War Girls Complete Collection Chapter 291

Chapter 10: Tom

“H

ey, Westlake. The Air Commodore wants to see you,” Ed Bronson, one of the other pilots, called out into the barracks with a smirk. “Got yourself into trouble?”

“None of your business,” Tom answered. He’d never particularly liked the petty man. For some reason Tom had yet to understand, Bronson had taken a dislike to Tom and never missed an opportunity to show it.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Tom said, after knocking on the open office door.

“Yes. Come in.” The Air Commodore was a man in his forties with reddish-blond hair, freckles and a mustache. Despite his age he still looked like a mischievous boy and the men liked him, for he was always fair and knew when to turn a blind eye. “You’re aware that the 284 Field Squadron finally arrived at Gatow?”

Tom nodded. It was a rhetorical question. Everyone knew that the RAF regiment had to fly into Magdeburg and reach Gatow airport in Berlin by land. Simply because the bloody Soviets hadn’t allowed British aircraft into Berlin air space. The poor RAF lads had been received with extreme hostility by the superior-in-numbers Soviet troops.

They claimed the squadron had arrived too early and even attempted to put them behind barbed wire fences. Tom could only imagine how Churchill had reacted to

that

news. Germany’s unconditional surrender had happened less than two months earlier, and already the former allies were mangling each other.

Due to the constant activity occasioned by the presence of unfriendly troops, most men had changed their opinion about Royal Air Force Station Gatow. Most preferred other locations for their tour of duty. Hamburg being on top of the list.

“Your request to be transferred to Berlin has been approved.”

Tom was surprised and elated, but kept his voice calm. “Thank you, sir. I look forward to being part of the Gatow team.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” the Air Commodore said. “RAF Gatow is receiving the delegates of the Potsdam Conference starting next week. Therefore, you are due to leave tomorrow morning and there won’t be any days off until the conference is over.”

“That’s no problem, sir,” Tom answered, while he inwardly groaned. He’d be stationed in Berlin – finally – and yet he still couldn’t go looking for Ursula.

“Wing Commander Huntley will give you the details of your tour of duty. Good luck! Oh, and one more thing, Ed Bronson has been transferred, too.”

Tom swallowed hard. Of all the pilots on base they had to send petty Bronson with him. He left the Air Commodore’s office and rushed to his barracks to pack up his belongings. He cursed himself because he hadn’t had the foresight to ask for a photograph of Ursula back then. Because, while he still remembered the silky softness of her skin and the sound of her silvery voice, he couldn’t for the life of him conjure up her face. The only image that came to his mind was her blond, wavy hair and her long, slender hands. He hated his own brain for letting him forget her face.

He arrived at Gatow the next morning. As the Air Commodore had promised, the RAF station resembled a beehive with aircraft humming in and out. They delivered delegates, supplies and whatever else was needed for the success of the Potsdam Conference.

His new superior Group Captain Moore didn’t lose time with giving Tom time to get his bearings. Instead, he sent him on his first sortie back to Britain even before Tom could inspect his quarters and unpack. The next days passed in a flurry of flights back and forth, transporting goods and people to the conference.

On his fifth day, activities finally slowed down and he had time to take a breath. With several hours’ off-time on their hands, a few of his new comrades persuaded him to down a beer or two in a nearby bar with them.

“Come on, we deserve some fun after all the work,” Corporal Ken Blake, a short but burly man, urged him. Despite being one of the MPs on base he was a jolly lad – in his off hours – and Tom had become friendly with him.

Ken had a wife and two darling little girls, whose pictures he never failed to show off, back home. He was one of the few lads who actually cherished his marriage vows. Tom suspected Ken was a romantic at heart, although the other man did his best to appear stern and curt, just like any good MP would.

The bar bustled with men in uniform, mostly British and American, but a few French were amongst them. They ordered beer at the bar. When they went in search of a table, he accidentally bumped into a hunk of a man with pitch-black hair.

The man turned and growled at him, “Watch where you’re going!”

“Holy shit! Is that really you, Mitch?” Tom stared into the familiar gum-chewing face of the American pilot. They’d both been stationed on an airbase in Italy, flying airdrops for the Polish Home Army during the Warsaw Uprising. He hadn’t thought about the fun-loving, outgoing fellow since returning to England.

“No kidding, Tom!” Mitch lost the growl and gave Tom a shoulder-slap before he clunked his beer bottle with him. “Never thought I’d see you again. You in Gatow?”

Tom nodded.

“I heard about the warm welcome the Soviets gave you guys,” Mitch chuckled. “Were you there?”

“No, I just arrived five days ago for the Potsdam Conference.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s been quite busy, right? We do nothing but fly back and forth for our delegation.”

Tom smiled. That sounded a lot like what had been happening at the British airbase. “You’re at Tempelhof I take it?”

Mitch gave a nod while gulping down the rest of his beer. “I arrived here with the first lot on July 2

nd

. After the disaster with your fellows, the Soviets didn’t bicker and left the airfield early.” Mitch stared at Tom’s half empty beer bottle. “Another one?”

“Not yet.”

“Back in a moment. Don’t leave.” Mitch disappeared into the crowd to get himself another beer.

“Who the hell is that uneducated Yank?” Bronson said with a snobbish smile on his face.

A man who’s worth a million times more than you, weasel

. Tom didn’t speak his thoughts out loud and only shrugged. “American pilot.”

When Mitch returned, the two men searched for a quiet place in the bar to catch up on things. Lacking such a place, they finally stepped outside onto the semi-dark street.

“Have you done some sightseeing?” Mitch asked him after a while. “Not that there’s much to see.”

“No, tonight’s my first few hours off duty. But the boss promised generous leave after the conference is over. What about you?”

Mitch chuckled. “I can say with confidence that I know all the bars in the American sector and have now ventured to

reconnoiter

those in the British sector.”

“I wouldn’t have expected anything less of you.” Tom grinned. They might not agree in lifestyle, but Mitch had proved a great friend back in Italy and Tom actually looked forward to seeing more of him.

“Despite the damage Berlin is great. The Fräuleins are…” he pursed his lips and made a kissing sound, “…first class. They’ll do about anything for chocolate, cigarettes or nylons. I can’t understand their obsession for nylons. I much prefer them without.” Mitch chuckled again.

“Isn’t fraternization forbidden?” Tom asked.

“Pahh.” Mitch made a dismissive gesture. “That doesn’t apply to

nightly

encounters. Do you actually believe there’s one man in my unit who doesn’t have a tryst every now and then?”

“Definitely not you.”

“Exactly. My girl is tucked away safely on the other side of the pond. She won’t mind me indulging in all the willing Fräuleins happy to be with an American pilot. We do have quite the good reputation with them, if I say so myself.”

“Well, I’m not interested in finding me a nightly companion, but I’d love to see something of Berlin,” Tom said with the idea in mind of finding Ursula. He knew the flat where she lived was in the American sector, but he couldn’t be sure he’d find his way without help.

“After the conference our boss promised leave, so why don’t we go meet up and I’ll show you the American sector? And if you change your mind about the Fräuleins, I’m sure we can find one for you, too.”

“Thanks. Sounds great. Let’s get in touch after the conference.”