The Light Over London(42)

“That’s what we’re going to London to stop,” said Vera with a firm nod. “That’s our job.”

“My mum wrote when I was in basic training,” said Williams, as he rolled a cigarette, then clamped it between his lips. “Said whatever we think we know about the Blitz, it was worse. People buried under buildings. Whole neighborhoods bombed off the face of the earth.”

“Oh . . .” Nigella whispered softly, the pain in her voice easy to hear.

“And then even when people think they’re safe in a shelter, you never know,” Williams continued. “Look at Columbia Road in Shoreditch. Bomb went straight down an air shaft of a shelter. Killed entire families.”

“Lay off, Williams,” said Hatfield, as Lizzie shot Williams a hard look and looped an arm around Nigella’s shoulders. It only made the girl tuck her chin further into her chest.

“Sorry, Nigella,” said Williams with a small, crooked smile. “I read too many papers.”

“I know Bombardier Barker said we need to be tough, but all of those children,” said Nigella.

“I know, pet,” cooed Lizzie. “I know.”

None of them spoke again until the train shuddered to a stop at the platform and the car doors were thrust open, the sound like a gasp of relief. Louise checked the letter from Paul that had come along with one from Kate and another from Da just before they’d loaded up to head to the station. She hadn’t had a private moment to read any of them yet, but there was comfort knowing Paul’s was tucked securely in her jacket pocket, a piece of him protecting her.

As Louise stepped off the train, her kit bag slid on her back, sending her off-balance. She grabbed for one of the long metal handles on the side, but another force swept her back on her feet. She looked down and found a man’s hand around her waist. Glancing back, she saw Cartruse shoot her a rueful grin.

“Can’t have one of our predictors out of this war with a broken arm before she even gets to London.”

She nodded, and he set her down. Straightening her cap, she readjusted the straps on her shoulders and marched into the station with the others to wait for their train to London.



In basic training, Louise had been deeply jealous of the women who could drop off to sleep at a moment’s notice. The most she’d ever been able to manage was to doze in a strange limbo, not entirely awake and yet not sleeping. It was in one of these states, lulled yet kept awake by the methodical rocking of the London train, that she felt the first rays of dawn come through the windows as they approached the city. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, patted her hair into place, and craned her neck to look out the window.

A tall plume of angry gray smoke billowed to the east, scenting the air like a campfire, except a campfire would’ve offered comfort. Mixed in this smoke was the acrid, harsh smell of metal, chemicals, and other things she’d rather not think of.

As the train rolled on, she saw not just buildings with partially collapsed walls or missing roofs. What had once been entire blocks were now nothing more than smashed bricks and wood lying in a tangled heap in the middle of the streets. Between gaps in the buildings, she saw an ambulance swerve hard to the right to avoid a crater left by a bomb, and women in tin hats with long brown coats would appear in the hazy light. They were the air raid wardens she’d read so much about. Armed with nothing more than their helmets and a healthy dose of courage, they patrolled the streets, ensuring the blackout was done so no light shone through windows and helped the Germans.

From the seat across from her, with his hat still pulled down over his eyes, Cartruse said, “Won’t be easy being here.”

“No, it won’t,” she agreed, wondering for the first time since they’d been told they were coming to London if they were ready. They’d improved so much in training that they’d all arrogantly thought their one little unit could make a huge difference, but faced with the extremity of the destruction to the city, it was hard not to wonder if there was anything left to save.

“Williams was right, even if he goes about it in the wrong way,” said Cartruse.

“I know, but does it really do anyone any good—”

“Doesn’t it, though? Hearing about why we’re all in the middle of this bloody war.” He paused. “I’m sorry for cursing.”

She laughed softly, mindful of not waking the others. “We’re about to shoot planes down together. You can say ‘bloody,’ Cartruse. And it is a bloody war.”

“I’m from London, you know,” he said, turning his head to look out the window she’d been gazing out of.

“No, I didn’t.”

In truth, she hardly knew anything about him, because he hadn’t exactly been forthright with details. Instead, he’d stood aloof, smoking away and shaking his head at their mistakes until finally they’d made fewer of them. Now, every once in a while, they would all get a “Good job” from him, but little else.

“Where did you grow up?” she asked.

“Over the river in Putney. It’s seen its share of bombing, just like everywhere,” said Cartruse. “We’ve been lucky so far. No damage except a few broken windows, but my mum was a wreck the last time I came home on leave. A house four streets over took a direct hit.”

“We saw some air raids around Haybourne, but they were hardly anything like this,” said Louise.