Blackbirds (18 page)

Merlin engines hummed as a quartet of humpbacked Hurricane fighters bounced, then lifted into the air. They watched the fighters climb into scattered clouds.

“Off on patrol,” Sean said.

“I imagine.” Sharon looked east.
I don't like being in the open like
this
.

“Don't worry. No reports yet of the Luftwaffe bombers building up over France. Today they're sending their fighters over to see if they can lure our boys up for a fight.”

Sharon turned.

“Hello, William,” Sean said.

“I hear you've had quite an adventure.” William wiped his hands with a rag that might have been white at one time. There were dark half-moon smudges under his eyes.

“Been working around the clock?” Sharon asked.

William nodded. “The losses from yesterday had to be replaced. There have been people looking for you.” He pointed at Sharon.

“The
ATA
?” Sharon asked.

“An
ATA
pilot or two, and some fellows in black suits.” William watched the sky behind Sharon.

“What do you see?” Sharon turned to watch.

A camouflaged Anson was on finals. The wings rocked and the engines roared.

Sharon recognized the questionable piloting skills. “Roger.” She put her hand on Sean's shoulder.
Christ, I hope the asshole's not drunk
.

“The drunkard.” Sean and William said it at the same time. They looked at one another and laughed.

By the time they were through laughing, the Anson was taxiing their way.

“Better stand over here.” William indicated the corner of the hangar. “This git's famous for running into anything and everything.” Sean led the way as they kept the hangar between them and the approaching air taxi.

“You taking Sean with you?” William asked.

Sharon nodded as the Anson's Cheetah engines roared.

“Patrick would approve!” William said over the sound of the engines.

Sharon looked at her brother and felt a fistful of grief rising up inside.
Hold on
.
Now all we have to do is get Roger to go along with taking
Sean on this trip
.

One after the other, the Anson's engines shut down. Roger clambered out of the aircraft. He stepped off the wing and onto the ground. He rubbed his shin. “Bloody crate! I'm forever smashing my leg against that bloody spar!” Roger turned to face them. “Where the fuck have you been? Mother's been nagging me like an old hen to find you and bring you home.”

“Well, we're here, and ready to fly back to White Waltham.” Sharon smiled at Sean.

“We? Mother said nothin' about we. He said to bring you back. Not you and some boy. I'm not a bloody school bus driver hauling kids around the country! Besides, I'm only authorized to fly
ATA
personnel.” Roger wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

Sharon closed her eyes. “Asshole.”

“What did she call me?” Roger looked at William for confirmation
.

William gave Sharon a warning glance, then turned to Roger. “Come on. I've been told to hand something over to you. It's in the office at the back of the hangar. It'll cure whatever ails you.”

“What did you call me?” Roger turned to Sharon.

William took Roger around the shoulders and aimed him into the hangar. “Come along with me, old boy. A wee taste of the rum will set you right.” William looked over his shoulder and cocked his head in the direction of the Anson.

“Ever have a ride in one of these before?” Sharon asked.

“Of course. Not my favourite, though. Winding up and down the undercarriage is a bloody chore.” Sean approached the Anson. “Should we do a walk around first?”

Sharon followed.
Where have I heard this before? He sounds just
like me at his age.

“How many times have you gone flying?” Sharon watched as he ducked under a wing and checked the range of motion in the aileron.

Sean shrugged. “Don't know. Plenty, as my dad used to say.”

“How often did you come here?” Sharon followed along as Sean picked all of the right spots for a preflight inspection.

“After school. Weekends.” Sean moved to the landing gear.

He's just the right size for checking under this aircraft
. Sharon bent at the waist to follow him. Her hand rubbed the underside of the wing so she wouldn't bump her head on one thing or another.

Sean completed the check, then opened the door near the trailing edge of the wing.

Sharon followed him inside into the cockpit. It felt like a green-house and smelled of oil, dust, cigarette smoke, old booze, and body odour. “You sure know your way around the Anson.”

Sean turned. There were tears in his eyes. “My dad taught me. Said I'd make a good pilot if I decided that's what I wanted.”

“Did your mom ever go along for the ride?” Sharon squeezed past Sean and into the pilot's seat.

Sean sat in the next seat. He shook his head. “She hated flying. Always made her sick.” He looked at the fuel cocks. “Roger had it all wrong.”

Sharon looked at the fuel indicators. One was off and the other set to draw fuel from the outer tank. “If he didn't notice, he would have starved the engines of fuel.” Sharon tapped the port fuel gauge. It was on empty. “Good work, Sean.” She selected inner tanks from both wings where the gauges indicated the tanks were full.

“Dad thought Roger was a drunk and an accident waiting to happen.” Sean looked over the edge of the cockpit and out onto the wing. “Dad said you were a good pilot.”

Sharon didn't know whether to smile or cry.

“He said he liked you straight off, and that I would like you, too.” Sean looked over his shoulder.

“What did your mother think of all of this? You know, me being Patrick's daughter.”

“Here comes William.” Sean turned to face his sister. “My mother was upset at first. Then, after a couple of days, she thought that all of this happened long before her, so she was looking forward to meeting you.”

“How come you sound like a little old man?” Sharon heard the door open at the aft end of the fuselage.

“Everyone calls him the little old man.” William's head and shoulders appeared at the door. “The drunken sod gulped down the better part of a bottle of rum. You want us to strap him in the back seat, or do you want to leave him in the office to sleep it off?”

“We'd better take him with us. Need some help?” Sharon asked.

William shook his head. “Got a couple of volunteers who are all too happy to see the back of Jolly Roger. Back in a bit.”

Sharon turned and went through her preflight checks as she read the card on the Anson.

Sean watched her go through the routine. “Have you flown one of these before?”

“Once.” Sharon reached over to Sean. “You know how to put on your safety harness?”

“Of course.” Sean rolled his eyes.

“Let me see. It's my job to make sure you're secure.” She smiled as she waited to see that he did it right.

Sean wiggled into his Sutton harness and secured it under his chin. “It's a little high up, but this is the best arrangement for someone my size.”

Sharon gave the harness a tug. “Looks right.” She reached for her own harness.

William entered the rear of the aircraft. “Okay, you push from your end, and I'll pull from this.”

Sharon turned to watch as William sat on the wing spar. He pulled Roger into the narrow fuselage.

Roger's chin rested on his chest. He seemed to take an intense interest in the fly of his trousers.

“Let's get you secured.” William grabbed the two ends of Roger's lap belt and cinched it tight.

“Can 'ardly breathe,” Roger said.

William waved away the secondhand alcohol oozing from Roger.

Sharon asked, “Is he going anywhere?”

William turned and offered his hand to Sean. “No. Roger'll be asleep before you get where you're going. Sean, take care of yourself.” He cocked his head in Sharon's direction. “Your sister's more than a fair pilot. And just between you, me, and the wind, she's an ace. Seen the proof myself.” He clambered down the fuselage and squeezed out the door. He pounded on it after he secured it.

Sharon turned around.

“An ace?” Sean studied her as she pulled on her flying helmet.

Sharon spotted William at the nose of the Anson. She leaned closer to the open side window. “Clear!”

William nodded.

She started the first engine, then the second.

William waved as they taxied out to the runway.

Sean watched Sharon's every move and pulled himself up to peer out the canopy window when she opened the throttles for takeoff.

There was the familiar thrill as the wheels left the ground. They climbed and headed northwest.

When the gear was up, she looked at Sean. His head was leaning to one side and his eyes were closed.

She looked over her shoulder. Roger had his head leaning up against the fuselage. His mouth was open wide. Sharon thought,
At least I
don't have to listen to him snore
.

She kept her head on a swivel as they flew along the south side of London. By using the creases in the flesh of her hands, where her fingers met her palms, she could minimize the pain from her blisters.

On the horizon, to the southwest, a black column of smoke rose and was brushed across the sky by the ocean breeze.

“Where the hell have you been?”
Mother stood scratching the top of his head. He leaned in the doorway of the dispersal hut. “And where the hell is Roger?”

“He's sleeping it off in the back of the Anson,” Sharon said.

“Where have you been?” Mother looked at Sean.

“She dug me out,” Sean said.

“This is your brother?” Mother smiled and offered his hand to the boy.

Sean rolled up his sleeve and took Mother's hand.

“And?” Mother asked.

Sharon watched his face and saw him trying to put the various bits of information together. He looked at Sharon. “How drunk is Roger?”

“Stinking,” she said.

“Blotto,” Sean said.

“How'd he get drunk?”

“One of the aircraftsmen helped us out — he was being obstinate.”

“He what?” Mother looked at Sharon.

I really don't care what anyone thinks. We did what was necessary.
That's all that needs to be said
.

“William took him into my father's office,” Sean said. “Gave him some rum while we checked out the Anson.”

Mother frowned at Sharon.

“Roger wasn't going to allow me to take Sean on the aircraft. Said something about regulations. So William got him drunk, while we did a preflight,” Sharon said.

“Good thing, too, because Roger had the fuel cocks all wrong.” Sean crossed his arms. “And he's always in his cups, anyway. Could I please have something to eat?”

“Where are your parents?” Mother asked.

“Dead.”

“We're just back from the funeral.” Sharon shrugged when Mother made eye contact. She saw a shudder run through him.

“And what happened to your face and hands?”

“She dug me out after the bomber crashed into my house.” Sean looked in the direction of the canteen. Pilots were gathered around, grabbing a sandwich and drinking tea. “Sharon could use a cup of coffee. She's pretty tired after all she's been through. Did you know that she's an ace?”

“I'll pretend I didn't hear that last part.” Mother looked out over the airfield, then back at the main building. “The two of you need to get something to eat. I'll come and talk to you in a minute.” He turned and stepped inside the main building.

“What do you think he'll do?” Sean asked.

“Don't know.” They walked toward the canteen.
God, I need a cup of coffee
. Sharon caught a whiff of her stale clothes and unwashed body.
And a bath
.

“I bet we'll be in loads of trouble,” Sean said.

He sounds like he's looking forward to it
. “What else could happen?”

“What will you have?” The woman behind the counter smiled down at Sean.

“Sandwich, please,” Sean said.

“Spam or Spam?” she asked.

Sean smiled.

She handed him a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper.

“Thank you.” Sean opened the wrapper and bit.

“And you?” the woman asked.

“Coffee, please.” Sharon took it and went outside to sit under a tree with Sean. She leaned her back up against the trunk. Her belly growled.
I don't think I could stomach Spam right now
.

Sharon stared at the blades of grass
in front of her face. She blinked.
Am I asleep or awake?