The Bluebirds

“Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few”— Winston Spencer Churchill, 20th August 1940

Pirouetting in a fog of smoke and flames, the Hurricane spun toward the channel waters, embracing its brothers and sisters in a watery grave.

When it burst into an ambience of fiery death akin to the fairytale descriptions of a Phoenix, she prayed briefly that it would be born again from its ashes.

No sooner did the corner of her eye capture the lick of a flame than her heart ceased beating, and time came to her in the cruellest of realities.

The propellers no longer an indistinct blur, she watched each one turn and could hear their frantic beating against the sky.

Not now. Not yet.There would be time to mourn after Lina shook the Bf 109 from her tail.

Dangerously close to the waters they were fighting to keep, she pulled the Spitfire into a rapid ascent, climbing the face of the cliffs.

Pulled back in her seat by the manoeuvre, her heart finally tripped. Escaping the paralysis of its loss, it surged with a renewed rhythm.

Unless Lina wanted to join her father in his death, she had to keep focused — remain focused on intercepting, and most importantly, get back to land in one piece.

The thud of an active gunner threw Lina into a sharp turn. Tipped onto her side, Lina followed the glide, righting herself once certain she was out of the bullets’ direct path.

Thumb flirting with the trigger, Lina wasted little time checking her six — not when the ugly shadow of a Bf appeared from a waft of cloud and smoke.

Teeth clenched, Lina unloaded on the plane, pursuing it when it rolled to escape. Whether it was the renewed hatred she held for them, or that Lina was finally understanding what she was seated in the cockpit for, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she could not let this one escape.

Not this one.

Pursuing doggedly was more often costly than fruitful, yet she stayed on it, following its rolls, tumbles, and glides while keeping her shots short and controlled.

It was just a spark. Metal penetrating metal. But it was enough.

The Bf 109 coughed and guttered, spitting flame and smoke from its engine. More controlled than the descent of Lina’s father, the plane held a straight line for a few feet before arcing, diving as though it were a swan.

Throwing the Spitfire into a turn, Lina watched the skies — once blue, now turned black and grey — flashing with the bullets of planes dogfighting for a victory that was never without some defeat.

There were fewer of them still up in the sky than when they had been scrambled for takeoff, but none felt more significant than her father’s downed plane.

No longer shaking off the heat of the German bomber, Lina took no sense of pride or retribution in shooting down the hunk of flying metal that had left her without a father.

Cry for no fallen man who has fulfilled his duty.As he often said.Remember him for his triumphs, not as another name on the list of the dead.

It was always spoken sombrely over a dash of whisky and a cigarette, but it had stuck with Lina.

Taking a breath to calm her rattled nerves, Lina returned her attention to the battlefield, no longer distracted by her thoughts.

This was a war, and it would show no mercy to anyone caught unaware.

Reading the panels, Lina kept watch on her fuel gauge with one eye whilst lining up a shot with the other.

The Germans favoured sitting on the tails of the British fliers, proving their cunning in their tactics. Hiding in the clouds and smoke before appearing on the heel of the Spitfires, Lina took a leaf from their book but kept low.

Lurking in the mist, Lina followed the silhouettes that glided across the rippling channel waters, waiting for another Bf to come within her clutches. She glanced up when the crackle of her radio broke with a voice.

“I have a Jerry right on my rear—” the transmission broke up with gunfire “—and one above.”

“Are you asking for help, or telling us that lady luck kissed your arse this morning?” Another came through the radio, a jovial laugh masking his rattled disposition.

Head tipped back, Lina viewed the area through the canopy of the cockpit, scanning for the pilot who was seeking assistance in a somewhat roundabout manner.

“Well, I’m not asking for the cricket results, am I?!” Barking back over the bullets that whizzed and whipped too close for comfort, it was followed by a round of rather unsavoury language.

Ears filled with joking and laughter, Lina felt blessed for the nature of the men she took to the skies with.

Nothing shook them. They knew their chances, they gambled with their odds, and they did it with a smile and a joke. It was their manner of tackling these trying times that made it easier to face whatever flew at them.

Each flight could be their last, but they went without question.

Pulling up from the water, Lina gritted her teeth — cutting up a Bf that was in hot pursuit of one of theirs was a risky manoeuvre. Timed poorly, it would cause a collision. But the pilot was sharp, rolling off to the right when the nose of her Spitfire appeared through the mist.

“That one is sharp—” gunfire broke the transmission again “—watch yourself!”

Warning Lina of the pilot who had vanished from sight after her intervention, she looked around rapidly.

There was nothing. No shadows, no reflection.

Almost as though the plane had disappeared, or retreated.

Knowing better than to believe he was gone, Lina kept vigil on her surroundings. The white cliffs were coming back into view.

Dover and her infamous cliff face always reminded Lina why she was in the cockpit.

Tearing her eyes from the landmark, Lina’s breath caught when the Bf came back into view. In a sharp glide, as though readying a descent, it came close — too close — forcing Lina to roll to avoid a collision.

With a rapid sideways arc, Lina was forced upwards to prevent a nosedive into the water, and once the sea was no longer beneath the propellers, it became clear that she had played right into the German pilot’s hands.

Being forced up had allowed him to manoeuvre behind her.

Having been fortunate enough to shake one off once, Lina could only hope that her ability and luck would favour her a second time.

Once more glancing over the infamous cliffs, Lina pushed the Spitfire towards them, her daring as bold as her cunning.

Holding a straight line, Lina was forced to roll side to side to evade the hail of bullets — once or twice the ring of one skimming the wings struck her ears — but she kept focused on those damned white faces.

The German pilot was sharp and hot in pursuit, and Lina wondered whether he would fall back in time, or be too consumed with taking her down to notice how close they both were getting to kissing the cliff face.

Pulling on the controls, Lina’s timing was paramount.

In an abrupt upward glide, Lina flew the surface of the cliffs, hoping to hear the calamitous boom of the Bf crashing into them.

There was nothing — only the throb of the Spitfire’s dying engine.

Checking the fuel gauge, Lina corrected her path once clearing the clifftop, the rolling green fields shining like an emerald in the sun.

Unable to return to the battlefield, Lina was between a rock and a hard place. She would have to land by force to avoid crashing into the channel.

Still, the German pilot showed no sign of coming off Lina’s tail — not even with the anti-aircraft gunners manned and prepared to fire once Lina cleared over them.

With no choice but to leave it in the hands of the ground guard, Lina waved at the soldiers when she came in low, turning the green pastures into a makeshift runway, and threw her attention to landing the Spitfire in one piece.

Wheels down, they thumped and thudded on the grass, skidding as they sought traction to grip and bring the plane to a halt. Lina held firm as she was close to being thrown from the cockpit seat.

Bumpier and rougher than any landing Lina had ever attempted, her jaw ached from how tightly it was gritted.

Intermittent firing from behind reassured Lina that the German fighter pilot was being dealt with, though she knew it was wise to remain alert. If they were still shooting, it meant he had yet to be brought down.

Finally, the Spitfire began to slow, the stretch of greenery dangerously close to running out. Lina could see the beginnings of civilian buildings ahead.

Crashing through someone’s living room was not how Lina intended to end her days, so she steered left, towards where an Army provision truck was parked.

Standing beside it with hands cupped over his eyes, watching the sky, was a single soldier — oblivious to the rapid approach of Lina and the slowing propellers.

Tugging away the leather that covered her mouth, Lina threw open the cockpit lid. Finger and thumb between her lips, she whistled — loudly.

With a start, the soldier lowered his hands, staring around the seemingly empty patch of land before startling at the sight of Lina.

In an odd jig, as though he were about to start a dance, he soon dashed out of the way, moving wide of the encroaching plane.

No longer in fear of cutting the man down with the blades only just beginning to slow, Lina didn’t dare breathe.

There was not much manoeuvring space, and the truck was not going to move without the dancing soldier driving it.

Contemplating climbing out across the wings, Lina began to unhook her belts. One hand on the back of the seat, she stood, a foot on the lip of the cockpit — then stopped. The familiar whistle of air forced her to throw herself flat on the wing.

Far too close for comfort, the Bf 109 whooshed over Lina’s head, alight and spewing black smoke like an old train engine.

Clinging to the edge of the Spitfire’s wing, Lina turned her head in time to catch its final descent behind a wall of trees.

Stunned that it was finally downed, Lina nearly forgot why she was sprawled on the wing.

Only the shout of the jig-legged soldier reminded her that she needed to move — and quickly.

Standing, Lina slipped once before finding her grip, running down the slight slope of the wing and jumping clear just before the sickening crunch of metal overtook the blood thundering in both ears.

Running across the path she had cut, Lina could smell the petrol and hear the start of a fire roaring. Still, her boots pounded the grass and mud, her body lowering when an old chipped wall came into sight. Lina was barely rolling over it when the ground shuddered violently and the air erupted like a volcano of metal and burning petrol.

Crashing down into a flower bed, Lina covered her head with both arms as the explosion rained down, peppering the garden with hot shards. Her chest clamoured when one speared the ground inches from her face.

Eyes wide, Lina could only stare as the colour of the Spitfire was eaten by black soot, a small flame licking at its sharp edge.

“Well,” a tired voice spoke over the fury of the explosion, “I suppose I won’t need to water the flowers any more.”

Untucking her head, Lina peered across the small garden to where a pair of Wellington boots stood, the bottom of a watering can swinging in the person’s hand. She looked up.

Wispy strands of hair poked out around the elderly man’s head, its crown shining under the afternoon sun. A friendly smile sat on his thin lips. He dropped the watering can, worn gardening gloves stuffed into the pocket of his trousers.

Carefully picking herself up, Lina glanced over the flowers she had crushed — stems snapped, petals half-buried in soil — and scrambled out of the small flower patch.

“So sorry,” she said, stuttering whilst wiping soil from her hands, offering a small smile. “I would have aimed for the nettles if I had known.”

Trying to laugh off the matter of having destroyed the old man’s garden, Lina glanced over the small wall to where an effort was underway to put out the burning plane and truck. It was short-lived — her eyes soon wandered to the plumes of smoke above the trees.

“Our boys took Jerry. Clever ploy, that,” the old man spoke up, pride at the forefront of his croaking voice. “Bringing him inland.”

Acknowledging his remark that she had drawn the German pilot inland, Lina rubbed the back of her neck. That part had not been intentional at all.

“Well,” her hand slapped down on her thigh as she glanced up at the elderly man. “I don’t know whether it was my smarts or his lack of them, but it worked out.”

The man smiled with a slow nod, his knobbly fingers running under the braces over his frail chest.

“Never admit a fault in a plan that worked in your favour, girl.” With a small wink, he nodded to the men putting out the fire. “To them, you will be a pain for making them work. To us, you will be a brave woman, victorious in battle.”

The man stood straight, pride pulling his small shoulders back. His arm came up in a salute. “May I see another day, thanks to you.”

Quickly, Lina too pulled herself upright, returning the salute with far more gusto than intended. “A pleasure, sir.”

Slowly dropping her hand back to her side, Lina felt the final adrenaline rush begin to die.

The battle was over. But her father was gone.

It was the sting of a fresh tear that made Lina look up. Covering her need to cry by watching the boys come back in overhead, she caught one or two of them waving.

Returning a small nod, Lina counted them.

There were ten. They had flown out as sixteen.

Setting aside Lina’s downed plane, they had lost five men. Overall it was a small loss by the standards of war, but knowing there would be five fewer at the table for supper made Lina’s stomach sink.

Who would not be there when they regaled their tales of heroics and close shaves with death?

“Oi! You! Yes, you — you raving loony!” A man called out at a rather brisk walk, approaching the garden wall. “What the bloody hell were you thinking?!”

Face red and a vein rippling at his temple, the man wore the uniform of the Home Guard, one hand waving at the mess Lina had left.

“Are you totally out of your mind?!” He barked again, spittle flying from his moustached lip. “You could have killed civilians!”

“I could have,” Lina said, with a polite nod to the old man as she hopped over the wall. “But I didn’t.”

The man retreated a step, his eyes fixed and beady. “You destroyed army property!” He stated, a single finger practically up Lina’s nose as he wagged it at her.

Far too tired to stand and argue, Lina sighed. “I also shot down a few of our German cousins — are you going to shout at me for that?” Sliding off the radio still fixed over her ears, her flying cap came away with it, allowing her to shake out her hair.

The man’s mouth pinched side to side as he searched for something else to shout about, but it appeared he had nothing, and so he turned sharply on his heel and stomped away.

His hand waved wildly in the air. “You damn fly boys think you’re untouchable — you wait—” he turned again, wagging a finger at Lina “—I will have you beasted for this!”

Slapping the radio into one hand, Lina planted a fist on her hip. “You ungrateful little worm.”

Choosing to mutter under her breath rather than engage the man in a war of words, Lina watched him walk away, full of piss and vinegar.

At a loss over the two very different reactions to her crash landing, Lina thought better of asking the man for a lift back to base. Possibly there would be another army truck in the town, or even a bus, that would spare her from having to hike over an hour back to the airfield.

Searching the breast pocket of her uniform, Lina extracted her cigarette pack.

Squashed but not entirely beyond smoking, Lina gripped one between her teeth and struck a match, watching as the fire showed signs of coming back under control before she sat down.

Legs crossed, Lina stared out over the cliff edge to the waters. Somewhere out there was her father, sunk to the bottom of the channel.

Head down, Lina sniffed back her emotions, holding them behind her gritted teeth.

Letting the short blades of grass slide through her fingers, she chose to refocus her mind.

Had anyone gone to check the crashed Bf 109?

Was there a prisoner to capture?

A man to bury?

Craning her neck, Lina couldn’t tell through the collection of trees whether anyone was over there investigating.

Shoving the cigarette back between her lips, Lina pressed on her knees to stand and pushed both hands into the pockets of her flying trousers. She walked wide of the gathered men putting out the fire — the red-faced man was still shouting orders at them.

Keeping a low profile as she sloped past, Lina turned her attention to the wafts of smoke still curling into the sky.

They were thick and black. If Jerry had managed to break free, he would be stuck hiding out with little hope of making it back across the water to occupied France.

A desperate man was dangerous, and Lina had no idea whether he was armed.

For certain, she wasn’t.

Stopping dead in her tracks, Lina scoped the area for any free soldiers who could either arm her or accompany her.

On a garden wall nearby, a man was leaning with ankles and arms crossed, puffing on the cigarette that hung from the corner of his mouth, minding his own business.

Raising two fingers, Lina whistled over to him, waiting as he finished looking around before finding her.

He pointed to himself to confirm it was him she was calling. A quick nod confirmed it was.

With the air of a man who had not wished to be disturbed, he pushed off the wall and picked an army-issue rifle out of the grass. Lina reckoned she had struck some luck in finding him.

Slow and almost meandering in his approach, it was only when the man drew closer that Lina realised his height was no illusion of distance. The man was a damned giant.

He stopped suddenly, head snapping back as though something had caught him off guard — the cigarette fell from his mouth.

Curving a brow, Lina gave herself a once-over. Was she covered in mud?

“A female pilot?” The man spoke once he had gathered himself and started walking again.

Eyes drifting left to right, Lina raised one shoulder. “Last I checked, yes.” So it was her gender that had surprised him.

Scratching at his beard, the man nodded slowly, looking almost impressed. “Can’t say I’ve seen any — not any who weren’t just auxiliary, anyway.” Shouldering the rifle, he rested a hand on his hip. There was a lazy, easy-going manner about him.

“Well, count yourself lucky — you just have.” With a smile, Lina examined the man.

Handsome, and obviously possessed of some roguishness — he kept a less than clean-shaven face, something that was very much insisted upon — the man wore a crooked smile. It felt as though his mouth held secrets, the way he was watching Lina.

“Well, I’m impressed, lass. You’ve more balls than most, luring that German inland.” He stroked his beard as he spoke. “You’ve got the Home Guard having kittens over there.” He thumbed towards them and cocked his head, waiting.

Arms spread wide, Lina sighed. “Why, thank you — at least someone appreciates my chaotic genius.”

Briefly taken aback by the heavy sarcasm, the man quickly recovered with a loud laugh.

“Aye, don’t take it to heart — I’m not mocking you,” he countered, both hands resting on his waist. “Anyway, I don’t suppose you called me over for nothing?”

Finding it difficult to accept the man’s words as a compliment, Lina cared little for his apology — it was half-hearted at best. “I obviously wanted to admire you a little closer.” Her sharp tongue got the better of her, and a grin tore up one side of her mouth when his cockiness vanished.

Soon smiling, the man rubbed a finger beneath his nose, possibly a show of bashfulness, and steered his eyes from Lina’s head downward — lingering around her chest before settling on her boots.

“Well, I wouldn’t even need a drink to consider it,” he replied, the hand coming away from his face revealing a smile that was anything but bashful.

Lina’s face came close to being hotter than the fire blazing a few feet away. She choked on her own breath.

Damn the man — he had caught Lina off guard with his unsubtle flirting.

Coughing to clear her throat, Lina avoided eye contact. The man picked up on this rapidly and began to laugh quietly to himself, his head snapping straight ahead.

“I wanted to check on the downed plane,” she said, hiding her embarrassment behind the reason she had called him over. Lina nodded towards the trees. “But I didn’t want to go unarmed.”

Turning to look at the trees himself, the man slid the rifle off his shoulder, settling it in — what Lina noticed with some oddness — were rather large hands. It made her glance down at his boots; they too were of considerable size.

“It’s true what they say, you know?”

His voice made Lina look up. “About what?”

A slow smile spread across the man’s mouth. “About big feet…”

Her skin close to becoming an inferno, Lina turned sharply away as the man once more dissolved into laughter, one arm reaching out to give her a gentle nudge.

“C’mon — the longer we stand here shamelessly flirting, the more chance Jerry has of finding somewhere to hide.”

Fingers pressed to the centre of her forehead, Lina held out the other hand. “I was not flirting.” She rebuked him sharply, barely looking up as she started walking.

The man snorted. “I think you were — or at least attempting it, lass.” He countered calmly. “Though I suppose you’re more accustomed to gentlemen than the working-class type.”

There was some truth in that. Lina was the daughter of a wing commander, and the men in her squadron had always held a tendency to be a little more formal.

Thinking again of her father, Lina felt her eyes pull to the left — once more searching what had become his watery grave out in the sea.

“I am more than accustomed to working-class men,” she said. Lina may have been caught off guard by his returning her playfulness rather more directly than most, but she was far from naïve.

He turned slightly, moving almost crab-like — drifting easily in a side stride. “Here I thought you were a pure little daisy, lass.” He tutted gently and shook his head.

Not quite so ruffled this time, Lina held a small smirk on her lips. “You sound disappointed.”

With a slight nod, his shoulders sagged as though he were genuinely disappointed by the prospect that Lina was not entirely innocent in virtue.

“I am, a little. I would have taken great care in enlightening you,” he answered with a slight smile.

It came so sincerely, and though Lina barely knew the man, she was fairly certain that had it come from anyone else, she would have been offended by the lewdness of it. He carried himself with confidence and a certain arrogance, but it was not unpleasant — unlike that of some other men.

Watching the tree line draw closer, Lina pushed up the single band on her left hand and waggled her fingers in the air.

“I’m afraid such a chance will be forever unobtainable.” The ring was her mother’s, but it served as a suitable deterrent. Lina knew it ought to have dashed his jesting hopes, though it appeared to do quite the opposite.

“I never turn down a challenge,” he replied, hazel eyes catching in a strobe of sunlight that ignited them, sending their colours through a spectrum of golds and browns.

Stunned by his admission — and the intoxicating hue of his eyes — Lina swallowed her boldness.

It had never been her intention to shamelessly flirt with the man, nor to give any impression that she could be enticed. She had simply wanted company going to check that they hadn’t an enemy soldier running loose.

“Eyes on the prize, Mr—” She saw her mistake in the choice of words too late.

With a slight laugh, the man briefly bit down on his lip. “Oh, they already are, Mrs.” Turning around, he carried on forward, a quiet tune whistling from his lips.

It was shameful — but when he called herMrs, her heart gave a small flutter, almost as though it would not have minded the idea of being married to this Goliath of a man.

Silently scolding herself, Lina shook off the thought.

Closing in on the burning plane, Lina could smell it — burning petrol and melting metal, the air growing warmer, sight hazier through the thick smoke.

Covering her mouth, she followed the man to the small clearing.

Cautious of being crept upon, Lina turned to watch their backs while the man made a wide arc around the plane gripped in an inferno.

As he did, Lina looked upward, checking that the pilot had not ejected and been caught in the trees. There seemed to be no sign of it — no discarded parachute — though there had been plenty of time to hide one.

A sharp whistle made Lina turn to where the man was fixed on a single spot of the plane — the cockpit.

Head shaking, the rifle pointed to something just beyond Lina’s line of sight.

“He’s roasted.” The man confirmed it solemnly, a slight pinch at the corners of his mouth.

Relieved, but equally saddened, Lina didn’t speak. Instead she listened to the crackle of the flames, a part of her hoping the man’s end had not come from them.

Enemy or not, no man deserved to burn alive.

After a few minutes, the man took a step back and walked over to Lina, the rifle once more on his shoulder. He slid one hand into his pocket, the other extended towards her.

“Elijah Jones.” Introducing himself, Lina took his hand and shook it firmly — much to his apparent surprise. “Lina.”

Their hands lingered a moment before releasing and falling back to their sides.

“No last name?” Elijah asked, some curiosity in his tone as to why she kept it quiet.

Her tongue poking between her teeth, it swept slowly over her bottom lip. “Perhaps the next time we meet, I’ll tell you.” Mentally berating herself for the light flirtation, Lina looked off to the side — though she brought her gaze quickly back when Elijah answered.

“I was hoping there would be a second meeting.” Hand stroking his beard again, Elijah gazed skyward. “Tonight, perhaps? There’s a small pub just up the way — no harm in a drink between friends, is there?”

“We are not friends.” Resting her weight on one leg, Lina felt her hip sway out — her body posturing more appealingly, as though responding to his subtle suggestion entirely of its own will.

Elijah took notice, eyes narrowing mischievously as they examined her. “Well, I won’t lie — I’m hoping for more than friendship from this chance encounter.”

Lina felt the heat again. Not on her face this time, but somewhere far lower on her body.

Thinking herself mad — possibly far more shaken by what had happened up in the sky than she had first thought — Lina straightened her posture, standing almost rigid.

“I’m afraid you won’t even find friendship.” Lina dismissed him, turning on her heel. “But thank you for accompanying me — it was a pleasure meeting you.” Keeping things short and to the point, she made a rapid retreat.

Half expecting him to make another remark, Lina was both pleased and disappointed when he didn’t.

Arguing with herself once more, Lina dragged the heel of her hand across her brow. What on earth had possessed her to act so oddly remained a mystery. She set the thought aside in favour of the more pressing matter of finding a way back to the airbase.

Breaking out of the trees, Lina’s head snapped up when a loud, irritating horn cut through her thoughts.

Catching sight of a Tilly crossing the stretch of grass, she wasn’t sure whether it was luck or not when it swerved to a stop a few paces from where she stood.

Leaning across the seats, the passenger door swung open. The man behind the wheel rested on one elbow, saying nothing when he met Lina’s eyes.

Part of Lina was held in shock at who was driving; the other in an odd mixture of elation and dread.

They didn’t need to exchange a word — he knew already. He must have, to have driven out from the airbase to find her here.

Weak-kneed, Lina was kept from crumbling only by reminding herself that her father had told her not to weep for those who died fulfilling their duty.

It was hard. But Lina stiffened her jaw to keep the wobble at bay.

Taking a deep breath, she approached the Tilly. Slipping into the soft leather seat, she sat rigid for a moment.

“When did you get back?” Turning to the man in the driver’s seat, Lina scoped every inch of him, checking for any sign of why he had returned from duty so soon.

Deployed three months prior, she had not been expecting Vilem home from his tour for another six months at minimum.

Vilem’s hand closed tightly over Lina’s, squeezing it as though he needed reassurance that she was real — not some spectre or figment of his imagination.

Staring straight ahead, Vilem’s dark eyes looked darker still, blacked by something he struggled to speak of.

“Vilem?” Sitting forward, Lina studied his face, watched his jaw quiver fiercely. “What happened?” Reaching for his face, Lina froze when he flinched from her touch.

Seconds later, Vilem blinked, shaking his head. “Nothing.” Taking his hand from Lina’s, it gripped the steering wheel hard, knuckles turning white in his effort to conceal the trembling in his body.

Perplexed by Vilem’s demeanour, Lina sat beside him in silence. Wondering whether it was wise to try to touch him again, she had the sense that he might flee the car if she did.

Having never seen Vilem so shaken before, Lina was at a loss for how to proceed — and then he leant over suddenly, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“I’m sorry—” The pistol pressed sharply to his temple. Lina reached for it. “—Forgive me.”

Her ears rang with the echo of the shot. Lina’s surroundings wobbled. The heat of Vilem’s blood and matter spattered across her face, stinging her eyes.

Arms suspended mid-air, Lina refused to look up at Vilem’s face. Instead she stared, transfixed, at the pistol held loose in his bloodied fingers, resting in his lap.

Then it came — the scream tearing like hot blades from her chest, becoming a desperate wail as she took Vilem’s face in her hands, sweeping away the blood and flesh as though it might bring him back.

A rush of cold air against the bloody mess coating her skin was the only indication that she was no longer inside the Tilly, but lying like a helpless lamb on the grass.

Crumpled on the ground, Lina could only watch as the men who had previously been tackling the blaze of her Spitfire dragged Vilem from the car.

His body was lowered with care. Some of the men turned away; others held their heads low, muttering their words of Vilem’s cowardice in ending his own life.

Water dumped over Lina’s head created a vacuum in her chest, stealing her breath in the cold shock of it and sobering her.

Swaying on the grass, Lina stilled when a firm grip took hold of her shoulder, steadying her body and preventing her from collapsing further.

What had caused Vilem to end his life?

Why had he come all this way to find Lina, only to take himself from her?

Gripped by a chill unrelated to the drenched clothes clinging uncomfortably to her skin, Lina took a tight hold of the wrist of the arm steadying her shoulder.

War was ugly, and spared no one’s feelings — a fact made painfully true that afternoon over the white cliffs of Dover, when Lina lost a father, and then a brother.