Angels One Five Page #2

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Get down as quick as you can. Over.

Hello, Sapper.

Hello, Sapper.

Elfin One answering.

Elfin One answering.

Your message received

and understood.

Listening out.

Listening out. Out.

That's what I call a really

conscientious type.

Warn the practice flight, Bonzo.

Look out!

Hello, old man. Dropped in for tea?

Thought there'd be more room

at the end of the runway.

Well, our guests do usually park

their aircraft up there, I'll admit.

- Hurt your neck?

- It's nothing much.

I think I must have strained

my ligamentum nuchae.

Your what?

It's the big tendon at the back of your neck

which keeps your head up.

You must have noticed it in cows.

I'm afraid I haven't. Should I have done?

We haven't introduced ourselves.

I'm Barry Clinton, Sector Controller ...

... lowest form of life.

This is my wife Nadine.

How do you do, ma'am?

My name is Baird.

I've been posted to this station.

I was bringing in

a replacement aircraft.

A replacement?

Something tells me

you're not going to be very popular.

It wasn't my fault, sir.

Another aircraft cut right

across in front of me.

It was a mercy we didn't collide.

It certainly was.

- Hello, men.

- Hello, Barry.

What have we here?

One pilot, one Hurricane,

both slightly bent.

Hi, Doc.

Let me introduce you ...

Pilot Officer Baird.

Hate to disappoint you ...

... but I don't think you'll need

your blood wagon.

All right, Casey, I shan't be needing you.

- No bones broken?

- No, sir.

You're a lucky chap.

No strains, sprains, pains, or blains?

He's got a ligamentum whatsit.

She means ligamentum nuchae, sir.

I think I've strained it.

What makes you think that?

I'm a medical student, sir.

Or at least I was till the war started.

It's nothing much.

All the same, I think we better have

a second opinion, don't you?

Let's have a look at it.

I'll give you a lift back

to sick quarters in the ambulance.

I'm sorry to have caused you

all this trouble, sir.

That's all right, old man.

See you in the mess, I hope.

Good-bye, Mrs. Clinton.

Batchy! You old pirate!

- Batchy!

- Where have you been?

I thought you bought it.

So did I, Skipper. So did I.

I saw you go down

after that 1-1-0,

but I was too busy myself

to see what happened.

Oh, that one.

Another Jerry crew will be swimming

back to base this evening.

- Good show.

- Whizzo, Batchy!

Did you get shot up?

Only a teeny-weenie one

in me glycol tank.

And another in my radio.

So I decided to fizz back to base

while I still had some height.

Glad you made it.

And that ends our bedtime story

for tonight, kiddies.

Hold it, chaps!

You haven't heard the half of it.

I'm putting meself down

nice and comfortable on dear old Neethley

... when an angry great Hurricane

comes roaring at me down the runway.

"This is it," I said to meself.

- Silver handles and hello, Saint Peter ...

- What did you do?

What could I do, you twerp?

I just shut my eyes and the whole of my past life

loomed up before me.

What a shocking experience.

And when I opened them again ...

... this other chap had hopped over me back

like a flea on a dog's tail.

# They were only playing leap frog #

# They were only playing leap frog... #

Shut up!

What a copper-bottomed ape.

- Who was it?

- Oh, some ferry type with a ...

... replacement Hurrie, so they tell me.

A replacement? Where is it now?

Standing on its prop

in Barry Clinton's garden, I believe.

By heaven, if he's written it off,

I'll tear him apart.

- Where is he?

- Doc took him down to station sick quarters.

He'll be sorry he didn't write himself off

by the time I'm through with him.

Oh, now, wait a minute, Skipper.

He didn't prang me

and I was landing cross wind.

What the hell has that

got to do with it?

This is an operational station.

Pie-eyed ferry types should know darn well

they've got to keep out of the way.

Might have slaughtered

an experienced pilot.

As it is he's written off an invaluable aircraft.

God, how we need them.

Hello, Bonzo?

This is Bill Ponsford.

I want to speak to Peter Moon.

Oh, hang it all, Skipper.

He put up a pretty good show, really.

I mean, he must have had his finger out

to hop over me like that.

Shut up, Batchy! I mean that.

Hello, Peter.

Hello, Bill. What's eating you?

Steady, old man. I know how you feel.

Yes, yes, I grant you, Batchy is more valuable

than a thousand non-operational types, but ...

Look, let me speak, will you?

"A" and one, Batchy came in at naught feet

and we got no warning.

"B" and 2, this sap is not a ferry pilot ...

... he's an operational type, or soon will be.

He's posted to your squadron.

What? I won't have

the damn fellow near my outfit.

And you can tell that to the Tiger.

I sympathise, old man, ...

... but you can tell the Tiger yourself.

- Bring me a pint, will you, Price?

- Very good, sir.

- Hello, Baird. Settling in all right?

- Yes, thank you, sir.

Good. Made your number

with the Old Man yet?

He wasn't there when

I reported to the adjutant.

Oh, he's in the anteroom now.

- Have a drink.

- Not just now, thank you, sir.

Oh, well, if you're not drinking,

I'll toddle off home.

You see, I have a lonely wife

that needs company.

You'll find Squadron Leader Ponsford in there.

He's the squadron C.O.

- I should make myself known to him.

- Oh, thanks, sir, I will.

- Good. Cheerio.

- Good night, sir. Cheerio.

I spy strangers.

Are you looking for someone, old chap?

Im ... I'm looking for the C.O. of 1320 Squadron.

Ah. Well hold on a minute.

Are you down there, Bill?

Yes, I'm down here.

What is it, Batchy?

An air force officer wishes

to hold converse with you.

Well, I'm Ponsford. You want me?

I've been posted to your squadron.

I'm Pilot Officer Baird, sir. TB Baird.

T B?

Sounds a bit septic to me.

So you're the type who nearly wrote off

my best flight commander ...

... and pranged a replacement aircraft.

I'm sorry about that, sir.

It wasn't really my fault.

What do you mean, it wasn't your fault?

The other chap came in bang across wind

without making a circuit.

The other chap was a squadron aircraft

returning from operations.

Well, that may be, sir,

but I had permission to land.

Permission? What permission?

There's no such thing.

Operations told me to get down at once.

Well, what if they did?

That doesn't give you the right

to go barging around ...

... like a blind bull in a china shop.

My name is Small.

I'm the Station Commander.

Oh, that's all right.

There's no need to stand on ceremony.

This is where we relax,

as you may have noticed.

Thank you, sir.

You look as though you could do with a drink.

Come along. I'll get you one.

You're a Volunteer Reserve, I see.

Something of a novelty in these parts.

Yes, sir. I joined my university squadron

At the time of Munich.

- What were you reading?

- Medicine, sir.

And you chucked up that

to join the air force?

- Naturally, sir.

- Why naturally?

I'd learned to fly.

The war's won by pilots, not by doctors.

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