He sighed, spotting the English coast up ahead. Norfolk beckoned and then beyond, Cambridge.
After landing, they got coffee and sandwiches from the Red Cross girls. No matter what time of day it was, they were always there to greet the boys with a honeyed smile on a perfect made-up face. Smart hair, ruby lips, crisp uniform.
‘It does a man good to see a beautiful girl,’ Wilson said.
‘Sure does.’ But Mac wasn’t looking, he was thinking of Stella.
Colonel Edwards scraped back his chair, shot Mac a steely glance, and strode across to the window. He sighed. ‘Did you know that ninety percent of all marriages during the First World War failed?’
‘No, sir, I did not know that.’
‘Well, you can guess why. Dangerous times do the wildest things to a man’s mind and a woman’s at that. Live for the day and all that crap, not thinking about all the tomorrows. Take it from me. Have all the girls or friendships you want while you’re here, but leave out the love stuff.’ He flicked a glance at Mac, his eyes narrowed.
Mac was not about to be put off or dismissed. ‘Colonel, with all due respect, this isn’t a fleeting friendship or a chance encounter. I’ve been serious about my girl for months. I intend to marry her or die trying, sir.’
The Colonel ran his hand through his dark brown hair, glancing at Mac with a look of exasperation. ‘I don’t doubt that, I really don’t.’ He stared at the papers on his desk waiting for his attention. ‘See this stack here?’ He picked up a dozen or so pages from the pile and waved them in front of him. ‘All letters to loved ones, wives, mothers, fathers, telling them their boys won’t be coming home, ever. It’s not right, but it’s war and it’s one damned mean bastard! You hear what I’m saying?’ His face reddened.
Mac bowed his head, sighed, then looked the Colonel in the eye. ‘Yes, sir, I do. But I have to do this, sir.’
Colonel Edwards studied him for a moment. ‘Okay, Mac. I can see you’re hell bent on this so I’ll sort out the paperwork, but I’ll need to meet Miss Charlton. You understand, it’s protocol.’ He shook his head. ‘Well, I guess there’s nothing left to say, except congratulations.’
As the days sailed by, Mac flew a couple more missions, both milk runs, but his hands ached worse than ever. Handling the aircraft controls was awkward, and he’d noticed his lack of strength while holding the control wheel. If he had to pull up from a dive, he didn’t know if he’d manage it. That took a whole lot of strength, zapping your arms and your hands.
After Stella’s meeting with Colonel Edwards, the Colonel collared Mac afterwards in the officer’s club and congratulated him again in front of the guys. There were slaps on the back, and the drinks flowed all evening as they celebrated. Mac’s heart lifted. He was so lucky, but a tiny corner of his mind housed a snippet of darkness that had stitched its claim and no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t tear it out, and he couldn’t rest easy. He ought to be waiting until the end of the war, whenever that would be, for her sake, but he guessed that band of gold on her finger was irrelevant if the worst should happen. She’d be destroyed either way.
The next day, when he turned up at Stella’s place, no one answered the door. He peered through the living room window and saw her stretched out on the sofa. He tried the front door and found it was open, so he let himself in. As he paused in the living room doorway, she did not stir. Her eyes were closed, and her chest rose and fell rhythmically. Was she asleep? He crept over, crouched down beside her, and planted a kiss on her lips. She jumped.
‘Mac! You scared the life out of me. You could have been anyone.’
‘Oh, so you’d kiss anyone like that?’ He cast a half-smile, crouching down next to her.
‘You know what I mean.’ She gave him a light shove.
He pressed his lips to hers. ‘You’re my girl now.’ He gazed into those sunflower eyes, mesmerised for a second by flecks of gold floating amidst the green. ‘Tired?’
‘A little. I’m not suited to night shift, that’s all.’
‘Oh, honey, just wait until this war’s over. You can come to Montana and take care of me. There’ll be cooking and cleaning and socks to darn.’
‘John Mackenzie, is that why you want to marry me?’ She raised an eyebrow.
He drew her close. ‘No, it’s not.’ He pressed his lips to hers, and she softened and kissed him back. ‘I’m marrying you because we’re meant to be together. You and I are soul mates, destinies entwined for eternity.’ He squeezed her and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Besides, I’ve seen your sewing skills and I reckon I can do a whole lot better.’
She thumped him lightly on the arm, and he chuckled.
‘What? You’re marrying a lowly rancher, and there’s always socks to darn, and sweaters and pants.’ He winked as she reached out and caressed his cheek with her fingertips. ‘I think Colonel Edwards has taken a shine to you. Singing your praises after your visit.’
‘Oh, really? Well, perhaps I should marry him instead. He was very nice to me.’ She crossed her arms and raised her chin, defiantly.
‘Sorry, honey. He’s already taken. Say, what do you mean? You’re only supposed to have eyes for me.’ He leaned in and grabbed her waist and she crumpled forward in a cloud of laughter as he tickled her sides.
‘Mac, stop.’ She giggled, and her face flushed scarlet as she fought his hands away, finally grabbing hold of them. ‘So, when can we set a date for the wedding?’
‘We just have to wait for the service paperwork to be authorised. The colonel said it’s just protocol, so, nothing’s stopping us.’
‘Just my mam.’
‘Maybe you could call her now?’ Mac pulled her up to her feet. ‘No time like the present.’
Stella placed the receiver down in its cradle and heaved out a breath. Mac squeezed her hand. ‘That was rough.’ Her mother had cried, shouted, and cried again upon hearing the news about Alex and then of her daughter’s engagement to an American. ‘I think she’s in shock.’
‘Give her time, honey. She’ll come around.’
‘She’s not happy. I could tell by her voice.’
Mac kissed her brow.
‘And she cried when I said we’d be getting married here.’
‘Well, this is your home for now. Besides, she can come here, maybe spend some time with you before we get married.’ He folded her in his arms. ‘It’ll work out, you’ll see.’
‘Open it, honey.’ Mac sat down at the kitchen table, staring intently into her eyes, a boyish grin toying with his mouth as he pushed the brown paper parcel across to her.
Tentatively, Stella snipped the string with scissors and unwrapped it. Her eyes bulged with surprise. ‘Oh, Mac. Where did you get it?’ She lifted the bundle of white silk carefully as if it were a newborn and delivered it into Mrs Brown’s arms.
‘You can thank Uncle Sam. One of the guys had to bail out the other day so it’s kind of convenient, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I can’t believe it.’ She slid her hand across the fabric, caressing the silk, and she imagined herself wearing it, while the image of a man bailing out of an aircraft tinged the moment with darkness. ‘Oh, Mrs B. Do you think we might be able to make a dress?’
‘Oh, yes, dear. I know we can. It’s such a lot of silk too.’ Mrs Brown ran her hands over yards of white, her mouth curving up into a smile, her face filled with awe until the kettle whistled and she sprang into action and resumed making the tea.
‘And don’t worry about a cake.’ Mac grinned.
Stella cast him a puzzled glance.
‘Let’s just say I called in a favour at the base. One of the guys is taking care of it.’
‘Oh, Mac. A real cake?’
He cast her a puzzled glance this time. ‘Yeah, a real cake. What other type is there?’
Mrs Brown smiled broadly. ‘Oh, that’s so generous. It’s going to be a wonderful reception.’
‘It’s going to be cold.’ Stella glanced at Mrs. Brown. ‘I hadn’t thought
about it until now. I’ll freeze in a dress.’
‘Oh, I’ve got it all worked out, dear. Don’t you fret. We’ll find or make a lovely white wrap for you. Now then, sit down at the table, you two and we’ll have tea.’
The date was set, November 14th, 1943.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Bremen, 8th October, 1943
As Mac and his crew slipped over Great Yarmouth and out across the Channel, he gazed at Stella’s picture above the instrument panel. Things would be different after the war, and hopefully, she’d be happy to live in Montana. The breath hitched in his throat as he remembered the St Christopher, and with gloved fingers, he reached for his neck and found it nestled beneath his dog tags.
Bombers flanked him above, below, and all around. Further out over the sheet-metal grey water, the gunners tested their weapons, the staccato sound juddering up through the body of the ship, flowing into the cockpit. Acrid smoke from the nose guns below drifted up to greet him. Mac pictured the trail of red on the briefing map that bled into the heart of Bremen, a place they already knew and were all too aware of the reception that awaited them. Earlier, the Colonel’s clipped tone and his pensive face had conveyed the tension aptly.
They had taken off at twelve hundred hours and sailed into a filthy grey sky. The air had been chilled on the ground, and was even colder at twenty thousand feet. A few of the fingers on his right hand were growing numb already, but that had nothing to do with the cold. That morning, he’d struggled to dress, his fingers fumbling with buttons as his hands trembled, and he knew it was more than fatigue. The problem had grown steadily worse since his return, and it wasn’t so much the pain that troubled him as the transient numbness, which made his hands weak and clumsy. He blew out a breath. They had to make it through.
Slater had done a swell job with the nose art, and Hell’s Fury now had her own persona and proudly displayed her nose art of a busty redhead in a blue dress, with a trail of fire blazing behind her as she prodded a parody of Hitler with her pitchfork.
‘Well, we’ll set the shipyards ablaze, all right.’ Wilson’s eyes were dark, but something more flashed there, and Mac guessed it probably bothered him just as it bothered the other guys. His heart weighed triple, but at least they were hitting industrial targets today.
‘Bombardier to pilot. Permission to arm the bombs?’ Val’s voice.
‘Pilot here. Granted.’ Mac stamped his feet. A couple of hours in and they were throbbing from the icy air. The P-47 fighter support zipped around them, but they would have to turn around pretty soon as they didn’t have enough fuel to make target and back again. The enemy fighters were just biding their time. He glanced at the unnamed Fortress on his port side, and the waist gunner flashed him a thumbs up. There was something to be said for safety in numbers and here, packed into a tight, defensive combat box, a tiny orb glowed inside of him, but it wasn’t quite warm enough to thaw the ice.
All too soon, their escort turned for home and Mac’s heart sank. ‘There they go.’
‘So long, little friends.’ Ivan’s voice from the tail.
They had followed the coastline past the Netherlands and further on towards Germany, and now they turned sharp south for Bremen, following the murky loose coils of the Weser River. The anti-aircraft fire had kicked in as soon as they reached the coastline at Bremerhaven. Mac glanced out of the window at the swatch of green fields through a break in the cloud. Black puffs hung in the air, and the ship shook with the explosions, jolting him in his seat.
‘Weather don’t seem too good over here either,’ Wilson said.
‘No. Look at those clouds.’ Mac peered at the gathering of grey-black cumulus that was creeping in around them. He gritted his teeth.
‘Fighters, twelve o’clock high.’ Walt’s voice from the top turret.
Machine-gun fire vibrated through the ship, mixing with the thrum of the engines, and Mac’s entire body trembled in his seat, his insides shaking, his head bursting.
‘Jesus Christ, a Fort’s just exploded down in the low formation.’ Wilson stared, wide-eyed, breathing heavily.
Mac swallowed. He didn’t want to look, but he glanced down at the fireball as pieces of aircraft plummeted into the black smoky haze. Another Fort dropped away from the formation. Jeez, they were falling like flies. The fighters had bided their time, just as he’d predicted, and now attacked like wolves in packs. Their cannon fire was intense, accurate, and relentless. There was a dull clunk and Hell’s Fury shook. An icy draught hurtled across the back of Mac’s neck and Wilson turned to look.
‘Flak’s hit the port side and left a gaping hole.’ Wilson wiped sweat from his brow.
Great, as if they weren’t cold enough already. Now they were going to freeze. Mac sweated, and his back was soaked from fighting to keep the ship in formation. His hands ached and throbbed and even his face was sore where sweat pooled around the edges of his oxygen mask, which dug into his right cheek. They had to make it. They had to. He glanced at Stella’s picture and swallowed. She was expecting him home for dinner at seven.
‘Fighters, twelve o’clock high.’ Walt’s voice from the top turret.
‘Christ, they got Taylor’s ship. It’s a flamer. She’s going down.’ Val’s voice.
Mac steeled himself as black forms up ahead zoomed towards them, transforming into yellow-nosed Messerschmitt Bf 109s, cutting through the formation in a bid to break them up. Gunners from the surrounding ships shot lead out across the sky as fast as they could to fend them off.
They were almost over the target. Mac glanced down. There was some cloud and a whole lot of smoke, but there were breaks through which glows of red flashed.
‘Pilot to bombardier. How’s that target looking, Val?’
‘Almost there. I see it. Bombs gone.’
Mac gazed around at the Forts as they dropped their ladder of bombs and out of the corner of his eye, two Focke-Wulf 190s flashed towards them. ‘Fighters, eleven o’clock high.’ He took control of the ship and made a wide sweeping turn for home. Another ship dropped out of formation and headed down into hell.
‘We sure did set off some fireworks down there today,’ Wilson said.
‘Radio to pilot. Get us home.’ Red’s voice. ‘Jeez, I always wanted to join the Navy, see the world, but I get sea sick. Someone said join the Air Force. Goddam fools never said anything about this.’
The ship shook and bucked her way through the shelling and jolted Mac in his seat.
‘Jesus Christ! A piece of Nazi flak just missed my head.’ Red’s voice, filled with anguish.
‘Pilot to radio operator. You okay, Red?’
‘Yeah. Just got a gale force icy blast blowing through my office.’
‘Fighter, nine o’clock high.’ Emmett’s voice from the waist.
Mac turned to look and saw the yellow nose first, then the arc of tracer fire headed towards it, no doubt coming from the waist. The Messerschmitt dived beneath them and resurfaced on the other side, firing continuously, then he zipped up ahead, banked, and came at them head-on. Cannon fire hit the Plexiglas nose, and there was a loud thud as the ship shuddered, jolting Mac forward. His heart drilled against his ribcage.
Wilson looked out at the starboard wing. ‘Number three engine’s on fire.’
Mac glanced at the plume of black smoke. ‘Extinguishers. Feather the prop.’
‘It ain’t working.’ Flames of orange flared from the engine, licking the wing.
‘We’ll have to dive. Red, get me a C wave.’ Mac waited for the radio frequency. ‘Group, it’s Captain Mackenzie. We’re dropping out of formation. Wingman, you’re lead plane now. Okay, here we go. Hang on, guys.’
Mac put Hell’s Fury into a dive, pointing her nose towards the ground, descending at an alarming rate. Seconds seemed like minutes, but as they watched, the flames gradually died, leaving a trail of grey-black smoke streaming from the engine.
‘Wilson, help me pull her up!’ Mac yelled, breathing hard. His hands were throbbing
so bad they were almost numb, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. The control wheel shuddered violently, sapping his strength even more, and he gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
‘Pull her up, goddammit!’ he yelled, flicking a glance at Wilson and then at the ground below, which hurtled towards them with trees and buildings blossoming large, fast, too fast. Just as he was certain they were going to crash, the nose lifted towards the horizon, and she gradually levelled out at six thousand feet. Mac was breathing so hard his chest grew tight and ached, and as he relaxed his grip on the control wheel, his hands hurt even more. He needed to rest up. ‘Wilson. Take over for me.’
Wilson glanced at him, looking on as Mac clenched and unclenched his hands. He nodded and took the wheel.
Flying at this height, they had a bird’s eye view of the German countryside, but they were also a prime target for the buzzing fighters and the anti-aircraft gunners. ‘Better start climbing, get us out of here.’ Mac reached for his water canteen and took a drink. Nausea swirled in his gut, and he puffed out a breath, but man, that land was an unbelievable green.
They began to climb. ‘Pilot to nose. Damage report.’
‘Bombardier to pilot. We’re okay.’ Val’s voice. ‘The Plexiglas is all busted, cracked to hell.’
‘Okay, Val.’ They’d been lucky. They were headed towards the coast, and the ocean was in sight, but first they had to wade through the flak at Bremerhaven, and flying at a lower altitude posed a far greater risk. A lone Messerschmitt Bf 109 spotted Hell’s Fury and darted across for a better look. Its pilot whipped all around the ship, careful to keep his distance as if he was inspecting her before darting up ahead.
THE BEAUTY SHOP Page 30