Kit knocked on the side door to the big house early the next morning, ready to thank Lillian for allowing her to use the motorcycle and to offer Emily a ride to the airfield. To Kit’s disappointment, Emily had already left. Nigel informed her she had left well over an hour before, carrying the bicycle’s flat tire with hopes someone at the airfield could fix it for her.
“I wish she had told me. I could have taken it,” Kit said.
“She said she had a ride on the back of Sir Edmund’s toy. I can’t imagine it was very comfortable, especially in the rain,” he said, glowering at Kit. “Her Ladyship will undoubtedly worry every moment you are on that dreadful thing. And knowing Miss Emily is straddling the back like a sack of potatoes going to market will only make matters worse.”
“Tell her I’m very careful. She can trust me not to crash land.”
“By the way, Lieutenant,” he said, pulling a slip of paper from his vest pocket. “Lady Marble asked me to give you this.”
“What is it?” Kit asked, taking the small certificate.
“Her Ladyship’s petrol ration card.”
“I can’t take this,” she said, handing it back. “You’ll need it for the car.”
“Her Ladyship is giving you her second card. This one has never been used. Bellhurst is allowed two ration cards.” He pointed out the faint number two in the corner of the card. “Do take care of it. They are a devil to replace.”
“Thank her for me, will you?” Kit said, grinning broadly at the present. “This is wonderful. I had no idea how I was going to get gas.”
“She assumed as much. Have a pleasant day, Lieutenant, and do be careful.”
Kit roared up the road and entered the airfield gate, turning heads as she rode by on the Indian. She parked and locked it outside the ATA office and went inside to check the assignment sheets. As predicted, the day would be hectic. The pilots received their orders and were sent off on their first sortie just after seven o’clock. Kit was about to cross the field for her first flight when Griggs waved her back.
“You’re taking a Lancaster to Ashton Down,” Griggs said. “It’s being finished up at the MAC unit and needs to go back straight away. I’ll oversee the other deliveries until you get back.”
“Do they have something for me to bring back?” Kit asked, not wanting to spend her day hitching a ride along the road.
“I believe they have a Mustang that’s coming back for a complete engine replacement.”
“Peachy,” Kit said, knowing that meant the one that was in it had damage. “They can’t swap it up there?”
“Not a Mustang. There aren’t enough spare engines to go around.” Griggs went back to her office.
Kit gathered her flight gear and checked in at the MAC unit. A row of airplanes in every size from antiquated biplanes to four-engine bombers and seaplanes were waiting repair. The mechanics units were responsible for the major repairs the individual airfield crews couldn’t handle. Many of the crippled and damaged aircraft were littered with bullet holes and blood-stained cockpits.
“Which Lancaster goes to Ashton Downs?” Kit said to the man on the telephone. He pointed to the one at the end of the row. He snapped his fingers to get one of his mechanic’s attention and pointed for him to assist Kit in getting the big bomber away. As she climbed into the left seat, she noticed a glob of dried blood and gooey brain matter stuck on the altimeter. She sat frozen, unable to take her eyes off it.
“Ready, Lieutenant?” the mechanic called up to her.
“Yeah,” she said, her eyes still on the glob.
“Okay, wind her up,” he said, pulling the chocks from behind the wheels.
Kit forced her attention to flying the mission. She started the engines and preformed her pre-flight check then released the brake and pulled away, slowly rolling across the field and onto the runway. She had to throttle back and wait behind three Spitfires for her turn to take off. While she waited, she allowed her eyes to return to the altimeter. She was mesmerized by the blood and tissue. She touched it with her index finger, drawing back a long string of sticky substance. Kit swallowed hard, fighting the tears that suddenly filled her eyes. She found a scrap of paper under the seat and was ready to wipe it off, but hesitated. She crumpled the paper and tossed it out the window, leaving the glob of blood where it was. If someone wanted it removed, they would have to do it. She wasn’t going to be the one to take away this medal of honor.
The last Spitfire took off, and she eased forward on the throttle. The bomber began its run across the grass, effortlessly rising above the trees as she cleared the end of the airfield. There was a strong tail wind, and Kit made good time. She rolled to a stop at the end of the runway at Ashton Downs, an airfield much like Alderbrook, but one that housed a bomber squadron instead of a fighter group. A few smaller aircraft were lined up as trainers and escorts, but it was the twenty-six bombers that gave the airfield its punch. She checked in with the command center then climbed into the Mustang for her return flight.
“She’s a little testy, Lieutenant,” the mechanic said as he helped get her seat-belted into the cockpit. “Watch the oil pressure.”
“Did you fill it?” Kit asked, checking the gauges.
“Six liters. You should be all right. Don’t pull any loops.” He patted the canopy and climbed down the wing.
“That’s comforting.” She closed the canopy and started the engine. It belched a cloud of blue smoke then chugged into service. She tightened the straps on her parachute as she rolled toward the runway. “Okay, baby. Let’s go home, and make it quick.” She roared down the runway and eased back on the stick. As soon as she had cleared the fence at the end of the runway, she headed southeast for Alderbrook, setting as straight and fast a course as she could. The Mustang normally was a fast and fun fighter to fly, but this one was sluggish and heavy. Kit fought with it the entire trip, trying to keep the nose up and the speed steady. The wind pushed the plane as well, making corrections to her heading necessary every few miles. The oil pressure began to drop as she neared Alderbrook. By the time she crossed the river and made her turn for an approach, the gauge showed no oil pressure at all. Kit knew it was just a matter of time before the already damaged engine began to seize up, cooking its pistons and welding the parts together. A loud bang and a jerk of the stick took Kit’s breath away. It was all she could do to hold the airplane in a straight line as it lost altitude, sailing in over the end of the runway like a leaf in the wind. She had no time to make adjustments, and the choking black smoke billowing from the engine obscured the runway. The Mustang was on a course, and she hoped it was one that would set her down on grass, not trees or buildings. She braced herself and held the stick with both hands, straining to keep it against her body as the wheels came crashing to the ground, gouging a pair of ruts in the soft grass. The tail of the airplane swung around, pulling the left wing tip up at a sharp angle. It finally came to a stop, jolting Kit forward it her seat, her head striking the edge of the canopy.
All she knew was she wanted out. If the engine was going to blow up, she didn’t want to be sitting in the cockpit. She scrambled to release her seat belt and threw back the canopy. Climbing out of a fighter’s cockpit was usually easier if the pilot waited for one of the ground crew to assist with the straps, but she wasn’t waiting for anyone. She pulled herself out and slid down the wing then ran for safety. She didn’t look back until she was well away from the crippled aircraft. The mechanics surrounded the plane, spraying foam on the engine to stop the smoke and fire danger. Kit unhooked her parachute harness as she headed across the infield, glad that mission was behind her. The ready room was empty. Even Commander Griggs was out of her office. From a look at the assignment sheets, Kit assumed her girls had been sent out on their next delivery.
The door opened and Emily stepped in, carrying a box full of folders.
“Lieutenant Anderson,” she said, noticing Kit studying the map.
“Hello.” Kit looked up. “What have you got there?”
“These are for Commander Griggs. I brought them back from Luton.” Emily’s face changed from pleasant to horrified. “Lieutenant, what happened to your head?” she asked, dropping the box in a chair.
“What are you talking about?” Kit asked, touching the tingle she felt on her forehead. She drew back bloody fingers.
“Did you have an accident on the motorcycle?” Emily asked angrily. “I knew it was too dangerous to ride.” She came to see Kit’s wound.
“I didn’t have an accident on the motorcycle. This must have happened when I lost power on the P-Fifty-one and had to land with a dead stick.” Kit rubbed her forehead again.
“Don’t do that. Sit down and let me have a look.” Emily pulled a white hankie from her pocket and prepared to administer first aid. “That’s a nasty looking gash.”
“It’s nothing,” Kit insisted, still wiping the blood that was now trickling down her cheek.
“Sit down,” Emily ordered, steering Kit toward a chair then pushing down on her shoulder. Kit had no choice. She decided it was better to give in and let Emily tend to her wound than to continue dripping blood onto the flight jacket. “Lean your head back and hold this.” Emily pressed the handkerchief over the cut. “I’m going to get some water and a bandage.”
“That’s all right. It’ll stop bleeding in a minute.”
“Just hold it, Lieutenant. I’ll be right back.” Emily placed Kit’s hand over the hankie and hurried out the back door. She was only gone a few minutes and was back before the bleeding stopped. She carefully removed the handkerchief and dipped it in a pan of water then went about dabbing at the cut.
“Ouch!” Kit flinched as Emily touched it. It hadn’t hurt before. Kit had barely noticed she was injured. But now it stung and was beginning to throb. “Just press the handkerchief on it, and I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll be fine when I tell you you’ll be fine,” Emily said, pushing Kit’s hand away. “Now hold still. You’ve got it bleeding again.”
“And you thought we Americans are pushy.”
“Lieutenant Anderson, what happened?” Andrea exclaimed, stepping through the door.
“Nothing,” Kit snapped.
“I saw your landing in the Mustang. That must have been a hairy flight.” Andrea came to Kit’s side to see her wound.
“You may require stitches, Lieutenant,” Emily said.
“Oh, no I won’t,” Kit said decisively and stood up.
Emily grabbed her sleeve and pulled her back into the chair.
“Oh, yes, you will.”
“No, I won’t. Doris had stitches on a tiny little cut on the back of her head, and she said it hurt worse than having a baby. And she ought to know. She had two of them.”
“Would you rather bleed to death?” Emily scowled, still dabbing away the blood.
“You better listen to her, Lieutenant,” Andrea said.
“I’d rather put a bandage on it and forget it.”
“You’re worse than my students. At least they sat quietly while I tended their scrapes and bruises.”
“No stitches,” Kit insisted.
“We’ll see.” Emily gently pressed her fingertips around the cut, examining the depth of the wound. “It isn’t as bad as I thought. It’s just a small flap of skin that has been sliced open. I believe I can close it with some tape, if you’ll remain still.”
“Good.”
“Looks pretty nasty. Do you want me to take her to the infirmary?” Andrea asked.
“No, she’ll be fine,” Emily said, her face just inches from Kit’s as she inspected the wound. “Close your eyes, Lieutenant.” Emily pulled a small brown bottle from her pocket.
“What are you going to do with that?” Kit asked suspiciously. “And what is it?”
“It’s Miss Mills Magical Fairy Potion. At least that’s what I told my students.”
“Looks like iodine,” Andrea said.
“Iodine!” Kit glared up at Emily. “Where did you get that?”
“In the first aid box.” Emily unscrewed the cap and pulled the dauber from the bottle. “Now hold still and close your eyes.”
“That’s going to sting,” Andrea said, leaning in to watch.
“You are not helping,” Emily said, frowning at her.
“Couldn’t you find something else?” Kit asked.
“There wasn’t anything else unless you want me to sprinkle foot powder on your face.” She pressed Kit’s head back and held it there. “It will only sting for a moment, and it isn’t that bad. Besides, you’re one of those brave Yanks. I thought you could take anything.”
“Very funny.”
“Hold still.” Emily touched a few drops of iodine to the cut. Kit immediately jerked her head.
“Ouch, Goddamn it. That does too sting.” She waved her hand over the cut, trying to fan away the sting.
“I told you,” Andrea said.
“Wait,” Emily said, holding Kit’s hand out of the way and gently blowing across her forehead. Kit closed her eyes as Emily’s tender care cooled the pain.
“Better?” Emily asked between breaths.
“Yes.” Kit said, her eyes still closed.
“It wasn’t that bad, now was it?” Emily said then pressed a kiss on Kit’s forehead.
Kit opened her eyes and stared up at her, surprised at Emily’s kiss. Emily blushed, as if she too was surprised at her action. Andrea stood staring at the two of them.
If Emily kissed all her students’ cuts and scraps like that, Kit was ready to go back to school. It may have been instinctive for Emily as a teacher, but for Kit it was a gift from the gods. She was only sorry Emily had done it in front of one of her pilots. She hoped Andrea didn’t find it awkward or embarrassing.
“I should apply the adhesive before your cut starts to bleed again,” Emily stammered, fumbling nervously with the roll of tape. Kit took the roll and peeled off a strip. Emily pressed it across the cut, diverting her eyes from Kit’s stare.
“There we are. All finished,” Emily said, collecting the first aid supplies.
“Lieutenant Anderson, what happened to you?” Griggs asked as she strode through on her way to her office.
“Nothing, Commander. Just a scratch,” Kit replied.
“Good. The MAC unit just telephoned. They have a pair of Hurricanes ready to go back to Ringway. And, Mills, Commander Wilkes needs a driver to take him down to Whitechurch. Check with his office to see what time to pick him up, then check out a car from the motor pool.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Emily replied, pulling her attention away from Kit and her wound.
“Thank you, Miss Mills.” In spite of Commander Griggs and Andrea’s suspicious stare, Kit couldn’t help herself. She gazed into Emily’s eyes and found something tender there.
“You’re welcome, Lieutenant. Anytime you need bandaging, please do not hesitate to call on me.”
“Grab your gear, Paisley. We’re going to Ringway,” Kit said, leaving Emily with a smile as she headed out the door.
“Do be careful this time, Lieutenant,” Emily said softly.
As they crossed the infield toward the runway, Kit looked back at the ATA office and saw Emily standing in the window. Emily pressed her hand against the glass. Kit’s heart skipped a beat. She tapped her forehead, saluting back at her.