“A plane, it just exploded.” Kitty turned to her friend. “The roar of engines woke me. I was watching the bombers taking off when something exploded—up there.” She pointed to the sky above the air field.
“Loaded with bombs?”
Kitty nodded and turned away from the awful sight, as if she could block the image of the fireball and what it meant. Those men were dead, in an instant. She reached out to steady herself. Madge caught her hand and held it.
Kitty looked up, and another image caught her eye.
The sun’s earliest rays reflected on the scores of glass panes on Ellingham Castle, as if the building were ablaze from within. Its golden dome glowed. The ancient edifice came alive as it looked down, like a serene sentinel, on the sprawling conglomerate of temporary, military structures. Despite the awful crash on the airfield and the continued roar of engines, it spoke to her in Churchill’s famous words “we will endure.”
She shivered and rubbed her arms to quiet the chill bumps.
“Look!” someone exclaimed, and she turned back in the direction of the airfield.
A flare arched high in the lightening sky. Within seconds a bomber rose from the field and flew through the black smoke still hanging in the air. Another followed.
“How can they do that?” Madge asked.
“Do what?”
“Take off right after those poor men crashed.”
“I doubt they have any choice.” The sergeant stood only a few feet away. “They have a job to do, and so do we.”
The truth soured in Kitty’s stomach. So this was war. Death in the sky on their first day.
“Come on, girls,” the sergeant called. “Show’s over. Time to get dressed. We’ve got work to do.”
Chapter Three
After chow the company marched up to the castle and halted in the gravel driveway near the main entrance. The massive, stone building’s golden dome loomed above them.
Colonel Snyder, the wing’s Operations Officer, delivered a cold, formal welcome that told Kitty he was not pleased to have the women under his command. He turned them over to his subordinates who quickly sorted them by military occupations and led them away to their new workplaces.
In the movies, dark wood paneling, ancient family portraits, and huge tapestries lined the walls of English castles. But not this one. When Kitty and the other girls stepped inside Ellingham Castle, they gasped almost in unison. Elaborately carved, pointed archways, oriental rugs, and colorful designs gave the impression that they’d crossed some invisible boundary into an eastern palace, perhaps in India.
The women proceeded through the ornately decorated entrance hall, past the stairway with its deeply-scalloped, pointed arches, and into the dining hall, filled with rows of typewriters, tables, and file cabinets lined up like good soldiers standing at attention and awaiting orders. Sunlight flooded through a wall of matching arched windows creating a well-lit workspace.
Several uniformed, English women reviewed their work-in-progress with Sergeant Collins while the WACs examined the equipment.
Kitty selected a typewriter at the end of a row and inserted a blank piece of paper. Her fingers tapped out a series of words and gained speed as she absorbed the feel of the machine. It worked as well as any she’d used in the states.
She sighed, pleased that finally she would be doing some useful work.
Madge plopped down at the machine facing her. “Look at this place. It’s like being dropped into the Kasbah.”
“Yeah, I noticed. Not exactly what I expected.”
“I asked that English woman, and she said this place used to be owned by some Indian Maharaja. That’s why it looks like this inside. He wanted it to look like his home in India.”
Madge always managed to get the scoop. “Really. Is he the one who let the Army use the place?” Kitty wondered if they would meet the Indian royal.
“Oh, no. That was way back in the eighteen hundreds. Some old guy, an earl or count or something, owns it now. He and his wife turned it over to the English government. And the English gave it to the Americans. So here we are.”
Captain Weatherby appeared. “I need volunteers to go with me to visit the men in the hospital.”
“Sure. I’ll go.” Madge jumped to her feet.
“Don’t we have work to do?” asked Kitty.
“Colonel Snyder suggested we should cheer up the wounded.” Her tone made it clear the suggestion was more like an order. “I only want a handful to go with me today. But he made it plain that some of us women should visit the wounded every day. He thinks that’s part of our job here—to boost the morale of the men. So we will comply.” Captain Weatherby looked around. “Any other volunteers?”
Madge shot Kitty a “come on” look, but Kitty shook her head. If she’d wanted to visit a hospital, she’d have become a nurse. The smell turned her stomach, and the sight of blood made her head spin. She’d take carbon paper over bandages any day.
Madge gave a little wave and winked at Kitty as she followed the captain out the door. Madge possessed an amazing ability to get out of actual work. Yet she managed to not only stay out of trouble but to get whatever she wanted from the officers and non-coms.
Madge definitely kept life interesting. In no time she would work her charm and have all the men on the base eating out of her hand.
When they were gone, Kitty approached Sergeant Collins and asked for something to do. She preferred staying busy and getting the work done to schmoozing around the base.
****
Ted stared into nothingness. He tried to picture their faces. The four officers had stuck together, had kept each other going through mission after mission. Like their pre-flight ritual.
He chuckled to himself as he saw them in his mind, he and Art Rollins and Bud Hopper and Mac McGill.
Every mission, right before boarding the plane, four grown men, four Air Corps officers had lined up and pissed off the end of the hard stand. And then they’d shook hands all around. They’d joked about it, how it was silly and didn’t mean anything, but they’d done it before every single flight. Something that had started by accident somehow gave them the courage to get into that bomber believing they’d make it back.
Ted shook his head as he considered the absurdity of it. He’d been just as superstitious as the others. They’d made nineteen flights together, with their rabbit’s foots, stuffed bears, and Saint Christopher’s medals, before that damn piece of shrapnel grounded him.
His friends had kept going, for four more missions. Until they’d been shot down. No ritual, no lucky charms, nothing could stop the flack when your time was up.
Damn it! Why hadn’t he been with them? Why had this damn wound grounded him when they had to keep flying? It wasn’t right, damn it.
His fists pounded into the mattress, and he squeezed his eyes shut. But he couldn’t block the truth—they were all dead. The only guys he’d ever gotten close to. Guys he could count on, like the brothers he’d never had. Gone.
And he should have been with them.
Why had she saved him? Why? Why couldn’t she save them, too?
“Oh, shoot!” Newman’s voice cut into his thoughts. Ted’s eyes flew open, just in time to see sheets of paper scattering across the floor in the aisle between the beds.
“I’ll get them.” Ted slid out of bed and stooped to gather what looked like pages of a letter. His injured muscles screamed in protest.
“Thanks,” Newman said. The airman had arrived a few days ago sporting bandages around his midsection. Some kind of surgery he’d told Ted.
“Glad to help.” Ted handed him the pages. “Doc says I’m supposed to move around.” He grinned to keep from grimacing and retied the belt on his robe. “I wonder if a cartwheel or two would get me out of here?”
Newman’s face brightened. “Better not. You might hurt yourself again and have to stay longer.”
Ted nodded. “You’re right.”
He eased back to his own bed, rubbed
his sore leg, and racked his brain for something to relieve the boredom. He didn’t write letters, and he’d read the mystery novel his friends had brought him, twice. He had to get out of this place and find something to do, or he’d go crazy. Surely the doctor would give him good news today.
“Who’d you say was taking care of Butch?” Ted asked.
“That dog? Don’t worry about him. He’s running the place,” Newman replied.
“Don’t want him going hungry?” Ted remembered the mutt snuggling up beside him in the night.
Newman laughed. “Every ground crew at Allsford thought they had to feed Butch. He’ll be fat by the time you see him again.”
“Yeah.” Ted thought of those doleful eyes and wished the pooch was here now.
A commotion at the door came as a welcome distraction. A female officer entered the ward followed by—
Wow! Not Betty Grable!
Had the famous movie star come to visit the troops? He sat up straighter so he could get a better look.
The blonde knockout flashed a smile his way, and his pulse inched up a notch. She wore a WAC uniform, and boy did she fill it out in all the right places.
As he watched her ease farther into the ward, he realized she wasn’t the queen of the silver screen she looked so much like. But that was better, right? Who needed a movie star? He preferred a flesh and blood woman, one he could get cozy with.
“Doll, where’ve you been all my life?” the guy with the bandaged hands in the first bed asked.
She laughed at the old line and shot back, “Looking for you, big boy.”
After flirting with him briefly, she spoke to the kid in the next bed. The inept youngster turned beet red as the uniformed dish focused her attention on him.
Let the boy enjoy it while he can.
This beauty was no angel, but she came close enough. And Ted could use the comfort of a woman’s company right now.
“When did the WAC arrive?” Ted asked, since the teenager was incapable of speech.
“We got here yesterday, a whole company of red-blooded American girls.”
“What’s your name, honey?” the boy stammered, finally able to get his head in gear.
Ignoring Ted, she gave the boy one of her pin-up girl smiles. “Madge, Madge Sorensen.” She paused for effect. “And what’s your name?”
The skinny kid blushed again and grinned. “Bucky.”
“Bucky,” she repeated, batting her eyes.
Ted watched her work the poor fellow. She was out of his league, big time. This gal needed someone to take her in hand. Give her a challenge. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, waiting for her to come to him.
Sure enough, she quickly bored with Bucky and eased closer to Ted’s bed.
“What about you soldier? What’s your name?” Her voice was soft as a feather. Her eyes twinkled as if laughing. She was in her element enjoying every moment.
“Ted,” he answered and added no more.
“You don’t look like you are wounded. What are you here for?”
“Just a routine check-up. The Air Corps wants to make sure we stay in shape.” She arched one of her lovely brows. He could tell she didn’t believe him, but he didn’t care, as long as he had her full attention. “What about you? What’s a pretty girl like you doing in an Army uniform?”
“We came over here to help you boys win the war.”
She liked to banter. He liked that. Liked a girl who could keep up with him.
“If you’re so fit, how about going dancing?” she continued, pursing her lips into a pout, her twinkling eyes betraying the tease.
He winced involuntarily. His rear end wasn’t quite up to jitterbugging. “Not tonight,” he quipped. “What about you and me, in the moonlight, getting to know each other?”
Her smug expression said she understood what he meant. But she shook her head. “Sorry, soldier. Just remembered, I have to wash my hair tonight. Maybe some other time.”
The WAC captain called from the door, “Sorensen.”
“Got to go.” She turned and walked away.
“Lieutenant Ted Kruger. Remember that name,” he called after her.
“What about me?” Newman called out. “I’m Lieutenant Sammy Newman. You can look me up any time.”
She glanced back, then surveyed the entire ward. “Oh, I’ll remember—all of you.” She gave them all a killer smile as she made a dramatic exit.
“Wow! What a woman!” Newman exclaimed. “Why’d you guys have to hog her attention?”
“Aw, quit your complaining,” another patient responded.
Ted agreed the pretty WAC had been a breath of fresh air. Once the pain had subsided, he’d become antsy, ready to get moving, get back up in the sky. If that wasn’t a possibility, then he’d settle for a little female distraction. And Madge Sorensen would do nicely.
She didn’t measure up to his angel. Not by a long shot. But she was pretty and built and looked like she’d be a lot of fun.
“Hey, Kruger. How about a friendly card game?” Newman asked.
“Sure. Why not?” It was something to fill the time until he could get out of this boring hospital. Maybe his wound would get him leave, time to find a little female companionship.
****
Little black clouds fill the sky, bursting all around.
There’s no escape. No way to fight it. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Just wait to die.
The plane shakes violently.
We’ve been hit! Rollins calls.
Engine on fire. Flames. Black smoke trailing.
Another explosion.
Right wing hit, Bud’s calm voice echoes.
The plane dips to the right.
Out the window he sees it.
The wing breaking apart.
Flames! Behind him! Deafening roar!
“We’ve got to get out!” he screams to Mac.
But Mac just nods. His eyes smile behind the goggles.
“Get out!”
They’re spinning out of control.
Falling. Falling.
Through the sky.
“Art! Bud! Mac! Get out!”
Alone. Suspended in midair. Yet falling.
Falling toward the inferno below.
Look up, into the blinding sun.
There, coming out of the light, swooping down.
She takes his arm and draws him to her.
“You’re safe,” her soft voice assures him.
An angel, her face, his mermaid’s face.
He reaches for her.
“Wake up!” Someone shook him.
He jerked away, not wanting to leave her.
“Wake up, Kruger,” the voice barked. “You’re dreaming again.”
Ted rolled over and covered his head with his pillow. But she was gone. Driven away by reality.
“Come on, Ted,” his fellow officer coaxed.
It was no use. He had to get up, face the day. He uncovered his head, threw back the blanket, and sat up. His sweaty undershirt clung to his body.
He ran his hands through his damp hair and sat on the side of the bed, trying to pull himself together.
He should be used to it, but he wasn’t. Always the same. No use trying to shake it. The dream was his future. And his past. They’d all gone, all but him. And he would join them.
Would his angel be there when he did? Would she take him off to be with her, with all of them, in heaven? God knows he didn’t deserve it.
She’d saved him before, brought him back from the edge of death. Why? Why had she saved him? What was he supposed to do? Drop bombs on Germany?
He dragged himself out through the dreary English morning, following all the other walking wounded to the showers.
The lukewarm liquid streamed over his still aching body, soothing the angry scars that marred his upper thigh and buttocks. The water relaxed him, and his head began to clear.
He joined a group of towel-wrapped men taking turns at the sinks to scrape
off a day’s worth of beard.
Thank God for safety razors. Wouldn’t want anyone to cut their throats and deprive the enemy.
When had he gotten so cynical?
The man next to him caught his gaze in the mirror. “I heard you asked the colonel about going back to the bombers?”
Ted ducked his head to rinse the remaining soap from his face and didn’t answer.
“With those nightmares you have, I can’t see it.”
“I dunno’,” Ted mumbled, scrubbing the towel over his face.
He moved into the dressing area and hoped the guy got the message. He didn’t want to talk, at least not now.
The ragtag group of wounded, broken men made their way into the old manor house the English had converted into a recuperation center. The most severely wounded were waiting to be shipped home. Others suffered from exhaustion and needed a quiet place to recover. Ted was one of those who’d been wounded, but not bad enough to be out of it.
Dining tables were set up in the manor’s great hall. He took a seat so the polite English women could serve him tea with milk and bread with jam. No Army food here.
“Wonder what the jam is today?” he quipped to the airman next to him.
“Rhubarb,” answered the gray-haired English lady serving tea across the table. “Mistress Latham made it herself, she did.”
“And I’m sure it’s very tasty,” Ted assured her.
He’d toned down his joking around their English hosts. Although the women understood that soldiers complained about food as a matter of course, he couldn’t bring himself to joke about it in front of the polite and kindly old ladies. After all, the bread and jam tasted better than the powdered eggs he routinely gagged on.
“How much longer you goin’ to be here?” asked the airman on his left.
“A few more days.”
“Goin’ back to the bombers, like you asked?”
Ted shook his head. “Not yet. Doc said I shouldn’t be flying, not till my leg heals some more.”
“Where they sending you?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t gotten my orders. Probably some desk job.”
The guy bit into his jam-covered toast and made a face.
“Don’t like rhubarb?” Ted asked, chuckling under his breath.
Kitty's War Page 3
