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decision seemed right at the time.’ There was mild reproof in his tone; Davison grunted and sat back in his chair, glowering over the top of his spectacles.
    ‘In any case,’ Sampson continued, ‘our troubles are by no means over, because thirty aircraft failed to return from the third raid on Hamburg, and first indications are that losses were also high during last night’s attack, although we won’t know precise details for some hours yet. If they are high, though — say thirty aircraft or more — it may indicate that our countermeasures are beginning to lose some of their effectiveness, or that the enemy night fighters have adopted new tactics, or both.’
    He paused and cleared his throat, glancing out of the window as a motor cycle went by noisily, then turned back to Yeoman.
    ‘If that is so,’ he went on, ‘the consequences may be very serious indeed. The present joint Anglo-American strategic bombing offensive is vital to the success of any future invasion of enemy-held territory, yet we cannot continue to suffer prohibitive losses. The Americans are being hurt badly, too, in their daylight operations over Germany; in one week last month they lost eighty-eight aircraft.’
    ‘Never did agree with daylight operations,’ muttered Davison. ‘Sheer bloody suicide.’
    ‘I couldn’t agree more, Hector,’ said Sampson wryly, and Davison flushed in sudden embarrassment.
    ‘Sorry, old boy,’ he said gruffly. ‘I forgot you know more about daylight bomber ops than most of us.’
    ‘Well,’ Sampson went on, ‘the point is the Americans think they can get away with it, and with strong fighter escort they probably can. Unfortunately, no fighter exists that can escort them all the way to the target and back, although there’s talk of one coming along in a few months’ time; meanwhile, their Thunderbolts and Lightnings can escort the bombers as far as the German border and our Spitfires can meet them on the way home, but that’s about all we can do.’
    Oh, my God, thought Yeoman, he’s going to suggest that we use our Mosquitos as escort fighters.
    He was wrong, and his eyes must have betrayed his thoughts, because Sampson smiled faintly and said: ‘Don’t worry, Yeoman, we’re not going to ask you to fly top cover for the Fortresses all the way to Berlin and back. Your task will be to provide bomber support of a different kind.’
    He shifted his position and moved forward a few steps, standing with his hands clasped behind his back and looking down at the younger man.
    ‘Within the next few days,’ hs said, ‘No. 380 will be joined here at Burningham by a second Mosquito squadron. It has recently converted from Beaufighters and is now operating modified Mk VIs, equipped with the latest airborne interception radar.
    ‘Although still technically under the control of No. 2 Group, the two squadrons of the Burningham Wing will have a considerable degree of autonomy and will operate as intruders by day and night, ranging deep into enemy territory. Their targets, above all, will be the German Fighter Command and its principal airfields.’
    The group captain looked long and hard at Yeoman, and was inwardly pleased by the enthusiasm which the pilot made no attempt to hide.
    ‘It will be dangerous and exacting work,’ he continued, ‘and now perhaps you have an inkling of why you were chosen for this job. We needed someone with a thorough knowledge of German fighter procedures and tactics; someone who had fought the enemy in every theatre. That someone was you. For the time being, you will be in overall command of the Wing.
    ‘I may as well tell you that a new Group is soon to be formed for the specific task of bomber support; that is to say intruder and countermeasures work against the enemy air defences. The Burningham Wing will pioneer the techniques which, we hope, will form the basis of a highly efficient and elite force — a force whose aim will be to confound and destroy.’
    He stopped and