I am uploading this story with a degree of trepidation as I know that stories set in a different era are not everyone's 'cup of tea'. I started writing this story for someone who hadn't watched 'Our Girl'. The reason they hadn't watched it was because they thought they wouldn't enjoy the contemporary feel and setting in Afghanistan. However, I thought that 'Our Girl' was such a great story with great characters and an appealing love story that it could be translated into another era allowing for certain changes that have to be made to make the story credible when set in another time. If you don't like this story, I will not be offended and I thank you for taking the time to read it. If you do like it, I would be happy to continue. I'll leave the judgment to you.

Molly Dawes gazed at the Lancaster bomber before her and not for the first time, marvelled at the sight. With a wing span of almost one hundred feet, four Rolls Royce Merlin engines, a top speed of two hundred and eighty seven miles per hour and the ability to carry a bomb load of up to fourteen thousand pounds, it was a formidable weapon. She loved this aeroplane and would have given anything for a chance to actually experience a flight. Seeing it here directly in front of her on the hard standing of the aerodrome and knowing that this was going to be her aeroplane and it would be her responsibility to keep it flying, filled her with a combination of excitement and apprehension. She had been waiting for this moment since she had first joined the WAAF but now that it had arrived the responsibility of the job she had assumed became apparent to her. Real lives would depend on her doing her job properly; this wasn't training anymore. It was war.

When Sergeant Walters at the training depot had called her over to speak to him two days ago and informed her that she was being posted to RAF Milton, an operational bomber station, to join a flight maintenance crew, she had been overjoyed. She had taken to the flight mechanic training like a duck to water. She had a great natural grasp for technical details and a flair and enthusiasm for the work and it had been noticed. When the request for a replacement had arrived, Aircraftwoman Dawes' name had been top of the list.

Other WAAF's on the eighteen week training course had been less than enthusiastic. Most had not volunteered for this job. Some had joined up on the promise of becoming drivers or doing clerical work once basic training was completed, only to be sorely disappointed when they discovered there were no vacancies for these jobs and what the service really needed was mechanics. Many had joined up because they liked the uniform or thought the RAF had an air of glamour that the other branches of the services lacked. Molly was the lucky one. She had known from the start that this was where her heart lay. Not only had she always dreamed of flying, she had always loved engines.

It had started quite simply with bicycles when she was a little girl. She had been fascinated at the way the pedals worked in conjunction with the chain to drive the wheels forward. Then she had moved onto motorbikes, striking up conversation with the grocer's son and spending hours sitting alongside him on the pavement kerb as he maintained and tinkered with the engine of his motorcycle, trying to extract just a few more miles per hour from it. Finally, as a teenager she had found herself hanging around Mr Shawcross' garage asking if she could help him with small jobs. It had amused him to see a young girl so interested in something unusual for her sex and he'd taken time to explain to her the inner workings of the car engine. Whenever Molly's mum needed to find her she only had to make her way to the Garage at the end of the street and Molly would surely be there.

"What d'you want to mess about with those dirty engines for, Molly?" She admonished her looking at her oily, grime encrusted fingers.

Molly shrugged, "It's just really interesting, mum. I'd love to work with cars!"

Her mother had sighed, this old chestnut again! She couldn't seem to get Molly interested in doing anything else.

"Well, nobody ever heard of a girl being a car mechanic, so you'd better buck your ideas up and find yourself a decent job. You know things haven't been the same since your Dad had his accident."

Molly certainly knew that her Dad, Dave, said he was too unwell to go back to work after his accident on the building site two years ago and certainly too unfit to join the Home Guard or ARP, although he still seemed able to make it down to the Earl of Wakefield for a pint or three on a regular basis. The family got by on the small amount of sick pay Dave received from the union, the little that was spared after beer money, the pittance her mother earned from taking in washing and the infrequent money that Molly earned from a series of casual jobs that she was forever having to do in order to help out. Having left school at fourteen with no qualifications, finding regular work had been a continual problem and most of the jobs she had undertaken had been mundane and poorly paid. At nineteen years of age and the eldest of five children she was the only one at home with her parents as her younger siblings had all been evacuated to the West Country in 1940. Molly knew she had to help contribute to the family but she also knew that she would be called up for National Service any day now and in spite of wanting to help her mum, was determined to take this opportunity to achieve her dreams. As soon as she was able, she volunteered for the WAAF and asked if she could train as a flight mechanic. Her mother was distraught to see her leave but Molly had promised to send money home on a regular basis and at least as a flight mechanic in a Grade Two trade she earned two shilling's pay per day.

Now standing here in the Spring of 1943 looking at the aeroplane in front of her, Molly felt as if she had finally achieved her goal.

"What are you gawping at?"

She spun around to see a short, stocky, dark haired corporal dressed in mechanic's overalls striding from the direction of the hangar towards her.

"Excuse me, Corporal, I'm Aircraftwoman Dawes. I was told to report to Corporal Barker."

He stood in front of her and looked her up and down taking in all five feet three of her, dark hair scraped up under her cap, overalls seemingly two sizes too big and her large, green eyes regarding him anxiously.

"Where do they get them from?" He muttered to himself under his breath.

Molly, taken aback by this welcome, retorted,

"I'm a good Mechanic, Corporal!"

He regarded her with a hint of annoyance at this unexpected reply,

"I'll be the judge of that! Let's hope you don't end up like the last one!"

Two hours later, having been given every mundane and painstaking job that seemed to have as little to do with engine maintenance as was possible, Molly was beginning to wonder if she had upset the Corporal. She had been expecting to do the job she had been trained for and not the mind numbing set of tasks she had been given. She was startled from her thoughts by the sound of a truck approaching and then pulling up next to the aeroplane only ten yards away from her. She looked up to see a group of men in flying jackets getting out of the back. One of them, a tall, good-looking, dark-haired man in his late twenties, clearly from his uniform and peaked cap, the officer, approached the Corporal to discuss the maintenance work that had been going on with his number two engine whilst the crew hung around near the truck. Having finished his conversation he turned back to his men and called out to the group who were laughing, joking and generally fooling around,

"How long can it take you bunch of school boys to get yourself sorted out?"

Molly couldn't help herself. She wanted to laugh but her attempt to stifle the sound only produced something between a snort and a giggle which drew the attention of the officer. He turned around to look at her and she felt the weight of his stare. He regarded her sternly.

"Something funny, Aircraftwoman…..?"

"Dawes." She supplied.

"Something funny, Dawes?" He repeated

Molly couldn't help herself, in spite of his obvious antipathy to her.

"School boys, Sir!"

"Why do you think I called them school boys, Dawes?"

Molly looked at the group, all fresh –faced, new recruits, keen, eager and as yet untested.

"They look young, Sir?"

He smiled cynically at her.

"Yes, you're right, they are young but this is most definitely a man's job!"

The tone of his reply was not lost on Molly and he gave her a withering look as if he had little faith in her ability. She felt very small and most definitely put in her place. A little part of her, the cheeky, irrepressible cockney, the reason she had laughed in the first place, also felt annoyed. She had trained to do this job alongside men and she knew she was just as good as the other male trainees and in many cases better. In her heart she wanted to say something to the arrogant officer, put him in his place and tell him that he was underestimating her. The Molly of her earliest days on basic training probably would have spoken out and dropped herself into hot water as a result. However, now, many months later with the benefit of experience, her head very quickly told her that as a mere Aircraftwoman, the lowest rank in the service, she must bite her tongue and let the comments pass however much she disliked them.

The Officer turned back to his men and they began to climb into the Lancaster. After a short while she heard the engines roar as into life and watched the plane taxi away from the hard stand making its way to the runway. It took off, soaring into the sky unhindered by the weight of a bomb load on this occasion. She watched it disappear into the distance on a training and test flight and it was gone for an hour and a half.

Corporal Barker allowed Molly to go to the Mess for a cup of tea and a sandwich whilst the aeroplane was out. When it returned there was more work to be done. The crew disembarked and the officer, who seemed to be in a better mood after the flight, strode off to speak to the Corporal again.

Molly was watching some of the crew chatting when she was surprised by the sound of a welsh accent behind her,

"Well, if it isn't, Molly Dawes. As I recall, we met around the back of the Dance Hall, one time."

She hastily turned around and looked at the red-headed young man behind her who was dressed in flight crew attire. They had met before.

"Gawd!" she said, astonished, "What are you doing here?"

"I could say the same!" He replied with a cheeky grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

Molly recalled with embarrassment that she had once shared an ill-advised kiss and cuddle with this young man after a dance at the training depot during the early part of her training course. No doubt it had been fuelled by the consumption of a couple of gins he had bought her earlier in the evening that she wasn't used to drinking.

"I bet you don't remember my name?" He teased

"I do actually, its Smithy!" She retorted wishing he wasn't here but trying to maintain an air of dignity. Sergeant Dylan Smith. She remembered thinking that Dylan was a lovely name at the time but now she found herself cringing with embarrassment at the thought.

"Well, we were bound to meet up again at some point," he continued, "That's the RAF for you."

"What are you doing here?" She asked him.

"I'm the Flight Engineer on C for Charlie." He nodded in the direction of the officer who had reprimanded Molly. "Flight Lieutenant James is our Captain and these," he turned and pointed out the other young men behind her, "Are the rest of my crew. Perhaps I should introduce you as we know each other already."

Molly looked at him in horror and lowered her voice.

"Please, don't say anything about before, will you?"

Smithy meant to get the as much enjoyment out of her discomfort as possible.

"We're a close knit crew. We work as a team up there, I don't know if it would be a good for morale to keep information from them." He regarded her with a serious look.

"But…..what about first impressions. I don't want them to get the wrong idea." She stammered.

"Come on." He grasped her by the elbow and led her over to his fellow crew members.

"Listen up, chaps, I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine, Aircraftwoman Molly Dawes. We met when I was on the flight engineer course. It's a small world."

He introduced her to Sergeants Archie Kinders, Maurice Berry and Ray Fingerson, the Navigator, Bomb Aimer, and Wireless Operator on C for Charlie and the mid and rear air gunners, Corporals John Nuttall and Mike Mansfield. After they'd all greeted her, Smithy turned to her and said,

"Alright, now?" She saw the cheeky smirk on his face. He had enjoyed her moment of embarrassment and she was irritated by it.

"I knew I should never have danced with a Taffy!" she hissed at him out of earshot of the others and to her annoyance she saw him laugh.

Flight Lieutenant James, having finished his conversation with Corporal Barker, walked back to the truck, got into the cab and sat alongside the driver for the return trip to the Mess. Corporal Barker, his clip board in hand, marched over to Molly who was now fully expecting to be given a list of some basic maintenance checks on the engines.

"Dawes, I need you to get over to the stores and fetch some replacement wire and coils."

Molly sighed, she had been told that the stores were on the opposite side of the aerodrome and she'd only just returned from the mess after her break. She hadn't got a bicycle yet and that seemed to be an essential item on a station of this size. At this rate, she reflected, she would be spending most of her time walking around the aerodrome rather doing her job. Smithy was still standing nearby and waiting to get back into the truck. Overhearing the conversation he said,

"Jump in the back, we're going your way. It'll save you half the journey."

Molly was in two minds, she didn't know whether she wanted to spend more time in Smithy's company but the thought of walking another half a mile, there and back, persuaded her. Smithy gave her a hand up into the truck and with the tailgate pulled up they banged on the cab and the driver moved off.

Sitting in the back of the truck watching their eager faces, hearing the jokes, the banter and leg-pulling Molly began to like them all. They talked about their plans for their first operation which they were sure would be happening any day soon, now that their Captain seemed to be happy with the way their training flights were progressing. Molly could see that beneath the bravado they were a group of young men, not long out of school or apprenticeships that were just as keen to get on with their jobs and prove themselves as she was.

The truck pulled up five minutes later with a squeal of brakes outside the Mess which was situated in the main part of the aerodrome in which all the flight crew accommodation, officer and other ranks messes, administration block, operations rooms and the air control tower were located.

Molly was being helped down by Smithy when Flight Lieutenant James rounded the end of the truck and seemed taken aback by the sight.

"What are you doing in that truck, Dawes?" He sounded annoyed.

Molly hadn't realised that James was unaware of her being in the vehicle.

"On my way to the Stores, Sir. The boys offered me a lift."

He looked at her for a full ten seconds, clearly not amused by what he had seen.

"This truck is for crew only! Are you crew, Dawes?"

"No, Sir!" Molly felt about the size of an ant whenever he spoke to her in that tone of voice.

"Don't do it again. Off you go!" He nodded his head in the direction of the buildings but Molly hesitated. It was only her second day on the station and she didn't know where the stores were.

"What are you waiting for?" He asked, his forehead creased in a frown and a note of exasperation in his voice.

"I….don't know where they are, Sir." She replied.

He sighed.

"Smithy, show Dawes where the stores are." With that he turned on his heel and strode off in the opposite direction.

Smithy politely indicated in which direction to turn and Molly started to follow him.

"What is his problem?" She spoke at last, venting her annoyance.

"Oh, dear are you worried that the Captain doesn't like you?" Smithy laughed.

"No!" She retorted, "Why would I want a rude, toffee-nosed officer like that to like me?"

She was not prepared for the response from Smithy who stopped walking and turning to face her said with feeling,

"He's a better person than you'll ever be!"

"What?" Molly was nonplussed.

"Find the stores yourself!" Smithy, clearly offended, turned around and stomped off without another word.

Molly stood open-mouthed in shocked surprise at what had just occurred. She couldn't imagine why Smithy had just reacted in such a way. Unfamiliar with the layout of the station she was unsure what to do next. Thankfully, at that moment she caught sight of one person she had already met, a fellow flight mechanic called Jackie Lewis who was coming around the corner of the Admin block. They had been introduced the night before when Molly had settled into her quarters and she had found Jackie to be a friendly girl.

Jackie smiled at her,

"Are you lost, Molly?"

Molly looked gratefully at her, "Yes, I was on my way to the stores but I seem to have upset the person who was showing me."

Jackie glanced beyond Molly to see Smithy disappearing into the distance.

"Oh, don't worry about Smithy." She said reassuringly.

"Do you know him, then?" Molly asked.

"Yes and I knew his brother, Geraint. Flight Lieutenant James was his Captain too."

Molly was surprised by the news but caught the meaning of Jackie's words.

"Was?"

Jackie gave a sad smile, "He died. Got badly shot up on a raid over Bremen. Flight Lieutenant James was near the end of his first tour then. He managed to get the ship back here even though it was only on two engines, the landing gear was out of action and there was great, gaping hole in the fuselage. He used up as much of the fuel as he could and got the rest of the crew to bale out before he brought the ship in and did a belly landing on the runway. He got her down all right and even went back in to drag Geraint out of the wreckage 'cos the number one engine was in flames. He did all that but Geraint still died."

Molly listened in silence, surprised and awed in equal turn.

"He's a good Captain, Molly. He's volunteered for a third tour and no one does that. Almost all the crew are new but I bet he'd do the same for any of them again. You won't hear a word said against him at this station."

Molly realised now why Smithy had been so offended by her words. Even so, she was still finding it hard to reconcile the image that Jackie had painted of Flight Lieutenant James with the reality she had experienced. He had been stern, arrogant and dismissive of her without really giving her a chance. It hadn't been a good start to the first day in her new posting.