‘Hey, English,’ the Canadian airman who had barged through the door shouted to Claire, ‘are you falling for me? All the girls do, English, all the girls do,’ he said, staggering towards her.
‘Move on, Airman, the lady doesn’t want you slobbering over her.’
‘Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, buddy?’
‘I’m talking to you, and I’m not your buddy. I’ll ask you again, politely, move out of the way and let the lady pass, or--’
‘Or what, Big Shot?’ The Canadian airman took a swing at the RAF pilot. The pilot ducked the blow and the Canadian’s fist connected with Claire’s nose, sending her stumbling backwards into the arms of a Canadian captain who had come to see what the fuss was about.
‘What the hell is going on here?’ the RCAF captain bellowed, pushing Claire to her feet.
‘Hey, you!’ he shouted to his fellow countryman, ‘the party’s over.’ He jabbed a finger at the RAF pilot. ‘For you too. And you--’ he said, turning to Claire. ‘Get out, before I put you out.’ Claire opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of his bullying, but he ignored her. ‘Get our men out of here and sober them up,’ he shouted to the Canadian officer who had arrived with him. ‘And you,’ he said into the ear of the airman who had insulted Claire, ‘are a disgrace to the RCAF uniform. Take him to the guard house,’ he shouted, pushing the airmen towards the door. ‘Are you still here?’ he said to the RAF pilot.
‘It wasn’t his fault!’ Claire protested. ‘He helped me when the drunk knocked me to the ground.’
The Canadian captain turned from the RAF pilot to Claire. She saw his eyes settle on her nose, and he looked for a moment as if he was going to apologise for the behaviour of one of his men. Instead he said, ‘I have no jurisdiction where RAF girlfriends are concerned, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of my way!’ Marching towards the door he shouted, ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Tears of anger filled Claire’s eyes. She ran after the captain and pulled on his arm. He turned aggressively, but seeing the look of horror on Claire’s face he put up his hands. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you were one of the guys. What do you want?’
‘To ask you not to report the incident.’ The frown on the Canadian captain’s forehead deepened and his blue-grey eyes flashed with annoyance, but Claire carried on. ‘You said you have no jurisdiction here, but you can still write it up.’ Her heart pounded in her chest, but she was damned if she was going to let the RCAF captain intimidate her. ‘I have a very important interview coming up. A black mark against my character would mean I won’t be considered for the job I’ve been working towards since I joined the WAAF. I’ve been training for months, almost a year, so--’
‘So you want me to forget what happened?’
‘Yes! Please.’
The Canadian captain looked at her, his eyes as cold as steel. ‘Okay,’ he said after several seconds. ‘But in future, if you want to protect your reputation, keep away from drunks.’
‘I will,’ Claire said, and the captain left. Fighting back the tears, Claire scanned the dance floor. Eddie was making her way through the crowd towards her.
‘What the hell’s going on? Oh my God, Claire, your nose is bleeding.’
‘That’s because I’ve just stopped a right hook.’ Claire took a handkerchief from her handbag and held it on her nose. ‘Bloody hurts,’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
Claire was so excited about the interview with her superior, Flight Officer Manders, and the RAF officers from the Advance Strike Force that she had hardly slept. When she did finally drop off, it was into a fitful sleep where she tossed and turned, waking every twenty minutes or so to check the alarm clock in case it hadn’t gone off and she’d overslept.
The door to the FO’s office opened and her secretary came out. ‘Flight Officer Manders will see you now.’
Entering the office, Claire stood to attention and saluted her senior officer.
‘At ease, Aircraftwoman First Class,’ Flight Officer Manders said, reading Claire’s file. She lifted her head. ‘Congratulations on getting a distinction in French. It isn’t often that an officer of your age gets a hundred percent pass, let alone a distinction.’
Aware that the man in the room was watching her, Claire held her head high, kept her back straight. She stifled a yawn.
Flight Officer Manders looked up and smiled approvingly. ‘This is Colonel Smith,’ she said, motioning with her hand to the man on her left. Claire saluted.
‘I have some disappointing news for you, Aircraftwoman Dudley.’ Claire’s heart sank. She was sure she’d been called into the FO’s office for an interview with the RAF Advance Air Strike Force. Her mind went into overdrive. What had she done, or not done, that had put an end to her dream? She couldn’t think of anything. She had passed the French literacy, fluency and oral exams with top marks. She had even learned La Marseillaise, thinking it might come in handy when she was in France. And she had spent every minute of her spare time practising the German she knew and learning new words and phrases – including the difficult grammar. Damn! She stood firm, praying that the boiling frustration she felt didn’t show in her face, or the tension in her shoulders show in her stance. She mentally checked herself and relaxed a little. ‘The RAF Advance Air Strike Force, as we know it, is disbanding,’ FO Manders said. ‘Therefore it no longer requires British French speakers--’
The telephone on the FO’s desk burst into life with a shrill ring. Claire felt
