After a moment, he felt her lips on his neck, just above his collar. She kissed him there, and it felt wonderful. He closed his eyes. She slowly moved her lips up his neck until she’d reached his ear lobe, which she began to tickle with her tongue. Jon had an immediate physical reaction, which Victoria seemed to notice. She pushed herself against him harder, and her tongue slid into his ear.
She pulled it away after a second and murmured, “Follow me.” Then she stepped back. Still holding his hand, she led him through the crowd. He followed willingly, walking as casually as he could given his excited condition.
They came to a door. She pushed it open, and they stepped into a dimly lit stairwell. There was another couple just inside the door, locked in a passionate embrace. She led him past them and up the first flight of stairs. On the landing was yet another couple, similarly ensconced. At the second floor, she turned and asked, quietly, “Do you have the key, luv?”
Jon wasn’t sure what she meant. Then it dawned on him. After they’d checked in, Shim had given the room key to Jon and asked him to hold on to it. He fished in his pocket. located it and pulled it out.
Victoria held Jon’s hand with the key up to the light, then said, “One more floor.”
They ascended to the third floor and exited the stairwell. Jon found that they were in the hallway where he and Shim had been earlier. Victoria led him the short way down the hall to their room. She took the key from Jon, put it in the lock and opened the door. Then she stepped inside and pulled Jon in after her.
Before the door had even closed, Victoria had pressed her face to Jon’s. Jon felt her tongue slip between his lips, probing. It was an incredible sensation. He met her tongue with his, and she pressed her body up against him. She lifted one of her hands and ran it through the hair on the back of his head. The other she slid across his shoulders and down his back. He wrapped his arms around her and reveled in the intense thrill that engulfed him.
After a moment, however, something began to intrude on his pleasure. It started deep in the recesses of his mind. He tried to push it away, but it was extraordinarily insistent. It began to distract him. Not now, a part of him said. Whatever it was, however, stood its ground.
Victoria pulled back and looked at him. There was a wild intensity in her eyes. “Don’t stop now, lover, you’re doing great.”
He looked back at her, but he was confused. Her eyes searched his. He blinked a couple of times. Her brow furrowed.
And then he knew.
His arms went slack. He realized with a stunning clarity that he couldn’t do this. Not because he didn’t want to. He most certainly did. But the undeniable reality was that he didn’t want to do it with Victoria.
She realized it too. Her shoulders seemed to slump, and some of the fire left her eyes. She stepped back slightly, though she did not let go of him.
“There’s a girl, isn’t there?” she asked softly.
Jon said nothing, but he nodded slightly.
She looked away for a moment. “Brilliant.” She took a deep breath and looked back at him. She pulled her arms around from behind him and put both hands up to Jon’s cheeks. “Whoever she is, she’s very lucky.”
#
Shim didn’t heap any grief on him when Jon and Victoria returned to the table a few minutes after they’d left, Victoria giving Shim a slight shake of her head. They ordered more rounds of beer. Jon danced with Victoria and Livvy and even tried some of the crazy steps they taught him. He suspected that he probably looked a little foolish, but he didn’t care, and no one else seemed to mind.
Shim and Livvy excused themselves and left Jon and Victoria alone for about half an hour. Victoria told Jon a little bit about herself. He learned she was from Essex and was studying art at the Norwich School of Design. Victoria pressed Jon for details about his life, but he was reticent to provide any. What she really wanted was the story about the girl whom she was sure waited for Jon at home. Unable to bring himself to tell the truth, Jon instead said nothing and let her believe whatever she chose.
The next morning, when they returned to Hut 51, Jon was pleasantly surprised to find a letter from Ben sitting on his bunk. He checked the postmark and saw that it had been mailed in early December. Oh well, he thought, it only took about seven weeks to get to him. He’d have to tell Ben he’d discovered yet another aspect of the army way.
He opened the envelope and took out two pages. He propped up his pillow and settled onto the bunk. The first line got his attention.
“Dear Jon,” Ben began, “I hope you’re sitting down, because I have some incredible news for you.”
Jon contemplated his reposed figure and smiled.
“I’m sitting at my kitchen table, and there’s someone here with me who has something very important to tell you. I know you will be as excited and happy as I am. I won’t steal the thunder. Just know that I am thinking of you. Fondly, Ben.”
That struck Jon as odd. Ben was usually much more voluble, but he’d cut this letter short. Curious, he reversed the two sheets and saw immediately that the second page was in a different handwriting. His eyes slid to the bottom of the page, and his breath caught.
It read, “With all my love, Mary.”
Heart pounding, he turned his attention to the top of the letter.
“My dear Jon,” she had written, “I am so sorry not to have tried to reach you sooner. When I awoke at the hospital, I had no memory of anything that had happened to me over the past year. The doctors said that it was unusual, but not unheard of. Several weeks ago, I suddenly regained my memory of you, but I couldn’t remember anything about how we met or the things that we did. All I knew was that I loved you dearly.
“This morning, thank God, everything came back in a rush. I haven’t yet put it all together, but I am embarrassed to say that I think my father had a lot to do with keeping me in the dark.
“Oh, Jon,” she continued, “I am so distressed to think that you might believe I don’t want to have anything more to do with you. That is so wrong, it makes me angry. I love you. I want desperately to be with you. Know that you have all my heart.”
Jon closed his eyes and said a brief prayer of thanks.
“Ben and I are going to see Mr. Anderson to get some advice about how to deal with Vernon and Jeff. If they think they are going to get away with what they did, they have another think coming. You saved me, Jon. Thank you. I’m going to fix everything.
“Please tell me that I’m not too late. I would die if that was the case. I will be waiting for news from you. Be safe and come home to me.”
Jon closed his eyes again and held the letter to his heart. He breathed deeply. Then, with a sudden start, he realized that Mary had written this letter seven weeks ago. For seven weeks, Mary had been waiting for a reply from him! With shaking hands, he retrieved his tablet and pen, and he began to write.
15
“Bandits, twelve o’clock high.” The call carried with it a jolt of adrenalin, and Jon’s heart started beating faster. It was followed immediately by several others. “Bandits, six o’clock high. Bandits, eight o’clock level. Two coming in at five o’clock level.”
Jon squinted and peered through his sights. There. He fired a sustained volley. A twin engined German fighter flashed by, its cannon spitting deadly shells. All of the guns on the Deuces Wild were firing.
“Navigator to pilot. We’re at the I.P. Prepare to execute turn on my mark. Three, two, one. Mark.” The bomber banked slightly. They were in lead position. The others in the formation would follow.
The crew of the Deuces Wild were on Jon’s eighth mission, and, from the moment he’d learned what the target would be, he’d known it would be deadly. They were bombing the Focke Wulf factory in Bremen, where many of the German fighters they’d faced on previous missions had been constructed. He knew the Germans wouldn’t take kindly to it. The danger was even greater for Jon and his crewmates because today they were in the lead plane, a favorite target of the German figh
ters.
Gooch’s voice came over the interphone. “Jesus, look at the number of fighters out there. It’s like a swarm of bees.”
The Germans had been trying different tactics lately. Sometimes they would feign an attack from one quarter, only to charge in from a different direction, shielded by either the sun or the contrails of the bombers themselves. When they massed like they were doing now, it was a bad sign.
At the moment, the formation was on the final run into the target and would soon be within the range of anti-aircraft fire from below, so Jon knew it was unlikely the fighters would try any more attacks until they were through with the bomb run. For that reason, it came as a shock when he heard Reyes exclaim, “Shit. Two o’clock high. Three bandits.” As he was saying it, the wings of the Deuces Wild rocked and the all too familiar sound of shells striking the bomber reverberated through the fuselage. The fighters delivering the deadly fire passed without crossing into Jon’s field of vision, but most of the other guns roared. It struck Jon belatedly that the twin .50’s from the top turret had not been among them.
There was a sudden bang, and Jon looked back in time to see flames shoot out of the number three engine.
An obviously stressed Roth called out, “Pilot to top turret, report.”
There was no response.
Jon looked with concern out the starboard window and saw that Roth had feathered the damaged engine. There were no more flames that he could see, which was a good sign. Still, they’d lost the engine.
Roth’s voice came again across the interphone. “Pilot to navigator. Jonas, check on Reyes.”
Bursts of flak appeared outside the windows. The plane started bucking.
After a moment, Jon heard Kovalesky. “Reyes is hit. At least two wounds, one in the chest, one in the hip. He’s in shock.”
Several seconds passed. Then Roth came on again. “Do what you can.”
“Roger that,” said Kovalesky.
“Pilot to bombardier. You have the controls.”
There was a crunching sound as a shell burst close by, and the plane jumped a few feet, lurching forward. Then it settled back to level flight.
“Bombardier to pilot. Roger. Target in sight. Stand by.”
Jon listened to the explosions around him. Spent pieces of flak clanked off the sides of the fuselage. The seconds crawled by. Finally, the voice of Ambrose came over the interphone again. “Bombs away.”
As soon as the words had been uttered, there was a huge explosion near the front of the plane, and it was as if the Deuces Wild had hit a wall. Jon was thrown forward, and he slammed into the bulkhead that separated his radio compartment from the bomb bay, falling in a heap to the floor.
He shook his head, trying to clear it. Kovalesky came over the interphone. There was a strain in his voice that Jon had never heard before. “Murphy’s dead,” Kovalesky said. “The skipper’s hurt bad. Oh, God, I think the whole front of the plane’s gone.”
Jon was already on his feet with his hand on the lever that opened the door to the bomb bay when Gooch came over the interphone, giving voice to the very thing that had so galvanized Jon. “Who’s flying the plane?” It was the last thing Jon heard before pulling the jack that connected his headset to the interphone.
Jon yanked open the door and found himself looking down at the City of Bremen passing 25,000 feet below him. The bomb bay doors were still open, though the bombs had been released. As Jon stepped out on the catwalk that led forward through the bomb bay, the only thing between him and the ground was the narrow width of steel on which he was standing.
On either side of the catwalk, there were two pairs of metal rails, one at waist and one at knee level. Gripping the upper rails, and telling himself not to look down, Jon stepped quickly across the gaping maw. At the far end, he grabbed the handle of the forward compartment door and twisted. The door immediately flew open, violently striking him in the chest and the side of his face. He was thrown backward several feet. His back struck the catwalk, and he immediately slid off. As he fell out into the open space of the bomb bay, Jon instinctively threw out his right arm, and his hand slapped the catwalk. He closed his fingers and just managed to catch the far edge of the narrow platform. With a sudden jerk, it arrested his fall, but left him hanging by one hand, his legs dangling out of the bomb bay. Through the panic, Jon realized he was not wearing his parachute.
Jon’s purchase on the edge of the catwalk slipped, and his leather glove began to slide across the surface of the walkway. He was a fraction of a second away from falling out of the plane. The instant before he lost contact with the catwalk, Jon did a scissor kick, lunged upward, and reached out blindly with his left hand, trying to grab the lower support rail. As his right hand separated from the platform, his left closed on the narrow rail. He dangled by one arm for a moment. Then he flung his right arm over and managed to grab the rail with his other hand. He was now hanging from the rail out into space.
He tried to swing his right leg up onto the catwalk. but he couldn’t get it high enough, and it dropped back down. He knew he couldn’t keep his grip on the support rail for much longer.
He gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and, with all the strength he could muster, he pulled hard with his arms to raise himself, at the same moment kicking his right leg up and over. The back of his shoe thankfully struck the catwalk. Hanging awkwardly now by two hands and a foot, he used the leverage of his right leg to bring his other leg up, and he planted his left heel on the metal walkway. Then he slid his right foot over, feeling for the far edge. He found it and hooked it with the toe of his shoe. With the last of his strength, he swung himself to the right and, using the purchase that he had with his right foot, threw his body onto the walkway. Shifting his right hand to the opposite support rail, he found his balance and stood shakily.
He knew he had two choices. Return to the radio compartment, strap on his parachute and jump, or try to reach the cockpit. He thought of Reyes and Roth. They would probably die if he made the former decision, though he had to consider the possibility they were already dead.
He wasted no more time. Fighting the blast of cold air rushing through the opening at the front of the bomb bay, he pulled himself forward along the catwalk and stepped through the doorway.
He looked toward the front of the plane, and the sight that greeted him was completely disorienting. The area below the cockpit, which should have been the nose compartment where the navigator and bombardier sat, was open to the sky. Kovalesky had been right. The whole front of the plane was gone.
Lying in two heaps at his feet were Reyes and Roth. Neither man was conscious. Jon did a quick check to see if their oxygen masks were attached and hooked to the supply. They were, and he could see that both were taking breaths, though they were very shallow. He realized that he had been unconnected to oxygen since he’d left the radio compartment. He didn’t know how long that had been, but he would certainly pass out soon unless he was reconnected.
Leaning into the rush of air coming through the gaping hole in the front of the plane, Jon lifted himself up into the cockpit. Blood had splattered the instrument panel. Below it, beyond the throttle controls and rudder pedals, he could see more daylight. Kovalesky had taken Roth’s seat. His head was darting back and forth as though he were reading the controls, but he did not have his hand on the yoke, nor did he appear to have his feet on the rudder.
Murphy was still strapped in his seat. A piece of shrapnel had almost decapitated him, and his body was soaked in his own blood. Jon reached across, unhooked Murphy’s oxygen hose and connected his own. He did the same thing with his interphone jack. As soon as it was plugged in, he was greeted by multiple voices.
“I don’t know,” he heard Kovalesky saying. “We’ve got to jump,” said Gooch. “Watch for fighters,” came Shim’s voice.
Kovalesky had noticed Jon and had turned toward him. “I can’t fly this thing,” he said.
Jon reached down and undid the straps still holding
Murphy in the copilot’s seat. He put his hands under Murphy’s arms and pulled as hard as he could. The man’s body slowly slid out of the seat. He allowed it to drop down through the narrow passageway leading to the nose compartment.
Jon climbed up and into the blood soaked copilot’s seat. He looked down at the autopilot control panel. All of the switches were toggled to the “on” position, where Roth had set them prior to the bombing run. Despite the damage to her nose section, the plane was still flying straight and level, though, as Jon looked at the altimeter, he could see they were slowly losing altitude. They were now down to 18,000 feet, a drop of 7,000 from the mission altitude.
The remainder of the formation would have turned following the bomb run, the second plane in their element moving up to take the lead in place of the crippled Deuces Wild, all in accordance with operating procedure. Jon looked, and as he expected, he could see no other bombers.
The Deuces Wild was flying alone and headed deeper into Germany.
If they were to have any chance of survival, Jon knew, he had to turn the plane around. He put his feet on the rudder pedals and gripped the yoke with his right hand. With his left, he reached down and flipped the master bar on the autopilot control panel to the left, disengaging the autopilot. He now had control of the aircraft.
He banked the plane slightly to the left and began what he hoped would be a full turn. Compared to the Jenny, the response from the bomber was incredibly slow. He was relieved to see, however, that it did appear to be reacting as it should.
“Meyer’s flying the plane,” Kovalesky announced over the interphone.
After a moment, Gooch’s voice came over the system. “Jon, do you know what you’re doing?”
Jon wasn’t sure how to answer to that. His exposure to B-17 controls had consisted of a few minutes quizzing Tommie Wheeler. But, if ever there was a time for on-the-job training, he figured, this was it. Finally, he said, “We’ll see. In the meantime, make sure your chutes are strapped on. Be ready to bail at a moment’s notice. Keep your eyes peeled for bandits.”
Defiant Heart Page 29