Two Blackbirds

by Garry Ryan

  My mother knew right away. She told me one time when I asked about her and my father. When I asked her how she knew, she shrugged and said, “I just did.” Sharon turned when she heard a vehicle approaching. It was a Jeep. She looked closer and saw that Walter was driving. He pulled up alongside and opened the canvas door. “You want a ride the rest of the way?”

  “Thanks.” Sharon climbed in and closed the door. Walter released the clutch, and the Jeep rolled forward. “I thought an MP had to drive you.”

  Walter shifted into third. “McBride called me in yesterday. Said that he checked my file and saw that I was a driver. He asked if I was fine with driving myself to the base every morning.”

  “What do you think of him?”

  Walter shifted into fourth. “He salutes me just the same as he does anyone else. Colonel Wilson never did.” Walter downshifted, braked, and turned into the roadway leading to White Waltham. He stopped in front of the dispersal hut. “Okay if I park here, boss?”

  Sharon turned and caught his smile. “Oh, I suppose.”

  Inside the hut, Mother stopped them with a raised hand. “There’s been a major attack on our airfields in Holland, Belgium, and northern France. The call is out for replacements. We’re looking at a big push over the next few days.”

  Sharon approached Brussels Evere Airfield. On finals, she saw a row of burned-out B-17 Flying Fortresses. After landing, she taxied over rumbling steel matting. Either side of the taxiway was piled with snow dotted with the charred corpses of Typhoons and Spitfires destroyed by the Luftwaffe attack of the day before. She maneuvered her Spitfire by zigzagging because her forward vision was blocked by the fighter’s long nose. She stopped in front of a hangar that was peppered with holes. She shut down, released her harness, opened the cockpit door, and stepped out onto the wing.

  Once on the ground, she looked around and saw two members of the ground crew approaching. “We’re glad to get this one.” The taller of the pair had a French Canadian accent.

  “How many aircraft did you lose yesterday?” Sharon asked.

  “The press is saying it was a victory for us,” said the taller one.

  The shorter man laughed. “Frenchy’s pulling your leg. We lost more than a hundred aircraft destroyed on the ground. I don’t know how that can be counted as a victory.”

  Sharon heard the oddly flavoured Irish accent in the shorter man’s voice. He must be from Newfoundland.

  “Newfie counted a hundred wrecks, then stopped. After that, there wasn’t much point,” Frenchy said.

  “Are any still flying?” Sharon asked.

  “A handful.” Newfie pointed at the Spitfire Sharon delivered. “That’ll make up for the one we lost this morning.”

  The pair began to push the Spitfire into the hangar. Sharon took one wing, while Frenchy took the tail and Newfie the other wing. They swung the fighter around so that its nose pointed out the hangar door.

  “Merci.” Frenchy slid under the wing to begin the process of checking the cannons.

  Newfie went under the opposite wing.

  Sharon hefted her kit and made for the canteen. It was filled with pilots. Some were asleep in their chairs. Others talked quietly at tables. The mood was somber. Sharon grabbed a cup of coffee, doctored it with cream and sugar, drank it, and felt the warmth reaching her fingers. She filled her cup a second time.

  A clutch of five pilots sat at a table near the urn.

  “Anybody see what happened to Cardinal?” an RAF pilot asked.

  “No,” said a pilot with a South African accent.

  Sharon felt a shiver run through her. “Cardinal? Milton Cardinal?”

  The pilots turned to look at Sharon. The RAF pilot wore an Irvine Jacket. He asked, “You know him?”

  Sharon nodded.

  “Four of us did a trip to the German airbase at Wiesbaden. We got into a scrap with some Focke-Wulfs. None of us saw what happened to Cardinal.” He took Sharon’s coffee cup from her.

  Sharon looked down and stared at her empty right hand as if it belonged to someone else. She stared at the coffee she’d spilled over her flying boots and the wooden floor.

  Linda opened the front door of the cottage. “Sharon?”

  Sharon sat in the kitchen with a cold cup of coffee. She looked up at Linda as she stepped into the kitchen. She tried to talk, but began to cry instead.

  “What happened?” Linda sat down across from Sharon. “Something’s happened to Michael?” She shucked her way out of her Irvine jacket.

  Sharon shook her head.

  “Sean? My mother?” She hung the sheepskin jacket on the back of the chair.

  Sharon shook her head.

  “Oh no! It’s Milton, isn’t it? Something happened to Milton?”

  Sharon nodded. “Missing.”

  Linda sat back in her chair. “How do you know?”

  Sharon looked at her hands. “I was at Evere. Some pilots were talking about Cardinal not returning from a morning patrol.”

  Linda looked at the ceiling. “I just saw him in Paris. You wouldn’t believe what it’s like there. That city is coming back to life. It’s wonderful.”

  “They said that no one saw what happened to him.”

  Linda wiped her eyes. “We were in Paris for a day. We had so much fun.” Linda looked at her friend. “Are you sure it was him?”

  Sharon shrugged. What can I say?

  Linda shook her head. “Shit. Shit. Shit!”

  Forty-five minutes later, the phone rang and Sharon answered.

  “I took a break from reading the mail,” said Michael’s voice, “and I saw Milton’s name on the casualty list. Have you heard anything?”

  CHAPTER 28

  [FRIDAY, JANUARY 12, 1945]

  The phone at White Waltham rang. Mother held it out for Sharon. He looked past her at Linda, who was staring at nothing in particular.

  Sharon took the phone. “Lacey.”

  Colonel McBride said, “You asked me to find out what happened in Wereth, Belgium. Eleven men were tortured and killed by the SS. They were Americans from the 333rd who were prisoners of war.”

  “And?” Sharon asked.

  “The men were black.”

  “Then why do we hear about Malmady and not about Wereth?” Sharon looked out the window and wished she could see Edgar one more time.

  “You think that Edgar’s death was the result of bigotry, and that same bigotry is the reason why we don’t hear about the murders in Wereth.”

  Sharon noted that McBride had not asked a question, but made a statement.

  “I did what you asked.”

  Sharon waited a moment before replying. “Yes. I’ll give you credit for that.”

  “And I am calling about something completely different. I need a favour.”

  I was ready for almost everything but this.

  “You must know that we have had heavy casualties after Hitler’s offensive in the Ardennes.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen some of the damage done.” Sharon looked over at Linda. And I’m looking at some of it now.

  “We fly our wounded back to the States. Because of the Luftwaffe attacks on the Allied airfields in Holland and Belgium, there is a shortage of transport aircraft and crews to fly them.” McBride took a breath.

  “What did you have in mind?” Sharon tried to think ahead.

  “Could you supply a crew for a C-54? You’d need a pilot, co-pilot, and an engineer. The crew needs to leave now, pick up the aircraft at Croydon, then fly it to Prestwick. I’ve had to call in a few favours to get the aircraft.”

  “Whose aircraft is it?” Sharon asked.

  “You don’t want to know. Do you have a crew?”

  “Yes. You will need to free up Airman Coleman.”

  “Is he a qualified flight engineer?” McBride asked.

  “Do you want a crew or don’t you?”

  “Coleman is yours.”

  “Have the aircraft ready. We’re leaving now. Will you meet us there?” Sharon
hung up the phone before he could answer.

  We’ve almost caught up on deliveries after the New Year’s Day attacks on the continental airfields. Mother can run things. Sharon walked toward Linda, who turned to her sister-in-law with weary eyes.

  “I’ve got a delivery to make at Prestwick,” Sharon said. “It leaves right away. It would be better with two pilots. It’s a C-54.” As Linda thought it over, Sharon turned to Mother. “We have a flight to Prest-wick. Can you keep an eye on things until we get back?”

  Mother smiled. “I always do. Have a grand time in Scotland, lassies. Douglas will be out in a minute.” He pointed in the direction of the toilet. Then Mother nodded at Sharon. His eyes looked over her shoulder.

  Sharon turned. Linda had her kit in hand and was walking toward her friend. “Well? Are you ready to go or aren’t you?”

  They stepped out the door and made their way down to the hangar. Ernie and Walter were staring at the engine of a De Havilland Rapide. Ernie said, “I think we need to swap the magneto out.”

  “Can you handle things on your own for a day or two?” Sharon asked Ernie.

  “What’s up?” Ernie asked.

  “We need Walter for a trip in a C-54.” Sharon looked over her shoulder as Douglas walked past on his way to the Anson.

  “Come on, ladies, this war waits for neither man nor woman. And I’m a stone lighter for this trip to Croydon.” Douglas gave them a rakish wink.

  Ernie looked at Walter. “Where are you going?” Walter asked.

  “Croydon, then Prestwick. I told McBride you would be our flight engineer.” Sharon looked over her shoulder as Linda followed Douglas. He walked around the Anson doing the preflight check.

  “Where the hell is Prestwick?” Walter began wiping his hands on a cloth.

  “Northern Scotland. Are you coming?” Sharon asked.

  “Put on a fresh pair of coveralls. I’ll grab you a parachute,” Ernie said.

  In less than half an hour, they climbed out of the Anson and stood looking up at the nose of a silver four-engine C-54 with Sunflower II painted on its nose.

  Linda tapped Sharon on the shoulder. “I’ll do the walkaround while you get ready for takeoff.” Linda turned to Walter. “Would you?” She handed him her parachute and bag.

  Walter followed Sharon up the steps. The cavernous interior of the aircraft was already modified to support stretchers. A framework of litter supports was attached to either side of the fuselage.

  Sharon turned and walked toward the cockpit. She stowed her parachute, then eased herself into the pilot’s chair. Walter stashed two more parachutes and Linda’s bag, then looked over Sharon’s shoulder as she took the checklist from the dash and began to read.

  “You ever flown one of these before?” Walter asked.

  Sharon shook her head. “First time.”

  Walter looked at the gauges in front of Sharon and above her head. He turned, stepped out of the cockpit, turned, walked along the interior, and went down the steps. He saw Linda peering up into the nose of the aircraft. “Sharon’s never flown one of these before,” he said.

  “That’s right.” Linda looked over her shoulder at Walter and saw the worry on his face. “This is what we do, Walter. This is what we’ve been trained to do. We fly all sorts of aircraft. Sharon is very good at it. That’s why I’m doing the exterior check while she familiarizes herself with the controls. This trip means we work as a team.”

  “Why am I here?” Walter looked down along the belly of the aircraft.

  “We need another set of eyes. Four engines mean more instruments to monitor. McBride wanted a crew of three, so we’re it.” Linda inspected the undercarriage leg of the nose wheel.

  Walter leaned down and looked past Linda. “Here he comes.”

  Linda stood up and looked right. McBride’s Buick pulled up. The colonel stepped out of the car.

  Walter stood away from Linda and saluted the colonel. McBride returned the courtesy, then asked, “How soon will you be in the air?”

  Linda looked at her watch, stepped away from the nose, and looked up. Sharon saw them through the side window and waved. A minute later, she was standing alongside them under the nose.

  Linda looked at Sharon. “The colonel wants to know how soon we can leave.”

  Sharon thought for a moment. “We need to complete our checks. Say half an hour?”

  “Sir?”

  They turned and saw McBride’s driver, a man who looked too young to shave. He stood just inside the open door at the base of the control tower. “Call for you, sir,” the driver said.

  “Excuse me for a moment.” McBride walked to the tower then inside.

  “Walter, are you worried about us flying this machine?” Linda asked.

  Walter looked at each of them and shook his head no. “What’s my job?”

  “Another pair of eyes. Another pair of hands,” Sharon said. “Once we’re in the air, we’ll show you what you need to do. You okay with that?”

  McBride strode toward them. “There’s been a change in plans.”

  “What’s up?” Sharon waited for him to come closer.

  “A mechanical problem in Belgium. We need you to fly there, pick up the wounded men, and fly them to Prestwick.” McBride crossed his arms and stood with his feet shoulder-width apart.

  “Says who?” Sharon asked.

  Walter took a breath.

  “It’s been cleared by d’Erlanger.” McBride’s voice had the added edge of command.

  Sharon looked at Linda and Walter. “You two okay with that?”

  Linda shrugged. “Those boys need a ride home.”

  Walter asked, “Home?”

  “I’m assuming that when we refuel at Prestwick, we’ll be told there are no extra crews and we’ll be ordered on to Greenland, Newfoundland, and. . .” Sharon looked at McBride, then smiled.

  McBride blushed. His arms dropped. “The wounded are amputees. They need to get to McGuire General Hospital in Richmond, Virginia.”

  “Why not tell us that from the beginning?” Sharon studied the colonel’s face and watched his defenses fall.

  “We didn’t exactly get off to a good start. And. . .” McBride began. The three waited. “. . .I’m tired of all the killing. I’d like to get those boys home. Do something I can be proud of.”

  “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Sharon looked at Linda and Walter. “Okay with you two?”

  Walter nodded. Linda did the same.

  Sharon looked at McBride. What else aren’t you telling us? “Where will we get the charts, maps, and headings?”

  “They’ll be waiting for you at Prestwick.” McBride looked at his watch.

  “Have you got a piece of paper?” Linda pointed at McBride. “I want you to call and explain what’s happening and where we’ll be. It’s the number of my brother, Michael Townsend.”

  McBride reached into a pocket and pulled out a blue envelope. “Write his name and number on the back of this.”

  Sharon saw that the return address on the envelope was Richmond, Virginia. She handed Linda a pencil.

  Two hours later, they touched down at Chièvres Air Base in southwestern Belgium. After they shut down the engines, Sharon asked, “How are we doing for fuel?”

  Walter had been keeping a running tally of the fuel consumption. “Plenty to get us to Prestwick.”

  “So we fuel up there before leaving for Goose Bay?” Linda looked out the window at the row of green ambulances with red crosses on their sides and roofs. “How many wounded are we carrying?”

  They maneuvered their way out of their seats, walked down the centre of the fuselage, and opened the rear cargo door. A ramp was being rolled up to the side of the aircraft. Four soldiers were already approaching the ramp with one man on a litter. He was covered with blankets and only his face was visible.

  He can’t be more than eighteen, Sharon thought.

  Sharon, Walter, and Linda backed away from the door as one stretcher after ano
ther was brought on board. The wounded were stacked two high along either side of the interior of the aircraft.

  Linda turned to Sharon. “I’ll do the walkaround.” She walked down the ramp.

  Walter tapped Sharon on the shoulder. “We’d better get started on the preflight checks. I want to make sure I’ve got the feel of the cockpit.” He followed her to the cabin.

  One of the wounded soldiers reached out to touch her sleeve. Sharon looked at the face of a boy with brown hair and blue eyes. He reminded her of her brother Sean. He asked, “Are you flying us home?”

  Sharon smiled and nodded. She saw that he was using the only hand he had to grip her clothing. “That’s right. In twenty-four hours, you will be back in the States.”

  “Where you from?” he asked.

  “Canada.” Sharon touched his hand. “Can I come back and talk after we’re in the air?”

  The soldier nodded and closed his eyes. “Sure.”

  Sharon didn’t make it back to the cabin until they’d taken off from Prestwick and were well on their way to Goose Bay, Labrador. She could feel the aircraft becoming a little lighter, a little livelier, as they burned off a fraction of the heavy load of fuel. Sharon tapped Linda on the shoulder. “Okay if I take a break?”

  Linda opened her eyes and sat up straight. “What?”

  Sharon nodded and waited for Linda to slide her seat forward, take a drink from a thermos of coffee, rub the sleep from her eyes, and take a look around. “You have control.” Sharon waited to ensure the transition was smooth, then slid the seat back, took off her headphones, and undid her harness.

  Walter looked up from his notepad and smiled. Sharon leaned close to his ear in order to be heard over the rattling roar of the four radial engines. “How are we doing with fuel?”

  Walter handed her the pad. She looked over the individual engine consumptions, total amount of fuel remaining, and their reserve. “Two hours?” Sharon pointed at what was framed in a box on the paper.

  Walter nodded. “That’s our reserve. We can make it all the way to Goose Bay if we like.”