“Me too, sir, I’m gasping, and I could do with a pee.”
Rose pulled the lever to lower the back of his chair, and using the bars, tiredly lifted himself with weary arms over the well in front of the armoured doors and, unlatching the hatch, he climbed down the little ladder and onto the tarmac.
Despite the dampening effect of the sluggishly swirling fog, he could just make out the muted grumble of a truck in low gear as it made its way to them. White joined him, and together they peered out into the murky darkness.
“I’ll put in the locking pins, Flash, make sure the dear old bus doesn’t roll off while we’re away.”
“OK, chum.” Rose closed his eyes for a moment. He’d completely forgotten about inserting the locking pins. I must be even more exhausted than I thought.
After a few minutes, the dimmed headlight, and then the boxy shape of the crew truck slowly emerged and disgorged a glum knot of duty groundcrew.
Rose felt like laughing at the bewildered expressions of doubt on their faces when they caught sight of the huge engines on the Beaufighter. This was a single-engine fighter base, and these massive power units were not at all what they must be used to.
So where on earth is the security detail? He wondered. It wasn’t unknown for Luftwaffe aeroplanes to land at an RAF airfield, so a standing security unit was supposed to be on standby at all bases.
The crew chief shone his torch apprehensively onto the Beaufighter. “Would you gentlemen please get into the transport, sir? The driver will take you to the Officer’s Mess.” He sniffed as his eyes roved professionally over the heavy fighter.
Serving as groundcrew on a Hurricane squadron, the solid, pugnacious shape of the crouching Beaufighter looked to him as big as a small battleship.
“Well, my beauty,” he murmured, “What’re we going to do with you?”
Rose looked back at D-Dog, mindful of ‘The Thing.’ The AI equipment was top secret.
“Corporal, please ensure that no-one enters my kite. I want a sentry posted PDQ. Are you armed?”
The crew chief looked at him in surprise.
“Understood, sir. I think there’s a rifle in the back of the truck. We’ll stand guard on it while we take a look at her. In the meantime, I’ll get my lads to have a look at your Bristols.”
Realising what he’d just said, he grimaced with embarrassment, “Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean that, what I meant to say was -“
Masking a grin despite his weariness, Rose shook his head impatiently. “That’s quite alright, um, Corporal-?”
“Masters, sir.”
Rose clutched his maps and parachute pack closely to his chest. “Corporal Masters, it’s imperative that none of your lads enter the machine. I’m going to ask for a guard as soon as I get to the Mess. In the meantime, you’re it. Guard it with your life, that’s an order. Nobody gets in the rear compartment of the machine, OK?”
Disconcerted by the mystery, the chief nodded dubiously, eyes stealing back to the squat twin-engined fighter. “Sir.”
A few quiet words of instruction and reassurance, and then into the transport for the slow, careful drive to the Mess.
“Why not to Dispersals? We aren’t really dressed appropriately for the Officer’s Mess.” asked Rose.
The driver shrugged. “Dunno, sir. The Hurricane CO just said I was to take you gentlemen directly to the Mess.”
Fair enough.
Rose settled back into the seat and closed his eyes. Strange that the fighter CO was still around at this hour of night, usually the whole aircrew complement of a day-fighter squadron were off duty, generally following the nightly pursuits of fighter pilots everywhere, namely guzzling prodigious amounts of beer and/or chasing girls.
Talking of girls...I must call Molly first thing, he thought wearily, trying to keep his eyes open, tell her we’re OK. She’ll be worried sick.
And Operations at Dimple Heath, of course, they must be concerned that we got down alright.
The fog-dampened sound of the engine in low gear, and the swish of tyres on the tarmac was a powerful soporific. It was an effort to keep his eyes open, and he stifled a yawn.
A few short minutes later they arrived at their destination. The Officers Mess was a large building close to the Operations Block, and from it they watched the tail light of their ride disappear into the gloom.
Suddenly a door was jerked open, the light making them blink with discomfort, and from the brightly lit interior, a huge and hairy shape appeared and flung itself at Rose. He was lifted bodily into the air and the breath was squeezed out of his lungs before he could scream.
Dear Lord! I’m being attacked by a bloody grizzly bear! In England! A shocked Rose thought in stupefied astonishment, and heard White cry out sharply in fear.
Suddenly an asphyxiating cloud of beer, cigar smoke and horrendously familiar-smelling Cologne washed over him.
The ‘Bear’, still roaring raucously, spun him round joyously and then set him carefully back onto the ground.
“Flash! You ugly, miserable toad! Fuck me! I can’t believe it! What’re you doing here? Was it you just landed? Who’s this? Where’s Molly? Did you swap her for this little one? Not a good decision, my friend.” He looked searchingly at his friend for a moment, “Bugger me! You don’t get any better looking. What is with you British? At least the girls are pretty.”
His eyes found White, “at least most of them are.”
Rose looked up with a mixture of irritation and sheer pleasure at the towering figure before him, struggling to breathe with a bruised chest.
“You mad bastard, begging your pardon, sir,” He wheezed, “I think you’ve crushed my bloody chest!”
“Bah! Ugly as sin and such weaklings!” The man before him was outsized to begin with, but the great fur coat and woollen balaclava he was wearing made him appear even larger.
He was smiling, a slightly disconcerting expanse of natural teeth and metal crowns, not in a snarl as he had initially thought, but in an achingly wide Cheshire Cat-like grin of pleasure.
Before he could say anything more, the other man picked him up and kissed him wetly on both cheeks, before setting him down again.
Stunned, Rose wiped his cheeks, but found that he, too, was smiling with delight; but he was also secretly very pleased that he hadn’t wet himself.
White watched them both, his jaw hanging open and eyes wide and round and shining like dinner plates in the light cast by the open door.
Still unable to believe his eyes in the semi-darkness, and desperately trying to regain his shattered composure, Rose turned to White. His heart was racing ten to the dozen.
“Chalky, meet a very, very dear friend of mine. This is Squadron-Leader Cynk. We fought together last year. Sir, this is my, um, navigator, Pilot Officer Chalky White.”
He smiled slightly at his young friend, And added, as if in explanation, “You’ll have to excuse him, Chalky. He’s Polish. Begging your pardon, sir.”
Cynk stuck out his hand to White, who gingerly took it. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise, Chalky,” the huge bulk of Cynk dwarfed the slight figure of White.
“Flying Officer Rose speaks very highly of you, sir.”
Cynk roared with laughter, “Of course he does, I taught him everything he knows!”
Wonder where Stan got that fur coat? I suppose they aren’t that particular about Mess Regulations here, if they let him wander around dressed like that.
Rose looked at the big Pole. “Is this where you’re based now, Stan, uh, sir?”
“Yes, Flash, but forget the ‘sir’, we’re old friends, in case you’d forgotten. Now, stop jabbering bollocks and come in. we’ll organise a bite to eat and somewhere you can sleep tonight. How’s that lovely WAAF beauty of yours?” Asked Cynk solicitously, “Has she had enough of the scrawny little runt she married, yet? What? Not left you yet? What’s wrong with her? She’s too beautiful to be that desperate.”
“You do say the nicest t
hings, Stan.”
“’Course I do, pal, you’re my friend. Blood brothers, we are, you and I. Now get your fucking tiny arse inside before we all drop down dead of hypothermia.”
Not sure if he should grin or feel outraged for his pilot by Cynk’s comments, a bemused White followed the two old friends as they made their way inside.
Chapter 31
Half an hour later the three of them were sitting down comfortably in the deserted Mess, having arranged a suitable guard for D-Dog, and then polishing off a platter that had been groaning beneath a mountain of corned beef and pickle sandwiches.
They had talked of their experiences since their last meeting. It turned out that Cynk and his squadron were engaged in offensive intruder missions over Europe.
It was now the job of the day fighter squadrons of RAF Fighter Command to wrest control of the skies of France, and they were doing it in various ways.
Termed ‘Rhubarbs’ and ‘Circuses’, small units of fighters were ranging on free hunting missions whilst in other missions larger ‘wing’ formations covering bomber formations were sent to tempt the enemy into interception.
To Rose’s despair, Cynk pulled one of his cheroots from out of the coat and lit it. The air began to fill with that peculiar smelling smoke he remembered so well. Despite the venomous effect of it on his nasal passages, the odorous cloud brought back fond memories.
Inwardly he smiled, and took a sip of sweet tea, watching White surreptitiously wiping his reddening eyes, tears spilling down his cheeks.
All we need now is for one of those interminable dirges about his homeland.
A tiny WAAF Warrant Officer of mature years and very determined in visage came into the room. “Squadron Leader Cynk, sir, how many times do I have to repeat myself? We’ve spoken about this before, haven’t we?”
To Rose’s surprise, Cynk jumped to his feet, looking sheepish. “Oh, Mrs Dalton! I wasn’t expecting you.”
The WAAF crossed her arms and a thunderous look settled on her resolute face. “I can see that! Really, sir, you can’t come in wearing that filthy thing! And those cheroots – dear heavens!” she made a disgusted face.
And then she saw White wiping his face. “Sir, you really must put out that smelly thing out. I insist! Look at this young man here, you’re poisoning him!” she shook her head despairingly, “And that awful coat. I won’t have it in here, really I won’t. Please take it off, sir.”
Cynk looked at her for a long moment, opened and closed his mouth, then sheepishly turned and walked out past her silently, trailing a vile, perfumed aroma.
Having dealt with the immediate problem, the WAAF turned her attention to Rose and White, her stern expression softening, magically transforming her face from that of a severe and daunting woman to that of a loving mother. She leaned towards them solicitously.
“Gentlemen, can I get you anything more? Some more tea, perhaps?”
Rose patted his stomach tenderly, “Thank you, no. I couldn’t eat another crumb. That was a lovely.”
Cynk came back in minus coat and cheroot. “There, better?”
Warrant Officer Dalton nodded approvingly, “Much better, sir, thank you.”
The big Pole lightly kissed the top of the WAAF’s head. “You’re just like my mother, always nagging. Nag, nag, nag,” he scolded her gently.
Her face softened further, “No one could ever take her place, sir, but I thank you for the compliment. It’s an honour and a great pleasure to do what we can to look after you and your naughty boys. You take care of us, and so many of them have already given their all for us; we’ll take care of you the best we can.”
Incredibly, the tough little WAAF Warrant Officer had tears in her eyes as she fussed over the crockery.
Rose understood it then, that Dalton must have somehow discovered that Cynk’s mother and young wife were killed by the Luftwaffe in the merciless bombing of Warsaw during the invasion of Poland in 1939, and seen fit to reward him with her affection.
Did she see in him someone that was, or perhaps had been, close to her? Or did she just see the little lost and bereft orphan, hiding inside the big, brash exterior of the tough Polish Squadron Leader?
Whatever the truth, Rose was glad that his friend had somehow inherited a fairy godmother. His eyes followed the WAAF as she exited.
“So where did you get that bloody awful coat, Stan?”
“It’s an old family heirloom, Flash, my fragrant old fart. My Grandfather wore that coat at Kiev in 1920. They say Red Ivan still talks of the Berserker Bear seen fighting at the front for the Polish forces.”
He scratched an ear and smiled smugly, “Must’ve given them the shits to see their national emblem fighting against them. Wish I’d been there.”
“I’m glad you weren’t, otherwise you wouldn’t be here now, although I must say that when you burst out through the door yelling like a lunatic, I thought you were a bloody great brown bear myself. I know it sounds crazy, but I was so surprised, I forgot to wet myself!”
“You scared me sodding shitless, sir,” said White simply, and blushed a bright pink.
Cynk grinned broadly, “Glad to hear it, dear chap, good to get the old blood pumping hard! Keeps your brain working and your cock stiff!” he smiled kindly, “though I suspect with faces like yours you don’t get much chance to use your cocks!”
Rose set down his mug of tea. “Most kind. However, I want to know what you were doing skulking around the operations block at this time of night? I can’t believe that you were here waiting for us! What a turn up for the books!”
“Fortuitous circumstance, Flash. The thing is, I had no idea at all it was you. I didn’t want any crew landing here at night shivering in the dispersals when there’s loads of space here, and nice soft beds.”
He sniffed disparagingly, “Of course, if I’d known it was you, I’d have left you out there.”
“Ah, there’s the hard-nosed warrior we all know and love.”
“Actually, the reason I’m here is I was just returning a lady to her quarters when you two turned up and started buzzing around.”
Rose sat up, interest piqued despite his tiredness. He was terribly exhausted but it wasn’t every day one met on old friend. And Molly would kill him if he didn’t get all the gen.
“Ooh, I say! The plot thickens! A lady? Do tell, Stan, Molly will be fascinated.” Beside him, White’s eyes closed and he began to snore softly.
“Her name‘s Anna, and she’s an Assistant Section Officer here. Blonde, curvy, legs right up to her arse and tits like watermelons.” He coughed awkwardly, “Um, Flash, if I let you meet her, don’t let her know I said that. She’s wonderful.” He sighed, “I think I’m in love.”
Stan was in love? Dear Lord!
“She thinks I’m wonderful, bless her, but then, how could she not? Tall, handsome, intelligent, in fact everything you’re not, Flash my dear boy.”
“Enchanted, I’m sure. Much as I admire you, O tall, handsome and intelligent warrior, those extra stripes won’t stop me from punching you on that big lumpy nose of yours, Squadron-Leader, sir.”
Cynk flicked a cigarette stub at him. “You’re lucky I like you, otherwise you’d be on a charge, you cheeky bugger.”
“Lucky me.” Rose leaned back comfortably. “So tell me about Anna. Molly will chuck me out if I don’t gather as much information as I can.”
“She’s sweet and kind and gentle and clever. Very like my sweet Helena, may God bless her.”
His wife’s loss still cut brutally deep into Cynk’s heart, and he had to stop for a moment, working to keep the emotion from his face.
Rose looked away, unwilling to see his friend’s moment of weakness, but reached over and laid a hand on his friend’s wrist. He felt tears prick the corners of his eyes.
Dear, sweet God, thank you for saving my Molly. If I had lost her, I would have surely gone mad. How can anyone bear the loss of the one they love more than life itself?
Cynk patted his h
and and smiled gently. “Sorry, Flash, I’m getting a bit soppy, aren’t I? Becoming British, God forbid. But, you know, I do still miss her terribly.”
He cleared his throat noisily. “I feel perhaps I would never love another girl the way I loved my sweet Helena. I worry that I ought not to love another the way I loved her.”
Words could not help heal his pain, and Rose returned the smile sympathetically.
“Helena loved you as much as you did her, didn’t she? Would it make her happy to see you miserable for the rest of your life? She would want you to be happy, wouldn’t she? She’d be happy if you were, wouldn’t she? You’ll never forget her, I know that. But you must go on. Life is so precious, and so is happiness. Appreciate every moment, live each second, for Helena. Now come on. Be Mum and make me a nice cup of tea.”
Cynk sighed, “Fuck me, I despair! If you drank more coffee rather than that bland piss you wouldn’t be so damned feeble. I don’t know how you haul your kite around with puny muscles like that!”
The old bugger was back. “Yes, I thank you for your soft, kind words. You were telling me about Anna?”
“Yes, such a lovely girl. I can’t believe my luck! Don’t know what she sees in me, chum. She even looks a lot like Helena, isn’t that strange? Two wonderful, beautiful girls, so very alike, and somehow both of them seem to think I’m special. How unbelievable is that?”
“Not all that unbelievable, you know, mate. There’re a few of us who like you, though the Good Lord alone only knows why. We think you’re special, Stan, even though you’re such an ugly, smelly bugger!” He hid a stifled yawn.
Cynk grinned at him, all maudlin feelings dismissed, and he bounced onto his feet, joints popping, the cracking sounds making Rose wince.
White stirred but didn’t wake.
“Well come on, then, you twitchy little sod, let’s get you a bed for the night. But don’t get any ideas, you’re not getting into mine. You’re not my type. Far too ugly. That particular honour’s reserved for Anna.” He smiled dreamily, “What tits! What a woman!”
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