Doctor Who_ Just War - Lance Parkin [74]
‘The RAF have the advantage, certainly,’ the Doctor said dryly. ‘We need to get down there, try to find a clue to Hartung’s whereabouts.’
A small group of bombers had separated from the main party five minutes before the start of the attack, while the squadrons were still over the English Channel. At the airfield, the first reports of the attack on the harbour were being radioed in. Fighter crews were scrambled, but the RAF
bombers arrived seconds before the pilots reached their planes. Not a single fighter was launched, and both runways were carpet-bombed. Over two dozen trained Luftwaffe pilots and a whole squadron of Messerschmitt fighters were caught in the explosions.
The RAF were free to continue their raid unmolested.
Fires had broken out by now in dozens of places all over the town. These lit the battlefield for the air force, allowing them a much clearer view. As yet, there wasn’t any thick smoke to blot out the view.
It was time for the RAF to consolidate their position. It was time to drop the incendiaries. Thousands upon thousands of tiny devices were dropped, each one bursting into flame as it hit the ground. Before long, these little fires had joined up, and the whole of central Granville was ablaze.
Fire tore through the shopping streets.
‘Run, Chris, run!’
All around was choking black smoke. Chris could hear the Doctor’s voice, but couldn’t see him. The ground rocked with each detonation. The bombardment was concentrated a little way behind them, but the explosions came as rapid as machine-gun fire, and were getting nearer. The sky was filled with incendiaries, pouring over the town like a rainstorm.
The Doctor was suddenly standing in front of him.
‘It’s too heavy. We won’t reach the townhouse. We need to get into a shelter,’ he was saying. ‘Follow me.’
Chris was a pilot, he’d fought in simulated combat missions. Down here, though, he found it impossible to find his bearings: the planes seemed to be coming from all directions at once. They roared overhead, almost impossibly low.
There were screams to their right. The Doctor stopped in mid-step. He looked back at Chris. They had to help.
Edging across the rubble, they found a man trapped under a chunk of masonry. Chris looked around, trying to see if the slab had come from a building or from the road itself.
The Doctor motioned to him, and together they tried to move the slab away. After a moment, the little man let go.
‘We’re too late,’ he said sadly.
Chris looked around. Why were there so many people on the streets? There were soldiers and firemen, but also civilians: a small crowd of men, women and children, all heading in one direction. As he watched some were blown off their feet, others were pelted with rubble. Why weren’t they under cover?
‘Doctor. They’re heading for a public shelter!’ he shouted over the clamour.
‘It’s our only chance!’ replied the Doctor.
Together, they followed the stream of people.
The townhouse used by the Luftwaffe zbV as their regional headquarters had been completed in 1715. It was referred to by the experts as one of the finest of the early works of the architect Jean Lassurance. It had been ordered by a wealthy naval officer, and had taken eight months to build.
It was partially demolished when a two-thousand-pound bomb exploded in the street outside. The façade of the house shattered, as did all the glass. The statues on the roof fell through the rafters. Shrapnel and debris tore holes in the walls in the rooms that faced the sea. There was no time for a fire to start: twenty seconds after the first explosion, the RAF scored a direct hit, and the building was blown apart. It had been built before the age of high explosive, and so not even the wine cellars were safe. The walls were thrown outwards, the roof collapsing to the ground. Fire swept through the wreckage, consuming every piece of antique furniture, every book in the library, every painting and tapestry.
They dashed across the park, which exploded around them.
Ahead was the entrance to the public shelter. A woman with