[ MONDAY, AUGUST 26, 1940 ]
“Did you hear the news? Manston has closed down. Too much damage to the airfield and buildings. It’s no wonder. It’s so close to the coast that the Luftwaffe hit them with very little warning. London was bombed. So the RAF bombed Berlin last night.” Mother sipped a cup of tea as Sharon wrapped her fingers around her coffee.
“So d’Erlanger was right. The Luftwaffe is throwing everything it has at us.” Sharon looked at the chit in her hand.
“Do you really want to go back there?”
“I have to go sometime.” Sharon folded the chit and stuffed it into the breast pocket of her blouse. She looked toward the runway, where the air taxi — a twin-engined biplane — elegantly touched down. Sharon leaned away from the wall. “My ride is here.”
“See you when you get back.”
An hour later, she was strapped into the cockpit of a Spitfire at Castle Bromwich. It smelled of fresh paint. I love that new airplane smell. Sharon leaned to the right and poked her head out of the open cockpit. “Clear!”
The aircraftsman gave her the thumbs up.
The propeller turned over and black smoke puffed out of the exhausts. The engine crackled to life.
After she took off and the wheels were tucked into the wings, Sharon scanned the sky. I used to love this part — now I keep waiting for the Luftwaffe to pounce.
The clouds above her gave the ground a mottled look as the fields were alternatively glittering and cast into shadow.
Sharon landed at Biggin Hill at 10:45 that morning.
She looked for William, but did not see him. She shut down and climbed off the wing as fighters took off. The air raid siren wailed.
The first wave of bombers appeared.
A big gun opened up on the other side of the field.
There was a nearby slit trench in front of a pair of anti-aircraft guns. Sharon ran to it and jumped in.
“Christ!”
She’d landed on a mechanic. “Sorry.” Sharon rolled off the man.
“Oi, Freddy, it’s O’Malley’s daughter!”
Freddy sat up and stared at Sharon. “You’re right, Bill.” He held out his hand.
Sharon took his hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you.”
The first bomb exploded. The ground shook. The nearby antiaircraft guns opened up.
Sharon peeked over the rim of the trench. At the nearest gun, two people sat at the back of the Bofors. A man loaded rounds. On one side, a tiny woman wearing a too-large helmet pressed a pedal to fire the anti-aircraft shells. Two other men worked furiously bringing ammunition.
Sharon watched the way the woman concentrated, aimed, stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth, and fired.
One of the men slapped her on the helmet. “We got another one of the bastards, Annie!”
The blow almost knocked Annie off her perch; she weighed perhaps one hundred pounds. Annie pressed the pedal, stuck out her tongue, and fired again.
Sharon looked up. A Junkers 88 trailed smoke and turned for home as it jettisoned its bombs.
Thirty minutes later, Sharon met Annie at the canteen. She was eating a sandwich and sipping a cup of tea while the men of her crew talked excitedly and received congratulations.
Sharon sat down at the next table and sipped her coffee. “Nice shooting, Annie.”
Annie pushed back an unruly lock of blonde hair and focused on Sharon. “Thank you, Canada.” Then her blue eyes widened. “It’s you! The ace!”
Conversation stopped.
“Look boys, it’s the Lady Ace.” Annie smiled at Sharon. “What’s your name?”
“Sharon.” She looked around for an escape.
“William showed us your Spitfire after the Luftwaffe gave us a pasting. How did you manage to get that wreck home?” Annie turned to face Sharon to take the measure of her.
The men went back to planning how they were going to bag their next Hun.
Annie grabbed her sandwich and tea. She came to sit next to Sharon.
“Where did you learn to shoot?” Sharon asked.
“Oh, training. You know, I was always good at that sort of thing. Throwing rocks. Slingshots. Never fired a gun before sitting on the Bofors, but I usually hit what I’m aiming at.” Annie took a bite of sandwich. “You learned to fly in Canada?”
Sharon nodded. “A friend of the family taught me, and when I came over here, I heard the ATA was looking for pilots.”
Laughter from the next table temporarily filled the tent.
“They’re pretty full of themselves today.” Annie finished off her sandwich. “God, I hope the war will be over soon. I’m sick and tired of bully beef and mutton.”
“It is decidedly disgusting.” Sharon looked at her sandwich, pulled off a bit of crust, and put it in her mouth. “Beef never tasted like this where I come from.”
“What brought you to England?”
“Family.” Sharon washed the bread down with coffee. “How did you come to be a gunner?”
Annie reached into her bag, rummaged inside, and pulled out her lipstick. She lifted a round mirror our of her side pocket and applied a bright shade of red. “My daughter, Linda. She’s just three. You know, I thought I’d do my bit so that she’d be safe from Hitler and his gang. How about you, love? Who are you taking care of?”
“Sean, my brother.” I hope he got the letters I wrote last week.
“O’Malley’s son?” Annie touched Sharon’s forearm.
Sharon nodded. She felt her eyes filling with tears.
“Bloody war plays hell with families.”