Our Yanks by Margaret Mayhew

losses . . . terrible. Truly
terrible
, Lieutenant. Six hundred on one raid alone last month, I believe.’
    â€˜Same number back in August when they got started on the big ones and a couple more missions in October lost thirty ships each. I guess you could say we’re not doing too well so far.’
    â€˜To go in broad daylight seems a great risk.’
    â€˜That’s what your RAF says. Only we think it’s harder to do what they do – go at night. Maybe we’ll be proved wrong in the end.’
    â€˜Perhaps you’re both right – for different reasons. And with our weather I don’t suppose there’s much difference sometimes. In that bad fog we had recently I could hear some of your bombers going round and round, trying to find their airfields when they came back.’
    â€˜Yeah, that’s a big problem when you’ve learned to fly somewhere like Texas.’
    The rector leaned forward and prodded at the coals with a poker. A small flame flickered up and then died. ‘I’m afraid the village has very little to offer you in the way of entertainment.’
    â€˜You’ve got seven pubs, sir.’
    He smiled. ‘There used to be even more, believe it or not. There are the Saturday night dances in the village hall, of course. Have you been to one?’
    Mochetti had heard about them from some of the other guys. A three-piece band with that same old girl playing the piano, some old-timer squeezing the guts out of an accordion and another banging away on the drums. No liquor and more of those paste sandwiches. ‘Not yet, sir.’
    â€˜They’re really most enjoyable. Almost the whole village goes. It’s a family occasion.’
    â€˜That so?’
    â€˜There’s a modest entrance fee of one shilling – just to cover the costs and the refreshments, you know. You might enjoy it.’ The clock on the mantelpiece started chiming. ‘Agnes will be home any moment now.’ The rector cleared his throat. ‘She’s engaged to be married, I expect you know that?’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’ If he was being warned off it was being done real nicely.
    â€˜Clive, her fiancé, comes from one of our old farming families. He’s away in the army – still in England at the moment, thank goodness. Training for the day when we invade the Continent, I imagine. Like your people. Though that day still seems a little far off at the moment. We’ll just have to hope that you Americans will be able to speed things up, now that you’re here. Ah, I think that’s my daughter now . . . you’ll stay to lunch, of course, Lieutenant?’
    As she came into the room, he got to his feet. He noticed that she coloured up as soon as she saw him there.
    â€˜Lieutenant Mochetti was passing by, Agnes. I’ve asked him to stay to luncheon.’
    â€˜It’s only bubble and squeak.’
    â€˜I’m sure he won’t mind, will you?’
    â€˜Sounds find to me.’ What the hell was bubble and squeak? And where was the wife? She hadn’t been mentioned and he couldn’t remember her at the Welcome Party either.
    â€˜That’s settled then. While we’re waiting, I insist that you have that sherry, Lieutenant.’
    It was sweet and syrupy – like medicine – and he drank it down in two gulps – like medicine. The rector was asking something about the Group’s function. No harm answering in general. ‘We’re here to escort the heavy bombers, sir. To see off any enemy fighters who try to bounce them. That’s our job. Little friends, they call us.’ He’d passed over the grim fact that if the target was beyond a certain distance the P-38s couldn’t go all the way there and back with the bombers. No fighter could – not yet.
    â€˜You make it sound almost simple, Lieutenant.’
    He smiled. ‘Ask me the same question in a couple of months’