by E. R. Mason
A new wave of sobriety hit Jax. There would be no more time jumping. For the first time he began to realize that he might be spending the rest of his life here. If Skyla did not materialize at some point in the future, this could be his reality indefinitely.
Dutch gently urged him along, then hurried to open the back door of a dark car with military insignias. Patiently he helped lower Jax in. As they pulled out of the parking area, more city came into view.
It was a world Jax had not considered. He watched the people and cars passing by. Their clothing was worn and discolored. A woman in a long black dress went by pushing a baby carriage carrying a child too large for it. Smoke continued to rise from the rubble in places. There were cars with flat tires here and there. At one point Dutch had to stop and back up to take a different street. Ahead a large crater stretched from one side of the road to the other. The back end of a bus protruded from it. The front walls of the buildings next to the huge hole were missing, revealing rooms and stairwells inside.
Jax suddenly realized he had no idea where they were going. In his best English accent he asked, “Dutch, where are you taking me exactly?”
Dutch glanced over his shoulder for a second. “Number 3 PRC,” he replied.
“PRC?” asked Jax.
“Wow! You really are shell shocked man.” Personnel Receiving Center. In Bournemouth on Southcliff Road. The Charborough Hall. They’ve got arrangements with a hotel right there next door. It’s pretty sparse though. They’re still getting set up. Hard to say how long they’ll keep you. I was told most of your records were wiped out, so they’ve gotta reconstruct your file. When you’re done there I’m to come back to take you on to number 4 EFTS in Brough, Yorkshire, but the PRC will have you for a few days of physicals, and interviews.
Jax did not dare ask what EFTS meant.
Dutch called back to him. “Hey, the radio works in this thing. Mind if I switch on some music?”
“Go ahead.”
Dutch twisted at the knobs on the beat up dash radio and a D.J.’s voice suddenly cut in introducing “We’ll Meet Again,” by Vera Lynn.
Jax sat back and watched the old world go by.
It was a 90 minute drive to Bournemouth, even at the breakneck speed Dutch was trying to keep. And it was easy to tell they were leaving the London area. The farther they went, the less bomb damage along the way. To Jax’s amazement, the craters never ended, however. There were signs of destruction the entire way, and as they approached Bournemouth, the frequency of the carnage began to pick back up.
Charborough Hall was an attractive four story building even in its unkempt state. Dutch leaned around in his seat as though to ask Jax if he could make it, then decided it wasn’t such a good idea, and jumped out to open the door. He guided Jax through the black wrought-iron gate and into the main entrance where a receptionist in uniform sat behind a counter among beautiful antique furniture that seemed out of place. Her blond hair was up in a bun and she was struggling with the ink ribbon in a battered manual typewriter. She looked up with a strained expression as the two men came to the counter.
For the first time Jax spoke a name that was not his. “Neil Kent.”
The attendant stared up with a blank expression. “Oh . . . oh!” she replied and she dropped the ribbon and began rifling through papers scattered on her desk. “Yes, Mr. Kent. We’ve been expecting you. They have accommodations reserved for you at the Metropole Hotel on Beresford. I have a key here for you.” She began digging in her top desk drawer. She drew out a single key with a white tag attached, checked to be sure it was his, and handed it over.
Dutch interrupted. “Do they need me for anything else?”
“No you’re cleared to go, Dutch, but I’ll be calling you for some transfers in a day or two.”
Dutch mimed a comical salute. “Carry on troops. I’ll be on my way then.” He tipped his helmet and headed briskly for the door.
There was an awkward pause followed by a stuttered question from Jax. “Ma’am, how do I get to the Metropole Hotel?”
“Usually they will send a bus to pick you and the others up in the morning and then they return you every evening. There’s a car pool you can sign a car out when you need to. You’ll need one today, of course.”
“I need to pick up a few things, too. I lost everything.”
“Yes, and they’ve already approved a per diem rate for you so I’ll give you a charge number to use until your pay starts up. They’ll be issuing you new uniforms of course and your flight gear.”
Jax breathe a sigh of relief but stopped abruptly. “Did you say flight gear?”
“Of course, as soon as you complete the physicals and training classes here, you’re scheduled for transfer to Number 4 Elementary Flight Training at Brough for the 50 hour certification, and then to Service Flight Training at Woolfox Lodge. You knew that, of course, right?”
Jax stuttered, “Oh, um, yes I’m still a little scrambled that’s all.”
“Well I can imagine. I heard about the attack. Thank God you’re okay.”
“So I can take a car and go get some rest and pick up the things I need then. When am I supposed to be back here?”
“You have just a doctor’s exam scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. They need to sign you off before you can start classes. Are you sure you can drive yourself?”
“Oh sure. I’m shaking it off pretty good.”
The receptionist plunked a clipboard down on the counter and handed Jax a pencil. “Sign out a car for yourself, and here’s your per diem account number and you’re set to go.”
“I can’t thank you enough . . . What was your name again?”
“Beatrice. The loaner cars are parked around back. Number on the front fender.”
Jax scooped up his account information papers, and smiled. “Thank you so much, Beatrice.”
“Nice meeting you, Mr. Kent. See you tomorrow.”
Jax began a brisk walk toward the door but quickly realized his body wasn’t up to it forcing him to slow down to a more manageable pace. Outside, he paused at the gate to catch his breath, then went in search of the parking lot.
The lot was another filled in foundation from a bombed out building. His car was the first one, an olive green Ford staff car in surprisingly good shape. Jax climbed wearily into the driver’s seat, plugged in the key and sat back with another long sigh.
He had escaped. Now there was no one to interfere with anything he needed to do. He had some money and a car. He could go wherever he wanted. He did not need to come back here at all. The first stop would need to be the Leigh Library building. It was after twelve and there was a 90 minute drive to get there, but it would be worth checking. After that, a trip to Demon House was needed to verify that things were as he expected them to be. There was nothing he could do about the Nazi ship, but at least he would know where he stood. From there he could go and collect supplies and figure out a plan for the future. He could only use the car until tomorrow. If he did not show up for his scheduled medical, they’d be looking for their car along with a missing cadet.
Jax started the engine and ground the gears shifting into first. He pulled around to the road and stopped. The aftereffects of the concussion were catching up. There was no way he could drive for several hours. He needed rest and sleep, right now.
Well, there was a room waiting for him. Jax searched through the paperwork Beatrice had given him. There was a photocopy of a hand drawn map to the Metropole Hotel. It was nearby. With weary eyes he looked both ways and pulled out. A short drive brought him to the Metropole parking area where he parked badly and headed inside. There was no one at the desk, but the room number was on the key. Second floor. The hotel elevator was out of service. With the last of his energy he climbed the stairs, found his door and practically fell inside. A single bed, a dresser by dingy curtains, a wooden chair. To his amazement, the sparse room had its own bathroom. Jax collapsed onto white sheets and the world went dark.
Chapter 14
Bright sunlight beaming through soiled curtains woke Jax. For a fleeting moment he thought he was at home in bed and turned his head to look for his calendar clock.
Reality washed over him like a tidal wave.
He pushed up on one elbow and searched the unfamiliar room. There was no clock. He had no watch. He climbed out of bed to find a good deal of strength had been gained from the long sleep.
What now? Beatrice had said they expected him for a physical exam at 2:00 P.M. He was still dressed. He sat up and tried to straighten the wrinkled uniform. The front door was closed but not locked. He opened it and peered outside. Next door, someone else in uniform was locking their room. The man had a crew cut and tanned face. He looked over at Jax and nodded.
“Hey, you must be Kent, the late-comer. Welcome to the Core, mate. I’m Allen, John Allen. I hear you took a beating.”
“Can you tell me what time it is?” asked Jax, still trying to shake off the effects of sleep.
“It’s 1:20, buddy. I got to get going. I’m almost late and believe me you do not want to do that around here. Drill practice is bad enough as it is.” John Allen nodded to his new associate and dashed by heading for the stairs.
Jax stood dumbfounded holding his bedroom door. 1:20? This wasn’t good. He couldn’t takeoff now. They’d think he was in trouble from the concussion or something and launch an all-out search. He’d have to show up for that physical. There was only 40 minutes to do that. He needed to get cleaned up and shave. Allen’s warning about discipline also echoed in his mind. But he had nothing, no razor, no soap, nothing. Fear brought him the rest of the way out of the grogginess. He brushed himself off further and went exploring down the hall. Someone’s room door had been left open. He stuck his head in and called out. No answer. He went in and looked in the bathroom. There was a razor and soap and a damp towel. Furiously he went through the necessary hygiene using someone else’s toiletries.
Back in his room, 20 minutes were left. He gathered up his paperwork and keys and headed downstairs to the car.
At Charborough Hall, Beatrice was waiting faithfully in the reception area. She smiled as he entered.
“Well, you look much better this morning, Neil.
“Thank you Beatrice. Am I where I’m supposed to be?”
“Yes, you are. Dr. Montaine is expecting you. He’s on the third floor. You just go there and anyone you bump into will tell you where the Doctor wants to see you.”
“So I go there now?”
“Now would be good. You still have a few minutes.”
Jax turned and headed for the elevators.
“Just one thing, Neil.”
Jax looked back at her. “Let me guess. The elevators aren’t working?”
Beatrice blurted out a laugh, nodded, and pointed to the stairwell.
The entire third floor seemed to be dedicated to medical facilities. The place smelled like medicine. Jax was pointed to an exam room a short way down the hall. The wait was brief. Dr. Montaine came charging in wearing a white lab smock with a stethoscope hanging from his neck. He had pronounced bags under his eye, and what little grey hair was left was flattened over the crown of his head. He carried a manila folder with the name “Kent, Neil,” on it. He opened his mouth to greet his newest patient but was interrupted by a nurse demanding his immediate presence. He dropped the folder on a countertop and disappeared back out the door.
Jax peeked out the door. There was the sound of distant voices but no one in sight. He opened his folder and poured over the contents. The top document was stamped “Reconstructed File.” He quickly read through. It was a short summery of the life of Neil Kent. Place of birth, parents names, history, education, medical, along with an assortment of military items labeled “Assumed.” Jax photographic memory stored every word. He replaced the folder, took a seat in a chair in the corner, and waited.
“I apologize,” said the doctor as he charged through the door. “We are under just a bit of pressure these days as you can imagine.” The doctor stared down at the folder. “How are the headaches now, Mr. Kent? Any vision problems?”
Jax filled in all the doctor’s blanks and waited as the physician completed a stack of new documents followed by a quick eyes, ears, nose, and throat medical exam along with BP and pulse.
When the prodding and probing were done, and numerous additional paperwork filed, the doctor pulled out his prescription pad and began writing. “You’re doing quite well, Mr. Kent. I see no reason you shouldn’t resume PRC training. My assistant will be in to take some blood. When she’s done you’re to go to the main security office on the fourth floor. They need to update your clearance info. When they’re done, return here and I’ll have a med card ready for you, provided all the blood work comes back okay.”
On the fourth floor, Jax sat in a chair slightly too low, in front of a large desk manned by a gentleman in a grey pin-striped suit with large lapels. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and had thinning hair combed forward to conceal the loss, which it did not. He stared down at Jax’s file folder but kept looking up momentarily as though to confirm the person sitting in front of him was the same person in the file. It looked like the same file Jax had speed read in the doctor’s office.
“So, just 19, born in Scarborough. I see you lost both parents in the fighting in France. I’m very sorry, young man.”
Jax nodded.
“Your father Daniel Kent was a well-respected statesman. Your mother Denise worked as a relief worker until she married. Both were . . .”
Jax interrupted. “Excuse me, sir. My mother’s name was Nora, not Denise.”
“How can that be? It clearly says Denise here.”
Jax knew the file did not say Denise. He was being tested.
“I don’t know how the error was made, sir. But my mother’s name was Nora, not Denise.”
“Well, I’ll just pencil that in and back check it later then.” The man made an exaggerated effort to appear to correct the file. A few more trick questions finally convinced him the recruit sitting in his office really was Neil Kent. After promising to rush the necessary security clearance, he waved Jax off and went on to other files.
It was 8:00 P.M. before Jax made it back down to the reception desk. A new girl, Martha, was there. She was an older woman much less prone to pleasantries. She seemed to recognize Cadet Kent without needing to ask. She held out a group of papers stapled together. Jax raised an eyebrow.
“It’s your training schedule, honey. You get tomorrow off but then it’s full time for you.”
Jax took the stack warily and asked, “What kind of training are we talking about, exactly.
“It’s all there, hotshot.” Martha pointed at the paperwork and went back to her own duties.
Jax scanned the top sheet. Night Vision Assessment, Navigation, Aircraft recognition, Morse Code, Eye-Hand Coordination, and Service Law, were the first six classes listed, followed by several more. Jax rolled his eyes and headed for his car. He was tired again and it was getting late. His newfound energy was all but gone. He would spend a second night in Neil Kent’s room. Then bust out in the morning.
Morning light again brought Jax to a foggy awareness. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, mentally recounting the past two days. At the end of it, he breathed a great, final sigh of relief. Free at last. A car, some money, a full day to disappear into the masses. First stop would be for food and then clothes. Then the 90 minute to drive to the library building on the long shot chance Skyla would show up. From there, a trip to Demon House to check things out. Then ditch the car, uniform, and figure out where to hold up and how to get by.
A nearby café was the first stop. Breakfast was huge, hot and delicious. Oatmeal and toast, the only item on the menu that was available. The man behind the counter mumbled something about rationing. A small clothing shop nearby seemed to have the same complaint. The clothes were baggy and the selection was meager. Jax wore his denim pants, white T-shirt, lightweight denim jacket, and lace
up trainers out of the shop, bagging his uniform and shoes.
The 90 minute drive was wrought with unexpected stops and turn-arounds to avoid bombed out sections of street, or heavy equipment clearing and making repairs. At the library, there was no one waiting, even though it was only a short time past noon.
Demon House was exactly as he expected. It was abandoned with high grass and weeds everywhere, He looked in windows but saw no one. Still, somewhere below the home’s basement, there was a German UFO and probably a handful of SS officers trying to get it to work. There was not a thing he could do about that now. He checked the spot where they had buried the Z-particle generator just three years from now, the place was untouched. Frustrated, he climbed in his staff car and headed back toward London.
What was needed now was a good place to ditch the car. It was 2:00 in the afternoon. Plenty of cars, bikes, and people were heading to and fro. As he approached the library again, he noticed a small government rationing building nearby. Its parking lot was busy but there were spaces. He pulled in, gathered his bags, and left the uniform neatly folded in a duffle bag on the driver’s seat next to the shoes. With a small gesture of gratitude, he slid the keys under the seat and left the car unlocked. Bags in hand, he went to the sidewalk and began walking.
Blending in was almost easy now. He had period clothes and the city was busy. There was just one problem. There did not seem to be anyone in sight in his age group. Apparently they were all involved in the war effort. He would need a disguise of some type.
He walked uneasily for four intersections. There had not been a “Help Wanted” sign anywhere along the way. He had seen three different run down hotels all with “No Vacancy” signs. The one hotel that did show “Vacancy” was an upscale expensive place. That wouldn’t do.