by Garry Ryan
The landing was smooth, and she taxied over to a hangar where two other camouflaged jets were parked outside.
After handing over the aircraft, she made her way to the mess, where she caught the scent of frying bacon. Inside, she sat down at a table with a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs. She expected to be left alone to eat and was not disappointed.
One egg later, a man sat down beside her. Just eat your meal, drink your coffee, and look straight ahead.
“How was your first trip in the Meteor?” Michael asked.
She turned, caught the smile on her husband’s face, and threw her arms around his neck. He pulled her in close and she savoured the scent of him.
“What are you doing here?” Sharon asked.
“I know the squadron leader and was asked to come here to have a chat. So, you know, a call here and there, and here we are.” Michael looked at her half-eaten meal. “I’m famished. Mind if I join you? These RAF types still get the best food.”
A few minutes later, he sat down next to her and tucked into bacon and eggs. “Next best thing to being at home in my mother’s kitchen.”
Sharon nodded as she folded a piece of bacon in a slice of toast.
“I hear you’re considering moving back to Canada after the war.” Michael tried to make the comment seem offhand, but he failed.
“It was a suggestion by Rupert McGregor. He thinks that it’s an option worth considering. He brought it up when I met with him the end of June.” Sharon put her elbows on the table.
“Apparently, Sean thinks it’s a fait accompli. My mother wrote me a letter. She’s in a panic and assumes we’re leaving within the month.”
Sharon took a deep breath and looked around at the pilots there. Soon after the invasion, there was hope that the war would be over by Christmas. The reality was settling in. “Look, I should have mentioned it to you, but I haven’t seen you in over a month. Yes, I’ve thought about it, especially lately. I’m so tired of the war. And this morning. . .”
“This morning?” Michael put his knife and fork on the plate.
“I flew over the Falais Gap. The smell was, well, it was. . .”
“Indescribable?”
Sharon nodded and felt tears in her eyes. Don’t you dare cry!
“And it will probably get worse before it gets better,” Michael added, looking at the pieces of bacon left on his plate — treats he’d saved for the end of the meal.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She leaned in closer.
He dropped his voice. “More reports have been coming in. Something the Nazis call the Final Solution.”
“What’s that?”
“Elimination of Jews in all occupied territories.” Michael leaned his chin on his fists.
“Mass deportations?” Sharon asked.
“Extermination.”
The word hung over the table. It reminded Sharon of the stink of death rising over Falais that morning.
An hour into the car ride to White Waltham, Sharon broke the silence. “I’m sorry, I should have let you know what the lawyer said to us.”
“We’re almost at Chertsey. Like to stop for tea?” Michael smiled as he added, “It’s been impossible for both of us. The bloody war is always getting in the way. I just keep hoping that we’re near the end and then can lead some kind of normal life afterward.”
“That would be nice. It seems like it’s still a long way away. Think they’ll have some coffee?”
They stopped at one end of a stone bridge that stepped its arches over the River Thames. In the late-day sunshine, the grass was greener, the river sparkled, and the stonework on the bridge was etched with shadow.
“What’s that?” Sharon pointed at the statue of a woman holding the clapper of a bell.
“Blanche Heriot.” Michael pulled over and stopped alongside the statue. The engine ticked over. “She saved her lover during the War of the Roses.”
“War.” Sharon looked at the statue. War is part of the culture here.
“Where would we live if we moved to Canada?” Michael looked at the river and the bridge that spanned it.
“I have a house. It’s on the edge of the city. Near the Elbow River. Quite nice, actually.” She turned to see what he was looking at. “Not very far from downtown.”
“Big enough for the three of us?” he asked.
Sharon nodded. “Yes.” What’s got me thinking about the future? For so long, there was no thought of tomorrow, only today.
“A week after the invasion, I started to think beyond the war. That there might be a future for us after the war. I was afraid.” Michael turned to look at her.
“Afraid of what?”
“When I figure that out for myself, I’ll let you know.”
“What do you know about Lady Ginette Elam?”
Michael smiled. “You prefer to talk shop?”
Sharon shrugged. “Mother said something funny to me about people staying out of the war until now. He implied that she needed stories to tell at parties after the war is over.”
“Mother has a sharp mind.” Michael stared at the statue. “There’s a fascist connection in the Elam family. Before the war, they supported Mussolini. You know, the advantages of having the trains run on time and all of that. When it looked like Hitler and Mussolini might win the war, some opportunists backed the winner. Now that it looks like we’ll win the war, they’re backing us.”
“You make it sound very cold-blooded.” She heard the bleakness in her voice.
“Self-preservation is a pretty powerful motivator.”
“So you’re saying I should watch my back?” Sharon looked at her husband and saw the weariness in his eyes.
“I’m afraid that Mother and I agree on this one. Lady Ginette’s first priority is Lady Ginette. And she will see you as a minor obstacle if you happen to get in her way.”
CHAPTER 9
[MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 1944]
“Would you write me a letter?” Edgar was up to his elbows in one of the Anson’s engines.
Sharon found herself studying Edgar as he looked at her while his right hand tightened a nut with a socket wrench. She asked, “What kind of letter?”
“A reference letter for the 332nd in Italy. If you and Ernie write me reference letters, I’ll have a shot with the Red Tails.” Edgar grunted as he snugged up a nut and moved to the next.
“Can I write it up when I get back?” She hefted her parachute as she heard the duty Anson starting up. “There’s a big push on, and I need to deliver a Dakota.”
Edgar nodded.
Two hours later, she was on approach on the east coast of England. Ahead of her, a Dakota took off trailing a glider. Beyond, a stream of transport aircraft headed east over the Channel.
Her Dakota’s twin engines ticked over. Its long wings transferred every bump in air boiling from the wake of so many other aircraft. The turbulence forced her to constantly work the control wheel and rudder pedals. By the time she was on the taxiway, she was exhausted from the effort.
The tower ordered her toward a group of men gathered next to a petrol bowser. She worked throttle, rudder, and brakes to get the Dakota onto the refueling apron.
After shutting down, she looked out the left side as a man with rolled-up sleeves hauled a hose onto the wing and began to top up the tanks.
Sharon gathered her operating manual and logbook, stuffed them into a green over-the-shoulder canvas bag, and walked downhill to the rear door.
It opened before she could get there. A helmeted head poked in, spotted her, and said, “Hang on, boys.”
She made her way to the open side door. A soldier looked up at her. He was wearing a helmet, his face was greased with green camouflage paint, and he was loaded down with parachutes, a Sten gun, and enough ammunition to start his own tiny war. He can’t be a year older than Sean.
The commando held out his hand and helped her out of the plane. Too polite to refuse, she took his hand.
&nbs
p; The waiting commandos parted to let her pass. They smelled of sweat, greasepaint, cigarettes, and gun oil. When she stepped past the last of the men, one of them said, “All right, boys. Off we go!”
One of the commandos said, “Off on another of Monty’s fuckin’ escapades.”
She turned to watch the men climb aboard the Dakota in its camouflage green with the white and black invasion stripes on the undersides of the wings. I wonder how many of them will be alive at the end of today?
A half-hour later, she sat in the last seat of the duty Anson as it flew back to White Waltham. Out the window, she could see the stream of aircraft — all manner of two- and four-engined aircraft — flying east.
After another delivery, she returned to White Waltham.
Ernie and Edgar waited outside of the hangar as she walked away from the air taxi. Sharon checked her watch and saw that it was nearly six o’clock. She turned at the sound of a Jeep approaching at high speed.
Beck skidded to a stop, pointed at Edgar, then hitched his thumb to indicate that Edgar should get in the back. Edgar climbed in, the MP executed a U-turn and roared off.
“We’d better get busy on those letters,” Sharon said.
It took about an hour between bites of beans and potatoes to write out the details of both letters. They left the mutton untouched.
“Mother said he’ll get them typed up for us.” Sharon took the two handwritten letters and set them to one side.
“What do we do if Edgar leaves? Things are running smoothly right now.” Ernie looked at the mutton on his plate. He used the back of his left hand to push the plate to his left, then crossed his arms.
“I’ll have to find a replacement for him.”
“I can’t blame him for leaving. He’s been telling me about the way he gets treated.” Ernie looked at the other side of the room.
“On the American base?” Sharon followed Ernie’s gaze and saw a clutch of pilots gathered around a table with Lady Ginette at its head.
“There, here, back home.” Ernie turned his eyes to Sharon. “Makes you wonder if some of the Nazis are on our side.”
“What’s going on here?” Sharon made eye contact with Ernie as she felt the anger boiling in her belly.
“You gotta know your place in the pecking order around here, if you know what I mean.” Ernie cocked his head in the direction of the good Lady and her entourage.
“Hello.”
Ernie and Sharon turned to face a young woman. She was taller than Ernie, had prominent front teeth, freckles, and unruly curly red hair, and wore a uniform that was a size too big. “Molly Hume,” the woman said, extending her right hand. “I’m a new replacement pilot fresh out of Haddenham.”
Sharon took the hand and was surprised by the strength in the wiry grip of the long fingers. “Sharon Lacey.”
“Ernie.” He stood and shook Molly’s hand.
“Have a seat. What part of Scotland are you from?” Sharon asked.
Molly smiled. “Glasgow. It’s that obvious?”
Sharon smiled back. “Where are you billeted?”
“Mother’s taking care of all that. How come everyone calls him Mother?” Molly sat down next to Sharon and across from Ernie.
“Baa haaa haaa!” The comment was followed by impolitely suppressed laughter from Lady Ginette’s table.
Sharon stood up, turned, and looked at the men and women at Ginette’s table. None met her gaze. One muttered, “Sorry.”
Sharon sat back down, felt the heat of rage on her face, and looked at Molly. “Sorry about that.”
“Assholes,” Ernie said.
“When do I start flying?” Molly’s cheeks were red from embarrassment. “Tomorrow morning. I’ll see you here at six,” Sharon said.
That evening, she opened the door to the cottage and found Linda inside, sitting in the massive wing-backed chair with the floral print. “Come on,” Linda said. “We’re going out for supper. My treat.”
They drove Michael and Sharon’s MG two-seat sports car with the wire wheels. It carried them to the Shire Horse pub at Littlewick Green.
Sharon parked outside of the white picket fence in front of the brick pub with its white-framed windows.
“It’s a beautiful evening. Okay if we sit outside?” Sharon read the chalkboard menu out front of the pub. “They’ve got fresh fish. A real treat!”
They climbed out of the MG, closed the doors, walked through the gate, and sat at one of the tables outside the pub’s front door.
After ordering a pint each and fresh fish suppers, Sharon sat back. “So what’s up?”
“You don’t think I can take you out for supper with no strings attached?” Linda tried to sound offended as she pushed a wayward strand of red hair away from her ear.
Sharon went to reply, decided to wait, and reached for her pint. It was amber, room temperature, and gentle on the tongue.
Linda looked past Sharon at the flowers along a two-foot-tall hedge.
Just wait, she’ll get to it, Sharon thought.
Linda took a sip from her pint. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?”
Sharon shook her head and put down her glass. “I give up.”
“Well then, if you must. Honeysuckle is still upset that you’re contemplating moving back to Canada.” Linda crossed her left leg over her right.
“As I explained to Michael, Rupert McGregor brought it up when we met with him. Sean loves the idea, and I haven’t had the time to give it much thought, to tell you the truth.” Sharon studied Linda’s reaction and saw that her sister-in-law was chewing the inside of her cheek.
“Honeysuckle thinks that if you decide to emigrate, she’ll never see any of you again.” Linda put her hands on the table. Her long fingers reached for the glass.
“Maybe she’d like to come along?” Sharon said, before considering the consequences.
“So you are thinking about it!” Linda pointed a finger at her friend and sister-in-law.
“Look. I came over here to find my father, saw him killed, became a killer, and found out I had a brother. At my first meeting with my mother’s brother, he tried to rape me. Now he’s doing his best to destroy my reputation. On most days, I might as well be a ghost at White Waltham after the rumours he’s spread about me.” Sharon closed her mouth, surprised at the rage she felt.
“You also met me, your brother Sean, married Michael, and became part of my family.” Again, Linda pointed her finger at Sharon.
I wish you would stop pointing that finger at me. Sharon took a deep breath. “Thank you for bringing my dilemma into such sharp focus.”
“Besides, that’s not the only reason I took you out for supper.” Linda looked sideways at Sharon.
“Ladies.” They both looked up as the waiter, an ancient man with perfect posture, set two plates of fish and fresh baby potatoes with dill in front of them.
Sharon stared at the bounty before her. She looked at Linda, who smiled. “With food like this, maybe we are winning the war.” She picked up her fork and waited for her friend.
Sharon speared a potato and popped it into her mouth. Then she opened her mouth and breathed in cool air. “Hot!” She doused the hot potato with a mouth full of beer.
“I need a favour, and I don’t want any questions.” Linda pointed her fork at her friend. Sharon began to inhale cooler air as she chewed the potato. “I need a forty-eight hour pass for the twenty-first and twenty-second of this month.” Linda cut a piece of fish with her fork, then speared the morsel, and touched it to her tongue. She blew on it.
Sharon chewed. It must be a man. “Milton.”
“I said no questions.” Linda popped the piece of fish into her mouth.
“What’s his last name? Now, that was a question.” Sharon cut a potato in half, speared one side, and blew on it.
Linda rolled her eyes. “If you must know, it’s Cardinal.”
“So you have been talking.” Sharon put the tip of her tongue on the potato. “These are so good.”
/>
Linda put her knife and fork down. “Well?”
“When was the last time you had a leave? By that I mean, all you do is fly, and then you fly some more. The last time you had a day off was when we flew the Storch home.”
Linda blushed.
“I’ll talk with Mother in the morning. Just write the dates down for me so I get them right.” Sharon began to dig into her supper.
“I hope you won’t tell Michael or my mother about this.”
Sharon shook her head. “Mum’s the word.”
CHAPTER 10
[TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 1944]
Mother said, “There’s fog in the forecast. If the weather begins to close in, just put it down at the nearest airfield and wait for it to clear. The war will go on just fine without you.” Sharon watched as Mother handed Molly a chit.
“Where are you off to?” Sharon asked.
“It says a Magister at RAF Upavon.” Molly revealed all of her healthy teeth as she smiled.
“Neigh!”
Sharon turned in time to see a pilot using her right foot like a hoof. The woman, whose name was Patricia, turned to Lady Ginette for approval. “Patricia? Something wrong with your foot?” Sharon asked.
Patricia was shorter than Lady Ginette and about fifty pounds lighter. The rouge was bright on her cheeks. Still, her face reddened.
Lady Ginette did not turn around.
Sharon turned back to Molly. “Remember what Mother said about the weather.” Molly nodded, then hefted her parachute and shoulder bag before making her way to the duty Anson.
Mother handed a chit to Sharon. She took it.
He used his index finger to indicate Sharon should come closer. In a whisper, he said, “I’ve got the last Swordfish delivery for Scapa Flow.” He held up a chit. “This’ll keep Patricia out of trouble for a day or two.” He smiled.
Sharon said, “Thank you,” and left.
