Risking It All Read Online Free PDF

Lynne’s desk.
    She grabbed them and searched for his name, but it wasn’t there; he hadn’t arrived back yet. She slammed the reports down and stared out the large window at the airfield. There was no way she could have sat in the shelter while he fought above her. Snatching up the scramble report, she stared at the time written on the top sheet—the warning had come too late, the bombers were too close by the time they were alerted. Had she not trained her girls well enough? Were men going to die because their system didn’t work?
    Would he die?
    The damned air raid siren howled again. Snatching her hat from the floor, she thrust it on her head. A huge explosion rocked the tower, flinging her forward against her desk, the hard edge driving the air from her lungs. White walls glowed with flashes of yellow and red flames, a sharp smell of smoke filled the room. Lynne straightened, hand to her stomach. Broken glass lay in glinting piles across the floor, mixed with traces of dark soil and rocks.
    “Crikey!” Barbara said, face white. “There’s a huge hole in the field outside. How soon do our shifts end?”
    “Down! There’s another one coming!” a woman shouted.
    Lynne crawled under her desk, mission reports clutched in her hand. A second bomb exploded, jolting the building, sending a spray of broken glass into the room, plaster breaking from the ceiling and filling the air with choking white dust. The drone of a plane sounded, and coughing, she climbed out from under the desk to look through the shattered windows.
    Was it him? The Spitfire landed on the runway, smoke pouring from a wing. She stared at the number. No, it wasn’t his. Bells ringing, a fire engine raced across the field, swerving left and right to avoid craters. A second plane came in, roaring across the damaged airstrip. A hurricane fighter. Damn it! Where was he? Why hadn’t he returned? Grabbing a pencil from her pocket, she ticked the plane off and remembered his whispered words of last night.
    Had he really said he loved her?
    An engine throbbed again and a Spitfire broke through the clouds, circling to land. One wing hung at an angle and the landing carriage was jammed. Lynne narrowed her eyes to peer at the number and her muscles went weak. It was Billy’s plane.
    She grabbed the window frame and shards of glass bit into her hand, drops of blood sliding down her fingers. He was going to have to crash land. Behind her, the controller shouted a warning and the fire engine and ambulance raced again for the landing strip.
    Lynne ran to the door, tore it open and ran down the stairs. Her bike lay on the floor, battered but intact. She threw her leg over it and sped across the field. Hot smoke poured from a flaming crater and as she jolted over a hole, her hat flew from her head but she carried on. She wasn’t stopping—if a bomb dropped now, the tin hat wouldn’t save her.
    She pounded up the runway. His plane dropped low over the trees, scraping on the branches, propellers roaring. Thick smoke filled the airstrip and she squinted, eyes stinging. Throwing herself from the bike, she raced towards the Spitfire as it dropped towards the ground. The plane crashed into the earth and sent mud cascading into the air. She couldn’t lose him now.
    “Keep back,” a fireman shouted. “It’s going to explode!”
    The man grabbed her waist and hauled her back; she struggled, but he grasped her fists and held tight.
    “Let me go!” she yelled.
    The cockpit pushed open and a hand emerged, grasping at the side of the plane. She jabbed her elbow back, struggling.
    “Billy!” she shouted.
    He tried to climb out, the plane rocking on its broken undercarriage and the sharp, chemical reek of aviation fuel filling the air.
    “Billy, get out!”
    He climbed onto the wing, rolled, and landed with a thud on the ground beneath the plane. She jerked a hand to her mouth; his flying jacket was splashed with red. The strong odour of petrol drifted over again as