The Dark of the Moon

Prologue

It was another long night shift at Fighter Command HQ.

From their viewpoint on the gantry in the intruder operations room, the duty controller and his new assistant contemplated the sloping table beneath them, painted with an outline map of Britain, France and the Low Countries.

The two Women’s Auxiliary Air Force officers plotted the movements of any aircraft across the Channel and the North Sea, either outgoing or inbound.

Tonight, all was quiet. Bad weather had grounded both the German and British bomber forces, so the table remained clear, uncluttered by any nocturnal threats.

But then one of the WAAFs placed a single aircraft on the map, and the controller watched as it inched its lonely way out across the Channel.

‘What’s that then?’ the assistant asked.

‘A Special. They go out in all weathers. But you’ll only see them fly during the fortnight either side of the full moon.’

‘What are they up to?’

‘No idea. No one here knows. Official Secrets Act stuff, I suppose, and none of our business. If they told us, they’d have to shoot us. They go out, then a few hours later you’ll see them come back. Usually, at least.’

‘Sooner them than me, in this weather.’ The assistant shuddered, reaching for his mug of tea.

In their underground headquarters they were cocooned from the outside, but the meteorological reports were grim.

For a moment, he imagined what it must feel like to be piloting that lonely aircraft, flying resolutely onwards over the darkened, stormy sea towards enemy-occupied territory.

They watched as the WAAF officer moved the solitary aircraft another inch closer to the French coast.

‘Well, I’ll tell you what it is, Group Captain,’ the assistant said, as he pushed aside a pile of papers and put his cup back down, settling in for a quiet night. ‘It’s a mystery. No. More than that, it’s a – whatchamacallit? – a ruddy enigma, that’s what it is.’