On Wings of Fire

by Frances Patton Statham

  As they rode, Dow paid no attention to the reports. Finally he addressed Alpharetta casually, “You saw the ghost of Harrington Hall, Miss Beaumont? On the stairs, I presume?”

  At the question, she turned to face the back of the seat. “No. I saw a woman staring at me in the mirror of the green room. But when I looked around, she was gone.” Alpharetta laughed. “I have an overactive imagination,” she confided.

  With a wry twist to his mouth, he said, “I’m glad, Miss Beaumont. For what’s to happen in the next few weeks, even the next few minutes, is going to tax even the wildest imagination.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Just wait. You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Leaning toward the driver, Dow said, “Turn right, Eckerd, at the next lane.”

  A puzzled Alpharetta watched while Eckerd, instead of driving toward the intersection with the main road, detoured down a small, secluded lane, still on the estate. As they drove through the private gates of a small replica of the main house, Alpharetta decided that Dow must be stopping to see a relative living in the dower house.

  “Reggie? Eckerd? You both know what to do?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Miss Beaumont, come with me.”

  “I’ll be happy to wait in the car.”

  “I think you would be happier changing your clothes in the house. Come with me,” Dow replied to a startled Alpharetta.

  Chapter 16

  A half hour later the military vehicle had been hidden in the garage and replaced with a black Rolls-Royce. Eckerd has exchanged his army grays for a regular chauffeur’s uniform, and a self-conscious Reggie, dressed in country tweeds, walked from the carriage house with a huge sheep dog named Brewster straining at the leash.

  Inside the dower house, Alpharetta changed from her own uniform to the green wool and silk coat ensemble with the short skirt, as she had been instructed. And when that was done, she walked into the small anteroom where Dow was waiting for her.

  “Sit down, Miss Beaumont.”

  She did so in a small corner chair with crewel embroidery of white, red, and green.

  “I don’t know any other way to begin, Miss Beaumont, except to give you the facts as quickly as possible. It’s top-secret information, and what I’m going to tell you must not be repeated to anyone.

  “For some time now, the War Office has known that London was due another Armageddon, courtesy of the German’s new rocket missiles. For the past six months, the Allied bombers have searched for and bombed the launching sites at Penneműnde, Pas de Calais, and even the Volkswagen plant in Germany where the rockets are manufactured.

  “But two days ago, Miss Beaumont, as you know, the buzz bombs started hitting London. The city has already suffered considerable damage from them, according to Sir Nelson, even in that short length of time, and will continue to do so, for we have no effective air defense, whatsoever, against them. Yet these weapons are nothing in comparison to the second missile the Germans are putting into production. There is no way the bombers can get to them, since the Germans have moved their operations into tunnels deep within the Harz Mountains.”

  Alpharetta sat and listened. She was conscious of the serious expression on the man’s face. She didn’t dare interrupt him, although she was anxious for him to get to the point—what the missiles had to do with her secret mission.

  “What I’m about to tell you is known by only a few high-level people. For once, we have been lucky. Part of a fired test missile has fallen into the hands of the Swedish Government. And although the country is neutral, we have a chance to smuggle the fragments out for our scientists to examine. And that’s where you come in, Miss Beaumont.” He looked at her and hesitated.

  “I’m to fly to Sweden and pick up the pieces,” she prompted.

  “Yes.”

  “When do I leave?”

  “It’s not quite so simple as that,” he said. “We have our contacts working on it from both sides. But I want you to understand. It’s a dangerous mission. You would be flying over enemy guns.”

  He acted as if he were waiting for her to back out. “I’ve been shot at before,” she said in a calm voice.

  “And you’re not afraid?”

  It was her turn to stare before answering, “Of course, I’m afraid. But that’s never stopped me.” Except once, she confided to herself under her breath.

  “Well then, it’s settled. When we get into the car and head for Lochendall, there will be no turning back.

  “Oh, there’s just one other thing, Miss Beaumont.”

  “Yes?”

  “Sir Nelson has provided a cover for you, so no one will suspect what we’re up to.”

  She waited for his explanation. He cleared his throat, and in an embarrassed manner, he said, “You will go to Lochendall as my wife.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t be alarmed. We’ll only be pretending to be man and wife, of course.”

  “Won’t Lady Margaret. . . mind?”

  “My fiancée is not to know.”

  “But what about the people at Lochendall?” Alpharetta continued, dismayed at the plans. “They’ll know I’m not Lady Margaret.”

  “Only my personal staff will be at Lochendall. And as for the villagers, I doubt they even know that I’m engaged to be married.” He stood up, as if to put an end to her questioning. He walked to the safe behind the mantel, opened it, removed its contents, and walked back to Alpharetta.

  “Hold out your hand,” he commanded.

  She held out her hand and watched as he placed a ring on her finger. It was too large. He removed it and replaced it with another. Satisfied at its fit, he added a second one. “Since you seem to like emeralds so much,” he said. “And I suppose a proper husband would give you jewels to match your eyes, Miss Beaumont.”

  She stared down at the wedding rings on her left hand and, amused, she said, “I don’t believe a man would call his wife Miss Beaumont, sir.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I’ll have to become accustomed to calling you by your given name Alpharetta, is it? He inclined his head in a questioning manner.

  “That’s correct.”

  With no hint of a smile, he said, “And I suppose it wouldn’t sound true to form if you kept calling me sir.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Don’t look so glum, Miss Beau—Alpharetta. Your assignment won’t last forever. The honeymoon will be a very short one.”

  Far into the night the black Rolls-Royce traveled, with the sheep dog, Brewster, asleep on the floorboard between Dow and Alpharetta. In the wee hours of the night, they arrived at Lochendall.

  Seeing no sign of civilization past the small village they passed through, Alpharetta knew that the place was appropriately named—the arm of the sea at the end of everything.

  In the darkness, she could hear the lashing of waves against the rocks—a lonely, remote sound as she stumbled from the car toward the house that was secured by gates and a seawall to protect those within from the ravages of nature and other enemies.

  Invisible to her in that starless, clouded night were the military landing strip two miles away and the hidden laboratory where rocket experts waited to examine and attempt to rebuild the German Vengeance rocket from the fragments she was to smuggle out of Sweden. And down below, also out of sight on the rocky beach, was a small cabin, manned by one lookout, with eyes searching for invaders from both air and sea.

  Late the next morning, Alpharetta was introduced to another member of Dow’s staff, sent ahead to open the house. She was Birdie Summerlin, Dow’s staff secretary, acting out her new role of housekeeper.

  Only the few liver spots on her hands announced Birdie’s age. And they were of no consequence. Far more important was the warmth that charmed Alpharetta immediately and caused her to respond to the brown-haired woman with a smile.

  “I hope the clothes fit,” Birdie whispered to Alpharetta as she served a late breakfast to the two in the dining room. />
  “Yes, thank you.” So it was Birdie who had selected the wardrobe and placed it in the bedroom for her arrival. Sir Nelson had evidently gambled that she would not back out, even though Dow Pomeroy had offered her the chance in the dower house.

  As she ate her breakfast, the gardener from the village was busy repairing the ravages of the wind in the sea garden outside the window.

  “Alpharetta?”

  “Yes, Dow?”

  The man smiled at the moue on Alpharetta’s face as she said his name.

  “At least it sounds more natural this morning than it did yesterday.”

  “Well, it’s difficult to call my commanding officer by his first name.”

  Looking out the window, Dow lowered his voice. “You can still back out, Alpharetta, if you’re having second thoughts this morning.”

  “But you told me yesterday that there was no turning back, once we reached Lochendall.”

  “You’ve had more time to think about it—to remember that your Amelia Earhart lost her life in a similar mission.”

  “Connie Jenkins also lost her life at Avenger Field when the prop fell off her plane, but that didn’t stop the rest of us from flying.”

  The gardener drew closer to the window and stopped his clipping. A look of caution entered Dow’s eyes. He ordered in a quiet voice, “Come and sit with me, darling.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t argue. Just do as I say,” he whispered.

  Reluctantly she obeyed, leaving her place at he end of the table. She perched precariously on the chair arm until Dow drew her onto his lap and then hid his face in her mass of red hair.

  “Please,” she said, struggling to get out of his embrace.

  “Be still. He’s watching us.”

  “Who?”

  “The gardener.” As if he were whispering words of love to a new wife, Dow brushed his lips against her ear and said, “We’re surrounded by spies, you know.”

  “You think the gardener is a German spy?”

  “He’s a stranger.” Dow replied against her cheek. “I don’t remember him from the village— and I’ve come here all my life.”

  “He doesn’t look—”

  “Careful, Alpharetta.”

  Se turned her head away from the window, for the man was peering at her. “He may just be curious,” she suggested.

  “Perhaps.”

  His mouth was dangerously close to hers and Alpharetta was aware of a new electricity in the air.

  The sound of clipping started again. “Dow?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is he gone from the widow?”

  He looked. The gardener had moved to the hedge at the far wall.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll go back to my place and finish my tea, if you’ll release me.”

  He acted as if nothing had happened between them. He picked up his teacup as she walked to the other end of the table. And in a pleased, rather dispassionate voice, he said, “You behaved quite well, Alpharetta—just the way a shy young wife would probably act on her honeymoon.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh? Why do you say that?”

  She gazed at him with her innocent yet seductive green eyes. “Because if I were really married to a man, we would both be having breakfast in bed right now, not engaging in polite conversation in the dining room.”

  His laugh, echoing all the way to the kitchen, caused Birdie Summerlin to smile. She hadn’t heard such a hearty laugh from him since before his only brother, Gerald, had been killed in action.

  They settled into a comfortable existence while they waited for the assignment. Dow and Alpharetta were together constantly, keeping their cover as newlyweds. Then early one morning, the message from Mittie came.

  After breakfast, Dow got up from the table and looked at the woman who wore his rings on her finger. “Let’s go for a walk on the beach,” he said, for he was suddenly restless, thinking about the assignment.

  “Let me get a wrap,” she said, and rushed up the stairs to her bedroom.

  She took the windbreaker from the closet,, put it over her dungarees, and hurried downstairs to meet Dow and Brewster, the dog, both waiting for her at the door.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  They left the house with the dog beside them, and the moment they stepped from the protection of the wall, a car slowly crept into sight down the road. Dow immediately took her hand and said, “Are you ready to act as a newlywed this morning?”

  “After you, Dow.”

  He leaned over and kissed her on the hair. “You really are dotty,” he said with a laugh.

  ‘Save your compliments, sir, until they’re close enough to overhear,” she admonished.

  They continued walking, waving to the two men in the car as it passed them, and by the time they reached the beach, Dow shoved his hands into his pockets, against the cold wind. His eyes were pensive as he walked silently down the beach with Alpharetta at his side, her red hair blowing into her face at times.

  “I had a message from Mittie this morning.”

  “Are the plans going well?”

  “There’s been a slight setback. Our contact in Sweden is being followed.”

  “Will that delay us?’”

  Dow leaned down, picked up a small piece of wood, and threw it into the air. Brewster ran up the beach to retrieve it. And Dow pushed his hands back into his pockets.

  “Probably no more than a few days. We’ll have to use the backup.”

  When the two reached the point, Dow stopped. “I’m to take you to the airstrip this afternoon, Alpharetta. Mittie wants you to familiarize yourself with the plane you’ll be flying.”

  “What kind is it?”

  “An Avro Anson Mk1.”

  Alpharetta nodded. “Retractable landing gears.”

  “With the two engines—and a range of 790 miles. Probably the most reliable the RAF has, if that’s any confort to you. Tomorrow, you’ll fly on reconnaissance, to get the feel of it over the ocean.”

  “What insignia will it have on it?”

  “Swedish, when you make your run. We promised to use a nonmilitary pilot, so you’ll carry over a few medical supplies, as if you’re on an errand of mercy. But once you reach Sweden and the fragments of the missile are loaded, all identifying marks will have to be stripped from the aircraft. You’ll be fair game for both sides.”

  “A plane without a country?”

  “Exactly.”

  Dow stood looking out over the ocean. “It’s not so bad as it sounds from this end, Alpharetta. If you keep to the strict schedule, you should be all right once you get past the coast of Norway. Our fighters will be issued orders that no unidentified aircraft is to be fired upon for one hour in your flight pattern.”

  “And if I’m late?”

  “You can’t be late. That’s all there is to it.”

  Brewster brought the stick to Dow. The man took it and threw it extra hard along the beach. The dog raced to retrieve it again.

  “I just have one more question. Why did you select a woman? Why not a male civilian pilot?”

  “I didn’t choose you, Alpharetta. Sir Nelson did. You’ll have to ask him. But I suppose he felt a woman had a better chance of getting through, since the Germans wouldn’t suspect a woman. I do know there’ll be a male pilot as a decoy.”

  Satisfied with the explanation, Alpharetta suddenly changed the subject. “Race you to the rock,” she challenged.

  Dow laughed as she started running up the beach. He gave her a few seconds, then took up the challenge. As he ran, he noticed the man on the crag above. How long had he been there, observing them? Dow picked up speed and reached the rock a split second before Alpharetta did.

  “What’s the matter? Out of practice?” he goaded.

  “Brewster got in my way,” she replied, out of breath.

  “No excuses,” he said. “You lose—you’ll have to pay the penalty.”

 
; Before she knew it, she was in his arms. His mouth captured hers—a gentle, playful kiss at first. And then, something happened— unplanned, unrehearsed.

  They became a man and a woman, caught in the primeval pulse of nature, of wind and waves, roaring and crashing against the landscape. And the kiss, so gentle at first grew into demand, exploration, as their bodies merged in desire.

  The cold wind blew Alpharetta’s hair in a feathery trail behind her, but it had no meaning, for a warmth had invaded her being. Shaken at the awakening of her long-dormant feelings, Alpharetta pushed away from Dow.

  “I suppose someone was watching this time, too,” she choked.

  “Above us, on the cliff.” He didn’t take his eyes from her. He continued to look, until she broke the locked stare.

  “I. . . I think we’d better go back to the house,” she suggested.

  “Yes. It’s much too windy on the beach.”

  Thoughtfully, silently, they trudged back to the house, with the roar of the wind and Brewster’s occasional bark the only sound. No words were spoken until they came within sight of the house.

  “Damn,” Dow said, barely under his breath, for down the road opposite them came three men, dressed in their best clothes. One carried a large bouquet of flowers, another, a box wrapped with a shabby red ribbon.

  “Who are they?” Alpharetta whispered, aware of Dow’s reaction to their appearance.

  “An official delegation from the village, if I’m not mistaken, coming to present their official good wishes on my taking a bride.”

  “But I’m not—”

  “We both know that,” he snapped. Dow waved his hand at the men, and his face changed from displeasure to an encompassing cordiality.

  As the two groups reached the gate from different directions, the man who carried nothing ventured, “Good morning to ye, Sir Dow.”

  “Good morning, Miles,” Dow replied. “Edgar, Shaun,” he added nodding to the two men with Miles.

  “We heard the news in the village,” Miles said. “And we’re here to express our good wishes to you and your lady.”

  Shaun, the man carrying the flowers, immediately thrust them into Alpharetta’s hands, while Edgar offered the red-ribboned box to Dow.