Two Blackbirds

by Garry Ryan

  It was a quiet flight to White Waltham.

  Sharon kept her mind occupied with thoughts of the operations of the airfield, personnel, and aircraft. On approach, she spotted a Jeep with a white star on the hood parked next to the hangar. She tried to see exactly what was happening, but was too far away.

  After Douglas taxied up close to the hangar, she was the first out the door, and what she saw set her on quick boil.

  Sergeant Beck stood toe to toe with Ernie, who only reached up to the MP’s chin, but was not about to surrender any ground.

  Douglas shut down the Anson’s engines.

  Sharon heard Beck say, “I’ve received a report that stolen United States property is in this hangar, and I intend to do a search.”

  Ernie’s face reddened. “And I’m saying you’re not going anywhere near my tools, you murdering bastard!”

  Sharon closed the distance quickly while being careful not to run. “Sergeant?” Beck turned and put his hand on his holstered .45. “Shouldn’t you be dealing with me?” She intentionally put Beck in the awkward position of being caught with Ernie behind him and her in front.

  “Then I’m telling you I’m taking a look inside of this hangar.” Beck looked down on her.

  “Do you have a written request from Colonel Wilson?” Sharon moved closer to the sergeant and sensed that Michael, Linda, and Douglas were behind her.

  Beck stepped sideways. “Not yet.”

  “Then I suggest that you get Wilson’s written request, then make an appointment with me, and I will give the request the consideration it deserves.” Sharon crossed her arms.

  Beck opened the flap of his holstered automatic.

  Sharon took a step closer. She got a whiff of cologne and alcohol and saw that the sergeant had a cut just under his chin.

  The sergeant stepped sideways, walked to his Jeep, climbed inside, started the engine, released the clutch, and sprayed them with gravel as he accelerated away.

  Sharon looked at Ernie, who was so enraged he was unable to speak. “Let me handle this,” she said. She walked to dispersal and found Mother behind the counter.

  “My condolences,” Mother said.

  She studied him. His grey hair had been roughly combed. Good, there are no dark circles under his eyes. “Anything new?”

  “Besides a visit from that bastard who murdered Edgar?” Mother did not smile. “Any idea who told the good sergeant there was stolen US property in the hangar?” she asked.

  Mother looked Sharon in the eye, then glanced over her shoulder in the direction of Lady Ginette, who was sitting at a table with three other pilots. Her loud laughter made talk momentarily impossible.

  Mother focused on Sharon’s eyes. “Our mechanic and a certain pilot had a difference of opinion two days back. Apparently, the pilot believes that people like you, me, and the mechanic need to learn to defer to our betters.”

  Sharon nodded. Harry said I could handle her, but I have no idea what to do next. I know what to do in the air when there is an enemy, but here, on the ground, in this kind of situation, I’m at a loss. She noticed Lady Ginette turn and glance at Mother. Ginette turned back around, and a moment later, laughter erupted at the table.

  Sharon felt a sudden rage. She thought back to Molly Hume’s isolation, then turned to Mother. “How many chits do you have waiting for deliveries?”

  Mother fanned six chits. Sharon took them, walked over to Lady Ginette’s table, and looked down at the pilots gathered around. The room grew quiet. Lady Ginette met Sharon’s gaze.

  “There are six deliveries waiting,” Sharon said.

  “Just catching our breath, Flight Captain.” Ginette smiled.

  Sharon caught the condescending tone attached to the words “Flight Captain.” “While you lot are catching your breath, aircraft aren’t being delivered.” She passed out the chits. “Now get to the duty Anson and get moving!”

  The pilots, led by Lady Ginette, gathered their kit and headed out of the door.

  Sharon saw that Mother did not smile at any of them. He met Sharon’s gaze. Not a word passed between them. She went to pour herself a cup of coffee. Her hands shook as she added cream and sugar.

  CHAPTER 20

  [WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 6, 1944]

  Sharon had a few minutes to think as she sat in the back seat of the Anson while it flew the short distance to the Hawker factory’s Langley Airfield on the south side of London. This is the first trip into Holland. It’s only a short hop to Volkel in a Tempest. Less than an hour. As she did before every flight, she’d calculated time, course, and distance in her mind. Still, she wasn’t prepared for the reality she saw upon reaching Holland. From the air, Volkel was the typical stretch of runways in the shape of an awkward X. Bomb craters concentrated at the centre of the X and spread out across the surrounding snow-coated farmland.

  Sharon landed on the repaired runway and taxied to a hangar, which was more rubble than building. She shut down the massive Napier engine and watched the propeller slow to a stop. She went through her final checks, climbed out of the cockpit, and slid down the wing into a pile of snow.

  A mechanic, bundled in so many layers of clothing he was almost unrecognizable, looked her over. “NAFFI wagon is there.” He hitched a thumb over his right shoulder.

  Sharon stamped the snow from her boots, took her parachute in one hand and her kit bag in another. She looked at a gathering of tents. About fifty yards from the canvas encampment were the remains of several wrecked aircraft. Some were Allied and others bore swastikas.

  In five minutes, she had a cup of coffee and a sandwich and was sitting at a table inside a tent with its familiar scent: a mixture of green-dyed canvas, sweat, coffee, and greasy food.

  An RAF pilot at the next table said, “Christ, first we bomb the hell out of Volkel, then we fix it up enough to fly out of it so we can live in tents. Ain’t war grand?”

  A New Zealand pilot said, “At least the grub is tolerable.”

  The third pilot was from Canada. “Intolerable.”

  The sound of a circling aircraft reached their ears, then the siren of a crash wagon headed for the runway.

  “Something’s up!” The three pilots got up and went outside. Sharon stuffed the remainder of the sandwich in her mouth, picked up her coffee, and followed.

  The three pilots looked up. Sharon did the same and saw a Tempest circling. One leg of the plane’s landing gear was down; the other remained stubbornly tucked in its wing.

  “He’d better bail out.” The Canadian pointed to the pile of wrecked aircraft. “Remember what happened to Freddy when he tried a wheels-up landing?”

  The New Zealander nodded.

  “Burnt right down to the bone,” the RAF pilot said.

  They watched as the pilot climbed to about eight thousand feet. He rolled the Tempest on its back. The pilot dropped out. Sharon waited for the parachute to open.

  The chute blossomed. The wind caught the silk and the pilot drifted north.

  Sharon remembered to breathe.

  The pilotless Tempest started an inverted flat spin and hit the ground about half a mile away. The sound of the explosion from the resultant fireball reached them seconds later.

  A Jeep started up. They watched it drive after the pilot, who grew smaller as the wind carried him north.

  Half an hour later, Douglas arrived in the Anson. He squeezed out the back door, waved at Sharon, and headed for the latrine. Ten minutes after taking on fuel and refills of coffee, they walked toward the Anson.

  A Jeep pulled up. The top was down despite the winter cold. In the back of the Jeep, a body was wrapped in a parachute. The three pilots came out of the tent.

  “What happened?” the New Zealander asked.

  “The wind carried the poor bastard to the river,” said the Jeep driver. “He drowned.”

  Douglas took Sharon by the elbow and insisted she climb inside first. He brushed past her into the cockpit. It took ten minutes for them to get off of the ground.
When they leveled out at five thousand feet, he pointed north. “Jerry has blown the dykes. Looks like the winter will get worse for the poor bastards behind the German lines. The Nazis cut off food supplies because the Dutch helped the Allies at Market Garden. With the flooding and so little food, I’m afraid a lot of people will starve before spring.”

  Sharon thought, I just want to go home. Europe can fight its fucking wars without me.

  Douglas flew west. Sharon looked out the window and saw the edge of what appeared to be a massive lake stretching as far as the eye could see. She longed to see the Rocky Mountains on the western horizon.

  CHAPTER 21

  [FRIDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1944]

  “Here’s a letter from Honeysuckle. She and Sean are travelling south to spend Christmas with us.” Linda handed the letter to Sharon, who sat in the wing-backed chair in the front room of the cottage.

  “What about Michael?” Sharon asked.

  “We’d better let him know. Has he been very busy at Bletchley Park?” Linda sat down across from Sharon.

  “He says they have the commandos guarding the grounds. He’s beginning to wonder if the commandos are there to keep him from escaping. Will you invite Milton?” Sharon asked.

  Linda looked at her feet. “He’s been transferred to the continent.”

  Sharon looked at her friend. The fighting is nasty there and the casualties are high. I hope he makes it back.

  Linda raised her head and looked through tears at Sharon. “Do you think he’ll make it home safe?”

  CHAPTER 22

  [SUNDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1944]

  “According to Robert, Jerry is counterattacking through the Ardennes.” Mother sat across the table from Sharon, leaning on his elbows.

  “And I’m hearing the weather has closed in. Heavy snow is falling, and we can’t fly.” Sharon looked at the mixture of coffee, cream, and sugar at the bottom of her cup.

  “You’d think we’d learn. The Nazis invaded France through the Ardennes in 1940. It feels like we’re back at square one with this war.” Mother lifted his cup and drained the remains of his tea.

  They sat alone in the canteen. Sharon had ordered all pilots to get some rest. She’d stayed to handle any priority deliveries. “Hitler’s Army isn’t what it once was.”

  “But he has Me 262 jet fighters and V-2 rockets. We don’t have anything like the V-2.” Mother’s eyes shifted nervously from his cup to the pot set at the centre of the table.

  Sharon caught a nod from the cook. She got up and walked to the kitchen. “Thank you.” She returned with two plates of bacon and eggs.

  Mother picked up a knife and fork. Then he got up and refilled Sharon’s coffee. Sharon folded a piece of bread around two slices of bacon and dipped it into her egg yolk. She chewed and thought. “Remember Edgar?” she asked.

  Mother used his hand to cover a mouth full of egg as he looked up at her. “Rather hard to forget.”

  Sharon took another bite of bacon and bread. “He taught me to look for evidence. To use what I actually saw with my own eyes to reach conclusions about what was really happening in this war instead of listening to what I was being told was going on.”

  Mother chewed, poured more tea, and waited.

  “We’re eating bacon and eggs,” Sharon continued. “Food supplies are getting through. That was not the case in ’40, ’41, and ’42. I’ve seen what our bombs have done to the U-boat pens along the coast. It looks like Hitler is running out of ports to launch his submarines.” Sharon tucked the rest of her bacon sandwich into her mouth.

  “What about Hitler’s new weapons?” Mother asked.

  He’s enjoying this back-and-forth. Sharon reached for her coffee and sipped. She put the cup down and wrapped some bacon in another slice of bread. “He’s running out of places to launch them. Yes, they’re terrible weapons, and yes, Harry was killed by one. But you haven’t seen the number of fighters, bombers, and transport aircraft I’ve seen. The airfields are jammed with them. And you haven’t seen the way the ports here and on the continent are filled with ships unloading all manner of equipment.”

  Mother took a sip of tea.

  “Besides, if the BBC is to be believed, Hitler is almost entirely surrounded. He’s got us to the west and south. The Russians are invading from the east, and the Nazis have retreated behind Germany’s borders. It’s only a matter of time now.” Sharon dabbed her bread and bacon in another yolk.

  “You’re saying I’m being an alarmist for worrying about this attack, then?” Mother used his fork and knife to cut a slice of bacon in half.

  Sharon looked at her sandwich before putting it in her mouth. “I’m saying that nowadays, I’m more worried about the likes of my Uncle Marmaduke, Lady Ginette, and Edwin Beck.” She took a bite of her sandwich.

  Mother frowned. “Beck is the kind of man who loves war, but the other two, they’re British.”

  “Lady Ginette and Marmaduke were members of the British Union of Fascists before the war. I have the documents to prove it. And I also have the documents to show that my Uncle Marmaduke has made a fortune through his investments in steel, munitions, and textiles. All from the safety of West Yorkshire.” Sharon waited for Mother’s reaction.

  “A war profiteer?” Mother asked.

  “All of it strictly legal.” Sharon reached for her coffee.

  “I see.”

  Sharon could feel the anger rising up off the man like the steam from his cup of tea. His face, however, remained impassive. She said, “They are the ones we will have to fight after this war is over. It will be a different kind of war, but it will be a war.”

  “You’re certain of this?”

  Sharon nodded as she lifted her coffee cup and held it in both hands. “I am. All I need to do is look at the evidence. Marmaduke and Lady Ginette want a return to the class system where they have money, status, and power. Beck wants a class system where the colour of his skin gives him power over other people. After the war, people like you and me — people who fought in this war — will have other battles to fight. It might be more like a civil war, but it will be a war nonetheless.”

  “You learned this from Edgar?”

  “He taught me to pay attention to what was going on around us.” Sharon pointed to the door. “And it all happens just outside that door.” She pointed at the empty table where Ginette always held court. “Or right over there.”

  Mother nodded. “My friend Robert has been saying much the same thing.”

  How come I get the feeling that Robert is more than a friend to you, Mother?

  CHAPTER 23

  [SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23, 1944]

  Sharon woke up as the wheels of the Anson touched the runway. Where the hell am I? She looked out the window to see the familiar outline of the White Waltham hangar. The low sun lengthened the shadows and painted an orange hue along the edges of the buildings. The days will be getting longer now. She smiled.

  She looked forward and saw Douglas at the controls. He taxied the Anson to the apron in front of the hangar and shut down the engines. Sharon was the last pilot out, and she savoured the fresh silence.

  Douglas stepped out of the side door and onto the grass, then turned to her. “How many deliveries today?”

  “Five. Mostly Typhoons. With the weather clearing, they’re pounding the Nazi tanks and supply lines in Belgium.”

  “You must be knackered.” Douglas released his parachute harness, stretched, and dropped his chin.

  Sharon smiled at Douglas’s impression of exhaustion. “I am that.”

  Douglas looked outside of the aircraft. “What’s got her wind up?”

  Sharon nodded at the hangar. Lady Ginette looked like an overripe pear in her white flight suit. She was waving her arms about as she faced Ernie and Walter. Sharon closed the distance and stepped onto the concrete apron in front of the hangar.

  “I told you! I don’t want him,” she pointed at Ernie, “working on my aircraft!”

  Sharon stepped
up behind Lady Ginette and caught an overpowering whiff of Chanel perfume. Where do you get Chanel in the middle of a war?

  Lady Ginette turned on Walter. Her voice shook with emotion. “You and your kind need to know your place.”

  “What place is that?” Sharon sensed rather than saw a gathering of people around the mouth of the hangar.

  Lady Ginette turned. Sharon saw the woman’s face was red with anger. But it was the rage behind her eyes that struck her most. She’s revealing the ugliness behind her polite façade.

  “I don’t want that jigaboo working on my aircraft.” Lady Ginette shook her finger in the air.

  Sharon felt the calm focus of pre-combat clarity. “Why, Lady Ginette, your fascist leanings are showing.”

  “What?” Lady Ginette stepped back, startled.

  You started this, Ginette, and I’m going to finish it. Sharon slowed her words so they would carry to everyone within earshot. “You were a member of the British Union of Fascists.”

  “How could you know that?” Lady Ginette asked.

  Sharon shrugged. She felt the massive presence of Douglas at her side. “Ernie and Walter joined up to fight the Nazis. You wanted to join the Nazis.”

  Lady Ginette looked around her, rolled her eyes, puffed out her chest, and retreated in the direction of the dispersal hut. “I’ve had enough of mongrels and colonials.”

  Sharon moved closer to Ernie and Walter. “What else has been happening around here today?”

  Ernie looked at Walter. Walter took off his green wool cap, rubbed the top of his head, pulled the cap back on, and with an exaggerated back-country accent said, “Been running like a couple of hens being chased ’round the yard by a mangy coot of a dog.”

  “I could sure use a cup of coffee. How about the pair of you?” Sharon asked.

  Walter turned and pointed himself in the direction of the canteen.

  “Where are you going?” Sharon asked.

  “To get some coffee for us,” he said.