Tail-end Charlie: Bomber Command

Hey guys, please leave a comment or a review! Thanks :)
Tail-end Charlie: Bomber Command, Chapter 2

“Dresden” said Vinnie simply.

“Dresden” I echoed him, as we walked down the concrete strip, down to the hanger that shadowed the entire base with it’s domineering presence. It was a large, metal structure, that could maybe fit at least three Handley Page Halifax’s wingtip to wingtip. The hanger was an unofficial communal ground, where members of all organisations, from the WAAF to the RAF progressed work on their own preferred craft.

“What do’ you think Viv’ll have to say about it all?” I asked absent-mindedly, tugging my flight jacket further down as I tried to brush out some of the creases from my sleeves.

“Viv won’t have anything to say about the matter, because she won’t know anything about it” Vinnie stared hard at me, fixing me with his solemn glare.

My head shot up to meet his gaze “What?”
“Heavens’ sake Charlie- remember what Rodgers’ said? Do you want to be given the boot?” He threw his flight jacket over his left shoulder and ran his right hand through his perfectly groomed hair.

“We’ve never kept anything from Viv before” I observed softly to myself. The rolling Yorkshire hills ahead of us were softly illuminated by the melting light of the dying sun, as we strode down the empty runway. Vinnie’s stride nearly doubled my own, although Vinnie stands two feet higher than myself.

“Yes, well… duty comes first now, I suppose” Vinnie sighed, revealing a slight hint of emotion, the presence of which was usually questionable in the ordinary Vincent Yates.

Dresden- that was our target for tonight. A large, heavily defended city right in the east of the Third Reich, bordered by the newly invaded Poland. Vinnie was already a qualified pilot- a flying officer no less, but only had the experience in the transportation of bombers up to Edinburgh alongside the ATA; together, this would be our first, official mission as a squadron. I could only pray that it wasn't our last.

I had been assigned to flight lieutenant Harrison and his navigator, in the second wave of attack. The plan was, as our Air Marshal had explained, to proceed in two attack waves- the first wave was to consist of three Lancasters and the base’s only Short Stirling, departing from Elvington at around 8pm. The second group of us would then pursue them in a collection of five Handley Page Halifax‘s, leaving a fifteen minute gap between take- offs, with both waves being escorted by an assortment of fighter jets.

The shrill excitement, however, was beginning to fade, and as we walked closer to the hanger, my stomach was feeling sick with nerves.

The whispers of my own anxiety were barely noticeable amongst the chatter and sheer noise of the hanger; the whole shed-like space was filled with engineers, observers and friends, all bustling around the various craft that were dotted about the ground, the occasional, fractured buzzing of broken engines and the rattling of chains against bolts bounced off the walls. We managed to track Viv down to a slightly less busy, more secluded corner of the hanger, Vinnie and I guided to her by the sight of her human- beacon of a friend, Ruth, a fellow ATA engineer. A Douglas Dakota of reasonable size stood next to Ruth with an awkward sort of pride, intimidated by the larger, more powerful craft that domineered most of the Hanger. Viv herself, however, was nowhere to be seen, until Ruth pointed out the pair of black polished pumps and the legs that joined them, that seemed to jut out from underneath the plane. Ruth was almost a rival to Vinnie’s height, her skinny frame was only half an inch shorter, and her regulation jacket and skirt hung from her in a way reminiscent to a child that had raided her mother’s wardrobe. Her brown hair was cut in a short, neat bob, her navy hat was nestled at a sensible angle in her hair and her round rimmed spectacles sat nervously on the bridge of her nose.

Vinnie draped his jacket on the shelf on the workbench that stood behind Ruth and rolled up his shirt sleeves, bending down to inspect Viv’s handiwork. I took a place next to Ruth, and took off my own brown jacket, rolling up the sleeves of my own, somewhat creased shirt. Viv, on catching a glimpse of Vinnie’s extraordinarily large feet, crawled out from beneath the plane’s undercarriage in a her typical, un-ladylike manner.

“Ah, dear Vivienne” Vinnie mocked upon our friend’s not-so-glamorous emergence, taking the wrench from her oily hand.

“Vincent” Viv growled back as she snatched her wrench from his hands and began to rub off some the oily smears that were streaked on the metallic surface with a grubby rag that had been waiting in Ruth’s hand. From the corner of my eye I could see Vinnie smirk as Viv grumbled angrily under her breath.

Vivienne Holloway was a loyal though often fierce friend to Vinnie and I, always passionate about a course, and never worried by what those around her thought. Having had the pleasure of growing up with such a girl, her behaviour and attitudes had never phased me, like the gender differences or the boy-girl ratio had baffled those who had encountered our trio in the past. If personality was in any way dictated by appearance, then by all accounts Viv should be a polite, mild girl, with a simple knowledge of the wider world and a valuable innocence. However, Viv was the proud owner of a headstrong independence and a curious sense of adventure that had landed her in trouble many a time; her broad intelligence and wild enthusiasm for every kind of engine had frequently frustrated her family, her mother most of all, who’s dress choices and hobby suggestions for her beloved daughter had been frequently rejected in favour of a derelict car engine, or a trip to the nearby airfield. However, despite her unusual traits, Viv could be as girly as any other woman, a fact which she was forced to accept and a point that was, perhaps, not at all helped by her appearance. She was a petit creature, dwarfed whenever she stood near Vinnie or Ruth; her face was pale and her complexion flawless, her cheeks often rouged in the same way as her idol, miss Amelia Earhart . Her eyes were wide and the watery- blue enveloped by sweeps of eye kohl dominated her face, her lips were full and painted neatly in bright scarlet lipstick. Her blonde her was often arranged in perfected curls, often accompanied by her favourite purple hair grip.

She stood now, leaning against the nose of the air craft, with her crumpled shirt tucked into her navy skirt, a little shorter, I noticed, than regulation length. Her slender fingers were stained with black blotches of oil, and her left cheek was streaked with a similar mark.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” She remarked, looking up towards the plane as she passed her wrench over to Ruth’s awaiting hand.

“A Douglas?” I ask, recognising the sweeping lines of the craft’s wings and the shaped nose.

“A DC-3- fresh from the states” She began to wipe her own hands on the tattered cloth “Just making some adjustments- she’s headed for London tomorrow”

“You taking it?” Vinnie asked, walking round the wing and observing the plane from behind.

“The ATA haven’t issued the assignment list yet, but I very much hope so- I just love Dakota’s” Viv grinned, and Ruth nodded eagerly, sending a stray strand of hair fluttering.

“So… what did Rodgers’ want?” She asked, placing the cloth on the cluttered workbench behind her and folding her arms.

“Rodgers’?” Vinnie chirped, trying to disguise his panic as we walked back over to Ruth fearful that I'd let my tongue slipped.

“Some of the girls intercepted the notice in the mess-hall this morning” She said calmly, oblivious to Vinnie’s surprise. "So, what did he want?"

“Nothing” I jumped in, desperately trying to save our credibility from Vinnie’s incapable mouth.

“Just about a routine drill or practise- something along those lines, anyway.”

Viv smiled bravely at me and then at Vinnie, but I noticed a disappointed sigh slip from her lips and her face clouded over with thought. It was an incredible transaction, how one girl was able to revert from a blazing fury to being completely downhearted.

“Vincent?” A small voice squeaked from beside me, and for a moment, I’d almost forgotten that I was stood next to Ruth, whose neck was now craned slightly towards my friend. Vinnie nodded invitingly at her, encouraging her to speak more than her usual two words.

“I was just wondering- perhaps, if you could possibly-” Ruth stopped suddenly, but so had everyone else in the hanger. A large crash shuddered through the ground, and the entire hanger trembled from the shock of some unseen impact. I found myself clutching onto Viv’s arm, and only managed to remain upright because Viv was grasping onto the edge of the workbench. Ruth tripped and was pushed into Vinnie, who managed to grab onto the other end of the workbench. The entire hanger was silent, just for a moment; everyone was too busy focusing on standing upright. A splintering rumble of thunderous noise ripped through the building a second time, and another tremor was sent rolling across the floor of the hanger.

All four of us glanced around at each other.
“What the…?”