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said.
    She couldn’t leave him, not like this.
    “I want to stay.”
    “Waiting room, please. We’ve dozens of casualties, don’t delay us.”
    Lynne leaned down and kissed him. A drop of moisture landed on his cheek and lifting a hand to her own face, she stared at the tears on her fingers.
    ****
    The glass of water stood on his bedside table. Billy reached out a hand again, but his bandaged shoulder wouldn’t stretch far enough. He licked his lips, dry skin against his tongue.
    Giving up, he dropped back against the hard pillow and looked around the single room, a narrow cupboard holding an iron bed and cabinet. From above came the drone of planes and he twitched, frustrated. Why was he lying here? He should be finding out why so many died, why he’d lost Arthur. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain flared through his head and his stomach churned. Swallowing, he lay back down.
    Where was Lynne?
    No, he mustn’t think of Lynne; she’d been cold with him because she feared losing him and she was right. In Special Ops, his life wasn’t worth a shilling.
    There was a knock on the door and Lynne stepped in. Thick black smuts covered her face and uniform. She’d washed her hands, they were clean and pink, but she could not hide the burns on her cheeks.
    “Was the watcher tower hit?” he said.
    “It’s from the airfield,” she said.
    “What were you doing there?”
    Lynne stared at him, a strange expression in her eyes; like hope. “I’m fine,” she said.
    Billy nodded to the water glass. “I can’t hold it.”
    Lynne picked it up and placed the rim against his mouth, tilting to pour a small amount of water between his lips.
    “They say you’ll be all right.” She put the cup down. “A nasty cut to your head and a dislocated shoulder. Bruises.”
    “Can they mend my Spitfire?”
    Lynne reached for his hand. “It exploded, Billy. There’s nothing left.”
    He remembered the bullet hitting the engine, the jammed landing gear. Arthur. He closed his eyes as a sharp pain filled his chest. His best friend, dead. It never should have happened; Arthur had been an experienced pilot.
    Lynne squeezed his hand again. “Billy, I love you.”
    Her eyes were red and tear marks ran down her soot-covered cheeks. He couldn’t do this to her; first his brother, now Arthur. When would it be his turn? Oh, why could she not do her job properly?
    “I like you, Lynne, you’re a lovely girl. But I don’t do relationships.”
    “So you said in the ambulance.”
    Damn. What had he said? He couldn’t remember, had felt angry, that was true. Angry about Arthur.
    “I’m due to be transferred soon,” he said. “I doubt I’ll see you again.”
    She stepped back. “It’s your injuries, your head...”
    “No, it isn’t. I’m not interested, Lynne. Last night was a one off.”
    She drew in a breath and he hoped she wasn’t crying, he couldn’t bear it, but when she spoke her voice was hard and dry. “All right. I won’t disturb you anymore. Have a good life.”
    Heels thudded on the floor as she strode out of the room and he closed his mouth to prevent himself begging her to return. Then, from above, came the drone of a bomber.
    ****
    “Are you all right?” Barbara said.
    Lynne looked up from her desk. “I’m fine.”
    “You’re not eating or sleeping. Are you worrying about the planes being shot down?”
    She nodded. It was partly true.
    “But it’s not our fault,” Barbara said. “The moment the signal comes in, we’re racing to put out the call to scramble.”
    “And still they die.”
    Barbara banged her hand on the desk and strode off. Lynne dropped her head into her hands; how much longer could they all cope with this? On top of the worry about the planes, Billy had discharged himself from hospital. Deemed unfit for duty, he spent his days in the mess hall and pub. She avoided both, terrified of seeing him with another girl. One had asked him out, Barbara said, but to her relief, he refused, saying