Chapter 7
One week before the end of Kit's medical leave . . .
Molly walked down the sterile white corridor of the hospital. As she turned the corner, she heard a familiar voice call her name. She was pleasantly surprised. "Kit!"
"Hey." He grinned. "Thought I'd surprise you." He hugged her gently. "Notice anything different?"
It didn't take her long. "When did you get your cast removed?"
"About an hour ago." Kit gingerly rubbed his left arm. "It's still pretty weak. Doc says I'll have to start exercising if I want to fly again." He shrugged his shoulders. "Even if I have to do paperwork for a little while, I may be able to start the ration runs again soon."
Molly tried to not let her disappointment show. If Kit was assigned to a non-combatant position, then he could feasibly be positioned in Cape Suzette. It was the ration runs that took him away.
"Hey, it's ok," Kit soothed, lifting her chin. "We've still got this week." He kissed her on the cheek.
Molly was about to reply when she felt a vibration under her feet. "Kit-?"
"DOWN!" Kit dropped to the floor, taking Molly with him. A few nurses screamed. A doctor yelled something to another doctor when everything suddenly changed.
Molly felt heat, but nothing else. A deafening blast shook them. As she was about to lift her head, Kit pushed her back down against the cold floor of the hospital. She then felt debris raining down, stinging her legs through the nurse's uniform. A brick grazed her head. She felt herself starting to cry. Kit pulled her closer, trying to shelter her with his body. She felt him tremble. After what seemed like an eternity, all was deathly silent.
Kit hesitated, then raised just his head to look around. He was dumbstruck with horror. From his limited viewpoint, he could see that one of the walls of Cape Suzette Memorial was completely destroyed. Reinforced beams still held the ceiling, but plaster and paint still rained down in portions. Fire had begun to consume bedding in a corner, and bodies were scattered everywhere. Kit was not sure if they were alive or . . .
Somewhere, a nurse was screaming. The sound pierced the ringing in Kit's ears. He sat up slowly, then helped Molly to a sitting position. She could not believe her eyes. She wiped away her frightened tears, then struggled to stand up. Blood already streaked her white uniform and a large cut graced her head from the brick.
"Molly—you're hurt." Kit's mouth was dry. The back of his knee was numb. He ignored the sensation.
"Kit, I'm fine." Her eyes were glassy.
"No, you're shell shocked. You need help."
"Don't be silly, Kit! I'm supposed to be giving help." She gave herself a cursory inspection. "Honest, it's not bad. Just some superficial cuts. I'm fine." Still a little dazed, she hurried to one of the closest victims, a doctor. "Kit, can you help me get this block off of his leg?" Kit and Molly strained to remove a large cinderblock from the doctor's lower extremity. The doctor moaned in pain, but did not appear to be fully conscious. After he was freed, Molly looked around helplessly. "What are we going to do?"
Without warning, a stream of hospital personnel flooded the partially demolished room. They had all been in other parts of the hospital and had just now come to rescue the survivors. Molly now finally allowed Kit to help her to an empty hospital gurney. She sighed and let her head rest on the pillow. She felt very tired.
"Molly!"
"Hmmmm?"
"Do not go to sleep, do you hear me?"
"Oh, Kit, I'm fine. I just need a little nap. I'm dizzy . . ."
"Molly, something hit your head. If you go to sleep—" Kit couldn't finish the sentence. He searched frantically for a doctor to assist. He couldn't watch his love die in her sleep. He could tell the "scratch" on her head was surprisingly deep; she was losing a lot of blood. He pulled off his shirt and tried to staunch the flow of blood. "Doc! Hey, somebody!" Tears burned down his face.
After a few seconds, someone relieved him. Kit couldn't even see the face through his tears. He fell down to the floor, rocking himself and holding his head in his hands. He had almost let Molly die; he had nearly entirely forgotten his basic medical training. He felt lost, alone. Someone tried to talk to him, but he could say nothing, do nothing. He sobbed. He felt like he was losing it. Finally, he heard someone say, "She's gonna be ok."
He gulped in great, giant breaths. He touched something warm and sticky on the floor around him. A slightly metallic smell began to fill his nostrils. He shook his head, still trying to gain control over his senses. "Thank you. Thank you." Kit kept repeating the phrase. After a moment, he heard a gasp and felt a burning pain in his arm. The burning turned to numbness; he realized he had been injected with some kind of anesthesia or painkiller. He felt his body relax involuntarily, then someone lifted him onto a cot, positioning him on his stomach. His eyelids grew heavy, and he turned his head. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Molly's blond hair streaked with red.
****
"-it? Kit?"
Kit's head felt as though it were being assaulted by several jackhammers. His eyes flickered open; almost immediately, he regretted the action and he closed his eyes again. However, the brief sight of Baloo towering over him was comforting.
"Kit, boy, if you're awake, squeeze my hand."
Kit squeezed with all of his might, but was only able to make a slight pressure. Baloo sighed with relief.
"Kit, you're alright. Gave us a scare." Kit felt Baloo's hand tighten around his. "You lost a lot of blood yourself. You got cut behind the knee pretty bad. They found it just in time." Baloo's other hand stroked Kit's forehead and answered his silent question. "Molly's fine, thanks to you."
Kit whimpered in response. Baloo leaned closer. "Papa Bear . . . I . . . screwed up."
"No way, Lil' Britches. If not for you, she would have fallen asleep. You were right—she had a concussion." Baloo tried to comfort Kit as tears began to seep out from under closed eyelids. "But she's fine now. I'm sure she wants to see you. No one knows how you got up and helped her with that gash, son. You're a miracle."
Kit's body began to tremble again. "What happened?" he croaked.
"Nobody's really sure. Someone got past the cliff guns . . . maybe a double agent, we don't know. Usland's in a big uproar—hospitals all around the country were bombed." Baloo gritted his teeth. "You two were lucky."
Kit's mind, still heavily medicated, drifted away from Baloo. In his mind, he heard the explosion . . . thoughts of the battlefield filled his head. Dan's plane going down. His own plane hit. Molly . . . . He tried to open his eyes, but was still too tired.
"Get some rest, Kit. I'll be here." Baloo squeezed Kit's hand again. Kit fell into an uneasy sleep without dreams.
****
Molly stirred in her bed. Her head was aching, but other than that, she felt fine. She opened her eyes to see her mother sleeping in a chair. Molly then glanced at her own body, now clad in a hospital gown, seeing several cuts and scrapes. She wrinkled her brow, only to feel the pull of the stitches in her forehead. "Mom?" Molly's voice was barely audible. Rebecca jerked awake.
"Molly?"
Molly nodded. "Where's Kit?"
"In a room down the hall. Honey, we're so glad you're alright." Rebecca choked back tears. She was tired of crying.
"Is Kit ok?"
Rebecca nodded, almost unable to speak. "He's hurt, but he's fine now." She gathered Molly to her for a hug. Molly nestled into her mother's arms. "Sweetie, when we heard, Baloo and I thought we'd lost the two of you."
Molly smiled for her mother's sake. "Not that easily, Mom!" Her smile faded. "Were we really bombed? It wasn't some kind of accident?"
Rebecca was quiet. "Yes. I'm afraid so. When we heard . . ." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I never thought Cape Suzette would be hit. I mean, I knew we were a target, being so close to enemy lines."
"Were any other places hit?"
Rebecca shook her head. "Only hospitals." She shrugged uneasily. "I've heard it was to destroy morale; I just pray that their strategy fails."
Molly nodded. What's going to happen now?"
"Security will get tighter; the cliff gunners will be monitored more closely. Radio communication will be lessened. I'm sure we'll have a lot more restrictions placed on us."
"Do you think Kit'll have to go back?"
Rebecca sighed heavily. "More than ever, Molly. I know it's hard, sweetie, but hopefully this war will be over soon. Just keep praying."
"I am, Mom." Molly's voice cracked. "I am."
****
Two weeks after Kit's return to duty . . .
Kit pounded angrily on the typewriter keys. Now he knew why he hated deskwork; it was too much like being back in school. Not only was he practically chained to his desk, but the government had felt he was best suited to work in Anglia, hundreds of miles away from Cape Suzette. He stopped typing for a moment and stretched his arms and legs. "What I wouldn't give for an hour in my plane," he grumbled under his breath. A secretary hurried in and gave him another report to file. He sighed as he glanced over it. Another list of casualties. He scanned it as usual to see if he recognized any names. None this time. He rubbed his eyes and cranked another page into the typewriter. He had just begun typing when the secretary came back.
"Telegram for you, Kit." She casually handed him the message.
"Thanks, Sara." He read it carefully . . . once, then twice. Letting out a yelp of joy, he threw it into the air. Sara stuck her head back into the room.
"Kit?"
"I'm back in business, Sara! The airstrip calls." Finally! Two months after the accident, his company was finally requesting him back into full and active service. He breathed a thankful prayer, put aside the pending report, and began a letter to Molly.
****
"Mom!"
Rebecca sealed an envelope before answering. "Yes, dear?"
"Kit's going back into active duty!" Molly's hands shook as she read Kit's newest letter.
Rebecca nearly gave herself a paper cut. "What?"
"They're putting him back in a plane." Molly couldn't help but let her emotions show. "Oh, Mom, do you think that's a good idea?"
"Now, Molly, he'll be fine. They wouldn't let him fly if he wasn't ready for it." She moved around the desk to Molly's side, engulfing her daughter in a hug. "Have faith."
****
Kit was a little nervous as he rode the jeep toward the base. He'd missed his buddies more than he'd thought. Was it going to be the same? Would he be the same pilot? He longed to run his hands over the controls of his plane. The jeep stopped long enough to allow Kit to collect his belongings and get out, then sped away. Kit swung his duffle bag over his shoulder and made his way into the main tent.
"Private Christopher Cloudkicker, reporting for duty, sir!"
The captain returned Kit's salute. "At ease, Private." He shuffled some papers on the desk. "Glad to have you back." He even cracked a half smile. He handed Kit a briefing. "Get some rest; the squadron's got a run in the morning. 0400 hours."
Kit fought against making a face; he'd almost forgotten about those early morning drops. "Sir, thank you, sir." With a quick salute, he made his way to his assigned tent.
"Well, if it isn't Cloudkicker!" Doug Steele grabbed Kit in a quick, one-armed hug. "You're looking good, man!"
"Thanks, Doug." Kit smiled. "It's good to be back." He dropped his duffle and surveyed the interior of the tent. "I hear we're running early?"
Doug grimaced. "You know it. Guess you haven't missed those, huh?"
"Right." Kit snorted. "I think I'm going to check out my new assignment."
"Hey, man, lead the way. I'll hang with you, if that's alright."
Kit shrugged. "Fine. Chow's next, right?"
"Yup. Good ol' tin cans of something."
****
Kit felt tears prick his eyes as he sat in his new plane. Everything gleamed in the late afternoon sun. He glanced out of the cockpit at Doug. Doug seemed to acting strangely. Maybe Kit just had been out too long. Doug was walking around his plane carefully, checking the landing gear, the propellers, anything that he could see. Kit leaned out a bit.
"Doug?"
"Yeah, Kit?" Doug ran his hand over a propeller blade.
"Something wrong?"
Doug shook his head. "It's just what I do before runs anymore." He met Kit's eyes. "There's talk of sabotage in the squadron."
Kit's brow furrowed. "Sabotage?"
Doug's voice lowered. "Remember Jack Ulster?"
Kit nodded. "He helped me out after Dan's plane went down. I remember seeing his name on one of the lists I had to file."
Doug's voice was almost a whisper. "He wasn't shot down."
Kit's eyes narrowed with disbelief. "Are you saying-"
"That's exactly what I'm saying. Don't trust anyone anymore, Kit." Doug paused before walking away. "Not even me."
Kit sat in his plane, the afternoon sun glowing orange in the foreign sky. He watched as Doug's retreating form disappeared into their tent, then Kit made his way out of the cockpit. Before getting some rest before the early run, he ran a cursory inspection of his own.
****
Kit felt himself being jostled awake. "C'mon, buddy. 0330 is here." Doug gave Kit one extra shake, then proceeded to splash some water on his own face.
Kit groaned, then pulled himself out of bed. He did a quick calculation in his head; it was around 9:30 p.m. in Cape Suzette. Molly would be getting home from the hospital about now. Rebecca would be on the phone with Baloo, making sure that he would be on time for tomorrow's delivery. Wildcat would be spraying the Sea Duck down after the day's deliveries. Life was going on there. He felt a twinge of regret as he pulled on his scarf and leather jacket. He could have stayed if he had wanted to—but this, he reminded himself, was going to save some lives. He pulled on his heavy gloves and made his way out to his plane.
Out of curiosity, he made another inspection of his aircraft. The ration packages had been loaded last night, fuel tanks were filled, and everything was supposed to be in top condition. He felt his hands shaking as he climbed into the cockpit. He forced himself to focus on the mission ahead.
The radio crackled in the early morning stillness. Kit double checked his directives, then warmed up the plane. Around him, nine other pilots went through the same motions. In the pre-dawn, he waved at Randy; somehow, Randy saw him and gave Kit a thumbs up in return. Kit tried to be optimistic about his mission. He ran his hands over his controls; he had to admit—he still felt at home in a plane. The airstrip roared to life. Kit felt the nervousness drain away as he soared into the air. The time it took to reach their drop point seemed relatively short; this bothered Kit. This meant that the enemy was making its way closer to their base of operations. He pushed the thought out of his mind as he made the drop and radioed back to base. As he maneuvered his plane to return, he heard other pilots radioing back as well.
