Chapter 33

Emden, 2 nd October 1943

‘ B ombardier to pilot, we’ll be at the IP in one minute.’ Val’s voice.

‘Okay, she’s all yours, Val.’ Mac gazed out at the armada of bombers around them. They were flying lead today, sandwiched in the middle layer of the combat box formation. The group had crossed the Channel, cutting inland across the Netherlands, heading straight towards the seaside town of Emden, riding on shock waves, juddering and bouncing as flak exploded all around them. The engines shook with an almighty fury, shaking Mac like a horseback rider with no seat. He felt uneasy, strangely disconnected from this ship, former bonds lost in the flak, swallowed by the flames of hell through which they flew, and a part of him was drifting.

‘Can’t see a damn thing down there.’ Val’s strained voice sliced through his reverie.

‘Nine-tenths cloud. They got it wrong again.’ Mac shook his head. Plumes of thick black smoke billowed upward just ahead of them. ‘First wave must have dropped their bombs.’

‘Okay, I see a landmark,’ Val’s voice over the interphone.

Val’s eye would be fused to the bombsight, his finger hovering over that button, poised, ready to unleash hell. Mac’s mouth ran dry, and his hands were like slippery eels inside his gloves.

‘That’s it. Bombs away.’ Val’s voice edged with relief and excitement to match Hell’s Fury as she lifted, now thousands of pounds lighter. ‘Bomb bay doors closing.’

Mac peered through a break in the cloud as plumes of smoke rose and swirled. Emden was burning. The image of Stella amidst the fire and the rubble crept into his mind. ‘God forgive us,’ he muttered to himself. He tightened his jaw. ‘Let’s take her home, boys.’

He put Hell’s Fury into a sharp turn, banking left. Images raced through his mind of collapsed buildings, with people buried beneath, as it had been that day in East Grinstead. The people. Oh, Jesus, people, and children . That wasn’t some aircraft or munitions factory; it was individuals and lives. It was enforced retaliation, something he had to live with, somehow. He swallowed hard as his heart hammered against his ribs. He had to block it out. There was no time to dwell and no time for mistakes.

‘Where’re the fighters?’ Emmett’s voice.

‘Out there, somewhere. Keep watching. They’re coming, I can feel it.’ Carleton’s voice.

‘There ain’t no one out there but us.’ Ivan’s voice from the tail.

The returning formation had so far only been hit by flak. A couple of Forts bore jagged tail sections and fuselages riddled with holes. As they approached the coast, they punched their way through a heavier barrage of anti-aircraft fire and Mac bounced around in his seat as the ship lunged a couple of times, but he held her steady.

He glanced at the Fort on his port side. Their number two engine trailed thick black smoke and then fiery sparks erupted. She’d be slowing up some, running on three for the rest of the way. His mind and his heart raced for home; raced to escape the hell of the sky. Then he could wash up, ditch the baggage, and go see his girl. Warmth flickered in his chest. Stella made everything glow.

They left the flak behind as they flew out across the shimmering waters of the Channel. Here, the cloud was breaking, and sunlight streamed through, sparkling silver upon the calm ripples below. It was almost over, and, thankfully, it had been a milk run. Mac felt a flicker of relief, yet he couldn’t shake the darkness that pinned him down and threatened to haul him in. The world had gone crazy. And it wasn’t only the bombings. There was talk of the Germans clearing entire communities by other means; rounding up Jews like cattle and taking them to camps. People were saying all kinds of stuff right now. He wondered if the Luftwaffe pilots felt the same way as he did. Just because you’re doing your duty doesn’t mean to say you agree with it all. No. It didn’t matter how wrong it all was, he was simply one cog in that wheel of war, necessary, yet expendable. And if they didn’t fight, Hitler would march in, and unleash an even greater hell.

He sighed, spotting the English coast up ahead. Norfolk beckoned and then beyond, Cambridge.

After landing, they got coffee and sandwiches from the Red Cross girls. No matter what time of day it was, they were always there to greet the boys with a honeyed smile on a perfectly made-up face. Smart hair, ruby lips, crisp uniform.

‘It does a man good to see a beautiful girl,’ Wilson said.

‘Sure does.’ Mac wasn’t looking, he was thinking of Stella.

***

Colonel Edwards scraped back his chair, shot Mac a steely glance, and strode across to the window. He sighed. ‘Did you know that ninety percent of all marriages during the First World War failed?’

‘No, sir, I did not know that.’

‘Well, you can guess why. Dangerous times do the wildest things to a man’s mind and a woman’s at that. Live for the day and all that crap, not thinking about all the tomorrows. Take it from me. Have all the girls or friendships you want while you’re here, only leave out the love stuff.’ He flicked a glance at Mac, his eyes narrowed.

Mac was not about to be put off or dismissed. ‘Colonel, with all due respect, this isn’t a fleeting friendship or a chance encounter. I’ve been serious about my girl for months. I intend to marry her or die trying, sir.’

The Colonel ran his hand through his dark brown hair, glancing at Mac with a look of exasperation. ‘I don’t doubt that I really don’t.’ He stared at the papers on his desk waiting for his attention. ‘See this stack here?’ He picked up a dozen or so pages from the pile and waved them in front of him. ‘All letters to loved ones, wives, mothers, fathers, telling them their boys won’t be coming home, ever. It’s not right, but it’s war and it’s one darn mean son of a gun! You hear what I’m saying?’ His face reddened.

Mac bowed his head, sighed, then looked the Colonel in the eye. ‘Yes, sir, I do. But I have to do this, sir.’

Colonel Edwards sighed. ‘Okay, Mac. I can see you’re hell-bent on this, so I’ll sort out the paperwork, and I’ll need to meet Miss Charlton. You understand, it’s protocol.’ He shook his head. ‘Well, I guess there’s nothing left to say, except congratulations.’

***

As the days sailed by, Mac flew a couple more missions, both milk runs, but his hands ached worse than ever. Handling the aircraft controls was awkward, and he’d noticed his lack of strength while holding the control wheel. If he had to pull up from a dive, he didn’t know if he’d manage it. That took a whole lot of strength, zapping your arms and your hands.

After Stella’s meeting with Colonel Edwards, the Colonel collared Mac afterwards in the officer’s club and congratulated him again in front of the guys. There were slaps on the back, and the drinks flowed all evening as they celebrated. Mac’s heart lifted. He was so lucky, yet a tiny corner of his mind housed a snippet of darkness that had stitched its claim, and no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t tear it out, and he couldn’t rest easy. He ought to be waiting until the end of the war, whenever that would be, for her sake, but he guessed that band of gold on her finger was irrelevant if the worst should happen. She’d be destroyed either way.

***

The next day, when he turned up at Stella’s place, no one answered the door. He peered through the living room window and saw her stretched out on the sofa. He tried the front door and found it was open, so he let himself in. As he paused in the living room doorway, she did not stir. Her eyes were closed, and her chest rose and fell rhythmically. Was she asleep? He crept over, crouched down beside her, and planted a kiss on her lips. She jumped.

‘Mac! You scared the life out of me. You could have been anyone.’

‘Oh, so you’d kiss anyone like that?’ He cast a half-smile, crouching down next to her.

‘You know what I mean.’ She gave him a light shove.

He pressed his lips to hers. ‘You’re my girl now.’ He gazed into those sunflower eyes, mesmerised for a second by flecks of gold floating amidst the green. ‘Tired?’

‘A little. I’m not suited to night shift, that’s all.’

‘Oh, honey, just wait until this war’s over. You can come to Montana and take care of me. There’ll be cooking and cleaning and socks to darn.’

‘John Mackenzie, is that why you want to marry me?’ She raised an eyebrow.

He drew her close. ‘No, it’s not.’ He pressed his lips to hers, and she softened and kissed him back. ‘I’m marrying you because we’re meant to be together. You and I are soul mates, destinies entwined for eternity.’ He squeezed her and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Besides, I’ve seen your sewing skills, and I reckon I can do a whole lot better.’

She thumped him lightly on the arm, and he chuckled.

‘What? You’re marrying a lowly rancher, and there are always plenty of socks to darn, and sweaters and pants.’ He winked as she reached out and caressed his cheek with her fingertips. ‘I think Colonel Edwards has taken a shine to you. Singing your praises after your visit.’

‘Oh, really? Well, perhaps I should marry him instead. He was very nice to me.’ She crossed her arms and raised her chin, defiantly.

‘Sorry, honey. He’s already taken. Say, what do you mean? You’re only supposed to have eyes for me.’ He leaned in and grabbed her waist, and she crumpled over in a cloud of laughter as he tickled her sides.

‘Mac, stop.’ She giggled, and her face flushed scarlet as she fought his hands away, finally grabbing hold of them. ‘So, when can we set a date for the wedding?’

‘We just have to wait for the service paperwork to be authorised. The colonel said it’s just protocol, so, nothing’s stopping us.’

‘Just my mam.’

‘Maybe you could call her now?’ Mac pulled her up to her feet. ‘No time like the present.’

***

Stella placed the receiver down in its cradle and heaved out a breath. Mac squeezed her hand. ‘That was rough.’ Her mother had cried, shouted, and cried again upon hearing the news about Alex and then of her daughter’s engagement to an American. ‘I think she’s in shock.’

‘Give her time, honey. She’ll come around.’

‘She’s not happy. I could tell by her voice.’

Mac kissed her brow.

‘And she cried when I said we’d be getting married here.’

‘Well, this is your home for now. Besides, she can come here, maybe spend some time with you before we get married.’ He folded her in his arms. ‘It’ll work out, you’ll see.’

***

‘Open it, honey.’ Mac sat down at the kitchen table, staring intently into her eyes, a boyish grin toying with his mouth as he pushed the brown paper parcel across to her.

Tentatively, Stella snipped the string with scissors and unwrapped it. Her eyes bulged with surprise. ‘Oh, Mac. Where did you get it?’ She lifted the bundle of white silk carefully as if it were a newborn and delivered it into Mrs Brown’s arms.

‘You can thank Uncle Sam. One of the guys had to bail out the other day so it’s kind of convenient, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I can’t believe it.’ She slid her hand across the fabric, caressing the silk, and she imagined herself wearing it, while the image of a man bailing out of an aircraft tinged the moment with darkness. ‘Oh, Mrs B. Do you think we might be able to make a dress?’

‘Oh, yes, dear. I know we can. It’s such a lot of silk too.’ Mrs Brown ran her hands over yards of white, her mouth curving up into a smile, her face filled with awe until the kettle whistled and she sprang into action and resumed making the tea.

‘And don’t worry about a cake.’ Mac grinned.

Stella cast him a puzzled glance.

‘Let’s just say I called in a favour at the base. One of the guys is taking care of it.’

‘Oh, Mac. A real cake?’

He cast her a puzzled glance this time. ‘Yeah, a real cake. What other type is there?’

Mrs Brown smiled broadly. ‘Oh, that’s so generous. It’s going to be a wonderful reception.’

‘It’s going to be cold.’ Stella glanced at Mrs. Brown. ‘I hadn’t thought about it until now. I’ll freeze in a dress.’

‘Oh, I’ve got it all worked out, dear. Don’t you fret. We’ll find or make a lovely white wrap for you. Now then, sit down at the table, you two and we’ll have tea.’

The date was set. November 14th, 1943.