Our Yanks (27 page)

Alfie followed him across the fields. Tom didn't bother to turn round as he knew he'd be there panting at his heels, like a dog. After they'd watched the fighters he might take him to the radio shack, if he wasn't being too stupid. They never minded him going there, but they wouldn't let Dick or Robbie or Seth or any of their gang on the base at all any more. Not since they'd caught them siphoning petrol out of trucks. Tom thought doing that was wicked. It was one thing to pinch eggs for the Yanks, but taking their petrol was different. You couldn't fight the Germans with eggs – not unless they were rotten and you threw them at them – but the Yanks needed petrol to win the war.

They reached the stream at the bottom of the hill and Tom crossed by the two stepping stones, jumping from one to the next. Behind him, he heard the splash as Alfie missed and fell in. The water was only shallow but the inside of his boots and his socks'd be all wet and probably his shorts, too, and Mum would be cross and he'd get the blame.

At the perimeter fence by the end of the main runway there was a spot where he'd scraped out enough earth to wriggle underneath the wire. He stopped and waited for Alfie to catch him up, feet squelching in his wet boots.

‘We've got to crawl the last bit.'

‘What for?'

‘So's nobody can see us, idiot. The Yanks wouldn't let us stay there when the fighters are taking off.'

‘Why not?'

‘Cos it's dangerous, of course. If they see us, they'll come and throw us out. Then they might not let us on the base ever again.'

‘But they can't see us all this way away.'

‘They've got binoculars in the control tower, stupid. You'll have to keep down low all the time, especially when the planes are coming.'

‘Why?'

He rolled his eyes. ‘Cos they're ever so low, that's why. You'll see. Follow me and just do what I do.'

They wriggled under the wire and did a Red Indian crawl on their elbows and stomachs over to the secret place and slithered down into it. Of course Alfie went and tore his jumper on the wire so Mum would be upset about that as well. It was all quiet in the hollow except for the skylarks overhead.

‘When are they going, Tom?'

‘Not yet. We have to wait. You've got to be patient.'

Alfie was patient for about five more minutes. ‘Are they going yet?'

Tom lifted his head and peered over the rim of the hollow. In the very far distance, on the other side of the airfield he could see the ground crews climbing over the fighters and some jeeps loaded with pilots coming along the peri track. ‘Won't be much longer now. That's Ed's squadron over there, getting ready to go. The other two squadrons may be going too. But they're on different parts of the airfield and we can't see them from here.' He tore up some bits of grass and tossed them into the air.

‘What're you doing that for, Tom?'

‘Making sure which way the wind's blowing. I can't see the windsock properly.' He watched how the grass fell. ‘It's OK. They'll be using this runway.'

‘Have they got another one, then?'

‘They've got two more going across different ways. They use them sometimes if the wind's changed. They always have to take off into the wind, see.'

‘Why?'

‘It's too long to tell you. You wouldn't understand.' He wasn't very sure why himself but he wasn't going to admit it.

‘Will Ed go?'

‘'Spect so. He's a captain now, you know.'

‘What's a captain?'

‘One higher than a lieutenant. He's Captain Mochetti. They told me in the radio shack. That means he wears two bars on his shoulder, instead of just one. And they've given him a medal. The DFC.'

‘What's that?'

Tom rolled his eyes again. ‘The Distinguished Flying Cross. You get that for being a very good pilot and doing very brave things. If Ed flies over us you'll see the swastikas painted on his Mustang up by the cockpit. That shows how many Germans he's shot down.'

‘How will you know if it's his aeroplane?'

‘They've all got markings,' he explained patiently. ‘Big white letters painted on the side, before and after the Yank star. Two letters to say which squadron it belongs to and then another letter after the star to show which plane it is. Ed's is A. We'll see it easily. We'll probably be able to see Bashful painted on it, too, but sometimes it's too fast to see everything.'

‘Bashful?'

He sighed. ‘You know, one of the Seven Dwarfs in
Snow White
. Doc, Sneezy, Happy, and all that lot. Ed's called his Mustang Bashful and it's got a picture of him on the nose. Ben's is Grumpy. Ben who comes with the washing sometimes.'

‘He's nice, too,' Alfie said. ‘He gave me some Baby Ruths last time. I like those.'

Mum always said that the way to Alfie's heart was through his stomach.

Tom rolled over onto his back and looked up at the blue sky and the big white puffy clouds. He tried to imagine what it must be like to climb up there so fast, up and up and up, and then go straight through the clouds. He'd asked Ed once what flying through a cloud was like and he'd laughed and said darned bumpy. He pictured himself up there in the cockpit, holding the stick, like that time he'd sat in Ed's Mustang, and checking all the dials in front of him – Ed had said you must never stop doing that – and keeping a lookout for Jerries. Ed said you had to do that all the time, too, or else they could come up on you and shoot you down before you even saw them.

‘I can hear engines, Tom.'

He rolled over onto his stomach again and peeked out of the hollow. One of the Mustangs was already taxiing off the hardstand.

‘Can I look, Tom?'

‘All right, but keep your head down.'

They watched the fighters coming out onto the peri track, one behind the other, weaving.

‘They do that so's they can see properly,' he told Alfie kindly. ‘The nose is in the way.' He counted up the fighters. ‘Seventeen. They always take a spare, case one of them has to drop out, then the spare goes instead.'

‘Why've they got black and white stripes over them?'

‘That's since the Invasion happened, else when they fly to France our side over there might shoot them down by mistake. They can see they're friendly easily with those big stripes. They paint them underneath as well as on top.'

‘There's a lot more of them coming along now, Tom.'

He turned his head and saw the other fighters taxiing along the track. Two squadrons going. Maybe even the third as well. Must be a big mission. His insides tingled with excitement. ‘We can stay like this now, so we can see them coming straight at us. That's the best bit. Two of them'll take off together, leader and wingman, then two more.'

‘What's a wingman?'

He'd known that one was coming. ‘He stays a bit behind his leader and watches his tail to make sure no Jerry gets him.'

‘What if a Jerry gets the wingman?'

He didn't know the answer to that one but he was spared having to admit it because the first two fighters had reached the far end of the main runway and turned. He could hear the spluttering growl of the Merlins. His stomach lurched and his heart thudded. ‘Any minute now.'

He watched the two Mustangs starting their take-off run: racing flat out towards them, engines at full power. Closer and closer, faster and faster. He kept his eyes fixed steadily on them, saw them lift into the air together and their wheels fold up inwards into the fuselage. They flew straight over him and Alfie, with a mighty roar that went through his whole body. He turned his head to watch them zooming up into the sky, and then back again quickly as another pair came. This leader was Ed. He saw the big white A and Bashful and the swastikas, and he saw Ed in the cockpit, clear as anything. The Mustang screamed over, so low and so close he felt he could have reached up to touch it. He waved with one hand and crossed the fingers on the other as he watched it climbing away, hoping Ed hadn't forgotten to take the rabbit's foot. The next pair were already hurtling towards them and that leader was Ben's plane, Grumpy. And then the next, and the next, and the next . . . He counted thirty-four fighters altogether. Two squadrons. After the last pair had taken off and disappeared he was still trembling with the thrill of it. He looked round for Alfie. His brother was lying with his face buried in the grass and his hands clapped over his ears.

‘You missed it all,' he said in disgust.

‘No, I didn't. I saw most of it. Did Ed go?'

‘Yes. He was the second leader. Didn't you see him?'

‘I think I did.'

Alfie was fibbing, as usual; Tom could always tell. ‘He's got another swastika painted on. That's five Germans he's shot down now. That makes him an ace.'

‘What's an ace?'

‘A pilot who's shot down five enemy planes, of course. Come on, then. We'd better go.'

‘When will they be back?'

‘Depends. Usually it's about four hours. It might be a lot more. We can't wait here that long.'

‘Can we go to the radio shack now? You promised.'

‘Oh, all right.' It was his birthday, after all.

They crawled back under the perimeter wire and trotted round to the main gate. ‘This is my brother,' he told the guard on duty. ‘We're just going to the radio shack, that's all.'

‘OK, kid.'

They were all in there, working at the benches. ‘Hi, Tom. How ya doin'? What've you got this time?'

‘Nothing, sorry. I'll bring some more eggs soon.' He pulled Alfie forward by one ear. ‘This is my brother, Alfie.'

They all grinned. ‘Hi there, Alfie. Good to meet you, kid.'

‘It's my birthday,' Alfie said. ‘I'm seven.'

They whistled and whooped, and Mitch started them singing Happy Birthday. They yelled it out while Alfie stood there, beaming all over his face. Then they whistled and whooped some more and clapped Alfie on the back so he almost fell over. After that, they showed him what they were working on and let him fiddle with knobs and twiddle dials. Mitch tuned into some loud Yank music again and did one of his funny dances round the hut with the broom and Alfie laughed and laughed. Then they all searched their pockets and gave him Hershey bars and Baby Ruths and Butterfingers and Tootsie Rolls and Wrigley's. One of them found an old cloth cap and put it on Alfie's head, flipping the peak up like they did.

‘Here Tom,' Mitch said, coming over to him. ‘Chester gave me a letter for you to deliver, next time you came by. It's for Sally – that girl at the bakery. Can you take it to her for him?' Mitch winked. ‘Must be sweet on her, I reckon.'

‘Yes, course I will.' He hadn't known Sally had ever met Chester.

‘Thanks, kid. Guess we'd better get back to work. See you soon and bring your brother again. He's real cute.'

‘I liked them all a lot. They were nice,' Alfie mumbled happily through a mouthful of chocolate as they trailed back across the fields. His pockets were crammed with the sweets and the chewing gum. They'd let him keep the cap and he was still wearing it on the back of his head, the peak pointing to the sky. ‘Can I come again, Tom?'

‘I'll see,' he said. The Yanks in the radio shack were sort of his Yanks; he didn't really want to share them with anybody. Not even Alfie.

Doris had opened the attic window as wide as it would go but the room was still stuffy; as hot in summer as it was cold in winter.

‘When I get married I'm going to have a house with fans in the ceiling to keep it nice and cool in summer. Hal says houses in America have those. He says they have proper central heating too and everything's much better than here. They have all sorts of wonderful things to do the housework for you: labour-saving devices, he calls them. I wish they had them at the Manor. His mother's got everything like that and they've got a great big refrigerator to keep food cold in and a machine that washes the clothes. Washes them and rinses them all by itself. You just switch it on and go away and when you come back they're all done. Can you imagine that, Sal?'

‘No, I can't.'

‘It must be wonderful living in America. I'd like that.'

‘Maybe Hal will ask you to marry him, then you can.'

Doris giggled. ‘I wouldn't say no. He's ever such good fun. What would you say if Chester asked you?'

‘He already has.'

‘
Sal
! When?'

‘A while ago.'

Doris looked hurt. ‘And you didn't tell me about it. Whatever did you say to him?'

‘I said I didn't want to get married yet.'

‘Well, you couldn't, could you? Not till next month when you're sixteen and even then your dad'd have to give permission. He'd never do that, would he? Not to a Yank.'

‘He might change his mind if he knew what's happened.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I think I'm expecting.'

Doris's jaw dropped. ‘A
baby
?'

‘Well, it's not an elephant.'

‘But how could you be?'

‘Because I let Chester do it, that's why. How else could I be?'

‘You never told me.'

‘I don't have to tell you every single thing, Doris.'

‘But we always said we would – about that. We always promised each other. Whoever was the first.'

‘Well, I was going to, but then I didn't want to. I didn't feel like it. You can't tell anyone about it, really. You have to do it yourself. And I think it must be different for different people.'

Doris was still staring at her with a shocked expression. Sally could see she was going to be no help. No help at all. She wished she hadn't said anything.

‘Are you
sure
, Sal? About the baby?'

‘Well, I'm six weeks late and I keep being sick in the mornings.'