by E. R. Mason
Fifty knots, back pressure on the stick. The airplane literally leapt off the runway and climbed like a bat out of hell. Without Pappy’s weight back there it was all airplane. The control stick reacted noticeably quicker. Turning to his crosswind leg, Jax over steered and made too steep a bank but straightened out right on time. It must have looked like hot-dogging from the ground.
Suddenly Pappy’s voice cut in over the radio. “That was nice turn, hot shot, but don’t do that again.” He was already in the tower watching.
As Jax turned to his downwind leg he squeezed the mike. “Yes, sir.”
Level on the downwind there was suddenly just a few moments for Jax to realize he was flying alone for the first time. There was not a direction he could not go in if he wanted to. It was absolute, total freedom.
Turning to the base leg brought him back to focus. Then on final he was too high. Throttle back, airspeed 58, checklist complete. The runway numbers slowly came into view over the cowling. Power up slightly.
Suddenly there was runway beneath him. Jax powered off the rest of the way and let the bird sink. A slight squeak of rubber. A small bounce but it settled quickly. A slight zigzag down the runway. As she slowed, Jax pulled off the hard surface and taxied to parking.
Someone was making an exaggerated clapping motion in the distance but Jax couldn’t make out who. Pappy’s voice came in over the radio once more.
“There’s no need for a critique, Jacks. You just turn around and keep practicing circuits. You are not cleared to leave the airport traffic pattern. I will be watching you from the tower so don’t get any ideas.”
“Cleared for circuits. For how long, Pappy?”
“Until you’re too tired to continue, or you get low on fuel. Don’t forget to check your fuel level, Cadet.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you sir.”
This time Jax couldn’t wait. He powered up and headed for the runway. Other cadets were waving as he passed. The airplane was his.
Over the next two weeks, training did not go quite as well for the entire group. Dice and several other candidates never were approved to solo. On the evening before a night training flight, Jax sat alone in the mess hall drinking tea that had sat too long. A voice behind him offered consolation.
“Penny for a sad group leader’s thoughts.”
“Jax snapped his head around to find Alaina standing behind him.”
“Oh, hi Alaina.”
“Waiting on Pappy for your night flight?” Without asking, Alaina pulled out a chair and sat beside him.
“Yes.”
“How’d you manage to get Pappy anyway? You know he’s an ace, right?”
“An ace? Pappy’s shot down five enemy aircraft?”
“Twenty-seven actually. On his last mission he was in a hornets nest over France, took a piece of shrapnel in the leg, and got burned in a cockpit fire before bailing out.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Maybe it was for the best. He’d probably still be flying if his long distance vision hadn’t been damaged. It’s probably the only reason we still have him.”
“Twenty-seven enemy aircraft?”
“Fighters all. Oh, yeah, he’s way up there on the all-time greats list. Plus he survived a bailout with injuries and somehow escaped France alive.”
“He got away from the SS in France?”
“Nobody really knows how. He doesn’t like to talk about that part.”
“You know pretty much everything about everybody, don’t you?”
“Maybe I don’t know enough about you.”
“Join the club. I’m still learning about me.”
“So what’s with the blues tonight?”
“You can tell that too? You are spooky, Alaina.”
“It’s about the cuts, isn’t it?”
“Those guys were willing to risk everything. That’s how bad they wanted to fly.”
“I see this on every new shift of cadets. Don’t let it bother you. Haven’t you noticed how Command is handling those guys with kid gloves?”
“Are they?”
“They’re not out on the flight line anymore, but they’re all in special training classes. The R.A.F. needs navigators, bomb aimers, and gunners just as much as they need pilots, and those seats are actually harder to fill. Don’t be surprised if every one of those guys ends up in your group.”
“Really? That does help. So you’re a psychologist as well as base commander?”
Alaina laughed in just the right way. “Not for long. I’m shipping out to Number 17 SFTS at Cranwell with you guys.”
“How can the Number 17 Service Flight Training possibly be taking you away from the Commander?”
“It’s a loaner deal. The headcount here is slightly high, and Cranwell has a big turnover. They’re behind the curve right now. They’ve got to have a self-starter who knows the ropes. My name was put on the roster without even asking. Commander Bretford is pretty peeved about it. Nobody else fixes his tea just right, you know?”
“Don’t you have people here? Aren’t you involved with anyone?”
“Nope.”
“Come on, how can that be? You?”
“They tend to fly away here, Neil. And, I’m picky.”
“Wow! You are one honest woman.”
“You know much about women, Cadet?”
Jax laughed so hard he had to spit his tea back in the cup. “Practically nothing at all, Alaina.”
“Well good, that means maybe I can start you off right.”
Jax swallowed although he had not taken a drink.
Alaina rose from her seat, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then laugh haughtily. “Clear the prop, Flyboy. It’s ten after ten. Pappy will come walking through that door any second.” Alaina strutted away to the admiring gaze of the only attendant on duty. As she went out the door, she exchanged greetings with Pappy on his way in.
Pappy came to the table and looked down at Jax. A look of curiosity came over his face. He looked back at the door where Alaina had just left, then back at Jax, then back at the door again. “Boy, you got lipstick on your face. I got a feeling you’re already flying, but it’s O-dark-thirty. Let’s get going.
Jax furiously wiped his cheek with a napkin, then hurried to catch up.
The attendant on duty laughed and laughed.
On the day before graduation, Jax gathered up the lines to tie down his aircraft, as most of the rest of his group did the same. It had been a long day of solo cross country during which several members had become lost and rescued only by guidance from the ground. Dice was the last of those, and as the group finished securing their aircraft, they heard him approach, engine sputtering, racing up and down from fuel starvation as he tried to reach the field. They gathered alongside the runway and watched as their friend did not have the speed or altitude to clear the last of the trees, though he tried desperately to do so. Dice pulled up sharply, only to have the engine die completely. He brushed by the treetops and nosedived into the ground short of the runway. There was a massive explosion of pieces of aircraft but no fire. The cadets ran to the aircraft to find Dice still strapped in the seat, but completely crushed by airframe. He could not even be pulled from the wreckage. The group stood and stared as the recovery team arrived and drove them away.
Graduation day was an unexpectedly somber event, complete with memorial.
Chapter 17
The Number 17 Service Flight Training School was a very different place than Jax expected. It was a massive airport and university that looked like it had just risen up out of the ground in the middle of an ocean of farming fields. There were aircraft parked in tight lines across the airfield. Most were big. Engine mechanics were on ladders working. Here and there engines were running. Aircraft were taking off or landing every few minutes. There were large T-hangers, multi-story buildings and a large complex beyond a tree line in the distance that looked like a real university. All together there were too many structures to ident
ify them all.
But the biggest difference was the atmosphere. People were hurrying about in every direction, and seemed very intent about what they were doing. No one was laughing. By the time the bus pulled up to the security building, every person aboard was silently staring out the windows. They had already learned one thing. Cranwell was a very serious place.
The security office was no less formal. So much to do, so little time. Although multiple representatives handled the new arrivals, the process was much slower and detailed. IDs had to be created and signed before a cadet could leave the building. There was little cordiality and no small talk in the exchanges.
When Jax finally escaped the discerning eyes of security, he pushed out the door and found the bus still waiting to take them to their quarters. Those having completed the security indoctrination milled around staring in awe at their surroundings and waiting for the others.
Eventually the bus took them to their new home. It turned out to be underwhelming. The number of barrack blocks was impressive but their design was not. Standard wooden huts with no interior walls other than those needed for showers, and lavatories. Rows of bunks with footlockers. A small table here and there. Posters on the wall celebrated operations. Apparently the lavishness of the university was not lost on the cadet living quarters. Among the paperwork handed out by security was the training schedule showing another indoctrination class that afternoon.
But flying was all that mattered. Jax settled into the routine, though thoughts of Skyla were plaguing him worse than ever. He needed more trips to search for her, but work days at Cranwell were all business. There was clearly a rush to qualify pilots which seemed to be motivated by some unspoken fear within command. Flight training began with multiengine immediately. Classroom work filled any periods not used for logging airtime.
On the third day, as he was entering another familiarization class, a messenger appeared and pulled him aside. He slapped an official looking paper in Jax’s hand and took off. “Report immediately to HQ” was all it said.
Jax first fear was that they had somehow discovered his fake identity. On the other hand, maybe this was something to do with Skyla. There was nothing else to do but go there and face whatever this was about.
The outer HQ office reception desk was unoccupied when he arrived. There were seats but no one was waiting. The vacant desk at the center of the room was immaculately kept though heavily stacked with books and documents. More posters on the wall. Most were recruitment posters for bomber command. Jax stood staring at one and began to wonder about the morality of dropping bombs on people he did not know. Why had he not considered this before?
A hand tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He turned and flushed with pleasure at the sight of Alaina smiling at him. She draped her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately on the lips. Once again Jax looked like a deer caught in headlights.
“Did you miss me, flyboy?” she asked haughtily.
“I’m just now realizing how much I did, really,” he replied.
“What? You haven’t been thinking of me at all?”
“Do you really think that’s possible, Alaina?”
“Right answer,” she said.
“I was called in here for something. I don’t know what.”
“Me. I called you in here.”
“Can you do that? Just pull me out of a class like that?”
“Are you going to tell on me?”
“Of course not.”
“Then yes, I can, silly.”
“I’m missing a bomb site class right now, you know.”
“Yes, you had better get back to it then, hadn’t you?”
“I can’t just walk in late. I’ll be cleaning the taxiways with a toothbrush if I do.”
Alaina handed him a card she drew from her hip pocket. “Here’s your note from your Mom, Cadet. It says we needed you here at the office.” Alaina lowered her tone. “And truly we did,” she said and she pulled him in by his shirt and kissed him again, her passion so powerful it made his head spin.
Dazed, Jax turned to head back to class.
“Meet me in the commissary tonight when you get off,” she called. He smiled and nodded.
That evening he found her having a drink with a friend. She waved him over and pointed to an empty chair. “Patricia, this is Jacks. Jacks, Patricia.”
Patricia gave a devilish smile and stood. “I have inventory in the morning. I need to get going.” She nodded to her friend and left.
Jax sat and took a moment just to absorb the beauty of Alaina.
“So this is quite a place we find ourselves at, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Kent?”
Jax reached over and took her drink, taste tested it, and slid it back. “It’s all too much. I thought things were as bad as they could get . . . then Pearl Harbor happened.”
“You do not know the half of it, sir. They’ve been shuttling me back and forth between here and Brough for the past few months. It’s an hour and a half drive I’ve done too many times. But I’ve been doing the incident reports for them. Some really hurtful things have happened recently. It’s because there’s so much pressure.”
“Like what things?”
Well just in March, it was the 18th I think, a pilot crashed into the college roof trying to get in through the fog. But worse than that, in December, right before Christmas, they had a Spitfire and an Oxford collide, both pilots were killed and one of them was a famous author.”
“No wonder nobody’s laughing around here.”
“Yeah, sometimes during the worst bombings you can see the orange glow coming from north London. It’s really, really sickening.” Skyla sipped her drink.
“I have seen something amazing here, too.”
“Actually there’s a bunch of amazing things going on. Pilots landing airplanes that are so shot up they shouldn’t be able to fly. Flight crews returning unharmed without their airplane. What did you see?”
“There was a whole bunch of whispering in the mess hall and everyone went charging out to the runway. They had this stubby looking little plane with no propeller. They fired it up and it flew for ten or twenty minutes. I had no idea there were jet planes here already.”
“What do you mean, already?”
Jax coughed and choked. “I . . . I mean, I’ve heard of jet engines but I didn’t know they were real.”
“There’s a lot of stuff like that going on. They have a control room back in headquarters they call ‘Radio Direction Finder’ stuff, but I’ve been told they’ve got a big screen that can see enemy planes coming while they’re still far off.”
Jax grabbed another sip of her drink. “So, tell me a little bit about Alaina. I hardly know anything about you. What’s the story?”
Alaina laughed. “I’m my parent’s success story. They think I’ve done well just because they raised a well-educated girl. But, the truth is, when necessary I flash my other attributes around to get what I want, and when word gets out that I’m actually good at things, I get more and better offers.”
“Sounds smart enough to me.”
“Yeah, but the rationing is killing me. Coupons for one dress a year? You’ve got to be kidding. Stockings and shoes . . . forget it. How’s a girl like me supposed to wow important people if all she has is this dreary uniform?”
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You make that uniform look better than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
“So did you know there’s no Public House at all in Cranwell?”
“No Public House?”
“Yes, apparently both the townspeople and command don’t want cadets visiting those places. Now they’re planning on a private club, but cadets won’t be allowed to join.”
“Cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Yes, except they need to call people to war at any moment, at any time of day.”
“So I’ve seen.”
“But there is a working movie house in Cranwell. They show news reels all day for 3 pence and movies s
ometimes at night for 6. We should go there and be alone.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Something else I should tell you, or maybe I shouldn’t. You better be ready for anything. They’re having trouble filling the pilot and copilot positions. The planes come back damaged and they repair them real fast, but the flight crews take longer to heal. They don’t advertise this, but the bombing campaigns are not hitting the targets so good, so they’re having to use carpet bombing where they send out so many bombers they’re much more likely to score. But it’s a lot of planes and a lot of missions, so keeping the seats filled is a real challenge. With most of our people training in the U.S. and Canada, there’s not a very big emergency pool to choose from. You better watch yourself.”
Four weeks later Alaina’s prophecy-like warning seemed to come true. There had not been a moment to spare from each training day. The only times alone with Alaina were stolen moments just before lights out, or in between training runs. The flying had become intense and to Jax’s disdain, every single time he was allowed to solo a new aircraft, he immediately was issued “Conversion Training” orders to begin training on something else.
Jax sat alone in the commissary drinking tea and trying to understand the runaway train he was on. This was midterm maintenance weekend, all aircraft to be inspected. A two day pass had been issued to the entire group, the first one in a very long time. Everyone was stashing things away to head out for the weekend of freedom. Alaina had spent the past week visiting her parents on the mainland. It was her plan to be back late tomorrow and meet Jax wherever he chose. As he sat pondering how to handle that jeopardous rendezvous, a messenger found him.
“You’re wanted in Commodore Blakely’s office Kent. Right away.”
Jax looked up curiously. “Do you know what for?”
“No. Just that you’re wanted there right away.”
“Thanks. Got it.”
Jax pushed himself up wearily, wondering what they could want on a Friday evening before a two day pass. There were no incidents recently. There was not one reason he could come up with to be called in.