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to tell him something he knew already.
    ‘No. 380 Squadron,’ the group captain continued, ‘was originally formed as part of No. 2 Group’s striking force, for the purpose of carrying out low-level attacks, mainly by day, on specific objectives on the continent of Europe. As you are aware, there are already eleven other squadrons within the Group, each with more or less the same task. They will eventually form the spearhead of a greatly expanded and powerful tactical force which will operate in direct support of Allied land forces when the day comes to push back across the Channel.’
    Yeoman pricked up his ears. It was the first time he had heard anyone in authority mention a forthcoming Allied invasion of Europe in such definite terms.
    ‘However,’ Sampson went on, ‘your squadron will not be operating in the tactical role, although for reasons of security that is the impression we have fostered so far, and will continue to foster for as long as possible. Let me explain further.’ He reached out and picked up a pink folder from the edge of Davidson’s desk. He tapped it with his index finger and said: ‘This is our profit and loss account, Yeoman. A summary of the operations of RAF Bomber Command and the United States Eighth Bomber Command since March this year, since we stepped up the scope of our attacks on industrial targets in Germany.’
    Sampson leafed through the folder, then closed it and laid it aside. He obviously knew its contents by heart.
    ‘The statistics are interesting,’ he said, ‘and somewhat alarming. Our own night offensive against the Ruhr began well enough; when we attacked Essen on 5 March with 350 aircraft, for example, fourteen of our bombers failed to return, which was quite an acceptable percentage, and when we went to Nuremberg with three hundred bombers three nights later the loss was down to seven. These results, we thought, were very encouraging.
    ‘Then we returned to Essen with four hundred bombers on 12 March, and this time we lost twenty-three, with a further sixty-nine damaged. We lost a further twenty-one against the same objective in April. In fact, during five attacks on Essen up to the end of May, our losses were ninety-two heavy bombers, with a further 334 damaged.’
    Sampson’s voice was dry and dispassionate, but there was an expression in the group captain’s eyes the younger pilot knew only too well. The loss of ninety-two heavy bombers also meant the loss of over six hundred aircrew. Add that to the losses sustained during other attacks over the same period, and you had a tragedy.
    Sampson tapped the folder again, then went on: This summary ends with the first big attack on Hamburg a few nights ago, when, thanks to the use of a new countermeasures device — bundles of metal foil, which proved very effective in jamming enemy radar — our losses fell to twelve aircraft out of a total force of 790. In a second attack on Hamburg, with a similar number of bombers, the loss was seventeen — still far within acceptable limits. We felt that the introduction of the new countermeasures was timely, because Bomber Command’s total losses between the beginning of April and the middle of July were nearly nine hundred aircraft.’
    ‘Good God!’ The exclamation burst from Yeoman involuntarily. Nine hundred aircraft: more than six thousand young men, not counting the dead and injured in bombers that did manage to get home.
    Sampson noted his reaction. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it’s pretty grim isn’t it?’
    ‘It’s bloody well criminal!’ snapped Davison, who so far had been following Sampson’s comments in silence. ‘I know for a fact that we’ve had this tinfoil thing up our sleeves for months, but have been too scared to use it in case the Germans cottoned on to the idea and used it back at us. We might have saved hundreds of lives.’
    ‘Well, Hector, these things happen,’ Sampson pointed out. ‘Anyway, it’s not for us to criticize. No doubt the