Kit Moran flew 36 operations as a flight engineer before he started operational training as a pilot. That makes him both cautious and circumspect. Yet he is forced to push himself beyond his comfort zone by the cheeky Australian "Red" Forrester, who is intent on competition.
“Look, Red, can’t we lay this to rest?”
“What?” Forrester answered with a pretense of innocence.
“Your resentment over the fact that you got a red endorsement in your logbook on Black Friday and I didn’t.”
“Yeah, sure — if you can tell me one good reason why I got that endorsement and you didn’t! We both disobeyed orders!”
“I can’t answer that, Red. I don’t endorse the logbooks, the CO does.”
“Well, I can!” Forrester snarled. “Because you’re a Pom and I’m a Colonial, that’s why.”
Kit could identify with Forrester’s resentment. He’d been in his shoes. But he also thought Forrester was wrong. “I can understand why you feel that way, but actually I’m not as ‘Pom’ as you think I am.” He paused and then admitted, “I’m classed as coloured in South Africa.”
“What?” Forrester swung around and gawked at him.
“My grandmother was a native South African. Black.”
“Are you stiffing me?”
“No. Furthermore, I admire you for landing without a green given the circumstances in which you did it. I wish I’d had the courage to do that — and that’s precisely what I told the inquiry panel. I’ve already told you about pausing in the corkscrew and throttling back to let your rear gunner get in a good shot. I still think it’s risky, but it seems to work. I’m perfectly willing to admit you’re a more natural pilot than I am. Whether I like your crew as individuals or not, I recognize that they’re a first-rate team. Now, can we bury the hatchet?”
Forrester seemed to think about this for a moment, and then he grinned and clapped Kit on the shoulder so hard it jostled him. “You’re all right, mate!”
“No more rivalry?”
“Ah, no.” He shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I can’t stop myself. It’s just the way I am. But don’t take it wrong, mate. We can be friendly rivals.”
is an Australian pilot who arrives at the same Operational Training
Unit as Kit Moran at the same time. They share a room, and they soon
become, well, bitter rivals. Forrester is ambitious. He wants his crew
to be the best in everything -- flying, bombing, gunnery, navigation. He
selects a crew of like-minded individuals, who are as aggressively
competitive as he is. And when they do well at anything, they brag
In the course of the novel, this sets up several situations where Moran is forced to make choices and take actions that would not otherwise have been necessary. Forrester acts as a foil to Moran. He forces Moran to re-evaluate who he is and what he wants. He is the shadow that sets Moran into greater light.
About an hour later Forrester arrived and made a beeline for Kit and Adrian. “Well, if it isn’t Zulu Moran himself!” he declared in a loud voice that turned heads across the anteroom.
“That’s not—” Kit started to protest, angry with himself for confiding in Forrester about his background. Adrian caught his eye and shook his head sharply. Kit understood. If he protested, he’d only increase Forrester’s delight in this new nickname; by laughing, he rendered it harmless. So, Kit laughed and went on the offensive, “What happened to you? A girl take exception to your amorous advances?” Forrester had a black, swollen eye and a bad, jagged cut on his chin.
“Had to teach some snotty Americans a lesson,” Forrester answered grinning. “Best fight I’ve had in years. What are you drinking?”
Kit and Adrian let him buy them a round, and Forrester pulled up a chair beside Kit. “So, give me the gen on the Lanc,” he demanded.
Kit smiled and kept the tone light and bantering. “She’s not at all your type, Forrester. She’s a lady. Steady, sedate, smooth, and sophisticated.”
Forrester wasn’t offended. “Think I can’t handle a lady? I’ll bet I solo on her sooner than you do.”
“Save your money. You may need it to pay bail next time you decide to break things.”
“I’ll give you odds. If I solo first, you pay me ten bob, but if you do, I’ll pay you a whole quid.”
Kit didn’t want his reacquaintance with the Lanc rushed by the pressure of competition. He shook his head. “No, thanks. I told you before I’m not a gambling man.”
“I’ll take the bet,” Adrian offered his hand to the Australian.
Forrester shook it firmly. “Glad to see someone on Zulu’s crew has balls. Bet’s on then!”
“Your money, but for the record: it’s not getting in the air first that counts but getting back again too.”
MORAL FIBRE WON THE HEMINGWAY AWARD 2022 FOR 20TH CENTURY WARTIME FICTIONIT WAS ALSO A FINALIST FOR THE BOOK EXCELLENCE AWARD 2023 Riding the icy, moonlit sky,
they took the war to Hitler.
Their chances of survival were less than fifty percent.
Their average age was 21.
This is the story of just one bomber pilot, his crew and the woman he loved.
It is intended as a tribute to them all.
or Barnes and Noble.
Winner of a Hemingway Award for 20th Century Wartime
Fiction, a Maincrest Media Award for Military Fiction and Silver in the Global Book Awards.
Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/where-eagles-never-flew
For more information about all my books visit: https://www.helenapschrader.com
Disfiguring injuries, class prejudice and PTSD are the focus of three tales set in WWII by award-winning novelist Helena P. Schrader. Find out more at: https://crossseaspress.com/grounded-eagles