The Man who Missed the War (56 page)

A moment later Philip caught the roar of aircraft engines. To right and left and before him they were streaming in, and they, too, had their shadow escorts; strange, old-fashioned biplanes that had fought in France and Flanders during the First World War, Gladiators that had taken their toll of the Luftwaffe in the azure skies of Greece and Africa, early Hurricanes, Spitfires and Blenheims that had held Britain for the British when Britain stood alone.

Moving faster than the fastest plane, he caught up with a string of glider-towing aircraft ahead. He knew at once that it was the spearhead of the 6th Airborne Division’s second wave. Streaking forward by a single impulse of his will, he reached the head of the line. Macnamara was still leading, but right in front was a dense bank of cloud.

For a moment Philip’s heart sank. Had he failed after all? Then, as he watched, the cloud lifted as though some giant hand had brushed it aside, and he heard the voice that he had held dearest in all the world say:

‘ ’Tis a marvellous part we were given to play, Boy; and it’s proud I am to have earned the right to see the finish.’

Gloria was there beside him, laughing and smiling into his face. But he had hardly cast an arm about her when the coast of France rose up below them, and battle was joined.

With a howl beyond that of any tempest a vast concourse of black and evil figures descended upon them from the upper air. All unconscious of the spectral battle now raging, the crews of the gliders were still cracking jokes as they made their last preparations before going down. Yet, in the dark night outside their flimsy structures, countless horrible, bat-winged things strove to foul their engines, snap their stays, fray the tow-ropes and bring the gliders down.

But Philip and Gloria were alone no longer. A great host of known and unknown figures flew beside them, each armed, as they now found themselves to be, with a flaming sword.

For what seemed endless time they battled with the dark, satanic legions, driving them back and back as the planes flew on. Then at last they heard the order given: ‘Cast off!’ Macnamara’s aircraft drew away. There came a sudden eerie silence as General Gale’s glider hovered above the River Orne. Slowly it went down and down while the battle overhead continued in all its fury.

With aching arms they slashed and slashed at the evil faces which still beset them, till it seemed that they could wield their weapons no more. Yet they kept on.

Dawn came, and with it a slight lull; just enough time for them to survey the scene below. The three big, widely separated fields that had been chosen weeks before as the dropping zones of the 6th British Airborne Division were now like three flypapers upon which clouds of white flying-ants had settled; barely half a dozen had come down outside their concentration points. But for the tragic loss of the four that had snapped their towing-ropes in the first flight, it was now clear that this brilliant operation had proved a hundred per cent success. In the neighbourhood of each dropping zone scores of little figures were carrying boxes of ammunition and supplies into the nearby woods, and busily digging in the anti-tank guns. Both the vital bridges were intact and now under guard. On one there was a busy group running out telephone wires and establishing the Divisional Headquarters. In its midst a splendid figure wearing light grey jodhpurs now
bestrode a newly requisitioned milk-white horse. General Gale had captured his first objectives, and the vital flank of the Allied Armies was secure.

Turning, they looked back along the beaches. A choppy sea was creaming angrily upon them, but for mile upon mile hundreds of landing-craft were nosing in towards the shore, while further out scores of warships flashed and flickered under palls of drifting smoke, as their guns pounded the redoubts in Hitler’s vaunted Atlantic Wall.

There came a roar like the approach of the vortex of a cyclone, and the unseen battle in mid-air was on again. The Powers of Darkness had thrown in their last reserves. For a few moments everything was one hell-torn screaming confusion, then the attack of the satanic legions began to slacken. Suddenly, they gave and broke. A great shout of triumph went up from the Shining Host above, and at that moment down below, amidst the spatter of machine-gun fire and the crashing of mortars, thousands upon thousands of British and American soldiers threw themselves into the surf. Cheering and shouting as they plunged through the shallow water, the Armies of Liberation came up out of the sea on to the shores of France.

It was only then that Gloria and Philip were at last able to withdraw their gaze and smile into each other’s eyes.

They were still doing so when they heard a well-remembered voice behind them and turning, saw the Canon.

‘It isn’t finished yet,’ he said; ‘but now that our flank is protected they’ll never be able to drive us off the beaches. Hitler is caught between the Soviet Sickle and the Sword of the Western Allies, so this day’s work is the beginning of the end for the Germans. Come with me now, and I will lead you to the Garden of Eternal Peace, warmed by the sun of Fulfilment and watered by the river of Contentment, where all things are understood, and Love sings litanies down the wind of Time.’

DENNIS WHEATLEY
Dennis Wheatley (1897 – 1977) was an English author whose prolific output of stylish thrillers and occult novels made him one of the world’s best-selling writers from the 1930s through the 1960s.

Wheatley was the eldest of three children, and his parents were the owners of Wheatley & Son of Mayfair, a wine business. He admitted to little aptitude for schooling, and was expelled from Dulwich College, London. In 1919 he assumed management of the family wine business but in 1931, after a decline in business due to the depression, he began writing.

His first book,
The Forbidden Territory,
became a bestseller overnight, and since then his books have sold over 50 million copies worldwide. During the 1960s, his publishers sold one million copies of Wheatley titles per year, and his Gregory Sallust series was one of the main inspirations for Ian Fleming’s James Bond stories.

During the Second World War, Wheatley was a member of the London Controlling Section, which secretly coordinated strategic military deception and cover plans. His literary talents gained him employment with planning staffs for the War Office. He wrote numerous papers for the War Office, including suggestions for dealing with a German invasion of Britain Dennis. Wheatley died on 11th November 1977. During his life he wrote over 70 books and sold over 50 million copies.

Discover books by Dennis Wheatley published by Bloomsbury Reader at
www.bloomsbury.com/DennisWheatley

Duke de Richleau
The Forbidden Territory
The Devil Rides Out
The Golden Spaniard
Three Inquisitive People
Strange Conflict
Codeword Golden Fleece
The Second Seal
The Prisoner in the Mask
Vendetta in Spain
Dangerous Inheritance
Gateway to Hell

Gregory Sallust
Black August
Contraband
The Scarlet Impostor
Faked Passports
The Black Baroness
V for Vengeance
Come into My Parlour
The Island Where Time Stands Still
Traitors' Gate
They Used Dark Forces
The White Witch of the South Seas

Julian Day
The Quest of Julian Day
The Sword of Fate
Bill for the Use of a Body

Roger Brook
The Launching of Roger Brook
The Shadow of Tyburn Tree
The Rising Storm
The Man Who Killed the King
The Dark Secret of Josephine
The Rape of Venice
The Sultan's Daughter
The Wanton Princess
Evil in a Mask
The Ravishing of Lady Mary Ware
The Irish Witch
Desperate Measures

Molly Fountain
To the Devil a Daughter
The Satanist

Lost World
They Found Atlantis
Uncharted Seas
The Man Who Missed the War

Espionage
Mayhem in Greece
The Eunuch of Stamboul
The Fabulous Valley
The Strange Story of Linda Lee
Such Power is Dangerous
The Secret War

Science Fiction
Sixty Days to Live
Star of Ill-Omen

Black Magic
The Haunting of Toby Jugg
The KA of Gifford Hillary
Unholy Crusade

Short Stories
Mediterranean Nights
Gunmen, Gallants and Ghosts

This electronic edition published in 2014 by Bloomsbury Reader

Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square,
London WC1B 3DP

First published in 1945 by Hutchinson & Co. Ltd
Copyright © 1945 Dennis Wheatley

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The moral right of the author is asserted.

eISBN: 9781448212859

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