Love and the Luftstreitkrafte

Part 2: The Departure

Six weeks later the pilots got their wings and orders, and there was a big gathering at the Criterion to celebrate. Archie and the other pilots were heading off to France to join No. 60 Squadron.

I had half expected it, but it was still a bit of a shock to find I wasn't going with them. I was to stay on at Hounslow as Equipment Officer, which meant a promotion (from 2nd Lieutenant to Lieutenant).

My mother was happy about it.

I felt the right thing to do was to go to the Major and insist on being sent over with the others. I planned several times on doing just that. But I never worked myself up to it. There was always enough to do—everyone had a few last-minute requests for their new machines—that I just left it for the next day, and the next, until it was time for their departure.

Quite a crowd came down to Hounslow that morning to see them off. It made me feel a bit ill to see them all thronging around the airfield. My mind's eye kept picturing how many of the proud but anxious parents, siblings and sweethearts might be killed in the blast radius if an artillery shell fell from the sky.

I distracted myself by keeping an eye on the idling Nieuports and handling those last-minute issues that always come up—someone's engine sounded funny, or one of their instruments was off.

I couldn't help glancing over now and then to catch a glimpse of Emmaline. She was following Archie around as he bid cheery adieus to his friends, for all the world like he was going on holiday.

They had gotten engaged the week before, though it wasn't the news of the hour. Franklin had gotten married. If the funerals were outpacing the weddings these days, it was not through lack of effort.

On that note, there was a rather extraordinary number of young women in the crowd. Some were in casual finery, others in their Sunday best. I suppose women do tend to bring a friend or two to this kind of thing whenever they have a chance, but I suspected some of the men were having to give a few rounds of heartfelt farewells.

It was on one of these glances into the sea of bonnets that I spotted an unexpected but not unwelcome face. Once I had sorted the latest issue of the engine, or whatever it was, I went over to greet my friend Rosalind.

"Hallo Rosalind. You're here to see Archie off?"

"Hiya Oliver. Yes, I suppose. I heard he was heading off today." Rosalind self-consciously adjusted her scarf. It was a fine, clear day for the flight to France, but the wind was a little cold. "Actually, Charlie kept pestering me at work until I could find out who was leaving."

"Oh, I see." I was tempted to apologize for my dead brother's bad manners. I refrained, because that was absurd.

In addition to her wartime welding work, Rosalind was a spiritualist medium. I know spiritualists don't have the best reputation, but Rosalind could actually see spirits. She had since we were children.

Charlie was, of course, a new dynamic. If I had been the one who could see and hear him, that might have been comforting. As it was, it felt like he was perpetually leaving a room as soon as I walked into it. It really didn't help lessen how much I missed him.

"Any messages for me?" I asked anyway.

"Nothing definite. I think he was relieved you weren't being sent over yet."

Well, that made him and my mother.

"Would you like me to flag down Archie for you?" I offered. It occurred to me that perhaps I should mention Archie's engagement, in case she hadn't already heard from Charlie or some other incorporeal informant.

"Oh no, please don't bother. I just wanted to show up in a general, supportive sort of way," Rosalind said in a rush, tucking flyaway hair under her wine-red hat. She had a mass of dark, curly hair, perfect for a fortune-teller look.

I could tell she was uncomfortable, but I wasn't sure how to help.

"You look fine...?" I assured her.

She threw me a complicated look—lips pressed, brow furrowed.

"What?" I asked—amused, confused, and a bit defensive, with half a mind to say she looked like a goblin now.

"Oh, hallo. That's um...Rosalind, wasn't it? Rosalind Price?" Archie had come up behind me, Emmaline at his side.

Archie had his flight jacket on, and a silk stocking on his head—the kind that goes under the helmet—so he looked a bit peculiar. Emmaline wore one of those close-fitting hats that fashionable girls wear to go driving, with a trim coat to match. She looked like she had stepped out of a magazine. My stomach dropped, and I felt a bit light-headed.

Rosalind smiled, her nervous manner melting away. "Hallo Archie Fisk. Congratulations on the commission."

"Thank you for coming. We, uh, we knew each other as children," Archie explained to Emmaline. "Rosalind, this is my fiancé, Emmaline Whittle. Isn't she a doll?"

Rosalind's eyes widened. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Whittle. I see further congratulations are in order."

Emmaline murmured polite thanks, and they shook hands in that timid, fluttery way women often do.

"And Emmaline, of course you remember Brownie? Well, it's Lieutenant Brown now, isn't it?"

Emmaline said hello to me. One of her cheeks dimpled.

I replied with some greeting that didn't raise any eyebrows, so it must have sounded normal.

Rosalind and Emmaline began complimenting one another's outfits, and Archie pulled me aside.

"You alright? You're looking a bit green. They haven't been working you too hard?"

"No, everything's...fine. I've just been a little preoccupied."

"Well, that's nothing unusual!" Archie grinned and slapped me on the back, like a faulty machine that just needed a couple whacks to get it going. He leaned in. "Say, keep an eye on Emmaline for me, would you? It cuts her up more than she lets on, you know? Working at the hospital. Listen to her. You're good at that."

I felt a flash of resentment: He must know. Surely he must know. Did he think that just because I hadn't called him out that I didn't care? Couldn't he ask anyone else?

Guilt won over almost immediately. We were friends, so of course he trusted me not to try anything with his girl. And most of our friends were going to the front, if they weren't already buried in French trenches or mass graves.

"I can stop by when I visit my mother," I replied after a pause. "She said her parents live in Hackney Wick."

Archie squeezed my shoulder. He didn't say anything further.

Then people were shouting that it was time to go. Archie had to go to his 'plane, I had to go to my place with the other remaining officers. In moments all nineteen Nieuports were aloft in a V-formation (Walt wobbled a bit on the far end, getting too close to Franklin). We all watched as they got smaller and smaller, indistinguishable from a flock of geese, then out of sight altogether.

A few days later we heard that Franklin was killed on his first survey flight.