Rose Under Fire Read Online Free PDF
Author: Elizabeth Wein
targeting. But for me the most frightening thing happened after we got off the train at Hamble Station. We were walking along the branch line that takes trains down to the airfield except on Sundays (yes, we were walking back to the airfield on Sunday evening, because technically I was working that day and it would still be light for another five hours), and there were a couple of kids leaning over the wall by the tracks and yelling. They straightened up guiltily when they noticed us, but their pal who’d scaled the wall to get to the other side of the tracks didn’t realise we were there and gave himself away by shouting to his friends.
‘Oi, you lot – I’ve got another bit, but I need Rob’s knife back to cut these wires!’
The kids froze. We probably looked scarily official in our uniforms, especially Maddie with her First Officer’s gold stripes. The boys took a couple of steps back. One of them leaned over the wall and tried to shush his pal. And that made me look over the side of the wall to see what the other boy was doing.
He was taking apart a bomb.
Scout’s honour, that’s what he was doing. It was a flying bomb that hadn’t gone off. Sometimes they run out of fuel prematurely and just glide down, and occasionally they just don’t go off. It was much smaller than a Tempest or even a Spitfire, really no more than a bomb with wings. It had taken a couple of saplings down as it ploughed into the strip of waste ground at the edge of the railway, and now it was sitting on its belly by the train tracks, one wing missing and a long strip of the fuselage ripped open where it had connected with the trees. All of its innards were lying exposed to view and ready for small boys to come along and mop up souvenirs.
It must have just happened, or the railway would have already called the unexploded bomb people out to deal with it. The scavenging boy who wanted Rob’s knife was standing there with a shiny cylindrical metal case in his hand. It looked like a soup tin with the paper label missing. And, like he’d said, it was attached by a couple of wires to the inside of the bomb.
‘I’ve got the fuse!’ the boy yelled triumphantly, and then he saw me and Maddie staring at him with our mouths open.
The kid glanced around – there was no place to hide. He reached towards the wires inside the plane as if he was about to yank them free.
Maddie dropped her suitcase and tried to scramble over the wall. ‘
Don’t pull! Don’t move! Just hold still
–’
I beat her to it. I didn’t have a case, just my flight bag over my shoulder.
‘
Don’t drop it
–’
Maddie was yelling at me now. ‘Get him to put it down
gently
! There’s an electrical charge in the fuse and some of them are timed to go off after they’ve landed!’ She made it over the wall and was three steps behind me as we raced across the tracks. ‘That fuse could blow your fingers off on its own, you daft lad, even without being attached to a ton of explosive!’
Then the boy stood very still. He didn’t drop the fuse. He held it out to me across both palms. I remember thinking that this was hugely unfair of God and the universe in general, because now I had to take the fuse. I had got there first and it was mine.
For a moment we were stuck like that, a little boy and a big girl, holding the living heart of a V-1 flying bomb between us.
The silver cylinder had a type number stamped on the cap, and a manufacturer’s name: RHEINMETALL
Incredible to think that someone else’s fingers had fitted this destructive thing together, inserted the fragile switches and connected the wires and screwed on the cap, and now it was balanced ready to blow my own fingers off. Or this boy’s.
I took it from him very carefully.
‘Now scoot,’ I said sadly, because I really thought I was as good as dead.
As he handed it over, the wires simply fell free. They probably had been disconnected the whole time. At least if the fuse went off it wasn’t
‘Oi, you lot – I’ve got another bit, but I need Rob’s knife back to cut these wires!’
The kids froze. We probably looked scarily official in our uniforms, especially Maddie with her First Officer’s gold stripes. The boys took a couple of steps back. One of them leaned over the wall and tried to shush his pal. And that made me look over the side of the wall to see what the other boy was doing.
He was taking apart a bomb.
Scout’s honour, that’s what he was doing. It was a flying bomb that hadn’t gone off. Sometimes they run out of fuel prematurely and just glide down, and occasionally they just don’t go off. It was much smaller than a Tempest or even a Spitfire, really no more than a bomb with wings. It had taken a couple of saplings down as it ploughed into the strip of waste ground at the edge of the railway, and now it was sitting on its belly by the train tracks, one wing missing and a long strip of the fuselage ripped open where it had connected with the trees. All of its innards were lying exposed to view and ready for small boys to come along and mop up souvenirs.
It must have just happened, or the railway would have already called the unexploded bomb people out to deal with it. The scavenging boy who wanted Rob’s knife was standing there with a shiny cylindrical metal case in his hand. It looked like a soup tin with the paper label missing. And, like he’d said, it was attached by a couple of wires to the inside of the bomb.
‘I’ve got the fuse!’ the boy yelled triumphantly, and then he saw me and Maddie staring at him with our mouths open.
The kid glanced around – there was no place to hide. He reached towards the wires inside the plane as if he was about to yank them free.
Maddie dropped her suitcase and tried to scramble over the wall. ‘
Don’t pull! Don’t move! Just hold still
–’
I beat her to it. I didn’t have a case, just my flight bag over my shoulder.
‘
Don’t drop it
–’
Maddie was yelling at me now. ‘Get him to put it down
gently
! There’s an electrical charge in the fuse and some of them are timed to go off after they’ve landed!’ She made it over the wall and was three steps behind me as we raced across the tracks. ‘That fuse could blow your fingers off on its own, you daft lad, even without being attached to a ton of explosive!’
Then the boy stood very still. He didn’t drop the fuse. He held it out to me across both palms. I remember thinking that this was hugely unfair of God and the universe in general, because now I had to take the fuse. I had got there first and it was mine.
For a moment we were stuck like that, a little boy and a big girl, holding the living heart of a V-1 flying bomb between us.
The silver cylinder had a type number stamped on the cap, and a manufacturer’s name: RHEINMETALL
Incredible to think that someone else’s fingers had fitted this destructive thing together, inserted the fragile switches and connected the wires and screwed on the cap, and now it was balanced ready to blow my own fingers off. Or this boy’s.
I took it from him very carefully.
‘Now scoot,’ I said sadly, because I really thought I was as good as dead.
As he handed it over, the wires simply fell free. They probably had been disconnected the whole time. At least if the fuse went off it wasn’t