Moral Fibre

“Look, Red, can’t we lay this to rest?”

“What?” Forrester answered with a pretence 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.”