Page 25

Vivian dreamed of ack-ack exploding around her plane as she navigated a night sky, dodging spotlights, heading for safety.

The explosions came closer, or at least grew louder, until a great, percussive crack rocked her ship, spinning her off course.

She bolted up, fully awake, grateful to find herself in her bunk, in the stifling bay.

A cool breeze snuck through the window, raising goose bumps on her sweat-damp arms. Raindrops plunked into the soft dirt outside the barracks.

The window lit up, and the bay shook again with a crash of thunder.

“Wow,” said Elliot. “Glad we went up last night. What are you doing?”

“Getting dressed,” said Vivian. “Think I’ll go out to the control tower.”

Elliot said, “I’ve flown with Ector three times now. Never seen anything rattle her.”

Vivian gestured at the puddle forming beneath the open window. “Want me to close that before I go?”

“No, I’d rather mop up later and have the air now. Unless you want me to come with you?”

But Vivian was already out the door, tying a scarf over her hair, racing through the pelting rain to the tallest structure at Avenger Field. At the door to the tower, she nearly collided with another form. Both of them had their eyes on the ground, trying to dodge the puddles.

“Jesus, Shaw, what are you doing out here at this hour?” It was Patterson, pale in the light from the doorway.

“Couldn’t sleep,” said Vivian.

“Yeah, me either.”

Hamblett was in charge of the control tower that night. “We’re not putting on a show here,” he said when they slipped inside. Then, perhaps seeing the misery in Patterson’s face, he relented and gestured to an unoccupied spot. “You can stand over there. Don’t touch anything. Don’t say anything.”

Vivian and Patterson stood silent and dripping in their appointed place.

She wanted to ask which direction the storm was moving.

She wanted to ask if they’d had radio contact with the C-78s.

Patterson massaged the nape of his neck and sighed.

A gesture she’d seen before, usually when she or another pilot had done something verging on stupid during a practice flight. His very own distress signal.

From a distance, the dots on the radar display meant nothing to her. She edged closer, but Patterson put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back.

If only Hamblett would say something reassuring. If only the storm would move through quickly and leave the sky above Avenger Field clear. But the storm, if her old-fashioned counting of seconds between lightning flashes and thunderclaps meant anything, sat directly over them, not moving at all.

As if to confirm her suspicions, Hamblett finally spoke up. “We’ve got two fronts pushing against each other. Sort of thing that sparks twisters. Not that we could see one coming tonight.”

Vivian checked the time: 0348 hours. About an hour before daylight. The planes should come in soon. None of the controllers spoke. Patterson massaged his neck.

“Aren’t they in range for radio contact yet?” she asked.

Hamblett glared at her. “Another word and you’re out.”

He murmured something to one of the controllers. Something about landing at Abilene or Midland if they could get clearance.

The radio crackled. “Avenger Tower, this is Jig Victor -36 requesting clearance to land. Repeat, Avenger Tower, this is Jig Victor -36 requesting clearance to land.”

“Where are they?” said Hamblett.

“Sir, I don’t have them,” said one controller.

“Paulson?” asked Hamblett.

“Sir, I don’t have them either.”

Hamblett picked up a headset. “ Jig Victor -36, this is Avenger Tower. You do not have clearance. Repeat, you do not have clearance.”

Patterson nudged Vivian, and mouthed, “Ector?” But the garbled voice on the radio, further dampened by the rain spattering against the control tower windows, could have belonged to anyone. Vivian shrugged.

Hamblett darted from display to display. “They’re not up there,” he said. “They’ve gotten themselves lost. Paulson, put a call in to Midland. Tell them to radio Jig Victor -36. See if they can land there.”

“ Jig Victor -36, this is Avenger Tower. We don’t have you. Repeat: we do not have you. Check your location and report back.”

“ Jig Victor -36, this is Avenger Tower. Repeat: check your location and report back immediately.”

“ Jig Victor -36, this is Avenger Tower. Repeat: check your location and report back immediately.”

Hamblett seemed destined to repeat those two sentences forever with no response. Patterson was mumbling now, just behind Vivian’s ear. She thought he might be saying the rosary. She wished she knew it, too, so that she could chant it along with him.

“ Jig Victor -36, this is Avenger—”

“Sir, Midland reports a ship down two miles south of base. Responders on their way.”

“Shit!” said Hamblett. “Shit, shit, shit. What are you looking at me for? Get your eyes on those screens and fucking find me my other plane!”

“Yes, sir!” Paulson and the other controllers snapped their eyes back to the radar displays.

Hamblett paced behind his controllers. Patterson’s rosary went up a notch in volume. Vivian tapped his elbow, but he didn’t notice. Hamblett, however, did. “Patterson. Shaw. Get out of my tower.”

“But, sir—” started Vivian.

“Now.”

Patterson didn’t look capable of navigating the stairs. Vivian wished she could get him a chair, though she suspected he’d refuse it. “I’ll go, sir. Right away. But please let Captain Patterson stay. He won’t be in your way. And he’ll stop ... he’ll be quiet. Right, Captain?”

Patterson managed to nod.

Hamblett said, “If this is your idea of going right away, Shaw, you obviously don’t know the meaning of right away.”

“Yes, sir.” Vivian staggered down the stairs and out into the rain.

Just because a plane went down didn’t mean it was George’s plane.

And just because a plane went down, didn’t mean the crew had been harmed.

She’d seen pilots walk away from terrible landings, even from crashes.

George and Dubarry were probably just fine.

She leaned against the wall of the control tower, pressed her ear to the siding, hoping the sound from inside might carry through the structure, but all she could hear was rain snicking into mud.

She slogged back to the barracks, not bothering with her rain scarf. A light shone in the common room. Elliot was up. She shifted something out of sight beneath the table, then, recognizing Vivian, brought her hand back up, set her silver flask on the table. “Well?” asked Elliot.

“One plane down near Midland. No contact from the other one.”

“Here.” Elliot pushed the flask toward Vivian.

“I thought you got rid of your stash.”

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies. Go on. I got it out for you, after all.”

Vivian took it, twisted open the top, then pushed it away. “I might need to go out there.”

“Where? To Midland Field? For what, Shaw?”

Vivian choked back a sob. “Someone has to take her home.”

Because that was how it worked. The female pilots were technically civilians.

If they died in training, the USAAF didn’t put them in a flag-draped casket and ship them home.

The other WASPs chipped in for a coffin, for transportation, and one of them accompanied the body, returned the dead pilot to her family.

Elliot leaned across the table toward Vivian, her breath sweet with whiskey.

“Look, Shaw, I think you’re a little bit like me.

Every now and then, you fudge a rule. Just a little bit, just here and there.

” Elliot waggled the flask. “But not Ector. She follows every. Single. Rule. All the rules. All the time. And that’s what’s going to get her plane back down safe tonight. ”

The sky was lighter now, the raindrops smaller, the thunder fainter. The storm was moving on, and the sun was rising. Another day was about to start. She and Elliot stared out the window into the distance, wishing a plane into view. A face loomed up outside the window, and they jumped.

“Captain Patterson!” Vivian raised the sash, and Elliot swished the flask behind her back.

“They’re safe, Shaw. Landed at Big Spring. They’re arranging transport back this afternoon.”

Vivian started to tremble. “And the other plane?” asked Vivian, embarrassed at how her voice shook, thinking of Aisling and Gardner and Captain Shearer, the instructor who had gone up with them.

Patterson shook his head. “Hamblett wouldn’t say outright, but I could tell. They didn’t make it.”

Vivian leaned heavily against Elliot, who, still trying to hide her flask, nearly toppled over from the unexpected weight. “Sit down, Shaw.” Patterson used his captain voice. “Sit down and have some of whatever it is I don’t see in Elliot’s right hand.”

Vivian obeyed, and Elliot said, “Sir, it was only—”

“Since I don’t see anything, I don’t need anything explained to me. And I’m sure the sergeant won’t need anything explained to him at barracks inspection this afternoon. Because there won’t be anything for him to see, either, will there be, Elliot?”

“No, sir.”

Patterson nodded at Vivian, who had steadied after a slug of whiskey. “Make her eat something,” he said to Elliot, before he disappeared.

The sun eased over the horizon, and the birdsong gathered strength. The women sipped their whiskey and waited for reveille.