Free Once More the Hawks by Max Hennessy Page B

sure as hell think they will .’
    As they talked, a woman in the uniform of an American Ambulance Corps appeared in the hotel and Foote stood up.
    ‘I’d like you to meet my niece, Katie,’ he said. ‘She’s just arrived from France.’
    The woman laughed. ‘Paris,’ she said, pointing at Dicken. ‘June 7th.’
    Foote was staring at them. ‘You’ve met?’
    Dicken grinned. ‘You Feete get around.’
     
    Foote remained in London only for one more day before going to Southampton to catch a ship for the States. Katie Foote was to remain in England, doing ambulance work, and she and Dicken agreed to take care of each other. As a free agent since his wife had died, it was something that didn’t fail to appeal because she was a tall attractive woman just getting over the trauma of a broken marriage. They saw Foote off on the train together and exchanged addresses.
    ‘Let’s meet,’ she said. ‘There should be time.’
    Thornside was one of the London fighter stations with a Sector Operations rooms and satellite aerodromes at Beaston and Pewton, and Dicken found himself busy sixteen hours a day seven days a week.
    An air fighting development unit was operating there and the aerodrome defences had all been attended to. But the hangars had been camouflaged during the Phoney War with brown and green paint to break up the regularity of the lines and, flying over it, Dicken pointed out that because it was surrounded by houses, it had not been camouflaged at all, simply made more conspicuous.
    The experts, who had been trained to believe that camouflage meant trees, not houses, disagreed violently, but after a great deal of argument, the hangars were disguised as more houses with bright red roofs, windows, doors and gardens and the result was so effective that the pilots of the three squadrons stationed there complained they could never find the damn place and the adjutant finally conceded that the idea worked, claiming he’d just seen two swans crash- land as they tried to alight on an artificial stream.
    With all three squadrons watching the sea as the Germans stepped up their attacks on Channel shipping, the place was often vulnerable to attack, so a station defence flight was organised, with any pilot – including Dicken – who happened to be available taking off in any aircraft that was handy.
    Soon afterwards he was told to report to London to be briefed about a Polish squadron that was due to be attached to Thornside. There were a lot of things to remember – chiefly that the Poles had all reached England through France, Spain and North Africa, and were all a little touchy about their pride. They also had a lot of strange customs and after their defeat considered their honour important, but though they were itching to get at the Germans they were not to be allowed near them until they had learned some English.
    The briefing took most of the morning. In the afternoon, Dicken contacted Katie Foote who agreed at once to meet him for a meal. The restaurant was crowded with men in uniform and there was now even a sprinkling of women in them, too. Also, where once all the uniforms would have been those of officers, now there was a mixture of other ranks as the crisis swept everybody into the services. Fathers with red tabs sat alongside sons in plain khaki without a single badge beyond their regimental flash. Like Dicken, Katie Foote was also in uniform and, like all American uniforms, it was perfectly tailored and showed her figure.
    She was intelligent with a lively humour and Dicken enjoyed his evening more than he had expected. What had been only a polite gesture to Foote had turned out to be exciting and it was suddenly important to meet her again. As he found her a taxi, she leaned out and kissed him gently.
    ‘Thank you, Dicken,’ she said. ‘You’re a nice guy.’
    ‘I’m an old guy.’
    ‘Not that old.’
    ‘Nearly old enough to be your father.’
    She smiled, ignoring the comment. ‘It was a lovely