Valors way, p.2
Valor's Way, page 2
The sun was warm on Talbot's face as he sat on the ground leaning back against the building. Behind closed eyes, he replayed the flight over and over again.
"So, John, what's it feel like to have two confirmed kills?" Swanson asked.
"Relief more than anything. Better them than me, I guess some would say. Don't forget it hasn't been confirmed yet. It isn't official."
"If you say you shot them down, I believe you."
"I was lucky, that's all. I had no idea what I was doing."
"Looks like there's going to be war after all," Wallace said.
"There was always going to be one. It was just a matter of when," Talbot answered.
"How do you figure?" Swanson asked.
"The Huns invaded Polanie and no one declared war. The other governments just appeased them. Then they took over Belgae and Nederland. King William protested, but the other countries still insisted on appeasement. When the Huns invaded Gaul, we offered to help, but were told to piss-off. They said they had the biggest and best army. It was also bloody obsolete and practically useless."
"So that leaves us, Norge across the North Sea, a few perennial neutral countries, and eastern Europa still free," Swanson added.
"It was only a matter of time before we were attacked. Just a matter of time. . .."
Flight Sergeant Logan walked up and looked them over. "All right, you lot! Lunch is being served, and we aren’t bringing it to you on silver trays by beautiful serving wenches. Explorer Talbot, your claim of shooting down two Me109s has been confirmed by Air Intelligence. May I be the first to congratulate you on a job well done."
The gathered Air Explorers added their congratulations, each one shaking Talbot's hand or giving him a pat on the back.
Well, my moment of glory is over. Back to just being me and fading into the woodwork.
Later, Prescott, the fourth member of Red Flight, looked up from his meal. "I'm sure the people in government have planned on just what to do if the Huns attacked us."
Fateful decisions
"Your majesty, Marshal of the Flying Corps, Lord Greer is here as you requested."
"Thank you, Ryan. Please show him in." King William the 10th, of Albion, looked every bit what storybooks said a monarch should look like. He was tall, trim, and ruggedly handsome. His mustache and hair were impeccable, as were his manners. He possessed a mind capable of remembering the smallest detail and able to change ideas or plans at a moments notice. This was one of those times.
Ryan, the king’s secretary, held the door open for a tall, broad-shouldered, imposing figure dressed in the blue-gray Royal Flying Corps uniform. The figure walked to within ten feet of the king, bowed and said, "Your majesty."
"Thank you for coming early. Please sit down."
"Actually your majesty, I would prefer to stand for the moment."
"This must be worse than I thought. All right, how did this happen? I thought we possessed low-level radar?"
"At the moment, only mid- to high-level, your majesty. The low-level stations won’t be fully operational for another two days."
"We have to wait two more days?"
"If it wasn’t for today, it would be a fortnight. Standing patrols are being flown and the stations along the southeast coast will be operational by noon tomorrow."
"Do we know if the Huns were aware of this and attacked before we could detect their approach?"
"We're looking into it, your majesty. At the moment it appears it was just a coincidence."
"How bad is the damage?" King William asked as he sat behind his desk. He motioned for Lord Greer to sit.
"Lympne, Hawkinge, and Ford will be out of operational use until tomorrow. We lost forty aircraft on the ground." Greer settled into a high-backed leather chair.
The king looked out the window for a moment. "The Foreign Office informs me that, Chancellor Metz said this was a warning. He demands a free hand in the rest of Europa without any political or military interference from us. He's giving us a few days to think it over. If we do not give him the answer he wants, then he will take it as a declaration of war. He's intent on building his new Hunnic Empire, his Third Reich."
"At least he's giving us time to finish the radar installations," Greer replied dryly.
"True, but we need to do more than that in the next two days," the king noted with a wry smile.
"We have the aircraft, your majesty. Production has been at expected levels, but we are short of pilots."
"How short?"
"Critical."
"Why? Aren't the training schools busy?"
"General mobilization was never called, Sire. There was no increase in the number of pilots being trained."
"No mobilization is my fault. I listened to certain advisors who said it would look like an act of provocation to the Huns. All we've done is follow a policy of appeasement and look where it's taken us. Chamberlain has stepped down as Prime Minister and I've asked Churchill to take the position. He's accepted."
"I believe he'll be good in that position, Sire. There is one other matter I wish to discuss with your majesty."
"What is it?"
"We've discussed this on the Air Staff and believe it to be a viable plan. I don't like the idea, but I accept it, and see no other choice with the current pilot shortage."
The king studied the man sitting before him for some hint as to what he was getting at.
Greer continued. "We believe we need to make the Air Explorer units operational squadrons. They're already flight trained and can receive a short course in combat flying. They would go to the training airfields in the midlands and the north. Afterwards, some units would stay there to release more experienced units to come south."
King William rose and walked to one of the many bookcases lining the walls of his study. After a minute he turned and looked at his long-time friend. "I founded the Air Explorers four years ago, as you will remember. I will not let them be used as cannon fodder. You must realize that."
"That was never our intention, your majesty. We need every pilot."
"If you feel this must be done, then so be it. But we must give the parents some say in the matter. We can't just take away their sons and say it's for the good of king and country. I also do not want anyone below the age of seventeen to fly in combat."
"We will be asking the parents first, and if they agree, then we would ask the Explorers. It will be completely voluntary. Fourteen and fifteen-year-olds are exempt from this program, sixteen-year-olds will only be assigned to non-combat flying positions."
"Have the necessary papers drawn up and I'll sign them."
"Your majesty—please don't think I'm being presumptuous, but I have the order already written up. All it requires is your signature and the royal seal."
"Yes, we must act with all due speed," the king replied with a resigned air.
Greer removed a piece of paper from the folder he carried under his arm and laid it on the desk before the king.
Reading the document, the king signed his name, then removed a small wax-stick from a desk drawer. Lighting the wick, drops of the crimson wax fell upon the paper's bottom, forming a small blood-red circle. He removed his ring and pressed it into the hot wax. The paper was now a royal decree.
"Did the Huns lose any aircraft in the attacks?"
"An Air Explorer flight from 5 Squadron ran into the Lympne attack. One of them was flying a Gladiator being returned to its squadron. He somehow managed to destroy two of their fighters. None of the Explorers were hurt."
"I'm glad to hear they're safe. If an untrained Air Explorer shot down two Hun fighters, then you can only wonder what will happen after they receive their training. Unless there's something else, I need some time before our next meeting. I'll see you again in twenty minutes. I'm sure the heads of the Army and Navy will be on time for once. Winston will also be in attendance and I'll need to meet with him first, in private, to inform him about the decree." "Thank you, your majesty." Greer bowed and left the room.
The king walked to the window and watched the palace guards walking their rounds. Their bright red tunics already replaced by brown drab.
"I pray my people don't think me a monster for what I've just agreed to."
#
The Royal Flying Corps officer pulled to the curb and shut off the car's engine. He exited the Austin then rechecked his list for the house number. Without another thought he returned the paper to his pocket before walking over to the small row house. Muddy-brown in color, it looked the same as every other house lining the street. Brightly painted doors and window trim provided color for the otherwise monotone area. Fighting the drabness, as well, were impeccably kept window boxes on every ground floor front window. He walked up to the dark green door and rang the bell. A short, stout woman answered the door and gave a small gasp.
"Mrs. Talbot, I'm Flight Lieutenant Philip Newton. Let me assure you, your son John is fine. However, there is a matter I would like to discuss with you and your husband."
"Who is it then, mother?" A slightly built, dark-haired man walked down the hallway stairs.
"James, there's a flying corps officer here and he wants to talk to us about John."
"Good evening, Mr. Talbot." Newton extended his hand.
"Must be something important, what with everything that's going on," Mr. Talbot said as he shook the offered hand. "Let's talk in the parlor."
Newton followed Mrs. Talbot into a small room off the hallway, as Mr. Talbot closed the front door.
"Would you like a cup of chai?" Mrs. Talbot asked.
"Thank you, no," Newton answered as he sat in a wingback chair.
"Does this have anything to do with today's attacks?" Mr. Talbot asked.
"Yes, it does, Mr. Talbot," he replied "What I have to ask you is rather out of the ordinary. The Royal Flying Corps would like this conversation to stay private. We are currently in need of pilots, and as John is only seventeen, we would like your permission for him to join the Royal Flying Corps. If you say no, he'll be home tomorrow. If you say yes, then he'll be home tomorrow for a few hours before leaving for training."
"Is there going to be a war?" Mr. Talbot asked.
This was his fourth visit to ask a parent's permission and the fourth time asked the same question.
"Yes, I'm afraid so. The Huns attacked us without a declaration of war and we must defend ourselves. If you wish, I can step outside while you and your wife discuss this."
He watched Mr. Talbot look at his wife and her nod slowly.
"That won't be necessary. If he's needed, than I say all right," Mr. Talbot replied.
Mrs. Talbot sat for a minute, then said, "Indeed, if he's needed." She reached over and took her husband's hand in hers.
"If John also agrees, he'll be home by tomorrow afternoon, but he'll need to return to his station by midnight. I need to ask both of you to sign this paper giving your son permission to enlist." He handed Mr. Talbot the form and a pen and watched as they signed. He returned the paper and the pen to his briefcase and stood up. "I do apologize for the abruptness, but I have several more visits to make. Thank you for your hospitality." He shook hands with both of them. "I wish we could have met under pleasanter circumstances. I can show myself out."
John Talbot’s parents sat on the couch for the next hour and stared off into the distance. Dinner forgotten, neither one said a word, they just held hands.
#
"All right! Wakey, Wakey! Everyone washed, dressed, and in formation outside in fifteen minutes," Logan announced.
The Mess was full of people, more than the usual number for breakfast. All of them were engaged in animated conversations of some matter or another. Talbot picked up bits here and there as the general topic was yesterday's attacks.
"Any idea what's planned for us?" Swanson asked.
"Don't know. But, I have a feeling it's something big," Wallace answered.
"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," Talbot replied. The Explorers ate in silence, no one knowing quite what to say. Yesterday morning's and last week's topics now seemed trivial. They were given a leisurely thirty minutes to eat before forming up outside.
The station commander walked over to the formation as Logan called them to attention.
"Stand easy—in fact, gather 'round lads—I have something to discuss with all of you." The station commander waited as the Air Explorers moved closer. "As you’ve probably guessed, there’s going to be a war. The Hunnic Chancellor, Gustav Metz, has given us an ultimatum we will refuse to accept. The Flying Corps is in need of pilots and by request of the Air Ministry and King William, the sixteen and seventeen-year-olds are being asked to join the Royal Flying Corps."
A murmur passed through the gathered Air explorers.
"Because of your ages, officers visited your parents yesterday to secure their permission." The station commander paused. "They all said yes, but the final decision is yours. If anyone wishes to not be a pilot, see Flight Sergeant Logan or myself after you're dismissed. The decision is yours, so take some time to think it over, but not too long. We will start filling out paperwork in thirty minutes, at which time you can enter the Mess and see one of the clerks. Your country needs you and wouldn't ask this unless it was necessary. Those enlisting will be given leave to go home, tie up any loose ends, and say their good-byes. If you're not back by midnight, we will take it as a sign you've changed your mind. Any questions? Good, fall back into formation."
Logan looked over the assembled Air Explorers. "Squadron—attention! Fourteen and fifteen-year-olds, report back to the barracks, please. Squadron—dis—missed!"
The explorers broke ranks and started milling about. The group thinned out as a large number of them returned to the barracks.
Well John, what's it to be? You love flying. Do you want to chauffeur people around in some multi-engine bus or maybe cart freight from one point to another? Fly a bomber and be responsible for getting other people home from some mission? You love being alone in that cockpit. So it's not a question of being a pilot or not, it's what kind.
His decision made, he turned and collided with Terry Swanson. Being twenty pounds lighter, the result was like running into a wall. Swanson grabbed his arm to keep him from falling.
"Sorry, John. I guess I need to watch where I'm walking. So, what do you think? Are you going to do it?" Swanson absent-mindedly scratched his light-brown hair.
I can always tell when Terry has something important on his mind. He scratches his head. I wonder if he even knows he's doing it?
"I think my decision was made yesterday. What about you?"
Swanson shrugged. "Might as well, my father says I need to learn a trade. Besides, I can’t see myself sitting in a foxhole, and I don't relish the idea of being seasick."
All twelve of the remaining Air Explorers agreed to enlist, but only eight for fighters. After the forms were filled out, they were instructed to be back by midnight.
"You live in Farnham. Right, John?" Swanson asked.
"Yes, I usually take the train, sometimes the bus."
"I have a car coming. I can give you a lift if you'd like?"
Talbot nodded, and went to get his bag. A short time later a large car pulled up by the front gate where they were waiting.
Swanson smiled as they got in. "My father's well off, but I try not to take advantage of it. Sometimes it comes in handy though. Do you need a ride tonight?"
"I can take the train."
"I'll pick you up. I insist."
"Then ring me up by eight, in case you change your mind. That way I'll have time to return by midnight." Talbot gave the driver directions and sat back to enjoy the ride. His family didn't own a car and riding in one was always a luxury.
The Bentley made quick progress and it wasn't long before they pulled up in front of his house.
As he got out, Swanson looked at him. "Just do me one favor. I want to be your wingman. Think it over and let me know."
"Make sure you’re here in time and you have a deal." Talbot scribbled his telephone number on a scrap of paper from his bag, then handed it to Swanson. "Here's my number."
Was the ride a bribe? We haven't even been sworn in yet? He liked Swanson and got along with him, though at times his off-hand comments would tread on thin ice.
Opening his front door, he took in the surroundings for a minute. The flower-pattern wallpaper in the hallway, the white-painted wood trim, and the dark-stained wood floor all greeted him as they had for years. As he closed the door, Max, the family’s black and white cat, greeted him in the usual manner. A dash from ambush position then two front paws wrapped around a leg as Max pretended to bite him.
"Yes, I'm happy to see you, too." A scratch on the head and the cat meowed before running off.
Tonight he’d be sleeping next to me, if I were here.
"John, you’re home, thank God." His mother walked into the hall and rushed over to hug him. "I’ll just ring up your father’s work and tell him you’re home. I’m fixing your favorite dinner, Steak and Mushroom Pie. Are you hungry? I can make you something quick?" She was starting to talk faster.
"Mum, just relax and take some deep breaths."
She stopped and appeared embarrassed by her verbal explosion. "Sorry, I’m just a little upset right now. My son is going away and. . .."
"Yes, I’m going away for a little bit and then I’ll be home again. Now go ring up Dad." He knew she was close to tears. "Go and ring up Dad," he said softly.
As she went to the telephone, he went upstairs to his room and looked around at what used to be his whole world, his sanctuary, his quiet place. Max followed and sat on the bed watching him. Picking a few items from his chest of drawers, he placed them in his bag. "Looks like you’ll need to find someone else to sleep with for a while." Max meowed back.
Sitting on his bed, Talbot stared out the window at the passing clouds. For the first time in the past two days he let his mind go blank. No decisions needed to be made. The only thing he needed to think about at the moment was rubbing someone's ears. He also knew this was the last time in his life when he could ignore the rest of the world.
