Rush to Glory

by Robert L Hecker

  “I remember,” he said. “Majors and children first.”

  Luke’s face turned a nasty red, and Fox burst out with an explosive laugh, but the others discreetly suppressed their amusement.

  Luke was silent for a moment; then, he forced a laugh. “You damned well better do a good job.”

  Outside, Luke offered to give them a ride back to the barracks in his Jeep, but Hal declined. A gloaming had settled over the misty countryside, and an evening star hung low above a distant line of trees. In the quietness, the land seemed to be waiting patiently for the men and their machines to complete their tenure and leave it forever.

  Cossel noticed the tranquility too, and he elected to walk back to the barracks with Hal. They took their time, strolling on the short grass beside the winding macadam road, savoring the air that was spiced with the scent of green grass and flowers.

  It wasn’t until they were within sight of the barracks that Cossel broke the silence, “Why didn’t you tell your brother about Betty Axley?”

  Hal walked on a few steps while he tried to decide whether to tell Cossel that he shared his doubts about Betty’s motives. He certainly wasn’t going to tell him or anyone else what had happened . . . or not happened . . . in her flat. He hoped to hell that she wouldn’t tell anyone. “I know, Luke,” he finally said. “He would only make stupid jokes about it.”

  “Is she coming to the party tonight?”

  Hal felt a shock like an electric current. Would she come to the party? He had refused to ask her. But would she come on her own? More likely, she would arrange for Colonel Sutton to invite her. If she did, it wouldn’t be to make arrangements to fly a mission; it would only be to defy him.

  “I hope not,” Hal said, and immediately he wished he hadn’t voiced his objection. Now Cossel would expect an explanation.

  “Why not?” Cossel asked. “She’s a damned sight better than most of the stuff you see around here.”

  Hal didn’t answer. What could he say that Cossel would understand?

  Cossel walked in silence for a moment. Then he suddenly chuckled. “I’d like to see your brother’s face if you walked in with her on your arm. Especially if she was wearing that dress, she wore at the Regent Palace party.”

  The thought made Hal smile. “Yeah. Luke’s eyes would pop. And I’ll bet Crystal would . . .” He stopped abruptly. The idea of Crystal seeing him with Betty was not an appealing one. He hadn’t thought of it before . . . at least not consciously. Could that be his real reason for not inviting her to the party? He wondered if Crystal thought that Betty was a prostitute. They had all jumped to that conclusion. Had Colonel Sutton told Luke and Crystal the real reason why she was on the base? Maybe not. Maybe he couldn’t say anything until Pinetree gave its permission for her to fly. Maybe it suited the colonel’s ego to let them think she was his girlfriend.

  Cossel turned his head to study Hal, a faint smile on his face. “You mean Crys Buehler?”

  “No,” Hal lied. “I was thinking of something else.”

  “Yeah,” Cossel said softly. “The major sure is in for some surprises.”

  When they walked into the barracks, they had to thread their way through a flurry of activity as men prepared for the party. Some of them were already shrugging into jackets with the idea of putting in some time at the crap tables before the girls arrived. Some were listening to O’Reilly and Fox describe their exploits in London. The two enjoyed telling and retelling their adventures, each time embellishing the stories with even more lurid details.

  Listening to the two men, Hal realized that they were both superb storytellers. Neither Fox nor O’Reilly were embarrassed at being the center of attention, and they dramatized every facet of their real and imaginary adventures, each confirming the most outrageous feat of the other. Each had his own style. Fox was crude and blatant; O’Reilly had the smooth cadence of a troubadour. The listeners might not believe half of what they heard, but they wanted to believe. So, each story added to the legend. Hal wondered what O’Reilly would do after the war. He was crazy if he didn’t go on the stage. He had the charisma. He would be a sensation.

  And Fox? Well, Fox would probably make a good lawyer . . . or policeman. He was blunt and tough, but he was far from being stupid. If he could find a way to direct his raw strength into the right channels . . . A politician! That was it. Senator from Texas. Fox for president? Hal felt a little sick.

  He made it a point to be the last one in the washroom so he would not have to answer more questions about life in the big city. He was splashing water in one of the basins, preparing to clean away the day’s accumulation of whiskers and grime when one of the toilets in the back was flushed, and O’Reilly walked in buttoning his pants, his trench coat flapping loosely. He stopped when he saw Hal and held up one hand in a half salute.

  “Well, well,” he said. “The other brother Bailey.”

  “Yeah,” Hal answered, turning back to his task. “I thought you’d be at the party.”

  “So, I shall. You going?”

  “I guess so. For a minute anyway.”

  “Why?”

  What did he mean by that? Hal turned to look at O’Reilly. “Why?”

  “Sure. I know why Fox goes. Cossel, he likes the company. Bailey’s got that nurse. Some of the guys like to gamble. Some of us like to drink and try to get laid. Everybody’s got a reason except you.”

  “I’ve got my reasons,” Hal said, and he turned his back to O’Reilly and began lathering his face.

  “It sure as hell isn’t gambling or drinking,” O’Reilly said, his voice tinged with insolence. “And it sure as hell couldn’t be women.”

  Hal paused, his lather-filled brush halfway down one cheek. “Why couldn’t it?”

  “Hell, you never even looked at one all the time you were in London. You even ducked out on that party in the Palace. No drinking, no women. Sightseeing, for Christ’s sake. What the hell kind of leave is that?”

  So Cossel had not told O’Reilly and Fox about Betty Axley. If he told O’Reilly now, it would end the discussion. But why should he have to defend himself? “So?” he said. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

  “It does to me.”

  “And to Fox, I suppose?”

  “Yeah. To me and Fox.”

  “Did it ever occur to you . . .” Hal said slowly, turning to face O’Reilly, who was standing directly behind him, his hands thrust deep into his trench coat pockets, a half-smile giving a slight twist to his lips, “Did it ever occur to you that there might be more to life than drinking and women?”

  “Such as what?”

  “If you don’t know, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “You know what I think . . .” O’Reilly started to say, but Hal cut him off abruptly.

  “I don’t give a damn what you think. You or Fox!”

  O’Reilly looked at Hal’s glaring eyes and the thrust of his chin, and he grinned and threw up both hands. “Okay, okay, forget it. I’ll see you at the club.”

  He turned and sauntered out, whistling, while Hal stared after him in amazement. What the hell was that all about? In another second, he would have taken a swing at O’Reilly. The thought made him smile despite himself. Pound for pound, he was about the same size as O’Reilly, but there was something about the Irishman that made the idea of fighting him seem foolish. When he thought of it, Hal couldn’t recall anyone ever disputing O’Reilly’s word on anything. Even Luke hadn’t pressed any disagreements with O’Reilly.

  But if O’Reilly hadn’t wanted to fight, why had he said those things? Unless, he thought, he wanted to see if I really would fight.

  “Damn it,” he muttered softly. “Everybody else only has to worry about one war.”

  When Hal arrived at the Officers’ Club after a brisk walk in the chill night air, the
party was already boisterous. He could see two buses from Northampton and another from Banbury parked by the door and several Jeeps and staff cars in the parking area. He followed the sounds of music and laughter down the hall and into the crowded club.

  Hal slowly worked his way to the bar where Sergeant Weems was working up a lather and ordered a ‘shandy.’ He was standing on the outskirts of the mob when a small hand gripped his arm, and a girl’s voice said, “’ello, Yank.”

  At first, Hal thought it was Crystal Buehler affecting an English accent, and he turned eagerly. But it was not Crystal. It was Betty Axley. She had fastened her mass of red hair in an upsweep that accentuated her archly beautiful features. Her dress, cut in a deep square at the neck, hugged her body tightly to the waist where it swept out into a full skirt. She looked as petite and cute as a Dresden doll.

  “Betty,” Hal exclaimed. “Hi.”

  Even as Hal admired her beauty, a wave of disappointment swept over him. She didn’t trust him. She had come to check up on him. And why hadn’t she worn her uniform? Now O’Reilly and Fox and, he supposed, the other guys would think she was a commando. Only Cossel knew the truth. Maybe even Luke didn’t know.

  If she caught his look of consternation, she didn’t show it. “I told you I’d be here,” she said.

  “But . . . how? How did you get here?”

  “I called Colonel Sutton. He had his car pick me up at the Thorpewood station.”

  So, it wasn’t him. It was the colonel she was interested in. How far would she go to get her mission? His resentment spilled out in a sharp outburst that he knew was unfair. “Did you come here to ask him about flying a mission or to help him get over his fear of flying?”

  Betty’s face went white, but her voice was controlled as she said, “I really came here to see you.”

  A flood of disbelief made Hal snap, “What am I? Your new project? Well, I don’t need your help. I’ll do my God-damned job. Don’t you understand that?”

  She stared at him, her mouth parted, and her eyes wide. Then her eyes narrowed. “I understand,” she said. “I understand very well.”

  She walked away and was immediately caught up by a tall first lieutenant and whirled out onto the dance floor. The lieutenant said something to her, and she laughed. She did not look back toward Hal.

  He finished his drink and was thinking about having another when he saw O’Reilly moving toward him, twisting easily through the crowd without spilling a drop of his drink.

  “Well,” O’Reilly said as he pulled to a halt in front of Hal, “I take back what I said. In fact, el tigre, I salute you.” He lifted his glass in a mock salutation and drained a healthy pull.

  “Thanks,” Hal said. “What have I done to deserve this?”

  O’Reilly waved toward the dancers. “The wild-looking redhead. I saw her at the R.P. party. I don’t figure she got here by accident. Ergo, she came here to see someone who was also at the party. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Cossel. I’m damned sure it wasn’t Fox. And I’m Goddamned sure it wasn’t me. That, my friend, leaves you.”

  “Would you believe it if I told you she came here to see Colonel Sutton?”

  O’Reilly shook his head. “I don’t think he goes for commandos.”

  “She’s not a commando.”

  O’Reilly’s grin was skeptical. “If you say so?”

  Hal was on the verge of blurting out the truth when he checked the impulse. Why should he explain anything to O’Reilly? “I know she isn’t,” he said. “She never asked me for money.”

  O’Reilly stepped back and cocked his head. “Well, well,” he said. “I never would have believed it. A real, live Casanova, with luscious women following you from camp to camp. Tell me, Lieutenant Bailey, sir, what’s your secret?”

  Hal knew that O’Reilly was needling him, and he also knew that if he got mad, it would only make it worse. He decided the best thing he could do was to play O’Reilly’s game. “Some of us have got it, and some haven’t. That’s all.”

  O’Reilly looked out at the dance floor, where Betty was now dancing with a second lieutenant bombardier. “Have fun,” he said. “But don’t forget we’ve got an early mission.”

  “I didn’t invite her,” he admitted. “She’s on her own as far as I’m concerned.”

  “In that case,” O’Reilly said, “you won’t mind if I take a couple of turns, will you? On the dance floor, of course.”

  “Be my guest,” Hal said.

  “Consider me eternally in your debt, oh mighty bomb dropper,”

  Hal watched O’Reilly move toward Betty with dismay. He didn’t want O’Reilly dancing with Betty. But there was nothing he could do about it. It was too late for that. What she did and who she did it with was no concern of his.

  He watched the way O’Reilly expertly cut in on the lieutenant and wished once again that he possessed some of the Irishman’s savoir-faire. O’Reilly was a good dancer, always knowing exactly when to turn a hip or a shoulder so that he seemed to be dancing in a small space that was reserved for him and his partner alone. Hal had to admit, grudgingly, that O’Reilly and Betty looked as though they were designed for each other. Which meant that he was free of her; she would never look at a clod like him again. So why was he feeling so depressed?

  Then he noticed Luke and Crystal Buehler enter, and he caught his breath. Crystal was stunningly beautiful. Before she entered the room, she stood for a second in the doorway, looking over the crowd with a slight smile . . . remote, regal. Then Luke took her arm and skirted the dervishes on the dance floor to lead her to the bar.

  They saw Hal and changed course to join him. Crystal smiled and held out her hand. “Hal,” she said. “How did you like London?”

  Hal took her hand and held its warmth for a second. “Fine,” he answered. “We saw all we could of it.”

  “We?”

  The word had been a slip. He didn’t want to tell her that he had spent most of the time with another girl, so he told her a half-lie. “Cossel and myself. We took in some of the famous sights.”

  “Including the commandos?” Luke said with a grin.

  Hal knew why Luke had mentioned the commandos. He wanted Crystal to know that there were no dilettantes in the Bailey family. And, strangely, Hal wanted her to think that too.

  “Yeah,” he said. “But we managed to escape being taken prisoner.”

  “From what I hear, that’s quite a feat,” Crystal said, smiling.

  Luke turned toward the bar. “I’ll get us a drink. You want one, Hal?”

  Hal didn’t want one, but he felt that the drink would be the excuse he needed to stay close to Crystal. “Yes,” he said, then added. “Make it bourbon and coke.”

  “What else?” Luke said. After he left, Hal stood uncomfortably. Crystal had been on his mind a lot, but now that he was alone with her, he couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  “Luke’s going to be a while getting those drinks,” he finally said. “Would you like to dance?”

  She nodded. “All right. But we’d better keep an eye over here. Luke doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “How well I know,” Hal murmured, and she laughed. They swept out on the dance floor in a slow Balboa. It felt wonderful to have Crystal in his arms once more. As before, he could feel the ripple of smooth back muscles through her blouse, and when she molded herself to him, it was pure animal pleasure. They were moving smoothly around the floor when someone bumped against his back. “Sorry, old buddy,” said a familiar voice, and he turned to see O’Reilly and Betty Axley.

  At the sight of Hal and Crystal, Betty froze, her hand in O’Reilly’s, her other arm looped around his neck, tendrils of her hair escaping her upsweep. Then her lips curved into a tight smile. “Well, Lieutenant Bailey,” she said. “I see you do know how to dance.” She was talking to
Hal but looking at Crystal.

  Since there was little choice, Hal stopped and turned to face them, his arm remaining around Crystal’s waist. “Crystal,” he said. “I think you know Lieutenant O’Reilly. And Betty Axley.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Hello, Miss Axley.”

  “Yes. We’ve met.” Betty answered stiffly.

  Hal noticed that Crystal hadn’t addressed her as Lieutenant Axley. Did that mean that Colonel Sutton hadn’t told her, and Luke that Betty was a WAAF . . . and with the BBC?

  “You know each other?” O’Reilly asked.

  “We met last Saturday.” Crystal said.

  “You were here last Saturday? O’Reilly said. “How did I ever miss you? I must be over the hill.”

  “I believe you were too busy taking people’s money to notice anyone,” Betty said.

  O’Reilly’s smile was calculated as he stared at Betty. “Ah. So, you noticed me. That’s very flattering.

  “You’re difficult to overlook,” Betty said with an answering roguish smile.

  “Are you going back to London tonight?” Crystal’s words were innocent, but the implication was clear. If Betty did not go back, where would she stay?

  Betty paused almost imperceptibly before she answered. “That depends . . . on a number of things.”

  “Oh.” Crystal smiled, a knowing little smile.

  Betty was pressed close to O’Reilly’s side, but she was looking at Hal from beneath half-closed eyelids. “I guess I’ll have to find a place to stay here,” she said. “Unless, of course, I can find someone who will give me a ride to the railway station.”

  “If anybody volunteers, I’ll murder the bastard.” O’Reilly’s words were light, but his eyes were narrow as he, too, looked at Hal.

  Crystal saw the direction of Betty’s look, and her eyes chilled. She pulled at Hal’s arm. “Let’s dance.”

  Hal’s voice was harsh, as he said. “Okay,” and took her in his arms. But his mind was not on the music. How the hell could he be jealous of O’Reilly? He liked Betty, sure. But he wasn’t in love with her. If he was in love with anybody, it was with Crystal.