Wraggles returned to his office, and sat down to write a letter to Lady Jollyrei. He’d just screwed up his third attempt, when there was a knock on his door.
“Come in!”
He looked up to see a young WAAF Flight Officer enter his room, part of the Air Transport Auxiliary. She had a flying helmet on, but as she entered the room she took it off. Tresses of satin black hair cascaded down over her shoulders.
Wraggles caught his breath, as he recognised Barb Worralson.
“Hi Barb! Have you brought us a new plane?”
“Yep. It’s outside, all ready for you.”
“Good lass. What can I do for you?”
“I want to come with you.”
Wraggles gawped at her. “Come with me? Come with me where?”
“Tonight. To rescue Jollyrei and that poor girl! I saw her.”
“You saw her? She was hardly on a direct route from England! You must have come the pretty way!”
“I do have a radio, you know. I heard your, er, ejaculations, and thought I’d wander over and take a dekko!”
“But…but.. what about those SS sharpshooters that brought Jollyrei down?”
“Sharpshooters? They couldn’t hit a barn door at five paces. I just weaved about a bit. Didn’t pick up a scratch.”
“But… why do you want to come? You should be getting back to Blighty, Lassie.”
“Don’t call me ‘Lassie’, I’m not a dog. I’m ‘Barb’.”
Wraggles just looked at her.
Barb said, “That girl on the cross is in the altogether. Not a stitch on. All the SS are men, Jollyrei is a man, you’re a man. She needs a chaperone!”
“For God’s sake!” exploded Wraggles, “We’re hardly going to take liberties with her with a load of the SS breathing down our necks! This is a dangerous mission, not a lad’s night out!”
“It won’t be a ‘lad’s’ night out. This ‘lassie’ is coming too!”
“No. Absolutely not. Never,” blustered Wraggles.
“Yes! Absolutely! Definitely! Tonight!” Barb glared at him.
“It’s too dangerous for a w…”
“Complete that sentence and you will truly discover the meaning of the word ‘dangerous’! I’ll have you know that I am leaner, fitter, and can shoot straighter than any man. I can, evidently, fly a Spitfire better than Jollyrei!”
“Well…dammit….why the Dickens are you so jolly keen? Not just to check that we keep our hands to ourselves?”
“Because…” began Barb.
“Come on, lass…uh, Barb, get it off your chest!”
“I’m not sure I should say. Top secret. Mum’s the word and all that!”
“That’s fine. No problem. You just hang on to your secret. Sleep well tonight. Think of us as you drift off to sleep. Bye, Barb!” Wraggles turned back to his desk.
“Because I know her, don’t I? The girl on the cross. I know her.”
Wraggles stared. “You know her? How?”
“She’s with the Free French. We learned to fly together. But then she volunteered for the Special Operations Executive, and was parachuted into France. Her name is ‘Messaline.’ She was my best friend in flying school.”
“Any idea what she’s doing on a cross?”
“She’s the bravest woman I know. She’d never talk under ordinary torture. In fact she’d probably ask for more. It will need extreme torture to break her. I think the Germans are desperate. The Resistance are like a millstone around their necks. If she breaks, they’ll be able to smash the Resistance. We have to rescue her before she does. “
Wraggles eyed her narrowly. “You’re not just a ATA delivery pilot, are you, Flight Officer Worralson?”
“That’s for me to know, and for you to wonder,” she replied, enigmatically. “Now, are you going to voluntarily allow me to come on this mission, or do I have to go upstairs and get someone to pull rank on you?”
Wraggles knew when he was beaten. “Have it your way. But you will do exactly as I say! Understood?”
“Understood, sir!” She saluted, and withdrew.
Wraggles looked at the closed door, the scent of her perfume still in the room. He wrinkled his nose. “Women,” he sighed, “I’ll never understand them!”
