by M. L. Maki
“Sorry, no.”
“No problem. Wherever she is, she’ll still need a yeoman. Please assign me to her staff.”
“Okay. I can do that. It could be a dead end.”
Cooper, “No, it won’t be. She’s a rising star.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s the best commander I’ve ever had. I would follow her to hell. Once there, she would kill the horned guy with one perfect punch and open the doors. Not more than one military leader in a hundred years will be her equal, and the navy is shitting on her. If you could figure out why, I would be eternally grateful.”
“Wow. I see. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”
“Thank you.”
BUCKINGHAM PALACE
King George VI stands. Commodore Hunt stands with him. “Thank you, Commodore. I’m in your debt. My people are in our debt for all you have done for the United Kingdom.”
“It was my honor, Majesty.”
“You chose to bow?” He smiles.
“A curtsey wearing this uniform seemed inappropriate.”
“Indeed. Do take care, Commodore.”
“I will, Majesty. Thank you.” She bows and leaves.
BEEFEATER 1, 35,000 OVER VENRAY, NETHERLANDS
Marshall’s RIO, Ensign Joline ‘Fish’ Pond, “I can see the bridge. Locking on.”
“What river is this?”
“The Meuse, sir.”
“No sense showing off our range. We fire at eight miles.”
“Roger, sir. We need to descend to keep the shot in my scope.”
“No problem. Call it.”
On radio they hear, “Beefeater flight. Bandits at 85 miles climbing up at your one o’clock.”
Fish, “Beefeater flight 2, engage hostiles.”
Marshall, “Good call.”
“Eight miles, sir.”
He pickles off four AGM-1Bs. They fly down their jets radar beam. All four hit the west end of the bridge, blowing it up and setting fires. The rest of his flight hit the east end of the bridge and the supplies stacked for rebuilding it on the far bank.
“Boss, missiles inbound.”
“Gs.” He inverts, lights his afterburners and accelerates in a dive. “Find them.”
“Five o’clock high. There’s two of them.”
BEEFEATER 160, WINGMAN OF BEEFEATER 1
Lt. John ‘LD’ Erlander’s RIO, Ensign David ‘Funk’ Jergons, “Two missiles at five o’clock. Do something.” Erlander pulls back on the stick and drops chaff and flares. The jet shakes at the edge of its flight envelope. “One’s turning toward us.”
Erlander pushes his jet into a climbing turn, dropping more chaff and flares. The missile detonates behind and above the cockpit. Both engines flame out. The jet shudders and rolls on its back. Erlander fights for control, “Counter the roll. Down angle. Speed, check. Hydraulics, check. Fuel, on. Light the engines.” Engine 1 lights and he slowly powers up, bringing his jet under control. “Funk, how are you? Funk?”
Erlander calls on the radio, “Beefeater 1, Beefeater 160.” Nothing. He sees two Tomcats flying with him to the northwest. “No radio. Fuck. Time to go home.”
CONTROL CENTER, RAF KENLEY
1650, 15 October, 1942
Spike, still in her dress blues, listens to the radio. “Yankee control, this is Beefeater 1. Beefeater 160 has no radio and is heavily damaged. It’s coming in on one engine. Request a clear field. We are the last down.”
“Beefeater 1, Yankee control. We are clearing the field. Suggest you land first.”
“Yankee control, Beefeater 1. Negative. I’ll be landing on his wing.”
“Understood, Beefeater 1. Good luck.”
Spike and Andrews stand at the window and watch as the two Tomcats make the approach. They make the cut and come in low and slow. The two birds touch down together. The damaged bird slows to a stop at the end of the runway. Beefeater 1 stops next to him.
Spike turns to Andrews, “Get me the status on the wounded bird, please. I have to change. I’ve got that damn date tonight.”
“Roger, Spike.”
She walks to her office. Gloria is waiting for her in her bedroom. On the bed is an emerald green evening dress. “Wow. Thank you, Gloria. We need to talk.”
Gloria, “No shit.”
Sam carefully removes her dress blues. “You know. I’d be lost without you.”
“How does your SEAL feel about this date?”
“He knows I have it to do. He’s fine.”
“Okay. What if you realize you like Johnson?”
“Gloria, you don’t think much of me, do you? I love Jere. Even if this is a great night, I love Jere.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean…I guess I didn’t realize. This is just a political thing, right?”
“Pretty much. The thing is, we just had a wounded bird land and I’ve just had tea with the King, and I’m going to the prom. It feels off.”
Gloria puts on a pouty face, “Poor thing had to drink tea with the king. Oh dear.”
Sam laughs, “Okay. Okay. I get it. I just…I don’t know. It’s taking me away from my job.”
“Sam, it’s all right to have fun. Please, you need to. We’ll take care of things.” Gloria sits Sam down in her underwear and starts making up her face. “Hold still, young lady. You are doing your job. Wearing a star is more than fighting.”
“You are, as usual, right. Done whining.”
“You know, we all have your back.”
“Yes, I know.” She looks down, then looks her friend in the eyes, “I just realized that I don’t want to give it up.”
“I understand that, Sam. We’re all worried about what happens to you next.”
“Yeah, I know Lee won’t screw me over, but I don’t know who’s calling the shots on this one.”
“Speaking of next, do you have a set of less boring underwear?”
“I do, why?”
“Those will not go with this dress, and you shouldn’t look like a hayseed.”
Sam sighs, “Top drawer.”
FLIGHT LINE, RAF KENLEY
John ‘LD’ Erlander is bent over his RIO, ‘Funk’ Jergon, crying. A medic puts his hand on LD’s arm, “Sorry, sir. Please let us take him.” LD stands up and the medics load Funk’s body into the ambulance.
‘Marshall’ Dillon walks up to him and puts a hand on LD’s shoulder. “LD, you alright?”
“I killed him. I should have done something else.”
“The Germans killed him. I picked the same maneuver you did. I just got lucky.”
“Really, boss?”
“Really. Come on. We have to debrief. Then, I’ll buy you a beer. We’ll drink to Funk. He’d like that.”
CHAPTER 9
CASTLE END, WEST OF LONDON
1810, 15 October, 1942
Squadron Leader James ‘Johnnie’ Johnson drives his wine-colored Packard 12 through the narrow lanes. Commodore Samantha Hunt, “Where are we going?”
“You look lovely, Samantha.”
“Thank you, but it doesn’t answer the question.”
“No, it doesn’t, but it’s true.”
“This is a nice car. A Packard, right?”
“It is. I prefer not to drive like a madman, unlike some of my colleagues.”
“I appreciate that. To me, being a pilot is about being in control, not being stupid brave.”
He smiles, “I quite agree. Of course, there is a place for stupid bravery in the skies.”
They drive through a small village that’s been spared the ravages of battle. “Where is this?”
“Castle End.” He pulls the car over at a dock on the river Thames, walks around, and hands her out. He offers her his arm, his Royal Air Force dress uniform complimenting her green dress. They walk down the dock to a launch, smoke rising from its stack.
“What is this?”
An old bearded man in pristine blue uniform, answers, “It’s the steam launch Nuneham, Lady Hunt.”
J
ohnson steps into the launch and the two men help her down onto the deck. They’re led to the stern saloon. The saloon is paneled and furnished in teak and mahogany woods, an elegant backdrop for the formally set table for two. Forward, in the saloon, a man plays a violin. Johnson pulls out her chair and seats her.
When Johnson is seated, a waiter comes out and pours champagne. Johnson raises his glass, “To a wonderful night.”
“A wonderful night.” They touch glasses and sip, “Good.”
“I’m glad you like it. Can we make an agreement for tonight?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“No war. No military. Two people enjoying an evening.”
“I can agree to that.” The first course is brought out, a clear soup. She notices a brick wall outside of the window, “Where are we going?”
He grins, “Up river. We have locks to keep the Thames navigable.”
“All mysterious. I’m actually enjoying not knowing.”
“Wonderful. I am also enjoying myself.”
She takes a spoonful of the soup, “Good. Very good.”
“It is.”
Sam, “Tell me about yourself. Is your father aristocracy?”
“No. My father was a bobby. He’s an inspector now.”
“My father was a Marine, well, is a Marine. After the war, he went to college in Tennessee, then worked at Oak Ridge.”
“What is Oak Ridge?”
“Um, oops. Today it’s classified. In 1990 it was common knowledge. It’s a government facility.”
“Fair enough. I thought your family bred horses?”
“We did and we do.”
The soup bowls and champagne flutes are cleared and are replaced by white wine and dover sole served with a butter sauce. Sam takes a bite, “Umm, better and better.”
“So, what were your horses bred for?”
“Hunters, jumpers, steeplechase, show, it depends on their temperament.”
“Never rode a horse, but that makes sense. Where did you go to school?”
“Cal-Tech. My major was aeronautical engineering.”
“University of Nottingham in civil engineering.”
She chuckles, “You know what they say about civil engineers?”
“What’s that.”
“Civil engineers build things for mechanical engineers to blow them up.”
He laughs, “I’ve never heard that, but it’s very true.”
The sole is replaced by lamb with mint sauce, green beans, Duchess potatoes, and red wine. Sam, “Better and better. I’m afraid to ask how you’re doing this. It’s much appreciated.”
“I’m glad.”
Sam, “I think I’m getting tipsy. Oh dear.”
“When was the last time you were tipsy?”
She swallows her bite of lamb, “This is so good. Um, the last time I was tipsy was celebrating getting my wings, February 16th, 1984.” She starts laughing, “I guess, I’ve never actually been tipsy before.”
“Time travel does put an odd spin on things. You’ve no obligation to drink it all, you know.”
“Oh, well, momma indoctrinated me in the notion that one always finishes whatever is on one’s plate, thank you very much.”
Johnnie, “Yes, you are tipsy.”
She giggles, “Uh uh.”
“This lamb is excellent. I understand Americans don’t eat lamb.”
Sam, “Not much. Mostly beef, pork, and chicken. We love our steaks and burgers. Some of us hunt for deer, elk, and other game animals.”
He smiles, “Hunting is rare here. Once the war is done, I don’t think I could ever hunt for sport.”
“Ah. You broke the rule.”
“I did indeed. What shall my forfeit be?”
Sam, “Do you sing?”
“A little.”
“Just a verse or two from a favorite song.”
Johnny, “Very well, but remember you requested it. He motions the violinist over, “I presume you know ‘Ain’t Misbehaving?”
“I do sir.”
He sings the song simply with a Bing Crosby flare, watching her the entire time. He finishes and sits back down.
“Thank you. That was good.”
“Do you sing?”
“Not really. I can sort of carry a tune in church. But it’s not good.”
“Well then, we’ll have to pick something else if you slip.”
A blackberry fool is served for dessert. Sam samples it, “Oh God. This is…” She savors another spoonful, “Who came up with this? It’s divine.”
He grins, “It is. May I say, you look delicious in that dress.”
She smiles back, “You’re looking very handsome, too.” She stops, frowning.
“What is it?”
“If I told you, I might lose a forfeit.”
“It might be worth it.”
“It might, but no, I don’t want to ruin the night.”
She realizes her dessert is gone and her wine glass empty. She stands, swaying. He reaches to steady her, and steps around table. Then he takes her in his arms and begins to dance. They dance slowly to the music of the violin and his soft baritone as he sings a soft ballad.
The captain pops in, “We’re approaching the dock Squadron Leader, Lady Hunt.”
Johnson, “Thank you, Captain.” He looks down at Sam, “Are you okay?”
“Yes. A little, um…happy. But yes, I’m okay.”
“Good.”
There’s a slight bump as the ship comes up to a quay and she falls back into his arms. He helps her off the launch and onto the quay. There is a black enclosed horse drawn carriage, with side lights and footmen with red jackets and black top hats waiting. Sam asks, “What is this?”
He smiles, “A little tour has been arranged.”
“I did say I would not ask.”
“You did.” They’re handed into the coach and it sets off, bells jingling from the horse’s tack. He puts an arm around her shoulders, “Are you enjoying the evening?”
“I feel like a princess.”
“May I, then, be your prince tonight?”
“Yes.”
“In truth, this is very magical for me as well. For a bobby’s son, this is special.”
“I’m glad. May I ask a question I’ve been a bit afraid to ask?”
“Sure.”
“In Britain, what does it actually mean to be a knight or dame?”
He smiles, “It means you’ve been recognized by the king for having contributed to the kingdom. In our case, it’s a small token of the esteem we hold you in.”
“Does it mean I need to come back after the war and march in parades, or whatever?”
“You could be invited to royal events, and you, dear, earned a forfeit.”
“Oops.”
“Whatever shall I demand? You recommended it not be a song. A poem, perhaps?” He smiles down at her, looking into her eyes, “I know. If the lady is willing, a kiss.”
She nods and he lifts her chin, gently kissing her. It is the touch of a feather only. Then he smiles and releases her. She looks at him bemused.
The carriage slows to a stop, the footmen open the door, and set the stool. He steps out, then reaches in and helps her down. She turns around, “I know where we are. This is Windsor.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“No, but I’ve flown over it many times, and I know some English history.”
They walk up a path to an open door. A footman, “Dame Hunt, Squadron Leader Johnson, this way please.” They are led into the castle and to a withdrawing room. Princess Elizabeth is waiting inside, “Your Highness, Dame Hunt and Squadron Leader Johnson.” He withdraws, closing the door.
Sam curtsies and Johnnie bows. Princess Elizabeth stands, “Hello. I’m please to meet you both.”
Sam, “It’s an honor, your Highness.”
Elizabeth smiles, “So, you bow for father, but you curtsy to me?”
“I was in uniform, your Highness. A curtsy seemed inapp
ropriate.”
“I see. I will be your tour guide tonight. It would please me if we could dispense with the formalities as I have a number of questions.”
Sam, “Of course, um, ma’am.”
Elizabeth gives them a tour of the private areas of the castle, sharing the history of the rooms. She asks, “I’ve been told my father passes in only ten years, or so. Do you know the cause of his death, and what might be done to prolong his life?”
Sam, “I’m not certain, but I think it was cancer. There are dietary changes that might help. If he smokes, he should stop immediately. Cancer is positively connected to tobacco.”
Later, Elizabeth asks, “At the awards ceremony on your base, I could see you recognized me. Have we met in your future?”
Sam, “Ma’am, your face is on all the currency of the United Kingdom and Commonwealth. You’re in the news all the time. You do a fabulous job of leading your country. The whole world goes nuts over your son’s wedding.”
“I feel nowhere near ready to be queen.”
“Oh, I know that one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ma’am, eleven months ago, I was a lieutenant deploying for only the second time in my career. It was my first flying fighters. I commanded nothing, save myself. Papa Holtz promoted me to XO. Admiral Nimitz then promoted me to command the Black Knights. I’d commanded the squadron for only a few months and was breveted commodore. At each step I felt unready. There’s no possible way to be ready for that which you have not yet done. What matters is character, and beyond a doubt, you have that.”
“Thank you. Do you know who I marry?”
“Ma’am, do you really want to know that?”
“I understand he was a good match for me. If so, any other choice may be inferior.”
“Phillip Mountbatten. I believe he’s a Royal Navy officer now. He’s also a cousin. He’s the son of the deposed king of Greece. I think he gives that up to become a British citizen.”
“Do any other monarchies survive the war?”
“Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and Monaco. That’s all I remember. Another thing to know about your husband. He believes the throne will go to him, starting a new dynasty. You keep the throne and make him a prince.”
“He and I have been corresponding. Are there any scandals or problems I should know about?”
“Ma’am, there are probably a number of scandals, but I can’t remember most of them, and many may not happen now. Oh, your sister falls in love with a pilot who worked for your family after the war. I don’t recall his name.”