by Aeryn Leigh
"Something like that," said Lucius. "Everybody, get to it." Orders given, he turned to Griffin. "No," he said.
Daniel put the telescope in his pocket, and used the cannon-fire holes in the metal to climb down. He walked to Lucius's side. "Captain," he said, in a quiet voice, "shouldn't you be the one greeting the British?"
"Jimmy's got it" said Lucius. He held up a hand. "I gave you an order, Daniel. Now hop to it." Daniel saluted, and walked over to Eugene. Lucius returned to packing his kit, and holstered his Colt .45. "Ready Griffin?" he said. Griffin unslung the big .50 calibre Browning M2 machine gun from his equally huge shoulder and a belt of ammunition on the other, and reluctantly placed Betty on the grass.
"Yessir," said Griffin. He picked up the M3 grease gun and walked after his Captain.
Daniel and Eugene found their first crewman, after walking for twenty minutes. Abe Yeoman, five minutes later, waved to them with his left hand, his right arm in a makeshift sling. The three walked up to Abe, who merely said, "Fellas."
"Hey Abe," said Daniel, "what happened to your arm?"
"Think I twisted it on landin'," said Abe, grimacing. "It'll be fine." He joined the group. They all walked through the grass towards the final parachute half-a-mile away. There, poking up above the green, they could see the half-deployed parachute, and the body of Colin. He lay broken, bones shattered and sticking out where bones had no right to be.
"Shit," said Abe. "He owed me on the last cracker-jack game."
"Fool," said Eugene, "you owed him the time before that."
"Well he ain't owing anyone anymore," said Daniel. "Let's wrap him up and get on back." He took out his telescope and looked west, seeing the figures of Jimmy and Robert. He knelt and closed the eyelids of Colin Newt, right waist-gunner of the Damage Inc.
"So, where the hell are we?" said Rob as they walked. The grass and earth underfoot felt so good after the long night of cramped conditions. He tried to not think about the great storm wall that hit them, nor the worrying thought of where it was they'd crashed.
"France," said Jimmy, worrying his belt for the dozenth time.
It looked like France, but where were the roads? The fences? Crops and livestock? A vast undeveloped area and yet nothing. No signs of human habitation? Sleep deprivation, he rationalised. That's it, could they have overshot England and landed in Ireland?
He looked at his compass again. They saw the Lancaster clearly now. Half-an-hour later, they came upon the British bomber, five-hundred yards away. Three men stood over two prone forms. A dog rose, turned in their direction, barked and kept barking.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Official Seal-of-Approval
"Would you look at that," said Bear at the approaching figures, as Skippy's hair stood on end, her body shaking with every bark. He laughed.
"The Germans?" said James, hand reaching for his service pistol.
"Yeah, mate," said Bear, one hand up shading his eyes, his other thumb tucked in his belt. "Black Germans."
"Black what?" said Andrew, getting up from Laurie's still unconscious body. "They burnt?"
"Negroes," said Bear.
James spat on the ground. "Niggers," he said.
Thorfinn punched James in the knee, all he could reach.
"Whatcha do that for?" said James, rubbing his leg.
"Americans. These folk serve in the United States Air Force. You know, the good guys helping us against the bad guys? Amazing." Andrew put his hands on Skippy's head, and quietened her. "Ssh girl, it's okay. It's okay." Skippy stopped barking.
They watched the two approaching men until they stopped at the edge of the group.
"First Lieutenant Jimmy Watts, USAF," said the taller man, saluting. His flight-suit had several tears in it, smears of blood here and there. "And this is Chief Warrant Officer Rob Lee, our engineer." Rob looked around them, then also saluted.
"Flight Sergeant Andrew Bloomsbury," said Andrew, returning the salute. "Good to see you chaps. You're from the B-17?"
"Yes," said Jimmy. "Or what's left of it."
"Indeed," said Andrew. He walked up to Jimmy and shook his hand, then Robert's. "Let me introduce the crew." He gestured around them. "Our Squadron Leader, and pilot, Lawrence John, RAAF. He's taken a nasty blow to the head and is unconscious. Flight Lieutenant Thorfinn Hay has the rod sticking out of his leg, our engineer." Thorfinn waved and smiled, riding the morphine.
"This is our wireless operator, Chief Technician Thomas Halford, and that," he said, pointing to James, who looked red and flushed, "is Sergeant James Snow."
"Pleasure," said James. Bear side-eyed him.
"It's okay Mick," said Andrew, calling out. "They're all good."
The sound of a hydraulic turret broke the silence, and the two Americans glanced up to their left and saw a figure waving to them from the mid-upper section of the broken Lancaster, down the barrel of four .303 machine-guns, which lifted back up into the sky. "And that's Mick, Sergeant Mick Ward."
Skippy rose off her haunches and sniffed the two newcomers. Jimmy patted the big dog, whilst Rob stood ram-rod stiff. Skippy wagged her tail.
"The official seal-of-approval," said Mick joining them. He slapped them both on the shoulders, on tiptoes. "Cheers fellas for the help. Now how do we get out of this mess?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Finding Amelia
Lucius and Griffin walked north, side by side, their legs rustling through the long grass. The air was so fresh, you could almost feel yourself growing. Lucius offered a candy bar to Griffin, who declined. "Suit yourself," said Lucius, unwrapping it and sticking it in his mouth.
"We're gettin' close," said Griffin. The tuft of a parachute was visible on the edge of the plain, before it dipped down to whatever lay next to the foot of the mountain.
"We'll flank them. Break off to my right, and wait at the edge for my signal. I'll whistle twice,” he said mouth full. Griffin nodded and headed north-east. He unslung the automatic machine-pistol as he walked. The parachute, four-hundred yards away, moved gently in the wind.
Not much more now, Lucius thought, and unholstered his weapon. Step by step, concentrating on each footfall, he approached the parachute. He came to the grass's edge, and crouched. A German Luftwaffe parachute, caught on a bush. He crept forward, and peered over the edge. At the bottom of the slight hill, laid the ejection seat of the Me-262, resting against a tree stump, facing away from them, a mountain stream just ahead of it. A human shaped form laid in the seat, not moving.
Lucius whistled twice, and moved down the embankment, following the skid marks. He saw Griffin, machine-gun in his hands, move diagonally down the hill.
Still no movement from the seat. Forty yards. Thirty. He circled to the left to get a better angle. He got to ten yards out, gun sighted in front, and stopped. He halted Griffin fifty yards away with a raised hand. "Easy now." He mouthed the words. Griffin nodded, fingers next the trigger, but not touching it.
Lucius took another step. A hiss then a growl came from the ejection seat. He froze. The sound became a great wail, and then a flight-helmet shot up from the sides of the seat, tangles of brown hair flying. She looked at him and opened her mouth to scream. Griffin pulled the trigger in shock, against all his training. The sound of the .45 calibre machine gun tore the silence apart and Lucius yelled. "Stop firing. Stop firing." The gunfire stopped. A slender tree on the other side of the stream toppled over. The figure had disappeared back into the seat.
Lucius's heart pounded. "Easy now," he said, gesturing to Griffin to put the bloody gun down, "it's safe now, do ya hear?" He walked to the seat, and looked down at the terrified eyes of a young German child. He reached into his pocket.
Chapter Thirty
Hope of a Better Day
Amelia dreamt of angels, of warriors with wings, that carried terrible-looking swords and guns, matching their fearsome countenance. She flew alongside them, over vast forests far below, as free as a bird, the wind whistling by.
It felt as natural as breathing.
Zia hissed next to her in the dream, draped over her shoulder, and she awoke, the cat hissing and howling on her lap. She jerked upright, and saw the monster next to her. The memory of a Nazi war poster looked at her, black and gorilla like, her imagination filling in blanks, all the details, aiming a gun right at her. She started to scream and jump upwards, halting as something erupted, deafening her from behind. A swarm of killer bees passed over her head and she dove back down in terror. Then silence. And footsteps. She squeezed Zia and message bear holding her breath, eyes wide.
It spoke in a language she recognised. Was it English? Yes. But weird English? Like the book?
Closer, closer it came, and then appeared over her. It wasn't a monster. A very black man looked at her, and held out a chocolate bar. An embarrassed smile broke out, revealing white teeth and a gold tooth too.
"Lucius," said Lucius, poking his chest with his other hand. He proffered the candy bar. Amelia looked up at him, then at the chocolate, back at him, and reached out and grabbed the bar in a flash. "Griffin," he said, not breaking eye contact with the child, "put the gun down and sit on the tree stump, would you?" Griffin, embarrassed by his reaction and bad gun protocol, laid the gun against a nearby tree, walked to the stump and sat.
Lucius backed away, nice and softly, then too sat down on the edge of the ejection seat. Birds returned to their songs, albeit softer then before the gunfire. Amelia slowly rose, her head rising like a periscope, higher and higher until she sat fully-upright. The cat stopped growling, looking at them instead. Her tail flicked.
"Why did you shoot at me?" said Amelia, who took a bite of the chocolate, hunger over-ruling fear. She'd grown up with guns, and their loud barks, and the memory of the gun-fire receded a little.
"I don't understand you," said Lucius. "We don't speak German."
I don't speak American, Amelia thought, not understanding many words the man said except for the word German. She looked at them, one at a time. The older one, the man with the chocolate bar, had smile lines, wrinkles on his face. And the other black man... well Amelia had never seen a man so big. He was huge. He looked at her, relaxed yet alert, but with a sheepish grin.
Her face lit up with the idea.
The book. The books.
She dove into the canvas bag in front of her, not noticing the two men startle and then ease back down again, the older one's hand moving away from his pistol. She found the two little books, and brandished them in triumph.
"See," she said, "American." Lucius looked at the books and broke out in a massive grin. Then he laughed, a great big belly rumbling laugh that echoed around the glade.
"'The Scarlet Kiss' and the 'English-German Pocket Language Guide'. Well that's all the education you need right there, yes Ma'am," he said, still chuckling. "C'mon Griffin, introduce yourself."
Griffin looked at Amelia, and said "I'm Griffin." He held out a hand. "Sorry I fired at you."
Amelia put out her own hand, which seemed to get lost in the palm of the man, and shook.
"May I?" said Lucius, pointing at the language book. Amelia handed it to him. Lucius opened it, and for a few minutes nobody spoke, Amelia finishing the chocolate bar, as Lucius mouthed words to himself thumbing through the pages.
"My name is Lucius," said Lucius in halted German. "And this is Griffin." He paused, looked at the book again. "Along come with us?" He handed the book back.
Amelia opened it up, and in a moment said, "Okay."
They refilled the water canteens at the mountain stream's edge, and walked back up the hill. Griffin paced behind them, the M3 machine-gun slung over one shoulder, Amelia's canvas bag over the other. Amelia held Zia over her own shoulder, and Lucius walked next to her, the two passing the book back and forth, as the sun shone high overhead, as they asked each other questions and answered them all the way back to the Damage Inc.
Soon enough, they saw the bomber, Lucius noticing Abe up on the wing behind a re-purposed machine-gun, and Daniel back up on the tailplane. He waved, which Abe returned, his other arm in a sling? and then the three men kept walking up to the bomber.
Steven and Eugene sat under the shade of the wing, playing cards on an upturned ammunition crate. They looked up, and stopped when they saw the little white girl hiding behind Lucius. Daniel jumped down.
Amelia had never seen so many black men together in all her life. They fly too, she thought? Her mother told her not to believe all the propaganda of the Nazi Government.
She kept trying to get the evil poster out of her mind, and her reaction in the clearing.
"Fellas," said Lucius, "do we have a story for you. But first, any word from Jimmy and Rob?" Daniel shook his head. "Well then, here's a tale." He pulled up a crate, motioned for Amelia to sit on it, which she did, the cat in her lap. And sat down cross-legged in the deep grass and began.
A little time later, when Lucius had finished, and Amelia said a few words, Griffin spoke. "Lemme get this straight. Amelia's Mom, a lady test pilot, smuggled out her baby girl, stole a jet-fighter to seek asylum, only to open fire on us, but changed her mind, then gets chased by another German fighter, just when the storm hit?"
"That's about right," said Lucius, looking at the body of Horace, killed by cannon-fire from the Me-262. "That's about right." Amelia followed his gaze, saw the closer body, it's large dark-skinned feet sticking out from where the sheet ended, pools of blood soaking through. The other form lay wrapped in a parachute.
"Mummy?" She pointed, her heart breaking, not wanting to see the nod, willing it not to be a nod.
Lucius nodded.
She broke into tears. The men around her shuffled, uneasy, and then Griffin sat down beside her, held out Message Bear in one hand, an open arm on the other, and Amelia moved into the hug, and sobbed, as Griffin hugged her, rocking back and forth, the bear across her chest, under the great, big, silver wing of the machine that brought Death.
And hope of a better day.
"Bite down on this," said Andrew, putting a rolled-up piece of sheet into Thorfinn's mouth. Thorf complied, about to make a joke, but the gag got in first.
"Ready gents?" Mick said. He looked at the leg. Working on building construction sites meant he'd seen some serious injuries on the job, and he’d learned a thing or two, especially those couple of years abroad.
And they made me the medic, he thought. The Air Force had some weird ideas.
Bear held Thorfinn down, Rob sat on his legs, whilst Mick wrapped a clean cloth around the top of the metal rod. Jimmy held the whisky bottle, and Andrew stood with a bandage from the first-aid kit.
"One, two, three," said Mick, and pulled the rod out of the sergeant's thigh. Jimmy looked at the blood. It fountained out, the same colour as his brothers.
Thorfinn screamed, and fainted.
Mick packed the hole with gauze, and powder, then wrapped it the best he could in the cool midday breeze.
"What the hell is going on?" said Laurie, propped up on one elbow behind them.
"The scream must have cut through the fog," said Mick to the others. Laurie toppled back and lay still. "Or maybe not."
Jimmy spoke. "Shall we all relocate to the Damage Inc.? Unlike you folks, ours doesn't have a live bomb still on the rack."
Andrew looked at Mick, who nodded. "How far is it?" said Andrew.
"Not far, about forty minutes, more or less," said Jimmy.
"I'm not going," said James, just outside the circle. "Not with a bunch of niggers."
Rob smiled, and walked over to James. "Niggers, you said?"
James grinned. "Yeah, niggers are just as bad as Abo's," he said. "Whatcha going to do about it? All talk, no action."
Jimmy glanced at Andrew. The flight sergeant's mouth lay open, eyes raised. "James?" said the first lieutenant. The Australian turned.
Rob's fist smashed into James's jaw, in a textbook hay-maker.
"Saw that one coming," said Bear.
"Great," said Mick. "We n
eed three stretchers now."
"Not three, two," said Andrew. "We haven't got the men to carry three." He went over to James and poured the contents of his water bottle onto the man's face, with a not to gentle boot to the ribs. James came to, moaning. Flight Sergeant Andrew Bloomsbury knelt, lowered his head, and put a fist on the Australian's upper chest, just below the trachea, forcing the man flat into the ground.
"Listen you miserable bastard," he said in a dangerous, low voice. "If you so much as say anything like that again," pressing down on the windpipe, "I will personally break your head open to see if there are any brains inside. Do you understand me?" James eyes bulged, then he nodded. "Good. Now get up and grab your kit. Seriously mate, you do make me wonder." He stood up, and offered out a hand. James took the help up, mumbled something, and stumbled off to get his kit, rubbing the side of his face.
Andrew walked to Jimmy and Rob. "I'm quite sorry about that," he said. The pair exchanged a glance.
"Thanks," said Jimmy, "but it's not your place to apologise." Andrew nodded. "Red-neck?" he said.
"You could say that," said Mick, interrupting. "But what's a redneck?"
In a short while, the crew of the Lancaster, and the two Americans, gathered supplies and escape kits. Mick pulled the firing pins out of the Lancaster's machine-guns, and tucked them into his waist pocket. They carried as much supplies and items as they could. Five walked, two on stretchers, and Skippy panted beside them through the long grass on the trek back.
Chapter Thirty-One
Not In Kansas
Amelia and Griffin passed the German-English book back and forth between them, speaking to one another in short sentences, in the shade of the silver port wing. Griffin peered at the index in front of him, Betty resting against the landing gear. "F, S and D" he mouthed. He flicked to the pages, squinting. He looked at Amelia, pointed to himself and said, "Father of son and daughter" in German so rough it made Amelia giggle.