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Authors: Barbara Hannay
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ago, when Uncle Jim had insisted on showing her how to shoot.
‘There’ll be times when you’re here on your own,’ he’d said. ‘And you might find a brown snake in the dairy, or a damned dingo sneaking after the chooks. You can’t just throw a stick at them, lass. You have to know how to shoot.’
But Kitty had been a terrible shot and the horrible bruising recoil and deafening noise had terrified her. She’d been in tears afterwards.
There was no time for tears now, though, as she took cartridges from a drawer in the kitchen dresser, then opened the breach and loaded the gun.
That done, she pulled a heavy, brown potato sack from a hook near the door and slipped one corner over her head to make a rain hood. It was scratchy and damp and smelled musty, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and it would keep most of the rain off.
Carrying the shotgun and unlit lantern, she opened the back door and went cautiously down the wooden steps, glad there was still enough light for her to see her way.
At a guess, the plane was somewhere just beyond the home paddock. Diagonal streaks of rain slanted through the slim white trunks of gum trees, and their drooping leaves were silhouetted against a gun-metal sky. This paddock hadn’t been grazed for weeks and the sodden, knee-high grass dragged at her trousers as she followed a barbwire fence till she came to the gate leading to the next paddock.
Heart thumping, she stopped, and with the shotgun under her arm, fumbled with the gate’s wire fastening. A shout sounded close by and her heart leapt so high she almost dropped the gun.
Should she answer? Or should she hide?
There was no time to waste and she tried to think calmly. Would a stalking enemy call out?
Surely not. Gripping the shotgun more resolutely, she pushed the gate open. The hinges creaked alarmingly and her heart threatened to burst clear through her ribcage.
Carefully, fearfully, she crept forward. It was almost dark now, but ahead loomed the unmistakable shape of a silver-grey plane at an awkward angle. It didn’t look too badly damaged, but its nose had ploughed into the earth and its tail was in the air.
Kitty prayed. She prayed especially that it wasn’t a Jap plane. She’d seen photos of their fighter planes in the newspapers and she knew they had the red circle of the rising sun on their sides. This plane had a clear white star.
Not Japanese.
Thank you, God.
Almost giddy with relief, Kitty hurried forward. ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Is anyone there?’
A dark figure emerged from the grove of trees behind the plane, and a deep voice answered in an accent Kitty recognised from countless movies.
‘Quick, over here. I need some help, buddy.’
An American.
Oh, my goodness.
Now that she knew she was safe, Kitty quickly lit the lantern and lifted it high. The man was tall and dressed in a dark leather flying jacket. A flying helmet and goggles dangled from his left hand and he was loosening the knot of a white silk scarf at his neck.
She had never actually met an American before and she could feel her mouth gaping.
She caught the keen glance in his dark eyes and the silky gleam of his jet-black hair, not yet flattened by the drizzling rain. He didn’t merely sound like a hero in an American movie, he had the handsome looks of a film star too. He was, as her girlfriends would say,
a real dish
.
But this was no time for girlish flutters. It wasn’t even a time for introductions.
‘I’m glad you’ve brought a lantern,’ he said in a brisk, no-nonsense voice. ‘I’ve been trying to find my buddy. He ditched close by here.’
‘I heard a crash.’
‘Yeah. He could be injured.’
Without another word, the American dived back into the trees and Kitty plunged after him, doing her best to dodge saplings while she held the lantern high.
‘He’s over this way somewhere,’ the American said. ‘He didn’t make it to the open field, and I think his wing might have clipped a tree. We were
‘There’ll be times when you’re here on your own,’ he’d said. ‘And you might find a brown snake in the dairy, or a damned dingo sneaking after the chooks. You can’t just throw a stick at them, lass. You have to know how to shoot.’
But Kitty had been a terrible shot and the horrible bruising recoil and deafening noise had terrified her. She’d been in tears afterwards.
There was no time for tears now, though, as she took cartridges from a drawer in the kitchen dresser, then opened the breach and loaded the gun.
That done, she pulled a heavy, brown potato sack from a hook near the door and slipped one corner over her head to make a rain hood. It was scratchy and damp and smelled musty, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and it would keep most of the rain off.
Carrying the shotgun and unlit lantern, she opened the back door and went cautiously down the wooden steps, glad there was still enough light for her to see her way.
At a guess, the plane was somewhere just beyond the home paddock. Diagonal streaks of rain slanted through the slim white trunks of gum trees, and their drooping leaves were silhouetted against a gun-metal sky. This paddock hadn’t been grazed for weeks and the sodden, knee-high grass dragged at her trousers as she followed a barbwire fence till she came to the gate leading to the next paddock.
Heart thumping, she stopped, and with the shotgun under her arm, fumbled with the gate’s wire fastening. A shout sounded close by and her heart leapt so high she almost dropped the gun.
Should she answer? Or should she hide?
There was no time to waste and she tried to think calmly. Would a stalking enemy call out?
Surely not. Gripping the shotgun more resolutely, she pushed the gate open. The hinges creaked alarmingly and her heart threatened to burst clear through her ribcage.
Carefully, fearfully, she crept forward. It was almost dark now, but ahead loomed the unmistakable shape of a silver-grey plane at an awkward angle. It didn’t look too badly damaged, but its nose had ploughed into the earth and its tail was in the air.
Kitty prayed. She prayed especially that it wasn’t a Jap plane. She’d seen photos of their fighter planes in the newspapers and she knew they had the red circle of the rising sun on their sides. This plane had a clear white star.
Not Japanese.
Thank you, God.
Almost giddy with relief, Kitty hurried forward. ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Is anyone there?’
A dark figure emerged from the grove of trees behind the plane, and a deep voice answered in an accent Kitty recognised from countless movies.
‘Quick, over here. I need some help, buddy.’
An American.
Oh, my goodness.
Now that she knew she was safe, Kitty quickly lit the lantern and lifted it high. The man was tall and dressed in a dark leather flying jacket. A flying helmet and goggles dangled from his left hand and he was loosening the knot of a white silk scarf at his neck.
She had never actually met an American before and she could feel her mouth gaping.
She caught the keen glance in his dark eyes and the silky gleam of his jet-black hair, not yet flattened by the drizzling rain. He didn’t merely sound like a hero in an American movie, he had the handsome looks of a film star too. He was, as her girlfriends would say,
a real dish
.
But this was no time for girlish flutters. It wasn’t even a time for introductions.
‘I’m glad you’ve brought a lantern,’ he said in a brisk, no-nonsense voice. ‘I’ve been trying to find my buddy. He ditched close by here.’
‘I heard a crash.’
‘Yeah. He could be injured.’
Without another word, the American dived back into the trees and Kitty plunged after him, doing her best to dodge saplings while she held the lantern high.
‘He’s over this way somewhere,’ the American said. ‘He didn’t make it to the open field, and I think his wing might have clipped a tree. We were
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