The problem of what he would be flying was still on his mind the following morning when, after breakfast, he went down to dispersal.
"I suppose there's no chance of getting back the Spitfire I flew before, is there?" he asked the Warrant Officer in charge of replacements. It had not been a particularly outstanding machine, but better the devil you know, he told himself.
"'Fraid not, sir," the WO told him. "It crashed a couple of days ago. Pilot flew into the deck. Oxygen problem, they reckon."
Ginger felt his blood run cold. He had reported the stiff oxygen valve to his mechanic and had been promised it would be rectified, but he had taken off immediately afterwards. What if the maintenance had been overlooked in the period between his landing and the hand over? There, but for the grace of God, he told himself. Superstitiously, he put his hand to his tunic breast pocket to reassure himself that the medallion was still there.
"There's been a spate of prangs just lately and the Jerries have destroyed several aircraft on the ground," continued the senior NCO. "I'm afraid we've got more pilots than aircraft at the moment, sir."
"I see, thanks," murmured Ginger, thinking he was in for another spell as duty officer by the looks of things.
He strolled across to let Biggles know the situation. Spitfires that had been on standing patrol over the harbour were landing to refuel and he watched them idly as he made his way to the Administration block.
He quickened his pace as he realised there was something odd about one of the machines in the circuit. It did not have the right profile for a Spitfire. He broke into a run, heading for the Bofors emplacement when he recognised it as a German intruder. Before he could warn the anti-aircraft battery the Messerschmitt had slipped behind one of the descending Spitfires and shot it down. It crashed on the runway and burst into flames. Belatedly the ack-ack gun began firing and the sirens wailed. The German pilot, seeing that he had lost the advantage of surprise, swept across the airfield spraying the ground with machine gun bullets.
Ginger saw the spurts of dust kicking up towards him and redoubled his efforts to get under cover, zigzagging to spoil the enemy's aim.
Bertie, watching horrified from the entrance of the Admin building, stood rooted to the spot. Henry appeared at his elbow to watch the drama played out, muttering a profanity under his breath.
Ginger had almost reached the safety of the building when to Bertie's horror, he clutched at his chest and staggered, collapsing into the dust.
Bertie felt time had stood still. He longed to rush out and gather up Ginger to safety, but his legs refused to obey him. It was left to Henry to rush out and, seizing Ginger's wrist, hoist him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. Staggering under his unwieldy burden, he lurched toward the entrance where Bertie, recovering from the paralysis of shock that had kept him immobile, helped him lay Ginger on the floor of the vestibule.
"Is he dead?" croaked Bertie, distraught.
Henry put his hand on Ginger's neck. "He's still got a pulse," he observed. "And he's breathing."
Bertie knelt beside the lad but could not see any signs of blood. "Where's he hit?" he queried. "I thought it got him in the chest."
Henry noticed that Ginger's tunic was torn over his left breast. "Here, by the look of things," he averred. indicating the gash. He started undoing Ginger's buttons. When he exposed Ginger's chest there was no sign of a wound, just a bruise, rapidly turning blue, near his heart.
"Looks like he's been incredibly lucky," said Henry as Ginger started to show signs of coming round. "He's only winded and shocked. Something stopped the bullet going right through." He felt in Ginger's pocket. As he drew out a St Christopher medallion, a flattened machine gun bullet dropped onto the floor. The talisman was dented but it had served its purpose. Henry guessed the bullet must have ricocheted off the ground and spent much of its energy before it hit or Ginger would have been dead, medallion or not.
Ginger opened his eyes and stared vacantly at his rescuers. "What …? What happened?" he managed to get out.
"Don't talk, old boy," Bertie soothed him. "You're going to be alright, but you need to take it easy for a minute or two."
Ginger tried to sit up, but Bertie pressed him gently back onto the floor.
"Get the MO, Henry," ordered Bertie firmly, suddenly serious. His usually frivolous manner disappeared as he took command of the situation. "A blow to the chest like this can have serious consequences."
Henry stood up and hurried off.
Ginger closed his eyes. His chest hurt and he felt dizzy. He opened his eyes again as Bertie put a jacket over him.
"I thought I was a goner," muttered Ginger breathlessly.
"So did I, old boy," admitted Bertie. "I was thinking up something appropriate to say at your funeral."
Henry arrived, followed by the MO and a team of stretcher bearers.
"Not you again!" exclaimed the doctor when he recognised the casualty. "I thought we'd got rid of you after your ducking. Did you take a fancy to one of my nurses?"
Ginger grinned weakly.
The MO knelt down and took Ginger's pulse before looking at his injury. "You're a very lucky young man," he commented, "but we'd better take you in for observation. Can't be too careful in cases like this. You could develop commotio cordis."
"What's that?" asked Henry curiously.
"His heart could be knocked out of rhythm. In severe cases it can lead to heart failure."
Ginger looked alarmed.
"I don't think that's going to happen on this occasion," the doctor hastened to reassure him. "It's just a precaution. I'm afraid, however," he continued, "that you're going to be stood down from flying for a few days while we check you over."
He signalled the stretcher bearers to come forward. Ginger was lifted onto the bier and wrapped in blankets to combat shock. Bertie watched him being taken away.
"Do you think we should have mentioned Jeanette?" asked Henry with a straight face.
"What on earth for?" queried Bertie, startled. "What has she got to do with it?"
"She's already affected his heart," Henry pointed out, smiling broadly. "I thought perhaps the MO ought to know."
Bertie forced a wan smile. "I see what you mean, old boy," he murmured sadly. "She does rather seem to have knocked him for six."
"What's happened?" It was Algy's voice. "I've just seen Ginger being stretchered off to SSQ."
Henry explained what had occurred. "At least there's one good thing; Ginger won't have to worry about finding an aeroplane to fly until he gets out," he concluded philosophically. "There might be some replacements by then."
"I don't think that's going to be a problem anyway," opined Algy. "I heard we'll be going home before the end of the week."
The news was greeted with whoops of joy.
"Don't you like Malta?" asked Algy innocently.
"It's a very beautiful place," Bertie averred as Henry pulled a face. "Well worthy of the Romans calling it Melita, the Honeyed Isle. I just don't like the sand flies, Malta Dog and the appalling food, but most of all, I dislike the Jerries shooting us up as we come into land. It's so ungentlemanly and unsporting!"
"I'm off to tell Ginger," announced Algy. "If the thought he'll be back in London soon doesn't speed his recovery, nothing will."
Ginger, sitting up in his hospital bed, received the news of the end of their deployment with relief and excitement. He had survived and he would soon see Jeanette again.
"How soon will we be leaving?" he wanted to know.
"A few days, I heard," was the best that Algy could tell him.
"I hope they'll let me out in time to travel," muttered Ginger. "The MO was talking about keeping me here for a week. Something about tests and research into this type of injury."
"Well, if you can't travel with us, no doubt you'll follow on as soon as you're allowed to," Algy reassured him. "It won't be more than a few days, I should think."
"I hope so," said Ginger dejectedly. "I don't want anything to stand in the way of getting home."
Algy smiled. "Cheer up. Judging by the way she looked at you last time I saw her, Jeanette will have waited for you, no matter how long it takes, so you've no need to worry," he declared comfortingly.
Ginger looked sheepish. "It's been such a long time since we saw each other," he responded.
"Just concentrate on getting better," said Algy, rising to take his leave. "You don't want to miss the boat."
In the event, the trauma and excitement, coupled with the poor Maltese diet, brought on a mild fever which prevented Ginger from accompanying the rest of the squadron as it emplaned for Gibraltar. The slight temperature was enough for the MO to declare him unfit to travel.
He hoped he would be able to catch up with the others before they took ship from Gibraltar to Britain.
As soon as the MO considered him well enough to undertake the journey, Ginger wasted no time heading for Luqa to catch the transport to Gibraltar. The Liberator was scheduled to take off in the early hours of the morning to avoid enemy fighters. Ginger could see the lighted cities below as they passed by the African coast, reminding him of the lights of Algiers after their escape from Monaco. Dawn brought clear skies and a calm sea beneath. When it reached Algiers, the aircraft turned away from the African coast, out over the sea toward Gibraltar. Ginger thought of the week he had spent in Algiers with Jeanette and looked forward happily to being with her again.
The weather began to worsen, with low clouds and a spattering of rain. The cloud base descended to less than a thousand feet as they neared the Rock. The Liberator swung out over the Straits to make a north-south landing from the Atlantic side on the narrow runway that nestled between the Rock and the Spanish border. The aircraft circled and began to let down. On final approach, the turbulence from the Rock caught the machine and ballooned the touchdown. Ginger, sitting in the back of the aircraft, realised that they had no chance of landing safely as half the available runway had been used up before the wheels had even met the ground. "Open up and go round!" he muttered through clenched teeth, impotent to influence the outcome.
As if the pilot had heard him, the engines picked up and the machine gathered speed. Ginger breathed a sigh of relief as they achieved flying speed and became airborne again, clearing the end of the runway. All would have been well had not the pilot pulled up too sharply. Ginger felt the judder of the stall and realised they were going to go straight in from a height of some forty feet. He flung open the hatch by his seat. As the aircraft hit the water, he dived out, swiftly followed by two or three other passengers. Barely thirty seconds after the impact, the aircraft broke up.
Ginger clung onto a piece of wreckage and tried to help those survivors who could not swim. A couple of rubber dinghies had broken out, so he did his best to assist the non-swimmers into the life rafts.
"Better swim ashore, if you can," advised a soldier who, with some of his companions, had swum out to help after they witnessed the crash of the aeroplane that had swooped low over the beach where their party had been standing.
Ginger struck out for the shore. Eager hands grasped him and dragged him onto dry land. For the second time in as many weeks he found himself being put into an ambulance on a stretcher and taken to hospital after being hauled out of the sea.
Lying in his hospital bed that night, looking at the lights of Gibraltar, he mulled over his extraordinary luck. Of the twenty-three passengers who had left Malta with him, fifteen were dead or missing, presumed drowned.
Biggles and Algy came to visit him as soon as they heard that he had been on the wrecked aircraft. They were relieved to find that Ginger was shaken, but otherwise unhurt and was to be discharged the following day, which would enable him to embark with them on the ship home.
"You'll be getting a reputation as a Jonah," Algy chided him as they lined up on the quay, preparing to embark on the merchantman headed for Glasgow. "I hope we aren't going to get torpedoed in the Bay of Biscay!"
"So do I!" returned Ginger fervently. "I lost my St Christopher when I baled out of that sinking Lib."
"He probably thought looking after you was too much like hard work and he needed a rest!" exclaimed Henry. "He's certainly had his work cut out keeping you safe these last few months!"
Ginger grinned ruefully. "It has been rather exciting," he confessed.
"Not half as exciting as seeing Jeanette again, I'll bet," put in Ferocity as they swayed up the gangplank.
Ginger blushed.
"Say, kid, you should send her a wire to say you're on your way," added Tex. "That would make her day."
"That's a good idea," admitted Ginger. "I'll send a telegram as soon as we berth in Scotland."
The voyage home proved uneventful. The weather was calm, much to Ginger's relief. He had half expected to be confined to his cabin with sea sickness. As he well knew, the Bay of Biscay was notorious for the intensity of its sudden storms.
When at last they disembarked on the Clyde, Ginger rushed off to find a Post Office to despatch his telegram. The procedure took so long, he almost missed the train back to London, but as he raced down the platform after the departing carriages, Henry and Tug leaned out of the door, to haul him aboard.
Gasping his thanks, he settled into a corner seat in the compartment the squadron had taken over by sheer force of numbers. As the countryside began to flash past he felt his spirits rise. Every mile was bringing him nearer to his love.
He dozed fitfully on the journey south. The rhythm of the rails seemed to beat out, "Jeanette, Jeanette …" Before he dropped off, he worried if the arrival of a telegram would have upset her. So often it was the bringer of bad news, but not this time. He had told her he was on his way home and would be passing through London en route to Kent. At least that meant they would be closer for a while, even if they couldn't meet. So near and yet so far, he mused.
He woke as the others stirred themselves, gathering their belongings ready to disembark at the terminus. He stretched, stiff and cramped, feeling grubby and unkempt after his journey. Perhaps it was a good job Jeanette couldn't see him like this, he thought.
The train inched into the station and clanked to a halt with a hiss of steam and a jolt as it touched the buffers. The muffled announcements seemed endearingly familiar after being abroad.
Ginger followed the rest of the pilots onto the platform. There were crowds of passengers alighting and wives and sweethearts to greet them or see them off. Ginger glanced idly towards the exit and his heart skipped a beat. Looking lost among the throng was a pretty young woman with wings of jet black hair framing her oval face.
His lips formed her name, half disbelieving, but she saw him at the same moment and began to push her way through the crowd toward him. Ginger elbowed his way through the press of waiting travellers as he headed to greet her.
He flung his arms open wide and hugged her delightedly. "Oh, Jeanette!" he gasped as she put her arms around him. "It's so good to see you, darling! I've missed you so much!"
Jeanette was laughing and crying at the same time. "I am so 'appy that you are 'ome, chéri," she told him breathlessly.
He kissed her hungrily, oblivious of their surroundings.
"But you 'ave lost weight!" she exclaimed in consternation as she ran her hands over his lean frame. "You are so thin!"
"The food wasn't very good," admitted Ginger. "I'm really looking forward to being able to sample maman's soup!"
Jeanette's eyes lit up. "You will come to dine with us tonight?" she asked eagerly.
Reluctantly Ginger shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't," he told her sadly. "I have to go straight on to Rawlham. I haven't even got time to go to Mount Street for a bath."
Jeanette looked crestfallen. As if to underline the brevity of their meeting, Algy called out to Ginger to hurry. "You'll miss the connection," he warned. "Bring Jeanette with you."
"Will you?" asked Ginger hopefully. "Come with me to Victoria on the Underground, I mean."
"D'accord," agreed Jeanette eagerly. "I want to be with you as long as I can."
Ginger thought he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, not just a few minutes. For a moment he was tempted to propose on the spot, but he had not bought a ring and the crowded platform at King's Cross was hardly the right place. He wanted the two of them to be alone when he popped the question.
"How on earth did you know when and where to meet me?" he wanted to know as he took her hand and led her in the wake of the rest of his squadron heading for the Underground entrance.
"It was the Air Commodore Raymond," she explained. "Maman sent the telegram to me at the Department where I work. I was upset because I thought you 'ad been killed."
Ginger looked concerned, but she hurried on. "When I read it, I knew that I would see you again and I was very 'appy," she continued. "The Air Commodore, he asked some questions and found out for me when your train would arrive at the terminus. You were late!" she told him, mock accusingly.
"I'm sorry," apologised Ginger, "the train stopped in the middle of nowhere for no apparent reason for ages. Believe me, I was in a hurry to get home!" he assured her. "I hope it was worth the wait," he added teasingly.
She brushed a spot of soot off his shoulder and nodded vigorously. "Oh yes, chéri," she confirmed. "It was very much worth waiting."
"Good old Raymond!" said Ginger approvingly. "I take back everything I ever said about the top brass being out of touch."
When they reached the ticket office he fumbled in his pocket for some English coins to buy her return ticket. They made their way hand in hand along the busy concourse before he showed his travel warrant at the barrier and they were waved through.
The train that whooshed into the station was also packed. Ginger hung on to a strap with one hand and held Jeanette close with the other. She put her arms around his waist and clung on to him as they swayed between stops, talking eagerly. Ginger felt the months of separation slip away as they exchanged news and gossip. By the time he had reached his destination, there was no awkwardness between them. It was as though they had never been parted.
All too soon, they emerged onto the platform at Victoria where the waiting Rawlham train was getting up steam. Soldiers, sailors and airmen saying goodbye to their wives and sweethearts filled the quay. Others hung out of the train windows to spend the last precious moments with their loved ones.
Ginger kissed Jeanette goodbye and slowly climbed aboard. He let down the window and leaned out.
"As soon as I can, I'll get a 12 hour pass and pick you up," he promised. "We'll go to the coast and have a picnic."
"I would like that very much," Jeanette told him. "'Ow soon?"
I don't know. As soon as I can persuade Toddy to issue one," was the best he could manage. "I'll send you a telegram when I've fixed it up," he warned, "so don't think it's bad news!"
Jeanette smiled. "I promise," she reassured him.
The train jolted and began to move slowly. Jeanette walked beside it, quickening her pace, wanting to spend every moment with him. As the train gathered speed she was left behind. She stopped, trying to smile bravely, and watched him being carried away. She fought to hold back the tears. She did not want him to think he had upset her. They had had such a short time together, she had missed him dreadfully while he was away and she did not know when she would see him again. She wanted him to be reassured he made her happy.
Ginger stayed at the window until the curve of the track hid Jeanette from sight. Feeling suddenly bereft, he sighed and started picking his way down the crowded corridor to discover where the rest of his squadron had installed themselves. They had managed to commandeer a compartment again and had thoughtfully saved him a seat.
The journey to Rawlham was slow with frequent stops. They were all relieved to have arrived back at base at last.
"Thank goodness for that," exclaimed Bertie as they reached the Mess. "I'm going to have the longest soak in a tub you can possibly imagine."
"You'll shrivel up like a prune," Henry warned him.
"I don't care, old boy," declared Bertie. "Better a prune than a potato."
"Personally, I can't wait to get a decent meal and a good cup of tea!" averred Ginger. "If I never see bully beef and tinned peas ever again, it will be too soon!"
"You'll be lucky," Algy told him cynically. "I doubt the rationing situation has improved while we've been away."
Ginger laughed and made his way to the NAAFI to buy a cup of tea. Fiona was sitting alone at one of the tables and Ginger asked if he might join her.
She looked up at him dully. He noticed her eyes were red as if she had been crying. With Henry's experience with his fiancée in his mind, Ginger looked at her finger, but she still wore the same engagement ring. Puzzled, he sat down.
"Not had chance to get married yet?" he asked casually.
To Ginger's horror, Fiona dissolved into tears.
"Whatever's the matter?" he asked, concerned. "Is it all off?"
"Robbie was killed," she sobbed.
Shocked, Ginger laid his hand on hers and squeezed it gently. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I had no idea. I've only just got back. I didn't mean to be unkind."
She brushed away the tears and tried to smile. "I know," she gulped and started to tell him what had happened just a few days before the wedding. It was as though the floodgates had opened. Once she had started to unburden her grief she could not stop. Ginger sat and listened, trying to give what comfort he could, thinking it could so easily have been Jeanette grieving over him.
"I wish now –" she started and then stopped, embarrassed.
The silence hung between them.
"That you hadn't waited?" prompted Ginger. He meant that they had not delayed their marriage, but Fiona blushed and nodded.
"Robbie wanted to, but I said we should wait until we were married," she confessed. "I should have let him."
It was Ginger's turn to blush. "That might have had consequences, you know," he eventually managed to get out, shocked by her revelation.
"At least I would have had something of him to keep," she blurted out. "Now I've got nothing." She put her head in her hands and sobbed.
Ginger felt helpless. He had no idea what to say. It did make him realise that the sooner he got up to London to propose to Jeanette the better.
"I think you ought to see the MO," he advised gently. "He'll give you something to help you sleep. I don't know what else I can suggest."
She looked at him, tears running down her cheeks, and put her hand on his arm.
"You always were kind and considerate, Ginger," she told him. "I haven't been getting much sleep," she admitted. "I keep thinking …" she drew out her handkerchief and blew her nose noisily. "It's not so bad when I'm working, but when I'm alone I've got nothing else to do but go over and over it in my mind." She dashed away the tears with the back of her hand.
Ginger nodded sympathetically. He stood up and held out his hand. "Come on," he encouraged her, "I'll escort you to sick bay."
Obediently, she stood up and followed him. She had felt so alone trying to be brave and cope. It was a relief to have someone take care of her and tell her what to do, she realised. It was such a shame he had told her there was no future in their relationship, she thought, but he had someone else now, or so she had heard. A French girl who had come over to London. Fiona recalled that Ginger's sweetheart had come to the Christmas Eve dance; she had seen the two of them dancing together and strolling about arm in arm outside. They had looked so happy.
"What about you?" she asked as they walked across to the Station Sick Quarters. "Are you going steady?"
Ginger blushed, remembering their date in the cinema. "Yes," he admitted. "I'm going to ask Jeanette to marry me as soon as I can get up to London."
She stopped and faced him. "Don't waste any time," she urged him earnestly. "Don't leave it too late like Robbie and me."
"I won't," he assured her. "I'll see Toddy tomorrow and ask for a 12 hour pass."
"Good," she murmured approvingly. "She looks very nice, your French girl."
"She's from Monaco," Ginger corrected her, blushing at the memory of Bertie mistaking Fiona and her fiancé courting for himself and Jeanette.
They stopped outside the sick bay. "Don't forget," said Fiona as she was about to enter, "don't put off your wedding."
Ginger nodded. "I promise," he avowed.
Fiona entered the building and the door closed behind her. Deep in thought, Ginger went back to the Mess.
They soon slipped back into the squadron routine. Ginger, true to his word, approached Toddy the following day and managed to obtain a 12 hour pass for the coming weekend. Even better, he was able to have the use of some transport from the pool. The good news concentrated his mind about buying an engagement ring. For a moment, he regretted rejecting Henry's offer, but he knew he wanted Jeanette's ring to be special to them as a couple.
Taking advantage of the Luftwaffe's decision to leave England alone for a few days, Ginger hitched a lift into Rawlham and visited the nearest jeweller.
He chose a solitaire diamond from the display. He had once read that diamonds meant eternity and he wanted Jeanette to know that his love would last for ever and that she was the only one for him. When it came to deciding on what size to get, however, he was at a loss until he remembered Jeanette had worn his gloves when they had sheltered from the rain on Christmas Eve. Her hands were just a little smaller than his. From this information, the jeweller was able to estimate the fit and assured him that if there were any problems, any adjustments could be quickly made. Ginger had made up his mind to get a special licence and marry the next day if Jeanette said yes, so he bought a wedding band at the same time. He had no doubt that Biggles would grant him permission to wed. Biggles was well aware of how he felt about Jeanette; even Mrs Symes had been dropping hints for some time, he realised.
With the little boxes nestling snugly against his hip, Ginger sent Jeanette the promised telegram before he returned to the airfield to wait impatiently for the weekend and the day that would change his life for ever.