His Very Own Girl by Carrie Lofty

7/31/2019 His Very Own Girl by Carrie Lofty

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2/11

HISVERYOWNGIRL

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3/11

His Very Own Girl

birds.

She edged up as ar orward as she could and pee

down through the lmy window glazing. The Hurrican

ront-mounted engine blocked most o her headw

view, but on the at side o its cowling, she sighted

bright white spire o the Methodist church in Tho

Acre. Like every other Air Transport Auxiliary pi

Lulu had learned to navigate entirely by sight at a elevation. No maps. No radios. She was only ve m

rom her destination.

A ew minutes later, at an altitude o a thousa

eet, she spotted the Royal Air Force aireld cal

Wymeswold. Ruts o mud cut lengthwise down

snowy landing strip. With the winds so light, shed sim

glide the throaty ghter right along those ruts. Out

long habit she ran through her checklist: petrol, bra

uel booster, hydraulics. Ater landing she might be a

to squeeze in one more erry fight beore return

home. Then her best riend, Paulie Travers, had s

something about a night at the clubThe undercarriage lever wouldnt budge.

Lulus heart jumped.

Once more she pulled on the cool metal lever, hau

downward until her wrists burned. It didnt shit

inch. Without being able to maneuver the undercarri

and the faps, she wouldnt have wheels or landing

the ability to slow her rate o descent. Lulu ought

bodys appetite or shallow, panicky breaths by breath

through her nose.

She tried to kick the lever down with the heel o

black leather fight boot. Two attempts came to naug

Her awkward position in the tight cockpit allowed

chapter oneLeicestershire, England

January 1944

Lulu Davies wiggled and shited, then lexed both ankles.

She twisted at the waist to ease the pinched knot at her

lower back, but the Hurricanes tight, narrow cockpit

didnt allow room enough or a more satisying stretch.

Her numb backside would just have to wait until she

landed. All the while the engines growling drone and the

unavoidable smell o petrol made her head ache.

But oh, the view.

She lived or the view.

The sky that day was entirely unlike Britains typically

overclouded winter. Brilliant blue stretched to the ar

horizon. Lean winds, hardly strong enough to consider,brushed up rom the south. Snow like unurled bolts

o linen garbed the East Midlands in bridal white.

Weakened winter sunshine fashed o lacy patches o ice.

The distinct shadow o her ghter plane reached ar over

the countryside.

Lulu smiled privately. She was as guilty as every other

Briton with regard to whinging good-naturedly about

rationing, dissecting Prime Minister Churchills latest

speech, and gibbering on about every combat update

that came over the wireless. When she was alone and

fying, however, nothing else mattered. The world was at

her nod. She was her own person, soaring high with the


4/11

14 His Very Own GirlCarrie Lofty

Im going to crash like Mum and Dad.

But rather than adding to her doubling pa

that grim thought restored her ocus. On a mapp

expedition in 1939, Lulus parents had lost their live

bullets, not aulty machinery or poor technique. Th

tiny unarmed Auster hadnt stood a show against

Italian Centauro ghter over the barren sands o Egy

Theyd died or king and country, but Lulu waprepared to join them in that noble sacrice. For the s

o pride alone she reused to be put in the shade by a p

o mulish wheels.

She let out an exhale that bordered on a hoa

scream, then pulled a ace at the controls. Very w

i you insist. Plan B. And by Plan B I mean a panc

landing.

Lulu tugged leather earfaps and goggles over

large RAF blue handkerchie that swathed her h

As or the parachute . . . well, this was either go

to turn up trumps or it wasnt. Besides, the pl

would be a guaranteed loss i she made a brolly hTo use her parachute would leave the crash entirely

chance, endangering the ground sta and civilians. H

responsibility was to keep that rom happening.

And to save my own skin.

The airstrip awaited her, appearing impossibly sh

Patches o snow lost their glittering beauty. Serv

personnel had dribbled out o the hangar, and a

dozen GIs gawped skyward. As with most small air ba

Wymeswold had no towerno way or Lulu to let th

know what to expect. Had the situations been revers

she wouldve been standing in their place, watching

praying.

leverage. Nothing worked.

Oh, bugger. The words were swallowed by the

monotonous roar o the huge Merlin engine, but she elt

better or having voiced them. Bloody rot and bother!

With Wymeswold directly below her, she had no

choice but to make another circuit and try again. As she

banked the plane steeply clockwise, she saw houses and

aireld outbuildings through the right glazing; blue skyshimmered through the let. Level once more and ready

or another approach, she rubbed one sweaty hand at a

time along the legs o her cold-weather fight suit. Then

she grasped the jammed lever with renewed conviction.

But she didnt pull. Not yet. First she wanted to have

a word with her plane.

Now look slick, mister, she said, glaring at the

controls. You were just at a repair depot, you hear?

Unless you want to fy straight back there, youll quit this

nonsense and let me land!

She pulled the lever, her bicep sizzling and her bones

threatening to snap. When the hateul thing remainedindivisibly xed, she kicked the underside o the control

panel. I hope you liked High Ercall, you wicked bucket

o bolts, because thats exactly where your rusted arse is

returning to!

Only then did she indulge in the one thought

orbidden to pilots: Im going to crash.

Unltered panic blistered her composure. Images

o a faming, mangled wreck skidding along the rozen

airstrip, her body a grisly smear beneath the uselage,

made her hands fit and futter. She couldnt breathe.

Thick waves o blood in her ears smothered even the

engines guttural rumble.


5/11


Marty sat up and untied the eld dressing to ree

let arm, then swatted the snow rom his sleeves. H

you dont treat the rest o your patients that way.

pretty sure walloping the wounded isnt procedure.

Shut your trap. Joe grabbed the dressing. Y

probably deserved it.

The young jug-eared machine gunner grinn

Probably.Marty slip-slid back toward rst platoon, leaving

to repack his supplies. In combat, supplies would actu

be used, not tangled, dirtied, and shoved back into

aid bag. The contents were a hopeless jumble.

Along with the rest o Baker Company, hed b

knee-deep in maneuvers since beore dawn. The

secured an intersection lined with high hedgero

which had ed theories that they would invade throu

France or the Low Countries, not the Mediterrane

Then theyd had their butts handed to them by A

Companys orest ambusha orest that Pvt. Borsh

had said looked just like his grandparents propertysouthern Norway. His idle comment had added u

soaked logs to the nonstop blaze o rumors that spar

to lie ater each new exercise.

Col. Shames, the 512ths commanding o

estimated that Baker had lost ourteen men in the d

but watching the boys rom Able run or the hills ate

last-ditch counterattack had been worth it. Marty a

three other soldiers had been designated rst platoo

casualties, giving Joe the responsibility o practic

mummy wraps and tourniquets on perectly healt

perectly sarcastic troopers.

The pale English sun was nearing the western hori

But please, boys, have an ambulance at hand.

Nothing too rich, mind. Just snappy.

The time had come. Urging the plane into a descent,

Lulu couldnt remember the last time shed seen the

ground rushing up to meet her at this velocity. Perhaps

never. But her panic-stricken jitters had cleared away.

Her hands were calm, only slightly numb rom grasping

the yoke. Each wink o sunlight o corrugated tin andevery ice-edged puddle along the sides o the airstrip

came into ocus. Perectly clear, as i seeing without her

eyes, she acted on refex alone.

She took a deep, steadying breath and gave hersel

over to ate.

Pc. Joe Weber tied o a ield bandage and positioned the

allen mans arm above his head. Now dont move. The

aid station jeeps on its way.

He clamped a pencil in his teeth and pulled out

his pad o Emergency Medical Tags. Ater lling out

inormation about the wounded, Joe ripped out the tagand stued it in the breast pocket o the soldiers olive

drabs. Snow was going to smear his graphite chicken

scratches all to hell, but it wouldnt be the end o the

worldnot during a simulation.

Web, can I get up now? asked Pvt. Don Martin. Or

you gonna tie a ribbon in my hair next?

Wouldnt do you any avors to make you look more

like a dame, Marty.

But then maybe girls might spend more time with

me.

Joe smacked his patient on the arm hed just

bandaged. Get up, you heel.


6/11


your gear! The deuce-and-a-halsll be here in twenty

haul your tails back to Rothley. Hubba hubba!

The men o the 512th, the newest regiment in

82nd Airborne, began the long trudge out o the wo

and back toward the Wymeswold hangar. Joe smiled

the luxury o trucks to transport them back to barra

ater a long day. In basic training they wouldve marc

home.Hey, Web, wait up. Pvt. Peter Smithson was

medic or Bakers second platoon. His aid bag smac

against his thigh as he jogged to catch up with Joe.

whatd ya think?

About what?

About the maneuver, Smitty said, pulling out a p

o smokes. Odds are on France today.

Like just about every other paratrooper in the 512

he was obsessed with the where and when o th

inaugural combat drop. He collected news reports a

shreds o gossip like some men collected pinup pictur

Joe shrugged. What does it matter? France, Egthe North Pole? Not like we have a choice.

Then again, maybe theyll send the whole 82nd b

to Italy, Smitty continued, undaunted by Joes us

disinterest. Henry Nortonyou know him, corpo

rom second platoon?he said the 45th Inantry just

the beaches at Anzio. Those dumb doggies could use

assistance o a ne outt like ours.

Joe decided to use Smittys other avorite subjec

derail this particular train o thought. You got pl

tonight?

Its Friday night and I have a weekend pass, right

Thats right, Joe said with a grin.

by the time theyd nished two more combat scenarios:

clearing a house, then encircling and eliminating a sniper.

Theyd had more trouble with the ice than the drills.

Good work, men, said Capt. Crowly. Baker

Companys commanding ocer strode down the line.

His doughy ace was hardened with tightly reined

approval. Smoke em i you got em.

Joe slipped o his helmet, enjoying the chilly winterbreeze as it blew across his sweaty hair. He tugged a pack

o Lucky Strikes out o his tunics breast pocket and lit

up. His brain elt stuy and too ull, but a deep drag

eased his nerves. Medical details were all so repulsive

more amiliar now, but unwelcome. How he remembered

it all was a mystery, let alone how he would eventually

withstand combat.

Lay a bazooka on his shoulder and hed take out a

target. Shove him out o a C-47 with a parachute on

his back and hed pass muster. But stick a hypodermic

needle and a bottle o plasma in his hands and Joes

condence scampered o double-time. None o it camenaturally. Hed trade a ew toes to be a regular rifeman,

anyone who carried an M1 instead o an aid bag.

Beautiul country, though. He nished his cigarette

and breathed in, enjoying the bracing cool o a

quiet aternoon. Maybe hed expected craters and

ruined buildings, like newsreel ootage o London and

Portsmouth that always made him winceand then get

angry. This part o the Midlands, however, was nearly

unmolested by Stuka bombers and Germanys new V-1

rockets. The early dawn snowall had layered it in a white

that was almost too clean, too pretty to look at.

Thats it, gentlemen, Capt. Crowly shouted. Pack


7/11


ambulance. Joe jerked ree o his stupor and judged

ghters direction. He was the man closest to wher

would push downor crash, more likely. At that velo

the ghter was going to dig a ditch when it hit, a rea

made grave or the unlucky pilot.

Joe secured his helmet and took o at a dead run. T

jump boots hed worked so hard to earn by qualiy

as a paratrooper thumped against the ground, providtraction. The Hurricanes engines blared as it cleared

head by no more than ty eet. He finched, running a

watching the tail o the doomed aircrat. Hanging hea

in the air, its wings pitched and wobbled as the p

stuck it out. The nose ought with gravity and pu

parallel with the ground.

Only then did Joe believe the pilot had a chance. D

he thought, his scorched lungs pumping air. Do it.

He was still running when the Hurricane n

fopped down. The rudder shtailed. The trio o prope

blades on the nose, still spinning at ull speed, cut i

the ground and sprayed snow and tur in wide circWith a hideous wrenching noise one propeller snapp

loose and few skyward. It stuck into the ground

hundred yards to Joes right. The nose dipped and the

lited, threatening to fip the plane. But the belly fop a

the gouging propellers killed any orward momentum

Except or the popped propeller, the Hurricane w

still in one piece when it lurched to a stop.

With his throat stripped raw ater the fat-out run,

reached the downed aircrat where it had plunked h

buried in the snowy airstrip. Smoke and steam lic

out o the engine, which clicked with the pulse o coo

metal. An ambulance siren blared in the distance.

Then yes, I have plans.

Care to share?

Smitty laughed and slapped Joe on the back. Get the

hell into town.

Leicester again? Or up to Nottingham?

Nottingham was too ar. By the time we got there, all

the clubs were ull up. Wasnt worth it. Besides, too many

o those fak-happy RAF boys. Pued up prigs. Smittysmoothed a hand along his manically orange hair. Not

that I have any trouble with the English broads.

No trouble running them o, you mean. They see

your carrot top coming and hightail it the other way.

Hell, Web, not everybodys born with the looks o an

A-number-one wiseacre like you.

I thank my daddy every day, Joe said. Oh, blast,

orgot my helmet. Be right back. He took o at a quick

jog, back toward the ringes o the woods where theyd

trained.

Smitty shouted ater him, Better hustle or youll

ootslog it back to Rothley!Not gonna happen.

Joe slid to a sloppy stop and scooped up his helmet,

then pulled up short. At the hangar every lingering man

had tipped his ace to the west. More aireld personnel

were joining them by the second, shielding their eyes and

watching the sky.

Silhouetted ahead o the setting sun, a Hurricane

bearing Royal Air Force insignia roared toward the

aireld.

No landing gear, Joe whispered to himsel. Holy

Christ.

From back at the hangar came shouts or an


8/11


You can say that again.

Sorry I buzzed you. She wiped her mouth a

looked him ull in the ace. Again Joe was struck by

eyeswide, brown, a little crazed. That was you, y

Running to meet me?

Yes, maam.

Then my apology stands.

Checking or injuries, Joe noticed where blood oorom a nasty gash on her knee. He took hold o the zip

at the neck o her fight suit. We should get you ou

this, check on your knee.

The woman ficked her gaze toward the wound a

put her hands on his. Her ngers werent as cold n

Absolutely not.

Why not?

Her bright red lips curled as i accepting a da

Because this morning in High Ercall, I spilled engine

on my uniorm trousers. Theyre in my overnight bag.

Joe stilled. Their aces were so close that the little p

o their breath mingled. She wore the stench o gasoand sweat, as well as some sweet lavender scent. T

jarring combination o masculine and eminine cros

his mental wires. You mean, youre not wearing . . . ?

Well, I couldnt very well fy in my skirt! H

laughter lilted through the chilly air, so out o pla

Those chocolaty brown eyes teased him. It bunc

terribly inside my fight suit.

Joe averted his eyes as i hed actually glimpsed w

she described. Then he got to work. He yanked open

sliced abric around her knee. Ater dousing the area

antiseptic sula powder, he unwrapped a sterile dress

He pressed the white pad on her wound and tied

Joe didnt wait. He climbed onto the wing and

reached the cockpit just as the pilot uncorked the canopy.

A woman pilot.

She ripped o her headgear and fight goggles.

Useless, balmy, good-or-nothing dawdler!

Quelling his surprise, Joe took her arm. Maam?

Maam, look at me.

Big brown eyes stared out rom an ashen ace ramedby dark, sweat-drenched hair and a blue kerchie. Oh!

Yes?

Out now, maam. Cmon. Can you move?

Yes, she said, dazed. Yes, o course.

The hand she oered was cold and shaking. Although

she let Joe guide her up and out o the cockpit,

she continued her colorul tirade against the downed

Hurricane. Beetle-headed laggard. Useless. An absolutely

grotesque piece o machinery. Not enough petrol let to

combust, she said, almost to hersel. The propeller can

be repaired, wouldnt you say? Ill

Only when her eet crunched onto the icy tur did shesag. Joe caught her under the arms and guided her a sae

distance. Fuel or not, he wanted to get her away rom the

crash, especially since she could still walk.

He urged her to lie on a slick patch o grass. Are you

injured at all? Maam?

No, she said, her voice hoarse. Well, I dont know.

I . . . I dont eel

She jackknied into a sitting position and retched. Joe

put his arms around her shoulders, steadying her against

his body. Shock, he said.

I should bloody well think so! That was unthinkably

dat.


9/11


elbow, steadying her whether she thought she nee

it or not. But rather than resist, she settled her wei

against Joes side while he guided her to the ambulan

Gash on her let knee, sir, Joe said to the colon

Mild shock.

Shames shook his head. Unbelievable.

Colonel, she said, sounding suddenly exhausted

do hope your people can return me to the ATA erry pat Mersley this evening. No sense being so near to ho

and not sleeping in ones own bed.

The expression on Shamess grizzled ace said he w

as bafed by her sex and the miracle o her surviva

Joe was. Ill see what we can do, maam.

Once she settled, the woman spared a quick gla

backrst to the downed Hurricane, then to Joe. S

oered him a solemn nod.

Private? the colonel said as he climbed in bes

her.

Joe stood at attention. Sir?

Good work. Go nd your platoon.Shames hauled the rear door shut and the ambula

sped away. Joe watched its journey back to the han

Already a maintenance crew in a tow truck was on

way to the crash site. His heart rate slowed and

respiration was returning to normal, but Joe could

shake the clinging sensation o just having watche

human being dey death. Whether by luck or by ski

probably both, he had to admitshed limped away r

disaster.

He didnt even know her name.

He went to stow the medical supplies back in his

bag but ound that he held only trash: an empty su

gauze bandage threads to keep it in place.

That done, the woman started to stand.

Joes hands jumped to her shoulders as i they

belonged there, keeping her stationary. The last thing he

needed was or her to aggravate her knee or an unseen

injury, or to wind up downwind o an exploding aircrat.

You dont understand, she said. My things are in

the gun panel beneath the port wing. Silly cockpits toosmall or a Cadburys, let alone an overnight bag.

Theres nothing we can do to etch it. Her scattered

thoughts, perhaps still aficted by shock, had him talking

to her as i she were a child. Maybe maintenance can

salvage it. But later. Understand?

O course. Youre right, o course. She eyed the

downed Hurricane and wiped her mouth with the back

o her hand. Yes, yes, it should be ne. Theyll repair

the propeller and the blimmin undercarriage lever and

itll fy again. There was nothing I could do! Bother, but I

hope the Accidents Committee sees it that way. I mean to

say, they shoulddont you think?I think youre lucky to be alive.

She stilled. The look in her eyes said she was seeing

him, really seeing him, or the rst time. Dark eyebrows

that reminded him o Rita Hayworth lited slightly. The

daredevil smile was gone, replaced by a much more

tentative one. Ill owe the undertaker a quid, she said.

Beore Joe could ask what that meant, the ambulance

tore through the snow as it pulled alongside. Col.

Shames jumped out, ollowed by two RAF medics and

two litter bearers.

Private! Report? the colonel said.

The woman pilot was already standing. Joe took her


10/11

26 Carrie Lofty

envelope and a cellophane bandage wrapper. That had

been no simulation. Little wonder his knees elt like

undercooked oatmeal.

Hed just had his rst real taste o what it was to be a

combat medic.


11/11

HISVERYOWNGIRL

Now available foryour reading device:
http://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/his-very-own-girl/id486441101?mt=11http://www.amazon.com/His-Very-Own-Girl-ebook/dp/B006IDG2I2/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1343334354&sr=8-2&keywords=His+Very+Own+Girl+Lofty%2C+Carrie3http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/his-very-own-girl-carrie-lofty/1108180113

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His Very Own Girl by Carrie Lofty