CHAPTER EIGHT
A Much-Needed Leave
The heat had caused towering cumulus clouds to rise from about five thousand to eight or ten thousand feet, and they were still climbing. As Parker Braden glanced down, he saw no enemy, but straight ahead, just behind a mound of clouds piled up like the Alps, he spotted a dozen Heinkel twin-engine bombers. They were going around in a circle, nose to tail, in the defensive position they sometimes took when they had no fighter escort.
Suddenly the radiotelephone crackled and delivered a message that was entirely too garbled to understand. Shaking his head with disgust, Parker scanned the sky for German fighter planes but saw none. It happened this way from time to time, but usually when bombers came over across the Channel they were heavily escorted with ME-109s or the two-engine 110s. Occasionally, however, bombers tried it on their own for some reason Parker had never been able to understand. As a rule a bomber without an escort was dead, and the Germans were well aware of this.
“Enemy straight ahead, Wing Commander,” said the mild voice of Bernie Cox, the leader of Blue One.
“I see them, Blue One, and I don’t see any fighters.”
“All right. Here we go. Pick your target.”
Parker glanced over at his wingman in the adjacent aircraft, Tommy Higgins, who had arrived only a week earlier. Parker had groaned when he’d learned that the young man had only fifteen hours’ experience flying Spitfires, and he had given him a crash course. Higgins was willing enough but green as grass. “Stay with me, Tommy. Don’t go wandering off.”
“I read you, Wing Commander.” Higgins’s voice crackled with excitement, and he pulled his Spitfire in until his wing was only five feet away from Parker’s.
Parker nosed his Spit downward and felt a brief moment of pity for the crews of the Heinkels. There had been a time when he had felt exhilarated at such moments, but that was gone now. All that lay before him was the unpleasant job of killing human beings. He felt washed clean of fear as he led the squadron toward the hulking slab-winged bombers. Each one of them had five guns, and although they blazed away continuously, they had little chance of hitting the Spitfires, which fell on them like lightning.
He picked his target and, when he was four hundred yards away, hit the trigger under his thumb. The tracers marked the path as the ammunition raked the Heinkel.
Scratch one Heinkel and four or five lives.
The Germans were tough, and they broke formation when they saw that they had been jumped. All should have gone well, but suddenly Parker saw Tommy Higgins head directly toward two of the Heinkels that were trying to flee. He yelled, “Break off, Higgins! Break off!” But Higgins, if he heard the warning, paid no attention. He had slowed his Spitfire, probably to make his aim better, and the combined guns of both Heinkels blared, hitting him dead on. Black smoke poured out of the small fighter plane, its canopy completely shattered.
Parker flipped his plane over and came up from underneath the Heinkels, aware that Sailor Darley was beside him. The two had no need for speech. They had flown together long enough to know exactly what to do. He used the last of his ammo to destroy the Heinkel and saw that Sailor had wiped out his plane also.
“Regroup,” Parker said wearily, not even looking at the Heinkels that were plunging toward the earth below. When Eagle Squadron was back in formation, he commended his men. “Good show. Let’s go home now.”
As he led the squadron back toward the field, Parker felt the great weariness that had become a part of his life settle on him. Glancing out, he was aware of the beautiful blue sky, the towering white clouds hanging over the earth like fairy-tale castles. The blue sea crawled steadily beneath him, always moving, meeting up with the white cliffs of Dover with their pristine beauty he loved so. As always, the sight touched him.
But hard on the heels of that came the thought of Tommy Higgins, now a bloody corpse sinking beneath the sea in the wreckage of his plane. It had become almost a vigil with Parker to struggle with the twin aspects of his life, the beauty that he saw when he flew and the ugliness of the job that always involved death. His hand tightened on the stick, and for one moment he had the wild impulse to turn and fly away anywhere except to the airfield, where he knew as soon as he landed he would begin getting ready for the next rendezvous with the enemy.
The impulse passed quickly, and he shook his head to clear it. He forced himself to think of beautiful things. He resolutely thought of his two stepchildren, Paul and Heather, and as the Spitfire roared toward the field, the leader of Eagle Squadron was thinking not of Germans or of ME-109s but of sitting on the floor and letting the two-year-olds crawl over him, pulling his hair and squealing as he tickled them. This was the other world that Wing Commander Braden chose to live in whenever the killing was done.
****
As Parker climbed out of the plane and stepped to the ground, he was met by Denny Featherstone, his early crew chief. “Go all right, sir?”
“Fine, Denny. No holes for you to patch up this time.”
Featherstone’s second-in-command, Keith Poe, had been scurrying around the plane. “Did you have any kills, sir?”
“Yes. We had good luck. Got a whole flight of Heinkels. Six of them. They had no fighter cover. Don’t know why. The blighters came alone.”
Featherstone and Poe were called “plumbers,” as all of the members of the ground crew were. They and ten others serviced the Spitfires and usually grew incensed when the planes took any battle damage.
“Sir,” Featherstone said, “me and this lunkhead here are havin’ an argument.”
“Nothing new about that.” Parker’s flight suit seemed to be pulling him down. He pulled off his helmet and said, “What is it this time?”
“Well, I say that Hitler is the Antichrist,” Featherstone said, glaring at the smaller crewman. “And this muttonhead here says he ain’t. Now, I ask you, sir. Who else would be the Antichrist if not Adolf?”
Despite his weariness, Parker smiled. The two men were devout students of biblical end-time prophecy and spent as much time arguing about minor points of Scripture as they did working on the Spitfire. “Who do you think it is, Poe?”
“Well, I’m not exactly sure who it is, but I’m sure who it ain’t. It can’t be Hitler.”
“Why not?” Parker asked curiously.
“Because the Antichrist has to come out of the Middle East somewhere. He sure as shootin’ won’t be a dirty kraut!”
Featherstone began to protest, but Parker held up his hand and turned away. “Let me know if you decide.” He hesitated, then said, “Higgins went for a Burton.” By this odd expression, the men understood that Higgins was dead. Parker saw something change in the eyes of the two men and said nothing.
Featherstone gnawed his lower lip and looked down at his feet. He shuffled them and then looked back up at Parker. “It’s a bad thing how quick some of these young fellows go. It was only his second mission.”
“Yeah,” Poe mumbled, “and he was gonna be an ace. He talked about it all the time.”
“Well, he won’t be an ace now,” Parker said wearily. “Look, I’ve got a twenty-four-hour leave. This ship’s in good shape. I don’t see why you fellows shouldn’t have some time off too. Go ahead, but be back in twenty-four hours.”
Both men brightened up, and Parker turned to leave. Before he was out of earshot they had begun to argue again, this time about the timing of the Great Tribulation. Parker shook his head in wonder. “Well, some men like rugby and others like to argue about the Bible.” He could not see that one was any more harmful than the other.
He went to make out his report, and as soon as he had done so, he wrote a letter to Tommy Higgins’s family. This task was getting harder all the time. Higgins had done very little as far as deeds were concerned, but he had offered the ultimate sacrifice of his own life, and Parker had to give what comfort he could to the family.
Your son was one of the most popular men in the squadron. He was well liked by al
l of his fellow pilots. He was courageous in that way one rarely sees. He gave his life defending his country.
Parker stared down at the words, which had become almost meaningless. He forced himself to finish the letter, then signed it and stuffed it into an envelope. He posted it at once. He had made a habit of this on the occasions when men had been lost from his squadron. The longer he put it off, the more he brooded over it, and now he knew that in a few days he would be unable to even recall clearly what the young man’s face looked like. Men were here one day and the next day were gone—obliterated. He hated the unfairness of it and tried to put it aside as he changed out of his flight suit into his dress uniform and left the station.
****
Lord Gregory Braden had always preferred the smaller of the two dining rooms at Benleigh. Now as he sat down at the table across from his daughter-in-law, who flanked the twins, he felt, once again, the comfort of the room. Glancing around, he took in the fine old walnut paneling that had taken on a royal patina after so many years. At the far end of the room, two large windows reached from the floor almost to the ceiling, admitting abundant light that illuminated the blue-and-gold carpet. A magnificent buffet made of rosewood held stacks of gleaming white china and crystal goblets that sparkled like diamonds.
“Would you care for some more of the beef, Lord Braden?”
Looking up, Braden saw that Mrs. Sophie Henderson, the housekeeper, was standing over him. She was a handsome woman in her midforties and had become a fixture at Benleigh.
“I don’t believe I would, Sophie.”
“You’re not eating well enough. You need to force yourself.”
“Well, just a bit more, then.” Gregory was used to being bullied by the housekeeper, but then everyone was. He waited until she had put a slab of beef on his plate and then listened to the conversation of his wife and daughter-in-law as he cut it. But his attention was on the twins, who were perched in high chairs between the two women. He positively doted on his son’s adopted children, whom he had come to regard as fondly as if they were his own grandchildren. He had always wanted a large family with a house full of children, but when their second child had died at birth, his wife was unable to have any more. They were left with their only son, Parker. Now Parker’s children filled that void for Gregory, and he threw his affections toward the twins with all possible enthusiasm.
“I hear it’s going to be one of the best musicals ever produced.” Parker’s wife, Veronica, was doing most of the speaking. She was a small, well-shaped woman of thirty with dark hair and dark brown eyes. She was rather sharp-featured but attractive enough in spite of this. Her voice was somewhat shrill, but although it ground on Gregory, he never mentioned how much he disliked it. “I’ve got to hurry,” she added, checking the grandfather clock in the corner.
“Are you going alone?” Lady Grace Braden, at the age of fifty, was fourteen years younger than her husband. Grace’s blond hair was still rich and full, and her blue eyes were clear. She had never been a real beauty, but there was a winsomeness about her that made her attractive.
“No,” Veronica said. “Charles is going to pick me up. Such a bore. I offered to bring our car, but he wants me to try out that new one of his.”
“What’s he doing now?” Gregory asked. “Still producing musicals for the stage?”
“Yes. His new production is going to be great. I expect it to win every prize in sight.”
Gregory despised Charles Gooding, considering him an effeminate parasite. Veronica kept company with a group of actors, writers, and artists, and Gregory had little patience with them. He himself had been given to a life of hard work building up the family business of aircraft manufacture. To him, writing a play did not constitute work. Making a fitting for an airplane—now, that was work.
Paul suddenly reached out toward his mother, but unfortunately the back of his hand struck his glass of milk. It fell right in his mother’s lap, and she cried, “Look what you’ve done!” Her face was red, and she reached out and shook the toddler, who began to cry loudly.
“It was an accident,” Gregory’s sister Edith said at once. She got up and put herself between Veronica and the child. “He didn’t mean to do it.”
“I’ll have to go change now,” Veronica whined. She whirled and left the room angrily.
“It’s all right, Paul,” Edith soothed. “You didn’t mean to do it.”
“Here. Let me clean up this mess,” Mrs. Henderson offered. She busied herself bringing towels to mop up the milk, and while she was engaged in this task, they heard the front door open.
Millie, the eighteen-year-old maid, went to the foyer, and Gregory and Grace looked up eagerly when they heard the maid greet their son. Almost immediately, Parker appeared at the dining room door and headed straight for the twins, who were calling loudly for their daddy.
“Having a little supper, are we?” Parker managed to get Paul out of his high chair, then with the boy in one arm did the same with Heather.
“Yeth!” Paul cried out. “An’ I spill milk all over Mum.”
As he held them both, all the darkness of the war faded. “I’ve got to hear what you two have been doing.”
“How long can you stay, Parker?” Grace asked.
“Only overnight, I’m afraid, Mother. I’ll have to be back tomorrow afternoon.”
“I don’t see why you can’t take longer leaves,” his father said.
“Well, it wouldn’t be fair for me to do it when the rest of the men can’t. Let’s sit in the parlor and you two can tell me what you’ve been doing.”
For the next ten minutes the twins swarmed over Parker, filling him in with stories about what they’d been up to and demanding that he perform all sorts of favors for them, including a trip to the zoo.
Veronica entered the parlor, having changed clothes completely. “Hello, Parker,” she said coolly. “How long is your leave?”
He got to his feet and came to her. She offered her cheek, and he kissed it dutifully. “Just until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Well, that’s not much, but tonight you belong to me. I want you to come to the new musical. Charles is coming by to pick me up in just a few minutes. We can get another ticket.”
A shadow crossed Parker’s face. “I’m beastly tired, dear. It’s been a hard day.”
Veronica shook her head impatiently. “It will be good for you. Come, now. Don’t argue.”
But he stood his ground. “I’d really rather stay home and be with you and the children. We get so little time together.”
Veronica’s face assumed a martyr’s expression. “All right, then,” she sighed. “I’ll just have to miss it.”
Across the room Gregory was watching this scene closely, anger smoldering on his face, for he had witnessed it often.
Parker shrugged and said, “I wouldn’t want you to miss your outing. You go ahead. I’ll stay here with the children.”
“Well, if you insist,” Veronica said quickly, with obvious relief. “After all, we have tomorrow.”
“Yes. We have tomorrow.”
Gregory was furious. His eyes met those of his wife, and he was thinking, What kind of a woman is she? Her husband risks his life every day, and she’d rather go to a stupid musical than be with him.
Charles Gooding came by ten minutes later and invited Parker to join them, but Parker was adamant. “Maybe next time I’ll be able to take in a play, but not tonight.”
“Well, if you insist. Are you ready, Veronica?”
“Yes. We’ll be back late.” She kissed each of the twins but merely spoke to her husband. “I’ll see you when I get in, Parker.”
As soon as the two had left, Parker turned to find his parents watching him. His mother was rather good at covering her feelings, but he could see the disapproval in his father’s eyes. Yet there was nothing much his parents could say, really. He had married Veronica largely at their insistence, as well as the encouragement of his aunt Edith. The whole family was involved,
knowing they had been drawn into a relationship with Veronica out of the kindness of their hearts, but learning too late that their compassion had blinded them to the full reality of the situation. Their decisions had brought their family both great joy and great anguish at the same time. Lord and Lady Braden wished things were different for their son’s sake, but what was done could not be undone.
When Parker had returned home from the States in August of 1937, he was so despondent over Katherine Winslow’s refusal to marry him that he allowed himself to be drawn into a courtship with Veronica Taylor without much thought. He had known her for some time, having been acquaintances during their school days. She had always played the lead roles in the school plays, and long after they had left school, he continued to follow her acting career on the London stage. He had always admired her talent from a distance. It had not surprised him when she had married a prominent stage producer and director in a glittering December wedding in 1936, but he was shocked to learn of the birth of her twin children in early July 1937, only seven months after her wedding day. He had found it hard to picture Veronica willingly giving up her acting career to devote herself to being a mother of twins.
Then while Parker was traveling in the States in the summer of 1937, he had received the shocking news from his parents that Veronica’s husband had been tragically killed in a car accident, leaving her alone with the newborn infants. There were rumors of his having been drunk when his car ran off the winding country road one night on his way home from London. To make matters worse, Veronica was apparently left with no financial provisions to care for herself and the babies. The highly publicized fairy-tale romance had turned into a scandalous disaster for Veronica, who saw her career and life unexpectedly plunged into ruin. Her own parents could not be of much help to her, having enormous financial difficulties of their own as her mother had to care for her invalid father. But they were people of good stock and believed their daughter’s only hope was to marry into a family of wealth and stature. Parker Braden was a very likely candidate in their minds to help their daughter out of her dilemma and to give her and her children a respectable home.
The High Calling Page 10