Two Blackbirds (9 page)
Sharon chewed.
It must be a man.
“Milton.”
“I said no questions.” Linda popped the piece of fish into her mouth.
“What's his last name? Now, that was a question.” Sharon cut a potato in half, speared one side, and blew on it.
Linda rolled her eyes. “If you must know, it's Cardinal.”
“So you
have
been talking.” Sharon put the tip of her tongue on the potato. “These are so good.”
Linda put her knife and fork down. “Well?”
“When was the last time you had a leave? By that I mean, all you do is fly, and then you fly some more. The last time you had a day off was when we flew the Storch home.”
Linda blushed.
“I'll talk with Mother in the morning. Just write the dates down for me so I get them right.” Sharon began to dig into her supper.
“I hope you won't tell Michael or my mother about this.”
Sharon shook her head. “Mum's the word.”
Mother said,
“There's fog in the forecast. If the weather begins to close in, just put it down at the nearest airfield and wait for it to clear. The war will go on just fine without you.” Sharon watched as Mother handed Molly a chit.
“Where are you off to?” Sharon asked.
“It says a Magister at
RAF
Upavon.” Molly revealed all of her healthy teeth as she smiled.
“Neigh!”
Sharon turned in time to see a pilot using her right foot like a hoof. The woman, whose name was Patricia, turned to Lady Ginette for approval. “Patricia? Something wrong with your foot?” Sharon asked.
Patricia was shorter than Lady Ginette and about fifty pounds lighter. The rouge was bright on her cheeks. Still, her face reddened.
Lady Ginette did not turn around.
Sharon turned back to Molly. “Remember what Mother said about the weather.” Molly nodded, then hefted her parachute and shoulder bag before making her way to the duty Anson.
Mother handed a chit to Sharon. She took it.
He used his index finger to indicate Sharon should come closer. In a whisper, he said, “I've got the last Swordfish delivery for Scapa Flow.” He held up a chit. “This'll keep Patricia out of trouble for a day or two.” He smiled.
Sharon said, “Thank you,” and left.
Three hours later, cloud and fog closed in, forcing her away from her destination. Sharon checked the maps in her side pockets. She turned the fighter west in an ever-narrowing sky. Ten minutes later, she spotted Kirkbride just inland from Moricambe Bay on her left. The airfield was on the northwest coast of England, closer to Belfast than to London. The runway was an X at the centre of yellow fields of rape. Sharon throttled back, and as the speed of the Corsair dropped, she lowered the flaps, then the landing gear. She looked west, where the fog was sifting in from the bay just as it disappeared from view. Her hands worked the controls instinctively.
Just sixty more seconds and
I'll be on the ground.
She took a long, slow breath to calm her nerves and clear her mind. This kind of weather could kill a pilot as surely as the guns of an enemy fighter. She lined up on finals, eased the throttle back, and checked that her wheels were down.
The runway disappeared ahead of the blue nose of the navy fighter. She looked out the right side of the canopy as the wheels touched down. When she reached the end of the runway, she checked the location of the tower and turned right to taxi toward the green hangars next to it.
The fog wafted over her canopy and the tower disappeared. She concentrated on staying lined up on the taxiway by looking out the left side at the edge of the tarmac. The fog thickened and she could no longer see the edge.
Using her mental map of the airfield, she turned the fighter to the left, bumped onto the grass, swung the tail around with a burst of throttle, and shut down. More than thirteen feet of propeller rolled to a halt. She checked to make sure all of the switches were off before she slid back the canopy, stepped out onto the fighter's gull wing, and jumped down off the trailing edge onto the ground.
She stood still and listened.
A whistle blew. The shrinking metal of the cooling engine ticked as she ducked under the belly of the Corsair and followed the sound. The whistle blew twenty more times before she felt the concrete apron under her heels.
“I can hear ye, lassie.” The thick Scottish accent was like music. Sharon walked toward the voice, stepped inside the open door, and stood face to face with a sandy-haired man who was almost as tall as she was. He wore
RAF
blue and a smile. “A lucky Canadian, I see.” He pointed at the shoulder flashes on her battle jacket.
“Could I please use the phone?” she asked.
“Right over there.” The Scotsman pointed ahead and to her right.
“I was supposed to make it to Glasgow this morning. I need to let them know where I ended up.” Sharon eased past him, intent on her call to Mother.
I hope all of the other pilots are safe.
The fog stayed the rest of the day. Sharon slept in her uniform on a cot that was reserved for occasions like these.
[WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 1944]
The engines of the duty Anson shut down.
Sharon was first out the door. She carried her kit to dispersal, located in the red one-storey building at White Waltham. Mother greeted her at the door. The look on his face told her that her fears were well-founded.
“How many missing?” she asked.
“One.”
“Who?” Sharon set her kit down inside on a table.
“Molly took delivery of the Magister, but didn't reach Upavon.”
Mother waited for Sharon's reaction.
She looked out the doorway. “Is the Storch available?”
Mother nodded. “I think so. Let me check.” He went out the door and around to the hangar.
Sharon searched out a cup of coffee in the empty canteen as she planned a route in her mind, drawing a mental line from the pickup point to Upavon.
Mother tapped her on the shoulder. Ernie and Edgar were pushing the Storch out of the hangar when she arrived at the open door.
“I need another pair of eyes in the back seat.” Sharon put her parachute inside and helped push the single-engined aircraft out onto the grass.
She did a slow, deliberate walk around to check the aircraft.
Keep
your mind clear!
Ernie stepped into a fresh pair of coveralls. “Edgar says he'll hold down the fort.”
In five minutes, they were airborne and headed south and west.
Ernie kept a lookout on one side while Sharon covered the other. They flew at eight hundred feet above ground.
Forty minutes later, after flying over every shade of green imaginable, Ernie tapped Sharon on the shoulder.
They found out later that the crash was on the northern face of a place called Milton Hill. The tail of the open-cockpit two-seater trainer was recognizable. The rest of the aircraft was a tangled mass of wreckage.
Sharon eased back on the throttle and slowed the aircraft to make a low, slow pass over the crash site. The yellow underside of one wing was about fifty feet downhill from most of the rest of the wreck. Molly's twisted body was visible in what was left of the cockpit.
Sharon turned for another pass, glanced over her shoulder, and saw Ernie shake his head. They flew over the wreckage three times, hoping for any sign that Molly was alive, but there was no movement. Sharon dropped the flaps, adjusted the throttle, and swung around to land up the hill.
She was on finals when she felt Ernie's hand on her shoulder. “It won't make a fucking bit of difference.”
Sharon felt her shoulders drop as she opened the throttle and eased over the top of the hill, flying on to Upavon.
Keep your mind on the
job,
she thought as she lined up on finals and landed.
It took more than four hours for the rescue crew to find the wreck, recover the body, and return to Upavon. Sharon stayed to identify the body, then flew back with Ernie to White Waltham.
Edgar was waiting. He saw the grim exhaustion in Sharon's face and helped her from the Storch without saying a word. He put his arm around her shoulder and held her close. He smelled of motor oil, soap, and coffee.
“I guess I'd better let everyone know.” Sharon turned to get her kit.
“We'll take care of your gear,” Edgar said.
She walked around the corner of the hangar toward the dispersal hut. Through the white-framed windows, she could see the faces of pilots turned her way.
Mother greeted her at the door. There was a strange look on his face. One side of his mouth was turned down. He put his hand on her shoulder, but said nothing.
He's already heard, but is waiting for me to
make the announcement.
Sharon looked at the coffee urn, thought better of grabbing a cup, then turned to the pilots sitting at tables. Expectant faces quietly studied her.
“Molly Hume flew into a hill in the fog. Her body was found in the wreckage.” Sharon felt her shoulders sag.
A wail erupted. It was Lady Ginette. Three of the pilots crowded around the woman as the volume of her grief increased.
Sharon stood there open-mouthed.
But you and your clan treated
Molly like dirt!
“But she was so young! I can't believe it. I saw her just yesterday. It could happen to me!” Lady Ginette said.
Sharon shook her head, turned on her heel, and went out the door.
[WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1944]
“You've been awfully quiet,”
Linda said as she walked beside Sharon on the way back to the cottage.
The evening sun was low, and it caught them on the sides of their faces. The greenery was lit with oranges and yellows. Shadows ran long across the gravel lane.
Sharon shrugged.
“You haven't even asked about Milton and me.” Linda lifted the bag off of her left shoulder and switched it to her right.
“So, how was your leave with Milton?” Sharon looked ahead along the lane where trees provided shade when the sun was high, thus keeping part of the lane cool even on the hottest of days.
“Fun.” Linda tried to see what Sharon was looking at.
“Oh.” Sharon looked at her friend and saw that Linda was smiling. “This is a switch.”
“Oh?” Linda tucked her left hand inside Sharon's elbow.
Be careful how you say this,
Sharon thought.
“Well?” Linda squeezed her friend's arm.
“I'm thinking.”
“Out with it,” Linda said.
“I'm the one who's melancholy, and you're the one who's looking on the bright side of things.” Sharon turned to her friend, tried to smile, and succeeded, sort of.
“That wasn't so bad. Was I that awful to be around?” Linda continued to hold her sister-in-law close.
Sharon thought,
Don't answer that!
“My mother says that when my father came back from the first war, he was a different person. When I was a child, he would often wake up screaming after a nightmare. There was one name in particular that he would scream. It was Robert. Mother told me that father saw Robert killed. They had been friends in school.” Linda hesitated for a moment and looked past Sharon. Sharon went to say something, then stopped.
“It was such a horrible experience he tried to forget,” Linda went on, “but the memories would wake him up in the night. I remember the look on my father's face the morning after a nightmare. He had a haunted look. A faraway gaze. It made him look like he was being hunted by something he could never escape from. That's the way I was after the crash and fire. I would see that faraway, haunted expression in the mirror after every nightmare. Now I see it in your eyes.” Linda hugged Sharon around the shoulders.
Sharon pointed to the front of the cottage. A black Humber saloon car was parked at the door. To her, it resembled a hearse. She felt her pulse beginning to pound.
What's happened?
A man stepped out of the back door. He had wild grey hair, wore a jacket and tie, and pants that appeared to be several sizes too large. He waved.
“Father?” Linda released Sharon and picked up the pace. She wrapped her arms around him. “How much weight have you lost?”
He smelled of pipe smoke and Scotch.
“A stone or two.” He smiled.
He looks even older when he smiles,
Sharon thought.
He lifted his head, spotted Sharon, and waved her over. She hugged Harry and thought,
Christ, he's skin and bone!
“Come on in and we'll fix you something to eat.”
Harry went to the back of the car, opened the boot, picked up a basket, closed the hatch, and tapped the window. The driver, who wore an olive green military uniform, started the engine and pulled away.
“Doesn't he want something to eat as well?” Sharon asked.
“I was hoping to have the two of you to myself for an hour.” Harry followed them into the house and set the basket on the kitchen table before returning to the front room. He sat in the wing-backed chair. “Your aunt always had hideous taste.”
“She still on the coast?” Sharon asked. In the kitchen, they could hear leather and wicker tattling as Linda lifted the lid of the basket.
“And being a tremendous burden to her children and grandchildren, as I understand it. Consider yourselves very fortunate, despite the decor.” Harry leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.
Linda stepped into the room. She had cans and jars clutched to her chest. “Where did you find all of this?”
Harry didn't open his eyes. “In the evenings, I often walk around London and look to see what I can find. Lately, there's been more to find in the shops near where I work.”
“Do you want some help?” Sharon asked.
“Sit and talk with him. I'll only be a minute.” Linda stepped back into the kitchen.
