* * * * *
Mel saw Kennedy’s eyes widen. Maybe someone on the intercom had warned him about the incoming. He made a move, as if to turn around, but there wasn’t time or space for it. Mel pushed his head down and partially sprawled across his body as she grabbed for the gun handles. She swung the sight up until it was over the FW. She didn’t close her eyes, but she wanted to. She pulled the trigger. Big mistake. Her whole body jolted like Raggedy Ann being shaken by a two-year-old. Bullets tracked out the end. The track was a bit erratic. It felt like forever. It took two beats of her heart. The FW passed out of sight and she had no idea if she’d even grazed it.
She heard firing below and to the side. She scrambled off Kennedy. He lifted his head. They both patted themselves down, looking for holes. Gave each other brief, relieved smiles. His eyes widened again. He made it around this time and grabbed his gun handles. He was just in time.
Mel dove for the floor. Spent shells casings pelted her head and shoulders. At least that’s what she hoped it was. The sound of bullets leaving the barrel filled the small space, using up all available sound waves. Inside the oxygen mask, she could smell her own fear. It wasn’t pretty. The firing stopped. It started again. It wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. She had to get out of here.
Mel lifted her head. Kennedy had his back to her. His shoulders bunched. Tracers tracked out from his gun. Stopping. Starting. Like a bizarre dance. When another FW started to dive toward the tail, discretion seemed the better part of valor. She backed as fast as she could dragging oxygen and kit, mostly by instinct. It was too soon for it to be a habit. Adrenaline helped. She didn’t stop to sightsee over the wheel well and actually didn’t remember crossing it.
On the other side, Harry and Roy were still crouched over their guns, alternately firing and looking for something to fire at. Harry had the worst of it. He was on the side that was on the outside edge of the formation. Spent shells rolled around the floor, some with wisps of steam drifting off them as hot metal and cold air met for a brief dance. Mel glanced up, half expecting a weather system to form. No clouds, but the Fort appeared to have picked up a few more holes while she was in the tail. She could see sky and bits of the Fort above them.
Across the ball turret, Ric half crouched, gripping both sides of the radio room hatch. If he had a question for Mel, there was no way for her to know what it was. It appeared that future Jack hadn’t known as much about what had gone on during the flight as he’d indicated. There were as many information holes in her briefing as in the plane.
Roy scrambled to get his gun around, giving her a glimpse of sky and a nearby Fort, flying high and to their right. It took a hit. Jumped and rocked violently from the impact. Dark smoke flowed from two engines on one side. The wing fell off. It shuddered again and turned in a slow, horrifying cartwheel toward them.
Was this how they went down? Mel grabbed something and got to her knees. From the tiny window of the hatch door, she saw some parachutes bloom in the air around the tumbling Fort, but not enough. Not nearly enough. The falling Fort exploded. Their Fort rocked violently.
She sank back on her knees and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see any more. But she’d already seen too much. The scene played over and over against her closed lids. There was a yell, jolting her out of the visual causality loop.
Harry was on his knees. Blood spurted onto the floor. Lots of it. She could smell it, sickly and sweet, despite the roar of air coming in the openings. She could almost taste it. She couldn’t tell the source. He staggered up to fire at an oncoming FW, but quickly sagged to his knees again, when the momentary danger was past. Mel looked at Ric. He didn’t move, just stared at Harry, his eyes wide and shocked above his oxygen mask.
This was the guy who was going to take a bullet for Jack? Mel crawled over to Harry. Shells whistled past her head. She shoved the first aid kit at him, pushed him aside and gripped the gun triggers. Adrenaline helped bring her to the semi-upright position she needed. She braced her feet and pulled on the trigger. Short, sharp bursts. Don’t use up all the ammo. She could hear the guys’ voices inside her head, talking about battle in the future as it played out in front of her eyes now. Her shoulders protested this new round of abuse. She ignored them and the other unhappy parts of her body. At least there was a consensus.
If the Forts were a canopy of approaching carnage, the FWs were swarms of angry bees. They spun and dived, spitting angry fire in short, stinging bursts. One headed toward her. She fired a short burst. It kept coming. Mel braced for the collision. At the last moment it pulled up, exposing its belly. Mel fired into it. Heard the top turret pick up where she left off. After a moment, she saw it tumble back, spewing black smoke. She might have cheered. No figure came out. No parachute appeared. Someone had just died, possibly with her help, but he wasn’t real to her. He didn’t have a face like the men around her. Someone else would have to mourn his loss. There wasn’t time to think or feel anything. There was barely time to act.
She’d read about this in accounts from the time, this severing of emotion in the midst of heavy action, but it still surprised her to feel it, too, as she did what had to be done.
She wasn’t plugged into the intercom, so she couldn’t hear the chatter of the battle, only the sound of gunfire, either leaving the plane or heading for it. Her ears quickly learned to tell what position was firing. This helped her know where to look for trouble. Even so she had to scan the sky, back and forth, up and down. Keep firing as they took fire.
Spent shell casings littered the floor. She slipped on them as she moved, trying to keep her side of the sky covered. The plane bounced and jerked. Somehow she managed to stay on her feet. She didn’t know how.
There was almost a rhythm to the way the firing moved around the plane. Waist, ball, top, tail, back to waist, back to her. Norm’s forty cal sounded slightly different as it entered the mix. The firing sounded continuous. It wasn’t. Thank goodness. Her whole body shook with the effort of keeping her end up. She swung around, tracking an incoming. Almost slipped and fell. Gave a short burst. The FW veered off.
Someone grabbed her. Harry was on his feet again. He’d managed to roughly bandage his leg. She gave way for him, felt pain flare up in her shoulders as adrenaline faded. She scrambled to the other side of the ball turret and looked at her watch.
Norm. It was almost time for his injury…
* * * * *
Ric climbed back in his seat. Jack didn’t look at him. There wasn’t time. “Is she, is everyone all right?” Ric didn’t answer. “Is Mel all right?”
“She’s fine.”
Something wasn’t right, but Jack didn’t have time to figure out what. It was time to start the bomb run. His hand hovered above the switch for the automatic bombardier correction instrument.
“Ram, you ready?”
“Ready.”
“You have control. Take us in.” Jack hated this moment, but it was also a relief. Now he could look at Ric. “What’s going on back there?”
Ric didn’t look at him. “Harry took a hit, but he’s still on his feet.”
Why did he sound so odd? “You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” He looked up. “Got one coming in on our nose!”
“I got it!” Ben yelled.
Jack heard the top turret gun open fire.
Ram was right. They needed some guns in the nose. He looked at Ric again. Something wasn’t right.
“I’m going back to the radio room. Take charge here.”
Ric didn’t look at him. He just nodded.
* * * * *
Mel crawled around the spinning ball turret. Her legs were too shaky for walking. And her arms weren’t doing that great either. Her muscles felt rubbery and almost fluid. She missed being busy. She took another quick look at her watch. Jack hadn’t known exactly when Norm was injured, but he did know when they dumped him out, hoping the Germans would give him medical care. It was almost that time now.
She tumbled through the hatch, helped by a sudden course correction. She’d been “helped” to a lot of bruises in a very short time. Her collection might soon overwhelm any non-bruised skin. She landed at Norm’s feet and looked up. He was still at his position. He made a move to help her, but she shook her head. She managed to get back into her seat on her own. It wasn’t really a blessing. It felt like she’d come full circle without really getting anywhere.
She looked at her watch again and then gave it a shake. Was it still working? If it was broken, it wasn’t completely, because she was still breathing. Even if it was wrong, how wrong could it be? No matter how she parsed it, Norm was late for his injury. And if that wasn’t a freaking, weird thought, she didn’t know what a freaking weird thought was.
She plugged back into the intercom and crew chatter exploded in her ears.
“Bandit at six o’clock!”
“Look out, got one coming in high and right!”
“Kennedy, watch it back there!”
And the calm voice of Ram, running through it. “Steady, steady. We’re going in.”
They’d started their bomb run, which meant they were going back into the flak zone again. Great.
“Jack?” Norm’s voice broke into the battle chatter and Mel’s thoughts.
She looked up and there was Jack, standing in the hatch. He looked tired. Actually everyone looked tired. She knew she felt tired, so she was probably part of “everyone.”
“Are you all right?” He had to shout and she still almost didn’t hear him.
She wasn’t all right and never would be again, but she nodded. It was easier.
Jack’s gaze punched into hers, but she was too tried to care. “What happened back here?’
Mel covered the microphone at her chin, not sure what he was asking her. “Kennedy got it in the leg, so did Harry. Different legs, I think. Norm was grazed. Lots of holes back there.” She looked at one by her head. “And in here.” She wondered if she sounded dazed. She felt dazed.
“You’ve got gun powder on your face.”
She had a feeling he wouldn’t like knowing she manned a gun twice. “I played medic.”
He looked odd. “I’ve got to get back.”
It wasn’t a news flash. Why had he come back? What did he want?
“Stay…” He looked like he didn’t know how to finish the sentence, but finally added, “… where you are.”
Where did he think she could go, for freaking Pete’s sake? Mel looked at her new window again and then back at him. “Okay.”
He might have tried to grin at her. His eyes crinkled in a grinnish sort of way. He hesitated a moment, then turned away, scrambling across the ramp just as the doors opened beneath him. He didn’t even look down. Mel didn’t realize she was holding her breath until he made it. This place wasn’t for wimps. So what was she doing here? She didn’t know it before, but she knew it now. She was a wimp.
She looked at Norm, who was a non-wimp, and as she did, time seemed to slow down. She felt fluid and almost formless, as if there were no more fixed points she could use to navigate this freakish reality. She’d lost her…mooring somehow.
What did it mean? Her body felt slow, too, as if only her mind were running at normal speed. She turned toward the hole. It seemed to take forever until she could look out. The wind streamed past her face. She didn’t feel the cold. She knew there was air streaming past her face, but didn’t feel it either.
Outside the FW’s were falling back. Ahead the flak was waiting. Far, far below, she saw the first bombs from the lead groups hitting the ground. Flashes of orange, then smoke billowed up and out from the points of contact, growing and growing into darkly ominous clouds that obscured the ground below. Could she hear the explosions or did it just feel like she could? Their plane followed their squadron leader into the flak screen. This time the altitude was right on the mark. There was a sharp cry.
“Bennie’s been hit.” It was Ric on the intercom. “He’s down.”
“Mel?” The crackle of the intercom couldn’t obscure the reluctance in Jack’s voice. “Could you see…?”
“Sure.” No problem. Just because their bomb bay doors were open and she was a total wimp, didn’t mean she couldn’t cross that ramp again. She did the unhook intercom, hook oxygen thing again. Just don’t think about it and whatever you do, don’t look down.
So what was the first thing she did? She looked down. She’d done some freaking stupid things in her short time on earth, but this was hands down, the stupidest.
“Uncle,” she whispered, but the distant ground continued to pass beneath her. And if she didn’t hurry, Ram would drop their bombs. She did not want to be in here then. She closed her eyes, realigned them higher and opened them again. Straight across the ramp, she could see Ben’s crumpled figure.
She grabbed the sides. She stepped on the ramp. Another step, then grab the support. More steps, grab the wall, and she was across. She stepped over him. She didn’t have to the guts to crouch with her back to an open bomb bay.
He didn’t move, but she could see blood pumping sluggishly from a wound in his chest. She pulled off a glove and found a thready pulse before the feeling in her hand started to go. She shoved her hand back in the glove. He was going into shock. She managed to unbuckle his parachute. Once it was free of his body, she eased his head down, and tucked the parachute under his feet to raise them above his head. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
She took his hand and gripped it, trying to make him feel her grip through both layers of their gloves. To her surprise, he opened his eyes. Mel leaned forward, so he could see her, so he’d know he wasn’t alone. His lips moved. She couldn’t hear…she found an intercom plug and used it. His voice was hard to pick out of the other sounds.
“Not…going to make it…”
Mel hesitated, and then shook her head.
She felt him struggle against inexorable death and without considering it, began to recite the twenty-third Psalm.
“The Lord is my Shepard; I shall not want…”
He managed a slight smile and crew chatter ceased. Slowly, very slowly he began to relax and before she was done, he was gone.
Only then could Mel consider the impact of his death on what she’d known of the time line. He’d died before, but he hadn’t been the first.
“How is he?” In her ear, Jack sounded sharp and tired.
“He’s gone.” Mel eased her hands free of Ben’s and closed his eyes. She felt old and tired as she struggled upright and made her way back to the radio room without even pausing to look down. She didn’t sit down, but, after a pause to plug into the intercom again, she grabbed the sides of the hatch and stared at the ball turret spinning slowly in a circle, first left and then right, the movements gentle because there was nothing to shoot at right now. Every few moments, she caught a glimpse of the top of Fitz’s head, Fitz who should have been the first. Harry and Roy were still at their guns, but also scanning the sky as they all waited for bombs away. Kennedy seemed to be all right, too, though it was hard to be sure from here.
“He’s dead?” Ric sounded flat and strained, like he was finally figuring out that this war was more than his personal dating game.
Again she had that sense of time slowing down. Unease prickled down her spine like melting ice. Mel gripped the sides of the hatch as the Fort lurched its way across the flak turbulent air. To her toes she could feel it. She’d changed the future all right, but not the way Jack had intended. It was fluid and hidden. She didn’t know anything anymore. She didn’t know who would live and who would die. She didn’t know when they’d get shot down. She didn’t know where. She didn’t even know if. She didn’t know how.
She didn’t know.
* * * * *
Jack couldn’t decide which was worse, FW’s or flak. They both had their down side and no upside, except that you only got them one at a time. The down side of this flak screen was the need to keep in their bomb run until they deliver
ed their eggs to the target, which made them an easier target.
“Bombs away,” Ram said, sounding almost bored.
The Fort shuddered, and the nose jinked up as the eggs tumbled free of the nest, and the Fort lost a lot of weight. Instinctively Jack made the needed adjustments to get the Fort back where it was supposed to be. Still following the leader, he made the wide turn away from the target area. Time to go home.
“Did we hit our target?” he asked.
“Ninety-nine percent sure we delivered the goods,” Ram said. The intercom couldn’t fuzz out the self-satisfaction.
At least Bennie hadn’t died for nothing. He just hoped it was enough. Jack saw the edge of the flak screen just ahead. Shells still exploded around them. The lighter plane rocked and bounced across the disturbed air, handling differently now. He was tired, but his body produced just enough adrenaline to keep him at it, that and hope now that they could head back. He heard Fitz shout something and tensed for a hit. He didn’t tense enough. The heavy Fort felt like it took a hit from a giant tennis racket. It slewed badly as crew chatter exploded in his ear.
“Ball hit! Ball hit!”Even as he struggled to regain control, they took another one.
“Radio room—” The words were cut off as the intercom went dead.
“Anyone hurt?” Worry about the crew warred with worry about where they were in the sky. How far out of the formation were they? How close to other planes?
“Ric, where are we? Be my eyes!” He expected to see a Fort come through the windshield, but amazingly, they continued forward. They might have been alone in the sky. With a final shudder, they cleared the flak screen.
Chapter Twelve
Mel’s ears rang from the force and proximity of the explosion. She wasn’t sure if she’d been thrown or dived into the next compartment and landed on the top of the ball turret. There were new painful places, but they could be the result of her position. She tried out her arms, then her legs. They were unhappy, but still seemed to work. She thought about getting up, but her eyes felt like they were spinning in the sockets, since she was pretty sure the plane wasn’t—at least she hoped it wasn’t.
Out of Time Page 15
