When Felix Baer lifted his head to take it, I saw that he was shaking too.

Then I knew why Jamie offered it. Death had missed them both by an inch, come close enough they saw what it looked like—now they were surprisingly alive after all and able to share a smoke.

Baer nodded and took a drag on Jamie’s cigarette, sitting with his arms tied behind him, breathing hard and with a face like raw mince. Jamie stood there, helping him nurse the smoke as if the Jerry pilot were a burn victim on his back in hospital.

“Hey, anyone here speak Kraut?” Chip asked.

There was not one volunteer. Jamie gave a start, as if he were going to speak up for Mrs. Warner, but he thought better and kept quiet.

Then 648 Squadron’s Wing Commander Talbot Cromwell came striding out, all ruffled up with importance, his frowning eyebrows like hairy caterpillars having a battle. Phyllis trotted behind him, running like a terrier to keep up.

“Beaufort-Stuart, what’s the matter with you, are you some kind of collaborator now?” Cromwell rumbled. “Stand back. I want all three of these men under lock and key.”

“Shall I ring Coastal Command Headquarters and ask for a prisoner transfer?” Phyllis offered.

“Pennyworth, don’t you dare.”

Phyllis looked startled. Jamie backed away from Baer and took a shaking, defiant pull on his Woodbine, watching our crabbit commander through narrowed eyes like hot coals.

Talbot Cromwell didn’t want to let those Jerries out of his hands. He had a sack of excuses ready.

“This is an Intelligence issue uniquely connected to Windyedge,” he puffed. “There’s a designated agent to contact. I’ll conduct the first interview myself.” He took a keek around him and asked the same question as Chip: “Have we a German speaker here?”

Hanging on to Louisa with one arm, old Jane raised her other hand high. She stood straight as a spear, eyes snapping fire and ice, like a very ancient goddess. In her music hall trumpet of a voice, Jane volunteered, “I speak a little German.”

Old Cromwell’s hairy caterpillars tried to do backflips.

He growled, “Volunteer McEwen, what in blazes are these civilians doing on this aerodrome?”

“I had to collect the map courier from Stonehaven,” I said. “I gave Mrs. Warner and her girl a lift from the library, as a favor to Mrs. Campbell; no petrol wasted. But when the planes came in I didn’t take the time to drop off the civilian passengers. Sergeant Fergusson let us through. Sir!”

Cromwell barked at me, “Got an answer for everything, haven’t you, McEwen?” Then he barked at Phyllis and Jamie, “Flight Officer Pennyworth—incident report! Flight Lieutenant Beaufort-Stuart! Take your lads for debriefing. And get some clothes on, all of you.”