Beaufighter Blitz

by Russell Sullman

  The big Squadron-Leader looked at the slumbering White. “You’d best wake up Sleeping Beauty, too. You do know how the prince woke her up in the fairy-tale?”

  Cynk smirked, puckering his lips and pouting them at Rose with a hideous leer, “But I’m not kissing him, you’d best do it. Seems like a nice lad, and I like him, but not that much. He belongs to you, after all. He seems a decent boy, bit shy, though. Looks a bit weedy and feeble, too, just like all the rest of you British blokes. I look at you sometimes and wonder how you managed to find such a sweet flower as you have.” He reflected, metal teeth flashing, “I suppose even the most undeserving are allowed a little luck in life.”

  “It’s so good to be loved,” replied Rose drily.

  Cynk’s eyebrows knitted together as he stared at White, “And, talking of flowers, does he have a girl?”

  His body aching painfully, Rose slowly got to his feet. It felt as if every part of his body was tender.

  “Yes, there’s a little WAAF Sergeant, back at Dimple Heath, quite a looker, actually, and a very, very sweet girl. Thinks the absolute world of him, too, I’m pleased to say.”

  He smiled fondly and looked down at the sleeping boy.

  As do I.

  “It’s a good match, Stan, they’re well suited. They’re a really nice pair of kids.”

  The Pole scratched his cheek. “Fuck me, she must be daft, blind or desperate, but I’m glad. There’s too much sadness in this bloody world. We should grab every chance of happiness that we can. As you said.”

  Cynk leaned towards him and put a huge, muscled arm around Rose’s shoulders, “It’s really good to see you, Flash, really good. It’s a shame Granny and Dingo aren’t here, though, hope they’re doing OK.”

  Rose tried not to gag or faint as a particularly powerful fragrant wave of tobacco and cologne swept over him. He hadn’t missed that.

  “I do hope so, chum. Granny’s still up north, moaning about a lack of women.”

  Cynk grinned, then sighed and stared pensively at the floor. “Do you remember Foxton, Flash?”

  The long lines of dead girls in RAF blue layed out as if in some grim parade, torn stockings and shoeless, lipstick and mascara replaced by blood, dirt, and smoke stains, shrouded and anonymous beneath a dirty tarpaulin.

  The stink of fire and death, the sour taste of hopeless despair, and hanging over everything, a spreading mantle-like cloud of filthy smoke, blocking out the light, hiding beneath it their sea of tears from the sun.

  The sound of Molly’s guilty sobs and the sight of her cruelly torn back, her blood warm and scarlet and unspeakably terrible on his fingers.

  Anguish and bitter acid in his throat and heart, the despair black and hollow and hideously vengeful.

  How could he ever forget?

  On that awful day the Luftwaffe had stolen the fruit of their future, the depth of happiness they might have shared.

  The doctors were certain that Molly would never conceive after the terrible injuries she had experienced, and even to this day, even when she smiled, Rose could still see the faint resonance of wistful sadness in her eyes.

  Oh, how badly he wished he could chase away the sadness.

  What was it mother used to say? Where there’s life there’s hope? He would hope for as long as he lived. Who knew what the future might one day bring, if they were fortunate enough to see it.

  Forget Foxton? Never in a month of Sundays.

  His reply was quiet, “Some things you can never forget, Stan.”

  “Yes.” Cynk nodded at his friend’s grim face, and exhaled heavily. They were silent for a moment, caught in recollection, and then his mood brightened.

  “I know! Shall we sing a song, Flash? How about ‘Kocham Polskę?’ or perhaps even ‘Mój Najukochańszy Narodów?”

  Rose felt faint. Oh God, no. I heard enough of those mournful dirges last year. More than enough of them. I must know all the blinkin’ words by now. Wonder if they’ve actually got any happy songs?

  If they do, dear old Stan doesn’t know any of them.

  Cynk was looking at him expectantly. “Well? Fancy a sing-song? Shall I get my violin? Mm? Flash?”

  Fucking hell. I’ll be bloody deaf by dawn.

  Rose swallowed and summoned a sickly smile. “Oh, I would, Stan, I’d love to, honestly,” he lied smoothly, “but it’s been a long night, and I’m bushed.”

  And then Rose cocked his head to one side, lips quirking, “So, tell me Stan, will Molly need to buy a hat?”

  Chapter 32

  Molly cupped her face in her hands and sighed in exasperation, with more than a little irritation mixed in for good measure.

  The object of her ire stood before her desk, looking shamefaced, and unable to meet Molly’s eyes, whilst the SP Warrant Officer, ramrod straight, stood balefully behind the girl, his leathery face wearing a typically neutral senior NCO expression.

  It was nothing new for him, and if truth be told, he just wanted to dump his problem on the Flight Officer and go back to his normal airfield policing.

  Molly sighed once more and looked back up. “Alright, Mr Edwards, thank you. I’d be grateful if you left the matter with me now.”

  “YES, MA’AM!” Screeched the grizzled senior NCO ear-piercingly, conveying a world’s worth of disapproval in those two shrill words, but said no more and turned away, shiny shoes creaking, and stamped smartly out of the room.

  Molly drummed her fingers on the blotter and looked down again. On one margin of the blotter she’d written in blue ink ‘I love Harry’ and enclosed the words within a frilly heart-shape.

  She picked up a sheaf of papers from one side of the desk and nonchalantly covered the little doodle.

  The girl shifted restlessly, in her own special version of standing at attention, and the young WAAF officer’s eyes shot back up to scrutinise her. “Do you hate me?”

  Elsie, standing before her, shifted again, this time in discomfort, and looked confused. “Um…?”

  “What kind of answer is that?” Molly’s eyes were like flint. “I asked if you hated me, did you not understand? Are you even more stupid than I thought you were?”

  The girl looked startled. “No, no, I don’t hate you!”

  “Say Ma’am when you address me!”

  Jankarella blushed. “Ma’am.”

  “And for goodness sake, stand to attention! Don’t slouch like that. You’re not in the pub.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared coldly at the young airwoman. “I do believe you hate me. In fact, I’m sure of it.”

  “No, Ma’am, I don’t. Honestly!”

  “I don’t believe you. The only reason you’re here must be because you hate me. Can’t be any other reason. Why else would you continue to be on my defaulter’s list?”

  Molly did not wait for a reply but tapped the charge sheet on the blotter before her.

  “What on earth were you thinking, you stupid girl?”

  Tap, tap, tap.

  “Er, I –“

  “This says that you were out cavorting in the village with an officer pilot.”

  Tap, tap.

  “I wasn’t –“

  “You weren’t? Then the SPs are lying? Hm. How very interesting.” Molly peered down at the sheet. “Perhaps I should call Mr Edwards back?”

  “No, Ma’am, they weren’t lying, but what they say isn’t quite true.”

  “Oh? You mean you weren’t with this pilot?”

  “Well, I was, but we weren’t cavorting. We were having a cup of tea.” Elsie smiled bashfully. “We were holding hands.”

  “Dear God.” Molly leaned forwards and steepled her fingers thoughtfuly. “Elsie, you must know as well as I do about the Women’s Forces Defence Regulations they’ve recently passed in Parliament? We’re all of us subject to RAF Rules now, and that includes discipline. For heaven’s sake, why were you in uniform, why didn’t you wear a dress? You’d have got away with it. Why don’t you even try? Do you like peeling potatoes? Is that why you joined the ai
r force? We’re fighting the Germans, you know, not the Air Ministry. Didn’t someone tell you?”

  “Ma’am, I sort of forget, and when I remember, it’s sort of a bit too late.”

  “You’re a good worker, you’re drill’s not the best and you are a bit of a scruff, but your Sergeant speaks well of you. You’re letting her down as well you know. The rest of us follow the Regs, why on earth can’t you?”

  Elsie looked miserable. “I don’t mean to, Ma’am. I just can’t help it.”

  Molly shook her head sadly and stood up. “The Wing Commander has asked to see you, Elsie.”

  Jankarella’s eyes widened and the colour drained sickly from her face. “But-“

  “I’ve tried to help, Elsie, God knows I’ve tried, but you seem to spend half your life on punishment duties. Aren’t you tired of peeling vegetables? This really can’t go on.”

  “But Ma’am, the Wing Commander…?”

  Molly carefully checked her hat was on correctly, straightened her tunic and then opened the door. “Step out, airwoman, we have an appointment.”

  Eyes downcast and silent, Jankarella followed her out.

  “And for goodness sake, straighten your shoulders and keep in step. Try and look like what you are. And when you’re in front of the CO, for goodness sake keep your mouth shut, stand up straight, and only speak when you’re spoken too.” She shook her head severely, “And whatever you do, when you answer him, don’t mumble!”

  Two young aircrew were sitting on the grass outside, and they scrambled up and saluted as Molly and Elsie came towards them. Molly recognised them as a crew in B-Flight, two young Norwegians, fleeing from the Nazi occupation of their homeland.

  The blonde youngster wearing the ‘AG’ wings held out his hands questioningly, “Elsie! Hvor skal du?”

  Elsie scowled at him, “Jeg må gå og se den kommanderende offiser. Det er din feil!”

  Molly stopped dead in her tracks in surprise, and Elsie, still looking at the Norwegian youth, walked straight into her, almost knocking Molly over.

  “Oh, Ma’am, I’m sorry!” Elsie turned furiously on him. “Nå se hva du fikk meg til å gjøre! Idiot!”

  Molly looked questioningly at the younger woman.

  “Ma’am, this Olaf Axelsen. He’s the young man I was with.”

  Hmm. Molly looked with renewed interest at the young man. Behind him, his pilot stood uncomfortably at attention, eyes looking at something in the near distance. What was his name, Harry had mentioned it…?

  Ah yes. Alstad, Petter Alstad.

  The young man was wearing RAF uniform, but with a ‘Norway’ flash on his shoulders, the Norwegian golden ‘wings’ flying badge on his right breast and a single gold star of his rank on each collar lapel.

  Axelsen was equivalent to an RAF Pilot Officer. What was the rank? Sounded similar to a herb, erm, which one? Ah, it sounded a bit like like fenugreek, didn’t it? Mm. Oh yes, it was Fenrik.

  Molly returned her gaze to Elsie. “What were you saying? Was that…?”

  Elsie nodded grudgingly. “Norwegian. My mum was a lassie from Bergen, so I learnt to speak it on her knee. Olaf was asking me where I was going, so I told him, and how it was his fault.”

  “Yes, I got the gist of it.”

  Elsie brightened, “Do you understand Norwegian as well, Ma’am?”

  “No, not at all,” Molly said drily, “I just caught the ‘idiot’ part, though. What was he doing here? Waiting for you?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, we were going to go into town for lunch.”

  Molly rolled her eyes and groaned. “Dear Lord. You’re in uniform, for heaven’s sake! Listen to yourself. If you have to go out with an officer, put a dress on.”

  She turned to Axelsen, wondering how he’d escaped any form of penalty.

  “Fenrik Axelsen, Elsie has been put on a disciplinary charge because she was with you in uniform. I would be grateful if you ensured that when one of you is in uniform that the other is in civilian clothes whenever you meet. Otherwise it just means that both you and Elsie will get into trouble.”

  She shook her head in exasperation (youngsters nowadays!), forgetting that she herself was only a few years older than the ‘youngsters’ herself.

  The young man nodded anxiously, “I understand, Ma’am. I am very sorry for the trouble.” He looked apologetically at Elsie, “Jeg er virkelig lei meg, kan jeg møte deg senere?”

  The girl smiled slightly, “OK, Olaf, I’ll come and find you, after I see the CO, that is, and if I haven’t been thrown into the guardhouse.”

  She turned her gaze to Molly, “And I’ll change into civvies, next time. I promise.”

  “Right, come along then, young lady, best not to dawdle.”

  As they walked Molly asked the girl about her past. It had been quite peculiar to hear the Norwegian spoken in the girl’s soft Scottish burr.

  “How did your parents meet?”

  “My dad was on a fishing trawler that ran into shelter in Bergen during a storm, and my mum was working in a drinking house, Ma’am. Dad got a run ashore, they met over a mug of beer, he gave her a prime codfish for her pa, she gave him a kiss, one thing turned into another, and here I am!”

  “Came as quite a surprise to me, I must say.”

  “I know, Ma’am. When I joined up, they took me from my batch and asked me a lot of questions. I think they were scared that I might be a Quisling spy or something.”

  Soon after the invasion of Norway, Vidkun Quisling had taken power in a coup d’etat, and the allied security forces feared that many pro-Nazi Norwegians may have entered the UK under the pretence of wanting to continue the fight against the Nazis.

  Each potential spy had to be checked, even those who were British citizens with family connections.

  I’d better check the girl’s papers, thought Molly in alarm, making a mental note. One can’t be too careful, although a spy would have made efforts to remain hidden, and Elsie had already been vetted.

  Elsie’s behaviour constantly brought her to the eyes of her superiors, not what you’d expect from a spy. And to be fair, the SPs must be quite familiar with Elsie’s file.

  But nowadays, with all this talk of Fifth Columnists and spies, it wouldn’t hurt to check, although when Molly looked at Elsie, it wasn’t a German spy she saw but a rebellious young girl.

  And then they had arrived, and a smiling Mandy took them into James’ office.

  Molly stood with Elsie before James’ big desk, but with an impatient gesture he waved her to a chair beside the stove. He ignored the airwoman completely and continued to pore over the papers before him.

  Time seemed to stretch interminably and Molly began to worry. Any moment now Elsie might say something.

  Suddenly James stood up, the screech of the chair legs setting their teeth on edge, and leaning forward he roared, “What the devil are you doing here in my bloody office, airwoman?”

  Later, Molly would swear blind to Rose that she had jumped a foot into the air as the CO squawked ear-splittingly at Elsie.

  “Sir-“, began the girl sickly.

  “Don’t you sir me, Dyer!” the young airwoman flinched as if the Wing Commander had struck her full on the face.

  “D’you know how many complaints I’ve had to field regarding your behaviour?” he raved, “You’re a damned disgrace to the service! They must have been bloody mad to let you into my RAF!”

  Molly watched in fascination as a glistening blob of saliva from James’ mouth shot out to land on Elsie’s hair.

  “But sir-“

  “Did I give you permission to speak?” James eyes were glittering wickedly like a madman’s, “No? So shut your damned insubordinate mouth!”

  Amazingly, the tough young woman, once responsible for dislocating a drunken soldier’s jaw with a single punch was trembling, yet she stood her ground defiantly.

  Good for you, Elsie! Molly could feel herself trembling.

  “So, what shall I do with you, Dyer? Shall I have you
thrown out of the WAAF? Fancy being a Land girl? They’re bit relaxed about their uniform code. How does that sound? Shall I have a word with the Land Girl Supreme Leader? Hm? Fancy pottering around in the mud? I daresay a layer of mud would suit your manner of dress. Does wonders for the complexion, I’m told.”

  “I’m sorry sir, please don’t-“ Jankarella quavered.

  “What?” He shrieked hoarsely, eyes rolling wildly, “Don’t? DON’T?” he raged, “Why not? You don’t seem to be able to fit in here at Dimple Heath, and you’re driving an excellent Station Warrant Officer to an early grave.”

  Flecks of James’ spit shone on her face. “Please-“

  James’ was frothing at the mouth as he bawled. “SHUT UP!” his voice dropped bur Molly was sure he was still probably audible in the Outer Hebrides.

  “You know, Dyer, I’m tired of listening to you. I’m sick to death of your whining, moany voice. I’ve had quite enough, so I’m promoting you to Corporal and transferring you with immediate effect to the Catering section.”

  The girl stared at him in astonishment and shock. James’ shook his head in disgust, “God knows you spend long enough in the cookhouse. Let’s see if you can manage cooking and serving the spuds rather than just peeling the little blighters.”

  His jaw jutted obstinately, “I’ve spoken to your Sergeant, and it’s all squared with the Catering Officer. I couldn’t find you before, Flight Officer, that’s why you knew nothing about it.”

  Elsie’s jaw dropped, and Molly stood up in surprise.

  “Please sit down, Flight Officer. Dyer’s conduct reflects poorly on you, but we’ll overlook it because you’re a fine young officer. A credit to my station.” James’s voice was cool, and his eyes slipped back to the stunned Jankarella.

  ”I expect great things from the kitchen, Dyer, I have always received the best in the past, but if I hear of even the smallest indiscretion, if I find a cockroach in my Spotted Dick, if you poison my people, I’m going to drum you off the station and straight into the Tower of London. I’ll not hesitate in calling a Court Martial. Understood? Now get out of my office and put up your stripes. And remember, I like my chips a little overdone, and I want to see more stews, preferably mutton.” He glared reprovingly at her, “And a lot more suet pudding and custard on the menu! Dismissed.”