Fighter Pilot

1.

"Someone signal Minter! He has to stay out of the searchlight!"
The rain was pouring down on the countryside. I was manning the searchlight and I'd flashed Simon Minter's wing once or twice and I didn't have any intentions of being the reason the ace got shot down. Lucy called that she'd signaled him. His wing once again flashed through my light and my rage boiled.
"Lucy, can the radio cords stretch over here?
"Maybe?"
"Bring it over."
Lucy cautiously brought the radio over and set it next to me. I snatched the transmitter and yelled into it.
"Minter, I don't bloody care how good of an ace you are, quit flying into my light!"
"Stop aiming at me, sweetheart."
"Get yourself shot out of the damn sky, see if I care!"
I tossed the transmitter carelessly to Lucy. She knew I hated the arrogance of most of the aces. Simon Minter was probably the most arrogant. He was younger than most, bright blue eyed and only nineteen. Minter had some of the most confirmed downed planes by any of the Brits, but he was much too full of himself for his own good.
My instructions were lights out at 2 am. Once my watch ticked to two, I quickly put it out and hurried towards the tent. Everyone else had gone in when the rain had picked up, leaving me as the lone searchlight. My boots sank in the mud, making a harsh sucking noise with each step. I didn't know if the pilots had gotten in yet, but I didn't want to find out if the Axis pilots had found our base.
"Shouldn't be out alone in the dark, sweetheart," Simon said as he came up behind me. He looped an arm around my waist, making the soaked jumpsuit cling to my clammy skin.
"Oh piss off, Minter. At least I don't fly through my own searchlight."
"You can't fly."
"I'd be a damn better pilot than you."
"Oh really?"
He and I were now standing face to face outside the mess tent, anger radiating off my wet face. He stood looming over me, but I did not back away from his sneering grin.
"I could shoot you out of the sky without the aid of a searchlight, you pompous bastard."
"Bold words coming from you. You only got the job as a searchlighter because we couldn't get enough out here. No one wants to be a filthy little searchlighter in the countryside."
"Because no one wants to put up with your arrogant arse!"
With that, I stormed off towards the female tents. Simon yelled after me, though I had no intentions of continuing our conversation. Lucy, Ann, Kitty, and Evelyn were all poised on the edges of their beds, eagerly awaiting my entrance.
"Oh I know you hens were listening ask what you're going to."
I carefully unbuttoned my jumpsuit, peeling it off as Ann stood to help. She untied my leather boots and yanked them loose, mud splattering the floor by my cot.
"You just had a row with Simon!" Evelyn squealed. I rolled my eyes as I removed my soaked bra and knickers and replacing them with a dry set. Lucy helped me into my pajamas and Kitty set about unpinning my hair.
"Simon Minter is a pompous, good for nothing bastard." Ann gave a jolt at my harsh words. I was by far the most vile tongued of all the girls in the camp, anyone would tell you that. "You're all best to steer clear of him."
"Oh I don't know. I think he'd be a rather handsome lad to take home after the war," Evelyn giggled.
"Then you have a bonny good time with him until he ruins you and jilts you at the altar."
"Viv-" Lucy warned, voice as prickly as needles.
"Oh, let's just sleep. They'll be calling us out for morning inspection all too early."
I always slept fitfully on nights when there were stormed. I got anxious that the Germans would run a surprise attack. Around dawn I dressed and went out to examine the trail to the lights. I could hear someone else slogging about in the mood and I froze.
"Friendly callings! I'm a Brit. Ace Simon Minter."
I came around the bend and glared at the pilot. He made a face but didn't say anything. He was standing at my light, a toolbox at his feet.
"Sabotaging me, are you?"
"Your light got shot at after we got in last night. I'm fixing it. Unless you'd prefer it catch fire tonight, then by all means tell me off."
I said nothing but stood watch as he tinkered about. He was humming a tune from one of the few tunes any of us had heard since we'd come out to the countryside.
"Oh, stop humming that bugle nonsense, Minter."
"I think I'd rather not, Ms...well, you're the only girl at camp I've yet to be introduced to. Since you always seem to take offense at my presence."
"My name is Vivienne Churchill."
"Churchill?"
"The prime minister is my great uncle. I would be shunned by him if I hadn't volunteered to serve."
"That bloody-"
"Watch yourself, Minter. Speak ill of him and you might find yourself in trouble. Everyone places Great Uncle Winston on a pedestal for doing what Minister Chamberlain avoided."
"Chamberlain was a fool but Churchill isn't much better."
"A brute really?"
And then Simon did something I hadn't heard him do before. He laughed. A genuine laugh. A deep one, not like the annoyed laughs he gave when we all got the night off and some of the cable girls had a bit too much to drink and decided to parade about him. No, this was a genuine laugh from Simon Minter.
"You've mud on your face, Minter."
Simon pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the whole of his face. About then, the wind picked up. The handkerchief blew from
His hand and straight towards me. I caught it before it could get past me, offering it to him once I had it fully secured.
"Thank you, Vivienne. Do you have a nickname? Vivienne seems more time than need be when addressing someone in camp."
"The girls I share a tent with call me Viv. Winston and his colleagues have rather...lewd nicknames that they like to use. My mother called me V."
"Called?"
"She was killed in a raid last month."
"Sorry. I didn't mean-"
"We're at war, Minter, everyone is set to lose someone."