Blackbirds (19 page)

“You were screaming.” Sean sat across from her. He was open mouthed and wide-eyed.

She wiped the wet from the side of her face and sat up. Every nerve in her arms and back transmitted a symphony of pain. “What time is it?” The stink of seared flesh was in her nose and the syrupy, copper taste of blood at the back of her throat — a leftover from the nightmare.

“I don't know.” Sean rolled a ball of waxed paper from hand to hand. “You were screaming. Was it a nightmare?”

Sharon nodded but kept her eyes open.
Christ, don't close your eyes
or the horror will return
.

“Mother has a message for you.” He handed Sharon a piece of paper.

She recognized it as a blank delivery chit.

“He wrote a note on the back.”

She turned it over.

“Let's go. I need a bath.” She stood up and brushed the grass from her clothing. “How come I'm covered in this stuff?”

Sean looked away and hid his green fingers behind his back. “I had to do something while you were sleeping.”

CHAPTER 18

[ TUESDAY, AUGUST 20, 1940 ]

Sharon stood at the front door of Linda's place,
or at least the home her aunt had loaned them. “Come on! Sean, we have to hurry.”

Sean stood at the top of the stairs, buttoning his shirt. “What about breakfast?”

“We'll grab a bite at the canteen. We've got to catch the air taxi. It's leaving in fifteen minutes!” She slapped the green canvas bag against her thigh for effect.
Did I remember my lipstick?
She reached inside to check.

“Will it be Roger again?” Sean clumped down the stairs.

“I don't know.” Sharon pulled the keys out of her pocket.

Sean pushed past her and out the door. “He won't let me on the plane.”

We need to get you some new clothes
. And
we need to talk with
someone about keeping us together
.

She closed the door, locked it, and ran past Sean as he tied one of his shoelaces. “Come on!”

Forty-five minutes later, they stood at a hangar somewhere north of London where a newly minted Lysander, with undersurfaces painted black and uppers in green and grey, stuck its round nose out into the rain.

“Never had a ride in a Lizzie,” Sean said as they ducked inside the hangar. It smelled of oil, mice, dope, and gasoline.

“Just had her test flight yesterday, and she's all ready to go. Got some instructions for you right here.” The mechanic tapped the breast pocket of his grey coveralls. He pulled the envelope out and handed it to Sharon. His fingernails were black, and he left oily fingerprints on the paper. “The young lad going for a ride with you?”

“Yes.” Sharon opened the envelope and found a note inside. “Pick up a passenger at Gibraltar Farm.” She folded the note and stashed it in her bag.
It's Tempsford again
.
I wonder what will be waiting for us
there?
“Come on, Sean, let's do the walk around.”

She reached into her bag, pulled out her lipstick, and applied a fresh layer of red.
I wonder if Michael will be there.

With Sean safely stowed in the observer's seat behind her, Sharon concentrated on getting them off the soggy runway and into the air.

After they were airborne, Sharon checked over her shoulder and saw Sean asleep, his head leaning against one side of the canopy.

She eased the aircraft up against the belly of the solid overcast.
That way, Jerry can't attack us from above. I can get us into cloud at
the first sign of trouble
. That's the way she flew north to Tempsford.

After landing, she taxied up to the newly-constructed hangar. The workers were inside, finishing up the interior of the building.
That was
fast
, Sharon thought.

The three-blade propeller slowed and stopped. She double-checked to make sure the switches were off before she undid her harness and turned around. Sean slept with his chin on his chest. His shirt collar was tucked up under his ears, and he looked at peace despite what had happened in the past couple of days.

Sharon slid the canopy back and rain pelted down on her. She climbed down the side and onto the undercarriage strut.
How am I
going to get him out of there?

“Come on, help me swing the tail around.” She turned and saw Michael standing under the wing.

“Will you ever stop doing that?” Sharon asked.

“Doing what?”

“Sneaking up on me.”

“Oh, that.” Michael smiled. “It's expected behaviour, given my present occupation.”

“I've got my brother with me.”

“Brother?” Michael tilted his head to one side and stared at her.

“My father is dead. Sean's mother is dead. I — we — had to dig Sean out.” Sharon held out her blistered hands. “He's my brother.”
Christ, why am I so tongue-tied and nearly bloody incoherent around
this man?

Michael thought for a moment. “The Lysander is supposed to be delivered by Friday, noon. You've got a forty-eight-hour pass.”

“How did you know I had a pass?” Sharon asked.

Michael shrugged. “Sometimes it's best not to ask too many questions. Do you mind if we drop in on Honey suckle and Linda?”

“Where are they?” Sharon asked.

“At home.” Michael stuck his hands in his pockets. “It's cold out here.”

“Are you coming with us?” Sharon asked.

Michael nodded. “Are you going to help me swing the tail around?”

“Where are you going to sit?” Sharon grabbed one side of the tail plane as Michael lifted the other.

“I'll find a spot next to Sean. You forget I've ridden in one of these before. You did say his name is Sean, right?”

They lifted the tail and swung the Lysander 180 degrees.

“Yes.”

“You dug him out, then?”

Sharon shrugged and nodded.

They set the tail down.

“Where are we going?” Sharon asked.

“Home, of course. My home. You're expected. Are you going to answer my question?” Michael climbed the ladder up the side of the Lysander.

Sharon climbed up into the cockpit and closed the canopy. “We'll have to refuel on the way.” She began her preflight check.

Michael slid back the rear canopy. “They're expecting us to refuel in Leeds. We're in your hands.” He swung his legs inside, gingerly easing himself next to Sean.

“Really. Is there anything you haven't thought of, Michael?”

“The weather. I hadn't thought the weather would be this dreadful.” He slid the rear canopy closed.

Thankfully, the overcast is still at one thousand feet
,
or we might
have to turn back
. Sharon did a mental calculation for a heading that would take them to Leeds.

She took off and headed northwest.

The responsibility of having two passengers weighed on her. She scanned the sky constantly. Over her shoulders, she caught glimpses of Michael propping Sean up so that her brother's head wouldn't bump against the canopy or any one of the annoying bits of metal that could do some damage. She smiled at the two of them.
Michael can make
me smile even at the worst of times.

When she landed at Leeds, while she supervised the refueling, she saw Michael and Sean in conversation. Sean smiled and laughed. Sharon felt something close to joy.

After takeoff, she followed the A65 northwest. She kept the wet black ribbon of tarmac to her left while she concentrated on what might be ahead. She looked at her altimeter: eight hundred feet. They were down to five hundred when she spotted Lacey Hall and the Townsend farm nearby.

She eased back on the throttle and lowered the flaps. Sharon took a good look at the pasture running north-south on the far side of the farm buildings.

She turned downwind and did her checks. The Lysander slowed to ninety-five knots. On finals, she flared at seventy-five knots, kept the power on, eased them onto the grass, pulled back on the stick, cut the power, and applied the brakes. Even on the wet grass, they landed well short of the rock wall and the gate leading to Honeysuckle's garden.

After shutting down, Sharon watched the boys climb out the back. Sean stood under the wing and gave her the thumbs up. Michael stood next to him and waited.

Sharon watched them for a moment.
Those two look good together
.
How did I end up with two men in my life?

She slid open the canopy and felt her way down the slick side of the fuselage. After closing the canopy, she dropped to the ground.

“And who is this?” Honeysuckle stood there in her slacks and jacket, as well as a pair of Wellington boots and an umbrella. She looked at Sharon.

“Sean, this is Honeysuckle. Sean is my brother.” Sharon smiled at the boy.

“Of course he is.” Honeysuckle walked over to Sean and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “Dinner is almost ready. Are you hungry?”

Honeysuckle doesn't appear to be surprised in the least
.

Michael and Sharon followed along behind. He caught up to her, touched her hand and she squeezed his.

Near the house, Sean said something to Honeysuckle and she leaned down to listen. The wind carried Honeysuckle's voice. “I'm not at all surprised. Your sister really is a fierce one.”

“What happened to your hands?”
Linda sat at the head of the kitchen table. The remains of a ham, fresh potatoes, peas, and bread were still spread over the surface.

Sharon used her fingers to strip a piece of meat from the ham.

“She dug me out,” Sean said.

“What?” Linda sat with her legs propped up on a kitchen chair and looked at her friend.

“I was hoping someone would tell us the story.” Michael frowned in Sharon's general direction.

“A Dornier hit my house. I hid under the table. Sharon and Nigel dug all night and got me out.” Sean lifted his cup of milk, took a drink, and wiped away the moustache.

Change the subject
. “How are your legs healing?”

“Better. I have to go back in a month for another checkup and there will be more skin grafts. How is the flying going?” Linda adjusted one of her legs by lifting the fabric on her flannel bottoms.

Honeysuckle sat at the other end of the table, her chin leaning on her interlocking fingers. Her eyes appeared half closed.

Michael leaned back. The chair complained. He turned his head to watch Sharon.

Sharon said, “Things are pretty hectic. More deliveries going to forward airfields. Some hush-hush deliveries.” She glanced at Michael as she reached for her coffee.

Honeysuckle lifted her chin off of her fingers. “We're hearing rumours that you're an ace.”

Sharon looked at Sean. “So that's what you two were talking about.”

Sean's face turned red.

“He's proud of you,” Honeysuckle said.

Linda said, “Details. Don't you dare leave out a thing.”

Sharon told them the story from start to finish. She wept as she told them about what happened to her father, and she wept as she told them about landing a damaged Spitfire with the remains of the Luft–waffe pilot on the chin of the fuselage.

“My god, it's true,” Michael said.

“What's true?” Sharon asked.

Linda said, “When you went missing after the attack on Biggin Hill, Michael was frantic. He found out as much as he could. One unconfirmed report described a female pilot who was reported to have shot down five aircraft. Michael even went so far as to check the map for five wreckage sites that were outside of the area of reported and confirmed kills of enemy aircraft.” Linda shifted her weight to get her legs on the floor. She winced with the pain.