by Dan Walsh
“I’m so scared, Elliot. Are you sure I’m doing the right thing?”
“Very sure, Renée. I wish the choices weren’t so clear. But we have to leave, now. The pilot is on a very tight schedule, and we’re already late.” He released her, took her by the hand and began walking fast back toward the airfield.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. When I didn’t see you at the gate, I thought I had missed you. The guard told me—”
“I would never leave without you, Renée. Are you able to run with me, even a little?”
“Yes. I’m actually a fast runner. I can still beat my little brother in a foot race.”
Elliot laughed. “Well, I don’t think we have to run that fast. But really, we must hurry.”
Renée was easily able to keep up with Elliot. She saw the plane up ahead. It wasn’t big but so very loud. Two engines were making all that noise. A row of windows extended from the front to behind the wing. At the wing’s edge a small door hung open. The pilot stood beside it, looking relieved to see them. With little effort, he swung his legs through the opening and made his way toward the front of the plane.
As they got closer, Renée realized how far off the ground the opening was, and she didn’t see any ladder. She also noticed how tiny the plane looked inside. She’d expected several rows of seats, like she’d seen in the magazines. But there were only three very flimsy seats, one toward the back that faced forward and two behind the cockpit facing the rear of the plane.
“Your bag’s already stowed inside,” Elliot said. “Here, I’ll help you get inside.”
“What should I do?”
Elliot surveyed the situation and realized he’d have to lift her up like a child. “Give me your purse.” She did, and he set it inside. “I’m sorry, I don’t see any other way to get you in. We need to take off.”
“That’s okay.” She raised her arms slightly and he picked her up, high enough for her feet to clear the opening. She ducked her head as he gave her a slight push. “I’m in.” The noise was almost as bad inside. She backed up to make room and fell into one of the seats. Elliot lifted himself up like the pilot did and swung his body through the opening, feet first.
“We’re in, Lieutenant.” Elliot closed the door and latched it.
“Hold on,” the pilot said.
Elliot quickly moved to the seat beside her. They grabbed hold of anything they could as the plane lurched forward. Renée had to dig in her heels to keep from sliding forward, since the plane tilted downward as it taxied across the grass.
“It’ll get much smoother once we’re in the air,” Elliot yelled.
“That will be nice. Will it get any quieter?” The look on his face said he didn’t hear her, so she said it again louder.
“A little, but not much,” he yelled back. “They don’t make military planes for comfort. How many times have you flown?”
“This is my first.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ll have to take you flying on one of the new airliners sometime. Maybe after the war. They’re a little quieter than this, but way more comfortable.” Elliot looked out the window just as the back of the plane swung all the way around. “Hold on tight. We’re about to go very fast.”
He wasn’t kidding. The engines grew much louder and the scenes outside began zipping by. It was still bumpy, but less so. The back end lifted off the ground. They were sitting level for the first time. Now the front-end lifted, and all the bumpiness disappeared. “Are we flying?”
“We are. Look.” He pointed out the window.
She saw the ground getting further away. Now she could see the edge of the line of tents closest to the runway. Soon she could see the entire base; what was left of it. Soldiers were breaking down an entire row of tents. “When will the rest of the soldiers’ leave?”
A grave look came over his face. “Not all of them will. Only certain ones have been ordered to return home. We don’t have near enough airplanes to transport them all.”
“What will the rest do?”
“Join the remainder of our units, as soon as the fighting here around Arras is through. They’ll head back to the coast, around Calais and Dunkirk. We’re going to try and get them out on ships.”
She couldn’t imagine it. Tens of thousands of soldiers cramming onto hundreds of ships, crossing the English Channel while German planes attacked. Once again, her challenges seemed to shrink further still. She was flying high above it all. In a few hours, they’d be landing in London or somewhere nearby. Elliot would probably treat her to a nice dinner.
She glanced out the window. The city of Arras and Elliot’s base were no longer in sight. They continued to climb toward the clouds. A patchwork of farms and winding roads spread out below in every direction.
There was a crackling sound over the radio. She heard the pilot talking but couldn’t make out the words. Elliot could see him, so she watched his face. The more the pilot said, the more concerned he became. Finally the static stopped.
The pilot turned his head and yelled loudly so they could both here. “Bad news. That was the wing commander for the flight of Hurricanes supposed to escort us over the Channel. While they were waiting for us at the rendezvous point, they got pounced by a flight of ME-110’s. They got in a terrific scrap and had to fight their way out of it. They didn’t lose anyone but used up too much fuel to wait for us and had to return to base.”
“What’s that mean?” Renée asked.
“It means we’re on our own,” Elliot said. He looked back at the pilot. “What are you going to do?”
“Only thing I can, sir. I’m heading for the clouds now. We’ll fly in them as far as we can and hope for the best.”
12
May 22nd, 1940
Air Ministry Building, Whitehall, London
After spending his first comfortable night of sleep in weeks at the hotel in Southampton, Jack, Joe and the four other American pilots woke up with instructions obtained by Ozzie to take the first train they could to London.
It was a crowded but fairly smooth train ride with many stops along the way. It took just over three hours. Jack sensed the mood of the people on the train to be the same as in the pub in Southampton yesterday. Tense. People were very concerned about the events taking place in France.
He’d overheard numerous conversations. Almost all of them discussing their fears and worries of what might happen next. Stunned disbelief abounded that Hitler and the Nazi forces had so quickly overwhelmed the French and British defenses. They were certain France would fall at any moment and wondered, when that happened, how could Britain possibly stop them from coming here?
Jack and the others had left the train at Victoria Station where they met an associate of Colonel Sweeney, named Franklin. He’d found them as they waited at a specific rendezvous point. Thankfully, Franklin was also American, so they had no trouble understanding each other.
He’d been living in London for several months. Enough time to figure out the maze of buses, trollies and underground subways that made up London’s mass transit system. Over hot cups of coffee at a café, he’d explained how to get around in London, as well as their basic plan for the day. They were to take a certain bus to Whitehall and make their way to the Air Ministry on Horse Guards Avenue. There they should ask to see a Group Captain West with the RAF and present the papers Franklin had just given each of them.
Captain West would help them get situated, Franklin had said.
At that, Joe had blurted out, “Situated? We don’t want to get situated. We want to fly Spitfires.”
Forty-five minutes later, they were waiting in a lobby for Group Captain West to appear. They had met briefly with a young woman at a reception desk dressed in military attire. Apparently, Franklin had called ahead to say they were coming. She seemed to be expecting them and said Captain West would be there momentarily.
“So,” Joe said mostly toward Jack, “the RAF is like their Air Force, right?”
“It’s not like their Air Fo
rce. It is their Air Force. The Royal Air Force. The R stands for Royal.”
Three officers wearing blue uniforms walked by and headed up some steps. “Think those are the uniforms they’ll give us?” Joe said.
“Probably,” Jack said. “Of course, we won’t fly in those.”
“And we’ll be starting at the lowest rung,” Ozzie added. “Whatever that is.”
“So, what’s that? Second lieutenant?
“I looked it up,” Jack said. “They use totally different names here. We’ll probably start off as Pilot Officers, or PO’s.”
“Pilot Officer,” Joe repeated. “It’s got a nice ring to it.”
A moment later, Jack noticed a smartly dressed officer in his early thirties talking to the woman at the reception desk. She pointed to their group. He started walking this way.
Ozzie saw him, too. “Hey guys, here comes that captain. Right this way.” He stood up, so they all did too. For some reason, they tried to form a straight line, as if standing for inspection.
“Should we salute?” Seth whispered.
“I don’t think so,” Joe said quietly. “We’re not even in the club yet.”
“Gentlemen, welcome to the RAF,” the officer announced. “I’m told you are the six Americans Colonel Sweeney called me about?”
“We are, sir,” Ozzie said. “We’re here to help you folks fight the Nazis.”
“That’s good to hear. But we have a few important matters to settle first.”
Ozzie held out the folder received from Franklin earlier. “We were told to give these to you.”
“Right,” Captain West said. “I’ll take them in a few moments. But not here. Follow me to the elevator. We’ll go up to my office on the third floor.” He turned and walked down a wide, crowded hallway.
The men followed closely behind. Soon, they were standing before a pair of elevators. Captain West pressed the up button. “I trust your journey across the pond wasn’t too eventful?”
“Thankfully, no,” Jack said. “Had a few close calls with some U-boats, but nothing serious.”
“I’m glad. I’m afraid the U-boat situation will start escalating dramatically,” Captain West said. “Very soon. We’ve already begun to see a significant increase in the number of attacks, in just the last few weeks.” The elevator door opened. They stepped aside to allow the people to exit, then everyone went inside.
Jack looked over at Seth’s face. White as a sheet. Hearing this didn’t do him any good. A moment later the door opened on the third floor.
“Follow me.” Captain West turned right and headed down the hallway.
“Do you guys have any way of stopping them?” Seth asked. “The U-boats, I mean.”
“We’re working on something promising,” West said, still facing forward.
Jack was really beginning to wonder whether Seth had made the right decision, him coming here. As RAF fighter pilots, they weren’t likely going to deal with U-boats anymore. But he was pretty sure the danger they’d soon be facing in the air was at least as great, if not more so, than the ride over in the boat.
Captain West reached a door on the left and walked through. The six Americans came in right behind him. They stood in a smaller office area. A young male officer sat at a reception desk just in front of them. Along the wall that extended from the doorway were a row of straight-backed chairs.
“Why don’t you gents, have a seat? Well, four of you anyway. I need to speak with each of you for a few minutes. Go over some important things, get you to sign some papers. For the sake of time, I’ll meet with two of you at a time. Who wants to go first?”
Joe raised his hand. “How about me and my friend Jack here?”
“Fine. If no one has any objections?” It seemed no one did. He walked around the reception desk and opened the door on the left that led into his office. “Bring those folders with you.”
The other men sat in one of the chairs. “Sir, do you know where we’ll be staying tonight?” Ozzie said. “Do we need to get a room at a hotel somewhere in town?”
Captain West turned and faced the men. “Not unless something goes wrong during our interview. What I’m saying is, if none of the information you’ve provided—about your health and flying experience—turns out to be false, you will all be getting on a lorry after you leave here. Heading to a flight training base in Middle Wallop, about three hours west of here.”
“Middle what?” Joe said. “You Brits got the craziest names for places.”
The captain looked at Joe. Jack couldn’t read the expression on his face, but whatever he was thinking, he decided not to say. He simply closed the door. “Have a seat, gentlemen.”
Jack and Joe sat in the straight-backed chairs positioned in front of Captain West’s gun-metal gray desk. He came around and sat in a much more comfortable cushioned chair.
“Do you want these, sir?” Jack held up the file folder he had been given by Franklin earlier.
“Yes, you can set them right there on my blotter. Although, I probably already have the same information. All the information we have on you was provided by Colonel Sweeney, presumably from interviews you’ve had with him. However, our conversation today is the one that counts.”
Joe leaned forward. “Well, we’ve got nothing to hide, Captain. Ask anything you want.”
He picked up the file folders, spun them around and opened them up. “I understand the two of you are longtime friends. You both put down roughly the same number of flight hours.”
“We have been friends for many years, sir,” Jack said. “We learned to fly at the same time and, pretty much, been flying in the same air shows for the same number of years back home.”
“Although you more than meet the minimum requirement for flight hours, it doesn’t seem like you have much experience flying anything other than the Jenny.”
“That’s true,” Jack said. “But sir, we’ve both learned every dogfighting maneuver in the book. Done all of them a hundred times. The Jenny may not have anywhere near the power of a Spitfire, or even a Hurricane but, the way I see it, pulling off all those moves in a Jenny requires even more skill. Put us in one of your new fighters, and you’ll see what we can do.”
Captain West allowed himself the briefest smile. Then it was back to the stern face. “Well, you can be sure we’ll be putting all of your flying skills to the test. But you won’t start off in a Hurricane or a Spit. Something way more powerful than a Jenny, though. And I must warn you, the officer who will be evaluating you in Middle Wallop will not suffer fools. If either of you, or any of your friends in the other room, have exaggerated your skills, he will send you packing. You’ll wash out the same day.”
“Where will we be sent?” Joe said. “Not saying that’s going to happen, just curious.”
“To one of our training bases in the north. They’ll put you through our elementary flight training course. Takes at least seven weeks. That is, if we don’t put you on a ship sailing back to the States. Middle Wallop is part of Number 10 Group Fighter Command, right on the front lines of the coming air war. We can’t afford to have a single pilot there who can’t hold his own in a dogfight.”
Jack wondered why Joe was even asking the question. “That’s not going to be a problem, sir. Joe and I will not be washing out.”
“Good. That’s what I want to hear. I’m just saying, it had better be true for all of you.” He opened his middle desk drawer and pulled out two sheets of paper. “I presume Colonel Sweeney briefed you both about this.” He set a sheet of paper in front of both of them.
“What is it?” Joe said.
Jack picked his up.
“It’s a statement that says you are willing to swear your allegiance to King Edward VI and the royal British crown for the duration of hostilities.”
Jack knew this was coming. Hearing it out loud brought home the seriousness of what he was about to do. By signing this document, he was essentially forfeiting his American citizenship.
Possib
ly for good.
13
An hour later, all six Americans were riding in the back of a British Army truck, which the Brits called a lorry. They had just reached the outskirts of London and were starting to see signs of the British countryside out the back. Apparently, none of the other guys seemed too bothered by the fact that they were no longer American citizens. It didn’t really bother Jack all that much. Just one more thing in a growing list of things necessary to accomplish his greater mission.
Finding his twin brother.
That, and unraveling the mystery of his family tree. Topping the list was the answer to this question: Why all the secrecy? Why had his father raised him with a fictitious, made-up story about how Jack had come into the world, how his mother had died in childbirth (which she had not), why he had no siblings and, for that matter, no cousins and no aunts or uncles, either.
That portion of the story was at least partly true. His father had admitted he was an only child and that his own parents had both died of influenza when he was in his early teens. But Jack’s father had also admitted he couldn’t shed any light on the status of Jack’s mother’s side of the family, since he had been completely cut off from them when Jack was three years old.
Why? Jack asked after his father dropped this bombshell. Why did they cut you off? In doing so, they had also cut Jack off, too.
“I can’t tell you,” his father had replied, then broke into heaving sobs. “I wanted to, all along. But I was sworn to keep quiet. I wish I could tell you the whole story, but I can’t.” He lifted his head, wiped the tears from his eyes and banged on his paralyzed legs. “It’s because of these! All because of these!”
But that made no sense to Jack. His father was a war hero. He’d lost the use of his legs after crashing his fighter plane during World War I. Jack knew that part of the story was true. He’d seen old pictures of his father, dressed in full fighter pilot’s gear, standing in front of his plane, a Sopwith Camel. He’d seen the medals, including the Purple Heart and read the commendations from the War Department.