Alexander did as he was told and the two of them left the pub, both blinking for a few moments as they walked out into the bright sunshine. This time, instead of holding hands again, Ena took his arm and linked it with hers, moving closer together as she did so. Alexander looked down at her just as she looked at him, making them both laugh.
“Ena,” he asked, “I’ve always wanted to ask you; that’s an unusual name, where does it come from or does it mean something to the family?”
“No, nothing grand. My proper name is Christine, but my Aunt Dolly always called me Christina as a child, so everyone sort of shortened it to the end bit...Ena.”
“Ah, I see. I prefer the sound of Christine. Do you mind if I use that instead?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t mind, you can call me what you like, Alex,” she said, squeezing his arm gently.
There was only a mile to walk before they arrived home and as they followed the main street towards Dagenham railway station, they began talking about their hopes for the future and what they might mean for the two of them. They both knew something had changed in the pub and whilst it was very early days and no doubt there would almost certainly be problems ahead, somehow they both knew things were going to get better.
Scene 27. St. Andrew's Church, Hornchurch. Spring 1943
The two of them stood at the graveside, a light spring drizzle collecting on their umbrellas, as the Vicar finished his service for the dead pilot. Christine felt for Alexander’s hand and held onto it, both watching as the heavy coffin was lowered slowly into the ground by the four undertakers. All around, off-duty pilots began filing past the grave, each in their own way saying goodbye, a few stopping to salute the disappearing coffin. Fittingly, now the Vicar had finished, the long-threatened rain finally began to fall heavily at the end of the service and to Alexander, it reminded him of tears from the sky in which the dead pilot had spent so much of his time.
“A fitting tribute, from the sky to the earth,” he thought to himself, “just as he fell from the sky to earth, so now does the tearful rain.”
“That’s almost poetic, Alex,” commented Vimes, “Christine’s having a mellowing effect on you. He was a good man.”
“That he was, old friend. We went all through the Battle of Britain together without so much as a scratch, only for him to die when his kite crashed on landing. Bloody senseless,” responded Alexander, shaking his head at how unfair fate could be.
Next to him, Christine sensed some of the inner conversation that her husband seemed to have with himself on occasions, just one of the many endearing things she liked about him. At times, he seemed distant, as if listening to an inner monologue, but then he would snap back into the moment, often with a new idea or answer to a problem, making her realise he needed those moments alone with his own thoughts.
Almost three years had gone past in a blur, a friendship that had slowly blossomed until they both realised that they had found their life’s partner. She remembered the moment when she’d decided to let him into her life, back in the pub when he’d first shown any signs of interest in her, but in a ham-fisted way. From then on, Christine had begun to slowly let him in and allowed Alexander to get close until the uncertainties of war and the ever-present risk of his being killed almost compelled them to get married, here in the same church twelve months previously. The dead pilot had been one of the many who had turned up to wish the couple long life and happiness, and it was with sadness that she remembered his shaking their hands at the reception, before kissing her and wishing them both good fortune, pointing out to Alex what a lucky man he was. And now she was here at his funeral, watching many of the same people who had been singing and laughing at her wedding walking sadly past the open grave.
Not long after the wedding, she had been sensing that Alex was debating with himself whether to tell her something. The momentary thought that he might have another woman on the go had been dismissed as quickly as it had come, for she knew her man too well for that, despite his complexities. Fortunately, his role in the RAF had changed from being a full-time fighter pilot to one where at least half of his time was spent teaching tactics as an experienced flyer, cutting down on his flying duties and for this she was grateful, but he was still absent for much of the time. He continued to make regular flights with the Hornchurch Big Wing over France, seeking targets of opportunity or, increasingly, escorting the large bomber squadrons of British and American planes as they attacked Germany. Knowing he was in danger kept her awake at night, especially when she could hear the planes returning in the darkness or early morning dawn, all the time wondering if his was one of those that wouldn’t return.
At work, she had been promoted to Supervisor, responsible for an entire production line and this kept her busy too, especially with the big push for the eventual invasion of France which no longer seemed so fanciful an idea now that the Germans were almost beaten back in North Africa and America had joined the war. She had asked Alex about starting a family, but he had been reluctant to entertain the idea, pointing to their workload and the uncertainties of war. Although it made sense on one level, she also felt if they had a child together she would have something to hang onto if anything happened to him. Deep down she knew there was another reason for his resistance, but knew him well enough not to push...at least not for now.
Bill had been delighted when they married and despite having to spend much of his time at Catterick training up new recruits, he hadn’t let any opportunity go by to remind them he wasn’t getting any younger and would like to see some grandchildren. Bill had been promoted to Lieutenant the same year they married, something the old soldier still found hard to believe, coming from a working class background and said it was only because so many experienced soldiers had been lost that he was given the chance. Now currently in North Africa with his Regiment, she looked forward to his irregular letters.
A gentle tug from Alexander’s hand told her he wanted to walk away and she followed his lead, walking past the old and newer gravestones towards the church, an imposing building constructed of grey stone which had apparently been built over seven hundred years previously. Ahead, the Vicar was shaking hands with the airmen and family members of the deceased pilot, so they joined the small queue, waiting their turn to pay their respects before leaving and getting into a staff car, kindly provided by the Station Commander to take them the short journey back home. Christine and Alexander spent most of the drive in silence, each thinking their own thoughts and what the service meant to them. Their driver, an attractive WRAF, Christine noted, dropped them off outside the same small house in Western Avenue where she’d first moved to, then saluted, promising to call for Alexander in the morning to take him back to the airfield.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” she said to Alexander as they walked in, leaving the wet umbrellas by the front door to dry, busying herself in the kitchen, leaving him to put some more coals on the almost dead fire. Tea made, she brought it into the living room on a tray with a plate of Rich Tea biscuits, noting Alexander was upstairs, probably in the bathroom. He came down the stairs, having changed out of his formal uniform into his normal attire of dark brown slacks, white shirt and a brown cardigan she’d knitted as a Christmas present for him .
He smiled at her as he walked into the room, switching on the radio and waited for it to warm up, then picking up his cup from the tray and sitting in his armchair near the fire, stretching out his feet in front of it to warm them.
“You’ll get chilblains if you do that,” she said to him, with a smile, knowing he didn’t believe any of the old wive's tales she told him.
He looked at her and smiled, warmed by both the fire and her obvious love for him, wondering again for the thousandth time when it would be the right moment to tell her the truth about his heritage and whether she would believe him or think he was telling her another of the tall tales she liked to hear, about the future and alien worlds. Alexander hated having to lie and whilst he hadn’t had
reason to do so, for she would hardly ask him if he was an alien, deceiving his wife by not telling her everything felt disloyal and nagged away at his sense of what was right and proper between a man and his wife. As usual, Vimes was keeping his own counsel on matters of the heart, leaving him to make his own mistakes. Admittedly, he appreciated his old friend and companion letting him get on with things without interfering in his life and felt he had grown as a person as a result. Since marrying Christine, Vimes had taken a step back from Alexander, normally only speaking when asked or during combat, allowing him to form a close and intimate bond with his wife.
He looked across at Christine, who had been watching him having another of his internal dialogues with himself, her expression a mix of concern and wry amusement. The radio had finally warmed up and Glenn Miller was playing “String of Pearls.”
“You’ve been doing that more and more, Alex, have you noticed?” she asked him, “come on, love, what’s the matter, if you can’t talk to me, who can you talk too?”
He took a deep breath, then said nothing, lapsing back into silence. He took a sip of the too hot tea in an attempt to gloss over the moment. Christine came over to the armchair and sat on one of the arms, ruffling his hair affectionately for a few moments before grasping his head firmly and turning his face towards hers, “I’ll let it pass this time, but one day I’m going to make you tell me what’s eating you, husband of mine,” she told him, her smile belying the determination in her voice, “don’t wait too long.”
Alexander stood and effortlessly lifted her up, eliciting a squeal from Christine who mock struggled in his arms.
“There’s been too much doom and gloom today. I don’t get enough nights off so I’m taking you upstairs so you can try and torture the truth out of me, wife of mine,” he said, carrying her up the stairs, taking care not to hit her head on the door frame and trying to kiss her at the same time, the sound of Christine’s happy laughter fading as he carried her into the bedroom.
The next morning, Christine watched from the garden gate as her husband got into the waiting staff car, waving him goodbye until it turned the corner and vanished from sight. She remained standing there for several minutes, trying to make sense of what she was feeling. Despite the happiness of the previous night that had seen her go to sleep content and at peace, since waking she’d had a strange feeling that something bad was going to happen, which was at odds with her husband's good mood and the wonderful news he had finally agreed they should try for a family. Christine tried to dismiss the feeling, putting it down to hormonal changes as she was due in a few days, and walked back indoors, picking up the red-topped milk bottle from the doorstep, which had been left by the milkman not long before. Deciding another cup of tea was just what she needed, Christine busied herself in getting ready to go to work.
Arriving back at the airfield, Alexander was met by his Squadron Leader who asked him to sit in on a briefing for an escorted raid planned for later in the day. Although not expecting to do any flying so soon, he’d been asked to fill in for a pilot, Johnny Wilson, who’d come down with appendicitis. Still in a good mood from the night before and his decision to finally accept his life was going to be here on Earth now that he’d agreed to start a family with Christine, Alexander had immediately agreed, just as he suspected his Squadron Leader knew he would.
The briefing room, a large Nissen Hut built of corrugated iron and whitewashed cinder blocks, was full of cigarette smoke and the usual banter when Alexander entered, and being one of the last to arrive, he sat down at the back of the room. Ahead of him, sitting on wooden, foldaway chairs which were normally stored around the walls when not needed, sat rows of pilots, the younger ones trying to look bored and affecting an air of indifference. A large blackboard had been set up in front of the chairs, currently covered with an off-white dust sheet that would be pulled down to display today’s target once the Intelligence Officers, currently standing off to one side, decided it was time to reveal all.
Having noticed Alexander and the Squadron Leader enter, the two men stepped forward, the room going quiet in anticipation of the reveal. The closest Officer pulled off the sheet, revealing a large scale map of northern France, marked Le Touquet and St Omer.
“Gentlemen,” the oldest of the two men began, “our target for today is the airfield at Le Touquet, currently being used by the Luftwaffe as a mixed bomber and fighter base used to harass shipping and ports in the Channel area.” He looked out across the room at the faces of everyone then continued, “A mixed force of Boston medium bombers and bomb carrying Hurricanes will form the main attack, supported by Spitfires from here. We expect the Germans to put up strong resistance, so time over the target will be minimal. Get in, drop the bombs and get out. Your Spitfires will fly down to RAF Manston and refuel, before joining up and supporting the bombers. This will increase your dogfighting time over target and enable you to provide enhanced cover. Full details will be in the packs provided at the door. Any questions?”
A number of hands rose and as the officers did their best to answer, Alexander felt his Squadron Leader lean in close and rest his hand on his shoulder.
“When Johnny got sick and I learnt of the target, I naturally thought of you, Alex, what with you being French and all that. In your previous life you’ve probably even flown out of Le Touquet at some point, haven’t you?”
Alexander nodded, hoping he wasn’t going to be asked any questions by the others. Although he’d read as much as he could about France, he knew his understanding wouldn’t stand too much questioning. “It was a long time ago, and I dare say everything’s changed for the worst now, but you’re right, it will be good to make them pay on home soil, so to speak.”
“Good show, I’ll see you when you get back,” the Squadron Leader said, as he stood up and left Alexander to listen to the technical side of the briefing, who was relying on his eidetic memory to ensure he didn’t miss anything important. As a precaution, Vimes suggested he should send one of the drones ahead to scout out the airfield and provide details of anything which might prove troublesome or dangerous in the area. Alexander thought that was a good idea, so allowed Vimes to instruct the drone for him. At such a range, it would be out of direct communication, so it’s simple AI had to be carefully instructed to reduce the risk of unintentional mishaps occurring.
Briefing complete, Alexander was the first out of the hut and immediately made his way over to where his Spitfire was parked, wanting to make sure Jimmy had everything ready for the afternoon's flight. As always, his plane looked pristine, apart from the inevitable scorch marks coming out from the engine manifolds. Above, the sky was starting to cloud over despite the early sun's efforts to break through, and Alexander fully expected it to be raining by the time his squadron flew off to Manston. He walked around the fighter, lovingly running his hands over the wings and tugging at the flight surfaces to ensure everything was good and tight.
“Just bring me back in one piece, old girl, like you always have,” he said softly to the plane, giving her one last affectionate pat before heading back to his office and the paperwork that was sure to be waiting for him.
Upper and lower fuel tanks filled to capacity, Alexander gunned down the runway into the wind, noting how the grass here wasn’t as smooth as Hornchurch, probably a legacy of the frequent raids the Luftwaffe had made on the airfield during the Battle of Britain. Whereas Hornchurch was kept relatively clear, here at Manston, Alexander noted numerous damaged or crashed aeroplanes of many types shunted out towards the airfields edge where they lay rusting or were cannibalised for spare parts. He knew Manston was a favourite place for badly damaged planes coming back across the Channel to head for and several from his own squadron had reason to be grateful for its location.
As he’d anticipated, in the short time it had taken the ground crew to refuel their fighters, the sky had darkened and a light rain, a foretaste of what was to come, was streaking horizontal lines across both sides of his canopy as he
accelerated his fighter across the airfield. Alexander felt the tail wheel lift as he opened the throttle, so pulled the stick back a touch and felt his Spitfire rise into the air. Holding the stick steady as he became fully airborne and letting the plane lift gracefully upwards, he waited until the Spitfire was doing over one hundred and forty mph before attempting to really climb. As always, his spirits lifted along with the fighter, a wide grin splitting his face as he tried becoming one with the aeroplane and the air around him. It wasn’t as good as the merging he had been used to, back when he lived in the Empire, but this was satisfying nonetheless. He toggled the undercarriage lever, holding it and applying a little brake to stop the wheels from spinning, then felt them lock home, confirmed by the indicator changing from green to red.
Throttling back to two thousand revs, he looked from side to side, confirming his flight was in position. The remaining drone provided him with a visual of the approaching Bostons and Hurricanes, only two miles away, so he instructed everyone to form up and follow his lead, moving quickly to intercept and take position, flying above and forming a protective shield. They would reach the target in just over twenty minutes and Alexander would get advance warning of when they had been spotted by the Germans once the drone, now hovering secretly watching the base, picked up any signs of them preparing for an attack. Only another few minutes and he would be in range of the drone’s transmitter and have a better view of everything near the target.
Radio silence was being maintained for the flight and ahead Alexander could barely make out the French coast through the rain. Reaching the predetermined waypoint, the flight turned left and went inland, heading directly towards the airfield, only a short distance from the coast. German fighters had already been scrambled and were bearing down on their position, but both would arrive at the airfield at the same time.
Imperium: Revelation: Book Two in the Imperium Trilogy Page 30