Air Stories — page 72: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AIR STORIES My next medical board’ll probably send me back to my squadron... .”’ His voice trailed away and he avoided her frank eyes with the pretence of grinding out his cigarette end beneath his heel. He knew his words had not rung true. He felt a sudden surge of self-pity, a desire to confide in her that his nerve had gone. If only she would understand. . . . Damn it, what right had she to stand there looking at him with that faint contempt in her eyes P He took a step forward, his mouth working. ‘Look here, Peggy ...’’ he began unsteadily, ‘‘ I know what you’re think- ing, and you’re not the only one. . .’’ He stopped as he’ saw that she was not listening. Her gaze had gone beyond him to where a cluster of vague lights moved across the sable sky. Basil stiffened as he followed the girl’s tense gaze and he recognised those lights as the glowing exhausts of a formation of bombers. The drone of massed engines now drifted to their ears. Somewhere across the ’drome, a Klaxon shrilled its warning. ‘“I’d better get back to the ambu- lances,’’ the girl said quickly, ‘‘ it looks as though I’ll have a job pretty soon.”’ Basil’s lips twisted. A job! This girl who in the next hour would probably have to face calmly, heaven alone knew what mutilation and horror, filled him with a sense of inferiority. He realised suddenly the futility of what he was doing ; his job which wasn’t a real war job at all and, for what it was worth, ended when he wiped the grease paint from his face. * ULLO ! Isn’t that a machine ? ”’ Peggy’s startled voice broke in on his thoughts. He followed her gaze, and out of the sable night sky he saw a machine materialising from the shadows as it glided in to land, a British Camel. A searchlight caught and held the oddly wavering ’plane for a moment and then swerved away so as not to blind the pilot. ‘‘ He’s in trouble,’’ Basil gritted. He had started to run, and he was 70 within a few yards of the Camel when it hit the turf with a bumpy landing and rolled to a standstill, Next moment he was bending over the cockpit, his arm about the shoulders of the wounded pilot. He was babbling incoherently. His mouth was flecked with blood. ‘All right, old chap,’’ Basil said gently. He lifted the pilot from the cockpit and lowered him on to the grass. He looked up into Basil’s face, urgent entreaty in his shadowed eyes. ‘‘They got me...’’ he _ breathed, ‘* but the machine’s all right. Someone must take it up. We’ll need every machine in the sector to-night. There’s a massed raid ... the Kampfgesch- wader .. .”’ As the pilot’s head fell forward, Basil heard Peggy’s voice beside him. **T’ll look after him.’’ Basil straightened and he saw the girl’s eyes on his face. He was con- scious of a sense of expectancy in her gaze. And suddenly he knew, as clearly as though she had spoken, that she had overheard the wounded pilot’s urgent words ... knew what Peggy Malone wanted him to do. Overhead the drone of massed engines was growing louder. The earth shook with the sudden crash of bombs. Across the ’drome, Basil saw the wall of the theatre hangar dissolve like tearing card- board. Through a gush of fire and smoke he saw the flimsy stage and shattered footlights, and the garish drop curtain fluttering like a signal of distress. Somehow it seemed symbolical, this destruction of the futile things he had used to hide his cowardice. But at least it was not too late for him to regain one thing he had almost lost— his self-respect. ‘“Give me that man’s flying helmet and goggles,’’ he heard himself saying, ‘“ I’m going up... ..”* He climbed into the cockpit of the Camel, and the old familiar fear clutched at his heart, but he fought it grimly. He braced his feet on the rudder-bar and, gripping the stick, reached for the throttle. Co LDOO