‘Essen’s straight ahead, Skip.’ The navigator’s voice, sounding tinny over the intercom, rang in Fitz’s ears.
The mission had been mercifully straightforward so far, and Fitz, who had been manning the front gun, had had nothing to do but gaze into the darkness, searching for night fighters that had failed to materialise. Looking ahead, he could now see searchlights stabbing the air and an orange glow on the horizon. The first wave of bombers had already struck, and now it was their turn.
Releasing his gun, Fitz scrambled down the ladder, through the hatch into the bomb aimer’s compartment, right in the nose of the aircraft. He settled himself on his stomach on the padded flooring and made a last-minute check of the bombsight and fusing switches, sparing a thought for Thea as he did so. Assuming he came out of this night in one piece, he was going to ask her to the dance in Fenthorpe as a thank-you for keeping the instrumentation in excellent working order.
If there hadn’t been a war on, Fitz might have enjoyed the experience of looking down from the bomb aimer’s compartment. Set in the lower portion of the Lancaster’s nose, it ended in a circular Perspex blister that gave him an excellent view of the ground. Of course, it was dark, but what with Pathfinders’ flares, fire from the incendiaries, and the searchlights, there was plenty to see. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to visualise the photographs of the target that he had seen in the navigation and bomb aimers’ briefing, then he looked through the bombsight.
‘Two minutes till bomb run,’ Edwin, the navigator, called.
This was what Fitz was here to do. He pushed all thoughts and worries from his mind. He consciously closed his mind to any lingering memories of Thea, and also didn’t allow himself to wonder how Jack was doing in the rear gunner’s turret, right at the other end of the Lancaster. It was his responsibility to drop the bombs on target, in this case the Krupps factory in the west of the city. He refused to let himself dwell on the human cost of what he was doing. It had been impressed upon the aircrews in every briefing that hitting their targets would strike a blow against Nazi Germany and would shorten the war. He only allowed himself to think about that.
Through the bombsight, he could see flak bursting all around: vivid, orange explosions that made him flinch. Forcing himself to ignore them, and C-Charlie’s violent rocking, he focused on the target.
Don’t think about the flak. Don’t worry about it. That’s Greg’s problem, and you know you can trust him. Drawing a shaky breath, he blinked his eyes to clear them. He needed all his concentration now, because it was his job to line C-Charlie up precisely over the target, and only release the bombs on top of the Pathfinders’ marker flares. If he couldn’t see either them or the target for any reason, Greg would have to bank and return to the start of the bombing run, increasing the risk that they would be caught in searchlights and either shot down by night fighters or brought down by flak. The key to survival was to get over the target, drop the bombs and get out as quickly as possible. That’s what had kept them alive so far and that’s what would keep them alive now.
Edwin’s voice continued to count down the time to the bombing run and now they were there: ‘Thirty seconds to target!’
It was time for Fitz to take control, and to his relief he had a clear view of the crimson marker flares. He had to trust that the Pathfinders had dropped them in the correct position, for smoke from the fires obstructed his view of any buildings. He called out instructions to Greg: ‘Left… left… steady.’ Fitz held his breath as he watched the target draw closer to the intersection of the bombsight graticule. There it was! He pressed the release. ‘Bombs away!’ he called. Immediately his stomach lurched as C-Charlie, free from the weight of the bombs, soared upwards. There followed a tense wait for the photo flash. As soon as it had gone off, and the camera had taken its shot, Fitz had to fling out a hand to steady himself as the Lancaster banked sharply and dived.
‘Bombs gone. Jettison bars across. Close bomb doors,’ Fitz called.
A trail of anti-aircraft fire followed their erratic course, buffeting the aircraft like an autumn leaf caught in a gale. From Fitz’s position, the explosions were happening right in front of his face, making him feel horribly exposed. Beams of white light reached out for them, and Fitz tensed when one searchlight passed right in front of the nose. How Greg managed to evade it, Fitz couldn’t imagine, but suddenly the searchlights angled in a new direction, and C-Charlie had soon left them behind. Fitz felt the tension drain from his shoulders as the flak receded into the distance, and he had just shifted position to reach the bomb bay inspection hatch when a disorienting crash, accompanied by a blinding orange flash, made him fling his arms across his face. Certain the aircraft’s nose had been shot out from under him, he grappled for a handhold, expecting to feel himself tumble through the air. Then, as his vision cleared, he saw he was still lying in his prone position safe in the bomb aimer’s compartment, with a nasty hole in the Perspex in front of him, but no other damage.
‘Fitz, what happened? Talk to me, Fitz.’
Over the ringing in his ears and the wind shrieking into the compartment through the damaged Perspex, it gradually dawned on him that Greg was calling to him via the intercom. ‘I’m okay. Boy, that was close. Flak exploded right under the nose. There’s a hole in the Perspex.’ Levering himself onto hands and knees, feeling more shaky than he cared to admit, he lifted the inspection panel and peered at the bomb racks. ‘Bomb bay’s empty. I’m coming back up.’ Still blinking from the blue zigzags dancing in front of his eyes, his took his position at the front gun. Vaguely aware of Greg ordering the flight engineer to check for any damage, he gazed out into the night sky, waiting for his galloping pulse to settle.
He leaned his head against the Perspex, taking slow, deliberate breaths, forcing himself to calm down. That could have been worse, he said to himself over and over again, still rattled at the narrowness of his escape. It could have been so much worse. He half listened to the talk over the intercom, voices becoming more cheerful the further from Essen and the closer to the North Sea coast they got, although he didn’t feel up to joining in himself. He couldn’t remember when he had felt more shaken. However, he was glad to hear Jack’s voice sounding cheerful and confident. Apart from the freak explosion just now, it had been a remarkably straightforward mission, and Fitz sincerely hoped that this would have reassured Jack, calmed him and convinced him that he could stay the course.
That he wasn’t going to crack up.
He didn’t know how much time had passed – it could have been a few minutes, or it could have been an hour or more – when he felt a touch on his arm. It was Allan Doughty, the flight engineer. ‘Everything seems to be in working order,’ he said. ‘Looks like you had a lucky escape. When I heard that great bang, I thought the whole front of the plane had blown off.’
‘You and me both.’ Fitz twisted his head to give Allan a grin, only to be faced with the other man’s expression of horror.
‘Good grief, what happened to your face? You’re covered in blood.’
Fitz raised a hand to his cheek, and was shocked when his fingers came away sticky. He looked at his hand in disbelief. It was gleaming with blood.
‘You must’ve been struck by a splinter when the flak exploded,’ Allan said.
Fitz could only shake his head in disbelief. ‘I didn’t feel a thing.’ Funnily enough, now he knew he was bleeding he was suddenly aware that his face was stinging badly.
Alan handed him a handkerchief. ‘Hold on a sec and I’ll get the first-aid kit.’ He moved off, cursing the cramped interior, climbing over the spar and disappearing from view. As the first-aid box was located near the tail, it took him a minute or two to get there and back. ‘You’re not going to charm the girls with that face,’ he said when he returned. Then he opened the first-aid box and started the process of mopping up the blood from Fitz’s face.
‘Well,’ he said finally, once he’d got rid of the worst of the blood and fastened a dressing over the wound, ‘it’s just a flesh wound, but you should probably get it checked out when we get back.’
Reassured, Fitz felt well enough to return to his gun.
Greg grinned at him. ‘If a cut face is the worst that happens on this mission, I’ll settle for that.’
Fitz nodded in heartfelt agreement. His crewmates were his family, and his main concern with every op was for them all to return safely. ‘At least it means you won’t be asking me to take over this time.’
Fitz had initially trained as a pilot and had passed the early stages of the course. However, when it came to night flying he had hated being reliant on the blind flying instruments, and it had been a relief when he had failed that part of the course. He much preferred being the bomb aimer. Yet when Greg learned that he knew how to fly, he occasionally asked him to take over for a few minutes on longer runs, insisting that Fitz get used to the feel of flying the Lancaster in case Greg was ever incapacitated. Fitz prayed such an emergency never arose.
As it turned out, Fitz’s injury was the only mishap and they made it to the Lincolnshire coast with no further incident. A golden dawn chased them to Fenthorpe, and Greg executed a perfect landing that made Fitz want to cheer with relief. Once Greg had switched off the engines, Fitz grabbed his parachute and shuffled towards the hatch, feeling as though he wanted to sleep for a week. Despite his exhaustion, his heart gave a little bound when he peered out and saw Thea waiting to greet the crew. He seemed to summon extra energy from somewhere, and climbed to the ground with a spring in his step. He was about to approach Thea when someone grabbed his arm.
He twisted to see who it was, and the curt insult died on his lips when he saw it was Jack. He hadn’t seen him for the whole of the flight, which wasn’t a surprise considering he was stuck in the rear turret for the entire time. Jack had been grinning but, when his eyes fell on Fitz’s face, his expression froze. ‘Christ almighty, what happened to your face? Where did all that blood come from?’ The colour drained from his own face.
‘It’s nothing. Just a splinter that hit my cheek when that flak exploded in front of the nose. It looks worse than it is. You know how it is when you cut your face. I nicked myself shaving the other day, and the ablutions looked like an abattoir by the time I’d managed to stop the bleeding.’
Jack gave a smile, but it looked forced. ‘It looks pretty bad to me. You should see the medics.’
In truth, Fitz was feeling shaky, although he put it down to reaction from the shock rather than anything serious. But it would be foolish to ignore an injury, so he nodded and promised Jack that he would report to the MO as soon as debriefing was over. He was upset to see that all of Jack’s good humour seem to have faded, and did his best to cheer him by adding, ‘And after breakfast, of course. You won’t catch me missing out on real eggs and bacon.’
Thea’s reaction was hardly reassuring. When she saw him, her eyes went wide. ‘Good God, what happened to you?’
The only excuse he could give for what happened next was that he was drunk with relief. He wrapped an arm round her shoulders and planted a kiss on her lips, only slightly hampered by the dressing on his face. ‘It’s serious, I’m afraid. Only one thing can save me now.’
Thea shrugged away his arm. However, he was delighted to see her gaze linger on his mouth before settling on his eyes. ‘If you tell me it’s another kiss, you’ll end up being carried away feet first.’ But she was smiling a smile that made the events of the night fade to insignificance.
‘I would never be so crass,’ he assured her.
Her smile deepened. She had lovely dimples. ‘I’m glad to hear it. So tell me what you do need.’
‘The pleasure of your company tonight, at the village dance.’
Thea hummed to herself as she wandered through the cookhouse carrying her tray, looking for a place to sit. Seeing Pearl and Jenny, she plonked her tray down on their table and sat on the bench beside Jenny.
‘You’re looking cheerful this morning.’ Pearl herself looked happy, although the smudges beneath her eyes betrayed her lack of sleep. Thea guessed she must look even worse, having been required to wait a long time for the return of her other aircraft, D-Donald. The Lancaster had finally limped in with the stragglers. None of the crew had been killed or injured, although the aircraft had sustained significant damage, and it had taken a long time for Thea to write up a lengthy list of items needing repairs. She had only returned from the Instrument Section a few minutes ago, having been released by Sergeant Sedman to go and get breakfast. Despite the heavy workload, she had been singing to herself all morning, thanks to the unexpected although not unwelcome kiss from Fitz.
Now she gave Pearl a grin. ‘I’ve got a date this evening. Assuming ops aren’t on tonight.’ Aircrews weren’t generally given another mission the same day they’d arrived back from the last one, but Thea decided to make sure. She turned to Jenny. ‘What do you think the chances are? Are we going to get snowed in this afternoon?’
Jenny looked as though she was seriously considering the question. She chewed her mouthful of porridge thoughtfully before saying, ‘I don’t think it’s going to snow. On the other hand, the last forecast I saw predicted the wind would pick up, and we might even see gales.’
Both Thea and Pearl perked up. If the wind got really strong, flying was bound to be cancelled.
‘I suppose I shouldn’t be glad if ops are scrubbed,’ Pearl confessed. ‘Greg’s got to complete thirty missions, whether it takes another week or a month or a year. And I do so want him to have finished his tour by our wedding.’
‘Well, I’m not sorry. I want to have fun tonight – I deserve some every once in a while.’ Thea scowled at the food on her plate. ‘It would certainly make up for having to eat this slop every morning. I don’t know what’s worse, the lumpy porridge or the powdered eggs.’ She stuck her fork into the eggs, electing to start with the runny goo before it went cold.
Pearl was looking at her with raised brows. ‘Who are you seeing? I don’t remember you stepping out with any of the men from Fenthorpe.’
‘Fitz,’ she said, her thoughts drifting yet again to the kiss. The mere thought of it made her lips tingle, and she surreptitiously examined her reflection in her spoon to check there wasn’t some tiny insect crawling over her mouth. ‘He’s taking me to the village dance.’
She had thought Pearl would be pleased. Instead, she muttered, ‘Oh, Thea.’ It was never good news when Pearl said her name like that. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ she added.
Thea’s good mood evaporated. ‘Seriously? Is there anything in my life you don’t feel the need to interfere with? What’s wrong with Fitz? I thought you liked him.’ She dropped her eating irons with a clatter as a thought struck. ‘Or is the problem that you do like him, and you think I’m going to hurt him. Is that it?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then why shouldn’t I see him?’
‘It’s not that I think you would do anything to hurt him, or that he would hurt you for that matter, but he’s aircrew. I want you to be happy, and I speak from experience when I say I don’t want you to go through the same worry as I do every time they fly.’
‘Do you honestly think I would worry any less even if I wasn’t seeing Fitz?’ Thea demanded. ‘I care about everyone on C-Charlie’s crew. And D-Donald’s, come to that.’ Pearl looked like she wanted to speak, but Thea wasn’t going to let her. Not until she had said her bit. ‘They’re my crew, my responsibility. I would feel that way if I wasn’t going out with any of them. Or if I was seeing them all.’ Then, seeing Pearl’s expression, she hastened to add, ‘Not Greg, of course. Why shouldn’t I go out with whoever I like and have fun? I work long hours, as we all do, and when I’m off duty I want to enjoy myself.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Pearl’s tone didn’t quite back up that comment, but at least she was trying. Thea knew Pearl found it difficult not to interfere in her life; as the elder by six years, she was too used to taking responsibility for Thea. Yet while the sisters had had plenty of arguments on the subject over the years, Thea felt that on the whole Pearl was now much improved and had finally accepted Thea was an adult. Even so, she had found it tough sharing a base with her sister after three years of freedom, and she had to admit that she was glad that Pearl was now working in Lincoln and would move out of Fenthorpe altogether once she was married.
‘You know,’ Pearl said a moment later in an all-too-innocent tone of voice, ‘Greg was taking me out to Lincoln tonight, but maybe we should go to the dance. It sounds fun.’
‘Don’t you dare—’ Thea subsided when she saw how Pearl’s eyes sparkled from suppressed laughter. ‘Oh, ha ha, very funny. Try and scare me like that again, and you might find yourself with a wedding bouquet full of nettles.’
‘I wish I could go, but I’m on duty tonight,’ Jenny said.
‘I’ll tell you all the gossip tomorrow,’ Thea promised her. ‘Anyway, I don’t suppose it will be all that exciting. It’s only Fenthorpe, after all, not London’s West End. I expect Fitz won’t be able to dance for toffee and he’ll spend the evening stepping on my toes.’