Chapter Fourteen

Come Monday morning, having had the whole weekend to stew over it, Doris made a beeline for Jane’s office as soon as she’d finished breakfast. Jane was in the morning meeting with Thelma. As her second in command, Thelma was in charge of assigning which pilot delivered which aircraft, something Jane enjoyed being part of, and the two were finalizing the list when Doris knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Jane called and showed a complete lack of surprise at who entered her office.

Upon setting sights on Thelma, Doris stopped halfway through the door. “Sorry, boss,” she said, “forgot you’d have company.”

Thelma got to her feet and grabbed her hat. She threw a smile Jane’s way. “She’s all yours, Doris. We’re finished here. See you later, Jane.”

Left alone, Doris didn’t waste any time in getting to her reason for practically barging into Jane’s office. “Have you heard anything?”

Jane invited Doris to take the chair vacated by Thelma before she settled back. “Over the weekend? No, there’s nothing yet, but I wouldn’t expect there to be. I only reported back to the Station Commander at Polebrook on Friday afternoon.”

Once Jane’s words had settled into her brain, Doris slumped, and her face took on a dejected look. “I suppose,” she began, running a hand through her hair, “I shouldn’t have expected otherwise, should I.”

At seeing Doris looking so down, Jane came around her desk and perched on its edge beside her American friend. “Look, don’t let it get to you, Doris. I’m sure it’s all a complete mix-up. He’s probably put the damn hanky in the wash. Try to put it from your mind,” she urged and, as if she could read her friend’s mind, added, “and I don’t want to find you and the other two terrors doing any investigating of your own.”

Doris had to smile at Jane’s description of her friends. “How long have you thought of us as terrors?” she asked. “And do the other two know?”

The blush spreading rapidly to Jane’s cheeks told her she hadn’t shared this little snippet with them yet. “Perhaps we should keep this conversation between the two of us?”

Doris nodded, feeling a little lighter than when she’d first entered the office. “Probably a good idea.” She got up to leave but caught sight of a new photo pinned to the wall behind Jane’s desk. “How’s Frank these days?” she asked.

Colonel Frank Lowlan had been the Station Commander of RAF Keevil, in charge of the American Transport Command squadrons based there. He’d become enamored with Jane upon hearing her voice over the phone after Mary had made an emergency landing there, and he was now Jane’s boyfriend. Hamble’s personnel had seen him only once or twice, but everyone knew they were head over heels for each other. A happy boss was always a good boss, Penny had become fond of saying. Of course, he was also inadvertently responsible for unleashing unarguably the worst driver on the south coast because of his gift of the Jeep.

Jane let out a sad but contented sigh and absently ran a finger across his face. “Last I heard, he’s fine. Can’t tell me where he is, of course”—Doris nodded her understanding—“but so long as the letters keep coming, I’ll make do.”

“Bit of a pig, him being back on flying duties. Any idea when he’s due back?”

Jane knocked her fist against her desk. “With luck, sometime around the end of next week, last he said.”

Doris took Jane’s hand in hers and looked up into the older woman’s face. “Tell me when he gets back, okay? We must have a get-together, everyone. You know who I mean.”

“Perhaps after I’ve had him to myself for a few days.” When she realized to whom she was talking, someone who had a saucy sense of humor, Jane quickly altered what she’d said. “I mean, we want to be alone for a few days.” Doris fought to keep the smirk from her face. “Oh, damn you, Doris,” she scolded jokingly. “You know what I mean!”

Doris got to her feet, kissed Jane on her cheek, opened the office door, and only then replied with a huge wink, “I know exactly what you mean.” She then nipped out of Jane’s office before she could be hit by the eraser her boss threw.

****

Despite coming out of Jane’s office in reasonably good spirits, by the time Doris was airborne in a brand new Mosquito, her mood had taken a down turn. Penny maintained that, when she was flying, she never dwelled on anything that was troubling her, and Mary upheld the same. Both lived for their flying, as indeed did Doris—only for Doris, no matter how much she enjoyed her flying, if something was on her mind when she was up in the air, it hit her. No matter what she flew or where she went, she’d find her mind going over and over and round and round whatever the issue was.

Today was no different. She was on her last delivery of the day and her second Mossie. Between the two had been an annoying Typhoon she’d had to nurse to its base. The Engineering Officer hadn’t been pleased when she’d declared it unserviceable upon handing in her delivery chit, and she’d been tempted to tell him, “Tough cookies.”

The Mossie, though, was a delight to fly, its controls responding to her lightest touch, its Merlin engines purring as the airplane knifed its way effortlessly through the clear blue skies. Outside the cockpit windows, the only things in sight were a few sparse clouds. However, this wasn’t enough to prevent her thoughts from straying on to the accusation from Polebrook. As if she’d steal from Clark Gable! As if she’d steal from anyone! The whole idea affronted her soul, and she had a good mind to tell him so, assuming they ever met again.

As she passed over the river Nene, she saw a familiar-looking airfield come into sight. “Well, well,” she muttered to herself, “coincidences do happen.”

Thinking swiftly, she formulated a plan. Sometimes, not often, flying a plane with no radio had its advantages. To test her idea, in case she needed to prove it at some point, she fiddled with the fuel mixture of one engine, and it spluttered and coughed most satisfactorily. An evil grin spread across her face, and she let it stay there, knowing that, when she landed, she shouldn’t be seen grinning as if she’d had her cake and eaten it.

Circling the airfield twice, she fiddled with the fuel mixture a number of times, producing more very satisfactory coughs and puffs of smoke from her port engine. Banking in toward the nearest landing strip, she lowered the undercarriage and happily ignored the flares being fired off from the control tower. Undoubtedly, they were meant to warn her off landing, as were the many calls on the radio she couldn’t, unfortunately, hear!

Once down, she swiftly taxied toward where she believed Gable’s squadron was based. As her engines wound down, Doris wasn’t surprised to find herself surrounded by military police Jeeps with their occupants not looking in the sunniest of dispositions. In fact, as she peered closer, most appeared to have their hands upon the holsters of their pistols, and one or two were even in the act of drawing their guns out. Unbuckling her safety harness, she mused on both the beauties and troubles of living in a foreign country. She’d grown used to the British with their, in her opinion, still slightly relaxed attitudes to security, compared to the sometimes over-the-top security front of her countrymen. Best to get out and give her explanation before one of them decided she was a Jerry in disguise, she thought as she unlatched the hatch.

Standing before the hatch, Doris decided to make a statement, especially as the nearest MP had a definite scowl upon his face. She bowed her head, took hold of her flying helmet, and in one long, graceful, expansive motion swept it off her head, exaggerating the shake of her head as she did so. Her platinum blonde locks caught the light, and from the open-mouthed gazes of pretty much all present, she’d accomplished her goal of putting them off balance.

Time to play the ace card. If they were typical of her countrymen, then they probably had a low opinion of women pilots, and whilst she had them off balance, now was the time to go in for the kill, metaphorically speaking.

“Very sorry about this, guys,” she began, running her fingers through her hair, “my port engine’s running rough, and I decided it’d be safer for me if I put down now whilst I still had a choice.”

One of the MPs, the one with what looked like sergeant’s stripes on his helmet, came toward her, still with a hand upon his holster, she was amused to note. “Ma’am, you have a lot to explain. Maybe you should begin by telling me who you are?”

Doris pulled her ID card from the trouser pocket of her flying suit and passed it to him, mustering her sweetest smile as she did so.

As he read, she was inwardly delighted to see his eyes widen. “Air Transport Auxiliary! You’re a pilot?”

The airman was obviously an idiot. Doris essentially told him so. “Ta-da!” she spread her arms wide to encompass the Mosquito above and around her.

Clearly the man she was dealing with had no idea what he should do or what was going on, so Doris dialed down her sarcasm a little. “Look, how about you escort me to the nearest Engineering Officer, and then you can listen in as I explain what’s happened. Okay?”

However, as she was speaking, she spotted a notice on the hangar wall nearest them, proclaiming “351st Bomb Group,” so she didn’t bother waiting for a reply. Before he could stop her, she’d picked up her flying bag and was halfway through the door into the hangar before he’d even moved. In fact, Doris was walking at such a pace the MP didn’t catch up with her until she’d knocked and walked into an office labeled Adjutant.

“Hey! Miss!” the MP yelled from down the corridor. “What’re you doing in there?”

Doris closed the door behind her at the same moment the MP reached it.

Before her sat a man about her age, in the extremely smart uniform of a United States Army Air Force major. His face registered a mixture of surprise and admiration. Doris decided she could use the admiration to her advantage. First, though, a little intimidation.

“Major,” she began, perching herself on the edge of his desk, in the act of which she knocked some files off, which landed in his bin, “care to explain why I was shot at whilst I was trying to land?”

The word “flustered” could have been invented to describe the state of the poor man Doris had descended upon with the force of a ten-ton truck. First, he got to his feet, and she could swear his arm began to move as if to salute her, then his legs seemed to think better of this and went from under him, so he retook his seat, whether he wanted to or not. His mouth started to move, yet no sound came out. Doris watched it all with much amusement and debated whether to see the little act out to whatever conclusion it would get to…or to interrupt him. She knew if any halfway competent engineer inspected the engines of her Mosquito, they’d know she didn’t really have any problems. In the end, knowing time was not on her side, she’d miss her taxi if she didn’t get a move on, and then she’d either have to spend the night in some flophouse or try to catch a late train back, she opened her mouth.

The nuisance of the MP knocking and entering, obviously having found his backbone, interrupted her train of thought. “Sir. I’ll escort this…person…from your presence.”

This seemed to persuade the officer to come somewhat to his senses. “It’s okay, Sergeant. As she’s here, I may as well see what she wants.” He then looked at Doris, really looked at her for the first time, taking in her flying suit too. “And you are?”

“Third Officer Doris Winter,” she said, adding a flick of her hair for good measure.

“Major Jim Fredericks,” he replied, holding out his hand for her to shake. “Now we have the pleasantries over with, what brings you here?”

Doris shrugged a shoulder as if what she was about to tell him was an everyday occurrence, something not too far off the mark. “A rough engine.”

The officer’s brows knitted together. “On what, exactly?”

“My Mosquito.”

A desk jockey he may have been, there were no wings upon his chest, but even he’d heard of this particular aircraft. “The Wooden Wonder?”

Doris smiled inwardly. She’d lucked out when she’d been given the ticket to fly this aircraft, all right. “Spot on.”

“Would you tell me what you meant by ‘being shot at’?” he asked.

“Possibly she’s referring to the flares the control tower were shooting up, sir?” offered the MP, startling Doris as she’d forgotten he was still in the room.

“Some of them got a little close,” she stated, fixing him with a steely glare which, she was pleased to note, caused him to attempt to take a step back. This was impossible, because of the wall his back was already up against.

“I understand they only resorted to those because you weren’t answering your radio,” the sergeant added, with a slight sneer.

Doris had been waiting for this and was ready for it. “Sorry to disappoint you, but we don’t have radios fitted to the aircraft we deliver.” She added a shrug, to indicate this was normal.

This caused the major to change his mind about what he was about to say, and he sat back in his chair, indicating to Doris she should take the one in front of his desk. Doris, whose rear had been going numb, gladly accepted the offer.

“I see.” He frowned. “So let’s get our boys to take a look. I’m sure you’re impatient to get the plane delivered.” So saying, he picked up his phone, barked a few orders into it, and replaced the handset. “There we go. Engineering will get someone to take a look at it now. You did say the port engine, didn’t you?’

Doris nodded, mind elsewhere. How was she going to get the conversation around to the damned handkerchief? It wasn’t like she could just come right out and ask, was it?

Jim Fredericks smiled at her. “I never seem to know my left from my right!”

Doris’s eyes popped out on stalks. The last thing she needed was for some fool to mess around with a perfectly serviceable engine and break the thing! She’d be in for it then, for sure.

The major got up from his chair and, with a nod of his chin, directed the MP to open the door. Following him down the corridor, Doris took note the MP had taken it upon himself to follow them. She tapped the major on the shoulder. “Do we need the snowdrop?”

“What? Hmm. Oh, I see what you mean,” he said, seeming to notice their white-helmeted escort for the first time. “Off you go, Sergeant. I don’t think I’m in any danger from this young lady.” The way the MP let out a huff of annoyance as he did an about-turn showed his displeasure with the order. “Your timing couldn’t have been better.”

Still slightly distracted, Doris barely caught what he said. “Oh, how come?”

Opening a door for her, he ushered her outside the hangar’s main doors. She was somewhat surprised to find she was amongst a veritable throng of men, most of whom seemed to be staring up into the sky, though some were playing half-hearted games of catch, or reading various magazines and books. The major explained this strange affair.

“The whole Group is out on a raid,” he began. “If anything, your trouble has at least distracted some of the men from all this waiting. Come on.” He tapped her on the shoulder. “Let’s take a walk over to the tower.”

Doris stood looking around and trying to get it into her head what could be going through the minds of everyone there. Undoubtedly, each would have friends who were fighting for their lives at that very moment. By comparison, her troubles seemed trifling, and she had to fight down the guilt which threatened to overwhelm her at interrupting this time of contemplation. At her heels, a small terrier trotted up, and she started to kneel down to give it a fuss. Unfortunately, the animal had other ideas and cocked his leg. Just in time, she skipped back, and the dog was deprived of his human fire hydrant.

The major noticed this as well and aimed a missing kick at the rear of the dog as it scurried off. “Sorry. It’s his favorite trick.”

“No harm done,” Doris muttered, checking her suit leg was still dry. Satisfied, she took his arm, and they carried on toward the main runway. “Look, whilst I’m here, do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” he agreed, nimbly hopping over a baseball as it sped under his foot.

“What do you know about Clark Gable’s handkerchief?”

Just short of the runway, he pulled her to a stop, turned his face to hers, and slapped a hand against his forehead. “Doris Winter! Now I remember why your name seemed to ring a bell!”

She regretted one thing about being a blonde—when you blushed, it really showed! “Guilty as charged.” She gave him a wide grin, hoping charm would help if he became annoyed at her. Fortunately, it didn’t appear to be needed. “So, would you mind?”

“Nope. Ask what you want.”

She hoped she wouldn’t get him into any trouble. After all, he seemed a very kind and hospitable chap. Doris asked, “Is this really such a big deal? It’s only a piece of cloth.”

One side of the major’s mouth turned up as he shrugged. “I kind of see what you mean. However, it is very important to him. A lot of his friends back in Hollywood signed it before he came out here, and it’s become his good-luck charm.”

Doris’s hand immediately flew to her wrist and twanged her lucky rubber band. So, they’d been right. She could now see its importance to Mr. Gable, and told her companion so.

“I’m sure you can understand then, Doris. I can call you Doris?”

“Sure you can, Jim,” she agreed. “And I can, but I still don’t have it, and to be perfectly honest, I’m a bit pissed off about the letter my boss read to me.”

“Ah, yes. I wasn’t happy, but my superiors ordered me to write it. Big film star and all, though I will say it wasn’t Mr. Gable’s idea. He didn’t want it to go out either.”

“Either way, you can see why I didn’t like it,” Doris stated, kicking a ball back the way from which it had come.

“I can,” he began sympathetically, but then added, “however, it’s still a fact Captain Gable insists you were the last person to hold it.”

“I swear I gave it back,” Doris stated. “Look, give me a bloody Bible to swear on!”

The major held up his hands in mock surrender, chuckling. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m only telling you what you’ve read and what I’ve been told by the man himself.”

“Well, could I speak to him?”

At this, the major looked up toward the sky as the drone of an aircraft became audible. When he replied, his voice seemed far away. “You’ll have to wait a while.”

Doris followed his gaze and was able to make out what looked like a four-engined aircraft flying low over the forest, toward the far side of the airfield. “Ah. He’s out on a mission.”

Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the sight of flares being fired from the approaching aircraft. Immediately, everywhere she looked people were springing into action.

Not knowing quite what to do, but also not able to bear being left out, Doris followed Major Fredericks as he began to run toward where fire-tenders, ambulances, and various other vehicles were heading toward the far end of the runway the aircraft seemed to be heading toward. “What’s wrong?” she gasped, struggling to keep her flight bag from slipping out of her hands and wishing she’d left the damned thing in her Mosquito.

As the words came out of her mouth, more flares came out of the aircraft, and this time, being nearer, Doris was able to make out red and yellow. As they came to a slightly out of breath halt leaning against a fire-tender, she managed to get enough air into her lungs to ask, “What do the different colors mean?”

The face the major turned on her, together with the tone of his voice, made Doris feel like her blood had turned to ice. “The yellow means the aircraft has serious damage, and red means there are wounded on board.”