The Ops Room Girls

by Vicki Beeby

  Within a few minutes, her fear was confirmed. The new plot, just like the other two, trailed a wake of blue and red arrows. Evie knew enough about vectors and navigation to know that taking the wind direction into account, Amberton was their most likely destination.

  Her heart leapt when Alex’s voice cracked over the R/T. ‘Belfry, this is Brimstone Red Leader. We’re in position at Angels two-zero.’

  Peter stood and surveyed the situation map. ‘Belfry to Brimstone Red Leader. You should be right on top of them.’

  There was a long pause that stretched out until Evie wanted to scream to break the tension. She thought the whole Ops Room must be able to hear her heart thundering in her chest. The telephone shrilled, and her rake slipped in her damp hand. She had to clutch it to stop it clattering to the lino tiles.

  ‘That was Group, sir,’ the assistant controller said. ‘They’re sending two flights from Tangmere and another two from Kenley. ETA ten minutes.’

  The speakers crackled; Evie tensed, but it was only the observer up on the ground reporting the six Hurricanes of Wagtail’s ‘A’ flight taking off.

  Then Alex’s voice came through, sounding fainter this time. It was only to be expected as R/T communications often broke down, but she prayed the signal would get through this time. Now more than ever, they needed on-the-moment information. ‘Brimstone Red Leader to Belfry. I see them. The sky’s thick with them. About fifty at one o’clock…’ The R/T faded then through the hiss of white noise, Evie could make out: ‘…and Dorniers… Tally ho!’

  Parry snapped out: ‘Brimstone Red Leader, this is Belfry. Target the bombers. Repeat, target bombers. Acknowledge.’ But he got no reply but the hiss of static.

  Evie could do nothing but gaze at the numbers on Brimstone’s plot, praying there would still be twelve Hurricanes returning. All around her was a hive of activity, with the plotters moving the blocks representing Wagtail and the other hostile plots. Up on the ground she knew the air raid siren would be sounding, and men and women would either be running to gun emplacements or to the shelters. But Evie’s focus was all on the map in front of her. What could twelve machines do against fifty? It seemed hopeless, and more hostiles were on their way. She jumped when another report came through her headset, and she hurried to move the second hostile plot closer to their target. They would miss the battle Alex was engaged in by some miles. It was a relief in one way – she doubted Brimstone could tackle any more machines than they were already fighting, if indeed they could hold out against those. But it made it more likely that some of the bombers would break through to their target.

  The minutes that followed were agony. She worked mechanically. It was as though a part of her brain became separated from the rest of her, responding to the information fed though her headset while the conscious part was fixated on Alex and whether he was still alive or if he was plummeting tens of thousands of feet to a watery grave. She vaguely heard the voices around her as the controller relayed instructions to the two flights from Wagtail squadron, then his muted, ‘We’re in for it now,’ when reports came through from the coastal observer stations reporting that one of the hostile groups had crossed the coastline. If they were targeting Amberton, they would most likely strike before there was time for any more observers to report in.

  Sure enough, mere minutes later, the ground shook, rattling the blocks on the table. A moment later, the observer up on the ground reported Messerschmitt Bf 110s and Dorniers.

  Then Alex’s voice came through the speakers. ‘Brimstone Red Leader to Belfry, are you receiving me?’

  Evie’s legs gave way in relief. It was a good thing her chair was right behind her, or she would have fallen backwards onto the floor.

  ‘Brimstone Red Leader, this is Belfry. Report.’ The controller’s voice was calm, despite the chaos that must be going on overhead. His matter-of-factness helped Evie snap out of her numbed state and focus on her task again. But she was able to listen in to Alex’s report as she did so.

  ‘Five Dorniers shot down,’ Alex was saying. ‘Most fled back to France but I think some got past us in the confusion.’

  ‘Understood, Red Leader. Land at Tangmere and await instructions. We’ve got a spot of bother here. Belfry out.’

  Glancing at the readiness board behind her, Evie immediately saw why the controller had directed Brimstone to Tangmere. They wouldn’t have enough fuel to engage any enemy aircraft. That meant they were out of the fight. Alex was safe. For now. But the day’s events had shown her that she was not cut out for the daily terror of knowing exactly what danger Alex was in. That, together with Cornelia’s voice nagging at her, asking if she was sure they wanted the same thing, made up her mind. As soon as she was able, she would speak to her flight officer to see if she could arrange a transfer.

  If only it wouldn’t mean leaving Jess and May.

  May. Her stomach knotted. May was out there, somewhere. Evie could only pray she was safe.

  * * *

  May gripped the steering wheel so hard, her knuckles turned white. She had to struggle to keep her composure, not let Peter see her distress. After today there would be no more drives, no more meeting at the pub after a busy day. Instead she would spend every day with the same weight of worry Evie had for Alex. And she only had herself to blame. If she could love any man, it was Peter. If she had given him even a word of encouragement, maybe he wouldn’t have requested to return to flying.

  She had just driven onto the bridge crossing the River Arun when a screaming roar overhead made her blood go cold. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she saw an aeroplane in a steep dive. It was aiming straight at them.

  Peter grabbed her arm. ‘Get off the bridge. Quick!’

  She stamped the accelerator pedal to the floor, flinging her and Peter against the backs of their seats. She could see immediately why being on the bridge was a bad idea: there was nowhere to take cover, and she couldn’t even swerve to spoil to pilot’s aim. The howl of the aero engine grew louder until the whole car seemed to vibrate with it. They were over the bridge, but high walls on either side of the narrow road meant they still weren’t safe. Then suddenly the wall stopped, replaced by a hedge. She pulled the car off the road, the tyres screeching as she braked hard. It had barely stopped before she flung open her door. From the corner of her eye she could see Peter do likewise. Then a hail of bullets hit the road, spraying dirt and chips of tar into the air. There was no time to think. Flinging her arms across her face, she threw herself into the hedge, heedless of getting scratched. Then she was through, tumbling into the ditch beyond. She tried to sit up, but a heavy weight pressed her down into the dry mud.

  ‘Keep your head down.’ It was Peter.

  She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could say anything the ground heaved beneath her. A moment later there came a huge crash that seemed to split her eardrums. The ground shook again and there was another deafening blast. She could feel Peter’s arms around her, knew he was covering her with his body, protecting her. It was the only thing she knew, beside the wail of the aero engine and the ringing in her ears.

  She couldn’t tell how long they lay there, but finally the roar of the engine faded into the distance. The weight lifted from her back and she pushed herself into a sitting position. Her ears still buzzed and now she became aware of the sting of the many scratches and stings she’d received while burrowing through the hedge. Peter was in a similar state. He had a graze on his left cheekbone and a trickle of blood ran down from a cut above his eye.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he said urgently.

  She shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think so.’ She pointed at the trail of blood that had now nearly reached his chin. ‘Your face.’ She was too dazed to put together a more coherent sentence.

  Peter pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his brow, winced, and looked at the blood on the white cotton with an expression of surprise. ‘Just a scratch, I think. Come on; let’s get back to the car.’ He gave a crooked
smile that made her heart flutter. ‘We’ll use the gate this time.’ He hauled himself to his feet then held out a hand to May.

  May hesitated, then took it. He pulled her to her feet as though she were a fragile, dainty creature instead of a gangling giant who was the same height as him. She had seen enough Hollywood films to know that men always fell for women whose head came no higher than their chin. All the better to shelter them in the curve of their arms and nestle them in the crook of their necks. Just as she’d seen Alex hold Evie at the village dance. The only way Peter would be able to hold her like that was if he stood on a stool. Or if she hunched over in a most unattractive fashion. She couldn’t understand what Peter saw in her.

  She realised she was standing so close to Peter their noses were nearly touching. She still held his hand and a wonderful, caressing heat enveloped her flesh. For a moment she stood, transfixed, gazing into his chocolate brown eyes. From this distance she could see his irises were flecked with gold. It was as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs and a tight band prevented her from drawing more. A mad impulse to lean in and kiss him seized her. Just one kiss to remember him by. She saw his gaze drop to her mouth, and knew he was thinking the same thing, and his breathing quickened as though he were affected by the same lack of oxygen that afflicted her. His hand tightened over hers.

  No. It was the nearness of their escape. It was relief that set her heart pounding like a piston and weighed in her limbs with a delicious heaviness.

  Making a supreme effort, she tore her hand from his and took a step back, forced her lungs to draw air. Nothing had changed. She still had no wish to end up in the cage of servitude that the WAAF had freed her from. She dragged her gaze from his face and scanned the hedgerow. ‘There,’ she said, pointing to a gap in the hedge. Only her trembling hand belied the cheery brightness she strove to inject into her tones. ‘I think that must be a gate.’

  ‘Anything’s better than diving through the hedge again.’ Peter sounded jovial, but there was something forced in his voice. May knew she had hurt him again by pulling away, but it was better this way. She’d meant it when she’d told Evie being away from Peter would give her time to think, but now she doubted she’d ever be able to surrender to her feelings. If Peter had any sense, he would find someone else at his new posting and forget her. She would do her best not to hate the girl he eventually fell for.

  They clambered out of the ditch and made their way to the gate. A group of cows were running at the far end of the field, heads thrown back, bellowing their distress. May could only hope they stayed up at that end of the field and didn’t stampede. She quickened her pace, but the ground was uneven, and Peter was struggling to cover the distance at speed. He seemed to be having difficulty with his prosthetic leg.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked, pausing to allow him to catch up, while keeping a wary eye on the cattle. When he caught up she offered him her arm as support, tensing, doing all she could to ignore the thrill of feeling at the press of his fingers through her sleeve.

  Peter shook his head. ‘Took a knock to the leg. I’ll—’ His voice died away when they reached the gate. May followed his gaze and froze in shock. Billows of dust rose up from the road. May could just make out a huge crater blocking the road ahead of the bridge. Worst of all, smoke poured from the car’s engine. The car itself was riddled with bullet holes.

  May found her voice. ‘If we hadn’t got out of the car…’ She started to shiver and found she couldn’t stop.

  ‘Don’t think that way. Just be grateful we’re still here.’ Peter hobbled to the car. ‘We’ll walk to the nearest house,’ he said. ‘I just hope they have a telephone.’ He lifted one bag from the back seat and eyed the rest of his luggage doubtfully. ‘We’ll have to leave everything else here and hope it’s still there by the time we’ve found transport.’

  In the event, they found a farmhouse little more than a quarter of a mile away. The farmer’s wife, Mrs Bowes, let them in, exclaiming that she’d heard the attack. She gasped with dismay when she heard the road had been destroyed. ‘Half our fields are the other side of the river,’ she said. ‘It’ll take forever to get there now.’ She ushered them through the house. ‘You’re welcome to use the telephone.’ She directed Peter into the narrow hallway where the telephone stood upon a shelf. ‘I’ll make us some tea.’

  May followed Peter into the passageway. It suddenly occurred to her that even if the car hadn’t been irreparably damaged, she wouldn’t have been able to drive past the crater. She would have to telephone the station to report the damage, although how anyone was going to get out to her was anyone’s guess. The only road access to Amberton was gone. If anyone needed to get in or out in an emergency, they were going to have trouble.

  Peter picked up the receiver and breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I was afraid the lines would be down.’ He spoke to the operator, asking to be put through to RAF Amberton. May looked at him in surprise, having expected him to call his Operational Training Unit.

  As if reading her mind, he put his hand over the receiver and said, ‘I’ll get someone at Amberton to ring through to Aston Down for me. Bob Law needs to know the road is out.’

  Mrs Bowes came out from the kitchen and caught Peter’s attention. ‘My husband says he can give you a lift to the station on his tractor when he’s finished the milking.’ She turned to May. ‘He’ll get you across to Amberton somehow.’

  Peter gave Mrs Bowes a wave of thanks and relayed the information to whoever he was speaking to. Then he replaced the receiver and smiled at May. ‘That’s settled, then. We won’t be stranded, and the powers that be at Aston Down know I’m going to be late.’

  They went through to the kitchen, where they sat at a large oak table, opposite a row of gleaming copper pans hanging upon the wall. A huge, cast iron range behind them pumped out heat, and while Mrs Bowes bustled around them, the warmth seeped through to May’s chilled bones and her shivering eased.

  Mrs Bowes presented them with cups of tea and slices of ginger cake. ‘I made it for the WRVS fundraiser, but after what you two have been through, I think your need is greater.’

  It was only when May took a bite that she realised how hungry she was. She smiled as its sweet spiciness made her tongue tingle. This was far better than anything she could have got from the NAAFI. Together with the tea, it chased away the last effects of shock.

  ‘There, now,’ Mrs Bowes said, smiling in return. ‘That’ll do you good. Now I must leave you while I—’ She broke off with a cry of alarm and pointed at Peter’s leg.

  Peter dropped the piece of cake he was holding and looked down. Following Mrs Bowes’ gaze, May looked too, and saw a small hole in his trouser leg just below the knee, with a matching hole on the other side.

  Peter’s expression cleared. ‘That explains what knocked it off kilter.’ He grinned up at Mrs Bowes and rapped his leg so she could hear the hollow knock. ‘Four years too late to do any lasting damage.’ He rolled up his trouser leg and examined where the bullet had drilled clean through the prosthetic limb. ‘A nice souvenir of the day.’

  ‘Bless my soul,’ said Mrs Bowes. She bustled out, her hand pressed to her chest.

  But May couldn’t take it as lightly as Peter. The bullet hole wasn’t an amusing souvenir, but a sign of how close Peter had come to losing his life. Her hands started to shake again. Tea slopped over the rim of her cup, forcing her to place it back on the saucer instead of taking the drink she craved.

  ‘May!’ Peter gave an exclamation and covered her cold, trembling hand with his warm, strong one. ‘There’s no harm done.’

  ‘Not this time.’ She jerked her hand away and balled both fists in her lap. ‘But what about tomorrow and the day after that? And every day you’re out there in your Hurricane? Can you promise me the bullets will miss you every time?’ The words poured out like a torrent. All the fear she’d held back wouldn’t be denied.

  Much to her annoyance, Peter gave a slow smile. ‘So you do care.�
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  ‘I—’ But she couldn’t deny it, any more than she could voice her true feelings for him. Her throat closed. Why did life have to be so complicated? She’d joined the WAAF in search of independence. Instead her heart had become hopelessly bound. ‘Be serious. Please,’ was all she could say.

  Peter propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward, his smile fading. ‘I’m always serious about my feelings for you,’ he said. May’s heart gave a little swoop. She opened her mouth, but Peter held up his hand to stop her. ‘You don’t have to say anything. I understand you better than you think. You’re holding back because you’re not ready. You’ve been little more than a slave to your father and brothers, and now you want to stretch your wings and discover who you are. And you should. It’s too soon for you to tie yourself to another man. I do understand. Just know that I’ll be waiting when you’re ready.’

  May took a hasty sip from her cup to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes. For so long her own feelings and thoughts had been ignored, it was almost too much to find someone who understood her so well. It gave her the courage to say what she’d only been able to say to Evie and Jess. ‘Are you leaving because of me?’

  Peter shook his head. ‘No. You must believe me. I was thinking of this long before I first met you. This is something I have to do. For years, flying was the only thing that meant a damn to me. When I had the accident, I thought I’d never be able to fly again. I tried to be satisfied working in Ops, but when I learned that there were other pilots who had learnt to fly again after terrible injuries, it gave me hope. I want to play my part, and right now we need pilots more than we need controllers. I wouldn’t sleep easy if I stayed safely behind a desk while others were out there facing danger in my place.’