Two Blackbirds (17 page)
She looked down the lane where it curved between a pair of rock walls. The rising sun was just over the horizon, making it possible for her to see where she was headed.
Because I know, but I don't know
how to explain that I know.
She reached the curve in the lane, turned left through a gate, and walked across an open field of grass that reached half way to her knees. The grass was damp and she was glad she wore her flying boots.
Besides,
if anyone else finds out, I'll be grounded
.
She reached the stone wall at the end of the field, walked though another gate, and followed the road to the airfield. She heard the sound of an aircraft engine.
Ernie's warming up the Anson.
She felt gravel under her feet and pulled the collar of her Irvin jacket up to keep her ears and neck warm.
My mother knew right away. She told me one time when I asked about
her and my father. When I asked her how she knew, she shrugged and
said, “I just did.”
Sharon turned when she heard a vehicle approaching. It was a Jeep. She looked closer and saw that Walter was driving. He pulled up alongside and opened the canvas door. “You want a ride the rest of the way?”
“Thanks.” Sharon climbed in and closed the door. Walter released the clutch, and the Jeep rolled forward. “I thought an
MP
had to drive you.”
Walter shifted into third. “McBride called me in yesterday. Said that he checked my file and saw that I was a driver. He asked if I was fine with driving myself to the base every morning.”
“What do you think of him?”
Walter shifted into fourth. “He salutes me just the same as he does anyone else. Colonel Wilson never did.” Walter downshifted, braked, and turned into the roadway leading to White Waltham. He stopped in front of the dispersal hut. “Okay if I park here, boss?”
Sharon turned and caught his smile. “Oh, I suppose.”
Inside the hut, Mother stopped them with a raised hand. “There's been a major attack on our airfields in Holland, Belgium, and northern France. The call is out for replacements. We're looking at a big push over the next few days.”
Sharon approached Brussels Evere Airfield.
On finals, she saw a row of burned-out
B-
17 Flying Fortresses. After landing, she taxied over rumbling steel matting. Either side of the taxiway was piled with snow dotted with the charred corpses of Typhoons and Spitfires destroyed by the Luftwaffe attack of the day before. She maneuvered her Spitfire by zigzagging because her forward vision was blocked by the fighter's long nose. She stopped in front of a hangar that was peppered with holes. She shut down, released her harness, opened the cockpit door, and stepped out onto the wing.
Once on the ground, she looked around and saw two members of the ground crew approaching. “We're glad to get this one.” The taller of the pair had a French Canadian accent.
“How many aircraft did you lose yesterday?” Sharon asked.
“The press is saying it was a victory for us,” said the taller one.
The shorter man laughed. “Frenchy's pulling your leg. We lost more than a hundred aircraft destroyed on the ground. I don't know how that can be counted as a victory.”
Sharon heard the oddly flavoured Irish accent in the shorter man's voice.
He must be from Newfoundland.
“Newfie counted a hundred wrecks, then stopped. After that, there wasn't much point,” Frenchy said.
“Are any still flying?” Sharon asked.
“A handful.” Newfie pointed at the Spitfire Sharon delivered. “That'll make up for the one we lost this morning.”
The pair began to push the Spitfire into the hangar. Sharon took one wing, while Frenchy took the tail and Newfie the other wing. They swung the fighter around so that its nose pointed out the hangar door.
“Merci.” Frenchy slid under the wing to begin the process of checking the cannons.
Newfie went under the opposite wing.
Sharon hefted her kit and made for the canteen. It was filled with pilots. Some were asleep in their chairs. Others talked quietly at tables. The mood was somber. Sharon grabbed a cup of coffee, doctored it with cream and sugar, drank it, and felt the warmth reaching her fingers. She filled her cup a second time.
A clutch of five pilots sat at a table near the urn.
“Anybody see what happened to Cardinal?” an
RAF
pilot asked.
“No,” said a pilot with a South African accent.
Sharon felt a shiver run through her. “Cardinal? Milton Cardinal?”
The pilots turned to look at Sharon. The
RAF
pilot wore an Irvine Jacket. He asked, “You know him?”
Sharon nodded.
“Four of us did a trip to the German airbase at Wiesbaden. We got into a scrap with some Focke-Wulfs. None of us saw what happened to Cardinal.” He took Sharon's coffee cup from her.
Sharon looked down and stared at her empty right hand as if it belonged to someone else. She stared at the coffee she'd spilled over her flying boots and the wooden floor.
Linda opened the front door of the cottage.
“Sharon?”
Sharon sat in the kitchen with a cold cup of coffee. She looked up at Linda as she stepped into the kitchen. She tried to talk, but began to cry instead.
“What happened?” Linda sat down across from Sharon. “Something's happened to Michael?” She shucked her way out of her Irvine jacket.
Sharon shook her head.
“Sean? My mother?” She hung the sheepskin jacket on the back of the chair.
Sharon shook her head.
“Oh no! It's Milton, isn't it? Something happened to Milton?”
Sharon nodded. “Missing.”
Linda sat back in her chair. “How do you know?”
Sharon looked at her hands. “I was at Evere. Some pilots were talking about Cardinal not returning from a morning patrol.”
Linda looked at the ceiling. “I just saw him in Paris. You wouldn't believe what it's like there. That city is coming back to life. It's wonderful.”
“They said that no one saw what happened to him.”
Linda wiped her eyes. “We were in Paris for a day. We had so much fun.” Linda looked at her friend. “Are you sure it was him?”
Sharon shrugged.
What can I say?
Linda shook her head. “Shit. Shit. Shit!”
Forty-five minutes later, the phone rang and Sharon answered.
“I took a break from reading the mail,” said Michael's voice, “and I saw Milton's name on the casualty list. Have you heard anything?”
The phone at White Waltham rang.
Mother held it out for Sharon. He looked past her at Linda, who was staring at nothing in particular.
Sharon took the phone. “Lacey.”
Colonel McBride said, “You asked me to find out what happened in Wereth, Belgium. Eleven men were tortured and killed by the
SS
. They were Americans from the 333rd who were prisoners of war.”
“And?” Sharon asked.
“The men were black.”
“Then why do we hear about Malmady and not about Wereth?” Sharon looked out the window and wished she could see Edgar one more time.
“You think that Edgar's death was the result of bigotry, and that same bigotry is the reason why we don't hear about the murders in Wereth.”
Sharon noted that McBride had not asked a question, but made a statement.
“I did what you asked.”
Sharon waited a moment before replying. “Yes. I'll give you credit for that.”
“And I am calling about something completely different. I need a favour.”
I was ready for almost everything but this.
“You must know that we have had heavy casualties after Hitler's offensive in the Ardennes.”
“Yes, I've seen some of the damage done.” Sharon looked over at Linda.
And I'm looking at some of it now.
“We fly our wounded back to the States. Because of the Luftwaffe attacks on the Allied airfields in Holland and Belgium, there is a shortage of transport aircraft and crews to fly them.” McBride took a breath.
“What did you have in mind?” Sharon tried to think ahead.
“Could you supply a crew for a
C-
54? You'd need a pilot, co-pilot, and an engineer. The crew needs to leave now, pick up the aircraft at Croydon, then fly it to Prestwick. I've had to call in a few favours to get the aircraft.”
“Whose aircraft is it?” Sharon asked.
“You don't want to know. Do you have a crew?”
“Yes. You will need to free up Airman Coleman.”
“Is he a qualified flight engineer?” McBride asked.
“Do you want a crew or don't you?”
“Coleman is yours.”
“Have the aircraft ready. We're leaving now. Will you meet us there?” Sharon hung up the phone before he could answer.
We've almost caught up on deliveries after the New Year's Day attacks
on the continental airfields. Mother can run things.
Sharon walked toward Linda, who turned to her sister-in-law with weary eyes.
“I've got a delivery to make at Prestwick,” Sharon said. “It leaves right away. It would be better with two pilots. It's a
C
-54.” As Linda thought it over, Sharon turned to Mother. “We have a flight to Prest-wick. Can you keep an eye on things until we get back?”
Mother smiled. “I always do. Have a grand time in Scotland, lassies. Douglas will be out in a minute.” He pointed in the direction of the toilet. Then Mother nodded at Sharon. His eyes looked over her shoulder.
Sharon turned. Linda had her kit in hand and was walking toward her friend. “Well? Are you ready to go or aren't you?”
They stepped out the door and made their way down to the hangar. Ernie and Walter were staring at the engine of a De Havilland Rapide. Ernie said, “I think we need to swap the magneto out.”
“Can you handle things on your own for a day or two?” Sharon asked Ernie.
“What's up?” Ernie asked.
“We need Walter for a trip in a
C
-54.” Sharon looked over her shoulder as Douglas walked past on his way to the Anson.
“Come on, ladies, this war waits for neither man nor woman. And I'm a stone lighter for this trip to Croydon.” Douglas gave them a rakish wink.
Ernie looked at Walter. “Where are you going?” Walter asked.
“Croydon, then Prestwick. I told McBride you would be our flight engineer.” Sharon looked over her shoulder as Linda followed Douglas. He walked around the Anson doing the preflight check.
“Where the hell is Prestwick?” Walter began wiping his hands on a cloth.
“Northern Scotland. Are you coming?” Sharon asked.
“Put on a fresh pair of coveralls. I'll grab you a parachute,” Ernie said.
In less than half an hour, they climbed out of the Anson and stood looking up at the nose of a silver four-engine
C
-54 with
Sunflower
II
painted on its nose.
Linda tapped Sharon on the shoulder. “I'll do the walkaround while you get ready for takeoff.” Linda turned to Walter. “Would you?” She handed him her parachute and bag.
Walter followed Sharon up the steps. The cavernous interior of the aircraft was already modified to support stretchers. A framework of litter supports was attached to either side of the fuselage.
Sharon turned and walked toward the cockpit. She stowed her parachute, then eased herself into the pilot's chair. Walter stashed two more parachutes and Linda's bag, then looked over Sharon's shoulder as she took the checklist from the dash and began to read.
“You ever flown one of these before?” Walter asked.
Sharon shook her head. “First time.”
Walter looked at the gauges in front of Sharon and above her head. He turned, stepped out of the cockpit, turned, walked along the interior, and went down the steps. He saw Linda peering up into the nose of the aircraft. “Sharon's never flown one of these before,” he said.
“That's right.” Linda looked over her shoulder at Walter and saw the worry on his face. “This is what we do, Walter. This is what we've been trained to do. We fly all sorts of aircraft. Sharon is very good at it. That's why I'm doing the exterior check while she familiarizes herself with the controls. This trip means we work as a team.”
“Why am I here?” Walter looked down along the belly of the aircraft.
“We need another set of eyes. Four engines mean more instruments to monitor. McBride wanted a crew of three, so we're it.” Linda inspected the undercarriage leg of the nose wheel.
Walter leaned down and looked past Linda. “Here he comes.”
Linda stood up and looked right. McBride's Buick pulled up. The colonel stepped out of the car.
Walter stood away from Linda and saluted the colonel. McBride returned the courtesy, then asked, “How soon will you be in the air?”
Linda looked at her watch, stepped away from the nose, and looked up. Sharon saw them through the side window and waved. A minute later, she was standing alongside them under the nose.
Linda looked at Sharon. “The colonel wants to know how soon we can leave.”
Sharon thought for a moment. “We need to complete our checks. Say half an hour?”
“Sir?”
They turned and saw McBride's driver, a man who looked too young to shave. He stood just inside the open door at the base of the control tower. “Call for you, sir,” the driver said.
“Excuse me for a moment.” McBride walked to the tower then inside.
“Walter, are you worried about us flying this machine?” Linda asked.
Walter looked at each of them and shook his head no. “What's my job?”
“Another pair of eyes. Another pair of hands,” Sharon said. “Once we're in the air, we'll show you what you need to do. You okay with that?”