Two Blackbirds (22 page)
“Coffee, please.” Sharon unfolded one of the newspapers.
Beneath the masthead on the newspaper was a headline: “Bringing Our Boys Home: An Allied Effort.” Beneath the headline was a photo of Linda, Walter, Sharon, Rollins, and two nurses. Sharon smiled when she saw that Walter was identified as Edgar Washington.
The door opened and Gerard d'Erlanger entered the room. A moment later, Pauline Gower arrived. Gerard had dark hair, a handsome face, and a businesslike approach. Pauline wore slacks, had her hands in her pockets, and kept her hair cut short. She smiled with her trademark gap-toothed grin.
Sharon nodded and stood at attention. “Good afternoon.”
“You're looking well, Sharon.” Pauline shook hands with her.
Gerard shook hands then sat down at the head of the table. “Glad you were able to meet with us today.”
Pauline sat down between Sharon and Gerard.
Gerard pointed at the newspaper in front of him. “You and your crew did yeoman service and provided the
ATA
with some much-needed publicity. The role played by our pilots is often forgotten.”
Pauline tuned to Sharon. “There have been a number of laudatory comments made through channels about the article, and a personal thank you was relayed from General Eisenhower. Apparently, Eleanor Roosevelt was also very impressed by your accomplishment.”
“I had a very good crew. Linda Townsend and I shared the flying duties. She also charmed the reporters in America. Walter Coleman was indispensible. He was able to procure medicine that saved at least one life.” Sharon felt herself beginning to sweat under the uniform jacket.
“I'm glad you mentioned Airman Coleman. We've had a concern expressed about the involvement of Coleman and Shane in the death of an American sergeant.” d'Erlanger checked his notebook. “Name of Beck.”
“Beck murdered one of my men.” Sharon felt her anger rising.
Keep
your mind clear and your voice calm!
Pauline touched Sharon's sleeve. “Yes, I remember that you made persistent attempts to have Beck charged with the killing of Washington.”
Sharon nodded. “Edgar Washington was unarmed and was murdered in front of me.”
“A regrettable incident,” d'Erlanger said.
“Very.” Sharon heard the sarcasm in her voice and felt Pauline's fist punch her knee under the table.
D'Erlanger frowned. “As you can well imagine, maintaining cooperation between the various Allied groups has been a bit of a challenge at times. I would hate to see anything happen that might spoil the goodwill created by your flight to America.”
Say it now!
“I would recommend that Ernie Shane be promoted and returned to Canada as an instructor. He is a talented mechanic who has managed to safely maintain a variety of aircraft and improve the safety record at White Waltham.”
Pauline Gower seemed to tense up, but kept her eyes on d'Erlanger.
D'Erlanger frowned and looked out the window. “A very wise move, I think. Remove Shane from the scene. How about this Coleman?” D'Erlanger pointed at the photograph. “Or Washington. Which is it?”
“Coleman. I've been assured that he will be transferred to the 332nd in Italy,” Sharon said.
“I'm not familiar with that group.” d'Erlanger studied Sharon.
“A fighter group called the Red Tails who operate out of Ramitelli Airfield.” Sharon maintained eye contact with her superior.
“I see. Both will be removed from the scene. A suitably diplomatic solution to a touchy problem, I should think.” D'Erlanger stood up. “A very satisfactory meeting.” He left the room.
Pauline turned to face her. Sharon thought,
How come he left so
quickly?
“Another matter requires his attention,” Pauline said.
There was a knock on the door. Pauline stood up, opened the door, and was handed a tray of coffee and tea. Sharon got up and closed the door. She waited as Pauline poured herself a tea. Sharon poured a coffee from the carafe, then added cream and sugar.
Pauline sipped her tea. “I was hoping to hear your perspective on the Lady Ginette Elam situation.”
Even in war, the princess must be given her due.
“What would you like to know?”
Pauline walked closer to the window. “I understand she left White Waltham quite abruptly.”
Sharon stood on the other side of the table.
I know how to fly, but
the niceties of British etiquette escape me. Oh, to hell with it!
“Ask me direct questions. My answers will be equally direct.”
Pauline turned to her and smiled. “Why did Lady Ginette leave?”
“She made a racist remark about this man. I was a witness to her outburst.” Sharon pointed at Walter on the front page of the newspaper. “I said that her fascist leanings were showing.”
Pauline blinked.
“I also told her that Walter came to fight the Nazis, while she initially wanted to join them.” Sharon sipped her coffee, then went to add a bit more cream.
Pauline stared at Sharon, then began to laugh. “You didn't!”
Sharon took a long breath and shrugged her shoulders. “She was a member of the British Union of Fascists.”
Pauline stopped laughing. “You're joking.”
Sharon shook her head and sipped her sweetened coffee.
“How did you come by this information?”
Sharon shrugged.
“I was very sorry to hear about the death of your father-in-law.”
Pauline watched Sharon as she sipped her tea.
Pauline, you are very sharp!
“So was I.”
“Be careful of Lady Ginette. She still has powerful friends in certain social and political circles.”
Sharon took another long breath. “I never have quite been able to understand British society. That's the problem. I see what needs to be done, and then get it done. Afterward I find out that there were protocols to follow.”
Pauline shook her head. “After the war is over, some of those same people who were happy to have us risk our lives will expect you and me to stay home and become obedient wives and mothers.”
“After this war is over, it's inevitable that things will be different. Too many people have risked everything and survived. It makes us much harder to control. Much harder for us to accept things as they are.”
Pauline smiled. “You're an optimist.”
Sharon smiled back. “A realist. I didn't fight to become a doormat.”
[WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 14, 1945]
Sharon landed at RAF Coningsby.
It was on the east coast about one hundred miles north of London. The brand new Lancaster was being difficult on the taxiway. Sweat ran down the sides of Sharon's face from the effort of working brakes and juggling engines. She wiped her face in the crook of her elbow once she was finally able to shut down in front of one of the green hangars. She grabbed her kit and scrambled down the length of the fuselage to the rear side door of the aircraft.
“Hello!” A mechanic stood under the wing of the bomber.
Sharon looked at the man, who wore a cap, grey coveralls, and a leather vest. “Afternoon.” She climbed out, turned, and walked up to the smaller opening set into the hangar door. She was careful not to trip over the bottom ledge and ducked so that she didn't bang her head on the doorframe. Inside, there were three Lancasters crammed into the building. The hangar smelled of gasoline, oil, and India rubber. She looked down one wall and saw a sign that marked the location of the bathroom.
I'm about to burst!
She dropped her parachute and bag on the concrete floor, went down the hallway, saw the open washroom door, stepped inside, and locked the door. She had to unzip her Irvine jacket, hang it up, unzip her flight suit, and shimmy out of that.
Hurry!
She sat down on the cold seat. The relief was ecstasy.
“You saw the flames. It was like something out of Dante.” The voice was a baritone. It came from a room across the hall from Sharon.
“I saw it. And I saw what the Nazi bombs did to Coventry and London.” This voice was a soprano.
“And those Nazi acts of terror unified us,” said Baritone. “Now we bomb a German city and unite its citizens against us. We haven't learned a damned thing.”
“As far as I'm concerned,” Soprano said, “the Germans started the bombing of cities. Now they can find out what it's like to be on the receiving end.”
“I can't see how bombing a city like Dresden is going to help us win the war.”
“You sound like a fuckin' bolshy. The Nazis started this war. They bombed their way across Europe. Their buzz bombs and
V-
2s have rained death down upon us. We gave 'em a taste of their own medicine last night.”
“Then,” Baritone said, “what makes us different from the Nazis if we attack civilian instead of military targets?”
“It's a fuckin' war! Not once around the block in the back seat of a London taxi!”
There was the sound of a slamming door. Footsteps stamped along the hall past the bathroom door and echoed inside the hangar.
Sharon stood up and began the process of putting her flight clothes back on. The zipper felt tighter than normal when it reached her chest.
Christ, my breasts won't fit in here if they get any bigger!
She walked out into the hallway just as a brown-haired pilot of twenty or twenty-one opened the door across the hall. He frowned, shook his head, and waited for her to precede him down the hallway.
“Thank you.” She stopped in the hangar to pick up her gear.
The pilot walked past her and headed for the door.
She saw him again as she stood in line at the
NAAFI
wagon. She juggled her parachute, her kit bag, a sandwich wrapped in wax paper, and a cup of coffee.
“Here. Let me at least hold the coffee,” the pilot said.
Sharon handed over her cup. She set the parachute and her bag against the wall of a hangar and unwrapped the wax paper so that she could get at the contents. “Thank you.” Sharon reached for her coffee.
The pilot handed it back to her. “Turner.”
Sharon sipped the coffee. “Lacey,” she replied and took a bite of sandwich.
“You must have heard us talking,” Turner said.
Sharon nodded as she chewed.
“I just don't think bombing civilians is any way to win a war.” Turner pulled up the collar of his blue uniform jacket.
“I don't know if it's possible to fight a moral war. War, by definition, is immoral.” Sharon looked over at the Lancaster she'd just delivered and wondered what its first target would be.
“I suppose. But that doesn't really address my point.”
Sharon saw the duty Anson land. “There's my ride.”
“At least you in the
ATA
don't have to become killers like the rest of us.” Turner bent to pick up her parachute.
“Who says I'm not a killer?”
Turner handed her the parachute without a word. Both realized there was no need to say anything. Sharon read the recognition in his eyes. He had figured out who she was.
Douglas taxied the Anson
to the White Waltham hangar. Sharon tapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks.”
Douglas nodded and smiled.
“Aren't you going to shut down?”
He shook his massive head. “One more short trip.”
She walked downhill to the side door, opened it, backed out, turned, and walked right into Walter. They were buffeted by the propeller wash.
“I'm off to join the Red Tails!” Walter hefted a duffel bag onto his shoulder. “McBride arranged this ride for me. I leave tonight for Ramitelli, Italy! Douglas is taking me to Croydon right now.”
Sharon hugged him as the air from the propellers pushed her hair into her eyes.
“Thank you!” Walter kissed her cheek. Then he shoved his duffel bag into the Anson, followed it, and closed the door behind him. Sharon walked over to the hangar and watched as Douglas taxied to the runway and took off.
“He's thrilled to be going. I'm going to miss him,” Ernie said.
“Me too.” Sharon looked beyond and saw a pair of pilots, two women who had been Lady Ginette's followers. They were looking at Sharon and talking behind their hands. She had a flashback to her school days when girls would talk behind their hands when they discovered Sharon didn't have a father. She walked toward the pilots. They turned and walked into dispersal.
“I got my orders today.” Ernie followed her.
Sharon turned and studied his face.
“I'm on my way home in a week. Assigned to Lincoln Park Airfield in Calgary. It comes with a promotion.” He smiled at her and cocked his head to one side.
“That is good news for you.”
But not for me.
She turned toward the dispersal hut.
“Walter says we have you to thank for our transfers.”
Sharon waved at Ernie without turning around.
I'm afraid I'm going
to start crying.
She found Mother behind his counter. He had the radio on and was listening to the
BBC
. Sharon and Mother listened to the announcer's words:
British and
US
bombers have dropped hundreds of thousands of explosives
on the German city of Dresden.
The city is reported to be a vital command centre for the German
defense against Soviet forces approaching from the east.
Last night,
800
RAF
Bomber Command planes let loose
650
,
000
incendiaries,
8
,
000
pounds of high explosives, and hundreds of
4
,
000
-
pound bombs in two waves of attack. They faced very little anti-aircraft fire.
As soon as one part of the city was alight, the bombers went for another
until the whole of Dresden was ablaze.