Chapter 20: The Deathly Sound 14th November 1939
A deafening yawn was drawn from within Michelle Mallon.
She'd never worked as hard in her life as she had the day before at work. Usually enjoying at least one or two smoke breaks a day, she was beginning to look as if she were quitting the habit. The workload never seemed to decrease, but what did seem to decrease were the number of people in their section. They'd already lost Orla for some time due to her pregnancy but the day before and that morning, they were also down one Erin. She hadn't seen her friend since church on Sunday morning when the young Quinn looked frighteningly pale. It came as no surprise to find that come the following morning, she was not to be seen at work. Whatever it was also must have passed onto her mother, as Mary was missing too which left her section short on numbers as well with Sarah already off with Orla reaching the very final days of her pregnancy. Michelle and Clare were having to work their holes off just to keep close to the schedule that was expected, with no chance at all of being ahead of it.
"Fuck's sake!" Michelle shouted.
"What is it?" An overly nervous Clare enquired to her left.
"Ach, I'm going to have to start again, this one is fucked!"
Clare couldn't disagree on that point; Michelle had done a real butcher's job on the shirt she was doing. Not quite the literal butcher's job she'd done on Clare's date, although given the messages that were being left in the shirts, they were certainly more Tennyson than venison.
"I'm just so feckin' tired!" She continued to moan. "Erin really picks the best times!"
"She can't help it if she's not well Michelle…". Clare tried to be diplomatic.
"If she even is! Any idea what's wrong with her?"
"I know as much as you. But I'm really worried ye know…".
"Worried!?" Michelle snorted. "Catch yourself on Clare, she's probably just wanting a few days off to write some of that shite poetry of hers!"
Whilst the poetry was shite, very shite, Clare did not think the same way as her friend. Erin was far too organised and efficient to allow her desire to write poetry to affect her working life. On a normal working day, she was the one who got the most done in her belief that the more they did, the more it would help her James. All of her energy was devoted to the work effort and in Clare's mind, she wouldn't slack off just to write.
"Yer just angry because yer tired Michelle…".
"Angry!?" She reared up.
"Y-y… yeah". The Queen of cack attacks began to have one. "I… I think ye… ye just angry. I… I'm not that happy either".
"I'm not angry Clare… I'm raging!"
The look on Michelle's face confirmed her vocalisations. She was truly seething about Erin's absence, the subsequent heavy workload to get through heightening her frustrations. The more annoying issue at hand for the young Mallon came from two weeks earlier, when she'd worked all week with a heavy cold, feeling terrible. Having to drag herself, and on one morning, be dragged, out of bed, she still made the effort to get in and do her bit. Erin wasn't making the same amount of effort as she'd done, infuriating her in return. A part of her mind told her to go round to the Quinn house after work that night and give Erin a piece of her mind, but the chances of then being engaged in an argument with Mary halted those thoughts.
"I… d-d.. don't take this the wrong way Michelle…". Clare started, quickly regretting doing so. "… but we aren't the only ones with girls missing…".
"Oh I see, taking Erin's side now are ye!?"
"It's not like that, Michelle!" Clare rebuked her.
"Well, what is it like then?"
"Look over there…".
Stopping working for a second, Clare pointed to where Mary and Sarah would have usually graced the factory with their presence. Their section was down to just two women, Maria and Sharon. The two of them were silently working away, without the same fierce arguments as Michelle presented about the workload. They were just getting on with it.
"Do ye see Maria or Sharon moaning because Mary and Sarah aren't there?"
"They can't really moan about Sarah, she's off to take care of Orla!" Michelle found an argument to cling to.
"Fine". Clare huffed. "But they aren't moaning about Mary, are they?"
"No".
She hated it when Clare was right. More often than not, she was in the wrong and her diminutive blonde friend was in the right, never getting any easier giving in and admitting it. Her point was a very valid one. Everyone else was just getting on with it whilst she threw a tantrum like a little baby at her desk. Sighing, a reluctant acceptance passed her lips.
"Alright. I'll shut up".
"Grand".
Having the last word, Clare soon settled back into her rhythm as Michelle rediscovered hers. Another hour went by, a productive one for the two of them. Quality control would have no further trouble from Michelle now that she was concentrating. All around the factory there was almost silence as all of the women were grafting away. Oddly enough, they might have been at war, but the lads who were out fighting with the Army, Air Force and Navy, were having an easier time of it than they were. With no major battles to fight, they might have still had training, but even then, they weren't being worked as hard as those in the factories were. No one in the factory went for a morning break that morning, except some of the lads in the offices, albeit they went out only to get a couple of minutes fresh air rather than the full break that they usually had.
With them being back on schedule, Michelle and Clare's own enforced silence came to an end, when the former decided to reveal something to the latter.
"When I got home last night, there was a letter from James".
Clare tilted her head to the side whilst continuing to work, eager to hear what the Englishman had to say in return to his cousin's letter. She'd helped Michelle with her own letter to him a little, mostly with what she needed to tell him and how to express herself correctly. It allowed her to feel like she was writing her own letter to her brave friend, whose reassuring presence was greatly missed in her unsettled life. The life built upon a lie she still told her parents.
"Is he well?" She asked.
"He… He is Clare. He is… really well actually". Michelle grinned in return. "I've got the letter with me, I'll read it out, won't take long".
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the letter that her pilot cousin sent her in reply to her own. James' beautiful handwriting was the first detail that Clare picked up on, being able to read the words clearly from her own position to Michelle's left.
Taking a quick look around to check if Meyler was about, Michelle found him not to be, clearing her throat a second later before starting to read the letter.
Dear Michelle,
I have to admit defeat to begin with. Receiving your letter, I must say I was rather stunned by what you had to say. Would it be wrong of me to presume that a certain, beautiful, friendly blonde girl may have helped you write it? I recognised some of the phraseology from conversations with Clare, but I am happy to concede that I am wrong should you tell me so.
"How?!" Clare was amazed by his inference.
"These English Clare, too smart for their own good some of them". Michelle laughed.
"I thought ye said they were all stupid?"
"Not our wee Jamesie…".
Chortling together, they composed themselves after a couple of seconds to continue. The work stopped too, although they weren't the only ones to have done so. Everyone around them seemed to have followed their example to take a couple of minutes away from working, which went unchallenged by the supervisor.
I have heard from Erin as you suspected. She made it very clear just how much she missed me being with her, though I shall spare you, and her, the full details of what she had to say. Needless to say I am touched by her feelings for me staying as strong as they were when I left. I know I am in no position to ask for any favours from you, but if you would please look after Erin for me then I would be most grateful. We both know that she can struggle to contain her emotions and I do not want her to feel alone or isolated. She adores you, and Clare for that matter, so please, if not for my sake, then at least could you do so for her?
My regards go to Deirdre and Martin as well. I miss their legendary wit sometimes on colder days here, knowing that a good joke from either of them would warm me up immensely. I cannot say I am surprised that you are still causing them trouble. Do not ever change Michelle, your mischievousness does you credit, which is an odd thing to say for an officer, yet the perfect thing to say as your cousin. Orla's letter to David was quite the masterpiece. I have a challenge for you and perhaps Clare. Can you tell me what Antidisestablishmentarianism means? I confess that I already know, as does Erin, so you can't ask her. I look forward to your reply on the matter!
"That's James alright…". Michelle scoffed. "… Christ, I've had less shags than there are letters in that!"
"Michelle!" Clare hissed.
"What? I'm experienced Clare. Don't get all flustered because yer not!"
The usual feelings of dejection spread through the young Devlin at her friend's words, that unknowingly to her, stabbed at her secret. Michelle held an experience that she never wished to have with a man. Unable to determine why Clare quickly went silent, Michelle continued to read out the letter.
Thank you for the news on the cottage. I left it in the safest of hands, and my expectation that nothing would go amiss appears to have been the correct one to make. I do not wish to encourage you to drink with the knowledge of how much you can consume in one sitting, but please show this letter to Uncle Martin.
Martin, she can have one bottle. One!
I
"Michelle!"
Meyler's shout ceased her narration of James' letter. The supervisor came barrelling across to their desks, a determined look upon his face. Not for the first time, Clare cacked herself at his sudden appearance, trying to think of a good enough reason for why the two of them were not working. He'd came down from the offices, and the two of them being the first section that anyone coming down from the offices would come across, they were the prime targets for any abuse that needed to be dished out for slacking.
"Ach look Mr Meyler, we…".
"Forget it, Michelle!" He raised his voice, though not to a full shout. "The two of you's need to get going, now!"
Clare's heart almost fell out. The two of them were being dismissed for not working. They'd been caught not doing any work a couple of times before, but they'd never received an official warning for the behaviour. Given how busy it was that morning, their inactivity must have tipped the supervisor over the edge, leaving him no choice other than to fire them. Michelle clearly believed the same as her eyes went wide at his statement.
Realising how it must have sounded, Meyler quickly elaborated.
"Orla's gone into hospital, she's in labour. She's asked for the two of you's".
Breathing sighs of relief for their jobs not being on the line after all, Michelle and Clare both turned their thoughts and concerns to their friend. They'd watched for months as her bump grew, the child she was having with David nurturing inside her. It was finally time for the wain to introduce itself to the world, the two being honoured to have been asked for by Orla.
"Thanks Mr Meyler".
The rare, sincere, Michelle made an appearance, the supervisor nodding to accept her thanks. It only took them a couple of minutes to get themselves gone and to her side, the workload being put on pause. Meyler didn't care too much though, the factory could cope without them for the day.
Orla needed them a lot more…
Sarah paced around outside the room where her daughter was beginning the process of giving birth to her child. She remembered being in the same position herself when Orla was born, the excruciating pain nipping at her mind as the memories came flooding back to her. She'd only left the room for a few minutes so that the midwife could see her alone, having been holding her daughter's hand the rest of the time. She had Joe for company at least. Ever since Orla went into labour earlier that morning, Joe stayed with them, like an old protective angel over his immediate family. He'd put in a call to the factory at Sarah's request, summoning Michelle and Clare to come to her daughter's side, where Erin was missed.
Next door to them, in the Quinn house, Mary's decision to implement some sort of quarantine within the house, baffled Joe and Sarah. Erin didn't look well on Sunday at church, a deathly pale that Sarah commented on to her face, sending the young Quinn into floods of tears. She wanted to apologise to her niece but was yet to find the chance to as ever since, nobody else entered or left the Quinn house upon Mary's insistence. Whatever the illness Erin carried, Mary seemingly didn't want it spreading. Shouting out of the window to her sister, she added her worry that Orla and her soon to be due baby might catch something off Erin, reasoning why they should stay away. Anything they needed from the shops was being brought to them by the Devlin's, Geraldine having taken around some supplies on the Monday evening. However, not having her cousin to hold her hand as she gave birth, Orla was suffering. She needed someone.
"GRANDA!"
They heard her cry out his name. Joe could only shake his head.
"What Da!?" Sarah angrily rounded on him. "Please, go and see her!"
"Absolutely not!" Joe retorted.
"Why not!?"
"A man shouldn't be around when a woman gives birth, whether it's his wife, daughter or granddaughter. It's no place for a fella!"
Joe's view was one held by many men. They weren't meant to be the ones in the room when a woman was giving birth, that was the job of the midwife. The men were required for after the birth had taken place, returning to see their child, grandchild or great grandchild. All the screaming and shouting of a woman's birth wasn't meant for males.
"I should be at the pub!" He huffed.
"Ye can't go to the pub at a time like this!"
It was very rare for Sarah to show maturity, even at her age, but the ability was there when she required it. She was furious at her father's attitude towards the birth, though was once again confronted with memories upon thinking about it further. He'd given the same performance when she'd given birth to Orla years before, only on that day he'd actually gone to the pub. He was the only real male figure in her life at the time, Orla's father never wanting to know once he'd gotten her pregnant and never wanting to since. She hadn't seen or heard from him after she'd revealed her pregnancy to him, a fact she was quite relieved of. He wasn't the kindest of men, a lack of maturity then being his problem, and she'd never seen a future with him. She'd been proven correct too, having done a fantastic job in raising Orla in her opinion. She didn't need the father of her child in her life but at least Orla had the father of hers still. Even if he was in England, preparing to fight in the war.
"What am I supposed to do, love?" Joe questioned, slightly aggrieved to be having to do so. "I can't do anything to help her!"
"Hold her hand!" Sarah argued back.
"I'm not gettin' that close! She'll be shoutin' all the time and my ears will be bleedin'! Christ, I'd rather listen to Gerry!"
Eyes ablaze with fury, Sarah scowled at her father, who proceeded to soften up extremely quickly. He knew how worried she was for Orla, he was too, and speaking so hastily in dismissing her request wasn't helping, he cleverly realised.
"Alright maybe I would rather hold her hand than listen to Gerry, but still, childbirth is not the place for a man… I'm not goin' in!"
"But yer not goin' to the pub!"
"GRANDA!"
Orla's screaming stopped them from arguing any further. Torn, Joe shifted slightly towards the door but quickly stopped himself. He knew he was right, even if his body was trying to force him to make a decision to the contrary. He didn't belong in that room. Although Orla's screams filled with him fear, she was in good hands with the midwife, who Joe knew was capable. He drank with her husband at the pub on Friday night's; he was a good fella and therefore automatically she was a good woman.
"I'll meet ye halfway…". Joe began to barter. "… I won't go to the pub, but I'm still not goin' in there. I'll wait here until it's over, then I'll come in after. Is that alright?"
Taking a moment to think about it, Sarah decided that it would have to do. Alienating Joe any further would result in him almost certainly going to the pub regardless of what she might say in apology. Having him just outside the room was at least comforting, even if Orla's screams would have to go unanswered.
"Fine Da...". She replied. "… but yer comin' in straightaway!"
"Aye, I will".
Joe placed a hand on the shaking hands of his daughter, calming her instantly. It was then that they were joined outside the room Orla was giving birth to her child in. Another member of staff led the way, with Michelle and Clare snapping at her heels, desperately wishing to see their friend. Joe noticed their flustered looks immediately. He knew from Meyler, who he got on quite well with, that they would be allowed to leave work straightaway once he'd told them the news. The rush to reach the hospital as quickly as they could, would have been quite the rapid one, confirmed by Clare practically panting when the two of them came to a stop next to him and Sarah.
"How is she?" Michelle asked first.
"Ach, she's close now Michelle love…".
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"
Further screaming from Orla told them just as much, a shrieking that left tears in the corners of Clare's eyes. In the little world she dreamt of, giving birth to a child wouldn't be something she would ever have to do, as she certainly wouldn't be having sex with any men. A guilt snuck up on her, from knowing she wouldn't ever have to experience the pain and therefore being unable to empathise with her.
"Christ!"
"Calm yerself down Michelle!" Joe spoke frankly to her. "She's alright in there, so she is".
"And how would you know that Da!" Sarah bellowed at him.
Taken aback by her bellowing, he smartly concluded in his own mind that he'd spoken to soon, the need for having the young Mallon shut up incorrectly outweighing the need for sensitivity when it came to the birth.
"Point taken". He mumbled.
Joe removed himself completely from the conversation with the others, finding a seat against the opposite wall to get himself comfortable in. How comfortable he would get was questionable though, as the screams began to grow in number. His great grandchild, of yet underdetermined gender, was about to make their presence known to the world.
"Do ye know how Erin is?" Michelle enquired with Sarah, a question to drown out the screams from within the room. "Clare's Ma didn't say much".
"Ach she has some sort of flu. Mary was saying she was throwing up and is shivering all the time like… I have to admit, I think she's taking it a bit too seriously".
"Aye that was what I thought too. Typical Erin though, always making herself seem worse than she is".
"That's unfair Michelle". Clare defended her absent friend.
"What do y-".
Michelle was interrupted, as the doors to the room came open, the midwife appearing at them. Peering over her shoulder into the room, they could see another couple of nurses tending to the beached Orla. They'd arrived not a moment too soon.
"You might want to come in… the child should be with us in a matter of minutes".
A mixture of delight and nerves coursed through the veins of the three women, as well as Joe from his seat opposite. Another scream from Orla was enough to shift them all except from the sticking to his word Joe, following the midwife into the room to go across to Orla. Fixing their eyes on her, the three of them noticed how dishevelled she'd become through the strain of the process. Even to Sarah, who'd been by her side not fifteen minutes before, the incredible change was noted. Sweat was pouring off of her daughter, whose face was scrunched up in pain, emitting a burning red colour at the cheeks.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" She wailed again.
"Orla!" Clare called out, rushing right up next to her left side.
Recognising the sound of her friend's voice, a brief smile flashed across Orla's face before it returned to a grimace. A grimace of true, vicious pain.
"Clare… Michelle… ye came". She just about spoke.
"Aye of course we did!" Michelle replied heartily, taking Orla's outstretched left hand in hers. "I'll hold ye hand, you focus on getting that wain out of there".
"I am going to kill David for doing this to me!" She shouted, much to the amusement of all of the others in the room.
Mother and daughter locked eyes, Sarah giving her a smile of encouragement that Orla greatly required. She'd been without her Mammy for a little while, missing her as the pain intensified, her wain pushing closer to the exit. The midwife and the nurses worked around her, making sure that she was as comfortable as possible for the baby's arrival.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
"PUSH ORLA PUSH!" Clare, uncharacteristically shouted at her, blushing immediately.
The midwife gave her the same encouragement, as one of the nurses checked the progress beneath the blanket that covered her. From outside, Joe could hear the screaming and shouting he so desperately wanted to avoid, opting to retrieve his hip flask from his jacket pocket to wet his lips.
"You're doing very well Mrs Donnelly, just a few more pushes and you'll be there!" The Midwife informed her emphatically.
"A few more!" A stunned Orla uttered. "Oh for… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
She nearly broke Michelle's fingers, squeezing them incredibly tightly during the push. Michelle yelped in agony like a dog who'd be smacked on the nose with a newspaper, her fingers crying out in their own pain beneath Orla's grasp.
"MAMMY!"
Crying out for her mother, Sarah replaced Michelle by her side, offering a firmer hand to her daughter. Tears were beginning to stream out of Orla's eyes as the physical effort took its toll on her emotionally. She wished for David too, but he wasn't by her side as he'd suspected he wouldn't be. She'd heard from him a few days before, to tell her that he wouldn't be returning home on leave before the likely due date. It upset her to a certain degree, but they'd spoken about the likelihood of it playing out that way before he left, so she was prepared too. Nothing could have prepared her for the pure pain of giving birth, not even the slowest, most barbaric torture.
"Two more pushes Mrs Donnelly!".
The midwife informed her of just how close it was, and digging into her reserves, she pushed as hard as she could, begging to the Lord to cease the pain she was in.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Every cry slashed at the emotions of her friends, Michelle joining Clare in softly crying to the side. She might have been the most emotionally tough of the group, but even with the barriers she could present in the face of emotional adversity, it wasn't enough. They would be delighted when the baby arrived out into the world, ready to be held by the girls who would protect the child with their lives should it come to it, whilst two brave fellas were doing the same somewhere over the skies of England.
"DAVID!"
The cry was in vain, Orla knew, but somehow shouting her husband's name made the ordeal more bearable. She only needed to produce one more effort, one final question of how much her body could give her in her hour of need. Physically and mentally exhausted, experiencing more pain than she had ever done in her entire life, only Sarah's gentle squeeze of daughter's hand gave her the confidence to make the push.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
"YOUR THERE MRS DONNELLY!"
A little wain emerged from beneath the blankets, the cord cut straight away. The family's eyes lit up at the sight of the child, the first to grace that generation of their family. Joe appeared in the doorway, having heard the midwife's confirmation that they baby had been born. He was going to wait longer, but curiosity and the love of a great grandfather got the better of him.
However, whilst their eyes lit up, their ears quickly alerted them to the problem. Ears that suddenly controlled their heartbeats, that increased dramatically. Not because of what they could hear… but because of what they could not…
There was no sound from the child.
None at all.
"Why isn't my baby crying…". The tearful Orla began to panic.
"Mammy! WHY ISN'T MY BABY CRYING!?"
Over the skies of England, the training of Lieutenant James Maguire and Airman David Donnelly was complete. The two had completed their final exercise a few minutes earlier with another Swordfish crew from another squadron, who'd promptly flew off to return to their own home base. James displayed his skills to perfection during the final test, which was more a test to make sure every manoeuvre had been practiced, rather than a true examination to fully confirm his status as a pilot in the Fleet Air Arm. The same could be said for David, who mixed the role of observer and gunner perfectly, helping James at the crucial moments of the test, providing him with a reliable voice to add confidence to the exercises he performed. They were some miles away from Hendon after the exercise was complete, and although they were hungry and lunchtime was upon them, James found himself in no rush to get them home.
"That's it then". James called across on the radio. "Training is over".
"I can't believe we've been at it for more than two months…". David replied. "… although it does feel like a long time since I last cuddled Orls".
It didn't just feel like a long time, David knew it was. Too long for his liking, he wanted to be back by her side again, with the addition of a son or daughter that was imminent. James had begged on his behalf for him to have time off to be at home for the birth, but Flight Lieutenant Bentley, whilst understanding, remained resolute. They were at a critical stage of their service to the Kingdom and with that in mind, even the birth of a child was prioritised beneath it. It was the situation that he'd expected to happen, albeit through them being engaged in fighting the Germans rather than just training, yet upon being faced with it, he found it ever so difficult still. Knowing that at any day, his wife would be in a hospital back home in Derry, screaming at the top of her lungs to deliver their creation to the world. Sleeping at night became difficult as the darker days of November kicked in, though having James at his side to support him not only as his officer, but as his best friend, helped immensely.
"I feel the same way about Erin".
James's voice, though slightly distorted down the radio, conveyed a deep longing. Like David, he longed to be with the other side of his heart, the young woman that made him feel just as complete as the training he'd undertaken was. Having heard how much of a hard time she was having coping without him, he'd secretly hoped that Bentley would have allowed them both to return to Derry. He could have flown the soon to be father to his wife's side, and as they welcomed their child into the world, he could ask Erin the one question he wanted to. The most important question he was ever going to ask.
"It can't be long now until Orla gives birth…". David vocalised his thoughts. "… any day now. Do ye think they'll get the message to us?"
"I am sure someone will". James replied.
"Aye. Joe's pretty resourceful and to be honest, if Michelle or Erin start moaning then I'm sure someone will find a way to get something to us".
"Erin doesn't moan, David". He corrected his friend. "She merely means to provide constructive criticism at all times".
Hearing the chuckles of his friend down the radio, James couldn't help but chuckle too. He might have loved Erin with all of his heart, but he knew she wasn't flawless. Her nit-picking could even get on his nerves on a bad day, though he skilfully avoided displaying his annoyance to her.
"Now that training's finished, Lieutenant sir, where are we off to?"
Using his posher voice that regularly left James and Flight Lieutenant Bentley in fits of laughter, David asked the question that, up until the first thing that morning, his friend did not know the answer to. After a conversation with Bentley over breakfast though, James did know where they would be going, the two finally assigned to a squadron. It was the assignment that they were hoping for, having long prayed that it would arrive from the moment they set off from Derry weeks beforehand. Being assigned to a squadron allowed them to finally participate in active duty with the Fleet Air Arm, even if it would be the boring convoy escort missions. There would be plenty of time to practice flying at night at least.
"Well, I'm not supposed to tell you…".
"James…". David tried to prize it from him.
"You didn't let me finish…". He snorted merrily down the radio. "… I am going to tell you".
Ignoring a direct order from the Flight Lieutenant would normally be a very serious error, but when it came to their future, James couldn't withhold the information from his best friend. David had put just as much effort into the training as he had; James wouldn't keep the truth from him just because he wasn't an officer.
"We've been assigned to the 815 Naval Air Squadron".
"815? I thought they were disbanded?"
The 815 Naval Air Squadron had indeed been disbanded as David thought, but unbeknownst to him, they wouldn't be disbanded forever. With the lack of fighting, the hierarchy could play possum with regiments and squadrons as they saw fit, and squadrons disbanding and reforming wasn't uncommon.
"They were". James confirmed. "But next week they are reforming again at Worthy Down, with a new second in-command who brings his own crewman with him".
"Ach well James, I'm not sure I'll be takin' ye with me, ye know". David joked in return.
Once again, there were chuckles from the cockpit, as James was amused by his best friend. The two could fall into an easy routine of jesting most of time, even when they were up in the skies with no one else to see them. Sometimes it was even better that way, just the two of them laughing down the radio to each other whilst staying attentive to whatever else might be going on around them.
"Where's Worthy Down anyway?" It was David who spoke, enquiring of their new base.
"On the outskirts of Winchester".
"Where's that".
Rolling his eyes from the Pilot's seat, James handed a map back to him.
"Ach, I see it". David said after a moment of searching. "We're not too far from Southampton and Portsmouth. There are docks there, no?"
"Correct, docks which we might be called upon to defend in the future".
"So that's what we'll be up to then, docks defence?"
The list of responsibilities that James was to take on was a lot longer than David's but their main roles in combat would be the same. Defending the docks should they be required was one role, convoy escorts being another and also patrolling the English Channel too. They would at least be more occupied and for James, he wouldn't have to be reading textbooks, though he would have to deal with the day-to-day responsibilities of helping to run a squadron.
"What do we do until next week then?"
"There are some new prospective pilots and aircrew that will be coming to replace us, starting from tomorrow…". James informed him. "… we are to help settle them in and commence their training".
"Does that mean we can wake them up at half four in the mornin' to scare them?"
"That means we will wake them up at half four in the morning to scare them!"
A couple of seconds were needed for David to stop laughing at James' statement, one of intent when coming from an officer. Deep down though, it was unfortunate for him to have to stay to help train the new recruits, as he knew that the time could have been used to return to Derry to be with Orla. He might have even made the birth if he was lucky.
"I wonder how Peter and Lorcan are gettin' on".
That was one question that James didn't have the answer to, and it bugged him. Bentley might have been able to pull strings to find out where they were, but there were no strings left to pull in order for him to find out how their training was going. They too would have no battles to go to, but training in the army for them would differ from the training he and David received. Some elements would remain the same, the basic arts of survival in the times of war, but there would be no going up into the air for them. They would remain grounded on assault courses and firing ranges, drilled mercilessly to remain in shape to confront the enemy.
"I suspect they will be just as bored as we are". James replied, chuckling.
"Bored? Us?" David jokingly questioned. "Now where did ye get that idea Lieutenant Maguire?"
They might have been up at around ten thousand feet in the air, which was around about the highest height that the Swordfish could properly operate at, yet it wasn't fully entertaining. There was no one for James to evade or for David to shoot back at. There wasn't a target for David to spot and for James to release a bomb or torpedo on. All they were doing was flying back to base after their final day of training, a simple task with absolutely no danger whatsoever.
James heard David cough and splutter behind, his throat presumably dry according to the Englishman's quick logic.
A second later there was another cough and splutter.
But this time it wasn't David.
This time it completely horrified his passenger. Especially as it wasn't James either.
It was the engine. The engine was coughing and spluttering… over and over again. Eyes widening, James glanced back to David, who was staring at him with pure, unfiltered fear. There was yet another cough and splutter from the dependable engine, that rather suddenly became a lot less dependable.
Silence.
Ten thousand feet in the air above the fields of England, there was silence.
The deathly sound of silence.
"James…". David spoke lightly as everything seemed to freeze in time for a moment. "… we're fucked, aren't we?"
The lack of a response from the shocked Englishman told him enough.
They'd completed weeks of training, with further weeks of low-risk missions to come afterwards, not encountering a single problem. It was just their luck that on the final approach home at the end of the training, their engine decided combat was not something they were going to get to see.
A terrible day not to have packed parachutes.
As the Swordfish began to drop, the two young men were heading for their deaths, never having fired a shot in anger…
The baby wasn't crying.
The mother was.
Orla's frenzied panic was the dominant noise in a room where the cries of a new-born should have been. She might not have been the most clued-up young woman when it came to practical matters such as the care of babies, but she knew something wasn't right. There was a feeling within her that told her to scream, which spoke of her losing something precious, close to her heart. After carrying the child for nine months, she couldn't lose them now. She didn't want to lose the child for David either as he'd looked forward to being a father just as much as she had being a mother.
"WHY ISN'T MY BABY CRYING!?"
She roared again, the pain in her body falling far short of the pain in her mind and in her heart from concern over the welfare of her baby.
"OI!" Michelle shouted at the midwife for her. "SHE ASKED YOU A QUESTION!"
"Please could you calm down…". One of the nurses replied, to little avail.
"CALM DOWN!" Michelle bellowed back. "ONE OF MY BEST FRIEND'S HAS JUST GIVEN BIRTH AND SHE'S SCARED FOR THAT WAIN! DON'T YOU TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!".
Noting that it was the correct time for intervention, Joe positioned himself between the staff and the rest of the family, mostly to prevent Michelle from doing something she would almost certainly later regret. If a disaster was about to befall them, then he needed to be in the thick of it anyway, as dealing with the fallout would be a titanic job.
"WHY ISN'T MY BABY CRYING!?"
On the fourth utterance of the question, three times too many for Michelle's liking, the midwife finally snapped her head up to look towards the grief-stricken young mother.
"We need to take the baby to another room for some tests immediately, Mrs Donnelly. You need to stay here and rest…".
"NO!" She screamed in reply. "YER NOT TAKIN' MY BABY ANYWHERE WITHOUT ME!"
"Mrs Donnelly…". The midwife cautioned.
Sarah squeezed Orla's hand with all of her strength, the pain from feeling the hand on hers preventing Orla from shouting a further reply at the midwife. The poor woman was only trying to do her job, something which Sarah was aware of and her daughter's heat of the moment cries were hindering rather than helping. Clare and Michelle both shot seething glances across at the staff, who were diligently attempting to support the newly born child, who was still yet to utter a single cry.
Watching her baby being taken out of her sight and wondering whether it would be the last time she would see the wain, Orla cried out for her child.
"NO! YOU CAN'T TAKE MY BABY AWAY!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"MAMMY!"
Wailing, she cried out for Sarah, who moved herself over her daughter's aching body to pull her into an embrace. Screaming into her mother's shoulder, Orla wanted it all to a horrible dream, so that she could wake up afresh and deliver her baby healthily. Whenever she'd had bad nightmares in the past, she would reach out for her Mammy, who would make everything better again. Sarah held the power of a god when it came to preventing nightmares from taking a stranglehold over her daughter. However, this nightmare was one that only the good Lord himself held the power to change, Sarah transformed back to a mere mortal, powerless to do anything that would make the situation any better other than just holding her. Holding her she would do though, with assistance soon coming from Michelle and Clare who cuddled into her on the other side.
"Was… was it all a dream, Mammy…".
The question tore into Sarah like a cannonball through a column, viciously ripping emotion from Sarah like a grapeshot would rip limbs from a soldier. She was going to have to break poor Orla's heart with her answer.
"No love… it wasn't".
Another round of emotional cannon fire ripped through the room, with Michelle and Clare's tears falling limply onto Orla's skin. The only thing holding them all together was their friendship, which in the face of such dire adversity, held, though it did quiver. In Erin, it was missing one of its foundations and though they knew she would be thinking of her cousin, it wasn't the same without her there.
Clearing his throat from across the now otherwise empty room, Joe made his presence known to them again, with four pairs of eyes coming to meet his.
"I'll go with them and… s-stay with the wain".
His own voice unsure and unsteady, he looked to his daughter for acceptance of his plan, which was received instantly. The three young women all looked on at him with the same acceptance too, a glowing response in a broken room. Turning on his heel, Joe abandoned the room at pace to try to locate where the midwife and nurses had taken Orla's baby. He searched every room he could until he finally stumbled across them, where he was invited in by the midwife, who'd only done so as she recognised him as the calmest of the family.
Back in her room, Orla's muffled sobs continued, along with the silent tears of her mother and friends, who were still tucked into her sides. Her body ached like nothing else, but her focus wasn't on her own pain, it was on whatever discomfort her wain was in. She must have done something wrong, she thought to herself, despite being so careful during her pregnancy following Sarah's instructions. She'd not only let herself down, but she'd let David down too. Her own dark thoughts, ones she didn't know how to describe as she'd simply never encountered them before, infested her like a plague.
"Why…". She choked out the question. "Why…".
"Hey, Hey!" It was Michelle who spoke, pulling herself up into Orla's eyeline once she was off of her mother's shoulder. "Listen to me Orla, that wain is a fighter! Everything will be alright".
"But Michelle, my wain wasn't c-crying…". The devastated Orla replied tearfully. "… t-tha-… t-that means the wain is… is… d…".
"No! No, it doesn't!"
Michelle was lying through her teeth, as her own hopes for the child were slim. She wasn't an expert on the matter at hand but knowing that a baby's silence after being born was usually a grave scenario, she had to lie to Orla to create hope. She soon received assistance though, as Clare came to her aid.
"Michelle's right, Orla, yer wain is going to be strong like you and David. Nothing will be wrong with the wain!"
"Aye, Clare's right too!" Michelle defiantly stated. "You and David, yer right warriors, so ye are. That wain has more strength in its blood than the whole of Coleraine!"
Although Michelle may have gone slightly over the top with her point, it was appreciated by Orla, who showed the ghostly outline of a smile before settling back into light whimpers. Sarah didn't have anything else to say, wholeheartedly agreeing with the girls, so she just continued to hold her daughter.
Until the sound of a crying baby filtered into their consciences.
Initially disregarding the pain from further down her body, Orla sprang up on the bed, with only a wince once the pain became too much to ignore. Sarah, Michelle and Clare were all immediately stood bolt upright as well, with Sarah's hand staying in Orla's as they stared at the doorway in hope of the baby returning.
In her head, Orla simply prayed. Please God, please let my wain be safe…
The Lord shone favourably on her.
A second later, her Granda Joe appeared in the doorway they were all staring it, with a baby sized bundle wrapped up in his arms. Crying.
Her wain was safe and sound.
Fighting off the tears in his eyes when he'd reached the room that they'd taken the poor wain, Joe watched them carefully rouse the newly born child, a weight lifting off of his shoulders when it began to cry. He didn't want to have to be the one to inform Orla of the child's death, the messenger that would be delivering the most terrible news any new mother could face. No, instead, he carried out the joyous job of carrying the child to its mother.
"I have a little girl here who wants to see her Mammy".
A little girl
Orla's wish came true. Another female member in the family, the child she'd carried so carefully for nine, long and arduous months was everything she wanted. There wouldn't be any arguments on the name either, which she and David agreed upon long in advance of the big day itself. Joe made his way over to her, but Orla wanted him to have just a little more time with the girl for a very particular reason.
"That's my little Marie, Granda…". She beamed a smile at him. "… Marie Sarah Donnelly".
The name of the girl sent Joe's heart into a flutter. Marie. The wife he'd left upon going to fight in the Great War, never to see again, was immortalised in spirit by his great granddaughter. A great granddaughter, a relative he thought he might never see but one cherished, nonetheless. He was going to protect little Marie with his heart and soul, ensuring that as long as he breathed life, she would be properly looked after.
He'd already lost one Marie. He wasn't going to lose another.
Keeping the baby girl's head propped up throughout, he handed her over to her mother. Cradling her daughter in her arms, Orla's tears turned to those of joy at the beautiful wee bundle of joy that warmed her. Her and David's creation, the girl was a gem in her eyes, a gorgeous baby that immediately reached for her mother's hand. Viewing the scene with tears of their own falling, Michelle and Clare looked to each other upon mother and daughter locking hands, the young Devlin putting a hand over her heart at the adorable scene unfolding in front of her. Sarah, who was honoured to have her name serve as the middle one of her granddaughter's, shed her own droplets of emotion by her daughter's side, looking down into the child's eyes and promising to herself and the child that she would always be there for her. Always.
"H-How do we let David know?"
Orla's next most immediate concern was letting the father of her child, her loving husband, know the brilliant news. She looked to her Granda, who nodded without needing to be told what to do.
"I'll handle that love. You get yerself some rest now".
"Thank you Granda".
Joe once again departed the room, this time with a much happier look than when he'd departed it previously. Getting the news to David that he was the now proud father of a little girl was up there with the best moments of his life.
He didn't know it at the time, but the outlook was not quite as rosy ten thousand feet in the air above the fields of England…
And falling…
When an aircraft would plummet from a great height, down to its demise on the hard ground or sea beneath it, there was often a sound.
The deathly sound.
The old pilots of the Great War remembered the noise well, hearing their comrades or foes on their way to their deaths after being hit. It wasn't the most pleasant of sounds, being somewhat akin to the sound of the air raid sirens that would signal a raid by bombers of the opposing force. It would mask the sound of screams from their friends in the crashing aircraft, who were staring down at their final destination from high up in the skies.
Yet ten thousand feet in the air that morning, James Maguire and David Donnelly could hear nothing but themselves. There was no sound once the Swordfish's engine decided that it was time to stop working, leaving the two trapped in the clouds, with very little that they could do. When they'd began their journey to serve the kingdom, they hoped to survive whatever the freshly started war would throw at them to return home to the girls. If they couldn't do that, then they would at least have the honour of giving their lives in return for the safety of those same girls, dying at the hands of the enemy after a vicious dogfight. Instead, they wouldn't even get to see another German fighter, the luck of the Irish being a luck alien to them.
As they began to lose altitude, David's thoughts turned to his Orla. He didn't know where she was at that moment, whether she was at home or perhaps in Hospital, giving birth to their child, but if he was going to die, his last thoughts were going to be of here. Never again would he see her spellbinding smile or hear her amusing ramblings, nor would he ever meet their child. A child who would grow up without their father, who's destiny ended in a muddy field somewhere in the middle of England. He would miss all of the family really, his parents… brothers… Sarah and her equally bizarre thoughts… Joe and his stern attitude to just about everyone… all of them. All of them he would miss. James too. He looked towards the Pilot's seat, where his friend desperately wrestled with the controls, an effort completely in vain in David's eyes.
"James…". He said down the radio. "… it has been a priv-".
"No! None of that David, we're going to make it!"
Laughter was the only medicine that David could think of upon hearing his friend's words. James, uncharacteristically becoming a dreamer rather than the usual realist that he was, could perform many miracles, but this wasn't one of them. He might have been the only man to have ever truly pacified Erin Quinn and win countless arguments against Michelle Mallon, yet he was foolish to think he could fight gravity.
Foolish he was. Brave too. Perhaps even a genius…
"James, I might not be a pilot, but I know to fly this thing ye need a feckin' engine!" David chastised his friend. "We're done for mate!"
"SHUT UP DAVID!"
For the first time, James became fully agitated by his friend. Reeling in shock from the order, David complied with it, stunned by the change in character though ultimately understanding due to the position they were in. Quite how he was going to get them out of it was a mystery.
Throwing another spanner in the works, it suddenly began to rain. Dropping through the clouds on the way to their untimely deaths, they were going to the afterlife getting soaked through.
Bloody typical.
"Great, rain too!"
Ignoring his best friend's justified, but unnecessary, comment, the Englishman valiantly attempted the only thing he could think to do without an engine. The chances, especially with the rain already affecting visibility, were slim… in fact, extremely slim. Too slim for him to have too much hope but big enough for him to try. He wasn't prepared to let it end like this without seeing Erin again, without clutching her closely to him, with a ring perched on her finger. Theoretically, it was unproven whether the Swordfish could even do what he was about to ask it. Other aircraft had the job as a main purpose, purpose-built for it. The stringbag was going to have to find another layer of adaptability in its armour to get them down safely.
"What are you doing James!" David desperately asked.
"If… COME ONNNN!". James interrupted himself to shout. "If I can get the equations right in my head, there is a chance we can land without the engine".
"Without the engine! What do you mean!?"
"We're going to glide in".
Gliding. Gliders were suitable for that job, not a biplane with a conked-out engine, descending rapidly through the autumnal rainclouds. There was no guarantee that the Swordfish could perform such a manoeuvre, but James knew it was the only chance they would ever have. Setting himself ready, he could only pray that they were on course for Hendon, being unable to see anything beneath them due to the poor visibility.
"David, I need you to spot the best you can!". James instructed more as his officer, than his friend. "If we can't make an airfield then I can at least try to put us down in a farmer's field".
"Yer mental!" David shouted at him.
"I mean it David! I know I can get us down if I can see where I'm going!"
James was insane. That thought defeated the presence of all of the others in David's head. He was not a pilot or a particularly smart man, in his opinion, but he was smart enough to know what James was trying was almost the impossible. There was no room for error without an engine, they had to be lined up perfectly with a landing ground somewhere to be able to even put down, let alone survive the impact.
"What are our odds James!?"
"Well…". The Englishman sighed. "… I would say a good few million to one but worth it if it means getting to see our friends and family again".
There was never a question of whether it was worth it. He might have thought his friend was insane, as would anyone else, but the one thing David did do, was trust him. A trust made more powerful by a friendship that was faced with the only hurdle that could ever truly destroy it.
Death.
"Aye. I'll keep my eyes peeled then!"
It was James who couldn't help himself this time, giggling away to his heart's content from the cockpit. He didn't let his giggles get in the way of his focus though, a focus that had never been so fixed before in his life. They continued to descend without a word between them, battered by the rain like they'd been on the morning a month earlier running around the perimeter of Hendon.
Hendon…
RADIO!
In his frantic efforts to place the biplane on course, James forgot about the radio. Although it seemed out of place in the cobbled together frame of a Swordfish, it was still there to be used. He needed to let the base know.
"Emerald Two to control, Emerald Two to control, over!"
"Received Emerald Two, over!"
Flight Lieutenant Bentley was thankfully the one to pick up on the call, unknowingly about to receive the shocking news of their situation.
"Mayday! Mayday! Complete engine failure at ten thousand feet, we're dropping through the clouds rapidly, attempting to land without the use of the engine, over!"
Bentley dropped his cup of tea, smashing the mug on the floor. Sergeant Smith and two other pilots were with him as the call came through, their eyes pulled out of their sockets. They were preparing to deliver news of a very different call to the pilots once they'd landed, but suddenly it looked as if the chance would never come. James was trying something utterly incomprehensible. But if anyone could pull it off, it was him.
"Control to Emerald Two, report your position, over!"
"Emerald Two to control, visibility is poor, Sir, we are coming in blind, over!"
Glancing out of the window, Bentley noted how the rain was picking up outside from where it started less than a minute before. The two young men he was about to lose, be it to the engine failure of the Swordfish or their transfer to the 815, he'd become fond of. With a preference of losing them to the latter, he began to bark out the orders.
"Smith, get EVERYONE on standby outside, NOW!"
"Yes Sir!"
"Harrison, Daniels, get onto the local hospital, have them send an ambulance!"
"Yes Sir!"
With the men running off to execute their orders, Bentley was back on the radio. With no experience of flying a glider, let alone any other aircraft without a working engine, he could offer little technical help, but was determined to be there for his men.
"Control to Emerald Two, over!"
"Emerald Two receiving, over!" James replied instantly.
"Emerald Two… James…". He broke the norms of radio contact to address him. "… we are on standby waiting for you. Can you make it, over?"
"Emerald Two to control, Thank you. With the right luck anything is possible, Sir, over!"
"Control to Emerald Two, may God be with you… the both of you, over!"
The dejection in Bentley's voice rang in James' ears. He couldn't look back to see David's expressions from hearing his side of the conversation, though he knew that his friend would be scared out of his mind. It was a good job that he couldn't hear the Flight Lieutenant, because it would have only tipped him over the emotional edge.
"Emerald Two to control, received. Over and out… Sir".
The same dejection crept into James' voice on his final reply. With no visual contact still, he could smell the filthy stench of the grim reaper, waiting with the biggest of axes to cut short his time upon the earth. Only then did he truly allow himself to picture Erin. The blonde girl that captivated his heart and ruled over him, that would be left shattered into a thousand pieces emotionally once he was physically. He'd miss the little smiles she would send him when she thought no one else was looking as well as the feel of her delicate skin upon his. Lips that would always welcome him would no longer be there for him to receive and his equally inviting lips would not be there for her.
"JAMES!"
David's shout brought him out of the trance he'd gotten himself into.
"LOOK! HENDON!"
In disbelief, James glanced forward and noticed exactly what his best friend was shouting about. The familiar layout of cabins and hangars stuck out like a sore thumb in a landscape that was otherwise full of houses. Against all of the odds, somehow he'd gotten them close enough for a shot at landing, one which he wasn't going to miss. Running through the mathematics of it in his head, he angled the biplane ever so slightly to line it up with the approach to the runway. One way or another, they were going to land at the airfield, but it was up to him to dictate how many pieces they would land in.
"Oh my… James… ye…".
"Not yet David!" He sensibly cautioned. "We aren't there yet!"
David knew when it was time to be silent, shutting up in the rear seat, focusing on anything around them that he might have to call out to his friend about. Up front, with visual contact made, James was back on the radio.
"Emerald Two to Control, over!"
"Control receiving, over!" Flight Lieutenant Bentley was once again present.
"Visual contact made, Sir, beginning my approach now, over!"
"We can see you Emerald Two, over!"
The radio was quickly abandoned. Bentley didn't need to talk James through landing the Swordfish, as there was no perfect way to land one without the use of an engine. Instead, he joined the rest of the men outside, waiting for their fellow countryman to attempt to achieve the impossible. Even if they didn't make it, the act of getting them so close, already made James heroic.
The boys needed God to be on their side in the same way he'd come to Orla's aid.
And he was.
The closer the aircraft got to the runway, the more that James' confidence secretly grew. He made sure he said nothing to David, unwilling to give his best friend any false hope. As soon as he could get the wheels onto the runway safely, the young pilot knew he could safely bring them to a halt.
"Brace yourself David!" He called out on the radio. "This could be rough!"
Wanting to reply with something sarcastic, David held his tongue. It really wasn't the time for sarcasm at all.
It was the time for an action so heroic and impossible, it was quite unbelievable.
The Swordfish's wheels made contact with the runway, jolting the two young men forward in their seats with a mighty thud. James remained hard on the controls however, doing his best to bring them to a stop as they began to skid along the runaway. They risked rolling over from the velocity they'd arrived at, but he held on grimly, fighting nature to be able to deliver them to a safe stop. He didn't look around to see that they'd shot past the position that Flight Lieutenant Bentley had taken up. The runaway was running out rather quickly, a date with the perimeter fence being one that they would be lucky to come out of unscathed.
"COME ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!"
James roared out as the tarmac was coming to an end. They were slowing down but not in time for the wheels to stop on that surface, instead finding themselves on the grass.
The metres were closing rapidly.
They were nearly at a stop.
So close.
The perimeter fence became the Sword of Damocles ahead of them.
Metres
Metres were becoming centimetres.
But there was enough…
The Swordfish came to a stop within touching distance of crashing through the perimeter fence, potentially to their deaths. Stop it did though.
With their eyes clasped shut, James and David, slowly opened them to find themselves alive and inexplicably in one piece. Breaking all the laws of aviation he knew, James landed them safely back at base without an engine, gliding in from ten thousand feet in the air. A feat of miracle achieved by the nineteen year old. A miracle that he could not explain; it just happened.
"Christ…".
The only word David could think of he spoke, whilst James remained silent. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the photograph of Erin he always kept in the jacket, from where it sat along with Mary's wooden spoon, and placed a kiss upon it. He would see her again.
The other pilots came darting across the airfield to meet them, an ambulance blaring away behind them in pursuit, though it would not be needed. No injuries had been sustained by either man, the only worry being their heartrates, but once the adrenaline began to wear off then they would be perfectly fine.
"James! David!"
Conventions were thrown asunder by Flight Lieutenant Bentley, who wanted to make sure that the two young men were safe. Thoughts of just how much of a genius James was also resonated within his head, never having seen such an incredible display of airmanship in his years. James managed to prove that a Swordfish could glide without an engine, completely by accident.
"We are well, Sir, I hope the Aircraft isn't too badly damaged".
Classically, James didn't stop to think of himself, but of the potential cost to the country if he'd managed to damage the plane. There were a few scuffs that would need to be seen to, paintwork to be reapplied by the maintenance crews. The Swordfish would fly again though.
The two were helped from their seats, Sergeant Smith taking a hold of David whilst one of the other pilots helped the heroic James down to the muddy ground safely. With legs like jelly, the two felt like collapsing, yet they knew they couldn't, a report being needed to be given to Flight Lieutenant Bentley immediately.
Before they could get a word in though, Bentley appeared to have read their minds.
"Your report can wait Gentleman". He grinned. "It's a bloody good job you are down in one piece!"
He specifically stared at David during the second half of his statement, the Irishman frowning at his commanding officer's intentions. It didn't take long for Bentley to reveal them.
"I received a call from Derry this morning…".
David's face dropped. He knew what the call would be about. Just as quickly as it dropped though, he felt James' hand on his shoulder.
"Your wife gave birth to little Marie Sarah this morning, mother and baby are safe and well. Congratulations Airman Donnelly".
The largest sigh of relief that mankind had ever seen was pulled from David's lungs. He was a father of a little girl, the child he'd waited for over a number of agonising months. Bentley soon left the two alone and James wrapped himself around his friend, embracing him warmly. Proud for his friend, James, like the girls, was prepared to do anything for little Marie Sarah. To give his life if necessary.
"Thank you… Thank you so much James… Thank you".
A few seconds passed before James registered that David was crying the gesture into his shoulder. There were tears in the corners of James' eyes too, but he blinked them away even though they were ones of happiness.
"It's alright mate. I'd never have heard the end of it if I'd got you killed".
Howling with laughter, the friends slapped each other on their backs and started to walk away from the devilish aircraft that nearly sealed their fates early.
Everyone was safe. For now…