Blackbirds (14 page)
“Little warm for that leather jacket and gloves, I expect,” someone said.
Gives me some protection if there's a fire
. She stepped off the wing and looked around.
An aircraftsman wearing a leather vest and rolled-up sleeves stood at the wing. He was wearing a tie, a shirt, and mud-spattered trousers that were spattered with mud. “We just had a spot of trouble with Jerry. Goering sent over a flock of bloody Stuka dive bombers that did some damage.”
Sharon unzipped her leather jacket and pulled off her helmet. She unwrapped the white silk scarf from around her neck and left the ends dangling. “Anybody hurt?”
“At least a dozen killed. Some were civilians.” He looked at the burning hangars and the fire crews spraying water on blackened timber and collapsed roofs. “Fighting that fire's a bloody waste of time. There's nothing in there to save. Give us a hand to push the Hurricane into the hangar. Though I'm beginning to wonder if it's safer outside than in.”
“Just the two of us?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Do you see anyone else?”
“Where did everyone else go?” Sharon dropped her parachute and jacket on the grass.
“My mates went over to that hangar just before the raid started.” He pointed at the wreck, where firemen were pouring water on the ashes.
She closed her eyes and reached for a wing root.
The aircraftsman took the tail. “You know how we're always being told to keep at it? Stiff upper lip. Get on with the job because Hitler is knocking on the door. Well, I suppose that's what I'll have to do.”
[ SATURDAY, AUGUST 17, 1940 ]
Sharon hung up her f light suit
and dropped off her parachute in the equipment shed at White Waltham. The inside smelled of dust, mould, and the captive heat of a summer sun.
She shut off the lights and closed the door behind her. Outside, the moonless night wrapped itself around her like a wartime black-out curtain. She looked up.
Now this looks like home
. The stars were almost as bright as she remembered on the prairies.
After about five minutes, her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she began her walk to the cottage.
Once she had the feel of the tarmac under her feet, she began to relax. Familiar landmarks passed as shadows to her right and left.
The breeze carried the scent of tobacco.
German paratrooper
. She smiled at her fear.
We're all so paranoid
about an invasion.
She heard the crunch of a heavy boot on the tarmac. The musty stink of cigarettes mixed with body odour.
She stopped. There was movement just ahead of her.
Something sharp and metallic jabbed her between the breasts.
“Step forward.” The voice was thickly accented. It wheezed and whistled when it inhaled.
“How the hell can I do that with a bayonet jammed in my chest?”
The pressure at her chest eased, but she could sense steel there, hovering inches away. She had a flashback of Uncle Marmaduke pushing up against her in the storage room. It ignited her.
“Who are you?” the man asked.
“Who the hell are you? I've done six deliveries for the
ATA
today, and I'm knackered.” She shook her head.
Who is this idiot who thinks
he can jab me with a bayonet?
“I'm LDV!” The voice was pitched higher this time.
Sharon heard indignation and ignored it. “If you really are in the Home Guard, shouldn't you be looking for Germans instead of me?”
Silence for a moment. “If you really are
ATA
, why are you a woman? I've never heard of a woman being a pilot.”
“Now you have!”
“How do I know you're not fifth column?” the home guard asked.
“Because I'm a bloody Canadian, you fucking halfwit! Now, get the hell out of my way, and let me get home to get some sleep. I've got a full day ahead of me tomorrow.”
Now you've done it â he's going to
run you through
.
Silence, then, “Pass. Only a Canadian would be that foul-mouthed.”
“Asshole.” Sharon stepped to her left and walked forward. The hair stood up along the back of her neck. All the way home, she expected to hear a rifle shot.
[ SUNDAY, AUGUST 18, 1940 ]
She looked for the man from the Home Guard
the next morning when she walked back to White Waltham, but he had disappeared. The feeling of having to watch her back, however, remained.
“There you are!” Mother waved a chit above his head. “Biggin Hill is waiting for you. You'll arrive at the birthday party in style. I mean, who else will be flying to the party in a brand-new Spitfire?”
“You're a magician.” Sharon took the piece of paper.
“Don't forget this.” Mother handed her the package wrapped in brown paper.
“The soccer ball! Thank you! I'm sure Sean will love it.” Sharon tucked the package under her arm.
“I had an unusual conversation with a member of the Home Guard this morning. A Major Pike, retired. Claims he had a run in with a foul mouthed Canadian girl last night. He seemed to think there weren't any women in the
ATA
. That it might have been a spy. I put him straight that, yes, we do have some very fine women pilots.” Mother hesitated.
“Major Pike, was it? Very good name for him. Poked me in the chest with his bayonet.” Sharon pointed to the spot between her breasts.
“So that's what set you off. He didn't tell me that.”
Sharon crossed her arms.
Mother leaned on the counter. “He struck me as a popinjay. A real Colonel Blimp. Put a uniform on him, and he struts around like a member of the palace guard. Still, try not to offend the old sod. He does have a rifle, and, judging by the thickness of his glasses, poor eyesight.”
Sharon frowned.
What the hell is a popinjay?
“A windbag,” Mother said.
“You and Linda have a very annoying habit of reading my mind.” Sharon hefted her gear and Sean's present.
“It's your face. Whatever you're thinking is written on it. Try looking inscrutable.” Mother struck a pose.
Sharon chuckled as she walked toward the duty Anson. She turned her face to the sun.
I'm really looking forward to this
.
It was cloudy and near midday when she saw Biggin Hill from about fifteen miles out. This time, she'd kept her altitude at one thousand feet and her eyes alert for other aircraft.
Three minutes later, the Spitfire's wheels kissed the runway. She worked the rudder to guide the aircraft in the direction of her father's hangar. When the tail dropped and she was at taxi speed, Sharon wove back and forth so that she could see around the fighter's Merlin engine.
She shut down and switched off on the concrete to one side of a Belfast hangar. Its massive wooden doors were open, and a Spitfire was being wheeled out under the arched roof.
An aircraftsman climbed onto the wing and grabbed the edge of Sharon's open cockpit. “Switches off?”
“Yes.” Sharon released her Sutton harness and opened the side door.
Three aircraftsmen appeared and guided her Spitfire into the hangar.
The tires squealed on the polished concrete floor. They swung its nose around so it faced out. On each wing, the panels were opened to access the machine gun compartments.
Sharon climbed out and retrieved Sean's gift.
“Hello there. Sean will be happy to finally meet you.”
Sharon turned around to stand face to face with Patrick O'Malley. “Hello, Dad.”
O'Malley smiled. “The party is in two hours. I have a few things to do before we trot up to Leaves Green. It looks to be another busy day.”
“Leaves Green?” Sharon held the soccer ball out in front of her.
“We live just up the road.” O'Malley pointed northwest. “A ten-minute walk.”
Sharon handed O'Malley the ball. “I hope he likes to play football. We call it soccer back home.”
“The boy is mad about his sports. Doesn't stop runnin' from the time he gets up in the mornin' 'til it gets dark.”
A man stuck his head out of the back office door. “Scramble!”
O'Malley and Sharon automatically looked east and scanned the sky.
The air-raid siren wailed.
A pilot was running for the Spitfire parked on the concrete apron.
O'Malley ran to the aircraft. He stopped, turned, and pointed.
“There's a slit trench around the side. Get in it!” The pilot stepped onto the wing, lifted himself up, and settled into the cockpit.
O'Malley was there to help strap the pilot in.
The pilot asked, “The machine guns are synchronized to one hundred yards?”
“Just as you requested,” O'Malley said.
Sharon watched as Spitfires and Hurricanes began to start up and take off in ones and twos.
“Clear!” the pilot said.
O'Malley stepped off the wing and ran down alongside the fuselage.
The propeller turned.
He's flooded the engine
, Sharon thought as the stink of raw fuel filled the air.
The propeller stopped.
The hum of approaching aircraft made Sharon look east. Anti aircraft guns began to open up.
Sharon looked to her right. A woman who might have weighed a hundred pounds was sitting on a metal seat at the rear of one of the guns. She wore fatigues and a helmet. She pressed a pedal. The gun erupted.
“Go!” O'Malley took her by the elbow.
She ran to the corner of the hangar with her parachute banging at the backs of her legs and stopped to turn and see if he was behind her when she reached the corner.
Christ, I didn't take my parachute off.
O'Malley was on the fighter's wing again. He was helping the pilot out of his Spitfire.
Her father and the pilot jumped down off the wing.
A string of bombs exploded with one deafening
crump
after another. Clods of earth and clouds of dust were thrown into the air.
A Dornier 17, with its glass nose and green-grey camouflage, was fifty feet off the ground and headed their way. She could see the gunner as he opened up. White-tailed tracer bullets reached out to them.
Some bullets whizzed overtop of the Spitfire. Others whined past her as they skipped off the concrete. One ricocheted past her nose.
Sharon dropped down to one knee and watched Patrick as he turned to run toward her.
She saw a startled look come over her father's face.
O'Malley fell onto his knees and coughed up blood. He leaned forward. His head touched the ground. There were two holes in the back of his coveralls.
“Run, you daft bitch!” The pilot ran past Sharon.
O'Malley rolled onto his side.
This isn't happening
. Sharon jumped up and ran to her father.
The Dornier screamed overhead with its guns still firing. The ground heaved as a bomb exploded on the other side of the hangar. Sharon was knocked to the ground. She crawled forward on her hands and knees.
Another Dornier flew over the runway and dropped its bombs.
Sharon crawled next to her father and looked down. She smelled copper and iron. Her father's blood was pooling on the concrete. Blood covered his chest and chin. His eyes stared past her.
She bent over to touch his forehead. He did not react.
His eyes remained open.
Sharon dropped the soccer ball and looked at the Spitfire. She looked down at O'Malley. He stared at infinity.
The anti-aircraft gun fired. Sharon felt the concussion against her ribs and looked to her right. The woman sitting at the trigger was pointing and screaming. Sharon looked up. One of the bombers was trailing smoke and fire. It lost altitude as it flew north and west.
Sharon raced to the Spitfire, climbed onto the wing, and eased herself into the cockpit.
She put on her Sutton harness.
Going through her preflight checks, she primed the engine.