She looked away, aware of the heat stinging her neck and cheeks, as tears misted her eyes. She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath, knowing she had no right to expect any understanding.
‘What’s really going on here? Do you just feel sorry for the guy or are you obligated in some way? Do you even love him?’
Bang! Like a gunshot, his words stung and shook her to her core. Love and Alex. She loved him, but as a friend. When Alex touched her, there was no spark, no afterthought. She peered up at Mac, biting her lower lip, shaking her head.
He threw his hands up in the air and began pacing the lawn. ‘No to what? You’re not obligated, or you don’t love him?’
‘I’m not in love with him, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care.’
He stopped pacing and shot her a confused look.
‘My mother is expecting me to marry him. She wants this, she’s always saying how my dad would be so proud.’ A single tear slipped down Stella’s cheek. She wiped it away and met Mac’s gaze, only his eyes now flashed with disappointment. Another tear hovered on the crest of her upper lip and she tasted salt. ‘Mac, I’m sorry. I can’t abandon him yet while he’s so low. You don’t let your friends down.’
‘No, and you don’t lead them on either.’
He was angry, but that hurt all the same. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to fix it the only way she knew how. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to go next weekend, and if you can’t accept that then perhaps you should leave.’ She heard her own voice, cold, almost detached, and her heart squeezed when she saw the crestfallen look on his face.
He stormed off without even a backwards glance. Tears pricked her eyes, and a wretchedness gripped her chest tight as she sobbed. He’d just professed his love for her, yet it seemed hopeless. No matter what she’d done, she would have been hurting someone. She choked back the tears, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. And now she’d pushed him away, the kindest, gentlest man she had ever known. She puffed out a breath, telling herself it would never have worked – so why did she feel so hurt? The late daffodils wilted in the flood of warm sunlight beneath the tree. She cast her gaze over the vegetables, where a relentless army of weeds weaved a route through the neat rows.
She had to go to Devon to see Alex, if only to make sure he was all right. But she was bereft, and a part of her felt let down. Why hadn’t Mac understood? She was trying to do the right thing, and at least she’d been honest about it. She sighed. He’d looked exhausted; his face was so pale, and his eyes dark and bloodshot. That look claimed so many men, eventually. Ice flowed into her stomach, and seeped into her soul, and she shivered. A shadow flicked over her, and she raised her chin and squinted up into the blue. A raven soared overhead, its sleek sooty wings fanned out as it croaked a raspy, deep, gurgling call. ‘Oh, Lord, please keep Mac safe next time he flies.’
Chapter Twelve
Bremen, Saturday 17th April 1943
‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this run, and I don’t like it one bit.’ Wilson glanced at Mac, his face pale, his eyes tired.
Mac had noticed Wilson had started drinking more than usual. When they ran through the pre-flight checks earlier, he’d made a few mistakes, but then Mac figured they were all tired. ‘I hear you, but don’t think about it. It’s just another run, and we do everything the same.’
Bremen, a heavily defended city, was anything but another run. A deep sense of foreboding engulfed him, descending like a black, dense cloud. Fatigue had reached a whole new level. As they flew out across the Channel, Mac surveyed the armada of bombers around them – one hundred and fifteen Flying Fortresses stretched out above and below.
The thunderous roar of the engines throbbed beneath his feet and flowed up through his body, and his head pounded with the vibration, then a sudden thought had him reaching up to his neck and grappling with his dog tags. Where was it? Damn! His heart sank. He’d left his St Christopher on his bedside table. His heart kicked his ribcage as Bill’s face slipped into his mind. Bill and his crew. Burning. He had to block it out; he had to focus.
He fixed his gaze on Stella’s picture as he rapidly sucked in oxygen. The warmth of her silken hand in his, the fall of her wavy hair on her shoulders. The softness of her body in his arms, the curve of her hips, and the ache of wanting inside him that had taken every ounce of restraint he’d had to hold himself back. And then after he’d bared his soul, she pushed him away, hitting him right in the gut. And she’d be with that asshole today. What if he’d lost her? He shouldn’t have walked out like that.
‘We’re gonna hit them with one hell of a surprise today, each Fort dropping five thousand pounds of bombs on that Focke-Wulf Factory. I sure am glad I’ll be up in the clouds and not boots on the ground,’ Wilson said, adjusting his throat mic.
Mac tore his gaze from Stella, and his heart ached. He needed her now more than ever.
‘Yeah, a few more Krauts out of the way and a blow to Hitler’s war machine,’ Wilson said. ‘We get to see the fourth of July a little early.’
They headed further east towards the island of Juist at the northern tip of Germany, where the flak was moderate, with black smoky wisps that barely reached them.
‘Navigator to pilot. We’re over the West Frisian Islands.’
‘Thanks, Will. Pilot to crew. Check in. Make sure your oxygen’s working.’ Mac turned to Wilson. ‘See anything down there?’
‘Nope. Ten-tenths cloud.’ Wilson looked straight ahead as something caught his eye. ‘What the hell is that goon doing? Lucky Star’s weaving around all over the place. Rookies.’ He shook his head.
As they reached Juist Island, they banked, heading south, and crossed the German coast, straight for Bremen. Below, ragged breaks in the cloud revealed sparkling sunlight on the Weser River which cut through the land, a shimmering snake luring them all the way to the target. The flak here was more intense, and Mac strained his eyes at black specks up ahead, closing in fast.
‘Fighters, twelve o’clock high!’ Tex fired short bursts from the top turret.
‘I see them, Tex. Jeez, there must be about twenty of ’em.’ Bud’s voice.
Two Messerschmitt Bf 109s hurtled towards them with a flash of yellow noses and gun ports glinting silver before they veered off left and right.
‘Keep her in tight, dammit!’ Mac yelled. ‘You’re drifting out.’ He watched as Wilson wrestled with the control wheel, easing the throttles to move her back in, sweat slipping down his forehead, rolling over his oxygen mask, his eyes wide. ‘Easy on the throttle.’ Mac glanced out at the low formation below. ‘I’ll take her for a while.’ He grabbed the control wheel. They were taking a beating out there as the wolves picked them off, one by one. One ship took a direct hit on both right engines and now trailed smoke. They soon fell back, God help them. Mac gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes at the sight of the gathering swarm ahead. ‘Jesus Christ.’ Icy claws dug into his shoulders and pinned him against his seat. ‘Fighters, twelve o’clock high!’
The anti-aircraft fire intensified and the Texas Rose took a few direct hits as pieces of red-hot metal ripped her skin wide open. The air inside the cockpit filled with the haze of smoke from the guns.
‘Fighters one o’clock high.’ Tex’s voice.
Bud and Irv fired while yelling obscenities. No doubt they’d be an inch deep in spent shell cases by now, skating on marbles in the waist. The German fighters kept on coming, and fresh swarms arrived to replace those low on fuel. It seemed the Mighty Eighth was to be plagued all the way in and all the way out.
‘Coming about, three o’clock high.’ Bud’s voice.
The Luftwaffe flew and circled like hornets, returning for more, thinking nothing of flying through their own flak to rip the armada apart. Another ship in the low formation trailed smoke after a direct hit from a Focke-Wulf. Mac watched as flames erupted from one engine. There was no time to dwell on the fate of those ten men as up ahead, wave after wave of enemy fighters kept on comin
g. He focused on the bomber in front while watching those above and below in case they strayed a little too close.
‘Pilot to navigator. How long to the IP?’
‘Navigator to pilot. Four minutes.’
‘Bombardier, how’s it looking down there?’
‘Fair visibility, so far.’
Mac checked his watch. Twelve fifty-five. Almost there. Up ahead, a fresh swarm of enemy fighters headed straight for them. At twenty-five thousand feet, the sky was a stormy sea as flak shells exploded all around every few seconds. Up ahead, the lead squadron, the 323rd released their bombs.
‘Pilot to bombardier, she’s all yours, Danny.’
‘Roger.’
Mac stiffened. Danny had the ship, and their fate was in God’s hands as the engines slowed and they sailed and rocked over brown-black waves through a grim, smoky haze.
‘Jeez, there goes another.’ Wilson craned his neck to follow the path of the flaming Fortress nosediving below them. ‘Goddam, flak’s so thick because they’re spitting it out so fast. It’s the luck of the draw which one of us makes it through.’
Mac flicked a gaze at him, and determination flowed through his veins like steel. ‘Hey, we’re gonna make it if I have to haul this ship back with my bare hands. We’ll make it.’ He took a deep breath and exhaled. His heart pounded, and beads of sweat slipped down his temples like mercury, skirting round his oxygen mask; irritating. He swiped them away.
A fighter headed straight for the Texas Rose and for a split-second, Mac froze, clenching his buttocks as the black nose was almost upon them like a bullet. Then he ducked, but the fighter veered off to their port side at the last moment, peppering the fuselage with cannon fire. The staccato sound of machine-gun fire from the gunners vibrated through the cockpit and blended with the thrum of the engines and drilled through his body.
‘I got him, hot damn!’ Irv yelled from the waist. ‘That’ll teach you, you bastard.’ The Focke-Wulf 190 trailed smoke and nosedived. The Perspex canopy popped open, and the pilot bailed, white plumes of silk blossoming above. ‘Jeez, would you look at that?’
‘Must be the fuel dump.’ Bud’s voice.
Mac glanced down as a massive fireball mushroomed upward.
‘Bombs gone.’ Danny’s voice.
The Texas Rose lifted, freed once more from her deathly cargo.
‘Bomb bay doors closing. Ship’s all yours, Mac.’
‘Got it, Danny.’ Mac took a deep breath. Job done. Now for the hard part. He followed the bombers in front and steered the ship in a sweeping turn north, heading towards the Frisian Islands.
‘Those fighters aren’t about to leave any time soon,’ Mac said. ‘Keep sharp back there.’
‘Here they come again.’ Danny’s voice.
Mac watched, transfixed, as a Focke-Wulf approached from twelve o’clock high. Short bursts of tracer fire hailed from the nose below him, but the swift fighter darted away beneath them. Another Fortress sailed down in flames while others were under heavy attack from the relentless swarm in the air. They were still within range of the anti-aircraft gunners below as they flew back through the barrage of flak, fighters, and cannon fire. The Texas Rose shuddered, and Mac lurched forward in his seat as an audible clunk reverberated from the waist section.
Wilson swivelled around, his eyes wide. ‘Are we hit?’
‘Not me,’ Mac said. ‘Here they come again.’
‘Two more cutting in at three o’clock high.’ Tex’s voice.
‘Come to papa.’ Irv’s voice. ‘Come on in, you bastards.’
As the gunners fired short bursts, orange tracer fire lashed the sky. Two of the fighters peeled away while another belched out black smoke before exploding into flames. ‘Pilot to crew, check in.’
One by one they called in, except for Birdie. ‘Pilot to tail, you okay?’ Still nothing. ‘Irv, go aft and check on tail gun.’
‘Sure thing.’
Mac had a bad feeling. Space was real tight back there, and he knew Irv would struggle to squeeze past everything, especially with that huge metal toolbox in the way.
‘What’s happening, Irv?’
‘He’s out cold, slumped over his guns. Jesus Christ, the tail’s riddled with holes, and there’s a huge chunk ripped out the side. There’s a tornado in here. I can’t wake him.’
Mac clenched his teeth. Jesus. His throat mike dug in, crushing his windpipe and he tugged at it.
‘He just opened his eyes and tried to speak, but he ain’t making no sense. His head’s hit real bad. There’s a pool of blood on the floor.’
‘Okay, Irv. Danny, go aft with the medical kit and help with tail gun.’ Mac swallowed hard. Another flak shell exploded close by, and the Texas Rose lurched and shuddered as she rode out the storm.
A few more minutes passed. ‘Mac, Birdie’s not with it. I’ve given him a shot of morphine, but his pulse is real weak. Irv’s dressing the head wound.’
‘Thanks, Danny. Stay with him and send Irv back.’
‘Jimmy, Birdie can you hear me?’ Irv’s voice from the tail. ‘You’re gonna be okay. We’ll be home soon, and you’ll be chasing those girls from the bakery in no time. You remember the blonde? She’s kinda sweet on you.’
The Texas Rose lurched once more beneath a hail of cannon fire along her aluminium body. A chunk of flak ripped through the cockpit on her port side with a loud clunk, and Mac jumped, aware of the punch as it pierced its way out the starboard side. He glanced to his left, where an icy wind howled through a gaping, jagged hole in the ship’s skin, and his arms ached as he tried to keep her steady. ‘Number one engine’s hit. It’s smoking,’ he yelled. ‘Extinguishers. Feather prop one.’
Wilson wiped sweat from his eyes and quickly followed the order. As he hit the number one extinguisher button, the blades of the propeller ceased to spin. ‘Don’t worry, that bullet didn’t have your name on it.’
‘No, but it said “To whom it may concern”.’ Mac gritted his teeth.
‘They got The Lucky Lass.’ Virg’s voice on the interphone, tense.
That made six from the 401st Squadron. Sixty men plus ships from the rest of the group. Mac sure wished he had his St Christopher. It had been a gift from his mother to keep him safe. A siren screeched in his brain and his heart as they slipped through the dead sky. All he could do now was pray.
The padre’s voice from the base rang in his ears. ‘Son, in war, in the skies, there are no atheists.’ Amen.
The Channel shimmered up ahead, and he could almost taste the sea air. Almost home. The fighters had finally given up, and as they pushed on, the sunlight glinted like diamonds on the grey waters beneath them. In a gradual descent, they dipped down to eleven thousand feet as they approached the English coast, heading for Great Yarmouth. From there it was a stone’s throw to Bassingbourn. ‘Pilot to crew. You can come off oxygen now.’ Mac pulled his mask free of his face, relishing the naked freedom. They cut in across the land and sailed over weathered houses and cobbled streets.
Wilson hit the switch for the landing gear. ‘That don’t sound right. I think one of the wheels is stuck.’ He blew out a breath and pursed his lips.
‘Bring it back up and try again.’ Mac glanced at him. That was all they needed.
‘Nope. It won’t budge. Can’t get it to retract.’
‘Tex, you’d better take a look,’ Mac said.
Tex sprang into action, but no matter how hard he tried, the landing gear was jammed solid. ‘Reckon the electronics are all shot out. I’ll do it by hand.’ He turned off the electronic switch for the landing gear and headed to the bomb bay. He’d have to manually crank the wheels in there. Within a few minutes, he returned. ‘It won’t budge.’
‘Shit!’ Wilson looked at Mac. ‘Can’t land on one wheel, number one’s still smoking.’
‘Well, what do you want me to do? We got no other choice. Pilot to crew, prepare for a crash landing and get in the radio room. We’re going down.’ One way or another. ‘Ernie, get outta
that ball.’
‘I’m out.’
Silence prevailed over the interphone for about thirty seconds and then Irv cut in. ‘Hey, Ernie. That flak suit you’re always sitting on to protect your family jewels, well you been wastin’ time. Might as well kiss your ass goodbye – and your jewels.’
‘Up yours, Irv, just ‘cause you ain’t got much to boast about.’
‘Okay, guys. Can I have silence now until we land unless it’s real urgent?’ Mac needed to concentrate. He’d never had a situation like this before. Sure, he’d belly landed once, and that had been hair-raising enough. If you go down too fast and too hard, you risk starting a fire. That same risk went with a one-wheel landing. He tried to remember everything he knew about emergency landings.
While he fought to clear his mind, images of Stella and his family slipped in, and he recalled flying over the Montana plains, and how the old Curtiss ‘Jenny’ handled in his control – light, responsive, almost like a part of him. His father’s words before every flight. Make her sing, boy. It was Mac’s mantra, his good luck charm.
‘Make her sing,’ he muttered as he focused on the movement of the ship and the feel of her in his hands; a sensation that flowed through his body and mind as if she were whispering in his ear.
As they descended, acres of green, yellow and brown interspersed by hedgerows and grey winding lanes flashed beneath them, and his heart swelled as he glimpsed the spires of King’s College Chapel stretching up into the sky.
He took a deep breath, the rush stretching his chest as he sucked in cold air. He was still wearing his flak suit, and he sure regretted it now as it bore down on him, making his shoulders and neck ache with a relentless persistence. No doubt Bud would be hanging on to his rosary, whispering a prayer.
Wilson peered out of the cockpit window. ‘Runway coming up.’ He glanced over at Tex. ‘Signal ahead.’
Tex grabbed the flare gun and fired from the upper turret; two streaks of red sailed into the blue. Mac gripped the control wheel so determinedly that his hands slid inside his flight gloves. He flicked a gaze at Stella’s picture and heaved in a breath as the blood pulsed through his body. He was going to see her just as sure as he was going to land this ship, and then he’d apologise, and hope for forgiveness. ‘Here we go, hold on tight.’ Below them, the dark silhouette of the Texas Rose raced across English soil, keeping pace as the gap between the two closed.
THE BEAUTY SHOP Page 11