Two Blackbirds
Page 1
TWO BLACKBIRDS
A NOVEL
NEWEST PRESS
COPYRIGHT © GARRY RYAN 2014
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication — reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system — without the prior consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law. In the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying of the material, a licence must be obtained from Access Copyright before proceeding.
LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION
Ryan, Garry, 1953–, author
Two blackbirds / Garry Ryan.
Issued in print and electronic formats. ISBN 978-1-927063-50-7 (pbk.). —
ISBN 978-1-927063-51-4 (epub). — ISBN 978-1-927063-56-9 (mobi)
I. Title.
PS8635.Y354T86 2014 C813’.6 C2013-907185-7
C2013-907186-5
Editor for the Board: Jenna Butler
Cover and interior design: Natalie Olsen, Kisscut Design
Cover photography: © Peter Gudella/Shutterstock.com and Piotr Krzeslak/
Shutterstock.com
Author photo: Ben Ryan
First Edition: April 2014
NeWest Press acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, the Alberta Foundation for the Arts, and the Edmonton Arts Council for support of our publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities.
#201, 8540–109 Street
Edmonton, Alberta T6G 1E6
780.432.9427
www.newestpress.com
No bison were harmed in the making of this book.
Printed and bound in Canada
for
Walter Stuckart, who served in WWII and came back to tell the
story of a man who was murdered in Darlington, UK.
Ernie Ryan, who enlisted but didn’t see action,
because the atomic bombs dropped.
Meron Chorny, Lancaster navigator and university professor,
who taught us that “Bullshit baffles brains.”
L-104580 Private Leslie Carr, who was killed in
Italy in 1944 and is buried at Italy’s Gradara War Cemetery.
His sister Elaine never forgot him.
Mafalda and Ernesto Stamile. He was a soldier in Italy’s army.
He taught me that “The wine is the life.”
She taught me how to laugh and to swear in Spanish and Italian.
Hedi and Cas Kowalewski.
She said “During the war you didn’t know if you’d
be alive or dead from one minute to the next.”
The red-winged blackbird
of the Canadian
prairie is
unremarkable in
size and the female is
unremarkable in colour.
Little larger
than a sparrow, the more skilled flyers
of this species
will drive away intruders many
times their own size.
In fact,
blackbirds have been
known to perch between the
wings of an airborne hawk or crow,
and peck on the
head of the predator
until it
withdraws.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1: [TUESDAY, JUNE 13, 1944]
CHAPTER 2: [WEDNESDAY, JUNE 14, 1944]
CHAPTER 3: [THURSDAY, JUNE 22, 1944]
CHAPTER 4: [FRIDAY, JUNE 23, 1944]
CHAPTER 5: [SATURDAY, JUNE 24, 1944]
CHAPTER 6: [MONDAY, JUNE 26, 1944]
CHAPTER 7: [THURSDAY, JUNE 29, 1944]
CHAPTER 8: [SATURDAY, AUGUST 19, 1944]
CHAPTER 9: [MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 1944]
CHAPTER 10: [TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 1944]
CHAPTER 11: [WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 1944]
CHAPTER 12: [WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1944]
CHAPTER 13: [SATURDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1944]
CHAPTER 14: [WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 18, 1944]
CHAPTER 15: [SATURDAY, OCTOBER 21, 1944]
CHAPTER 16: [SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 1944]
CHAPTER 17: [SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 1944]
CHAPTER 18: [MONDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1944]
CHAPTER 19: [WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1944]
CHAPTER 20: [WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 6, 1944]
CHAPTER 21: [FRIDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1944]
CHAPTER 22: [SUNDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1944]
CHAPTER 23: [SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23, 1944]
CHAPTER 24: [MONDAY, DECEMBER 25, 1944]
CHAPTER 25: [TUESDAY, DECEMBER 26, 1944]
CHAPTER 26: [MONDAY, JANUARY 1, 1945]
CHAPTER 27: [TUESDAY, JANUARY 2, 1945]
CHAPTER 28: [FRIDAY, JANUARY 12, 1945]
CHAPTER 29: [SATURDAY, JANUARY 13, 1945]
CHAPTER 30: [MONDAY, JANUARY 15, 1945]
CHAPTER 31: [WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 17, 1945]
CHAPTER 32: [THURSDAY, JANUARY 18, 1945]
CHAPTER 33: [FRIDAY, JANUARY 19, 1945]
CHAPTER 34: [WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 14, 1945]
CHAPTER 35: [THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 1945]
CHAPTER 36: [MONDAY, MARCH 19, 1945]
CHAPTER 37: [SATURDAY, MARCH 31, 1945]
CHAPTER 38: [SATURDAY, APRIL 14, 1945]
CHAPTER 39: [SATURDAY, APRIL 28, 1945]
CHAPTER 40: [SUNDAY, APRIL 29, 1945]
CHAPTER 41: [MONDAY, APRIL 30, 1945]
CHAPTER 42: [MONDAY, MAY 8, 1945]
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CHAPTER 1
[TUESDAY, JUNE 13, 1944]
“What’s that noise?” Sharon stepped out of the hangar and away from the mélange of oil, grease, petrol, and paint. She inhaled the fresh air, felt the sun on her face, shaded her eyes, and looked east. It sounds like an airplane, but different, she thought as she used her free hand to pull her non-regulation ponytail out over the collar of her blue battledress jacket.
Edgar Washington joined her. He was a bronze mountain of a man. The shovel looked like a child’s beach toy in his hands. He leaned it against the wall of the hangar and looked in the direction of the noise.
They stood in the mouth of the White Waltham hangar to get a better look.
About ten feet in front of her, a wrench skidded along the concrete. “Goddamned British spanners are as useless as tits on a boar!”
“Can you hear that?” Sharon looked inside at Ernie.
“What the hell is it?” Ernie Shane stepped out of the hangar. He wore the sleeves of his dusty coveralls rolled up to reveal his Popeye arms. Ernie had a long, powerful body, short legs, and brown eyes that faced Edgar’s chest whenever he looked straight ahead.
“There!” Sharon pointed south and east. The aircraft was grey, flying at a bit over two thousand feet.
“It’s fast.” Edgar looked over his shoulder toward London.
“Sounds like someone with the green apple quick step shitting into a forty-five-gallon drum,” Ernie said.
Edgar frowned.
“It’s got an odd silhouette. It looks like the engine is mounted near the tail.” Sharon shaded her blue eyes with her right hand.
“It looks awfully small for an airplane,” Ernie said.
“It must be some kind of jet propulsion engine,” Edgar said.
Ernie nodded. “I’ve heard of that. Never seen one, though.”
They walked around the other side of the hangar to keep their eyes on the aircraft. Sharon stood in between Edgar and Ernie. She was shorter than either of the men, but their posture revealed that they deferred to her.
The aircraft’s engine stopped and it nosed down.
“Get down!” Edgar grabbed them both, pushed them to the ground, then covered their bodies with his.
“What in Christ’s name are you doing?” Ernie huffed.
The answer was an explosion. The ground heaved. There was a whistling sound. When they got up and brushed themselves off, there was a piece of shrapnel the size of a dinner plate stuck in the hangar wall. It sizzled in the wood about four feet from ground level.
Ernie looked at the ragged chunk of metal, then at Edgar. “How did you know?”
Edgar shrugged. “It was coming from the direction of France, headed toward London, and it wasn’t one of ours. A reasonable conclusion.”
Sharon looked at the piece of shrapnel and checked to see if any of them had been wounded. “Thank you very much, Edgar.” She picked dry grass from her disheveled brown hair.
Ernie slapped Edgar on the back. “I owe you one.”
Edgar blushed.
“Let me buy you boys some lunch.” This is the perfect opportunity to ask Ernie for the favour, Sharon thought.
Lunch today was courtesy of the grey NAAFI wagon, which supplied them with coffee, thick ham and cheese sandwiches, and tweed squares. They sat together at a table under a tree.
Ernie wolfed down the first half of the sandwich. “This is a nice change. It actually tastes like meat.”
Edgar tucked the napkin that he kept in his back pocket into the collar of his shirt and bit into the sandwich. “The U-boats aren’t sinking as many supply ships anymore, so the food’s getting better.”
“How come you know so much about everything?” Ernie looked sideways at Edgar.
“I read, then I look for evidence to support what I read. Last month, I read an article that said the Allies have turned the tide in the Atlantic. That U-boats were being sunk in large numbers.” Edgar held up his sandwich. “You may be holding the proof in your hand.”
Sharon smiled as she bit into the sandwich. I’ve come to enjoy the company of men. Some of the women I work with are members of a superior class. They look down on the bastard Canadian who gives them orders. These two men don’t see me that way at all.
“I hope you’re right.” Ernie took a sip of coffee. “If I never taste mutton or bully beef again, it’ll be too soon.”
“Now we have to wait and see if the invasion is going as well as Stars and Stripes says it is.” Edgar took a delicate bite of sandwich.
“Then the explosion this morning could be proof things are going well, or it could mean the opposite,” Sharon said.
Edgar nodded. “Exactly.” He glanced at Sharon with his brown eyes, then looked away. “How is Michael?”
Sharon shrugged. “I don’t know. Haven’t seen him for three months. After the invasion began, I finally understood why he’s been so busy. He must have been working with the French Underground to prepare for the invasion. I suppose they’ll be doing what they can to disrupt the Nazi supply lines.”
Ernie stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth. He looked at Edgar before he covered his mouth with his hand and turned to Sharon. “Why not get to the point?”
Sharon smiled and set her sandwich down on the wax paper it came wrapped in. “Edgar would like to join the 332nd in Italy. He thinks that if he could be trained as an aircraft mechanic, the transfer would happen.”
“332nd?” Ernie looked for a patch of clean sleeve before he wiped his mouth.
“Tuskegee Air Group. The Red Tails in Italy. It’s made up of people like me.”
A thoughtful frown formed on Ernie’s face. He turned to Sharon. “You want me to train him?”
Sharon nodded. “That’s right. You need the help. Edgar needs the training.”
Ernie looked at the hangar, then at Edgar. “When do you start?”
Wrinkles appeared on Edgar’s forehead when he looked at Sharon.
“I have to clear it with Edgar’s CO.” Sharon picked up her sandwich. “I’ll phone him right after I finish this.”
“Maybe not,” announced a voice from behind her.
She turned.
Michael stood a head taller than her. He studied her with striking blue eyes framed by strawberry blond hair. “I hear you’ve had a surprise attack this morning. Thought I’d come and investigate. Apparently you’ve seen one of Hitler’s so-called vengeance weapons.”
“I wonder who his target was?” Edgar said. “His vengeance weapon crashed in an empty field. Apparently they have some problems to solve if they want to hit military targets.”
“Or maybe he’s declared war on cows. The only casualty was an unlucky black Angus,” Ernie said.
Sharon stood and embraced her husband. She inhaled the scent of cigarettes and chocolate.
“Is the coffee any good?” Michael asked.
“Not bad.” Ernie lifted his cup. “Sharon will get you a cup.”
Sharon’s face turned red. “He can get his own damned coffee!” She turned to her husband. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Planning an invasion,” Michael said.
“I’ve been so worried. I thought you might have gone back into France.” Sharon looked him over, checking for evidence of wounds.
“You told me not to lie to you. I couldn’t very well call you up and tell you what I was up to, now could I?” Michael chuckled.
“Don’t laugh at me!” Sharon said.
“It’s just that you’re an ace. It’s not as if you haven’t taken a risk or two in this war.” Michael winked.
Ernie lifted his chin and looked at Edgar.
Edgar said, “So, the rumours are facts. Exactly how many aircraft have you downed?”
“Nine. I saw one crash with my own eyes.” Michael looked at Edgar. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” Michael offered his hand. It was dwarfed by Edgar’s.
“An ace.” Ernie stood up and looked at Sharon. “You never talk about it.” He offered his hand to Michael. “I’m Ernie.”
“Michael. Glad to meet you. You must know by now. The people who do the actual fighting in a war are often the least willing to talk about it.” Michael put his arm around his wife’s shoulder and pulled her closer.
CHAPTER 2
[WEDNESDAY, JUNE 14, 1944]
Linda sat at the kitchen table in the cottage that her aunt had loaned them for the duration of the war. “I made coffee.” She wore her red hair cut short and had on a flight suit despite the summer heat. After being burned in a crash, she kept as much of her body covered as possible whenever she flew.
Sharon sat down across from her friend and sister-in-law. She stared at the coffee Linda had poured for her. “Thank you.”
“Michael getting up?” Linda asked.
“He’s asleep.”
Linda smiled before she sipped. “Did you let him get any sleep at all last night?”
Sharon blushed. “Well, it has been a couple of months since I’ve seen him.”
“You two made it difficult to sleep. Just when I was ready to nod off, you’d start up again.” Linda tried to hide her smile behind her coffee cup.
Sharon thought, You’re making a joke, but you’re really upset with me. You’ve been that way ever since the crash.
“It’s the war. You never know if this time will be the last time.” Linda sipped her coffee. “You know, live for the moment because who the hell knows if you’ll be alive or dead from one minute to the next. I heard about yesterday’s bomb.”
When you don’t know what to say to Linda, change the subject. “I’ve got a lot of work to do today.”
“So that’s it, then? Wear my poor brother out and get back to work?” Linda smiled at her joke.
Sharon shook her head. “There may be a way to get us another good aircraft mechanic. I’ve got a call in to Edgar’s commanding officer, Colonel Wright.”
“You must be joking. The only reason you were able to get Ernie was because he opened his gob at the wrong time and in the wrong place to one of his superiors. There’s no way you’ll be able
to get another one. They’re like gold these days.” Linda stood up and reached for her bag.
“I’ll let you know later if my plan works.” Sharon got up, straightened her tie and put on her blue battledress jacket.
“Ever since they made you senior commandant at White Waltham, you’ve become a woman possessed when it comes to safety.” Linda put her cup in the sink.
Sharon did the same. “I don’t want to watch another Anson crash and burn at the end of the runway because a drunken sod of a hung-over mechanic forgot to tighten a fuel line.” She walked to the door, stuck her feet in her shoes and leaned to tie the laces.
“Do you get a chance to fly anymore?” Linda asked.
“There are always chances to fly.”
“Aren’t you going to wake Michael?” Linda already had her shoes on and stood waiting.
“The war can do without him for a little while. He needs some rest. Besides, if this war has taught me one thing, it’s that we’re all replaceable.” Sharon stood, opened the door and walked out into the morning.
The air smelled of dew. It sparkled on the grass and leaves as they walked to White Waltham.
“Mother wrote me a letter,” Linda said.
“What did she have to say?” Sharon watched a pair of blackbirds dart and turn across the road.
“All is well. Sean is still being quiet, but she says that’s normal. Michael was the same way at fifteen.” Linda pulled the letter from her pocket and handed it to her sister-in-law.
Sharon took the letter and stuffed it in her breast pocket. “Thanks.”
He wore a white GI’s helmet with MP stamped front and centre in black letters. There was a black armband on his left arm with the letters MP in white. At his hip, he wore a Colt .45 sidearm. There was a white belt across the middle of his GI service coat. “Sergeant Edwin Beck. Colonel Wilson asked me to deliver this to you.”
Sharon noticed that the sergeant didn’t get out of the Jeep and did not salute her — even though she was his superior officer — as he handed her the envelope. Edgar watched from the back seat where he’d crammed himself into the Jeep. She tore the end off the envelope and pulled out the letter.