THE BEAUTY SHOP

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THE BEAUTY SHOP Page 31

by Suzy Henderson


  ‘He’s coming back round. Twelve o’clock high.’ Walt’s voice.

  The German fighter swung his yellow nose around in a wide turn and came back for another pass, spitting sparks of cannon fire from his gun ports. Damn, he was going for the nose. Machine-gun fire hailed from around the ship and tracer fire shot out from the nose. The ship shuddered and tremors snaked up through Mac’s feet and flowed through the control wheel into his arms and body as the fighter slid beneath their wing.

  ‘Navigator to pilot. The Plexiglas has gone and Val’s hit.’ Jim’s voice.

  ‘Pilot here. Is it bad?’

  ‘Can’t tell. It’s the shoulder. I’ll do the best I can.’

  The Messerschmitt dived below their belly and darted away just as the ship lurched and number four engine belched out smoke.

  ‘I got him. Take that, you bastard.’ Ivan’s voice from the tail.

  The Messerschmitt nosedived towards the ground as thick smoke belched out, and then a blossoming plume of white sailed through the black.

  ‘He’s bailed.’ Ivan’s voice, tinged with disappointment.

  Mac hit the extinguisher button and kept his gaze on the propeller until it ceased to spin. The wing was peppered with holes, and several chunks had been gouged out.

  ‘Val’s hit pretty bad, and it’s blowing an icy gale in here.’ A brief pause. ‘Blood’s soaked right through his flight suit.’ Jim’s voice.

  ‘Okay. Do what you can. Get him in the radio room.’ Damn. It was all falling apart, and as Mac gazed through the side window, Fortresses from their group sailed on by. They couldn’t keep up, and shortly they’d be all alone.

  ‘Pilot here. Everyone check in.’

  One by one, they checked in. Only Val had been hit. Hell’s Fury had slowed more, and the fuel gauge wasn’t looking too healthy either. The chances of them making it across the Channel looked slim. Wilson transferred fuel from both damaged engines to the remaining two. If they were going to make it, they would need every last drop.

  ‘Listen up, everyone, we’re flying on two engines, and we haven’t even crossed the Channel yet. Fuel’s getting low so get your chutes on and be ready to bail.’ Mac’s voice was solemn. Wilson glanced at him before grabbing his chute.

  More Fortresses sailed on by, and Mac’s heart sank. His hands were half useless, and he was fighting himself just to keep on going. Wilson was going to have to pull his weight. There was a chance they could make it, although it was tight. He didn’t know what to do for the best, but ditching in the Channel was not an option, especially at this time of year. They wouldn’t stand a chance in those freezing waters. The ship lurched again, and the control wheel shook and shuddered.

  ‘Christ, what now?’ Wilson looked to Mac for guidance. ‘Oil pressure’s dropping on number two. I don’t fancy our chances of making it home from here, do you?’

  Mac glanced at him. ‘I’m prepared to give it a damn good try if you are.’ Wilson looked real uncertain. Several ships had gone down, damaged. A number of guys had bailed out and were probably being rounded up by the Germans right now. Goddamn it, he was going home. They rocked and rolled on waves of flak as they followed the German coastline and headed towards the Netherlands.

  ‘Christ, red flak.’ Carleton’s voice. ‘That was fucking close!’

  Mac said a silent prayer and his father’s words whispered in his head. Bring her home safe, son. Sing her home. A warm glow burst in his chest, and he smiled.

  Shells exploded behind them, and the force rocked the sky and the Fort as they bounced and bucked along for a few seconds more before sailing into calm, leaving Germany behind. No more Forts passed them by. They were alone. Mac checked his watch. Already five thirty, the time they were scheduled to be back at the base. Of course, there were always some stragglers, and some who wouldn’t be returning at all. He prayed to God they weren’t one of them. The guys would be sweating it out at the airfield, and the Colonel would be up on the tower, his eyes glued to his binoculars, waiting, counting, hoping.

  He glanced at Stella’s picture. All that time she’d worried about him, about this, and she’d been right to worry. A burst of machine-gun fire hit them like a hail storm. A chorus of voices broke out at once over the interphone.

  ‘Bandits! Twelve o’clock high.’ Walt’s voice. Machine-gun fire hailed from his top turret and Mac stiffened as two Messerschmitt fighters headed directly for them, closing in fast, veering off left and right just at the last moment.

  Wilson ducked out of instinct then shook his head. ‘Jesus Christ. Crazy bastards!’

  The ship shuddered and bucked again, and Mac tasted a mix of cordite and rubber beneath his oxygen mask.

  ‘Jesus, sweet Jesus, I’m hit!’ Red’s voice.

  ‘Navigator to pilot. Red’s hit in the leg. It looks bad.’

  Mac glanced at Wilson. ‘Do what you can, Jim. Where are those fighters?’

  Wilson craned his neck to search the sky. ‘They’re coming about for another pass.’

  ‘Bandits, six o’clock high.’ Ivan’s voice.

  The fighters flashed past them, peppering both sides of Hell’s Fury with cannon fire. Something punched Mac’s arm near the shoulder and he was knocked sideways as a burning ache radiated through his arm and the side of his chest, winding him and he gasped.

  ‘Christ.’ Wilson stared wide-eyed at a hole in the fuselage where an icy wind roared through like a hurricane.

  ‘That was lucky. You okay?’ Mac glanced over at him as his heart drummed.

  ‘Yeah. You?’

  ‘Fine. Let’s fly this ship home.’ That piece of Nazi shell must have torn his flight suit. Yeah, they’d been lucky. The icy wind pierced his left shoulder and burrowed into the side of his chest. Mac glanced at the fist-sized hole in the fuselage. Man, that was close. His heart hammered, and he gasped for breath.

  ‘Fighters have flown. Hit and run.’ Walt’s voice.

  They left the Netherlands coastline and soared out across the Channel. He wasn’t bailing now. He focused on Stella and those eyes, his guiding light.

  ‘Pilot to crew. You can come off oxygen now. We’re at ten thousand feet. Navigator, how’re the casualties?’

  ‘Val’s pretty bad, but he’s steady. He’s had morphine. And Jim’s real sleepy. I’ve put a tourniquet on the leg and dressed the wound, but it’s soaked through again. I can’t do much else.’

  ‘Mac, can you take her for a while? I just need to use the pee tube.’ Wilson flicked an awkward glance at him.

  Mac nodded and took the control wheel. Great. Trust him to need a piss at the wrong time. He glanced at the instrument panel. The oil pressure was stable; fuel had dropped a little more, but it looked as though they’d have enough to get back. It was going to be real close, though. He glanced at the murky waters below. The sun hovered on the horizon, a ball of fire with streaks of orange caressing the sapphire sky as night waited to fall.

  ‘Pilot to navigator. Jim, I need you to be on hand to help us home. You’d better come on up here.’ His head hurt and his vision suddenly blurred. He strained his eyes to focus and sucked in a deep breath, and a sharp jab pierced his side.

  Wilson returned and sank down in his seat. ‘Hey, Mac, you okay? You don’t look so good.’

  Mac closed his eyes, just for a minute. He needed to focus. ‘I’m okay.’ His voice came out slow and slurred. He puffed out a breath as his heart galloped.

  ‘I’ll plot the course.’ Jim placed his hand on Mac’s shoulder, and the light pressure radiated like fire and he cried out.

  ‘Jesus. Jim, take a look at him. I think he’s hit.’ Wilson took the controls.

  Jim hovered over Mac, scrutinising his left arm. ‘Oh yeah. He’s hit all right. In the arm. Shit. I’ll go get the medical kit.’

  ‘I’m hit? Where?’ Mac pulled at his flight suit, his fingers sweeping his arm until he reached frayed cloth and a hole. He pulled his hand away and peered at glistening gloved fingertips. Damn. Stella was going to
kill him now for sure. His heart swelled. He didn’t mind what she did as long as he got to see her again. ‘Can’t be that bad, there’s barely any blood.’

  ‘Just relax. There’s quite a pool beneath your seat, as it goes.’ Jim grabbed a dressing pack, some sulphur powder, and morphine.

  ‘I don’t want any morphine. Wilson might need my help to land.’

  ‘But you’re in pain.’

  ‘I’m always in pain. Makes no difference to me.’ He was, and right now his hands ached and throbbed. Maybe that was why he couldn’t feel much pain in his arm. His eyes flicked over the gauges. The oil pressure was running a little low on number one engine. All the other Forts would be back by now, and the officers on the tower roof would be going in search of hot coffee while the ground crew hung their heads, collected their bicycles, and rode away with faces that said all was lost.

  The night sky deepened, the fire eclipsed. He glanced at his watch. Half past six. He closed his eyes. It was eleven thirty in Montana. Dad would be out on the ranch, maybe breaking in a new horse. Mom would be making lunch for everyone like she did every day. His eyes flickered open and latched on to something dark grey, looming in the distance. ‘Is that land?’ Mac strained to see, his vision blurring.

  ‘Yeah, that’s the Suffolk coastline. Almost home,’ Jim said.

  ‘Home. Yeah.’ Stella would be waiting. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until he couldn’t hold them up any longer. Then someone was shaking him vigorously, a hand gripping his good shoulder.

  ‘Mac, come on! Stay awake. I might need you.’ Wilson’s voice. ‘Like now. Shit! Number one engine’s smoking. Oil pressure’s falling. Mac, come on. Feather the prop.’

  Mac’s eyes flickered open. He looked at the gauge. The pressure was low. He pressed the feather button, but the strain of leaning forward sent a searing pain ricocheting through his shoulder. He glanced at the dressing that now sat there. It was dark red.

  ‘We’re almost home. We’ve just cut in across the coast, and we’re making a south-westerly heading to the base. ETA around ten minutes.’ Jim’s voice.

  Mac took a breath. It hurt. His chest was tight, and his breaths shallow, almost as if he couldn’t suck in enough air. ‘Landing gear.’

  ‘I’ve got it.’ Wilson glanced across at him. ‘Jim, give him some oxygen for Christ’s sake. He’s grey.’

  Grey? Jeez, he sure felt weak.

  ‘Crap. The hydraulics must be shot out. It’s not coming down. Co-pilot to flight engineer. I need you to check out the landing gear.’

  Mac slouched in his seat, staring into the darkness. Jim slipped the mask over his face, and he sucked in pure oxygen, cold, refreshing, even with the nauseating stench of rubber. His eyes grew wide, his gaze latching on to the sickle moon high over King’s College, and as he reached over to touch the control wheel, hard metal vibrated through his hand. What a Fort. Still breathing, still pushing on.

  ‘Landing gear’s trashed.’ Walt’s voice. The manual crank ain’t working either.

  A firm hand gripped Mac’s good shoulder. ‘Mac, we’re gonna have to belly land. I need your help.’

  Yeah, Wilson had never done it before. ‘First time for everything,’ Mac said.

  ‘You’re gonna have to take her down, Mac. I can’t do it.’ Wilson’s face filled with fear.

  Mac had heard all about his disastrous emergency landing a short while ago, and from the look in his eyes, he was freaking out. ‘Co-pilot to crew. Get in the radio room and prepare for crash landing.’

  Mac glanced at Wilson, whose eyes flashed with uncertainty. ‘Take her down, line her up for me, and then I’ll try, but you’d better be ready. You can do this.’

  As Wilson brought the aircraft lower, treetops thrashed her belly, and there, in the distance, a faint strip of lights glowed like fireflies along the runway. Peace sailed over Mac like an unknown presence as if old friends now rested soothing hands on his shoulders, allaying all fear. The ship’s engine thrummed and flowed through his feet, travelling to his heart where whispers concurred and forged a connection. His father’s voice. Make her sing. He was finally one with his aircraft.

  As they descended further, treetops slapped the undercarriage, and suddenly, the last engine spluttered.

  As darkness approached, Stella couldn’t settle. An uneasiness had drifted over her, and a nagging voice screamed in her head. She couldn’t explain it. There was no logic. Quickly, she grabbed her jacket and her cycle and headed off to the base in the dusky night.

  When she reached the entrance, the guard politely informed her that she was not allowed in, but she refused to budge and breathlessly begged him to telephone Colonel Edwards. That did the trick because he lifted the barrier and waved her through.

  ‘Wait here please, ma’am. Someone will come down shortly.’ He nodded, unsmiling, and ambled across to the guard post.

  Stella waited, her face turned up to the sky as the drone of an aircraft grew close. It was a different sound. This one was wounded. She’d seen a few return earlier. Some had been riddled with holes, their skin peeling and jagged, while others had chunks gouged from tails and wings. One had no nose left. They were so shot up it was a miracle they’d managed to make it home at all, but then she remembered Mac’s words. They’re not called Flying Fortresses for nothing. Her heart raced, and nausea surged inside her.

  Oh, God. Something was wrong. A dark cruciform emerged from the night sky, descending, and the breath hitched in her throat.

  ‘Okay, Mac. Have you got her?’ Wilson kept his hands on the control wheel, ready. ‘Walt, fire the flares.’

  Mac grabbed the wheel. He widened his eyes, struggling to focus, his vision blurring. ‘Just got to keep her straight and level, keep the nose up.’ They whipped the last of the trees as they came down a little too fast, and as Hell’s Fury touched down with a thud, they bounced back up before landing with a hard, determined crunch and slid along at speed.

  ‘Brakes.’ He must have been holding his breath as now his lips tingled, his chest ached and burned, and his head was floating, but they were down, thank God. Now all they had to do was stop. From the corner of his eye, wispy black smoke spiralled up.

  ‘We can’t burn.’ His voice was slow and slurred. The Texas Rose drifted into his mind, with Birdie, standing in the waist grinning at him like a Cheshire cat. They had to make it. He wouldn’t leave Stella. He shook his head, but it was no use. He gasped for air; he was floating, spinning, and he slumped forward over the control wheel, dissolving into the black.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Realisation and Integrity

  In the distance, someone was calling his name. Mac’s eyes flickered open. Everything was silent. Where was he? That smell, something clean, sterile, in place of oil, cordite, and rubber. He glanced left. The outline of a bed. Did he land?

  ‘Hello again, Mac.’ A familiar voice.

  Mac glanced up as Badger, the MO, hovered over him, his outline still a little fuzzy. ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You’re in the field hospital. You got hit on the mission yesterday. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, my arm.’

  ‘Well, that and you had a collapsed lung, but you’ll be back to working order soon enough.’

  ‘Can’t get enough of the place, doc.’ Yesterday. He must have been out for hours.

  ‘Do you think you’re up to visitors? I have a concerned young lady waiting to see you.’

  Stella came to his side. ‘Oh, Mac.’ She grasped his hand and gently touched his brow.

  He opened his eyes and strained to focus. ‘Sorry, honey. We’re a little late. Don’t think I can have that dinner after all.’ He closed his eyes, but he kept hold of her hand. She wasn’t going anywhere. Pain slithered between his ribs on his left side, and his left arm felt weird. His mind was filled with a foggy haze and iodine hung in the air. The last thing he remembered was skimming those trees as they roared overhead.

  Silken skin brushed his brow, his che
ek. He loved her touch, and a faint sweet lavender breeze drifted towards him. He was home. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’ He tried to hitch his mouth into a smile. He curled his right hand and a sharp pain burrowed inside of it. He glanced down and saw he was attached to an IV.

  ‘I knew something was wrong yesterday. Oh, Mac. You were so brave, and you even managed to land the aircraft.’

  ‘I did?’ He could barely remember. Oh, Jeez, the guys. ‘What about the others?’

  ‘Oh, they’re all going to be fine, thanks to you. Red’s sitting up in bed at the end there and Val’s okay, although he’ll be on sick leave for a while, the doctor said.’

  Thank, God. ‘Am I in one piece? What about my hands?’

  ‘The doctor said you’re as tough as leather. They don’t make them like you, Mac. And yes, you’re in one piece. Whole.’ She squeezed his hand and smiled, her eyes watery.

  He’d done it. He’d brought his crew home, safe and he’d survived, and the girl he loved stood by his side. With Stella he could do anything, be anything. He was going to live a whole life – just as soon as he could wake up fully. Jeez, the doc must have pumped him full of morphine. His eyes flickered shut again.

  ‘You had me so worried. I didn’t know what to think when I saw you land. My heart was in my mouth.’

  He hitched one eye open. ‘What? You were here?’ She must have been terrified.

  ‘Yes, With Colonel Edwards. I must say, he was rather concerned too.’ Stella’s voice choked.

  ‘Stella, is my arm really okay? It feels kinda numb. They’re not holding anything back, are they?’ With his good hand, he reached across and ran it up and down his injured arm. He puffed out a breath.

  She sighed, leaned down, and brushed her lips on his. ‘No, darling. They’re not.’

  ‘Hmm. I like the sound of that.’ He gazed up at her, those large green eyes swimming in red. A tear bobbed on her eyelash and hovered before spilling down her cheek. He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. ‘Hey, come on, you.’

 

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