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mercurygray · 20 days

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First One In

The 100th's first mission - the submarine pens at Bremen. First for the crews in the air - and the crews on the ground.

**Warning for non-graphic depiction of a civilian air accident.

June 25, 1943

The view from the tower was the best of everything.

Cord took a deep breath and let the wind ruffle her hair, listening to the birds and the soft whine of the weather equipment on the roof. This was the best part of her job - the wind and the quiet, and the green fields, and the view.

Downstairs was a hive of activity - the weather monitors on the floor below, taking their measurements, and the intelligence section below them, the huge blackboards mapping out the whole wing, squadron by squadron and plane by plane, the telex and the typewriters. But up here she was in her element, earth and sky in equal measure. It wasn’t flying - but damn if it wasn’t close.

She was glad they’d been some of the first crew here on base, and that the pilots had come later. It had given them time to settle in and really make the place theirs - and she didn’t mean the pictures Mae and the others had put up in their hut, or the curtains, or the flowers on the windowsills. She’d watched the laborers putting down the new tarmac, and watched the engineers putting in the new huts and barracks, and smelled the paint drying in the enlisted men’s mess halls and the Aero Club. This was her tower now, her radio and her field. She’d bicycled it and driven it and charted its wind patterns and read its weather reports and knew it now just about as well as it was possible to know a place.

But aren’t you scared, Cord? The question had been asked, more than once, before she packed herself off to Iowa for basic training. There’s so much you don’t know.

Well, sure, Cord had allowed. I don’t know heavy bombers, or England, or what to do in an air raid. But I know airfields. I know the Army, as much as they’ll let me know. And I know me, what I can do. I can learn everything else.

A true statement - the truest there was. She’d needed to learn a lot - how to drill and march in formation and shine shoes and salute, but once she’d gotten here, and been shown the tower, and how the radio worked, there wasn’t a thing she needed after that except the airplanes she’d be directing in, and the men to fly them. And the man who was going to lead them through it, of course.

She hadn’t known what she’d find, stepping into his office for the first time. Colonel Harold Huglin was something of an enigma. Had he worked with women before? Would he care? Captain Brennan didn’t know his name, and she’d been in longer than any of them, and Cord could tell, just by watching the older woman, that these were questions they would have to ask, and whether they liked the answers or not they’d have to live with them regardless.

She remembered thinking that his desk was exceptionally neat. It was something to focus on for a moment while she collected herself - the man had a face like a hawk, and as she’d saluted and sat down in the wooden chair opposite his desk she’d had the feeling of being prey. “You have quite the list of credentials, Lieutenant Callaway. There’s any number of things you could be doing - ferrying squadron work, for starters. Why apply for overseas duty?”

It had been a strange way to start an interview. Cord had shifted in her chair and taken a breath. Would it have been better if she’d lied, or worse? No, sir, I’ve never seen an airplane in my life, I don’t hold a pilot’s license, and I’ve never won prize money in an air race. I didn’t grow up on an airfield and I don’t know the first thing about the Army Air Corps. But her father hadn’t raised her to be a liar. “I’ve spent my whole life at Wright-Patterson, sir. I just wanted to do my bit, same as everyone else.” When you’re almost one of the boys and then all the boys start going overseas, it starts to wear a girl down a little.

“And you didn’t think ‘your bit’ was training new pilots? You’ve got more flight hours than some of the men who’ll be coming through here.”

Well, it helps if you start when you’re about fifteen or so and you’re a good student and the flying officers like you. “With respect, sir, I’m not a teacher. But I’m calm, and level-headed, and I know how to handle a plane, and that makes me just the sort of person you’d want on your tower. Flight control is just as important as any other job - and sometimes more. If a guy’s engine is on fire, he’s going to want to hear someone who can talk him out of it, if he needs.”

And then the man had smiled - actually smiled - and leaned back in his chair a little, obviously satisfied with her answer. “You can relax, Lieutenant. This isn’t an interview - you already have the job. A good commanding officer likes to know his crew before he gets started somewhere. And we’ll hope no one needs to be talked out of engine fires.”

But someone always will, sir. That’s the nature of airplanes. How many crashes had she seen at Wright - or even at the air shows? She knew all too well what a burning engine smelled like, a flamed out cowling. She hadn’t said that, of course - she knew when to keep her mouth shut. Witness Lieutenant - what was his name now? Brady, that was him, belly-landing his fort straight in from Greenland because he’d had some electrical failure and his landing gear wouldn’t engage.

They would hope there wouldn’t be any of that today - Lemmons already had something of a sour look after a noisy (and successful) campaign to rename that plane Brady’s Crash Wagon. Pilots thought they were funny, doing things like that, but crew chiefs could be superstitious about names.

Someone cleared her throat next to her. “You thinking of turning into a bird? You’ve got this look on your face like you’d like to launch off the balcony.”

Cord had to laugh. “Just admiring the view, Mae.” A jeep carrying a familiar bi-colored flight jacket came rolling around the corner, its owner whistling loudly. “Well, most of it.”

Mae laughed. “He’s the air exec, Cord. You can’t exactly get rid of him.”

“But I don’t have to be friendly, either.”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “One of these days you’re going to tell me exactly what he did to piss you off so bad.”

Where would I even start? “If it were exactly one thing I’d tell you, Mae. It’s more his entire state of being.”

“Lieutenant, you’re gonna want to come back inside.” Becky Holbrook was outside the glasshouse, binoculars in hand. “It looks like someone’s coming back early.”

Cord and Mae followed the Sergeant back inside the glass-walled observation room, and Cord took the binoculars and her position next to Anita Young on the radio, focusing on the plane on the horizon so she could try to read the numbers and assess condition. “That’s Major Veal’s plane. Looks like he’s on three engines.”

“Green flare,” Mae reported, though everyone with eyes could see it, arcing into the sky. “No need to send out the fire squad or the ambulance.” On the ground below, they saw a jeep peel out from one of the hardstands, three men clinging to their seats. “Looks like Lemmons is already on his way out.”

Another jeep joined them - the one that had only just parked at the tower. “And there goes Major Egan,” Cord said, sourly. “What the hell is he going to do?”

“Anything he can, Lieutenant.”

Cord immediately put down her binoculars and saluted, feeling foolish. “Major Bowman. There’s been nothing on the radio, sir. It looks from here like it’s just engine one that’s out.”

“As it should be,” Bowman said with approval. The intelligence officer wasn’t a physically imposing person, but Cord had spent enough time with him to know that he knew his business, and the slightly fading red hair that had given him his nickname was covering a first-rate brain. “Germans monitor all our radio traffic - Major Veal knows that. It’s different procedure here, compared to an airfield back in the states. They won’t radio in for landing instructions.” Cord looked down at her service shoes, feeling foolish. “But you’ve got a good eye about that engine, Lieutenant,” Bowman added, a gentle compliment to cover up her mistake.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Our first returned plane!” Becky said with a grin, nudging Anita and Mae. “We’re in it now!”

Beside her, she heard Bowman breathe sharply through his teeth. “We’ll get a report from him and the crew about when he turned back, and Egan will need an update on that plane’s operations status,” the intelligence officer stated, hands on his hips as he watched the plane touch down and turn down the taxiway. “Make sure no one stands down - fire teams, ambulances. We’re still waiting on the rest of the group.”

“Of course, sir.”

Bowman paused, turning away from the front of the glasshouse and stepping to the side, motioning for Cord to follow him. “You ever seen an airplane crash, Lieutenant Callaway? Apart from Lieutenant Brady’s ...unorthodox landing the other day?” He pursed his lips. “Colonel Huglin mentioned you grew up near Wright-Patterson. I want to know - if you know what we might be expecting back.”

Cord looked at him, really looked, and realized what he was asking. You mean do I know what’s waiting for the ambulances, sir? Or what a burning plane smells like? I watched a woman pancake on a pylon at Bendix, once. Took the turn too quick. Wasn’t anything to bury afterwards - just a burning wreck. I’ve seen pilots miss landings and I’ve seen gunnery practice go bad. Maybe I haven’t been in the war just yet but I know what a plane can do to a body. “Pretty frequently, sir.”

Bowman nodded. “This one was easy. The rest of it won’t be - you understand me? They may radio in to let you know what’s coming.” Manage the others was the last unspoken command. The rest won’t be pretty.

Cord fixed her eye on his and nodded, feeling the weight of his expectations and his stare. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” When the others come back, then we can say we’re in the war. But not before.

“Calm and steady, Callaway.”

“Always, sir.”

“And we’ll be grateful then that Major Egan’s doing everything he can, all right? Because we’re all doing everything we can, always.”

Cord swallowed the knot in her throat, knowing that at the heart of it he was right. Even she couldn’t say that Major Egan didn’t care about his airmen - and he was always doing everything he could, even if it sometimes made him a nuisance. “Right, sir.”

He nodded, and stepped back outside the glasshouse so he could go back downstairs. Cord took a deep breath, and returned to the radio, and the view out the front window. “Make a note of the time, Mae, will you? Captain Brennan will need that for the daily report.”

One plane back - nineteen more to go. She surveyed the airfield, wondering just how it would look in an hour, or two, or how the siren to call out the ambulance would sound behind the glass, and her hands tightened on her binoculars. I know airfields. I know planes. And by the end of today, I’ll know something else, too - something about war.

And aren’t you scared about it? She thought about that burning plane at Bendix again, the sound of the announcer’s voice, the collective gasp from the stands as the plane burst into flames and the flyer behind only just swerved to avoid it.

Well, my father didn’t raise a liar - so I’ll tell you: I’m damn terrified.

Read more of Cord here at her masterlist.

#i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #tds cinematic universe #cordelia callaway #masters of the air x oc

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