It was the peak of summer in 1940, the sun rose over the meadows on a fresh, new day. Another day survived, another day that this tiny little island had evaded invasion from the threat across the English channel.

Harleen sighed peacefully to herself as she strode through the thick field of daffodils, feeling the soft petals graze her ankles with every step she took. The dusty blue haze of dawn was now in full approach as she stood still and looked to the sky.

It was a beautiful clear day, starlings riding the air thermals like true champions of the wind. The gentle warm breeze tickled her cheeks, threatening to disturb the victory roll she had managed to create from just a picture inside a glamour magazine. Harleen clutched the deep red tea dress to her chest, relishing in the way the wind trickled through the light fabric.

Harleen lived in a small village called St. Micheals. A typical British, scone making, jam eating village. Well, that was until rations got introduced. Her mother Mary always complained about the lack of food. Before the war Mary had been a keen baker, setting up charity cake sales for the WI and assisting at the local bakery.

Harleen rolled her eyes at the mere thought of her mothers dog sick tones rattling through the cottage that she lived in with her father George Quinzel. Harleen loved her father dearly, but since the outbreak of war, and being told that he was too old to enlist, all he did was mope about the house and compare today's tragedy to that of 1914. The war to end all wars... Yeah right.

But here, now standing in the centre patchwork blanket of fields, Harleen could pretend none of that mattered, nothing matted but the sunrise.

Suddenly she heard the familiar sound, barking away in the distance. "Bud, Lou!" She yelled, trying to call them back to her side. The who fully grown Alsatians came bounding towards her, both sharing a massive piece of wood in their mouths. Harleen chuckled and crouched down on her knees to greet them.

"What do we have here?" She asked, ruffling the fur on top of their heads. "Drop." Harleen commanded. They obeyed and released the log from their jaws. She picked it up firmly in one hand and threw it will all the strength she had into the distance. The two hounds scurried away, chasing it with determination.

Just as the deep orange sun began to push it's way through the horizon, Harleen heard a deep rumbling sound coming from the sky above. She turned her head to the source of the noise and gasped with a heart filled with pride.

Overhead flew a single spitfire, tearing through the clouds with the roar of a Rolls-Royce Merlin engine. She could practically feel the hum of the aircraft right under her feet, pulsing through the ground beneath her. The peeping sunlight cast a shadow of the fighter over her blanket of fields, catching the markings beautifully on each wing. Harleen stared at it in awe. Oh how she wished she could just have a taste of the freedom that the pilots must feel up there.

As it skimmed overhead like a rocket full of fire, the aircraft dipped it's wings, tilting the fuselage from side to side, as if it was giving her a graceful wave in the wind. Harleen smiled brightly, her eyes welled at the sight, this was truly a moment she would never forget.

She raised herself up on tip toes and began to wave after it as it sped through the sky, cutting away the wisps of cloud that lie dormant from the night before. Harleen remained fixed to the incredible machinery until it dipped over the hill side, leaving nothing as evidence that it was even there to begin with.

Taking one last look, Harleen decided to press on with her walk. She was due to pay her best friend Pamela a visit before noon. Apparently she had some important information to tell her, but with a girl like Pam, it could range between juicy village gossip to a new method of how to mimic expensive stockings by using tea bags.

Harleen released a sharp whistle, summoning her two dogs. "Bud! Lou! Come on boys, it's time to head off!"

After leaving the fields Harleen moved onto a uneven dirt track, she loved the sound of the broken stones and gravel crunching under her shoes, especially the dust it kicked up. Bud and Lou snapped to her side almost immediately. They were very protective of her, never leaving her side for a second. Much to her parents dismay, they even slept in the same bed as her, constantly keeping a watchful eye.

Cobble stone walls lined the edge of the track she was taking to reach Pamela's house. Moss clung to it with determination as tiny blooms of wild flowers emerged from the crevasses. Pamela lived on the villages only farm. Her parents were both established figures of the community and her mother even rallied the local land girls to help the war effort dig to victory.

Seeing the pale blue gates to the Isley's, Harleen encouraged her dogs to take the lead, they bounded ahead, slipping through the picket gaps in their fence. Harleen unlatched the gate and slipped through.

"Morning Mr Davis!" She beamed, seeing the elderly farm hand sitting on a half broken wooden crate, organising chicken eggs into a hay ridden basket.

"Good morning to you Miss Quinzel." He greeted back, raising his flat cap politely. "Miss Isley is in the kitchen... Stealing beetroot from the pot to tint her lips." He added, rolling his eyes with a slight chuckle.

"Oh, typical." Harleen agreed. She walked past and gave him another gentle wave before stepping into the kitchen. She knocked on the door lightly before letting herself in.

"Pam? It's Harleen!" She called, latching the door shut behind herself and wiping her shoes on the mat laid out in front of the doorway. Harleen scanned the room, licking her lips as she took in every detail. The farmhouse kitchen had a light wooden table situated in the middle, with a toast rack and 5 empty glasses surrounding it. Plates riddled with crumbs scattered the surface along with a left over bread crust.

Harleen smiled. She reached out a popped it into her mouth, feeling the fluffy texture slide down her throat. "Waste not, want not." She muttered.

"Harley!" Pam greeted through the doorway that lead into the living room of the house. She looked as stunning as ever with her fiery red hair mimicked the style of Veronica Lake. Harleen couldn't help but stare in envy, she always did look effortlessly handsome.

Pamela rushed over, tackling Harley into a bear hug. "Oh I have some news for you Harleen, some wonderful, exciting news."

Harley smiled. "If it's about the beetroot, Mr Davis already told me." She laughed.

Pam pulled a face. "Oh that sour grape is really getting on my nerves today! Do you know what he said to me earlier?"

"Haven't got the foggiest Pam." Harleen replied, pulling out a mismatched chair from the table and taking a seat.

"He told me that my dress... my dress was too green! Can you believe that miserable old fool!" Pam yelled. "Just because when he was young all women wore were beige curtains right down to there ankles, doesn't mean the rest of us has to!"

Harley laughed, tracing loose bread crumbs with her fingers. "I like Mr Davis, he keeps you in line."

Pamela pouted and stuck her tongue out. Suddenly her mood flipped a complete 180. "Anyway, anyway... the news! You know the W.I. meetings that our mother's go to? Well I may have accidently pressed my ear against the keyhole of the village hall door."

Harley gasped. "Pam!" The Women's Institute used to be a fun hang out for all the mothers, teachers and housewives, but just recently since the RAF barracks had been created just outside the village, it was like they had turned into their own secret army. "So what did you find out from the weekly meetings of tea and scandal?"

Pam slammed her hands down on the kitchen table excitedly, her eyes were wide with hidden secrets. "Americans Harleen, Americans are coming!" She gasped.

Harleen sat there with a nonchalant look on her face.

"Hello?" Pamela snapped. "Did you hear me? Americans Harley!"

"I heard you fine Pam." Harley laughed. "I just don't see what the big deal is, they're just like us but they don't speak properly."

"It's called an accent Harleen!" She pointed out. "Exotic and charming.."

"Careful you don't get drool on your mothers table." Harleen giggled, watching her mouth pop open.

"Don't you understand!? US pilots are coming to ... well near enough, they'll all be pitched up at the barracks, but they'll come here. Especially for a drink." Pam winked suggestively.

Since Harleen had turned 18, her mother had encouraged her to find work to help with the finances of the household. Her father was injured form the first war and all he could manage to do for money was to help Mr Sutherland, the local butcher with his accounts. Being the only young and able member of her household, Harleen found work as a casual waitress at the local Public house.

It was bad enough having the normal RAF boys coming in on a Friday night, let alone adding yanks into the mix. "I know where you're going with this Pam, and I'm not interested in stuff like that."

"What do you mean stuff? Harleen, you're 18 and you haven't even kissed a boy! This is the perfect opportunity to get over that milestone!"

"No Pam, I'm not like you! I don't want to be shoving my tongue down every mans throat that wears a uniform!" She retorted, felling frustrated that Pam brought up the fact that she hadn't even been kissed yet at the ripe age of 18. Pam had always excelled in that department, with boys falling at her feet.

It wasn't that Harleen wasn't attractive. Oh no, she was very desirable. But being sheltered by her mother and father made it difficult for her to see the signs of interest. She ignored all the wolf whistles and stares that she would get in the Pub, thinking it was just young men trying to act manly in front of each other. The sweet boy who delivered telegrams to the villagers on his blue rusty bike always began to shake and go clammy every time she answered to door to collect the letters. But she just passed it off as him having some sort of illness. Harleen was blind to the advances of men, completely and utterly blind.

"I'm not saying that! I just think it would be good for you to meet some different people... besides your parents, me and Mr bloody Davis." Pam said.

"Pamela Isley!" Harleen giggled. "Such language!"

Pam laughed back, feeling the tension of their previous conversation disappear. "I just don't want you to fall behind Harl, I don't want you to be stuck looking after your parents until the day they die."

Harley nodded. "Yeah, yeah I know... I promise if I find someone that likes me, and I like them I won't ignore it."

"Promise?" Pam smiled, holding out her pinkie for her to take.

Harley hooked her finger around Pam's. "Promise. But no Americans."