Wings over England
Page 21
_Chapter_ XXI The Lark Defends His Home Town
It was truly a jolly party that sat down to breakfast in the Hideoutthat morning. Dave had been dead. Now he was alive again. Who could helpbeing happy? It seemed good to be together again, to laugh over recentadventures and to talk in serious tones of the future.
“There really isn’t so much to tell,” Dave insisted, when they pressedhim for his story. “I had luck, that was all.”
He told of his landing, the sinking of his plane, his discovery of theNazi’s float and his work at setting it adrift.
“After that,” he added, “it was just a matter of time and a little moreluck. I fell asleep. Of course, I woke up now and then. Who wouldn’t?All I heard was the whistle of the wind and the rush of waves so I dozedoff again.
“After midnight the sea settled down a bit. Just at dawn my crazy craftbumped on a sandy beach. Of course I was up and out in a hurry.
“And there!” He laughed. “Leave it to the Home Guard! There on thebeach, armed with heavy old-fashioned rifles all pointed straight at me,were three old men. And you could tell by the look on their faces thatthey’d just as soon shoot me as not.”
“What did you do?” Cherry whispered.
“Do? Why! I let them take me prisoner. What else could I do? There I wason a float marked with the Nazi cross and wearing a Nazi swastika on myshirt.
“I threw them a line and, when a big wave broke on shore, they hauled mein.
“Then I invited them to take breakfast with me. I had bacon in tins,biscuits in a box and a jar of marmalade, also coffee. It was a grandfeed. And did those old men eat? They’d been on watch since sun-down.”
“And after that?” Cherry whispered.
“Then I showed them my water-soaked uniform, my American passport in awaterproof pocket and my identification tag.”
“And then they wanted to shoot you more than ever.” Brand laughed.
“No—no, they didn’t.” Dave leaned back in his chair. “They were regularold sports. Took it all as a huge joke. Had a good laugh over it.
“Then,” he added, “I traded them my float for a ride home in adilapidated old car. And here I am.”
“That float will make them a nice outpost station all winter.” Alicesighed with content. She wanted everyone to be comfortable and happy.
“I’m going to America,” Cherry said. “The doctor advised it for myvoice. He says it’s nerves.
“There’s a boatload of children going. I’m to take Peggy and Tillie.”
“Oh—o,” Dave breathed softly. “That will be swell.” And so it would, hethought, for Cherry.
“But you, Alice?” The young Lord turned to the older sister. “Shall yoube going also?”
“No—o.” Alice spoke slowly. “I’m staying right here. There’s the dairy,you know. Jock will care for the cattle and tend to the milking. I’llmake the butter. It all goes to your mess, I suppose you know? Thebutter, I mean. Or didn’t you know?”
“I could have guessed,” said the young Lord. “Our butter’s beenuncommonly good of late.”
“Thanks a lot.” Alice made a neat bow. “Anyway we’ve all got to carryon. I shall be quite all right here with old Jock and Flash.”
“And we’ll all welcome an opportunity to drop in for a chat now andthen.” Dave added with a genuine sigh of satisfaction. “We’ll always beneeding someone to listen to our tall tales or to offer us consolationwhen we’ve met with defeat.”
“All quite true,” said the young Lord. And he did not laugh.
Strange days followed. The R. A. F. in war time is no respecter ofpersons. Though the young Lord was of noble birth, he must suffer forhis breach of discipline. He was grounded for five days. His batteredSpitfire was taken down from the balloon cables and repaired. Armorplate was added to his seat and fitted about his motor, so the time outwas not all loss.
Every day the two “cubs”, Dave and Brand went up with the Lark as theirleader. Their field of patrol was narrow. Since their last battle theJerrys seemed to avoid that little patch of the sky over England.
One day an enemy dive-bomber wandered into their “Sphere of Influence.”
Seeing the direction the bomber was taking, the Lark let out a wildwhoop, barked “Tallyho!” into his receiver and then they were away.Climbing into the sun they prepared to head the intruder off.
This time neither was, in the matter of speed, a match for the Lark.There was a reason. The town for which the bomber was headed wasRenton-by-the-Sea. In that small city the Lark had spent his happyboyhood days. Neither an industrial town nor a seaport, it was one ofthose charming little cities where tired business men and their familiesspend their week-ends at play.
“My home town!” the Lark roared into the receiver. “He’ll send some ofthe very houses I’ve known and loved for years spouting into the sky!Only he won’t.” Dave could hear his teeth crack.
And then the strange fellow’s voice boomed forth in song. “It’s a longway to Tipperary. It’s a long way to go.”
The Lark was now flying straight away from the sun. The dive-bomber’spilot had not seen him. He was circling like a gull preparing for asudden dive when the Lark came straight at him. Not troubling to get onhis tail, the brave young defender of his home town let out a burst offire, then went swooping past him.
An answering burst rattled against the Lark’s plane but did no harm.Banking sharply, the Lark came up beneath the bomber, stood his Spitfireon its tail, let out a second burst, then gripping his emergency leverhe thundered out from under and away.
He was not a second too soon. The bomber heeled over to rocket towardthe earth. It burst into flames then blew up with such force that Dave,some distance away, was set into a spin and barely escaped a crash.
Once more singing Tipperary, The Lark led the way home. After a time hebroke off to shout:
“The small boys of my home town will be hunting souvenirs from thatbomber for weeks to come. Oh, boy! How I wish I was a child again, justfor tonight.”
When there was time off Dave enjoyed striding Brand’s bike and ridingaway to the Hideout. It was good to drop back into the old, quiet,nearly normal life. Alice and Cherry were there and sometimes thechildren. Cherry seemed to take her trip to America very quietly, as amatter of duty. She spent hours sitting by the fire asking Dave abouthis native land, but always in that quiet, matter-of-fact whisper ofhers. The children were vastly excited about the trip and eager to beaway.
At times Dave thought of the days to come when Alice would be alone withthe aged veteran and the dog, Flash. The thought troubled him a little.There were, he supposed, enemy spies about. He had come into contactwith one of these.
Ramsey Farm seemed to have been marked for destruction. He often askedhimself why. A prisoner of war had once worked here. He had been treatedwith kindness and as an equal. Why should he have gone away embittered?“Twisted sort of mind, I suppose,” was his final conclusion.
Had this spy, Nicholas Schlitz brought destruction upon himself thatnight by the castle, or was he still prowling about? This questionneeded answering.
Late one afternoon he rode over to the castle. Coming upon a workman whocared for the castle grounds, he stated his problem.
“Perhaps this will answer your question,” the man said simply. He heldout a metal disc. There was a name and number on the disc.
“Tom and I found it two days after the bombing,” the man said. “Therewas more to it than that, but I needn’t trouble you with the details.Tom and I, we figured it all out and reckoned the least said soonestmended.
“We reported this ’ere business to the proper authorities, sir,” he wenton. “It’s all in order, sir. We should have turned the tag in atheadquarters. You’ll be doin’ us a service if you’ll attend to that forus, sir.
“And,” he added after a moment, “you’ll put in a few words ofexplanation. Words come handier to you than they does to Tom and me. I’ma thinkin�
�� you know the details.”
“I shouldn’t wonder.” Dave spoke slowly. “Thanks a lot. I’ll feel betterabout Alice being over at the Hideout with only old Jock and the dog toprotect her.”
“No doubt of that, sir,” the man agreed as they parted.
War, Dave thought, was strange.