Herr major! please wake up, sir!’ Richter groaned and turned over in bed, opening one bleary eye. The round, bespectacled face of his orderly, Corporal Singer, swam into focus. ‘What’s the matter?’ Richter asked, his voice heavy with sleep. ‘What time is it?’ ‘Six o’clock, sir.’ ‘In the morning?’ ‘In the morning.’ Richter struggled into a sitting position, rubbing a hand over his eyes. ‘Damnation, Singer,’ he snapped, ‘I’ve only just got to bed. What the hell is going on?’ ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the corporal apologized. ‘All I know is that all pilots are to report to operations as soon as possible. Even those who have been night flying. I’ve brought you some coffee, sir, and there’s plenty of hot water.’ Richter nodded and swung his legs out of bed, reaching out for the mug of steaming black liquid. A few gulps cleared away some of the tiredness, and five minutes under a hot shower restored him to his normal self.
