For Your Eyes Only

Nigel Fairfax

A midget - a bloody midget! You chuckle to yourself as you leave the house of Madam Siroski; happy that you have uncovered yet another fraudster. You walk out into the cold evening rain, gather your coat about yourself and walk home.

That evening you begin to prepare a copy of your report to send to the Debunkers’ Gazette, its headline – “Midget Labour used for ‘Haunting'!”. A smile still on your face, you put the finishing touches on your article, blot the ink, and start to get ready for tomorrow’s investigation at the Victoria Theatre. You are going to be working with some members of Harry Price's group - the 'Society for Psychical Research', with the aim of investigating the number of hauntings this old building is reputed to have. After packing for the journey to London, you settle down with a nightcap, and sleep the sleep of the just.

Next day you take the coach to London, arriving at Waterloo to meet your fellow colleagues. The day is spent setting up recording equipment, including thermometers, and some highly specialised cameras - some say that they can take images in the dark with special film, no less. Your specific task has been to question the caretaker, to see if you can get any sense of what's been going on here, especially if he's been involved in some form of deception. It's all going well, but you get a feeling that the caretaker isn't being totally honest with you, but it seems more from fear than any intention to deceive. You are not fully convinced of his tales of the ‘woman in black’, and the ‘devil dog’ - just two of the ghosts reputed to haunt this place, but there was certainly an edge of barely hidden fear in the man's voice.

The night draws in, and apart from some of what your fellows have called 'cold spots', nothing has seemed to have happened. You are sharing some tea with two of your colleagues, Dr. Fischer and Mr. Fordman, when you hear a disturbance upstairs, where the other two of your company – Messrs Smith and Connelly - are looking over the balcony area. There's some shouting and swearing, and then a yelp of pain. The three of you rush up the stairs to find Smith tending the leg of Connelly, who appears to have been bitten by something!

“Bloody dog, came out of nowhere! Rushed at me and bit me, the wee bastard!”, his cursing turning the air blue with his heavy Scottish accent. You look around with your torch, and see some paw-marks in the dirt. Following them back you see them apparently emerging from a walled panel. It feels solid as you tap it, and you see no catches. However, when you use a feather to check for drafts you get a distinct trail of an air current from the wall. You hear a creak further up the stairs and run up to the top balcony.

As you reach the top you see a figure standing near the edge of the upper circle, dressed in some strange robes - silk they seem, and you make out some dark matted hair flowing down the robes. You call out to this figure, but it doesn't stir. You make your way down to the front seats and approach the individual, asking it who it is and what they think they are doing here. Again no answer, but you notice a peculiar smell, like rotting meat mixed with sandalwood. You put your hand on this individual’s shoulder and suddenly feel an immense cold chill as it turns around. It stares right at you from empty and bleeding eye sockets, and has a face shrivelled up with age and torment, with a large pendent hanging around its neck! The stench of meat and earth becomes over powering and you stumble back, almost falling over the balcony edge! You hear your colleagues shout up at you as you fall down between the seats. You look up, but the figure is gone.

Visibly shaken, you make your way downstairs, and your heart begins to race when you see your fellow researchers have tied up a man, dressed just as the thing from the balcony - except that a black wig has now been cast to one side, and his face palled out with grease paint. It turns out they managed to jump him as he was running down the stairs, and that he is a friend of the caretaker who had been using some of the secret passages in this place to hide away his dog. He was pleading with you to let him go, and that it was right queer that his dog got so uppity and bit someone. He said that “something must have got it right spooked”. You suppose that's the story he's going to tell the Police - who have been called forthwith - but you still feel there's a chill in the air as you make your way into the morning light, your hand still feels as cold as ice.

As you stand there waiting for a cab, a car pulls up and stops in front of you. A telegram, marked ‘URGENT’ is handed to you by the driver - a member of His Majesty’s Armed Forces. He introduces himself as Lance-Corporal Montague, and waits for you to read the letter. Opening the envelope, you see it is a request from Harry Price himself. He’s passing on an invitation on behalf of the military to investigate some strange goings on, and they've asked for someone experienced in debunking to attend. The letter is quite specific that the events under investigation are of uncertain origin, but in addition to various expert researchers, the Ministry Of Defence has requested an impartial observer to determine if any trickery is being used, who can also can record and accurately document the events as they occur, with unadulterated and unbiased precision. The ability to speak some French is also seen as essential, as is a certain talent for psychology. The letter indicates the cab will take you to the briefing location, where you will receive further instruction - if you so chose to accept this request. The payment attached is rather substantial, and what is more, your curiosity is intrigued. You climb in the back of the car, which is sumptuously upholstered. You pour yourself a drink from the decanter and sip as the soldier whisks you through the familiar streets of London. The alcohol has a strange musty smell and a curious taste. You feel a little flushed, and loosen your collar. You start to feel a little dizzy, and you lose your grip on the whiskey tumbler. The last thing you hear is the Lance-Corporal telling you “Not to worry”, before you slip into unconsciousness.

You awaken in what appears to be an airfield. You notice the high security surrounding the place. Dog patrols pace their way about the perimeter, and 2 tall observation towers look down upon you. Lance-Corporal Montague opens the car door and apologises for drugging you. He then directs you towards the location of the meeting.

You enter a room designated as ‘BRIEFING’ with some trepidation and take a seat. Hushed whispers are being exchanged by some of the assembled people here, but these are quickly ended as an authoritative voice booms behind you, “For those of you that don’t know me, my name is Major Frederick Adams” A tall, well-built man strides towards the front of the room and takes his place behind a lectern. “Most of you won’t know why you are here. I will now explain why it has been necessary to take extreme measures to bring you here.”

“Lights” The Major orders to a man at the back of the room. A second later, the lights are dimmed, and your attention is drawn towards a screen to the side of the Major. Another officer hands you a dossier, and switches on a small reading light in front of you.

“Recently, one of our operatives in Northern France intercepted a message. This message was heavily encrypted, but was decoded by our Intelligence and Logistics department. Ladies and gentlemen, the contents of this message are very worrying. You can find the letter in the first page of your dossier.”

Mein Fuhrer,

The first results of Project Uber-Mensch are very encouraging. We have conducted a number of field tests, and save for a few difficulties that we must iron out, I believe that we are nearing successful completion of the project. It will bring to the end seven years of effort – seven years well spent when you consider the superiority it will give us over anyone who stands in our way. I will of course keep you informed of any progress.

Glory to the Fatherland.

“For a while, we have suspected that the Germans have been up to something. And now we know. Or rather we don’t know. For those of you who don’t speak German, ‘Uber-Mensch’ translates as ‘Super-soldier’. What is ‘Project Super-Soldier’? Why are the Germans in Northern France? These are the questions that I want you to answer for me. Therefore, I am sending you to the Ardennes region on a reconnaissance mission. The mission will be under the command of Lieutenant Savage. I want you to liaise with our operative – Captain Mason-Wickes, and find out what the hell the Germans are up to.”

“Given the time critical nature of this mission, you will be flying out at 1100 hours. We would have preferred to go at night, but there is a scheduled civilian flight over the area which we will take the place of in order to not raise suspicion. If you read the second document in your dossier, you will see that the area of France that you are going to is an Alpha Sensitive area. This means that you should treat it as being behind enemy lines. I have been informed by Central Command that we will maintain a stance of plausible deniability if you are discovered or captured. We will not be sending reinforcements should this happen.” These last sentences send a shiver down your spine as you grasp the enormity of this statement.

“A note to the civilians amongst you - you are expected to follow the orders of the officer in charge at all times and obey the chain of command. You have of course, all signed the Official Secrets Act prior to this briefing, so I do not need to remind you that everything you witness during the course of this mission is NOT to be disclosed to anyone outside Pegasus Division on penalty of the harshest consequences. One final thing – due to the nature of the situation, Central Command has designated this as a ‘Damocles Imperative’ mission - that is a mission which could have worldwide ramifications.”

“That is all, ladies and gentlemen. Good luck and God Speed. God save the King.”

The lights go back on, and you are led out of the room to a bunkhouse.

The evening meal is a strange affair. There is a marked difference between the civilians, such as yourself, and the members of the armed forces. You and your peers are subdued, probably as you contemplate what lies ahead, whilst the military personnel have an excited buzz about them. You keep pretty much to yourself during the meal, but at the end, Lieutenant Savage approaches you and introduces himself. His confident manner and assuredness is somewhat comforting, and the aching in your stomach subsides.

After the meal, the soldiers make themselves busy preparing for the mission. You and the other civilians are led into a training room to learn how to parachute. This was never on the menu! The session is lead by Sergeant Johnson, an infectiously enthusiastic man – although you are slightly worried that parachuting boils down to jumping out of a plane and hoping for the best!

The rest of the evening is your own, and you decide that your time will be best spent getting a bit of sleep. In truth though, the events of the past 24 hours make it almost impossible. However, it seems as if your head has barely touched the pillow before you are woken by a private with a nice hot cup of tea. You dress quickly – the air is cold this morning and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The morning consists of a final briefing on the ‘theatre of operations’, and then the call comes in that the mission is ‘GO’. Once everyone is ready, you are lead out onto the airstrip where a twin-engined plane is warming up on the runway. Major Adams stands by the door, and gives each of you a sturdy handshake and a “Good Luck” as you board the plane. Sergeant Johnson makes sure that everyone is strapped in tightly before heading to the cockpit. As he returns and fastens his own seatbelt, the low hum of the engines increases in pitch and you feel the aircraft begin to edge forward. The plane speeds up and then suddenly you feel the ground drop away as you become airborne. You glance around you – your comrades seem to be either deep in contemplation, sleeping or praying. The hours pass, and you find the drone of the engines strangely hypnotic and relaxing.

You are woken from your reverie by a harsh buzz, and a red light illuminates above the aircraft door. The army personnel unstrap themselves, and then Sergeant Johnson sets about releasing everyone else. Before you rise out of your seat, he clips you onto a guy-line that runs towards the door. Once everyone is safely attached to the line, he pulls the door handle, and opens the cabin to the cold rushing air outside. Your breath is taken away by the conditions outside, as the Lieutenant performs one last check. The buzz sounds again, and the light turns to green.

“This is it chaps. Good luck!” He pats the first in line on the shoulder, and one by one they all throw themselves out of the plane. You feel a tap on your shoulder, and look out of the door at the horizon. The sun is already beginning to set. You jump out into the cold unknown…