“You’re very welcome. It’s what I do.” She noticed his discomfort and laid a hand on his cheek.
Jane cried out again. Good grief.
“Look at me?” he looked back at her, to meet her gaze, her warm, eyes direct and serious. “I think you’re lovely, Flash.”
He looked at her in befuddlement. Beneath the dressing, his cut was stinging, and the light-headedness and confusion he still felt threatened to overwhelm him, “Um, thanks…”
She touched his lips with the back of her hand, looked deep into his eyes, and he could see her longing, feel the hunger coming from her, like the hot glow from the radiator, it seemed to sink deep into him, and he could feel himself responding. His skin started to tingle, and his eyes prickle.
“Will you hold me, please?” she asked.
His throat was dry and the blood was pounding in his temples.
Uncomfortably, he put an arm around her.
She could feel his beating heart, could sense his mounting excitement, but also his shyness.
“I don’t want any promises from you, Flash, I like you and I just want to be with you tonight, and that’s all. I think we both need to be with somebody tonight.”
Suddenly, she was nestling hard against him, and automatically he put both his arms around her.
She was trembling (or was it him?) from emotion or need, he could not say which, and her soft breasts and nipples were pressing uncompromisingly against his chest.
The slender body pushing against him brought a treacherous electric tingle to his groin, and he could feel his manhood swell further, knew that she must feel it, and he knew he should let go of her, but he could not.
The world seemed to spin, and his throat was raw, his face burning as if with a fever.
She pressed herself harder against him, and he bent down, to lay his cheek against her shining hair.
Then she looked up and suddenly her lips were on his, and he was kissing her deeply, her moist tongue working hungrily in his mouth, her soft lips pressed firmly against his.
Her hips pushing insistently up against his, and she swung one leg smoothly over him so that her pubis pressed hard against his.
Strangely, he felt no sense of betrayal or guilt. Had Molly done anything less to him?
For a week, he had only seen death and pain, had seen the girl he loved so very desperately been hurt, been hurt so cruelly himself, had seen old friends disappear in the blink of an eye, to be replaced by other youngsters, who disappeared at an even faster frequency.
His life had shrunk to a cold and vicious world of sleeplessness and pain and fear. It was a world deeply lacking in softness and warmth and love.
And now, his starved body rebelled against his mind’s commands, and all resistance drained tiredly from him.
She pulled away from him; dress rucked up to her waist, smooth slim thighs and white knickers, her cheeks pink, eyes shining brightly, hair awry. She made no effort to cover herself.
“Flash, I want you to love me. It’s been so long.” She was gasping with emotion now, breath hot and fragrant against his cheek, “Please love me? I need it so very much…”
He could only nod dumbly, his world filled by her warm grey eyes and moist pink lips, the fragrance of linen and perfume.
She gently took his hand, taking care with his dressing, and led him to her room on the far side of the flat. He couldn’t take his eyes off her exposed buttocks.
Behind them Granny laughed at something Jane murmured.
Rose followed Anna through a doorway in the hall and into her darkened room. A single ring heater cast a warm orange light against the furniture in a small but neat and ordered bedroom. There was a framed photograph of a soldier on the dresser, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore. To either of them.
She pushed him gently onto the bed and as it creaked slightly beneath him, she lifted the dress deftly over her head, and dropped it to the floor before climbing on to straddle him. She leaned forward to kiss him, and his hands moved as if independent of his control to slide down her hips to slip beneath the waistband of her knickers and onto her smooth rounded buttocks.
Her tongue pushed greedily against his lips, her pelvis pushing hard against his, her pubis pressing against his genitals pleasurably.
Anna’s questing mouth opened his, and clamped against it greedily, her tongue flicking against his, wet and hungry.
The blood was pounding in his temples as his fingers kneaded her buttocks hungrily, and then she was pulling the clothes from him until he lay there naked and faintly disbelieving in this girl’s bed, as she teasingly removed her underclothes slowly before him, her eyes on him and a gentle smile on her lips…
His eyes wondered at the sight of her slender body, pale and limned by the light from the heater, small breasts topped with hard erect nipples, flat stomach, and smooth slim thighs framing the wispy triangular tuft of reddish-brown hair. In the poor light, her skin had the sheen of smooth burnished copper, her hair glowing bronze.
And then she was straddling him once more, but now there was no barrier between them, and she firmly grasped his rigid penis with one gentle hand to guide it into her.
She was already wet, oh, so wet and he slid smoothly into the warm tight moistness of her with little difficulty as she pushed herself down onto him with a low moan of pleasure.
Involuntarily, Rose gasped in wonder, and then was lost in her as their bodies began to move rhythmically together.
Rose stared fondly at the snoring figure of Granny, sprawling comfortably on the back seat of the early morning bus as it slowly trundled along the lanes that led to their new field. Dawn was already colouring the sky beyond the smudged windows.
He felt completely shattered, but for the first time in many days, the pain that had become so much a part of him had dulled into a deadened ache, the sharp edge blunted.
The warm euphoria of the incredible experiences he had discovered with Anna still held him in their afterglow, and he fancied he could still feel the heat and tightness of her upon his manhood. He had not managed to wash after that last time, and the dried stickiness of his crotch was another, very pleasant, reminder of her.
It had still been dark when they had roused to catch the early morning post train from King’s Cross. He still ached all over, even in places he had never even felt before.
The two girls had stood on their doorstep in nightgowns tightly drawn around them, bidding them farewell with tears and kisses, and Anna had hugged him tightly, whispering in his ear, “If you’d like to see me again, call me? I’d love it. Very much. You’ve given me the strength to carry on.”
And then she had smiled, eyes bright with unspilled tears, and said again, “Your Molly’s a really lucky girl. If she’s got any sense, and I’m sure she has, she’ll be back for you soon. If you were mine, I’d not let you go.”
She’d sniffed and wiped her eyes, “Take care of yourself, Flash; don’t let the bastards get you.” Another smile, sadder now, “Don’t forget the address, now. It’d be nice to see you again. Even if you just need a friend. And something a lot more if you’d like…”
One last tender kiss, unlike the hungry, all-consuming ones of scant minutes before, when he had lain on top of her that last time, still deep within her, her crossed ankles locking him into position.
This kiss instead delicate, gentle, “You are really special, you know. Take care, sweetheart. God bless.”
And then they were in the cab, heading for the station, the slim girl with red-gold hair a dear and wonderful memory. The best thing after a horrendous week of agony and strain.
It had been surprising at how close they had become in just a few hours of meeting one another.
He smiled fondly to himself, remembering the series of desperate bouts of lovemaking interspersed with short naps that had made the wee night hours flash by.
After the first time, sated and spent, they had lain beside one another, two people who had found comfort and some peace f
rom the realities of their lives in the intimacy of one another.
They had caressed, kissed, made love, and spoken of their lives, and Rose had found her a sympathetic and attentive listener as he told her of his fears and the pain he suffered.
He loosened his tie, re-arranged the lapels of his tunic. He fancied that he could still smell her fragrance on his freshly washed clothes, a mixture of the lightness of her perfume, blending smoothly with the heady musk of her own scent. The memory of her vulva lingered pleasantly on his lips, and he remembered with pleasure the taste and softness of it.
Rose was worn out, and he settled back, putting his feet up on the seat facing him, and lowering the cap visor over his eyes.
She had told him of her life as a nurse, of the dreadful injuries that she had to treat on the inhabitants of the City and East London every day during and after the raids. A tale of suffering that had made him thank his lucky stars that at least he could fight back and not just have to sit and take it like Anna and Jane had to.
She had made him appreciate that although it may not immediately seem so, he had much to be grateful for.
Anna was a wonderful and sweet person, a healer of sorts, and he was grateful for all that she had given to him and all that she had shared with him.
It had done something for him. He was not sure what, yet, but the cold, cutting, bleak despair that was a constant companion to him since that last attack on Foxton, was somehow gone, leaving him suddenly feeling lighter.
He still felt Molly’s absence, but the keenness and depth of it on his heart and mind had been blunted by the experience he had shared with Anna.
The time he had spent with the young nurse, and the special bond that had formed between them, was something that would always be important to him, something that he would never forget.
He owed her a great debt in the way she had changed him, and for the healing her words and caresses had miraculously performed, and he knew now that he had come to love her too, but differently.
Granny was right, nurses could soothe the cruellest hurt, and the two nights with Anna had given him the thing he had most needed. She had blunted the edge. But she was not Molly.
He still loved Molly, and missed her so very, very much; but now at least he could live with the pain.
From across the aisle, Granny opened one eye to peer at his friend. Rose was snoring softly, and his shoulders rocked gently with the movement of the bus.
Granny smiled affectionately, for he had noticed the difference in Rose, and knew his young friend was no longer the same despairing and angry young man he had been the previous day.
Anna, bless her soft and caring heart, had done all that he had hoped for. She had been exactly the medicine Rose had needed.
His friend was back. He just had to make sure he kept him alive, so that one day he could re-unite the young lovers once more.
God willing, of course.
He sighed, and tipped his cap over his eyes once more.
Bloody war.
CHAPTER 40
Rose collapsed into the armchair they had 'liberated' from the nearby alehouse with a sigh.
"Hello, Flash. How was your trip to London?" Startled, but too tired to jump, Rose opened his eyes and looked around the poorly-lit room.
A match flared and Stan lit a cigar, the shadows cast by the sudden bright light giving him a demonic sneer.
"Crikey! You startled me, Stan," In his weariness. He had not even been aware of the other’s presence. “I’m glad you got back OK. I heard that you’d borrowed a kite at Hornchurch and scrambled with them?”
"Sorry, Flash,'' appearing anything but, Cynk puffed foul-smelling smoke at him, his eyes glinting hard.
Rose could sense something not right, and he leaned forward, his back muscles creaking painfully. He really must go for a hot bath.
"Something's wrong, Stan. What is it? Are you all right? You’re not hurt?”
“Oh, Flash. I'm tired of it. Of all of it. The whole stinking mess. I want to see my home again. I miss it."
"Crumbs, chum. Never heard you like this before. What's up?" Rose sighed again. "We’re all worn out, I think. I'm so tired that I don't think I'll be able to get out of this chair."
“We keep killing them, but they keep coming, the bastards.”
"Yes. I know, Stan, but we’ll beat them in the end. You see if I'm not right.” Who’re you trying to kid? The squadron was still reeling from the continuous loss of pilots that were its lifeblood.
Apart from Rose and Granny, the only pilots still on the squadron from the early July days were Dingo and Donald. With the loss of Haynes two days ago, the squadron was only ten pilots strong, four of those new and without any combat experience whatsoever. How much longer could they survive?
"I just want to see my home, go fishing in our lake." Rose had never seen the big Pole like this and he was anxious to soothe him.
"This is your home, too, Stan. We’re one big happy family."
"Dear, good Flash. I’m not so sure. I flew with some of my chums at Hornchurch, as you know; they found me a kite. We intercepted thirty Dorniers over Dungeness, and I got two of them, but I got hit in the engine, and so I had to take to my parachute.”
He puffed ferociously on the cigar, “I was lucky, got picked up by the army so I was back at the ‘drome for lunch.”
“Thank Goodness,” said Rose warmly.
Cynk continued as if Rose hadn’t spoken.
“One of my friends had been shot down too, but he didn’t make it. Oh, he managed to get out OK, but he landed in a field. Poor bastard couldn’t speak much English.” Cynk looked at Rose with glistening eyes, “Do you want to know what happened?”
Rose nodded, dreading what might come next, scared to speak.
“He came down safely on a farm. The farm workers couldn’t understand a word of what he said, the thick fuckers, thought he was German spy in RAF uniform, so they stoned him and strung him up. He’d just shot down a Dornier defending Britain, and they battered him then strung him up from the nearest tree.”
“No, Stan, no, surely…”
Cynk puffed moodily on his cigar, the red tip glowing furiously.
“Oh yes. I saw him there with my own eyes. We’d gone to pick him up. They’d even stolen his things as mementoes. If the police weren’t there I think I’d have killed some Englishmen. What do you think of that? Executed by the people you’ve saved. What a laugh, eh?” His voice wavered and he pursed his lips.
“Dear God, Stan, I’m so sorry…”
“Don’t be. That bastard Hitler started all of this, in the end it’s his fault. They’re the ones occupying Poland right now, so they’re the ones who should have to pay. The Doc wanted me to take some pills and take some time off, but where can I go? Can’t go home, can I? All I want to do is kill Huns. So I told him to go fuck himself and if he grounded me I’d chop that lousy excuse for a head from his silly shoulders, and spit the pills down his neck. He didn’t say anything after that. Seemed a bit shocked, actually.”
Rose thought of the young doctor assigned to the squadron, a medical student just six months earlier. “Yes, I can see that that might have made him reconsider his advice, Stan.”
Rose felt like weeping at the infinite sadness in Cynk’s voice. “Can I buy you a beer, Stan?”
“No, thank you, Flash. I just want to have a bit of time on my own. When this is all over, those of us still around will properly remember the ones who don’t make it.” He coughed a sob, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Flash, if I’m not one of the lucky ones, will you take my things?”
Oh Lord. What use did he have for a dozen pint size bottles of eau de cologne (although it seemed to work miracles when it came to attracting the opposite sex), or all those boxes of malodorous cheroots or cigars?
Cynk extinguished his cigar and smiled sadly at Rose. “Don’t worry Flash, I’ll be fine. Just give me a bit of time, eh? And If I don’t make it, will you go and see my Dad? He’s o
n Sikorsky’s staff. Tell him that I love him, and that I’m sorry I didn’t say it often enough.”
“Of course, my dear chap.” Rose got up stiffly and made his way out, stopping briefly for a moment to put his hand awkwardly on Cynk’s shoulder.
The big Pole patted it silently.
Rose squeezed his shoulder, and left, leaving his friend in the shadowed darkness, with his memories and the spirits of the dead for company.
CHAPTER 41
“Scramble, SQUADRON SCRAMBLE!”
"Beachy Head, 18,000; thirty plus bandits approaching from south-east."
Startled into wakefulness, neck stiff, eyes feeling sticky and gritty, so very tired. Fighting to climb out of the deckchair liberated from Southend beach.
The reports of starter cartridges, Bang! Bang! Bang! Clouds of acrid blue smoke billowing outwards.
Bell clanging and haring across the grass, chipped porcelain mug lying on its side, forgotten, the sweet tea already soaking into the discarded book. What page? Couldn’t even remember what he’d been reading.
Pilots fanning out as they headed for their Hurricanes, parachute arranged and ready on the tail, pull it on, crawl onto the wing and heaved into the cockpit.
“Thanks, lads…”
Engine turning nicely, backdraught blowing the cap from his head.
Forget it, they’ll recover it for him. Pick it up when you get back.
If you get back.
Straps tight and snug, pulling the helmet on, shrug into the gloves, rapid check of the controls, tanks full, trim neutral, gyro set; oxygen and R/T attached.
Mouth dry and heart thudding, tug the Mae West down. Turn to check canopy runners, sight of a tubby armourer puffing after his cap across the windswept grass. Must collect it later.
Check position, chocks back. Squirm into a comfortable position, eyes flicking around the cockpit.
Get the aeroplane into position and then racing across the grass, the green blur speeding fast and then falling away as the Hurricane bites into the air, pull the lever and clunk of undercarriage, switch on the R/T and the kites pull together more closely.
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