Chapter 5

Milk Run to First Base

January 1943

W hen Major Lewis had drawn back the curtain and revealed the map with its blood-red ribbon that delved into the Third Reich, Wilhelmshaven, a hushed chorus of groans erupted around the room. They’d never been to Germany before. It was a stroke of luck when the news came through. The mission was scrubbed at the last minute. The padre had just given a blessing to the crew. He was always out on the flight line before every mission. Maybe he’d had a word with God earlier, because that weather sure changed fast.

Mac wished he hadn’t drunk the extra coffee at breakfast as it now mingled with the eggs and sausages, leaving a foul taste. He drew in a sharp breath and released it slowly as he made his way along the perimeter track towards the old farmstead. The folks there didn’t mind when he dropped by. He might be thousands of miles away from home, but in that quiet corner of rural Cambridgeshire, he found a little piece of Montana.

He gazed out across green fields, where the sheep grazed upon the hard, frosted ground. Mac lifted his face to the lead-grey shroud that covered the bloodied heavens. The bitter breeze stung his cheeks, and his eyes watered. Usually, he came here to ask for forgiveness except today they hadn’t dropped a single bomb. He asked for it anyway. Afterwards, birdsong drifted over him, sweet and high-pitched, the only reply.

He leaned on the old farm gate, gazing out across the airfield at the B-17s spread out, waiting. A gust of wind hit him, the gate shuddered, and Bill’s face flashed before him. Mac swallowed hard. It had been a momentary glance across the narrow stretch of sky, a glance that transcended words when Bill realised all was lost. A fleeting farewell between friends before the explosion pummelled the air with shock waves, and Mac had fought to keep the ship steady. His vision swam as reality hit home. A sharp sting zipped through his palm, and he glanced at his hand, the knuckles white from gripping the splintered fence. His legs trembled.

He took a slow walk back to the base, his breath lingering in the frigid air like wisps of vapour. The missions and losses had been piling up, and he’d felt time slipping away, his hope fading with each passing day. He had been teetering on the edge, ready to give in to the inevitable—until Stella. She had reignited something in him, a hunger for life he thought he'd lost. His name on her lips had struck more than a chord the other night. The sticking point was Alex, but he’d seen the flicker in her eyes. Maybe, just maybe, he had a chance.

The clouds persisted, holding the rain at bay as Mac drove along the winding lane. Since the beginning of the war, the British had removed all road signs in case of an invasion, and it sure was confusing trying to find your way around. As he pulled up on the left side of the road, he flicked a gaze at the wooden plaque on the wall of the white thatched cottage. Lilac Cottage . He cut the engine, wondering if Stella was still mad at him, and jumped out. Before he’d reached the gate, the front door creaked open, and Stella stepped out, all ready to go. ‘Hi there.’ Mac pushed his cap up with his finger. Boy, she sure was a picture, and at least she didn’t look mad.

‘Hello.’ Stella grinned and headed towards him. Her hair seemed different, longer, and she wore a slim-fitting pair of slacks which showed off the contours of her legs, a sweater, and a short jacket.

Mac smiled, waiting until she’d climbed in. A restlessness crept over him as he longed to hold her again, to taste those lips. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be home.’

‘Well, you didn’t give me much choice.’ She placed her khaki canvas gas mask bag down in the footwell.

Mac hopped into the driver’s seat. ‘Where shall we go first?’ He gazed into her green eyes.

‘I’m not sure. Why don’t we drive along here, and take a quick tour of the village?’ She pointed to the road straight ahead.

‘Sure thing. Whatever you say.’ He fumbled through his jacket pocket and produced a packet of gum. ‘Here, try some.’

Stella took a piece. The silver paper slipped off with ease, and she folded the thin strip into her mouth, closing her eyes for a moment as if savouring the taste.

They headed out to RAF Bourn on the outskirts of the village, where several Lancaster Bombers idled on their dispersals around the airfield. From there they drove along the scenic lanes before heading back into the centre of Bourn. ‘This is a Roman road,’ Stella said, as the wind gusted through her hair and golden curls oscillated in its grip.

‘Well, how about that? I guess I should have known, seeing how it’s so straight. I’m walking in the footsteps of Roman soldiers.’ Mac laughed and flicked a gaze at her, taking in her beauty.

‘Driving,’ Stella corrected him with a smile. ‘Bourn’s a medieval village and the old church of St Helena and St Mary up ahead dates back to the twelfth century.’

Mac swung into Church Lane and pulled up close to the metal gates. He reached into the back of the jeep and pulled out a compact black box. ‘I brought my camera, thought I might get a few good pictures while I have the chance,’ he said with a grin. As they strolled through the churchyard side by side, Mac stopped to gaze at the magnificent building. The light-coloured stone and the leaded windows along with the twisted spire intrigued him. It sure was beautiful.

Stella pointed to the belfry. ‘It has eight bells, but all bell-ringing was banned when the war began. If we do hear them, we’ll know the Germans have invaded.’ She spoke so matter-of-factly, without a trace of fear or worry in her voice. The war had brought great change, and he guessed that such things had become a part of normal everyday life.

As they strolled towards the church, Mac stopped to read the inscriptions on some of the ancient gravestones and took a few pictures. Stella sat on a nearby bench as the breeze rattled the leaves of the overhead trees and beat a rosy tinge into her cheeks. Her nose was real cute, with a hint of rouge. She pulled up the collar of her jacket and thrust her hands into her pockets. He had to admit the air was a little icy, even in the sun. ‘Say, are you cold? We can go grab a bite to eat someplace.’

‘I’m okay if you want to take more pictures.’

Mac smiled, removed his brown leather flight jacket, and draped it over her shoulders. It was forbidden to do so, but he figured the military police wouldn’t catch him here. Besides, he was a gentleman. ‘It sure is pretty and peaceful.’ The dark weathered boughs above creaked and groaned in the breeze. ‘It’s strange to think there’s a war raging on across the Channel, and yet here we are, miles from Hell.’

He took a picture of the church and the grounds, then glanced at Stella, who was looking the other way. He pointed the camera and pressed the shutter button. That picture could go in the cockpit. She turned to look at him, and he gestured with the camera. With her head tipped down like that, looking at him from beneath those dark, long lashes, she sure was cute. Then, just as she broke into a huge smile, he clicked again. That one’s definitely just for me .

Mac draped his arm around her and rubbed her other arm to warm her up as she nestled against his side. Being so close was tempting, with her body warm against his, the swell of her hip against his side, and the wind teasing the lavender from her hair. My God, it was going to take every last ounce of reserve he had to stop himself from drawing her into his arms. His thoughts turned back to the kiss they’d shared on New Year’s Eve before guilt had snatched her away. Remembering his western upbringing, he checked himself, and sighed. He wanted to ask her about Alex, but there’d be plenty of time for that later.

‘Hey, let’s have a quick look inside before we go. That is, of course, if you don’t mind.’ He stood up and took her hand in his, leading the way. Once inside, Mac closed the door, and they walked slowly towards the altar and sat at the front. The pew was ice-cold and slippery from polish, and a faint scent of incense hung in the air.

He marvelled at the architecture and the stained-glass windows. ‘It’s always so peaceful in church.’ He flicked a gaze at the depiction of Jesus on the cross. ‘Thou shalt not kill. The sixth commandment.’ He sighed and looked down at the ground. ‘What are we doing in the midst of another war? It’s never-ending madness.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not right, what they’re doing. What we’re doing.’

It wasn’t right how men, young men, left their base here fresh and full of life and returned as a corpse, or didn’t return at all. He swallowed. Christ, Bill, and the others. His heart raced, then Stella reached for his hand, and her warm, soft touch soothed, drawing him back, drawing him to her. He was inches away, and as he gazed into her eyes, he marvelled at tiny flecks of gold that encircled her pupils, swimming in emerald green. Her brow furrowed and a glimmer of a smile toyed with her lips as he placed his other hand on hers.

He sat for a few minutes more, thinking, praying silently for those who’d already given their lives, praying for his own friends, praying for Bill. Friendships that had been so naturally formed only to be so brutally severed, now mere ripples in the water. He’d almost lost hope. Stella was becoming a shining beacon in a dark sky; his one guiding light in this hell within which he was caught. The only problem was Alex, but Stella was here with him today, and the way she’d looked at him earlier...well, she’d felt something, and so he’d hold on to that.

Back home, Mac went to church every Sunday with his family, but now it didn’t seem right sitting here. Not with what he was doing. Killing people one day, acting all normal the next. The church held no place for him now, and it was beginning to feel mighty close. ‘Stella, shall we go get something to eat?’

‘All right.’

He led her outside, to where the trees whispered overhead as boughs danced and murmured in the breeze, and he drew her towards him. Her natural, pink lips so close, too close. Her soft, wide eyes sparkled, meeting his, and when her lips parted, his composure vanished in an instant. He took her in his arms and kissed her, and when they came up for air, Stella gazed into his eyes before resting her head against his chest. Her green eyes reflected the silhouette of a sunflower; a yellow, swirling floret like a spinning prop, and as a sunflower craved the sun, she was all the light he needed.