Greg stumbled into the operations block, wishing he hadn’t stayed up so late the night before. A hand slapped him on the back and he turned to see Fitz, puffy-eyed but grinning. ‘Great send-off last night. We did the crew proud.’
‘Yeah. Probably a good thing I haven’t got a kite to fly today, because I’m still feeling the bruises.’ Even so, Greg went to join the huddle of crewmen by the noticeboard, knowing there was a chance he would be required to fill in for a sick or injured pilot. His own burnt arm hadn’t been serious enough to get him passed unfit, and a late night wasn’t a good enough excuse. Mindful of that, he had limited his drinking, as he always did on a night out. He could never forget that his crew relied on him being fully alert.
Word had gone round after breakfast that ops were on, so now all members of the bomber crews needed to check the noticeboard to see if they were slated to fly. From the attitudes of the men already running their fingers down the lists, Greg gathered that wherever they were going – and that wouldn’t be revealed until the briefing that afternoon – the operation required the squadron’s full strength. He strolled up to the board, waiting for the men in front to move out of the way so he could see who was flying. Finally he prodded a man between the shoulder blades. ‘Come on, mate. It’s hardly War and Peace. Move aside.’
The man turned and Greg saw it was his wireless operator, Max Turner. The crew of F-Freddie had arrived back in Fenthorpe yesterday evening, in time to join in the revelries at the Piebald Pony. Max gave him a smile that looked strained. ‘Morning, Skip. We’re both flying today.’
‘What? You’re having me on. I didn’t think there were any spare kites.’
‘There aren’t. We’re in T-Tommy. Their pilot and wireless operator were injured the other day and haven’t been passed fit.’
Greg groaned, waving a mental goodbye to his plan of riding his motorcycle up to Lincoln. He had even hoped to find Pearl and persuade her to join him if she was free. He wasn’t happy about flying with a different crew, either. After five missions, the crew of F-Freddie had started to gel and had developed a routine together that Greg knew he could depend upon. He didn’t know any of T-Tommy’s crew, and they didn’t know him. For the sake of everyone concerned, he hoped that night’s mission would be an easy one.
‘Let’s go,’ he said to Max. ‘Time to round up the crew and get our test flight over with.’
‘So much for a quiet day,’ Max remarked. ‘I was hoping to see Thea. Did you know she’s been transferred here?’
‘No. That’s good news. Maybe she’ll succumb to your charms now you’ll see more of each other.’ Thea was a WAAF from another RAF base who Max had met in Lincoln and rapidly become smitten with. Although she hadn’t returned his feelings, she had been kind to Max and had gone out with him a few times, even accompanying him to a dance when the rest of their crew had teased him about not having a date.
‘I can hope,’ Max replied, looking more cheerful.
Greg slapped his shoulder. ‘Come on, then. Let’s see if T-Tommy’s crew are up to scratch.’
Pushing through the crowd, Max had the misfortune to bump into Flying Officer Sheldrick, the station adjutant. ‘Sorry, sir.’ He sidestepped to move past, but Sheldrick stopped him, forcing Greg to wait as well.
‘You might think being a member of a bomber crew excuses you from showing respect to an officer but you’d be wrong.’ Sheldrick glared at Max. ‘Have you forgotten how to salute?’
Max, his face beetroot red, saluted. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said again. The poor lad looked mortified.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Greg tried to comfort him. ‘Don’t mind Sheldrick. Rumour has it he washed out of pilot training and resents the bomber crews.’
Max nodded, although he remained subdued as they went to prepare for their test flight. The only positive thing about the encounter was that Greg’s anger acted on him like strong coffee and gave him the jolt he needed to fully wake up. Sheldrick could have reminded Max to salute without humiliating him. While any other crew member would have shaken off the reprimand with a laugh, Max took things to heart. If he ever got the chance to teach Sheldrick a lesson, Greg would take it.
By the time he was taking T-Tommy out on its test flight, he had brushed off his anger and was able to pay his full attention to the task at hand. In addition to the usual tests of guns, oxygen, instruments and the aircraft’s systems, the flight also gave Greg the opportunity to assess his temporary crew, and he knew they would be doing the same with him and Max. The crew of T-Tommy had already successfully completed eleven operations, and worked well together. No one grumbled about having a different pilot or wireless operator for this mission and, by the time he headed on a bearing that would return them to Fenthorpe, he had no worries about working with this new crew. When the airfield appeared ahead, it was Pearl’s voice that gave him permission to land, and he took that as a good omen.
His thoughts remained with Pearl for the rest of the day, remembering how much he had enjoyed their evening together. It was only when it was time for the briefing that he made an effort to clear his mind of anything that didn’t involve the mission. The usual signs of heightened security were obvious as the group of pilots and navigators approached the briefing hut; there was already a large padlock on the phone box outside the NAAFI, and two members of the RAF police stood outside the briefing room doors, ready to stand guard once everyone was inside. Greg knew the whole camp would now be closed to all but vital traffic. All precautions were taken to prevent any unauthorised person from discovering the location of that night’s target or from leaking that information. Should the Germans hear where the bombers were heading, they would send their deadly night fighters to intercept them before they reached the target.
Walking inside, Greg saw T-Tommy’s navigator at a table in the second row back from the stage. He went to join him, casting a glance at the blackboards arranged around the stage. ‘G’day, Pat. Care to take a bet on the target? Ten bob says we’re going to Happy Valley.’
‘No fear. I bumped into Fitz earlier, and he warned me never to bet against you. I hope you’re wrong, though.’
Greg did, too, if he was honest. Happy Valley was the name the aircrews had given to the Ruhr Valley, and a trip there was anything but happy. It was a popular target, being a vital industrial centre, and it was always heavily protected with anti-aircraft fire and night fighters. Greg glanced again at the red curtain concealing the back wall of the stage. Behind it would be the map marked with that night’s route and target. All the crews had their ways of guessing the target before it was announced, and Greg had grown rather good at it. Once he completed the morning’s flight, he would loiter by the machine while the erks – the ground crew – moved in to prepare it for the mission and make note of any faults that had been observed during the test flight. Watching how much fuel they put into the machine gave Greg a good idea of the distance he would be flying and was therefore a clue to the location.
More men filed into the hut, and it was soon filled with an expectant buzz. Greg watched the senior officers as they took their places at the front. The hum of conversation died as Squadron Leader Laurie Price, 505 Squadron’s CO, cleared his throat.
‘Good afternoon, gentlemen.’ Price reached for the curtain cord and pulled it to open the curtains. Greg held his breath as a map was gradually revealed. He quickly picked out a red cord pinned to the map that showed the route, and followed it as it crossed the coast at Mablethorpe, then ran across the North Sea, before turning in a dog-leg at a point on the Danish coast. From there it crossed Denmark and skimmed the east coast of Jutland until it ended at a point on Germany’s Baltic coast with a red circle drawn round it. Not Happy Valley, then. This was a part of Germany Greg hadn’t flown over before, and he had no idea what kind of opposition they would be likely to meet.
‘Today’s target is Rostock,’ Price said. ‘This is a vital mission.’
Greg resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The CO never failed to state that a mission was vital. They could be dropping leaflets, and he would still say it was vital to the war effort.
‘Your target will be the Heinkel factory here’ – Price tapped the map – ‘and the aim is to disrupt production of the aircraft.’
The CO then handed over to the intelligence officer, who went into more detail about the target and the reasons for the mission. Next came briefings from the navigation officer, who described the precise route and bearings for each course change. Next to Greg, Pat took detailed notes, and Greg also jotted down the course outline, not wanting to be entirely dependent on the navigator in case Pat was incapacitated. He also paid close attention to the Met Officer, who gave them information about the cloud cover, risk of icing and projected wind speeds. Again, this last information was of most interest to the navigator, who would need to factor in wind vectors when guiding them to the target and home again, but Greg noted them down too. Following this came briefings from the gunnery officer and armaments officer.
When the briefing finished, Greg headed with the other pilots to the flight office. He was just passing the sergeants’ mess when he saw a familiar figure heading away, and his heart sped up. Pearl. He had hoped to see her the day before, but he’d needed to catch up with his crew when they returned and then give Fitz’s lost crewmates the send-off they deserved. Now he hurried to catch her up.
‘G’day, Pearl. Dare I hope you were looking for me?’
Pearl jumped and turned, facing him with an expression that briefly echoed the look of startled excitement she had had just after he had kissed her. It didn’t last long before her expression became more guarded. ‘Oh, hello. I wasn’t expecting to see you.’ There was a coolness to her tone that had never been there before, not even when she was scolding him for taking liberties. ‘I left a message for you at the sergeants’ mess.’
‘I haven’t been there since breakfast,’ Greg told her. ‘I’ve been busy. I’m flying tonight.’
‘Tonight? But I thought you didn’t have a plane.’ Her voice held a note of genuine anxiety. And although Greg didn’t want to cause her worry, he couldn’t deny the comfort of knowing that she wasn’t entirely uncaring.
‘T-Tommy was short of a pilot, so I’m standing in for him.’
‘T-Tommy,’ she repeated, as though committing the name to memory. ‘I’ll be sure to look out for you.’
‘And I’ll listen for your voice when we get back.’ Disconcerted when she didn’t smile in response, he hurriedly groped for another subject. ‘Did you say you were looking for me at the sergeants’ mess?’
‘Oh, I wasn’t looking for you.’ Her brief display of anxiety was completely gone now, and the coolness was back. ‘I just left you a message in case you were still interested in helping with the newspaper after all.’
She seemed to be implying that he had changed his mind. ‘I said I would and I meant it.’
‘That’s good then.’ Her tone and expression implied otherwise.
He didn’t have time for this. He needed sleep, and there were things he needed to attend to before it was time to leave. But he couldn’t leave Pearl until he had got to the bottom of her inexplicable standoffishness. ‘I really did mean it. Listen, Pearl, I don’t know what I’ve done. I thought you wanted to be friends, but now I get the feeling you don’t want me around.’
She shook her head. ‘It isn’t that.’ She paused and chewed her lip as though listening to an inner debate. ‘I just… I saw you in the pub last night. You were fooling around.’
‘Ah. You saw me writing on the ceiling.’
‘Yes. Why would you risk your neck like that?’
‘Well, I need some excitement after spending all day doing my dull job.’
She had the grace to smile at that. ‘I know. It’s not my place to tell you how to live your life. I just—’ She broke off with a shake of the head. ‘Sorry. I know you must have things to do. This isn’t the time and place for this.’
‘No. I do want to explain, though, if you’ll listen.’
‘Of course. I’m free tomorrow afternoon.’
‘I should have the day off tomorrow.’ No. Stop it. Don’t tempt fate. ‘Shall I look for you in the NAAFI?’ If I’m still here.
Judging from the tightening of her mouth, she was thinking the same thing. ‘I’ll be there.’ She didn’t need to add I hope you’ll still be alive. The unspoken words hung in the air between them.
‘Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’ What was he doing, making plans? He never made plans. He lived from one moment to the next, never thinking too far ahead. That was the only way he could retain his sanity. ‘Are you on watch tonight?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve got to go back on in a few minutes but I’m off tonight. I’ll look out for T-Tommy, though.’
Taking him by surprise, she suddenly leaned towards him and kissed his cheek. ‘Take care.’ Then she darted away as though she had been burned.
Idiot, idiot, idiot! Pearl could feel her cheeks burning as she dashed away. What had possessed her to kiss him? All right, so she had kissed him on the cheek rather than full on the mouth… Her face burned even hotter as she relived that kiss. But she shouldn’t have done it at all. She was supposed to be keeping him at arm’s length, for goodness’ sake.
Even as she chided herself, she tried to block out the heavy words tolling in the back of her mind. He could die. This time tomorrow, he might be dead. She couldn’t understand how he appeared so carefree when he knew he was flying into danger. Yet deep down, she knew that was why she had kissed him. She was cross with herself for being distant towards him when he was facing death, so she’d wanted to show him she cared. Sending him off without letting him know would have been cruel. And she could never live with herself if he died and her last words to him had been so cold.
She still had half an hour before returning to Flying Control, so she decided to see if she could find Section Officer Blatchford to ask about the newspaper. She straightened her tie and cap, checked no hair had escaped from the neat roll at the nape of her neck and went to see if she could find her.
She was in luck. As she approached the WAAF guardroom, Blatchford was just leaving. After saluting, Pearl said, ‘I was hoping to ask you about something, ma’am.’ She wondered if she would ever get used to deferring to a girl who must be several years younger than her. Surely no older than Thea.
‘What about? Cooper, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Well, I got together with a few friends, and we thought it would be a good idea to start a newspaper for everyone on the base.’
‘An interesting idea. What did you need my help with?’
Encouraged not to get an outright rejection, Pearl said, ‘I suppose we’ll need permission, but I don’t know who to ask. And we’ll need a place to meet and help with other things such as printing and funds to get started. I worked on a newspaper before I joined up, so I’ve got some experience of the work involved.’
‘Well, I’m not in a position to give permission myself but I’ll do what I can.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll need a list of your requirements and an outline of your plans for the paper. Let me have them by 1700 tomorrow.’ Before Pearl could thank her, she strode away, leaving Pearl with a whirling head, weak with relief.
Pearl hurried into her hut to collect the exercise book she had used to jot down her ideas at the pub and a sheet of writing paper. If she was quick, she could copy out the list for Blatchford and hand it in before going back on duty. Then later… Her stomach knotted. Later, the two squadrons would be leaving on their mission, Greg with them. Last time she had been exhilarated by the sight and sound of so many bombers taking off. Would she feel the same way now she knew one of the pilots?