Chapter 36: With odds like these…
When she returned home, scooped up in Michelle's arms, Erin was treated like royalty. The moment that Mary saw her daughter's almost broken body arriving up the pathway to the door, she fell into a protective state that could not be shaken. The tears began in floods for Erin when Michelle placed her down gently onto her bed, Mary resting next to her to hold her as she did. There was no blood pouring from her like there could have been… like there certainly would have been once Mandy finished with her. She'd gotten incredibly lucky that Michelle happened to be out walking when she was, otherwise, it would have been the hospital that they'd have been taking her to.
Her friend stayed with her for a couple of hours, taking over from Mary who fussed around getting Erin something to eat. Deirdre turned up after a while, summoned by Orla and Marie, who was very hungry by the time they returned home. As Marie was fed downstairs, Deirdre applied tender care to Erin upstairs. The force of the boot hadn't done any lasting damage to her, though there would be bruising for a couple of days that would make her chest feel as if it were on fire. The more concerning injuries were to her back. She screamed when she was turned over onto her stomach for the Mallon matriarch to examine her, as just the light touch of her fingers onto the exposed skin of her back sent Erin into a world of pain she did not know existed. The bruising was for more severe around her spine, although Deirdre was quick to point out to them all that there was no breaks or fractures that would have made it a lot worse. With her examinations done, Erin was permitted to lay back down onto her back, but she screamed again as the pain only got worse.
Eventually, Michelle and Deirdre left as it was getting late and they needed to get gone in case the German bombers decided to make their presence known. They were still doing so over some cities in England, which only made the citizens of Ireland wonder when their turn would come. Mary still fussed around her even after they'd left, with her Da thankfully staying somewhat out of the way. Gerry was angered by the savagery of the attack on his daughter but schooled his emotions well. He never wanted to see Erin in the state she turned up in with Michelle ever again. He stayed with her as the clock ticked on into the evening, Erin dozing off in her pained state on more than one occasion. Getting on for ten o'clock though, he deemed it the time for her to consider turning in for the night, as her struggles with remaining awake continued.
"Erin… Erin…". He whispered into the darkening room.
"Nnnnn mhhh". She answered with a grunt.
"Erin…".
"James…. L-love James…".
He could have snorted in amusement at his daughter's dreams, but he was far too respectful to do so. They were certainly dreams that he did not wish to know the full contents of, being worldly wise enough to know how those sorts of dreams went. Erin's love for the English fella was as strong as it was when he'd left over a year before, a strength that he did not see coming. However, he'd not considered the possibility that James would not return at all during that time, especially when David had on more than one occasion. The two of them deserved their happiness though, and as he approved wholeheartedly of the young Englishman despite his wife's wandering eye whenever James would be present, he prayed for his safe return every week at church along with David's. The two young men were needed.
"Erin… love… come on".
"D… Daddy?"
Slowly forcing herself awake, Erin finally roused to find Gerry sat on her bed. He'd been there when she'd drifted off too, sat protectively over her as he should have been. Still too drowsy to be of much use in a conversation, she waited for him to say something as she could not think of anything to say at all.
"Ye need to get yerself off to bed, love. I can see that yer very tired, so ye are". He told her.
"Aye...".
The yawn she paused to complete only confirmed her exhaustion. The pain was really taking it out of her, especially without anything to numb it. Deirdre didn't believe that the injuries were enough to necessitate any pain relief, so Erin was having to grit her teeth and bare it. It made it no easier that her bed was hardly comfortable, being the same one she'd slept in for many years. The bed at the cottage would be perfect, typically plush and comfortable as everything was when it was bought by James. Walking there would be difficult though. Asking Michelle to carry her over there was out of the question, with the young Mallon already complaining of a bad back of her own from carrying her friend, although she was only joking. Erin assumed…
"Does it still hurt?"
She could have slapped her Da for his naivety. Anyone could have deduced that she was still in pain, refraining from attempting to sit up being a further confirmation.
"It does. Too much". She sighed.
"Oh love…".
Gerry wished he could squeeze her tightly, to tell her that her father was there to protect her. It would cause more damage if he did so, but it did not change his paternal instincts. His own anger still bubbled beneath the surface, yet there was little that he could do about it. As much as he might have wanted to, he could hardly go round to the O'Connell's house and start beating the living daylights out of Mandy for hurting her. There was the very likely possibility that she would fight back too, which would not be ideal either, though in his rage it would not have concerned him. They didn't even have a father who he could direct the anger at. If Michelle's theory about their parentage was correct too, he would not stand much chance against a gorilla in a straight fight no matter what the setting.
"Do ye think ye'll be alright to go to work in the mornin'?"
The thought of work had not crossed her mind until he mentioned it. Focused on the agony in her back, there was never a consideration about the following day being Monday. It would be a tough journey to work if she was going to go, as walking with her back in the state it was would be extremely difficult. If any of them could drive the Morgan then they could have driven her to the factory, but the only two capable in the family were busy fighting the Italians in the Mediterranean. Unfortunately, with the need to supply uniforms for the war effort, a slightly bad back would not be an excuse to not turn up. She would have to go.
"I… I'll have to be". She whimpered. "Whether I'll be any use…".
"Ye'll do fine Erin. You always do me proud anyway". Gerry grinned.
Fighting her nature which told her to jump up and hug him, knowing that her back would not sustain the sudden jolt of movement, Erin settled for a grin in return. The trip to work would be a bridge to cross in the morning though, with the prospect of feeling better than she did as she lay there in the evening being hope that could be held onto.
"Ye know, yer James would be very proud of ye too". He continued to beam at her. "Yer showin' ye can be strong just like he is".
His name being uttered by someone else would make her heart race most of the time. If she could even make him the slightest proud of her as she was of him, then she knew she would be elated. They were both strong in different ways, though her courage was far less than his. Although she'd had the guts to stand up to Tina O'Connell when most girls would back away, it was not her smartest move when Big Mandy witnessed her punching her sister, yet no one could take away her bravery from her. When he returned though, she would be asking him to teach her how to defend herself in case the O'Connell sisters would attack her again.
"I wish he was here. He would have saved me".
"Somehow, I don't think he'd have let ye punch that wee Tina in her eye now". Gerry told her frankly. "We all miss him ye know…".
"Do ye?" A shocked Erin asked, involuntarily jerking forward to bring a grimace to her face.
"Careful love.".
The grimace remained for a couple of moments as she became comfortable again, with his hand being left out for her to grip onto should it be required. Once she was settled, he spoke up once more to praise the young Englishman.
"We all miss him a lot. He's been a grand fella to ye, love and I know… well ye know… but I'm sure the two of you's will make up for everything. Yer still young, ye'll have plenty of time to spend together in the future".
"Anna misses him". Erin commented.
"Of course she does". Gerry laughed. "She looks at him like one of the heroes out of her wee books, so she does".
"He's very handsome and dashing".
Erin couldn't stop herself from giggling, Gerry rolling his eyes before enjoying a chuckle himself. He wouldn't admit to his daughter that he couldn't disagree with her, being quite jealous of the Englishman. Although he could not abide by Mary secretly fawning over the young man whenever she would have the chance, there was no doubt why she did so. Albeit she was not as bad as her sister, Sarah often being caught by him for staring at James as he walked away at various time over the prior summer.
"I'll get goin' now love so that ye can get changed". He told her as he shifted closer. "Night love".
Bending down, Gerry pressed an affectionate kiss to her forehead. She placed her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze as a way of saying thank you to him. Raising himself up a second later, he quickly crossed the room to the door, looking back to smile again at her before departing. It was not that often, at least now that she was older, that she would be able to have those moments with her Da, but every single one was precious.
Left alone with her thoughts, Erin stayed still where she was laying. When she came out of church that morning, if she was expecting to come to any physical harm then it would have come from Michelle. Although it had never came to blows in the past, they'd held some fairly heated arguments. The O'Connell sisters were not even on her radar. It would only be on rare occasions, such as nights out, that they would end up in the same vicinity as them. There was no need for Tina to start in the way that she did, the young Quinn thought to herself, remembering how her thoughts turned to Marie's safety as the young woman began to threaten. She was glad that Orla had the sense to get away from the conflict, even though it isolated her when Big Mandy turned up. Against her it would have been foolish to expect Orla to be of use, as the Gorilla-like woman could have picked the two of them up and thrown them without being too troubled.
With another couple of minutes of reflection complete, she slowly began to lift herself up into a seated position at the edge of the bed. Determined not to yelp out in agony again, she was almost breaking sweat to avoid screaming from the terrible pain that the bruises were giving her. Shifting from being completely lying down flat on her back to swinging her legs over the side of the bed would normally take a half second, but it felt like minutes with the injuries she was carrying. It was achieved without a welp, tears streaming down her face being silent ones that she chastised herself for.
Sat up straight at the edge of the bed, she looked out of the window into the night sky. Empty, which was a relief considering it could be filled with enemy bombers at any given moment, it became an empty void where she could channel her thoughts. In her best dreams a plane would come by, James flying it with David by his side to mark the arrival of the two back home for good. To return as the heroes that they were. Instead, there was nothing. Thoughts turning to James as effortlessly as they normally would, Erin did begin to wonder whether he would be coming home at all. Her greatest fear in the whole world above anything was losing him. He was like a favourite food or drink to her; after one taste, it became hard not to become addicted to it. Her addiction was at a controlled distance though, thousands of miles apart to be precise. No letter had come for a while either. Despite Charlene's magnificent updates, courtesy of her father, to be able to hear her fella's thoughts as written by him was far more magical. He did have responsibilities, that she understood, but there were times when she would irrationally worry that he'd forgotten for. James would never forget her…
Her nightdress was already out on the edge of the bed ready, but before she could get it on, there was the delicate task of removing her current one. It would normally be a case of simply loosening it to pull over her head, but the requirements usually did not take into account a horrendously bruised back. The thought of asking her Mammy for help did enter her mind, before it was quickly moved away again. She was a woman now, not a little girl; it would have to be done herself. Facing up to it was another matter as she paused for a moment. When getting dressed was becoming an issue, it made her blood boil towards the O'Connell's for ensuring that she would have to feel crippled. It was a disgusting feeling, one that she did not want to have to get used to.
She began to slowly loosen the dress, which was the easiest part of the operation, still glancing out into the night sky as she did so. There were a few stars out in the sky, she happened to note, which was far better than seeing German bombers. It would be her luck that they would suddenly appear overhead when she was at her most vulnerable. There was no way she would make it out to the shelter in time, leaving her to her potential fate of being crushed or blown up by the attacking Germans. Other women, mostly in London, found that slow speed could kill them as many who could not get to shelter in time were ripped apart by the bombs. Some were even unidentifiable afterwards.
Lifting it over her head would be the difficult part, and her assumption was proven right a couple of seconds later when she tried. As soon as her arms were raised too high, the pain would shoot through her, a shriek being pulled from her lungs. She'd expected it to be hard, but the pain was only worsening, unaided by her attempts to get herself changed for bed.
"Come on Erin… for feck's sake it's just yer dress!"
Angered at herself, the young Quinn made another attempt at getting the dress over her head, but it was unsuccessful was once more. The bruises were straining her at every movement, but her embarrassment at being unable to get dressed was the far more dominant force inside her. It would be mortifying to ask Mary to come up to help, although it would have solved the issue straight away had she done so.
"Come on!"
The second chastisement of herself was more of a cry. There were tears, inexplicably after the amount of crying that she'd already done, waiting in the corners of her eyes to fall. The thought of having all of the questions at work about why she'd done something so stupid as to confront Tina O'Connell or how poor she was at defending herself against Mandy's assault, only increased the number of watery soldiers that waited. Any of the other women were more than welcome to take on the part-Gorilla, she thought to herself.
Taking a deep breath, Erin made a third attempt.
"A… AAAAHHHH!"
Yelping in pain, it was not loud enough to attract anyone's attention, but it was chilling enough to allow the previously held tears to fall. Quite how she would be able to be of any use the following day at work, she did not know, with the immediate worry of them firing her for being useless pushed to the front of her mind. Meyler was usually a fair man, however with the circumstance that was war hanging over their shoulders, he needed to make tough decisions. She would not begrudge him for it should he choose to as he'd only be doing his job.
Fears over the status of her job were quickly evaporated though. Before she could let her hands fall, they were joined by another pair of hands to offer the support to pull the dress over her head. With a renewed effort, the fabric cleared her blonde locks cleanly, leaving her topless after taking her bra off to allow Deirdre to examine her back fully. The hands were not big enough to be a man's, she realised, nor were they silky smooth likes James' were. The hands were not massive, but they produced strength, strength which enabled the dress to come off with ease… yet they were not rugged like her mother's. There was only one pair of hands in the entire family that could have been responsible for helping her.
Anna's.
With her back to the door, facing the stars, she hadn't heard Anna slowly enter. She'd already been in bed and apparently asleep, but she could not do so. When Erin returned injured in Michelle's arms, Anna was just as upset as any of them. If she got her little hands on the O'Connell's, they would know about it! Knowing that Erin was in pain, Anna could hear the occasional yelps from her own room. Her heart may have been young and still developing, yet she found it to be breaking from the cries from her older sister. She loved Erin dearly, the sister's being close like the aforementioned O'Connell's, without the nastiness that those two emitted. Standing in her sister's room, she watched the attempts Erin made at getting the dress off, finding it a task too far. As she made the third attempt, the younger sister had seen enough, climbing onto the bed and creeping up to her back. Unfazed by the reaction that she would get from Erin, Anna helped anyway. That was the sort of sister that she was.
"A-Anna?" Erin spoke her name out into the fading light of her room.
"Aye". She chirped away happily. "Ye should put yer dress on before ye get cold".
An unladylike snort was produced by Erin in response, amused by her sister telling her what to do. She would not go against the order though, picking up the nightdress. To get it back over her head would have been difficult, but with Anna to help it was not. The only problem that Erin faced was Anna herself though, who was remembering a very important lesson while perched behind her older sister.
"Anna… can ye help?"
"I… I need ye to put it into my hands, Erin". She uttered.
"Are ye not lookin?" Erin asked, whilst facing forwards still.
"Mammy said I shouldn't look at anyone if they have their top off because it's rude, so it is".
Mary taught her children well when it came to etiquette. They were no royalty, of course, but that did not excuse the need for them to be proper. One sister watching the other strip down to get changed did not sit well in her book, a lesson that was drummed into both daughters. Erin would never walk in on Anna, nor usually would the reverse occur, but after what happened with the O'Connell's, it was clear to the former that it was not a usual day.
"Exceptions can be made Anna". Erin huffed. "Please, help me?"
The anguish in Erin's voice was enough to convince her younger sister that for once, it would be the right thing to do to go against what her Mammy told her. It took a lot to knock Erin off of the pedestal that she saw herself on, which only made Anna more concerned for her. If the pain was manageable then she would have been up and about, professing how she'd survived the rabid attack of Big Mandy with little more than a scratch, making it seem like she was head and shoulders above everyone else. Reality hit harder than the fairytales that would play out in the mind of the aspiring poet.
With her eyes open, Anna took hold of the garment in her hands, doing it all by herself as Erin could stand the pain no longer. Once it was safely around her, Erin breathed a sigh of relief that the ordeal was finally over. The trip back onto her bed was one she was prepared to complete alone, but once she'd committed to helping, Anna was not going to leave so soon. Taking over, she gently grasped Erin's arm to steady her, as Erin shuffled herself back onto the bed as delicately as she could. On her knees at the side of the bed, Anna's other hand rested on Erin's back right where the pain was at its worst, a natural cushion all of the way down until she removed her hand so that it did not get trapped beneath her sister.
"T-Thank ye Anna". Erin mumbled.
"I don't like ye bein' hurt". Anna whispered, lacing her small fingers through Erin's larger ones.
"I'm not a fan of it myself, I'd have you know".
Giggling, Anna was humoured by Erin despite worrying for her. Erin was giggling too, allowing Anna to snuggle in next to her a second later once she moved closer. A newfound comfortability was realised for the older sister, her back pain seeming to fade with the warmth of Anna's little body next to hers. There was only one other person she could think of who she'd rather have next to her, the thoughts in her mind always coming back to the English Fella. He would have been asleep somewhere out in Egypt, fighting the heat in much the same way that she fought her back pain.
"Why aren't ye in bed, Anna?" She questioned.
"Couldn't sleep…". Anna admitted. "… I didn't like hearin' you strugglin'".
"Ye shouldn't let me keep ye awake. Ye'll get yerself tired, and ye have school now. Ye don't want to be tired tomorrow!"
"Aye I know…".
Sighing, Anna's mind turned to the newest addition in her life; going to school. It was her time that Autumn, heading off to school with the other children around the area. Not many young children had been evacuated out into the country like they'd been in England, which kept class sizes quite high. It was a chance to make friends, but in the opening few weeks, she'd grew to understand that she was ahead of the rest academically by some distant. There were many boys and girls her age who would still become shy around others or cry for their parents when they did not get their own way. Quietly working away in the corner of the classroom, she could already do all of her times tables, a task not expected to be completed for another few years. Sister Michael noted how fearful she already was of her, having always been afraid of what Erin could have been like with a better brain. Anna was the upgrade that terrified her.
"C… C-Can I stay with you?" Anna poised the question tentatively.
Erin knew that her Mammy would be furious to find Anna up and about, the blame being placed firmly upon her for allowing it. Tucked up by her side though, especially once her arm found its way around her little sister's shoulders, she did not want her to go anywhere. Anna was the greatest pillow that she could have asked for, a pillow that she did not want to let go of.
"Ye… if ye want to… ye can".
Normally she would have thrown her arms around her sister, similar to how Gerry wanted to hold her tightly, but Anna too knew that it would only hurt Erin more if she did. The very last thing that she wished was for her sister to become even more hurt because of her.
"I can't read ye a story though…". Erin made herself clear. "… all of me work is over on the table, so it is, and I can't think of any to tell".
"Why don't I read you one?"
Surprised, Erin only just stopped herself from turning over quickly to face Anna in her efforts to find out whether she was being serious or not. A gentle squeeze of her hand from her little sister told her what she needed to know though, Anna having one ready in her mind for them. It had been some time since the sisters slept next to each other, a novelty that was almost forgotten by the pair of them.
Staring up at the ceiling, Erin found a point to focus on, ready to hear the tale that Anna was going to tell her. It was nice to be the one hearing the work rather than creating it for once.
"There once was a girl from Derry, whose name was Erin…".
"Anna!"
"Let me finish!" She protested.
"She found herself in love with an Englishman called James, who was the best fella anyone had ever seen, even though he was English. He loved her too as well as her little sister Anna. They would all play together as a wee family at his cottage, where he would team up with Anna to play jokes on Erin, who would fall for them every time.
One day, some nasty German fellas decided that they were going to pick on some poor wee Polish fellas, which made some of James' English people very angry. They said there was going to be a war and James decided that he needed to go to fight the German fellas because the Polish fellas were nice. The German fellas were really horrible and they also started pickin' on the French ones too. After a while, there was only the British fellas left but they had James and his friend David too. James and David made sure that the German fellas wouldn't be nasty to anyone ever again so that the Polish and French fellas could go back to bein' all peaceful like they were.
When he was finished, James come running home to Erin and Anna. In the years that followed, James and Erin had themselves a little baby girl that Anna could play with too, where they lived happily together forever after".
At the end of the story, Anna took one glance over to find that Erin was fast asleep. Shifting up, she pressed a kiss to Erin's cheek, who smiled in her sleep at the show of affection that she did not consciously know about.
"Night Erin".
After a couple of minutes, the sister's found themselves cuddling on Erin's bed. In a world that was at war, they'd found peace in her room even with the injuries that she'd received. That was how Mary and Gerry found them half an hour later, the immaculate scene enough to drive Gerry into giving her a peck on the lips. Their beautiful daughters were snoring away into the night, the very essence of family that they'd spent years working on.
They were perhaps the proudest parents around.
Weeks later, 19th October 1940…
Rain was not something which came to Alexandria often.
From the very moment that the men woke up onboard the Illustrious that morning, the rain pounded the ship. There was no wind accompanying it which was a relief, but it was not the sort of rain that would bring comfort either. It was almost as dry and sticky as the humidity that was with them every day, that would not leave them for hours on end.
For James and David, very little of significance had happened in the weeks following the successful attack on Benghazi. When the men found out about James' promotion, there were cheers that were heard throughout the city that went on into the evening. There was no drinking that night, alcohol being forbidden for them given that they were on active service, but the atmosphere was just as raucous without it. Although he knew that he could command their trust, their affections in being so generous towards him were eye-opening to the Englishman. David did his best to stir them up further too, delighted for his best friend that those in higher office could see what they saw on a daily basis. That James Maguire was the best pilot and officer that Britain had. There were others who were not so pleased, especially those officers in the Fleet Air Arm based on home shores. Word of the further promotion of the young officer was beginning to stir up problems for those who saw themselves destined for the top, however they were kept in check by the tireless work of Captain Smithers. Backed by Lieutenant Colonel Menzies, a few well-placed blackmails saw that those officers whose tongues flapped too much in the wind, were reminded to keep them firmly within their mouths.
There was a trip to Malta to break the boredom of sitting in port in Alexandria. It did not go without incident, as the force was found by the Italians, who proceeded to make bombing runs that targeted Warspite in particular. Admiral Cunningham remained unfazed though, trusting that his ships could ward off the enemy without taking too much damage. Unfortunately, it became clear that the Italians were aware of the Illustrious' presence in the Med, as the ship was also targeted. Torpedo bombers made their attempt to put holes into the carrier, an attempt which went poorly as the Illustrious' crew never ever saw the tracks of the water-borne explosives. It was clear that whoever the commander of the Italian bombers was, was nowhere near up to the standards of Captain Maguire, nor were his men up to James' men's standards. They did not attempt to launch in order to meet the Italian bombers in combat, wary of the Italian fighters that were spotted in the clouds. The last thing that they desired was for the Swordfish squadrons to be risked on a task that the 806's Fulmar's and Skua's would be better suited too. The Fulmar pilots were not so lucky though as two of the 806's aircraft were forced to make landings on Crete, where the Greeks interned them.
A fleet of Italian ships went looking for the convoy too, which made for a nervous run towards the Island. It was not the heaviest of forces that was available to the Italians, their capital ships notably staying in port, but their presence was enough to worry the British Fleet. There were troop transports that they needed to protect, men being transferred to bolster the number of men garrisoned on the Island. They were at risk should the Italians decide to attack, though in turn, the Italians faced a rough battle with the number of heavy ships that the fleet could deploy in response. The Italian Fleet was first spotted by Pilot Officer Parkin, who'd been sent out on reconnaissance after an earlier flight found nothing. When he reported back, James was quickly in contact with the Admiral, who advised him that unlike the day before, his men would be required for combat. In the end, they were not needed for what would have been an attack on the enemy ships. It would have been a suicidal attack to make in the light anyway, as the crews aboard the Italian ships would have ample time to spot the Swordfish attacking. That would have been the case at least, but when Captain James Maguire would have been the man to lead the attack, they'd arguably gotten off lightly.
Another trip out did allow for the 815 Squadron to obtain further successes, with their commanding officer leading the charge from the front. Having already made an attack on Rhodes, Leros was the next in the chain of Greek Islands to be targeted by the Swordfish bombers. Like with Benghazi, it suffered from years of Italian occupation, the main town on the Island being made in the image of an Italian town. It was the image that the young Englishman and his men set out to damage, the Italian garrison not having the same luck as their sailor comrades did weeks earlier. Ninety two bombs fell on the Island, a shower of high explosives that destroyed multiple hangars around the Port area as well hitting vital infrastructure across the main town. Near enough every bomb found its mark somewhere, without any of the Swordfish suffering notable damage due to the little resistance that was put up by the Italians. The resistance by the enemy was saved for the way back to Alexandria however, as when the Illustrious re-joined the fleet, the Italian bombers pounced. Unsuccessful they might have been once more, but the nerves that it sent through the commanding officer's aboard some of the ships of the fleet were palpable. None of the British ships were sunk during the attack, but a torpedo bomber managed to nearly cripple the HMS Liverpool, which limped back to Alexandria for repairs.
They were not weeks that went by without incident, but on the whole, there was nothing of major consequence for James and David. Once they'd returned to Alexandria after the attack on Leros, thoughts turned to the mission to Taranto which would be happening a week later. The plans were already firmly established, another couple of meetings held between Admiral Cunningham, James and the other senior officers to establish the intricate details of the attack in full. The planning was the most precise the young man had witnessed in the entirety of his life, with even set mealtimes being sworn upon as if they were the bible. Best laid plans would often unravel though. Sod's law would dictate many outcomes in the life of a human being, sometimes for and other times against. The latter was very much in play for the British Fleet following the events of the day before.
Those events were why James found himself growling as he walked back to his cabin, fresh from another meeting with Admiral Cunningham. Before departing, he'd asked David to wait for him there in the knowledge that he would require significant de-stressing afterwards. Sailors and airmen alike would all move well out of his way as he passed them on the way there. Every man aboard the Illustrious knew not to do anything to rile either Captain Maguire or Captain Boyd, who was equally angered about what had transpired the day before. One act of stupidity threatened the plans of one of the most ambitious attacks that the world would see, which the world was suddenly in danger of not seeing.
Opening the cabin door, he found David to be sat on his bed to the side. He was reading a book, one which James was gifted by a local man in Alexandria. The Captain could not understand it, as it was written in Arabic, but David found himself a guide to the language when he was on shore leave. Emboldened by having a translation on one side of him as well as the book on the other, he was reading it with great interest. Lacking the time to be able to do the same, the Englishman was happy that at least David could find some enjoyment with it, even when he could not.
"A good read?" James enquired.
"Well, I have to admit the first couple of pages were a bit rough…". David replied, smirking. "… but when I got into it with the translations, I have enjoyed it, so I have".
"At least the kind gentleman can have some solace that one of us enjoys the work".
Taking off his cap, James rested it on the table, rubbing his tired eyes. The meeting involved a lot of staring at maps as well as reports that were written in some of the shabbiest handwriting he'd ever seen. David took what he assumed was a hint, though James did not intend for it to be one, placing a bookmark in both books, returning them to where they sat on the edge of his best friend's desk.
"It's bad then?" David asked, assuming once more.
"Very".
When the alarms of the carrier went off in port the day before, without being as part of a drill, the worries set in for the Captain. It happened around just after half past nine that morning, as the two Captain's aboard the ship were discussing the upcoming raid on Taranto, on the bridge of the ship. Before the alarms were sounded, there was already some shouting from the hangar deck, though it was not unusual as men would shout up to the landing deck when the aircraft were clear to be sent up. It soon became very clear that all was not well when the alarms went off and when the two Captain's looked out again, they found what was wrong. Smoke was rising from the deck below, wafting out at one end of the carrier. All non-essential personnel were taken off the ship, the majority of the airmen also disembarking whilst the sailors fought the fire. James joined them, Boyd retaining command of operations from the bridge, stripping down to leave himself topless as he helped to pump the water onto the burning aircraft.
"How many are done for?" The question came from the Irishman again.
Sighing loudly, James answered.
"Three destroyed, two damaged beyond a quick repair".
"Shite".
Shite was just about the nicest word that could be used to describe the situation. The fire could have been prevented, a miscommunication between sailors and airmen resulting in the loss of valuable aircraft for the attack on Taranto. Checking the fuel for contamination should have been a simple task for them to handle, but when instructions were misunderstood, danger would often occur. They were lucky that none of the men were injured in the fire, though the loss of the aircraft was already more than enough to cause headaches for the senior officers in charge of the complex Taranto mission.
"That is not all.". James continued to spread the bad news. "Eagle's crew have discovered that their whole fuel supply is contaminated. They think it is a problem with the tanks from what Captain Bridge told the Admiral".
"Christ…". David muttered. "… how quickly can they decontaminate it?"
"Nowhere near quick enough. We will have to fly alone from Illustrious".
There were meant to be contingents from both of the carriers that would participate in the raid, and Illustrious could not take on the full contingent from Eagle. With the latter carrier out of service for the attack, it would leave a maximum of twenty four aircraft available instead of the forty or so that they'd planned to attack with. The odds, that were already massively against them, were only getting worse.
"We all have to disembark this afternoon as well to allow the repair crews to begin work".
"If they need my help…".
"I have already offered both of our services". James interrupted, finishing by grinning at him.
"I thought ye might have done". David rolled his eyes, chuckling. "But will our repairs be done in time?"
"By the end of the month".
Confirming that they would be done, James ran a hand through his hair. To be able to return to his cabin, having David at his side, was something for him to be grateful for. The tense meeting with the Admiral featured many words that neither man would be caught saying very often, but with the stakes so high it became unimportant to remember their gentlemanly conduct. The Admiral himself was furious with the sailors and the airmen, who were only saved by the Englishman speaking up on their behalf. It was rare for there to be a misunderstanding between his men and the Navy crew of the Illustrious, the two having worked in unison for months. Without them to address his complaints to though, it was James who bore the brunt of the Admiral's anger.
"I took full responsibility". James commented, huffing out a strained laugh. "The lashing that came with it too".
"It wasn't yer fault!" David challenged.
"That does not matter, David. That's the downside to being a senior officer... the higher that you are in the chain, the closer the book stops to you. Sometimes with you…".
Getting up from where he was sat, David placed a comforting hand on James' shoulder, though it did little to help for once. Admiral Cunningham did not think any less of the young Captain, holding him in higher regard if anything, but the blame needed to be placed somewhere. What James did not know, was Cunningham was keeping silent about the writing he'd seen on an official order that arrived via a ship that week. He knew Lieutenant Colonel Menzies well, the two having shot together in the country on many a weekend in the quieter years when war was not at the forefront of their minds. If a man like Stewart Menzies was writing orders pertaining to one of the officers under his responsibility, then he knew better than to come down too hard on James. That sort of business was not his to be involved in…
"I suppose it gives ye longer to plan". The Irishman offered his opinion. "We don't want to be rushin' into this raid and then find ourselves fuckin' it up".
David's words did what his hand could not, bringing a smile to the Englishman's face. Whilst planning had been done very carefully, the margin for error remained wafer thin. The attack would have to be on the perfect night, with the element of surprise on their side and a hope that the Italians would be just as useless at defending Taranto, as they were in the defence of Benghazi. The two of them, along with the Admiral, were wary of underestimating the Italians even when in a straight fight, they knew they would be the more likely victor. They'd proven in the desert battles that they could still be crafty even despite some embarrassing losses and their submarines would remain a constant danger like any sub's were. When some of the greatest ships of their fleet were sat in the port, the lackadaisical efforts of Benghazi would surely not be repeated.
"My faith is in our squadron and the rest of the squadrons, but I think you are right, David. We cannot afford to make mistakes". James replied sincerely.
"We can't be perfect either".
"We have little choice than to be. There will only ever be one chance to attack and achieve the surprise that we are looking for. The further times that we attack, the worse it will become for us".
Logically, the more attacks that the Swordfish pilots made, the more attuned the Italians would become at defending themselves. That theory was shared by the Admiral too, knowing that if success was to be found, it could only be found on the first night. There was always the possibility of an attack the night after to finish up any business not completed on the first night, the shock still wreaking havoc on the then hopefully demoralised Italians, but they could not afford any more attacks after then. If they could not sink the Italian fleet whilst it was moored in harbour, then the task would return to the battleships, who would have to wait until the new year if the Admiral was proven to be correct.
"It's not often that we get it wrong though, is it?" David once again took the lead. "You think of what we've done together over the last year, James. I think it's quite stunnin' so it is, a bank manager and a mechanic takin' on the Germans and the Italians, even those on our side when they were wrong!".
"We could hardly be accused of laziness". James scoffed.
"Any wee head melter who wants to come and tell me I'm lazy, will be gettin' to know the seabed a hell of a lot better I'll tell ye!".
David continued to amuse his best friend and commanding officer, James chortling loudly to his threat. Without David there to make him laugh and smile, it would have been a very lonely few hours for the Captain as he digested all of the information he'd taken in from the meeting with Cunningham.
"You are quite lazy, Leading Airman Donnelly".
Daring to make the suggestion, James raised an eyebrow to banterously challenge his friend. Unable to respond without falling foul of having to accuse his commanding officer of being a liar, David opted to shake his head instead. Barely able to contain his laughter, James looked ever so pleased with himself, humming a song of victory under his breath. Getting one over on each other was the tonic that kept them going on hard days. The plans for Taranto might have been disrupted, but their friendship remained firm to counter the incredible frustration on the part of the Englishman. Especially when he'd won.
"Yer lucky yer a Captain, because if ye weren't an officer I reckon I might have let ye introduce yerself to the wee fishes!" David chuckled. "Knowing you though, they'd probably like ye".
"Save yourself the trouble". James huffed. "We might be introducing ourselves to them soon enough anyway".
The two friends shared the most knowing of looks, or at least James thought the look was a knowing one. The meeting he'd come from might have been stressful from a logistical standpoint, but from the moment it was discussed within the meeting, another thought about a different conversation he would have to have, stayed in his mind. There was risk in any mission that they undertook, whether it be a simple patrol or attacking one of the most heavily defended harbours in Europe. The Swordfish might have been a very versatile, adaptable aircraft but it could still cause no ends of problems when it came to landing. One poor calculation from the pilot of the aircraft could send it plummeting over the far edge of the carrier into sea or even slamming its nose into the deck if the approach was too steep. That was before the enemy were even considered. The Admiral's risk calculation left him sick to the stomach, because he knew he would have to tell David too. Despite the secrecy of the details regarding Taranto, the Irishman would get to know everything.
"Admiral Cunningham believes there will be a casualty rate of fifty per cent". James spoke slowly and tactfully. "There is a very good chance that we won't come back".
Lightly nodding his head, David's expression changed from a frown to one that indicated what was almost sorrow. A step back from James was taken, his right hand coming to rest on his hip whilst his left ran through his hair. The reaction that James feared, the Captain stood stoutly in front of his best friend, letting him get out the emotion should he wish to. He knew David would not cry, at least not externally, as he was far too tough to allow the thought of death to get to him. Processing the information still wasn't easy regardless. Thoughts turned to home, not only Orla and Marie, but his parents too…
"Aye well, we knew that when we signed up". He commented.
"We did". James nodded, a slight smile on his face.
"I… I hope… ye know I hope me Ma and Da could survive without me. With Pete and Lorc gone, I don't think th-".
"David". The Englishman interrupted, gripping his friend's left wrist. "It is only a chance. I will do everything in my power to see you home safely, you have my word".
James did not need to give his word, as David knew that no expense would be spared on his friend's part when it came to keeping them alive. It still did not make contemplating the thought of an early grave, a thought worth holding onto. James' word would face multiple anti-aircraft batteries in order to be kept, a task which a pilot would struggle to complete. Yet there in lay his advantage, David being the crewman to the greatest pilot in Britain. The fifty percent chance of being killed in action sounded a lot closer to twenty five percent than it did seventy five when James was at the controls of the Swordfish.
"Yeah I know ye will, I know. After all, what's a few bombs between enemies?"
"That's the spirit". James responded gleefully, slapping him on the arm.
Settling down at his desk, James took out a glass to pour them both some water. The temptation to break out his secret stash of whisky was overbearing, but if David returned to the rest of the men with even the slightest whiff of it on him, they would make plans to raid their commanding officer's cabin. That would not do at all.
"To our successes, past, present and future".
James made the toast as their glasses came together to make a satisfying clinking sound. Both men held victories that fell within each passage of time but the women in their lives were the winners of each category without question.
"There is one more action to note". James announced.
His full attention given to his friend still, David waited for what he was going to say. James paused for a moment, opening the drawer of his desk to retrieve some paper. There was one sheet each, with the Irishman soon in receipt of his piece along with the spare pen that his friend handed over. No words were spoken between friends, David knowing exactly what he was being told to do. With a lack of suitable opportunities to come, for James at least, there were a pair of letters that needed to be written. Every man in the squadron would be permitted to write, the Admiral deciding to allow them all do so when it would usually be unacceptable.
With the likelihood of around half, if not more of them, not making it back to the Illustrious after the raid, there would be words that would need to be written to those that they loved. The letters would only be released should they be killed in action, a last act to give their loved ones a final memory to cling to as they began the process of letting go.
The only question was how many letters would have to be released.
Dear Orla,
I'm sorry love, but if you have been given this letter then I'm afraid that God has decided that I'm to go off up to heaven with him. It's a shame, but you know that's how it is. I know you've always reckoned that living in heaven would be cracker, so I'll keep your seat by my side warm for you when you come to join me. Ma and Da will look after you until they join me up here too. We already spoke about that after Pete and Lorc's service, so they know to do what I have asked of them.
As much as I would love that to be soon, I hope it is not because you will be needed with me gone. Our little Marie is going to need her Mammy a lot now without her Daddy to protect her. I suppose she will probably be used to me not being there anyway, but the other children at school are going to ask her where her Daddy is and she's going to get upset. I won't be able to do anything to help now, so you will have to for me. I can only say sorry again love for leaving you with this burden. I'll have you know though that I have gone up to heaven knowing that you will make sure that Marie will never feel any less for not having her Daddy there to look after her. You are such a strong woman, Orls, stronger than I ever was, that's for sure. Use that strength for both of you, please.
Marie is going to grow up to be the most beautiful girl in the world, just like you were to me. I always remember the first time that we kissed, when I realised that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Some wee Nazi loving fellas have cut that life short, but you are still going to have years with our Marie. Model her in your image love, make her into the strong young woman that you are. It won't be easy without me there with you, because there are some lessons that only a Daddy can teach their child, but you'll find a way of making her learn them. I know you will. There will be boys on the scene before you know it too. Just make sure that she finds someone that makes her happy. They don't have to be good looking or have lots of money. Happiness is the most important thing. I wouldn't have cared if you were the lowliest woman in all of Ireland or the wealthiest when we fell in love. We fell in love because we made each other happy. Please promise that you'll make sure that Marie finds that happiness too.
I don't want you to think that I'm being a bossy eejit, but I know you will be lost without a bit of guidance to start with. Erin is going to need looking after because I'd say there is every chance that she will have had the same letter and I think we both know you will cope better than she will. You are all going to have to put up with her crying for a long time, just don't ever get angry with her about it. Her love for James will cloud all of her judgements, which can be terrible in the best of times. She will need you there to hold her through that period as well as the next part of her life, when she finally accepts that James is not coming back. It might take months, maybe even years. Never let her go, Orls, none of you. There will be another fella that will come along one day that will be the one for her to settle but she is going to always measure men against James. He wouldn't want that, I'm sure he'll tell her that in his own letter, although she might have to be reminded by you or Mary that he would not. Be there for her love.
For yourself, make sure that you are happy too. I am not going to tell you to find someone else or live alone, I want you to do whatever it is that makes you feel happy. If that means finding love with another fella now that I'm gone then you can go on with my blessing. As long as he treats you well, then I would never begrudge you moving on from me if that is the best way for you to keep smiling. My smiling Orla was always my favourite Orla.
I will always watch over you and Marie whatever happens. I might not be able to speak to you, to kiss or cuddle both of you, but I can promise you that God will have to find me the best seat in heaven because I will not accept anything else than knowing I am able to watch you from afar.
Thank you for the best years of my life.
Your loving husband,
David.
Welling up as he finished his letter, David placed his head into his hands on his side of the desk. There were many tasks he'd been given throughout his time in service to the Fleet Air Arm, that would often overtake the previous on the scale of how difficult they were to carry out. The letter home to Orla ranked far above any order that Flight Lieutenant Bentley, Lieutenant Commander Borrett or Captain Maguire had ever given him. He held more nerves in James' cabin than he did standing at the altar on his wedding day.
The Captain himself was no longer by his friend's side. Before James could even start his own version of the same letter of fate to Erin, he was called away, Captain Boyd requiring his presence on the bridge.
His letter would have to wait for another day, though even with the delay, the attack on Taranto still loomed large on the whispering clouds of the ever-shortening horizon.
If fate was going to deliver him his worst ever hand, he was running out of days to put pen to paper…
Exhausting days were faced all across Europe. From the men fighting the battles that needed to be fought, for those left at home to cover their absence too; almost every day was exhausting. Some were more exhausted than others, as there were still a precious few who clung onto their old way of life as the continent changed around them. They were those people with the most influence and also those with the very least. Only the very wealthy or the poorest of poor could escape from being troubled by the war. Germany was the same as Britain, even for those lucky enough to be with a Doctor who was kept close in Hitler's inner circle.
Lyla was exhausted.
A late afternoon invitation to a gathering of those close to the Führer was one which caught both her and Hans by surprise, the two having to get ready quickly in order to be able to attend the event. Neither were expecting it to go on past nine o'clock, yet somehow it managed to. The lack of warmth in the night air of Berlin was not the most welcome of atmospheres to walk out into after hours inside, though with her warm coat around her, Lyla did not struggle for warmth once they did. Hans was the one more susceptible, chancing his arm by not taking a coat and being thoroughly proven wrong. They'd made the trip by foot, the building that they were going to, being only a five minute walk from Kurt's offices. In that five minutes, the cold made its presence known though, the two of them thoroughly glad to make it into the warm afterwards.
"Ich bin froh, dass wir bekocht wurden. Ich glaube, ich hätte nach einem so langen Tag nicht kochen können." She laughed lightly.
("I am glad that we were fed. I do not think I could have cooked after such a long day".)
"Du hättest sich zu helfen gewusst, wie immer."
("You would have found a way, Lyla. You always do".)
Grinning at him, she accepted the pleasant comment. It was not the easiest of occasions for the young Lieutenant, who always looked uncomfortable and out of place at such events. He was clearly annoyed by the rumours that swirled around the room when he walked in with her, some questioning the exact nature of their relationship. She did not allow him to say anything that he would regret, marshalling him discreetly throughout the evening. Although the likelihood of upsetting anyone too powerful was low, as Hitler himself was not there and many of his generals were called to his side for a meeting. It left only those with little military prowess to mingle, Lyla's acting skills becoming incredibly handy once again.
"Du bist zu lieb, Hans."
("You are too kind, Hans".)
Returning the compliment, he reciprocated a grin back to her before taking his seat at the table in the kitchen. The clock crept beyond half past nine as he watched it, whilst she took off her coat, hanging it up on the peg behind the door. It would remain close by though, as the threat of the British bombers was just as prevalent as the German bombers were over London. The Royal Air Force were a constant menace in small raids, having damaged the Brandenberg Gate on one such occasion. Even living in the country that was winning the war in Europe, death was an ever-present possibility.
"Das wäre nett. Ich bin überrascht, dass wir ihn überhaupt noch haben." She asked.
("Would you like wine?")
"Das wäre nett." Lieutenant Hartmann smiled. "Ich bin überrascht, dass wir ihn überhaupt noch haben."
("That would be nice. I am surprised we still have any left".)
"Wirfst du mir vor, Säufer zu sein?" She enquired playfully.
("Are you accusing me of being a drunk?")
Looking over at him, she found his hand was carefully placed over his heart.
"Ich würde es nicht riskieren."
("I would not dare".)
Being able to laugh and joke with someone was not part of her cover, not that she cared. Captain Smithers could hardly reprimand her for growing close to Lieutenant Hartmann, who was not just a German soldier. He was a young man in need of guidance for finding his way in life. If anything was said, there was always the argument that she was getting close to him in order to discover secrets about Kurt, though she was wary of being able to spin a convincing lie to those higher up the chain.
"Der Krieg läuft nicht so gut…"
("The war is not going well…".)
Whilst the General's and other military officials were present at the start of the party, some of those who were less in favour of the Führer were more than willing to point out the obvious. She already knew thanks to Smithers that the war was not going as the German High Command envisaged it to when it came to Britain. The fighting spirit of the kingdom that she fought for truly amazed her, not the first time it had done so, though the first time when the odds were so bleak. Facing a Nazi wall in Europe, the bloody nose of Britain dripped into the Channel, goading the Germans into their moves. The Channel's sharks, the Spitfire's and Hurricane's were always waiting though, and when the blood was in the water, they would never fail to bite.
"Die Luftwaffe hat uns im Stich gelassen." Hans growled.
("The Luftwaffe have failed us".)
"Das sind doch starke Wörter, Hans." She replied in a quiet voice.
("Failure is a strong word to use, Hans".)
She tried to placate him, but it would be no use. The truth being put to the young Lieutenant rather bluntly by one officer, the Luftwaffe were failing in their quest to defeat the RAF. The air force of Britain was at times stretched, but it was never broken, always finding a way to bounce back on a daily basis. The Luftwaffe simply could not match the rates of attrition that their enemies could. Hans did not take the news well at the time and, from what she could see from looking at him, still was not.
"Ist das nicht wahr? Hat sie uns nicht im Stich gelassen? Hat sie nicht versagt, Großbritannien zu zerstören?"
("Is it not true? Have they not failed us? Have they not failed to eliminate Britain?")
Eliminating Britain was never going to be down to the German pilots alone, but they were the first part in the war machine's previously unbeatable cog, leaving them the ultimate responsibility of delivering the first crushing blows. The war machine's cog was not working, grinding to a halt in the face of the dogged British spirit that radiated off of the old island.
"Wenn du es so ausdrückst, kann es dann als Scheitern gelten." Lyla conceded.
("I suppose when you put it like that, then it can be considered as one".)
"Ich verstehe nicht, Lyla. Wie? Wie kann die scheitern?" He continued to bemoan, gesticulating wildly.
("I do not understand, Lyla. How? How could they fail?")
"Nicht jeder Kampf kann gewonnen warden". Lyla spoke honestly and openly, against every sense she held. "Manchmal ist es besser, einen Kampf zu verlieren, um aus den Verlusten zu lernen."
("Not every battle can be won. Sometimes it is better to lose a battle, to learn from the losses".)
"Unterricht brauchen wir nicht! Wir brauchen den Sieg!"
("Education is not what we need! We need victory!")
Fiddling with her hair, Lyla listened intently as Hans once again proved that he'd been conditioned to follow Hitler's word as if it were gospel. Education was exactly what many young German men were lacking. There was knowledge hidden from their minds, which taught them to think in a certain way, knowledge that would set them free from the terrible overtures of Nazism. Looking for victory, Hitler's ultimate aim across the world, was exactly what the good young German boy should think.
"Der Sieg kann verderblich sein, Hans." She continued with her foolish honesty. "Es findet sich Ehre bei Niederlage, sollten deine Taten sie verdienen."
("Victory can be poisonous, Hans. There is honour to be found in defeat should your actions merit it".)
"Ehre?" He snorted. "Es gibt keine Ehre, gegen die Briten zu verlieren!"
("Honour? There is no honour in losing to the British!")
Acknowledging that the British were gaining the upper hand in the skies over their own country was not something that Hans could say without bitterness entering his conscience. The old Empire that was meant to bleed until it surrendered, was not doing so, a loss of honour in his eyes. To the rest of the world, kicking an enemy until he screamed surrender was not an honourable action, but to the young Nazi that was the Lieutenant, honour could only be found in beating the British. To him, there was no honour to be gained in defeat.
"Du kennst die Briten besser als ich. Wie kämpfen sie weiter wenn ihnen keiner zur Seite steht, um mit ihnen mitzukämpfen." The Lieutenant enquired searchingly.
("You know the British better than I do. How do they remain fighting when they have no one to fight alongside them? No America, No France… No one".)
"Das sind die Briten. So handeln sie halt."
("They are Britain. It is the British thing to do".)
"Du sprichst, als ob du sie bewunderst…"
("You speak as if you admire them…".)
Challenging her cover, Lyla put up her shields to avoid him being able to read her. She admired her employer greatly, far more than an Irish woman should, but in Germany, she was Lyla Walsh who was no friend to the British Crown. The reality being something so different was the truth that she hid behind a pack of lies that would be renewed every morning. The Lieutenant's youthful naivety was a blessing though as, as far as she knew, he suspected nothing about her true allegiance.
"Ich have keine Liebe zu Großbritannien, aber ich werde es nicht leugnen, dass die Briten über einen Kampfgeist verfügen." She stoically rebuked him. "Ich habe Angst, es zu sagen aber unter uns glaube ich dass sie zu einfach abgeschrieben wurden. Zu glauben, dass sie kapitulieren würden, war dumm."
("I have no love for Britain, but I will not deny them the fighting spirit of the country. I am afraid to say it, but between you and I, I believe they have been written off far too easily. To believe that they would surrender was foolish".)
The Lieutenant's eyes widened for a moment, before returning to their natural state. Her final words were ones spoken with far too much passion, she knew, the acting skills that helped her out so often suddenly coming to hinder her. Her panic remained internal to not give him any hint of her true affection for Britain. An agent of the crown could never be allowed to be found out so easily, not in the middle of a conversation with a young officer who was barely able to tie his own shoelaces.
"Vorsicht, Lyla. Andere Männer würden dich zu Himmlers Männern bringen." He warned, aware of the Gestapo's considerable influence.
("Careful, Lyla. Other men would see you meeting with Himmler's men".)
"Die Wahrheit zu ignorieren würde einfach zu unnötigen Todesfällen führen." Standing her ground, she replied without hesitation.
("Ignoring the truth would only lead to unnecessary death".)
"Es spricht immer noch nicht die Luftwaffe von ihrem Scheitern frei."
("It still does not excuse the Luftwaffe from their failure".)
"Die Truppen haben einfach ihre Befehle befolgt, Hans. Männer sind gefallen beim Versuch, den Kampf zu gewinnen."
("They were merely following their orders, Hans. Men died trying to win the battle".)
"Sie waren nicht gut genug!"
("They were not good enough!".)
"Hans!" Lyla was forced to shout. "Du solltest nicht so über die Gefallenen reden!"
("Hans! You should not speak like that about those who have died!")
She despised having the sort of conversation that would lead to an argument with him, but in her attempts to break the conditioning he'd received, they would have to be held. As smart as he was, the young Lieutenant could never fully open himself to the thought of their great war machine showing any form of weakness. The mentality developed after crushing Poland and France in quick succession was both a strength and a weakness for the young men of Germany. It allowed for them to have great belief in themselves, making them a formidable opponent to anyone, but it also meant complacency would creep in because they thought it would be easy, anyone foolish enough to challenge them soon rolling over. Britain fighting back broke the fallacy of the mentality, leaving young men like Hans unable to understand how they were supposed to act and feel.
"Sorry, Lyla...Ich bin einfach frustriert." He apologised, sighing with a hand pressed into his cheek. "Ich wollte, dass dieser Krieg vorbei wäre, dass die Briten verstehen würden, dass sie nicht gewinnen können."
("Sorry, Lyla. I… I am just frustrated. I wanted this war to be over, for Britain to understand that they cannot win".)
"Es gibt endlose Möglichkeiten darüber, was passieren dürfte, Hans. Die Briten zu überzeugen, dass sie nicht gewinnen können...wird nie möglich sein."
("There are endless possibilities to what might happen, Hans. Convincing Britain that they cannot win… will never be possible.")
One lesson she'd learned over her varied life, was to never tell a Brit, whether it be a man or a woman, that they cannot win. Overturning the odds was a specialist subject for the old Empirical dynasty of Western Europe, odds which were planning to be overturned once again in the south of Italy, though she did not know of it.
"Warum vereinen sie nicht mit uns? Ihnen dürften ihre Freiheiten gewährt werden, sobald sie sich nicht mit unseren Zielen einmischen. Wir sind schließlich vom gleichen Blut."
("Why not join us? They could even be allowed their freedoms as long as they do not interfere with our aims. We are of the same blood, after all".)
"Betrachten sie es so?" She questioned, an eyebrow raised. "Ich glaube nicht."
("Will they see it that way? I think not".)
"Können sie sich erlauben, auszuhalten?" He replied with a question of his own. "Wir haben die Macht Europas hinter uns, keiner wird den Briten helfen?"
("Can they afford to hold out? We have the power of Europe at our side, nobody else will come to help them".)
"Großbritannien hat ein Reich. Weltweit gibt es britischen Einfluss, sogar hier."
("Britain has an empire. Throughout the world there is British influence, even here".)
The Empire might not have been what it once was, but it was still just that. An Empire. Time caught up with the spell of Imperialism, the people of the once conquered countries wanting more out of life than to live under British rule, to be drawn into British conflicts when all they wanted was peace. Its influence could not be denied, nor could its legacy be forgotten. Britain ruled the world once and the vast resources that it could still call upon outside its own home waters were testament to its reach.
"Das britische Reich wurde einmals als das Reich bezeichnet, in dem die Sonne nie untergeht. Ich möchte nicht so oft daran denken, aber es ist teilweise wahr."
("It was once said that the sun never sets on the British Empire. It is not something that I wish to think of very often, but there is truth in it".)
Baulking at her comment, Hans contemplated getting up. Storming out of the room would have been the move of a child, yet he was a man. He would have to stand his ground in the kitchen of Kurt's offices. Lyla might not have liked the British, but he could not abide by her holding them with a certain level of respect still. The British were not meant to be respected at all when they would not act in line with what the Führer wanted.
"Ein altes Reich, das zu uns auf den Knien sein sollte!" He raised his voice defiantly.
("An old Empire, an empire that should be on its knees to us!")
"Es gibt noch Zeit, Hans. Außerdem kämpfen die Italiener auch gegen sie, oder?"
("There is still time, Hans. Besides, the Italians are fighting them too, are they not?")
The Italians might have been fighting, but not even Hitler was convinced that they would be of any use. It was unfair, the relatively untested and comparably poorly equipped Italians were never going to be able to match their German allies. They were doing a reasonable job of keeping the British occupied in the Mediterranean, though most of the German High Command believed they would only hold out for so long. The British Mediterranean Fleet was a powerful one, weaker than the Home Fleet though brimming with experienced commanders. The British naval commanders were far superior to a lot of their German counterparts who did hold battle experience, leaving the Italians next to no chance in defeating them. A fight on even terms in the Med would only be won by the British. Yet as the plans for Taranto proved, they were not planning on making it an even fight, despite their advantage.
"Im Mittelmeerraum. Nicht auf dem britischen Hauptland." Hans reminded her.
("In the Mediterranean. Not on the British Mainland".)
"Die Briten sind noch deswegen beschäftigt, oder?" She in turn, reminded him.
("The British are still occupied because of it, are they not?")
"Warum sollten wir den Italienern vertrauen? Ich glaube nicht, dass sie uns so viel helfen werden wie wir vielleicht glauben."
("Why should we trust the Italians? I do not think they will help us as much as we might believe".)
Having no trust in Germany's ally, Lyla began to see beneath Hans' armour for the briefest of seconds. He'd always spoken of Italy as a great friend before, a country equally as heroic as Germany for resisting the major powers of Europe. Suddenly lacking faith in them was against his usual outlook, but he quickly hid back beneath it, showing an acting flourish of his own that was admittedly impressive in her opinion.
"Ein Alliierter ist ein Alliierter, Hans." She huffed.
("An ally is an ally, Hans".)
"Ein Alliierter ist nicht immer ein nützlicher, Lyla."
("An ally is not always a useful one, Lyla".)
As conversations about the progress of the war often did, the two ended their thoughts on the matter abruptly. Lyla could not risk going into the discussion any further, her cover already being thrown into jeopardy upon Hans realising that she held admiration for the British. It was a lot more than just admiration, truths that Lieutenant Hartmann did not know. Sipping at their wine, the two shot glances occasionally at each other, trying to ascertain whether the other would say anything further. When neither of them was willing to do so, they sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence for the ten minutes that followed. He took to staring out of the window for five of those minutes, looking up into the sky to see if he could spot any of the British bombers himself. He would be straight out to the anti-aircraft guns if he did, wanting to have a go at bringing the night terrors down from the sky himself.
Eventually, the silence became too unbearable. Lyla was the first one of the two to break, her confidence starting to waver when Hans did not say anything. She worried about him staring out of the window, subconsciously aware that he could have worked everything out when it came to her true allegiance, signalling out into the street to the guards that would come to take her away. Her fears were unfounded, Hans remaining as wonderfully naïve to the truth as he always was.
"Können wir nicht mehr über Schlachten reden?" She asked. "Es wäre nett, über etwas anderes zu sprechen."
("Can we not speak of battles any longer? It would be nice to discuss something else".)
"Es gibt eigentlich etwas, was ich mit dir diskutieren wollte."
("Actually, there is something that I wanted to discuss with you".)
"Sag mir, Hans."
("Tell me, Hans".)
His pensive look towards her made the Irish woman frown. She did not expect such a look from the young man, who had shown in their conversation about the progress of the war that he preferred to be direct. She'd seen those looks before, around a year before when his brother was killed in action in the Polish campaign. He might have been an officer in the very country that she was operating against, but he was still a young man whose feelings were just as important as a young English or Irish man. She wanted to know what troubled him.
"Ich möchten, dass Elsa hierher kommt, um mit uns zu wohnen."
("I would like Elsa to come to live here with us".)
"Hans…".
("Hans…".)
"Ich weiss, dass eine komische Vereinbarung wäre, aber ich will nicht immer wieder von ihr weg sein müssen...Ich...Ich glaube, ich liebe sie wirklich."
("I know that it would make for a strange arrangement, but I do not want to keep having to be away from her. I… I think I really do love her".)
Elsa was a good young woman, who Lyla wholeheartedly approved of. Her coming to stay with them on a full-time basis was a very different matter, however. She might have been the one to put the two together, but she did not know the young woman well enough to trust that she was not going to spy on her. Trying to get intelligence to London was hard enough with Hans around the offices, let alone having Elsa there too. There was also Kurt to factor in, whether he would approve of the young woman coming to live there permanently. She doubted that he would, but also did not want to let Hans down, as she could not dispute his belief that he was in love with Elsa. She could see the signs for herself that they were happy together. Lyla was young once too…
"Es ist nicht für mich zu entscheiden…" She mumbled.
("It is not for me to decide…")
"Bitte, Lyla?" His question came out more as a beg. "Wenn Kurt wieder kommt, werden wir sowieso verlassen."
("Please, Lyla? When Kurt returns, we will leave anyway".)
She put up a front to stall him, but from the moment love fell into the considerations, she was never going to say no. Her own difficulties would have to be faced so that the young lovers could be together, a sacrifice she was willing to make. Elsa being close by at all times would allow her to assess the young German woman, ascertain whether she was a threat to her. If she was, then a performance worthy of high accolade would need to be performed to ensure that the threat was moved on, even if the Lieutenant moved on with her. Moving on with her appeared to be his plan anyway; it would not destroy her if she had to.
"Ich kann nicht für Kurt sprechen, aber ich habe kein Problem damit."
("I cannot speak for Kurt, but I have no problem with it".)
"Danke dir, Lyla. Du bist immer gut zu mir."
("Thank you, Lyla. You are always so good to me".)
Far too good to him for a woman who went against everything he'd ever believed in, she buried those thoughts to lean forward and squeeze his hand affectionately.
"Dies ist eine Zeit wie keine andere, Hans. Wir brauchen Freunde, die aufeinander aufpassen."
("This is a time like no other, Hans. We need to have friends who look out for each other".)
Friends were required all across Europe, as well as in the further theatres that the war continued to extend to. Yet friendships were easily broken too.
Easily…