Demon's Well

by E. R. Mason

  At the Commodore’s office, the front desk was unoccupied. He went looking and found the Commodore sitting in his office staring out the open door.

  “Ah, Mr. Kent. Come in. Thank you for being prompt.”

  Hat in hand, Jax took a seat and waited.

  The Commodore wiped back his thinning grey hair. His chiseled face appeared more battle weary than usual. He gave a flat smile, sat back, and tossed the pencil in his hand onto the desk.

  “There’s been a change of plans, Neil. It’s about tomorrow’s leave.”

  “It’s not going to happen, sir?”

  “Oh, it’s going to happen alright. Just not for you.”

  “Me, sir?”

  “Tell me something, Neil. How are you holding up under the pressure? Are you handling it?”

  “I think so, sir.”

  “No, I mean really. How are you feeling about all this?”

  “Sir, when I’m in the sky, everything’s okay. There’s no place I’d rather be.”

  The Commodore nodded understanding, swiveled in his chair and peered out the only window in his office. The setting sun was casting golden light on the world outside. “That’s what I would’ve said if anybody asked me,” he replied. He looked back at Jax. “I guess you’ve probably heard we’re having trouble filling seats.”

  Jax did not answer.

  “And you’ve probably noticed, we haven’t given you much time, if any, in the singles.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jax.

  “We need to fast track you, Neil. We already know you’re pilot material, so there’s no more evaluation needed. My orders are to ship you out immediately to Woolfox Lodge for accelerated certification at the Operations Training Unit. How do you feel about that?”

  Jax tried to hide his nervousness. “If it’s flying, sir, I guess I can’t complain. It’ll be tough leaving the guys.’

  “I understand. We keep our groups together to build unity among them. So extracting you like this is not something we like to do. They will catch up to you at Woolfox Lodge, though. You’ll just probably be operational by that time, that’s all. So do you have any doubts about this? I need to ask since we’re throwing you into the lion’s den so to speak.”

  “The only doubt I’ve ever had is about what I’ll be doing to the people we’re fighting, but the thought of what they’re trying to do to us scares me much worse.”

  “Thank you for being honest, Neil. I can help you with that. There’s a whole bundle of intelligence we don’t release to the public to protect our sources. You heading for OTU puts you at a much higher security level. Have you ever heard of the Einsatzgruppen?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You will. They are specialized mobile killing units made up mostly of SS troops. They go into an area after Hitler has taken control and they round up all the people they consider to be racial or political enemies of the Third Reich. We received word last October that they had massacred more than 33,000 Kiev Jews in the ravine at Babi Yar.”

  Jax interrupted, “Excuse me, sir. I think you meant to say 3,000, didn’t you?”

  The Commodore returned a grim stare, “No, Neil. I meant to say 33,000 people executed in just over two days.”

  Jax stared back in disbelief.

  “Other squads were carrying out other executions in other areas at the same time. It continues as we speak. And if that seems crazy to you, we’ve been told that there have been so many of those mass murders that it’s begun to affect their own troops psychologically, so they’ve had to find alternate methods. They began wiring trailers up to truck exhausts then filling them with people and letting the carbon monoxide to the job. You might think something that unthinkable would grind down to a stop at some point, but out latest intel is that they are now planning large gassing facilities to centralize the killing.”

  Jax sat speechless.

  “So if you can imagine Hitler setting foot on English soil, Mr. Kent, there’s no doubt that would be hell on Earth.”

  Jax remained speechless.

  “There’s presently an agreement in place that both sides will limit attacks to military targets only, but as you drive around London these days, you can see how much that means to Hitler.” The Commodore paused to drink from a worn brown mug on his desk. “Which brings us back to you, Neil. You know our missions are at night because we do not have a way to provide fighter cover yet. Obviously it’s very inaccurate, so we are force to use saturation bombing which works modestly well, although there are terrible consequences. We are planning a particularly big mission a few weeks from now and that’s why you’re here.”

  “Sir, just how big a mission you’re talking about?”

  The Commodore coughed. “One thousand planes will be heading for Bremen, and it’s a good bet you’ll be on one of them. The question is, Neil, can you handle that?”

  Jax sat back with raised eyebrows. “Sir, you really know how to make a guy sit up and take notice.”

  The Commodore coughed out a quick laugh. He sipped from his cup and leaned back in his seat but said nothing.

  “When do I leave?”

  “Celebrate tonight, pack and sign out everywhere tomorrow, a driver will take you Sunday morning.”

  Jax rose from his seat. “Anything else, sir?”

  The Commodore stood. “Just keep in touch, Neil.”

  Both men saluted and shared a silent moment. Jax turned and walked out.

  On the trek across the parking toward home Jax the felt like he had rubber legs. The classified information from the Commodore replayed heavily in his mind. He had never heard such sadistic stories of WWII. Reality was apparently far more brutal than history sometimes records it.

  As he approached the barracks, he expected his friends to be busy packing for the two-day leave, but as he neared the place he found all lights on and a noisy celebration taking place inside. To his amazement, alcohol seemed to be present.

  “Jacks are Wild! Where you been, sport? Issss ‘bout time you got here!” Scotty was already swaying from the effects of ale.

  “What is this?” exclaimed Jax. “Are you guys crazy?”

  Scotty continued to sway and seemed unable to immediately form an answer. As they stood, Link and Marshall came up alongside Jax and handed him a mug full of beer.

  “You guys are gonna be in the brig for the rest of your life,” said Jax.

  Marshall seemed slightly tipsy and carefully took a sip of his own mug before answering. “Jacks, I know it seems unbelievable, but those two kegs of beer over there were supplied to us by none other than Blakely himself.”

  “The Commodore gave you guys beer?”

  “As long as we don’t leave this fine building, we are allowed to tie one on as necessary,” replied Link.

  “It’s supposed to be a reward for the hard work and how well we’ve done. We got to show up Monday morning stone sober though.”

  “Will wonders never cease,” replied Jax.

  “So where you been, Mister. We wanted to look for you but we’re obligated to remain here with the beer, you understand.”

  “I just found out I’m getting shipped out, guys. Some kind of special operation.”

  “What the hell? They’re not supposed to break the groups up,” said Marshall.

  “They won’t really. It’s a temporary detour. I’ll hook back up with you misfits at Woolfox Lodge.”

  “Well then, drink up boy,” suggested Link.

  Jax decided the ale was an appropriate medicine against the stories he had just heard in the Commodore’s office. Jax’s aversion to war was an issue with many grey areas. The Commodore had been very convincing. If that Nazi flying saucer now buried under Demon House somehow managed to change history, it could mean, among other things, the arrival of Einsatzgruppe death squads in England. At present, he had no way to destroy that saucer, but here he could at least do his best to fight against Hitler.

  Jax made his way through the merry crowd, exchanging well wishes, raising
his mug in toasts, and slapping friends on the back. It did not take long for the tribe to become awash in the deliriously delicious effects of alcohol. A poker game broke out in the back, and songs of past heroes and legends were belted out one after the other. Jax lost count of his own number of beers, and found himself teetering as he went about, finally not caring at all about the past or the future. He sang along with songs he did not know and joined in the cheers after each well-maligned number. At one point, the circle had somehow come around to him. With inebriated belligerence, the carolers insisted he lead them in song. Despite his best efforts no excuse could put them off.

  In drunken desperation, using his best slurred seaman’s voice, Jax belted out, “We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine . . .” He paused, beer leaking out the side of his tipped mug. The others staring with unfocused confusion. There was dead silence for a moment.

  “Jacks, where in Hades did you come up with that?” demanded Scotty.

  “Well, that’s not music, is it,” added Link.

  Marshall pulled him aside. “Jacks, if you made that up on your own, nobody’s ever gonna buy it. You better stick to flying boy.”

  With a raising of mug, someone else called out, “Gorblimey!” and the room was again filled with the sounds of drunken sailors.

  Jax slowly eddied up into hangover conscious the next morning. He lay in bed, the covers up to his neck, once again staring at the ceiling. Movement of the head was ill advised. Around him, the sounds of moaning, cursing, and oppressed celebration filled the barracks as his friends packed and hurried to catch the bus waiting outside. As the noise died down, Jax found himself alone in silence. There was no inspection today, no roll call or exercise. It was the perfect day to spiral back down into late sleep.

  Breakfast eventually helped lift the fog. From there it was the paperwork crusade from supply, to the armory, to the flight office, to personnel and eventually to lunch which further helped with hangover distress. That being achieved, Jax finally ended up at security, the longest and most involved process of his quest. With stacks of authorizations and instructions in hand, he ended up back in the commissary where a mince and gravy concoction did not taste particularly good but was hot and managed to finish off the last remnants of hangover.

  The sun was going down when he returned to the empty barracks. This wasn’t the first time he had found it deserted, but there was an added touch of melancholy now. The two emptied beer barrels were stacked atop each other in one corner. The echoes in the room seemed slightly louder than usual. He went to his bunk, sat, and began clearing out his foot locker and packing his duffle bag.

  When the last of the work was done, he turned down the barrack lights, stripped down to shorts and climbed in bed. He lay staring at the ceiling again, just as he had when the day began.

  Jax dreamt. He was lying on the only hill in a vast green field. Blue sky and drifting clouds were overhead. Every now and then a formation of bombers would pass by on their way toward the sea. A short time later, they would return missing one airplane. Each time they went out, there was one less plane in the formation and still one more would be missing upon their return. Eventually, one last bomber passed by overhead on its way to the sea. It never returned.

  As Jax lay on the soft grass, a warm breeze ruffled his covers. The breeze lifted them and embraced him in warmth and heat. A blanket of passion seemed to engulf him. Smooth sensuality covered his body. He fought not to open his eyes for fear of losing the dream. Hot breath on his neck forced him awake. He opened his eyes just a narrow slot to find Alaina staring down at him, naked on top of him, purring with passion. Her hand was clutching him as a surge of overpowering lust took control. He wrapped her in his arms so the dream could not escape. All thoughts of Skyla and time machines were lost in a vortex of loneliness, desire, war crimes, friends lost, and air combat. Merging into oneness the dream became a torrid reality, a struggle of devotion. There was no turning back from the oneness enveloping them, only the wish for it to last forever.

  When the passion of lovemaking had finally eased into simple embrace, Jax managed to speak in a broken whisper, “Taking big chances, aren’t you?”

  Alaina whispered back, “It was lights out hours ago. Don’t turn on any lights, okay?”

  “Why are you . . .?”

  “I just got the news.”

  “Rutland is only 35 miles away.”

  “Yes, but I had to make certain you would not forget me before I could get there.”

  “Now who’s being silly.”

  “Right answer, lover.”

  And it began again.

  Chapter 18

  Jax sat in the back seat of the staff car watching the damaged world go by on his way to Rutland. He was certain of one thing. His life was now completely out of control. Despite Skyla’s warnings, he had given his father a note that might change his entire youth. If that wasn’t enough, now he had betrayed her love and committed an act of passion that was said to be the worst, most dangerous thing a time shifted person could do. At the same time he was lying to Alaina about who he really was. Just a few short months ago he was fresh out of school and still afraid to even approach the opposite sex. Now suddenly he was in a relationship with two of the most attractive women he had ever seen and was betraying one and deceiving the other. Jax shook his head in despair. “Only I could screw things up this badly,” he thought.

  There would be no reasoning this out. Alaina was not some passing amusement needed to take his mind off of things. She was the only person in his life that felt truly real; the only one he had to hold on to. Still, the scandal of it would plague him every waking hour except during his one escape.

  The sky. When he was in a pilot seat everything else had to be put aside. It was as though all attachments to Earth had to be discarded and left behind. Flying would be the only thing that might preserve his sanity.

  The staff car bounced harshly through a pothole in the road jolting Jax out of his self-incrimination. Passing through Cottesmore was almost surreal. It was a beautiful place to behold. There was little evidence of war here. Most buildings were red brick with ivy growing everywhere. The place was a garden of streets and people. There was a high church steeple ahead amid the array of chimneys on nearby buildings. A variety of small shops passed by on the left. This seemed like the warmest, friendliest place on Earth. How could anyone threaten such a place?

  As Jax considered the demon who would do such a thing, the base came into view. Like Rutland, it was huge. Lines of brick buildings, all very new. Stacks of bricks here and there waiting to be used. There was a married officer’s quarters, a hospital, a large mess hall, and rows of barracks. The driver pulled into the main gate and stopped. He handed over his paperwork to the guard and waited as the soldier appraised Jax in the backseat. He waved the car forward and as they entered the installation Jax again felt like someone on a ride that was out of control. Massive hangers lined the distance. The runways were long and at the end of the longest a line of seven aircraft were waiting for takeoff. Other aircraft were parked in long lines everywhere, fighters and bombers both. The place was busy; people heading in every direction. Jax began to feel insignificant.

  First stop was security. This time it did not take too long. Back in the staff car the driver looked back at Jax and smiled. “Base Air Commodore,” was all he said and he pulled out onto the road.

  Commodore Decker’s front office was huge. His secretary was at a desk behind a very long counter. There were leather chairs and tables scattered around the room. A man in a grey flannel suit with a stack of books was asleep in one of them. Large frame photos covered the walls.

  At the counter Jax said, “Neil Kent?”

  The woman at the desk looked up and smiled, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “He’s very busy but he said for you to go in and have a seat. There might be a wait. Don’t take it personally.” She pointed at a cl
osed door.

  “Thank you.” Jax pushed through the door into a hallway. The Commodore’s office was at the end of it. He was on the phone. He motioned for Jax to sit.

  “We’re wasting time here, Harry. You already know the score. Bearings and connecting rods, or no fly, that is unless you want to send us new Vultures. You will? You’re certain? Well my boy, the hanger is tied up until we hear from you. The ball is in your court.”

  The Commodore hung up and breathed a heavy sigh. He managed a smile at Jax. “Mr. Kent, welcome. So you’re to be our wild card then.”

  The Commodore stood and extended a hand. When they had completed the greeting they both sat.

  “Wild card, sir?”

  “You’ve done well in navigation and engineering I understand.”

  “Sir?”

  “We are sorely in need of crew personnel who are also pilots. As soon as you’re comfortable with our aircraft, that is as soon as we are assured you can bring them down on the wheels every time, we hope to fill last minute crew problems using you while you’re still in training. Would you have any problem temporarily joining a squadron from time to time?”

  “Sir, I am looking forward to the control seat.”

  “Oh, I’ve set you off on the wrong heading, Mr. Kent. No, we are not looking to make you a navigator or engineer. Trust me. It’s just that while you are being certified as a pilot, we hope to keep aircraft missing one crew member flying missions. You will get mission experience, and the flight crew will have their backup pilot. Am I setting you right, Mr. Kent?”

  “Thank you, sir. I would be glad to support a flight crew anytime you need me.”

  “I believe we’re good to go, Neil. You are to report to Captain Roberts in the Deputy Flight Commanders office. Here are your temporary orders. Expect your training schedule to be lively, Neil.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Twenty minutes later, Jax was following Captain Roberts into the commissary, carrying a back pack of books and training materials. They went through the tea line and took the nearest two seats at a very long dining table.