His Very Own Girl by Carrie Lofty
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Transcript of His Very Own Girl by Carrie Lofty
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HISVERYOWNGIRL
Now available foryour reading device:
http://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/his-very-own-girl/id486441101?mt=11http://www.amazon.com/His-Very-Own-Girl-ebook/dp/B006IDG2I2/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1343334354&sr=8-2&keywords=His+Very+Own+Girl+Lofty%2C+Carrie3http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/his-very-own-girl-carrie-lofty/1108180113 -
7/31/2019 His Very Own Girl by Carrie Lofty
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His Very Own Girl
birds.
She edged up as ar orward as she could and pee
down through the lmy window glazing. The Hurrican
ront-mounted engine blocked most o her headw
view, but on the at side o its cowling, she sighted
bright white spire o the Methodist church in Tho
Acre. Like every other Air Transport Auxiliary pi
Lulu had learned to navigate entirely by sight at a elevation. No maps. No radios. She was only ve m
rom her destination.
A ew minutes later, at an altitude o a thousa
eet, she spotted the Royal Air Force aireld cal
Wymeswold. Ruts o mud cut lengthwise down
snowy landing strip. With the winds so light, shed sim
glide the throaty ghter right along those ruts. Out
long habit she ran through her checklist: petrol, bra
uel booster, hydraulics. Ater landing she might be a
to squeeze in one more erry fight beore return
home. Then her best riend, Paulie Travers, had s
something about a night at the clubThe undercarriage lever wouldnt budge.
Lulus heart jumped.
Once more she pulled on the cool metal lever, hau
downward until her wrists burned. It didnt shit
inch. Without being able to maneuver the undercarri
and the faps, she wouldnt have wheels or landing
the ability to slow her rate o descent. Lulu ought
bodys appetite or shallow, panicky breaths by breath
through her nose.
She tried to kick the lever down with the heel o
black leather fight boot. Two attempts came to naug
Her awkward position in the tight cockpit allowed
chapter oneLeicestershire, England
January 1944
Lulu Davies wiggled and shited, then lexed both ankles.
She twisted at the waist to ease the pinched knot at her
lower back, but the Hurricanes tight, narrow cockpit
didnt allow room enough or a more satisying stretch.
Her numb backside would just have to wait until she
landed. All the while the engines growling drone and the
unavoidable smell o petrol made her head ache.
But oh, the view.
She lived or the view.
The sky that day was entirely unlike Britains typically
overclouded winter. Brilliant blue stretched to the ar
horizon. Lean winds, hardly strong enough to consider,brushed up rom the south. Snow like unurled bolts
o linen garbed the East Midlands in bridal white.
Weakened winter sunshine fashed o lacy patches o ice.
The distinct shadow o her ghter plane reached ar over
the countryside.
Lulu smiled privately. She was as guilty as every other
Briton with regard to whinging good-naturedly about
rationing, dissecting Prime Minister Churchills latest
speech, and gibbering on about every combat update
that came over the wireless. When she was alone and
fying, however, nothing else mattered. The world was at
her nod. She was her own person, soaring high with the
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14 His Very Own GirlCarrie Lofty
Im going to crash like Mum and Dad.
But rather than adding to her doubling pa
that grim thought restored her ocus. On a mapp
expedition in 1939, Lulus parents had lost their live
bullets, not aulty machinery or poor technique. Th
tiny unarmed Auster hadnt stood a show against
Italian Centauro ghter over the barren sands o Egy
Theyd died or king and country, but Lulu waprepared to join them in that noble sacrice. For the s
o pride alone she reused to be put in the shade by a p
o mulish wheels.
She let out an exhale that bordered on a hoa
scream, then pulled a ace at the controls. Very w
i you insist. Plan B. And by Plan B I mean a panc
landing.
Lulu tugged leather earfaps and goggles over
large RAF blue handkerchie that swathed her h
As or the parachute . . . well, this was either go
to turn up trumps or it wasnt. Besides, the pl
would be a guaranteed loss i she made a brolly hTo use her parachute would leave the crash entirely
chance, endangering the ground sta and civilians. H
responsibility was to keep that rom happening.
And to save my own skin.
The airstrip awaited her, appearing impossibly sh
Patches o snow lost their glittering beauty. Serv
personnel had dribbled out o the hangar, and a
dozen GIs gawped skyward. As with most small air ba
Wymeswold had no towerno way or Lulu to let th
know what to expect. Had the situations been revers
she wouldve been standing in their place, watching
praying.
leverage. Nothing worked.
Oh, bugger. The words were swallowed by the
monotonous roar o the huge Merlin engine, but she elt
better or having voiced them. Bloody rot and bother!
With Wymeswold directly below her, she had no
choice but to make another circuit and try again. As she
banked the plane steeply clockwise, she saw houses and
aireld outbuildings through the right glazing; blue skyshimmered through the let. Level once more and ready
or another approach, she rubbed one sweaty hand at a
time along the legs o her cold-weather fight suit. Then
she grasped the jammed lever with renewed conviction.
But she didnt pull. Not yet. First she wanted to have
a word with her plane.
Now look slick, mister, she said, glaring at the
controls. You were just at a repair depot, you hear?
Unless you want to fy straight back there, youll quit this
nonsense and let me land!
She pulled the lever, her bicep sizzling and her bones
threatening to snap. When the hateul thing remainedindivisibly xed, she kicked the underside o the control
panel. I hope you liked High Ercall, you wicked bucket
o bolts, because thats exactly where your rusted arse is
returning to!
Only then did she indulge in the one thought
orbidden to pilots: Im going to crash.
Unltered panic blistered her composure. Images
o a faming, mangled wreck skidding along the rozen
airstrip, her body a grisly smear beneath the uselage,
made her hands fit and futter. She couldnt breathe.
Thick waves o blood in her ears smothered even the
engines guttural rumble.
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16 His Very Own GirlCarrie Lofty
Marty sat up and untied the eld dressing to ree
let arm, then swatted the snow rom his sleeves. H
you dont treat the rest o your patients that way.
pretty sure walloping the wounded isnt procedure.
Shut your trap. Joe grabbed the dressing. Y
probably deserved it.
The young jug-eared machine gunner grinn
Probably.Marty slip-slid back toward rst platoon, leaving
to repack his supplies. In combat, supplies would actu
be used, not tangled, dirtied, and shoved back into
aid bag. The contents were a hopeless jumble.
Along with the rest o Baker Company, hed b
knee-deep in maneuvers since beore dawn. The
secured an intersection lined with high hedgero
which had ed theories that they would invade throu
France or the Low Countries, not the Mediterrane
Then theyd had their butts handed to them by A
Companys orest ambusha orest that Pvt. Borsh
had said looked just like his grandparents propertysouthern Norway. His idle comment had added u
soaked logs to the nonstop blaze o rumors that spar
to lie ater each new exercise.
Col. Shames, the 512ths commanding o
estimated that Baker had lost ourteen men in the d
but watching the boys rom Able run or the hills ate
last-ditch counterattack had been worth it. Marty a
three other soldiers had been designated rst platoo
casualties, giving Joe the responsibility o practic
mummy wraps and tourniquets on perectly healt
perectly sarcastic troopers.
The pale English sun was nearing the western hori
But please, boys, have an ambulance at hand.
Nothing too rich, mind. Just snappy.
The time had come. Urging the plane into a descent,
Lulu couldnt remember the last time shed seen the
ground rushing up to meet her at this velocity. Perhaps
never. But her panic-stricken jitters had cleared away.
Her hands were calm, only slightly numb rom grasping
the yoke. Each wink o sunlight o corrugated tin andevery ice-edged puddle along the sides o the airstrip
came into ocus. Perectly clear, as i seeing without her
eyes, she acted on refex alone.
She took a deep, steadying breath and gave hersel
over to ate.
Pc. Joe Weber tied o a ield bandage and positioned the
allen mans arm above his head. Now dont move. The
aid station jeeps on its way.
He clamped a pencil in his teeth and pulled out
his pad o Emergency Medical Tags. Ater lling out
inormation about the wounded, Joe ripped out the tagand stued it in the breast pocket o the soldiers olive
drabs. Snow was going to smear his graphite chicken
scratches all to hell, but it wouldnt be the end o the
worldnot during a simulation.
Web, can I get up now? asked Pvt. Don Martin. Or
you gonna tie a ribbon in my hair next?
Wouldnt do you any avors to make you look more
like a dame, Marty.
But then maybe girls might spend more time with
me.
Joe smacked his patient on the arm hed just
bandaged. Get up, you heel.
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your gear! The deuce-and-a-halsll be here in twenty
haul your tails back to Rothley. Hubba hubba!
The men o the 512th, the newest regiment in
82nd Airborne, began the long trudge out o the wo
and back toward the Wymeswold hangar. Joe smiled
the luxury o trucks to transport them back to barra
ater a long day. In basic training they wouldve marc
home.Hey, Web, wait up. Pvt. Peter Smithson was
medic or Bakers second platoon. His aid bag smac
against his thigh as he jogged to catch up with Joe.
whatd ya think?
About what?
About the maneuver, Smitty said, pulling out a p
o smokes. Odds are on France today.
Like just about every other paratrooper in the 512
he was obsessed with the where and when o th
inaugural combat drop. He collected news reports a
shreds o gossip like some men collected pinup pictur
Joe shrugged. What does it matter? France, Egthe North Pole? Not like we have a choice.
Then again, maybe theyll send the whole 82nd b
to Italy, Smitty continued, undaunted by Joes us
disinterest. Henry Nortonyou know him, corpo
rom second platoon?he said the 45th Inantry just
the beaches at Anzio. Those dumb doggies could use
assistance o a ne outt like ours.
Joe decided to use Smittys other avorite subjec
derail this particular train o thought. You got pl
tonight?
Its Friday night and I have a weekend pass, right
Thats right, Joe said with a grin.
by the time theyd nished two more combat scenarios:
clearing a house, then encircling and eliminating a sniper.
Theyd had more trouble with the ice than the drills.
Good work, men, said Capt. Crowly. Baker
Companys commanding ocer strode down the line.
His doughy ace was hardened with tightly reined
approval. Smoke em i you got em.
Joe slipped o his helmet, enjoying the chilly winterbreeze as it blew across his sweaty hair. He tugged a pack
o Lucky Strikes out o his tunics breast pocket and lit
up. His brain elt stuy and too ull, but a deep drag
eased his nerves. Medical details were all so repulsive
more amiliar now, but unwelcome. How he remembered
it all was a mystery, let alone how he would eventually
withstand combat.
Lay a bazooka on his shoulder and hed take out a
target. Shove him out o a C-47 with a parachute on
his back and hed pass muster. But stick a hypodermic
needle and a bottle o plasma in his hands and Joes
condence scampered o double-time. None o it camenaturally. Hed trade a ew toes to be a regular rifeman,
anyone who carried an M1 instead o an aid bag.
Beautiul country, though. He nished his cigarette
and breathed in, enjoying the bracing cool o a
quiet aternoon. Maybe hed expected craters and
ruined buildings, like newsreel ootage o London and
Portsmouth that always made him winceand then get
angry. This part o the Midlands, however, was nearly
unmolested by Stuka bombers and Germanys new V-1
rockets. The early dawn snowall had layered it in a white
that was almost too clean, too pretty to look at.
Thats it, gentlemen, Capt. Crowly shouted. Pack
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ambulance. Joe jerked ree o his stupor and judged
ghters direction. He was the man closest to wher
would push downor crash, more likely. At that velo
the ghter was going to dig a ditch when it hit, a rea
made grave or the unlucky pilot.
Joe secured his helmet and took o at a dead run. T
jump boots hed worked so hard to earn by qualiy
as a paratrooper thumped against the ground, providtraction. The Hurricanes engines blared as it cleared
head by no more than ty eet. He finched, running a
watching the tail o the doomed aircrat. Hanging hea
in the air, its wings pitched and wobbled as the p
stuck it out. The nose ought with gravity and pu
parallel with the ground.
Only then did Joe believe the pilot had a chance. D
he thought, his scorched lungs pumping air. Do it.
He was still running when the Hurricane n
fopped down. The rudder shtailed. The trio o prope
blades on the nose, still spinning at ull speed, cut i
the ground and sprayed snow and tur in wide circWith a hideous wrenching noise one propeller snapp
loose and few skyward. It stuck into the ground
hundred yards to Joes right. The nose dipped and the
lited, threatening to fip the plane. But the belly fop a
the gouging propellers killed any orward momentum
Except or the popped propeller, the Hurricane w
still in one piece when it lurched to a stop.
With his throat stripped raw ater the fat-out run,
reached the downed aircrat where it had plunked h
buried in the snowy airstrip. Smoke and steam lic
out o the engine, which clicked with the pulse o coo
metal. An ambulance siren blared in the distance.
Then yes, I have plans.
Care to share?
Smitty laughed and slapped Joe on the back. Get the
hell into town.
Leicester again? Or up to Nottingham?
Nottingham was too ar. By the time we got there, all
the clubs were ull up. Wasnt worth it. Besides, too many
o those fak-happy RAF boys. Pued up prigs. Smittysmoothed a hand along his manically orange hair. Not
that I have any trouble with the English broads.
No trouble running them o, you mean. They see
your carrot top coming and hightail it the other way.
Hell, Web, not everybodys born with the looks o an
A-number-one wiseacre like you.
I thank my daddy every day, Joe said. Oh, blast,
orgot my helmet. Be right back. He took o at a quick
jog, back toward the ringes o the woods where theyd
trained.
Smitty shouted ater him, Better hustle or youll
ootslog it back to Rothley!Not gonna happen.
Joe slid to a sloppy stop and scooped up his helmet,
then pulled up short. At the hangar every lingering man
had tipped his ace to the west. More aireld personnel
were joining them by the second, shielding their eyes and
watching the sky.
Silhouetted ahead o the setting sun, a Hurricane
bearing Royal Air Force insignia roared toward the
aireld.
No landing gear, Joe whispered to himsel. Holy
Christ.
From back at the hangar came shouts or an
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22 His Very Own GirlCarrie Lofty
You can say that again.
Sorry I buzzed you. She wiped her mouth a
looked him ull in the ace. Again Joe was struck by
eyeswide, brown, a little crazed. That was you, y
Running to meet me?
Yes, maam.
Then my apology stands.
Checking or injuries, Joe noticed where blood oorom a nasty gash on her knee. He took hold o the zip
at the neck o her fight suit. We should get you ou
this, check on your knee.
The woman ficked her gaze toward the wound a
put her hands on his. Her ngers werent as cold n
Absolutely not.
Why not?
Her bright red lips curled as i accepting a da
Because this morning in High Ercall, I spilled engine
on my uniorm trousers. Theyre in my overnight bag.
Joe stilled. Their aces were so close that the little p
o their breath mingled. She wore the stench o gasoand sweat, as well as some sweet lavender scent. T
jarring combination o masculine and eminine cros
his mental wires. You mean, youre not wearing . . . ?
Well, I couldnt very well fy in my skirt! H
laughter lilted through the chilly air, so out o pla
Those chocolaty brown eyes teased him. It bunc
terribly inside my fight suit.
Joe averted his eyes as i hed actually glimpsed w
she described. Then he got to work. He yanked open
sliced abric around her knee. Ater dousing the area
antiseptic sula powder, he unwrapped a sterile dress
He pressed the white pad on her wound and tied
Joe didnt wait. He climbed onto the wing and
reached the cockpit just as the pilot uncorked the canopy.
A woman pilot.
She ripped o her headgear and fight goggles.
Useless, balmy, good-or-nothing dawdler!
Quelling his surprise, Joe took her arm. Maam?
Maam, look at me.
Big brown eyes stared out rom an ashen ace ramedby dark, sweat-drenched hair and a blue kerchie. Oh!
Yes?
Out now, maam. Cmon. Can you move?
Yes, she said, dazed. Yes, o course.
The hand she oered was cold and shaking. Although
she let Joe guide her up and out o the cockpit,
she continued her colorul tirade against the downed
Hurricane. Beetle-headed laggard. Useless. An absolutely
grotesque piece o machinery. Not enough petrol let to
combust, she said, almost to hersel. The propeller can
be repaired, wouldnt you say? Ill
Only when her eet crunched onto the icy tur did shesag. Joe caught her under the arms and guided her a sae
distance. Fuel or not, he wanted to get her away rom the
crash, especially since she could still walk.
He urged her to lie on a slick patch o grass. Are you
injured at all? Maam?
No, she said, her voice hoarse. Well, I dont know.
I . . . I dont eel
She jackknied into a sitting position and retched. Joe
put his arms around her shoulders, steadying her against
his body. Shock, he said.
I should bloody well think so! That was unthinkably
dat.
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24 His Very Own GirlCarrie Lofty
elbow, steadying her whether she thought she nee
it or not. But rather than resist, she settled her wei
against Joes side while he guided her to the ambulan
Gash on her let knee, sir, Joe said to the colon
Mild shock.
Shames shook his head. Unbelievable.
Colonel, she said, sounding suddenly exhausted
do hope your people can return me to the ATA erry pat Mersley this evening. No sense being so near to ho
and not sleeping in ones own bed.
The expression on Shamess grizzled ace said he w
as bafed by her sex and the miracle o her surviva
Joe was. Ill see what we can do, maam.
Once she settled, the woman spared a quick gla
backrst to the downed Hurricane, then to Joe. S
oered him a solemn nod.
Private? the colonel said as he climbed in bes
her.
Joe stood at attention. Sir?
Good work. Go nd your platoon.Shames hauled the rear door shut and the ambula
sped away. Joe watched its journey back to the han
Already a maintenance crew in a tow truck was on
way to the crash site. His heart rate slowed and
respiration was returning to normal, but Joe could
shake the clinging sensation o just having watche
human being dey death. Whether by luck or by ski
probably both, he had to admitshed limped away r
disaster.
He didnt even know her name.
He went to stow the medical supplies back in his
bag but ound that he held only trash: an empty su
gauze bandage threads to keep it in place.
That done, the woman started to stand.
Joes hands jumped to her shoulders as i they
belonged there, keeping her stationary. The last thing he
needed was or her to aggravate her knee or an unseen
injury, or to wind up downwind o an exploding aircrat.
You dont understand, she said. My things are in
the gun panel beneath the port wing. Silly cockpits toosmall or a Cadburys, let alone an overnight bag.
Theres nothing we can do to etch it. Her scattered
thoughts, perhaps still aficted by shock, had him talking
to her as i she were a child. Maybe maintenance can
salvage it. But later. Understand?
O course. Youre right, o course. She eyed the
downed Hurricane and wiped her mouth with the back
o her hand. Yes, yes, it should be ne. Theyll repair
the propeller and the blimmin undercarriage lever and
itll fy again. There was nothing I could do! Bother, but I
hope the Accidents Committee sees it that way. I mean to
say, they shoulddont you think?I think youre lucky to be alive.
She stilled. The look in her eyes said she was seeing
him, really seeing him, or the rst time. Dark eyebrows
that reminded him o Rita Hayworth lited slightly. The
daredevil smile was gone, replaced by a much more
tentative one. Ill owe the undertaker a quid, she said.
Beore Joe could ask what that meant, the ambulance
tore through the snow as it pulled alongside. Col.
Shames jumped out, ollowed by two RAF medics and
two litter bearers.
Private! Report? the colonel said.
The woman pilot was already standing. Joe took her
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26 Carrie Lofty
envelope and a cellophane bandage wrapper. That had
been no simulation. Little wonder his knees elt like
undercooked oatmeal.
Hed just had his rst real taste o what it was to be a
combat medic.
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7/31/2019 His Very Own Girl by Carrie Lofty
11/11
HISVERYOWNGIRL
Now available foryour reading device:
http://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/his-very-own-girl/id486441101?mt=11http://www.amazon.com/His-Very-Own-Girl-ebook/dp/B006IDG2I2/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1343334354&sr=8-2&keywords=His+Very+Own+Girl+Lofty%2C+Carrie3http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/his-very-own-girl-carrie-lofty/1108180113