Chapter Two

The rain outside threatened to force its way inside. Thelma was about to make a dash for the operations hut’s door as it flew open again, only Jane beat her to it.

“Good one, boss,” she said, covering the telephone’s handset.

“Do you think we should nail it shut?” Jane asked, wiping her brow as she made her way back to her office.

Thelma pretended to give the matter some serious thought before flashing her friend a quick smile and going back to her call. “You’ll have to speak up!” she shouted down the handset. “It’s blowing a gale here, and I can’t hear a word you’re saying!”

Jane stopped where she was and tapped the table in front of Thelma to get her attention. “Is that Leeming?”

Thelma nodded before pressing the handset so hard against her ear Jane wondered if it would permanently affect its shape. “Yes! Yes, I think I got that! The train tracks are being bombed and there’s nothing running. Okay, fine! Well, can’t they put them up in the mess overnight?”

Jane made a gesture for Thelma to place her hand over the mouthpiece.

“Hang on a second, please. Jane?”

Putting down the piece of paper in her hand, Jane glanced out at the windows for a few moments before appearing to come to a decision. The face she turned toward her friend was full of determination. “Tell them we’ll have a taxi with them as soon as possible.”

Though she raised her eyebrows, Thelma did so, before hanging up. She too looked out the windows before asking, “Reason?”

Jane passed her the document she’d been looking at. “You’ve seen tomorrow’s schedule?” Thelma nodded, but took a minute to quickly read it through once more before whistling and putting the paper down. “We’re going to need everyone, aren’t we,” she stated.

“I can’t see how we’ll do it without all the crew,” Jane agreed.

A crash of thunder interrupted their thoughts, and they both made a bit of a scramble for the door. Wrenching it open, it took them both to prevent the door from being torn from their grasps. Once they’d closed the door again, Thelma looked at Jane again. “You’re sure?”

Jane was on her way back to her office. “I’m sure,” she answered, as the sounds of rummaging came from behind the office door she’d half shut. When she came out, she had her flying helmet in her hands.

Somewhat to her surprise, Thelma planted herself in her friend’s path and shook her head. “No, boss, it’s not your job.”

“Who else, then?” Jane asked, somewhat puzzled. “Everyone’s out on a delivery, and the first taxi isn’t due back until,” she paused to look at her watch, “five. It’ll take me a good couple of hours in this weather to get there, and by the time the taxi gets in,” she paused to do some mental working out, “is turned around, the flight up there and back, we wouldn’t get back until…”

“…silly o’clock,” Thelma stated.

“So what’s your suggestion?” Jane asked, turning her helmet around and around in her hands.

“I’ll take the trip.”

Unable to prevent herself, Jane frowned.

“I’m a pilot too, in case you’ve forgotten.” Thelma couldn’t help but defend herself. She didn’t fly very often, but she’d always made certain she kept current, in case she was needed. Now, she felt, was that time, and she felt no compunction in telling Jane so. “Your job is here, boss. Trust me,” she added, reaching out and clutching her friend’s hands, stopping her fiddling with the helmet. “I can do this.” With a wave, she went out, and Jane firmly closed the door after her.

****

The door of the operations hut crashed open, though this time it wasn’t the weather but a boot-clad foot which was the cause.

“Blimey, but I wouldn’t wish that kind of weather on my worst enemy!” Penny stated as the rest of her followed her foot into the hut.

“You’re telling me,” Mary agreed, shaking her hair as she trotted in close behind.

They were brought up short, as Jane had planted herself before them. “Firstly, you lot, why are you dripping water all over my floor?”

“Someone’s locked the flight line hut,” Betty answered, trying to stamp some life into her feet.

Frowning, Jane turned around and walked toward the key cabinet. Opening it, she reached in, took a key down, and turned to press it into Betty’s waiting hand. “Sorry, the cleaner must have locked it by accident.”

Betty passed the key to Doris. “Do me a favor. Go and open up and, er, stop dripping on Jane’s floor.” Once her friends had disappeared, Betty turned back to Jane. “You can’t hide it from me—you’re worried. What’s wrong?”

Going and looking out the window as best she could, Jane rubbed her hand over the pane of glass, trying to clear it so she could see out. “Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised I can’t hide anything from you.”

Staying where she was, so as to minimize her puddle, Betty asked, “Where’s Thelma?”

“That’s what’s got me worried. I should have heard something from her by now.”

Betty followed her friend’s stare and put two and two together. “She’s up in this soup?”

Jane nodded.

“Doing what? I mean, we barely got in and down in one piece!”

Jane showed her friend the same document. “We’ve a big day on tomorrow, for which we need every pilot we’ve got, and some of the girls are stuck at Leeming.” Taking the document back, Jane threw it onto a desk. Opening the door, she ignored the rain hitting her face until Betty grabbed her, dragged her back into the office, and slammed the door shut.

“Hey! You’re not going to help anyone if you catch a cold.”

“She wouldn’t let me go.” Jane shook her head. “Insisted I should stay here, being in command and all. She took an Anson to go and get them.”

“Thelma took a taxi?”

“Kept reminding me she was a pilot too.”

“I suppose she is right,” Betty decided, after thinking it through. A crash of thunder accompanied by a lightning strike on the far side of the airfield startled them both. “Er, how long ago did she take off?”

Jane looked at her watch. “About forty-five minutes ago.”

“That’s not too long ago,” Betty replied, brightening a little.

“Except for the fact that we’d agreed she was going to check in about every thirty minutes, and she’s a quarter of an hour late,” Jane told her, her face grim.

Betty took this news in, shivered involuntarily with another bolt of lightning, and said the only thing which came to mind. “Bugger.”

****

“Next time you have a dumb idea, submit it in writing and keep your damn mouth shut,” Thelma grumbled to herself for the umpteenth time in the last twenty minutes, resisting the urge to bang the radio with her fist.

If anything, the weather had taken a turn for the worse almost as soon as she’d taken off, with visibility barely more than a hundred yards or so even after she’d got above what was the first layer of clouds. She thanked small mercies for the wonders of blind-flying training.

She didn’t like the sound of the port engine, now she came to think about it, as a sudden gust of wind forced that wing sharply up. Regaining control, Thelma fixed her gaze upon the artificial horizon instrument and tried the radio once more, hoping she wouldn’t get into too much trouble. What with this being the first time she’d flown in a long while, the conditions weren’t conducive to helping her memory. Virtually as soon as she’d taken off, she’d forgotten the radio codes, not only for RAF Leeming but also for Hamble. This latter was especially embarrassing, and she expected her friends to not let her forget it when she got back home.

She tried not to give out too much information as she flicked the send switch. “Calling Hamble, calling Hamble. This is Aston.” She felt very silly. However, it was the best she could come up with on the spur of the moment. Waiting a few seconds, she repeated four more times, but received no reply.

“Come on, come on, think, Aston, think!”

Squinting, Thelma looked around, hoping for a break in the clouds. The idea of turning back onto a heading which would direct her back toward RAF Hamble was tempting, so very, very tempting, but she discounted it for one sound reason. If she turned back and the bad weather stayed with her all the way, it would be all too easy to find herself flying over her station and indeed, over the Channel. Worst case scenario, she’d come down in the Channel. Only slightly less, she’d come down in enemy-occupied territory, be it France or one of the Channel Islands. Neither development held much appeal to her.

Tapping the fuel gauge, Thelma estimated she still had a little over two hours of flying time left to her, surely plenty of time in which to find somewhere to land. She frowned, tried the radio a few times more and, again, heard nothing. Damn this pea-souper, she swore, checking she was still flying level before renewing her search for a break in the clouds and resisting the urge to take drastic action and take to her parachute. It wasn’t unknown for Air Transport Auxiliary pilots, low on fuel and caught in cloud, to point the nose of their aircraft to the stars, gain height and then bail out.

Shuddering, Thelma again put the thought from her mind. She’d never had to use her parachute and would do her best to avoid it, if at all possible. Deciding upon a course of action, since it was obvious she wasn’t going to make it to RAF Leeming, she pushed the throttles forward a little and began a gentle climb. Maybe she could get above this new cloud layer. When she’d broken through the first and then came upon this one, she’d also been quite a bit above the height the ATA normally operated at, so had stayed where she was, trusting upon the artificial horizon. Now was as good a time as any to make a go at getting above this new layer. Perhaps she’d then be able to find a clear patch of sky and find out exactly where she was.

****

“Do you think it could be a problem at her end?” Betty asked Jane, reaching out to grab her fist barely in time. “I’ve already thought of hitting it,” she said with a shake of her head. “I don’t think it’ll do any good.”

Jane slumped back into her seat, tore the headset off, and threw it onto the desk next to the radio she’d been about to attack. “I suppose you’re right. It only makes sense if she can’t receive what we’re sending. If I didn’t know her voice so well, I’d think someone was playing a trick on me.”

“Plus,” Betty added, “it’s on our frequency.”

Jane nodded in agreement. “Still, remind me to tear her off a stripe when she gets back…calling Hamble. This is Aston.” She ended with a nervous chuckle.

Betty joined in, saying, “Still, you’ll have to give her points for originality, if nothing else.”

“I’ll give her something, all right,” Jane replied. “I’ll give her…”

“Mayday! Mayday! This is First Officer Aston. Am under attack by two Me109s!”

Jane and Betty stared at each other with open mouths, as the shocking statement blared out of the radio’s tiny speaker in Thelma’s unmistakable voice. When she’d simply been trying to get through earlier it had been in her normal, albeit frustrated, tone. Now unmistakable panic coursed through it.

The radio came to life again, only the first thing they heard this time was the chilling staccato chatter of gunfire! “I repeat, this is First Officer Aston of the ATA! I’m under attack. Rudder control is gone! My port engine’s on fire! Am going down, roughly northeast of Oxford…”

White as a ghost, Jane automatically made a grab for the microphone, “Thelma! This is Jane Howell. Do you receive? Over.”

After a few seconds, a voice came out of the speaker, barely audible, yet clearly that of their desperate friend. “Jane? Is that…”

And then, deathly silence…