“Yes sir.”
He turned and began walking towards Rob’s Spit as the other two came in to land behind them.
“Ashmore is heading over to talk to the Intel Officer,” he called as Rob climbed out of the cockpit. “Not much to do until they’ve refueled us and we get the all clear.”
“It’s France!” Rob retorted, jumping down. “There’s always something to do.”
He looked over and watched as Mother and Slippy coasted down the landing strip, staggered from each other.
“That’s the last of us,” he said. “Where are the others?”
“Already went into the officer’s mess, more than likely,” Miles turned to walk with Rob towards the buildings not far in the distance. “They were all headed that way when I came in to land.”
Rob pulled his cigarette case out of his breast pocket.
“I hope they get us refueled and on our way quickly. I want to get over there and get back. I don’t trust the Jerries as far as I can throw them.”
“We’ll be all right. It won’t take them long to get us going again. We’ll just have time for a quick cup of tea, I expect.”
“Lacey! Ainsworth!” Chris called from the doorway of the building ahead. “Get a move on!”
“What’s got the Yank so riled?” Rob wondered. “They really are excitable, aren’t they?”
“Who? The Americans?”
“Yes. Chris is always on about something.”
“I expect it’s got something to do with their breeding. A lot of Italians over there.”
“Can you guys walk any slower?” Chris demanded in exasperation as they drew closer.
“Where’s the fire, old boy?” Miles drawled, raising his eyebrows.
“No fire, and no reconnaissance flight, either,” Chris replied, turning to go back into the building. “Come and find out for yourself. We’ve been grounded.”
“Grounded?!” Rob exclaimed, tossing his half-smoked cigarette away and following Chris into the large, square building. “We’ve only just arrived!”
“Tell me about it!”
Miles frowned and followed them across a short hallway and through another door that led into the officer’s mess where the rest of the squadron was gathered. They looked up when Miles and Rob entered, and Ashmore, their CO, set down his cup of tea and moved towards them.
“Has Chris told you the news?” he asked.
“That we’re grounded?” Miles asked. “Yes. Why? What’s happened?”
“There’s cloud cover over the targets in Germany. We’ve been told to wait it out for a couple of hours to see if it clears.”
“A couple of hours!” Rob scowled. “What are we supposed to do for a couple of hours?”
“Precisely.” Ashmore shrugged. “Nothing we can do about it, though. Jenkins, the CO here, says there’s a rather good watering hole down the road that serves a tolerable lunch. Or we can stay here, of course. If anyone decides to try the local attraction, he’s offered one of the cars for transportation.”
Ashmore wandered away on that statement and Rob looked at Miles.
“Well how do you like that?” he demanded. “Bloody RAF can’t even get its weather reports straight. Before we left, they said clear skies over the target!”
“I don’t suppose they can control the weather,” Miles murmured, turning towards the table at the back where huge steel canteens filled with hot tea were set up. “As Ashmore said, there’s nothing we can do about it. No point in getting all upset.”
“You’re not even a little bit annoyed?” Rob asked. “To have come this far and not be able to continue?”
“No one said we wouldn’t continue, only that we had to wait a few hours,” he pointed out, reaching for a cup and saucer.
“If we have to postpone it, we’ll be right back here again tomorrow,” Rob muttered, picking up a cup for himself. “What a nuisance. I would rather be flying endless patrols.”
“Really?” Miles glanced at him. “I’m getting rather tired of staring at the North Sea. At least we got a change of pace today.”
“We did, and now we’re back to sitting around with nothing to do. I thought all the waiting was over.”
“Not to beat a dead horse, but there’s no way to control the weather, old boy.”
Miles poured tea into his cup and sipped it. A grimace crossed his face and he looked down into the cup before setting it down. Rob raised an eyebrow.
“That bad?” he asked, laughing at the answering look Miles gave him. He put his empty cup back. “I’ll pass, then.”
“Wise choice.” Miles turned away and sighed, looking around the room. Most of the seats were taken and Ashmore was deep in conversation with a tall man whom Miles assumed was Jenkins. “What in blazes are we going to do for a couple hours here?”
“Maybe some of the others will want to go to that café Ashmore told us about,” Rob suggested after a moment. “At least we’ll get a decent cup of coffee there.”
“Do you think so?”
Rob grinned. “I’m half French, remember? If there’s one thing the French do well, it’s coffee.”
“That sounds like a plan, then,” Miles decided. “I’ll go round up the Yank and some of the others. You go find Mother and Slippy. Between us, we really should be able to find some way to make this layover bearable.”
“God I hope so. Maybe there’ll be some lovely little local ladies hanging around, looking for some laughs. Otherwise we’ll all die of boredom.”
“If there are, you can all have at it.”
Rob made a face. “Good Lord, you’re becoming a real old stick in the mud, you know that?” he demanded, poking him in the chest for emphasis. “If I’d thought for one second that this is what would happen to you, I would never have introduced you to m’ sister.”
“You didn’t. She introduced herself,” he retorted with a grin.
“It’d serve you right if she was in Northolt hob-nobbing with that pilot fellow you went to school with. What’s his name? Dutton?”
“Durton. And I very much doubt that she is. She’s on a training course.”
“Which means she’s just as bored as we are!” Rob turned to go towards the door in search of Mother and
