The Light Over London(50)

Colonel Nealson’s eyes narrowed. “I have three other sections protecting this depot. Some of the best men in the RA are on those guns, and they’ve sweated blood during the Blitz and after. Now they’re sending mixed batteries with women. It’s General Sir Pile’s decision, not mine, and I hope it isn’t the wrong one.”

Afraid we’ll faint at the first sight of an airplane? Louise’s anger smothered her nerves, and she clamped her teeth tight to keep the words from slipping out. Back in Haybourne, it never would’ve occurred to her to talk back, but now she had the confidence of months of ATS and Royal Artillery training under her belt. She and her unit were sharp, shrewd, and well trained, and they weren’t going to let anyone tell them they weren’t ready.

“Any questions?” Colonel Nealson asked, turning for the door before he’d even finished speaking.

“Yes, sir,” said Charlie.

Reluctantly he turned back. “Gunner . . . ?”

“Wilkes, sir.”

“Yes, Gunner Wilkes?”

“If we’ve no radio operator, when will we know to stand down, sir?” asked Charlie.

“Start shooting when you see an enemy plane. Stop shooting when you hear the siren to stand down. It usually comes at dawn. Do you think you can manage that, ladies?” Colonel Nealson asked.

Bombardier Barker stepped forward. “Yes, sir.”

Louise’s eyes narrowed as the man and his polished boots retreated—he was Melchen from Leicester all over again.

“Get to your places,” Bombardier Barker snapped, as Captain Jones ordered Cartruse to go through his checks.

“Did you hear that?” Cartruse asked Louise, while she went over her predictor’s controls one more time, determined not to botch anything on her first real engagement.

“What?” she asked, straining her ears against the sounds of her section preparing. Was that the drone of a bomber engine? From somewhere along the banks of the Thames, spotlights snapped on, flooding the London sky with harsh white light.

“He thinks you gunner girls aren’t up to snuff,” said Cartruse.

She steeled herself for the moment he took the connection they’d shared on the train and ground it under his heel.

“Too bad you lot are going to make him look like a damn fool,” he said in a low voice.

Louise blinked, then a grin spread across her face. “That’s insubordination, Gunner.”

“That’s the truth, that is,” he said.

“Dornier Do 217 two points due east,” Mary shouted, and the last of Louise’s trepidation fell away, well-trained instinct taking over.

“Engage!” Captain Jones shouted.

Nigella and Charlie rotated the height and range finder until they spotted the plane through their viewfinders and began to turn the complicated series of dials on the instrument.

“Read,” Charlie shouted.

“Read,” Nigella shouted a half second later.

Louise plugged the data into the predictor, the dials bouncing as the gun rotated to track the progress of the plane.

“Fuse one-nine,” Lizzie called out.

“Fire!” Captain Jones ordered.

The gun roared as it fired off the heavy shell that, if their aim was true, would blow a hole in the siding of the German bomber. They all held their breaths, eyes trained on the plane, and two seconds later a flash of orange blazed through the sky.

“Just left of the wing!” Mary yelled out from behind her high-powered binoculars.

Section B cheered. It wasn’t a direct hit, but it was enough to force the bomber to bank and throw it off course.

“No celebrating yet,” Captain Jones ordered. “I want a direct hit.”

“Arado Ar 240,” Mary said. “Three of them.”

The sound of machine-gun fire ricocheted off buildings, and Louise’s pulse began to pound in her throat.

“Which one are we going for, Rogers?” Williams asked Mary, grunting as he and Hatfield reloaded the gun.

“I’ve got a read on the front Arado!”

“Captain?” Charlie prompted.

“Focus on the bomber,” Captain Jones ordered. “Those bombs will do a lot more damage than that machine-gun fire.”

“Only if they don’t fire at us,” muttered Vera.

“Read on the Dornier,” Nigella called out.

“Read,” Charlie echoed.

Louise went to work setting the predictor. The gun swung around, tracking just in front of the bomber.

“Fuse one-seven!” Lizzie shouted.

“Fire,” ordered Captain Jones.

They all held their breath as the shell roared toward the plane. But their aim was off. It exploded feet from the nose of the bomber, doing nothing more than sending a wash of heat over the glass-covered cockpit.

“Damn,” Cartruse muttered.

“Engage! Don’t let him drop those bombs,” Jones shouted as the men reloaded the gun.

“Read!” Nigella shouted.

Machine-gun fire rang out closer this time, and the windows of the building across the street exploded as bullets smashed through the glass. B Section dropped to the ground, their hands over their tin helmets, even though they knew that nothing would stop a German bullet fired from a fighter at this range.