Cherry Ames Boxed Set 5-8

by Helen Wells

  They joked about Aggie’s broad A, and Ann’s and Cherry’s twangy Midwest accent, their assorted names, and whether any of them snored. Agnes asked hopefully if anyone played bridge. Ann offered to lend any and all comers her tiny iron and board. Cherry passed around seasick tablets. They all debated whether a steward would bring a ladder for the upper bunk or whether they would have to hoist Maggie up and down. By the time the bell rang—for what they hoped was noonday dinner—and they went above, the nurses of Flight Three were friends.

  In the lounge, Cherry saw their Chief Nurse, Captain Betty Ryan. She was a smiling, curly-haired young woman in flight nurse uniform, a flier herself, small and very feminine—and very businesslike.

  “Hello, Flight Three!” she greeted them. “Do you all know each other by now? All settled in your cabin?” She looked excited. “I’ve just found three old friends—nurses. There are two ground units crossing with us.”

  Cherry pricked up her ears. “Maybe we’ll find someone we know, too.” For her old classmates, Vivian and Bertha and Mai Lee and Marie Swift, had written that they, too, were going to the European theater, with a mobile evacuation unit.

  “We certainly could find romance,” observed Lieutenant Agnes Gray. “Did you ever see so many officers?”

  There were at least three hundred Army, Navy and Medical officers, all looking amiable. Ann asked if the pilots and medical technicians were crossing on this transport with them.

  “Our technicians are aboard,” Captain Betty said. “But they’re below and probably can’t come up to visit us. Our pilots and crews are flying the C-47’s across—loaded to the seams with medical supplies.”

  Cherry crossed her fingers, and hoped Wade and his two lieutenants made the transocean flight without mishap. She thought of Bunce down in the hold with the infantrymen.

  A crew member came up and said that the Medical Commanding Officer wanted to see the nurses in the foyer. The nurses turned the corner into the foyer and found a tall, gaunt Lieutenant-Colonel awaiting them.

  “Nurses,” he said, “we are in constant danger of torpedoes from submarines. Once we are at sea, never leave your stateroom without your canteen full of water. That water might have to last you some time in a lifeboat. You are to wear slacks and sweaters during the trip, and sleep in all your clothes at night. That’s an order! We will blackout at night, except for very dim lights in the lounge. Life belts will be issued to you; keep them with you every moment. We will have lifeboat drills, so that in case we have to abandon ship it can be done quickly and efficiently. Be vigilant. I hope you enjoy the trip.”

  As they were all dismissed, Gwen whispered to her flight, “Then the wolf chewed up all the little children. Good night, kiddies, sweet dreams!”

  “Oh, we’ll have fun, anyway,” Cherry said cheerfully. “We always do!”

  Late that night, long after the nurses of Flight Three had snuggled into their bunks, the ship put out to sea. Cherry woke suddenly when she felt the enormous darkened liner vibrating, heard the hooting of tugboat whistles, smelled a saltier breeze. Then past their black porthole, the lights of New York slipped away. They shoved out into complete darkness. Cherry cried a little, secretly, into her pillow. She thought she heard sniffles from the other beds, too.

  They had a rough crossing, on the turbulent gray October seas. Their ship took a northern route: that meant England. The emptiness stunned Cherry. Everywhere she looked, there was only sky and water, and the empty rim of the horizon.

  To Cherry, those five gray, dangerous, storm-tossed days and nights had the quality of a dream, swift and unreal. She went up to mess or attended drill with her companions, danced and chatted with the officers, and helped poor Ann and Maggie through violent seasickness. But her thoughts leaped ahead to her destination. That was more real to her than even a bitter storm on deck, with waves and rain and wind lashing her. Only two incidents occurred during the voyage.

  Early one morning, at five-thirty, a violent lurch of the ship and a sharp blast of the ship’s whistle tore them out of their beds. They hurried sleepily up the steep companionways to their lifeboat station for another one of those drills. But this was no mere drill. For an hour later, at dawn, the officers took the nurses on deck and showed them sinister debris floating in the ship’s wake. A German submarine had shot a torpedo under water at their bow. The ship’s personnel had detected it by instrument, and the captain had instantly swerved the huge liner out of its path. They had been saved by seconds and inches. The floating bits were what were left of the submarine.

  The other incident occurred when they were getting up into the rough Irish Sea and the steamer was plowing through it like a roller coaster. An Army plane flew over their smokestacks and kept circling. Cherry rushed out on deck with the handful who still had their sea legs. “Mail!” someone shouted as the large canvas bag hit the deck.

  There was a letter for Cherry from Dr. Joe. “The child’s name is Muriel Grainger. She and Mrs. Hugh (Frances) Eldredge live at forty-one Kelcey Road,” and he gave the name of the English village. He enclosed a rather cloudy snapshot of a little girl with enormous, solemn eyes, standing at a gate.

  “Hello, Muriel,” Cherry said silently to the mite in the snapshot. “I’m going to find you and help you if I can!”

  Then she reread with quickened interest the lively booklet which the War Department issued to all soldiers going to Great Britain, describing the people they were going to meet.

  One day more, with skies and seas clearing, and then on the empty horizon line appeared a blot of land. Scotland! Next day gulls flew past and they saw other ships.

  The nurses were lined up, laden with helmets, mess kits, and suitcases, for final instructions. The same tall Lieutenant-Colonel addressed them.

  “We are about to enter a foreign country. No matter how strange things may. seem to you, do not criticize. We Americans, barging into these people’s homeland, seem strange to them. They will judge our country by us. Each one of us must be an ambassador of good will. Try to be understanding, always be kind and pleasant, above all be courteous.” He added, “Anyone who is not will be punished. Forward, march!”

  Down the long gangplank, along a dock, and into a waiting train, marched Cherry and her fellow nurses.

  They had never seen a train of this type, with glassed in compartments. Flight Three had its own compartment, crammed full of young women and luggage. Scottish women came through and, out of their limited food supplies, gave the American nurses pancakes and tea. Outside on the platform someone was playing a bagpipe. The train started to move. Cherry stared out the window at cottages and gardens, a bombed-out street in ashes, fields of red flowers. Everyone on the way waved and held his fingers in a V for victory. At sundown the trainmaster poked his head in their compartment and said, “No lights.” They were very near the enemy now; their train might be bombed. It grew dark and foggy, then suddenly damp and cold. They finished the pancakes hungrily. The six nurses huddled together for warmth, all the long night.

  Next morning Cherry awoke to see the sun slowly rising and heavy dew glistening on a green field. The temperature was warmer, even inside the compartment. The first thatched roofs of a village began slipping by their windows.

  Cherry shook the others. “Ann and Gwen! Elsie! Wake up, all of you! We’re in England.”

  CHAPTER III

  Mystery of Mark Grainger

  CHERRY BLINKED AND LOOKED AGAIN. YES, FLIGHT Three’s grim Army barracks actually was bright purple. The soldiers, at this American Troop Carrier Command of the —th Air Force in Britain, had painted Nurses’ Quarters this violent hue as greeting and as, presumably, a feminine touch.

  The six girls crowded into their room in the barracks. Although there was a pleasant big sitting room next door, this room was tiny. There were six iron beds jammed together, one dresser, a few hooks nailed on the purple walls. The girl could just about squeeze in themselves and their suitcases.

  “I’m going to get us
a goldfish bowl and six goldfish,” Gwen declared.

  Ann shivered. “There’s no heat in here.”

  Elsie reminded her, “There’s no heat anywhere in wartime Britain. Cheerio!” And she matter-of-factly donned an extra sweater and a wool muffler.

  “Purple!” Cherry muttered. “Of all colors, purple!”

  Suddenly it struck them funny. They had a good laugh, then powdered their noses and went to meet their new Commanding Officer.

  On the way, they took a good look at the base. It was a bomber base, from which bomber planes and their fighter escorts flew out across the Channel, to attack the enemy. The huge airdrome, a working station in this otherwise green and decorative countryside, swarmed with men of the Army Air Forces. Planes were everywhere, squadrons on the ground, in the air, rolling along the wide air strips. Enormous, camouflaged hangars, repair shops and operational buildings hulked against the peaceful trees and hedges. The landing section was cleared, though it was disguised by false hedge lines and dummy farmhouses. All the other buildings were spread through an old grove of giant shade trees. Steel Nissen huts, low concrete AAF barracks, wooden mess halls, half-submerged air raid shelters, stretched out for a couple of miles under the serene old elms and chestnut trees. Farther away, surrounded by smaller hospital buildings, stood a large brick hospital, its American flag and Red Cross flag fluttering in the balmy breeze.

  At the hospital, Colonel Lenquist, surgeon, and commander of this Troop Carrier Command Air Evacuation station, greeted the two new squadrons of flight nurses. He explained to them how their first assignments—practice missions—would work out.

  “The wounded and sick who may recover within a month stay at a mobile hospital in the combat area. If they need two months for recovery they are transported from the fighting area in Europe to a base hospital, such as ours. If longer care is needed, they are sent back to America. The most urgent cases are chosen to fly back to the States.

  “You see how crowded our hospital is. We try to move them out fast to make room for the new casualties coming in. You will fly these patients from here to the transfer hospital in Prestwick, Scotland. Then stay with your plane and return here to home base. Major Thorne will be your Flight Surgeon. I am assigning you to the same teams with which you trained.”

  Cherry was glad to hear that she would be working with Captain Wade Cooper and Bunce Smith again. She located Bunce and talked to him on the telephone. After some involved efforts, she and Wade finally met in the Red Cross canteen that afternoon.

  Out of a knot of chatting pilots, Wade Cooper came over to her, with long, fast, easy strides. His brown eyes, his whole brown face, were alight.

  “My long-lost Nurse!” He thumped her affectionately on the shoulder. “How’ve you been?”

  “Captain, I beg to report that I’m fine. How are you? Have a good flight over?”

  “Perfect. Everything went off as slick as a whistle.” He screwed up his eyes with enthusiasm and jerked up his hands in a perfect circle to show her. “Perfect. One hundred and fifty per cent. Now that you’re here, things couldn’t be nicer.”

  Cherry laughed. “You do say the nicest things, but I don’t believe you.”

  “What do you mean! I’m not kidding! I’m darned glad to see you! Like this—” Wade swept his arm around her, kissed her soundly and—while she was still gasping—pulled her toward the door. “C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

  Cherry’s cheeks were crimson and her dark curls fell in her eyes.

  “Just a minute, Captain,” Cherry blurted and righted her trench cap. “The love department doesn’t come under your command.”

  Wade grinned. “We’ll see about that!”

  Cherry had to smile, even as she reproached him. “Everyone in this canteen is looking at us.”

  “Let ’em look. They probably envy me. C’mon.” He held the door open for her and they went outdoors, and walked along under the leafy roof of magnificent trees.

  “Stays green and warm a long time here in England,” Wade observed. “We’ll have fog here, no sun for days on end, but no bitter cold like at home.”

  “Just the same, you might be wearing a jacket—not just that shirt,” Cherry said.

  “You too!” Wade pulled his officer’s cap down on his forehead in exasperation. “Doggone this safety stuff! Every time we pilots move to a new field, Cherry, we get examined all over again, before they’ll let us take up a plane. Heart. Eyes. Balance. Reflexes. It makes me nervous. Sometimes I think I go up and fly in spite of the doctors.”

  “You pilots are pretty precious,” Cherry said lightly. She understood, however, that a flier works under a terrific strain, and that even one small additional strain, like these necessary examinations, was hard on Wade. She resolved to try never to do or say anything which would upset her flier. There was one thing, though, she had to know.

  “Wade, did you ever crack up in a plane?” Cherry asked.

  “Yes, once. But I went right up again so I didn’t have a chance to lose my nerve. Don’t look at me as if I were a hero! It’s all in the day’s work.”

  Wade showed her through the pilots’ club with its bar, game room and open veranda. Cherry guessed that pilots were given more luxuries than any of the other Army forces. When Wade smuggled her down a hallway, for a glimpse into the ready room, she understood the reason. Here sat rows of fliers, elaborately at ease, as they were briefed. They were going out in a few minutes on a bombing mission. Some of them would never come back.

  Cherry and Wade went out on the field to watch the bomber squadron take off. The sweating ground crewmen, with anxious faces, were putting the last loving touches on the big brown B-17’s, checking up on the bomb load in the plane’s belly. The fliers climbed in, joking. Cherry saw how young they all were—some were still in their teens.

  The propellers whipped up a big wind. Cherry’s khaki skirt lashed, and she and Wade had to shout over the noise. The white signal flag dropped. One by one, the planes taxied, rose, then went thundering overhead in perfect formation. They diminished beyond the trees and blurred into the light in the sky.

  “Good luck,” Wade said under his breath. “Wish I were going with you.”

  “Wade—Wade—” Cherry did not know how to express the terrible excitement she felt. “I’d like to stand right here and make sure they—all come back. As if waiting for them—hoping for them—would bring them home.”

  “That,” the pilot smiled a little, “is known as sweating them in. You’re going to do a lot of that, living at a bomber base.”

  “I’ll never hear those planes go out and be able to rest until—”

  “Here, here, none of that,” he said gaily and took her arm. “You don’t burst out crying when you see a wounded boy, do you? It’d be the worst thing you could do to him. No, you just do your job for him. Now, my little landlubber, you have a very urgent date with a Coke—or an English version thereof.”

  The date with a Coke turned into a party. They ran into Agnes and Ann and some of the other nurses with their pilots. A bevy of fighter pilots gravitated to the new nurses. Wade, pretending reluctance, introduced them to Cherry. She was touched by their genuine admiration and respect for flight nurses. One of them said:

  “You flight nurses are our real pin-up girls. When we salute you, we aren’t just following Army custom. We mean those salutes.”

  A quieter pilot added, “Let me tell you, Lieutenant Ames, and it’s no exaggeration to say this, you flight nurses mean the difference between life and death to many a soldier. I was in North Africa when the hospital planes came in. I know.”

  Praise, such as this and from such men, filled Cherry—and for that matter, all the nurses—with a warm, strong desire to perform heroic exploits. Upon rising the next morning, they looked forward eagerly to six o’clock which might bring them their first flight assignment. But unfortunately, six A.M. brought only calisthenics and drill, breakfast, house cleaning, and then an all-morning lecture by their F
light Surgeon, Major Thorne. He was a plump, ruddy little man with a twinkle in his eye. In closing the lecture he said:

  “I know you ladies are eager for your first flight order. I wish I didn’t have to disappoint you. Until your individual flight orders come through, you will do hospital duty. In fact, whenever you have time between flights, we’ll need you in the hospital.”

  The nurses groaned. So they weren’t going to fly at once! They had, apparently, crossed an ocean merely to help out on a ward! Major Thorne let them groan and then said:

  “As a consolation prize, ladies, you are invited to take the afternoon off. There are several beautiful little English villages within cycling or hitchhiking distance of here. Go and explore and have yourselves a tea party!”

  That was very pleasant consolation. Flight Three dressed themselves in their formal khaki jackets and skirts, and went off to pay a call on the nearest English village. A mail corporal gave them a lift in his jeep.

  They rode along a narrow, gently winding road, past massive rugged old trees and lovely meadows laced with crystal streams. “It’s like fairyland,” Maggie murmured.

  Cherry breathed in deeply of the fresh sweet air, but she was thinking of something else. She wondered if, by any chance, the village they were on their way to visit would turn out to be the village where Mrs. Eldredge lived. Cherry had not yet learned the names and locations of the surrounding villages. She was disinclined to ask the jeep driver, nor did she want to discuss it with the other girls. The trouble Mrs. Eldredge was facing might be of a confidential nature. Dr. Joe had warned her to be “discreet.” Cherry decided, “I won’t try to do more this afternoon than get my bearings in a strange place.”