by T. E. Cruise
The Luftflotten, those awesome German air fleets, had the RAF outmanned and outgunned, but the British did enjoy several advantages. RAF Fighter Command was defending home territory, which meant its planes could remain in combat longer in terms of fuel expenditure. Also, British pilots forced to bail out could be rescued by their own side, and be back in the battle almost immediately. The German attackers had to expend fuel crossing the Channel and then had to leave a fuel reserve in order to get home, and if they bailed out during combat the chances were that they’d end up as P.O.W.s.
Most important, the British enjoyed the added edge given them by a state-of-the-art early warning system, the heart of which was an electronics miracle called radar.
Gold couldn’t help feeling some pleasure in the fact that the air battle for Britain was proving right his own air combat theories, which had been discounted by so many so-called authorities. Fighters were proving to be indispensable for air defense and massive formations of marauding bombers were proving to be vulnerable. An efficient early warning system was proving to be as essential to the British against the Germans in this war as it had been for the Germans against the Allies in the war previous.
“You know as well as I do that Britain is at risk,” Teddy was saying. He paused to light a Pall Mall. “Their aircraft industry is straining to rebuild the RAF’s fleet of Spitfires and Hurricanes and Supersharks, and hundreds of their pilots have been killed or wounded. I read the other day that the British have recruited a couple hundred Polish and Czech fighter pilots. How do you think that’s going to make a guy like Blaize feel, knowing his country is that desperate for pilots, and that he could be an ace, but here he is stuck behind a desk in California?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Gold said flatly. “So he’s a little upset. He’s going to have to deal with it, and then get on with his job.”
“There’s another alternative,” Teddy said. “You know as well as I do that if you gave the word, the RAF would pull him home and then he could get reassigned to Fighter Command.”
“But I don’t want him in combat,” Gold said. “I want him safe and sound and at his drafting table, being very bright for GAT.”
“Even if he’s miserable? If he’s not getting any worthwhile work done?”
“He’ll snap out of it,” Gold said confidently.
“On a couple of occasions I’ve caught him drinking in his office.”
Gold shook his head. “There must be some flaw in that boy… Here I’ve tried to do what was best for him—”
“How do you know what’s best for him?” Teddy challenged.
“What do you mean?”
“You heard me, so answer my question.” Teddy took a last drag of his cigarette and then ground it out in the ashtray on the coffee table. “Wait a minute,” he added, his voice rising. “Instead of answering that one, answer this: What gives you the fucking right to play God?”
“I don’t get it?”
“You know what I’m talking about. There’s this bullshit concerning Blaize, and what you were trying to do to your son, forcing him to be an engineer.”
“And Steven’s going to be one—”
“Bullshit,” Teddy said. “You had him working for me for two months, remember? I can tell you that the kid hasn’t the slightest aptitude for it. He’s a competent mechanic, sure. He’s inherited that much from you, but that’s not enough. Trying to turn him into an engineer is like trying to force a square peg into a round hole.”
“You hammer it hard enough, and it’ll happen,” Gold said.
“And cause a lot of damage in the process,” Teddy replied.
“Look! Don’t tell me what my kid can or can’t do!” Gold jumped to his feet. “He’ll do what I tell him! And who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, anyway?”
“S’cuze me, massa.” Teddy looked up at him and smiled.
“Fuck you, Teddy,” Gold said, and stormed out.
Gold strode angrily down the corridor to the elevators, wondering where Teddy Quinn got off talking to him that way. He slammed the elevator call button with his fist, waited a second, then slammed it again.
Nobody talked to Herman Gold that way. Nobody! Not even old friends—
“Hi, Pop.”
Gold turned. His son, wearing a mailroom smock, was coming toward him, wheeling a cart filled with interoffice correspondence.
Steven had taken up Gold’s offer to work at GAT after school and on weekends. When his stint in Teddy’s R&D department hadn’t worked out, Steven had transferred to the mailroom.
“Pop, can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Yeah, sure,” Gold muttered.
“I took some mail over to Brian Thomsen, the chief test pilot,” Steven began.
“I know who Thomsen is,” Gold grumbled. He was only half-listening to his son. He was still brooding over his exchange with Teddy. The more he thought about it, the madder he got…
“Well, I was talking to him about flying, and he offered to let me try out one of the new BearClaws, if it was okay with you—”
“Godammit!” Gold exploded.
Steven flinched. “Hey, Pop, calm down—”
“I’m so fucking sick of talking about the same things over and over!”
“Why can’t I do a little test flying? I’ve been working here almost nine months, just like I said I would.”
“But you showed absolutely no interest in engineering!” Gold accused. “Probably because you wanted to spite me!” He savagely jabbed the button: Where was the fucking elevator?
“Come on, Pop!”
“Don’t raise your voice to me!”
“It’s just that I haven’t worked for Teddy for two months now,” Steven complained. “It’s old news!”
“So is this entire conversation,” Gold coldly replied. “But you still insist on having it. Well, let’s see if I can get this through your thick skull: That stuff about you being a test pilot, that was kid talk, you get it?”
“Kid talk?” Steven repeated, looked baffled, but then his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said! It was funny at the time, but it’s not funny to hear you talking that way now.”
“So no matter how I try to compromise with you it doesn’t matter, is that it? My life is going to go the way you want, and that’s it?”
“You finally figured it out, Steven.”
The elevator arrived. Gold stepped inside and pushed the button for his floor. As the doors slid closed they framed his son. The look in Steven’s eyes made Gold think his son was on the verge of tears. The kid was pale and trembling. He had a white-knuckle grip on the mail cart.
The elevator reached the top floor, and Gold got out. As he walked along the corridor, he began to think that maybe the glint in Steven’s eyes came not from tears, but from anger. By the time he got to his office Gold was sure of it.
The thought haunted Gold all the rest of the day. A couple of times he thought about calling down to the mailroom and having Steven come up, so that they could make peace, but his own telephone kept ringing with lengthy, important calls; there were letters to read and revise and sign; and people in and out to see him. Before he knew where the afternoon had gone, it was five-thirty. He tried the mailroom, but there was no answer.
Steven had evidently left for the day. Gold would see him at home. No harm done.
(Two)
That night Gold decided to unwind by going for a drive instead of going straight home. It was a nice night, so he put the top down on the Cadillac convertible coupe and headed out along the coast, letting the sea breeze, and the steady purr of the Caddy’s big V-8, lull him into relaxation.
The more he thought about his arguments with Teddy Quinn, and his son, the more Gold felt that he’d been in the right. Sure he understood how Blaize Greene or Steven might have their own ideas about what they wanted to do, but it was the obligation of those older and wiser to set kids straight. By keeping Blaize out
of combat, and his own son out of the cockpits of experimental aircraft, he was saving their lives. Blaize and Steven might resent his actions now, but someday they would thank him, just as Gold could imagine how he might have thanked his own father for looking out for him—if he’d had a father.
He stopped at a seafood shack near Newport Beach for some dinner, and to telephone home that he’d eaten and would be late. He got the maid, and asked her to relay the message to his wife.
After dinner he went for a walk along the beach, so by the time he got home it was around midnight. The house was quiet and dark. At first he thought that everyone had gone to bed, but he noticed that a light was on in the kitchen. He went in and found Erica, in her robe and slippers, sitting at the table in the soft light, having a cup of tea.
“I’m sorry I’m so late,” Gold said. “I did telephone; did you get my message?”
Erica nodded. “I got it.”
He thought she sounded funny, but decided she was probably just tired. “I went for a drive after work. I wanted to unwind.” He yawned. “It’s been one hell of an awful day.”
“And it’s not over yet,” Erica said.
“You’re right about that,” Gold sighed, not really paying attention. “I have to talk to Steven. We had a little argument today. I was already in a foul mood when it began. Maybe I was a little too rough on him. I think I should apologize—”
“He’s gone,” Erica said.
She looked up at him, and when he saw that her eyes were red-rimmed from crying he suddenly got very scared. “What do you mean?’ he asked urgently. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s gone away. He left a note on his bed, asking us not to try and find him. He’s taken a dufflebag and some clothes.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Gold fumed. “Is Suzy all right?”
“She doesn’t know yet. She’s been out with Blaize.”
“We’ll call the police,” Gold said. “We’ll give them a description and the license plate of his car.”
“He didn’t take the car.”
“Why wouldn’t he take his car?” Gold demanded.
“Because it’s not his,” Erica said wearily. “It’s yours.”
“Of course it’s his car! I just bought it for him when he turned sixteen!”
“You bought it for him.”
“Our son is missing and you’re sitting here playing word games with me—”
“Herman, sit down.”
He nodded. “After I call the police.”
“Sit down, now,” Erica insisted. “Right now!” she added sharply.
Gold stared at her, and then nodded. He took the chair directly across from Erica, who reached across the table to take his hand.
“I’ve been thinking about this for hours. I’ve come to some conclusions. They may be hard for you to accept, but I want you to try to understand.” She sighed. “First of all, he’s a big boy, and he’s smart, even if he is only sixteen. I doubt very much that anybody is going to pick on him, or that he’s in any immediate danger.”
“But why didn’t he take his car? That’s what I want to know…” Gold was muttering.
Erica seemed not to hear the question. “Listen to me,” she repeated. “I’m as much to blame as you, but these past few months the two of us have been pretending everything was all right concerning Steven, and everything wasn’t all right.”
“The kid was acting a little nuts about his future is all,” Gold shrugged, but he stared down at the table, unwilling to meet Erica’s gaze. “He’s a little confused. That’s what happens with kids these days.”
“I know that you love Steven, and I know that he loves you, but you’re a very strong man, Herman. It’s hard for Steven to try and live up to your standards. He wants to make you happy, and, someday to fill your shoes, but he’s got to do it his own way.”
“So far, he’s on the wrong track,” Herman grumbled. He looked up accusingly. “So what are you saying to me? That my success is suffocating my son? That it would have been better for him if I’d been a failure, and that way he wouldn’t have so much to live up to?”
Erica laughed. “No, darling, I’m not saying that. I’m saying that if you think about it, you’ll realize that he has been trying to talk to us, but we’ve been so busy talking at him that we couldn’t listen.”
“When you say ‘we,’ you mean ‘me,’ right?” Gold asked gruffly.
Erica nodded, smiling. The dim light was softening the lines that time had put in her face. Gold always thought she looked beautiful, but just now, for a few moments at least, he found he could pretend he was talking to Erica as she’d looked when Steven was little enough to sit on his lap, and when Gold could do no wrong in his son’s eyes.
“You asked why he didn’t take his car. I think it’s because you gave it to him. He didn’t earn it, you gave it. It’s easy to feel inadequate when you’re existing off of others’ generosity.”
“That’s an interesting notion. I’d like to experience that sort of inadequacy someday,” Gold said dryly. “Of course, no one has ever given me anything—”
“That’s my point!” Erica quickly replied. “You earned everything you have, so you’re secure about who you are. Now, think about your son. Where does he lay claim to his manhood?”
Gold leaned back in his chair and did think about it. He slowly nodded. “I… I never looked at it that way. Erica, you must know that all I wanted was to be a good father to him! Honestly, all I ever wanted was to do everything I could for him, like my father might have done for me, if I’d had one…”
“I do know that, my love,” Erica said softly. “But now listen, and I’ll tell you how you can be a good father. The kind of father he needs, right now.”
“Anything,” Gold said. “Anything at all to bring him home.”
“You don’t bring him home,” Erica said. “You don’t call the police. You let him go.”
“What are you saying? What about school?”
“He can always go back to school.”
“What if he gets into trouble, or…” Gold trailed off, helplessly. “Or something dangerous?” he moaned.
“Here’s what I think we should do,” Erica said. “We hire private detectives—”
“Now you’re talking!” Gold said, feeling relieved. “That’s better than the police! Detectives can work for us twenty-four hours a day.”
“It shouldn’t be all that hard to find him,” Erica said. “After all, he is your son. No matter where he wanders, chances are he’ll always wind up near airplanes.”
“And that means airports!” Gold exclaimed. “Sure! Assuming he can’t find a job flying—and he won’t because he’s too young—he’ll get a job as an airplane mechanic.”
“Once the detectives find him, we have them keep an eye on Steven to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble,” Erica said. “But otherwise they’re to leave him alone.”
“They’re not to bring him home?” Gold asked weakly.
“If they did, what do you imagine would happen?” Erica demanded.
“You’re saying he’d run away again?”
“Unless you kept him under lock and key. Let your son have his adventures,” she said. “Let him get a taste of the world on his own terms; a taste as Steven Gold, not as Herman Gold’s son. Let him try his wings. Believe me, that will be the quickest and surest way to bring him home, and keep him home.” She paused, and smiled. “And who knows? Maybe it’ll end up that someday you’ll be known as Steven Gold’s father…”
“That’s fine with me,” Gold said. “As long as he stays out of trouble, and as long as he stays out of danger! I don’t want my son risking his life.”
(Three)
Donovan Air Charter
Wilterboro Airport
Wilterboro, New Jersey
16 April 1941
Steven Gold was up on the stepladder, working on the Beechcraft’s engine when the guy came in. At first Steven thought the guy was a gang
ster here to see Ernie Donovan, the proprietor of Donovan Air Charter. Ernie mostly did cropdusting, and made a little dough in summer by fitting floats on the Beechcraft and taking tourists for rides along the Jersey shore, but sometimes he did fly gangsters here and there. Not that Ernie liked to talk about that too much.
On closer inspection, however, Steven realized the guy who had just come in was too cheap-looking and shabby to be a gangster, who were all real sharp dressers. This guy’s purple mohair suit looked worn, his collar looked grimy, and his tie had spots on it. He had white whiskers stubbling his cheeks, like he hadn’t had a shave in maybe two days. Being up on the stepladder, Steven could see that the guy’s hat brim was frayed. And he had no overcoat, despite the brisk April weather.
Also, the gansters who came around tended to act edgy. They would always be looking over their shoulder and complaining that they were anxious to get going. This guy just looked down on his luck, and kind of tired.
“The boss around, kid?” the guy asked. He was coming over to the Beechcraft when he suddenly skidded on the greasy concrete slab floor and began windmilling his arms to keep from landing flat on his ass. Steven wanted to smile, but he didn’t dare. The guy didn’t look like a gangster, but you could never tell.
“Back here, Red,” Ernie called, standing up, so that the guy could see him over the stacked cardboard boxes filled with used airplane parts and odds and ends.
The guy checked the bottom of his shoes and made a face. He gave the the grease buckets and tools littering the floor a wide berth as he meandered over to the office area of the hangar. It was kind of dark back where he was heading—Ernie liked to save on electricity—but Steven figured the guy could make his way all right. There was as much light coming in through the chinks in the hangar walls as from the bare bulbs strung from the roof rafters above his work area.
“What brings you around here, Red?” Ernie asked the guy. “I thought you got yourself a job working for Bradley Aviation Export?”