Maximum Effort

by Vincent Formosa

  Wilkinson said his goodbyes.

  “Goodnight, old man. Georgette.”

  “Come on, darling,” Helen insisted.

  He caught her halfway up the stairs to find her moving at a fair clip.

  “I thought you were tired,” he protested. She lightly slapped him on the arm.

  “Oh, Freddie you can be dim sometimes.” She paused on the landing and looked back down into the hall as Georgette and Carter walked arm in arm back through to the lounge. “Look at them,” she cooed. ”They want to be alone and not hanging around with an old married couple like us.”

  Wilkinson laughed, a sharp bark.

  “Old man. I’ll show you an old man.” He made a lecherous grab for her behind and she squealed and did her best to get up the stairs to their room. Wilkinson chased after her, his eyes twinkling in mischief.

  The lounge was empty on their return so they sat by the large fireplace. A three seat settee was in front of it and an armchair either side. The Colonel had left his newspaper behind on one of them. Carter sat on the settee and Georgette settled herself next to him on his left, her feet tucked underneath her. She rested her chin on his shoulder, pleased at last to have him all to herself. She’d not felt like this for a long time.

  “I suppose it sounds selfish, but I’m glad they went to bed,” she murmured.

  “So am I,” he replied. The scar on his cheek rippled as he smiled broadly. They giggled like teenagers. Carter quickly looked around and then kissed her.

  “Alex!” she scolded, but she was thrilled he had done it. “Someone might see.”

  “I don’t care. I wanted to do that in the woods at Group,” he said earnestly. It had been maddening when he had sat on that bench, restraining himself, half expecting a sentry to appear at any second.

  His heart soared at how lucky he was, but then the black mood of the previous day washed over him. Georgette sensed the change, seeing his eyes darken, feeling his arm tighten.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked him, concerned. He shook his head.

  “I’m sorry. It was just hard yesterday.” He tried to explain as best he could the feeling that had come over him. It was difficult putting into words that itch at the back of your head that this was IT; that today could be THE day. “Thirteen’s the magic number, the bogey man.”

  He shuddered as he said it. Georgette relaxed slightly. She had feared something far worse.

  “You shouldn’t let things get you down. It’s just a number,” she said simply, trying to demystify it all.

  “I know. No; really I do. It’s just hard to shake off these feelings sometimes.”

  “My husband used to be like this.” She avoided finishing the sentence by saying, towards the end. Carter guessed anyway. He’d heard her voice trail off and it pained him to upset her. “Charles used to say, when your numbers up, it’s up.”

  He thought that was very dour. He was a believer in skill, experience and being alert. It was careless people that were begging to get the chop.

  “I can’t say I subscribe to that.”

  “It was strange really,” said Georgette quietly, her fingers playing with the hem of her dress. “Charles was never one for fate, or pre-determination.”

  “Neither am I. Never have been. I’ve always thought a chap makes his own luck. War’s no game.”

  She thought about that summer, when the skies were full of German aircraft and everyone was waiting for the German invasion. If Charles had not gone up that day, he would have fallen another time; she was sure of that. He had lived life at full throttle and whisked her along on his coat tails and it had been fun; while it lasted. Time had just caught up to him, that was all.

  Alex was different. He was much more controlled and she was sure he flew the same way. Nothing would be left to chance, but maybe that was the difference, she mused. Charles had flown by the seat of his pants and went thundering into combat, guns blazing.

  Carter stared at the fire, seeing the flames that had consumed Munster. The city had burned well. Their target had been the railway station and the mixed load of high explosive and incendiaries had rained down on the surrounding area. The relief he felt when he landed had been almost tangible.

  He didn’t discover the price the boatman had demanded for his safe passage until they got to interrogation. The squadron had lost two planes that night. One had belly landed after the wheels stubbornly refused to come down but the crew got out okay. The other casualty had been White and his new crew. What made it worse was it hadn’t even been the Germans. White had made it back to England, only to be shot up by a northbound convoy hugging the coast.

  With the starboard wing on fire and flames consuming the fuselage, he had forced the crippled aircraft to stay up while he crossed the coast and given his crew a chance at life. At dangerously low level he had bailed out and landed hard only a few hundred yards from the wreckage of his Manchester. Worried locals found him lying there, with his face and hands badly burned.

  Carter told Georgette what had happened. She watched him as he talked, his voice brittle, his hands clenched in his lap. She could see he felt this loss quite badly. She remembered White’s name from the Christmas dance. That prompted another memory as she tried to change the subject.

  “How’s your friend?” she asked him. “The dancer?”

  “Walsh?” Carter brightened a little. “He’s still cutting a dash.” He sprang to his feet and pulled her up, his mood changing again. He twirled her round and drew her close, his right arm around her waist, his left hand extended. They did a quick waltz, a circuit around the sofa and finished with another twirl, her dress flaring around her legs.

  “You’re not a bad dancer yourself,” he told her.

  “Why thank you, sir.”

  She giggled and looked up at him. She smoothed down the lapels of his uniform jacket, her fingers lingering over his wings and DFC ribbon. She blushed as a uniformed member of hotel staff poked their head around the door to the lounge, curious at the squeal of noise.

  Helen’s advice came back to her then. She stepped back out of his encircling arms and held out one hand. He took it and she pulled him towards the door with an impish smile on her face.

  “Come on,” she told him. “I want to show you something.”

  She took him outside and they walked round the side of the house. They went past the vegetable patches, skirted past the fountain and struck off across the grounds.

  Carter let himself get pulled along, curious where they were going. It was pitch black and it took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Soon he could see the subtle difference between the sky and the ground. The trees were a darker band of black. The stars were beautiful, a blanket of bright dots. Carter stopped walking and craned his neck to gaze up at them. When he was on ops he was too busy to admire the view.

  He found Orion’s belt to the south, the three stars together. He circled round and found the great bear, then he followed that to Polaris, the north star. Georgette stood there quietly, holding on to his hand, patient. It was peaceful out here. In the black, in the middle of nowhere he found himself in the moment and his worries washed away. He blinked as he came back to himself then.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere,” she said coquettishly, her voice full of promise. She pulled him onwards. “Come on.”

  She took him to a hexagonal shaped summer house with a sloping roof and a sorry looking rooster weather vane on top. Georgette bent down and moved a plant pot out of the way.

  “Success,” she held up the key and tried it in the door. It gave with a squeal of hinges and opened outward. Carter poked his head inside.

  “Nice, get some net curtains, some carpet, it’ll be great.”

  It was quite large inside, about eight to ten feet wide. There were two stools and a side table stacked up to the right. An armchair had a sheet over it. He parked himself on it and bounced up and down a few times.

  “Cosy.”


  “Ass.” She stepped around him and dug around in a pile of things in the dark. “Perfect.” She pulled out some blankets and laid them on the floor. Carter closed the door. “Helen said it used to be used by an artist. Apparently the light’s very good in the summer.”

  She moved a box of oil paints out of the way and sat down on the blankets, legs stretched out in front of her. She toed off her shoes and leaned back on her elbows, looking up at him from the floor.

  He didn’t need telling twice. He moved off the armchair in one smooth move. They locked lips. Georgette wrapped her arms around him and sank to the floor, nestling in amongst the thick blankets. Carter shifted so he wasn’t laying fully on her. His left leg overlapped with hers and she pulled him down on to her.

  Carried along with the moment, they kissed again, a long lingering kiss that set off stars at the back of his head. The final strands of worry and doom left him then as her perfume enfolded him.

  “You planned this all along?” he asked her.

  “Yes. No. Maybe,” she teased. She relaxed into the blankets and he lay down next to her. His hand found hers in the dark and their fingers danced together, his thumb stroking her palm.

  He listened to the night time sounds outside. The trees rustled in the breeze and some branches pattered off the glass. He felt a tickle of draught from somewhere inside the hut. He reached over and pulled the last blanket over them, flicking the corner to make sure her feet were covered.

  She rolled to face him and undid the buttons on his tunic, running her hand over his chest, following the line of his muscles, her nails teasing him through the fabric of his shirt.

  “Alex, try not to think about last night too much,” she soothed. She kissed him again, willing her strength into him.

  “I know. This second tour is just harder than I thought it would be.” She listened quietly, letting him get it out in his own time. “I didn’t know much the first time. Maybe it’s better that way. Coming back and doing it all again when you know what’s waiting for you.” He looked down at her. “You know, it’s true what they say, ignorance really is bliss.”

  “You’re nearly halfway-”

  “-With a long way to go,” he finished for her, his voice quiet. In the dark, here, he could admit things to himself he had never faced before.

  He sat up and hugged his knees, his chin balanced on them, his nose resting on his arms. He stared through the wall of the hut, thinking about how much had changed in the six months he’d been away.

  Ops had evolved and become far more deadly. The days of swanning around the target looking to pick your spot were coming to an end. The flak was waiting to reach up into the sky and claim you and the nightfighters were more lethal than they ever were before. It was all part of the great game, the pendulum swinging back and forth almost like a metronome. They would have the advantage for a while, then the Germans would steal it back again, a never ending cycle of move and counter move.

  “It’s a long, long way to Tipperary…” she intoned, her voice quiet, her eyes misting. She rubbed his back and shoulders, tracing patterns with her fingers until she could feel the tension slowly easing. She waited patiently until he turned and gathered her in his arms.

  His left hand moved down her body, following the line of her leg to her feet. Then his finger traced back up until he got to her knee and moved her dress up. She shifted, bending her leg over his as he skimmed over her stockings to the top and then around her thigh. She giggled as she kissed him. She tugged on the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down on top of her. She smiled against his teeth and laughed. She needed this. It had been too long since Charles and she wanted to be held, to be reminded that she was still alive.

  Carter came up for air and looked down at her. Her hair had come loose and was a dark fan around her head. He was intoxicated with the feel of her, her perfume, her smile, the throaty laugh as she chuckled in the dark. His thoughts strayed to Mary for a moment. She would never have done something like this.

  She kissed him; hard. Her tongue traced around his mouth, mapping his teeth, slick, warm. She arched her back as he leaned in to her. A moan escaped her lips as she kissed his cheek, moving round to his ear, moving back along the line of his jaw, down his neck. She unbuttoned his shirt , her nails dragging down his chest.

  It would be so easy to yield as his body responded to her, drunk on her. He propped his head up with his right hand as he stared down at her. She met his gaze, her eyes glinting in the moonlight as she tried to read his thoughts. He couldn’t stop grinning with excitement. His blood stirred, hammering in his ears, his heart roared in his chest but the reality of his surroundings intruded.

  They were in a musty wooden hut, fumbling in the dark like some lovestruck teenagers. It suddenly felt very grubby and cheap and she was worth more than that. He sat up, his passion cooling rapidly as his controlling head kicked in. It was not that he didn’t want to, he did, but not here, not like this. His thoughts turned to leave and York. That would be perfect. In an instant, a shadow reared up in the background, if you last that long. He stamped down on it hard, crushing it under his heel squealing and wailing. He would make the time, he promised himself. He broke the spell as he pushed off the floor and got to his knees.

  “I think it’s time I get you home,” he breathed. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint, Mrs Lloyd.”

  Georgette rolled her eyes and was good enough to laugh.

  “Heaven forbid.” She sat up and ruffled her hair. She giggled at the thought of Mrs Lloyd’s disapproving scowl at her current predicament. It was most improper behaving this way with a man she had just been introduced to. She gathered the loose strands of hair into a bun and felt around on the mattress for some pins to keep it in place. He rummaged around and found her shoes. She pointed her feet and he put them on for her. She took his hand as he helped her stand.

  “Thank you,” she said, brushing dust from her dress. They bumped together in the dark. She lifted her chin to see him looking down at her. She could see the desire in his eyes, the ardour. He took her hand, his skin warm.

  “Goodgie, don’t think I didn’t want to.” She was glad the gloom hid her blush. “It’s been a while for me.”

  “Me too,” she said, her voice husky. He kissed her again, the fires stoking up once more.

  “Believe me, I do-” he murmured.

  “-I’m a big girl, Alex,” she told him. “You don’t have to explain.”

  “But I do. I just want it to be…” words failed him.

  She put a finger up to his lips and said, “Shhhhh. I understand.”

  The car started first time and he drove her back to her digs. He stopped up the street, out of view of the house.

  “Time to face the music,” he said ruefully. She put a hand on the steering wheel and leaned over. He met her halfway, their lips colliding with force as they sought each other.

  “Goodgie, about earlier-”

  “No need to explain darling, I understand.” She traced the line of the scar on his cheek and then wiped her finger across his lips. She could not say she wasn’t a little disappointed that he had stopped when he did. The heat had stoked high in her as well but she knew what he was thinking. He wanted to be gallant. Men, sometimes they were such babies.

  The curtains twitched as they pulled up outside. Carter was certain Mrs Lloyd would be watching to make sure there was no hanky panky. He escorted her to the front door. They embraced again and she kissed him demurely on the cheek as the lock went click and the door opened. Mrs Lloyd was stood there in a powder blue dressing gown, arms crossed, a scowl of disapproval painted across her face.

  “Goodnight, Alex,” Georgette said, her eyes saying far more than words ever could.

  “Goodnight, Georgette.”

  Mrs Lloyd hustled Georgette over the threshold and slammed the door without so much as a good evening. Shaking his head, Carter abused the clutch and gearbox as he shifted the car into gear and pulled away. The entire drive back to A
mber Hill he berated himself as an idiot. He had turned her down, what on earth must she think of him?

  In her room, Georgette sat on the end of her bed while she brushed her hair. Her room was in the loft and moonlight streamed in the window, giving her more than enough light. She looked up at the stars, thinking about the evening. She sighed as she got into bed, leave could not come soon enough.

  26 - All The Fun Of The Fair

  Todd strolled into his billet after eating in the Sergeants Mess. He felt like a relax and then maybe a bit of poker later if the game was on. Being the weekend, a few bods had passes so it depended who was still on the station.

  He found Murphy looking into a broken square of mirror he kept on a shelf above his bed. His tie was straight, his hair was slicked back and his uniform was nice and neat.

  “You coming out tonight?” he asked the Australian as he rubbed his face, feeling for stray hairs he might have missed when he’d shaved.

  “I might,” Todd replied, his tone non-committal. He flopped onto his bed, his hands hanging over the sides.

  “It’s a dance tonight,” Murphy prompted him although Todd already knew that. Every Saturday, there was a dance in Lincoln. If there were no Ops on, the place was always jammed, awash with RAF blue and girls. There was the occasional brown job, but they never got a look in. A wing on the chest was what got attention, everything else was just second best.

  “You meeting, Muriel?” he asked.

  “No,” said Murphy curtly. He tied the laces on one shoe. “I’m meeting a nice little dark number.”

  “What about, Muriel?”

  “What about her?” Murphy shot back, his tone combative.

  “You’ve been seeing her, that’s what,” Todd said shortly.

  Murphy scowled as he stood up. He looked at his shoes, tilting them back and forth to see the toe caps shine.

  “When did you become my dad?” Murphy challenged. “She’s not my keeper, it’s not like we’re married or anything.”