SUMMER, 1943
ENGLAND
WORLD WAR II
RAF Lieutenant Colonel Alan McDonough walked across the quiet base and air field of Brackley Landing Ground. He was the commanding officer of the base used by the Royal Air Force for storage and transport of aircraft. The war in Great Britain had taken its toll on the residents. There were shortages everywhere, including capable pilots. RAF Croughton was home to one of the several women's auxiliary units utilized by the Royal Air Force to take up the slack. These female pilots were used to fly supplies, shuttle other aircraft and transport personnel. They were all housed in one barracks. The other barracks housed the male pilots. And, mercifully, there was no fraternization between the two groups…they truly seemed focused on the war effort and not each other.
From the women's housing, he watched as one of his pilots, Flight Lieutenant Shady Powell, exited and began running laps around the building. McDonough shook his head and smiled. England would have the Germans quivering in their boots if he had a few more like that one. When war broke out in Europe, the Americans were still at peace. Just like many U.S. men who crossed the pond to join the fighting, women did, too. And, good flyers like Shady Powell were welcomed with open arms to the RAF's Women's Auxiliary Units. In addition to being good in the air, she had a quick wit and a mischievous sense of humor. She kept all the pilots sharp.
McDonough entered his headquarters, greeted the Corporal who served as his adjutant and opened the door to his office only to be brought up short by the presence of another man. He glared over his shoulder at the younger man who seemed just as surprised to see the other room occupied. The stranger spoke, "Don't blame him, Colonel. He wasn't at his desk when I got here so I just made myself at home. Hope you don't mind."
"No, Colonel," McDonough answered, his Scots brogue evident, "I don't mind at all." The Lieutenant Colonel closed the door and took a seat behind his desk. Good thing he had stopped by the Mess and got coffee before coming here. "How may I help you, Sir?"
"Just call me Tool," he replied as he took the seat across from the desk, "everyone does." As the Lieutenant Colonel smiled his thanks, Colonel Tool continued, "I'm looking for an American pilot, Shady Powell. I was told she was stationed here."
"She is," McDonough confirmed.
"Is it possible you can get her, Colonel?"
"Are you going to tell me why?"
"If you'll get her started this way," Tool bargained, "I'll fill you in. I promise, Colonel, I won't let you be caught flat-footed."
McDonough wasn't sure he trusted the American but Powell was under his command; therefore, his responsibility. He'd need to see this through. He ordered the young Corporal to get his pilot and Tool gave him the story.
Shady Powell was just making her way to the flight line. Warrant Officer Shane Loomis, a big, brawny Irishman, was about to begin duty assignments when the corporal appeared at his side and whispered excitedly. Loomis glared at the young man and then at the officer in question. "Powell!"
"Sir," Shady responded smartly, at attention.
"Lieutenant Colonel McDonough's office. Double time it," he ordered.
Shady broke her stance and looked at the line officer, "What have I supposedly done now?"
The others in the line snickered. Powell was brazen and fun-loving; a little loose by the more uptight British standards. She had been called to the C.O.'s office on multiple occasions for her activities. Loomis replied, "If I knew that, you wouldn't be needed in the Colonel's office now, would you?" And he jerked his head towards the general direction she was to go, dismissing the pilot.
Shady didn't drag her heels. She made her way quickly to the C.O. and entered without being announced. However, she nearly tripped on her own two feet as she recognized the large American officer looming in the corner. Gaining her composure, she snapped to attention, "Lieutenant Powell reporting as ordered, sir."
"As you were, Lieutenant," McDonough pronounced the rank, lef-tenant, as was more common in the U.K. "Take a seat."
Shady glanced again toward the other man and answered, "With all due respect, Sir, I think I'd prefer to stand."
McDonough was obviously not pleased with her answer but didn't correct her. Instead, he responded, "This is United States Army Air Force Colonel Tool."
She nodded, "Yes, Sir, we've met. Colonel Tool is an old family friend."
"I think it would be better if you sat, Shady," Tool finally spoke.
She swallowed, "Just do what you came here to do." She added as an afterthought, "Sir."
"Lieutenant," McDonough cautioned.
But Tool interrupted him, "No, Colonel, it's alright." He looked from the RAF officer to the young woman, "Fine. There's no easy way to say this. Your father was shot down flying a mission three days ago. While his body has not been recovered, the wreckage of his plane was sited. He is presumed dead."
Shady locked gazes with Tool, "Presumed dead? His wingman couldn't confirm?"
"His wingman couldn't follow him down. He and the other team with them were taking heavy enemy fire…"
"What do you mean he didn't follow him down," Shady took an aggressive step toward the Colonel, all proper military protocol forgotten, "As a wingman, that's his job."
"He knew his job, Shady. Your father ordered him off," Tool countered back.
"Where were they?"
He shook his head, "That's classified, Lieutenant."
Shady spoke the Colonel's name but her commanding officer called her down, "Lieutenant Powell, that's enough."
She looked straight ahead, swallowing back anything else she might have said and nodded her response, "Yes, sir, Colonel McDonough."
"It'll take a few months, Shady, but you'll be entitled to his benefits," Tool added, almost apologetically.
"Of course, you'll want to return stateside to be with the rest of your family; make arrangements," Lieutenant Colonel McDonough said, pulling papers from his desk to write-up orders.
Shady shook her head, "Thank you, Colonel McDonough, sir, that won't be necessary. There isn't anyone else. My mother died when I was a teenager. My father is the only family I have." She corrected herself, "Had."
McDonough looked up at his pilot. She warred with herself. He could see it, "Fine. Take a few days."
She looked up towards the ceiling and then closed her eyes as she answered, "Again, sir, that won't be necessary." She then opened her eyes and looked directly into the base commander's face, "I'm past due on the flight line, Colonel. Warrant Officer Loomis will have my ass if I don't get back. With your permission, Sir…"
"I'm afraid not, Lieutenant. I've got no choice but to ground you until further notice," the Lieutenant Colonel responded.
Shady's face was stricken, "Sir, please?"
"No discussion, Powell. I can't put you in the air like this. Take some time. It's a significant loss and you'll need to come to terms with it." When she didn't respond but continued to stare straight ahead, focused somewhere on a spot on his back wall, her commanding officer finally responded, "Fine, Lieutenant, you're dismissed." McDonough's tone left no room for interpretation.
Again, Shady swallowed but nodded her acceptance and answered, "Of course, sir, I understand." Powell turned towards the American, "Thank you, Colonel Tool, for taking the time to tell me personally. I appreciate the courtesy." She saluted both men, made a sharp turn on her heel and left the C.O.'s office. She didn't start to run until she was on the other side of the flight line and then it was all out until she got to the far end of the runway. From there, she turned around and jogged back, finally ending up in the repair hangar. The mechanics didn't take much notice. Powell was a regular fixture in their area when she wasn't in the air. She leaned against the far wall, sliding down to a sitting position on the floor. There, she mourned for her father.
