The Welsh navigator, Derfel Cledwyn, held up his teacup to Ignacy. They both knocked back their tea as if they were sharing a toast with whisky or vodka. The only one who didn’t crack a smile was their new gunner, Bill Yorke. But he was always a bit quiet. Tough job being thrown in with Ignacy and Derfel, who jawed away at each other in the air in Polish and Welsh as if they were playing at League of Nations.

“You’ll all like being at Windyedge,” I added. “It’s close enough to Stonehaven and Aberdeen that you can go to the cinema or a dance hall in bad weather, and there’s a jolly good village pub within walking distance—”

“I remember that pub!” Chip put in enthusiastically. “With the wishing coins and the piano. Nancy Campbell always had the fire burning for us. That’ll be fine.”

“Something to look forward to,” I agreed, deciding not to tell him off for interrupting since I wasn’t being formal anyway. “We’ll polish up formation flying on our way to Windyedge. And I’ll keep my ear to the ground so we don’t get in trouble with Old Cromwell again.”

I looked around the room at these few friends and strangers. And Silver, my best friend, always watching my back. Pimms and Madeira, B-Flight’s lads. My lads.

I raised my own teacup. “To Windyedge!”

“To Windyedge!”

The applause was polite rather than thundering, but at least they applauded.

“Nice speech, Scotty,” said Silver, grinning at me. “That’s got everybody ready for a fight. I look forward to us all being official aces.”

Part 2

STORM FRONT

Ellen:

That Intelligence toff, Robert Ethan, turned up at the Limehouse late that morning for about three hours. He was rail-thin and dressed in dapper tweeds, with huge eyes behind specs thick as bottle glass. His magnified eyes made you feel like a midgie pinned against a piece of card when he looked at you.

Nan fixed up her best double room for him—Number Four, the same one she’d let to the Jerry pilot—but Ethan didn’t stay. He was in a hurry and hopping mad that he’d missed the ado. He’d spent most of the day before stuck on a train waiting for a troops transport to pass. When he got off at last—with special permission to climb down onto the railway track and walk away before the train moved!—he legged it to an RAF aerodrome and tried to fly to Windyedge to make up the lost time. But the weather down south closed in on them, so then he ended up stuck somewhere else in England overnight. Now another storm was rolling in, and he didn’t want to waste his precious time being stuck here.