Target Ahead by Richard Townshend Bickers

Author:Richard Townshend Bickers [Richard Townshend Bickers]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2016-04-26T23:00:00+00:00

Six

At five minutes to six Ellwood was waiting near the Guard Room, on the public road that separated the airfield and the station’s main buildings from the married quarters and the officers’ mess. It was forbidden to park private cars on the station roads, especially in front of the Guard Room.

Some wooden huts had been hastily erected in August on the edge of the playing fields which lay between the officers’ mess and the married quarters, in preparation to accommodate the added numbers that war would bring. These were now the W.A.A.F. billets and a fence of barbed Dannert wire surrounded them as a barrier against lustful airmen.

Ellwood sat in his two-seater with his eyes on these huts. He had washed and polished the Morris Oxford until its maroon paint gleamed. He had polished his buttons, belt buckle and cap badge and his shoes (sergeants did not walk out in boots) until they shone as brightly.

He had never looked forward so much to meeting a girl. He supposed it was because he had not taken a girl out for six weeks. The last time had been before he came to Rambridge for his month’s attachment; and that had not been a particularly exciting event. He had taken the daughter of some family friends to a flannel dance — an occasion so informal that flannel trousers and a sports jacket or blazer were adequate — at the local tennis club. In return she had allowed him five minutes’ necking outside her front gate when he took her home but had told him not to be dirty when he tried to put his hand inside her brassiere. He had concluded that perhaps he ought to play tennis more often and get to know her better, but he preferred flying at weekends.

He heard a motorcycle come through the main gate and Cottle stopped beside him, astride his 250 c.c. B.S.A.

“Enjoy yourself, Pete.”

“And you, Ken.”

“I’ll be all right. I’m sleeping out tonight.”

“I hope her husband doesn’t come home unexpectedly.”

“He won’t. He’s got himself organised in Grimsby, rotten sod.”

“The reprobate!”

“Aye, Evelyn’s a champion lass. Deserves better than him.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re a great consolation, Ken.”

Cottle’s grin spread across his cheerful, florid face. “Do my best, chum. Good luck.”

He roared off, gas mask in its khaki haversack slung across one shoulder, blue haversack with his shaving kit and toothbrush across the other.

Girls were going in and out of the W.A.A.F. billets but there was no sign of Sally. Ellwood told himself that another reason why he was so much looking forward to seeing her was that he had such high expectations. He was not quite sure exactly what it was that he expected, but it was something more exciting and significant than he had anticipated from any other girl. As a rule when he took a girl out he did not do so for the sake of her company but because he wanted to kiss her and try to fondle her body. This evening, for the

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