Two Blackbirds (24 page)
Other pilots began to do the same.
Mother turned to Sharon. “Are you sure you don't want something to eat?”
Just keep playing dumb. Don't let on that I'm pregnant. They know
it and they want to take care of me, but we have to play this game where
everyone can deny knowing for certain that I'm pregnant.
“I'd love some beans on that fresh bread I caught wind of when I came in the door.”
Mother got up.
Linda asked, “Anyone else been reading today's papers?”
This is what Michael was trying to tell me went I went to visit him
at Bletchley Park.
Sharon turned to her left as a plate of beans on two slices of fresh bread arrived.
I feel guilty being able to eat this.
“Thank you, Mother.”
As if reading Sharon's mind, Linda said, “You've had a long day, and you need to eat.” Linda looked around the table. “Don't worry about the beans; we sleep in separate rooms!”
The laughter was overloud relief following the grim news of the Nazi concentration camps.
“She toots her own horn?” Reginald asked.
“More like a foghorn. Ships have been known to steer away from our little cottage,” Linda said.
Sharon began to laugh, then found herself looking around the room, hoping to see the faces of Edgar, or her father Patrick, or Molly, or Harry.
“I hate to interrupt this line of thought, but I have heard rumours of a Ju 88 being shot down by our windy commander.” Mother raised his tea in salute to Sharon and Linda.
Sharon pointed at Linda. “She was the brains of the team.”
“Rubbish.” Linda pointed at Sharon. “She shot out one of Jerry's engines, and then the other. Her shooting was so precise that the German observer thanked her for not killing him. The pilot, on the other hand, refused to acknowledge Sharon when he was told she shot him down! It must have been a huge blow to his ego to discover he'd been shot down by a woman!”
Linda pulled her hair back with one hand and buttoned up her collar with the other. She stuck two fingers under her nose to approximate a moustache. “The pilot turned his back on us and tried to walk away, but there was nowhere to go, since he was under guard. So he was forced to turn back around and face Windy!” Laughter erupted around the table.
“How many does that make now?” Mother asked.
Sharon drew her hand across her throat.
“No. He won't be quiet,” Linda said. “My brother was there when she downed the Me 110. She was flying a Lysander and put the bastard into the ground.”
“Then there was the buzz bomb,” Mother said.
“Edgar told me how to do that,” Sharon said.
“So it's true! That's the first time you've admitted to that one,” Mother said.
“So, how many is it?” Linda asked.
Sharon heard the room go quiet. “Ten.”
“Christ!” Reginald said.
They all looked at Reginald. Douglas said, “That's the first time we've heard you curse.”
“How come no one knows about this?” Reginald asked.
Mother pointed his cup at Sharon. “It's because she's kept quiet about it. And we do the same. Besides, the gentler sex is not supposed to be capable of such acts.”
“Rubbish,” one of the female pilots said.
“But you're an ace twice over,” Reginald said.
Sharon shrugged and put a forkful of beans and bread in her mouth. Linda sighed. “I'll have to sleep with a pillow over my head!”
Douglas lifted his cup. “Cheers to spring and open windows!”
Sharon returned from Rheine Airfield
in northwestern Germany, just across the Dutch border. The duty Anson dropped her off at Chad-derton near the west coast of England. Her next delivery was a Lancaster bound for the east coast of England.
She stood in line at the
NAAFI
wagon. Her mind was filled with images of vast expanses of Holland underwater. That, and some of the liberated towns and cities she'd flown over. They'd been bombed and shelled into rubble as the Allies advanced.
I wonder how many cities
in Europe aren't destroyed?
The woman running the
NAAFI
wagon smiled at her. “What can I get you, love?” She wore a blue Woman's Auxiliary Air Force uniform and cap, and a tired smile.
“Coffee, please.”
“You're a polite one.” The woman handed her a cup and pointed her in the direction of the cream and sugar.
“What happens when you mix coffee and cream?”
Sharon recognized the voice. She turned to face Lady Ginette, who was behind her in line. Ginette wore an immaculate white flight suit accented with a silver-blue scarf.
“I think the colour is called jigaboo.” Lady Ginette smiled and looked around for support.
Sharon shrugged. “Let's find out.” With a flick of the wrist, the coffee in Sharon's cup splashed the front of Lady Ginette's white flight suit.
Ginette looked down at the brown stain on her left breast as it bled down to her left knee. “Look at what she's done to me!”
“You're lucky she didn't knock you about a bit. That's what I'd a done if you'd said it to me.” The
WAAF
turned to Sharon. “How about a refill, love?”
Ginette glared at Sharon. Then Lady Ginette's eyes narrowed when she saw Sharon's belly. Ginette smiled.
Sharon landed the new Lancaster
on the east coat of England at
RAF
Scampton. She taxied and stopped in front of a green two-storey hangar. Then she shut down each of the four Merlin engines. In the quiet, she looked over at the grave of a dead hero's dog.
This is probably your last flight,
she thought. For most of the trip to Scampton, she'd thought about the look on Lady Ginette's face.
I'm starting to show, and right now she'll be on the phone to one of her
influential friends, asking why a pregnant
ATA
pilot is being allowed
to fly.
She grabbed her gear and began the meandering journey down the fuselage of the bomber to the rear door. A man with thinning combover hair was waiting. The rings of an air commodore adorned the sleeves of his blue jacket.
Lady Ginette works fast
.
“So, I've got a new plane, and now I need to find a crew to fly it,” the Air Commodore said.
“Who are you, and what do you need?” Sharon asked.
He needs a
crew?
“Name's Geddes. And you?”
“Lacey.”
“I've got two crews on leave, another one that needs a rest, and Operation Manna starts tomorrow.” Geddes stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets.
“What if I can gather a crew?”
“Who will fly it?” Geddes turned his head to the side and studied her.
Just keep your mouth shut.
She smiled.
“Sharon Lacey, the Canadian?”
She nodded.
“Could we talk inside? It's warmer.” Geddes turned and began to walk toward the canteen.
Sharon fell into step beside him. “What's Operation Manna?”
“You've heard that the Dutch trapped behind German lines are starving?” Geddes turned his head toward her.
Sharon nodded.
“We're getting together with the Americans to drop food into Holland.” They reached the canteen. Geddes opened the door for her. Sharon stepped inside where it was warm. It smelled of good food and hot coffee.
In less than ten minutes, Geddes began tucking into a plate of bangers and mash. Sharon's mouth watered as she stared down two eggs, bacon, toast, and a cup of coffee.
Geddes cut a sausage into four neat bits. “We're guaranteed safe passage, as long as we stick to specified corridors. That's why you'll need a navigator.” He popped a quartered sausage in his mouth and nodded to his right.
Sharon looked to her left and saw a round-faced man sitting with an empty plate in front of him. He was so engrossed in a book that he appeared not to notice anyone else in the room.
“Name's Meron Chorny. Bloody great navigator.” Geddes stabbed another quarter of sausage.
“Where's his crew?” Sharon wiped yolk from her chin.
This baby
has turned me into a glutton.
“Off at the nearest pub getting rip-roaring drunk, I suspect. Ask him if he'll fly with you. He's been awfully quiet since Dresden. Doesn't think much of Bomber Harris' claim that the city was a military target.” Geddes chewed, then sipped his tea.
“What about a bombardier?” Sharon wrapped a piece of bacon in a wedge of toast.
Geddes lifted his chin and looked behind her. Sharon turned and spotted a light-haired man whose left arm was in a cast.
“Mr. Sutherland. A moment, please,” Geddes said.
Sharon turned back around and heard the scrape of a chair on the floor. A moment later, a man sat down gingerly beside her. “Yes, sir?” There was an Edinburgh burr in his voice.
Sharon looked at Mr. Sutherland, who appeared to be a week or two over eighteen. His hair was the colour of sand and he shifted uncomfortably, as if the damage to his arm were only a fraction of the harm that had been done to him.
Geddes nodded at Sharon. “I have a pilot and she needs a bombardier for tomorrow.”
Sutherland looked at Sharon. She read his mind.
“I'm supposed to risk my life with a fookin' woman for a pilot, sir?”
Sharon felt her face redden.
Don't piss me off. Not when I'm
pregnant.
Sutherland turned to Geddes. “Are you giving me an order, sir?”
Geddes shook his head. “The Dutch are starving and we have an aircraft without a crew. We need a bombardier who can drop the load from two hundred feet onto a racecourse.”
“I see, sir.” Sutherland lifted his injured forearm onto the table and looked around the room.
“Do you remember that incident last November? A pilot shot out both engines of a Junkers 88 night fighter so it had to land at Church Fenton. The Nazi pilot was put out he'd been shot down by a woman. The story made the rounds, if I recall.” Geddes cut another sausage into four equal bites.
Sutherland looked sideways at Sharon. “You?”
Sharon nodded as she chewed toast and bacon.
He offered his hand. “Call me Willy.”
She swallowed and shook his hand. “Sharon.”
“You gonna ask Chorny to navigate?” Willy directed the question at Sharon.
“Me?” Sharon picked up another slice of toast and put two bits of bacon in the middle.
“You're the pilot,” Willy said.
Sharon stood up with her bacon sandwich. “Be right back.”
She walked around the table toward the navigator. She read the name T.S. Eliot on the spine of his book.
“Hello.” Meron Chorny's voice was soft, just audible.
Sharon saw his brown eyes and the intelligence behind them. “I need a navigator to guide us into Holland for food drops.”
Chorny marked his page with a strand of red yarn. “Willie said he'd fly with you?”
Sharon nodded.
“Food drops?” Chorny's nose whistled as he inhaled.
“That's correct.”
“You are the pilot?”
Sharon nodded.
“Any good?” Chorny's eyes locked on hers.
She nodded.
“Why didn't you kill the crew of the Junkers?”
“You were eavesdropping?” she asked.
Chorny nodded.
“I don't want to kill anymore.” Sharon heard the bleak honesty in her voice.
Chorny stood up. “Anymore. What an interesting way to put it.”
“Well?” Sharon saw that they were about the same height.
“I assume we have to prepare for an early morning mission.” He nodded in the direction of Geddes and Sutherland. “I'll need to check the specifics on weather and destination.”
“How come you're saying yes?” Sharon asked.
He smiled. “I'd much rather drop food than bombs.”
Sharon led the way back to the table, where she sipped her coffee and listened as Willy, Chorny, and Geddes discussed the details. They listened intently when she added her tuppence.
Willy said, “We could use an observer in the tail gun.”
“Why?” Sharon asked.
“Someone to evaluate the drops. See if they're short or long.” Willy tucked his cast up against his chest.
“I can get one here in two or three hours.” Sharon stood. “Where's the nearest phone?”
Mother arrived in time for supper.
“Pauline Gower is looking for you.”
“And?” Sharon asked.
“I left Linda in charge. She told me she didn't want to know where you are so that she wouldn't have to lie. Only I know where you are.” Mother smiled.
Sharon turned to Chorny and Willy. “This is Mr. Green.”
Chorny and Willy looked at Mother's grey hair and sparse frame.
“This will definitively get me sacked, and it might do the same for you,” Sharon said.
Mother smiled. “It had to happen sometime. What's my job?”
Chorny and Willy looked at one another and smiled. “What's your first name?” Willy asked.
Mother looked at Sharon. “Hubert.”
“We call him Mother,” Sharon said.
“Mother it is,” Willy said.
Chorny pointed. “Mother. You'll have our backs.”
“Three minutes to target,”
Chorny said.
Sharon looked ahead through the Lancaster's greenhouse canopy. She checked her altimeter: four hundred feet. She dropped the landing gear and added flap to slow the bomber down for the drop. The ground was snow-covered and the trees were grey arms against that white background. Rooftops spread out below them as they crossed over a beach. Sharon saw antiaircraft guns pointed up at them. They did not fire.
She looked ahead, saw the oval track near another beach, and touched the microphone button. “Target in sight.”
