Looking At The Moon

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

Elizabeth fell into Hattie’s arms. Hattie mumbled words that were supposed to comfort as she rocked Elizabeth back and forward. But Elizabeth could not feel comforted. Her thoughts whirled crashed, bounced. What would Hattie think? The word whore trickled into Elizabeth’s mind. Had she behaved like one, was to take the love offered, to feel love for two men; one now dead, the other living the act of a whore?

“No….” She gasped between the racking sobs. Bobby captured her eyes with his. She could see the swirl of questions, the pain, the need, oh how the need cut at her. Her hands tightened on Hattie’s coat twisting in the wool. Bobby stepped forward he was going to say something. Elizabeth’s knees went; she wanted him too, needed him too, yet was afraid of what her friend would say.

Just then the sirens sounded. Robert halted, a crooked smile on his face and came right up to her placing a kiss on her forehead. Elizabeth felt the intake of Hattie’s breath at the gesture. Hattie’s hiss turned into a startled sound as Bobby stroked Elizabeth's hair and brushed away her tears.

“Will you be all right, Mrs. Fitz?” Bobby asked, searching her face.

Elizabeth barely nodded and Hattie tightened her arms, looking hard at the man standing so close.

“I have to go now but I will be back,” Robert said. “I promised George … I will be back.”

He cupped her cheek and Elizabeth shut her eyes leaning into his embrace as his thumb wiped at more of her tears.

“I’ll be all right, Bobby,” Elizabeth could barely hear her own words, but she sensed Bobby had gone. She screamed. “He is going to die too… they all are going to die…..”

“No…” Hattie snapped pushing Elizabeth out of her arms and grabbing Elizabeth by the shoulders, shaking her, “Don’t talk like that. Never talk like that. Just live each day, remember, we said that when this all blew up. Live each day.”

Elizabeth drew in a long racking sob and shuddered. Hattie guided her into the room and sat Elizabeth down on the couch and bustled into the kitchen. She came back with two large cups of tea, which smelt more of brandy than tea. “Drink woman,” Hattie ordered. Elizabeth gave a small smile and sipped the tea.

Elizabeth wasn’t brave like Hattie, she wasn’t, she couldn’t, could she. Could she cope? Elizabeth wondered. All her life others had done things for her, her mother, George, Hattie. Now would Bobby or would she have too…

“So it’s true then?” Hattie said softly as she sipped her tea.

Elizabeth spluttered sending a torrent of brandy-laced tea down her robe. Oh god she thought, what did Hattie think, what did she know? How????

“I don’t….”Elizabeth began.

Hattie cut her short with a wave of her hand. “George asking Bobby to look after you? Didn’t believe George when he told me, thought he was drunk, well he was, you know George.”

“Yes… I… “ Elizabeth began.

“Said for me not to worry my head if anything happened to him, said the Yank would look after you right, seems so… Nothing fooled George.”

“Hattie… please there….” Elizabeth floundered.

“No there was nothing, yon Yank is an honourable bugger, but now…” Hattie sighed and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “You need someone… because…”

“I need to be looked after?” Elizabeth snapped pulling her hand away, so angry at Hattie at George at even Bobby. “I am not a child Hattie; I can cope, can do things for myself.”

“Never said you couldn’t, but you need to be loved Elizabeth we all do, George drunk or sober knew that. Look you go get some sleep?” Hattie said taking the half full cup from Elizabeth’s hands.

Elizabeth stood not knowing what to say and stumbled into the bed room She curled up and tried to let sleep claim her. She tossed, turned then suddenly she was lost in a whirl of dreams. Making love here on this bed, the face above her kissing her, moving in and out of her switched from George to Bobby, back and forth till she woke screamed, sobbed. She felt Hattie’s hand on her head and her friend’s voice telling her to go back to sleep. She did.

When next she woke Bobby was sitting on the bed. It was past dawn. She mumbled something about Hattie. Bobby replied Hattie was sleeping and it was just them. Her eyes widened as he undressed. Elizabeth let her gaze roam over him. She had made love to him, but never really seen him. His wide shoulders, narrow waist and well muscled thighs, his tan so unlike an Englishman. The tiredness etched round his deep blue eyes and the crooked smile he gave, as he slipped into the bed with her and snuggled close behind her.

Elizabeth could her the rain, hammering on the window pane, echoing the beat of her heart. She rose suddenly and went to the bathroom. For a few moments she stood there shaking. She should not go back in the bedroom, she should. Needed to be loved. yes she did. She needed to know Bobby was safe. She went back in and slipped off her robe, glorying in the way Bobby ‘s eyes traced her outline. It was not wrong, it was. She slipped into bed and into Bobby arms, tasting his lips feeling the warmth of his body. But she could also feel the ache in his muscles as he moved to hold her, see the tiredness in his eyes.

“Go to sleep, Bobby,” she whispered “You need the rest, sweet man.” And he did, in her arms. She watched him dosed herself then the phone rang and her world exploded.

The voice at the other end of the line was telling her George was alive. She began to shake, the fear, guilt and horror of everything was swallowing her. Then Bobby moved in the bed and Hattie was at the door. The phone fell from Elizabeth’s hands and Hattie faded back from the doorway.

“Hell.” Bobby swore and made for his clothes. Elizabeth stood dragging on her robe, not looking at Bobby and made after Hattie. Hattie was sitting at the kitchen table.

“Nothing happened.” Elizabeth blurted, the lie sucking at her like a leech.

“Nothing will..” Bobby’s voice said from behind her as he came into the kitchen a cigarette trembling between his fingers as he strove to light it.

Hattie nodded and bit her lip saying “George, where..”

“Hospital near Dover.. I am going to go..” Elizabeth said. she had to she needed to see George, to, she did not know what she would do, but she needed to go and go now.

“I will take you.” Bobby offered, his eyes almost hooded, Elizabeth could see no emotion there at all, yet she could sense he was as torn inside as she.

“No, you bloody well are not, risk a charge?” Hattie huffed.

“Ask for leave?” Bobby snapped.

“Won’t get it and you know it. You stay here; best way you can help Elizabeth.” Hattie hit the table. Both Elizabeth and Bobby jumped. “I will drive her."

The storm of emotions in Elizabeth broke at this. “No you are not, in your condition, that long drive. No I will go by train.” Bobby and Hattie looked at Elizabeth as if they did not know her. Her face was set: she pushed back her hair from her face, trying not to break down.

“Will you be?” Bobby began his hand coming out to her.

“Yes I will.”

Twelve hours later Elizabeth was sitting in the cold corridor of a hospital some ten miles from Dover, a half empty hospital. Patients were being shipped out, some Elizabeth saw as she arrived not really able to travel. Were things so bad that the power that be were evacuating the hospital in preparation to receive wounded defending the beaches?

She was so tired. Elizabeth had spent the day on a slow moving train or rather trains she had changed seven times. Gone miles out of her way, seen the smoke over London from a dirty window. Sat in the train corridor on her small suitcase, because there were no seats. She had gulped cold tea and forced what passed for a cheese sandwich down her on a platform somewhere she could not remember the name of, all to be here, to be with her husband. Whom she loved as much as the man she had left standing on the station.

A Nurse came slowly down the passage and spoke. "Mrs Fitzmorgan?”

“Yes… Elizabeth stood.

“Oh dear, I am sorry…”The Nurse’s hand came out. No, Elizabeth thought, not dead? She felt the rollercoaster begin again under her. "Your husband has been moved, we thought it best closer to home… to Portsmouth.”

Elizabeth started to laugh softly almost bitterly. the Nurse smiled sadly and added. “Look you have come a long way.”

“And I need to get home.”

“Yes…”The Nurse said and frowned “Stay here.”

Elizabeth began to speak but the Nurse was gone half running down the corridor. She soon was back and asked breathlessly “You up to as trip in an ambulance?”

“Yes…” Elizabeth replied nearly staggering under the weight of relief.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

From the moment that he left the railway platform, Robert spent every other moment thinking of Elizabeth. Occasionally thoughts of George would drift into the stream of his thoughts, thoughts of how he might be doing, of when he might be back in the air again where he surely wanted to be. But mostly there were thoughts of Elizabeth, sweet fair Liz, with the lovely laugh, the warm smile, and the, oh, so soft cheek. Damn! He hated himself for feeling this way. Things had seemed so clear just hours before. Though he felt a ton of sadness over George, he could find a strange sort of comfort in his feelings for Liz; at least he was capable of feeling something for someone with the whirl of war surrounding him. But with George not gone now, Robert knew not which way to turn.

He returned to the airfield where he belonged, and sat with his ground crew underneath the Lady Jane, trying to fend off the rain showers that pummeled the tarmac. If they hustled inside for some warmth and a meal, it was cold tasteless canned meat and weak tea that found their bellies. They sought out warmth and sleep wherever they could find it, on a tough old chair in the club, or on the damp sod of the Tangmere airfield.

Robert watched as the recon units returned and were debriefed, their reports filtered through to command. Were this their ordinary day, they might at any moment be scrambled and sent up and off to an only God knows where kind of fight. The crews with ammo belts slung about their shoulders expertly laid in the rounds that could be spit out on a moment’s notice somewhere in the skies over England. A sharp crew, within a scant few minutes of its landing, could refuel and reload a Hurricane and send it back up to the fight.

But this day was not ordinary. There was rain nearly everywhere, not steady but insistent, fending off the Germans in a way rivaling only the RAF in their finest hour. Scattered aircraft, one here, one there, swooped in to gage the air strength, the response time, the status of targets and potential for new sites. And as Robert lie on the damp ground beneath the belly of the Lady Jane his thoughts were of Elizabeth Fitzmorgan, the wife of his friend now come back from the jaws of death. Wasn’t that just like George to do so? He would have laughed had it not felt so painful.

From field to tower to billet to hangar, Robert wandered aimlessly. Many of his colleagues were in a similar condition, sauntering about in their flight uniforms, their life vests strapped around their shoulders. They told stories about women and dogfights, played cards for pennies a hand, and laughed about preferring some sort of action rather than a listless empty day such as this one. Restless, Robert sat in on the tactics briefing where they spend over an hour discussing the new two pair formation, something that the pilots had picked up from watching and battling the German air support. More flexible and more defensible than the long held Tri-V formation, the pilots sought any little advantage that would keep them in the air longer.

Afternoon turned to evening, and the 213th was still on the ground waiting. Robert wandered up to the tower and hung around the radio shack for a while hoping to pick up any sign of activity. Hearing little more than reports of occasional single aircraft recon by the Germans, he decided to return to his billet only to run into, literally, Mason from the 607th.

“Hello, Bobby!” Mason said, gathering up the papers he had almost dropped.

“Thomas! Any news of George?” Robert asked.

“Why yes,” Mason replied, continuing along his way. “They’ve moved him on to hospital at Portsmouth.”

“But Liz, er, Mrs. Fitzmorgan is off to Dover to see him,” Robert said, picturing sweet Liz jouncing along pointlessly on a rail car some where eastward when she could have remained here. “Portsmouth, you say?”

“Yes,” Mason answered, turning the corner and disappearing into the communications room.

Portsmouth wasn’t far … perhaps he could get away for a while this evening. Robert felt this desire to see George with his own eyes, to make sure that this wasn’t some strange hoax, or some odd figment of a sad dream come true. But his thoughts of such an excursion were shot down when he was called to the flight line. Some German aircraft were detected crossing over near Selsey and his wing of the 213th was being scrambled in response. The next hour and more was spent scouring the coordinates and listening for reports from the ground of further sightings, but all for naught as the elusive Jerries had vanished. The delay only served to make Robert more determined and he drew his wing commander aside following a quick debriefing with the intelligence officer.

“Since Jerry is taking it light on us tonight, what are my chances of getting away for a couple of hours?” Robert asked.

“Hah! I give you three chances,” replied Wing Commander Forthwright. “Slim, fat, and none!”

“But I have a wounded comrade in hospital in Portsmouth,” Robert pleaded.

“I know it’s been light tonight so far with the rain and overcast and all, but it’s like the Jerries to change that all in a moment.” Forthwright looked him over, as if detecting the earnestness of Robert’s plea. “A wounded comrade, you say? One of ours?”

Robert nodded.

“Are you sure it doesn’t have anything to do with the lively little wench I’ve heard so much about at Madame Renard’s?”

“No sir, but if it would help my cause …” Robert replied.

Forthwright laughed loudly. “You’re a good chap, Wilson … all right, then, but … be back before the morning briefing.”

Robert saluted sharply.

“Have you a ride?” Forthwright asked, returning the salute.

“I was going to look for one,” Robert replied, then felt his heart sink when Forthwright shot him a stern look.

“No ride?” said the wing commander. “Can you operate right hand drive?”

“Of course … yes, sir,” Robert answered quickly.

“Then here,” Forthwright said, rummaging in the pocket of his trousers. “I’m not going anywhere tonight. Take my Bentley … just had it gassed up. That should get you back before midnight even. Just take it easy in the rain … she can get away from you if you aren’t careful.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you sir!” Robert said effusively, shaking his commander’s hand heartily and taking the offered set of keys. He ran to the officer’s billet, stripped off his life vest and quickly changed his shirt. The drophead coupe was parked just outside. Settling into the stiff leather and giving the controls a once over, Robert got the straight six to turn over and rumble to life.

The spotty showers continued along the road to Chichester, Southbourne, and on into Portsmouth. The small wiper blade swatted at the rain as best it could. The blackout slits on the headlights allowed the least amount of light and several times Robert slowed as he had never driven this road and had gotten only the sketchiest directions from Nigel on his way out. But soon the sight of Langstone Harbour appeared on his left and he made his way to the hospital.

It was late, certainly after visiting hours by the time he reached the front desk to inquire about George, shaking the rain from his uniform. Perhaps it was because he looked so pitiful that the head sister relented and allowed him up to see George. Turning a corner, Robert saw Elizabeth emerge disjointedly from one of the rooms. She leaned wearily against the wall, her puffy eyes closing and her head dropping forward.

“How is he?” Robert asked, moving up to her and resting a hand on her shoulder.

Elizabeth looked up at him. “Bobby, why are you … how did you … when did you?”

“I just got in,” he said, rubbing her arm gently. Elizabeth raised her arms up and leaned toward him.

“Oh, Bobby, it’s not good,” she whispered, burying her face into the wool of his coat, still damp from the rain. “Thanks for coming …”

Robert slipped his arms around her and held Elizabeth closely for several moments before edging toward the door to George’s ward. She followed behind as Robert moved down the row of beds looking for his friend. From the outline of the sheets visible in the dim light, it looked as if George had lost a leg. He was a mess of bandages, but most of his face was visible.

“George …” Robert said softly, his voice near a whisper. “Dear God, George … tell me that you’re going to be all right,” Robert took hold of his hand. His eyes batted open but were glazed over probably due to some strong medication.

“Bobby …” George’s hand gripped him with the frail clutching of an old weak man.

“What happened? How did you …” Robert began, but George cut him off.

“Bloody Jerries … bad enough they shot my horse from under me, but to take me out on the way down …”

“Jesus!” Robert replied.

“Just wait till I’m back … they’ll pay for this … they’ll pay …” George’s eyes closed and his grip loosened.

Robert felt his heart sink at the sight of this proud pilot lying crippled. He glanced over his shoulder to see Elizabeth hovering near the foot of the bed. Then George suddenly clenched his fingers tightly around Robert’s hand.

“Remember … Bobby …” George whispered, his voice weak and thick with fluid. “My Liz … see that she’s all right … look after her … help her through this …”

“I will, I will,” Robert pledged. The grip on his hand loosened again and George’s hand fell away. The once brilliant blue eyes closed as George drifted off again. Robert felt so powerless, so helpless. He patted George’s shoulder and then turned away. He embraced Elizabeth as much for his own comfort as for giving some to her. They slowly made their way from the ward and stood together outside in the hall.

“I am so sorry, Mrs. Fitz … so sorry,” Robert said as he gathered her into his arms.

“Oh, Bobby … he is so bad off … he doesn’t even know he’s lost … lost … lost his … what am I to do?”

“Give him all the love you can,” Robert answered, cradling her body in his arms, his lips brushing her hair. They stood together silently for the longest while, until Robert broke the silence. “Are you going to stay here?”

“I don’t know,” she said lifting her face up to look at his. “I don’t think so … what good will it do? I’m just so tired, so confused …”

“Has the doctor told you anything?”

“Nothing really more than what you can see,” she said softly. “It doesn’t look very good. He lost a lot of blood before they found him … had to amputate his left leg … the right one is broken in several places … he has burns and wounds all over … the next day or so will tell …” Elizabeth leaned her head over and rested it on his shoulder. “Oh, Bobby! Why did this have to happen to him? He’s too stubborn to die! Why couldn’t he just let them kill him instead of becoming a cripple?”

“He’ll be fine,” Robert said trying to comfort her. “You’ll be fine … we’ll all be fine.” Elizabeth lifted her head from him and looked into his eyes. Her hand reached up to stroke his cheek. There was more that he wished to tell her, but it all came back to his feelings toward her, and this was not the time. He wanted to take her into his arms and love her, but how could he do so in all conscience when her husband lie critically wounded just a couple rooms away? He wanted to take her away from all of this, the rain and chill, the pain and hurt, the war and suffering, but they were entangled in the events swirling around them, that there was no way to pull free. There was only the short-term comfort that he could offer. “I have a car, in case you’re going back to Tangmere.”

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

The rhythm of the ambulance lulled Elizabeth into a fitful sleep. The small convoy was driven by young woman, some no more than 17 years of age. The vehicles pounded down the empty roads, rattling the teeth of their patients and the windows in the houses they passed. Elizabeth lost all track of time. It was night. She was somewhere on the road home. Her husband George was alive and Bobby? She gave a small sniff and the blonde haired driver glanced across at her and grinned in the dim light of the cab, “made bloody good time, a bit of a rest then off again.”

“We are here?” Elizabeth asked confused as she tried to sit up, she ached in every limb, but it did not compare to the hurt in her heart. That morning she had steeled herself to say goodbye to Bobby, to what could have been and raced off to be with the man she had loved for nearly three years. A man she had betrayed. No matter how she reasoned it the guilt was there. On hearing of his death she had… It wasn’t like that part of her screamed. It wasn’t.

The dark bulk of the Hospital loomed before them; in the bare glimmer of moon light and hooded lamps the vehicles were unloaded of their passengers. Faint chinks of light flickered round the doors as they were quickly opened and shut. Elizabeth found herself standing in the corridor of the Hospital where she worked at God knows what hour of the night or early morning.

Elizabeth stood among the hurrying figures, unsure, not knowing what to do. A voice she knew called her name; it was the sister from her own ward. The woman’s voice demanded why? Why was Elizabeth standing there?

If a far off voice Elizabeth tried to explain, she felt the sister’s hand on her arm guiding her to a small office. Tea cups rattled and Elizabeth caught the faint whiff of whiskey as it was sloshed into the cup that was offered her. The hot mixture grabbed the back of Elizabeth’s throat and she nearly choked. The sister rubbed her back and nodded to a figure in the doorway.

A harassed doctor at first muttering when the sister asked him, tried to smile and tell Elizabeth about her husband. The doctor seemed to know George by his injuries not his name. The words tumbled out, knocking what little strength Elizabeth had left out of her. Burned, shot, right leg badly broken, left leg gone. Internal injuries suspected. Bad way, critical time… it was a nightmare. Elizabeth asked to see him, she needed to see him. Inside her mind crazy thoughts popped in and out.

How would she cope? George would never accept limitations. His family, she would have to tell them. Her mother; Elizabeth shuddered. Gwyneth Clancy would have her daughter and her crippled husband back at Maisthorpe, coddle both of them, and wrap them in cotton wool. Elizabeth. and George had once said they would, after the war, once the war was won. Maisthorpe and a family, to fill the old manor, but it had been good thoughts of home, not now, not like this.

Elizabeth sat at George’s side, her hand in his slack grasp, listening to his breathing, his mumbled words, and his half waking dreams as he lay wrapped in a morphine induced trance. His whispered words traced a pattern of his past, his fears, his love and his dreams. Elizabeth listened, tears streaming down her face; she brought his hand up and kissed it. George gave a cracked laugh and tried to smile at her. It was too much.

Elizabeth stood and shuffled out. She leant her head against the cold plaster of the corridor, hoping, wishing it could drain the pain out of her. A hand touched her shoulder. Elizabeth brought her head up. It was Bobby. She blinked her swollen eyes, trying to understand? Bobby here?

He asked after George, rubbing her arm, his touch made her shake more. He; her other was whole, alive and asking after the man to whom she was bound. Elizabeth told him, in shot gasped words, leaning towards him. Bobby took her in his arms and Elizabeth drank in the strength his arms offered. The fresh smell of rain off his woolen coat, reminded her that outside the world was still turning, even if hers lay broken at her feet.

Bobby then broke away from her and made slowly into the ward. Elizabeth’s hand came to her mouth, stopping the cry that threatened to come out. She saw the anguish on Bobby’s face, knew he felt as she did, the guilt, the love, the being in a hopeless lost place.

Elizabeth hovered round the foot of the bed as George talked. His words and Bobby’s answers cut into her more. She could not stand this any more and swayed. Bobby held her, held her like he always seemed to do when she was tottering on the edge. Being there, loving her.

They walked slowly out of the ward. Bobby still holding her, his lips brushing her hair as he asked if she was staying, what the doctor’s had said. Elizabeth tore at her upper lip with her teeth trying to find the words. Not listening to them as they tumbled out of her mouth.

Then Bobby said. “I have a car, in case you’re going back to Tangmere.”

Elizabeth’s head came up. What to do? Go home, yes go home. Sleep, come back later, things will be clearer then, things will be different, things will be… Her thoughts faded as Bobby put his arm round her and took her out of the building and to the Bentey. She later remembered the cold clammy feel of the leather seat as she slipped in, remembered the tat, tat of the wiper blades. But mostly Elizabeth remembered the warmth of being close to Bobby, the odd glances at her as she dozed then jerked awake, the soft smile of concern on his face, the smell of his cigarette burning in the ashtray. But her tiredness began to blur each thing one into another and she felt out of step with time, only snapping back as the door of her small home shut behind the two of them.

“You best go to bed Mrs Fitz…” Bobby said as he held her on her feet. Elizabeth nodded dumbly, knowing that was best, because tomorrow things will be different. She kicked off her shoes, sending them spinning, then pulled off her coat and stumbled to her bedroom. At the door she stopped and looked back at Bobby. He was standing there his deep blue eyes locked on her, a stray lock of hair dropping down across his forehead. She wanted to brush the lock away and with it the frown lines.

For a second her hand came out to him then fell. Elizabeth went into her bedroom and pulled her clothes off and crawled into the cold sheets. She wanted to be warm and to feel safe, to have both the men she loved save and well. But that was not possible was it? You can’t have both. You can’t love both. But she did and that was the hurt, she loved them both in different ways, but which did she really need, really want? If things were different.? If things were not as they were?

She turned half a sleep her hand reaching out, not even Elizabeth knowing who too.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

He had watched as Elizabeth tottered into the bedroom having kicked off her shoes so awry. Something deep inside him wanted to reach out to her, to take hold of her, to ease her distress, to comfort her in this terrible time of need. But with the events of the past day circling in his mind, Robert held back. He thought of their moments of passions and desire fulfilled, then of Elizabeth’s confusion and hurt, and now of her great need … need for what?

Surely it couldn’t be his love, for she belonged to someone else, someone stricken and wounded, lying at a fateful door of judgment awaiting his ultimate disposition. Yet Robert was drawn to her and stepped forward unsteadily, unsure of where his steps might lead. He watched surreptitiously as she shed her clothes and slipped her soft pink curves into the covers. Was that a sigh or a sob that he heard, or just a gasp for breath, a plea for some normalcy in a world turned upside down?

Robert leaned against the doorjamb, remembering for a brief moment the faces and laughs of his friends back home. How unconcerned and unaware they all were of just what was happening here, a half a world away. They were making plans on seeing Glenn Miller and Tommy Dorsey at the Paramount. They were getting married and having babies and buying houses. They were driving about wherever they wished, headlights blazing, laughing and carousing till all hours. How they had toasted Garner and him upon their farewell, sending off their gallant heroes to a foreign land, like in a motion picture!

As his eyes closed and his head fell back against the doorjamb, Robert felt the hardwood trim cut into his scalp and thought over just where he stood. Everyone here had given up so much, and the list of sacrifices was not complete. It was not just cutting down or cutting back, but cutting out. And their lives? Precious lives over here were being changed horribly and immutably without regard for justice or righteousness or fair play. His friends at home could not imagine the docks of New York ablaze, nor the homes in Cleveland afire, nor the factories in Detroit sending plumes of smoke skyward. They could not imagine the blackouts, the firebombs, nor the scant rations of meat and sugar and gasoline.

And in the midst of this all, Robert only had thoughts of the woman in the next room. It was well after midnight and he was overdue for the airfield, yet he opened his eyes and saw her thrash about on the bed, seeking some relief to the pain and grief and guilt that he only approximated in his heart. He moved into her room and gently climbed onto the bedcovers. As his arm surrounded her, Robert felt her quiver and shake. No matter how tenderly he stroked her cheek and kissed her hair, she continued to quake.

“Liz, sweet Liz,” he whispered softly to her ear. “It’s all right … I’m here for you.”

It may have been from sheer fatigue—it surely could not have been his words nor any other endearment he shared, but Elizabeth fell asleep in his arms, her sobs turning to sighs, turning to deep resonant breaths. Robert may have dozed himself, surely he did; and was not aware of the time when he finally rose from the bed. He pulled the covers up and tucked them around her; he bent over and kissed her warmly on the cheek; he draped her hastily discarded clothes carefully on the chair and snapped off the light before leaving.

The Bentley fired up quickly enough and hurtled him toward the airfield arriving just as the eastern sky began to lighten. Forthwright was sleeping soundly as Robert set his keys on the valet stand and staggered off to his own bunk. Nigel was still snoring soundly when Robert fell into bed fully dressed and completely exhausted. His next thought was of Liz and his love—is it really love that I feel for her? It had to be, but it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be since George was alive.

Robert was on deck for the morning briefing. There was a scramble in the early afternoon and another in the early evening as the Germans amassed a few small raids in an attempt to take advantage of the clearing weather. In between, Robert and the others sought out rest and comfort and camaraderie wherever they could find it, in the club, in the officer’s billet, or lying on the cold ground beside their Hurricanes. This is my world, Robert told himself. Not the world of love and life and music and dance. That is for someone else, someone a world away.

Nigel dragged him off to the officer’s mess for a meal and Robert even found himself lured into a card game just to kill the boredom. Never successful at cards, he lost quickly and retreated into the lounge. Beside the empty cold fireplace he slumped into a chair. The chatter and clatter from the mess did not disturb him at this hour, for his thoughts were too loud and conflicting. He closed his eyes and thought again of home, of visiting one of his father’s plants near Youngstown, flirting with a new secretary, as pretty as she is shy.

He can hear the music all the way down the hall … the Artie Shaw orchestra is swinging out, the horn section blasting wildly … the dance floor is hot and humid as the dancers hop and swing in the sultry night air … even with all the doors along the veranda open, the cool air off the lake cannot chill the heat from the dancers … suddenly there is a girl in his arms, and they dance … Robert pulls the girl close to him then reels her away, their hands never letting go … they turn and kick then he pulls her once again into his arms, and he finally gets a good look at her … he recognizes her … her smile glows as her face becomes flush with excitement … her green eyes sparkle as she laughs … they step back to the heated beat of the orchestra, he mouths the words, “I love you,” and she looks puzzled, asking him an unvoiced question, “What?”

The music suddenly turns lush and romantic, and she is in his arms again, her silken dress clinging to her warm soft body … “You know how I feel about you, Liz,” he says … she looks into his eyes and presses herself up against him, the sharp tips of her firm little breasts raking against his chest … “No, tell me, Bobby … I want to hear it again” … “You know that I’m crazy about you” … “I know that you are crazy, yes” … “You know that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you” … “I know that, but what about that other thing you were trying to say?” … “That I love you, Liz?” … “Yes, that part … tell me all about it”

His lips are moving, his feet are dancing, but his heart is standing still … he feels her melt into his arms as he speaks … “Yes, Bobby, tell me more … tell me more!” … his words of endearment float over them and settle like a fog … they are no longer at the Lakewood Casino, but dancing on a cloud … their dancing transforms into something else, a moving embrace … their hands explore, touching, caressing, discovering her soft skin and his firm muscles … their lips brush lightly then crush together madly … hot breath searing their cheeks, their mouths tear into each other wildly … “Bobby, yes … yes, Bobby!” …

His hands find the opening to her dress and part it, revealing the lush fields of her body … her hands claw at his tie, his shirt, his trousers … reclining on a floating bed of dreams, he kisses her lips, her neck and shoulders, her gorgeous breasts, suckling each hard nipple hungrily, feeling her arch her back, pressing herself against him … his hand moves lower, caressing her warm mound through the silk of her flouncy French cut panties … “Oh, yes, Bobby … yes!” … he slips his hands underneath, combing his fingers through the tender down of her muff, finding the moist slit of her sex eagerly parting for him … “I love you, Liz … love you!”

Her panties are cast aside shamelessly … her hand draws him up towards her heat, fingers curling around him, directing him toward where they both want him to be … she gasps as he pushes just inside her, her arms wrapping around him tightly … he pauses as a tremendous feeling rushes through his body … feeling her warmth and wetness surround him … then she moves her hands to his butt, pulling him fully inside her … their bodies begin to move together, slowly and lovingly at first, but gaining force and speed as their passion heightens … the sweat of his lust drips down onto her glistening body … he thrusts himself deeply inside her, again and again, harder and faster … her legs, still encased in silk stockings, wrap snuggly around him, not allowing him to get away … “Yes, Bobby … oh, yes!”

He can feel the culmination of his passion surging up from deep inside him … her nails clawing at his back brings him closer … the heat of her breath on his neck and shoulder draws him nearer … “Oh, god, Liz … I love you … I love you … I love yo—” … there is an insistent tapping on his shoulder …

“Mind if I cut in, old boy?” says George, tossing aside his crutches, the stump of his left leg flapping loosely … “You’re due out on the flight line … I can take over here, thank you …” … dazed, Robert pushes himself up and turns away … the image of Liz fades into the clouds … were they dancing or making love? … the scene becomes confused … there are other voices … were they watching? … wait! … “Wake up, Bobby …

Robert blinked his eyes open. Right! The lounge at officer’s mess. Nigel was shaking him by the shoulder. Robert rubbed at the stiffness in his neck and wiped away the drool from his mouth.

“It’s our turn, chap, let’s get a move on,” Nigel called out as Robert began to stir, uncoiling himself from the hard leather chair. His sector map still stuffed in the leg of his boot, his life vest still belted around him, Robert gains his feet and hurries with the rest of his wing toward the dark tarmac. Colin had his chute at the ready for him on the wing. He slipped it on and buckled it up. Boosting himself up onto the wing, he settled into the roomy cockpit of the Lady Jane. The 1200 horses of the Merlin engine soon rumbled to life beneath his feet.

“She’s all ready for you, Bobby,” Colin said to Robert, helping him strap on his leather helmet and mask.

Within a scant few minutes, their quartet of Hurricanes was airborne and headed through the night sky toward Selsey Bill. The dream was fading, yet his body still throbbed, and not from the vibration of the engine. This, up here, is where I belong, Robert thought. If only I could stay up here where there is flight and freedom and fear and adrenaline, and forget all the pain and entanglements down there …

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

Elizabeth woke with the memories of the previous day lashing at her mind. The realization of what was had smashed the possible dreams of what could be. She still was tired, still barely functioning, still wanting the touch of another to rid her of the fear, to make her feel safe. Was it George’s touch? Bobby’s?


Elizabeth pushed the thought away and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her stomach growled. She made her way to the bathroom, then to the kitchen, tea and toast, cheese on toast. As she cut a slice from the piece of cheese, Elizabeth found her self thinking this too will be on ration soon or so the talk had been in the hospital. Everything on ration, save for heartache, pain and loss.

She dragged herself into her clothes and bit her lip. She had to contact George’s family. Taking the heavy black phone in her hand she dialed the operator and asked for a trunk call to Tenterden in Kent. George’s father answered. Elizabeth found herself stuttering, the tears beginning afresh in her eyes. Tears that ran down her cheeks, with no fingers to brush them away, like Bobby had, brushed and kissed; held and rocked, warmed and made feel safe and loved.

In her mind, in the still part, the inner part, she could still feel him moving inside her. Still feel the raw passion of that brief moment when he had used his body to comfort hers; to take what she had offered willingly, wanting it as she had that moment. A moment now coated with guilt, with uncertainty, with a need to understand why? It was not wrong, she could never believe that, but now it did not happen. could not be allowed to be remembered.

The words love, made love to, loved,repeated in Elizabeth’s mind as George’s father gruffly said he could not come. Kent was in the front line, he was home guard Captain, had responsibilities, George would understand. Edith would come, George’s elder sister, help Elizabeth do what had to be done. The word arrangements tripped from her father-in-law’s tongue so easily.

Elizabeth slammed the phone down and hit the wall submitting it to her in anger, frustration and grief. The father had just buried the son. Did he know something she did not, were her words so doubtful, so lacking hope? Did George have any hope? Did she?

Was she so lost? She hugged herself and for a moment it felt like another’s arms. Not George’s . It had been so long since he had truly held her, touched her with love that Elizabeth had forgotten, or his touch had been eclipsed by Bobby’s her mind could not say which, but her heart knew and the guilt began again.

Elizabeth placed a few items into a bag, change of clothes hair brush, toothbrush, she intended to ask the matron if she could sleep there at the Hospital, maybe do a shift. Stay close to George, he was her husband, hang on to what she had, not think of what she could have.

No car this time to take her, a jotting ride on the midmorning bus, stopping, starting, Elizabeth’s head against the window, her eyes tracing the clouds above, for a second the glint of the sun on metal catching her gaze.

The afternoon, the hospital, familiar faces, voices. Hattie, Alexandria, working an extra day, their last before transferring to the smaller Cottage Hospital. George drifting in and out of consciousness, his fine blonde hair plastered on top his head, his skin pale, eyes when open devoid of colour as if the spirit behind them is lost, no longer there, no longer required to be here.

As Elizabeth turned George’s chill hand in hers and brought it up to her face, he spoke. “Who is father sending… or is the old bugger coming himself?” Elizabeth looked at his face; it was turned towards her, the eyes trying to focus, to see, to be there.

“Edith,” Elizabeth answered and kissed his palm. Wanting to comfort him? Show him she did love him? Did care? Part of her did, part of her wanted him back, her George back.

“God help us, she will have me in a box before Sunday…” George tried to laugh, Elizabeth tried not to cry.

“Shush…” George said, trying to make his hand grip hers. “You are going to be alright, asked the Yank…” He drifted then; the morphine in his system taking his mind to other places, his words became disjointed, piecemeal. “In the sun… keep close… saw it, Yank couldn’t hide it… funny really… Thomas you are a fool, you are going to buy it, we all are… can’t live for ever up there. Leave everything neat and tidy… Oh sod it…”

The day faded into evening, Elizabeth crept away for something to eat. On returning, she stood watching the sky, wondering where Bobby was, when if ever she would see him again.

“There you are?” It was Hattie.

“Here I am…” Elizabeth said as Hattie’s arms slipped round her.

“Just looked in on George, “Hattie said softly, “they have dosed him again, not much else…”

Elizabeth’s heart stumbled and she tried to smile. “I know… so does he… I think…” She looked again at the darkening skies and heard the roar of aircraft engines.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

Ever since flying into the heart of the action at Tangmere from the relatively calm airfield of Exeter, the days had begun to merge together; it was so hard to keep track of them. Robert had no touchstones now, no sanctuaries, no one to lean upon, and no place to go and hide. There were great moments of camaraderie with his fellow pilots, a few times of unabashed hilarity with his ground crew, and there were moments in the air when forming on patrol that he felt at peace. In between were fitful moments of rest, endless boring hours of waiting, meals that sadly left him still hungry, though not always for food, and occasional minutes of fearful combat in the air. But they had hardly seen a single German in the past few days and Robert missed the rush of adrenalin that followed spotting the outline of a Messerschmitt or Dornier or Heinkel. He had come to live for those moments and had been denied them for several days. It was what he had come for, what he expected, what he seemed to need.

It wasn’t until he stood in the bright light of morning in the comm room and took a long look at the calendar that Robert realized that it was Friday the 13th. He had never been one to believe in luck, good or bad, but for some reason this day gave him an ominous feeling, a sense that something was going to happen. Was it the Germans throwing in the towel over this battle for Britain, or finally launching the invasion for which this grand Island Nation seemed so woefully unprepared? Was it good news about Garner arriving safely at home, now in the care of good friends and family, or was it some dire, dreaded news from the Hospital at Portsmouth? Or was it something else, perhaps a call or note from Elizabeth telling him to forget about her, or pleading with him to come to her and take her away from this cruel life to another world, to somewhere new and unknowing? Something was to happen, he just didn’t know what.

So he spent his day listening to the morning briefing, learning the name of each other flight officer in his wing, and helping his ground crew check over the Lady Jane.

“You don’t have to do that, sir,” Colin the crew chief remarked, as Robert checked with them along the fuselage for any evidence of coolant leaks. Thankfully the only moisture they found had no taste, certainly not the telltale bitter flavor of the coolant.

“What else am I to do?” Robert replied. “Besides, it’s my life on the line up there isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it is part of ours too,” Colin replied. “Look at that crew over there,” he went on pointing to the empty place across the tarmac where a crew was making ready to receive a new aircraft. “They lost their plane and pilot two days ago and a new one is flying in today. Likely they won’t hear a word about why the plane didn’t come back home, but you know in their hearts there is something missing.”

Robert could see the automatic robot-like way they went about arranging the hard deck, moving their tools and the ammo and maintenance carts into place. And when the new freshly painted Hurricane and green-eared pilot arrived it became business as usual. A cursory handshake and hello and then the business at hand. One learned that in this war you didn’t get to know the other guy too well for tomorrow someone else might be standing in his place. They were all, every one of them, expendable and replaceable. And the only people he could not live without was his crew.

And as he stood there under the unsettled skies and in the scattered afternoon sun he thought of Elizabeth. Sure, he could live without her—she was another man’s wife wasn’t she? He had no right—no right!—to love her, yet he could not escape the thought of her. He gazed up at the heavy broken clouds and wondered just where she was; living through a bedside vigil in Portsmouth; working perhaps—hadn’t he overheard something about them moving to a smaller cottage hospital? Or was she somewhere looking up at the skies and wondering about him? Did she really care? How could she with George so cruelly wounded? He hated the Germans for what they had done to his friend, yet it was the Germans who had brought him over here. And bringing him here had introduced him to …

Robert stamped his foot to brake this train of thought. He could not permit this, yet he needed to know her, to know of her, to feel her in his life somehow. God! He was besieged by the devil for thinking like this! What a fool he had been to let this happen, and now that everything was changed, Robert had no choice but to move on, despite George’s words that pleaded, “My Liz … see that she’s all right … look after her … help her through this …”

Prior to his takeoff, Robert attended the quick and direct briefing. His wing was to fly south and then westward, curling around over the channel and back east. Vigilance! Defiance! Strength! And all of that wasn’t worth a quid if there wasn’t some German blood spilled in the proof. His flight group was ready when they made to the tarmac. The planes were warmed, the checklist completed. They were strapped in and waved out onto the runway and up into the air.

Soon the level fields of Tangmere gave way to the town of Chichester. The spotty southern coastline meandered along until it reached Langstone Harbour. That’s where I was a night ago, or was it two? Then he recognized the hospital at Portsmouth. As his Lady Jane roared overhead, he wondered about those below, George and his fellows, and of course Liz, fair Liz. He could feel her breath on his neck, hear the sounds she made in love, feel her body moving beneath his, yielding, giving, loving! How would he ever know of this kind of feeling again? Probably never and with that thought in his mind he heard Nigel call out.

“How are we to find anything in this cover?”

“And if we do, how can we chase it down when they’ve so many places to hide?” called in their newest wingmate.

“We’ll find them,” Robert replied. “If they’re here, we’ll find them.” And part of him wanted to more than ever, since he owed them something, something huge.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

George was sleeping; she was off duty now. The evening stretched ahead, empty and cold. Elizabeth brushed George’s hair and tidied the covers round his sleeping form. He had no colour at all now, beyond pale, his skin almost translucent.

“There you are?” The ward sister said softly by her side. “We have a message for you.”

“Oh…” For a moment Elizabeth glanced towards the door of the ward, she wanted to see Bobby there. She knew it wasn’t right but she did, wanted to feel his arms round her, feel his touch on her skin.

“Your sister in law called, she can’t get a train in fact she has been advised not to travel. She will try again on Monday.” The way the sister said “Monday” Elizabeth knew that would be too late.

“Hear that George, Edith’s not coming.” As if in answer his lips twitched in a half smile.

“He seems pleased about that.” The sister commented. “You go get some thing to eat and some rest. I will call you if…” Elizabeth nodded and made her way to the canteen. The wireless was humming its broken fragments of news.

”The enemy renewed attacks against London today, at 11 am this morning bombs fell on Buckingham Palace There was a clatter of plates a squeal from one of the kitchen staff and the room fell silent. The newscaster continued.The bombs fell in the quadrangle, on the chapel, and outside the forecourt, without damaging the palace itself, while the Victoria Memorial was slightly damaged. Four slight casualties were caused.

A cheer went up and an orderly opposite Elizabeth shouted “Bloody hell, Jerry’s got a bad aim to miss the Palace in broad day light.” Applause and laughter followed his comments. Elizabeth tried to smile, but she knew the Hun was good enough to shoot down and kill man after man. Like her George, like maybe her Bobby.

The war was being fought in the air but the decisions that affected Elizabeth and those like her were made in London and by Hitler, who had again spent the day in conference, discussing the German air offensive and invasion plans.

Elizabeth finished her meal and went down to the VAD nurses' quarters and tried to sleep on a narrow camp bed. How long she slept she did not now, but it was that dark time, the cold bleak time just before dawn when she was woken by a rough shake.

She quickly pulled on her grey uniform and followed; pushing her hair out of her eyes as she hurried after the young nurse.

George’s bed was surrounded by screens. Elizabeth slipped in and looked at her husband. His eyes were open, but he did not see her, his gaze was fixed on something else. His hands gripped the covers, clenching and unclenching. Elizabeth slipped her hands into his and felt his fingers close on hers then relax. His mouth worked, but he said nothing, just his breath rattling out, in shorter and shorter gasps. Then they stopped. Just stopped. No good bye, no cry, just finish. Over. Gone.

Elizabeth felt a scream begin, then it just faded away, she merely sniffed. She had screamed when she first believed George was dead, screamed when she had found out he was alive. Now. Now she, God, forgive her, was relieved and calm, so very calm…

“Mrs Fitzmorgan,” The sister was again at her elbow. “The doctor would like to see you. You go off and we will tidy him up, then you can say a proper goodbye. Elizabeth nodded and slipped her hands from her husband’s and walked to the Doctor’s small office.

She listened quietly as the doctor told her that if she wanted to take George’s body elsewhere for burial it would take a few days to arrange best come on Monday and sort the details out, there was a War on he said. Yes, Elizabeth thought. I know that

The sister had laid George out his hands crossed on his chest. His eyes were not quite shut and his jaw was now slack, the muscles in them no longer holding the mouth closed. On the stand by his bed a small embroidered tray runner had been put, a bible and a single late blooming rose. Elizabeth picked up the rose and two of the petal’s fell onto the bed. She picked them up and rubbed them in her fingers, smelling the soft scent the movement released. She placed the rose on George’s chest and kissed him. The screen behind her wobbled.

“Oppose sorry, “A young nurse said, “But…”

“Yes I know,” Elizabeth answered. “There is a war on.” With that she walked away from her husband, dry eyed, empty. She took the large envelope with George’s personal belongings in and thanked the sister. Then she made use of the Public telephone in the lobby to call her mother, in laws and Hattie. All very calm, all very ordered.

Elizabeth packed her small bag and left the Hospital and stood by the bus stop, thinking to go home, back to which home. Norfolk, Kent or Tangmere? She began to go through things in her mind, a funeral. A military one of course, she would speak to Thomas, it must be done properly.

She had a good black suit, gloves too and shoes. Hat? She had no black hat. It was Saturday, she was in Portsmouth; she would buy a black hat. Had she any money? She looked in her purse, barely. Then she looked in the envelope George’s wallet was there. Her eyes widened; it was stuffed with notes, large white five pound notes. Oh George, she thought, did you bet on a sure thing The thought bounced round her mind, she would tease him, then she realised she couldn’t, he was dead.

Elizabeth sniffed and got on the bus. She walked down Market Way, Anglesea Road, down Cambridge Road into High Street. Each hat shop she passed she looked for the right hat. She started to worry to fear that she would not find it, but late in the morning she did. It was in a small, very expensive shop, a small black confection, with a fine lace front veil that cut across her eyes.

It was passed noon and Elizabeth her prize now caught walked into a Hotel for lunch. The dark warm place was full of Naval Officers dining with the women in their lives. Elizabeth ordered a large double gin and tonic and asked the waiter what he could recommend. The man laughed and said fish, the fish is good.

Her drink arrived and Elizabeth began to go through the rest of George’s things, his lighter, and a packet of cigarettes. She lit one up and coughed, flicking the ash across the table. “God George, She muttered how could you smoke these?” She took a large swig of the gin and called for another. A large woman, with a pug dog at her feet, on the next table tutted, Elizabeth ignored her as she pulled out the wrinkled photo of herself from George’s wallet. It had been taken with a box brownie. “What a face,” She commented and earned another tut from the next table.

Elizabeth’s fish arrived. She ate it with gusto and washed it down with another gin. Part of Elizabeth was asking what on earth she was doing, why… all the answer she gave herself was, I am coping, getting on with things. Was she or was she running away from it, not facing it was truly over. She sat back in her seat and flipped open the Hat box, placing the contents on her head and looking at herself in the reflection of the window by which she sat. She pulled a face and nearly laughed.

This was too much for the plump woman with the pug who snapped “Such behaviour, young woman I am ashamed, don’t you know there is a war on?”

Elizabeth sat back and began to laugh, then cry, the words tumbling out of her mouth as her heart finally accepted what her mind had that morning. George was really dead and she was alone, save for Bobby, her heart clung to that small thought, he was for now still there, she hoped, she wanted him to be. “Oh yes I know, see this hat is for my husband’s funeral, sometime next week, there is a war on and it will take time to take him home. There is a war on and he got shot down so you could walk your pug and not be bothered by some nasty little man with a small moustache. Now will someone call me a cab, I have to go to Tangmere to buy his squadron a drink.” The woman with the pug, blushed and rose, bustling out of the room. Elizabeth continued to laugh and cry till a small hand touched hers

A young woman, with a naval officer by her side was there “Look, we are going that way, we could…”

“Yes...” The officer said, “Call it payment for putting Old fire britches in her place.”

Elizabeth travelled to the Officer’s club at Tangmere, listening to the couple talk, they were in love she knew it. As she got out of the car she turned to them. “Look, before you go to meet her family,” Elizabeth said. “Pull up some were and show each other how much you do love each other, don’t leave it…” The girl gave a shocked gasp as Elizabeth, in her black hat walked off into the club shouting for the steward to set up a round of drinks on Squadron Leader Fitzmorgan. As the glasses clattered on the bar Elizabeth went over to the abandoned gramophone and flicked through the records.

She found the one want she wanted and placed it on the machine, winding the handle. The music began

I’ll be seeing you; In all the old, familiar places;That this heart of mine embraces; All day through.In that small cafe;The park across the way;The children’s carousel;The chestnut tree;The wishing well.I’ll be seeing you; In every lovely,summer’s day;And everything that’s bright and gay;I’ll always think of you that way;I’ll find you in the morning sun;And when the night is new; I’ll be looking at the moon; But I’ll be seeing you.

“Is that for George?” It was Bobby; he was standing by the door.
Elizabeth shook her head and looked at him, hoping he could see in her eyes that she still wanted what she had tasted for a few moments. Even with the guilt still lingering, even with the loss, she still, God help her, wanted it.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

He almost hadn’t gone to the club so late that afternoon. It hadn’t exactly been Nigel’s urging or a hunger for camaraderie that drew him though both conspired against his reluctance.

“Oh, come on, chap,” Nigel called out, clapping him on the back. “We’ll have a round and a hand a cards.”

“You just want to win some more of my money,” Robert laughed off.

“Are you saying that I’d be scheming to take the hard earned money of a guileless Yank officer?” Nigel protested.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Robert said.

“But, Bobby, we’ll take it easy on you,” Nigel promised.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on the drink though,” Robert agreed and followed along to the club. There were some things to forget and this might be the best way to do it. He had tried to push Elizabeth from his mind, her name, the thought of her, the memory of her, the guilt of having her, another man’s wife while the man lie bleeding in the fields of North Downs. He was so disgusted by the act, by how much he had wanted it, that he had thrown himself into every aspect of the day’s activities, finding solace in every busy little detail.

And it had worked. He hadn’t once thought about her since waking up. Well, except for when he smelled the tea brewing at breakfast, and then when the sun broke through the clouds around mid morning. And there was a slight twinge when he mounted the steps to the club and saw a few members of the 607th. But he felt safe for now. She was off at the hospital in Portsmouth tending to George and he could relax and toss down his supper and a drink without alarm. Afterwards, he even let Nigel talk him into a hand of cards.

“I’m on a budget, fellows,” Robert warned. “Once I’m out, I’m out.”

“Come on, Bobby, I have a feeling that you’re going to win big tonight,” Nigel laughed. “Now deal this hand, won’t you Tommy?”

Robert did win a little at the first but never having a mind for card games he blundered and lost every part of his winnings and then some.

“Next hand you’ll come around, Bobby,” Nigel chided him. “Just watch.”

The cigarette smoke rose high and filled the close little room. He tried to count the cards and watch the faces of the others, but there was no helping him. With a final wager, he set out the remainder of his thin budget. Jacks and Queens should do it, he thought. Maybe they’ll make a gambler out of me after all!

“I’m calling ya,” Tommy said coolly, taking a deep drag of his cigarette.

“Two pair, Jacks and Ladies,” Robert said fanning out his hand. There was a shout given up from the general direction of the bar down the hall.

“Aww, mate,” Tommy moaned setting down a pair of Tens as if in disgust. Then he smirked and fanned out three Kings.

“I’m out,” Robert said, pushing away from the table.

“Come on, Bobby,” Nigel said. “I’ll spot you a line … what d’you say?”

“I’m out, Nige,” Robert said, pressing out his smoke and tossing back the last of his drink. “I think it’s time for me to refill this,” he said waving off the others who were pleading with him to stay in the game.

It was then, as he stood and went to return to the bar, that he heard the music. Unmistakable. The Dorsey Orchestra. Damn! Why did soembody have to play that? Was this some kind of joke? Robert stepped to the doorway that lead to the bar and stopped cold. There she was standing beside the gramophone, dressed in her stiff baggy gray hospital dress with a little hat, a black hat. An odd combination, he thought. It was a stylish looking hat and didn’t go with her dress. His ear caught the sound of toasts being made. Not happy toasts either, he thought as he glanced at the faces lining the bar. What is she … why is she?

“Is that for George?” he asked loudly, not sure from where the question had come.

Elizabeth turned and looked up at him, shaking her head slightly. Did that gesture mean no? No, it’s not for George; or no, don’t ask me that; or no, it’s for you. Robert had no idea of the answer; it surely couldn’t be the latter. All he could see was the look in her eyes, redlined and teary, and the fragile shake and quiver of her slender body inside the cavernous uniform. Her face was flushed as if she had been drinking. He took a couple steps forward, then she did the same and collapsed into his open arms, pressing her face into the flesh of his chest, burying her tears in the thick wool of his uniform jacket. Robert held her gently, one arm looped around her waist, the other hand brushing through her hair. He felt her body tremble as she leaned against him.

“It’s George isn’t it?” he whispered softly. He felt her nod, her face still buried in him. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Fitz … so very sorry.” They remained together swaying gently to the sound of the Dorsey Orchestra and the deep legato of the skinny boy singer from Hoboken. They seemed unaware of the others in the bar, the pilots of the 607th and the other squadrons, their glasses still hoisted in toasting the memory of one of their own, nor of the very few ladies present, nor of anyone else for that matter. There was only this pain, and need, and yes, God willing, love.

Elizabeth’s hands found his arms and she held him back for a moment, her eyes searching his face and finding the least glint of a tear in his eyes. She fell back upon him, clinging to him now with a tight needy grip.

“Oh, Bobby, Bobby! Why did all of this have to happen … like this?”

“Everything has a purpose, Mrs. Fitz,” he said, trying to make his voice sound soothing despite the quaver of emotion he felt. “Someday we will know about this one.”

“I thought I’d find you in here,” came a voice from the crowd and suddenly Robert was aware of the crowd surrounding them. It was Alexandria Cordwine emerging from the group at the bar. “I should have expected as much. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“But Alex …” Elizabeth began to say, pushing away from Robert. “This … he … this is not what you think … you don’t know …”

“I know all right,” Alexandria retorted angrily, facing Robert fully. “You … you Yanks come over here, throwing your weight around like you own the place, with your Virginia cigarettes and your Kentucky bourbon whiskey and your healthy swagger … so full of yourselves. This is our war and we don’t need your bloody help fighting it!”

“Alex,” called out her husband, moving to her and trying to restrain her from Robert, but she was undeterred, despite the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“George is hardly started to chill and here you are moving in for the kill … it’s not right … it’s not fair … it’s not bloody fair! These are our boys fighting and dying here!”

“Alex,” cooed Cordwine as he finally corralled his wife and drew her away back toward the bar. “I’m sorry, Liz.”

“That’s all right, Matthew,” Elizabeth replied. “Everyone’s a little on edge nowadays. There’s a war on don’t you know?”

There were a few somber chuckles that dissipated quickly as the other pilots of the 607th began to cluster around Elizabeth. She wiped at her tears and breathed in deeply, as if trying to revoke the tears and emotion she had just shed. One by one the men came up to her, hugged her, helped to dry her tears, spoke with her briefly of George, and offered her what condolence they could muster.

Robert moved away toward the bar and watched. He guessed that there weren’t all that many left from before the war, many of the pilots confessing to barely knowing George if at all. But each word seemed to help, each hug helped to calm her, each smile helped bring a healthier glow back to her face. The last of them stood beside her awkwardly after downing his drink and Robert moved back toward the little woman with the black hat. The chatter in the room began to rise to more normal levels.

“Is there anything I can do?” Robert asked, bringing his hand to her chin and tilting her face up towards his.

Elizabeth sniffled harshly. “Yes. I think I’m ready to go home.”

“I’ll get you a ride then,” Robert offered. “I'll see you home.”

“Yes, that would be nice,” she said, gathering up her things.

“Wait here, and I’ll be right back,” he said, before excusing himself.

Robert dashed to the motor pool and found an idle split-back lorry and driver who was easily bribed with a couple of smokes. Once back at the club, Robert left word with Nigel as to where he could be found if needed. He then looked for Elizabeth, whom he found standing with Mason near the doorway to the bar.

“Take care,” Mason called out to her as he watched them climb into the idling lorry. “I’ll sent Hattie around tomorrow for you.”

Though the ride to her cottage was short, it seemed to last forever to Robert. He felt Elizabeth sink into his shoulder wearily and he slipped his arm around her. His mind rewound the events of the past week; the hours in the air, the moments of fierce combat, the endless boredom in between. And in the midst of all that there was this pretty little woman who had opened the door to his heart and crawled inside. In such a short time he had come so far, yet never had his future seemed so unclear. The Jerries were probably planning a nighttime raid and there would be the usual patrols the following day. But beyond that, there was nothing more than the moment that existed now, Elizabeth and him together lumbering along the road. Suddenly his thoughts were jarred as the lorry jerked to a stop.

“Wait for me,” Robert told the driver as he slipped out and helped Elizabeth climb out. Looping his arm around hers, he escorted her to the front door. “Will you be all right, Mrs. Fitz?” he asked as she reached for her keys. She looked up at him, her eyes clearer but still heavy with grief.

“Could you stay, Bobby, just for a bit?” she asked, plaintively.

“Sure,” Robert replied. He waved off the driver and the lorry chugged away. They were soon inside and Elizabeth shrugged out of her coat and carefully removed the little black hat and set it on a table in the hall. Robert went into the kitchen and began to draw some water to make tea. That’s what the Brits always did wasn’t it, make tea?

“I think,” Elizabeth said from behind him. “I think I need something stronger tonight, Bobby.” She pulled down a pint of Gin from a cupboard and poured out a couple of glasses.

Each with a glass in their hands, they stood close in the kitchen. Silently they drifted toward each other, their empty arms slipping around the other.

“Should I call one of your friends?” Robert ventured and then felt her arms tighten around him. “Perhaps one of them can spend the night with you.”

“No, I need this,” she whispered tightening her arm around him. “I need you with me tonight, Bobby.”

“But George … what Alexandria said …” Robert began, but Elizabeth raised her fingers to his lips to quiet him.

“Shh,” she hissed. “George is gone now, and you might be tomorrow for all I know.” Robert kissed her fingers where they rested on his lips. Her fingers glided from his lips over his cheek to his neck to the back of his neck. Pulling him closer to her, Elizabeth rose up on her toes and leaned into him. Robert set his drink down and took her into his arms. Their lips brushed together softly and lightly and he felt a tingle sparkle down his spine. They each took a deep breath and let their kiss blossom into something long and rich and passionate. Their tongues waltzed together, ebbing and flowing like a relentless tide.

“Mrs. Fitz … Liz …” Robert managed to breath his words as their bodies pressed tightly together and their arms wound around each other.

“Oh, Bobby,” she cooed.

Their kiss grew heated and frantic as their hands moved and touched and caressed. His hands trailed down the trim flesh of her back coming to rest on the sweet curves of her ass. He could feel her body move and twitch beneath the harsh gray fabric of her dress as he held her close to him. Her half drunk glass of gin tumbled to the floor with a crash. Robert broke off their hungry embrace and reached for a towel to clean up.

“That’s all right,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll get it in the morning.”

“But broken glass,” Robert said, stooping down to pick up the shattered shards. He tossed the pieces into the trash. “Ouch!” he breathed as he felt a nip on his finger.

“What’s this?” she asked taking his hand and lifting it toward her face as he stood back up. “You’ve cut yourself.”

A tiny drop of blood trailed from a small cut on his finger. She raised the finger to her lips and kissed it tenderly, her lips drawing his finger into the warmth of her mouth. He could feel her tongue licking at the little wound.

“You’re always doing this, patching me up,” he said with a little smile as she withdrew his finger and looked it over.

“Someone has to,” Elizabeth answered. “You’ve got no one else to look after you … just like me …” Satisfied that she had staunched the bleeding, Elizabeth rested her hands against his chest and leaned toward him.

“So how can I ever repay you?” he asked, holding the fragile little woman in his arms.

“Hmm,” she hummed with a slight grin. “I suppose there is something you could help me with.”

“And what is that, Mrs. Fitz?” he asked rocking her ever so gently from side to side.

“You could … help me get ready for bed …” Her voice trailed off teasingly and Robert nodded.

“I can do that,” he said softly but detecting a self-conscious feeling crawl up his spine.

They moved silently from the kitchen, snapping off the lights as they went and drifted through the darkened rooms toward the bedroom. They paused just inside the doorway and Elizabeth turned to face him, standing with her arms down at her sides. Robert couldn’t take his eyes from her face, her soft high rounded cheeks, her eyes sparkling despite the darkness of the room and the grief in her heart. Her eyes dropped down expectantly toward the buttons that dotted the front of her uniform dress. Looking back up at Robert’s eyes, she arched her brow questioningly.

“Oh, yes,” he chuckled and lifted up his fingers to begin undoing the buttons. His fingers trembled as he unfastened each one parting the stiff material as he went to reveal the lush curves of her body and a dainty pink slip underneath. With the buttons undone, he slipped the dress from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor and pool at her feet. He stooped to retrieve it as she stepped out of it, looking up at her, his eyes tracing the shape of her body. He stood and arranged the dress on the chair nearby.

Elizabeth stepped back and leaned back against the dresser. She raised one leg up and slipped the shoe from her foot. Drawing her hands up her leg she pulled the lacy hem of her slip up until she had bared the clasps at the top of her stocking. Undoing them both, she slowly rolled the stocking down her leg, her eyes on Robert the entire time. Robert stood a few footsteps away feeling a tingling in his thighs and groin. He felt a heat rising in his throat and licked his parched lips.

Then Elizabeth raised her other leg just as she had the first, slipping off the shoe, letting it drop to the floor, languidly drawing up her slip so that she could unfasten and remove the other stocking, her fingers slowly and gently rolling the stocking down over her shapely leg. Setting the stocking on the dresser she stood and reached up underneath the slip and pulled down her panties, the flouncy pretty French cut panties he had admired before. Then she moved to the bed, her slender curves moving sensually underneath the thin silk of her lacy pink slip. She leaned over to turn down the bed covers.

“Tuck me in, Bobby?” she asked, looking back at him over her shoulder, the strap of her slip falling down enticingly.

Robert felt the stirring in his loins grow heated but told himself that this was not intentional on her part. Surely she was the innocent one here and it was only his yearning lust that made it appear otherwise. He nervously moved next to the bed and held up the covers so that she could climb into bed. As she slipped between the sheets the hem of her slip rose upward affording him the briefest glimpse of the fine downy muff of her sex. He set the covers around her and sat on the bed beside her, tucking them about her neck and shoulders.

“How’s that?” he asked, sitting up fully erect and smiling down at her face framed by the pillows.

Elizabeth looked up at him and grinned. “There is one other thing you could do for me …”

“What’s that? Name it, Mrs. Fitz,” Robert replied, leaning over her, placing a hand on the other side of her on the bed. “Anything …”

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

Anything The word wove through the tangled maze of Elizabeth’s thoughts. She could feel the taut chill sheet brushing her body as Bobby shifted his hands either side of her, she was wrapped tight. Locked to this place, this moment. She wanted to ask him to say he loved her, wanted her, wished too stay with her, but even in her gin confused state, she could not ask him too, not after what had happened today.

Not after what had happened at the club, Alex’s words; the eyes of the others. What did they see? Or thought they saw. Half truths, lies.. grief… loss… need … love… so much, so mixed it didn’t make sense sober or drunk. The only thing Elizabeth was sure of was that Bobby was here, he was alive and he had said Anything There was one way, one hope, she knew she was risking everything, exposing herself to rejection, but if she were sober, if it were tomorrow, she would not take the chance. The past would lock her future from her.

She wriggled her left hand out and reached up, running a finger along Bobby’s jaw line, rough with stubble. Her index finger traced up and gently ran over his cheek bones and the line of his nose to his lips. They parted, softly kissing her finger. Elizabeth felt the soft damp inner side of his lips as they opened, she ran her finger along the wetness, then spoke.

“Don’t say anything.” It was true Elizabeth didn’t want him too, not now, she just… Needed to make the offer to him.Her hand moved from his lips, as a puzzled frown creased Bobby’s brow “Shush…” she said and curled her hand round his neck and drew his head down towards her. For a second he resisted his arms straightening. Elizabeth panicked her heart nearly bursting with the fear that perhaps he didn’t care, perhaps there was nothing. He was just being kind. Then he moved, no dropped. His mouth opening and closing on hers.

She drank him in, his warmth, his need, flooding her. Both her hands were free now pushing at his jacket, gently, no rush, slipping the garment off, as his lips caressed and teased hers. He lay on her, the blankets between them as they kissed, his hands roaming through her hair as hers pulled at his shirt. As her fingers touched the flesh of his back she gasped; the warmth of his skin brought back the memory of last time Bobby seemed to shudder and broke the kiss.

Again he looked at her; she could feel his body reacting to hers through the covers. He studied her eyes what did he see? She wanted to ask but had told him to say nothing. Her fingers pulled at the buttons of his shirt, but Bobby caught them, turning them in his hands. He was keeping his word, saying nothing, but he was asking a question.

Elizabeth answered it “Yes.” She wanted him, needed him. He was her link to life, to being alive, being wanted, being loved. Bobby seemed to shake as the breath he was holding escaped him; he brought her hand up to his mouth and gently kissed her palm then trailed the kissed down her arm to the nape of her neck. Elizabeth arched her back, seeking to get closer with him as she managed to slip one of his arms out of his shirt, the other followed.

In between deepening kisses Bobby’s other clothes followed along with her slip. Elizabeth could just see the outline of his body as she flipped back the bedclothes and shuffled over. The chill of the bed now under her contrasted with the heat in her body, she was aflame. She rolled on her side, and then half onto Bobby, her hands and lips hungry for the touch and feel of him as his was for her. They curled round each other, exploring each curve, each inch of flesh, savoring each new sensation.

Elizabeth found herself lying on Bobby, his mouth at her breasts, suckling, taking the engorged flesh deeper, making her body sing and seek to be in tune with his. She inched up her hand reaching down, circling him as she drew herself up, Bobby released her breast, and watched as she settled herself over him, then down, impaling herself on his length, taking him into her in one smooth sweet movement of her body.

Her head whipped back and she moaned, pushing herself lower, crying out as Bobby began to thrust into her, slowly, each movement making her senses fly. He reached up cupping her breasts dragging her forward as the pace increased. Bobby was so hard, so tight in her; each fragment of her sensitive inner flesh was responding, pushing her into the swirl of a hurricane of desire and love she did not know existed.

Her love for George was eclipsed by the total, unchecked gift Bobby was giving her. There was no wall between them, no holding back. The pain and loss; were matched in them by the roar of their desire. His hands were on her hips now, forcing her down onto each quick sharp thrust. Bobby broke his promise now and screamed her name over and over as his release came, Elizabeth felt him fill her, felt the warmth spread, felt her own climax join and blend with his.

Elizabeth swayed; Bobby pulled her down on to him, holding her roughly; his lips burrowing under her hair. Both were struggling to gain their breath. Elizabeth just lay there feeling the beat of Bobby’s heart under her steady its beat.

How long they lay like that Elizabeth did not know, for the day finally took its toll on her mind and body and at sometime, still clasped in Bobby’s arms she slipped into sleep.

Elizabeth woke; she did not know what time it was, but she was alone. Bobby had gone, yet he had not, her hand moved to her stomach, pressing the flesh. He was here inside her, still in her mind. He loved her, she knew and knowing that she could face today. Face the loss of her other love, face tomorrow, what ever hurt, or love it brought.

The panes in the bedroom window rattled and the roar of an engine boomed through the house. Elizabeth shot out of bed and pulled back the blackout curtain. Silhouetted against the clouds was a shape, fast moving way, a Hurricane.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

Robert lie exhausted on the bed, holding Elizabeth in his arms, his hot sweating chest heaving as his breath caught up with his heartbeat. He kissed her, at least those parts of her nearest his lips, and felt her body stretch and relax, a small purring sigh passing from her. With his flaccid cock still inside her, she fell into a deep slumber and he soon joined her, though his sleep was shallower and more restless. At any moment he knew there might be a phone call or a pounding at the door. But neither the ring nor the knock were sounded and his last couple of hours were deep and full of fitful strange dreams. He woke up to find Elizabeth sleeping on her side, facing him, their arms and legs intertwined.

It was early and he needed to get back, but he didn’t want to leave, not just yet from this place that felt so warm and peaceful. Robert extracted an arm and caressed her cheek, letting his fingers trail down over her neck and shoulder, then to the soft firm curve of her breast. Her smooth tender skin there and the rosy firm little nipple fascinated him. As he teased it, Elizabeth sighed and stirred. Part of him wanted her to wake so he could say goodbye, and certainly part of him wanted to make love to her again. But there was a calm beauty to her as she slept and he realized with all she had to face in the next few days that she needed this rest as much as he needed to return to his duty. Kissing her forehead gently, he slowly withdrew from the bed, keeping the warm covers tucked near to her body.

His eyes never left her sleeping form as he dressed quickly and quietly, feeling a twinge of arousal as he tucked his manhood, still sticky from their love the night before, into his skivvies. Like a thief in the early dawn’s light he stealthily crept from the room and left the house, pausing on the front stoop to light a cigarette. A thief? Is that what I am now, he wondered?

Things were happening so rapidly here, not like at home when a new courtship could take weeks or months before blossoming into any form of intimacy. But there was a war going on and things happen so fast in battle, lives are dispatched and heroes are born so quickly, that one hasn’t time to stop and think things over rationally. You simply trust your gut feeling and your instincts. And deep inside his heart this felt right. From the moment he had met her, Robert knew there was something special about Elizabeth. He hadn’t known exactly what it was then and didn’t even know now what it was, but he knew he had to see her again. He didn’t want to imagine not being able to see her.

He looked back over his shoulder at the door, and for a moment pictured Elizabeth opening it up for him, smiling and slipping into his arms. “George,” he whispered, looking back in the direction of the airfield at the early sky. “I’ll live up to my promise … I’ll look after your fair Liz and take her into my own heart.” He shivered and pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck and hunched off, eventually hitching a ride to Tangmere.

”The 213th, eh?” said the old man who had offered him a lift as he looked over Robert’s uniform. “You fellas have been rattling my windows for the past week now. Hope you’re giving Hitler and his gang the what for!”

“We’re doing our best,” Robert said with a smile.

“Oh, you’re a Yank, aren’t you?” the old man remarked.

“Yes,” Robert replied warily.

“Awfully glad to have you here helping out,” the old man stated. “Been out enjoying your stay here?”

“Yes,” Robert said idly. “I’ve felt very welcomed here.”

“We’ve had a few of you Yanks around,” the old man went on, eyeing Robert. “Heard that the local girls really go for you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Robert said with a chuckle. The old man looked back to the road as the airfield loomed ahead.

“So tell me, when is Roosevelt ever going to send the rest of you boys over and take it to Hitler first hand?”

“Soon, I hope, sir,” Robert said looking back out the window, watching the clouds break over the horizon. “Soon.”

Robert barely had time to down a quick breakfast before the morning pilot’s briefing. There was still a chance of rain today, but things would be clearing in the evening and tomorrow was to be mostly fair and warmer. Because the conditions would be most opportune for the Germans, a busy day was expected and all pilots were confined to base. Then the 213th received their plan for the day, their patrol assignments, and who was to be kept for ready assignments. The new pilots were introduced before the meeting broke up into smaller groups to discuss further details.

“So what’s this all mean,” Robert asked the wing commander.

“The German recon missions of the past few days must mean Hilter is planning something big,” said Forthwright gravely. “With the weather starting to break today, he might be ready to launch the invasion. Our own recon has shown build ups of barges and landing craft in the French and Dutch and Belgian harbors. This could be the real thing, Bobby.”

“We’re ready, sir, for whatever he’s planning to throw at us,” Robert said.

“We may be patched together like an old jalopy,” remarked Forthwright. “But we have spirit and skill and Jerry may have met his match when he took us on.”

“What about the ammo?” Nigel asked. “My crew was saying that we have run out of the DeHavilland cartridges.”

“We have,” replied Forthwright. “The Jerries hit the factory pretty hard the other night and it will be a few days till they’re back up.”

“But we’ve had the best luck with that type,” Robert stated.

“You have … but we have not choice but to make do with what we have, Bobby,” Forthwright said.

The meeting was soon called to a close and the pilots who had been assigned patrols made their way to the flight line. Colin and the rest of the ground crew had the Lady Jane checked out and waiting. It took fifteen minutes at the most to strap Robert in and give his goggles and windscreen a final polish before the “start engine” command was given. The sound of a dozen Hurricanes coughing to life resonated through the morning chill along the tarmac. Colin pulled the chock blocks away and Robert waved to the crew and merged with the others of his group along the taxi strip that snaked toward the runway.

Robert had watched as a squadron took off and the exhilarating sight was equaled only by the feel in the cockpit after shoving the throttle ahead full, watching the RPM climb, and then pulling back on the stick and feeling the trundling landing gear part with the pavement. Once in the air he banked left, came around and leveled off following the road that lead northward from the base toward the little cottage on Edwards Avenue. Flying lower than was regulation he waggled the wings hoping that perhaps Elizabeth would be watching. Likely she was on her way to Portsmouth to complete whatever arrangements were needed.

Then the thought struck him, what if I never see her again? What if she goes home and her family convinces her to stay? Could that be possible after what has happened between them? Robert was chilled by the thought which sent a cold shiver down his back, but he was thankfully broken free when Nigel called over to him.

“Say, mate, we’re headed this way!”

Robert looked around and found Nigel on his left pointing eastward. He waved to Nigel and they banked right and joined the others heading due east. The morning hours were spent locating and pursuing small German recon missions picked up by radar or spotted the land-based home defence crews. As they idly trolled along the coast, Robert thought about Elizabeth. Memories of her flashed through his mind, her smile, her kiss, and the sounds she made while loving him. He could easily picture taking her to dinner at a nightclub, listening to some hot live music, and dancing with her till well after midnight.

Such a silly daydream, Robert thought, for there was little opportunity for such here. Maybe when this damned war is over there will be time. Perhaps she would travel with him and visit his home and family. He could see it all, his mother and sisters welcoming her, his brothers envious of the lovely British rose he had discovered. Then he glanced up through the canopy and thought of George. Was this the exact sort of charge he had in mind when speaking with me? Would George approve of what has happened now? He hoped George would, he prayed that George would understand, for there was no going back, not now.

“Lone wolf at ten o’clock,” crackled Nigel’s voice. Robert glanced over and spotted the Heinkel lumbering along the coast at an upper altitude just off Selsey Bill.

“Watch my tail,” Robert spoke calmly. With a hand gesture, he pulled his Lady Jane around and Nigel followed as they climbed and came up behind the droning German recon aircraft.

The dorsal gunner began to spit at the pair of Hurricanes that were coming up quickly on his tail. Dodging the fire, Robert pulled up his sight and maneuvered into position to rake the fuselage and left wing of the Heinkel. He passed over and pulled the trigger sending a hundred rounds of .30 caliber ammo at his target. Then he pulled up and banked around as Nigel swept in to follow. Robert quickly glanced around for the sight of any possible fighter support. Not spotting any, he thought about the boldness of the Germans flying a naked recon in broad daylight. Something big must be up to be taking such a chance.

They both swung around and strafed the Heinkel a second time, watching as it banked south and headed out over the Channel. After a third and fourth pass, their radios crackled with orders to return for refueling and reloading.

“But we’re hot on the tail of a fat slow Heinkel,” came Nigel’s excited voice.

But wing command wanted them back they watched the German plane continued toward the French coast that loomed ahead. They couldn’t resist taking another pass. A faint trail of smoke erupted as Nigel raked the right engine.

“He won’t be coming back too soon,” Robert remarked as they banked back toward Tangmere.

They dodged a scattered squall line of light showers on the way back. While their crews refuled and the armorers laid in fresh ammo. The pilots lounged on the grass while their aircraft were serviced, their vest still strapped on and their chutes at the ready.

“So, Bobby,” called out Mickey Croswell. “Rumor has it that you have taken up with a widow from the 607th.”

“Really,” Robert said surprised by the question. Things do happen swiftly in wartime. “Can’t believe everything you hear now can you?”

“Yeah, but you can believe what you see, and we saw you taking her home last night.”

“Give ‘im a break,” Nigel laughed. “He’s just being a gentleman, helping the grieving widow in her time of need.”

“Just be happy that you’re not married, bloke,” Croswell replied. “No telling what he might do if he took a fancy to your wife.”

“Hey!” Nigel shouted taking a shove at Croswell. “That wasn’t called for!” Robert reached over silently and pulled his wing mate back.

“No, no, no,” Croswell relented. “Don’t take me wrong, I’m happy for him, lost and lonely so far from home. Can’t say I blame him for finding a warm pair of legs to rest between.”

“Hey, come on!” Nigel called out, looking over at Robert, whose brow was thickening as his head shook from side to side.

“Look at that,” Croswell remarked with a laugh. “He hasn’t said a word so it must be true.”

Robert glared at Croswell but let the comments go. He preferred instead to lean back in the scattered bits of sun and think of the lovely woman who had spurred those words. Surely, this won’t be easy, I can only imagine what Liz’s friends must think, he thought, remembering Alexandria’s outburst the night before.

As the showers abated and the afternoon skies brightened, the airfield grew busy.
A formation of Germans some 150 strong were spotted crossing over in the east between Deal and Dungeness. The 213th was hurriedly summoned to help intercept a section that split off and headed toward London via the southeast. Working with two other squadrons from the east, they were able to break up the formation and scatter the Germans, sending a handful limping back across the channel smoking badly, and splashing a pair of Messerschmitts and a Junkers.

On the return to Tangmere, as evening drew near, Robert’s mind turned again to Elizabeth. He pictured her at the cottage on Edwards Avenue, greeting him at the door dressed in a silken robe, her naked curves jiggling underneath, drawing him inside. He could taste the soft skin of her neck, smell the light scent of her perfume, feel her body shiver as he slipped his hand under her robe, and hear her sigh as his kisses found the plush mound of her sex.

As the pilots took their supper at the club, Robert followed along and ate, but his mind was a mile away, remembering the touch and taste and sound of making love to her. Kicking back in the stiff leather chair by the hearth, Robert closed his eyes and saw her smiling face and heard her voice, her laugh, and her sigh. He knew this was madness and rose up from the chair and left the club to walk outside, hoping the cool air of early evening could help clear his head.

It was nearly eight and the sirens started up suddenly. Robert turned and headed directly toward the tarmac. The sound of a hundred footsteps pounded in his head. Within minutes they were lifting off and headed toward the skies over East Kent and the Estuary. En route, they learned over the radio that just that afternoon the airfields at Kenley, Biggin Hill, Hornchurch, and Northholt had been hit hard and Biggin Hill was out of commission for the night.

Leaving the runway at Tangmere behind, Robert felt Elizabeth with him, inside him, part of him. Perhaps she was home, or in Portsmouth or perhaps even traveling home with George’s body. But wherever she was, he felt her, heard her, smelled her, and tasted her. Fair Liz! Sweet Liz! Lovely Mrs. Fitz!

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

14th September 1940

For the citizens of London, this day marked a turning point which would plunge them after into the nightmare winter of the Blitz.

Lord Elton wrote in the Times: The path which we have now to tread is steep and may be long, but it is not new to us. It is the path of Drake and the Armada, of Nelson and the Flotilla of Boulogne…The old perils confront us. But even more menacing; the old stakes are to be played for but now higher than ever. It is the old enemy who assails us, but in another guise. London has made it clear that the old qualities are there to meet them.

The stock exchange had given a commendable display of calm the previous week.

Arsenal beat Fulham at Craven Cottage that Saturday afternoon by a goal to nil, after a game that ended almost three hours after the kick off. The match being stopped for eighty five minutes while all took cover until the all clear sounded.

At the London Pavilion the film “Dr Kildare’s strange case” with Lew Ayres and Lionel Barrymore was showing. At the Regal at Marble Arch “The Westerner” with Gary Cooper was playing to packed houses. Any strangely, despite its Germanic setting “The White Horse Inn,” at the London Coliseum was enjoying a long run. Equally strange was the fact that two of Berlin’s largest theatres were performing Shakespeare’s “As you like it” and “Midsummer night’s dream.”

In a small cottage near the RAF base of Tangmere, Elizabeth Fitzmorgan sat on the edge of the bed, remembering the past week, each hour and each second of it. One week in which her life had been turned on its head by the entry into her life of one man and the leaving of another.

“The War” had come crashing down on her, tearing at her mind, heart and soul. It had turned all Elizabeth’s ideas about herself, what she thought she was on there head.

She had loved George, she had fell in love with him, made plans for the future with him and had seen the war tear at their love and relationship. Even before this week their marriage, if she was honest had begun to die, because George believed he was going to die. He distanced himself from her, pushed her way. Even if Bobby had not come into her life, even if George had not died, how long would their marriage had lasted, would it have turned cold and formal, become a burden to both of them?

Elizabeth shuddered more from the thoughts playing in her mind than from the chill of the room, it was already nine o clock. She pulled on her robe and went to the bath room, firing up the small gas water heater and running the regulation four inches of water. Enough to have a strip wash in and a good rinse down. She used a jug first to wash her hair over the sink, then stood in the bath and soaped down her body.

As Elizabeth bathed she washed away the traces of the night she and Bobby had spent together, but it did not impinge on the memory. Each movement of his body against hers, each touch and counter touch remained fresh and clear. From the moment they had been introduced by her husband, there had been something there. It had begun to flame over a simple game of bar skittles. Flared into life during a dance and twice plunged them into a passion that Elizabeth could not explain nor did she wish too.

To explain would mean thinking on it, thinking on a future, on a something more. Elizabeth did not want any more; she just wanted Bobby now, for as long as she could. Her heart had planned with George, she did not want to plan with Bobby; just live each day she could with him, because…. The sound of aircraft again rattled the windows and Elizabeth swallowed hard. Don’t think on it; just think that he will be here tonight if he can? She knew Bobby would even for an hour, a few minutes.

Once dressed she began to think on what she had to do, what had to be done to take George home, to place him in the past, not forgotten never that, never not loved. But compared to the feeling she had for this American she had known only a week, she knew that her past love was a pale comparison.

She went into the kitchen to make some tea and toast and saw the black hat sitting on the centre of the table, she picked it up and her feet crunched on a piece of broken glass. Elizabeth smiled and put down the hat, carefully picking up the sharp pieces and rolling them in a piece of old newspaper before putting them in the bin

The Hospital had told her not to go back till Monday, but she rang, trying to get some sort of answer, some sort of arrangement. The bored voice at the other end finally said if she could be there by 2.00pm they might be able to arrange the shipment with the others. The way the man talked made Elizabeth shudder, how many were the “others”. How many men were to be crated up and sent home on the train to be met by the family undertaker?

Elizabeth spent a good half hour on the telephone with George’s father, asking not for his sister to try and come, she would get things done, get things sorted. The man seemed relieved. It was as if she had been asking the man to send his daughter through hell. London was bad, but the bombing had been confined to the area round the river and Docks, life still went on, if the BBC were to be believed.

Hattie arrived, her eyes questioning, Elizabeth said nothing to confirm or deny Hattie’s thoughts. Her friend just nodded and said, after Elizabeth told her about the appointment that afternoon. “So we are going to Portsmouth?”

“You don’t mind coming?” Elizabeth said as she took the hat into the bedroom.

“No…” Hattie said, following Elizabeth into the room. “What you going to do with George’s things.” Elizabeth felt her knees go and she shut her eyes for a second. “Oh, sorry Liz, but…”

Elizabeth laid the hat down on the dressing table and sighed. “Not much here. Spare uniform, shirts. Just clothes, few books, few personal things. We never… stupid really. Never got round to having a real home of our own, the furniture here is all rented with the cottage. The bedding and towels and… mother gave me from the manor. Most of George’s things are at his parents, same as mine… never… never…” Elizabeth started to cry and sat on the bed. Hattie sat by her side and hugged her, rocking her gently to and fro.

A loud knocking began at the door, Elizabeth’s heart began to pound in unison, was it Bobby? Could it be? Hattie rose and went to the door, Elizabeth two steps behind her. It wasn’t Bobby, it was Alexandria. The woman raised an eyebrow and looked hard at Elizabeth, then gave a half smile and said.” I thought I would come and see…”

“See what?” Elizabeth snapped, the words Alex had said last night rose in Elizabeth’s mind bringing with them a wave of anger.

“If you are all right of course?” Alex said.

“Or to see if I have the Yank under; no in my bed?” Elizabeth muttered stepping back towards the bedroom. Alex followed and Hattie shut the door and brought up the rear.

“Elizabeth, his behavior and well yours...” Alex’s eyes ran over the tangled mass of the bed as she spoke, it was if she was trying to gauge if anything had happened there.

“I was giving George a send off he would have approved of…” Elizabeth said and opened her wardrobe door taking out her black suit and hanging it on the outside.

“Amen to that…” Hattie said as she pulled out a large suitcase from under the bed. “Put all George’s stuff in here then you can decide later...” Elizabeth nodded, sniffing back the tears.

“Yes.. But that Yank, Liz you must be careful, he will...” Alex began as she took off her coat and started to help Hattie place George’s things in the case.

“Take advantage of me? Bonk me silly? Then throw me in a ditch?” Elizabeth snorted, thinking if only you knew Alex, you would screech like a moorhen. You would not approve, you won’t approve. I know. Elizabeth felt suddenly sad, because this moment she knew that her friendship with Alex would never be the same.

“Yes, oh I know you never flaunted it Elizabeth, but your family has land and money...” Alex huffed

“Actually plenty of land, little money, well that is not tied up in the farms.” Elizabeth shook her head; Alex was trying to paint Bobby as a gold digger.

“Still, we no nothing of this Yank and from the way he was pushing it.” Alex continued folding a pair of George’s trousers up.

“George asked him to look after Liz,” Hattie said, looking at Elizabeth, her eyes full of understanding, yes Hattie did understand and accept it. Elizabeth wondered if her friend would act the same. No Hattie wouldn’t, she loved Thomas in the way? What? Elizabeth thought, the way she hadn’t love George? Or in the way she now loved Bobby.

“Did he? Could be lies the Yank is telling just too...” Alex huffed.

“George told me,” Hattie said sharply.

“Still…” Alex pushed the matter.

“Still,” Elizabeth cut in. “I have to be in Portsmouth for two and yes, I know nothing of ‘the Yank’” save that he loves me and I love him, she mentally added, knowing it was true, despite everything, strangely because of the war and because of the war Elizabeth intended to love him day by day, not make plans, not seek another ring on her finger, just live for him being with her.

“Of course.” Alex said as if she had scored a victory.

The three women carried on in silence, then as noon arrived Alex took her leave of the other two before they set off for Portsmouth.

Elizabeth and Hattie spent a frustrating afternoon “getting things sorted” but by early evening as they returned, they could contact George’s father for him to arrange a funeral on Wednesday, at the latest Thursday. George’s body was being shipped with others on a midnight train on Monday. George’s father was to arrange for the undertaker to meet it. Elizabeth would her self take the six o clock train Tuesday morning.

There was another sort of meeting that afternoon. Adolf Hitler presided over a conference at the Reichs Chancellery in Berlin. Following this conference and a forecast of good weather over France, Holland, Belgium and the south of England for the next day, staff officers at Air fleet 2 headquarters in Brussels finalized plans for a double attack on London.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

There were Messerschmitts, nasty gray devils on wings, finding hiding places high in the clouds, covering the lumbering bombers that were droning on with London in their sights. As Robert and Nigel and their wing mates came upon a small contingent of Dorniers and fanned out to attack, they did not—could not—see the Me109s descend rapidly upon them. It was only when the tracer rounds flared and spotted their way along Nigel’s left wing that the little combat group from the 213th Squadron knew they were about to entertain the enemy.

There was no time to anticipate or plan, one could only react and initiate. Pulling up and sweeping around, Robert counted the shadows amongst the clouds; four Messerschmitts and four Hurricanes, even enough odds with the best of conditions. But this was nighttime and only the wits and guile of the pilots mattered; the finest of the Luftwaffe versus the Royal Air Force in their finest hour. Robert looked back and saw Nigel coming round on his wing, not slowed in the least. He wasn’t sure about his wing mates. He and Nigel formed up and singled out the lone Me109.

“Eight o’clock below,” Robert called out over the radio and they swooped in toward the lone wolf. They each took a run at him, but he was good, dodging and weaving like a game prizefighter, shrugging off their runs at him. Then as he rose and banked left, Robert called over to Nigel, “Follow him and don’t let him have a moment’s peace!”

Nigel didn’t, rattling his 30 caliber guns until they glowed red and the rounds found a home in the fuselage and wing of the Me109. Robert pulled up and banked around, following the two closely linked adversaries and watching as the German finally decided to pull up and bank right. Robert was waiting for him. Even in the dim light, he saw the pilot looking around for Nigel, and that was when Robert caught him. Plowing down and straight at the Messerschmitt, he watched as the tracers raked along the length of the German, engine, canopy, fuselage and tail. The Me109 held steady for a few moments, then listed to the right and began to drop toward the ground quickly.

“Let me finish him off, Bobby!” Nigel shouted excitedly.

“He’s gone for,” replied Robert, remembering that the odds were three to two in the opposition’s favor close by in the night sky. “I think we need to look for some of his closest friends.”

That was when Robert heard the sound of hot lead ripping into the Lady Jane along his right side. He immediately pulled to the right and banked upward. As he came around, he saw a dark shadow spout orange and plunge violently toward the ground.

“It’s Crowley!” came Saunders’s voice over the radio. “They’ve got him!”

“Damn!” Robert shouted. Back to even odds. “Form up! Tri-Vee! I’ll lead!” Robert didn’t wait for the other two to follow him. After locating the other three Messerschmitts that were attempting to remain close to the formation of bombers, he led the way straight toward them. Looking on either side, he saw Nigel and Saunders on either wing. The Me109s were faster but were easily drawn from their preferred flight path by a little fire on their tails.

The next few minutes were scrambled. The Germans dove and came around; the 213th rose and dove down; they pirouetted and danced across the nighttime skies. To Robert, it looked like a barn dance from a strange Hollywood movie, a do-or-die do-si-do. Saunders was hit first and was forced to retire; then Nigel caught a German coming around broadside and drilled the engine and cockpit until the Messerschmitt trailed off smoking badly. Robert was hot on the tail of another, so close that he could count the five kills stenciled on the tail. As his target began to sputter and slow and trail smoke, he felt a staccato shuddering along the tail of the Lady Jane. His rudder control loosened and he had to battle the stick to hold course as he came around.

“Hurrah!” came Nigel’s voice and Robert’s eyes darted around and eventually saw the sparks and flame erupt from the third German aircraft. He went to his left only to find himself bearing down on the fourth German, the tracer rounds already blazing brightly toward him.

“Jesus Christ!” he swore as he pulled at his loose stick. The telltale sounds of German bullets raking and cracking his canopy sent a chilling sensation down his back. Robert tensed then relaxed each limb, reassured that all parts were functioning. Dodging just out of the way of the onrushing German in a move that brought them almost belly-to-belly, Robert tried to come around, but the Lady Jane was sloughing off. Weakened and slowed by the damage to his controls, Robert struggled to rise high and come around, but the German was on him.

Then he saw Nigel swoop down out of nowhere and the tracer rounds light up the jagged ridge ripped into the wing and fuselage of the Me109. The German dove down smoking badly, the craft spiraling madly. It was only when the plume of the parachute was seen that the duo began to breath easier.

“Damn, Nigel! Could you have waited any longer?”

“Just wanted to give you a thrill, pardner!” laughed Nigel in his best Gary Cooper cowpoke impression voice.

Switching frequencies, they radioed back to wing command and reported status. It was nearly 0100 hours and the squadrons further north had taken over the responsibility of cutting into the German bomber formation. Limping back to Tangmere, Nigel lead the way for Robert.

“Stick with me, Bobby,” he radioed. “I’ve got you covered.”

The Lady Jane was difficult to control and Robert had to throttle down and run at a lower altitude as he limped back to base. Dear God, just let me get back, that’s all I ask, he thought as the Lady Jane sputtered for a moment but then continued steadily. With no time for other thoughts, his mind followed each gauge in the cockpit closely, looking for any spot of weakness.

When back on the ground, they were joined by Saunders as the intelligence officer quizzed them relentlessly over what had happened. Meanwhile, his ground crew looked over the Lady Jane with a severe eye. There was nasty damage on the right side. The canopy needed to be replaced, and the control lines to the rudder were nearly gone.

“We can have that ready for you by mid-morning,” Colin reported with a shrug. “Don’t know how the lads in sheet metal will do with the rest of it.”

“Thank God, this old babe was built like a brick shithouse!” Robert said patting the ragged body of the Lady Jane before leaving the flight line. “See what you can do, fellows.”

It was late, nearly four in the morning by the time he returned nearly exhausted to his billet. Washing up and changing he fell into bed expecting that he’d fall asleep quickly and soundly. It was then that two thoughts arrived in his head almost simultaneously. The first was how close that call had been; if it hadn’t been for Nigel, he would have been gone straight away. Then he thought if the worst had happened he would never see Elizabeth again. Dear, sweet Elizabeth! He wanted to see her again; he wanted to be with her again. Being with her meant life to him now, the perfect balance of heaven to the hell that reigned in the skies each day and night. He rose from his bunk just as Nigel fell into his.

“What’s that, Bobby? Where you off to?”

“Just taking a walk, Nige,” Robert answered. “I need a fresh breath.” He slipped into his jacket and slumped out into the late night-early morning air. He walked wearily at first, but as his footsteps took him farther and the cool air charged his lungs, the weariness faded. When he found himself at the gate, he quickly signed out and followed along Tangmere Road as it wound north from the base. Walking briskly now, he found himself passing Church Lane and Chestnut Walk, then Jerrard Road and Nettleton Avenue.

Where was he going? Was this just an aimless walk in the night, or was there a destination? Somehow George had omnisciently known his destination, and could see his fate. And with equal parts of appreciation and guilt Robert had followed in his wake. He lit a smoke as he followed the road along, noting the small quaint cottages and sleepy dark shops.

He knew where this path was leading, and each quickened step brought him closer.
Soon he found himself turning down Edwards Avenue. He knew where he was going, late as it was, walking along the dark streets. He knew exactly. This was love. He remembered his Grandfather’s words, “If you have to ask yourself if you’re in love, then you aren’t … you just know …” Robert knew now. He had known from the moment he first saw her, first played skittles with her, first danced with her, first kissed her, and first made love to her.

Then he stood before the cute little cottage. Stamping out his Camel under the sole of his boot, Robert turned up the walk and toward the front door. Expecting it to be locked, he was surprised to turn the handle and feel the latch release. Did she know he would be coming? Was she expecting him? Hardly, he thought. There wasn’t a light on or a single sound arising anywhere. Maybe she isn’t even here. Maybe she’s still in Portsmouth or gone home. But then Robert moved toward the bedroom and paused in the doorway. He smiled to see that slender bump in the covers and the cascade of dark hair on the pillow.

“Liz? Liz?” he called out in a voice barely above a whisper. “Mrs. Fitz?” She stirred and rolled slightly. Robert moved to the side of the bed that she was facing and sat beside her. He reached his hand out and stroked her hair, then her soft cheek. “Liz?”

“Bobby?” she whispered sleepily, her eyes not even opened. “Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” he said bending down toward her cheek to plant a kiss upon it. He felt her hand reach out and hook around his neck and pull him down onto her, drawing his lips to hers for a hot desperate kiss. The brushing of her tongue on his made his body tremble. He pulled away from her heated embrace, his eyes focusing on her in the dim light. Robert rose up from the bed, hearing her draw in a deep breath.

“Bobby?”

Robert moved to the window and pulled open the heavy curtains letting what little moonlight shine through and fill the small room with a bluish glow. He turned back to her, better able to see her form beneath the covers.

“Bobby, you shouldn’t,” she warned, stretching out beneath the sheets. “There’s a war going on you know.”

“Is there Mrs. Fitz? Is there?” he asked. Then he pulled his jacket open and unknotted his tie. He opened up his shirt and pulled it from his shoulders.

“Blackout rules are enforced to the letter around here,” Elizabeth went on. “Warden Grimes will have us fined or worse.”

“But I want to see,” Robert said as he unfastened his belt and trousers and let them fall to his feet. Elizabeth stretched her arms high above her head and her feet straight down below her, tugging the covers low enough for Robert to see the little slip of a nightgown she was wearing.

“Me too,” she replied, watching as he stripped out of his undershirt and shorts and stood beside the bed for a moment. “Mmm!”

Reaching down, Robert grasped the bedcovers and pulled at then, tugging them down further. Elizabeth giggled and grabbed for them, trying to pull them up around her neck, but his hold was too strong and he succeeded in drawing them nearly to the foot of the bed.

“But, Bobby,” Elizabeth said as he climbed onto the bed beside her. “What if there is a peeping Tom or whomever?”

“Then, I guess,” Robert said, settling in close beside her and running his hand down over her silky gown from her shoulder, over her breast, then down over her belly and hip. “I guess he’ll be getting his money’s worth, won’t he?”

When Robert’s hand reached the lacy hem of her gown he began to pull it up. His lips lowered down to her and planted a firm wet kiss on her lips while his hand slowly tugged her gown up. As his kisses grew wetter and more intense, his fingers glided over each part of her that he was revealing, the silky skin of her thighs, the downy muff of her sex, and her smooth firm belly. Robert propped himself up as Elizabeth arched her back and stretched her arms out again while he pulled her gown off over her head.

His eyes spent a few moments looking down along her body, stretched out so languidly in the moonlight. His fingers trailed along where his eyes wandered, touching, teasing, and caressing. Then his lips found hers again as he nuzzled up beside her but they didn’t remain there for long. Robert began to follow a path down over her body, a slow meandering route down her neck and out along her shoulder, down her arm and across, circling each breast several times, kissing her, licking her, and suckling her tender flesh. With his hands leading the way, his kisses moved down over her tummy, his tongue lapping playfully at her navel.

“Bobby!” she giggled as he kissed her there and held her undulating waist. “Oh, Bobby!” When he moved lower, his tongue parting the soft fur of her sex, Robert heard her gasp, and she reached for his head, her fingers grasping at his hair. “Bobby?!”

“What?” Robert asked. “Can’t I show you what I learned during my summer study program in Paris?”

Elizabeth drew a deep breath. Robert felt her lean back and watched as she parted her legs for him. He had been dreaming of this, of tasting her body, and moved between her legs, slipping each one over a shoulder. Planting his mouth upon her, his tongue began to explore the tender folds of her sex, feeling her body twitch and tremble while her back arched and her hips rotated gently, and hearing her sighs grow heated and deep. For these tender moments before dawn on a Saturday, there was no war going on, there was no blackout, no rationing, no early morning briefings, nor any dreaded Germans in the skies over England; there were simply two people who felt a love and a need and a desire for each other that could not wait for war.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

Elizabeth was at first little shocked and confused as Bobby’s tongue traced down her stomach, parting the small patch of hair and darting in. She had never been touched like that before. George had been a gentle and considerate lover, but he had never wished or at least tried to kiss her there. It was something that her fellow women whispered about, something only ladies of dubious morals indulged in.

Yet here she was, opening her legs, allowing Bobby deeper access to her sex. In fact she wanted him to kiss her closer to reach the small nub of flesh that marked the entry into her. She pushed her hips up and Bobby’s tongue trailed down her inner lips, his teeth nipping the nub, she moaned and whispered… “Oh Bobby… what?!”

His head came up and he said, laughing softly, “don’t you like?”

“Like very….. much…” The words trickled out of her mouth as Bobby renewed his attention, probing, lapping, inching his tongue into her. She felt her self become damp, felt the warmth begin to gather in her stomach and start to spread, Bobby pressed his face harder against her; she could feel the stubble on his chin, brushing the sensitive lips. This only heightened the pleasure. She bucked; Bobby’s hold on her tightened as he continued to taste every part of her…

The sensation was unbelievable; it wove its way through her limbs, robbing her of strength. All she was aware of was Bobby’s tongue and teeth, tasting her, teasing her, giving her pleasure she did not believe was possible. Elizabeth tried to scream out in delight, but she could not get her breath. Elizabeth’s back arched more, her hips thrust forward, her hands locked in Bobby’s hair and pushed him harder against her.

Finally as her orgasm tore through her, Elizabeth found her voice. “Jesus Christ!!!!”

“Pardon Mrs Fitz?” Bobby asked laughingly as his head came up from her mons.

“Oh.. my… I am so sorry….” Elizabeth’s hands flew to her mouth and she blushed.

“Well I am not….” Bobby said still laughing and slowly kissed his way back to her mouth. His body followed and Elizabeth still struggling to regain her breath allowed her fingers to trace over his form. They felt the chaffed skin on his left shoulder from his harness, touched the scar on his arm. Counted the ribs under his back muscles, as he pressed her down into the bed. As he kissed her she tasted her own flavour on his lips and shuddered anew, wondering at the strangeness of it.

Bobby’s right leg opened hers; Elizabeth could feel his manhood, hard and throbbing against her thigh. She reached down and circled it with her hand; Bobby moaned and then rolled off her onto the bed beside her, looking deep into her eyes. Elizabeth frowned then turned onto her side, and bit her lip… Should she dare? What would he say…? Did he wish…? She had never, though… Again the thought that “nice ladies” don’t do this, don’t touch, don’t feel, don’t…. Yet something in Elizabeth wanted too, to try. To perhaps please Bobby in the way he had pleased her, yet she felt foolish, almost childlike in her inexperience.

Elizabeth began to kiss him hesitantly, gently on the nape of his neck, tracing down over his well muscled chest, flat stomach and into the patch of hair round his manhood. She looked up at Bobby’s face, he was watching her. “You don’t have too…” He said softly

“I never have… I mean would it hurt you?” Elizabeth stuttered as her fingers traced the vein on his manhood from the clump of dark hair to the tip.

“No… it certainly wouldn’t hurt me,” Bobby answered trying very hard not to laugh.

“Oh… you…” Elizabeth launched herself at him, intending to ruffle his hair. Bobby caught her wrists and they rolled, falling off the bed, pulling the blankets with them. They sat in a heap of arms and legs, Elizabeth still trying to bat at Bobby’s hair and he laughing and holding her arms wide as his teeth nipped at her breasts.

“Beast!” Elizabeth cried.

“Beast, am I?” Bobby retorted and scrambled up onto the bed, dragging Elizabeth giggling after him. She lay on top of him listening to the thud of his heart feeling his fingers trace down her spine, then she inched herself up and slid to side of him, closing her hand round his manhood. For a second her mouth hovered over the tip, then lowered. Bobby groaned and Elizabeth marveled at the silky texture of his skin. Her head bobbed as she tried to work him in her mouth, she worried about catching him with her teeth and worried she was doing it right? Yet, she could taste him, really taste him, she could not explain it, but it made her feel different, more alive, more loved.

She pushed the hair out of her eyes and glanced at Bobby’s face. His eyes were half closed, his hands were touching her, moving over her flesh in rhythm to the thrusts of his hips, which quickened suddenly and Elizabeth felt him seem to swell in her mouth, pushing deeper, almost gagging her. She coughed, drew back and Bobby’s seed gushed from him, splattering her face, neck and breasts.

She sat back on her heels and swore in embarrassment, feeling herself blush to the roots of her hair. “Oh bloody hell…”

“I wouldn’t quite put it like that...” Bobby whispered and sat up roughly hugging her to him, his breath rasping in his chest.

“I… I … am all sticky…” Elizabeth mumbled quite flustered by what she had done and how it had made her feel. She wriggled from Bobby’s grip and went to the bathroom, washing her face and breasts.

As Elizabeth stood drying herself, she became aware of Bobby behind her, for a moment she became concerned, wondering what he thought of her. But he just came in and hugged her, kissing her softly behind the right ear.

“It’s late…” Elizabeth said, not really thinking what she was saying.

“Early more like,” Bobby replied and released her.

“We best get some sleep.” Elizabeth replied and slipped past him and headed back to the bedroom. She straightened the bed and slipped in between the sheets. Bobby soon joined her, spooning close to her, his arm draped over her. Soon she heard his breathing deepen and she knew he was asleep. Elizabeth smiled, not really thinking of anything, only aware of his warmth and slipped into sleep herself.

########

Elizabeth woke to the harsh light of the morning sun, beating its way through the half opened black out curtains. She tried to inch her way out from amid the tangle of Booby’s arms and legs, only for him to say. “Where are you going?”

“Too make a cup of tea…” She said as she escaped the covers…

“And chance some day of you getting some coffee?” Bobby yawned and reached out for the battered alarm clock on the bedside table. It was past 10.am.

“More change of winning the pools.” Elizabeth laughed and frowned as she saw the time. “You going to get into trouble?”

“No, the Lady Jane was a bit of a mess…”Bobby said. Elizabeth bit her lip and tried not to shake.

“It’s alright...” Bobby said softly reaching out and rubbing her arm. “I am here…”

“Yes you are…” Elizabeth replied and slipped on her robe and went to make tea. When she brought the steaming cups back, Bobby was half dressed.

“What you got in the way of breakfast?” he asked as he reached for his cigarettes.

“Bread, butter, jam and oh yes… three eggs… boiled eggs and toast.” Elizabeth laughed. She never had much in, never bothered, never… maybe she should now.

They both ambled into the kitchen, Elizabeth making a show of cooking the eggs as Bobby smoked his cigarette and drank his tea. As she placed the two eggs and toast before him Bobby took her hand and looked into her eyes. Elizabeth felt suddenly cold as he spoke.

“Where are we going Mrs Fitz?”

She bit her lip and mumbled. “I don’t know, I just am taking it one day at a time. I… I love you…. I just….” Elizabeth’s voice failed and Bobby pulled her to him burying his face into her soft flesh.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

Robert could smell the lingering scent of soap and his spunk on her tender flesh as his lips pressed against her. Her robe had parted, baring her breast and he maneuvered his mouth toward the puckered rosy treat that was winking at him. He suckled it tenderly and hungrily, drawing it deep into his mouth, raking his teeth on the hard little nub. Elizabeth sighed deeply and surrounded his head with her arms, holding him close to her, her bum wiggling and rubbing against his lap. She looked down at him and nibbled on her lower lip when he released her nipple. His eyes were wide, taking in the complete sight of her, the hair, the eyes, the face, the trembling emotion shaping every corner of her.

“You know that I love you,” Robert admitted.

“Oh, Bobby,” she said burying her face into his naked shoulder. Her words were muffled. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t expect you to say a thing, Liz,” he answered. Then he felt Elizabeth pull her face away from him and look up into his eyes. They fell together into a deep embrace, their lips crushing against one another, their tongues lashing wildly into each other’s mouth, their hands brushing, rubbing, caressing and clawing at one another madly. When their ferocious kiss finally broke they remained tightly in each other’s arms, their chins resting on the other’s shoulder. Robert was the first to speak. “Do we have a future, Liz?”

“Don’t ask that, Bobby,” Elizabeth said after a long pause, her arms squeezing him tightly. “I can’t think of a future so long as there is a war and you’re fighting in it. I did that once … and I can’t—I won’t—do it again.”

“Then if all we have is the moment, we shouldn’t let this scrumptious breakfast go to waste,” he said.

Remaining on his lap, Elizabeth pulled her robe back together and turned back toward the table as Robert took up the fork and began to cut up the eggs. He found the juiciest, tenderest morsel and offered it to her. With a giggle she took it into her mouth, letting him feed her almost like a child. He laughed. They shared the remainder of the modest meal, the eggs and toast and jam.

They spoke of little things, favorite meals, favorite colors, favorite subjects in school—it felt so perfectly natural to be sitting with her at the table like this, her sweet little body perched on his like this. Everything he learned about her seemed so right, so much fun, so interesting. Her accent, the way she pronounced each word so perfectly beguiled him. The way her words were colored with laughter intrigued him. He could live off her every word. With the final morsel eaten, Robert set down the fork.

Elizabeth slathered a dollop of jam onto the last bit of toast and took a bite. As she held out the final bite for him, some jam dribbled down onto her chest and ran down between her breasts toward the part of her robe. Robert leaned forward and lapped up the jam, perhaps using a bit more tongue and lips than was really necessary. Elizabeth moaned and let her head fall backward, arching her back and thrusting her breasts toward his face, further parting the robe. His fingers tugged at the fabric, baring more of her soft pink flesh to his lips, still hungry despite the breakfast. He kissed her relentlessly, one breast then the other, the soft valley in between, then dragging his tongue up along her breastbone toward her neck and chin and then her lips.

“Oh, Bobby … Bobby!” she sighed, as his kisses covered her flushed cheeks, her ears, and her neck. “Bobby!” His hands were pulling her robe open, moving over her freshly bared body.

“I love you, Liz … I love you!” Robert whispered as his teeth nibbled at her ear lobe. He could feel his pulse racing madly as he touched her and kissed her. “I’ve known it since the first time I saw you.”

“Oh, Bobby! I want so much to love you in return,” she replied, letting him pull her robe away from her shoulders and arms. His arms encircled her and he began to stand up, setting her to her feet, her back to him. Robert let his hands explore every part of her body they could reach, her belly, her breasts, and her sex. She leaned forward and her hands reached for support on the table. “Bobby!”

“I need you, Mrs. Fitz … I want you so much!” Robert said urgently, standing behind her, his hands opening up his trousers and pushing them and his shorts down past his hips. He leaned toward her, his arms encircling her, his throbbing manhood up between her legs. He could feel the passion and desire surging up from deep inside him. “Do you want me, Liz? Do you?”

“Oh, yes, Bobby! I want you!” she cried out.

Robert grabbed his hard thick shaft and rubbed the head against her moist sex, feeling the folds open and yield to him willingly. With a steady thrust of his hips he felt his way inside her. Elizabeth gasped and moaned loudly as he stretched her wide and buried himself deep inside her, his belly pressing against the tight firm curves of her bum. He held himself there, fully inside her for a moment, savoring the delicious sensation. There could be no war at this moment for there was no rationing of love with the two of them linked so intimately.

“Yes, Bobby, I want you … I want you so much!” she cried out and he began to move. With long slow languid strokes he pulled back and then thrust back inside. Each thrust seemed to penetrate deeper and bring a louder harsher cry from her lips. Her hands gripped the edge of the table tightly and she pushed back hard against him. Robert moved in and out of her harder and faster, his belly smacking loudly against her cheeks. “Oh … oh … ah … ah!” she cried out as their bodies smacked together again and again.

At first his hands held her by the hips but they began to move around her, one arm about her waist, the other up around her breasts. Elizabeth’s body trembled and shook wildly as she cried out loudly with his every violent thrust. Robert could feel his body grow close, tensing up toward an explosive climax.

“Oh, God! Yesssss!” she hissed as he thrust hard and fast deep inside her. He could feel his release welling up inside, burning its way along until it surged and spurted inside her. “Oh, Bobby! I feel it! Yesss!”

Robert emptied himself inside her, and following one final huge thrust, collapsed back onto the chair, pulling her with him onto his lap, their linked sex still holding them together. His pulse was pounding and he could feel it echoed by hers as well. He kissed her slavishly, gratefully, so thankful that he had found her, someone to love so much, someone who loved him in return.

They sat together for several minutes, exchanging sweet compliments and soft words of love. They walked to the bath and helped wash each other off. They lie together on the rumpled bed, their hands brushing each other’s hair, their lips trading sweet little kisses. Then the windows rattled and the roar of a Hurricane taking off resounded throughout the neighborhood, followed quickly by another then another. They looked at each other but didn’t say a word, both of them knowing how that sound had punctuated their rendezvous.

Elizabeth lie on the bed, unmindful of her soft pink nakedness and Robert drank in her beauty while he dressed. Only when he was fully dressed did she rise and move toward him, reaching her hands up to straighten his tie and collar. They savored a last kiss or two before she walked him to the door.

“I love you, Mrs. Fitz,” he whispered. “I’ll come back tonight and …”

But Elizabeth cut him off by placing her fingers on his lips. She replaced her fingers with her lips, kissing him ardently and with a mad passion that sent a shudder down his spine. With a wave he turned toward the door and opened it. With one leg stepping through, he turned back to her and pulled her near for a kiss.

“I love you, Bobby,” he heard her say as he passed through the door and stood out on the porch. The door closed behind him and for a moment he thought he heard her cry. But the sound of another group of Hurricanes taking off thundered overhead and he had no choice but to return. Lost in thoughts of the woman he had just left, Robert walked briskly down Edwards Avenue unmindful of any passing traffic and paying but scant attention to the aircraft passing overhead.

“You missed the morning briefing, Bobby,” Nigel called out when Robert finally reached the flight line. “The Old Man wasn’t happy.” Nigel was standing with Saunders and another pilot just off the tarmac.

“I’ll bet,” Robert said. The Lady Jane was still not ready. The lads from the sheet metal shop were still fitting new panels to her while Colin and his crew finished their prep work. She looked ungainly sitting there with portions of her airframe nearly bare. “What’s going on today?”

“Big stuff,” Nigel reported. “Radar and ground reports have a huge formation of Germans massing off Calais and Boulogne. Looks like they may be crossing over near Dover and Dungeness. We’re on call as soon as you’re patched up.”

“Early in the day to be hitting London,” Robert remarked, looking back at the Lady Jane as the mechanics finished fastening another of the fresh panels. Colin and the crew were still adjusting the new rudder linkage. “Make her nice and tight, boys!” Robert called up to them. Colin waved.

“And this is Pilot Officer Finch,” Nigel said, pointing toward the raw looking but brash newcomer.

“Call me Tommy,” Finch said, readily extending his hand. “So you’re the Yank I’ve been hearing so much about. I can see that you’ve made your mark here.” Finch pointed toward the Lady Jane and the string of swastikas along the left side fuselage just below the canopy.

“I wouldn’t believe a thing you’ve heard,” Robert said, pointing upward. “All that matters is what happens up there. How many hours have you got?”

“Over twenty-two hundred, mostly commercial, plus a thousand in training,” Finch boasted.

“Any practice in two plus two?” Robert asked.

“A little,” Finch said proudly.

Robert turned to Saunders. “You ready today?”

“Been ready,” Saunders replied.

”Good man,” Robert said, turning back to Finch. He clapped Saunders on the back. “Keep this guy on your wing and you won’t have thing to worry about!”

Robert strode over to the Lady Jane and checked with Colin. They’d be another half-hour at the most before the Lady Jane would be checked out and ready. Robert walked past the other pilots. “Guess I’d better take my whacks from the old man now,” he said as he walked toward the command room.

Although Nigel being a British officer was technically the flight group leader, he had deferred actual command to Robert, who was more experienced and savvy. And Squadron command knew the situation and approved tacitly. But this morning Forthwright wasn’t happy.

“Where have you been?” he demanded when Robert came into his cramped office.

“Overslept, sir,” Robert said, standing stiffly before his commander.

“Overslept? Where? We looked for you in your barracks and your bed was cold. Officer Tarnhower said you were out walking. Sleep walking perhaps?”

“Uh, yes sir,” Robert replied.

“You are just lucky that your aircraft has been grounded or I would have had you up on report,” Forthwright said sternly. “Look, son,” he said coming around the desk and slipping his arm onto Robert’s back. “I know that you signed out last night and have heard some rumors about you carrying on with a widow from the 607th. I’m not about to tell you how to live your personal life, but don’t let it interfere with your duty here. There are many others here who depend on your skill and wits and I don’t need any dull pilots up there, not today, not any day.”

“You’re right, sir,” Robert said as they moved through the door and down the hallway. “I’ll attend to my business here above all else.”

“Good man!” Forthwright said. “Now get out there and check in with Tarnhower.”

By the time Robert returned to the flight line, feeling lucky for such a slight scolding, the Lady Jane stood proudly, completely assembled while Colin and the crew ran the final warm up and check out. The others had already donned their vests and chutes and were being fitted into their cockpits. As Robert began to cinch up his vest, a runner came hustling up and handed him a hastily typed order sheet.

“Damn!” Robert swore. “God damn!” Robert climbed up onto the wing and reached for the radio headset. Switching it onto the right frequency, he called over to Nigel and the others. “Get ready boys! They’ve spotted a second wave, maybe a hundred fifty aircraft crossing over between Dungeness and Dover.”

Nigel and the others waved to him in acknowledgement. When Colin gave the ready sign, he switched places in the cockpit with Robert, strapping his pilot in while the other crewman polished his goggles and windscreen. Within minutes they had taxied out to the runway and were off quickly. There was no time to look back, although Robert did glance in the general direction of Edwards Avenue and thoughts of the tender woman who lives there filled his mind for a moment.

But it was not a moment that could last long. They had barely reached 10,000 feet when the radio crackled loudly and they were given intercept coordinates. Climbing higher and darting inland toward the given coordinates, it didn’t take long before they could see the German formation. There was flak being sent up from the anti aircraft batteries and already the covering Messerschmitts were fending off attacks coming from the RAF squadrons sent up from the east.

“Two and two!” Robert called out. “Finch! Stick close to Saunders’s tail! Tarnhower on my right! We’re going in to peel off the fighter cover! Don’t stray into the middle! Take what you can and we’ll try to keep them off your asses!”

There were fighters of both sides turning and diving above the formation of bombers, mostly Dorniers. While Robert and Nigel rose up to face the Me109s and Me110s that were covering the left flank, Saunders and Finch zeroed in on the bomber formation. That was the last sense of order as the skies erupted in chaos. Although they got the drop on the first Me109 and Nigel sent him spinning down in flames, his partner found Robert coming around and it became a battle for survival. Nigel came to his rescue and drew his attention enough for Robert to bank right and come up on his tail and pepper the rudder until the Messerschmitt began to waver and tumble downward wildly.

They had no time to look around as a Me110 came at them. Nigel took him on and Robert scanned around for his partner. It was then that he heard the sound below his feet and felt the heat. Lady Jane sputtered but smoothed out when Robert switched fuel tanks. He tried banking left and pulling up, but heard a thudding ripping sound along his left wing and felt his stick go loose. Suddenly it felt like his nightmares coming true, heat and smoke and coolant filling the cockpit. The thudding sounds ceased and he heard the sound of a Hurricane swoop right over his head.

“I’m hit!” he called out over the radio.

“I got the bastard!” came Nigel’s reply.

“I’m going to try and land her,” Robert said as he began to descend. “Stick with the others!”

Robert battled the stick trying to right the Lady Jane, but she sputtered again and didn’t smooth out this time. He tried gliding lower but there was little control left in the stick. He kept her from spinning but knew that he would never make it back to Tangmere. As he struggled lower, he reached for the canopy latch but it wouldn’t release. He hammered at it with his fist trying to free the mechanism. Somehow it had become jammed.

He released his safety buckles so that he could turn toward the latch and try to free it up. He could barely see, but he could feel, and his Lady Jane was going down. Damn! Jesus Christ! He swore loudly as he struggled to free the canopy latch. His feet were nearly on fire now and a thick stench filled the cockpit.

Then he thought of Elizabeth, sweet fair Liz! The Liz he had seen lying so sensuously on the bed this morning, the Liz he had made love to, the Liz he had danced with and eaten with, the Liz he had played skittles with, the Liz who had been haunting him ever since they had met. The Lady Jane began to spin slowly out of control. Robert coughed and tugged at the canopy latch. Oh, Mrs. Fitz! Sweet Liz! I’ll say hello to George for you!

Nigel Tarnhower watched for a brief moment as the Lady Jane, tumbled downward, smoke and flame spilling forth. He managed to dispatch the Messerschmitt that took her out and then caught up with Saunders and Finch. Forming up in the Tri-Vee they carried on the battle, chasing and dispersing what they could of the German attack. They had barely landed and refueled when a second major attack was launched by the Germans around 1400 hours and they were scrambled again. And the raids continued well into the night. It was nearly 0500 hours the next morning before Tarnhower made his way from the briefing room to his bunk. He paused by the rumbled bunk beside him and looked it over. Damn! Bloody damn! He was going to miss the Yank.

During the action early that afternoon of the 15th and for the rest of the day and into the night, over 600 German aircraft operated over the skies of England. The RAF brought down 179 German aircraft with another 42 probable and 72 accounted for as damaged. Another half dozen were downed by anti-aircraft fire. Of their own, the RAF lost 25 aircraft with 13 pilots dead or missing ...

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan.

Elizabeth went to the window and watched Bobby leave, Head down hands in his pockets as if willing himself not to look back.

She sniffed and pulled her robe tight round her. They had, had last night, this morning, exchanged thoughts, feelings, likes, dislikes and said I love you. And she, Elizabeth Fitzmorgan had learned much about the “art” of loving. She felt herself blush as the delight, confusing, and funny memories rose.

As she made to move away, Elizabeth became aware of a figure watching her. It was Alexandria, dressed for Church. hell Elizabeth thought, too late now by a couple of hours. It was past midday.

Alexandria crossed the street and came to Elizabeth’s door. Elizabeth tilted her chin up and her face took on a stubborn look. She was not ashamed of anything she had done, Alex had no call to berate her or pry into her personal life, friend or no. Elizabeth knew Bobby loved her that was all that mattered. He loved her, had made love to her, had wanted her and she reciprocated. She did not want the “future” did not want what might be, she wanted, only wanted what she had now.

As Elizabeth opened the door another roar of aircraft engines filled the street, both women first looked up, then at each other. Alex coughed as she waited for Elizabeth to ask her in. Elizabeth pushed back her mass of brown hair with her hand, shuddering as she did so, for as her fingers passed her nose, they smelt of Robert, her Bobby, she knew she must smell of him, of sex. And from the way Alex’a nose wrinkled, did Alex smell it too? Was it important? No….

“You were not at Church?” Alex said, tapping her foot on the step and looking down the road in the direction Bobby had taken. “I thought I would call see if you were alright, but I see you had a visitor.”

“Yes…You want a cup of tea?” Elizabeth asked and turned; went down the hall into the kitchen and began clearing the breakfast things.

“Yes," Alex said as she followed Elizabeth, closing the door behind her. Alex’s eyes widened as she took in the number of plates and cups Elizabeth was running under the tap.

“He had breakfast with you?” The words hissed out of Alexandria’s mouth as her bag thumped onto the kitchen table.

“Yes… Bobby joined me for breakfast…”

“And you in just your robe… You are making yourself a laughing stock Elizabeth. People are starting to call you the squadron whore. I know it is just the grief for George, you are not in your right mind… you need to go home to Norfolk… too…” Alex lectured, pulling a finger out of her glove with each item she listed; then slapping the leather gloves down on top of her handbag.

“For a vicar’s daughter-in-law, you have a dirty mind Alex, and it I wanted to be the Squadron’s whore, I would ask Madam Renard for a job…” Elizabeth snapped, throwing down a plate in anger into the water and splashing her face. Her finger came up and wiped away the water.

“How could you say such a thing?” Alex picked up her gloves and slapped them over her right hand.

“You plainly know about it, though I guess it wasn’t Mathew who told you about the “blue house” George told me once when he was drunk... Told people lots of things when he was drunk, but you know he always remembered them when he was sober and backed them up.”

“This is silly…” Alex huffed.

“Yes, it is and if you don’t mind I still have a lot to do concerning the matter of taking my husband home for burial and half the day is gone already.” and I don’t regret one second of it Elizabeth thought.

“This between you and this, “Yank” has to stop...” Alex again attacked.

“What ever is between me and Bobby is between us, it doesn’t harm you, it certainly doesn’t harm George’s memory. Bobby loved him in his own way; yes I think he did care for him as much as I did. Now…” Elizabeth waved her hand in the general direction of the door.

“Tommy rot… twaddle and insanity…” Alex declared picked up her bag and left. Elizabeth jumped at the door slammed behind her friend and gripped the edge of the stone sink. She was torn between swearing and crying. This was the beginning, but no matter what people said or did, she was going to live each moment she could with Bobby. For all she knew she would not see him again and as if to underline her thoughts the windows rattled again as another flight took off heading east.

Elizabeth washed and dressed in her oldest clothes and began to do some laundry, laughing to herself about washing on a Sunday. As she rubbed her underwear on the scrubbing board, again the scents of last night mingled with the smell of sunlight soap.

She needed to do something physical, something to take her mind off the war… off where Bobby was. But as she hung out her clothes to dry, again the sound of aircraft sounded out, returning ones, one engine sounding off tune. She closed her eyes and wondered. No… don’t think. But it was plain today that the enemy raids were not “normal” if such things could be.

Elizabeth went back inside and switched on the wireless, the news was not forth coming, only saying heavy raids around midday in London She did not know that at noon the Reverend Alfred Walker at All Saints’ Church in Staplehurst Kent delivered his sermon unmoved by the battle in progress high above the village, even as the distant sound of machine gun fire could be heard by one and all. Twenty four Hurricanes from 229 and 303 squadrons had joined the brawl around the German bombers high over the village.

In south east London at the same time Daisy Skinner had just washed the linoleum on the dining room floor and opened the windows so it could dry quickly. About a second after the first “bang” came a second, much closer as the chimney from the next housed crashed to the ground beside the open window. Daisy blurted “look at my clean floor “and then retired with her baby to the cellar.

By the time Elizabeth had finished hanging out her washing and set about cleaning her own floor. She did not know, nor did any for long after what the situation was for the country at that moment in time. For Winston Churchill would later write describing the unfolding events in the operations room.

I became conscious of the anxiety of the Commander, who now stood still behind his subordinate’s chair. Hitherto I had watched in silence. I now asked “What other reserves have we?” “There are none,” said Air Vice-Marshal Park. In an account, which he wrote about it afterwards he said that as this I “looked grave”. Well I might. What loses should we not suffer if our refueling planes were caught on the ground by further raids of ‘40 plus’ or ’50 plus’! The odds were great; our margins small; the stakes infinite!

This was the cusp; the height of the battle, a battle that had cost Elizabeth one love and threatened to take away the other, but with Bobby least she knew there was no barriers between them, he loved her, like her did not think of tomorrow, just today. His today was fighting in the skies over London and Kent… hers was remaking the bed on which they had lain, made love, laughed and got to know one another.

In the early evening the phone rang, it was Hattie. She wanted to go up to Tangmere, Elizabeth was surprised; the base was in the middle of operations. She doubted they would be allowed even to the officers’ club. Hattie said, Thomas was going to bring the rest of George’s things down from his locker there, but had left them at the duty office. She was sure they would be allowed to pick them up.

Elizabeth heard the worry and fear in her friends voice, Hattie wanted to go, even if they hung about by the gate, waiting, hoping. Did Hattie feel something about this day? Did she? Elizabeth agreed and put the phone down, going to change her clothes. She dressed plainly and warmly in a thick skirt and twin set. Just making it out the door as Hattie pulled up outside.

Both women exchanged nervous smiles and rode in silence to the base. The man on the gate shook his head, the women both looked so woebegone he rang his sergeant.

The man came peddling up on his bike, took one look at who it was and smiled, saying. “Follow me ladies, but mind just to the duty office then out, I stays with you…”

Elizabeth and Hattie got back in the car as with the dusk a row of Hurricanes came into land. “Thomas’” Hattie whispered.

“You are sure?” Elizabeth asked, knowing suddenly she had no idea of the number of Bobby’s plane.

“Yes, safe for now…”

Elizabeth reached over and squeezed her hand.

Elizabeth collected her late husband's few possessions, packed in a small cardboard box, with the label “South African, peaches” on the side. As she and Hattie came out a couple of airman trundled passed, hurrying with equipment.

“Christ, the buggers are coming out of nowhere,” The lead man said to his companion heaving the box they were carrying between them higher.

“Aye, heard about any of ours” his fellow asked.

“Yank’s gone for sure and least another two.”

Elizabeth froze, her fingers tightening on the box. She could not breathe; Hattie was at her arm her eyes wide with anguish, as she had heard what had been said.

“Oh.. Elizabeth, Hattie began.

Elizabeth heard herself say. “It’s alright, I knew it would happen. He loved me. There is a war on…”Her voice was flat, passionless.

“You are coming home with me…” Hattie pushed her friend in the car. Elizabeth walked like a puppet, with half its strings were cut, unsure of where it needed to be on the stage.

“Yes… No…but I have things to do tomorrow, I have to be there just in case he comes… for George at home, going Tuesday early…. Very early… he was with me very early… I don’t even have a picture of him...I have to face George’s family… Bobby was in me, with me… loving me…” Elizabeth's words were fractured, making no sense, yet opening a wound in her heart yet again.

Perhaps I should stay with you then?” Hattie said, “Thomas would know I was there, he knows…” Hattie started the car up and drove away as the refueled and re-armoured Hurricanes took off.

“Does he? Does he like Bobby?” Elizabeth asked leaning her head against the cold glass of the car window.

“Called him a lucky dog…”Hattie huffed through her tears.

“No, I was lucky…wish I had a picture...”Elizabeth said as one single tear traced down her face.

Occ: Factual information used in this was taken from Battle of Britain day, 15 September by Dr Alfred Price.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

Spinning, whirling, descending in an ever-widening gyre … heat and smoke … can’t breathe … blinding bright lights … reaching for something, anything that would stop the dizzying gyration … hands reaching madly, grasping for something to hang onto … a voice calling gently, “Bobby … Bobby … Bobby ...”

A hand in his, a soft warm hand, very feminine … and the swirling stops … still too bright to make out just who … “Where am I?” he asks … then a horrible laugh comes and shatters him … “Liz? Mrs. Fitz? Is that you?” he asks … Phwaaapp! Phwaaaapp! Phwaaaapp!

“Well … the idea is you swing the ball … knock as many skittles down … joint scores are totaled … the winner declared for that match … winner declared for that match … declared for that match … declared for that match …” and the warmth permeates him … a soft body brushing against him …

A blinding white hallway leading to a equally bright white room … warm, damp, cloudlike air … voices singing, music ringing … “Bobby, old boy! Good to see you!” … “George? Is that you?” he asks … a lush warmth presses against him … the faint scent of roses … a laugh, actually a giggle, girlish and light in his ear … “You dance really well, a regular Fred Astaire … Fred Astaire … Fred Astaire!” … “Only because you’re doing such a good Ginger …Ginger … Ginger …” Phwaaapp! Phwaaaapp! Phwaaaapp!

Silken sheets, a warm body spread like a feast … “I … like … it … very … much …” she coos … his tongue probing, lapping, inching into her … he presses his face harder against her … her back arches, hips thrust forward, hands lock in his hair … “Jesus Christ … Christ … Christ!!!!” … her mouth hovers over him, then lowers ... he groans … her head bobbing … luxurious warmth and wetness surrounds him … he thrusts his hips … he swells in her mouth, pushing deep …

“Yes, Bobby, I want you … I want you!” she cries out … she is below him now, he thrusts inside her … she pushes back against him … harder and faster … “Oh … oh … ah … ah!” she cries … “Oh, God! Yesssss!” she hisses … his seed gushes … “Oh, Bobby! I feel it! Yesss!” … “I love you Liz … I love you … love you!” … Phwaaapp! Phwaaaapp! Phwaaaapp!

The roar of the engine is deafening … diving down through the clouds … the gray devil with five kills stenciled on the tail … “I’ve got your wing,” comes Garner’s excited voice … he squeezes the trigger … the Brownings stutter to life … the target sputters and slows and trails smoke … “I’ve got him!” he shouts … a staccato shuddering along his own tail … rudder loose … battling the stick … rounds raking and cracking the canopy … spine chilling … dodging, twisting, coming around … “I’m hit! I’m hit!” comes Garner’s voice … pulling out of the dive he comes around ... a Messerschmitt, guns flaming … hot lead ripping through the skin of his Hurricane … shards of glass stinging his cheeks … smoke and the flame … his feet are on fire … release the canopy … release the canopy … release the …

Arms surround him … his eyes close and darkness prevails … he is walking now, trudging a field … from the scent, freshly harvested … “Where are you taking me?” he asks … “Not where you think, Bobby,” comes the voice, tender and alluring … Phwaaapp! Phwaaaapp! Phwaaaapp!

There was a ringing in his ears that wouldn’t end and a searing pain in his lower left leg that wouldn’t quit. Robert rolled over on the damp ground and blinked his eyes open. It was dusk. There was a large brown cloud hanging over him and he rubbed his face and his eyes shot open. Then the cloud mooed at him and he realized that there were no pearly gates for him, just a fat old cow lowing. He pushed himself up onto an elbow. There was a crick in his neck and a steady pain in his left leg. His silken parachute was flapping in the breeze. He found the release and slipped the chute harness from his shoulders. Where the fuck am I, he asked himself as he struggled to his feet. Damn! He took a deep breath, then another. The pain in his leg shot all the way up to his hip.

Looking around he made out the forms of other livestock in the field, the scent of freshly mown hay thick in the slight evening breeze. There were no lights about but the last vestiges of sunlight were lingering on the horizon so he began to walk slowly, uneasily to the west. Several times he came to a fence or hedge and climbed over or made his way through, eventually coming to a road. Retrieving his compass and checking it as best he could in the dim light, he made his way in the westward most direction. Just past a crossing he came up a signpost. Pluckley lie ahead. He was nearly to the village when he heard a voice call out.

“Hey! Hey, you!” Robert turned in the direction of the voice to see a constable riding up on a bicycle. “Are you the missing pilot?” the constable asked pulling up beside Robert and switching on his flashlight. “So you are … a pilot at the least,” he chuckled noting the insignia on Robert’s uniform. “Where you been? We’ve been searching all over for you and had almost given you up for lost.”

“I went down … over that way,” Robert said, pointing toward back from where he had come.

“You all right?” the constable inquired. “You look a mess! Now come on with me and we’ll get you cleaned up!”

The constable escorted him a few hundred yards to the village where Robert became an instant celebrity. His Yankee accent only added to the mystique. The locals brought hot food and drink to the constabulary while the necessary phone calls and reports were made. The local Home Defence warden made a splashy appearance. Every one wanted to hear of the air battle and how he came to be downed this day.

“We’re a small town,” the warden explained. “The most excitement we’ve had lately was last spring when the vet had to attend to a breech in the cow barn at the Stuart farm.”

And while the locals gathered and hung on every word, Robert told his story as best as he could remember. He remembered the dogfight, the chaos, the German aircraft going down, and then being hit; he remembered being hit and the panic that ensued; he remembered the canopy jamming. He couldn’t remember hitting the silk. What had happened then was something of a mystery, yet here he was on the ground largely safe.

The nearest doctor had been summoned and upon arrival gave Robert a quick going over. The pain in the leg was not a break, most likely a sprain from landing on the uneven ground. There were assorted bumps and bruises on his head and neck, but other than those and a couple of scratches, Robert was fine.

“I suppose you can’t wait to get back,” said one of the locals. “And give Hilter his what’s due!”

“I want to get back,” Robert said dreamily, wistfully. “I want to get back to my Liz.”

“Ah, so there’s no reason for me to introduce my daughter to you,” said the constable with a laugh. “A very charming and available lass though she is.”

Robert smiled and drank from the glass of ale that was pressed into his hand. For the better part of an hour he was the entertainment as many of the locals came by to meet the handsome downed hero. Surely his eight kills were doubled by the time the story spread to all of the residents. After the hour, someone switched on the wireless and the BBC broadcast of the news.

The Electricity Station at Beckenham was hit but damage was not serious and distribution is not affected. The railway bridges between Victoria and Clapham Junction were hit and bombs also fell on the West London extension Line. High explosive bombs fell on the Projectile Engineering Company's Works causing major damage. Damage has been done to Utility Mains and roadways in this District.

In Lambeth, the Water and Gas mains were damaged by high explosive bombs, and Norwood Road and Brixton Hill were blocked. An unexploded bomb at the Telephone Manufacturing Company caused production to be suspended. A major fire was caused at the Brixton School of Building and other extensive fires as well as damage to Gas and Water Mains resulted from bombing with high explosive and incendiaries.

Near Shepherd's Bush, high explosive bombs have fallen on private property near the Electric substation, which has been put out of action by the resulting blast. There is no current on the Hammersmith City Line at the present time.

St Thomas's, Guys and Lambeth Hospitals were all hit by bombs but no serious damage or casualties have been reported.

As the list droned on cutting into the excitement, the constable decided to switch the set off. “Enough of that,” he said dourly. “We’ve got a hero to look after.”

“I’m no hero,” Robert said modestly. “I’m just lucky to be alive.”

A call came from Group Command explaining that since the newly located pilot was fairly healthy and the air battle was expected to continue well into the night, that they would send around a car first thing in the morning to pick up Flight Officer Wilson.

“So you’ll be spending the night,” the warden announced. “I’ve a spare room!”

“So do I,” countered the constable.

“What about the presidential suite upstairs at my Inn?” suggested the innkeeper.

“That hell hole!” laughed the village mayor. “I’d make sure the bedding is deloused before I’d climb between those sheets.

There were other suggestions, but the innkeeper won out, largely due to Robert’s preference. Everyone had been most kind, but all he needed was some sleep, something he hadn’t had much of in the past few days. There was a small procession that made their way to the Red Lion’s Inn escorting Robert. The house set out a round of ale while the room was made ready.

It was nearly midnight before Robert was settled into bed. As the village quickly quieted down, he could hear the sound of aircraft overhead. To his ear he could recognize the sound of high altitude bombers and the searing roar of fighters dueling. His battle for the day was over, but tomorrow or the next day, he would be back, joining those still up there doing their part. If Hitler was softening them up for an invasion, his duty was to be in the air waiting with his mates. And what of his mates? How was Nigel and Colin getting on? And the noew one ... Fitch ... Felch ... Finch? Did he make it through his baptisim by fire?

When his weary eyes closed, the first thought into his mind was of Elizabeth. He wanted so much to see her again, to feel her body warm and close to him, to tell her that he loved her. He hadn’t let her know that he was all right. What if she had heard he was downed but not rescued? That thought kept him awake a while longer as his mind raced over the day to come. There would be a thorough medical examination and endless briefings at Group Fighter Command in Northolt before he would be allowed to return to Tangmere. But he had to get a message through. That would be his priority. Oh, sweet fair Liz, he thought. I love you, Mrs. Fitz … I love you!

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan.

Sunset on September 15th 1940 was at 7.12pm. By 8.00pm darkness had fallen over southern England and Hattie and Elizabeth were again back at the cottage on Edwards Avenue.

“I will get something for us to eat.” Hattie said as she switched on the light in the kitchen and went to peer in Elizabeth’s small pantry.

“I have some washing on the line, I best get it in; else it will go damp.” Elizabeth’s words were practicable, normal, her movements where controlled too controlled. She was locked into the “real world” The world of the physical, the world of “making do” “getting on with things”; existing. Her mind was also locked, shut away with the memories of how Bobby had looked, smelled, tasted. Her thoughts ran through each split second of their love making, in Elizabeth’s mind Bobby was in her, talking to her, lying at her breast.

Body and mind disconnected, one going forward aimlessly, the other chained to the desire of that morning, going through it, enshrining it, making sure it was never forgotten.

“Watch the black out,” Hattie called as Elizabeth went outside. The sky was full of dark wisps of cloud, illuminated by the bright harvest moon. The heavens thundered and the same moonlight bounced off something metal, then the sight was gone.

Elizabeth folded up her washing, placed the pegs in the basket and went back inside.

“Has it got damp?” Hattie said.

“A bit,” Elizabeth replied.

“Well you get a fire going, getting chilly and put it to air. I am going to cook.” Hattie had her coat off and the table was littered with various items.

“Cook what?” Elizabeth almost laughed, strange; feeling like laughing, feeling like anything.

“Well, use up what you have lying around. You have some cheese, butter, potatoes, onion and what looks like some carrots and cabbage. There is also a tin of preaches, milk and some custard powder. Sooooo…..” Hattie touched each item as she spoke.

“Peaches?” Elizabeth found herself asking as she fumbled for the ashes bucket to clean the grate.

“In the cardboard box with George’s stuff, gift from Thomas, most likely he raided the mess.”

“Oh, but I am not hungry..” Elizabeth began to mumble.

“Yes you are, and I will explain why.” Hattie began as she attacked the first potato. “You do like cheese and potato; with onion pie, well not really a pie I don’t think, wait on, you have a bit of lard and flour, so a proper pie, with carrots and cabbage then peaches and custard.”

“I couldn’t eat it.” Elizabeth sat down by the table and fiddled with something that still just about resembled a carrot.

“Yes you can, as I was saying. Bobby’s loss in not confirmed, just talk.”

“Yes… but…” Elizabeth felt a single tear beginning to form as Hattie’s words dragged the Elizabeth mind from its memories and forced the body to react.

“Yes but… until we see it in black and white, until Thomas stands there and says it is true, then it is not. You eat well, you sleep; you keep your strength up. For I bet that Yank will come hollering through that door and if you are as weak as a mouse…” Hattie waved a knife at her friend, her voice cracking.

Elizabeth’s head came up as her mind fumbled with Hattie’s words, trying to get past the thought that Bobby had “bought it” Was lying dead somewhere and she would never see him again.

“I suppose he could be even on his way back…”Elizabeth said slowly.

“Or he could be stuck in the bar of some village pub waiting for a lift, with a gaggle of local girls sighing over his accent.” Hattie added.

“He better not be!” Elizabeth almost snapped, then gave a startled half laugh and got up and hugged her friend. The fear and grief, the locked apart feeling had faded for a while, not gone, no not gone. It would never go. Part of her believed Bobby was dead, part of wanted him so much to be alive. Another part, the larger part wanted to go back to that morning again and again.

“Get that bloody fire lit” Hattie said, winking.

Elizabeth did and to her surprise she did eat quite a lot. Hattie covered up the remains of the pie, saying Thomas would eat them when he arrived, Thomas would eat anything at anytime.

The two women settled down to sleep. Elizabeth stayed awake for a long time, listening to the sounds outside in the night, the odd car, the aircraft engine, the neighbourhood cats, fighting on the garden fence. It seemed sleep would never take her, yet it did and when it did it was deep, quiet and still.

Elizabeth did not know if she dreamed; all she knew was that she was there again in Bobby’s arms; her subconscious mind recreating each touch, each sensation, each movement of him inside her, the teasing of his tongue and teeth between her legs as he probed her.


The rattling of the door woke both women. Elizabeth’s “Bobby” was quickly followed by Hattie’s “Thomas” It was neither. It was Alex. She strode into the cottage with a smug expression she was trying to hide under false sympathy.

“Yes?” Elizabeth asked, noticing that both she and Hattie had put the kitchen table between themselves and Alex.

“I have come to help you get finally sorted for tomorrow.”

“Thank you, but there is no need, I can manage…” Elizabeth said feeling the fear of Bobby’s death form as a ball in her throat, making her begin to choke.

“Friends should support one another.” Alex purred.

“Oh,” Hattie’s right eyebrow shot up.

“With the American’s,” Alex drew the word out. “Loss…”

“Loss…” Elizabeth moaned and felt Hattie’s arm go round her, the comforting thoughts and memories of the previous night washed away.

“Yes, Mathew is home, he told me the American is…”

“Bloody well missing, not confirmed dead,” Thomas’ voice cut through Alex’s like the guns of his Hurricane did the enemy. “Just bugger off home to your husband and stop spreading gossip. Heard of the phrase ‘careless talk costs lives have you?’ ”

“Well really.” Alex huffed and stormed past Thomas, and out into the street, slamming the door behind her.

“How did?” Hattie said...

“You left the door open.” Thomas replied and winked at

Elizabeth, sat down and took the paper from under his arm and began to read it.

“Bloody men” Hattie retorted

“Bloody women...” Thomas replied, setting down the paper and looking at Elizabeth with very tired eyes. “Liz, Robert is listed at missing, not dead; most of the “dead” have been confirmed. George was missing remember?”

“Yes…I remember…” Elizabeth stuttered. In all her fear, she had not thought, could not think. Not again. She almost fell onto on of the kitchen chairs.

“That was clever,” Hattie sighed and pushed the cold pie in front of her husband. He smiled and began to pick at it with his fingers.

Hattie slapped him across the knuckles with a fork and he took it, attacking the pie a fresh, talking between bites. “Missing is missing, as in lost and a hell of a lot are lost this morning it was one rum night. The dead have I believe, according to group, been confirmed; those hospitalised, hopefully by this afternoon. The rest are either on there way back to their base or sitting on their hands at group waiting to be debriefed. Look Liz, till we know for sure…Carry on; get yourself sorted out for tomorrow. I will try and contact you if the worse comes to the worse, promise?”

Elizabeth nodded. And found her self thinking, maybe, possible.

Maybe. Possible. Dead. Gone. The words trampled round her mind for the rest of the day, long after Hattie and Thomas had gone home. Elizabeth again went into a strange void of action without thought. She packed away the last of George’s things to be put on the train with her; packed her own small suitcase and laid out her black suit and the hat. Then set her alarm for early, her train was a 6, so, 3.30 am at least. To be sure.

Then as she switched out the light in the kitchen her eyes fell on the front page of Thomas’ newspaper.

175 RAIDERS SHOT DOWN.
Sunday Air Battles Over London and S.E.
Third Attack on Buckingham Palace.
RAF Batter Invasion Machine.
Our losses aircraft 30; Pilots killed believed to be 12.

Elizabeth groaned and the paper fell from her hand, she stumbled to the bed room and fell on the bed curling in a ball. Her hands pressed deep into the pit of her stomach and for a second they brushed her sex, beneath the fabric of her skirt.

I want you here Bobby; inside me, not dead, here, please…I loved you........ Love you............” She whispered into the darkness.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

Warm late summer breeze … lying in the afternoon sun … eyes closed … the gentle brushing of silken hair on his cheek … the soft warmth of sweet breath on his neck … faint whispering in his ear … he reaches for her, smiling … hands reach but grasp only air … eyes open … she’s gone, and just the breeze remains …

Rain beating down … hat pulled low … chill wind down the neck … darting from storefront to storefront … searching … searching for … searching for something … searching for her … faces blank … shoulders shrug … heads shake … then around a corner he sees her walking … heels clicking along the pavement … running … fast … calling out, “Liz! Mrs. Fitz! Wait up for me, Liz!” … he lunges forward … reaching … grasping … nothing …

Footsteps along a corridor … opening doors … peering inside … classrooms empty, full, half filled … Nigel at Physics lecture … exploring … Garner in Chemistry lab … hunting … Colin and crew in English Lit … searching but empty-handed … “Damn! Where is she?” …

Her voice calling, “Bobby … Bobby … Bobby” … he turns … she is behind him, smiling … “Where have you been?” he aks … “Right here, silly boy … all the time, right here …” her hand on his shoulder, her lips pressed onto his, her body brushing against him … catching on fire … burning brightly … yes, Liz … oh, yes!

The sounds of the Innkeeper’s buxom wife cheerfully arranging his uniform on the chair awakened Robert. It had obviously been nicely brushed and pressed with great care. He closed his eyes trying to recall his dreams of Elizabeth that had left him in an aroused wistful state. He longed for her touch, for her kiss, for the only moments of humanity he had known in the insanity that was this war.

“Oh, did I disturb you?” she asked coyly. “I am so sorry.” Something in her manner told him that she wasn’t. She patted back her hair and moved closer to the bed, her eyes sweeping up and down his prone form beneath the quilts. “We’ve got a nice breakfast waiting for you whenever you are ready.”

“Thank you,” Robert replied. “I’ll be up in just a few.”

“Looks like you’ve got a head start already,” she remarked with a flirtatious smile. “Is there anything that I … er, we can do for you this morning?”

“Is there a telephone that I can use?” he asked, pulling the covers up around himself.

“Yes, we have one downstairs in the pub,” she replied.

“Thank you, I need to call my girl, let her know that I’m all right.” Robert felt uncomfortable with the way the lady regarded him. Fortunately she took the hint with a smile and moved back toward the door. “And thank you for the uniform,” he added. She smiled and passed back through the door. For a few moments, he lie in bed thinking of Elizabeth. His hand slipped beneath the covers and felt his thick manhood through the cotton of his skivvies. He wanted so much to feel himself inside her, feel the warmth of her body swallow him up, feel her breath on his neck, hear her moans and cries.

He dressed slowly and wandered downstairs to find a full healthy breakfast awaiting him. A handful of curious townsfolk looked on, a few venturing questions admiringly. After breakfast, Robert tried calling Elizabeth. It took several minutes for the call to be placed and when it finally rang there was no answer.

“Shall I keep ringing?” asked the operator.

“No … no, thank you,” Robert replied. “I’ll try later.”

Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait for long as the military transport arrived just after seven. The sharp young driver, Sergeant Theodore “Call me Teddy!” Ritchie, wasted little time packing up Robert and his chute. The young man was full of news of the battle, the high losses by the Germans, the losses of their own. Parts of London were still on fire from the night before. Electricity was out in several neighborhoods. But there was something in the plucky animated way he spoke that amused Robert and made him smile. Their bumpy drive up to Northolt was interrupted when they heard the sound of aircraft high overhead. Teddy pulled over and they both got out and looked up to see a huge formation of German aircraft coming from the east and heading toward London.

“Looks like the buggers are at it again!” Teddy said.

“Damn!” Robert swore, knowing that his duty was to be in the air to meet them, but the twinge in his leg and the smoldering wreckage of his Lady Jane would keep him on the ground for a few days.

They resumed their drive and passed the endless rolling fields and simple quaint towns. He had seen this countryside from several thousand feet up, but now at ground level it seemed quite different. As the fields whizzed past, you could hardly tell that there was a war on. The crops were ripened and many were harvested already. There was a lush, fertile scent in the air from the recent rains. He looked at the faces of the people they passed. These were the people he was fighting for, the people who were supporting the war effort with their hard work and sacrifices.

Heading further along the road, they again heard the sound of aircraft and paused to get out and look up. It appeared to be a scattered German formation heading almost due east.

“Our boys must have turned them away,” the driver exclaimed. “And maybe taken a few out while they were at it.”

Robert belonged up there; it was what he had come here for. But he also longed for Elizabeth and as the car bumped along the road toward Northolt, he wondered where she was, how she was feeling, what she was doing. He closed his eyes and could see her, probably on her way to bury George, dressed in black, the veil of her little black hat pulled low over her face. How he wanted to hold her in his arms, to offer his support, to show his love.

“You’re a quiet sort,” Teddy said.

“Yes,” Robert smiled, glancing over. “Always have been.” He looked back outside as the surroundings grew more civilized. “Just have a lot on my mind I guess.”

“Must be a woman,” Teddy laughed.

Soon they were pulling up at 11 Group Command at Northolt. Teddy dropped Robert off cheerfully and the rest of his day began to move in fits and starts. He was processed and sent to the infirmary. Waiting to get checked through medical, stripping down and waiting, then getting dressed and waiting for release. “If the Brits are anything like the Army back in the Great War,” his father had warned him, “Get used to waiting!”

The doctors checked him over completely. The pain in his leg was a simple sprain; nothing else was in any way serious. They wrapped him up and sent him on to fighter command. He tried calling Elizabeth but the call wouldn't go through at first. A second time brought no answer. Then came the debriefings, copies of the sessions with the other members of his wing group had been sent up. Things had been so scattered, so chaotic that no one’s account fit anyone else’s precisely. By late afternoon, he had spoken to so many intelligence officers that he felt as if he were a broken record reciting the same things over and over. Eventually the paperwork was completed and he was cleared for release. He stuffed his orders into his jacket pocket and headed toward the motor pool.

After scrounging for a ride and finding one on a military transport, Robert stood outside waiting. He pulled out his last cigarette and lit up. He had hoped to hook up with a car carrying important documents, but instead was sentenced to a long slow ride on a rumbling old truck. He slung his chute over his shoulder and climbed up into the cab. The driver was a nervous young man who sat fidgeting behind the wheel. It was going to be a long ride tonight.

What had been a largely uneventful ride changed somewhere south of Guildford when the dark shadow of a car without its headlight switched on loomed out of nowhere and sent them careening off to the side toward the ditch. Robert covered himself and was certain they were going to be marooned, but when the lorry came to a skittering crashing stop he looked up and saw they were at the very edge, pushed up against a railing leading toward a bridge.

“Damn!” Robert swore. “Maybe I should have walked!”

“Not to worry,” the driver said. “I’ll get you back all right.”

And he did. Robert spent the rest of the ride, slumped against the door sleeping fitfully. It was in the wee hours by the time they arrived. The last of the night patrols were landing. The clerk at the 213th checked Robert through.

“Looks like you’ve got a couple days coming,” said the clerk. “Lucky bugger!”

“Thanks!” Robert replied. He headed toward his billet and found Nigel and Finch sitting up playing cards with a couple others. They all tossed their cards down and welcomed their returning wingman warmly, shaking his hand and clapping him soundly on the back.

“We thought you were done for,” Nigel exclaimed. “All the smoke and flames. But when they found the wreckage and not you, there was hope.”

“You did well for yourselves it sounds like,” Robert remarked. “And how’s this rookie doing?” Robert jabbed a fist out toward Finch.

“Still raw around the edges, but I think he’ll do,” Nigel said. “Just don’t let him sucker you into a game of Euchre.”

Robert tossed his chute onto his bunk and limped toward the door.

“So where are you off to now?” Nigel asked.

Robert smacked his left leg. “Two days leave of duty and some fresh air. Good for my recovery, you know.”

“Lucky bugger!” Finch called out.

The crisp early morning air felt bracing as he walked slowly toward the front gate. He knew where he was going. He hadn’t gone for more that a moment without thinking of Elizabeth. He hadn't been able to reach her to let her know that he was all right. If she wasn’t home he would come back; if she was … Robert smiled at the thought of surprising her and turned up Tangmere Road toward Edwards Avenue.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

The alarm went off. Elizabeth just lay there. Did not move; did not react. Her thoughts, her senses, merely registered that she was alone. he had not come back yet a small voice inside her added.

She sighed and rolled over, throwing back the covers. It was still dark, still black, still. All was so still. Elizabeth fumbled for her robe, searched for the light switch and stumbled to the bathroom. At 4.30am she was still sitting in the kitchen her hands round a cold cup of tea. “Best move.” She said to herself. She went back to the bedroom and finished getting dressed.

One crisp white silk blouse, one pre war black suit, calf length skirt a small pleat in the back hem to allow her to walk. The waist was too large, though, and Elizabeth had to resort to safety pins. Slipping on the jack that too was slightly too big, but pulling it down sharply removed the affect.

She brushed her hair, pinned and rolled it up under a fine net, then placed her hat on, pushing a long plain hat pin deep into the felt and her hair. She left the veil up for now and reddened her lips rubbing them together and trying not to look at her reflection.

Her single row of pearls followed with her matching earrings. Then her engagement ring was slipped on with her wedding ring, a wedding ring that had been on her finger when she had lain with Bobby. Yet she had no guilt now; no feeling of betraying any vows, no matter what anyone said. She just wanted. No news is good news she thought. Thomas had promised he would get word to her if Bobby was dead. he still could be

“I love, loved him, “Elizabeth said to her reflection and felt her nipples tightened as the memories of Bobby’s touch flooded through her senses. She pulled up her skirt and checked her stockings straightening them and slipped her feet into her black shoes, the sensible kind, something Elizabeth wasn’t, not now. It did not make sense being sensible during a war.

Her gloves and coat were on her bags in the hall. One large almost trunk sized with George’s things, best they go back to his parents for now. Save for a few personal things she had taken out and placed in her drawer. Her own bag was just full of a few things. She knew her mother would try to get her to go on to Norfolk, but she could not. Bobby could still be alive, till she was sure Elizabeth was not going anywhere, she was going to be here for him.

She had ordered a taxi for 5.30am plenty of time it was barely 5.00am now. Then someone knocked at the door. No thumped hard, rattling the small pane of glass.

“Coming?” Elizabeth called torn between annoyance and a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. As she approached the door she could see the outline of a head in small high placed pane of glass, some one tall, some one male. Her eyes closed. Thomas, oh god… no….

Elizabeth fumbled with the latch, opening it; not wanting to face. The figure was standing at an angle, looking at something in the lightening sky. He turned and looked at her and smiled; a soft, crooked smile, that creased the corners of his blue eyes.

“Bobby…..” She let go of the door and stepped back into the small hall, not taking her eyes off him, letting her gaze drink in the shape of him.

“Morning Mrs Fitz.” Bobby said stepping in and pulling his hat off. The door closed behind him and Elizabeth reached out own hand and touched the blue wool of his jacket, feeling the fibers rasp over her finger tips. Elizabeth’s fingers ran up to Bobby’s lapel, the on to his shirt collar, then his neck, then they traced the line of his square jaw.

Elizabeth began to shake, Bobby’s hand came up and caught hers as it began to trace over his lips. This was the trigger for an explosion, one that swept through both of them. Bobby crushed her in his embrace, pushing her against the wall. Elizabeth found his mouth with hers, forcing it open, tasting lips, tongue teeth, whispering in short ragged gasps, “I thought you were dead, thought you would never come back thought so much…”

“I thought I was for while,” Bobby answered a current of laughter and desire running through his voice as his hands pinched at her silk clad breasts. Elizabeth felt her nibbles expand, pushing at the fabric that encased them. For a moment Robert’s hands hovered over the buttons to her blouse as his lips sucked at her neck.

But that wasn’t what either of them wanted now. They needed to be linked, for one to be in the other, to wash away all the doubt, the fear. His hand slipped lower forcing her skirt up over her thighs, Elizabeth groaned “Yes, yes…” as his fingers pushed the wide leg of her French knickers aside, touching her mons, running down the cleft, pushing the throbbing lips open.

Elizabeth’s own hands had not been idle she had tore at Booby’s belt, undone enough buttons on his trousers to push them down; her slender hand was now wrapped round his manhood, guiding him to her. Bobby lifted her higher, pinning her against the wall as he entered her swiftly. Elizabeth screamed, as her yet still only partially aroused sex struggled for a second to accommodate his thickness, then in a rush he slid in fully. Bobby pinned Elizabeth to the wall, toppling her small hat from her head and splitting the gusset of her over stretched silk underwear.

Bobby chuckled into her throat at the event as his thrusts gained power. Elizabeth wrapped her legs round his hips clawing under his jacket, under his shirt, nails digging in to his flesh as each of his thrusts pushed him in deeper. All thought of the train, all thought of what she should be doing now had been swept from Elizabeth’s mind.

Bobby was alive and he was in her, she clenched the walls of her sex, clinging onto him. Bobby shivered and moaned as he registered her movement, she pushed down, circling her hips, trying to match his thrusts with her own actions. She was out of control, kissing any part of him she could reach, her hands confused not knowing where to touch, her climax was thundering into the pit of her stomach then expanding outwards, almost blinding her with the intensity as she rode Bobby’s shaft.

Lost in the ebb tide of her passion, she was barely aware of Bobby reaching his, of him reluctantly allowing himself to slip from her as he lowered her to the floor.

She rested her head on his chest and listened to his heart beating. “I love you…. You are all I wanted to feel, to see, to be with…. And I must look a mess, The words trickled from Elizabeth’s mouth as she realized her lipstick must be smeared all over her face, her silk blouse crushed, her skirt up round her waist and her knickers torn asunder.

“No, you are beautiful…” Bobby whispered then raised her chin and looked into her eyes. “You were just going??”

“Oh God, yes, my train…” Elizabeth tried to see the room clock, it was 25 minutes past five, “My taxi will be here in five minutes…”Her hands clung to him, she did not want to go, yet she knew she had too. Her eyes pleaded with Bobby to understand.

“Our taxi…” Bobby answered and pushed her in the direction of the bathroom.

“You mean…” Elizabeth stuttered.

“Couple of days leave… dodgy leg…”

“What…” Elizabeth called in surprise and concern as the taxi driver rattled the door.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

With the blackout curtains drawn, he couldn’t tell if anyone was home or not. He knocked on the door and when there was no answer after a short minute, he knocked again louder. Please be home, Elizabeth, please … he thought. Then he heard her voice calling out as if he were a delivery boy, “Coming … coming …”

Then the door swung open and it was as though his every dream of the past few days had been answered. Elizabeth stood before him like a vision, a visage of beauty that nurtured his soul. He smiled at the warmth he felt upon seeing her; she was gorgeous, her woolen suit and silk blouse drawn and tucked about her slender frame, her lips full and rouged and parted as if caught in mid breath, her hat set at a jaunty angle, her hair tucked underneath in a fine net. She backed away from him as if seeing a ghost. “Bobby?” she said.

“Morning, Mrs. Fitz,” Robert replied, coming inside and closing the door, slipping his hat from his head dutifully. And then she reached out and touched him, running her hand over his jacket, his collar, his neck and jaw. She was trembling. Her eyes were filled with … with … with a longing and desire that was matched only by his own. When he took her hand he was consumed by a desire for her that paled his dreams. The only thing that had kept him going for the past two days was this little woman, and now he had returned to her. Robert pulled her into a strong embrace, drawing her to him, feeling the hunger of her kiss and returning it fully.

“I thought you were dead, thought you would never come back … thought so much …” she said breathlessly. Robert could feel the warmth of her body; he needed her so badly; she was the only part of this crazy dream that made any sense in his mind.

“Thought I was for a while,” he replied, feeling such wild mad thoughts of passion flowing through his mind. He touched her breasts and felt the sharp tips grow hard and needy. He tried to pull apart the buttons of her blouse, but his need for her love escalated fiercely and he reached down for her skirt, pulling it up with a brusque and urgent motion. He could feel the heat of her sex drawing him out, shouting to him of her own desire.

“Yes … yes!” she cried.

They pulled and plucked and ripped demandingly at each other’s clothes until that sweet fateful moment when they became one in love. The next few minutes flew by in unabated passion. All of the pain, all of the doubt, all of the fear of the past days disappeared as they ground their bodies together. With her arms and legs tight around him Elizabeth clung to Robert, her little body throbbing and wriggling madly as he thrust up into her again and again and again. Her mouth was at his neck, at his ear, at his chin and cheek, kissing and licking and biting him wildly.

Robert felt her body tremble and shake, her breath uncontrolled. Yes, there was no war going on right now. There was only this moment of human love that mattered to them. They needed only each other now to become whole and healed, and they were together in a melding moment of heated passion. Robert felt the rising tide of his desire swell up and erupt inside her. Shocked gasps tripped from her lips as she cried out a series of moans and cries that only made him pull her more tightly to his chest.

It was only as his climax ebbed that Robert noticed that her little hat was bumped aside along with a healthy lock of her auburn hair. He reached up to straighten it but paused for he had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. Her head fell against his chest as he passed his hand over her lovingly. How many times had he longed for this feeling again? And now that it was here, he wanted nothing more.

“I love you … you are all I wanted to feel, to see, to be with … and … I must look a mess!” she said, drawing a laugh from him. He looked down at her, her once carefully coiffured hair tumbling about her shoulders crazily, her finely pressed clothes impossibly arranged and wrinkled, her panties torn by the mad consuming passion of this darkened early morning hour.

“No, you are beautiful …” Robert replied, tilting her face up so that he could gaze into her eyes. Oh, fuck! She was on her way out for Christ’s Sake! Dressed in black. Good God, George forgive me! He suddenly felt guilty of a selfish passion that was only assuaged by the warm look of satisfaction in her eyes. “You were just going?” he asked.

“Oh God, yes, my train … my taxi will be here in five minutes …” Although she hung onto him, Robert smiled. He had two days; he could go with her; hell, he would go with her anywhere now! She looked up at him fearfully but expectantly.

“You mean our taxi,” he replied, leading their little morning waltz toward the bath.

“You mean …” she asked softly.

“Got a couple days coming,” Robert replied. “Bum leg and all.”

“What?” she asked hopefully, her eyes filling with a joyful energy that sent a tickle through him.

“I may be here,” Robert said. “But I’ve got an ankle sprain and they won’t clear me to fly till it’s mended. So if you are going someplace …”

“Just to Kent, to take George home,” she said, her eyes growing shaded.

“Yes, that’s right … I knew that … I mean, that you would be … you know,” he replied. The sound of the taxi driver pounding impatiently at the door sent both their eyes darting in that direction for a moment. “Come on let’s get ready.”

Immediately they both began to arrange their clothes. Elizabeth tugged down her torn panties and held them up, laughing. She gave Robert a look that only her broad smile could temper. He rested his hand on her chin and bent down to kiss her. “I love you, Mrs. Fitz,” he whispered.

“Hey, you coming?” shouted out the taxi driver.

“I need to change,” Elizabeth exclaimed waving her torn undies about.

“Don’t bother,” Robert replied. “You’ll be just fine.” She gave him a stern look. “No one will be any the wiser … besides, we have no time.”

Another tough pounding at the door, drew Robert out. He had tucked his shirt into his trousers and done them up properly. “All right … all right … all right!” he called out as he reached the front door. He could see the bags all set out and waiting. Opening the door, he greeted the driver and pointed out the baggage, helping the lad out by carrying the lightest ones. Setting them into the trunk the driver looked over Robert’s uniform and glanced up admiringly.

“RAF you are?” he remarked. “What I wouldn’t give to be up there right now.”

“So would I,” Robert replied. “Took me down a day ago, but I’ll be back up in two.”

“You flying Spitfires?” the driver asked eagerly.

Robert laughed. “Hurricanes. But I’ll tell you, she’s a mighty stout plane.” He looked back to the cottage and saw his vision of loveliness in black come out onto the front porch, her hands patting back her hair and making sure that her hat was straightened. Robert jumped up to walk her down to the waiting car.

“Train station, Ma’am?” the driver asked.

“Yes …” Elizabeth began.

“But we need to stop by the airfield … I need to grab a few things,” Robert said interrupting. “Won’t take but a minute.”

Elizabeth sighed but nodded as they sat together in the taxi. “Only a minute, Officer Wilson,” she said with a mock sternness. “It’s too hard to get a decent seat on a train during war time … there is a war going on, you know.”

Robert laughed and as the taxi lurched ahead, he planned his mad dash. To the squadron office to let them know where he was going, then to his billet to toss a clean shirt and change of skivvies into his kit bag. Oh, yes, and a razor, he thought, rubbing his hand over the stubble that dotted his chin. Then he sank into the stiff fabric of the taxi seat with sweet Liz beside him.

Their side trip to the airfield went pretty much as he planned. Though as he left the 213th office he ran into Thomas in the hallway.

“Good God! You’re back!” Thomas said, happily clapping his hands on Robert’s shoulders. “Any the worse for wear?”

“Just a sprain that I need to rest for a couple of days,” Robert remarked.

“Liz … erm, Mrs. Fitzmorgan is taking George’s … George’s … George home to rest today.”

“I know, and I going to try to go with her,” Robert said. “If there’s room on the train.”

“There’ll be room, son,” Thomas said. “You’re a pilot in the RAF and there’s a war on. They’ll find a seat for you … and one I’m sure you’ll enjoy.”

Robert nodded.

“And one thing more, Wilson,” Thomas added. “I don’t have a spare man to send along to do proper honors. They’re arranging a member of the home guard, but that’s not the same. With the invasion imminent I can’t spare even a scrub woman to honor him. Would you do him the honor?”

“I’d be more than happy to, Thomas.” Robert replied. “He was a fine pilot and a good friend to you all.”

“And one thing more, Wilson,” Thomas said slowly, pausing in the hallway for a moment. He thrust his hand out to shake Robert’s. “Liz is very special you know … oh bloody hell, I realize you know that … just … be careful … don’t break her heart. I don’t want to have to come after you.”

Robert took his hand and held it firmly. “I won’t. I promise you. She means everything to me.”

“Good man,” Thomas replied. “George could see that straight away.”

They shook hands one more time and Robert dashed off to his billet. He chuckled softly at the sound of Nigel snoring soundly as he packed his kit bag. Darting out to the cab, he climbed in and sighed.

“This is now an official trip,” Robert announced as he settled into the seat beside Elizabeth and the taxi lurched away. “Thomas asked me to represent the service for George.”

Elizabeth smiled warmly and nestled up beside Robert. There was something in the way she clutched his arm and closed her eyes and buried her cheek against his arm that made him feel useful and helpful and loved … yes, loved. In another couple of days he would be back and with a new pair of wings beneath him he would be in the air again, fending off the invading Hun, but for now, for the next two days he was with Elizabeth and that meant as much as anything to him.

There was a brief confrontation at the station when they arrived. Elizabeth was fine, her seat was confirmed and her baggage loaded without incident, even though there were scant minutes left before departure. Robert stood at the ticket office pleading his case.

“Look! What is it going to take?” he asked. “I’m traveling with the widow of a war hero to give him a proper honorable burial. There has to be a way for me to get on that train of yours!”

“This is war time. The train is crowded. There isn’t room,” flowed the excuses.

“Come on,” Robert said, pulling a wad of notes from his pocket and peeling them off one at a time, piling them up in front of the clerk. “There has to be something I can do …”

The wide eyes of the clerk watched as Robert tossed down the money. It was worthless otherwise to him unless it could get him on that train.

“All right … all right,” said the clerk scribbling out a ticket and handing it over to Robert. “And keep this all.”

“No,” Robert replied. “Buy your wife something warm for winter,” Robert said. “I heard it’s going to be a cold one.”

Within minutes Robert had found Elizabeth and they kissed madly for a moment before realizing that there were a hundred people looking on. Some were frowning but most were smiling as they made their own assumptions as to the reason for such unbridled passion in public. The whistle sounded and the conductor called out, “A’board!” There was a blank tableau ahead of them and who knew—really knew—where they were headed? It mattered little to Robert as he felt the warmth of Elizabeth beside him and took her hand in his. He drew it up to his lips for a kiss. Bending over toward her, he planted an unexpected kiss on her cheek.

“I love you, Mrs. Fitz!” he whispered to her nearby ear. “I love you!”

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

Elizabeth stood on the crowded platform waiting for Bobby. She could smell the sharp tang of smoke and hear the hiss of stream as it trickled out from under the train. The large locomotive stood at the head of its long line of overfull carriages, the red, yellow and black livery of the SR Company sprinkled with beams of early morning light.

There was a sense of urgency about the place, each face reflecting a need to be elsewhere. The poster, half peeling from the board you would think, on seeing the crowds, was being totally ignored. IS YOU JOURNEY REALLY NECESSARY?

Bobby found her, his hand touched her arm; his expression telling her he had a ticket. They kissed, forgetting for a second where they were. Elizabeth felt herself lifted off her feet for a moment, her body registering the touch of his. Then they broke away, grinning. The whistle sound and Bobby said. “I love you, Mrs. Fitz, I love you!”

He kissed her gently on the cheek and Elizabeth mouthed I love you too, then Robert had a firm grip on her arm and she was almost lifted into the train. The door slammed behind them, the whistle blew, the train faltered forward in a haze of steam and stopped. Elizabeth and Bobby staggered down the packed corridor, looking for a place in a compartment.

One seat was spotted in one and they dashed, laughing. Bobby winked and said quietly, “You sit and I stand or…” As the "or" left his mouth he sat down, tucking his bag under his feet, turned Elizabeth round and pulled her back onto his lap. Her eyes widened and she gave a startled chuckle.

“Well really…” A bowler hatted gentleman huffed as he peered over his paper.

“I am American…” Bobby answered, Elizabeth now gargled with laughter. The man huffed more and the other passengers all gave various degrees of grins and the train at last decided to go.

The tension was taken up by the linkages between the carriages and slow shunt and rattle began. It was accompanied by the hiss of steam and the gentle sway of the carriage, as it began to gain that gentle rhythm as it traveled over the track in front of it.

As she sat on Bobby’s knee, Elizabeth was acutely aware of his hands on her waist and the fact that she was wearing no underwear. She wriggled gently and felt herself grow damp as the knowledge of what had happened last time she had been this close to Bobby rose.

“Don’t,” he whispered in her ear, “Else the man with the hat will have a heart attack…” Elizabeth laughed out loud at this earning a glare from the man over the top of the paper. She turned her attention to the passing countryside, but it wasn’t easy. In fact it got worse. A passenger struggled out of their compartment and everyone shuffled seats. Elizabeth was now sitting next to Bobby her leg pressed tight to his and their hands locked together, pushed down between them.

It made her heart beat of time, a tattoo of I want to hold you, feel you inside me, if only this carriage was empty," the thought at first shocked her, then she smiled. Bobby saw her smile and naswered it with one of his own, Elizabeth felt her face redden and she fiddled with the veil of her hat. She realised she was so much in love she couldn't think of anything else.

Robert told her more of America and she for the first time spoke of her home. Maisthorpe Manor, some 20 miles south east of Norwich in Norfolk. She told him about the half timbered Manor house, which lay on the south side of the village. How the Manor had been built by an ancestor, who sailed with Drake and made a small fortune saying that was the high point of the family fortune and laughingly said it had been down hill since.

About the network of farms, held by the same families for generations, how the Manor was cold, badly lit, rambling and… She stopped; Bobby was watching her face intently.

“Stupid going on...” Elizabeth mumbled.

“No…” Bobby said and brought her hand up and softly kissed it.

The action brought a sigh from the wide hipped woman opposite and stares from her two children. Both of whom got told to mind their manners and get ready to change trains at Crawley.

“We have to change there as well, for Royal Tonbridge Wells,” Elizabeth.

“Hopefully the next train will have a restaurant car on.” Bobby said, Elizabeth raised an eyebrow

The woman laughed. “Lordy, if it has you won’t stand a chance of getting in there.”

“Well, we could pick something up on the station? I haven’t had breakfast” Bobby said and as if to underline his words his stomach growled.

“Here…” The woman rooted in her large bag and pulled out a thick parcel of greaseproof paper, “Packed too many as normal. We killed a pig a while back. Best ham.” Elizabeth could see the faint pink meat between the bread clear through the paper.

“Goodness,” Elizabeth said.

“We can’t,” Bobby stammered.

“Yes you can and here…" A pint bottle of beer followed the cork still wired on.

Elizabeth took them stammering her thanks.

“None needed lass, RAF….” The woman marshalled her children before her as the train lurched to a stop.

Elizabeth and Bobby followed pushing their way onto the platform, checking Elizabeth’s bags were removed and finding out they had a good hour wait for their train. They dragged the bags to the end of the platform and sat on them, eating the sandwiches and sharing the beer. It felt so good. Even here amid the hubbub of the busy station they were alone, enjoying each other’s company, knees touching, and fingers straying to each other’s hands.

It was nearly 11.00am when they boarded the next train. The progress was slow, the train lurching and stopping it seemed every mile, to allow a military transport to thunder pass. Yet Elizabeth didn’t mind, she knew this time was for both of them and again they talked of differences of their prior worlds, both realizing that it was prior in many ways, what was now made what had gone before just a pale, watery half world.

A change of trains again at Royal Tonbridge Wells, this time they had to race down the platform, up the stairs and cross the hissing lines of trains, arriving breathless, and falling in each other’s arms in the corridor of their train.

Bobby pressed Elizabeth to the chipped wood of the carriage wall and kissed her deeply. She wrapped herself round him and returned the embrace, wishing they were alone.

“Bloody brilcream boys.” A soldier huffed as he squeezed past.

Bobby laughed and released her, then stiffened as his eyes traced the pattern in the sky above the fields. The train lurched to a stop as it ran into a small village station. The guard’s whistle sounded and the whine of an air raid siren sounded.

“What do we do?” Elizabeth whispered.

“Stay put,” The soldier said. “They are not after us, just on their way to London, got us a bird’s eye view of the boyfriend’s mates earning their pay.” As if to illustrate his words sky became alive with battling aircraft. Silver trails, some plunging low, skimming the fields, pulling up and rejoining the fight, others spinning down in flames. It was as if the whole sky was battling.

Bobby moved forward and leant his head against the dirty glass, his eyes locked on the battle. Elizabeth slipped her arms round him and held him tight, feeling him shake as one of the specks exploded.

“I love you Pilot Officer Robert Wilson.” She said softly.

 

[Miltone]

Robert "Bobby" Wilson

Every part of this trip had added to the adventure; squeezing together in the crowded train car, sitting quietly and sharing a lunch provided by a complete stranger, hurrying breathlessly to catch their next train, trading stories about their homes and families, daring to kiss Elizabeth openly … in daylight … in public; all made it seem, at least for those precious moments like there wasn’t a war going on. The hitch in his step and the pain in his ankle seemed to disappear. The smile on her face seemed to glow brightly despite being dressed in her black “war widow’s weeds.”

But then with the taste of her kiss still warm on his lips, the war wouldn’t let itself be forgotten. The sound and sight of the battle transpiring overhead glued Robert to the glass. Were those his squadron mates or another group they had flown with? Even if they were strangers, he cringed at seeing a flameout and felt an earnest need to be with them. The shiver had hardly settled down his back when he felt her arms surround him, her face press up beside his, and her voice whisper, “I love you Pilot Officer Robert Wilson.”

How did she know just what to say? He looked away from a battle he couldn’t join and turned toward Elizabeth, a perfect counterpoint to the harsh mayhem he knew only too well. He swept her up into his arms, guiding her lips to his, feeling her warmth and wetness melt into him. He didn’t care what the others nearby thought, he wanted her, he needed her, and from the way Elizabeth returned his kiss, she felt the same. As their kiss slowly broke away, he let her settle back to the floor. Scooping up their bags, Robert took her hand.

“Come on, let’s go,” he said leading her toward the front of the train. A handful of passengers were scurrying toward the station as they wended their way forward.

“Bobby?” Elizabeth asked. “Bobby? Where are you going?”

He only glanced back with a grin and winked at her, squeezing her hand tightly. She giggled and followed along as they crossed over from one car to the next, her hand clutching at her lovely little black hat when the breeze threatened to capture it. They moved up along the corridor, skirting the conductor who was attending to a rather fussy old woman and her stuffed shirt companion. As the train whistle blew and the car lurched ahead, they slipped through to the next car ahead.

Just as I expected, Robert thought. A combination car, half baggage forward and large finely upholstered seats in back. And with luck there was an empty pair toward the front. No one gave them any mind when they sat.

“Bobby,” Elizabeth whispered as the train built up steam. “I don’t think we are allowed up here are we?”

“Let them try and kick us out, Mrs. Fitz,” he replied, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. “We have every right don’t we? A grieving widow and her escort, a wounded veteran.”

She laughed for a moment then her face grew somber. Perhaps his words had struck too close to home. Even as they had become swept up in the emotion of being together, they were taking George home after all, and that was what mattered. Yet Robert couldn’t deny the feelings welling up inside him as she nuzzled close beside him. Maybe this was too soon for some to accept; maybe it would have happened even if George hadn’t been taken down. But this was everything to him, his future, his duty, his charge, his love.

“Excuse me,” called out the conductor gently as he leant down toward them. “Tickets please.” Robert presented his while Elizabeth rummaged for hers. “Hmm,” the conductor hummed sternly. “Miss?” he said as Elizabeth finally pulled hers out and handed it over for his inspection. Noting her rings, he bowed his head slightly. “Pardon me, ma’am.” He looked over their tickets and glanced toward the back of the train. “Overcrowded back there isn’t it,” he remarked.

“Yes, very,” Robert said, very conscious that the conductor was looking over his uniform.

“RAF, are you?” the man said, his face still straight and almost stern.

“Yes, 213 Squadron out of Tangmere,” Robert replied proudly. “Escorting Mrs. Fitzmorgan home to her husband’s funeral. Sparing me a couple days only because of a bum leg.” Robert slapped his leg and winced. The conductor sighed and shook his head slightly. He looked over the two anxious passengers closely before punching their tickets and handing them back.

“Have a good ride,” he said and then tipped his hat toward Elizabeth. “My condolences, Ma’am.” With an encouraging slap to Robert’s shoulder, the conductor moved away.

Elizabeth and Robert exchanged a look and a quiet little laugh. He took her hand again and held it inconspicuously, lifting it occasionally for a surreptitious kiss. Then their hands would settle down on his thigh but more often upon hers, his fingers sensing the soft warm flesh that lie beneath the stiff wool of her skirt. He knew that this time together was precious, that once they arrived there would be little time for them to be together, truly together. He didn’t want to waste a moment.

As the countryside passed by, Robert spoke more about his home, the place in Gates Mill that his father had just bought and built. Then there was his family’s summer place up in Michigan near Harbor Springs with its grand view of the bay and the lake beyond. When the thoughts of taking her there someday flew into his head, Robert tried to cancel them out. He couldn’t think of that day in the distant future, only what was here and now. Then Elizabeth leaned over toward him.

“Maybe someday I’ll show you Maisthorpe Manor and then you can show me Gates Mill,” she said dreamily.

“Oh, Mrs. Fitz,” he said with a shake of his head. “You are a dreamer.”

“And you aren’t?” she said, poking at his ribs.

“Oh, I am,” he replied with a laugh. “I know we both said ‘just the here and now’, but I was just thinking the same thing.” With a quick glance around, Robert leaned over and kissed her lightly. He felt her lips part and her tongue dart out seductively, flicking at his lips, begging that his come out and play. “Mmm, Mrs. Fitz.”

“Yes, Officer Wilson?” she said.

“We must be very careful, you and I,” Robert said, his fingers unwrapping from her hand and carefully beginning to stroke her thigh.

“How is that?”

“Well, since there is a war going on, a certain decorum must be maintained,” he said while his hand traced the outline of the clasp of her garter and moved higher. “And public displays of affection must be carefully monitored.”

“Oh, yes, Officer Wilson,” Elizabeth answered. “Why, people might get the wrong idea about a prim war widow and her handsome escort.”

“Yes,” Robert said, his hand grazing up toward her hip. “And we absolutely can’t have that happen.”

“So what is a girl … what are we to do about … about … about this?” Elizabeth reached for Robert’s hand and raised it up toward her mouth, the rouge of her lipstick smeared just a bit.

“I think,” Robert began, his eyes glancing around the interior of the train car. “I think a star-crossed, love struck young couple might have to find someplace … um, more private.”

“On a crowded train car?” Elizabeth laughed. “And just pray tell where are they to find that?”

“If their hearts are true, and their desire great enough,” he said with a grin. “Then they will find a place.”

Perhaps Elizabeth saw the twinkle in his eye as an idea popped into his head, for she grinned also. “Bobby? What are you …” she began to say, but Robert grabbed her hand and stood up, pulling her up with him. “Bobby?”

“Come with me,” he said, looking back along the full rows of passengers, largely preoccupied with conversation, sleep, or scenery. They moved toward the front of the car along the service corridor coming to the door that led to the baggage compartment. When the handle seemed locked at first, Robert gave it a twist and shouldered the door open.

“Bobby!” Elizabeth exclaimed but Robert shushed her, placing his fingers to her lips.

“Shh!” he hissed as he opened the door and pulled Elizabeth in behind him, drawing the door closed behind them. There were windows at the front and at the back that left in enough light for them to see the shapes of the bags that had been arranged along the wall opposite the large baggage door. Toward the back where they stood, were larger boxes and containers that were being taken longer distances. They moved among them until Robert spotted a nice sturdy one made of cardboard. He moved to sit and tugged Elizabeth down on top of him.

“Bobby!” she squealed as she fell onto his lap, her arms coming to rest on his shoulders, his hands at her waist, their faces a breath apart. “Are you sure? I mean, surely we are not allowed in here … if they find us in here, they’ll …”

“They’ll what? Throw us off the train?” Robert asked with a grin. Elizabeth nodded. “Well, yes they might,” he said giving her a light little kiss. “But then, who is going to tell them?” He kissed her again more firmly. “You?” Another kiss, this time, deeper and wetter. “Me?”

“Oh, Bobby!” Elizabeth sighed, pulling him closer and kissing him intensely.

Robert held her on his lap, feeling her body wriggle slightly as his hands moved up over the stiff fabric of her suit jacket. Their lips were melding together, tongues twisting crazily as his fingers hungrily pried open the buttons of her jacket. He could see the sharp tips of her breasts pressing against her silken blouse as he pulled the jacket open. “Oh, Liz!” he growled as his fingers found the dainty little buttons of her blouse and popped them open. “Oh, Liz! I want you so much!” he said as the blouse fell open and his hands moved inside, feeling her body beneath the silk of her slip, his fingertips locating and circling each stiffening nipple. He pulled at the lace edging and bared a breast, his lips seeking out the swelling puckered rosette, kissing her, suckling her, feeling her twitch and moan when he nibbled on her.

“Oh, Bobby!” she cried out as his mouth settled on her other breast, drawing the nipple into his mouth. She leaned forward as if offering herself to him. “I want you so much, too … I need you so badly!”

As Robert suckled her breasts, his hand moved down over her loose-fitting skirt, pulling at it, tugging it upward toward her knees. She shifted her position enough to let him pull it up over her thighs and toward her hips. His hands glided over the sleek smooth silk of her stockings until they reached the even silkier skin of her thighs. She moaned and moved again, swinging a leg around so that she was straddling him, facing him fully. His hand brushed against the bare downy mound of her sex, feeling the warmth and dampness that was growing.

“Oh, Mrs. Fitz, you are a bad girl for not wearing any panties today,” Robert teased as his hand gently rubbed her soft yearning pussy.

“And just who’s fault is that, Officer Wilson?” she replied with a delicious giggle. “Huh? Tell me who was the bad man that ripped them so unceremoniously this morning?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Robert said turning his attention to his trousers, struggling to free his own yearning manhood. “Well, not at least entirely mine.” He pushed his trousers and shorts down and leaned back onto the box, guiding Elizabeth toward where they both wanted to be. Elizabeth rose up onto her knees and then settled while Robert held his erection proudly, rubbing the head back and forth over the hot wet slit of her sex. He could see her body shiver with delight and anticipation as he touched her so. Then she rocked her hips and brought him directly to her entrance. “Oh, Liz! This is so crazy! But I love you! I’ve never felt this mad about anyone before … never!”

“I know, Bobby,” she whispered wildly and out of breath. “I know ... and I want you to make love to me!”

Elizabeth held herself above him for a moment, looking down at him, her hands resting on his shoulders, her clothes pulled open and awry. She smiled sweetly, her eyes large and wide, her cheeks flushed and rounded. Then she lowered herself down, letting his single urgent thrust carry his throbbing maleness deep inside her. As she rested atop him motionless, Robert felt every inch of himself inside her and made his lips find hers.

“Yes, Liz … Mrs. Fitz ... oh, yes!” he answered, and then began to move slowly and deeply in and out of her. “Oh, god! Yes!”

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

Robert rubbed the head of his erection along the slit of Elizabeth’s sex. She shuddered, thinking now, please, in me. The force of her passion took her breath away. It was beyond anything she had every felt and knew she would not again. It was a need and love beyond anything, special because of the times, because of them, because of what was happening in the world and Elizabeth wanted to hold on to if for as long as she could, wanted to enjoy each delicious second of it.

She rocked forward, feeling Bobby probe her entrance and heard his words echo her own thoughts. “Oh, Liz! This is so crazy! But I love you! I’ve never felt this mad about anyone before … never!”

Elizabeth answered him her words, wild her breath struggling through the passion that was locking her throat. “I know, Bobby, I know ... and I want you to make love to me!”

She hovered above him for a second then lowered herself, her eyes half closing at the rush of intense pleasure his entry into her caused. Elizabeth could feel the beating of his heart through the sensitive walls of her sex. They were one, linked, and joined. She moaned long and just gloried in the moment. Then Robert sort her lips and began to move inside her and answered her question. “Yes, Liz … Mrs. Fitz ... oh, yes Oh, god! Yes!”

She met each of Robert’s thrusts, forcing her self down on him with abandon, taking his hands and placing them on her breasts, encouraging him to tease them to twist her nipples, to make them, harder, bigger, to make the tingling join with the spreading warmth in her belly.

“More, give me more…” The words were ripped from her lips as she circled her hips, trying to take Robert further in. Elizabeth could not control herself, she was swept away on the wings of her orgasm, it tore through her. She rocked, bit back a scream and swayed sensuously as the sensation ebbed a way. She looked down at Bobby with half closed eyes; he was still building to his own release. She felt her muscles begin to tighten again, working of there own will, she was bringing the delicious climb again.

Elizabeth leant down and kissed Bobby hard, then inched forward alittle cupping her breasts and offering them to him. He suckled her, leaving wet trails that spiked her passion anew. She could feel him swelling in her, aware of the pace of his thrusts gathering. She ran her hands through his hair, crying, “Fill me, now, fillll me…”

Bobby’s cry of release was smothered by her breasts and Elizabeth found the touch of his seed pumping into her triggered her second climax. For a second she swore she lost all sense of where she was, all she knew she was being loved. She swayed and fell forward, her muscles losing all their strength. Bobby held her, his own body shaking as he still jerked in her.

“Oh, God, Mrs Fitz..” He whispered.

“We seem to be taking the lord’s name in vain a lot,” She hoarsely whispered in reply as she felt the result of their passion trickle down her legs where they were clasped against Bobby’s.

“Indeed, shall we go to hell?” Robert laughing answered.

“If this is hell, I want to stay here..” Elizabeth answered and struggled up, taking his face in her hands, tracing every line in his face, noting every change in the colour of his eyes as he returned her gaze. She wanted to remember, remember every second. Just in case.

The train lurched and seemed to slow down.

“We need to find a WC…” Elizabeth said becoming all practicable as she eased her self up and reached for her small handbag, pulling out a small handkerchief and trying to wipe away the sticky result of their love making. Booby pulled out his own handkerchief and began to wipe at her thighs, Elizabeth shuddered, enjoying the sensation of his touch.

“We best get back to our seats else they will find us still here when they open up at Tenterden” Bobby said as he now began to help her button her blouse.

At the mention of George’s home town Elizabeth’s felt a chill, the next day or two was not going to be easy, to be so close to Bobby and not….

Her fingers reached out and touched his cheek. He took them and kissed them. They both then stood and checked each other over, She straightening Bobby’s tie and he her hat. Then they crept from the baggage car like to naughty school children playing truant.

Elizabeth slipped into the WC on her way back, wrinkling her nose at the smell, but making what use she could of the water and rough paper. She reapplied her lipstick and then waited while Bobby took his turn.

They settled back in their seats and Elizabeth dozed, her head resting on Bobby’s shoulder, her hand clasped in his. She felt warm, safe and loved, so loved.

“Come on sleepy head. “Robert gently nudged her and Elizabeth blinked and came awake. The train was still, hissing steam at the passengers as they disembarked.

“We are here?” She nonsensically said.

“Yes…” Bobby took her elbow and guided her out onto the crowded platform. She collected the large case with George’s belongings and they made their way outside the station.

Elizabeth fumbled with some coins and made her way into a public telephone box, Bobby, propping the door open as she spoke on the phone to her in laws.

“They will be here in ten to fifteen minutes, they don’t live far. Mr. Fitzmorgan,( Elizabeth could never call her father-in-law Albert) said George’s body arrived in the early hours on the military train and the funeral is tomorrow morning at 10.00am. George is lying in the church… I said you were here… you heard…
I…” Elizabeth began to stutter. Bobby took her hand and squeezed it, giving her an encouraging smile.

They stood in the chill early afternoon air, awaiting the arrival of George’s father. Bobby’s eyes widened as an old Rolls purred up to them and an older, sterner version of George got out, straightening his Home guard Captain's uniform. A small bird like woman joined him, her hair still tinted with the same blonde as George’s

“Elizabeth…” The woman twittered and hugged Elizabeth, coldly offering her cheek for Elizabeth to kiss. Elizabeth did and felt a chill inch inside her. She wanted to feel Bobby’s arms round her now, hold her, support her, but she knew he couldn’t. He just stood quietly waiting for her to introduce him.

George’s father gave her a reluctant hug as if he didn’t really like the action and raised his eyebrows looking hard at Robert.

“Sir, Mrs Fitzmorgan, this is Pilot Officer Robert Wilson, he is a pilot with 213 squadron at Tangmere, he was injured when he was shot down and is on leave for a few days, he agreed to come and both escort me and represent the service at George’s funeral. He was also a good friend of George’s and is of mine." he is my heart, my lover, part of me Elizabeth’s thoughts shouted.

“Pleased to meet you sir,” George’s father’s hand shot out.

Bobby took it saying “Likewise sir,”

“Goodness you are American?” George’s mother exclaimed.

“Yes, there are a few of us serving.” Bobby answered as he made to move the baggage to the boot of the rolls.

“Indeed, “George’s father opened the boot and helped Bobby lift the bags in.

Soon all four were settled in the rolls. George’s mother, Claire, sat in the back with Elizabeth. Robert gave a sad grin and climbed in the front with his host.

“Oh, my dear, it must have been so horrible. “Claire began to tut, patting Elizabeth’s hand.

“No need to worry your pretty little head any more, Edith has got the funeral sorted. Your mother and god father Doctor Travis are arriving later, in fact they might even be there when we get home. You will of course be going home with them after.” Mr. Fitzmorgan announced as if giving orders to his home guard.

“No!” Elizabeth blurred out. “I can’t I have responsibilities at Tangmere, I am a nurse.

“A volunteer.” Claire huffed.

“Yes and it is us volunteers that keep things going, I have just been transferred to the cottage hospital near Tangmere. There is a war on, what would George say if I ran home?” Elizabeth was nearly shouting, the fear that her family would drag her away from Bobby uppermost in her mind.

“I see…” Her father in law said as he swung the rolls down the drive to the large Georgian house set in its small grounds.

 

[Miltone]

Robert "Bobby" Wilson

Until the moment that George’s family pulled up to the station, Robert hadn’t given a thought to them, what to expect, how to act. He had been so intent upon being with Elizabeth that the realization of who they are and how they would control the events that would ensue over the next couple of days struck him hard. He would have to be every word of what she had told them, an escort for the trip home, a representative of the service, a brotherly figure. Yet as he heard her voice from the back seat and remembered the heat and passion they had shared that afternoon, he couldn’t help but feel the tug of emotions inside. How he wanted to stand up and tell them all and everyone else that he loved her, that he thought the world of her, and that he wanted to be with her every moment possible!

But then he thought of Elizabeth in this difficult time of grief and how inappropriate his own feelings were, for this was all about George and her love for her fallen husband, about honoring a man who had made the greatest sacrifice possible for his King and country. Robert felt weak and selfish, but determined to see it through, to see her through, for when this was over, once he had done everything he could to help her, they would be together, or so he prayed.

“We hadn’t planned on an extra guest,” the elder Fitzmorgan said aside to Claire, his wife. They were standing outside the Rolls, waiting for the luggage to be carried inside. Robert held his small kit bag while Elizabeth’s bags were being attended to.

“Perhaps we can put him up in the spare servant’s room,” Claire replied. “It hasn’t been used for years, but we can make do.”

“That’s really all right,” Robert said interrupting. “I don’t mean to be a bother. I can take a room in town …”

“I won’t hear of it,” said Fitzmorgan. There was an air of boastfulness in his voice. “The friend of my … my … my son will not stay in town … and in his condition. You will stay here in the comfort of my own home. Why even if I have to sleep on the floor, you will be resting in comfort.”

“But Albert, you know your back will be out for a week if you do and I’ll not have it …” protested Claire.

“That really isn’t necessary,” Robert said trying to intercede. “A nice soft sofa or couch will do for me. In the service we’re used to catching some sleep wherever we can these days, a cot, a chair, the soft cold ground.”

“I suppose we could make up a bed for you in the library,” Claire answered.

“That would be wonderful,” Robert replied and then followed as the group moved inside the house. He exchanged a furtive look with Elizabeth, one that told each other of their desire and longing to be together chased quickly by a smile at the ridiculousness of their situation.

Elizabeth’s mother and her godfather, Doctor Travis, met them at the door. Robert could readily see from where Elizabeth had earned her good looks as he smiled and shook hands politely with her mother. The good Doctor at first appeared stiffly formal but soon displayed a ready smile and a hearty handshake.

Once inside, it was nearly time for tea and the two families and their guests gathered in the parlor for the gentrified formality. Robert watched as the sacramental ceremony was carried out under the officious Mrs. Fitzmorgan, warming the pot, brewing the tea, making sure there were scones for everyone. Just as she began to pour, the doorway was graced by a young woman, tall and slender and blonde, with clear blue eyes and a disarming smile.

“Oh, Edith,” said Mrs. Fitzmorgan with a musical laugh. “So nice of you to take time out of your busy day to join us for tea.”

“Wouldn’t hear of the otherwise, Mother,” said Edith as she swept into the room directly up to Elizabeth who was seated in a plump upholstered chair. “Oh, dear Elizabeth! How are you doing?”

Robert saw the pained expression on Elizabeth’s face as Edith leant over to embrace her. There was something very insincere and cloying in the way George’s sister approached his widow that almost made Robert wince.

“And this is Pilot Office Wilson,” said Fitzmorgan stiffly gesturing toward Robert. “He’s a friend of George’s and come to pay the respects of the service.”

“Oh,” said Edith straightening and smoothing back her hair. “A gentleman from the service?”

“A Yank in the service,” tittered the elder Mrs. Fitzmorgan.

“Oh,” Edith said with a broadening smile. “And a handsome Yank at that.” She swept over to Robert and held out her hand. He took it gracefully and glanced at Elizabeth who sat coiled up in her chair, her eyes shooting daggers into Edith’s back. “So nice to meet you Officer Wilson. Do you have a name?”

“Robert. Robert Russell Wilson,” he replied kissing her hand in a very cool and formal way.

“Things are going so bad that we have to recruit Yanks to fight our war now?” Edith said as if trying to provoke him. Robert grinned softly.

“When the call went out for experienced pilots to help out, I gladly came,” Robert said. “I’d be a lesser man if I had remained safely at home.” He saw Elizabeth smile at his remark, her tongue flicking over her lips teasingly.

“And he’s been wounded as well,” said Claire. “So we’ve to accord him the respect a war hero is due.”

“I’d hardly call an ankle sprain a wound, ma’am,” Robert said modestly.

“But what about your arm wound, Robert?” Elizabeth said. All eyes shifted to her for a moment. “Remember you told me about it … a week ago … gash on the arm …”

“Oh yes … that!” Robert laughed, rubbing his arm where Elizabeth had bandaged him a few days before. “A mere flesh wound. Nothing serious.”

“So tell me,” said Fitzmorgan as he delivered Robert’s cup of tea. “Have you bitten into the German air fleet at all? We’ve been hit hard the last couple of days.”

“We have,” Robert said taking a sip of tea and thinking about how much he wished it were a good cup of real coffee. “I’ve taken a couple myself.”

“Oh really?” the elder Fitzmorgan remarked. “How many?”

“Eight, I believe as of my last mission,” Robert replied. He was aware of Edith hovering beside him, her eyes examining his face and beyond. A warm smile was creasing her face. “And counting since I’ve another few days to wait till I receive my new plane.”

“Then you are a hero, lad! Cheers and hurrah!” said the old Fitzmorgan. Robert could see a good bit of George in the old man, particularly looks wise though the old man seemed more formal and stuffy and old school.

“Then come and sit with me,” Edith said, drawing Robert to a small sofa. “And tell everyone of your exploits. We all want to learn how the war is truly going on.”

Robert sat awkwardly beside Miss Fitzmorgan, the cup rattling slightly in his hand. For the next half hour he regaled the group with his story; coming over from America, training with the RAF, his assignment at Exeter, the move to Tangmere, the long hours of waiting and flying, and of course the combat. He was aware of everyone’s attention being trained on him but he told his story to Elizabeth, orienting each detail for her, hoping that somehow piggy-backed on his words would be some of the feelings he had for her.

At first she seemed cool and unapproving, but as his story continued, she began to relax, leaning back in her chair and smiling at him. As he continued, she drew her hand down the lapel of her jacket, her fingers grazing the subtle curve of her breast, the breast he had so hungrily suckled earlier that afternoon. Then as her hand reached her lap, she uncrossed her legs and parted her knees, ever so slightly, just enough for Robert to remember the beauty that lay up between them, a beauty he yearned for, even now in the study of the Fitzmorgan family with friends and family all about.

“So, Officer Wilson,” said Edith, obviously hanging on his every word. “What is it like to be shot down like that? Is it all fear or excitement or just what?”

“I thought I had bought it, you know, bought the farm as we say back in the States,” Robert said, his eyes scanning the room but settling on Elizabeth. “I thought I had lost everything that I ever wanted in the world, everyone that had ever meant something to me. But the canopy opened, I hit the silk, and from the moment I landed on the ground I thought of her … er, of them … yes, all the people whom I love. And that kept me going until I reached safety.”

“And here you are,” Edith exclaimed, her hand coming to rest on Robert’s arm. “What a wonderful story!”

“Just doing my job, miss,” Robert replied.

“Not miss to you, Officer Wilson,” she answered, her fingers grasping around his arm, making him surely uncomfortable. “Please call me Edith.”

Thankfully, the elder Fitzmorgan interceded and suggested that the weary travelers all be allowed to freshen up before supper was called. “You are welcome to use my bath,” he said to Robert.

“Thank you, sir,” Robert replied. He looked about but Elizabeth was already being led up to her room.

He discovered that she was to stay in what had been George’s old room, upstairs next to that of the elder Fitzmorgans. The cool water on his face and a change of shirts helped refresh him for supper. It was a full and largely happy table. Of course, Edith maneuvered to sit beside him and Elizabeth was at the far end beside her mother. Robert felt truly embarrassed by the attention Edith foisted upon him. She was a pretty woman and seemed nice enough, and certainly interested in him, but his heart longed to be with Elizabeth, sweet fair Liz, who shot him little looks of longing between the tureens and candelabra. After dinner, the gentleman retired to the library for a toast of brandy—to the war heroes, past and present—and the offer of a vintage cigar.

“Don’t do this much any more,” Fitzmorgan said with a cough as he swung the windows open for ventilation. “But given the circumstances …”

“Did you know George well?” Doctor Travis asked.

“I didn’t know him long,” Robert said. “We don’t allow ourselves that in this war you know. You can’t have best friends. But I knew him as a competent leader, named Squadron Leader the day before … before … before we lost him. And, I knew him as a kind and jovial man who loved his life … and his wife.”

Thank you, son,” Fitzmorgan said, clapping Robert on the back and fighting away a tear.

“I’m sorry about George,” Robert said. “We all are. Men like him are hard to find and their loss goes beyond words.”

The elder Fitzmorgan smiled weakly and fought back his emotion with a huff. “You will speak at the service tomorrow will you not?”

“It would be my honor, Mr. Fitzmorgan,” Robert replied.

Perhaps it was Robert’s weary state of mind from all the travel and the exhaustion that was taking hold of him, but the rest of the evening flew past. There was conversation and some stately music on the gramophone and what appeared to be a ritual listening to the BBC news on the wireless. Apparently enemy bombing activity had been on a small scale during the day, with the only notable incidents being an unsuccessful attack on Speke, Liverpool, and some civil damage at Portsmouth and at Caterham in Surrey.

As the evening had wound along, it seemed that he was being pulled farther and farther from Elizabeth. It broke his heart, but he tried to understand, given the circumstances, what he could and could not do. As the gentlemen one by one left him alone in the library to make his bed with the covers and pillow he was given, Robert soon found himself alone in the marvelous mahogany paneled room, the shelves lined with classics of literature and history and drama. Stripped down to his skivvies, he went to the open window and looked out. There was a bit of overcast and the threat of squalling showers. He heard a sound at the door and turned.

“Oh, excuse me,” said Edith with a deliberate giggle, putting a hand to her mouth coyly. She was dressed in a light robe over what must have been an even lighter nightgown given the way the curves of her body were displayed.

Robert felt defenseless standing in just his shorts at the window, and the way her eyes grazed up and down made him feel more than naked.

“I didn’t know you were camping down in here,” she said, again with the titter of a giggle in her voice. “Honest I didn’t. Just came down to pull my favorite volume of Dickens.”

“Um, well, go ahead,” Robert said, moving to stand behind a tall chair.

“Oh, don’t bother yourself,” she said, gliding over to the shelf and taking down a heavy leather bound book. “I’ve seen men far more naked than you.”

As she opened the book and thumbed through a few pages, Robert took advantage of the diversion and darted to the couch where he sought out the comfort and safety of the blankets. She turned toward him and chuckled.

“You are a shy one,” she tittered, moving slowly toward the couch upon which he was ensconced. “I have heard that Yanks are bold and brassy, but you … you seem to have some sort of secret going on.” She was standing now beside him, looking down, her clear blue eyes moving up and down the length of the couch. She suddenly sat down beside him, her hip bumping up against his, making him move to accommodate her. “I don’t know what you are afraid of, Officer Wilson, for you have nothing to fear from me.”

“Uh, it’s not fear, Miss,” Robert said, clutching at the covers and trying to remove any trace of contact with her. “It’s just that … uh … um … it’s just …”

“Just what? A girlfriend? A wife? Some painted lady at the local bordello that you are absolutely smitten with?” Edith laughed. “I took you for far more than that.”

“It’s just that this doesn’t feel right to me,” Robert protested. “I’m just not comfortable around strangers and I scarcely know you.”

Edith smiled and leaned toward him, letting the volume of Dickens slip from her grasp. “Then why don’t we make ourselves more familiar?” she said, bringing her face close to his. She leaned closer and Robert could feel her breath splashing on his cheeks and chin. He could see the generous curves of her unencumbered breasts pressing against the light material of her nightclothes; he could smell the fresh scent of her perfume. “You’re a big war hero, a brave Yankee volunteer, fighting the good fight …”

“But … but … no …”

“And I’m just a helpless comely British lass, taken with the worldly ways of the handsome flyboy …”

“No, no, I … I can’t …”

Just as she leaned forward to bring the distance between them to nothing, the door swung open fully and Elizabeth stood framed by the doorway. Edith sat up stiffly in surprise. Robert could see Liz’s green eyes grow wide.

“Sorry didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said, about to turn away.

“No, there was nothing going on,” Robert blurted out, reaching down to grab the volume of Dickens from the covers. “Miss Fitzmorgan was … um, asking my opinion of Dickens and I … uh, was about to tell her that I hadn’t read it.”

Elizabeth glared at the two and nearly completed her turn when Edith rose from the couch. “Actually I was about to throw myself at the poor lad, but he wanted nothing of it. You don’t suppose that Yank pilots are, you know …” Edith waved her hand in an exaggerated foppish manner.

“Who’s to tell?” Elizabeth answered, still glaring at Robert as Edith moved over toward the door. “And if they are, what a shame!”

Robert slunk down into the covers as the two women met up. Although Edith attempted to link arms, Elizabeth stood apart and glanced over one last time at Robert before they left.

“Goodnight, Officer Wilson,” Edith laughed over her shoulder. “Sweet dreams!”

The door closed and Robert tried to hide in the covers. Damn! He hadn’t wanted any part of George’s sister and the look in Elizabeth’s eyes pained him. Surely she would know that nothing was going on, that he would never do anything of the sort. Or would she? He lay on the couch, tossing and turning for another hour, suddenly wide-awake and unable to shake the fears of doubt and distress ebbing and flowing in his brain. As the night wore on, sleep still wouldn’t come and he got up from the couch and went to the window. Even the fresh air wouldn’t calm his fears. He loved Elizabeth dearly; he wanted her greatly; he needed her desperately. Then an idea seized him.

He slipped on his shirt and moved toward the door, opening it and looking up and down the hall. The oak-lined hallway was silent and nearly dark. Robert moved along the hallway toward the stairs. Thank god for the solid craftsmanship, he thought as he moved noiselessly up the stairway. Once up on the second floor, the thick carpeting muffled his footfalls as he moved slowly down the hallway. All the lights were out and not a sound could be heard. Moving one foot at a time, Robert worked his way slowly down the hall until he reached George’s old room. He paused at the door and turned the handle gently. His heart was beating madly as he slipped through the door and closed it behind him.

Moving to through the darkness, the blackout curtains still drawn tightly, he could just make out the form on the bed. He could tell from the sound of breathing and the sweet, sweet scent in the air that Elizabeth was near. He moved toward her until he bumped against the bed and then carefully climbed on. Slipping stealthily between the covers he embraced her sleeping form, burying his face into her hair, putting his arm around her, and drawing her soft warm body up to him.

“I love you, Mrs. Fitz,” he whispered into her ear. He felt her stir as his hand moved up between her breasts, feeling her body shift slightly underneath the silk of her gown. She purred almost like a kitten as he nestled up to her. “I love you, Liz … I love you.”

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan.

Walking through the door of George’s parents’ home brought back a flood of memories. Elizabeth sniffed and found herself looking at Bobby. She felt the ridiculousness of the situation and for a second thought she should have come alone. Being with Bobby and not being able to hold his hand, to have the comfort of his arms at this time was going to be hard to bear.

Her mother hugged Elizabeth, her eyes questioning. Gwyneth Clancy was not a woman easily fooled. She had, had her own share of love and loss. Elizabeth knew that Doctor Travis was more than her Godfather, more than her father’s old friend, who had survived the last war, unlike Elizabeth’s father. Elizabeth felt a shudder run though her; was she just repeating her mother’s actions. No, there was no Mrs Robert Wilson, like there was a Mrs Travis, no bar to Elizabeth’s happiness. No tie that once a little time had past; would stop her and Robert, being together, openly for as long as the war would let them.

“You alright?” Gwyneth asked as Claire shooed them in for tea.

“Alright mother,” Elizabeth said as she sat down.

“Like the look of your escort,” Doctor Travis said softly in her ear as he leaned forward and squeezed her shoulder before sitting down close by Elizabeth

“You don’t know him,” Elizabeth heard herself say.

“No, but perhaps I might get to know him on a less sombre occasion.” Elizabeth looked round at her godfather, her eyes widening as he continued, his voice pitched low so only she could hear. “War makes us make choices, takes those we love from us and gives us others. The point is to have no regrets, no guilt, to try and balance what we have been given with what we think is our duty. Besides I have no children, you, child, are the nearest thing I have to a link to the next generation I just want the best for you.” Elizabeth felt her mouth flap then her godfather changed tack in his conversation. “You loved George very much, yes?”

“Yes…” She stammered as Edith made her grand entrance and a bee line for Robert. Elizabeth bit her lip and tried hard not to narrow her eyes as Edith laid out her honey trap. The woman had no shame; George always said his sister was a “lady” with a small “L”. There had been no love lost between the two of them. If he had been here, George would have pulled Edith off Bobby by some well timed caustic remark.

Elizabeth found her eyes filling at the thought of George, silly, no, she had loved him, still loved him in a way, but not like she loved Bobby.

She listened to the conversation adding her own remarks, marking each answer Bobby gave to the probing questions. Elizabeth could not help smile as his cup and saucer rattled in his hand as Edith sat next to him on a small sofa. Did her dear Robert sense a snake in the grass?

Robert told his story, his eyes seeking hers, Elizabeth felt herself relaxing, he was talking to her, not to the others, he had eyes only for her, and she had nothing to fear from Edith, from any other woman, not when he looked at her like that. She ran her hand down her body, wishing it was Bobby’s and his eyes told her that he wished it was too.

Mr Fitzmorgan broke the tableau declaring the travellers needed to freshen up. Elizabeth found herself in her late husband’s room, surrounded by mementos of his life. She made use of the bowl of warm water, Claire brought and changed out of her suit, hanging the garment up to air, it seemed to smell of Bobby, of their crazy passion in the baggage car. Elizabeth slipped a plain black silk dress and adjusted her pearls.

Coming out of her door she bumped into her mother, Gwyneth looked hard at her daughter’s face and said, “You and I need to talk…”

“Now mother?” Elizabeth asked her heart thudding as she remembered Claire’s remarks about her going home with her own mother.

“Before tomorrow, we need to settle something.” Gwyneth began

“Hello, sister dear,” Edith called and came after them, placing herself between mother and daughter. “You do look nice Elizabeth; I haven’t any black dresses, prefer a slash of colour.” Edith’s left hand smoothed the blue fabric down over her hips.

“Well you will just have to keep that coat of yours buttoned up to the chin tomorrow, don’t want to show up the family do we Edith?” Gwyneth softly said.

“I know how to behave…” Edith huffed and seeing Bobby’s shape appear out of her father’s bathroom, darted forward, leaving mother and daughter to follow on.

“Claire ought to cut that one’s claws, before she rips holes in the furniture.” Gwyneth tartly commented. Elizabeth burst out laughing and was rewarded by a glance back from Bobby as he turned down the stairs.

The rest of the evening was a kind of torture for Elizabeth, she found herself making calf eyes at Bobby across the table and wincing at Edith’s blatant flirting. Elizabeth also felt every expression that crossed her face was being noted by her God Father.

By the time Mr Fitzmorgan shepherded the men into the Library, Elizabeth was relieved. She had now just to survive coffee. She stood by the fireplace remembering how George used to make his excuses to his fellow men folk and appear at the window beckoning for her to make her own excuses and join him. She softly smiled and felt a tear run down her cheek.

The evening drew on and it was plain the men folk were not going to rejoin the ladies and Elizabeth found herself going upstairs with out saying good night to Bobby, she wanted just to see him again, perhaps hold his hand, perhaps a friendly kiss that would say so much to them but go unnoticed by others.

Elizabeth got ready for bed and crawled between the sheets sitting upright, her knees up, her arms wrapped round her legs. “I need to see him…” she said out loud and felt her nipples harden, she needed more than that, if she were honest with herself; needed to feel Bobby’s arms round her at the very least. George would understand.

She got out of bed and pulled on her robe and made her way downstairs. She opened the library door and froze. Her eyes narrowed and she felt so angry, so frightened so… as if she had lost everything. Of all the things that she had expected to met her eyes this was the very last thing.

Elizabeth felt herself begin to shake as she said, “sorry didn’t mean to interrupt,” and began to turn away.

No, there was nothing going on,” Robert blurted out, reaching down to grab the volume of Dickens from the covers. “Miss Fitzmorgan was … um, asking my opinion of Dickens and I … uh, was about to tell her that I hadn’t read it.”

Elizabeth glared, and then the look on Bobby’s face registered in her mind. It was a merging of horror, relief, passionate, please believe me, and get me out of this. That Elizabeth despite her anger, despite what she thought she had originally seen, felt her lips begin to twitch into a smile.

She had nearly completed her turn when Edith rose from the couch. “Actually I was about to throw myself at the poor lad, but he wanted nothing of it. You don’t suppose that Yank pilots are, you know …” Edith waved her hand in an exaggerated foppish manner.

Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up at this, Edith had been shunned, and it was Edith’s standard answer. If a man wasn’t interested in her, then he was a puff. Edith could not entertain the thought that any man would not be interested in her.

“Who’s to tell?” Elizabeth answered, looking hard at Robert, there was no way she could stay now, not with Edith seething like a scolded cat, so she added “And if they are, what a shame!”

Robert slunk down into the covers as Edith came to Elizabeth’s side and attempted to link arms, Elizabeth ignored her and glanced one last time at Bobby as she and Edith left.

“Goodnight, Officer Wilson,” Edith laughed over her shoulder. “Sweet dreams!”

Once back in George’s room Elizabeth decided she best try and sleep and soon drifted off, her thoughts on Bobby’s face, she was still angry, not at him, at Edith. In fact Elizabeth fell asleep thinking of scratching Edith’s eyes out.

Elizabeth came awake to the warmth of another body holding hers, the touch of a hand between her breasts and the words. “I love you, Mrs. Fitz, I love you, Liz … I love you.”

“Hmmm, that is very nice to know...” Elizabeth answered and snuggled closer, running her hand up under Bobby’s shirt and tracing up his spine. “Now let’s see if Edith has left any claw marks?”

“Elizabeth, nothing happened it was as much a shock to me as to you.” Robert’s voice became stern, half pleading, half angry that she could think such a thing.

“Yes, Edith is a shock to the system.” Elizabeth said and kissed him probing against his lips. Bobby returned the kiss, breaking away just long enough to say, “Elizabeth Fitzmorgan,”

To which Elizabeth replied “Yes, Robert Wilson?” His answer was to cup her breasts and began to tease her nipples through her silk nightdress. Elizabeth moaned, pushing away thoughts that really she should ask him to leave and ran her fingers down his stomach and reached into Bobby’s shorts and curled them round his manhood.

What ever else Elizabeth was going to do, didn’t get done, for a sharp rap on her door broke them apart.

“What? Who?” Robert whispered harshly. Elizabeth shook her head and placed a finger on Bobby’s lips.

The knock came again, followed by the voice of Elizabeth’s mother. “Elizabeth, we have to talk, please.”

“Can’t it wait?” Elizabeth answered biting her lip.

“No it can’t, now child…please can I come in?”

“Under the bed,” Elizabeth hissed and pushed Bobby hard.

“What?” He hissed in reply.

“Get under the bloody bed now.” Elizabeth swore.

“Now Mrs Fitz, no need to swear,” Bobby teased and pinched her right nipple.

“There will be more than swearing if my mother catches you…”

“Agreed, under the bed it is.” Bobby slipped out of the covers and slid under the brass bed.

“Elizabeth?” Her mother called again.

“Coming mother, “Elizabeth called and pulled down the covers over the side of the bed that faced the door, hopefully hiding Robert from view.

Elizabeth went to the door and opened it. Gwyneth entered the room and sat on the bed, the open door spilling light across the wooden floor. “Come sit here with me,” Gwyneth said patting the bed beside her. Elizabeth sat, hearing the springs go “pong” underneath her. “Claire needs to get them seen too,” Gwyneth commented than took a deep breath. “There is something I have to tell you.”

“Yes, mother… but I don’t want to come back home, I am a nurse, agreed just a volunteer, doing basic work but it is important… I mean… “Elizabeth blurted out.

Gwyneth started, frowned and said “Never expected you to, I mean I would love it if you did, the Manor is hard to run by myself but…. Well you are a grown woman… No, what I wanted to tell you is that, well two weeks ago Joanna Travis, died and well, Martin, Doctor Travis and I are, well…”

“You are going to get married?” Elizabeth was stunned. She just sat there.

“You don’t approve, I knew it... I know it is so soon, but we… I mean…” Gwyneth began to blather.

“No… no… “Elizabeth hugged her mother. “Not too soon, in fact I often wondered why, I mean he could have divorced her.”

“We went through all that years ago, she wouldn’t grant him one; divorces are not easy to come by.” Gwyneth said as she returned her daughter’s embrace.

“When will it be?” Elizabeth asked as she heard a scraping under the bed and a pair of fingers grab her heel and rub her ankle.

“Not till the spring. I am sorry to put it on you like this, but I wanted to tell you before tomorrow, tomorrow is going to be hard enough without your silly mother adding to it.”

“Oh pooh.” Elizabeth said and hugged her mother again, kicking at the hand under the bed, which was now reaching up her leg.

“I best let you get back to sleep…” Gwyneth said and rose, leaving her daughter, now pinned by both ankles.

“Good night mother,” Elizabeth said as she tried not to laugh, as the hands were reaching further up her legs.

“Good night, “Gwyneth answered and shut the door behind her.