It depressed him to think of her pushing their time together out of her mind. He certainly could not forget. Even if he wanted to. Her moments of quiet composure. Her passion and ability to tantalise him until he was almost mad for her.
‘Identity cards, please, gentlemen!’
A policeman was peering in the window, backed up by a petty officer with a pistol on his hip. They had arrived at the field without Rowan seeing more than a mile of the way.
James snapped, ‘Identity cards! That’s what’s wrong with this bloody country!’ He leaned across Rowan and thrust his card at the astonished policeman. ‘Do you good to go out and fight. You might just realise then that there’s a hell of a lot more to war than nosing into people’s lives!’
The regulating petty officer said hastily, ‘Orders, sir. Security has to be kept up –’ He got no further.
‘Don’t make excuses! Bloody bureaucracy, that’s all it is, man! if I was a German spy, do you imagine I’d be sitting here?’
‘No, sir.’ The P.O. sounded weary.
The Wren driver said unhelpfully, ‘We’re blocking the gates, sir.’ She was watching Rowan in her mirror.
Rowan said, ‘Easy. They’re only doing their job. What’s got into you?’
The car jolted forward, and Rowan saw the P.O. breathe out very slowly as he saluted. The hurt look on the policeman’s face.
‘Don’t you start!’ James’s voice was a fierce whisper. ‘I’ve had a gut full. Just because you’ve got another medal and –’ He broke off. ‘Sorry. That was a bloody awful thing to say.’
They drew up beside a line of wooden buildings where a White Ensign stood out from a mast like a sheet of metal in the wind.
Rowan replied calmly, ‘Yes it was. But forget it.’
The Wren said, ‘I’ll have to take the car back to the motor pool. Get the gate to phone through when you’re ready.’ She hesitated, revving the big car. ‘You’re Commander Rowan, aren’t you, sir? The one who was in the papers.’
‘Yes.’ Strange it should embarrass him.
She reached out and touched his sleeve impetuously. ‘Nice to meet you, sir. My brother was shot down over Germany last year.’ She let in the clutch and the car lurched away towards the gates.
Rowan watched it. ‘Poor kid.’
He heard Bill’s voice as a door was flung open. ‘On your feet, all of you.’
They were standing around a big pot-bellied stoved, dressed in their flying gear, crumpled and looking tired.
Rowan gripped his friend’s hand. ‘At ease. Good to see you. Sorry about . . .’
Bill guided him to a corner as the voices started again. They were quieter now, discussing their new leader, no doubt.
‘I’m the one to be sorry, Tim.’ Bill lowered his voice. ‘I didn’t realise you were in Chadwick’s house. I arranged to meet Frank Creswell in London. He told me all about it. Sounded a bit remote from what he said. That’s why I was surprised you didn’t come up too when your discharge and orders came through.’
‘Yes.’
He remembered the bulky envelope being handed to him by the rain-soaked postman. His orders for Growler again. His new role. The doctor’s certificate to say he was fit to return to duty or to go on normal leave elsewhere. It had been the moment when they could have decided to finish it. Kill it stone-dead there and then.
She had watched him, her eyes filling her face. He could not make her ask him. He had said simply, ‘I’d like to stay on here, if you’ll have me.’
He said, ‘It was what I needed. But I did go home. To the house. It’s all boarded up, what’s left. I don’t know what to do about it.’ He looked at Bill. ‘What about Chadwick anyway? What was he doing?’
Bill sounded relieved to be on safe ground. ‘He was with this woman. A real smasher. Saw them again when I was taking my girl to the Ritz for a drink.’
‘You certainly live it up.’ Rowan kept his voice level. ‘Did he see you?’
‘We left after a quick gin. But, yes, I think he did. He doesn’t give a tinker’s damn for anyone. It sticks out a mile, Still, nothing to do with us, is it? I expect his wife is pretty grim, eh?’
‘Wrong.’ Rowan met his gaze. ‘She’s anything but that.’ He turned on his heel and said loudly, ‘Just pay attention a moment.’
They pushed closer, their faces glowing in the fire from the stove. God, they are young. All the replacements were sub-lieutenants. He doubted if one of them was yet twenty. But Lord Algy was there, staring at his feet as if in deep thought. Nick Rolston, tall and gangling, hands in pockets, face set in a petulant frown.
Rowan began, ‘You’ve been through all the training, and you’ve had a million lectures to endure, and probably more facts jammed down your throats than you can digest. In peacetime I expect you’d have had ten times the flying hours before you were trusted in a squadron. We don’t have that sort of luxury, as I’m sure your instructors have also told you a thousand times.’ He saw a few grins. ‘Remember this. You are not just pilots. You are naval officers, and you belong to your ship as much as any stoker or able seaman. Don’t go showing off to the ship’s company just because you’ve managed to land without losing your undercarriage and pranging your plane. They take as many risks as you, and don’t forget it. Also, they are a far bigger target.’
He realised there was complete stillness in the hut, that Lord Algy was studying him with surprise, and Rolston too had stopped frowning to listen.
He continued quietly, ‘When Growler puts to sea we will have a short while to exercise together. To land and fly-off, to get the feel of her.’ It was like speaking about a person. ‘You’ve not a lot of room, but it’s enough. Watch the senior pilots. The fact they’re still here to be watched is proof enough of their ability.’ His voice had become harder. ‘In the air, do exactly as you’re told. Cover your leader and watch your back at the same time.’ Nobody laughed. ‘You’ll make mistakes. We all do. But you rarely get a second chance.’ He saw Creswell staring at him beyond the stove. ‘That’s true, isn’t it, Frank?’
Creswell grinned. ‘Only too true, I’m afraid, sir.’
Sir. Even that made him start.
‘You may think I’m being over-dramatic, pulling rank on you because you’re new. If so, you’re wrong. I just want you to learn the job, to do it well. To do that you have to stay alive.’
He nodded. ‘Carry on. We’ll make a start tomorrow.’
Outside the hut Bill fell in step beside him as they walked into the wind. Beyond the sandbagged anti-aircraft gun positions, the fuel tenders and hangars, aircraft were lined up on the runways or throbbing impatiently for permission to take-off.
They looked up as a flight of Barracuda torpedo bombers roared over the field, wingtips almost touching as they followed their instructor’s orders.
Rowan shivered, remembering the great fan of torpedoes racing towards the convoy, the ship which had refused to sink, and the one which had become an inferno in seconds.
‘I suppose you think I was coming it a bit strong,’ he said.
Bill replied, ‘No. It was just that you sounded like somebody else.’ He chuckled. ‘It suits you.’
‘Good.’ Rowan added dryly, ‘Not what you’ve said in the past about other would-be senior officers.’
‘Ah well, some of it rubs off on me, y’see.’ He turned into a big hangar and stood aside, watching Rowan. ‘Here she is, Tim.’
Rowan approached the solitary Seafire very slowly. Brand-new, Kitto had said, and looked it. He studied the tilt of her nose, the shining four-bladed prop. He stiffened as he saw the name freshly painted on the fuselage below the cockpit. Jonah Too.
He heard Bill say awkwardly, ‘The lads thought it was better, Tim. I hope you like it.’
Rowan nodded. Taking time to answer. ‘That was a nice thought.’ He nodded again. ‘She looks fine.’
James was waiting in the guardhouse by the main gate.
‘I’ve phoned for the car. Ten minutes, the
y said.’
Bill said, ‘I’ll take them up for another run round with the station instructor. It’ll be too dark for much after that. We’ll get a bus back to the ship, and I’ll tell you how they’ve been getting on.’
‘Yes.’ Rowan was thinking of the Seafire. Jonah Too. Only Bill would have thought of that. ‘Then I’ll have a go tomorrow bright and early.’
It had started to rain again.
Bill said, ‘Well, early anyway.’
Rowan sat on the edge of his bunk looking at nothing. He no longer shared a cabin, and with promotion had gained more privacy than he had known since he had joined the Navy. It was freshly painted, like much of the ship, and had no mark at all of its new owner’s personality.
He listened to the muted throb of generators and fans, the occasional rumble of winches as last-minute stores were swayed aboard the carrier.
It had been a very long day. Outside the cabin it was all but dark, and he could sense the unrest of a ship preparing to discard the land.
They would sail tomorrow afternoon, and with their escorts go through the business of testing guns, flying-on the two sets of aircraft, fighters and torpedo bombers, putting ship and men through their paces to meet the captain’s approval.
He thought about the day, his own apprehension at flying his new machine giving way to despair as he had watched his little squadron obeying their orders, making mock attacks, changing formation.
After lunch he had let Bill and Lord Algy take over. Nerves, or mere lack of real training, it was hard to tell. But the performance as a whole had been pitiful.
While he had waited with the station armourer and watched him adjust Jonah Too’s guns to his satisfaction, he had wondered what might happen if his pilots met with some crack enemy fighters on their first patrol. He did not think too much about it. He knew what would happen.
Like a lot of pilots who had gained their skill in close combat, Rowan liked to have his guns adjusted to converge at two hundred and fifty yards. It was a good range, and with luck and timing could deluge an enemy cockpit or rear-gunner with hundreds of rounds per second. Less experienced fliers had their weapons trained to give a wide but thin spread of fire.
He had flown his new aircraft over the field and thrown it about with every trick he knew. Across the gunnery ranges, climbing and diving like a mad thing, it did much to calm him before he saw the pilots again in the hut.
He had begun, ‘It was a bloody awful day. You stray about, you do not listen to instructions, and at least six times you’ve left your Number One unprotected. In future we will fly in pairs. One hundred yards between each plane, two hundred between each pair. This will give more time to watch behind. Number Two in each pair will watch behind and will tell his leader which way to turn if and when a bandit is after him. He can then slip in behind the enemy. His leader could do the same for him. This way you’re both covered for a stern attack.’ He had paused, seeing stubbornness, resentment.
Creswell had said, ‘Some of it was my fault, sir. I drifted too far in that last run-in.’
Rowan could hear his own reply, even now in this cabin.
‘I thought it was all your fault. You of all people should know better. So don’t show off.’
Creswell had looked as if he had been punched in the face.
One of the new pilots, Sub-Lieutenant Archer, had said, ‘It’s all different from what we’ve had to learn, sir. We’ve always kept to a V formation.’
‘I know. So if there are three or four tight Vs. everyone is too busy avoiding collision to look behind. And that is where the shells come from.’
Nobody said much after that.
The curtain across the door moved aside and Bill stepped into the cabin. ‘You’ve not changed, Tim.’
Rowan stood up. Remembering. ‘Five minutes. Stay and talk if you like.’
He dragged open a drawer and pulled out a clean shirt. Perhaps he had thought Bill had suggested a run ashore into Edinburgh merely to snap the tension after the training session. That he had forgotten about it.
Bill said, ‘They’ll be okay. They just need a bit of experience.’
‘You mean, I was too tough with them?’ He knotted his tie, watching his friend in the mirror. ‘Is that it?’
‘I know why you did it, Tim. And your reasons were good ones. But see it their way. They’ve just got their wings. To them, as it was to us, that is almost as close to heaven as any man can come. They’ll get shocked out of it soon enough.’
Rowan slipped into his new reefer, seeing his medal ribbon and recalling James’s sudden burst of anger. Now Bill was at it, too.
He said slowly, ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘But it won’t do any harm to let them think they’ve got a hard-case for a boss.’ Bill nodded approvingly as Rowan turned towards him. ‘We’ll have to fight off the girls when they see you.’
He had even wangled transport, a N.A.A.F.I. manager with a car half filled with fruit pies.
It was raining steadily when they reached Edinburgh, and Princes Street was as black as the inside of a boot. But the N.A.A.F.I. manager dropped them on the pavement outside the North British Hotel and they decided to make a start there.
It was surprisingly deserted, and as they sat quietly drinking their first gins Rowan was reminded of the house in Hampshire. The mad major taking his endless walks in the rain.
Bill said, ‘I keep thinking about Magda.’ He grinned. ‘That’s her name. I wish you could have met her. She’s a beautiful girl. Very easy to talk to. Good company. You’d never guess what she’s gone through.’
Rowan signalled to a waiter. It was not like Bill to get serious about any girl for long.
Bill added, ‘I must admit I felt pretty rotten when I thought about her old man. He might be dead. Nobody knows. We just seemed to pretend he was dead, without actually mentioning it.’ He sounded embarrassed. ‘I’m in love with the girl, Tim. I think she feels like that about me, too.’ He bunched his hand into a massive fist. ‘God, what a bloody mess.’
Rowan smiled. ‘Just as well I didn’t come to London, or so it sounds. You probably got to know each other far better without someone else playing gooseberry all the time.’
Bill watched him, his eyes distant. ‘Maybe. But still . . .’ He banged his hand down. ‘Oh hell! Here comes James and the new Swordfish chap.’
Rowan did not turn but said, ‘Maybe they’ve not seen us.’
Bill groaned. ‘No such luck.’
The two other officers came to the table and looked at them.
The Swordfish squadron’s CO., Lieutenant Commander Ralph Dexter, was straight-backed and very erect. He had finely cut features, and a permanent conspiratorial smile which was caused by a splinter wound in the corner of his mouth and some on-the-spot makeshift surgery.
James looked well away, jacket half buttoned, his eyes barely in focus.
Dexter said briskly, ‘All right if we take a pew? Friend Cyril here is feeling a bit awash. I’m thinking of ferrying him back to the ship in a minute.’
Bill said a bit too loudly, ‘Oh, bad luck.’ His eyes suggested the opposite.
More gins appeared, and Dexter said, ‘Glad to be off. Can’t bear shore jobs. I’ve got a right bunch of oafs in my lot. Except for the Dutchman that is, he’s mustard.’
Rowan warmed to this strange, erratic man. He had been through it, and it showed to anyone who knew the signs. Now he was off for another round.
Bill remarked. ‘I hope it’s somewhere hot. Where I can swim in the sea without getting frozen stiff.’
‘Bound to be. My steward saw fur jackets coming aboard.’ Dexter winked. ‘You know how they get things wrong all the time!’
James let the conversation wash over him as he tried to pull his thoughts and wits together. His stomach felt raw from drinking, and he was sweating badly. He would throw up if he didn’t concentrate.
The leave had been terrible. His home was on the outskirts of Gosport. There had bee
n a lot of bombing in the past, but now the Germans were using single planes for hit and run attacks during daylight as well.
His wife had taken it badly. Most of the people she had got to know in the road had either moved away or preferred not to speak with her any more. Almost the worst part had been when someone had chalked Bloody Kraut! on the garden wall after one of the sneak air-raids.
He heard Dexter laugh about something, saw Bill Ellis leaning back comfortably, his hands behind his blond head. What did they know about it? James had nearly broken down at the air station when he had been asked for his identity card. His wife had gone on and on about it. About the new regulations for Germans who were married to British citizens. Must not change address without informing the authorities. Could not enter a service establishment or naval vessel. It was downright humiliating. Wrong. When Growler was alongside, and other wives were allowed aboard, she had to stay outside.
The Air Support Group was going to Ceylon. After that, nobody knew, or was saying.
He had wanted to tell her, to explain that she would have to manage on her own for a bit longer this time. But he had said nothing.
And he would have to share many of his duties with Kitto, who had taken Eric Villiers’ place. Poor Eric had been bad enough, going on about German atrocities all the time. Kitto was a real fighter and would probably make things worse. Helga was German, and she was his wife. He loved her. Or he had once. He trained his eyes on a tall pillar, trying to stop the room from revolving. He must have loved her! The sudden uncertainty was like panic, and brought sickness closer.
Rowan watched him doubtfully. Not long now. Poor bastard. Something had gone wrong for him.
Bill exclaimed, ‘God Almighty, I thought he was still in London!’
‘Who?’
Rowan swivelled round and saw her across the room, standing just behind her husband as he gave instructions to a waiter.
Chadwick turned and saw them, his face breaking into a wide grin.
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