Return Flight

June Cirillo made an entry in her notebook: 'July 2nd 1987. On way to England.' She looked at the words critically and frowned. She really ought to say something else. 'The flight has been swift and smooth and the time has passed remarkably quickly.' That was better. Not much, perhaps, but better.

Time?

It might only take a few hours to cross the Atlantic, but in reality they were going back more than forty years. It had all gone so quickly. Was it possible that so many years had flashed by since they'd sailed away from the English coast?

Her husband squeezed her hand.

"Penny for them, Mrs Cirillo."

She smiled. I was thinking about the passage of time. It's forty years since I left home. Unbelievable."

"What do you mean - home? New Jersey is your home."

"You know what I mean."

"Sure I do. Anyway, if you're going to be accurate, it's forty-one years."

"A long time, yet it seems to have gone so quickly."

"Do you regret it?"

"Time passing quickly?"

Joe shook his head. "No; marrying me."

"Of course not. Not for one moment."

He smiled happily and lay back in his seat, his hand firmly holding hers. Not for one moment; no, that wasn't quite true. There had been a hesitation, a questioning of what was right and wrong, and of feelings. Even now there was still a lingering doubt, faint, but most decidedly present.

She put her head back and listened to the soft whoosh of the engines.

*****

The roar was deafening as the B-17 bombers took off. June Markham looked up into the sky, both her hands covering her ears. The last time she had cycled along this lane it had been so peaceful, but now the world was at war and the peace was shattered.

The last of the big planes passed overhead, so low it practically took off the top of a tree, and the mighty roar gradually died to a distant drone as the bombers headed away on a course that would take them to the heart of Germany.

June began to cycle along the lane towards the village. A village which had changed so much in such a short time. Oh, it was still small and pretty and most of the inhabitants were still there, but an airfield had been built nearby. For the first three years of the war it had been a base for RAF fighters, but early in 1943 the Americans had taken it over.

Bulldozers had torn away trees, hedges, walls and even a small hill, leaving a great patch of flat ground. Long concrete runways had been quickly built, huts erected and barbed wire strung up. In a matter of days the first B-17 had flown in, to be quickly followed by others. With them came hundreds of Yanks, both to service and fly the planes.

June had left the village at the beginning of the war, going to work in the operations room in the depths of a Whitehall cellar. She was a small cog in a large machine, but her work was important and rewarding. She was born in Little Dunsworth and might have been expected to hate the hustle and bustle of London, especially under wartime conditions. However, she had loved it from the moment she arrived. It seemed so full of life and vitality, despite the all-pervading air of danger; or, perhaps, because of it.

What little leave June had was spent with newly-acquired friends and she visited home infrequently and briefly. Her parents might have been disappointed that they saw so little of their daughter, but they always tried to hide it. She was grown up; she had her own life to lead.

Then there was Michael. They'd known each other all their lives and a relationship had developed almost without them realising. When they were old enough it had seemed natural to hold hands, kiss and speak soft words of love to one another. That they would marry had seemed inevitable, but then war came and nothing was inevitable any more.

*****

"Can I get you anything?"

"Pardon?" June was startled out of her reverie by a stewardess standing over her. "Oh - er - no, thank you." She looked at Joe. His eyes were closed. "And nothing for my husband," she added.

Husband.

She studied his face, lined and heavy-jowled, his eyebrows greying, as was his hair. It was a kind face; he was a kid and gentle man. It seemed strange to think there was a time when she didn't know him; a time when another man was going to be her husband.

*****

"I have some news, darling," Michael quietly said.

June looked at him suspiciously. "What is it? Nothing bad, I hope?"

"Depends how you look at it. I've joined the RAF." He tried to sound off-hand, but he was nervous of her reaction.

"What? But you don't know anything about flying."

He laughed. "They need more than pilots, you ninny. I know about engines and they're looking for good mechanics."

"When do you go?"

"In a couple of weeks."

"Oh."

He looked at her crestfallen face and gently ran his hand down her cheek. "You don't have to worry, darling. I'll be quite safe. After all, I'm not flying. I probably won't leave the base in England. A good place for a coward to be."

"You're not a coward," June said quickly.

"Maybe not, but I don't fancy being in the middle of a scrap and I can't stand the sight of blood. I don't intend to be a hero and I'll come out of this war in one piece, no matter how long it lasts."

"They say it'll be over by Christmas."

"That's what they said last time, but maybe on this occasion the optimists will be right." He took hold of her hands. "If they are, we'll be able to get married."

"But not before?"

"I think it's simpler not to become too entangled, don't you?"

"Why not, if you're going to be perfectly safe?"

"Well...." Michael hesitated.

"Anyway," June continued, "surely we're already entangled. We love each other."

"True. But marriage gives it a permanence which doesn't seem right at the moment. Do you understand?"

"No," June said simply.

"You'll just have to take my word for it then." He smiled at her and lightly kissed her and, for some reason, she felt like a little girl who wasn't old enough to understand what life was all about.

Michael was wrong about being safe in an RAF base in England. After his basic training he was home for three days on embarkation leave.

"Not going very far," he told June. "Only across the Channel."

"Far enough," June murmured. "I'll miss you."

"At least I should be able to get home on leave without too much trouble. Nothing seems to be happening over there. Pretty peaceful, according to the papers."

"How long will that last?"

"Maybe the Germans have changed their minds about going any further. They don't fancy their chances against us and the French."

"Maybe."

There was a silence between them. It was a beautiful day with a bright sun shining out of a clear blue sky and they had brought a picnic lunch to a quiet spot by a small lake. They were lying side by side on a blanket, their hands clasped together.

"Michael..." June hesitated.

"Um?"

"Before you go I'd like.....like....."

"Like to what?"

"Make love to me." The words came in a rush.

"What!" Michael sat up and looked at her.

"I want to feel you inside me. To know that you're a part of me."

"I thought we were going to wait until we were married."

"That was the plan, but a war can change plans."

"I don't think we'll get the chance. I go early in the morning."

"There's no time like the present," said June, as lightly as she could manage.

"Now? Here? Where anybody could see us?"

"I don't think anyone will disturb us. We're tucked away here and there hasn't been a sole all day."

The very idea of illicit outdoor sex was making Michael hard. He was as much of a virgin as June, though he had masturbated a number of times just thinking about doing it with her. Now here she was offering the real thing.

"Are you sure?"

"I've thought about it a lot. I don't want you to go away without us being together."

"Isn't it risky? I mean, we haven't got a French letter, unless you...."

June shook her head. "No. I wouldn't even know how to get one."

"I must admit, I'd have a bit of a problem too. I've never done this kind of thing before."

June smiled. "I'm glad to hear it."

"What if you have a baby?"

"I don't suppose I will. The first time."

"Famous last words. As far as I've heard it's all too easy."

"In that case I'll be the talk of the village."

"They'll probably hound you out."

"So I'll go somewhere else. I'm not worried, darling. I want you and hang the consequences."

So far they had done the usual things; kissing and hugging, his hands on her breasts and a tentative massaging of her crotch - on top of her clothes. Now she was asking him to go the whole way. He felt a quiver of excitement and anticipation mixed with fear. What if he should prove useless? Perhaps he ought to have practised on someone else. No, ridiculous. He dismissed that thought as being contemptible. He loved June and it was only her he wanted.

She lay still as his fingers clumsily fumbled with the buttons of her blouse. At last, after what seemed an eternity, he had succeeded in getting them undone. He was then faced with her bra. He gently pushed it up above her breasts.

"Don't look," she pleaded.

"What do you mean - don't look? I can't do this without looking. No, I'll rephrase that; I don't want to do it without looking. I want to see you."

"You might not like what you see," June shyly said.

"Are you kidding? You're lovely."

She blushed. Her cheeks were even more red when he leaned over and began to kiss her naked breasts. His lips lightly caressed her skin before settling on the nipples, teasing first one, then the other. She closed her eyes, relishing the sensation. The nipples had become little hard buds, whilst at the same time a warmth was spreading through her groin. She gave a low groan.

"You all right?" Michael inquired.

"Don't stop."

"I didn't plan to."

He slowly eased up her skirt with his right hand at the same time as his left lightly squeezed her right breast and his lips continued their ministrations on her left breast. She spread her legs a little as his hand slipped into her panties and his fingers found her opening.

"Oh."

"Am I pleasing you, Mam'selle?"

"Oh yes....yes."

"You could please me."

"What? Oh...yes...yes, of course. Sorry." She reached for his fly buttons.

"Nothing to be sorry about. We're both new to this. Won't take us long to become accomplished lovers."

As she fumbled with his buttons - June found she was just as clumsy as Michael - she fervently prayed that they would have the chance to become accomplished. At the moment she was all fingers and thumbs. At last the fly was open and she reached in to find his penis. It was surprisingly stiff and hard; at least, it was a surprise to her. Could this enormous thing actually penetrate her delicate vagina? It seemed impossible, yet it was being done all the time by people around the world.

Even Germans.

She wondered if a couple over there were making love in a field at this very moment before he was posted away. Did they have the same worries and fears for the future? Surely, they must feel the same.

She gently stroked her hand up and down and felt his male member grow even harder, if that was possible.

"I can't hold it any longer," he suddenly gasped.

"You must!" June cried out in alarm. "I want you inside me."

She hurriedly pulled down her panties and almost before she was done he was on top of her, his penis searching for her entrance. Suddenly, miraculously, the two of them met and he gratefully slid in to the depths of her. Heat coursed through her body. There was no pain of her hymen breaking. There should be pain, shouldn't there? Never mind. He was in.

Michael had no time for thrusting before the dam burst and his seed poured out flooding her womb. They clutched each other tightly as his penis, still inside her, slowly contracted. After a few moments June giggled.

"What's funny?"

"I've just realised I'm a fallen woman."

"That's not funny, it's serious. I only hope to God nothing comes of this."

June pushed him up and looked into his face. "Are you sorry we made love?"

"No...no, of course not. It was wonderful. I just hope you don't have to pay a heavy price. But I'll never forget this. Our first time."

June kissed him. "The first of many," she murmured.

But she was wrong.

After many months of no activity the Germans began their offensive. France was over-run and Michael was taken prisoner. By that time June had left Little Dunsworth and was living in London, though not because she was pregnant. They were busy and dangerous days so she had little time to cry for her interrupted romance.

Letters were exchanged and declarations of love, but the passion was gradually seeping away, at least on her part. As for Michael, he poured out his heart in long paragraphs of purple prose. Incapable of poetry himself he resorted to quoting Browning, Tennyson and even Lorenz Hart.

As the months went by, June realised her memories of Michael were fading. She hated herself for every faintly disloyal thought, but he was becoming more and more like a stranger. She was a young, lively, pretty girl and there were always plenty of men willing to take her out. But she had no intention of betraying Michael. He loved her; she was sure of that. Now he was incarcerated in a prison camp in Germany through no fault of his own. He deserved her loyalty.

*****

"We are beginning our approach to Heathrow. Crew please prepare for landing."

The calm voice of the Captain roused June from her half-sleep. She found Joe looking at her quizzically.

"You OK?"

"Yes, of course. Why?"

"You were frowning."

"Probably something I was dreaming." June shrugged off the remark.

"You're not worried about the landing?" he questioned with concern.

"No."

"She sure is a beautiful bird," Joe said, referring to the plane. "We won't get a rough landing in this baby. Not like a B-17. Oh boy, those were the days."

"Yes, they were," June said softly.

*****

The roar of the engines drowned out the radio as a big bomber passed overhead. June's father dropped the paper he was reading and dashed outside.

"Where's he gone?" June shouted to her mother over the roar of the planes.

"What?"

"Father." June gesticulated towards the door. "Where's he gone?"

The noise began to die away.

"To count the planes," her mother replied.

"Count them?"

"Yes. It's something he likes to do. He counts them going out and then again when they return."

"Why?" a puzzled June demanded.

"He likes to know how many were lost."

"All he has to do is listen to the radio."

"Oh no, he doesn't trust the official figures. In any case, they only give the grand total; it's this airfield your father is worried about. He's got to know all the young Americans. They come into the shop quite a lot. He takes it as a personal loss when they don't return."

June was amazed. It revealed a side of her father's nature that was quite unknown to her. He had never appeared to be a particularly caring man.

"I wonder if Little Dunsford will ever be the same again," she mused. "It used to be so quiet and peaceful; now there's even traffic jams in the High Street."

"I expect it will once this dreadful war is over."

"If it ever is," sighed June.

Another plane roared overhead and their conversation stopped.

"They're so big and heavy," June said as soon as she could hear herself speak. "You marvel at them being able to get up into the air, and yet now they're coming back after dropping their bombs over Germany."

"Have you heard from Michael lately?" Her mother was obviously unable to contain herself any longer.

"Two weeks ago. He seems to be bearing up all right, but he's longing to be home, of course."

"Are you still planning on getting married?"

"I expect so," June off-handedly replied.

Mrs Markham noted her daughter's distinct lack of enthusiasm, but made no comment. Another plane was approaching, but this time the engines were misfiring. They spluttered on and off with an alarming frequency and there didn't seem to be enough power to keep the plane in the air. Both women held their breath, waiting for the explosion which would herald the end of another crippled bomber. Nothing happened and they both heaved a sigh of relief.

"There's a dance in the village hall tomorrow." June broke the silence in the room. "I think I might go along."

"Very well, dear."

It was noisy and crowded in the hall. The American airbase boasted a band which was playing for the dancers. Unfortunately the eager, young musicians seemed to prefer hot jazz to gentle dance rhythms and everyone was frantically throwing themselves around in an effort to keep up with the jumble of notes.

June tried dancing twice, with different partners, but was completely defeated by the unhelpful band so she decided to sit the rest of the evening out; in fact, she was even contemplating giving up altogether and going home when a stocky, dark-haired young American flyer approached her.

He indicated that they should dance together, the noise being too great for speech, but June shook her head, though she smiled to show she wasn't being unfriendly. However, the American took her hand and physically hauled her onto the floor. He obviously wasn't prepared to take "no" for an answer.

At first June was more than a little annoyed at his over-masterful behaviour, but as they began to dance she found their steps were perfectly in time with the music. Whatever else he could do, this tall Yank was certainly able to dance.

When the band stopped playing the airman turned to grin at his partner. "You're pretty good on your feet," he complimented her.

"You're not so bad yourself," June breathlessly replied.

"You live around here?"

"Not any more. I've come down from London."

"Thought I hadn't seen you before."

Just then a girl passed by. "Hello, June," she called, recognising the familiar face.

"Hello, Beth," June replied, already turning back to her dance partner.

"June, eh? That's a pretty name."

"I like it."

"Hi, June. I'm Joe - Joe Cirillo."

*****

The taxi quietly weaved its way through the heavy afternoon traffic and deposited the Cirillos outside their small, family hotel in Gower Street. Contrary to popular belief, not all Americans are rich enough to stay in the big, internationally known hotels. Many of them have to be content with cheaper accommodation and count their pennies - or cents.

Such a one was Joe Cirillo.

True, he had a thriving ice-cream business, but it wasn't a gigantic operation with vast profits. It was a modest company providing only a comfortable living for Joe and his family. Careful saving over a number of years had enabled him to take June on this month-long holiday to Britain. The trip was to be something of a pilgrimage. They were going to visit all the usual places - London, Stratford, York, Edinburgh and the Highlands. But the highlight of their trip was to be their return to Little Dunsford.

*****

"God, what a mess!" Joe broke the gloomy silence that had embraced them for the last five minutes. "Here we are in the middle of a war, with me up in the air getting shot at all the time, and you stuck underground somewhere in London. Worse still, you're engaged to a guy who can't fight for you."

"We're not exactly engaged," June put in quickly. "It...it was more of an understanding."

"All the same...." Joe shrugged.

There was another long silence.

"What can we do?" June eventually asked.

"I reckon there's no easy way out of this, honey. Either we call it quits now or you write to Michael and tell him what's happened."

"I can't do that. It would be like stabbing him in the back."

"Then I guess this is it. We've had a few swell days together and if this damned war ever finishes and we come out of it, we can look back on this time with a helluva lot of affection."