Sowerbutt's Mission

“You will be pleased to know that our trip to view the lovely countryside around Barton in Clay was not in vain. We are expecting a visitor in the next few days, on Tuesday October 15 to be precise.

“Your people will seal off the airfield and surrounds as we discussed and escort our visitor from the heavens down to Luton Hoo. Twenty-minute drive, no more. Get yourself some extra coupons. Be good if your boys could drop by the airfield in the next day or so and find some places to burrow in.”
Sowerbutt nodded: “I’ll pop back to the Smoke, if the trains are running, and organise a few of the lads for you, John.

“You’ll meet your guest and do the honours, I presume. Or Mr Bracken?”

The military man smiled thinly. “Rather you did it yourself, old boy. There’ll be a small RAF team in the control tower and looking after the lights and so on. But they’ll be keeping themselves to themselves. You might like to pick up the parcel by yourselves and deliver it to us down at Eastern Command HQ at Luton Hoo where we’ll take over.”
Sowerbutt swallowed the rest of his Old Bushmills. “Am I being set up as the patsy if anything goes wrong?”
“Certainly not, old boy, wouldn't dream of it. You know the Old Man has a soft spot for you."
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