The Light Over London(38)

The room fell silent, each of the women refusing to flinch. It would be dangerous, yes, but what they would do would matter. They wouldn’t just be support staff, confined to the administrative side of bases. They would be helping shoot down Luftwaffe planes and keeping the people of Britain safe. They would be helping keep pilots like Paul safe.

“Then, ladies, I suggest you look around,” Melchen barked. “These are the women who you’ll be living with and training with. There are some people who think women will faint away the moment the first gun is shot. I would advise you to do your very best to prove them wrong. Corporal Clovis, I’ll leave them in your hands.”

The corporal nodded and the brigadier marched back out, the metallic clang of the door echoing around the nearly empty hall.

“Fall in line here,” Corporal Clovis ordered, pointing to a spot in front of the stage.

Louise and the rest of the women lined up shoulder to shoulder.

“At ease, gunners,” the corporal said, joining them on the floor and propping the clipboard against her hip. “I’m going to speak to you frankly now. As some of you know, I was in the service for many years, and I volunteered again when war was declared. I can tell you from personal experience that I’ve met some of the bravest people I know in the ATS—all women. German bullets don’t care about your sex, and bombs don’t know the difference either.

“Anti-aircraft is a dangerous assignment, but it’s also a desperately needed one. If it wasn’t, the Royal Artillery wouldn’t be opening up these batteries. There are men who will do everything they can to see you fail, and I want you to remember that when your training feels impossible, because it will. But the RA doesn’t just need your service. It needs your intelligence. You’ve all scored in the top of your aptitude tests. You’re smarter than most of the men you’ll meet in life, and I suspect you’re tougher too.”

The corporal looked at each of them and nodded. “Don’t let me or your fellow soldiers down. Now, I suggest you say your goodbyes. You leave at seventeen hundred hours for Oswestry. Dismissed.”

The collective group let out a sigh of relief, hurrying for the doors out to the drill yard.

“Well, that was something else. I’m Charlie,” said the redheaded woman who had introduced herself as Gunner Charlotte Wilkes, sticking her hand out to Louise.

“We should all introduce ourselves, I suppose,” said Vera in a clipped, proper tone.

“I’m Nigella Onslow,” said a pretty, petite blonde who looked like she might be blown over at the first strong gust.

“Mary Rogers,” said a girl to Louise’s right who had light brown hair and lips that turned down in what seemed like a perpetual frown.

“Lizzie Masterson,” said the canteen singer with a little wave.

“Louise Keene,” Louise said.

“Are you Kate Keene’s sister?” Nigella asked in a breathy voice.

“Cousin,” she said.

“We were in H barracks together. She’s ever so nice and glamorous, like a movie star.”

“That’s Kate for you,” Louise said.

“Well, I suppose we’d better get on with packing,” said Charlie. “Plenty of time to get to know each other better on the train.”

They all split off to go to their respective barracks and collect their things. Louise hardly had anything to pack. They’d shipped her satchel back to her parents’ home when she’d arrived in Leicester, explaining that she had no need for civilian clothes in the ATS. She was a soldier now. All she had left that was her own was a bundle of letters from Paul and one from her father, her diary, and her postcard of sunny California that she’d displayed on the shelf above her bed.

Finding the barracks empty, she shoved her things into her kit bag and pulled out her writing paper and pen.

She would write to her parents first. Her mother hadn’t sent any word since Louise had left home, instead conveying any news she wished Louise to know in the final paragraph of her father’s dutiful weekly letter. Paul had been too great a betrayal, and leaving the familiarity of Haybourne to join the service—and not even the navy’s prestigious women’s branch, the Women’s Royal Naval Service, nicknamed the WRNS, with their fashionable tailored uniforms and their ranks full of debs—ensured that Rose Keene would never forgive her daughter. And now Louise would be serving with men and shooting planes down from the sky? It would be too much.

Dear Mum and Da,

I don’t know how much I can say, but I’m writing to let you know that I’ve received a special assignment to work on the anti-aircraft guns. I don’t yet know what that means, but it’s exciting nonetheless. Several other girls who are here with me have been selected as well, and we’ll go on to a base near the Welsh border for further training. When I find out what I can tell you and what I can’t, I’ll write more, but know that I’m doing everything I can to stay safe.

Kate has been made a telephonist, which means she could stay here in England or be sent anywhere the army has need of her. I’m sure Uncle Jack and Aunt Claire will receive their own letter, but I thought you would want to know.

All of my love,

Louise

Folding her letter into an envelope and marking the address, she pulled another sheet of paper free.

Dearest Paul,