To So Few

by Russell Sullman

  Oh God. I’m sorry, chaps. We failed you.

  Forgive us.

  Forgive me.

  CHAPTER 15

  The next day brought a number of enemy raids against convoys and coastal targets, with the resulting give and take of successes and losses to both sides.

  The squadron saw no combat, the flights of Excalibur Squadron taking part in just two uneventful patrols.

  Rose, however took part in neither patrol, although his day was more eventful.

  His faithful Hurricane P for Peter was in for maintenance, so he had to take up a newly delivered fighter, G for Gertrude.

  Immediately following takeoff for the first patrol, the cockpit began to fill with petrol fumes, making him gag and his eyes water, despite his mask and goggles. He was about to call up the control tower, when a thin line of vile-smelling liquid suddenly began to spray out.

  A thin stream hit him in the face, and he thanked his lucky stars that he was wearing his goggles over his eyes. Ever since the near-crash during training that frosty February, he always chose to take off and land with his mask and goggles firmly in place.

  Just in case.

  The fluid was squirting everywhere, soaking into everything, fumes filling the cockpit. He began to feel a little light-headed as he advised the control tower of his problems, and requested permission to land immediately, slowly and carefully pushing back his hood, and leaning forward into the slipstream.

  He was eager to land, as he had heard all the horror stories of unexplained accidents and fighters suddenly blowing up in mid-air. The flame coming from the stub exhausts was terrifyingly close, and hurriedly Rose slid the hood closed again.

  On landing once more (a very bumpy landing not up to his usual standard, but due more, in equal parts, to his eagerness to get back down and the sprinting of his heart), he immediately switched off his engine, rapidly made his way out of the aeroplane.

  In close attendance were a fire tender and one of the station ambulances.

  Rather than offering him reassurance, their presence only made him more nervous. When he gave them a thumbs-up, the ambulance crew seemed disappointed.

  It transpired that the fitter for Gertrude had failed to correctly place the cap on the Hurricane’s reserve tank, and that it had worked its way loose during the takeoff.

  The station Medical Officer, Squadron-Leader Lamb, checked him over carefully, bathed his eyes (despite protestations from Rose) liberally with sterile water, made him swallow a dubious looking milky-white colloidal suspension (‘Just to rid you of the sickness, laddie’) that actually made him feel more ill than he had before, and confined him to bed in the Medical quarters for a few hours for observation.

  Lamb was a large man, well-built with a ruddy complexion and a ready smile. He looked the very model of a typical rural practitioner.

  More of a bull than a lamb thought Rose in irritation as he tried not to heave up the chalky slimy liquid that churned in his stomach.

  Under the ministrations of a hard-faced male sick quarters attendant named Griffen, Rose found himself lying between stiffly-starched crisp white sheets, wearing only his socks and a gown tied up at the back, within an hour of landing Gertrude.

  He itched to be allowed back into the air with a reserve machine, but they had been flying quite a few patrols over the last few days, and his body welcomed the chance of a rest, even though his heart ached to be with his squadron mates.

  Forty-five minutes later there was a light tap at the door.

  Rose opened his eyes, and there, at the door, was Flight-Officer Molly Digby. She was leaning comfortably against the door jamb, a slight smile on her lips, alluring and exciting and, oh, so very desirable.

  His heart jangled inside him.

  “Oh! Molly! How very lovely to see you.”

  Dear God, the beautiful girl was here, and all he wore was this monstrous diaphanous gown and his socks!

  He cringed beneath the starched sheet, drawing it up to his chin protectively.

  “Hello, Harry, I had a little free time, so I thought I would come and visit the wounded hero.” She tilted her head quizzically.

  He grinned foolishly at her. “Well, not really wounded, and hardly a hero, to be honest,” he managed to mumble at her, his throat uncomfortably tight.

  “Well, as you’re not in uniform, we’ll forget about the salutes.” He realised he was almost naked, and he tried to pull the sheets even higher around him unobtrusively.

  Dear God.

  She smiled, as if she could read his mind. “I haven’t had a salute from you yet. Honestly, standards are really slipping! I think I shall have to speak with your CO!”

  She pulled off her cap, releasing her lustrous, shoulder-length black hair to swing delightfully into the light.

  With one finger she tucked a swathe of hair unconsciously behind a small and delicate ear, exposing her slim, smooth neck.

  Cor!

  Just by looking at her, his senses felt sharper, heightened. The smell of steel and polish and ether seemed sharper, the brightness of the clean walls and surfaces even more so, the steel taps glinted sharply.

  But he had only eyes for her. She was the glorious centre of the universe.

  She sat down on the bed next to his, and her voice was serious.

  “Honestly, though, I heard that you’d pranged, so I thought I ought to come and see you.” She looked with concern at his reddened, sore eyes and pale, streaked face. “Are you alright, Harry? I must say that you look a bit, erm, peaky.”

  “Oh no,” He said, “I hadn’t pranged the kite. It just sprung a leak, so I had to pancake. The reserve tank on my Hurribag decided to empty itself into the office.”

  There. That sounded suitably savoir faire. He tried looking heroic, but it was difficult whilst sitting up in bed under a clean white sheet dressed in a gown that felt as if it were a frock (and not even a pretty frock).

  “To be honest, Molly, the MO made me drink some appallingly obnoxious concoction, and I think it might be that making me look a bit peaky.”

  “I heard that you had been hurt. I thought I should visit.”

  “Oh no,” he said again, “Not really. The MO thinks I may have had a whiff or two of petrol or glycol or something else like that. He thought I should lie down for a little while.”

  “Oh, perhaps I should leave you to rest for a little while?” there it was again, the concern in those beautiful brown eyes.

  “Please don’t, Molly, you really are a sight for sore eyes,” he smiled self-consciously, “Quite literally!”

  It was so difficult to reason with her being so near. The way her hair fell around her face was divine. A tiny pulse throbbed in her neck, and his heart seemed to beat in rhythm. In his peripheral vision he sensed rather than saw the firm lines of her slim figure, the curve of her hips, and his heart beat even faster. Easy, Harry, he thought, or else you really will need the doctor’s care.

  “You’re staring, Pilot-Officer,” she scolded, reprovingly.

  Rose blushed again, looked down, rested his eyes on the delightful curve of her breasts, realised what he was doing and hastily looked back up again.

  “Ah. Um, sorry, but the fumes made my eye water a bit. I have to focus on you, otherwise my attention wanders. Something to do with the fumes apparently.”

  “Hmm. I see.” Her face was stern but her eyes sparkled. She reached behind her for the small wax paper wrapped package she had brought with her. He took the opportunity to run his eyes admiringly over her body.

  I’m in love, he thought dreamily.

  “Sorry, did you say something?”

  Oh, Lord God! For one horrifying instant he thought he may have vocalised his thoughts.

  “Perhaps this will help your poor eyes,” She leaned forward, and held out…a carrot!

  She wrapped up the package again, but not before he saw the sandwich that was the rest of her lunch. He reached out and grasped it, and for a second (oh, so short a second!), their fi
ngertips touched.

  He looked up, and saw that strange something sparkle in her luminous eyes too. Then she withdrew her hand self-consciously, leaving him clutching her carrot. He did not feel the dry, mottled surface of the carrot; instead he could only feel the warmth of her skin where she had touched him.

  They were silent for a while, smiling shyly at each other. He racked his mind for inspiration.

  He cleared his throat noisily. “Harrumph! Well, seeing as you’ve treated me to your lunch,” He waved the carrot triumphantly, “Perhaps you’d allow me to take you out for a meal or a drink?” desperately, he pushed on, “Perhaps the pictures if you’d prefer?”

  Damn my treacherous flaming cheeks! They must be glowing like a blessed beacon again.

  Sitting up in bed, with his hair rumpled, streaked cheeks and his swollen eyes pleading, it was all that she could do to resist from wiping the thin smear of oil still on his forehead and hugging him.

  She thought of the other young pilot, the one who meant so very much to her.

  The young man who flew Hampden bombers at night to take the war to the enemy in his stronghold. She feared for Edward so much, and now she was allowing herself to make another young man important to her.

  He saw the indecision in her eyes and mistook it for doubt, “Please will you come out with me Molly?”

  Why did good young men such as these have to risk everything when their lives should be only filled with less dangerous pursuits?

  Alright, I shall be your less dangerous pursuit, Harry.

  So, despite her misgivings, she laughed and said, “Yes, that would be lovely. I’d love to go to the pictures with you. ‘Wuthering Heights’ sounds super, but I’m quite busy in ops at the moment, so maybe we can settle for lunch one day.”

  He smiled with such touching gratitude that she felt like smiling and weeping, she just wasn’t sure which. He was just such a sweet boy, really, just like Edward.

  She stood again, trim and smart, patted her skirt carefully. “I must be off. Otherwise they’ll be calling for me over the Tannoy. I’m glad you weren’t hurt, Harry. I think you’re nice. When the MO releases you from this purgatory, come and see me. We’ll have a cup of tea and see about having lunch together then, alright?” The sudden rush of words over, she turned to go, seemed to hesitate as if coming to a decision, and then reached into her tunic pocket.

  “Here, Harry, I’d like for you to take care of this for me,” amazingly, her cheeks coloured slightly, “A keepsake from me, a good luck charm, of sorts, to help you when you’re up there.” She pulled out a little teddy bear, smaller than her hand, and gave it to him.

  “Her name’s Genevieve. I’ve had her a long time, since I was small, and she’s always brought me good luck. Hopefully she’ll do the same for you.” She smiled, “Please take care of her for me, and she’ll take good care of you.” she paused, “For me.”

  Rose held the little bear in his hand. It was a lovely little thing, only three inches high, and wearing a pink ribbon around her neck in a bow. It regarded him gravely with soft brown wooden eyes.

  Still warm from having been in her pocket, a keepsake and lucky mascot that she had entrusted to him.

  “But, she’s wonderful, Molly, I don’t know what to say…shouldn’t you keep her with you? Are you sure-?”

  But she had gone, leaving only the indentation of her bottom in the next bed, the memory of her warm brown eyes, and the faintest trace of the subtle fragrance that she wore.

  He hadn’t even asked her to stop for a cup of tea.

  He hopped out of bed, one eye open for the orderly, and placed both hands, palms down, onto the faintly warm indentation left by her buttocks.

  For a moment he allowed himself to imagine what it would feel like to cup those delightful buttocks in his palms (Gosh!), and then he sighed wistfully, and got back into bed.

  He carefully placed the carrot and teddy bear under his pillow, then lay back and closed his eyes again. He tried to envisage Molly’s lovely face in his mind. He would try and get some paper and a pencil later, try and draw her from memory.

  Perhaps she’d let him have one of her photos?

  “Are you alright, sir?” Griffen was regarding him suspiciously from the doorway. “Can I get you anything at all?”

  “Yes, thank you Griffen. I’d be grateful if you’d get me a cup of tea please.”

  “Of course, sir, how are the eyes?”

  “Feeling much better, thanks. Oh, and Griffen…?”

  “Sir?”

  “Could you get me some paper and a pencil, please.”

  “Certainly, sir.” Griffen nodded sagely. “Remember what the MO said, though. You mustn’t over-exert yourself.”

  Rose smiled beatifically at the ceiling. He felt like jumping out of bed and dancing around the little ward, but of course if the MO saw him, he’d probably keep him under observation for even longer!

  He hadn’t been able to fly with the squadron, and it looked like there would be no flying for him today, but nevertheless, it had been an incredible day! Molly had been to see him, and she was worried about him!

  And she had said she thought he was very nice! I ought to go and shake Gertrude’s fitter’s hand! By not tightening that cap on the reserve tank, he’d done Rose the greatest favour in the world.

  This is the happiest day I’ve had for a long time.

  Thank you, too, Gertrude. I’d kiss you if I could. Your fitter as well!

  When Granny and a crowd of pilots arrived to see him some time later, they found him still smiling, with the rough sketch of a smiling dark-haired girl on the bed beside him.

  They gathered around him, laughing and teasing him, but they wondered. He was a dark horse, and no mistake. The Flight Officer had been to see him! Lucky sod!

  Granny just lit a cigarette (in spite of a disapproving frown from Griffen), and smiled secretly to himself.

  Good lad.

  CHAPTER 16

  Rose missed the first patrol the following day, as the MO had insisted upon another cursory examination before allowing Rose to be rated as being passed fit to fly. He stood near the Headquarters building, moodily watching his flight takeoff, but also secretly hoping for a glimpse of Molly.

  Granny was flying with Burton and Barsby today. The former had returned from a private talk with Granny a very sober young man. He would not mistake casings with enemy gunfire ever again.

  The Hurricanes of A’Flight arrived at their patrol area to almost immediately plunge into a turning inconclusive tussle between a section of Spitfires and a number of Bf109s.

  Soon after the Hurricanes had arrived, the German pilots decided that the odds were no longer in their favour and dived out of the fight at full boost, seeking the sanctuary of the French coast.

  After the initial manoeuvres, the members of A’Flight only managed to get in a few long-range bursts at the enemy planes.

  When all the combat reports were collated, they were only able to claim one damaged. The Spits had lost one, though.

  Granny had stumped off in a grand old rage after landing, so Rose had had a word with a flushed, excited and still-shaking Burton.

  Despite an initial scare, Burton had had an exhilarating time pursuing the German fighters with the rest of the flight, taking regular pot-shots all the while (despite a lack of personal success on his part) until he had used up all his ammunition. He proudly showed Rose the line of four ragged bullet-holes in his rudder, the result of a snap-shot by an escaping Bf109.

  “I thought my time had come,” he croaked ruefully. “After that, I was so excited, I went after one that was a good half mile in front and gaining ground. I tried some high-angle shooting to bring him down, but I think it all fell short, because he took no notice of us.”

  Rose had not yet met any Bf109s in combat, had only seen them from a distance on the single occasion with the Defiants, and he stared at the holes silently. The thought of taking on one or more of the feared single engine cannon-
armed German fighters filled him with a great sense of unease. Even though Granny had simulated a Bf109 during the aerial training, and Rose had some idea what it was like to fly and fight against the nimble Luftwaffe fighter.

  Meanwhile, whilst the squadron had been skirmishing, Rose had received a clean bill of health, and Donald was pleased to see the young pilot operational again. Granny said nothing but his wink said it all.

  At Rose’s request, he was allowed to take part in the second patrol of the day, a coastal convoy escort patrol by B’ Flight at Angels Fifteen between Dungeness and Beachy Head.

  The scene was a peaceful one. The sun shone brilliantly down onto the six Hurricanes of B’Flight droning serenely through the clear air, gently bobbing up and down in the unsettled mid-afternoon warmth.

  Down below the RAF fighters, a small convoy of ten little ships ploughed stolidly through the flat plain of a glittering sea, a single destroyer plodding along beside them on a southerly beam, a thin grey shape alongside a line of darker, fatter shapes. The trailing white wakes made by the ships were striking and bright against the deep blue.

  Control had warned of possible activity, bogies nearby, but there had been no word for the last two minutes. Despite the serenity of the scene, none of the six pilots were relaxed, six pairs of eyes scanning the surrounding environs carefully and anxiously.

  Sinclair was looking forward, maintaining position over the convoy. This left the others to keep station on him, whilst watching for enemy fighters. As one, the other five pilots searched tensely in their cold cockpits, heads craned every which way, eyes straining against the blazing sky, watching their positions in the formation and the skies around them.

  Rose was flying as Red Three, and he quartered the sky as Granny had taught him, a quick but careful gaze, searching for movement in his peripheral vision, before moving on to the next area.

  Mustn’t spend too long gazing at a particular area, behind, up, right, down and left, then behind again.