“You don’t have to tell me something more than twelve to fifteen times before I get it.”
“That’s heartening, King,” Bunny said. “I thought you’d like a bit of a break. Constant searching can deaden a man’s eyes and brain.”
“Thanks. It was hell on my ass as well.”
“Is your ship as big as all that? Larger than Bismarck?”
“Yeah. From what we know of her. Big and fast. I’d hate to think what would happen if she ran into a convoy.” He noticed Bunny had lost interest in what he was saying. “What’s the matter?”
Bunny was tapping one of the dials on the instrument panel. “This bloody thing is dancing up and down. I thought my erks fixed it.”
“What is it?”
Bunny twisted to look out the window. “My oil pressure. Left engine. She’s not leaking oil unless it’s coming out underneath.” He turned back to the instrument panel. “Now the bastard’s running just fine.” He tapped the dial again. “Prentice? Radio back to base, will you? Tell them that we’re having a spot of trouble out here and we’re turning around. Give them our location. King? You’d better go back to your station.”
As he started to rise, Cole heard a bang. Not loud enough to create concerns; more like the sound someone makes when they slam their fist on a desk. It was the explosion that followed that was loud.
The blast threw him back against the wireless operator’s table. Cole felt bits of aluminum, rubber, plastic, and flaming debris, all wrapped in an intense smoke, engulf him. He heard shouting and saw Bunny clawing at the yoke. But there was something wrong — it was like the pilot couldn’t see.
Cole pulled himself forward until he was even with Bunny.
The pilot had no face. It was nothing more than a mass of bloody meat.
“Get out of the way, you fool!”
It was Peter, covered with blood, pushing his way through the bomb-aimer/navigator’s tunnel.
Cole moved back as Peter saw Bunny.
“Jesus wept!” he said. “What happened?”
“The left engine exploded,” Cole said.
The plane started to descend and twist to the right.
“Get him out of there,” Peter ordered Cole. “I’ll try to fly her from the second pilot’s station.”
Cole nodded. He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Prentice. His mask was gone and blood streamed from his nose.
“I’ll help,” he shouted. “Let me get the quick release.” Prentice moved between Cole and Peter and reaching under Bunny’s waving arms punched the quick-release switch for the pilot’s harness.
“Will you two hurry, please!” Peter said. “I can’t keep this rock in the air much longer.”
Prentice glanced at Cole in alarm. “His legs have gone all stiff. They’re wrapped up in the rudder assembly.”
“Get him out!” Peter screamed. “He’s going to kill us all.”
Cole looked around. “Give me that map case.”
Prentice handed it to him and Cole ripped off Bunny’s flight cap.
The wireless operator grabbed his arm. “What are you going to do?”
“It’s the only way.”
“You’ll kill him!”
“For bloody sake, Prentice,” Peter said. “He’s dead already. Do you want him to kill the rest of us?”
Prentice, tears rolling down his cheeks, released Cole’s arm.
Cole brought the metal case down hard on Bunny’s head and the pilot went limp. He tossed the map case to one side.
“All right,” he said to the stunned Prentice. “We pull him out on three. One, two, three.” They lifted the unconscious pilot over the back of the seat and let him drop on the floor next to the transmitter.
“Get Johnny,” Cole said to Prentice. The boy’s haunted eyes were locked on the faceless form on the deck. “Prentice? Get Johnny out of the turret. Now.”
“King!” Peter shouted over his shoulder. “Under the pilot’s seat are smoke floats. We’ll need them when we go down. I think we’re losing hydraulic fluid as well. She’s becoming difficult to handle. Did Prentice send out a distress signal?”
“I’ll find out.”
“Do it bloody quickly, Yank. We won’t survive long in that water.”
“Right,” he said, reaching under the seat. He felt two canisters and their release mechanisms. He also felt hunks of flesh and warm sticky liquid. He focused on the mechanisms, found the latch, pictured its operation in his mind, and flipped it open.
Cole staggered back to the bulkhead just forward of the Boulton-Paul turret, carrying the canisters. It was becoming almost impossible to move in the gyrating aircraft and he was thrown from side to side. Prentice was helping Johnny slide out from under the dorsal cutout former and onto the step by the entry door.
Johnny was shaken but not hurt. “Bastard jammed on me. Thought I was going to have to squeeze out the aft flare tube.”
“Prentice told you?”
The gunner nodded.
“Did you get out an SOS?” Cole asked Prentice.
“Yes, sir. But no one answered, or if they did, it won’t help. Wireless is out, sir.”
“See if you can get it going again,” Cole said. “You take these.” He handed the canisters to Johnny. “Where’s the life raft?”
“You’re standing on it, chum,” Johnny said. “The hand lever for the dinghy release cylinder is right behind you. We land, pop the door, and step in. Won’t even get our feet wet.”
“Yeah,” Cole said, certain it was going to be a lot more difficult than that. “You say.”
N-for-Nancy seemed to have settled into a more or less level flight when Cole passed Prentice on his way up front. He patted the wireless operator on the shoulder. “How’s it going, Prentice?”
“Let you know in a bit, sir. I’m afraid everything’s scrambled.”
“Okay,” Cole said, kneeling on the deck behind Peter.
“How’s Bunny?” Peter said, his eyes on the glowing dials of the instrument panel.
Cole glanced back at the pilot. The man was barely breathing.
“I don’t know. Not well.”
“King?” Peter said. “Bunny’s got his good luck token in the inside pocket of his flight suit. He may not be able to see the ridiculous thing, but it might help him to feel it.”
“Sure,” Cole said. “Sure thing.” He turned and, careful not to look at the destroyed face, unzipped the blood-soaked flight suit and felt inside for the stuffed bunny. He found it, covered in blood, pulled it out, and tried to wipe some of the blood on the leg of his flight suit. When he was satisfied that he had done all that he could, he placed it carefully in Bunny’s right hand and closed his fingers around it. “Okay,” he said to Peter.
N-for-Nancy shuddered violently.
“I’ve got them!” Prentice shouted. “And they’ve got me, I believe. Some Royal Navy chaps. Everything’s garbled. There’s a lot of static but I think they’ve got me.”
There was a high-pitched whine from N-for-Nancy’s right engine, as if the aircraft were calling for help. The engine was straining to keep N-for-Nancy aloft.
“I think this is it, chaps,” Peter shouted over the shrill noise. “She’s behaving badly now. Everyone to the rear and latch on to anything not moving.”
“What are you going to do?” Cole said.
“Someone’s got to drive the bus, haven’t they? I’ll be right along when it’s my time. Just get back there and hold on to something. Hold tight, King. When we hit, it’ll be like slamming into a brick wall. Then we’ll skip free and things won’t be bad at all. Then we’ll hit again and that’ll be the worst part.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this before,” Cole said.