Lucy was laying the instruments out on the trolley and explained what had happened. ‘He’s not very big, but he’s strong, and he put up a good fight. That’s why he’s hobbled like a mickey bull.’
‘We’ll give him the anaesthetic while he’s immobile in that case. He’ll be quiet enough then. We don’t want any ructions,’ Bob said.
The Chinese had been taken from the theatre and there was a lull. The rain had stopped and the clouds had broken up, allowing a half moon to spread a fitful light over the camp. Lucy and Bob were taking a breather, standing at the door of the theatre when a jasta of German bombers flew over. They were high, heading north, veering towards the east.
‘They are so big and there must be at least twenty of them,’ Lucy said and looked at her watch. It was 2230 hours.
‘The
