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discontent, mistrust, depression or apathy; a light-hearted enthusiasm pervaded.’
    Recently, the men of F Squadron had been asked to join forces with the SAS, which had found itself short of skilled signallers. Since it would doubtless involve parachuting, for which one needed to volunteer, men were asked to step forward.
    At the start of the war Hislop had been very much the reluctant soldier. He wasn’t any more; he was amongst the majority of the F Squadron men who did step forward.
    Time and again the Phantoms had proved themselves superlative wireless operators, especially during exercises on the remote Scottish moors. Unlike the Royal Corps of Signals (the regular Army’s communications specialists), the Phantoms combined a relentless training regime with a relaxed attitude, and an esprit de corps that encouraged self-starters and those of an independent mind.
    There was little saluting or rank-consciousness in the Hon. Jackie Astor’s company. Instead, men were given free rein, being urged to experiment with aerial lengths, frequencies, the positioning of wireless sets and so on. No one minded how unorthodox the methods might be, as long as the Phantoms got the message through.
    And, on the coming mission in the Vosges, doing just that would prove of paramount importance. In order to arm the Maquis, details of drop zone coordinates, dates and timings of drops, plus weapons requirements, would need to be radioed through to London. Unless effective communications could be established and maintained, Op Loyton would be finished before it had even begun.
    Just prior to mission departure, Hislop had been invited to visit the SOE’s unremarkable, grey-faced 64 Baker Street headquarters in London to pick up some of the specialized gadgetry that the coming mission might call for. He was introduced to a slight, dark-haired man, who squinted at him from behind thick spectacles.
    ‘Ah, Captain Hislop . . . So very nice to see you! So, you’re going on a little foreign trip? Well, let’s have a look to see what we’ve got that might be useful to you . . .’
    The SOE’s gadget man produced a fountain pen which, upon scratching its paint off, proved to have a tiny compass embedded in one end. Alternatively, Hislop could opt for a compass disguised as a button and sewn onto his shirt. ‘It’s attached to you, so you won’t lose it as easily as a pen,’ the SOE man enthused.
    Then there was a handkerchief that you had to urinate on and – eureka! – it revealed a map of northern France. Or another in white silk with a number of hidden, coded phrases written upon it, such as: ‘Surrounded by the enemy; expect no more messages.’
    ‘They look nice with a dinner jacket,’ the gadget man added, somewhat unnecessarily.
    Hislop was offered a pen that wrote in invisible ink, paper he could eat ‘in case of emergencies’, plus an escape pack loaded with ‘boiled sweets, Benzedrine and one or two other comforts’. Benzedrine is a potent amphetamine, one that was then popular in London’s swankier nightclubs. With its euphoric stimulant effect, it could keep an operator alert and energized for long periods, an obvious advantage for behind-enemy-lines operations.
    And so, weighed down with SOE gadgetry, Hislop and the three fellow Phantoms he commanded had joined the Op Loyton advance party. Corporal Gerald Davis, Hislop’s second in command, squatted at the Whitley’s exit. Davis suffered from a slight speech impediment and he had a somewhat cynical outlook on life, but all of that was offset by a strongly independent nature. He was tall, lean and athletic, and of bulletproof reliability, and he wasn’t overawed by anyone, no matter who they might be.
    Once Davis had been on an exercise and his military car had broken down. An officer had arrived on the scene, only to find Davis staring at the vehicle, hands on hips. ‘Hullo, Corporal Davis, why are you standing about doing f-all?’ the officer had asked.