by Vicki Beeby
‘But they won’t break us,’ Evie vowed. She felt an awed sense of privilege that she was part of the fight, part of the reason why the Germans were not finding it as easy to break them as they’d predicted.
That was when she heard a soft, metallic tapping. Although the noise was quieter than the other woodland sounds, it was so out of place, Evie noticed it immediately. It seemed to be coming from behind the bole of an enormous beech.
Curious, she went to investigate. She was a few strides from the tree when she stepped on a twig; a nearby magpie shot from its perch, chattering in alarm.
Immediately, the tapping noise stopped, and there came a scrabbling noise. Then a familiar face peered around the trunk, and Evie relaxed.
‘Karol! What are you doing up here? I thought Brimstone was out on patrol.’
Karol scrambled to his feet, brushing dried leaves from his trousers. He held a battered brown leather satchel that he hugged to his chest. ‘The CO, he ground me,’ Karol said in his heavily accented English. ‘He is angry because I chase Messerschmitts.’ He mimed lining up his gun sights and firing. ‘I shoot one down, but he is still angry.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Although she could understand why Alex wouldn’t want to risk flying with a squadron member who didn’t follow orders. ‘How long for?’
Karol shrugged. ‘Until I learn to obey orders.’ Then he grinned. ‘Until then, I can walk with pretty WAAF?’
Evie glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve still got an hour or so before I need to go back.’ Maybe some company would help her forget her nagging headache, and she couldn’t deny the Czech pilots were entertaining company.
‘Dobrý.’ Karol slung the satchel around his neck and then offered her his arm.
Evie took it, wondering why she could feel so at ease with Karol, yet never knowing what to say or how to behave when with Alex.
They strolled further around the path, until they came to a view point where they could see fields stretching out below them and, in the distance, the glint of the sun on the sea.
Karol stopped and gazed across the landscape. ‘The sea is krásné.’ He appeared to grope for a word. ‘Beautiful.’
Evie glanced at him. ‘Is this the first time you’ve been near the sea?’
Karol nodded. ‘We have no sea in Czechoslovakia. Only lakes.’
‘Are there lakes where you come from?’ Evie was picturing a fairy-tale land of forests, mountains and lakes.
‘No. I am from Praha…Prague.’
‘What’s that like?’ Evie breathed, marvelling that the men of Brimstone squadron hailed from such exotic places.
‘Old and beautiful. I hope you can go one day. I think you would love the castle and the squares. The city is built upon seven hills.’
‘Just like Rome.’
‘Yes, only better.’ Karol laughed. ‘But tell me about England. Do you come from near here?’
‘No. I’m from Oxford.’
‘Oxford! I’ve heard of it. Oxford University. Very famous.’
Evie shook her head with a smile. ‘I come from a less famous part of the town. No famous universities, just factories.’
‘Ah, factories. What do they make?’
‘Mostly—’ She stopped, suddenly remembering all the posters plastered in the NAAFI, with warnings to ‘Keep Mum’ and ‘Loose Lips Sink Ships’. Not that she suspected Karol of sinister behaviour – he was an RAF pilot. But if she started trying to judge who to disclose information to, and who to keep in the dark, she would spend her life trying to decide on people’s motivations. Far better to be safe and not give out that kind of information. She gave a careless laugh. ‘Oh, but I never took an interest in anything like that.’ She groped for a change of subject. ‘Anyway, tell me more about yourself. What were you doing up here in the woods, all alone?’ She pointed at the satchel.
Karol clamped it closer to his body. ‘You won’t laugh?’
‘I won’t. I promise.’
‘I draw.’
She frowned, then her brow cleared. ‘Oh, you mean sketching? Drawing the view, that sort of thing?’ When Karol nodded, she reached out towards the bag. ‘Can I see?’
He clutched the satchel tighter and shook his head. ‘No, no. It’s not very good. Just for me.’
She relented and let her arm drop to her side. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what had made the tapping noise, but then she realised it was probably something simple like his pencil tapping against his teeth. They walked on a little further, then she glanced at her watch. ‘Goodness! I must go back, or I’ll be late for my next watch. Are you coming?’
Karol shook his head. ‘I will stay here and draw some more.’
Evie didn’t press the matter. He’d looked so forlorn when he said he’d been grounded, he probably wanted to stay away from the reminder that he couldn’t fly with the rest of his squadron. Either that, or he was avoiding Alex.
She waved goodbye and dashed down the path.
* * *
Evie’s hopes that a walk would clear her headache proved futile. It must be the same for all the plotters, so she said nothing. The relentlessness of working four hours on, followed by only a two-hour break before being back on duty for another four hours was grinding them all down. But yesterday’s raid had shown her how vital her job was if they were to prevent any more bombers getting through. And the image of the three lifeless bundles beside the bomb crater continued to haunt her. As did each report of a pilot lost.
She’d allowed time for a drink and quick meal before returning to duty, but although she gulped down her tea, thirsty after her walk, she could only manage a few mouthfuls of the unappetising corned beef sandwich. The prospect of returning to the hot, stuffy Ops Room killed any desire to eat.
Jess was already on duty when Evie entered the Ops Room. She flashed Evie a quick smile when Evie took her place beside her, then she studied Evie’s face and frowned. ‘Are you feeling all right? You’re ever so pale.’
‘I’m fine. Just a bit tired.’
But she found it harder than usual to grasp the current state of all the raids and the flights sent out to intercept them. The blocks and arrows danced on the table, making it impossible to focus. The harsh overhead lights burned her eyes, and each time she got a new position through her headset, the voice jarred her headache. She struggled to keep up with the plots, several times dropping the blocks.
‘Pay attention, Bishop,’ the WAAF officer snapped in her ear suddenly, making her jump. ‘You’ve just placed your numbers upside down.’
‘Sorry, ma’am.’ She picked up the block.
‘Not that one!’ The officer snatched it out of her hands. ‘What’s wrong with you, Bishop?’
‘I don’t think she’s very well, ma’am.’ That was Jess’s voice, swirling into the mix of bright lights and disembodied voices.
Then there came a cool hand pressing upon her brow followed by a sharp intake of breath. ‘You’re burning up, girl. What on earth possessed you to stand watch in this state? Come and sit down.’
Without knowing how she got there, Evie found herself sitting on one of the beds in a side room where WAAFs snatched sleep between watches at night. Something cool pressed against her palms, and she saw she’d been handed a glass of water. She raised it to her lips, grateful for the trickle of water across her parched tongue.
‘We’ve sent for the MO. Just lie there until he comes.’
The officer turned to leave, but Evie called her back. ‘I can’t stay here. I’m needed on duty.’
‘We need plotters who are well enough not to confuse one of our squadrons for a hostile plot,’ the officer replied.
‘I did?’ Evie buried her aching head in her hands. ‘I’m sorry.’
The officer patted her on the back. ‘Don’t worry about it. You’re one of our best plotters. I know it’s not a mistake you’d ever make when you’re yourself. The best thing you can do for the station now is to get yourself well as soon as possible so you can retu
rn to your duties.’
Much to her disgust, the Medical Officer told her it looked like a dose of flu. He had her taken to the infirmary, where she was dosed with aspirin and put straight to bed. She must have dozed off, for the next thing she knew the soft golden light of early evening was streaming through the window, and Jess and May were standing beside her bed, holding a bunch of six crimson roses.
‘We took them from a bush at High Chalk House,’ Jess explained as she arranged them in a vase. ‘And we pinched this from the house.’ She tapped the fine china vase, decorated with a bold pattern of leaves and tulips. ‘May’s getting positively daring.’
‘What if an officer had caught you?’
‘As a matter of fact, one did.’
‘Oh no. Please tell me you didn’t get into trouble.’ The last thing Evie wanted was for her friends to end up on a charge on her account.
Jess grinned. ‘It was Hellerby. When we told her what it was for, she promised not to tell anyone as long as we returned it after you were better.’
‘Ellerby?’ Evie put her hand to her aching head. She must be worse than she’d thought. ‘I thought she was looking for any excuse to tear a strip off you.’
‘That was true until Jess showed how brave she was during the raid,’ May said. ‘And then she helped Ellerby after she got knocked out, so now Jess is her favourite WAAF. She’s even talking about Jess being officer material.’
Jess looked pleased. ‘I should add that May was far more of a hero. She took charge after we got trapped.’
Evie was pleased for her friends that they had done so well. She yawned, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over her.
‘We should go,’ Jess said. ‘Leave you to rest.’
They turned to leave, but Evie called them back. ‘Wait. Brimstone squadron. Did they all get back safely? Apart from Flight Lieutenant Harper, I mean.’
‘All down without a scratch. They’re in the pub as we speak.’
Evie lay back and let sleep drift over her, able to relax now she knew Alex was safe.
* * *
After three days, Evie was feeling much better. As exhausting as she found her watches in The Hole, she’d missed it, and hated not knowing exactly what was happening in the air in their sector. Lying in bed, listening to the roar of aircraft taking off and landing, she continually fretted over the safety of the pilots. It was horrible not knowing if her friends had landed safely, not knowing if Alex was safe. Every day she eagerly awaited visits from Jess and May, and was only able to relax when she knew all the pilots had returned. She learned with dismay that two young pilots from Popcorn squadron had been shot down over the sea and were presumed dead. They’d only arrived in the squadron two weeks earlier, and she hadn’t met them, but she mourned their loss all the same. One of the Czech pilots from Brimstone had been shot down over Kent, but had bailed out and returned unharmed that night.
Now she was feeling better, she looked forward to her return to Ops, where she could get all the news first-hand.
‘Absolutely not,’ the MO said, when Evie mentioned it to him. ‘You’ve only just recovered from a high fever. If you go back down into that stuffy hole before you’re fully fit, you’ll make yourself ill all over again. No. I’m putting you on sick leave for a week. Go home. Spend some time with your family.’
Evie’s heart sank. Somehow, she doubted a week in her mother’s company would provide the rest the MO intended. She’d written to her mother every fortnight and sent postal orders every month for as much money as she could spare. Dora had always replied, but her letters had been stiff, revealing only the barest details of life in Cowley. It seemed Dora hadn’t forgiven her daughter for leaving. With the distance between them, Evie had been able to ignore her own feelings of betrayal towards Dora but now she was returning home, the reckoning between them loomed large. Her visit to Cowley was going to be awkward, to say the least.
Chapter Fourteen
The next day, Evie was issued with travel warrants and ration coupons, and packed off back to Oxford for a week. May drove her to the station, and Jess managed to wangle a change in her hours so she could come along for the ride.
‘I’m going to miss you both while I’m away,’ Evie told them, as the car sped along the country lanes. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do without being able to talk things through with you in the evenings.’
‘You’ll be too busy catching up with old friends to miss us,’ Jess said with a laugh.
‘I never really had friends until I met you,’ Evie replied sadly. ‘I was too busy studying to make friends. Promise you’ll write?’ And tell me how Alex is. But she kept that thought to herself. Time away from Alex with no word of him would be good for her. A chance to shake off her infatuation for a man she barely knew.
‘We promise,’ May said. ‘But you know we won’t be able to tell you much.’
Evie nodded gloomily. The censor would remove even the slightest hint of information on RAF activities. They weren’t even allowed to write about the weather. On top of that, the knowledge that their letters were being read by others was inhibiting. ‘Any news is better than none.’
All too soon, she was on the train, leaning out of the window, waving to Jess and May as the train puffed out of the station. But as she sat back in her seat she thought again about the effect of censorship on letters. Maybe her mother wasn’t as cold as her letters made her appear. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted the censor to know their business. She took comfort in the thought as the train carried her away from her friends and back to the home she’d left in bitterness and disappointment.
* * *
Alex sat at his desk, frowning over his latest combat report. It was bad enough they had to fly four or five missions a day with barely a chance to visit the latrine between flights, let alone eat or drink. Having to write everything up afterwards was the last straw. He glanced out of the window, to where his pilots were lounging in deck chairs, soaking up the late afternoon sun. With luck, the next time the phone rang it would be to stand them down for the day. The relentless cycle of dawn-till-dusk patrols was wearing even the most happy-go-lucky pilots down. An evening at the pub would do them all good.
The telephone shrilled, and every muscle in Alex’s body tensed. Karol went to answer it. Karol had followed orders to the letter since he’d begun his punishment. He hadn’t even complained about being grounded. Alex supposed he ought to release him to fly soon.
Karol replaced the receiver. ‘“A” flight, scramble,’ he cried and rang the bell to alert the pilots.
Alex flung down his pen and dashed out to his Hurricane. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have allowed myself to start planning a trip to the pub,’ he said to Milan, as the dark-haired pilot staggered out of his deck chair, rubbing sleep from his eyes. After his rocky start, Milan had proved a great support to Alex, helping keep his compatriots in check. For that reason, Alex had chosen him to be second-in-command after Harper’s death.
His stomach tightened as the reality of Harper’s death intruded on his thoughts again. For the most part, he’d been able to shut out his feelings regarding the loss of another squadron member. He had to, or he thought he might never claw his way out of despair.
Milan wrinkled his nose. ‘I’d rather be shooting at Germans than drinking the dishwater you British call beer.’
Alex grinned and clapped Milan on the back, forcing all thoughts of death out of his mind. He pulled on his parachute, hauled himself onto the wing of his Hurricane and into the cockpit. The fitter had already started the engine, so he ran through the cockpit drill, then signalled for the chocks to be pulled away. Within moments, he was taxiing across the field, gathering speed.
As ever when he flew, all tension drained away the moment the wheels lifted off the ground. It was as though he left all his worries on the station and he was floating as light as the clouds. Time enough to pick them up when he landed.
‘Brimstone Red Leader, this is Belfry.’ The controller’s voice c
rackled through his headset. ‘Climb to Angels two-zero then vector one-seven-niner.’
‘Belfry, Brimstone Red Leader. Understood.’
He climbed in the opposite direction to the vector he’d been given, having quickly learned the danger of not gaining enough height before encountering the hostiles they’d been sent to intercept. He glanced to either side to check his pilots were in formation, satisfied when he saw the other two Hurricanes of Red section on each wingtip, and Blue section slightly below and behind them. Soon they were up among the puffs of cloud, which gleamed brilliant white in the sunshine. Above them the sky was a clear blue expanse. He always found the contrast between the serenity of flying above the clouds and the frantic tangle of dogfights hard to fathom. It seemed an obscenity to mar the peaceful skies with gunfire and killing.
Once they had reached twenty thousand feet, Alex steered on the vector they’d been given, and kept an eye out for raiders.
‘Brimstone Red Leader, Belfry. You should be right on top of them.’
Alex scanned the skies. He just caught a glint of sunlight on glass when Milan’s voice cut across the R/T: ‘Bandits two o’clock.’
Alex glanced ahead and to the right and saw them. Nine Dorniers. He called them in, then gave the order to attack. ‘Red two, Red three, break and attack. Blue Leader, maintain your position.’ It was a routine they were used to: half the flight would attack the bombers while the rest circled overhead, watching for enemy fighters that were inevitably waiting up in the sun, intending to ‘bounce’ unwary attackers.
Sure enough, as soon as they commenced their dive, he heard Milan call out: ‘109s at six o’clock. Look out, Red Leader, there’s one on your tail.’
Alex instinctively threw his Hurricane into a barrel roll, but he wasn’t fast enough: he felt the thud of bullets hitting the fuselage. He shot a glance over his shoulder and saw a 109 swooping down on his tail. Another Hurricane – Milan’s, he thought – was gaining on it. It bought him time to fire at his Dornier. He waited until the last possible moment, then fired.
