by Garry Ryan
Three hours later, cloud and fog closed in, forcing her away from her destination. Sharon checked the maps in her side pockets. She turned the fighter west in an ever-narrowing sky. Ten minutes later, she spotted Kirkbride just inland from Moricambe Bay on her left. The airfield was on the northwest coast of England, closer to Belfast than to London. The runway was an X at the centre of yellow fields of rape. Sharon throttled back, and as the speed of the Corsair dropped, she lowered the flaps, then the landing gear. She looked west, where the fog was sifting in from the bay just as it disappeared from view. Her hands worked the controls instinctively. Just sixty more seconds and I’ll be on the ground. She took a long, slow breath to calm her nerves and clear her mind. This kind of weather could kill a pilot as surely as the guns of an enemy fighter. She lined up on finals, eased the throttle back, and checked that her wheels were down.
The runway disappeared ahead of the blue nose of the navy fighter. She looked out the right side of the canopy as the wheels touched down. When she reached the end of the runway, she checked the location of the tower and turned right to taxi toward the green hangars next to it.
The fog wafted over her canopy and the tower disappeared. She concentrated on staying lined up on the taxiway by looking out the left side at the edge of the tarmac. The fog thickened and she could no longer see the edge.
Using her mental map of the airfield, she turned the fighter to the left, bumped onto the grass, swung the tail around with a burst of throttle, and shut down. More than thirteen feet of propeller rolled to a halt. She checked to make sure all of the switches were off before she slid back the canopy, stepped out onto the fighter’s gull wing, and jumped down off the trailing edge onto the ground.
She stood still and listened.
A whistle blew. The shrinking metal of the cooling engine ticked as she ducked under the belly of the Corsair and followed the sound. The whistle blew twenty more times before she felt the concrete apron under her heels.
“I can hear ye, lassie.” The thick Scottish accent was like music. Sharon walked toward the voice, stepped inside the open door, and stood face to face with a sandy-haired man who was almost as tall as she was. He wore RAF blue and a smile. “A lucky Canadian, I see.” He pointed at the shoulder flashes on her battle jacket.
“Could I please use the phone?” she asked.
“Right over there.” The Scotsman pointed ahead and to her right.
“I was supposed to make it to Glasgow this morning. I need to let them know where I ended up.” Sharon eased past him, intent on her call to Mother. I hope all of the other pilots are safe.
The fog stayed the rest of the day. Sharon slept in her uniform on a cot that was reserved for occasions like these.
CHAPTER 11
[WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 1944]
The engines of the duty Anson shut down. Sharon was first out the door. She carried her kit to dispersal, located in the red one-storey building at White Waltham. Mother greeted her at the door. The look on his face told her that her fears were well-founded.
“How many missing?” she asked.
“One.”
“Who?” Sharon set her kit down inside on a table.
“Molly took delivery of the Magister, but didn’t reach Upavon.”
Mother waited for Sharon’s reaction.
She looked out the doorway. “Is the Storch available?”
Mother nodded. “I think so. Let me check.” He went out the door and around to the hangar.
Sharon searched out a cup of coffee in the empty canteen as she planned a route in her mind, drawing a mental line from the pickup point to Upavon.
Mother tapped her on the shoulder. Ernie and Edgar were pushing the Storch out of the hangar when she arrived at the open door.
“I need another pair of eyes in the back seat.” Sharon put her parachute inside and helped push the single-engined aircraft out onto the grass.
She did a slow, deliberate walk around to check the aircraft. Keep your mind clear!
Ernie stepped into a fresh pair of coveralls. “Edgar says he’ll hold down the fort.”
In five minutes, they were airborne and headed south and west.
Ernie kept a lookout on one side while Sharon covered the other. They flew at eight hundred feet above ground.
Forty minutes later, after flying over every shade of green imaginable, Ernie tapped Sharon on the shoulder.
They found out later that the crash was on the northern face of a place called Milton Hill. The tail of the open-cockpit two-seater trainer was recognizable. The rest of the aircraft was a tangled mass of wreckage.
Sharon eased back on the throttle and slowed the aircraft to make a low, slow pass over the crash site. The yellow underside of one wing was about fifty feet downhill from most of the rest of the wreck. Molly’s twisted body was visible in what was left of the cockpit.
Sharon turned for another pass, glanced over her shoulder, and saw Ernie shake his head. They flew over the wreckage three times, hoping for any sign that Molly was alive, but there was no movement. Sharon dropped the flaps, adjusted the throttle, and swung around to land up the hill.
She was on finals when she felt Ernie’s hand on her shoulder. “It won’t make a fucking bit of difference.”
Sharon felt her shoulders drop as she opened the throttle and eased over the top of the hill, flying on to Upavon. Keep your mind on the job, she thought as she lined up on finals and landed.
It took more than four hours for the rescue crew to find the wreck, recover the body, and return to Upavon. Sharon stayed to identify the body, then flew back with Ernie to White Waltham.
Edgar was waiting. He saw the grim exhaustion in Sharon’s face and helped her from the Storch without saying a word. He put his arm around her shoulder and held her close. He smelled of motor oil, soap, and coffee.
“I guess I’d better let everyone know.” Sharon turned to get her kit.
“We’ll take care of your gear,” Edgar said.
She walked around the corner of the hangar toward the dispersal hut. Through the white-framed windows, she could see the faces of pilots turned her way.
Mother greeted her at the door. There was a strange look on his face. One side of his mouth was turned down. He put his hand on her shoulder, but said nothing. He’s already heard, but is waiting for me to make the announcement. Sharon looked at the coffee urn, thought better of grabbing a cup, then turned to the pilots sitting at tables. Expectant faces quietly studied her.
“Molly Hume flew into a hill in the fog. Her body was found in the wreckage.” Sharon felt her shoulders sag.
A wail erupted. It was Lady Ginette. Three of the pilots crowded around the woman as the volume of her grief increased.
Sharon stood there open-mouthed. But you and your clan treated Molly like dirt!
“But she was so young! I can’t believe it. I saw her just yesterday. It could happen to me!” Lady Ginette said.
Sharon shook her head, turned on her heel, and went out the door.
CHAPTER 12
[WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1944]
“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Linda said as she walked beside Sharon on the way back to the cottage.
The evening sun was low, and it caught them on the sides of their faces. The greenery was lit with oranges and yellows. Shadows ran long across the gravel lane.
Sharon shrugged.
“You haven’t even asked about Milton and me.” Linda lifted the bag off of her left shoulder and switched it to her right.
“So, how was your leave with Milton?” Sharon looked ahead along the lane where trees provided shade when the sun was high, thus keeping part of the lane cool even on the hottest of days.
“Fun.” Linda tried to see what Sharon was looking at.
“Oh.” Sharon looked at her friend and saw that Linda was smiling. “This is a switch.”
“Oh?” Linda tucked her left hand inside Sharon’s elbow.
Be careful how you say th
is, Sharon thought.
“Well?” Linda squeezed her friend’s arm.
“I’m thinking.”
“Out with it,” Linda said.
“I’m the one who’s melancholy, and you’re the one who’s looking on the bright side of things.” Sharon turned to her friend, tried to smile, and succeeded, sort of.
“That wasn’t so bad. Was I that awful to be around?” Linda continued to hold her sister-in-law close.
Sharon thought, Don’t answer that!
“My mother says that when my father came back from the first war, he was a different person. When I was a child, he would often wake up screaming after a nightmare. There was one name in particular that he would scream. It was Robert. Mother told me that father saw Robert killed. They had been friends in school.” Linda hesitated for a moment and looked past Sharon. Sharon went to say something, then stopped.
“It was such a horrible experience he tried to forget,” Linda went on, “but the memories would wake him up in the night. I remember the look on my father’s face the morning after a nightmare. He had a haunted look. A faraway gaze. It made him look like he was being hunted by something he could never escape from. That’s the way I was after the crash and fire. I would see that faraway, haunted expression in the mirror after every nightmare. Now I see it in your eyes.” Linda hugged Sharon around the shoulders.
Sharon pointed to the front of the cottage. A black Humber saloon car was parked at the door. To her, it resembled a hearse. She felt her pulse beginning to pound. What’s happened?
A man stepped out of the back door. He had wild grey hair, wore a jacket and tie, and pants that appeared to be several sizes too large. He waved.
“Father?” Linda released Sharon and picked up the pace. She wrapped her arms around him. “How much weight have you lost?”
He smelled of pipe smoke and Scotch.
“A stone or two.” He smiled.
He looks even older when he smiles, Sharon thought.
He lifted his head, spotted Sharon, and waved her over. She hugged Harry and thought, Christ, he’s skin and bone! “Come on in and we’ll fix you something to eat.”
Harry went to the back of the car, opened the boot, picked up a basket, closed the hatch, and tapped the window. The driver, who wore an olive green military uniform, started the engine and pulled away.
“Doesn’t he want something to eat as well?” Sharon asked.
“I was hoping to have the two of you to myself for an hour.” Harry followed them into the house and set the basket on the kitchen table before returning to the front room. He sat in the wing-backed chair. “Your aunt always had hideous taste.”
“She still on the coast?” Sharon asked. In the kitchen, they could hear leather and wicker tattling as Linda lifted the lid of the basket.
“And being a tremendous burden to her children and grandchildren, as I understand it. Consider yourselves very fortunate, despite the decor.” Harry leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.
Linda stepped into the room. She had cans and jars clutched to her chest. “Where did you find all of this?”
Harry didn’t open his eyes. “In the evenings, I often walk around London and look to see what I can find. Lately, there’s been more to find in the shops near where I work.”
“Do you want some help?” Sharon asked.
“Sit and talk with him. I’ll only be a minute.” Linda stepped back into the kitchen.
“How have you been?” Harry leaned forward.
“Okay,” Sharon said.
“No, she’s not. She’s haunted by nightmares,” Linda said. There was the clatter of a plate on the kitchen table.
Harry took a long look at his daughter-in-law. “There are those who will tell you to bury those memories. I tried that. It doesn’t work. There is a friend of mine who I see from time to time. He was in the same regiment as me. When I need to, we get together and talk about it.”
“I keep thinking about the boys I killed. Seeing Molly in the wreckage has brought all of those memories back with a vengeance.” Sharon sat down on the settee upholstered in a garish pattern of yellow, pink, and red chrysanthemums.
“Molly?” Harry put his elbow on the arm of the chair.
“A young pilot. She crashed in bad weather earlier this month.”
Linda brought in two plates, one with cheeses and jams, the other with biscuits.
“Have you ever killed anyone?” Sharon asked.
Harry nodded. “Both directly and indirectly. In the first war, I killed with a rifle and twice with a bayonet. Nowadays, young men die when I make a mistake in planning.”
Linda placed a platter on the coffee table. It was a collage of rare treats. She picked up a slice of cheese biscuit, popped it into her mouth, and asked, “What’s happened, Father?”
“Market Garden.” His voice was just above a whisper.
“The papers say it was the biggest airborne operation in history.” Linda offered the plate to Sharon, who took a biscuit and held it in her right hand. Linda got up and offered some to her father.
“No, thank you.” He waved the food away.
“The news we’re getting is that bridges were captured.” Sharon leaned forward until her elbows were on her knees.
“Thousands of young men died. Monty and his cronies wouldn’t listen to me. They wanted the war to be over by Christmas. We all want that. I tried to tell them that the German defenses were too strong. That we would need more armoured support. I couldn’t make them listen.” Harry’s eyes looked at Linda, then at Sharon.
“You can’t hold yourself responsible because others won’t listen.” Sharon stood up.
Linda said, “You were part of the invasion planning. That succeeded.”
“Still, thousands of young men died.” Harry looked at his watch. “The driver will be here in five minutes.” He pointed at Sharon. “Please sit back down. I came to warn the pair of you.”
Sharon sat down and gave Linda a worried look. Linda stared at her father.
Harry said, “I want the two of you to promise me you’ll stay out of London over the winter.”
“Why?” Linda asked.
“Just promise!” Harry slammed his hand on the arm of the chair.
“Would you please explain?” Sharon saw tears forming in Linda’s eyes.
“The V-1 is only the first of Hitler’s vengeance weapons. We’re getting reports of another. I’m certain it will be aimed at London. I would like my children to survive the war. At this point, it’s all I’m asking for.” Harry stood up.
Linda stood.
Sharon asked, “What about Michael?”
“He’s at Bletchley Park. I’m hoping he will be safe there until it’s over.” Harry turned for the door. “I have to get back.”
Sharon looked at Linda, who appeared to be afraid to step forward or back. Sharon moved forward. “I’d like a hug before you go.”
Harry turned and smiled. “Of course.” Sharon held him close. He moved his lips close to her ear. “Lady Ginette is no match for you. You must be a descendant of Boudicca.” He released her.
“Linda, get over here and give him a hug.” Sharon took her friend by the elbow and pulled her closer until she put her arms around her father. They followed Harry outside, closed the door, and watched him until he drove away.
“Who the hell was Boudicca?” Sharon asked.
CHAPTER 13
[SATURDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1944]
After her fourth delivery of the day, Sharon almost fell out of the back door of the duty Anson.
She lifted her face to the sun as the other pilots walked past her. She opened her eyes and saw Ernie inside the hangar. He was drinking from a stainless steel thermos cup, sitting on half of an engine cowling and contemplating the guts of another Anson engine.
Sharon hefted her parachute onto her right shoulder and walked to the hangar. She inhaled a familiar mélange: grease, oil, gasoline, dope, and paint. The sound of her flying boots o
n the concrete made Ernie turn.
“Long day?” Sharon looked around the interior for Edgar.
“He’s gone back to his base.” Ernie had a grim look as he raised his thermos cup.
“What happened?” Sharon felt a dread she couldn’t put into words.
“He got his transfer to the 332nd in Italy. Friday will be his last day.” Ernie returned to staring at the engine.
“Shit,” Sharon said.
“Exactly.” Ernie sipped from his cup.
“Are you getting drunk?” Sharon asked.
“You bet.”
“Where’s the bottle?” she asked.
Ernie pointed to the office at the back of the hangar. “Bottom right-hand drawer.”
“Mind if I join you?” Sharon walked toward the rear of the hangar.
“Be my guest.”
CHAPTER 14
[WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 18, 1944]
“Come on, Linda, we’re going to be late.” Sharon stood at the bottom of the stairs. She reached for her newest blue jacket, looked at the ATA tie and hat, shook her head, and checked herself in the mirror. Michael and Milton will be there, too. She felt the tingling thrill of anticipation that came with seeing her husband after more than a month.
Linda wore a white blouse, carefully pressed trousers, and fresh red lipstick as she came down the stairs. “What’s got your wind up?”
“We’re late.” Sharon turned and opened the door. “You look very nice.”
“As do you. You don’t often wear your hair down. Michael will be impressed. I hope he and Milton will hit it off.” Linda closed the door behind them.
Once they had sandwiched themselves into the two-door MG sports car, Sharon drove to the Shire Horse near the village of Woolley Green. There were several automobiles parked outside. “I hope there will be room,” Sharon said.
“We’ll make room.” Linda got her legs out the door.
Inside the Shire Horse, they discovered they were the first to arrive. With the help of a delicate waitress, they were able to gather chairs and tables together in time for the arrival of the rest of the party.
