A Wedding for the Bomber Girls by Vicki Beeby

Author:Vicki Beeby
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2024-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

RAF Fenthorpe was on high alert as everyone was preparing for the first mission in a fortnight, thanks to the gales. The wind today was nothing more than a playful breeze that frisked through the hedgerows, rustling the unfurling leaves. It was hard to believe that only yesterday Fitz had feared it would rip the roof off the NAAFI.

After so long confined to the ground, Fitz would have enjoyed the test flight, if he hadn’t been so worried about Jack. If only he had been able to persuade Jack to speak to the MO, he would probably be on sick leave now instead of preparing to fly another mission. Fitz could only hope the mission would be straightforward, and preferably to a nearby target so they wouldn’t have to endure a long flight to get there. The longer it took to reach the target, the more chance there was of something going wrong, and with Jack’s fragile state of mind Fitz was worried how he might react.

By the time the crew filed into the briefing hut, Fitz’s heart was in his mouth. He made sure he was sitting with Jack, and kept half an eye on him as he placed his pencil and notebook on his desk. Although the hut’s walls were covered in posters warning the aircrews of the perils of passing on sensitive information, all eyes were glued to the red curtain drawn across the board upon the platform at the front of the room. Behind this curtain was the all-important map, showing that night’s target. The knot in Fitz’s stomach that he’d been able to forget about for most of the day now seemed to increase in size and pull impossibly tight. He became aware that he was tapping his pencil on the desk, beating out the rhythm to the waltz from Coppélia. He put down the pencil and clasped his hands behind his back, only to snatch up the pencil again when Squadron Leader Price rose from his seat. A hush fell on the room, and the only sound in the room was Price’s measured footsteps as he walked to the platform.

Let it be an easy run. Please give us an easy run. Fitz thought he might be physically sick as Price drew breath to make his announcement.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said in his cultured accent. In another life he could have got work as a BBC news presenter. ‘I trust you are all feeling rested after our enforced break.’

There was a ripple of uneasy laughter.

Just tell us where we’re going. And make it somewhere close. From the rather strained expressions of the men in his line of sight, Fitz knew they must all be thinking the same as him. If the combined wishes of nearly one hundred men could affect the location of the target, 505 Squadron would be on their way to drop leaflets over Skegness.

Price placed a hand on the curtain cord. There was the faint hissing noise of ninety-eight indrawn breaths. ‘Our target tonight is Berlin.

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