Two Blackbirds (2 page)

Edgar blushed.

“Let me buy you boys some lunch.”
This is the perfect opportunity
to ask Ernie for the favour
, Sharon thought.

Lunch today was courtesy of the grey
NAAFI
wagon, which supplied them with coffee, thick ham and cheese sandwiches, and tweed squares. They sat together at a table under a tree.

Ernie wolfed down the first half of the sandwich. “This is a nice change. It actually tastes like meat.”

Edgar tucked the napkin that he kept in his back pocket into the collar of his shirt and bit into the sandwich. “The
U
-boats aren't sinking as many supply ships anymore, so the food's getting better.”

“How come you know so much about everything?” Ernie looked sideways at Edgar.

“I read, then I look for evidence to support what I read. Last month, I read an article that said the Allies have turned the tide in the Atlantic. That
U-
boats were being sunk in large numbers.” Edgar held up his sandwich. “You may be holding the proof in your hand.”

Sharon smiled as she bit into the sandwich.
I've come to enjoy the
company of men. Some of the women I work with are members of a
superior class. They look down on the bastard Canadian who gives them
orders. These two men don't see me that way at all.

“I hope you're right.” Ernie took a sip of coffee. “If I never taste mutton or bully beef again, it'll be too soon.”

“Now we have to wait and see if the invasion is going as well as
Stars and Stripes
says it is.” Edgar took a delicate bite of sandwich.

“Then the explosion this morning could be proof things are going well, or it could mean the opposite,” Sharon said.

Edgar nodded. “Exactly.” He glanced at Sharon with his brown eyes, then looked away. “How is Michael?”

Sharon shrugged. “I don't know. Haven't seen him for three months. After the invasion began, I finally understood why he's been so busy. He must have been working with the French Underground to prepare for the invasion. I suppose they'll be doing what they can to disrupt the Nazi supply lines.”

Ernie stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth. He looked at Edgar before he covered his mouth with his hand and turned to Sharon. “Why not get to the point?”

Sharon smiled and set her sandwich down on the wax paper it came wrapped in. “Edgar would like to join the 332nd in Italy. He thinks that if he could be trained as an aircraft mechanic, the transfer would happen.”

“332nd?” Ernie looked for a patch of clean sleeve before he wiped his mouth.

“Tuskegee Air Group. The Red Tails in Italy. It's made up of people like me.”

A thoughtful frown formed on Ernie's face. He turned to Sharon. “You want me to train him?”

Sharon nodded. “That's right. You need the help. Edgar needs the training.”

Ernie looked at the hangar, then at Edgar. “When do you start?”

Wrinkles appeared on Edgar's forehead when he looked at Sharon.

“I have to clear it with Edgar's
CO
.” Sharon picked up her sandwich. “I'll phone him right after I finish this.”

“Maybe not,” announced a voice from behind her.

She turned.

Michael stood a head taller than her. He studied her with striking blue eyes framed by strawberry blond hair. “I hear you've had a surprise attack this morning. Thought I'd come and investigate. Apparently you've seen one of Hitler's so-called vengeance weapons.”

“I wonder who his target was?” Edgar said. “His vengeance weapon crashed in an empty field. Apparently they have some problems to solve if they want to hit military targets.”

“Or maybe he's declared war on cows. The only casualty was an unlucky black Angus,” Ernie said.

Sharon stood and embraced her husband. She inhaled the scent of cigarettes and chocolate.

“Is the coffee any good?” Michael asked.

“Not bad.” Ernie lifted his cup. “Sharon will get you a cup.”

Sharon's face turned red. “He can get his own damned coffee!” She turned to her husband. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Planning an invasion,” Michael said.

“I've been so worried. I thought you might have gone back into France.” Sharon looked him over, checking for evidence of wounds.

“You told me not to lie to you. I couldn't very well call you up and tell you what I was up to, now could I?” Michael chuckled.

“Don't laugh at me!” Sharon said.

“It's just that you're an ace. It's not as if you haven't taken a risk or two in this war.” Michael winked.

Ernie lifted his chin and looked at Edgar.

Edgar said, “So, the rumours are facts. Exactly how many aircraft have you downed?”

“Nine. I saw one crash with my own eyes.” Michael looked at Edgar. “I don't believe we've been introduced.” Michael offered his hand. It was dwarfed by Edgar's.

“An ace.” Ernie stood up and looked at Sharon. “You never talk about it.” He offered his hand to Michael. “I'm Ernie.”

“Michael. Glad to meet you. You must know by now. The people who do the actual fighting in a war are often the least willing to talk about it.” Michael put his arm around his wife's shoulder and pulled her closer.

CHAPTER 2

[WEDNESDAY, JUNE 14, 1944]

Linda sat at the kitchen table
in the cottage that her aunt had loaned them for the duration of the war. “I made coffee.” She wore her red hair cut short and had on a flight suit despite the summer heat. After being burned in a crash, she kept as much of her body covered as possible whenever she flew.

Sharon sat down across from her friend and sister-in-law. She stared at the coffee Linda had poured for her. “Thank you.”

“Michael getting up?” Linda asked.

“He's asleep.”

Linda smiled before she sipped. “Did you let him get any sleep at all last night?”

Sharon blushed. “Well, it has been a couple of months since I've seen him.”

“You two made it difficult to sleep. Just when I was ready to nod off, you'd start up again.” Linda tried to hide her smile behind her coffee cup.

Sharon thought,
You're making a joke, but you're really upset with
me. You've been that way ever since the crash.

“It's the war. You never know if this time will be the last time.” Linda sipped her coffee. “You know, live for the moment because who the hell knows if you'll be alive or dead from one minute to the next. I heard about yesterday's bomb.”

When you don't know what to say to Linda, change the subject.
“I've got a lot of work to do today.”

“So that's it, then? Wear my poor brother out and get back to work?” Linda smiled at her joke.

Sharon shook her head. “There may be a way to get us another good aircraft mechanic. I've got a call in to Edgar's commanding officer, Colonel Wright.”

“You must be joking. The only reason you were able to get Ernie was because he opened his gob at the wrong time and in the wrong place to one of his superiors. There's no way you'll be able to get another one. They're like gold these days.” Linda stood up and reached for her bag.

“I'll let you know later if my plan works.” Sharon got up, straightened her tie and put on her blue battledress jacket.

“Ever since they made you senior commandant at White Waltham, you've become a woman possessed when it comes to safety.” Linda put her cup in the sink.

Sharon did the same. “I don't want to watch another Anson crash and burn at the end of the runway because a drunken sod of a hung-over mechanic forgot to tighten a fuel line.” She walked to the door, stuck her feet in her shoes and leaned to tie the laces.

“Do you get a chance to fly anymore?” Linda asked.

“There are always chances to fly.”

“Aren't you going to wake Michael?” Linda already had her shoes on and stood waiting.

“The war can do without him for a little while. He needs some rest. Besides, if this war has taught me one thing, it's that we're all replaceable.” Sharon stood, opened the door and walked out into the morning.

The air smelled of dew. It sparkled on the grass and leaves as they walked to White Waltham.

“Mother wrote me a letter,” Linda said.

“What did she have to say?” Sharon watched a pair of blackbirds dart and turn across the road.

“All is well. Sean is still being quiet, but she says that's normal. Michael was the same way at fifteen.” Linda pulled the letter from her pocket and handed it to her sister-in-law.

Sharon took the letter and stuffed it in her breast pocket. “Thanks.”

He wore a white GI's helmet
with
MP
stamped front and centre in black letters. There was a black armband on his left arm with the letters
MP
in white. At his hip, he wore a Colt .
45
sidearm. There was a white belt across the middle of his
GI
service coat. “Sergeant Edwin Beck. Colonel Wilson asked me to deliver this to you.”

Sharon noticed that the sergeant didn't get out of the Jeep and did not salute her — even though she was his superior officer — as he handed her the envelope. Edgar watched from the back seat where he'd crammed himself into the Jeep. She tore the end off the envelope and pulled out the letter.

ATTENTION: SENIOR COMMANDANT SHARON LACEY-TOWNSEND,

MY ADJUTANT FORWARDED YOUR REQUEST FOR EDGAR WASHINGTON TO BE
REASSIGNED TO WORK WITH YOUR AIRCRAFT MECHANIC AT WHITE WALTHAM.

WASHINGTON IS YOURS TO DO WITH AS YOU SEE FIT.

ON A PERSONAL NOTE, BE ADVISED THAT YOU SHOULD WATCH WASHINGTON
CLOSELY. YOU ARE AWARE OF COURSE THAT HE WAS ASSIGNED TO YOUR BASE
BECAUSE SUITABLE DUTIES COULD NOT BE FOUND FOR HIM AT MINE.

SINCERELY,
COLONEL WILSON

Sharon folded the letter. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

Edgar climbed out from the back seat of the Jeep.

Sergeant Beck started the Jeep. “He's all yours.” He revved the engine and popped the clutch, spattering them with gravel. He shifted into top gear by the time the Jeep hit the road. He braked hard at the intersection where a rock wall marked the three-way intersection. The Jeep skidded, then fishtailed as the sergeant turned left.

“Thank you,” Edgar said.

“I hope this won't make things difficult for you, Edgar.”

“No more than what's usual for a man like me who wants to better himself, or a woman who likes to fly.”

“Well, I'll give you that. We'd better go let Ernie know he's got some help.” She walked beside Edgar to the hangar.

They found Ernie changing the magneto on an Anson's engine. “Christ in heaven, who designed this ugly son of a bitch of an aircraft?”

Edgar made a fist of his right hand, brought it to his lips and coughed.

Ernie leaned out of the engine and spied Sharon. “Ummm, good morning.”

“Edgar's
CO
has okayed his working with you,” Sharon said.

Ernie frowned.

Think fast.
“I was thinking perhaps we should have a week's trial period. If either you or Edgar aren't happy with the arrangement after a week, then all one of you has to do is say so, and we go back to the way things were.” Sharon looked at Ernie and at Edgar. “All right?”

Edgar nodded.

“Okay by me,” Ernie said.

“Edgar, you must speak up,” Sharon said.

“Sounds all right,” Edgar said.

“Okay, then. I'm off to do a delivery.” Sharon turned and walked out the hangar door.

“There is one thing,” Edgar said.

Sharon stopped. “What?”

“I've been thinking about the flying bomb we saw yesterday. It would require some kind of internal gyroscopic control system to keep it flying straight and level. That would make it vulnerable.”

Sharon faced him. “Go on.”

“It might be easy to upset the flying bomb by getting a wingtip under one of its wings and flipping it over.” Edgar used his hands to illustrate. “That would most likely upset the guidance system and cause it to crash.”

“So a pilot would need to fly close formation and lift the flying bomb's wing?” Sharon looked at Edgar to ensure that she understood the technique.

“Yes. At first, I considered using the turbulence of an aircraft to upset the flying bomb's control system, but that would take an aircraft the size of a Lancaster bomber. We both know the bomber does not have the speed to catch the flying bomb.” Edgar frowned, and the lines across his forehead became furrows. “You understand that my theory would need to be tested in the field?”

“Sounds nuts,” Ernie said.

Sharon thought,
Just crazy enough that it might work.

After a fifteen-mile ride in the Anson,
Sharon was dropped off at Hawker's Langley factory at Slough. It was a massive, white-roofed facility between White Waltham and London.

A red-nosed Hawker Tempest waited in its grey and green camouflage. A fitter stood near the massive fighter with its four-blade propeller and 2,200-horsepower Sabre engine.

The fitter wore a leather vest and a wool cap. He stood on the wing root and kept one hand on the rim of the cockpit while offering Sharon his hand to lift her up off the ground. “Have you flown one these tricky bastards yet?”

Sharon nodded. “Once or twice.” She took his hand, stuck her foot in the stirrup and stepped up onto the wing. “Thank you.”

He waited while she climbed into the cockpit and got herself strapped in.

Sharon could feel him watching over her shoulder while she checked flaps and hydraulics before the start up.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Clear!”

The fitter dropped down off the wing as she prepared to start the engine.

The propeller swung, the engine caught, and black smoke puffed from the exhaust. The air was momentarily filled up with the stink of raw gasoline. The engine smoothed itself out, and the prop wash blew the stink away.