Blackout. Part 26

AT 11:35, FOUR MINUTES AFTER IT WAS SUPPOSED TO-though it seemed much much longer to Mary-the alert finally sounded. "What's happening?" Fairchild asked, sitting up in bed. longer to Mary-the alert finally sounded. "What's happening?" Fairchild asked, sitting up in bed.

"Nothing," Talbot said. "Those horrid children have got at the siren again. Go back to sleep. It will stop in a bit."

"Let's hope so," Grenville said, burying her head in her pillow. "And let's hope the Major realizes what it is. I can't bear to spend the night in that wretched cellar," but the siren continued its up-and-down whine.

"What if it's not a prank?" Maitland said, sitting up in bed and switching on her lamp. "What if Hitler's surrendered and the war's over?"

"I do hope not," Talbot murmured, her eyes shut. "I need to win that pool."

"It can't be surrender," Fairchild said. "They'd sound the all clear if it was the end of the war."

Shh, Mary thought, listening for the V-1. It was supposed to hit at 11:43 on Croxted Road, near the cricket grounds, which were directly west of here, so she should be able to hear it before it hit.

The siren wound down. "Finally," Talbot said. "If I get my hands on those brats-"

Maitland switched off her lamp and lay back down. Mary ducked back under the covers, switched on her torch, and looked at her watch. 11:41. Two more minutes. She listened intently for the engine's sound, but she couldn't hear anything. A minute. She should be able to hear the V-1 coming by now. Their stuttering jet engines made them audible for several minutes before they reached their targets, and it should pa.s.s directly over the post.

Thirty seconds, and still nothing. Oh, no, the V-1 isn't going to hit Croxted Road Oh, no, the V-1 isn't going to hit Croxted Road, she thought. Which means I have the falsified times and locations, and my a.s.signment has just become a ten Which means I have the falsified times and locations, and my a.s.signment has just become a ten.

There was a loud crash like thunder to the west, followed by a rumbling that shook the room. "Good Lord, what was that?" Maitland said, fumbling for the lamp.

Thank goodness, Mary thought, looking at her watch. 11:43. She hastily switched off her torch and emerged from under the covers.

"Did you hear that?" Reed asked.

"I did," Maitland said. "It sounded like a plane. One of our boys must have crash-landed." did," Maitland said. "It sounded like a plane. One of our boys must have crash-landed."

"Alerts don't sound for downed planes," Reed said. "I'll wager it's a UXB."

"It can't have been a UXB," Talbot said disdainfully. "How would they know in advance it was going to go off?"

"Well, whatever it was, it was in our sector," Maitland said, and the phone in the despatch room rang.

A moment after, Camberley leaned her head in the door and said, "Plane down in West Dulwich."

"I told you it was a plane," Maitland said, yanking on her boots. "Civil Defence must have seen it was on fire and sounded the alert."

"Where in West Dulwich?" Mary asked Camberley.

"Near the cricket grounds. Croxted Road. There are casualties."

Thank G.o.d, Mary thought. Camberley disappeared. Maitland and Reed clapped their helmets on and hurried out. Camberley poked her head in again and said, "The Major says everyone not on duty's to go down to the shelter."

"How many planes does she expect will crash tonight?" Talbot grumbled.

A hundred and twenty, Mary thought, pulling on her robe. They trooped, grumbling, down to the cellar and then back up five minutes later when the all clear went, shrugged out of their robes, and got into bed. Mary did, too, even though she knew the siren would go again in another-she glanced at her watch-six minutes.

It did. "Oh, for goodness' sake," Fairchild said, exasperated. "What are they on about now?"

"It's a n.a.z.i plot to deprive us of our sleep," Sutcliffe-Hythe said, flinging back her bedclothes, and there was a crump crump to the southeast. to the southeast. Croydon Croydon, Mary thought happily, and right on time right on time.

So was the next one, and the next, though none of them were close enough for her to be able to hear their engines. She wished again that she'd listened to a recording of one. She needed to be able to recognize the sound if she heard one coming when she was in Bomb Alley, but at least she knew what the explosions were. None of the other FANYs seemed to grasp the situation at all, even when Maitland and Reed returned from their incident with tales of flattened houses and widespread destruction. "The pilot must have crashed with all his bombs still onboard," Reed said, even though they'd heard four other explosions by then.

"Was it one of ours or theirs?" Sutcliffe-Hythe asked.

"There wasn't enough left of it to tell," Maitland said, "but it must have been a German plane. If it was one of our boys coming back, they'd have already dropped their load. The incident officer said he'd heard it come over, and it had sounded like it was having engine trouble."

"Perhaps. .h.i.tler's running out of petrol and is putting kerosene in their fuel tanks," Reed said. "Coming back, we heard another one go over, stuttering and coughing."

There was another rumbling boom to the east. "At this rate, Hitler won't have an air force left by tomorrow," Talbot said.

They're not planes, Mary said silently, they're unmanned they're unmanned rockets. And it was obvious she needn't have worried about arriving too late to observe their pre-V-1 behavior-they were still exhibiting it. rockets. And it was obvious she needn't have worried about arriving too late to observe their pre-V-1 behavior-they were still exhibiting it.

They went back almost immediately to discussing the dance Talbot was going to the Sat.u.r.day after next. "I need someone to go with me," she said. "Will you, Reed? There'll be heaps of Americans there."

"Then, no, absolutely not. I hate Yanks. They're all so conceited. And they step all over one's feet," and launched into a story about a dreadful American captain she'd met at the 400 Club. Even Camberley's shouting down the cellar steps that there was another incident and Maitland and Reed's hurrying off to it didn't deter them. "Why would you want to go to a dance with a lot of Yanks, Talbot?" Parrish asked.

"She wants one of them to fall madly in love with her and buy her a pair of nylons," Fairchild said.

"I think that's disgraceful," said Grenville, the one with the fiance in Italy. "What about love?"

"I'd love love to have a new pair of stockings," Talbot said. to have a new pair of stockings," Talbot said.

"I'll go with you," Parrish said, "but only if you'll lend me your dotted swiss blouse to wear the next time I see d.i.c.kie."

It had never occurred to Mary that the FANYs wouldn't tumble to what was going on once the rockets started-especially since, according to historical records, there'd been rumors since 1942 that Hitler was developing a secret weapon. Then again, historical records had said the siren had gone at 11:31.

And they would realize soon enough. By the end of the week there'd be 250 V-1s coming over a day and nearly eight hundred dead. Let them enjoy their talk of men and frocks while they could. It wouldn't last much longer. And it meant she was free to listen for the sirens and explosions and make certain they were on schedule.

They were, except for one that should have hit at 2:09 but didn't, and the last all clear of the night, which went at 5:40 instead of 5:15.

"It hardly seems worthwhile to go to bed," Fairchild said to Mary as they dragged back upstairs. "We go on duty at six."

But the sirens won't start up again till half past nine, Mary thought, and there won't be a V-1 in our sector till 11:39. I hope and there won't be a V-1 in our sector till 11:39. I hope.

She was worried about the one that hadn't hit at 2:09. It was supposed to have fallen in Waring Lane, which was even nearer than the cricket grounds. They should have been able to hear it.

Which meant it must have landed somewhere else. That fit with British Intelligence's deception plan. On the other hand, the 2:09 was the only one that hadn't been at the right time and-as near as she could tell-in the right place, which meant it could also be only an error. Though a single error was all it would take to end her a.s.signment abruptly. And permanently.

She was relieved when the 9:30 siren and the 11:39 V-1 were on schedule and even more when she saw the V-1 had hit the house it was supposed to-though when she saw the destruction, she felt guilty for having been so happy. Luckily, there were no casualties. "We'd only just left the house, me and the wife and our three girls," the house's owner told her, "to go to my aunt's."

"It's her birthday, you see," his wife said. "Wasn't that lucky?"

Their house had been blown so completely apart it was impossible to tell if it had been made of wood or of brick, but Mary agreed with them that it was incredibly lucky.

"If the bomber'd crashed five minutes earlier, we'd all have been killed," the husband said. "What was it? A Dornier?" Which meant they still thought all these explosions were caused by cras.h.i.+ng planes.

But when they got back to the post, Reed greeted them with, "The general I drove to Biggin Hill this morning says the Germans have a new weapon. It's a glider with bombs which go off automatically when it lands."

"But a glider wouldn't make any noise," Parrish, who was on despatch duty, said. "And Croydon says they heard two come over this morning and they both had the same stuttering engines Maitland and Reed heard."

"Well," Talbot said, "whatever they are, I hope Hitler hasn't got very many of them."

Only fifty thousand, Mary thought.

"I drove a lieutenant commander last week," Reed said, "who said the Germans were working on-" She stopped as the siren sounded and they all trooped down to the cellar. "-on a new weapon. An invisible plane. He said they'd invented a special paint which can't be seen by our defenses."

"If our defenses can't see them, then why do the sirens sound?" Grenville asked, and Fairchild said, "If they can make them invisible, one would think they could make them silent as well, so we wouldn't hear them coming."

They have, Mary thought. It's called the V-2. They'll begin firing them in September, by which time surely it'll have dawned on you that these are rockets and not gliders or invisible planes It's called the V-2. They'll begin firing them in September, by which time surely it'll have dawned on you that these are rockets and not gliders or invisible planes.

Or bombs shot from a giant catapult-a theory they discussed till the all clear went half an hour later. "Good," Fairchild said, listening to its steady wail. "Let's hope that's the last one for tonight."

It won't be, Mary thought. The alert will sound again in... she glanced at her watch... eleven minutes, if it was on schedule, which she was beginning to be confident it would be. The explosions had been on time all day, and when she looked at the despatcher's log, there was a 2:20 A.M. A.M. ambulance call to Waring Lane. Which only left Bethnal Green. ambulance call to Waring Lane. Which only left Bethnal Green.

When the evening papers came out, she felt even more confident. Not only was the Evening Standard's Evening Standard's front page identical to the one she'd seen in the Bodleian, but the front page identical to the one she'd seen in the Bodleian, but the Daily Express Daily Express said there'd been four V-1s on Tuesday night, though it didn't say where they'd landed. said there'd been four V-1s on Tuesday night, though it didn't say where they'd landed.

The newspapers also settled the issue of what the V-1s weren't. The Evening Standard's Evening Standard's headline read, "Pilotless Planes Now Raid Britain," and they all described them in detail. The headline read, "Pilotless Planes Now Raid Britain," and they all described them in detail. The Daily Mail Daily Mail even had a diagram of the propulsion system, and the conversation in the shelter turned to the best way to avoid being hit by one. even had a diagram of the propulsion system, and the conversation in the shelter turned to the best way to avoid being hit by one.

"When the sound of the engine stops, take cover promptly, using the most solid protection available and keeping well away from gla.s.s doors and windows," the Times Times advised, and the advised, and the Daily Express Daily Express was even more blunt. "Lie face-down in the nearest gutter." was even more blunt. "Lie face-down in the nearest gutter."

"Keep watch on the flame in the tail," the Evening Standard Evening Standard suggested. "When it goes out, you will have approximately fifteen seconds in which to take cover," which made the suggested. "When it goes out, you will have approximately fifteen seconds in which to take cover," which made the Morning Herald's Morning Herald's advice to go to the nearest shelter utterly impractical. But in general the press had it right. Though they couldn't agree on the sound the V-1s made and none of them mentioned a backfiring automobile. Descriptions varied from "a was.h.i.+ng machine" to "the putt-putt of a motorbike" to "the buzz of a bee." advice to go to the nearest shelter utterly impractical. But in general the press had it right. Though they couldn't agree on the sound the V-1s made and none of them mentioned a backfiring automobile. Descriptions varied from "a was.h.i.+ng machine" to "the putt-putt of a motorbike" to "the buzz of a bee."

"A bee?" Parrish, who had heard one on an ambulance run, said. "It's not like any bee I ever heard. A hornet perhaps. An extremely large, extremely angry hornet," and Mary was forced to take her word for it. By the end of the first week of attacks, she still hadn't heard one nearby. That was the problem with being an ambulance driver. One went where the V-1 had already been, not where it was going.

But it wasn't their sound that mattered. It was the sudden silence, the abrupt cutting off of the engine, and that would be easy to recognize. At any rate, she was bound to hear one soon. They were coming over now at the rate of ten an hour, and the FANYs were working double s.h.i.+fts, driving to incident after incident, administering first aid to the injured, loading them onto stretchers, transporting them to hospital, and-when they arrived at an incident ahead of Civil Defence, which often happened-digging victims, alive and dead, out of the rubble. And they were still ferrying patients from Dover to Orpington.

It was far more than they could handle, and the Major began lobbying HQ for more FANYs and an additional ambulance. "Which she'll never get," Talbot said.

That's true, Mary thought. Every available ambulance was being sent to France.

"Not necessarily," Reed said. "Remember, she got us Kent. And this is is the Major," and Camberley promptly started a betting pool on how long it would take her to obtain the ambulance. the Major," and Camberley promptly started a betting pool on how long it would take her to obtain the ambulance.

The FANYs had s.h.i.+fted effortlessly from arguing over frocks to tying tourniquets and coping with grisly sights. "Don't bother with anything smaller than a hand," Fairchild told her, and as they waited with a stretcher while a rescue team dug a shaft down to a sobbing woman, Parrish said calmly, "They'll never make it to her in time. Gas. Are you going to the dance with Talbot on Sat.u.r.day?"

"I thought you were," Mary managed to say, trying not to think about the gas. She could smell it growing stronger, and the woman's cries seemed to be getting correspondingly weaker.

"I was, but d.i.c.kie telephoned. He has a forty-eight-hour pa.s.s, and I was wondering if I might borrow your blue organdy, if you're not wearing it anywhere on-oh, look, they've got her out," Parrish said and took off at a trot across the rubble with the medical kit, but it wasn't the woman, it was a dog, dead from the gas, and by the time they got the woman out, she'd died, too.

"I'll telephone for a mortuary van," Parrish said. "You didn't say whether you needed your organdy this weekend."

"No, I don't," Mary said, appalled at Parrish's callousness, and then remembered she was supposed to have driven an ambulance during the Blitz. "Of course you can borrow it."

Away from the incidents they never discussed what had happened there or their lives before the war. They were like historians in that respect, focusing solely on their current a.s.signment, their current ident.i.ty. Mary had to piece together their backgrounds from clues they dropped in conversation and a copy of Debrett's she found in the common room.

Sutcliffe-Hythe's father was an earl, Maitland's mother was sixteenth in line to the throne, and Reed was Lady Diana Brenfell Reed. Camberley's first name was Cynthia and Talbot's Louise, though they never called each other by anything but their last names. Or nicknames. As well as "Jitters" Parrish, there was a FANY at Croydon they referred to as "Man-Mad," and they'd dubbed an officer several of them had gone out with "NST," which Camberley explained meant "Not Safe in Taxis."

Maitland had a twin who was serving in the Air Transport Service, Parrish had an elder brother who'd been captured by the j.a.panese in Singapore and a younger one who'd been killed on the HMS Hood Hood, and Grenville's father had been killed at Tobruk. But to listen to their conversations, one would never have known that. They gossiped, complained about Bela Lugosi (which was refusing to start), about the dampness of the cellar, about the Major's habit of sending them after supplies when they were off-duty. "She sent me to Croydon last night in the blackout blackout, to fetch three three bottles of iodine," Grenville said indignantly. bottles of iodine," Grenville said indignantly.

"Next time, tell me and I'll go," Sutcliffe-Hythe said from her cot. "I'm not sleeping anyway with these wretched alerts going off every ten minutes."

"Then you can go to the dance with me on Sat.u.r.day," Talbot said.

"I thought Parrish was going with you," Reed said.

"She has a date."

"I'd only yawn the whole evening," Sutcliffe-Hythe said. She turned over and pulled the blanket over her head. "Make Grenville go with you."

"She won't," Reed said. "She's finally had a letter from Tom in Italy. She plans to spend tomorrow writing him."

"Can't that wait till Sunday?" Talbot asked.

Reed gave her a withering look. "You've obviously never been in love, Talbot. And she wants to make certain it reaches him before he's ordered somewhere else."

"Well, then, it's up to you to go with me, Kent," Talbot said, sitting down on the end of Mary's cot.

"I can't. I'm on duty Sat.u.r.day," she said, glad she had an excuse. If the dance was in Bomb Alley or one of the other areas that weren't in her implant- "Fairchild will trade s.h.i.+fts with you," Talbot said. "Won't you, Fairchild?"

"Um-hmm," Fairchild said without opening her eyes.

"But that's not fair to her," Mary said. "Perhaps she wants to go to the dance."

"No, her heart belongs to the boy who used to pull her pigtails. Isn't that right, Fairchild?"

"Yes," she said defensively.

"He's a pilot," Parrish explained. "He's stationed at Tangmere. He flies Spitfires."

"He's her childhood sweetheart," Reed put in, "and she's made up her mind to marry him, so she isn't interested in other men."

Fairchild sat up, looking indignant. "I didn't say I was going to marry him. I said I was in love with him. I've loved him since I-"

"Since you were six and he was twelve," Talbot said. "We know. And when he sees you all grown up he's going to fall madly in love with you. But what if he doesn't?"

"And how do you you know you'll still be in love with him when you see him again?" Reed said. "You haven't seen him in nearly three years. It might have only been a schoolgirl crush." know you'll still be in love with him when you see him again?" Reed said. "You haven't seen him in nearly three years. It might have only been a schoolgirl crush."

"It wasn't," Fairchild said firmly.

Talbot looked skeptical. "You can't know that for certain unless you go out with other men, which is why you need to go to the dance with me. I'm only thinking of your welfare-"

"No, you're not. Kent, I'd be delighted to switch s.h.i.+fts with you." She punched her pillow into shape, lay down, and closed her eyes. "Good night all."

"Then it's settled. You're going with me, Kent."

"Oh, but I-"

"It's your duty to go. After all, it's your fault I lost the pool and haven't any stockings."