Mrs. Witherspoon Goes to War, page 1
Praise for Mrs. Witherspoon Goes to War
“Wartime creates heroes in unlikely ways. When three dedicated WASPs go wheels-up on a covert rescue mission, what could go wrong? Plenty. But in Mary Davis’s typical style, with prayer and gumption beneath their wings, Mrs. Witherspoon and her cohorts will see it through.”
—Kristen Heitzmann, bestselling and Christy Award-Winning author of numerous books, including Secrets and The Breath of Dawn
“If you’re looking for a WWII story where troops are storming Normandy, world leaders are contemplating their nuclear options, or paradise is decimated, look elsewhere. Mrs. Witherspoon Goes to War shows the softer-yet just as powerful-depiction of that time in history we must never forget. Mary Davis does a spectacular job telling the women’s story, the WASP, the Women Airforce Service Pilots. We follow a soldier with a mother’s heart, who puts soccer moms to shame as she strives to take matters in her own hands and win the war, one POW at a time.”
—Kathleen E. Kovach, award-winning author of Titanic: Legacy of Betrayal
“Mrs. Witherspoon Goes to War is a fun adventure. It really gives the feel of being a female pilot in WWII.”
—Suzanne Norquist, author of A Song for Rose and Mending Sarah’s Heart.
“… I love this story … I appreciated the detail about the planes that to me balances important information with avoiding the glazed-eye effect on non-aviation enthusiasts.”
—Becky Durost Fish, freelance editor
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Mrs. Witherspoon Goes to War ©2022 by Mary Davis
Print ISBN 978-1-63609-156-3
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63609-158-7
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher. Reproduced text may not be used on the World Wide Web.
All scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover image: Sandra Cunningham/Trevillion Images
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.
Printed in the United States of America
DEDICATION
Dedicated to my stepdad, Allen (US army). You would have loved this one, Dad!
I also dedicate this story to all the military people in my life.
My husband, Chip (Ret. Colonel US Air Force) Thanks for helping me get a majority of the military stuff mostly correct. There was only so much you could do before I had to make stuff up. =0)
My brother, Jim (Ret. US Navy)
My brother-in-law, Dennis (Ret. US Navy)
My brother-in-law, John (Forest Fire Fighter and Smoke Jumper)
And to all the men and women who fight to serve and protect the United States of America and the people in it.
A special thanks to my critique partners Kathy & Suzanne for helping me make this story soar to life and fly high.
Also a shout-out to my dolly friend Jolene.
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:…a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
—ECCLESIASTES 3:1, 8
PROLOGUE
Washington State, 1927
Seventeen-year-old Margaret Deny opened an old cookie tin and handed over a bulk of her savings from working various jobs the past three years.
The burly man squinted and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not sure if I should take your money, little lady.”
Margaret straightened. “I’m not a little lady. I’m going to be a pilot.”
“I doubt that.” He thumbed toward the tattered and faded JN-4 biplane. “You know this doesn’t fly. It’s been busted for years.”
The Curtiss Jenny with a Rolls-Royce Merlin engine—even not working—was a great find. “I know. I’ll fix her up.”
He squinted at her. “Who’s going to do that for you?”
“No one.” Margaret stretched to her full five foot two and jammed a finger to her shoulder. “I’m going to do it and make her fly.” The JN-4 was just the machine to help her soar into the air.
She didn’t have enough money to pay for fancy lessons or buy a functioning aircraft. But there was a pilot from the Great War in her town who said if she had a working plane, he would teach her to fly it. She had the first half. Now she needed to get the Jenny home and make it run.
Two weeks later, sitting on the floor of her grandparents’ barn where she kept her biplane, Margaret still couldn’t believe she owned an aircraft. Soon she would be able to take flight. With her legs crossed, she leaned against the landing gear and had the mechanics manual open on her lap. Men sure didn’t know how to write directions very well. No matter, she would figure it out. After having read the entire book from front to back, she sort of understood how an engine worked. Tinkering would help her to figure out what was wrong so she could repair it.
“Hello?” a male voice called from near the open doorway.
Margaret looked up from the volume and peered around the landing gear struts.
George Witherspoon sauntered into the barn, his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers. He must have wandered in here by mistake.
She jumped to her feet, brushed dust off her overalls, and patted her hair. She must look atrocious. “Hello. You need something?”
His mouth broke into the best smile she’d ever seen. “I’m George Witherspoon.”
“Oh, I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are.” The most handsome boy in school. Or at least he had been until he graduated last year. Now he was the most handsome man in town. There wasn’t a girl who didn’t dream about him asking her out. “My grandfather’s not here. He went over to help a neighbor. If that’s who you’re looking for.”
He chuckled. “I’m not. I think I’m looking for you. I presume you’re Margaret Deny.”
He knew her name? “I am. Call me Peggy. Everyone does.”
He rested a hand on the wing of her Jenny. “And this is your JN-4?”
“It is.”
He shook his head in what appeared to be either disbelief or awe. “When I heard a girl bought an airplane, I had to see for myself. Does it work?”
Peggy straightened. “Not yet, but I’m going to get her working.” His mouth pulled to one side. “Don’t tell me you know how to repair engines.”
She wouldn’t let her lack of knowledge stop her. “I’m learning.” “You’re learning?” He grinned. “Do you want some help?”
“You know about engines? Aircraft engines?” She doubted it. Not many people had experience with flying machines.
“Most engines work pretty much the same. I bet together we could figure it out.”
“Thanks!” She would likely get her Jenny into the air sooner with his help, and she’d get to see George Witherspoon often. That was better than him asking her out.
He tilted his head. “However, when we get this thing ready to fly, will you let me give it a go? I’ve always wanted to pilot an airplane.”
“Sure, but I get to fly her first.”
He thrust out his arm. “Deal.”
Her hand trembled with excitement as she reached to shake his and nearly melted at his touch. Get yourself together, Peggy.
First she needed to get the Jenny in the air; then she could enjoy the boy on the ground.
The best of both worlds.
CHAPTER 1
15 August 1944, 0600 GMT (Greenwich Mean Time)
Operation Dragoon: Allied forces mount invasion and land troops in the Provence region of southern France, along the Côte d’Azur. The landing force consists of three infantry divisions: the Third, Thirty-sixth, and Forty-fifth.
Late Summer, 1944
Peggy Witherspoon sailed through the atmosphere in the twin engine Douglas C-47 Skytrain aircraft. Her mission as a WASP, or member of the Women Airforce Service Pilots, was a short ferrying trip from Connecticut back to DC. She loved being in the air and the freedom up here.
Soaring through the clouds used to make her feel close to God, but not anymore. He had turned a deaf ear to her pleas for the safe return of her husband, George, who had been killed in the skies over Germany when his Mustang fighter pla
This trip was almost over, and soon enough she would be tethered back on the ground.
The Skytrain normally had a crew of four: pilot, co-pilot, radio operator, and navigator. Today, Peggy flew alone. The Connecticut base mechanics had rigged a radio up front so she could handle the aircraft on her own. Risky but manageable.
She drew in a deep breath.
What was that?
She sniffed and sniffed again.
Was that smoke?
She glanced at engine number one and then toward number two, which she couldn’t see from the pilot’s seat. That was silly. If one had caught fire, she wouldn’t be smelling smoke inside the cockpit. Besides, they both felt fine, responsive and not lagging.
At least for now.
Nonetheless, she definitely smelled smoke.
And now, she saw smoke. Small tendrils drifted out from her control panel. Not good. Smoke meant fire, and fire was never good a few thousand feet in the air.
She snagged the radio mike. “This is Mama Bird calling Bolling Airfield. Mama Bird to Bolling Field. Come in, Bolling Field.”
The radio crackled. “This is Bolling Field, Mama Bird. We weren’t expecting contact for another fifteen minutes.”
“Bolling Field, Mama Bird has a situation up here. Smoke is coming out of my instrument panel.” Peggy waved a hand in front of her to move some of the smoke aside. The action was futile, but a reflex nonetheless.
“Mama Bird, stand by for instructions.”
What else could she do? Peggy coughed on the smoke. The acrid smell of hot wires burned her nostrils. She pulled her pilot’s neck scarf up over her mouth. If this had been a regular mission, she would have been supplied with an air mask.
She descended to twenty-five hundred feet and slid open the side window for fresh air.
A second voice came over the radio. “This is Major Berg. What is your status, Mama Bird?”
She couldn’t believe he asked that after she had just told those on the ground her predicament. Had he not heard her? “Smoke is pouring out of the instrument panel. Cockpit is filling up. Mama Bird is having trouble seeing. Visibility is getting poor.” Maybe not filling up, but it soon would if this continued. And she wasn’t having too much trouble seeing.
Yet.
It would only be a matter of time before it did inhibit her ability to see the terrain outside. She might have to depend solely on her instruments. She couldn’t wait for someone else to take their time making a decision. Major Berg needed to know it was urgent he make a determination fast.
“Bail out, Mama Bird. Bail out.”
That’s what she wanted to hear. She liked the decisiveness of the new Army Air Corps officer in charge of the Women Airforce Service Pilots.
“Mama Bird, do you copy?”
She scanned the horizon. Where would the plane crash? Her eyes burned and watered from the smoke. She blinked to clear her vision.
“Mama Bird, bail out. Do you copy?”
She peered out the open side window at the terrain below. Buildings of towns and neighborhoods lay in front of her in all directions. No place for the plane to safely crash. Besides, she’d never lost a plane yet and now wasn’t a good time to start by causing numerous civilian casualties.
“Mama Bird? Do—you—copy? Bail out! Bail out!”
“Negative, Bolling Field. Too much population.”
“Aim it for the ocean and bail out.” The major’s voice turned gruff. “That’s an order!”
She checked the responsiveness of the yoke. The aircraft obeyed her maneuvers. “I can do this. Clear the landing strip.”
The major’s brusque voice boomed through the radio. “Negative! It’s not worth the risk! Bail out!”
She could do this. If she were a man, she would likely be given a different order. “I can land this plane. Over and out.” Men thought women were less capable than them. Not true. Peggy knew dozens of excellent female pilots. The Women Airforce Service Pilots only employed the best. Better than the best.
“Negative! Negati—” The radio went silent from the other end.
What had happened? Why was he cut off?
The calm voice of her fellow WASP Jolene, call sign Nightingale, crackled over the radio. “Peggy, think of Wendy and Junie.”
Her daughters’ faces flashed in her mind. Jolene used her real name rather than her call sign. That cut through to her. She took a deep breath.
“They have already lost their father. Don’t orphan them, Peggy.”
No, she didn’t want to orphan her girls. She must bail out even with the danger of using a too large parachute designed for men. She glanced out each of her windows. With quick mental calculation of range and airspeed, every direction was too populated to aim an unpiloted aircraft toward. Even if she could point it toward a less populated area, there would be no way to tell if an air current would pop the craft up or down, causing it to land in a neighborhood or worse…a school.
“Peggy, bail out. The aircraft isn’t worth it.” As Jolene spoke, the major grumbled in the background.
She couldn’t risk the lives of hundreds of others by abandoning the C-47. It was too huge to allow it to crash anywhere. The destruction would be devastating.
“Negative.”
“Think of your girls.”
“I am.” How could she look her daughters in the eyes when she might orphan someone else’s children? “I have no safe place to ditch the plane.”
Major Berg came back on the radio. “Bail out. That’s an order.”
Funny thing was, she couldn’t be court marshaled for her disobedience as the army refused military status to the WASP program, but she could still be in a lot of trouble. Lord, I know we’re not on the best of terms, but whether I come out of this alive or not, please protect those on the ground. God couldn’t fault her for praying for innocent bystanders. She hoped this prayer didn’t fall on deaf ears as all her others had.
“Clear the runway.” Peace about the decision washed over her.
She banked to head toward the airfield. The least populated place in the vicinity.
Guide my wings to the ground.
Air turbulence shook the plane. Or at least that was what she told herself. To think it was the craft falling apart might paralyze her into inaction. With a snap and a spark, her instruments went dark. That’s what she got for praying. This was all on her now. She needed to fly by her wits.
She looked out of her side window to the terrain below and descended to one thousand feet. Without her instruments to guide her, that was a guess from the last reading on her altimeter, but it felt about right. She had logged enough flying hours to have a sense of her airspeed and altitude. Her instruments generally confirmed what she already knew.
Jolene’s voice came over the radio again. “What you’re doing is foolish. I see you on radar.”
Good. Jolene could talk her down. “Bad news. My instruments are dark. I’m flying blind up here.”
“Roger that. I’ll be your gauges. Air speed looks good. You’re at 1,050 feet. You’re too high. Ease her down a little bit.”
Peggy tipped the aircraft’s nose down.
“Mama Bird—”
Then scratching sounds came over the radio.
“Hand over the radio.” Major Berg’s voice.
Then Jolene. “I’ve got this.”
This wasn’t helping Peggy. “The mike is open.” She needed them to stop arguing and guide her down. With a click, the radio went silent.
Peggy’s heart stilled for a beat in the silence, and she felt very alone. She would rather have her friend talk her down, so she pressed the radio button. “Nightingale knows what she is doing. I trust her.”
After a moment, Jolene’s calm voice drifted over the airwaves. “Eight hundred feet. You’re coming down too fast. Level off, Mama Bird.”
Peggy did as instructed. Then her gut tightened. If she didn’t have instruments, could she engage the landing gear? She needed to try while she still had time to pull up. She worked the lever. The clunk of the landing gear doors opening and then the air drag on the tires reverberated through the plane. Though the light to indicate they were down wasn’t lit, Peggy was sure they had engaged and locked. If they hadn’t, she would need to head out to sea and ditch the plane in open water. If she could make it that far.
