This chapter was first Published: 08-26-16 - updated and re-written with the help of the talented Rodsantos in August 2020. The refresh and continuation of this story would not be possible without his fantastic contributions.
RAF Dalcross — June 1939
The sun peeked through the hanging clouds, and the airfield was bathed in the gleam of the new dawn. Under the glare, all five members of the team squinted displeasedly. Sitting by their packs on the bare tarmac, the squad shifted and squirmed, trying to take shelter as best they could from the early light, but there was no respite to be had out in the open.
Pearl looked over at James in sympathy as he shielded his bloodshot eyes and hung his head down between his knees. The jouncing seventy-mile ride by cargo van up from Achnacarry hadn't done him any favors, not after the copious amounts of ale he had consumed last night. He was the worst off of the four men; George and Darren had wisely taken plenty of water and salts in a mostly-successful attempt to sober up before setting off, while Frank appeared to be fully functional, if a little in pain. According to him, he hadn't slept well, and the rough journey had only aggravated old pains from some accident at sea.
The other four, however, had been in awe of her. Despite all the alcohol she had imbibed at the tavern, she appeared to be bright and alert, so much so that she had been able to spin a convincing enough story to the duty sergeant that her squadmates weren't hungover, only sore from the hard beds and the overexertion of training. Unbeknownst to them, however, she was trying her best to ignore a persistent, throbbing ache radiating out from her gem. The beer hadn't exactly agreed with her.
Pearl stood by the flight line, waiting for the signal to board their assigned transport aircraft. With nothing to do, she occupied herself with a close examination of the human flying contraption which would convey the squad to Poland.
From a distance, the odd-looking aircraft had given her pause. Now she was seeing it close up, she found herself slowly filling with dread. The Bristol Bombay transport before her made the primitive steam locomotives from her earlier travels appear solidly built.
It was an odd airplane, with comically large wings, a narrow fuselage, a blunt nose constructed fully from glass, and propeller engines which seemed far too small to drag the aircraft into flight. From under the engine assembly protruded spindly landing gear, which appeared as if they had been scaled up from a tin toy's.
This was the best the squad was going to get. As they were urgently needed at their destination, and this aircraft was passing through for a refueling stop en route to Poland, Command had figured that they could save precious time and resources by having the crew take on a few hundred pounds more of cargo.
That's their top-of-the-line transport aircraft! Pearl thought to herself as she paced furiously around the aircraft. It doesn't even look like it can get into the air, much less stay aloft! It's not even pressurized, so we'll be flying down amongst the weather systems. All that drag on the airframe means we'll be moving along slowly, too. Stars, is this going to be a long, turbulent flight!
Giving the aircraft one final look-over, she groaned in frustration. She'd have to get used to riding one of these around. There weren't many better options. That afternoon in Sussex would be the only time Pearl would allow herself to bend her oath to Rose, and that meant that further use of the warp pads was out of the question.
If something did go wrong up in the sky, at least she could offer her expertise to improve everyone's odds of survival. It simply wouldn't do for her to get poofed in a violent crash and have her gem scorched to oblivion.
"Pence for your thoughts?" asked a familiar voice. James came up beside her, still swaying slightly in his step from the previous night's revelries. She pulled herself from her abstraction, regarding the young man with an amused smile.
"You're inspecting our ride, eh?" he observed. "Just had a chat with the crew. They assured me that though this bird doesn't look like much, she's very solid and airworthy."
Pearl cast a critical eye at the crude engines once more. "You could have fooled me."
"Are you scared of flying? Truth be told, I'm also a bit terrified at the prospect of being ten thousand feet in the sky, held up only by thin air. I've never done it before. My family wasn't rich enough for that, and we never really needed to go anywhere in such a hurry."
"No, no, I'm not scared of flying." Pearl shook her head vigorously. "I used to pilot aircraft myself. I learned a few things about the maintenance process. A bit about flight plans, as well."
"Is that so?" interjected Darren. Having overheard the conversation, he had come over out of boredom to join in. "You're just full of surprises. I mean that in a good way, of course. What kind of plane did you fly?"
While waiting for an answer he slipped a paperboard packet from his breast pocket and flicked open the flap, removing a single cigarette from within. He raised it to his lips, lighting it off with a match.
"Those things will kill you someday." Pearl eyed the little cigarette curiously. Such a strange custom among humans it was, to shorten their lives for the strange pleasure of sucking foul-smelling smoke through their fragile respiratory system.
Darren shrugged, then took a long, deep drag on the cigarette. "We're going to war. Does it make much difference at this point?"
Pearl frowned a little at the fatalistic reply. "Anyway, I used to fly, um...crop dusters. Up in Canada. At my uncle's ranch, during the growing seasons there. He taught me everything about the mechanics of aircraft from him too. He was in the Royal Flying Corps during the Great War, and he did his best to pass on his knowledge to me."
An easy lie. She really was getting better at them. These men would never understand the terror—and the thrill—which had flowed through every fiber of her being during the Gem War, in those days of excitement and glory when she had flown assault shuttles and jury-rigged dropships through the densest of the Empire's defenses.
"Sounds like an interesting man, your uncle," remarked Darren, now sorting through his gear to make sure he had packed everything. "Who knows? Maybe the things he taught you could come in handy sometime."
~{0}~
An hour or so later, the crew were finished with their various tasks and promptly waved Pearl and the others over to start loading the Bombay, a fairly quick process because of the squad's careful organization of their various equipment the previous afternoon. Gear all accounted for, it was finally time to clamber aboard and face the prospect of this steel death trap.
As the engines sputtered to life and the plane began rolling away from the flight line, Pearl couldn't help but tremble against the straps of her safety belt. Every squeak of this primitive airframe sounded as if it were about to come apart under her feet. And they were still on the ground.
The Bombay was accelerating over the strip, struggling to get enough air flowing under its wings. Pearl clamped her eyes shut, despairingly gripping at her harness for support. "Stars, this really is as bad as I feared! These rivets and welds surely can't hold up! We'll break apart in midair!"
"You were right." From the seat across Pearl's, Frank grinned, holding out a one-pound note to George. "You win, mate. I didn't think she could be this frightened of flying."
"Never any doubt...ouch!" George clutched at his side, the victim of a sharp dig from Pearl's elbow. "Oi! What was that for, sister?"
"Don't tease me," she lightly scolded him . "I'm not scared of flying. I'm just not used to being flown by others, and this aircraft doesn't seem very stable compared to my old crop duster."
"Okay, fine, I take it back. I'm still keeping the money, mind you." George grinned smugly, tucking away the banknote. Clearly, he and Frank were enjoying this trip.
Pearl turned to the seat beside her for support. "James, you don't think I'm scared of flying, do you…?" He and Darren were leaning against each other, both fast asleep. The former was snoring peacefully, while the latter was drooling on James' shoulder. "Oh, never mind. Seems as if those two really can sleep anywhere.
If only she could access the camera in her gem storage without arousing suspicion. This tableau before her would really make for some prime blackmail material.
~{0}~
The hours rolled by, and the Bombay continued on its eastward plod from just beneath the cloud layer, The constant hum of the engines and the gentle rocking soon lulled George and Frank to sleep as well, leaving Pearl alone to stare aimlessly at the metal walls.
Meditation was out of the question in this noisy, petrol-saturated environment, and Pearl unbuckled her harness to head up towards the cockpit. She might as well pass the time by having a conversation with the pilots. Maybe she could learn something useful, or even alleviate her fears about this rickety flying machine.
Maneuvering in the dark, cramped cargo hold while the plane swayed up and down was a challenge, even for her, but after weaving through stacks of rations and stepping over ammunition tins, she found herself standing just behind pilot and copilot seats. Out beyond the front windscreen, the great blue expanse of the North Sea stretched as far as she could behold.
Between flying the plane and their animated discussion of a recent football match they had attended, the two pilots didn't detect her arrival, and so Pearl's examination of the myriad dials, buttons, and knobs of the instrument panel went unnoticed for now.
Compared to the dropships she had piloted eons ago, this equipment was incredibly primitive. The gauges and indicators appeared to be mechanical in nature, and all the data they held had to first be processed by feeble human minds before it could even begin to be acted upon.
At the same time, it did lend itself a certain charm. She was surprised that there even existed any single human who could comprehend this constant barrage of information quickly enough to avoid a crash, much less what had to be thousands of pilots across the planet.
"Hey, lady. Hey, lady!" shouted the flight engineer over the rumbling engines, and Pearl was instantly torn away from her study. After finally getting her attention, he gestured for her to kneel down at the floor and motioned excitedly towards the control panel at his workstation. "You seem pretty interested in what we do up here! Anything I can help you with?"
"Thank you…" Pearl cast her eyes over the engineer's uniform, "...uh, Lieutenant. Can you tell me what all those gauges are? I can make out the ones for altitude, revolutions per minute, engine temperature, and a few others, but what are the ones over in that corner all about?"
"Nice guessing. You've got those right." The engineer proudly tapped a finger against one of the glass dials. "This one's oil pressure, and these readouts here are for the electrical system. We've got to make sure those spark plugs are firing off right, no?"
"How about those?" Pearl pointed to a bank of bulbs off to the man's right side.
"Oh, these? That's my alarm panel. If anything in this system fails, the corresponding light will come on and immediately tell me if something's gone wrong..."
~{0}~
As continental Europe skimmed by below, Pearl's understanding of this aircraft's mechanical parts and systems was steadily growing, and her uneasiness began to wane. Somewhere over Denmark, the engineer had run out of things to discuss with her, and she had then moved up to the pilots to ask about flight controls.
A couple of hours out from landing, the weather outside was slowly worsening. Deep gray storm clouds drifted into the flight path, and soon the aircraft's rhythmic shaking grew in violence as the crosswinds picked up. Thick droplets beat down upon the windscreen, coating the glass in streaks of rain and degrading the visibility even further.
"Weather's getting rough, lads!" shouted the pilot, gripping the yoke with both hands. "Corporal, you'd best get yourself back there and strap in tight. We're about to get thrown around pretty hard, and we don't need you becoming a human projectile in here."
Nodding her understanding, Pearl backed out of the cockpit in order to negotiate her long return to the rear of the plane. The cargo hold had seemingly gotten even darker than before, and she bounced painfully off a pile of wooden crates before she managed to stumble her way into the passenger compartment. Outside, rain and hail battered at the aircraft, glancing off the steel skin in a harsh, incessant drumbeat. The engines screamed, fighting a losing battle against the howling wind to maintain airspeed.
Pearl dropped into her seat, reaching over to pull her safety belt across her lap. She snapped the buckle in place and looked up to see how the others were faring. Next to her, James and Darren had awoken from their slumber, and they hurriedly inspected their own restraints.
I just knew these damn things weren't safe! Lucky me, to be stuck in one during a storm like this!
Without warning, a powerful down-rush of turbulent air shook the Bombay, plunging them into freefall. To the occupants, it was as if gravity had suddenly been switched off. Pearl floated out of her seat, only saved from a nasty collision with the roof by her seat belt before the aircraft was finally able to right itself. By her feet, Frank's duffle bag slammed back down to the floor with a dull thud.
James' eyes bulged, and he clamped a hand over his mouth to hold back a wave of nausea. Beside him, Darren shut his eyes tight, and Pearl could see him desperately mumbling prayers under his breath. His carton of cigarettes was clenched tightly in his white-knuckled hand.
Up on the flight deck, the pilots increased power. The nose abruptly tilted upwards, and the plane clawed its way higher into the stormy sky as the crew tried to fight through the downdraft and regain full control over their machine.
It was an imperfect solution. From the neighboring compartment came the screech of loose packing cases, sliding from their damaged restraints.
For their part, George and Frank were clearly enjoying themselves. Both wore stupid grins on their faces, gleefully belting out some damned song about a fatal accident while para-jumping.
He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright,
He checked all his equipment and made sure his pack was tight;
He had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar,
"You ain't gonna jump no more!"
Pearl whispered a prayer, one from eons ago when she had flown dropships through heavy Empire fire. This time, however, her own safety wasn't the primary concern. A crash would most likely dispel her physical form, leaving no permanent damage as long as her gem stayed intact, but her squadmates were immensely fragile beings. and it was for their sakes that she hoped that this craft held together.
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
He ain't gonna jump no more!
Like a swimmer crossing parallel to a riptide, the aircraft dragged itself from the downdraft's clutches, the ground far too close for comfort. But the storm was far from over. The wind and rain still hammered down against the plane, tossing it between shuddering gusts which threatened to tear the fuselage apart like a wildcat toying with its prey.
Over the groans of the struggling machine, George and Frank continued to sing loudly.
"Is everybody happy?" cried the sergeant, looking up
Our hero feebly answered, "Yes," and then they stood him up;
He jumped into the icy blast, his static line unhooked,
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
They pitched violently to the right, nearly rolling inverted, and the passenger door to Pearl's left creaked in protest. Loose odds and ends from the open cargo hold filled the cabin, skittering along the steel floor and bouncing off seats, windows, and people in equal measure.
It was an iron toolbox that did it. The plane's sudden movement had thrown it airborne, where it slammed into the passenger door. With the great shriek of metal tearing itself apart, the door's hinges gave way. It hurtled off into the void beyond, soon followed by several supply boxes.
The deafening torrent filled the cabin, and Pearl flung her hands in front of her head to protect herself from the stinging rain driving horizontally through the gap. And still Frank and George went on singing their bloody tune, having resigned themselves to whatever fate held in store for them.
He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock,
He felt the wind, he felt the cold, he felt the awful drop,
The silk from his reserve spilled out, and wrapped around his legs,
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
"Pearl!" yelled James over the wind, she turned towards him. He was pointing right at her midsection, a look of horror etched on his face. She looked down, and instantly understood his alarm. The restraint across her body was failing, the canvas torn halfway through as it threatened to snap free from the buckle.
James slammed his knuckles against the damaged cargo partition for attention. "Help!" he bellowed towards the cockpit. "We've got a broken safety belt back here! She's about to get pulled right out of the aircraft!"
"We're almost out of this!" the flight engineer's voice called back. "Just find something to grab onto—!"
Pearl felt the canvas give way, and the belt came apart around her. The wind seized her, dragging her from her seat, and she landed on the floor. The plane tipped nauseatingly earthwards, and she was skidding down-slope towards the gaping passenger door.
She grasped at the floor, searching desperately for anything to arrest her fall, but her fingers met thin air. The dark chasm seemed to suck her in, and she tumbled towards the gap. The only thing that would stop her fall now was the raging waves of the Baltic, twelve thousand feet below.
A strong hand grabbed hold of her overcoat, halting her inexorable slide. She was inches away from the door, and the gale outside whipped at her face, threatening to freeze her gemstone where it stood.
"Hang on, P, I've got you!" shouted Darren. His face was red, his arms trembling from the exertion of maintaining his tenuous grip on her coattails.
Beside him, James unfastened the buckle of his lap belt, reaching down to grab ahold of her outstretched hands. Together, they managed to pull her away from the gap, dragging her back to the bench where a new harness was hastily improvised.
"Thank you, both of you," Pearl gasped, trying to calm her frayed nerves. "That was close, much too close."
"Here, try one." Darren offered her a cigarette from his pack. "It'll help you settle down."
She accepted the little paper-wrapped stick of tobacco, and Darren set off a match to light it for her. A few puffs of the acrid smoke later, and she found her composure slowly returning. Maybe there really was something to be said for the habit.
The plane broke free from the gray clouds, soon verdant countryside emerged below. The sun shone brightly through the windows once more, as if the violent storm had only been a vivid nightmare.
Pearl would have believed it, too, but for the packing crates strewn across the floor by her feet and the gaping hole where the loading door had once been.
Pearl relaxed against her seat, the cigarette burning away between her fingers. For the remainder of the flight, nobody spoke. Each one of them were too busy giving a silent thanks to whichever deity had deemed them worthy of continued existence.
Okecie Airport, Warsaw
The remainder of the flight had thankfully been uneventful, allowing those aboard to calm their frayed nerves. It was still midmorning when the Bombay's wheels touched down at Okecie Airport, rolling to a halt in front of a two-story terminal building. As ground crew swarmed concernedly over the battered plane, the squad took the opportunity to disembark, implicitly agreeing that the sooner they were off that cursed flight, the better.
Darren's boots were the first on Polish soil. Pearl followed next, still a little wobbly as she dropped down from the ladder and alighted on the solid pavement. Once everyone had gathered on the ground, they spent the next half hour carefully inventorying their equipment. Fortunately, nothing valuable of their own had been lost, only a couple of bedrolls and some flashlights which could easily be replaced locally.
Pearl and Frank had just finished inspecting the squad's rifles for damage when a green-painted staff car peeled across the tarmac towards them, followed closely behind by a three-ton army truck. Both vehicles ground to a halt twenty feet from the parked transport aircraft, a middle-aged man in a dark brown dress uniform jumped out from the lead car. He was a senior officer, tall and spare with sharp features. As he made his way over, he fixed a black-brimmed peaked cap over his balding head.
"That must be our local contact," said Darren, zipping his duffel bag shut and dropping it to the ground. He marched over to the car to meet its occupant, and the others immediately dropped what they were doing to watch the two make their introductions.
"Attention!" hollered Darren towards the squad. "Line up!"
Pearl came to full attention, chin up and chest puffed out, offering a crisp, precise salute to Darren and the officer, who was also accompanied by the other occupant of the staff car, a uniformed young woman who had to be his assistant.
"At ease, soldiers." The Polish officer smiled. "Greetings, I am Colonel Ignacy Oziewicz, representing the 29th Grodno Infantry Division. I understand from Brigadier Clarke's letter that you will be training with us and keeping London informed of what happens here."
"Yes, Colonel, that is correct, sir." Though Darren tried to keep his voice neutral, it was impossible to hide the sense of excitement and pride he was feeling from their first operational deployment.
"Good." Oziewicz scanned the four members of the team appraisingly, his eyes lingering on Pearl for a moment longer than the others before he looked to Darren again. "Please introduce your squad, Corporal Williams."
"Sure, sir. This young lady is Lance Corporal Pearl, our resident marksman...or, woman, I should say. Beside her is our quartermaster, Lance Corporal Frank Wilson, along with Lance Corporals George Byrne and James Appleby, both general weapons specialists."
"Wonderful, Corporal. A pleasure to meet you and your men, and I look forward to working with you. The 29th has been moved to Skierniewice, around an hour southwest from here, for training. There, suitable quarters will be made available for your team. Adelajda?"
Armed with a pencil and notepad, the colonel's assistant had studiously been taking notes. "The arrangements shall be made at once, Colonel."
Oziewicz remained silent for a moment to look past the squad, curiously focusing on the battered aircraft parked behind them. "What happened to your transport plane?"
"We hit a bad storm on the last leg of the trip, sir," answered Darren. "The pilots showed considerable skill keeping us from plowing into the countryside as a burning wreck. Even then, we almost lost Pearl out the cargo door when it gave way, and I think we left some of our gear at the bottom of the sea."
Oziewicz grumbled in disgust, glaring at the damage the machine had sustained. "And still my colleagues wonder why I like to drive everywhere. I'll see to it that your equipment is properly replaced."
Adelajda bit the tip of her pencil as she scanned her notes, then regarded Pearl with worry. "Does the Lance Corporal require her own quarters? I'm not certain how the men will handle a woman residing at their barracks."
"Oh, I'll make do with what's convenient," chuckled Pearl. "The boys know to behave, lest they suffer my wrath."
The colonel's assistant beamed, leaning in to whisper in her ear. Blushing a light shade of blue, Pearl snickered, playfully punching her shoulder. Still laughing, Adelajda muttered to her in Polish, then strode jauntily back to the staff car and unhooked the handset of the shortwave radio in the back to make her arrangements.
"What did she say?" James murmured cautiously to Pearl.
"Just girl stuff. Not the sort of thing your delicate male senses should hear."
"It's no secret, boyo," snorted Frank. "She was asking if any of us fine, strapping men are available."
"Attention!" Darren barked, cutting off George from inserting his own witty remarks. Immediately the squad snapped back to formation, suppressing their amusement with some effort. "If you haven't noticed, our host officer is still present."
Oziewicz laughed out loud, patting Darren on the shoulder. "Thank you, Corporal. A squad that can balance professionalism, discipline, and such tight camaraderie is indeed one that will succeed and survive. At ease, soldiers! Get settled and relax, for the coming weeks will be very busy."
Darren's scowl immediately vanished, and he offered a sharp salute. "Thank you sir!"
Oziewicz returned the salute. "Now load your equipment onto the truck, and we'll depart for Skierniewice after lunch." A few moments later, he had rejoined Adelajda in his staff car, and they backed away from the flight line. The engine revved and the car accelerated out of sight, leaving the squad alone with the truck and a couple of Polish privates assigned to porter duty.
"You heard him, lads." Darren jerked his thumb towards the truck. "Load up and let's get moving. Sooner we get it done, the sooner we can get some rest."
29th Grodno Infantry HQ, Skierniewice
The last leg of their journey mirrored the first, another rough ride across the countryside which left the team exhausted when they finally arrived at their destination. After tossing the last of their duffel bags off the back of the three-ton truck, the driver directed them to the administration building at the camp's center to get checked in.
Heading into the small office, they found a weary-looking young private seated behind a metal desk, laboring away at his paperwork with a pen in hand. When he noticed the visitors, he jumped to attention and saluted.
"Welcome to Skierniewice." His English was passable, if heavily accented. "I am Jablonski, office of camp quartermaster. What can I do for you?"
"At ease, soldier." Darren motioned for him to resume his seat. From his coat pocket, he produced a slip of paper and laid it on the desk for Jablonski to read. "My team requires replacements for some lost supplies and lodging for the duration of our stay."
"Yes, I was informed of this." Jablonski tilted his head to indicate the telephone on the table. He scanned Darren's list, then jotted down a few notes on his clipboard. "The supplies have already been gathered for your use. Please follow me."
The private led them back outside, then around the side of the office building to a row of corrugated iron sheds. He took a key from the ring hanging around his belt, and glanced up at the sign in Polish to make certain they were at the correct locker. The padlock was undone, and the metal door creaked open to reveal the piled provisions within.
"Bedding and battery-powered lights," said Jablonski. "The ammunition comes tomorrow morning. It will be made available for your collection at the rifle range."
One by one, the squad filed into the shed, each carrying their respective bedroll and flashlight. When they had finished, the private made the appropriate notations on his clipboard, then pointed off to the right. "Your quarters are this way."
A few minutes later, having weaved their way through the labyrinth of buildings, tents, and other structures which made up a functioning army camp, they found themselves at their assigned barracks, an ancient-looking wooden cabin with loose boards sticking out from the walls and peeling paint of an indeterminate color. It had probably been standing there when the base had first been built, decades in the past, and clearly hadn't been maintained well.
George stared at the structure worriedly, then glanced back across the base where the other, far newer barracks buildings could be seen. He opened his mouth to protest, but a sharp jab from Frank's elbow silenced him.
"Err...how come we're not bunking with the rest of the troops?" asked Darren, noticing George's discomfort.
Jablonski frowned slightly. "Yes, Corporal, I understand that these facilities are not ideal, but we have no space left. We have two divisions quartered here, and this is the only accommodation which remains."
"Maybe we should just camp," grumbled Frank. "After all, the weather's far nicer than up in the bloody Highlands."
"Stuff it, soldier," ordered Darren.
Jablonski waved his hands to get their attention, sparing Frank from the rest of Darren's rebuke. "Not to worry. I spent a few nights in it myself to ensure it would be suitable. We patched the leaks in the roof, cleaned the rooms, and fixed the plumbing. It doesn't look like much, but it's quite comfortable."
"My sincere apologies, Private." Darren reached for the door, nudging it open to have a look inside. "You've really outdone yourselves in your accommodations for us."
Stepping inside, Pearl could see that it was indeed as Jablonski had described. Inside, the room was clean, with four camp beds arranged neatly against the wall. The scent of cleaning soap and fresh paint still hung in the air.
"This is nice," she remarked, nodding politely to their guide. "Thank you, Private Jablonski."
Jablonski smiled at the compliment. "Thank you, Miss. If you'll follow me, Miss Adelajda has made a room available for you in the women's quarters, so you won't have to bunk with the men."
"Go on, Pearl." Darren motioned for her to follow Jablonski. "It'd be good for you and that Adelajda lass to socialize."
Pearl carefully considered the offer for a moment. It was a good opportunity not just to socialize, but also to learn more about the Polish culture and build a new friendship which they could leverage later. On the other hand, she'd come to enjoy her squad's company, and setting herself apart from them just didn't sit well.
"Private? Could you fetch me a hammer and some nails?" She reached for some of the extra sheets the squad had taken from the supply shed. "I think I'd like to stay here."
A quick run to the supply sheds, some hammering, and a sore thumb later, they had managed to fashion a set of curtains around one of the cots in the corner of the room.
"This will do nicely," said Pearl, inspecting her newly-partitioned privacy corner. They had done a good job, but she could see James' silhouette moving about on the opposite side as he finished securing the curtain hooks. With the desk light beside the cot switched on, the enclosure was suddenly transformed into a shadow box.
"James, let me help you," she said, walking back behind the curtains to help him reach one of the hooks that was just out of reach.
The barracks door burst open, and a work detail of Polish soldiers entered, carrying tools and pipes to complete repairs to the washroom. Their chatter over some shared joke died down when they noticed the two twisting, undulating shadows behind the curtains as Pearl and James struggled to secure that last nail.
The leader of the group grinned mischievously. "Ów w porządku, nadal możemy zobaczyć jej cień, kiedy ubiera!" He smirked, puckering his lips and posing as if he were a woman dressing.
Hearing the laughter, Pearl poked her head out of the enclosure, scowling. Their tittering stopped just as the lead joker wrapped his arms around his body and shimmied his hips, miming an exotic dancer.
"No free show, boys," growled Pearl, and the men visibly shivered at the steel in her voice.
"Oi!" shouted George, stepping through the front door with another bundle of cloth in his arms. "Leave the little sister alone!"
"Whoops," the leader chuckled nervously. "Idziemy." The work detail shuffled past into the open lavatory door to attend to their plumbing. Pearl watched them leave, annoyance etched on her face.
"Don't mind them, Pearl." The curtains parted, and James emerged into the common area. "The Poles have always treated women with respect, and I'm certain they'll leave you alone. Well, at least the older ones."
"Thanks, James, but I'll be fine." She slid her curtains shut and relaxed on the bed, preparing to meditate upon the day's events. She laughed, gesturing to her own slim figure. "Nothing to see here, anyway."
"Don't sell yourself short, P. You're more womanly than you think...argh!" James threw his arms up to ward off the pillow aimed at his face. "Hey, take a compliment, will you?"
Week Two
After a week of orientation and policy reviews, it was time for the squad to begin their integration training with the various units which made up the 29th Grodno Infantry. On the first day, Darren and Frank had elected to visit a nearby regiment of field guns, justifying their choice by claiming they were planning to mesh their reconnaissance training with Polish artillery doctrine. Their ulterior motive was quite obvious. They had escaped the cramped confines of the camp to go and play with the big guns.
Their little excursion left Pearl, James, and George to head for the divisional motorpool to try and gain an understanding of how the Poles used their motorized equipment in conjunction with their antique (but still effective) cavalry groups. The days passed quickly for them, as they learned the particulars of maintenance and off-road vehicle tactics.
Through her time at the shop, Pearl gained a new appreciation for the primitive automotive machines the humans had developed. Though their concepts were crude by Gem standards, the fact that they were implemented so well despite such a limited understanding of physics was impressive. The initial surprise of the Polish soldiers quickly passed, and her presence in the vehicle shops became routine. Soon, she was spending late evenings helping the mechanics service the trucks and reassemble engines.
It was late morning of the fourth day when James and George came into the workshop to search for her, and found her spindly legs sticking out from underneath a Fiat truck. For a moment, they stared at the odd sight, then James shrugged.
"Pearl?"
"Is that you, James?" Pearl stretched out her arm, revealing one grimy hand extended beyond the chassis. "Can you pass me a ten-millimeter stubby ratchet wrench?"
"Sure." He looked over the variety of tools laid out in a line and selected one, placing it in her palm. The hand disappeared for a moment, then returned discontentedly.
"No, no. Not a combination wrench. I need the short one with a ten-millimeter marking on the side. There's a bolt up between the frame and body that needs tightening."
"Here you go." George leaned down with a chuckle, finding the requisite tool and handing it over. "James, you used to work on a farm, no? How don't you know your tools?"
"I was on the orchard side of the property," explained James, somewhat sheepishly. "Pa's crew handled most of the machinery."
There was a loud groan of metal from under the truck. "Done!" announced Pearl, rolling out from under. Her overalls were stained heavily with grease, which had also tracked its way across her face, but the mess didn't diminish her bright smile.
"The dirt suits you," said James.
"The boys here sure think so, at least," George commented, shooting a knowing glance at some of the mechanics, who quickly found something else to be interested in.
"Ah, hell." As quickly as it came, James' good mood seemed to fall away. Almost instantly, the others knew why. The heavy footfalls of hobnailed boots on concrete announced the arrival of Sergeant Alojzy. While most of the men had given no trouble over the past few days, the big noncom had quickly become a nuisance. "Here comes your favorite friend, Pearl."
"Quick, look busy," grumbled George. "Maybe he'll bugger off if he sees we're occupied."
It was the best idea any of them had. Pearl ducked back beneath the Fiat with James providing her with a fistful of tools, while George leaned against a workbench, intensely devoted to the study of a service manual. None gave any attention to the approaching man, even as his large shadow fell across them.
"George, James, Pearl," Alojzy greeted, loudly enough to be heard over the clanging of the shop, and they were finally unable to ignore him. "You three have been working very hard."
"Yep, we sure have." said James pleasantly as Pearl came back from her third inspection of the frame. Sharing a look, they rolled their eyes. They had lost count of the times that Alojzy had disrupted their work on some fabricated excuse so he could hang around and ogle Pearl.
"Wonderful." Alojzy beamed. "Such hard work should be rewarded. I've arranged for the camp kitchen staff to prepare a proper British-style luncheon as thanks for assisting the regiment."
George looked up from his perusal of the manual, intrigued. "What did they cook?"
"Bacon, eggs, and sausage," Alojzy replied cheerily. "I also prevailed upon them to release a few tins of baked beans and toast some buttered bread. If you head out now, it should still be warm when you get there."
"Sold. See you after lunch, lads." George threw aside the manual, which landed on the bare cement with a thump. He flinched when James' boot connected sharply with his shin as he strolled past.
"Traitor," James murmured.
"Go with him if you want," suggested Pearl from the ground. "I can handle myself. It sounds lovely, and I know you must be hungry. I'll stay and finish up this transmission."
"You should really come along. Don't you want to eat something other than camp rations?" James whispered back, tugging at her pants leg. His eyes worriedly darted from her to Alojzy and back. "I really don't like the idea of you staying here with that creep."
Pearl hesitated a moment, then, set down the wrench. "Fine. If it'll help you eat in peace, then I'll join you and George. Help me up, won't you?"
A hand firmly grasped her own, practically dragging her from under the truck and up to her feet.
"Hey, James, be careful—!" She cut herself off. Her eyes were mere inches away from Alojzy's leering face.
"Pearl, my dear!" he began before she could get a word out. "You must come join me for a lunch of superior Polish pastries! I think you would like them. Leave the men to their meal and enjoy some free time."
"No!" Pearl heaved herself free from Alojzy's grasp and glared at him venomously. She considered how much trouble she'd get into if the sergeant got badly hurt, and wondered if the man was worth all the bother.
"Stay away from her." James leapt to his feet, a heavy wrench in his hand. He didn't understand tools very well, but he knew which one was the best weapon. "Or I'll make you regret it."
"Calm yourself, Lance Corporal." Alojzy put on an unconvincing smile. "No harm is intended. This mechanic work is difficult for women. She deserves special accommodation and reward for her hard work here in the shop."
"I said no." growled Pearl balling her fists and putting energy into her limbs preparing to make a fight quick and decisive.
James took a step forward, tightening his grip on the wrench but halted when he locked eyes with Pearl. Almost imperceptibly she shook her head "no". Nodding in understanding he relaxed his grip but made no move to leave.
Alojzy was no fool and backed off away from Pearl at the sight of her defiant, venom filled glare.
A crowd of mechanics and technicians had by now formed a loose circle around the trio, trying to figure out what the commotion was all about. Dragged away from their work, a few were holding tools and spare parts, but in the confrontation between the two Anglicy and a senior sergeant of the battalion, they were unwilling to intervene.
"Pearl!" called out a voice. "Hey, Pearl! Are you on break? Why is everyone standing around looking angry?"
Alojzy glowered. "Perhaps another time then." Turning on his heel, he strode purposefully away from them, the clomp of his heavy boots echoing through the facility. With a loud crash, they heard the workshop door slam shut.
The ring of onlookers began to dissipate, and Pearl pushed her way past the stragglers to greet her friend. She wrapped her in a quick hug. "Adelajda! Nothing's going on. Just a bit of disagreement about lunch plans is all."
"Must've been some serious disagreement over a meal." Adelajda looked at the men returning to their work. Soon, the shop was again filled with the cacophony of hammers, drills, and ratchet wrenches, forcing her to raise her voice. "I thought a skirmish was about to break out."
"There nearly was one," interjected James. Adelajda saw the way his eyes softened when he looked at Pearl, how his smile seemed to grow brighter. "Pearl had it handled, though. I think Sergeant Alojzy was more afraid of her than she was of him."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence, James." Pearl patted his shoulder, seemingly oblivious to the way he was looking at her. "Let's go catch up to George and see if that promised lunch actually exists or not."
"Count me in too!" said Adelajda, hurrying to keep up with James and Pearl as they walked towards the mess hall. She reached out, tugging gently at Pearl's sleeve to get her attention.
"Is something wrong, Adelajda?" asked Pearl worriedly, lagging slightly behind James and lowering her voice. "Did Alojzy try anything with you too?"
The young secretary ignored the question, instead pulling Pearl close to whisper in her ear. "Somebody likes you, somebody likes you!" she teased, playfully poking at Pearl's side to elicit a ticklish squeak.
For a while, Pearl stared at Adelajda, then began laughing hard enough to squeeze tears from her eyes. "Oh, never mind about me," she snickered, dabbing at her face with the cuff of her uniform. "He knows I'm not available. But I do find his antics endearing, and it's always nice to see that someone's interested."
"Aren't you going to pursue him? If you don't snap him up, I might have a go myself."
"Don't you dare!" snorted Pearl, before quickening her pace to catch up with James again. She could hear Adelajda laughing behind her.
Week Three
Nearly a month had passed since the squad had landed in Poland, yet they had seen little of Warsaw other than the sliver of the city they had driven through on the way to Skierniewice. Today, that would change.
Once again, they boarded the customary three-ton truck for the long slog through the rutted dirt roads of rural Poland. Unlike the previous trip, however, they were in much better shape. Having gotten a good night's rest and without the effects of excess indulgence in alcohol and an extraordinarily stressful plane ride weighing down on them, they were all able to enjoy the picturesque countryside. As they jolted past the rolling hills and lush farms, they were in high spirits.
Arriving in downtown Warsaw, the squad were billeted at a pleasant downtown hotel not far from their first port of call, the headquarters of the State Police. To Pearl's delight, the area also happened to be adjacent to a restaurant district brimming with pastry shops.
The following morning Frank and George paired off to survey the government quarter. Guided by men from the local security forces, their job was to survey the city's layout and important landmarks to determine the best way to mount an effective delaying action while still leaving routes open to allow civilian evacuation. Of particular note were locations which could quickly be converted into choke points, ambush sites, and hiding spots.
In the meantime, Pearl, James, and Darren headed to the police headquarters for their meeting with a certain Captain Latkowski, in order to discuss the role the Commandos would play in the various contingency plans.
They were very nearly late to their appointment. To better blend in with the populace, only Pearl and James had dressed as civilians while Darren was in uniform for the more official parts of the visit. However their nondescript appearance had only served to delay them at three checkpoints, including at the headquarters itself. Only by flashing their identification cards and a signed letter from Colonel Oziewicz, in the latter case, were they able to push their way through the city's tightening security cordons.
Latkowski was an older gentleman with long greying hair and a friendly twinkle in his eyes, altogether a very different sort to the boorish sergeant of the Skierniewice motor pool. When they came through his door, he reached across his desk and shook their hands eagerly.
"Hello! I am Latkowski, Jarosław Latkowski, Captain of State Police. I understand your companions Corporal Byrne and Corporal Wilson are already out on the streets playing tourist, yes?"
"Good day, Captain." Darren accepted the handshake firmly. "Corporal Williams. These are Lance Corporals Pearl and Appleby, British Commandos. You're right about the other two, sir. They're supposed to be doing reconnaissance work, but they're somewhat of a travelling sort, Williams especially. So, yes, they're probably off playing tourist."
"I understand a separate tour was planned to go through the administrative facilities?" Pearl asked. "Will you be leading it?"
"I'm sorry, but I cannot," admitted Latkowski. "Some trouble has come up. A drunken group of travellers acted unruly. No one was seriously hurt, but a tavern was badly damaged. I must attend personally once we're done here. My assistant Natasza will be your guide today, once she returns. I sent her out on an errand, but she will take her meal before she comes back. Please check back in a few hours."
The police captain slid open a desk drawer, handing Daren three thick cardboard folders from within. "Please study these while you wait. We took the liberty of compiling these maps and photographs to speed things along."
"Thank you, sir." replied Darren. He stuffed one folder under his arm, handed Pearl the second, and dropped the last one on James' lap.
"Do you know a good place to eat around here, Captain?" inquired James, who had already opened the file. He was examining a map of downtown Warsaw, focusing on the area surrounding the headquarters.
"There is a new coffee shop maybe three kilometers from here, by the name of Pożegnanie z Afryką. Their szarlotka is quite good."
"What's Szarlotka?" asked Pearl curiously.
"It's basically a fancy apple pie," James replied.
"How did you know? Have you had it before?"
James smirked. "Well, my last name's Appleby, and I grew up on an apple orchard, so I expect I would know most there is to know about apples."
Pearl winced. "Okay, point made."
"If you two are done flirting, we have a fair amount to get through before anyone can go for lunch," grumbled Darren. "I'm starting to feel peckish, so the sooner the better, please."
~{0}~
The discussion had been a long one, but by half-past noon they had come to an agreement with Latkowski as to their duties in case of an attack, with an emphasis on ensuring good communications with the British Embassy. Soon after, the police captain had left hurriedly for his crime scene, apologizing again that he couldn't lead their tour."
Darren declined the offer to join Pearl and James for lunch, deciding to return to the hotel on the excuse that he needed to discuss the plans with the others. The two of them set off to find Latkowski's recommended coffee shop, and their casual stroll through the streets was an agreeable one as they chatted idly about the architecture of the old city.
"This must be the place," said Pearl, surveying the tan-painted stone building with an intricate roof-line. A statue of what appeared to be a swan was perched atop the establishment, staring down at them.
"Seems that way." James stepped ahead of her and held the cafe's door open. "Up for some of that szarlotka, then?"
The interior of Pożegnanie z Afryką smelled of coffee and baking flour. Its walls were lined with wooden shelves holding bags of beans from around the world, and behind the long counter the shop staff were busy preparing steaming mugs and plates of pastries for the few customers dispersed around the cafe.
Looking through the display cases, Pearl spotted a tray laden with thick slices of apple pie, with labels which seemed to match the Polish word. Perfect! This I can actually eat and avoid having to make excuses! It's been so long since I've had good pie!
"I'll take your drooling as a yes." As they took their seats by the window overlooking the busy street outside, James gestured to a server, holding up two fingers. "Dwa szarlotka i ciemne kawy proszę."
Noticing Pearl's look of confusion, he added, "I've been taking language classes."
"Uh huh." Pearl shot him a skeptical look. "You've learned enough Polish to order tea perfectly in only a couple of weeks?"
"Okay, you got me." James held his hands up sheepishly. "I just read the words below the pictures on the menu board, and I learned how to count from Adelajda. I think I've gotten numbers one through nine memorized."
The piping hot of pie and tea arrived, and James was soon treated to the rare sight of Pearl attacking food with gusto. Showing more appetite for her slice of szarlotka than for every meal they had eaten together in half a year at Achnacarry put together. Neither spoke for a good while, with only the sputtering of the percolators and low mumble of the other patrons conversing with one another to interrupt their silence.
After a time, James found himself gazing more and more at Pearl, who mercifully didn't seem to notice. Once she had cleared her plate, she had turned her attention to the tea, sipping away at it while observing the pantomime argument between a taxi driver and a traffic officer out on the street.
James broke the silence with a discreet cough, feeling the blood racing to his cheeks before he could even get a word out. "Hey, Pearl...err…"
Attention torn away from the curbside theatrics, Pearl turned towards him. "Yes?"
"Once we've finished with this business with the police, would you like to visit the Royal Castle with me? I hear it's got wonderful architecture and houses a number of rare artworks."
Pearl's light blue eyes twinkled with merriment. "James, are you asking me out on a date again? I remember the last time you tried, when we were all freezing our behinds off up in the Highlands."
"Wait, you heard me back then?" he stammered. "How long have you known that I was...interested?"
"I don't mean to be cruel, but you make it pretty obvious every time you look my way. Seriously, you tense up every time you even talk to me." She laid her hands over James' own trembling ones to steady them. "We're squadmates, James. We can't fraternize without compromising unit stability."
For a moment, his face fell in defeat, then his expression brightened again. He squeezed her hands excitedly, causing Pearl to blush deeply. "So you do like me!" he proclaimed. "If you didn't, you would've said something like 'not interested', or just denied me flat out, but instead you're talking about how we can't be together!"
"Eh, something like that." She shrugged, hoping she wouldn't hurt James again. "But seriously, we can only be friends. Rules are rules, and I'm already kind of interested in someone back home."
"Works for me." The relief in his voice was palpable. "I might still someday win you over, if this beau doesn't return your feelings."
It was Pearl's turn to be downcast, as her mind turned to those she had left behind in Beach City. Was Deedee's soda shop still thriving in these uncertain times? Was Amethyst behaving herself and continuing with her training? Had Rose found yet another man to keep her warm?
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to darken the mood," apologized James, seeing her downhearted expression. "Once we've got some spare time, how about we tour the Royal Castle all the same? Just as friends. If you want, we can even invite the others, as long as it helps you get your mind off things."
Pearl tried to put her worries aside, forcing a smile. "Sounds like a plan. Thank you, James."
"Sure." Frowning, he looked down at his watch, then reached into his breast pocket. Counting off a few banknotes, he threw them down onto the tabletop. "We really should be getting back, don't you think? We've still got something to attend to."
"Lead the way, Appleby."
~{0}~
As they left the shop, neither commando seemed to take much notice of the lone figure sitting across the street at a bus stop bench, evidently dismissing him as a commuter engrossed in the morning newspaper. Even so, he waited until their back was turned before he dared to push the button.
The discreet click of the camera shutter was lost in the din of traffic. Neither target had seen the flash, and the passersby who had assumed that it was just another amateur photographer who had only managed to capture the blur of a hectic city.
The miniature camera went back into the man's coat, and the newspaper was folded away. He hummed to himself as he dashed off a few notes. Hearing the deep rumble of an arriving bus, he tucked away the notebook and bustled himself onto the westbound line.
At the outskirts of Warsaw, he changed buses, clambering aboard the same rickety, open-air provincial vehicle which had brought him to the city earlier in the day. It would be a long ride home to Skierniewice.
Week Four
The weather had soured over the past few days, transforming the camp into a swamp. Churned underfoot, the grass fields turned to ankle-deep mud, and gloomy fog closed in to obscure visibility.
The pouring rain did little to cheer the soldiers of the Polish Army. Exercises in these conditions were miserable affairs, and the spreading rumors of a worsening relationship between their government and Germany's only served to put them further on edge. But even as the officers in charge grew more nervous, there was little else that they could undertake without new orders from on high. Until the command came to deploy, all the troops were permitted to do was train, maintain their equipment, and wait.
Not everybody in the garrison was fully preoccupied with the drills, though. In an abandoned stable on the far side of camp, Sergeant Alojzy was waiting for something different altogether. His contact was late, and he was getting anxious.
"What's keeping him so long" he wondered aloud as he reclined against a decaying wooden stall divider. He swallowed down a mouthful from his thermos of black coffee, mixed with a strong mead from a local distillery.
"Don't get your dick in a twist, Sergeant," a familiar voice chided. The broken stable door was thrust aside, and a man in a dark green overcoat ducked into the crumbling shelter. "I'm right here. The rain has turned your roads into mud, and my car was caught in the mire a few times on the way over."
"About time you got here, Aldebert," snarled Alojzy. "I was just about out of warm drink and I'm soaked through because of this damn leaky roof. With the trouble I go through to help you bastards, the least you could do is arrange a more comfortable meeting place!"
"And risk questions about why you leave camp so often?" Aldebert's tone was of a parent scolding a child. "No, no. This is the best place. If someone asks, you could simply say you went for a walk or did some training thing. Where did that tough soldier from the Great War go, eh?"
Alojzy huffed, but decided to drop the argument. There was no point getting rained on any more than he needed to. From under his coat, he withdrew a manila folder full of photographs, maps, and documents, gingerly placing it in the German agent's hands.
Aldebert flicked through the photographs, careful to keep them safe from the water leaching through the saturated ceiling boards. He came upon a familiar figure, dressed in the khakis of the British Army. There were dozens more pictures of her in the packet. She was visiting an artillery battery, meeting with senior officers of the division, leaving a Warsaw restaurant...
"Strange one, she is." Alojzy had noticed Aldebert's interest in the woman. "She seems to need no sleep, and I've only seen her eat but once. Her endurance is incredible, and she's a supremely fast learner, too. Her name is…"
"Pearl," finished Aldebert, much to the sergeant's surprise. "We've crossed paths before. She's definitely a person of interest. Keep a close eye on her and her squad. I want as much information on her as you can glean."
"Very well." Alojzy held out his hand expectantly. "My money?"
"Ten thousand złoty." Aldebert tucked a thick envelope directly into the man's coat pocket. "
A pleasure doing business with you, Sergeant. We'll keep in touch."
With that, he slipped back out through the stable door. When Alojzy departed a minute later to return to his quarters, the German agent had disappeared.
000 end chapter 6
This chapter was first published on August 26th, 2016 and updated August 22nd, 2020. Its been a long journey since this story began an I have every intention of finishing it even if we only update a few times a year. With the help of the very talented Rodsantos this should be possible. Stay safe out there. Pinhead.
History Notes
I used Google-Translate todo the Polish language, if anyone speaks Polish please PM me as I'd like to make sure I get it right. I ran a reverse translate and found it quite bad.
* Airfield RAF Dalcross 194 - Built in 1940 but we'll pretend it was built in 1939 or at least most of the airfield was open so the transport has a place to take off that's not to far from Achnacarry.
* Type 130 Bombay on delivery ferry flight to Egypt being used by the team to fly to Warsaw Poland. A number of these were built and delivered to Egypt until the war began in Sept 1939. A rickety looking plane that would have had Pearl terrified of flying.
* Blood on the Risers - The song George and Frank are singing during the turbulent part of the flight. From the 82nd Airborne division but we're pretending they knew it in 1939.
* Okecie airfield is now known today as Warsaw Chopin Airport and was a frequent battlefield between Axis and allied armies during the course of the war.
* Colonel Ignacy Oziewicz - A real person, was the leader of the 29th Infantry Division at the start of World War 2. In reality the unit was stationed further from Warsaw a bit before the actual outbreak of the war but they spent some time in the town of Skierniewicach to gather their equipment. For this story they have a training camp there prior to the outbreak of the war. We'll move them to their actual fighting positions later.
* Polski Fiat 518 - fancy car used by the Polish military, the Colonial's car has been outfitted with a radio for communications with camp while moving around.
* Ursus A FT-17 transport truck - just a big cargo truck used by the 1939 Polish army
* Pożegnanie z Afryką - Early Polish Coffee shop, actually founded around the 2000's but until I can come up with a better location this is where they go for snacks. The description of the building is from Google Earth street-view.
* Szarlotka is a Polish Apple Pie, it's supposed to be really good.
* The Royal Castle - Reconstructed 14th-century palace with an art collection & guided tours of the royal apartments. From what I can gather it existed in the 1930s