Kitty's War

by Barbara Whitaker

  The bomber turned on its side.

  “Two, no, three,” someone called.

  “There go two more.”

  “Come on. Get out of there.”

  Ted couldn’t see it. After a few minutes, he asked “How many got out?”

  “Five,” replied the ball turret gunner. “That’s all I saw.”

  As quickly as it started the flack disappeared. The crew sat in silence, recovering from the ordeal.

  Ted thought of Webber. The cocky pilot had grown silent after experiencing both fighters and flack. Maybe he’d grown up some, too.

  Just as Ted expected, the fighters returned. On their first pass bullets slammed through the Plexiglas nose barely missing the bombardier.

  Ted couldn’t remember his name. Guilt constricted his chest. He adjusted his oxygen mask and promised himself he’d find out before they got back to England. Maybe it was silly. He didn’t know the rest of the crew either, but this guy sat right in front of him, and he almost got killed right before his eyes.

  The fighters made another pass, and all guns fired at the moving targets.

  “Ughhhh,” came over the intercom.

  “Coppacci’s hit,” Webber screamed.

  The ship wavered, back and forth.

  Not good. It takes two to fly this thing.

  “Axel, get up here.”

  “On my way,” the flight engineer replied as he climbed into the cockpit.

  “Jesus!”

  “Is he dead?”

  “No, not yet.”

  Ted knew something needed to be done, and it needed to be done now.

  “Webber, I had flight training. I can help you get us home.”

  “Who’s that?” The pilot’s voice shook with a combination of fear and uncertainty.

  “Kruger. The navigator.”

  The plane lurched downward. Ted grabbed his desk to keep from hitting the deck.

  “Get up here,” squawked Webber.

  Ted disconnected his oxygen and grabbed a walk around bottle. He then made his way up to the cockpit just as the flight engineer pulled the co-pilot from his seat. He glanced up at Ted, desperation in his eyes.

  Ted helped him get Coppacci’s blood covered body out of the way. If the man was alive, he wouldn’t be for long.

  Focus, Ted told himself. Help get us out of here.

  Sliding into the bloody seat, Ted checked the controls. It had been a long time since he sat in the cockpit, and the co-pilot’s position was even less familiar. He looked around to get his bearings and got a glimpse of daylight through a hole just below the side window. That must have been where the shot came through that hit Coppacci.

  Webber barked orders. Ted obeyed. Together they stabilized the big bomber, but they’d lost speed. Through the blood-splattered windshield, he saw the bomber stream recede into the distance.

  In addition to the wounded co-pilot, two of the four engines were damaged. They’d feathered one, and Ted’s gut told him if they didn’t shut down the other one it would spin out of control.

  “Feathering number four,” Ted informed Webber.

  “I didn’t order that.” The younger man still desperately wanted to be in control.

  “It’s that, or we’ll get a prop slung into our side.”

  “Uh, okay.” Webber looked across trying to see the wing on Ted’s side.

  “Trust me, okay.”

  Webber was shaking. “We’ll never catch up.”

  “I know.” Ted drew a deep breath. “Give me the controls. Relax a minute. Catch your breath.”

  Webber glanced over, and for a second their gazes met. Ted recognized the terror.

  “You’ve done a hell of a job keeping us in the air,” he told the young pilot. “These damn things don’t fly themselves.” Ted tried to sound light, give the guy some confidence.

  Webber didn’t reply. Instead he stared straight ahead.

  “Check on the crew,” Ted suggested, hoping the pilot wouldn’t lose it now.

  Quietly Webber contacted each crew member. Only one reported a slight injury. Axel reported that they’d lost Coppacci. Webber sighed. Then he looked to Ted as if to ask what to do.

  Ted spoke into the intercom, “Wrap him in a blanket or whatever you have. We’ll take him back with us.”

  “Okay,” responded Axel.

  Ted didn’t have to tell the men to watch for fighters. Flying alone at low altitude made them sitting ducks. They could only hope the Germans were busy elsewhere.

  Webber resumed the pilot’s duties and followed Ted’s direction. At least the remaining two engines were on opposite sides, but with reduced power they had lost air speed and altitude. At ten thousand feet they took off their oxygen masks.

  He’d have to look at the charts to get them back to base.

  “Can you hold it…while I check the charts?”

  Webber nodded. He’d gotten himself together.

  The bombardier brought Ted the maps he needed. It was awkward working in the co-pilot’s seat, but Ted managed to calculate a heading for England that would avoid the heavy flack zones.

  He rolled up the maps and stowed them behind his seat. He and Webber changed to the new heading.

  “We’ll be over water most of the way.”

  Webber nodded.

  “If we have to ditch, that water’s cold, even this time of year.”

  “Okay. Then we won’t ditch.” The boy forced a grim smile. His cockiness had been replaced with sheer determination. At that moment Ted knew they’d be okay, all of them. Webber had survived the test of fire and come through it intact. He’d grown up and would make a good pilot.

  Ted tried to relax. A vision of Kitty emerged from his subconscious. Hovering over him, assuring him he was okay. He still couldn’t believe she wasn’t an angel watching over him. She was real, flesh and blood, and he wanted to see her, wanted to hold her, wanted to feel that safety in her arms.

  The memory of that one perfect kiss kept him going. She may have run away, but she had wanted him as much as he wanted her. As soon as he got leave, he’d see her again. That’s why he had to get back. To see her one more time. To tell he how he felt about her. What she meant to him. Even if nothing came of it.

  ****

  A mixed group of airmen gathered at a make-shift basketball court to pass the time and get some exercise. Ted played forward and prided himself in his abilities. He’d been offered a college scholarship, and looking back, he wished he’d taken it instead of heading off to find himself.

  “Great job!” one of the guys slapped him on the back at the end of the game.

  “What was the final score?” Ted asked, knowing his team had won.

  “Forty-seven to twenty-eight,” his teammate answered. “And you were the top scorer.”

  Ted beamed. He was back. “Swell,” he commented, not wanting to gloat too much.

  “How ’bout a cold beer?” another guy asked.

  “Sounds great.”

  “Not me,” Ted responded. “I’m gonna take a shower.” He waved to the others and struck out on his own. He’d had enough for one day. Downtime sounded good to him.

  After his shower he sat in the hut that served as their barracks with a good hour to kill before supper. He noticed another airman sprawling on his bed writing a letter. It occurred to Ted that he should write to Kitty. She kept popping into his mind. And he had told her he’d write, but unused to letter writing, he’d forgotten all about it. Maybe he should write her now, just a note to let her know how he was doing, that he was thinking about her.

  He got up and asked the fellow if he had any extra paper. The man eyed him suspiciously.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get some and pay you back.”

  “Okay.” The man handed him one sheet of paper.

  “Thanks.” Ted grabbed a pencil and sat down to write.

  The one sheet was plenty since he had no idea what to say. Just that he was thinking of her and that he had adjusted to flying again. It was ha
rd to start because he never wrote letters. Occasionally, he wrote a few lines to his grandparents, just to let them know he was still alive. He couldn’t remember when he’d written his mother. Not that she would care. She never bothered to write him.

  Guilt crept over him. What little family he had would probably be thrilled to hear from him. Even his mother. She couldn’t help being the way she was. Selfish, inconsiderate. Always looking for a good time.

  And his grandparents, they’d tried to straighten out a rebellious, angry kid. They’d made him go to school and church. But like his father, he’d disliked their foreign accent, their foreign ways. His friends had looked down at them, and truth be told, so had he. But now, after all he’d seen, he missed them.

  He began a letter, not to Kitty, but to his grandparents. He might actually get some mail if he wrote more often. Maybe if he asked, his grandmother would send him some cookies or some of her strudel.

  He jotted a few lines, folded the short letter, and returned to the airman to beg for an envelope, again promising to buy some and pay him back. In the morning, he promised himself to stock up on supplies.

  And he’d write to Kitty, every day. She’d somehow become a part of his life, not just an imaginary guardian angel. A real girl—fascinating, different, beautiful in her own way, unlike anyone he’d known.

  If he survived, he would see her again. He was bound to get leave, if only a few days. Ellingham wasn’t that far. He’d call her, arrange to meet her somewhere. It didn’t matter where, as long as he saw her again. As long as he could hold her, taste those sweet lips, just once more.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  June 10, 1944

  Sergeant Greenlee,

  Your brother asked me to send you this letter he wrote you. He was wounded and is at this moment in a field hospital waiting to be transferred to England. I wish I could tell you more. He is badly wounded but alive. I suspect he is out of the fighting now.

  Pfc. J. H. Hilton, Medic

  ****

  June 23, 1944

  Kitty’s hands shook as she reread the letter for the third time. Milton. Dear sweet Milton. Wounded.

  Maybe it wasn’t that serious. What did “badly wounded” mean anyway? Had he lost a leg? An arm? Her thoughts darted from one image to another. Milton in bandages on a stretcher begging for water. A hospital, like the one here at headquarters, with beds lined up in rows in the little Nissen huts. Milton as she’d last seen him, smiling, confident, strong.

  She could see her mother dissolving in tears when she read the telegram. Her father, stoic and silent, would remain strong. Both her parents had such great plans for their oldest son. He would take over the family business, after years of working at his father’s side. He would be a leader in the community, the church, the lodge. He would marry a beautiful, capable, young woman who would take her place in local society. Would Milton return home a hero? Or a broken man? A cripple? Would he be destroyed by his wounds?

  Tears slipped from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She swiped them away and gritted her teeth. She wouldn’t be some helpless female who cried over everything. He is alive, she reminded herself. Alive.

  “Waiting to be transferred to England.” She read the words again. Her thoughts raced.

  Where did the infantry treat their wounded? Did they bring them from France on ships? On Planes? No air fields had been set up in Normandy. The fighting was too heavy. So they must bring them by ship. But they hadn’t taken any ports so how did they get them to the ship? Rowboats? No, silly. Landing craft. That must be how.

  June tenth. Almost two weeks ago. Where was he? Who was taking care of him?

  Her heart ached. She needed to talk to someone, someone with more information.

  The nurses. They’d know about how the wounded were handled. Maybe even know where they would be taken.

  Charlie and some other girls returned from their showers and readied for bed. She turned away from them, not wanting them to see her upset.

  She forced herself to put the letter away. Grabbing her things, she headed for the showers. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t put it out of her mind. With Madge gone, she was all alone. It wasn’t that the other girls weren’t friendly. They just went about their own routine. Madge had been the only one she’d talked to, confided in. Now there was no one.

  Tonight she longed for that camaraderie, longed to share the news with her friend, longed for Madge’s comforting words and warm hug.

  By the time she returned, the lights were out and everyone was in bed. In the darkness she let the tears flow. For Milton who lay somewhere hurt and alone. For Madge and the loss of their friendship. And even for Ted, the man she’d just begun to know, now far away at some airfield.

  ****

  When Colonel Snyder left General Lake’s office, Kitty hopped up and tapped on the office door.

  “Come in,” came from inside so she turned the knob and went in.

  “Sir, may I speak to you a moment?” She tried to make her voice sound strong, confident, though she was anything but.

  “I’m pretty busy. Can it wait?” He didn’t even look up from the papers on his desk.

  “No, sir.” Suddenly she panicked, wondering what she should say to him. “I…uh…I just wanted to go over to the hospital. I haven’t visited the wounded in a while…and…uh…Captain Weatherby said I should…”

  He waved her away impatiently. “Go on, then. Just let me know when you get back.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She turned on her heel and hurried out.

  Leaning against the closed door, she took a deep breath to calm herself. She had to think about what she would tell General Lake. She’d told him Milton was her fiancé. Should she tell him her fiancé was wounded? Or should she tell him the truth? And if she did, what would he think of her? And more important, would he give her leave to go see him? If she could find him.

  She jotted a note and left it on her desk for anyone who might come looking for her. Then she headed for Captain Weatherby’s office downstairs to tell her where she was going. This wasn’t the time to get herself caught between the general and the captain.

  At the hospital Kitty searched out Lieutenant Rankin, the nurse who’d been friendly to her, unlike most who believed the lieutenant’s rank meant they didn’t have to speak to non-coms like her.

  Lieutenant Rankin was different. She’d been a nurse before the war and put medicine ahead of the Army’s caste system.

  Kitty eased into Lieutenant Rankin’s ward. The antiseptic smell brought instant nausea, but she tamped it down, determined to carry out her mission.

  The nurse stood near her little desk reviewing a patient’s chart with one of the aids. She looked up when Kitty slipped in the door.

  “Sergeant Greenlee, how can we help you?”

  “I…uh…I just came to visit with the wounded.”

  “That’s nice of you. There are several in here who’d love someone to talk to.”

  Kitty’s gaze darted around the ward, beds filled with bandaged men, some staring back at her. She fought against the dread of facing men in hospital beds. “While I’m here, if you have a minute, I…uh…want to ask you something.”

  Lieutenant Rankin studied Kitty, a glimmer of curiosity crossed her face. She returned her attention to the aid. “Go ahead and take care of it,” she told him.

  He picked up something and headed toward a patient at the other end of the ward.

  Lieutenant Rankin turned her attention back to Kitty. “So what is it you want to know?”

  Guilt clenched her gut. She couldn’t lie about her motives. She just couldn’t. “I really came here to ask you something. But I’ll stay and visit, I promise.”

  “It’s okay, Sergeant.” Lieutenant Rankin reassured her.

  Kitty didn’t know what to say. She started to shake. “It’s…it’s my brother.” She managed to get out. She fidgeted with the strap on her bag, then sighed. “He’s been wounded.”

  “I’m so
rry to hear that.” Lieutenant Rankin’s concern was genuine. She raised her hand to get the aide’s attention. “I’m going to step outside for a few minutes. Call if you need me.” She took Kitty by the arm and led her outside onto the boardwalk that connected the huts.

  “Now, what’s this about your brother.”

  Kitty relaxed a little, thankful to be outside and grateful that Lieutenant Rankin would talk to her. “I got a letter saying he was wounded…in Normandy. Where would they take him?”

  “Slow down. What outfit’s he in?”

  “The First Infantry.”

  “And when was he wounded?”

  “The letter said June tenth.”

  “That’s two weeks ago.” She looked off into the distance as if she were thinking. Then she turned back to face Kitty. “I can make some inquiries.”

  “Do you think you can find out where he is?”

  “I don’t know.” She gave Kitty a reassuring smile. “Right after the invasion, we got a request for any nurses or aids we could spare to help with the wounded. I’ll start there.”

  “Oh, thank you so much.” Kitty pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and shoved it into the nurse’s hand. “Here’s his information.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t found out anything.” She patted Kitty on the arm. “You look tired.”

  Kitty forced a smile. “I didn’t sleep much.” Truth was she hadn’t slept at all. Her mind had raced throughout the night with all sorts of terrible thoughts. She’d tried to force herself to be positive, to not imagine the worst. But the images kept returning. The only way to fight it was to do something, stay busy and find a way to see Milton, to prove to herself that he would be okay. Then she would be able to sleep.

  “I’m okay,” she assured the nurse.

  “Good girl.” Lieutenant Rankin slipped her arm around Kitty’s shoulder and gave a little squeeze. “Now you go in there and visit with those men. They’re bored stiff and chompin’ at the bit to get out of here.”

  “I will. I’ll talk to every one of them.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  June 26, 1944

  The boys on the plane were swell. They dropped her off at a field near the hospital, and the pilot ordered one of the grounds crewmen to drive her to the hospital in a jeep. Having a general pulling strings worked wonders.