“Um . . . Miss Chambers,” Viv said. “Why the rush to get us out in the field?”
“Well, we just don’t have enough of you to go around,” she said. “The Clubmobile program has exceeded our expectations in terms of popularity. The soldiers absolutely love it, so the military leaders want as many Clubmobiles as we can provide. We recently sent over four hundred women to the Continent after D-Day, and now we’re understaffed across the United Kingdom.”
“Wait . . . United Kingdom?” I said, feeling a rumble in my stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. “In DC we were told that we’d be sent to France.”
“Yes, well, DC is always behind the times in terms of their information,” said Miss Chambers with a smile. “In this war, we’ve got to be careful when sharing news about all of our comings and goings. The English countryside is probably your fate, at least for now. Possibly Scotland, but you’ll know for sure in a couple of days.” When I didn’t smile back, she studied my face for a second before adding, “Are you okay—it’s Fiona, yes? You look a little pale.”
“I just had in my mind this whole time that we’d be going to France and then on to Germany,” I said, not wanting to explain my real motivations. “Do you think we’ll get to the Continent at some point?”
“My dear, while I can’t predict the future, it’s certainly a strong possibility,” Miss Chambers said, watching my reaction.
“How long do you think we’ll have to stay in the UK?” I asked, and I caught Viv giving me a look, telling me with her eyes to stop asking so many questions. I couldn’t help myself, though. I was upset that we would be stuck in the UK. As Danny’s last known location, Germany was where I needed to get to, however I could.
“I really can’t say; things change on a dime in this war,” Miss Chambers said. “So, it’s somewhere in the UK for you for now, but that could change at any point, depending on the needs of our troops.” She paused before adding, “Is that going to be a problem, Fiona? Why so anxious to go elsewhere? In the Red Cross, we need to go where our troops need us.”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, of course.” I looked down at my ugly black shoes, feeling my face grow hot. What was I going to do, have a tantrum about not going to the Continent? Still, I was devastated to hear that not only were we not going now, there was no guarantee that we would ever get there. My doubts and grief started creeping in again, and that familiar ache in my chest was back.
“Think of it, Fiona, the English countryside . . . ,” Dottie said, putting an arm around my shoulder. Miss Chambers had moved on to answer questions from another girl. “We won’t have to worry about not knowing the language, and we’ll see lots of beautiful, um . . . gardens . . . and I don’t know . . . English sheep? It will be great.”
“Oh, yes, English sheep and rose gardens,” said Viv with sarcasm, teasing Dottie. “It’ll be swell. Cannot wait to see those sheep. Do you think they baa with an English accent?” Dottie swatted her arm, and they both started giggling, which made me smile despite myself. I was beyond disappointed, yet I had no choice but to put on a brave face for now.
“Okay, I think we’re all here,” Miss Chambers said after the last of the Red Cross girls from the Queen Elizabeth made it over to our group. “We should start heading to the trucks. I’m sure you’re all tired and hungry and want to get—”
A terrible sound punctuated the air, like a police siren but higher pitched and more frantic.
She paused and looked up. There was another sound of something in the sky—a loud, low rumble like a motorbike, coming closer.
“What’s that sound?” I asked.
“British Royal Air Force, right?” Dottie asked, looking at Miss Chambers.
“Miss Chambers, incoming buzz bomb,” a young British soldier said loudly as he ran past our group. “We all need to take cover.”
“What on earth is that boy talking about?” Blanche Dumond asked, snapping her gum.
GI drivers started jumping out of their vehicles, whistling and yelling. The groups of soldiers ahead of us turned around, running back toward the station. The rumble was louder still as more people around us started sprinting.
“Helmets on, ladies! Buzz bomb coming in!” A sweaty, pasty-faced American soldier hollered at us as he ran by.
Miss Chambers, her face pale, nodded at all of us. “Listen to what he says, ladies. Back into the station. Helmets on, hurry now, do not stop. We’ll head to the great hall to take shelter.”
“What the heck is a buzz bomb?” Viv breathlessly asked another soldier as we ran. He ran alongside us and was kind enough to grab some of Dottie’s gear when he saw she was struggling.
“You’ll learn soon enough; just get to safety now,” he said in a sharp tone.
As we were about to enter the archway of Euston Station once more, the soldier handed Dottie back her gear and said, “Welcome to London!” as he rushed back out to usher more people into the building to take shelter.
Dottie tightened her helmet as she struggled to hold on to the rest of her gear again. Martha Slattery, a round-cheeked farm girl from Iowa we had just met on the crossing, hurried behind us with Blanche Dumond.
The train station was in utter chaos as civilians, soldiers, and Red Cross workers ran inside for cover, many of them hastily throwing on helmets as they tried to find a place to shelter from whatever was coming. Many soldiers were handing their helmets to civilian women and children, as a few officers yelled instructions, telling people where to go. The roar of the buzz bomb was so loud now it echoed in the cavernous train station.
We jostled our way into the station’s magnificent great hall with hundreds of people heading in the same direction. But where to go? If the bomb hit the station, was anywhere inside truly safe? How big would the blast be? My stomach lurched, and I felt like I might throw up.
“Over there, ladies; head toward any of the alcoves—hurry!” Miss Chambers said, frantic, when she spotted us.
Our group scattered and ran to crowd into the various alcoves. I felt even sicker and more than a little na?ve. Viv, Dottie, and I, along with Blanche and Martha, huddled in an alcove near the ladies’ bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted an impossibly petite person in a Red Cross uniform running toward us at top speed, helmet on, gear in hand. She squeezed in next to us.
“Hi, Martha; hey, Blanche.” A girl I recognized from the boat plopped herself down next to Martha, who moved over to give her more room.
“I’m Frankie Cullen,” she said, nodding at me, Dottie, and Viv. She was barely five feet, with wide-set light-brown eyes and shiny dark-brown curls peeking out from under her helmet, but there was a toughness about her despite her childlike size. She looked around, observing the scene without a trace of fear.
The roar continued to get louder, and more soldiers and civilians kept streaming inside the station to take cover. The British citizens looked fairly calm, but many of the young American soldiers who had just arrived with us looked horror-struck, as did many of the Clubmobile girls. More than one girl had started to cry.
“Jesus, it’s so loud,” Dottie said, tears in her eyes as she chewed on a strand of her hair out of what I suspected was a combination of nervousness and hunger. We were all listening and looking up at the gorgeous coffered ceiling high above us.
“But we’re going to be fine, right? It can’t be that close,” I said, more to calm myself than anyone else. And right after I said it, the deafening roar stopped. The skies above the train station went completely silent. Now even some of the British men and women looked terrified. A few of the young American soldiers were blinking back tears. A baby’s cries echoed off the walls.
“Brace yourselves! Brace yourselves and stay calm! Stay calm, stay low!” an army officer yelled to anyone who might listen.
I grabbed one of Viv’s hands and one of Dottie’s as we crouched even lower in the alcove.
An elderly woman sat near us in a tattered gray overcoat, wearing a helmet a soldier had just given her. She closed her eyes, put her hands together, and started to pray.
Welcome to London. The GI’s words to us minutes ago echoed in my head.
And then the buzz bomb exploded right outside of Euston Station.
The blast was deafening, a sharper sound than I had expected. My ears were still ringing minutes after we realized it was over, which made the aftermath seem that much more surreal as I looked around at the expressions of terror on the faces of the people around me, hearing but not quite understanding what was happening. The sound of shattering glass came from somewhere on the other side of the station, where the blast had originated. And the baby that had been crying was now screeching. Hers wasn’t the only scream I heard.