‘Well, I’m a bit lopsided. The left one’s fairly simple, just a glorified peg-leg really with an articulated ankle, but the right one is the real demonstration of Nick’s genius. It’s clockwork and moves somewhat like the wheels of a locomotive. Just think of the knees being the wheels and the legs being the drivers.’ She raised her leg in front of herself, demonstrating how the enclosed disks which formed her new knee rotated.
The princess leaned in to inspect it, her nose only inches away from it, far closer than any of the pilots had - able to get away with such a breach of decorum because of her rank and age. ‘How do you control it?’
Penny smiled down at her. ‘It controls itself. There is a gyroscope in the knee which detects when I lift it and put it down, keeping my lower leg vertical without it just hanging uselessly, which means that it stays firm if I’m stepping up on something.’
‘And how is it attached?’
‘I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t show everyone that part!’ Penny laughed as she smoothed her skirts back into place. ‘My thigh inserts into a padded brass cup. Small Duralumin tubes, much like the frame of an aircraft, run up my leg from that and are attached to what amounts to a suspender belt, which spreads the weight on my hips. All told, it weighs only slightly more than my old one.’
The princess stood up and gave her a smile and a nod. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, Elizabeth.’
The young girl turned to look at the pilots standing behind her and quickly honed in on Abby. ‘Dame Lennox, I see you have found someone to fill that spot I desperately wanted to take in your squadron.’
Abby smiled; the princess had tried to join the squadron several times since its inception and it looked like she wasn’t going to stop any time soon, despite the King and Abby insisting that she had to be eighteen before she could even be considered. ‘I’m afraid so. May I present Aviation Sergeant Chastity Arrowsmith.’
Chastity drew herself up to attention and stood stiffly as the princess stepped over to her.
‘As you were, Sergeant.’ Liz smiled and stuck her hand out. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
Chastity blinked at the hand in shock, as if she couldn’t believe that she was going to shake the hand of royalty, but she recovered quickly and accepted it.
‘The pleasure is all mine, Your Royal Highness.’
The princess raised an eyebrow and didn’t release Chastity’s hand until the woman had corrected herself and called her Elizabeth, but then she nodded with another smile and turned back to Abby. ‘I’m dying with curiosity to see your new aircraft, but I won’t take anyone away from your celebration tonight. Perhaps when you return?’
Abby nodded. ‘You’re welcome any time, you know that.’
‘Thank you.’ Liz sighed. ‘Well, thank you for your time, but I must leave you and see to my duty.’ She looked around the pilots, meeting their eyes one by one. ‘Safe journey and happy hunting.’ She moved away, following in the wake of her father as he made the rounds of the guests.
The Misfits watched her go, but then once again their full attention turned back to Lady Penelope.
‘Why did you keep this from us?’ Abby’s gentle voice was only just audible over the music and sounds of revelry.
‘I’d like to say I did it so that I could see the looks on your faces when I walked out,’ she grinned. ‘Priceless by the way, but I didn’t. I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want to get everybody’s hopes up; we didn’t know if this was going to work, whether I would be able to use these legs or not.’ She slapped her right thigh, making the brass ring dully. ‘But, as you can see, I can, and I’ll be back in the air soon enough!’ The smile dropped from her face suddenly and she sighed. ‘However, I doubt that the RAC will ever let me back into combat and the odds of me rejoining the squadron, at least as a pilot, are very long indeed.’
Scarlet laughed. ‘If you want back into the RAC, I’ll have a word with Dougie. He won’t say no to me, don’t you worry!’
Lady Penelope smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Ophelia, and I may take you up on that if the King doesn’t beat you to it; he has already promised to have a quiet word with Sir Douglas if he is obstinate when the time comes.’
‘You’ll be welcome back in Misfit Squadron anytime, you know that,’ said Abby.
Penny sighed. ‘Ah, but you don’t need any more pilots now, do you?’
Abby shrugged. ‘We’ll just knock together a new aircraft for you - we’ve had a bit of practice recently, so it’ll only take a week or so. And I was thinking of kicking Owen out anyway.’
‘Hey!’
There was laughter at Owen’s typical response to Abby poking fun at him, but none of them missed it when Lady Penelope turned away, ostensibly to order a drink, but in reality to hide her face, using her husband’s handkerchief to wipe her eyes once more.
When she was herself again, she turned back around and clapped her hands. ‘Right! What the hell are we all just standing around here for? There’s dancing to be done!’
She signalled a passing waiter carrying a tray filled with champagne flutes and gestured for him to serve the pilots, then turned to pick up her own drink from the bar. It was only water, which betrayed to a few of the more observant Misfits that she was still under some kind of chemical regime for pain.
When everybody had a glass, she raised hers. ‘A toast! To Britain, her allies and Misfit Squadron.’
Hans Gruber watched as the last of the so-called Norwegian Freedom Flight aircraft struck the ground and cartwheeled, pieces breaking off and flying in all directions as it tore itself apart.
The small squadron, formed and equipped by the noted engineer and inventor Bror Wyth, had proved a thorn in the side of the Prussians until the Kaiser himself had sent Gruber north to deal with them. In two swift and brutal engagements the Barons had first broken, then slaughtered them and now all their pilots were either dead or in chains awaiting transport to Bertha.
Hölle had been a joy to fly, much better than Flamme, and he had to admit that his pilots had also performed adequately, but in the end, it hadn’t been enough of a test for them to distinguish themselves and they remained merely numbers to him. He hoped that the Russians, who their fool of a Tsar insisted on calling the Muscovites, would present more of a challenge, but he doubted it.
Still, despite the ease with which they had been defeated, it had been a valiant effort on the part of the Norwegians and he could respect the courage of the men and women who had tried to hold back the inevitable, but there was nothing a single squadron of twelve aircraft could do against the Crimson Barons, no matter their passion or motivation.
It was a lesson that he would enjoy teaching to the Misfits when next he met them in the sky.
Part 2
Relocate
Chapter 8
In spite of the almost universal presence of fierce hangovers, the entire squadron was up and running before dawn and the move went ahead on schedule.
The pilots had held back from drinking very much for once, knowing that they had to be flying again before the alcohol would be fully out of their system and knowing that the landing on the aircraft carrier was going to be hard enough as it was sober. The support staff, though, had pulled out all the stops, trying to make up for the weeks of hard work during which they hadn’t been able to enjoy themselves. Many of them hadn’t slept and their eyes had dark circles under them, but they still carried out their jobs with ruthless efficiency and had the aircraft in the air an hour and a half before dawn, exactly on time.
The larger aircraft - the Lekker, the transport aircraft carrying the support staff, Bloodhound and Vulture - had no trouble making the three hundred and fifty mile journey to Scotland from Bagshot Hall, but it was only just within the range of the fighters and trying to do it in one go wouldn’t have left them much tension to make the landing on the Arturo. For safety, then, the Air Ministry arranged for them to be rewound at a deserted airfield in the Lake Di
strict, which was occupied by a team of RAC fitters for the day in utmost secrecy.
While their aircraft were being seen to, the Misfits took the opportunity to stretch their legs. The airfield supplied an abandoned holiday camp that was reminiscent of the one that they had occupied for Badger Base, but this one was on the top of a small hill with spectacular views of the lush green fields of Britain on all sides.
The pilots sat on the grass and silently watched the sunrise, with all its purples and reds and yellows, the fluffy clouds in the autumn sky catching the colours, and, while it remained unsaid, it crossed the mind of every single one of them at some point or another that it was possibly the last time that they would see the sun rising over the country that they had sworn to defend.
Too soon, though, the fitters were finished, and the nine Misfits stood slowly, reluctant to take their eyes from the spectacle, but eventually tore themselves away and trudged back to their aircraft.
From the Lake District it was only a short hop to Gourock and less than half an hour later they were in a holding pattern over the Arturo.
The town was a moderately popular seaside resort and there was the usual line of boarding houses and small hotels along the waterfront. It even boasted its own yachting club, but the small white boats in the shallow bay were dwarfed by the immense flat-topped grey ship sitting half a mile offshore.
Usually an aircraft carrier would steam into the wind to help an aircraft land, but the Arturo wasn’t going to be able to do that, so the conditions the Misfits had to cope with were in fact quite similar to the ones they had practised at Bagshot. Scarlet went first because she could just land directly in the position the crew wanted her in. She was followed by B flight, then A flight in reverse order, with Abby landing last. It was a time-consuming process because, for safety, each aircraft had to be taken down below in the hydraulic lift near the bow before the next one could land. Eventually, though, they were all safely below in the hangar deck, which occupied about two-thirds of the space immediately below the flight deck, where they joined three RAC Harridans, already wingless and pushed against a bulkhead. Navy mechanics set about removing the wings of B flight’s aircraft under the worried gaze of their pilots, who were reluctant that anyone should touch them except their own fitters, but aware that time and space were at a premium.
A young Naval officer, short, spotty and barely out of his teens, approached and stood in front of the pilots, gaping at them in something like awe.
Abby watched him for a few seconds with an amused smile, then called out over the racket of the work going on. ‘Something we can do for you, Midshipman?’
He looked to her and there was a moment of almost panic as he recognised her, but then he drew himself up to attention and gave a speech that he had obviously been rehearsing in his head, but that still came out quite hesitantly when faced with the reality of giving it to people who were living heroes. ‘Midshipman Simkin, ma’am, with the C-C-Captain’s c-c-compliments. He, uh, he apologises for not being here to welcome you in person, but says he’ll meet you later, once we’re underway and out to sea. He asked me to show you to your quarters in the meantime and see you s-s-settled.’
‘Very good.’ Abby nodded. ‘Lead the way, please.’
The young man took them through a door in the side bulkhead and into a stairwell that led down into the depths of the ship. They went down one flight of metal stairs, then through another door and a short distance along a corridor towards the stern. One last door took them into a small ready room, which was packed with leather sofas and armchairs that looked like they had once been expensive but had seen far better days. Three people were there already, two women and one man dressed in RAC day uniforms. As the Misfits entered, they leapt to their feet and stood at attention.
Abby went to greet them, waving at them to relax. ‘You must be the flight instructors. Abby Lennox, pleased to meet you.’
The shorter of the two women stepped forward to take Abby’s offered hand. ‘Squadron Leader Rosaline Pemberton, ma’am, and these are Aviator Lieutenants Howard and Drake.’ The other two instructors nodded when they were introduced, first the woman, then the man, and Abby returned their nods with a smile.
More handshakes were exchanged when the other pilots were introduced to Pemberton, but before they could make further conversation, a polite cough from the young Midshipman interrupted them.
Abby turned to him. ‘Yes, Mr Simkin?’
‘The head and your berth are through the door over there.’ He pointed to the back of the room, then indicated a table to one side. ‘And there are tea and refreshments. If there is anything else you need, please use the radio next to the door to call for a steward. And I’ve been ordered to tell you that you should stay here until someone comes to get you, ma’am. Please don’t wander around outside, at least until you’ve been given an orientation, or the captain gives the say-so.’
Abby smiled warmly to assuage his worries at having to tell the fabled Misfit Squadron what they could and couldn’t do. ‘Very well, Mr Simkin, we will do as we are told.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ The young man gave her a nervous smile, then left, shutting the door firmly behind himself.
Abby turned back to her pilots. ‘Right then, lets stow our gear or whatever they say in the navy, then I’m dying for a cup of tea.’ She nodded at the instructors. ‘Be right back!’
Their “berth” proved to be just two barracks rooms with ten bunk beds in each and four extremely small single rooms, one of which had already been claimed by Squadron Leader Pemberton. There was no kitchen area and only very basic washing facilities which included a single shower with a sign on it forbidding people from leaving the water running. There was no space for entertainment or relaxation beyond the ready room that the instructors were in and to the dismay of many of the pilots there was no sign of alcohol anywhere either. Neither was there a single window to the outside world. It was all a very dull grey metal - floor, ceiling and furniture alike - and the only decoration was a small oil painting on the wall of the corridor depicting a stormy sea and an old sailing ship in the process of being broken apart on a rocky shore, but that had probably been put there by some wag to scare people who were nervous about going to sea.
The pilots glanced at each other, but nobody said anything. They just took the opportunity to change out of their flightsuits and use the very basic facilities before going back to the ready room.
‘Right, then! Kitty, Gwen, you’re on tea duty. Chastity, start handing out those sandwiches, please, and I’ll have a slice of that Battenberg as well.’
While the three junior pilots went off to obey Abby’s commands, the rest of them took seats with the instructors around the large coffee table in the centre of the room.
Scarlet smirked at Kitty and Gwen as they filled the tin mugs with steaming hot tea from the large copper urn and started handing them round. She was very pleased that she was no longer one of the three most junior pilots, but they took a measure of revenge on her by putting salt in her tea instead of sugar, making sure to be busy and look innocent when she spat it out all over Derek. Chastity, meanwhile, gave out tin plates and lugged the large tray of sandwiches over to the table, before going back for the two cakes that were with them, a Victoria sponge and the previously mentioned Battenberg.
The pilots didn’t stand on ceremony and dug in without delay; it had been a good few hours since they’d had breakfast.
While she was eating, Gwen realised that the instructor, who had been introduced as Drake, wouldn’t stop staring at her. He was a rakishly handsome young man with light brown hair, only a few years older than herself, with a permanent half smile and an amused glint in dark blue eyes that were somehow very familiar. She frowned at him, wondering why he was being so rude, while at the same time becoming more and more paranoid as to whether she might have something on her face, like a piece of cake or butter from the sandwiches.
Drake...
She started w
hen she realised why he was looking at her as if they had been properly introduced, it was because they had been. Many years before. ‘Digger? Is that you?’
All sound stopped as the Misfits paused in their eating to listen in.
He smiled at her. ‘Hello, Goosy.’
Gwen pointedly ignored the raised eyebrows and amused looks of her colleagues and tried hard not to react to his use of his private nickname for her, but it was to no avail; they had heard and would be sure to use it against her whenever they could.
Abby smiled at Gwen. ‘You know each other, then?’
‘We’ve met.’ Gwen shrugged, before winking at the man.
She had first been introduced to Lord Rudyard Sebastian Augustus Cholmondeley Drake the fourth, son of an Earl and heir to a fortune, when she was six. He had been a mature and worldly-wise eight-year-old who was sulking because he had been lumped with taking care of a young girl by his parents when the Hawkings came to visit instead of having his daily flying lesson. Making the best of a bad situation, he had dragged her along to the estate’s airfield, hoping to bore her, while at least getting some use of the time he had been allocated with the family pilot. When Gwen had impressed the pilot and shown him up with an understanding of mechanics that, try as he might, he couldn’t quite get his head around, he had sulked at first, but then when the pilot had offered to take them both up he had seen his opportunity to get his lesson after all and forgiven her.
That had been the start of a friendship that had lasted until he was eleven and had been sent to board at Eton, however, those three years had been enough for him to spark in her a love of flying that she hadn’t had before, having previously only been interested in engineering in general.
The Russian Resistance Page 14