My Enemy Came Nigh

by Richard Townsend Bickers

  She was thinking about the Beaufort and he knew it.

  They talked about music and wrangled amiably over Shostakovitch and Jerome Kern; Jascha Heifetz, Rubintein and Benny Goodman; the London Philharmonic and Glen Miller.

  They said little about their families. Alden learned only that her father was a consultant surgeon in Bath. On the way to her billet he asked, 'Are you free tomorrow?'

  'On watch, I'm afraid.'

  'The day after?'

  'I'm already going out.'

  'The day after that?'

  She laughed lightly and briefly. 'Same again, I'm afraid.'

  'When can I see you, then?'

  'I'll be on stand-down four days from now.'

  'And uncommitted?' There was an involuntary tartness in the way he spoke.

  She chose to ignore it. 'So far.'

  'Will you come out with me?'

  'Are you sure you won't be night flying?'

  'Not for a couple of weeks yet.'

  'All right ... thank you.'

  'If I don't have a chance to speak to you before, may I leave a note in the mess letter rack?'

  She laughed again, more merrily. 'I'm sure you'll have a chance to speak to me in the mess.'

  He let it pass. He was tempted to say that, going on past form, it was unlikely.

  Two rows behind them at the cinema, B Flight's officer pilots had not failed to observe their entry. He was prepared for scurrilous accusations when he met them in mess.

  He was passing the Guard Room when a lurid glow leaped from somewhere in the nearby countryside and the roar of an explosion reached his ears.

  The mess steps were thronged with pilots speculating who had been the unlucky pupil and whether he was solo or had taken an instructor into eternity with him.

  At least, thought Alden, they'll have something else to think about than pulling my leg.

  The cynicism of his reflection shocked him a few seconds later and he regretted it. The war hadn't been going long, he mused, and already there were changes in him

  which exceeded any that had occurred in the previous five years.