gave me greater courage. I would not die running from the monsters who had murdered those I loved. If they wanted to kill me, they would have to look me in the eyes.

Mo set off at a brisk pace, and I ran to keep up. To the left of the aerodrome were two single-storey huts, each about thirty feet long. To the right were more crates, and tanks of fuel. Mo slowed down as we skirted the landing lights, sticking to the shadows. Very quickly we closed in on the aerodrome.

‘Wait,’ he whispered.

He crouched and I followed suit. We were to the right, opposite the fuel drums and crates.

‘There!’ he whispered excitedly.

At first, I could not see what had animated him, but then I spotted it. Another plane, although very different to the Bf 109s. It had two sets of wings, one above the other, and two cockpits. It was the same light grey colour, with the same markings, but looked almost comical where the Bf 109s were sleek and deadly.

‘Is that a good plane?’ I asked.

Mo shook his head.

‘It’s a biplane,’ he told me. ‘Old-fashioned. They probably use it to train pilots. I think it may be a Bücker Bü 131 but I can’t be sure…’

‘So, we’re stuck?’ I said.

‘No,’ Mo told me. ‘With enough fuel, it will get us back to England.’

‘It will?’

Mo nodded.

‘As long as we don’t come across any British planes,’ he added.

‘Why?’ I asked, before realising my error. ‘Oh…’

The plane had German markings. If the British saw it, they would attack, and we would be shot down. But that might happen regardless of which German plane we stole.

‘It’s our only hope now,’ said Mo. ‘Quick!’

He sprinted towards the fuel drums, and I kept pace. We ducked behind them just in time. Two Germans appeared from a side door of the aerodrome. They stood by some smaller wooden crates, and one of them picked up some matches to light their cigarettes. They stood for five minutes, chatting and laughing, before going back inside.

‘This time you wait,’ said Mo, pulling a length of rubber tube from a drum. ‘I will check the fuel.’

The Bücker Bü 131 was nearly twenty feet long with wings that were slightly wider. It looked even more comical close up, but what did I know? Mo was the pilot, and he seemed convinced of its worth. Who was I to question him? Instead, I kept an eye on the door, praying that more Germans didn’t appear. When Mo returned, he smelt of petrol. He gave me a thumbs up and smiled.

‘It’s good,’ he told me. ‘They must keep it ready to fly.’

‘How did you check the fuel level?’ I asked.

‘The rubber tube,’ he explained. ‘You push it into the tank and suck until the fuel hits yours lips. The quicker the fuel appears, the fuller the tank.’

‘That’s why you reek of it?’

Mo smiled.

‘What’s the harm in another odour now?’ he asked. ‘We smell like farm animals already.’

‘Won’t the Germans hear the engine starting?’

‘Yes, they will,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got a plan for that as well.’

‘What will you do?’

Mo told me to get into the rear cockpit of the plane and wait.

‘But…’

‘Just listen,’ he insisted. ‘Please, Joelle! You’ll find goggles and a flight jacket. Put them on. There’s a helmet too. We’ll be flying low, but it will get very cold up there.’

‘How cold?’

‘Just do it!’ he snapped.

Annoyed, I trudged over to the plane and used a wooden step to clamber into the cockpit. Close up, I could see that the wings were made of wood and fabric, while the body was metal of some sort. The cockpit was small, with a single seat, but big enough for me. As I put on the goggles, jacket and helmet – all way too big for me – I watched Mo. He pushed a fuel drum over and the viscous liquid began to slop on to the ground. Then he slowly heaved the drum towards the plane, leaving a trail of fuel. Just before he reached me, he let the drum go and ran over to where the Germans had been smoking. The matches were still on the crates, and he grabbed the entire box.

He sprinted back to the plane and clambered aboard, and put on his own jacket, goggles and hat.

‘Hold tight,’ he told me. ‘Things are about to get a little hot.’

He took several matches, struck them, and dropped them to the ground. Instantly, the fuel took light. Grinning, he threw the whole box into the flames.

‘Time to go!’ he shouted, gunning the engine.

The plane exploded into life. It sounded like a bomb on ignition, and very quickly, he was steering us away from the aerodrome and towards freedom. Behind us, the Germans came running, but suddenly a real explosion rocked the earth beneath us. There were nine or ten fuel drums in the path of Mo’s flames and half them had exploded. The rest went up in ones and twos, and suddenly everything around them was ablaze. A siren began to howl and then the gunshots started.

‘Hold on!’ Mo yelled above the din.

He gunned the throttle and soon we were racing away from the aerodrome. And then, without any warning, the plane’s nose tilted skywards, and we were climbing into the air. My stomach somersaulted and I felt sick, as a gust of wind buffeted the plane. The ground beneath us zinged with gunfire, and then the bullets whooshed past us.

‘JUST A FEW MORE SECONDS!’ Mo shouted.

‘WHAT?’

His reply was lost in the rush of air and turbulence and engine noise. The wings rattled and the plane’s body creaked. A bullet hit the rear, inches from where I sat. A second one whizzed past my head. I closed my eyes and began to pray.

NINETEEN

When I opened my eyes, we had escaped the airfield and were flying high above open countryside. Here and there I could see faint lights, but little else on the ground. It was just a mass of black. Above

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