Two Blackbirds (10 page)
“How have you been?” Harry leaned forward.
“Okay,” Sharon said.
“No, she's not. She's haunted by nightmares,” Linda said. There was the clatter of a plate on the kitchen table.
Harry took a long look at his daughter-in-law. “There are those who will tell you to bury those memories. I tried that. It doesn't work. There is a friend of mine who I see from time to time. He was in the same regiment as me. When I need to, we get together and talk about it.”
“I keep thinking about the boys I killed. Seeing Molly in the wreckage has brought all of those memories back with a vengeance.” Sharon sat down on the settee upholstered in a garish pattern of yellow, pink, and red chrysanthemums.
“Molly?” Harry put his elbow on the arm of the chair.
“A young pilot. She crashed in bad weather earlier this month.”
Linda brought in two plates, one with cheeses and jams, the other with biscuits.
“Have you ever killed anyone?” Sharon asked.
Harry nodded. “Both directly and indirectly. In the first war, I killed with a rifle and twice with a bayonet. Nowadays, young men die when I make a mistake in planning.”
Linda placed a platter on the coffee table. It was a collage of rare treats. She picked up a slice of cheese biscuit, popped it into her mouth, and asked, “What's happened, Father?”
“Market Garden.” His voice was just above a whisper.
“The papers say it was the biggest airborne operation in history.” Linda offered the plate to Sharon, who took a biscuit and held it in her right hand. Linda got up and offered some to her father.
“No, thank you.” He waved the food away.
“The news we're getting is that bridges were captured.” Sharon leaned forward until her elbows were on her knees.
“Thousands of young men died. Monty and his cronies wouldn't listen to me. They wanted the war to be over by Christmas. We all want that. I tried to tell them that the German defenses were too strong. That we would need more armoured support. I couldn't make them listen.” Harry's eyes looked at Linda, then at Sharon.
“You can't hold yourself responsible because others won't listen.” Sharon stood up.
Linda said, “You were part of the invasion planning. That succeeded.”
“Still, thousands of young men died.” Harry looked at his watch. “The driver will be here in five minutes.” He pointed at Sharon. “Please sit back down. I came to warn the pair of you.”
Sharon sat down and gave Linda a worried look. Linda stared at her father.
Harry said, “I want the two of you to promise me you'll stay out of London over the winter.”
“Why?” Linda asked.
“Just promise!” Harry slammed his hand on the arm of the chair.
“Would you please explain?” Sharon saw tears forming in Linda's eyes.
“The
V
-
1
is only the first of Hitler's vengeance weapons. We're getting reports of another. I'm certain it will be aimed at London. I would like my children to survive the war. At this point, it's all I'm asking for.” Harry stood up.
Linda stood.
Sharon asked, “What about Michael?”
“He's at Bletchley Park. I'm hoping he will be safe there until it's over.” Harry turned for the door. “I have to get back.”
Sharon looked at Linda, who appeared to be afraid to step forward or back. Sharon moved forward. “I'd like a hug before you go.”
Harry turned and smiled. “Of course.” Sharon held him close. He moved his lips close to her ear. “Lady Ginette is no match for you. You must be a descendant of Boudicca.” He released her.
“Linda, get over here and give him a hug.” Sharon took her friend by the elbow and pulled her closer until she put her arms around her father. They followed Harry outside, closed the door, and watched him until he drove away.
“Who the hell was Boudicca?” Sharon asked.
After her fourth delivery of the day,
Sharon almost fell out of the back door of the duty Anson.
She lifted her face to the sun as the other pilots walked past her. She opened her eyes and saw Ernie inside the hangar. He was drinking from a stainless steel thermos cup, sitting on half of an engine cowling and contemplating the guts of another Anson engine.
Sharon hefted her parachute onto her right shoulder and walked to the hangar. She inhaled a familiar mélange: grease, oil, gasoline, dope, and paint. The sound of her flying boots on the concrete made Ernie turn.
“Long day?” Sharon looked around the interior for Edgar.
“He's gone back to his base.” Ernie had a grim look as he raised his thermos cup.
“What happened?” Sharon felt a dread she couldn't put into words.
“He got his transfer to the 332nd in Italy. Friday will be his last day.” Ernie returned to staring at the engine.
“Shit,” Sharon said.
“Exactly.” Ernie sipped from his cup.
“Are you getting drunk?” Sharon asked.
“You bet.”
“Where's the bottle?” she asked.
Ernie pointed to the office at the back of the hangar. “Bottom right-hand drawer.”
“Mind if I join you?” Sharon walked toward the rear of the hangar.
“Be my guest.”
“Come on, Linda, we're going to be late.”
Sharon stood at the bottom of the stairs. She reached for her newest blue jacket, looked at the
ATA
tie and hat, shook her head, and checked herself in the mirror.
Michael and Milton will be there, too
. She felt the tingling thrill of anticipation that came with seeing her husband after more than a month.
Linda wore a white blouse, carefully pressed trousers, and fresh red lipstick as she came down the stairs. “What's got your wind up?”
“We're late.” Sharon turned and opened the door. “You look very nice.”
“As do you. You don't often wear your hair down. Michael will be impressed. I hope he and Milton will hit it off.” Linda closed the door behind them.
Once they had sandwiched themselves into the two-door
MG
sports car, Sharon drove to the Shire Horse near the village of Woolley Green. There were several automobiles parked outside. “I hope there will be room,” Sharon said.
“We'll make room.” Linda got her legs out the door.
Inside the Shire Horse, they discovered they were the first to arrive. With the help of a delicate waitress, they were able to gather chairs and tables together in time for the arrival of the rest of the party.
Sharon was sipping a cup of coffee when Ernie arrived with a redhead named Etta who was taller than he and seemed to add a layer of polish to the man who was smartly dressed in his uniform.
Michael stepped inside the front door. Sharon stood up, met him at the end of the table, and drew him close. He smelled of soap and wool. She held his hand as they sat down together.
Edgar and Walter arrived next and stood cap in hand as they looked around the room. Sharon waved, and they sat down across the table.
“Have any trouble finding the place?” Sharon asked.
Edgar looked left and right. “Not really.”
Walter smiled. “Edgar's nervous because he leaves tomorrow and he's never been to Italy before.”
“I've heard that the Red Tails are making a substantial reputation for themselves,” Michael said.
Edgar nodded.
Sharon watched the expression on Linda's face when Milton walked in. Linda's eyes brightened and a smile came automatically.
She really
likes this guy.
With Milton's arrival, the conversation turned to flying, missing home, and more flying. The awkwardness of the conversations faded, laughter began to dominate, and the food arrived.
So did half a dozen American soldiers, each with an airborne eagle on one shoulder and a red sash on the other. One of them had an arm in a sling. A couple of the others walked with pronounced limps. Another had yellow and purple bruising on one side of his face. He stopped when he saw the people at Linda's table. He frowned before following his comrades and taking a seat at a table behind Walter and Edgar. There was a loud scraping of chairs and combat boots.
Sharon looked at Michael and leaned in close to his ear. “Are those the paratroopers who were nearly wiped out by Monty's Market Garden plan?” Michael gave her a warning glance and nodded.
Fifteen minutes later, Sharon looked around the table. Linda and Milton sat shoulder to shoulder. Etta caressed the side of Ernie's face, and he blushed. Walter told another funny story about Edgar as a little boy in Mississippi who was always getting into trouble from telling the truth. She felt Michael's hand on her shoulder. Laughter erupted when Walter got to the punchline.
Perfect. This is wonderful. It's so nice to
be able to say goodbye to someone when he's alive to hear it. I haven't
felt happily normal like this in months.
Five minutes later, she saw Edgar sit up straighter. She sensed the tension in the room and turned.
Edwin Beck stood just inside the door. He took off his white
MP
helmet and sat down at a table near the door. Sharon looked at Walter, who had stopped laughing. The voices of the American paratroopers got louder as the alcohol began to work its dark magic. The soldier with the bruised face raised his glass and said, “Here's to fuckin' Monty's plan. Piss poor planning: our guts, his gory glory!”
The men raised their glasses and shouted a chorus. “To Fuckin' Monty!”
Sharon looked over at Beck, who was smiling.
Michael glanced at his wife. “I need to get back to work early tomorrow morning.” He looked at Edgar. “It's been a pleasure.” He reached across the table to shake hands.
Walter glanced over at Beck. “Edgar has an early flight. We'd better be goin'.”
Edgar pushed his chair back and inadvertently bumped into the soldier with the bruised face.
“Watch it, boy!” the paratrooper said.
Ernie turned to the paratrooper. “Back off!”
The paratrooper with the arm in a sling smiled. “Save it for the Nazis, George.”
Sharon stood up and looked at Edgar. “Let's get some air.”
She led the way outside as Milton, Michael, Walter, and Ernie reached into their pockets to pay the bill. Sharon, Linda, Edgar, and Etta stepped outside into the evening air, where the sun painted each brick, each leaf, a slightly richer hue.
Edgar said, “Thank you for dinner.”
The paratrooper with the bruised face shoved the door open. It smashed against the wall, rebounded, and hit him in the face. He reached up with his hand and wiped at a bloody nose.
Sharon took Edgar's elbow. “Let's walk.”
“Where I come from, you'd be called white trash!” the paratrooper said.
Edgar released Sharon's arm as he turned. The paratrooper balanced on drunken legs. He raised his fists. “Gonna teach you a lesson, blue gums!”
Another American came through the door. “George!”
George took a swing at Edgar, missed, and fell to his knees. Beck stood in the doorway. He reached for his pistol. “I'll shoot the next one who throws a punch.”
Linda pointed at George. “
He's
the only one throwing punches.”
George got to his feet and swung. He hit Edgar on the side of the face. Edgar reacted with a backhanded slap that sent George backwards into the other paratrooper.
There was an explosion. Sharon caught the stink of gunpowder and blood. Edgar reached up to his chest. Beck kept his pistol aimed at Edgar as he fell to the ground.
The paratrooper with the arm in a sling shouted, “Medic!”
Sharon watched Edgar roll onto his back. She dropped to her knees beside him. His eyes stared at her. A paratrooper knelt across from her and put his hand to Edgar's neck. She heard Michael say, “Put the gun away!”
The paratrooper kneeling across from her said, “No pulse.”
For the next hour, Sharon watched the comings and goings with detachment.
The paratroopers gathered together and made coffee runs to sober up George, who vomited into the hedge at ten-minute intervals.
A squad of
MP
s arrived and began to talk with Beck.
Ernie and Walter wept openly and unashamedly. Etta did what she could to comfort them.
A military truck arrived, and two soldiers stepped out, put Edgar's body on a stretcher, slid it into the back of the truck, closed the tailgate, and drove away.
She felt Michael's arm around her shoulder, but only heard the occasional word that he said.
Linda sat at an outside table next to Milton. She leaned forward with her hands on her knees, and he rubbed her back.
A drab green Buick drove up. There was a single white star on the door. The driver climbed out and opened the rear door. A colonel stepped out. His hair was cut short. He placed a peaked cap on his head. He marched to the gathering of
MP
s. “What happened?” he asked.
“There was a fight,” the senior
MP
replied. “Beck told them to stop or he would shoot. The coloured soldier didn't stop. Beck fired.”
“That's it?”
The
MP
s nodded.
“Carry on.” The colonel turned and returned to the staff car.
Sharon felt her rage detonate. “You!” She pointed at the colonel and ran to intercept him.
The colonel stopped, turned, and glared.
Sharon closed the gap to less than three feet. She read his nametag:
WILSON
. “Colonel Wilson! Edgar Washington was unarmed. He was shot and killed in cold blood. What are you going to do about it?”
“Who the hell are you?” Wilson looked down his nose at her.
“Flight Captain Lacey.” Sharon stepped closer so that there was only a foot between them.
