The Ops Room Girls

by Vicki Beeby

  Then he was upon the 109s and there was no time to think. He lined up his target in his sights and fired, sending a stream of bullets into the fuselage of the 109. He caught a brief glimpse of the pilot’s white face and then he was past. He instantly put his Hurricane into a series of tight turns designed to shake off any pursuit from his own tail, then sought out his prey again. There it was, black smoke billowing. As he watched, the canopy opened and a figure as tiny as a toy soldier climbed out and leapt clear, then the 109 spiralled into a dive. A streak of white unfurled, then blossomed into a parachute canopy. Alex made a mental note of the location where the German pilot would land so he could be caught. Then he turned his attention back to the fight. He was just in time to see the remaining three 109s haring towards the coast, a Hurricane in pursuit. His number two was not far away, so that could only mean the idiot heading out to sea after three 109s had to be Karol. Damn him – he knew the man was trouble.

  ‘Red three, this is Red Leader. Do not pursue, repeat, do not pursue.’ He relayed it in Czech as well. Whether Karol heard him or not was doubtful. By this time the R/T was a cacophony of excited shouts as his pilots shouted warnings and instructions to each other. In Czech, of course. Well, he couldn’t do anything more for Karol now. He signalled to his remaining wingman to follow and dived into the melee of Hurricanes and Heinkels.

  He was lower now and could see the station. Fountains of earth sprayed up as bomb after bomb struck the ground. In a matter of seconds, flames engulfed a hangar. His mouth went dry.

  Another Heinkel swooped low, preparing to drop its bombs. Alex snarled at it and set an intercept course. He’d downed his 109 for the boys of his old squadron, but now all he could think was that Evie was down there, and if he didn’t stop this Heinkel, she might be underneath the bombs it released. It took all his willpower to hold back from firing until he was sure he would score a hit. The relief when he finally pressed the button was immense. From the way the Heinkel’s nose suddenly jolted up, he knew he had hit the pilot. Just before Alex turned away, the plane dropped into a dive. From that height, there could be no recovery. He banked, seeking out his next target.

  * * *

  A blast shook the Ops Room. The floor heaved beneath Evie’s feet, making her stagger. She clutched the edge of the table to keep her balance. A trickle of plaster dust pattered onto the plotting table; Evie reached across to brush it away. The fragments were sharp; they scratched her palms and knuckles, drawing blood. She glanced up at the ceiling, half expecting to see it sagging, but although several cracks now zig-zagged through the white plaster, the structure still looked solid. Copying the other girls, she climbed up onto the table on her hands and knees to brush away more dust, ignoring her stinging hands. Most of the plots lay scattered across the table or the floor; she picked them up and replaced them as accurately as she could. Not that accuracy was a problem when they could hear all too clearly where the action was taking place. She dreaded to think what the situation was like up on the ground. For once, those on duty in the Ops Room probably knew less of the raid than the others on the station. By the sounds of things, the fight was going on above their heads, but the only information filtering through to them was from Brimstone’s R/T and, inevitably, the pilots had reverted to Czech in their excitement. Only the occasional orders from Alex gave her the momentary comfort of knowing he was still alive and well. The observers were too busy operating the guns to report anything of use.

  All the while, the pilots of Popcorn, Wagtail and Catseye squadrons were conducting their fight over the Channel, doing their best to ensure no further bombers got through. Evie could only pray there would still be an airfield for them to land on when they returned.

  Another explosion shook the room, throwing Evie to the floor. Her knee struck something hard, sending a flare of jagged pain up her leg. She picked herself up, shaking.

  The station commander managed to get through to one of the ground staff on his telephone. When he replaced the receiver, his face was grave. ‘One of the shelters took a hit.’

  Peter swore. It was the first time Evie had seen his composure crack. ‘Casualties?’

  Bob shook his head. ‘No idea until the crew on the ground manage to reach them. It wasn’t a direct hit, so there’s hope, but the entrance has caved in.’

  Evie immediately thought of Jess and May. Both were up there, in the thick of the attack. They must be in one of the shelters. Dear God, please don’t let them be in the one that had been hit.

  She listened in to the reports filtering through in a fever of anxiety. The noise from above eased, and observers reported the survivors of the raid were now departing. Evie still had a job to do, so she adjusted the numbers on her plots and calculated their route from the approximate direction given by the observers. It gave her a great deal of satisfaction to see the numbers reduced from the amount that had arrived.

  Then a hand touched her arm. She was surprised to see the WAAF who was supposed to relieve her. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was, indeed, the end of her watch. ‘You look as though you could use a break,’ the girl said with a crooked smile.

  Evie stammered a reply then snatched up her tunic and dashed outside. When she stepped out, she stopped, coughing from the clouds of dust filling the air, unable to take in the scene of devastation that met her eyes.

  When she had gone down the steps four hours earlier, the station had been pristine, with neat buildings and verges, everyone going about their duty in an orderly fashion. Now, barely a window was intact. Shattered glass glistened on the grass and tarmac. Most of the buildings were still standing, but one of the hangars was now a twisted pile of iron. Smoke billowed from the blazing wreckage of three Hurricanes. Her stomach wrenched and she thought she would be sick until the calm realisation dawned that these were not aircraft that had crashed but were parked in their dispersal pens. Wagtail’s dispersal hut was also a smoking ruin, and Evie was thankful that the entire squadron had been in the air when the bomb had struck.

  Crowds of men and women scurried down the roads, weaving around the smoking bomb craters. Evie raised herself on tiptoes, seeking out Jess and May. A few times a wave of relief struck when she spotted a blonde or brunette hairstyle, but the crushing weight of worry returned when she saw it wasn’t either of her friends. Her stomach tightened when she saw the crowds working around one of the shelters near to the NAAFI. Jess had been going to the NAAFI.

  She forced her leaden feet to move and dashed for the shelter.

  When she saw the devastation, her vision went grey. The bomb had struck close to the entrance, bringing down the front portion of the shelter. The blast had piled a vast bank of rubble where the door had stood, and the rescuers were frantically digging through it.

  She picked out a WAAF corporal who she recognised. She had been helping shift the rubble, but now stood, mopping her brow, pausing for a rest. ‘Excuse me, Corp. Do you know who’s inside?’

  ‘Looking for anyone in particular?’

  ‘May Lidford and Jess Halloway.’

  The corporal’s eyes grew grave. ‘Lidford’s definitely in there. I saw her go in. No idea about Halloway, though.’

  A young airman paused in the act of shovelling and turned to face Evie, perspiration making streaks on his dust-smeared face. ‘Jess Halloway? Yeah, I saw her go in this one.’

  Evie choked back the sob that threatened to escape and went to help digging, but the airman held her back. ‘Careful. The whole roof could collapse. Best leave it to us.’

  All Evie could do was stand beside the remnants of the shelter and pray May and Jess were alive and unhurt.

  * * *

  Alex banked, and watched as the Heinkel he’d just shot down plummeted into a field. Thank God it was clear of houses. He didn’t think he could forgive himself if he’d sent a plane crashing into an occupied building.

  He banked sharply, twisting his neck to search the air. To his amazement, the sky was empty. He’d never get used to this. O
ne moment it would be a seething mass of battling aircraft, diving and turning, weaving a tangled knot of white contrails and black smoke. The next there would be nothing but the clouds. He’d flown some way from the airfield by this time and for a moment he couldn’t work out where he was. He peered down at the ground, seeking out a familiar landmark. Finally, he spotted a railway line, a slash of steel through the landscape. Unrolling his chart on his knees, he was able to match it with the main London to Southampton line. That was all he needed to plot a bearing back to Amberton.

  When he drew near to the station again, he saw the last of the Heinkels heading for the coast. He didn’t chase them, knowing at that distance he would be unlikely to intercept them while he still had enough fuel to return to safety. He flew a pass over the airfield, going cold at the destruction the bombers had wrought in such a short time. Craters pocked the airfield, and all that remained of one of the hangars was a tangled mess of corrugated iron. The main buildings seemed to be intact, but judging from the churned-up earth, there had been some near misses. The last thing he noticed before he banked was a huddle of people at the entrance to one of the bomb shelters. Then he flew a circuit and landed in the strip that had been marked out as clear.

  Most of the other pilots had already landed and were milling around the dispersal huts. Alex left his Hurricane in the able hands of his fitters for refuelling and rearming and quickly reported the parachutist from the 109 he had shot down. Then he went to find his pilots. Dear God, let them all be here.

  The only one missing was Karol; no one had seen him after he’d flown off in pursuit of the Messerschmitts. With a heavy heart, Alex was about to add his name to the ‘Missing’ list, when the drone of Merlin engines approached.

  It was Karol’s Hurricane, looking as pristine as it had on take-off. Alex marched out to watch him make a perfect landing. He waited while Karol stepped out of his parachute harness and hung it over his wing, but as soon as the pilot was out of earshot of the Erks who were now working on the Hurricane, Alex went to meet him.

  ‘I got a 109,’ Karol greeted him, showing no signs of reading the anger in Alex’s expression. ‘Went down over the sea.’

  ‘Put it in your report. But you won’t be able to claim it, because no one else saw it happen.’

  ‘Oh, I—’

  ‘You chased after those 109s when I’d given you a direct order not to. In case you hadn’t noticed, they were leaving the fight, and the station was under attack.’ The tirade was pouring from Alex’s mouth, and he could do nothing to stop it. It was as though all the anger and tension of the attack were being unleashed after he’d suppressed them during the battle.

  Karol, clearly only now realising his error, stood to attention and made no attempt to excuse his mistake.

  ‘We needed you here, Karol, and you were off on your own futile chase. I don’t care what personal feud you have with the Nazis – God knows, every other pilot in the squadron has a reason to hate them, but they were following orders and fighting the bombers that were attacking the station.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’ll pay attention next time.’

  ‘I haven’t decided if there’ll be a next time.’

  Karol’s eyes widened. Good. Let him stew for a while. It would do him good to spend some time pondering his error. ‘I can’t afford to have anyone up there chasing after their own personal vendettas. If you can’t follow orders, there’s no place for you in the squadron.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Now, go and make your report. I’ll let you know what I’ve decided after you’ve submitted it.’

  Alex returned to his office feeling drained. His anger had given him the strength to carry him this far, but now it was gone, his energy had seeped away with it. He slumped in his chair and picked up his pen, trying to ignore the babble of voices in the rest of the hut.

  A shadow loomed in the doorway, and he looked up to see the station commander. He hastily rose and saluted.

  Bob returned the salute, then waved Alex back into his seat. ‘I just wanted to commend you for putting on a good show,’ Bob said. ‘Consider Brimstone operational from now on. No more English lessons.’

  A wide smile threatened to split his face. ‘Thank you, sir. That means a lot.’

  ‘You will try and get the Czechs to speak English over the R/T, though, won’t you. Poor Ops Room crowd can’t make head nor tail of it.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, sir. What’s the damage down here?’

  ‘Not as bad as it could have been. Thanks to your boys, we got most of our aircraft up in the air. Three of Catseye’s Hurricanes were grounded for repairs, and they were smashed up. A couple of the ground crew were hit by shrapnel, but nothing serious. One of the shelters took a hit, though. The entrance is blocked so we can’t tell how bad. I thought you’d want to know, because it seems one of the WAAFs who was teaching your lads is in there.’

  Icy hands squeezed his heart. ‘Who?’ It was the only word he could force out through suddenly dry lips.

  ‘Halloway.’

  Alex hated himself for the wash of relief. He had no wish for harm to come to Jess. ‘What about Evie Bishop?’

  ‘In Ops. They got a bit shaken up, but nothing major.’

  It was a good thing he was already sitting; he doubted his legs would support him, he felt so wobbly with relief.

  ‘Do you need a hand digging out the shelter? My lads would want to help, I’m sure.’

  ‘They need all the help they can get.’

  Alex saw Evie the moment they got to the huge bank of churned earth where the entrance to the shelter had been. It took all his strength not to sweep her into his arms in front of everyone. Her hair was no longer red, but was matted with a white powder, and there were smudges of dust on her face.

  ‘Alex,’ she choked, when she saw him. ‘Evie and May are down there.’

  ‘We’ll get them out. What happened to you?’ He brushed some of the powder out of her hair, revealing the gleam of red beneath.

  ‘Oh.’ Evie looked at the dust on Alex’s hand and reached up to brush more from her hair. ‘I hadn’t noticed. It must be plaster dust. Bits of the ceiling came down over the plotting table. I must look a fright.’

  ‘You look fine.’ More than fine. Beautiful. But he didn’t want to burden her with his feelings when she clearly didn’t feel the same. For now, he would be satisfied Evie was safe and do what he could to help free their friends trapped inside the shelter.

  Chapter Twelve

  May blinked, her ears ringing. She was lying on something soft, and there was another object across her legs, but she couldn’t see a thing. Blackness pressed upon her eyes. She raised her hand to her face and waved it, but although she felt the air fan her face, she saw nothing. Panic clutched her throat.

  ‘Jess?’ Her voice was little more than a croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. This time her voice was clearer but sounded strangely deadened. ‘Jess, can you hear me?’

  There was a groan, and the object on her legs moved. ‘May? What happened?’ There was a scrabbling noise and then May felt a hand pat her leg.

  She grabbed the hand. ‘Is that you, Jess?’

  ‘I certainly ’ope so. Otherwise I’m ’olding ’ands with a stranger.’

  A ripple of laughter sounded around the shelter, and relief blossomed in May’s chest as it became clear she wasn’t alone in the dark. Belatedly realising she must be lying on top of the WAAF who’d been sitting to her left, she raised herself to a sitting position, and she felt the girl next to her do likewise.

  The girl gave a low groan.

  ‘You all right, love?’ May asked, feeling for the girl’s arm with her free hand and giving it a squeeze.

  ‘Don’t know. Think I banged my head.’

  ‘Here.’ May removed her tunic and wrapped it around the girl. Picturing the seating arrangement, May recalled that the girl had been sitting at the back of the shelter. She must have hit her head on the wall. ‘You’d be
tter lie down. It’s Walker, isn’t it?’ May recalled recognising the girl when she’d scrambled into the shelter. Walker had only arrived at the station yesterday and also worked in the transport section. Hell of an introduction to life at Amberton.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, just lie still, and help will be here soon.’

  ‘At least the bombing’s stopped.’ Jess’s voice sounded close to her ear, making her jump.

  ‘Thank God for that.’ The ringing in her ears had hidden the fact that the bombardment had stopped, but now she noticed it, the silence from outside was a welcome relief.

  That, together with having Walker to look after, made May less afraid. Her daze gone, she could think clearly. ‘Is anyone else hurt? Everyone check the people on either side of them.’

  The shelter filled with the murmur of voices, all oddly muffled. Then a man’s voice spoke up. ‘Girl next to me is out cold, but I’ve found a pulse.’

  ‘That you, Charlie?’ It was Jess who spoke.

  ‘S’right.’

  ‘You were next to Flight Officer Ellerby, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah. Think so.’

  ‘How bad is she?’ Jean Ellerby was the only officer in the shelter. May hadn’t thought she’d ever welcome hearing the flight officer’s sharp voice, but right now, she would have loved to have someone in authority take over.

  ‘Can’t tell. Can’t see a bloody thing in this dark.’