The Ops Room Girls

by Vicki Beeby

  ‘No,’ said Travis, replacing the receiver, ‘it’s definitely not one of ours. Group has all our flights accounted for.’

  ‘It’s heading our way,’ Kincaith said.

  Following the direction of the arrows, Evie’s chest tightened as she saw the unknown aircraft was, indeed, heading for Amberton. But the plane – wherever it was from – was still out to sea. Plenty of time for it to change course.

  ‘Right.’ Travis glanced at the squadron readiness board. ‘Scramble Catseye Red and Blue flights, Alex.’

  Kincaith picked up the phone and gave the orders.

  Evie was getting used to the procedure now. She waited with bated breath until the observer reported six Hurricanes had taken off, then watched a plotter place a marker representing them. Then Travis called Red Leader and vectored the Hurricanes on an intercept course with the unknown plane. Another update came through on the mystery flight, and she swiftly moved the marker. Noting the clock’s minute hand had moved from blue to red, she placed a red arrow.

  By now, all pretence at other work had ceased. The unoccupied plotters had put down their knitting and were on their feet, all eyes pinned on the marker which moved ever closer to the English coast and Amberton. On the other side of the table, the plot with the jaunty yellow flag proclaiming it to be Catseye squadron, closed the gap.

  Evie was painfully aware that Travis was using her plot to direct Catseye squadron. If she made a mistake, the Hurricanes wouldn’t be able to find the unknown aircraft – until it was spotted by an observer, the readings from the Home Chain stations could only be an estimate. When she received the next update, she took especial care to check she had used the correct colour arrow and placed the marker as accurately as possible. Of course, they’d been told in training how important accuracy was, but it was only now, with a possible hostile flight heading for her location and only six brave pilots and their Hurricanes between Amberton and danger, that the full responsibility of her task sank in.

  Breathlessly, she watched as the gap between friendly and hostile plots narrowed, her own plot unwavering in its course. Surreptitiously she wiped her damp palms on her skirt. She hoped Ellerby hadn’t noticed, or she’d probably think she was too nervous to be useful and should be removed from the Ops Room. When the two plots met, she found herself cringing, as though the planes would actually crash. She had to remind herself they were unlikely to be at the same altitude.

  Travis spoke into his receiver again. ‘Belfry to Red Leader, you should be right above it. Report.’

  There was silence, then a crackle over the speakers. ‘Red Leader to Belfry, I see it. A Blériot. French. It’s seen us, but not moving away or attacking.’

  Travis frowned. ‘French? What the blazes?’ He spoke in the receiver again. ‘Belfry to Red Leader, understood. Escort the Blériot to Belfry. Repeat, escort Blériot to Belfry.’

  ‘Red Leader to Belfry, received and understood.’ Then a short while later, ‘Red Leader to Belfry, we’re on our way in.’

  There was a release of breath all around the room. Evie was suddenly aware that her legs trembled beneath her, and she sank onto her chair. A moment later there was a touch on her elbow, and she saw it was the WAAF who was to relieve her. She glanced at the clock, amazed at how quickly the watch had sped by.

  Peter Travis stopped her as she headed for the stairs. ‘Good work, Bishop. I bet that’s a first day you won’t forget in a hurry.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. You’re quite right, I won’t.’

  ‘I’m off to meet our mysterious French pilot. Do you fancy tagging along, to see the result of your hard work?’

  Evie had to admit she was burning with curiosity to see who had given them all a scare. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Travis moved towards the stairs and reached them from his side of the platform at the same time as Evie got there. Evie stumbled and trod on his left foot by accident.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘What?’ Travis looked at her blankly for a moment, then followed her gaze to his shoe, no longer gleaming but scuffed where Evie had stood on it. His face cleared. ‘Oh, nothing to worry about.’ He rapped his leg just below the knee, and Evie was startled to hear a hollow clunk. Seeing Evie’s confusion, he grinned. ‘You can stamp on that foot as hard as you like. I won’t feel a thing. Bit of a prang a couple of years ago. Now I just tell our pilots where to go.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry, sir.’ Evie felt her cheeks burn. With an effort she dragged her gaze from Travis’s left leg.

  ‘What about you, Alex? Coming?’ Travis asked.

  Only now did Evie see that Alex Kincaith stood just behind her.

  ‘Try stopping me.’

  Evie’s stomach performed that odd swoop again. Feeling her cheeks blazing even hotter, she climbed the stairs out into the sunlight. A car was waiting by the entrance. The moment Peter reached the top of the steps, the driver got out and opened the passenger door. To Evie’s delight, she saw it was May.

  ‘Slight change of plan,’ Travis told May as he climbed into the front seat. ‘Take us to Catseye dispersal first. There’s a plane we need to meet before we carry on to the station.

  Evie took her place in the back beside Alex Kincaith. She swallowed, forcing herself to look ahead and not glance at Kincaith. She was angry with herself for the frisson of excitement at finding herself so close to him. She was here to work, not flirt with men.

  The car pulled away smoothly. Evie was glad for May’s sake that Jess had dragged them round all the dispersal huts the previous day, so May knew where to go and didn’t have to embarrass herself in front of the officers by asking for directions.

  ‘I owe you an apology, Bishop.’

  Evie was so surprised she could hardly take in what Kincaith had said to her at first. ‘What? Why?’ Then she remembered she was addressing an officer and a wave of horror crashed over her. ‘Sorry, sir. I mean…’ She trailed off, unsure how to dig herself out of the hole.

  Kincaith smiled which, if anything, made her even more flustered. ‘I wasn’t very welcoming earlier. I was in a bad mood, but that’s no excuse.’ His accent really was rather attractive.

  ‘Oh. That’s… It doesn’t matter, sir.’

  She sat back and gazed straight ahead, unable to meet his gaze.

  * * *

  Alex was charmed to see a faint blush steal up Evie Bishop’s cheeks. She really was an attractive girl. It had been a pleasure to watch her at work, her brow puckered in concentration. It had helped him forget his frustration over Group’s inexplicable delay with reforming his squadron.

  ‘Anyway, welcome to Amberton,’ he said. ‘And the Ops Room. I should have said it earlier, but I was trying to do five things at once, as usual.’ None of them flying, which was the only thing he wanted to do.

  He had no idea why these words were spouting from his mouth. He was an officer, for heaven’s sake. There was no need to explain himself to a mere aircraftwoman. Closing his mouth, he gazed out at the airfield as the car sped towards Catseye’s dispersal hut. Funny. He’d never noticed before how long it took to get out to the airfield.

  At last, after the silence between Alex and Evie Bishop had stretched to uncomfortable proportions, the gawky young WAAF driver pulled up outside the dispersal hut and they all climbed out.

  Peter glanced at his watch. ‘They should be back any minute by my reckoning.’ He turned to the armed men who were approaching at a run and directed them to surround the Blériot as soon as it had landed. ‘I’m not taking any chances,’ he said to Alex in an undertone. ‘I smell a rat. If the French Air Force were sending a plane over, they’d have told us.’

  Alex glanced up as the tell-tale drone of Merlin engines reached his ears. Six Hurricanes came into view surrounding a biplane. ‘We’ll find out who it is soon enough.’

  Chapter Five

  Peter snatched a pair of binoculars from one of the pilots who’d come dashing out of the hut at the sound. He peered through them, twiddling with the focus.
‘Got them!’

  Soon the fighters were rolling to a halt over the field and the Hurricanes taxied towards their dispersal pens where the ground crew jumped onto the wings and helped the pilots out of the cockpits. The armed guards who had been waiting ran up to the Blériot and surrounded it.

  The man who climbed out was dressed in a tatty civilian suit. No parachute or Mae West, just an ancient flying cap and goggles. He jumped to the ground and was immediately seized by two guards, who led him over to Peter and Alex. He talked all the while, but Alex couldn’t catch the words. He fell silent when he was finally standing in front of them.

  ‘He keeps saying, “chess key”, sir,’ one of the guards said. ‘Foreign accent, too. Think he’s a Jerry.’

  The man shook his head. ‘No, no. Not Jerry. Jiří. Chess key.’

  Something about his accent clicked and brought to mind memories of sitting beside his grandmother’s fireside. Alex could almost smell the peat fire and hear his babi’s soft voice as she told the story of The Twelve Months. He coughed to clear his throat, which had suddenly become tight. ‘I think I know what he’s saying.’ He turned to the pilot. ‘Jste Čech?’

  The man nodded vigorously. ‘Ano, ano!’ Before the guards could stop him, he’d broken free and seized Alex in a bear hug.

  Alex managed to extricate himself and turned to Peter, doing his best to ignore the muffled giggles of the two WAAFs. ‘He’s Czech.’

  Peter raised his eyebrows. ‘You speak Czech, Alex?’

  ‘Aye, I do, thanks to my Czech grandmother. I’m a bit rusty now, but I think I can manage.’ He hadn’t spoken the language since his maternal grandparents had dragged him away from the loving home of his grandpa and babi, to be brought up in the austere home in the Isle of Skye, away from what they had regarded as the bad influence of his Catholic grandmother. But he’d continued to speak it to himself in secret. He was shocked by the sense of longing hearing those few words of Czech brought back.

  ‘Ask him his name and what he’s doing here.’

  Alex conveyed the question. The reply was a torrent of words that Alex was forced to ask the man to repeat more slowly several times before he finally got the whole of it.

  ‘His name is Jiří Stepanek. He was a pilot in the Czechoslovak Air Force. When the Czechs were forced to surrender, he went to fight in Poland. After Poland fell, he travelled across Europe, trying to get to England. In the end he stole this Blériot from the French Air Force and ended up here. He says he wants to fly for us.’

  Jiří must have caught the meaning of Alex’s final words. ‘Fly, yes. Fly Spitfires.’

  ‘Steady on,’ said Peter. ‘Spitfires are high-performance machines. Very different from the biplanes you’ve been flying.’

  Alex didn’t have time to translate, for Jiří seemed to pick up the tone of Peter’s words if not the full meaning. With a scowl, he reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a dog-eared book, which he thrust into Alex’s hands with a stream of Czech too fast for Alex to catch.

  Alex opened the book and saw each page was divided into columns, with handwritten notes and numbers in each. Although he’d never learnt to read and write Czech, he could see it was a pilot’s log book. He flicked through it and whistled. Jiří had logged several thousand hours, well over a hundred being combat hours.

  ‘See,’ Jiří said in Czech. ‘I bet I’ve got more experience than most of these fresh-faced pansies combined.’

  Alex bit back a laugh and decided not to translate that part. ‘He does have a lot of experience,’ he said to Peter.

  Peter shrugged. ‘It’s not my decision to make. We’ll send him to the station commander, but I expect he’ll have to go to Group. He can’t fly until he’s learnt English, anyway. He’s got to understand the directions coming across the radio.’

  Alex translated for Jiří’s sake while Peter instructed the guards to take Jiří to Bob Law, the station commander. He felt a twinge of regret as he watched the Czech pilot being escorted away. It had felt strange speaking Czech again, bringing back a rare happy memory from his childhood. He had also felt useful again. It didn’t matter how many times the station commander told him how valuable it was to have an experienced pilot in Ops, he wouldn’t feel he was pulling his weight until he was back in the air.

  He strolled back to the car, where Evie Bishop stood with the driver, both gazing at the Czech pilot with wide eyes. ‘How did you enjoy your first watch?’ he asked her.

  A faint blush coloured her cheeks, and she gave a breathy laugh. ‘It was more exciting than I’d expected.’

  Alex caught himself staring at her fingers, which fiddled with the collar of her blouse. He dragged his gaze back to her eyes. ‘Well, you’ve proved you can cope with the work. You should be proud of yourself.’

  Evie’s smile broadened, displaying a set of white, even teeth. ‘Thank you.’

  What was he thinking? He gave an abrupt nod and turned, waving away Peter’s offer of a lift. The walk would clear his head, and if he spent any more time in Evie Bishop’s company, he’d do something stupid like invite her for a drink. He headed for the Admin block. He was going straight to the station commander to say he should be in charge of a squadron, not wasting his time in the Operations Room. He firmly squashed the thought that working in Ops held more appeal now Evie Bishop had arrived.

  * * *

  The next weeks passed swiftly for Evie. As dramatic as her first watch had been, it had reassured her that she could handle her job, and her confidence increased with each day. The thing that made her happiest was her growing friendship with May and Jess. It was a thrill to have someone to spend time with when she was off duty. They often spent their free evenings curled up in armchairs in the schoolroom, sharing the latest gossip. Now the weather was improving, they had started taking walks together, exploring the woods and winding lanes around Amberton.

  ‘Have you noticed how Hellerby’s accent gets posher the angrier she gets?’ Jess remarked one day. The three girls had a rare afternoon of leisure together. Instead of spending it in the smoky NAAFI, they had packed a picnic and taken their bikes up into the Downs. Now, replete with jam sandwiches and slices of fruitcake, they lay on their backs on a grassy hillside while tiny blue butterflies flitted around them and skylarks flung their songs into the air. The May sunshine was so warm all three girls had rolled up their shirtsleeves and removed their stockings. Up here, the sound of aero engines was a background rumble rather than the ear-splitting roar it was on the station. More akin to the drone of the bumblebees browsing through the clover.

  Evie laughed, curling her toes into the prickly grass. ‘It does at that, but I’m beginning to get used to her. I think her bark is worse than her bite.’

  Jess turned on her side and regarded Evie with wide eyes. ‘Seriously? No, you’re ’aving us on.’

  ‘I mean it. She’s not so bad.’

  ‘You’re only saying that because you’ve never made any mistakes. You’d think differently if you’d been on the receiving end of one of her tongue-lashings. Unless…’ Jess’s eyes narrowed. ‘This is nothing to do with Hellerby, is it? More to do with the golden glow that surrounds you whenever a certain young squadron leader is in the room.’

  May sat up. ‘Squadron Leader Travis?’

  Jess didn’t shift her gaze from Evie, making Evie squirm. ‘Course not. Alex Kincaith.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Evie looked down and started to rip up clumps of grass. She firmly squashed the memory of sitting beside Kincaith in the back of the car and how flustered she felt when he was near.

  ‘Really?’ Jess arched an elegantly pencilled brow. ‘How about the way you watch him when you think no one’s looking? Or the way you hang on his every word.’

  ‘I don’t!’

  ‘Or the way he walks up and down the gallery to get the best view of you.’

  ‘He does?’ Evie froze, her hand full of torn grass. Then an ant crawled across her fingers, ti
ckling her back to awareness. She shook it off, dropped the grass then brushed her hands to rid them of the last strands sticking to her palms. ‘Don’t be silly. He’s looking at the plots, not me.’ She fanned her face. The sun was much hotter than she’d expected. If she didn’t take care, she’d get sunburnt. ‘I think he likes to walk around because he hates sitting still for a long time.’

  ‘Oh, so you have been thinking about him?’ The knowing curl of Jess’s lip made Evie’s insides squirm.

  ‘I’m glad I don’t work in the Ops Room.’ May’s comment saved Evie from having to answer Jess’s accusation. ‘I’d hate to have my every move watched like that.’

  ‘I thought you wanted a transfer to Ops?’ Evie gazed at May in surprise.

  ‘Why ’ave I been slaving to ’elp you speak the King’s English, then?’

  Evie had to bite back a laugh, always amused at how Jess could switch from a cut-glass BBC accent to her native East End at the drop of a hat.

  ‘Oh, well, that was before I started,’ May stammered. ‘You spend all your time in that dark hole while I get to spend my days out in the open air. I didn’t think I’d enjoy it, but I do.’ She picked a buttercup and twirled it between her fingers. ‘I am grateful for your help, Jess. I think the officers prefer it when their driver doesn’t speak in a broad Brummie accent.’ She laughed but looked down at the patch of clover by her feet, as though suddenly fascinated by the fluffy pink flowers.

  ‘And is it one officer in particular you enjoy talking to?’ Jess asked in an arch voice.

  ‘No! You know I’m not interested in men. I mean, some are nicer than others, like…like Peter and…and others. But—’