Chapter 29

The Country Club

B assingbourn bustled beneath a bright August sun in a cloudless sky. Mac arrived at Station 121 in the afternoon just as a group of Flying Fortresses landed. The sound of the Wright Cyclone engines was soothing somehow, and he turned his face skyward as one thundered overhead, the thrum of the engines coursing through his soul. The ground crew waited out on the grass by the watchtower, their faces lifted to the sky, lips pursed. Yeah, he remembered that feeling. His stomach tightened as he turned away and headed over to the officers’ mess. Once he found his room, he dumped his kit on the bed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small card Bea had pressed into his hand when he was discharged. He glanced at it and grinned.

To whom it may concern. If there are any further problems, please send on the bits c/o The Queen Victoria Hospital, East Grinstead.

When he reached the Colonel’s office, he hesitated while he straightened his tie and puffed out a breath before knocking.

‘Enter.’

Mac marched into the room and saluted.

‘At ease, Mac. It’s good to see you. Take a seat.’ Colonel Edwards greeted him with a firm handshake. No hesitation.

‘Thank you, it’s good to be back, sir.’ Mac glanced at the silver-framed picture on the mahogany desk that depicted a woman and a small child, smiling.

The Colonel opened his cigarette case and offered it to him. The ashtray was already piled high with cigarette stubs, the air thick with a mist of smoke.

‘Thanks.’ Mac took out his own silver lighter and lit up.

‘You’re looking well. Those Brits sure looked after you down there. How was it?’

‘It was okay, sir. They took good care of me, and as you can see, I’m in one piece and ready for action.’

The Colonel cocked his head to one side, his dark brown eyes searching. He drew on his cigarette, exhaling smoke rings. ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. We always need good men. Experienced men. We’ve had a lot of rookies lately, so darn cocky like you wouldn’t believe.’ He smiled. ‘You’ve got a medical scheduled for tomorrow at ten o’clock. If you pass that, then I’ll get the ball rolling here.’

He took a long drag on his cigarette, his brow furrowed, and a heavier, serious expression crept into his face. ‘Mac, I wanted to be the first to tell you. All of your original crew, except for Wilson, are listed as missing in action. We had a tough mission three weeks back. Lost a few ships that day as a matter of fact.’ He rose from his chair and strode across to the window, gazing out over the airfield. ‘It was a bad run all right.’

Mac shook his head, numb with shock. God, the boys, gone, just like that. Another knock, more like a kick in the gut. Jeez, he was too late. He swallowed hard, and a lump lodged in his throat. ‘But Wilson’s still around?’

‘Yeah. He was having time out at the Flak House when it happened.’ Colonel Edwards sighed as he picked up a couple of glasses from a table by the window and set them down on his desk with a clink. He slid open a drawer and lifted out a bottle of Scotch. ‘For times like these.’ He tipped a generous measure into two glasses. ‘I’m sorry you came back to bad news. There’s still hope. Several guys counted eight chutes.’ He frowned. ‘I know you weren’t expecting it, but hell, you know what this is.’

Mac drained the Scotch in one gulp. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘It really is good to see you.’ The Colonel smiled warmly. ‘They fixed you up pretty good, Mac. Could have been a whole lot worse. Well, that’s about all for now. I’ll leave you to settle in, and I’ll see you tomorrow after your medical. If the MO passes you, I’ll be glad to have you back.’

Once outside, Mac puffed out a breath. Life here just rolled on and on, regardless of who didn’t return. Numbness filtered into his bones, and he pictured Stella’s face as she’d pleaded with him not to fly. The truth was, he didn’t want to fly bombing missions or dodge the Luftwaffe’s cannon shells any more than the next man, except it was his duty, and it hung around his neck like a dead weight. The only way to shake it off was to fly. The best place for him was here, with his brothers, who he could depend on.

***

The next morning, Mac sat waiting outside the medical officer’s room at a quarter to ten. Ten minutes later, Colonel Majors opened the door and beckoned him inside. Majors had been there from the beginning. He was older than most. Mac guessed he was around fifty, with black hair streaked by a single strip of grey running through the middle. The guys called him ‘Badger.’

‘Take a seat, Lieutenant. It’s good to see you looking so well, and keen, by the look of you.’ Majors cast his narrow brown eyes over him, scrutinising the handiwork of Archie McIndoe. ‘You remember I saw you when you first had the accident?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Did he have to bring it up? All Mac wanted to do now was put it in a box and lock it away.

‘Excellent job, I see.’ Majors studied Mac’s face. Hold out your hands.’

Mac shuffled forward in his chair and placed his hands out in front of him. Majors took hold of them, turned them over, and back again. ‘Okay, now grip mine.’

Mac steeled himself. This was his one chance, and he didn’t want to fail.

‘Okay, that’s enough!’ Majors said, almost shouting. He rubbed his hand, which was bright red from the force. ‘Well, I don’t think we have any problems there at all.’ He opened a medical file and began flicking through the notes and then looked up. ‘The doctor sent these on from the Queen Victoria. They sure are efficient, these Brits’. He put his spectacles on to read. ‘It says here that you had three successful surgical grafts. Seems to me you’ve been very lucky. It could have been a lot worse. Damn lucky to have saved all your fingers too.’ He picked up his stethoscope. ‘I’ll just have a listen to your chest.’ After a series of sighs and gestures, he sat down at his desk. ‘Everything seems to be in order.’

‘That’s it? You’re passing me fit?’

‘That’s right. If you can squeeze the hell out of me, then you’d better go give Hitler a piece of that instead. You’re back on duty as of now.’ Majors scrawled something down in the records and looked up with a warm smile. ‘Take care of yourself, son. I wish you the best of luck.’

‘Thank you, sir. I sure appreciate it.’ Mac grinned so wide his cheeks tightened as if they might burst. Now he had to give the CO the good news.

***

Colonel Edwards looked up from a stack of papers, his face grave, his eyes glossy. ‘Mac. Take a seat.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘So, what’s the verdict?’

‘Passed fit to fly, sir.’

‘Well, now that’s music to my ears.’ He put his pen down on top of the letter that lay on his desk. ‘Okay. I have a crew who recently lost their pilot. They’ve been out of action for over a week, and they’re going stir crazy here on the base. I want you to take over. They’re experienced, and I think you’ll make a darn good team.’ He drew on his cigarette before dropping it in the ashtray. ‘I’m pairing you up with Wilson. He’s due back today. And one more thing. Those boys need someone like you to keep them together. They could do with a guiding hand.’

Mac grinned. At least he wasn’t being assigned a bunch of rookies. As for Wilson, he knew what to expect there.

‘So, any questions?’

‘No, sir, only, when do I get to meet them?’

‘I’ll ask Lieutenant Valentine to meet you at the Officers’ Club at twelve hundred. He’ll introduce you to the others and take you out to see the aircraft. You’ll need to do a few training flights as a crew before we can return you to duty. Now, any problems at all, let me know.’

‘Yes, sir, and thank you.’ Mac saluted before leaving.

***

There were several guys in the Officers’ Club. Tired, pained eyes peered out over glasses of bourbon or whisky or whatever the hell it was they were drinking. It was a battle-weary look, and one that harboured every mission flown and every tragedy witnessed. One of the guys turned around. His face was lightly bronzed, and his blue eyes twinkled.

‘I’m looking for Lieutenant Valentine,’ Mac asked.

‘That’s me. You must be our new pilot.’ Val smiled, holding out his hand.

Mac met it with a firm handshake. ‘John Mackenzie. Everyone calls me Mac.’

‘It’s good to meet you. Dale Valentine. Val.’

Val’s gaze lingered over Mac’s scars and unease swept into his veins; he lowered his head as he recalled Archie’s words. Brush over it, and remember, any embarrassment comes from you, so look them in the eye. People are never sure what to say at first, so you have to make the first move. Mac stared into Val’s eyes as he stretched up tall.

‘Say, Mac, how about we take a ride out to see the ship? Then I’ll round up the guys.’ Val cracked a smile.

Mac gave a sharp nod. ‘Lead the way.’ He was glad of Val’s friendly, easy-going personality. He rubbed the back of his neck. Perhaps things would work out. Even so, he wished he didn’t feel like the new kid again.

Val drove out to the far side of the airfield to where their Fortress stood. Two ground crew busied around doing maintenance work. ‘There she is. Hell’s Fury . Been real reliable, all things considered.’

Mac walked around her, then he climbed up through the nose hatch. Being out here, close to the crash site, brought a rush of ragged memories flooding back, and he clenched his jaw and swallowed them down along with a waft of oil and aircraft. As he flicked a gaze over the pilot’s seat and the instrument panel, and his hand touched the sun-warmed metal, his stomach turned to ice and his palms grew damp.

‘I heard you boys were grounded.’

‘Yeah, I don’t think they knew what to do with us. They were about to use some of the guys as spares, but then you came along.’ Val rubbed his jaw, casting a sceptical look.

‘Okay, I’ve seen enough. Oh, one thing. The ship needs her own distinctive look. I saw Slater earlier. He’s about the best there is for nose art.’

Val grinned, and his face relaxed as he jumped back into the jeep. ‘Sure thing, Mac.’

Later, Mac took a walk along the perimeter track out to his old spot by the farm. In the adjoining field, land girls formed a wave of khaki in dungarees of yellow brown topped off with bright headscarves, as they dug in harmony. He swallowed. So much bad had been aired out here. All the prayers he’d whispered had sailed into the wind, and yet he’d never returned to the base any lighter. His gaze flicked across a field of straw; its golden ears swayed and whispered in the breeze. He pursed his lips. A bird of prey cried out above, and he lifted his face to the sky, shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare. Black wings fanned out in the blue as the sun’s fingertips caressed his skin and his scars burned in the heat.

The Texas Rose and all but one of his old crew were gone. He recalled their faces and heard their voices. He had to block them out. Thank God he had Stella. He loved her body and soul, but was he doing the right thing in marrying her? He wanted to, so much, and at least she was happy, yet a dark shadow hung over him.

All this time, he’d been desperate to resume his tour of duty, craving service life, but the reality was he was starting afresh. He realised it was a different camaraderie he craved, one where he was surrounded by his brothers from the ward. He had stepped away from an existence of familiar normality and acceptance and had ventured into new territory. At least Stella was close by.

He glanced at his hands, clenching them a few times. His fingers felt stiff and ached. Maybe he’d been overdoing things. Offering up a silent prayer, he asked God for strength. All he had to do was make sure he stayed in one piece. He heaved out a breath, steeling himself for all that lay ahead.