by Vicki Beeby
‘When was your last flight before this one?’
‘At first light. The report should be on your desk, sir.’
Alex sifted through the reports until he found Karol’s. It was understandable thanks to a young Pilot Officer from Wagtail who’d broken his leg three weeks earlier. Alex had persuaded Wagtail’s squadron leader to release him to Brimstone squadron to write their combat reports for them. Although most of the Czechs now spoke reasonable English, their written English was appalling.
‘I see you returned early,’ he said, glancing at the report written in Pilot Officer Walsh’s neat hand. ‘Out of ammo.’ Clearly the guns had been in working order then.
‘Very well,’ he said finally, unable to find a way of asking who Karol had seen hanging around his Hurricane’s dispersal pen between flights without raising suspicion. He had no choice but to continue making flights as usual. He didn’t want his pilots worried about sabotage. ‘Go and make your report.’
Alex followed Karol out of his office and went out to the dispersal pens. The fitters and riggers were swarming over the machines, refuelling, replacing ammunition, patching holes. It was a warm day, and those pilots who had finished their reports were lounging in deckchairs, looking incongruous with their bright yellow Mae Wests on.
In contrast to the feverish activity around most of the machines, Karol’s fitter was sitting in the shade of the wing, sipping tea from a battered enamelled cup. At a quick glance, Karol’s machine was in pristine condition.
‘All finished, Sykes?’
The Erk sprang to his feet, banging his head on the wing. Alex had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing when Sykes tried to salute and rub his bumped head simultaneously.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What about the guns? Pilot Officer Šimek tells me they jammed.’
Still rubbing his head and wincing, Sykes said, ‘I ’ad a good look, sir, but couldn’t find nowt wrong.’
‘Nothing?’ Alex didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t this. When Sykes shook his head, Alex said, ‘Very well. But I want Rawlins to inspect it. I’m grounding it until he’s passed it.’
He went to see Rawlins.
‘She’s as good as new, sir,’ Rawlins said in greeting. ‘They’ve done a fine job up at the CRU. Almost as good as me and the lads.’
Alex gave a nod of thanks, patting his Hurricane’s wing tip. ‘If you’re finished here, I want you to inspect Pilot Officer Šimek’s machine. The guns jammed on his last flight, but Sykes couldn’t find anything wrong.’ He lowered his voice, making sure than none of the other Erks could overhear. ‘Check the air feeds.’
Rawlins nodded, his eyes widening. ‘I’ve been keeping an eye on things, just as you asked, sir. I didn’t see anyone near Pilot Officer Šimek’s machine who shouldn’t be there.’ He spoke in the same low tones.
Alex looked over at the Hurricanes, most of which were now ready to be scrambled. The Erks lounged nearby, ready to spring into action and start the engines the instant they heard the bell. It was hard to see how anyone could get near one of the planes without someone noticing.
‘What about the day my guns jammed? Did you find out who’d been near my machine?’
Rawlins scratched his head. ‘I did my best to ask around without rousing suspicion, sir. No one can remember seeing anyone around who didn’t have business being there.’
‘Very well. Go and look at Karol’s machine and report to me when you’ve finished.’
Alex returned to his office to catch up on the paperwork that had piled up in his absence. There wasn’t as much as he’d feared; Milan and the temporary clerk must have seen to it between them. He tried to come up with a plan for catching the saboteur, but found his thoughts drifting to the Ops Room, where Evie must be back at work. Did he have an excuse to go there? He smiled, imagining the pleasure of seeing Evie, smart in her uniform.
He was shaken from his reverie by a knock at the door. He looked up to see Rawlins standing in the doorway. He beckoned him in.
‘I did what you asked, sir, but the air feeds are as clean as a whistle. No sign of anything.’
Alex frowned. He’d been so sure Rawlins would discover what was wrong. ‘If they had been jammed, could the matchsticks have fallen out?’
Rawlins’ brow wrinkled. ‘I suppose they must have. Maybe they weren’t jammed as tight as the ones in your guns.’
Alex sighed and dismissed Rawlins. They were no further forward. He would have to think of something else, and fast, because until he stopped the saboteur, he would never know if he was sending out pilots in unsafe machines.
The telephone shrilled in the other room and he closed his eyes briefly, dread forming an icy weight in his stomach.
Sure enough, Milan’s voice called out, ‘“A” flight, scramble!’
All Alex could do was dash to his Hurricane, praying everyone would return.
Chapter Nineteen
Evie stretched the muscles of her back and shoulders as she followed Jess up the steps and into the daylight. It had been another gruelling watch, but she was pleased to discover that she was falling back into the routine and the week off hadn’t made her forget what to do. Thankfully all their pilots had returned safely from each sortie. The raids were relentless, though. Wave after wave of bandits appeared over the Channel. At times it had felt as though they were trying to stop a flood with a dish cloth, but miraculously she had seen their boys fend off the attacks again and again.
It made her all the more determined to find the saboteur; it was bad enough their pilots faced death every day from the enemy without the additional risk of their machine failing to respond. She refused to do nothing while someone on the base was trying to kill Alex. It was bad enough having to watch the plot representing his squadron, praying they wouldn’t hear the report that meant he had been shot down.
‘What shall we do?’ Jess asked when they emerged into the sunlight.
Evie blinked while her eyes adjusted to the light. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m dying for some food.’
‘Lunch it is.’ Jess slipped her arm through Evie’s and they directed their steps to the NAAFI. ‘Or is it dinner or breakfast? I’ve given up trying to work out which meal we’re on.’
Evie glanced at her watch. Funny how even though they were constantly looking at the clock in Ops, she only paid attention to the minute hand to see which colour it indicated. ‘Four o’clock. Too early for dinner, too late for lunch.’
‘Don’t care. My stomach feels like my throat’s been cut.’
Thankfully the canteen was set up for those like the plotters who worked odd hours. Soon Evie was carrying a tray laden with a cup of strong tea, a wafer-thin slice of bread smeared with marge and a bowl of watery stew.
‘More cabbage and potato than meat,’ said Jess, sniffing at hers dubiously.
She went to sit at the nearest table, but Evie shook her head. ‘This way. By the window.’
Jess hung back. ‘Those seats are already taken.’
‘I know.’ Evie lowered her voice. ‘They’re Brimstone’s ground crew. They might know something.’
Jess’s eyes widened in comprehension. Then she grinned. ‘Watch and learn, Evie, my girl.’
How she managed to put a wiggle in her walk while carrying a heavy tray, Evie couldn’t guess, but the eyes of the men were fixed on her long before she reached their table. ‘Afternoon, lads. Got room for a couple of small ones?’
The men obligingly shuffled up on their benches to make space for the girls. Evie sat opposite Jess, next to a fitter with sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve. No sooner had they set down their trays than Jess went on the attack.
‘Thanks for helping out. The lads over there’ – Jess gave a vague wave towards the other side of the room that could have taken in any one of a number of tables – ‘were trying to get a bit fresh. But I saw you boys, and I knew you’d take care of us.’ A lock of blonde hair had magically worked loose from her severe up do, and she twi
rled it around her index finger, shooting sidelong glances at the men from beneath sweeping lashes. Evie had to bite back a grin as the four men sat up straight, pulling back their shoulders and holding in their stomachs.
‘Don’t you worry, girls. We’ll look after you,’ the man beside Jess said.
Evie had to ‘accidentally’ knock her teaspoon to the floor, where it clattered on the scuffed lino. Bending down to retrieve it gave her a chance to compose her features. She could only hope Jess didn’t expect her to flirt so outrageously, because she hadn’t the first idea how to go about it.
‘I’m Fletcher.’ The man beside Jess had started introductions by the time Evie had regained control and sat up. He pointed to the two men at the far end of the table from Jess and Evie. ‘That’s Sykes and Jackson. The sergeant, here’ – Fletcher pointed at the man beside Evie – ‘well, we just call him Sarge unless we want a clip round the ear.’
‘Are you the lasses who were teaching our pilots?’ Sykes asked. Evie, who was getting better at spotting accents, guessed he was a Yorkshireman.
‘That’s right,’ Evie replied, feeling that she should join in wherever possible.
‘Makes you one of us. We’re in Brimstone’s ground crew,’ said Jackson.
‘Aye, and we take care of our own.’
‘You’re so kind.’ Jess gave them all a beaming smile. Evie noticed the sergeant beside her surreptitiously tug at his collar as though it was too tight. For a moment she envied Jess her confidence with men. Then she remembered Alex. He didn’t seem to mind she was a studious bluestocking instead of a Hollywood bombshell.
‘You know,’ Jess continued, ‘us WAAFs are often saying the ground crew should get more credit. Aren’t we, Evie?’
‘What? Oh…yes, that’s right.’ Evie could only follow her friend’s lead and pray Jess knew where she was going.
‘The pilots get all the glory, but where would they be without your expertise?’ As Jess spoke, the Erks seemed to grow taller, their chests puffing out.
‘In t’ground,’ muttered Sykes, stubbing out his cigarette, grinding the end into the ash tray.
‘The pilots know. That’s all that matters to me.’ The sergeant beside Evie spoke for the first time.
The Yorkshireman nodded. ‘True enough, Sarge. They’re a good crowd, our pilots.’
‘Yeah,’ Jackson said. ‘Always time for a word of thanks. Not puffed up with their own self-importance like some of the others.’
‘Squadron Leader Kincaith, now, he’s a true gent,’ the sergeant said. A glow of pleasure warmed Evie’s chest to hear Alex praised. She realised this must be the same sergeant that had discovered the sabotage. She groped for his name – Rawlins. That was it. ‘He’s not above asking my advice when it comes to the workings of his Hurricane.’
There were nods all around, and a chorus of agreement. ‘It’s good to see the CO back,’ Rawlins went on. ‘I had a right nasty turn when—’ He paused, glancing a sideways glance at the men beside him. ‘Well, the less said about that, the better.’
So he had done as Alex had asked and not told anyone else about the sabotage. Evie could tell from the slightly puzzled looks that the men didn’t know what he was referring to.
‘They’re all a good crowd, by and large,’ Sykes said. ‘I’ll admit when I heard we were having a load of Czech pilots, I thought Fighter Command had lost their marbles, but they’re good pilots and friendlier than the toffee-nosed bunch in my last posting. Some of ’em are trained mechanics, too.’
Evie pricked up her ears at that. She’d been inclined to suspect one of the ground crew; they had both the knowledge and the opportunity to interfere with the aeroplanes. Now it turned out some of the pilots also could have done it. But she quickly dismissed the idea. The Czechs had every reason to hate the Germans. She remembered only too well the tales some of them had told of having to abandon loved ones in order to escape to continue their fight.
Jess must have had similar thoughts as she gave a breathless laugh. ‘I wouldn’t think you’d want anyone else messing with the aircraft.’
‘Gawd ’elp us, no.’ Rawlins pulled a face. ‘But the pilots who understand engines are better at spotting trouble before it happens.’
‘Not like that Pilot Officer Šimek.’
‘Who – Karol?’ Jess asked.
‘That’s him,’ Fletcher said. ‘Always bringing it back early with engine trouble. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve stripped down that engine. Never anything wrong.’
Evie fiddled with her spoon, wondering how to turn the conversation to who’d had the opportunity to sabotage Alex’s Hurricane.
Before she could think of anything, Rawlins looked at his watch. ‘Break over, lads. Excuse us, ladies. Duty calls.’
‘Lovely talking to you lads. We’ll look out for you another time.’ Jess shot them a beaming smile that had Sykes tripping over his feet.
‘Any time, ladies.’
The men hastily drained their mugs then clambered over the benches and filed out with cheery waves.
Evie stabbed at a lump of potato in her stew. ‘Well, that got us nowhere.’
‘Give us a chance, Evie. I couldn’t exactly shine a light in their eyes and ask them where they were between two and four o’clock last Monday.’
‘I know. I was so fired up to help that I didn’t consider the practicalities. We didn’t learn anything useful from those men.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. We achieved one thing.’
‘What, a reputation for being flirts?’
Jess grinned. ‘I already had that. And if you think what you were doing is flirting, you’ve got a lot to learn. No. I mean we’re now friends with those men. They’d have been suspicious if we’d jumped in, firing questions. But they’ll be falling over themselves to talk to us again, and now we’re friends it will be easier to find out what we want.’
‘You’re right. Thanks for your help, Jess.’ Evie ate a few mouthfuls of her now cold stew before saying, ‘I know I’m being impatient. I can’t help worrying the saboteur will strike again.’ And terrified Alex would be the target.
Jess patted her hand. ‘You never know. We might have learned more than we think. My experience of detecting has taught me that any detail can be important, even if it doesn’t seem important at the time.’
Evie had to swallow her mouthful quickly to stop herself spitting it out. ‘Your experience of detecting? When?’
Jess coloured. ‘I once did a three-month run playing a chambermaid in a play about a murder at a house party.’
Evie laughed so hard tears came to her eyes.
‘What’s so funny?’ Jess asked indignantly. ‘My character held a vital clue that helped the detective solve the crime.’
‘Jess, you’re a godsend. I’d have gone insane long ago if it hadn’t been for you and May.’
* * *
May hummed softly to herself as she wiped the dipstick on a rag and plunged it into the oil tank of the car she was to drive today. She was scheduled to collect Peter from the station later and she wanted the engine to be running perfectly.
‘Lidford!’
May straightened, nearly hitting her head on the bonnet. ‘Yes, Sarge?’
Sergeant Norris approached, holding a clipboard. Her uniform was pristine, and her tiny, neat build always made May feel like a clumsy giant in comparison. ‘Got a pilot who needs driving to the station to catch the five-fifteen. I said you’d do it. You can wait there for the six-ten bringing in Squadron Leader Travis.’
‘Yes, Sarge.’ May looked at her oily hands in dismay. Now she only had half an hour to change out of her overalls and clean herself up. Not for the first time, she envied Evie and Jess, whose duties never left them looking like they’d spent the day rolling in a muddy puddle. She quickly finished her oil check, then left for the ablutions at a trot.
When she returned, hands clean, hair brushed free of dust and re-pinned, it was to find one of the Czech officers waiting b
eside her car. He looked like he was heading for a night in London – his hair was slicked back with Brylcreem, his shoes polished to a high gloss. May recognised him from the pub. She remembered wanting to giggle when she’d been introduced to him because he had a girl’s name. Karol, that was it.
‘Good afternoon, sir. I’m driving you to the station, is that right?’
‘That’s right. I’ve got a forty-eight-hour pass.’
May moved to open the rear door for him, but he’d already climbed into the passenger seat before she could get there, putting his case on the floor by his feet.
‘Would you like me to put the case in the boot, sir?’
‘It’s fine here.’ He put his hand on the case in an oddly protective gesture.
May gave a mental shrug and climbed into the driver’s seat. If he wanted to spend the journey with what looked like a heavy case squashing his feet, that was his choice.
Some of her passengers liked to sit in silence while May drove, others preferred to hold conversation. Karol was one of the latter and he started as soon as May had driven them through the gates. She usually let them talk, only half-listening as she navigated the winding lanes with their high banks and hedgerows, adding a few comments here and there when appropriate. Now, however, she remembered the request Evie had made on her return three days ago. Her duties required her to be off the station for much of her time, so she’d not had much chance to help, but here was an opportunity to talk to someone who must have been nearby when Alex Kincaith’s Hurricane was sabotaged.
‘I can’t believe I’ve got two whole days off,’ Karol was saying.
‘Where are you going? I mean, have you got anywhere to stay?’ The Czechs didn’t usually go far afield when they had time off because they didn’t know the country and had no one to visit.
‘London. I have money saved up. I’ll find a hotel and spend the evenings at a club. It will be like being at home again.’
‘Where did you live?’
‘Prague. It’s a beautiful city. There was a club there – the Dvě Vrány – I went every weekend.’
