A Kestrel Rising Read Free Page B

able to drive anything.
    “Excellent, Lowe. Off you go, then. The men will be waiting outside the briefing room.”
    “Yes, sir,” she gathered up her gloves and fastened her jacket. One of the advantages of being a driver, she’d learned, was that it was acceptable for girls to wear flight overalls and the warm, sheepskin lined jackets that the aircrew wore. Catterick in January was not a hospitable place when the east wind roared off the North Sea and over the moors.
    Ilona hurried toward the garage, found the bus—an elderly Bedford—and managed to start the engine at the first attempt. She backed it out of the shed and headed for the briefing room. It had taken her a few days to find her way around the huge airfield. She still could not get used to the bustle and scarcely contained chaos of the place.
    After one wrong turn, Ilona pulled up in front of the briefing room. A small crowd of aircrew waited at the front of the building. She opened the door and stared straight ahead while they piled on, chattering among themselves. A few breathy wolf whistles broke through the murmured conversations and a distinctly Scottish person observed, “This wee driver is far bonnier than old hatchet face.”
    Ilona’s cheeks burned and she dared a glance in the rear view mirror, wondering who the culprit was. She put the bus in gear and headed toward the runway. Conversation behind her was quiet and if they were still commenting on their new driver, Ilona did not hear them. She stopped by the first plane and opened the door to let the three-man crew file out. They thanked her cheerfully and headed toward their plane. She worked her way along the row, swarming with ground crew, until only two crews remained. The final two aircraft were quite close to each other and she halted between them and waited for her last passengers to file off. They gathered their gear and walked along the narrow gangway. One by one, they clambered down the steps saying thank you and goodbye as they went.
    “Bye now, lassie.” The last man departed, turning back to smile at her. The cold wind lifted his fair hair. “See you later, God willing.”
    Blushing, she smiled back. “Goodbye, sir.” She had found her culprit.
     
    * * * *
     
    Ilona retrieved the bus and parked a safe distance as the bombers returned. The setting sun glinted off their glass canopies and touched their wings with fire as they’d touched down and taxied along the runway. She’d waited until the propellers had stilled and the crews had climbed down before starting the bus.
    The passengers were quieter, the cockiness of morning washed away by exhaustion. Ilona smiled as she collected each crew and they, in turn, smiled back.
    “It’s nice to be greeted with a smile for a change,” someone muttered from behind her. She reached the last two planes and the fair-haired Scot was waiting with his crew. She felt something inside her lift a little at the sight of him when she opened the door.
    “Afternoon.” He winked as he walked past.
    Ilona felt her cheeks color once more. She stole a glance in the mirror and watched him take the last seat. One of his colleagues whispered something and, to her surprise, he blushed. A few low chuckles spread along the back rows. Blushing herself, she turned her attention to getting the bus off the runway and her passengers back to the briefing room.
     
    * * * *
     
    “It seems,” the corporal told her the next morning, “that the lads like a friendly smile when they head off for and return from their mission. Flight Lieutenant Carstairs was in here last night with several of the flight officers, demanding that you are kept on as their regular bus driver.”
    “They did?” Ilona stared at him. A warm flush returned to her cheeks.
    “Our lads need all the morale boosts they can get,” the corporal replied. “I’d be flattered if I were you, ACW Lowe. You must have made a very good impression.”
    “I am honored, Corporal Harris, sir.