Lady Flyer, page 33
Nancy grasped the engine throttles, and the bomber began to move slowly toward the end of the runway. Once they turned to face the entire length of the runway, she pressed the four throttles forward. Takeoff had begun, and the speed climbed on the airspeed indicator.
“Wait until it reaches 110 miles per hour,” Forman said into her headset.
Nancy’s heart thundered along with the four engines as the massive plane gained speed, and when it reached 110 miles per hour, she pulled back on the control wheel. “We’re flying,” she sputtered as the bomber lifted from the runway.
Forman chuckled. “Bring down the nose.”
She pushed the control wheel forward now so that the nose of the B-17 would level out. The landing gear hummed into place, tucking into the belly of the plane.
The airspeed indicator continued to rise, and once they reached 135 miles per hour, the plane began to climb higher. The entire flight would be less than an hour.
“I’m closing the cowl flaps,” Forman said.
“How high are we taking her?” Nancy asked.
“12,000 feet,” Forman said.
Nancy looked over at him to see his grin. She moved one of the headphones off her ears, but the noise was nearly earsplitting. Replacing it, she said, “What’s our approach?”
“We’ll come in on a southwest approach,” Forman said.
“Yes, sir.” Nancy peered out the windscreen at the ground below—buildings and patches of ground growing smaller and smaller. Eventually, the meandering stretch of the Miami River came into view as it curved around the airfield. They’d be making a short-field landing in order to avoid the wires at the northeast end of the runway of Middletown, Ohio.
“Ready?” Forman asked. “Contact the tower to get clearance for landing.”
Once Nancy got the tower clearance, Forman brought the aircraft in. From her viewpoint, Nancy could see the people waving, gawking, and raising cameras to snap photos.
“Go ahead,” Forman said. “Wave to the crowds. Most of them have never seen a plane this large. I’ll wait here.”
Nancy raised her sunglasses and perched them on her helmet, then she looked over at Forman. “You don’t want to get out? They’re going to think I landed this thing on my own.”
He shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly.
So Nancy climbed out of the plane and spoke to a few reporters. They knew her name, which impressed her, but she quickly corrected the idea that she was the only one flying the plane. After stopping at the restroom facilities, because there was nothing on the B-17 that worked well for a woman since it was too cumbersome to strip off her flight suit and use the chemical toilet, she headed back to the plane. A group of kids shouted and waved at her, so she waved back, smiling. Once she was back on the plane, she again sat in the copilot’s seat.
“Let’s get her in the sky,” Forman said.
Nancy didn’t think she’d ever take the thrill of flying a B-17 for granted.
A few days later, Betty accompanied them on the B-17 on a cross-country trip. Tunner had administrative business to attend to at the various stops, so he came along too. Forman piloted, and when they approached to land at Ludington, Michigan, the airfield was too short.
“I’m aborting.” Forman retracted the landing flaps, applied full power, and pulled back on the yoke. They lifted above the airfield again. But the abrupt use of full power made engine number four detonate.
“Feather,” Nancy said, her training instinctive as she felt the higher drag kick in.
Forman did so by turning the propeller blades so they pointed in the direction of flight, lessening the air resistance.
“Let’s land her at the Traverse City airport,” Tunner cut in. “It’s the closest base.”
“That’s a Navy base,” Forman said tightly. “They might not want the intrusion.”
“Do we want to fly all the way back to Ohio on only three engines?” Tunner asked.
Forman’s jaw tightened, but he turned the plane.
The air-traffic controller didn’t immediately give them clearance, even when Nancy explained they were one engine down.
“I’m not going to circle,” Forman told the control-tower operator. “I need immediate clearance.”
Nancy glanced back at Betty, who was wide-eyed.
Finally, the controller came back on. “Cleared to land, but only if an emergency.”
“We don’t have much choice,” Forman told the controller.
“Cleared.”
As they landed, Nancy stared as several jeeps drove out to meet them. Inside were armed men—armed Navy men—she guessed by their uniforms.
“What’s going on?” she asked, but no one seemed to have an answer.
“It’s not like we’re the enemy,” Betty muttered.
Forman’s conversation with the Navy commander was very short before he climbed back into the cockpit, his face as hard as stone. “They’re demanding that we leave right away. On three engines. They claim they can’t service the plane and that we need high-level security clearance to even be here.”
“What’s going on?” Tunner asked.
“Well, we won’t find out now—maybe later,” Forman said, his words like steel. “Where to next, Nancy?”
“The AAF base in Alpena should be able to handle the repair,” Nancy said.
Forman nodded.
“Can we take off with only three working engines?” Betty asked, worry in her voice.
“This plane is built to survive worse,” Forman said. “Didn’t ever think we’d be flying this way over US soil though.”
As Forman pushed the throttles forward, they gained speed, and once they hit 110 miles per hour, he pulled back on the control wheel. The Flying Fortress lifted, and Nancy felt relieved. The workmanship of this plane really was superior, and she now understood firsthand the desperate need to get them over to Europe.
Over the next days, Nancy finally checked out on the B-17, after the repairs were made in Alpena. She landed at multiple airports, and the following week, she began to transition on the B-17F. Her work included landing with three engines running, then only two.
She found that the B-17 was smooth in the clear sky, but it became clumsy when the weather turned bad. At 35,000 pounds empty and over 65,000 when filled with fuel and bombs, it was an intense physical experience to pilot this plane. Especially when they had to shut down one or two of the four engines and navigate from there.
It wasn’t uncommon for Nancy and Betty to climb out of the plane, arms and legs quaking and their flight suits stained with perspiration. Betty was too petite to see over the control panel, yet she managed to keep the plane straight.
“Does the sun come up earlier each day?” Betty asked one early morning in Cincinnati when Nancy met her at the barracks. The cool summer air felt refreshing, but they were both missing out on sleep. “Or is it just me?”
“I think it’s you,” Nancy teased with a tired smile. “Let’s get moving. We’re not going to go through all this training on the B-17 and wear out before we can make a cross-country flight.”
Betty gave her a salute, and they strode from the barracks. They began their morning run to the field, where they’d go through their routine of push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and other calisthenic exercises. Because of how physically grueling flying the B-17 was, Nancy put together a memo to the WASP organization detailing the requirements for the physical strength training required to fly the bigger planes.
By the end of August, both Nancy and Betty were qualified and trained. They’d also taken on ferrying missions of delivering multiple B-17Fs, totaling twenty-four hours of ferrying time. The night before they left on the first leg of their mission that would take them across the Atlantic, Nancy called Bob with sobering news. “Did you read the papers about the Bloody Hundredth?”
“I did,” Bob said, subdued.
On a mission to Schweinfurt–Regensburg, the Eighth Air Force Group, which included 376 bombers targeting the German aircraft industry, lost sixty bombers and had many more crippled. Losses happened all the time, but this felt closer to home since the crews were flying the same type of plane as Nancy.
“They’re going to need replacements right away,” she said.
“Yes,” Bob agreed. “Your mission couldn’t come soon enough.”
He sounded so serious that Nancy had to ask, “You aren’t changing your mind about all this, are you?”
“No,” Bob said immediately. “It’s difficult to see these kinds of setbacks. And to know you’re going to be on the other side of the Atlantic soon. You have my letter of introduction to Major Atwood?”
“Yes, it’s already packed in my B-4 bag.” Bob’s letter was written on official ATC letterhead and introduced Nancy and Betty to Major Roy Atwood, the executive officer of the ATC European Wing in London.
“Great,” he said quietly.
Neither of them spoke for several moments.
“I love you, Bob.”
“I love you, too, sweetie.”
The next day, on September 1, Nancy and Betty flew a B-17F from Cincinnati to New Castle. Nancy wasn’t entirely sure if she’d slept the night before—or maybe she had dreamed she was awake. Her mind had gone over every flying scenario she’d ever been in. A dull headache had formed, but she didn’t have time for any distractions.
Her crew consisted of Betty copiloting at the moment, with 1st Lt. R.O. (Pappy) Fraser as navigator, radio operator T/Sgt. Stover, aerial engineer T/Sgt. Weintraub, and assistant aerial engineer T/Sgt. L.S. Hall. They were a solid team, and Nancy felt honored to be included with them—a part of history, really. A part of the war effort.
Once they landed in New Castle, they were outfitted with fleece-lined suits and oxygen masks that would be necessary for the North Atlantic crossing. They stayed overnight, and Nancy found herself facing a night in the BOQ 14 barracks. Memories flooded through her of how over a year ago, the WAFS had started in this place.
“We’ve come a long way since the Original WAFS,” Betty said as they walked to the barracks together.
“We sure have,” Nancy said. “I don’t think I could have predicted any of this. Hoped for it, maybe.”
“Just think, in two days, we’ll be over the Atlantic.”
Nancy smiled. “Sometimes it seems too good to be true.”
Betty nudged her. “Look around you. This is all really happening.”
Nancy finally slept that night, yet the feeling of trepidation persisted in the morning. Everything was moving forward as it should, but doubts bounced around in her head whenever she had a quiet moment. Not that there were many of those, surrounded by her crew. Next, they flew to La Guardia Airport in New York for an overnight briefing. Once they were again cleared, they headed to Presque Isle, Maine, to prepare for the flight to Goose Bay, Labrador, in Canada.
The Canadian government had given the US carte blanche to use the air base they’d built early on in the war. Landing in Canada scattered some of Nancy’s spinning thoughts. She and Betty headed into one of the offices to make phone calls. Betty called her husband, then Nancy called Bob to update him on their progress. Finally, she called Tunner.
“Good to hear about your safe arrival,” he said into the phone. “I heard the weather is keeping you grounded an extra day.”
“Yes, sir,” Nancy told him. “We should be clear tomorrow. These are fast-moving clouds.”
“Excellent,” Tunner said. “Safe flight tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Nancy smiled over at Betty, who smiled back.
When she hung up with Tunner, Nancy said, “I guess we enjoy the rain until it’s time for dinner?”
Betty stretched out her arms. “Suit yourself. I’m going to take a little nap, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” Nancy wasn’t going to attempt any sort of a nap, or she’d be wired again tonight. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
After Betty disappeared into their sleeping quarters, Nancy was tempted to call Bob again, but she called her parents instead.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said as soon as her father answered.
“Are you on US soil or English?”
She smiled at the eagerness in his voice. “Neither. We have a weather delay in Canada. Should be flying out tomorrow though.”
“We’re praying for you, my dear.”
Her mother’s voice could be heard in the background, and her father said, “Oh, here’s your mother. She wants to hear all about it.”
Nancy nearly laughed. The less her mother knew about weather delays or the various scenarios that could affect a transatlantic flight, the better.
But her mother’s voice was cheerful, excited even. “I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink while you’re in that huge plane, flying over the ocean.”
“It’s really very safe, Mother,” Nancy said. “We won’t be over enemy territory or anything like that. We’re only making an overseas delivery.”
“I know,” her mother said. “Your father has explained it all to me—more than once and answered my many questions. I can’t quite believe my daughter is doing this—and with Betty too. It’s remarkable.”
When Nancy met Betty and the rest of the crew in the mess hall for dinner, their spirits were high. Maybe the delay had been good. It had mellowed everyone’s nerves, and they could enjoy a quieter night together. The weather had already calmed.
“Looks like the heavens are parting and bestowing a perfect flight for tomorrow,” Fraser said.
“Makes my job easier,” Stover said. “I can radio the control tower without the static.”
“Yeah, we don’t want to overshoot Scotland,” Weintraub deadpanned.
“I’ll keep y’all on track,” Hall said.
Stover clapped Hall on the shoulder. “Glad to have you on board. I feel peachy keen to be traveling with the two best pilots.”
Nancy smiled, and Betty smirked. “That’s right, boys.”
“Mrs. Love?”
Nancy turned to see the AAF chief of Air Staff, General Barney Giles. He peered at her through his black-rimmed glasses, holding out a telegram. “This just arrived, and it’s marked urgent.”
Nancy took the telegram, a dozen thoughts running through her mind. Was there an emergency somewhere? Was everyone in her family all right? She’d just spoken to her parents. Maybe it was something with Bob. She opened the telegram, and as she silently read the words, her vision blurred, and all warmth drained from her face.
The message was from General Smith, and it included a second message from General Hap Arnold: “Just have seen message from General C.R. Smith, indicated that a B-17 with women crew will leave for England shortly. Desire that this trip be canceled, and no women fly transoceanic planes until I have had time to study and approve.”
The telegram slipped from Nancy’s hand as she rubbed at her temples. She felt sick to the center of her stomach. They’d put in so much work, and everyone was ready . . . Once again, gender had slammed down a barrier.
“What is it?” Betty asked, picking up the telegram and reading it. “This can’t be true, can it?”
“Apparently, it is,” Nancy gritted out. “General Smith’s opening note makes that clear.”
Betty’s face flushed. “I don’t understand, Nancy.”
By now, the rest of their crew had passed around the telegram, their faces growing pale as well.
“They can’t cancel in the eleventh hour,” Fraser said, looking around the table. “Can they?”
“I don’t know.” Nancy stood from the table. “I’m going to call General Tunner and see what’s going on.”
“I’m coming with you,” Betty said, standing.
The rest of the crew rose, pushing back their chairs in haste.
“Come with us, boys,” Nancy said. “We might as well all hear this together.”
The night sky was clear and cool as they headed to the office with a phone. Nancy called the office in Cincinnati, but she didn’t expect an answer, so she called Tunner at home.
“I received a telegram from General Smith stating that General Arnold is canceling our mission,” Nancy said tightly. “We’re being replaced by a male pilot and copilot.”
“Ridiculous,” Tunner said. “You’re both qualified, and General Smith authorized the flight.”
“Evidently, he didn’t run it by General Arnold, who seems to have more clout since he’s in England right now.” She tightened her grip on the receiver. “Can you find out what’s going on? I’m here with my whole crew. We’ll wait until you call us back.”
The next hour felt like the longest of Nancy’s life. She didn’t dare call Bob because she wanted to keep the line free. And once she heard his voice, she was also pretty sure she’d lose whatever control she had over her emotions right now.
When the phone finally rang, Nancy jumped to answer.
“General Smith thought you were well on your way across the Atlantic,” Tunner said. “Apparently, he didn’t know about the weather delay.”
“And?”
“And he sent a telegram informing Brigadier General Paul Burrows, the commander of the ATC European Wing, of your mission. General Smith also told Burrows to pass on the message to General Arnold about you and Betty flying the B-17 and how it would be the first instance of overseas ferrying of any type of military bomber with women serving both as pilot and copilot.” Tunner drew in a breath. “General Arnold doesn’t want women flying into a war zone.”
Nancy didn’t speak for a moment. Nothing that came to mind would be ladylike or polite or something she wanted to be remembered for. “It’s final, then?”
“It’s final.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Production was so heavy that we frequently had rows of P-51s stored in the middle of the Long Beach Airport. If you got back to base by noon, Operations sent you right back out that day. You picked up the airplane and headed for Palm Springs so that you could leave from there the following morning to ferry the plane to Newark. If you got back to base later in the afternoon you didn’t have to go back out until the next morning.”
“Wait until it reaches 110 miles per hour,” Forman said into her headset.
Nancy’s heart thundered along with the four engines as the massive plane gained speed, and when it reached 110 miles per hour, she pulled back on the control wheel. “We’re flying,” she sputtered as the bomber lifted from the runway.
Forman chuckled. “Bring down the nose.”
She pushed the control wheel forward now so that the nose of the B-17 would level out. The landing gear hummed into place, tucking into the belly of the plane.
The airspeed indicator continued to rise, and once they reached 135 miles per hour, the plane began to climb higher. The entire flight would be less than an hour.
“I’m closing the cowl flaps,” Forman said.
“How high are we taking her?” Nancy asked.
“12,000 feet,” Forman said.
Nancy looked over at him to see his grin. She moved one of the headphones off her ears, but the noise was nearly earsplitting. Replacing it, she said, “What’s our approach?”
“We’ll come in on a southwest approach,” Forman said.
“Yes, sir.” Nancy peered out the windscreen at the ground below—buildings and patches of ground growing smaller and smaller. Eventually, the meandering stretch of the Miami River came into view as it curved around the airfield. They’d be making a short-field landing in order to avoid the wires at the northeast end of the runway of Middletown, Ohio.
“Ready?” Forman asked. “Contact the tower to get clearance for landing.”
Once Nancy got the tower clearance, Forman brought the aircraft in. From her viewpoint, Nancy could see the people waving, gawking, and raising cameras to snap photos.
“Go ahead,” Forman said. “Wave to the crowds. Most of them have never seen a plane this large. I’ll wait here.”
Nancy raised her sunglasses and perched them on her helmet, then she looked over at Forman. “You don’t want to get out? They’re going to think I landed this thing on my own.”
He shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly.
So Nancy climbed out of the plane and spoke to a few reporters. They knew her name, which impressed her, but she quickly corrected the idea that she was the only one flying the plane. After stopping at the restroom facilities, because there was nothing on the B-17 that worked well for a woman since it was too cumbersome to strip off her flight suit and use the chemical toilet, she headed back to the plane. A group of kids shouted and waved at her, so she waved back, smiling. Once she was back on the plane, she again sat in the copilot’s seat.
“Let’s get her in the sky,” Forman said.
Nancy didn’t think she’d ever take the thrill of flying a B-17 for granted.
A few days later, Betty accompanied them on the B-17 on a cross-country trip. Tunner had administrative business to attend to at the various stops, so he came along too. Forman piloted, and when they approached to land at Ludington, Michigan, the airfield was too short.
“I’m aborting.” Forman retracted the landing flaps, applied full power, and pulled back on the yoke. They lifted above the airfield again. But the abrupt use of full power made engine number four detonate.
“Feather,” Nancy said, her training instinctive as she felt the higher drag kick in.
Forman did so by turning the propeller blades so they pointed in the direction of flight, lessening the air resistance.
“Let’s land her at the Traverse City airport,” Tunner cut in. “It’s the closest base.”
“That’s a Navy base,” Forman said tightly. “They might not want the intrusion.”
“Do we want to fly all the way back to Ohio on only three engines?” Tunner asked.
Forman’s jaw tightened, but he turned the plane.
The air-traffic controller didn’t immediately give them clearance, even when Nancy explained they were one engine down.
“I’m not going to circle,” Forman told the control-tower operator. “I need immediate clearance.”
Nancy glanced back at Betty, who was wide-eyed.
Finally, the controller came back on. “Cleared to land, but only if an emergency.”
“We don’t have much choice,” Forman told the controller.
“Cleared.”
As they landed, Nancy stared as several jeeps drove out to meet them. Inside were armed men—armed Navy men—she guessed by their uniforms.
“What’s going on?” she asked, but no one seemed to have an answer.
“It’s not like we’re the enemy,” Betty muttered.
Forman’s conversation with the Navy commander was very short before he climbed back into the cockpit, his face as hard as stone. “They’re demanding that we leave right away. On three engines. They claim they can’t service the plane and that we need high-level security clearance to even be here.”
“What’s going on?” Tunner asked.
“Well, we won’t find out now—maybe later,” Forman said, his words like steel. “Where to next, Nancy?”
“The AAF base in Alpena should be able to handle the repair,” Nancy said.
Forman nodded.
“Can we take off with only three working engines?” Betty asked, worry in her voice.
“This plane is built to survive worse,” Forman said. “Didn’t ever think we’d be flying this way over US soil though.”
As Forman pushed the throttles forward, they gained speed, and once they hit 110 miles per hour, he pulled back on the control wheel. The Flying Fortress lifted, and Nancy felt relieved. The workmanship of this plane really was superior, and she now understood firsthand the desperate need to get them over to Europe.
Over the next days, Nancy finally checked out on the B-17, after the repairs were made in Alpena. She landed at multiple airports, and the following week, she began to transition on the B-17F. Her work included landing with three engines running, then only two.
She found that the B-17 was smooth in the clear sky, but it became clumsy when the weather turned bad. At 35,000 pounds empty and over 65,000 when filled with fuel and bombs, it was an intense physical experience to pilot this plane. Especially when they had to shut down one or two of the four engines and navigate from there.
It wasn’t uncommon for Nancy and Betty to climb out of the plane, arms and legs quaking and their flight suits stained with perspiration. Betty was too petite to see over the control panel, yet she managed to keep the plane straight.
“Does the sun come up earlier each day?” Betty asked one early morning in Cincinnati when Nancy met her at the barracks. The cool summer air felt refreshing, but they were both missing out on sleep. “Or is it just me?”
“I think it’s you,” Nancy teased with a tired smile. “Let’s get moving. We’re not going to go through all this training on the B-17 and wear out before we can make a cross-country flight.”
Betty gave her a salute, and they strode from the barracks. They began their morning run to the field, where they’d go through their routine of push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and other calisthenic exercises. Because of how physically grueling flying the B-17 was, Nancy put together a memo to the WASP organization detailing the requirements for the physical strength training required to fly the bigger planes.
By the end of August, both Nancy and Betty were qualified and trained. They’d also taken on ferrying missions of delivering multiple B-17Fs, totaling twenty-four hours of ferrying time. The night before they left on the first leg of their mission that would take them across the Atlantic, Nancy called Bob with sobering news. “Did you read the papers about the Bloody Hundredth?”
“I did,” Bob said, subdued.
On a mission to Schweinfurt–Regensburg, the Eighth Air Force Group, which included 376 bombers targeting the German aircraft industry, lost sixty bombers and had many more crippled. Losses happened all the time, but this felt closer to home since the crews were flying the same type of plane as Nancy.
“They’re going to need replacements right away,” she said.
“Yes,” Bob agreed. “Your mission couldn’t come soon enough.”
He sounded so serious that Nancy had to ask, “You aren’t changing your mind about all this, are you?”
“No,” Bob said immediately. “It’s difficult to see these kinds of setbacks. And to know you’re going to be on the other side of the Atlantic soon. You have my letter of introduction to Major Atwood?”
“Yes, it’s already packed in my B-4 bag.” Bob’s letter was written on official ATC letterhead and introduced Nancy and Betty to Major Roy Atwood, the executive officer of the ATC European Wing in London.
“Great,” he said quietly.
Neither of them spoke for several moments.
“I love you, Bob.”
“I love you, too, sweetie.”
The next day, on September 1, Nancy and Betty flew a B-17F from Cincinnati to New Castle. Nancy wasn’t entirely sure if she’d slept the night before—or maybe she had dreamed she was awake. Her mind had gone over every flying scenario she’d ever been in. A dull headache had formed, but she didn’t have time for any distractions.
Her crew consisted of Betty copiloting at the moment, with 1st Lt. R.O. (Pappy) Fraser as navigator, radio operator T/Sgt. Stover, aerial engineer T/Sgt. Weintraub, and assistant aerial engineer T/Sgt. L.S. Hall. They were a solid team, and Nancy felt honored to be included with them—a part of history, really. A part of the war effort.
Once they landed in New Castle, they were outfitted with fleece-lined suits and oxygen masks that would be necessary for the North Atlantic crossing. They stayed overnight, and Nancy found herself facing a night in the BOQ 14 barracks. Memories flooded through her of how over a year ago, the WAFS had started in this place.
“We’ve come a long way since the Original WAFS,” Betty said as they walked to the barracks together.
“We sure have,” Nancy said. “I don’t think I could have predicted any of this. Hoped for it, maybe.”
“Just think, in two days, we’ll be over the Atlantic.”
Nancy smiled. “Sometimes it seems too good to be true.”
Betty nudged her. “Look around you. This is all really happening.”
Nancy finally slept that night, yet the feeling of trepidation persisted in the morning. Everything was moving forward as it should, but doubts bounced around in her head whenever she had a quiet moment. Not that there were many of those, surrounded by her crew. Next, they flew to La Guardia Airport in New York for an overnight briefing. Once they were again cleared, they headed to Presque Isle, Maine, to prepare for the flight to Goose Bay, Labrador, in Canada.
The Canadian government had given the US carte blanche to use the air base they’d built early on in the war. Landing in Canada scattered some of Nancy’s spinning thoughts. She and Betty headed into one of the offices to make phone calls. Betty called her husband, then Nancy called Bob to update him on their progress. Finally, she called Tunner.
“Good to hear about your safe arrival,” he said into the phone. “I heard the weather is keeping you grounded an extra day.”
“Yes, sir,” Nancy told him. “We should be clear tomorrow. These are fast-moving clouds.”
“Excellent,” Tunner said. “Safe flight tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Nancy smiled over at Betty, who smiled back.
When she hung up with Tunner, Nancy said, “I guess we enjoy the rain until it’s time for dinner?”
Betty stretched out her arms. “Suit yourself. I’m going to take a little nap, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” Nancy wasn’t going to attempt any sort of a nap, or she’d be wired again tonight. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
After Betty disappeared into their sleeping quarters, Nancy was tempted to call Bob again, but she called her parents instead.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said as soon as her father answered.
“Are you on US soil or English?”
She smiled at the eagerness in his voice. “Neither. We have a weather delay in Canada. Should be flying out tomorrow though.”
“We’re praying for you, my dear.”
Her mother’s voice could be heard in the background, and her father said, “Oh, here’s your mother. She wants to hear all about it.”
Nancy nearly laughed. The less her mother knew about weather delays or the various scenarios that could affect a transatlantic flight, the better.
But her mother’s voice was cheerful, excited even. “I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink while you’re in that huge plane, flying over the ocean.”
“It’s really very safe, Mother,” Nancy said. “We won’t be over enemy territory or anything like that. We’re only making an overseas delivery.”
“I know,” her mother said. “Your father has explained it all to me—more than once and answered my many questions. I can’t quite believe my daughter is doing this—and with Betty too. It’s remarkable.”
When Nancy met Betty and the rest of the crew in the mess hall for dinner, their spirits were high. Maybe the delay had been good. It had mellowed everyone’s nerves, and they could enjoy a quieter night together. The weather had already calmed.
“Looks like the heavens are parting and bestowing a perfect flight for tomorrow,” Fraser said.
“Makes my job easier,” Stover said. “I can radio the control tower without the static.”
“Yeah, we don’t want to overshoot Scotland,” Weintraub deadpanned.
“I’ll keep y’all on track,” Hall said.
Stover clapped Hall on the shoulder. “Glad to have you on board. I feel peachy keen to be traveling with the two best pilots.”
Nancy smiled, and Betty smirked. “That’s right, boys.”
“Mrs. Love?”
Nancy turned to see the AAF chief of Air Staff, General Barney Giles. He peered at her through his black-rimmed glasses, holding out a telegram. “This just arrived, and it’s marked urgent.”
Nancy took the telegram, a dozen thoughts running through her mind. Was there an emergency somewhere? Was everyone in her family all right? She’d just spoken to her parents. Maybe it was something with Bob. She opened the telegram, and as she silently read the words, her vision blurred, and all warmth drained from her face.
The message was from General Smith, and it included a second message from General Hap Arnold: “Just have seen message from General C.R. Smith, indicated that a B-17 with women crew will leave for England shortly. Desire that this trip be canceled, and no women fly transoceanic planes until I have had time to study and approve.”
The telegram slipped from Nancy’s hand as she rubbed at her temples. She felt sick to the center of her stomach. They’d put in so much work, and everyone was ready . . . Once again, gender had slammed down a barrier.
“What is it?” Betty asked, picking up the telegram and reading it. “This can’t be true, can it?”
“Apparently, it is,” Nancy gritted out. “General Smith’s opening note makes that clear.”
Betty’s face flushed. “I don’t understand, Nancy.”
By now, the rest of their crew had passed around the telegram, their faces growing pale as well.
“They can’t cancel in the eleventh hour,” Fraser said, looking around the table. “Can they?”
“I don’t know.” Nancy stood from the table. “I’m going to call General Tunner and see what’s going on.”
“I’m coming with you,” Betty said, standing.
The rest of the crew rose, pushing back their chairs in haste.
“Come with us, boys,” Nancy said. “We might as well all hear this together.”
The night sky was clear and cool as they headed to the office with a phone. Nancy called the office in Cincinnati, but she didn’t expect an answer, so she called Tunner at home.
“I received a telegram from General Smith stating that General Arnold is canceling our mission,” Nancy said tightly. “We’re being replaced by a male pilot and copilot.”
“Ridiculous,” Tunner said. “You’re both qualified, and General Smith authorized the flight.”
“Evidently, he didn’t run it by General Arnold, who seems to have more clout since he’s in England right now.” She tightened her grip on the receiver. “Can you find out what’s going on? I’m here with my whole crew. We’ll wait until you call us back.”
The next hour felt like the longest of Nancy’s life. She didn’t dare call Bob because she wanted to keep the line free. And once she heard his voice, she was also pretty sure she’d lose whatever control she had over her emotions right now.
When the phone finally rang, Nancy jumped to answer.
“General Smith thought you were well on your way across the Atlantic,” Tunner said. “Apparently, he didn’t know about the weather delay.”
“And?”
“And he sent a telegram informing Brigadier General Paul Burrows, the commander of the ATC European Wing, of your mission. General Smith also told Burrows to pass on the message to General Arnold about you and Betty flying the B-17 and how it would be the first instance of overseas ferrying of any type of military bomber with women serving both as pilot and copilot.” Tunner drew in a breath. “General Arnold doesn’t want women flying into a war zone.”
Nancy didn’t speak for a moment. Nothing that came to mind would be ladylike or polite or something she wanted to be remembered for. “It’s final, then?”
“It’s final.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Production was so heavy that we frequently had rows of P-51s stored in the middle of the Long Beach Airport. If you got back to base by noon, Operations sent you right back out that day. You picked up the airplane and headed for Palm Springs so that you could leave from there the following morning to ferry the plane to Newark. If you got back to base later in the afternoon you didn’t have to go back out until the next morning.”
