He was a bit, too, and she was glad of that.
Glad to see the shadow that had descended over him, lift.
‘It’s just he was always so cheeky,’ she said, wrestling herself under control. ‘And I assume you’ve forgiven him?’
‘Just about.’
‘How do you feel about flying bombers now?’
‘I like being in a crew. I love my crew.’
‘Even Jacob?’
‘Even Jacob,’ he said, with another brief smile. ‘But I hate what we do. And Lancasters are heavy, much harder than a spit to manoeuvre in a fight.’
‘You seem to have been managing well so far. Jacob told me this is your third squadron.’ She didn’t mention what else Jacob had said, about the odds they were facing.My fear is that when our luck runs out, it’s going to do so in spectacular fashion.She didn’t want to think about that. ‘You must have flown scores of ops.’
‘Sixty-three,’ he said, ‘as of last night.’
‘That’s quite a number.’
‘It will be sixty-four tomorrow, when we come back from Italy, and you give us our permission to land.’
‘I’ll look forward to that.’
‘So will I.’
‘Are you scared, though?’ she asked, because she had to.
‘Not especially,’ he said. ‘Italy’s not like Germany.’
‘No,’ she said, and again, she’d heard the same from other pilots. The Italian defences were thinner, their flak fields lighter; they had fewer night fighters to scramble than in Germany.
Nonetheless, there were still always crews that didn’t come back from raids there.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Robbie. ‘It’ll be straightforward. We might even bring you some ice cream.’
‘It might melt.’
‘I don’t know.’ He smiled. ‘It can get pretty cold up there.’
‘Then don’t worry about the ice cream,’ she said. ‘Come back quickly and warm up.’
‘Do you not need to sleep?’ she asked him, once they were inside again, feeding the fire.
‘I don’t want to sleep.’
‘What about lunch?’
‘I think that ship’s sailed. But –’ he reached into his pocket, producing a chocolate bar – ‘you’ve reminded me. I’ve still got this from last night.’
‘Aren’t you meant to eat your rations on the flight?’ she said, eyeing the treat.
‘That’s the traditional approach.’ He handed her the bar. ‘I saved it for you, though.’
‘Just like your interlude chocolates,’ she said, breaking it in two, and handing half back to him.
‘Exactly the same,’ he agreed. ‘I often think how similar sorties are to pantomimes.’
