to live a story of significance?\n\n  Are you seizing opportunities and taking action to make a difference?\n\n  Have you put other people first to make a difference?\n\n  Are you connecting with like-minded people who make a difference?\n\n  Are you trying to add value to others from your sweet spot to make a difference?\n\n  Are you trying to partner with like-valued people to make a difference?\n\nIf you answered yes to all of these questions\u2014or if you are willing to answer yes and take action _now_ \u2014then you have crossed over into the significant life, and you are a leader. You will make a difference. Your life will matter. And you will start to change the world. You've made the decision. Now you just need to manage that decision every day of your life. You just need to keep living with purpose and take action in some small way every day.\n\n# Acknowledgments\n\nThank you to:\n\nLaura Morton, who sat with me for hours, asking me questions and helping me remember my story\n\nStephanie Wetzel, who helped with the book's structure and research\n\nCharlie Wetzel, my longtime writer, who crafted and polished the manuscript\n\nLinda Eggers, my executive assistant, who helps me to remain intentional every day\n\n# About the Author\n\nJohn C. Maxwell is a #1 _New York Times_ bestselling author, coach, and speaker who has sold more than twenty-nine million books in fifty languages. In 2014 he was identified as the #1 leader in business by the American Management Association\u00ae and the most influential leadership expert in the world by _Business Insider_ and _Inc._ magazine. He is the founder of The John Maxwell Company, The John Maxwell Team, EQUIP, and the John Maxwell Leadership Foundation, organizations that have trained millions of leaders. In 2015 they reached the milestone of having trained leaders from every country of the world. The recipient of the Mother Teresa Prize for Global Peace and Leadership from the Luminary Leadership Network, Dr. Maxwell speaks each year to _Fortune_ 500 companies, presidents of nations, and many of the world's top business leaders. He can be followed at Twitter.com\/JohnCMaxwell. For more information about him visit JohnMaxwell.com.\n\n# Books by Dr. John C. Maxwell Can Teach You How to Be a REAL Success\n\n#### Relationships\n\n_25 Ways to Win with People_\n\n_Becoming a Person of Influence_\n\n_Encouragement Changes Everything_\n\n_Ethics 101_\n\n_Everyone Communicates, Few Connect_\n\n_The Power of Partnership_\n\n_Relationships 101_\n\n_Winning with People_\n\n#### Equipping\n\n_The 15 Invaluable Laws of Growth_\n\n_The 17 Essential Qualities of a Team Player_\n\n_The 17 Indisputable Laws of Teamwork_\n\n_Developing the Leaders Around You_\n\n_How Successful People Grow_\n\n_Equipping 101_\n\n_Intentional Living_\n\n_JumpStart Your Growth_\n\n_JumpStart Your Priorities_\n\n_Learning from the Giants_\n\n_Make Today Count_\n\n_Mentoring 101_\n\n_My Dream Map_\n\n_Partners in Prayer_\n\n_The Power of Significance_\n\n_Put Your Dream to the Test_\n\n_Running with the Giants_\n\n_Talent Is Never Enough_\n\n_Today Matters_\n\n_Wisdom from Women in the Bible_\n\n_Your Road Map for Success_\n\n#### Attitude\n\n_Attitude 101_\n\n_The Difference Maker_\n\n_Failing Forward_\n\n_How Successful People Think_\n\n_JumpStart Your Thinking_\n\n_No Limits_\n\n_Sometimes You Win\u2014Sometimes You Learn_\n\n_Sometimes You Win\u2014Sometimes You Learn for Teens_\n\n_Success 101_\n\n_Thinking for a Change_\n\n_The Winning Attitude_\n\n#### Leadership\n\n_The 10th Anniversary Edition of The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Leadership_\n\n_The 21 Indispensable Qualities of a Leader_\n\n_The 21 Most Powerful Minutes in a Leader's Day_\n\n_The 360 Degree Leader_\n\n_Developing the Leader Within You_\n\n_JumpStart Your Leadership_\n\n_Good Leaders Ask Great Questions_\n\n_The 5 Levels of Leadership_\n\n_Go for Gold_\n\n_How Successful People Lead_\n\n_Leadership 101_\n\n_Leadership Gold_\n\n_Leadership Promises for Every Day_\n\n_What Successful People Know About Leadership_\n\n# Notes\n\n1. Donald Miller, _A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life_ (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2009), 236\u201337.\n\n2. Luke 22:27, MSG.\nIf you want further guidance in exploring your purpose, look for\n\nTHE POWER OF SIGNIFICANCE\n\n_**How Purpose Changes Your Life**_\n\nWe all have a longing to be significant, to make a contribution, to be a part of something noble and purposeful. In _The Power of Significance_ , John Maxwell gives practical guidance and motivation to get you started on your unique personal path to significance. Learn how to find your why, start small but believe big, seize great opportunities, and live every day as if it matters\u2014because it does!\n\nAvailable now from Center Street wherever books are sold.\n\nAlso available in Spanish and from  and  \n**John Maxwell's Bestselling Successful People Series\u2014Over 1 Million Copies Sold**\n\nWHAT SUCCESSFUL PEOPLE KNOW ABOUT LEADERSHIP\n\n_**Advice from America's #1 Leadership Authority**_\n\nThe best leaders strive constantly to learn and grow, and every leader faces challenges. Discover actionable advice and solutions, as John Maxwell answers the most common leadership questions he receives.\n\nHOW SUCCESSFUL PEOPLE THINK\n\n_**Change Your Thinking, Change Your Life**_\n\nGood thinkers are always in demand. They solve problems, never lack ideas, and always have hope for a better future. In this compact read, Maxwell reveals eleven types of successful thinking, and how you can maximize each to revolutionize your work and life.\n\nHOW SUCCESSFUL PEOPLE LEAD\n\n_**Taking Your Influence to the Next Level**_\n\nTrue leadership is not generated by your title. In fact, being named to a position is the lowest of the five levels every effective leader achieves. Learn how to be more than a boss people are required to follow, and extend your influence beyond your immediate reach for the benefit of others.\n\nHOW SUCCESSFUL PEOPLE GROW\n\n_**15 Ways to Get Ahead in Life**_\n\nJohn Maxwell explores the principles that are proven to be the most effective catalysts for personal growth. You can learn what it takes to strengthen your self-awareness, broaden your prospects, and motivate others with your positive influence.\n\nHOW SUCCESSFUL PEOPLE WIN\n\n**_Turn Every Setback into a Step Forward_**\n\nNo one wins at everything. But with this book John Maxwell will help you identify the invaluable life lessons that can be drawn from disappointing outcomes so you can turn every loss into a gain.\n\nMAKE TODAY COUNT\n\n**_The Secret of Your Success Is Determined by Your Daily Agenda_**\n\nHow can you know if you're making the most of today so you can have a better tomorrow? By following the twelve daily disciplines Maxwell describes in this book to give maximum impact in minimum time.\n\nAvailable now from Center Street wherever books are sold.\n\nAlso available in Spanish and from   and\n\n### Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.\n\nTo receive special offers, bonus content, and news about our latest ebooks and apps, sign up for our newsletters.\n\nSign Up\n\nOr visit us at hachettebookgroup.com\/newsletters\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":"\n\n_Unseen_ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.\n\nCopyright \u00a9 2013 by Karin Slaughter\n\nAll rights reserved.  \nPublished in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.\n\nDELACORTE PRESS and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.\n\nLIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA\n\nSlaughter, Karin  \nUnseen : a novel \/ Karin Slaughter.  \np. cm.  \neISBN: 978-0-345-53948-9  \n1. Government investigators\u2014Fiction. 2. Undercover operations\u2014Fiction. I. Title.  \nPS3569.L275U57 2013  \n813\u2032.54\u2014dc23 2013005812\n\nwww.bantamdell.com\n\nCover design: Carlos Beltr\u00e1n\n\nv3.1\n\n# Contents\n\n_Cover_\n\n_Title Page_\n\n_Copyright_\n\nChapter 1: Wednesday: Macon, Georgia\n\nChapter 2: Thursday: Atlanta, Georgia\n\nChapter 3\n\nChapter 4: Macon, Georgia: Seven Days Ago\u2014The Day of the Raid\n\nChapter 5\n\nChapter 6\n\nChapter 7: The Day Before the Raid\n\nChapter 8: Thursday\n\nChapter 9\n\nChapter 10: Friday\n\nChapter 11: Four Days Before the Raid\n\nChapter 12: Friday\n\nChapter 13\n\nChapter 14\n\nChapter 15: Five Days Before the Raid\n\nChapter 16: Friday\n\nChapter 17: Macon, Georgia: Five Days Later\n\n_Dedication_\n\n_Acknowledgments_\n\n_Other Books by This Author_\n\n_About the Author_\n\n# 1.\n\nWEDNESDAY  \nMACON, GEORGIA\n\nDetective Lena Adams winced as she pulled off her T-shirt. She took her police badge out of her pocket, along with her flashlight and an extra clip for her Glock, and tossed them all onto the dresser. The time on her phone showed it was almost midnight. Lena had rolled out of bed eighteen hours ago and now all she wanted to do was fall back in. Not that she'd done that much lately. For the past four days, just about every waking hour had been wasted sitting at a conference room table answering questions she'd answered the day before and the day before that\u2014navigating the usual bullshit that came from having to justify your actions to Internal Affairs.\n\n_\"Who led the raid into the house?\"_\n\n_\"What intelligence were you acting on?\"_\n\n_\"What did you expect to find?\"_\n\nThe internal investigator for the Macon Police Department had the dour, lifeless personality of a career pencil pusher. Every day, the woman showed up dressed in the same style black skirt and white blouse, an outfit that seemed more appropriate for greeting diners at an Olive Garden. She nodded a lot, frowned even more as she took notes. When Lena didn't answer quickly, she'd check the tape recorder to make sure it was picking up the silences.\n\nLena was certain the questions were designed to provoke an outburst. The first day, she had been so numb that she'd just answered truthfully in the hope that it would soon be over. The second and third days, she'd been less forthcoming, her level of irritation rising with each passing minute. Today, she had finally exploded, which seemed exactly what the woman had been waiting for.\n\n_\"What do you think I expected to find, you miserable bitch?\"_\n\nIf only Lena hadn't found it. If only she could take a razor and slice the images out of her brain. They haunted her. They flickered into her vision like an old movie every time she blinked. They filled her with a constant, unrelenting sorrow.\n\nLena started to rub her eyes, then thought better of it. Six days had passed since she'd led her team on the raid, but her body was still a walking reminder of what had happened. The bruise fingering its way across her nose and underneath her left eye had turned a urine-yellow. The three stitches holding together the cut in her scalp itched like a rash.\n\nThen there were the things that no one could see\u2014Lena's bruised tailbone. Her aching back and knees. The roil in her stomach every time she thought about what she'd discovered in that desolate house in the woods.\n\nFour dead bodies. One man still in the hospital. Another who would never wear the badge again. Not to mention the terrible memory she would probably end up taking to her grave.\n\nTears came into Lena's eyes. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to let the grief have its way. She was exhausted. The week had been hard. Hell, the last three weeks had been hard. But it was over now. All of it was over. Lena was safe. She would keep her job. The rat squad investigator had scurried back to her hole. Lena was finally home where no one could stare at her, question her, probe and prod her. It wasn't just Internal Affairs. Everyone wanted to know what the raid had been like, what Lena had found in that dark, dank basement.\n\nAnd Lena wanted nothing more than to forget all about it.\n\nHer cell phone chirped. Lena exhaled until her lungs were completely empty. The phone chirped a second time. She picked it up. There was a new text message.\n\nVICKERY: u ok?\n\nLena stared at the letters on the screen. Paul Vickery, her partner.\n\nShe tapped reply. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.\n\nThe distant rumble of a motorcycle shook the air.\n\nInstead of typing out a response, Lena held down the power button until the phone turned off. She placed it on the dresser beside her badge.\n\nThe roar of the Harley-D's twin-cam engine vibrated in her ears as Jared gunned the bike so he could make it to the top of their steep driveway. Lena waited, following the familiar sounds: the engine cutting, the metallic groan of the kickstand, the heavy tread of boots as her husband made his way into the house, tossed his helmet and keys onto the kitchen table even though she'd asked him a million times not to. He paused for a moment, probably to check the mail, then continued toward their bedroom.\n\nLena kept her back to the door as she counted off Jared's footsteps down the long hallway. His stride sounded tentative, reluctant. He'd probably been hoping Lena would be asleep.\n\nJared stopped at the doorway. He was obviously waiting for Lena to turn around. When she didn't, he asked, \"You just get in?\"\n\n\"I stayed late to finish.\" It wasn't a complete lie. She'd hoped Jared would be asleep, too. \"I was about to take a shower.\"\n\n\"All right.\"\n\nLena didn't go into the bathroom. Instead, she turned to face him.\n\nJared's gaze flickered down to her bra, then quickly back up again. He was dressed in his uniform, his hair twisted into a peak from the helmet. He was a cop with the Macon PD, too\u2014a motorman, one rank below Lena and twelve years younger. Neither one of these things used to bother her, but lately, every inch of their lives was a provocation.\n\nHe leaned against the doorjamb, asking, \"How'd it go?\"\n\n\"They cleared me to go back to work.\"\n\n\"That's good, right?\"\n\nShe replayed his words in her head, trying to decipher the tone. \"Why wouldn't it be?\"\n\nJared didn't respond. There was a long, uncomfortable silence before he asked, \"You want a drink?\"\n\nLena couldn't hide her surprise.\n\n\"I guess it's okay now, right?\" He tilted his head to the side, forced his lips into a tight smile. He was a few inches taller than Lena, but his muscular frame and athletic grace made him seem larger.\n\nUsually.\n\nJared cleared his throat to let her know that he was waiting.\n\nShe nodded. \" 'Kay.\"\n\nJared left the room, but his need lingered\u2014surrounding her, almost suffocating her. He _needed_ for Lena to break down. He _needed_ for her to lean on him. He _needed_ her to show him that what happened had affected her, had altered her in some tangible way.\n\nHe couldn't see that not giving in was the only thing that kept her from falling completely apart.\n\nLena took her pajamas out of the dresser. She heard Jared moving around the kitchen. He opened the freezer door, rummaged around for a handful of ice. Lena closed her eyes. Her body swayed. She waited for the cubes to hit glass. Her mouth watered in anticipation.\n\nShe clenched her jaw. Forced open her eyes.\n\nShe wanted the drink too badly. When Jared came back, she would put the glass down, wait a few minutes, prove to herself that she could do without it.\n\nProve to him that she didn't need it.\n\nHer hands ached as she unbuttoned her jeans. The day of the raid, she'd gripped her shotgun so hard that her fingers had felt like they were permanently curled. She wasn't sure why everything still ached. She should be better now, but her body was holding on to the hurt. Holding on to the poison that was eating her up inside.\n\n\"So.\" Jared was back. This time, he came into the room. He poured a large vodka as he walked toward her, the bottle gurgling as the liquid splashed into the glass. \"You're back on duty tomorrow?\"\n\n\"First thing.\"\n\nHe handed her the glass. \"No time off?\"\n\nLena took the drink and downed half of it in one gulp.\n\n\"I guess that's the same as when...\" Jared's voice trailed off. He didn't have to say when. Instead, he looked out the back window. The dark panes showed his reflection. \"I bet you get your sergeant's stripes off this.\"\n\nShe shook her head, but said, \"Maybe.\"\n\nHe stared at her\u2014waiting. Needing.\n\nShe asked, \"What are they saying at the station?\"\n\nJared walked to the closet. \"That you've got balls of steel.\" He dialed the combination on the gun safe. Lena watched the back of his neck. There was a pink line of sunburn where his helmet didn't protect the skin. He must've known she was watching, but he just took his holster off his belt and stored his gun beside hers. Near hers. He didn't even let their guns touch.\n\nShe asked, \"Does it bother you?\"\n\nHe shut the safe door, spun the combination. \"Why would it bother me?\"\n\nLena didn't say the words, but they were screaming in her head: _Because they think I'm tougher than you. Because your wife was taking down some very bad guys while you were toodling around on your bike giving tickets to soccer moms_.\n\nJared said, \"I'm proud of you.\" He used his reasonable voice, the one that made Lena want to punch him in the face. \"They should give you a medal for what you did.\"\n\nHe had no idea what she'd done. Jared only knew the highlights, the details Lena was allowed to share outside closed doors.\n\nShe repeated the question. \"Does it bother you?\"\n\nHe paused for a second too long. \"It bothers me that you could've been killed.\"\n\nHe still hadn't answered the question. Lena studied his face. The skin was unlined, fresh. She'd met Jared when he was twenty-one, and in the five and a half years since, he'd somehow started looking younger, like he was aging in reverse. Or maybe Lena was getting older more quickly. So much had changed since those early days. In the beginning, she could always tell what he was thinking. Of course, since then, she'd given him plenty of mortar to build up a wall around himself.\n\nHe started unbuttoning his shirt. \"I think I'm gonna go put those cabinets together.\"\n\nShe gave a startled laugh. \"Really?\" The kitchen had been torn apart for three months, mostly because Jared found a new reason every weekend to not work on it.\n\nHe let his shirt drop to the floor. \"At least Ikea will know I'm still the man of the house.\"\n\nNow that it was out there, Lena didn't know how to respond. \"You know it's not like that.\" Even to her own ears, the excuse sounded weak. \"It's just not.\"\n\n\"Really?\"\n\nLena didn't answer.\n\n\"Right.\" Jared's cell phone started to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket, checked the number, and declined the call.\n\n\"That your girlfriend?\" Lena didn't like the thinness in her tone. The joke wasn't funny. They both knew that.\n\nHe rummaged through the dirty-clothes basket and found his jeans, one of his T-shirts.\n\n\"It's almost midnight.\" Lena looked at the bedside clock. \"Past midnight.\"\n\n\"I'm not sleepy.\" He dressed quickly, tucking his phone into his back pocket. \"I'll keep the noise down.\"\n\n\"You need your phone to put the cabinets together?\"\n\n\"The charge is low.\"\n\n\"Jared\u2014\"\n\n\"It won't take long to finish.\" He smiled that fake smile again. \"Least I can do, right?\"\n\nLena smiled back, holding up her glass in a toast.\n\nHe didn't leave. \"You should get in the shower before you fall down.\"\n\nShe nodded, but couldn't stop her eyes taking in the way the T-shirt clung to his chest, followed the definition of his abs. The vodka had given her a nice buzz. Her body was finally starting to relax. There was something about the way Jared was standing that brought old memories rushing back. Lena let her mind wander to a place she usually kept blocked off\u2014the town where she'd lived before she moved with Jared to Macon, the city where she'd first learned how to be a cop.\n\nBack in Grant County, Jared's father had taught Lena everything she knew about being a police officer. Well, almost everything. Lena had a feeling the tricks she'd learned after Chief Jeffrey Tolliver's death would've pissed him the hell off. For all the times he crossed the line, Jeffrey sure came down hard on Lena whenever he caught her skipping near it.\n\n\"Lee?\" Jared asked. He had Jeffrey's eyes, the same way of tilting his head to the side while he waited for her to answer him.\n\nLena finished the drink, though her head was swimming. \"I love you.\"\n\nIt was Jared's turn to give a startled laugh.\n\nShe asked, \"Aren't you going to say you love me back?\"\n\n\"Do you want me to?\"\n\nLena didn't answer.\n\nHe gave a resigned sigh as he walked over to her. She was dressed in nothing but her bra and underwear, but he kissed her on the forehead the same way he did with his sister. \"Don't fall asleep in the shower.\"\n\nLena watched him go. He'd been wearing the same dirty T-shirt a lot lately. There were spots of yellow paint on the back and shoulders from where he'd started remodeling the spare bedroom three weeks ago.\n\nLena had told him not to paint the walls, to wait another few weeks\u2014not because he had at least ten other projects in the house that needed to be finished first, but because it was bad luck.\n\nJared never listened to her.\n\nOf course, she never listened to him, either.\n\nLena took the vodka bottle with her into the bathroom. She put the empty glass on the back of the toilet and drank straight from the bottle, her head tilting back. Probably not wise considering the pain pills she'd taken as soon as she walked through the front door, but Lena wasn't feeling particularly smart at the moment. She wanted the amnesia to come. She wanted the pills and the alcohol to erase everything from her mind\u2014what had happened before the raid, during the raid, after. She wanted it all blanked out so that she could lie down and see darkness instead of that silent flickering movie that had haunted her for the last six days.\n\nShe put the bottle down on the back of the toilet. Her fingers felt thick as she pinned up her hair. Lena stared at her reflection in the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes, and not just from the bruise. She pressed her fingers to the glass. Her face was starting to show the things she'd lost.\n\nThe number of bodies she'd left in her wake.\n\nLena looked down. Without realizing, she had pressed her palm to her flat stomach. As recently as nine days ago, there had been the beginning of a swell. Her pants had been tight. Her breasts had been sore. Jared hadn't been able to stop himself from touching her. Sometimes, Lena would wake up and find his hand resting on her belly, as if he was laying claim to what he'd created. The life he'd put inside of her.\n\nBut of course the life didn't stay there. His hand couldn't stop the wrenching pain that had ripped Lena from a deep sleep. His words couldn't comfort her as the blood flowed. In the bathroom. At the hospital. On the drive home. It was a red tide that left nothing but death in its wake.\n\nAnd every time she walked by that fucking spare bedroom with its bright yellow walls, she was gripped by such a cold hate for him that she shivered with rage.\n\nLena stared up at the ceiling. She held her breath for a moment before letting it whisper out like a dark secret. Everything was getting to her today. The loss, the grief. The vodka and pills weren't helping. Would never help enough.\n\nShe searched for the cap to the bottle, but couldn't find it. Lena pulled open the door. The bedroom was empty. Jared's clothes were on the floor, exactly where they'd dropped when he took them off. Lena picked up his shirt. She smelled exhaust from the road, sweat and grease from riding all day. His pants still had his wallet in the back pocket. She took it out and put it on the bedside table. His front pockets were full. A handful of change. A small tin of Burt's beeswax to keep his lips from getting windburned. A couple of twenties, his driver's license, and three credit cards, all held together by a green rubber band. A small black velvet pouch that he kept his wedding ring in.\n\nLena dug her finger inside the pouch and pulled out the gold ring. Jared had stopped wearing it to work after one of his buddies had wiped out on his bike. The man's wedding ring had caught on his knuckle and ripped the skin off like a sock. After that, Lena had made Jared promise not to wear his ring while he was riding. The black pouch was a compromise. She'd told him to leave the ring at home, but her husband was romantic\u2014much more so than any woman Lena had ever met\u2014and he didn't like the idea of being without it.\n\nShe assumed now that he carried it around out of habit.\n\nLena returned the ring to the pouch and opened Jared's wallet. She'd given it to him their first year together, and he still carried it despite the fact that he'd never used a wallet before. It was really nothing more than a portable photo album. Lena thumbed past the many candid shots Jared had taken over the last five years: Lena in front of their house on the day they moved in, Lena on his bike, Jared and Lena at Disney World, a Braves game, the SEC play-offs, the national championship in Arizona.\n\nShe stopped on the photo from their wedding, which had taken place in a judge's chambers inside the Atlanta courthouse. Lena's uncle Hank stood on one side of her, Jared on the other. Beside Jared were his mother, stepfather, sister, grandmother, grandfather, two cousins, and an elementary school teacher who'd always kept in touch.\n\nEveryone was dressed up but Lena, who was in a navy pantsuit she normally wore to work. Her hair was down, the brown curls hanging past her shoulders. She'd had her makeup done at the Lenox Macy's counter by a transexual who'd gone on and on about her skin tone. At least one woman had appreciated Lena that day. The sour look on Jared's mother's face explained why the groom hadn't insisted on a more formal affair. Somewhere right now in Alabama, Darnell Long was praying that her son would come to his senses and divorce the bitch he'd married.\n\nSometimes Lena wondered if she held on to Jared solely to spite the woman.\n\nShe flipped to the next picture, and her knees felt shaky.\n\nLena sat down on the bed.\n\nShe had seen the photo many times, just not in Jared's wallet. It was from the shoebox Lena kept in the closet. The picture was of her twin sister, Sibyl. Lena was struck by a painful ache of jealousy, and then she felt herself start to laugh. Jared obviously thought the picture was of Lena. He'd never met Sibyl. She'd been dead ten years when Jared came into Lena's life.\n\nShe put her hand to her mouth as the laugh turned into a sob. When Lena had found out she was pregnant, the first person she'd thought of was Sibyl. There was a brief spark of happiness as Lena had picked up the phone to call her sister.\n\nAnd then the loss had sucker punched her in the chest.\n\nLena carefully wiped underneath her eyes as she stared at the photo. She could see why Jared had chosen it. Sibyl was sitting on a blanket in the park. Her mouth was open, head tilted back. She was laughing with full abandon\u2014the kind of happiness Lena seldom showed. Their Mexican American grandmother's genes were on full display. Sibyl's skin was bronze from the sun. Her curly brown hair was down, the way Lena wore her hair today. Though Sibyl didn't have the highlights Lena had, and she certainly didn't have the few strands of gray.\n\nWhat would Sibyl look like now? It was a question Lena had asked a lot over the years. She assumed it was something all twins wondered when one passed away. Sibyl had never had Lena's hard lines and sharp edges. There was always a softness to Sibyl's face, an openness that invited people in instead of pushing them away. Only a fool would mistake one twin for the other.\n\n\"Lee?\"\n\nShe looked up at Jared as if it was perfectly normal for her to be sitting in her underwear crying over his wallet. He was standing in the doorway again, feet just shy of entering.\n\nShe asked, \"Who was that call from? On your cell phone?\"\n\n\"The number was blocked.\" He looped his thumbs through his tool belt as he leaned against the doorjamb. \"You all right?\"\n\n\"I'm... uh...\" Her voice caught. \"Tired.\"\n\nLena looked at Sibyl one last time before she closed the wallet. She felt tears streaming down her face. Her jaw tightened as she tried to force her emotions back down. No matter what she did, they kept bubbling up again, tightening her throat, squeezing like a band around her chest.\n\n\"Lee?\" He still didn't come into the room.\n\nLena shook her head, willing him to go. She couldn't look at him, couldn't let Jared see her like this. She knew that breaking down was exactly what he'd been waiting for. Expecting.\n\n_Wanting_.\n\nBut then something snapped inside of her. Another sob came out\u2014deep, mournful. Lena couldn't fight it anymore, couldn't keep pushing him away. She didn't make Jared come to her. She crossed the room quickly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pressing her face to his chest.\n\n\"Lena\u2014\"\n\nShe kissed him. Her hands went to his face, touched his neck. Jared resisted at first, but he was a twenty-six-year-old man who'd spent the last week sleeping on the couch. It didn't take much for Lena to get a response. His calloused hands rubbed along her bare back. He pulled her closer, kissed her harder.\n\nAnd then his whole body jerked away.\n\nBlood sprayed into her mouth.\n\nLena heard the gunshot seconds later.\n\nAfter Jared had been hit. After he collapsed against her.\n\nHe was too heavy. Lena stumbled, falling back onto the floor, Jared sprawled on top of her, pinning her down. She couldn't move. She tried to push him up, but another shot rang out. His body spasmed, lifting a few inches, then falling against her again.\n\nLena heard a high-pitched keening. It was coming from her own mouth. She scrambled out from under Jared, then grabbed him by his shirt to pull him out of the line of fire. She managed to move him a few feet before his tool belt got twisted up in the rug.\n\n\"No-no-no,\" Lena stuttered before she clamped her hands over her mouth to stop the noise. She pressed her back to the wall, fighting a wave of hysteria. The vodka and pills caught up with her. Vomit roiled into the back of her throat. She wanted to scream. Needed to scream.\n\nBut she couldn't.\n\nJared wasn't moving. The noise from the gun still rang in her ears. Shotgun blast. The pellets had scattered, penetrating his back, his head. Bright red circles of blood spread into the dried yellow paint on his T-shirt. A screwdriver from his tool belt was jammed into his side. More blood was pooling underneath his body. She put her hand on his leg, felt the lean muscle of his calf.\n\n\"Jared?\" she whispered. \"Jared?\"\n\nHis eyes stayed closed. Blood bubbled from his lips. His fingers quivered against the floor. She could see the tan line where he'd been wearing his wedding ring even though he promised her he wouldn't.\n\nLena reached for his hand, then pulled back.\n\nFootsteps.\n\nThe shooter was walking down the hallway. Slowly. Methodically. He was wearing boots. She could hear the echo of the wooden heel hitting the bare floorboards, then the softer scrape of the toe.\n\nOne step.\n\nAnother.\n\nSilence.\n\nThe shooter raked back the shower curtain in the hall bathroom.\n\nLena's eyes scanned the bedroom: The guns were locked in the safe. Her cell phone was on the other side of the room. They didn't have a landline. The window was too out in the open. The bathroom was a deathtrap.\n\nJared's cell phone.\n\nShe ran her hand up his leg, checked his pockets. Empty. Empty. They were all empty.\n\nThe footsteps resumed, echoing down the hallway, the sound like twigs snapping.\n\nAnd then\u2014nothing.\n\nHe'd stopped outside the first bedroom. Two desks. Boxes of old case files. Jared always left the closet door open. The shooter could see it from the hallway.\n\nHe cleared his throat and spat on the floor.\n\nHe wanted Lena to know that he was coming.\n\nShe pressed her back against the wall, forced herself to stand up. She wasn't going to be sitting down when she died. She was going to be on her feet, fighting for her life, her husband's life.\n\nThe footsteps stopped again. The shooter was checking the next bedroom. Bright yellow walls. Closet door laid across a pair of sawhorses so Jared could paint balloons on it. From the hallway, you could see the thin pencil lines where he'd sketched them freehand. You could also see straight back inside the empty closet.\n\nThe shooter continued down the hall.\n\nLena's hand shook as she reached down to Jared. The hammer on his belt was already halfway out of its metal loop. She used her fingers to push it the rest of the way. Her hand wrapped around the grip. It felt warm, almost hot, against her skin.\n\nJared's eyelids fluttered open. He watched Lena as she stood up, pressed her back against the wall again. There was a glassy look to his gaze. Pain. Intense pain. It cut right through her. His mouth moved. Lena put her finger to her lips, willing him to be quiet, to play dead so that he wouldn't get shot again.\n\nThe footsteps stopped just shy of the bedroom door, maybe five feet away. The man's shadow preceded him into the room, casting half of Jared's body into darkness.\n\nLena turned the hammer around so that the claw was facing out. She heard the pump of a shotgun. The sound had its intended effect. She had to lock her knees so she didn't fall to the floor.\n\nThe shooter paused. His shadow wavered slightly, but didn't encroach farther into the room.\n\nLena tensed, counting off the seconds. One, two, three. The man did not enter. He was just standing there.\n\nShe tried to put herself in the shooter's head, figure out what he was thinking. Two cops. Both with guns they hadn't used. One was on the floor. The other hadn't moved, hadn't shot back, hadn't screamed or jumped out the window or charged him.\n\nLena's ears strained in the silence as they both waited.\n\nFinally, the shooter took another step forward\u2014short, tentative. Then another. The tip of the shotgun's barrel was the first thing Lena saw. Sawed off. The metal was rough-cut, freshly hewn. There was a pause, a slight adjustment as the shooter pivoted to the side. Lena saw that the hand supporting the barrel was tattooed. A black skull and crossbones filled the webbing between the thumb and forefinger.\n\nOne last, careful step.\n\nLena two-handed the hammer and swung it into the man's face.\n\nThe claw sank into his eye socket. She heard the crunch of bone as the sharpened steel splintered a path into his skull. The shotgun went off, blasting a hole in the wall. Lena tried to pull out the hammer for another blow, but the claw was caught in his head. The man staggered, tried to brace himself against the door. His fingers wrapped around her wrist. Blood poured from his eye, ran into his mouth, down his neck.\n\nThat was when Lena saw the second man. He was running down the hallway, a Smith & Wesson five-shot in his hand. Lena yanked on the hammer, using it like a handle to jerk the shooter in front of her, to use him as a shield. Three shots popped off in rapid succession; the shooter's body absorbed each hit. Lena gave him a hard shove backward into the second assailant. Both men stumbled. The S&W skittered across the floor.\n\nLena scooped up the shotgun. She pulled the trigger, but the shell was jammed. She tried the pump, worked to clear the chamber as the second guy climbed his way up to standing. He lunged for her, fingers grazing the muzzle of the gun before he fell to one knee.\n\nJared had grabbed his ankle. He held on tight, his arm shaking from the effort. The man reared back, started to bring down his fist on Jared's temple.\n\nLena flipped the shotgun around, grabbed it by the barrel and swung it like a bat at the man's head. Blood and teeth sprayed as his jaw snapped loose. He crashed to the floor.\n\n\"Jared!\" Lena screamed, dropping down beside him. \"Jared!\"\n\nHe moaned. Blood dribbled from his mouth. His stare was blank, unseeing.\n\n\"It's okay,\" she told him. \"It's okay.\"\n\nHe coughed. His body shuddered, then a violent seizure took hold.\n\n\"Jared!\" she screamed. \"Jared!\" Lena's vision blurred as tears filled her eyes. She put her hands on each side of his face. \"Look at me,\" she begged. \"Just look at me.\"\n\nMovement. She saw it out of the corner of her eye. The second man was inching toward the bed, trying to reach the gun. Half his body was paralyzed. He dragged himself with one arm, a wounded cockroach leaving a trail of blood.\n\nLena felt her heart stop. Something had changed. The air had shifted. The world had stopped spinning.\n\nShe looked down at her husband.\n\nJared's body had gone completely slack. His eyelids were closed to a slit. She touched his face, his mouth. Her hand shook so hard that her fingertips tapped against his skin.\n\nSibyl. Jeffrey. The baby.\n\n_Their_ baby.\n\nLena stood up.\n\nShe moved like a machine. The hammer was still embedded in the first man's face. Lena braced her foot on his forehead, wrapped her hands around the handle, and wrenched the claw loose.\n\nThe cockroach was still crawling toward the bed. His progress was incremental. Lena took her time, waiting until he was inches away from the gun to drop her knee into his back. She felt his ribs snap under her full weight. Broken teeth spewed from his mouth like chunks of wet sand.\n\nLena raised the hammer above her head. It came down on the man's spine with a splintering crack. He screamed, his arms shooting out, his body bucking underneath her. Lena held on, her mind focused, her body rigid with rage. She raised the hammer high above her head and aimed for the back of his skull, but then\u2014suddenly\u2014everything stopped.\n\nThe hammer wouldn't move. It was stuck in the air.\n\nLena looked behind her. There was a third man. He was tall, with a lanky build and strong hands that kept Lena from delivering the deathblow.\n\nShe was too shocked to respond. She knew this man. Knew exactly who he was.\n\nHe was dressed like a biker\u2014bandanna around his head, chain hanging from his leather belt. He put a finger to his lips, the same as she had done to Jared moments before. There was a warning in his eyes, and underneath the warning, she saw genuine fear.\n\nSlowly, Lena came back to herself. Her hearing first\u2014the raspy sound of her own labored breathing. Then she felt the shooting pain from her tensed muscles, the singed skin of her palms where she'd grabbed the shotgun. The acrid smell of death flooded into her nose. And just underneath that, she caught the tinge of the open road, the familiar odor of exhaust and oil and sweat that Jared brought home with him every night.\n\nJared.\n\nThe back of his shirt was drenched, glued to his skin. The yellow spots of dried paint had disappeared. They were black now, just like his hair\u2014darkened by blood.\n\nLena's body went limp. The fight had drained out of her. She lowered the hammer, let it fall to the floor.\n\nSirens pierced the air. Two, three, more than she could count.\n\nA hoarse voice called from somewhere outside. \"Dude, where you at?\"\n\nThe sirens got louder. Closer.\n\nWill Trent looked at Lena one last time, then left the room.\n\n# 2.\n\nTHURSDAY  \nATLANTA, GEORGIA\n\nHospital elevators were notoriously unreliable, but Dr. Sara Linton felt that the ones at Atlanta's Grady Memorial were particularly creaky. Still, like a gambling addict hitting a slot machine, she punched the button every time on the off chance that the doors would open.\n\n\"Come on,\" Sara mumbled, staring at the numbers above the doors, willing them to hit seven. She waited, hands tucked into the pockets of her white lab coat as the digital display showed ten, then nine, then stayed at a solid eight.\n\nSara tapped her foot. She looked at her watch. And then she felt her body fill with dread as she saw Oliver Gittings trotting toward her.\n\nAs a pediatric attending in Grady Hospital's emergency room, Sara was in charge of several students who\u2014despite some evidence to the contrary\u2014assumed that one day they would become doctors. Night shifts were particularly tedious. There was something about the moon that turned their little brains into mush. Sara often wondered how some of them managed to dress themselves, let alone get into medical school.\n\nOliver Gittings was one of the better examples. Or worse, as the case tended to be. In the last eight hours, he'd already spilled a urine sample on himself and accidentally sewn a sterile cloth onto the sleeve of his lab coat. At least she hoped it was accidental.\n\nHe called, \"Dr. Linton\u2014\"\n\n\"This way,\" Sara told him, giving up on the elevator and heading toward the stairs.\n\n\"I'm glad I found you.\" Oliver ran after her like an eager puppy. \"An interesting case came up.\"\n\nOliver thought all of his cases were interesting. She said, \"Give me the highlights.\"\n\n\"Six-year-old girl,\" he began, pulling on the exit door twice before realizing that it opened outward. \"Mom says the girl woke her up in the middle of the night for some water. They're going down the stairs. The girl starts to fall. Mom grabs her arm. Something pops. The girl starts screaming. Mom rushes her here.\"\n\nSara took the lead down the stairs. She guessed, \"X-ray showed a spiral fracture?\"\n\n\"Yes. The girl had a bruise on her arm here\u2014\"\n\nSara glanced back to see where he indicated. \"So, you suspect abuse. Did you order a skeletal survey?\"\n\n\"Yes, but radiology is backed up. My shift is almost over. I thought I'd go ahead and call D-FACS to get things moving.\"\n\nSara abruptly stopped her descent. The Division of Family and Children's Services. She asked, \"You want to go ahead and put the kid in the system?\"\n\nOliver shrugged, as if this was nothing. \"The girl's too quiet. Mom's antsy, irritated. All she wants to know is when they can leave.\"\n\n\"How long have they been here?\"\n\n\"I dunno. I think she was triaged around one.\"\n\nSara looked at her watch. \"It's 5:58 in the morning. They've been here all night. I'd want to leave, too. What else?\"\n\nFor the first time, Oliver seemed to doubt himself. \"Well, the fracture\u2014\"\n\nSara continued down the stairs. \"No specific fracture is pathognomonic to child abuse. You call D-FACS and it's a legal matter. If this mother is an abuser, you want to make sure she doesn't get away with it. You need corroborating evidence. Does the girl seem scared of her mother? Does she look you in the eye and answer questions? Are there other bruises? Developmental delays? Continence issues? Is there a history of ER visits? How did she present otherwise?\" Oliver didn't immediately answer. Sara prompted, \"Is she healthy? Well nourished?\"\n\n\"Yes, but\u2014\"\n\n\"Stop.\" Sara wasn't looking for a discussion. She checked her watch again. \"Dr. Connor is taking over for me, but you've got all of my numbers. Order the skeletal survey to see if there are any past breaks or fractures. Notify security to keep an eye on the mom. Call the other ERs to see if the girl's ever been admitted.\" Sara moderated her tone, trying to make it clear she was teaching him something, not punishing him. \"Oliver, sixty-five percent of child abuse cases are flagged in emergency rooms. If you stay in pediatrics, this is the sort of thing you're going to be dealing with on a weekly basis. I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm just saying you need to know all the facts before you turn this girl's life upside down. And her mother's.\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\" He headed down the stairs, hands tucked deep into his coat pockets.\n\nSara didn't immediately follow, cognizant that Oliver's ego was fragile enough without her snapping at his heels. Instead, she sat on the bottom stair and checked her hospital BlackBerry. Sara's eyes threatened to roll back in her head as she scrolled through the administrative detritus littering her mailbox. Meetings, conferences, denied requisitions, and new procedures for requisitioning, attending conferences, and scheduling meetings.\n\nShe felt around in her other pocket and traded the BlackBerry for her personal phone. This was much better. Her father had emailed a silly joke about snails that he'd heard at the Waffle House. Her mother had forwarded a recipe that was never going to happen. There was a long email from her sister with a picture of Sara's niece attached. She marked this unread and saved it for later. The next message was a text from Sara's boyfriend. An hour ago, he'd sent her a photo of his breakfast: six mini chocolate doughnuts, an egg and cheese biscuit, and a large Coke.\n\nSara didn't know which one of them was going to have a heart attack first.\n\nThe door popped open. Dr. Felix Connor stuck his head into the stairwell. He eyed Sara suspiciously. \"Why do you look so happy?\"\n\n\"Because I can go home now that you're finally here?\"\n\n\"Gimme a minute to hit the can.\"\n\nSara dropped the phone back into her pocket as she stood. Oliver wasn't the only one who wanted to get out of here. Sara had pulled several night shifts in a row courtesy of a stomach flu that was running rampant through the hospital. She was beginning to feel punished for her own good health.\n\nHome. Sleep. Silence. She was already making plans as she walked through the ER. Thanks to her crazy work schedule, Sara had four full days of freedom ahead of her. She could read a book. Take a run with her dogs. Remind her boyfriend why they were together.\n\nThis last bit widened her smile considerably. She got some curious looks in return. Not many people were happy to find themselves at Grady, which was the only publicly funded hospital left in Atlanta. The staff tended to take on the hardened demeanor of combat veterans. If practicing medicine was an uphill battle, working at Grady was on par with Guadalcanal. Stabbings, beatings, poisonings, rapes, shootings, murders, drug overdoses.\n\nAnd that was just pediatrics.\n\nSara stopped at the computer by the nurses' station. She pulled up Oliver's patient on the monitor. The X-ray clearly showed where the child's right humerus had been twisted. Either the mom was being truthful about what had happened on the stairs or she was savvy enough to fabricate a believable lie.\n\nSara looked up, scanning the open-curtain area, which was predictably filled with repeat customers. Several drunks were sleeping off benders. There was a junkie who threatened to kill himself every time he got arrested and an older homeless woman who belonged in a mental hospital but knew how to game the system so she could stay on the streets. Oliver's little girl was curled up asleep on the last gurney. Her mother was in a chair beside her. She was sleeping, too, but her hand was laced through her daughter's. She hadn't yet noticed the security guard standing a few feet away.\n\nNot for the first time, Sara wished that nature had devised a system to alert the rest of the world to people who were abusing children. A scarlet letter. A mark of the beast. Some sign that let decent people know these monsters couldn't be trusted.\n\nUp until a few years ago, Sara had lived in a small town four hours south of Atlanta. She'd done double duty as the county's pediatrician and medical examiner. Her father liked to joke that between Sara's two jobs, she got them coming and going. While this was certainly true, too many times, Sara had been put in the position of witnessing firsthand the awful things people could do to children. The X-rays that showed repeatedly broken bones. The dental records revealing teeth that had rotted from neglect. The skin that was forever marked from burns and beatings.\n\nNow that she was living in Atlanta, Sara had the additional knowledge that came from dating a man who'd grown up in state care. Sara's boyfriend didn't like to talk about his childhood. When she touched her fingers to the healed cigarette burns on his chest, or kissed the jagged scar on his upper lip where the skin had been punched in two, she could only imagine the hell he'd survived.\n\nStill, there were far worse things that could happen to a child. The system was flawed in many ways, but it was also there for a reason.\n\n\"I wish you'd stop smiling.\" Felix Connor dried his hands with a paper towel as he walked toward Sara. \"I gotta say, I'm still having a hard time shaking this flu.\"\n\nSara made her voice chipper. \"Better sick at work than sick at home.\"\n\n\"Is that what you tell your patients?\"\n\n\"Just the babies.\" Before Felix could come up with an excuse to leave, Sara started running down her cases. She was wrapping up the details on Oliver's patient when she felt a rush of heat come to the back of her neck. Sara glanced over her shoulder, feeling like she was being watched. She did a double take when she saw her boyfriend.\n\nWill Trent was leaning against the wall. He was dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit that was nicely tailored to his lean body. His hands were in his pockets. His sandy-blond hair was damp, curving against the nape of his neck and stopping just shy of his collar.\n\nHe smiled at her.\n\nSara smiled back, feeling a familiar tingling in her chest. She had known Will for almost two years\u2014met him in this very hospital\u2014but lately their relationship had turned into something more. The depth of her feeling was an unexpected treasure. Sara had lost her husband five years ago. She had assumed she would spend the rest of her life alone.\n\nAnd then she'd met Will.\n\nSara said, \"Felix, I\u2014\" She glanced around, but he was gone.\n\nWill pushed away from the wall and walked toward her. \"You look nice.\"\n\nSara laughed at the blatant lie. \"What are you doing here? I thought you were working.\"\n\n\"My briefing's not for another hour.\"\n\n\"Do you have time for second breakfast?\"\n\nWill slowly shook his head.\n\n\"Oh.\" Sara realized he hadn't just dropped by. She asked, \"What's wrong?\"\n\n\"Maybe we could go somewhere?\"\n\nShe led him toward the doctors' lounge. The door was about thirty feet away, giving Sara just enough time to work up a full-on worry.\n\nWill was a special agent with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. He'd been working undercover for the last ten days. He couldn't\u2014or wouldn't\u2014tell Sara the details of his assignment, but he kept calling from strange numbers and showing up at odd hours. She had no idea where he came from or where he was going, and anytime she asked, he either changed the subject or found a reason to leave. When Sara wasn't busy feeling mildly annoyed by all this, she was consumed with fear that something bad was going to happen. Or had already happened. Sara's late husband had been a cop. He was murdered in the line of duty, and losing him had almost killed her. The thought of the same thing happening to Will was too much to bear.\n\n\"Let me get that.\" Will reached in front of Sara to open the door. Fortunately, the lounge was empty. He waited for her to sit down at the table before taking the chair across from her.\n\nShe repeated, \"What's wrong?\"\n\nSilently, he took her hand. Sara watched as Will ran his fingers along her palm, traced the inside of her wrist. Will watched, too, his deep blue eyes tracking the movement of his fingers. There was something about the way he watched himself touching her that made Sara's skin start to tingle.\n\nShe stilled his hand. All she needed was for one of her students to walk in and find her purring like a cat. Besides, she recognized Will's stalling tactics by now.\n\nShe leaned forward. \"What is it?\"\n\nHe gave a half-smile. \"Diversion not working?\"\n\n\"Almost,\" she admitted.\n\nWill took a deep breath and said, \"My assignment got a little more complicated.\"\n\nSara had been expecting as much, but she still needed a moment to absorb the information.\n\nHe said, \"I can't tell you why, but I'm going to be working longer hours. I won't be able to make it back to Atlanta as much. See you as much.\"\n\nShe wasn't so sure Will couldn't tell her about his job, but Sara didn't want to spend what little time they had together rehashing what had proven to be a fruitless discussion.\n\nShe said, \"Okay.\"\n\n\"Good.\" He looked down at their hands again. Sara followed his gaze. His wrists were tan, but only to the cuffs of his shirt. His hair was streaked with blond highlights. Whatever Will was doing, it required him to spend time in the sun.\n\n\"What I wanted to say,\" he continued, \"was that I didn't want you to think I was disappearing on you. Or that I...\" His voice trailed off. \"I mean, what we're doing.\" Will stopped. \"What we've been doing...\"\n\nSara waited.\n\n\"I didn't want you to take my not being here for\u2014\" He seemed to be looking for the right words. \"Lack of interest?\" He kept staring down at their hands. \"Because I am. Interested, I mean.\"\n\nSara studied the top of his head, the way his hair grew in a spiral from the crown. There was going to come a point in the near future when she would no longer be able to accept his evasions. He would either have to open up to her or she would have to consider her options. The more Sara thought about it, the closer she felt to the looming crossroads.\n\nShe stopped thinking about it.\n\nInstead, she said, \"Just promise me that whatever you're doing, you're being careful.\"\n\nHe nodded, but she would've felt better if he'd actually said the words. Will wasn't the only detective in the relationship. The GBI was to the state of Georgia what the FBI was to the United States. Except in cases of drug trafficking or child abduction, the agency had to be specifically asked to work a case, and the local police departments didn't tend to ask unless they were desperate.\n\nAny way Sara looked at it, whatever crime had caused Will to go undercover was too dicey for the locals to handle. Worse, being undercover meant that Will's partner wasn't there to back him up. He was completely alone, probably surrounded by men with violent histories and addictions.\n\nWill asked, \"So, we're all right?\"\n\nSara pressed her lips together, forcing back the words she really wanted to say. \"Of course we're all right.\"\n\n\"Good.\" Will slumped back in his chair, his relief almost palpable. Not for the first time, Sara wondered how a man who'd spent his entire adult life solving puzzles could be so willfully obtuse in his private life.\n\nShe asked, \"How long will this take?\"\n\n\"Two, maybe three weeks.\"\n\nShe waited for more, but in the end, Will simply looked away. The gesture was artlessly executed, as if he was going through a checklist of casual movements. Blink. Scratch jaw. Feign interest in the notices on the wall.\n\nSara turned to look at the posters that suddenly held his rapt attention. They were typical to a hospital: warnings about HIV and hepatitis C alongside a rudely defaced hygiene series featuring SpongeBob SquarePants.\n\nSara turned back around. She'd never been good at passive-aggressive game play. \"Can we at least acknowledge that there's something else going on? Because I can feel it, Will. There's something else to this and I think you're keeping it from me because you don't want me to worry.\"\n\nTo his credit, he didn't offer false protests. \"Would it make you feel better?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"All right.\"\n\nSara chewed her bottom lip. She waited for more, then remembered she wanted to leave the hospital before she was old enough to retire. \"That's it?\"\n\nHe shrugged.\n\nShe was too tired to keep pushing the boulder up the hill. \"You are driving me absolutely crazy.\"\n\n\"In a good way?\"\n\nShe squeezed his hand. \"Not exactly.\"\n\nHe laughed, though they both knew she wasn't kidding. He asked, \"Did you hear Homeland Security arrested SpongeBob at the airport?\"\n\n\"Will.\"\n\n\"I'm serious. They showed it on the news this morning.\"\n\nSara groaned. \"Public indecency?\"\n\n\"That goes without saying, but the big charge was they caught him trying to take too many fluids onto the plane.\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"That's awful.\"\n\n\"He said he was framed.\" Will paused for effect. \"But it's obvious nobody hung him out to dry.\"\n\nSara kept shaking her head. \"How long did it take for you to come up with that?\"\n\nWill leaned forward and kissed her\u2014not an apologetic brush across the lips or a quick goodbye, but something longer, more meaningful.\n\nBriefly, Sara considered the fact that the entire emergency room was on the other side of the door, that anyone could walk in on them, but then Will deepened the kiss and none of that mattered. He was out of his chair, on his knees in front of her. He pressed closer, pushing her back against the chair. Sara started to feel lightheaded.\n\n\"Jell-O cup!\" a man screamed from the ER.\n\nSara jumped. Will sat back on his heels. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.\n\n\"Sorry,\" she apologized, as if she could control the patients. Sara straightened Will's collar, smoothed down his tie. She could feel his pulse pounding in the side of his neck. It matched her own beating heart. \"The drunks are waking up.\"\n\n\"I like Jell-O, too.\"\n\n\"Will\u2014\"\n\n\"I should probably get to work.\" He stood up and brushed the grime off his pants. \"Remember what I said, okay? I'm not going anywhere.\" He grinned. \"I mean, I'm leaving now, but I'm coming back. As soon as I can. Okay?\"\n\nHer mind filled with things to tell him\u2014that she wanted him to promise that he would stay out of harm's way, that she needed him to assure her that everything was going to be all right. Sara knew these promises would be meaningless at best and a burden at most. The last thing a cop needed to think about when he was in the line of fire was whether or not his girlfriend would approve.\n\nIn the end, she told him, \"Okay.\"\n\nHe smiled at her, but again, Sara could tell that something was off. She could see it in his eyes\u2014a hesitation, a concern. As usual, Will didn't give her time to question him.\n\nShe caught a glimpse of the crowded hallway as he opened the door and left. The morning rush had arrived. The cacophony of beeping monitors and machinery had started to rev. Patients were already parked on gurneys in the hallway. The drunk screamed for Jell-O again, then another screamed for the first one to shut up and also that he wanted some Jell-O.\n\nSara clasped her hands together in her lap, silently reviewing her conversation with Will. What was he really trying to tell her? Why had he come to the hospital when everything he'd said could've been relayed over the phone? At least he'd admitted something else was going on. He could be so damn inscrutable, and Sara was not too proud to admit that she often found herself outmaneuvered.\n\nShe touched her fingers to her lips, felt where Will's mouth had been. Was that the point of his visit? Was kissing her Will's way of making sure she didn't forget him while he was gone? Or was he marking his territory before he left town?\n\nOnly one of those options was flattering.\n\nSara's phone rang. She dug around in her pocket, feeling for the telltale vibration. She expected\u2014hoped\u2014that it was Will, but the caller ID read TALLADEGA CO, AL. Over the last week, he'd called from a lot of strange places, but never from Alabama.\n\nSara answered, \"Hello?\"\n\nThere was no response, just a low humming sound.\n\nSara tried again. \"Hello?\" There was still no response, but the humming got louder, more animal than electronic.\n\n\"Hello?\" Sara was about to end the call, but, unreasonably, her mind flashed up the image of Will lying on the pavement, his body rent in two. She stood from the chair. \"Will?\"\n\nThere was a huff of air down the line.\n\n\"Hello?\" Sara pulled open the door. She ran into the hall, nearly colliding with a patient. This was ridiculous. Will was fine. He'd just left less than two minutes ago. She could still feel his mouth on hers.\n\n\"Hello?\" Sara pressed the phone to her ear. \"Who is this?\"\n\n\"S-s-s-ara?\" The woman on the other end could barely speak.\n\nSara put her hand to her eyes, relief washing over her body. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"It's... it's... I'm sorry, I...\"\n\n\"Nell?\" Sara quickly put together the pieces, recognizing the voice of her husband's high school sweetheart. He'd had a child with Darnell Long, but not much else.\n\n\"Nell?\" Sara repeated. \"Are you okay?\"\n\n\"It's Jared!\" the woman wailed. \"Oh, God!\"\n\nSara leaned back against the wall. Jared, her stepson. Sara had only met him a few times. He was a police officer, just as his father had been.\n\n\"I didn't\u2014\" Nell's voice caught. \"I should've\u2014\"\n\n\"Nell, please. Tell me what\u2014\"\n\n\"I should've listened to you!\" she cried. \"She's got him... oh, God...\"\n\n\"Listened about\u2014\" Sara stopped. She knew exactly who Nell was talking about.\n\nLena Adams.\n\nSara's husband had trained Lena fresh out of the academy, had taken her under his wing and promoted her to detective.\n\nAnd in return for Jeffrey Tolliver's trust, Lena Adams had gotten him killed.\n\nNell sobbed, \"Oh, God, Sara! Please!\"\n\n\"Nell,\" Sara managed, her breath catching around the word. \"Tell me. Tell me what happened.\"\n\nThe woman was too hysterical to comply. \"Why didn't I listen to you? Why didn't I forbid it? Why didn't I...\" Her words dissolved into a heart-wrenching moan.\n\nSara forced air into her lungs. She could feel her chest shaking, her hands shaking. Her whole body vibrated with dread. \"Nell, please. Just tell me what happened.\"\n\n# 3.\n\nWill Trent stood in his boss's office on the top floor of City Hall East, looking out at the city. Atlanta was just waking up, the sun sparkling between the skyscrapers, commuters in BMWs and Audis honking their horns. Across the street, dozens of men were lined up outside the Home Depot shopping center. Will watched as, one after another, trucks pulled up and taillights glowed red. Hands shot out, fingers pointed, and two, three, sometimes four men at a time would jump into the back of the truck to begin the day's work.\n\nWill could've had that life. There hadn't been much career advice at the Atlanta Children's Home. When Will turned eighteen, they'd given him a hundred dollars and a map to the homeless shelter. He'd spent the next several months jumping in and out of trucks, working construction or whatever jobs he could find. Will had been very lucky that the right kind of people had intervened. Otherwise, he never would've become an agent with the GBI. He wouldn't have his house or his car or his life.\n\nHe wouldn't have Sara.\n\nWill turned away from the windows. He took in Amanda Wagner's office, which hadn't been altered much in the almost fifteen years that he'd worked for her. The location had moved a few times and the electronics had gotten sleeker as she worked her way up to deputy director of the GBI, but Amanda always decorated the same. Same photos on the wall. Same Oriental rug under her behemoth desk. Even her chair was the same squeaky old wood and leather contraption that looked like it belonged to George Bailey's nemesis in _It's a Wonderful Life_.\n\nThe flat-panel TV was one of her few concessions to modernity. Will found the remote and checked all the Atlanta news channels to see if they had picked up on what had happened in Macon last night. Less than a two-hour drive from the state capital, Macon was a fairly significant city, with more than 150,000 residents and a thriving university system. Because it was geographically at the heart of the state, the city served as a compromise for people who found Atlanta too busy and smaller towns too slow. In many ways, Macon was a better representation of Georgia than Atlanta. Art museums sat alongside junk stores. A handful of respected tech colleges were blocks away from expensive private schools that taught creationism. The visitors' bureau touted both the Tubman African American Museum as well as Hay House, an eighteen-thousand-square-foot antebellum home built by the keeper of the Confederate treasury.\n\nApparently, the Atlanta news stations didn't find Macon as interesting. Will turned off the television and put the remote back on Amanda's desk. He should be careful what he wished for. It was probably just a matter of time before all the channels were filled with the gory details about the attack on Jared Long. The Atlanta news producers probably hadn't yet gotten wind of the story. Sometimes it took a painfully long time for phone calls to be made, people to be told that their lives had been irrevocably changed.\n\nWill had been sitting in his car outside of Grady Hospital when Sara's call came through. He'd never been anyone's first phone call before, but when something bad happened, Sara evidently thought of him. She was crying. She had to stop a few times before she could tell him the story, though she had no way of knowing that Will already knew. Could fill her in on some of the missing details.\n\nJared had been shot.\n\nHis life was hanging by a thread.\n\nLena was somehow involved.\n\nWill had stared blankly out the windshield as he listened to Sara try to get the words out. His mind conjured up the image of Lena in that tiny bedroom. Half-naked. Covered in blood. Will had been panicked as he rushed down the hallway, careening off the walls. He felt as if he was watching a video moving in slow motion. Lena jammed her knee into the guy's back, arced the hammer high above her head. The slow motion got even slower as the hammer dropped down the first time. The hallway got longer. Will could've been running up a mountain of sand. He was moving closer, yet somehow every step seemed to take him farther away.\n\nBut Sara didn't know any of that. She just knew that Jared had been shot. That yet again, Lena Adams had been standing by while another good man had been targeted. It had happened to Sara's husband five years ago and now it had happened to her husband's son.\n\nIt wasn't a stretch for Sara to think it might happen to Will, too.\n\nThe frustrating part was that Will had specifically gone to the hospital this morning to come clean. He was going to tell Sara that he'd lied to her about his undercover assignment because he didn't want to worry her, and then he'd had to lie about where he was working so she wouldn't figure it out, and then he'd had to lie again and again until he'd realized that it would've been easier just to tell her the truth in the first place.\n\nBut then Will had seen her standing at the nurses' station and lost his nerve. Actually, he'd lost his breath. This was nothing new. Lately, every time he saw Sara Linton, Will literally felt like she had taken his breath away. That couldn't be good for his brain. He'd been oxygen-deprived. Obviously, that was why instead of confessing, he'd ended up on his knees kissing her like they were never going to see each other again.\n\nWhich might end up being the case. Will was painfully aware of the tenuous hold he had on the situation.\n\nOn Sara.\n\n\"You're late,\" Amanda Wagner said, scrolling through her BlackBerry as she entered her office.\n\nWill didn't address the comment, which was automatic, something she generally said in lieu of hello. He told her, \"I sent my report an hour ago.\"\n\n\"I've read it.\" Amanda's thumbs started working as she stood in the middle of the room responding to an email. She was dressed in a red suit, the skirt hitting just below her knee, white blouse neatly tucked into the waist. Her salt-and-pepper hair was in its usual helmet. Her nails were trimmed, the clear polish gleaming.\n\nShe looked well rested, though Will knew Amanda hadn't gotten much sleep last night. The Macon chief of police. The director of the GBI. The GBI crime scene unit. The GBI medical examiner. The GBI crime lab. They each had to be read in or sent out or relayed orders. And yet Amanda had managed to call Will back three more times before the sun came up. He could tell she was worried by the calmness of her tone, the way she spoke to him as if he'd gotten a flat tire on the side of the highway instead of walked into a bloodbath. Usually, Amanda took a certain joy in making Will miserable, but last night was different.\n\nIt was also fleeting.\n\n\"So.\" She finished the email and moved on to another. \"Quite a mess you've gotten yourself into, Wilbur.\"\n\nHe wasn't sure which mess she was talking about.\n\n\"I don't have to tell you that we're not out on the limb anymore; we're on the thin part of the branch. The twig.\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Whoever these men are, they don't mind going after cops.\" Amanda glanced up at him. \"Try not to get yourself killed, won't you? I don't have the patience to break in someone new.\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\"\n\nShe turned her attention back to her email. \"Where's Faith?\"\n\nFaith Mitchell, Will's partner. \"You said meet at seven-thirty.\" He checked his watch. \"She's got six minutes.\"\n\n\"How wonderful. You've learned to tell time.\" Amanda continued reading as she went to her desk, sat in her chair. The old cushion made a sound like a pig snort. \"I looped the director in on your midnight escapades. He's keeping a close eye on this.\"\n\nWill didn't know how he was expected to respond to this information, so he took his seat, waiting for the next shoe to drop. Just recently, Will had come to accept that Amanda Wagner was the closest thing he would ever have to a mother\u2014that is, if your mother was the type to lock you in a refrigerator or strap you into the back seat of her car and roll you into a lake.\n\nShe put down her BlackBerry and took off her reading glasses. \"Anything you need to tell me?\"\n\n\"No, ma'am.\"\n\nUncharacteristically, Amanda didn't press. She turned on her computer, waited for it to boot. Will guessed Amanda was in her mid to late sixties, but there really was no way of knowing her exact age. She was still in good shape, still capable of running circles around men half her age\u2014or Will's age, to be exact. And yet watching her try to work a computer mouse was like watching a cat try to pick up a pebble.\n\nShe slapped the mouse against the desk, mumbling, \"What is wrong with this thing?\"\n\nWill knew better than to offer his help. He brushed a speck of dirt off the knee of his trousers. It made him think about Sara. She was probably in her car by now, heading down to Macon. The drive was about an hour and a half. Will should've offered to take her. He could've confessed the whole sordid truth along the way.\n\nAnd then Sara would've given him a choice: walk back to Atlanta or walk the rest of the way to Macon.\n\nAmanda said, \"You're brooding.\"\n\nWill considered the description. \"Don't you need the moors for that?\"\n\n\"Clever.\" Amanda sat back in her chair, giving Will her full attention. \"You investigated Lena Adams last year?\"\n\n\"A year and a half ago,\" Will corrected. \"Faith helped me. Lena's partner was stabbed. He practically bled out in the street. And then she arrested the suspect and he died in her custody.\"\n\n\"Reckless endangerment, negligence?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Will answered. \"She was formally reprimanded, but she left Grant County a week later and joined the Macon force. They didn't seem to mind the taint.\"\n\nAmanda picked at the stem of her glasses. Her voice got softer. \"She was Jeffrey Tolliver's partner when he was murdered\u2014what?\u2014five, six years ago?\"\n\nWill stared out the window. He could feel her eyes lasering the side of his face.\n\nShe said, \"There's an Eric Clapton song about telling the truth. Something about how the whole show is passing you by. Look into your heart. Et cetera.\"\n\nWill cleared his throat. \"It makes me very uncomfortable to think about you listening to Eric Clapton.\"\n\nAmanda's sigh held a tinge of sadness that he didn't want to dwell on. \"How exactly do you think this is going to end?\"\n\nHe indicated the gray clouds that were suddenly crowding the sun. \"I think it's going to rain.\"\n\n\"There's definitely a storm coming.\" Her tone quickly changed. \"Ah, Major Branson. Thank you for making the drive.\"\n\nWill stood as a woman wearing a dark blue police uniform came into the office. Ribbons and commendations filled her chest. A heavy-looking leather briefcase was in her hand. She was short and stocky, with her curly black hair shaved close to her head. She seemed about as happy to be here as Will.\n\nAmanda made the introductions. \"Special Agent Trent, this is Major Branson with the Macon Police Department. Denise is our liaison on the Jared Long shooting.\"\n\nWill felt his bowels loosen. \"I'm doing the investigation?\"\n\nA smile teased at Amanda's lips before she said, \"No, Faith will take the lead.\"\n\n\"Already got it figured out?\" Branson's temper sounded poised to uncoil. \"I'm gonna be honest with you, Deputy Director. I'm not real happy with the idea of your people stomping around my patch like you own the place.\"\n\nAmanda's tone stayed light. \"Yet your chief sent you two hours north expressly to turn over all of your files.\"\n\n\"An hour and a half,\" Branson corrected. \"And I may work for the man, but I don't always agree with him.\"\n\n\"Fair enough.\" Amanda indicated the chair in front of her desk. \"Why don't we get our little pissing contest out of the way while Agent Trent fetches us some coffee?\"\n\nBranson sat, her briefcase clutched in her lap. Without looking at Will, she said, \"Black, two sugars.\"\n\nAmanda smiled her cat's smile. \"Just black for me.\"\n\nWill wasn't happy to be the designated fetcher, but he knew better than to linger. Outside the office, Caroline, Amanda's secretary, was sitting at her desk. She smiled at Will. \"Cream. Two Sweet'N Lows.\"\n\nWill saluted at her request as he walked into the hallway. His shoes sank into the padded carpet on the floor. He felt the chill of air-conditioning. City Hall East was housed in an old Sears building that had been built in the 1920s. When the city took over back in the nineties, only the important parts had been renovated, namely the executive suites. Three stories down in Will's shoebox of an office, the air was stale and likely toxic. The windows were rusted closed. The cracked asbestos tiles on the floor were scuffed red from the Georgia clay that had traveled in on nearly a hundred years of wingtips.\n\nIt wasn't just the air that was better on the top floor. The kitchen was a showplace, with dark cherry cabinets and stainless steel appliances. The coffeemaker looked like something a Transformer would shake off its leg. Will guessed the machine was the fancy kind that required pods. He checked the cabinets and found two boxes. He assumed Amanda drank the pink and orange Dunkin' Donuts high-test. The other box contained purple and yellow pods with flowers and vanilla beans emblazoned on the foil. Will took out three hazelnuts and shut the cabinet door.\n\nAfter a few false starts, he figured out how to load a pod. Another minute passed before he managed to pry open the lid of the water tank and fill it to the line. He took three mugs off the hooks and waited for the water to boil.\n\nOut of habit, Will opened the refrigerator door. There were a couple of paper bags in the fridge, but no old takeout containers or rotting food that smelled like it belonged in the morgue. Before Will started dating Sara, everything he ate was an on-the-go type of meal, whether it was a bowl of cereal he downed while standing over the sink or the hot dogs he bought at the gas station on his way home.\n\nNow when Will went home, that usually meant Sara's apartment and something for dinner that didn't roll under a heat lamp all day.\n\nOr it meant that for the time being.\n\nFinally, the red light flashed on the coffee machine. Will pressed down the handle on the pod and watched the hot liquid squirt out. The smell reminded him of the cloying perfume some women wear in an attempt to hide the odor of cigarettes.\n\nHe refilled the water tank for another round. The hazelnut scent wafted into his nostrils as he stirred powdered creamer into the first mug. Will had never liked the taste of coffee, but he made Sara's for her every morning. She liked it strong with no fancy flavoring. He'd started to associate the smell with her.\n\nWill put down the spoon and stared at the machine.\n\nThere was no use fighting it anymore. He gave in completely to thinking about Sara, letting his mind consider all the things he was going to lose. Feeling her long auburn hair tickle his face. Tracing his lips along the freckles at the small of her back. Watching her chest blush bright red when he touched her. Then there was the way she would sometimes kiss him, showing him with her mouth what she wanted him to do.\n\n\"Will?\"\n\nHe looked up, surprised to find Faith Mitchell standing in the doorway.\n\nShe asked, \"What's wrong? You look sick.\"\n\nThe red light was flashing. Will loaded another pod. \"You want one?\"\n\n\"If I have any more caffeine today, my head will explode.\"\n\n\"Emma keep you up?\"\n\nEmma was Faith's ten-month-old daughter. Will knew the baby was with her father this week, but he listened to Faith like it was the first time he was hearing the news.\n\n\"Anyway.\" Faith rounded out the litany of complaints about her baby's daddy by asking, \"What do you think about coincidences?\"\n\nWill recognized a trick question when he heard one.\n\nShe said, \"Like, you're working an undercover case one minute and the next minute you're sucked into another Lena Adams shit-storm.\" She held out her hands in an open shrug. \"Coincidence?\"\n\n\"We always knew it was possible I'd run into her.\"\n\n\"We _did_?\" She raised her voice high on the last word, like she was questioning a toddler.\n\nWill turned his attention back to the coffee machine. He slowed down his movements, feigning uncertainty so that Faith would take over.\n\nInstead of taking the bait, she told him, \"Sara called me about fifteen minutes ago.\"\n\nWill concentrated on filling the water tank precisely to the mark.\n\n\"She knows the state investigates officer-involved fatalities.\"\n\nHe loaded up the next pod.\n\n\"She wanted to know what was going on with Jared.\" Faith paused a moment, then added, \"She didn't want to bother you with it, but we both know she's terrified of you getting mixed up with Lena, so...\" Faith shrugged. \"I told her I'd look into it.\"\n\nWill cleared his throat. \"That should be easy. Amanda's putting you in charge of the investigation.\"\n\n\"Well, great, but I didn't know that when I told Sara. I was lying to her. Just like I was lying when I agreed that it's a good thing you're working undercover God-knows-where and you're not going to get sucked into this, because I'm not sure if you know this, but Sara is terrified of you being around Lena.\"\n\nWill checked the kitchen drawers for sweeteners. He found two pink packets and tore off the tops.\n\nFaith said, \"You know Sara thinks Lena's responsible for her husband's murder. I pretty much agree with her, by the way.\"\n\nWill tapped the sweetener into the mug.\n\n\"She's also going to think it's Lena's fault that Jared was shot, which, considering her history, is a real possibility.\" Faith paused again. \"Actually, it's a pattern now. I saw it back when you were investigating Lena Adams a year and a half ago. People who get close to her end up dead. Sara's right to be scared. Jared's just the latest casualty.\"\n\nWill tossed the trash into the garbage can. Stainless steel, just like the appliances. He wondered if Amanda had used her own money.\n\nFaith needled, \"Jared, Sara's stepson by her dead husband who she thinks Lena got murdered.\"\n\nThe red light started flashing on the coffee machine. Will pressed down the handle on the pod. He tried the weather thing. \"I think it's going to rain today.\"\n\nFaith groaned. \"You're a dumbass, you know that?\"\n\nHe grimaced, mostly because he couldn't contradict her.\n\n\"It's not the case that's going to piss Sara off, it's the cover-up.\" Faith paused, but only for breath. \"Actually, it won't piss her off. It'll hurt her. Devastate her. Which is a hell of a lot worse than her being mad. People get over being mad.\"\n\nWill scooped up the three mugs in his hands. \"Amanda's waiting.\"\n\nFaith trailed him out of the kitchen. Will hunched his shoulders against the disappointment radiating off her, but she was blissfully silent as she followed him to Amanda's office. He knew better than to think this was over. Faith was probably itemizing in her head all the different ways she was right about this.\n\nSadly, there was nothing Will could say, because Faith _was_ right. Sara wouldn't be angry. She would be hurt. She would be devastated. And then she would probably inventory the steaming load of crap Will had brought into her otherwise normal life and decide it wasn't worth it. His Dickensian childhood. What had happened to his family. His ardent desire not to discuss either topic no matter how gently Sara pressed. There just wasn't much to recommend him. Will had almost been kicked out of high school. He'd been homeless. He'd barely graduated from college. And this didn't even touch on Will's hateful wife, who had evaporated off the face of the earth the minute he'd filed divorce papers, yet still somehow managed to leave the occasional nasty message tucked under the windshield wiper of Sara's car.\n\nCaroline was still at her desk. She helped Will move the mugs around, taking the one with cream. He realized he'd screwed up the orders at the same moment he realized he didn't care.\n\nUnbelievably, the tension in Amanda's office was thicker than when Will had left. Amanda's jaw was set. Denise Branson's body was rigid, her hands clenched into fists. The pissing contest was far from over.\n\nAmanda's tone could've cut through steel. \"Major Branson, this is Special Agent Mitchell.\"\n\nOddly, Denise Branson smiled warmly at Faith. \"I worked with your mother when I was a rookie. I hope she's enjoying her retirement?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Faith shook the woman's hand. \"I'll tell Mama you asked after her.\"\n\nBranson continued, \"Evelyn was always the consummate professional.\" She still didn't look at Amanda, but they all took her meaning. \"I'm sorry I don't have time to look her up while I'm in town.\"\n\nFaith's perfunctory smile and lack of response made it clear she wasn't going to be so easily charmed away from Amanda's side.\n\nTo break the awkward moment, Will passed out the coffees. Amanda held the mug to her lips, then recoiled when the smell hit her. Branson noted the gesture and placed her mug on the desk.\n\nAmanda said, \"Let's try to keep this brief. We all have work to do.\"\n\nWill waited for the women to sit, then leaned against the windowsill, feeling\u2014literally\u2014like the odd man out. He was used to being surrounded by women, but there was something about this particular group that made him feel the need to cross his legs.\n\nAmanda began, \"All right, let's start with this officer-involved...\" She searched for the appropriate word. \"... hammering.\" She smiled on this last bit, though Will had seen firsthand why the observation wasn't funny. \"Denise, any leads on why Adams and Long were targeted?\"\n\n\"We have some theories.\"\n\nThey all waited, but Branson didn't share them.\n\n\"All right,\" Amanda said. \"We'll need to review all recent case files, talk to their partners and team members and see if they can come up with any\u2014\"\n\n\"We've already done that,\" Branson interrupted. \"No one stood out. They're police officers. They don't get thank-you notes for arresting people.\"\n\nAmanda did not demure. \"And yet they were targeted for a reason.\"\n\n\"We've reviewed all of Adams's cases going back twelve months. Same for Long. They've been doing mostly routine stuff. No dangerous work. Nothing that would draw this kind of attention.\"\n\nAmanda smirked. \"Fascinating you were able to reach that conclusion in less than six hours.\"\n\n\"We're a crack team down in Macon.\"\n\nAmanda analyzed the woman. So did Will. Branson obviously relished the game, but her lips quivered at the corner when she was hiding something. It was almost as if she was fighting a smile.\n\nAmanda asked, \"You've met Charlie Reed?\"\n\n\"That's your forensics guy?\" Branson shook her head. \"Didn't have a chance. Per your request to my chief, the house was sealed immediately after Jared Long was taken to the hospital. It didn't seem like a good use of my time to drive over there and wait for your boys to mosey on down.\"\n\n\"Thank you for your cooperation, Major. I'm sure it will help our investigation run more smoothly. Too many cooks and all that.\" Amanda stopped to offer a canned smile. \"The lab knows to rush any trace Charlie finds. He'll report directly to me, and I'll share anything relevant with your department. Faith is taking point on the investigation.\" She told Faith, \"Let's be sure to keep Macon in the loop.\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\" Faith took out her notebook and turned to a fresh page. \"Major, what can you tell me?\"\n\nBranson had obviously come prepared. She told Amanda, \"Go ahead and pull up those photos on the zip drive.\"\n\nAmanda raised an eyebrow at the order, but she still complied, moving the mouse around, looking at the TV set as if she expected something to happen. The screen stayed static. \"Why isn't this working?\"\n\nWill kept silent, but Faith asked, \"Is it on?\"\n\n\"Of course it's on.\" Amanda picked up the remote and pressed the red button. The screen flickered on, then a photograph came up. Will guessed he was looking at Jared Long's employment photo. He'd met the young man once before. Long was a handsome kid with the kind of charming self-confidence that made him a natural leader. From all reports, he was a lot like his father.\n\nBranson provided, \"Jared Long, Lena Adams's husband. He's a motorman, been on the Macon force seven years. Good at his job. Likes being on the bike. No red flags. Stellar officer.\"\n\nFaith mumbled, \"Unlike his wife.\"\n\nIf Branson heard the comment, she chose to ignore it. \"Long is out of surgery as of half an hour ago. It's touch-and-go, but that doesn't change anything on our end. An officer was shot. Another was almost murdered. Someone put the hit out. Next picture, please.\"\n\nAmanda clicked the mouse. She stared at the screen, waiting for the image to change. \"Oh, for the love of\u2014\"\n\nFaith said, \"Hit the space bar.\"\n\n\"That won't work.\" Amanda tapped the space bar. The picture changed. The new photo showed an older man with a pockmarked face and squinty eyes. He was dressed in an orange prison jumper. There was a placard under his chin with his name and inmate number.\n\nBranson supplied, \"Samuel Marcus Lawrence, the first assailant who entered the house, DOA shortly thereafter. He's our first shooter. Mid-level thug with a couple of assaults that put him inside for two and three years, respectively. Early parole for good behavior, times two. He told anyone who'd listen that he was an ex\u2013Hells Angel but there's no evidence he ever patched in.\"\n\nFaith kept writing in her notebook as she asked, \"Drugs?\"\n\n\"Meth. He had more sores on his face than a backseat whore.\"\n\nAmanda said, \"Either way, he's dead now.\" She tapped the space bar again. Another mugshot came on screen. The man was about the same age as the first, with gray hair and the faded tattoo of a cobra's head folding into the turkey gizzard of his neck.\n\n\"Fred Leroy Zachary,\" Branson provided. \"He did eight years for assault with a deadly, then pulled a full dime off a kidnap and rape. Known around town as a muscle for hire. He's alive, but just barely. His jaw was broken. Spine fractured. Ribs broken. Whole body's in a cast. Mouth's wired shut. He can't talk, and even if he could, his lawyer won't let him.\"\n\nAmanda said, \"Well, you can't accuse Adams of not being thorough. What did she have to say for herself?\"\n\nBranson turned cagey again. \"Not much. Doctors said she was in shock. They had to treat her at the scene. She sketched out the highlights\u2014one armed male breached the house. Long was shot in the back. Sawed-off shotgun, so the pellets spread. Adams took the hammer out of Long's tool belt and defended herself. A second armed male came at her. There was a struggle, but she managed to neutralize both intruders.\"\n\nBranson seemed to be finished. Amanda asked, \"That's it?\"\n\n\"Like I said, Adams was under medical care for severe shock. She saw her husband get shot. Fought for her life. His life, too, come to that. We'll go back at her later, but from where I'm sitting, she's earned some breathing room.\"\n\nAmanda silently steepled her fingers together underneath her chin. Faith kept writing in her notebook, but Will could practically see her ears perk up. There was a big piece missing from the end of the story. Either Lena had lied about Will being at the house or Branson was lying about what Lena had told her.\n\nAmanda said, \"Faith will go back at Adams. She's had enough breathing room, I think. We need to know exactly what happened last night. You may not like it, but it's our case and that's how it's going to be.\"\n\nBranson's jaw tightened, but she gave a single nod of agreement.\n\nFaith broke the tension this time. \"Major, maybe you can fill in some basic details for me?\" She turned to a fresh page in her notebook. \"We're talking a residential area?\" Branson nodded. \"A shotgun goes off in the middle of the night. Anybody see anything? Hear anything?\"\n\nBranson apparently shared Amanda's habit of answering questions she didn't like in her own sweet time. She paused a moment longer than necessary, then said, \"The neighbors weren't sure at first. It's a fairly rural area. Just past midnight, you hear a shot, maybe it's poachers, a car backfiring. The area's heavily wooded. Houses are on five-acre lots. We're not like y'all here in the city, stacked up on top of each other like rats.\"\n\nFaith nodded, ignoring the dig, or maybe agreeing with it. \"Who called the police?\"\n\n\"A neighbor who lives four doors down. You've got her name and statement on the zip drive if your boss can figure out how to open it.\" She glanced Amanda's way, then turned back to Faith. \"There's two other cops on that street. One's married to a paramedic, the other lives with a firefighter. That's the only reason Long didn't die at the scene. His heart had stopped by the time they got there. They took turns working on him until the ambulance arrived. Took almost twenty minutes.\"\n\nAmanda said, \"If Long comes around, Faith will interview him to see if his statement matches his wife's.\"\n\nBranson waited another long moment. The corner of her lips quivered, then curved into a smile. \"Aren't you curious how I know for a fact that your boy over there was in that house last night right when the murders went down?\"\n\nWill supposed he was the boy in question. He thought about the hammer, the way the blood was still warm when he grabbed the metal with his bare hand. The sworls of his fingerprints in the dried blood would've been like a neon light to a cop as seasoned as Denise Branson.\n\nAmanda breathed out a heavy sigh. \"I think we can call Will a man, since he's the only thing that stopped your detective from hammering a suspect to death. A second suspect, that is.\"\n\nBranson snapped, \"You think so?\"\n\nAmanda made a calculated guess. \"I gather that despite my orders to keep your people out of my crime scene, you ran fingerprints?\"\n\nBranson straightened her shoulders, as if bracing herself for a fight. She'd probably sent a team to Lena's house the minute Amanda gave the order to lock it down. Will could only imagine the major's rage when his GBI file popped up on her computer. He couldn't blame the woman. Nobody liked realizing they'd been fooled.\n\n\"All right.\" Amanda turned to Will. \"Our turn to share. Run down your evening for the major, please.\"\n\nWill hadn't been expecting to contribute, but he said, \"Last night, I was approached by a contact I've been working as part of an undercover operation. He told me he needed a lookout on a house robbery. No violence involved, the occupants weren't home. Obviously a lie on both counts. It looked like a good way to get inside the group, so I said yes.\"\n\n\"You just happened to be in Macon?\" Branson smirked when no one answered. \"This contact got a name?\"\n\nAmanda supplied, \"Anthony Dell.\"\n\nBranson didn't acknowledge the answer. She prompted Will, \"So, Dell said he had a job. What next?\"\n\n\"We went to the job. Dell dropped me at the end of the street and told me to call on his cell if anyone approached. He drove down and parked in front of a house with a steep driveway. A light gray van was already parked on the street. Two males got out\u2014I assume Zachary and Lawrence. They entered the house. Dell stayed outside by the van. I didn't see that they were armed, but I was about fifty yards away.\"\n\n\"That's half a football field,\" Branson noted. \"Did you get the plates on the van?\"\n\n\"It was midnight.\"\n\n\"Full moon.\"\n\n\"No streetlights. All I could see from where I was standing were shadows.\"\n\nBranson kept studying him, like she was trying to suss out a lie. Finally, she said, \"The Kia that Dell was driving was still on scene when our units rolled up.\"\n\nWill felt his stomach drop. He had forgotten all about Tony's car.\n\nBranson continued, \"We woke Dell up at his house this morning. He seemed real shocked that his car was missing from his driveway. Wanted to file a stolen vehicle report ASAP. We checked him for gunshot residue, ran his sheet, which was packed with low-level bullshit\u2014but I'm sure you know that.\"\n\n\"You let him go?\" Amanda asked.\n\n\"What am I gonna hold him on? You gotta witness puts him at the scene?\"\n\nWill saw Amanda's nostrils flare.\n\nBranson continued, \"I noticed Dell's car's got a sticker on the windshield\u2014Macon General employee parking. Now, that rang a bell for me, because we did an investigation last month on some pills missing from the hospital pharmacy. Never did get any solid leads, but I know the GBI gets a copy of all reports pertaining to the theft of controlled substances. I made a trip to the hospital this morning to check out Dell's co-workers.\" She asked Will, \"How do you like your job at the hospital?\"\n\nAmanda managed to sound both irritated and bored. \"Yes, Major, excellent work. Bully for you. Where is Dell's Kia now?\"\n\n\"It's in our garage. You told us to seal the house, not the street.\" She seemed to take great pleasure in telling Amanda, \"I'll make certain to share any relevant information with your department.\"\n\n\"How kind. Thank you.\"\n\n\"You're welcome.\" Branson turned her attention back to Will. \"Two males went inside the house, you and Dell stayed in the street. What next?\"\n\nWill had to think a second before he could pick back up where he left off. \"I heard the shotgun go off. I ran toward the house.\"\n\n\"Half a football field away,\" she noted. \"And then?\"\n\n\"Dell tried to stop me from going in. We struggled for a while. I don't know how long, but he's stronger than he looks, and he was obviously freaked out. Several more shots went off while we were fighting.\"\n\nBranson gave him the once-over. \"You don't look like you've been in a fight.\"\n\n\"He was trying to stop me from going inside, not knock me out.\"\n\n\"Nice guy.\"\n\nWill shrugged, but in the criminal world, Dell had been doing him a solid. He'd been trying to get Will to leave instead of running into a firestorm.\n\nWill continued, \"By the time I made it into the house, both men were neutralized. Lena Adams recognized me, or at least it seemed like she did. I got her to drop the hammer, then I went back outside. Dell was gone. The police were close by. I could hear the sirens. I went behind the house, jumped the fence into the woods, and walked away.\"\n\nWill tucked his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the window. Technically, he hadn't walked, but they didn't need to know that Will had bolted through those woods like the hounds of hell were at his back.\n\nBranson asked, \"Have you had any contact with Lena Adams since you and your partner investigated her a year and a half ago?\"\n\nWill told the truth. \"Neither one of us has laid eyes on Lena since the investigation ended.\"\n\n\"Have you talked to her since last night?\"\n\nWill shook his head, his mind flashing on the image of Lena's face when he'd put his finger to his lips, told her to be quiet. She'd apparently taken it to heart.\n\nBranson said, \"I find it interesting that without any coordination, Detective Adams chose to maintain your cover.\"\n\nFaith pointed out, \"It makes her look good, doesn't it? Instead of Will stopping her from braining guy number two, she stops herself.\"\n\nBranson wasn't about to publicly pile onto one of her officers. \"I'll put a BOLO on the gray van and get it out to the news stations.\"\n\n\"Late model,\" Will supplied. \"Probably a Ford. No windows on the back or sides. Light gray, not dark.\"\n\nBranson took her BlackBerry out of her briefcase. \"And nothing on the license plate, even though you were right up on it before you went into the house.\" She started thumbing the information into an email.\n\nAmanda asked, \"You didn't search for vehicles registered to Lawrence and Zachary?\"\n\nBranson kept typing. \"Of course I did. They've both been living in the same trailer park off I-16. Zachary rides a Harley. Lawrence drives a truck. Both were parked outside their respective shitholes. Neither one of them have a gray van registered to their names.\"\n\n\"They're from Macon?\"\n\n\"Born and raised.\"\n\n\"Family been notified?\"\n\n\"Lawrence has an ex who seemed real happy he was gone. Zachary has a brother waiting for the needle over in Holman. Killed a gas station attendant during a robbery. Murder runs in the family.\"\n\n\"It usually does.\" Amanda was obviously ready to end the meeting. \"Looks like we've got work to do.\" She turned to Faith, saying, \"Priority number one when you get to Macon is talking to Lena Adams, making sure she knows to keep her mouth shut about Will. You'll need to review her recent cases. I'm sure the major won't mind another set of eyes on the good work her people have already done. Talk to Adams's team, get some idea of what she's been up to. I wouldn't be surprised to learn she's been working off-book. See if anyone will talk.\"\n\nBranson dropped her BlackBerry into her briefcase. \"You'll have to interview her at the hospital. She won't leave Long's side. Said we'd have to take her away in handcuffs.\"\n\n\"That can be arranged,\" Faith offered. She'd worked behind the scenes on the previous Lena investigation and couldn't quite get past their inability to make the case stick. \"Adams did attempt to murder a man.\"\n\nBranson glared at her. \"Are you not familiar with the Castle Doctrine, Agent Mitchell? The state guarantees a citizen's right to protect his or her home from an intruder. To my thinking, this episode is the very reason the law was passed in the first place.\"\n\nFaith couldn't argue with the legalities, but she'd never been one to let go of a grudge. \"Be that as it may, Major Branson, the way Lena Adams lives her life, she's gonna end up looking out from the wrong side of a cell eventually.\"\n\n\"I think the only thing Lena's looking at right now is how to get her husband to wake up. We all feel that way. Jared Long is a good cop. So is Lena for that matter, and it worries me, Agent Mitchell, that you're going into this thing thinking otherwise.\"\n\nFaith bristled. \"I'll go where the evidence leads me.\"\n\n\"Regardless,\" Amanda said. \"We need to pin Lena down on protecting Will's cover. There's still a play to be made at that hospital, and given last night's events, this just got a hell of a lot more dangerous. Major, I expect you'll honor our request for confidentiality. We've spent too much time on this thing to have it blow up in our faces.\"\n\n\"This _thing_ ,\" Branson echoed, giving careful weight to the words.\n\nAmanda was silent. She wasn't buying time; she was making Branson wait. For her part, Denise Branson looked ready to roll out a sleeping bag if that's what it took.\n\nFinally, after what felt like a full minute, Amanda said, \"Will?\"\n\nHe looked her in the eye, wondering how much she expected him to reveal. She made an open gesture with her hand, as if to say he should hold nothing back. Of course, what she indicated for Branson and what she actually meant were two different things.\n\nWill carefully bent the truth. \"Several days ago, we got a tip that a high roller was making a move into Macon. Street name is Big Whitey. We ran him through the system and got a ping out of Florida, but not much else.\"\n\nBranson asked, \"Which part of Florida?\"\n\n\"Sarasota.\"\n\n\"You got a picture?\"\n\nWill hesitated a moment too long. Amanda made a great show of opening one of her desk drawers, pulling out a surveillance photo. She slid it across her desk, saying, \"This was taken four years ago.\"\n\nBranson leaned over, making a point of studying the grainy image.\n\nWill could describe the picture in his sleep. Big Whitey wore a Marlins baseball cap with the brim pulled low. His jacket was bulky, hardly what you'd expect in the Florida heat. Mirrored sunglasses wrapped around the top part of his face. His beard was dark and dense, showing very little skin. His hands were in his pockets. Big Whitey knew how to pose for a closed-circuit security camera. There was no way to tell how tall or short, white or not white, the man was.\n\nWill explained, \"Florida never laid eyes on him personally. This photo was taken off CCTV at a chicken joint on Tamiami Trail.\"\n\nBranson asked, \"Florida's sure this is Big Whitey?\"\n\n\"One of the fry cooks gave him up. Said he recognized him from his local pill shop.\"\n\n\"Gave him up for what?\"\n\nWill pointed to the photo. \"About half a minute after that image was captured, Whitey stepped back from the camera, shot a cop in the head, and escaped through the back exit, where a car was waiting.\"\n\nBranson sounded dubious. \"And Sarasota didn't go balls to the wall looking for a cop killer?\"\n\n\"The fry cook didn't know much more than his street name. They were gonna go back at him the next day, but he was shot dead outside his house later that night.\"\n\n\"Sarasota let their only material witness go home?\"\n\n\"They didn't know Whitey had made him, and they couldn't legally hold the guy without cause.\"\n\nAmanda chimed in, \"And Sarasota didn't put the pieces together on Big Whitey until the FDLE came in and did it for them.\" Her tone dripped with sarcasm as she needlessly explained, \"The Florida Department of Law Enforcement works much like the GBI. They coordinate cases across county lines. They're very good at providing the whole picture, the kind of details the local force is too myopic to register.\"\n\nAgain, Branson took a moment before asking, \"Do you have any more details on this Big Whitey?\"\n\nWill said, \"Nothing recent. FDLE thinks he was originally ganged up with the Palmetto Street Rollers. They were a Miami-based group, mostly Cuban, some Caucasian. The FBI put membership around twenty thousand running up and down the East Coast.\" Branson nodded, so Will continued, \"The gang broke up into sets after some turf wars. Florida believes but isn't certain that Big Whitey took over from Sarasota down to the Keys. We're guessing two years ago, he moved up the coast into Savannah and Hilton Head.\"\n\n\"Guessing based on what?\"\n\n\"Both Savannah and Hilton Head kept hearing his name come up. Snitches, mostly, but nothing concrete. At first, the locals thought he was an urban legend, a kind of go-to bogeyman. 'Play it straight or Big Whitey will get you.' 'Wasn't me, Officer, Big Whitey did it.' \" Will added, \"Savannah's convinced he's real, but Carolina disbanded the Hilton Head task force six months ago. Put the money on coastal trafficking instead, figured it was a wider net.\"\n\n\"What persuaded Savannah that this Big Whitey's not some kind of urban legend?\" Branson obviously couldn't resist adding, \"Other than the excellent counter-myopic services of the great GBI?\"\n\nWill ignored the sarcasm. \"They started to see a pattern. The junkies and cons were suddenly more sophisticated. Crime went up but prosecutions went down. The bad guys had more money for lawyers\u2014usually the same lawyers from the same firms. Better cars, better clothes, bigger guns. Somebody took a bunch of low-level thugs and turned them into businessmen.\"\n\n\"Ergo, Big Whitey is real,\" Branson summed up. \"All the bad guys in town played along?\"\n\n\"Unless they wanted to end up face-down in the sand.\" Will didn't tell her that in their own way, many of the cops had played along, too. The detectives who didn't request transfers asked for early retirement. \"Most of the criminals complied. They didn't become drug dealers to lose money.\"\n\n\"And now you think Big Whitey's trying to set up the same type of organization in Macon because you got a tip,\" Branson concluded. \"I'm assuming Whitey specializes in pills, which Tony Dell was swiping from the hospital pharmacy?\"\n\nWill said, \"That's a chunk of his business, but heroin is his end game. Whitey moves into the suburbs, branches out into the rich white neighborhoods. They start with pills, he moves them into heroin.\"\n\nBranson asked, \"How'd you target Dell in the first place?\"\n\nAmanda quipped, \"Confidential source.\"\n\nBranson didn't look at Amanda. \"Same source who turned you on to Big Whitey?\"\n\nAmanda said, \"That's how it usually works.\"\n\nBranson kept ignoring her, asking Will, \"And that's why you agreed to play lookout on the so-called robbery last night, to build your bad-boy cred with Dell?\"\n\nWill nodded.\n\n\"Well, that all makes sense. Thank you for your time.\" Branson picked up her briefcase from the floor and held it in her lap again. \"You know how to get in touch with me, Deputy Director.\"\n\nAmanda was seldom thrown, but Denise Branson had managed to surprise her. \"That's it?\"\n\n\"You're obviously not going to tell me anything else and I'm sure as shit not going to share anything with you.\" Branson stood. \"If I'd wanted to get fucked around with this morning, I would've stayed in bed with my vibrator.\"\n\nThe woman knew how to make an exit. She kept her head held high as she left the office, her briefcase gripped close to her side.\n\nWill looked at Amanda, who silently stared at the empty doorway.\n\n\"Wow.\" Faith broke the silence. \"That was quite a show.\"\n\nAmanda played with the stem of her reading glasses again. \"She knew Lawrence fired the shotgun that took down Long. I expect we'll find she ordered some tests.\"\n\nWill had picked up on that, too. \"She was in the house at some point before it got locked down. She knew Lawrence had meth sores on his face, but he doesn't have them in the booking photo. She called Dell Tony, not Anthony.\"\n\nAmanda said, \"She had about two hours before Charlie and his team got to Macon. She's obviously running a parallel investigation.\" Amanda shot Will a pointed look. \"And hell will freeze over before she tells us what\u2014if anything\u2014she finds in Dell's car.\"\n\nWill nodded at the rebuke, which was deserved.\n\n\"I doubt the car will be useful.\" Faith flipped back through her notes. \"Branson obviously fingerprinted the bodies to get their IDs. Zachary and Lawrence weren't stupid enough to go in with their wallets. They probably left them in the van.\"\n\nWill said, \"Dell's probably sold their credit cards by now. He'll keep the licenses for his own use. The van's probably been stripped for parts.\" Leaving the Kia at the scene had been a risky move, but Tony Dell wasn't the type to pass on an easy score.\n\nAmanda asked Will, \"Dell's criminal record is petty\u2014am I correct?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Will answered. Tony Dell had been very lucky up until now. \"He's done jail time off some misdemeanors, but he's never made it to the big house.\"\n\n\"What's your story when you see him?\"\n\n\"I'm angry. Why did he lie about the job? What did he tell the cops? Should I leave town? Do I still get paid?\"\n\n\"Good. Don't oversell it.\"\n\nWill nodded again.\n\nFaith sat back in her chair. \"Why didn't Lena tell Branson you were there?\"\n\n\"I have no idea,\" Will admitted. \"I buy that she was in shock. Her pupils were blown. She was dripping sweat. She'd just killed one guy with her bare hands and was about to take out another.\"\n\n\"Yes, how about that?\" Amanda asked. \"Let's keep in mind she was fully prepared to commit cold-blooded murder.\"\n\nWill said, \"Branson's right about the Castle Doctrine. Two people came into Lena's home and tried to kill her. She thought her husband was dead. She feared for her life. You could take it to trial, but there's not a jury on earth who would convict her.\" This was the problem with Lena Adams\u2014or at least Will's problem. He didn't condone her actions, but at a gut level, he understood them.\n\nAmanda's tone was brisk. \"I said let's keep it in mind. I didn't tell you to lock her up for it.\" She told Faith, \"See if you can get Will and Lena in the same room together. She might talk more openly with him.\"\n\n\"That should be easy with Sara right down the hallway.\" Faith stared her displeasure into Will. \"And don't forget who we're dealing with. In case it's not obvious, it still rankles me that Lena got away the last time. It wouldn't surprise me a bit to find out this time around that she knows exactly why this happened and who ordered it. Maybe she skimmed cash from the wrong bust. Took kickbacks from the wrong bad guys. That could be why Major Branson's doing her own investigation. Lena's one of her team. Branson doesn't want to look like the idiot who didn't realize she had a dirty cop on her hands.\"\n\n\"Lena's not working the other side,\" Will countered. He'd spent a lifetime dealing with damaged women like Lena Adams. Their motivations were easy to read once you knew what to look for. \"She'd never take a bribe. She does bad things, but she always thinks she's doing them for the right reason.\"\n\n\"Whatever.\" Faith had never been a fan of nuance. \"Major Branson thinks the hospital pharmacy theft is the reason you ended up in Macon. She's not going to stop until she finds out who your informant is.\"\n\nAmanda stated the obvious. \"She'll only know if someone tells her.\"\n\nWill said, \"Don't you think it's strange she asked if we had a photo of Big Whitey?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Amanda answered. \"A picture isn't the first thing I would ask about.\"\n\nFaith said, \"She didn't do that weird thing with her mouth when she saw it, but who the hell knows?\" She closed her notebook. \"What else do you think she's not telling us?\"\n\nAmanda said, \"More than we're not telling her, which I find highly annoying.\" She raised her voice. \"Caroline, get me Gil Gonzalo at the FDLE.\"\n\n\"He's on central time,\" Caroline shouted back. \"Give it another half hour unless you want to talk to a junior officer.\"\n\n\"I guess they work when they please down there,\" Amanda grumbled. \"Will, your report said Dell approached you around eleven-thirty last night. He took you straight to the job?\"\n\n\"I was just coming off my hospital shift. He stopped me in the parking lot.\" Will hadn't considered the timing until now. \"Maybe he needed me to fill in for someone else.\"\n\nFaith asked, \"How did Dell pitch the job?\"\n\n\"He asked if I wanted to make five hundred bucks cash for keeping my mouth shut and my eyes open.\"\n\nFaith said, \"Five hundred bucks is a lot of money for being a lookout. You could get a guy killed for less than that.\"\n\n\"You're right.\" Will was beginning to think he'd missed a lot of things last night. Adrenaline and sheer panic had never enhanced anyone's short-term memory.\n\nHe said, \"I noticed when they were outside Lena's house that they all shook hands. Not the shoulder-bump bro thing, just a formal handshake, like they didn't know each other well.\"\n\nFaith twisted her lips to the side as she considered the situation. \"So, the plan was thrown together at the last minute. They didn't have a crew in place.\"\n\nWill said, \"Dell hangs out at a place called Tipsie's just about every night. It's a strip joint off the highway, caters mostly to bikers and ex-cons. I went with him a few times to build a rapport.\"\n\n\"A rapport?\" Faith echoed.\n\nWill ignored her sarcasm. \"If you're looking for a guy to help you kill a couple of cops in Macon, Tipsie's is the place to go.\"\n\n\"I'll check it out,\" Faith said. \"Hopefully, Macon PD will be more helpful than Major Branson. There's something a little too go-getter about her for me. Who wears all their ribbons for a downtown meeting? And what was that snickery smile on her lips?\"\n\nAmanda told them, \"This sounds like a character-building exercise. Attempted murder on two cops, one man dead, another critically wounded, and the chief sends her to brief us? That's not a plum assignment.\"\n\n\"Especially if she's been up since one-shitty in the morning,\" Faith pointed out. \"For what it's worth, Branson sounds to me like she's on-side with Lena. Could be an 'us against the world' thing, like they're both the same kind of bad.\"\n\n\"Maybe,\" Amanda allowed. \"Misery loves company.\"\n\nWill tuned out their voices. He thought about last night, the drive to Lena's house. Dell had been fidgety, but that was pretty much his default. He'd played with the radio, tapped his fingers on the dash, the steering wheel, his leg, as he drove one-handed toward what they both thought was an easy score. Dell had talked the entire time: about the weather, his ailing mother who lived in Texas, a woman at the hospital he was dying to sleep with. All Will had to do was nod occasionally to keep him going. Dell didn't need any more encouragement. He actually talked too much for his own good. Major Branson had been fed the story backward. Tony Dell was the original target of Will's investigation. His first day undercover, Dell would not shut up about a big-time dealer named Big Whitey.\n\nWill realized that Amanda and Faith had gone silent.\n\nFaith asked, \"What is it?\"\n\nWill shook his head, but he still told them, \"Big Whitey.\"\n\n\"It can't be coincidence,\" Amanda said. \"You're down there for Dell. Dell turns you on to Big Whitey. Big Whitey kills cops. A little over a week later, two police officers are attacked.\"\n\nWill said, \"It's the timing that's bothering me. If I'm going to kill some cops, I don't do it on the fly. I plan it out. I follow them around. I figure out what their habits are. It would take several days, maybe a week, to get a team together. There must've been a clock ticking on the hit, otherwise they would've never used Dell and they sure as hell wouldn't've hired me sight unseen.\"\n\nFaith asked, \"You think some of their original crew chickened out?\" She answered her own question. \"It would make sense that they wouldn't tell you and Dell what they were really up to after their first choice walked away.\"\n\nWill said, \"That would explain the five hundred dollars. You overpay to keep the questions down and buy an easy yes.\" He went back to the timing. \"Bad guys don't play the long game. This was something recent. The hit was put out in the last two weeks, maximum. So, we figure out what happened in the last two weeks.\"\n\n\"Macon is in Bibb County now.\" Amanda tapped some keys on her computer. \"That's region...?\"\n\n\"Twelve,\" Will supplied.\n\nAmanda raised her voice again. \"Caroline, get me Nick Shelton on the phone.\"\n\nWill said, \"I've been reading the Macon paper every day.\" He ignored the surprised looks they gave him. \"About a week ago, two cops were hurt raiding a shooting gallery that was selling mostly meth and pills. The details were sketchy. One's still in the hospital. The other's taking disability.\"\n\n\"Anything else?\" Amanda asked.\n\n\"They netted some cash under the drug seizure rule. Paper didn't give an exact number, but Macon PD was talking about using it to buy new cruisers, some AKs for SWAT.\" Will shrugged again. \"The rest was just the usual blotter stuff\u2014missing teenage girls, pot bust at the school, a guy died on the toilet.\"\n\nAmanda clasped her hands together on the desk. She was obviously done with talking. \"All right. We have a plan?\"\n\n\"My hospital shift starts at eleven.\" Will told Faith, \"You'll have to figure out a way to get me and Lena in the same room without blowing my cover.\"\n\n\"I'm sure she'll cooperate.\" Faith sounded skeptical. She asked Amanda, \"Do you think it's worth me going to the trailer park where Zachary and Lawrence lived?\"\n\nAmanda shook her head. \"Branson's probably flipped the place upside down by now. Give it a day or two. Go in soft so there's a nice contrast.\"\n\n\"All right,\" Faith agreed. \"Speaking of Branson, I'll double-check the information she gave us, run down the records on Zachary and Lawrence, make sure there's nothing she's leaving out. Might as well run Adams and Long while I'm at it. I'll send everything to data analysis so they can track down bank accounts, mortgages, known associates, family members, whatever else pops up.\"\n\nAmanda said, \"That's going to be a lot of information to sort through. Pull some help from the field office. Make them do the bulk of the work on Jared Long so we have a long paper trail if this goes to trial. We don't want to be accused of prejudicial thinking.\"\n\n\"You mean again?\" Faith pushed herself up from her chair. \"I'll call the cell phone company and get a list off the towers near Adams's house. Midnight in a rural area, there can't be that many active calls.\"\n\n\"Let me know if they give you any push-back,\" Amanda said. Cellular providers were getting stingy about data mining lately. \"If we need a warrant, it'll take a few days.\"\n\n\"Amanda?\" Caroline yelled. \"Nick Shelton's on line two.\"\n\nAmanda picked up the receiver, but she put it to her shoulder instead of her ear. \"Will, be careful. Keep your phone on you at all times so we know exactly where you are.\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\" He followed Faith toward the door.\n\n\"Also\u2014\" Amanda waited for them to turn back around. \"Will's right about the timing. Whatever set this off had to be recent. Faith, put together a timeline. Start with last night, then go backward day by day, minute by minute if you have to. Find out whatever the hell it is Lena Adams did to put all of this into motion.\"\n\n# 4.  \nMACON, GEORGIA\n\nSEVEN DAYS AGO\u2014THE DAY OF THE RAID\n\nDawn turned the morning light a cobalt blue as the raid van roared down a gravel road. There were ten cops in back, five on one side, five on the other, all jammed shoulder-to-shoulder so that every bump of the tires made them jerk in unison. The radio speakers were blaring Ice-T's \"Cop Killer.\" The air inside the van vibrated with the raging beat.\n\n_Cop killer. Better you than me_.\n\nLena Adams steadied her shotgun as they hit another rut in the road. She checked the Glock strapped to her thigh, made sure the Velcro held the gun tightly in place. The voice in her head screamed along with Ice-T's as they got closer to the target. She took a few quick breaths, not to clear her mind but to make it spin, to amp up the adrenaline and the absolute high that came from knowing she was a few moments away from the biggest bust of her career.\n\nAnd then everything stopped.\n\nThe music snapped off. The red light came on over their heads.\n\nSilence.\n\nTwo minutes until arrival.\n\nThe van slowed. Gravel crunched under the tires. Guns were drawn, magazines checked. Helmets and protective glasses were adjusted. The smell of testosterone got thicker. Nine men and one woman. All of them suited in Kevlar vests and black fatigues, loaded up with enough ammo to take down a small army.\n\nLena breathed through her mouth, tasting the fear and excitement circling inside the van. She took in her team. Eyes wide. Pupils the size of dimes. The anticipation was almost sexual. She could feel the exhilaration building around her, the way everyone shifted in their seats, gripped their guns tighter in their hands. They'd been staking out the house for the last two weeks, had planned their attack even as the junkies and whores streamed in and out like ants on a mound. There would be piles of money. Percocet. Vicodin. Hillbilly heroin. Coke. Guns.\n\nLots of guns.\n\nOvernight surveillance told them that four men were inside the house. One was a low-level thug on parole off assault charges. The second was a junkie scumbag who would suck off a dog to feed his Oxy habit. The third was Diego Nu\u00f1ez, an old-school enforcer who enjoyed getting his hands dirty. The fourth was their leader, a bastard named Sid Waller who'd been questioned on a rape and two different murders but somehow managed to skate on all of them.\n\nWaller was their main target. Lena had been tracking him for eight months, doing a masochistic hokeypokey\u2014locking him up, letting him go, locking him up, letting him go.\n\nNot this time.\n\nThe drugs and guns would put Sid away for twenty years, minimum, but Lena wanted more than that. She wanted him to know for the rest of his miserable life that a woman had cuffed him, jailed him, convicted him. Not that he would have a long life once Lena was finished. She wanted Sid Waller on death row. She wanted to watch them jam the needle in his arm. See that last flicker of life drain out of him. And she was betting her career on making that happen.\n\nFor two weeks, she'd been fighting the brass, pushing them to keep the operation going, pleading with them to extend the overtime, authorize the manpower, spend the money, and pull in the favors for the snitch who'd brought them all to this house in the middle of the woods.\n\nSid's crew wouldn't last long behind bars. Diego Nu\u00f1ez would hold out, but the other two were junkies, and with Sid Waller out of the way, getting high would trump being loyal. In less than twenty-four hours, they'd both be scrambling to make deals, and Lena had a DA who was ready to hand them out. Sid Waller had killed a nineteen-year-old kid. He'd raped his own niece and slit his sister's throat when she'd called 911. Every cop in this van wanted to be the one to take him down.\n\nLena didn't bother with wanting it. She was actually going to do it.\n\nShe looked up at the ceiling, staring at the red light until it flickered off and then on again.\n\nOne minute.\n\nLena closed her eyes, going over the plan. They had pulled the records on the house. It was a foreclosure, one of many on the outskirts of town. Brick, which was good because it would stop bullets. The single-story structure was in the middle of two point-five acres bordered by a national forest on one side and a rural route on the other that bisected Macon and fed into Interstate 75, heading north into Atlanta. Searching the tax commissioner's office had netted them a builder's diagram: den, bathroom, and two bedrooms in the back. Dining room and kitchen in the front, with a set of stairs opposite the sink that led down into the basement.\n\nThey'd rehearsed the raid so many times that Lena saw it like a tightly choreographed dance. DeShawn Franklin and Mitch Cabello would breach the side door with a Monoshock Ram. Lena would take the front of the house with Paul Vickery, her partner for the last year. Eric Haigh and Keith McVale would clear the bathroom and two bedrooms in the back. DeShawn and Mitch would secure any prisoners. The remaining men would guard the perimeter of the house and make sure no one slipped out through a window or door. Lena had wanted at least eight more bodies on the team, but the operation was already pushing the million-dollar mark and Lena knew better than to ask the brass for more.\n\nThey always worked in twos; no one entered a room alone. The layout of the house was choppy, each room walled off with nothing but a door in and out. Back at the station, they'd taped off the garage, mapping the rooms to scale. Lena and Paul had two doorways to contend with before they reached the basement: den to dining room, dining room to kitchen. Each opening represented a new opportunity to get shot.\n\nThe basement was going to be the trickiest part. The builder's diagram showed a wide-open space, but that had been drawn in the fifties, when the house was built. Sometime in the last sixty years, the basement had been finished. There would be walls they didn't know about. Closed doors and closets. There was no door to the outside, only two narrow, boarded-up windows that a grown man couldn't fit through. The basement was a deathtrap.\n\nBack at the station, they had drawn straws to see who would go down first. Lena's team had won, but that was only because she had been holding the straws.\n\nThe van downshifted to a crawl. There were no windows in the back, but Lena could see past the driver's head. The sun winked underneath the visor. A thick stand of pine trees arced around the side of the house. Aerial photos showed a straight shot to the rural route less than two hundred yards through the forest. If the bad guys decided to run, that was the direction they'd take, which was why two cruisers were assigned to patrolling that stretch of road.\n\nThe van stopped. Overhead, the red light flickered again, this time staying off.\n\nLena pumped her shotgun, loading a cartridge into the chamber. She checked the Glock again. Her team followed suit, checking their weapons. The driver, an old-timer named Kirk Davis, whispered into the radio, letting the brass know they'd arrived. The mobile command center was parked a mile away in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. If history was any indication, Denise Branson would wait until Lena's team had secured the house, then roll in and take credit for everything.\n\nSo be it.\n\nLena's credit would come when she had Sid Waller on the ground, her foot on his neck, thick plastic zip ties cutting into his fat wrists. It was the only thing left in her life that she wanted to do\u2014could do. It got her up in the morning and it went to her empty bed with her every night.\n\nLena grabbed the door handle, then looked back at the group, stared each man in the eye to make sure they were ready. There were nods all around. She pulled open the door.\n\nAnd the dance began.\n\nLena jumped out first, heading toward the house at a fast trot. She heard footsteps pounding behind her\u2014nine guys armed to the teeth and ready to break some heads. She kept her shotgun tight to her chest as she ran toward the carport. Her Glock tapped against her thigh. She scanned the woods around the house, took in the trash littering the ground, the broken bottles and cigarette butts.\n\nThe perimeter team swarmed into position. Lena led the rest of her men into the carport. They lined up two on each side. Paul Vickery jammed his shoulder against Lena's. He winked at her, like this was nothing, though she could see his chest heaving up and down underneath his vest. Inside the house, they heard the laugh track from a TV show, then music. _The Jeffersons_. \"Movin' On Up.\"\n\nLena started the timer on her watch. She gave the nod to DeShawn and Mitch, who were holding the Monoshock, waiting for her signal.\n\nThey swung back the ram twice to build up momentum, then slammed the sixty-pound metal cylinder straight into the door. The wood splintered like glass.\n\nLena yelled, \"Police!\" as they rushed in\u2014guns drawn, ready to light up the place.\n\nBut they were late to the party.\n\nTwo men sat on a yellow corduroy couch opposite the television. Their shirts were off. Jeans slung low. One had his hand tucked into his front pocket. The other guy held a can of beer. Both had their eyes open. Parted lips showed missing teeth. An array of handguns covered the battered coffee table in front of them.\n\nNeither moved, or ever would again until the coroner came to pronounce them.\n\nTheir throats had been cut. The skin gaped open, showing white tips of vertebrae among the dark red sinew inside their necks.\n\nPaul checked for pulses, though even from ten feet away, Lena could tell both men had been dead for hours. Waxy skin. The odor of decay. The junkie was one of the deceased\u2014Elian Ramirez. His bare chest was concave, the ribs standing out like toothpicks. His murderer had saved him the cost of killing himself with Oxy.\n\nPaul checked the second man, turning the head to get a better look at him. \"Shit,\" he cursed. His disappointment spread around the room.\n\nDiego Nu\u00f1ez, Sid Waller's right-hand man. Lena watched a fly crawl across his eyeball. Nu\u00f1ez's purple-black tongue lolled out of his mouth like a chow's. According to statements, Diego had taken his turn with Sid Waller's niece once his boss had finished with her. He'd been behind the wheel during the drive-by that killed a nineteen-year-old kid who'd been stupid enough to mouth off to Waller. Lena's guess was that, as a reward for good service, Diego had joined in on the fun with Waller's sister. The woman had been brutally raped and beaten before her throat was sliced open.\n\nMurderer. Rapist. Thug. He'd died with a beer in his hand and his eyes glued to the TV.\n\n\"Shit,\" Paul repeated. He had found another body behind the couch. This one had been spared the slit throat, but part of his head was missing. It was a clean cut straight across. Lena guessed the ax leaning against the wall was the reason why. Long strands of hair and chunks of scalp and white bone were caked onto the edge of the blade.\n\nEric Haigh's hand clamped to his mouth. Vomit spewed between his fingers as he ran out the door. As far as Lena was concerned, he could keep running. She had little tolerance for weakness. And she sure as shit wasn't going to let her team get ambushed while they stood around with their thumbs up their asses.\n\nShe snapped her fingers for attention, the crisp sound cutting through the chorus booming from the TV. Lena pointed to the three corpses, then held up her hand, showing four fingers. Surveillance had four guys in the house. Sid Waller was yet to be found.\n\nThey didn't need further prompting. DeShawn guarded the door so there wouldn't be any surprises from the rear. Mitch took Eric's place and followed Keith into the back hallway. Lena headed for the dining room, Paul behind her.\n\nThey kept at a low crouch as they walked. Trash was scattered across the floor\u2014mostly beer cans and empty fast food bags. The carpet underneath was thick with grime. It stuck to the soles of Lena's boots as she moved toward the open doorway to the dining room. She kept her tread light, mindful of the basement. She imagined Sid Waller down there, gun pointed up, listening for a sound he could shoot at.\n\nThe _Jeffersons_ theme wound down with a gospel flourish. Lena could barely hear it over the sound of blood pumping in her ears as she stood to the side of the open dining room doorway. Her shoulder was against the wall. Plaster, lath, a few studs. Easily punctured by a nine-millimeter Parabellum, which Lena knew for a fact was Sid Waller's ammo of choice.\n\nPaul tapped her leg twice, giving her the go signal. She spun around the doorframe in a low stance and pointed her shotgun into the room. There was no dining room table, just a bloodstained mattress on the floor with the usual detritus found in a shooting gallery. Crack pipes. Scorched aluminum foil. Spent hypodermics. The sharp vinegar smell of heroin burned Lena's nostrils. Water damage from a recent rain had caused the ceiling to collapse. There were chunks of plaster on the floor. The hardwood was warped, cupping like the hull of a canoe. Lena scanned upward, making sure no one was hiding in the rafters.\n\nThe room was empty. Through the broken window, Lena saw one of the other detectives in the front yard. He held his Colt AR-15 at chest level as he scanned back and forth like a pendulum. He stopped to shake his head at Lena, indicating no one had come out of the house.\n\nShe glanced back at Paul, then pointed toward the next doorway. This one was closed. The kitchen was beyond, then the basement door.\n\nAs rehearsed, Paul took the lead. Lena kept her shotgun braced against her shoulder as she walked backward, guarding the rear.\n\nFrom the bedrooms, Mitch yelled, \"Clear!\"\n\nLena tapped Paul's leg, indicating he should go. His movements mirrored her earlier ones as he kicked open the door and pointed his Glock into the kitchen. Lena swiveled with her shotgun.\n\nEmpty.\n\nNone of the cabinets had doors. Half the ceiling had fallen down. The other half was stained dark brown. The sink had been pulled out. Plaster was missing where copper pipes and electrical wire had been ripped out of the walls and sold for scrap. The stench from the open drain was nauseating. Paul pointed his Glock into the ceiling as he checked for hiding places, then shook his head, indicating it was clear.\n\nThey both looked at the basement door.\n\nThis was unexpected.\n\nThere was a wooden brace like you'd find across a barn door. A two-by-four rested on two metal U-channels that were bolted to each side of the doorframe.\n\nPaul gave Lena an inquisitive look. She could practically hear his thoughts. They'd talked a great deal about the basement door. In all the scenarios, they had assumed two things: the door would be locked and a bad guy would be standing on the other side with a loaded gun. The plan called for them to work with their backs to the wall\u2014use the butt of the shotgun to break off the knob, the lock, or whatever was in their way, then yank open the door and rush into the hell that was waiting for them.\n\nThe bracing changed things, but maybe not too much.\n\nLena stood to the side, back flat to the wall as she used the muzzle of her shotgun to try to push up the wood. The fit was too tight. There was no way to slide it out. One of them would have to use both hands to heave it away, leaving his or her body as an open target to whoever might be standing on the other side of the door.\n\nLena didn't think about it for long. She tossed her shotgun to Paul. He caught it with his free hand, then backed up to give her cover.\n\nShe had to put her shoulder into moving the brace, kneeling down and pushing up. The damn thing was wedged in there. It wouldn't budge. She tried again, bending deep at the knees and exploding up. That worked\u2014sort of. The board finally slipped free, but Lena stumbled back in the process, losing her balance and falling flat on her ass.\n\nSo much for the element of surprise.\n\nThe board clattered to the floor. Her tailbone felt like it had been cracked. There was a sharp, biting pain in her scalp where her head had met the sharp edge of the laminate counter. Her helmet had tipped forward, smashing her safety glasses into the bridge of her nose. Lena put her hand to the back of her head. The hair was wet. She looked at her fingers: blood.\n\nPaul stared at her, his brow furrowed, like he couldn't understand how she'd screwed up something so easy. Lena couldn't either, but there was no time to figure it out. She pulled herself up, keeping an eye on the closed door. She tried to shake it off. Her vision was blurry. Her nose felt like a metronome was pounding inside. She took off the safety glasses. They were cracked at the bridge. She tossed them into one of the open cabinets.\n\nThere was a low whistle from the other room: _Don't shoot_. Keith came into the kitchen. Mitch followed. They were both big guys, their shoulders so wide that they made the kitchen feel more like a closet.\n\nLena felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of her neck. She used her hand to wipe it away. Her fingers were sticky. It wasn't sweat, it was blood.\n\nPaul chewed his tongue between his front teeth, a tic she'd spotted their first week working together. It meant he was about to disagree with her. He didn't do it much, but when he did, he meant it.\n\nLena opened her mouth to take back command, but by some silent agreement, Mitch and Keith stepped forward, pulling out their flashlights as they stood on either side of the door. They all looked at Lena, but this time it was with irritation rather than expectancy.\n\nReluctantly, she moved over to the sink and jammed the shotgun to her shoulder so she could at least back them up. The laugh track on the television seemed to mock her. Lena couldn't make out the words, just the low rumble of Weezy's voice followed by a high-pitched response from George.\n\nMitch swung open the basement door. No one shot him, so he went down the stairs. Keith followed. Paul stood at the top, Glock pointing down in case someone managed to get past the combined four hundred\u2013plus pounds of cop.\n\nAnd then the waiting started.\n\nTime changed. Even the particles in the air floated at a different frequency.\n\nPaul didn't move. Sweat dripped from his hands, spotted the floor. Lena held her breath as she waited for some kind of resolution\u2014guns firing, men yelling. Her head ticked down the seconds. Five. Ten. Another roar of laughter came from the television. Weezy again. Then Lionel.\n\nTwenty seconds. Paul still hadn't moved. He was like a statue.\n\nLena quietly let out the breath she'd been holding. She inhaled again.\n\nThirty-five seconds.\n\nForty.\n\nFinally, Keith called, \"Clear.\"\n\nPaul's hands lowered. Lena felt her lungs shake as she exhaled.\n\n\"Do the second sweep,\" she ordered, propping the shotgun against the counter so she could take off her helmet. There was a string of curses from below, but Lena didn't care. Three dead men were in the house\u2014a house that had been under twenty-four-hour surveillance. She'd spent a million bucks of the department's money on this clusterfuck. She'd managed to rip open her scalp and bruise her nose. Her ass ached like a motherfucker. Her head was pounding. Meanwhile, Sid Waller was probably on a beach somewhere sipping a margarita and wondering which woman he was going to follow home and rape tonight.\n\nLena looked down at her watch. The timer was still running. They'd been in the house four minutes and thirty-two seconds.\n\n\"Shhh-it,\" Lena drew out the word. She looked up at the ceiling. The bare rafters showed white specks of mold. A clump of plastic bags was shoved into a hole in the asphalt shingles. She heard heavy bootsteps in the next room as the rest of the team came in to see what had happened.\n\nLena raised her voice so it would carry through the house, ordering, \"We clear out of here A-SAP. This is an active crime scene.\"\n\nDeShawn called back, \"Branson's on the way. Coroner's thirty minutes out.\"\n\n\"Great,\" she said. \"The more the merrier.\"\n\nPaul took off his helmet. He ran his hand through his sweaty hair. \"You okay?\"\n\nLena shook her head, too angry to speak. This was supposed to change things. This was supposed to make everything better. The only goddamn thing she had in her life right now that was working was her job, and she'd managed to screw that up, too.\n\nShe unstrapped the Velcro around her vest so she could breathe. Her shirt was stuck to her back. She knew her neck was covered with blood. This wouldn't stop with Denise Branson. The chief would want answers. The brass would show up. Internal Affairs. Lena would need to call her husband to bring her a change of clothes so she didn't look like she'd gotten her ass handed to her while they chewed her out. Not that Jared was answering her calls. Not that he probably even thought of himself as her husband anymore.\n\nLena covered her face with her hands. Shook her head. She had to get her shit together. She couldn't fall apart now.\n\n\"I'll back you up with Branson,\" Paul said. \"Whatever you need.\"\n\nLena dropped her hands. \"I need to know why that door was braced.\"\n\nPaul's brow furrowed again. She could see he hadn't thought that far into it.\n\nLena said, \"You butcher three guys and you get the hell out. You don't stick around inside the house. You don't barricade the basement.\" She indicated the door. \"Look at the edge of the wood\u2014somebody pounded it in.\" Lena wiped away the sweat pooling on her brow. The house was like a kiln. \"Goddamn it. Branson's probably gonna bust me down to patrol for this.\"\n\n\"You and Jared can ride together.\"\n\n\"Go to hell.\"\n\n\"Hey.\" Paul put his Glock on the counter. His hand was on her arm, then her face. He smiled at her, trying to make everything okay.\n\nLena pulled away from him. She stamped her boot on the floor so they'd hear her in the basement. \"Cabello? McVale? What's taking so long down there?\"\n\n\"Found some money!\" Keith called back. \"We're rich!\"\n\n\"Thank God.\" Lena headed toward the basement. \"Please let it be a million dollars.\" A drug seizure like that would at least pay for all the overtime.\n\nShe told Paul, \"Get everybody out of the house. Tell CSU they're gonna need to bring lights. I want to talk to the coroner when he gets here.\"\n\nHe gave her a curt salute. \"Yes, boss.\"\n\nLena took her Maglite out of her pants pocket as she headed downstairs. She searched the wall for a light switch as she reached the bottom landing. The electrical panel was open. She could see old fuses plugged into slots. She tapped a few, but nothing happened.\n\nAs predicted, the basement had been chopped into tiny rooms. The beam of Lena's flashlight picked up buckling, cheap paneling, and busted-open bags of trash that had been tossed down the stairs. The back of the stairs was open, empty but for more trash. There was no hallway, just a series of open doors, one room leading directly into the other. There were four doorways in all, so five rooms, counting the one she was standing in.\n\nShe saw a soft glow of light in the distance, probably Keith and Mitch counting the stash of money in the last room. Lena's eyes blurred on the light. She put her hand to the back of her head, suppressing a string of curses. The blood was coming out in a steady stream. She would probably need stitches. Her head throbbed with pain. Her nose felt cracked. The day's humiliations were piling up. Her only chance of salvaging the operation was finding a mound of hundred-dollar bills that was high enough to touch the ceiling.\n\nLena opened her mouth to call to the guys, but something stopped her. Sixth sense. Cop's intuition. There were no voices. Keith and Mitch couldn't take a dump without narrating it for all to hear. They'd found a pile of cash and weren't joking about how they were going to spend it?\n\nSomething wasn't right.\n\nLena's hand wrapped around her Glock. She turned off the flashlight, then waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.\n\nShe strained to pick up sounds, trying to block out the noise from the television set upstairs.\n\nNothing.\n\nShe made her way into the next room. As carefully as Lena moved, it was impossible to not make a sound. There was too much trash on the floor\u2014empty beer cans, glass crack pipes, aluminum foil. The carpet was thick and wet, like a suction cup against the soles of her boots. Every sound was amplified in the crowded space. She might as well start singing.\n\nNo.\n\nWhat she really should do is go upstairs and get backup. You never went into a room alone. You always worked in pairs. Lena was breaking her own cardinal rule.\n\nBut she'd already fallen on her ass, cut open her head, and spent a fortune capturing three dead men and securing a crime scene that probably contained more DNA than a men's toilet at the local truck stop. She wasn't going to risk what was left of her reputation based on feeling some bad juju.\n\nStill, Lena felt for the loose strap around her Kevlar vest and pulled it tight against her waist. She moved forward, her knees bent, her center of gravity low in case she had to dive to the ground or fight off an attacker. The closer she got to the last room, the more certain she was that something had gone horribly wrong.\n\nTwenty feet. Fifteen. Lena was approximately ten feet away when she saw the tip of a boot. Black leather. Steel toe. It was just like the one she was wearing, only three sizes larger.\n\nAnd pointing up toward the ceiling.\n\nLena froze. She blinked her eyes. Her vision doubled. Blood was pooling up around the collar of her vest. Her mouth was bone-dry.\n\nShe took another step. Lena could just make out the floor in front of her. The flashlights from the other room were walleyed, one pointing toward the door, the other toward the wall. There was a suitcase opposite the door. Money spilled out onto the floor. Hundreds, just like she'd prayed for.\n\nLena two-handed the Glock. She wasn't sweating anymore. She didn't feel any fear. All extraneous thought left her mind. She counted out her steps\u2014one, then two, then she was in the last room and pointing her gun at Sid Waller.\n\nHe had Keith in a choke hold, the muzzle of a Sig Sauer nine-millimeter jammed into the man's neck. Mitch was flat on his back. His scalp was ripped open. Blood covered his face.\n\nFrom the moment they put a gun in your hand at the academy, they taught you to always rest your finger on the trigger guard, never on the trigger. This gave your brain a few extra milliseconds to process what you were looking at, to tell whether or not you were drawing down on friend or foe. You never put your finger on the trigger unless you were ready to shoot someone.\n\nLena put her finger on the trigger.\n\n\"Get back,\" Sid Waller ordered.\n\nLena shook her head. \"No.\"\n\nHe made a show of tightening his grip on the Sig. \"I want a car. I want the road cleared.\"\n\n\"You're not getting anything.\" Keith's eyes went wide as Lena took another step closer. \"Let him go.\"\n\n\"Get a negotiator.\"\n\n\"I'm your negotiator,\" she told him. \"Let him go or die.\"\n\n\"Back up.\" Waller jammed the Sig harder into Keith's neck.\n\n\"I'll do it.\"\n\n\"Do it.\" She took another step forward. There was no way in hell she was letting him take Keith out of this basement. \"You're gonna kill him either way. Do it now so I can go ahead and kill you.\"\n\n\"I mean it.\"\n\n\"So do I.\"\n\nWaller's eyes turned jittery. This wasn't the first time he'd stared down Lena, but it was the first time he'd done it with a gun pointed at his head. \"You're fucking crazy.\"\n\n\"You're fucking right.\" Lena took another step forward. She felt numb, like she was watching someone else do this. A different woman held her Glock. A different woman stared down this murderer, this child rapist. \"Put the gun down.\"\n\nKeith let out a sob. He whispered, \"Please...\"\n\nWaller turned the Sig on Lena. \"I'll kill you, then. How about that?\"\n\nShe glanced into the dark nothingness of the muzzle. \"See if you make it up those stairs.\"\n\n\"Back the fuck up!\" Waller screamed, spit flying from his mouth. \"I'll do it!\"\n\n\"Do it.\" Lena was less than two feet away.\n\n\"I will!\"\n\n\"Do it!\" she screamed. \"Pull the trigger, you fucking pussy!\"\n\nWaller's hand moved quickly. There wasn't even a blur. One second, the Sig was pointed at Lena, the next it was pressed to his head. His finger jerked. There was a flash, and the side of his head exploded.\n\n\"Jesus Christ!\" Keith slapped at the pieces of skull and brain that had sprayed his neck. \"Christ!\" He scrambled to get away, his feet sliding on the wet carpet.\n\nLena braced her hand against the wall. All the buzz left her body. \"Check on Mitch.\"\n\n\"Fuck!\" Keith pushed himself up, stumbled from the room.\n\n\"Jesus!\"\n\n\"Lee?\" Paul trampled down the stairs, his voice filled with panic.\n\n\"Get the paramedics!\" she shouted back. Lena knelt down beside Mitch, made sure he knew she was there. \"Take it easy,\" she managed. \"We're getting help.\"\n\nMitch coughed. His chest heaved from the effort. His eyes were as wild as Keith's.\n\n\"What the\u2014\" Paul took in the scene with visible shock. \"What\u2014\" He didn't say anything else, just kicked the gun out of Waller's hand like a guy with half his head missing was still a threat.\n\nDeShawn's voice came from the other side of the basement. \"Y'all okay?\"\n\n\"We're okay. Stay where you are.\" Lena sat back on her heels, slid her Glock back into the holster. She told Paul, \"Waller shot himself in the head.\"\n\n\"No shit,\" Paul said. \"Mitch? Are you\u2014\"\n\n\"Get me outta here.\" Mitch reached up, touched his fingers to the bare bone of his skull. He stared at Lena. She couldn't read his expression. Either he was terrified or impressed. She still wasn't sure when he told her, \"You gotta fuckin' death wish.\"\n\n\"Come on.\" Paul folded Mitch's scalp back into place like it was a piece of cloth. \"Can you stand up?\"\n\nMitch tried, but Paul did most of the lifting, telling Lena, \"Branson's five minutes out.\"\n\nLena felt something tickle her neck. She put her fingers to the spot and rubbed away the grit of Sid Waller's brain. Flashlight beams came from the other end of the basement. Lena guessed most of the team had come down the stairs when they heard the gunshot.\n\nShe shouted, \"Jesus Christ, get out of here! Why do I have to keep reminding everybody that this is an active crime scene?\"\n\nThere were grumbles of protest, but no one challenged the order.\n\nPaul told her, \"IA is gonna be all over this.\"\n\nLena didn't answer. She was no stranger to Internal Affairs.\n\n\"I'll talk to Keith, make sure he's on board.\" Paul looped Mitch's arm around his shoulders. He asked Lena, \"You got your story straight?\"\n\n\"Just get Mitch upstairs.\"\n\nPaul practically lifted Mitch's feet off the ground as they staggered toward the basement stairs. The climb was cumbersome, but a couple of men had obviously disobeyed Lena's orders and stuck around to help Paul carry Mitch out. She heard them walk clumsily through the kitchen, then they were finally gone.\n\nThe house was silent. The wood creaked and flexed as the temperature started to change. The sun was coming up fast. There was a hint of white light seeping around the edges of the boarded-up windows.\n\nAll of Lena's energy had drained. Her vision was still hazy. The room felt off-kilter. A sense of separateness took hold. The aloneness turned lonely. She wanted Jared. She wanted him to rush into the room and put his arms around her. If she thought about it hard enough, she could almost feel his hands rubbing her back, hear his calming voice in her ear.\n\nLena wiped away tears. Why did she ache for Jared so much when he wasn't there, yet every time he was standing in front of her, all she could think about was how much she wanted him to leave?\n\nShe looked down. Her hand had gone to her stomach again. Her palm flat to her belly.\n\nLena shook her head, tried to make herself focus because Paul was right about one thing: the minute Branson got down here, she'd want a clear story. Three men had been murdered in the night while the cops were sitting in a surveillance truck less than five hundred yards away. Keith was probably still shitting himself from having a gun jammed into his neck. Mitch had almost been scalped. Sid Waller was dead by his own hand.\n\nWhat could Lena say? That part of her had been hoping Sid Waller would kill her? That just about everybody in Lena's life would be better off if he had?\n\nNo. She would tell Branson that she had followed her training. You didn't leave a hostage with a madman. You didn't let them go to a second location. You took your shot when you could.\n\nOr, you let the bad guy take his shot.\n\nShe turned her flashlight on Sid Waller. His mouth was open. She could see the titanium cap on his front tooth. There was a skull and crossbones etched into it. Lena had seen it enough times during interrogations to draw it from memory. Waller would sit at the table with his legs spread wide like his balls needed the extra room. He barely looked at Lena, but when he did, he conveyed such a sense of disgust that she felt dirty just being near him. Even with his lawyer there, he would sneer at her, spit at her, call her a stupid cunt. It drove Paul insane, but Lena just let it slide. Waller wanted a reaction. He wanted her to lunge at him so he could laugh in her face. You didn't have to be a genius to recognize a man who hated women. The bastard would rather kill himself than be taken in by one.\n\nShe trained the flashlight on the gleaming wet hole where the side of Waller's head used to be.\n\nWish granted.\n\nLena turned away from the body, shining the light into the suitcase. She'd been wrong about that\u2014there were more fifties than hundreds. Maybe half a million dollars. Denise Branson would have to fill her chest with all her ribbons and commendations again for when they put her picture in the paper. The fact that two seasoned cops had let the bad guy get the drop on them wouldn't be part of the story.\n\nLena wanted the question answered, though. Mitch and Keith were better than this. At least she thought they were. She scanned the room with her Maglite, trying to figure out what had happened. There was a piece of paneling hanging crookedly off the wall. She craned her neck to see behind it. Waller's hiding place. The earth was dug out around the foundation. Like rats in a trap, Keith and Mitch had gone straight to the money, and Sid Waller had sprung out from behind the wall and taken them both down before they could make a squeak.\n\nMitch first, probably brained with the muzzle of the Sig. Then the next thing Keith knows, the Sig is jammed in his throat. Much more frightening than the thought of getting shot in the head. You get shot in the neck, you might live. You might never walk again, you might breathe through a tube or piss in a bag for the rest of your life, but you'd live.\n\nSomeone was on the stairs. Lena waited for Denise Branson to pick her way through the filthy basement.\n\n\"Adams? What the hell happened here?\" Denise yelled. \"You're gonna be damn lucky if Chief Gray doesn't bust your ass over this.\"\n\nLena had heard the threat before, and from people a lot scarier than Denise Branson. She answered, \"Waller took Keith hostage. He pointed the gun at me. I pointed my gun at him. He made a choice.\"\n\nDenise scowled at Waller's dead body. She looked mad enough to spit. \"Who do you think is gonna give us Big Whitey now?\"\n\nLena was so sick and tired of hearing that fucking name. \"Denise, I really don't give a shit.\"\n\n\"You best check that attitude before I\u2014\"\n\nShe stopped.\n\nThere was a sound. They both heard it. Waller's hiding place. There was something else behind the wall.\n\nLena's Glock was in her hand. She couldn't even remember pulling it.\n\nDenise moved more slowly. She stepped back, drew her side-arm.\n\nThe sound came again. Lena moved to the right, tried to use her flashlight to see behind the panel. Just like before, she had her shoulder to the wall. She knelt down, angling the light. The whole left side of the hole was obscured. All Lena saw was wet, black earth and a filthy, wadded-up athletic sock.\n\nLena stood back up. The two women stared at each other. Predictably, Denise nodded for Lena to take lead.\n\nLena waited for the numbness to come back, the autopilot to take over. It didn't\u2014or wouldn't. All the bravado from before had evaporated away. Her body didn't want to move. Five minutes ago, she'd had a death wish, but now that the opportunity had presented itself again, she found herself unwilling.\n\nDenise made a hissing sound between her teeth. Lena turned to look at her. The major was waiting, gun pointed low, finger resting on the trigger guard. Her eyes went wide. Her lips parted, showing her teeth.\n\nLena turned back around. She looked at the dirty, wet sock, the dark hole Sid Waller had crawled out of.\n\nThe sound came again.\n\nNo more thinking.\n\nLena pulled back the panel.\n\n# 5.\n\nSara had only visited Macon a handful of times, but she'd always gotten the impression that the city was one forever stuck in limbo, caught between the liberal state capital less than one hundred miles north and the smaller, more conservative towns that made up the majority of the state. Most Atlantans never gave Macon a second thought, but everything about Macon seemed to strain with the need to impress its wealthier neighbor.\n\nMacon General Hospital was a perfect example of this endless striving. Even as Sara pulled into the freshly paved parking lot, she couldn't help but notice the difference in scale between the towering monolith of Grady and the three architecturally ornate brick buildings that made up the much smaller county medical complex. Up until the 1960s, Grady had been segregated into two different wards\u2014one for black and one for white. As with many areas in the modern South, a different sort of segregation had taken hold in Macon. It wasn't about race anymore, but class. All were welcome so long as they could afford the entrance fee.\n\nSara didn't realize she had driven to the back of the parking lot until she noticed the exit signs. She pulled into a space under some trees. For a few minutes, she just sat in the car, trying to decide what to do next. Then her brain took over and made her hand open the door, her feet hit the asphalt, her legs move as she walked toward the hospital. The large fountain in the middle of the circular drive sent up a wet mist as she passed by. The rhythmic lapping of water was probably meant to calm visitors, but to Sara, the sound only managed to further set her teeth on edge.\n\nShe felt time roll back as she walked toward the front doors of the main hospital building\u2014not by decades, but by years. Just like that, she was in Grant County again, transported back to the day her husband had been murdered. Sara's body made the connection before her brain did. It was probably all the police officers, a sea of blue that filled the parking lot, the front entrance, the lobby.\n\nThe sight of them sent a jolt of adrenaline straight into Sara's heart. Her ears filled with a high-pitched ringing. Her head ached. Her muscles twitched. It was as if all the wires that held together her body had suddenly gone taut.\n\nOr maybe it wasn't adrenaline. Maybe it was anger, because by the time Sara walked into the hospital, she was so angry that she could barely function.\n\nNo\u2014she wasn't just angry. She was furious.\n\nFurious to be here. Furious that she wasn't home taking a shower or eating breakfast or walking the dogs or sleeping in her bed or going about her normal life. Furious that yet again, she'd become ensnared in another one of Lena Adams's deadly webs.\n\nIf the wires had gone taut, it was only because Lena had pulled them.\n\nThe rage had started its slow build in the Grady ER, the moment Sara hung up with Nell. Sara had heard it humming in the background, like a song she couldn't remember the words to. She'd called Will. She'd packed the spare clothes and toiletries she kept at the hospital. She'd made arrangements with the dog sitter, her department head, her students. She'd filled up her car with gas. She'd driven just above the speed limit as she made her way out of the city. Jared needed her. Darnell needed her. That was what kept Sara moving forward. They were the only two things that mattered. Sara had a duty to be there for them. She owed it to Jeffrey. She owed it to Jared and Nell.\n\nBut by the halfway mark to Macon, the song got louder, and Sara's brain started adding words to the melody.\n\nJeffrey. Lena's partner. Sara's husband.\n\nSara's life.\n\nShe had held him in her arms as he lay dying. She had stroked her fingers through his thick hair one last time. She had touched the rough skin of his cheek one last time. She had pressed her lips to his, felt his ragged last breaths in her mouth. She had begged him not to leave even as she watched the life slowly leave his beautiful eyes.\n\nSara had wanted to follow him. Grief set her adrift, unmoored her from everything that mattered. Weeks went by, months, but the pain was a relentless tide that would not ebb. Finally, Sara had taken too many pills. She'd told her mother it was a mistake, but Sara hadn't made a mistake. She'd wanted to die, and when she found that she could not die, the only thing she could do was start over.\n\nShe'd left her family, her home, her life, and moved to Atlanta. She had bought an apartment that was nothing like the house she'd shared with Jeffrey. She'd purchased furniture that Jeffrey would not have liked, dressed in clothes he would never expect her to wear. Sara had even taken a job Jeffrey had never seen her do. She'd made her life into something that worked without him.\n\nAnd she'd met Will.\n\n_Will_.\n\nThe thought of his name smoothed down some of the sharp edges. Sara wanted so badly to be with him right now that she almost turned around. She saw herself getting into her car, heading toward the highway, retracing her steps back to Atlanta.\n\nThere was a clingy red dress hanging in Sara's closet. She would wear it with the painfully high heels that made Will lick his lips every time he saw them. Sara would brush out her hair, wear it down around her shoulders the way he liked. She would darken her eyeliner, load up on the mascara. She would wear a touch of perfume everywhere she wanted him to kiss her. And as soon as he walked through the door, Sara would tell Will that she was deeply, irrevocably in love with him. She'd never said the words to him before. Never found the right time.\n\nTime.\n\nA sharp, startling memory jolted Sara out of her plans. She was at her old house standing in front of the fireplace. What was she wearing? Sara didn't have to think for long. She was in the same black dress she'd worn to her husband's funeral. Days had passed before her mother managed to get Sara to take off the dress, to shower, to change into something that didn't carry the stench of Jeffrey's death.\n\nAnd still, Sara had kept returning to the fireplace. She could not stop staring at the cherrywood clock on the mantel. It was a beautiful old thing, a wedding gift to Sara's grandmother that had been passed to Sara, just like the watch she wore on her wrist. That Sara had inherited two timepieces was not something she'd ever considered remarkable. What she remembered most from the days after the funeral was watching the second hand move on her grandmother's clock, hearing the loud tick of the gears marking time.\n\nSara had stopped the clock. She had put her watch in a drawer. She had unplugged the clock beside her bed\u2014their bed that she could no longer sleep in. She had found some electrician's tape in Jeffrey's workbench and covered the clock on the microwave, the stove, the cable box. It became an obsession. No one could enter the house with a watch. No one could remark on the passage of time. Anything that reminded Sara that life was moving on without Jeffrey had to be hidden from sight.\n\n\"Mrs. Tolliver?\"\n\nSara felt another jolt. She'd stopped walking. She was standing stock-still in the middle of the hospital lobby as if lightning had struck.\n\n\"Mrs. Tolliver?\" the man repeated. He was older, with a shock of white-gray hair and a well-trimmed mustache.\n\nAs with Nell's phone call, Sara's memory took a few seconds to cull information from her past. She finally said, \"Chief Gray.\"\n\nHe smiled warmly at Sara, though there was a familiar reserve in his eyes. Sara thought of it as the Widow Look\u2014not the look a widow gave, but the one she received. The one that said the viewer didn't quite know what to say because, secretly, all he or she could feel was so damn lucky it hadn't happened to them.\n\nHe held out his hand. \"Lonnie.\"\n\n\"Sara.\" She shook his hand, which felt solid and reassuring, just like the man. Lonnie Gray was an old-school cop, the type who could never really leave the job. Even during retirement, he'd taken up consulting, moving around the state to help whip various law enforcement agencies into shape. Sara hadn't seen Gray since the funeral. Or at least she assumed that was the last time. Sara had been so heavily medicated during the service that the only memories she had were the ones her mother and sister had planted there.\n\nShe said, \"I didn't know you were running Macon now.\"\n\n\"Consulting proved to be even more boring than it sounded. I missed being a benevolent dictator.\" Gray smiled at the joke, which they both recognized as the truth. Despite his grandfatherly appearance, Sara couldn't see Lonnie Gray offering advice that no one had to take.\n\nShe said, \"Macon is lucky to have you.\"\n\n\"Well, let's just say I'm glad it hasn't been put to a vote.\" He glanced down at Sara's hand, probably to see whether or not she had remarried. \"I hear you're living in Atlanta now?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Sara decided to acknowledge the obvious. \"You and I keep meeting under bad circumstances.\"\n\n\"We do indeed.\" Gray seemed to appreciate her candidness. \"Jared's stabilized for now. The doctors are taking good care of him.\"\n\nSara was relieved to be on more comfortable footing. \"Do you mind if I ask why he wasn't taken to MCCG?\" The Medical Center of Central Georgia was a Level 1 trauma center, much better equipped for a gunshot wound than Macon General.\n\nChief Gray deflected. \"I'm sorry. I called you Mrs. Tolliver. You're a doctor, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Sara could only guess why he'd sidestepped the question. The ambulance crew had obviously been thinking in seconds, not minutes. Jared's injuries had necessitated rushing him to the closest emergency room.\n\n\"Rest assured, we'll find out who did this to your stepson.\" Gray gave her a sage nod, as if to remind Sara that they always got their man. It was so maddeningly black and white to some people. They thought vengeance made it easier, when, in fact, all it did was fester the sorrow.\n\nGray continued, \"Jeffrey's surely been missed these past few years. I could use his skills on this one.\"\n\nSara already knew the answer, but she asked, \"You called in the state?\"\n\n\"Never hurts to have extra hands.\"\n\nHe wasn't being diplomatic. Lonnie Gray was the same kind of chief that Jeffrey had been. They weren't concerned with glory. They just wanted the bad guys caught and the good guys to go home at night.\n\nSara said, \"I'm sure you'll figure out why this happened.\"\n\n\"As am I, Dr. Tolliver. That's a promise.\" His voice took on a practiced tone that he probably employed whenever duty called. \"Jared's a good kid. Wish I had fifty more of 'em. And Detective Adams has been a great addition to the team. We'll have them back up on their feet in no time. You know we take care of our people.\"\n\nSara tried to think of an appropriate response, but Lonnie Gray was obviously not expecting one. He looked as drained as Sara felt. She'd seen Jeffrey in the same circumstance many times. His shoulders were slumped from the burdens placed on him. His face was drawn. Policing was an occupation, but no one stayed in it long enough to become chief without feeling a true calling.\n\nSara followed Gray's gaze as he took in his officers. She tried not to catalogue the similarities from five years ago. The Band-Aids on their arms where they'd all given blood. The way boredom compelled them to chip off the edges of their Styrofoam coffee cups. The expectant looks in their eyes when anyone new appeared.\n\nLonnie Gray said, \"My son passed away just recently.\"\n\nSara didn't know he'd had a son. \"I'm sorry to hear that.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\" He sounded resigned. \"I'm sure you know it never gets easy.\"\n\nSara nodded again. There was a lump in her throat that she could not swallow. \"I should go.\"\n\n\"I'll walk you up.\"\n\n\"No,\" she said, almost interrupting him. \"Thank you, I'm fine. Stay here with your men.\"\n\nHe seemed relieved. \"The mother's up there. I take it there's no love lost between her and my detective. Perhaps you could...?\"\n\nDespite the circumstances, Sara felt a smile come to her lips. He was talking to her the way he'd talk to any senior officer's wife. She imagined it was the same in the military, or any other male-dominated profession where the women were expected to keep hearth and home running smoothly while the men went out and conquered the world.\n\nShe said, \"I'm not sure it's my place.\"\n\n\"Adams was your husband's partner.\"\n\n\"She was,\" Sara confirmed, though she gathered Gray didn't know about their complicated history. She paused before adding, \"I really should go. Nell's waiting for me.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\" He grasped her hand between his. \"And remember, if there's anything I can do for you, just ask.\"\n\nSara could only nod again, which was the response Chief Gray seemed to need. He touched her elbow before walking away. Sara watched him approach one of his detectives. The man's relaxed posture immediately took on a military stance. He nodded at Sara with a familiar, exaggerated deference she'd come to expect whenever any officer learned that she was a cop's widow.\n\nSara nodded back, thinking the sentiment was comforting until it became suffocating. She did not want to be tragic. She had fought the stigma for years at Grady, where a cop was generally posted outside every third room. Oddly, it wasn't until Sara had started dating Will that people had let her step down from the pedestal.\n\nShe didn't have it in her to climb back up again.\n\nSara followed the green stripe on the floor, knowing it would lead to the elevators, just as she knew the blue signage would direct her to the ICU. There was a reassuring sameness to private hospitals, with their bright lights and cheerful paintings that announced to the world that the majority of their patients were paying customers.\n\nSara pressed the button beside the elevator door. It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago, she'd done the same in Atlanta. As with the exterior, Grady's interior was different compared to Macon General. Everything here was clean and modern, befitting the clientele. Most of the hospital's money probably came from luxurious birthing suites, routine colonoscopies, and MRIs on baby boomers' knees. The paint was not chipped from the walls. Buckets were not strategically placed under leaking pipes. There was no permanent police precinct on site or a holding area for prison inmates and the criminally insane.\n\nFrankly, Sara preferred Grady.\n\nThe elevator doors slid open with a tiny squeak. Sara got into the car. She was alone. The doors closed. She pressed the button by the blue sign. She watched the numbers flash on, then off, as the car traveled up to the fifth floor. With each burst of light, she suppressed the urge to speak the phrase that was playing over and over in her head: _I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here_.\n\nEven before Jeffrey died, Sara had never liked Lena Adams. She was dangerous. Arrogant. Sloppy. Jeffrey constantly complained about Lena's headstrong ways, but Sara knew how her husband's mind worked. There was no sexual attraction between them\u2014sometimes Sara wished it had been that simple. Lena was simply a challenge that Jeffrey could not walk away from. She was a destructive little sister to his all-forgiving big brother. Jeffrey loved her toughness. He loved her fight. He loved that no matter how hard Lena was hit, she always got back up after being knocked down.\n\nAnd if Lena couldn't quite pick herself up, Jeffrey was always there to lend a hand. It was easy to take risks when you knew someone else would bear the consequences, which was exactly what had happened five years ago. Once again, Lena had gone off on her own, recklessly pursuing some very bad people. When they'd proven to be too dangerous for Lena to handle, she'd called Jeffrey to save her, just like she'd done countless times before. Only this time, this last time, the bad people hadn't backed down. This time, instead of making Lena pay, they had murdered Jeffrey.\n\nSara had no doubt that this same scenario had played out with Jared. Motorcycle cops didn't have hit squads break into their houses. Sara would've bet her life savings on Lena yet again pissing off some very bad men who'd decided just like the last bad men that the best way to punish Lena was to take away the thing she loved most.\n\nAs if Lena Adams was capable of loving anything.\n\nThe elevator doors slid open. Same crisp white. Same bright lights. Sara was on autopilot as she followed the arrows to the ICU waiting room. She walked by a tall man wearing a blue and orange baseball hat. He didn't recognize her, but Sara instantly knew Jerry Long, Darnell's husband and Jeffrey's boyhood friend. Everyone called him Possum because of a childhood accident involving illegal fireworks. He'd worshipped Jeffrey in that strange way that only straight men can. Possum had played wide receiver to Jeffrey's quarterback. He'd married Jeffrey's old girlfriend. He'd raised Jeffrey's child.\n\nSara kept walking. She kept her head down, passing unnoticed.\n\nAs a doctor, her life had been spent anticipating what would happen next, thinking three or four steps ahead, but for some reason, Sara's day was revealing itself in small slices. She hadn't let herself think past the mundane tasks in front of her: Leave Grady. Now drive down the interstate. Now take the exit. Now park the car. Now go into the hospital.\n\nSeeing Possum offered a small glimpse of what was to come. They would want to reminisce about Jeffrey. They would want to tell old stories about pranks and practical jokes and loose women and angry husbands and Sara would have to sit there and listen to all of it as if her life had stopped the moment his had.\n\nAnd it _had_ stopped. Everything had come to a standstill. But, eventually, it had to start moving again, and Sara had built a new life for herself\u2014a life that they would not understand.\n\nThe guilt felt like a vulture sitting on her shoulder, waiting for the right moment to devour her.\n\nSara could only put one foot in front of the other as she continued down the hall. She turned into the small waiting room just outside the closed double doors of the ICU. The space was empty but for an older woman whose hair was more gray than brown.\n\n\"Sara,\" Nell said. She was sitting on a love seat underneath a window. A pile of knitting was in her lap. Several magazines were splayed beside her.\n\nThere was only a five-year difference between them, but Nell had aged in that way good country women do\u2014no hair color, no makeup, no laser treatments to remove sunspots or smooth out wrinkles. She looked, in fact, entirely her age, which was not something Sara was used to seeing in Atlanta.\n\n\"Don't get up,\" Sara told her, leaning down to pull Nell into a tight hug. Nell had always been stout and strong, but there was something fragile about her now. Helplessness had reduced her.\n\nStill, Sara said, \"You haven't changed a bit.\"\n\nNell barked a laugh. \"Hell, honey, don't lie. We got mirrors in Alabama, too.\" She moved the magazines so Sara could sit beside her. She took Sara's hand, which was unusual. Nell wasn't affectionate. She was talkative, and sometimes abrupt to the point of rudeness, but she was also incredibly kind\u2014the sort of woman you could call in the middle of the night no matter how many years had passed and she would move heaven and earth to come to your side.\n\nThe sort of woman Sara should be.\n\nShe tightened her hold on Nell's hand. \"I'm so sorry this happened.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't've bothered you. I was just...\"\n\n\"I'm glad you did,\" Sara told her, and in that moment, she really meant it. There was no way she could have stayed in Atlanta. This was where she belonged. \"Is there anything I can do?\"\n\nNell let out a heavy sigh. \"I don't know what you can do other than wait. They're not telling me anything. Twenty-four hours, they say they might know more. What does that even mean?\"\n\nSara knew that it meant they had no idea; it was all up to Jared now. Still, she told Nell, \"It means he's young and he's strong and his body needs time to fight this.\"\n\n\"I hope you're right.\" Nell let go of Sara's hand. She tucked her knitting into a denim bag. \"You were right about her, Sara. First Jeffrey and now this. That woman is nothin' but poison.\"\n\nSara felt a familiar tightening in her throat. \"We should just concentrate on Jared right now.\"\n\nNell shook her head. \"She won't leave the room. Just sits there in the corner like a damn gargoyle.\" Her lips turned into a thin white line. \"I can't even stand to look at her. Takes everything I got not to spit in her face.\"\n\nSara forced back the impulse to agree. It would do no good for them to feed off each other. \"Who's his doctor?\"\n\n\"Shammers. Shaman. I can't remember. Something foreign.\"\n\n\"Is he with this hospital or did they call him over from Central Georgia?\"\n\n\"No idea. He gave me his card.\" Nell picked up her purse to search for it. \"I don't even know if this is a good hospital.\"\n\n\"It's good,\" Sara told her, though she hoped they'd called in the bigger guns from the trauma center. \"How long has he been out of surgery?\"\n\nShe looked at her watch. \"About an hour.\"\n\n\"Did they give you any details?\"\n\n\"Hell, Sara, I don't know that medical stuff. He was shot with a shotgun. The pellets went everywhere. His head, his neck, and back.\"\n\n\"Did any penetrate the skull?\"\n\n\"They're monitoring his brain swelling. I guess that means it went into his brain.\" She turned to Sara. \"They said they might have to release the pressure. Is that bad?\"\n\nSara explained, \"The skull has a fixed volume. If the brain swells, it needs somewhere to go.\"\n\n\"So they just saw off the top of his head?\"\n\n\"Not like you're thinking. It's a very precise surgical procedure.\" She put her hand on Nell's shoulder. \"Don't think about that until you have to, all right?\" Nell reluctantly nodded. \"What about his spinal cord?\"\n\n\"You mean, will he be crippled?\" She shrugged, a tight, jerky movement. \"They're keeping him knocked out. Said it's best he sleeps, but I know my boy. He'd hate being pumped full of pain pills.\"\n\nSara knew that Nell couldn't fathom the amount of pain her son was in. \"Did Jared say anything before they put him under?\"\n\n\"Chief Gray told me he was unconscious when they brought him in. Do you know him?\"\n\n\"Gray?\" Sara nodded. \"Jeffrey worked a case with him before we met. He trusted him. So does everyone else. Gray's worked all over the state, received all kinds of awards.\"\n\nNell wasn't impressed. \"For whatever that's worth. Didn't stop Jared from getting shot.\" She started pulling things out of her purse. A hairbrush. Her pocket Bible. A tin of Burt's Bees lip balm. \"Where did I put that damn card?\"\n\nSara asked, \"How has Jared been lately?\"\n\n\"Healthy as a horse.\"\n\n\"No, not his health.\" Sara didn't know how to broach the subject, so she dove right in. \"Has he been working a case he was worried about? Or has Lena been doing something?\"\n\n\"Oh, he won't say a word against her\u2014not Little Miss Perfect.\" Nell took out a blister pack of gum. She offered a piece to Sara.\n\nSara shook her head. \"When's the last time you talked to him?\"\n\n\"He calls me every Sunday and Wednesday after church. Mind you, he's not going himself. Stopped doing that once he met up with her.\"\n\nToday was Thursday. Sara asked, \"So, you talked to him last night?\"\n\n\"Nine o'clock and he was at a bar with his friends. What does that tell you?\" Nell wasn't looking for an answer. \"Says something's not right, that's what it tells you. Wednesday night, he should be at home with his wife, not off somewhere drinking with his buddies.\"\n\nSara kept her opinion to herself. Jared was a grown man. Married or not, he was entitled to a night out. \"Did he say anything on the phone that sounded off?\"\n\n\"No. Just the usual. 'Work's good. Lena's great. Tell Daddy I said hey.' Nothing but puppies and sunshine.\" She snorted at the thought. \"They didn't even get married in a church. Did it downtown like they were signing a contract. You've met her uncle?\" Sara nodded again. \"He was the only one there on her side. That tells you everything you need to know right there. No friends. Nobody from work. Just some old piece of beef jerky looks like he belongs on the side of the road harassing people for money.\" She pointed to her bare arms. \"Had needle tracks up and down his arms. Didn't even bother hiding 'em. God knows if they're old or new.\"\n\nSara pressed her lips together, catching a glimpse of that bottomless pit she'd barely managed to pull herself out of. \"Nell, it won't do any good getting worked up like this.\"\n\nNell was obviously reluctant to let go, but finally she said, \"You're right. If I keep talking about her, I'm gonna end up going in there and killing her.\" Nell looked down at her purse again and concentrated on digging around for the doctor's card. \"He needs his pajamas. He'd hate waking up in one of those gowns.\"\n\n\"We'll get some pajamas for him,\" Sara offered, knowing there was no point.\n\n\"I want to see the house. I've only seen pictures. What do you make of that? I'm less than four hours away, but she's never invited me for Christmas or holidays or nothing.\"\n\nSara wasn't about to take up for Lena, but she doubted Nell had made things easy. \"The forensic team is probably still there.\"\n\n\"The forensic team.\" Nell let the words settle. \"I want to go by the house. I want to see where it happened.\"\n\n\"That's probably not a good idea,\" Sara countered. \"The police don't clean up before they leave. It'll look just how it did last night.\"\n\nNell seemed shocked by the information. She recovered quickly, taking a small notebook and a pen out of her purse. \"I'll tell Possum to go by the dollar store. There's one right off the exit.\" She clicked the pen and started writing. \"We'll need a bunch of rags. Lysol spray. Trash bags. Some gloves. What else\u2014bleach?\"\n\nSara tried to reason with her. \"There are services that take care of this kind of thing.\"\n\n\"I'm not gonna let some stranger clean my baby's house.\" She sounded appalled. \"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.\"\n\nSara knew better than to argue.\n\n\"Why would anyone do this?\" Nell asked. \"He's always been the sweetest boy. Never said a hard word against anybody. Always helping people. Never asking for anything in return. Why, Sara? Why would someone hurt him?\"\n\nSara shook her head, though Lena's name was on the tip of her tongue.\n\n\"His eyes are taped shut. He's got all kinds of tubes coming out of him. They got this plastic thing looks like a Connect Four sticking out of his side.\"\n\n\"That's probably a Pleur-evac,\" Sara guessed. \"It helps keep his lung open to give it time to heal.\"\n\n\"Well, you've just told me more than anybody else has, thank you very much.\"\n\nSara doubted this was true. She'd seen the glazed look in Nell's eyes before. In traumatic situations, it was hard to understand the information being conveyed by doctors, let alone ask salient questions.\n\nSara told Nell the same thing she told the families of her patients. \"Write down all your questions as they come. If I can't answer them, then we'll find someone who will. All right?\"\n\n\"That's good. I should've thought to do that. I've just been so...\" She couldn't finish the thought. \"I mean, seeing him all\u2014\" Her words were cut off by a guttural sound. She lowered the notebook and pen to her lap, the shopping list forgotten. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Sara wondered if she was wishing her husband would return. More likely, she was praying her son would walk through the door.\n\nSara took Nell's hand again, but she couldn't look at her. The pain was too raw. While Sara witnessed the possibility of death almost every single day, knowing Nell, knowing Jared, made it different. She had lost her outsider's perspective.\n\n\"Well, this is useless.\" Nell's voice was filled with self-recrimination. \"Crying never helped anybody.\" She pulled a pack of Kleenex from her purse and dried her eyes. \"I haven't told Delia.\" Jared's sister, Nell's youngest child. \"She's working in the Gulf. She's a vet now. Did you know that?\" Sara nodded. \"They got her scraping oil off sea turtles. She says the whole damn coast is still a tar pit.\"\n\n\"You need to tell her.\"\n\n\"What do I say? 'That bitch your brother married mighta got him killed'?\" Nell shook her head, visibly angry. \"I knew when I found out he was seeing her that nothing good would come of it.\"\n\nSara said nothing.\n\n\"He kept it from me for a full year. He knew I wouldn't approve. He knew why, too.\" Nell blew her nose in the Kleenex. \"You warned me, Sara. You warned him, too. There's no harm in a big fat 'I told you so' right about now.\"\n\nSara didn't respond. She got no joy from being right.\n\n\"Jared just wouldn't listen. Kept saying Jeffrey knew the risk when he put on the badge. Like she had nothing to do with it. Like she didn't abandon him when the going got tough.\" Nell's mouth twisted with disgust. \"Part of me wonders if I'd just shut up about her, maybe he woulda gone on to somebody new.\"\n\nThe arguments were so familiar that Sara could practically recite them along with Nell. She'd tortured herself with the same recriminations after Jeffrey had died. Sara should've stopped him from working with Lena. She should've put her foot down. She should've told him that it was too dangerous, too risky, to get involved in Lena's life.\n\nBut his focus had always been on saving other people, never on saving himself.\n\nSara told Nell, \"You can't second-guess yourself.\"\n\n\"Can't I?\" She indicated the waiting room. \"I got all the time in the world to think about everything I've done wrong.\"\n\nSara forced a change in subject. \"I saw Possum in the hall.\"\n\nNell slumped back against the couch. She didn't speak for a few seconds. \"He's just a wreck. Keeps breaking down. I ain't seen him cry like that in five years. Won't listen to the doctors. Won't go into Jared's room. It's not because of Lena. He always got along with her. You know how friendly he is. The man would talk to a stump about its knots. But all this stuff\u2014\" She waved her hand in the air, indicating the hospital. \"It just brings it back for him. You, too, I guess.\"\n\nSara looked past Nell at the floral painting on the wall. Unbidden, she thought about Will. Lying on the couch with him. Watching TV. His arms around her. Their dogs piled around them.\n\nNell said, \"We all went to the hospital that night.\" She didn't have to say which night. \"Drove straight through without stopping. Like there was any use him being at a hospital. Nothing could be done for him by then. Hell, if there was something to do, you woulda done it.\"\n\nSara felt the image of Will slip away. The vulture was back with its guilt, digging its talons into her flesh.\n\nNell continued, \"I know we lost touch with you for a reason. It's just too painful, isn't it? And here I dragged you back down into all of it. I'm sorry for that, Sara. I didn't know who else to call.\"\n\nSara nodded. All she could manage was, \"Jeffrey would've wanted me here.\"\n\nNell said, \"I wish to God I'd told him about Jared sooner. Given him a chance to know his son.\"\n\n\"He understood why you didn't,\" Sara said, thinking that was only half a lie. Jeffrey had been trying to find a way to connect with Jared before he died. It was a tricky proposition. Nell could be a hard woman, and Possum deserved better than to have some other man come in and try to be Jared's father.\n\nNell asked, \"Do you remember the first time I met you?\"\n\nIt felt like a hundred years ago, but Sara said, \"Yes.\"\n\n\"You musta thought Jeffrey was crazy drivin' you down past where Jesus lost his sandals.\"\n\nSara smiled. Sylacauga, Alabama, was the very definition of rural, but she had been so pleased that Jeffrey wanted her to meet his family, his people. \"We crashed your garden party.\"\n\n\"You told me you were a stripper.\"\n\nSara laughed. She'd forgotten that part. Nell had prompted the response, asking Sara whether she was a stewardess or a stripper. They'd all had this idea of Jeffrey in their heads\u2014the sort of man he was, the type of woman he dated.\n\nAnd they had been so wrong.\n\n\"Anyway,\" Nell said. \"We're miserable enough without digging up the past. I know you still deal with it every single day.\" Again, she took Sara's hand in her own, but this time, she smoothed out the finger where Sara's wedding ring used to be. \"I'm glad you took it off, darlin'. Someday when enough time's passed, you'll find a way to move on.\"\n\nSara nodded again, forcing herself not to look away.\n\nFive years.\n\nShe had mourned her husband for five years. She had been alone for five years. She had waited and waited for the ache to go away for five long, lonely years.\n\n\"Sara?\"\n\nSara realized she'd missed a question. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"I asked could you go check on him? I know it'll be hard with Lena in there, but maybe you can do some of your doctor talk and see if you can find out anything they're not saying?\"\n\nSara couldn't think of a reason not to. It was why she was here, after all. To help Nell. To help Jared. To be her husband's proxy as his son lay in a hospital bed. Even Chief Lonnie Gray had assumed Sara would play her part.\n\nSo she did.\n\nSara stood from the couch and left the tiny waiting room. She was still dressed in her hospital scrubs. The nurses' eyes passed over Sara as she pushed open the doors to the ICU and walked down the hall. The board behind the desk gave Jared's room number, but Sara would've known where he was by the cop stationed outside. The officer was standing a few yards down from the nurses' station, arm resting on his holster. There was a glass wall separating Jared's room from the hall. The curtain was half-closed. The door was open.\n\nThe cop gave Sara a nod. \"Ma'am.\"\n\nShe didn't respond, just stood in the doorway to the room, acting as if she belonged.\n\nThe overhead lights were off. The machines provided a soft glow to see by. Jared's face was swollen. His body was still. Sara did not need to see his chart. The equipment in the room told the story. Pleur-evac connected to wall suction for the pneumothorax. Ventilator to assist breathing. Three IV pumps pushing fluids and antibiotics. NG tube to wall suction to keep the stomach empty. Pulse ox monitor. Blood-pressure monitor. Heart monitor. Urinary catheter. Surgical drains. A crash cart was pushed against the wall, the defibrillator on standby.\n\nThey weren't expecting Jared to rally anytime soon.\n\nWith great resignation, Sara forced herself to look at the corner opposite the bed.\n\nLena was sleeping. Or at least her eyes were closed. She was balled up in a large chair. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, knees hugged to her chest. She was wearing hospital scrubs, probably because her clothes had been booked into evidence.\n\nShe seemed much the same. A yellowing bruise arced underneath her left eye. The bridge of her nose had a linear cut that had started to scab. Neither was unexpected. Sara could not think of a time when Lena didn't have some visible bruise or mark that came from living her life so hard. The only thing different was her hair. It was longer than the last time Sara had seen her. At the funeral? Sara couldn't remember. No one in the Linton family could bear to utter the woman's name.\n\nSara took a deep breath, then walked into the room.\n\nIn many ways, seeing Jared was much harder than seeing Lena. He looked so much like Jeffrey\u2014the dark hair, the tone of his skin, the delicate eyelashes. He was built like his father. He walked with the same athletic grace. Jared even had the same deep voice.\n\nSara put her hand to his face. She couldn't stop herself. She stroked her thumb along his forehead, traced the arc of his eyebrow. His hair was thick and surprisingly soft, like Jeffrey's had been. Even the scruff of his beard felt familiar, was growing back in the same pattern as Jeffrey's.\n\nLena still hadn't moved, but Sara could tell she was awake now\u2014watching.\n\nSlowly, Sara took her hand away from Jared's face. She would not let herself feel ashamed for touching him, for thinking the obvious thoughts, making the obvious connections.\n\nLena shifted in the chair. She unfolded herself, rested her feet on the floor.\n\nSara held Jared's hand. The palm was calloused. Jeffrey's hands had always felt smooth. His nails had been trimmed, not bitten to the quick. His cuticles weren't torn at the edges. Sometimes, Sara had caught him using the oatmeal-scented lotion she'd kept on the table by their bed.\n\nLena stood up from the chair.\n\nSara's heart hammered in her chest. She didn't know why. Just being in the same room with Lena made her feel nervous. Even with the cop outside. Even knowing that there was no way Lena could harm her, Sara felt unsafe.\n\nAnd Lena, as usual, was oblivious. She stood by the bed. She didn't touch Jared. Didn't reach down to ease him or to reassure herself that he was still there. Instead of holding him, she held herself. Her arms were wrapped around her waist. She had always been so goddamn self-contained.\n\n\"Sara\u2014\" Lena breathed. It was more like a sob. Lena had never been ashamed to cry. She used it to great effect. She hissed in a mouthful of air, her body shaking from the effort. Her hand gripped the railing on the bed. Her wedding ring was yellow gold with a small diamond. Blood was caked into the setting. She was waiting for Sara to say something, to make it all better.\n\nAutomatically, the words came to Sara's mind, the advice she had given over countless hospital beds: _It's okay to touch him. Hold his hand. Talk to him. Kiss him. Ignore all the tubes coming out of his body and lie beside him. Let him know on some basic level that he is not alone. That you are here to help him fight his way back_.\n\nSara said none of this. Instead, she chewed at the tip of her tongue until she tasted blood. Her heart was still pounding. The fear was gone. A coldness had taken over. Sara could feel it moving through her body, its icy fingers wrapping around her torso, scratching at her throat.\n\n\"I can't\u2014\" Lena's voice caught. For Sara, it was like listening to herself five years ago. Just with those two words, she felt it all over again. The devastation. The loss. The loneliness.\n\n\"I can't\u2014\" Lena repeated. \"I can't do it. I can't live without him.\"\n\nSara gently pulled her hand away from Jared's. She smoothed down the sheet, tucked it in close around his side. She looked at Lena\u2014really looked at her straight in the eye.\n\n\"Good,\" Sara told her. \"Now you know how it feels.\"\n\n# 6.\n\nWill rode his motorcycle around the Macon General parking lot until he spotted Sara's BMW. It was a stupid thing to do, but he was feeling pretty stupid lately anyway. She'd bypassed the doctors' lot and found a spot in the back under a stand of shade trees. He suppressed the desire to get off his bike and touch the hood of her car. Will told himself it was only to see how long she'd been there, but deep down he knew he wanted some kind of connection.\n\nWhich was embarrassing and pathetic enough to make him gun the engine and proceed to the employee lot at an unadvisable speed.\n\nFortunately, burning some rubber in the parking lot was exactly the kind of thing his alter ego would do. Will had gone undercover before. He liked to think that he was pretty good at getting into character. There were some happily retired chickens in North Georgia who could attest to his skills. While busting a cockfighting ring was not as dangerous as his current assignment, the GBI's information officers had managed to give Will an even more impressive cover this time around.\n\nAs with the day laborers outside the Home Depot, Will imagined that Bill Black, his cover ID, provided a glimpse into what could have been. The man was a con, the sort of guy who knew his way around the system. He had a sealed juvie record and a dishonorable discharge from the Air Force. More important, there were three serious charges on his adult sheet\u2014two for knocking around various women and another for pushing a mall cop down an escalator.\n\nThe latter charge had landed Bill Black in the Fulton County jail for ninety days. He'd been paroled for good behavior, but was kept on a tight leash by a parole officer who reported directly back to Amanda. The PO had already dropped by the hospital a few times for surprise check-ins. Bill Black was a scary guy. There were other crimes that the cops were looking at him for. A gas station stickup. Some messy business up in Kentucky. An assault that left a man blind in one eye. Black was what those in the know called a person of interest.\n\nThe GBI had managed to locate a couple of snitches who were willing to back up Black's cover story in exchange for leniency. Another con told Will all the gossip floating around the jail during the time in which Bill Black was incarcerated. The guards had confirmed the lurid details, which sounded like a mash-up of _Cool Hand Luke_ and _The Sopranos_. Then they had taken some unflattering photos of Will holding up a placard with Black's name and inmate number. Aside from the lack of any pathetic jailhouse tattoos, Will would've been hard-pressed to find the holes in his backstory.\n\nOf course, there were always holes to be found, but Will wasn't about to share the biggest one with Amanda: the name Bill Black, which Amanda had proudly presented to Will as if on a silver platter, made his brain feel like it belonged in a Salvador Dal\u00ed painting.\n\n\"Bill rhymes with Will,\" she'd told him, handing over the dossier he was required to memorize. \"And of course Black is a color.\"\n\nWill gathered from her demeanor that he was supposed to be grateful. The truth was, she might as well have thrown on a leotard and acted out the name in interpretive dance.\n\nWill was dyslexic, a fact that Amanda only trotted out when she couldn't find a sharper knife in her drawer. He wasn't about to have an open conversation about his problem\u2014that was what the Internet was for\u2014but if Amanda had bothered to look it up, she would've realized dyslexia wasn't a reading disorder, but a language-processing disorder. Which was why Will had no ear for rhymes and couldn't understand how Black could be a color when the capital letter meant that it was a name.\n\nBut Will had sat in Amanda's office and thumbed through Bill Black's file like it made perfect sense.\n\n\"Looks good,\" he'd told her.\n\nShe hadn't been convinced. \"You want me to help you with the big words?\"\n\nWill had closed the file and left her office.\n\nHe could read\u2014he wasn't a complete imbecile\u2014but it took some time and a lot of patience. Over the years, Will had learned a few tricks to help him pass as more fluent. Holding a ruler under a line of text to keep the letters from jumping around. Using the computer to dictate his reports or read his emails. He'd been told in school that he read on a second-grade level. Not that his teachers had formally diagnosed him with anything other than stupidity. Will was in college when he finally learned that what he had was called dyslexia, but it was too late by then for him to do anything but pray to God that no one found out.\n\nFor the most part, not many people did. Amanda seemed happy to keep it as a weapon in her arsenal. Faith had discovered it during their first case, and whenever anything involving reading came up, she took on a maternal tone that made Will want to stick his head in a wood chipper.\n\nAnd of course Sara knew. She'd figured it out immediately. Will guessed being a doctor helped her recognize the signs. The weird part was that she treated him no different from before. She saw his dyslexia as just another part of Will, like the color of his hair or the size of his feet.\n\nShe saw him as normal.\n\nAnd if he kept revving his motorcycle, she'd look out the window and see him riding through the parking lot.\n\nThe irony was not lost on Will that he'd spent the last ten days hiding the truth from Sara only to find himself stuck not just in the same city, but in the same building dealing with basically the same people. He would do anything to have her back in Atlanta, where the lies flowed a lot easier. In Macon, there was the constant possibility that Will would turn a corner or open a door and find Sara standing there wanting answers.\n\nHe coasted the Triumph into his usual spot by the employee entrance. The rain had accompanied him most of the trip down from Atlanta, spitting fine needles into his face. Will's helmet wasn't the wraparound kind, but a shorty, which gave his head the minimum coverage allowed by law. It was closer to a beanie. Every time a large truck crowded him on the interstate, Will wondered if he'd actually be able to see his brains on the asphalt before he died or if death would be instantaneous.\n\nThe thought was not a new one. Will had ridden a Kawasaki in his twenties because the bike was cheap and gas was expensive. And it had to be said that the sensation of sitting atop a large, vibrating machine was not an unpleasant feeling for a young man with limited dating experience. Add another decade, and the story took a considerably darker tone. His back ached. His hands hurt. His shoulders were screaming. Other areas were equally displeased. Will shook out his legs as he got off the bike. He unbuckled his helmet and peeled it off his head.\n\n\"Hey, Bud,\" a nurse called.\n\nWill looked up. The woman was leaning against the building and sucking on a cigarette. He'd told people to call him Buddy because he didn't want to recall his conversation with Amanda every time he heard Bill Black's name. That his hospital colleagues had all shortened it to Bud was an unforeseen development.\n\nShe asked, \"Good ride?\"\n\nWill grunted, which was a typical Bill Black response.\n\n\"That's nice.\" She smiled at him. Her bleach-blonde hair didn't move in the breeze. Her tight pink scrubs were covered in leaping dolphins. \"You hear about what happened last night with them two cops?\"\n\n\"Yep.\" Will pulled the bandanna off his head and used it to wipe the road from his face.\n\n\"One of 'em's in the ICU. Might not wake up.\" She picked something off the tip of her tongue. \"Po-po's crawling all over the place.\"\n\nWill grunted again. He stuck the bandanna in his back pocket.\n\nShe exhaled a long stream of smoke. \"Tony says they were at his house this morning. Fools stole his car and used it for the hit. You believe that?\"\n\nWill stared at her, trying to decipher whether or not she was being rhetorical. He decided his best bet was to ignore the question altogether. \"I need to clock in.\"\n\nHe tucked his helmet under his arm as he walked toward the door. The nurse took a last hit off the cigarette. She didn't seem to mind his gruffness. This was typical of the women in Bill Black's social circle. They expected their men to be quiet, to grunt and glare and scratch and spit. For Will, who'd been trained to put the toilet seat back down before he was even out of diapers, it was like living on the moon.\n\nOr utopia, depending on how you looked at it.\n\n\"Take care now,\" the nurse said. She winked at Will as he opened the door. He didn't bother to hold it open for her. He knew the woman's type, had seen her standing in the periphery his entire life. They were at the children's home. They were out in the streets. Oftentimes, they were in the back of a squad car. They chose the wrong guys, made all the wrong decisions. The worse you treated them, the tighter they held on.\n\nWill had always known this type of woman found him attractive. Maybe it was the scars on his face. Maybe it was some invisible mark left by his childhood that only fellow travelers could see. Either way, they were drawn to Will because they thought he was damaged or dangerous or both. He had spent his life avoiding them. The only way to hold the interest of a desperate woman was to be a certain type of man. Will had never wanted to be that man.\n\n\"Hey,\" the nurse called. She stood in the open doorway, hand on her hip. \"It's Cayla, by the way.\"\n\nWill stared at her. He was standing outside the employee locker room. She was thirty feet away. The gray dolphins on her shirt looked like spoiled sperm.\n\nShe gave a flirty smile. \"Cayla with a C.\"\n\nWill didn't think another grunt would travel. He tried to be clever. \"You want me to write that down or something?\"\n\n\"Sure do.\" She laughed in a way that made him feel small. \"Whatchu doin' after work?\"\n\nHe shrugged.\n\n\"Why don't you come by my house for supper? I bet you ain't had nothin' home-cooked since you got out.\"\n\nBill Black's history had gotten around fast. Will had worked at the hospital less than two weeks and she already knew he'd been in jail.\n\nShe pressed, \"How about it? Around seven? I can get a good scald on a chicken.\"\n\nWill hesitated. He knew Cayla Martin's name from her rap sheet, which showed an arrest for drunken driving four years ago. DUIs came with expensive fines. Cayla still had another thousand dollars to pay before she was allowed to do more than drive herself to and from work. She was also a pharmacy nurse, which meant she had access to all the pills that kept getting stolen.\n\nCayla stamped her foot. \"Come on, Bud. Let me cook you somethin' good.\"\n\nWill was contemplating his options when Tony Dell came out of the locker room. The man panicked. His sneakers squeaked against the floor as he tripped over his feet trying to flee.\n\nCon or cop\u2014it didn't matter. When someone was trying to get away from you, you stopped them. Will dropped his helmet on the floor. He grabbed Tony by the back of the neck and slammed him face-first into the door.\n\n\"Hey!\" Tony cried. He was a little guy. Will was almost a foot and a half taller and carried at least fifty pounds more muscle. Lifting Tony off his feet was as easy as lifting Sara.\n\nWill made his voice a growl. \"What the fuck did you get me into?\"\n\n\"I didn't\u2014\" Tony tried. Obviously, it was difficult for him to talk with his face smashed against a door. \"Come on, Bud! I was tryin' to hook you up!\"\n\n\"I'll hook you to a fucking noose.\"\n\n\"Bud! I'm serious, dude. I didn't know!\" His toes kicked at the door as he tried to find purchase. \"Come on!\"\n\nWill let him go. Tony's feet slid back to the floor. He took a few seconds to collect himself. He was breathing hard. Sweat poured from his brow, but whether that was because he was high or terrified, Will wasn't sure. Regardless, now that Tony wasn't afraid of having his neck snapped, he took umbrage with the rough treatment. \"Jesus, dude. What's wrong with you?\"\n\nWill demanded, \"Who set up the job?\"\n\nTony looked up and down the hallway to make sure they were alone. Cayla had vanished. Women like that knew when to get out of the way.\n\n\"Damn.\" Tony rubbed the back of his neck. \"That hurt, man.\"\n\n\"Who set it up?\" Will jammed his finger into Tony's shoulder. \"Tell me, you little shit.\"\n\nTony slapped his hand to his shoulder. \"I don't know. Two guys at the bar came up and asked did I wanna make some money.\"\n\n\"Last night?\"\n\n\"Yeah, after work.\"\n\n\"You knew them?\"\n\n\"I seen 'em around.\" He started rubbing his shoulder. \"You seen 'em, too. Them guys who hang back in the special corner.\"\n\nThe VIP section of Tipsie's. Will had seen it all right. It was about as welcoming as the shower room at the state pen. \"How much money did they offer?\"\n\nTony turned shifty.\n\nWill put his hand on Tony's chest and pushed him back against the door. There was no force behind the hold, but the threat was enough to get the little man talking.\n\n\"Fifteen hundred bucks.\"\n\nWill pulled back his fist. \"You mother\u2014\"\n\n\"They told me we'd be safe!\" Tony yelled, his hands going up. \"They said we just needed to stand out in the street like we did. Nothin' to it.\"\n\nWill kept his fist at the ready. \"So you get a thou and I get five bills?\"\n\n\"I was closest to the house.\" He gave a halfhearted shrug. \"My spot was more dangerous.\"\n\nWill let his fist drop. \"You knew it was more than a robbery.\"\n\nTony opened his mouth, then closed it. He checked again to make sure they were alone. \"I ain't gonna lie to you, Bud. I knew there was some people in the house might get hurt. I swear on a stack of Bibles I had no idea they was cops. No way I woulda taken that job, let alone bring you into it. We's friends, right?\"\n\n\"My friends don't throw me in the shit when I'm already on parole.\" Will's shirt had pulled out from his jeans. He tucked it back in as he looked up and down the hall. \"This better not blow back on me.\"\n\nTony wasn't as stupid as he looked. \"Why'd you wanna go in the house so bad anyway? What was up with that?\"\n\nThe million-dollar question. Will had figured out his answer on the ride down. \"I need the money. Dead men don't pay.\"\n\n\"I hear ya,\" Tony said, but he was obviously not buying it. \"You sure did run in there like a bat outta hell, though. Near about took my head off. I was only trying to help you.\"\n\nAgain, Will checked the hallway. \"I got an ex, all right? Girl up in Tennessee. She's got a kid by me. I didn't believe her, but the test came back.\" Will tried to put some anger in his voice. \"Bitch said she'd file on me if I don't throw down five K before the baby comes.\" He said the phrase he'd heard from many a con. \"I can't go back to jail again, man. I can't do it.\"\n\nTony nodded his understanding. Will had gathered from various conversations at Tipsie's that the DNA tests they feared most were the ones that proved paternity. What was harder to believe was that the slang Will had picked up from watching an outlaw biker show on cable was actually working.\n\n\"I hear ya, man.\" Tony scratched his arm, a nervous habit that had left permanent red streaks on his skin. \"You want, I could run up there with you, give her a talkin'-to.\"\n\n\"You wanna keep your voice down?\" Will asked. \"Every pig in the county's upstairs. That cop might not make it. You wanna guess what happens then?\"\n\nTony kept scratching his arm. \"So, what'd you see?\" Again, he checked the hall. \"Inside the house. What'd you see?\"\n\n\"One dead guy, one on his way out.\" Will tried to fight back the bloody image of Lena straddling Fred Zachary, preparing to break his spine in two. \"Some crazy chick with a hammer.\"\n\n\"She see you?\"\n\n\"You think she'd be alive if she did?\"\n\nTony lowered his voice. \"I heard she used the claw.\"\n\n\"You know her?\" Will clarified, \"The cop. She ever bang you up?\"\n\n\"Shit no. Ain't no bitch takin' me down, bro.\"\n\nWill guessed an eight-pound Chihuahua could take down Tony Dell. \"Why'd they wanna kill two cops? They on the take?\"\n\n\"Dudes didn't say and I didn't ask.\" Tony backed himself against the door rather than let Will put him there. \"Honest, Bud. I got no idea.\"\n\nWill considered what a guy like Bill Black would be worried about in this situation. He asked, \"What'd you do with the van?\"\n\nTony was obviously not expecting the question. \"It's cool. I know some guys.\"\n\n\"Whatever they paid you, half of it's mine.\"\n\nTony tried, \"I didn't get much.\"\n\n\"Bullshit.\" Will grabbed Tony's arm to make sure the man was paying attention. \"I'm only gonna ask you this one more time: Who do they work for?\"\n\n\"I got no idea, dude. Honest.\"\n\n\"Well, you better think hard about it, because you and me are looking a hell of a lot like a couple of loose ends right now.\"\n\n\"You think they'll come after us?\"\n\n\"You think whoever set this in motion is just gonna trust you not to talk?\"\n\n\"Holy Christ.\" The color drained from Tony's face. \"It's gotta be Big Whitey. He's the only dude I can think of who has them kind of balls.\"\n\nWill tightened his grip around Tony's arm. It was a hell of a lot easier to interrogate someone when you could scare the crap out of them. \"Why do you say that?\"\n\n\"Because he's killed cops before. Everybody knows that. Hell, man, I heard he took out a federal agent down in Florida.\"\n\nYet another murder to look into. Will asked, \"You sure you didn't tell them my name?\"\n\n\"Hell no, brother. Hell no.\"\n\n\"If I find out you did...\"\n\n\"I promise!\" Tony's voice went up a few octaves. \"Lookit, man. I ain't no snitch. I'm tellin' you straight up.\" He used his free hand to dig into his back pocket. \"Look, all right?\" He pulled out a wad of cash. \"This is all I got for the van. You take it, all right? We'll call it even. Okay?\"\n\nWill took the cash. It was moist, which he tried not to think about as he counted out the bills. \"Six hundred bucks. That's all you got?\"\n\n\"That's more than you thought you'd get last night.\"\n\nWill grunted. Bill Black would be satisfied with the amount. \"Lookit.\" Tony scratched his arm again. \"Big Whitey's a businessman. We can go talk to him. Try to reason with him.\"\n\n\"There's no way I'm\u2014\"\n\n\"Just listen to me, hoss.\" Tony kept scratching, even though he'd drawn blood on his arm. \"I told you I got a pill thing going here. You and me could double it up and\u2014\"\n\n\"No,\" Will said. \"My PO got me this job. Who do you think they're gonna look at when a ton of pills start going missing?\" He loomed over Tony again. \"What'd you say to the police when they rang your doorbell this morning?\"\n\nThe furtive look was back. \"How'd you hear about that?\"\n\n\"That nurse. She's probably told the whole damn hospital by now.\"\n\n\"Cayla,\" Tony provided. The soft way he said her name rang a bell. Cayla Martin was the girl Tony wouldn't shut up about on the drive to Lena's last night. It made sense that a pill freak would want to hook up with a pharmacy nurse.\n\nTony asked, \"She say anything else about me?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\nWill was getting tired of this. \"She offered to cook me supper.\"\n\nTony took the news harder than Will anticipated. He tucked his chin down to his chest. \"Are you gonna go?\"\n\n\"Tell me what you said to the cops this morning.\"\n\nTony didn't answer. \"I thought you were my friend, Bud. I can't believe you're going out with her.\"\n\nWill couldn't believe he was having this conversation. \"What'd you tell the cops, Tony? Don't make me beat it out of you.\"\n\nHe still sulked, but answered, \"That the car musta been stolen. They asked me to come down to the station and file a report.\"\n\n\"You stay out of that station,\" Will warned. \"They get you in there, you won't ever come out.\"\n\n\"I ain't tellin' 'em nothin'.\"\n\n\"You think that matters? Two cops were almost killed. They're gonna pin this on the first idiot they can find.\"\n\n\"They got the idiots,\" Tony said. \"Them two guys from last night\u2014one's dead. The other one can't even move, and they's no way in hell he'll open his mouth. I keep tellin' you\u2014Big Whitey, he's got reach. He'll take 'em out in the hospital. In the jail. In the prison. Ain't nowhere Big Whitey can't get to you. Trust me, man. He's a bad dude.\"\n\nWill gritted his teeth. Every conversation he'd ever had with Tony Dell tended to turn down Big Whitey Way at some point. Something about that didn't feel right, and Will's instinct was to shut it down. \"Whatever, man. Just keep me out of it.\"\n\nTony sensed he was losing his audience. \"We could talk to him. Let him know we ain't gonna rat. Maybe get on the payroll.\"\n\n\"No.\" Will picked up his helmet off the floor. He wiped the scuffs with the back of his sleeve. He tried more biker talk. \"I gotta kid to pay for, my PO's up my ass. I don't need to be looking for more trouble.\"\n\n\"It don't gotta be like that.\"\n\n\"Whatever, bro. Just keep my name out of it.\"\n\nWill yanked open the door to the locker room. The space was empty. Blue lockers ran down the walls and divided the room into three sections. He waited a few seconds, wondering if Tony Dell would follow. When the door stayed closed, Will headed toward the lockers on the back wall.\n\nBill Black's name was written on a piece of masking tape stuck to his locker. Will had used a Sharpie to cross it out and write BUD. Three letters. It wasn't pretty\u2014Will's handwriting had never been stellar\u2014but it beat the locker next to his, where someone had drawn an ejaculating penis that had only one ball.\n\nWill assumed it was an inside joke.\n\nTo secure his locker, Will had bought a luggage lock instead of a combination dial. Left and right had never been easy, but Will was good with numbers. He spun the four digits to the date he'd first kissed Sara. Or, technically, the date Sara had kissed him. The lock didn't need to know the details.\n\nWill hung his helmet inside the locker and took out his folded work shirt and pants. Maintenance duty wasn't a bad job as these things went. Will was good at fixing things. The forms they made him fill out were designed for someone with little grasp of the English language. There were only five boxes to check or not check, and only one long line with an X beside it, which made it easy when it came time to sign his name. Not that Will signed his name. He wrote two capital letter _B_ s and left it at that.\n\nWill took off his street clothes and dressed for work. He wore Bill Black's photo ID on a lanyard around his neck. A security card and set of keys were attached to a retractable wire on his belt. A flashlight hooked through a metal loop on the side. Will transferred the still-moist cash from Tony Dell into the front pocket of his work pants, hoping the bills would be dry when he logged them into evidence later. In a blue Velcro wallet were a few of Black's credit cards, a copy of a speeding ticket that served as his license, and some receipts that indicated Mr. Black preferred to do all his shopping at the RaceTrac near the mouth of the Ocmulgee Trail.\n\nHe checked the battery on his iPhone. Will didn't use a smartphone in his real life, but Bill Black was a little more sophisticated. Not that the device was the sort of thing you had to be a rocket scientist to operate. Will had figured out most of the programs on his own as he whiled away the hours at the fleabag efficiency motel where Bill Black rented a room by the week.\n\nBlack's primary email account was on the hospital server. The secondary account was through Gmail. The inbox contained some increasingly nasty messages that appeared to have been written by an angry pregnant woman in Tennessee. There were a few mildly racist forwards from some dummy accounts, but Bill Black didn't have many friends. The bulk of his mail consisted of junk sent from mailing lists that advertised hunting gear and naked women, and coupons for things like beef jerky and Old Spice.\n\nBlack's musical tastes ran toward country, with some Otis Redding thrown in as a hat tip to the singer's hometown of Macon. There were some pictures of scenic views taken from the highway. Black was a hunter, so it made sense that he would appreciate woods and trees. Black also liked the ladies. There were several risqu\u00e9 photos downloaded from the Internet. Blondes and Asians mostly. Will had briefly considered putting a few redheads on there, but that felt weird because of Sara. And also because of Sara, he knew they weren't really redheads.\n\nThe tech specialist at the GBI had done the rest of the heavy lifting, adding some stealth features to the phone. The apps ran in the background and were invisible to anyone who didn't know exactly what to look for. One of them automatically erased all phone numbers and texts going in and out. Another turned the speakers into a recording device when you tapped the power button three times. Yet another provided a rolling phone number in case Will had to make a call and didn't want his location to come up. The most important app patched the device into the military's tracking system\u2014not the GPS available to the entire world, but the real-time global positioning used for things like targeting drones and delivering bombs.\n\nThis last app was the reason Will kept checking the battery. Amanda was right about many things, but none more than the belief that there was a link between Will's investigation into Big Whitey and the attack on Lena Adams and Jared Long. Even Tony Dell had made the connection.\n\nWill didn't want to go off the grid because he forgot to plug in his phone.\n\nThe door banged open. Will turned around. He was half expecting to find Tony Dell, but the new guy was beefy looking with a full head of hair and a jaw that was sharp enough to cut glass.\n\nWill knew a cop when he saw one. He did exactly what Bill Black would do\u2014slammed his locker closed and headed toward the exit.\n\nThe cop held up his badge. \"Detective Paul Vickery, Macon PD.\"\n\nLena's partner. That made sense. Will still didn't acknowledge him. He kept his beeline toward the door.\n\nVickery grabbed Will's shoulder and spun him around. He was a few inches shorter than Will, but he had a badge and a gun and obviously felt that gave him the right to be an asshole. \"Where you going?\" He glanced at the name stitched on Will's shirt. \"Buddy.\"\n\nWill tried to calm things down. \"I don't want any trouble, all right?\"\n\nVickery bounced on the balls of his feet, obviously spoiling for a fight. \"Well, you're about to get it, motherfucker. Where's Tony Dell?\"\n\nWill shrugged, thinking Lena's partner didn't need to be face-to-face with the guy whose car was left outside the house where Jared Long was almost murdered. And Lena, too, for that matter. \"I dunno, man. Ask at the front office.\"\n\n\"I'm asking you, fuckball. You're Bill Black, right?\" Vickery wasn't looking for an answer. His eyes scanned the hospital ID hanging around Will's neck. \"Your boss says you and Dell are real tight. Thick as thieves.\"\n\nWill imagined Ray Salemi would've said anything to get Paul Vickery out of his office. \"It's not exclusive,\" Will said. \"We've both agreed to see other people.\"\n\n\"Funny, asshole.\" Vickery moved closer. \"Where were you last night? You with Dell when him and his crew tried to take on my partner?\"\n\nWill had already arranged his alibi. \"Ask my parole officer. He dropped in on me around midnight.\"\n\n\"I'm gonna do that.\" Vickery's beady eyes narrowed even more. \"Something ain't right with you, asshole. I can feel it in my gut.\"\n\nWill avoided the obvious joke.\n\n\"You're chest-high in this shit. I can smell it on you.\" Vickery sniffed, as if to illustrate the point. \"Dell's a professional snitch. Just a matter of time before he rats you out. Why don't you beat him to it? Tell me what happened last night and I'll keep you outta jail.\"\n\n\"Sorry I can't help, Officer.\" Again, Will tried to leave, but Vickery's hand went to his chest, stopping him.\n\nVickery warned, \"You got one more chance to tell me where your boyfriend is or I start taking it out on you.\"\n\n\"I said I don't\u2014\"\n\nVickery punched him in the face. Will saw it coming, but there wasn't enough time to get out of the way. Will's head swiveled. His jaw popped. He tasted blood in his mouth. Automatically, Will's fists went up.\n\nHe had to force them back down. Vickery was Lena's partner. Will didn't have to think long to consider the number of stupid things he'd do if someone threatened Faith and her family.\n\n\"Come on, Buddy.\" Vickery slapped Will's face with his open palm. \"You wanna hit me, Buddy?\" He whistled like he was calling a dog. \"Come on, boy. Come on.\"\n\nWill peeled his fingers from his palms to get them to unclench. Instead of beating the ever-loving shit out of Paul Vickery, he said, \"You know there's a security camera in here, right?\"\n\nVickery's eyes flicked upward to the corner. The camera was pointed straight down, its red light flashing. He seemed to be considering whether or not beating Will to death was worth losing his badge over.\n\nApparently not.\n\nVickery told Will, \"This isn't over.\" He kicked the door open and stormed out with his hands fisted at his sides.\n\nWill glanced up at the camera, which ran on a nine-volt battery and wasn't connected to anything because the Supreme Court had ruled that employees had an expectation of privacy when they were in a locker room.\n\nYou'd think a detective would know that.\n\nWill checked his reflection in the mirror over the sink. Vickery hadn't done any visible damage. Will used his tongue to find the source of blood in his mouth. The inside of his cheek had cut against his teeth. He turned on the faucet and sipped some water. The wound started to sting. Will swished the water around until his spit was only slightly pink.\n\nHis phone buzzed in his pocket. He used the earbud to listen to the email from Ray Salemi, his helpful boss. Will read the words along with the tinny computer voice. He gathered Faith had found a way to get him and Lena in the same room together.\n\nThere was a leaking pipe in the ICU. Will had been assigned to fix it.\n\nWill took the north stairwell up to the fifth floor. The going wasn't easy. His toolbox got heavier with each step. His body kept reminding him that he'd only gotten a few hours of sleep the night before. Will normally tried to run a few miles every day, but Bill Black's life didn't allow for such luxuries. By the third-floor landing, Will's arm was shaking. Level four brought shooting pains into his lower back. He set the toolbox down and used his bandanna to wipe the sweat off his face.\n\n\"Hey.\"\n\nHe looked up. Faith was leaning over the railing.\n\nShe looked down the open stairwell, making sure they were alone before asking, \"Did you come up from the basement?\"\n\nHe grabbed his toolbox and started climbing again. \"The elevator opens up across from the waiting room, which is by the other set of stairs.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you take the elevator to the fourth floor and go up from there?\"\n\nWill watched a drop of sweat roll down his nose and splash onto the concrete steps.\n\n\"Will?\"\n\nHe rounded the landing. Faith had that smile on her face that said she realized he was stupid but was being kind enough not to verbalize the observation. \"I've been checking all the doors for the last fifteen minutes.\"\n\nHe asked, \"Did you break a pipe or just pretend it's broken?\"\n\n\"Water pistol. You'll see.\" She nodded toward the next flight of stairs. \"Think you can make it?\"\n\nFaith took the steps two at a time. She had changed into her regs\u2014black sneakers, tan cargo pants, and a long-sleeved blue polo shirt with the letters _GBI_ written in bright yellow across the back. Her blonde hair was tucked into a matching blue ballcap with the same logo. Her Glock was strapped to her thigh.\n\nWill dropped his toolbox by the door to the ICU. He looked through the skinny window into the ward. One nurse was behind the desk. The cop who was guarding Jared Long's room was so young he looked as if he was wrapped in plastic. Will had investigated cop shootings before. If Macon was like any other force on the planet, all the seasoned cops were out banging down doors and threatening sources.\n\nWill headed up the stairs after Faith. The climb was remarkably easy without the added weight.\n\nHe pushed open the metal door. His eyes watered from the sudden sunlight. The rain clouds had receded, opening up a bright blue sky. Will gathered from the discarded cigarette butts in the pea gravel that the staff was familiar with the roof exit. He scanned the medical complex. The five-story hospital building was at the center. Two lower buildings flanked each side. Doctors rented the spaces. From what Will gathered, there were lots of baby doctors on hand. He'd been to the birthing suites a few times. They were more like hotel rooms. Most of Macon's industrial parks and factories had shut down during the recession, but Maconites were still making babies.\n\n\"Over here,\" Faith called.\n\nThere was a shed covering the exit door. Faith had walked around the back so no one could surprise them.\n\nWill asked, \"Sara?\"\n\n\"She went shopping with Nell. Jared's mother. She wants to clean the house.\"\n\n\"The crime scene house?\"\n\n\"That's the one.\"\n\nWill felt his brow furrow. He couldn't imagine Sara thought that was a good idea.\n\nFaith said, \"I'll head over to the house later to make sure she's all right.\" She squinted at the name on his shirt. \"Buddy?\"\n\n\"It belonged to the last guy,\" Will lied. \"I talked to Tony Dell this morning.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"It's like we thought. Zachary and Lawrence found him at Tipsie's, said they needed a couple of men for a job.\"\n\n\"Tony knew them?\"\n\n\"He says no, that he's just seen them around the bar. I believe him maybe ninety percent. They hang out in the back with the other rednecks in charge. Way above Tony's pay grade.\"\n\nFaith pulled a pair of sunglasses out of her pocket and slid them on. \"I verified what Branson told us this morning. She wasn't lying about the shooters. They're mid-level thugs. Nothing this violent in their histories. Certainly not murder for hire.\"\n\n\"What's the prognosis on Fred Zachary, the second shooter?\"\n\n\"Don't ask me. I can't get near him. His lawyer's set up shop in his hospital room. Won't leave his side.\"\n\n\"That sounds expensive.\"\n\n\"The guy's part of a fancy firm out of Savannah. Vanhorn and Gresham. They just opened up offices in Macon.\" She glanced over to make sure he was following. \"It's the same M.O. as Sarasota and Hilton Head. Big Whitey moves in, he organizes the local scumbags, he gives them fancy lawyers, and he takes out any cops who get in his way.\"\n\nWill asked, \"Anything off the cell towers?\"\n\n\"Lena got a text from Paul Vickery around eleven-fifty. Nothing big, just checking if she's okay. Fifteen minutes later, Long got a blocked call we're trying to trace. Might take until tomorrow.\"\n\n\"Fifteen minutes later?\"\n\n\"Yeah, about ten minutes before the attack.\"\n\nWill stared out at the view, which was a depressing mix of interstate and strip malls. \"Could be one of Jared's buddies just calling to check in.\"\n\n\"Could be.\"\n\n\"Have you talked to Lena's team?\"\n\n\"What's left of it. DeShawn Franklin seems to think this is no big deal. Paul Vickery is a dick.\"\n\nWill ran his hand along his jaw. \"He's upset about his partner almost being murdered. He was here looking for Tony Dell this morning.\"\n\n\"Did he find him?\"\n\n\"If Tony gets the crap beaten out of him, then we'll know he did.\"\n\n\"Vickery struck me as that kind of guy,\" Faith admitted. \"Very self-righteous about me wasting his time when he could be out looking for whoever put out the hit on Lena and Jared.\"\n\nWill said, \"Vickery thinks Bill Black is involved.\"\n\n\"I'd probably make the same assumption. Black's a con with a violent history. Dell's car was at the crime scene. They both work at the same place.\"\n\n\"My boss told Vickery that Tony Dell and Bill Black are good friends.\"\n\n\"Nice. How's that target feel on your back?\"\n\n\"Stabby,\" Will admitted. He'd have to be very careful around Vickery if he ever had the bad fortune to cross paths with him again. \"What's the police station like?\"\n\n\"They're all helpful on the surface, but the minute you start to pull at a string, they cut you off.\"\n\n\"What strings?\"\n\n\"Incident reports. Daily briefings. They're not good at producing paperwork, which is odd for a police station.\"\n\nWill noted, \"It's been my impression that police officers have to write everything down.\"\n\n\"Mine, too. Maybe we should go work for Macon.\" She leaned back against the shed. \"Chief Gray runs a tight ship, but he's got the press on his back\u2014both Macon and Atlanta\u2014plus there's talk someone saw a CNN truck heading down 75.\"\n\n\"Great,\" Will mumbled. He'd seldom worked a case where the media made things better.\n\nFaith said, \"Gray has every able-bodied cop pounding the streets, including himself. You gotta hand it to the old guy. He's got his sleeves rolled up just like everybody else. The downside is that Branson's got the whole station to herself. Her and Paul Vickery. I get the feeling DeShawn Franklin's heart isn't in it. He was handpicked by Chief Gray when he took over the force a few years ago. His loyalties have to be torn.\"\n\n\"You think he'll flip?\"\n\n\"Not unless he's caught in bed with a dead woman or a live boy.\" Faith blew out a puff of air. He could tell she was frustrated. \"I ran Jared and Lena's credit, checked their accounts. They pass the smell test. Lena's Celica is paid off, his truck's a year out. Low balance on their credit cards. There's a couple of thou left on Jared's student loans. Another thou in savings. No big trips or lake houses. They're a little upside down on their mortgage, but who isn't?\"\n\n\"What about their cases?\"\n\n\"We're covered up with cases. Jared was trying to win some kind of contest to write the most tickets. Lena's got a stack of arrests this big.\" Faith held her hands a foot apart. \"I've got four loaners from the field office looking to kill me for drowning them in paperwork. They're gonna be working eighteen-hour shifts.\"\n\n\"It's easier to treat them badly if you don't know their names.\"\n\n\"I'll keep that in mind,\" Faith said. \"First thing I asked for was the case file on that shooting-gallery raid you read about in the newspaper.\"\n\nWill assumed she was drawing this out for a reason. \"And?\"\n\n\"IA has all the files. Every single scrap.\"\n\nInternal Affairs. \"That makes sense. Two cops were hurt during the raid.\"\n\n\"Keith McVale and Mitch Cabello. Don't be impressed. I only found out their names because I checked the duty roster.\"\n\n\"Did you talk to them?\"\n\n\"One's in Florida spending his disability and the other checked himself out of the hospital this morning. He's not answering my calls and he's not at home.\" She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and swiped the screen a few times before showing some photos to Will. \"DeShawn Franklin. Mitch Cabello. Keith McVale.\"\n\nExcept for skin color, there was a sameness to all the men\u2014square-jawed, clean-cut. The same as Paul Vickery. They were more like a military unit than a detective squad.\n\nFaith said, \"There's a third guy who took off around the same time. Another detective.\" She held up the phone so Will could see his photo. \"I don't know how he's connected, but Eric Haigh applied for administrative leave the day of the raid.\"\n\nWill scanned the image, which was more of the same. He guessed, \"Unavailable?\"\n\n\"He won't even answer his phone.\" Faith said, \"It's d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu all over again.\"\n\nWill knew what she meant. The police forces in Hilton Head and Savannah had both seen an uptick of early retirements and transfer requests the minute Big Whitey started throwing his weight around.\n\nHe said, \"It's the same strategy Whitey uses with the dealers. You kill or hurt one cop, it's easier to get the rest of them to either fall in line or fall away.\"\n\n\"And then Big Whitey corners the drug market.\" Faith changed the subject. \"I was so desperate this morning I even tracked down your newspaper stories.\" She scrolled to the Web browser on her phone. The _Macon Chronicle-Herald_ blotter was already pulled up. \"We know about the shooting-gallery raid\u2014at least that it happened. The two runaways were party girls; they straggled home the next afternoon. The school pot bust was a known offender who will be heading to rehab for his billionth time. The guy on the toilet had a heart attack. He was described as a forty-three-year-old entrepreneur.\" Faith looked back up at Will. \"I wish I was better at making puns.\"\n\n\"It'll come to you.\"\n\nShe chuckled good-naturedly. \"The raid has to be the flashpoint. I hate to admit this, but Denise Branson is good. She's got me completely rope-a-doped.\"\n\nWill had worked these kinds of cases before. He saved Faith the explanation. \"Internal Affairs won't release any paperwork on the shooting-gallery raid until they reach a decision. They can't legally discuss the details because the reputation of an officer or officers is at stake, or because there's possibly going to be a lawsuit. There's a gag order on everyone involved, and even without that, no one will talk to you because you're the bad lady from the state who's sticking her nose where it doesn't belong.\"\n\n\"In a nutshell,\" Faith confirmed. \"I have a teenage son, so I know I should be used to being hated, but this is a whole new level.\"\n\nWill wanted to tell her it got better, but he couldn't lie.\n\nFaith tucked her phone back into her pocket. \"I went in there expecting them to turn on Lena, but she's worshipped around that place. They talk about her like she's the best detective on the squad. I don't get it. And when I ask them why she's so great, they just look at me like it's so obvious, I must be some kind of idiot for not seeing it.\"\n\nWill couldn't explain why Lena engendered such loyalty. He'd witnessed it in Grant County, too. For someone who continually screwed up, she seemed to have more than her fair share of supporters.\n\nHe asked, \"What about Denise Branson? Did you get a temperature on her?\"\n\n\"They're a bit cold on her, but that's to be expected. She's higher up the food chain. She's self-confident. She's a woman. Three strikes.\" Faith asked, \"What else did you get out of Tony Dell?\"\n\n\"Big Whitey this, Big Whitey that.\"\n\n\"That makes me nervous.\"\n\nWill didn't address her concern. They'd had many conversations about how dangerous it felt for Tony Dell to keep throwing the name around. \"I convinced him Big Whitey's probably going to kill us. Loose ends.\"\n\n\"Makes sense.\" Faith stared at the interstate. Will could guess her thoughts, which more than likely mirrored his own: It was time to make a move on Big Whitey. Will would have to get in deeper with Tony Dell, possibly through Cayla the pharmacy nurse.\n\nHe said, \"Tony thinks we should try to arrange a sit-down. Let Big Whitey know we're not a threat. See if we can do business with him.\"\n\nFaith nodded, but she still didn't look at Will. \"Give me the details as soon as you have them.\"\n\n\"Maybe you could tape a gun to the back of the toilet tank for me.\" She didn't respond. \"Like in the\u2014\"\n\n\"I've seen _The Godfather_.\"\n\nWill followed her gaze to the line of cars. I-475 was backing up with lunchtime traffic. Every big-box store and fast-food restaurant imaginable was crammed along the exit.\n\nHe asked, \"You think of a pun yet? For the entrepreneur on the toilet?\"\n\n\"It doesn't seem so funny anymore.\"\n\nWill stared back at the cars. A truck swerved into the wrong lane to pass a van. Horns blared. Faith lifted her hat and brushed her hair back up underneath it.\n\nHe asked, \"Is she okay?\"\n\nFaith shook her head. \"I haven't heard a word come out of her mouth. It's like talking to a brick wall. She won't respond to anything. Won't look at me. I was thinking about holding a mirror under her nose to make sure she's still alive.\"\n\nWill waited for Faith to realize that wasn't the question.\n\nShe said, \"Sara's all right. Tired. She didn't say, but I can tell it's hard for her to be here.\"\n\nWill nodded.\n\nShe finally looked up at him. \"You need to tell her, Will. This is getting too close to the bone.\"\n\nHe rubbed his jaw. He felt a knot coming up where Vickery had punched him. \"Lena didn't say anything?\"\n\nFaith stared at him for a second longer, then shook her head again. \"I tried to go in there like she was just another witness. Then I tried to talk to her like a cop. But the whole time, I've got sweat dripping down my back because all I can think is am I going to be the next cop she gets killed.\" Faith shrugged her shoulders when she added, \"Or you.\"\n\nWill wasn't sure what to say. He shrugged his shoulders, too.\n\nThey both turned when they heard a cackling laugh. A group of doctors had made their way up to the roof. Will walked gingerly around the shed. He kept his back to the metal wall. The pea gravel crunched as the group walked toward the edge of the building.\n\nHe checked that the coast was clear, then slipped through the door.\n\nWill looked over the railing before heading down the stairs. His toolbox was still outside the ICU. He grabbed the handle and pushed open the door. And then his heart stopped because he hadn't checked the window first. Luckily, no one was there but the cop and the nurse.\n\nThe man's hand went to his gun.\n\nWill held up his ID. \"Maintenance. I got a report that a pipe's leaking?\"\n\nThe cop gave Will a hard look. His hand stayed on his gun.\n\n\"Officer Raleigh, it's okay.\" The nurse stood up from her desk. \"Lordy, Bud, it took you long enough.\" She apologized quickly. \"I'm sorry, that's probably not your fault.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry anyway,\" Will told her. \"Got hung up on the last job.\"\n\n\"It's Ruth.\" She smiled, motioning for him to follow her.\n\nWill hefted the toolbox into his other hand as he walked down the hall. He had been in the ICU once before to check a hissing air conditioner. The basic layout was a horseshoe that squared off around the nurses' station. The rooms were small. The only windows looked into the hallway. Will guessed patients in the ICU didn't really care about sunlight, but the whole floor made him feel claustrophobic.\n\nOfficer Raleigh blocked the doorway to Jared's room. He grabbed the ID hanging around Will's neck. He scrutinized Bill Black's photo. Will was close enough to see the fine down on the young officer's cheek.\n\n\"What's the deal here?\" Ruth seemed perplexed. \"This is Buddy. He's been up here before.\"\n\nWill studied the woman. She was older with dark hair that showed a little gray at the part. He wasn't sure why she kept covering for him. Will was pretty good at remembering faces and he was certain he'd never met this particular nurse before.\n\n\"All right.\" Raleigh finally moved out of Will's way.\n\nWill tried to keep his expression neutral as he walked into the room, but Lena, who was folded into a chair in the corner, wasn't as careful. Her mouth opened in surprise.\n\nRuth misunderstood her reaction. She told Lena, \"I'm sorry, sweetheart. We need to get this leak checked out. Only take a minute.\"\n\nWill couldn't help it. He looked everywhere in the room but at Jared.\n\n\"It's there.\" Ruth pointed at a brown spot in the ceiling.\n\nWill was tall enough to reach up and touch it. The tile was wet and smelled like apples. He looked at the food tray beside Jared's bed. The apple juice container was empty.\n\nWill lowered his hand. Ruth was watching him in a way that made him uncomfortable.\n\nShe winked at him, then said in a breathy whisper, \"I'm a friend of Cayla's.\"\n\nWill was trying to summon up one of Bill Black's grunts when Faith finally appeared.\n\n\"What the hell's going on?\" She directed her anger at the cop. \"I know Chief Gray taught you better than this. Did you check this guy out?\"\n\nRaleigh hesitated. He clearly had a healthy fear of his chief. \"The guy's got an ID.\"\n\n\"You can get those at Kinko's.\" Faith nodded toward the doors. \"Go downstairs and check with HR.\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\" Had Raleigh been a few years older, he would've told Faith where to stick her order, but he was new enough to jump when she snapped her fingers.\n\nRuth looked up at the ceiling, all business as she asked Will, \"What do you think, Bud?\"\n\nWill looked up, too. \"I think something's leaking.\"\n\nFaith suggested, \"Maybe we can move Mr. Long to a different room?\"\n\nRuth shook her head. \"It's just me up here for the next hour and I can't move him by myself.\" Faith offered, \"I can help.\"\n\n\"We're not really allowed to\u2014\"\n\nWill interrupted, \"I'll need the room cleared anyway.\" He pushed up the ceiling tile and used the flashlight on his belt to look inside the drop ceiling. Will had been looking into ceilings in the hospital almost every day of the last ten. He knew that his chances of finding at least one suspicious-looking pipe were good, but the nest of lines crisscrossing the ICU still surprised him.\n\nHe pushed the tile aside so everyone could see as he tried to sound authoritative. \"That'll be oxygen, the condense line for the AC, PVC pipe, some old polybute. I'm gonna need a schematic so\u2014\"\n\n\"I get it,\" Ruth stopped him. \"Let me call my supervisor and see if I can get her up here.\"\n\nShe left, Faith on her heels. Will kept his flashlight pointed toward the ceiling, but his eyes were on Jared Long.\n\nThe young man's face had blown up like a balloon. There were tubes sticking out of everything. His eyes were taped shut. Dried blood was caked around his nostrils. The flesh on his hands was a waxy, yellow color. No cop wanted to see another cop in a hospital bed. Will wasn't normally superstitious, but he had to suppress the shiver working its way up his spine.\n\nThen again, Jared Long wasn't the only cautionary tale in the room.\n\nSlowly, like she didn't want to break anything, Lena uncurled herself from the chair.\n\nWill asked, \"You holding up?\"\n\n\"No.\" She stood on the other side of the bed with her arms wrapped around her waist. \"Sara doesn't know you're doing this, does she?\"\n\nLena had always been an astute observer, but Will wasn't going to talk to her about Sara. He glanced over his shoulder, checking Ruth. The nurse was talking on the phone. Faith was practically glued to her side.\n\nLena said, \"I won't tell her. I haven't told anybody.\" She rubbed her lips together. They were cracked and dry. \"You'll find out eventually. I'm good at keeping my mouth shut. I've learned to do the right thing.\"\n\nWill asked, \"What happened last night?\"\n\n\"They shot him.\" Lena stopped the story there, dismissing her involvement in a wholly predictable way. Still, Will could tell she was reeling from the aftershock. Her eyes were bloodshot. The bruise under her eye mottled the skin. She couldn't seem to keep her balance. Her pupils were wide open, though he didn't know if that was from the dark room or some kind of medication.\n\nHe said, \"Tell me what brought this on.\"\n\nHer head moved slowly side to side.\n\n\"Was it the raid last week?\" He paused. \"Two cops were hurt. Were you part of that? Were you on the team?\"\n\nShe paused before answering, \"I'm not allowed to talk about the raid.\"\n\n\"You and I both know you don't play by the rules.\"\n\n\"Ask Branson.\"\n\n\"I'm asking you.\"\n\nHer head started shaking again. She looked down at Jared. Her voice was barely a whisper when she told her husband, \"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry.\"\n\nWill said, \"Lena, something happened to set this off.\"\n\nShe didn't respond.\n\nHe tried to be diplomatic. \"Did Jared pull somebody over who might want to hurt him?\"\n\nShe gave Will a confused look, as if it never occurred to her that a motorcycle cop working part of a drug corridor that ran up the Eastern Seaboard might find himself in a dangerous situation.\n\nShe asked, \"You think he got in the way of some traffickers?\"\n\n\"I don't know. You tell me.\"\n\nShe seemed to think about it. \"They would've shot him then and there.\"\n\nWill knew she was right, but he still asked, \"Jared didn't mention anything?\"\n\n\"We weren't really talking.\"\n\nWill let her words settle. He wasn't surprised there was marital discord. The first thing he'd seen when he walked through the front door of their house was a pillow and sheet on the couch.\n\nWill asked, \"What about you?\"\n\n\"What about me?\"\n\nWill checked on Ruth again. Faith made a motion with her hand, indicating that there wasn't much time.\n\nHe tried to keep his patience as he told Lena, \"Whatever brought this on\u2014I know you didn't mean to do it. You're not a bad person. But you did something, and it got us here, and you need to tell me what that thing is so I can stop whoever did this.\"\n\nThere was still a small shake to Lena's head. Her hand was resting on the guardrail. She flexed open her fingers, letting the tips graze the sheet covering Jared's body.\n\nWill said, \"You know you can trust me. There's a reason I'm here.\"\n\nShe didn't acknowledge his plea. \"Your partner. You work with her long?\"\n\n\"Faith.\" Will tasted blood on his tongue. Without thinking, he'd chewed at the cut in his cheek. \"A while.\"\n\n\"She any good?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Will tried another tack. \"Who's Big Whitey?\" That snapped her out of it. He saw a flash of anger as the old Lena started to surface. \"What did Branson say?\"\n\n\"Who is he?\"\n\n\"No one.\" She seemed genuinely afraid now. \"He doesn't exist.\n\nHe's a lie.\"\n\n\"Lena\u2014\"\n\n\"Stop.\" Her voice took on a pleading tone. \"Listen to me, Will. If you love Sara, you'll stay away from this.\" She gripped the bed rail, desperate. \"I mean it. Stay away.\"\n\nWill looked back at the nurse again. She was obviously finishing up her phone call.\n\nHe told Lena, \"Talk to me. Let me help you.\"\n\nLena shook her head. Tears started to flow. \"We're supposed to protect people. We're supposed to keep them safe.\"\n\n\"The best way to keep Jared safe is\u2014\"\n\n\"How do you decide?\" She swallowed hard. The sound was louder than the hum of the machines. \"How do you decide whose life is more important?\" Her hand went to her stomach. The palm was flat, fingers splayed. \"He would want this,\" she whispered. \"This is what Jared would want me to do.\"\n\nFaith cleared her throat loud enough to announce her return.\n\nRuth was behind her. She asked Will, \"How bad is the leak? I mean, are we talking the whole ceiling's gonna come down?\"\n\nWill took his time, clicking off the flashlight, dropping it back into the loop on his belt. Finally, he shook his head and shrugged at the same time. \"I won't know until I get up there.\"\n\nRuth sighed. \"It's gonna be an hour before my boss can help move him. Can you come back?\"\n\nBill Black took over. \"You're gonna have to put in another request.\"\n\nRuth sighed again, but she was obviously used to dealing with the hospital bureaucracy. \"All right, Buddy. Thanks for coming, anyway.\" She went to Jared and started checking the machines. Lena watched her like a hawk. It was unnerving the way she just stood there. Except for stretching her fingers, she didn't reach out to him. She barely looked at his face.\n\nRuth must've felt it, too. She told Lena, \"It's okay to touch him, hon. He's not gonna break.\" As if to prove this, she put her hand to Jared's cheek. And then she kept it there. Her brow furrowed.\n\nSomething was wrong.\n\nRuth's hand went to Jared's forehead. Then his neck. Then his wrist. She looked at her watch, checking his pulse against the flashing number on the monitor. Will could see the thumping heart was beating faster than usual. The blood pressure was low.\n\n\"What is it?\" Faith asked.\n\n\"He's just a little clammy.\" Ruth grabbed the control and raised the foot of the bed. The floor vibrated beneath Will's feet. The nurse put some false cheer in her tone. \"I'm sure it's nothing, but let me get the doctor, all right?\" She left the room at a brisk pace. Faith followed her, though Will doubted Lena would tell him anything else.\n\nHe picked up his toolbox. He tried one last time. \"Lena, I know you think you've got all of this under control, but you don't.\"\n\nShe didn't look up as she said, \"I've never been able to control anything in my life.\"\n\nWill waited, giving her another chance to come clean. She ignored him. She just stood there staring down at Jared. Her hand was still pressed flat to her stomach. Her mouth moved soundlessly, as if in prayer.\n\nAll Will could do was leave the room. Ruth was on the phone by her desk. She barely registered his presence, which Will took as a bad sign. Jared's condition was obviously a more serious matter than she'd let on.\n\nHe walked down the hallway toward Faith. She was reading her emails. Or pretending to. Will could see the screen was dark.\n\nHe stopped a few feet away from her and opened his toolbox.\n\nFaith kept her voice low. \"Well?\"\n\nWill found his clipboard and pen. He looked at Ruth again. She had her back to him, the phone pressed to her ear.\n\nStill, he kept his voice down. \"She's protecting someone.\"\n\n\"She's protecting herself.\"\n\nWill wasn't so sure about that. He checked some boxes on his form. \"I think she was at the raid on the shooting gallery. She told me she wasn't allowed to talk about it.\"\n\n\"Of course she was at the raid. I wouldn't be surprised if she was leading it.\"\n\n\"She warned me off Big Whitey.\"\n\nFaith looked up from her BlackBerry.\n\nWill kept checking boxes. He was giving himself time to decide whether or not to tell Faith the rest. In the end, he knew he didn't have a choice. \"She told me if I love Sara, I'll drop the case.\"\n\nFaith looked back at her phone. Her thumb scrolled across the black screen. She seldom registered any emotion beyond irritation, but Will could tell Lena's words had hit home.\n\nShe asked, \"Why do I get the feeling that, five years ago, she told Jeffrey Tolliver the same thing?\"\n\n# 7.\n\nTHE DAY BEFORE THE RAID\n\nLena sat at her desk staring at her computer monitor. Fireworks filled the screen. She knew if she tapped one of the keys, the desktop would appear. She also knew what the files would be\u2014open cases, closed cases, court documents, witness statements, suspect statements\u2014endless bytes of data that summed up the lives of thousands of people.\n\nThere was only one life on the computer that she cared about.\n\nNot that there was life anymore.\n\nLena closed her eyes. Let the grief have its way.\n\nShe had been electrocuted once. Not electrocuted like on death row, but shocked by an electric current. Lena was fifteen when it happened. She'd been helping Sibyl with her hair. They were both standing in front of the mirror. The glass was steamed over from a recent shower. The smell of mold was in the air.\n\nThe house they grew up in had been wired by their uncle Hank, so they were used to smoking outlets and popping lightbulbs. He'd also built the bookcases that had no shelves, and removed a load-bearing wall, which resulted in the roof settling into a camel-back sway. Just walking through the front door, you knew you were taking your life into your own hands.\n\nWhich is why Lena should've known better than to plug in the hair dryer without first unplugging the box fan. The shock had streaked up her arm, down her spine, then legs, and into the tips of her toes, which happened to be touching standing water from the shower. There was some sort of delay. Lena didn't feel the brunt of the electrocution until she saw the water. She thought, _This is dangerous_. The lights zapped out. Her body seized. Then, the next thing she knew, she was lying on the bathroom floor and Sibyl was screaming for Hank to call an ambulance.\n\nThat's what Lena felt like now\u2014shocked. Almost electrocuted. Laid flat on her back. Her body tensed. Her nerves on fire. Only this time, there was no one around to help her. This time, she was completely alone.\n\nLena watched the colorful bursts of light explode across the computer screen. She rested her hand on the mouse. She gently pressed down. The desktop came up. She moved the arrow to the file that contained the ultrasound. Lena had torn up the photo, but the video remained. Her hand froze on the mouse. She didn't need to open the file. She didn't need to see the picture. The image was forever seared into her retinas. She felt weak as rain every time she saw it.\n\nLittle black bubble. White folds and ridges. The tiny flutter of a beating heart that was no bigger than a drop of rain.\n\nHow could she love something so much when she couldn't even see it with her naked eye? How could she feel that heart beat inside of her when it took a machine just to let her know it was there?\n\nHow could she have lost it so easily?\n\nHow could one horrible moment erase weeks of happiness, destroy a prospective lifetime that had made Lena's heart feel weightless with anticipation?\n\nThe arrow hovered over the file. There was a slight shake to the image.\n\nHer cell phone rang. Lena moved her hand off the mouse and picked up the phone. \"Detective Adams.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" The woman seemed surprised that Lena had answered.\n\n\"Yes?\" Lena asked. She touched her hand to the mouse. She didn't need to see the file again. She should get rid of it. Throw it in the computer's trash.\n\n\"Ma'am?\" the woman said. \"Hello?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Lena turned away from the computer. She made herself listen to the call.\n\nThe woman was saying, \"... from Dr. Benedict's office? You saw me yesterday?\"\n\nLena couldn't stand people who raised their voices at the end of every sentence. \"Are you calling about the bill? We haven't gotten it yet.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, of course not.\" She sounded offended. \"I just wanted to check on you? Your husband said you were back at work?\"\n\nLena rubbed her eyes with her fingers. Jared had slept on the couch last night. He was gone this morning when Lena woke up. She'd checked the duty roster when she got in. He'd changed shifts so he didn't have to see her.\n\n\"Ma'am?\"\n\nLena dropped her hand. \"Is there something you wanted?\"\n\n\"Dr. Benedict asked me to check on you, see if the cramping's subsided?\"\n\nLena put her hand to her stomach. \"It's better,\" she said, not knowing whether or not this was the truth. Every time she thought about it, she could feel it happening all over again. The excruciating pain that woke her from a deep sleep. The panic as she tried to dress herself. The fear as they raced to the hospital. The agony as they heard the doctor's words. The screaming argument she'd gotten into with Jared when they got home.\n\nHe wouldn't let Lena throw away the bloody sheets. He said she was trying to pretend it hadn't happened. That she was unfeeling. Incapable of grieving. That throwing away the sheets was her way of getting rid of the evidence.\n\nAs if Lena needed a visual reminder to understand what she had lost.\n\n_They_ had lost.\n\n\"Ma'am?\"\n\nLena shook her head, trying to get rid of the thoughts. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"I asked, no excessive bleeding?\"\n\nLena didn't know what \"excessive\" meant. She had no point of reference.\n\n\"Mrs. Long?\" The woman's voice filled with a warmth that was ten times worse than her stupid interrogatory tone. \"I can have Dr. Benedict write you a note for work. You shouldn't be back so soon. Most women take a few weeks, sometimes a month or even two if they can get off that long.\"\n\n\"Well, I can't do that,\" Lena said. Yesterday was bad enough. They'd gotten home from the hospital around ten in the morning. Lena had slept away the afternoon, then stayed up arguing with Jared well into the night. The thought of being trapped at home again with nothing to do but wait for Jared to walk through the door was unbearable. Besides, no one at work even knew she was pregnant.\n\nHad been pregnant.\n\nLena told the woman, \"I have work to do.\"\n\n\"I'm sure you do, Mrs. Long, but people will understand. What you lost\u2014\"\n\n\"I'm fine,\" Lena interrupted. She wanted to correct her, to tell the woman that her last name was Adams, that Jared had told her to keep it because Lena Long sounded like something you'd buy off an infomercial.\n\nInstead, Lena said, \"I don't need a note. Thank you.\"\n\n\"Oh, darlin', please don't hang up.\" She was obviously concerned. \"You should go home. Be with your husband. Trust me, he might not be showing it, but he's hurting just as much as you.\"\n\nLena pressed her fingers into her eyes again. Jared was showing it. Lena was the problem. According to her husband, she was some kind of machine. She wasn't the woman he'd married. He wasn't sure she was the woman he wanted to stay married to.\n\nLena looked at the clock. She had a briefing in five minutes. Her team was waiting for her. She should end the call. She should shut up. But the words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. \"I wondered\u2014\"\n\nInstead of pushing Lena, or making an inane statement with her voice raised at the end, the woman was silent. The trick was a good one. Lena used it in interrogations. People naturally wanted to fill silences, especially when they felt guilty about something.\n\nLena said, \"I had an abortion.\"\n\nStill the woman was silent.\n\n\"Six years ago.\" Lena put her hand to her face. Her skin felt hot to the touch. \"I wondered\u2014\"\n\n\"No. That has nothing to do with what happened the other night.\" The answer had a certain finality to it. \"If that were the case, I wouldn't have my two little ones.\"\n\nLena felt some of the tension leave her chest. She opened her mouth for air. For just a moment, she could breathe again.\n\nThe woman said, \"Give yourself time to grieve. You and your husband can try again. Trust me, what you're going through now\u2014it gets easier. It doesn't ever go away, but it gets different.\"\n\nLena pulled a box of tissues out of her desk. She had to get her shit together. She was at work. She had to stop dwelling on this. There was no way she could lead her team if they saw her sobbing at her desk. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose.\n\n\"Okay,\" Lena told the woman. \"Thank you. I need to get back to work.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Long. Lena. You really should go home. Don't do this to yourself. Nobody gets a medal for being tough.\"\n\n\"Okay.\" Lena made her voice stronger. \"Thank you for calling. I have to go.\"\n\n\"But\u2014\"\n\nLena hung up the phone. She blew her nose again. She wiped her eyes until they felt raw. Maybe it was different at a doctor's office, but at the police station, they gave out medals all the time for being tough.\n\nLena turned to her computer. She clicked on the ultrasound file and dragged it into the trashcan. She clicked on the Finder menu, then scrolled down to Empty Trash. Her finger stayed pressed down on the mouse. Her heart thumped in her chest.\n\n\"Lee?\" Paul Vickery banged on the door as he walked into her office. He stopped. \"What's wrong? Somebody yank your nose hair?\"\n\n\"I've gotta stupid cold.\" Lena scrolled back up the menu, went to Edit, then selected Undo Move to Trash. She didn't look up at Paul until she saw the file safely back on her desktop. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"You make a decision yet, boss?\"\n\nThe decision. They'd planned the raid for next week, but their snitch had told them a big shipment was coming in tonight. Even before she lost the baby, Lena wasn't comfortable moving up the schedule. She wanted more time to prepare. Apparently, no one else felt this way. She was feeling pressure from all sides to go in. More money, more guns, more dope, more jail time.\n\nShe told Paul, \"Yeah, everybody else knows but you.\"\n\n\"Just checking, Kemosabe. No need to get your panties in a wad.\"\n\nShe heard a familiar chug from her computer. Paul wasn't the only one who was getting antsy. Denise Branson had sent another email. Lena scanned the first line, which dove straight into the fact that after last night's overtime, Lena's investigation had crossed the one-million-dollar mark.\n\n\"Damn, girl.\" Paul read over her shoulder. \"You pissed her off something righteous. What're you gonna do?\"\n\n\"She'll be fine once she gets her picture in the paper.\"\n\n\"Vanhorn and Gresham,\" Paul read from the email. \"Sid Waller's lawyer's from that firm, right?\"\n\nLena clicked the email closed as she stood up. \"We're gonna draw straws to see who goes down into the basement first. I'm gonna hold them. One person gets to pick from each team.\"\n\nPaul grinned like a possum. \"Good thing I'm feeling lucky, partner.\"\n\n\"Did y'all finish taping off the diagram?\"\n\n\"Yeah. Had to keep DeShawn from using his protractor.\"\n\n\"Good. We're going to rehearse this thing until we know it in our sleep.\" Lena grabbed her jacket on the way out.\n\nPaul said, \"It's eighty degrees in the shop.\"\n\n\"Thanks for the weather update.\" Lena pulled on the jacket as she walked down the hallway. Her hormones were still out of whack. She was cold all the time, except when she was burning up. That's what she should've asked that stupid woman from Dr. Benedict's office about, not something that had happened six years ago.\n\nPaul said, \"You're going to\u2014\"\n\n\"Shit.\" The zip was caught in her shirt.\n\n\"Here.\" Paul stood in front of her. He started working on the zipper like she was three. Paul wasn't the only one who'd been treating her more delicately lately. Lena guessed she was putting out some pregnant woman pheromones. Or at least she had been.\n\nPaul said, \"I think we're gonna have a problem with Eric. He's acting weird.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"He's being too quiet.\" He added, \"That thing in the van the other day was funny, but he's hiding something.\"\n\n\"Hiding what?\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\nLena watched Paul's fingers as he tried to free her shirt from the zipper. She thought about the little blue jacket she'd ordered online. Jared's family loved Auburn football to the point of making it a religion. Lena had yelled at him for painting the nursery, but she couldn't resist going online last week and ordering a baby-sized Auburn hoodie from Tiger Rags.\n\nThe jacket was on back order. She wondered when it would be delivered. What day in the near future would she go home and find a tiny jacket waiting for little arms that would never exist?\n\n\"Lee?\" Paul asked. \"Where'd you go?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"It's too late to switch out Eric. He's just gonna have to man up.\"\n\nHe finally freed the zipper. \"You're the boss.\"\n\nThe word grated; it had started taking on mocking undertones. \"Lucky me,\" she muttered. Technically, their lieutenant was supposed to be the boss, but a particularly aggressive form of leukemia had taken him out of the equation and Denise Branson had yet to find a suitable replacement. At first, Lena had been happy to fill the role, but now she was seeing the downside of her new responsibilities.\n\nPaul said, \"Shit, look smart.\" He puffed out his chest and pressed his back to the wall as he stood at attention.\n\nLena didn't have to ask why. Lonnie Gray was talking on his cell phone as he walked down the hallway. He ended the call when he saw Paul and Lena. There was no preamble. He asked, \"Status?\"\n\nLena provided, \"We're doing run-throughs. No mistakes this time. We're gonna nail Waller.\"\n\nGray's voice was stern. \"That's exactly what needs to happen, Detective.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" she said, knowing he wasn't kidding around. Lena had seen more than one detective leave the Macon PD before he was planning to because he'd disappointed the chief. \"You have my word that the entire team is at one hundred percent.\"\n\nPaul added, \"You can count on us, sir,\" sounding like a third-grader bringing an apple to his teacher.\n\n\"Good.\" Gray headed back down the hallway, but not before giving Paul a curt nod. Lena could practically hear Vickery's ball sac quiver. She felt the same respect toward Gray, but she hoped she didn't look like she was creaming her pants every time the chief was around.\n\nAs soon as Gray was gone, Paul clapped his hands together. \"You heard the chief. Let's rock this bad boy.\"\n\nHe preceded Lena down the hall toward the shop. Paul was obviously pumped, and not just because of the chief. He walked on the balls of his feet in that weird way that made him look a little effeminate. Lena knew Paul had served two tours in Afghanistan before a piece of shrapnel got lodged in his arm. Physical therapy had brought him back to one hundred percent, but being home had made him lose his taste for war.\n\nPaul still relished a good fight, though\u2014one of the many characteristics they both shared. At first, Lena thought their matched temperaments made for a good partnership, but she was beginning to see that maybe a differing opinion would offer a better balance.\n\nPart of the reason Lena had respected Jeffrey Tolliver so much was that he'd always told Lena when he thought she was wrong.\n\nPaul kicked open the door to the shop. The sound of metal hitting metal reverberated through the hangar-like building. The shop was where they brought seized automobiles and boats so they could take them apart and look for drugs or contraband. They also used it to do routine maintenance on the squad cars, which was why three cruisers were hanging on lifts.\n\nThe mechanics had cleared out a large space for Lena's team to work. The footprint of the shooting-gallery house was thirty-five by sixty, and even in the large building, space was at a premium. They were using the log sergeant's duty desk as their workspace, which had infuriated the sergeant, but orders were orders. Lena was surprised Denise Branson hadn't taken the space away from them. She was pissed enough at Lena to strike out, and Branson didn't get to the rank of major without knowing how to punish people.\n\nDeShawn Franklin, Mitch Cabello, and Keith McVale stood around the duty desk. Lena took the lead ahead of Paul. She lengthened her stride so that he wouldn't pass her. Back in Grant County, Lena had been the only female detective on an all-male force. She knew the rules when she signed up. Every second of the day, she had to fight to keep her place in the pecking order.\n\n\"Hey, boss.\" Mitch looked up from the diagram they had gotten from the tax assessor's office. \"You gotta cold?\"\n\nLena knew what she probably looked like: red-rimmed eyes, bloodshot from crying. She wiped under her nose with the back of her hand. \"Yeah. Jared gave it to me.\"\n\n\"I bet he gave it to you.\" DeShawn made a grunting sound that invited a chorus of porn music from the team.\n\n\"Shut up, assholes. I just ran into Chief Gray in the hall. He made it clear we'd better come back here with Waller or keep on driving out of town.\" She gave DeShawn a pointed look. \"That means you, too, golden boy.\"\n\nMitch made a \"rut-roh\" sound straight out of a Scooby-Doo cartoon, though they all knew DeShawn was one of Gray's favorites.\n\nLena looked around the shop. The mechanics had gone to lunch and the duty sergeant was probably sulking in his car. The B-Team had worked surveillance last night. Lena told them they could come in late. During the raid, they were assigned to guarding the perimeter, so they didn't need to run the inside drills like the rest of them.\n\nStill, someone was missing.\n\nShe asked, \"Where's Eric?\"\n\nDeShawn provided, \"Shitting out lunch from the sound of it.\"\n\nLena glanced at Paul, whose face tended to show every single thought that crossed his mind. He was still worried about Eric. Maybe he had a right to be. To mangle the old saying, Eric's stomach was the window to his soul.\n\nDeShawn asked, \"Something wrong, boss?\"\n\nLena tried to summon up her old self. \"Yeah, I gotta bunch of little girls on my team.\"\n\nThey greeted this with the expected howls and finger pointing.\n\nLena ignored them. She looked down at the concrete floor where they had taped off the house. The diagram was to exact scale. Den, two bedrooms, bathroom, dining room, kitchen. They could pace off the steps here so that it came as second nature when they were doing the raid in real time. The only unknown was the basement.\n\nThumb latch. Deadbolt. Slide lock. There was no telling how the door would be secured, though they had wasted plenty of time considering the options.\n\nThe biggest issue was the four guys, maybe five, who were usually in the house. Sometimes a couple of junkies stayed the night, but that tended to be after a weekend of partying. Traffic started flowing around seven-thirty in the morning\u2014either kids on their way to school or adults on their way to work. Two or three hours later, the moms came in their SUVs, seeking a bump to get them through their daily chores. Lunchtime traffic was unreliable, but rush hour started at four-thirty and didn't slow down until after three in the morning.\n\nThis was when Sid Waller showed up. Like clockwork, he took the northbound exit onto Allman Road, hung a left onto Redding Street, then slowly drove his Corvette down the rutted gravel driveway to the shooting gallery.\n\nWaller usually stayed at the house for three hours. No one knew what he did while he was there. It was too dangerous to send in the snitches at that time of day. They were usually passed out by then, anyway. Paul thought Waller was sampling the product. DeShawn thought he was banging some girls. Denise Branson thought he was counting all the money.\n\nLena prayed to God he was doing all three, and that by the time they made their way into that dark, dank basement, Sid Waller was too stoned, too fucked, and too scared to do anything but watch helplessly as Lena ratcheted the cuffs around his wrists.\n\nShe looked up. They were all waiting on her. DeShawn was staring at his hands like he was trying to decide whether or not he needed a manicure. Mitch and Keith were mumbling to each other because the two of them couldn't shut up if you held a gun to their heads. Paul's face said it all. He was like a puppy, bouncing around on his feet, about to wet himself with anticipation.\n\nThe door creaked open. Eric Haigh gave a sheepish smile as he walked into the shop. Paul was right. There was something off about the man. He seemed too hesitant, which became enormously clear as he joined the rest of the team around the desk. They were all ready to go. Eric looked like the only place he wanted to go was back out the door he'd just walked in.\n\nWell, they all had shit going on in their lives.\n\n\"All right, ladies.\" Lena clapped her hands together. \"Decision's been made. We're hitting this place at oh-dark-thirty tomorrow morning.\"\n\n# 8.\n\nTHURSDAY\n\nSara sat in the passenger's seat of Nell's truck watching the Macon landscape scroll by. Atlanta was a city filled with beautiful gardens and trees, but there was something about being surrounded by a forest that made Sara feel at home. Like Macon, Grant County was a college town, located in a part of the state that still moved at a slower speed. Just seeing the trees made Sara feel like her lungs were working again. The vulture on her shoulder had temporarily left its perch. She felt more like herself.\n\nMaybe it wasn't entirely the scenery that had brought her this sense of calm. While Nell was shopping for cleaning supplies, Sara had frantically poured her heart out in a long email to her sister. Tessa's response had been just as long, but instead of filling the message with clich\u00e9s about soldiering on or enjoying sweet revenge, she'd made lists: Ten things she loved about Will Trent. Three of the stupidest jokes their father had ever told. Eight new words that Tessa had said around Izzie, Sara's niece, that would probably end up sending Tessa to hell. Six reasons no one would ever be able to make biscuits as good as their grandmother's. Five things that their mother did that they both swore they would never, ever do, but that they were now doing almost every single day of their lives.\n\nThe only direct acknowledgment to Sara's situation came in the postscript:\n\n_Please don't start listening to Dolly Parton again_.\n\nNell said, \"I do that all the time.\"\n\nSara was pulled from her thoughts. \"What's that?\"\n\n\"Remember something about Jeffrey and smile.\" Nell smiled, too. \"He loved being in the woods. Used to go hiking all the time when he was in high school.\"\n\nSara opened her mouth to correct her, then thought better of it.\n\n\"It's all right,\" Nell said. \"You save whatever story you just thought of for Jared when he wakes up. We'll all smile about it then.\"\n\nSara nodded. This was a familiar refrain that Nell had started the minute they'd left the hospital. She needed to get some clean pajamas for when Jared woke up. She needed to make sure the house was clean for when Jared woke up. Sara didn't begrudge Nell the goal. She could tell it was the only thing keeping her going.\n\nNell's cell phone beeped. She was using the GPS to find Lena and Jared's house. \"I guess it's down here,\" she murmured, taking a lazy, right-hand turn.\n\nSara pressed her lips together. Nell drove like an old woman, never exceeding the speed limit, slowing to let over every car that even looked as if it might want to merge. Occasionally, she would stop the truck in order to read a sign or remark on a pedestrian. She was still stuck in small-town time, where rushing was considered rude and you didn't beep your horn unless a dog was in the road.\n\nNell took in the houses lining the street. \"Not too bad,\" she commented, which was the most positive thing she'd said about Macon since they got into the truck. \"I guess they got all the plans from the same magazine.\"\n\nSara followed her gaze. There was a uniformity to the subdivision, but the houses weren't overbuilt for the lots or stuffed with extra bedrooms that no one would ever use. People kept their lawns tended. There were minivans in the driveways. American flags hung from porch posts. The street looked exactly like the kind where you'd expect to find two police officers living.\n\nNell didn't need her GPS anymore. She parked near a white GBI crime scene van. Charlie Reed stood at the open back doors. A younger man handed him plastic crates that Charlie packed carefully into the cargo area. Sara recognized the sealed evidence bags from her medical examiner days. The past started to creep up again, especially when she noticed the two cops standing around a cruiser parked at the end of the street.\n\n\"Well,\" Nell said. She was looking up at the house with some trepidation.\n\nSara guessed the woman had been expecting something closer to a witch's cottage, not the quaint, single-story clapboard house at the top of a steep hill. The structure was shotgun style, deeper than it was wide, with the front door planted squarely in the middle. Instead of an American flag on the front porch, there was an orange and blue banner with the logo of Auburn University.\n\nNell seemed to approve of the flag. She said, \"At least he's still standing where he's from.\"\n\nSara made some mumbling noises that might be interpreted as encouragement. Maybe it wasn't Nell, but Sara who was having a hard time thinking about Lena living in this house. The lawn was a dark carpet of green. There were some leggy petunias planted around the mailbox. Monkey grass splashed over the front walk. The front door was painted red. More petunias spilled from wooden planters on the porch. Sara couldn't imagine Lena tending flowers, let alone sitting down and taking notes from a book on feng shui.\n\n\"You coming?\" Nell asked.\n\nSara pushed open the door. The air felt chilly compared to the stuffy cab of the truck. The police officers at the end of the street stared with open curiosity. Sara waved. She got two nods in return.\n\nNell told Sara, \"I'm'll call Possum and see if he checked in with the nurse yet.\" She flipped open her phone and dialed the number. Her hand went to her hip. She looked up at the house as she waited for Possum to answer.\n\nSara hoped Nell was reconsidering her plans. The first thirty minutes of their drive had been spent discussing the realities of what cleaning the crime scene would entail. Sara hadn't held back toward the end. She'd been fairly brutal, which only seemed to galvanize Nell's resolve.\n\nNell spoke into the phone, \"How is he?\"\n\nSara walked away from the truck to give her privacy. A breeze stirred the air as she headed toward the crime scene van. Sara rubbed her arms, wishing she'd thought to bring a jacket.\n\n\"Dr. Linton.\" Charlie Reed smiled at Sara. He was a nice-looking man except for a well-groomed handlebar mustache, which gave him the appearance of a lounge singer. \"Please tell me Amanda finally managed to snag us your services?\"\n\n\"Lord no.\" The last thing on earth Sara would ever want to do is work for Amanda Wagner. \"I'm here with a friend.\" She indicated Nell. \"Her son's Jared Long.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" Charlie's smiled dropped. \"Surely, she doesn't want to see...?\"\n\n\"Worse than that. She wants to clean it up.\"\n\nCharlie indicated for Sara to follow him to the front of the van. He glanced at Nell, probably to make sure she couldn't hear them. \"It's pretty bad in there. I mean, not as bad as most, but they used a shotgun and there was quite a struggle. The volume of blood\u2014\"\n\nSara held up her hands. \"I would gladly leave right now if I thought I could get her to go with me.\"\n\nCharlie looked at Nell again. Her determination must've been apparent. \"Well, it's good that she has you here to walk her through it.\"\n\n\"I'm still trying to change her mind.\"\n\n\"She doesn't look like the type who does that,\" he noted. \"I can give you a quick rundown if you like?\"\n\nSara nodded, ashamed that she was so eager to hear the details.\n\nCharlie's voice took on a practiced tone. \"The man we're calling Assailant Two entered through the front window.\" He indicated the window in question. Black fingerprint powder smeared the white trim. \"He more than likely used a pocketknife. Slid it between the frames, pushed open the thumb latch.\"\n\nSara nodded. The entry method was typical for burglaries.\n\nHe continued, \"We can assume from fingerprints that Assailant Two then opened the front door, letting the man we're calling Assailant One enter the house. From the gunpowder residue on the floor and walls, we can conclude the first assailant was standing in the front room at the mouth of the hall when he initially fired the shotgun. Sawn-off Remington 870, twenty-eight gauge.\"\n\nSara knew from past cases that a shotgun blast from that distance could rip apart a half-inch piece of plywood. The sawed-off barrel had spread the pellets, which was probably the only reason Jared hadn't dropped dead on the spot.\n\nCharlie said, \"I've read the hospital admitting report. My preliminary field investigation supports the shotgun pellets mostly clustered in a twenty-centimeter circle in the victim's thoracic region, roughly T-2 through T-7, with some penetrating the skull. At the scene, a few pellets were found lodged into the wood around the doorframe. We can assume that the majority of the pellets went into the victim.\"\n\nSara had gotten out of the practice of listening to people talk as if they were giving testimony. \"Jared was standing in the doorway?\"\n\n\"Yes. The victim's body was almost exactly centered in the doorway. He likely had his arms crossed or in front of him. According to the hospital report, he had no wounds on the back of his arms or hands. He was wearing a toolbelt, which we can surmise is where Detective Adams got the hammer.\"\n\nSara had been wondering about that detail. She didn't imagine Lena kept a hammer in the bedroom, though who knew what the hell she got up to.\n\nCharlie continued, \"Adams used the hammer to take out the first assailant, the shooter, at the doorway to the bedroom.\" He pointed just below his eye socket. \"Claw went in here. Got lodged in the orbita, went straight through the vitreous. The shotgun went off a second time, blasting a hole approximately thirty-two centimeters into the far wall. At some point, the assailant fell to the floor, whereupon the hammer was yanked out of his face. We found splatter and bone on the walls approximately ten to sixteen inches from the floor, so he was likely supine when it was removed. Some spatter arced onto the ceiling as it was wrenched away.\" Charlie shuddered. \"Sorry, hammers freak me out.\"\n\n\"You're not alone.\"\n\n\"Nonetheless.\" He shuddered again. \"At some point, Assailant Number Two tried to come to the rescue. Residue puts him at approximately six feet outside the bedroom when he fired three shots from a Smith and Wesson five-shot revolver. He ended up shooting his buddy instead. I'm not certain how that happened, but Assailant One was standing with his back to the door when he was shot. Obviously, he fell to the floor shortly after. Then somehow the second assailant fell, and Adams went at him.\"\n\n\"The second assailant fell before she hit him?\"\n\n\"Fell to his knees,\" Charlie clarified. \"Sorry. We found knee and hand prints in the blood where he fell to the floor. This was when Detective Adams likely hit him in the head with the butt of the shotgun. We've got blood and hair on the gun, and the spatter on the wall and bed, which is approximately thirty-two inches from the floor, backs up a baseball swing. We took the dislodged teeth for evidence, so at least the mother won't have to see them.\" He glanced at Nell again. She was off the phone now, digging around in the back of the truck for her bags of cleaning supplies.\n\nSara asked, \"What happened after the second shooter was taken out?\"\n\n\"The neighbors arrived.\" Charlie nodded up the road. \"There are two officers on the block as well as a paramedic and a fireman. Sorry, firewoman. They got Jared's heart pumping again. Fortunately for me, the on-duty officers who responded to the 911 call stayed out of the bedroom. The scene was fairly pristine when I arrived.\"\n\nSara asked, \"You said Jared's heart stopped?\" That would explain why they'd taken him to the closest hospital instead of the trauma center.\n\n\"Correct,\" Charlie answered. \"As I understand it, the neighbors worked on the victim for quite a while before the ambulance arrived. I'm surprised he made it, if you want to know the truth. He lost a significant amount of blood. My estimate\u2014and don't quote me on this until I do the math\u2014is maybe two liters.\"\n\nSara let the information settle. If Charlie was right, Jared had suffered a Class III hemorrhage, losing thirty to forty percent of his blood volume. The cascade of respiratory distress and organ failure were second and third only to severe tachycardia. If not for his neighbors physically pumping Jared's heart, Sara would've met Nell at the funeral home this morning instead of the hospital.\n\nAnd that didn't even take into account the severity of the wounds that had caused the bleeding in the first place.\n\n\"Hello,\" Nell said. Plastic shopping bag handles cut into her hands, but she shook her head when Sara offered to take some. She told Charlie, \"I'm Darnell Long, Jared's mama.\"\n\n\"Charlie Reed,\" he answered. \"I work for the state. I'm so sorry about your son, Mrs. Long. I know he's in capable hands.\"\n\n\"The Lord never puts more on us than we can bear.\"\n\nCharlie clasped his hands together. \" 'He who follows Me shall never walk in darkness.' \"\n\nNell seemed surprised to hear the man quoting from the Bible. Sara felt the same. Charlie had never struck her as a churchgoer. Then again, he was born in the South, where babies drank Scripture with their mother's milk.\n\n\"I should get back to work.\" Charlie's smile said he was pleased with their reactions. \"If you'll excuse me, ladies.\" He headed back to his van.\n\n\"Well,\" Nell said, watching Charlie leave. Sara was beginning to understand that there was a certain amount of judgment in the word, which Nell had first uttered when she'd seen the packed parking lot of the strip club beside the dollar store.\n\nShe asked Sara, \"What's with that mustache?\"\n\n\"Charlie's one of the top forensics experts in the state. And very nice. He cares about what he does.\"\n\n\"Well.\" Nell didn't say anything else. She headed up the driveway. The bags were heavy. Sara could see the crisscross of the handles cutting off the circulation to her fingers.\n\nShe asked, \"Are you sure you don't want me to help with those?\"\n\n\"I've got it, thank you.\" Still, Nell grunted as she made her way up the last part of the driveway.\n\nJared's police bike was parked in front of the garage. The floodlight above the door was still on. Sara looked back at the street. There was no mistaking that a police officer lived here. Even in the dark of night, the light would've put the bike on display.\n\nNell asked, \"What do we do about this?\" Police tape was draped across the door, but Charlie had yet to seal the house.\n\n\"They've got more,\" Sara told her, pulling the tape down. She didn't open the door yet. \"Nell, I need to tell you again that this is a bad idea. It's going to be so much worse than you're thinking.\n\nThere was a violent fight. Jared lost a lot of blood. It'll be on the floor, on the walls, on every surface. It's a biohazard. Medical waste has to be properly disposed of. You really need to leave this to the professionals.\"\n\nNell hefted the bags. \"I think I know how to clean up a mess.\"\n\n\"I can let you borrow the money. Or give it to you. I don't care which\u2014\"\n\n\"No,\" Nell said, her tone making it clear that she was finished discussing the matter. \"Thank you.\"\n\nShe stood waiting. Finally, Sara turned the knob, pushed open the door.\n\nThere was a distinctive odor that could be found at all crime scenes\u2014not the metallic scent of blood that came from the oxidation of iron, but the stench of fear. Sara had always been a firm believer in intuition. There was a baser part of the human brain that cued every living being to danger. That part became fully engaged the minute Sara walked through the front door of Lena and Jared's home.\n\nA man had died here. Two men had almost been killed. A woman had fought for her life. The threat of violence lingered in the stale air.\n\nSara watched Nell take it all in. Her posture changed. She nearly dropped some of the bags. Sara suggested, \"Why don't you sit down?\"\n\n\"I'm all right.\"\n\n\"Let's sit down.\"\n\nNell shook her head. She looked around the front room of the house. The floor plan was open, with a combined family room and kitchen. Sunlight streamed in through the windows. The ceiling fan over the couch gave a soft whine as the blades moved. Nothing bad had happened in this space. The furniture was not overturned. The walls were a muted light gray. The only area in disarray was the kitchen, which was obviously being remodeled. Flat packs of unassembled cabinets were stacked in a neat pile. The kitchen sink was a bucket resting on an old washstand. The dishwasher was in the corner, the cord and drain hose wrapped around it like a bow. The stove was pulled away from the wall, but Sara could see the gas line was still attached.\n\nWithout thinking, she said, \"He's just as bad as Jeffrey.\"\n\nJeffrey always had to have some sort of project going. Restoring an old car. Adding a second sink in the bathroom. Redoing his kitchen. Fixing things gave him a sense of accomplishment, if not completion. When he was dating Sara, a thick plastic sheet served as the outside wall to his kitchen. The refrigerator was in the dining room. A garden hose ran through the front window and attached through various valves to the ice maker.\n\nNell said, \"Jeffrey always liked working with his hands.\" She set the bags down on the countertop, which was a piece of plywood on some two-by-fours. She ran her finger along the wood. Her eyes traveled to the sink bucket, the bare but cleanly swept floor. \"I guess I can't fault her housekeeping. There's no way Jared cleaned up like this.\"\n\nSara didn't answer. Lena had always been neat. Her desk at the station looked like something out of an office supply catalogue.\n\n\"I'll get his daddy in here to finish this up.\" Nell nodded toward the stacked boxes. \"Possum'll get those assembled in a day. I'll help him hang the top cabinets. He can do the bottom on his own. I don't guess they have a countertop, but we'll pick something out that\u2014\" She stopped talking. Sara followed her gaze to the couch. There was a pillow with a sheet neatly folded on the top. On the coffee table beside the remote were a pair of glasses, a glass of water, and a plastic case for a retainer.\n\n\"Hello?\" Faith Mitchell walked through the open front door. She'd already met Nell and Possum at the hospital. Sara had made the introductions.\n\nFaith asked, \"You just get here?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\" Nell wouldn't take her eyes off the couch. Faith seemed to note the arrangement, but made no comment. She smiled at Sara in a way that let her know there was enough discomfort to go around.\n\nSara said, \"We saw Charlie.\"\n\n\"He's still packing up the van.\"\n\nNell noisily started unpacking the bags, banging the bottle of bleach and box of gloves down on the plywood counter.\n\nFaith walked around the front room, picking up items, obviously trying to get a feel for the place. Will's partner was one year his junior, but she'd come up through the Atlanta police force before joining the GBI and was equal parts pragmatic and cynical. Sara could not have wished for a better agent to back up Will. Faith was clever and competent. She hated taking risks. In other words, she was the complete opposite of Lena Adams.\n\nShe was also nosy as hell. She walked around the room with a judgmental air, taking in the curtains and furnishings with the same sharp eye as Nell.\n\nSara felt slow on the uptake. Nell wasn't just here to clean. Lena was pushing her out of Jared's hospital room, so Nell was invading Lena's home.\n\nNell had finished unpacking the bags. She braced her hands on the wooden counter. \"I should probably look at it first.\"\n\nThere was no use arguing with her. Nell was obviously determined to keep moving forward. Sara and Faith silently followed her toward the hallway.\n\nNell didn't get far. She stopped just outside the guest bathroom. The shower curtain was pulled back. A dirty sliver of soap was beside a bottle of Axe shampoo. The seat was up on the toilet. The counter was cluttered with men's toiletries\u2014deodorant, a razor and shaving cream, a toothbrush that needed replacing and a half-empty tube of toothpaste. Little hairs filled the sink where Jared had shaved and failed to wash out the bowl.\n\nNell continued down the hall, mumbling, \"I guess she kicked him out of the bathroom, too.\"\n\nFaith mumbled in an equally low voice, \"You couldn't pay me to share my bathroom with a man.\"\n\n\"Amen,\" Sara answered as she trailed Nell down the hallway. She stepped over a white chalk outline on the floor where Charlie had taken some DNA. Sara guessed from the look of it that someone had spat in the hall, probably to make a point.\n\nWhich further supported the idea that the shooters hadn't randomly chosen their victims.\n\nThere was a spare bedroom on either side of the hall. The first one was being used as an office. The second appeared to be another unfinished project. The walls were a cheery yellow. The closet door was propped up on two sawhorses. Nell shook her head as she passed by, probably adding it to the list of Possum's chores. She stopped a few feet from the master bedroom.\n\nSara heard Nell draw in a sharp breath. The woman's hands shook as she grabbed the doorframe.\n\nCharlie's estimate may have been too conservative. Despite the passage of time, the pool of blood where Jared had fallen was still congealing. Light glimmered on the wet surface. The edges had curdled into a dark rust that seeped into the hardwood floor.\n\nThe rest of the blood had dried hours ago, leaving burgundy stains that told the story of violent altercation. The ceiling and walls weren't the worst of it. Large boot prints mixed with Lena's bare footprints back and forth across the floor. Splatter. Spatter. Spray. Drops. Knee prints. Handprints. Smears where an area rug must've gotten bunched up beneath Jared's body. Tracks that showed where someone had crawled toward the bed. Still more shoe prints indicated where the neighbors and first responders rushed in to work on Jared. They must have all been covered in blood by the time they left. Long trails of red even managed to seep into the grout lines in the bathroom floor.\n\nBut the area around the door to the bedroom told the real story. This was where Jared had been shot. This was where Lena had first taken on the intruders. The dried blood splattering and spattering the walls and ceiling could fill a forensic textbook. They varied in size and shape, in coverage and scope, and would help map out every second of what had obviously been an extremely violent struggle. Even with the pieces of tooth and bone gone, the hammer and weapons taken into evidence, the shadow of death lurked in every corner.\n\nNell's voice caught. \"I can't... I don't know what...\"\n\nSara didn't say anything.\n\nNell sniffed, but no tears came. \"Do you think a wet-vac would...\" Her voice trailed off again. Her grip tightened on the splintered wood around the door.\n\nSara looked at Faith, who just shook her head.\n\n\"All right.\" Nell thrust herself into the room. She picked her way toward the dresser. Though she was careful, there was no way to avoid the carnage. Her sneakers walked across dried footprints. Boot prints. Shoe prints. Handprints.\n\nHer voice came out at a higher pitch. \"Jared's always been more comfortable in his pajamas.\" She started opening drawers, which had presumably been photographed and inventoried by Charlie's team. \"No self-respecting man sits around in a hospital gown. I know he'll want to put on something normal as soon as possible.\"\n\nSara stood outside the door with Faith. They both silently watched the woman riffle Lena and Jared's private things. The top three drawers obviously belonged to Lena. Her underthings were mostly utilitarian, though Nell managed to make a huffing sound when she found something that crossed the line. The bottom drawers belonged to Jared. They were filled with basketball shorts, T-shirts, and boxers. He wore a uniform eighty percent of his day. He probably had one suit in the closet for weddings and funerals and a couple of polos and khakis for less formal occasions.\n\nNell stopped her search. She rested her hands on her hips as she looked around the room. \"I know he hasn't stopped wearing pajamas.\"\n\nSara kept her mouth shut right up until Nell made her way to the bedside table. \"Nell.\"\n\nShe looked up, but kept her hand on the drawer pull.\n\n\"That's probably Lena's.\" Sara indicated the flattened book, which was clearly a romance novel, beside the hand lotion and tube of lip balm.\n\nWhen Nell didn't move, Faith said, \"You probably don't want to know what your son's wife keeps in her bedside table.\" She added, \"Or your son, for that matter.\"\n\n\"What on earth does that\u2014\"\n\nShe was cut off by the sound of motorcycle engines. Sara turned around. The front door was wide open. She saw at least six motormen in the street. If Sara knew cops, they'd come here to look after Jared's mother. And just in time, too.\n\nFaith seized on the opportunity, suggesting to Nell, \"Why don't you go talk to Jared's friends? I'm sure they want to know how he's doing.\"\n\n\"I don't have time to be everybody's mama,\" Nell grumbled, but she stomped out of the room anyway.\n\n\"Man.\" Faith waited until Nell was out of earshot. \"That woman has a razor for a mouth.\"\n\nSara kept her own counsel. \"Did you talk to Charlie?\"\n\n\"He briefed me earlier.\" Faith looked back at the bedroom. \"Nell's gonna get a call in a few minutes from the hospital. Jared's fever is up.\"\n\n\"He has an infection?\"\n\n\"That's what the nurse said.\"\n\nNurses were seldom wrong about these things. Sara thought of Nell's steely determination, all the plans she'd made in the last few hours for when Jared finally woke up. \"I don't think she'll make it if he dies.\"\n\n\"It's always the strong ones who break the hardest.\"\n\nSara tucked her chin to her chest.\n\nFaith entered the room, walking across the dried blood with a cop's impunity. \"I guess I should look for those pajamas. Maybe that'll make her feel like she's helping him.\"\n\n\"Maybe.\" Sara leaned against the doorjamb as Faith searched the closet. She stared at the footprints scattered across the floor. The blood was so dry that it had skeletonized, but Charlie had been careful. Sara could still track the progress. It helped that Lena had such small feet. Sara always forgot how petite she was, barely five-four and probably one-ten on a heavy day.\n\nCharlie Reed had said that four initial responders came from the neighborhood. Judging by the bloody prints on the floor, they had each waited by the bathroom door as the others took turns working on Jared. That left the two sets of boot prints to the assailants. They had both sported the cowboy variety, with flat plastic soles that left distinct exclamation points in the blood. One had a skull and crossbones carved into each heel. The other pair was an off brand with a generic set of furrows. Both of the attackers pronated, probably from riding motorcycles.\n\nBut that didn't account for all of the prints.\n\nSara walked over to the bed. She knelt down, asking Faith, \"Two attackers, right?\"\n\nFaith's voice was muffled as she dug around the closet shelves.\n\n\"That's right.\"\n\n\"Four responders?\"\n\n\"Uhhh...\" She drew out the word. \"Yep. Two cops, an off-duty paramedic, and a chick with the fire department.\"\n\n\"What about this?\"\n\nFaith turned around.\n\nSara pointed to a shoe print right up against Jared's bedside table. This one was also from a boot, but it was larger than the other two and the heel had the distinctive logo of a Cat's Paw no-slip rubber sole.\n\nFaith turned back to the closet. She didn't seem interested. \"I'm sure Charlie got it.\"\n\n\"But look at the prints. Lena was barefooted. The attackers wore cowboy boots.\" She pointed to the other prints. \"Two of the neighbors wore sneakers, the third one probably had on bedroom slippers, and the fourth one was wearing socks.\"\n\nFaith pulled a couple of pairs of sweatpants off the shelf. She added a T-shirt from the dirty-clothes basket. \"These can pass for pajamas, right?\"\n\nSlowly, Sara stood up. \"Aren't you concerned that a third assailant might've been here last night?\"\n\n\"Are you saying that I'm not doing my job?\"\n\n\"No.\" Sara felt properly chastened. \"No, of course not.\"\n\n\"You're forgetting the EMTs.\" Faith counted it off on her fingers. \"Three crews, right? Jared was taken out first. The second shooter was next, the first was taken to the morgue, so that's six more guys at least, which is twelve more possibilities for prints. And God only knows who traipsed in here from Macon PD.\"\n\n\"Charlie told me the cops from the 911 call stayed out of the bedroom.\"\n\n\"Really?\" Faith didn't sound happy, but Sara kept talking.\n\n\"He also said that the first ambulance took a while to get here. The extraneous blood would've been dry in five, ten minutes tops. So unless an EMT purposely stepped in the pool of blood around Jared, then walked over here, there's no way that any of them could've made this third print.\" Sara put a finer point on it. \"Whoever left this boot print was here when the crime occurred.\"\n\n\"That's where the second assailant fell,\" Faith said, her voice straining to sound reasonable. \"I'm sure one of the first EMTs checked on him. Right? They wouldn't just rush in, see one body, and leave the other two without checking on them.\"\n\n\"The EMTs were most likely in 5.11 Tacticals.\" Sara was familiar with the boots, which were specifically designed for paramedics and firefighters. \"And even without that, the blood was obviously dry by the time they got here. You don't see any other prints from the EMTs, do you? Not even around Jared.\"\n\nFaith gave a heavy sigh. \"There was a lot going on in this room last night. There's no telling where that print came from. All right?\"\n\nSara nodded, but only to keep the peace. It was absolutely possible, even probable, that one of the EMTs had checked on the second assailant before leaving the house. But there was no way in hell he'd stood over the body and leaned down to do it. The EMT would be on his knees as he ran vitals. Unless he was a contortionist, there was no reason for him to wedge his foot against the bedside table.\n\n\"Look.\" Faith closed the closet door. \"I know you're good at this, Sara, but this is Charlie's scene. He's been here practically from the minute Jared was carried out. Maybe it's Charlie's shoe that made the print, or one of his guys. Or maybe he's tracked it back to an EMT who tripped or stepped where he should'nt've or whatever. Charlie will do all the rule-outs and trace it back to someone. You know the process. No stone unturned.\"\n\n\"You're right,\" Sara agreed, but she had seen Faith lie enough to know what it looked like. Obviously, something else was going on.\n\nFaith said, \"Come on. Let's see if my plan worked.\" She left the room.\n\nSara assumed she was supposed to follow. She took one last look at the boot print before heading back up the hallway. Her medical examiner's mind wouldn't shut off just because she hadn't done the job in years. The Cat's Paw logo said a lot about the owner of the boot. He was frugal, the type of person who would resole a shoe rather than throw it out. Going by the size, he was at least six feet tall or more. He worked in a job that required a nonconducting, nonslip sole\u2014probably a mechanic or electrician or builder. Analysis would show if there was any oil or residue transferred from the porous rubber sole. Known associates of the assailants could be narrowed down from there. Barring that, a simple phone call to the shoe repair stores in the area could easily generate a list of customers who'd purchased Cat's Paw soles.\n\nWhich was probably what someone on Charlie's team was doing right now.\n\nFaith was right. Charlie was very good at his job. So was Faith, for that matter. If they were hiding something, it was probably for a good reason. As much as Sara felt otherwise, she had to keep reminding herself that she was firmly on the outside looking in.\n\nFaith stood at the open front door. In the street, the motormen had surrounded Nell in a protective huddle. They all seemed relaxed and talkative. Sara was sure they were telling Nell stories of Jared's many exploits. Whether or not they were true didn't matter. There was no better liar than a cop spinning a yarn.\n\n\"I'm shocked they listened to me,\" Faith admitted. \"I told them to take up donations for the cleaning service. I figured even old Razor Mouth wouldn't be rude enough to say no.\"\n\nSara laughed despite herself. \"That's pretty smart.\"\n\n\"One of Amanda's tricks\u2014but don't tell her I'm using it. People think they're gonna be judged if they hire someone else to clean up their mess. I think it's a southern thing.\" She walked back to the kitchen. \"I'll see if I can get them to pitch in and finish the kitchen, too. Jesus, I woulda killed him myself if I had to wash dishes out of a bucket.\"\n\n\"It's not as bad as it looks,\" Sara pointed out. The bucket had a hole in the bottom that led to the drain. A garden hose was threaded to the faucet to extend the reach. It was exactly the kind of thing that Jeffrey would've done\u2014completely rigged yet unquestionably functional.\n\nBy contrast, Will would've been horrified by the contraption. He shared a lot of qualities with Jeffrey, but he would not rest until a project was not just finished, but finished right. Or at least the way he felt was right. It drove Will crazy that the builder who'd worked on Sara's apartment hadn't painted the top edges of all the doors.\n\n\"Do me a favor?\" Faith was rummaging through the stack of mail on the kitchen table. \"Check to see if Nell's still outside.\"\n\nSara stood on the tips of her toes to see down the hill. Nell was still talking to the cops. \"Yes. Why?\"\n\nFaith ripped open one of the envelopes.\n\n\"Isn't that illegal?\"\n\n\"Only if I get caught.\" Her eyes skimmed what looked like an invoice. \"Jared opened it, right? Only he can't remember because of his head injury.\"\n\n\"That's inviting some bad karma.\"\n\n\"And it wasn't even worth it.\" Faith folded the invoice. \"You'll be pleased to know that Lena's Pap smear was normal.\" She tucked the paper back into the envelope. \"I should go tell Nell about Jared. The doctor should've called by now.\"\n\n\"Wait.\" Sara said, \"I know it's not likely to come up, but Nell doesn't know about Will. I mean, me and Will. Together.\" She felt her heart start to jump, like she was telling a fib to her mother. \"I'd like to keep it that way.\"\n\nIf Faith was surprised, she didn't show it. \"Okay. I won't say anything.\"\n\nSara felt compelled to give an explanation. \"It's just that Will's still legally married and...\" She let her voice trail off. There was no reason to lie. \"They just loved Jeffrey so much. They wouldn't understand how I was able to move on.\" Sara paused. \"Sometimes, I wonder how I did it myself.\"\n\n\"I'm glad you did.\" Faith leaned against the table. \"Will loves you, you know? I mean, crazy love. He was never this way with Angie. From the day he met you, his feet stopped touching the ground.\"\n\nSara smiled, though the last thing she wanted to think about right now was Will's elusive wife.\n\nFaith said, \"Seriously, I've never seen him like this before. You've changed him. You've made him\u2014\" She shrugged, as if she couldn't quite believe it. \"Happy.\"\n\nUnreasonably, Sara felt tears well into her eyes. \"He's made me happy, too.\"\n\n\"Then that's all that matters.\" Faith wriggled her eyebrows. \" 'This, too, shall pass.' \"\n\nSara wiped her eyes. \"There's been an alarming number of people quoting Bible verses at me today.\"\n\n\"My mother got my name from the Bible. I'm supposed to be the substance of things hoped for. Talk about wishful thinking.\" Faith pushed away from the table. \"I really should get Nell. How bad is an infection at this stage?\"\n\n\"They'll probably bring in somebody from the CDC.\" The Centers for Disease Control had a dedicated team serving the Atlanta area. \"It's good that we're close.\"\n\n\"That doesn't sound cheerful.\"\n\n\"No,\" Sara admitted. \"Infections are unpredictable. People respond differently to treatment. No two patients have the same outcome. If the infection is somewhere like his heart or his brain, then the odds are low he'll survive, and even then, it's a tough recovery.\" She felt the need to add, \"But he's young and otherwise healthy. That counts for a lot.\"\n\n\"Shit, here she comes.\" Faith waited for Nell to make her way up the porch steps. She had a FedEx padded mailer in one hand and a small envelope in the other.\n\n\"I guess you'll get your wish.\" Nell tucked the envelope into her back pocket. \"They say they take up a collection when stuff like this happens. I didn't want to be rude, but it's not like I'm an invalid.\" Her words were hard, but Sara could see the relief on Nell's face. The deep lines had smoothed from her forehead. Some of the tension was gone from her jaw. \"They're nice boys. I shouldn't complain.\"\n\nFaith said, \"They feel as helpless as you do, Mrs. Long. Doing something for you, even something that you're capable of doing on your own, makes them feel better.\"\n\n\"I suppose,\" Nell admitted. She held up the FedEx mailer. The word PERSONAL was written across the back in red marker. \"The delivery guy dropped this off while we were in the street. It's addressed to Lena. Says it's personal. I didn't know if I should open it or not.\"\n\n\"Is there a return address?\" Faith sounded disinterested, though Sara knew better.\n\nNell squinted at the label. \"It's all smeared. Should I open it?\"\n\nFaith's shrug was almost believable. \"If you want. It might be something Lena needs.\"\n\nNell guffawed. \"They say the same thing here as in Alabama\u2014you can piss on my face, but don't tell me it's raining?\"\n\nFaith's smile showed her teeth.\n\n\"That's what I thought.\" Nell went to the kitchen and retrieved her purse from the counter. Sara wasn't surprised when she pulled out a large utility knife, but Faith obviously was. Her eyebrows shot straight up.\n\n\"Let's see what personal thing we got here.\" Nell sliced open the top of the padded mailer. She peered inside the envelope, her eyes narrowed as if she wasn't quite sure what she was seeing.\n\nSara asked, \"What is it?\"\n\nNell reached into the package. \"I don't\u2014\"\n\nThe mailer dropped to the floor.\n\nNell held up a tiny jacket, the sort of thing you'd buy for a baby. It was dark blue with orange piping down the sleeves and an Auburn University logo across the back.\n\nHer lips parted in surprise. She looked at Sara, then Faith, then down at the little jacket again. She cupped the hoodie sewn into the back of the collar.\n\nWordlessly, Nell ran into the hallway, her shoulder catching the corner. Sara was close on her heels as Nell entered the spare bedroom.\n\n\"He didn't\u2014\" Nell's voice caught. She stood in the middle of the room, the jacket gripped tightly in her hands. \"How could he not\u2014\" A strangled cry came out of her mouth. She buried her face in the small jacket. \"Oh, God.\"\n\nFaith came up behind Sara. Her mouth was set. Guilt virtually radiated off her skin.\n\n\"This is a nursery,\" Nell whispered, clutching the jacket to her chest. \"He was working on a nursery.\" Her fingers traced the back of the closet door. The outline of several balloons had been drawn with a pencil. Cans of brightly colored paint were on the floor. There were art brushes and sponges and trays to hold the paint.\n\nNell stared at Faith. Her tone was deadly sharp. \"You knew.\"\n\nFaith didn't bother to lie this time.\n\nA phone started ringing. Nell checked her pocket for her cell phone. Her voice shook as she answered, \"Possum, what is it? I'm busy now.\" She listened, nodding a few times before she closed the phone and put it back in her pocket. \"Jared's got an infection.\" Her tone was matter-of-fact. \"They say I need to get back up there.\"\n\n\"I'll drive you,\" Sara offered.\n\n\"No.\" Nell held the baby's jacket against her chest. \"I need some time alone, all right? Can you drive her back?\" She was talking to Faith. \"I just need some time, okay?\"\n\nNell didn't wait for an answer. She left the room. All the air seemed to go with her.\n\nFaith let out a long sigh. \"That was awful.\"\n\nSara said nothing.\n\nFaith studied her carefully. \"Sara?\"\n\nSara shook her head as she took in the nursery, the way the light from the windows fell across the floor. The yellow walls were cheery and warm. She could imagine sheers hanging in the windows, a summer breeze rustling the edges. Balloons would be painted around the walls to match the closet door. The jacket would hang on a tiny plastic hanger\u2014something colorful to match the d\u00e9cor. The hoodie wasn't sized for a newborn, but at three to six months, Lena's baby would be big enough to wear it. Faith said, \"I'm sorry I didn't tell you.\"\n\nSara could only keep shaking her head. She didn't trust herself to speak.\n\nOne of the last things that Sara and Jeffrey had planned together was adopting a baby. Sara couldn't have children of her own. It had taken years for her and Jeffrey to be in the same place about adoption, to decide that they were ready to raise a child together.\n\nThen Jeffrey had died, and Sara had come completely undone. The adoption agency returned their application. At the time, Sara barely registered the rejection. She'd been incapable of taking care of herself, let alone a baby.\n\n\"Sara?\" Faith asked. \"Will you please say something?\"\n\nAcid filled Sara's mouth.\n\nIt wasn't fair.\n\nThat's what Sara wanted to say. To scream at the top of her lungs.\n\nIt just wasn't fair.\n\nLena wasn't strong. She would bend, not break. She would recover from this tragedy the same easy way she recovered from every other tragedy before.\n\nEven if she lost Jared, Lena would always know what it felt like to have his child growing inside of her. She could always hold her baby's hand and think of holding Jared's. She could see her child laugh and learn and grow and play sports and do school projects and graduate from college and Lena would always, always remember her husband. She would see Jared in her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. On her deathbed, she would find peace in the knowledge that they had made something beautiful together. That even in death, they would both go on living.\n\n\"Sara,\" Faith said. \"What's happening here?\"\n\nSara wiped her eyes, angry that she was back in the same dark place she'd started at this morning. \"Why does everything come so damn easy to her?\" She struggled to speak. Her throat clenched around every word that wanted to come out of her mouth. \"Everything just opens up, and she always walks through unscathed and\u2014\" Sara had to stop for breath. \"It's just so easy for her. She always has it so goddamn easy.\"\n\nFaith indicated the door. \"Come on.\"\n\nSara couldn't move.\n\n\"Let's go.\" Faith took Sara by the arm and led her out of the room. Sara thought they were leaving the house, but Faith stopped at the kitchen table. She held up the envelope she'd opened before.\n\nSara didn't take it. \"I don't care about her Pap smear.\"\n\n\"Look who it's from.\"\n\nSara scanned the return address. Macon Medical Center.\n\nDriscoll Benedict, OB-GYN. \"So?\"\n\nFaith opened the envelope, unfolded the doctor's invoice. She held it up for Sara to see. The treatment date was ten days ago. The amount was zeroed out with the advisory that the hospital would bill Lena separately for her emergency room visit.\n\nAcross the bottom, someone had written, \"God bless you both. You are in our prayers.\"\n\nSara took the invoice from Faith. Her knees felt weak. She sat down at the table. Even without the note of condolence, she recognized the medical billing code.\n\nLena had lost the baby.\n\n# 9.\n\nWill rode his motorcycle down a neglected state highway, his head rotating like a gun turret. While there was the occasional eighteen-wheeler on the back roads, it was the deer he was most worried about. Less than ten minutes ago, Will had seen a buck dart right out in front of him. The creature was magnificent. There was no other word for it. Muscles rippled along his chest and back. His spindly legs were like a ballerina's. His antlers were branched like a tree. The animal hadn't even bothered to look Will's way, which was good because Will would've been humiliated if any living creature had seen the look of sheer terror on his face. He did not need a mathematician to calculate the odds of survival when a speeding motorcycle slammed into a speeding deer. The coroner would've spent the rest of his days picking pieces of Will out of the buck's rib cage.\n\nHe supposed there were all sorts of wild animals living close to Atlanta, but the possibility seemed remote when you stood amidst the skyscrapers, watching buses and cars and trains zoom by.\n\nOne of the most startling things Will had found in Macon was not the wildlife, but the divide between rich and poor. In Atlanta, Will's modest house was only a few blocks from Sara's penthouse apartment, which in turn was not far from a methadone clinic.\n\nMacon didn't really have a literal wrong side of the tracks, but a meandering avenue skirting the city limits seemed to be the point at which the carpet ran out. Old mansions gave way to cottages, which gave onto clapboard houses and derelict trailer parks and, eventually, unpainted shacks. Working cases around the state, Will had seen his share of poverty, but there was something particularly depressing about fresh laundry hanging outside a structure that looked as if it didn't even have running water.\n\nWill slowed the bike. He squinted up the road, checking for loose deer. Closer proximity revealed a yellow Volkswagen Bug\u2014not the new kind that looked like something George Jetson would drive, but the older model that emitted a sound like a child blowing a raspberry. There were bumper stickers all over the back. The blinkers were flashing in lieu of brake lights. Will downshifted another gear. The Bug swung into the oncoming traffic lane, doing a sharp U-turn toward a row of mailboxes on a strip of dirt. A hand went out, a mailbox was checked, then the Bug swung another heavy U-turn that would've provided a nice ramp for Will's bike if he hadn't been paying attention.\n\nHe shifted the gear down another notch and pulled over opposite the mailboxes. He checked the time on his cell phone. Will had given himself almost an hour to make what was supposed to be a twenty-minute journey. He wasn't good with directions, and a phone that told you to go left or right was not exactly helpful to the average dyslexic. Also, he felt mired in a quicksand of guilt. Sara wasn't happy with him being undercover. She sure as hell wouldn't be happy with the prospect of Will going on a date. Not that he was technically dating Cayla Martin, but the fact that the nurse seemed to think so gave the exercise an air of uncomfortable legitimacy.\n\nAfter talking with Faith, Will had decided that it was time to confront the Big Whitey of it all. He'd spent nearly an hour looking for Tony Dell. Cayla Martin seemed like a good fallback plan. The nurse was much easier\u2014in more ways than one. Will was eating his lunch in the cafeteria when a furtive hand slid a note under his tray. The move was practiced. No one seemed to notice. Will wanted to believe he rose to the occasion, discreetly tucking the note into his pocket like Aldrich Ames. Though Will was pretty sure the master spy hadn't read his missives while hiding in a toilet stall.\n\n7 p.m.\u2014Left off exit 12, right on dirt road. Only house with lights on. Don't be late!!\n\nCayla had put a smiley face under the exclamation points, which served to heighten Will's guilt. He left smiley faces for Sara sometimes. He texted them to her. She texted them back. Once, when they were fooling around, she kissed them all over his stomach.\n\nWill let out a long, pained sigh as he got off the bike.\n\nHe pulled up the telephone keypad on his iPhone. He dialed in the twelve-digit code to access the secret apps. The screen flashed up quickly, so he had his finger ready to select the number-cloaking program. The app opened. He dialed in a ten-digit number.\n\nThe edge of the phone bumped his helmet. Will undid the strap and hooked it on the handlebars. Four unusually long rings passed before Sara answered. In the background, Will heard a piano playing and the soft murmur of conversation.\n\nInstead of saying hello, Sara asked, \"Brunswick?\"\n\nWill guessed the cloaking app had done its job. \"Not exactly.\" He tried to identify the background noise, which sounded more like a bar than a hospital. \"Where are you?\"\n\n\"Where am I?\" Her drawl was more pronounced, which tended to happen when she got away from the city. \"I am drinking a glass of scotch at the hotel bar of the Macon Days Inn.\"\n\nWill immediately thought of all the scumbugs who were probably trying to hit on her. He worked to keep his cool. \"Yeah?\"\n\n\"Yep.\" She hit the _p_ hard at the end. Will thought about the shape of her mouth. The bowtie of her lips. And then he imagined some idiot in a gold necklace sidling up to her and asking if she wanted a refill.\n\nHe said, \"That's not like you to be in a bar.\"\n\n\"No,\" Sara agreed. \"But I'm doing a lot of things today that aren't like me.\"\n\nWill couldn't decipher her tone. She didn't sound drunk, which was a relief. He'd never known Sara to be a drinker.\n\nHe offered, \"I could probably get there around midnight, one at the latest.\"\n\n\"No, sweetheart. I don't want you anywhere near here.\"\n\nWill felt a jolt of fear. Sara usually called him sweetheart when he was being dense. Had she figured out he was in Macon? Will ran through the possibilities, trying to find an area of weakness. Faith wouldn't tell\u2014at least not without giving Will a warning. Denise Branson knew better, and even if she didn't, she had no idea who Sara was. Lena had promised to keep quiet, but what kind of idiot trusted a woman who killed a man with a hammer, then lied about what came next?\n\n\"Will?\"\n\nHe swallowed back his paranoia. One thing he knew about Sara was that she didn't play games. If his cover was blown, she'd be demanding an explanation, not listening to piano music in a bar.\n\nHe asked, \"How's Jared doing?\"\n\n\"Not good.\" She paused to take a drink. Will heard the glass hit the bar when she finished. \"One of his surgical incisions turned septic. He went into shock. They've got a guy from the CDC running the case. He knows what he's doing, but\u2014\" She stopped. \"Lena was pregnant. She lost the baby ten days ago.\"\n\nHe still couldn't decipher the edge in her tone. Sara couldn't have children, but that didn't have anything to do with Lena. Will asked, \"Does Faith know?\"\n\n\"She was there. I basically lost my shit in front of her.\"\n\nWill looked at his bike. He should turn around right now and go see her. The Days Inn was just off the interstate, less than half an hour away.\n\nSara said, \"Faith was very nice about it. I guess if you're going to lose your shit, she's a good person to do it around.\"\n\n\"Yeah.\" Will heard a semi barreling down the road, the lights slicing through the dusk. The noise of the engine vibrated the air, cut out whatever Sara was saying.\n\nHe asked, \"What?\"\n\n\"Doesn't matter.\" He heard the tinkle of ice cubes, her throat work as she swallowed. \"Are you sitting on the side of the road?\"\n\n\"I wanted to check on you. You were pretty upset this morning.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm pretty upset tonight,\" she quipped. \"You know, my daddy told me a long time ago that wanting revenge is like sipping poison and waiting for the other person to die.\"\n\n\"Is that what you're doing?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" She paused again. \"I feel like I've trespassed. Like I've stolen something from Lena. Something private that didn't belong to me.\" She gave a harsh laugh. \"My pound of flesh isn't nearly as filling as I thought it'd be.\"\n\nWill stared at the mailboxes. Numbers had been spray-painted on the doors in various colors by different hands. Someone had drawn a daisy on one box. Another had the Georgia Bulldogs logo.\n\nSara said, \"I miss you.\"\n\nWill had seen her less than twelve hours ago, but hearing the words made him realize that he ached for her. He tried to think of a way out of this mess. He should tell her that he was sorry for keeping secrets. That he was sorry he wasn't there right now. That he was a coward and a liar and he didn't deserve Sara but he was pretty sure he would fade away to nothing without her.\n\n\"Anyway.\" Abruptly, her tone changed. \"Since one scotch is clearly my limit, I should go back to the hospital and sit with Nell. I told her that Lena lost the baby. She already knew. I guess Lena told her. I don't know. She's not talking much. Of course, neither am I\u2014at least not to Nell.\" Sara gave a stilted laugh. \"I'm sorry I'm rambling. I'm just tired. I've been up since this time yesterday. I tried to sleep, but I couldn't.\"\n\n\"Are you going home tonight?\" Will started to make plans. He'd finish with Cayla, then jump on his bike and head straight to Atlanta.\n\nSara quashed the idea. \"I already booked a room for the night. The dogs will be fine, and I shouldn't be driving long distances right now.\"\n\n\"I could come get you.\" He tried not to beg. \"Let me come get you.\"\n\n\"No.\" There was no equivocation in her voice. \"I don't want you here, Will. I want you separate from this.\"\n\nHe felt trapped by his own lies. \"I'm so sorry.\"\n\n\"I don't want you to be sorry.\" She paused again as if she needed to catch her breath. \"I want you to keep doing whatever you're doing, wherever you're doing it, and then when it's over I want you to come back home to me and for us to have dinner and talk and laugh and then I want you to take me into the bedroom and\u2014\"\n\nAnother truck roared by, but Will heard every single pornographic detail she whispered into the phone. Sara asked, \"Can you do that?\"\n\nWill's tongue felt too thick for his mouth. He cleared his throat. \"I can do all of that.\"\n\n\"Good, because that's what I need, Will. I need you to make me feel like I'm firmly planted in my life again. The life I have with you.\"\n\nThe piano music had stopped. Ice hit a glass.\n\nSomeone laughed. She said, \"What we have is good, right?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" At least on that point, he could give her a straight answer. \"It's really good.\"\n\n\"That's what I think, too.\"\n\n\"Sara\u2014\" Will heard the desperation in his voice, but he couldn't think of anything to say but her name.\n\n\"I need to go.\"\n\n\"You don't have to.\"\n\n\"Just think about later, all right? Us at home, and what you want to eat for dinner, or maybe we'll go to a movie, or walk the dogs. Just live our lives. That's what I'm thinking about right now. That's what's getting me through this.\"\n\n\"We'll do it. We'll do all of it.\" He waited for her to say something else, but she ended the call.\n\nWill stared down at the phone as if he could make Sara get back on the line. Not that he had any words of great comfort. If anything, Will had been too quiet on the call. He realized that now. He'd forced Sara to do most of the talking when it was obvious that she was waiting for Will to say something\u2014anything\u2014that would somehow bring her some peace.\n\nHe mumbled, \"Idiot.\"\n\nWill dialed the twelve-digit code again to access the app. He wasn't fast enough when the screen popped up. Will dialed the code again, but he stopped shy of the last two numbers.\n\nHe didn't know what to say to her. He wanted to go to her. He could be there in ten minutes if he blew through all the red lights. He would do everything she wanted him to and more.\n\nAnd then she would ask him how he'd gotten there so fast.\n\nWill had ten minutes to figure out how to tell her. Fifteen if traffic near the Days Inn was bad. He unhooked his helmet from the handlebars. A chunk of paint had been scraped off. He strapped the shorty on his head. Once he was on the bike, he turned the front wheel back the way he'd come.\n\nHe didn't have a choice anymore. The only thing to do after that call was go straight to the hotel, or the hospital, and sit down with Sara and tell her exactly what was going on. Faith was right\u2014this was too close to the bone. What had started out as a small lie of omission had built up into a giant deceit that could take out their entire relationship.\n\nWill wasn't going to have Sara drinking poison for him one day.\n\nHe gunned the bike as he headed back toward the interstate. He looked up at the darkening sky. The hotel was near an airport, so he could use the planes to make sure he was heading in the right direction. At least Will assumed that was the Days Inn Sara was talking about. The chain was big. There was probably more than one location in Macon.\n\nHe just happened to glance back down in time to notice a black pickup truck parked in the middle of the road. The oncoming lane was blocked by a white Honda. Will slowed the bike, wishing he had a horn. There was no way to pass on either side of the road\u2014at least not without risking a slide down an embankment. Will let his boots scrape the ground as he stopped the bike.\n\n\"Hey!\" Will shouted. \"Get out of the way!\"\n\n\"Hold your horses!\" The pickup driver craned half his body out of the cab. Will recognized Tony's voice before he saw his face. \"Damn, Bud, what're you doin' comin' from that way? Cayla's is down there.\"\n\nHe was pointing to a dirt road shooting off at a steep angle. Tall trees obscured the entrance. There was no sign, no marker to indicate that this was anything but a dirt track. Will would've never been able to find it, and Cayla had played this game well enough to know she was better off giving a man an address he had to locate rather than a phone number he could use to cancel.\n\n\"Come on.\" Tony waved for Will to follow him.\n\nWill revved the bike, pretending he wasn't checking out the driver in the white Honda. He saw the top of a head, dark wavy hair and a high forehead, as the window snicked up.\n\nTony turned onto the dirt road. His radio was loud enough for the melody to make its way back to Will. Lynyrd Skynyrd. \"Free Bird.\" Not much of a surprise.\n\nWill hung back from the truck, which kicked up enough red dust to suffocate an elephant. There was no way to get out of this now. Will would spend two hours at Cayla's, tops, then find Sara and do what he should've done in the first place.\n\nShe was probably on her way to the hospital. Will couldn't very well ambush her in front of her friends, and besides, what he needed to say to her should be said when they were alone. He would tell her at the hotel. They'd never been in a real fight before. He couldn't guess what Sara would do. Maybe she would throw things or cuss him like a dog. Then again, he'd never seen her throw anything out of anger and she seldom cursed, a by-product of working around children all day.\n\nMaybe she would get really quiet, which she did when she was worried. Will hated when she got quiet. Though that might be better than the alternative. All he knew for certain was that he'd pretty much lie down in front of a speeding train to keep her from leaving him.\n\nThe back wheels of Tony's truck spun as he dipped into a rut. Will steered the bike away from the pothole, which was filled with muddy water. The dirt road thinned to a single lane. Will tried to take in his surroundings, but he could only see the outlines of a few houses. Day was completely giving over to night. Tony was too far ahead for his headlights to do Will any good. The man drove with his foot on the brake. The taillights turned the red road an icy black.\n\nWill wondered if Tony was leading him to the middle of nowhere to kill him. The man didn't seem capable of murder, but Will had been surprised before. Death generally didn't announce itself. He'd bet the forty-three-year-old entrepreneur who died on the toilet last week wasn't planning on being found with his pants down.\n\nA small lighted sign announced the entrance to a trailer park. Palm trees surrounded the flowing script announcing the compound's name. The place was well tended, obviously catering to families. Children's bicycles were stacked neatly in front of porches. All the trashcans had been collected from the road. Cars were parked evenly in their spaces. He could see the soft glow of televisions behind drawn curtains.\n\nThe road doubled up again as the trailer park disappeared in Will's side mirror. He squinted up ahead. Tony's hand was raised in the air. He was snapping his fingers to the music. George Michael's \"I Want Your Sex.\" A song like that could get a man killed this far from civilization, but Will guessed Tony didn't care.\n\nSuddenly, the dirt road gave onto a paved street. The bike kicked up. Luckily, Will wasn't going fast, otherwise he would've taken a vault over the handlebars.\n\nStreetlights illuminated every inch of the paved surface. Foundations had been poured for hundreds of houses, but the builder had either run out of money or run out of town. Probably both. Plumbing pipes and drains stuck up from the poured slabs like toothpicks. Incongruously, some of the driveways had mailboxes but no houses. Others had weeds breaking through the white concrete sidewalks.\n\nCayla Martin's was one of four completed houses at the end of a cul-de-sac. Macon wasn't the only city in America that had its share of abandoned subdivisions, but Cayla's had a particular sadness about it. The lawn was overgrown with weeds. The one sad tree by the front door was bent and dying. No one had cared about this house from the very beginning. The trim paint was peeling where the wood had not been primed. Some of the windows had been installed crookedly. Even the front door had a strange tilt like no one had bothered to plumb it in. Will wondered if the builder was related to the lazy jackass who'd worked on Sara's apartment.\n\nTony Dell pulled into a short driveway, parking the truck behind a black Toyota. The door opened. Tony practically fell out of the truck. The F-250 was too big for him, like a kid clomping around in his daddy's shoes. Tony had the same jaunty gait as he approached Will in the semidarkness. \"Damn, Bud, ain't your balls freezin' on that thing?\"\n\nWill shrugged, though the man was right about the cold. He nodded toward the truck. \"Where'd you get that?\"\n\n\"Borrowed it from a friend.\"\n\n\"Nice friend,\" Will noted. The truck was a considerable step up from Tony's impounded Kia.\n\n\"Hope you weren't plannin' nothin' romantic tonight.\" Tony tucked his hands into his pockets as he walked toward the house. \"I kinda invited myself over. Cayla's gotta faucet been leakin' for a while, so I said I'd come by and fix it.\"\n\n\"She knows you're going to be here?\"\n\n\"Sure,\" Tony said, but his voice went up a bit higher than honesty would dictate. \"You get off work early?\"\n\n\"Little bit.\" His boss was six months from retirement and had a lady on the side. Will was about to say something derogatory about Salemi's work habits, but then Tony Dell stood under the porch light and Will was rendered speechless.\n\nThe man had gotten the shit kicked out of him. There was no better description. His nose was sideways. Both eyes were bruised. A long, open gash on his cheek had been sewn shut with thick black stitches.\n\nTony smiled, despite the pain it must've caused. \"Cop caught up with me.\"\n\n\"Vickery?\" Will guessed. He'd joked about it with Faith before, but now that he saw Paul Vickery's handiwork, it wasn't funny. \"What the hell happened?\"\n\n\"We're cool, Bud.\" Tony held up his hands in defense. \"I didn't tell him a damn thing. I think that ol' boy just needed to give somebody a beat-down. Coulda been you. Ended up bein' me.\"\n\nWill couldn't believe the man's cavalier attitude. \"You gonna file a report on him?\"\n\nHe practically guffawed. \"Shit, that's funny, Bud. Like they work for us or somethin'.\" He raised his hand to knock on the door. \"Act like you invited me, all right?\"\n\n\"Like\u2014\"\n\nCayla had a huge grin on her face when she opened the door. And then she saw Tony Dell and looked like she wanted to murder him. \"What're you doin' here?\"\n\n\"Bud invited me.\" He patted Will on the back. \"Didn't you, Bud?\"\n\nWill mumbled, \"Yeah.\"\n\nCayla didn't seem concerned that Tony had been beaten. She sneered at him, saying, \"You sneaky little prick.\"\n\n\"Aw, don't be like that.\" Tony pushed himself into the house. He had to slither under Cayla's arm to do it.\n\nFor the first time since he'd met Tony Dell, Will was glad to have the little freak around. Cayla had obviously prepared for their date. Her makeup was so heavy that it clumped in the corners of her eyes. Her jeans cut her into two separate parts and her white lace blouse clearly showed the dark purple bra underneath. Even from the porch, Will could smell her perfume. He didn't know enough about these things to guess whether the scent was cheap or not, but going by how much she used, Will hoped she got a volume discount.\n\nTony made a show of sniffing the air. \"Damn, girl, you smell pretty.\"\n\n\"Shut up, Tony. I told you not to talk to me that way.\" She gave Will a tightly coiled smile as she motioned him inside. \"He's my brother.\"\n\n\"Stepbrother,\" Tony corrected. He winked at Will. \"Not by blood.\"\n\nCayla groaned as she shut the door. \"His daddy married my mama when we were in junior high. Ever since then, he's been a sticky turd I can't scrape off my shoe.\"\n\nTony's laugh said he took this as a compliment.\n\nWill grunted, not out of any Bill Black response but because he was at a complete loss for words.\n\n\"You look nice,\" Cayla said, though Will had specifically dressed down for the occasion. His jeans were torn at the hem. His blue Oxford shirt had been nice two years ago, but the collar was frayed. The black T-shirt he wore underneath had holes in the armpits.\n\n\"You wanna beer?\" Cayla asked.\n\n\"I'm good.\" Will didn't drink or smoke, which presented a serious handicap as far as his con cred was concerned. \"Maybe later.\" Tony said, \"I could do with a cold one.\"\n\n\"Then get your scrawny ass back in that truck and go get you one,\" Cayla suggested. Tony grumbled a response. They certainly talked to each other like brother and sister.\n\nWill looked around the room as he waited out the argument. The house was clean if not tidy. Cayla liked her figurines. Large dolls in fancy dresses were on almost every available surface. Some were under glass like wheels of cheese. Others were on stands that helped them hold up umbrellas or push baby carriages. Cayla had decorated everything in pastels, mostly pinks and blues. A large flat-screen television took pride of place across from a baby blue sectional sofa.\n\nThe fight was over. Or at least Tony seemed to think so. He hurdled the back of the sofa and plopped down in front of the set. \"We gonna eat out here? I think the game's coming on.\"\n\n\"You can eat out here by your damn self.\" Cayla motioned for Will to follow her, telling him, \"Just so you know next time, I prefer it's just me and you.\"\n\nWill grunted as he trailed her into the kitchen. The house was choppy, which was strange for a new build. The wall bisecting the kitchen and family room looked taped into place. The saloon doors in the middle weren't even on the same plane. At least an inch separated the top edges, like blocks in a game of Tetris.\n\n\"We can eat in here.\" Cayla held open one of the saloon doors.\n\nWill glanced around the kitchen, which was small and crowded but smelled so good he felt his stomach start to weep. Even the stench of a cigarette burning in the ashtray couldn't hide the delicious aroma of fried chicken, biscuits, and some kind of sweet cobbler.\n\n\"You hungry?\"\n\nWill nodded. His mouth was too filled with drool to answer. Sara could do a lot of things, but she could not cook to save her life.\n\n\"I told you I gotta good scald on some chicken.\" Cayla took down a plate from the cabinet. There were pots warming on the stove. She picked up a spoon and started to fill the plate.\n\nWill sat down at the table.\n\nShe asked, \"You hear that cop's not doing good?\" Will didn't answer.\n\n\"Got an infection or something. Went into septic shock.\"\n\nWill tried to keep her talking. \"What's that mean?\"\n\n\"Means he's got blood poisoning.\" She took her cigarette from the ashtray as she placed the heaping plate of food in front of Will. Fried chicken, green beans, black-eyed peas, mashed potatoes and gravy, and two biscuits perilously balanced on top.\n\nShe put the cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply. \"Sepsis happens a lot with surgeries. They got all those tubes going in and out of them. Bacteria gets into the bloodstream. The heart can't take it. Poison floods through the body, shuts it all down.\"\n\nHe noticed her grammar had suddenly improved. Cayla Martin seemed to have an accent for every occasion. \"Sounds bad.\"\n\nShe took another long drag before stubbing out the cigarette. \"Yeah, it can be. You want that beer now?\"\n\nWill nodded. \"Is he going to make it?\"\n\n\"The cop?\" She was at the refrigerator. She looked back over her shoulder. Underneath all the makeup, Cayla Martin wasn't unattractive. She seemed to have that weird quality that made otherwise smart men do stupid things. \"He might make it. He's young. Pretty strong. Why do you care?\"\n\nWill shrugged as he picked up his fork. \"I don't.\"\n\nThe saloon doors opened. Tony eyed them suspiciously. His jealousy was like a lighthouse beacon scanning the room.\n\nCayla gave him a nasty look. \"I thought you were watching the game.\"\n\n\"I bet you did.\" Tony walked into the kitchen with his hands clenched. He told Will, \"I heard you were up there today. In the ICU.\"\n\nWill took a big bite of peas. The bacon grease and salt caressed his taste buds.\n\nTony asked, \"She recognize you?\" Will glanced at Cayla.\n\n\"It's all right.\" She popped open the beer and put the can in front of Will. \"He tells me everything whether I wanna hear it or not.\"\n\n\"The cop,\" Tony pushed. He was just as changeable as his stepsister. Suddenly, he was sounding less like a nuisance and more like a criminal.\n\nWill let some time pass before answering. \"What about the cop?\"\n\n\"She recognize you?\"\n\n\"No.\" Will shoveled another mound of peas into his mouth. And because there was some space left in his cheeks, he crammed in half a biscuit to help soak up the grease.\n\nTony pulled back a chair from the table. He sat down a few feet away, arms crossed, legs spread. His injuries were more pronounced in the harsh kitchen light. The gash on his face would leave a bad scar.\n\nTony said, \"That was smart thinking, Bud. Make sure she don't recognize you. Make sure we don't gotta problem.\"\n\nWill struggled to swallow. \"I don't know about you, but I don't have a problem.\"\n\nCayla laughed. Just as quickly, her expression turned dark. \"What are you doing down here?\"\n\nWill turned around. There was a little boy standing in the doorway. His hair was a mess. His pajamas were too big for his spindly body. He clutched a picture book to his chest. The material seemed a little young for him, but Will was hardly an expert.\n\n\"Shit,\" Cayla cursed. \"What did I tell you about staying upstairs?\"\n\nThe boy opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't let him answer.\n\n\"I told you you'd get hungry.\" She got up from the table to fix another plate. She introduced the kid to Will: \"This'n's Benji, my sister's kid. Benji, this is Mr. Black.\"\n\n\"Her _real_ sister,\" Tony amended. He pushed his chair back until it touched the counter. Benji wouldn't go near him. He took the long way around, sitting opposite Will with the book in his lap.\n\n\"Here.\" Cayla plopped down a plate that was considerably less generous than the portions she gave Will. She asked Tony, \"I guess I gotta feed you, too?\"\n\n\"Gimme one a them breasts.\" He grabbed at her, giggling like it was a game.\n\nCayla slapped away his hands. \"Jesus, Tony.\" She turned back to the stove, muttering to herself.\n\nWill looked at Benji, who was staring down at his lap. Will tried not to be too obvious as he studied the boy. He had a familiar look about him, like he expected at any moment that something bad was going to happen. His shoulders were rolled inward. He kept his head bowed. His ears practically rotated as he listened for a change in tone, an indication of danger. Will recognized the survival tactic. When adults got mad, kids usually ended up being collateral damage.\n\nWill asked Benji, \"Are you from Macon?\"\n\nRather than answering, the kid looked at his aunt.\n\nCayla supplied, \"Baton Rouge. At least that's where they were this last time. His mama's on the pipe. Can't break the habit. The po-po found 'em livin' in her car.\" She rested her hand on Benji's bony shoulder. Will would've missed the flinch if he hadn't been watching.\n\nCayla said, \"I couldn't let 'em put Benji in a home again. Last time, he near about got killed. And I mean real killed, not just pushed around.\"\n\nWill guessed Benji knew all of this, but he didn't like that the kid was hearing it again. He asked Benji, \"How old are you?\"\n\nThis time, he answered himself, showing Will nine fingers.\n\n\"What's that book you're reading?\"\n\nBenji held up the book. Will couldn't read the cursive letters, but the _C_ at the beginning and the smiling monkey told him he was looking at Curious George. The book had obviously been read a lot. The pages were dog-eared. The cover was worn. Will wondered if something was wrong with the boy. \"Which school do you go to?\"\n\nBenji returned the book to his lap. He stared down at his hands.\n\nCayla blew out a put-upon sigh. \"What's gotten into you, child? Tell him where you go to school.\"\n\nBenji's voice was squeaky. \"I'm in Miss Ward's fourth-grade class at Barden Elementary School on Anderson Drive.\"\n\nWill gave a low whistle, as if he was impressed. \"That sounds like a nice school. Do you like it there?\"\n\nThe boy's slender shoulders went up in a shrug.\n\n\"What's your favorite subject?\"\n\nHe glanced at Cayla, but before she could answer for him, Benji said, \"Math.\"\n\n\"I like math, too,\" Will said, which was actually true. Numbers had offered a respite, some sort of weird proof that despite Will's inability to read like the other kids, there was at least one thing he could do right.\n\n\"Fractions,\" Benji whispered. \"My mom does them with me.\" He looked up at Will, his eyes moist with tears. The fluorescent bulbs made the corners glow. He looked so desperate that Will couldn't meet his gaze.\n\n\"Eat up, hon.\" Cayla pushed Benji's plate closer. She'd given him a spoonful of peas, a biscuit, and a chicken leg. The meal didn't seem like enough, but Benji didn't complain. He didn't start eating, either. He seemed to be waiting for permission.\n\nWill picked up the large piece of fried chicken Cayla had smothered in gravy. She was right about her scalding skills. The crispy skin practically melted in his mouth. Too bad he wasn't hungry anymore.\n\nWill had seen a lot of shell-shocked kids passing through the Atlanta Children's Home, but Benji was the loneliest child he'd ever shared a table with. He resonated at a different frequency. His movements were stilted. His expression was a mask of neutrality, but his eyes\u2014there wasn't a nine-year-old on the planet who had yet mastered concealing the kind of pain Will read in Benji's eyes.\n\nHe missed his mother. She had obviously neglected him, likely abused him, but he still needed his mom. She'd helped him with his fractions. Maybe she'd worked on the rest of his homework, too. She'd undoubtedly moved him around a lot, staying one step ahead of child welfare services because even crack whores didn't want to admit that they were bad mothers.\n\nBenji's lack of accent was the big giveaway. He'd probably never stayed one place long enough to pick one up. He sounded better educated than the three adults in the house. He had better table manners, too. He used his fork and knife to peel away the skin on the chicken leg.\n\nTony snorted. \"Where'd you learn them airs, boy?\"\n\n\"Leave him be,\" Cayla shot back. She moderated her tone as she asked Will, \"You like working at the hospital?\"\n\nWill nodded and talked with his mouth full. \"How long have you been there?\"\n\n\"About five years,\" she answered, which was a lie. Cayla's tax records had her working part-time for several different doctors before landing the pharmacy job six months ago. Even then, she still rotated in and out of the offices on her off days, probably to help pay her DUI fine. And pay for a house with a mortgage that was so far underwater she could see China from her front porch.\n\nShe said, \"The hospital's all right. I like the pharmacy hours. With Benji here, I've gotta be home when school's out.\"\n\nBenji stiffened, as if he was surprised to hear the news.\n\n\"How long has he been living with you?\" Will asked.\n\n\"This time?\" She shrugged. \"I guess a couple of weeks or so. Ain't that right, Benji?\"\n\n\"A month,\" Benji told Will. He probably had a calendar in his head where he marked each day. His voice was quieter when he said, \"They took me away a month ago.\"\n\nTony offered, \"I been at the hospital a year. Can't say I like it. Cleaning up shit and puke all day. People treatin' me like I'm the help.\"\n\nCayla's face creased with an angry frown. \"Then why don't you go back to Beaufort, with the rest of the Geechees?\"\n\nWill ignored her sharp tone, concentrating on her words. \"Beaufort? That's where the Sea Islands are, right? Over in Carolina?\"\n\nTony narrowed his eyes at Will. \"Why you askin'?\"\n\nWill shrugged his shoulders. \"I rode my bike through there a while back. Hit Charleston, Hilton Head. Made my way down to Savannah. Pretty coastline.\"\n\nCayla's lighter snapped as she lit another cigarette. \"Yeah, well, Tony ain't from the pretty parts. He spent his summers livin' with his mama on the wrong side of Broad.\"\n\nWhile Will wasn't surprised to learn that Tony was on the wrong side of anything, he was very curious about this new piece of information. The GBI had run an extensive background check on Anthony Dell. He was born just outside of Macon. His records had him living in the area all of his life, but there would be no mention in the files of where Tony spent his school vacations.\n\nWill asked Tony, \"You ever been to Hilton Head?\"\n\nInstead of answering, Tony just stared at Will. Suspicion oozed out of every pore.\n\nWill stared back, wondering how far he should push it. Big Whitey had been tracked through both Hilton Head and Savannah. Tony had probably been hearing about the man for years. It suddenly made sense why he was so desperate to be part of the action. Little guys always wanted to run with the big dogs.\n\nCayla supplied, \"Tony spent a coupla three summers on Hilton Head.\" She arched an eyebrow at Tony. \"His mama was a waitress when she wasn't spreadin' her legs for rent money.\"\n\nTony's face soured, but he didn't contradict her.\n\nCayla continued, \"She hopped around all the dive bars, worked until they got tired of her or realized she was stealing too much.\" She took another hit from the cigarette. \"Tony lived with her every summer since he was, what, Benji's age? Weren't you eight or nine when they got divorced?\"\n\nTony gave a sulky one-shoulder shrug, but at least Will knew why this bit of history hadn't come up on the background check. Unless a kid got arrested or ended up in juvie, there were very few public records until they turned old enough to buy a car, rent an apartment, or start paying taxes.\n\nWill said, \"I like it up there.\"\n\n\"You mean over there,\" Tony countered. His eyes went beady. \"It's over, not up.\"\n\nCayla cut in, \"It's over _and_ up, you idiot.\"\n\n\"I know what a map looks like.\"\n\nWill let them argue. Geography had never been his strong suit, but he knew that South Carolina's Lowcountry dangled into Georgia's coast. He waited for a lull in the sibling spat, then said, \"Better beaches on the coast than Florida's got, anyway.\"\n\n\"Whatta you know about Florida?\" Tony demanded. He seemed angrier than the conversation warranted, which led Will to believe he was on the right track.\n\nWill said, \"It's a state.\"\n\n\"Don't fuck me around, son.\"\n\n\"Jesus, Tony.\" Cayla huffed a stream of smoke. \"What crawled up your ass?\"\n\nTony leaned forward, his fists pressing into the table. He asked Will, \"When you ever been to Florida?\"\n\n\"He's from Georgia,\" Cayla said. \"Where else is he gonna go on vacation?\"\n\nTony wasn't mollified. His anger filled the room. Benji went into lockdown mode. He slid down in his chair. His neck all but disappeared into his shoulders. He stared at his book like he'd never read it before.\n\nWill took a bite of chicken. He chewed slowly, drawing out the time. Tony fidgeted. He was not a patient man. Will finally swallowed. \"I was at MacDill.\"\n\nCayla asked, \"You were in the Army?\"\n\n\"Air Force.\" Will stared at Tony as he took another bite of chicken. The man had damn good reason to be suspicious. The coincidences were stacking up. MacDill Air Force Base was in South Tampa, not far from Sarasota, where Big Whitey had reportedly killed his first cop off the Tamiami Trail.\n\nCayla asked, \"Were you an officer or anything?\"\n\n\"I was target practice.\" Will used a biscuit to soak up some grease on the plate. He popped it into his mouth, still keeping his eyes on Tony.\n\nCayla asked, \"They kick you out?\"\n\n\"We agreed to go our separate ways.\"\n\nShe laughed, like he'd made a joke. \"I woulda liked to've seen you in your uniform. You got any pictures?\"\n\nWill pretended he didn't hear the question. Tony seemed incapable of doing the same.\n\n\"Why do you want a picture of him?\" Tony yelled. \"You ain't never asked for no damn picture of me.\"\n\nCayla rolled her eyes. She asked Will, \"You ever been to Miami?\"\n\nWill shook his head. \"Didn't seem worth the trip.\" Because Tony had a racist streak, he added, \"A little too dark down there for my taste.\"\n\nTony nodded, but he was still on edge. He obviously thought he had a shot at Cayla, which was equal parts alarming and disgusting. Will guessed it was better for Tony to be jealous than suspicious. Either way, he kept his eye on the man. It was always the little ones who fought dirty.\n\n\"Hey, Tony.\" Cayla tried to break the tension. \"You remember I went up the Tamiami a few years ago. Hit Naples, Venice, Sarasota. Me and Chuck took his Harley up the trail.\"\n\n\"That fuckin' tool,\" Tony grumbled, the name obviously grating.\n\nWill feigned disinterest. He peeled off the last piece of chicken and tossed it into his mouth. There was a toughness to Tony's posture that he hadn't seen before. Faith had a working theory that Tony Dell was more dangerous than they suspected. Will had shot her down because the guy came across as an irritant, more like a gnat. Looking at Tony now, Will wondered if Faith was right.\n\n\"You gonna drink that?\" Tony asked.\n\nHe meant the beer. Will shrugged. \"Help yourself.\"\n\nTony pounded back the beer. His Adam's apple bobbed as he drank too fast. Beer slid from the corners of his mouth. The requisite burp was followed by a bang as he slammed the can on the table.\n\nCayla ignored the display. She twisted the tip of her cigarette in the ashtray, shaping the end. She asked Will, \"What were you in for?\"\n\nShe meant jail. Will shrugged.\n\nCayla eyed him. \"I bet you gotta strong temper on you.\" She said it as a compliment. \"That what got you into trouble?\"\n\nWill shrugged in a way that let her know she was right.\n\n\"Think I'll have another.\" Tony walked around the table, pressing his hand on the top of Benji's head as he went to the fridge. Bottles rattled as he opened the door. Cayla had enough beer for the zombie apocalypse. There was hardly any food.\n\nTony asked Will, \"Why'd you bail on the Air Force?\"\n\nWill gnawed at the chicken bones, sucking the marrow.\n\nAgain, Cayla tried to intervene. \"I love those Gulf beaches with their white sand. Don't you think, Tony? The Atlantic's too cold.\"\n\nTony beamed. All it took was a little positive attention. The tough guy was gone. The gnat was back. He joked, \"Shit, girl. You don't know what you're talking about.\"\n\n\"I know what beach I like.\"\n\n\"You don't know nothin'.\"\n\nWill let Tony and Cayla debate the finer points of sands and tourist bars while he watched Benji. The boy moved like a bird, his arms held close to his sides like he was afraid of knocking something over. At the children's home, they had all eaten like ravenous animals, shoveling down food, wrapping their arms around their plates to keep thieves at bay. This kid had obviously been trained to be seen in public. He kept a napkin in his lap. He wiped his hands and mouth. He made sure that he chewed each bite before swallowing.\n\nWill was a teenager before he realized that the reason he kept choking every time he ate was because he wasn't chewing enough.\n\nBenji gave Will a furtive glance. He knew he was being watched. Will winked at him. Benji quickly looked back down. He was probably thinking about his mother\u2014wondering where she was, if she was thinking of him, what he'd done wrong to make her go away in the first place.\n\nWill had seen that look before, too.\n\n\"Hey.\" Tony snapped his fingers in Will's face.\n\nWill was with Bill Black on this one. He slapped away Tony's hand.\n\n\"Damn, son.\" Tony held his hand to his chest. He nodded toward the faucet. \"I was just asking could you help me with that?\"\n\nWill realized he'd been hearing the leak since he walked into the kitchen. \"Probably needs a new washer.\"\n\nCayla's voice got high-pitched, the way some women's did whenever they asked a man to help them. \"You wouldn't mind fixing it for me, would you, Bud? I'm not good with tools.\"\n\nWill hesitated. Fixing things was what he did for Sara, like replacing a blown lightbulb or painting the tops of her doors. \"Don't have the right tools.\"\n\n\"I got some in the truck,\" Tony offered.\n\nBefore he could stop himself, Will said, \"I thought you told me you borrowed the truck.\"\n\nTony grinned. \"Borrowed everything on it, son.\"\n\n\"You got a washer?\" Will asked. \"That's probably what it is. Might be ceramic. That's not a cheap faucet.\"\n\nCayla seemed pleased to hear this. \"I got it at the Home Depot. Figured I could treat myself for once.\"\n\n\"Store's still open.\" Tony started playing with the faucet. \"Why don't you and me go fetch a washer, fix this sink right up?\"\n\nWill sat back in his chair. He felt trapped between his job and Sara. He hadn't forgotten about their conversation on the phone. His girlfriend needed him. At least she would until Will told her the truth. Then again, Tony seemed relaxed and chatty. He might be more forthcoming about his past without Cayla around.\n\nTony turned off the faucet. \"Shit, Bud, come on. It ain't like I'm askin' you on a date.\"\n\n\"Speaking of which,\" Cayla inserted. \"Bud, why don't you follow Tony on your bike? That way you can drive yourself back here.\"\n\n\"Hey, now,\" Tony said. \"That ain't nice.\"\n\n\"Ya think?\" she countered. \"Come on, Bud. That sink's been driving me crazy for weeks.\"\n\nWill looked at Benji. The kid stared back. Will asked him, \"What do you think?\"\n\nBenji chewed his lip. The skin was chapped. His eyelids were heavy. Will could see dark circles underneath. Maybe he stayed up nights looking out the window, waiting for his mother. Or maybe he couldn't sleep because the guilt of losing her was too much.\n\nWill stood from the table. Being around this kid was screwing with his head. \"All right,\" he told Tony. \"Let's go.\"\n\nWill rode alongside Tony in the truck. His bike was in the back, strapped down with some bungee cords Cayla had in her garage. Every turn, Will could hear the bike groan in protest, but the night had turned cold and rainy and Will was grateful to be in the warm, dry cab.\n\nTony was supposed to drop him off at the home improvement store. Will still couldn't decide whether or not he was going back to Cayla's. She'd seemed certain Will would return. She'd kept touching him\u2014rubbing his back, grabbing his arm. She'd even kissed his cheek before he left. Will had tolerated the contact, but he couldn't stomach the thought of returning to that cramped house with its stuffed dolls and air of desperation.\n\nBesides, Tony was looking like the better way into Macon's ever-changing drug scene. He'd loosened up on the drive. He talked a bit about Hilton Head, his boyhood summers spent sleeping on the beach and stealing wallets from stupid tourists who left their stuff out in the open while they swam in the ocean.\n\nAs with the previous night when they'd driven to Lena's house, Tony was fidgety\u2014playing with the radio, tapping his fingers on the dashboard, keeping one hand barely on the wheel. His music selection was surprising. The Madonna CD in the player was from the eighties. He hit the replay button on \"Like a Virgin.\"\n\n\"I saw her at the Atlanta Omni back in '87.\" Tony took a sip of beer. He'd already washed down a couple of pills from a Baggie in the glove compartment. \"She's a tiny little thing. Got them weird bras make her tits look like bullets.\" Will stared out the window.\n\n\"Sorry about before,\" Tony said. \"When I got mad about Florida.\"\n\nWill shrugged.\n\n\"I had some bad shit go down in Sarasota when I was sixteen.\" Instead of asking for more, Will shrugged again. \"No problem.\"\n\n\"Got arrested down there. Near 'bout got my ass throwed in jail.\" He gave a wet-sounding belch. \"Gave the cops my brother's name. Half brother. He's a stupid little shit. Got hisself thrown in for twenty years off a bank holdup.\" Tony laughed. \"Dumbass hit a bank. Can you believe that?\"\n\nWill shook his head. As crimes go, robbing a bank offered the lowest payout with the highest risk. \"Not too bright.\"\n\n\"You damn right. They tracked him straight back to his old lady's door.\" Tony finished the beer. He rolled down the window and threw out the can. \"Don't tell Cayla what I said about giving his name to the cops.\"\n\n\"She won't hear it from me.\"\n\n\"Good deal.\" He popped open another can of beer. \"Cayla's all hung up on us being related, but my daddy was with her mama less than two years. That ain't nothin'. And even if it was, I don't care.\"\n\nWill held back a response.\n\n\"I seen you lookin' at her, Bud. I don't mind that. I know she's pretty. Lots of men like to look at her.\" He pointed his finger Will's way. \"Just don't touch her.\"\n\nThere was a threat in his voice, but Will was so far removed from being interested in Cayla Martin that he couldn't take it seriously.\n\n\"Her mama's got four other kids. They put me in the basement with the boys. She used to come down there when she was drunk and show me a good time.\"\n\nWill's shock must have been apparent.\n\nTony snorted beer up his nose. He coughed it out of his mouth. \"No, man, not the mama. I'm talking about Cayla. She'd come down them stairs wearing her panties and a tight shirt and pretty soon the sheet I'm under's lookin' like a pup tent.\" He chuckled at the memory. \"I can't even tell you the shit we got up to down there. Liked to burn down the house.\"\n\nWill fervently hoped he would not. \"How long have you known her?\"\n\nTony didn't have to think about it. \"Been in love with her since we was fifteen.\"\n\n\"That's a long time.\"\n\n\"Damn right it is.\"\n\nWill looked out the window as Tony chugged his beer. There were three cans left in the six-pack. Will guessed from the shape and color of the pills in the Baggie that Tony had taken some Oxy.\n\nWill said, \"Slow down.\"\n\nTony's foot was already on the brake. He pressed the pedal, but the speed barely changed. \"I know Cayla gives me shit sometimes, but I'm the one she always calls when she needs something.\" He glanced at Will. \"That's when you know how a woman feels about you. The shit hits the fan, who does she call?\"\n\nWill tried not to think about Sara.\n\n\"You hear what I'm sayin'?\"\n\nWill nodded.\n\n\"I mean it, Bud. I love her. She's the only damn reason I get up some mornings.\" He wiped under his eyes with the back of his hand. \"She's all I got.\"\n\nWill didn't have many male friends, but he gathered sitting around talking about love while listening to Madonna was not high on the list of manly pursuits. \"You're gonna grow a vagina if you keep talking like that.\"\n\nTony barked a laugh. \"Hell, Bud, that's just what she does to me. Ain't you never been in love?\"\n\nWill was so in love that he couldn't see straight.\n\n\"What was it like at MacDill?\"\n\nWill took his time answering\u2014not because he had to recall the details, but because Bill Black wasn't the type to volunteer information. \"Why do you want to know?\"\n\n\"I dunno, man. Just curious. I knew a couple pilots from there. Sold 'em amp to keep 'em awake on long flights.\"\n\nSo, that's what Tony Dell was doing in Sarasota.\n\nTony pressed, \"What was it like?\"\n\n\"Hot.\"\n\n\"That's Florida all right.\"\n\nWill stared out the window. They were on the highway now. Several cars were out, stragglers with a long commute. \"What's the story with your nephew?\"\n\n\"Benji.\" Tony put a nasty spin on the name that Will didn't like. He probably thought the kid was in his way. \"His mama's a whore. Cops caught her smoking crack in front of him.\"\n\n\"That's too bad.\"\n\n\"He's a little shit. Keeps mouthing off at school. Cayla had to leave work to pick him up. He was suspended for two days.\"\n\nWill couldn't imagine Benji mouthing off to a kitten. \"He's a skinny kid.\"\n\n\"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you're too busy hittin' the pipe to stop and feed 'em.\" Tony turned the radio back on. He scrolled through the song selections and settled on Cyndi Lauper.\n\n\"Seriously?\" Will asked.\n\n\"I like strong women.\" Tony hit the blinker as he slowed for a turn.\n\n\"Where are we going?\" Will asked. Home Depot was by the hospital. They were heading in the wrong direction.\n\nTony held up the beer can. \"Thought we'd get a real drink.\"\n\n\"I'm not thirsty.\"\n\n\"You're not driving.\" Tony took the turn. His voice had changed. The tough demeanor was back. \"You serve overseas?\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Just wondering.\" Tony drank some more beer. \"You been in Macon, what, two weeks?\"\n\n\"Almost.\"\n\n\"You lived in Atlanta before that?\" Will didn't answer.\n\n\"How'd you get the job at the hospital?\"\n\nWill tried to turn the situation back on itself. \"You're asking questions like a cop.\"\n\n\"Shit.\" Tony laughed. \"You think I'm a cop?\"\n\n\"Are you?\"\n\nHe looked at Will over his beer can. \"Are you?\"\n\n\"Hell no, I'm not a cop.\" Contrary to urban legend, law enforcement officers were free to lie with impunity. \"Otherwise, I would've busted your ass ten days ago when I saw you taking pills off that cart.\"\n\nTony laughed at the memory. \"Near about shit my pants when I saw you looking.\"\n\nWill doubted that. Tony had clearly been testing him.\n\nThe window rolled down again. Tony tossed the can out. \"Cayla used to sell 'em for me on Craigslist.\"\n\n\"That's dangerous for a woman.\"\n\n\"I always did the drops.\" Tony opened another beer. \"College kids, mostly. We ain't sellin' the cheap stuff.\"\n\nWill didn't press for details, but he was looking at Tony Dell in a new light. Faith would need to make some calls to Hilton Head and Sarasota. Tony struck Will as exactly the type of criminal who would flip on his own mother if it saved him jail time.\n\n\"Anyway,\" Tony said. \"We ain't doin' that Craigslist shit anymore. Big Whitey kicked my game up a notch. I got more cash than I know what to do with.\"\n\n\"Craigslist is safer.\"\n\n\"Nickel and dime, bro.\"\n\n\"Big bills, big problems.\"\n\n\"The bills get big enough, you can buy your way outta the problems.\" Tony turned the wheel hard into a packed parking lot.\n\nWill recognized the building. They were at Tipsie's. The neon sign on the roof showed a woman sliding up and down a pole. \"You sure you wanna be back here?\"\n\n\"It's cool.\" Tony parked the truck. \"I was by here before I went to Cayla's.\"\n\nWill felt the hair on the back of his neck go up. \"Why'd you do that?\"\n\n\"Same as you checking out that cop in the ICU, seein' did somebody recognize me.\"\n\nWill didn't believe him. \"And?\"\n\n\"And... we're cool.\" The affable Tony was suddenly back. He pulled the keys out of the ignition, shouldered open the door. \"Come on, Bud. I'm still thirsty.\"\n\nWill got out of the truck, though every atom of his being told him something bad was about to happen. He didn't really have a choice. Jared Long was in the hospital. Lena Adams had almost been killed. There was a drug dealer out there who seemed to enjoy hurting people. If Will didn't do his job right, a lot more people would wind up at the hospital. Or in the ground.\n\n\"Come on, Bud.\" Tony walked like a bantam rooster. He was obviously hiding something. And he was very pleased with himself about it.\n\nWill slowed his pace, trying to figure out what he was walking into. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering if Tony Dell was, in fact, Big Whitey.\n\nFaith had brought up the possibility almost from the start. She was generally good at seeing around corners, but Will had disagreed with her. He'd met Tony Dell. He'd spent time with the man. He didn't come across as a master strategist.\n\nMaybe that was the point.\n\nEverything about Tony screamed petty criminal. He worked a shitty job. He drove a shitty car. He lived in an apartment that was three doors down from a strip mall. As for his police record, he'd been arrested twice under the open bottle law, both misdemeanors. There was one charge for possession that had rolled off after a successful stint in rehab. Another charge for dealing had disappeared from the court docket on a technicality. Loitering. Jaywalking. He was a nuisance criminal, not a heavy hitter.\n\nIf Tony Dell was really Big Whitey, then the man was a genius.\n\nWill's iPhone was in the front pocket of his jeans. He wondered if the tracking chip would work through the club's metal roof. Sara had GPS in her car. The system cut out the minute she drove into an underground parking lot. Will guessed it was all the steel and concrete messing with the signal. Probably the same thing would happen to his phone inside Tipsie's.\n\nThey were ten yards from the door, but the music pounded so hard that Will felt it traveling up from the asphalt. His eardrums turned the noise into one long rumble.\n\nTony glanced back at Will before pushing open the door. He wasn't smiling, which should've been Will's first warning. The second warning was more obvious. The minute the door closed behind Will's back, a hand gripped his shoulder.\n\nWill turned around. He was used to being the tallest guy in the room, but the man behind him was approximately the size of a refrigerator. Not a standard one, either\u2014more like a Sub-Zero with the motor on the top.\n\nThere was no use asking questions.\n\nThe Refrigerator nodded toward the back. Will got the message. The man's hand stayed clamped to Will's shoulder, acting as a rudder as he pushed Will through the crowded bar.\n\nTony led the way. He didn't appear to be surprised by this latest development. He certainly wasn't worried. There was a nasty grin on his face, which Will saw every time the man glanced over his shoulder to make sure Will was following. The strobe lights and mirror ball picked out the cuts and bruises on his face, making them look like badly applied makeup. Tony must've been hurting, but his expression was one of pure glee.\n\nThere was no denying that he'd set this up beautifully. Tony had wormed his way into Cayla's house. He'd tricked Will into leaving with him. It was Tony's idea to fix the sink. It was Tony's idea to strap Will's bike into the truck. He'd obviously anticipated the problem. There just happened to be a winch in the back of the truck along with a couple of four-by-four posts to use as a ramp. When this was all done, he would probably use them to roll the bike into the river.\n\nWill took the deepest breath he could manage. The sour smells of alcohol and sweat filled his lungs. He reached his hand into his pocket. His thumb found the power button on the phone. He pressed it three times to engage the recording device. Either Amanda would listen to Will talking to some bad guys or she would listen to some bad guys murdering Will.\n\nThe Refrigerator jerked Will to the side, avoiding a crowd of boisterous drunks. The route to the back of the club was circuitous. The stage snaked through the room. Every pole had a woman doing something obscene to it. The men crowded in, pushing against the stage until a bouncer shoved them back, then pushing forward again on the off chance that it'd work the third or fourth or hundredth time.\n\nTony stood at a closed door with a sign on it. The shit-eating grin was still on his face. He waited for Will and the Refrigerator to catch up. The grin got wider as Tony pushed open the door. The room was dark. The hand on Will's shoulder shoved him forward. Will saw that the room wasn't a room, but a long hallway. What little light they had came from the open door. The last thing Will saw was the Refrigerator closing it.\n\nTony's mouth went to Will's ear. \"Move.\" He pushed Will down the hallway.\n\nWill considered his options. He could easily take Tony Dell. He'd pushed him around like a rag doll before. But that had been the old Tony, not the Possibly Big Whitey Tony. Sometimes, the physical size of a man didn't matter nearly as much as the size of the fight in the man.\n\nAnd Tony had help.\n\nHe had a lot of help.\n\nWill pressed his hand to the cement-block wall as he walked down the hallway. He became painfully aware of his full bladder. Sweat dripped down his back. He imagined his Glock, the way the grip felt in his hand, the fact that the safety was a hair trigger built into the main trigger that only engaged when your finger pulled back. Not that any of this mattered. The gun was locked in a safe in his closet back in Atlanta.\n\nThere must've been soundproofing in the back of the club, because the music wasn't so unbearable anymore. Will felt something in front of him. He panicked, then realized he was touching a curtain. Will pushed the material apart. There was more light in this part of the hall, courtesy of a green Exit sign over the door. Will would've run full out toward it if not for the second Refrigerator blocking the way. He made the first Refrigerator look more like a mini-fridge. His arms bulged at the sleeves. His shoulders were almost as wide as the doorway. He had a Bluetooth device stuck in his ear. As Will approached, he tapped the earpiece and mumbled something incoherent.\n\nRefrigerator Two pulled back a curtain on the wall. There was another door with a sign. Will could recognize words he'd seen a million times before. This one said OFFICE. The second Refrigerator opened the door. His hand was so big that the knob completely disappeared.\n\nWill shaded his eyes against the sudden bright light. The back room of the club was remarkably similar to the type he was used to seeing in mob movies: Black ceiling, dark red walls. Liquor posters with naked women. A white shag rug. A large metal and glass desk. A black leather couch with three fat rednecks sprawled across it.\n\nThey were eating pizza from a box on the glass coffee table in front of them. The odor of cheese and sausage turned Will's stomach. He tasted bile, felt some black-eyed peas roil up into his mouth.\n\nThe rednecks examined Will and Tony with idle curiosity. In a mobster movie, they would've been well-dressed Italians. Macon's version was considerably more down-market. They wore T-shirts that stretched across their bellies. Their jeans were low on their hips, but only because they didn't want to go up six sizes to accommodate their expanded waistlines.\n\nRefrigerator Two closed the door. Will saw that he'd missed something across the room from the couch.\n\nThere was a man tied to a chair. Rope cut into the bare flesh of his arms and chest. His head hung down. The scalp was ripped at the crown. The head wound wasn't the only source of blood. His hands and feet had been sliced open. There were dozens of X's cut into his chest and abdomen. The wounds weren't deep enough to kill, but deep enough to cause excruciating pain.\n\nThe man had been tortured.\n\n\"Damn,\" Tony said, not with shock but with admiration. \"Didn't know y'all had company.\"\n\n\"Shut up,\" one of the rednecks said. He used a folding knife to clean underneath his fingernails. \"You do what I tell you to do?\"\n\n\"Don't I always?\" Tony answered.\n\n\"Watch your tone with me, boy.\"\n\n\"Yessir,\" Tony demurred.\n\nSo much for Tony being Big Whitey. Will gathered the redneck was in charge. He had the air of a man burdened with responsibility. His two henchmen ate their pizza like they were waiting for their turn at the bowling alley. One of them had a bottle of beer to wash it down. The other had a Diet Coke.\n\nThe redneck kept cleaning his nails. No one seemed interested in rushing him.\n\nWill just stood there. This wasn't the first time tonight that he'd wondered whether or not Tony Dell was leading him to his death, but it was the first time he actually saw how it might happen. The man in the chair was still alive. Blood didn't run like that if the heart had stopped beating. His breaths were shallow. His muscles twitched involuntarily\u2014first the arm, then the calf. A low humming noise came from his throat. He was probably praying for his death. They had cut him. They had beaten him. And then they had taken a dinner break because they were in no rush to end his suffering.\n\nTony wasn't as patient. Or maybe he was just stupid. He took a Baggie of pills out of his pocket and tossed them onto the desk. \"Where's the big man? You said we were gonna talk.\"\n\n\"Shut up,\" the redneck repeated. He finished cleaning his nails. The knife blade was about four inches\u2014not long, but sharp, with a wicked curved tip. He slowly folded the blade back into the handle, his eyes on Will the entire time. \"You gotta problem?\"\n\nWill shook his head.\n\n\"We gonna have a problem?\"\n\nWill shook his head again.\n\nThe redneck stood up, groaning from the effort. He was a big guy, not muscular like the matching refrigerators but fat around the middle.\n\nHe walked over to the desk. His gait was slow, cumbersome. He picked up a file folder from the desk. \"William Joseph Black.\" Will waited.\n\nThe redneck picked up a pair of reading glasses. He didn't put them on. Instead, he used them like a magnifying glass on the file.\n\nHe read, \"Born in Milledgeville, Georgia. Sealed juvie record. Joined up at twenty-two. Got kicked out at twenty-five. Couple of assaults on some women. Beat down a mall cop. Served time in the Atlanta jail. Pissed off some feds in Kentucky. Wanted for questioning on a stickup and a couple break-ins.\" The redneck waited. \"That about sum it up?\" Will didn't answer.\n\nHe tossed the file back on the desk. \"You're renting a room at the Star-Gazer Motel off the interstate. Number fifteen. You park your midnight-blue Triumph motorcycle in the space two doors down. You eat at the RaceTrac. You work at the hospital. You come here to get your dick hard. Your mother died while you were serving in Iraq. Your father is unknown. You have no siblings and no family to speak of.\"\n\nWill let his lips open a slit to take in some air. The only reason he'd chosen to ride a bike was to make sure no one followed him to Atlanta. To Sara. Will's heart thumped as he waited for the redneck to tell him her address.\n\nInstead, the redneck asked, \"Zeb-deeks?\"\n\nThis time, Will didn't respond because he didn't know what the hell the man was talking about.\n\n\"Zeb-deeks?\" the redneck repeated. \"You know him?\"\n\nIt was a name. A man.\n\nThe redneck waited. His patience seemed in endless supply.\n\nWill stumbled through Bill Black's life. There was no high school or college, just Air Force and jail. The name sounded foreign, but his military file wouldn't have those kinds of details. Zeb-deeks was probably a nickname, which normally wouldn't help Will except that there was only one guy in Bill Black's life whose name started with a Z.\n\nZebulon Deacon had been knifed at the Atlanta jail for ratting out his crew. Bill Black had been in the same cell block. He would know of the guy. He would certainly know the nickname.\n\nMore importantly, Black would also know you didn't rat out anybody without a fight.\n\nInstead of answering the redneck, Will shrugged.\n\n\"You don't know him?\"\n\nAgain, Will shrugged.\n\nThe redneck said, \"Junior?\"\n\nOne of the henchmen lumbered up from the couch. Junior was as big as his boss, but younger. Undoubtedly stronger.\n\nThere was no preamble. Junior punched Will so hard in the face that he saw flashes of light. His head snapped back. His neck cracked. The bridge of his nose felt like a hatchet had struck bone.\n\n\"Zeb Deeks,\" the redneck said.\n\nWill shook his head\u2014not to disagree, but to get his senses back. He'd been punched in the nose more times than he could count. The worst part came when you sniffed and the chunk of blood sitting in the back rolled down your throat. Will struggled not to vomit as he swallowed it down.\n\nFor the fourth time, the redneck said the name. \"Zeb Deeks?\"\n\nJunior pulled back his fist.\n\n\"All right,\" Will said. \"Yeah, I know him. Snitch got what he deserved.\"\n\n\"Where'd he get it?\"\n\n\"Quad.\"\n\n\"Where'd he get it?\"\n\n\"In the junk,\" Will said. \"They stabbed him with a broken toothbrush. He bled out in the yard.\" Tony chuckled. \"Bet that hurt.\"\n\nThe redneck's chest rose and fell. He studied Will for a moment, then nodded toward the last henchman on the couch. The third man stood up just as slowly as the others, his knees popping, his gut bulging. Contrary to physics, he and Junior worked fast. Before Will knew what was happening, his arms were pinned behind his back.\n\nThe redneck walked over to Will. He smelled of pizza and alcohol. He was a smoker. He breathed like a steam engine. He was big and he was white, but Tony had made it clear the redneck wasn't Big Whitey. Will doubted he would ever meet the man who was in charge of this gang of violent hillbillies. He doubted he would see anything other than the moldy back room of this club for what little time he had left in his life.\n\nThe redneck held up his hands so Will could watch what he was doing. The handle on his folding knife was pearl with gold accents. The light caught on the blade as he opened it. There was blood on the hinge, caked into the rivets, probably from carving X's into the man tied to the chair. The redneck was a natural with the knife. He held the handle with a light grip, almost like another thumb or finger.\n\nWill flinched as he felt the sharp stainless-steel blade trace across his neck. Then up the side of his face. Then underneath his eye. The redneck pressed a little harder and the skin opened. Will was so terrified that it didn't even hurt. He wouldn't have even known he was cut but for the bead of blood that rolled down his cheek.\n\nWill closed his eyes. He wasn't here. He wasn't in this room. Maybe talking to Cayla and Tony about the beach set him off. He could smell the salt in the air, feel the warm, gentle breeze rolling in off the ocean.\n\nThree months ago, Sara had taught Will how to fly a kite. They were on the beach in Florida. The kite was yellow and blue and had a long white tail. Will had never taken a beach vacation before. All his knowledge about Florida came courtesy of Wikipedia and _Miami Vice_. Sara was a good teacher. Patient, kind. Sexy as hell in her bathing suit. Her father had taught her how to fly a kite when she was little. He'd been worried that Sara would feel pushed aside by her new baby sister, so he'd taken her on little day trips to make her feel special.\n\nWill's eyes shot open. The knife was in his ear\u2014not the soft fleshy part, but the bit right at the inside where a thin layer of cartilage lay against the skull.\n\nThe redneck was smiling, enjoying the effect. The man had perfect white teeth. His gums looked almost blue against them.\n\nWill didn't move. The knife was needle sharp. The tip broke through his skin, sliced open the cartilage. A drop of blood slid inside his ear. With excruciating slowness, it traveled down the canal. Will felt a shudder coming on. It started slow, like the rumble of an oncoming train. A slight tremble, then a shaking that built and built until the earth started to move and his teeth were rattling and the ground felt ripped out from under him.\n\nThe redneck jerked out the knife just in time.\n\n\"Fuck!\" Will shook his head violently. The grip on his arms got tighter. He shook his head again. The blood was still moving inside his ear.\n\nThe redneck laughed as he folded the blade back into the handle. \"Take off your clothes.\"\n\nJunior and number three released him. Will jammed his pinkie in his ear and moved it like a clapper in a bell.\n\n\"Take off your clothes,\" the redneck repeated.\n\nWill glared at him. \"Go fuck yourself.\" He headed toward the door, but Junior stopped him.\n\nThe redneck offered, \"We can do this the hard way.\"\n\nJunior pushed Will into his partner, who in turn slammed Will into the wall.\n\nThe redneck asked, \"Hard way, easy way?\"\n\nWill couldn't think about the beach anymore. He couldn't think about Sara or anything else but staying alive.\n\nBill Black could handle this. He had been in his share of back rooms. He had dealt with lowlifes and bad guys all of his life. According to his records, he'd _been_ a lowlife and bad guy all of his life.\n\nWill didn't know what boot camp was like other than what he'd seen in the movies, but he was very familiar with the intake process at the Atlanta jail. Bill Black would've been one of at least a hundred new inmates the guards checked in that day. They'd stripped him, searched him, shaved him, deloused him, then thrown him into a five-by-nine cell with another man and an open sewage pit for a toilet. There were communal showers. There were occasional cavity searches. There was nowhere to hide.\n\nUndressing for a bunch of violent hicks was not something that would faze a guy like Bill Black.\n\nWill ripped open his shirt. Some of the buttons popped loose. His T-shirt came next, then his jeans. Will used the toe of one boot to brace the heel of the other as he stepped out of the shoes. He kicked off the jeans.\n\nThe room went silent but for the muffled beats of club music.\n\nThey stared at him like an exhibit at the zoo.\n\nWill didn't look at his body much. As grateful as he was to Sara, he didn't know how she could stand it. There wasn't a part of him that didn't tell some story of abuse\u2014the cigarette burns around his ribs, the electrical burns that had seared a scattershot of black powder into his skin. The scars on his back where he'd been clawed by a woman who got high from huffing spray paint all morning and thought Will had bugs crawling underneath his flesh.\n\nAnd that didn't include the wounds that were self-inflicted.\n\nTony broke the silence. \"Shit, Bud. What the hell happened to you?\"\n\nWill said nothing.\n\nFor once, the redneck seemed to view Will as a human being rather than a problem to be dealt with. He asked, \"Iraq?\"\n\nWill considered his options. His scars were not part of his cover. The redneck had obviously managed to get his hands on Bill Black's police record. He'd made some inquiries up the criminal food chain. Did the man have enough juice to get a military file? The GBI was good, but the United States government had offered only cursory support for Bill Black's stint in the armed forces.\n\nThe redneck pressed, \"One a them ragheads get hold of you?\"\n\nInstead of answering the question, Will turned his head and looked at the wall. He figured Bill Black would feel the same way Will did. Someone had hurt him really badly, and he wasn't proud of it.\n\n\"Never mind.\" The redneck seemed resigned to never knowing, but he wasn't finished with his search. \"Take off the shorts, too.\"\n\nWill gave him a hard look.\n\nThe redneck seemed almost apologetic. \"I knew a guy got caught by a cop with a wire taped to his balls.\"\n\nWill knew he didn't have a choice. Either he'd undress himself or the two henchmen would. He pushed down his underwear.\n\nThe redneck glanced down, then took another look before saying, \"Okay, then.\"\n\nTony raised his eyebrows. \"Damn, hoss.\"\n\nWill pulled his underwear back up. He reached for his jeans, but they were snatched out of his hand.\n\nJunior searched the pockets. Bill Black's wallet and phone were found. The wad of cash he'd taken off Tony this morning was tossed onto the desk.\n\n\"Let's see what we got,\" the redneck held out his hand. He started with the wallet. The Velcro ripped open. Cayla's handwritten address was in the photo sleeve. He flipped past it, checking the pockets. He found four twenties, two credit cards, and the speeding ticket that passed for Bill Black's license. \"Fifty in a school zone.\" The redneck tsked his tongue against his teeth.\n\nJunior handed him the phone. Will grabbed his jeans.\n\nThe redneck asked, \"What's the password?\"\n\nWill said, \"Four-three-two-one.\" He yanked up his jeans as the man dialed in the code.\n\nThe redneck was more proficient than Will as he scrolled through the various screens. His lips moved when he read. \"Who's the woman in Tennessee?\"\n\nWill pulled on his T-shirt. The hole in the arm had torn, ripping out the side seam.\n\nTony provided, \"He's gotta baby by her.\" He felt the need to ask Will, \"She the one into topiary?\"\n\nWill put on his Oxford shirt. There were three buttons left on the placket. He concentrated on closing them, though his fingers didn't want to work.\n\nThe redneck seemed to be scrolling through every screen. Will had tested the phone himself when he first got it, trying to see if there was a way to accidentally reveal the cloaked apps. Each time, he was foiled, but every system had a flaw. Will had never tested the phone with the recorder turned on. Maybe there was a software glitch that would pop up the apps and make the redneck pull out his knife again.\n\n\"Where's this?\" He showed Will a photograph, one of the shots he'd taken from the highway.\n\n\"Off 16,\" Will said. \"Thought it looked nice.\"\n\nThe man countered, \"Geotag says it's off 475.\"\n\nWill shrugged, but he felt his mouth go bone-dry. He'd forgotten about the geotags. They were part of the iPhone's location service and showed the longitude and latitude of where the pictures were taken. He had no idea whether or not the GBI program cloaked them.\n\n\"You get these off the Internet?\" He showed Will the naked women.\n\nWill's brief feeling of safety evaporated. He'd downloaded the photos from his computer in Atlanta. He didn't know what the geotag would record\u2014where Will was when he downloaded the photos or where they had originally been taken.\n\nWill waited, watching the man's finger swipe across the screen.\n\n\"Don't like Asians myself.\" The redneck kept scrolling.\n\nWill buttoned the cuffs of his shirt, pretending like he hadn't almost pissed himself. One of the buttons was dangling by a thread. It came off in his hands. Will didn't know what to do with it. He put it in his pocket.\n\nIf he died, he wondered who would find the button in his pocket. Probably the medical examiner. Pete Hanson had retired a few months ago, but Amanda had brought in a new guy who was young and cocky and believed everything that came out of his mouth. Will wondered what he would make of the button. He wondered if Sara would hear about it. Would she think about Will every time she put on a shirt?\n\nHe took the button out of his pocket and tossed it onto the floor.\n\nTony made a clicking sound with his tongue. Will looked at him. Tony winked, like they were in this together. Like he hadn't delivered Will to these men for slaughter.\n\nWhat had turned Tony against him? It had to be the dinner. The only way that Tony could know about the date was if Cayla told him. She must've known Tony would show up. Will could see she liked playing them off each other. Stepbrother or not, she'd obviously been stringing Tony along for years.\n\nOr maybe it was something more dangerous. Maybe Tony still thought Will was a cop. Running into Lena's house last night hadn't been Will's smartest move. No con in his right mind ran toward gunfire, even if he had a hundred pregnant girlfriends threatening to sue him.\n\n\"All right,\" the redneck finally said. He handed Will the phone.\n\nWill didn't know what to do but take it. The case was warm. His hands were so sweaty that he nearly dropped it before he could get it back into his pocket.\n\nThe redneck leaned across the desk and pressed a button on the phone. There was a buzz, then he pressed the button again. It was some kind of signal. They all waited. And waited. Will counted off the seconds in his head, but then he lost track and had to start all over again.\n\nA cell phone rang. The redneck took his time. The Droid was buried under a stack of papers on the desk. He answered on the sixth ring. He listened, nodding occasionally. His eyes slid Will's way. He said, \"Yeah, I think you're right,\" then ended the call.\n\n\"That Big Whitey?\" Tony asked. He was as eager as a kid. \"He tell you we're cool?\" He slapped Will on the back. \"I told you I'd make this right, man.\"\n\nThe redneck took a stack of hundreds out of his pocket. He glanced at the Baggie of pills Tony had thrown on the desk and counted out ten bills. He held out the cash to Tony. \"That's more than you deserve, bringing this ass-wipe into our business. Get rid of him.\"\n\nWill felt panic rise, but then he realized the redneck meant the man tied to the chair. Will looked at the guy. He'd forgotten all about him. At some level, Will realized he already thought of him as dead.\n\nThe redneck said, \"Leave him somewhere he'll be found.\"\n\n\"No problem.\" Tony walked over to the chair. He slapped the man's head. \"Let's go, dude.\"\n\nThe man groaned. Spit slid out of his open mouth.\n\n\"Come on.\" Tony slapped him harder. \"Stand up, cocksucker. Time to go.\"\n\nThe man struggled against the rope. Even if he wanted to, there was no way to get up.\n\n\"You believe this asshole?\" Tony's eyes looked as if they were on fire. He obviously enjoyed hurting people. He kicked the chair again. There was none of the gnat about him now, just a wiry tough guy who had no problem punching above his weight.\n\nThe redneck had had enough. \"Stop fucking around and get him out of here.\"\n\nTony pulled a knife out of his boot. This wasn't a folding knife, but a ten-inch hunting knife with a nasty-looking serrated edge. He cut the rope around the chair. The man pitched forward, moaning from the release. Tony caught him before he hit the floor. He flipped the knife in the air and pointed the handle toward Will. \"Get his feet.\"\n\nWill sawed through the rope that tied the man's legs to the chair. He glanced up as he sliced through the last few strands. The man's eyes were swollen slits in his face, but Will could see the bloody whites at the edges. Blood had trickled down his forehead, clotted in his eyelashes. His front teeth were broken. The bridge of his nose was smashed. Still, he looked familiar, but Will didn't have time to figure out why.\n\n\"Wake up, asshole.\" This time, Tony's fist came from below. The man's head arced back. Blood went flying. \"I ain't playin', dude. Stand the fuck up.\"\n\nThe man tried to obey. His bare feet stuck to the rug. His legs shook. His knees wouldn't straighten.\n\nWill stepped in. He couldn't watch this. He shouldered the man to standing, practically carrying all of his weight.\n\n\"Please...,\" the man begged, his voice barely audible.\n\nWill glanced around the room, but no one seemed moved by the plea. If anything, they were annoyed.\n\n\"Get him outta here,\" the redneck ordered. He went back to the couch, sat down in front of the open pizza box.\n\nWill tried to drag the man to the door. If he could leave this room, if he could manage to get out of this club, then there might be a way to save him.\n\nThe redneck picked up a slice of pizza. \"I'll be in touch, Bud. We have a job that Mr. Whitey thinks will suit your special skills.\"\n\nWill grunted, but only from the effort of carrying the man. There was no helping him walk. Will lifted his full weight onto his back. Five feet to the door. Maybe three feet to the exit. Around the building, then to the parking lot. Will would take Tony's truck. He'd sucker punch him from behind, take away his keys. He would drive the man to the hospital. He would get Faith to put him into protective custody. And then Will would find Sara and fall down at her feet and pray for her to make everything better.\n\nWill told Tony, \"Get the door.\"\n\n\"What about the rug?\" Junior asked. \"Ain't no way that can be steamed out.\"\n\n\"Shit,\" Tony complained. \"I ain't no damn rug cleaner.\"\n\n\"Take it and burn it.\" The redneck finished his slice of pizza. \"Dump the body on his front lawn. That oughta be public enough.\"\n\nTony made it clear he thought he was doing them a favor. He hitched up his pants. He got down on his knees. He started rolling the edge of the rug. Will turned because there was nothing to do but watch him and wait.\n\nThis was when the man decided to make his move.\n\nWithout warning, he pushed away from Will.\n\nThe man grabbed at the doorknob. His coordination was shot. His hands were slick with blood. Instead of opening the door, he fell against it. He started screaming, pounding at the door like there might be help on the other side.\n\nWill's instincts took over. Of all the guys in the room, he was the least lethal. He grabbed the man around the waist. He tried to cover his mouth. The man kicked him, bit him, punched him, until Will couldn't hold on anymore.\n\nThere was nowhere to go\u2014no windows, no doors but the one they'd come through. The man was so crazed with terror he was practically spinning in circles. The rug bunched up under his feet. He careened off the coffee table, the desk. Tony tackled him from behind, throwing him face-down on the floor.\n\nTony straddled him. The hunting knife was in his hands. He pounded the blade into the man's back, his shoulders, his neck. Again and again the knife went up and down like a piston. The blade made a pop-slap noise as it pierced skin. Spaghetti strings of blood flew around him like he was inside some kind of horror-house snowglobe.\n\nJunior jammed a gun into Will's chest, making it clear he should stay out of it. The muzzle felt like it was touching bare bone. Junior was eerily calm as Tony wailed away with the knife. He caught the redneck's eye, gave him a single shake of the head as if to ask, _What got into that guy?_ His counterpart sat passively on the couch, watching the murder unfold the way he might watch a card game.\n\nThe stabbing continued long after the man was dead. Tony only stopped when he ran out of steam. He sat back on his heels. He was panting. Sweating. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Forehead, mouth, cheeks. Blood smeared everywhere.\n\nJunior put the gun back into the holster on his belt. Will could move now, but he didn't have anywhere to go. Twice in as many nights, he'd watched one human being attack another.\n\nAt least Lena had been responding to a threat. Tony Dell was like a jackal destroying its prey. He'd enjoyed each and every second of the kill. He'd grunted and screamed as the knife went in. The spray of blood that washed up into his face had only made him hungry for more.\n\nAnd now he was laughing.\n\nBlood smeared his teeth like lipstick. He asked Will, \"How 'bout that, Buddy? You seen this nut job runnin' around? That was some crazy shit.\"\n\nThe redneck was not pleased. \"You see the mess you made?\"\n\n\"You was gonna throw away the carpet anyway.\"\n\n\"You didn't just get it on the carpet, did you?\"\n\nTony looked around with awe at what he'd wrought. He shook his head, then wiped the hunting knife on his pants before trying to jam it back into his boot. The blade was bent, probably from striking the thick bone of the skull. Tony had to torque the handle to sheath the knife. And then he saw the open wound across the palm of his hand. \"Shit, musta slipped over the hilt.\" He asked Will, \"You mind takin' me to the hospital, Bud? This is the kind of shit gets infected.\"\n\nThe redneck sounded more put out than disgusted. \"Junior, go get some of the girls to clean this up.\" He told Tony, \"Get the body outta here. Drop him in his front yard, like I said.\"\n\nTony asked, \"You sure 'bout that?\"\n\n\"Came straight from Big Whitey. Put him somewhere he'll be found. The only way to send a message is make sure everybody's got a chance to read it.\" The redneck directed his next order to Will. \"Keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't fuck it up.\"\n\n\"I ain't gonna fuck it up,\" Tony yelled. \"You tell Big Whitey I'm the one what took care of this for him.\"\n\n\"You really want credit?\" the redneck asked. He shook his head at Junior, who returned the gesture.\n\nWill said, \"We'll take care of it,\" because he thought that would get them out of here faster. He knelt down on the floor. \"Roll the body onto the rug.\"\n\n\"Take a cue from your pal there, Tony. Good soldiers follow orders.\" The redneck sat back on the couch. He took out his knife again to clean his nails. \"Like I said, Mr. Black. We'll be in touch.\"\n\nWill wasn't going to wait around for more. He motioned for Tony to move. \"Hurry up. Roll him onto the rug.\"\n\nTony pushed the body, but the physics were against him. The man was dead weight. Tony's boots skidded against the concrete floor. His face twisted into a mask of sheer determination. Finally, the man flopped onto his back. His arm was over his eyes like he didn't want to see anymore.\n\nTony picked up the hands and crossed them over the chest. He started toward the other side of the rug.\n\n\"No,\" Will said. \"We have to roll the body.\" He took the shoulders because that was the heavier end and he couldn't watch Tony pushing around the corpse anymore.\n\nTony asked, \"Ready?\"\n\nWill looked down at the man's face. He recognized him now, though even in death, the pain still twisted his features. Faith had shown Will his picture on her phone just a few hours ago.\n\nThe man in the chair was Detective Eric Haigh.\n\n# 10.\n\nFRIDAY\n\nIt was just past midnight, and Sara was once again sitting on the couch in the ICU waiting room. She flipped through a magazine, trying to tune out the conversations around her. More patients had been admitted that afternoon. Family members filled the small room. The new people were a communal bunch. They wanted to swap stories. They wanted to compare tragedies. Nell had not been pleased. She couldn't take the prying, the crowded space. She'd easily let Sara talk her into going back to the hotel room to get some sleep.\n\nThere was no reason for her to be at the hospital right now anyway. Jared's condition remained unchanged despite the antibiotics they were pumping into him. Sara had dealt with surgical infections before. They were as relentless as they were indiscriminate. There were very few antibiotics left that could successfully treat them.\n\nSo, as Sara had many times throughout the day, she found herself back at the same point she'd started at this morning. The twenty-four-hour clock had been reset. Jared had survived the surgery. Only time would tell if he survived the infection.\n\nSara put the magazine back on the table. She'd read the same celebrity gossip story three times and still couldn't follow the details. She was in some sort of weird fugue state. Yet again, she regretted the large scotch she'd had earlier that evening. Self-medication was never a good idea, but stress, alcohol, and thirty hours straight without sleep were a lethal combination. Sara had all of the hangover and none of the buzz. Her head ached. She was jittery. The fact that Sara knew when she was drinking the scotch that she was making a huge mistake only added to her misery. Her only consolation was that she hadn't ordered another one after talking on the phone with Will.\n\nThere was a conversation she wished she'd never had. Either Sara was a very cheap drunk or their relationship wasn't heading in the direction she'd thought it was. Her desperate sexual enticement had gone over like an IRS audit. Thank God she hadn't told him that she was in love with him. She could only imagine how embarrassing it would've been to have her pronouncement met with complete silence. Will was obviously pulling away. Sara had either done something or said something wrong. He was probably relieved she hadn't asked him to make the drive down. Or up. Or over. Sara still had no idea where he was.\n\nShe was just glad that he wasn't here.\n\nAnd she fervently wished that she wasn't, either.\n\nSara couldn't sit anymore. She stood up and stretched her back. The vertebrae felt fused together. Polite smiles greeted her around the room. She walked into the hall for some privacy.\n\nThe lights were dimmed in deference to the late hour. Possum was exactly where she'd seen him thirty minutes ago. His back was to Sara. He stood at the closed doors to the ICU, looking through the window. He couldn't see into Jared's room from that angle. The cop was in his line of sight. Sara could tell the vigilance was grating on the young man. He kept glancing at Possum, then looking back at the nurses' station as if the poor woman could help him.\n\nPossum could barely speak to Sara\u2014not out of rudeness, but because every time he saw her, his eyes filled with tears. She didn't know whether he was crying over the loss of Jeffrey, the threat to Jared, or the unbearable combination of both.\n\nSara just knew she was sick of being here.\n\nShe went to the elevator, then decided the stairs would at least give her some exercise. She needed some air, to be in a room that wasn't stale with fear and tragedy. And she should probably have a conversation with herself about Will. Maybe she'd been blind to the deeper truth behind his silences. Sara had never told Will that she loved him, but then Will had never told Sara the words, either.\n\nIn her experience, the simplest explanation was usually the crappiest one.\n\nSara went down two flights before she saw a pink and blue sign. The maternity ward. She gladly took the detour. Whenever she was having a particularly horrendous day at Grady, she would go look at the babies. There was something so reassuring about watching brand-new eyes blink open, toothless mouths pucker into a smile. Newborns were proof that life could not only continue, but thrive.\n\nSara guessed not many people would be there at this time of the morning, and she was right. Visiting hours were well over. There was no nurse to send stragglers away. No one had bothered to lower the shade over the large windows so the babies could sleep in peace.\n\nThe dimmed hallway lights cast a warm glow on the rows of bassinets. The newborns were all wearing pink or blue knit hats. They were swaddled tightly in matching blankets. Their little faces were like raisins, some of them so new that their heads moved gently side to side, as if they were still floating in the womb.\n\nSara pressed her forehead to the window. The glass was cold. One of the babies was awake. His squinty eyes scanned the ceiling. Colorful cartoons were painted overhead\u2014rainbows and fluffy clouds and plump rabbits. This was more for the parents than the babies. Newborns were extremely nearsighted. The basic eye structures were there, but months would pass before they learned how to use them. For now, the ceiling art was a pleasant blob.\n\nThe door behind Sara opened. She turned, expecting to find a nurse coming out of the bathroom. Instead, it was Lena Adams.\n\nShe had a tissue in her hand. Sara could see the dismay when their eyes met, then something like resignation. Lena headed toward the elevator.\n\n\"Wait,\" Sara said.\n\nLena stopped, but didn't turn around.\n\nSara instantly regretted the word. She didn't know what to say. Was she sorry? Certainly, she felt bad that Lena had lost the baby. But that didn't change what had come before.\n\nAll Sara could manage was, \"You don't have to leave.\"\n\nSlowly, Lena turned. She didn't acknowledge Sara. Instead, she walked over to the viewing window. Her fingers rested on the edge of the sill. She leaned her forehead against the glass, the same as Sara had. She seemed to wall off everything else around her. There was something so tragic about the way she looked at the newborns. Her longing seemed to pierce the glass.\n\nThe familiar sense of trespass took hold. Sara opened her mouth to take her leave, but Lena didn't give her a chance to speak.\n\n\"Is he the same?\"\n\n\"Jared?\" Sara asked. \"Yes.\"\n\nLena just nodded, her eyes still trained straight ahead. She moved her hand to her stomach, pressed the palm flat.\n\nAgain, Sara struggled against the instinct to offer comfort, to spin the situation in a more positive light. In the end, she couldn't summon the energy. Somewhere in the pit of her chest, there was the capacity to feel compassion for this woman. Sara felt it stir occasionally, like a car engine trying to start on a cold day. It would rev and rev, but eventually, it always sputtered out and died.\n\nAgain, Sara tried to leave. \"I should\u2014\"\n\n\"I never realized they were so small.\" Lena's features softened as she watched the newborn in front of her. \"It must be scary to know how fragile they are.\" Her breath fogged the glass. She seemed to be waiting for a response.\n\n\"You learn what to do.\" Sara had grown up around babies. She couldn't imagine a life without them.\n\nLena said, \"I've never held a baby before.\"\n\n\"You don't have cousins?\"\n\n\"No. And I never babysat or anything.\" She gave a low laugh. \"I wasn't the kind of teenager people trusted with their kids.\" Sara could imagine.\n\nLena stuttered out a long sigh. \"I didn't think it was possible to love something that needed me so much.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" Sara said. \"For what it's worth.\"\n\n\"For what it's worth,\" Lena repeated. \"Nell doesn't hate me so much anymore.\"\n\nSara had felt the change, too, but she wasn't sure it would last.\n\nLena said, \"It was better when she hated me. I knew how to deal with that. We both did.\" She turned her head to look at Sara. \"It's like she thinks losing the baby makes me a better person.\"\n\nSara weighed the words, trying to decipher her motivations. Lena wanted something. She always wanted something.\n\n\"Thank you, Sara.\" Lena turned back to the window. \"I knew I could depend on you to not feel sorry for me.\"\n\nSara needed to leave. She couldn't muster her old hatred right now, but she knew she could be persuaded. \"I should check on Possum.\"\n\n\"It kills him every time he sees you.\"\n\nSara couldn't argue with that. \"Still\u2014\"\n\n\"Did you get my letter?\"\n\nThe letter.\n\nFour years ago, Sara had opened her mailbox to find a handwritten letter from Lena. Sara had shoved the sealed envelope into her purse. She was late for work. She didn't want to read it. Neither, apparently, did she want to throw it away. For almost a year, the letter had traveled around with Sara. To work, to the store, to dinner, back home. She moved it when she switched purses. She saw it every time she pulled out her wallet or searched for her keys.\n\nLena was studying her. \"You read it.\"\n\nSara didn't want to admit it, but she said, \"Eventually.\"\n\n\"I was wrong.\"\n\n\"Really?\" Sara asked. The letter was three pages from a legal pad. Three tedious, tearstained pages filled with excuses and lies and blame shifting. \"Which part were you wrong about?\"\n\n\"All of it.\" She leaned her shoulder against the glass. \"I knew Jeffrey would come save me. And I knew that I was putting his life in danger.\"\n\nSara felt her face start to flush. Her heart was a bird trapped in a cage. She had waited so long to hear this admission, this validation, and now all she could think was that Lena was working an angle.\n\nLena said, \"You can't light a match, then act surprised when your house burns down.\"\n\nSara worked to keep her tone even. \"You tried to warn him.\" At least Lena had said as much in the letter. She'd devoted four lengthy paragraphs to her regret that Jeffrey simply would not take her sound advice. \"You said you told him to stay away.\"\n\n\"I knew he wouldn't.\" Lena stared openly at Sara. \"I should be dead now, not him.\"\n\nSara didn't buy the sudden conversion. She tried to trick Lena, quoting the words Jared had told Nell. \"He knew the risks when he put on the badge.\"\n\n\"You think Will feels the same way when he goes to work?\"\n\nFrom nowhere, Sara was seized by the impulse to slap Will's name out of her mouth. He'd investigated Lena almost two years ago when she'd let a suspect die in custody and stood by as another cop was stabbed nearly to death. Sara had been more disappointed than Will that he couldn't make the case stick.\n\nShe told Lena, \"The only thing you know about Will Trent is that he almost sent you to prison.\"\n\n\"Almost.\" Lena's lips teased into a smile. The mask was starting to fall. \"You know what I remember about my time with Agent Trent?\" There was a strange lilt to her voice. \"Seeing that he was already lost in you. And you're in love with him, too, right? I can see it in your face. You were always so good at being in love.\"\n\nSara shook her head. Now she could see where this was going. \"It doesn't make up for it.\"\n\n\"You've obviously moved on,\" Lena told her. \"Both of us have moved on.\"\n\n\"I didn't have a choice, Lena. I had to move on because my husband was murdered.\" Sara bit back the venom in her mouth. \"I didn't have a choice.\"\n\n\"No matter what you think, I'm not a bad person. I let myself believe that for a long time. I let you convince me I wasn't good enough. Wasn't worthy enough.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm so sorry,\" Sara quipped. \"Please tell me how I can make it up to you.\"\n\n\"You're going to find out eventually that I've changed.\"\n\n\"You haven't changed. Neither one of us would be here if you had.\" Sara struggled to keep the bitterness out of her tone. \"Everything is always a game to you. What we're doing right now is a game. You never walk away. You never let anybody get the upper hand. You think you're a good cop, but you don't care about the job or anyone else who's doing it. You just want to make sure that you win no matter what it costs.\"\n\nLena smirked. \"Whatever you say, Doc.\"\n\n\"I'm not doing this.\" Sara started to walk away.\n\n\"I can't believe I used to be jealous of you.\"\n\nSara turned, mouth open in disbelief.\n\n\"Your family. Your life. Your marriage. Everybody in town respected you. Worshipped you.\" Lena shrugged. \"And then I realized one day that I didn't want to be like you. Couldn't be like you if I tried. No one can. You're too perfect. Too demanding. Nobody can meet your high standards. Jeffrey couldn't.\" She shook her head, as if she genuinely felt sorry. \"Will doesn't stand a chance.\"\n\nFor a moment, Sara was too stunned to speak\u2014not because of what Lena had said, but because she'd so masterfully turned the conversation.\n\nSara said, \"You want me to feel guilty for moving on with my life?\"\n\nThe smirk on Lena's face said it all. She echoed Sara's words from before. \"Now you know how it feels.\"\n\nSara asked, \"Are we going to do this now? Are we really going to do it?\"\n\n\"Aren't you scared I'm going to win?\" Sara crossed her arms, waiting.\n\n\"All those years I wasted thinking you were better than me. Poor Sara, the tragic widow. And then I find out you jumped right back into the saddle with the first cop you could find.\"\n\nGuilt flooded Sara's senses. Lena had always been a shark who could smell even the tiniest drop of blood in the water. \"That's not how it happened.\"\n\n\"That's exactly how it happened,\" Lena shot back. \"You're just a fancy piece of trim. You know that?\"\n\nSara laughed, relieved that was the worst of it. _Trim_ was slang for women who slept with cops. \"And?\"\n\n\"You know what you loved about Jeffrey? That he took risks. That he went out there and beat down anybody who got in his way.\"\n\n\"Is that all you have?\"\n\nLena stepped closer. \"You never would've given him the time of day if he was just some pussy who let everybody else fight his battles.\"\n\n\"You mean like you?\"\n\nLena pursed her lips, the only indication that she'd heard the words. \"I saw the way you used to look at him\u2014your hero. Your big, tough cop. I bet it's the same way with Will. Funny how you just slotted in one cop for the other. Wonder how Jeffrey would've felt about that?\"\n\nSara shook her head, as if the blows weren't landing. \"Is this going somewhere?\"\n\n\"You wanted Jeffrey out there fighting the good fight. You loved it when he swung his dick around, kicked ass, and took names. Lemme tell you something, Sara, he took risks because you wanted him to. You got some kind of cheap thrill out of pushing him to the edge. I gave him a place to go, but you\u2014 _you_ \u2014were the one who rewarded him for it.\"\n\n\"Shut up,\" Sara snapped. The cut was too deep. \"Just shut up.\"\n\n\"Doesn't feel so good, does it? Being blamed for something you couldn't control.\"\n\n\"This conversation is over.\" Sara tried to walk away, but Lena grabbed her arm. \"Get your hand off me.\"\n\n\"I thought we were doing this.\"\n\nSara jerked her arm out of Lena's grasp.\n\nLena said, \"You always think you're so damn smart, but you can't even see what's right in front of you.\" She gave a surprised laugh that echoed down the empty hallway. \"Hey, I guess you make mistakes after all.\"\n\n\"You think I don't make mistakes?\" Sara's voice shook with rage. She could barely restrain herself. \"I was the one who told Jeffrey to hire you. I was the one who told him to promote you. I was the one who thought you could do your goddamn job and keep him safe.\"\n\nLena was backed against the window. Sara loomed over her. She couldn't remember moving, couldn't understand how her finger had jammed into Lena's chest or how her hand had clenched into a fist.\n\nSlowly, Lena turned her head, offering her cheek. \"Go on,\" she said, her voice smooth as silk. \"Take your best shot.\"\n\nThere was a weird tickle in Sara's feet. She felt as if she was standing at the edge of a bottomless pit. She forced herself to look over Lena's shoulder at the rows of newborns swaddled in blankets. The cheerful rainbows and clouds painted on the ceiling above them.\n\nSara couldn't let Lena win. Not this time. Not like this. She stepped back from the edge. She dropped her hand. She straightened her spine. Sara held up her head as she walked down the long hallway.\n\nLena asked, \"That's it?\"\n\nShe just needed to make it downstairs. Once Sara was outside, once she had fresh, cold air in her lungs, she would find a way to put this behind her. The last five minutes were not going to erase the last five years. Lena had no idea what Sara had been through. How she'd struggled. How she'd carved out a new life for herself. She didn't know Jeffrey and she sure as hell didn't know Will.\n\nThe sound of slow clapping echoed down the hall. Sara forced herself not to flinch. Each clap sounded like a gunshot.\n\n\"Good for you, Doc.\" Lena clapped louder. \"Ride your high horse right on out of here.\"\n\nSara didn't turn around. She couldn't turn around. She'd end up giving Lena the catfight she'd been spoiling for.\n\nShe pushed open the door to the stairs. Her hands would not unclench. Sara rounded the landing at a jog. Each step she took only served to ramp up her anger.\n\nOf course Sara had loved Jeffrey because he was tough. There wasn't a woman alive who didn't want a strong man in her life. That didn't make Sara responsible for his murder. She had begged him not to trust Lena, to just once let her hang herself with her own rope. And the idea that Sara could just slot in Will for Jeffrey was preposterous. The two men had nothing in common, except that both of them would've kicked Lena to the curb if they'd heard her talking to Sara the way she just had.\n\nSara almost wept with relief when she reached the main floor landing. She found herself in another dimly lit hallway. There were no stragglers or visitors at this time of night. Sara followed the green line on the floor, knowing it would take her to the elevators, to the exit.\n\nToo demanding.\n\nToo perfect.\n\n_If only_.\n\nSara couldn't stop herself from making mistakes. She was overwhelmed with mistakes. Little ones. Big ones. Life-altering, earth-shattering fuckups had followed her for the last five years of her life, culminating in her drive down to this godforsaken hospital.\n\nHer cell phone rang. Sara didn't answer. She passed the closed gift shop. Mylar balloons were pressed against the ceiling. The cooler was chained shut. Sara's phone stopped ringing. Almost immediately, it started back up again. She let it ring out, go to voicemail. There were a few seconds of silence, then the ringing started up again.\n\nSara checked the caller ID.\n\nJASPER, GA.\n\nWill.\n\nA few hours ago, his phone said he was on the coast. Now, it said he was in the mountains.\n\nSara answered the call. She fought to keep her tone even. \"I can't talk right now.\"\n\n\"Where are you?\"\n\n\"I'm at the hospital.\"\n\n\"Upstairs?\"\n\n\"No.\" She wiped away tears. The main entrance was up ahead. The lights from the parking lot gave the lobby an ethereal luminescence. \"I'm leaving.\"\n\n\"To go to the hotel?\"\n\n\"To go home.\" Sara didn't realize until she'd said the words that they were true. Her purse was locked in the back of her car. The keyfob was in her pocket. The rest of her stuff was at the hotel. She'd brought a change of clothes and some toiletries she kept in her locker at Grady. None of it was worth postponing her escape. The hotel cleaning staff could throw it out or keep it. Sara didn't care. She would call the front desk on her way out of town.\n\n\"Sara?\" Will asked.\n\n\"I can't talk.\" Her hand was clenching and unclenching. Her teeth ached from grinding them together. \"I'll call you later.\"\n\n\"Don't hang up.\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"I can't do this now.\"\n\n\"I need you to just stop. Right now.\"\n\n\"Will, I\u2014\"\n\n\"Sara, stop walking.\"\n\nSara stopped.\n\n\"I need to talk to you.\"\n\nSara looked down at the phone. Then she looked up. How had Will known she was walking? She scanned the empty lobby. \"Where are you?\"\n\n\"I need to tell you what happened.\" He sounded desperate. \"Not just before, but tonight. Last night.\"\n\nShe saw him then. He was standing outside the glass entrance doors. He was wearing dark pants and a gray shirt. Sara had seen the uniform before. The hospital maintenance staff wore it.\n\nHis hand went up to the glass.\n\nShe gave him an out. Insanely, she gave him an out. \"You're working with Faith.\"\n\nWill didn't answer, and Sara finally understood. The rolling phone calls. The undercover assignment he wouldn't talk about. The guilty look on his face this morning. His refusal to tell her what he was hiding. There was only one reason he would lie to her.\n\nSara said, \"You're investigating Lena again.\"\n\n\"No, but she knows I'm here.\" Will said, \"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry.\"\n\nSara's eyes burned with tears. Lena didn't just know that Will was here. She knew that he'd left Sara completely in the dark.\n\n_You always think you're so damn smart, but you can't even see what's right in front of you_.\n\n\"You asshole,\" Sara hissed into the phone. She could still hear Lena's laughter ringing in her ears. \"You let her make a fool of me.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry.\" Will's hand went up again. He pressed his palm to the glass door. \"I didn't think that far ahead. I didn't\u2014\" He stopped. \"I need you to go easy on me, Sara. Please.\"\n\n\"You lied to me.\" Her voice was shaking again. Everything was shaking. She'd blamed herself for pushing him away when all the time Will was the one keeping her at arm's length. \"You looked me right in the face and you lied to me.\"\n\n\"I didn't tell you because I thought you would leave me.\"\n\nShe felt something snap inside of her. \"You were right.\"\n\n\"Sara\u2014\"\n\nThe pain was too much. She clutched the phone in her hand, wishing she could break it into pieces. And then she realized she could. Sara smashed the phone against the wall. Chunks of plastic and glass popped back into her face. She picked up the pieces and threw them back at the wall.\n\n\"Sara!\" Will shouted. He was still outside, pulling on the closed glass doors. \"Sara!\"\n\nWhat an idiot she'd been. She'd opened her heart to this man. She'd shared her bed with him. She'd told him things she'd never even told her husband.\n\nAnd he'd given Lena Adams a knife to stab into Sara's back.\n\n\"Sara!\" The locks rattled on the closed doors.\n\nShe turned away from him, heading back toward the stairs.\n\n\"Wait!\"\n\nSara kept walking. She wasn't going to wait on him. She would never wait on him again. She had to get out of this building. Out of this town. Away from Lena. Away from Will and his lies. There was nothing else Sara could do but run away. She'd been stupid and blind. He'd betrayed her. She had given him everything, and Will had betrayed her.\n\n\"Sara!\" Will's voice was louder. He was inside the building.\n\nShe quickened her pace. Will's footsteps pounded through the empty lobby, echoed down the hall. He was coming after her.\n\nSara started running. She couldn't bear the thought of seeing his face again. She pumped her arms, lifted her knees. Will's footsteps grew louder. The door smacked against the wall as she ran into the stairwell. Instead of going up, she went down. The staff locker room would be in the basement. Maintenance. Storage. The morgue. There would be a loading dock or an exit she could use to get the hell out of here.\n\n\"Sara!\"\n\nShe was on the landing when the door banged open above her.\n\nWill yelled, \"Wait!\"\n\nShe tripped, grabbing the handrail as she slid down the last few stairs. Sara pulled open the door. Another hallway. The bright lights were like needles in her eyes.\n\n\"Stop!\"\n\nWill was already on the landing. He was faster than Sara. She would never make it to the exit without him catching her. Her shoes skidded on the floor as she darted into an open doorway.\n\n\"Let me explain! Sara!\"\n\nShe slammed the door shut, furiously checked for a way to lock it.\n\nThe door pushed open. She fell backward. Will grabbed her arm. He jerked her toward him. Sara slapped at him as hard as she could. He caught one of her hands. She punched him with the other one. She hated him. She wanted to scratch out his eyes. To tear his heart out of his chest the way he had torn out hers.\n\n\"Sara, please\u2014\"\n\nShe punched him again. She couldn't stop. Hitting him felt too good. She slapped his face. Her fingernails drew blood. He caught both of her hands in one of his own. Sara couldn't break free. He pushed her back against the wall. Her head banged against the cinder block. She brought up her knee, but Will was too close for her to do any damage.\n\nHe kissed her. Their teeth clashed. His fingers gripped open her jaw. His tongue filled her mouth. Sara slammed her fist into his chest. He ripped open her jeans. Sara didn't stop him. She helped him. She felt numb. Every emotion had drained away but one. She was sick of taking care of people. She was sick of being the good friend, of doing the right thing, of letting things go.\n\nWill spit in his hand. It wasn't enough. Sara gasped as he pushed inside of her. He went deep. Too deep. It took her breath away. Still, she gripped his shoulders, holding tight, meeting each thrust until her body took over and she felt herself give.\n\nSara's mouth found his. She sucked his tongue. Bit his lip. Her heels dug into the backs of his legs. Will flinched when her hands slipped underneath his shirt. She didn't care. She scratched the scarred flesh on his back. Words came out of her mouth\u2014filthy words that told him exactly what to do. Again and again she met each thrust until she had to clench her teeth to keep from screaming.\n\nThere was no slow build, just an uncontrollable rush that flowered deep inside her. The ecstasy was unbearable. Sara bit down on Will's shoulder. She tasted the salt of his sweat. Every molecule in her body pulsated from the intensity. She cried out his name. She couldn't help herself, couldn't stop the exquisite torrent of release.\n\nWill collapsed against her. Neither one of them could stand. They slid to the floor, both breathless, both shocked by what they had done.\n\n\"Sara\u2014\"\n\nShe covered her face with her hands. She couldn't look at him. Couldn't acknowledge what had just happened.\n\n\"Sara\u2014\" Will's mouth was close to her ear. The brush of his lips brought an involuntary shiver. \"Oh, God,\" he whispered. \"Sara, please\u2014\"\n\nShe pushed him away. She could still feel him throbbing between her legs. She felt craven. Deviant.\n\n\"Sara...\"\n\nShe shook her head, wishing she could disappear. \"Go,\" she begged. \"Please, just go.\"\n\n\"Sara\u2014\"\n\n\"Go!\" she screamed.\n\nWill struggled to stand. She heard him zip up his pants, tuck in his shirt. There was a loud click as the door opened, then again as it closed.\n\nSara looked up.\n\nHe was gone.\n\n# 11.\n\nFOUR DAYS BEFORE THE RAID\n\nLena sat in the cramped surveillance van with her hands thrust into her jacket pockets. There were three monitors in front of her. The computers under the desk were blowing out heat. DeShawn and Paul were wearing short-sleeved shirts. They were both sweating, but Lena was so cold she could've been sitting in an igloo. She was only six weeks pregnant and already her body was out of whack. This was why pregnant women were always so cranky. Their thermometers bounced up and down like Ping-Pong balls.\n\nDeShawn scrolled through the security cameras, asking, \"Where are you, Mr. Snitch?\"\n\n\"Mr. Snitch,\" Paul echoed, giving the name a showman's flourish.\n\nAll confidential informants had code names. Protecting a CI's identity was part of the devil's bargain. You used the name on all your paperwork. You used it in the field, where the slip of a word could mean the death of an informant. \"Mr. Snitch\" wasn't the most creative name, but it suited the junkie they'd turned a few days ago. There was something about the man that was slithery, like a snake. Lena thought maybe it was his scaly skin and beady little eyes.\n\n\"Come on, Snitchy.\" DeShawn tapped the keyboard, toggling back and forth through the cameras outside the Chick-fil-A. \"Here, Snitchy-Snitchy.\"\n\nPaul reminded him, \"We padded in an extra hour for a reason.\"\n\nLena watched the monitors change as DeShawn scrolled through the different angles. She'd always hated junkies\u2014probably because her uncle was one. Hank was clean now, but that didn't change his basic, junkie personality. Everything about him asked, _What's in it for me?_\n\n\"Here we go.\" Paul pointed at one of the monitors. A white car pulled into a parking space near the door. The emergency brake was pulled. The windows rolled shut.\n\nLena asked, \"Does he have his mic on?\"\n\nDeShawn twisted the dial on the tuner that picked up Snitch's transmitter. They heard his car radio playing an ad for a pizza place. The sound cut. Keys jangled. The car door opened.\n\nSnitch was short and wiry and needed a shave. His ballcap was pulled low on his head. Dark sunglasses wrapped around his face. He was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt. He kept checking over his shoulder, looking left and right, as he walked toward the restaurant.\n\n\"Moron,\" Paul groaned. \"He couldn't just get a neon sign?\"\n\nSnitch kept looking around as he entered the restaurant. He stood in line at the counter. A woman steered clear of him as she headed toward the side exit. Lena had scheduled the meet for just after the lunch rush, but a few stragglers were waiting around for refills. She heard soft conversation under the rustle of clothes. Snitch moved up in line. He ordered an iced tea. He kept scratching himself, shifting from one foot to the other.\n\n\"Junkie needs his pills,\" DeShawn noted.\n\nLena said, \"Junkie needs to do what he's supposed to do before I pull his immunity.\"\n\nMr. Snitch waited at the counter. He kept twitching. Lena wanted to reach through the monitor and make him stop.\n\nTheir entire operation depended on this junkie scumbag. For almost two weeks, Lena's team had been surveilling a shooting gallery off an anonymous tip. They didn't want to just shut it down. They wanted to decimate Sid Waller's operation. The job had quickly become an exercise in futility. Normally, there was always some lowlife who was willing to flip for cash and prizes. This time was different. No one would turn on Sid Waller. No one would wear a wire while they made a buy. No one would go on the record about the drugs and guns.\n\nNo one, that was, until Mr. Snitch.\n\nPaul seemed to read her mind. He asked, \"You still think Snitch is working both sides?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Lena admitted. Mr. Snitch had asked for her by name. She'd been leaving the doctor's office when the call came through. Her celebratory dinner with Jared had turned into takeout at the station. \"It's weird that he showed up right when our case was falling apart.\"\n\nPaul asked, \"How would he know it was falling apart?\"\n\nLena shrugged. \"Snitch was locked up for less than two hours when he told the guard to get me. How did he even know my name?\"\n\nPaul and DeShawn guffawed. Lena liked to break balls. Every junkie in town knew her name.\n\n\"All right, all right,\" she allowed. \"Still, we've all been at this long enough to know that nobody does you any favors.\"\n\n\"I dunno,\" Paul said. \"Scrawny guy like that, his first time behind bars\u2014two hours sounds like the right amount of time for him to freak the fuck out.\"\n\nDeShawn added, \"Oxy's hard to come by in the pokey.\"\n\n\"Not if you suck enough dick.\" Paul held up his hand for a high-five. DeShawn readily obliged.\n\n\"Where'd he go?\" Lena leaned forward, scanning the monitors.\n\nDeShawn worked the cameras again, toggling through the different views. \"There he is.\"\n\nLena saw the top of a door closing. Snitch had gone to the playground. Brightly colored plastic slides and swings circled around a sandpit. Two kids were playing on the rope climb, a boy and a girl. There were more cameras on the playground than inside the restaurant. Every corner was on display.\n\nSnitch sat down on a bench. The sun was on his face. He stretched his arms out along the back like he had all the time in the world. They heard him humming through the microphone taped to his chest.\n\n\"They're gonna kick him out,\" Paul said. \"Grown man ain't allowed on the playground without a kid.\"\n\n\"I think he'll be okay.\" Lena could see the staff moving lethargically behind the counter. They had all downshifted for the postlunch lull. One of the kids tossed a cup in his hand. The others watched him with a mixture of boredom and exhaustion.\n\n\"Looks like Mom's not gonna be a problem.\" DeShawn pointed to a lone woman sitting in a booth. She was typing on her iPad while simultaneously talking on her cell phone. Papers were spread out on the table. She was obviously working.\n\nPaul said, \"I bet she tells her husband she's spending time with the kids.\"\n\nLena held back a response. Now that she was going to be a mother, she found herself far less judgmental. \"We've got forty-five minutes, right?\"\n\n\"Give or take,\" DeShawn said. \"Waller has a reputation for being late.\"\n\nPaul always had to contradict. \"He might show up early, case the joint.\"\n\n\"Call me on my cell if he does.\" Lena pushed open the door. \"I'll be right back.\"\n\nShe kept her head down as she walked across the parking lot. There was little chance of her being seen. They had set up in front of a Target, fifty yards from the Chick-fil-A. Tapping into the restaurant's wireless security system was less than legal, but the manager should've better encrypted his wireless hotspot. They weren't going to use the video anyway. DeShawn wasn't recording. They were keeping a tight leash on Mr. Snitch. At least Lena was. She didn't trust just the audio. She wanted to see him with her own eyes.\n\nThere was something wrong with the guy. She'd only met him a few days ago, but in her gut, Lena knew there was something off about him. She had felt it when she first sat across from him at the jail. She had especially felt it when he'd told her he could hand her Sid Waller.\n\nSidney Michael Waller.\n\nLena was more than familiar with the name. Everyone at the station was. Waller wasn't just a drug dealer. He wasn't just a pimp and a gunrunner. Last year, they'd all worked around the clock to make a case against Waller for raping his niece and murdering his sister. And then the niece had recanted. Witnesses disappeared. People changed their stories. The case had fallen apart three days before the trial started and everyone, especially Lena, had walked away with a bad taste in their mouths.\n\nBut then Mr. Snitch had showed up with a golden ticket. She couldn't have written a better script for the man. He'd confirmed details about the shooting gallery off the interstate. The guns. The whores. The vast amount of drugs moving through the city while Sid Waller sat back and counted the dough. The case practically made itself. Waller would spend years behind bars. He'd get far more time for the guns than he would have off the rape.\n\nBut only if Lena ignored her gut. She had to keep tamping down the little voice inside her head that said this was too easy. She'd been gunning for Waller for a year and suddenly he fell into her lap? What was Mr. Snitch getting out of this? The immunity deal was good, but was skipping eight months in prison really worth risking his life?\n\nLena couldn't let herself dwell on the questions too long. She couldn't let this operation fall apart.\n\nThe truth was that Sid Waller had gotten under her skin. Lena was determined to return the favor. She brought him in for questioning every time she found a plausible excuse. She couldn't put him behind bars\u2014yet\u2014but she could certainly run up his legal bills. Just last week, Waller had called her a cunt during an interview. Two weeks before that, he'd told her all the different ways he could fuck her. That all of this had been recorded for prosperity didn't seem to bother him. Waller had a good attorney, the kind of attorney who knew the law better than most cops.\n\nMaybe that's why the judge was being so difficult. Lena had tried to get a warrant for the shooting gallery based on the suspicious traffic at all hours of the night. The judge had said no. Denise Branson presented evidence that Mr. Snitch, a confidential informant, had given up the location. The judge had said no. It was only through blind persistence that they had talked the man into letting them record today's meeting. And even then, he'd only authorized audio.\n\nThis was their last chance. Lena knew there was no way the judge could say no if they got it on tape. All Mr. Snitch had to do was get Waller to talk about the house, to say something about the guns or the drugs or the money, then they could go in and bust some bad guys.\n\nAt least that's what Lena was praying for. Sid Waller was the last big case she was going to work for a while. She was looking at months of her life being consumed by her pregnancy, then a couple of weeks, maybe another month, home with the baby before she returned to work.\n\nJust the thought of being away from the job that long made her feel antsy. Lena had always been a cop. She couldn't lose that part of her identity. Lately, it seemed like she wasn't going to have a choice. She was too tired to sleep, too sleepy to concentrate. She had to pee all the time. She was cold. She was hot. She was cold again. If this was what pregnancy was like, Lena wasn't sure she could handle it. And the nausea was unrelenting. Why did they call it morning sickness when it was more like all-day sickness?\n\nLena sat on a bench in front of the Target. She had to unzip her jacket because she'd started sweating at some point during the easy walk across the parking lot. She found a tissue in the pocket and blew her nose. She wasn't sure why her nose ran all the time now. Jared said she was making snot for two.\n\nLena checked the time on her phone. Sid Waller wasn't due for another forty minutes. She'd rest for a little while, then go back to the van. That is, if she didn't fall asleep first. Her eyelids felt heavy as she looked around the parking lot.\n\nLena found herself wondering if the world had always been filled with so many kids or if she was just seeing them now because she was pregnant. A toddler screamed as his mother pulled him toward the store. A child ran screeching around a minivan as his harried mom chased after him. Just outside the entrance to the store, another poor woman was bouncing a wailing baby on her hip.\n\nTopping off this happy tableau was an extremely pregnant woman who was loading bags into the trunk of her car. Her belly was the size of a beachball. Sweat glued her hair to her head. She was parked in one of those expectant-mother parking spaces that Lena had always resented but now completely understood. The woman deserved to be closer to the door. She looked miserable. She dug her fist into her back as she unloaded the last bag from the cart. Her dress was way too tight. Even from a distance, Lena could see the thong sticking like dental floss between her ass cheeks.\n\n\"Jesus,\" Lena whispered. She felt like a cow glimpsing behind the counter at the butcher's shop.\n\nLena shivered. Her hands were cold. That's how it usually started. The change in temperature worked its way from the edges. She stuck her hands into her jacket pockets. Her fingers curled around the photo. Lena guessed the ultrasound could be called a photograph. At the very least, it was a snapshot of what was going on inside of her.\n\nOver the years, Lena had looked at her share of X-rays and medical reports. She'd seen ultrasound pictures taped on refrigerators, shown on TV screens, and even presented as evidence in court cases where the mother had been murdered.\n\nLena had never been particularly moved by the images. To her, they were just black and white blobs. She assumed that the ability to ooh and ahh over the tiny splotches and weird folds was lost on her. Also, there was something disturbing about looking at a person's interior workings. Maybe Lena was a prude, but she couldn't be the only one thinking that showing an ultrasound was tantamount to showing the world irrefutable proof that you'd had sex.\n\nBut that was before Lena had seen an ultrasound of her own baby. Everything had changed two days ago. She couldn't understand it. How had that tiny, pulsing little bean opened up such a large space in her heart?\n\nAnd how had it made Lena love Jared so much? She couldn't explain the shift. Loving Jared was nothing new, but the sudden depth of her feeling was terrifying. Lena had never felt this way about a man before. She was completely out of control, incapable of hiding her vulnerabilities. At night, she clung to him. During the day, she couldn't stop touching him. At first, Jared had been mildly annoyed. He generally wasn't up for touching unless it led to something, but he'd become more receptive over the last few weeks. There had to be some hormone Lena was giving off. Even the guys at work were looking at her differently.\n\nWork.\n\nLena couldn't think about what would happen when she started to show. Not that she wasn't already. They probably just thought she was getting fat\u2014which she was. Her pants cut into her waist. She spilled out of her bra. Jared was ecstatic about this particular development. All Lena could think was that there was no way she could chase after some thug with her breasts flopping around. In a few months, she'd probably end up stuck behind a desk. She'd be doing paperwork and following up on witness statements while everyone else had all the fun. Was it worth it?\n\nLena looked down at the ultrasound. She touched the tiny little bean resting in white crescent arms. Of course it was worth it.\n\nHer phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. Denise Branson. She was probably pacing the station house waiting for news.\n\nLena said, \"What's up, D?\"\n\n\"Any news?\"\n\nLena looked at the time. She should head back to the van. \"He's got another thirty minutes, but he's always late.\"\n\n\"I'm already pushing back a meeting,\" Denise said. \"You know it's both our asses on the line now.\"\n\n\"I know.\" Lena reluctantly pushed herself up from the bench. \"I appreciate it.\"\n\n\"Listen.\" Denise seemed eager to move on. \"I got another piece of the Big Whitey puzzle.\"\n\n\"Denise\u2014\"\n\n\"Just hear me out like I do with you, okay?\" Lena owed her that much. \"Okay.\"\n\n\"I found an article in the _Savannah Tribune_. Eighteen months ago, two white girls showed up dead behind a church. Runaways from good homes. Heroin overdoses, both of them. From honor students to stone-cold junkies in less than a month. The needles were still in their arms. That sound familiar?\"\n\n\"Honor students OD on heroin all the time,\" Lena told her. \"I could find a hundred other cases on the same day. Maybe thousands.\"\n\n\"It's just like what happened here.\"\n\nThere was no use arguing. \"Denise, I'm saying this as a friend. You're obsessed with this. You're too close.\"\n\n\"So what if I am?\"\n\nLena shook her head as she made her way back across the parking lot. Only in law enforcement was obsession considered an asset.\n\nDenise said, \"You're obsessed with Sid Waller.\"\n\n\"And I'm about to bust him,\" Lena countered. \"I've got a case. I've got a witness. I've got leads, photos, timelines. All you've got is a ghost.\"\n\n\"You start out with all of that or did you put it together?\"\n\nLena didn't want to admit she had a point. Before Mr. Snitch magically appeared, Denise could've been asking Lena the same questions about Waller. But she hadn't. She'd given Lena the support and time to do what she needed to do. \"Did you track down that law firm?\"\n\n\"I'm working on it. There's some kind of connection there.\"\n\n\"If you're right, then maybe we can help each other out. Sid Waller's the big man on campus. Once we take him down, he can give us Big Whitey.\"\n\nDenise huffed a laugh. \"You think Sid Waller's gonna turn? He's got just as much juice inside the joint as he does out.\"\n\nShe was right. The gangs ran the prisons and Waller would be a top dog. Still, she said, \"It could happen.\"\n\n\"I'm not giving Waller any deals. He can rot away his sick ass in jail. I can get Big Whitey on my own.\"\n\nLena realized her fist was stuck in her back, just like the other pregnant woman. She dropped her hand. \"All right. If you think you can put together a case, then you should get help. This is too big for one person. Two, if you count me, because you know I'm there for you.\"\n\nDenise snorted. \"You know I'm off-book. How am I gonna go to Lonnie for help when he told me to shut this down months ago? He's not gonna spend one dime of department money on Big Whitey. At least not until it's too late.\"\n\nShe was right again. By budgetary necessity, police forces were more reactive than preventative these days.\n\nLena had an idea. \"I know somebody with the state who can give us a hand.\"\n\n\"I can't jump over Lonnie's head.\"\n\n\"I know that,\" Lena said. Gray was relatively new to Macon, but he'd spent the past fifteen years heading up forces all around the state. They both respected him too much to stab him in the back. Not to mention that when push came to shove, Gray could twist that knife right back in theirs. \"You could reach out informally. I know an agent who's discreet.\" She didn't mention that the man had investigated her almost two years ago. \"He's a cop, but he doesn't act like one. He'll give you the support you need. At the very least, he can help you put together some of these pieces.\"\n\n\"You think I'm gonna let the GBI come stomping onto my turf and taking credit?\" She gave a harsh laugh. \"You know how many hours I've put into this? How many miles on my car? How many sleepless nights? I've got blood in this fight, Lee. I'm not going to let go of it now.\"\n\nLena recognized the righteous indignation in her tone. Five years ago, Lena would've been saying the same thing, sounding the same way. She'd been so sure of herself before Jeffrey died. She was the one who was always right. She didn't need help. She didn't need some asshole trying to grab credit. Lena had taken on the world single-handedly every day\u2014right up until the world knocked her flat on her ass.\n\nDenise said, \"If you'd talked to that girl, listened to her mama, then you'd feel the same way as me.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Lena said. She was glad she hadn't spoken with either of them, otherwise she probably would've been sucked in right along with Denise. \"You work the case. You don't let the case work you.\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\" Denise shot back.\n\n\"This ghost you're chasing\u2014it's affecting your life.\"\n\n\"In what way?\"\n\nLena didn't answer. Denise wanted some bowling pins she could knock down. Lena knew from experience that the job wasn't kind to lonely women. It could make you too driven. Too hard. It could scare people away from you.\n\nHaving Jared in her life had changed that for Lena. He'd shouldered some of the burden. He'd made her feel like it was okay to let go.\n\nAnd then there was the baby. Lena put her hand to her stomach. Her face felt hot. An idiotic grin spread across her mouth. It was the hormones. She was glad she wasn't in the van with Paul and DeShawn. She was probably fucking glowing.\n\n\"Come on, Adams,\" Branson prompted. \"Give it to me straight.\"\n\nLena shrugged off the challenge. \"Did you hear DeShawn's getting divorced again?\"\n\n\"And you think 'cause he's black and I'm black that we're a match made in heaven?\"\n\n\"Please, he should be so lucky.\" As hypocritical as it sounded, Lena told her, \"I'm just saying that you can't do both\u2014be married to the job and married to a wife. What are you working for if you don't have someone to come home to?\"\n\nDenise's words were pointed. \"You mean husband.\"\n\nThe phone line was deadly silent. Denise Branson went to church every Sunday. She made the appropriate noises when a good-looking man walked by. But so had Lena's sister, and Sibyl had been as gay as a three-dollar bill.\n\nDenise was all business again. \"Call me as soon as the meet's over. If you can't get Waller on tape, Lonnie's gonna give us a come-to-Jesus talk. And I'm not gonna argue with him, because he'll be right.\"\n\n\"Denise, give me a break.\"\n\n\"Don't talk about break, girl, talk about broke. Do you know how much this is costing the department? Twenty-four-hour surveillance going on ten days. Overtime for everybody and their mother. We passed the half-million mark last weekend. I can't even do the math on where we are now. I've been waiting for this meet to pan out so when I take it to Lonnie, he doesn't kick my ass out the door.\"\n\n\"I know you're taking heat for me.\"\n\n\"Shit,\" Denise muttered. \"I wish it was heat. I'm standing in a damn ring of fire.\"\n\nLena was almost to the van. She glanced around, making sure she wasn't being watched. \"I'll get Waller. I promise.\"\n\n\"You don't, then get a newspaper. We're gonna both need to start looking for new jobs.\" She let the phone slam down in Lena's ear.\n\nLena slipped her hand back into her pocket. She traced the edge of the ultrasound as she walked toward the white van with the AT&T logo on the side. As far as she knew, no one had bothered to get clearance from the phone company. Lena figured they should shut up and take the free advertising.\n\n\"Hey, boss.\" DeShawn came around the side of the van. He was so big he cast her completely in shadow.\n\nLena's hand went to her throat. \"You sure move light for a Mack truck.\"\n\n\"That's what the ladies say.\" He winked at her. \"You doing all right?\"\n\nLena felt her defenses go up. \"Why?\"\n\nHe shrugged and shook his head. \"No reason.\"\n\n\"You take yourself off the monitors and stand out here waiting for me for no reason?\"\n\nHe had the grace to admit he'd been caught. \"I know this whole Waller thing's been weighing hard on you.\"\n\n\"Why? Has Lonnie said something?\" Lena knew that DeShawn was Gray's eyes and ears, but she'd never thought of him as a tattletale. \"What did he say?\"\n\n\"Nothing, and I didn't say anything to him.\" DeShawn looked at her like she was paranoid for no reason. \"Come on, gal. You know I'm on your team.\"\n\n\"What's going on?\" Lena asked. Now that she was looking at him, he seemed on edge, like something else was going on. \"Why are you acting weird?\"\n\nDeShawn gave a heavy sigh. \"I just noticed you've been tired lately.\"\n\n\"So? We're all tired. We've been butts to nuts for weeks.\"\n\nHe gave the sigh again. \"I just wanted you to know that it's okay by me if you decide to take a back seat on\u2014\"\n\n\"Fuck your back seat,\" Lena snapped. \"I've never taken a back seat on anything in my life.\"\n\n\"All right.\" He held up his hands. \"Just worried about you, is all.\"\n\n\"Worried about me why?\"\n\nHis mouth twisted to the side, like he was debating whether or not to tell her something. Lena knew DeShawn's sister had two girls. Maybe he'd figured out that Lena was pregnant. In which case, she had to shut this down fast.\n\nShe said, \"Get your panties out of your cooch, Shawn. I appreciate your concern, but the best thing for both of us right now is for you to do your job and me to do mine. All right?\"\n\nHe held up his hands in surrender again. \"You're the boss.\"\n\nShe knocked on the side of the van. \"It's me.\"\n\nEric Haigh cracked open the door. The whole gang was here. He told Lena, \"We got a call from Waller's tail. He's about five minutes out.\"\n\nPaul couldn't help but add, \"I was right. He's probably coming early to case the restaurant.\"\n\nLena wasn't interested in giving credit. She started to hold out her hand for help, then decided it would be better to show DeShawn she was capable of moving her own weight. Still, she groaned as she pulled herself up.\n\nDeShawn vaulted in without assistance, probably to prove a point. He slammed the door shut behind him.\n\n\"Jesus Christ.\" Lena clapped her hands over her face. The smell was disgusting. \"What've you guys been doing in here?\"\n\n\"Sorry,\" Eric said. \"I had Mexican for lunch.\"\n\n\"Thanks a lot, dickslit.\" Paul punched him in the arm. Eric rewarded him with the wettest-sounding fart Lena had ever heard.\n\n\"Oh, God.\" She pinched her nose closed and breathed through her mouth. \"Please tell me Snitch is still there.\"\n\nPaul provided, \"Mr. Snitchy is on the bench looking at the kiddies.\"\n\n\"Looking at them how?\" Lena checked the monitor to see for herself. Snitch still had on his sunglasses. His arms were sprawled across the back of the bench. \"Are you sure he's not asleep?\"\n\n\"Look at his foot.\"\n\nHe was right. Snitch's heel was hopping up and down so fast the camera barely registered the movement. Lena asked, \"Where's Mom?\"\n\nDeShawn was back in his chair. He pulled up the appropriate camera. The mother was still on the phone, stretched out in the booth as if she planned to stay there for a while.\n\n\"Good thing he's not a pedophile,\" Lena said. She motioned for Eric to get out of her chair.\n\nEric said, \"The seat might be a little warm.\"\n\nPaul laughed again, and she slapped him on the back of the head. \"Why is everyone in this van an asshole except for me?\"\n\nPaul asked, \"You okay, boss?\"\n\nLena scowled at him. \"Since when am I the boss?\"\n\n\"You're in charge, right?\" Paul indicated his empty chair. \"What's going on with you? Your face is all red.\"\n\nShe put her hand to her cheek. The skin was hot. \"It's probably gas poisoning.\"\n\n\"You sure about that?\" He cocked an eyebrow at her, but he didn't push it.\n\n\"All right, ladies and Lena.\" DeShawn rubbed his hands together. \"Mr. Waller has arrived.\"\n\nA red Corvette idled in the parking lot. The windows were down. Sid Waller circled the lot twice before parking in a space by the road. He'd brought weight with him. Diego Nu\u00f1ez was in the passenger seat. He had his arm resting on the door. A cigarette dangled from his fingers.\n\nEric squinted at the monitor. \"Is that a joint?\"\n\nDeShawn checked it out. \"Looks like it.\"\n\n\"Damn,\" Paul said. \"Chick-fil-A don't like queers. What're they gonna do with a spic toking a doobie?\"\n\n\"Shut up,\" Lena said. She tried to tune out their voices as she watched Sid Waller get out of the car. The metal chain on his wallet swung as he strutted across the parking lot. His long, skanky hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He wore ragged jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off. Tattoos covered both arms. Like Paul, he was incapable of just opening a door. He flung it open to announce his presence.\n\nAll four of them swiveled their heads in unison, watching the monitor that showed the lobby camera. Waller raised some eyebrows inside the restaurant, but this was Macon and it was hard to tell a harmless long-haired redneck from a violent one. The girls behind the counter figured it out quickly. Lena had always believed that women were better than men at spotting danger. It was why her gut wouldn't let go of the bad feeling she had about Mr. Snitch.\n\nThe junkie in question had noticed Waller's arrival. He sat up straight on the bench. His hand shot up in a wave. And then he kept waving, because Waller wouldn't look his way. Finally, Snitch stood up and went to the door. Instead of going inside, he motioned for Waller to join him on the playground.\n\nLena checked on the woman in the booth. The mother's jaw dropped when she saw Sid Waller.\n\nDeShawn said, \"Come on, Mama. Time to check on the kiddies.\"\n\nWaller jerked open the door. Lena startled when his voice blared from the speaker in the van. \"What the fuck, dumbass?\" Snitch nervously looked at the kids.\n\nThankfully, their mother had scrambled to the door on the other side of the playground. They heard her strident tone on Snitch's concealed mic. \"Britney. Randall. Now.\"\n\nThe children didn't have to be told twice. Sid Waller had a way of clearing a room.\n\n\"Move over,\" Waller said, and Snitch slid down the bench. \"What're you doing here? I thought they didn't let faggots in this place.\"\n\nSnitch chuckled like he was in on the joke.\n\n\"Shut up, pencil dick.\" Waller took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He shook one out, fumbled for his lighter.\n\nSnitch looked around, checking all the corners.\n\n\"You worried about something?\" Waller asked. He held the open flame of the lighter a few inches from his cigarette.\n\nSnitch shook his head.\n\n\"Take off those fucking glasses.\"\n\nSnitch took off his sunglasses.\n\nWaller lit the cigarette. He inhaled half of it down before blowing out a long stream of smoke. \"What are we doing here?\"\n\n\"I got some more pills.\" Snitch reached for his pocket.\n\nWaller stopped him with a look. \"I look like a drug dealer to you?\"\n\nSnitch froze, his hand halfway in his pocket. They'd told him to pass the pills so at the very least, they'd have Waller on taking stolen narcotics.\n\nInside the van, they all tensed.\n\nEric said, \"Look at him. He's freaking out.\"\n\nHe was right. Snitch was panicking.\n\nWaller stood up to leave.\n\n\"Come on,\" Snitch said. \"Don't be that way.\"\n\nInstead of opening the door, Waller leaned against it. His arms crossed over his broad chest. The cigarette dangled from his mouth.\n\nLena held her breath. She watched the two men. They were having some kind of staring contest.\n\nUnbelievably, Snitch won. Waller looked down as he tapped the ash off his cigarette.\n\nSnitch said, \"I wanna move up.\"\n\nWaller put the cigarette back in his mouth.\n\n\"I can get more product.\"\n\n\"What makes you think I need it?\"\n\nSnitch stood up. He took off his ballcap and ran his fingers through his hair.\n\nLena asked, \"Was that a signal?\"\n\n\"I think he's just sweating,\" Paul said. \"Look at the way he keeps pulling his pants away from his sac.\"\n\nHe was right. Snitch couldn't keep his hands off his crotch.\n\n\"Well?\" Waller prompted. \"You gonna make your case?\"\n\nRemarkably, Snitch remembered his lines. \"I've gotta source at the hospital. I can get the good stuff. Name brand. Not that shit from China.\"\n\nSmoke wafted up into Waller's eyes. He was thinking about it. Lena knew that he was thinking about it.\n\n\"Come on,\" she begged. Everyone in the van edged closer to the monitors. This was the make-or-break moment\u2014maybe their only chance to get him.\n\nWaller turned around and opened the door.\n\n\"Fuck.\" DeShawn banged his fist against the table. The monitors shook. \"I can't believe he blew it.\"\n\nSnitch seemed to be thinking the same thing. He took off his hat again. \"You're a dumbass.\"\n\nWaller stopped.\n\nEric whispered, \"Holy shit.\"\n\n\"Shut up,\" Lena ordered.\n\nWaller was turning around. He didn't speak until the door had closed.\n\n\"What'd you just call me?\"\n\n\"I said you're a dumbass.\"\n\nLena felt her heart stop beating. Waller was coiled like a snake. They would have to peel him off Snitch before he killed him.\n\n\"You think I'm a dumbass?\" Waller asked, like he wanted to be absolutely clear.\n\nInstead of backing down, Snitch said, \"I offer to double my deliveries, to give you top-notch product, and you walk away from me?\" He took a step toward Waller, seemingly blind to the fact that he was taking his own life into his hands. \"I want to move up, Sid. I been a good soldier, but I want to be a general one day.\"\n\nWaller seemed amused. \"That so?\"\n\n\"Yeah, that's so.\" Snitch jammed his hat back on his head. \"I think I've earned some respect.\"\n\nWaller took out his cigarette pack again. He lit a fresh one off the old one. \"What do I get out of this?\"\n\n\"You know I'm an earner,\" Snitch said. \"You know I can do the dirty work.\"\n\n\"Seems to me you like the dirty work.\"\n\n\"You wanna get me wet?\"\n\nWaller didn't answer, but Lena shook her head. Snitch was pushing it too far. He was asking if Waller wanted him to murder someone.\n\nWaller flicked the old cigarette into the sandpit. \"Let's stick with what you know how to do. Double the order. Bring it to the house off Redding. We got junkies clawing at the door.\"\n\nDeShawn offered silent high fives all around. The shooting gallery was the house off Redding. They had their probable cause.\n\nSnitch wouldn't leave well enough alone. \"When do you want it?\"\n\n\"Soon as you can. Shipment's late this week.\" Sid puffed his cigarette. \"We had a truck rolled in Miami. Cubans took two hundred K worth of Oxy.\"\n\nSnitch's inner junkie took over. \"I get payment on delivery. That's the deal.\"\n\nWaller laughed. \"Look at the big man giving orders.\" He patted Snitch on the back so hard that Snitch almost fell into the swing set. \"I go by the house at three every morning. Don't be stupid and don't be late.\"\n\n\"Holy motherfucker.\" Lena laughed incredulously as Sid Waller took his leave from the playground. \"Ho-lee shit.\"\n\nPaul was laughing, too. \"Grab your ankles, Waller. Get ready for the big pokey.\"\n\nEric cut a bugle of a fart, which made the men laugh harder.\n\nLena groaned as she crawled past them to the front of the van. \"You're all disgusting.\"\n\nThey were laughing too hard to hear her.\n\nShe plopped into the driver's seat. She rolled down the window and filled her lungs with clean, fresh air. She prayed to God she wasn't carrying a boy. Or worse, two boys. Twins ran in families. Dr. Benedict had told her they'd know for sure when he did the next ultrasound.\n\nLena took out her phone and pulled up Denise Branson's number. She could see the Chick-fil-A building through the windshield. The distance was too great for detail, but she could tell that Snitch was still on the playground. He had returned to the bench, arms and legs spread wide. The sunglasses were back on. Lena couldn't see his expression, but she gathered he was feeling pretty pleased with himself. He knew he was safe now. The minute he'd gotten Waller to talk about the house, Snitch's immunity deal was set in stone.\n\nLena heard Denise Branson's voicemail. She ended the call. Denise was probably in a meeting. Lena pulled up the text messaging and typed out a quick note: _Baldy will have package within the hour_.\n\nBaldy was their nickname for the judge who kept telling them no. Lena was probably being paranoid, but she didn't want to take the chance that her phone was hacked.\n\nShe checked over her shoulder. The men were still celebrating, trying to one-up one another with crass jokes about prison rape.\n\nLena rolled her eyes as she turned back around. Mr. Snitch was still on the playground bench. The sun was in his face. Kids were playing on the swings in front of him. He didn't have a care in the world.\n\nShe hated this part of the job. The junkie had been caught selling pills to kids, and he would go back to selling them pills because the police had let him go. There was no way for her to sit on him, wait for the inevitable fuckup. No criminal would ever deal with Lena again if they knew she couldn't be trusted. She would have to sit back and wait for Mr. Snitch to screw up on his own.\n\nOr maybe she wouldn't.\n\nLena pulled up email on her phone. She selected the Google account that she used for ordering off the Internet. The email address could probably be traced back to her, but she didn't really care. She was going to take the advice she had just given Denise Branson. No cop should go it alone. There was no shame in asking for help. Besides, Mr. Snitch's immunity deal was with Macon, not the state of Georgia.\n\nLena couldn't touch Anthony Dell, but Will Trent could.\n\n# 12.\n\nFRIDAY\n\nWill stumbled out of the hospital. Even outside, he could still hear Sara crying. Could feel the marks she'd left on his skin. Could smell her. Taste her.\n\nHe passed his bike, crossed the parking lot. His foot hit the curb. He stepped up, walking into the woods behind the building. Will didn't get far. He fell to his knees. He opened his mouth, tried to bring up the acid eating him inside.\n\n_What had he done?_\n\nHe pressed his forehead to the cold ground. His mind kept flipping through the last twenty-four hours. All the violence. All the pain. What Will had seen. What he had wrought. Lena with the hammer. Tony with his knife. And then there was Sara.\n\n_What had he done to Sara?_\n\nHe had lost her. In that one brutal moment, he had lost her forever.\n\n\"Hey, asshole!\"\n\nWill looked up. Paul Vickery was barreling toward him. Before Will could react, the man kicked him in the head.\n\nWill slammed to the ground. Stars burst in front of his eyes. The air was knocked out of his chest.\n\nVickery jumped on him. He rained down punches like a windmill. Will bucked, trying to heave him off. Vickery grabbed Will's neck. The man put all of his weight into it, crushing Will's windpipe. Will tried to pry away his fingers. His mouth gaped open. Vickery pressed harder, strangling him. Will's tongue swelled. His eyes burned. He started to black out. Was this how it was going to happen? After all he had survived, was this how he was going to die?\n\nSuddenly, the pressure stopped. Will gagged on the sudden rush of air.\n\nPaul Vickery flew off him. He landed hard on the asphalt. His head thumped against the curb.\n\nWill coughed so hard his feet kicked out.\n\n\"Are you okay?\" Faith was there. She had a twenty-inch-long steel police baton in her hand. She asked Will again, \"Are you okay?\" She kept looking at Vickery, then back at Will. \"Can you see me?\"\n\nWill saw two of her, then three.\n\nVickery tried to push himself up.\n\nFaith slammed the baton into Vickery's kidneys. Two brutal blows, one after the other.\n\n\"Bitch!\" he screamed, writhing on the ground. \"Jesus!\" Faith jammed the baton in Vickery's face. \"Stay down.\"\n\n\"He murdered a cop!\"\n\nThe baton stayed in Vickery's face. She drew her Glock on Will. \"Get up.\"\n\nWill blinked at the gun. Her finger was on the trigger guard. He wasn't sure he could move. He hurt so bad. Everything hurt so bad.\n\n\"Black,\" Faith said. \"I told you to get the fuck up.\"\n\n_Black_.\n\nWill didn't understand what she was saying. Was it some kind of a code?\n\n\"Up,\" Faith repeated. She was using her cop voice, the one that said she had drawn down on a suspect before and was ready to do it again. \"I said get the fuck up.\"\n\nFinally, Will's brain managed to make contact with his arms, his legs. He pushed himself to sitting. The effort almost wasted him.\n\n\"Stay there,\" Faith ordered, as if Will had a choice. \"Bill Black, I'm placing you under arrest for parole violation.\"\n\n\"Parole?\" Vickery shouted. \"He killed a fucking cop!\"\n\n\"You got proof?\" When Vickery didn't offer an answer, she told Will, \"You have the right to remain silent.\"\n\nVickery muttered, \"Stupid cunt.\"\n\nFaith talked over him. \"Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law.\"\n\nWill leaned over and threw up. Peas. Something white. Green beans. He couldn't remember eating any of it.\n\n\"You have a right to consult with an attorney.\"\n\nWill sniffed. The sensation almost made him vomit again.\n\n\"If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you by the courts.\"\n\n\"Okay.\" Will held up his hand for silence. The sound of her voice was an ice pick in his brain. \"I waive my rights.\"\n\nFaith holstered her Glock, but kept the baton at the ready. She tossed Will her handcuffs. \"Put those on.\"\n\nVickery saw an opportunity. He tried to stand.\n\nFaith flicked the baton, cracking it against Vickery's ankle. The sound was like a twig snapping.\n\n\"Bitch!\" Vickery screamed in agony. \"You fucking bitch!\"\n\n\"Stand up.\" Faith grabbed Will's arm. She couldn't move him. \"Come on.\" She leaned down to help. Her whisper in his ear felt like she was talking underwater. \"Please.\"\n\nFrom somewhere deep inside, Will summoned the strength to stand. He staggered like a colt taking its first steps. Faith wrapped her hand around his arm, pulled him toward the parking lot. He tripped over the curb again. Faith labored to keep him upright.\n\nShe coached, \"Keep walking. Just keep walking.\"\n\nWill tried to do as he was told. His feet were floppy, like the tendons had come undone. The ground looked strange. Everything was too large or too small. He was walking through a fun-house mirror. If not for Faith propping him up, he would've fallen flat on his face.\n\nPaul Vickery wouldn't give up. \"I got a witness puts him in the back room at Tipsie's tonight.\" He limped after them, keeping his distance. \"Same place as the shooters who went after Lena.\"\n\nFaith didn't answer. She pulled Will, urging him to go faster.\n\n\"Ask him where he went afterward,\" Vickery said. \"Ask him where he was when my fucking team was being attacked.\"\n\nFaith raised the baton in warning.\n\nVickery hung back. \"I'll get him at the station.\"\n\n\"He's not going to the station.\" Faith leaned Will against a black Suburban. \"I'm taking him to the field office. He's in state custody.\"\n\n\"You won't be able to hold him there.\"\n\nFaith opened the back door. She kept her body turned toward Vickery as she tried to help Will into the seat. He was too heavy for her to manage. In the end, all Will could do was fall in.\n\n\"You'll have to process him,\" Vickery warned. \"You send him to county, you send him to Fulton, I'll get at him somehow.\"\n\nWill's wrists were still cuffed. He clenched his stomach muscles so he could straighten up in the seat. The pain was excruciating. He opened his mouth. He was going to be sick again.\n\n\"Stay back, Vickery. I mean it.\" Faith closed the door. She used the remote to lock it. The baton stayed out as she walked around the front of the Suburban.\n\n\"You're dead, Black!\" Vickery punched the door. He banged his fists against the glass. \"You hear me? I will fuck you up!\"\n\nWill closed his eyes. Everything was spinning. The car kept shaking. Vickery was putting his shoulder into it, like he thought he could roll a five-thousand-pound vehicle.\n\n\"Back the fuck up!\" Faith yelled. She was at the front of the car. She said something else, but Will's hearing was going in and out. He heard Vickery call her every name a man could use against a woman. Faith cussed him right back, giving as good as she got.\n\nThe driver's-side door opened.\n\nFaith yelled, \"Bet on it, cocksucker.\" She slammed the door shut. The sound was like a cannon. The engine turned over. The car jerked as she put it in gear. The wheels squealed against pavement.\n\nWill leaned forward. He rested his head on his knees. His hands were clasped together, trapped between his chest and legs. Spit and blood dripped from his open mouth. He waited for Faith to say something. To yell at him. To ask him what the hell he'd been doing.\n\nShe rolled down the windows a few inches. Will felt the cold night air swirl around him. He closed his eyes. Breathed through his mouth. The light grew softer. The tires hummed against the road.\n\nFaith kept driving. She didn't say a word. Didn't even turn around.\n\nWill's breathing started to even out. Eventually, the nausea passed. Unfortunately, so did the numbness. His body came alive with pain. His nose felt broken. His eyelids throbbed. His lip was split. His neck felt as if it had been scraped with a razor, and his head pounded along with the beating of his heart.\n\nFaith accelerated. They were on the highway. Will could tell from the steady, low grind of the engine. He didn't know how much time passed before she finally slowed for a turn. The sound inside the Suburban changed from a gentle hum to a fragmented crunch. The brakes squeaked as Faith slowed to a stop. She put the gear in park. The emergency brake clicked when she pushed down the pedal.\n\nFaith opened the door. Will heard her walk around the car.\n\nHe pushed himself up. He had to move slowly. He winced at the pain in his head. His throat felt raw. He couldn't get the taste of blood out of his mouth.\n\nThe back door opened. Faith still didn't speak. She turned on the dome light. Will blinked, squinting. The handcuffs came off. Will rubbed his wrists, trying to get the circulation to come back. Faith opened the first aid kit from under the seat. She pulled out a roll of cotton squares, various packets, antibiotic ointment, Band-Aids. Will heard cars on either side of them. Faith had parked in a restricted area that cut across the highway median. Trees surrounded them. Broken beer bottles and used condoms littered the ground.\n\nShe said, \"Look at me.\"\n\nWill turned his head toward her. He closed his eyes. Packets were ripped open. Alcohol wipes. Disinfectant. He kept his eyes shut as Faith tended his scrapes and cuts. She was efficient if not gentle. Will was grateful. Sara had doctored him before. She always touched him so softly. She caressed him, kissed the places she said needed extra help to heal.\n\nFaith wiped underneath his eyes with a tissue.\n\nWill parted his lips to help get more air in his lungs. He wanted to thank her, to acknowledge how much her silence meant to him. Faith had always been a bull in the china shop of his life. Will was too broken now to tell her what had happened with Sara tonight.\n\nFaith scrubbed at the blood around his nose. She said, \"Eric Haigh is dead.\"\n\n\"I know.\" Will could barely speak. He tried to clear what felt like a wad of cotton trapped in his esophagus.\n\nFaith said, \"We found the body an hour ago.\"\n\n\"His front yard,\" Will whispered. \"I helped Tony Dell put him there.\"\n\nFaith's hand stopped.\n\nWill opened his eyes. \"I watched him kill him. Tony Dell kill Eric.\" Will coughed. The cotton had turned into razors. \"It was at Tipsie's. Hunting knife. Dell wears it in his boot. Wore it.\" Will tried to swallow, but his throat refused. \"We threw the knife in the river. I don't know which one. Concrete bridge. No houses around.\"\n\n\"We'll find it.\"\n\n\"You need to find Tony.\"\n\n\"He's gone. His house is empty. His car's still in the impound lot.\" Faith tore open a packet of antibiotic. \"He used his ATM card to clean out his bank account.\" She squeezed some ointment onto a Q-tip. \"We've got a BOLO on him.\"\n\nWill still couldn't swallow. There was only an empty clicking noise. \"Three men were there. Rednecks. Big guys. Fat.\" Will couldn't remember whether or not he'd told her where this had happened. \"At Tipsie's. That's where Tony killed Eric Haigh.\"\n\nShe dabbed the Q-tip to his forehead. \"I'll put somebody on the club.\"\n\n\"They were in the back room. Dell took me there to meet them. I didn't know until we were inside that that's what he wanted.\"\n\nFaith squirted more ointment onto the Q-tip.\n\n\"They knew my Bill Black cover. All of it. They were watching me. Not when I went back to Atlanta\u2014they couldn't follow me on my bike\u2014but they knew about the hotel, my habits.\" Will felt in his pocket for his phone. He looked down at the shattered glass.\n\nSara had thrown her phone against the wall. Will had watched it break into pieces. He had never seen her throw anything like that before.\n\nFaith asked, \"Will?\"\n\nHis phone was in his hand. The glass was shattered. Will slid it back into his pocket. \"One of them was called Junior.\" He finally managed to swallow. The pain nearly made him pass out. \"He had a gun to my chest. Pearl-handle Smith and Wesson. The knife had a pearl handle. The redneck's, not Tony's. We threw that off a bridge.\"\n\nFaith ringed the Q-tip underneath Will's eye. He remembered the redneck cutting him; the first cut of the night.\n\nHe said, \"My clothes are in a trash bag in my locker. I had to change, take a shower. Tony was in the ER. He cut his hand when he stabbed Haigh. They had to stitch it up.\" He felt the need to add, \"I don't know how many stitches.\"\n\nFaith said, \"His wife found him.\"\n\n\"Tony has a wife?\"\n\n\"Eric Haigh. His wife found his body outside the house. There was a lot of confusion at first. She didn't recognize him.\"\n\nWill remembered, \"They told us to put him on the front lawn. The order came from Big Whitey.\" He saw the question in her eyes. \"On the phone. I didn't meet him. The redneck took the call, then he told Dell where to dump the body, that the order came straight from Big Whitey.\"\n\n\"We'll see if we can trace the call to the club.\"\n\n\"It was a cell, probably a burner.\"\n\n\"We'll check it anyway.\" Faith tossed the Q-tip into the first aid box. The cotton was soaked red. She told Will, \"Haigh'd been missing for two days. His wife didn't say because he'd been acting weird since the raid. She knew Internal Affairs was involved. She didn't want to get him into trouble.\"\n\n\"The raid,\" Will repeated. Faith had talked about it earlier, but Will couldn't recall the conversation. \"They tortured him.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"The redneck told Dell...\" He lost his train of thought. \"What did I say?\"\n\n\"The redneck told Dell?\" She tried, \"We were talking about Eric Haigh.\"\n\nThe prompt didn't help. \"He said he'd be in touch with me. That he had a job for me.\"\n\n\"What time were you at the club?\"\n\n\"Time?\" The question didn't make sense. \"What time?\"\n\nWill took his phone out of his pocket. The glass was shattered. Still, the screen came on when he pressed the button. He told Faith, \"It's 1:31 a.m.\"\n\nFaith tilted his head back up so she could look at him. \"Should I take you to the hospital? A different hospital, I mean.\"\n\nWill shook his head. He wasn't going to any hospital.\n\n\"I think you have a concussion.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Paul Vickery kicked you in the head.\"\n\n\"When?\" Will asked, but that wasn't the right question. He knew Vickery had kicked him. \"I mean, why was Paul at the hospital?\"\n\n\"Someone took a shot at him.\" Faith made herself more clear. \"Paul Vickery was at the hospital because someone tried to kill him tonight.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry I keep forgetting things.\"\n\n\"It's all right.\" Faith spoke more slowly than necessary. \"Vickery was at home. A gunshot was fired through a front window at his house. That's why he had the bandage on his arm.\"\n\nWill couldn't remember seeing a bandage. \"Is he okay?\"\n\n\"Okay enough to attack you.\" She frowned. \"He fights like a woman. You've got scratches on your neck.\" Faith turned his head. \"Did he bite you?\"\n\nWill looked away. Paul Vickery hadn't made those marks. Sara had scratched him. She'd kicked him and bitten him and Will hadn't stopped because everything she did only made him want to fuck her harder.\n\nFaith gave up on the Q-tip. She smeared antibiotic onto her finger and rubbed it on Will's face. \"They went after DeShawn Franklin, too. He was jumped outside a movie theater tonight. His girlfriend started screaming. She called 911.\"\n\n\"They took him to the hospital?\"\n\n\"Will, look at me.\" She made sure she had his attention. \"Someone went after Franklin and Vickery on the same night that Eric Haigh's body was dumped on his front lawn.\"\n\nWill already knew these details, but the way she put them together so succinctly finally made them click. \"It was coordinated.\"\n\n\"Right. Someone was sending a message.\" She peeled open a Band-Aid.\n\n\"That's what the redneck said\u2014there's no use sending a message unless everybody can read it.\"\n\n\"Well, if you ever see him again, tell him the message was received loud and clear. Turn that way.\"\n\nWill turned his head. Faith stuck the Band-Aid on his neck to cover the scratches.\n\nHe asked, \"Is that why you were at the hospital? Because they were all attacked?\"\n\n\"I was looking for you.\"\n\n\"Because of DeShawn Franklin.\" Will shook his head. That was wrong. \"You went to the hospital because of Eric Haigh. You saw him and you thought they had done the same thing to me.\"\n\n\"I thought he _was_ you,\" Faith said. \"His own wife didn't recognize him. I went to the hospital thinking I was going to have to identify your body.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"Thank God Sara wasn't answering her phone.\" She indicated for him to look up again. The scratches were too wide for just one Band-Aid. \"It was a real party after that. Paul Vickery and DeShawn Franklin were wheeled in right as I was coming up from the morgue. I was talking on the phone to Amanda.\"\n\n\"Did you have to tell them Haigh was dead?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Faith answered, her voice straining. \"But then they saw Tony Dell getting his hand sewn up and decided to take it out on him.\" She didn't make Will ask. \"It took six cops to get them off the guy.\"\n\n\"Why'd they go after him?\"\n\n\"I guess because Dell's car was parked outside Lena's house the night they were attacked. I'm sure whoever Vickery's witness is who saw you at the club also saw Tony. It's not a leap to think you both had something to do with Haigh's murder.\"\n\nIt wasn't a leap because it was right. \"What's Tony saying?\"\n\n\"Who knows?\" Faith sounded exasperated. \"I told you five seconds ago that it took six cops to peel DeShawn and Vickery off Tony Dell. By the time anybody thought to look, Dell was gone. We turned the hospital upside down, but he managed to get away.\"\n\n\"He probably had ten escape routes already planned.\" Will remembered something. He took out his wallet. Cayla Martin's handwritten note was still in the photo sleeve. \"This is Tony's stepsister. Check her house.\"\n\nFaith took the note with some skepticism. \"Dell didn't have any siblings on his background check.\"\n\n\"It was only a few years,\" Will said. \"He's in love with her.\"\n\nHer look said she was considering the hospital again.\n\n\"I know it sounds weird, but it's true. She's a nurse at the hospital.\"\n\n\"I'll send a car.\"\n\nWill coughed. He looked at his palm, expecting to find blood. \"Vickery called me a cop killer.\"\n\nFaith shook her head like she didn't understand it, either. \"Maybe he saw you leaving Eric Haigh's house?\" She answered herself. \"No, if he saw you leaving Haigh's, he would've killed you in the street. Do you remember seeing Vickery tonight? Or any of them?\"\n\nWill considered the question. He could feel it roll around in his brain like a marble that wouldn't settle. Faith said, \"I'm going to call Sara.\"\n\n\"Don't.\"\n\n\"She has a right to\u2014\"\n\n\"No.\" Will grabbed her arm. He let go just as quickly. \"She knows everything.\"\n\nFaith examined his face. He wondered what she saw. The bruises wouldn't show for a few hours. The side of Will's head probably had a print from Paul Vickery's shoe. The bridge of his nose would be red. His split lip would show blood. The scratch mark. The bite mark. What would she make of those?\n\nShe said, \"We need to get to the field office.\"\n\nWill wanted to go back to Atlanta. He had to get his dog from Sara's apartment. His toothbrush, the clothes he'd left in the drawers she'd cleared out for him. She shouldn't have to see any reminders of Will. It was the least he could do.\n\n\"It's over,\" he told Faith. \"With Sara. It's over.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Will had never been so sure of anything in his life.\n\nFaith closed the first aid kit. She clicked the plastic lock. \"Well, that's her loss.\"\n\n\"She has good reason.\"\n\n\"No, she doesn't,\" Faith insisted. \"No matter what you did, Sara's not the woman I thought she was if she can't forgive you.\"\n\nWill held his tongue. She would find out the truth soon enough.\n\nFaith said, \"Get in the front seat. We're going to be late.\"\n\n\"For what?\"\n\n\"Branson.\" Faith's tone made Will think maybe she'd said this before. \"I saw her at the hospital. She's ready to talk.\"\n\n\"Why now?\"\n\n\"Somebody tried to take out two of her detectives\u2014three if you count Lena. Eric Haigh was tortured and stabbed to death. Jared Long was almost murdered. Hell yes, she's going to talk to us. She's getting her files. We're supposed to meet at the field office.\" Faith looked at her watch. \"Ten minutes ago.\"\n\n\"What files?\"\n\n\"The ones from the shooting gallery.\" Faith motioned for Will to move. \"Denise Branson has been lying to us all along. She's finally going to show us her files from the raid.\"\n\nWill stared into the bathroom mirror at the GBI field office, assessing his damaged face. Life had left him a wound expert. He knew the difference between a cut that scarred into a thin white line and a cut that left nothing but a faint memory. By his estimation, the only lasting reminder of the night would come from the redneck's knife. The tiny slice below Will's eye probably should've had at least one stitch. But that had to be done at a hospital, and Will was never going to another hospital ever again.\n\nAt least the nausea had passed. His head was aching at a lower frequency. The trembling had stopped, which he took as a good sign that he wasn't having a stroke or a seizure. Swallowing was still an issue. He found this out the hard way when Faith made him drink two bottles of Coke. Then she'd stood over him while he choked down a pack of cheese crackers. Will had gotten irritated at her for bossing him around, which probably meant that whatever she was doing was working.\n\nHe looked at his neck, lightly touching the reddish bruises that were starting to come up. If Will had one talent, it was surviving. He'd made it through the night. The redneck hadn't done too much damage. Tony Dell hadn't killed him, though he was obviously capable. Paul Vickery had gotten in many, many good blows, but Faith had probably cracked his ankle, which was a nasty enough payback.\n\nSo, Will had survived. He had a right to feel good about that.\n\nBut then there was Sara.\n\nWhen Will was a kid, he'd imagined all the slings and arrows thrown his way were easily portable. He didn't have to keep them inside. He could shove them all into boxes. After a while, there were a lot of boxes. There was nowhere to put them. They floated over his bed at the children's home. They followed him to school. They chased after him like bullies when he ran down the street.\n\nAs Will got older, storage became an issue. Or maybe the metaphor evolved alongside him. The floating boxes turned into pieces of paper. The papers went into files. The files were put in filing cabinets. The cabinets were locked so that he never had to see them again.\n\nWhen Sara came into his life, Will forgot about the file room. He forgot about the endless pieces of paper. The rusted cabinet locks that wouldn't turn sometimes.\n\nThat was over now.\n\nStanding in the bathroom, Will put Sara Linton into a file and closed the drawer.\n\n\"Will?\" Faith knocked lightly at the door. \"Are you okay?\"\n\nHe turned on the faucet to let her know he was alive. The water was icy cold. He wanted to splash some onto his face, but the liquid would probably roll right off. Faith had used so much antibiotic ointment that his skin glistened.\n\nWill opened the door. Faith was standing there with a bottle of water in each hand.\n\nHis voice sounded like an old man's. \"Scared I'd die on the toilet?\"\n\n\"That's not funny.\"\n\n\"It can happen,\" he croaked. \"I read about it in the paper.\"\n\nShe handed him the water. \"You weren't sick again?\"\n\n\"No.\" He regretted the loss of her previous silence, but he wasn't cruel enough to tell her. \"I'm fine. Thank you.\"\n\n\"Drink all of that water.\" She led him down the hall. \"I sent a cruiser for a knock-check on Cayla Martin's house. Took them forever to find the place. It's not on MapQuest, Google, anything.\"\n\nWill nodded. He would've never found the road without Tony's help.\n\n\"Anyway, the point is they eventually found it. Martin was home. She said Tony Dell could go to hell for all she cared. And then she asked if there was a reward for helping to find him.\"\n\nWill nodded again. That sounded like Cayla Martin.\n\n\"The cruiser's gonna swing by a few more times before they go off shift to make sure Dell doesn't show up. Meanwhile, I caught up Amanda on everything that happened tonight. We're trying to Skype her into the conference room, but there are some technical difficulties.\"\n\nWill assumed the problems weren't on this end.\n\n\"Lonnie Gray is here. The Macon chief of police.\"\n\n\"Amanda called him?\"\n\n\"Denise Branson did. My hat's off to her for manning up to the boss. They're outside talking while we try to get the feed up. And by talking, I mean Denise is mostly listening to him screaming. Gray's so far up her ass he's probably in her gallbladder by now.\"\n\nWill took a sip of water. \"She lose her job?\"\n\n\"If she's lucky, that's all she'll lose. Gray had no idea Branson was lying to us. She could be looking at obstruction charges or worse.\" Faith glanced over her shoulder. \"I haven't told Gray what Vickery did to you yet.\"\n\nWill shook his head. \"Don't. I'll settle it with Vickery.\"\n\n\"You'll have to beat Amanda to it. She's ready to scalp him.\"\n\nWill kept shaking his head. \"I wish you hadn't told her.\"\n\n\"Yeah, well, I wish I hadn't lost my virginity during a midnight screening of _Die Hard_. Get over it.\" Faith pushed open the door.\n\nThe conference room was eerily similar to just about every other conference room at every other GBI field office in the state. Fake oak paneling covered the walls. A long table split the center of the room. Worn pleather office chairs were crammed so tight that two large men couldn't comfortably sit by each other. A small plasma television was on top of a rolling metal cart. Wires hung down to the various electronics on the shelf below. The screen showed what was obviously Amanda's personal Skype photo. The image had to be from the 1980s. She was dressed for tennis. A wooden racket rested on her shoulder. A Jane Fonda headband poofed out her hair. She was smiling, which was probably the most disconcerting part.\n\nAmanda's voice squawked from the speaker on the table. \"Can you see me waving my hand?\"\n\n\"No, ma'am.\" Agent Nick Shelton, head of the field station, didn't touch the laptop in front of him. Instead, he jammed his fingers into his eyes as he shook his head. \"I'm trying everything I can. Are you sure it's not on your end?\"\n\n\"Yes, I'm sure,\" Amanda snapped. \"I can't see anything but the GBI logo. There's no video at all.\"\n\nNick shook his head at Faith. He held out his hand to Will.\n\n\"Agent Trent.\"\n\n\"Is Will there?\" Amanda asked. \"I can't see a thing.\"\n\nWill tried to make his voice as strong as he could. \"Yes, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Why are you whispering?\"\n\nFaith said, \"Because he was nearly strangled to death.\"\n\nAmanda showed her usual concern. \"Sit close to the speaker, then. I don't want to have to ask you to repeat yourself every two minutes.\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\"\n\n\"I'm going to have a word with that idiot who set up my computer,\" Amanda complained. \"He's been out here three times, and it stops working the minute he leaves.\"\n\nFaith couldn't help herself. \"You know you can catch more flies with honey.\"\n\n\"Yes, Faith, thank you. That's exactly what I need is more flies.\"\n\nWill slumped into a chair as the two women exchanged more helpful suggestions. The table was set up for a formal meeting. Five bottles of water were in front of five chairs. Notepads and pens were laid out beside them. Will had been at a lot of briefings where a lot of cops lost their jobs, but he felt sorry about this one. Denise Branson had made a career-ending mistake, but she'd probably done it for reasons she felt were right.\n\nIt was just a matter of time before Lena Adams did the same.\n\nWill looked at the digital clock on the wall: 3:01 in the morning. He should be exhausted. Maybe the caffeine in the Cokes had sparked him up. Or maybe his body had finally accepted the fact that he was going to live.\n\nHe stared at the water bottles Faith had shoved into his hands. One was about a quarter empty. Will's mouth was bone-dry, but just thinking about taking another drink made his throat hurt. He felt like he was drowning in the ocean.\n\nThe door opened. Nick stood up. \"Ma'am, Chief Gray and Major Branson have entered the room.\"\n\nDenise Branson was no longer in her shiny uniform. She wore jeans and a loose-fitting blouse. Her previously erect posture was gone. There was something beaten down about her. The leather briefcase was the only indication that she was the same woman they'd talked with in Atlanta yesterday morning.\n\nFor his part, Lonnie Gray was decked out in full regalia. His gold epaulets glimmered in the overhead light. He carried his hat under his arm. He was older, but had the look of a guy who started his day with a hundred push-ups before the sun came up. He also looked furious as hell. His mouth was a barely visible white line under his mustache. His forehead was furrowed like a plowed field.\n\nThey all shook hands. Will stayed in his chair, hoping they would understand.\n\n\"Chief Gray,\" Amanda said. \"I'm sorry for the technical difficulties. I'm doing the Skype program from my home.\"\n\nWill didn't know which was worse, the photo of Amanda playing tennis or the thought of her talking to them in her nightgown.\n\n\"That's fine.\" Lonnie Gray sat across from Will. He did a double take. So did Denise Branson. She slowly sank into the chair beside her chief, lips parted in surprise.\n\nWill guessed he was going to have to get used to people staring at him for a while.\n\nNick said, \"Ma'am, we're all seated.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" Amanda said. \"Lonnie, my condolences on your son. I hadn't heard that he passed away.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\" Gray obviously didn't want to talk about his personal life. He quickly got down to business. \"Mandy, I want to apologize to you, your agents, and your agency for the actions of one rogue officer. Rest assured, my house will be put in order.\" He shot Branson a look. \"Starting now.\"\n\n\"I appreciate that, Lonnie.\" Amanda didn't sound like she appreciated it at all. \"Major Branson, I need to inform you that because you are officially under investigation, this conversation is being recorded. Anything you say may be used against you. You're entitled to an attorney\u2014\"\n\n\"I don't need an attorney,\" Branson said, though they all knew she did. \"Give me the form.\"\n\nNick was prepared. He pushed a sheet of paper over to Branson so she could officially acknowledge that she'd been Mirandized.\n\nBranson didn't read the form. She'd probably seen it thousands of times. She clicked the pen and signed her name on the line before pushing the paper back toward Nick.\n\nLonnie Gray gave her a nod to begin.\n\nBranson didn't start immediately\u2014not because she was playing games again, but because she probably knew this was the last briefing she would ever give.\n\nFinally, she took a deep breath and jumped in. \"Approximately three and a half weeks ago, Detective Adams came to me about a suspected shooting gallery off Redding Street. I authorized her to investigate. She monitored the house for a few days and determined the intelligence was good.\" Branson paused. She started playing with the ballpoint pen, balancing it between two fingers. \"During the course of surveillance, Detective Adams realized that the shooting gallery was being run by a man named Sidney Waller.\"\n\nGray took over. \"Waller's an extremely violent, high-level drug runner. When I came in two years ago, my number one priority was capturing and prosecuting him. Even with the full force of the department behind it, we were never able to make any charges stick.\"\n\nWill thought it was pretty decent of the man to acknowledge his failure.\n\nBranson seemed to appreciate it, too. She nodded at him before continuing. \"We knew we could shut down the shooting gallery pretty quickly, but with Sid Waller involved, we saw an opportunity. I spoke with Detective Adams and decided that we should expand the operation with the goal of capturing and convicting Waller.\"\n\nGray provided, \"This was where I came in. We got the DA on our side, formed an intra-agency task force. There were a lot of moving pieces. Denise and I had to coordinate together.\"\n\nWill saw Branson flinch when he used her first name rather than her rank. Still, she said, \"We were ten days into the operation when we realized that catching Waller was unlikely. We couldn't turn anyone. People were terrified of him. The junkies went to ground. No one would wear a wire. It was looking like we would have to go into the house and settle on rounding up whomever we could find. We could time it so Waller was there, but that wasn't much of a consolation.\"\n\nAmanda said, \"Because you couldn't prove that Waller was in charge, he'd bond out with the rest of the junkies.\" She sounded impatient. \"But obviously, something changed?\"\n\nBranson said, \"Detective Adams was contacted by a confidential informant. He was in lockup for selling pills to Mercer students. Not on campus, but at one of the coffee shops.\"\n\nThe distinction was important. Sale or distribution of illegal substances inside a school zone jacked up the prison time exponentially.\n\nAmanda asked, \"This was one of Adams's usual CIs?\"\n\n\"No, she'd never met him before. He was locked up less than two hours, and he asked for her by name.\" Branson added, \"Adams has a reputation with the junkies around town. This wasn't necessarily a red flag.\"\n\nAmanda's brain was working faster than Will's. \"The snitch was Tony Dell?\"\n\nBranson hesitated. \"Yes, ma'am. He told her that he would trade Sid Waller for immunity off the drug deal.\"\n\nWill glanced at Faith. At least now they knew why Lena had sent Will the email. She didn't want Dell to skate.\n\nAmanda told Branson, \"You got Waller on tape, which gave you probable cause for an arrest warrant?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Branson confirmed. \"We commenced the raid four days later. The snitch said a big shipment was coming in. Detective Adams and her team breached the house. They found this.\" She nodded to Nick.\n\nHe tapped some keys on the laptop and Amanda's tennis shot was replaced by a crime scene photo.\n\nWill stared at the screen. Two dead men. Hispanic. Shirtless. They were sitting on a tattered old couch. Their throats were slit open.\n\nNick asked Amanda, \"Can you see it, ma'am?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nBranson said, \"The one on the right is Elian Ramirez, an Oxy freak who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. The guy on the left is Diego Nu\u00f1ez. He was Waller's right-hand man. Professional thug. He spent his twenties inside for manslaughter coupled with time-plus for bad behavior.\"\n\nBranson nodded for the next photo, and Nick slid over the laptop so she could do it herself.\n\nBranson narrated the next picture, which showed a man with the top of his skull chopped off. \"Thomas Holland. He's new to the scene, got hooked on crack his senior year. We don't know why he was there except to get high. He was taken out with an ax.\" A picture of Holland's scalp flashed up, then his face from another angle. He was young, probably seventeen. Blond hair, piercing blue eyes. Except for the missing part of his head, he could've been on a poster for a Disney movie.\n\nBranson flashed through some more innocuous photos, showing stills of the bedrooms, the bathroom, the dining room. Will had been inside shooting galleries before. The scene was familiar: crack pipes and needles scattered on the floor, mattresses in every room. He never understood where the mattresses came from, or why someone who was shooting poison into their veins required a comfortable place to pass out.\n\n\"Here.\" Branson stopped on a photo. It showed an open basement door. There were metal braces on each side. A two-by-four was on the floor.\n\nShe said, \"The basement. This is where Sid Waller was hiding.\"\n\nWill wondered if his head was still messed up. If someone locked you in a basement, you weren't hiding. You were trapped.\n\nBranson said, \"Two detectives breached the basement. Mitch Cabello and Keith McVale.\"\n\nFaith stiffened. They both recognized the detectives' names. McVale had taken leave from his job and Cabello had been admitted to the hospital the day of the raid.\n\nBranson said, \"Detectives Adams and Vickery stayed in the kitchen. Cabello and McVale called the all-clear on the basement. They relayed to Detective Adams that they'd found a large amount of money. We believe it was shortly after this that Sid Waller came out from his hiding place.\"\n\nShe pulled up the next photo, which showed a hanging piece of wall paneling with a dark, wet hole behind it that someone had dug into the earth. The photo was not great, but Will could tell the hole was deep enough to hide a grown man.\n\n\"Waller knocked out Cabello with a strike to the head. He then took McVale hostage\u2014quietly. Shortly after, Detective Adams went downstairs to help secure the money. She walked into the hostage situation. She drew on Sid Waller, who had a gun to McVale's head. There was a standoff. Rather than being taken in by Detective Adams, Waller shot himself in the head.\"\n\nWill silently replayed her words, which were wholly unexpected. He managed, \"Sid Waller shot himself?\"\n\n\"All three detectives told exactly the same story.\" She held up her hands, stopping the obvious question. \"The crime scene techs support every word of their statements. The autopsy confirmed the wound was self-inflicted. The tox screen showed there were enough pills in Waller to make a Buddhist monk go postal. At no point do the facts diverge. Everything says Waller took his own life.\"\n\nAmanda wanted a second opinion. \"Lonnie?\"\n\nGray stirred in his chair. \"Our snitch recorded Waller referring to a breakdown in supply. One of his trucks was rolled by some Cubans down in Miami. I made a call to some contacts I still have down in Florida. Waller was on the verge of a war with the Cuban cartel.\"\n\nBranson said, \"Sid knew he wouldn't last more than a day in prison. Better to eat a bullet than take a shiv from some Cuban in the yard.\"\n\nAmanda moved them along. \"Where does Big Whitey fit into all of this?\"\n\nGray looked at Branson. He seemed sad, like one of his children had disappointed him.\n\nShe told them, \"I was working the case off-book. Chief Gray told me not to pursue it, even on my own time, but I was obsessed with tracking Big Whitey down.\"\n\nAmanda asked, \"This is connected to Waller?\"\n\n\"Tangentially,\" Branson conceded.\n\n\"Is there a reason you're not taking us down that tangent?\"\n\nBranson reached into her briefcase again. She took out a file that was several inches thick. Then she took out another one. Then another one. She stacked them on the table.\n\nFaith wasn't shy. She grabbed the whole pile and slid it toward her.\n\nBranson said, \"Big Whitey came onto my radar eighteen months ago. I like statistics. I like to run the numbers, track the crimes, see where we need to move people around to stop the bad guys.\" She paused. Will could tell she had just realized she wasn't going to get to do this anymore.\n\n\"Anyway,\" Branson said, \"it's what you said yesterday, the same thing that happened in Savannah and Hilton Head. It felt like there was a larger, organizing factor. Our usual lowlifes were stepping up. There's a law firm here they all use, ambulance chasers, sloppy and cheap. Suddenly, they merged with a white-shoe firm out of Florida.\"\n\n\"Vanhorn and Gresham.\" Faith looked up from the report she was reading. \"The shooter who went after Jared Long is represented by the firm.\"\n\n\"Correct,\" Branson said. \"We started seeing low-level cons like Fred Zachary walking on solid charges because of these guys. I started talking to folks, meeting with my detectives, and figured out there was a new player in town.\"\n\nFaith said, \"Big Whitey.\"\n\n\"Correct,\" Branson repeated. \"Whitey started out banking legit through a series of pain management clinics. It's the usual deal. They were using junkies to cash the scripts. Rednecks, mostly. They control the meth trade, so it was natural for Whitey to tap into an existing market.\"\n\nGray felt the need to explain himself. \"I wasn't persuaded Big Whitey existed. There were some sketchy details from Florida, but no name, no description, no affiliation. He was a ghost.\" Gray shrugged. \"And we had a lot going on at the time. There was a rash of heroin overdoses at one of our private schools. Young women from good homes. Not the type we were used to seeing in that situation.\"\n\n\"Rich white girls,\" Faith supplied, skipping the political correctness. \"They die or just end up at the hospital?\"\n\nBranson said, \"Three died. Six went to the ER, then got carted off to white-girl prison.\" She meant rehab. \"They were from some of our better-known families. There was a lot of heat to make arrests. Like I said, Whitey was running pills through rednecks. Most of our non-pharmaceutical dealers were black and Hispanic. It's easy to spot who's working for whom.\"\n\nFaith put it more succinctly. \"So, the white people freaked out and demanded justice. You arrested a bunch of blacks and Hispanics.\" She used sarcasm to make her point. \"I'm sure that went over well.\"\n\nGray was obviously uncomfortable with Faith's directness, or maybe he was more conscious that the conversation was being recorded. \"We arrested the dealers who were known to sell heroin. My department is not in the business of racial profiling and never will be.\"\n\nWill assumed from Gray's tone that he'd faced these accusations before. Atlanta had enough political scandals of its own to fill the local news, but Will had a vague recollection of seeing some reports about the mayhem down in Macon. Lonnie Gray must've gone to work every day wondering if he was going to keep his job.\n\nBranson spoke reluctantly. \"Because of the clampdown, we crippled Whitey's competition in the streets. We created a racial firestorm that split apart the city and made all the politicians start screaming for blood.\"\n\nGray admitted, \"That's when I shut down Denise's investigation. We had too much going on to waste resources on a man we weren't even sure existed.\"\n\n\"This\u2014\" Will tried to clear the squeak from his voice. \"This was Big Whitey's endgame? To take over the heroin trade?\"\n\nBranson answered, \"He took over everything. Remember, chess, not checkers. He comes into town and makes friends, pays up the food chain to guys like Sid Waller so that everybody stays happy. Whitey has operating capital. He opens up some pain clinics, gets his regulars, puts the junkies on his payroll so they start dealing. Then he spreads out his business to the malls, into the suburbs. He gets the kids with money hooked, then when they want something more, he moves them on to heroin.\" She shook her head, though he could tell part of her was impressed. \"Once his business model's up and running, he starts taking out the competition.\"\n\nAmanda asked, \"You know this is a pattern how?\"\n\n\"Because I drove to Savannah and talked to some retired detectives who were too scared to tell me this over the phone.\"\n\nGray's clenched fists indicated he was just hearing this. He shot Branson a withering look.\n\nWill couldn't let go of something. He asked, \"Chief Gray, you didn't think Whitey existed?\"\n\nGray reluctantly turned his attention away from Branson. \"We're not used to this level of sophistication in our criminal underworld. Mandy, you know I've worked all over the state, but this is more like something you'd see out of Miami or New York.\"\n\nThere was a big fish\/little pond logic to Whitey taking on the smaller cities. He'd also managed to pick two areas in Georgia where the population was predominantly African American. It was as if he was franchising his business model.\n\nWill asked Branson, \"Major, why were you so sure Whitey existed?\"\n\n\"May I?\" Branson was talking to Faith. She wanted one of her file folders back.\n\n\"Help yourself.\" Faith pushed the stack back across the table.\n\nBranson flipped through one of the files until she found a photograph. She put it on the table. The young girl in the picture was pretty and blonde, posing for the camera in that seductive way that teenage girls don't know is dangerous.\n\nBranson said, \"Marie Sorensen. Sixteen years old. She worked at a cheese shop in River Crossing, one of our upscale malls. Lots of bored suburban kids hang out there. Sorensen's by far the prettiest. She managed to catch Big Whitey's eye.\"\n\nNick told Amanda, \"I'll scan it in for you.\"\n\n\"Don't bother.\" Amanda guessed, \"Big Whitey got Sorensen hooked on heroin?\"\n\n\"He got her into his car.\" Branson took out another photo, this one showing Sorensen looking ten years older and twenty pounds lighter. Both eyes were bruised. There were open sores on her face. Patches of hair were missing from her head.\n\nBranson said, \"Another one of Big Whitey's patterns, but this one he does himself because he enjoys it.\" She put the pictures side by side on the table. \"He tells them that he works for a modeling agency. They buy it because they've been told they're beautiful all their lives. He gets them to the car, forces them into the trunk, then drives them to a hotel on the coast\u2014Tybee, Fort King George, Jekyll. He rapes them. His friends rape them. He shoots them up with heroin. He tricks them out.\"\n\nBranson paused. She looked away from the photos.\n\n\"Sorensen was defiant at first. He put her in a dog crate to teach her a lesson. Took about a week to break her, then he put her up for sale on the Internet. One-sixty for the lunchtime special, two-fifty for an hour. Four hundred for two hours. She does ten, fifteen clients a day. Her habit runs a couple hundred dollars. Not a bad business model. Do the math.\"\n\nFaith stared straight ahead. She couldn't look at the photos, either. Will wondered if she was thinking about her daughter.\n\nWill asked, \"What happened to her?\"\n\nBranson said, \"Sorensen got old real quick. That's the problem with these young girls. They don't stay young for long. After two months, she was moved to the next stop on the circuit. That's what these guys do\u2014they move them around, never let them get settled in one place.\"\n\nShe paused again. The pain was obviously still fresh. \"Eventually, the girls get sent out to California, where they're tricked out on the streets. Sorensen ended up in LA. She managed to call her mom a few times, tell her what happened. Mom hired a private detective to try to find her.\"\n\nFaith asked, \"She didn't file a report in Macon? The girl was sixteen years old.\"\n\nBranson's face told the story. This was the ball she had dropped. This was why she was so obsessed with the case. \"We filed a missing persons report when she disappeared. When the mom told me about the phone calls, I reached out to LA. They told me it was a lost cause. They've got so many girls streaming into the city that they had to close the Hollywood bus station.\"\n\nFaith smoothed her lips together like she was putting on lipstick.\n\nBranson slid out another photo. Will recognized the tiny ruler beside Marie Sorensen's head as the kind that medical examiners used during autopsies.\n\nShe said, \"The private dick in LA tracked down an address. The police searched the apartment three times before they found her. She was crammed into a suitcase underneath the bed. Still alive.\" Branson let out a slow breath. \"Still alive.\"\n\nShe looked down at the autopsy photo. No one pushed her to go on.\n\nBranson took another deep breath.\n\n\"Mom got the first plane out to California. Marie's in the hospital for three weeks. They patch her back together, get some weight on her, take her down off the heroin, only they can't heal her brain. Two weeks after mom gets her home, she sneaks out and kills herself. Heroin. Cops found her behind the church. She was six months to the day from walking out of that mall with Big Whitey.\"\n\nThey were all silent after that. Will looked at the three photographs. Branson hadn't exaggerated. Sorensen was beautiful. He could imagine the girl would believe a modeling agency was interested. The autopsy photo was a sharp contrast, a dark reminder that the only person who would want her now was her grieving mother.\n\nFinally, Amanda asked, \"You talked to Sorensen when she returned to Macon?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Branson looked down at her hands. \"He never gave her a name. She was told from the start to call him Big Whitey. She didn't know his real identity, couldn't give us any actionable intelligence. She was blindfolded most of the time, and when she wasn't being sold, she was locked in a closet or a suitcase. The description she gave was spotty\u2014dark hair, dark eyes. No distinguishing features.\"\n\nFaith asked, \"Do you think she was lying?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Branson admitted. \"She was terrified of him. Couldn't sleep in her own bed. She stayed in the closet the whole time she was home, back to the wall, waiting for him to come get her.\"\n\n\"She was abducted at the mall,\" Faith said. \"What about CCTV?\"\n\n\"The cameras were out. We don't know if he had someone from security on the payroll or if he was just lucky.\" Branson added, \"He's always been lucky.\"\n\nFaith asked, \"No one saw anything at the mall or in the parking lot? No customers or friends?\"\n\n\"No. And there was nothing on her cell phone or email, so he obviously made her keep it on the down low.\" Branson added, \"That's what he's good at, not being seen.\"\n\nAmanda finally spoke, and Will realized she hadn't been silent out of respect. She was livid. \"I'm curious, Ms. Branson, as to why you've got a sex-trafficking case in your town and the Georgia Bureau of Investigation doesn't know anything about it.\"\n\nBranson's cheeks darkened with a blush. \"You're right. This is all on me. I was ashamed that I couldn't do anything to save her, and I was angry that I was told not to pursue Big Whitey.\" She turned to Chief Gray. \"I should've told you, Lonnie. I was hellbent on proving you wrong. Instead of running around behind your back, I should've gone to you for help.\"\n\nGray wasn't kind. \"You're goddamn right about that.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"That's enough,\" Gray said. \"Tell them what you found in the house.\"\n\n\"You mean the shooting gallery?\" Faith sounded surprised. She'd obviously thought that part was over.\n\nWill had a sinking feeling that he knew the answer, but he asked, \"What was behind the panel?\"\n\nBranson turned back to the laptop computer. She tapped the screen awake, then advanced the next image.\n\nThe photo of a young boy appeared on screen. The picture was grainy, obviously taken with a cell phone. The boy's eyes were blackened slits. Like Marie Sorensen's, his face was emaciated. His lips were dry. Sores caked his skin. It was his eyes that made Will finally turn away. He could not stand to see the hollow look in the boy's eyes.\n\nAmanda broke the silence, asking, \"Cause of death was dehydration? Malnourishment?\"\n\nBranson seemed surprised. \"No, he's alive.\"\n\nWill felt truly shocked for the first time since the meeting had started.\n\nBranson said, \"We have no idea who he is. He can talk, but he won't.\"\n\nFaith looked as if she wanted to grab Branson across the table. \"He hasn't said anything for a week?\"\n\nBranson didn't answer. She'd been keeping this all to herself for so long that she'd lost perspective. Talking it out had obviously revealed her catastrophic errors.\n\nFaith said, \"I haven't seen anything about him on the news.\"\n\n\"I entered it into the FBI databases, but I kept Macon out of it.\" Branson glanced at Chief Gray. The man's hands were gripped so tightly together he looked as if he was trying to break the bones. \"If the local stations picked up on the story, then Whitey would know the boy was still alive. The only thing we know for sure about this guy is he murders anybody who gets in his way. He'd kill that boy just as sure as I'm sitting here.\"\n\nFaith asked, \"Which hospital is he in?\"\n\n\"He's been under close medical supervision.\" Branson didn't offer any further explanation. She told her chief, \"Chances are he was abducted in another state. Wherever he's from, the local police force got the notice. For what it's worth.\"\n\nWill knew that everyone in the room had gotten the notice. There was no way to read them all. Nearly 800,000 children were reported missing each year, which translated into more than two thousand notices a day.\n\nBranson said, \"The boy doesn't have any identifying marks. We don't know what region he's from. We don't know when he was taken. We've been combing through all the stranger abduction reports, but\u2014\" Branson seemed to realize how thin her excuses sounded. Her voice was weak when she said, \"He's the only living witness who can identify Big Whitey.\"\n\nFaith demanded, \"How do you know that if he's not talking?\"\n\n\"Because of his reaction when I said Big Whitey's name. Because he has... distinguishing marks... on his body that are the same as Marie Sorensen's.\"\n\n\"Wait a minute,\" Faith said. \"Back up. Who else knows about this?\"\n\n\"No more than I can count on my hand.\" Branson listed them. \"Detective Adams stayed downstairs while I cleared everyone from the scene. Only two paramedics were allowed in the basement\u2014girls I've known since high school. Both of them have been taking turns watching the boy around the clock. We couldn't take him to the hospital. He's being kept at an undisclosed location. Dr. Thomas is treating him. I've known Dean since I was a child. There's one other officer who guards him when I can't. Only the people I trust with my life know where that kid is.\"\n\nWill looked at Lonnie Gray, easily judging from the man's expression that he'd learned about this cabal just a few moments before the rest of them. His face was bright red. His mustache looked like a piece of chalk over his mouth.\n\nGray demanded, \"And who exactly is this other officer who's watching the boy now?\"\n\n\"She's with the sheriff's department. She's a good friend.\" Branson wouldn't look at Gray. Her cheeks darkened again. Will guessed the deputy was more than a friend. \"I trust her.\"\n\n\"More than you trust me, apparently.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, sir. I knew if you found out, you'd have an obligation to report this to the state. Other people in the department would find out. We wouldn't be able to keep him safe. Big Whitey has too much reach. The boy would be dead in a matter of hours.\"\n\n\"That again.\" Gray addressed the speaker on the table, telling Amanda, \"Denise theorizes that Big Whitey has a mole on my force.\"\n\nWill thought about the file on the redneck's desk. They had Bill Black's police record. They had his military details. It wasn't so much of a stretch to think Whitey had a cop or two working for his side. If the pattern held, he had more than a few.\n\nFaith analyzed the situation differently. She told Branson, \"You think someone tipped off Big Whitey about the raid.\"\n\nShe shrugged, but said, \"The raid team breaches the house and finds three dead guys. Sid Waller's locked in the basement with an abducted boy. It practically had a bow tied on it.\"\n\nGray turned on Branson, demanding, \"Who do you think is the mole? Vickery and Franklin were nearly killed tonight. Adams was attacked. Eric Haigh was tortured before he was murdered.\" He added, \"Why do you think that is, Denise? Why do you think they tortured him?\" He answered his own question. \"They're looking for the boy. If they had someone on the inside, they wouldn't have to torture cops for information.\"\n\nBranson looked down at the table. The room went silent.\n\nWill thought about Lena Adams in the ICU. She had told Will that he would eventually find out she was doing the right thing. She had said the words as if they would redeem all the ills that came before. Had she thought that saving the boy would make up for losing her baby? Or was it simply a matter of Lena's eternal conviction that everything she did was for the greater good?\n\nWill asked, \"Does Lena know where the boy is?\"\n\n\"I sure as hell don't,\" Gray interrupted. Will tried again, asking, \"Does she?\"\n\nBranson shook her head. \"Lena has no idea. I let her believe the state was already involved, that we had to be quiet about what happened to keep him safe. I doubt she even told Jared.\"\n\nGray realized, \"She lied to Internal Affairs. None of this was mentioned during any of her interviews.\" He sounded disgusted. \"Jesus Christ, Denise. You forced her to lie on record.\"\n\nBranson defended, \"Lena was protecting the boy. She knew what Big Whitey would do if he found out there was a witness.\"\n\n\"And I assume you let her believe I was okay with this?\" Gray waved away any response Branson might come up with. \"For the love of God. I can't believe I trusted you.\"\n\nFaith said, \"Obviously someone figured out the boy was alive. Why else attack Lena in the middle of the night? Why else go after the rest of the team that was there during the raid?\" She told Branson, \"Thanks for wasting my fucking time and nearly getting my partner killed.\"\n\nAmanda took over. \"Where is this boy now?\"\n\nGray turned to his former confidant, making a show of waiting for an answer.\n\nBranson equivocated. She told Amanda, \"I'd rather not say on an open line, but I'll take your people to him as soon as this is over.\"\n\nSurprisingly, Amanda didn't argue. \"Denise, tell your paramedics to get ready for transport. We'll keep it quiet, but we have to move that boy to Atlanta.\"\n\nBranson's inner cop took over. \"Logistics might take a while. We'll need to get an ambulance. My paramedics are working alternating shifts. Dr. Thomas will need to get him ready.\"\n\nAmanda moved a split second ahead of Will. \"Sara Linton's still down there, right?\"\n\nFaith looked at Will. She answered, \"Right.\"\n\nAmanda said, \"Will, do whatever it takes to get Sara in that ambulance to Atlanta. If there really is a leak down there, we need to use our own people as much as we can.\"\n\nHis mouth went dry. He couldn't swallow again.\n\nAmanda took his silence for agreement. \"We still have an active manhunt for Tony Dell. Even if the boy won't talk, we might be able to flip Dell. Again. Will, what time does your shift start?\"\n\nWill had forgotten about Bill Black's hospital job. \"Eight.\"\n\n\"Don't go in early. Maintain your cover. You're a con. Dell is on the move. There's a heavy police presence. It would make sense for you to start asking questions.\"\n\nHe said, \"There's a nurse I've been working. Dell's stepsister. She knows I was sent up for assault. I think if I work it right, I can scare her into talking.\"\n\n\"Terrorize her if that's what it takes.\" Amanda seemed ready to get started. \"Lonnie, I'll be in touch.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" Gray said. \"I appreciate your\u2014\"\n\n\"Sir.\" Nick was apologetic. \"She already terminated the connection.\"\n\nChief Gray didn't bother with formalities. He turned on Branson like a raging lion. \"You have some nerve, lady. Make me come here in the middle of the night like I'm some goddamn schoolboy being called to the principal's office. Make me look like a fool in front of one of the most respected peace officers in the state. And I gather you'll still refuse to tell me the boy's location?\" He waited for her to answer. When it was clear she wouldn't, he mumbled, \"You worthless piece of shit. It sickens me to think you ever wore the uniform.\"\n\nTears came into Branson's eyes as she tried, \"Sir, with all due respect\u2014\"\n\n\"You don't know the meaning of the word.\" Gray snatched his hat off the table. \"Human Resources will be in touch. Don't try to reach out to me or any of my officers. Don't try to plead your case. Don't even say my name. As far as I'm concerned, your involvement with me and my department is over.\" He stormed out of the room.\n\nBranson's throat worked. She looked down, pressing her palms flat to the table like she needed a moment to collect herself.\n\nFaith didn't give her the time. \"You're gay?\"\n\nWill was surprised by the bluntness of the question. Branson seemed ashamed. She looked away, her head turned to the wall.\n\nFaith said, \"Jared Long got a call from you on his cell phone a few minutes before he was attacked.\"\n\nBranson seemed to understand. She wiped the tears from her eyes. \"You thought I was two-timing with him.\"\n\n\"Why else would you be calling Lena's husband in the middle of the night?\"\n\n\"I was worried about her. Something wasn't right.\"\n\n\"Because of the raid?\"\n\n\"No, before that. She was just\u2014\" Branson tried to find the right words. \"We're friends. That's _all_ we are. But something's been wrong with Lena for a while. She was happy, pumped about taking down Waller, and then when it all came together, she just got sad. She wouldn't talk to me about it. I thought maybe Jared could tell me what was going on.\"\n\nWill guessed that Lena hadn't told Denise Branson about the baby.\n\nFaith quickly moved on. \"Where are you keeping the boy?\"\n\nBranson took a deep breath. She held it for a while. Will could see the turmoil in her face. Every second of her life for the last eight days had been devoted to keeping the boy safe. She'd risked alienating her friends, losing her job, pissing off her chief. No cop ever wanted to hand over a case, especially one that ripped at their heart.\n\n\"Okay,\" Branson finally said. \"We're keeping him at my girlfriend's farm.\"\n\n\"The sheriff's deputy?\"\n\n\"Yes. She works two counties over. We've been together about a year. Nobody knows about us.\"\n\n\"Good,\" Faith said. \"How far away is the farm?\"\n\n\"Not far, but it's gonna take some time to put this together. We don't make phone calls. As you clearly know, all calls can be traced, even blocked ones. I didn't want any of their numbers showing up on my line. We check in on a message board for gay first responders.\" Branson looked at her watch. \"Dr. Thomas comes in at six before he goes to work. My ex is already there\u2014one of the paramedics. Her girlfriend will come at six to relieve her. My deputy is spelling me. I was supposed to take the night shift, but then the shit hit the fan.\"\n\nFaith checked her own watch. \"So, everyone will be there in a little over two hours?\"\n\n\"Unless they read the message boards at four in the morning.\" She asked Nick, \"Can I use your laptop?\"\n\nNick offered, \"The computer in my office is more private.\" He scooped up the Big Whitey files, telling Faith, \"I'll get started on these.\"\n\nBranson followed him to the door, but she didn't leave. \"I'm sorry for wasting y'alls time. I always try to be tough as I need to be, never tougher than I have to be.\"\n\nWill nodded, but Faith wouldn't give an inch. She waited for Branson to leave, then blew out a puff of air.\n\nWill said, \"What do you think?\"\n\n\"I think Tony Dell's closer to Big Whitey than we thought.\" He nodded, though they both knew that's not what he was asking about.\n\n\"Whoever this Big Whitey is, he's a freaking genius.\" Faith couldn't keep the admiration out of her voice. \"He played them like a fiddle.\"\n\n\"The two men in the house.\" Will coughed a few times before he could continue. \"I could see Tony slitting their throats, then going after the third guy with an ax. He's a killer. He likes using his hands. He takes out the three of them, puts the brace on the basement door so Sid Waller's trapped, then he walks away.\"\n\n\"He was feeding Lena intel. He knew when the raid was going to happen.\" Faith waited out another coughing fit. \"You still think Tony's not Big Whitey?\"\n\nWill gagged down some water. \"I don't know what to think anymore. He's more like the point at the edge of somebody else's sword.\" Will coughed again. \"And I know he's got that weird thing with his sister. Stepsister. But I can't see him with little boys. He couldn't stand to be in the same room with his own nephew.\"\n\n\"You never know what people get up to,\" Faith said. \"Do you think the stepsister knows anything?\"\n\nWill shrugged to save his voice. He'd have to find a way to get Cayla Martin to talk. There was no other option.\n\nFaith stared at the grainy cell phone photo on the screen. \"Poor little lamb. He can't be more than seven.\"\n\nWill didn't want to look at the screen, but once he did, he couldn't take his eyes off the boy. It didn't seem possible he was still alive. How had he survived living in that dank, dark hole? And what had been done to him while he was there?\n\n\"I'll call Sara.\" Faith took out her cell phone and dialed the number.\n\nWill opened his mouth to tell her there was no point. Nothing came out. He couldn't speak, but not because of his sore throat. It occurred to him that the boy was not talking because he had nothing to say.\n\nHis expression in the photo told the story. The boy would never be the same again. He would never sleep as deeply or play with the same abandon. Chasing a ball, flying a kite, helping his mother set the table\u2014none of this would ever be done without constantly checking for danger. The boy did not want to go back to his parents. They wouldn't recognize him. They would take one look and ask who was this damaged creature and what had he done with their real son. It was all captured in the grainy photo on the screen\u2014the fear, the loneliness, the overwhelming shame.\n\nMarie Sorensen had the same look. She had been stolen. She had been abused. She had been thrown away. Even when she got home, she never felt safe. She had made the only choice that was truly her own.\n\nWill couldn't blame her.\n\nThere wasn't a box in the world that was big enough to contain those horrors. Everything she'd survived had made her want to die. Who could fault the boy for thinking the same thing?\n\n\"Sara's not answering.\" Faith ended the call. \"Do you think she's at the hospital?\"\n\nHe didn't answer.\n\nSara was finished with Will. That much was obvious. But somehow, for the brief time they were together, she had managed to change him. She had tamed his beasts. She had made him feel safe. She had made him feel whole. Sara hadn't completely shuttered the file room, but she had made it seem further away\u2014like someone else's memory, someone else's life.\n\nWill had to tell her this, had to explain why she was so desperately needed.\n\n\"I'll find her,\" he told Faith.\n\nIf anyone could coax the boy into talking, it was Sara Linton.\n\n# 13.\n\n\"Sara?\"\n\nSara turned over in bed, trying to get away from the noise. She hadn't fallen asleep last night so much as collapsed from exhaustion.\n\n\"Sara?\" Nell said. \"Sara?\"\n\nSara woke slowly, rousing from a deep, dreamless sleep. She put her hand over her eyes. \"What time is it?\"\n\n\"Just after four-thirty.\"\n\nSara dropped her hand. She looked up at Nell. They were in the hotel room. After what happened with Will last night, Sara didn't have it in her to drive back to Atlanta. \"Is Jared okay?\"\n\nNell gave an odd smile. \"Possum just called. He says they're going to wake him up. I was about to leave for the hospital.\"\n\nSara forced herself to sit up. She hurt in all the wrong places.\n\n\"I'll go with you.\"\n\n\"You need to get the door. There's a man who wants to talk to you.\"\n\nSara finally managed to put together the conversation. There was only one man in Macon right now who would want to talk to her. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk to him. Still, she brushed her fingers through her hair as she went to the door.\n\nAnd then her jaw dropped when she saw Will.\n\nFor just a moment, Sara found herself thinking that she was responsible for the damage to his face.\n\nThen she realized that he'd been beaten.\n\n\"What happened?\" She reached up to him, but there was nowhere Sara could touch Will that wasn't injured. Even the blood vessels in his eyes were broken. \"Did someone choke you?\"\n\nHe swallowed. The pain made him cringe. His voice was hoarse. \"Amanda sent me.\"\n\nSara could hardly understand him. \"Come in.\"\n\nWill didn't move. She grabbed his arm, pulling him into the room.\n\n\"Nell, this is a friend of mine.\" Sara let herself believe she was holding back details because Will was undercover. \"He lives in Atlanta.\"\n\n\"Nice to meet you.\" Nell dug her hand into her purse, but her eyes were on Sara's hand, which was still wrapped around Will's arm.\n\nSara let go.\n\nNell said, \"It's good, Sara. I'm happy for you.\" She held up her keycard. \"I'll be at the hospital.\"\n\nShe nodded at Will before she left. The door closed automatically, slamming hard against the metal jamb.\n\nSara knew it would be pointless to go after her. She asked Will, \"What happened?\"\n\nHe put his fingers to his larynx as if he could force up the volume. \"We've got about an hour.\"\n\nShe stared, disbelieving. \"What?\"\n\n\"I know you don't want me here.\" He coughed, the effort from talking obviously too much. \"Amanda asked me to\u2014\" He coughed again. And again. His face started turning red.\n\n\"Sit down.\" Sara was still angry, but she couldn't let him pass out in front of her. She found a tiny bottle of Tennessee whiskey in the minibar. \"Drink half of this.\"\n\nWill sat down, but he wouldn't take the bottle. He hated alcohol.\n\n\"You won't get drunk,\" Sara told him. He still wouldn't take it.\n\nShe stuck the bottle in his face. \"Think of it as medicine. It'll numb your throat.\"\n\nWill reluctantly took the whiskey. He opened the cap. Instead of drinking the alcohol, he sniffed it. He scowled at the smell. He looked at the label even though Sara knew he couldn't read the cursive script.\n\n\"Will, drink the goddamn whiskey.\"\n\nHer tone was sharper than she intended, but it worked.\n\nHe managed to swallow a mouthful before he gagged.\n\n\"Christ!\" He heaved a cough from deep inside his chest. His eyes watered. He shook his head like a dog.\n\nSara crossed her arms to stop herself from soothing him. She'd been too worn out last night to think beyond closing her eyes, but now it all came rushing back. Every ounce of concern she felt kept getting overwhelmed by anger.\n\nWill coughed a few more times. He screwed the cap back on the bottle and threw it into the trashcan.\n\nSara asked, \"Are we going to talk about what happened?\"\n\nHe blinked to clear his eyes. \"Amanda\u2014\"\n\n\"Sweetheart, if you say her name one more time, one of us is going to have to leave. And it won't be me.\"\n\nHis jaw set.\n\nSara wasn't going to give in. \"I mean it, Will. You come in here with your face all banged up. That cut should be stitched. You've got blood in your ear. You probably need an MRI. And I'm just supposed to pretend none of this exists, the same way I pretend you didn't have a childhood and you don't have scars all over your body and\u2014\" She couldn't go on. The list was endless. \"Talk to me, Will. I can handle the strong, but I can't take the silent anymore.\"\n\nPredictably, he did the exact opposite. He crossed his ankle over his leg. She saw the bottom of his boot. The Cat's Paw logo was on the heel.\n\nSara had to close her eyes for a moment so she didn't lose control. She counted to ten, then twenty, before she could look at him again. \"Will, your not talking to me about things is what got us into this mess in the first place.\"\n\nHe swallowed. The alcohol had worked. He didn't flinch this time. \"I'm sorry.\"\n\nSara felt like a schoolmarm, but she couldn't stop herself from asking, \"Sorry for what?\"\n\nHe picked at the stitching on his boot. \"When I chased you. When I\u2014\" He stopped. \"What I did when I caught you.\"\n\nSara blushed at the memory.\n\nHe said, \"I was out of control.\"\n\nShe couldn't let him take all the blame. \"We were both out of control.\"\n\n\"I hurt you.\"\n\n\"I'm not Amish, Will. I've had rough sex before.\"\n\nHis startled look told her he thought it was something else.\n\n\"I didn't tell you to stop.\" Sara couldn't understand how he could be so wrong about something so obvious. \"I was never afraid of you. I was furious. I wanted to hurt you. But I wasn't afraid.\"\n\nHis eyes glistened. She couldn't tell if it was from the whiskey anymore.\n\n\"Will, I was mad at you\u2014I'm still mad\u2014because you lied to me. Not just once, but repeatedly. Obviously, something happened to you last night, too. We took it out on each other. It's what adults do sometimes. But you need to know that you can't just fuck me silly and make everything better.\"\n\nHe was still upset. His voice was filled with self-recrimination. \"I never wanted to be that way with you.\"\n\n\"Baby\u2014\" The word came out of her mouth so naturally. Sara could see the effect it had on him, and she understood that as bad as things were for her last night, they'd gotten so much worse for Will after he left.\n\nSara sat down on the edge of the bed. \"Please, just talk to me.\"\n\nHe didn't look at her. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. She could see his jaw clenching and unclenching. A dark red mark crisscrossed the side of his forehead. There was a waffle print to the pattern, as if someone had kicked him.\n\nHe said, \"I came here for somebody else.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\nWill gripped his hands together. He stared at the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was so soft that she could barely hear him. \"I feel like I'm disappearing.\"\n\nOf all the things he could've said, this was the least expected. Sara didn't know how to respond.\n\nWill obviously didn't expect her to. His jaw worked again. She could tell every fiber of his being wanted to stop. Still, he said, \"All my life, I've been invisible. At school. At the home. At work. I do my job. I go home. I get up the next morning and I do it all over again.\" He gripped his hands tighter. Seconds passed before he managed to continue. \"You changed that. You made me want to get up in the morning. You made me want to come home to you.\" He finally met her gaze. \"You're the first person in my life who's ever really seen me.\"\n\nSara still couldn't speak, but this time it was because she was too overwhelmed. The sound of his desolation broke her in two.\n\n\"I can't go back to that.\" His voice was gruff. \"I can't.\"\n\nSara couldn't let him. Her anger slipped away like sand through her fingers. She gently cradled her hand to his face. She knew this man. She knew his heart. Will hadn't hurt her on purpose. He'd been stupid and stubborn, but not malicious. And Sara couldn't be the woman Lena Adams thought she was. She couldn't demand perfection. She couldn't set her standards so high that no one could meet them.\n\nShe had already lost the first love of her life. She couldn't lose the second one.\n\n\"Okay.\" She rested her hand on the nape of his neck. \"We'll be okay.\"\n\nHis eyes scanned her face, looking for any sign of equivocation. \"Do you mean that?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\nHe nodded, too, as if he still needed to convince himself. \"I'm sorry I hurt you. I was wrong.\"\n\n\"Please, don't do it again.\" Sara closed the distance between them. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. \"I'm your girlfriend. This isn't just about keeping things from me. It's about trusting me. I may not understand, or agree, but you have to trust me enough to tell me the truth.\"\n\n\"You're right.\" He held her close to his chest. His fingers stroked through her hair. She felt his lips press against the top of her head. \"I need you to promise me something.\"\n\nShe pulled back so that she could see him. \"Okay.\"\n\n\"Promise me we're never going to break up again.\"\n\nShe started to laugh, but there was a sincerity to his tone that stopped her.\n\nWill said, \"Actually, I'll promise. I'll never leave you.\" He sounded more certain than she had ever heard him. \"You can tell me to go, but I won't. I'll sleep in my car outside your house. I'll follow you to work. To the gym. If you go out to dinner, I'll be at the next table. If you go to a movie, I'll be in the row behind you.\"\n\nSara felt her brow furrow. \"You're going to stalk me?\"\n\nHe shrugged his shoulder, as if this was all a done deal. \"I love you.\"\n\nShe finally laughed. \"Well, that's a really shitty way to say it.\"\n\n\"I love you.\"\n\nHer response came as naturally as taking a breath before jumping into the deep end of the water. \"I love you, too.\"\n\nHe leaned in but didn't kiss her. Despite his forceful words, he waited for permission. Sara touched her lips to his as softly as she could. The kiss was chaste, but it was enough.\n\nHe said, \"We're okay.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"We're okay.\"\n\nHe held her hand in both of his. He kissed her fingers. Then he turned her wrist and looked at her watch. \"We need to go.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\nHe stood abruptly. \"I'll tell you about it on the way. Lena found something.\"\n\nSara guessed, \"A winning lottery ticket?\"\n\n\"No.\" He helped her up from the bed. \"She found a little boy.\"\n\nSara pulled her BMW into an open garage bay. There were two other cars inside the metal structure, which was several yards from a sprawling, single-story house. They were on a horse farm. She could see a few mares and a colt out by a red barn. The sun was just cracking the horizon. The horses silently chewed some grass as they watched the garage door close.\n\nSara recognized the black Suburban parked beside them as a G-ride, or a government-issued SUV. She assumed either Faith or Amanda was here. The sheriff's cruiser in the far bay probably belonged to the owner of the farm. Keeping horses was as costly as it was risky. Normally, amateur farmers had to seek out more steady employment. Sara had been thrown from a horse twice in her life. She imagined owning a horse farm was only marginally less dangerous than being a sheriff's deputy.\n\nWill got out of the car. He opened the back door and retrieved her medical bag from the back seat. He didn't hand Sara the bag. He carried it for her.\n\n\"This way,\" Will said, heading toward a side door.\n\nSara followed him as he picked his way past various small machinery taking up the last bay in the four-bay garage. She took Will's hand to steady herself as she stepped over a tractor attachment that looked like a gigantic yard rake. He held on longer than necessary. She stroked his fingers with her thumb, wishing she could erase the past twenty-four hours and start all over again. Or maybe not. In so many strange ways, she felt closer to Will than ever before.\n\nFaith opened the door before Will could. She avoided looking at Sara. \"Find it okay?\"\n\nSara said, \"The GPS led us straight here.\"\n\n\"Good.\" She reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of Jolly Ranchers candy. \"The boy's still asleep. We didn't want to wake him until we had to. Denise and her girlfriend are in the house with one of the paramedics. The doctor read the message board, so he knows not to come.\"\n\n\"Sounds good.\" Will took the candy and shoved it into his pocket. \"I've got around two hours before I'm due at the hospital.\n\nWhat's the plan?\"\n\nSara felt her stomach lurch at the thought of him going back undercover, but she kept her thoughts to herself.\n\nFaith said, \"The other paramedic is on her way with the bus. I was about to head over to dispatch. I want to be sitting on the supervisor so no one panics when they go off-radio. We don't know how far this thing reaches. I'll stay there until I get the word that the boy's in Atlanta.\"\n\nWill asked, \"Who's going to follow the ambulance? Sara's not going without backup.\"\n\n\"Denise will be behind them the whole way. She'll have her piece and her shotgun. Amanda thinks a larger escort team would alert Big Whitey.\"\n\nWill held out his phone to Sara. \"Use this to check in with Faith every half hour.\"\n\nSara tried not to bristle at being ordered around. \"I've got my hospital BlackBerry.\"\n\n\"The 689 number?\" She nodded, and he pocketed his phone. \"I'm serious. These people don't mind collateral damage. You need to call Faith every half hour until you're safe at the hospital.\"\n\nSara wasn't sure this was necessary, but Will didn't give her a chance to disagree. He headed toward the house. She saw him take one of the candies out of his pocket. Instead of peeling away the wrapper, he bit it off with his teeth.\n\nAgain, Sara followed Will. He was back in top form\u2014back in charge. Even in that awful maintenance uniform, he seemed like his old self. She watched him walk, the easy, athletic gait, the muscular line of his broad shoulders. Her big, tough cop. If Sara was trim, at least she was the kind of trim who didn't settle.\n\nFaith walked beside Sara. She was silent as they trudged across the yard. The tension crackled between them like static electricity.\n\nSara said, \"You are a fantastic liar.\"\n\nFaith grinned. \"I really am.\"\n\nSara couldn't stop herself from smiling back.\n\nFaith asked, \"Did Will fill you in?\"\n\n\"He told me everything.\"\n\nFaith raised an eyebrow.\n\n\"Everything that's happened in Macon,\" Sara amended. Will had started talking the minute they'd left the hotel room. She'd never heard him speak for such an extended period of time. He'd told her about Lena's emailed tip, the rednecks, the boy found in the basement and Denise Branson's part in protecting him. The only detail Sara could've done without was the fact that Will had been riding a motorcycle, but even her shocked gasp did not stop him from talking. She'd actually slowed the car at one point, relishing his sudden candor, wishing he would extend it to the rest of his life. His childhood. His family. His bad marriage.\n\nThere weren't enough miles in the road.\n\nFaith said, \"Remember when you told me a while ago that you had to be on Will's side?\"\n\nSara remembered the conversation well. Faith had asked her for details about Will's background. Sara hadn't felt right about sharing what little she knew. \"I get it. You need to be on his side, too.\"\n\nFaith smiled, obviously relieved.\n\nSara asked, \"Did the doctor give you any treatment information?\"\n\n\"The first few days, he gave the boy fluids, a round of antibiotics, but that was it. He's mostly been dropping by to give him a sense of routine and make sure nothing new pops up.\"\n\n\"That probably helped more than anything else. Kids always need structure.\"\n\n\"He's still in survival mode. Denise thinks his food might've been drugged while they held him. He won't drink Coke, but he'll drink bottled water. He tears everything apart like he's looking for a pill. He'll eat a bite, then wait to see if it makes him sick or sleepy, then he'll eat another bite. They've tried feeding him stuff that isn't easily tampered with, like fruit roll-ups and deli meats. He still breaks it apart before he eats it.\"\n\nSara nodded because there was nothing to say. She felt overwhelmed by the knowledge of the terrible things that happened to children. Faith must've been feeling the same. She was quiet until they reached the house.\n\nThe door opened and a petite African American woman came out. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but she had a gun on her hip and looked capable of using it. Her toned arms indicated she was no stranger to farm work. She spoke in a surprisingly soft voice. \"Are you the doctor?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Sara told her.\n\nThe woman rested her hand on the butt of her gun as she stepped aside, letting them enter the house.\n\nThe kitchen was warm and cheerful. Obviously, the owner wasn't into decorating, but she'd managed to create a welcoming space with lots of soft wood tones. Sara guessed Denise Branson was the woman sitting at the table. She had the look of someone who'd lost everything that mattered. She slumped at the table. A mug of tea was in front of her. Rather than drink it, she aimlessly stirred the tea bag around by the string.\n\nFaith said, \"Denise?\"\n\nDenise looked up, managing a strained smile. \"Dr. Linton?\"\n\n\"Sara.\" She offered her hand to the woman. \"I hear you've been taking good care of my patient.\"\n\nDenise gave a wary look, as if she wondered whether or not Sara was making a cruel joke.\n\nFaith covered the awkward moment. She opened the kitchen door. \"I'm going to head over to dispatch. Just call me when you're ready. Will, keep your phone on you at all times.\"\n\nHe nodded before she left. Sara didn't like the look that passed between them.\n\nThe deputy locked the deadbolt with a key that she put in her pocket. \"I'm Lila, by the way. Jasmine's in the back with the boy. You're Will?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Will answered. He put Sara's medical bag on the counter and shook Lila's hand.\n\nThe deputy had to crane her neck to look up at him. \"I already said this to your partner, but thank you for doing this. We've been going it alone for a while.\"\n\n\"You're not alone anymore,\" Will told her. And then his eyes lit up when he noticed the box of Pop-Tarts by the stove. \"Do you mind?\"\n\nShe retrieved the box for him. \"Help yourself.\"\n\nWill swallowed the candy in his mouth. He coughed several times, but that didn't stop him from ripping open the packet.\n\nLila told Sara, \"The boy's still asleep. I haven't fed him yet. I was going to make crepes. He wouldn't eat the pancakes yesterday. I think they were too thick.\"\n\nSara asked, \"Do you eat with him, or just serve him?\"\n\nLila was at the open refrigerator. She seemed disappointed in herself. \"Damn. If he sees us eating the food, he knows it's safe.\" She shook her head as she took out a carton of eggs and a jug of milk. \"I just served him a tray the same as his captors probably did.\"\n\nSara tried to take away some of the guilt. \"You guys have been here all along. It's easy for me to come in with a fresh eye.\"\n\nLila said, \"He won't leave the room. I put a television in there for him. He keeps the sound off, reads the captions. Denise got him some books, but he won't touch them. They can read at that age, right?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Sara answered. \"He's probably used to having to read aloud, though.\"\n\n\"He read to his mom,\" Denise said, more to herself.\n\nWill had finished one packet of Pop-Tarts. He opened another. \"Did you try video games?\"\n\nLila's face fell again. \"Video games.\" She asked Denise, \"Why didn't we think of that?\" She scraped a pat of butter into the frying pan. \"I should've taken my brother's Xbox. He's too old to play it, anyway.\"\n\nDenise said, \"We should've left him to the experts all along.\"\n\n\"You kept him safe,\" Sara said. \"That's all that matters.\"\n\nDenise stared down at her tea again. Lila started cracking eggs into a bowl.\n\nSara wondered what would become of these women. Denise Branson was looking at disciplinary actions, possibly criminal charges, but her fate rested with Lonnie Gray. From what Sara knew about the man, he was fair, but he also believed in swift justice. She hoped that Lila was safe. Unless someone told the sheriff, the deputy's part in this enterprise would remain anonymous.\n\n\"He's awake.\" Sara guessed from the paramedic's uniform that the woman in the doorway was Jasmine. Like her friends, she was petite, but there was something about her that indicated she wasn't going to be messed with. Faith had the same bearing. Sara guessed that knowing you could take down a two-hundred-pound ex-marine like Paul Vickery with a steel baton engendered a certain amount of confidence.\n\nSara said, \"I'd like to go ahead and see him now.\"\n\nLila moved the skillet off the burner. \"We'll go with you.\"\n\n\"Maybe not all of you.\" Sara chose her words carefully. \"You've been so good to him. You've taken care of him. Denise, you literally rescued him.\" She paused. \"He might feel that you won't like him anymore if he tells you what happened.\"\n\nAgain, Lila was quick to find fault with her own actions.\n\n\"We've been reinforcing his silence by walking on eggshells.\"\n\nSara corrected, \"You provided a safe environment for him to heal.\"\n\nLila turned back to her cooking. She didn't seem mollified.\n\nSara told Will, \"You come, too.\"\n\nThey all seemed to recoil at the idea.\n\nSara said, \"I know it seems counterintuitive, but sometimes victims feel safer with men around. They think that brute strength can protect them.\"\n\nLila acknowledged, \"I've had rape victims ask for a male detective. Sometimes, not always.\"\n\nWill seemed more hesitant than any of them. \"Are you sure?\"\n\nSara advised, \"Just sit down when you get in the room. Let him get used to you first. Seven-year-olds are highly adaptable. They're also extremely inquisitive. He'll want to know details about what's going on, what's happening next.\"\n\n\"We didn't tell him anything,\" Lila said. \"We just kept saying he was safe.\"\n\nJasmine offered, \"That's what he needed, Lila. You heard the doctor. He needed to feel safe and we made him safe.\" She looked at Will. \"I don't know about you, though. I'm sorry, but he's just a little boy, and the people who hurt him looked a hell of a lot like you.\"\n\nSara didn't want to force it, but she said, \"I'd really like him in the room. I think it would help.\"\n\nThe tension seemed to ramp up. Lila was the first one to break the silence. \"She's been right about the other stuff. I say we give it a shot. If the boy freaks out, then Will can always leave, right?\"\n\nWill readily agreed. \"Right.\"\n\nDenise and Jasmine exchanged a look. Sara could tell they were used to acting by consensus.\n\nLila said, \"Dee, if something ain't working, then you stop doing it and try something else.\"\n\nDenise said, \"The boy's already broken.\"\n\nLila pointed at her with the spatula. \"Maybe it's time we let the professionals help put him back together.\"\n\nDenise cupped her hands around her mug. She looked at the dark tea. Finally, she said, \"All right. But the minute he even starts to look upset, you have to promise to leave.\"\n\n\"I promise,\" Will said, though he still seemed to be the most reluctant person in the room.\n\nDenise stood up from the table. \"I'll be right outside the door so he knows I'm there.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\" Sara retrieved her medical bag from the counter.\n\nDenise preceded them down the hallway. Sara could tell the woman wanted to stop this, to push both Will and Sara out of the house and do what she'd been doing from the moment she'd rescued the boy from that dark basement. They had been protecting the child for more than a week. They had tended him, fed him, looked over him like guardian angels. Letting a six-foot-three man waltz into the room seemed like the last thing the boy needed.\n\nAt first, it looked as if the boy agreed. His eyes went wide when he saw Will. He shot up in bed, his back pressed against the headboard.\n\nDenise gently soothed, \"It's okay, baby. These people are friends of ours. They're here to help you.\"\n\nThe boy pulled up the sheet around his chest. They had dressed him in Spider-Man pajamas and put matching linens on the bed. There were toys on every available surface\u2014Matchbox cars, a giant Transformer, enough Legos to build a small town. Picture books were stacked on the dresser. Nothing looked as if it had been touched. Someone had obviously gone to the local children's store and asked the clerk exactly what to buy for a seven-year-old boy, but this particular seven-year-old wasn't interested.\n\n\"Good morning.\" Sara entered the room, keeping her tone as even as possible. She'd always made it a practice to never talk down to children. \"I'm Dr. Linton. This is Agent Trent. He's a police officer, but he works for the state, which is why they call him an agent instead of a detective.\" She indicated for Will to enter the room. \"Dr. Thomas isn't going to be here this morning. He told me to say hello to you. I'm going to look after you if that's okay.\"\n\nThe boy didn't move, but he didn't protest, either.\n\nSara did a quick visual exam. Dr. Thomas had done a good job. For all intents and purposes, the boy looked like any healthy seven-year-old. His color was good. His weight appeared to be on the low-normal side. There were no indications of dehydration or neglect. The wounds on his face were healing well. Except for his fearful, cowering demeanor, she would never have guessed that the boy had been abducted.\n\nSara motioned Will toward the chair in the corner. \"Agent Trent's been in a fight with some very bad men. That's why his face is bruised. You can see the red marks on his neck. They're going to heal in a few weeks. Have you ever been bruised before?\"\n\nThe boy stared at Will. He gripped the sheets up around his neck.\n\nSara continued, \"In about two days, Agent Trent's bruises will look dark purple or maybe even black.\" She opened her medical bag. \"Around ten days from now, they'll start to turn green, then they'll turn brown, then after about two and a half weeks, they'll just disappear.\" She asked the boy, \"You've been bruised before, right?\"\n\nHe still didn't answer, but he looked at Sara now instead of Will.\n\n\"I'm going to put my fingers on your wrist, okay?\" The boy didn't flinch when Sara took his pulse. By seven years, he'd probably been to a doctor's office dozens of times. He was used to the routine of examination.\n\nSara asked, \"Do you know what causes a bruise?\"\n\nThe boy didn't respond, but she could tell he was listening.\n\n\"It's blood trapped underneath the skin. That's kind of gross, isn't it?\"\n\nHe stared at Sara.\n\n\"Well, I think it's gross, and I'm a doctor.\"\n\nThe boy's gaze went back to Will, but he was studying him now rather than staring.\n\nSara pulled out her stethoscope. It was an old one she kept as a spare. Her parents had bought it for her when she first entered medical school. Sara held the chestpiece to her mouth and warmed it with her breath. The boy didn't need to be told what to do. He leaned forward in the bed so Sara could listen to his lungs.\n\nShe pulled up the back of his shirt. There were burns on his skin. Sara pretended to ignore them.\n\n\"Deep breath,\" she said, then listened longer than necessary. Dr. Thomas had treated the burns, but left them uncovered to prevent infection. There would be scars\u2014scars similar to the ones Sara had seen on Will.\n\n\"Wow,\" she finally said. \"Your lungs are very strong.\" The boy leaned back so she could listen to his heart. He gripped the sheets at his waist now, but his head kept turning in a triangle pattern. He looked at Denise, who stood in the doorway, then back at Will, then up at Sara. He was constantly checking his surroundings. His fingers worked the hem of the sheets as if he wanted to be ready at any minute to hide under the covers.\n\nSara told the boy, \"You know you're in the state of Georgia, right? That's right above Florida.\"\n\nThe boy didn't answer, though there was something in his expression that told Sara that she was telling him things he already knew.\n\nSara said, \"In a few minutes, we're going to ride in an ambulance like you did before. Only this time, we're taking you to Atlanta.\" She paused. He was paying close attention now. \"The trip will take about an hour and a half. When we get there, you'll be at a hospital. I'll be with you the entire time.\"\n\nThe boy looked at Denise.\n\nShe told him, \"Jasmine and Vivica will drive you. I'll be in the car behind the ambulance. Lila will come up later to check on you.\" She smiled as if they both shared a secret. \"I told you we're not going anywhere.\"\n\nSara guessed Vivica was the other paramedic. She told the boy, \"We won't have the siren on because this isn't an emergency. You're not sick. You're probably just tired and very scared. And you're not talking, so I need to look inside your mouth and make sure nothing's stopping you. Okay?\"\n\nThe boy's eyes snapped back to Sara. He knew she wouldn't find a medical explanation for his silence.\n\n\"Just give me one second.\" Sara dug around in her bag the same way Nell did when she wanted to look busy. \"I don't have a tongue depressor,\" she lied. She turned to Denise. \"Do you have any Popsicles?\"\n\nDenise obviously didn't understand. \"Popsicles?\"\n\n\"I can use the wooden stick for a tongue depressor. Maybe there's some in the freezer?\" She stared her meaning into Denise. \"Could you go look?\"\n\nDenise obviously didn't want to. Still, she told the boy, \"I'll be in the kitchen. Okay?\"\n\nThe boy didn't nod, but there was some sort of unspoken language between him and Denise. She understood that his permission to leave was granted.\n\nSara rummaged around in her bag again. She said, \"I like Denise a lot. Don't you, Agent Trent?\"\n\nWill had to clear his throat before he could answer. \"Yes. They're all very good people.\"\n\nShe told the boy, \"Agent Trent sounds funny because his throat is sore.\"\n\nThe boy looked at Will again, probably taking in the bruises ringing his neck.\n\nShe said, \"Agent Trent doesn't like to brag, but he knows some good jokes. Don't you?\"\n\nWill looked stunned, then slightly panicked.\n\nShe tried not to use the same tone as she had with the boy. \"Why don't you tell him a joke?\"\n\nWill seemed at a loss for words. He was always telling her silly jokes. She had no idea why he couldn't think of any now.\n\nSara prompted. \"How about SpongeBob? Didn't he get into some trouble lately?\"\n\nWill took a candy out of his pocket. He fumbled with the wrapper. Sara was about to let him off the hook when he said, \"Butterflies taste with their feet.\"\n\nThe boy just stared at him. Sara did, too. She had no idea what he was talking about.\n\nWill popped the candy into his mouth. \"Butterflies don't have mouths that can chew or bite, but they've got these straw things that they use to suck nectar. That's how they eat.\" He cleared his throat. \"But how do they know what to eat? They land on leaves and things with their feet, and that's how they taste whether or not it's good. Their taste buds are in their feet.\"\n\nThe boy's eyes narrowed. He was skeptical, but intrigued.\n\nWill could obviously tell this, too. He pulled his chair a few inches closer to the bed. \"Did you know that most turtles can breathe through their butts?\"\n\nThe boy shot an excited look at Sara, probably because Will had said \"butt.\"\n\n\"It's true.\" Will pulled his chair closer. \"They've got these little air sacs in their butts. So they keep their heads down under water and just stick up their butts when they need to breathe.\"\n\nThe boy had stopped gripping the sheet around him. He stared at Will with open curiosity.\n\nWill said, \"Actually, I just heard there was some kind of battle going on in the forest.\" He cleared his throat again. She hoped he didn't get cut off by another coughing fit. He said, \"Insects versus the animals. Did you hear about this?\"\n\nThe boy still would not answer, but he was leaning slightly forward.\n\nSara said, \"I think I read about it in the newspaper.\"\n\n\"I'm sure you did. It's been all over the news.\" Will asked the boy, \"Did you see it on television?\"\n\nThere was an almost imperceptible movement from the boy as he shook his head.\n\nWill told him, \"They finally decided to have it out. The animals and the insects. They scheduled a football game. The winner gets to be the king of the forest forever and a day. And I mean forever, plus an extra full day.\" Will leaned his elbows on his knees. He asked the boy, \"Are you sure you didn't hear about this game? It was huge.\"\n\nThis time, the headshake was more apparent.\n\n\"It was an epic game,\" Will said. \"I mean, unforgettable. For years, the insects and the animals will be telling their kids about it.\"\n\nThe boy leaned forward even more, waiting.\n\n\"The first two quarters, it was no contest. The animals were pounding the insects. I mean, obviously, they've got physical superiority.\" Will feigned throwing a football. \"One after the other, touchdown, touchdown, touchdown. The animals dominated the field. The insects couldn't do anything to stop them. Then halftime comes.\" Will held up his hands as if to stop everything. \"The insects were crying like babies in the locker room. They were going to lose this thing. They knew it. They could feel it in their exoskeletons. Humiliation for the rest of their lives. But they still go back out onto the field. They can't just walk away, right? Not after all these years. They may be invertebrates, but they're not quitters. Am I right?\"\n\nThe boy nodded. He was hanging on Will's every word.\n\n\"So, they start the third quarter, and suddenly, the caterpillar walks onto the field. He's strutting his stuff. He takes up the wide receiver position\u2014and I mean really wide. You can imagine the turning radius on this thing. So, the cricket snaps the ball, and suddenly, _whoosh_ \"\u2014Will swooped his hands through the air\u2014\"the caterpillar takes off. He's hogging the ball, running up and down the field like crazy. Touchdown after touchdown. I mean, the caterpillar is on fire. He doesn't just win the game. He runs up the score. At the end, it's animals 34, insects 212.\"\n\nThe boy's lips parted at the very thought.\n\n\"The insects are ecstatic,\" Will continued. \"They all run out onto the field. They lift the caterpillar up in the air. They're carrying him around. They can't believe it. They're king of the forest forever and a day. And then somebody says to the caterpillar, 'We could've won this thing before halftime, man. Where were you all that time?' \" Will paused for effect. \"And the caterpillar says, 'Puttin' on my shoes!' \"\n\nThe boy sucked in a shocked breath, then exploded with laughter. His mouth opened. He doubled over. His tiny fists were clenched from the effort. He looked at Sara, as if to ask, _Can you believe that?_ Sara didn't have to pretend to laugh along with him. The boy's unrestrained joy was the sweetest thing she'd heard in a long while.\n\nHe fell over onto his side. The sheets were a forgotten memory. For a brief moment, he was just a kid again.\n\nThen, like a curtain being drawn, the laughter died out and the memories came crushing in. Slowly, the boy pushed himself back up against the headboard. He tucked the sheets tightly around his waist.\n\nWill pulled a handful of Jolly Ranchers out of his pocket. \"You want one?\"\n\nThe boy chose a watermelon-flavored candy. With careful dexterity, he peeled away the wrapper. Sara held out her hand for the trash. The boy's lips puckered as he sucked on the candy. Something was different. She knew that his guard was still up, but there was daylight between the cracks now.\n\n\"You know,\" Will began, \"the man who did this to my face will be in a lot of trouble when they catch him.\" He crossed his ankle over his knee, casual. \"He'll end up in prison for the rest of his life. Maybe Denise or Lila will arrest him. Or maybe somebody else. There are a lot of cops out there who are good people. They make sure that the bad guys get locked up so they can't hurt anybody else.\"\n\nThe boy rolled the candy around in his mouth. Sara could hear it click against his teeth.\n\nWill said, \"People who do bad things always get caught. Did you know that?\"\n\nThe boy seemed to consider the question. Finally, he shook his head.\n\n\"You don't know it or you don't think it's true?\" Will asked. The boy shook his head again, then stopped. Instead of talking, he held up two fingers.\n\nWill said, \"You don't think that's true?\" The boy nodded.\n\nWill told him, \"I know you're a smart little boy, but you're wrong about that. This is what I do for a job. I chase down bad people and I lock them up.\"\n\nThe boy looked down at the sheet. He picked at the stitching again.\n\n\"I arrested some really bad guys a few months ago. They told this little boy that his mommy and daddy would get hurt if he talked to the police.\"\n\nThe boy looked up, shocked.\n\n\"The bad guys were lying,\" Will said. \"They were just trying to scare the little boy. His mommy and daddy were safe all the time. And when he told me what happened, I arrested the bad guys and brought the little boy home.\" Will leaned forward again. \"Do you understand what I'm saying?\"\n\nThe boy seemed to understand, but he didn't acknowledge it.\n\nWill said, \"The sooner you tell me what happened, the sooner I can get you back to your family. And trust me, they want you back so badly. You are all they can think about. No matter what the bad men did to you, they just want you back so they can take care of you and make sure you're safe.\"\n\nThe boy looked down at the sheet again. Tears slid down his cheeks.\n\nWill said, \"It's okay to talk to me, buddy. Whatever happened to you, it wasn't your fault. You're just a kid. And your mommy and daddy love you so much. They want you back home. That's all they care about. No matter what the bad men did to you, they will always, always love you.\"\n\nThe boy kept his head down. His mouth moved. He had to think about how to turn sounds into words again. \"What about Benjamin?\"\n\nWill glanced up at Sara.\n\nShe asked, \"Is that your brother?\"\n\nThe boy nodded.\n\nWill said, \"I'm sure he wants you back, too. Even if you fought with him or didn't get along, none of that matters. Benjamin wants you back home with him.\"\n\nThe boy finally looked up at Will. \"He's not home,\" he whispered. \"He was in the basement, too.\"\n\nSara felt her heart stop. She was too paralyzed to speak. Another boy, a brother, still out there suffering horrible cruelties. Or, worse, not still out there, but lying somewhere in a shallow grave.\n\nWill was obviously considering the same possibilities. He visibly struggled to keep his calm. \"Benjamin was in the basement with you?\"\n\nThe boy nodded his head. \"The bad man took him away.\" Will's cool started to slip. His voice cracked. \"Can you tell me your name?\"\n\nThe boy didn't answer.\n\nWill said, \"I met a little boy last night, and he knew the name of his school. Do you know the name of yours?\"\n\nThe boy still did not answer. He was getting scared again, worried that he'd said too much. He slid down the bed, pulled the sheets up over his head.\n\nWill opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out. He didn't want to give up, but he didn't know how to keep going, either.\n\nSara rested her hand on the boy's arm. He was shaking. They could hear his cries through the bedcovers. She told him, \"It's okay, sweetheart. You don't have to say anything else for now. You were very brave to tell Agent Trent what you did. And you're still safe. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.\"\n\nDenise Branson cleared her throat. She was standing in the doorway.\n\nSara told the boy, \"We're going to leave you alone for now, but we're all here if you need us.\" Sara stood up. She motioned for Will to follow her. \"I'll be in the kitchen, okay? You don't have to talk anymore until you're ready.\"\n\nSara left the room, though she felt like part of her heart stayed with the boy. His brother had been taken, too. Why hadn't they found him at the house? Where had he been taken?\n\nSara told Will, \"I'll try again in a few minutes.\"\n\nWill pulled out his phone. The glass was shattered, but the phone seemed to be working. Sara assumed he was calling Faith, but then he said, \"This is Agent William Trent. I need a national alert issued immediately on the authority of Deputy Director Amanda Wagner. Two missing brothers, both disappeared on the same day, possibly more than a week ago. No name on the first kid, but he's around seven years old, has dark hair and brown eyes. The second kid is called Benjamin.\"\n\nSara told him, \"Or Ben. Or Benji.\"\n\nWill's expression showed absolute shock. He almost dropped the phone. \"What did you just say?\"\n\nShe knew that he wasn't good with nicknames. \"Benjamin is sometimes shortened to Ben or Benji.\"\n\n\"Benji?\" Will braced his hand against the wall. He seemed stunned.\n\nShe asked, \"What is it?\"\n\n\"Give me your keys.\"\n\n# 14.\n\nWill pushed the needle on the BMW's speedometer past one hundred as he sped away from Lila's farm. She lived only a few miles from the interstate. He barely slowed for the turn. The tires skipped across the road, but the BMW stayed upright. Will cut off a lane of cars as he merged onto the interstate. He was going fast, but it didn't feel fast enough. He shot past the exit for Macon General. The engine screamed as he gunned it harder.\n\nHe was coming up on the exit that led to Cayla Martin's house when his phone finally rang. Will drove one-handed as he answered, \"Did they get him?\"\n\nFaith said, \"They can't find Cayla Martin's street.\"\n\nWill cursed under his breath. \"What about the cops who knocked on her door last night?\"\n\n\"They're both off-duty. Neither is answering their phones. They're probably asleep.\"\n\n\"Send somebody to wake them up.\"\n\n\"Don't you think I did?\"\n\nWill tried to tamp down his frustration. \"They have to find the house, Faith. Tell them to send out a helicopter.\"\n\n\"The state highway is thirty miles through that zip code, Will. We've called the road crews. We've called the park service and waste management and the post office and the middle school. We've got three cruisers out there already. They're trying.\"\n\n\"It's a dirt road. There's a trailer park and\u2014\"\n\n\"We'll find it.\"\n\n\"Tell them to look for me. I just passed Macon General. I'm taking exit twelve now.\"\n\nThe phone was muffled as Faith relayed the information. She came back on the line. \"Cayla Martin was seen at the hospital half an hour ago. She was picking up her paycheck. Her car is still in the parking lot, but we can't find her.\"\n\n\"Did they check the employee entrance? She goes out there to smoke.\"\n\n\"Hold on.\" Again, Faith put her hand over the phone to talk to the dispatcher. \"They're checking now.\"\n\n\"Did you find an Amber Alert on two missing brothers?\"\n\n\"We've got nothing.\"\n\n\"That's impossible,\" Will argued. \"Two brothers went missing on the same day. Why didn't we hear about it?\"\n\n\"Maybe the police thought it was a parent abduction?\" Faith pointed out the obvious: \"Something like that wouldn't make it on the news cycle unless there were bodies.\" She asked Will, \"Are you sure the boy wasn't making it up? Kids that age lie about everything. Maybe the other kid was a cousin or friend, or\u2014\"\n\n\"He wasn't lying,\" Will said. \"And you don't believe in coincidences. Benjamin's not a common name around here.\"\n\n\"You're right,\" Faith admitted. \"Amanda's talking to the Mounties.\" The Canadian federal police. \"Their news doesn't trickle down much unless you're in a border state. She thought maybe the boys came from up there.\"\n\n\"What about the French-speaking parts?\" Will asked. \"The Mounties don't serve those areas.\"\n\n\"Did either of the boys sound French?\"\n\n\"Maybe they're bilingual. I don't know, Faith. Just tell her to call everybody.\"\n\nFaith said, \"I'm sending her a text right now.\"\n\nWill was silent, waiting for her to type it out. His head was spinning. He didn't know how this had happened. Benjamin had been right there in front of him. He'd practically begged Will to help him. He'd said he'd been taken a month ago. Will had thought the kid meant taken away from his mother by the police, not abducted by a sadist.\n\nBig Whitey.\n\nWill knew what had happened to Marie Sorensen. He'd seen the cigarette burns on the boy's back this morning. Denise Branson had rescued him from the basement. What happened to the boys who weren't rescued? What despicable things were being done to Benjamin right now?\n\n\"Okay,\" Faith said. \"I sent Amanda the text. We got a no on Cayla in front of the employee entrance to the hospital. She's not on the roof or in the stairwells, either. How far are you from the house?\"\n\nWill slammed on the brakes. The car shook. He jerked the gear back into reverse. He'd almost missed the turnoff. \"The road's at a steep angle from the main highway, roughly ten miles from the interstate.\" He silently berated himself for not resetting the odometer when he got off the interstate. \"There are a lot of overhanging trees. There's a yard sign where the turn is.\" He recognized the logo. \"It's for the trailer park. It's got palm trees on it.\"\n\n\"I'll let the cruiser know.\"\n\nWill laid on the gas as he sped down the dirt road. Red dust curled up behind him. The screen on Sara's dashboard flashed black. There was no map in the GPS system for the dirt road. Will muttered another curse at his own stupidity. The screen had been in front of him the whole time.\n\nHe told Faith, \"Track my phone. Maybe the roads will show up on the military GPS.\"\n\n\"I'm on it,\" Faith said. \"Call me when you get there.\"\n\nWill ended the call and tossed his phone onto the seat. Then he thought better of it and jammed the phone into his back pocket. As long as the trip to Cayla's had felt the night before, the trip this morning seemed unending. The road spread out ahead of him. It felt like half an hour passed before he saw the trailer park. Kids were out playing in the yard. Will slowed, looking at their faces, checking for Benjamin. They all stared back. Some of them headed home. They'd probably been taught to run if a strange man ever looked at them twice.\n\nThe steering wheel jerked as the BMW hit a large pothole. Will fought the turn, overcorrecting. He straightened the tires just in time for another loud bump as the wheels finally hit solid pavement. He was in the subdivision now. The empty lots and unfinished building sites were even more desolate in the light of day. Fortunately, Will could easily see the cluster of completed houses. He skidded to a stop in front of Cayla's driveway. There was no car there. He jumped out of the BMW. He checked the windows to the garage. Empty.\n\nWill dialed Faith's number as he ran up the front walk. He said, \"I'm here. There's no car. The house looks empty.\"\n\n\"The cops from last night are on their way. They've got two more cruisers with them. I know you don't have your gun. Wait for backup.\"\n\n\"I'm not waiting.\" Will ended the call. He stepped back from the front door, then kicked it open. \"Benjamin?\" he called. His voice echoed through the house. \"Benjamin?\"\n\nWill opened the coat closet. He checked the back wall to make sure there wasn't a hidden panel. Next, he went into the garage. The space was unfinished, just the structural studs. There were no hiding places.\n\nThe kitchen looked the same as the night before. Will's cleaned plate was still on the table. The pots and pans were still on the stove. Tony Dell's beer cans were stacked on the counter.\n\n\"Benjamin?\" Will called. He took the stairs two at a time. He stopped outside the bathroom, but didn't go in. There was a surface bolt on one of the bedroom doors. A heavy-duty combination lock held it closed.\n\n\"Benjamin?\" Will banged on the door. \"It's Mr. Black from last night. I'm a police officer. I'm here to help you.\" The lock was secured with bolts, not screws. There was no way for Will to pry it loose. \"Benjamin, I need you to stand back. I'm going to break open the door.\"\n\nWill waited a few seconds, then raised his foot and kicked the door. The lock rattled against the wood. He kicked again. The wood around the jamb started to splinter. He raised his foot and kicked it again. Then again. Finally, by sheer repetition, he was able to break apart the wood. The door popped back on its hinges. The knob stuck in the sheetrock.\n\nBenjamin was chained to the floor. He was sitting in the corner, his back to the wall. He was obviously terrified.\n\n\"It's okay,\" Will told him. \"I'm a police officer. I'm here to help you.\"\n\nBenjamin didn't respond. Will quickly took in the situation. A pair of handcuffs linked the boy's ankle to the chain. The end was attached to an eyehook screwed into the floor. Someone had doused it with Liquid Nails to keep the boy from backing out the screw. Probably Tony. It seemed like the kind of half-ass job he'd do. Tony should've thought about the fact that Benjamin wouldn't have anywhere to use the toilet. The wood had softened from urine. Will easily wrenched the hook out of the floor.\n\nThen he heard a car door slam shut.\n\nWill ran to the front window. Paul Vickery got out of a white Honda. He had a gun in his hand.\n\n\"Shit,\" Will muttered. He should've known Vickery was involved in this.\n\nWill took out his iPhone. He asked Benjamin, \"Do you know how to send a text message?\"\n\nBenjamin nodded, his eyes still wide with terror.\n\n\"You're going to send a text to my partner.\" Will swiped the screen. He selected the right app, then dialed Faith's number before handing the phone to Benjamin. \"Type in your name. Tell her that you're hiding in Cayla's house. Tell her to hurry.\" Will scooped up Benjamin in his arms as he left the room. There was an attic hatch in the hall. Will had seen it when he stood at the top of the stairs. He held Benjamin up. The boy didn't have to be told what to do. He pushed open the hatch and climbed into the attic.\n\nWill told him, \"Don't make any noise. If they find you, don't go anywhere without that phone. Do you understand? It's got a tracker in it. We can find you if you keep the phone. Put it in your pocket. Don't lose it.\"\n\nBenjamin pulled up the chain around his ankle. The hatch fell into place just as the front door slammed open.\n\nWill barreled down the stairs at a full run. Paul Vickery had attacked him two times before, but each time, the man had surprise on his side. This time, Will had the upper hand. He also knew that crooked as Vickery was, he was a trained police officer. He'd do exactly what Will had done. Check the closet. Check the garage. Check the kitchen.\n\nVickery was coming out of the kitchen when Will launched himself off the stairs. Vickery's mouth opened. He didn't have time to scream. Will tackled him to the floor like a pile driver. Vickery's gun skittered out of his hand. Will slammed his fist straight into the man's face. As awful as the situation was, Will couldn't help but feel the sweet victory of payback as Vickery's nose exploded like a blown tire.\n\nWill reared back for another go, but Vickery didn't move. Like most bullies, he had a glass jaw. One hit and he was unconscious. Will sat back on his heels feeling supremely disappointed.\n\n\"Damn, Bud,\" Cayla Martin said. She was standing at the busted-open front door. She had a Taser gun pointed at Will's chest.\n\nThe M26-C carried a compressed-nitrogen air cartridge that shot two tiny barbed probes up to fifteen feet away. The probes were attached to insulated conducting wires. The wires were attached to eight double-A batteries that delivered up to fifty thousand volts of electricity. Enough juice to cause complete neuromuscular incapacitation.\n\nWill lunged for Vickery's gun, but he wasn't fast enough to outrun the nitrogen charge. The probes dug into the back of his neck.\n\nHe was unconscious before he hit the floor.\n\n# 15.\n\nFIVE DAYS BEFORE THE RAID\n\nLena laid back on the table at Dr. Benedict's office. Her head was elevated, but her legs dangled uncomfortably over the end. She tried to keep the paper gown from riding up. It was no use. She was quickly learning that you had to choose between being pregnant and being modest. This was the first of many compromises Lena saw in her future. She already had the sensation of her body being taken over. She was peeing more. Sleeping more. Hell, she was even breathing more. The weird part was that instead of feeling invaded, Lena felt happier than she'd ever been in her life.\n\n\"You decent?\" Jared peered around the door. He saw Lena and gave a low whistle as he walked over to the table. \"Babe, I'm seeing some bedroom opportunities here.\"\n\nShe rolled her eyes, even though she felt a strange thrill when he talked like this. And he was talking like this a lot lately.\n\nShe asked, \"What'd you say to get out of work?\"\n\n\"Told them I needed some personal time. They think I'm having an affair.\"\n\nShe slapped his arm. \"That's not funny.\"\n\nHe laughed good-naturedly as he looked around the room. \"What is all this crap?\"\n\n\"Got me,\" Lena said, though she recognized the ultrasound machine. Just looking at it made her nervous. She didn't know what she would do if something was wrong. No heartbeat. The baby's brain growing outside of its head. Horror stories were all over the Internet. She'd turned off the computer last night and thrown up in the hall bathroom.\n\nJared pulled out one of the stirrups. \"You think they sell these tables at Costco?\"\n\n\"Can you not be disgusting?\" She slid the stirrup back in with her heel. \"It's bad enough I'm gonna be poked and prodded for the next eight months.\"\n\n\"Seven and a half.\" He picked up the plastic model of a uterus. The pieces fell apart in his hands. \"Shit, the baby went under the table.\"\n\nLena watched him get down on his hands and knees to retrieve the plastic fetus. His ass was in the air. His uniform pants stretched in a not unpleasant way. They worked out at the gym together almost every morning. Sometimes, Lena watched him doing squats while she ran on the treadmill.\n\n\"Found it.\" Jared stood up, holding the fetus like a toothpick between his thumb and forefinger. \"You okay? Your face is red.\"\n\nLena put her hand to her cheek. She changed the subject. \"I saw this pregnant woman at the store yesterday. The checkout lady patted her stomach like she was a dog. Then she said, 'Good job, Mom,' like it takes a special skill to get knocked up.\"\n\nJared grinned. \"You think people are gonna pat my crotch and tell me good job?\"\n\n\"Not unless they want my Glock up their ass.\"\n\nHe laughed, putting the plastic baby in the uterus, snapping the pieces back together. \"You know my mom's gonna wanna be here when it happens.\"\n\nLena didn't want to talk about that. Today was supposed to be happy.\n\n\"I'm just warning you,\" Jared said. \"And telling you that I want her here.\"\n\n\"Do I have a choice?\"\n\n\"Your skeevy uncle will probably come, too.\"\n\n\"At least Hank will have the decency to stay in a motel and leave the next day.\"\n\nJared couldn't argue with that. Hank had visited a few times since they got married. He was very mindful of outstaying his welcome.\n\nShe said, \"It's bad luck to talk about any of this now.\" Lena couldn't help adding, \"Like painting the nursery. And looking at cribs. We need to wait another couple of weeks.\"\n\nHe put the uterus back on the counter with a thud.\n\nShe tried, \"Besides, if you're going to work around the house, you should finish the kitchen.\"\n\n\"It'll be finished before the baby comes.\"\n\n\"It'd better be.\" Lena felt a fight brewing. She pulled back, not wanting the day ruined. All week, Jared had been talking about seeing the baby for the first time. She couldn't mess this up for him.\n\nLena asked, \"You're never late. What kept you?\"\n\n\"They put in the marker for Lonnie's son this morning. Some of us rode by to pay our respects.\"\n\n\"That's nice.\" Lena felt a swell of sympathy for the chief. His son had died after a long illness. Lonnie wouldn't let him go, even when it was clear that nothing could be done to save him. In the end, they'd hooked him up to every machine in the ICU.\n\nJared said, \"Something bad like that happens to me, promise me you'll pull the plug.\"\n\n\"I'll pull it right now.\"\n\n\"I mean it,\" he said. \"Don't let me hang around like that. Peeing in a bag. People touching me like I'm a baby.\" He asked Lena, \"What's the point of touching somebody who's in a coma? What if they don't want you to? They can't stop you. They're just trapped there. That's some creepy shit.\" He shuddered. \"And don't let my mama dress me up in pajamas. You know she'd get crazy like that.\"\n\nLena felt her lip start to tremble.\n\nHe stared at her, confused. \"Are you crying?\"\n\n\"Yes, I'm crying, you dipshit.\" She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. \"Why would you talk about dying in the hospital when I'm carrying your fucking baby?\"\n\n\"Jesus,\" he muttered. He pulled a tissue out of the box on the counter. There was only one left. He handed it to Lena. \"Don't be crying like that when the doctor comes in. He's gonna think I hit you or something.\"\n\nLena blew her nose. \"Talk about something else.\"\n\nHe easily found a different subject. \"How's the raid going?\"\n\nJared had tipped her off about a shooting gallery on Redding Street. He was following the case like a gambler who'd placed a large bet.\n\nShe told him, \"It's going to shit, is how it's going.\" She used the dirty tissue to wipe her eyes. \"I need more Kleenex.\"\n\nHe opened the door and called, \"Nurse? Can we get some more Kleenex?\" He waited in the open doorway, asking Lena, \"You get anybody to flip on Sid?\"\n\n\"What do you think?\" She wiped her nose again. \"Denise is about to have a stroke. She's convinced this is our way into Big Whitey.\"\n\nJared rolled his eyes. He liked Denise, but girls like Marie Sorensen ran off all the time. Using Big Whitey as the bogeyman took some of the blame off her shoulders.\n\nLena felt the need to take up for her friend. \"He could exist. Denise found his name on a wire out of Florida.\"\n\nJared shook his head with the sort of disregard that made her want to smack him. \"I'm with Lonnie on this one. It's a dead end.\"\n\n\"Sid Waller is the key,\" Lena insisted, though she had come to accept lately that Waller was still going to be walking around free when her kid graduated from high school. \"Once he's locked up, he'll start singing.\"\n\n\"Mean ol' Big Whitey will kill Waller before he lets that happen. Right?\"\n\nLena narrowed her eyes at Jared. He was giving her shit again.\n\nHe said, \"Trust me, as soon as Sid Waller's dead, Chief Gray is gonna get out of the Big Whitey business. It's just too dangerous for him right now. And we both know he lost his edge when his son died.\"\n\n\"Right,\" Lena said, her tone matching his. \"Lonnie Gray is going to back down for the first time in his life.\"\n\nThe nurse handed Jared a fresh box of tissues. He told her, \"Thank you,\" then pivoted back to Lena. \"Maybe Lonnie is really Big Whitey. Did you ever think about that?\" The door clicked shut. He grinned at Lena. \"How crazy would that be? Chief Gray is secretly a dope-swingin' kiddie pimp.\"\n\n\"Stop talking out of your ass.\" Lena grabbed some tissues and blew her nose as loudly as she could. She hated that his stupid idea actually made a weird kind of sense. Gray had started out in Florida. Over the years, he'd either worked or consulted in several towns up and down the coast, including Savannah. All the mayhem they were seeing in Macon had coincided with Gray coming on board. If Denise was right and there was a mole in the department, then it had to be a mole who knew everything. What better cover was there than being the chief of police?\n\nAnd what bigger idiot was there than a woman who believed every harebrain theory that came out of her husband's mouth? Less than five minutes ago, Jared was saying Big Whitey didn't even exist. Last week he claimed he'd heard from a guy that Fort Knox had been robbed of all the country's gold. Why on earth was she listening to him now?\n\nLena shook her head, hoping to God she was suffering from pregnancy hormones and not losing her mind.\n\nHe asked, \"Why are you shaking your head?\"\n\nShe didn't answer, knowing there was no point. \"I'm stressed about the raid crapping out. Denise and I are both putting our asses on the line over this, and you know Lonnie doesn't forgive or forget.\"\n\nJared moderated his tone. \"Lookit, something will come up.\" He waited for her to blow her nose again. \"Something always comes up. You're a good cop, babe. You're smart and driven and you never give up. You'll make it happen.\"\n\nLena couldn't help it. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her want to cry again. She slipped her hand into his. Jared's arm tensed, but he didn't pull away. He wasn't used to affection. His mother was a cold fish. Lena had never once seen Nell touch any of them. Of course, Lena wasn't the clingy type, either. She couldn't explain why touching Jared was the only thing that soothed her nerves lately. This wasn't the kind of thing she could ask Dr. Benedict about. She'd tried to look it up on the Internet, but most of the pregnant women online seemed to hate their husbands. And there were only a limited number of phrases you could Google on pregnancy before you were inundated with some seriously disgusting porn.\n\nJared asked, \"You okay?\"\n\nShe chewed her lip, silently willing herself not to start crying again.\n\nHe turned sheepish. \"You know I love you, right?\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" she managed. \"Tell me that when I look like I should be swimming in a tank at SeaWorld.\"\n\n\"Babe, as long as you keep getting big in other places, I'm fine.\"\n\nLena rolled her eyes. Then she jerked her hand away when the door opened.\n\nDr. Benedict walked over to the sink to wash his hands. He told Lena, \"I'm sorry I kept you waiting.\"\n\nJared winked at Lena. This was the first thing the man said every time he entered the room. They joked that his wife probably heard the same thing when they were in bed.\n\n\"Lie back for me.\" Benedict pulled out the extension on the table.\n\nLena laid her head on the pillow and straightened her legs. She looked up at Jared. He put his hand on her forehead. The move was clumsy\u2014more like he was checking her for a fever\u2014but she didn't complain.\n\nBenedict turned on the ultrasound machine. Unceremoniously, he lifted the paper gown. Lena saw what she'd been denying all week. Her underwear was tight. Pretty soon, it would be rolling under her stomach like a rubber band. She looked up at Jared, expecting a joke. He wasn't laughing. He was watching the monitor, even though nothing was on the screen yet.\n\nBenedict shook the bottle of gel over Lena's stomach. \"A little cold,\" he said, sounding just as practiced as usual. He squeezed the bottle. Nothing came out. He told Lena, \"Just a moment,\" then rolled his chair over to the door. He called into the hallway, \"Could you bring me some more gel?\"\n\nHe rolled his chair back to the table. His cold hands touched Lena's stomach as he felt around for things he didn't bother to articulate. She wondered again if she should've gone to a female doctor. Then again, her regular doctor was a woman and she had the bedside manner of a dingo.\n\nThe door opened again. Lena was glad her feet weren't up in the stirrups. The hall was filled with people.\n\n\"Here you go.\" The nurse was the same one who'd brought the tissues. She handed the doctor a new bottle of gel. \"I got this off the warmer?\"\n\nLena didn't know which was more annoying\u2014the way the woman raised her voice at the end of the sentence or the fact that no one had warmed the first bottle.\n\nBenedict didn't seem to notice the difference. He shook the bottle and repeated, \"A little cold.\"\n\nLena looked up at Jared as the warm fluid hit her skin. He winked at her again. She felt the ultrasound probe press against her belly. The fat rolled around in a way she wasn't ready to acknowledge. Instead, Lena watched the monitor, the shifting white and black folds.\n\nThis was really the stupidest thing she'd ever done. Lena understood why the doctor had to see the image, but there was no reason for Jared to watch her insides get pushed around. There was a pregnant secretary at the station who framed every ultrasound photo she got. Lena couldn't walk through the office without tracking the progress of the weird little alien blob. It seemed like nothing was private anymore.\n\nBenedict's eyebrows were furrowed. He stared at the screen as he pressed the probe harder.\n\nLena asked the words she'd been dreading. \"Is something wrong?\"\n\nBenedict didn't answer, which made it ten times worse.\n\nThe nurse said, \"Listen.\" She turned one of the dials on the machine. A slow _wah-wah_ sound came out of the speakers, like something you'd hear in a submarine movie.\n\nLena thought she'd missed whatever she was supposed to listen for, then the rapid thump-thump-thump of a heartbeat filled the room.\n\nJared gasped. \"Is that the\u2014\" He looked down at Lena. \"It's the heartbeat.\" He pressed his hand to her chest, felt for her heart.\n\n\"It's different.\"\n\nHe was right. Lena's heart was beating its usual slow rhythm, while the baby's heart sounded like the wings of a hummingbird fluttering against a windowpane.\n\nThe nurse said, \"See your baby?\"\n\nLena looked at the monitor. Nestled inside the folds was a little black dot. Dr. Benedict moved his hand around, and the dot turned into a bean. Lena could see the heart flashing.\n\n\"Holy shit,\" Jared whispered. \"Holy shit.\"\n\nLena heard herself thinking the same words in her head. How had they done this? How had they created something so perfect? She couldn't take her eyes off the little bean. The round edges, the curve in the center that was going to be a stomach. Soon, the bean would sprout real arms and legs, and a head with sweet little eyes and a crescent-shaped mouth.\n\nBut for now, he was just a tiny, fluttering little bean.\n\nHer bean.\n\nLena had never seen anything so beautiful in her life.\n\nDr. Benedict said, \"Everything looks good. You're six weeks along. Come back next week around this same time.\" He tapped some buttons on the ultrasound machine. A printer whirred to life. Benedict stood up. He went to the sink to wash his hands. \"I'll make sure you get a disc with the ultrasound. The picture should be ready in a few minutes.\"\n\nJared leaned down, looking Lena in the eyes. \"This is it, babe. You and me and the beginning of everything.\"\n\nLena's brain told her the words were melodramatic, but her heart\u2014her heart took in the tears in his eyes, the silly grin on his face, the touch of his hand as his fingers laced through hers, and started to crumble.\n\nHe told her, \"Nothing's ever gonna be the same again. One day, we're gonna both be sitting in our diapers at the old folks' home and talking about how this is the moment that changed everything.\"\n\nLena put her hand to his cheek. Her thumb traced his lips before she gently pushed him away. She wasn't going to start crying again in front of strangers.\n\nJared understood. He winked at her, joking with Benedict, \"Thanks, Doc. Good job.\"\n\n\"You're welcome.\" Benedict obviously wasn't fond of getting off routine. He studied the nurse as he dried his hands. \"You're filling in for Margery, right?\"\n\n\"Yes, Doctor.\" The woman smiled warmly as she started wiping the gel off Lena's belly. \"I've worked in your office before? I'm Cayla Martin?\"\n\n# 16.\n\n **FRIDAY**\n\nWill's brain burned in his skull. His muscles were still vibrating from the Taser. At least his body wasn't tensed up like a fist anymore. His hands and feet were no longer clenched into balls. His knees and elbows could straighten. Despite all that progress, sitting up felt like an impossible task. He lay with his back on the floor. Overhead, he heard Cayla Martin walking back and forth across one of the bedrooms. At least he assumed it was Cayla. Paul Vickery was bound and gagged beside him. Whoever was upstairs was walking in high heels.\n\nDetective work.\n\nThe throbbing pain in his head had to be from something more than the Taser. Will had been Tasered before. Amanda had said it was an accident, but the way she cackled made him think otherwise. Will tentatively moved his head. There was a tender spot at the back. He blinked, wondering how many times his vision had gone wonky over the last twenty-four hours. He couldn't dwell on that. Actually, he couldn't dwell on anything because his mind yet again could not hold on to one thought.\n\nBenjamin.\n\nThat was the one word that would not slip away. Benjamin was in the attic. He still had the chain around his ankle. Will had told the boy to text Faith. Where the hell was she? She'd told Will the cruisers were on the way.\n\nWill had to get out of here. He had to find the police before Cayla disappeared. Paul Vickery was out cold, and not just because Will had hit him. There was a deep gash on the side of the man's scalp. He needed medical attention. Obviously, despite Will's assumptions, Vickery wasn't working with the bad guys after all. Whether this was a recent development or not was less clear.\n\nWill tried to sit up. The muscles would not respond. He could only flop over onto his side. That was when he saw his wrists. They were tied together with twine. The knots were tight. The twine cut into his skin. Will tried to move his legs. His ankles were tied together, too. At least now he knew why he couldn't feel his toes.\n\nWill struggled to sit up. His feet slipped. His hands couldn't find purchase. Finally, he angled himself up to sitting. He only had to close his eyes a few seconds before the nausea passed. Then he opened his eyes and felt sick all over again.\n\nThere was a man sitting on the couch. He had a Glock pointed at Will's head.\n\nWill had never met Detective DeShawn Franklin in person, but he recognized the man from the photograph on Faith's cell phone. He was built like a linebacker, with broad shoulders and legs the size of fallen trees. He took up two cushion spaces on Cayla's sofa. The gun in his hand looked like a toy, though Will knew the police-issued Glock was a man-stopper.\n\nWill checked on Paul Vickery again. He was still tied up. Hogtied, really. Which didn't explain why DeShawn Franklin was pointing his gun at Will.\n\nFranklin lowered the Glock, resting the weapon on his knee. \"Paul was coming here to save you.\"\n\nWill didn't give him the satisfaction of hearing the string of curses that came into his mouth. He asked, \"My partner sent him?\"\n\n\"Your partner sent anybody who was listening on the scanner.\" DeShawn smiled. \"Thanks for taking Paul out before I got here. Beat-downs aside, he's not a dirty cop. Woulda been hard explaining to him why I had to tie y'all up.\"\n\nWill didn't acknowledge the comment. He had to assume the GPS tracker on his phone wasn't working. Faith knew he was at Cayla's house. She would send the cruisers. It was only a matter of time before twenty cops busted down the door.\n\nFranklin seemed to read Will's mind. He took away his options one by one. \"I told the cops me and Paul would secure the house. Last we saw, you were headed toward the woods on foot. They're setting up a perimeter on the other side of the highway.\" He told Will, \"The whole damn force is out there looking for you, son.\"\n\nWill rubbed his face with his hands. His fingers felt cold, probably because the twine around his wrists was cutting off the circulation. \"You're working with Cayla?\"\n\n\"I'm doing a favor for an old friend.\"\n\nWill got the feeling he wasn't happy about it. \"Where's the boy?\"\n\n\"You tell me. He's not in the house. He's not in your BMW.\" He smiled again, showing his teeth. \"That's a nice ride. State must pay a hell of a lot more than Macon PD.\"\n\nWill asked, \"You're Big Whitey?\"\n\nHe laughed, genuinely amused. \"I'm Big Blackie, motherfucker. You colorblind?\"\n\nWill didn't know what he was supposed to say. \"Who's Big Whitey?\"\n\nFranklin didn't answer immediately. He looked down at the Glock, twisting it back and forth against his knee. \"I was friends with his son. Chuck and me grew up together. We both graduated from the academy at the same time. Both moved around together. He got his lieutenant bars before me, but that's how it goes sometimes.\"\n\nWill shook his head, trying to break a memory loose. \"Eight, maybe nine months ago, we were out running. Chuck's leg snaps like a twig. No reason, just snaps.\"\n\nWill had heard about this kind of thing before. He guessed, \"Leukemia?\"\n\n\"Now you're putting it together.\"\n\n\"Not really,\" Will admitted.\n\n\"Chuck was supposed to take over the family business. With him gone, who knows?\"\n\n\"Chuck,\" Will echoed. The name was so familiar.\n\n\"I thought you state boys were smarter than this.\"\n\nWill said, \"I've had a bad couple of days.\"\n\n\"I hear you, brother. Doesn't look like it's gonna get much better.\"\n\nWill heard something heavy drop on the floor upstairs. It was similar to the sound of a clue dropping into his lap. He told Franklin, \"Cayla Martin told me she drove up the Tamiami Trail with a guy named Chuck.\"\n\nFranklin smiled. \"Maybe you're not so stupid after all.\"\n\nWill realized there was a wall behind him. He slid over so he could lean back against it. The rest did him good. He said, \"Chief Gray's son died recently.\" Will remembered something Faith had told him yesterday morning. \"You were handpicked by Gray to follow him to Macon when he took over the force.\"\n\nFranklin waited.\n\nWill made a calculated guess. \"Chief Gray is Big Whitey.\"\n\nFranklin didn't acknowledge the revelation, but he told Will, \"Lonnie was working in Jacksonville, but he lived in Folkston. Me, my baby sister, and my mama were up by the Funnel. Not many black kids around there, but Lonnie didn't bat an eye when he found me sitting at his dinner table.\"\n\n\"You should be glad he didn't kidnap and rape you.\"\n\nThe gun went up. Franklin pointed the muzzle at Will's head again.\n\nWill said, \"You didn't know Lonnie was into kids, did you?\"\n\nFranklin glared at him for a beat. Finally, he lowered the gun back to his knee. \"He raised me more than my own daddy ever did.\" Disgust showed on his face. \"Never heard Lonnie say anything about kids. Never saw him looking at them, talking to them, nothing. I guess as good as Lonnie was at fooling strangers about one thing, he was really good at fooling his friends about the other.\"\n\nWill asked, \"How'd it feel when you found out?\"\n\nFranklin let his silence answer the question.\n\nWill said, \"Being a badass drug dealer and a murderer is one thing. Raping kids is a whole other category.\" He could tell Franklin agreed with him. \"It crosses the line, doesn't it? You put a cap in a junkie's ass, that's pretty much what he signed up for, but children are innocent. They didn't sign up for anything.\"\n\n\"I told you I didn't know.\"\n\n\"Denise Branson knew.\"\n\n\"You think anybody listens to that stupid dyke?\"\n\nWill didn't point out that the stupid dyke had been right all along.\n\n\"Lonnie was a God to me. To all of us. I had no idea he was...\" Franklin couldn't even say the words. \"I'm glad Chuck didn't live to find out. It would've killed him all over again.\"\n\n\"How did you find out?\"\n\n\"The house,\" Franklin said. He meant the shooting gallery. \"I sent my guy in before the raid to take out Waller and his crew.\"\n\nWill guessed Franklin's guy was Tony Dell. There wasn't another player in this thing who was so adept at killing.\n\nWill asked, \"What did your guy find?\"\n\n\"What we expected. Three of them were in the front room watching TV. No problem, my guy takes them out quiet. He goes down into the basement looking for Waller and finds these two little kids instead.\" Franklin shook his head, and Will could see his turmoil was real. \"One of the boys was already dead. Just laid there, my guy said.\"\n\nWill thought of the boy back at Lila's farm. Playing dead had saved him from countless more miseries.\n\nFranklin continued, \"The second kid was barely breathing. My guy brought him here for Cayla to look after.\"\n\nWill wondered if he knew how Cayla had looked after him. \"The kid identified Big Whitey?\" Franklin nodded, and Will tried not to think about Benjamin feeling safe because Franklin had a badge. \"Your guy said Waller wasn't in the basement?\"\n\n\"Right. Only, he's leaving out the back with the kid when he hears Waller bust in through the front.\" Franklin shrugged. \"Waller runs down into the basement to check on his stash. My guy braces the door, traps him down there, and walks away.\"\n\n\"Why did you want to take out Waller's team before the raid?\"\n\nFranklin was obviously reluctant, but he answered, \"I was worried about Lena getting hurt.\"\n\nWill must've looked as dubious as he felt.\n\n\"I'm not an animal, man. I got two nieces. I helped raise up my sister after my daddy died.\" Franklin said, \"I knew Lee was pregnant. Cayla fills in at a lot of the doctors' offices. She heard Jared telling Lena that he thought Lonnie was Big Whitey.\"\n\nWill replayed the words in his head, making sure he understood them. \"Was Cayla eavesdropping?\"\n\n\"Nope. Jared was standing in the open doorway. Half of the office heard him call out Lonnie.\"\n\n\"And Cayla thought he was being serious, just tossing off that theory at the doctor's office in front of everybody?\"\n\n\"That's what Cayla said.\"\n\n\"What did you think?\"\n\n\"That he was bullshitting.\" Franklin shrugged. \"Jared's a talker. All those bike boys are. They think they can run with the big dogs, but they don't know jack.\"\n\nWill had to take another moment to process the information. If what DeShawn said was true, then Lena was right. She hadn't been the one to bring all of this down on them. Jared Long had. \"Did Lena believe Jared?\"\n\n\"I don't think so. At least Lee never said anything to me or the guys,\" DeShawn admitted. \"But she's smart when she latches onto something. Jared puts a thought into her head, maybe she starts paying attention to things she didn't notice before. I had to keep her busy. She was all over the Waller thing. I knew she'd jump at the chance to take him out.\"\n\nWill felt everything finally coming together. \"So, Cayla tells you about the conversation at the doctor's office. You reach out to a pill pusher named Tony Dell. Tony gets arrested. He flips on Waller two hours later and gives Lena the evidence she needs to go into the shooting gallery.\"\n\n\"I know you think I'm stone cold, but I was trying to protect her.\" Franklin explained, \"Lena busts Waller, she's covered up in paperwork for the next six months. I figured that'd run out the clock while she's pregnant, then maybe once she has the kid, she decides she wants to be a mommy and doesn't come back to the job.\"\n\nWill wondered if there was a single man in Lena Adams's life who'd ever avoided taking risks for her. \"Lena lost the baby.\"\n\n\"I know.\" Franklin seemed regretful. \"Cayla called her, tried to get her to take some time off. She wouldn't listen. That girl never listens to nobody.\"\n\nWill couldn't argue with that. \"What about Jared?\"\n\n\"What about him? He's writing tickets and sweeping broken windshield glass off the road. He can't start an investigation.\"\n\n\"Lonnie Gray wouldn't leave that loose end,\" Will guessed. He'd seen with his own eyes what a hard-ass the man could be. \"You didn't tell him about the conversation at the doctor's office, right? Cayla did. And Gray was a lot more convinced than you were.\"\n\nFranklin didn't answer, but they both knew that Cayla was that malicious. Franklin put a nicer spin on it, saying, \"Cay dated Chuck for six years. Stuck by him when he was dying. She got close to Lonnie at the end. She cares about him.\"\n\nWill bet she did. Cayla gravitated toward drama the way the tides gravitated toward the moon. \"That's why you're here, as a favor to an old friend.\"\n\n\"I can't let her get locked up. I owe it to Chuck.\"\n\nWill knew there was a code, even among criminals, but he had a hard time thinking Cayla Martin was worthy. He said, \"Lonnie sent the rednecks after Lena and Jared.\"\n\nFranklin nodded.\n\n\"He had them torture Eric Haigh to death.\"\n\nFranklin's expression darkened. \"Threw him out like a piece of trash.\"\n\n\"Lonnie's trying to clean house,\" Will said. \"You were attacked outside the theater last night. Somebody took a shot at Vickery. Tony Dell's still out there. Big Whitey's not going to stop until you're all dead.\"\n\n\"Lonnie's not gonna touch me. He was looking for the little boys. He knew somebody found them in the basement. Both kids saw his face, knew who he was. I ain't saying it's right, just that it's something that could come back on him.\"\n\n\"Would that be a bad thing, letting all this come back on Lonnie? Stopping him from hurting more kids?\"\n\nFranklin shrugged, but he was obviously talking for a reason.\n\nWill said, \"You didn't know about the kids until the raid.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"And you put the hit on Sid Waller and his team before you knew about the kids.\" Will guessed the Big Whitey business model was being franchised after all.\n\nFranklin said, \"Things changed after Chuck died. Me and Lonnie weren't so close. I thought it was the grief at first, but then I figured it was something else.\"\n\n\"Waller and Lonnie were both pedophiles. They weren't doing it for money. The only time Lonnie ever took a risk was when he was grooming a new kid.\"\n\n\"You're right,\" Franklin said. \"Only, I found out after Waller was dead that they were doing it together.\"\n\n\"Stalking kids together?\"\n\n\"Doing everything together.\" DeShawn looked like he wanted to spit the bad taste out of his mouth. \"Lonnie said it was the most fun he ever had.\"\n\nWill gathered the two men had had several lengthy conversations, none of which had been good for DeShawn Franklin. He said, \"It started to fall apart before the raid. You knew something was wrong. You saw that Lonnie and Waller were getting close. You were worried Lonnie would pass on the business to Waller.\"\n\nFranklin snorted a laugh. \"I wasn't worried about it happening. I already knew it was going down. Lonnie told me before the raid. Before Cayla heard Jared. Before any of that shit started, he sat me down and told me it looked like Waller had a better handle on things. Wanted me to be a second to that redneck bastard. Pitched it like he was doing me a favor.\" Franklin gave a bitter laugh. \"I guess he didn't love me like a son after all.\"\n\nCayla Martin asked, \"Who loved you?\" She tromped down the stairs carrying a large suitcase. She'd packed it too full. She couldn't hold on. The case bumped down the stairs and didn't stop until it hit the front door.\n\nCayla didn't seem to mind. She walked down the rest of the stairs, picking her way carefully on high heels. She was dressed up, or at least it seemed that way to Will. Her tight leather miniskirt looked brand-new and the matching silk blouse was cut so low that it showed the pink bow on her bra.\n\nFranklin told her, \"Wait in the car.\"\n\n\"Nuh-uh.\" She took a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. \"I gotta say, Bud, you really fucked me over lettin' Benji go like that.\"\n\nWill looked at Franklin, but the man didn't offer an opinion.\n\nShe said, \"I had a family in Germany ready to pay thirty grand for him.\"\n\n\"Family?\" Will didn't know if she was deluded or na\u00efve.\n\n\"Good thing I got that goddamn plane ticket now.\" She put a cigarette in her mouth but didn't light it. \"Except for Shawn picking me up at the hospital, my happy ass would probably be in jail. Ain't that right, hon?\"\n\nFranklin didn't answer. He just sat on the sofa looking like he didn't think he'd ever manage to get up. Part of him still had to be a cop. He'd tried to protect Lena. Paul Vickery had been tied up, not murdered. Franklin had done his best to keep Tony Dell's name out of the story. And then there was the immutable fact that Will was still breathing.\n\nDeShawn Franklin was finished with all of this. Maybe it was the kids. Maybe it was Lonnie Gray's betrayal. Either way, he was done.\n\n\"Shit, Shawn.\" Cayla seemed to sense his faltering resolve. She walked over to Franklin, teetering on her high heels. \"You know you gotta do this.\"\n\nFranklin reached into his pocket. He pulled out his car keys. \"Just leave it in the lot.\"\n\n\"Oh, hell no.\" Cayla's head started shaking back and forth. \"No, sir.\"\n\nFranklin said, \"You're leaving town. Whatever I end up doing is on me. It's got nothing to do with you. I owe it to Chuck to make sure your name stays out of it.\"\n\n\"She-it, you can't do anything, Shawn, and I ain't eatin' Wiener schnitzel for the resta my damn life.\" Cayla flicked the lighter and touched the flame to her cigarette. \"Come on. Just finish it. We ain't got time for your conscience to work itself out.\"\n\n\"I'm not going to\u2014\"\n\nCayla grabbed the Glock and shot Paul Vickery four times.\n\nThe gunfire reverberated in the small room. The air shook with the noise. Vickery's body jerked violently as the bullets hit his back.\n\nWill's hands flew up in front of his face. His knees pulled in like some part of his brain thought he could roll himself into a ball and stop the bullets. He waited for Cayla to turn the gun on him. And waited.\n\nNothing happened.\n\nWill peered up, expecting to find the Glock staring back at him.\n\nInstead, he saw that Franklin had grabbed the gun away. He was breathing hard, though there obviously hadn't been a struggle. \"Fuck, Cayla!\" he screamed. \"What the fuck was that!\" Franklin knelt down beside Vickery. He pressed his fingers to the man's neck. \"You killed him!\"\n\n\"You're welcome, motherfucker.\" Cayla's cigarette bobbed in her mouth. \"I heard you upstairs, Shawn. You told them every damn thing that's been going on. No wonder Lonnie didn't wanna hand you over the business.\"\n\n\"Shut up!\" Franklin pointed the Glock at Cayla. \"Just shut the fuck up!\"\n\nThe cigarette dropped out of her mouth. \"Get that gun outta my face.\"\n\n\"I said shut up!\" Franklin pressed the gun to Cayla's chest. \"I told you to let me handle this. I told you to just shut the fuck up for once in your miserable life and let me do what I know how to do.\"\n\nCayla asked, \"What're you gonna do, Shawn? Turn state's evidence? Go to the cops and tell them you're sorry?\"\n\n\"Stop talking.\"\n\n\"You gonna shoot me in the chest, Shawn? That what you promised Chuck you was gonna do? Murder me?\" Her words were strong, but she took a step back. \"You know we gotta get rid of him or he'll go straight to the cops.\"\n\n\"He won't go to the cops!\" Franklin screamed. \"He's a con. He's on parole!\"\n\nWill stared down at the floor so he didn't give himself away. He had no idea why Franklin had maintained his cover.\n\nAnd he would never find out.\n\nTony Dell pushed open the saloon doors to the kitchen. Will couldn't guess how long he'd been standing there. He'd obviously heard enough.\n\nTony took three steps across the room and jammed his knife into Franklin's neck.\n\nFranklin's mouth opened. He dropped the gun. He put one hand to his throat, tried to steady the handle of the knife with the other.\n\nAnd then Tony pulled out the blade.\n\nBlood shot out of the wound like a water pistol.\n\nFranklin went down on one knee. He gasped for air. Will could hear his breath wheezing through the open slit in his neck.\n\nCayla said, \"Jesus, Tony, finish it.\"\n\nTony didn't want to. He was soaking in the spectacle of Franklin's death. The blood pouring out of his neck. The way his fingers quivered as he reached out for help. Franklin finally lost his balance. His whole body shifted, his knee slipping out from under him. His shoulder hit the floor. Blood pooled around his head. His fingers kept trembling. A pungent odor filled the air. His big chest rose for one last breath that he would never let go.\n\nAnd then it was over.\n\n\"Damn,\" Tony whispered. \"I think he shit hisself.\"\n\nCayla slapped Tony on the back of the head. \"How many times do I have to call you? I swear to God, I thought Shawn was gonna arrest me outside the hospital. I told you he wasn't right with this.\"\n\n\"You wanna stop your yapping and thank me for risking my neck to get here?\" Tony wiped the knife blade on his jeans before shoving it into his boot. \"They's twenty squad cars set up on the other side of the highway. I had to take the back way.\"\n\n\"Well, poor you.\" Cayla picked up her still-burning cigarette from the floor. She grabbed Franklin's Glock and tossed it into the kitchen. \"Take care of Bud and bring my suitcase. If we gotta go the back roads, I'm gonna be late for my flight.\"\n\nTony said, \"Shit, you don't gotta get there four hours ahead. That's for them, not you.\"\n\n\"You ever been on an international flight before?\" she demanded. Tony's expression gave him away. \"Just be quick, and don't forget to bring my suitcase.\" She opened the door, but didn't leave. She walked over to Will and jammed her fingers into his front pocket. He kept his body as still as he could. She pulled out the keys to Sara's BMW. \"Might as well drive there in style.\"\n\nTony slapped her ass. \"Hell yeah, baby.\"\n\nCayla gave Will a nasty look. Her voice went from her usual high-pitched singsong to a witch's snarl. \"Make it hurt, baby. This asshole cost me thirty grand.\"\n\nShe slammed the door behind her.\n\nIn the silence, Will heard a clicking sound. He realized it was the breath stuttering in and out of his mouth.\n\nTony shook his head. \"That gal is a piece of work, lemme tell ya.\"\n\nWill said nothing. Twice now, he'd seen what Tony Dell was capable of. Watching Eric Haigh get stabbed, all Will could think was that he never wanted to go out that way. Now that he'd seen the alternative, he wasn't so sure.\n\nTony breathed out a heavy sigh. \"Get up, Bud. I ain't gonna kill you on the floor.\"\n\nWill struggled to get on his knees. Finally, Tony grabbed his arm and yanked him up. Will tried to pull away, but it was no use. His hands and feet were tied. He was trapped. He was going to die in this house, on this floor, beside Paul Vickery and DeShawn Franklin.\n\nThe only thing that brought him any peace was knowing that Benjamin was safe in the attic. He had Will's phone. They would trace him. They would take Benjamin to his brother. Both boys would be home soon.\n\nBut Sara would have nothing. Will was still legally married to Angie Polaski. The courts wouldn't care that Will hadn't seen her in months, that he'd hired a divorce lawyer to track her down. His wife had all claim to him\u2014not just his body, but his memories. Angie had grown up with Will. By virtue of proximity, she knew more about him than anyone else on earth. She was his Pandora's box that only opened when it was time to mete out pain.\n\nSara had Will's dog, his toothbrush, and whatever clothes he'd left in her apartment.\n\n\"Welp.\" Tony slid the knife out of his boot. \"Might as well get this over with.\" He held it up for Will to see. He'd obviously picked up the trick from the redneck. And as it had before, the trick worked. Will felt his gut clench.\n\nTony smiled at the effect. \"You scared, Bud?\"\n\nWill tried to summon Bill Black. He couldn't let himself die a coward. \"Go ahead and do it, man. Don't drag it out.\"\n\nTony had always been contrary. He lowered the knife. \"I guess you pissed somebody off real good.\" He indicated Will's face. \"Got two black eyes, broke nose. I know Junior didn't do that to you.\"\n\nWill swallowed. His throat was still hurting. He thought about the whiskey Sara had forced him to drink. She was right. It had made him feel better. Everything she did made him feel so much better.\n\nTony asked, \"Who tore into you, Bud?\"\n\nWill knew Tony wanted an answer. This wasn't part of the killing game. \"The cop. He caught up with me last night. Sucker punched me.\" He looked at Paul Vickery. \"Guess he won't do it again.\"\n\nTony laughed. \"Thass a good'un, Bud. I guess he won't.\" He used the knife to clean under his fingernails. The blade dug into the skin under his thumb. Instead of flinching, Tony watched the blood bead up. \"Where'd you get that fancy car?\"\n\nSara's BMW. Her registration was in the glove compartment. \"Stole it off a woman in the cafeteria.\"\n\n\"That right?\"\n\n\"She left her keys on the table. I went out into the parking lot and pressed the button until I found it.\"\n\n\"That's a good trick. I'll have to keep that in mind.\" Tony hefted the knife in his hand, then started flipping it end over end. \"I was wonderin' about somethin', Bud.\" He glanced over his shoulder as if he wanted to make sure they were alone. \"I ain't queer or nothin', but I seen you done some grooming.\" He explained, \"Back at the club, when Denny made you pull your shorts down?\"\n\nWill shook his head. \"What?\"\n\n\"Seems to me, a man don't groom hisself like that unless he's doin' it for a woman. Am I right?\"\n\nWill swallowed again. He couldn't accept that he was going to die talking about his genitals.\n\nTony kept flipping the knife. \"Cayla talked me into shavin' my balls once. They itched so bad I near 'bout scratched 'em off.\" He shrugged. \"I guess it's better what you did?\"\n\nWill couldn't tell if he was asking a question or making an observation.\n\nTony caught the knife by the handle. He smiled, like he'd just figured something out. \"You're still sweet on that lady up in Tennessee, ain't ya?\"\n\nWill tried to summon up a Bill Black answer, but then he remembered that this was exactly the kind of death a man like Bill Black would face. \"Yes,\" Will said. \"I'm in love with her. That's where I was heading\u2014up to Tennessee. I don't want my kid growing up without his daddy.\"\n\n\"That's what I thought,\" Tony said. \"You was just trying to make her jealous, wasn't you? Going out with Cayla like that.\"\n\nWill nodded. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"You came here to tell Cayla that, right? That nothin' was gonna happen?\"\n\n\"I know she's your girl, Tony.\" Will grasped for an excuse to explain why he was here. \"I heard at the hospital they were looking for her. I came here to tell her that she might wanna lay low for a while. I was looking out for her in case you couldn't.\"\n\nTony's jaw twisted to the side as he considered the excuse. Finally, he decided, \"You're a real gentleman, Bud, lookin' out for her like that. I always knew you was good.\" He paused. \"What's this about you leaving town?\"\n\nWill tried not to flinch as he swallowed. \"I was heading up to Tennessee right after I checked on Cayla for you. There's nothing in Macon for me.\"\n\n\"That right?\" Tony asked. \"You was gonna skip out on your parole?\"\n\n\"Heat's too much around here. Too many dead cops. Just a matter of time before the pigs try to pin it all on me.\"\n\n\"You could always turn.\"\n\n\"I don't snitch on my friends. And I won't\u2014\" Will cut himself off before he started begging. Tony liked to hear people beg. \"I wanna see my kid grow up. No reason for me to ever come back here again.\"\n\n\"That's real sweet, Bud. I bet you woulda made a good daddy.\"\n\n\"It's all I ever wanted,\" Will lied. There were too many bad things that could happen to children for Will to ever want one of his own. Still, he told Tony, \"My daddy ran out on me when I was a kid. I don't want to do that to mine.\"\n\nTony studied him carefully. He finally said, \"My daddy ran out on me, too.\"\n\nEvery muscle in Will's throat strained to keep the conversation going, to create some fictional fairy tale about the woman in Tennessee, their wonderful lives together.\n\nBut Will knew it was too late. Tony was done listening. He was trying to make a decision. Will could tell by the way his eyes scanned back and forth as if he could read Will's mind.\n\nFinally, Tony sheathed his knife back in his boot. \"Be careful on them mountain roads.\"\n\nWill felt his lips part. Just like that, the good ol' boy Tony was back.\n\n\"I hear Tennessee's real pretty.\" Tony walked toward the door, then he remembered Cayla's suitcase. He had to grab the handle with both hands. \"Shit, she's got just about every damn thing in the house packed in here.\"\n\nWill didn't speak.\n\nTony said, \"I like you, Bud. It's a shame I ain't never gonna see you again.\" He gave Will a hard look. \"Right?\" Will nodded furiously. \"Right.\"\n\nTony dragged Cayla's suitcase out the front door. He didn't bother closing it behind him.\n\nWill felt his body sway as he listened to the suitcase scrape against the porch. It banged against the concrete steps, then scratched down the driveway.\n\nThey couldn't work Sara's keyfob. The panic alarm went off, but they managed to stop the piercing siren before it got too loud. A door opened and closed, then another one. A few seconds later, a door opened and closed again.\n\nThe engine turned over. The tires screeched as Tony stepped on the gas.\n\nSlowly, Will's body adjusted to the fact that he wasn't going to be stabbed to death. He had to lean on his hands and drag his knees behind him in order to get to the front door. He saw the brake lights on Sara's BMW glow as Tony roared out of the subdivision.\n\nWill sat back on his heels. He closed his eyes and just breathed. His heart was pounding so hard that he could almost feel it tapping against his ribs.\n\nBenjamin.\n\nThe boy was still in the attic.\n\nWill didn't want to call for him in case Tony changed his mind. Besides, Will's hands and feet were bound. He couldn't exactly run up the stairs and catch the kid when he jumped down through the hatch.\n\nAnd there were two dead bodies down here. Benjamin had seen enough bad things to last him a lifetime.\n\nPaul Vickery was lying on his side. The gouge in his head had stopped bleeding. His wrists were bright red where the twine cut into his flesh.\n\nWill pressed his hands to the floor and dragged his knees, thinking he was moving like a caterpillar. It was hard to believe that he'd told the boy that football joke just a few hours ago. He was probably at Grady Hospital by now. So was Sara. She was safe. That was all that ever really mattered.\n\nWill stopped beside Vickery's body. He checked the man's pockets for his cell phone. He found a wallet, a set of car keys, and a handful of change, but no phone. Will patted Vickery's chest. There was something hard underneath his shirt.\n\nVickery groaned, and Will jerked back like a snake had tried to strike.\n\n\" 'Uck.\" Vickery pulled down the gag. He cursed a few more times as he loosened his collar. Will could see the black Kevlar vest underneath his shirt. \"What the hell happened?\"\n\n\"You got shot.\" Will checked Vickery's back. Four flattened bullets were lodged in the vest.\n\n\"By you?\" Vickery asked.\n\n\"No.\" Will sat back on his knees again. \"I saw you on the road talking to Tony Dell last night.\"\n\nVickery blinked, like he couldn't understand. \"No, you didn't.\"\n\n\"White Honda. You were pulled up by Tony's truck.\"\n\n\"Do you know how many white Hondas there are on the road?\" Vickery tried to roll over onto his back. \"Why didn't you tell me you were a cop?\"\n\n\"I was too busy getting the shit kicked out of me.\"\n\nVickery chuckled, like it was a fond memory. And then he looked at DeShawn Franklin and his face fell. \"I trusted that bastard with my life.\"\n\nWill didn't say he was probably right to. \"Where's your phone?\"\n\n\"Front pocket.\" Vickery tried to reach down, but the twine stopped him.\n\nWill knew the pocket was empty, anyway.\n\nReluctantly, he crawled over to Franklin's body. The blood had stopped pumping along with his heart. The wound in his neck had slowed to a dribble. Will tried not to shudder as he searched the body. His wrists being practically glued together didn't make the task easy. An eternity passed before he found the phone in Franklin's shirt pocket.\n\nWill backed away from the dead man before he even looked at the phone. By necessity, he held it in both hands. His thumb swiped the screen. Instead of a keypad, a microphone icon flashed up. The red button below it was flashing. There was a clock counting off the seconds, and below that, a flat line like on a heart monitor.\n\nThe line bobbed up and down when Will told Vickery, \"I think he recorded us.\"\n\nVickery shook his head, but didn't answer.\n\nTwelve minutes, twenty-three seconds. That's how long the recorder had been running. Franklin must've started it when Will woke up from his Taser fugue.\n\nVickery said, \"You gonna call somebody or what?\"\n\nWill pressed the red button. The timer stopped. He wasn't familiar with the phone's operating system, but they were all pretty much the same. He touched his thumb to the icon of a house. He touched the symbol with a telephone receiver. The keypad rolled up. Will dialed Faith's number. He rested his hand on his face as he waited for the connection to go through.\n\nShe answered on the first ring. \"Franklin, what is it?\"\n\n\"It's me,\" Will told her. \"I'm at Cayla's house.\"\n\n\"Will?\" Faith's voice trilled up. \"We've got sixty cops combing the woods for you. We can't pinpoint your phone.\"\n\n\"You need to put an APB on Sara's car. Tony Dell and Cayla Martin stole it. They're headed toward the Atlanta airport, taking the back roads. International terminal. She's going to Germany.\"\n\nFaith didn't bother to cover the phone as she shouted orders to her team. As soon as she finished, she asked Will, \"What about Benjamin?\"\n\n\"He's safe.\" Will looked at Paul Vickery. He still didn't trust the man. \"What about the other thing?\"\n\n\"They're at Grady. Sara called over an hour ago. They're both fine.\"\n\nWill felt relief flood his senses.\n\nFaith said, \"The boy started talking in the ambulance. His name is Aaron Winser. Amanda was right. His parents live in Newfoundland. They were going through a bad custody battle. The father was on a fishing trip. The mom thought he'd abducted the boys. The police were about to arrest him.\" Faith seemed to realize she was talking too fast. She slowed down her words. \"The parents are on their way to Atlanta right now. Jesus, Will. You had me scared to death.\"\n\n\"Hold on.\" Will couldn't stay on his knees any longer. He didn't want to sit down, so he pushed himself up against the wall. Vickery's eyes tracked his every movement. They both heard sirens in the distance.\n\nWill asked, \"How far out are the cruisers?\"\n\nFaith said, \"Five minutes, tops. Call Sara.\"\n\n\"She's probably busy.\"\n\n\"Don't be an idiot.\"\n\nWill heard a click as she hung up the phone. He glanced at Paul Vickery. The man was still on his back, his elbows and knees bent at an uncomfortable angle.\n\nVickery asked, \"You gonna help me here? This hurts like a bitch.\"\n\n\"It certainly looks painful.\" Will felt some give in the twine that was digging into his ankles. After a few unsuccessful shuffles, he hopped toward the kitchen.\n\n\"Where're you going?\" Vickery shouted. \"Come back here!\"\n\nWill didn't stop until the saloon doors flapped behind him. He leaned against the counter to catch his breath. And also to catch himself, because hopping around was harder than it looked.\n\nDeShawn Franklin's phone had gone back to screensaver mode. The picture showed two little girls dressed in Mickey Mouse ears. Will didn't want to think about someone telling the man's nieces what had happened. He swiped the screen and dialed Sara's number.\n\nShe was used to getting strange calls on her hospital phone. Still, her tone was strained when she answered, \"Dr. Linton.\"\n\nWill said, \"I'm okay,\" in a voice that sounded exactly the opposite.\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\" Now that he had her on the line, Will felt it all start to catch up to him. Sara had literally saved him by the short hairs.\n\n\"Will?\"\n\n\"Everything's fine.\" He made his voice stronger. \"I'm just a little tied up at the moment.\" He stopped himself from laughing at his own joke, mostly because he was pretty sure Sara wouldn't find it that funny. \"I don't know about your car, though.\"\n\n\"Sweetheart, do you think I give a damn about my car?\"\n\nWill hoped she still felt the same when she turned on the news and saw her BMW being tracked up I-75. \"Are you at the hospital?\"\n\n\"I'm at home. Denise gave me a lift while Amanda interviewed the boy. She's going back to Grady to stay with Aaron until his parents are there. Did Faith tell you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Will closed his eyes. He liked thinking about Sara being safe at home. \"What are you doing?\"\n\n\"Lying on the couch. I was going to take a shower, but I feel like I've been run over by a truck. I'm too sore to move.\"\n\nWill thought about the night before. \"Sore from me?\"\n\n\"A little,\" she allowed. \"When do you think you'll be back in Atlanta?\"\n\n\"I'm driving back tonight.\" Will decided at that moment that he would quit his job if that was the only way to make it happen. \"I'll call you when I'm ten minutes out.\" He covered the bottom part of the phone with his hand, an easy task considering there was no daylight between his wrists. Still, he lowered his voice, telling Sara, \"I want you to fill the bathtub when I call.\"\n\nShe sounded surprised, but said, \"Okay.\"\n\n\"When I get there, I want you to get in the tub with me.\"\n\nHer \"Okay\" was very different this time.\n\n\"Then we're going to talk.\"\n\nHer voice changed again. \"Just talk?\"\n\n\"I'm going to answer every question you ask me.\"\n\n\"Every question?\" she repeated. \"The water will go cold.\"\n\n\"We'll keep it warm,\" he told her. \"I mean it, Sara. No more secrets.\" Will looked out the kitchen window. He saw a police cruiser kicking up dust in the distance. His resolve started to slip. Will felt like he was stepping out onto a tightrope. His hands were so slick he could barely hold the phone.\n\nStill, he managed to say the one thing he should've told her in the first place. \"I trust you.\"\n\nSara didn't speak, but he could hear her breath through the phone.\n\nWill felt his throat start to tighten. He should probably hang up. He wanted to hang up. But he asked, \"What do you think? Does that sound good?\"\n\n\"Baby.\" She sighed out the word. \"I think that sounds like the perfect way to start the rest of our lives.\"\n\n# 17.  \nMACON, GEORGIA\n\n **FIVE DAYS LATER**\n\nLena sat across the table from yet another Internal Affairs investigator. Brock Patterson's black-and-white ensemble reminded her of the woman who'd investigated her the week before. Lena wondered whether there was a departmental dress code or if they all secretly worked night shifts at Olive Garden. If their pay was commensurate with Lena's, it wasn't a stretch.\n\n\"Detective Adams?\" Patterson said. He'd obviously asked a question. Lena had stopped paying attention when she'd figured out the repetitive code to his interrogation. Every twenty minutes, he reset, asking the same questions he'd asked before, but using different inflections, different phrasing.\n\n_When did you find the boy?_\n\n_You found the boy when?_\n\n_Where was the boy when you found him?_\n\nThe boy. Aaron Winser. He was safe now, but they were all too terrified to say his name on the record.\n\nIf Lena was being honest, she never wanted to think about the boy again. Not out of spite, but out of self-preservation. She'd spent four days rehashing every horrible detail of the shooting gallery\u2014the dead bodies, the cold fear that sat in the pit of her belly when she stared down Sid Waller. And then the worst part, the part that she'd left out during the first investigation\u2014finding the boy.\n\nLena still had nightmares about pulling back that panel in the basement, seeing those two terrified eyes staring back at her. Aaron's pupils had been black as coal, set in a field of reddish white. He hadn't said a word when Lena lifted him out of the hole. He'd felt so light. Like a blanket. Lena had cradled him in her arms, cooing to him. She'd never had a maternal bone in her body, but with Aaron, it came naturally. She stroked his hair. Kissed her lips to his dry forehead. Her hand on his back felt the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart, and she thought of her little bean, forever captured on that ultrasound file she kept on her computer at the office.\n\n\"Detective Adams?\" Patterson said. \"Could you please focus?\"\n\n\"Can't you just look back at your notes and write down what I told you the first time?\"\n\n\"The first time you were interviewed or the first time you told the truth?\"\n\n_Point taken_.\n\nLena sat back in her chair. It was uncomfortable by design. The room was cold, painted cinder blocks with scuff marks around the vinyl baseboard. She stared at the mirror behind Patterson, wondering who was watching. Her last run-in with the rat squad had taken place in the conference room. Lena guessed with Lonnie Gray sitting in jail, the whole force was being treated differently.\n\nThere was a half-empty bottle of Coke on the table. Lena took a long sip before putting it back down. \"Tell me why this happened.\"\n\nPatterson's mouth turned down. He looked like the living embodiment of a frowny-faced emoticon.\n\nLena said, \"No one will tell me why Jared and I were attacked. Was it because of the boy? Did they think I knew where he was?\"\n\nPredictably, Patterson wouldn't yield. \"It's my job to ask the questions.\"\n\n\"Is it really my job to answer them?\" Lena asked. She was sick of not knowing. It was all she could think about. What had she done to bring this down on them? What stupid mistake had she made? What asshole had she pissed off?\n\nShe told Patterson, \"My husband was almost killed. I was attacked in my home. Don't you think I deserve to know why?\"\n\n\"My colleague is investigating the attack. As you know, you and I are here on a different matter.\" Patterson had the poker face of a banker denying a loan. \"Your cooperation would go a long way toward\u2014\"\n\n\"Toward what?\" she interrupted. \"I wasn't involved in any of this. I did what my commanding officer told me to do.\"\n\n\"You lied under oath.\"\n\n\"Did I?\" Lena smiled. She'd been too careful for that. The first investigator hadn't asked about the boy. As far as Lena knew, there was no law that said you had to volunteer information.\n\nPatterson sat back in his chair, obviously trying to mimic her relaxed demeanor. \"We're both on the same side, Detective Adams.\" He tried to sound reasonable, though they both knew he had skin in this game. He'd be looking at a big promotion if he could weed out a few more bad cops, and the man had made it clear from the beginning that he didn't trust Lena. \"We just want to make sure the case against Mr. Gray holds. It seems to me we share the same goal here.\"\n\n\"Mr. Gray,\" Lena echoed. No one was calling him Chief anymore. No one was laying claim to him at all. \"My goal is to get back to my husband. He's better, by the way. Thanks for your concern.\"\n\nPatterson tucked his chin into his chest. He did this whenever Lena pushed back, a physical manifestation of hitting a brick wall. He let out a short puff of air, then stacked together some papers on the table. \"I'll be just a minute.\" He stood up. \"Feel free to take a bathroom break if you need one.\"\n\nLena gave him a salute as he left the room. He was obviously going to confer with whoever was behind the one-way mirror. She guessed it was Amanda Wagner. The deputy director would count arresting Lonnie Gray as a feather in her cap, though the truth was that Will Trent deserved the credit. He was the one who'd risked his life.\n\nHe was also the one who'd kept Lena from killing a man.\n\nWhile Lena was no stranger to having blood on her hands, taking on the two rednecks who'd broken into her house had been different. If she thought about it too long, the bloodlust came back. She could feel it boiling up into the back of her throat. Her muscles tensed. Her hands clenched. Even standing in the ICU over Jared's bed, Lena had struggled with the impulse to go one floor down and finish the job on the monster who'd wanted to kill her husband.\n\nNot that he'd succeeded.\n\nBy some miracle, the doctor said that Jared was going to make a full recovery. He was looking at a few months of physical therapy, but his otherwise good health and youth had been on his side. Of course, now the same two things were working against him. Jared had been home less than thirty-six hours and he was already going stir-crazy\u2014staying up too much, moving around too much, getting in her business too much.\n\nShe was tempted to send him to his mother's. Lena didn't hate the woman as much now, maybe because Darnell Long was the only reason Lena had a functioning kitchen. Fortunately, Jared's mother seemed to understand that their truce was only as strong as the miles between them. She had already made one trip back to Alabama. If Lena was lucky, Nell wouldn't return to Macon until the trial.\n\nNot that Lena thought there would be a trial. Just this morning, Fred Zachary, the second shooter, had taken a deal in exchange for giving up the rednecks at Tipsie's. The rednecks weren't talking, but it was probably just a matter of time before they decided to play ball.\n\nThat left Tony Dell, and Mr. Snitch had made it clear he didn't want a deal. He admitted to being on the street the night Jared was shot. He admitted to stabbing Eric and DeShawn to death. He corroborated everything DeShawn had told Will Trent about Big Whitey and Sid Waller. Basically, he'd thrown everybody under the bus, including himself. It wouldn't be long before someone decided Dell should stop talking. Lena figured he was planning his own suicide. The fact was that Tony Dell had nothing to lose.\n\nThe Atlanta police had caught up with Dell and Cayla Martin outside the international terminal at Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. Dell was obviously a psychopath, but he was also a survivor. He'd known the gig was up. He'd raised his hands and gotten out of the car.\n\nCayla Martin wouldn't go so easy. She'd jumped behind the wheel and tried to outrun the police. Unfortunately, she'd run in the wrong direction. Lena wondered what was going through the nurse's mind when she saw the shuttle bus speeding straight toward her. According to the accident report, there were about two seconds between the time Martin tried to turn the wheel and the head-on collision. Lena knew what it felt like when you thought you were about to die. Two seconds was an eternity. Martin wasn't wearing a seatbelt. Probably another second passed as she flew headfirst into the shuttle bus and snapped her neck on one of the seatbacks.\n\nLena couldn't help but think that the sweetest part of that story was not Martin's brutal death, but the fact that Sara Linton's sixty-five-thousand-dollar BMW had been turned into the world's most expensive Rubik's Cube.\n\nLaughter tickled Lena's throat as she pushed herself up from the chair. She started pacing the room, forcing herself not to count off the steps because she already knew the space was twelve feet across by ten feet deep. She looked up at the camera. She smiled, though she felt the snarl in her teeth. She wanted to get through the pile of paperwork on her desk. She wanted to check on Jared. She wanted to go home and do the things that made her feel like a normal person: clean the house top to bottom, do the laundry, tend to her garden in the front yard. Winter was just around the corner. Lena should probably pull out the petunias, but she didn't have it in her to let anything die just now.\n\nShe'd been to too many funerals lately.\n\nDeShawn Franklin's body had been unceremoniously cremated at a facility outside of Macon. Other than the mortician, Lena was the only person in attendance. His sister didn't want her children there. His ex-wife wouldn't speak his name and his current wife wouldn't show her face in public. Jared hadn't wanted Lena to go, but he didn't try to stop her, either. She had made a lot of mistakes in her life. She figured DeShawn had tried to do right at the end. He'd turned on that recorder on his phone. Lena didn't know everything that the recording had captured\u2014nobody at the station did\u2014but apparently, DeShawn had given Will Trent enough evidence to bring down Big Whitey's organization. That detail alone earned DeShawn one pair of clear eyes watching him go to his maker.\n\nEric Haigh's interment had been markedly different. The state had cleared him just before the burial yesterday morning, so he'd been given a proper send-off with officers in dress uniforms and a full police escort. Lena guessed she wasn't the only cop there thinking that the last funeral they'd all attended was Chuck Gray's. Lonnie's son had died of leukemia three months ago. Lena had cried at Chuck's ceremony\u2014not because she liked Chuck, who was the kind of spoiled asshole you'd expect of the chief's son\u2014but because she'd felt so bad for Lonnie Gray.\n\nShe imagined Lonnie was feeling very sorry for himself right now. He had an excellent law firm fighting the charges against him, but as smart as Lonnie was, he'd made one enormous mistake. Lena figured it was arrogance that had brought him down. Lonnie never considered the possibility that the GBI would seize his home computer. Even without the murders, kidnappings, and trafficking, the state had found enough child porn on the chief's hard drive to send him away for a hundred years.\n\nStupid, sick bastard.\n\nLast month, Lena had run a 10K with Lonnie. They were raising money for leukemia research. Lonnie had thirty years on her, but he'd beaten her to the finish line. Lena relished the thought of his strong heart ticking away as he marked off prison time for the rest of his miserable life. She hoped some big, nasty con did to Lonnie Gray exactly what he'd done to Marie Sorensen and all those other poor kids. Lena hoped they did it to him every second of every day until Lonnie fell over from exhaustion. And then she hoped they picked him back up and started all over again.\n\nLena wanted to think Lonnie's imprisonment would help Marie Sorensen's mom and the Winser family sleep better at night, but she knew from experience that some demons never went away.\n\nThe door opened again. Patterson stood with his hand on the knob. He didn't enter the room. He looked highly annoyed, which told her everything she needed to know.\n\nLena said, \"I guess the rat didn't get his cheese.\"\n\nShe didn't wait for Patterson's response. She brushed past him, flashing her teeth the same as she had for the camera. Lena knew that she shouldn't push it, that she hadn't gotten away with anything, but anytime you left the rat squad with your badge intact was a reason to celebrate.\n\nLena felt her smile abruptly drop when she saw Denise Branson standing in the hallway. She had known that Denise was in the building, but Lena had prayed like hell that she would never have to see the woman again. Not that Lena had ever had a prayer answered before in her life.\n\nNor had she ever seen Denise Branson so obviously uncomfortable. It was hard to look at. She shuffled from one foot to another. She wouldn't look Lena in the eye. There was an air of humiliation about her, as if she'd been beaten down so many times over the last four days that she'd forgotten what it was like to get back up.\n\nPatterson said, \"Ms. Branson?\"\n\nHis tone had a snarky edge to it that Lena didn't like. If the man had kept silent, Lena probably would've never spoken to Denise again. As it was, she asked the woman, \"You need a bathroom break?\"\n\nDenise was obviously surprised by the question. Still, she nodded, and they both headed toward the one place Brock Patterson couldn't follow them. Lena saw the disappointed look on his face as the door to the ladies' room closed.\n\nDenise got right to the point. Her voice had the practiced tone of somebody who was used to apologizing. \"I'm sorry. I've got no excuse for what I did to you.\"\n\nLena prompted, \"But?\"\n\n\"No buts.\" Denise seemed resolute. There was none of her usual self-assured swagger. \"I misled you about the boy. I dragged you into this without your knowledge. I've got the rat squad looking at you when you didn't do anything wrong.\"\n\nLena asked the question. \"Is that why they tried to kill me and Jared, because they thought I knew where the boy was?\"\n\nDenise shook her head, then shrugged. \"I don't know, Lee. It doesn't make sense that they'd go after y'all instead of me.\"\n\nLena kept coming to the same conclusion. She was a dog chasing its tail. \"Who else did you tell about the boy?\"\n\n\"Friends. People I could trust.\"\n\n\"I thought I was a friend you could trust.\"\n\nThis time, Denise had an excuse. \"I thought I was protecting you.\"\n\n\"That's a lie,\" Lena said. \"You didn't trust anybody at work. Not me, not Lonnie. You knew something was wrong. You thought there was a mole, and you thought it could be anybody from the top down.\"\n\nDenise let out a heavy sigh. She looked like she couldn't muster the strength to argue anymore.\n\nLena asked, \"Did you suspect Lonnie was Big Whitey?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she admitted. Lena could tell from her expression that this was the truth. \"It seemed odd that Big Whitey was getting tipped off. I thought maybe it was one of Lonnie's secretaries or somebody on your team.\"\n\n\"Or me?\"\n\nDenise's gaze settled somewhere behind Lena. \"I didn't think so, but the stakes were too high for that kind of risk.\"\n\nLena studied Denise Branson, thinking not for the first time that she was looking at herself five years ago. The old Lena would've absolutely tried to go it alone. She didn't trust anybody. She didn't lean on anybody. She never asked for help. She thought there was only one person in the entire world who could do things the right way. Even today, all those tendencies were still there. Lena spent a good deal of her time battling her baser impulses. Sometimes she won. A lot of times she still lost. She consoled herself with the knowledge that at least she was trying.\n\nLena said, \"I heard Lonnie was in the mayor's office when they grabbed him. Took him straight out the front door of city hall so God and everybody could see him.\"\n\nDenise grinned, obviously familiar with the story. \"That blonde chick's the one who arrested him. Agent Mitchell. I bet she kept her foot up his ass the whole time.\"\n\nLena didn't doubt it. \"If Lonnie was half the man he claimed to be, he'd find a way to kill himself, save the courts the trouble.\"\n\n\"Give me a damn shiv, I'll do it myself.\"\n\n\"Get in line.\" Lena blew out a long breath \"I can't waste anymore of my time on that bastard. How're the boys doing?\"\n\nDenise's face lit up with something that could only be described as pure joy. \"They're good, Lee. I put Aaron in his mama's arms myself. He's surrounded by family. He's back with his brother. It's gonna be tough, but they've all got each other.\"\n\nAgain, Lena got the strange sensation of looking at herself. All those balls juggled in the air were worth it when you managed to keep them going. Watching them fly brought a bigger rush than any drug on the street. Of course, the high never lasted. No one could keep juggling that many balls for long. The first time one of them dropped, you wanted to die. The second time, you felt bad. The third and fourth times, you just found another ball to throw up into the air and moved on.\n\nLena had dropped so many balls in her lifetime that she'd lost count.\n\nShe told Denise, \"I forgive you.\"\n\nDenise looked surprised, then wary. \"Why?\"\n\n\"I have no idea,\" Lena confessed. She was living proof that second chances worked, but she'd never been able to extend that courtesy to anyone else. Losing Jeffrey Tolliver had taught her a lot of things, but the possibility of losing Jared had floored her.\n\nDenise asked, \"You wanna think about it?\"\n\n\"No.\" Lena offered the naked, unadorned truth. \"DeShawn and Eric are dead. Lonnie turned out to be Satan. Paul's put in an application for the Atlanta PD. Jared almost died.\" Lena felt a lump in her throat. She left her little bean off the list, but the memory was still raw. \"I guess I can't afford to lose anybody else.\"\n\nDenise was still skeptical. \"It's probably my fault you and Jared almost got killed. I could've gotten you fired. It's only through the grace of God that those assholes in IA believe your story.\"\n\n\"You think they believe me?\" Lena laughed. \"The only reason I'm not on the street or in a jail cell is they can't prove anything.\" She walked to the sink and turned on the faucet. The water was ice cold. Lena bent down and drank from the tap.\n\nDenise said, \"I've been a bad friend to you. I know that.\" Her voice went low. \"And I know you've been going through some things. Before all this, I mean.\"\n\nLena turned off the faucet. Denise wasn't the only one with trust issues. It had never occurred to Lena to talk to anybody about losing the baby\u2014not to Jared, not to Denise, not even to herself. Truthfully, it felt like too much of a failure, something she should be ashamed of.\n\nAnd even if it didn't feel that way, Lena wasn't about to pour out her heart in the women's toilet at the police station.\n\nShe told Denise, \"It's all right. It's something I had to go through on my own.\"\n\n\"I get that.\" Denise wasn't one to sit around gazing at her navel, either. \"I'm here if you want to talk, though.\"\n\nLena looked down at her hand. It was resting on the sink instead of pressed to her empty belly. She wondered if that's how it happened\u2014incrementally. The nurse from Dr. Benedict's office had been right about one thing: it didn't go away, but it got different.\n\nLena let out another long breath. She looked at the mirror over the sink, thinking she'd aged about twenty years since this all started. \"Jared's been bugging the shit out of me. I could use an excuse to get out of the house.\"\n\nDenise caught Lena's gaze in the mirror. \"Me, too.\"\n\nLena waited.\n\nDenise cleared her throat. She struggled to speak. \"Her name's Lila. We've been dating for a while.\"\n\nLena didn't push it. \"How long is IA gonna keep you here?\"\n\n\"Long as it takes.\"\n\n\"Call me when you're finished. We'll go to Barney's.\"\n\nDenise looked away. The beaten-down expression was back. Barney's was a cop bar. She obviously didn't want to be seen by the men she used to command.\n\n\"You know what?\" Lena grabbed a handful of paper towels. \"As far as I can tell, you were the only cop on this entire force who saw something was wrong with Lonnie. You saved that kidnapped boy's life. You kept him hidden and safe. You made sure he got home to his family. You gave Marie Sorensen's mother a face to the name. You took a vicious predator off the streets. You wrapped all of this up in a pretty bow for the state to untie.\" She tossed the paper towels into the trash. \"Am I right? You did all that?\"\n\n\"That's one way to phrase it.\"\n\n\"As far as I'm concerned, that's the only way to phrase it to any asshole who asks.\"\n\nDenise shook her head. She saw where this was going. \"IA isn't gonna see me as a hero, Lee. They're gonna fire my ass as soon as it hits the chair.\"\n\n\"Then you tell them you'll go straight to whichever news station will take you. Hell, go to the nationals. Go up to Canada. Tell them what you did to save that boy, and then let the Macon PD explain why they fired you for it.\" Lena laughed at the thought. \"If they need somebody to corroborate your story, give them my number.\"\n\nDenise stared openly. \"You are one crazy bitch. You know that?\"\n\n\"Maybe.\" Lena rested her hand on the door, but didn't open it. \"I've been exactly where you are right now too many times not to know how to dig out of it.\"\n\n\"You really think that's gonna work?\"\n\n\"Never underestimate the modern police force's aversion to bad publicity,\" Lena said, thinking she should put that on a plaque by her office door. \"Don't let them hit your pension. That's what they'll go after first. Don't let them bust your rank to anything lower than detective.\" Lena smiled as she thought of something. \"What do you think Paul's odds are getting onto the Atlanta PD?\"\n\nDenise smiled, too. \"White male, ex-military? They'll roll out the red carpet.\"\n\n\"Either way, I'll need a new partner.\"\n\n\"Little salt and pepper?\"\n\n\"More like _Chico and the Man_.\" Lena held open the door. Her smile dropped for the second time that day.\n\nWill Trent was leaning against the wall. His face was a mess. Black and blue bruises were punctuated by dark red spots that were about the size of a grown man's knuckles.\n\nLena told Denise, \"Call me about that beer.\"\n\n\"You got it.\" Denise didn't look at Will as she headed toward the interrogation room. Patterson was standing sentry in the doorway. He glared at Lena. She resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at him.\n\nWill waited until Denise had shut the door. He told Lena, \"I see Jared's out and about.\" She must've looked confused, because he said, \"I just saw him go into the locker room.\"\n\nLena felt her jaw clench. She was going to kill Jared. After all her stupid husband had survived, she was going to strangle him with her bare hands.\n\nWill nodded down the hall toward Denise. \"She going to be okay?\"\n\n\"What do you think?\" Lena asked. She wasn't being belligerent. The state would have a lot of sway in Denise's case.\n\nWill said, \"I think the department has enough bad press without pissing off somebody like Denise Branson.\"\n\nLena wondered how much Will had heard standing out in the hallway. \"She seems ready to take her medicine.\"\n\n\"In my experience, people like that don't generally stay down for the count.\" He stared his meaning into her. They both knew Lena had a habit of rising from the ashes.\n\n\"Right.\" Lena looked at her watch, though the only thing on her immediate agenda was to drag her idiot husband home by the collar. \"I'll let you get back to work.\"\n\n\"I'm already finished. I was waiting to talk to you.\"\n\nLena felt dread flood through her body. \"About what?\"\n\n\"To tell you that you were right.\"\n\nShe laughed, thinking this was some kind of joke. \"Right about what?\"\n\n\"The attack. IA wanted me to wait until you were cleared to tell you.\"\n\nLena wasn't laughing anymore. \"Tell me what?\"\n\n\"It wasn't your fault. The reason those two men went to your house that night was because Jared said something at your doctor's office.\"\n\nLena couldn't make sense of the words. It was like he was speaking Japanese.\n\nWill explained, \"Cayla Martin was filling in for one of the nurses at Dr. Benedict's office while you were there. She overheard Jared talking about Big Whitey.\"\n\nLena's mouth didn't just open in surprise. Her jaw practically grazed the floor. Cayla Martin. The name had sounded familiar when Lena first heard it three days ago, but she'd never in a million years put it together. \"I thought she just worked at the hospital. That she was Tony Dell's stepsister.\"\n\n\"She did part-time work at Dr. Benedict's office.\" Will spoke carefully, like he was explaining it to a child. \"Cayla overheard Jared telling you that Lonnie Gray was Big Whitey.\"\n\n\"No.\" Lena felt a dry laugh scratch her throat. The conversation sounded more and more like a really bad joke. \"He wasn't serious.\"\n\n\"Cayla felt differently. She told DeShawn Franklin, who said it was probably nothing, and then she told Lonnie Gray, who put out a hit on you and your husband.\"\n\nNone of this made sense. \"How did she\u2014\"\n\n\"Cayla was dating Chuck Gray before he died of leukemia. She was close to Lonnie. Or, as close as two people like that can be.\" Will put his hands in his pockets. \"You want my personal theory, I think she was just one of those women who likes stirring things up.\"\n\nLena felt her head shaking even as her brain tried to process the information. She remembered the doctor's visit. She remembered Jared talking shit. And she remembered taking him seriously for just a brief moment before dismissing his theory like she dismissed every jackass theory that came out of his mouth.\n\nAll she could manage was, \"I don't believe you.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" Will asked. \"It's the truth.\" There was no smile on his face, no indication that he was about to reveal the punch line. \"It wasn't your fault. I wouldn't say it was Jared's fault, either. It's just something that happened.\"\n\nLena pressed her back against the wall. She'd been racking her brain trying to figure out where she'd gone wrong, what she'd done, and in the end, she was completely blameless. \"I just assumed...\" Lena shook her head again. She was turning into a bobblehead doll. \"I thought it was something to do with work.\"\n\n\"That's a reasonable assumption,\" Will agreed. \"We all thought it was work-related. But it wasn't.\"\n\n\"We were...\" She let her voice trail off. Lena couldn't say the most startling part of all: On the street, you expected bad things to happen. They had been in her doctor's office. Lena had thought they were safe.\n\nShe told Will, \"I don't even remember meeting her. I've seen her face all over the news and it never even crossed my mind.\" She felt a jolt from a distant memory. \"I think she even called me on the phone.\"\n\nWill said, \"If it helps any, you've really annoyed my partner. She's spent her professional career saying there's no such thing as coincidence.\"\n\nLena kept shaking her head. She'd never believed in coincidences, either.\n\n\"So,\" Will said. \"Any questions?\"\n\nLena could only think of one. \"Does Sara know it wasn't my fault?\"\n\nHe hesitated, but told her, \"Yes.\"\n\nLena didn't even try to fight the smile on her lips. \"And she knows that you're down here telling me?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"She didn't try to stop you?\"\n\n\"I should head back to Atlanta.\" Will pushed away from the wall, obviously uneasy with the subject. \"I'm glad everything worked out for you and Jared.\"\n\nShe couldn't let him leave. \"Why didn't you just call me? Or email me?\"\n\nHe gave her a knowing look. \"You always come out better when we're off the record.\"\n\nLena didn't have to ask for clarification. Her memory flashed up that night in the house when she'd held the hammer over her head. Jared was bleeding out on the floor. One man was already dead. Even now, the bruise on Lena's knee was still tender where she'd dropped her full weight onto Fred Zachary's spine. If she thought about it hard enough, she could hear the crack of bone echoing in her ears.\n\nGeorgia's Castle Doctrine law provided that any man or woman could use deadly force against an intruder so long as they believed their life was in danger.\n\nWill Trent knew just as well as Lena that Fred Zachary had no longer been a threat.\n\nHe gave a slight bow, his only acknowledgment of the truth between them. \"Until next time.\"\n\n\"There's not going to be a next time.\"\n\n\"Lena.\" He sounded almost wistful. \"I really hope you're right.\"\n\nWill kept his hands in his pockets as he walked away. Lena remembered the first time she'd met him. With his three-piece suits and mild manner, he was more like an undertaker than a cop. In Lena's quest to learn from her mistakes, Will Trent was up there with the big life lessons. That undertaker had almost sent her to prison.\n\nAnd not without good reason.\n\nLena gave Will enough time to leave the building before she approached the interrogation room door. She listened carefully, but couldn't hear anything. Denise had a quiet voice and Brock Patterson had the dulcet tones of an ancient nun. Lena pressed her palm to the door as an act of silent solidarity. So many times, Lena had been on the other side of that door. So many times, she'd known in her heart that no one was waiting on the other side.\n\n\"Hey.\"\n\nShe spun around, surprised to find Jared behind her. The shock wore off quickly. \"You dumbass. What are you doing up here? How did you\u2014\"\n\nHe kissed her in a sloppy way that was meant to shut her up.\n\nLena scowled as she pulled away. He was wearing blue sweatpants and a bright orange Auburn sweatshirt. His bandages were off. His hair stuck up like a duck's ass in the back. The scalp had Frankenstein stitches that had already been documented on several Facebook pages.\n\nShe asked, \"How did you get here? You're not supposed to be driving.\"\n\n\"Estefan picked me up to come see the new Harleys.\"\n\n\"Estefan,\" she muttered. The two had half a brain between them. \"You need to go home.\"\n\n\"So, take me home.\" He wrapped his arms around her waist.\n\n\"Jared.\"\n\n\"Take me home.\" He grabbed her ass to get her going. Lena slapped away his hand. Cameras covered almost every angle of the building. She imagined the front desk sergeant was pressing _record_ at this very moment.\n\nShe said, \"You should be at home asleep right now. You were in the hospital. You almost died.\"\n\n\"I'm not sleepy.\"\n\n\"Bullshit. You can barely keep your eyes open.\"\n\n\"I wish you couldn't keep your mouth open.\"\n\nShe gave him a sharp look, but she took the hint. Lena had spent enough time with Nell to know the kind of wife she didn't want to be. She was all for putting a man in his place, but Jared's father was so neutered he probably sat down on the toilet to pee.\n\nJared leaned on her as they made their way toward the front exit. \"These bikes are gonna ride awesome, babe. There's push buttons on the bags, they've all got the 103 power pack...\"\n\nLena tuned him out. She let Will's revelation roll through her mind. Cayla Martin. Dr. Benedict's office. No matter how hard Lena tried, she still couldn't recall meeting the woman. She was just one of those faceless people who blended into the scenery.\n\nJared didn't remember her, either. At least he hadn't commented the one time he'd watched the news with Lena. Cayla Martin's face had come on-screen and he'd turned off the TV before the story could run.\n\nUnlike Lena, Jared didn't seem interested in finding out why they'd been targeted. He was too focused on being happy that the shooters hadn't succeeded. More likely, he thought it was Lena's fault but didn't want her to feel bad about it.\n\nLena had no problem letting him live in blissful ignorance. Since Fred Zachary had made a plea deal, there would be no trial. There would be no testimony explaining why two men had been sent to kill Lena and Jared. There was no reason for Jared to ever find out that he'd been at the root of all this evil. As forgiving as he was of others, he did not easily forgive himself. Lena was much more accustomed to living with guilt.\n\nNot that she'd ever felt guilty for lying to her husband.\n\nThey finally reached the front lobby. Jared stopped walking. He put his hand to the wall to help keep his balance. They both knew they were in a camera blind spot. Every cop in the building knew how to stay off film.\n\nInstead of doing something lewd, he told Lena, \"You smell a little sweaty.\"\n\n\"Thanks a lot.\" She punched him in the shoulder.\n\nHe smiled sweetly. \"Have your eyes always been brown?\"\n\n\"Have you always been an idiot?\"\n\nHe stopped smiling. The creases at the corners of his eyes didn't completely go away. \"I want to try again.\"\n\nLena felt her face flush. He didn't have to tell her what he wanted to try again. \"Do you think that's a good idea?\"\n\n\"Hell no.\" He laughed. \"That didn't stop us the first time.\"\n\nLena couldn't respond. She wasn't sure how she felt, whether or not she was ready. Last time had been an accident. To do it on purpose seemed like tempting fate.\n\n\"Lee.\" Jared took her hand. He'd been doing that a lot lately. Lena kept waiting to feel annoyed, but mostly, she found herself appreciating the solid feel of his hand, the tight grasp that told her he was going to be all right.\n\nHe said, \"I want a baby with you. I want to make a life together. A family.\"\n\nJust hearing the words made her want all of it, but Lena was too afraid to answer, too terrified to get her hopes up again.\n\nWhich is why she said, \"Okay.\"\n\nJared grinned like a fool. \"Really?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" She said it again just to make sure. \"Yes.\"\n\nHe kissed her, his mouth lingering longer than usual. His hand cradled her face. Jared looked into her eyes. His thumb traced where his lips had been. \"And I want to rip out the kitchen because my dad did it wrong.\"\n\nLena's string of profanities was muffled by a trumpet of motorcycles pulling into the parking lot. She could see them lining up through the glass doors. Six Harley-Davidson police-issue bikes gleamed in the sunshine, courtesy of Sid Waller's stash of money in the basement of the shooting gallery.\n\n\"Hot damn!\" Jared sounded like a frat boy at a pool party. He hobbled toward the parking lot, grabbing the back of a chair, the door handle, anything he could use to propel himself toward the bikes.\n\nLena shook her head as she took a key out of her pocket. Weapons weren't allowed in areas where prisoners were kept, so there was a row of lockers by the front door. She slid her key into the correct lock. Lena had never been the type of woman to carry a purse. She had shoved her messenger bag into the tiny locker so many times that the canvas was worn where the metal edges scraped into the material. Out of habit, she did a quick inventory of the bag, making sure her Glock was inside, her wallet, her keys, her pens.\n\nAlmost as an afterthought, she checked the outside pocket for the postcard. There it was\u2014stamped and ready to go. Lena had been carrying the postcard around with her for three days, putting it in her bag, sticking it in her pocket, tossing it onto the dresser. Now, she pulled out the card and looked at the photograph of downtown Macon. \"Thank you for visiting the Heart of Georgia\" was written across the top in a curly yellow script.\n\nLena flipped the card over. The address was the same one she'd written years ago on an envelope she'd mailed to Atlanta.\n\nThe letter.\n\nLena knew that she'd always placed too much value on Sara Linton's opinion. For years, Lena had let the blame for Jeffrey's death shadow her every move. She was so low at one point that she had to reach up to touch bottom. Lena had written the letter to beg for Sara's forgiveness, to seek absolution. She'd structured her case the same way she would present an investigation in court. She'd testified to her own good character. She'd laid out the evidence. She'd highlighted the inconsistencies. She'd expertly spun the divergent facts in her favor. Lena hadn't been writing an apology. She had been begging for the return of her very soul.\n\nThe postcard was different. Two words, not three pages. Giving something, not asking for it.\n\nThe truth was that Lena had recovered her soul on her own. When she looked at her life now, all she could see was good. She was good at her job. She was good to her friends. She had married a good man, even if he talked too much. They would eventually have a child together. Maybe more than one child. They would raise their family. They would suffer through Nell's visits. They would have birthday parties, Christmases, and Thanksgivings, and no matter what Sara Linton thought about Lena's choices, she would always know that she had done the right thing.\n\nVirtue was its own absolution.\n\nThere was a mail slot by the lockers, a brass plaque with the words U.S. MAIL engraved in bold print across the top. Every day around lunchtime, the woman in the front office collected the outgoing mail and took it to the post office. One of the perks of working at a police station. Especially if you liked long lunches.\n\nLena stared down at the postcard. For just a moment, she thought about tearing it up. She couldn't bring herself to do it. Lena was fine. Sara was the one who needed forgiveness. She was the one who couldn't let go. It cost nothing to release her.\n\nLena angled the postcard into the mail slot. She held on for just a second, then let it drop into the basket below.\n\nOutside, a motorcycle revved. Jared was straddling the bike. Estefan was behind him because he couldn't hold it up on his own.\n\nLena hefted her bag over her shoulder as she headed toward the door.\n\nToward Jared.\n\nToward her life.\n\nShe smiled at the thought of Sara reading the postcard. The message was simple. Lena could've just as easily written it to herself\u2014\n\n_You win_.\n_For Angela, Diane, and Victoria\u2014  \nmy champions_\n\n# **Acknowledgments**\n\nI feel very lucky to have some really great folks on my team, among them Angela Cheng Caplan, Diane Dickensheid, and Victoria Sanders. Thank y'all so much for being the glue that helps hold this thing together.\n\nAs always, much praise goes to my editors, Kate Elton and Jennifer Hershey, for their insight and generosity.\n\nYet again, Dr. David Harper was very helpful with the medical details. He's kept Sara from killing lots of people over the years, and I appreciate his continued guidance. I owe eternal gratitude to the fine agents at the Georgia Bureau of Investigation for answering what I am sure seem like crazy questions. I promise I am only asking how to commit crimes in service to story. Chip Pendleton, MD, is a great doctor and even more generous adviser on all things Grady. I thank you, sir, for your ribald sense of humor and\u2014more important\u2014your time.\n\nTo Beth Tindall at Cincinnati Media, aka Webmaster Beth, aka my good friend: thanks for sticking with me all these years, and for not letting me use too much flash.\n\nTo all my publishers around the world and the good people who work on my books: I so appreciate your support. To my readers: I continue to be grateful for your kindness and all the cat photos you post on Facebook.\n\nTo my daddy: thanks for always being there even when I was young and stupid.\n\nTo D.A.: thanks for promising to be there when I am old and wise. I am sorry that only one of those things is happening.\n\n# ALSO BY KARIN SLAUGHTER\n\n_Blindsighted_  \n _Kisscut_  \n _A Faint Cold Fear_  \n _Indelible_  \n _Like a Charm (Editor)_  \n _Faithless_  \n _Triptych_  \n _Beyond Reach_  \n _Fractured_  \n _Undone_  \n _Broken_  \n _Fallen_  \n _Criminal_\n\n**eBook original**  \n _Snatched_  \n _Thorn in My Side_  \n _Busted_\n\n# **ABOUT THE AUTHOR**\n\nKARIN SLAUGHTER is the _New York Times_ and #1 internationally bestselling author of _Criminal_ , \"Snatched\" and \"Thorn in My Side\" (e-book original novellas), _Fallen_ , _Broken_ , _Undone_ , _Fractured_ , _Beyond Reach_ , _Triptych_ , _Faithless_ , _Indelible_ , _A Faint Cold Fear_ , _Kisscut_ , and _Blindsighted_ ; she contributed to and edited _Like a Charm_. To date, her books have been translated into more than thirty languages. She is a native of Atlanta, Georgia, where she currently lives and is working on her next novel.\n\nwww.karinslaughter.com\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":"\n\nContents\n\nTitle Page\n\nAbout the Author\n\nAlso Available\n\nCopyright\n\nWhen the snows blow wild\n\nAnd the day grows old,\n\nBeware, the snowman, my child.\n\nBeware, the snowman.\n\nHe brings the cold.\n\nWhy did that rhyme return to me?\n\nIt was a rhyme my mother used to whisper to me when I was a little girl. I could almost hear Mom's soft voice, a voice I haven't heard since I was five....\n\nBeware, the snowman.\n\nHe brings the cold.\n\nMom died when I was five, and I went to live with my aunt Greta. I'm twelve now, and my aunt never read that rhyme to me.\n\nSo what made it run through my mind as Aunt Greta and I climbed out of the van and gazed at our snow-covered new home?\n\n\"Jaclyn, you look troubled,\" Aunt Greta said, placing a hand on the shoulder of my blue parka. \"What are you thinking about, dear?\"\n\nI shivered. Not from Aunt Greta's touch, but from the chill of the steady wind that blew down from the mountain. I stared at the flat-roofed cabin that was to be our new home.\n\nBeware, the snowman.\n\nThere is a second verse to that rhyme, I thought. Why can't I remember it?\n\nI wondered if we still had the old poetry book that Mom used to read to me from.\n\n\"What a cozy little home,\" Aunt Greta said. She still had her hand on my shoulder.\n\nI felt so sad, so terribly unhappy. But I forced a smile to my face. \"Yes. Cozy,\" I murmured. Snow clung to the windowsills and filled the cracks between the shingles. A mound of snow rested on the low, flat roof.\n\nAunt Greta's normally pale cheeks were red from the cold. She isn't very old, but she has had white hair for as long as I can remember. She wears it long, always tied behind her head in a single braid that falls nearly all the way down her back.\n\nShe is tall and skinny. And kind of pretty, with a delicate round face and big, sad dark eyes.\n\nI don't look at all like my aunt. I don't know who I look like. I don't remember my mom that well. And I never knew my father. Aunt Greta told me he disappeared soon after I was born.\n\nI have wavy, dark brown hair and brown eyes. I am tall and athletic. I was the star basketball player on the girls' team at my school back in Chicago.\n\nI like to talk a lot and dance and sing. Aunt Greta can go a whole day without barely saying a word. I love her, but she's so stern and silent... Sometimes I wish she were easier to talk to.\n\nI'm going to need someone to talk to, I thought sadly. We had left Chicago only yesterday. But I already missed my friends.\n\nHow am I going to make friends in this tiny village on the edge of the Arctic Circle? I wondered.\n\nI helped my aunt pull bags from the van. My boots crunched over the hard snow.\n\nI gazed up at the snow-covered mountain. Snow, snow everywhere. I couldn't tell where the mountain ended and the clouds began.\n\nThe little square houses along the road didn't look real to me. They looked as if they were made of gingerbread.\n\nAs if I had stepped into some kind of fairy tale.\n\nExcept it wasn't a fairy tale. It was my life.\n\nMy totally weird life.\n\nI mean, why did we have to move from the United States to this tiny, frozen mountain village?\n\nAunt Greta never really explained. \"Time for a change,\" she muttered. \"Time to move on.\" It was so hard to get her to say more than a few words at a time.\n\nI knew that she and Mom grew up in a village like this one. But why did we have to move here now? Why did I have to leave my school and all of my friends?\n\nSherpia.\n\nWhat kind of a name is Sherpia? Can you imagine moving from Chicago to Sherpia?\n\nLucky, huh?\n\nNo way.\n\nIt isn't even a skiing town. The whole village is practically deserted! I wondered if there was anyone here my age.\n\nAunt Greta kicked snow away from the front door of our new house. Then she struggled to open the door. \"The wood is warped,\" she grunted. She lowered her shoulder to the door\u2014and pushed it open.\n\nShe's thin, but she's tough.\n\nI started to carry the bags into the house. But something standing in the snowy yard across the road caught my eye. Curious, I turned and stared at it.\n\nI gasped as it came into focus.\n\nWhat is that?\n\nA snowman?\n\nA snowman with a scar?\n\nAs I squinted across the road at it, the snowman started to move.\n\nI blinked.\n\nNo. The snowman wasn't moving.\n\nIts red scarf was fluttering in the swirling breeze.\n\nMy boots crunched loudly as I stepped up to the snowman and examined it carefully.\n\nWhat a weird snowman. It had slender tree limbs for arms. One arm poked out to the side. The other arm stood straight up, as if waving to me. Each tree limb had three twig fingers poking out from it.\n\nThe snowman had two dark, round stones for eyes. A crooked carrot nose. And a down-turned, sneering mouth of smaller pebbles.\n\nWhy did they make it so mean looking? I wondered.\n\nI couldn't take my eyes off the scar. It was long and deep, cut down the right side of the snowman's face.\n\n\"Weird,\" I muttered out loud. My favorite word. Aunt Greta is always saying I need a bigger vocabulary.\n\nBut how else would you describe a nasty-looking, sneering snowman with a scar on its face?\n\n\"Jaclyn\u2014come help!\" Aunt Greta's call made me turn away from the snowman. I hurried back across the road to my new house.\n\nIt took a long while to unpack the van. When we lugged the final box into the cabin, Aunt Greta found a pot. Then she made us hot chocolate on the little, old-fashioned stove in the kitchen.\n\n\"Cozy,\" she repeated. She smiled. But her dark eyes studied my face. I think she was trying to see if I was unhappy.\n\n\"At least it's warm in here,\" she said, wrapping her bony fingers around the white hot-chocolate mug. Her cheeks were still red from the cold.\n\nI nodded sullenly. I wanted to cheer up. But I just couldn't. I kept thinking about my friends back home. I wondered if they were going to a Bulls game tonight. My friends were all into basketball.\n\nI won't be playing much basketball here, I thought unhappily. Even if they play basketball, there probably aren't enough kids in the village for a team!\n\n\"You'll be warm up there,\" Aunt Greta said, cutting into my thoughts. She pointed up to the low ceiling.\n\nThe house had only one bedroom. That was my aunt's room. My room was the low attic beneath the roof.\n\n\"I'm going to check it out,\" I said, pushing back my chair. It scraped on the hardwood floor.\n\nThe only way to reach my room was a metal ladder that stood against the wall. I climbed the ladder, then pushed away the flat board in the ceiling and pulled myself into the low attic.\n\nIt was cozy, all right. My aunt had picked the right word.\n\nThe ceiling was so low, I couldn't stand up. Pale, white light streamed in through the one small, round window at the far end of the room.\n\nCrouching, I made my way to the window and peered out. Snow speckled the windowpane. But I could see the road and the two rows of little houses curving up the mountainside.\n\nI didn't see anyone out there. Not a soul.\n\nI'll bet they've all gone to Florida, I thought glumly.\n\nIt was midwinter break. The school here was closed. Aunt Greta and I had passed it on our way through the village. A small, gray stone building, not much bigger than a two-car garage.\n\nHow many kids will be in my class? I wondered. Three or four? Just me? And will they all speak English?\n\nI swallowed hard. And scolded myself for being so down.\n\nCheer up, Jaclyn, I thought. Sherpia is a beautiful little village. You might meet some really neat kids here.\n\nDucking my head, I made my way back to the ladder. I'm going to cover the ceiling with posters, I decided. That will brighten this attic a lot.\n\nAnd maybe help cheer me up, too.\n\n\"Can I help unpack?\" I asked Aunt Greta as I climbed down the ladder.\n\nShe pushed her long, white braid off her shoulder. \"No. I want to work in the kitchen first. Why don't you take a walk or something? Do a little exploring.\"\n\nA few minutes later, I found myself outside, pulling the drawstrings of my parka hood tight. I adjusted my fur-lined gloves and waited for my eyes to adjust to the white glare of the snow.\n\nWhich way should I walk? I wondered.\n\nI had already seen the school, the general store, a small church, and the post office down the road. So I decided to head up the road, toward the mountaintop.\n\nThe snow was hard and crusty. My boots hardly made a dent in it as I leaned into the wind and started to walk. Tire tracks cut twin ruts down the middle of the road. I decided to walk in one of them.\n\nI passed a couple of houses about the same size as ours. They both appeared dark and empty. A tall, stone house had a Jeep parked in the driveway.\n\nI saw a kid's sled in the front yard. An old-fashioned wooden sled. A yellow-eyed, black cat stared out at me from the living room window.\n\nI waved a gloved hand at it. It didn't move.\n\nI still hadn't seen any other humans.\n\nThe wind whistled and grew colder as I climbed. The road grew steeper as it curved up. The houses were set farther apart.\n\nThe snow sparkled as clouds rolled away from the sun. It was suddenly so beautiful! I turned and gazed down at the houses I had passed, little gingerbread houses nestled in the snow.\n\nIt's so pretty, I thought. Maybe I will get to like it here.\n\n\"Ohh!\" I cried out as I felt icy fingers wrap themselves around my neck.\n\nI spun around and pulled free of the frozen grip.\n\nAnd stared at a grinning boy in a brown sheepskin jacket and a red-and-green wool ski cap. \"Did I scare you?\" he asked. His grin grew wider.\n\nBefore I could answer, a girl about my age stepped out from behind a broad evergreen bush. She wore a purple down coat and purple gloves.\n\n\"Don't mind Eli,\" she said, tossing her hair off her face. \"He's a total creep.\"\n\n\"Thanks for the compliment,\" Eli grinned.\n\nI decided they must be brother and sister. They both had round faces, straight black hair, and bright, sky-blue eyes.\n\n\"You're new,\" Eli said, squinting at me.\n\n\"Eli thinks it's funny to scare any new kids,\" his sister told me, rolling her eyes. \"My little brother is a riot, isn't he?\"\n\n\"Being scared is about all there is to do in Sherpia,\" Eli said. His grin faded.\n\nWhat a weird thing to say, I thought.\n\nI introduced myself. \"I'm Jaclyn DeForest,\" I told them. Their names were Rolonda and Eli Browning.\n\n\"We live there,\" Eli said, pointing to the white house. \"Where do you live?\"\n\nI pointed down the road. \"Farther down,\" I replied. I started to ask them something\u2014but stopped when I saw the snowman they were building.\n\nIt had one arm out and one arm up. It had a red scarf wrapped under its head. And it had a deep scar cut down the right side of its face.\n\n\"That s-snowman\u2014\" I stammered. \"It looks just like one I saw across the street from me.\"\n\nRolonda's smile faded. Eli lowered his eyes to the snow. \"Really?\" he muttered.\n\n\"Why did you make it like that?\" I demanded. \"It's so strange looking. Why did you put that scar on its face?\"\n\nThey glanced at each other tensely.\n\nThey didn't reply.\n\nFinally, Rolonda shrugged. \"I really don't know,\" she murmured. She blushed.\n\nWas she lying? Why didn't she want to answer me?\n\n\"Where are you walking?\" Eli asked, tightening the snowman's red scarf.\n\n\"Just walking,\" I told him. \"Do you guys want to come with me? I thought I'd walk up to the top of the mountain.\"\n\n\"No!\" Eli gasped. His blue eyes widened in fear.\n\n\"You can't!\" Rolonda cried. \"You can't!\"\n\n\"Excuse me?\"\n\nI gaped at them in shock. What was their problem?\n\n\"Why can't I go up to the top?\" I demanded.\n\nThe fear faded quickly from their faces. Rolonda tossed back her black hair. Eli pretended to be busy with the red snowman scarf.\n\n\"You can't go because it's closed for repairs,\" Eli finally replied.\n\n\"Ha ha. Remind me to laugh later,\" Rolonda sneered.\n\n\"So what's the real reason?\" I demanded.\n\n\"Uh... well... we just never go up there,\" Rolonda stammered, glancing at her brother. She waited for Eli to add something. But he didn't.\n\n\"It's kind of like a tradition,\" Rolonda continued, avoiding my eyes. \"I mean... well... we just don't go up there.\"\n\n\"It's too cold,\" Eli added. \"That's why. It's just too cold up there for humans to survive. You would turn to ice in thirty seconds.\"\n\nI knew he was lying. I knew that wasn't the real reason. But I decided to drop the subject. They suddenly seemed so tense and worried.\n\n\"Where are you from?\" Rolonda asked. She dug her gloved hands deep into her coat pockets. \"The next village?\"\n\n\"No. Chicago,\" I told her. \"We lived in an apartment right on the lake.\"\n\n\"And you moved here?\" Eli cried. \"From Chicago to Sherpia? Why?\"\n\n\"Good question,\" I muttered, rolling my eyes. \"I live with my aunt, see. And Aunt Greta decided to move here. So...\" I couldn't keep the sadness from my voice.\n\nWe talked for a few more minutes. I learned that they had lived in Sherpia their entire lives. \"It isn't so bad. You get used to not seeing many people,\" Rolonda told me.\n\n\"And it's nice if you like snow,\" Eli added. \"Lots and lots of snow!\"\n\nWe all laughed.\n\nI said, \"See you guys later,\" and started walking up the road.\n\n\"You're not going to the top\u2014are you?\" Eli called. He sounded really frightened again.\n\n\"No,\" I called back. I pulled my hood tight. \"It's getting kind of windy. I'll just go a little farther.\"\n\nThe road curved higher. I crunched my way past a wide, woodsy lot filled with pine trees nearly as thin as pencils. The trees tilted at all angles. Not one of them stood straight up.\n\nI saw animal tracks in the snow. Raccoon or squirrel? No. Too big. Deer tracks? I couldn't tell.\n\nI raised my eyes\u2014and cried out in surprise.\n\nAnother sneering snowman stared back at me with its twisted carrot nose and coal-black eyes.\n\nIts red scarf fluttered in the strong wind.\n\nI stared at the long scar cut deep in its face.\n\nIts twig arms waved in the wind, as if greeting me.\n\n\"Why do they build these creepy snowmen?\" I asked out loud.\n\nI turned\u2014and saw another one in the front yard across the street. Same tree-branch arms. Same red scarf. Same scar.\n\nIt must be some kind of village decoration, I decided.\n\nBut why didn't Rolonda and Eli want to tell me about it?\n\nHeavy gray clouds rolled over the sun. The snowman's shadow appeared to stretch until it swept over me.\n\nI felt a sudden chill. I stepped back.\n\nThe sky quickly turned evening dark. I gazed up to the top of the mountain. Clumps of pine trees hid the top from view.\n\nShould I head back or keep going?\n\nI remembered the fear on Eli's face when I said I was climbing to the top. And I remembered Rolonda's cry: \"You can't!\"\n\nIt only made me more curious.\n\nWhat were they afraid of? What was up there?\n\nI decided to keep going.\n\n* * *\n\nA van in the next driveway was buried under a thick sheet of snow. It looked as if it hadn't been driven all winter.\n\nI followed the road as it curved away from the houses. The snow became deeper and softer. My boots sank in as I walked.\n\nI imagined that I was walking on another planet, a planet never explored before.\n\nThe road climbed steeper. Large white rocks jutted up from the snow. Clumps of slender pine trees tilted in every direction.\n\nThere were no houses up this high. I could see only trees and snow-covered shrubs and jutting rocks.\n\nThe road curved again. The wind whistled. I rubbed my cheeks and nose to warm them. Then I leaned into the wind and kept walking.\n\nI stopped when a small log cabin came into view. I shielded my eyes with a gloved hand and stared at it.\n\nA cabin way up here?\n\nWhy would anyone want to live this high up, away from everyone?\n\nThe cabin stood in a square, cleared-out area, surrounded by scraggly, tilting pine trees. I didn't see any car or sled. I didn't see any bootprints in the snow.\n\nI crept closer to the cabin.\n\nThe windows were steamed over. I couldn't tell if there were lights on inside or not.\n\nI stepped closer, my heart pounding. I leaned my arms on a windowsill and pressed my nose against the glass. But I couldn't see in.\n\n\"Anyone home?\" I called.\n\nSilence. The wind whistled around the corner of the cabin.\n\nI knocked on the door. \"Hello?\"\n\nNo reply.\n\n\"Weird,\" I muttered.\n\nI tried the door. I just pushed it lightly.\n\nMaybe I shouldn't have. But I did.\n\nThe door slid open.\n\nI felt a rush of warm air from inside.\n\n\"Anyone home?\" I called in.\n\nI peeked beyond the door. Dark in there.\n\n\"Hello?\"\n\nI stepped inside. Just to take a look.\n\nThe snow had been so bright outside. My eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light.\n\nAnd before I could focus, I saw a white blur.\n\nA growling white blur. It leaped on me.\n\nHot breath. Hot breath on my face.\n\nAnd a snarling, white creature tackled me to the floor.\n\n\"Down! Down, Wolfbane!\"\n\nThe snarling stopped instantly.\n\nThe creature backed off.\n\n\"Down, Wolfbane!\" a man's voice ordered sternly.\n\nGasping for breath, I wiped hot saliva off my face. And realized I was staring up at a white-furred wolf.\n\nThe wolf was breathing hard, too, jaws open, tongue snaking down nearly to the cabin floor. Its head was lowered as if preparing to attack again. Its round, dark brown eyes locked on me suspiciously.\n\n\"Down, Wolfbane. It's okay, boy.\"\n\nI rolled away from the panting creature and climbed to my knees. Two hands reached down to grab my hands and tug me to my feet.\n\n\"Are you okay?\" The man studied me with round, silver-gray eyes. He was tall and thin, dressed all in denim. He had long, gray hair tied back in a short ponytail. And a thick, pure-white beard.\n\nHis eyes glowed like steel marbles. I could almost feel them burning into me.\n\n\"Is that... really a wolf?\" I demanded.\n\nHe nodded, his expression stern, his eerie eyes not moving, not blinking. \"He won't hurt you. Wolfbane is well trained.\"\n\n\"But he\u2014\" My mouth suddenly felt so dry it was hard to talk.\n\n\"You startled us,\" the man said, still not blinking, not looking away. \"We were in the back room.\" He motioned toward a doorway in the back wall.\n\n\"Sorry,\" I murmured. \"I didn't know anyone was in here. I thought\u2014\"\n\n\"Who are you?\" the man demanded angrily. He narrowed his silvery eyes at me. Behind the bushy white beard, his slender face reddened.\n\n\"I didn't mean to\u2014\"\n\n\"Who are you?\" he repeated.\n\n\"I was taking a walk,\" I struggled to explain. If only my heart weren't pounding so hard. If only my mouth weren't so dry.\n\nThe white wolf uttered a low growl. It stood tensely, head lowered, eyes locked on me, as if waiting for a command to attack.\n\n\"Why did you break into my house?\" the man demanded, taking a step toward me.\n\nHe's dangerous, I realized.\n\nThere's something very strange about him. Something very angry.\n\n\"I didn't break in,\" I started. \"I just\u2014\"\n\n\"You broke into my house,\" he insisted. \"Don't you realize how dangerous that is? Wolfbane is trained to attack strangers.\"\n\n\"S-sorry\u2014!\" I choked out.\n\nHe took another step toward me. He still hadn't blinked those weird, round eyes.\n\nMy chest tightened in fright.\n\nWhat did he plan to do?\n\nI didn't want to find out.\n\nI took a deep breath. Then I spun around\u2014and ran out the door.\n\nCould I get away?\n\nBehind me, the door slammed hard against the cabin wall.\n\nI glanced back\u2014and saw him burst out of the cabin after me. \"Where are you going?\" he cried. \"Hey\u2014stop! Where are you going?\"\n\nI pointed. \"Up to the top!\" I cried.\n\n\"No, you're not!\" he shouted back furiously. \"You will not go up there!\"\n\nHe's angry! I realized.\n\nHe has no right to shout at me like that!\n\nI can go anywhere I want to!\n\nHe's dangerous.\n\nIt had started to snow, large wet flakes, blowing hard in swirls of wind.\n\nI brushed a snowflake from my forehead and ran to the road.\n\nTo my horror, the bearded man followed me, half-walking, half-running over the deep snow.\n\n\"Beware, the snowman!\" he called.\n\n\"Huh?\" I turned back to face him. \"What did you say?\" I cried breathlessly.\n\nThe old rhyme flew through my mind for the second time that day...\n\nWhen the snows blow wild\n\nAnd the day grows old,\n\nBeware, the snowman, my child.\n\nBeware, the snowman.\n\nHe brings the cold.\n\nI don't believe this! I thought. I haven't thought about that rhyme since I was five. And now it has run through my mind twice in one day!\n\nWe stood staring at each other from opposite sides of the road. I saw the man shiver. He wore only his denim workshirt, no coat. Big snowflakes clung to his gray hair and his shoulders.\n\n\"What did you say?\" I asked.\n\n\"The snowman lives in the ice cave,\" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard over the wind.\n\n\"Huh? A snowman?\"\n\nHe's really strange! I decided. Why am I standing here listening to him?\n\nThe man lives in a cabin on a mountaintop all by himself except for a white wolf! And now he's yelling things about a snowman!\n\n\"Beware, the snowman!\" he repeated. \"You cannot go up to the top! You cannot!\"\n\n\"Why not?\" I demanded. My voice came out higher and more shrill than I had intended.\n\n\"You do not want to meet the snowman!\" the man cried. The big snowflakes covered his beard. His silvery eyes glowed eerily.\n\n\"If you meet the snowman,\" he called, \"you will never return!\"\n\nTotally strange, I realized.\n\nThat's why he lives all alone up here.\n\nI spun away. I knew I had stayed too long.\n\nSlipping and sliding, I ran through the deep snow.\n\nRan as fast as I could. Cold snowflakes slapping my hot face. Heart pounding.\n\nDown the road. Down the curving mountain road.\n\nPanting... panting.\n\nWas that me breathing so hard?\n\nWere those my thudding footsteps?\n\nNo.\n\nGlancing back, I saw the white wolf chasing me. Gaining fast.\n\nTeeth bared. Head lowered to attack.\n\n\"Noooo!\" I wailed. The big snowflakes stung my eyes as I ran. The white ground tilted. I stumbled but kept running.\n\nI suddenly felt as if I were trapped in one of those glass balls that snows inside when you shake them.\n\nI tumbled downhill. The snowflakes flew at me in all directions. The whole mountainside seemed to quiver and shake.\n\nThe road! Where was the road?\n\nI lost it in the falling snow. My boots sank into deep drifts.\n\nBut I kept running. Down... down.\n\nThe steady thud of the wolf's heavy paws in my ears.\n\nI glanced back and saw it gaining on me, moving rhythmically, easily over the snowdrifts. Its teeth were bared. Puffs of steam rose from its open mouth.\n\nRunning hard, I didn't see the smooth rocks jutting up along the side of the road.\n\nMy boot caught on one.\n\n\"Ohhhh!\" I let out a cry as pain shot up my leg. I lost my balance. Stumbled forward.\n\nLanded hard on my stomach in the deep snow.\n\nI gasped for breath. The fall knocked the wind out of me.\n\nScrambling to my knees, I watched helplessly as the white wolf closed in on me.\n\nTo my surprise, the wolf stopped a few feet away.\n\nIt lowered its head and stared, breathing hard. Beneath the thick, white fur, its chest heaved up and down. Snowflakes melted on its tongue.\n\nStaring at it in fear, I pushed myself to my feet. I brushed my hair back, and brushed snow off the front of my parka.\n\nWas the wolf just catching its breath? Would it attack the moment I tried to run?\n\n\"Go home, boy,\" I whispered. \"Go home.\"\n\nMy voice barely carried over the wind and snow. The white wolf stared up at me, still panting.\n\nI started to back up. I was afraid to take my eyes off it.\n\nI took one step back. Then another.\n\nThe wolf watched me but didn't move.\n\nMy boots crunched onto the road. Yes! I had found the road! I kept backing up.\n\nThe wolf stood taller. Lowered its tail. Tensed its back.\n\nIts brown eyes followed me. Such human eyes.\n\nWhat was it thinking? Why did it chase after me?\n\nWas it just making sure that I went down the mountain? Did the strange man send it to keep me from heading to the mountaintop?\n\nI took another step back. Then another.\n\nThe wolf didn't move.\n\nThe snow-covered road curved away. I kept backing up until I was out of the creature's sight.\n\n\"Whew!\" I uttered a loud sigh of relief. Turned. And continued walking fast toward the village and my new house.\n\nEvery few seconds, I glanced back. But the wolf didn't follow me.\n\nThe snow came down hard. I pulled my parka hood over my hair. I held it with both hands and started to trot along the road.\n\nI wondered if Aunt Greta would be worried about me. I had been gone a lot longer than I had planned.\n\nLow snow clouds hid the sun. The sky became nearly as black as night.\n\nI started to pass houses on both sides of the road. I could see lights on in some of them. One house had a blazing fire going in a fireplace. Black smoke curled up from the chimney.\n\nI passed one of the strange, scar-faced snowmen. His tree-limb arms trembled in the wind. He appeared to be waving at me as I passed.\n\nI broke into a run.\n\nAnother snowman greeted me as I rounded the next curve.\n\nI hate this village! I thought.\n\nIt's too weird. Too weird!\n\nI'm never going to be happy here. Never!\n\nWhy did Aunt Greta bring us here?\n\nA thudding sound behind me forced away my unhappy thoughts.\n\nI'm being followed! I realized.\n\nThe wolf?\n\nNo. These heavy footsteps were different.\n\nHuman footsteps.\n\nThe scary, bearded man\u2014he followed me!\n\n\"Ohhh!\" A frightened moan escaped my lips.\n\nTaking a deep breath, I spun around to face him.\n\n\"Jaclyn\u2014hi!\"\n\nI gasped\u2014and stared through the falling snow at Rolonda. She jogged across the road to me. Snowflakes dotted her black hair.\n\n\"You ran right past our house,\" she said breathlessly, pointing to her yard. \"Didn't you see us?\"\n\nI glanced over her shoulder and saw her brother, Eli, waving to me from their driveway.\n\n\"No. I... uh... the snow was falling so hard, and\u2014\" I stammered.\n\n\"Are you okay?\" Rolonda demanded.\n\n\"Well...\" I hesitated. \"A white wolf chased me,\" I blurted out. \"A strange man. He has a cabin near the top. His wolf chased me and he\u2014\"\n\n\"You ran into Conrad?\" Rolonda cried.\n\n\"Huh? Conrad?\" The wind blew my hood off my head. I squinted hard at Rolonda. \"Is that his name?\"\n\nShe nodded. \"He has a cabin that he built himself. And he keeps a white wolf named Wolfbane. I meant to warn you before, Jaclyn\u2014\"\n\n\"Warn me?\" I interrupted.\n\n\"Yeah. To stay away from him. He and that animal he keeps\u2014they're both really odd.\"\n\n\"Tell me about it!\" I groaned. I rolled my eyes. \"Is that why you and Eli never go up to the mountaintop?\"\n\nRolonda lowered her eyes. \"Well... it's one of the reasons.\"\n\nI waited for her to go on. But she didn't. She continued to stare down at the snow. She kicked a clump of wet snow off one boot with the other. Behind her, Eli stood watching us, his hands jammed into his coat pockets.\n\n\"Well, why does Conrad live up there so far away from everyone?\" I demanded.\n\nRolonda hesitated. She glanced back tensely at her brother. \"No one knows for sure,\" she answered finally. \"He\u2014maybe he works for the snowman. I mean...\" Her voice trailed off.\n\n\"Excuse me?\" I cried. I was sure I hadn't heard her correctly. \"What did you say, Rolonda? He works for the snowman? What do you mean? What does that mean?\"\n\nShe didn't answer. Again, she glanced back nervously at Eli.\n\n\"Come on, Rolonda. What do you mean?\" I insisted. \"What do you mean, he works for the snowman?\"\n\nShe backed away, brushing snowflakes from her hair. \"I've got to go inside,\" she said. \"It's almost dinnertime.\"\n\nI followed after her. \"But first you have to explain,\" I demanded.\n\n\"I can't,\" she whispered. \"Because of Eli. He's too frightened.\"\n\n\"But, Rolonda\u2014\" I started. I saw Eli watching us intently from the driveway.\n\n\"Go home,\" Rolonda snapped. \"Just go home, Jaclyn.\"\n\n\"Not until you tell me what you meant.\" I can be stubborn when I want to be.\n\n\"Okay, okay,\" she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at Eli. \"Meet me tomorrow night, okay? Meet me tomorrow night at the church\u2014and I'll tell you everything.\"\n\n\"Hi\u2014I'm back!\"\n\nI burst into the house. Aunt Greta was bending over a box in the small kitchen, pulling out coffee mugs and placing them in a cabinet. She spun around as I walked in.\n\n\"Is it snowing?\" she asked.\n\nI nodded my head furiously, tossing snowflakes from my hair. \"The biggest flakes I ever saw,\" I replied breathlessly.\n\nAunt Greta frowned. \"I've been so busy in here, I didn't even look out the window.\"\n\nI pulled off my coat and carried it to the front closet. But there were no hangers in the closet yet. So I tossed the wet coat on top of a stack of boxes.\n\nThen I walked back into the kitchen, rubbing the sleeves of my sweater. \"Aunt Greta, do you know anything about a snowman?\" I asked.\n\nI heard her gasp.\n\nBut when she turned to me, her face was a blank. \"Snowman?\"\n\n\"Do you know anything about a snowman on top of the mountain?\" I asked.\n\nAunt Greta bit her bottom lip. \"No. No, I don't, Jaclyn.\" Her voice trembled. Why did she look so tense?\n\nShe bent down to pull more mugs from the box. I crossed the room to help her unpack them.\n\n\"Someone told me I shouldn't go to the top of the mountain because of a snowman,\" I told her. \"A snowman who lives up there.\"\n\nAunt Greta didn't say anything. She handed me two mugs. I lifted them onto the cabinet shelf.\n\n\"This man told me that if I met the snowman up there, I would never return,\" I continued.\n\nMy aunt let out a short, dry laugh. \"Village superstition,\" she muttered.\n\nI squinted at her. \"Really?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" she replied. \"These tiny villages all have their scary stories. Someone was just having fun, giving you a little scare.\"\n\n\"Fun?\" I frowned. \"I don't think so.\"\n\nThat weird, white-bearded guy, Conrad, had screamed at me that I couldn't go up to the mountaintop. He wasn't joking. I knew he wasn't joking.\n\nHe was serious. He was threatening me. He wasn't having a little fun. No way.\n\n\"Aunt Greta, do you remember a rhyme about a snowman?\" I asked.\n\nShe straightened up and stretched, pushing her hands against her back. \"Rhyme?\"\n\n\"I remembered a rhyme today. From when I was little. It just popped into my head.\"\n\nAunt Greta chewed her lip again fretfully. \"I don't think I remember any rhyme,\" she said. She glanced away, avoiding my eyes.\n\n\"I only remember the first verse,\" I told her. And then I recited it:\n\n\"When the snows blow wild\n\nAnd the day grows old,\n\nBeware, the snowman, my child.\n\nBeware, the snowman.\n\nHe brings the cold.\"\n\nWhen I finished, I looked up to find the strangest expression on Aunt Greta's face. Her eyes had gone all watery. And her chin trembled. Her cheeks were even paler than usual.\n\n\"Aunt Greta\u2014are you okay?\" I asked. \"What's wrong?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" she replied sharply, turning her face away from me. \"Nothing at all, Jaclyn. But I don't remember that rhyme. I don't think I've ever heard it before.\"\n\nShe fiddled nervously with her long, white braid.\n\n\"Are you sure?\" I asked timidly.\n\n\"Of course I'm sure,\" she snapped. \"Now, come on. Help me finish up in here so I can begin dinner.\"\n\nWhat is wrong? I wondered. Why is she suddenly angry at me?\n\nAnd why do I have the feeling that she isn't telling the truth?\n\nAunt Greta has never lied to me before.\n\nWhy is she acting so strange now?\n\nI couldn't sleep that night.\n\nMy new bed felt hard. I kept imagining that the low ceiling was sinking, dropping down on me.\n\nThe snow clouds had drifted away, and a half moon appeared, low in the sky. The moonlight washed in through my round window, casting long, shifting shadows over my room.\n\nI shuddered under my quilt. It was all so new and strange. I wondered if I'd ever be able to sleep up here.\n\nI shut my eyes and tried to think nice, soothing thoughts. I pictured my friends back in Chicago. I called up their faces one by one. I wondered what they were all doing today while I was having my frightening adventure on the mountain.\n\nI wondered if they missed me.\n\nI had just about fallen asleep when the howls began.\n\nWolf howls?\n\nI climbed out of bed and made my way to the window. Down below, the moonlight made the snow sparkle, almost as bright as during the day.\n\nBushes trembled in a soft breeze. The wind carried another frightening howl. I raised my eyes to the mountain. But I could see only houses, dark and silent, and the silvery road that curved its way to the top.\n\nMy whole body tingled. I knew I couldn't fall asleep. It was chilly up here in my little attic room, and the air felt heavy and damp.\n\nI decided to take a walk. Maybe it will help me relax, I told myself.\n\nI pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Then I crept downstairs\u2014careful not to wake Aunt Greta\u2014and found my parka and boots.\n\nStepping out into the night, I silently closed the front door behind me. My eyes swept over the glittering snow of the small front yard.\n\nI made my way to the road, my breath streaming up in wisps of fog. \"Wow!\" I murmured. \"Wow!\"\n\nThe cold, fresh air felt so good on my face.\n\nThe wind had stopped. The whole world seemed still and silent.\n\nNo cars, I realized. No horns honking. No buses roaring past. No people laughing and shouting on the street.\n\nI'm all alone out here, I told myself. The whole world is mine.\n\nA long, frightening howl brought me out of my thoughts.\n\nI shivered and raised my eyes to the mountaintop. Was the white wolf howling up there? Did it howl like that every night?\n\nWhy did the howls sound so human?\n\nI took a deep breath of cold air and held it. Then I began walking slowly along the road. My boots crunched on the hard, crusty snow. I passed a few houses and kept walking.\n\nI stopped as a shadow slid over my path.\n\nI gasped. At first, I thought someone was following me.\n\nBut then I realized I was staring at a long shadow of a snowman. The shadow tilted over the road. The tree branch arms, one raised, one out to the side, appeared long and menacing.\n\nI stepped over the shadow and crossed the street. But another shadow fell over me.\n\nAnother snowman. An identical snowman.\n\nThe shadows of the strange snowmen fell over each other. I suddenly felt as if I were walking in a black-and-white world of shadowy heads, fluttering scarves, and sticklike arms\u2014all saluting, all waving.\n\nWhy were there so many of them?\n\nWhy did the people in this village build them all alike?\n\nAnother howl made me raise my eyes from the crisscrossing shadows over the snow. This howl sounded closer. And it definitely sounded human!\n\nA chill ran down my back.\n\nI turned. Time to head home, I decided.\n\nMy heart was pounding now. The howl\u2014so near\u2014had really frightened me.\n\nI started to walk fast, swinging my arms as I walked, leaning into the gusting wind.\n\nBut I stopped when I saw the scar-faced snowman in the driveway up ahead.\n\nAnd I gasped when it nodded its head at me.\n\n\"Noooo!\" A low cry escaped my lips.\n\nIt nodded. The snowman nodded!\n\nThen the head rolled to the ground. And cracked apart with a soft thud.\n\nAnd I realized the wind had made its head nod. The wind had blown the scarred head off the body.\n\nWhat am I doing out here? I asked myself. It's late and it's cold.\n\nAnd it's weird.\n\nAnd some kind of creature nearby is howling its head off.\n\nI gazed across the yard at the headless snowman. The head was a shattered clump of white at the snowman's base. But the scarf had remained on top of the round body. It flapped in a gust of cold wind.\n\nI felt another shiver. I turned and ran toward home.\n\nRan through the blue-black shadows of snowmen. My boots crunched over the shadows of their waving arms, their scarred heads.\n\nA snowman in each yard. Snowmen lining the street like night watchmen.\n\nThis walk was a bad idea, I thought, feeling panic tighten my chest. I want to be home now. I want to be back in the safety of my new home.\n\nA snowman waved its three-fingered limb at me and sneered its coal-dark sneer as I ran past. And as I scrambled for home, the rhyme forced its way back into my mind....\n\nWhen the snows blow wild\n\nAnd the day grows old,\n\nBeware, the snowman, my child.\n\nBeware, the snowman.\n\nHe brings the cold.\n\nMy house came into view down the road. I sucked in a deep breath and ran harder.\n\nThe old rhyme had been haunting me ever since I arrived in the village. The old rhyme had followed me from my childhood, followed me to my strange, new home.\n\nWhy did I suddenly remember it today?\n\nWhat was it trying to tell me? Why had the cold words returned after being forgotten for so many years?\n\nI had to find the rest of it. I had to find the second verse of the poem.\n\nAn eerie howl, rising like an ambulance siren, sounded so close behind me I spun around.\n\nI searched the road and the frozen yards. No one there. No wolf. No human.\n\nAnother howl sounded even closer.\n\nWas someone following me?\n\nI held my hands over my ears to keep out the frightening sounds\u2014and I flew over the snow, flew the rest of the way home.\n\nI reached the narrow front door as another long howl sent a chill down my body.\n\nCloser. It's so close, I realized.\n\nSomeone is following me!\n\nI grabbed the doorknob. Twisted it. Pushed.\n\nNo!\n\nThe door didn't budge.\n\nI twisted again. This way. The other way.\n\nPushed the door. Pulled it.\n\nLocked.\n\nI had locked myself out!\n\nAnother frightening howl.\n\nSo close. From the side of my house!\n\nMy whole body trembled. Panic tightened my throat. I stumbled back from the front door.\n\nAnd saw that the front window\u2014the only window on this side of the house\u2014was open a crack. Snow streaked the windowpanes and clumped on the narrow sill.\n\nI stared at the tiny opening at the window bottom.\n\nThen I sucked in a deep breath\u2014and hurtled to the window.\n\nI grabbed the snowy wooden frame. Uttering a loud groan, I pushed. Pushed up with all my strength.\n\nTo my surprise, the window slid up easily.\n\nI pushed it all the way up. Then I grabbed the sill with both hands. I hoisted myself up, up\u2014as another howl rang through the night air.\n\nSo close.\n\nSo close and frightening.\n\nI tumbled headfirst into the house. Landed hard on my hands and knees on the wooden floor.\n\nWith a gasp, I scrambled to my feet. Grabbed the window and pulled it shut.\n\nThen I stood, leaning against the wall, listening. Waiting to catch my breath.\n\nHad I awakened Aunt Greta?\n\nNo. The house stood dark and silent. The only sound I could hear was my rapid, shallow breathing.\n\nAnother howl, distant this time.\n\nHad I only imagined that I was being followed? Were the terrifying howls rolling down from the mountaintop, carried by the wind?\n\nStill breathing hard, I stepped away from the front wall. Making my way slowly through the darkness, I headed to the little back room where we had piled all of the boxes.\n\nMy books were still stuffed in one of the boxes.\n\nI was sure that I had packed the old poetry book Mom used to read to me.\n\nWhite moonlight flooded in from the window against the back wall. I found the book carton on top of a stack and pulled it down to the floor.\n\nMy hands trembled as I struggled to pull off the heavy packing tape and open the box.\n\nI have to find that poem, I told myself. I have to read the second verse of that rhyme.\n\nI tugged open the box and began pulling out books. I had packed a bunch of paperbacks on the top. Underneath them, I found some textbooks and anthologies I had used at school.\n\nAs I pulled them out and stacked them carefully on the floor, I heard a cough.\n\nAnd then a footstep.\n\nSomeone else is in here! I realized.\n\n\"Aunt Greta? Is that you?\" I cried.\n\nBut the voice that replied wasn't Aunt Greta's.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" a strange voice demanded in a raspy whisper.\n\nThe ceiling light flashed on.\n\nI blinked.\n\nSwallowed hard.\n\nAnd stared up at Aunt Greta.\n\n\"You frightened me, Jaclyn!\" she croaked.\n\nI jumped to my feet. \"You frightened me, too!\" I replied, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. \"What happened to your voice?\"\n\nAunt Greta rubbed her pale throat. \"I've lost it,\" she rasped. \"Horrible sore throat. It must be the cold. I'm not used to the cold of this village yet.\"\n\nHer straight, white hair hung loose behind her. She tugged it off the collar of her flannel nightshirt, brushing out tangles with one hand. \"What are you doing, Jaclyn? Why are you down here in the middle of the night?\" she croaked.\n\n\"That old poem,\" I replied. \"I want to find it. I can't remember the second verse. I\u2014\"\n\n\"We'll unpack the books tomorrow,\" she cut in. She yawned. \"I'm so tired. And my throat hurts so badly. Let's try to get some sleep.\"\n\nShe suddenly appeared so tiny and frail.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" I said, following her from the room. \"I didn't mean to wake you up. I couldn't sleep, so...\"\n\nHer eyes fell on my parka, which I had tossed onto a living room chair. \"You went out?\" she cried, spinning to face me. I could see alarm on her face.\n\n\"Well... yes,\" I confessed. \"I thought maybe a short walk...\"\n\n\"You shouldn't go out in the middle of the night,\" she scolded. She rubbed her sore throat. Her eyes narrowed at me.\n\n\"Sorry,\" I muttered. \"What's the big deal, anyway? What's so terrible about going out at night?\"\n\nShe hesitated, chewing her lower lip the way she always does when she's thinking hard. \"It's just dangerous. That's all,\" she whispered finally. \"What if you fell in the snow or something? What if you broke your leg? There is no one outside to help you.\"\n\n\"I'd roll home!\" I joked. I laughed but she didn't join in.\n\nI had the strong feeling she had something else on her mind. She wasn't worried about me falling down. She was worried about something else.\n\nBut she didn't want to say it.\n\nDid it have anything to do with the animal howls?\n\nDid it have something to do with the snowman on the mountain that Conrad had warned me about? The snowman that Aunt Greta said was just a village superstition?\n\nI yawned. I finally felt sleepy. Too sleepy to think any more about these questions.\n\nI put my arm around Aunt Greta's slender shoulders and walked her across the hall to her room. \"Sorry I woke you,\" I whispered. Then I said good night and climbed the ladder to my attic bedroom.\n\nYawning, I pulled off my jeans and sweatshirt and tossed them on the floor. Then I jumped into bed and pulled the quilt up to my chin.\n\nPale moonlight washed in from the round window at the other end of the room. I shut my eyes. No howls outside. No sounds at all.\n\nI snuggled my head into my soft pillow. My new bed still felt hard. But I was too tired to care.\n\nI had just about drifted off to sleep when the whispered words floated into the room....\n\n\"Beware, the snowman, Jaclyn.... Beware, the snowman....\"\n\nI sat straight up with a gasp. \"Huh? Who's there?\" I choked out.\n\nI stared across the room at the window. The unfamiliar shapes of my furniture appeared silvery, ghostlike in the white moonlight.\n\n\"Beware, the snowman....\" the whispered words were repeated. \"Jaclyn, beware, the snowman.\"\n\n\"Who are you?\" I cried. \"How do you know my name?\"\n\nSitting up in the strange bed, I grabbed the end of the quilt, gripping it tightly in both hands, squeezing it.\n\nAnd I listened.\n\nSilence now.\n\n\"Who are you?\" My cry so tiny and shrill.\n\nSilence.\n\n\"Who are you?\"\n\nSilence...\n\nI don't know how long I sat there, waiting for a reply. But after a while, I somehow drifted off to sleep.\n\n* * *\n\nThe next morning I told Aunt Greta about the whispered warning.\n\nShe sipped her coffee before replying. Then she reached across the table and squeezed my hand. \"I had bad dreams, too, last night,\" she said, still whispering because of her sore throat.\n\n\"Dream?\" I replied. \"Do you think it was a dream?\"\n\nAunt Greta nodded and took another long sip of coffee. \"Of course,\" she croaked.\n\nI spent the day helping my aunt unpack the boxes and arrange our new house. I searched every box for the poetry book, but I couldn't find it. I didn't realize how much stuff we had brought from our apartment in Chicago. Such a small house. It was a real struggle to find a place for everything.\n\nAs we worked, I found myself thinking about Rolonda. She had promised to meet me at the little village church after dinner. She said she would tell me the truth about the snowman tonight.\n\nThe truth...\n\nI pictured her brother Eli's frightened expression as he stood in the snowy driveway, watching Rolonda and me. And I remembered how frightened they became when I told them I was walking to the mountaintop.\n\nSo much fear here in this village. Was it all because of silly superstitions?\n\nAfter I washed and dried the dinner dishes, I pulled on my parka and my boots and prepared to meet Rolonda. I told Aunt Greta the truth. I told her I was meeting a village girl my age I'd met during my walk.\n\n\"It's snowing really hard,\" Aunt Greta said in her raspy whisper. \"Don't stay out late, Jaclyn.\"\n\nI promised I'd be home before nine. Then I pulled up my hood, tugged on my gloves, and stepped outside.\n\nDoes it snow here every day? I asked myself, shaking my head.\n\nI've always liked snow. But enough already!\n\nThe snow came down hard, in sheets driven by a strong wind. I lowered my head and trudged down the road toward the church. Snowflakes blew into my face and stung my eyes. I could barely see.\n\nWhat a blizzard!\n\nI wondered if Rolonda would show up.\n\nThe little stone church stood across from the post office. It wasn't far down the road from my house. But walking into the blowing snow, it seemed miles away.\n\nKeeping my head down, I stepped into a deep drift. Cold snow dropped into my boot, soaking my sock. \"Ohhh.\" I let out a shuddering groan. \"I'm going to freeze!\" I cried out loud.\n\nThere was no one around to hear me. The road stood empty. Nothing moved. I passed a brightly lit house, but I couldn't see anyone inside.\n\nThe snow blew against my face, my coat, as if trying to push me back. As if trying to make me turn around.\n\n\"This is bad,\" I murmured. \"Really bad. No way Rolonda will meet me tonight.\"\n\nSquinting into the gray evening light, I saw the steeple of the church, white against the falling snow. \"I hope it's open,\" I said out loud.\n\nDucking my head, I ran across the road\u2014and thudded into something hard. And very cold.\n\nEvil black eyes glared into mine.\n\nAnd I started to scream.\n\nA second later, hands jerked me away.\n\nAnd a voice cried, \"Jaclyn\u2014what's wrong?\"\n\nMy scream caught in my throat. I stumbled back, my boots slipping in the slick, wet snow.\n\nI turned to see Rolonda, tugging on my coat sleeve. \"I saw you run right into that snowman,\" she said. \"But why did you scream?\"\n\n\"I\u2014I\u2014\" I sputtered. I squinted through the falling snow at the snowman, at his dark eyes, at the scar down his round face. \"I\u2014I just freaked,\" I stammered.\n\nI scolded myself for acting so stupid. Now Rolonda must think I'm a real jerk, I thought unhappily.\n\nWhat is wrong with me, anyway? Screaming because I bumped into a snowman!\n\n\"Why did someone build a snowman like that in front of the church?\" I asked.\n\nRolonda didn't reply. Her dark eyes peered into mine. \"Are you okay?\" she asked.\n\nI nodded. \"Yeah. Fine. Let's get out of this snow.\"\n\nI took one last glance at the sneering snowman. Then I followed Rolonda to a wooden door on the side of the small church. We stepped inside and stamped the snow off our boots on a straw mat.\n\n\"Does it ever stop snowing here?\" I grumbled, pulling back my hood and unzipping my parka.\n\n\"Sure. It stopped once for ten minutes. We all took a summer vacation!\" Rolonda joked. She shook out her long, black hair.\n\nI glanced around. We were in some kind of waiting room. A long wooden bench stood against the back wall. Two lights shaped like old-fashioned gas lamps hung on the wall beside the bench, giving off a soft glow.\n\nWe dropped our coats beside the bench and sat down. I rubbed my hands, trying to warm them. My cheeks burned.\n\n\"It's nice and warm in here,\" Rolonda said, keeping her voice low. \"The pastor keeps the heat up really high. He doesn't like to be cold.\"\n\n\"Who does?\" I murmured, rubbing my ears, trying to return some feeling to them.\n\n\"It's a nice, quiet place to talk,\" Rolonda continued. \"Especially to talk about things that are... kind of scary.\"\n\n\"Scary?\" I replied.\n\nShe glanced around the small, white-walled room. She suddenly seemed tense. Uncomfortable.\n\n\"Did your aunt tell you anything about the village?\" Rolonda whispered. \"Anything about the history of the village?\"\n\nI had to lean closer to hear her. She was whispering so softly.\n\nWhy is she so nervous? I wondered. We're the only ones in the entire church.\n\n\"No,\" I replied. \"Not a thing. I really don't think Aunt Greta knows much about this village at all.\"\n\n\"Then why did you move here?\" Rolonda demanded.\n\nI shrugged. \"Beats me. Aunt Greta never explained. She said it was time for us to leave Chicago.\"\n\nRolonda leaned forward tensely and brought her face close to mine. \"I'll tell you the story,\" she whispered. \"The history of this village is very strange. People don't talk about it much.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" I interrupted.\n\n\"Because it's so frightening,\" Rolonda replied. \"My brother, Eli, is terrified all the time. That's why I met you here at the church. He doesn't like for me to talk about any of this. He doesn't like for me to talk about the snowman.\"\n\n\"Snowman?\" I demanded. I stared at her eagerly. \"What about the snowman?\"\n\nRolonda shifted her weight. The wooden bench creaked beneath us. She took a deep breath and began her story.\n\n\"Years ago, two sorcerers lived in this village. A man and a woman. Everyone knew they were sorcerers. But everyone left them alone.\"\n\n\"Were they evil sorcerers?\" I interrupted.\n\nRolonda shook her head. \"No. I don't think they were evil. At least, I don't think they meant to be.\"\n\nShe glanced around the room again. I settled back against the bench and waited impatiently for her to continue.\n\n\"One day, the two sorcerers were fooling around, having fun. They cast a spell on a snowman. And the snowman came to life.\"\n\nI gasped. \"Really?\"\n\nRolonda narrowed her eyes at me. \"Please, don't interrupt, Jaclyn. Please let me tell the whole story first.\"\n\nI apologized.\n\nLeaning close to me, she continued her story in a whisper.\n\n\"The sorcerers used their magic to bring the snowman to life. But then they lost control of it.\n\n\"The snowman was powerful. And it was evil. The sorcerers had given it life. But they didn't really know what they were doing. And they didn't know that the snowman would try to destroy the village and everyone in it.\n\n\"The sorcerers tried to use magic to put the snowman back to sleep. But their magic wasn't powerful enough.\n\n\"The villagers all gathered together. Somehow they managed to force the snowman up to the top of the mountain.\n\n\"There is a big cave at the very top of the mountain. The cave is cut in ice. Everyone calls it the ice cave.\n\n\"The villagers chased the evil snowman into the ice cave. Then most people moved away from the village. Few people wanted to stay, knowing that the evil creature was alive at the top of the mountain.\n\n\"So most people left,\" Rolonda continued, whispering so softly I could barely hear her. \"The two sorcerers probably left, too. No one really knows what happened to them.\n\n\"And that's when Conrad comes into the story,\" Rolonda said.\n\nI stared at her. \"Conrad? The weird guy with the white beard?\"\n\nRolonda nodded. \"After the evil snowman was chased into the ice cave, Conrad moved up there. He built a cabin just beneath the ice cave. No one could figure out why.\n\n\"Is Conrad trying to protect the town?\" Rolonda continued. \"Does he work for the snowman? Does he help the snowman? Or does he think that living so close to the evil snowman will keep him safe?\n\n\"No one knows. Conrad very seldom comes down from the mountaintop. And when he does come into the village, he doesn't talk to anyone.\n\n\"No one knows for sure who he is or why he stays up there,\" Rolonda continued. \"No one has anything to do with Conrad. We don't know if he's crazy or evil.\"\n\nShe sighed. Once again, her eyes darted around the room. She seemed so nervous, as if she didn't want anyone else to know that she was telling me the history of the village.\n\n\"Some nights,\" she continued, \"we can hear the snowman up there on top of the mountain. Some nights we can hear him roaring and bellowing with rage. Some nights, we can hear him howling, howling like a wolf.\n\n\"We've all built snowmen. Snowmen that look like him. Everyone in the village builds them.\"\n\nI jumped to my feet. \"So that's why I see those weird snowmen everywhere!\" I cried.\n\nRolonda raised a finger to her lips. She motioned for me to sit back down.\n\nI dropped back onto the bench. \"Why do you build the snowmen?\" I demanded. \"Why is there one in just about every single yard?\"\n\n\"To honor him,\" Rolonda replied.\n\n\"Huh? Honor him?\" I cried.\n\n\"You know what I mean,\" she said sharply. \"People hope that if the evil snowman comes down from the ice cave, he'll see the little snowmen that look like him. It will make him happy and keep him from doing any harm.\"\n\nRolonda squeezed my hand. Her dark eyes burned into mine. \"Now do you understand?\" she whispered. \"Now do you understand why we're all so afraid?\"\n\nI stared back at her\u2014and burst out laughing.\n\nI shouldn't have laughed. But I just couldn't help it.\n\nI mean, Rolonda seemed like a really smart girl. She couldn't really believe that story\u2014could she?\n\nIt's a joke, I decided. A story the villagers tell to scare people who move here.\n\nI stopped laughing when I saw the startled expression on Rolonda's face. \"Hey, come on,\" I said. \"You're kidding\u2014right?\"\n\nShe shook her head solemnly. Her dark eyes glowed in the dim light. Such serious eyes.\n\n\"You don't really believe that a snowman can walk, do you?\" I demanded. My voice echoed shrilly in the small room. \"You don't really believe that a snowman can be alive!\"\n\n\"I believe it,\" Rolonda replied in a low, trembling voice. \"It's not a joke, Jaclyn. I believe it. And everyone in the village believes it.\"\n\nI stared at her. The ceiling creaked, probably from the weight of the snow on the roof. I shifted my weight on the hard wooden bench.\n\n\"But have you ever seen it?\" I asked. \"Have you ever seen the snowman walk?\"\n\nShe blinked. \"Well... no,\" she confessed. \"But I've heard him late at night, Jaclyn. I've heard his howls and his angry cries.\"\n\nShe climbed to her feet. \"I won't go close enough to see him. I'm too afraid,\" she said. \"I won't go up to the ice cave. No one will.\"\n\n\"But, Rolonda\u2014\" I started.\n\nThen I stopped. Her chin trembled. I could see the fear in her eyes.\n\nJust talking about the snowman had frightened her.\n\nI wanted to tell her that the story couldn't be true. I wanted to tell her that it sounded like a silly superstition. A fairy tale.\n\nBut I didn't want to insult her.\n\nShe might be my only friend here, I thought.\n\nI stood up and pulled on my coat. Then the two of us made our way out of the church.\n\nThe snow had stopped. But a gusting wind blew down from the mountain. The wind made the fresh snow swirl and dance around our boots.\n\nI pulled my hood over my hair and lowered my head into the wind. No way I could ever believe such a wild story, I thought. Why doesn't Rolonda see how strange it is?\n\nWe made our way up the road, our boots sinking into the powdery, fresh snow. We didn't talk. Our voices wouldn't carry over the loud rush of the wind.\n\nI walked Rolonda home. We stopped at the bottom of her snow-covered driveway. \"Thanks for telling me about the snowman,\" I said.\n\nHer eyes locked on mine. \"You had to be told,\" she said solemnly. And then she added, \"You've got to believe me, Jaclyn. It's true. All of it.\"\n\nI didn't reply. I said good night. Then I turned and, leaning into the wind, headed for my house.\n\nI was nearly there when I heard a sound over the roaring wind.\n\nA heavy THUD THUD THUD coming up rapidly behind me.\n\nI froze.\n\nFor a moment, I thought it was my imagination.\n\nI pictured an enormous, evil snowman, as tall as a house, lumbering after me.\n\n\"No!\" I murmured. And spun around. And saw Rolonda's brother, Eli, running up to me.\n\nHis heavy workboots thudded over the snow. His sheepskin coat was open, flapping out as he ran.\n\n\"Eli\u2014it's late!\" I cried. \"What are you doing out here?\"\n\nHe didn't reply. Breathing hard, his chest heaving up and down under his sweater, he eyed me suspiciously.\n\n\"She told you\u2014didn't she?\" he demanded breathlessly.\n\n\"Huh?\" We moved behind a wide tree, out of the wind. \"Eli\u2014what is your problem?\" I demanded.\n\n\"Rolonda told you\u2014didn't she?\" he repeated. \"She told you about the snowman.\" He pointed toward the mountaintop.\n\n\"Well... yeah,\" I replied. A clump of snow dropped from the tree onto the front of my parka. I brushed it away.\n\n\"Eli, it's freezing out here! Zip up your coat,\" I scolded.\n\n\"Rolonda doesn't know one thing,\" Eli continued, still breathing hard. \"She doesn't know that I saw it. I saw the snowman.\"\n\nI stared at him. \"You saw the snowman? You saw the living snowman?\"\n\nEli nodded. \"Yes. I saw him. But that's not the scary part.\"\n\n\"Eli\u2014what is the scary part?\" I demanded.\n\nHe stared at me. The wind ruffled his dark hair, but his eyes remained steady, hard.\n\n\"What is the scary part?\" I repeated.\n\n\"The scary part,\" Eli replied, \"is that the snowman saw me!\"\n\nThe wind howled around the tree. I dragged Eli to the side of the nearest house. We pressed against the wall. Shivering, he finally zipped up his coat.\n\n\"Eli\u2014the story isn't real,\" I insisted. \"I really don't think\u2014\"\n\n\"Just let me tell you what happened,\" he pleaded. \"Then you can decide if it's real or not.\"\n\nHe shivered again. \"It saw me, Jaclyn. The snowman stared at me. It saw me. It knows who I am. It knows that I saw it. And that's why I'm so afraid of it.\"\n\n\"But, Eli\u2014\" I started.\n\nHe raised a gloved hand to silence me. \"Wait. Please.\" He took a deep breath. \"It happened a few weeks ago. My two friends and I\u2014we climbed up the mountain. We wanted to see the ice cave. So we sneaked around Conrad's cabin.\"\n\n\"I don't get it,\" I said. \"What does Conrad have to do with it?\"\n\n\"He won't let anyone near the ice cave,\" Eli replied. \"He keeps everyone away. Conrad is so weird. Some people think he works for the snowman. He protects the snowman by keeping everyone from the village away.\"\n\n\"But you sneaked past Conrad?\" I asked.\n\nEli nodded. \"Yeah. My friends and I. And we climbed up close to the ice cave. I had never seen the cave before.\"\n\n\"What does it look like?\" I asked.\n\nEli made a sweeping motion with both hands, outlining the shape of the cave for me. \"It's a huge cave, cut into the side of the mountain,\" he said. \"It's made of ice. All smooth and shiny. It looks like glass.\n\n\"The cave entrance is wide and totally black. And it has huge icicles hanging down all along the front. With points as sharp as knives.\"\n\n\"Wow,\" I murmured. \"It sounds kind of pretty.\"\n\n\"Yeah. In a way,\" Eli agreed. \"But we didn't think it was pretty when the snowman came out.\"\n\nI stared hard at Eli, studying his face. \"You really saw a snowman walking?\" I demanded.\n\nEli nodded. \"We heard a rumbling sound. The ground started to shake. My friends and I got scared. We thought it was an earthquake or an avalanche or something.\n\n\"My friends started to run down the mountain. But I stayed. And I saw it. The snowman poked his head out of the cave. He was as big as a grizzly bear. And he had a scar cut deep into his face.\n\n\"His eyes searched around. Then they stopped on me. And his mouth opened in an angry roar. He\u2014he\u2014\"\n\nEli took a deep breath. Then he started again. \"The snowman stepped out of the cave. The ground shook. It really did. Snow blew all over the place.\n\n\"The snowman stared at me. And he roared again. And\u2014and I took off,\" Eli continued breathlessly. \"I ran past Conrad's cabin. I ran all the way down the mountain. And I never looked back.\"\n\n\"What about your friends?\" I asked.\n\n\"They were waiting for me down at the bottom,\" Eli replied. \"We just went to our houses. We never talked about it.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" I demanded.\n\n\"Too afraid, I guess,\" Eli said, glancing down. \"We never talked about it. We never mentioned it. I never even told Rolonda. It was just too frightening to talk about.\"\n\nHe raised his eyes to me. \"But now I have dreams,\" he confessed. \"Bad dreams about the snowman. Every night.\"\n\nI stared at him, unsure of what to say. His whole body was trembling. From the cold? I wondered. Or from being so afraid?\n\nHe gazed back at me, waiting for me to say something. \"Eli, you didn't tell Rolonda about this. Why are you telling me?\" I asked.\n\n\"So you will believe the story,\" he replied solemnly. \"You're new, Jaclyn. You probably think it's all silly. But you have to stay away from the ice cave.\"\n\n\"But, Eli\u2014\" I started.\n\n\"You didn't believe my sister\u2014did you!\" he accused. \"You didn't believe her story.\"\n\n\"Well...\" I hesitated.\n\n\"That's why I waited for you,\" he explained. \"I waited to tell you my story. Do you believe me, Jaclyn? Do you believe that I saw the snowman?\"\n\n\"I\u2014I don't know,\" I told him.\n\nThe wind swirled around the wall of the house. I felt my nose and cheeks. My whole face was numb. \"I've got to get home,\" I said.\n\nEli grabbed my parka sleeve. \"Jaclyn, don't go up to the ice cave,\" he pleaded. \"Please, believe my story. It's true.\"\n\nI pulled my arm away. Then I started to jog over the snow toward my house. \"Go home, Eli,\" I called back. \"Go home before you freeze.\"\n\nI jogged all the way home. It felt good to run and not think about anything.\n\nJogging on fresh, powdery snow was difficult. My boots kept slipping on the slick, hard surface underneath. By the time I reached home, my legs ached.\n\nBreathing hard, I pushed open the front door. To my surprise, the house was totally dark.\n\nI pulled off a glove and squinted at my wrist-watch. Only nine o'clock.\n\nDid Aunt Greta go to bed so early? She usually stays up until at least midnight.\n\nI clicked on the ceiling light and glanced around the small living room. A magazine lay open on the couch. Nothing else was out of place.\n\nLeaning against the front door, I pulled off my wet boots and stood them in the corner. Then I tugged off my parka and dropped it onto the couch.\n\nMy eyes stopped at the door to Aunt Greta's bedroom.\n\nThe door stood open. Darkness beyond the door.\n\nI quickly made my way across the room and peeked into my aunt's bedroom. \"Aunt Greta?\" I called softly.\n\nNo reply.\n\nI stepped into the room. \"Aunt Greta? Are you in here?\"\n\nI fumbled at the lamp on her dresser and finally managed to click it on.\n\n\"Aunt Greta\u2014?\"\n\nNo. Not in bed. Not in her room.\n\n\"Aunt Greta\u2014are you home?\" I called loudly.\n\nI headed out of her room. \"Ohh!\" I cried out when I stepped in something.\n\nSomething cold and wet soaked through my sock.\n\n\"Huh?\" I lowered my gaze to see a wide puddle of cold water on the bedroom floor.\n\n\"How did that get there?\" I murmured.\n\nI suddenly felt worried.\n\n\"Aunt Greta?\" I called, hurrying back into the living room. \"Aunt Greta? Where are you?\"\n\nPanic swept over me.\n\nWhere could she be?\n\nI started for the kitchen\u2014when a rattling at the front door made me stop.\n\nWas someone breaking in?\n\nI gasped as the door slowly creaked open.\n\nAnd Aunt Greta came bustling in, brushing snow off her long, black coat. She smiled at me. But her smile instantly died when she saw my expression.\n\n\"Jaclyn\u2014what's wrong?\"\n\n\"I\u2014I\u2014I\u2014\" I sputtered. \"Aunt Greta\u2014where were you? I got so scared.\"\n\nShe pulled off her coat. \"Didn't you see my note?\"\n\n\"Huh? Note?\"\n\n\"I left it for you on the refrigerator,\" she said. \"I met a nice couple this morning at the general store. They came by and invited me over for dessert and coffee.\"\n\n\"Oh. That's nice,\" I choked out. My heart still pounded in my chest.\n\n\"Why did you get scared?\" Aunt Greta demanded, hanging her coat in the front closet. She straightened her long, white braid behind her sweater.\n\n\"Well, I was in your room. Looking for you. And I stepped in a cold puddle on the floor,\" I replied.\n\n\"Puddle? Show me,\" Aunt Greta demanded.\n\nI led the way to the bedroom and pointed to the wide wet spot on the floor. Aunt Greta gazed up at the ceiling. \"Maybe the roof leaks,\" she murmured. \"We'll have to examine it tomorrow morning.\"\n\n\"I\u2014I thought it was the snowman,\" I blurted out. \"I know it's crazy, but I thought he had been here. I thought he'd broken into the house and\u2014\"\n\nI stopped when I saw the shock on my aunt's face. Her mouth dropped open and she uttered a silent gasp.\n\n\"Jaclyn\u2014what are you talking about?\" she demanded. \"What have your friends been telling you? More nonsense about a snowman?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I confessed. \"Rolonda and Eli, the two village kids I met. They both told me a story about a living snowman who stays in an ice cave at the top of the mountain. They said\u2014\"\n\n\"It's all superstition,\" Aunt Greta interrupted. \"It's all old tales that have been handed down. None of it is true. You're smart enough to know that, Jaclyn.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I agreed. \"But Rolonda and Eli seem so frightened. They really believe the story. And Eli begged me not to go up to the ice cave.\"\n\n\"Probably good advice,\" Aunt Greta said. She crossed the room and placed a hand tenderly on my shoulder. \"You probably shouldn't go up to the mountaintop, dear,\" she said softly.\n\n\"Why not?\" I demanded.\n\n\"There must be some kind of real danger up there,\" she replied. \"Not a living snowman. But something else dangerous.\"\n\nShe sighed. \"That's how these old stories get started. Something bad happened on the mountaintop. Then the story changed each time it was told. Years later, no one remembers what really happened. And now everyone believes a silly story about a living snowman.\"\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"Have you seen all the strange snowmen in this village?\" I asked her. \"All the snowmen with scars on their faces and red scarves? Don't you think they're spooky?\"\n\n\"It's a strange village tradition,\" Aunt Greta confessed. \"Very quaint. I think they're very interesting looking.\"\n\n\"Interesting?\" I frowned at her.\n\n\"Well, make me a promise,\" she said, yawning.\n\n\"Promise?\"\n\n\"Promise me you won't go running up to the mountaintop to explore the ice cave. It probably is a very dangerous place.\"\n\n\"Well...\" I hesitated.\n\n\"Promise,\" Aunt Greta urged sternly.\n\n\"Okay. I promise,\" I agreed, rolling my eyes.\n\nBut a few minutes later, I decided to break that promise.\n\nI was lying in my attic bed, my eyes shut tight. Listening. Listening to the strange howls from the mountaintop.\n\nWere they animal? Were they human?\n\nI hate mysteries. I have to know the answers to things.\n\nI'm going up there, I decided.\n\nI don't care what I promised my aunt. I'm climbing up to the ice cave.\n\nTomorrow.\n\nI didn't dream of snowmen that night. I dreamed about fluffy white kittens with sky-blue eyes. Dozens of them. The whitest kittens I ever saw.\n\nThey began climbing over one another. Silently at first. And then they started to screech and hiss. A frightening, ugly sound.\n\nSuddenly they all wore red scarves around their necks.\n\nThey clawed at each other, arching their pure white backs. Hissing and screeching.\n\nUntil I woke up.\n\nYellow morning sunlight poured through the round window at the other end of my bedroom. I could smell bacon frying downstairs. Aunt Greta was already up and about.\n\nI decided to climb the mountain right after breakfast. I didn't want to think about it anymore. I wanted to go up there and solve the mystery.\n\nI knew that strange, white-bearded guy Conrad was a problem. If he saw me, he'd try to stop me. He and his wolf.\n\nBut I had a plan to take care of Conrad.\n\nIf only Rolonda and Eli would help...\n\nAs it turned out, I didn't get out of the house till after lunch. Aunt Greta needed me to hang curtains with her. And then we put up the paintings and posters she had brought from Chicago.\n\nThe house was tiny and cramped. But it was starting to feel a little more like home.\n\n\"Where are you going?\" Aunt Greta called as I pulled on my parka and gloves and started out the door.\n\n\"Uh... nowhere really,\" I lied. \"Just going to hang out with Rolonda and Eli.\"\n\nAs I said their names, I saw them walking up my front yard.\n\nI closed the front door behind me and hurried out to greet them. Eli carried a snow shovel. Rolonda dragged two slender tree branches. She dropped them at my feet.\n\n\"What's that for?\" I asked. \"What are you guys doing here?\"\n\n\"We have to build your snowman,\" Rolonda replied solemnly.\n\n\"Excuse me?\" I cried.\n\n\"You won't be safe until you have a snowman in your yard,\" Eli said.\n\n\"Listen, guys...\" I started.\n\n\"The snow is very wet,\" Rolonda reported. \"Good packing snow. It shouldn't take long. Eli and I brought everything we need.\"\n\n\"But I don't have time to build a snowman,\" I protested. \"I want to climb up to the ice cave this afternoon.\"\n\nThey both gasped. Eli gripped the shovel handle and gaped at me.\n\n\"You can't\u2014!\" Eli cried.\n\n\"Jaclyn, I warned you\u2014\" Rolonda said.\n\n\"I have to see it for myself,\" I told them. And then I added, \"I want you to come with me.\"\n\n\"No!\" Eli gasped.\n\nRolonda just shook her head. \"You know we won't go up to the ice cave, Jaclyn. And we don't want you to go, either.\"\n\n\"But if we all go together...\" I urged.\n\n\"No!\" they both cried.\n\nI could see real fear on their faces. Staring at them, I suddenly had an idea.\n\n\"Okay, okay,\" I said. \"I'll make a deal with you.\"\n\nThey eyed me suspiciously. \"What kind of deal?\" Rolonda demanded.\n\n\"I'll stay here and build the snowman\u2014if you will help me when we're done,\" I said.\n\n\"No. We won't go with you,\" Rolonda insisted. \"You can't get us to go up to the ice cave, Jaclyn.\"\n\n\"No deal,\" Eli added sternly.\n\n\"You don't have to go up to the ice cave,\" I told them. \"You just have to keep Conrad busy so I can sneak past him.\"\n\n\"Huh? How are we going to do that?\" Eli asked, leaning on the shovel.\n\n\"We'll think of something when we get up there,\" I replied. \"If you can keep him talking to you, maybe I can sneak past and get up to the cave.\"\n\n\"But we don't want you to go to the ice cave!\" Rolonda insisted.\n\n\"I'm going to do it one way or the other,\" I told her. \"With or without you. So are you going to help me or not?\"\n\nThey glanced tensely at each other. Eli whispered something to his sister. Rolonda whispered something back.\n\nThen Rolonda turned to me. \"Will you build the snowman first?\" she asked.\n\n\"You won't be safe without the snowman,\" Eli added.\n\nI wanted to tell them that building a snowman wouldn't protect me against anything. I wanted to tell them how silly the whole thing was.\n\nBut I needed their help. I knew I could never get past Conrad and his wolf without them.\n\n\"Okay. Fine. First, we'll build the snowman,\" I agreed.\n\n\"Then Eli and I will help you,\" Rolonda promised.\n\n\"But we won't go any farther than Conrad's cabin,\" Eli insisted in a trembling voice.\n\n\"Great!\" I replied. \"Let's get started.\"\n\nI bent down and started rolling a snowball for the snowman's body. Rolonda was right. It was good packing snow. I rolled the ball across my snowy yard until it was big enough for two of us to roll. Rolonda and I worked on the body. Eli worked on the snowball for the head.\n\nBuilding one of the strange snowmen gave me a creepy feeling. I felt as if I had become part of the superstition. I was taking part in some kind of ancient village tradition. A tradition built on fear.\n\nThe people of the village all built these snowmen because they were afraid. And now here I was, building one, too.\n\nShould I be afraid? I wondered.\n\nI felt glad when the snowman was finished. Rolonda pulled a red scarf from her coat pocket, and we wrapped it under the scarred head.\n\nThe snowman's dark eyes seemed to glare at me. The mouth was turned down in an angry sneer. The arms bobbed softly in the wind.\n\n\"Okay. Good job,\" I told my two new friends. \"Now let's get going.\" I motioned toward the mountaintop.\n\n\"Are you sure you want to do this?\" Eli asked in a tiny voice.\n\n\"Sure, I'm sure!\" I declared loudly.\n\nBut as we started making our way along the road, I didn't feel as sure as I pretended.\n\nThe road curved up the mountain. Soon the houses ended and we were walking through snowy woods.\n\nWe didn't talk. We kept our eyes straight ahead.\n\nThe afternoon sun was slowly lowering itself behind the trees. Blue shadows stretched over the snow. The air grew colder as we climbed.\n\nWhen Conrad's low cabin came into view, my heart began to pound.\n\nI tried to keep my mind calm and clear. But question after question whirred through my brain.\n\nWas Conrad inside the cabin?\n\nWhere was the white wolf?\n\nWould my plan work?\n\nAll three of us stopped at the end of the road and stared at the cabin up ahead. The late afternoon sun had fallen behind the trees. The snow billowed in front of us in shades of gray.\n\nTo the left of the cabin, I saw a row of low evergreen shrubs, covered in snow.\n\n\"I'll hide behind those shrubs,\" I told Rolonda and Eli. \"You run up to the cabin and keep Conrad and the wolf from seeing me.\"\n\n\"This isn't going to work,\" Eli muttered, his eyes on the cabin.\n\n\"It's getting kind of dark,\" Rolonda fretted. \"Maybe we should come back in the morning.\"\n\n\"Maybe we should forget the whole idea,\" Eli suggested. I saw his chin quiver. He shuddered.\n\n\"Hey\u2014you promised!\" I exclaimed. \"A promise is a promise\u2014right?\"\n\nThey didn't reply. They both stared across the gray snow at the dark cabin up ahead.\n\n\"I came this far. I'm not going back,\" I said sharply. \"Are you going to help me or not?\"\n\nI gasped when I heard a low growl from the cabin. The wolf must have heard or smelled us.\n\nI knew it would come running out any second.\n\n\"Come on!\" I urged in a loud whisper. And I took off for the snow-covered shrubs.\n\nI ducked out of view just as Conrad and the wolf burst out of the cabin.\n\n\"Hello!\" Rolonda cried to Conrad.\n\n\"Hi!\" Eli echoed.\n\nI watched Rolonda and Eli go running up to Conrad.\n\nThe wolf lowered its head, watching them carefully.\n\nI saw Rolonda and Eli, both talking at once, chattering with Conrad. I couldn't hear what they were saying.\n\nThey're doing it! I told myself, my heart pounding. They're keeping his attention.\n\nTime for me to move.\n\nTime for me to make a run for it.\n\nI could hear Rolonda talking to Conrad. I glanced over the top of the bush. The wolf had its back to me.\n\nConrad was scratching his gray hair, listening to Rolonda. I couldn't see his expression. But I imagined he was very confused and surprised.\n\nI knew he didn't get any visitors.\n\nHe must be wondering what Rolonda and Eli were doing up here!\n\nI forced all of these thoughts from my mind.\n\nIt was time for me to make a run for it.\n\nI took a deep breath.\n\nThen, still crouching, I began to run.\n\nMy legs felt like Jell-O. My boots sank into the deep snow.\n\nDucking my head, I darted up the steep mountain side.\n\nUp, up.\n\nI had just passed the bushes when I heard Conrad's angry shout\u2014\"Hey, wait!\"\n\nI stopped so suddenly, I fell over backward!\n\nI landed hard. The snow seemed to fly up in my face, sweep over me, surround me. Everything went white.\n\nI'm caught, I realized.\n\nMy plan didn't work.\n\nI stood up and turned to face Conrad.\n\nTo my shock, he wasn't coming after me. He and the wolf were running downhill. Chasing after Rolonda and Eli.\n\nI heard the wolf utter a high growl. Then they disappeared around a curve.\n\nI stood frozen in place, staring at the spot where they had just been.\n\nWould Conrad harm Rolonda and Eli?\n\nShould I run after them and try to help them?\n\nNo. I had to keep going.\n\nThis was the plan. This was my chance.\n\nTaking another deep breath, I turned and started to run up the mountainside. The climb was steep for a while. So steep I wasn't sure I could make it.\n\nBut then the ground leveled off. I found myself on a wide ledge. The ledge was slick. My boots slipped on the ice.\n\nI pressed my back against the mountain wall.\n\nAnd gazed up at the ice cave.\n\nYes!\n\nThere it stood above me. A cave as tall as a building. Smooth and glassy, it reflected the clouds in the sky above it.\n\nI couldn't see the entrance from here. I was staring at one of the sides.\n\nThe ledge narrowed as it curled up to the cave.\n\nI kept my back pressed against the wall and slowly\u2014step by step\u2014inched my way toward the top.\n\n\"Don't look down!\" I murmured out loud.\n\nBut as soon as I said it, I had to look.\n\nIt was a deep drop from the ledge to the ground far, far below.\n\nIf I slipped and fell...\n\nI'm not going to slip and fall! I told myself.\n\nA deep, rumbling sound made me jump!\n\nI grabbed the mountainside with both hands to keep from falling.\n\nThe ledge trembled beneath me.\n\nAnother low rumble made me cry out in fear.\n\nThe ledge trembled again. The whole mountain seemed to shake!\n\nThe sound came from the cave.\n\nIs something moving up there? I wondered.\n\nOr is it the normal sound of a mountaintop in the wind?\n\nI gathered my courage and moved forward. Inch by inch.\n\nI had come this far. I refused to retreat now.\n\nThe ledge grew narrower, slipperier, as it curved around.\n\nAnother rumbling noise made me gasp.\n\nSomehow I held on. And followed the ledge around.\n\nIt seemed to take forever. But then the cave opening came into view.\n\nAnd after that, I saw the most terrifying sight of my life.\n\nI didn't see it at first.\n\nFirst, I saw the layer of solid ice that covered the ledge. The glassy cave rose up behind the ledge. The gaping entrance to the cave was blacker than the darkest night.\n\nI stood staring into the darkness. Trying to catch my breath. Trying to slow my pounding heart.\n\nClouds reflected in the glassy ice drifted rapidly to the right. They made the cave appear to move.\n\nSharply pointed icicles stabbed down from the roof of the cave opening. They reminded me of sharpened teeth about to close.\n\nI stared into the black cave opening and waited. Waited to see if anything would appear.\n\nI didn't have to wait long.\n\nA rumble as loud as thunder made the ledge quake.\n\nAfraid I might slip off, I dropped to my knees.\n\nThe rumble grew to a roar.\n\nAnd a tall, white figure lumbered out from the blackness of the cave entrance. An enormous snowman!\n\nI gasped\u2014and stared in horror as the mountain of snow moved toward me. \"Nooooo!\" I wailed.\n\nI forgot where I was. Forgot I was perched on a narrow ice ledge.\n\nAnd started to back up, to back away from the tall creature.\n\nAnd I slipped.\n\nSlipped off the ledge.\n\nAnd felt myself fall.\n\nMy hands shot up.\n\nShot up and dug into the ledge.\n\nI gripped the icy ledge. Held on. Held on.\n\nWith a terrified groan, I scrambled back up to safety. Trembling. My entire body shaking. My breaths escaping in short, frantic gasps.\n\nI huddled on my knees on the icy ledge and watched the snowman as it glared down at me. Its blood-red scarf flapped in the wind. Its round, black eyes were as big as doorknobs. Its dark mouth turned down in a fierce, angry sneer.\n\nAnd the scar. The scar cut deeply into the side of its round head, long and curling, like a black snake.\n\n\"Ohhhhhh.\" I uttered another moan as its tree branch arms reached for me.\n\nI shivered in a sudden, deep cold. A cold I'd never felt before. I could see frozen waves floating from the snowman's wide body.\n\nAnd then the big, round head tilted. The black eyes bulged even wider.\n\nAnd the snowman bellowed in a deep roar of a voice: \"WHO ARE YOU?\"\n\nI trembled in the waves of cold that floated off its body.\n\nIt talks!\n\nThe stories Rolonda and Eli told me are true. It's all true.\n\nIts round eyes locked on mine, the big snowman moved closer. Closer.\n\nI wanted to stand up. I wanted to run.\n\nBut it had me frozen there.\n\nI couldn't stand. I couldn't back up. I couldn't escape from it.\n\n\"WHO ARE YOU?\" the snowman bellowed again. And the whole mountain shook.\n\n\"I\u2014I\u2014\" My voice came out in a quivering squeak.\n\n\"Please\u2014\" I managed to choke out. \"Please\u2014I didn't mean to bother you. I\u2014\"\n\n\"WHO ARE YOU?\" the huge snow creature thundered for the third time.\n\n\"My name?\" I squeaked. \"My name is Jaclyn. Jaclyn DeForest.\"\n\nThe snowman's tree branch arms shot up. Its dark mouth gaped open in surprise.\n\n\"SAY IT AGAIN,\" it ordered.\n\nI shivered in the waves of cold. \"Jaclyn DeForest,\" I repeated in my tiny, frightened voice.\n\nThe snowman stared down at me in silence for a long while. It lowered its arms to its round, white sides.\n\n\"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?\" it demanded.\n\nI swallowed hard. The question took me totally by surprise. I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound came out.\n\n\"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?\" the snowman thundered.\n\n\"No,\" I squeaked. \"Who are you?\"\n\n\"I AM YOUR FATHER!\" the snowman cried.\n\n\"Nooooooo!\" A long wail escaped my throat.\n\nI wanted to get away from there. I wanted to run. To slide down the mountain. To fly away.\n\nBut I couldn't move.\n\nThe snowman trapped me in his icy grip. Held me there on the ledge. Froze me in wave after wave of cold.\n\n\"Jaclyn\u2014I am your father,\" the snowman repeated, lowering his booming voice. He stared down at me with those frightening, round glassy eyes. \"Believe me.\"\n\n\"Th-that's impossible!\" I stammered. I hugged myself, trying to stop my body from trembling. \"You're a snowman! You can't be my father!\"\n\n\"Listen to me!\" the snowman roared. \"I am your father. Your mother was a sorceress. And so is your aunt. Your aunt practices all sorts of magic.\"\n\n\"No\u2014!\" I protested. His lies made me gather my courage. I climbed to my feet.\n\n\"That's not true!\" I cried angrily. \"I've never seen Aunt Greta do any magic. You're lying!\"\n\nThe snowman bobbed from side to side. The ledge shook beneath me. I nearly lost my balance.\n\n\"I do not lie, Jaclyn,\" he insisted. His arms raised up, as if he were pleading with me. \"I'm telling the truth.\"\n\n\"But\u2014but\u2014\" I sputtered.\n\n\"Your mother did this to me,\" the snowman said. \"She used her magic and turned me into a snowman. You were two years old. She turned me into a snowman. She tried to turn me back. But she failed. Then she and your aunt Greta took you and ran away from the village.\"\n\n\"Your story doesn't make any sense!\" I cried. \"If what you say is true, why did we move back here? Why did Aunt Greta bring us back to the village?\"\n\n\"Your aunt had a good reason for coming back,\" the snowman explained. \"She knows that after ten years, the magic spell starts to fade.\"\n\n\"I\u2014I don't understand,\" I stammered. My head felt frozen. It was hard to think. I struggled to make sense of what he was telling me.\n\n\"After ten years, the spell fades,\" the snowman repeated. \"Your aunt came back to renew the spell. She wants me to stay a snowman. She wants to keep me prisoner up here forever. She wants to make sure I don't tell the world what happened to me. And she wants to keep you to herself!\"\n\n\"Aunt Greta is not a sorceress!\" I protested. \"I've lived with her most of my life. And I've never seen her do any kind of magic. She doesn't\u2014\"\n\n\"PLEASE!\" the snowman bellowed, raising a tree branch arm to silence me. \"There isn't much time. I'm your father, Jaclyn. Your real father. You've got to believe me.\"\n\n\"But, I\u2014I\u2014\" I didn't know what to say. I couldn't think straight. It was all too... crazy.\n\n\"You can get me out of this,\" the snowman pleaded. \"You can save me. But you've got to hurry. Your aunt Greta will renew the spell soon. If you don't save me, I'll be a snowman for another ten years.\"\n\n\"But what can I do?\" I cried. \"I'm not a sorceress. I can't do magic. What can I do?\"\n\n\"You can save me,\" the giant snow creature insisted. \"But I cannot tell you how.\" He uttered a bitter sigh.\n\n\"If I tell you how to save me, it will only strengthen the spell,\" he continued. \"You've got to figure it out for yourself.\"\n\n\"Huh? But how?\" I demanded.\n\n\"I can give you a hint,\" the snowman replied. \"I cannot tell you how to save me. But I can give you a hint.\"\n\n\"Okay,\" I said softly. I hugged myself more tightly.\n\nAnd I listened as, in his deep rumble of a voice, the snowman recited the familiar rhyme:\n\n\"When the snows blow wild\n\nAnd the day grows old,\n\nBeware, the snowman, my child.\n\nBeware, the snowman.\n\nHe brings the cold.\"\n\nI stared up at him in shock. \"You\u2014you know the poem!\" I stammered.\n\n\"That is your clue,\" the snowman said softly. \"That is the only hint I can give you. Now you must figure out how to rescue me.\"\n\nI already knew how to rescue him.\n\nI knew instantly when he recited the old rhyme.\n\nThe second verse. The secret had to be in the second verse. The verse I couldn't remember.\n\n\"Please, Jaclyn.\" The snowman gazed down at me, pleading. \"Please. Help me. I'm your father, Jaclyn. I'm really your father.\"\n\nI stared back at him. Trying to decide. Trying so hard to decide.\n\nShould I believe him?\n\nShould I help him?\n\nYes, I decided.\n\nYes. I'll run home. I'll find the old poetry book. And I'll read the second verse of the rhyme.\n\n\"I'm coming back!\" I called up to the snowman. I spun away from him, pulled myself out of his invisible, cold grip.\n\nI started to run down the ledge. And gasped when I nearly ran into Aunt Greta!\n\n\"Aunt Greta\u2014!\" I cried in shock.\n\n\"I tried to warn you!\" she called to me. \"I tried to scare you, Jaclyn. To keep you from coming up here.\"\n\nSo, it was Aunt Greta who whispered up to my room late at night, who warned me to beware of the snowman!\n\nHer dark eyes were wild. Her normally pale face was bright red! Her long, black coat was open and flapped behind her in the wind.\n\nShe raised a large, black book in one hand above her head. \"Jaclyn\u2014is this what you're looking for?\" she demanded shrilly.\n\n\"The poetry book?\" I cried.\n\nMy aunt nodded. She held the book high above her.\n\n\"Aunt Greta\u2014is it true?\" I asked, glancing back at the huge snowman. \"Is he really my father?\"\n\nMy aunt's face twisted in surprise. \"Huh? Your father?\" she cried. \"What a lie! Is that what he told you? That he's your father? It's a lie. A horrible lie!\"\n\n\"NOOOOOO!\" the snowman boomed.\n\nI jumped. But Aunt Greta ignored the thunderous cry.\n\n\"It's a lie, Jaclyn,\" she repeated, glaring angrily at the snowman. \"He isn't your father. He's an evil monster!\"\n\n\"NOOOOO!\" the snowman bellowed again. The whole mountain shook from his protest.\n\n\"Your mother and father were sorcerers,\" Aunt Greta continued, ignoring him. \"They practiced their magic night and day. But they went too far. They created him accidentally.\"\n\nAunt Greta pointed to the snowman, her face bitter. \"He's an evil monster,\" she repeated through gritted teeth. \"When your parents saw what they had done, they were horrified. They froze the monster inside the snowman body. Soon after, your father disappeared. Your mother and I took you and ran from the village. We ran to be safe from the monster's horrible evil!\"\n\n\"YOU ARE A LIAR!\" the snowman raged. He waved his stick arms wildly in the air. His scarf blew out at his sides like hawk wings. Wave after wave of cold shot off his bulging body.\n\n\"Jaclyn, don't believe her!\" the snowman pleaded. \"Save me\u2014please! I am your father.\"\n\nHis arms reached out to me. \"Please,\" he begged. \"I know it is hard for you to believe. But your aunt is the evil one. She is a sorceress. She and your mother and I\u2014we were all sorcerers. I am not evil. I am not a monster. Please\u2014\"\n\n\"Liar!\" Aunt Greta shrieked. She gripped the big book angrily in both hands, as if ready to throw it at him. \"I know no magic!\" Aunt Greta cried. \"I know no spells! I am not a sorceress!\"\n\nShe opened the book and began frantically shuffling through the pages. \"I'm not a sorceress. But I brought this book because I know its secret. I know what I need to do to make sure you stay frozen in that snowman body forever!\"\n\nThe snowman continued to reach out to me. \"Jaclyn, save me. Save me now,\" he pleaded.\n\nI turned from him to my aunt, then back to him.\n\nWho should I believe?\n\nWhich one was telling the truth?\n\nSuddenly, I had an idea.\n\nI grabbed the open poetry book from my aunt's hands.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" she shrieked.\n\nShe moved quickly to wrestle it away from me.\n\nWe both tugged at it. The old pages tore and flew out. The heavy cover cracked.\n\nAunt Greta made a desperate swipe at it.\n\nBut I pulled it away from her. Then I backed up against the wall of the ice cave.\n\nAunt Greta took a step toward me. Then she gazed up at the snowman and decided not to come that close to him.\n\n\"Jaclyn\u2014you're making a big mistake!\" Aunt Greta warned.\n\nLeaning against the smooth cave wall, I flipped frantically through the pages of the old book. \"I'm going to find the poem,\" I told her. \"I'm going to read the second verse. It's the only way to know the truth.\"\n\n\"THANK YOU, DAUGHTER!\" the snowman bellowed.\n\nAunt Greta uttered a wail of protest. \"I'm telling you the truth, Jaclyn!\" she cried. \"I have taken care of you all these years. I would not lie to you.\"\n\nBut I'd made up my mind.\n\nI had to read the second verse. It was the only way I could find out who was lying and who was telling the truth.\n\n\"He's a monster!\" Aunt Greta cried.\n\nThe snowman stood still and silent, watching me furiously shuffle through the pages.\n\nWhere was that rhyme? Where?\n\nI glanced up. \"Aunt Greta\u2014?\"\n\nShe bent down and picked up a torn page from the snow. As her eyes moved over the page, a smile spread over her face.\n\nThe wind blew her coat behind her. Her eyes were wild. The page fluttered in her hand.\n\n\"Jaclyn, I can't let you read the rhyme,\" she said.\n\n\"You\u2014you have it in your hand?\" I cried.\n\n\"I can't let you read it,\" Aunt Greta repeated.\n\nAnd tossed the page over the ledge.\n\nI let out a shriek.\n\nI watched the page float out over the ledge. I watched it fly up, then start to drop.\n\nIt's lost, I realized.\n\nThe second verse is lost forever.\n\nThe swirling wind will carry it down the mountain, down the steep drop. It will never be seen again.\n\nAnd then, I cried out again\u2014as the wind carried the page up. Up. Back up.\n\nAnd into my hand!\n\nI grabbed it out of the air.\n\nI stared at it in amazement.\n\nAnd before Aunt Greta could grab it back, I raised the page to my face and started to read the second verse of the rhyme out loud:\n\n\"When the snows melt\n\nAnd the warm sun is with thee,\n\nBeware, the snowman\u2014\"\n\n\"Noooooo!\" Aunt Greta wailed. She dove toward me. With a desperate swipe, she pulled the page from my hand.\n\nAnd ripped it to shreds.\n\nThe snowman uttered a horrified groan. He bent. Reached out to grab Aunt Greta.\n\nToo late.\n\nThe jagged strips of paper fluttered to the snow.\n\n\"Aunt Greta\u2014why?\" I choked out.\n\n\"I couldn't let you do it,\" she replied. \"He's a monster, Jaclyn. He's not your father. I couldn't let you free him.\"\n\n\"She's lying,\" the snowman insisted. \"She does not want you to know me, Jaclyn. She doesn't want you to know your own father. She wants to leave me trapped in this frozen cave forever.\"\n\nI turned back to my aunt. Her face had grown stern and hard. She stared back at me coldly.\n\nI took a deep breath. \"Aunt Greta, I have to know the truth,\" I told her.\n\n\"I've told you the truth,\" she insisted.\n\n\"I have to know for myself,\" I replied. \"I\u2014I saw the last line of the poem. Before you grabbed it and tore it up. I know the whole poem, Aunt Greta.\"\n\n\"Don't\u2014\" my aunt pleaded, reaching out to me.\n\nBut I backed up against the icy cave wall, and I recited the rhyme from memory:\n\n\"When the snows melt\n\nAnd the warm sun is with thee,\n\nBeware, the snowman\u2014\n\nFor the snowman shall go free!\"\n\n\"No, Jaclyn! No! No! No!\" Aunt Greta wailed. She pressed her hands to the sides of her face and repeated her cry. \"No! No! No!\"\n\nI turned to the snowman and saw him begin to melt.\n\nThe white snow oozed down his face and body like melting ice cream.\n\nThe black eyes dropped to the snow. The face melted, melted onto the body. The snow poured off the round body. The tree branch arms thudded heavily to the ground.\n\nSlowly his real face came into view.\n\nSlowly his body emerged from under the snow.\n\nI stared as the snow dripped away.\n\nAnd then I opened my mouth in a shrill scream of horror.\n\nA monster!\n\nAn ugly, snarling, red-skinned monster stomped out from under the oozing snow.\n\nAunt Greta had told the truth. A monster was trapped inside the snowman. Not my father.\n\nNot my father.\n\nA monster... such a hideous monster!\n\nIts head and body were covered with crusty red scales. Its yellow eyes rolled wildly in its bull-shaped head. A purple tongue flapped from its jagged-toothed mouth.\n\n\"No! No! No! No!\" Aunt Greta chanted, still pressing both hands against her face. Tears ran down her cheeks and over her hands.\n\n\"What have I done?\" I wailed.\n\nThe monster tossed back its head in a throaty laugh. He picked the poetry book off the snow in his scaly, three-fingered hands. And he heaved it over the side of the mountain.\n\n\"You're next!\" he roared at me.\n\n\"No\u2014please!\" I begged.\n\nI grabbed Aunt Greta by the shoulders and tugged her away from the ledge. We pressed ourselves against the icy wall of the cave.\n\n\"Good-bye,\" the monster grunted. \"Good-bye, all.\"\n\n\"But I saved you!\" I pleaded. \"Is that my reward? To be thrown over the side of the mountain?\"\n\nThe red-scaled beast nodded. An ugly grin revealed more jagged teeth. \"Yes. That is your reward.\"\n\nHe picked me up in one powerful hand. Squeezing my waist. Squeezing it so tightly I couldn't breathe.\n\nHe picked Aunt Greta up in his other hand.\n\nRaised us above his head.\n\nLet out an ugly, raspy groan.\n\nAnd held us over the side of the mountain.\n\nHis powerful hands swung us out over the cliff edge.\n\nI peered down, down at the sheer drop, at the snowy ground that appeared to be miles below.\n\nTo my surprise, the monster didn't let go.\n\nHe swung around and dropped my aunt and me back onto the ledge.\n\n\"Huh?\" I uttered a startled gasp.\n\nThe monster was staring down the ledge now. He had stopped paying attention to Aunt Greta and me.\n\nStruggling to catch my breath, I turned and followed his gaze.\n\nAnd saw what had startled the monster. And saved my life.\n\nA parade!\n\nA parade of snowmen.\n\nAll of the snowmen of the village. They were marching up to the ice cave in a single line.\n\nTheir red scarves waved in the wind. Their sticklike arms bobbed up and down as they rumbled up the mountainside.\n\nLike soldiers, they came marching up to us. Bouncing, thudding, rumbling forward. All identical. All scarred and stern-faced and sneering.\n\n\"I\u2014I don't believe it!\" I stammered. I grabbed Aunt Greta's arm.\n\nWe stared at the marching snowmen in horror.\n\n\"They're all coming to serve the monster,\" Aunt Greta whispered. \"We're doomed, Jaclyn. Doomed.\"\n\nThe snowmen rumbled up the icy ledge. The steady thud thud thud grew louder as they neared. The sound echoed off the snowy mountaintop until it sounded as if a thousand snowmen were marching to attack us.\n\nAunt Greta and I shrank back against the glassy cave wall.\n\nWe had nowhere to run. The monster blocked the cave entrance. The marching snowmen cut off any escape down the ledge.\n\nCloser came the snowmen. Closer. Close enough to see the anger in their round, black eyes. Close enough to see the snakelike scars cut into their faces.\n\nAunt Greta and I couldn't move. We raised our hands as if to shield ourselves.\n\nAnd then we gasped in surprise as the snowmen marched right past us.\n\nThey rumbled up to the monster. Bouncing fast. Thudding over the ice. Arms waving, dark eyes glowing.\n\nBounced up to the startled monster. And pushed him. Pushed him back.\n\nThe snowmen crushed up against him. One snowman. Then two. Then ten.\n\nThey crushed against his scaly, red body. Pushing him back. Back.\n\nThe monster tossed its head in an angry roar.\n\nBut the roar was smothered as a snowman rolled over the monster's head.\n\nAunt Greta and I gasped in amazement as the snowmen swarmed over the monster.\n\nPushed him back against the cave wall.\n\nWe saw the monster's powerful arms flail in the air, thrashing wildly. Helplessly.\n\nAnd then the monster disappeared behind a crush of snowmen.\n\nThe snowmen pushed forward. Pushed hard. Pushed silently.\n\nLike a silent avalanche.\n\nAnd when they finally stepped back, the monster stood frozen, arms stretched out as if to attack. Not moving. Frozen inside the ice wall.\n\nA prisoner.\n\nThe snowmen had pushed him into the wall. Trapped him inside the glassy wall of ice.\n\nAunt Greta and I stood trembling beside the cave entrance. We were still holding on to each other. My legs felt weak and rubbery. I could feel Aunt Greta trembling beneath her coat.\n\n\"What brought all the snowmen up here?\" I asked her. \"Did you do it, Aunt Greta?\"\n\nShe shook her head, her eyes still wide with amazement. \"I didn't bring them here, Jaclyn,\" she said softly. \"I told you the truth. I have no magic. Your mother and father were sorcerers. But not me.\"\n\n\"Then who made them climb the mountain to rescue us?\" I demanded.\n\n\"I did!\" a voice cried.\n\nI turned to the ledge\u2014and saw Conrad standing there. His gray hair blew wildly in the wind. The white wolf stood at his side.\n\n\"You made the snowmen march?\" I cried. \"You are a sorcerer, too?\"\n\nConrad nodded. He gazed at the monster trapped in the ice and a smile spread over his face. \"Yes. I sent them to rescue you,\" he said.\n\nAunt Greta narrowed her eyes at Conrad. As she studied his face, her mouth dropped open. \"You!\" Aunt Greta cried. \"It's you!\"\n\nConrad's smile grew even wider. \"Yes,\" he told my aunt.\n\n\"Who\u2014who is he?\" I demanded.\n\nAunt Greta turned to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. \"Jaclyn,\" she said softly, \"I moved back here because I thought he might still be here. And yes, I was right. He is here.\"\n\nShe squeezed my shoulder and smiled at me, tears welling in her eyes. \"Conrad is your father,\" Aunt Greta whispered.\n\nConrad and I both cried out at the same time.\n\nHe rushed across the icy ledge and wrapped me in a hug. His long beard scratched my face as he pressed his cheek against mine.\n\n\"I don't believe it!\" he cried, stepping back with tears in his eyes. \"It's been so many years\u2014I didn't recognize you, Jaclyn. I'm so glad that Greta brought you back to the village.\"\n\n\"You\u2014you're really my father?\" I stammered.\n\nConrad didn't have a chance to answer. Rolonda and Eli came running up to us. \"Are you okay?\" they cried.\n\nConrad pointed to Rolonda and Eli. \"They saved your lives!\" he told Aunt Greta and me. \"They told me that you planned to climb to the ice cave. As soon as I heard that, I worked my magic. I sent the snowmen up to rescue you.\"\n\n\"Wow!\" Eli exclaimed, seeing the monster frozen in the ice. \"Look at that!\"\n\n\"That was the evil snowman,\" Conrad explained to them. \"He'll never threaten the village again.\"\n\nRolonda and Eli stepped closer to view the frozen monster close up.\n\nI turned to my father. \"I don't understand,\" I said. \"Why did you stay behind in the village when Mom and Aunt Greta left? Why do you live up here near the ice cave?\"\n\nHe scratched his beard and sighed. \"It's kind of a long story. When you were little, your mother and I were practicing powerful magic. Our magic got out of control. We accidentally created this monster.\"\n\nHe motioned to the monster and shook his head. \"We froze the monster inside the body of a snowman,\" he explained. \"Your mother\u2014she wanted to leave. She was so frightened and upset. She wanted to move as far away from the village as she could. She wanted to forget it ever happened.\"\n\n\"And why did you stay?\" I demanded.\n\n\"I stayed because I thought I owed it to the people of the village,\" he explained. \"I owed it to them to keep the snowman in his cave. To keep him from harming people.\"\n\nHe uttered another sad sigh. \"And so I stayed up here, close to the monster we created. But... but... leaving you, Jaclyn, was the hardest thing I ever had to do!\"\n\nHe wrapped his arm around my shoulders. Again, his beard scratched my face.\n\n\"I always dreamed that someday I could leave the mountain and go find you,\" he said softly. \"And now the monster is dead. The horror is finally over. And Greta has brought you back. Perhaps...\"\n\nHis voice broke. He smiled at Aunt Greta and then at me. He took a breath and tried again. \"Perhaps... we can try to be a family again.\"\n\nHe kept his arm around me as we turned to go down the mountain.\n\n\"Hey\u2014!\" I cried out as I saw the snowmen move to block our path.\n\nIn all the excitement of finding my father, I'd completely forgotten about all the snowmen!\n\nNow they circled us. Surrounded us.\n\nStaring at us with their glowing coal eyes. Staring at us so coldly.\n\n\"Wh-what are they going to do?\" I stammered.\n\nBefore my father could answer, one of the snowmen came thumping out of the group. He rumbled up to us, arms twitching, eyes flashing.\n\nI grabbed Dad's arm. The snowmen had us totally surrounded.\n\nNowhere to move. No chance to run away.\n\nThe snowman stopped inches from my father\u2014and opened his mouth to speak.\n\n\"Can we go back down now?\" the snowman asked. \"It's really cold up here!\"\n\nR.L. Stine's books are read all over the world. So far, his books have sold more than 300 million copies, making him one of the most popular children's authors in history. Besides Goosebumps, R.L. Stine has written the teen series Fear Street and the funny series Rotten School, as well as the Mostly Ghostly series, The Nightmare Room series, and the two-book thriller Dangerous Girls. R.L. Stine lives in New York with his wife, Jane, and Minnie, his King Charles spaniel. You can learn more about him at RLStine.com.\nGOOSEBUMPS\u00ae\n\nMOST WANTED\n\n#1 PLANET OF THE LAWN GNOMES\n\n#2 SON OF SLAPPY\n\n#3 HOW I MET MY MONSTER\n\n#4 FRANKENSTEIN'S DOG\n\n#5 DR. MANIAC WILL SEE YOU NOW\n\n#6 CREATURE TEACHER: FINAL EXAM\n\n#7 A NIGHTMARE ON CLOWN STREET\n\n#8 NIGHT OF THE PUPPET PEOPLE\n\n#9 HERE COMES THE SHAGGEDY\n\n#10 THE LIZARD OF OZ\n\nSPECIAL EDITION #1 ZOMBIE HALLOWEEN\n\nSPECIAL EDITION #2 THE 12 SCREAMS OF CHRISTMAS\n\nSPECIAL EDITION #3 TRICK OR TRAP\n\nSPECIAL EDITION #4 THE HAUNTER\n\nGOOSEBUMPS\u00ae\n\nSLAPPYWORLD\n\n#1 SLAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU\n\n#2 ATTACK OF THE JACK!\n\n#3 I AM SLAPPY'S EVIL TWIN\n\n#4 PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE WEIRDO\n\n#5 ESCAPE FROM SHUDDER MANSION\n\n#6 THE GHOST OF SLAPPY\n\nGOOSEBUMPS\u00ae\n\nAlso available as ebooks\n\nNIGHT OF THE LIVING DUMMY\n\nDEEP TROUBLE\n\nMONSTER BLOOD\n\nTHE HAUNTED MASK\n\nONE DAY AT HORRORLAND\n\nTHE CURSE OF THE MUMMY'S TOMB\n\nBE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR\n\nSAY CHEESE AND DIE!\n\nTHE HORROR AT CAMP JELLYJAM\n\nHOW I GOT MY SHRUNKEN HEAD\n\nTHE WEREWOLF OF FEVER SWAMP\n\nA NIGHT IN TERROR TOWER\n\nWELCOME TO DEAD HOUSE\n\nWELCOME TO CAMP NIGHTMARE\n\nGHOST BEACH\n\nTHE SCARECROW WALKS AT MIDNIGHT\n\nYOU CAN'T SCARE ME!\n\nRETURN OF THE MUMMY\n\nREVENGE OF THE LAWN GNOMES\n\nPHANTOM OF THE AUDITORIUM\n\nVAMPIRE BREATH\n\nSTAY OUT OF THE BASEMENT\n\nA SHOCKER ON SHOCK STREET\n\nLET'S GET INVISIBLE!\n\nNIGHT OF THE LIVING DUMMY 2\n\nNIGHT OF THE LIVING DUMMY 3\n\nTHE ABOMINABLE SNOWMAN OF PASADENA\n\nTHE BLOB THAT ATE EVERYONE\n\nTHE GHOST NEXT DOOR\n\nTHE HAUNTED CAR\n\nATTACK OF THE GRAVEYARD GHOULS\n\nPLEASE DON'T FEED THE VAMPIRE!\n\nTHE HEADLESS GHOST\n\nTHE HAUNTED MASK 2\n\nBRIDE OF THE LIVING DUMMY\n\nATTACK OF THE JACK-O'-LANTERNS\n\nALSO AVAILABLE:\n\nIT CAME FROM OHIO!: MY LIFE AS A WRITER by R.L. Stine\n\nGoosebumps book series created by Parachute Press, Inc.\n\nCopyright \u00a9 1997 by Scholastic Inc.\n\nAll rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, GOOSEBUMPS, GOOSEBUMPS HORRORLAND, and associated logos are trademarks and\/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.\n\nThe publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content\n\nThis book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.\n\nFirst printing, January 1997\n\ne-ISBN 978-1-338-33823-2\n\nAll rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":" \nThe name of Neville Duke is well-known in aviation circles, not only as a successful wartime fighter pilot, but also as a peacetime test pilot with the Hawker Aviation Company.\n\nJoining the RAF at the beginning of the war, he found himself as a young fighter pilot with the crack 92 Squadron at RAF Biggin Hill, in 1941. That spring and summer he survived the air battles over Northern France with the Biggin Hill Wing, often flying as wingman to the legendary 'Sailor' Malan\u2014Fighter Command's top-scoring pilot at that time. In those months he learnt the fighter pilot's trade, lessons that were to prove invaluable when, in November, he was posted to a very different air war in the Western Desert.\n\nFlying the famous 'Shark Mouthed' P40E Tomahawk fighters, he quickly established himself as one of the most successful pilots in North Africa, winning the DFC and bar. By 1943 he was flight commander with his old 92 Squadron, which had also become part of the Desert Air Force.\n\nAgain flying Spitfires, he brought his score to twenty-one by the end of the Tunisian Campaign, was awarded the DSO, then given command of 145 Spitfire Squadron in Italy. Leading this unit in the summer of 1944 he brought his score to twenty-eight, receiving a second bar to his DFC.\n\nTowards the end of the war he became an RAF test pilot and later a member of the RAF's High Speed Flight. This was the start of a successful career as a test pilot after leaving the Service in 1948, having been awarded the AFC. Working for Hawkers, he became Chief Test Pilot and did all the major flight development on one of the most famous of all RAF peacetime aircraft\u2014the Hawker Hunter, and with it took the world speed record in 1953.\n\nInjured in a Hunter crash two years later, he was forced to leave Hawkers but continued to fly and later set up his own test flying business, as well as becoming the personal pilot of Sir George Dowty. He worked for years as a freelance and highly respected test pilot, flying the Optica, Fieldmaster and Firemaster aeroplanes. He still flies his own plane.\n\nFirst published in 1953\n\nThis edition first published in hardback in 1992 by\n\nGrub Street\n\nThe Basement\n\n10 Chivalry Road\n\nLondon SW11 1HT\n\nReprinted in paperback in 1997\n\nCopyright this edition \u00a9 2003 Grub Street, London\n\nText \u00a9 Neville Duke\n\nReprinted 2006, 2010\n\nA catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library\n\n**ISBN 1 904010 40 7**  \n **eISBN 978 1 909166 77 6**\n\nAll rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright publisher.\n\nTypeset by Rowan Typesetters, Birchington, Kent\n\nPrinted and bound in Great Britain by\n\nMPG Books Ltd, Bodmin, Cornwall\n\nWith thanks to Norman Franks\n\nTEST PILOT was first published in 1953. This new edition is reprinted exactly as that edition but with an additional chapter covering Neville Duke's flying life from that date, and also has appendices and index. not included in the earlier book, together with a completely new selection of photographs.\n\nCover photos show Neville Duke on the day he set the 100km closed circuit record, 19 September 1953. The front cover image is supplied courtesy of Brian Isles, and thanks to him.\n\nCover design by Hugh Adams at AB3\nTo all my Fellow Pilots  \nof the War years  \nand today.\nContents\n\n_List of Illustrations_\n\n_Introduction_\n\n1: Through the Hatch!\n\n2: Early Flights\n\n3: Biggin Hill in 1941\n\n4: War over France\n\n5: War in the Desert\n\n6: Cairo to Cap Bon\n\n7: Italy\n\n8: Glimpsing the Future\n\n9: Speed\u2014and Decisions\n\n10: Civil Life\n\n11: Records and Races\n\n12: Test Pilot\n\n13: Chief Test Pilot\n\n14: Farnborough\n\n15: A Look Ahead\n\n_Addendum_\n\n_Record of Service_\n\n_Combat Successes_\n\n_Index_\nList of Illustrations\n\n1 Biggin Hill, 1941\n\n2 92 Squadron.\n\n3 Spitfire Vb.\n\n4 Sqn Ldr F V Morrello.\n\n5 P40 Kitty hawk.\n\n6 P40 112 Squadron.\n\n7 P40 cockpit.\n\n8 Sqn Ldr C R Caldwell.\n\n9 FO Duke DFC.\n\n10 112 Squadron pilots.\n\n11 Me 109 pilot\u2014PoW.\n\n12 Captured Me 109 pilot.\n\n13 P40E Kitty hawks.\n\n14 Now flying Spitfires again.\n\n15 My German prisoner.\n\n16 Camera-gun film\u2014Ju 87.\n\n17 Camera-gun film\u2014Me 109F.\n\n18 Spitfire Vb, 92 Squadron.\n\n19 Instructor at Abu Suweir.\n\n20 Sqn Ldr Sandy Kallio.\n\n21 244 Wing, Venarro, Italy.\n\n22 Camera-gun film\u2014Me 109F\n\n23 145 Squadron pilots, 21st May 1944.\n\n24 With Gwen, Buckingham Palace.\n\n25 High Speed Flight.\n\n26 Meteor over Tangmere.\n\n27 Hawker Fury.\n\n28 Gwen and Wimpy Wade.\n\n29 With Bill Humble.\n\n30 Hunter WB188.\n\n31 Hunter cockpit.\n\n32 RAF Hunter.\n\n33 WB195 in a dive.\n\n34 Hunter in flight.\n\n35 Prototype PI052\n\n36 Sea Hawk.\n\n37 Winston Churchill, Biggin Hill.\n\n38 Hawker Tomtit G-AFTA.\n\n39 Hawker test pilots.\n\n40 Twenty-fifth Anniversary of the Hunter.\nIntroduction\n\nDURING the clear, sunny afternoon of 6th September, 1952 many thousands of spectators at the annual display of the Society of British Aircraft Constructors peered into the sky above Farnborough aerodrome, their eyes seeking the DH 110, a twin-tailed fighter aircraft with swept wings, flown by John Derry, test pilot of the De Havilland Aircraft Company. With Anthony Richards as his observer, Derry dived from a height of over 40,000 feet towards Farnborough, causing sonic explosions like rumbling gunfire. As the echoes died, the DH 110 swept low over the aerodrome to begin an aerobatic display.\n\nSuddenly, the crowd's admiration changed to horror. Without warning the aircraft broke up, littering the sky with drifting wreckage; its cockpit fell on to the runway, and its two engines hurtled through the air like shells into a section of the spectators.\n\nIn that tense atmosphere, while the injured and the dead were yet uncounted and the ruin of the DH 110 was still being cleared from the runway, Neville Duke, chief test pilot of the Hawker Aircraft Company, took off in the sleek, graceful Hawker Hunter. He was watched in silence, all eyes seeking his return. He dived, causing sonic explosions, and reproduced the perfect exhibition of flying he had given during the earlier days of the display.\n\nMen and women, while biting on the thought that his aircraft, too, might break up, felt their hearts lift to his cool nerve and example, wondering in their minds what his thoughts might be at that moment.\n\nThe news of the accident, and of Neville Duke's immediate flight, went out to the world, and sorrow was mingled with admiration. Among the millions who read and heard the news, one sat down to pen a note\u2014the Prime Minister, Sir Winston Churchill. We have Sir Winston's permission to quote it. \"My dear Duke,\" he wrote, \"It was characteristic of you, and of 615 Squadron, to go up yesterday after the shocking accident. Accept my salute.\"\n\nThe next day while the accident and its possible causes were still being widely discussed, Neville Duke again took up the Hunter, producing sonic explosions in cloud, and performing aerobatics over the spot where Derry and Richards had crashed. He flew brilliantly.\n\nThese incidents, and general interest in supersonic flying by test pilots, concentrated attention on Neville Duke. This book, a story of his career and experiences, is a result of that attention.\n\nThere are one or two things I should like to say. Neville had to be persuaded to tell his story; he did so reluctantly. If there should be a suspicion that he \"line shoots\" then I alone am to blame. But if you should find interest and pleasure in this book, then the credit must go to Neville Duke. For it is his story. His experiences during the last war are drawn from his own war diaries, several passages being quoted verbatim.\n\nFlying, the thrill and joy of it, have been and are his life. He regards success and renown as being incidental. For him aircraft are machines that come to life while he flies them; and he flies with enthusiasm, part boyish, part the mature aviator. He is a superlative pilot who looks always ahead to the future, and he works hard and seriously.\n\nWhen his test flying days are ended let us expect there will be found for him a niche in aviation where the deep well of his experience and knowledge may be drawn upon for many years to come.\n\nAlan W Mitchell\n\n_Westhumble,_\n\n_Dorking, Surrey._\nCHAPTER 1\n\nThrough the Hatch!\n\nI DISCOVERED that I had flown faster than sound for the first time when I went into my office in the control tower of Hawker's airfield at Dunsfold one morning.\n\nIt is a comfortable office, with cream walls, a fawn carpet, a roomy desk and chair, and with photographs of aircraft here and there. An adjoining office is used by four more of Hawker's test pilots\u2014Frank Murphy, Frank Bullen, Bill Bedford, and Donald Lucey.\n\nI popped my head through a hatch-way in the wall. Frank Bullen was sitting at his desk, puffing away contentedly at his pipe.\n\n\"Morning, Frank,\" I said.\n\nHe removed his pipe, gave me a large smile, and replied, \"Morning, Nev. Quite a good one yesterday, eh?\"\n\n\"What?\" I asked, puzzled.\n\nWe looked at one another for a moment or two, as though we were in the middle of a guessing game.\n\nThen Frank said, \"Yes, you nearly made my wife jump out of her skin.\"\n\nThe penny dropped.\n\n\"What?\" I repeated. \"A bang?\"\n\n\"Yes, a beauty,\" Frank answered. \"Didn't you know?\"\n\nFrank left his chair and came over to the hatch. He lives about twelve miles away from Dunsfold in North Chapel, a village near Ball's Cross, which is not far away from Petworth, in Sussex. When he had driven through Ball's Cross on his way home the previous evening he had seen a small knot of villagers talking together, and pulled up his car.\n\n\"Anything wrong at Hawker's today, Mr. Bullen?\" he was asked. \"Wasn't a crash, was there?\"\n\nFrank said no there had been no crash, and that nothing was wrong.\n\nOne elderly man, with a flowing white beard, remarked, \"Then it must have been one of they queer bangs\".\n\nOne of they queer bangs! Frank guessed what it was, a supersonic explosion. He knew I had been flying that day, and supposed that I knew that I had caused a bang.\n\nI had been up with the Hawker Hunter and had dived from the area just above the Hog's Back in the direction of Chichester. I knew that I must have been moving at somewhere near the speed of sound, for the needle on the Machmeter had worked up to a little over 1; but you always have to take minor errors into account and you can never be quite sure of your exact speed.\n\nThere was no doubt that I must have passed over Ball's Cross, or somewhere near it. And there could be no doubt now that I had flown faster than sound, or had passed through what they call the sound barrier.\n\nI felt quite pleased about it; and I think that Sir Sydney Camm, the chief designer at Hawker's, and everybody else there were pretty pleased about it, too. We had all been working for some time to fly the Hunter faster than sound; and although we did not celebrate that particular flight, Frank's news was certainly good.\n\nIt probably sounds a pretty dull way of finding out that I had reached supersonic speed for the first time\u2014a chat through a hatch in the office wall.\n\nBut you don't really say, \"Right! We'll take it up tomorrow afternoon at three and see whether the thing will go through the sound barrier.\"\n\nThere is a lot of long, grinding work for everyone; and it is a team effort, with the test pilot finishing off the job. To explain how it was that I did not know I had flown faster than sound until I had that talk with Frank Bullen, let me run through briefly what happened.\n\nThe Hawker Hunter was designed by Sir Sydney Camm and his team, to meet an Air Ministry specification for a new fighter. This did not stipulate in so many words that the new aircraft would have to achieve a transonic speed, but it was fairly obvious that we should have to produce something that would exceed the speed of sound if the specification were to be met.\n\nWork on the designs and construction began in 1948, and the new fighter was known as P\u2014for prototype\u20141067. It was built at Hawker's factory at Kingston, and it was three years before I eventually took it up for the first test flight, in July 1951.\n\nIt flew smoothly from the start. Actually, you do not take a prototype out to the end of a runway and go off in it straight away on a first flight. First, you do taxiing tests along the runway, checking brakes and ground handling; and eventually work up towards take-off speed. When you are happy about all this, then you lift the aircraft up into the air for a couple of hundred yards or so, trying to assess elevator, rudder, and aileron \"feel\", and establishing the correct trim setting for take-off. Finally, when everything is working to your satisfaction, up you go on your first flight.\n\nAll aircraft seem to have their own character and personality\u2014very much like horses. You can tell almost immediately, whether they are going to be \"friendly\" or \"unfriendly\". I made friends with the Hunter immediately and I seemed to feel at home in it at once.\n\nThere was quite a lot of work to do before I could take it up to over 40,000 feet to begin testing it for supersonic flight. There were the usual tests that have to come first for any new aircraft. These include the clearing of minor snags or faults; general handling tests, measurement of the rate of climb, times required to reach various heights, level speed tests, stability, manoeuvrability and so on. All this means flying when the weather is right, sometimes two or three times a day.\n\nEach time I came down from a flight in the Hunter, I reported everything to our design team who would decide what modifications should be made, and then I would try out the Hunter again to test the effect of these changes. It was a pretty long job, and it took many hours of flying spread over six months before we could begin working up the Hunter to supersonic flight. But it was all tremendously interesting. There is terrific satisfaction in flying a new aircraft and in doing all the development work; and in being the only man to fly it in its early days.\n\nBefore we go up to 40,000 feet and talk about flying at high speed, I will try to explain a few things that may sound rather complicated.\n\nFor a start, we do not know all that much about supersonic flight at the moment. The whole subject is in its early days, and you might say that test pilots doing this work are explorers.\n\nBut there are various things we do know. For instance, it is common knowledge that the speed of sound varies with height, due to change in air temperature. Air temperature falls with altitude; the higher you go, the colder it gets. In simple terms, the recognized figures for air temperature are plus 15 degrees Centigrade at sea level and minus 56 degrees Centigrade at 36,000 feet. Theoretically the air temperature remains constant above this height. Atmospheric pressure also falls with height.\n\nThe speed of sound is higher in warmer air than it is in colder. At sea level in standard temperatures, the speed of sound is 760 miles an hour. At 36,000 feet it falls to 660 miles an hour; and since it depends upon air temperature, it remains the same\u2014or constant at 660 miles an hour\u2014above 36,000 feet.\n\nTo show pilots how fast they are flying in relation to the speed of sound, we have a Machmeter. It is very much like a speedometer in a car, except that it shows the decimals of 1; and 1 is the speed of sound.\n\nSo, if you are flying just above sea level, and the needle on the Machmeter gets on to the 1 you are flying at just about 760 miles an hour. If you are at 36,000 feet and the needle is on the 1, then you are doing about 660 miles an hour true airspeed.\n\nThere is a great difference between true airspeed and indicated airspeed. For instance, while flying at 400 miles an hour at sea level, the true and the indicated airspeeds of an aircraft are roughly the same. But at 20,000 feet, although the aircraft may still be travelling at 400 miles an hour, the speed indicated will be about 100 miles per hour less. This is because the pressure of the air is less at that height, the air being thinner, and less pressure is measured by the air speed indicator. And since air pressure decreases the higher you go, so there is a steady fall in indicated speed as you climb, although your true speed remains the same.\n\nAt 36,000 feet, and Mach 1, your true airspeed is 660 miles an hour, while your indicated speed is only about 330 miles an hour. If you are flying at an indicated air speed of 330 miles an hour, the strain on an aircraft structure is much less than if you are flying at an indicated airspeed of 760 miles an hour. This is one reason why tests of an aircraft's Mach number characteristics are carried out at high altitude.\n\nAs you begin to work up towards the speed of sound at any height\u2014we call it working up to a high Mach number\u2014various effects may be felt by an aircraft. They are the results of compressibility\u2014the air being pressed harder as an aircraft flies faster and nears sonic velocity.\n\nCompressibility may cause such things as vibration, buffeting and pitching. Sometimes the controls may be affected. We call all these various effects \"Mach number characteristics\". Every time they develop, something on the aircraft has to be changed so that flight at a higher Mach number becomes normal.\n\nBut that is enough about technicalities for the time being. It may help to give you a rough idea about some of the problems of working up towards a very high speed.\n\nLet us get ready to go up to between 40,000 and 45,000 feet to start studying Mach number characteristics; because a high Mach number can be obtained more readily in the rarefied air.\n\nAfter all the initial testing, you have got the feel of the Hunter; and you are at home in it. You could say it is now rather like riding a horse that you have broken in yourself; you know each other pretty well, and you are about to try out a few gallops.\n\nIt is important to feel at home in your aircraft when you are eight or nine miles high, testing out something new and, perhaps, at a high Mach number.\n\nYou sit in a pressurized cabin, but anything may happen on a test flight and if the perspex hood should crack or break\u2014well, things would happen quickly.\n\nSo you have to wear special equipment, and to breathe pure oxygen all the time. In fact, you do not breathe oxygen so much as have it pumped into your lungs; because the air is so thin at high altitudes that if you were breathing in oxygen normally you could exist for some ten minutes only at 45,000 feet and about ten seconds at 50,000 feet.\n\nYour special equipment is a pressurized waistcoat. It covers the whole of the upper part of your body, except the arms; it is laced at the back, and it has a zip-fastener up the front. The waistcoat is double-skinned, and is connected to the main oxygen system. Oxygen inflates the waistcoat and flows into your face mask. This mask has to be sealed tightly on to your face so that there are no leakages; and oxygen coming out of the bottles at pressure is forced into your lungs.\n\nThe result is that your breathing action is reversed. Normally you breathe in, making an effort, and then relax and let the air go out of your lungs. But with this waistcoat and mask you make no effort to breathe, but you do have to make an effort to expel the air from your lungs. It is not altogether comfortable, and it makes talking over the radio rather difficult. The pressurized waistcoat, however, is extremely important and valuable; it increases your safe operating height by about 4,000 feet and, if necessary you can fly up to about 44,000 to 45,000 feet without a pressure cabin.\n\nIn addition to radio\u2014your link with the control tower at the airfield\u2014you also have a wire-recorder. With this you can chatter away to yourself while you are flying, knowing that everything you say is recorded. When you land you give the recorder to your secretary, who plays it back, listens to it, and types out everything you have said. It is very useful because you can talk about anything to do with the flight while you think of it: how the aircraft behaves at certain speeds, how you feel physically, weather conditions, the engine pressure and temperature figures, the trimmer angles\u2014in fact anything at all, without having to bother about trying to write on the test pad. This pad, with a stop-watch, is strapped on to your right knee\u2014just for making a few more notes if you feel like it.\n\nAs for clothing, you normally wear sufficient for comfort and protection at altitude in case the cockpit heating system should fail or you have to abandon the aircraft.\n\nI usually wear a form of crash helmet, especially designed for protection in rough air at high speed, or for crashlanding; or in case of failure of the canopy covering the cockpit.\n\nSo let's climb into the Hunter. You go up a ladder, placed by one of the ground staff; and you are probably surprised at the smallness of the cockpit. You sit in an ejector seat, which has a dinghy-pack in case you have to bale out over the sea; and there is a parachute just at your back. If you do have to bale out, there is a handle which you can pull to jettison the perspex canopy. There is a second handle above and behind your head, and you pull this to operate the ejector seat. It brings a blind down over your face and, at the same time, the action of pulling the handle fires two cartridges which shoot the seat right out of the cockpit. You have to be shot out in this way, because otherwise the pressure of airflow at high speed would keep you inside the aircraft.\n\nAs you sit in the Hunter, it is like being in a lowish, comfortable chair, with your legs resting easily on the rudder bars and the control column between your knees. There are a number of instruments to keep an eye on, but the main ones are slightly below your eye level and easy to check. They are the altimeter, to watch the height; the airspeed indicator, to give the indicated airspeed; and the Machmeter, to show how fast you are going in relation to the speed of sound at any altitude. You also keep an eye on the pressurization system and the cabin altimeter, which shows the pressure of the atmosphere in the cockpit compared with the pressure of the atmosphere outside. There are also many other things to watch, like fuel gauges, oil pressure, jet pipe temperature and engine revolutions per minute, hydraulic pressure and so on.\n\nSo there you are\u2014pretty well tied up in a neat bundle, sitting in the Hunter ready to start taxiing, the oxygen mask pinching your face, the earphones crackling a bit, the oxygen pumping in cold puffs, and the jet engine sounding rather like a vacuum cleaner going in the next room.\n\nOn the left hand side of the cockpit is the throttle. You ease it forward and taxi down to the end of the runway, checking your radio with flying control as you go. At the end of the 2,000 yard runway you put on the brakes, and make a thorough cockpit check for trim, fuel, hood, pressures, temperatures. One point not checked, or overlooked, may mean trouble.\n\nNow you are ready to take off. You move the throttle forward and smoothly open up the engine on the brakes; and, after checking the power, let the brakes off. As the brakes are released and full power applied, the aircraft fairly leaps forward and accelerates. You can feel the pressure on your back as it surges forward. The runway seems to race at you.\n\nTaking off in the Hunter is a great thrill. You get a terrific sense of speed, especially as there seems to be nothing of the nose of the aircraft in front of you on the other side of the bullet-proof glass. While the ground races underneath, suddenly the Hunter seems to come to life. It reacts to your slightest movement\u2014just a touch of the finger tips and it does exactly what you want it to do. It rides smoothly over the long broad blackish runway stretching away ahead of you and looking like a great wide main road. When the speed is right, you gently ease back on the control column, and the ground just melts away.\n\nYou climb pretty quickly in the Hunter, more quickly than in any other aircraft I have flown; and it is not long before you are at 30,000 feet and you begin to get a feeling of detachment and remoteness. With me, this always increases with height; until at about 40,000 to 45,000 feet I sometimes get a pleasant feeling of loneliness. The world below seems far away.\n\nIt is quite exhilarating flying at this height, too. The sky above you is without a suspicion of cloud. It is a very deep blue, a beautiful colour, sapphire and very clean-looking. If there are clouds below, this deep blue of the sky somehow seems to give them a dead-white appearance so that they look as though they have been thoroughly washed; and they are usually crinkled or seem moulded into definite patterns. The sun is terrifically bright, and if you are staying up at this height for long it is just as well to have tinted goggles. Everything seems very clean and new; and very quiet and smooth. If there is no cloud bank below you can see the earth looking rather greyish and the sea rather black; and it is almost as though you were looking at a big ill-defined map. You have very little sense of speed because there is nothing going past; and sometimes you feel as though you are just suspended there.\n\nBut we haven't come up to look at the view! The job is to start testing the Mach number characteristics. This is done by flying straight and level and carefully increasing speed, watching the Mach number getting higher, or rather the Mach needle registering on a higher number, until maybe you begin to notice that the aircraft is not behaving as it should. It may be that it is vibrating slightly, or buffeting or pitching\u2014the nose of the aircraft beginning to go up and down a little. Or it may be that you find that the controls are not answering as they should do. Whatever happens, you talk away to yourself, trying to describe every detail, however small, knowing that all you say is being picked up by the wire recorder. When you feel that you have enough information about the aircraft's reaction at a given Mach number, then you ease back the throttle and decrease speed. And down you go, perhaps calling for a course to steer home, back to Dunsfold airfield; and that's the end of that test flight.\n\nThen it is the job of the Hawker team to read through the report written from the wire recorder and get any information they may want from me\u2014if I can give it\u2014and work out adjustments for the aircraft which they think will remedy the vibration or buffeting or whatever may occur at the Mach number at which the aircraft was being flown. If, for instance, it is tail vibration, more information may be necessary before adjustments are made; and the next time I go up vibrographs are placed inside the tail to get measurements of the vibration on a film.\n\nMy job, at this stage then, is to continue taking the Hunter up to 40,000-odd feet and keep on flying it until the time comes when it is moving at maximum level speed at full power in a perfectly normal manner\u2014a nice smooth and easy flight. There are now no adverse Mach number characteristics up to maximum level flight; but we still have not reached the speed of sound. So the next thing to do is to start a series of slight dives to increase speed and Mach number, and to go through the whole process again of making a note of any troubles; and having them ironed out by the design team. Without being technical, the time came last April when I was flying in steeper dives with the Mach number getting round to 1; and realizing that I must be nearing the speed of sound but not being quite sure of it, because, due to position errors, the Machmeter may not read true at near-sonic velocity. So little is known of effects likely to occur at transonic speed that great care is required when exploring these regions of high speed.\n\nNow you can see why, on the day the supersonic bang was heard at Ball's Cross, I had not known I had reached such a speed until Frank Bullen told me what he had learned.\n\nThis bang, or explosion, is a sure indication that an aircraft has flown at sonic speed. In fact, every time an aircraft passes through the sound barrier, it appears to cause two or more bangs.\n\nThe pilot does not hear these bangs, but on the ground you hear up to three. The steeper the angle at which an aircraft flies at a sonic speed, the smaller is the area over which the bang or explosion is heard. If the dive is fairly steep the explosion may be heard for about two miles on either side of the track of the aircraft, and may spread, say, for about five miles in length. If the angle of the dive is about thirty degrees then the distance covered in a line by the explosion may be about twenty miles or more. On one occasion a bang was heard in a line all the way from Camberley to Henley.\n\nI knew that sooner or later we should cause these bangs; and the first were, in fact, heard over a wide area, as Frank Bullen soon got to learn when he dropped into the local at Ball's Cross, \"The Stag\". They had echoed all round Petworth, and the story goes that one country policeman was not too pleased. The gossip at \"The Stag\" was that he had been feeding his chickens in the fowl-run at the time.\n\n\"One moment there all the chooks were, pecking away. Next moment, there they all wasn't . . . they were all blown up in one corner with feathers all over the place, and me lying in the middle of the fowl-run on me back.\"\n\nIt may have happened, but as a rule, apart from the bangs making you jump they don't normally have much other effect. Some people have told me that they have noticed their trouser legs flapping a bit, and loose windows rattling, but that is about all. The actual pressure waves generated at present are quite weak.\n\nSomehow, despite all the work we had put in on the Hunter, I found it a little difficult to appreciate that I had actually flown faster than the speed of sound\u2014it seemed too easy!\n\nGwen, my wife, and I chatted over Frank's news in our cottage, just off the perimeter track of Dunsfold aerodrome, and I remember we had a smile that evening comparing my latest flight with my first ever.\n\nI was about ten years old at the time; and standing in a Kent farm field, I paid great wealth\u2014five shillings!\u2014to go up in an Avro 504K, designed during the First World War. It puttered round in a circuit, and I was back and down on the ground before I had sufficient time to realize what flying was like.\nCHAPTER 2\n\nEarly Flights\n\nI CAN still remember the smell of Castrol R fuel\u2014so rare these days\u2014from the rotary engine of that old Avro, the blast of cold air as we took off; and the sight below of primroses and wooded slopes.\n\nIt was Easter time, and I was staying with my Uncle Bill on his farm near Small Hythe, not very far from our home at Tonbridge. All my life my father and mother have lived at Tonbridge, Kent. My father grew up in Tonbridge, and is a Kentish man; my mother is the daughter of a Northumberland farmer who left Glanton to come south on the advice of his doctor, farmed for some thirty years just outside Tonbridge and lived to be ninety-one, an age I hope to better! I used to spend many of my school holidays, particularly in the summer, with Uncle Bill; and I was greatly excited that Easter time when we learned that two Avros had landed in a field at Pick Hill, between Tenterden and Small Hythe, to take up passengers for joy rides.\n\nAeroplanes and flying were one of my main hobbies, the others being ships and the sea. Looking back, it seems that as long as I can remember anything I have always been interested in aircraft and boats and ships. It may have been that my first interest in flying came from watching aircraft passing over Tonbridge on the way to Croydon or from Croydon to Paris and the Continent. I used to watch them go across the sky day by day until the time came when I could spot a Handley Page Hannibal, an Argosy, a Scylla; and German Junkers, Dutch Fokkers, Swiss DC2's, and many other types such as the DH Dragon, the Moth, the Puss Moth.\n\nWith the Royal Air Force stations, Biggin Hill and Kenley, not far away from Tonbridge, I soon learned to recognize Bristol Bulldogs, Hawker Furies and Gloster Gauntlets; as well as Hart trainers from the training school at Rochester. When air exercises took place the sky would be filled with Virginia and Heyford bombers, and perhaps Hart light bombers too; and when they were intercepted over the Tonbridge area by fighters I could not be kept indoors.\n\nMy interest in boats and then ships came from many happy hours on the river Medway, which flows through Tonbridge. If I could not go out in a boat I would walk along by the river and think about going to sea or learning to fly.\n\nI began to collect photographs and drawings of aircraft and stick them on the walls of my bedroom; and when I was seven I began to make my first model aircraft and was so satisfied with the result that I was soon spending most of my spare time making models. Eventually I had sixty or seventy and a model aerodrome, built to scale and complete in most details. It had hangars and aircraft, petrol wagons, ambulances, and fire-engines. There were also parachutes with men on them and they floated down from the ceiling quite realistically. Outside the hangars were sand and material that looked like grass on which a number of cars were parked.\n\nWith some other boys of my age, Peter Chapman and Ivan Vickers, both of whom were to join the RAF, Leonard Edmondson, who went into Naval Aviation, and a fat boy named Billy Bateman, I formed a \"Skybird Club\". We all used to spend hours making models, playing with the model aerodrome, and building up quite a library of books and magazines about flying. We read all we could about the great aviators of the day\u2014Hubert Broad, Alan Cobham, James Mollison, Jean Batten, Amy Johnson, Pauline Gower, and all the Schneider Cup pilots.\n\nWe also used to make models of ships and had a small naval library too; and when we were not working on our models we would all bicycle off together to Biggin Hill, to West Mailing, Croydon, Penshurst\u2014in fact anywhere at all to see aircraft. We used to stand and watch them and point out to each other their chief characteristics and generally air our knowledge like all small boys keen on a hobby.\n\nWe were delighted when a Hannibal force-landed after engine failure in a field near Tonbridge. And when a Miles Hawk came down in a field near Higham Lane I took the day off from the Convent school I was attending at that time and joined in helping the pilot to drag the aircraft down a slope to a flat piece of ground so that he could take off again. He got into the air all right, but then he really did crash in a wood\u2014and I arrived home to find my absence from school had made me rather unpopular. After attending the Convent school for three years, until I was eight, I went on to Judd's School where I was a day boy and stayed until I was about seventeen and a half. I was not an outstanding pupil, but I enjoyed it on the whole, particularly the gymnasium.\n\nI was always happy to go out to my Uncle Bill's farm for the long holidays and the good Kent earth, even though it took me away from my models. I have many happy memories of my days at Small Hythe, but none more exciting than of that first flight.\n\n\"Couple of aeroplanes landed near Pick Hill,\" my uncle announced one day. \"They're going to take people up for rides.\"\n\nI was on my bicycle and away down to that field as fast as I could go with all the pocket money I could lay my hands on. It was raining and there was a lot of low cloud about but I would have gone, quite probably, even if a blizzard had been blowing.\n\nAfter standing around for a while and finding out the form I parted willingly with five shillings, which was just about all I had, and waited for my turn to go up. The Avr\u00f2 504K seemed a wonderful machine with its rotary engine clop-clopping round, its wing tip skids and a long skid between the main wheels extending well forward to prevent the aircraft from nosing over. It had two cockpits, the one at the rear taking two passengers. Who worried because it had no windscreens!\n\nI stared hard at the pilot and noted everything about him. He seemed a being apart to be able to fly an aeroplane; but yet he appeared to be casual about everything. He had a ruddy, cheerful face, rather weather-beaten from flying for years in an open cockpit and he was probably sick to death of small boys and circuits.\n\nAt last my turn came. With another ten-year-old boy I clambered into the cockpit, tense with excitement, trying not to stick my feet through the fabric-covered fuselage. We settled ourselves in, grinning at one another.\n\n\"OK?\" shouted the pilot.\n\n\"Yes,\" we piped.\n\nThe engine seemed to roar, and a blast of cold air swept over us taking our breath away. We peeped over the sides of the cockpit; we were flying all right and there were the woods and the primroses. All too soon we were down again, bumping over the field, swinging round, clambering out, back on the grass. It had been wonderful and I felt that never had five shillings been spent so well\u2014yet, if only I had another five shillings.\n\nI could not tear myself away but stayed and watched flight after flight, circuit after circuit, thrilled by the memory of my experience, envious of the lucky ones now going up. While I was watching yet another take-off, I noticed a lady walking over to me; and to my surprise she spoke to me.\n\n\"I would so like to have a flight, but I have nobody to come up with me. Would you like to come with me?\"\n\nI looked up to see a lady about my mother's age and with a pleasant, smiling face; evidently she knew all about the longings of small boys.\n\n\"Yes, rather\u2014er, yes please. And thank you very much.\"\n\nFancy anybody not wanting to go up alone! But thank goodness she wanted company.\n\nAnd so there I was with her, back in the cockpit, smiling, excited, hanging on, blasted again by cold air, enjoying every second; up, round, down and out again all far too quickly.\n\n\"Thank you very much indeed,\" I remembered to say; and was rather puzzled by the amusement that seemed to mingle with her smile.\n\nTwo flights in one day. It seemed too good to be true; and from that time onwards pocket money had a greater meaning and significance. Odd jobs that brought in extra pence were welcome; and every time I could amass the wealth of five shillings, which was all too seldom, I scoured the countryside for joy-riding aircraft.\n\nSir Alan Cobham's circus was at its peak during those years, and from time to time I went up in his aircraft from other Kentish fields, from Penshurst, from the Old Barn at Hildenborough, and appetite grew with feeding. Once I went up from the Old Barn in an Airspeed Ferry, a vastly superior aircraft to the Avro, I felt. It actually carried six passengers. With careful management I got myself a seat as near the pilot as possible and felt a surge of pleasure as he pointed out for me a number of interesting things such as landmarks and other aircraft flying around. But the greatest thrill of all during that flight was to pass right over Tonbridge and to see it from the air for the first time. This was really flying.\n\nYet another flight was in a cockpit which had no seat. I stood clutching the rim, practically blinded by the slipstream closing my eyelids, unable to see more than a blur of trees as we took off and landed; but it was still worth every penny of five shillings.\n\nAt the age of ten the years pass slowly and there were periods when it seemed that aeons would drag before I was sufficiently old either to learn to fly myself or to go to sea. I should have to wait until I was eighteen before I could join the RAF but I could get into the Royal Navy or the Merchant Navy, as a cadet, at only sixteen to seventeen. Flying attracted me more strongly than the sea; but supposing I failed the medical examination? At eighteen I should be too old for acceptance as a cadet. Life seemed very difficult.\n\nMy enthusiasm for the sea mounted with two trips abroad during school holidays\u2014to Norway and to Denmark; on each occasion I took in every detail of the ship during the crossings, exulted in the life and colour and movement of the sea, forgetting temporarily about aircraft and flying. I was now about fourteen or fifteen and fired by the experiences of my voyages I wrote letters to most of the shipping companies in Leadenhall Street asking what my chances might be of joining their fleets. I received about thirty answers; but they all said the same thing\u2014there were no vacancies for cadets for the time being. Life seemed full of disappointments.\n\nI sounded out my headmaster, Mr. Lloyd Morgan, a learned and patient man, and discovered that both careers met with his approval, though once he observed, perhaps unimpressed by my homework, that probably the only thing I would ever fly would be a bicycle. Yet he was most helpful and encouraging and reminded me that no doubt my father and mother had plans for my future. They, however, were inclined to think that my enthusiasm for aircraft and ships was probably a boyish fad which would pass. They appreciated more than I did at the time, that if I were to go to Cranwell, the Royal Air Force College, or to Dartmouth, the Royal Naval College, a good deal of money would be required for my education. Like sensible parents, they did not want me to begin a career merely because I had made a hobby of the air and the sea and then finally to abandon it. They felt that it would be much better, for instance, if I joined a firm of auctioneers and became an articled clerk. I dreaded the idea. At the same time I sensed that if they appreciated that I was determined to fly or to go to sea they would not stand in my way. In my impatience to get a decision I decided to take things into my own hands.\n\nOne evening\u2014about eight o'clock\u2014when I knew my father was still in his office, I went to a telephone kiosk. I asked for his number.\n\n\"I would like to speak to Mr Duke,\" I said, disguising my voice as best I could.\n\n\"This is Mrs Duke here. Shall I fetch my husband?\"\n\nI had not bargained on my mother being in the office.\n\n\"Oh no. It's quite all right.\"\n\n\"Who is speaking?\"\n\n\"I am Mr Lloyd Morgan's private secretary,\" I said, hoping mother would not detect my voice. \"I wanted to speak to you about your son. I understand that he wants to take up flying as a career or to go to sea. I wondered what you felt about it.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said my mother, \"if he is really keen on either we should not stand in his way. Just a minute. Here is my husband.\"\n\nI heard them whispering. And then my father said:\n\n\"Good evening.\"\n\n\"Who is speaking please?\"\n\nI went through my piece again.\n\nMy father asked:\n\n\"What sort of boy is he at school?\" In for a penny\u2014\n\n\"Oh, a jolly good chap,\" I said.\n\n\"And do you think he would get on all right?\"\n\n\"Oh yes. He has lots of ambition. I think he would get on well, especially if he took up flying.\"\n\nThe long and the short of it was that I discovered that father and mother would not stand in my way. I thanked them, put down the receiver, and bolted back home to be there before they returned.\n\nBut it is not easy to take in parents! Mother thought it was odd that the private secretary to the headmaster should ring my father's office at eight o'clock at night. She rang the exchange and found that my call had come from a kiosk.\n\n\"That was Neville, I'm sure,\" she told my father, I was settled down snugly, reading before a warm fire, when they got home.\n\n\"It's no good, Neville,\" said mother. \"You've chosen the wrong day. It's not April the first today.\"\n\nWe had a good laugh; and I think we all felt happier about my future.\n\nI realize now the justification for their concern. They were always so good and both Peggy, my sister, and I had a very happy childhood.\n\nTime passed so slowly, but I was now determined to fly and I roamed far and wide on my bicycle to see and to watch aircraft. I was always at Biggin Hill for Empire Air Days and frequently over at Rochester staring at the Reserve Flying School \"Tutors\" and Harts. In 1938 I went to the opening of Gatwick Airport and there I saw Hawker Furies; they came from 43 Squadron and, tied together, did some excellent aerobatics. I was tremendously impressed by these aircraft and also by new types then coming into service with the general expansion of the RAF\u2014Wellesleys, Wellingtons, Battles, Lysanders and Hurricanes of 3 Squadron. There were thrills in plenty for me that day: Clem Sohn did his \"birdman\" stunts and nearly came to grief (he was killed during his next display in France), and Al Williams, a famous American stunt pilot, performed in his highly-polished Grumman Gulfhawk. I even touched this Gulfhawk in the hangar after the display for, as usual, I had stayed on after the flying was ended to see all I could of the aircraft and hoping to be allowed to lend a helping hand. I joined in pushing the Gulfhawk into a hangar.\n\nOne day at West Mailing I asked for a job in the hangars only to be refused firmly but kindly. During a visit to London with my mother I saw an aircraft on display in a shop window, urged her to enter the shop with me and somehow managed to persuade one of the attendants to let me sit in the cockpit; and it may have been on this visit that, with sixteen shillings to spend, my mother took me to a large store. There I became rooted in front of a flying model, and though she suggested that my pocket-money might be spent to better advantage and we walked all round the store inspecting possible alternatives, my mind was made up. It was the flying model or nothing. In the weeks to come it made many successful sorties, launched from my bedroom window.\n\nEventually the time came for me to leave Judd's School; it was the summer of 1939 and I was seventeen and a half and I was determined that when I was eighteen, on January 11th, 1940, I would go to the Air Ministry and try for a short service commission. But there were six long months to wait and, as I could not spend my time idly, I became a junior clerk in the firm of Neve and Sons, auctioneers and estate agents. I took a course at a technical school to brush up my maths for it seemed certain that I should want good maths in the RAF.\n\nDuring the summer of 1939 I learned that the Royal Navy had a special entry scheme for boys of my age to train for the Fleet Air Arm. Ships and aircraft! This was what I wanted. I went before a selection board of Admirals and returned home quite hopeful; but when the war began no more entries were accepted and the scheme was abandoned. I was distressed and most unhappy; Ivan Vickers was already in the RAF, Leonard Edmondson was in the Royal Navy. I felt odd man out. But the war had started and so I applied to enlist in the RAF immediately, only to be told I was too young. Would time never pass? And would the war still be on when I was eighteen? It was!\n\nThe \"phoney\" war dragged on, my work as junior clerk could not have impressed my employers favourably, Christmas passed. And then came my eighteenth birthday. I asked Neve's for the day off to travel to the RAF recruiting centre in Brighton which covered our area at Tonbridge. The train chugged along\u2014too slowly\u2014and eventually I arrived at the centre with a number of other volunteers. The medical examination brought no complications but when I applied to join as aircrew it was rather different.\n\n\"We can take nobody to train as a pilot or as an air observer,\" I was told.\n\n\"You may join as wireless operator-airgunner. Are you interested in that?\"\n\n\"Only as a last resort. I want to be a pilot.\"\n\n\"If you became a wireless operator it is quite likely that you could train as a pilot later on.\"\n\nI was still not keen, and perhaps my insistence on wanting to become a pilot had some effect. If that was so I was fortunate for several people got caught that way. John Derry, although he wanted to be a pilot, joined as a wireless operator-airgunner and it was some long time before he was able to change.\n\nYet whatever I wanted to be I still had to wait. I was told that I would not be called up for some time\u2014\"an indefinite period\". How indefinite it seemed as I went back to junior clerking, a little more satisfied, a little less restless, still wanting time to pass.\n\nIt passed with Dunkirk. At Tonbridge railway station I saw the gallant survivors going by in trains, and lent a hand in helping to get wounded men to the hospitals in Tunbridge Wells. The sight of some of the wounded was disturbing at my age, but at least I knew that I was doing something positive.\n\nAnd then at last in the middle of June 1940, there came a note from the Air Ministry telling me to report at Uxbridge for an interview before a selection board which would approve me\u2014or not\u2014for aircrew as pilot.\n\n\"As pilot.\" That was the best news yet. I got another day off from the office; and at Uxbridge there were one or two tricky moments before the selection board, but I was able to prove that my maths were of sufficient standard. The medical examination was very stiff and I worried in case I failed; my pulse rate seemed quite excessive but I told myself that allowance would be sure to be made for this.\n\nThen back to Tonbridge, another period of waiting\u2014and finally a note telling me to report to Uxbridge. I was in the RAF at last, the lowest form of life\u2014AC2. But the grandest title I could imagine: AC2, Pilot, U\/T.\n\nNow that the time came to leave home I felt the wrench of saying good-bye to my father and mother and to Peggy. The longest period I had been away from them so far had been during the school holiday fortnights in Norway and Denmark. We had been a very close circle and now we could not be sure when we should all be together again. With my mother, I wrapped up all my books and magazines that I had collected over the years; we covered the aircraft models and the aerodrome with a dust sheet.\n\n\"Where are you off to this time, young sir?\" the clerk at the booking office at Tonbridge station asked, eyeing my suitcase.\n\n\"He's going to Uxbridge to join the RAF,\" said Peggy.\n\n\"Hope he learns to fly better than he can play cricket, miss.\"\n\nThe RAF Depot at Uxbridge was an impersonal, bustling place and there were many like myself in sports coat and flannels, most of us curious, slightly reserved, feeling rather strange. We were not there for long.\n\nOur first move was to Padgate, near Liverpool, where we were fitted out with uniforms, and with my height the expected happened. Trousers were either too short and too narrow round the waist, or too long and too wide round the waist; the jacket fitted where it touched, and the boots seemed to be made of lead. The only things that suited me were: knife, fork, spoon, button-cleaner and polishing stick.\n\nFrom Padgate we went\u2014with pleasure\u2014to Bexhill and to No. 4 Initial Training Wing, arriving just in time to help to move the wing to Paignton, in Devon. It seemed a fell plot to delay my first flight. We lived in the Hydro Hotel and while part of the routine was to take lectures on RAF organization and subjects like elementary navigation, we spent long hours drilling, marching, and getting ourselves fit with physical training for the flying training course. And when the time came to move on to No. 13 Elementary Flying Training School at White Waltham we were pretty fit, our only preoccupation being whether we should make the grade.\n\nThis was it at last, we felt as we got to White Waltham. Now we became LAC Pilot U\/T and our pay increased magnificently to about fourteen shillings a week. We lived in army-type wooden huts, and I was made Acting Corporal (unpaid) with the responsibility of seeing that our hut was kept clean and tidy and the Course marched in an orderly and proper manner to lectures and to flying.\n\nWhite Waltham had been one of the De Havilland flying schools and it was now the home of the newly-formed Air Transport Auxiliary which ferried new aircraft from factories to squadrons. For the first time we saw a Spitfire, as well as many other new types; I had a very careful look at this Spitfire and hardened my preference to become a fighter pilot. But, first of all, came training on Tiger Moths.\n\nWe were allotted to various flying instructors and the man who taught me to fly was Flying Officer Rea. He was a magnificent instructor, patient, quiet, kindly. I have never forgotten him and I owe a tremendous amount to him, a massive, tall man with a face weather-beaten from flying in Tiger Moths for years. Another instructor was Merrick Hymans, whom I was to meet again.\n\nWe were issued with a log book and I was pleased and perhaps a little self-conscious when I made my first entry:\n\n\"August 20th, 1940. Tiger Moth N6790. Pilot, P\/O Thompson. Passenger, self. 1: air experience. 2: familiarity with cockpit layout. Dual, fifteen minutes.\"\n\nIt was purely a \"look-see\" first flight, from a nearby airfield, Waltham St. Lawrence, used as a satellite to White Waltham for circuits and landings. There were no five shillings to pay this time! Then followed my first instruction flight of half an hour with Flying Officer Rea. This was the life. We flew practically every day\u2014taxiing, turning, gliding, practising take-off and landing until September 6th. On that day, while the Battle of Britain was approaching its climax, I flew three times at White Waltham, twice doing spins to the left and to the right.\n\nAfter the second flight, Rea said:\n\n\"OK, Duke. You can take her up now by yourself.\"\n\nMy first solo! By now I had done eight and a half hours' tuition with Rea; and I was so pleased and so busy concentrating on doing everything correctly during my first solo of ten minutes that I was not in the least worried by the empty seat in front. It was exhilarating. Two days later I flew seven times between dawn and dusk, four times solo. This was the life all right.\n\nThe Battle of Britain had been fought and won when, on September 20th, I went up for my final flight at White Waltham. My log book now recorded 20 hours 30 minutes dual flying, and 13 hours 35 minutes solo.\n\nThe course moved on to Hatfield and No. 1 EFTS until No. 5 Flying Training School at Sealand, near Chester would take us. At Sealand we learned to fly a Miles Master, a larger, faster and more advanced aircraft than the Tiger Moth, with complications of mixture and pitch controls, retractable undercarriage, and many more flying instruments. There was greater concentration on navigation, and we were launched on instrument and cross-country flying and aerobatics.\n\nWe had another move just before Christmas, this time to the Flying Training School at Tern Hill. Here I was selected as a potential officer and, in addition to the white-flash cap we had been wearing, I was given a white armband and moved into the officers' mess.\n\nThis period at Tern Hill had its moments. Two days after my nineteenth birthday I had to do an instrument flight in fairly thick weather to Leicester. With another pupil, J Booth, in the reserve seat I got the Miles Master to the right place over Leicester and carefully selected a railway line to follow back to Tern Hill. The idea was good but it was the wrong line. The clouds became thicker and thicker until neither Booth nor I could see a thing. Suddenly a dark shape loomed up. A barrage balloon. I pulled hard back on the stick and up we went, right through the balloons, missing several by what seemed to be inches, climbing through 6,000 feet of cloud, completely lost. It was a pretty lonely feeling sitting up there above the clouds without the vaguest idea of where we might be.\n\n\"That looks like a gap,\" Booth said after a while.\n\nIt was a gap all right, and we went down through it to find Worcester and its cathedral below. I returned to Tern Hill a little thoughtfully, and Booth also seemed rather pre-occupied. There followed more hours both day and night in the Miles Master until the second week in February 1941 when we were presented with our wings, commissioned as pilot officers, and sent off again, this time to No. 58 Operational Training Unit at Grangemouth, near Edinburgh. As the time for our posting approached I became increasingly anxious; we knew that a number of pupils would be wanted for bomber pilots, for instructors and for Army co-operation units. But I wanted to be a fighter pilot, and it was a great relief when my posting to Grangemouth came through.\n\nSo at length all the preliminaries were ended and we were to fly Spitfires for the first time. A number of us arrived at Grangemouth, very new and raw pilot officers, rather overawed at the tough-looking and experienced instructors, all Battle of Britain men.\n\nI flew a Spitfire I for the first time on March 2nd for twenty-five minutes and my first impression was of its very long nose and its terrific take-off speed of about 85 miles per hour! It cruised at 240 miles per hour compared with the 180 miles per hour of the Miles Master. It was a nice aircraft to fly, easy to handle, except for one thing: you had to pump with the right hand to get the undercarriage up, with the result that you tended to pitch fore and aft following take-off, due to the very light elevator control.\n\nThe Spitfire I could also be a bit awkward for beginners to land. I overshot on one landing, but felt that I could get down quite all right without opening the throttle and going round again. But I couldn't. The machine went off the runway and tipped up on its nose.\n\nIt was a most embarrassing moment. Up roared a fire tender and an ambulance; before they arrived there was an awful few minutes of dead silence, broken only by the hiss of the gyros still spinning. I felt a complete clot perched up in the cockpit; and I was left in little doubt that I was one, in fact. Aircraft were still scarce and every single one was badly needed after the Battle of Britain; mine now required a new airscrew. Unfortunately, I was not the only offender: there were several prangs and collisions, and a number of pupils did not survive the course.\n\nWe were at Grangemouth for about six weeks, practising formation flying, dog-fighting, aerobatics, instrument flying; making mock attacks, and firing our machine guns on exercises. And then at the end of March we were ready to be posted to operational squadrons. I had a grand total of 145 hours 50 minutes flying time, including 26 hours 10 minutes in the Spitfire I.\n\nWe were asked which squadrons we should like to join, though the choice was pretty limited. There was only one place I had in mind: Biggin Hill. It held so many memories for me, and it was now one of the star Battle of Britain stations, right in the war. Furthermore, it was No.11 Group of Fighter Command, the RAF's front line in 1941.\n\nI plumped hard to be sent to Biggin, and after some persuasion managed to get the posting together with Gordon Brettell, who had trained with me from FTS onwards. Both of us felt pretty operational and ready to take on any of these German chaps.\n\nWe were soon to find out how little we really knew.\nCHAPTER 3\n\nBiggin Hill in 1941\n\nBIGGIN HILL was still very much of a Battle of Britain casualty in April 1941. It had received every kind of attention from the Luftwaffe; there was not a hangar standing intact; walls were smashed all over the station; and it seemed that there was hardly a window in one piece. There was mud, oceans of it, wherever you went. Yet to me it was still the same old Biggin I had known as a youngster on Empire Air Days, and it was wonderful to drive up to the mess in a car knowing that I had come to stay and to fly with a Squadron instead of making a brief day-visit.\n\nAt that time Biggin was commanded by Group Captain \"Mongoose\" Soden, and its wing was led by Wing Commander \"Sailor\" Malan, DSO, DFC, who had already become a name in Fighter Command and who could fly a Spitfire to its limit and get the last ounce out of it. The squadrons forming the wing were: No. 92 (East India), commanded by Squadron Leader Jamie Rankin, DSO, DFC, a Scot with wonderful eyesight; No. 74, commanded by Squadron Leader Mungo Park, DFC, and No. 609 commanded by Squadron Leader Robinson, DFC, who also formed a Belgian flight in it. Both were later killed in combat.\n\nI was to join 92 Squadron and to go to B Flight, commanded by Flight Lieutenant Alan Wright, DFC. Flight Lieutenant Brian Kingcome, DSO, DFC, whom I was to get to know very well over the years, commanded A flight. 92 had a terrific spirit. It was top-scoring squadron in No. 11 Group with one hundred and thirty-five enemy aircraft destroyed. All the pilots were magnificent chaps, many of them pre-war regulars or short-service men, and most of them had taken part in the Battle of Britain. They included Flight Sergeant Don Kingaby, who won three DFM's before he was commissioned, Flight Sergeant \"Titch\" Havercroft, DFM, an extremely small pilot and one of the most gallant and cheerful; Flying Officers Tommy Lund and Roy Mottram, \"Babe\" Whittamore, Peter Humphreys, and \"Tommy\" Thompson. Tommy was my roommate; he was an enormous man and a former Public Schools heavyweight champion. He took a deep pride in a much-tattered uniform, and was kind and almost fatherly to new boys such as myself. He was killed several years later while flying in Transport Command. Others I remember were the Station \"Spy\" or Intelligence Officer, De La Torre; the Squadron \"Spy\", Tommy Weisse, a Norwegian, who, like all Intelligence Officers, were usually entirely unmoved by excitable tales of combats; and Squadron Leader Bill Igo, one of the controllers\u2014the Biggin controllers were adept at getting us mixed up in successful trouble with the Jerries.\n\nI arrived to join 92 with Gordon Brettell, a quiet, likeable chap, later to be shot down over France, taken prisoner, and sent to Stalag Luft 3. He took part in the celebrated mass escape and was one of those shot after Hitler had a fit of carpet-biting. Gordon and I were the first of the wartime-trained pilots to go to the squadron, and not unnaturally we were regarded with a good deal of curiosity.\n\nI have never forgotten the friendliness and kindness shown to Gordon and me during those first days with 92. We were both pretty young\u2014I was now only nineteen and a couple of months\u2014and a bit shy and nervous; but nobody seemed to hold that against us, chatting away to our questions and giving us all the tips they possibly could.\n\n\"Come and have a noggin at the White Hart,\" some of them asked us at the end of our first day.\n\nThe White Hart, at Brasted, near Westerham, was run during the war by Mrs Kathleen Preston while her husband was away serving with the Royal Navy. It has a wonderful, low-ceilinged bar with roof timbers taken from old sailing ships, and is several hundred years old. Kath gave the Biggin Hill squadrons the freedom of the place; she was a great friend to everyone and none of us ever forgot her. We spent many contented hours there, relaxing after strenuous ops, and a number of the pilots signed their names in chalk on a blackboard that had been used for a black-out curtain. It hangs at the RAF Museum, Hendon.\n\nThat first night, Gordon and I helped to consume a suitable quantity of liquor and in due course removed ourselves to bed.\n\nI was keen to find out everything about the Spitfires the squadron was flying. They were mark 5's, with two cannons, four machine guns, new Merlin engines which were giving a bit of teething-trouble; and a new hood-release to help you get rid of the canopy if you had to bale out. They could climb like monkeys and get up comfortably to 38,000 feet. Even so, the Jerries could still climb above us, and it seemed that they were always above and behind. 92 squadron was the first to get 20 mm cannons, and for a start we frequently had trouble with stoppages. We were also given metal instead of fabric ailerons; they made the aircraft much more manoeuvrable at high speed, and marked a turning-point in the use of the Spitfire. Gordon and I absorbed all this gen eagerly.\n\n\"Now come along to my briefing room,\" Tommy Weisse said to us.\n\nHe took us to his office, where we pored over maps and photographs of Jerry airfields in France\u2014and how well we were to get to know France. Somehow, because of the German fighters, it seemed always to have a sinister look to me, and even now I get memories of Messerschmitts and Focke Wulfs whenever I see it from the air.\n\n\"Now to the crew room,\" said Tommy.\n\nEvery fighter pilot will remember his first glimpse of a crew room. They seemed to be the same everywhere\u2014a complete shambles at first sight; a gramophone pounding out the latest hit, a smoky old stove in the middle of the floor, usually either stone-cold or bursting with heat, flying-kit and parachutes on the walls, an untidy desk covered with flying orders, gramophone records, technical books on the Spitfire engine and airframe, a notice-board smothered with notices showing the squadron's state of readiness, pilot's names and the machines they were to fly and their position in their sections. And to brighten the place up a bit, coloured drawings of gorgeous popsies taken from some popular magazine and pinned up in a conspicuous spot. Sprawled around in chairs would be several pilots, on readiness. In their Mae Wests, flying-boots, and usually with coloured scarfs at their throats, they would be playing cards, perhaps chess; some chatting, others dozing.\n\nRoy Mottram, deputy commander of B Flight, took us under his wing.\n\n\"Come on,\" he said. \"Let's get you fixed with your 'chutes and then have a look at the ops room.\"\n\nBiggin's operations room, from which all sorties were controlled, had been bombed during the Battle of Britain and was still out of commission. We went over to Keston, where a temporary one had been fixed up.\n\nIn a very short time we settled down to squadron life.\n\nThere is nothing quite like life with an operational squadron. It appealed to me immediately; and, all through the war, the happiest and most contented times I spent were during my three tours. The squadron spirit, the strong sense of fellowship with everyone bound together by the common dangers and the love of flying, the feeling that you are at last doing something definite, the thrill of flying, and, at the back of your mind, the realization that your life may not only be eventful but also short\u2014all these things combine to make you live with a certain amount of gusto.\n\nYou not only admire the men you fly with, but you become attached to them. Though you realize that some time you may be shot down, yet at the back of your mind you always feel that it won't really happen to you\u2014it may happen to others, but not to you. Periods of intense action when you become so tired that you act almost automatically are alternated with periods of inactivity and excruciating boredom. But always there is the corporate sense of the squadron-in-being. And there is always a zest for parties, when you drink because you are excited or elated; or because you are tired and scared; or because you want to forget for the moment that one of the chaps has been shot down. You like to know a number of pretty girls, but when you are nineteen or in your early twenties you don't particularly want to be too serious with any of them, for one thing because you are too young to marry and for another\u2014well, you can't see so very far ahead in war. Not much further than the next sortie.\n\nSomehow or other you slip easily into this atmosphere until you feel that you have never lived any other kind of life. And then, suddenly, you realize you want a change; the strain of operations, the effects of prolonged nervous tension time and time again, make you want a rest. And then, having realized you are tired, you won't admit it to yourself and you begin to fight any suggestion from any quarter that you need a rest. Finally, when you are ordered away, you want to be back again with your own squadron after a week or less. Gordon and I were keen to start operational flying.\n\n\"Better do a sector reconnaissance first,\" Jamie Rankin told us. \"There's an old Spitfire I you can take up and have a look around the place.\"\n\nI went up for my first flight at Biggin on April 7th 1941 and my log book shows that I spent an hour and a quarter scouting around. It was not altogether a joy ride, for even during training flights we were armed up and had to keep a sharp look-out for Jerries. A few days later, after an instructive radio-telephone course at Uxbridge, I went up in my first Spitfire V. And life was very good.\n\nThen came the day Gordon and I had been waiting for\u2014our first operation.\n\n\"Scramble to patrol Dungeness area.\"\n\nAnd up we went with Pilot Officer Ronny Fokes and Don Kingaby. A \"scramble\" meant that you had been waiting on readiness, all kitted-up ready for flying, with the aircraft set for immediate take-off. If not on readiness you were either on thirty minutes or fifteen minutes \"available\", which meant that you had to be ready to go to dispersal within that period if you were called on. For a scramble, the aircraft took off singly, and formed up in the air; but for a set operation, such as a sweep, they took off in twelves.\n\nWe scrambled for my first op.\n\nIt was not very exciting. The four of us climbed to 35,000 feet over the Channel, were directed on to some Jerries, but never saw them. Anyway, I fired my cannons on test over Beachy Head and went home feeling a little less like a new boy.\n\nThings were a bit quiet round about that time, and all the flying I got for the next few days was practising formation, aerobatics, attacks and dogfighting. Once or twice I flew over to have a look at Tonbridge and Tenterden for a mild beat up.\n\nDuring the middle of April Mr Churchill came to Biggin, and his visit put everybody on their toes. It was my first glimpse of the great man, and I remember seeing him in the distance.\n\nA different experience was my first squadron celebration party.\n\n\"Jamie Rankin and Bruinier got a 109 this morning.\" Gordon told me. \"It's the CO's first blood.\"\n\nBruinier was one of our Netherlands East Indies boys, and a Flight Lieutenant. With Jamie he had scrambled in fairly dirty weather and sighted a Messerschmitt 109 over Dungeness. Apparently the 109 had been machine-gunning Rye, and when its pilot saw the two Spitfires he obviously mistook them for friends. He made no attempt to duck into cloud, but even waggled his wings at them. A bad mistake! He went down in flames, baled out, and was taken prisoner.\n\nI forget what time the party began, but I know some nurses came over from Orpington Hospital, and we got cracking at the White Hart. I remember taking the nurses back to Orpington, getting back to Biggin and bed at 4 a.m. and staying there until 11.30 a.m., thankful that there was no dawn readiness and no flying that day.\n\nFinally, and before April was out, I really did fire my guns at a Jerry for the first time.\n\n\"Nine aircraft, squadron sweep at maximum height. Take-off 1300 hours,\" Ronny Fokes told us. I was one of the nine.\n\nBiggin slipped behind; Ronny Fokes was leading, and soon we heard the controller on the r\/t.\n\n\"Bogeys at angels three zero\"\u2014a \"bogey\" was an unidentified aircraft. These turned out to be Hurricanes, and we veered away, over the Channel again.\n\nThen we saw seven 109's, a few hundred feet below us, in pairs. I can still see them. They looked like a line of little rats, or mice, and when they saw us it was just as though they were bolting for their holes! They nosed straight over and into a vertical dive as we caught them up.\n\nRonny Fokes was in front, I was on his left and Roy Mottram was on his right, with the rest of the formation spread out behind\u2014all of us leaving thick ropes of vapour trail behind. I picked a 109, and got astern and slightly to port just as he put his nose down to dive for home. I fired a short burst and was sure of a hit because a flash of flame came from his engine on the port side. But I was unable to follow down as another Spitfire came between us, and went down after him.\n\nFrankly, I was terrifically excited and elated; and later on that evening I jotted down my feelings in my diary. Here they are, for what they 're worth:\n\nIt is hard to remember your feelings and thoughts in a fight, especially your first. I don't think there is any feeling of fear, just an excited urge with a queer little feeling inside and the thought that you must get closer and closer. Knowing you have friends along with you helps more than anything else, I think. Perhaps your pulse beats faster, and it is a little hard to breathe; and although it is all over in a few seconds you feel very tired but with a queer feeling of elation inside you. This, I think, is because you know that the machine you have just fired at is your enemy and that he would shoot at you and kill you, if he could. I know I was not afraid, but very wary. After this squirt at the 1091 was chasing my own tail and my eyes were popping out of my head looking for other enemy aircraft. Where there were a dozen machines a few seconds ago, now there are none. Neither friend, nor foe. The sky seems empty. It's uncanny.\n\nComing home you try to remember what has happened. Did you hit him? You must have hit him. You couldn't have missed. Soon you are convinced in your own mind that you have really shot him down. This feeling must be fought against. You might have hit him, yes, but did you see him go down? Did you see him on fire? Did you see him bale out? No, you didn't! Oh, well! Perhaps next time. You've been in action, anyway, you say. Now you can shoot a line in the mess!\n\nOn the way home you might pick up with one or two of the squadron roaring back on the deck. You come alongside and make furious gestures and beat things up\u2014innocent things like trees and fields. Life is great! You have fired your guns in hate. Get a bit lower now; gently back on the stick and up and over that rooftop! Arriving back at the 'drome you fly slowly round the circuit. Flying slowly, you can hear the wind whistling in your gunports where you have broken the canvas patches when you fired\u2014and so can the people on the ground. Holding off to land . . . throttle back . . . 95, 90 miles per hour . . . stick back . . . back, back, back. The whistling rises to a pitch, then slowly dies as the machine stalls on to the ground, and stops altogether as you trundle and bounce a little on this uneven green turf, and run to a stop. Look behind. Another machine is landing. Flaps up with a hiss of escaping air . . . seat up a little . . . oxygen mask undone to get some cool, unrestricted air into your lungs . . . lean out as you taxi. Taxi-ing a little fast perhaps . . . keen to tell your story . . . bursting to tell your story. There's your crew pleased to see you and their machine back and the guns fired. Blast the tail round with a noisy burst of throttle. Heave the airscrew into coarse . . . brakes on and pull the idle cut-out, stopping 1,200 horsepower with a pull of your finger. Quickly undo your straps. Steady . . . mustn't appear excited! Look as if this is nothing to you! Off comes your helmet\u2014and you get mixed up in r\/t and oxygen tubes. Blast! Turn the parachute buckle, and give it a bang . . . lower the door . . . heave yourself up by the top of the front bullet-proof glass, and swing out of the cockpit. Home again!\n\nYes, you reply, you did fire at something. Hit? Perhaps\u2014don't know.\n\nThe Intelligence Officer takes it all in, but doesn't appear excited. Damn the fellow!\n\nThe other types are waiting in a bunch, all talking at once with their hands showing exactly how they did it. Oh, hell, nobody seems to think my show was exciting! But it was\u2014I know it was!\n\nOff comes the Mae West, the flying boots and gloves. Off to the mess to celebrate. But wait! We are not all here. It's OK. One is refuelling down on the coast at Hawkinge; he'll be here later. Pile into the brake\u2014steerage for me, I'm very junior. Tramp into the bar. Beer, beer, beer. Voices are raised once more to tell the other people in the lesser squadrons how we did it. Nobody mentions my show. Nobody wants to hear my show! To them it wasn't exciting. But it was\u2014I know it was. God! How it was! Later I read the Intelligence Officer's report\u2014giving a lurid description of how Ronny Fokes's 109 went down with its prop stopped and crashed in the sea off the French coast. The report adds, \"Two other Spitfires also fired.\" Damn that Intelligence Officer!\n\nIt is amusing to look back on those notes after all these years. I suppose that experience was shared by hundreds of other fighter pilots at some time or other; and what a mixture of emotions we went through. I remember that soon after this \"do\" I had my first forty-eight hours' leave. It was good to go home again to the folks at Tonbridge, and to see a number of old friends; but it was equally good to get back again, keen to fly, wondering whether you really would get some Jerries\u2014and reflecting that they were probably having the same thoughts about us!\n\nBut it was not until the middle of June that I had my next opportunity of having another crack at a 109.\n\nIn the meanwhile I became a little more experienced. There were many wild scrambles, various turns at dawn readiness, the odd convoy patrol and sweep, more aerobatics and training, and testing cannons. And one unauthorised flight!\n\nI flew a Magister over to Dumborne Farm, at Small Hythe, to have tea with my Uncle Bill. Landing on a small field I had to overshoot on the first approach, and then I got down by just missing some treetops. Faces began popping over hedges, and one or two people seemed to think I had crash-landed. But it was just a social call.\n\nSometimes there were sweeps when everything seemed to go wrong, including one when I had to turn back because I couldn't get the oxygen working and later went into a spin for 15,000 feet completely out of control. I remember that Wimpy Wade, who was in B Flight too, and whom I was to know so well in later years, got shot up by a 109 that day.\n\nThere was the odd party or two, one or two rushes back to Biggin at midnight praying that there would be no dawn readiness next day; sweet relief at finding I could lie in bed, and a mental resolve to pack up the fast life!\n\nTowards the end of May I did my first \"Rhubarb\". This was the name given to individual low-level patrols over France to study form and shoot up any rewarding targets. I went off with Monty, Lieutenant De Montbron, a Free French pilot, separating from Rankin and Kingaby at Boulogne. We crossed the coast in cloud and Monty dived at an airfield somewhere or other. I lost him, and prowled off on my own, ducking in and out of cloud at 4,000 feet. There were no Jerries about; I found no suitable targets, didn't fire a shot at anything, but coming out over the coast the ack-ack was extremely hostile and I mistook Dunkirk for Calais. Flying back at nought feet over the channel I watched my petrol gauge anxiously. There seemed miles of sea, and I was very glad to hit the coast at Harwich and to force-land at Gravesend having steered too northerly a course. I had been flying for two hours, my longest flight in a Spitfire to that time. After refuelling I got back to Biggin in ten minutes. Other new experiences were night flying from West Mailing and acting as top escort for three Blenheims on a shipping strike which went to bomb a couple of ships off the coast of Calais. And so to my next shot at a Jerry.\n\nOn June 14th, a Saturday, two hundred fighters went up from the Biggin, Kenley, North Weald and Hornchurch wings to cover twenty-four Blenheims bombing St Omer, hotbed of 109's. The bombers were partly a bait to get the 109's up, as they seldom intercepted a fighter sweep on its own. 92 and 74 squadrons had the job of covering the Calais-Boulogne area at between 7,000 feet and 10,000 feet. Once again I jotted down my impressions\u2014partly because I was so brassed off with myself later, and to drive home a couple of lessons I learned. Here they are:\n\nIt was a perfect summer day in England, clear and cloudless. I was No. 2 to my flight commander Alan Wright\u2014I was nearly always his No. 2\u2014a grand little fellow with wiry, fair hair, short and stocky, blue eyes and a ready smile. I rather let him down this day.\n\nHow it happened, I don't quite know. I remember the first indication I had that we were engaged was something going down vertically, going like a bomb out of a clear, cloudless sky\u2014the sun glinting on a yellow nose. Gone in a flash. But I knew what it had been\u2014a 109. A 109 looks almost beautiful in the air; a slim, graceful thing, picturesque, and always seems to be going like a rocket. A 109 is a nasty thing to handle, though; and many is the pilot who has had a last vision of a yellow nose with a splash of red flickering in the spinner's hub . . . perhaps a glimpse of white ropes of tracer darting towards him. Yes, there's colour in a 109!\n\nThe formation broke up. Now I could see more 109 tracer, I saw Monty chasing a 109; he was leaving two trails of black smoke as he fired his cannons. But also on Monty's tail was a 109 just closing into range. I left Alan\u2014an unforgivable thing for a No. 2 to do\u2014and turned after their aircraft in line astern. I was too far out of range to do much, but I had to frighten that 109 on Monty's tail somehow. I pulled the nose up and round, and pressed the middle button, letting go with cannons and machine-guns. It worked. Although the shots went nowhere near the 109, he saw some of my tracer and broke away and went down.\n\nI whirled around in the tightest circles in the world for a while. Then I saw a machine a little below me. By Gee, a 109! Down and round, cramming on the boost; but he had seen me, and he turned. I turned and opened fire, too soon. I knew I was not hitting him but I just had to fire, fool that I was. We turned a couple of times before he went on his back and heaved his stick back and went down. No good my following, he's got too many friends there. I pulled away, cussing my waste of ammo. And there before me and getting closer was the belly of a 109. I must have been going fast as I had to throttle right back to avoid overshooting him. What luck! I must have been only twenty yards astern, and tightly under his tail, rocking gently in his slipstream. He hadn't seen me. He was flying straight and level; his tail was slipping slightly from side to side; perhaps he was a bit heavy on the rudder. I lined the sights up beautifully. Steady up a bit . . . bit more. Now! I pressed the button. I pressed it again and again, harder and harder. Nothing happened! No ammunition! Oh, for Pete's sake, just a few rounds . . . just a few. That tail gently slipping from side to side . . . only a few yards from my prop. Should I? Dare I? Just hit his elevators. I could make it home . . . or could I, with a busted prop? The English coast looked far away\u2014too far. Now suppose this Jerry sees me here . . . how am I to leave him? He started a gentle turn to the left. I must get out of here! Stick hard over to the right . . . hard rudder, and stick back in my stomach. Down . . . down . . . vertically for the sea . . . aileron turning. He won't catch me now. Flatten out in mid-Channel with everything screaming and going like the wind, neither coast in sight. On, on, for a few minutes which seem like hours. A speck ahead. I catch it up fast. Another Spitfire\u2014Kingaby\u2014also going home on the deck. I form up on him in line abreast for mutual protection. A coastline appears, closer and closer. Oh, good old England. It's Dungeness . . . Dungeness where I used to play and fish as a kid.\n\nWe nip in over the coast and pass the lighthouse, gleaming black and white, and on, over the marshes to the green patchwork of fields beyond. Back to Biggin, via the Ashford line in no time.\n\nAlan Wright had been shot up pretty badly. He did not see me leave him, and fool that I was I never told him that I was leaving. He had looked behind and seen a machine where I should have been and thought I was still there. But I wasn't. Next thing, tracer was whistling and whirling past him and he was shot up badly. He got away OK, however, and with a damaged aileron, had to crash-land at Lympne at 140 miles per hour.\n\nI deserved a good ticking-off for leaving Alan; but he realized that I had learned my lesson and confined himself to a few carefully selected words. And I never forgot those two lessons: don't break away from your leader without telling him; don't waste your ammunition.\n\nThe weather was now first-rate for operations, warm, clear and sunny and the wing was kept pretty busy on sweeps and escorting bombers. Several in the squadron got 109's including the CO, Jamie Rankin, Wimpy Wade, Sergeant Morris; but I was having no luck. Once when we were giving top cover to Blenheims bombing near Calais two 109's dived on Alan Wright and me. They didn't engage us, but I got a good view of the glittering wings and belly of one; and of enormous black crosses as he whizzed past. I got a great kick out of leading two sections for the first time, patrolling between Dover and Dungeness, but we were quite disappointed at seeing no Jerries. And then came a day when I nearly bought it.\n\nOn June 23rd, while we were providing cover to Blenheims bombing Bethune, we were jumped on by 109's. Jamie Rankin sent one down in flames, and later got another; Phil Archer (a Canadian) and Kingaby collected two more. In the general mix up I got separated from the squadron, and I began to feel pretty lonely over Le Touquet when five Me-109 F's showed up, broke into pairs with the fifth climbing up in front of me. He came at me head-on, opening fire at long range, and I saw his guns winking and tracer going past. But he got in my sights, and I opened up with both cannons and machine-guns. He skimmed over the top of me and I had a glimpse of white and black smoke coming from his engine. Then his friends started to work on me in two pairs and I had a pretty warm time trying to dodge them all the way down to the deck. My Spitfire was hit twice in the wings by machine-gun bullets. Fortunately, they left me when we were just over the sea, and I was glad to get back to Biggin and put in my first claim\u2014for one 109 damaged. There was another circus that evening, when I led Gordon and Archer; but we only saw one 109 which took a look at us and sheered off smartly. Sergeant Morris was shot down that day and taken prisoner in France. He lost an arm.\n\nThe following day I had another shaky do. The wing was over St Omer with Blenheims. Alan Wright and I saw two 109's; we dived at a phenomenal speed but we couldn't catch them. When they pulled up vertically I did the same and blacked out and very nearly stalled. Just in time I noticed two of their friends behind me, did a terrific turn and saw some tracer just missing! I was quite happy to find myself on my own again somewhere over Dunkirk. Looking around I saw a dog-fight going on, and joined in quickly. I found a 109 shooting at a Spit\u2014it was Wimpy Wade beating up another Jerry\u2014so I sat on his tail, and fired several bursts from about 150 yards. Glycol streamed out and he started going down. I flew above him and looked into the cockpit. I could see the pilot crouched over his stick. He did not look up, perhaps because I had hit him. Anyway, he went right down and crashed a few miles inland from the Dunkirk area. It was now time to go home, because my petrol was getting low and the ammo was just about used up. I remember keeping low over the sea, going at a terrific bat; and that, just as I touched down at Biggin, my engine stopped. The tanks were dry.\n\nI was naturally pretty pleased to have got my first Jerry, particularly as I had nearly been collected myself; but a few days later I found myself in hospital at Orpington.\n\nThe trouble began with a pain in my throat; it may have been a touch of tonsilitis or a cold. I suppose I should not have flown until I had got the thing cleared up; but there was a sweep on over the Channel and I wanted to go. Two 109's got on my tail and I put the Spit into a half roll and a steep dive. As I went down I felt a most excruciating pain in my ears. It was so intense that, once I had levelled out, I took off my helmet to try to clear my ears and was shocked to find that I could no longer hear the engine. At Hawkinge, landing to refuel, I could hear nothing that was said to me and began to worry in case my ears were damaged seriously.\n\nIn fact, my ear drums were cracked. The doc packed me off to hospital, and to my great relief, my hearing gradually returned. It was another lesson learned: don't fly on operations unless you are one hundred per cent fit.\n\nI had a week's leave after coming out of hospital; but it all meant a gap of three weeks before I flew again.\nCHAPTER 4\n\nWar over France\n\nIT was good to be back at Biggin again with 92. I was keen to catch up with all the news.\n\n\"Sailor Malan had a bar to his DSO, Brian Kingcome a bar to his DFC, and Wimpy Wade has the DFC,\" Peter Humphreys, whom we usually called \"Hunk\", told me. \"Alan Wright has finished his tour and has been posted and Tommy Lund has got B Flight.\"\n\nUnfortunately, there had been some losses, two pilots having been shot down in flames, and two more had gone into the sea but had been picked up. I was the more pleased to hear of their rescue for one of them had been wearing my helmet! One or two other chaps had been posted; I was becoming relatively senior. Indeed I was no longer the new boy of three-and-a-half months ago, and had learned sufficient to appreciate how much more I had to learn; sufficient, also, to realize that the life of a fighter pilot was strenuous at times, and that if your chances of survival depended a lot on skill you also needed more than an ounce of luck.\n\nFor a few days after my return things were fairly quiet, and I was able to ease back into operations again comfortably.\n\n\"When the Wingco flies with us, I want you to be his Number 2,\" Jamie Rankin told me in the crew room one morning.\n\nThis was quite an experience, and from Sailor Malan and Don Kingaby, too, I learned a great deal. Neither man was easy to stay with. Though Sailor flew steadily while he was leading the Wing, it was a different thing once the usual whirl of dog-fighting began. More than once I was so preoccupied with keeping on his tail and with looking around and behind for 109's that I did not know that he was on the tail of a Jerry himself. Once I suddenly found myself flying through bits of a 109 before I even realized that he had fired his guns and once he showered me with spent cartridge cases and links, which was awkward, for they were known to crack hoods, pierce radiators and damage airscrews.\n\nNeither Sailor nor Don flew straight and level for a second once they became separated from the main body of the squadron. They were masters in the air, and got everything out of their aircraft; with Sailor especially, it was full throttle work most of the time. From such men as these I soon learned to weave and to search the sky continuously, never relaxing until we had landed.\n\nStirling bombers were now beginning to be used for daylight raids; they usually flew in threes, escorted by Spitfires. We were quite impressed by seeing their numerous bombs bursting during a raid on Lille. We were also impressed, but in a different way, when we saw a Stirling hit by ack-ack. Sometimes we escorted torpedo-Beauforts on anti-shipping sorties. An eventful day began when we flew with six Beauforts as they beat up a tanker, which was supported by E-boats, off F\u00e9camp. That was during the morning; in the afternoon I provided top-cover for nine Blenheims bombing Hazebrouck marshalling yards\u2014and I was very glad\u2014and a bit relieved\u2014when I got down again.\n\nWe were at 25,000 feet and there were lots of 109's about; too many, in fact, and one of them got on my tail and I saw his tracer going just over my hood. I got out of his way by turning hard and climbing, only to be jumped on by eight of his friends. I used all the dodges I could and managed to get away from them when I was well out to sea. To add insult to injury I was then attacked by a Spitfire. This was a rather suspicious attack, for the Spitfire used typical German head-on and half-roll away tactics. Back at Biggin I took off again for the third trip that day, this time escorting a Lysander looking for one of our pilots in the sea off North Foreland. The weather was misty and it was difficult to maintain contact with a slow flying Lysander. We saw nothing.\n\n\"Let's have a party,\" Tommy Lund said to me that evening.\n\nWith Brian Kingcome we went over to the \"White Hart\" for a few drinks and met some girl friends before going on to a Sergeant's Mess dance. It was good to relax like this, and to forget the doings of the afternoon; but I must admit that I was a bit tired when I got back to Biggin early next morning.\n\nThis time I was on dawn readiness. And on this occasion I found little to commend getting up in the dark on a July day; but it was typical of wartime fighter operations, and how many times it happened! Sweeps at dawn were a good time for finding the Jerry on a shipping and weather recce; but during the flight that morning, after I had taken off at 8 a.m. on my own to patrol between Ostend and Cap Gris Nez, I only saw an E-boat and a couple of coasters which took a few shots at me. I was not unrelieved when, during the afternoon, the squadron was released for the rest of the day.\n\nI was now pretty well set in the routine of a fighter pilot's life on an established station within fairly easy reach of London. Now that most of the bomb damage had been cleared up a bit, Biggin was quite comfortable; life in the mess was pleasant and there was always company. We got forty-eight hours' leave fairly regularly and on these occasions and when the squadron was released for weather or other reasons, we used to go off to London in twos and threes and do the rounds of favourite restaurants and clubs. Sometimes there were terrific parties when most people got a bit steamed up and it was good to get rid of a lot of superfluous energy, even though we had a hangover afterwards. And we usually did!\n\nOperations seemed to come in rushes. Either we were doing no ops and only testing our aircraft or our cannons, or practising dog-fighting and attacks; or we had plenty of operational flying. And I remember that there was fairly general agreement that the 109 pilots knew the score pretty well; too well, for we had a good many losses. By October I had been with the squadron longer than any of the other pilots with the exception of Don Kingaby. But that is getting ahead a bit.\n\n\"Mungo Park is missing,\" Hunk told me one day.\n\nThe CO of 74 Squadron, with his No. 2, were reported to have dived away into France from the St Omer area chasing some 109's. They were never seen or heard of again; 74 lost an experienced Battle of Britain pilot and a very popular commander.\n\nAugust, 1941, was to be a busy month. But for us it started with Wimpy Wade's wedding. He and Josephine were married at Oxted, all the boys went along and the reception was at . . . yes, the \"White Hart\". After we had toasted Wimpy and Josephine liberally with champagne and had seen them well and truly off, there was another party which started at East Grinstead and ended at 3 a.m.!\n\nLooking back to those August days, it seems that every time we went up there were bags of Jerries about.\n\nThe controllers became almost monotonous:\n\n\"Twenty plus Lille, angels three zero.\"\n\n\"Fifty plus bandits St Omer, angels two zero.\"\n\nThe controller had to give up once.\n\nAbout 300 of our fighters were airborne; some went in ahead of the bombers on \"delousing\" sweeps; others were in the main \"beehive\" with the Blenheims and Stirlings; and others were covering the withdrawal.\n\nThe Germans put up so many 109's to saturate the area in small sections that eventually we heard the controller saying:\n\n\"Many 109's covering Northern France at all heights.\"\n\nHe left it to us; and we certainly felt we were being watched.\n\nOn one sweep over St Omer\u2014the 109 lair\u2014we really got mixed up with them.\n\nImmediately we crossed the coast at Boulogne we were engaged. The squadron split up like a bomb burst. I soon had two 109's on my tail when I was down to 2,000 feet after taking evasive action. One began an attack, and I turned left into him. We both did a circle, and when he was opposite me on the other side of the circle, I did a hard right turn, got my sights on him and gave him a burst. At that moment his No. 2 opened up on me, and I saw tracer going over my head, a little too close for comfort. I had to break away. Suddenly I saw another 109 about fifty yards on my right; and it was my turn to fire again. He went on his back and did a slow spin into some clouds; as they were only some eighty feet above the sea I was quite satisfied that he could not have got out of that spin and that he must have gone straight into the sea.\n\nNow it was the turn of his friends again. Two of them began to get unfriendly, so I dropped into cloud hoping they would sheer off. I dodged about in the cloud for a time; but when I put out my nose again\u2014there they were! We began a party, and I remember that at one moment of it, as I pulled out of a dive in trying to shake them off, I blacked out partially. This was due to the aircraft tightening up in the pull-out. I was leaning forward and looking behind and I was forced on to the stick. I came-to as the Spit came out of the dive, and found that I was climbing upside down. For a moment I could not tell the difference between blue sea and blue sky. The 109's chased me to within two or three miles of Dover, and I have never given the white cliffs a bigger welcome.\n\nMy claim for an Me-109 was credited to me; and the first can of beer tasted pretty good.\n\n1.,\n\nA long way to go\u2014sprog Pilot Officer, Biggin Hill, 1941.\n\n2.,\n\nReady for Ops! 92 Squadron 1941.\n\n3.,\n\nSpitfire Vb, RAF Biggin Hill, summer, 1941.\n\n4.,\n\nMy CO in the desert; Sqn Ldr F V Morrello, 112 Squadron.\n\nInteresting moments did not come only in the company of Jerries. During one flight the undercarriage of my Spitfire would not lock up. Then, when I got it up, it would not come down. I had a lot of chatter over the r\/t with the control tower, and got a good deal of cheerful advice from all and sundry on what I should do to get it down. In the end, after throwing the Spit about, the wheels came down all right. The day ended with my going on a show which was a diversion to a raid. We saw no Jerries, but there was foul oxygen in my bottles and I came back just about poisoned.\n\nI was not the only pilot to report being attacked by a Spitfire. During August one of our pilots went missing; he broke formation near the English coast and was not seen again. We thought it suspicious; and we became more suspicious a few days later. A Spitfire with camouflage that we had been using a week earlier\u2014ours had since been changed\u2014joined up with the Biggin wing while we were returning from a sweep. A section was detailed to look him over, but he sheered off. The following day I had trouble starting my aircraft and missed getting airborne with the squadron. I took off after it, could not find it, climbed to 20,000 feet on my own and saw a lone Spitfire patrolling.\n\n\"Perhaps the Jerries have got one of our Spits and are doing a little roaming around and checking up,\" Hunk Humphreys said to me when I mentioned seeing this aircraft.\n\nSeveral of us began to have the same feeling.\n\nSome of the pilots in 92 were picked off about this time, 609 lost two. Another pilot from 609 went in the sea and I saw him quite by chance. We were on a show when one of 92's pilots developed engine trouble and I was detailed to escort him back to England. I left him at the English coast, turned back, stooged around and saw a dinghy. I circled, fired a red Very or two, and eventually a Lysander arrived escorting a launch. My flight lasted two-and-a-quarter hours.\n\nA few days later I was to be grateful for Jamie Rankin's skill. I was with him and Phil Archer when the three of us were jumped by about thirty 109's. Jamie seemed to anticipate their every move, and gave us breaks into them just at the right time. It was warm work; Archer got shot up badly and was wounded in the leg, and I got a couple of bullets in the wing and a punctured tyre. We all got chased to within five miles of the English coast and went in to land at Manston short of fuel and ammunition; I was not too pleased having to touch down with a busted tyre.\n\nThe 109's were active that day, for several other Spitfires came into Manston while we were there, some badly shot up. Squadron Leader Robinson, of 609, landed with his wheels up, and one of his pilots crashed on the aerodrome, badly wounded.\n\nThere was another show that afternoon, and 92 could muster only six aircraft. Three were written off when a Sergeant collided with two others on take-off; the Sergeant died later in hospital. Gordon Brettell crash-landed near Detling, out of petrol. The day's score was: four Spitfires lost, two pilots killed, one wounded. Some day!\n\n\"Squadron's released,\" Gordon said and smacked me on the back a couple of days later. \"Let's go up to town. I know a couple of girls at the Windmill.\"\n\nIt was good to forget about recent happenings. We met two of his friends, dined well, drank, and even managed to dance.\n\nAs a variation from sweeps there was always the odd \"Rhubarb\"\u2014in case life became monotonous\u2014and once I got a great kick from seeing French people waving while a couple of us flew around near Le Touquet after shooting up a factory there. I saw piles of dust and tiles burst up in clouds; and loosed off a few rounds at a tower which had a gun tripod and some sandbags on top.\n\nWe often had trouble with our 20 mm cannons. They did not always work as they should in those days, and they once made me very irritable during a sweep on St Omer. We were jumped by some 109's\u2014the very mention of 109's eventually seemed to make the hair on the back of my neck crinkle!\u2014and I managed to get one nicely lined up. But my cannons would not fire.\n\nSweeps, dawn patrols, Rhubarbs\u2014all were routine for most of the fighter squadrons round about this period; and those of us who did not buy it began to get a bit of promotion. Towards the end of August I was made section leader of B Flight, which meant leading the flight and, on occasions, the squadron.\n\nOne patrol I led over a convoy was notable for a couple of incidents; we were vectored on to a 109 and I was able to claim a \"damaged\"; and my No. 2 a sergeant, got separated from us, lost himself and baled out over Eastbourne. This was regarded as a pretty bad show, particularly as he had thrown away a valuable aircraft; subsequently a court of inquiry was held.\n\nWith September there came a change at Biggin. Sailor has finished his tour and is being posted. Jamie is the new Wingco, and Dicky Milne has got 92.\n\nThis was the news that we heard as we lolled in our chairs at dispersal. Our feelings were a bit mixed. We all had tremendous admiration for Sailor, as a man and as a fighter pilot. At the same time, 92 was glad that Jamie was getting his job for he knew the score, looked after his pilots, and had collected some Jerries pretty quickly. Dicky Milne had arrived as a flight commander, replacing Brian Kingcome, who had gone on rest; and though he had been with the squadron for a short time, everybody was pleased Dicky was taking it over.\n\nSomehow these changes made me feel a little older. The Biggin I knew when I arrived first in April now seemed a different place; there was a new r\u00e9gime, many new faces, and some of the old ones were not coming back\u2014ever.\n\nThe beer's on me,\" said Dicky Milne. And we had a terrific party. Squadron parties were usually entirely spontaneous; little excuse was needed, and they would begin in the anteroom or the bar quite quietly. After an hour or so a move would be made, more likely than not to the \"White Hart\" where we stayed until closing time. Then there would be a rapid return to the mess and the party really got going until the small hours, livened with various games such as mess rugby and hi-cockolorum.\n\nWe settled down to the new r\u00e9gime, and I had a pleasant spell of ten days' leave.\n\n\"We're off to Gravesend,\" Dicky Milne told me when I got back.\n\n\"What, leaving Biggin?\"\n\n\"Yes. We're to operate from there and link up with the Biggin wing for any big show.\"\n\nIt was a wrench leaving Biggin, and none of us was quite sure whether we would like Gravesend. It was further away from London for one thing; but still, it was a change, and we settled in rather more cheerfully when we found that our dispersal was a club house, and that we could scramble straight from the bar! We were billeted at Cobham Hall, the estate of Lord Darnley, a splendid mansion with long, rambling corridors and, of course, the reputation of having a ghost. Butch, the squadron's bull terrier mascot, seemed to think so too, for we often watched him standing stock-still, growling.\n\n\"Poltergeists,\" Hunk, who usually took charge of Butch suggested. \"Go, fetch 'em, Butch!\"\n\nButch was content to stand and growl.\n\nWe tested out the local pubs in Gravesend, and before long began to lose our chief regrets for Biggin. I remember one spot was \"Daniel's Den\"; and whether it was the result of a visit to the Den, or whether it was that I began to feel I was forming bad habits, I do remember deciding to go on the waggon for a week.\n\nTommy Lund agreed that it might be a good thing.\n\n\"Drink and slow Spits\u2014avoid them, my boy!\" he confided.\n\nPoor old Tommy. Two days later he went missing with a couple of others. Tony Bruce, tall, wiry, who had picked up a trick in Canada of snaring people and things with his lariat, crash-landed near Ashford. The whole of his section had been destroyed and, although we didn't know it at the time, this was the first encounter with the new FW 190 which was to do much damage. On our next escort we lost two more sergeants. The wing went in with nine Blenheims which bombed power stations and the docks at Ostend. 92 was the last squadron out, and we were met by over twenty 109's and Focke-Wulf 190's. Eight of them attacked my section; Sergeant Cox went down with flames flashing from behind his cockpit and from under his belly. We had lost five pilots in two days on comparatively easy operations. The FW 190 had arrived.\n\nThis turned out to be one of the last shows I did with 92 squadron in England. One month later\u2014to the very day\u2014I was taking off for Cairo!\n\nBut before that there was a tailing off of operations by 92, a lot of practice flying for new types; and somehow or other a smell of squad drill began to creep in.\n\n\"92's not what it was,\" Don Kingaby remarked to me one day. I can see now that it was just one of those periods that most squadrons experienced. At times a squadron would be right at the top of its form; bags of spirit, lots of flying, and good fun. Then there might be losses and changes, and something of the life of a squadron would change and fade, to come back again later.\n\n\"We're off to Digby.\"\n\nThat was the next news.\n\n\"Bags of red tape and bull.\" And that was the general comment on the place. We did not like it; we did not care for practice flying or firing at drogues. It was too far away from war, we felt. We got bored. There was some heavy drinking at times; and I even began to build a model Spitfire.\n\nOne day at the end of September, while I was at lunch in the mess, Sammy Sanderson, one of the flight commanders, marched in.\n\n\"You're either going overseas, or you're going to join the Merchant Navy and be shot off over the briny in a catapult-kite,\" he grinned.\n\nI gulped.\n\nIt seemed that two pilots with my length of experience were wanted, and it was between Hunk and Phil Archer and myself to make up our minds as to who should go. Phil was very keen to join the Merchant Service Fighter Unit equipped with Hurricanes and see the world. I tossed up with Hunk for who should go to Cairo.\n\n\"Heads,\" I called as Hunk spun.\n\n\"Tails!\"\n\nI thought it would be a lonely trip; but that evening a signal came through ordering both Hunk and myself to Cairo\u2014as flight commanders! We were to fly out. We got down to a heavy session at the bar.\n\nI felt quite pleased and a little excited at the thought of going abroad. At the same time, I was sorry to be leaving 92, though the idea of staying at Digby with the squadron on rest was not a very interesting proposition. The idea was that we were to be away for six weeks; but I was soon to learn that this was the usual yarn spun to those posted to the Middle East. My six weeks turned out to be three years.\n\nThe next few days rushed by. There were my parents to telephone, tropical kit to be collected, including a splendid Kitchener-type pith helmet, and tight, drainpipe tropical trousers; a few letters to write. There was a brief trip to London to be fitted out, a visit to my people, and a tour of our favourite drinking spots\u2014somehow I managed to knock a tooth out at the last one! Then we tore back to Digby only to learn that we were to go back to London that same night.\n\nOn November 3rd, Hunk and I with fourteen other types bound for the Middle East, got into launches at Mount Batten, Plymouth, to be ferried out to a Sunderland. It was late at night and there was a brilliant moon.\n\n\"That's Plymouth,\" said Hunk over my shoulder, a short time later.\n\nAs the Sunderland circled, we could see the city clearly in the soft yellow light; well blacked-out, lapped by a sheet of twinkling silver; and overhead, a star-stippled sky. Though we said nothing to one another, I suppose Hunk and I were both thinking the same thing: \"When shall we see old England again?\"\n\nMany of the sixteen on board that night were never to see it again; some were shot down into the desert; others were taken prisoner. I thought of my father and mother, and of my sister, Peg; 1 thought of girl friends; and of types in 92.\n\nSoon we were well out over the sea, flying in brilliant moonlight. I was too restless, and probably still too excited, to settle down. As we got near the Portuguese coast I offered to relieve the gunner of one of the midships gun positions; I had picked up a smattering of the Vickers K gun at FTS.\n\n\"Lisbon,\" Hunk shouted at me later.\n\nWe could see it well enough, lights blazing for miles, none of the black-out we had left behind in England.\n\n\"Wouldn't mind a night out there!\"\n\nBut Gibraltar was to be our first stop. My memories are of a bath and breakfast at the Rock Hotel; car drivers, forbidden to sound their horns, banging their hands on the outside of their car doors to clear a way; the _Ark Royal,_ soon to be sunk, and a Middy who obligingly showed us over; a merchant ship with a Hurricane on its catapult; a visit to the Capitol with a warm glow on; and lights, lights everywhere.\n\nThen on to Malta\u2014a moonlight landing; bomb damage and desolation; the Calafrana mess and a walk, feeling warm and sticky, out to Halfar airfield; 249 scrambling after some Savoias and Macchis; Valetta and bombed ships. Then on to Feyum airfield, just outside Cairo, in a Wellington, and a very bumpy trip it was.\n\nInto Cairo\u2014shopping; a new tooth to replace the one I lost in London; and so by train to RAF Headquarters, Western Desert, at Maarten Bagush; our first sight of the desert, flat, brown, unattractive; and all sixteen of us, in our best blues, getting dusty and sandy; finally a small tent shared with Hunk. How far away seemed the comfortable Biggin mess!\n\nThe AOC, Air Vice-Marshal Coningham, who commanded the Western Desert Air Force which became famous and retained its title of Desert Air Force to the end of the war, gave us a talk next morning and news about a big push to Tripoli, just about to begin. Hunk and I were to join 112 Squadron, flying Curtiss P40 Tomahawks; the two other Curtiss squadrons in the wing were 250 and 3 RAAF. The plan was that the wing would move up to Tripoli, covering eighty miles a day, and then withdraw. Its job was to knock down about thirty 109's that were backing up Rommel, and to destroy any bombers attacking the army.\n\nThat evening a car arrived to take us to 112 Squadron at Sidi Hannish. The driver, a pilot, was horribly tight, and my first impressions were not very happy. He kept muttering away about minefields, and how easy it was to get lost in the desert. We were too tired to worry much, and for myself, I had a feeling of something like anti-climax after all the excitement of leaving Digby and London and England. We had, I suppose, been dumped down pretty quickly in the desert and we needed a little time to get our knees brown.\n\nHunk and I had a look at our camp beds in a tent on the sand.\n\n\"Not much like Biggin,\" he grinned. \"Come on, let's find the bar.\"\n\nThere we soon got among 112 and found them to be good types. We met the CO, Squadron Leader Tony Morrello, Jerry Westenra, a New Zealander, one of the flight commanders, quiet, capable, for whom I soon developed a high regard; three Australians\u2014Jack Battle, Butch Jefferies, and Ken Sands\u2014three of many Australians in the Western Desert, first-rate fighter pilots.\n\nWe had a look round the mess: an EPIP\u2014\"Egyptian pattern Indian patent\"\u2014tent, with coconut matting over the desert floor, several bare-top, collapsible wooden tables and benches for messing; a small wooden bar, stocked with Egyptian Stella beer and American tinned beer; a few treasured and battered armchairs; the inevitable gramophone with the equally inevitable few records; and an elderly radio.\n\nWe went out and had another look at the desert\u2014so very still and silent, with a sense of free and open space; so utterly different from the green fields of Kent; and very cold.\n\nI shivered, and found myself thinking of 109's. Well, I been lucky so far, even managing to bag a couple and damage one or two. I wondered if my experience would be sufficient out here\u2014120 operational hours in Spitfires.\n\nHunk may have been thinking along the same lines.\n\n\"Tomahawks,\" he said. \"Tomahawks. Know anything about them?\"\n\n\"Not a clue!\"\n\nI was soon to find out.\nCHAPTER 5\n\nWar in the Desert\n\nI PRANGED a Tomahawk on my first flight.\n\nOn the day after joining 112 Squadron on November 13th\u2014thirteen always seemed an unlucky number with me\u2014I crashed and I felt terrible.\n\nBefore I went up on a fifteen minute \"look-see\", I sat in the big, American cockpit which seemed enormous, talking with other pilots and getting the value of their experience in these aircraft, and going over all the knobs and buttons. The aircraft seemed big and heavy and it certainly packed a powerful punch with two .5 inch machine-guns on the top of the fuselage and four .3 inch machine-guns in the wings. These guns were cocked by levers, the breeches of the .5's protruded into the cockpit and, I was to discover later, gave off clouds of exciting smelling cordite when they were fired.\n\nI took off quite normally but my first impressions were not very encouraging after being used to Spitfires. The performance of the Tomahawk seemed poor and its rate of climb was slow; but still it was fun to be flying again and to get a view of the desert from another angle. When I came in to land I did the normal three-point Spitfire landing, ground looped and ended in a heap. The next thing I knew was that I had broken off both undercarriage legs and the Tomahawk was sliding sideways into the sand, raising great clouds of dust, and both wheels were shooting off through the air of their own accord.\n\nIt was a far worse sensation than going over on the nose of the Spitfire I at Grangemouth for then I had been a pupil and not even in a squadron. But here I was, supposed to be operationally experienced, a new boy to a squadron, breaking up one of their aircraft at a time when every machine was precious.\n\n\"Cheer up.\" said Hunk, \"It might have happened to anyone.\"\n\nBut I had been the one, and I remember, when all the fuss was over, strolling off by myself, looking out over the sand, hating it and feeling homesick and having a crazy feeling of wanting to run out into the desert away from everything. Later on, chatting to Hunk in the bar, I tried to console myself by saying:\n\n\"Oh well, it's only for six weeks. Then we'll be back in England.\"\n\nThere was some rather mocking laughter from one or two people who overheard this remark\u2014how well they knew that one about going home in six weeks\u2014and I began to feel rather bitter. But this fit of depression soon passed.\n\nThe following morning I took up a Tomahawk again, flew around for an hour, and put it down all right, mastering the necessary \"wheel landing\" technique. And there was plenty to keep our minds occupied when the squadron moved up to a forward base known as 110 Airfield, south of Sidi Barrani.\n\nIt took me some time, however, to get used to conditions in the desert, for which I had no great liking at first, both on the ground and in the air. Once Hunk and I got lost coming back after a flight over Sidi Barrani and Mersa Matruh but somehow managed to scramble home; and, on another occasion while returning after patrolling over British tanks, a terrific sandstorm blew up. Within moments visibility was reduced to a couple of hundred yards and there was sand everywhere\u2014in the eyes, nose, ears and mouth and, almost it seemed, in the brain. Sand got inside our clothes and into our food; everything seemed to feel and to taste of grit. How far away seemed good old Biggin.\n\n\"The flap's on,\" Hunk announced one morning.\n\nThe tanks we had patrolled above were moving forward for the Auchinleck-Rommel battles, the offensive which was planned to end in Tripoli but got stuck at El Agheila and then turned into a retreat as Rommel panzered the British forces back again.\n\nOur wing was to patrol over the Tobruk-Gambut area and for the second time in four days we moved up, this time to 122 Airfield near Fort Madellena on the Egypt-Libya border which was defined by mile after mile of barbed wire, running from the coast at Solium deep into the desert.\n\nWhen we arrived at 122 Airfield we found that we had no beds so Hunk and I settled down together on the sand, back to back for extra warmth. We were to get quite used to this sort of thing both in advance and retreat, and we usually slept fully clothed on the bare sand, covering ourselves with blankets and flying kit. During a battle period it was quite normal not to shave or to wash for days on end, partly due to the shortage of water.\n\nTobruk was now being relieved and while some terrific tank battles were being fought we patrolled in sixes, eights, or twelves either over the battle area or escorting Blenheims bombing enemy troop positions.\n\nDuring our first sortie we ran into six Me-110's and there was such a mix-up that I seemed to spend most of my time dodging Tomahawks. We also met up with some Italian fighters, two Fiat CR 42's, very manoeuvrable biplanes. I shared one of them with two other pilots of 112 but it was not a very satisfactory fight.\n\nThe Italian did a couple of turns, went down to land, nosed over with the aircraft going on its back. The pilot was out in a flash, bolting away from the Fiat like a scared rabbit. The two other Tomahawks began chasing him and shooting him up, but I had no stomach for this sort of thing and concentrated on setting fire to his machine. While making my run-in to pepper the Fiat I flew low over him as he ran, completely terrified, stumbling in his flying kit. After I had hit the Fiat I turned and looked out for him. He was dead, spread-eagled on the ground and our own troops were coming up to collect him. Somehow this rather shocked me for although I was fully aware during a fight that it was either my life or the other chap's, yet it always seemed to me that I was fighting a machine and not another pilot. I felt that way to the end of the war.\n\nThere was a more businesslike mix-up the next day when, a mixed formation of Hurricanes and Tomahawks led by the wing leader, Wing Commander Jefferies, an Australian, we ran into several 109 F's. Sergeant Tom Burney was shot down and belly-landed and Wing Commander Fred Rozier went down with his Hurricane to pick him up. Rozier was a Battle of Britain pilot, extremely popular and with a fine record. He was later to become a group captain and to do great work for the Desert Air Force. He got his Hurricane down all right and picked up Burney, but while the machine was taking off a tyre burst. They sorted themselves out of the crash and walked back to the airstrip from well behind the enemy lines.\n\nWhile this was going on I got mixed up with a 109 and was horrified when my gunsight failed. There was only one thing to do\u2014use the fixed ring and bead sight. I was rather surprised by the result. One of the Australians, Bobbie Gibbs, described it later by saying, \"The bastard just flew to pieces\". The pilot baled out and while he floated gently down with his parachute swinging from side to side I circled round him and waved, a rather silly thing to do for I would have been easy meat for any of his friends. He waved back to me but once he touched the ground he bolted off for a bush and flung himself down flat. He was quite safe as far as I was concerned and he was later taken prisoner. I still have his photo in my log book.\n\nOur fighters were not having it all their own way by any means and in only four sorties we lost fourteen Tomahawks, most of them shot down by 109's. Occasionally we came across Italians in the Macchi 200 and Fiat G50, slippery customers and very manoeuvrable.\n\nIt was not long before I was shot down myself and posted missing twice in five days.\n\nThe first time was on Sunday, November 30th.\n\n\"There's to be a dawn wing patrol over the El Gobi area. Twelve from 112, twelve from the Aussies,\" Hunk told me adding, \"Bags of activity.\"\n\nWe went off in boxes of four, climbed to 10,000 feet on course for the battle area. Some chattering began on the r\/t and then about 2,000 feet below and ahead of us I saw a gaggle of thirty to forty aircraft, German and Italian, a mixture of Junkers 87 and escorting 109's, Macchis and Fiats. Soon the wing was peeling off, going right into them.\n\nI found a G50 in front of me. He dived for the deck and seemed determined to get away for he just streaked a few feet over the desert taking no evasive action except for an occasional violent switch-back motion. I stayed with him, finding him extremely hard to hit and using up considerable ammunition until he crash-landed. That was that.\n\nBut some of his friends had watched the chase and followed it too, and now they had me all to themselves. There were about three or four 109 F's and the odd G50.1 forget how many of their attacks I dodged, probably four or five, but I managed to get a few shots at a 109 F and saw him start to spurt glycol.\n\nNow it was my turn to run and I bolted for home, right down on the deck and flat out, with the Allison pulling its full boost of 50 inches. I knew that there was at least one 109 F after me and I knew he could move faster. And, unlike me, he was not short of ammunition. I soon found that he was no ordinary pilot and a very good shot as well. I wondered later whether it was the German ace Marseille.\n\nBullets began to smack into my wings and into the rear fuselage. I did a violent vertical left-hand turn a few hundred feet or so above the ground, but with a good shot from fully 90 degrees of deflection the Jerry hit my left wing and I heard the tremendous bang of an explosive shell.\n\nI am still not quite clear what happened after that. I remember the Tomahawk turning on its back and seeing the ground far too few feet below\u2014or rather above!\u2014the cockpit. I know that I saw the sand come rushing up and that I kicked the rudder and pushed the stick over and back entirely by instinct.\n\nThere was a whirl of sky and desert. And then the world came right way up and I could feel that I had control of the Tomahawk again. It hit the sand with its belly and bounced. Up we went, and down again, down in a crash-landing. And now it was my turn to get out and bolt.\n\nI scrambled out of the cockpit and found myself closing the cockpit hood with a subconscious action, hoping that the Jerry would think I was still in it and not look for me behind a bush. I ducked under the engine, looking anxiously round for some bushes; the Tomahawk was on fire and I remember thinking that it had probably been on fire while we were in the air together. The 109 was swinging round obviously preparing to shoot me up. I saw some scrub about twenty yards away, covered that distance in a record time, flung myself down flat behind it, and wished that it had grown higher than one foot.\n\nThe 109 F arrived with a snarl and I heard the horrible crack and whistle and whine of bullets. I cringed into the sand, expecting to be hit. I heard cannon-shells exploding as they banged into the Tomahawk and then the 109 F droning away. And then the silence of the desert, broken only by the crackling of flames licking the Tomahawk, now a black wreck against a clear blue sky. I watched the 109. Was he coming back? I continued to lie flat and still, listening to the flames, hoping the sound would not be over-toned by the Messerschmitt returning. But he never came back.\n\nI sat there by the scrub for some time, getting over my fright, wondering what to do next, watching my aircraft going up in smoke and listening to the rattle of the last few rounds of my ammunition exploding. For a time I felt almost mesmerized, for it seemed uncanny to find myself squatting there in the middle of the desert. One moment I had been in the centre of noise with the desert coming towards me far too quickly. Now everything was silent and static and the desert seemed a very big and a very lonely place.\n\nI soon decided that I could not continue to sit there long. The Tomahawk was sending up a thick column of black smoke, and the wrong people might become curious. I made a quick check-up; I had my revolver and water-bottle, my escape compass built into a uniform button, and a good pair of desert boots. I unscrewed the compass from the button, and with a vague idea that I must be somewhere south of El Adem and on the wrong side of the enemy lines, I checked an easterly course with the sun. There was only one thing to do. I began walking.\n\nI felt hot, slightly dazed and very thirsty as I plodded on for about half an hour over the sand. I found a track and began to follow it, keeping a crafty eye out on the horizon from time to time. I was not altogether surprised when, a little while later, I sighted a lorry. It seemed to be travelling quite fast, bouncing along towards the cloud of black smoke which was the funeral pyre of my aircraft.\n\nOne of ours or a Jerry?\n\nI found some scrub and rock and scuttled behind it as the lorry came along the track, approaching me. The drone of its motor grew louder; now it was going past. I took a quick peep. One of ours!\n\nI stood up quickly.\n\n\"Hi! Wait a minute.\"\n\nThe lorry pulled up in a few yards and out jumped four or five figures gripping rifles and revolvers. For an awful moment I thought I had made a mistake and that they were Jerries; by their clothes they might have been anybody.\n\nHowever, they were Desert Rats, in quite irregular uniform, and they seemed, after a couple of seconds, to have no doubt that I was RAF.\n\n\"My name's Duke,\" I said, \"112 Squadron and\"\u2014pointing to the smoke\u2014\"that is, or was, my aircraft.\"\n\n\"So you got out of it all right,\" one of them said. \"We saw you from quite a distance away, upside down with a Jerry beating you up. Never thought you'd walk away from that one.\"\n\nI had a wonderful feeling of relief to be talking with them, among friends, no longer lonely, on my own. When one of them produced a hip flask with what appeared to be sleight of hand and gave me a good nip of whisky, and another lit and handed me a cigarette I felt they were the best chaps in the world.\n\nWhile we were chatting and I was telling them what had happened, we heard the drone of an aircraft. We all took a quick look.\n\n\"It's a Lysander.\"\n\nIt was a Lysander all right, following the desert track, making towards the pillar of smoke.\n\n\"Let's give him a wave,\" I suggested. \"If he sees us and can get down, maybe I can thumb a ride home.\"\n\nWe all began shouting and waving. The aircraft circled but the pilot seemed to be hesitating about landing. Then he straightened up and began to come down, landing a short distance away from the lorry.\n\nOut got the pilot\u2014and a general. Now we realized why there had been a slight hesitation about landing. The general was looking for Advanced Army Headquarters and was not having much joy in the confusion of a rapid advance. We pored over Army maps, and decided that we were in an area of no-man's land.\n\n\"We'd better be off before Rommel has a shufti at that smoke himself,\" said the pilot. \"Hop in, Duke.\"\n\nI said a quick good-bye to my Desert Rat friends, squeezed into the back of the Lysander with the general, and was thoroughly happy to be flying over the desert again\u2014it's so much quicker than walking. Eventually, we found Advanced Army Headquarters and, after the general had completed his talk, off we went again.\n\n\"We'll drop you at your airfield,\" said the general.\n\nWhen we landed I thanked them and watched the Lysander take-off again. I liked that aircraft!\n\nIt was now evening\u2014Sunday evening\u2014and years seemed to have passed since I had taken off that morning with the squadron. I walked slowly over the soft sand to the camp, glad to be home again. As I approached the mess I noticed a small group of pilots and the padre. He was holding a church service and suddenly I felt intensely moved. Here we were in a lonely spot of the desert, yet here was home and a church service at the end of an all too eventful day.\n\nAs I continued walking slowly towards the small group, almost instinctively starting to move on tiptoe so that I should not disturb them, a few heads turned and there was some quick, quiet whispering. I did not know it then, but I had been posted missing\u2014a signal eventually reaching my father and mother at Tonbridge.\n\nI had never seen old Hunk Humphreys praying before, and when he looked up suddenly and saw me the pleasure that lighted his face somehow startled, and then surprised and delighted me. I went down on my knees and joined in silent prayer. I had much to be grateful for.\n\nThat night I slept restlessly. I kept on waking up, seeing the sandy desert rushing towards me; but fortunately we had a quiet spell for a day or two and I found I was quite all right while I was flying.\n\n\"Don't you go doing a thing like that again,\" Hunk said.\n\nI replied that I had no such intention; but the following Thursday was quite exciting.\n\nTen aircraft from 112 and twelve from 250 met up with another collection of Junkers, 109's, Macchi's and G50's. This time I managed to break up a bunch of Junkers 87's in close formation by spraying them with machine-gun fire. I saw one begin a gentle dive, smoking a bit; but when a 109 began nosing after me I decided to leave the Junkers alone.\n\nThen a Macchi 200 appeared to think that I was his meat and we had quite a good dog-fight before he began to beetle off home. The Italian pilot seemed a cheerful type and once did a complete roll in front of me while I chased him. I was not altogether amused because my guns developed some kind of trouble and stopped working one by one until I had only a cannon firing, and eventually I had to cock that every time before tiring. Finally it packed up too, and to keep up the chase I had to make a number of vigorous and threatening dummy attacks on the Macchi.\n\nAll this time we had been flying a few feet above the sand and once we chased out over the sea. Suddenly I saw Tobruk come ripping up below and a number of soldiers waving. The Italian was a bit put off by one of my dummy attacks; he went into a steep turn, stalled, flicked over the other way and went straight into the ground to explode with a burst of flame.\n\nI landed on Tobruk aerodrome to re-fuel and get my guns fixed up, and enjoyed some lunch of bully beef and biscuit with the Aussie Army. I was as surprised as they to find myself back again at Tobruk the following day.\n\nIt began with our wing meeting up with another circus and shooting down ten Jerries. I was leading a section of four and not feeling particularly happy. On take-off clouds of sand raised by the leading section resulted in my perspex canopy becoming thickly coated with dust, restricting my vision. Then my radio packed up and I felt very lonely, not being able to hear what was going on; but as our numbers were few and there was a hope of meeting the enemy circus I decided against leaving the formation and going home.\n\nThe sun was brilliant, almost blinding when I glanced towards it occasionally, knowing it was from that direction we could expect trouble from 109's; and the combination of the sanded canopy and the glare of the sun had me blinking and peering. I felt a little blind, and, without the radio, quite deaf. I hung on to the formation and soon I saw our leader breaking down into a gaggle of Junkers 87 and a close escort of Macchi's and Fiat G 50's.\n\nDown we went but there was to be no joy for me. There was a top cover of 109's all right but with my sanded-up canopy and the sun I had missed them. One of them did not miss me. There was an abrupt bang in the cockpit on the starboard side. My foot was knocked off the rudder peddle, I felt a violent blow on my right leg and the cockpit filled with smoke. The banging continued, making the Tomahawk shudder, and I took some pretty quick evasive action, knowing that the aircraft had been badly hit.\n\nAt 10,000 feet the Tomahawk went into a spin: its right elevator was completely shot away, the right wing torn at the trailing edge by cannon shell, and the right aileron control shot through. Though I did my best to straighten out, the aircraft spun\u2014and spun. Time to get out, I thought. I undid my safety straps, opened the hood and got ready to leave; and then, at about 2,000 feet, the machine began to behave itself again. It straightened out.\n\nI had no intention of taking another walk in the desert if it could be avoided, and decided to make off for Tobruk, keeping an anxious and wary eye on a 109 high above. With a damaged wing and only one aileron and fifty per cent the elevators, I reckoned on an eventful landing for I was unable to control the aircraft at a speed below one hundred and fifty miles per hour; and now my safety straps were undone.\n\nThe Tomahawk touched down at one hundred and fifty and I began a bumpy ride, rattling around in the cockpit, trying to hold on to the aircraft with one hand and protect myself with the other. When the machine stopped I was out very smartly in case it should catch fire; it didn't, but it was a complete write-off and so I collected its clock as a souvenir, which I still have with me at Dunsfold.\n\n\"Strewth,\" said an Australian voice. \"It's Duke back again. This joker must like this place. Thought you were low flying until you hit the deck.\"\n\nI had little appetite for bully beef at that second lunch in Tobruk; and while I was having my leg attended to at the emergency hospital the Jerries provided their daily blitz with artillery and Stukas. This seemed a bit excessive in Tobruk's confined space and I was not at all sorry when I was offered a lift back to 122 Airfield in a Blenheim. We took off in the evening, streaked out over the sea at nought feet, and returned to the squadron to find I had been posted missing again\u2014without my radio I had been unable to report what had been happening. I hobbled around, feeling quite a little bit proud of my \"wound\", and during sympathetic conversations occasionally picking out bits of cannon shell splinters to prove its authenticity.\n\nI reported my return to our commanding officer, Squadron Leader Morrello. He smiled at me and said:\n\n\"Making a bit of a habit of this sort of thing, aren't you? What about nipping down to Cairo for a short spell of leave?\"\n\nI thanked him, flew a Tomahawk that required repairing to Feyum, and spent five wonderful days in Cairo, beginning with a full hour spent soaking in a hot bath followed by a tremendous meal and some steady drinking. It must have been a good leave for I had no money for dinner on my last night, or even for breakfast the following morning. I enjoyed the rest and the change but I found that Cairo soon palled after a few days. I was glad to return to the squadron.\n\nIt had moved forward to El Adem and I flew a Tomahawk for three and a quarter hours before catching up with it. Rommel was now on the run and we had further moves, on to Gazala and to Mechili. Everywhere was the wreckage of battle and at Mechili many dead bodies were still lying around. We looted the fort and some Italian lorries, risking booby traps to make ourselves more comfortable. Winter was setting in, the desert looked even more bare and barren, and there were times when, chatting among ourselves, in the bar, we pondered whether there was any strategic value to North Africa or in winning the desert. We knew there was.\n\nFortunately there was little time for introspection. The wing was kept busy and during one sweep I was able to get some of my own back. We were flying in loose fours at 4,000 feet top cover when I saw some Junkers 87 in vics of three circling Megrun airfield and dived on them, followed by Sergeant Carson, my No. 2. We were both certain that we had hit a Junkers and were shooting up some others when I saw a 109 F taking-off. After a long chase towards the sea, it seemed that the Messerschmitt crashed near the coast; and as I was now alone I climbed for cloud and began to make for Mechili. While over the coast south of Benghazi I spotted a neat formation of Junkers 52 heading for Benina and felt that my luck was too good to be true. I picked on a straggler with a few quick bursts, but after it began to go down I became rather too busy to see what happened for some 110's dropped down out of cloud. With little ammunition left I was not too keen on a party, went up into cloud myself and reported Junkers to wing operations when I got back to Mechili. They were attended to by some Hurricanes who ground strafed them.\n\nThe advance continued, the Army entered Benghazi, and the wing moved up seventy miles to Msus, where we celebrated Christmas Day. It was the first time I had been away from Tonbridge for Christmas and I prepared for it by taking time off to have a wash and brush up for the first time in three days. After dinner\u2014bully soup, steak and bully pie, biscuits, jam, tea, and one tin of beer\u2014we linked up with 250 Squadron, gossiping in our tents, binding a bit about lack of aircraft. It now took four squadrons to make up a wing of a dozen aircraft; 112 could muster five and 250 had only two serviceable. There was a rumour that we should be getting Kittyhawks, and it proved correct. At the end of December we went down to Suez, beat up Cairo mildly at night after a flight down in an old Bristol Bombay transport, and collected our new aircraft.\n\nThe Curtiss Kittyhawk was a great improvement on the Tomahawk. It had a more powerful Allison engine and six .5inch guns, and I enjoyed my first flight, a two hour run from Kasfareet to Mersa Matruh. The second flight, on New Year's Day, 1942 was not quite so good. Six of us had been told to push on quickly to El Adem but only one arrived. Trouble began with a patch of soft sand on the Mersa Matruh airfield; and while taxiing for take-off one sergeant pranged his machine and another got bogged down. So there were four.\n\nWe took off with sand beginning to blow up and after half an hour flew straight into a sandstorm. I decided to press on for El Adem while the other three turned back, and climbed up above the storm. Yellow dust blotted out the desert below and soon I lost my bearings and had to head for El Adem on a compass course. The petrol gauge began to fall and the coolant temperature to rise until it went right off the clock; and warning lights, with which the Kitty was liberally sprinkled, started to flicker. Then the windscreen oiled up and I could see nothing ahead. Fortunately, I managed to pick up Gazala, turn back for Tobruk and follow the road to El Adem, the storm still blinding. I got down all right, but the petrol tanks were just about dry.\n\n5.,\n\nCurtiss P 40 Tomahawk of 112 Squadron. It was different from the Spitfire V we flew in England.\n\n6.,\n\nOne of my Kittyhawk fighters in 112 Squadron. Note the variation of our Shark's mouth with the previous picture.\n\n7.,\n\nP 40 cockpit. Note gun-sight.\n\n8.,\n\nMy second CO in 112 Squadron, Clive \"Killer\" Caldwell DSO, DFC (left), with my good friend \"Hunk\" Humphries.\n\n9.,\n\nShortly after the award of the DFC\u2014P 40 cockpit.\n\n10.,\n\nThe boys of 112 Squadron, (left to right) Sqn Ldr C R Caldwell, Sgt W Carson, Sgt Taylor, Neville Duke, Sgt Drew, FO Humphreys, Sgt Burney, Sgt Donkin, Sgt Leu, FO Dickinson, Sgt K Carson.\n\n11.,\n\nThe Me 109 pilot I shot down near Sidi Rezegh, November, 1941.\n\n12.,\n\nAnother Me 109 pilot I shot down\u2014March, 1943. He has the Iron Cross second class and was wounded in the right arm.\n\n13.,\n\nThe first P 40E Kittyhawks to arrive on 112 Squadron, late 1941.\n\n14.\n\nPress photo\u2014now with 92 Squadron, again, and flying Spitfires once more.\n\n15.,\n\nI let \"my German\" look over my Spitfire, QJ-S (ER336), although I shot him down in \"R\" (ER220).\n\nThat night I slept on the sand again and the next morning, the storm over, the others arrived. One of the sergeants who had turned back flew into a telegraph pole while landing by the desert road during the storm and was killed.\n\nIt took a week for all the Kittyhawks to reach Msus and for the squadron to become operational again. News from the front was not so good for the advance to Tripoli was held up at Agadabia, and the weather became miserable with more sandstorms, rain and cold gales. We felt cold both by day and by night. There were changes in the squadron, with the CO going on rest and Hunk Humphreys becoming a Flight Lieutenant. We celebrated his second ring with six bottles of Vat 69, and for a time the desert seemed a slightly less unfriendly place.\n\nWe did some practice flying with our new Kittyhawks, praying that they would be able to hold a 109 in a climb, for the Jerries had some unpleasant habits, which were also good tactics. They would sit upstairs in the sun, whistle down on us, and then shoot upstairs again, going up like a lift and leaving us well behind. The Kittyhawks turned out to be an improvement on the Tomahawks, but we were still outclimbed by the 109's.\n\nShortly after the New Year, and on my twentieth birthday, we were to escort bombers attacking Rommel's line at El Agheila. It was a Sunday. I had memories of another Sunday and perhaps this made me more than usually cautious. I was careful to do up the safety-straps properly when I got into the Kittyhawk before take-off. It was just as well that I did fasten them securely for I was no sooner airborne than smoke began to gush out from under the instrument panel. It was so thick that I could hardly see. The only thing I could do was to crash-land: close the throttle, switch off the engine, dodge some army trucks and trenches and piles of earth, and put the aircraft down with a thud.\n\nI got out smartly, with a lump on my forehead the size of a duck egg, expecting the aircraft to go up in smoke; but it didn't, which was something of an anti-climax. It was not the best of ways to celebrate a birthday, but I was most thankful that I had done up my safety-straps, otherwise, I should have left most of my head on the instrument panel.\n\nRommel dug in west of El Agheila, the weather cleared and brightened with sunshine, we moved up to an airstrip at Antelat. There were celebrations for the arrival of the new CO, Squadron Leader \"Killer\" Caldwell, DFC and Bar, and a pep talk by Air Marshal Coningham who mentioned that two Spitfire squadrons were due to arrive shortly.\n\nThe rain returned and continued for several days; the squadrons were released but there was nowhere to go and nothing to do. The camp and the airstrip became boggy and Jerry began to send over bombers, perhaps guessing that our Kittyhawks were grounded. Rommel came out on armed reconnaisance and it was decided that the squadrons should move back to Msus. The retreat to El Alamein had begun.\n\nThere was quite a scene when we took off, for several aircraft sank quickly into the soft ground, some of them with their wing tips touching the mud; and the Army had their hands full hauling them clear. The strip runway was fairly short resulting in some hair-raising take-offs, machines just staggering into the air and waffling over the tops of lorries. The general excitement increased when a shufti-kite appeared while some twenty aircraft were congregated at one end of the runway; we hoped he was not reporting to his friends. I was the last to take-off, the sun blinded me temporarily on the run down the strip, causing me to swing to one side, and churn through a pile of shovels which went flying away merrily left and right. But the Kittyhawk flew on.\n\nAt Msus we learned that Rommel had broken out of El Agheila with a flying armoured column of 2,000 vehicles, including tanks. On dawn patrol the following morning we flew over a pocket of Germans near our old airstrip at Antelat; they had no shortage of Bredas and other light flak. Apparently we had left the airfield only an hour or two before they arrived. Returning at Msus we found that we were to move back to Mechili and there was a general atmosphere of alarm and despondency, nobody knowing anything definite about anything at all.\n\nTwo days later, while escorting Blenheims out to bomb any target they could find, we discovered the road from Agedabia to Antelat packed with the Afrika Korps; after the bombs had gone down we set about strafing lorries, and this became a main occupation for several days. It was exciting and risky, risky if you returned for a second run; for by then all the ack-ack was prepared. I soon decided that one run was quite sufficient: it seemed best to climb up-sun and dive to ground level well before reaching a convoy. Once you began firing you could see the bullets spurting up the sand; then you lifted the nose of the aircraft slightly until they were going right into the lorries; another slight lift and you were up and over the convoy, skimming low again seeking the cover of any slight dip in the ground. It was exciting, though I usually felt sorry for the Jerries at that moment, animated little figures trying to dodge the spurts of dust racing towards them, some of them falling, but the spurts continuing.\n\nOur retreat continued, back to Gazala. At this point I was told to go right back to Sidi Barrani and to meet up there with 94 Squadron to pass on information about operating the new Kittyhawk. While on the way to Sidi Barrani by truck I spent a night-stop lying out in the desert. There was a full moon and the sky was bright with stars; a biting wind woke me in the morning and, lying there, I watched the sun rise, first streaking the horizon with crimson and then, as its tip appeared, long shadows gradually spreading from the rocks and scrub. At this moment it seemed not such a bad desert.\n\nNo. 94 Squadron was led by the celebrated \"Imshi\" Mason. I was later to fly on the show with him when he went missing after strafing Martuba Airfield. But at this particular moment nobody at 110 Airfield wanted me and he sent me packing to Cairo for leave.\n\nWhen next I caught up with 112 it had moved back to Gambut and I was in time to fly with the wing when it shot down sixteen German and Italian aircraft without loss on Valentine's Day, February 14th. Coming out of cloud at about 9,000 feet we found a number of Macchi's and Breda's ground-strafing our troops south-west of Acroma. I led a section to attack ten Macchis, managing to hit one which spun in. A dog-fight followed and we used 109 tactics, diving from cloud cover and attacking and then making off for cloud again. An Australian and I finished off our particular show by chasing a Macchi at ground level and shooting it down into an army camp which it had recently been strafing.\n\nThis was to be one of the last useful sorties I did with 112. There were various spurts of excitement, such as the time when we were ground-strafed by 109's at Gambut while on stand-by and seven of our aircraft were pretty well destroyed, including mine.\n\nOne morning, early in March, I was told to report to the CO Squadron Leader Caldwell. When I marched into his caravan and saluted, I thought that he looked up at me rather bleakly.\n\n\"Anything on your mind, Duke?\" he asked abruptly.\n\nI thought hastily about one or two parties; it could not be anything to do with them.\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Quite sure?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\nCaldwell grinned and winked at me, while he produced a DFC ribbon.\n\n\"Groupy asked me to give you this. It's an immediate award. Congratulations.\"\n\nThere was quite a session that night and though I faded away at half-past one in the morning the party was still going strong. I was now credited officially with eight enemy aircraft, two back in England and six out in the desert. Life quietened down for me for a time and there was another spell of leave.\n\nAfter another short period with the squadron I was told that my first operational tour had ended. I had completed one hundred and sixty-one sorties and flown on operations for two hundred and twenty hours. During the middle of April, just a little more than a year after I had joined 92 at Biggin Hill, I was posted with Hunk Humphreys to the Fighter School at El Ballah on the Suez Canal. We were to become instructors for the period of our rest tour.\nCHAPTER 6\n\nCairo to Cape Bon\n\nWE arrived at El Ballah, north of Ismailia situated in a salt pan with very high humidity, on April 24th, 1942. Its full title was \"Middle East Fighter School\" and our job as instructors was to teach pupils to fly and fight with Tomahawks and Kittyhawks after a period of dual instruction on Harvards; there would be no more operational flying for us until we had completed our rest period.\n\nThe months at El Ballah seemed long and rather dreary although there was one period when, for some reason, it seemed that the so-called nervous types were directed to me for handling. The days ticked by with long hours of dual flying, dog-fighting and air combat; from time to time many accidents occurred when pupils killed themselves or wrote off their aircraft. One lost himself and crashed in the desert.\n\nWith the return of summer the heat became so intense that perspiration dripped and streamed from us even while we were sitting limply; we cursed and killed thousands of flies, and made sure of a daily swim either at Ismailia or in the Suez Canal. Hunk and I were delighted when we acquired two very old Spitfire I's from Middle East Headquarters, Heliopolis. They had belonged to the Turks and, without guns or radio, they were as light as feathers to fly; and it was the sheer pleasure of being in one that resulted in the Station Commander appointing me as Orderly Officer for seven days\u2014he saw me doing aerobatics at a height not recognized as being safe by King's Regulations.\n\nWe also received a Messerschmitt 109 F from Middle East Headquarters, but I never flew it for I found great difficulty in getting myself into the small cockpit. The Station Commander, Wing Commander Linnard, DFC, took it up, however, and had an alarming flight when an oil pipe burst and drenched him with hot engine oil. Although his face and eyes were smothered with the stuff he got it down again on the ground in one piece, a remarkable effort.\n\nHunk and I were quite content with the old Spitfires, hoping that we should fly them again when we returned to operations, for a good supply was now arriving in the Middle East. Although I quite liked the Kittyhawk, I was keen to fly Spitfires in combat again. We thought our chance might have arrived when Rommel broke through to El Alamein; we both applied to join a squadron but were told firmly that our rest period of six months was not yet completed.\n\nRommel's advance, however, made a short change in our lives, for the school was moved to Muqueblia, near Haifa in Palestine, so that El Ballah could be used by a Baltimore wing. We stayed at Muqueblia for three weeks and enjoyed a change from the sand and the heat and the monotony of Egypt in a land that seemed to be green and golden and where the birds sang and the air smelled sweetly. We moved around Palestine as much as possible, visiting Nazareth, Haifa and Tel Aviv; and then, towards the end of July when the military situation in Egypt had improved, or at least had got no worse, back we returned to El Ballah and I am afraid that I disliked it more than ever, and I was itching to get to squadron life.\n\nOne piece of good news, however, was that 92 Squadron\u2014\"my\" squadron, as I always like to think of it\u2014had arrived in the Middle East and I began to bombard the commanding Officer, now Squadron Leader Wedgwood, DFC, with letters asking to join his squadron. He answered that he had already applied for me, but the request had been refused as I had not completed my rest tour. And so the months and the instructing dragged by and I was still at El Ballah when the Battle of El Alamein was fought in October. In November I borrowed a Tomahawk and flew off to seek 92 Squadron in the desert and to ask Wedgwood to apply for me again. I found him at Sidi Barrani; this time we were more successful. Not long after I returned to El Ballah an order came through posting me to 92 Squadron, and on November 18th I boarded a Lockheed at Almaza, landed at Gambut and found Wedgwood waiting for me there with a jeep. It was good to be back among the dust and the grins.\n\nThe tide of the war in North Africa had changed; El Alamein was by now one of the successful victories of history; Rommel was on the run again, chased by the Eighth Army and the Desert Air Force, and he was to keep on running until the Germans were chased right out of North Africa.\n\nThe Afrika Korps was in the region of Benghazi when I rejoined 92 Squadron at Sidi Barrani. I found that the ground personnel of 92 were little changed from the days at Biggin Hill and Gravesend; it was good to meet them all again and to make fresh friends\u2014Ted Sly and Jeff Rose, two Australians; \"Sweetwater\" Scuddy, an American,Baker and Doc Savage, both Englishmen; Norris, an American; and \"Topsy\" Turvey, a Canadian. The squadron was flying Spitfire Vb's which were a bit slower than the standard Spitfire, being modified to suit the desert and fitted with a large air cleaner under the nose. This cleaner caused slight drag; but even so the Vb was a source of abiding content.\n\nThe first operation of my second tour was a defence patrol of Tobruk Harbour with Squadron Leader Wedgwood, reviving memories of earlier visits. And other memories were recalled as the advance continued and the squadron, which formed a wing with 601 and 145, moved up to Msus and began sweeps over El Agheila and Agadabia.\n\nI soon settled back again to desert conditions and, finding the same old trouble of the cockpit canopy sanding up badly on take-off, I tried flying without a hood for a period, also removing from my machine any equipment I regarded as surplus, in order to lighten it to get a better performance against the 109's. But I found that, while visibility was excellent without the hood, the aircraft's speed was cut down by increased drag, and the slipstream in the cockpit was troublesome. It was also very cold.\n\nIt was winter once more and in the keen air of the desert we developed enormous appetites; food became more than usually important, particularly as supplies were not always as adequate as they might have been. A habit developed of a \"yaffle\" box being kept in every tent. In it was stored any food that we could lay hands on: gazelle meat, which tasted like venison, collected during shoots in the desert and butchered expertly by the Aussies, Ted Sly and Glendinning being particularly useful with their knives; sausages, cocoa, tinned food, flour, raisins, sugar, and biltong or salted antelope from East Africa. The Aussies and Canadians in the squadron usually had well-filled yaffle boxes, replenished regularly by food parcels from their friends and relatives.\n\nOn cold nights, when the wind had a bitter touch and sand seemed to be flying everywhere, it was one of the more pleasant things in life to gather four or five in a tent, and with the help of a petrol fire in a cut-down tin filled with sand, to contrive a hot meal. I can still see the inside of a tent, a few rather ragged looking types grouped round the petrol fire, the solemn and anxious looks on their faces picked out by the soft lighting, intent on producing yaffle. And then, when the cooking was completed, the sharing of the food, which warmed and cheered us and thawed us into general conversation until a move was made to turn in for the night. We talked of many things, usually closely associated with our lives\u2014the trouble we were inclined to get with sand jamming our guns, battle formations and enemy tactics.\n\nThere was nothing static about our lives; the continuing advance meant frequent moves, the personnel of the squadron changed from time to time. From Msus we went on again to Antelat, the peak point of our advance earlier in the year, and then on to El Hassiat, ninety miles south-east of Agadabia. A new commanding officer took over, Squadron Leader Morgan replacing Squadron Leader Wedgwood, whose tour had expired. We were shocked to learn a week or two later that Wedgwood had been killed. He was a passenger in a Halifax with a Polish crew which crashed in Malta shortly after take-off for England.\n\nWe moved on again to Nogra, only eighteen miles from the front, and when the Afrika Korps was pushed back from El Agheila we covered the New Zealand Division while it put in the first of its famous left hooks.\n\nWe settled in at El Merduna for Christmas, rigged up a bar in the mess with the tail-plane of a 109, collected scrub for a Christmas tree, and various artists improved the tent walls with caricatures. Christmas Eve was enlivened with a scramble which meant climbing to 25,000 feet south-east of Nofilia; and when I returned, the Christmas lorry which had been reported \"missing\" on the way from Cairo, causing cursing and despondency, had at last arrived; and the remainder of the night was not particularly silent or holy.\n\nOn Christmas Day several of us made the rounds of 601 and 145 Squadrons before, in time-honoured custom, serving the airmen their Christmas dinner. Jerry Westenra and Jack Bartle, now on rest, arrived in a DH 86 ambulance plane, and everybody sat down to an enormous meal of turkey, pork, Christmas pudding, wine and various trimmings. The day ended with another visit to the airmen's mess and a further session on our own.\n\nWe were on the move again before the New Year was in, this time to El Chel, a big, square airfield; but the front had rolled on to Misurata and we were almost out of range once more. New Year's Eve was notable for a visit by Air Chief Marshal Tedder, who was making a farewell round being handing over to Air Chief Marshal Sholto Douglas; and also for a gazelle hunt when we bagged a couple while travelling at forty miles per hour in a jeep. Hunk Humphreys was sitting in front of me when I fired a .303 at one, and he complained of being deaf for a long time afterwards.\n\nWith El Chel being rather far behind the lines we began to use Tamet as a forward landing ground.\n\n\"109's are making a habit of providing the boys there with bombing and strafing for breakfast, so we shall have to look out,\" Morgan told us.\n\nWe took off at dawn in cold, biting weather but arrived over Tamet to find that Jerry had been a little early and had just completed the morning delivery\u2014three a day were usually made during this period. We landed amid some confusion and stood by in our cockpits waiting to be scrambled for the second visit; and when we were sent up I led a section to 12,000 feet, getting round into sun as five 109's showed up. They began climbing with us into sun and our section went for them head-on. I saw tracer passing over my cockpit, engaged two 109's and began a climbing and turning match with them; we chased up to 20,000 feet and there was warm comfort in finding that my Spitfire could climb and turn inside the Messerschmitts with no trouble. At this height the Jerry No. 2 rolled over and dived away, his leader no doubt hoping that I would follow and that he could get on my tail; but this was an old dodge. When I went for him he too turned and dived away so smartly that I lost sight of him. During this show Morgan and the American, Norris, each shot down a Messerschmitt, but we lost two sergeants who baled out. The 109's had some useful cloud cover for their third party that day; we saw only their bombs dropping on Tamet and found our own ack-ack rather too accurate.\n\nBack at Tamet the next day we came across some 109's and Stukas bombing our forward troops under cover of Macchi 202's at 13,000 feet. We went for the Macchis which stayed and fought. Well placed, with the sun behind us, I and my No. 2, Flight Sergeant Sales, dived on a couple of Italians 3,000 feet below; they did not spot us until we were on them and then they put down their noses to bolt for home but taking no evasive action. I took one and Sales the other; mine dived almost vertically to the deck. As we flew low over the ground my Spitfire gained easily and after several strikes the Macchi crashed, burst into flames and dissolved in bits and pieces.\n\nEventually we moved up to Tamet and settled in there; and it was at Tamet that I celebrated my twenty-first birthday.\n\nWe had three shows that day, the first a scramble after dawn stand-by when we saw only a lone 109 in the distance. After a quick lunch I went up with Pilot Officer Paul Brickhill, an Australian, who was later to be shot down and taken prisoner, and who is now a well-known author. We hoped to intercept two 109's but although we sighted them well below us, we lost them while we dived and I nearly passed out owing to lack of oxygen, fortunately noticing I needed it and turning it on in time.\n\nOn our third operation I led the squadron up to 13,000 feet from where we saw bombs bursting on Tamet and also five aircraft coming in from the sea. When we chased them, four began to dive but the fifth decided to climb; and with my No. 2, Pilot Officer McMahon, I went after it, another Macchi 202. When my cannons hit behind the cockpit, the pilot rolled the aircraft over and baled out, and I saw his parachute open nicely while his machine went down with pieces still breaking off. He was collected and found to be a _Maggiore_ and commander of a Macchi squadron.\n\nMcMahon and I flew around for a time until we saw another Macchi low down; we dived out of the sun and began a long chase in and out of cloud, getting in a number of attacks. After putting up quite a fight, the Italian let down his flaps, crash-landed, and before the dust had settled, was out of the cockpit and darting away. I knew just how he felt. He was less fortunate than I, for he was taken prisoner.\n\nHe was, in fact, a _Colonello_ and commanding officer of a Macchi gruppe, or wing; and I heard quite a bit about him subsequently from one of the Intelligence Officers who had interrogated him.\n\n\"Nice birthday present, those two you collected for us,\" the IO told me. \"The colonel thinks you and Mac are quite sporting types for not shooting him up on the ground. It seems that the Eyeties take a fairly dim view of that sort of thing, and that it has been a topic in their mess from time to time.\"\n\n\"Did you get much from him?\"\n\n\"A certain amount. He seemed a pretty good type, politely secure and all that. Apparently he's been in Africa for about fifteen months and has been a CO for about three.\"\n\n\"What does he think of the Jerries?\"\n\n\"Not much. He says their pilots never think of attacking unless they've got everything in their favour. But if the odds are against them they dive or climb away, if they can. He thinks his own crowd are much better. He says they stay and fight it out, even though they've only got two guns.\"\n\n\"Does he like flying the Macchi?\"\n\n\"Seemed to think it was all right, but he doesn't care for their r\/t. Says it's poor and that when you shot him down his own was u\/s. He also said that the only way his chaps can be sure of warning one another when there's trouble about is to waggle their wings.\"\n\nSoon the war rolled away from Tamet as the big push for Tripoli continued, and we began to use thirty gallon overload tanks again, escorting bombing raids by Kittys on the Buerat-Gheddahia road, patrolling over our forward troops and covering tank battles and shelling. We moved again, to Wadi Surri, and from there patrolled the Tripoli-Castel Benito area.\n\nDuring our first show over this area with twelve Spitfires at 18,000 feet, we saw some Ju-87 Stukas returning from bombing our troops. I reported them to our wing leader, Wing Commander Darwin, and dived down on them with the squadron following.\n\nI felt rather exposed approaching the formation of Stukas on my own and for a time, until the squadron arrived, I had them all to myself, returning my fire and doing stall turns all round me. They were Italian Stukas and I caught up with them near Castel Benito aerodrome at about 1,000 feet. I shot at one without doing much damage but hit a second one in the starboard wing root, saw it burst into flames, spiral down and explode when it hit the ground.\n\n\"Nice show,\" said Darwin, when we got back to Wadi Surri. \"I didn't see those chaps for a start. That makes your twelfth doesn't it?\"\n\nI said it did.\n\n\"Good show. Well, your promotion to Flight Lieutenant has come through. You'd better come over to my trailer to wet your new stripe this evening.\"\n\nI was now a flight commander in 92 Squadron and enjoying life.\n\nTripoli was occupied on January 23rd and it seemed as though there might be a lull in the war for a couple of months. During this period we drove over to Misurata one day, bartered tea for eggs with the Arabs and cooked ourselves a meal of bully and eggs in a hotel. Ted Sly worked out a brilliant idea to augment our limited supplies of beer and whisky. He took an empty four gallon jerry can in his Spitfire on a trip to Castel Benito, got the jerry filled with Chianti, and flew back with both feet on one rudder pedal to provide room for the can, fortunately meeting no 109's. The Chianti was good, even if it did taste a bit of petrol.\n\n\"Good enough to wet old Dukey's bar to the DFC.\" Ted Sly said, to my embarrassment. \"Another 'immediate.' He's making a habit of it.\"\n\nMr Churchill arrived in Tripoli and there were various big parades; and one day McMahon and I were told to stand by for a secret job. It was to escort the Prime Minister to Malta in his Liberator; but we were not required after all. The squadron moved to Castel Benito airfield and though we enjoyed the change from the desert and relaxed in green and pleasant surroundings, life became rather quiet for a period for there was little flying. Wing Commander Gleed was the new commanding officer of the wing and Squadron Leader Peter Olver was the OC Flying.\n\nA number of rumours began to float, one of them that sixty Focke Wulfs 190 were said to be at Gabes.\n\n\"My Gawd,\" Ted Sly sighed.\n\nBy March we were at Medanine and the war was on again, and there was nothing dull about life now. Morgan completed his tour and Squadron Leader Harper took over; while he was away for a period in Cairo on a course I was appointed acting-commanding officer and had an eventful week.\n\nOnce I was able to get two Macchi 202's during one sortie; both pilots baled out and I saw their parachutes going down together like a couple of mushrooms. Life was a bit hectic that evening for the Wehrmacht shelled our airfield at Medanine from the hills to the north-west and we were ordered to take-off immediately through the shell bursts and to land wherever we could. Two aircraft were damaged by shells and crashed on take-off, another crash-landed at Zuara; one Spitfire of 145 Squadron got away with two pilots aboard, and the ground crew left _en masse._ I managed to put down at Castel Benito in the dark, thinking of Harper's parting words before he left:\n\n\"The squadron is in your hands!\"\n\nI reflected on his comment the following day. While taking-off with a section of four to do top cover to 145 over Gabes, there was some misunderstanding which resulted in one of the section wiping himself out in a head-on collision; and when we were airborne another had to turn back with engine trouble, leaving Flight Sergeant H Paterson and myself to carry on.\n\nWe went up to 22,000 feet, flew north of Gabes, and then set course for home in a gentle dive. While we were crossing the coast near the Mareth Line I saw a lone 109 F at about 10,000 feet, some 4,000 feet below us. As I dived and closed to about 250 yards, the 109 went up in a climbing turn to the left, but I managed to connect with cannons and machine-guns and he went straight down leaving a trail of smoke and breaking up.\n\nThis was a pretty busy period with the Battle of the Mareth Line progressing, and I was very fortunate in being able to get more 109's on each of three sorties. While leading seven of the squadron at 8,000 feet, I saw a couple of 109's coming our way, a little above us; our own ack-ack began to pepper them and, with Sergeant Askey as my No. 2, we went through the black puffs. My shells exploded behind the cockpit of the first Messerschmitt and the pilot baled out; we followed the second one down in a long chase, dodging ack-ack, and eventually saw him crash and explode.\n\nDuring the next sortie\u2014on a Sunday, and a lucky one for me this time\u2014six of us patrolling over the Medanine area at 18,000 feet saw three 109's pass below us. They split up when we dived and I followed one in a climbing turn. After two bursts with cannons the aircraft appeared to lurch as though the pilot had been hit, and then went down in a wide spiral dive. That afternoon, with a section of four, we ran into about twenty 109's bound for the strip at Noffatia. Hunk and \"Red\" Chisholm both got one, and after another chase through our ack-ack, I caused the pilot to bale out from a 109 F.\n\nIt had been an eventful week and I was quite happy to hand over the squadron to Squadron Leader Harper when he returned from Cairo. We had lost several aircraft one way and another, and McMahon had been killed when he and Chisholm were picked on by seven Messerschmitts.\n\nWe also had a visitor, one of the Luftwaffe pilots I had shot down. He was wounded in the arm.\n\n\"He seems curious to meet you,\" said the IO.\n\nHe was a _Staffelfiihrer,_ the equivalent of a wing commander aged about twenty-four, and with an Iron Cross. We took him to the mess and chatted away about Spitfires and Messerschmitts, and, as he seemed a quite good type, we showed him the cockpit of a 5b.\n\nNext day there was a terrific flap.\n\n\"Your Jerry has escaped,\" Harper told me.\n\nExtra guards were mounted by all the aircraft in case he selected one for himself. But fortunately he did not get far; he was found in the camp wearing pyjamas.\n\nThe Battle of Mareth was won and 92 moved on again, this time to Bu Grara, a salt flat by the seashore where we had some trouble with aircraft sinking in the sand. To our immense satisfaction we went to Algiers on March 23rd to pick up some Spitfire 9's, a great improvement on the 5b, with more powerful engines; and one of our first operations with them was to patrol over the New Zealand Division making its left-hook to El Hamma. I have definite memories of this area, for while returning from a patrol between El Hamma and Gabes I chased a Junkers 88 and exchanged shots, travelling at round about 400 miles an hour. The rear-gunner put a bullet through one of my tyres and another through the airscrew; a couple more went into the leading edges of the wings. He got away, although damaged.\n\nWhen Chisholm, who had been commander of B Flight, finished his tour he was succeeded by Hunk Humphreys, which pleased us for we were now both flight commanders of 92, an honour we appreciated.\n\n\"Duke, you are wanted on the telephone. It's the AOC, I think,\" I was told by Joe Cornish, our Intelligence Officer, one morning while on readiness during the push for Gabes.\n\n\"Probably going to tear you off a strip.\"\n\nI picked up the receiver rather tentatively.\n\n\"Broadhurst here.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"I thought you would like to know that you have been awarded an immediate DSO. Congratulations, Duke.\"\n\n\"Oh\u2014er, thank you, sir.\"\n\nWhen the news got around, Jerry Westenra came over from 601 Squadron and joined in a party which kept him with us until the following morning.\n\nTwo days later I was able to celebrate in another way. With a flight well north of Gabes we ran into six 109 G's with the sun at our backs; Doc Savage and I each got one, mine exploding on the ground near a German Red Cross, Hospital.\n\nGabes fell, the Army was on the way to Sfax; the Desert Air Force pressed on with patrols and sweeps and providing escorts for bombers. Since 92 had only a limited number of Spitfire 9's we flew usually with four 9's as a top cover above eight 5b's; the 9's became lightly known as the \"suicide\" four for though they had a roving commission above the remainder of the formation and were expected to jump on any would-be attackers, they could also be jumped on and perhaps outnumbered by any 109's that might be higher still.\n\n16.\n\nThe Ju 87's we attacked over Castel Benito, January 21st 1943.\n\n17.\n\nCin\u00e9 film of the Me 109F I shot down over Mareth, March 1943.\n\n18.,\n\nTropicalized Spitfire Vb, 92 Squadron, Bir Dufan, 1943.\n\n19.,\n\nInstructor on Spitfire Vc, at Abu Suweir, 1943.\n\n20.,\n\nSqn Ldr Sandy Kallio, my predecessor, 145 Squadron, 1944.\n\n21.,\n\n244 Wing, Venarro. Neville Duke, Sqn Ldr Graham Cox, Gp Capt Brian Kingcome, and Gp Capt Stan Turner.\n\n22.\n\nThe Me 109F I shot down over Arezzo, May 13th 1944.\n\n23.,\n\nSome of my successful pilots in 145 Squadron. Back: Lt J Milborrow, Neville Duke, Flt Lt J Wooler; Front: FO J S Ekbury, Lt J S Anderson, Flt Sgt J Stirling. Between us we scored eight destroyed, one probable and one damaged; 21st may 1994.\n\nSfax fell, and we went on to Fauconnerie, an airfield formerly used by the Luftwaffe, littered now with wrecks of 109's and FW-190's; and from Fauconnerie to Goubrine, near Sousse, where we welcomed the sight once again of green grass and flowers and birds.\n\nThe end of Rommel in North Africa was in sight; and there was one occasion when it was very nearly the end of Duke in North Africa, too.\n\nI was leading a section of 9's at 20,000 feet as top cover to eight Spitfires from 145 Squadron headed by the wing leader, Wing Commander Gleed; we were on an offensive sweep over the Cape Bon area.\n\nWhile scanning the sea I suddenly saw the shadows of a large number of aircraft on the water, though I could not see the actual aircraft. They were very low down and making for Tunis\u2014Rommel's final reinforcements.\n\nI called up Ian Gleed on the r\/t and reported them.\n\n\"Can't see them from down here,\" he replied. \"You lead on and we'll follow you.\"\n\nMy section followed me down and we soon sighted about eighteen Savoia 82's, three-engined transport aircraft. I selected one for attacking, but my machine was moving too quickly and I overshot. Throttling back, I attacked another, closed right up and skimmed over the top of him as he went into the sea, broke up and disappeared in masses of spray with the engine cowlings bouncing over the waves. I had time to shoot down another, which practically landed on the sea; and then a mixed formation of escorting Focke Wulfs and Messerschmitts appeared on the scene and jumped us.\n\nJust as I was about to attack another Savoia I glanced back and found a Focke Wulf on my tail. And then, suddenly, the air seemed to be filled with Focke Wulfs. I saw one or two Spitfires leaving the area, and Ian Gleed's No. 2 bale out while his aircraft went down in flames. I had the Focke Wulfs to myself. This seemed to be it.\n\nWith the engine flat-out I flew low over the sea, twisting, turning, dodging, gaining a bit of confidence when I found that my Spit 9 could turn inside the Focke Wulfs, nearly blacking out sometimes with high G. Finally, in desperation and to get more height to fight, I put the aircraft into a steep climb and after what seemed a life-time found myself alone again.\n\nWhen I got back I found that we had lost Ian Gleed. It was likely that he had found himself in my position, too, for he was heard calling for aid at one stage. It was a big loss; he had led the wing with great distinction. Within minutes of returning to base we were airborne again, sweeping the area led by Pete Olver in search for any sight of Ian Gleed. On the credit side we had collected about six Savoias. It was the opening act to one of the most amazing sights I was to see during the entire war.\n\nThe following evening 92 Squadron provided top cover to four American Kittyhawk and Warhawk squadrons, sweeping the Cape Bon area when they sighted a huge flight of Junkers 52 transports escorted by Messerschmitts on the way to Tunis. While we had to sit upstairs the Americans engaged and claimed fifty-eight Junkers and fourteen 109's.\n\nPeering down from our cockpits occasionally we could see the Americans getting right in among the enemy, flying low over the sea. A Junkers would begin to glow, become a ball of flame, and stagger on over the water. Some went straight in, others succeeded in reaching land, only to crash and blow up.\n\nAs dusk fell we looked down to see burning aircraft glowing over an area of many square miles. It was a blood-chilling sight.\n\nThis slaughter continued for several days. A South African squadron met up with fifteen Junkers and shot down every one with one loss to themselves. The Germans also had some successes; our losses included six among the Americans, three each by 92 and 601; and 145 lost five when they were jumped by twenty-five Messerschmitts.\n\nThe Eighth Army offensive on Enfidaville now began, and we were kept busy covering, sweeping, patrolling, delousing; once we covered three destroyers on the way to Tunis; another time we escorted 120 Mitchells bombing Pantellaria.\n\nOfficially I was now just about \"OTE\"\u2014operational tour expired, but I managed to get as much flying as possible and I was still on operations when Tunis and Bizerta fell. I was pleased, and proud, to have been able to remain to the end.\n\nI completed my last operation of my second tour on May 11th. We flew around Cape Bon during the afternoon, escorting American Kittyhawks on a bombing raid.\n\nWhen the bombs had gone down the controller called up all aircraft.\n\n\"Return to base. The show is over.\" he said.\n\nIt was the final operation of the North African campaign.\n\nWith my second tour ended I began to hope that I should be able to spend my leave in Kent, especially as various people including several high-ranking officers had assured me that I was now certain of a posting home. It was wonderful to think about.\n\nI was also very pleased when Hunk Humphreys was appointed commanding officer of 92 Squadron. Several of us had finished operations for the time being and there were many mess parties, some of which were hilarious and spirituous, particularly one before I set off on the long haul back to Cairo.\n\nReturning by stages, I made quite an eager entry at the RAF Headquarters, Middle East, keen to learn when I might take-off for England. I was told to come back the next morning. That evening I reflected that I had been in the battle for the Agheila Line, the Buerat Line, the Mareth Line and the final push for Tunis. On my second tour I had managed to collect fourteen enemy aircraft, making a total of twenty-two, and probably damaged or destroyed others. My operational hours for the second tour were two hundred and two, making a total of four hundred and twenty-four for two tours in two hundred and ninety-three sorties.\n\nBack at headquarters next morning I was received by a frosty wing commander.\n\n\"Nobody is going home,\" he said.\n\nI explained that I had been told by the C-in-C that I would be going; the wing commander told me to return during the afternoon. I went away, quite happily, feeling that I should soon be seeing England. I had lunch at the Ghezira with Hunk, on leave after a course, and several other types; we swam and drank. Life was good.\n\nThis cheerfulness was soon shattered. The wing commander confirmed that I was staying in the Middle East and said that I had been recommended for a staff job as squadron leader. I argued my way out of that one; but when it was suggested that I might return to El Ballah I became temporarily speechless.\n\nI had a lot to drink that night from sheer disappointment and, since I was to stay in the Middle East, I would have given much to have found myself back again with 92. By the middle of June I was on rest tour, this time as a squadron leader and chief flying instructor at 73 OTU, Abu Suweir, near Ismailia. I felt at least this was definitely preferable to a staff job.\nCHAPTER 7\n\nItaly\n\nTHE sun was still low over the horizon of the desert but occasionally as I weaved, looking for aircraft to attack, its rays glinted on the wings of my Spitfire 5b the tips of which were painted white. I had taken off just as dawn was breaking and at any moment I could expect a dog-fight. I sighted a vic of three Spitfires and went over and down to get on their tails; they saw me and split up and I began a climbing match with them as I had done so often against 109's. But now there would be no firing, no crashing or baling out; this was just part of the course at No. 73 Operational Training Unit at Abu Suweir, the white wing-tips of my Spitfire indicating to the pupils in the three Spitfires that they had been jumped on by their instructor.\n\nDespite that bout of disappointment in Cairo at not going home for leave, I was enjoying life as Chief Flying Instructor, responsible for training Spitfire pilots particularly in air combat and fighter tactics before they went on to join the Desert Air Force. There was a routine for each Course to follow: training in a Harvard before going solo in a Spitfire, flying in battle formation, attacks on bomber formations, ground strafing, examinations. And this practice dogfighting which became a popular sport, with the pupils trying to jump their CFI, was one of the most enjoyable parts of the course, particularly for me. It meant regular flying, keeping my hand in for my third tour, and was infinitely preferable to any staff job.\n\nDuring the heat of the summer we worked from dawn until midday, and when the sun was at its height we had a siesta and then went swimming or sailing in the Suez Canal or the Great Bitter Lakes. There was a pattern and routine about life as each Course arrived, went through its training, left and was succeeded by another. If there was tedium in correcting examination papers there was also plenty of flying; and at the end of each Course we would have a mass exercise when our Spitfires and their experienced pupils intercepted mock bombing and strafing of dummy ground targets by Kittyhawks, targets which might be the Suez Canal, or Port Said, or old tanks and lorries.\n\nThese exercises had their moments. Once while I was leading twelve Spitfires mock-attacking oil refineries at Suez, my No. 2, a South African, misjudged his distance over the glassy, calm surface of the Gulf of Suez, an easy thing to do. He hit the sea, flying at about 300 miles an hour, bounced high but ditched skilfully and successfully, and I circled above him until he was picked up by an Egyptian fishing boat, shaken but intact. Once a Kittyhawk, taking-off with a section on exercise, struck a taxiing Spitfire whose pilot was killed instantly. The Spitfire continued to taxi in circles and I had to chase it, climb aboard, grope into the cockpit and switch off the engine.\n\nSometimes we had co-operation exercises with torpedo Beaufighters and Wellingtons from the Coastal Command Training School at Shalufa, usually accompanied by realistic dog-fights between Kittyhawks and Spitfires, some of them a little too realistic. A diversion was a visit by King Peter, of Yugoslavia, who stayed with us to qualify for his RAF wings and was passed out by the Station Commander, Group Captain John Grandy, DSO, after a satisfactory performance with a Harvard.\n\nWith a number of Desert Air Force pilots at Abu Suweir on rest there was plenty of good company. Ted Sly, the Australian, was instructor to one of the three Spitfire flights; I shared a bungalow with Squadron Leader Geoff Garton, DFC, who had flown Hurricanes during the Battle of France in 1940; the Station Adjutant, Flight Lieutenant Bunny Isaac, was another Desert man and one of his possessions was a big German Horsch car which he had managed to loot somewhere or other and which was most valuable for reaching the fleshpots of Cairo occasionally, eighty miles away. We also had an old Hawker Hart and a Fairchild Argus cabin aircraft which served for reaching Cairo and Alexandria\u2014and once for landing in the desert to pick up Ted Sly and two WAAF officers.\n\nOne day while I was in Cairo I saw a familiar figure.\n\nIt was Brian Kingcome, whom I had not seen since he had gone on rest from Biggin Hill. He was now, I noticed, a Group Captain.\n\n\"What brings you here, sir?\" I asked.\n\n\"Spot of leave from Italy.\"\n\n\"What are you doing there?\"\n\n\"I've got 244 Wing. Let's have a drink.\"\n\nWe had a grand reunion, starting at Shepherd's and continuing at the Turf Club, Jimmy's Bar, the Continental, and various other places.\n\nWhile we were sipping our beer I said to Brian:\n\n\"I suppose you haven't got a place in your wing for me?\"\n\n\"As a matter of fact,\" Brian replied, \"I've already asked for you. I wanted you for taking over 92 when Hunk Humphreys finished his second tour, but it seemed you're still supposed to be resting.\"\n\nI was pleased to know that he had asked for me, but disappointed at not being able to succeed Hunk.\n\n\"Who has the squadron now?\"\n\n\"Chap named Mackie, a New Zealander. Damn good type. They call him Rosie because of his fresh, pink face.\"\n\n\"Any hope of my succeeding him?\"\n\n\"Could be. We'll see.\"\n\nI went down to Heliopolis to see Brian off for Italy. He was getting a lift in General Montgomery's DC3; but as we were roaring on to the airfield, making sure to be punctual, we saw the General's aircraft taking off. He had arrived ten minutes before schedule and was in a hurry.\n\nThe months ticked by at Abu Suweir, Course succeeded Course, and I began to get restless to return to operations. My posting to the Desert Air Force in Italy came through at the end of February, 1944. A round of farewell parties, take-off from Cairo West in a DC3 at dawn, landings at El Adem and Malta just two and a quarter years since I had last been in Malta believing that I should be back again in England in six weeks\u2014and then on to Catania, in Sicily, landing finally at Capodichino, near Naples. I had nearly caught up with the war again: the front line was a little north of Naples and because of the winter and for other reasons, there was a temporary full stop at Cassino.\n\nI went straight to the Base Personnel Depot and hearing that Squadron Leader Mackie was about, sought him out. He had finished his tour with 92 Squadron a few days earlier and had been succeeded by Squadron Leader Graham Cox. So I had missed out on 92 Squadron. Mackie, who like Cox, had the DSO and DFC, told me that 92 had been in Malta for a while when Hunk had been CO. It had taken part in the invasion of Sicily, and had been based there for a while; and, with Mackie succeeding Hunk, it had been active in various places including Salerno. It was now at Marcianise with 244 Wing, near Caserta.\n\nI rang up Brian Kingcome.\n\n\"You're coming to this wing,\" he said. \"Can't let you have 92, but I've got an appointment for you. I'll have you picked up tomorrow morning.\"\n\nOn the drive to Marcianise, bumping along the muddy Italian roads in the rain, I wondered what \"the job\" might be. I reported to Brian and, over lunch with his wing commander flying, a Canadian, Stan Turner, DSO, DFC, together with a visitor, Wing Commander Warburton, DSO, DFC, a distinguished photographic reconnaissance pilot, I thought about my new posting. I was to take over 145 Squadron; its commanding officer, Squadron Leader Sandy Kallio, DFC, another Canadian, had broken a leg crash-landing a Spitfire. After lunch Warburton left for England in a Lockheed P38 and was not heard of again. He went missing somewhere off Gibraltar.\n\nBefore Brian introduced me to 145 Squadron there was one thing I wanted to do: meet up again with the boys in 92. It was good to see all the old ground crew again, still the same as they had been at Biggin and in North Africa; many of the pilots I knew, for they had passed through Abu Suweir. Dear old Joe Cornish, the Intelligence Officer, brought me up to date with all the news, and my first glimpse of Graham Cox, the CO, was while he was giving some of the pilots a sharp address about various \"blacks\" that had been put up during a party at Caserta Palace the previous evening.\n\nI took an immediate liking to Graham, particularly when, with the height of hospitality, he let me take up one of 92's Spitfires for a look around the sector; I flew over the Cassino foothills, Naples and Vesuvius, careful not to get the wrong side of the lines for the moment. Graham put me up for the night. I felt at home again.\n\nThe next morning Brian Kingcome took me to meet the commanding officers of 601 and 417 Squadrons, the latter Canadian, and then we went on to 145. We ploughed through thick mud (which seemed about two feet deep) to the mess, a captured Italian tent shared by the pilots of all ranks, and found all the officers and pilots assembled there.\n\nI felt rather self-conscious. Every new commanding officer of a squadron is regarded with critical, appraising eyes during the first few moments of his introduction, and not a word or a movement is missed but noted carefully; during the first few days he is usually treated with great reserve. I wondered how I should make out.\n\nUnfortunately, I was not to be too popular with the squadron during those early days. The commanding officer had a car allotted to him, and more than usual significance was attached to that run by the CO of 145. It was a huge Lancia, \"liberated\" in Sicily, pride of the pilots, who piled into it in large numbers and made off for Naples whenever they could for parties and the bright lights.\n\nVery soon after my arrival I went into Naples with Graham Cox and Wing Commander Teddy Morris, who had commanded 250 Squadron in the desert while I was with 112. We drove in this splendid vehicle.\n\nThe evening began badly. Teddy Morris, in his best blues, and in animated conversation, did not see a hole, fully six feet deep and filled with mud and water; he walked slap into it. We hauled him out, scraped his uniform as clean as we could, and fixed him up with a mixed set of blues. We had an enjoyable evening at the Officers' Club and left, in pouring rain, to pick up the Lancia from which I had carefully removed the rotor arm to immobilize it.\n\nWhere we had parked the Lancia was now a vacant gap. Somebody had evidently been around with another rotor arm and had re-liberated the squadron's magnificent car. I feel it is best to draw a screen over that long walk back in the rain to the camp. There was a touch of frost about the atmosphere in the mess during the following days. Far too many people found themselves unable to get to Naples.\n\nI was fortunate in having a first class adjutant in \"Adj\" Brown, from the Isle of Man, who took all the administrative weight of the squadron and left me free to concentrate on the flying\u2014he was almost fatherly in his attitude.\n\nI turned my attention to the squadron's Spitfires. They were 8's, to my mind one of the finest Mark of Spitfire ever produced. They carried two 20 mm cannons, four .303 machine-guns, were fitted with Merlin 45 or 46 engines, and could more than hold their own with the Me-109 and the FW-190 although the \"long nose\" Focke Wulf with Daimler-Benz engines was a formidable aircraft.\n\nBrian Kingcome gave me the form about the work 244 Wing was doing.\n\n\"Our job,\" he said, \"is to give air cover over Anzio where the Army has got a bridgehead. That cover is continuous from dawn to dusk, and one squadron relieves another. It takes half an hour to reach Anzio and each squadron does half an hour over the area. The squadron which finishes its patrol at dusk does not return here, but stays at Nettuno for the night and goes up again at dawn until it is relieved and returns here. The Jerries shell Nettuno most of the time, so the pilots spend their nights in dug-outs and hope to wake up and find that their aircraft have not been hit.\"\n\n\"What height do we patrol at?\"\n\n\"About 15,000 feet, in eights or twelves. You'll have to watch out for 190's and 109's. Their idea is to make as many bombing and strafing attacks on the Army as possible.\"\n\nMaintaining this standing patrol over Anzio called for good organization, with squadrons starting up at exact times, taking off in pairs, forming up into two or three flights of four aircraft in box formation, climbing out over the coast and heading round Gaeta Point to Anzio. No patrol could leave the bridgehead area until it was relieved.\n\nI did my first patrol, the first operation of my third tour, on March 4th, 1944, the day after taking over command of 145, whose score of enemy aircraft destroyed was one hundred and ninety-six. There was a lot of cloud about and we did not see much. I felt rather like a new boy again after my long absence from operations, but it was good to be back.\n\nWe saw plenty of Anzio in the following weeks. The area was plastered with shell holes, and the only activity we could see below was the flashing of guns. There were times when we fairly tore up to the bridgehead, listening to the ground controller reporting bandits approaching Anzio and being engaged by the squadron we were to relieve. Sometimes we arrived to join in the scrap, but usually the Luftwaffe had gone by the time we got there. The beachhead area was not large and practice was needed to position ourselves over the patrol line and at the same time take advantage of the sun when it appeared, so that we should be between it and any visitors.\n\nFlak spouted up in spate. My second day as CO of 145 might easily have been my last. A shell splinter punched a hole in my starboard wing the size of my head and only a few inches away from the cannon ammunition, peppering the radio with bits and pieces and damaging the leading edge of the wing.\n\nWhenever we could, we used to sweep up to Rome to have a look round, to the irritation of the Wehrmacht which sent flak up too close for comfort.\n\nThe Army was endeavouring to push past Cassino and to link up with the bridgehead at Anzio; and in the middle of March, on a clear, sunny day, we took off to patrol over the area during the big bombing raid which flattened the famous monastery and was intended for softening up the German defences. When we arrived over Cassino, cloud closed down to 6,000 feet; we sat under it, watching bombing by Kittyhawks and artillery fire winking as a terrific barrage was laid down; Cassino was a mass of bomb craters and shell holes, shrouded in smoke. The Germans held on, and returning the following day, we watched further artillery fire and were well content to be high above it. At this time the squadron raised its score to two hundred and our IO, Dave Ker, was kept busy.\n\nWe continued to patrol Anzio and Cassino; as well as offensive sorties. We escorted bombing raids on the Orvieto marshalling yards. In a raid on an ammunition dump in the Valmontore area south-east of Rome American Bostons must have secured a direct hit\u2014the earth just lifted in a sheet of flame. During March my operational hours totted up to forty; and since in theory a tour was restricted to 180 hours, Brian Kingcome ordered me to ration my flying.\n\nApril passed and the wing was moved to Venafro, not far from Cassino, nearer the front and in preparation for the expected push for Rome. The second battle for Cassino began on May 11th with a barrage of 2,000 guns, the air rent with the din, the sky lit with flashes at night. Two days later I led six Spitfires from 145 on a sweep over the Perugia area. We were at extreme range and feeling rather lonely deep in enemy territory.\n\nIt was worthwhile; we destroyed three 109's and damaged three more. I had with me two South Africans, Lieutenants F M Du Toit and S M Greene; a Rhodesian, Flight Lieutenant WAR Macdonald; and Flight Lieutenant C R Parbury and Flight Sergeant D H Lorimer.\n\nWe sighted the Messerschmitts while we were at 17,000 feet, south of Arezzo. They were to the north of us, about 500 feet below and we turned and chased them. Macdonald and Lorimer got one each, Parbury and Greene damaged two more and I was able to hit one before it dived away.\n\nClimbing back to rejoin my section I saw a Messerschmitt circling above me, and we went into the routine of a climbing and turning bout. My aircraft had the edge on him and, at 14,000 feet, just as I was about to open fire, the 109 throttled back, skidded, and slipped into a stalled position, evidently hoping that I would overshoot so that he could take up an attacking position. But I was able to fire from a range of about one hundred to one hundred and fifty yards; large pieces broke off from the Messerschmitt, which dropped away in a wide spiral and went into the ground.\n\nLuck was with us again the following day when, in addition to Greene and Lorimer, I had with me two more South Africans, Lieutenants D J Beisieger and J S Anderson, and three of our flight sergeants, R W McKernan, W Hughes and A G Newman. While over the Cassino area after returning from a sweep up to Rome and Perugia, the controller reported eight 109's above and some distance behind us. We found them two hundred feet above, all carrying bombs, which they dropped as soon as they saw us and which may have landed on their own troops since we were over enemy territory. As they dived we chased after them; Beisieger and I got one each, and Lorimer, McKernan and Greene damaged three more.\n\nAlthough we continued to patrol over the Cassino battle area we saw no more enemy aircraft for three or four days; they did, however, make an attempt to bomb our airfield at Venafro, and we countered by sweeping over their aerodromes round Lake Bolsena, taking off before dawn after a restless night at Nettuno on the Anzio beachhead. Flying Officer Ekbury shot down one of a section forming up over the lake; the others dodged into cloud.\n\nAs a result of various squadrons being shuffled to Anzio and Venafro, 145 was attached to 324 Wing at Lago, south of the Volturno, commanded by Group Captain Duncan Smith, DSO, DFC, whose wing leader was Wing Commander Du Vivier, DFC, an outstanding Belgian pilot. This wing included 111 Squadron, led by Hunk Humphreys who was also on his third tour, and Nos. 43, 72 and 93. As visitors, the pilots of 145 Squadron were keen to prove themselves, and the opportunity occurred after a day on readiness at Nettuno.\n\nBefore returning to Lago eight aircraft from 145 were detailed to escort twenty-four Baltimores of the USAAF and to give them area cover over Velletri where their bombs were scheduled for the enemy support lines. I led one box of four and the other was headed by one of my flight commanders, Flight Lieutenant Jock Wooler. While we were at about 15,000 feet on course to meet up with the Baltimores Jock called up on the radio:\n\n\"190's. Two o'clock above.\"\n\nWe had met up abruptly with about eighteen Focke Wulfs, all carrying bombs, with a top cover of 109's ranging up to about 17,000 feet.\n\nThe 190's were in three sections, line abreast; we turned starboard towards them and tore into the leading section from the stern quarter. I hit one with a burst from short range; it went down in a mass of flames, and after a quick weave to port another of this section came within my sights. The Spitfire's explosive ammunition seemed to produce stars over the 190's fuselage, the hood flew off and out shot the pilot. There was no time to see whether his parachute had opened for the remaining Focke Wulfs, after getting rid of their bombs, went off in all directions and dived for the north, several followed by Spitfires on their tails. I selected a pair and went after them in a long chase until accurate and heavy flak decided me to turn away. I was now entirely alone with no other aircraft in sight, but after weaving about and watching for any stragglers I met our Baltimores returning from their target and joined up with them, as much for the protection they could give me as for any I could give them.\n\nThe squadron returned to Lago in ones and twos until there were seven; the eighth was my No. 2 Flying Officer Somers, a good and experienced pilot who had been with 145 for many months. I waited for him at dispersal for hours, but we never heard anything of him again and nobody knew what had happened to him. He was the first and only No. 2 I lost throughout the war.\n\nThe brighter side of the picture was that eight of us had shot down eight Focke Wulfs, probably destroyed another and damaged two: Wooler, Ekbury, Lieutenants Jeff Milborrow and Anderson and Flight Sergeant Stirling each getting one. We felt it had been a good introduction to 324 Wing.\n\nTowards the end of May the push began from Anzio to link up with the advance from Cassino; we were kept busy and frequently flew far north of Rome. 145 returned to 244 Wing; and Brian Kingcome sent for me after escorting twenty-four Bostons over the Frascati area.\n\n\"Party tonight,\" he said.\n\n\"Good show. Any particular reason?\"\n\n\"To celebrate the second bar to your DFC,\" he replied cheerfully.\n\n\"I'll give the party,\" I declared.\n\nBut in the end the squadron insisted on giving it for me; and it was quite a party. The Squadron MO, stocky and tough \"Doc\" Brennan, Irish and a boxer, was useful next morning.\n\nThree days later, on June 6th, we were cheered by the news that the invasion of Normandy had begun.\n\nOn June 7th I decided to take Mackenzie, Milborrow and Anderson off on a strafing expedition in the Rieti area, the first operation of its kind that the wing had attempted. We located some trucks and set them on fire but I found that my radiator had been hit, either by flak or by bullets from my own machine ricocheting off the ground. The engine began to vibrate and flames started to shoot out from the exhaust stubs as I pulled up and gained some height.\n\nI turned for home, losing height, but keeping the aircraft going by slowly opening the throttle and then closing it quickly when the flames began to shoot again. Smoke began to fill the cockpit and I realized that I should have to bale out.\n\nSeeing a break in the low clouds, I went through it to find Lake Bracciano about 2,000 feet below; the lake is nine miles across and I had arrived over the centre. The smoke in the cockpit became excessive and the engine was well on fire; I released my safety straps and the oxygen connections, rolled the aircraft on its back travelling at about 180 miles an hour, and expected to fall clear. Whether or not it was my preoccupation with the smoke I am not sure, but I realized too late that I had only slid back and not jettisoned the cockpit hood. Now my parachute was caught\u2014preventing me from dropping out, and I was very low.\n\nIt was quite unpleasant to be hanging there upside down, half-in and half-out, with the nose of the Spitfire beginning to drop; and seeing, through smoke and flames, the lake coming up at me with alarming speed. I put in some concentrated kicking and eventually fell clear to feel my helmet and oxygen mask ripped away from my head by the slipstream.\n\nThe relief of being free of the aircraft and the sensation of falling head over heels were so pleasant that a few seconds passed before I thought of pulling the rip-cord. When I jerked the ring the parachute opened quickly, so quickly in fact, as I was moving rather fast, that one of the shoulder straps broke or came undone, causing me to fall half-out of the harness. I managed to pull myself back into it, still clutching the parachute ring; and with a sense of peculiar detachment while swinging from side to side I saw where my Spitfire had crashed into the lake and noticed that I was drifting towards the northern shore where, since their retreat from Rome had begun, I imagined there would be many Germans.\n\nI felt that I was falling slowly until I was fairly near the water, and then it appeared to rush towards me; and as I splashed into it I banged the release box and everything except one leg strap dropped clear. But this one leg strap kept me fastened to the parachute, which seemed to have no intention of settling on the lake but of tearing madly over it, blown by the wind. As a result, I was dragged over the water, and then began to go under it and to swallow a large quantity until I was threshing around, beginning to think that I should be drowned. The parachute settled on the lake and began to sink rapidly, and now, with the leg strap still holding me, to drag me under. With a sudden inspiration I slipped the dinghy with the quick release and decided to rely on my Mae West; I bobbed quickly to the surface, coughing and spluttering.\n\nThe water seemed quite warm, and when I had got back my breath I looked up to see the remainder of my section circling above. I began to swim.\n\nAfter about twenty minutes I noticed a boat put out from the shore. Italians? Or Germans?\n\nAs it drew nearer I saw there were two boys in it, and from their voices decided that they were Italians. They were. They helped me to scramble into the boat and set off for the side of the lake as fast as they could go.\n\nWe were met by several peasant farmers, and, after some sign language and broken English, we went up a hill at a sharp trot, because it was quite plain that they were scared of Germans arriving. When we reached a wood they helped me to remove my wet clothes, which they hid hastily, and one by one presented me with alternative garments. By the time I had put them on I looked a sight. The trouser legs reached nearly up to my knees, the coat came half way up my arms, and the hat perched on the top of my head. We grinned at one another cheerfully and then, in case any inquisitive Germans might arrive, we lay low for a while; fortunately I was safe, for the Wehrmacht had withdrawn a couple of hours before, our people had not yet advanced, and we were in an area of temporary no man's land.\n\nWhen the Italians decided we could move safely, we set off along the lakeside, moving with a good deal of care, until we reached a house.\n\n\"Vino,\" one of them grinned at me.\n\n\"Grazie,\" I replied cheerfully.\n\nVino\u2014and bread and cheese and tea\u2014were soon set in front of me, and while I munched away it seemed that half the population of the neighbourhood began to arrive to look me over furtively. They laughed and chatted among themselves and I was eventually shown to a bedroom and settled down for a sleep.\n\n\"Hey, bud, wake up!\"\n\nI looked up to see two Americans with tommy-guns and a threatening manner. And that was the beginning of a hectic return to Venafro. At various stages along the way, the Italians gave me receptions when I seemed to be surrounded by masses of flowers and wine glasses that would never empty; and in Rome I spent a wonderful night, ending up by sleeping under an American lorry for lack of anything better. The following morning I was given a lift to Aquino in a Piper Cub, and from there covered the last stage to Venafro in a Fairchild. Brian and the squadrons seemed pleased to have me back and there was another party. Apart from a bruised right thigh caused by the parachute, and one or two twinges of cramp which came from wandering about in wet socks and shoes, I felt fine. As a memento I still had my parachute ring\u2014which now hangs in our lounge at Dunsfold\u2014and the mild distinction of being one of the few pilots to bale out and land in fresh water during the war.\n\nThe next few days were spent in resting, sunbathing and occasionally swimming in the Volturno with Graham Cox, who at one stage of my visit to Lake Bracciano had wanted to fly over and drop me packets of money. We had a few days and a few parties in Rome, and returned to join the advance.\n\nThe wing moved on to Fabrica, near Lake Vico, north of \"Duke's Folly\" (Lake Bracciano), set in pleasant country with a climate cooler than Rome. Wing Commander Turner finished his tour and was replaced by Wing Commander \"Cocky\" Dundas, DSO, DFC; we had lost three pilots and seven or eight aircraft during strafing operations.\n\nWith the Germans retreating north of Rome, and a sharp falling off in Luftwaffe activity, the wing began a new role; our Spitfires were fitted with racks to carry a 500 lb bomb, and after practising dive bombing at sixty degrees over the sea we began operating, securing results which were agreed to be effective on a number of targets. This bombing was not without its occupational hazards, however, and it was dangerous when the bombs hung up and we could not release them. The South African Du Toit was killed when a bomb would not release but fell off and exploded when he landed, blowing his aircraft to pieces and killing him instantly. He was a fine chap and it was very bad luck. Once, while attacking a level crossing north of Bologna, my bomb hung up during a dive and fell off while I was dodging round some trees avoiding flak, exploding under the aircraft and throwing it about so violently that I thought the flak had connected.\n\nFrom Fabrica we moved on to Perugia, and from a good aerodrome with a short concrete runway and a generous grass strip our bombs began to fall around Faenza, Forli and Rimini. There were one or two bad accidents at Perugia: a Marauder bomber force-landed after being badly shot up, hitting one of our Spitfires in a dispersal area; both aircraft became a mass of flames and the pilot, being unable to get out from the cockpit, was burned to death. Two of his crew were badly burned and one died later. On another occasion an aircraft of 417 Squadron overshot on landing, bounced into the dispersal area and wrote off two Spitfires.\n\nFrequently we ran into accurate flak which seemed to follow us around the sky despite all our attempts to dodge it. It was, in fact, predicted 88 mm flak, fired from some half a dozen guns, and when we were caught by a box of these infernal machines there were moments that seemed like hours, with the aircraft feeling as though it were standing still, the Germans trying to anticipate our every move as we changed direction and height. Flak was becoming one of the biggest menaces; and the Wehrmacht also developed a habit of not using tracer with their light 20 and 30 mm and machine-gun fire so that we should not know that we were being given a reception while going down on a target.\n\nThere were several moments of pleasant relaxation: a dinner in the town of Perugia when the entire 145 Squadron sat down at one table; visits to Assisi for a bath and dinner; and a trip to Ferno and a bathe in the Adriatic.\n\nAnother diversion was to take the squadron over to Rosignano for, with 92, we had been ordered to link up with the forces taking part in the invasion of Southern France. On August 15th, equipped with drop tanks, we did an early morning patrol over the Franco-Italian coastline border in case fighters should come up from Milan and Turin to attack swarms of gliders making for the beachhead. We had a wonderful view of the Alps in the early morning light. The Luftwaffe stayed at home. After further uneventful patrols, I went over to Corsica for a closer look at the invasion and, meeting Graham Cox, to whom the same idea had occurred, landed with him on an advanced strip at Ramatuelle, near St Tropez, passing over a mass of shipping and balloons. A dusty, crowded strip was being used by 324 Wing, which included 111 Squadron, still led by Hunk. The following morning I flew No. 2 to Wing Commander Heath, with Graham Cox as No. 2 to Hunk Humphreys, on a sweep of the Valence-Lyons area in the hope of seeing 109's; and, after a drive along the Riviera towards Cannes with Hunk and Graham, returned to Perugia.\n\nWith the final battle for the Gothic Line, our wing moved to Loreto, south of Ancona, and it was from this airfield near the sea that I managed to shoot down my last two aircraft during the war. We had the notion to put up aircraft before first light in an attempt to catch 109's on reconnaissance down the Adriatic coast.\n\nAccompanied by Flying Officer J Hamer as my No. 2 I took off before dawn to patrol the battle area between Pesaro and Rimini. There was nothing to be seen over the battle area, and not wishing to attract our own ack-ack, we flew north of Ancona along the coast at about 10,000 feet. Control reported two bogeys north-west of Pesaro, 3,000 feet above us; we missed them in cloud but picked them up north of Rimini\u2014three 109's flying in line abreast.\n\nAll three put on full boost immediately they saw us, clouds of black smoke coming from their engines. Hamer and I went after them and when the port aircraft lagged slightly I opened up at long range, about six hundred to eight hundred yards, producing a bright flash on his fuselage. After I had drawn closer and fired again, the hood of the 109 flew off and out came the pilot. The two remaining Germans dived and then climbed steeply to 14,000 or 15,000 feet, a height at which we were able to use the Spitfire's supercharger; and so we caught them easily. I selected one and, firing from long range, closed to two hundred yards. The aircraft caught fire and again the pilot baled out. The third 109 disappeared. It may have been that all three of the German pilots were reconnaissance men only for they took little avoiding action and no advantage of cloud. We did hear that I was reputed by the Germans to have shot down one of their leading pilots at about this time, but I can recall no interesting fights. He may have been one of these two lads.\n\nThe wing moved again, to Fano, further up the coast towards Rimini; and my operational hours were running out. From Fano we did several \"Rover Davids\", a cab-rank system, when six, eight, or twelve bombed-up Spitfires patrolled over the front line; and controlled by an RAF officer with the troops in a forward position, were directed on to targets. Sometimes the Army fired green smoke-shells over targets to be bombed, such as gun positions. There were also armed reconnaissances round Ravenna, Ferrara and Ostliglia; flak and some losses could always be expected, one of our Spitfires diving straight into the ground after being hit, others crash-landing.\n\n\"Your tour ends with this month. AOC's orders,\" Brian Kingcome informed me one day.\n\nThe AOC was Air Chief Marshal Dickson; September was running out. Although I was restricted to flying once a day, I managed to get in four more dawn flights in the hope of sighting more 109's; but there were none about.\n\nMy final operations were on September 20th, a dawn recce above Rimini when I sighted a lone Wellington; and a cab-rank during the afternoon when we bombed and straffed where some tanks were reported, securing four out of six strikes in the target area. When we returned to Fano the weather was clamping down and rain was falling.\n\n\"The AOC has ordered that your tour is to end immediately,\" Brian told me next morning. \"You have flown more hours than he thought. 145 will be taken over by Squadron Leader Daniels tomorrow. It seems pretty certain that you will be going back to England.\"\n\nI had, in fact, done two hundred and eighty-eight hours on operations for my third tour during one hundred and ninety-three sorties. This brought my total operational period for the three tours to seven hundred and twelve hours, with four hundred and eighty-six sorties. I had flown for five hundred and ninety-three hours on operations with the Desert Air Force, and my score of enemy aircraft was twenty-eight destroyed, three probably destroyed, and five damaged.\n\nThere was the usual small ceremony when I handed over 145 to Daniels, but though I had prepared a set speech I found that all I could say to the squadron was: \"Thanks.\"\n\nVarious farewell parties followed and visits to Florence and Sorrento. Brian took me to see Air Chief Marshal Dickson, who said that he had recommended that I should return to England. Soon I was waiting in Naples for a posting. It came through on October 27th\u2014for the United Kingdom.\n\nFour days later I took off from Pymigliano in a Dakota with one of my flight commanders, Frankie Banner, DFC, who was also tour expired, just three days short of three years after I had left Plymouth for Cairo. We flew out over Anzio, crossed Corsica, Toulon, Marseilles, Le Havre and landed at Lyneham at 5.30 pm. I was driven to Swindon where I missed a train connection to London, and it took me longer to get from Swindon to Tonbridge than it had to fly to Lyneham from Pymigliano.\n\nAll the buses had stopped when I reached Tonbridge eventually; I left my bags at the station and walked to Hadlow Road. I felt it was much too late to wake my father and mother, and decided to slip into the house through a back window, go to bed in my old room and greet the folks at breakfast.\n\nBut the window was locked, and in the end I had to knock at the front door, adding a whistle so that my mother might not be alarmed at being awakened at such an hour. Mother recognized my whistle, and in a very short time she and my father and Peggy\u2014all in their dressing gowns\u2014were plying me with questions in the lounge.\n\nMy room was unchanged from the day I had gone to Uxbridge; the dust sheet still lay over the model aerodrome.\n\nIt was good to be home again.\nCHAPTER 8\n\nGlimpsing the Future\n\nI SPENT my leave at home in Tonbridge, with occasional trips up to London, and it was more than pleasant to be back again with the family and to meet many old friends. Although my three years away had seemed a long time while I was out of England, now they appeared to have just flitted by; and it was often difficult, while sitting in front of the fire at home chatting, to realize that I had been away at all.\n\nAs the days went by I wondered from time to time what the Air Ministry proposed to do with me. In my own mind I was certain of two things: that I did not want to become \"chairborne\" in some office; but that, while I wanted to continue flying if possible, I was not keen to become an instructor again.\n\nWhen I called at Postings in the Air Ministry I said my little piece to that effect, and I was heard with consideration.\n\n\"How would you like to try your hand at production testing?\" I was asked. \"We have a scheme for attaching pilots on operational rest to aircraft manufacturing firms. The job is to test-fly new aircraft off the production line.\"\n\nThere was nothing chairborne about this. I could continue to fly. I said I was interested.\n\n\"We'll see what we can arrange and get in touch with you.\"\n\nSo off I went; and a few days later I received a note telling me to call on Philip Lucas, chief test pilot of Hawker Aircraft at Langley, near Slough, in Buckinghamshire. I went down to Langley on November 18th, less than three weeks after my return from Italy, and there I met Philip Lucas, George Bulman, who had been chief test pilot before Lucas and was now a director of the company, Bill Humble, the No. 2 test pilot, and several other people.\n\nAs far as I could tell, the interview seemed to go off satisfactorily; Lucas explained the attachment scheme to me and said that most of the production testing would be on Tempest 2's and 5's. I had not seen a Tempest before\u2014they were not even flying when I had been in England last\u2014and I remember thinking that the Tempest 2 looked very much like a Focke Wulf 190 when Bill Humble took me out to have a look at one. The Fury, most secret at that time, was hidden behind screens in the experimental hangar.\n\nAfter this instructive morning, Bill Humble offered me a lift to London in his car. Having said goodbye to him, the first person I ran into was Jamie Rankin, whom I had not seen since the Biggin days, and also Stan Turner, not long back from Italy; we did a round of the clubs ending up at six o'clock the next morning!\n\nA couple of days later, while I was still catching up on my lost sleep, a telegram arrived from the Air Ministry. It said that I would be posted to Hawker's at Langley from January 1st, 1945 to January 1st, 1946. My rank would be Flight Lieutenant. I was quite content to drop from Squadron Leader; and though one of the suggestions for my future was that I should be posted as Wing Commander, Assistant Air Attach\u00e9 at Chunking, I preferred to continue flying.\n\nOne point had to be settled, however; what was to be done with me between the end of November and the beginning of January. Someone suggested at the Air Ministry that I might do a lecture tour of factories, speaking to mass meetings of factory workers and generally talking about the war in the Middle East and Italy, and the RAF in particular. Frankly, the prospect alarmed me considerably. I have always disliked standing on my feet addressing a mass of people, and the thought of having to make a number of speeches for a month on end was appalling. My reaction to the suggestion must have been fairly definite; and another job was found for me just in time.\n\nThis was to command temporarily a communication flight at Inverness. The flight serviced Wick, the Orkneys and the Shetlands; and used Rapides, Oxfords and Proctors. I left Euston for Scotland at the beginning of December and spent three very cold weeks at Inverness before returning to Tonbridge for Christmas.\n\nApart from the cold, it was a pleasant enough period; though I remember one air test as a passenger in an Oxford which was more than usually worrying. Ice formed rapidly on the wings, and prevented any sort of climb after take-off. The result was that we weaved in between chimneys and spires of Inverness town, just above stalling speed; we were very relieved to get down again safely all in one piece. Another flight was to deliver passengers to the Orkneys; the vacant seats on the return to Inverness I filled with turkeys. Christmas was coming.\n\nFor the first stage of the journey to London I flew an Oxford to Perth. We could not get over the hills, but had to turn back and go around the coast, noticing that there was extreme vibration in the port engine. When we landed we found that the tip of the port airscrew was missing. I was glad to get aboard the train and into a sleeper. Scotland is not the best place for flying during the winter.\n\nChristmas spent at home for the first time for three years was wonderful; and so was the prospect of starting at Hawker's. Determined to arrive at Langley in good fettle on New Year's Day, 1945 I decided to avoid all New Year's Eve celebrations. I packed up my things at Tonbridge and went over to stay at the Plough Inn, near Langley, spending a very quiet and sober evening by myself. As it turned out, this was hardly necessary, as nobody expected me to arrive before lunchtime; but I was glad to have a clear head next morning when I met Philip Lucas. He gave me a warm welcome, and a short talk about the difference between life in the RAF and a civilian factory.\n\n\"Remember,\" he said, \"the people here are not in uniform. You'll get the best results not by giving orders but by working in with them.\"\n\nI can't say that I had any intention of giving orders; and from the start I found everybody most helpful and easy and pleasant to work with. It was to be an interesting year; a year, in fact, which although I did not realize it at the time was ultimately to decide my future.\n\nIt began at a servicing school run by Hawker's. I had to learn as much as possible about the Tempest 2 and 5, to get a working knowledge of these aircraft and their engines. I found that there were two branches of test pilots at Hawker's; the production and the experimental test pilots. The chief production test pilot was Hubert Broad, one of my boyhood heroes. It was a great moment to meet him for the first time. He was then nearing fifty; he had been flying since about 1914, he had been one of the pre-war Schneider Cup team, and, before coming to Hawker's, chief test pilot at De Havilland's. The other production pilots were: Frankie Fox, who later gave up flying to go on the stage; Merrick Hymans, who had been an instructor while I was at White Waltham during my elementary flying training for the RAF, and who later took up horse-breeding; \"Chips\" Carpenter, DFC and Bar, whom I had known in Italy when he commanded 72 Squadron in 324 Wing; and Frankie Silk, DFC, who had flown Spitfires with a Photo Reconnaissance Unit, both of whom are still in the Air Force.\n\nPhilip Lucas was head of the experimental team; and with him were Bill Humble, and Frank Murphy, a New Zealander who had flown with a New Zealand Typhoon Squadron and had been awarded the DFC. Frank Murphy worked both on the experimental and production sides.\n\nAt that time the Hawker prototype being developed was the Fury, later to go into service with the Royal Navy in large numbers. There were three versions of the Fury, one with the Centaurus engine, another with the Sabre 7 engine, and the third with the Griffin and contra-rotating airscrews.\n\nHawker's had their problems in the early days of developing this aircraft, and both Lucas and Humble had to force-land. Lucas brought down a Fury safely when its fuselage fractured; he might have baled out, but he got it down, wheels up, so that the trouble might be located and corrected, and was awarded the George Medal for a very gallant effort.\n\nI soon settled into the swing of production testing. It included: testing the aircraft and engine on the ground, checking the engine performance and temperatures and pressures in climbs, checking fuel consumption, seeing that the hydraulic system functioned properly; and noting engine boosts and revolutions; checking times to heights; and doing level speed measurements, and dives to maximum speed.\n\nWe flew every day, whenever the weather would allow, ironing out any snags that might show themselves in the aircraft, with the necessary adjustments being made by the ground staff. They worked in the flight shed and included some wonderful men who did a great job during the war\u2014and in fact do a great job at all times.\n\nThere was Pete Lemon, the shed foreman, who usually seemed a little harassed at the end of each month if the production schedule got a bit behind; there was Charlie Ayres, who is still at Langley; and Bert Hay ward, who has been with Hawker's for thirty-two years, and who now has a big hand in looking after the Hawker Hunter.\n\nWhen we were satisfied that Tempests were ready for delivery, and had been passed for squadron use, they were collected at Langley by pilots of the Air Transport Auxiliary, many of them girls who flew the aircraft off with all the assurance in the world.\n\nWhile working at Langley, I lived with four other test pilots at Shooters Lodge, a lovely old house at Winkfield Row, near Ascot. It was owned by Mrs Legros, and with Seth Smith, Chips Carpenter and Frankie Silk, I was a paying guest. Seth Smith was with the Fairey Aviation Co, which was then operating from a grass aerodrome which is now London Airport. Unfortunately, he was later killed when a canopy blew off a Firefly he was testing.\n\nWe had a pleasant life at Shooters Lodge, which somehow became known as \"Line Shooters' Lodge\". I had bought a Riley \"Imp\" sports car for transport between there and Langley. We got to know the owner of the nearby pub, \"The Squirrel\"; he was Walter Sayer, author of many books, including Sexton Blakes.\n\nOne day early in February I went up to London to attend an investiture at Buckingham Palace. My father and mother came with me, and when we got inside with what seemed to be hundreds of people, I went off to join the others who were collecting decorations.\n\nWe were sorted out into grades of decorations and seemed to queue up for hours, shuffling along after the new knights and other people who had won distinctive decorations. While a string orchestra played . . . and played . . . we moved slowly forward in the low-ceilinged Grand Hall, of which my main impressions are cream and plush colouring, and of oil paintings on the walls. Suddenly, it seemed, it was my turn to approach the King. He was in full naval uniform, and after he had pinned on the medals he enquired how long it had taken me to win them.\n\nThis ceremony came fairly soon after my twenty-third birthday; and leaving the Palace with my father and mother, we met up with Peggy and had a pleasant family party.\n\nAs the months went by and the war ended with VE and VJ celebrations\u2014I seem to remember being in parties that lasted two days each time\u2014I became increasingly interested in testing aircraft, and particularly experimental testing. It must have been about June that I was given a first opportunity of flying the Fury; and this was flying with a difference.\n\nI found there was a definite taste of exploration about taking up an aircraft to discover what it would do in particular tests. I began to appreciate the greater freedom of civilian life with an aircraft manufacturing firm in which flying is a daily job.\n\nIt was during my year with Hawker's that I met Gwen\u2014my wife\u2014for the first time. I was introduced to \"Miss Gwendoline Fellows\" in Windsor, and I was to find myself thinking a lot of Gwen, dark, petite, and very attractive. But for a long time we did not talk much.\n\nGwen tells me these days that whenever there was a gathering in the \"South Western\" in Windsor, or at \"The Stag\", in Datchet, she had very little opportunity of talking with me for I was usually pretty silent, listening to other people. This may have been true; all the same I knew she was there and, if perhaps I did not talk much it was good just to be there in her company. She had, I discovered, a mutual interest in aeroplanes and cars.\n\nOccasionally, I used to see Sidney Camm, chief designer for Hawker's, who was also to take a big part in my life in later days; but I think the first time that I ever spoke to him was a year or more later while I was at the RAF Experimental Station at Boscombe Down, in Wiltshire.\n\nI did meet, however, another of my boyhood heroes, Sir Thomas Sopwith, a grand old man of aviation, who had designed Pups and Camels during the First World War, and who started the firm which was later to take the name of Hawker in memory of Harry Hawker, a great test pilot who lost his life while flying.\n\nSir Thomas Sopwith is now chairman of the Hawker Siddeley group, and one of his favourite pastimes is salmon fishing. He used to arrive at Langley with a number of salmon he had caught in Scotland, and we would fly him round to the various firms in the group on what we used to call the fish run.\n\nSopwith often used to startle a navigator, for he has been flying round England for so many years that he seems to know his way without maps. From time to time while you were flying with him he would say something like:\n\n\"That's ______ town. In ten minutes we shall be over old So-and-so's house. We had a wonderful party there in 1922.\" It was quite an experience to fly with him and very good for one's navigation.\n\nDuring the summer of 1945 I had my first holiday in England since schooldays. Frankie Silk flew me down to the Scilly Isles in a Vega Gull, and I spent a fortnight pleasantly by myself, swimming and tramping around the islands all alone, and thinking of the future.\n\nI had been much interested to meet Richard Muspratt, who joined Hawker's after taking a test pilot's course at Boscombe Down. When I told him of my growing interest in experimental testing, he and Bill Humble, who helped me a great deal, suggested that I should think of applying to take the Empire Test Pilot's School course, and he encouraged me to brush up my maths and to study his notes taken on the course.\n\nI brooded over this idea during my holiday; and also acquired a spaniel puppy while on a visit to Tresco. He was a nice little chap, but he was not too keen on his first flight in the Rapide back to St Just. Later on Tresco\u2014I called him after his birthplace\u2014seemed to like flying and I used to take him round a lot. He died later of distemper.\n\nDuring August, while I was thinking about the future, the Air Ministry offered me a permanent commission in the RAF. I had no hesitation in accepting it; and it had much to do with my applying to take the Empire Test Pilot's School course.\n\nI was elated one morning, to receive a letter telling me to report to the Ministry of Supply headquarters in London and to appear before a Selection Board. Its members asked me a number of questions, such as why I wanted to take the course, and sounded my knowledge of flying in various directions.\n\nApparently I made the appropriate answers for eventually I was notified that my application had been accepted and that I was to take the Test Pilot's course after completing my year with Hawker's.\n\nI had enjoyed my work at Langley and gained some very valuable experience; and when the time came to make my several farewells I was very proud when the personnel of the production flight shed, including Pete Lemon and Charlie Ayres, presented me with a tankard.\n\nSoon after my twenty-fourth birthday, I joined No. 4 Course of the ETPS. I learned much at the school and the knowledge gained there gave me a solid background, enabling me to take up experimental test piloting as a career.\n\nThe school has been described as \"The University of Flying\". A unit of the Ministry of Supply, it is controlled administratively by a group of the Maintenance Command of the RAF, and was established in 1943 at Boscombe Down \"to provide suitably trained pilots for test flying duties in the Aeronautical Research and Development Establishments within the Services and industry\", being first known as \"The Test Pilots' School\". It is open to the RAF and the Fleet Air Arm, to civilians testing for British firms, to men from Allied Air Forces, and to those from the Dominions' Air Forces. In 1944 it was renamed the Empire Test Pilots' School, and in October 1945 it was moved from Boscombe Down to Cranfield; in 1947 it went to Farnborough.\n\nAs the war continued and aircraft were designed and powered to fly faster and faster, test pilots were needed in increasing numbers for both production and experimental testing. They began to be regarded as specialists.\n\nThe school is directed by a commandant, and in 1946 this post was held by Group Captain H J Wilson, CBE, AFC, who established a new world speed record for Britain in 1945 by flying a Meteor at six hundred and six miles an hour. His chief test flying instructor was Wing Commander Sandy Powell, AFC, a pilot of wide experience who had flown at Martlesham Heath, Boscombe Down and Farnborough.\n\nThere were thirty-five pilots in No. 4 Course, and they included several from the RAF and the Fleet Air Arm, as well as Americans, Australians, and Chinese. One of them has since become a great friend, Wing Commander \"Dickie\" Martin, DFC, AFC, who flew with No. 73 Squadron in France during the early days of the war where he became for a while, \"the prisoner of Luxembourg\" after being shot down.\n\nOur first three months were spent analysing the performance of a variety of aircraft, and flying anything from light trainers to jet fighters and twin-engined and four-engined bombers. The main purpose was to teach us to become critics of an aircraft and to be able to sum up its qualities merely by handling and flying it. We took many lectures: on mathematics, physics, aerodynamics, turbo-jet engine performance, the special problems of high speed and high altitude flight, current trends in research, and the physiological aspects of test flying.\n\nWe wrote long reports and, in addition to monthly tests, finished up by sitting for examinations. About a month was spent at the Royal Aircraft Establishment at Farnborough, studying the work of this important unit in wind tunnels, aircraft structure, rockets and aerodynamics. The first part of the course lasted six months, when we broke up for a period of four months.\n\nOne of my vivid memories of Cranfield is of flying a jet for the first time. Until now all my flying had been done in piston-engined aircraft and I was very keen\u2014and not a little curious\u2014to fly a jet. It was a Meteor 3 and we were not given dual instruction, the present practice. We were told and shown how the aircraft worked\u2014and off we went.\n\nI was interested to find many differences between flying a jet and a piston-engined aircraft. To begin with the biggest difference, I suppose, is the absence of vibration in a jet; instead of an airscrew whirring round, shaking everything, the jet engines work smoothly by sucking in air.\n\nI also noticed there is much less noise in the cockpit; but that the Meteor is slower in responding to the throttle movement than, say, a Spitfire, particularly on the approach to land. This quicker response of a Spitfire is because the airscrew bites into the air as you move the throttle. The speed of a piston-engined aircraft depends on the revolutions per minute of the airscrew; the speed of a jet depends for its power on the air flowing through its engines. A jet is more sluggish on acceleration or deceleration; but the faster it goes, the more power its engines develop.\n\nI also found that a Meteor, for example, is easier to fly in many ways than a Spitfire. With the Spitfire, you always had the long nose of the engine stretching out in front of you, and your range of vision was partially restricted. You get a much better view sitting right in the nose of a Meteor.\n\nThere is no swing while taking off in a jet. A piston aircraft tends to swing to the left or the right, according to the direction in which the airscrew, or airscrews, are rotating. Another point is that there is no need to worry about mixture controls to regulate fuel consumption; there is just one throttle to each engine to be moved backwards or forwards.\n\nIn some way, however, a jet is a more complicated thing to fly. Fuel consumption is much greater and to get a low fuel consumption you have to fly high, since a jet becomes more economical on fuel the higher it is flown.\n\nIt is also a little more difficult to fly while making a landing approach. Being very clean-designed and with much less \"drag\", rather more time is required to allow speed to fall away; the result is that if you come in to land a little too fast, there is a tendency for the aircraft to \"float\" or to overshoot.\n\nIt was while flying a Meteor at Cranfield that I had my first experience of Mach characteristics. In a Meteor you can climb fairly high, and reach about Mach 0.8. I began to experience compressibility effects for the first time in the form of airframe buffet, changes in trim\u2014the nose going up or down, or a wing going down\u2014and finding that the controls became much heavier. On these occasions I used the air brakes to slow down, for just to throttle back would not reduce speed quickly enough.\n\n24.\n\nWith Gwen outside Buckingham Palace in 1945.\n\n25.,\n\nMembers of the High Speed Flight, 1946. Neville Duke, Bill Waterton and Teddy Donaldson. RAF Tangmere.\n\n26.\n\nMeteor flying low over Tangmere.\n\n27.,\n\nA Hawker Fury flown to Egypt.\n\nAs part of the course we flew Vampires as well as Meteors; and also four-engined Lancasters and Lincolns, a Hamilcar glider towed behind a Halifax bomber, a Grunau glider; and Mosquitoes, Seafires, Tempests, Dakotas and many other types. I preferred the jets to everything else, and I became increasingly interested in the problems of high speed flight.\n\nWe talked about them at the school, and I remember also discussing them with Hunk Humphreys, now back from the Middle East and commanding officer of the RAF Station at Castle Bromwich. Hunk used to give occasional parties at his station, I invited Gwen to one of these\u2014the first time I had ever asked her out.\n\nShe tells me now that my invitation was a little odd; that I said, \"I have never taken a girl to a mess dance before because it interferes with the drinking. But I know I don't have to worry about you!\"\n\nAnyway, I drove down to Maidenhead from Cranfield in a battered old car and collected her. It was a pretty good party.\n\nLater, Gwen also came along with me to a dance at the headquarters of No. 11 Group of Fighter Command. I was so pleased to have her with me and so keen to entertain her that I put up a minor black\u2014at least I hope it was regarded as a minor one!\n\nThere was a table laden with good things and reserved for VIP's. In my keenness to look after her appropriately I led her up to this table not realizing it was reserved. It was not quite the best way for a flight lieutenant to behave in the presence of exalted superiors. If there were any frowns, I noticed only Gwen's smiles!\n\nAbout the end of June 1946 while we were finishing the first half of the test pilots' course, I was delighted when Group Captain Wilson told me that I was to be a member of the High Speed Flight to be formed at Tangmere to make another attempt on the world's speed record.\n\nThe flight was to be commanded by Group Captain Teddy Donaldson, DSO, AFC, Squadron Leader Bill Waterton, AFC, a Canadian, was to be the other pilot. The course was roughly between Bognor and Shoreham, and the record was to be attempted over a stretch of three kilometres, just opposite Littlehampton. It was a great honour to be selected, and I could think of no better way of spending my time during the interval in the test pilots' course.\n\nI had some other good news. Gwen told me that she and a great friend, Peggy Fraser (now married to Graham Cox) were going to take a cottage at Itchenor, not far from Tangmere, for a month.\n\nAll this flying and seeing Gwen, too! I went off to Tangmere in the best of spirits.\nCHAPTER 9\n\nSpeed\u2014and Decisions\n\nIN many ways, the results of Donaldson's High Speed Flight were disappointing. It is true that Donaldson increased the world's record by ten miles an hour, with a figure of 616 miles per hour, or Mach 0.81 but we had hoped to do much better. One of the main reasons was that the weather was against us. We wanted a hot sunny day, a high tide and no bumps. We got the worst summer in England for several years and plenty of bumps; when Donaldson put up the new record, the weather was cold, the sky was overcast and light rain was falling. I was not even to be present; I was in Brussels.\n\nIf there was a rather negative side to the work of this High Speed Flight, there was also a positive result too: the conventional type of aircraft form was shown to have reached the limit of its development for flying at speed. In the past the problem had been to provide an engine to fly an aircraft at high speed; from 1946 onwards it was accepted that, with the development of the turbo-jet engine, the problem would be to design an aircraft to make the fullest use of the greater engine power now available. In other words, while at Tangmere the flight could, and did occasionally, fly at 626 miles per hour, the limit of the Meteor had been reached. The era of swept-back wings and delta wings was approaching.\n\nTremendous organization went into the preparation for making the new record. The course had to be marked out with balloons and buoys\u2014some two hundred buoys were used, tons of apparatus, and four mooring vessels. The length of the course was 72 kilometres or 45 miles. The record attempts had to be made under the regulations of the F\u00e9d\u00e9ration A\u00e9ronautique Internationale, and they included the stipulation that the aircraft were not to fly above 75 metres or 246 feet during the timed run over three kilometres, or during the 500 metres immediately preceding the timed run. Two photographic methods were used for measuring the speed of the aircraft.\n\n\"Bags of low flying,\" said Bill Waterton.\n\nThroughout July and August we flew round the course in new Meteor 4's. I went round it about one hundred and eighty times. During these training flights we worked up speeds of about 595 miles per hour or about Mach Number 0.8 and we had a number of bumpy rides. These bumps could be caused either by the weather or, if the tide was out, from heat waves or thermals rising from the rocks and sand under the heat of the sun. At times you felt as though you were sitting at the top of a flight of stairs with your legs stuck out straight in front of you; and then somebody grasped your legs and pulled you all the way downstairs.\n\nThis was rather uncomfortable, and so was the occasion when one of the Rolls Royce Derwent engines failed. I was flying along at between 120 and 150 feet at some 580 miles per hour when the revolutions of the port engine fell, with the result that the aircraft swung and rolled sharply to one side; and, with the controls heavy while flying at speed, it needed some effort to keep the machine straight. I was able to cut out the port engine altogether and to fly back on the other.\n\nOne of our bogeys was the shortage of fuel capacity or to run short of fuel at any part of the course; we felt, however, that even if this did occur with the Meteors flying at round about 600 miles per hour, we should have sufficient speed to glide back to Tangmere with both engines dead. To check this theory we cut both throttles back while flying at high speed on the run down the course away from Tangmere, and found that we did have enough speed to glide back.\n\nTowards the end of August two new Meteors were delivered for the record attempt. They had no wireless equipment, no radio mast, and no armament; extra fuel was carried in three tanks to cope with the high fuel consumption. Each also had a special cockpit hood reinforced with metal; this was in case air passing over the windscreen at high speed should heat and soften the perspex, causing bad distortion and possibly failure. When an aircraft is flying at between speeds of 600 and 640 miles per hour a rise in temperature, due to friction of the air, of between 35 to 40 degrees Centigrade can be expected.\n\nThe bad weather continued, but Donaldson reached a true air speed of 626 miles per hour during one three minute level speed test at 3,000 feet in cold, unfavourable conditions. I also remember that day, for Air Marshal Sir James Robb, who was then AOC Fighter Command, decided that Donaldson and Waterton should make the official attempts on the record, and that I should remain as reserve pilot. I was naturally disappointed but the decision had to be taken.\n\nDonaldson was among the RAF's leading pilots. He had been one of the pre-war aerobatic Fury team which won a competition at Zurich. He excelled at air gunnery and his marksmanship was most valuable when he led a Hurricane squadron during the early days of the war. He is a most cheerful, noisy personality. Bill Waterton had a distinguished record on fighters during the war and had aided the development of fighter tactics at the Central Fighter Establishment. Steady, conscientious, he is a first-class pilot and is now chief test pilot for Gloster Aircraft.\n\nI did get an opportunity to raise the record. One day Donaldson said:\n\n\"When Bill comes down, jump in and have a go yourself.\"\n\nAfter Bill had landed I waited for about half an hour while the Meteor was refuelled and a few rivets were checked.\n\nI made several flights round the course and managed to work up 625 miles per hour for one run. I started the runs at 1,000 feet over Worthing and put the nose of the aircraft down to reach 120 feet before beginning the measured section of the course. When I opened the throttle I could feel the seat pushing into my back. The needle of the air speed indicator swung quickly over to 550 miles per hour, and then seemed to creep to 600 miles per hour. The cockpit got hotter and hotter due to the friction of the air on the hood and I began to perspire freely. Compressibility developed and I found the aircraft beginning to shudder and vibrate quite violently; the nose began to drop and the port wing to dip. I had to use both hands firmly on the control column and to prop my left shoulder against the side of the cockpit to help keep the Meteor straight on the course.\n\nLooking out, I could see the line of marker buoys flashing past almost like a blur, while an air-sea rescue flying boat on patrol out at sea appeared to be standing still. The marked vibration or buffet continued until, on passing beyond the buoys marking the end of the measured three kilometres, I eased back the throttles. The nose and the wing came up and I was able to fly with one hand again. My main impressions of the flight were of terrific noise from the air rushing past the fuselage and from the engines; of the sudden increase of heat in the cockpit; and of a feeling of exhilaration at flying so fast so near the sea. My average speed was 614 miles per hour.\n\nWhen Donaldson put up the new record the temperature was 14 degrees Centigrade\u2014we had hoped for 30 degrees\u2014and rain drops were falling although it was not raining hard. Conditions were bumpy, and when Bill Waterton made his runs, the first was a wash-out after he struck a bad bump at the start which threw him off course. He did an extra run to make up for this and his times were only slightly lower than Donaldson's.\n\nAs I have mentioned, I was to be in Brussels when Donaldson broke the record. I flew to Melsbroek, just outside Brussels, and from there took-off during the following day, a Saturday, to show the Meteor's paces at an international air rally at Ghent. I gave an aerobatic display, which seemed to go down fairly well, for the Meteor was then a comparatively new and rare machine, particularly overseas. After the display the Burgomaster of Ghent gave a banquet and, following Continental custom, presented those who had taken part with a bronze plaque.\n\nNot long afterwards, there was an air display at Prague, and I was detailed to take the Meteor there. The flight was made in stages, with stops at Melsbroek, Wiesbaden and Furth, near Nuremburg. A Lincoln bomber carried the ground crew for the Meteor and the team was headed by Wing Commander Bell. Before landing at Furth I had a look at the stadium in Nuremburg where the Nazis used to hold their big party rallies. When I landed, swarms of American GI's came round the Meteor; they had not seen one before.\n\nI took off from Furth for Prague about dusk, and after flying in the dark for fifteen minutes the city appeared on time. I spent a little while admiring the lights before landing. The Czechs were very keen for the Meteor to arrive the day before the show which decided me to risk the night flight over strange territory. Our's was not the only jet there. The Americans had three F 80's, but when the display began two of them would not start, the pilot hopped from one to the other and managed to get off in the third, though he had to force-land shortly afterwards.\n\nMy two smiling and happy airmen did an excellent job on the Meteor, and we had no snags. I was able to put the aircraft through all its paces and the Czech people, who had not seen a Meteor flying before, became enthusiastic.\n\nIndeed they were rather too enthusiastic. When I had landed I realized that swarms of people were running towards the aircraft from all directions. The crowd had broken the barriers surrounding the airfield, and in their keenness to have a closer look at the machine they were soon massed thickly round. I learned afterwards that about 150,000 people were there.\n\nIt was an alarming experience\u2014alarming because of the danger they ran from the jet engines. Those who might get too close to the intakes could easily be sucked into the engine, and those who came too near the exhausts could be burned. In the end, I had to stop taxiing and cut the engines. Then I had to sit there, grinning and feeling rather foolish, as the crowd milled around the aircraft, touching it and pushing and pulling the ailerons. While I was wondering what came next, one of the airmen appeared, and helped me from the cockpit. When I was out, he sat in it to lash up the controls; and when I was finally rescued by some police and escorted away I looked back to see him trapped in the cockpit, being mistaken for the pilot. He had pulled the canopy over him and was sitting crouched there looking rather despondent. I don't know how long he had to remain.\n\nThe Czechs were just as enthusiastic in their hospitality as they had been over the Meteor. We had some wonderful parties that evening, and I was rather pleased though also embarrassed, when I was decorated with the Czech Military Cross.\n\nAir Marshal Sir John Boothman, CB, the famous and popular Schneider Trophy pilot of the early thirties who retained the trophy for Britain, had also flown over to Prague for the display in his photographic reconnaissance Spitfire. He had been closely connected with the High Speed Flight and his advice and experience had been of great value. He was also decorated by the Czechs and so was the pilot of the Lincoln, who impressed everybody by making a fly-past on one engine.\n\nWe were due to take off the following morning after dawn on the return to Melsbroek, but a heavy mist delayed our leaving with the result that breakfast almost became another party. All sorts of people joined in, and some Russians who showed curiosity in the Meteor stood around staring at it for a time, and then disappeared.\n\nAfter a number of explanations that cognac was not usual for breakfast in England, I was able to take off. The plan had been for me to land at Wiesbaden and to meet up there again with the Lincoln and the ground crew. But the weather was so fine and clear when I left Prague and visibility so good that I decided to push on straight to Melsbroek. As it turned out this was an unwise decision, for the weather clamped down as I neared Brussels. I had to fly around trying to find Melsbroek, with an anxious eye on the fuel gauge. It had been a long flight and eventually, to save fuel, I cut one engine and flew on the other. In the end I force-landed at Beauvachaine, near Brussels, but found no facilities for refuelling the Meteor. The Belgians drove me into Brussels, located the Shell Company and got them to fix up the aircraft.\n\nMeanwhile, there was a concern at Wiesbaden among the Lincoln boys. I had been unable to contact them by radio, but had relied on getting in touch with them from Melsbroek, and as I had not landed at Wiesbaden they imagined that I must be missing. In the end we all met safely at Melsbroek, stayed the night in Brussels, and flew back to Tangmere via Manston the following day. There we made one or two more efforts to improve on Donaldson's record, but we were unable to reach a higher average figure for four runs. Air Marshal Sir James Robb finally ordered that no further attempts were to be made. Ironically it seemed, the day following this order was the best of the summer, clear, hot, bright\u2014just what we wanted. But Sir James would not reverse his order, and no doubt it was a wise decision. That same day Geoffrey de Havilland, who was to have made an attack any day on Donaldson's record, was killed in the DH 108. It was a sad loss.\n\nAnd so the flight broke up. It had been a great experience for the three of us, and in addition, provided valuable information for the RAF and the aircraft manufacturers about the effects of flying at high speed at a very low altitude.\n\nI had enjoyed Tangmere a great deal, and not only because of the flying. It had been wonderful to have Gwen so near at Itchenor with Peggy. Their cottage, old and characterful, was a general meeting place, and Hunk and Graham Cox came down several times. We spent many pleasant and happy hours together; but the blow came when Gwen and Peggy returned to Maidenhead. I felt very lonely without Gwen, as lost as when I left home for the first time. I soon realized that I wanted to ask her to marry me.\n\nIn the meantime, however, there was the second half of the test pilots' course to be completed at Cranfield and I returned to carry on with the good work and to pass, receiving the school's diploma. This stated that I was a graduate of the Empire Test Pilots' School, and had satisfactorily completed all flying and technical exercises of the course \"in the performance testing and handling of all representative classes of landplanes in present use and satisfied the examiners at the end of the course\".\n\nAfter Cranfield, I was to go to the Aeroplane and Armament Experimental Establishment at Boscombe Down, the Ministry of Supply's testing ground for all aircraft before they go into Service use.\n\nGwen and I had now decided to get married. It was impossible to obtain a house near Boscombe, but we were offered a small cottage at Bray, near Maidenhead. Although this meant a certain amount of separation, it would be preferable to digs closer at hand.\n\nBut first I wanted to tell my father and mother the news. I went over to Tonbridge for Christmas; neither my parents nor Peggy had met Gwen so they were naturally a little startled when I said, rather abruptly perhaps:\n\n\"I'm going to get married!\"\n\nFather, mother and Peggy put down their knives and forks and stared at me in silence\u2014an embarrassing moment.\n\nThen father said:\n\n\"Well, my boy, if you think it's all right, we will too.\"\n\nThe following weekend I collected Gwen in the car, took her to Tonbridge, and we all had a very happy afternoon tea; and I was delighted to find that the family and Gwen got on well together. I knew they would.\n\nWe were married by the Reverend Adcock the following March on the 15th\u2014in the twelfth century church at Dorney, near Windsor. But not without complications. The winter of 1946\u20137 was one of the worst in recent memory, snow lying on the ground for weeks. And just before we were to be married the thaw set in, flooding the Thames Valley for miles around.\n\nParts of Maidenhead were well under water, and Gwen's house was hemmed in by floods. She had to be carried, in all her finery, to a dinghy and be rowed to dry land before setting off for the church. Everything went off as it should, Hunk was in good form and we had a grand party at the reception for which Derek Livesey, the best man, and his wife, loaned their house at Dorney.\n\nBut the floods were to cause further complications. We had planned to stay at the \"Hind's Head\" at Bray and to fly to Brussels the following day for our honeymoon. While we were driving from Dorney to Bray, I in my MG and Gwen in her Hillman, we ran into flood water eighteen inches deep. The Hillman stalled and I had to get out in my best blues, and with the flood water swirling around my thighs, fix a rope to tow Gwen. The water was very cold and very muddy and I must have looked a bedraggled groom arriving at the \"Hind's Head\".\n\nBack from Brussels we settled in to Green Shutters, next door to the \"Hind's Head\" at Bray. I was now at Boscombe Down. I left there in my car every Friday for home and returned at 6 a.m. again on the Monday. It seemed the best way of working things out for the time being.\n\nAt Boscombe I was posted to the Fighter Test Squadron commanded by Wing Commander John Baldwin, DSO, DFC, AFC, who was later to be reported missing in Korea. Boscombe has been the centre of test flying for many years, and, among other things, it is there that acceptance trials of new aircraft\u2014or prototype aircraft\u2014are carried out before they go into service with the RAF or the Fleet Air Arm. We worked on Meteors, Vampires, Hornets, Mosquitos, Spitfires, Tempests and various trainers.\n\nThe experience I had gained with the High Speed Flight now proved most useful, and I was directed to carry out research work with Meteors at high Mach numbers and high altitudes. Not to be too technical, this meant taking a Meteor up to 40-50,000 feet, putting it through tests and recording the speed at which the aircraft began to buffet or to shudder as compressibility effects developed, and noting the changes in trim and the forces required to hold these effects. Some of the tests required straight stalls, stalls in turns or under G, up to the highest possible altitudes. This was to determine the aircraft's limits of manoeuvrability and the effects of Mach number on it under these conditions. These tests eventually gave a complete picture of the manoeuvrability, speed and handling characteristics of an aircraft at heights up to its maximum ceiling.\n\nThe months ticked by, and I enjoyed life thoroughly at Boscombe. I knew now that experimental testing interested me far more than any other type of peacetime flying, but, quite naturally, I wondered what the Air Ministry would do with me when the period of my posting at Boscombe ended. It was too much to hope that I could continue flying; there are too many other branches in the RAF for a regular officer to take part in, such as administration and staffwork, to allow him to go on flying indefinitely. The prospect of giving up flying was not altogether pleasing. With my initial training, operational tours, periods of instruction, the test pilots' course, the High Speed Flight and now Boscombe Down, I had been flying continually for eight years, including three-and-a-half years' testing: far from being tired of it, I wanted to go on.\n\nGwen fully realized this, and she did her best to help me. As it turned out, it was a very good best.\n\nA near neighbour at Bray was Bill Humble, now chief test pilot at Hawker's, having succeeded Philip Lucas. I mentioned to Bill, on several occasions, my keenness to continue experimental testing, and he said that he would like to see me in the Hawker team.\n\nOne day, when I happened to land at Langley, Bill asked me if I would like to join Hawker's, giving up the RAF as a career. He said that he intended to stop flying shortly, and that he hoped Wimpy Wade would be appointed chief test pilot, and that I would become Wimpy's No. 2.\n\nNow that the opportunity for me to continue as an experimental test pilot had arrived, the more I began to think about it, the harder I found it to make a decision.\n\nGwen, quite rightly, was firm on one point: the decision would have to be mine entirely.\n\n\"I shall be quite happy whatever you do. But you must make up your mind yourself,\" she said.\n\nI began to sound out a few opinions at Boscombe. They were against my giving up the RAF as a career. Various people pointed out that I was now a squadron leader again at the age of twenty-six, and that with my background, there should be a good future for me in the service with a pension at the end of it. It was true that I might not get as much flying, but then they said, sooner or later, most people in the RAF tended to fly less as they climbed in rank.\n\nWhile the arguments for and against were going on in my mind, I found that I should have to decide fairly quickly. Air Commodore Pelly, the Commandant at Boscombe, told me one day that I was to go to the United States to be fitted out with the latest type of pressure suit for high altitude tests. I felt that I could not accept the visit to America, and then return to say I intended to leave the RAF. I had to make a decision.\n\nI made it one afternoon while driving back to Bray from Boscombe Down. It was a beautifully clear, sunny day, and I took a short cut over Salisbury Plain. I pulled up the car near Kingsclere and just sat there, looking at the broad expanse of countryside, green, attractive, bathed in yellow light; the sky mottled with great galleons of cumulus cloud.\n\nI weighed up the pros and cons. I liked the life in the Air Force; enjoyed the comradeship and the service flying; it was a good career and, so far, I had not blotted my copybook. There seemed a future and an assured income when I retired. In civil testing there was no guaranteed future. But somehow experimental flying seemed to be so much more worthwhile in peacetime than anything else I could think of. There was greater freedom to be found working with a civilian firm; and what could be better than taking a hand in helping to develop the new and most interesting types of aircraft that were coming along during the next few years.\n\nI sat looking at the countryside, pondering. But I knew what I really wanted to do, I think, before I stopped the car. I wanted to join Hawker's. I decided to accept Bill Humble's offer.\n\nGwen was very understanding when I told her on my arrival home.\n\n\"The main thing,\" she said, \"is to be happy and contented with what you are doing, and you will only be that while you are flying.\n\nThen I had to face an awkward few minutes with Air Commodore Pelly.\n\nI went to see him when I got back to Boscombe on the Monday and he began immediately talking about my prospective trip to America.\n\nEventually I managed to stumble out:\n\n\"I'm sorry, sir, but I shall not be going to America. I'm requesting to resign my Commission to take a position with Hawker's as an experimental test pilot.\"\n\nThe Air Commodore was silent for a few moments.\n\nThen he said:\n\n\"Well, Neville, I'm sorry\u2014for personal reasons\u2014to think that you will be leaving the Air Force. But if that's what you want to do, well I wish you all the best of luck.\"\n\nIt was an awkward moment for me, and I have never forgotten the Air Commodore's kindness and understanding.\n\nSo my decision was completed. I was glad it was over, and, although there were moments when, inevitably I suppose, I wondered whether I had done the right thing, I always came back to the comfortable feeling that now I would be able to go on flying and to do the type of work that interested me more than anything else.\nCHAPTER 10\n\nCivil Life\n\nWHEN I left the RAF in June 1948, eight years had passed since I had reported at Uxbridge to appear before a selection board. They had been eight wonderful years. I had enjoyed life. I had made firm friendships. But many friends had been killed on operations and in accidents. They included Hunk Humphreys.\n\nWhile I was still at Boscombe Down and in the Air Force, Hunk had spent a week's leave with Gwen and myself at Bray. We had enjoyed the days together and looked back, perhaps a little nostalgically, to Biggin and the desert and Italy. Then he had gone off to the headquarters of No. 12 Group of Fighter Command at Nottingham.\n\n\"Staff job now,\" he said. \"See you soon.\"\n\nBut we never saw him again. He went as a passenger in a Lincoln bomber during fighter affiliation exercises to observe mock attacks made by the fighters. A Hornet, making a head-on attack, misjudged the break-away and collided with the Lincoln. All in the bomber were killed and also the Hornet's pilot. Gwen and I felt Hunk's death very much; it seemed so pointless that he should be killed in such a way after coming safely through so many wartime operations.\n\nIn the period between my leaving the RAF and joining Hawker's, Gwen and I decided to take a holiday and to go south for sunshine. We set off for the south of France in my 1932 MG two-seater.\n\n\"You'll never get there in that ancient thing,\" some of our friends told us. \"And even if you do get there, you'll never get back.\"\n\nBut we made the trip to Le Lavandou, both ways, without any hitches, being six days on the road altogether. For eight days we basked on Riviera beaches and bathed and collected impressive sun tans. On several occasions I tried to find the air strip we had used during the invasion of Southern France; but all trace of war had disappeared. It was a pleasant break. We returned to Bray feeling very fit.\n\nAnd now, for the first time since we had been married, Gwen and I were able to make our home together. Instead of driving off to Boscombe Down at the end of each weekend I was able to travel to and from Langley each day. After years of messing, regular home life was most enjoyable, and I was able to collect many of my things round me again in a den of my own.\n\nAlthough it was a new experience to report at Hawker's in August to begin civilian life, it was also something of a return home, for most of the people I had known two-and-a-half years before were still with the firm.\n\nThere had been some changes. Hubert Broad had joined Dowty's, makers of undercarriages; Muspratt had gone to Australia to sell tractors. Bill Humble was chief test pilot and Wimpy Wade, whom I had last seen when 92 Squadron was at Biggin Hill, was his No. 2. Frank Murphy was chief production test pilot, with E S (\"Doc\") Morrell, who had served with the Fleet Air Arm, as his No. 2. There had been few changes in the flight shed, and my old friends Pete Lemon, Charlie Ayres, and Bert Hayward were all there and gave me a warm welcome. Not long after I arrived, Bill Humble finally gave up test flying and was appointed sales manager for Hawker's. He is now the Hawker-Siddeley group representative in the Middle East with headquarters at Cyprus. Wimpy Wade moved up to chief test pilot and I became his No. 2.\n\nWe worked on Furies, Tempests and the new jet P 1040.\n\nWhile I found the development of the latter most interesting I also found that adjusting myself to civilian life took a little time. After the first few weeks of initial excitement and fresh interest there followed a period of mental reaction and regret that I had left the Air Force. Looking back, I suppose this was natural for, apart from a short period, I had been in the service since leaving school. I began to miss the life and my friends, the prospect of going abroad, squadron flying and also the wide variety of aircraft to fly. I became rather restless.\n\nThis phase ended shortly after I learned that a Hawker Tomtit was for sale. The type was designed in 1928 a two-seater trainer biplane with a 130 hp Armstrong-Siddeley Mongoose engine with five cylinders, a top speed estimated at 120 miles an hour and a cruising speed of between 85 and 90 miles per hour. It had belonged to Shea Simonds, a Supermarine test pilot, and it had been given a Spitfire windscreen and a faired headrest to the rear cockpit from which it was usually flown.\n\nI remembered the Tomtit. One summer evening during the middle 'thirties I had seen a Tomtit doing aerobatics at West Malling. I thought then that it was the most handsome machine I had ever seen; it had open cockpits, lots of struts and bracing wires and fabric, a radial engine with plenty of oil flying around, and it seemed to be full of character.\n\nWhen I began to make enquiries I found that the Tomtit was not only for sale but that it appeared to be the only one of its type left. Soon I was telling myself that if I bought it I could fly where I liked and how I liked in my spare time. Before very long I had sold my car, the MG, and become the owner of G-AFTA. It was something of a genuine antique, but it had plenty of personality which sometimes included a reluctance to start.\n\nDoc Morrell was interested for he had a half share in a Tiger Moth, being part owner with Major T S Willans, who had once been a rodeo rider in Australia and was now a freelance test parachutist, known to everybody as \"Dumbo\".\n\n\"Let's team up,\" Doc suggested. \"Let's work out an old-time dogfight routine and take part in air displays. You can do a few aerobatics and Dumbo can do the odd drop, then we can make the two machines pay for themselves. They pay about a fiver a time for aerobatics at these displays.\"\n\nDumbo proved a good organizer, entered our aircraft in several displays, made all the necessary arrangements and then gave us a general briefing. During the summer of 1949 we flew in a number of air displays, including White Waltham, Cowes, Rearsby in Leicestershire, Beaulieu in Hampshire, and Eaton Bray. Gwen always came along in the Tomtit, thoughtfully providing sandwiches and thermos flasks of hot coffee or tea, and sometimes she sat in the front cockpit during our dogfights.\n\nI still have a programme billing us at Eaton Bray. It says:\n\n\"Event No. 5. Aerial dog-fight. This, the most thrilling and spectacular attraction in the display, will consist of a duel between the Blue Hawker Tomtit, piloted by Mr Duke, and the orange and silver Tiger Moth, piloted by Doc Morrell. Both Messrs Duke and Morrell are test pilots at the Hawker Aircraft Company, and are equally at home in highspeed military aircraft as they are in the machines they will be flying today. After gaining sufficient height, each pilot will spar for an opening to attack his opponent. The battle quickens, until finally . . . but wait and see! The climax, we think, will leave you gasping!\"\n\n28.,\n\nWith Gwen and Wimpy Wade after my return from the flight to Karachi.\n\n29.,\n\nWith Bill Humble, Hawker's No. 2 test pilot when I joined them.\n\nIn this particular display Doc also gave a demonstration of crazy-flying, and I towed F Marmol, flying a Zlin glider, to Elstree for another display.\n\nOur \"duel\" with Doc was quite amusing\u2014at least to us. While Dumbo secreted himself in the Tiger Moth, we threshed around the place making mock attacks, and just when our time was up, Doc put the Tiger Moth into a spin as Dumbo baled out and the announcer downstairs declared that the \"kill\" had been made.\n\nThese displays were not without their incidents. Unfortunately Dumbo was injured at Eaton Bray when he was dragged by his parachute. Gwen was not flying with me on this occasion; she ran across the field to Dumbo while I circled above, and after helping to remove his parachute harness organized his removal to hospital. A cracked collarbone put him out of action for a couple of months, and he stayed with us at Bray while recovering. Gwen and I are not likely to forget the display at Beaulieu on Battle of Britain Day in 1950. There was quite a big programme with many types of aircraft taking part\u2014Sunderlands, Solents, Tempests, Yorks, Tiger Moths, Lincolns, helicopters, the Airspeed Ambassador, Meteors, a Swift, a Bristol Freighter and the Canadair. There were also landbattles, showing the difference between warfare in 1849 and 1949. In the 1949 battle paratroopers were landed and there was a fine old mix up. But what we did not know was that part of the airfield was strewn with mines to make the warfare more realistic.\n\nOn arrival we circled Beaulieu aerodrome, and as we came in to land we noticed rather more than usual animation among groups of soldiers who, when they saw the Tomtit about to touch down, began haring away as fast as they could go, some of them shaking a fist at us. We thought they were putting up quite a good performance for the crowd. What they were trying to do, of course, was to keep us away from the minefield. We landed slap in the middle of it in blissful ignorance, somehow avoided touching off a mine, and pulled up still wondering why the soldiers had appeared quite so excitable. We were soon told the reason in terse and vivid language, and, later on, when we saw the mines go off we did a little quiet gulping ourselves. However, the crowd enjoyed it.\n\nAs it turned out, Beaulieu was to be our final display. We stayed overnight and before leaving on the return flight to Langley made the usual check on fuel. The Tomtit's gauge showed the tank to be half full. We used 73 octane and at Beaulieu there was only 100 octane available for topping up; even with the tank half-full we had twelve gallons, more than sufficient to reach Langley.\n\nAfter taking off, we hummed along steadily at about 88 miles per hour and at about 500 feet. When we were just about over Ascot I shouted to Gwen to bob down in the front cockpit so that I could see the petrol gauge for a check up. It registered one quarter full; plenty to reach home.\n\nAt that moment the motor cut dead without even a cough\u2014we were to discover later that the gauge was faulty and the petrol tank dry. I took a hasty glance around and everywhere I looked I seemed to notice the biggest oak trees I have ever seen in my life. Then I noticed a ploughed field. It was this or nothing. I banked steeply between two trees. It was rather a tense moment. We could hear only the wind whistling a little eerily round the wires. Then we touched down, one wing went low into the earth and its tip gave a good exhibition of a plough at work.\n\nI held the stick back hard hoping that the Tomtit would not go right over on its nose. After what seemed hours we stopped, the wing tip still covered with soil, the undercarriage bent. I was jerked forward over the stick and my head cracked against the front of the cockpit. Fortunately, Gwen was not hurt.\n\nWe felt rather self-conscious sitting there in the middle of that ploughed field, a very quiet and still field. Then suddenly men, women and children\u2014particularly children\u2014seemed to appear from everywhere. They ran, stumbling over the uneven earth, and soon we were surrounded by an excitable, sympathetic, curious crowd. We did not take quite such a good view of the small boys who began pulling the elevators to see how they worked.\n\nWe had landed not far from friends, near Shooters Lodge and the Crispin Inn. I examined the Tomtit and decided that I could get it off again after a bit of repair and preparation. The local police kindly kept watch during the night to guard against souvenir hunters, and next day we filled up the tank, and having made a runway by driving a car up and down and over the furrows, I was able to get the Tomtit up and away to Langley.\n\nIt was the finish of our displays, however, for though the aircraft was soon made serviceable again, Doc and Dumbo had decided to sell their Tiger Moth. It had all been good fun and experience.\n\nMy interest now turned to joining the Royal Auxiliary Air Force. I ran into Squadron Leader Peter Deviti, of Sevenoaks, who was commanding officer of 615 County of Surrey Squadron, and when he learned that I was considering the idea of becoming an auxiliary so that I could maintain my interest in and associations with the Air Force and also take part in service flying again, he told me that, reluctantly, he would have to give up his command for business reasons. He suggested that it might be possible for me to succeed him.\n\nThe thought appealed to me tremendously, particularly as the headquarters of 615 Squadron were at Biggin Hill. Soon the necessary arrangements were made, I went to a squadron party to meet everybody, and I took over command in September 1950.\n\nThe squadron's town headquarters were in Croydon and we used to meet there every Thursday for lectures and dining-in nights. On Saturdays and Sundays we assembled at Biggin Hill for squadron training, first on Spitfire 22's and later on Meteor 4's. There we met the pilots of 600 City of London Auxiliary Squadron, commanded by Squadron Leader Jack Meadows, DFC, AFC, and worked with them. The commanding officer of the station was Wing Commander (now Group Captain) Arthur Donaldson, DSO, DFC, AFC, brother of Teddy Donaldson, who had a regular RAF squadron under his command, No. 41 as well as the two auxiliary squadrons. Arthur is a great personality and an exceptional station commander; he treated the problem of the \"week-end pilots\" With great understanding. He allowed them to bring their wives or girl friends to the station at certain periods during the weekends and opened the Biggin bar and mess to them. It is no small attraction to visit this famous station and we found that our attendances for squadron training began to be a byword.\n\n615 takes great pride in its Honorary Air Commodore. He is Sir Winston Churchill, the Prime Minister, who maintains a close interest in its work and activities. Before joining 615 I had seen him twice in the distance, once when he made a visit of inspection to Biggin in 1941 and again when he accompanied the late King during His Majesty's stay in Italy in 1944.\n\nIn 1950 Sir Winston was the Leader of the Opposition and, from time to time, he used to entertain members of 615. But I was surprised, elated, and not a little nervous when our adjutant, Bob Shillingford, told me that the two of us were invited to meet the great man and to lunch with him at his country home, Chartwell, in Westerham, Kent. We both felt that it was a great honour and a privilege. It was also to prove exhilarating. We were introduced by Mr Christopher Soames, MP, a son-in-law, and Sir Winston quickly put us at ease by his friendliness, his good humour and his deep knowledge and enthusiasm for aviation. He told us something of his experiences of flying during the first world war with Major Scott, with whom he had a narrow escape when their aircraft force-landed and both were covered with petrol. Major Scott was badly injured but fortunately he managed to turn off the switches and prevent danger from fire.\n\nWhile we were talking about present-day flying I happened to mention that we had been experimenting with a rocket motor in the P 1040. Sir Winston asked me a number of questions and then requested that I write him a short report on my views about rocket propulsion. He always had a great interest in the trends of future development as well as a firm knowledge of current progress in aviation.\n\nAfter lunch, Sir Winston showed us over his famous house. At that time he was starting his aquarium of tropical fish, of which he had two. He showed them to us with enthusiasm, and also his study. Its walls are covered with photographs of historic events; and he has framed and hung letters from the late President Roosevelt, together with a chart of the progress of the U-boat warfare at a critical stage during the recent war. He also has a number of models, including one of the famous Mulberry Harbour. Sir Winston is obviously a lover of animals, for in addition to his fish he has a poodle, Rufus, which he insists on feeding himself. He has a cat, too, and while fondling it points out a cut it received to an ear from a splinter of glass during the blitz. Before we left he signed and presented me with a copy of his latest war memoirs\u2014a gift to 615\u2014and we came away much inspired by our talk with this great Englishman.\n\nIt was not to be our only visit. On another occasion he invited the officers of the squadron to Chartwell for a cocktail party after he had paid an official visit of inspection to see us at Biggin Hill when we were on a period of three months' continuous training. He took the greatest interest in our work; and we saw him twice more at Biggin\u2014when he returned from a conference at Strasbourg, and from a Conservative Party conference at Blackpool. On the latter occasion 615 was at readiness, with all the pilots in their Mae Wests and flying gear. They felt greatly honoured when he went round, chatting and talking.\n\nThe cocktail party at Chartwell delighted 615. Sir Winston showed us both the inside of Chartwell and also its grounds. I remember that the tropical fish had been moved upstairs, and there were now many more of them\u2014they have since been transferred to Chequers, the move being entitled \"Operation Fish\". In the grounds of Chartwell we saw the famous wall which Sir Winston built himself during a period while he was in the political wilderness; the waterfalls and pools full of fish, which come to him when he calls and feeds them; his cinema and also many of his delightful oil paintings. Everybody was absorbed by his conversation and the contrasts of his facial expressions. While talking on a serious subject he looks grim and most forbidding. Suddenly an amusing thought will occur to him; his face lights up as he smiles and has an almost cherubic look. This party, enlivened with champagne cocktails, together with his short address and talk during the luncheon that followed his official visit to 615, were some of the high spots of squadron life during my period with it.\nCHAPTER 11\n\nRecords and Races\n\nROME was bathed in sunshine during the early morning of May 12th, 1949 and my first glimpse of the Eternal City after nearly five years was heartening. Yet I had not time for memories or sight-seeing. I had to land my Hawker Fury quickly at Ciampino airport, just outside Rome. But where was Ciampino? It was hidden by a thick rug of cloud, the only patch for miles.\n\nI called up the control tower by radio telephone and asked for a visibility report.\n\nA voice crackled in English:\n\n\"Visibility 300 feet. Cloud ceiling zero.\"\n\nThis seemed optimistic to me. Low cloud on top of thick fog covered all but the tops of trees. I flew the Fury over the area where I estimated the airport lay and asked the control tower whether they could hear my engine. They could not. I made another circuit.\n\nMy earphones crackled:\n\n\"OK. We have heard you now and recorded your time.\"\n\nI was relieved but disappointed at this hitch in the plans for I was attempting to establish two records while delivering a Hawker Fury to the Royal Pakistan Air Force\u2014from London to Rome and from London to Karachi.\n\nThe Fury has a top speed of 445 miles per hour at 19,000 feet and a cruising speed of over 400 miles per hour at 20,000 feet; its maximum range with overload tanks is about 2,000 miles. It has four 20 mm cannons and can carry rockets or two 1,000 lb bombs. It is a useful operational aircraft, pleasant to handle and ideal for long distance flying.\n\nSeveral Furies were to be delivered to the RPAF at Karachi, and since there was a chance of establishing two new records, we at Hawker's felt that a special effort might be made with the first delivery. John Derry had flown a Vampire 5 to Rome in 2 hours 50 minutes 40 seconds in November, 1948 and Air Marshal Sir John D'Aeth had reached Karachi with a Lancastrian Aries in 19 hours 14 minutes. I believed that the Hawker Fury could improve on both these times.\n\nPlanning the flight required much care and took a long time. We had to arrange for refuelling at Rome, Cyprus and Bahrein; we had to work out the best time for take-off from London Airport and attend to many other details including visas and inoculations. The date was partially decided by the state of the moon and to provide that most of the journey should be in daylight but that take-off from Bahrein should be in the dark.\n\nEventually May 10th was selected with take-off from London Airport at 3.30 a.m., forty minutes before dawn; stops of one hour each were allowed for the three refuelling points. At the last moment a minor snag developed with one of the wing tanks and, with a forecast for good weather on May 12th, the flight was delayed. During the preceding afternoon I flew the Fury from Langley to London Airport, went to bed in the early evening and got up at midnight. Gwen and Frank Murphy came along to see me off, and Bert Hayward gave me a lucky farthing and assured me that it could be useful as a disc if there should be complications with the cartridge-starter.\n\nThe London Airport runway was superbly illuminated and the Fury climbed away smoothly; and, after piercing thick cloud, I found clear starlit weather at my cruising height of 21,000 feet. It was a cold flight, especially near the Alps.\n\nSoon I flew into high snow-storm clouds and began to climb again. At 27,500 feet there was an unpleasant moment when I noticed that the oil temperature was going right off the clock. The Bristol Centaurus engine was at some strain at this height and the high temperature was probably caused by oil tending to freeze and not circulate in the cooler. I was now flying over the middle of the Alps and, with the engine still running sweetly, I decided on the blind eye principle. From now on this gauge became unserviceable and I was probably saved some worry later in the flight while flying through the heat of the Middle East.\n\nNorthern Italy was fairly clear of cloud and soon I began to look forward to a comfortable landing at Ciampino airport; but it was blotted out. Once I heard that my time was taken for the London-Rome leg, I had to get down quickly somewhere to refuel and press on again. I remembered being based at Urbe, some 20 miles away from Ciampino, with 244 Wing during the war; so I flew off to this airfield and landed to meet with complications and frustration.\n\nThe Italians at Urbe knew nothing about my Fury, nor of my hope of new records, and were indifferent to my gesticulations which I hoped would convey to them that I wanted to get away again as soon as possible. I guessed that the Shell representatives would soon appear, and began to prepare the aircraft for refuelling. They arrived after half an hour's fast driving, bringing the petrol and also the official timekeepers; with them was Flight Sergeant Chinaworth ex-112 Squadron whom I had known in 1941 and was delighted to see again. He worked like mad to get the Fury ready.\n\nDuring refuelling I learned that my time for the 908.3 miles from London was 2 hours 30 minutes 58.4 seconds, about twenty minutes faster than John Derry's in the Vampire 5.\n\nThis was cheering; but there were further complications.\n\nThe director of the Urbe airfield would not allow me to take-off. He had my passport, but he had no authority to allow me to leave.\n\n\"Ring up Ciampino.\"\n\nBut there had been a heavy thunderstorm the previous evening, all the telephone lines to Ciampino were down and that airfield seemed to be temporarily isolated.\n\n\"Get them on the r\/t\u2014speak to control tower there from the Fury.\"\n\n\"That is against all rules and regulations.\"\n\n\"Send somebody to the Air Ministry.\"\n\nWe fumed and fretted as valuable time ticked by. Eventually, and thanks to the Shell representatives, an official note came from the Italian Air Ministry authorizing my take-off. Having landed at Urbe at 7.26 a.m. I was airborne again at 9.03 a.m. but instead of this stop being confined to one hour I had been on the ground for an hour and a half. It was not until I was well on the way to Cyprus, cruising at 360 miles per hour at 21,000 feet with visibility so good that I could see for fifty miles, that my irritation began to evaporate. The Mediterranean looked clear and blue; Albania, Greece and Turkey soon slipped out of sight; the 1,220 miles to Cyprus were covered in three-and-a-quarter hours.\n\nThere were no complications at Cyprus. Wing Commander Deacon Elliott, DFC, the station commander, whom I had known in 72 Squadron at Biggin in 1941 had everything well organized. He and Wing Commander Alan Deere, DSO, DFC, the celebrated New Zealand pilot whom I had also met at Biggin, gave me a warm welcome; Cyprus Airways provided a cold lunch, and the refuelling was so efficient that I was flying again after twenty-five minutes. Everything, including the weather, seemed perfect.\n\nHowever, after crossing the Syrian coast I ran into cloud up to 25,000 feet. It continued without break until I was near Habbaniya so that I had to fly on instruments and plot my position by dead reckoning\u2014by time and speed\u2014for I could not see the ground. Sandstorms and more cloud hid the earth after Habbaniya had been passed, but luckily I managed to arrive exactly over Kuwait and then there was a clear run down the Persian Gulf to Bahrein which I reached at dusk. As the Fury slid down from 21,000 feet to land I began to feel that I was entering an oven. The time for the 1,267 miles from Cyprus to Bahrein was 3 hours 26 minutes. Once again, the RAF and the Shell Company were immaculately efficient and I was flying again after another break for refuelling of twenty-five minutes. There was one uneasy moment when it was discovered that a gland on one of the oxygen bottles was leaking, but this was soon fixed.\n\nBy flying eastwards, I had caught up with the night again and I took off into a sky filled with thousands of stars and a huge full moon. As the Fury had no cockpit lighting it was necessary to check instruments and read maps by torchlight. I must have been getting rather tired by this time for I found myself studying the maps by torch-light and then shining the torch through the canopy to look at the Baluchistan coastline 21,000 feet below! In the moonlight it looked hostile and inhospitable, no place for a forced landing. I had been told that the sea was filled with sharks and other unfriendly fish.\n\nBut it was a pleasant flight to Karachi and, when I landed at Mauripur to be met by Air Vice-Marshal R L R Atcherley, CB, CBE, AFC, Chief of the Royal Pakistan Air Force, and many of his officers, I found that my time from London had been 15 hours 18 minutes 36 seconds. I had hoped to make it 15 hours dead; but at least the Fury had put up two new records.\n\nThese two records, London to Rome 2 hours 30 minutes 58.4 seconds, and London to Karachi 15 hours 18 minutes 36 seconds have since been beaten. John Cunningham flew the De Havilland Comet to Rome in 1 hour 59 minutes 37 seconds on March 16th, 1950. On January 27th, 1953, when Flight Lieutenant L M Whittington and Flight Lieutenant J A Brown flew a Canberra from London to Karachi in 8 hours 52 minutes 28.2 seconds, they went on to reach Darwin just over 22 hours after leaving London, a great effort.\n\nAfter two pleasant days in Karachi I flew in an RPAF Bristol Freighter to Peshawar, near the North-West Frontier, a base for fighter wings equipped with Tempest 2's, and my imagination was stirred by a glimpse of the Khyber Pass. I learned that a tribal war was still in progress with the Fakir of Ipi on the Afghanistan border and that the Tempests were being used periodically to give his troops a taste of rockets.\n\nFrom Peshawar I was taken on to Risalpur in a Harvard to give a short lecture at the Flying College and a demonstration flight in a two-seater Fury which Bill Humble had delivered a year or two before. My next trip was by road to Swat, to meet the Prince who had presented the Fury I had flown out to the RPAF. As we drove through the passes and foothills and well into Kipling country we saw the crests of many famous British regiments cut into the hillsides. Tribesmen armed with Bataan knives, rifles and ammunition gave an atmosphere of tribal war. We drove round hairpin bends in rugged precipitous country swept by gusty winds and reached the village of Swat to be received by the Prince in a modern palace. He was charming, and presented me with a jade-handled dagger before leaving.\n\nBefore returning to Peshawar I visited Chaklala and spent a rather uneasy night after learning that my hut was surrounded by long grass favoured by cobras. I do not like snakes. Back at Peshawar I had a flight up to Gilgit, near Kashmir. As our Bristol Freighter flew up ravines, hillsides towered high above and narrowed in places to about a mile wide.\n\nA few days later I was back at Bray again, celebrating the new records at a dinner at the \"Hind's Head\" with Gwen, having returned to London Airport in twenty-five hours by the normal BOAC service. Pakistan seemed almost a dream.\n\nWhile I had been away Wimpy Wade had also established a record, from London to Paris in the P1052 on May 13th. Haze delayed take-off but Frank Murphy, checking the weather in a Sea Fury, found that visibility was improving outside the London Airport area. Wimpy flew to Villa Coublay, a flight of 221 miles, in 21 minutes 27.6 seconds, an average speed of 618 miles an hour, and clipped 6 minutes 9.7 seconds off the previous record by Bill Waterton in a Meteor 7 the previous December. Bad weather prevented Wimpy from attempting a record on the return flight; nevertheless he managed to get back in 23 minutes 30 seconds.\n\nI had enjoyed the flight to Karachi, and when Furies were ordered by the Royal Egyptian Air Force we felt that here was another opportunity of showing what Hawker aircraft could do. I began flight planning again, and decided to leave from Blackbushe, travelling to Almaza either via Bari or Malta. The Bari route was 130 miles shorter, but I preferred Malta. The distance from Blackbushe is 1,310 miles and it was estimated that the Fury could cover it in 3 hours 40 minutes and still have a reserve of 43 gallons of fuel. The time taken was 3 hours 36 minutes and there were 40 gallons to spare. From Malta to Almaza is 1,055 miles and the estimate here was 2 hours 43 minutes. The actual time returned was 2 hours 44 minutes.\n\nPrior to the flight, much time was spent studying the weather and wind speeds and the direction of winds in the upper air. Maps were marked showing the track to be followed and the times that the Fury should be over certain points. Finally everything was settled. I was to take off on February 16th, 1950.\n\nMy pyjamas, shirts, shoes, trousers, toothbrush and razor were stuffed into the gun bays of the Fury and any small angular corners; then I flew over to Blackbushe from Langley. There was a mass of paper work to get through that evening\u2014customs clearance, immigration, flight plans, refuelling. The meteorological forecast also had to be studied.\n\nI spent the night in Camberley and it was still dark when I reached the airfield the following morning. The ground crew had already run up the engine. The fuel tanks were brimming over. Bert Hayward loaned me his lucky farthing again. Gwen, Wimpy and the directors were there to say good-bye.\n\nTake-off was at 7.41 a.m. I made a right-hand turn and was over the starting line below 300 feet a minute later. Climbing through cloud between 2,000 and 5,000 feet, I went up to my cruising height of 21,000 feet and, after flying above cloud and in sunshine for an hour and twenty minutes, pin-pointed Lyons under clear skies. Skirting Grenoble I had a magnificent view of the Alps, the sun glinting on their snowy slopes, and visibility was now so clear that I could see the south coast of France.\n\nCannes slipped by eight minutes ahead of schedule; Corsica came up and disappeared; Sardinia faded away and forty minutes later Sicily was ringed with thunderstorms\u2014correctly forecast. With cloud, bumps and a change in the direction of the wind, the Fury's speed was reduced. When, estimating that I was fifteen minutes away from Malta, I began to let down, the windcreen started to mist and to ice-up; but this had been anticipated and I rubbed the front screen with a rag soaked in glycol and was able to peer out to where the island should be. Soon, through the rain, Luqa airfield, spouting yellow Very lights showing which runway to use, lay below.\n\nOnce again the RAF and the Shell Company worked quickly and smoothly. Petrol bowsers swarmed round the Fury and three hundred and forty gallons were pumped in six minutes. It was good to sight Fred Sutton in the crowd\u2014he had been sent out by Hawker's to supervise the servicing and did an excellent job. It seemed to me that, before I had hardly stretched myself, I was thrust bodily back into the cockpit, a full weather briefing with wind speeds and directions pushed into my hands, and I was off again. After being on the ground for sixteen minutes the runway was tearing past, and Malta in retrospect was a blur of rain, faces, bowsers and hot coffee\u2014which I had not time to drink.\n\nSorting things out in the cockpit needed a little time, but it was soon plain that the weather forecast was accurate. It said that there would be much cloud from Luqa to El Adem and rain with moderate icing, some turbulence and a risk of severe icing and turbulence. The clouds went up to 26,000 feet, and it was a bumpy ride skimming along just above their peaks. This unexpected climbing upset the estimated time of arrival over the African coast by a minute and a half but conditions were perfect above Gazala, and from now on it was necessary only to check course, position and time and to estimate ground speed. Gazala and then Tobruk, Gambut and Sollum slipped by and my thoughts went back to the days with 112 and 92 Squadrons. The desert was unchanged, but now there were no 109's about.\n\nThe Fury hummed along. Everything was working out according to our estimates. Bardia, Sidi Barrani, Mersa Matruh came up at the right times, and in the right places, the coastline gradually faded away to the north, and I turned south of El Alamein and headed out over the sandy wastes of Wadi Natru\u00f1. Thin layers of cloud at 15,000 feet did not interfere with a position-check at the Alexandria-Cairo road; I put down the nose about ten minutes away from Almaza and then, descending through cloud, I saw Cairo again, with all its sand and coloured houses, for the first time in six years, and Heliopolis and Almaza straight ahead. The Fury passed the finishing line 6 hours 32 minutes 10 seconds after leaving Blackbushe; its average speed had been 360 miles an hour, including the refuelling stop at Luqa. It was another record: it stood until April 24th, 1950 when John Cunningham flew the Comet to Cairo in 5 hours 6 minutes 58.3 seconds.\n\nThere was a reception by high ranking officers of the Royal Egyptian Air Force and some leading civil aviation people, and representatives of the Royal Aero Club of Egypt checked the official seals on the engine and the aircraft. I was glad to see that the engine seal had not worked loose. I did not want to be suspected of changing an engine _en route!_ I spent two weeks with the Royal Egyptian Air Force, converting some of their pilots to the Fury before returning to Bray.\n\nThese two flights had been interesting diversions from experimental and production test flying. Equally pleasant changes were taking part in races. Wimpy, Frank Murphy, Doc Morrell and I were entered for the first of the post-war national races, held at Elmdon, near Birmingham, in August 1949. I flew the P1040 and Frank a Sea Fury trainer for the Kemsley Challenge Trophy on the Saturday, and on August Bank Holiday, Wimpy flew the P1040 for the Society of British Aircraft Constructors' Trophy. Doc Morrell took part in the Air League Challenge Trophy Race in the Sea Fury.\n\nThe races took place over a twenty mile rectangular course. The first leg was a run of 5 miles to Knowle, the second of 6.4 miles to Corley, the third of 4.3 miles to Coleshill, and the final run back from Coleshill to Elmdon was also 4.3 miles. Sodium flares were laid at the turns and they were a great help; we had to keep an eye on electric grid lines, some of them rising to 100 feet, at various points. I went round the course several times in Furies before taking up the P1040, for local knowledge is important in a race. The jet went well during the practice laps and, with the right amount of G at the turns, lost comparatively little speed. In the Kemsley Trophy race, Frank Murphy and I had ranged against us John Cunningham, flying a Vampire for de Havillands; Group Captain A H Wheeler in a Spitfire 5 and Guy Morgan in a Spitfire trainer, entered by Supermarines; P G Lawrence in a Firebrand, flying for Blackburns. R W Jamieson flew a Hornet, also for de Havillands. The event was open to any aircraft with a maximum speed at sea-level exceeding 300 miles per hour. All were given a handicap, and I was scratch machine.\n\nThe piston-engined aircraft went off first and John Cunningham and I sat in the cockpits of our aircraft and watched the field come round at the end of the first of four circuits. Then John went off and I followed him. I left the throttle of the P1040 wide open, but I had to pass all the aircraft except the Vampire twice and it was not until the last lap that I could be sure of my prospects. The final leg from Coleshill to Elmdon was most exciting. I could now pick out Frank and John ahead of me and, with all the other aircraft apparently massed together, the P1040 tore through them. As we passed over the finishing line it seemed that there was not much to choose between us.\n\nIt was not until I landed that I learned that the P1040 had arrived one second in front of John Cunningham's Vampire, and that John had finished three seconds ahead of Frank Murphy's Sea Fury trainer. It was a handicap event and the average speed of the P1040 was given officially as 508 miles per hour with a time of 16 minutes 24 seconds. John Cunningham averaged 470 miles per hour in 16 minutes 25 seconds, and Frank Murphy 340 miles per hour in 16 minutes 28 seconds. Frank had flown a very good race, and during his second lap he pulled his aircraft so smartly round the Coleshill turn that he blacked out temporarily and lost a second or two.\n\n\"I reckon you chaps cost me \u00a350 a second in prize money,\" he told John and me later. Until the last few moments of the race he had been leading.\n\nThe P1040 went round one lap at an average of 562.569 miles per hour and at times the speed was over 600 miles per hour.\n\nOn August Bank Holiday, when there was a crowd estimated at about 100,000 we saw Wimpy, John Cunningham and John Derry give excellent performances in the SBAC race. John Derry was at scratch in the de Havilland 108 and went off 1 minute 3 seconds after John Cunningham in his Vampire. Wimpy, with 16 seconds start on John Derry, got everything out of the P1040 to win with an average speed of 510 miles per hour. We were interested to find that his fastest lap was exactly the same as mine, to one-thousandths of a mile per hour: 562.569 miles per hour. Cunningham's average was 470 miles per hour and Derry's 488 miles per hour. Wimpy and I shared the Geoffrey de Havilland Memorial Trophy for the fastest lap; and we were well pleased with the Elmdon results, for Hawker's had also collected two firsts and a third.\nCHAPTER 12\n\nTest Pilot\n\nHAWKER'S development work was at a most interesting stage when I joined the firm in August 1948. They had produced their first jet fighter, the P1040, to the specifications of the Air Ministry, designed by their brilliant team headed by Sir Sydney Camm, CBE, whose Hurricane took such an important part in winning the Battle of Britain. Sydney Camm is a tremendous character with a vast wealth of aeronautical experience.\n\nIn certain respects the P1040 was an unorthodox aircraft for, although fitted with a single Rolls-Royce Nene engine with twin intakes at the wing roots, it had a split jet pipe with two exhausts at the wing root trailing edge on either side of the fuselage; it also had straight wings, a straight tail and a normal fin. It was a beautiful aircraft to fly with spring tab ailerons, and it attracted the attention of the Admiralty. The Royal Navy took it over, converted it for deck-landings with the addition of a hook, and gave it folding wings and other nautical refinements. This version of the P1040 became known as the N7\/46, and was later produced as the Seahawk. It is now in service with the Fleet Air Arm.\n\nAfter the P1040 came the P1052, with a number of important changes in design. Two of these aircraft were built for research purposes, with thirty-five degree swept-back wings\u2014the first used by Hawker's\u2014and much the same engine lay-out as the P1040. After some development work, one of the P1052's was converted into the P1081. This was fully swept-back on all surfaces, and the engine layout was changed: instead of the split or bifurcated jet pipe, the engine had a straight-through jet pipe, exhausting in a single pipe under the tail.\n\nBoth the P1052 and the P1081 were used for research only, and no production was begun, although it would have been a comparatively simple matter to convert them to fighters. They were two of the first aircraft with swept-back wings in the country; and we began to use them for research into high Mach number flight. Until then the highest Mach number reached in England had been 0.8-odd with speeds around 600 miles per hour. With the P1052 we were able to reach more than Mach go at height, and airspeeds of well over 600 miles per hour at sea-level, after we had ironed out various things which could cause buffeting. It was about this time that John Derry went through the sonic barrier for the first time in a De Havilland 108\u00bea swept-back tail-less aircraft with a Goblin engine.\n\nWhile work was proceeding with the P1052 and the P1081 we also tried out the Snarler rocket on the P1040 which, with this addition, became the P1072. The Snarler was an Armstrong-Siddeley rocket installation fitted to the tail of the aircraft, the idea being to get the rocket airborne for experimental engine development. We assessed the results of its performance and power in a series of climbs.\n\nWimpy Wade and I made three flights each with the Snarler, and found that it gave the P1072 terrific climb performance, particularly at height. We took off normally on the jet engine, and then lit the rocket at a fairly low altitude, putting the aircraft into a climb. With the Nene jet engine working at full power, together with the thrust of the rocket, the aircraft went up extremely rapidly.\n\nThere were two points we had to watch: that we did not exceed the Mach number of which the aircraft was capable; and that we did not climb beyond 40,000 feet\u2014the aircraft had no pressurized cabin and it is unsafe to fly above that height unless the cabin is pressurized or the pilot wears a pressure suit.\n\nDuring my last flight with the rocket, I was re-lighting it between 3,000 and 10,000 feet when the thing exploded and set fire to the tail of the aircraft. I could see in my cockpit mirror just what was going on, so I shut down the rocket and landed. The burning tail of the aircraft evidently looked worse from the ground than it seemed while I was in the air.\n\nThe use of rocket propelled fighters for interceptor work has, I think, interesting possibilities. The big advantage of a rocket is that it drives an aircraft along with exactly the same power at 5,000 feet as it does at 50,000 feet or more. On the other hand a jet engine has approximately only one-fifth of its sea-level power at 50,000 feet. The basic difference is that a rocket carries its own power while a jet engine relies on the outside air to give it power; and at heights of 55,000 feet and above, the air is so thin that a jet cannot suck in sufficient air to maintain its efficiency.\n\nWith rocket power and an aircraft of the right design it is possible to reach tremendous speeds at heights above 40,000 feet where air density is low and resistance to the flight or passage through the air of an aircraft is very small. In fact speeds of about 1,000 to 1,600 miles per hour have already been recorded.\n\nWith a rocket-propelled fighter it would be possible to reach a height of 50,000 feet in about three-and-a-half minutes, including take-off time, and this would be a most useful performance for defence against modern bombers approaching at around 600 miles per hour. There would be various problems to overcome; for instance, once the rocket's power had been used up, the aircraft could only be glided around which would cause complications such as becoming too easy a prey for escorting fighters. A small jet engine is desirable for descent and landing, particularly in bad weather.\n\nWith our development work on the P1052 and P1081 we reached high Mach numbers, and to compile information we began to use a wire-recorder installed in the aircraft. One day, while Wimpy and I were chatting with John Derry and John Cunningham, we mentioned the value of the wire-recorder.\n\n\"This sounds most interesting. Could we come over to Langley and hear a play-back,\" John Derry asked us.\n\n\"By all means.\"\n\nWimpy and I decided that we might make a special recording for our two friends.\n\nWe set up the recorder in Wimpy's office; and in the next room we started up a vacuum cleaner. Wimpy talked into the recorder and when we played it back, the noise of the cleaner in the next room sounded very much like the noise of a jet engine from the cockpit, and, with his comments, was a good imitation of the real thing. So Wimpy went to work and made a fairly good length recording of an imaginary flight.\n\nWe rang up the two Johns.\n\n\"Come over any time you like,\" Wimpy told them.\n\nThe four of us got together in Wimpy's office; and we began to play back.\n\nDerry and Cunningham seemed most impressed, particularly when Wimpy's voice was heard saying:\n\n\"Diving now . . . Mach point eight. . . eight five . . . nine . . . nine five . . . nine seven . . . nine eight . . . nine nine . . .\"\n\nIn fact we had not pushed the P1052 anywhere near that Mach number, and both John Derry and John Cunningham began to look not only interested but astonished, though trying to appear unconcerned.\n\nIt may have been our amusement at their expressions or else they caught Wimpy exchanging glances with me; but it wasn't long before they twigged that they were somewhere down the end of the garden path. Anyway, we provided them with some beer and explained that we had exaggerated a little but that we did really find the recorder useful.\n\nShortly after this, early in 1951, Wimpy left for the United States under a \"scheme\" for the exchange of civilian test pilots. He had been sent there by Hawker's to gain experience on Amercian jet aircraft. While he was away I had been flying the P1081 on developmental work.\n\n\"I think I'll go over to Farnborough and see how you have been getting on with the 1081,\" Wimpy said to me shortly after his return to Langley.\n\nWe never knew what happened. The aircraft crashed at Lewes, in Sussex, and was a complete write off. Wimpy baled out, using his ejector seat from which he did not release himself. I had lost another close friend, of 92 Squadron and my first days at Biggin, and it was a sad moment when I went with John Lidbury, secretary to Hawker's, to break the news to Josephine. Wimpy was a first-class pilot, a great personality, and his work contributed to the knowledge of the company in producing the Hunter.\n\nDuring the middle of April 1951 I was appointed to succeed Wimpy as chief test pilot, but any pride or pleasure I took in the appointment\u2014and I regarded it as a great honour\u2014was sadly marred by his death which we all felt very much. It was not the only loss for Josephine; one of her three children, Michael, died quite suddenly a short time later. It was an unhappy period.\nCHAPTER 13\n\nChief Test Pilot\n\nMY appointment as chief test pilot came when 615 was about to begin three months' continuous training, due to the Korean war, and I found it quite impossible to be responsible for all the flying at Hawker's and to continue as commanding officer of the squadron. Though I was distressed, there was no other course than resignation from 615. In due time I handed over to Squadron Leader Freddie Sowrey, DFC, a regular RAF officer. I informed Sir Winston Churchill, as honorary air commodore, of my decision and the reasons for it, and I was touched when he took the trouble to answer my letter while he was on holiday in Annecy, in France, and invited me to keep in touch with him. I was able to be at Biggin when he made an official visit during 615's continuous training; and I have been transferred to the Royal Auxiliary Air Force Reserve of Officers until September 16th, 1960. I keep contact with the squadron and Biggin; in 1952 I went to see 615 in their summer camp at Celle, flying over Germany in our Hurricane \"The Last of the Many\". During a squadron function last autumn Sir Winston presented Gwen and me to Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, a great honour.\n\nThere have been other changes. After our lease of the house at Bray expired, we moved to the sixteenth century \"Thatched Cottage\", Upper Bourne End, not far from Maidenhead, high above the Thames. Late in 1951 Hawker's took over the former RAF airfield at Dunsfold, near Godalming, for the Langley airfield is rather too near London Airport both for our comfort and for that of the civil airlines. Early in January, 1952, we moved into an old farmhouse, part of it going back to the sixteenth century, just off the Dunsfold perimeter track. It had been used as an RAF headquarters during the war but had become badly dilapidated; yet Gwen, with her excellent artistic taste, has transformed it into the most comfortable of homes, and it is one of the pleasures of life during winter to be able to toast our toes in front of a large inglenook fireplace, burning two-foot logs. A mile further along the perimeter track Frank and Gloria Murphy live with their two children. Our houses are pleasantly close to the control tower, though our wives are rather cut off from the outside world, particularly as all visitors have to pass guards on the gates.\n\nFrom time to time there have been changes on the test pilot's staff. Doc Morrell left in 1951 and began flying at Hamble. We were joined as my No. 2 by Bill Bedford, who served on Hurricanes in Burma during the war, and was later an instructor at the Empire Test Pilots' School, being awarded the AFC. Bill shares the responsibilities of experimental flying with me, and he spends many of his weekends gliding at Farnborough with pilots of the Royal Aircraft Establishment. He holds several height and distance gliding records, and, being a qualified instructor, passes on his valuable experience to pupils in a two-seater glider.\n\nFrank Bullen also joined us as a production test pilot. He flew Spitfires and Mustangs with No. 11 Group of Fighter Command during the war and, for a period, was personal assistant to Air Marshal Sir James Robb at 11 Group Headquarters at Stanmore. He came to us during 1949 after two-and-a-half years with Blackburn's as a test pilot. A newcomer to our test team is Donald Lucey ex-Fleet Air Arm.\n\nWith Frank Murphy, we are a fairly small flying team at Dunsfold. We work together in the control tower with the flying control staff, headed by Bertie Coopman, a former squadron leader, and Bill Willis, his assistant; and also with the technical staff of the flight test section headed by Fred Sutton.\n\nWe can test fly in most weather conditions for, with de Havillands and Supermarines, we operate a private fixer service. We also have an automatic homing device and a form of controlling descents when the weather is poor or indifferent. We sometimes fly at night and at this time the air is calm and stable and would be suitable for tests such as performance measurement.\n\nThe flight test programmes are arranged by the flight test section which also looks after aircraft instrumentation and the automatic recording instruments as well as analysing or reducing our test results. Fred Sutton invariably tucks us into the aircraft with a few final words of instruction and receives our reports as soon as we land.\n\nThere is a routine about test flying, and it goes something along these lines:\n\nThe day at Dunsfold begins with the provision of a weather forecast by Bertie Coopman, and with this we also receive a list of aircraft available for flying both at Dunsfold and Langley, where Sea Furies are flight-tested. If the weather is suitable for flying, we have a conference in my office with the pilots and Fred Sutton to arrange the flying programme.\n\nFred Sutton may report that four Furies will be ready at Langley at 11 o'clock and that two production Seahawks will be available at Dunsfold. As chief production test pilot Frank Murphy arranges for a Rapide to be provided to take him and Frank Bullen to Langley to clear the Furies; or he may decide to send Bullen to Langley and to deal with the Seahawks himself at Dunsfold.\n\nIf Fred Sutton says:\n\n\"One Hunter, 202, will be ready during the late morning for levels at 35 and 40,000 feet. Here is the flight programme. A full throttle climb to 50,000 feet is required.\" I decide to do this trip, while realising that \"late morning\" usually seems to mean the middle of lunchtime! I ask that the oxygen system in the Hunter, which is the Sapphire-engined Mark II version, be set to pressure breathing, for the flight will take me up to 50,000 feet or more and I shall want to use the pressure waistcoat. Fred gives me the appropriate climbing speeds and a briefing form which provides details of the aircraft's weight, centre of gravity and fuel load, together with any changes made to the aircraft since it was last flown; it also provides a note on engine or airframe limitations if they should not be normal, and a programme of the tests I am to do and what power is to be used. He will also expect a record of the air temperature during the Hunter's descent so that the performance figures noted can be reduced accurately to standard conditions.\n\nFred Sutton may also say:\n\n\"195 will also be ready by mid-morning and they want the stability tests at 5,000 and 35,000 feet completed as soon as possible.\" By \"195\" he means an Avon-engined Hunter Mark I, and by \"they\" he indicates our design department at Kingston. Bill Bedford has been doing these stability tests and, since it is preferable for one pilot to complete a full set using the same technique throughout, this will be his job. We find that we get more consistent results in stability tests by the same pilot completing a series, for they involve stick force per G and also acceleration in and out of trim dives, which can be influenced in their final results by the technique of the pilot.\n\nWe agree that the flying at 5,000 feet should be done first while the weather is clear, for it may clamp down a bit this particular afternoon.\n\nWith the conference ended and when everybody has gone off to their own offices, I settle down to deal with the morning's paper work which is steadily increasing with the Hunters coming along into production. It may also include replying to small boys who always seem to want vast numbers of photographs of Hawker aircraft, ancient and modern.\n\nThen I get down to planning my coming flight in \"202\". I write the climb speed figures and other relevant points on my test pad, checking its stop-watch and seeing that it is working properly\u2014it would be a bit late to discover that it was not going once I had started a full throttle climb in the Hunter. It climbs so fast that you don't have time to correct mistakes once you have begun to go up. The pressure waistcoat also has to be checked, and tested if necessary; the oxygen mask to be used with the waistcoat must be attached to my American protective flying helmet. Then there are overalls and gloves to be collected, maps folded, pencils sharpened, and perhaps a second look at the test pad to make sure that it has a full roll of paper, for it would be infuriating to find that you have used up all the notepaper while still having many points to jot down. I also check up on the weather and the wind to decide the geographical direction in which to make the climb and carry out the level speed runs which take up a lot of country.\n\nSome days tick by smoothly without hitches; others not so smoothly, for experimental aircraft require careful inspection and no definite time can always be given for take-off if unexpected faults are discovered. Waiting around for aircraft seems to be common to all forms of aviation. Somehow or other it often seems that experimental flying is done at the end of the day or during week-ends; but an aircraft must be flown when it is ready. And if your programme is to move forward steadily you have to be prepared to fly at any time.\n\nAn efficient secretary is of infinite value in a test pilot's life, and I was fortunate in having Mrs Maureen Sterling to help me. She deals with anything that is fiddling or worrying or distracting during the day; and, when the wire recorder has been used during experimental flights, she plays it back and types out my comments and is tactfully deaf to any stray adjectives that may have crept in.\n\nI find that it is a great advantage to live on the aerodrome, for at any time during the week-end when we are flying I can look out of my window and see if an aircraft is ready, and wander across to the hangars. As a change from test-flying and to give us a taste of cloth cap-and-goggle flying we use our private Hawker museum of interesting types, which, to my mind, are magnificent aircraft. There is the Hawker Cygnet, vintage 192, the first aircraft which Sir Sydney Camm had a hand in designing. It has a little 36 hp Bristol Cherub engine, a top speed of 75 miles per hour, drooping ailerons which can be wound down as flaps. This type of full span, narrow chord aileron may be seen on very fast aircraft again shortly. This Cygnet, flown by George Bulman, won the light aeroplane contest at Lympne in the 'twenties. Then there is the Hawker Hart light bomber, born during the early 'thirties, which causes a certain nostalgia among many older service pilots whenever we land it at their stations. There is also the Tomtit. Both the Hart and the Tomtit have variable incidence tailplanes which may be seen on the Hunter. We also have a Hurricane \"The Last of the Many\" and one of only two surviving to this day in this country, two Rapides, one Avro 19, a Miles Whitney Straight and, at Langley, a Sabre-engined Fury which I hope we shall get into the air again one day.\n\nWe fly these various types on demonstrations and at displays during the summer. The Hurricane we use for liaison visits to the RAF and the RN Squadrons; the Avro, which has a Decca navigator and a flight log, for flying our directors at any time of the night or day and in all weathers; and the Whitney Straight has taken Gwen and me abroad three times for holidays, to Africa and Spain and France.\n\nAnother interest has been experience of deck landings on aircraft carriers. In January 1949, I went to Milltown with Geoffrey Pike, of de Havillands, on a course. We spent a week practising \"addles\"\u2014aerodrome dummy deck landings\u2014in Firefly I's and were then taken aboard a destroyer in the Moray Firth, where we stayed the night and I slept on the chart table, before going on board HMS _Implacable._ Geoffrey and I made four landings in a Firefly under the eye of Commander J C Cockburn, DSO, and the commanding officer of the _Implacable's_ Hornet Squadron, Lieutenant Commander R. Law, DSC, RN.\n\nI met Dickie Law again in July, 1952 at Boscombe Down when I brushed up my dummy landings in a Meteor before going aboard the _Illustrious_ off Selsey Bill. The Navy wasted no time. I was picked up at Dunsfold by Lieutenant \"Slim\" Sear in a Firefly at 1.30 pm. He flew me to the carrier in half an hour. I was back at Dunsfold again by 4 pm having made five landings on the _Illustrious_ in a Meteor without any extraordinary incidents. Landing on a carrier as a passenger in a Firefly is interesting. The passenger can see only to either side of the cockpit; he watches the sea coming closer, he notices the wash of the ship, and finally there is a bump and a squeak of rubber tyres on the deck. These landings have a technique of their own which is interesting to learn. I always enjoy my visits to the Royal Navy during Seahawk trials on aircraft carriers. Flying and the sea make, to my mind, a grand combination.\n\nTowards the end of 1949 the mock-up stage of the Hunter was reached. The mock-up is the building of the prototype in wood\u2014mostly three-ply\u2014and it is from this stage onwards that the chief test pilot is called in fairly regularly; until now he has probably been consulted about things like cockpit lay-out and the position of controls and instruments.\n\nOnce the mock-up stage is reached, he is able to get into the cockpit and give his opinions on matters such as the view from the pilot's seat, the comfort of the cabin, ease of getting in or out, and the lay-out of controls, instruments, flap and under-carriage selectors, oxygen equipment, emergency systems and so forth. The mock-up is being changed constantly, not only because of different Air Ministry requirements, but also because of any ideas the design team may have and, of course in our case, from the experience we have gained with the earlier aircraft. We still have the mock-up of the Hunter, and still change it. While Wimpy was alive he took part in the discussions with the designers as chief test pilot. When I succeeded him after his death, the Hunter was in the cockpit lay-out stage; and I remember that we made various changes in the position of certain instruments and other minor alterations such as the repositioning of fuel cocks to make them more accessible. A cockpit has to be easily adaptable for short and tall pilots and adjustment to seats and pedals is provided to cope with the various lengths.\n\nThe construction of the Hunter proceeded throughout 1950, and by spring of 1951, it began to take a very definite shape. As the weeks passed and the final jobs were started, such as the wing and fuselage skinning, wiring, control system functioning, engine installation and fuel system tests, you could notice that everybody was beginning to get a little more tensed up. To prepare for flying the Hunter, I gave myself some initial training. I flew a Canberra with Avon engines to verse myself in engine handling, stopping and relighting in the air, and so on. I flew the American F 86A or Sabre, and found it a most pleasant aircraft. I went over to Farnborough and was fixed up with the Martin Baker ejector seat rig, just in case anything should go wrong with the Hunter. From the Institute of Aviation Medicine I obtained an American flying helmet. It is of the protective, or crash, type and although heavy, weighing four to four and a half pounds, I find it comfortable. It provides protection during flight at high speed in turbulent air, when there is a danger of striking your head on the canopy; and it would certainly be useful in a crash or in the event of canopy failure. I am very much in favour of these helmets. The Institute also fitted me with a pressure waistcoat and mask; and I went through the pressure chamber at simulated heights up to 50,000 feet.\n\nAt last the day came when the Hunter was moved from Kingston to Boscombe Down, where many prototypes in England make their first flight, for the airfield has one of the longest runways in the country\u20143,000 yards\u2014and is most useful for taxi trials and initial flights.\n\nIt was now June and, for about three weeks, Bill Turner and his team worked on the aircraft, and the engineers spent long hours on the Rolls-Royce Avon engine, running it for prolonged periods and seeing that the structure of the airframe round the jet pipe and engine was getting sufficient cooling.\n\nFinally the Hunter was ready for taxi trials. It looked a beautiful aircraft as I walked over to it, standing just outside a hangar. It was painted a pale, duck-egg green, with RAF roundels on the wings and fuselage; its wings were swept and there was a graceful sweep up to the tail, the engine exhausted in a straight jet pipe under the rudder.\n\nI was in my full flying kit. It was unnecessary, speaking strictly, to wear all this gear; but it is advisable to do so at this stage to make yourself at home in the cockpit and also to make certain finally that you can reach all the controls easily despite all your bulky equipment.\n\nI climbed up the metal ladder, settled myself in, started the engine and began the first taxiing at slow speeds along the runway. You always work to a programme from the moment you step into a prototype for the first time. After a series of slow taxiing testing the Hunter's manoeuvrability on the ground, I opened the throttle a little more and began moving the aircraft faster along the runway checking for shimmy or snatching on the brakes.\n\n30.,\n\nThe red Hawker Hunter WB 188, in which we set the world speed record for a closed circuit, in September, 1953.\n\n31.,\n\n\"The office\"\u2014cockpit of the Hunter fighter.\n\n32.\n\nHawker Hunter in RAF \"warpaint\"\u2014ready for squadron service.\n\n33.,\n\nWB 195 heading down.\n\n34.\n\nThe beautiful lines of the Hunter in flight.\n\n35.\n\nProtype Hawker P1052.\n\nFrom the first I felt at home in the Hunter. Gradually I worked up to fast runs, noting over the wire-recorder the speed at which the nose wheel came off the ground and the speed at which the elevators and the rudder became effective.\n\nThen the time came to try a short hop\u2014to get the \"unstick\" speed and correct trimmer setting and the feel of the controls. To work up sufficient speed for even a short hop you need quite a distance and despite the Boscombe Down 3,000 yard runway, I had covered a lot of ground by the time I eased back the control column. The Hunter hopped satisfactorily and I was happy about the feel of the controls. I touched down, throttled back; but the end of the runway was approaching very quickly. With the highish idling thrust of the Avon engine, far more powerful than anything I had handled until now, the Hunter continued to move more quickly than I wished. I could see the end of the runway coming up and its grass overshoot\u2014and, beyond the grass, hedges and ditches.\n\nI braked as hard as I could and by the time the end of the runway was reached the Hunter was moving sufficiently slowly for me to slew it round and run down the perimeter track. I noticed a fire engine tearing round towards me\u2014its crew being able to see what I could not: the brakes were smouldering with clouds of bluish smoke. They had burned right out, but it was a comparatively simple matter to fit a new set of wheels and brakes\u2014certainly far more simple than having to iron out the bruises we should have collected if the Hunter had gone past the grass overshoot of the runway. We made a note that the time seems to be past when you can do hops with high powered prototypes unless you have a tremendously long runway.\n\nAfter a few more successful taxi trials, the Hunter was ready for the first flight. But not quite. Day after day for nearly a week, I went over to Boscombe from Langley expecting to take off; but the experimental flight team was taking no chances and was making the most thorough and careful inspection. They were determined to get it on the top-line and always, it seemed, some detail required fixing. Some three years' hard work had gone into the Hunter, it represented an enormous amount of thinking, skill and capital. Any hitch now would put back its programme by perhaps months.\n\nFinally, one day in July, we got the green light. We took off from Langley in a Rapide and in it were Mr Neville Spriggs, OBE, the general manager of Hawker's, Mr Roy Chaplin, assistant chief designer, Mr Donald Stranks, the chief experimental engineer, and Mr Frank Cross, of the experimental drawing office. Mr Camm said that he would drive over to Boscombe in his car, though there seemed some doubt as to whether he would be able to get away.\n\nWhen we landed we learned that there was still some work to be done on the Hunter. A party of us drove into Amesbury for tea, but I remember I had no particular appetite. Quite frankly, I was a little tense. The Hunter had been in the thoughts of all of us for so long and I had had so much to do with it, that I was tremendously keen to fly it. I had never taken up a prototype on its maiden flight. . . .\n\nThe day drags on . . . it won't be ready until evening. There seem to be hundreds of people about, all wanting to chat about this and that. I wish there weren't so many . . . I'd much prefer to fly it off without anybody standing around . . . I wish I didn't have to chatter so much . . . I suppose that fuel system will be all right . . . and the controls. Not much need to worry about engine failure.\n\n\"It'll be ready at seven o'clock.\"\n\nHell, not before then . . . seems hours. Still the time is passing.\n\n\"Ready now, Mr Duke.\"\n\nThis is it. Out we go. Got everything . . . flight programme . . . knee pad and stopwatch . . . helmet and gloves? Yes. All OK.\n\nLeave the office . . . seems a nice warm evening . . . bit of cloud around 15,000 feet . . . there it is, pale green, a beauty.\n\nNobody is talking . . . everything seems deathly quiet . . . try to look unconcerned but I can't help feeling selfconscious . . . wish they wouldn't stare at me. Up the ladder and settle myself in, with the ground crew making the odd joke while fixing my harness . . . plug in the oxygen and r\/t .. . wire-recorder \"on\". Now then, let's see.\n\nYou forget everything and everybody while you go through the cockpit drill. . . . Check the hydraulic system by lowering the flaps, check the trimmers for full and correct movement . . . work the controls and engage the power system . . . turn on the oxygen and test it . . . straps tight and seat adjusted. Everything seems all right.\n\nStart up the Avon . . . watch the temperatures and pressure . . . everything is working . . . shut the hood . . . adjust the oxygen mask and helmet strap. Right. Wave the chocks away. Start taxiing . . . down the perimeter track with everything working nicely . . . pull up by the end of the runway. I can see the hangars about a quarter of a mile away with a knot of people; a number of cars moving off to gather either side of the runway, about half-way down. It is a nice, clear evening . . . and the runway looks comfortably long; in any case I can't see the end because it's the other side of the slope. Time to call up control.\n\n\" 'Hawker Baker' calling Boscombe Tower. Am I clear to taxi on?\" Hawker Baker is my call sign.\n\n\"Baker clear to line-up and take-off.\"\n\nMove on to the end of the runway . . . let's have another complete and thorough check up . . . everything seems right.\n\nNow!\n\nOpen up the throttle, holding the brakes on . . . revs and jet pipe temperature sliding up as they should . . . quite a whine from the engine . . . more throttle .. . we're moving even on the brakes. One more quick check up. All OK. Off we go.\n\nBrakes off and full throttle . . . tremendous acceleration. Keep her straight . . . good. Now start chattering on the wire-recorder . . . mention the speed at which the rudder and elevators begin to become effective . . . speed at which the nose-wheel lifts . . . engine revs per minute and jet pipe temperature . . . speed of the \"unstick\". We're up . . . every sense alert for the slightest fault . . . part of the aircraft in feel, sound, sight and smell.\n\nIt is a nice, smooth, easy take-off, with speed increasing remarkably quickly. Don't raise the under-carriage just yet in case there may be some change in trim . . . 500 feet . . . up with the wheels. Ease back on the throttle, we're not out for speed on this trip . . . 250 knots, that'll do . . . up, up in a steady climb, 10,000 feet . . . 15,000 feet . . . let's dodge those clouds . . . 20,000 feet. That'll do. That must be Bournemouth below . . . let's sheer over towards Southampton and then back to the Boscombe area in case a hasty landing is necessary.\n\nIt handles beautifully and you get a sudden feeling of exhilaration. You've got it up all right with no hitches and the initial tension is over. Now go through the flight programme. Good . . . good . . . h'm.. . . Let's see how it'll go on a simulated landing approach, it's safe enough at this height anyway, even if there are hitches. Wheels down . . . flaps down . . . throttle back . . . trim back a bit. Seems OK.\n\nLook at the time! Been up for nearly an hour . . . time to return to base. Come down gradually . . . yes, that's Boscombe.\n\n\"Hawker Baker calling Boscombe tower. Joining circuit.\"\n\n\"Baker, you are clear to join. Runway two-four.\"\n\nWide, gentle circuit and a long, smooth approach. Keep the speed up a bit, we don't want it to stall and there's plenty of runway. Down we come . . . check, easing back gently on the stick as the speed falls off. . . . A light rumble as the wheels make contact . . . that's it. Taxiing now . . . look at those cars shooting over to the hangars. Open the hood. Flaps up. Fresh air is grand. Round we go . . . up to the hangars . . . what a crowd . . . pull her up and shut down.\n\nHow quiet everything seems. Nobody's saying a word . . . just staring. . . . Off helmet and test pad. Out we get, down the ladder. . . still nobody speaks, it seems even quieter than when I got in . . . must say something.\n\n\"Jolly good!\"\n\nAnd then babel breaks out. Everybody starts talking, asking questions and you chat and chat. Everybody seems to be smiling, and I must say I feel pretty pleased myself, but a bit hot.\n\nI certainly enjoyed that first flight in the Hunter, but I was sorry about one thing. As we took off in the Rapide to return to Langley we heard that Sydney Camm was just arriving. If I'd known he was coming for sure I would have delayed my take-off.\n\nI flew the Hunter about six times at Boscombe, working to flight programmes and increasing gradually the speed and height and trying it out in stalls. Then I flew it over to Dunsfold to begin the development programme. There were, of course, all sorts of things to be ironed out before we could start working up towards high Mach numbers, but then there always are a few teething troubles with most new types of aircraft. Yet, on the whole, the Hunter gave us comparatively little trouble and her initial development was fairly uneventful. We had sufficient time to get rid of a few bugs before the annual display of the Society of British Aircraft Constructors at Farnborough a few weeks later, in September; and I think that it was fairly generally agreed that the Hunter, or the P1067 as it was still known at that time, made a favourable impression at the 1951 show. There were various estimates made of her speed, which was faster than any other British aircraft had flown at the show; and we certainly had the edge on the American F86, which had increased the world's speed record to 670.98 miles per hour.\n\nOur general manager, Mr Spriggs, summed up the usefulness of the Hunter at that time when he said: \"We believe that the P1067 will outfight any other known type of fighter interceptor flying today. The fact that the RAF ordered this new aircraft off the drawing board is the best testimony to its qualities.\"\n\nWe were certainly all very proud of our new aircraft and I had enormous satisfaction in its development flying. As I have already indicated it was a long slow process of finding out the necessary adjustments that had to be made before we could work it up to supersonic speeds\u2014flight after flight, report after report, and always the design team working out modifications which would be incorporated in the aircraft by the patient Bill Turner, Bert Hay ward and their flight shed team. Then came the day when Frank Bullen discovered that I had made a supersonic bang for the first time. Today you can take up the Hunter any time you like and put it through the sound barrier, knowing that it will perform perfectly.\n\nThe Hunter flew again at the SBAG at Farnborough in September 1952; and, since we had been working on it for a year and had penetrated the sonic barrier, it naturally travelled a good deal faster than it did during the previous September. Today, the Hunter is advertised as \"the finest fighting aircraft in the world\". It will not be very long before the Hunters coming off our production lines will re-equip the squadrons of Fighter Command.\n\nIt has been said that the aircraft industry bears some comparison to an iceberg, for while the public knows a good deal about its various productions, there are many more developments coming along under the surface.\n\nWhile we were perfecting the Hunter, we were at the same time producing the next version of it\u2014the Hunter F2, the prototype now being known as the Hunter F1. This later aircraft is powered with the Armstrong-Siddeley Sapphire instead of the Rolls-Royce Avon and differs in some other respects. The Sapphire has been type tested at 8,300 lbs thrust\u2014higher than that of any other type tested jet engine in the world. The Hunter F2 looks very much the same as the Hunter F1, but with the extra power of the Sapphire engine it has higher performance.\n\nThe F2 was worked on throughout the summer, and there were speculations going on inside the firm as to whether it would fly before the end of November 1952. It arrived at Dunsfold during the middle of November, bearing the RAF roundels, not painted pale green like the Fl but finished in its aluminium service colour. On November 29th everything was set to take it up for the first time; directors arrived at Dunsfold and a number of people. But the weather clamped down and snow fell. Everybody had to go away disappointed.\n\nThe following day was a Sunday and during the early morning the clouds were still black and low. While I was at lunch the control tower rang me at home to report that the weather was clearing; and that there was a Seahawk available for me to have a look round to see what I thought about it.\n\nThis was more interesting than finishing my lunch! I had a short run round in the Seahawk and discovered a large area of gin clear sky. We agreed on a take-off time for round about 4 pm and various telephone calls were made to directors who might be able to get over to the airfield in time.\n\nIt was a darkish, nippy afternoon, the wind whipping the orange sock by the control tower; and Bert Hayward and his team all looked a bit white and peaked round the gills as they stood in raincoats and scarves when I climbed into the cockpit of the F2. Roy Chaplin and one or two other people were there; but unfortunately Sydney Camm was at a meeting of the committee of his golf club\u2014he is a great golf enthusiast\u2014and we were unable to get in touch with him. Compared with the first flight of the Fl there were very few people about\u2014just as I preferred it. Gwen was there, too, she went up to see the take-off from the control tower, and I promised to be home in time for tea.\n\nDunsfold's black runway was glistening with rainwater and there were one or two thin pools about; the light was a bit gloomy but I was happy about everything and very keen to do this flight after the indecisions of the past few days. The F2 took off normally and the only slight hitch was that the nose wheel stayed down and would not retract. Bill Willis at the control tower told me about this very soon after I had taken off, and it confirmed the feeling I had already gained. I made various efforts to retract the wheel, and did a circuit, flying over the runway for Bill to let me know whether it was still down. It remained down, so there was nothing much more to be done. I landed after a quite satisfactory flight lasting twenty-two minutes. It was getting towards dusk and the flarepath had been lighted; I enjoyed my tea in front of the fire.\n\nWe are now doing developmental work on the F2, at Dunsfold and everything is proceeding normally; as the F2 is pretty well on the secret list still, there is not much I can say about it.\nCHAPTER 14\n\nFarnborough\n\nNOBODY interested in aeroplanes can go to the annual display of the Society of British Aircraft Constructors at Farnborough without experiencing a thrill of pleasure and, perhaps, of excitement. It is the shop window of Britain's aircraft industry; and every firm works for weeks beforehand to make sure that its wares are displayed to the best advantage both in the static and the flying displays. In the great tents and in the aircraft park are all the latest products\u2014and millions of pounds worth of capital and machines are represented on that broad, grassy patch. The place is packed with people in the industry, with home and overseas buyers, politicians, and representatives of our three armed services as well as those from practically every country in the world.\n\nIt is a great occasion for the pilots who fly the aircraft entered by the many British firms. They have two jobs to do. The display lasts seven days, and the first four are devoted to showing off the performances of the aircraft to people whose business is flying, whether they are in the industry or in the services. The last three days are for the general public, and most people are interested more in an exhibition of flying and aerobatics rather than in technical performances.\n\nSo during the first four days, our job is to show to the industry and to the services such points as the ability of an aircraft to take off after a short run, the rate of climb or acceleration, the rate of roll, its manoeuvrability and how it handles at high or low speeds. On the final three days, our role amounts almost to a general flying display, using the aeroplane and its technical features to the utmost; and this is quite a popular pastime for us, especially as towards the end of the week we know the drill and can be fairly sure of our timing and positioning.\n\nYou have to train, or rehearse, for Farnborough in practically the same way as you do for any kind of show. Pilots must know their machines thoroughly and their capabilities to the finest degree. There is little margin for errors when you are doing a fast run at 700 miles per hour or more at a height of about 50 feet, or aerobatics at low altitude; and you have to be absolutely certain of everything you are doing.\n\nI learned a sharp lesson in the 1949 Farnborough show when I was demonstrating the Hawker N7\/46, the prototype Seahawk. It had been my practice throughout the whole week to begin my display with an inverted fly-past from one end of the aerodrome to the other. I suppose that by Friday familiarity was breeding contempt, for in the roll-out from the inverted position to normal flight at about 100 feet I did not ease the stick far enough forward, and the nose of the aircraft fell.\n\nI realized my error at once and ruddered hard, pulling the stick back as the aircraft rolled out, applying 10 G. Although my speed was about 450 miles an hour, a high speed stall occurred causing a noise like machine-gun fire.\n\nNever have I seen the ground quite so near while flying upside down, nor have I had such a close view of one wing of a Balliol, with the biggest of roundels. Neither have I seen the pilots' tent from such close quarters while airborne, nor so many faces of startled pilots looking up.\n\nThe remainder of my demonstration was completed with thoughtful care. On landing, I walked to the pilots' tent. I found it hushed\u2014and the bar open, early.\n\nThe moral is: never relax concentration or become careless.\n\nThe best preparation for Farnborough is to practise as much as possible at a safe height, until every manoeuvre can be carried out with not the slightest error. Everything is perfectly timed at these displays and you know exactly how long you will have for your performance, usually a total of five minutes from take-off to touch-down. It is particularly important to keep to the landing time, because the following aircraft may be coming in low and fast, and on time, and if you are late you will still be approaching with wheels and flaps down.\n\nFive minutes is a meagre period for a high speed aircraft, which requires a wide sweep to turn and line up for its next manoeuvre; but a prolonged performance is boring for the spectators, and many aircraft have to fly during the display period.\n\nIt is, therefore, important to work out a precise programme; for instance, if you have an aircraft of sufficient performance, you begin by diving to reach sonic speed and cause a bang, so popular at the 1952 display. Then you work out a series of rolls, loops, or aerobatics in the looping plane, such as a half-loop and roll off, or a figure of eight. The manoeuvres should be varied in sequence to avoid repetition, and a few reversed turns interspersed.\n\nHaving mapped out your programme, you go through it at several thousand feet, first practising one manoeuvre at a time, and then joining them into a continuous series. In case there should be low cloud or bad weather during the display, it is advisable to find the minimum height required for such aerobatics as a loop, and the minimum speed at which it can be made.\n\nOne manoeuvre should lead into and leave the aircraft in a position to begin another, until the whole performance looks natural and easy. At the same time you work out an alternative programme to suit the weather if, for instance, the cloud base should become a little low or visibility deteriorate.\n\nWhen you are satisfied with the routine at a safe height, you come lower and try it out, time after time, at low altitude over your own aerodrome, until you are happy about doing the first performance.\n\nConstant practice is required to keep your hand in for demonstrations, which are part of a test pilot's job.\n\nBesides the actual flying, there are a number of points you must bear in mind. You have to make sure that your various manoeuvres will be done before the centre of the crowd. You have to remember where the sun is so that you don't have people squinting into it while trying to watch you. You have to remember that wind can be a nuisance and cause a ragged performance; if you start manoeuvring across a strong wind you may drift and become badly placed and give an untidy show. We usually find that the best thing is to work out an imaginary line in front of the crowd\u2014up and down a runway if that is possible\u2014and then try to stick to it.\n\nIf you are doing a fast, low level run it is usually most effective to make a straight, long and low run-in parallel with the crowd and about 50 yards in front of it. You can give a display a bit more polish if you finish each manoeuvre clearly and cleanly by making a slight pause before beginning another; for instance, if you do a slow roll you could finish by holding the aircraft level for a second or two before going into a turn or perhaps some other aerobatic. In general a golden rule is: don't fly over the heads of the crowd. Quite apart from it being rather neck-breaking, it could also be dangerous. Another rule is: make sure the display can be seen by as many people as possible with, again if possible, the aircraft in their sight the whole time. This is rather easier said than done these days when you are flying at high speed and there are times when you cannot avoid disappearing temporarily from view. I feel that there is quite an art in show or display flying; and that it is great fun trying to perfect it.\n\nI have taken part in four SBAC displays, all at Farnborough, from 1949 to 1952. In 1948 when I had just joined Hawker's, Wimpy Wade demonstrated the P1040 with great success, and Frank Murphy flew a Sea Fury. In 1949 I flew the prototype of the N7\/46 and Wimpy the new swept-wing version of the N7, the P1052. There was rivalry between this machine and Mike Lithgow in the Supermarine 510, a swept-wing research development of the Attacker.\n\nIn 1950 I flew the N7\/46 again, and Wimpy the P1081, a further development of the P1052. The Supermarine 535 made a spectacular appearance and again challenged the Hawker machine for the most impressive display. The 535 was more rugged in appearance and made more noise than the P1081 looking faster, perhaps, for this reason. In fact there was little to choose, but the rivalry for supremacy in performance produced some excellent displays from the two pilots, each a master of aerobatic and display flying.\n\nThe Venom arrived in 1950 and, with typical de Havilland showmanship, this machine and the night fighter version of the Vampire were prepared in time for the SBAC week. John Derry flew the Venom with magnificent skill, displaying his reverse roll for the first time. I remember particularly his spectacular roll off the top from take-off in a demonstration of this machine's climbing powers after a short take-off.\n\nFew of us will ever forget John Cunningham showing the important new Comet for the first time, an aircraft which was to become the envy of the Americans and to open a new era in air transport. John has the happy knack of presenting a machine at its best angles and attitudes.\n\nBy far the most original manoeuvre of recent years at Farnborough was the Zura Cartwheel by the Polish test pilot Jan Zurakowski, flying for Gloster Aircraft in a Meteor 8 fully loaded with rockets. It consisted of a vertical climb at full throttle to some 4,000 feet where, at an appropriately low speed, one engine was fully throttled back; with the other engine at full throttle the Meteor performed a perfect cartwheel, nose over tail and tail over nose. The aircraft then began a spin, which Zura stopped at will, nicely lined up for starting the next manoeuvre.\n\nZura is one of the finest examples of test pilot-technician; he often calculates or reduces his own test results, sometimes causing the boffins a headache. He is now in Canada, test flying the CF 100 for Avro Canada, in which he recently exceeded Mach 1.\n\nIn 1951 I had to fly two aircraft at Farnborough, for Wimpy had been killed in the P1081 and there had been insufficient time to obtain another pilot, or for either Frank Murphy or Frank Bullen to convert to the P1052. I flew this aircraft, which had been adapted for naval flying and fitted with a hook; and also the P1067\u2014the Hunter. This was the best SB AC display I can recall. We felt that Hawkers had it all their own way on this occasion; there was nothing to touch the P1067 for speed or, I think I may claim, grace of line.\n\nOne of the many interesting points about the 1952 Farnborough was that, for the first time, the sonic boom or bang was produced regularly for spectators.\n\nAircraft flying at, or near, the speed of sound cause \"shock\" waves of air pressure. They may be compared very roughly with the bow and stern waves of a ship moving quickly through water. Two waves are formed at speeds just below Mach I on the trailing edge of the wing\u2014a small within a larger one. Another wave is also formed by the leading edge of the wing. These waves are present at and about sonic speed and roughly keep pace with the aircraft. They move ahead of the aircraft when it slows to subsonic speed.\n\nWhen they reach the earth they cause up to three booms, or bangs, two of them fairly large, the third minor. Sometimes, after an aircraft has dived at supersonic speed, three white puffs may be seen in the sky. It seems that they usually form at the height of the cloud layer of the day, and it is suggested that they may be caused by a sharp fall in the pressure of the air, behind the waves which have just passed at sonic speed.\n\nSupersonic bangs have been heard over varying areas on the ground. This is because aircraft have, so far, reached supersonic speed while diving towards the earth. The area over which the bangs are heard depends on the angle at which the aircraft is diving\u2014the more acute the angle of the dive, the smaller is the area over which the bangs are heard, and vice versa.\n\nIt is believed that atmospheric conditions also contribute in causing the bangs to be heard over a smaller or wider area. This is the theory: the pressure wave\u2014or pressure field\u2014produced by the aircraft travels towards the earth in a horn-shaped path. Since the speed of sound increases with a rise in temperature, the pressure field will travel more quickly at lower altitudes, and the nearer it gets to the earth. This causes the horn pattern of the pressure waves to curve slightly upwards. For a start, after sonic speed has been reached and the aircraft has slowed down, the pressure field will travel along the same direction as the aircraft; as it nears the earth, it will curve up slightly and so overshoot the pilot's aiming point. It will also expand in area.\n\nThis tendency to curve is greatest in dives of shallow angles, with these results: if an aircraft diving at ten degrees generates a bang at 30,000 feet, the explosions will not reach the ground but will curve away upwards and eventually fade out. If it dives at thirty degrees, generating a bang at 30,000 feet, the bang will be heard over an area approximately six miles across and fourteen miles long. If it dives at forty-five degrees, generating a bang at the same height, the noise will be heard over an area approximately two-and-a-half miles across and four miles long.\n\nAs a very simple illustration, take a torch in a dark room. Imagine that it throws a light which curves slightly upwards. If you hold it at a reasonable height at a shallow angle, the light will not shine on the floor at all. But if you incline it gradually towards the floor, you will get a long, broadish pool of light; the sharper the angle of the torch, the smaller, and more concentrated, the pool of light will be. Roughly speaking the pool of light on the floor can be compared with the area of the ground over which the bangs are heard.\n\nIt has been noticed that some supersonic bangs seem louder than others. The present belief is that this is due to the height at which the aircraft is flying and the angle at which it is diving when it reaches sonic speed: noise increases in proportion to the lower altitude and sharper angle. It also seems that the area over which three bangs may be heard is sharply defined: observers only a few yards apart have reported hearing a different number of bangs and their assessment of the noise has also differed.\n\nAlthough there has been some discussion of the bangs causing damage on the ground by blast effect, generally speaking the explosions caused by dives are harmless, though no doubt they are startling. On the other hand, it is possible that aircraft flying near one another at supersonic speed and within a range of about four miles may be affected. There have been reports of other aircraft being struck by a violent gust when explosions have been caused. Since it will not be long before sonic speed is reached in level flight, and not only by diving, investigation as to the effect on other aircraft flying in the same region seems most necessary.\n\nOnce aircraft can fly regularly at sonic speed in level flight, it is thought that explosions will not be heard on the ground unless they fly below 20,000 feet. But the effect of their speed may still be felt by another aircraft, and tests over a selected area would provide important information.\n\nBut we are straying rather far from Farnborough; as I have said, this is a simplified discussion of supersonic bangs, and theories about them are still being developed.\n\nI have many memories of Farnborough; but those of 1952 will remain with me all my life. The death of John Derry and his observer, Tony Richards, together with the loss of twenty-eight spectators and the injury of many more was a great shock to everybody.\n\nI was very fond of John Derry and admired him tremendously as a pilot. We had known each other for a long time, we met frequently and, of course, we had similar interests. His wife, Eve, and Gwen are great friends, too, and we have all spent many happy hours together. He had done more supersonic flying than any of us, and he was always so helpful in giving information gained from his own experiences.\n\nI had watched him every day at Farnborough from the aircraft park and admired the way he could handle the de Havilland 110. After his performance was over, and he had landed, I had to be ready to take-off immediately, climb to about 40,000 feet and then come back and do my bit.\n\nOn that Saturday when John was killed, I had just arrived in the aircraft park in my car; and I had got out and was standing by it to watch him. He had been over to Hatfield to pick up the first prototype of the DH 110\u2014he had been flying the second prototype during the earlier part of the week.\n\nIt was a lovely afternoon, and after he had made his supersonic bangs we could see a couple of puffs in the clear sky. John, with Tony, came on down and did their normal fly-past; and with this manoeuvre over, he began to slow down and turn back over the airfield, getting ready to go through his normal routine before landing.\n\nThe DH 110 blew to bits while it was in a moderate turn. Like everybody else, I was shocked to see the cockpit and the two engines flying through the air, landing some distance from me.\n\nI imagine my first thoughts were like those of everybody else: poor old John and Tony. And Eve. And all those people who had been directly in the way of the engines and the cockpit. Then I began to wonder what could have caused the aircraft to split to pieces like that. One thing seemed fairly clear to me: it need not necessarily have had anything to do with supersonic flight.\n\nThere was nothing I could do. I stood discussing the accident with Les Colquhoun, of Supermarine, Bill Bedford, and Bert Hayward until it was time for me to get into the Hunter. I felt very sad at losing another good friend\u2014so very many had gone during the war; later Hunk and Wimpy.\n\nAnd now John Derry.\n\nSoon I had to stop thinking about them. It was time for me to go off, but there was a bit of delay while the wreckage of the 110 was being cleared from the runway.\n\n\"Please keep to the right-hand side of the runway on take-off and mind the wreckage,\" I was told by control tower over the r\/t.\n\n\"Roger,\" I replied\u2014meaning that I understood and agreed.\n\n\"Are you going to climb and do a bang?\" was the next question.\n\n\"That is roger.\"\n\n\"Will you soft-pedal your display over the crowd, please?\"\n\n\"Roger.\"\n\nI kept well clear of the wreckage on the runway and was soon preoccupied climbing and going through my routine mentally. I always took off some ten minutes before my display was due to start to give myself time to reach about 40,000 feet and to get into the proper position for the dive on Farnborough.\n\nIt was a lovely day for flying. At 43,000 feet over Odiham I could see the airfield clearly. While sitting up there at that height I had more time to spare and to think in the lonely world above the scattered cloud, in the clear visibility under the darkening canopy of the stratosphere.\n\nThe cockpit was quiet and warm; everything was in first class order. It would be untrue to say that I was not disturbed and worried by John's death. I reflected that so little is known of supersonic flight; perhaps it could have had something to with the accident.\n\nThen it was time to dive. The Hunter did its stuff perfectly, the bangs were heard by the crowd at the display, and with that visibility I should not have missed the mark.\n\nWhen I landed I could see the ambulances still in the area where the DH had broken up. I hoped that many people had not been hurt. I thought about Gwen; and about Eve.\n\nGwen was not at the display that afternoon. She was in London and was shocked when she saw the posters of the evening papers saying that a test pilot had been killed at Farnborough, mentioning no name. She rang through to the control tower, and was told that I had finished my show and was just coming in to land.\n\nEve Derry had shown wonderful courage. I was deeply touched to learn later that day that though she, too, had seen John's aircraft break up, yet she had insisted on remaining to watch me go through my peformance. I felt that showed tremendous courage.\n\nWe spent a quiet and rather reflective evening and it was difficult to stop thinking of John and Eve, and Tony Richards and of all the people who had been killed and injured.\n\nThe next day the weather was indifferent. The Farnborough area was covered with cloud, which began at about 4,000 feet and went up to 23,000 feet. I could see no reason why I should not try to go through my usual routine for the final afternoon of the display, and cause some more sonic bangs.\n\nThere was one complication, and that was to make sure that the bangs would be heard by the crowd. As I knew I should not be able to see the airfield, it was necessary to get some mechanical help from the ground. This was provided, efficiently and enthusiastically, by the Farnborough ground control under Mr Bill Pendrey, who had successfully assisted during the week on several occasions.\n\nThe radar and radio fixing system at Farnborough combined with our Marconi homer at Dunsfold to direct me to the point where I should put the Hunter into its dive. And it was done in this way. I took off from Farnborough and climbed to 44,000 feet on instruments, flying in a south-westerly direction towards the Bournemouth area. From there, I was directed by the ground controller at Farnborough to turn east, pass south of the Isle of Wight, and then to fly along the English Channel. My position was being fixed at intervals of about one minute on the direction-finding angulator screen at Farnborough. I could see neither the land nor the sea, for cloud blotted everything out fairly soon after I had taken off. But the controller knew exactly where I was, and at the right moment he told me to turn north towards Dunsfold, so that I could have a steady run-in of at least fifteen miles.\n\nAs the Hunter approached Dunsfold, Hawker's controller took charge, and, passing rapid check vectors, directed me over Dunsfold on a northerly heading. When I was immediately over our airfield, Farnborough gave me an initial diving vector. I peeled off to port; a few seconds later I was given my final diving vector.\n\nI could see nothing but a blanket of grey cloud below, and in a few moments the Hunter entered it, travelling at well over Mach 1. The bangs were caused, but they missed the airfield, and I was sorry to disappoint everybody. Either my angle of dive was too shallow, or I took up a position too close to Farnborough. We learned later that the bangs began at Camberley, a short distance away, and were heard all the way to Henley.\n\nThere is nothing really difficult about causing these bangs, once you know your aircraft and this drill for positioning it to the right spot. And to digress slightly, a similar form of control to that used during the display, was also used by the RAF Metropolitan sector of Fighter Command when Marshal Tito visited Duxford early this year. When I took up the Hunter, the cloud base was about 1,000 feet with complete eight-eighths coverage; the cloud tops were between 10,000 and 20,000 feet. Directed by the sector controller, I took up a position the required fifteen miles from Duxford at 43,000 feet, and was given a heading to dive on. It was accurate fixing, for a couple of healthy bangs were heard by the Marshal on the airfield; and later, when I had the honour of meeting him, he showed great interest in aircraft as well as sonic explosions.\n\nI have much respect and some sympathy for the ground controller at displays and demonstrations where bangs are part of the programme. Everything must be run to time, and he has to get you to the right place almost at the right second, and even allow for the time that has to elapse as the explosion travels down to the ground.\n\nBut to get back to Farnborough. After I had dived the Farnborough D\/F homed me back to the airfield where visibility was poor; but it was sufficiently good to let me go through a limited routine performance, with which I was now fairly familiar. I found it much harder to attend the private funeral of John Derry and Tony Richards. They were a great loss to aviation, and my deepest sympathy went out to Eve.\n\nWe know that test flying can be a risky business, but if you were never prepared to take a risk, you would never do anything. Travelling by train and by road is risky; and if you look at the statistics you will find that travelling by road is far more lethal than flying. Just consider the number of people killed on the roads in this country alone. If the same percentage number were killed by aircraft crashes every year I doubt whether many people would consider flying at all. But nobody dreams of not travelling by car, by bus, by motor-cycle or by bicycle.\n\nWe accept the risks of flying; and, for me, flying is just as great a thrill to-day as when I first went up in the old Avro 504K. One of the thrills of flying is to take up the Hunter to over 40,000 feet, up into the clear deep, sapphire blue. Down below, you can see the earth, far away\u2014it is best to pick clear days for vertical dives in the Hunter. Now . . . at full-throttle you half-roll over and pull through. The nose of the Hunter is pointing straight down at the earth; and you are hanging forward in the straps, feeling as though you may slip out of them and fall forward at any moment. Now you are really beginning to move. The indicated speed begins to build up and so does the Mach number. Soon you are going straight down at the earth at supersonic speed. You can see the earth rushing up towards you. The needle on the altimeter is whirling madly round, reeling off thousands of feet as you go down, straight as an arrow. It's a wonderful thrill. When the Hunter is going down flat out you are falling at much more than 50,000 feet a minute.\n\nNow the ground seems to be getting a little close. You ease back the throttle, and at something below 20,000 feet begin to start easing back the control column. The earth still seems to be rushing madly at you. But gradually the nose of the Hunter comes up above the horizon. You take a glance down; the earth is not far away but you are now flying parallel to it, straight and level. And now into a zoom?\n\nBack with the control column, until the Hunter is pointing directly at the sky from which you have just ripped down. Now you are lying flat on your back in the cockpit. And this time it seems as though you are going to fall over backwards. Up, up you go, with the altimeter whirling again. You can easily shoot straight up for over 20,000 feet in the Hunter in a zoom from ground level, flying straight into space, into the blue, with very little sense of speed this time. Then you level off by pulling the Hunter on to its back and rolling out to level flight. Who would miss the thrill of flying?\n\nIn making a wide loop you use up a lot of sky, covering as much as 10,000 feet quite easily. In the Hunter the loop is not quite a circle; it is rather more oval. Up you go, over on your back, and then with a gentle movement of the control column round you come, round and down, and level out. Wonderful!\n\nDoing a series of rolls is exhilarating, too. You can do as many as eight in the Hunter while passing over the length of an airfield. When you finish rolling, for a moment or two you feel that you are a bit \"onesided\", as though you want to lean in the direction of the rolls you have just made. So, to even up your senses, you do a turn in the opposite direction.\n\nFor me there is no greater satisfaction than sitting in the cockpit of the Hunter, beautiful in design and construction, representing the thought and skill of so many people, and feeling it respond to the slightest movement of your fingers. It lives and is obedient to your slightest wish. You have the sky to play in\u2014a great limitless expanse. But you have to be careful. Physically, you must be on the topline. You must be fit. You should not fly while you have a cold. Your senses must not be blurred in any way. Should you have a cold you can get excruciating pains in the head if you vary heights rapidly. And if your senses are blurred, your reflexes dull, the Hunter will still obey you\u2014but you can both land up in trouble.\nCHAPTER 15\n\nA Look Ahead\n\nTHERE will come a time, I suppose, when I shall have to give up experimental test flying and I must confess that I am not looking forward to it. But none of us is getting younger, and sooner or later in the normal course of time I shall become less physically fit, less able to stand the effects of testing aircraft at high speed; and my reflexes will gradually become slower.\n\nOne of the reasons why you must be fit to fly modern fighter aircraft is so that you may stand the effects of G\u2014or gravity pull. To explain G as simply as possible: say you are sitting reading this book in an armchair. As you sit there, you are sitting at 1 G, that is your own weight.\n\nNow imagine yourself in an aircraft. As you fly along, straight and level, you are sitting at 1 G, no matter at what speed the aircraft is travelling. Supposing the pilot sees an object sticking up straight ahead of him: he pulls back the control column, and up goes the aircraft, and up you go too. According to the steepness of the sudden climb your weight presses harder against the seat, and the weight of your body against the seat increases to, say, double its normal weight. You are now sitting there at 2 G. And so you can go on.\n\nSupposing the pilot turns the aircraft sharply at speed. The weight of your body against the seat increases with the sharpness of its turn. Your weight may increase against the seat as the aircraft swings round to three, four, five and more times its weight. You are now sitting at 3 G, 4 G, 5 G\u2014as the case may be. We call this acceleration.\n\nSo much for G. Now what about the effects of G?\n\nAs you sit in your chair reading at 1 G, your blood is circulating quite normally away from, and to, your head. What G does as it increases, is to cause the blood to drain away faster from your head\u2014as G increases, so does the blood flow away faster. And as the blood begins to drain away from your head and your brain, so your senses begin to be affected. First, you get a feeling or sense of blurred vision and greyness, and, as G increases, of darker greyness. Next, you lose your vision and black out. Eventually you would lose consciousness if you held too high a G for too long.\n\nIf you are fit it takes very little time to regain normal sight, and usually, normal sight returns as soon as acceleration is eased. But if you are not fit, if you have been to a party and still have a certain amount of alcohol in your blood\u2014the old hangover\u2014then it takes you longer to regain your normal faculties; you begin to lose sight and, maybe, consciousness much earlier and it takes you longer to regain your normal state again.\n\nNormally you can stand four and a half G, or three and a half times your own weight, for a fairly sustained period without blacking out completely. The more you fly and pull G, the more your body becomes accustomed to withstanding acceleration\u2014it is as though you go into training to stand up to G.\n\nTo help pilots withstand G a special suit can be worn, fitting tightly round the stomach and legs. This suit has an air valve which works automatically as G increases, and as the valve opens it inflates the suit. The suit, pressing harder and harder against your legs and stomach prevents the blood from draining into them and keeps more in the upper part of the body and head. The result of this pressure is that you can stand about 2 G more.\n\nWhen in regular practice I can stand a sustained four and a half to five G and, should I wear a suit, about six and a half to seven G. You can go up to eleven or twelve G for a very short period without feeling the effects of blood draining from the head, but G of this order is not usually held for long as there is a danger of damaging the aircraft, which are not normally stressed to stand more. As a rule, I don't wear a G suit while testing. But in these days of high speed flying these suits are an absolute necessity for fighter pilots who may have to, and usually do, maintain high G for long periods during dog-fights. These manoeuvres are extremely tiring physically.\n\nThere is another kind of suit worn increasingly by pilots, and this is the pressure suit. It has to be put on if you are going to fly above 50,000 feet where the air is thin and its pressure so much less than at ground level. The pressure suit is skin tight and inflated with air; it maintains a constant pressure round the body at a great height. At the same time you wear a helmet with a glass face-piece and breathe pure oxygen. The general effect is to make you look a rather futuristic figure, or the popular idea of men from other planets.\n\nThese suits must be worn at great height whether the cabin is pressurized or not for, if the perspex hood of the cabin should crack\u2014well, there you are, suddenly and very abruptly in thin, icy air and you would retain your consciousness for about eight to ten seconds. At the same time, in the low pressure at this height, your body might expand suddenly and cause physical damage.\n\nNormally the pressure in a cabin of an aircraft flying at 50,000 feet is much the same as the actual pressure at 25,000 feet. I have had a canopy crack while flying at 40,000 feet, and it felt as though I had been hit sharply on the chest. I was very glad to be wearing a pressure waistcoat.\n\nI suppose that you could say that G suits and pressure suits are part and parcel of the business of flying faster and higher. Some people are inclined to ask: where is this urge to fly faster and higher taking us; what good does it do? Maybe it is just human nature; if man had not been curious and wanted to improve things, perhaps he would still be living in a cave and going out to catch his Sunday dinner with a stone axe.\n\nIt seems inevitable that there will always be competition for higher speeds, if not for defence then for the sake of the development of aircraft and engines. We at Hawker's are now looking ahead to the time when we may have a fighter that will fly at Mach 2, or about 1,300 miles per hour.\n\nI have often discussed this subject with Vivian Stanbury and he tells me that we may expect to reach this speed in level flight by about 1960. There will be problems to be solved in providing both the power and aircraft design before this speed can be achieved. To take some of the problems of power first, we know that a jet engine can become more powerful and develop more thrust with what is known as re-heat.\n\nNot to be too technical, re-heat can be explained this way: the ordinary jet engine swallows a quantity of air; about one-quarter of that air entering a jet is used in being burnt with fuel, the remaining three-quarters being heated to a moderate extent but passing out of the engine unburnt. Re-heat takes that unused three-quarters and uses it all up with the burning of additional fuel. The faster a jet aircraft flies, the more efficient its engines become. And it is known that with re-heat the thrust of jets flying at Mach 2 will be more than doubled\n\n36.,\n\nHawker sea Hawk\u2014half roll and down!\n\n37.,\n\nWith Winston Churchill, who was Honorary Commodore of 615 RAuxAF Squadron, at the time I commanded the Squadron\u2014Biggin Hill, 1951.\n\n38.,\n\nOur Hawker Tomtit G-AFTA, at Biggin Hill, 1954.\n\n39.,\n\nHawker test pilots; (top to bottom) Hugh Merewether, Frank Bullen, Frank Murphy, Neville Duke and Bill Bedford.\n\n40.\n\nCelebrations in 1976\u2014the twenty-fifth anniversary of the successful Hunter.\n\nYou can imagine that the high temperatures generated in a jet engine, with re-heat being used all the time, is going to be pretty fierce. And here we run into perhaps the biggest problem of all: to find metals that will be capable of withstanding that heat without losing their strength or changing their shape. It is impossible to cool the engine, so you would have to insulate the aircraft structure. And insulation is another problem.\n\nThe search at the moment is for light, strong metals that will stand up to heat. Duralumin is being used but it loses some of its strength at high temperatures. Another metal that is strong, light and heat-resisting, is titanium, but at the moment its stage of development is about the same as that of duralumin some forty years ago. It is not yet a commercial proposition.\n\nIn addition to heat from the engine, heat from the flow of air against the aircraft and particularly the cabin at great speed is also a problem. You will remember that this had to be taken into account by the High Speed Flight at Tangmere. It may be, however, that this particular problem may not be very difficult to overcome, for already work on glass fibre laminate seems to indicate that an answer may be found. This fibre laminate is light, strong, heat-resistant, and fairly easy to mould. It can be given a tensile strength of up to 50,000 lbs a square inch, which is pretty strong.\n\nNow we come to the problem of design. This is chiefly to do with the aircraft's wings\u2014to get thinner and sharper-edged wings that remain strong and firm and help the aircraft to cut through the air more easily.\n\nThe faster a machine flies, the more it disturbs the air as it pushes its way through. With a thick or blunt wing at speed the air is bumped\u2014you might say\u2014at a sharpish angle upwards and downwards on either side of the wing. This angle is reduced as the wing is made thinner. As a rough example, supposing you take a kitchen knife and get somebody to hold a piece of paper with two hands so that the edge is facing you. If you cut the paper from the edge inwards with the knife, which will not be very sharp, you will work your way through the paper with a bumpy motion. But if you cut with a razor blade you will slice through quite easily.\n\nOne of the reasons why the delta wing has been introduced is to get this sharp-edged characteristic, together with greater depth, and so increase the strength and carrying capacity of a wing. The length of a wing\u2014the distance between the leading or front edge and the trailing or rear edge\u2014is known technically as the chord. And the chord of a delta wing is long, since the wing stretches from just behind the nose of the aircraft to the tail; and therefore it may be made thinner in relation to its length. Since drag is related to thickness-chord ratio, a delta wing can have low drag although having depth for storage. At the same time, the delta shape maintains the sweep-back of a wing which has been found necessary for flying at high speeds.\n\nThe swept-back wing has its advantages for flying at speed; but it also has its disadvantages when an aircraft is flying at low speed. There has been a tendency for some aircraft with swept-back wings to drop a wing if the machine is flown too slowly. But this can be avoided by careful and special design. One remedy is to fit slats, providing small auxiliary airfoils at the wing-tips on the leading edges. Another is the crescent wing.\n\nWith crescent wings you have the sweep back, necessary for high speed; but you also have their tips of the wings levelling out again, almost straight. The advantage of crescent wings is that they enable an aircraft to have the correct wing sweep and thickness for high speed; and they also have a straight wing-tip which can prevent a wing dropping at low speed.\n\nThe span of the wing is also important\u2014that is the length of the wing from its root to its tip: the longer the span in relation to chord, the more is the lift that will be developed. This is particularly important for high altitude flight where the air is thin.\n\nWhat we are now seeing with the development of various wings is an endeavour to provide an aircraft with thin, strong, swept wings. Some people think the delta is the answer, others believe in the crescent; others again feel that the straight wing may return for supersonic flying.\n\nNow you may say: if fighter aircraft can be built to fly at 1,300 miles an hour then so can bombers and, from a defence point of view, one will cancel the other.\n\nAn interesting point here is that while we hope to produce a fighter to fly at 1,300 miles an hour comparatively soon, it may be a long time before bombers reach this speed for the cost of building and flying bombers at supersonic speeds would be colossal.\n\nOnce you reach Mach .95 the increase in drag is immense. When you begin to come up against the sonic barrier the drag is increased by three to four times, and the increase in fuel consumption to meet the need for more power is roughly the same figure. And the cost of a fleet of bombers, in terms of fuel consumption and loss of payload, pushing through the sonic barrier\u2014let alone the cost of building them\u2014would be enormous. For the same reason of expense, many people think that it will be a long time before civilian services attempt to fly at more than about Mach .95. The cost of supersonic flying would be prohibitive for commercial purposes. There is a possibility, however, that some new form of fuel\u2014perhaps atomic\u2014may be an answer for both civil and military aircraft.\n\nIt seems that, for the moment, the further development of the bomber will be in the field of the guided missile\u2014the V2 of the last war. The trend seems to be for their increasing development and use. This in turn poses the question of defence.\n\nIt may be that one method of defence against the guided missile will be the rocket-powered interceptor fighter, or guided defensive missile. Something on these lines might occur: the moment a guided missile is released in enemy territory its path is mapped by radar, and a defensive missile shot off to intercept it at a selected point. The rocket motor carries its own oxygen and is not limited to any height like a jet engine.\n\nIt may be looking rather far ahead to suggest the use of rocket interceptors in this way, particularly as a rocket motor is most expensive, burning enormous quantities of oxygen and fuel\u2014something like fifteen times the weight of fuel used by a jet for the same running time. But rocket fighters could be used for intercepting bombers at very high altitude.\n\nIn time, another development of the guided missile may have civilian uses. In the very distant future we may have things something like the V2, fitted with rudimentary wings, carrying passengers; they may work up great power for initial acceleration for a few minutes to great altitude and then glide or coast the rest of the distance\u2014in very much the same way as an electric train cuts off its motor and coasts for a portion of the distance between stations.\n\nSuch a method of gliding could be fairly economical for great distances. All the available power would be used in that quick, short acceleration; and less fuel would be burnt for that burst than if you burnt the fuel at a slower rate over the whole distance. Suppose, for argument's sake, it requires 1,000 gallons of fuel to reach the required altitude. If you double the thrust you will reach that height using less fuel, for it is a fact that you would go up in less than half the time.\n\nAll this is getting pretty well into the future; and we still have a number of present problems on our hands in working up aircraft to fly at higher speeds. One of them is what is known as \"flutter\" of aerofoils or control surfaces.\n\nWithout being technical the problem may be explained this way: a flag flutters or quivers in a strong breeze, for its cloth is very flexible. It would not flutter if it were stiff, like a weather-cock for example. Now from the point of view of an aircraft, if its wings and tail surfaces are not sufficiently stiff they will flutter at very high speeds, possibly with disastrous results. The problem is to provide the wings and tail surfaces with the necessary stiffness without increasing their weight too much.\n\nAnother problem is to avoid buffeting. This is caused by airflow at high Mach number breaking down on a part of the aircraft and forming shock waves, causing the machine to shake.\n\nThere are also a number of problems that have to do with the comfort and the safety of the pilot. They include the provision of heating at high altitude; keeping the pilot cool while he is flying at high speed; protecting him from the noise caused by the rush of air over the cabin and through such things as ventilating holes; and also making sure that the ejector seat will work efficiently while the aircraft is travelling at high speed, allowing him to bale out quickly.\n\nHelping to solve these problems and to develop new types of aircraft are all part of the experimental test pilot's job. Nowadays, perhaps, it is not easy to become a test pilot. It is only by flying with one of the services, that a pilot can obtain the necessary flying experience to consider such an occupation. It is also necessary to attend the Empire Test Pilots' School if the training is to be complete. With this experience, and having spent a period testing at a service establishment, such as the Aeroplane and Armament Experimental Establishment at Boscombe Down or the Royal Aircraft Establishment at Farnborough, the prospective test pilot is equipped for employment by the leading aircraft firms as a pilot on experimental work.\n\nA test pilot has to be very fit. He has to get used to wearing all sorts of equipment\u2014pressure suits, G suits, pressure waistcoats and masks, to withstand very high G and high rates of climb and descent perhaps in the order of 60,000 feet per minute, and flying at heights up to 40,000 feet without a pressure cabin. High flying in particular calls for complete fitness and freedom from the unpleasant affliction of \"bends\" or lack of oxygen in the blood stream which causes extreme pain. Deep sea divers can experience a similar effect.\n\nA test pilot, particularly a pilot engaged on experimental or research flying, must thoroughly enjoy doing his work and love flying for its own sake. If the day should come when he does not enjoy flying or if he loses interest in the work, then it is time to seek another occupation. It is true, I think, that the more flying you do, within reason, the more you want to fly. I found this so on operations during the war and still find it so today.\n\nThere is normally no guarantee of employment for a test pilot after he retires and his whole career and livelihood depend on his remaining fit and keen.\n\nThese facts are known to all test pilots but it is significant that there has never been a lack of men to come forward and take up a test flying career. The number of pilots required is limited and the qualifications severe.\n\nAnybody embarking upon such a career should realize all these points, but I think they will find the work sufficient reward in itself and achieve a tremendous sense of satisfaction and pride in taking part in a job which, I feel, has no equal in any other walk of life in its opportunities for initiative, skill and technical achievement.\nAddendum\n\nIN the summer of 1953, the Hunter was well into the development stages for the RAF and at Hawkers we had a very fast Hunter, the original prototype fitted with re-heat. During the course of the flight development programme it was decided to make an attempt on the World Air Speed Record. The Americans had only recently achieved 715.75 miles per hour (1,151.64 kilometres per hour), when Lieutenant Colonel William F Barnes secured it for his country, flying an F 86D Sabre.\n\nFlying from RAF Tangmere, the all-red Hunter (WB188) achieved 727.63 miles per hour (1,170.76 kilometres per hour) off Littlehampton on September 7th. This was to be the last attempt made in the United Kingdom using the original FAI regulations requiring the record to be the best of four three-kilometre runs below 100 metres (328 feet). Flying as low as possible the sensation of speed was exhilarating but left little margin for error.\n\nIt was during a previous attempt on September 1 st that we nearly came unstuck when one undercarriage leg was sucked out with a big bang as I ran in over Bognor Pier, passing about 300 feet with speed building to 700 miles per hour! The Hunter whipped over the vertical and I was nearly into the sea. Such was the strength of the Hunter that it held together _in extremis._ I landed her back at Dunsfold on two wheels without too much further damage. The Hawker Experimental Department had the wing off, repaired at Kingston in double quick time and we were back in the air on the seventh to make the record run that same day.\n\nThis was all nicely timed to attend the Farnborough Air Show on the following day and the day after that it was into the Rapide and lunch with the Prime Minister at Chequers! Flying from Dunsfold on the nineteenth we gained the 100 kilometre closed circuit speed record of 709.2 miles per hour. This lovely aeroplane now resides in the good hands of the RAF Cosford Museum.\n\nI last flew a Hunter in 1983 to commemorate the thirtieth anniversary of these World Speed Records and to raise some funds for the Stoke Mandeville Hospital. The flight over Tangmere and along the old High Speed flight course off Littlehampton stirred a few memories. It is a source of quiet satisfaction that the Hunter turned out to be such a great success and became a classic fighter loved and acclaimed by pilots. Some two thousand were produced and served with no less than eighteen air forces around the world.\n\nForty-three years after it first flew, the Hunter was still in front line service with the Swiss Air Force in large numbers but sadly not now. Neither is it now in service in this country with any RAF establishments but many are still in private hands throughout the world, and most particularly in the United Kingdom, Europe, the United States, New Zealand, Australia and South Africa. The Chilean Air Force still possess some but they are not now in regular use if at all. What a wonderful service record it enjoyed though, and with justification!\n\nThroughout 1954 and into the summer of 1955, the Hunter test programme continued. By this time the Hunter was in RAF service, 43 Squadron having received the first ones at the end of July 1954, but service and company testing is an on-going ritual. In August 1955 I was carrying out gun-firing tests at sea level off Littlehampton at 700 miles per hour when there was a sudden bang which shook the Hunter. I throttled back immediately, scanning the instruments, but I could neither see nor feel any damage. However, as soon as I began to open up again, the engine was decidedly rough\u2014temperature well off the clock\u2014and then it stopped.\n\nI managed to glide the aeroplane back towards Ford, trying to save the aeroplane. There is little use in a test pilot, having once discovered a problem, deciding to leave it and bale out. Either he or someone else will only run into it again if the reason is not discovered and corrected. There is, of course, a fine dividing line between loss of aeroplane and pilot and just the loss of an aeroplane, but that is all part of the test pilot's judgement. As some might put it\u2014that's what one is paid for!\n\nI got the machine down, thinking to myself that it was a turbine blade failure due to an engine surge whilst firing the four 30mm Aden guns and so it proved. However, for getting the Hunter safely back on the deck, I was surprised but honoured to receive the Queen's Commendation for Valuable Service in the Air.\n\nTwo days later, after an engine change, I went back down to Ford to collect the aeroplane. Everything seemed in order and take-off was no problem. As I cleared 1,000 feet, with Chichester Harbour just below me, I found that the throttle control only gave me idling thrust. I was suddenly faced with very few options.\n\nRAF Thorney Island, which was almost underneath me, was the nearest aerodrome so I dropped down towards it. Due to my position I arrived with too much airspeed for a normal landing but insufficient excess speed to make a circuit in order to land on the main runway. Losing height I tried to put it down across the airfield on a rough grass surface, the ASI showing about 200 miles per hour. Touching down on this uneven surface put the poor old Hunter into a series of bounces that comes with a tricycle undercarriage which puts the machine's centre of gravity well aft. Something had to be done quickly as I was fast running out of landing space and in any event the Hunter was virtually out of control. I selected \"wheels-up\" but only one wheel retracted although it was enough to avert a fatal stall off the top of one of the rapidly increasing bounces.\n\nSitting helplessly in the cockpit, I jettisoned the hood and cut the fuel while the aeroplane careered into a number of arcs, I had no control over my destiny whilst being shaken unmercifully. Reaching the edge of the aerodrome it hurtled across a ditch before crunching nose first into a sea-wall on the other side. The machine broke up but I emerged from the mess with only cuts and bruises but aching badly. I can't remember how much pain I had at that precise moment, but it was later found that I had in fact fractured my spine. The problem with the Hunter had been caused by a small particle of fluff in a fuel control valve.\n\nI was on my back and in a plaster-cast for a while but was able to return to flying, although still in plaster. I suffered a good deal of discomfort in my back at times but recovered reasonably well and I was able to continue the Hunter development. This included gun-firing trials to clear up some problems we were still having.\n\nAll went well, that is until May 9th 1956, when the crunch came in the literal sense\u2014I crushed a disc and damaged my back following a very heavy landing in the P1099. The vertical impact was sufficient to also dislodge some teeth fillings!\n\nThe reason for this little adventure was that Hawkers had the P1121 private venture air superiority strike aircraft under construction at Kingston. In the mock-up layout the view from the cockpit appeared marginal, particularly in the landing attitude and it was decided to simulate the windscreen arrangement on the development Mark 6 Hunter\u2014P1099. I think we proved the point! The project was eventually abandoned at Hawkers who then turned their attention to vertical take-off development.\n\nI was now in big trouble and out of action flat on my back for a long time and in extreme pain. I eventually took to the air again after five months of useless inaction but after a few flights in October 1956, I realised that I could not take more than very limited \"G\" forces without considerable discomfort. The Hawker Company had been extremely tolerant and could not have been more helpful and understanding with the problem but I felt I could not remain on as a \"lame duck\" chief test pilot. It was mutually agreed and now quite obvious that I could not do the job any further and I sadly resigned.\n\nI was very sad indeed to leave Hawkers where I had spent many happy years. It was a wonderful firm to work for and I feel honoured and privileged to have had that good fortune.\n\nAt least I left the company with a brilliant team of test pilots. Bill Bedford, who had been carrying the load of Hawker development during my indisposition, took over as Chief Test Pilot. He and Hugh Merewether subsequently did a magnificent job in the development of vertical take-off with the P1127\u2014later to become the successful Harrier. Hugh, in turn, became Chief Test Pilot being followed in this capacity by Duncan Simpson. Frank Murphy, Frank Bullen, David Lockspeiser and Don Lucey maintained there meticulous standards they always set in flight testing the production Hunters.\n\n*** * ***\n\nFor the next couple of years I cast around for another way of life but flying was really the only thing I wanted to do. I filled in this period in the wilderness with various part-time flying jobs and eventually decided to get a commercial pilots licence and fly for a living\u2014as opposed to test flying!\n\nDuring these wilderness years of 1957-58 I managed to keep my hand in on freelance flying and consultancy work with Fairey Aviation and Field Aircraft Services, amongst others. The flying was varied but limited and included an element of testing with Field Aircraft Services, on a variety of types, including F 86 and CF 100 Sabres for the Royal Canadian Air Force. I flew anything I could get my hands on, from a splendid Tiger Moth delivery from Croydon to Dublin, to a fifty-hour flight with a piston engine Provost to Rangoon for the Burmese Air Force. Much of 1958 and 1959 was taken up with flight testing the Garland-Bianchi \"Linnet\" light two-seater.\n\nWe had formed a bit of a trio at Field Aircraft and impecably led by Ken Burvill, we managed another Provost delivery to Khartoum for the Sudanese Air Force but lost one on the way when Andrew \"Pants\" Bloomer ditched some miles off Tarquinia on the Nice\u2013Rome leg. Being a former Navy pilot he elected to put down on the sea rather than bale out\u2014although the options were discussed over the r\/t at some length whilst he was on the glide down. I thought we had lost him that time; although he put it down with great expertise there was a bit of a sea running and the aircraft immediately went on its back when the fixed undercarriage touched the water. It seemed an age before he literally bobbed to the surface. By buzzing the harbour at Tarquinia I was eventually relieved to see a fishing boat put out and follow me to the rescue. A well-oiled Andrew was eventually located in a harbour wine bar very late that night. The splendid Italians had been extremely hospitable and I think they enjoyed the adventure.\n\nAndrew was a great character and fun to fly with\u2014never a dull moment with him around but he had been lucky on this occasion, it being a very cold February day and a very cold sea. The sequel to this was a replacement delivery in April 1959 taking Gwen along as an autopilot and a return flight with a load of monkeys in a DC6 of the Africargo Service.\n\nIn the winter of 1959-60 I grappled with a correspondence course for a full commercial pilots licence and civil instrument rating in order to take up a part-time appointment with Sir George Dowty, as his personal pilot. The Dowty Group, founded by Sir George before the war, was and is, a major supplier of components for air forces and aviation worldwide.\n\nThis job introduced me to quite another aviation experience flying all over Europe in a DH Dove in all weathers, day and night, to all sorts of interesting places while meeting all sorts of interesting people. This included the Messerschmitt design team at Munich, and Heinkel and Dornier on lovely Lake Constance.\n\nI formed Duke Aviation Limited for the purpose of operating on charter and executive work with the Dove and my own Piper Comanche which had previously been operated by Donald Campbell. This also enabled me to carry out some contract freelance test flying for a number of companies.\n\nAs time went by the executive use of the Dove by the Dowty Group had expanded to a full-time requirement and so in 1969 I handed over operations to McAlpine Aviation, so that I could expand my test flying commitments, in particular with Miles Aviation as their nominated test pilot.\n\nSadly the following year, there was an accident with the Dowty Dove at Wolverhampton and both pilots were killed. I was asked to revive Dowty Group Hying with another Dove and eventually set up the operation with a full-time two-man crew. The Dove was followed over the years by King Air 100 and 200 aircraft. I relinquished this responsibility to the very capable hands of Captain Don Ward and Captain Tony Watts in 1979.\n\n*** * ***\n\nWhile with the Dowty-Rotol Group, I tested their ducted fan developments and later, with Edgley Aircraft Limited, flew the \"Optica\" certification and development tests from 1984-86. The following year it was with Brooklands Aerospace Group as company test pilot. Then more Optica work and also work on the Field-master (crop dusting) aeroplane and its development into the Firemaster for water bombing. I was test flying until 1994 at the age of seventy-four and have been a private owner of a Piper Warrior since 1995.\n\nThe old back problem has never gone away and there remain constant encounters with occasional immobility but fortunately I have retained my medical flying category. I have flown some two hundred and thirty different aeroplane types, all of which has helped fill a good many flying log books and taken me to many parts of the world.\n\nSailing is my diversion and (some of the time) my wife Gwen enjoys this part of our lives together. Over the last forty-nine years we have sailed in North European and Mediterranean waters. All my recent boats I have named \"High Flight\" and here's why:\n\nOh, I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth\n\nAnd danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;\n\nSunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth\n\nOf sun-split clouds\u2014and done a hundred things\n\nYou have not dreamed of\u2014wheeled and soared and swung\n\nHigh in the sunlit silence: hovering there,\n\nI've chased the shouting wind along, and flung\n\nMy eager craft through footless halls of air.\n\nUp, up the long, delerious burning blue\n\nI've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace\n\nWhere never lark, or even eagle ever flew\u2014\n\nAnd, while the silent lifting mind I've trod\n\nThe high untrespassed sanctity of space,\n\nPut out my hand and touched the face of God.\n\n_(Written by Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee Jr, killed in action with No 412 Squadron RCAF in 1941.)_\n\nThe war from Biggin Hill, the Western Desert, Tunisia and over Italy sometimes seem so very far away, but at other times so near and so very clear. Yet in over sixty years of flying, those three years are merely a fraction of the time I've spent in the sky. In a way, test flying has always been to me a mental continuation of operational flying\u2014in fact our losses in the five year post-war period amounted to thirty-two of our test pilots. A peacetime attrition rate unsustainable even under wartime operational flying.\n\nTest flying, like wartime flying, has its moments of danger, of apprehension, when one's skill, knowledge and experience are one's only ally. But both have given me enjoyment as well as sadness. The loss of a friend in action is no less sorrowful than the loss of a test pilot friend such as John Derry, or Mike Lithgow.\n\nNow, over eighty years old, some people think it might be time to give up flying but when I get airborne the old adrenalin flows and the same interest and dedication seems to be there. It's too late to stop anyway. Perhaps when it ceases to be fun.\n\nOne doesn't make all the right decisions in life, but I got two right. The first was to make flying my career and the second was to marry Gwen. And one thing is for certain; I would not have missed either for the world\u2014especially the latter!\n\nLife is all luck and I have had more than my fair share of the commodity but what fate decreed that I should be blessed with the greatest luck of all in the shape of Gwen? We are not just very happily married, we are very, very good friends.\n\nNeville Duke,\n\nHampshire,\n\nJanuary 2003\nRecord of Service\n\nRAF Depot, Uxbridge.\n\nRAF Padgate, Liverpool.\n\nNo. 4 ITW Bexhill and Devon.\n\nNo. 13 EFTS RAF White Waltham\u2014first Solo 6th Sept 1940.\n\nNo. 1 EFTS Hatfield. No. 5 FTS Sealand.\n\nNo. 5 FTS Tern Hill\u2014\"Wings\" Feb 1941.\n\nNo. 58 OTU Grangemouth.\n\nNo. 92 Squadron, RAF Biggin Hill\u2014April 1941.\n\nPosted to Middle East November 1941.\n\nNo. 112 Squadron, Western Desert, November 1941.\n\nShot down by Obfw Otto Schulz of JG27, November 30th 1941.\n\nShot down by pilot of JG27, December 5th 1941.\n\nAwarded DFC, March 1942.\n\nCompleted first tour April 1942 having flown one hundred and sixty-one operational sorties in two hundred and twenty-one operational hours; Fighter School, Suez, April 1942.\n\nNo. 92 Squadron, 18th November 1942\u2014Flight Lieutenant January 1943.\n\nAwarded bar to DFC January 1943.\n\nAwarded DSO March 1943.\n\nCompleted second tour April 1943 having flown one hundred and thirty-two further sorties in two hundred and three operational hours.\n\nNo. 73 OTU Abu Sueir, as CFI\u2014Squadron Leader.\n\nNo. 145 Squadron, March 1944, Italy\u2014Commanding Officer.\n\nAwarded second bar to DFC, May 1944.\n\nBrought down by flak June 7th 1944.\n\nCompleted third tour September 20th 1944 after one hundred and ninety-three operations in two hundred and eighty-eight operational hours. Total operational sorties four hundred and eighty-six during seven hundred and twelve operational flying hours.\n\nReturned to United Kingdom, October 1944.\n\nTest Pilot attached to Hawkers, January 1st 1945.\n\nNo. 4 ETPS Course, Cranfield, January 1946.\n\nAwarded Czech War Cross 1946.\n\nHigh Speed Flight, June 1946.\n\nAircraft and Armament Experimental Establishment, Boscombe Down, March 1947.\n\nAwarded AFC, 1948.\n\nResigned Commission June 1948 to join Hawkers as Test Pilot.\n\nAppointed Chief Test Pilot 1951.\n\nSquadron Leader in Royal Auxiliary Air Force, commanding 615 Squadron 1950-51.\n\nAwarded OBE January 1953.\n\nAwarded Queen's Commendation for Valuable Service in the Air, 1955.\n\nRelinquished Hawker appointment late 1956 due to fractured back and spinal injuries sustained in Hunter crash following engine failure.\n\nFreelance flying and consultancy work, 1957-60.\n\nPersonal Pilot to Sir George Dowty, of the Dowty Group, 1960-69, and 1970-79.\n\nFormed Duke Aviation Limited, 1960-1982.\n\nBrooklands Aerospace Group 1987.\n\nCompany and Freelance Test Pilot.\n\nOptica flight test and development.\n\nFieldmaster and Firemaster aircraft testing.\n\n**_Combat Successes 1941-44_**\n\nIndex\n\nAdcock, Rev,\n\nAnderson, Lt J S, , ,\n\nArcher, FO P, , ,\n\nAskey, Fit Sgt M W H,\n\nAtcherley, AVM R L R,\n\nAyres, C,\n\nBaker, FO B D,\n\nBaldwin, Gp Capt J E,\n\nBanner, Fit Lt F,\n\nBartle, FO J, ,\n\nBateman, Billy,\n\nBatten, Jean,\n\nBedford, A W, , , ,\n\nBeisieger, Lt D J,\n\nBell, W Cdr,\n\nBloomer, A,\n\nBooth, J,\n\nBoothman, AM Sir J,\n\nBrennan, Fit Lt Doc,\n\nBrettell, Fit Lt E G, , , , , ,\n\nBrickhill, FO P,\n\nBroad, Capt H S, , ,\n\nBroadhurst, AVM H,\n\nBrown, Fit Lt J A,\n\nBruce, FO A, ,\n\nBruinier, Fit Lt,\n\nBulman,PWS,\n\nBullen, F, , , , , -, , ,\n\nBurvill, K,\n\nBurney, Sgt T,\n\nCaldwell, W Cdr C R, ,\n\nCampbell, D,\n\nCamm, Sir S, , , , , , ,\n\nCarpenter, Sqn Ldr J M V, ,\n\nCarson, Sgt K, ,\n\nChaplin, R, ,\n\nChapman, P,\n\nChinaworth, Fit Sgt,\n\nChisholm,FltLtWL, ,\n\nChurchill, Sir W, , , , , , ,\n\nCobham, Sir A, .\n\nCockburn, CdrJC,\n\nColquhoun, L R,\n\nConingham, AM Sir A, ,\n\nCoopman, B, ,\n\nCornish, Fit Lt, J, ,\n\nCox, Sqn Ldr G J, , , , , ,\n\nCox, Peggy, , ,\n\nCox, Sgt,\n\nCross, F,\n\nCunningham, Gp Capt J, , , -, ,\n\nD'Aeth, AM Sir J,\n\nDaniels, Sqn Ldr SWF, -\n\nDarnley, Lord,\n\nDarwin, W Cdr J,\n\nDeere, A Cdre A C,\n\ndeHavilland, G, ,\n\nDe La Torre, Sqn Ldr B E,\n\nDeny, Sqn Ldr J, -, , , , , , , , , -, ,\n\nDerry, Eve, ,\n\nDeMontbron, Lt, ,\n\nDevitt, Sqn LdrP,\n\nDickson, ACM W, -\n\nDonaldson, Gp Capt A H,\n\nDonaldson, Gp Capt EM, , , , , ,\n\nDowty, SirG,\n\nDuke, F H (father), , , , , , ,\n\nDuke, Gwen (wife), , -, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nDuke, Jane (mother), , , , , , ,\n\nDuke, Peggy (sister), , , , , , ,\n\nDuncan-Smith, Gp Capt W G,\n\nDundas, Gp Capt Sir H,\n\nDu Toit, Lt F M, ,\n\nDu Vivier, W Cdr D A R G,\n\nEdmondson, L, ,\n\nEkbury, FO J S, ,\n\nElliott, AVM R D,\n\nFellows, Miss Gwen (see Duke, Gwen)\n\nFokes, Sqn Ldr R H, , ,\n\nFox, F,\n\nFraser, Miss Peggy, (see Cox, Peggy)\n\nGarretto, Maggiore G, ,\n\nGarton, Sqn Ldr G W,\n\nGibbs, Bob,\n\nGleed, W Cdr I R, ,\n\nGlendinning, FO A,\n\nGower, Pauline,\n\nGrandy, Sir J,\n\nGreene, Lt S M,\n\nHamer, FO J,\n\nHarper, Sqn LdrWJ, ,\n\nHavercroft, Sqn Ldr R E,\n\nHawker, Harry,\n\nHayward, A, , , , ,\n\nHeath, W Cdr B,\n\nHughes, Fit Sgt W,\n\nHumble, Bill, , , , , , ,\n\nHumphreys, Sqn Ldr P H, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nHymans, M, ,\n\nIgo, Sqn Ldr W A K,\n\nIsaac, Fit Lt B,\n\nJamieson, R W,\n\nJefferies, FO \"Butch\", ,\n\nJeffrey, W Cdr P,\n\nJohnson, Amy,\n\nKallio, Sqn Ldr O C,\n\nKer, FO D,\n\nKingaby, W Cdr D E, , , , , , , ,\n\nKingcome, Gp Capt C B F, , , , , , -, , , , ,\n\nLaw,LtCdrR, ,\n\nLawrence, P G,\n\nLegros, Mrs,\n\nLemon, P, , ,\n\nLinnard, W Cdr S,\n\nLithgow, Lt Cdr M J, ,\n\nLivesey, Derek,\n\nLockspeiser, D,\n\nLorimer, Fit Sgt D H, ,\n\nLucas, PG, , , , ,\n\nLucey, D, , ,\n\nLund, Fit Lt J W, , , ,\n\nMacDonald, Fit Lt W A R,\n\nMackenzie, FO R J,\n\nMcKernan, Fit Sgt R W,\n\nMcMahon, PO, , ,\n\nMackie, W Cdr E D,\n\nMagee, PO JG,\n\nMalan, G Capt A G, , , , ,\n\nMarmol, F,\n\nMarseille, Ltn H-J,\n\nMartin, W Cdr R F,\n\nMason, Sqn Ldr E M,\n\nMeadows, Sqn Ldr J,\n\nMilborrow, Lt J,\n\nMilne, W Cdr R M,\n\nMollison, J A,\n\nMontgomery, Sir B,\n\nMorgan, G,\n\nMorgan, Sqn Ldr J M, ,\n\nMorgan, Lloyd, ,\n\nMorrell, E S, , , , ,\n\nMorrello, Sqn Ldr F V, ,\n\nMorris, W Cdr E J,\n\nMorris, Sgt, ,\n\nMottram, FO R, , ,\n\nMuller, Uffz H,\n\nMungo-Park, Sqn Ldr J C, ,\n\nMurphy, Sqn Ldr F, , , , , , , , , , , ,\n\nMurphy, Gloria,\n\nMuspratt, R, ,\n\nNeve & Sons,\n\nNewman, Fit Sgt A G,\n\nNorman, D,\n\nNorris, FO L, ,\n\nOlver, Sqn Ldr P, ,\n\nParbury, Fit Lt C R,\n\nPaterson, Fit Sgt H,\n\nPelly, A Cdre, ,\n\nPendrey, Bill,\n\nPike G,\n\nPowell, W Cdr H P,\n\nPreston, Mrs K,\n\nRankin, Gp Capt J E, , , , , , , , , ,\n\nRea, FO,\n\nReid, Sgt,\n\nRichards, A, -, , , ,\n\nRobb, AM Sir J, , ,\n\nRobinson, W Cdr M L, ,\n\nRoglai, S Ten A,\n\nRommel, FM E, , , , , ,\n\nRose, PO G,\n\nRozier, ACM F E,\n\nSales, Fit Sgt J,\n\nSanderson, Fit Lt S,\n\nSands, FO K,\n\nSavage, FO T \"Doc\", ,\n\nSayer, Walter,\n\nScheider, Ltn H,\n\nScuddy, PO,\n\nSear, Lt,\n\nShillingford, R,\n\nSholto-Douglas, Sir W,\n\nSilk, F, , ,\n\nSly, Fit Lt E, , ,\n\nSmith, S,\n\nSoames, C,\n\nSoden, Gp Capt F O,\n\nSohn, C,\n\nSomers, FO,\n\nSopwith,T O M,\n\nSpriggs, N, ,\n\nSowrey, Sqn Ldr F,\n\nSterling, Mrs M,\n\nSimpson, D,\n\nStirling, Fit Sgt Jock,\n\nStranks, D,\n\nSutton, F, ,\n\nTedder, Lord,\n\nTellerchi, S Ten,\n\nThompson, FO,\n\nThompson, FO Tommy,\n\nTurner, Bill, ,\n\nTurner, Gp Capt P S, , ,\n\nTurvey, FO,\n\nVickers, I, ,\n\nWade, Sqn Ldr T S, , , , , , , -, , -, , , ,\n\nWade, Josephine, ,\n\nWarburton, W Cdr A,\n\nWard Capt, D.\n\nWaskett, Ofhr,\n\nWaterton, Sqn Ldr Bill, , , ,\n\nWatts, Capt A,\n\nWedgewood, Sqn Ldr J H, , ,\n\nWeisse, Fit Lt, ,\n\nWestenra, Sqn Ldr D F, , ,\n\nWheeler, Gp Capt AH,\n\nWhittamore, Sqn Ldr W M,\n\nWhittington, Fit Lt L M,\n\nWillans, Maj T S, , ,\n\nWilliams, A,\n\nWillis, Bill, ,\n\nWilson, Gp Capt H J, ,\n\nWooler, Fit Lt J,\n\nWright, Gp Capt A C, , -, ,\n\nZurakowski, Sqn Ldr J, , \n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}