Kitty was all for doing what the doctors ordered, saying that the other Misfits would most likely still be in the hangar taking care of their aircraft and Gwen agreed readily, but not for the same reasons as the American - all she felt up to doing was sleeping.
However, neither of them got their way because, no sooner had Gwen gotten into her nightshirt and climbed into bed, than Abby slipped into the room.
She asked Kitty to leave the two of them alone, then sat on the bed next to Gwen’s and just stared at her.
Gwen was relieved to see that Abby wasn’t angry anymore, but she still found that her mouth was dry; she had sorely disappointed her commander once before and hadn’t ever wanted to again, but it seemed that she had.
‘I...’ she began, but Abby cut her off immediately.
‘You had five percent tension left on your springs. Five. You should have diverted to Teriberka half an hour before you landed. They could have rewound Jaguar there and then one of the other pilots could have taken a boat out to pick her up easily. Trying to land with your injury wasn’t worth the risk.’
Gwen nodded, afraid to say anything and Abby sighed.
‘There’s a stubborn streak in you which means that you often get a job done when anybody else would have given up long ago, but there’s a big difference between plucky perseverance and downright bloody-mindedness and you need to know when to draw the line. You got away with it today, but you might not next time.’ She shook her head. ‘Look, I’m not expecting you to have learnt your lesson or anything daft like that, but I do hope you’re aware that what you did was unnecessary and that maybe you’ll think twice in future.’
Abby didn’t wait for an answer, but just stood and went to the door. She turned around before opening it, though. ‘Rest. You’re off duty. I don’t want to see you anywhere but that bed or the sofas next door for the next three days if it’s not for meals. And no bloody thinking about the aircraft we’re going to build you when we get back, alright?’
She grinned, then left before Gwen could reply.
As soon as Abby was gone, Kitty slipped back into the room.
‘What did she say? Did she kick you out? Demote you back to an NCO? Please tell me it’s that and I can start ordering you around; I’d quite like that.’ Kitty winked lasciviously as she sat on the edge of Gwen’s bed.
Ordinarily the American woman’s clowning and overt sexuality would have Gwen laughing, but she found she couldn’t quite summon the energy to do so. ‘No, nothing like that. No punishment. But I’m starting to get the impression that I’m running out of second chances.’
Kitty waved away her words. ‘Don’t be silly. If you had any idea of the stupid things people like Mac, Bruce and Scarlet did while we were in France and got away with only a rap on the knuckles...’
‘Then why is Abby making such a big thing of what I did?’
‘Maybe it’s because she cares more about you than the rest of us. You’re special.’
It was Gwen’s turn to wave away that notion as absurd. ‘I really don’t think so. Most of you are better pilots than I am. Or are you saying it’s because I can design a few aircraft? Because, if you hadn’t noticed, quite a few of you can do that too.’
‘No, it’s much more than just the skills you possess...’ Kitty paused and shot a glance towards the door, as if to make sure that it was closed and nobody could hear her. ‘Look, things in France got so fubar towards the end that tempers were flaring and we were almost fighting amongst ourselves. Then when Cece died we began falling apart as a squadron.’ She shrugged. ‘Any other squadron, a normal squadron, would just buckle down, stiffen that bloody British upper lip, fall back on discipline and keep going, but we can’t do that. We barely have any discipline to speak of and we rely too much on heart to keep us fighting. And then when something breaks that heart...’
Gwen nodded; what Kitty was saying sounded all too familiar; her own broken heart had prompted her to join the RAC and throw herself into the war.
Kitty knew Gwen well enough that she knew exactly where her thoughts had gone and gave her a half smile before continuing. ‘Anyway, since you joined, we’ve been more of a unit again, more like how we were in the beginning. It’s probably as much to do with the circumstances as anything you’re doing, but it’s easy to see how Abby might think it was you who brought us back together and be protective of you.’
‘That’s silly.’
Kitty grinned. ‘I know, right? But it’s either that or she’s in love with you too.’
Gwen laughed. ‘Now that’s really bloody silly.’
‘Why? It’s very easy to fall in love with you. In fact, I think I might have some competition.’
Gwen frowned. ‘Who?’
‘Polly, of course! Didn’t you see how she was looking at you?’
‘There might have been a bit of hero worship going on, I suppose.’
Kitty shook her head. ‘Oh, no, it was much more than that, believe me.’
‘Are you sure that she’s... um... well... one of us?’
Kitty smirked. ‘Us what?’
‘You know, a woman who likes women.’
Kitty laughed. ‘Is that what we are?’
Gwen scowled. ‘I’m new to this, give me a break will you?’
‘No way! It’s too much fun to tease you.’
Gwen narrowed her eyes at her friend, but all she did was provoke more laughter so she turned her head away and pretended to sulk. ‘I’m not sure I like women any more. Or at least one woman in particular.’
‘Really?’ Kitty reached out a hand to turn Gwen’s head back, then held her gently in place while she bent forward.
Gwen looked up into the bright blue eyes of the woman who she had come to care for deeply over the last few months, feeling her tongue flick out to moisten her lips without her telling it to.
Kitty didn’t kiss Gwen, though, but just hovered an inch away. ‘I don’t believe that for one second.’ She chuckled gently, the sound sending Gwen’s heart skipping, then closed the remaining distance.
For a few all too brief minutes, Gwen forgot all about her pain and worries.
They were still entwined when the thrum of the Arturo’s idling engines deepened and the massive steel beast shifted as she turned, coming around to point her bow north, towards the open sea where the rest of the convoy accompanying her was waiting.
Shortly afterwards, they heard the door to the outer area of the rooms squeal open as the rest of the pilots arrived, their aircraft seen to.
Kitty gave Gwen a last kiss, then rolled gracefully off the bed and to her feet, just in time for Scarlet to burst in, followed more sedately by the rest of the female pilots.
Scarlet immediately marched over to Gwen’s bed. ‘I heard you had a bit of a turn. Are you feeling alright? You look flushed.’ She glanced sideways at Kitty and gave her a crooked smile. ‘So do you, actually. Maybe there’s something going around.’
Chapter 3
Gwen managed to obey Abby’s orders as far as rest was involved, sleeping until she was sick of it and getting up only to eat in the mess or snuggle up with Kitty on a sofa in the sitting room. What she couldn’t do, though, was stop her mind from working and when Abby gave her permission to resume light duties on the third day she already had a fully developed aircraft in her mind.
Midshipman Simkin had once again been assigned to assist the Misfits and the young officer dug out some fresh paper and the other materials Gwen needed from the ship’s stores, then showed her to a design room in the depths of the ship.
The Arturo had been conceived to be completely self-sufficient and had included such things as a hydroponic farm and a water treatment plant, as well as everything necessary to conceive and fabricate any spare parts or machines it might require during its voyage. Like most of those other facilities, the design room hadn’t been used since the First Great War, but it was clean and perfect for her needs.
As soon as Simkin left her, Gwen pinned sheets of
paper to the yellowing blotting boards of one of the rows of ornately carved wooden desks, then got down to work.
As always, the design in Gwen’s mind evolved slightly while she was drawing it out, as if the process of transferring it onto paper allowed it take on a life of its own, but it was still done in a little under two hours and she rolled up her final blueprints, put them into the three-foot long cardboard document tube that Simkin had provided her with and started the long walk back up to the Misfits’ quarters at the top of the ship.
The promised blizzard had set in only hours after the Arturo had set sail, bringing with it towering waves and high winds driving heavy snow. The flight deck was declared off-limits, which meant that the only views of the world outside available to most personnel were through the glass-covered portholes in the long access corridors ringing the ship. During bad weather, the crew had a curious tradition of going for strolls along those corridors, as if they were on a pleasure cruise, and Gwen passed dozens of off duty men and women, most of whom greeted her with a nod or a salute. There were even deck chairs in front of some of the larger windows where officers and ordinary ranks alike were snoozing or taking tea.
Gwen’s route took her near sick bay and she came across Polly Ames and three friends, all women, on a break, watching the storm through a window.
The medic immediately looked Gwen up and down, assessing her, perhaps not entirely professionally. She had paid more than half a dozen visits to the Misfits’ quarters over the last few days, ostensibly checking up on her patient despite the fact that Gwen wasn’t strictly her patient and it had quickly become very clear that Kitty was correct that she was indeed “one of them” (Gwen still couldn’t quite bring herself to use any of the other terms that were bandied about; in her eyes most of them were derogatory or downright insulting).
Polly nodded appreciatively. ‘You’re looking much better, even since last night.’ She saw the tube in Gwen’s hand and chuckled. ‘You didn’t waste much time getting back to work, did you? How long have you been off bed rest? Five minutes?’
Gwen shook her head. ‘At least ten.’
Polly laughed, then turned to her friends. ‘Ladies, this is Gwen Stone, one of the intrepid Misfits. Gwen, these are Betty, Rachel and Fiona.’
The girls nodded in turn and Gwen gave them each a warm smile. They were young, around Polly’s age, fresh-faced and extremely wide-eyed at being in the presence of one of the legendary pilots.
Gwen blushed at the attention and looked away, but that only served to make her conscious of the fact that she was drawing quite a bit of attention from the other sailors in the corridor, many of whom were slowing in their wandering to stare, trying and failing to be surreptitious about it.
Suddenly uncomfortable and feeling the need to be anywhere but there, she gestured vaguely in the direction she had been going. ‘Um, I should...’
Polly smiled kindly, already well aware of Gwen’s view about being in the spotlight. ‘Come on, I’ll walk with you; make sure you don’t get lost.’ She linked her arm with Gwen’s and drew her away, calling out to her friends over her shoulder with a smile. ‘I’ll see you guys at lunch!’
The girls looked very disappointed to be deprived of Gwen’s company so soon, but called out their farewells and tittered excitedly amongst themselves when Gwen smiled and waved at them.
The young medic rolled her eyes at their behaviour, but waited until they were in a relatively quiet part of the corridor system before speaking. ‘Sorry about that. They’re very young.’
Gwen smiled, but didn’t comment on the fact that Polly was their age, if not younger.
‘So, are those the plans for your new aircraft?’
Gwen blinked and shot a glance at the girl. ‘How do you know about that?’
Polly shrugged. ‘Process of elimination - everybody knows you lost Wasp because we saw you land in Jaguar and we’ve all read Mr Featherstonehaugh’s report about how you were shot down. Come and have a look.’ She grabbed Gwen’s hand, took her a short distance down an adjoining corridor and pulled her to a halt in front of a huge corkboard covering most of a bulkhead panel.
Among printed official notices and scribbled notes advertising social activities like musical groups, art tutorials and dramatic societies, were dozens of sheets of paper containing reproductions of the various articles that Freddy Featherstonehaugh, the journalist from The Times who had accompanied the Misfits to Vaenga, had transmitted to the British press over the last couple of months.
‘Reading these helped keep us sane while we were stuck in Archangel with bugger all else to do except clear away ice and swab the decks. They were also the only way we had a clue what was going on with you Misfits because the officers weren’t telling us anything, although I did get the impression they didn’t know much more than we did.’
Freddy had given the Misfits copies of his reports and they’d read them with interest, but mixed feelings. They were funny and easy to read, but also provided an insight into the day to day struggle of the Misfits, not just with the enemy, but with their own doubts and fears. Previously, the Misfits had always appeared in the papers as invincible heroes, but, without downplaying the importance of their actions, Freddy had made them into human beings, people, just like anybody else.
Gwen reread the article that dealt with the siege of Murmansk and described the loss of Wasp in detail, based on Abby’s eyewitness account. Her vision blurred as she was once again overcome with sorrow at the death of her aircraft.
‘I hadn’t believed it before, but it’s true, isn’t it?’
Gwen was brought out of her misery by the softly voiced question and realised that, while she’d been reliving the past, the girl had been watching her. There was something between pity and sympathy in her expression which made her look a lot wiser than she should be for her age. ‘What is?’
‘That your aircraft mean more to you Misfits than they do normal pilots.’
Gwen forced a smile. ‘Well, I think every pilot gets to know and love their aircraft.’
‘Not like your squadron, they don’t.’
Gwen considered, then nodded slowly. ‘I suppose not.’
‘It’s because you put a lot of your own personality into them, right? You invest a lot, so if they get destroyed it’s kind of like losing a part of you.’
Gwen stared at the woman, speechless, as once again she showed how perceptive she was. The tears that she thought she had banished came back in force and she swiped the back of her hand across her eyes to clear them then turned back to the board, uncomfortable under the girl’s gaze.
She searched out the last of Freddy’s articles. He had finished it the day before and they’d gotten a copy of it that morning, but she had been too busy with her work to read it yet and she wanted to see what he had said about the outcome of their mission.
The Misfits had been sent to Muscovy to hold back the Prussian forces and prevent them from taking the city of Murmansk and cutting off the northern supply route. They had been successful and the Prussians had been forced to retreat back into Finland to wait out the winter in safety, but just as the Misfits were heading to their rendezvous with the Arturo, hours before the weather had shut the airspace over the north for weeks, perhaps months, the Prussian bombers had struck. Where before the objective of their raids had been to weaken the defenders while leaving the city intact enough to use as a base, this time they took out their fury and impotence on its inhabitants, dropping thousands of bombs on the city, both explosive and incendiary, turning it into an inferno.
There had been no word from the city since, not a single message or signal and the Misfits feared the worst.
One of the biggest worries of Abby and Sky Commodore Dorothy Campbell, the officer in charge of the expedition, was that the public, and more importantly the King’s ministers, would hear about the fate of the city and think that the entire mission had been a failure. Thankfully, though, Freddy had painted the Misfits’ efforts very mu
ch as a victory, snatched under very difficult circumstances by valiant actions and sacrifice on the part of both the British and Muscovite pilots. At the request of the Tsar it made no mention of the betrayal of Polikasparov, the second in command of the Wolfpack Squadron, and Bruce’s girlfriend, the Muscovite morale officer Natasha, but it did include the destruction of Murmansk, witnessed firsthand by the journalist from the transport aircraft taking him to the rendezvous. He’d had more time to watch the bombing than the Misfits, aided by optics lent to him by one of the fitters travelling with him, and his description of it was poetic, lamenting the loss of life, while at the same time raging against the reprehensible actions of the enemy at destroying an entire city filled with civilians. He ended by comparing it to the destruction wrought on the East End of London over the summer, something that would undoubtedly draw the sympathy of the British public.
However, none of that would stop the King’s ministers, and especially the Minister for War, making what they would of the city’s destruction.
Gwen turned away from the articles to find the girl still staring at her, rather too frankly for her liking. ‘Thank you for showing me these, but I really do need to get back to quarters; Kitty will be wondering what I’m up to.’
The girl laughed. ‘Does she keep you on that tight a leash?’
Gwen shook her head. ‘I just meant that she’ll be worried, you know, because I’ve been ill.’
‘Ah.’ The girl grinned knowingly and nodded. ‘Of course.’
Gwen frowned at her; she got the impression that there was some meaning behind Polly’s words, something that she didn’t quite understand. She didn’t want to ask, though, didn’t want to extend their conversation any more than she had to, because while they had been standing at the corkboard the girl had been edging ever closer and now they were standing shoulder to shoulder, almost touching. ‘Uh... I should...’
The girl nodded. ‘Yes. You should.’ She gave Gwen one last wide smile then took a very deliberate step back. ‘But before I escort you home, why don’t you take one of these?’ She unpinned one of the papers from the board and handed it to Gwen. ‘You and Kitty should come.’
A Misfit Midwinter Page 2
