Chapter 31: Bermudan Nights 10th July 1940
Days went by quickly in Bermuda. Far too quickly for some, and not quick enough for others. The sunshine and good weather lifted the spirits of the men, who would have no doubt fell into the bleak outlook that their fellow countrymen and women were experiencing. The practice in mock combat scenarios at sea was especially good for the morale, heightening not only the camaraderie between the airmen, but also with the Navy crews that they shared the Illustrious with. Working together to tackle the situations thrown at them helped airmen and sailors understand each other alike, respect increasing by the day. The airmen respected what they sailors did for the ship to keep it afloat, as well as their help with the take offs and in turn, the sailors respected the skill and fortitude that the men of the sky would show even in training.
The sunshine did sometimes evaporate to darkness though, but not when it came to the weather. Two days after the training accident, a small funeral was held for the two men that lost their lives when the Skua plunged into the sea. Some of those closest to them shed a tear without judgement from their superiors, understanding the need to loosen their emotions. For many men, it was the first time they'd seen a friend or colleague die on duty and like every first time for any scenario in life, it was unsure and unsettling. James allowed Lieutenant Commander Evans to conduct the eulogy on the flight deck of the Illustrious, whilst the coffins were lowered into the water. There were no bodies in them, but as a sign of respect, they were buried at sea with flags adorning their empty wooden tombs.
Being ahead of schedule after ten solid days of training, despite the incident, James was inclined to reward the discipline his men had shown him. Coinciding with Captain Boyd wishing to conduct training of his crew without the airmen aboard the ship, the Lieutenant Commander decided that a day of rest and relaxation for his men were in order. Days like that would be hard to come by once they were deployed into the Med, where the constant threat of enemy activity would require them to be ready at all times. Another boost for the morale too would be in order, as the men could clear their heads ready for another few day's training before their trip to the new waters of the Med. For James, it gave himself a chance to not have to think about the plans for the day ahead of him, considering who needed to be where and when. Though the men still remained his concern, and he was still responsible for their behaviour, he would not have to watch them so closely.
A kind gesture from their Commander in their eyes, the men were elated that morning as they returned to Port in Bermuda, spending their day away from the Illustrious and on the mainland. She would be heading back out to sea with Captain Boyd's own plan for his men's training setting into motion the moment they were out of the harbour. The group of around one hundred or so men stood around the harbour watching her go, happy for the time off duty yet unsure what to do with it. As they always did, their heads turned to the commanding officer, who quickly spotted something in the distance which immediately allowed him to come to a decision. Another way to heighten the morale, he knew it would certainly go down well with some of his fellow officers and the competition he was going to establish would do well for them all.
Keeping things strictly British, he decided that they would hold a game of cricket. Seeing the luscious grass in the distance, a large open field lay abandoned, screaming at him to use it for the sport. There was some scepticism from the men until he told them that it would be a game that would pit the serving men of the squadron against the officers. Being handed a chance to get one over on their commanders, the men were no longer as unenthusiastic as they were when he'd first mentioned it, cheering upon being told they could take on the officers. His fellow officers were not so amused, worried that the men might be able to beat them, which some of them feared would undermine their authority. James did not care though; they were simply going to enjoy a game of cricket.
The men all gathered together, quickly assessing the cricketing experience they held between them. There were some who'd never played before, and some who knew the rules but did not care for the game, though they could still field a team of interested players with a few men spare. The officers all had to throw themselves into the mix, James captaining their side whilst one of the Sergeants captained the men's team. A crowd began to gather around the men that included the locals and some of the marines that served as the military presence on the island outside of the naval base. A neutral umpire was appointed, a local barman, who enthusiastically welcomed the airmen to the island. He was delighted by their presence as well as their wish to have a game of cricket on the open field next to his bar as it was favourite sport. And the business would be good.
Winning the toss of a coin, the men elected to take to the bat first, leaving the partially fearful officers to take to the field. James was a poor bowler by self-admission, so he left the bowling to Evans, Lamb and one of the other Lieutenant's, Blake, as they were the best three that the commissioned men could muster. None of them were particularly good bowlers it turned out, except Evans, who was the only one to take any wickets. In the hastily invented rules for the friendly competition, there were to be two equal sessions. The first would be three hours, between half past nine and half past twelve, the men batting ahead of an hour's lunch. Once lunch was finished, the officers would take up the bat at half past one until half past four. Whichever side finished with the most runs and least wickets taken in that time, were the winners.
Making most of the below average bowling, in the three hours before lunchtime, the men were able to build a substantial total. The only saving grace for the officers was the quality of the fielding, with James taking a couple of catches that stopped it becoming embarrassing. Two of the men were particularly good batsmen, taking the Lieutenant Commander's strong grip on both of their strikes to stop the score from increasing. By the time that the true heat of the day hit around the middle of it, the men had managed to build up an impressive two hundred and five runs, conceding just the six wickets in that time. Lunch was well deserved for all concerned, and during it, James felt his decision was vindicated. Sat together in the unrelenting sun in the middle of the Atlantic, he and his men were bonding over a simple game such as cricket. The morale was sky high, especially when it was let slip that one or two of the officers were quaking in their boots. When some of them hadn't played the game before, seeing how well the men were able to put runs into them, genuinely scared them.
The game was not all that it was chalked up to be for some of them. The men who were not playing, were either stood close by taking an active interest or were stood back towards the bar, trying to think of other things. Some who were watching were equally confused, one more so than many.
As Lieutenant's Barnes and Lamb took to the crease to open the batting for the officers as play resumed, David stood to the right of the Lieutenant Commander, venting his frustrations about a day that he thought was being wasted.
"I don't understand why you English fella's enjoy this…". He huffed. "… I just… I don't see the feckin' point of any of it".
James could not hold back the grin that appeared across his face. He did not want to be too smug with David, but it was hard not to be. He knew that his best friend would not be so amused about having to be involved in the game, being more of a football minded man than anything. Cricket was still played in Ireland, but it was not quite as revered as it was across the other side of the sea. It certainly wasn't a major sport in Derry, with nobody ever playing cricket on either bank of the Foyle.
"What is it that you do not understand David?" James asked cheerfully.
"How… how can ye like this shite?"
Chuckling, the Englishman could see the Irishman's point coming from a mile off. With the sedate nature of the game, there was no room for a natural rhythm which would make most sports entertaining. Unlike football, where there was constant back and forth with very few chances to take one's eyes off what was going on, cricket could be played in relaxation.
"It is very relaxing, do you not think?" He asked his friend.
"Relaxing!?" David scoffed loudly. "James, if I was sat down I'd be asleep and to be quite honest, I'm havin' a hard time staying on my feet stood up without droppin' off, so I am!".
"You should have joined in…". James told him sincerely. "… I think you would have really enjoyed yourself out there, getting a chance to bat".
"I'd rather get eaten by the feckin' sharks".
As David was being melodramatic, James decided to cease any further attempts to convince him of the game's merits. Becoming clear that the Irishman was unmoved on the subject, he opted to watch the play instead. Lamb started strongly, hitting a couple of fours as well as a whole host of threes. The officers who were more nervous, and therefore further down the batting order, were reassured by the good start. They would need all the belief that they could get to be sure of victory against the enlisted men that were against them. Clapping loudly, James tried to spur his team on. It seemed that the men could not field any decent bowlers, running into the same problem the officers had earlier in the day.
"How did ye get into cricket anyway?"
Getting into cricket was not very difficult at all for James. Being of a certain wealth, a wealth that went beyond anything he knew or could imagine, it allowed him to mix in certain circles. Kathy never really let on why he did not go to a private school yet was allowed to play cricket with the boys who did. They were not his friends, finding many of them having far too high an opinion of themselves, no doubt due to their upbringings. Whilst his own was one which was by no means uncomfortable, he did not have a title next to his name or vast acres of land to show off. Cricket was the only bridge between him and that world.
"My mother started letting me play when I was younger…". He explained to an intrigued David. "… I have not known a time where during the summer, I would not play cricket".
"Did ye Ma used to play with ye?" David enquired.
"No… not at all. I think she would have been too afraid to damage her nails when fielding to make her any use at cricket".
Kathy was not one for getting her nails broken on a cricket ball, James was certain of that. She didn't ever mind getting her hands dirty but playing cricket with him was a step too far. It was also not a sport for a woman according to many men, which prevented her from doing so in a formal setting such as where she would take him to play.
"I would say that I have always enjoyed playing the game and have plenty of practice at it".
"Christ… ye sound sentimental!" David snorted.
"Sentimental? No, I would say just a little fond. There are far more important things in life to be sentimental over than cricket, David".
Leading Airman Donnelly firmly agreed, but for some bizarre reason, he decided to watch anyway. Barnes was at the crease, receiving a spinning ball that he defensively hit for a single run. It was clear that he was nowhere near as good as Lamb was with the bat, though he was doing enough not to embarrass himself. The crowd was beginning to swell in numbers, the locals becoming highly entertained by the airmen's friendly, though competitive match. Women brought their children along to watch them too, with the men receiving a reminder from James to ensure that their language was kept clean when shouting to their teammates.
"Why don't ye all just tackle the batsman while he's stood there. Sure, he'd never get a hit if ye could throw him to the ground".
An eyebrow was raised rather theatrically from the Englishman. Cricket was not a contact sport in that regard, the only contact required being from bat to ball. Although it would be highly amusing to watch a batsman being tackled through the stumps by a charging fielder, it really did not fit with the nature of the game. Unfortunately, that interpretation was not shared by David, who was still finding the proceedings very boring to say the least. However, James would not judge him too harshly as exposure to a very different sport than the Irishman was used to, was always going to cause some initial friction.
"Cricket is a sport for gentlemen, David. There is no need for diving into batsmen or performing risky tackles on the bowler".
"There should be…". David mumbled in reply.
"Honestly!" James moaned. "Does a sport need to have vast amounts of contact and foul language for you to retain an interest?"
Looking at his best friend, David was trying to work out if he was joking or not. Of course it did! There was no fun in a sport where a field full of men would stand around watching the actions of two and, when required, the umpire. Sport was meant to be exhilarating and memorable in David's eyes; nothing was memorable about what he was seeing on the big open field in Bermuda.
"Ye played a lot then?"
Continuing to question his friend, David decided to see just how good James was. He'd seen the results when James turned his hand to nearly anything, with only his attempts to be discreet in the early stages of his relationship with Erin being total failures. Skills did not come so easily to him as they did James, David having to work a lot harder whereas everything came naturally for the Englishman. The brilliant thing about having a friend such as James who could hold those abilities, was that he remained modest about them.
"I did. I used to enjoy batting, although I think that is because the wicketkeeper was quite awful at his job, so I never feared him catching me out".
"Sounds like he was proper shite, aye". David whispered, keeping his voice down so that the children couldn't hear him.
"He was. His family have been participants of the game for years. His father kept wicket for the Croydon gentlemen until he was killed in the Great War. It was always highly amusing as well because the family name was Darling".
The two's eruption of laughter came within seconds, though it was quickly drowned out by events on the field. Receiving the ball at an even higher speed than the previous one, Lieutenant Barnes couldn't quite react in time. An appeal immediately went up from the bowler that it was a classic case of leg before wicket and the umpire decided that it was indeed the case. Having made a poor seven runs, Barnes was dismissed. The next man up to the crease was the Lieutenant Commander himself, who smiled as he realised it was his turn. The men were not smiling though. They'd seen him at the controls of an aircraft, terrifying them with his capability. If he could perform like that with an aircraft, then what could he do with a cricket bat?...
Barnes trudged off, though James was not quite ready to come on to replace him. The heat, having built up tremendously during the day, was going to be a problem for the commanding officer, so he decided to make it less of a problem by removing his shirt. It would be a risk to do so, as the ball hitting him could really do damage if it caught him in the wrong place but leaving his uniform sweaty would be a poor example for the men.
"I knew ye were goin' to do that". David grumbled.
David might have been grumbling. The single local women in the crowd were not. A few of the men that were fielding were shirtless like he was, but they did not draw the attentions of the Bermudan women who were all fawning immediately over the young Lieutenant Commander. His chest, which would have had 'Property of Erin Quinn' written on it if he'd allowed her to when she'd absolutely seriously suggested it, was like a magnet for female eyes. Even some of the men in the crowd were looking at him, mainly to realise that they were no match for the well-toned officer. Having made the effort to sweep his hair back that morning, just the way Erin liked it, his handsome features left the women practically salivating in the heat. Some of his own men were even jealous, not quite realising how much of a peak physical specimen their Lieutenant Commander was.
"Such a feckin' show off…". David grumbled for a second time.
"Does he always do that?" The recovering Barnes enquired from next to him.
"Take his shirt off in front of a crowd? No. But play on the fact that half the women in the feckin' world want to have him for themselves and he knows it… aye, he likes to cause a scene. Won't admit it thought, the stubborn bastard…".
"He is your commanding officer, Mr Donnelly". Barnes reminded him with a laugh.
"With respect, Sir, he's my eejit to look after, so I'll say what I want".
The Lieutenant could not disagree with him, patting him on the back. David thought of what Erin would do if she found out that her fella was flaunting his perfect body so nonchalantly in front of the women of Bermuda. James wasn't doing it to try to attract them for anything untoward, of course, but attracting attention was what he was doing. The blonde would have no doubt forced him to put the uniform back on in a fit of rage, shouting at him when they were alone to remind him that only she was allowed to see what was underneath. Despite not being an only child, Erin was not one for sharing, holding jealous tendencies that near enough anyone in Derry, from the lowliest of homes to the likes of the Kavanagh's, could see. It was a good job that she was back home and not out there in Bermuda with them…
Whilst the women continued to lose their minds over the bare-chested Englishman, the bowler readied his arm to see if James was all style and no substance. Having seen to Barnes, rumbling him when he realised that the Lieutenant was nowhere near the cricketer that Lamb was, he hoped to do the same to James. The men were determined to win the game, so he was not going to receive an easy start to allow himself to be acclimatised to the conditions that they were playing in. The bowler also happened to be one of the men who's strikes he'd caught during the morning's session, so there was an element of revenge involved too.
From the second the ball left the bowler's hand, everyone around the field including the man who'd released the ball, could see the determination on the young officer's face. The men who thought he would be an excellent cricketer could already tell that they were about to be proven right before he'd made contact with the ball. As soon as he did, the spectators could have been mistaken for thinking he'd fired a missile over the heads of those directly in front of him. Hit with such power, it soared well over David and Lieutenant Barnes, who both ducked out of fear of being struck by it anyway. The fielder's mouths were open as none of them would have stood a chance of catching the ball, even if they'd tried. It would have broken their hands if they'd even made an attempt.
"Six!" The umpire enthusiastically declared.
David tilted his head to look at Lieutenant Barnes, who was in equal to disbelief to the enlisted men around the field. He was about the only man whose mouth remained in place, because he was not going to allow himself to be surprised. It was just so James to prove his superiority to all of them in such a modest, humble backdrop like the cricket pitch. Constantly proving to everyone that he was a perfect gentleman, friend, lover, officer and now sportsman, there was little that he could do that would catch David off guard.
"Get ready Lieutenant…". He huffed out affectionately. "… the show is about to begin".
The show indeed did. If the morning session and the moment until Barnes was dismissed was a cricket match, the rest of the afternoon was like watching a machine gun being used on men lined up against a wall. No matter what the bowlers did, they could not get near to bowling the Lieutenant Commander out. Sixes rained down, with the boundaries appearing to be far shorter than they actually were after James took to the crease. His strikes were that powerful, that the owner of a private rowboat in the public harbour ended up returning one shot that landed on the jetty by his boat. Frustration ran through the ranks of the men who were playing, having seen their chances of an upset win against the officers dashed as James got going. Lamb remained untouched too, despite a scare, bettering his score when it came to be his time to receive the ball. The demoralised bowlers became more irrational as the afternoon wore on, which played into James' hands even more as he continued to send the ball for fours and sixes.
They were into the final minute of the game as the bowler stepped up to bowl what was going to be the final ball of the afternoon. The game, as a competitive match, was long over. The previously challenging looking two hundred and five runs for six wickets was completely trampled by the monstrous batting of Lieutenant Commander Maguire. He himself was at an incredible two hundred and twenty four, with Lamb reaching eighty in that time too. With the few runs that Barnes managed, it made a total that sat nicely over the three hundred runs marker, with just the one wicket taken. Determined to finish with another captivating shot, James stared down the bowler, who was practically shaking even during his run up. Hurling the ball towards James, the young pilot watched the flight perfectly, swinging his bat so that it crunched into it. The men could only watch as it flew off into the air to James' left, straight towards the harbour where his wish to finish the game off spectacularly was guaranteed.
The Illustrious, having completed the sea trials that the crew were tasked with that day, returned to dock at the very moment that the Lieutenant Commander struck the final ball of the cricket match. When the men realised exactly where it was going to land, they almost couldn't believe it. They were not directly next to the harbour, and the naval dock was slightly further over than the private one. None of them could countenance a man being able to strike a ball so cleanly, to make it travel so far away from the crease where it started. The weaver of miracles that James was though, it was happening, and a wry smile of satisfaction appeared on his face when he realised what was going to happen too.
But at the final moment, luck deserted him.
Or rather, Captain Boyd did him an injustice.
Standing on the flight deck, he'd watched them playing cricket through his binoculars on their way into docking, flanked by junior officers who were equally enthused. The moment he realised that the shot from James was heading his way, he wisely followed its path, knowing that it was coming straight towards him. Leaning back slightly, he raised his hand into the air and felt the ball smash into his palm, without causing damage as it was slowing down. At the final moment, following a devilish display of batting, James was caught, though luckily for him, not by someone involved in the match. As Captain Boyd raised the ball, there were cheers from the men around the field, along with a plentiful round of laughter. James saw the funny side of it too, dramatically throwing the bat to the turf, placing his hands on his hips.
"Alright! Alright!" He called out through the jeers. "It's still a win for the officers!"
The men could do nothing to change the score, but James being put back in his place was oddly satisfying. Not that there was any animosity from the men, who were only holding him in higher regards after showing another extension of his considerable ability. They all knew, whether they were in his squadron or one of the other two, that they were incredibly lucky to have him as their commander.
After some handshakes between officers and men alike, he ordered Lamb to get the men back aboard the Illustrious for inspection in an hour. With the men proving that they could behave responsibly when off duty, he came to the conclusion as the match progressed, that a night out in the area around the docks was a treat that they could be allowed. It would not be an excuse to get drunk beyond their wildest dreams on any alcohol that they could lay their hands on, but a controlled relaxation with one or two drinks allowed. They would be up at five o'clock the next morning, whether they liked it or not, ready for another day at sea, so an evening of pleasantries wouldn't go amiss, he thought.
Allowing Lamb to organise the men's return to the Illustrious, suddenly became an issue. As the crowd around him dispersed, only David and Lieutenant Barnes remained in front of him out of the air contingent. However, his shirt still off and his muscular physique still on show, the local women were not going anywhere, beginning to encircle him. Even those with children were viewing him intently. Surrounded, he glanced over to his friends to see if they would assist him.
"Should we…". Barnes suggested.
"Help him?" David began to chuckle, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Oh no, we are not helpin' him. He got himself into this mess by tryin' to show off to the Bermudan ladies… well there his problem now, he feckin' asked for it!"
Displaying a face of pure, unfiltered smugness, David shook his head at James. As the women began to reach out to feel his back, his chest and his biceps, James was suddenly panicking. If Erin were to see him now, it would be over between the two of them and rightly so. Although he wasn't directly wanting to have the women's hands all over him, he couldn't deny that he knew what was going to happen when he lost the shirt. The wall of hands was beginning to smother him, the ways out starting to close rapidly around him. David and Lieutenant Barnes were finding it far too amusing to help, the former even doubling over as the laughter began to cause pains in his ribs.
"Ladies… ladies, please".
Trying to fight his way out gentlemanly was not going to work. They were not going to stop with such a lovely man in front of them, who the women were all hoping was single. Sadly for them, he was not, and the honourable young man that he was, he did not want to stay in their grasp for too much longer.
"Thank you, but please ladies, I must return to my ship".
The mention of the ship seemed to stop them, hands retracting from where they were. He didn't hang around once they'd let go of him, almost running over to his friends who were still giggling like naughty children at what they were seeing. The normally mighty, handsome, Lieutenant Commander Maguire was nearly lost to a gaggle of overly excited local women who were not used to seeing such a beautiful man. He could not shout at David or Barnes, but inside he was scowling at them for the two of them abandoning him to his fate with the women. A situation that they rightly found hilarious, he found incredibly frustrating.
Still on the same wavelength despite James' annoyance, David threw him his shirt, whilst checking over his shoulder to make sure that the women weren't following. Luckily for James, they were not.
"Thank you, Gentleman, for your assistance". He blurted out the sarcastic comment.
"With respect, Lieutenant Commander…". The usually reserved Barnes snorted. "… you issued no direct instruction that you were in distress".
Bastard
The first word that came into James' head was an unusually rude one. That was what Barnes was though, for deliberately mocking him with what was almost the officer's rule book thrown back in his face. David was nodding his head to agree with the second in command, leaving James outnumbered against their smug grins. It would never cease to amuse the Irishman when his best friend would put himself into a situation where he believed he was in control, only to find out that he most certainly was not. The Bermudan women would have eaten him alive if they could have taken him away, all three of them knew it. With the shirt back on his back, it wouldn't be removed again until he was in the safety of his own cabin.
"Could neither of you see I was in distress?" James questioned, a slight annoyance in his tone.
"What's distressin' about having a group of women touchin' ye?" David questioned, unable to remove the grin from his amused face.
"When none of those women are the only one who is allowed to, I would say that I was placed into a position of distress!"
He was well aware that James would remain faithful to Erin even when his life depended on it, but it didn't stop David from toying with him. The Englishman's guard was well and truly down, and opportunities like that only came around every so often. Being proactive, striking whilst the iron was hot… those were lessons that James gradually drummed into him, lessons which were going to be used on the Lieutenant Commander. A victim of his own teachings.
"I reckon in my next letter, I'll have to let Orla know so that she can tell Erin about yer… close encounter with the local girls…".
As Lieutenant Barnes walked on, James froze on the spot. Instinctively, David did so too. His jokingly delivered threat would never be completed, but to tease James with it was cracker. So scared that David might actually stay true to his word, the Englishman's usually assuring tone soon became laced with worry. He could not lose Erin… not at all…
"Please, David. Don't".
The legitimate concern in his friend's voice halted David's mockery. The shyer, almost vulnerable side to James did not show often, but he knew it when he saw it. The James that wrote the letter elaborating just how lonely he was… for a fleeting moment he heard that James, not the confident, dashing pilot that usually filled the realm. Banter was going to be put to one side. David made a promise to himself that he would never allow that James to appear again before he left Derry. He was not a man to break them.
"I was messin' with ye James." He put a hand on his friend's shoulder, feeling James ease under the touch. "I know Erin well enough to know how that would go down, innocent as it was".
"Thank you, David".
An overwhelming sincerity, far from the nil desperandum approach that James usually took, he was worrying his friend if anything. James was not one without his moments, times when the mask would slip to reveal a different young man than the one that the men respected so profusely. Usually when his conscience was at battle the mask came down, but never had it come down as they were joking around before.
"Are ye alright James?" He asked out of concern.
"F-fine… just…". James uncharacteristically stammered his reply.
"Mate, tell me".
Lieutenant Barnes was long gone, nearly back at the Illustrious, leaving the two alone. There were no more islanders around to interrupt them either. Heart to heart conversations were ones that were not alien to the two of them, but in the manner in which they'd fallen into the one they were in, it was somewhat stranger to the norm.
"When… when you said about the letter…". James started quietly. "… I am terrified of ever losing her, David. If she thought I…".
"James!" He quickly cut in. "She's not goin' to think anythin'".
"I know but… but I worry David. If I get captured and I'm reported as missing, would she hold out for me… should I expect her to?"
"I can't answer that James". David was honest with him. "Erin can be hard to read sometimes but if ye want my opinion… if she thought you'd come back, she wouldn't even so much as look at another fella".
His face brightening up, he put his hand onto David's shoulder. No words were required, a common way of one friend thanking the other for their support being recognised. Unwilling to allow his own fears to darken the mood of the otherwise brilliant day, he sobered up smartly, taking his hand away.
"Come on then, we both best shower before we lose our girls due to our smell".
Delighted to see that the normal, assured James had returned, David tilted his head with his lips curved up into a massive smile.
James had nothing to worry about. Erin was always going to be his…
Wednesday was Orla's day to go out into the city. With Marie at an age where she was comfortable in taking her out, she picked the day as the one for her to shop for the house. Sarah didn't have the time to be able to do it, being at work all week and as her Granda got older, Orla wanted him to be able to rest more. He also had to look after Anna, though later that year she would be starting school, which would leave him plenty of time to be able to take the task back from her. As they delved deeper into July, the weather was proving to be more than amicable for them, allowing her to go out in a simple dress whilst ensuring that Marie wasn't smothered by her own clothes either.
Pushing her along in the pram, they traversed the streets as Orla sang to her daughter. She would often find herself making up little songs to keep her wain entertained, completely pointless ones to anyone else, but meaningful to her. She would speak of David often, hoping that Marie's mind would register the talk of her Daddy so that when they met again, she would remember him. Her own mind often focused on him too, hoping that he was safe whilst serving the country. Although she would sometimes live on her own cloud, Orla was not oblivious to what war meant and what could happen during it. Men died, were dying even, and her prayers on a Sunday were all aimed at making sure that David didn't join the list of dead. His brothers were already on it, having died in Norway a few months prior. The Donnelly's had already lost enough. James was in her prayers too. She did not want to lose him either, being the brilliant friend he was to her as well as being the one who made her cousin happy. The two of them needed to remain safe and well as they would be required back at home as soon as the war was over.
After Marie's birth, she'd been somewhat isolated from the rest of the girls. Although they all visited her regularly, seeing Erin almost on a daily basis, she'd not returned to work or been out with the girls anywhere. Trying to be the best Mammy that she could be, her focus was always on Marie rather than what was happening with the girls. However, as they continued on towards the shops, her mind rested on a conversation she remembered Erin telling her about. One which, very annoyingly for the rest of them, Michelle was appearing to be correct about. When war broke out the previous Autumn, most of their family and friends thought it would be over by Christmas. Michelle was the odd one out though, going as far as to suggest that May of forty-five would be the time when the war would be over. She was scoffed at when she'd suggested it, but by July of the following year, a lengthy battle was beginning to appear possible.
The first stop on their trip around the shops was one of a personal nature. Having some money saved away, which nobody else, not even David, knew about, she wanted to buy herself a new dress. One or two of her dresses were ruined following various introductions to different fluids that Marie produced, making it high time for her to allow herself to have something new. Following the pregnancy, she'd returned to her normal weight remarkably quickly, something which her Ma and Aunt couldn't quite believe. It took the two of them some time, Mary twice, to shed the weight gained during pregnancy but after only a few weeks, Orla was slim and toned again. There wasn't really a secret to it, not one that she realised anyway. Nevertheless, it made the task of getting a dress much easier as she knew the exact size that she wanted.
Arriving at the shop, it was eerily quiet around the city. Though the city centre could often be far from busy on a weekday morning, there was almost no one around at all. The people of Derry were far too busy contributing to the war effort than to find themselves walking around the shops. A few women were out on the same missions as Orla but not that many. It did at least allow her to get around them much quicker than it normally would when the shops were busier. Glancing down into the pram, she looked down at her daughter, who was awake and smiling. Marie's little smile melted Orla's heart every time that it was plastered across her face, her mother being immensely proud of the perfect creation that belonged to her and David.
With it being so quiet, she was happy to leave Marie in the pram just outside the wee shop's window. She would be able to see her little one at almost all times, allowing her to choose a dress without having to worry about navigating the pram around the small shop. Walking in, she looked over to the counter to greet the young woman who was stood behind it. She'd known her from school, the two not being best friends but hardly being enemies either,
"Ach, mornin' there Tara!" She exclaimed.
The young woman returned a smile at Orla's loud greeting. Tara Martin was a girl of similar reputation to Michelle, though with a far cleaner mouth. There were a few nicknames that she'd acquired in her adolescence, Trampy being the one that seemed to stick more than any others. She detested anyone that referred to her in that way, especially recently as she'd finally found someone to settle down with. Unlike Michelle, who remained free to sleep around with whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted, Tara had grown up. The young brunette's father began to hear what was being said about his daughter and one night she was caught out trying to sneak back in. A conversation was held between the two there and then, where she was forced to abandon her libertine-esque behaviour in favour of finding the right man. Thankfully, the right man came along rapidly afterwards.
"Mornin' Orla, are ye well?" Tara asked, beaming.
"I am cracker, so I am!" Orla replied enthusiastically. "What's the craic?"
Grinning, Tara walked around the front of the desk, holding out her hand to show Orla the ring that was now on it. Someone who could easily get confused, there was nothing to be confused about in Orla's head when she saw the emerald on the young woman's finger.
"Congratulations!"
Stepping forward, Orla wrapped her up into a hug. She'd never hugged Tara Martin before, but then not many really did. Enjoying the affections placed upon her, Tara wrapped her hands around Orla's back, the two staying in an embrace for a few moments. Tears of joy were already shed the night before, so she instead smiled brightly, continuing to do so as they pulled away, their eyes meeting again.
"Chris asked the question last night". She gleefully informed Mrs Donnelly. "I am buzzin', so I am. Getting married… I can't believe it!"
"Marriage is soooooo cracker!" Orla confirmed.
Tara was hesitant to respond to her. She knew of David's return to service following his spell at home when his brothers passed away fighting. Her Chris was not a man who enjoyed fighting particularly, a pacifist who stuck true to those beliefs by not signing up when he could have done so. A guilt arose at Orla's words, knowing that she would never be placed into the same position as the married woman in front of her was. Like many, Tara thought that she was an incredibly brave young woman, taking on the responsibility of raising her child whilst her husband was far away, facing death on almost a daily basis.
"How… how is David?"
The least she could do was ask about him. She'd known David for as long as she'd known Orla, never finding him particularly attractive but holding respect for him nonetheless.
"He is fine, so he is". Orla replied, though not with the same level of excitement as before. "Bein' all brave in the air, like".
"He's a very brave man for goin' off to fight".
"Aye I know he is Tara… he's my wee hero! It's good that he's with James, like. David says he's the best pilot they have so I know he's there to keep my husband safe".
She might not have found David attractive, but Tara would have been lying if she said the same about James. There was nothing sinister in it, she did not actually want to be with him, but the English fella was a ridiculously handsome young man. With money behind him, he could afford to keep himself looking pristine whenever he was out which drew the eye of most of Derry's women, single or not. His fine clothing made him different to the rest of the men in Derry, who even when in their best suits, could not lay a finger on the high-end tailored suits of the beautiful Englishman. She did doubt his mental capacity though, because of all of the young women he could have chosen to be with, he'd chosen Erin Quinn. Erin feckin' Quinn! The same Erin Quinn who could clear a room at the very hint that she was going to read out some of her written work and held such an inflated opinion of herself that she could burst at any moment from the inflation.
"How's Erin taking it?" The brunette asked, though was not particularly interested in the answer.
"Ye know Erin… she's just herself. The letters help, I think". Orla tried to answer on her cousin's behalf.
"Letters?"
"Aye, the two of them send letters sometimes. I don't quite get how they keep convincing Jesus the postman to walk across the water to get the letters to us, but I won't complain".
At school, Tara grew accustomed to Orla's very different thoughts about the world to most people. The nonsensical comments that would often slip from the young woman could often amuse too, so she didn't think too much of the bizarre story about Jesus being a postman. Good riddance too…
"That's grand. Do ye need a hand?"
Orla nodded and the two set about finding her the right dress. It was not one that she was going to buy because she wanted to impress David in it, but it needed to be one that was of a decent quality. She didn't have the money for the really exquisite dresses anyway, but one that was better than the standard would be ideal. It did not take them too long to identify the right one, a beautiful flowing red dress that was perhaps a lot cheaper than it should have been. When she first laid her eyes upon it, Orla knew that it was the one she wanted, conveniently being the exact size that she needed too. There was no need for her to try it on, convinced that it would fit. After purchasing it, the two continued to chat about their lives, catching up entirely on a wide range of topics from Michelle to Big Mandy. Two young women of a very different nature…
When the time came to leave the shop, the two hugged again. A promise was made by Orla to come by the following week so that they could catch up, even though she would not be buying anything. Tara looked forward to their meeting, strangely enjoying the company of the young married woman a lot more than she used to.
Returning to the pram, Orla glanced down to see that her Marie was now asleep. Leaning down with her head in the pram, she placed a kiss on her daughter's little forehead.
"Mammy loves ye…". She whispered. "… Daddy too".
The proud parents loved their daughter with all of their hearts, the culmination of their two heart's desires to be with each other.
Marie was simply beautiful.
He was proven right very quickly.
The fall of France meant nowhere was safe now in the country. Nowhere at all.
It wasn't meant to be a trek that was made alone, there was meant to be a few of them but after a couple of weeks it was a case of the last man standing. Though standing would have been a generously allocated description. Dragging was the more appropriate word, he was dragging himself to where he needed to go, that never ever seemed to get any closer. The distance he was travelling made it so though. He didn't even know if he was heading in the right direction all of the time, relying on guess work and a map lifted from a farmhouse somewhere along the way.
John-Paul O'Reilly knew it would be a long walk to Spain.
When the Royal Irish Fusiliers were cornered, they had only the slightest chance at being able to fight their way out from the advancing Germans. They clung to it though, with a few men offering to stay behind to guard the retreat, John-Paul being the first man to volunteer. The majority of the platoon were able to get away, but by the time it came for him to get out, the net closed. Playing pretend was never something that he was good at but channelling acting skills that he did not know he had, John-Paul tried his hand at being a corpse. It paid off too. So concerned about stopping the retreat of the rest of the Expeditionary Force, the Germans paid almost no attention to those they'd gunned down in their wake. They'd gunned down enough of them too. He was forced to lie down in the grass next to the still warm body of his mate, Robbie Flynn, who'd taken bullets to the chest from a machine gun. His head was turned to look at John-Paul, who could not look for fear of crying, an act that would give away that he was not one of the dead like it appeared.
Robbie should have been trying to get to Spain with him but instead he was alone. After spending hours in the grass, waiting for the Germans to leave, he was able to slip away unchallenged as night drew in. From there, he found what he thought the road south was, and followed it. There was some luck to start with, it was the road south, and he was able to find an abandoned house free from the Germans. Changing clothes to take on the appearance of a young working Frenchman, he knew he could not stay at the house for long. He certainly couldn't sleep there. A bag was packed, with everything he could find from the abandoned house, where he burned his discarded uniform. A pistol he'd managed to obtain from a deceased officer was his only weapon, with very little ammunition to accompany it.
The bag on his back, he set off walking after only a couple of hours at the house.
Ever since then, it was a constant challenge to stay undetected. Most days involved dodging German patrols. Though he followed the road, it was in the ditches and fields, praying that they were not mined like some were. Avoiding any towns or villages, he would often have to find creative ways around them, though he chanced his arm at one small settlement that appeared to be mostly deserted. It wasn't at all, but there were only Frenchmen and not Germans. He barely knew any French, so he played a delicate game of slipping through the side streets before returning to his route south.
Close calls were constant. Not being able to speak the language or trust anyone that might have spoken English to help him, John-Paul could only push on and hope. Thoughts of home were with him at almost all times, except during the moments where he needed his wits fully about him. He wished to be back with Ciara, to have the child that he wanted. He should have been, had he not been foolish enough to volunteer to cover the retreat. Selfish. He was meant to have been selfish so that he could be back with her in Derry the moment that the regiment were allowed leave. Yet, he couldn't be. He could only be honourable.
That was how it was going to be.
The war was over in France, but on French soil it still continued for him.
Far from home, with the odds of survival being so low that he would probably say they were non-existent, all roads pointed south. Some more literally than others.
John-Paul O'Reilly knew it was going to be a long walk to Spain.
A very long walk indeed…
Walk on, he would have to.
Back onboard the Illustrious, Lieutenant Commander James Maguire was enjoying the peace and quiet, after the excitement of the day. The game of cricket was a resounding success and when the men found out that they were allowed an evening out in the local area, morale couldn't get any higher. Although his own thoughts may have turned darker when he was crowded out by the rowdy women wanting to touch him, James was relaxed again. He was not joining them out on the trip, using the time to complete some of his reports. A glass of whisky, from a bottle of which he'd kept quiet about having ever since they left, sitting in his desk, it was the calmest he'd been all day.
Erin was on his mind again though, no matter how much he tried to shake her from it. Trying to make sense of why he'd become so scared about losing her all of a sudden that afternoon, he could not find a logical reason. David was always going to be joking when he mentioned about telling Orla, he knew that, but for the reason he still searched for, he was convinced he would and that would be it for him with Erin. She was everything in the world to him, far more beautiful than the admittedly pretty Bermudan women who'd, for want of a better word in his own mind, molested him that afternoon. Only assuming he was feeling guilty for allowing them to be enticed to get so close to him, every time he tried to move on from the incident, it kept replaying over in his head. Speaking to David about it again was out of the question, not least because his friend was out in the local area with the rest of the men. There was also his own embarrassment for being opened up so easily in front of his best friend, and although he knew David would not judge him for it, it still did not hide his own anger towards himself. He was meant to be the commanding officer… he was not allowed to show emotion like that, even to David.
The reports he was writing up were the most boring ones. One of the other ships was heading back to Britain the following morning, ready to carry official mail back to Headquarters in London. It would be a dangerous voyage as the ship would be unaccompanied, but there were strict procedures in place to ensure any information would not fall into enemy hands should the worse come to the worst. He wished he was allowed to send a letter back home to Derry, however the letters were only heading to London and nobody at headquarters would be willing to forward on any letters to Ireland on his behalf. He was just another officer… at least that was what he assumed. The truth was so far away from that thought, it was staggering, but only a select few people knew just why he was so different.
He saw fit to mention a couple of his pilots in despatches, who'd excelled in training. With his mother returning to health in a development that took them all by surprise, young pilot officer Parkin was beginning to excel. When flying in formation, he would often be alongside James and David, sticking close to his fellow young man that he was learning so much off. The Lieutenant Commander could see the dedication that Parkin brought to the air every time he took to it, ensuring that those in higher office knew of the young man's devotion to service.
Hearing approaching footsteps, footsteps too quick for a walk, his ears pricked up. Somebody was running down the corridor to his cabin in order to see him. It usually meant trouble…
And it did again.
An out of breath David came barrelling through the cabin door, ignoring all the protocol that stated he should knock and wait for the officer. It didn't matter to James when he saw who it was, quite glad that David did not stop to deal with the formalities, as it immediately told him that there was a serious problem.
"David?"
"James…". He just about got out between breaths. "… ye… ye need to come. There's been an incident on the mainland".
Eyes widening without notice, James shot out of his seat, immediately grabbing his jacket. The temperature dropped in the evening, the jacket being a necessity to keep him warm as well as show his seniority. He also picked up his Webley revolver, just in case. He thought he'd have heard the gunshots if that was the issue, though it always paid to have the weapon just in case as it could be useful to disperse crowds too. David caught his breath whilst James rushed around him. He'd been running for a few minutes solid to get to his commanding officer, being dispatched by Lieutenant Barnes who was on the scene.
"Ready?" James asked.
"Aye…".
The weary David prayed that James would only walk briskly to the scene alongside him as he didn't know if he could face another run. In luck he was, as the Englishman settled into a brisk pace, relying on David to show him the way. They were progressing inland, the location in question over a mile away from where the Illustrious sat in dock. Bermuda was mostly flat, which was a blessing as they didn't have to run up any particularly steep banks to get to where they needed to go.
"Are there any injuries?"
He'd held off the question until a few minutes into the brisk walk, but James would need to know what he was walking into.
"Not yet…". David coughed the answer.
"David!?"
A rare occasion where their friendship took second place behind their duty, the Irishman understood why James was riling up at him, changing his tone to match the situation. Their usual easy-going conversations were simply not at all appropriate that evening.
"I didn't see it but… one of the lads… well one of the Marines heard screams from a house and found one of ours trying to force himself on a poor girl".
Blood boiled inside James' body. He could only wish that it was not one of his squadron, as he hoped he'd taught them better. His lessons did not only cover their job as pilots but lessons of conduct too. Honest with those who served under him, he'd made it quite clear what he expected from them and in turn what they could expect from him. One of those expectations was to behave appropriately towards the opposite sex, never to engage in any unconsented actions or harassment. As his blood continue to bubble away, he was seething regardless of who it was anyway, but if it were to be one of his men, he would be apoplectic with rage.
"Who?"
Reading his best friend, David almost did not want to say. Telepathy was not proven between them, but an understanding of James' morals was engrained within his head as they were similar to his own. He too was furious when he arrived on the scene, only just about able to hold back the want to find the man in question and knock him clean out.
"Bailey".
Bailey.
Bailey was one of his men.
One fleeting second was all it took for David to see the fire in the glare of his best friend. James was never going to react well to one of the 815 disobeying the moral lessons he attempted to instil within them. What he did not anticipate was the look of murder on his friend's face, transitioning from walking briskly to marching rapidly in the blink of an eye. By the time the name was spoken, James could see the crowd up ahead, leaving David in his wake as he stormed over to investigate. There must have been two or three hundred people massing around the entrance to a house on the left-hand side, some shouting others jeering. He could make out the uniforms of the marines as he drew closer, though there only appeared to be two or three of them, all of them being enlisted men, no officers or even Sergeants around. He saw Barnes too, making a beeline for his second in command of the 815, but finding himself blocked by the masses. From what he could make out upon arrival in such a rush, the mass of locals were attempting to break into the house, where he could only assume Bailey was being held. The truth needed to be discovered before any judgements could be made, making the lynch mob mentality of the crowd a nuisance that needed to be stopped. Seeing no other alternative, he drew his revolver and pointing it skyward.
The shot cracked into the air.
The silence that he wanted was achieve, the crowd all spinning around to face him. Re-holstering his weapon whilst he held their attention, his own men had never seen the nineteen year old commander as furious as he was stood before them at that very moment.
"LIEUTENANT BARNES!" He roared. "GET THIS CROWD DISPERSED!".
"SIR!" Barnes shouted back.
James recognised some of the locals from earlier in the day, some of the women that wanted to feel his toned body being amongst them, but they looked at him in disgust as opposed to swooning for his affection. Many were begrudgingly leaving, still hoping to get a punch or a kick at Bailey.
"LAMB!"
He was yet to see if the Lieutenant was even in the crowd but shouted out in the hope that he was. David, having caught up with his friend, stood to attention behind him, awaiting the orders that he assumed would come his way.
"YES, SIR!?"
Thankfully, Lamb was amongst the mass of now moving people. The Lieutenant Commander flickered his eyes over to where he believed the sound of Lamb's voice came from, finding the officer approaching him through the crowd.
"GET THE MEN BACK TO THE SHIP! THIS EVENING IS OVER!".
"SIR!"
"AND LIEUTENANT?" James added, voice still loud. "HAVE THE MEN PARADE ON DECK. DRILL THEM UNTIL I AM READY!"
"YES, SIR!"
There were disgruntled sighs from some of the airmen, but when they all saw the look on James' face again, they quickly quietened. Being drilled on the deck in the dark, having spent an evening drinking, was not what they wished for. Some privately thought that he was jumping to conclusions as they marched away in the direction of the Illustrious, condemning them all to a punishment before it was even proven that Bailey had forced himself on the woman. If he knew, James would not have cared a jot for what they thought. He was so incredibly angry, that any man who dared raise an objection, would have been dealt with fiercely.
One large crowd dispersed, he was able to walk freely over to the three marines who were guarding the door to the house, finally able to ease their weapons down with the situation de-escalated thanks to James' arrival.
"Who's in command here?"
He knew from spotting them through the crowd that none of them were officers, but he at least hoped they might have pointed him in the direction of one.
"No one, Sir". The tallest of the three in the middle of them answered. "We have sent for the Captain…".
Huffing at the typically slow response, James did not intend to wait for the Captain of the Marines, who he outranked anyway. The plan of what he was going to do was already formulated in his head, all that was required was to execute it.
"Who was the first on scene?" He asked the three men again.
"That was me, Sir". The taller man answered once more.
"Name?"
"Hardern, Sir".
James noted the nondescript accent, guessing that the marine was most likely from Nottinghamshire. Around six foot, he appeared to be the only of the three men not cacking themselves a-la Clare Devlin from the display that the Lieutenant Commander was putting on. Making a mental note to inform the marine's Captain that he should be promoted, he returned to focusing on the matter at hand.
"Where is my man?" James enquired about Bailey.
"In the front room, Sir". Hardern answered.
The marine moved out of the way, opening the door for James as he did. Thanking him with a dip of his head, the Lieutenant Commander moved inside with David following closely behind. Glancing into the front room of the small house, he found a couple of his pilots holding Bailey down, the man's shirt removed, only his bottom half remaining covered. Another couple of men were stood around him too. The woman in question was nowhere to be seen, though the gentle cries from one of the back rooms indicated that she was still in the house, most likely without any of them with her.
"BARNES!"
His second in command, fresh from ensuring that the crowds left the area, quickly arrived at the front door of the house.
"Take a statement from the young lady back there". He ordered, but softly this time. "Make sure that she has everything that she needs and under no circumstances, leave her alone without a guard".
"Sir!".
Hurrying off to the back room, Barnes carefully approached the young woman who was curled up on her bed crying her eyes out. It was hard not to judge his man as guilty with the evidence that he could see from his own eyes, but holding his tongue, his attention went to the man in question. He could not see Bailey's face, as it was buried in the floorboards, so he turned around to face David instead. Despite not ordering his friend to accompany him, he knew he would be there.
"Leading Airman Donnelly, tie him up". He ordered him, handing him the rope to do so. "The rest of you, form a guard around us".
"Where are we going, Sir?" One of them asked.
"We are heading back to the Illustrious, McAllister".
Other officers would have stayed at the scene to deal with the crime that was alleged to have been committed, but James was not one of the other officers. Unwilling to assume the guilt of the airman, he wanted to provide a safe space to question him and staying in the house on the mainland did not constitute a secure environment. The crowd might have evaporated, but there was no telling if some would not return later in order to seek justice for the action that may or may not have been committed. The Illustrious' armoured hull was the only true protection that could be guaranteed, his cabin being the destination.
Bailey was marched outside, cowering away from his staring Lieutenant Commander. It gave even further evidence to James that his man was guilty, heightening his fury, but he once more swallowed it to ensure that he did not condemn a potentially innocent man. The hardest thing to believe of all was that a spotter who always performed commendably in his role without causing any trouble, could commit such an atrocious crime, should he have done so. Troublemaking men, who he did not have apart from, it seemed, the man tied up before him, he would have expected to have fallen out of line. A man like Bailey was one of the last he would have ever associated with the accusation that was levelled at him.
"Marine Hardern!" James got his attention.
"Sir!" The marine replied, saluting.
"Keep guard here until your Captain arrives. My second in command can answer any questions he has".
"Very well, Sir".
Leaving the marines to keep watch over the house, Barnes comforting the woman inside, James led the procession of men around Bailey back to their ship. He was glad that they did not run into any more angry mobs along the way, though he did not doubt that word of what happened would have spread around the island like wildfire. Not one single word was said between the men walking back, David by James' side, like he always was and always would be. They were quite the sight, the tight huddle shuffling back to their ship in a convoy, the still raging face of their commanding officer leading the way.
Boarding the Illustrious, Captain Boyd stood waiting for James. He ordered David to continue onto his cabin with Bailey and the rest of his men to guard them on their journey. Conversing with Captain Boyd, he told the only man senior to him onboard of his intentions, the Captain agreeing with his course of actions. He agreed to have some of his men keep guard in case a mob formed around the ship, though both men believed it was unlikely. Dismissing himself from Boyd's company, James headed into bowels of the ship. In his thoughts, he was running through the conversation, or interrogation, that he was going to conduct with Bailey. If there was one thing that the officer's manuals did teach him that he would find applicable, then it was how to deal with errant men. There were other ways that they could be dealt with too, but an officer was not supposed to beat the living daylights out of the guilty man… if he was guilty, James reminded himself again.
As he returned to his cabin, the airmen waited for his next instruction. David was not amongst them, but coming to the assumption that he'd stayed in the cabin with Bailey, he was not concerned at all.
"Return to the flight deck. But Collett…?"
"Sir?" The pilot addressed him.
"Inform Lieutenant Lamb that he can stop the drills now".
Nodding, his pilot left with the rest of the men, following his instructions. The corridor now empty, he took a deep breath. Running a hand through his already slicked back hair, the Lieutenant Commander prepared himself for another test of his abilities as an officer in the Fleet Air Arm of the Royal Navy.
Opening the door to his own cabin, David and Airman Bailey stood to attention, the former saluting whilst the latter couldn't on account of his tied hands. James immediately took to his desk, waving Bailey down to sit in front of him. With eagle eyes, David watched every move in case their comrade decided to make a break for it, although it would be a very foolish action if he did. Both men tried to get a read on the man accused of forcing himself onto a woman, but his constantly moving head made it difficult. Sweat poured off of him, another sign to James that the accusations were not unfounded at all. Still, he remained determined to allow his man fair chance to defend himself should the woman be lying.
"Leading Airman Donnelly, please stand guard on the door. Lieutenant Barnes should return shortly".
"Yes, Sir".
The friends shared a silent look, David making sure that James was comfortable being alone with the other man in the room. He confirmed it with a subtle nod, understanding why his best friend would be concerned but ensuring that he knew that he was alright. As soon as David exited the room, an intense, if one-sided, staring match began. Whether he wanted Bailey to feel uncomfortable or not, James did not know, but he wanted to try to read into his body language further. He was used to people who gave little away, Lieutenant Commander Borrett having showed himself to be a master of putting up a shield around himself. Bailey was no master though, his intense sweating showing that he was not going to be able to deceive his commanding officer. Waiting for Barnes for the next few minutes, James changed tactics, returning to working on his reports as Bailey continued to sit sweating. He even had time to polish off his drink before the door opened to reveal Lieutenant Barnes.
"Lieutenant Barnes". James nodded to him.
"The statement, Sir". Barnes informed him, passing the paper over to him. "Will that be all?"
"It will be Lieutenant. Please wait with Leading Airman Donnelly outside".
"Sir".
Lieutenant Barnes did as he was instructed, waiting outside James' cabin. It left him alone with Bailey again, reading the statement that the woman gave his second in command back at the house on the mainland. The details sickened him, although he still held out the briefest glimmer of hope that she was lying, even if the evidence mounted even further. Bailey could not look at his commanding officer as he read the letter. Guilt was etched on the face that was turned away from the Lieutenant Commander.
The letter placed down onto his desk, James rose from his seat, holding his hands in front him, clasped tightly together. He waited until Bailey finally dared to look at him. As soon as they locked eyes, the Airman's attention was on him. There was no escape.
"Airman Bailey, would you agree that since you have known me, I have always been a fair man?"
Fair…
More than fair.
It wasn't the question that Bailey was expecting nor was it the question that James expected to lead with when he ran through what he was going to say, but it came out anyway. He didn't really need the Airman to confirm that he had been, yet he still felt compelled to ask. If anything, it helped to corrode the tense air that filled the cabin a little.
"I-I would say so, Sir".
Pacing around behind his desk, James fought another internal battle. A part of him wanted to throw a furious storm at his man whilst another advised caution and sensibility. A nineteen year old was not meant to face those sorts of decisions, especially not in the setting of a branch of the military. War bred a lot of things, but for him, it represented a massive need to grow up. It wasn't that he wasn't mature before, far from it, he was just cocooned from the harsh realities of life by his mother. Because of who he was, it had been necessary to do so. Conflict changed everything… it was going to change him.
"I am going to level with you, Bailey". Speaking somewhat softly, he took the cautious approach. "All I want from you is the truth and you have one chance to tell that to me. If you did not do this, if this woman is perpetuating a series of falsehoods to damage your reputation and our squadron's, you have my word that I will fight with every fibre in my body to clear your name".
Bailey could only nod, keeping eye contact with the Lieutenant Commander for once rather than turn away. The icy sweat droplets continued their hesitant march down his forehead, glistening in the lightly lit room.
"But if this is true, and you have done what she alleged, then I want you to admit to it now. The truth is all I seek, Bailey. Please... tell me it".
His cards out on the table, James stood in front of his desk, not taking the seat. The staring match he'd began earlier started again, the airman squirming in sight of his commanding officer. The options that the young man gave him were the only ones available out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Bailey continued to consider what he was going to say, the words of his commanding officer still ringing in his head. Lieutenant Commander Maguire was a hero, some may even say a legend, and above all he was a fair man. Bailey's service was longer than this, the airman seeing more commanders in that time than James had. The young Englishman was the best of the lot by a distance. He knew that only the truth would suffice when it came to a man like James. So, with a heavy heart, he gave it.
"I… d-did… I forced myself on the woman… Sir".
A shock, it was not. From what he'd already seen throughout the evening, James' mind told him that the man sat before him with his hands tied was guilty. Only his honour prevented him from declaring so before. He'd gotten the honesty that he requested, though found little satisfaction from it. His lessons, the morals of life that he wished to instil within those who served under had been pushed to one side in favour of lust. Bailey might have failed him for not following the lessons, but to James, it was a failure of his own that his man saw fit to forget the morals that he was taught. Clearly, he'd not done a good enough job at getting the point across.
"Why?"
It was the only question that needed to be asked. Why Did Bailey force himself on her?
"I… w..I-I…". Bailey, realising how slippery the slope was, could barely speak. "… t-t-… too much… to drink sir".
"THAT IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH, BAILEY!"
The elastic snapped. Within a second, there was no longer any turning back for James, committing to his explosion without another thought about it. James Maguire, the James brought up in London and truly made better in Derry, would be furious about learning a man had forced himself on a woman. Lieutenant Commander James Maguire, trained at Hendon and perfected at Worthy Down, was exactly the same.
"I…".
"NO BAILEY!" He shouted at him. "There is no excuse for your behaviour! If you cannot hold your drink, you should not drink it. But to break into this woman's home, as she has stated, and then try to force yourself onto her when she screamed for you not to do so… there is nothing you can say to defend yourself!"
James couldn't tell whether sweat or tears were rolling down Airman Bailey's face, but whichever substance it was, there was plenty of it. There was no sound from the man, his breath trapped at the back of his throat, cornered by the pure fury of James Maguire. Choosing the time to put a final stamp of authority on the airman, James reached into the pocket of his jacket, snagging the wooden spoon on the way to the photograph. On another day he might have attempted the Mary Quinn way of dealing with the man, beating him to a bloody pulp with the wooden weapon, but that would have to wait for another time. Grasping the photograph between his fingers, he threw it down onto the desk where Bailey could see it, pointing at it immediately.
"What do you see, Bailey?"
A photograph that James would often depend on for his own sanity, suddenly became useful for another purpose. A purpose it should never have been needed for at all.
"You, S-Sir?" He tentatively replied.
"You do. But what else?"
Bailey did not understand the tangent that the Lieutenant Commander was setting them on. He assumed that it was his commanding officer's partner, the two very much looking like they were in love on the photograph.
"WHAT YOU SEE…". James raised his voice. "… is how a woman should be treated. Women are not objects for you to dominate as you see fit, Bailey. They are human beings like you and I, with the same emotions and feelings as we carry. A woman should be cherished and cared for, made to feel loved not made to feel afraid of a man who cannot keep his desires in check!"
Looking away again, Bailey could not face his commanding officer's wrath any longer.
He was most certainly crying now.
"BARNES! DONNELLY!" He called for the two.
The Lieutenant led the way into the room, David behind him. They found the sobbing mess that was Airman Bailey, his head bowed down between his legs. Guilty as sin. With a nod that was shared between them, James got on with the formalities.
"Airman Bailey, you will be taken to the cells on the lower decks, where you will remain until an appropriate place of imprisonment is found. Until then, you are stripped of all your freedoms and will no longer conduct active service on behalf of His Majesty, The King".
Unable to properly hear his commanding officer because of his wailed sobs, Airman Bailey could only pretend, nodding to accept the charges. He'd made the most foolish mistake of his life and he was going to be punished for it. Retrieving the photograph from the desk, James placed it back where it belonged in his pocket before turning to his two most loyal men.
"Lieutenant Barnes, escort Bailey down to the cells. Captain Boyd has made the men down there aware that they would most likely have a new resident. Please see to it that they do".
Barnes moved over to where Bailey was sat along with David, the two dragging the crying man to his feet. Bailey offered no resistance whatsoever, having crumbled completely from James' interrogation. Taking a hold of the tied-up man, Barnes encouraged him to keep moving as David held the door open for them, although the guilty man did not need to be cajoled to get out of the room. He'd been wanting to bolt for several minutes. When the door closed behind them, it left just David with him as the room depressurised from the severity of the minutes beforehand. A calm night ruined, James slumped down into his chair. He was soon rubbing at his eyes, exhaling loudly into the room as David took up the seat Bailey had been occupying in front of him.
"Guilty, then?" David's voice cut through the silence of the room.
"Yes. Guilty and stupid…". James sighed. "… Am I really that poor of an officer, that my men are willing to do this? The image this creates of m-".
"JAMES!" David interrupted, as his friend and not as an enlisted man. "Ye can't blame yerself for this. Bailey was a feckin' eejit, so he was. The rest of us were behaving ourselves out there ye know, only he let the squadron down. Ye can't control what he did or why he wanted to do it. Anyone can see that!"
He was never going to tell David that he thought his friend was being naïve… but he was. As a commander, he was judged by not only his own performance in combat but of the squadron's discipline. Bailey admitting to the attempted rape of a young woman on the island sent their reputation into freefall, with the educated yet uneducated hierarchy of London no doubt casting quick judgements upon the men as a group once they'd heard of the incident. The last thing that he wanted was to be seen as the man who allowed those who served under him to be criminals and rapists. What would Erin think…
"Come on". He addressed David, shaking away the thoughts. "I need to make sure that this never happens again with any of the men".
The two of them headed for the landing deck, where the rest of the 815 stood patiently to receive the likely scathing words of their commanding officer. Bermudan nights were meant to be relaxing, but the night that the squadron was going through, seemed to be turning into anything but. There would be other nights like it though, albeit not ones where they would find that within their ranks were dishonourable men.
The war on the home front was ramping up, the Luftwaffe beginning to attack Britain directly.
Days of bloodshed and loss were to come.