Maximum Effort

by Vincent Formosa

  “Hullo, a visitor.”

  It was the Padre. A short man, he wore a normal RAF blue uniform and had eschewed wearing the black bib and white dog collar. In his early forties, he had VR flashes on his lapels. The three medal ribbons of Pip, Squeak and Wilfred from the Great War were on his chest.

  Carter sank back onto his chair. The Padre came over in a measured tread and sat down on a chair in the row in front of him. He pulled his trousers up slightly as he did so to stop his legs getting knees in the fabric.

  “I’ve not seen you in here before,” he said softly. He regarded Carter carefully with a measured stare.

  “No. I’m afraid I’ve not really thought it worthwhile, Padre.”

  The priest grunted. It was not the first time he’d heard that or something similar. It had been like that in the first war as well. He’d lost count of how many young men who had believed themselves beyond gods reach, only to come seeking advice, or solace, or absolution when the moment of crisis presented itself.

  He took a very long view when it came to faith. Each man was on a journey and some just made it to the end before some of the others. In the last show he had lived alongside the men at the front, shivering in the mud and sharing shelter with rats and other vermin. In the winter, he had stood around a brazier, reading from the bible to lads from the slums who could barely write their own names.

  He had often asked himself how a loving God could let such carnage happen but in the end, he decided it was too big a question. His role was to guide his flock and give them sustenance in the face of difficulty. The worst of it had been at the Somme, seeing them cut to pieces in that slow walk across No Mans Land. He had crawled across the mud, giving final absolution to boys who lay in the slime, eyes wide as they stared at the sky taking their last breathe.

  “The Lord is patient,” he told Carter. “You need to open yourself to His calm and in time, your role will be revealed to you.”

  Carter stifled a snort. He knew his role, it was dropping tons of high explosive and to keep on doing it until he was told to stop. He made to move when the Padre placed a hand on his wrist.

  “It’s not too late to unburden yourself, my son. God is patient.”

  “I-,” Carter’s mouth had gone dry. The Padre’s eyes seemed to pierce him and he found his cynical reserve crumbling. “I’ll think about it,” he managed. He paused at the door and looked back, seeing the Padre looking at him with such incredible calm.

  In the early afternoon, Wilkinson, Vos, Woods and Carter and their respective halves met at The Madison. Wilkinson had borrowed a Humber and picked up Vos, Denise and Helen. Carter had brought the others, squeezed into his car.

  As it was a nice day, the doors in the dining room had been opened and fresh air blew in from the grounds. They had a light lunch and afterwards, they went down to the lake.

  Carter carried a wicker basket with some bottles of beer and some apples. Wilkinson carried a few blankets provided by the hotel. On the way there, they walked past the summer house. Carter and Georgette shared a look and laughed, remembering their winter fumblings.

  The lake was a good size with a small island in the middle covered in thick shrubs and trees. A big weeping willow was on one side of the island, hanging over the water. A row of Birch trees created a shaded area on one side of the lake. Old trees, they were about fifty feet high with a light canopy and drooping branches. At the edge of the lake was a punt and he could see a small jetty on the island. Off to the right on the other side of the lake was a wooden hut built on the waters edge and he could just make out the bow of some sort of boat sticking out from it.

  Wilkinson spread out the blankets by the trees and sat down, looking around. The lake was hidden from the big house and it was a nice secluded spot. They sat for a while, letting their lunch settle. Carter found it hard to relax. Ever since that order had come from Group about being at maximum readiness, it felt like there was something big looming on the horizon. He tried to prise some information out of Wilkinson but his friend remained tight lipped.

  Wilkinson asked Carter about the Lancaster. Apart from sitting in one in a hangar, he’d not had a chance to go up in one yet. Helen’s ears twitched at that. She knew he was desperate to fly a Lancaster and if he managed that, he was one step closer to going back on ops. She was happy where he was at the moment and wanted it to stay that way. Yvonne and Georgette talked about their respective jobs, two halves of the same coin almost.

  Helen sat down next to Denise and the two of them talked quietly about what was to come. She answered the girls questions as honestly as she could. It was obvious to see Denise was scared and she took her under her wing, extending an open invitation for her to visit whenever she wanted.

  Denise brightened appreciably after that. As much as there were other women in her office at work, she had little in common with them. Georgette had been nice to her, but Helen was the first person she could really talk to about the situation she found herself in.

  Afterwards, she sat with Vos under one of the trees. He propped himself up against the trunk and Denise snuggled up to him, one of the blankets draped around them while he read her selections of poetry.

  Helen looked over her shoulder to make sure they were far enough away before saying anything.

  “That poor girl,” she said. “All on her own. Her Doctor’s told her next to nothing.”

  “I’m glad you were able to help, old girl,” said Carter.

  “Don’t you, old girl me, Alex Carter,” she told him. “You’re older than me.”

  “My dear, Helen, do forgive me.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, giggling with an impish smile on her face.

  They talked about the previous summer for a while, comparing this year with the last. A whole year had gone by but so much had happened in that time.

  “You know, I can’t believe this place hasn’t been requisitioned,” Carter said suddenly.

  “It still might,” Wilkinson responded. He popped the top off one of the beer bottles and handed it to Carter. “The Yanks are coming. Did you know there’s been a few of them floating around Group the last few weeks having a look at how we do things.” Carters eyebrows went up in interest at that little titbit of gossip.

  “Gosh, Americans,” commented Yvonne with some enthusiasm. “Could you get us some nylons do you think?” she asked archly, batting her eyelids. Wilkinson laughed.

  “I might be able to manage some chocolate bars, will that do?”

  Yvonne wrinkled her nose.

  “Got some of those already,” she pouted.

  “They’re going to need a lot of airfields and buildings for their infrastructure once they come over in force with their heavies,” Wilkinson continued. The Madison would be ideal as a headquarters he thought. It had plenty of space and was close enough to 5 Group HQ at Saint Vincents Hall to ensure good cooperation.

  “Are they any good?” Carter asked. He’d seen propaganda film about Liberators in Coastal Command but knew little about American aircraft beyond that.

  “I’ve seen one,” said Wilkinson. “We went down to Farnborough to look them over. Flying Fortresses they call them. Bristling with guns but they’ve got a tiny bomb bay.”

  On first impressions, Wilkinson had thought the B17’s were an impressive bit of kit. The blended wing and rounded fuselage made them an attractive aircraft. What concerned him was their cocksure confidence that they’d be able to fight their way through to a target in broad daylight without any escorting fighters.

  “The Yanks I spoke to said they could lob a bomb into a pickle barrel, whatever that is, from twenty thousand feet in good conditions. They’re very keen to try their hand at daylight bombing.”

  Woods and Carter snorted in derision.

  “Huh, good luck,” said Carter. Wilkinson agreed with them.

  “I’m sorry to be a bore, darling, but I think we might have to push off,” Helen interjected. She had seen the time and as much as she’d lik
ed getting out for a while, she was beginning to fret about being away from Martha for so long. She got her things together and slipped her shoes back on. Carter called over to Vos and Denise and they stirred themselves. Wilkinson helped his wife up and they said their goodbyes. Helen hugged Carter close.

  “Take care of yourself, Alex. It’s not long to go now.”

  “I will.”

  They walked back up the slope towards the house. Woods watched them go and then crooked his arm for Yvonne.

  “Shall we take a turn around the lake? I’d like to explore before we go.”

  They headed off, leaving Carter and Georgette on their own. Carter finished his beer and stowed the empty bottle back into the basket.

  He stretched out on the blanket and Georgette sat next to him. They watched the Canadian and his girl walk into the distance around the lake. Soon they disappeared into the wood on the far side.

  “Yvonne’s nice,” Georgette said.

  “She is,” Carter agreed. “I thought he was never going to ask her out.”

  “I think it’s sweet.” They sat listening to the normal sounds for a few minutes. A bee buzzed nearby, prowling for some flowers. Faintly, she could hear an aero engine in the distance and she frowned. She wondered if there would ever be a day when such things were no longer heard as ever present background noise. Curious, she walked down to the edge of the lake. Carter watched her as she went over to the punt and looked it over.

  “Come on,” she told him. “I want to go for a ride.”

  He levered himself up, drowsy from the sun and beer. He shook his head and joined her by the water. She got into the punt, and settled herself on the bench seat in bow. Carter dug his heels in and pushed the punt out into the water, jumping on board at the last second. He picked up the pole and shoved it into the mud, having to pull hard to get it back before he fell in.

  She leaned back seductively on the seat and looked up at him through hooded eyes and smiled. She liked the bulge of his arms in his shirt as he moved the pole around. He moved it with practised ease, having mucked about with punts when he had been at university.

  “I could get used to this,” she laughed, almost purring.

  She braced herself on one elbow and looked over her shoulder. She waved her free hand towards the island.

  “Thattaway my good man.”

  “All I ask is a tall ship-” he whispered.

  “- and a star to steer by.” She finished for him, remembering New Years in the middle of nowhere stood next to a broken car.

  A few more shoves got them to the island and the bow of the punt nudged the bank. Carter went to the bow to grasp the jetty. There was a bit of rope and he used it to stop the punt from drifting away and stranding them there. Georgette went ashore and he followed her.

  The island was a kidney shaped spit of land, about sixty yards long, covered in trees and wild undergrowth. The big Willow tree was at the other end. A rough path led from the jetty to the summit. Here there was a natural break among the trees to provide a small cleared area, no more than five or six yards long and a few yards wide, sheltered on all sides.

  Georgette lay down on the grass and stretched. Carter took off his jacket and rolled it into a bit of a pillow, joining her. In the shade of the trees and bushes it was quite peaceful here, their own private island.

  She turned onto her side and propped her head up with her left hand as she looked down at him. He had his eyes closed and appeared quite peaceful. He tilted his head towards her and she could feel his breath on her arm.

  “When do you get your next leave?” she asked him.

  “When I finish my tour” he told her, his voice drowsy. “Well, when I get to thirty anyway,” he corrected, almost as an afterthought. That throwaway remark caught her attention. Second tours were supposed to be no more than thirty ops, even she knew that.

  “That sounds ominous,” she said, failing to keep an edge of concern out of her voice. “You are finishing your tour, aren’t you?”

  Carter opened one eye, suddenly aware how that had sounded. He looked up at her and gave her a reassuring smile.

  “Four to go. Then who knows.”

  “What does that mean,” she asked, more alarmed now.

  “The Group Captain said he might have a job for me,” he said carefully, remembering how his own heart had hammered when Etheridge had first asked him if he wanted to do another job. His mind had reeled at the thought of extending his tour or being detailed for some kind of special mission.

  “Not ops,” she said, her stomach clenching into knots. “You’ve done your share.”

  “No, not ops,” he said, his voice soothing. He stroked her left arm, seeing the goosepimples on her skin as she shivered to his touch. “More squadrons are getting Lanc’s. They’re thinking of forming a Heavy Conversion Unit to get the chaps on the squadrons flying quickly. They want a few experienced hands to show people the ropes. He muttered about a promotion if I’m good enough at it.”

  Georgette’s mood changed immediately.

  “But darling, that’s wonderful,” she almost cooed in relief. “You’ll still be in 5 Group so we can still see each other.”

  She had been waiting in hope for his tour to be over but dreading that he’d be posted back to Scotland or some other faraway place. This was an entirely different prospect.

  “Four to go,” he repeated, “then we’ll see what happens. I love you.”

  She leaned in to kiss him, her hand resting on his jaw, fingers running down his neck to his shoulder. She hooked her right leg over him and he responded by pulling her over so she shifted, straddling him.

  “I love you too,” she said against his mouth, her eyes clamped shut. “Alex, make love to me.”

  “Wha-here? Now?”

  She laughed.

  “Don’t you want to?” she asked. She sat up, her weight on his hips. She started unbuttoning his shirt, sliding her hands under the material.

  “Yes, but-” he was suddenly shy.

  “Alex Carter, I do believe you’re blushing.” She put her index finger against her lips. “Kiss,” she told him.

  “Someone might see.”

  She made an exaggerated show of looking around them while at the same time grinding her pelvis against him. He groaned. She undid the buttons on her blouse and pulled it off her shoulders.

  “We’re on an island,” she told him. “Come on, stop stalling. I have done this before. I don’t need protecting, I was married you know,” she chided.

  “Goodgie.”

  She kissed him while her hands went lower, undoing the belt on his trousers and tugging the zip down. That did it and he yielded to her demands and his own. He hitched his pants down and she guided him in.

  “Just…oh!”

  She held herself very still as he moved slowly up and down in small measured movements. She shivered and collapsed onto him, her breasts pressed against his chest, her breath warm on his neck.

  He spiralled down the rabbit hole. For every thrust, she responded. Her tongue darted into his mouth, running around his teeth. Her lips were slick against his. Her perfume overwhelmed him, her hair tickled his neck.

  The pace of their movements increased. He drove into her more frantically and she ground down to meet him with equal measure. She fixed him with her eyes, staring into his soul. He kissed her, welding himself to her as she went over the edge and he went with her. She clamped down on him and held him there as he shuddered, the stars exploding behind his eyes and his blood roaring in his ears. He floated after that, clinging to her like a rock in the ocean. She nestled in his arms, her hands tracing the line of scars on his rib cage, going from one to the next, up and down.

  Finally, they gathered themselves together, putting themselves to rights. Georgette pinned her hair back and reapplied her lipstick. She smiled to herself, basking in his adoring gaze.

  Right at this moment he was at peace. All his fears were distant mirages, things to worry about another day as
they flickered at the edges of his world. This was a day to think about himself, his hearts desire and what he wanted. He took her hand in his and kissed the knuckles before turning it over and kissing her palm.

  “Goodgie?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “Will you marry me?”

  That surprised her.

  “Darling! You don’t have to propose just because we’ve done it.”

  “True. We have done it before,” he demurred. He kissed her hand again and then stroked the back of it with his thumb. “I’m serious. When my tours up, let’s get married.”

  She looked at him, barely blinking, her face frozen. For a moment, Carter thought he had ruined everything. Then her eyes softened, those little crinkles at the corners he loved so much, that broad smile he had showered with kisses.

  “All right,” she said finally. “I do.” She put her left hand flat against his chest. She could feel his heart hammering. “I hope you realise I’m going to hold you to this. I love you.”

  He kissed her.

  “I love you too.”

  58 - The Politics Of War

  Planning for the raid continued in meticulous detail. Photographs of the target had to be assembled. Maps needed to be updated with the latest intelligence information regarding the locations of flak batteries, barrage balloons and searchlights. Calculations would be made to optimise the fuel and bomb loads. 2 Group were requested to lay on intruders to go for the enemy airfields and provide cover for the bombers on the way out and coming back. On the 23rd May, Operation Order 147 was sent to the Groups. The primary target was specified as Hamburg with Cologne as the alternate if the conditions were not favourable.

  Two days later, the Admiralty upset the apple cart. Harris was in his office when Saundby broke the news that the Admiralty had ordered Coastal Command to withdraw its cooperation. That left them two hundred fifty aircraft short, a quarter of the total force. Harris turned slitted eyes on his subordinate and exploded.

  “But they’re ours,” he said, his anger building. “They were ours before they were ever theirs. It’s not like we’re asking to keep the bloody things, only borrow them. They are aware I want to bomb Hamburg; where they make U-boats and other things that are sinking their little ships?”