Fly Boy (16 page)

“We had a slight, shall we say,
incident
with three members of the army,” he called out. “The kid here settled things
nicely. All three ran off with bruised egos, and one with a busted nose!”

There was a huge cheer from the crowd.

“I think we should all raise a glass in his honour in a toast to defeating the enemy—whoever they might be!”

Every man in the place lifted his glass and they cheered even louder! I felt so embarrassed. It looked as though I was going to be the hero of the hour, whether I deserved it or not. I didn’t know what to say or do. I just gave a weak little wave and a little smile to go along with it. Who was I to argue with my fellow fly boys?

“Time to get up.”

“I don’t want to get up … Can’t I just sleep a little longer, Mom?”

There was laughter and I suddenly realized why. Not only was I not being woken up by my mother, I wasn’t even at home. I opened my eyes. Why was it so bright, and why did my head hurt so badly, and who were these men standing all around my bed? For an instant I thought they were soldiers coming to get me, and then I realized they were all in air force uniforms, and one of them was the flight lieutenant.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

I tried to sit up and my stomach lurched slightly. “I’m good … I guess … except for my head. I must have gotten hit harder than I thought.”

“The only thing you got hit with came out of a bottle. You were really slugging it back last night.”

It all came back to me in a rush. People had kept on coming over, offering congratulations, a slap on the back, or a handshake, and most of them bought me a drink. I couldn’t remember how many drinks I’d had. I couldn’t even remember the end of the night.

“I guess I had a little too much to drink.”

“You passed ‘a little too much’ a little bit before midnight. You probably have a hangover,” the flight lieutenant said.

“I think it would have hurt less if somebody had actually hit me with the bottle instead of letting me drink what was inside,” I groaned. That was apparently pretty funny, because it made them all laugh.

“Have you never had a hangover before?” one of the other men asked. He had what I’d come to recognize as an Australian accent.

I started to shake my head, but that made it hurt even more. “No, never,” I said softly.

The flight lieutenant leaned over my bed. “So, you’re probably wondering why you’re waking up with a flight crew standing over you.”

“I
was
wondering … but I was just glad it wasn’t a bunch of army grunts.”

They laughed again, and the loudness hurt my head.

“Do you remember any of us?” he asked.

I looked around from face to face. They all smiled and they did look familiar … but I certainly didn’t remember any of them by name.

I shook my head. “I don’t remember much of last night.”

“You do remember me, don’t you?”

I nodded. His name was Blackburn … I thought maybe Jed was his first name.

“The fight I remember. Being told it was rude to turn down a drink I remember. After that …” I shrugged.

“I guess you remember the important parts, Davie.”

For a split second I almost didn’t remember I was Davie.

“You might be wondering why my crew and I are in here,” he said.

“My head is hurting too much to wonder much … But yeah, why are you here?”

“I just came from the CO. I asked and he agreed to assign you to be my navigator. That is, if you’re willing to be assigned to my crew.”

That kind of woke me up! “Of course … if he thinks I’m ready.”

“He said you were ready.”

I’d been out on five missions, and on the last three I had done all the mapping and charting. Mike had just sat back and watched.

“I hope I’m ready, sir.”

“The first thing you have to know is that we’re pretty informal on this crew. It’s Jed, not sir. Second, maybe you’d better get to know the members of my crew when you’re sober enough to actually remember who they are. Sometimes I feel more like a zookeeper than a pilot.”

Three of them suddenly started to make animal noises. One was barking like a dog, another imitated some sort of jungle bird, and the third was mooing.

“I said zookeeper, not farmer,” Jed said to the man who was mooing.

“When I was growing up, we was so poor that my papa would take us to a barn and tell us that we
was
at a zoo,” the man who had been mooing replied.

“You can see that our maturity level is somewhat questionable. Join us for breakfast and we’ll talk about everything.”

I started to get up and stopped. I really didn’t need an audience to watch me dress. “Can I have a little privacy?”

“You can, but first we have to tell you how to get dressed,” another one of the crew replied with a thick Australian accent.

“I don’t understand … I know how to get dressed.”

“But you probably don’t know the
right
way,” he replied, and they all laughed.

I was quickly going from confused to worried.

“To be part of this crew, you have to do everything
right
.”

“I always try to do that.”

“Not try, mate,
succeed
. Everything has to be
right
. Everybody on our crew always puts on their pants right leg first.”

“And then your shirt, right arm in the right sleeve first,” another man added.

“And then you put on your right sock and right shoe before either left sock or shoe goes on. Do you understand?”

“Sure. You like things to go in a certain order.”

“An
exact
order. We believe if we all do it the same way, it protects us from harm.”

The fact that I
did
understand showed that I’d been here too long already. I had quickly learned that men in the air force were just about the most superstitious people in the world. Almost everybody had a lucky charm or a superstition, or needed to do things in exactly the same order or eat exactly the same food before every mission. Part of it was just plain crazy, but in other ways it was ordinary human nature—trying to get control over something because there was so much that was beyond your control.

“Okay, I understand.
Now
can I have some privacy?”

“Come on, lads, let’s leave him to get dressed,” Jed said, and they all filed out of the room—making more animal noises as they left.

I climbed out of bed. I was already in my skivvies and undershirt. I grabbed my pants and went to slip them on
and stopped: I had put my left leg in first. I pulled it back out and went right leg first. I finished putting them on and then grabbed my shirt—right arm first. Next, right sock and shoe, left sock and shoe, and I finished with my jacket—of course putting my right arm in first. I wondered if I should wash the right side of my face first and brush the teeth on the right side of my mouth first. I decided not to do either until after breakfast, and after I’d asked them about those important procedures.

The mess hall was packed and noisy, a little steamy, and it smelled of breakfast. This morning, that smell was not only unappealing, it actually made me feel a bit nauseous. I looked all around. There they were, at a table in the far corner.

“Hey, Davie!” one of them yelled, and three of them waved. I waved back and went over.

“Here, take a seat,” one of them offered, pulling it out.

“And drink this,” a second said as he pushed a mug in front of me.

“Thanks.”

I took a sip and gagged and coughed as it went down the wrong way. One of them slapped me on the back.

“What is this?” I asked, holding the mug up.

“Strong tea and a little hair of the dog.”

“What does that mean?”

“Best thing for a hangover is a little bit of the hair from the dog that bit you,” Jed said. “There’s a wee bit of whisky in there. It’ll help your head.”

“Really?”

“He knows what he’s talking about,” one of the others said. “He can vouch for that from experience.”

“In
his
case, lots of experience!” another of the crew
chimed in, and they all laughed. “You’ll see for yourself once you’re part of our crew.”

“But before you make that decision,” Jed said, “there’s one more thing you need to know: we’re part of the pathfinders group.”

“Pathfinders!”

One of them pointed to the little patch on his shoulder. The pathfinders were the crews that went in first to mark the target for the main bomber group.

“But I don’t have that much experience as a navigator,” I said.

“We heard you’re a natural.”

“But if I don’t plot the perfect course, the whole mission would go wrong.”

“Not to worry,” Jed said. “That part of the job generally falls to the finders—the first planes in, which drop flares. We’re the second group, the markers. We follow closely behind the planes that do the very initial drop of flares, and we lay down incendiary bombs to really light the place up for the main bomber group.”

“You just have to get us close, and then I look for those flares,” one of the men said. “Then it’s bombs away.”

“And we do fly in a formation of between three and six planes, so you will have some additional help to locate the flares,” Jed said. “Some people think our job is more dangerous than the others, but I don’t agree. It’s true that we come in at a lower altitude and with a much smaller formation, but generally the ack-ack fire is less because they don’t have as much time to get ready for us, and by the time they do scramble fighter planes, we’re already away from the target.”

“I was just wondering—your last navigator … did he … die?”

“He finished his tour and was sent home,” Jed explained. “So, are you in?”

I stood up. “McWilliams, David, navigator, reporting for duty—” I almost said
sir
but then remembered. “Reporting for duty,
Jed
.”

“Letter from home?”

I looked up from my bunk. It was Jacko, the wireless operator for my crew.

“It’s from my best friend, Chip.”

“He didn’t enlist?”

“He’s not—” I almost said he wasn’t old enough. “He’s not through his school year. He failed a grade, but come June he’s going to enlist for sure.”

“Good to hear it. Nothing worse than a bunch of idiots and cowards sitting at home. Hardest part is they just don’t know what we’re going through. They watch those newsreels and read the papers and they think they know what it’s like.”

“They couldn’t. Nobody could if they weren’t here. I’m here and I still don’t believe it sometimes.”

“I thought that was just me!” he said and laughed. “Anyhoo, enough of reality. I’m heading down to the town for a pint in the pub. Do you want to come along?”

“I’d better write back.”

“Now you’re just making me feel guilty. I owe a letter to my parents, and all three of my girlfriends.”

“Three?”

“Well, those are the three back home. You wouldn’t expect me to write to the two here in town when I can just pop in
and see them any time I want.” He laughed again. “I’ll hoist an extra pint for you when I’m down there.”

“Please, do that.”

I hadn’t had anything to drink—not even a sip—for two weeks. Not since that eventful evening. I figured there was a chance I was never going to drink again after that.

I ran my finger down the page, looking for the spot where I’d stopped reading. There it was.

We’ve already had snow—twice—but so far it hasn’t stayed on the ground. You may want to mention something to your mother about the unseasonably cold weather. I’m sure the weather is better in England … well, at least warmer, but I imagine wet and foggy
.

I have some good news: I’ve been assigned to the mailroom for the remainder of the school year. Old man Beamish told me how “disappointed” he was in me since I’d shown “so much promise” this year. Apparently he was convinced that you were the only impediment to my becoming the headmaster’s prize pet
.

For what it’s worth, it’s not nearly the same here without you. Not nearly as much fun. I can only imagine the good times you’re having and I want you to promise me that you’ll save me at least a little piece of the war. Remember, no fair winning it before I’ve had a chance to get into the action! Save some of the fun for me!