Someone beside her whispered, ‘Go get ’em, boys.’

‘Second that,’ she said.

At the end of the shift they headed for the cookhouse, but the dried-up toast and grey-looking scrambled egg made from powder looked unappetising, and Kath felt too tired to eat. The excitement of witnessing the extraordinary might of the combined RAF and US air forces had kept her going on adrenalin for the last hour, but now all she wanted was to get to bed and sleep.

‘Kathleen Motts, as I live and breathe. You’re here at last! How come? I thought you’d be running the war by now.’ It was Marcia, glamorous as ever, heading back from the cookhouse with a gang of three others, as Kath made her way towards it. ‘We’re just coming off shift, sweetie, and heading out for a drink or several across the water. Want to come?’

‘Sorry, I need to grab a bite before my shift,’ Kath said.

‘Shame. We’ll have to catch up later. What room are you in?’

‘Fifty-four.’

‘Great – not too far from me. I’m in eighty-two,’ Marcia shouted as she dashed away down the corridor. ‘See you soon.’

After coming off shift again in the early hours of the morning, Kath crept into her room. In the light from the corridor, she saw that four of the bunks were occupied with sleeping figures. On her own, there was a note.

Hello sweetie. I’m so delighted you’re here, after all. Why aren’t you running the world from HQ any more? Did they sack you? Can’t wait to catch up but it looks like we’re on clashing shift patterns right now. Next Saturday evening we’ve been invited to Martlesham – the US base. Absolutely NOT TO BE MISSED! Write it in blood in your diary and bribe someone to swap shifts if necessary. Kisses, M.

24

The work of Vic and his team had been turned upside down by the arrival of the US air force.

He and another British research engineer were paired with a couple of American scientists and sent all over the country visiting newly built USAF bases. Their job entailed making sure that ‘friend or foe’ transmitters and receivers were properly installed into hundreds of newly arrived Flying Fortress bombers and other aircraft, and that AI, the air interception equipment that allowed aircrews to follow the flights of other nearby aircraft directly from their cockpits, was working correctly.

The work was pressured and exhausting, demanding all of Vic’s powers of diplomacy, but the living conditions and meals were more luxurious than anything he’d ever experienced. Once they’d accepted that he wouldn’t eat their delicious-smelling crispy bacon, hamburgers and hot dogs, they came up with plenty more to satisfy his taste: proper eggs cooked all ways, pancakes with maple syrup and, for lunch or dinner, plenty of fresh vegetables along with the crispiest chips – or ‘fries’, as they insisted on calling them. Their ice cream was simply out of this world.