The Iron Storm by CW Browning (best fiction novels to read .txt) 📗

looked up from his plate and lowered his voice despite the fact that they were quite alone in the corner of the mess. “I overheard the CO and Bertie talking outside just now. The CO doesn’t think the RAF is a match for the Luftwaffe over in France.”

Miles raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“He says there aren’t enough planes over there, and those that are there are outdated.”

“He’s only saying that because there aren’t many fighters there,” Miles said with a grin. “Between the RAF and the French air force, we should be a match for the Jerries.”

Slippy shook his head. “That’s not what they were just saying outside. Apparently we’ve lost more planes than anyone knows. The CO says we’ve lost at least seventy in just two days.”

Miles stared at him, his knife and fork poised over what was left of his sausages and potatoes. “What?”

“That’s the face I made too,” Slippy said glumly. “Doesn’t bode very well for us, does it? I mean, if our planes can’t keep up over there, how long will it be before the Jerries are over here?”

Miles blinked and turned his attention back to his plate. Pushing the last piece of sausage onto his fork, he raised it to his mouth, his mind spinning. He had no idea they were losing so many planes. Everything they’d been told was that it was going well in the skies over Belgium. With a shock, Miles realized that the upper echelons of the RAF must have severely underestimated the true force of the Luftwaffe. For them to have lost seventy planes in two days, they must be either greatly outnumbered or facing much more experienced pilots. He just hoped it wasn’t both.

“You were reading a letter when I came over,” Slippy said after a few minutes. “Is it from your WAAF?”

“Yes.”

“And how is the fair maiden of Northolt?”

“She’s just fine.”

“When do we get to meet her? We’re all dying to, you know.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Slippy grinned at him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t want to introduce her to us. But I know that’s can’t possibly be the case. We’re far too much fun.”

“I barely have time to see her myself. Why would you ever think that I’d be willing to share what few precious moments I do manage to steal with you lot?”

“Do you know what your problem is? You act like we’re running out of time.” Slippy pointed his fork at Miles. “You think you have to hold on to all your stolen moments because they’ll go away. It’s utter nonsense. We have all the time in the world.”

“Do we really? I think the French would beg to differ.”

“That’s because they’re French. They’re all too excitable, and always expect the worst.”

“Panzer divisions have gone through the Ardennes forest, Slippy. They’re heading into Sedan.”

“What?” The other man looked up, startled. “When did that happen?”

“Sometime this morning, I believe. I heard it on the wireless as I came in. They expect them to be in Sedan by nightfall.”

“Well bloody hell.”

“Precisely.” Miles picked up his tea cup and took a sip. “So you see, we don’t have all the time in the world. I’ll be very surprised if we even have a few weeks.”

Somewhere outside Avesnes-sur-Helpe, France

Evelyn watched as Jens unlatched the spare tire and lifted it from its mount. Of all the ridiculous things to have happen, it would have to be a flat.

“Can I help at all?” she asked, getting out of the way as the tire bounced once when he set it down.

“No, it’s all right. It will just take some time.” He glanced up at her as he rolled it to lean against the car near the deflated back tire. “I really do hate changing these.”

“I think everyone does,” she said with a grimace. “Shall I at least pass you your tools? I feel like a complete fool just standing here watching.”

Jens laughed and opened his metal tool box. “You can talk to me while I work,” he told her. “It will distract me from how much I dislike this.”

“If you dislike it so much, why do you keep a car?”

“Changing a tire is the only thing I dislike about driving. I’m happy to do any of the other maintenance and repairs. Tires always frustrate me. I never feel like I have them on tight enough and spend the next week waiting for it to come off while I’m driving.”

“It’s really very difficult for that happen, you know.”

Jens peered up at her. “Do you know cars, then?”

“Yes, a bit. When I learned to drive, my father insisted that I learn to repair the car, and know how to maintain it. He said it was like anything else in life: you must commit to it fully or not at all. And of course, the last thing you want is to be stuck stranded on a road without knowing how to get going again.”

“Wise man, your father.”

She watched him for a minute, then looked around the deserted road. Fields stretched on either side of them and there wasn’t another car in sight.

“I’m glad you had everything you need to fix it,” she said. “I don’t know when we’ll see another car. We seem to be quite in the middle of nowhere.”

“Of course we are. Isn’t that always when these things happen?” he muttered, wrestling with a stiff lug nut.

“I suppose so.”

“How did you and Josephine meet?” he asked a few moments later once he’d got the bad tire off.

“We met in Strasbourg before the war,” Evelyn said easily. “In a library.”

He looked at her doubtfully. “A library?” he repeated, laying the bad tire on the ground and turning to the spare. “I suppose I can picture you in a library, but not her. She really doesn’t seem like the bookish type.”

“And I do?”

“Yes, actually. I imagine you’ve read all the classics.” He glanced at her with a grin. “Am I right?”

She smiled ruefully. “For the most part. I may have missed