The Light Over London Page 15

  Your ever-loving

  Da

  Da is wrong, but so is Mum. When I ran away from home, I wasn’t angry about Paul. I was scared that if I didn’t leave Haybourne then, I would never get out. But now it’s more. Now I’m a part of something important, something that matters, and Vera, Charlie, Mary, Nigella, and Lizzie all rely on me. No one’s ever needed me to be anything other than a shopgirl before. Now I’m a gunner girl.

  I’ve saved the best for last. Paul has written me—my first letter in almost a week.

  30 July 1941

  My darling,

  It’s taken moving heaven and earth and perhaps the moon too, but I’ve finally done it. My leave is scheduled, my transit passes are in order, and I’ll finally be able to kiss you again on the first of September.

  It was a struggle to set down the date. My commanding officer seems hell-bent on ruining every lovers’ reunion, but even he couldn’t argue with RAF regulations. He had to grant me leave, so I’ll be making my way to Dover and then onto the fastest train I can find to London.

  Nothing will make me happier than seeing your beautiful face—even if it’ll be a shock to see you in drab ATS khaki instead of that bright red dress of yours. There are so many things I want to tell you. Things I’ve left unsaid for too long.

  I’m counting down the days.

  Yours always,

  Paul

  I cannot wait until the first of September, because I also have things to say to him. I started to fall for him in Haybourne, but it was our letters that made me realize how deep my love had grown. We hope, we quarrel, we dream, we despair. And soon we’ll see each other again.

  12

  LOUISE

  The sun was setting when Louise let her pack slide off and hit the bare wood floor of the room that would be her home for the foreseeable future. They’d bumped along cratered and debris-strewn streets in a canvas-sided truck, stopping first at the Charlton Barracks, where Hatfield, Cartruse, and Williams had climbed out. They would be billeted there, but the girls were two blocks away from the Woolwich Depot, in a five-story redbrick building that before the war had been a shuttered hospital. Nigella, Lizzie, and Mary had the first room off the stairs, and Vera, Charlie, and Louise had been assigned the one right next door. Now, taking in the Spartan look of the place, Louise could see that it had been hurriedly fitted out to cram three ATS women into two bunks and a cot that blocked the door unless it was angled just so.

  “At least it’s warm,” said Charlie, laying out the three cushions that would form her ATS-issued mattress. Louise had learned to call the cushions “biscuits” during her first week of basic training, which was also when she had learned that the only way to keep the bloody things from slipping apart in her sleep was to lash them together with a spare blanket. If there was one.

  “It should be,” said Vera with a laugh, while she tugged at the heavy blackout curtains that covered every window in London to deter the Luftwaffe. “It’s August.”

  Charlie smiled. “You never know in London, right, Louise?”

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know—I’ve never been.”

  Vera dropped her hairbrush on the floor with a clatter. “You’ve never—We’ve been training together for four months. How did you never mention it?”

  “I thought your fellow was from London,” said Charlie.

  “He is, but we met in Cornwall, remember?”

  “Well, that settles it,” said Vera. “The first free afternoon we have, we’ll take you for a grand tour of the city. Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey.”

  “Saint Paul’s and the Embankment,” Charlie chipped in. “There’s so much to see, even if half of it’s been bombed.”

  Louise’s smile suddenly became a little watery at her friends’ enthusiasm. The months of hard work, huddling around an electric fire in a little hut on the edge of a training field before the air raid siren sounded for their training drills, had bonded her to these women in a way she never would’ve expected. She missed Kate, but in Vera, Charlie, Lizzie, Nigella, and Mary, she’d found a different kind of kinship. Her father had been right in his last letter: they were all in danger, but at least they were in it together.

  “I would love that,” she said.

  “Of course, the moment your flier comes to town you’ll forget all about us,” Charlie teased.

  “Have you had any word from Paul?” asked Vera.

  The smile she’d been holding in since Cartruse had fallen asleep and she’d finally caved to the desire to read Paul’s letter broke free. “He’s coming on the first of September.”

  “That’s wonderful!” cried Vera.

  “Finally,” said Charlie with a laugh.

  Louise fell back on her bunk, resting her head on one of the biscuits. “His letter came just before we left base. If our train had been any earlier, I’d have missed it.”

  “It would’ve been forwarded,” said Charlie.

  Louise smiled to herself, knowing that Charlie wouldn’t have understood why the letter was important now. That night they would go on duty for the first time. They’d no longer be doing exercises on a training field.

  “I wanted to read it when we arrived, but you were all asleep and it was so horrible seeing all of the destruction here. I opened it just before we pulled into the station, and I’m so glad I did. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that he’s finally coming,” said Louise. “Sometimes I wondered if we’d ever see each other again.”

  “I suppose letters are a poor substitute,” said Vera.

  “They are,” Louise said. “I want all of you to meet him. I think you’ll adore him.”

  “I suspect he’ll be much more interested in spending time alone with you than in meeting us,” said Charlie with a laugh.

  “Gunner Charlotte Wilkes, I don’t know what you’re implying,” said Louise primly. She caught Vera’s eyes and grinned, and they all burst out laughing.

  A loud wail pierced the air, drowning their merriment. An air raid siren. Immediately, they flew into action.

  “Those bloody Nazis can’t even wait for us to get settled?” Charlie grouched as she dove for her kit.

  Louise tore at the tunic skirt she’d worn for the journey from Oswestry and yanked on the trousers that were her battle dress. “What time is it?”

  “Late enough,” said Vera. “It was almost dark when I did the blackout.”

  Moving with the practiced skill of women who’d dressed under pressure countless times before, they yanked on their clothes and were in the hall in a minute flat. Nigella, Mary, and Lizzie were just leaving their room, their tin helmets jammed under their arms as they tightened jacket belts and tugged on sleeves.

  Bombardier Barker, who had traveled down on the same train but had been invited into a separate compartment, strode through the doors that led to the stairs. “Look alive, ladies. We need to be to those guns in less than five minutes!”

  The girls fell into an automatic, side-by-side stride and marched their way to the stairs. When Bombardier Barker threw open the doors, chaos greeted them. The slap of leather soles on the steps mixed with the excited chatter of women’s voices in a deafening cacophony. Uniformed women pushed and shoved their way down, heading for the reinforced concrete shelter in the basement they’d been told of upon arrival.

  “Hey!” shouted a blond woman next to Louise. When Louise turned, the blonde’s eyes landed on the red and black bow and arrow of the Ack-Ack Command badge each girl had sewn to her sleeve, and her expression changed.

  “You’re one of those gunner girls?” the blond woman asked. When Louise nodded, the woman gripped her arm. “You go shoot those bastards down.”

  Louise’s mouth went dry. This was no training exercise. It was war.

  Her nerves jumped in her stomach as Bombardier Barker marched them through the streets to their post, a stout, sturdy-looking building just outside the north wall of the Woolwich Depot. Up five flights of stairs they went in the blackout-enforc
ed darkness. When finally they pushed through a reinforced metal door to the rooftop, the silhouette of the massive gun was just visible in the waning light of the moon.

  “Where are the men?” asked Lizzie, looking around as she moved to check the Sperry.

  “The Charlton Barracks are half a mile away,” squeaked Nigella, her hands trembling as she prepped her station at the height and range finder across from Charlie.

  “All safe and sound away from Woolwich while we’re stuck next to a veritable powder keg?” said Mary with a laugh. “Sounds like those three.”

  Charlie grinned. “The RA might have to finally let a woman fire one of these guns.”

  “Gunner Wilkes,” Barker snapped.

  “Apologies, Bombardier Barker. I’m just excited to finally be shooting at something other than a flag pulled behind a plane,” said Charlie cheerfully.

  “Women do not shoot,” said Bombardier Barker. “That is an order from Parliament.”

  “But we do everything else,” Vera muttered under her breath.

  The metal door banged against the wall. Cartruse, Williams, Hatfield, and Captain Jones, the RA officer who oversaw B Section, poured out of the dark stairwell. They were accompanied by a man none of them had ever seen before, in a perfectly pressed uniform, and Bombardier Barker sharpened her posture and saluted the newcomer. “Sir.”

  “So these are the gunner girls,” said the man, as though not entirely sure what to make of six women in trousers. “I’m Colonel Nealson. You were supposed to be briefed tomorrow, but there’s no time for that. You were also supposed to have a radio operator in the building. No time for that either. We’ve reports of a formation of fighters and bombers approaching from the Thames Estuary. They were just spotted over Dartford.”

  Colonel Nealson’s eyes narrowed. “I have three other sections protecting this depot. Some of the best men in the RA are on those guns, and they’ve sweated blood during the Blitz and after. Now they’re sending mixed batteries with women. It’s General Sir Pile’s decision, not mine, and I hope it isn’t the wrong one.”

  Afraid we’ll faint at the first sight of an airplane? Louise’s anger smothered her nerves, and she clamped her teeth tight to keep the words from slipping out. Back in Haybourne, it never would’ve occurred to her to talk back, but now she had the confidence of months of ATS and Royal Artillery training under her belt. She and her unit were sharp, shrewd, and well trained, and they weren’t going to let anyone tell them they weren’t ready.

  “Any questions?” Colonel Nealson asked, turning for the door before he’d even finished speaking.

  “Yes, sir,” said Charlie.

  Reluctantly he turned back. “Gunner . . . ?”

  “Wilkes, sir.”

  “Yes, Gunner Wilkes?”

  “If we’ve no radio operator, when will we know to stand down, sir?” asked Charlie.

  “Start shooting when you see an enemy plane. Stop shooting when you hear the siren to stand down. It usually comes at dawn. Do you think you can manage that, ladies?” Colonel Nealson asked.

  Bombardier Barker stepped forward. “Yes, sir.”

  Louise’s eyes narrowed as the man and his polished boots retreated—he was Melchen from Leicester all over again.

  “Get to your places,” Bombardier Barker snapped, as Captain Jones ordered Cartruse to go through his checks.

  “Did you hear that?” Cartruse asked Louise, while she went over her predictor’s controls one more time, determined not to botch anything on her first real engagement.

  “What?” she asked, straining her ears against the sounds of her section preparing. Was that the drone of a bomber engine? From somewhere along the banks of the Thames, spotlights snapped on, flooding the London sky with harsh white light.

  “He thinks you gunner girls aren’t up to snuff,” said Cartruse.

  She steeled herself for the moment he took the connection they’d shared on the train and ground it under his heel.

  “Too bad you lot are going to make him look like a damn fool,” he said in a low voice.

  Louise blinked, then a grin spread across her face. “That’s insubordination, Gunner.”

  “That’s the truth, that is,” he said.

  “Dornier Do 217 two points due east,” Mary shouted, and the last of Louise’s trepidation fell away, well-trained instinct taking over.

  “Engage!” Captain Jones shouted.

  Nigella and Charlie rotated the height and range finder until they spotted the plane through their viewfinders and began to turn the complicated series of dials on the instrument.

  “Read,” Charlie shouted.

  “Read,” Nigella shouted a half second later.

  Louise plugged the data into the predictor, the dials bouncing as the gun rotated to track the progress of the plane.

  “Fuse one-nine,” Lizzie called out.

  “Fire!” Captain Jones ordered.

  The gun roared as it fired off the heavy shell that, if their aim was true, would blow a hole in the siding of the German bomber. They all held their breaths, eyes trained on the plane, and two seconds later a flash of orange blazed through the sky.

  “Just left of the wing!” Mary yelled out from behind her high-powered binoculars.

  Section B cheered. It wasn’t a direct hit, but it was enough to force the bomber to bank and throw it off course.

  “No celebrating yet,” Captain Jones ordered. “I want a direct hit.”

  “Arado Ar 240,” Mary said. “Three of them.”

  The sound of machine-gun fire ricocheted off buildings, and Louise’s pulse began to pound in her throat.

  “Which one are we going for, Rogers?” Williams asked Mary, grunting as he and Hatfield reloaded the gun.

  “I’ve got a read on the front Arado!”

  “Captain?” Charlie prompted.

  “Focus on the bomber,” Captain Jones ordered. “Those bombs will do a lot more damage than that machine-gun fire.”

  “Only if they don’t fire at us,” muttered Vera.

  “Read on the Dornier,” Nigella called out.

  “Read,” Charlie echoed.

  Louise went to work setting the predictor. The gun swung around, tracking just in front of the bomber.

  “Fuse one-seven!” Lizzie shouted.

  “Fire,” ordered Captain Jones.

  They all held their breath as the shell roared toward the plane. But their aim was off. It exploded feet from the nose of the bomber, doing nothing more than sending a wash of heat over the glass-covered cockpit.

  “Damn,” Cartruse muttered.

  “Engage! Don’t let him drop those bombs,” Jones shouted as the men reloaded the gun.

  “Read!” Nigella shouted.

  Machine-gun fire rang out closer this time, and the windows of the building across the street exploded as bullets smashed through the glass. B Section dropped to the ground, their hands over their tin helmets, even though they knew that nothing would stop a German bullet fired from a fighter at this range.

  “Up, girls,” Bombardier Barker ordered, her voice wavering as though she didn’t quite believe her own command. “If I see you hit the ground one more time—”

  A tower of water exploded into the air as the first of the Dornier’s bombs fell into the Thames. Four more explosions followed in quick succession, rattling the roof they were standing on and stealing Louise’s breath. A flash of fire and a plume of smoke bloomed through the night air, and where a building had once stood on a corner less than a quarter mile away, there was a void. Smoke billowed through the empty shell of a building as fire licked at the neighboring structures. Even from the rooftop, Louise could hear the whine of a fire engine.

  Louise’s eyes met Vera’s across the predictor box, the two women frozen for a moment with the reality of being in the middle of a real bombing. They could be killed at any moment, cut down by machine-gun fire or blown up by a falling bomb or crushed as the building collapsed. Then her eyes snapped to her command
ing officer. Bombardier Barker, the loud, brash woman who’d given them no ground during training, was slumped against a wall, pale in the faint moonlight.

  “My God. My God,” Bombardier Barker muttered over and over as Captain Jones went to deal with Williams and Hatfield, who were arguing in heated whispers over something.

  “Ma’am?” Louise prompted, trying to snap the woman back to attention.

  The woman’s eyes were unfocused, terrified. “An entire building . . .”

  “Bombardier Barker,” Louise said sharply.

  Her commanding officer lifted her eyes and met Louise’s. “That was a block of flats. We passed it on the way in.”

  “I know,” said Louise, forcing down the bile rising in her throat.

  “There were children playing outside.”

  “I know.”

  Bombardier Barker shuddered. “I can’t—I can’t—”

  Gritting her teeth and breathing the acrid smell of smoke through her nose, Louise swung around. “Mary, what’s the read?”

  Mary ripped her eyes away from Bombardier Barker. “Still in sights.”

  “Nigella, Charlie. What do we have?” she shouted.

  The two women sprang into action.

  “Read!”

  “Read!”

  “Fuse one-six!”

  “Waiting on your call, Captain,” said Catruse.

  “Engage, Gunner,” Jones ordered.

  The sound of the gun firing ricocheted off the surrounding buildings, and they all held their breath. This time, the shell exploded right on the tail of the plane. Smoke streamed off of it, a white ghost in the spotlight.

  “Come on, come on,” Louise muttered, her eyes fixed on the hobbled plane.

  Slowly, the pilot rounded and pointed the nose back out to the east.

  “Yes!” Hatfield and Williams shouted as Lizzie jumped up and down.

  A hand fell heavy on Louise’s shoulder. “Good instincts, Keene,” said Captain Jones over the clang of the gun being loaded again.

  She glanced at Vera who, with raised brows, tilted her head to indicate over Louise’s shoulder. Bombardier Barker was slumped, legs splayed out on the ground, a pool of vomit to her side.