“Go, Benny!” a pilot shouted.
The men turned their attention to the dogfight in the sky.
“I’m rather surprised that Benny has lasted this long,” Gord said.
“Cobber’s toying with him,” Fanny said, “like a cat, playing with a mouse between its paws.”
For several minutes they watched Benny continue to come within range of Cobber, and Cobber easily maneuvered away. After a series of loops and dives, Cobber slipped behind Benny’s aircraft and never lost the position. Defeated, Benny descended to the airfield and landed his plane.
Cobber lowered his Hurricane toward the runway but leveled off and accelerated. Thirty feet above the ground, he did a series of snap rolls.
Jimmie’s eyes widened. The jaws of some of the pilots dropped open, while a few of the men cheered.
“Bloody hell!” Squadron Leader Hank More shouted. He left the group and walked toward the runway.
The cheering evaporated.
“See what I mean,” Gord said, crossing his arms. “Stunts like that will get our pilots killed.”
“It wasn’t the best decision to perform snap rolls while low to the ground,” Fanny said, “but aerobatics are what will keep us alive if we encounter Luftwaffe fighters.”
Gord shook his head and walked away.
Jimmie turned to Fanny. “What do you think Hank is going to do?”
“He’ll likely give Cobber a verbal reprimand, like all the other times he performed low-altitude stunts to entertain the pilots. I doubt that he will ground his best pilot while we’re at war.”
“I suppose Cobber is thinking the same thing,” Jimmie said.
“Indeed.”
Cobber landed his plane and parked it in the field next to Jimmie’s Hurricane. As he exited his cockpit, he was met by the squadron leader.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hank shouted. “You’re in the RAF, not the bloody circus!”
Cobber unzipped his flight jacket. “I thought the men could use something to lift their spirit.”
As the squadron leader continued barking reprimands at Cobber, the other pilots cleared the area to give them privacy.
Jimmie went with Fanny to their new barracks, where some of the pilots were picking out their cots. Jimmie selected a bunk, its mattress less lumpy than some of the other beds. He leaned back to relax, and his mind drifted to Gord’s and Fanny’s comments. He pondered their views on whether bold aerobatics would keep them alive, or get them killed. And he wondered, What if they both were right?
CHAPTER 7
ROUVRES-EN-WOËVRE, FRANCE—NOVEMBER 8, 1939
Jimmie sat alone at a long, communal table in the mess hall. Most of the pilots had finished their breakfast and left to begin their duties, except for Cobber and Fanny who were eating bowls of oatmeal at a table in the far corner of the room. With a bit of privacy, Jimmie removed a letter from his jacket pocket. He glanced at the address with his sixteen-year-old sister’s handwriting, gently opened the envelope, and removed the stationery.
Dear Jimmie,
I hope this letter finds you well. I pray that you are safe and that the war will be over soon. When is your next leave? It will be lovely to have you home, but I should tell you now that I moved into your room. Crumpet has grown quite fond of sunbathing in the window, which provides better light than my old room. It would be a pity to deprive an old cat from warming itself. Crumpet and I hope you will agree.
Jimmie smiled. An image of his sister cuddling with Crumpet—a fluffy gray cat with orange eyes—flashed in his head. The room is yours to keep.
Mum has been working to transform her flower garden into a vegetable patch. It’s nothing fancy, mostly beetroot, leeks, cabbage, peas, and broad beans. She says that she’s digging for victory. With rationing, I understand the reason we need the extra veg, but I miss the vibrant colors and sweet scents of her roses and peonies. Our childhood garden has become a monochromatic green plot that reeks of compost and manure.
Mum and I don’t see much of Dad. He’s working nonstop at the shipyard due to new orders for navy vessels. In case you’re wondering, Dad isn’t disappointed that you joined the Royal Air Force. He merely wanted you to follow in his footsteps as a shipyard engineer because it was safer. It’s sometimes hard for him to share his feelings, even in letters, so I thought I would pass them along for him. I’m proud of you for following your heart. You’ve always dreamed of flying, ever since that day you flew that homemade kite for me at the park. You attached it to a roll of Dad’s fishing line. Do you remember?
His sister’s sweet voice, encouraging him to fly a kite higher and higher, echoed in his brain. It had been the first day that Nora, who contracted polio many months earlier, was strong enough to stand with the support of crutches and leg calipers. He’d made the kite from newspaper and wooden dowels, and Nora had watched him fly it to celebrate her first steps of walking on her own.
I’ve grown a bit taller since you’ve left. I’m nearly the same height as Mum, and I surpass her by a hair when I wear my thick-heeled shoes. The doctor needed to adjust my leg braces, due to my sprouting limbs. He told me that I likely won’t grow anymore because of my age. What do doctors know? Loads of them told me that I’d always be confined to a wheelchair.
School is going splendidly, except for maths. I wish all my courses consisted of literature and composition. I’ve been dropping hints to Mum and Dad about going off to study at King’s College London to become a librarian. I know it’s a few years away, but they worry about my mobility, and I don’t want them to be gobsmacked when I leave the nest.
I’m proud of you, Jimmie thought. You’re the bravest person I know, and you’re going to accomplish grand things in your life.
Are you taking good care of Piglet? I suppose you might be teased by the other pilots for having him. Piglet isn’t the manliest of good luck charms, but I have no doubt that he will keep you safe. Please remember to keep him with you when you fly. Selfishly, I take great solace in knowing that something so dear to me is with you while you’re at war.
I miss you terribly. Please write when you can.
Love,
Nora
A wave of melancholy washed over him. He drew a deep breath and placed the letter back into the envelope.
Cobber and Fanny finished their breakfast. While Fanny left the mess hall, Cobber retrieved two metal cups of tea from a serving table. He approached Jimmie and said, “You look like you could use a cuppa.”
“Thanks.” Jimmie slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket.
