Flying Angels(52)

“What happened?” Everyone wanted to know.

“We had a few disagreements about the map,” Pru said with a grin, glancing at Emma, who looked sheepish. “Don’t ever bail out of a plane with a girl from the East End. She’s never been out of the city.”

“I’m a midwife, not a bloody explorer,” Emma said defensively, but they had made it back to the base safely, with no harm done. They were hungry, tired, and filthy, with scratches on their faces and hands from the bushes they had walked through and hidden under. Someone brought them each a plate of food, and they were ravenous. They went back to their barracks afterwards to shower, as the two women looked at each other and grinned, and their friends hovered around them.

   “I thought we were as good as dead for a while there,” Pru admitted. “There were more German patrols out than taxis in Leicester Square, but the gods must have been with us, because they never saw us. We spent a lot of time lying under bushes and sitting in thickets, but we made it.” They hadn’t eaten in two days, but they knew enough not to overeat when they first got back. They both slept for fourteen hours after everyone left them in their room to recover from their ordeal. And Ed had cried in Lizzie’s arms, in relief that they’d made it back safely.

It was one of those experiences both women knew they would never forget. It had been terrifying, but Pru had never lost her head, nor had Emma. They just kept on plugging away and walking until they got to the coast, and then got on the fishing boat. Until then, they both expected to be shot at any moment.

They were as calm as though nothing had happened when they both reported for their missions the next day.

Ed beamed when he saw them. They were scheduled to fly together, and they had a fighter escort again.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s get on with it,” Pru said matter-of-factly as Reggie grinned and shook his head. They locked the doors, strapped in, and taxied down the runway. They had twenty-four injured men to pick up, and everything went smoothly. Pru grinned at Emma after they landed safely back on base with their precious cargo.

   “Better flight than last time, eh, Em?” she asked her, and Emma shrugged coolly.

“It was good enough. The last one wasn’t bad either.” They both laughed and walked into the hangar arm in arm for a cup of coffee before their next mission. They had a busy day ahead.





Chapter 13


As though to prove they were in control, or to regain it, the Germans increased the bombings in August, with severe damage to the cities and industrial areas, and intense hand-to-hand combat with fixed bayonets in rural areas on the ground. As a result, the flight nurses were flying with full loads of wounded, and sometimes took on more men than they had beds for. They couldn’t bear to leave anyone behind, and came back for second and third loads whenever they could.

Pru had flown six missions that day, with only enough time to refuel between them, when she walked into the barracks on a warm summer evening. Her overalls were covered with dirt and blood, and all she wanted was a shower and to lie down for a few minutes. The house officer pointed to the nurses’ battered sitting room when she walked by. There was a tall, thin, serious-looking officer waiting for her. She hesitated before walking in, steeled herself, and saluted him, and he invited her to sit down. She knew what that meant and braced herself for whatever he was waiting to tell her. He delivered the bad news swiftly, like a saber run through her heart.

   Her younger brother Phillip’s plane had been shot down the night before on a massive bombing raid against the Falaise pocket, where the German army was fighting fiercely. Eighteen bombers had gone down the night before. Phillip had been one of the daring fighter escorts, and he had been shot down too. They had had confirmation that afternoon that he and his crew were all dead. They had become another statistic in the war that was devouring brothers and fathers, lovers and husbands and sons. Pru was one of the bereaved now. Her family had been lucky until then. The officer extended his condolences and left as quietly as he had come. He was the angel of death visiting the survivors, leaving tragedy in his wake.

She walked up the stairs slowly and was surrounded by her friends when she got to her room. The officer had told her that she had been cleared for a three-day leave to go home to Yorkshire, to see her parents. They had heard the news by then. She didn’t have the heart to call them. All she wanted was to go home. Her mind was a blank and Emma and the others helped her pack. Trains were scarce and were running off schedule, and all nonessential travel was discouraged. But she knew that if she waited long enough, she could catch a train north that night. She had priority as an officer. And all she had to do was hope that the train or the tracks didn’t get bombed while she was aboard.

She left the barracks in a blur an hour later, after all the girls hugged her. Someone with a car drove her to the train station—she couldn’t even remember who afterwards. All she knew was that her baby brother was dead. He had been flying daring missions for almost exactly five years, as her older brother, Max, had too. She had been told that they would not be able to recover his body. The plane had exploded in midair after the first volley of shots. She hoped it had been quick, and she was sure he would have been mad as hell when they went down. She hadn’t called her parents because she had no idea what to say. She saw men die every day, but she didn’t have to face their mothers and fathers or any of the people who had loved them.