To Slip the Surly Bonds

by Chris Kennedy

  Fighters are bingoing out, Jack reported through the network. Pearl looked through his eyes and shared the visual of their fighter escort peeling away from the formation. She saw the lead fighter waggle his wings and knew from the men that it was a wish for good luck.

  They’d need it.

  Fighters, Twelve o’clock!

  The first call came from Alice in the lead bird, relayed through the other girls in the formation. Pearl felt Eric Henson in the top turret craning his neck upward to see, just as Dan and Zipper fought to fly their Fort as close as possible to their element leader. She followed his line of vision as he craned his eyes to see…

  There.

  Fighters! Two o’clock high, I got ‘em! Eric sent his thought sailing through the network, riding a wave of savage glee as he tracked his weapons forward of the pair of diving Messerschmitt’s and watched smoke begin to trail off the near fighter’s wing. The other Eric, Eric Moorefield, began firing his .50 caliber machine gun off the right waist and picked off the second fighter as the pair of them descended down the right side.

  Fighters, eleven o’clock low, ball turret!

  On ‘em, boss! Koz answered, and Pearl switched to looking through his eyes as he swiveled his turret around and lit up another pair approaching from the front.

  Flak!

  Zipper hurtled the word back to them as he gritted his teeth and fought to keep in position. He and Dan both had their hands on the Fort’s yokes, as the bird abruptly pitched up, then dropped sickeningly down. Far below, the German anti-aircraft artillery kept firing, peppering the sky with dark, ominous clouds of metal and smoke.

  The air exploded around them with enemy fighters and their own returned fire. Teacher’s Pet, the lead bird in the formation, got hit, and Pearl felt the sudden searing pain followed by a stab of loss when Alice McGee’s mind suddenly ceased to be there. Liberty Belle, too, succumbed to the fighters, and the adrenalized excitement in all of their minds became the white-hot rage of loss.

  Pearl felt it, too. The emotions of the crew ricocheted through her mental landscape, multiplying with every touch. She stared through the gunners’ eyes at the silhouettes of the German fighters and hated them with all the passion in her soul. Every spiraling smoke trail felt like vindication; every snap of the gunners’ weapons brought a savage glee.

  She couldn’t have said how long they flew like that; buffeted by flak, bristling with fire. The Luftwaffe fighters came at them in waves, seeking to separate one of the Forts from the safety of the formation, trying to send it spiraling down toward the occupied ground.

  At some point, Frank Earl, the navigator, announced that they were minutes from the bomb run. Shortly after that, Steve Smith, the bombardier, took control of the aircraft. Through the overall formation net, Pearl felt Evie, now in the lead bird, urging the girls to tie the formation tighter together, in order to get a better drop.

  She reached out and pulled Frank’s visual and auditory inputs to the forefront of her consciousness and strengthened the connection to Evie and the other ladies. She heard the repeated calls of fighters, felt the spiky fear of her men as they shot their way along the bomb run. When Evie transmitted her bombardier’s call, Frank’s fingers hit the switch on his Norden bomb sight, and thousands of pounds of destruction fell from the belly of their Fort onto the target below.

  It’s a good drop! Pearl felt Evie’s jagged exultation as her thought pulsed through the formation network. The emotions were strong enough that they couldn’t belong to Evie alone. She must be feeling the amplification effect of her crew’s minds, too. In the back, dispassionate corner of her mind, Pearl wondered what the long term affects of such intense linkages would be.

  Fighters! Four o’clock! Koz shouted out over the net, spinning his ball turret to spit flame at the hated Me-109s. Pearl locked her idle speculation away and concentrated on backing her crew up, reinforcing their connections, and keeping them safe.

  They were deep inside occupied territory, and it was a long flight home.

  * * *

  In the end, they almost made it. The relentless flak and repeated Luftwaffe attacks began to take their toll, but Pearl kept part of her attention on Frank at his navigator’s table, and mentally ticked down the minutes until they’d be safe once again.

  Feet wet! Frank announced as they crossed over the French coastline and continued north and west toward the sanctuary of the British Isles. Almost there, boys…and Pearl.

  Fighters! Five o’clock high! That was Jack, way back on the tail. Four of them! Top! Ball! Right waist!

  Pearl felt the simultaneous jolt of adrenaline through three minds at once as Koz and the two Erics spun their weapons to meet this new threat. She felt the pounding shudder of the machine guns’ recoil as all four men fired, and felt the sickening series of thuds as a line of enemy rounds traced up the side of the Fort, starting at the tail, snaking up the fuselage, ripping through the engines on the wing.

  Crushing, blinding agony punched through her hip, making her gasp out loud. Peter Gold looked up from his radio set at her.

  Pearl? He took a step toward her seat as she doubled over in pain.

  Not me! She managed to push the thought out through the net. Jack! Tail’s hit!

  Bastard got number three! Zipper thought back, and Pearl got a quick flash of his hands and Dan’s flying over switches as they fought to shut down fuel to the burning inboard engine.

  And four, Dan added, straining to keep the aircraft under control with the sudden loss of power from the right side. She’s only producing half power, but she’s not on fire. Get three shut down and divert the fuel, Let’s see if we can limp all the way to the coast. Steve, get back to the tail and see what you can do for Jack. Pearl, you go too. You’re a nurse.

  I’m just a student! She protested.

  Good enough. Get back there!

  Dan’s normally cheery tone had gone steely hard, and his impatience hit her like a slap to the face. Jack was his man, his responsibility, as was everyone on the now crippled bird. He had to keep them all alive by flying the aircraft. She needed to do what she could.

  Fair enough.

  Pearl unhooked her seatbelt and stood up just as the bombardier, Steve, came up through the hatch from the lower forward deck. She followed him as he worked between Eric and Scott, who ignored them in favor of continuing to fire at the tenacious fighters, then out across the catwalk that ran the length of the now-empty bomb bay. At the far end, Steve stopped and motioned for her to squeeze past, into the tiny compartment where the tail gunner lay bleeding.

  She took a deep breath and pushed through.

  Jack remained on his gun, his breathing thready and rapid. She reached out a hand and touched his shoulder, causing him to jump in surprise. Pain rocketed through them both, buckling Pearl’s knees. She reached out with her other hand to grip the nearest piece of the aircraft’s metal frame. The bite of the sharp edge into her fingers helped her focus, and she locked on to that sensation.

  The major sent me back to look at you, she said, gritting her teeth as she pushed the thoughts in his direction. I was in school to be a nurse.

  I’m fine, Jack sent, the sweat on his brow belying his words. Just a little shrapnel cut. Nothing to worry about.

  I’m in your head, you can’t lie to me, buster, she said, her thoughts sharp with impatience. If only he would trust her! I know exactly how bad that hurts, and exactly how hard you’re having to focus, so knock off the childish bull and let me help you!

  She felt him struggle, pushing back against a distrust ingrained by his upbringing. He shook his head, his face set in mulish lines.

  Don’t need your help, he said.

  Maybe it was all the adrenaline. Maybe it was the brutal edge of combat amplified ten times. Maybe it was the still aching pain of losing some of her friends, but for whatever reason, Jack Lester’s stubborn insistence on clinging to his prejudices ignited a fury unlike anything she’d ever experienced. White hot rage eru
pted in her mind, fountaining out in tidal waves of anger. She balled her hand into a fist and slammed it down, hard, on darkly creeping stain of blood on his hip.

  Jack cried out and recoiled, even as agony threatened to tip him over the edge into oblivion. His mental barriers weakened and thinned, and Pearl seized the opportunity to shove her way more fully into his mind and widen the connection.

  Pain raced down the lines into her mind, threatening to engulf her. But she was ready for it and used her searing anger to burn it back.

  Listen to me, white boy, she snarled into his semi-conscious mind. I don’t care if you like me, but I’ll burn in hell before I let you make me fail! My aircraft commander told me to keep you alive and I will do. My. Job. So, you stay alive, Jack Lester, do you hear me? You stay alive, and you let me look at your god damn wound!

  He slumped, and let his hand fall away from where he’d been holding pressure on his left hip. Sure enough, shrapnel from the torn aircraft fuselage had ripped up along his thigh and embedded itself in his flesh. Pearl pursed her lips together and tried to figure what was best to be done.

  Haha! Eric Henson, the flight engineer, shouted down the lines in exultation. Lookie who came out to play! God Bless His Majesty’s Royal Air Force Fighter Command! Jerry’s running for the hills!

  Good, Dan responded up front, his tone grim, because we got the fire out in three, but four’s coming apart on us. We’re not gonna be able to make the coast. We’re gonna have to ditch.

  Jerry got Tinsel Time, too, Eric Henson said, watching from his top turret. She just broke from the formation.

  Can y’all follow her down, pilot? Pearl asked, a sudden urgency throbbing through her. She straightened up and pushed past Steve, who waited behind her in the narrow space before the tail gunner’s station.

  Get him out of there, she said to the bombardier. I’m pulling away some of his pain, so he should stay conscious. Get pressure on that wound, and then get him up front as soon as you can. You heard the pilot; we’re going in the water.

  You got it, Steve said, no hesitation in his mind at all. Never mind that she was enlisted and he an officer, or that she a woman—a black woman at that—and he a man. Steve cared about Jack, and she at least had given the bombardier something to do to help his wounded crewman.

  We don’t have a choice, Pearl, Dan responded then, and Pearl could feel the physical strain as he tried to keep the wounded bird under control. But I can try to keep us as close to them as possible. Why?

  If I’m close, I might be able to help them as well, she said as she half-ran back along the catwalk through the bomb bay. She burst into the waist compartment, where Scott and Eric Moorefield were busy throwing their guns and brass out of their windows, trying to lighten the load. Eric turned and ran to Koz’s hatch, popping it open and pulling the stocky ball turret gunner into the body of the aircraft.

  I’ll get the lifeboats, Koz broadcast down the net, his eyes meeting Pearl’s for a split second as she kept pushing toward the front. She had to look, she wanted to see Tinsel Time, to get an idea of where they were in relation to the rest of the formation.

  The rest of the formation! She was still connected to the other women!

  We’re going in the water! Pearl sent out, fighting to project a calm she didn’t feel. Jack’s pain continued to hammer at her, but she locked it away and focused on the job. She clambered up the short ladder and leaned between the two sweating, straining pilots as they struggled to keep the bird flying straight as she descended toward the water. Out at the two o’clock, Pearl spotted Tinsel Time, less than a hundred yards away.

  We’re still together, she reported to Evie and the others, stress throwing her thoughts back into the vernacular of her native Atlanta. Y’all radio ahead and tell them Brit boys to come get us.

  You got it, Pearl, Evie Adamsen replied from what was now the lead bird. Evie didn’t sound good either, but Pearl didn’t have time to worry about it, as the inky surface of the English Channel loomed closer and closer.

  Can y’all swim? She sent to Dan and Zipper.

  A little, Zipper replied. Enough. Get back to the men and the lifeboats. We’re going to make this as smooth as possible, but…

  Pearl nodded, then swallowed hard and retreated back to the waist of the aircraft. The rest of the crew were there, Koz and Frank Earl holding the inflatable lifeboats. Pete Gold made one last “mayday” transmission, then switched off his radios as she passed and followed her down.

  I’m gonna keep this net open, come hell or high water, Pearl said, smiling grimly at her intentional pun as she joined the men sitting in the waist of the aircraft. Steve, sir, you’ve got Lester?

  I do, Steve replied. Lester raised his head and looked at her but said nothing and sent nothing. Pearl gave him a small smile and pulled even more of his pain into herself. Nausea threatened to overcome her in response but fought it down and locked it away. Pain was the least of her problems right now. She wasn’t a strong swimmer.

  The nose of the aircraft pitched up as the pilots tried to bleed off as much speed as possible before touching down into the water. The bump rattled Pearl’s teeth in her head, and then she found herself thrown abruptly forward into Koz as the water slowed the Fort’s forward motion.

  “Go!” Dan shouted out loud, as his hands flew over the switches, shutting down the three engines that remained. The droning whine abruptly slowed, leaving a thundering silence in its wake. “Get in the lifeboats, get out of the aircraft! We’ve got minutes before she sinks!”

  Someone, Pearl wasn’t sure who, reached under her armpits and dragged her to her feet. Then she found herself with her hand in Koz’s, being drug behind him. Somehow, they got out onto the wings of the aircraft, which had begun to slowly settle in the dark, choppy water.

  “Pearl!” someone shouted. She shook herself and turned, saw the men deploying the two small lifeboats.

  “Where’s Jack?” she shouted back, both mentally and out loud. Where was Jack? Where was Tinsel Time? Where was the Air Sea Rescue Service?

  I’m here, Jack said. I’m safe, thanks to you. Come on, Pearl, we gotta get you into the lifeboat before One For The Money sinks.

  Pearl nodded, then swallowed hard and gripped every ounce of courage she had.

  I don’t swim well, she warned them. Y’all don’t let me drown.

  We won’t. They answered. All of them. Even Jack.

  She took a deep breath and jumped into the water. The cold shock of it drove the air from her lungs and paralyzed her diaphragm. Panic began to claw at the edges of her mind.

  We’re here! Someone said…Zipper? Frank? Either of the Erics? Peter? It didn’t matter, really, because they really were there. Strong hands reached out and grasped her flailing arms, hauled her up to the surface.

  Her head broke into the air, and she dragged in a huge, gasping lungful of air.

  We got you, Pearl, someone said. Don’t fight us, just relax. We’ll get you into the lifeboat.

  She tried. She let her body go limp and tilted her face back as whoever was holding her began to kick through the water toward the lifeboat. As it turned out, that was exactly where she needed to be, otherwise, she might not have seen the Hudson circling overhead.

  Pearl Silver. Pearl Silver, are you down there?

  It was barely a whisper. It would have been so easy to miss…but she didn’t miss it. It was there, like a searchlight in the darkness. It wasn’t one of her fellow WACs, but it was a psychic’s seeking touch, nonetheless.

  She took Jack’s pain and her own panic and used that emotional fuel to launch the rocket of her consciousness skyward.

  I’m here! she screamed. I’m Pearl Silver, and I’m here with my crew and the crew of Tinsel Time. Come get us, please!

  Pearl felt the instant that her supercharged transmission hit the British psychic’s mind. She knew that in that Hudson aircraft high above, another young woman flinched from the strength of her mind.

  She flinched, but
she reached out and locked on, establishing contact.

  Pearl Silver? I’m Esther Walmsley. We’ve got you in sight and a Royal Navy destroyer is en route. We’ll have you home and dry in a jiffy! Have you got wounded?

  I’m so glad to meet you, Pearl sent, laughter bubbling up inside her as the men hauled her into the life raft. Yes. My tail gunner took shrapnel to his hip and side. I don’t know about Tinsel Time’s crew.

  We’ve them in sight too. You might not be able to see them, but they’re quite close. And here comes the Sabre. I’ll stay in contact until they’ve picked you both up, shall I?

  Yes please, Pearl said. Thank you.

  It’s very much my pleasure, Pearl. I hope we might meet in person, one day.

  Pearl tried to form a reply, but her thoughts scattered when the lifeboat started rocking a little more violently. She focused her eyes on her surroundings, and found Jack Lester reaching out for her hand. Without much thought, she took his hand in hers.

  Pearl, he thought. I—I owe you an apology. I just…You saved my life, and I treated you so badly.

  Despite herself, Pearl smiled a little smile.

  You did, she said. And I did. Do you know why?

  Why?

  Because my mother taught me to put good into the world. Because I was raised to do my job. Because it doesn’t matter if you’re going to be a bigot, I’m here to help you come home from this damn war, and I will complete my mission. No matter how I might feel about you personally.

  Jack looked around at the other men. Pearl saw them each look away, but knew that they listened in, wondering how the proud tail gunner would take her rebuke.

  You shame me, he said, and went to withdraw his hand. But she gripped his fingers and refused to let him go.

  Not if you learn, Pearl said. Not if you heal from this wound and learn that skin color doesn’t define a person. It’s just an aspect of who I am, but it doesn’t make me less or more than you. It’s just a difference, but difference can be celebrated, right?