Filed To Story: The Things We Leave Unfinished Novel Free
Constance looked at her sister with well-deserved skepticism. “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s get dressed and run over to the officers’ mess.”
“You don’t trust me!” Scarlett scoffed.
“I trust you implicitly. It’s your cooking I doubt.” Constance shrugged, but her teasing smile was genuine, which was more than enough for Scarlett.
Dressed and fed, the girls made it to watch in plenty of time. They left their coats in the cloak room, then headed for the filter room. As busy as their boards were in their small sector, it was hard to imagine what the ones at Group Headquarters looked like.
“Ah, Wright and Stanton, always the pair,” Section Leader Robbins noted with a smile at the door. “Anything you ladies need before watch begins?”
“No, ma’am,” Scarlett replied. Out of all her section leaders, Robbins was turning out to be her favorite.
“No, ma’am,” Constance echoed. “Just show me to my section of the board.”
“Excellent. And when you both have a moment, I’d like to talk to you about your responsibilities.” The woman smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Are we lacking?” Scarlett asked slowly.
“No, quite the opposite. I’d like you both to train as tellers. More pressure, but I would be willing to wager that you’d both make Section Officer by the end of the year.” She glanced between the sisters, measuring their reactions.
“That would be wonderful!” Scarlett answered. “Thank you so much for the opportunity; we would-“
“I need to think on it,” Constance interjected, her voice dropping.
Scarlett blinked back her surprise.
“Naturally,” Robbins said with a kind smile. “I hope you have an…uneventful night.”
The sisters made their farewell, and before Scarlett could question Constance about her answer, her sister opened the door and disappeared into the always-silent filter room.
Scarlett followed her in, then put on her headset and relieved the WAAF at her corner of the board, taking a quick sweep over her section to familiarize herself with tonight’s activities. There was a bomber raid coming across her quadrant, nearly to Constance’s.
Would the raids ever end? Tens of thousands had been killed in London alone.
The radio operator’s voice came through her headset, and she fell into the routine of work, letting the other worries wait until later.
Every so often she’d glance at Constance. On the outside, her sister appeared normal-her hands were steady and her moves efficient. This was where Constance thrived lately, where emotion couldn’t reach her. Knowing the emptiness that swirled inside sent another wave of nausea rolling through her.
It wasn’t fair that she’d been able to keep her love, when Constance hadn’t.
Minutes ticked by as she moved the aircraft across the board, and then her stomach pitched for an altogether different reason.
The 71st was on the move, not toward the bombing raids but the sea. Jameson.
She moved the squadron across her quadrant in five-minute increments, noting the number of planes and the general direction, but soon they were no longer hers to keep watch over, and others took their place.
The hours flew, but she was too worried to eat during her break, too anxious to see the 71st return to do much else but hover over that board, because she knew he was flying tonight. When her fifteen minutes were up, she headed back into the filter room and took over her station once more.
She noted with no small sense of satisfaction that the number of bombers on their way out was smaller than coming in. They’d had a few victories tonight.
The radio operator’s next plot came through her headpiece, and she reached for a new marker with a slight smile. The 71st was back in her quadrant.
She placed the marker at the appropriate coordinate, then froze as the radio operator updated the number of aircraft.
Fifteen.
Scarlett stared at the marker for precious seconds as her heart lurched into her throat. She’s wrong. She has to be wrong. Scarlett hit the microphone switch on her headset.
“Could you give me the strength of the 71st again?” she said.
Every head in the room snapped her direction.
Plotters didn’t talk. Ever.
“Fifteen strong,” the operator repeated. “They lost one.”
They lost one. They lost one. They lost one.
Scarlett’s fingers trembled as she replaced the little flag on the marker to one that read fifteen. It wasn’t Jameson. It couldn’t be. She would know, wouldn’t she? If the man she loved with all her heart had gone down-had died-she’d feel it. She’d have to. There was simply no way her heart could continue beating without his. It was an anatomical impossibility.
But Constance hadn’t known…
The next plot came through her headset, and she moved the appropriate markers, changing out the arrows to the timed color groups.
Jameson. Jameson. Jameson. Her limbs moved by muscle memory as her mind swam and her belly churned, dinner curdling as the 71st got closer to Martlesham-Heath. Even after they were hangered and officially off the board, Scarlett couldn’t kick the sick feeling in her stomach.
So far, the Eagle Squadron had been miraculously lucky-they hadn’t lost a pilot. She’d almost become complacent in their luck, but that had ended tonight. Who was it? If it wasn’t Jameson-please, God, don’t be Jameson-then it was someone he knew. Howie? One of the newer Yanks?
She glanced at the clock. She had four more hours to go.
She wanted to ring Martlesham-Heath, to demand the call sign of the downed pilot, but if it was Jameson, she’d know soon enough. They’d no doubt already be waiting for her at home. Howie would never let her find out through the gossip mill.
The time passed in torturous five-minute blocks, ticking away as she moved the markers, changed the arrows, heard the orders called out from Group Headquarters. By the time their watch was over, Scarlett was a tangle of nerves with a rapid heartbeat and not much else.
“Let me drive you home. I know your bicycle is here, but I have the section car,” Constance said after they gathered their things from the cloakroom.
“I’m fine.” Scarlett shook her head as they walked toward their bicycles. The last thing Constance needed was to comfort her.
“He’s okay,” she said softly, touching Scarlett’s wrist. “He has to be. I can’t believe in a God so cruel as to take both our loves. He’s okay.”
“And if he’s not?” Scarlett’s voice was barely a whisper.
“He will be. Come on. Get in the car; no arguments. I’ll tell the other girls to walk back to the hut.” Constance led her to the car, then spoke to the other members of the watch before sliding behind the wheel.
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
On her wedding anniversary, Alicia is drugged and stumbles into the wrong room—straight into the arms of the powerful Caden Ward, a man rumored never to touch women. Their night of passion shocks even him, especially when he discovers she’s still a virgin after two years of marriage to Joshua Yates.