~ Brigadier ~

by

Sara V. Olds

Air raid sirens took up their wailing warning. The bombing on London started up for yet another night. Mary’s face turned toward the ceiling as if trying to see through the roof. Her shoulders pressed upward while her body shrank downward. It was an unconscious effort to make herself a smaller target. She reached out for Kim’s hand.

"Here we go again," Kim muttered, her pleasant regard of General Lansing dissolving. "Haven’t we suffered enough?"

"I hate this!" said Mary, her face fading to a shade favored by the undead. "Are we too close to the docks?"

Too many times the London docks had been a favorite target of the Nazi bombers, turning the shipping yard into blazing towers of infernos, the fingers of the flames hungrily grabbing at the oxygen in the air.

Kim shook her head. "I think we should be okay."

"It doesn’t matter how often this happens. I’ll never get used it," muttered Mary.

"No one should have to." Kim cursed under her breath.

The rumble of the airplanes grew louder. The very air seemed to vibrate from the sound of their engines.

"The gas works!" cried an old man wearing a tattered overcoat. "They’re headed for the gas works."

"Is that far from here?" Mary asked Kim.

She shrugged and shook her head. "I’m not that familiar with this part of London."

Telltale whistles of falling bombs were heard in the distance. As the rumbling of the plane engines rose to a deafening level, so did the high-pitched shrilling of the messengers of death. The lights on the ceiling started shaking.

"We need to find a bomb shelter!" Mary’s voice was loud in Kim’s ear. She could feel the air from Mary’s breath on her skin. Her own heart pounded hard in her head, making her dizzy.

"No time!"

Mary’s hand on Kim’s arm shook like a thin leaf caught in a squall. "What do we do?"

Across the pub and now on his feet, the man Kim had been so covertly observing spoke for the first time. "Everyone get in the cellar. Sir," he demanded of the owner, "I assume you have the proper facilities downstairs?"

The man nodded, almost unaware of his movement. "Uhhh--" From the look on his face it was evident the bombing had never come so close before.

A thickness grew in the room. Fear. It was so strong one could almost feel it, taste it.

"Now move!" General Lansing ordered. It was not a voice to be disobeyed.

The command awakened the stunned patrons into action. They scrambled to their feet, moving as directed.

Dazed, Kim blinked once. She hesitated, unable to react to his words.

A man jostled her as he moved by. No choice. Kim took a tight grip on Mary’s hand and the two women shuffled along with the others. A chair fell with a clatter and was ignored.

Outside, an ear-piercing shriek, far louder than the rest, caught everyone’s attention. Many turned in the direction of the sound. But Kim, seeking any form of protection, pushed Mary under a nearby table and scrambled under right after. Then, throwing her arms around Mary, the two drew close together.

The door of the pub banged open and the heavy blackout curtain flew back. The building across the road blew into millions of pieces with a blinding flash of light and an ear-shattering blast.

From underneath the table, Kim saw the reflection of the explosion on the far pub wall.

Mary screamed in terror--her voice joined by others in a horrific chorus of fright.

For Kim, aware of Mary trembling in her arms, the confusion that followed seemed to occur in slow motion. Glass, bricks, wood, and mortar crashed through the open doorway. Kim, drawn by a frightened fascination, turned her head toward the entrance. She saw two women blocking the entry as they pushed a handful of children into the pub. Kim watched helplessly as one woman slumped forward in the portal, crushing the closest of the children. Kim could hear screams for help in the street. All around her the people in the pub stood frozen.

"Blackout curtains!" The owner of the pub called out, reminding everyone the heavy curtains needed to be in place.

"Fat lot of good they’ll do now," said one of the barmaids, her face cut and bleeding. "That building fire can be seen for miles, I reckon. A right beacon for more planes."

A myriad of sounds attacked Kim’s ears, making them almost ache from trying to sort everything out: glass bursting, wood splintering, brick crumbling, explosions, the singsong of fire trucks, and the ever present moaning of the air raid sirens. Even the fire roared with a ferocity that deafened. An air of helplessness crept over the room. Few people moved from their spots. With the electricity now gone, the only source of light was the orange flames across the street.

Behind her, Kim heard a voice, which at first she didn’t recognize.

"Damn it to hell! My eyes! I can’t see!" The voice of authority that had been leading them now sounded angry and confused.

Kim turned, following the sound of Lansing’s plea for help.