The RE8 was a heavy machine to fly, yet the pilot managed to turn it so for a few moments it was flying upside down. Brand had strapped himself into his seat. Grimm hadn’t. The roll took him by surprise. He began to fall from the plane. He grabbed the machine gun to stop himself from falling but the stream of air was tugging at him at ninety miles an hour... and he only had one hand... and he had his pack on his front dragging him down. With a hopeless cry his fingers slipped off the cold metal of the gun and he tumbled out of the sky towards the grey-green fields below.

Then he remembered the parachute on his back. He fumbled for the handle on his shoulder and jerked at it. For a few moments it seemed as if the parachute had failed. Then suddenly it opened like a white flower. His fall slowed and the straps tore into his ribs.

He drifted like a dandelion seed but still felt it was too fast to land safely. The ground seemed to rush to meet him. He stiffened his legs to push it away. His right boot hit the ground first and his leg twisted. He felt pain shoot up the leg as something in his ankle gave way.

Then his body hit the ground. The pack with the precious plans broke his fall and saved his face from the damp earth. The parachute was whipped by the wind and dragged him along, painfully fast till it caught in a hedge and collapsed.

Finally he lay still, moaning and hurting but alive. It took him a quarter-hour to gather his wits that had scattered over the cornfield. He managed to unfasten the parachute and sit up.

A cold shower of rain woke him from his daze and he looked around. His pack had come free in the tumble but was lying a few yards away. He struggled to his feet and hobbled across to it. His leg hurt but he could limp through the corn stubble and look around.

The land sloped gently down. He knew Cléry was near the river so if he headed downhill he would find it. Benedict was there, he knew. Benedict would help him recover till it was time to cross the lines to the German comrades who would pay them for their secrets.

He almost managed a smile as he stumbled through a gate on to a rough track. A church steeple in the distance showed there was a village less than a mile away. He set off.

Aimee and Marius clutched at one another as they waited for the plane to shoot them. When it pulled out of its dive and disappeared to the east they sank to their knees – Aimee felt as weak as Marius.

‘He could have killed us,’ Marius said.