Rush to Glory

by Robert L Hecker

  “Oh?” There was disappointment in her voice, and Hal realized that she also had powerful reasons for wanting to get back to England quickly. “Where’s Luke?” she added.

  He indicated the door. “Talking to one of our guys.” She moved to a window and looked out as he added, “Look. I’m sorry you can’t get back right away. I guess your story will just have to wait.”

  She was looking out the window as she started to say, “That isn’t the reason . . .” She stopped abruptly, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Oh, my God!”

  “What is it?”

  Hal leaped to the window and peered over her shoulder, expecting to see a squad of German soldiers advancing on the house.

  “Luke. He hit that man.”

  Hal’s eyes focused on a moving shadow near the stone wall. It was Luke. He was bending over the unconscious guard. As Hal watched, Luke slung the Sten gun across his back and took a pistol from the man’s belt. Then he began dragging the limp form toward the gate. What the hell was he doing? The answer hit him like a blow, and he snarled in rage and hurled himself out the door.

  He sprinted across the small yard and out the open gate, almost blind with anger. He reached Luke as he was placing the limp form of the guard in the center of the street, and he slammed into his brother with all his strength. Luke went down heavily, his breath exploding in a rush as he landed on his back on the brick paving.

  Then Hal was upon him, pounding at his brother’s face with both fists in a blind fury, snarling like a beast tearing at a kill.

  Luke cursed and got his arms up to take the blows. He heaved to his feet with a grunt of anger, and Hal clawed at him as he fell backward. His fingers caught in the pocket of Luke’s B-3 jacket and when it ripped free, a folded piece of paper fluttered to the ground.

  Hal recognized it instantly. It was Cossel’s poem. But how did it get in the pocket of Luke’s jacket? Why would Luke take it from Cossel? And when? He would have to have done it after Cossel was killed. But why? . . . Oh, sweet Jesus! He hadn’t stolen the poem. It was the jacket!

  Hal grasped the paper and struggled to his feet, sobbing with rage. “You bastard. You switched jackets with Cossel.”

  “So what? I needed it. And Cossel didn’t give a shit.”

  “You never were wounded. You did it to yourself!”

  In a blind rage, Hal sprang at Luke, his fingers clawing at his brother’s throat, and Luke slammed him in the solar plexus with the muzzle of the Sten gun. Hal grunted in agony and fell to his knees, retching.

  “What the hell are you doing!” Luke demanded. “Get the hell back in the house.”

  “No,” Hal gasped. “Oh, God. You can’t do this.”

  “Do what?” It was Betty. She had run out of the house and was staring at the Sten gun that Luke was pointing at Hal. “What are you doing? Bloody fools! We’ll all be caught.”

  “He wants it that way,” Hal said. “He’s going to take that patrol boat.”

  “That’s impossible,” Luke said. “You saw those guards.”

  “You’re going to draw those guards away. They’ll come running if the patrol gets in trouble. That’s why you put this man in the street. You’re going to ambush the patrol when they stop to investigate.”

  “Here?” Betty gasped. “What about the people in the house?”

  “He wants them involved. Don’t you see? That’s what he’s counting on. A diversion. He’ll leave them here, fighting the Germans while he takes the boat.”

  Luke shook his head. “That isn’t the way it is.”

  Another thought struck Hal, compounding the horror. “You sent me inside. With Betty. We would have been there with the others.”

  “What’s the difference? Being a German prisoner or sitting in some friggin’ closet ‘til the end of the war? You should be damn glad you’re out of it.”

  “You son-of-a-bitch . . .”

  Hal moved toward his brother, his fists clenched, and Luke lifted the Sten gun just as a staccato chatter of shots shattered the silence and bullets whined from the paving bricks. Hal’s head jerked around. The Kubelwagen was bearing down on them, its machine gun blazing.

  He stood frozen. It was over for all of them. For Betty, for Luke and the resistance fighters in the house. He didn’t move when Luke unleashed a burst from the Sten gun at the oncoming Kubelwagen. Then Luke grabbed him and shoved him toward the house. “The wall,” he shouted. “Behind the wall!”

  Hal was shocked into movement. Betty Axley had flung herself flat at the first shots, and he grabbed her arm and, followed by Luke, they dashed for the wall with bullets from the Kubelwagen’s machine gun zinging off the paving bricks. Hal and Betty flung themselves over the low stone wall, but Luke paused to loose another short burst from the Sten gun. Suddenly he grunted as though a blow had struck him. When he tried to get over the wall, Hal had to grab his arm and pull him down beside them.

  For the moment they were safe, but the Kubelwagen was already stopping, and three of the Security Policemen leaped out and charged, their rifles poised to fire. The fourth stayed in the vehicle and swung the machine gun to cover the wall.

  Luke rose to a crouch and fired a burst at the Germans, and they dived for cover. But Hal could already see German guards from the dock running up the street toward them.

  The machine gun opened up again, its bullets spraying chips from the rocks of the wall, forcing Luke to drop back down. One of the Germans charged through the gate his rifle swinging to fire, and Hal pulled Betty behind him, steeling himself for the ripping bullets.

  Suddenly the German arched back, his rifle firing at the sky as Luke pushed to his feet, firing. The other Germans dived for cover and returned fire.

  Something in his brother’s voice made Hal stare at him. Luke was now on his knees, slumped against the wall, his forehead pressed against the rough stones. His hands, as well as the grip of the Sten gun, glistened wetly in the dim moonlight.

  “Luke. You’re hit.”

  “Yeah. Get the hell out of here. The boat. Get to the boat.”

  “I can’t leave you. . . .”

  “I’m out of it. Go, damn it. Go.”

  “He’s right,” Betty said. “We can’t go back to the house.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He got to his knees and took hold of Luke’s arm. “But you’re coming with us.”

  Luke wrenched his arm free. “No. I’m hit in the gut. I’ll never make it.” His lips twisted into a wry grin. “Looks like I’m gonna be playing poker with O’Reilly. Here.” He took a German Luger from his belt and pressed it into Hal’s hand. “Go, for God’s sake. I’ll cover you.”

  Luke pushed himself to his knees and fired over the wall. Hal hesitated, for an instance, unwilling to leave his brother.

  “Hal,” Betty said. “It’s our only chance now.”

  Hal knew she was right. He looked at his brother. “Oh, Luke. I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t know if Luke heard him, but he couldn’t wait. With a groan of despair, he followed Betty. Crouching low behind the wall, they ran to the far corner, which was concealed from the street by the corner of the next house. They left the wall, running along the sides of houses and into the street. The sounds of rifle and machinegun fire covered the sound of their footsteps as they raced toward the harbor.

  At the end of the street, they slowed to a cautious walk, keeping to the shadows.

  “I think all the guards have gone to help,” Hal whispered. “But we can’t be sure.”

  “We’ll have to take a chance. That won’t last long.”

  A sharp pang of guilt shook Hal. Luke was making it possible for them to escape. They had to do it now.

  “It’s the motor launch at the end,” he said. “Come on.”

  Moving rapidly but staying in the shadows as much a
s possible, they approached the German patrol boat. Although the dock looked deserted, Hal kept the pistol ready to fire.

  They were about to step out of the shadow of the last shed when Hal put a restraining hand on Betty’s arm. “Look.”

  He pointed to the boat where a German guard stood in the front cockpit looking toward the sounds of firing; his Mauser clutched firmly as though he expected an attack at any moment.

  “Wait here,” Hal said.

  Before Betty could protest, Hal pulled back into the deep shadows and took off his shoes. Then, gun in hand, he began working his way to the fishing boat tied up next to the patrol boat, using its cabin to shield him from the view of the sentry.

  Quietly, he slipped from shadow to shadow like a stalking panther, all his energies, all his concentration centered upon his unsuspecting query. As he moved, Hal was struck by the ease with which he had changed from a civilized city dweller into a beast stalking its kill. In modern man, the hunting instinct could not be buried too deep.

  Coming up on the opposite side of the fishing boat, he was able to board it without being seen. The only sound was a slight creaking as he climbed over the rail. Quickly he crossed the deck to the opposite rail, which was prevented from scraping the side of the patrol boat by a buffer of old tires.

  He was behind the sentry, who continued to stare toward the sounds of battle. When Hal stepped from the fishing boat to the deck of the patrol boat, his weight caused it to rock, and the sentry whirled. When he saw the Luger aimed at his forehead, he froze, his eyes wide in alarm. He was only a boy. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen, and he was so frightened, his mouth trembled. Hal reached out and pulled the rifle from his hands, breathing a sigh of relief. He was not sure that he could have made himself kill the boy if he had put up a fight.

  He stepped back and waved to Betty. She came at a run and clambered aboard. Hal handed her the Mauser. “Keep an eye on him.”

  She nodded and leveled the rifle at the boy whose eyes became locked on her trigger finger.

  Hal studied the instrument panel of the powerful launch. It looked almost as complex as the cockpit of a B-17. He had no idea how to start the Diesel engines or how to handle the transmission. He turned to the guard and motioned toward the control panel with his pistol. “You! Starten ze engine.”

  It was as close as he could come to German, but the boy understood. He nodded vigorously, and, keeping an eye on Betty’s rifle, he edged to the controls. He manipulated the twin throttles and pushed a button. One of the engines cranked over a few times then surged to life. The boy throttled it back, then started the other.

  When both diesels were rumbling impatiently, the boy looked at Hal expectantly. Hal cast off the tethering lines, then motioned for him to back the patrol boat out of its slip.

  As they were smoothly backing, the sounds of the distant battle abruptly stopped. In the sudden silence, the muted burble of the boat’s engines seemed incredibly loud.

  Betty turned a stricken face toward Hal, and he put his arm around her. Luke was either captured or dead. Either way, for him, the war was ended. Never again would he rush to glory over the bodies of other men, including the body of the resistance fighter.

  “What a damn waste,” he whispered. “If Luke had never been born, a lot of people would still be alive.”

  “Don’t blame Luke,” Betty said. “If Hitler had never been born, he would never have had the chance.”

  Hal nodded, suddenly feeling better. “You’re right.

  He was as much a victim of this war as anyone.”

  In a gesture of anger and frustration, Betty reached up and grabbed the Nazi flag that was flapping over their heads as the boat backed. It took the two of them to tear it down, and they threw it into the water where the swirl from the boat’s propellers sucked it into the murky depths.

  The boy put the engines in neutral and glanced back at Hal and Betty. Hal pointed toward the open sea. “England,” he said.

  The boy grinned and said, “Yah,” as he shoved the throttles. The engines began a deep song, and the boat leaped ahead as though it could sense freedom.

  Hal and Betty sat down in the cockpit, and he put his arm around her, drawing her head to his shoulder. It felt so natural he knew it would be forever.

  About the Author

  ROBERT L. HECKER was born in Provo, Utah but grew up in Long Beach, CA. Graduating from high school just as the US entered WWII, he enlisted in the Army Air Corps. He flew B-17s in thirty missions over Europe, earning five Air Medals, the Distinguished Flying Cross, and the French Legion of Honor. After the war, he became a member of the WGA, and began writing screenplays, radio and TV dramas, then moved on to writing and producing more than 500 documentaries and novels with fifteen novels published, as well as short stories and articles published in numerous magazines. A graduate of the Pasadena Playhouse School of Theater and the Westlake College of Music, lately he has also been writing stage plays and the book, lyrics, and music for Off-Broadway musicals. Several of his plays have been performed throughout the United States. His musical, Honestly, Abe, ran for three years Off-Broadway and his WWII musical Flak House recently completed an Equity Showcase Off-Broadway and is now scheduled to open Off-Broadway this spring. His screenplay The White Stallion is schedule to begin production this spring. His wife, of 58 years, but now deceased, the former Frances Kavanaugh, was a legendary screenwriter of westerns. She has a permanent exhibit in the Cowgirl Museum in Texas. They have two children. four grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren.

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  NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Robert L. Hecker.

  Cover Copyright © 2020 by Sunbury Press, Inc.

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  FIRST MILFORD HOUSE PRESS EDITION: May 2020

  Set in Adobe Garamond | Interior design by Crystal Devine | Cover by Lawrence Knorr | Edited by Lawrence Knorr.

  Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Hecker, Robert L., author.

  Title: Rush to glory | Robert L. Hecker.

  Description: Trade paperback edition. | Mechanicsburg, PA : Milford House Press, 2020.

  Summary: A rivalry of brothers plays out during wartime as both join the Army Air Corps and serve aboard a bomber over Europe.

  Identifiers: ISBN 978-1-620062-67-8 (softcover).

  Subjects: FICTION / Historical / World War II | FICTION / Romance / Military.

  Product of the United States of America

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