He pulled her slowly into a series of gentle, weaving, irregular turns, just in case they had followed him down.
His body had turned into a block of ice, and his limbs were trembling uncontrollably.
That had been too close. He had come within a hair’s breadth of becoming a victory symbol on the rudder of a Messerschmitt. Indeed, the way he had suddenly whirled away, the attacker may well think he had inflicted mortal damage on Rose.
Perhaps they had not decided to follow him down? His mouth was dry as dust, and he swallowed painfully.
Control column forward, pop out of the base of the cloud, lush green and brown quilt spread out below, the flatness marred by slight folds.
Rose dropped one wing, pulled into a gentle turn. Glance all around, squint into the mirror,
Nothing. No planes, no smoke, no flames. So peaceful, whilst up above men died or were maimed horribly.
Thank God. The enemy had stayed up there.
They hadn’t followed him down, and he was blessedly alone.
Ahead and in the distance he noticed the familiar wedge of an airfield. At his angle of approach, its camouflage of painted hedges and fields was ineffective.
The needle on the engine temperature gauge was beginning to rise, even though the throatiness of his Merlin was as healthy as always.
Tiredness washed over him like a grey wave, and he decided to make use of the fortuitous appearance of the ‘drome, and land.
As he drew closer, he could see the tiny shapes of two Wellingtons in black livery outside a hanger.
So. A Bomber Command Airfield. Thank goodness for that.
Bomber airfields had lovely long runways.
Wheels down, and with a reassuring thump, they locked into the ‘down’ position.
Next, he selected ‘flaps down,’ but this time, only one flap came down. Hastily, he selected ‘flaps-up’ again. He groaned inwardly. Without flaps, his approach speed was too high.
Smoke had begun to stream from the engine, and he could smell the burning metal odour again.
Shit! He switched off the engine, the propeller windmilling, and the smell and smoke cleared.
He could see now that he was going to overshoot, but to go around meant certain death. There was no choice but to get her down. God grant there weren’t any trigger-happy gunners down there, or he was dead for sure.
Gentle adjustments to line up with one of those wonderfully long runways.
Side-slip, and again, lose height, God! Airspeed still too high! Push her down. A red flare arced up from the watch tower but he ignored it, all his concentration on the runway as it rose up towards him.
Easy, easy now…
There was a screech of rubber and he bounced back up into the air, once, twice, three times, before he finally thumped back down and stayed down with an aching creak of the undercarriage.
But, amazingly, it held, and he raced along the runway for what seemed like miles before the tail-wheel finally kissed concrete for good and the Hurricane was finally, properly, down.
With judicious use of the control surfaces, his nose filled with the odour of burning rubber, he finally brought her to a stop.
Still in one piece, by God!
Rose shook his head dazedly, eyelids heavy, energy suddenly drained from his body. So very tired.
That had been a flight and a half, and no mistake!
He closed his eyes, let out his breath in a long sigh, and leaned back his head tiredly onto the seat-rest.
A dodgy landing again with a knackered Merlin, the second time in one month, getting to be a habit. The relief coursed through him like cold water, and reaction set in.
He patted the spade-grip with a shaking hand. Next time, old girl, we’ll go our separate ways. I’m going to try my ‘chute out. Don’t think my heart can take another unpowered landing.
But, we got down safely (thank you), and that’s what matters.
Thank God.
Still Alive.
Should get out, in case the kite begins to burn….
He must have dozed for a moment, for the next thing he knew, an officer with rather a lot of rings on his sleeve, and scrambled egg on his cap, was standing on his wing and glaring down at him.
“Don’t they teach you what a red flare means, young man?”
“I’m sorry, sir. My engine was finished, and I had to put her down quick. Your field was a godsend.” He shook his head, his voice slow and cracked, “I’m really very sorry.”
The Group Captain looked at him; saw the waxy paleness of Rose’s drawn face, the tremor in his hands, and his own face suddenly crinkled into a smile. “Never mind, lad.” His eyes narrowed shrewdly, “You’re safe, now. Well done. Are you hurt?”
“No, thank you. Sir, just a bit bushed.”
A small crowd had gathered around the ragged Hurricane, and Rose noticed a couple of pretty WAAFs on bicycles watching curiously.
The sight of them made his heart contract painfully. Oh God, Molly. Where are you? Are you thinking about me or about…him?
The grizzled senior officer saw the glance at the girls, but not the pain, and his smile widened.
“Hm. You must be all right. Come along. I’ll take you to the Mess.” His eyes took in Rose’s strained and lined features, the tired, red eyes. “I daresay you could do with a mug of tea, or perhaps something a little bit stronger?”
Rose licked his sore lips. “A cuppa would be nice, sir. Nothing I’d like better.”
“That’s settled then. Come along, now. My chaps will look after your kite.” He patted the impressive line of swastikas beneath the cockpit. “She’s a veteran, too, I see.”
Rose undid his straps, clambered painfully from the cockpit. The Group Captain sprightly hopped onto the ground and offered him a helping hand.
“Had a busy morning?” He raised his eyebrows mildly, “You can tell me about it over the tea, eh?”
Rose nodded. In the distance a thin column of dark smoke rose into the sky. “Got a Bf109, lost my wingman, winged a pair of Heinkels, too, I think.”
The Group Captain clapped his hands. “Capital, my dear fellow!”
CHAPTER 39
After his forced-landing at the bomber airfield earlier, Rose had contacted the squadron, and Granny had flown down in the early afternoon, with the two-seat Magister, to pick him up from the bomber station.
Rose’s battered Hurricane would be checked over later by a team from Brooklands before being returned by road on one of those huge RAF flatbed road transporters.
In the battle, A-Flight had downed two Heinkels, and two Messerschmitts (one of them Rose’s) confirmed, with four Heinkels as probables, and another three damaged.
But the story was not one-sided, for the Luftwaffe had managed to get a few telling blows in, too.
Haynes had been shot down and killed in the fight that morning, and two other Hurricanes had returned with battle-damage, one to be declared a total loss.
With Rose’s Hurricane temporarily out of action and still at the bomber field, Excalibur was left with an operational strength only four airworthy aircraft in total.
Donald had declared the squadron non-effective for a minimum of forty-eight hours, whilst new aeroplanes and replacements were sent for.
It was very likely now that they would be declared B-category on 11 Groups’ inventory of operational squadrons.
Donald had seen the strain on their lined, prematurely aged faces, faces that mirrored his own, and decided to give them each a two-day pass.
A short respite was exactly what they needed. Each of the pilots was worth his weight in gold, but he knew they were dangerously tired, pushed beyond rational limits, and they desperately needed a break.
If they carried on like this, the squadron would cease to exist in very short order.
And so, the squadron had been granted a much-needed break by Group.
Cynk had decided to visit compatriot friends of his flying fighters from Hornchurch, whilst Granny deci
ded it was time to take Rose out on the town. As he had explained, “I’m responsible for your social development, Flash, my old lad.” He still wondered at Rose’s change in behaviour.
He’d winked salaciously, and flapped his denture with his tongue.
It turned out that he’d arranged female company for them both, but as he’d explained, “Need to see you develop properly, now you seem to have lost interest in Molly. I dunno why, but at least I can take you out.”
Rose, feeling self-righteous, had given him an old-fashioned look and said, “I couldn’t possibly walk out with that sort of girl.” And then, to himself, “I want a girl who’s interested in me alone.”
Granny had been outraged, “That sort of girl? What sort of girl, you worm? The type who does it for money? Tarts? Is that what you think? What do you think I am, bloody hard up? I don’t pay for it, damn it!”
He’d shaken his head in indignation. “You bloody cheeky cove! Girls do it with me for love, you know!” the outrage had evaporated, and he’d smiled serenely. “They can’t help themselves. They see me and their drawers fall down.”
They had met up with Granny’s current girlfriend of the moment, a slim blonde named Jane (just like the one in the paper - surprise!) in Piccadilly in the late afternoon.
Waiting with her was a friend, an attractive and quiet redhead called Anna. Her gentle eyes had lit up when she saw Rose, and she had not let go of his arm once.
It had been strangely comforting to have her beside him, and in his longing for Molly, Rose felt ashamed to be with another girl, although when he thought of Teddy, he didn’t feel that bad.
Granny had explained that Jane and Anna were both nurses at St Thomas’ hospital.
After a delightful cream tea on the embankment, they had seen a rather risqué show, and then Granny had treated them to an exquisite meal at Humphrey’s.
Whilst there, emboldened by Anna’s interest and her physical closeness, and still recovering from the events of the morning, he finally began to unwind.
During the meal at Humphreys, Rose had added half a glass of wine to the large brandy he had been given by the bomber boys. By the end of the meal he was feeling pleasantly relaxed.
So, lonely and heartbroken, he overcame his shyness, and welcomed Anna’s interest, drinking in the attention she gave him, trying to fill the aching hole in his heart.
She had a habit of touching his hand lightly as she talked, and the gentle contact somehow seemed to ease the terrible emptiness of his being, as if the light pressure acted to draw off the dark shadow of pain.
But despite everything, his heart still cried out for Molly, and he wished he were with her, rather than this warm, sweet and pretty girl.
The evening had progressed gently, and he had grudgingly and hesitantly accepted her closeness and presence, although a part of him still felt ashamed at his response.
After the wine, the shyness and inhibitions he had felt when they had first met seemed to evaporate like the early-morning mists, leaving in its place a strange feeling of recklessness, mixed with an aching, despairing hunger for company.
How he wished to be held in those smooth and gentle arms once again. To forget that awful unforgiving world of endless, nauseous terror.
He wanted to forget everything.
The four of them had finally stumbled, arm-in-arm, back to Jane’s basement flat at ten o’clock. A slowly cycling Air Raid Warden had almost hit Granny, and had disappeared into the darkness disgustedly mumbling about ‘drunken fools.’
And now he was here, bleeding and befuddled after missing the last step of the staircase and falling against the dustbins, leaning awkwardly against the doorjamb of a basement flat in Soho, pleasantly tipsy and covered with vegetable peelings.
With a girl.
A lovely, attentive, and quiet girl, at that.
A girl that the boys would have described as ‘very tasty.’
Just as they had once described Molly.
A fresh wave of pain and loneliness washed over him.
After much confusion and fumbling, the flat’s front door was finally opened and they piled, laughing, like a rugger scrum into the small flat.
In the darkness, a clock ticked loudly, and then his foot had caught on something on the floor, and he fell down.
Granny promptly fell on top of him, squawking a cloud of alcoholic fumes into his face.
There was the fearful gap of his missing central incisors because he had left his denture out. As he had explained, “Best to keep ‘em out. Lost the last one in the loo when I’d had a few, and anyway, if I haven’t got ‘em in, the beer goes down faster.”
The impact of Granny’s ten stone lanky frame made Rose grunt.
“Are you all right?” asked Anna from the blackness, then in outrage, “Oh no! Jane! How many times have I told you to pick your undies off the floor? What are these two going to think?”
Granny belched. “Don’t mind me, girls, leave ‘em on the floor! Best place for ‘em! Save me peeling ‘em off!” he cackled, picking up something lacy from the floor and examining it closely.
Rose looked up surreptitiously, from his position on the floor, as he tried peering up the girls’ skirts. But it was tantalisingly too dark to catch sight of anything interesting.
Jane giggled. “You know me, Smithy! When you’re here that’s where they stay!”
Granny chortled, “Just the way I like it,” bathing the gasping Rose with another noxious cloud of fumes. This must be what it was like to experience a mustard gas attack, he thought grimly as he turned his face away from Granny.
“Is the blackout curtain in place, Annie? Daren’t switch on the light, yet. That old windbag upstairs might report us again.”
“It’s alright; I’ve tucked it in place, Jane.”
There was a click, and the hall was dimly lit up, the naked bulb casting a dingy yellow light over them, like dishwater over a grimy plate.
Something tiny gazed in surprise at Rose not three inches from his nose, before skittering rapidly away into one of the dark recesses where the pool of grubby light did not venture.
As Granny and Rose shakily got to their feet, the girls stepped into the tiny kitchenette.
The clink of cups, splashing water into the little sink.
“Cup of tea?” asked Jane.
“Make yourself comfortable, Flash.” Anna was all consideration, “I’ll get some warm water and a cloth. We’ll need to bathe your cut hand, and for goodness sake, get your tunic off. I’ll give it a wipe. I daresay we should be able to clean you up a bit.” He sensed the smile in her voice, “Have you right as rain in a tick! You sure you’re OK? I fell down the steps once and sprained my ankle. Hurt something chronic, I can tell you!”
Granny dug Rose in the ribs, “Cor! She’s keen,” he whispered, before picking up a wrinkled and laddered pair of stockings that were hanging from the dented radiator beside him.
“Don’t worry about the tea, Cinders,” he shrieked gleefully, “I’ve got something here that you’ve got to try on! It ain’t made of crystal glass, but if it fits, princess, I’ve got something else that’ll fit you, too!”
They sat together, so close that their knees touched. The contact was simultaneously disconcerting and delightful to Rose.
Granny and Jane had disappeared into her room, and he was uncomfortably aware of their subdued mumbling interspersed with peals of laughter.
Soon, all conversation ceased, and something began to creak rhythmically in the room. Uncomfortably, he looked around the little front room, unable to meet Anna’s eyes.
He was very embarrassed by the knowledge of what was happening next door, and that they were shamelessly carrying on so close to them.
It was made worse by the quiet presence of the girl, and the occasional coy glance she gave him.
Her head was bent down, as she gently washed the cut on his hand. Her red hair, shorter than Molly’s and cut into a bob, fell forward and hid her face from him. The c
igarette she had lit glowed softly in the cracked saucer beside her.
“She sounds really nice. I can understand why she means so much to you.”
He realised that he had been talking about Molly all evening, and apologised.
“I’m sorry, Anna. I’ve not been good company, you must have found the evening deathly boring. I’ve just been prattling on like an idiot. What a horrendous bore I am!”
She looked up, her grey eyes meeting his, pupils huge in the dimness, and despite his discomfort, he found himself returning her gaze boldly.
“Don’t be sorry, Flash. I think it’s wonderful that you love someone so much. Shows you’re not a selfish so and so,” not like so many others, she thought.
She smiled, carefully, looked back down. “I’m sorry about her being hurt, but I bet you’ll see her again, soon, when she’s better. I’m sure of it. You’re really nice, she’ll not let you go, you know.”
You don’t know the half of it, he thought glumly.
Anna pulled deeply on the cigarette before replacing it back on the saucer.
“She’s a lucky girl. You really love her a lot. I think it’s wonderful to care for someone so much.” Smoke escaped from the corner of her lips as she slowly released it.
She rummaged in the biscuit tin that passed for a ‘first aid box’, then placed a clean white gauze dressing on the cut, expertly winding a strap of bandage around it, and fixed it with a safety pin. “There we are, good as new.”
She took his hand, “You just need a rest, maybe a little sleep, and you’ll be ready for everything again.”
Daringly, he kissed her hand, and released it.
But she did not let go of his hand.
“Thank you, Anna. You’re an angel.” The warm smell of her filled his nostrils and he suddenly felt a wave of giddiness mixed with nervousness wash over him. He looked down, uncomfortably conscious of the erection in his trousers.
The creaking from next door reached a crescendo, something thumped the wall, and his cheeks burned as Jane cried out.
Bloody hell!
He could not meet the girl’s eyes.
To So Few Page 44