Code Name Verity(52)

On that night last April we had to go back to That Airfield, the secret one, the one the Moon Squadron uses for France. Jamie was stationed there now. Maddie was In the Know with them, and had been for some time – trusted, accepted, invited to supper that night, in fact. No supper for poor Queenie though, who was instantly whisked away by the usual mob. (Really my reception committee only consisted of about three people, including my admirer the RAF police sergeant who doubles as Security Guard and Chief Sausage Frier for The Cottage, but it feels like a mob when everyone is bigger than you and you don’t know where you are being taken.) Queenie had a small travelling case which she left with Maddie, and from experience Maddie knew she wouldn’t see her friend again until at least tomorrow morning. Maddie went to supper with the pilots.

It wasn’t something she did often, you know – once in a season, perhaps – and it was special because Jamie was there. In fact he was about to go on a drop-off and pick-up mission that night, a ‘double Lysander operation’ as they called it, two pilots flying two planes to the same field. There was a third plane taking off with them, taking advantage of the moon, but not technically operational – a new squadron member doing his first cross-country training flight to France. He’d part company with the others over the Channel. He’d fly into France on his own for a bit, then turn back without landing.

This young fellow – let’s call him Michael (after the youngest of the Darling children in Peter Pan!) – was quite nervous about his navigation skills. Like Jamie, he’d previously been a bomber pilot and had always had a navigator sitting next to him telling him where to go, and also he’d only flown his first Lysander a month ago. His mates were full of sympathy, having all been through it themselves. Maddie was not.

‘You’ve been practising on Lizzies for a month!’ she said scornfully. ‘Crumbs, how long does it take? The instruments are the same whether you’re flying a Barracuda dive-bomber or a clapped-out old Tiger Moth, and the flaps are automatic! Easy peasy!’

They all gave her Looks.

‘You go on and fly to France then,’ said Michael.

‘I would if you’d let me,’ she said enviously (not remembering about anti-aircraft guns and night fighters).

‘Ah ken what t’ dooo,’ drawled Jamie, The Pobble Who Has No Toes, dragging out his vowels to make them exaggeratedly Scots. ‘Tak’ the wee lassie alang.’

Maddie felt as though she’d been struck by lightning. She looked up at him and saw the familiar, faint lunacy shining in Jamie’s eyes. She knew better than to say anything herself – either the Pobble would win on her behalf, or she couldn’t go.

The others laughed and argued briefly. The English SOE agent who was being dropped off that night was disapproving. The Moon Squadron pilots, of necessity a bunch of giddy lunatics, put it to their leader as a proposition. He was clearly torn, but chiefly because Michael was supposed to be solo that night.

‘She won’t be helping him fly the plane in the back of a Lysander, will she!’

‘She could tell him what to do. Keep him straight if he goes off course.’

Jamie pushed his empty plate away and leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head, and gave a low whistle.

‘Ooo-ee! Arrre you suggestin’ she’s a superior pilot to oorrr Michael?’

They all gazed at Maddie, sitting quietly in her civilian uniform, looking very trim and official with her gold wings and gold stripes (she was a First Officer by now). The only person whose eyes she dared to meet were those of the agent who was going to be dropped off that night. He was shaking his head in defeated disapproval as much as to say, If You Must, My Lips Are Sealed.

‘I’ve no doubt she’s a superior pilot,’ the squadron leader said.

‘Well, what in creation is she doing ferrying clapped-out Tiger Moths about in that case? Give the Bloody Machiavellian English Intelligence Officer a ring and get permission,’ Jamie suggested.

Michael said, rather excitedly, ‘Don’t count it as my operational cross-country. I need the practice.’

‘If it’s not an operational flight,’ said the squadron leader, ‘there’s no need to ring Intelligence. I’ll take responsibility.’

Maddie had won. She could scarcely believe her luck.

‘I don’t want this out of this room,’ the squadron leader said, and everybody looked blank, shrugging with innocence and indifference. Maddie walked shoulder to shoulder with the SOE agent when they went out to climb into the waiting aircraft. The ground crew gave her funny looks.