Title: The Black Raven
Author: Larkhaller
Fic Type: Bad Girls A/U
Rating: 18 violence, sexuality, strong language.
Characters: Nikki and Helen
Overview: Nikki and the girls are Air Transport Auxiliary pilots during WWII.
Disclaimer: Bad Girls and all its characters are property of Shed Productions, division of Shed Media Group, plc. The author implies no ownership of these characters, and they are used in the stories without permission solely for entertainment and not for profit. Similarly this applies to any copyrighted fictional characters either from literature, broadcast media or film.
This is a work of fiction based on historical events and composite characterizations of real people and places. For artistic purposes I used the equivalent RAF Ranks instead of the Air Transport Auxiliary's. Additionally the story blends the history of ATA which operated in the UK and Atlantic Ferry Organization (AFTERO) and Transport Command No. 45 Group. We all owe a great debt to the ATA ferry Pool pilots who contributed to aviation developments in the post war era. Nikki's aviation biography is particularly sketched on Diana Barnato Walker, M.B.E. (15 Jan 1918 - 28 April 2008)
Nikki and Helen's restaurant Romano's was a 19th century London icon that sadly did not survive the Blitz. Since this is an alt-universe I used it beyond its historical accuracy for artistic reasons.
It is my greatest hope the readers will remember the real sacrifice of the men and women of SOE fictionalized in this story and take time to learn about their brave contributions, as well as of the three wartime George Cross recipients: Violette Szabo, GC, M.B.E. , Odette Sansom Hallowes, GC, M.B.E. , Noor Inayat-Khan, GC, M.B.E. It remains our duty to carve their names with pride.
The Black Raven by Larkhaller
It is ordained that the Cross shall be awarded only for acts of the greatest heroism or of the most conspicuous courage in circumstances of extreme danger, and that the Cross may be awarded posthumously. 5th Ordinance of the Royal Warrant for the George Cross.
Part One
The Few
Why were adults always so sad? Why did they have sandwiches and tea in the afternoon when Granmas went away? Why did little girls have to play in their rooms when adults cried?
The quiet afternoon of the little girl's bedroom was shattered as a fierce battle erupted over the sweeping skies of London. Diving out of the sun a squadron of Hurricanes intercepted a treacherous wolf pack of ME 109's. Group Captain Nicola Wade sallied forth, skillfully pumping cannon rounds into the nearest Messerschmitt causing her foe's plane burst to pieces in the sky. She nimbly performed a split S maneuver to disengage from battle when the little girl answered her mother's insistent call to supper.
Strewn on the bedspread were paper dolls and die-cast airplanes momentarily forgotten as she hurried to the dining table. In the midst of the pretend Essex countryside was an old black and white photo of six women wearing flying suits and standing in front of a Lancaster Bomber and hand written on the white boarder in faded ink; Dorval 1943.
Dorval Quebec, October 1943
Fuel tankers and oil tenders lumbering around the tarmac loudly announced dawn as it broke over the misty Canadian airfield. Covered military transport trucks zigzagged amongst the planes stationed on the apron and air crews jumped from the still moving vehicles.
Three newly built Canadian Avro Lancaster Mark B X bombers were parked on a finger lane near the main hanger of the Dorval Aerodrome. The first Canadian Lancaster KB700 christened the Ruhr Express, had been flown to the UK by Squadron Leader Reginald Lane DSO DFC, and his hand-picked RCAF crew in September just as the leaves began to turn yellow in the brisk eastern autumn.
A covered transport pulled up in front of the static Lancs and a flash bulb popped like mini lightening. The disembarking crews carefully climbed down and gathered up their parachute packs and gear.
"Oi' Bloody ell' mate. Enough with Hollywood eh, we ain't bleedin movie stars you know."
"Ah come on Yvonne it isn't everyday they give us heavies to ferry."
"He's ruining my bloody night vision e' is Den, so shut it." Yvonne laid her Cockney accent on thick for the Canuck photographer. Denny just glanced at her watch and shrugged at Yvonne's odd reckoning of the time. The final pair of feet hit the ground as Yvonne stomped and flapped to keep warm, muttering about, 'bloody freezing Quebec'.
A Willys jeep with rusty brakes ground to a halt beside the truck and a tall woman with short dark hair and dressed impeccably in a dark blue flying suit stepped out. "Attention," was called crisply from the end of the line and the rank straightened.
"Morning ladies, glad to see we all made it back from leave."
Squadron Leader Nicola Wade the first woman to join the ATA Ferry Pool and first woman to fly the legendary Supermarine Spitfire. She looked down the line of her pilots and briefly glanced up behind the women to the nose of the number one Lanc. A wry smile formed on her lips as she called "at ease" and joined the five women in line.
The photographer shouted "Aetheris avidi" and the flash popped again.
"Very good work with the grease pencil Denny," Nikki gave her trademark glare to Yvonne's navigator.
On the nose of Nikki's Lanc was a drawing of wee lass wearing a tam, with her tartan skirt blown violently askew. Below the lovely figure in hand written script was Up Yer's.
Denny had the poise to look abashed then broke into a big grin.
Nikki saw the look on Flight Lieutenant Silvia Hollamby's face change and cut her off before her dour opinion could ruin the perfectly good start to her morning.
"Lady Hollamby. Let me say it for you. I think you will find it is nothing less than would be painted there permanently by a deserving crew in the UK, and besides I am rather fond of the rendering of the Tam."
Yvonne bent double laughing as Silvia sputtered. "Yes ma'am."
Silvia was titled by marriage. Nikki was the Squadron Leader and as such her status of commanding officer demanded a modicum of respect, even though Silvia felt the younger woman in no way deserved it. Then there was the matter of women like her navigator Michelle, constantly piping up to offer her two-penneth.
"Eh miss, innit better we get these birds to London fast so they can use 'em to bomb the tits off jerry?" She winked at Denny. "'En I can get on with shaggin me boyfriend yeh."
Silvia grabbed her uncouth navigator by the parachute straps and dragged her toward her Lanc. "I should take a bar of soap to that mouth of yours young lady. Now get about your pre-flight walk around or I'll have you on report."
Denny got the last word in shouting after Shell she'd see 'er on the threes, as Yvonne and her double timed to the last Lanc down the line. "Smart-arse how do you know Nikki will choose line abreast?"
"Dunno Von, it looks better and she can't lose Silv that way."
"Oi', get up there kid."
With the last photos for posterity taken care of, Nikki turned to the quietest woman in the group. "Hurry up doll or we'll be late for tea at Buckingham Palace."
The cute red head slung her parachute pack over her shoulder. "Well then, we don't want to disappoint for Michelle do we."
"The cheek, come on Walker we have a plane to deliver."
The cockpit of a Lancaster was fitted with only a pilot's seat. To the right was a passage forward to the nose and a simple fold down jump seat for the flight engineer to occupy as copilot during takeoff. Behind the pilot was a table for the flight engineer to work from during flight. A Lancaster crew was additionally comprised of a bomb aimer who normally occupied the nose during bombing runs and who operated the forward gun turret. A radio operator working aft of the navigator's curtained station, a mid-gunner and a rear gunner appropriately nicknamed Arse-end Charlie rounded out the seven man crew.
Nikki fitted her parachute into the seat pan to act as a cushion, and began the process of checking her instruments and control surfaces. The transatlantic journey of "heavies" as they were called held multiple hazards and would be very taxing for the two woman crews. Nikki, Yvonne and Silvia were among a hand full of women pilots to receive the extra instruction and be checked out on four engine aircraft. Their navigators were also trained flight engineers and all of them would be knackered once they reached Prestwick from Gander. Nikki was very protective of her squadron. Their log books recording flying hours and types of aircraft flown were impressive as was their spotless service records which was also just the way she intended them to remain.
The Lancaster's familiar and nostalgic sound came from its four Merlin engines that hummed like giant dangerous mosquitoes. Even after the fatigue of the Blitz, it was rare not to see the eyes of a Brit turned upward tracking the sound of a Merlin engine in the sky. A ground crew member stood by with a fire extinguisher as Nikki opened the fuel and turned the switch on number one as the first of her engines caught with ease. She smiled for small mercies and the skill of the Victory Aircraft factory workers. Flight Lieutenant Claire Walker read out the engine pressure readings and monitored the RPM gauges. In the other cock pits engines purred to life and the planes were made ready for the first leg of the ferry crossing.
Yvonne looked out her window and yelled at Denny as she gave fuel to the number three engine and turned the switch to the on position. "Eh' Den what'd they say in the old days? Switch on."
"Contact."
"Right, let's get this bleedin kite in the air."
Nikki keyed her radio mic to contacted ground control for permission to join the queue for takeoff. Eight Hurricanes taxied down the runway and took off. Two Anson transports taxied out and took off. An impressive string of six Dakotas rolled out and took off one after the other.
Nikki never failed to be impressed by the thrill of takeoff. The miracle of heavier than air flight put a smile on her face every time, even in the most dangerous planes or hazardous flying conditions. The chocks were away, the ground crew cleared, she set her props to fine pitch and gave the Lanc three quarter throttles. Claire covered Nikki's throttle hand and as Nikki took full control of the yolk, she increased the aircraft to full throttle.
Once they were airborne Claire moved to the engineers table behind Nikki and studied her maps. She made a note with a pencil and checked her watch. "First mark, three hundred miles. Course bearing zero six five. Should be a milk run to Gander Nik. Can't say anything after that though."
On her mic Nikki checked in with Silvia in ferry three and Yvonne in ferry two as they formed up and set course on Claire's bearings to Gander Newfoundland. The weather briefing was good with minimal chance of icing at the altitude they were restricted to and a favorable tail wind.
"You gonna ride back there all day or are you going to come up here and keep me company. Come on, I'll tell you a story." Claire rolled her eyes. She'd heard many of Nikki's stories over pints in the mess. She double checked her safe minimum altitude chart and stowed it.
"Sure just let me give you the true air speed; two two five. Altitude eight thousand. Estimated time of arrival Gander. Sixteen hundred Zulu. At the mark set rpms to eighteen hundred for cruising at eight thousand."
Yvonne pushed her sleeve back to reveal her watch, and Denny called out the mark. "Twelve forty five Zulu. Course bearing zero six five. ETA to Gander three hours fifty five minutes."Denny looked up from her map to Yvonne.
"Cruise set at eight thousand. Two hundred indicated airspeed. Heading zero six five Luv."
Shell re-entered Silvia's cockpit with a clip board and sat in the jump seat.
"So what's the big rush to get 'ome? You gotta a hot date with Sir Bobby?"
"No dear. I just want to get you there and tucked into bed so you don't get in any trouble with those friends of yours." Silvia never passed on a chance to wag her tongue at her navigator. They had only been paired together as a crew a short time and already Silvia had found a way of getting on Shell's tits.
"I'm so glad you're lookin out for my best interests Silv. I wouldn't want to think you were denying yourself on my account." Shell returned to the navigator's table, slapping the clip board down to cross her arms and pout. She couldn't believe her bastard luck getting stuck with the posh bitch for this ferry crossing. A good part of her experience was in Mosquitos and she loved the freedom of the fastest twin engine plane on the books. She was however practical that a successful mission would be good for her promotion prospects. It was difficult coming up from where she had, but she was glad her talent with cars and speed had paid off.
Claire came forward sat beside Nikki in the jump seat. "We have a good tail wind Nik. Our current ground speed is two two five miles per hour. I'm adjusting our time of arrival minus ten minutes. ETA at Gander fifteen fifty Zulu."
"How's the weather in Gander? Are we going to be arriving early for a crack up?"
"No. Visibility at Gander is ten miles. Ceiling eighteen thousand. Barometer steady at thirty point one zero." Claire watched Nikki's focus expression as she held the yoke steady. "You promised a story. So tell me, how you lost your cherry." Nikki didn't even blink.
Denny putzed over the navigator's table with a ruler and pencil plotting courses on her map. Bored she clapped the pencil down and went forward to stand beside Yvonne.
"Tail wind is cutting our time to Gander; three hours twenty minutes." Yvonne was impressed by the boost. "That or Nikki's flapping her wings extra hard." Denny liked it when she could give Yvonne good news. "I Hope the crossing goes as smooth. How's she flying?"
"Nice ride. I've had better though. She does keep her nose down better than a Liberator. It must be something taking one of these out loaded on a raid."
Silvia made the strenuous effort of turning around so she could address her navigator. "So Miss Dockley where should we look for a nice man for you. Army? Navy? No there's a girl in every port with them. How about a fighter pilot, I know how about a coastal observer."
"What? A bleedin hermit in a lighthouse. Why not a dashing Senior Officer. I can pull the best in London in this uniform."
"First you'd have to trade your Wellies for high heels dear and I don't see you being able to manage it." Silvia faced back around and Shell flipped her the victory sign.
The hop to Gander was as routine as it came for a ferry crew and the three plus hours passed with ease. Nikki looked out to the distant airfield for the visual confirmation of the radio direction beacon they had been following for some time and keyed her mic.
"Gander control. Ferry one, on approach at the outer marker."
A crisp voice with a slight accent filled the cockpit. "Ferry one, winds at Gander from the northwest at five knots. Visibility ten miles ceiling eighteen thousand. You are cleared to land."
Nikki keyed her mic. "In the circuit ladies. Nice and easy, one, two, three."
A Royal Canadian Air Force traffic controller watched with binoculars, as Nikki's plane came in picture perfect and taxied down the runway. Yvonne's plane approached next.
"Ferry two on outer marker 300 feet 90 knots."
The controller picked up a hand held radio mic and keyed it to speak. "Ferry two you are cleared to land." He followed the Lancaster on visual for its touch down and taxi past the tower. Winds buffet Silvia's plane and Shell strapped into the jump seat as Silvia contacted Gander control keying her mic.
"Gander control ferry three, off the beam experiencing turbulence. Request a go around."
"Ferry three you are cleared for go around. No other traffic in your area. Winds holding northwest gust to 15 knots."
Silvia adjusted her air speed and pushed the yolk forward to bring the nose down and banked the aircraft left. It felt counter logical to push forward, but with the nose too far up in a turn and a plane could stall. It wasn't something she ever wanted to experience again.
Nikki watched Silvia's Lancaster as it pull up in an arcing turn over the airfield and growled. "Bloody showboating."
With the three planes safely down, ground crews chocked the wheels and scurried around dodging the arriving fuel truck. Nikki and Claire met Yvonne and Denny and waited for Silvia and Shell to walk around the nose of their plane and catch up. Nikki was off like a shot determined to get to the canteen.
"I have to find coffee girls or I'm going to be a bear later. Meet you for the weather briefing."
Shell was just as eager. "Oi. Dinner sounds good, anyone else for it?" Shell was still reluctant to use Nikki's name casually or in banter. She had only been in the squadron six months and the tall woman although fair and never unkind, remained a mysterious figure she didn't want to cross.
Denny begged off pointing to the loo, "I'll meet you all there." Silvia bunched her nose. "Well I could certainly use a cuppa." Yvonne and Claire just followed behind her in the procession of hungry stomachs.
Denny watched them disappear through the doors at other end of the hanger then headed toward the mechanic shop. A woman Corporal wearing coveralls was working alone on an engine.
"Where do they keep the brooms around here mate." The young woman saluted Denny.
"That would be Corporal Wiley ma'am, and we keep brooms in closet over there." Indicating a door over to the left.
"I think an inspection is in order corporal." They entered the closet and close the door behind them giggling.
The canteen food was good considering the privations the UK was struggling under and was largely due to the American traffic passing through on the way to the England. Nikki had a coffee cup in her hand and a blissful look on her face. Real coffee was a rare luxury back home.
Yvonne took the cow by the udder. "So girls, what shall we do about leave this go round, get a flat or stay at the barracks in Prestwick?"
"Not too much to bloody do in Prestwick. Too bad we couldn't hop down to London and get a hotel room." Claire was the official party girl of the group and no one was surprised by her whinging.
Silvia scowled at her. "You have the devil's mouth too young lady. If we get leave to London I want to visit my Bobby. So count me out."
Claire raised her coffee cup in a toast to Sir Bobby Hollamby. Silvia quirked her brow and inquired loudly, "Where's Edwina gotten to?" Yvonne just choked and sputtered her tea.
With the break for food and facilities over it was back to work for the women. It seemed the effort to be done with the war burned extra hot in Nikki and she tended to push them all along with her whether they liked it or not.
A thin RCAF Flight Sergeant spoke form the podium at the head of the room. There was a large wall map of the Atlantic behind him. Weather briefings were the most important part of the mission and none of the women thought otherwise, as they expectantly followed his report.
"Weather at Gander, seventeen hundred Zulu: No wind, barometer steady at thirty. Visibility twenty miles Ceiling twenty thousand. High cirrus clouds."
He pointed on the map to the area below Greenland. "Weather at Southern Greenland, high overcast. Winds Variable out of the Northwest. Barometer thirty point one and rising. Winds at fifteen thousand feet, twenty knots."
Nikki watched Denny take notes in her log book, Claire copy her notes onto a map with a pencil and Shell write to a small note book. The reference to Zulu invaded Nikki's thoughts and she flashed on Greenwich and a particular rose garden. As quick as the though appeared she banished it, clearing her throat.
"Conditions at Prestwick at sixteen hundred Zulu were: overcast, ceiling fifteen hundred feet, visibility one mile. Barometer thirty and falling. Forecast is for clearing by morning."
"That's not all ladies. The Americans are tracking Atlantic hurricane number four off their coast. It is need to know only. Remnants of the system are expected to wash out operations here for a couple of days. You will be stuck in Scotland for at least an extra day courtesy of hurricane number four.
Denny leaned back in her chair and whispered to Claire. "What did we do to deserve this?"
Claire winked at her. "You must live right Den."
The flight sergeant stood to attention and Nikki called "dismissed." She quickly pinched the bridge of her nose; the others being too chuffed to notice.
The RCAF Gander traffic controller watched the three Lancasters pull into formation in the dusk sky. "Gander Control to ferry one. Have a safe flight. Transferring you to Greenland control. Gander control out."
Silvia in ferry three slotted in on Nikki's port side and Yvonne in ferry two held the starboard in a line abreast formation on each others threes. Silva's plane though designated number two seemed to always find itself bringing up the rear or drifting ahead. It was always a balance between keeping them in her pocket and safe flying separation. Transatlantic crossing was still an art credited to the navigators. Nikki was thankful she and Claire got on so well and was never surprised by the professionalism and attention to details that her navigator provided during a mission.
"I think the winds off Greenland will give us a bit of trouble. Estimated time to Prestwick eleven hours and thirty minutes. Just in time for breakfast Nik."
"You know how I get when I miss my morning coffee. Best keep me on the beam."
Claire smiled. "No problem if you tell me that story then."
"You're worse than a two year old. You've met Trisha. You know half the story already."
"Ooh Nikki. I meant you first airplane. Not your first. Not that."
"That is the other half." Nikki enjoyed taking the piss from Claire once in a while. "I met Trish at the King's Cup races. Her mother sponsored the Schneider Cup Supermarine S-6B in 1931."
"Kin'ell, are you kidding me. Patricia Harris is Lady Harris's daughter."
Nikki shrugged. "Trisha's father had an American Curtis JN 4 Flying Jenny shipped over after the war. Trish and I got our wings with the Royal Flying Club and I must say it is still a thrill to take her up."
"The Jenny or Trisha?"
Nikki winked. "Both."
Claire digressed from her impeccable public-school accent. "Kin'ell Wade. Now I'm sorry I asked."
She slipped from the cockpit. The long hours over the North Atlantic demanded focus and she respected the fact this wasn't a social jaunt. Nikki checked her instruments and did a radio check with Yvonne and Silvia. Generally the crossing was radio silent and navigation was by dead reckoning. When weather permitted Claire and the other navigators used sextants to navigate by the stars.
After the third mark Denny came forward and notified Yvonne that Silvia was not with in visual contact. The planes had encountered minimal cloud but the moon had set and the formation had been looser for night flying. Yvonne broke radio silence and hailed Nikki.
"Ferry two to ferry one, ferry three is out of visual range."
Claire moved into the observation bubble to confirm Silvia was out of formation.
She keyed her intercom, "Yvonne is about five hundred starboard. No sign of Silvia. It is dark out. She could have crept ahead of us."
Nikki was ticked. "She better bloody be out there. Claire, get a fix and log everything from here out. Ferry one to ferry two; get a fix and double check it with Claire. Log every move you make. Christ we're in the soup now."
"Two more marks Nik, and then we're there. I hope Silvia and Shell are OK."
Prestwick Scotland, UK
Prestwick Airfield on the Scottish west coast was beautiful in the morning. A single Lancaster cruised in to land on the runway, lonely as it taxied past Wellingtons, Halifaxes and Liberators static on the dispersal tarmac. An impressive variety of fighters were parked in and about the aerodrome hangers. Amongst this backdrop, was a myriad of ground activities and a constant drone of aircraft engines filling the air.
Silvia and Shell walked past a new American Liberator B-24. Shell wasn't up for the awe the huge beast inspired, so she gripped her log book and maps like death and fussed with the kit bag slung over her shoulder. Silvia looked quite pale as well.
"It must have been an instrument problem ma'am. I'll mention it to the ground Sergeant and see what he thinks." Shell's diction improved significantly in the face of the bollocking she anticipated from Nikki.
Silvia merely pushed her gloves deeper into her pockets and unzipped her flight suit a bit to release the stifle she felt coming on. She strode toward the Ferry Pool Command building where she guessed Nikki would be. At the CO's office they approached the clerk.
"You might as well hit the canteen ladies. The rest of your flight is still a half an hour out."
It seemed to be the longest half hour Shell had ever spent waiting in her life. It was alright for Lady Silvia to cock up, but she had no free passes. Years ago she might have considered slagging her way out of a situation like this, but flying in Nikki's squadron instilled pride in her now. It was time to man up.
Nikki and Yvonne's planes taxi into the dispersal area where Yvonne immediately recognized Silvia's Lanc. "Bugger her! She made it."
The Ferry Pool Command Operations Office was busy and when Nikki finally found Shell and Silvia she met them with stony silence. Nikki knocked on smartly on the CO's door and slipped in leaving the two women to stew.
The commanding officer seated at a desk, lowered a file folder. "Nicola good to see you back safe."
Nikki wasn't in the mood for pleasantry and jumped immediately to the point. "Thank you sir, if I may; I take full responsibility for the flying error."
The CO held up his hand to pause Nikki and pressed the intercom calling for Silvia and Shell. He accepted their salute and stood them all at ease.
"Flight Lieutenant Hollamby, could you please explain arriving a full half hour before your Squadron Leader?"
Her pale skin turned to ashen. "Pitot tube sir. I believe the pitot tube was giving false airspeed indication and we slipped ahead in formation when the moon set."
"Right, and Miss Dockley can you explain your errors in navigation that nearly resulted in tragedy."
Shell was fast on the game and the exaggeration of this circumstance while serious was not life threatening. "Sir, I should have made visual contact with Squadron Leader Wade's aircraft at the third mark and that error combined with failing to notify Flight Lieutenant Hollamby of visual contact gave her false confidence of her true position in formation. The error rests fully with me sir."
"I have no need to remind you ladies that errors cost lives. You are valuable members of the air service and your loss would be incalculable. Make all appropriate entries in your logs and file a detailed incident report on the instruments to the maintenance depot."
"Squadron Leader Wade, I see no reason to give permanent marks for this incident as it seems to be the culmination of an unusual set of circumstances. That will be all for now. Dismissed."
The three women saluted and left the cramped office. Silvia looked positively gray, while Shell managed a slight blush. Nikki rounded on Silvia coolly. "Silvia I found myself at fault too, but don't think I am satisfied with a minor bollocking. You could have been shot down by coastal defense or worse marauding Junkers 88's."
"Yes ma'am."
"Flying Officer Dockley you need to pay more attention and I should have noticed the deviation as well. Keep this incident in mind when you're a senior officer. We have to keep to a higher standard or we'll all lose out to the old boy's network."
Shell was thunderstruck by Nikki's magnanimity. Climbing down together was not something she had anticipated. "Yes ma'am, it won't happen again."
"Yes Ma'am, thank you," was as much contrition as Silvia was willing to muster.
Nikki held Silvia in a direct piercing glare. "Don't think I did anything for you Flight Lieutenant Hollamby."
"Now, if you want to get to London, double time it to the Anson hanger, dismissed."
The Air Transport Auxiliary Ferry Pool had a constant escalator operation of moving planes and personnel around the UK. The women of Nikki's squadron regrouped at an AVRO Anson with nose art of a cigarette girl named Annie. Nikki whispered "bloody hell," and announced loudly "ATTENTION."
They all snapped to military attention complete with salutes. The object of Nikki's discomfort crossed in front of them and returned their salute.
"At ease ladies, we're not in the army! Headed to London? White Waltham OK for you girls?"
Everyone but Nikki relaxed. "Yes ma'am. It's an honour to fly with you Wing Commander Harris."
"What's all this guffaw Nicola?" She shook Nikki's hand warmly. "I hope we'll have a chance to chat latter." Claire was the only one who had an inkling of why Nikki was so jumpy.
"Wing Commander Harris, may I introduce my squadron." Nikki stopped first at Claire. "My navigator Flight Lieutenant Claire Walker." They continued down the line. "Flight Lieutenant Yvonne Atkins. Flying Officer Edwina Blood. Flight Lieutenant Silvia Hollamby and Flying Officer Michelle Dockley."
"It is a pleasure to meet you ladies. Let's get this kite in the air shall we?"
The interior bulkheads of the Anson were lined with jump seats. Claire nudged Nikki and raised her eyebrow in question. "You just met Trisha's mother, Rachael Harris, the woman who has more money than God and nearly runs this whole outfit. I've only crossed paths her briefly over the last three years." Thankfully the journey to London was swift and event free as Nikki was sure any more excitement would do her head in.
Standing on the sidewalk in front of King's Cross Train Station, it wasn't as much of an argument as it was a clash of tired weary souls, as the women sorted the next few days. Black taxis whizzed by them in the busy street.
Waving her hand in a flourish Yvonne suggested anywhere around Russell Square would be perfect. "We can tube down to Leicester Square and catch a show."
Denny lit the first cigarette she'd had in ages. "Are you in for a show Shell?"
"I dunna know. I was going to ring up a friend. Otherwise ya."
Claire voiced the vote for the group. "Let's just get a room at the Hotel Russell then."
Nikki yawned. "Actually, I'll get a room separate. I'm not up for much and I think I'd enjoy a good lie in."
Silvia waved her hand in the air at the street. "I'm off then. I want to get to Brixton before tea time. I'll see you girls tomorrow night then." A hackney carriage stopped for Silvia to hop into.
They watched it speed off. Yvonne let out her breath. "Thank Christ for Sir bloody Bobby Hollamby. Cheers."
The Hotel Russell was a grand affair and if not for the war would have been well out of the women's means. Many of the hotels in London had been pressed into billet service for the war effort.
As soon as they entered the lobby Yvonne and Shell were off to find a telephone box.
"Hello Operator. I'd like to reach the mess of RAF Staplehurst, Kent Squadron 412. Yes, I can hold." She hung the phone on the hook and waited for the ring back. Shell paced beside her.
"Urry up eh, some of us got blokes too." The phone rang and Yvonne snatched it up quickly.
"Hello, Hello! Charlie?"
"No miss, this Squadron Leader Lowman. May I be of assistance?"
"Yes sir. May I speak with Batman Charlie Atkins?"
"I'm sorry, I can't connect you quite now, but I can pass a message along to him if you would like.
"Yes, thank you. Could you please tell him his missus is in London at the Hotel Russell, and for him to ring as soon as he can. Thank you very much sir."
Yvonne didn't crack. "He must be out. I got him that job after I ran a Spitfire down 'ere to that Canuck Squadron. Mess orderly ain't much, but what can a medically unfit do."
"You're up then. I hope you got better luck pullin than me." Yvonne handed the phone to Shell for her to try her friend.
Claire knocked on Nikki's door. She wasn't going to take the lie in business seriously. "Come on Nik, you need to let down too. You're wound tighter that a clock spring." The door opened and Nikki lounged against the door frame.
"I've rung a friend to meet us at Romano's on the Strand."
"Walker could you be any more cliché."
"Sod you Nikki. I don't know what all happened between you and Trisha, but I'm not going without a gin and tonic tonight and neither are you."
Black out on the Strand was awe-striking in terms of character and sheer determination to survive. Nikki knew the depth of the effort that people everywhere were making to keep England free. Here in the heart of her beloved city, on the street she'd walked many times with Trish, she drew strength from her hope.
Nikki and Claire were well taken care of in the bustling restaurant. "You know, my mother saw Vesta Tilly in here one night. I think that's how she and father knew to be so bloody minded when they found out about Trish and me." Romano's restaurant was still decorated in garish gilt mirrors and red velvet of the Victorian vaudeville era.
Claire laughed, surprised by the confession and not sure how to respond, so she simply left Nikki free to sit with the memory. "I saw her off in March and haven't heard from her since. Not that I really expected letters but still, you know."
Nikki looked vacantly out into the restaurant as internal dialogue playing in her mind. "Are you sure? I can still back out if you want me too." Nikki grabbed Trisha's lapels and crushed the stunning blonde's lips. "Don't be silly Babes, go give em hell." The memory of the train station kiss still lingered painfully close to the surface.
Claire waving to the friendly voice calling her name jogged Nikki from the doldrums.
"Claire, Claire Walker."
"Helen." The two women embraced.
"Helen Stewart I'd like to introduce you to my CO, Nicola Wade."
Nikki looked into her eyes. "Green as a glen and deep as a loch."
"Pardon?" Helen smiled at the compliment not sure if it meant was for her.
Nikki tried valiantly to halt the unmistakable tightening that spread in through her chest and her voice dropped to a husk. "Sorry, it's Nikki, please call me Nikki." Her chest ached and she drew a breath holding it briefly as the moment passed.
"Nikki it is then." Helen again flashed a smile that could tame a wild child.
Part Two
Special Operations Executive
Parachute jumping from a Westland Lysander over Invernesshire from three hundred feet during daylight had been a tea and scone party compare to jumping into hostile enemy territory, in total darkness, with a hundred pounds of equipment. The only ray of happiness accompanying WAAF SOE Section Officer Patricia Harris to the ground in central France, was SOE Major Dominic McAllister; whom she was glad was along for the heavy lifting.
Snow covered ground confounded Trisha's depth perception and her feet hit harder and faster than she had anticipated, causing a jolt of pain in her heels.
"Merde, il twat."
Dominic may have blushed, but it was hard to tell in the darkness. "Trish? Do your best. Just walk it off."
The equipment canister had hit the ground nearby with a heavy thud despite the covering of snow and Trish cringed hoping every sentry in the Loire Valley hadn't woken.
They worked swiftly to retrieve their equipment and bury the evidence of their arrival as there was still a slog to the designated rendezvous point. Compound drops were required because too many teams had jumped directly into compromised networks. Operation Black Raven was critical to re-establish radio operations in Nantes and was the culmination of a year of meticulous planning and training. Armed with sten guns and backpacks loaded with gear, the two agents headed toward the town of Vihiers.
"This is it." Dominic surveyed the position at the end of a farm fence just before a bridge and found it glaringly short on cover if anything went arse up. "From now on code names only."
"Dom for the record and future reference, you can only drop the A in my name before another A, or a consonant, and never when something's mine." She paused to contemplate the one other occasion to shorten her name, "or if we've been intimate. Got it?"
"Then I take it you don't want me calling you Zan?"
"You're a horse's ass Adonis. Light us two ciggy's will yeh." Signal and counter reply were thus exchanged. The maquis melted out of the shadows and welcomed the agents to their town.
The reception committee transferred Trisha to a safe house in Nantes where she set up her activities. Her mission was radio communications, training and establishing local radio operator networks and intelligence gathering. Dominic's roll was to provide support, training and command of coordinated espionage activities in the area of the port and strategic points in the Loire Valley. Each agent had challenges setting up their networks to overcome that would test their mettle daily. The battle of nerves had begun.
The successful insertion and first transmission of the Black Raven Circuit was received by Grendon Hall wireless operator code named: Home Guard, at 0900 hours November 20th 1943.
WRNS First Officer Helen Stewart clapped her hands in victory as she received the confirmation cipher that the Raven was in the Tower. She keyed the predetermined return phrase to sign off, and then began the labourious process of logging and dispatching her first War Diary entry to her Commanding Officer Colonel Simon Stubberfield of F section.
Helen had been paired with her agent for two months previous as they learn each other's Morse code keying habits and develop the ear required to recognize the other's Morse voice. She only knew the woman she conversed with as Zandra, and the operational circuit code name would be Black Raven.
She settled into a routine of meticulous checks and counter checks as various milestones in the operation were completed. Radio contact was on prearranged days set during each transmission as well as emergency contact times if needed.
The danger of betrayal or capture loomed over every transmission and Helen regularly had nightmares involving the faceless woman who was risking so much. When she thought critically of the disruption to her sleep, she was rather grateful. It was dragging her out of the depressing numbness and grief she had felt after her fiancé Sean had been killed at El Alemain a year ago.
Late in January 1944 Colonel Stubberfield called Helen into a briefing. His office was surprisingly brighter than she had expected, but it still smelled of stale cigar smoke. The only thing missing from the tableau was a bottle of scotch and a stodgy Ministerial bureaucrat. He took her salute and directed her to have a seat.
"First Officer Stewart first let me congratulate you for your fine work in Operation Black Raven. Phase two will be beginning shortly with an intelligence misdirection regarding Pas de Calais. BBC is involved, as is Combined Operations. I can't tell you how critical it is that Black Raven be monitored closely for compromises. One whiff of irregularity and it will be out of our hands." Simon interlaced his fingers together.
"Helen, you are the most important link in going forward and I need to know you are up to the task. We are no longer in the early days. The deception must be complete."
Taken aback by Simon's candor, she wondered what was going on. "Yes sir, I see no problems on my end and to date I have had no indications to suspect the circuit is compromised. Am I to understand the field agents are not being forewarned of this operational status change sir?"
"That is correct." Helen shrunk. The implications were overwhelming and she couldn't afford to let her feelings show. "Thank you sir, I have every confidence."
She felt however like a pawn in a giant chess board with a twin soul matched in a ghost game, mirroring moves that brought them both closer to an abyss.
Nantes, France June 1st 1944
Dominic had secured an impressive network of saboteurs and the wireless transceiver operators Trisha had trained were well placed. Their operational orders had brought the two agents together only briefly, a few times in the last months. The irregular actions of Adonis's sabotage network and Zandra's communication network radio transmissions drew intensified scrutiny in the port and countryside around Nantes and the Loire Valley. Covert drops were becoming very difficult to schedule with more and more refugees in the countryside. The last received message was to prepare for a supply drop on the next new moon. Money, guns and explosives rained from the sky that night. Trisha risked attending the drop zone to acquire a replacement battery for her W/T set. Everyone knew something big was about to happen as German radio detection trucks swept the Nantes neighbourhoods with increasing frequency.
The patients to sit still and wait for the jaws of a lion to snap shut eluded Trisha. The hands of her watch had ground to a halt seeming to defy physics and caused a knot of anticipation in her stomach. The adrenaline rushing in her ears reminded her of the nights spent with Nikki nearing heaven's door then crashing over the edge like a water fall. She had read once Victoria Falls in Africa were the highest but she had no need to ever see them. She reluctantly banished the thoughts of Nikki to concentrate. At the designated time the wireless finally sprung to life in her head set, she felt every dash, every dot as her own heartbeat. Home Guard was there; her link to home, someone tangible and she could breathe. Nikki would forgive her just this once.
D-Day Operational Orders F: 80, Circuit: Black Raven, Operation: Ascension, Field Name: Adonis. Resist and harass the enemy with all haste and by all means. Primary objective: Nantes electrical pylons crossing the Loire River, Nantes-Clisson rail line, local telephone lines with the aim of interfering with enemy communications and movement. Secondary objective: Secure Nantes port from German sabotage.
Operation Ascension began five days later following the BBC broadcast launching Operation Overlord. In the days following the Normandy invasion Trisha's most dangerous work was making contact with the maquis using the letter drop boxes. Nerves frayed to the breaking point dogged her all day as she worked on the razor edge of her cover.
And not because of a betrayal, or at the lack of caution, Trish found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her last key strokes to Home Guard had been "leeks for dinner babes."
Operation Music Hall
By all accounts Operation Black Raven and Ascension had been overwhelming successes. Helen began worrying when Zandra's usual transmission of troop strengths and equipment movements was missed on the prearranged time. When the predetermined emergency transmissions went without acknowledgment her heart leapt into her throat and she knew Zandra was in trouble.
Colonel Stubberfield called an emergency section meeting to try and salvage the Black Raven circuit. MI5 had a seat at the table and were ready with a counter operation. Simon didn't want to lose control to MI5 so a cat and mouse bargaining began.
"Logically I put First Officer Stewart forward as the chief shore wireless operator for Operation Music Hall. If we are to pull off ruse transmissions they have to remain sounding authentic from our end. Just as Zandra had recognizable a key voice so does Home Guard."
Helen understood the mercenary nature of the intelligence community, but was unprepared for the callous abandonment of the person who was Zandra for the idea of Zandra. There was no talk of rescue, only abstractions and calculations and past tense. When the cyanide pill was mentioned Helen excused herself to the loo and vomited. For over ten months she had idealised Zandra as well, but now the ramifications hit her that the person whose real name she didn't even know, might already be dead or in extreme peril. If she had any part to play in saving the life of her agent she had to front up now. She slipped back into the briefing room.
"Sir, if I may. Operation Black Raven has value beyond a wireless double cross. It was widely known that a far-reaching search was on for 'the' Black Raven. If German Intelligence believes an agent by that name is still covert, they may just ignore W/T O Zandra and Adonis. I suggest the window to shift the Black Raven onto say; Paris, will close shortly. The deflection of man power might just buy our operatives more time." Helen steadied her voice. "Sir, brave and desperate men can cause the most acute embarrassment to the enemy it is our duty to provide them opportunity, a strategy."
Simon thanked Helen for her impassioned speech and dismissed her. She left the room seething at the condescension, seething because she was impotent to appeal further.
The gentleman from MI5 closed his file and queried Simon. "You're quite sure she doesn't know the true identity of Zandra?"
"Yes, Section Officer Harris was deemed qualified for the operation despite risks exposure of her societal name and position might pose. As a precaution her civilian identity was need to know only to minimise her exposure to unauthorized inquiries."
Enough time had elapsed for Simon to have developed a conscience over the proposed sacrifice. "Miss Harris is meritorious of our compassion."
At precisely 15:03 hours 20th June 1944 Helen began transmitting coded messages to The Black Raven. She felt like she was in a burning building. The corridors filled with heavy smoke and behind every door a face she didn't recognize. She couldn't save Zandra but the Black Raven might.
84 Avenue Foch, Paris France
'What can't be overcome must be endured.' Which stupid twatting twat said that? She couldn't remember. The beating she had received had been brutal. Her face was bruised, swollen and bloody, and she ached all over from the boot kicking they'd laid on her. Curled in a ball on her side made it easier to breathe and not vomit. Trisha let fog drift through her to cool the pain. Nikki? They were sixteen and on the West Pier in Brighton kissing and groping each other.
Her cell door smashed open and two guards grabbed her and dragged her to the second floor. She reeled from dizziness and pain when they threw her to the floor before a waiting Gestapo Officer. He greeted her standing beside a table of captured wireless transceivers.
"Good morning, mademoiselle, how are you?"
She guessed correctly this was shock and awe treatment, and along with the beating just the beginning of the torture.
"Monsieur je ne comprends pas d'anglais."
"Comme vous souhaitez. Écoutez s'il vous plaît." He adjusted the volume of the transceiver as a message tapped out.
"I'm sure you recognize this. Of course we don't have the key codes yet but that is only a matter of time. There is one thing you could assist me with before you are transferred to my colleagues at Fresnes."
"Where is the Black Raven?"
S'il vous plaît monsieur, je suis Zandra Plackett. Je ne parle pas l'anglais."
"Yes as I thought. Adieu mademoiselle Plackett. Adieu."
Trish was packed of in a private vehicle to a prison on the outskirts of Paris.
Fresnes Prison, Paris
The welcoming Trish received by Obersturmbannführer Fenner was amicable, at least as far as he was concerned. The British spy had so far not deviated from her story, and if she really was a French national he tortured to death, then it would be of no consequence any way.
Daily questioning and physical abuse by Fenner attempted to unmake Zandra. His goal was to force her from the haven of her identity and identify the criminal British spy Black Raven.
The pain in her head was excruciating. Her teeth no longer chattered, nor was she able to shiver. She was so cold that every muscle in her body was in a complete spasm. She couldn't speak if she'd wanted to. Only the fucking Gestapo would have twatting ice in the middle of fucking summer in Paris.
Fenner looked into the glassy glare. "Hey English bitch, where do you think you're drifting off to?"
My house in Greenwich with my looker of a girlfriend you sad fuck. The silent thought caused Trish to flush with warmth. Thinking of Nikki warmed her, revived her. Nikki loved her.
Fenner could see the change and dragged her naked body out of the ice filled tub. He left her laying on the stone floor stripped with only a thin wool blanket for cover. "You look ill mademoiselle; I think it is time for you to see the Doktor."
Trisha guessed it had been about three or four weeks since her capture and little had changed in Fenner's sadistic routine. Hypothermia to the point her heart spasmed, beatings, a sexual assault, all of it was nothing. Nothing until the day Hauptsturmführer Doktor Waugh arrived in her cell.
The official Gestapo record read: 10 July, 1944 Einwohner prisoner Zandra Plackett deceased during interrogation.
On that morning 10 July, 1944 two badly beaten Frenchmen were brought into the interrogation room and forced to their knees. There would have been three men, but the reception guards had gotten carried away. Fenner stood near them pacing, gloating and watching. Trisha's one previous dealing with Dr. Waugh had not been pleasant and the theatre macabre unfolding now bore ominously in her head. One of the witnesses was Dominic.
"Mademoiselle Plackett again, who is the Black Raven? Where are your code books? Who is your commanding officer?" Fenner paced closer.
"Allez enfer!"
Fenner nodded and Doktor Waugh injected the vein of her immobilised right arm.
"Oui, as you wish."
A chemical as cold and as sharp as glass slid through her veins, tearing a hideous primal scream from her lips. She hoped in this, what might be her last moment, to convey to Nikki how much she loved her.
"Tell her I love her."
"Not Anglais?" Fenner laughed. He knew she had not been as she claimed. In one stride he was towering over her chair, eying the blonde. "Lesbiche! I should have known. You whore." With a practiced reflex he jammed his dress dagger in her neck and twisted. Her blood sprayed his hand and soaked into the fabric of his black uniform.