‘HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE?’ I yelled, but my words were instantly lost. The noise from the propellers and engines, and the wind, made conversation impossible.
Mo turned his head and gave me a thumbs-up sign, which I reciprocated. Then, with little else to do, I sat back and tried to make out what was below us. It took a while for my eyes to adjust, but there was not much to see. In front of me were several dials, none of which made any sense except for the compass. This showed that we were flying north-west, at a steady angle. I assumed that Mo knew which way to go but wondered how he would know for sure in the darkness.
The wings creaked and groaned once again, and then I heard a slight ripping sound. Alarmed, I considered tapping Mo on the shoulder, but didn’t. He must have heard it too, and it didn’t seem to bother him.
Suddenly, Mo changed direction, to our left and upwards, and my stomach flipped over and the breath caught in my throat. The move left me shaken, and I wondered why he’d made it, until I heard the roar of faster and more mobile planes. Mo gestured below and I peered into the night, but despite the new engine noise, I could not see any planes. Three of them must have passed close to us, and then all was normal once again.
Mo lowered our altitude, re-setting our direction by the compass. We were flying due north now, with just a slight western variation after a few minutes. I longed to ask him about flying the plane, but there was little point. Instead, I thought of Maman and Papa. They had talked of flying as a great dream to be fulfilled someday. Here I was, living their dreams for them, as they lay buried under the soil of our beautiful country.
I began to cry then, sobbing uncontrollably and without embarrassment. Up there, amongst the dark clouds, no one could hear my wailing, and no one could judge my tears. Every emotion I’d held since that awful day exploded, until there was nothing left inside me. My eyes stung and my throat grew hoarse, but a great burden had been lifted. I was not free of sorrow, of course. That would never truly leave me. But I did feel better, and that was worth a great deal.
Soon, I closed my eyes again and began to drift off, my head lolling, until everything faded away…
An abrupt rush of turbulence snapped me from my dreams. The plane was tilting to the right and Mo seemed to be struggling. I had no idea how long I’d been asleep, nor where we were. I felt dazed, still half asleep, and unable to think properly. Below, there was only darkness and nothing in the skies all around us. I wondered how far we had come, and how close England was.
The plane lolled sideways again, and then it began to descend rapidly. My insides churned and I thought that I might vomit, but finally Mo managed to rectify the problem. He turned to me and smiled. I could not smile in return. He gestured below and shouted something. I gestured to my ears and shook my head. He tried again, and this time I understood.
‘ENGLAND!’
My eyes widened. I pointed downwards and nodded. Mo nodded in return. Had I slept for the entire journey, I wondered. Or had it been that fast?
A sudden blast rocked the plane. It veered leftwards and sank at pace, and I screamed. Mo spun around and began struggling with the controls once more. Another blast exploded to my right and I saw a cloud of smoke. I had no idea what was being fired at us. I only knew that we were under attack.
Mo managed to wrestle control, but now he was taking evasive action. The plane shuddered and screeched, and I feared that it might break in half. The metal beneath my feet flexed and squealed. He turned to the right, then left, then right again. The plane was rigid and did not respond quickly. And the projectiles continued to rain in.
Mo tried to bring the nose up, to take us higher and away from the missiles, but it would not respond…
And then, just as my head cracked against the instrument cluster, the engine died, and I fell unconscious…
When I came to, I was being carried on a man’s shoulders. I struggled to move but my left arm was broken. The pain caused me to vomit.
‘MO!’ I screamed through the pain.
The man did not reply, and then I heard more people. English people. They had gathered by a farmhouse, and when I was laid down, a woman’s kindly face appeared above me. She had blonde hair and pale blue eyes. She smiled warmly.
‘Stay calm, young lady,’ she said. ‘You’re safe now.’
She cleaned my face with a damp rag and stayed until a medic arrived. He was old and gruff in appearance, but he smiled too.
‘You’re very lucky,’ he told me. ‘Only a broken arm. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.’
‘My friend…?’ I croaked. ‘Mo?’
‘The pilot?’ asked the kindly woman.
‘Yes…’
‘He’s in the wreckage. The military police will get him. Dirty Nazi…’
I shook my head.
‘No!’ I said. ‘He is British. Mohinder Singh, RAF. We escaped!’
The two of them looked puzzled.
‘RAF?’
‘YES!’ I said, wincing in pain. ‘Please, help him!’
The woman turned and approached another man, this one in a dark uniform, and began to point. I assumed she was gesturing towards the crashed plane. I couldn’t hear her words, but she seemed insistent. The uniformed man nodded and took off at pace. The woman returned to me.
‘Don’t worry,’ she told me. ‘I told them about your friend.’
The medic filled a syringe and injected my good arm.
‘Morphine,’ he explained. ‘Just close your eyes and the pain will
