In Perfect Time (26 page)

With a giant sigh, he pushed the control column forward to decrease altitude. “Look for a field. I’ll head east and pray we hit the Po Valley, but right now I’ll take anything.”

“Coop?” Whitaker stood in the doorway to the cockpit, face drawn. “Did I hear right?”

“Yeah.” His heart sank faster than the plane. “You’d better . . . prepare the ladies for an emergency landing.”

“At least we know procedures.”

“Yeah.” Another sock to the jaw. They knew procedures from experience. Pettas and Whitaker had been with him in March when he ditched in the Mediterranean. Georgie had been there too.

Lt. Roger Cooper was about to lose his third plane. Number one when Grant Klein crashed into his parked plane and killed Clint Peters and Rose Danilovich. Number two when Vesuvius knocked out an engine. And now number three.

How many would survive today? Would any of them? At
best they’d be guests of the Germans for the duration of the war.

Not only had he failed Kay and broken her heart, but now he might kill her.
I’m
so
sorry,
Kay.

Pettas leaned in the door. “I sent a position report as best I could. Whit’s got the doors open, everything lashed down. Any papers you need destroyed?”

“Yes.” Elroy passed back flight plans.

Roger checked his instruments. Down to one thousand feet. Now to find a field.

He scanned the landscape. What was that? He squinted at a pale green patch ahead and to the right. “Elroy? See that? Let’s check it out.”

“Looks promising.”

The plane wanted to turn right, so Roger let it. The closer he got, the better it looked. He could only afford to circle the field once. On the ground, the Germans would take them prisoner, but in the air, they were a big fat target.

He pulled alongside the field. Though open and smooth and long, it lay on a slope. He’d have to land heading uphill. “Oh boy.”

“Don’t think we can find better than this.”

“I agree. Gear down.”

Elroy turned the lever, and Roger set the latch. While flying the landing pattern, they increased rpm, made a power reduction, and lowered the flaps.

“Airspeed one hundred. It looks good, Coop. I think it’ll work.”

“It’d better.” Ten lives depended on it. Roger turned into the approach, eyeing the field.

Sweat trickled down his temples.
Lord,
help
me.
Don’t
let
me
kill
these
people.

The field rushed up to him, trees along either side and at the far end. “Get ready to cut the engine. And . . . now!”
Roger pulled the control column toward his chest to get the nose up.

Elroy flipped levers and switches at lightning speed.

The wheels settled down. Roger pressed the brakes with his toes, maneuvered the rudder with his heels, jammed the column all the way to his chest.

The plane bumped and rolled and banged Roger around.

Elroy cried out and slumped to the right.

Roger’s head cracked on the side panel, and pain shot through his skull.

How many people had survived?

30

Kay hunched over, her hands grasped under her thighs. Her chin banged her knees, she bounced between Mellie and Louise, and the floor of the plane blurred. When would it stop?

Vera screamed, then Alice.

Stop,
stop,
stop.
Make
it
stop.

A final shiver, then stillness.

She was alive! Kay straightened up and pushed back her hair. “Everyone okay?”

“Yes,” said Mellie, echoed by Georgie.

“Vera’s hurt,” Alice cried. “A crate got loose, slashed her leg.”

“Help her out. Everyone out.” Kay fumbled with her seat belt.

Footsteps thumped from the cockpit. Roger burst through the door and stopped, gripping the doorjamb. His gaze swept the nurses, then landed on Kay. A sigh collapsed his chest, as if he were actually glad to see her. “Thank God.”

For one moment, Kay’s heart cried out that he cared, that he loved her. But reason silenced that voice.

A trickle of blood ran down his temple, and a giant yellowish-green bruise covered one side of his jaw. How had he developed
a bruise so quickly? And why was he still looking at her, mouth slack, forehead creased?

Vera screamed but clamped off her cry.

Roger blinked and snapped his gaze to Vera. “You hurt? We gotta get off now. We put out the engine fire, but I still don’t trust it.”

“Vera’s hurt.” Kay glanced to her right.

Louise slouched against the bulkhead, light brown hair sheeted over her face. The blanket she’d placed between her head and the wall had slipped down.

“Louise!” Kay shook her friend, pressed two fingers to the carotid.

Roger stepped closer. “Is she . . . ?”

“She’s alive. Unconscious. Must have hit her head.”

“Thank goodness. Everyone off the plane. We’ll be POWs, so take your coat, hat, gloves, anything warm you can carry.”

Prisoners of war. A cold shiver ran through her. She’d trained for this but never seriously considered it. Kay stood on wobbly legs. She looped her musette bag over her head, added Louise’s bag, and unhooked Louise’s seat belt. “I’ll take her feet. You get her shoulders.”

“No. I’ve got her. Get off the plane.” Roger slung Louise over his shoulder and headed down the aisle.

Sergeant Whitaker beckoned at the cargo door. “Everyone out.”

Alice helped Vera down the aisle, and Mellie and Georgie followed. What about Sergeant Pettas? Mike Elroy? Where were they?

Kay dashed into the radio room. Pettas sat at his desk, burning papers with a lighter. In the cockpit, Mike sat slumped against the window, eyes wide, one hand pressed to his chest.

“Mike! You all right?”

“Got the . . . wind knocked . . . out.”

Kay grabbed his hands and raised them over his head as high as the ceiling allowed. “Take slow deep breaths. Be calm.”

“Gotta . . . get off.”

“I know. Can you walk?”

“Don’t know.” He got halfway out of his seat, moaned, and sank back down.

“I need help! Someone!” She couldn’t carry him alone.

Roger stepped into the cockpit, chest heaving, face flushed. “What are you doing here? I told you to evacuate.”

“Mike’s hurt, dazed.”

“I know. Had to get the ladies off first. That means you.”

“Where’s Louise?”

“Whit’s carrying her.” He shouldered past Kay and helped Mike to his feet. The copilot sagged to the side, and Roger struggled to hold on.

“Don’t be stubborn. I’ll get his feet.” Kay did just that.

Roger grabbed Mike under the shoulders, and they maneuvered him out of the plane, Pettas following.

At the cargo door, Pettas took Kay’s position, and the men carried Mike toward the trees. Kay stayed on the plane and rummaged through the cargo for a medical chest. Surely they had one on board. She shoved aside crates and barracks bags until she found one.

“What are you doing?” Roger leaned inside the cargo door. “The engine’s smoking. The plane could blow any second.”

She opened the chest and pulled out supplies. “We have wounded.”

Roger groaned and hoisted himself inside. “Come on. We’ll take the whole thing. We’ve gotta move.”

They dragged the chest to the door and carried it across the field to the trees. Kay glanced behind. Smoke curled out of the right engine, puffing a message to the Nazis. How long until they were discovered? How would the Germans treat them?

Kay stumbled over a rock but kept moving, light-headed, her life turned upside down and inside out.

They plunged into the woods, where the rest of the party sat in a small clearing. Louise lay with her head on Mellie’s lap. Her eyes were open, and she gave Kay a weak smile.

Kay set down her end of the medical chest and dashed to Louise’s side. “You’re all right. Thank goodness.”

Mellie stroked Louise’s hair. “We’ll have to keep her awake in case she has a concussion.”

Louise pointed to the medical chest. “Some aspirin would be nice. I’m sure to have a headache.”

“I’ll say.” Kay glanced around. Mike sat up, leaning against a tree, pale but conscious. Georgie and Alice examined Vera’s leg. “Georgie, how bad is it?”

“A long gash, not too deep. Oh, you brought supplies. Bless you.” She scooted over to the chest and pulled out gauze and sulfanilamide powder.

Kay joined her, found an aspirin bottle, and shook out two tablets. Apparently the Lord didn’t want her to report Vera’s affair. He could have found a less dramatic way to stop her.

“Hallo.”

She spun around at the unfamiliar voice.

Two men stood there, Italians in civilian clothing, with rifles strapped across their chests.

Heart thumping, Kay eased her hands up in surrender, fingers coiled around the tablets.

The younger of the men grinned.
“Americani?”

“Si.”
Roger stepped forward, hands in front of his chest. “We surrender.”

The younger man laughed, a boy really, a teenager. “No, we are friends. We are partisans.”

“Partisans.” Roger’s hands drifted down. “You speak English.”

The boy puffed out his thin chest. “
Si.
My uncle lives in New York. I visit him often before the war.”

Kay relaxed her grip on the aspirin before her sweaty palms could dissolve the tablets. She slid to Louise’s side, passed her the pills, and exchanged a wary look with Louise and Mellie. In the long run, would it help or hurt them to be found with partisans?

The older Italian man glanced around, one hand on his rifle.

“The Germans—the
Tedeschi
—they’ll be here soon,” Roger said.

“Tedeschi? No,” the boy said. “Not here. The Tedeschi put the Italian Ligurian Army in charge here. Traitors. And the
Brigate
Nere
.”

“Brigate Nere.” The older man spit to the side as if the words tasted foul.

Kay knew nothing about the Brigate Nere or the Italian Ligurian Army, but they seemed to be aligned with the Nazis.

“We see your plane.” The boy pointed to the field. “They will too. We must hide you.”

Hide? Hope flickered, but reality doused it out. How could they hide a party of ten?

Roger rubbed his hand over his chin—the side without the bruise. “We have wounded. We have women.”

“
Si.
We want to help. Your planes bring us guns and bullets and medicine. Now we help you.” The boy made a sweeping gesture. “We have friends. The SOE, the OSS. They will take you home.”

“SOE?” Louise whispered. “OSS?”

“SOE—British secret agents,” Kay said. “OSS are Americans.” She’d heard of these agents, working behind enemy lines, coordinating partisan and Allied activities, rescuing downed airmen. Maybe they could rescue airwomen as well.

“I don’t know.” Roger scrunched up his face. “Sounds dangerous. The women . . .”

“Oh, please.” Georgie’s eyes widened. “I want to go home.”

“I do too,” Mellie said. “Tom will worry.”

Alice wound gauze around Vera’s leg. “Speak for yourselves. The Germans will treat us well. We’re women. And the Luftwaffe makes sure aircrews are treated well. But if we sneak around, they’ll think we’re spies and kill us.”

“She’s got a point,” Sergeant Pettas said. “Even more so for us fellas.”

Kay clutched a button on her overcoat. This was why Lieutenant Lambert stressed unity. In times of danger and decision and stress, division could destroy.

She got to her feet. “Ladies, we all went through training at the School of Air Evacuation. What were we taught to do if shot down over enemy territory?”

Mellie jutted out her chin. “As an officer in the United States Army Air Forces, I have a duty to evade capture, and if captured, to attempt escape.”

“Lt. Georgiana Taylor, serial number O-703631. And nothing more.” Georgie clamped her lips shut.

“Well?” Kay tilted her head at Roger and crossed her arms. “I assume you were taught the same.”

A sharp nod, and he glanced down to the leaf-covered ground, his eyebrows jammed together. “All right then.”

Mike pushed himself to standing. “Coop, we should see what we can salvage from the plane. She seems stable.”

“Come on, men.” Roger plowed through the trees. “Rations, water, all we can carry.”

Mike, Whitaker, Pettas, and the Italian boy followed.

Kay and Georgie jogged behind them. The men wouldn’t think to get medical supplies, blankets, or extra clothing.

“Where are we going?” Roger asked the Italian boy as they ran.

“South. Closer to the
Americani
.”

“Won’t they expect that?”

“
Si.
When they ask which way you went, we point south. They won’t believe us, will go north. So we go south.”

In a strange way, it made sense. Kay climbed inside the plane and found her barracks bag. “Georgie, find yours, toss out anything you don’t need. We can use the bags to carry rations and things.”

“What about the other girls? We should bring them their bags, do the same.”

“Good idea.” Kay pulled out a stack of magazines, her skirts, her swimsuit, her . . . her ball gown. The same grassy green dress she’d worn to Mellie’s wedding, dancing in Roger’s arms, his face so close to hers.

“Have any room in . . .” Roger stood behind her, gaze fixed on the fabric in her hand.

Kay’s cheeks flamed, and she shoved away the dress. “Plenty of room.”

“Let me take that.” Georgie relieved him of his armload of tins. “Oh good. Rations from the life rafts.”

“Yeah.” His voice rough, he turned away.

Kay’s eyes burned, but she loaded her bag with tinned water that Mike handed her.

At the wedding she’d reverted to her old flirtatious ways and tried to manipulate Roger’s heart and control him. This was her punishment.