Per aspera ad astra, p.30
Per Aspera Ad Astra, page 30
“I…thank you, sir,” Thomas replied, taken aback by the generous tip and hastily stuffing it in his pocket. “The keys are in the ignition, as it were.”
“You’re very welcome,” Richard said, sitting. “You’ll stay for breakfast, at least? Ben’s agreed to fly you to York; you can take the express train the rest of the way home.”
Ben smiled at Emma’s bemused expression. “Yep,” he said, sporting a cocky smile. “I’m looking forward to flying something a bit more modern than Misty, for a change. A 2006 Socata TB-21 Trinidad GT, in fact.”
“She’s a beauty,” Richard added, smiling benevolently. “I actually bought her two weeks ago. Thomas’s father was her previous owner, and he agreed to ferry us here for an additional fee.”
“It sounds like you’ve been quite busy,” Emma said briskly, moving into the kitchen. “I’ll just prepare a little something for the poor young man, since you’ve already eaten.”
“Thanks, Em,” Ben called after her.
The young Londoner tucked into his dish of bangers and mash in silence as Emma, Ben, Renée and Richard sat around the table, enjoying the morning air filtering through the windows. While she didn’t know what transpired during the night, it was clear it’d had a profound effect on her husband. Throughout the previous evening, she’d felt strain emanating from him in waves, as he wrestled with the enormity of the operation to come. Though he’d refrained from saying it, Emma had grown certain he was starting to doubt himself and his abilities—a fatal flaw for any fighter pilot. With their friends’ arrival, something vital had changed. She had a pretty good idea what that was, and felt immensely grateful. The mission she’d insisted on joining was extraordinarily dangerous; a first-year medical student could’ve seen it clear as day. But their presence, here and now, tempered some of the fear, rekindling her purpose and resolve. She reckoned Ben felt the same.
Once finished, Thomas thanked Emma and Ben for their hospitality, and Richard and Renée for the nighttime conversations before Ben, who’d nipped off to change, led him to the Trinidad. The noise of the engine briefly drowned out all else, but it soon faded as the sleek-looking aircraft roared down the grass strip and into the sky. Neither she, Renée nor Richard watched them go. Instead, as the quiet harmony of the North Country reasserted itself, the two visitors leaned into each other warmly.
“What about fuel?” Emma said. “We haven’t much to hand.”
“Renée took care of that,” Richard replied, waving away her concern. “It was quite simple for a woman of her talents.”
“So what brings you here, then?” Emma continued. “I must confess a fair bit of surprise, though I’m glad you two are getting on so well.”
“You remember Carl, my aide?” Richard said. Emma nodded, and he began describing the various plans he’d made over the last month and a half, and the circumstances of Renée’s arrival, hinting at the whirling emotional roller coaster ride that followed. “It’s curious,” he concluded, “that you and Ben both realized we’d agreed to get married.”
“Not really,” Renée said, stroking her fiancé’s spine. “There is a reason why I changed into this particular ensemble, during the stopover in New York.”
Emma smiled slyly. “Indeed,” she added. “You’ve no real idea the sort of culture you’re getting into. Everything I told you was the most basic veneer, a very incomplete primer that left much to be desired.”
“Ah, excellent!” Richard replied, clapping his hands and rubbing them in anticipation, grinning hugely. “Just what I need to make my twilight months that much more interesting—and entertaining!”
“Years,” Emma corrected with a soft giggle. “The amount of magical energy necessary to cure you was significant, and you’ve doubtless noticed some of the side effects. Given your lot in life, I’m glad to see you two will be spending this time together.”
“I hadn’t wanted to speculate,” Richard replied in an undertone, holding Renée close. “Now, as for your reward…”
He reached into the inner pocket of his blazer and withdrew a small, fat manila envelope. Placing it on the table, he pushed it across.
Blinking rapidly, recognizing what it must be, Emma picked it up. Peering inside, she slapped it on the table and stared accusingly at Richard. “Is this your idea of a joke?” she said, her cheeks burning. “I…what in the world are we supposed to do with all that money?”
“You agreed to a token payment,” Richard replied, his gaze steady in the face of Emma’s reaction. “To a man in my position, and given the scope of the services rendered, a million pounds is just that. Sadly, due to certain baroque laws and regulations, I’m only able to present this partial amount. The rest will be delivered similarly and in due time, all perfectly aboveboard, with all taxes and fees paid.” He shrugged. “Besides, Ben’s told us of your far greater need.”
Emma shook her head in disbelief, her heart swelling once more. She had to fight back tears as Richard continued to regard her, a glint of steely resolve in his eyes. “I don’t know what to say,” she said, her voice husky. “Renée, what do you think of all this?”
The flaxen-haired woman nodded. “I will go where Richard goes,” she said, with diamond hard resolve of her own. “Long have I known the tales, and now that he knows what we face as well, I will do whatever it takes to help him, Benjamin, and you to see this battle through to the end.” She paused, her brown eyes locking on Emma’s as she brandished her wand. “You once told me, a long time ago, that you swore by the Code never to use magic to do harm. I, however, am under no such restrictions.”
A chilling sensation, like falling into a tank of icy water, shot through her as the cold fury of Renée’s words enveloped her. I was right, Emma thought, the full force of what they must’ve discussed hitting home. Of course he would’ve told his oldest surviving friend of his troubles, despite being reluctant to share them with me. She didn’t blame him; men had to deal with such thoughts and feelings in their own way, without wifely assistance. Such had happened once before, decades ago when the economy was at its worst ebb since the Great Depression, so she was no stranger to this fact of life. A Resistance fighter in a bygone era, she knew what Renée was capable of.
“Take the money and put it someplace safe,” Richard said encouragingly. “If Ben’s right, you may need it when all is said and done.”
Emma could only sit there and stare at the packet of cash, the clock in the kitchen ticking away as a gentle breeze wafted through the house. Finally, she was unable to stand the silence any longer. “Can you fly?”
Richard glanced at Renée, squeezing her shoulder. “It’ll take me a bit to get my aerial senses back, but I think so. It’s been a while, but that’s why I bought the Trinidad.”
“Good,” Emma said, standing and pushing her chair in, having come to a decision. “Please come along, both of you.”
Emboldened by her own assertiveness, she led Richard and Renée to the hangar, by way of the workshop. Once inside, she guided them past the Spitfire (the half-built plane drew both their gazes) to the yellow JN-4. “No better time to start, is there?” she said, indicating the ancient trainer. “Would you prefer the front seat, or the back?”
Richard’s eyes misted over as he reached out to pat the aircraft’s fuselage. “Ben told me about Sunshine so many times,” he said, his voice thick with awe and nostalgic wonder. “But I never thought I’d get to see her, let alone fly her. You’re certain he won’t mind?”
“It’s not on him to decide,” Emma said, her tone moderating. “She’s mine, actually. He gave her to me decades ago.”
“I see,” he replied after a beat, and Emma thought, perhaps, he truly did.
“I will take the back, if that is alright,” Renée said, stroking the aircraft as well. “I am familiar with the concept of the aerial gunner. Perhaps I might make a good…observer? Is that correct?”
Richard chortled. “Actually, on a trainer like this, the back seat’s for the instructor. Given the nature of our mission, I think your suggestion is far more appropriate.”
This wasn’t the first time Ben had flown a TB-series aircraft. Not long before retiring from his instructor job, he was tasked with guiding the owner of a brand-new Tampico through the curriculum, including advanced IFR and blind navigation. The Frenchman was an eager if impulsive student, prone to flights of fancy—he’d claimed to be the son of a flying ace—but Ben got him through with decent marks. All the while he’d kept his own status as a quadruple ace mum, the irony of the situation easily making up for the young man’s more annoying quirks. The Trinidad he now flew was very much the same; she and Sunshine had broadly similar performance profiles. Returning to the air after ensuring Thomas boarded the train to London, Ben took great delight in putting the plane through her paces, once he’d cleared the airspace around York. Much faster than Misty, she wasn’t as agile, and he had to coax her into performing anything more complex than aileron turns.
Understandable enough, he thought as he neared the Moors. She wasn’t designed to be an acrobat. The view was gorgeous, and spoke of one advantage the Trinidad had over his old Stearman since, safe from the wind, he could take in much more of the vast panorama. All in all, she was an excellent little bird that would serve his friend well in the years to come. Maybe he’ll let me splash some color on her…
Ben was feeling a lot better as he continued north toward home; Dick and Renée couldn’t have timed their arrival more perfectly if they tried. He’d known she was a witch, of course, ever since Emma told him of the world she inhabited, and agreed Barty would’ve approved of his wife and friend finding solace in each other’s company. Seeing them together, acting like the married couple they’d soon become once all the legalities were settled, gave him a badly-needed dose of hope, enough that he’d felt comfortable sharing his burden with them.
On reflection, he shouldn’t have been surprised by their ready acceptance of his claims. Dick was a steady presence throughout some of the worst times of their lives, and Renée had survived for more than four years in the thick of one of the war’s uglier fronts. What was more, both volunteered to help in any way they could, well before he’d finished framing the request in his mind. By the time Emma joined them, he’d already run his plan past the retired major general and the former guerrilla operative. Both appreciated the simplicity and flexibility, agreeing that, if his hunch was right, it should work. Dick wasn’t exactly thrilled to learn his grandson would be participating in the battle—if it came to that—but he also felt a greater kinship with the younger pilot. For her part, Renée had begun delving into the one part of the plan Ben was less confident about.
Namely, what to do if the aliens succeeded in catching them.
Banishing the thought from his mind, Ben renewed the authority of his grip on the yoke, taking the Trinidad through a pair of split-S turns over the Moors before turning for home. With the family forest appearing on the horizon, he spotted a pinprick fluttering about the breeze over Thicket No. 2, which soon resolved into the shape of a yellow Jenny. “I see someone couldn’t wait to get their air legs back,” he said glibly over the radio. “How’s the weather out there?”
“Simply gorgeous,” Dick replied gleefully. “So how’s my new bird?”
“Well, she’s new,” Ben quipped. “But don’t that worry you.”
“Yes, Thomas let me take the controls for a bit during the flight up from London,” Dick said. “Though I’ll be the first to admit it was kind of a dumb idea. I hadn’t flown at night since the damn war.”
“IFR isn’t as difficult as it once was,” Ben replied, bringing the Trinidad into formation with Sunshine. He had to be careful, since the margin between the Jenny’s maximum airspeed and the TB’s stall speed was dangerously thin. “Modern instrumentation sees to that.”
“So I noticed,” Dick said, waggling Sunshine’s wings.
Ben looked over to see Renée sitting in the back seat, her head bobbing like a tom turkey as she scanned the skies with a giddy eagerness. The two locked eyes across the distance, and he returned her broad grin with a hearty thumbs up. “Why don’t we play some tag?”
“Sounds like fun,” Dick replied, and Sunshine banked away.
For the next half hour, the two planes tore up the skies over Thicket No. 2. The Jenny’s maneuvers became more and more loose and limber as Dick slowly but surely got his wings, while Ben took the Trinidad through as hard a course of aerobatics as he could muster without butting up against the edge of her flight envelope. Finally, with the unmodified plane running low on fuel, Ben called a halt to the fun and the two friends brought each other’s planes in for safe stops on the grassy lawn.
“So, what’re you going to call her?” Ben said fondly, as Renée helped Dick out of the front seat.
Jumping off the wing and enfolding her in a quick hug, Dick contemplated the thought for a moment before smiling wistfully. “I think Samantha would be an appropriate name, don’t you?”
“I do,” Renée replied warmly. “A fitting choice.”
“Samantha it is,” Ben said, nodding solemnly. He’d never met Dick’s late wife in person, though the two had conversed on occasion, and he’d seen photos. “Emma and I were planning to head down to Lakenheath right about now, but I’m sure the Air Force won’t mind waiting a day. I’d like to get my paints out and do her up proper, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Nodding gratefully, Dick wiped at his eyes. “Of course.”
“You’re doing fine,” Ben assured him as they entered the hangar. “That was a good landing for someone who hasn’t flown since the war, as you claim.”
Dick grimaced. “I may have flown a time or two since then,” he confessed. “But I never got my civilian license.”
Ben laughed at his friend’s faux discomfiture as Emma joined them. “Yeah, sure,” he said with a crooked grin. “By the way, there are a few things we can do about her range, as well as her performance.”
“Is that so?” Dick replied, cocking his brow.
“Indeed it is,” Emma said with a secretive smile of her own. “Let me tell you about the reactors we developed, to power Misty and Sunshine…”
His curiosity piqued, Dick considered it. “Now that you mention it, it does seem as though Sunshine runs a bit too smoothly.”
Gathering his art supplies, Ben dragged them out to the newly-christened plane. Using a pair of photos from Dick’s wallet as reference, he set to work after insisting no one peek until he’d finished. Meanwhile, Emma briefed their guests on how they kept their vehicles in such prime condition. Renée was quick on the uptake, and with help, Dick managed to keep up with the magical technobabble. As Ben continued to paint, his wife brought their guests inside for lunch; he was too far in the zone to eat. Finally, with the afternoon drawing to a close, a paint-speckled Ben called them out to pass judgment on his creation.
Dick could only stand there with a misty-eyed expression, speechless and spellbound as he looked upon the color bust of his lamented wife. It was painted on the port engine cowling of his new plane in the traditional spot, as befit any aircraft owned by a fighter pilot, along with his name and former rank directly beneath the pilot’s window in stylized script. Though painted as realistically as Ben knew how, the style was evocative of art from their heyday, complete with “Samantha” painted in far more elaborate and substantial lettering. Renée too looked upon the results with awe, her own eyes damp.
“It’s beautiful,” Emma breathed, tenderly squeezing her husband’s hand. “You’ve truly outdone yourself.”
“Thanks,” Ben said hoarsely, staring at his feet, cheeks crimson. “I had to make up for never having met her.”
“You’ve certainly done that,” Dick replied, his voice choked with emotion and memories as he accepted the borrowed photographs. “You’ve captured her essence, that vital spark in her eyes, magnificently.”
Chapter 21
Colonel Orlando “Florida” Silva (who was from Nevada) usually wouldn’t bother with the affairs of air traffic controllers. Not unless they’d screwed up by the numbers, causing loss of life or matériel. He was still new to the wing commander job, earning his rank eighteen months ago and being assigned to the Statue of Liberty Wing a month later. It was an interesting experience, due in no small part to the time he’d spent working the logistics side of air operations at the Pentagon. He was supported by three veteran squadron leaders, who’d each proved invaluable getting him up to speed after his enforced absence from the tactical and operational aspects. He was certainly glad to be flying again, though not as often as he’d have liked.
It was a mild Saturday morning, a thick overcast promising to keep temperatures reasonable, as he parked his car in the shadow of the squared-off red brick control tower. Exiting the Ford, he turned about to see that Hydro, commanding officer of the Madhatters, was waiting. Standing behind him and looking like lost puppies were a captain and first lieutenant who, if memory served, were still new to the unit. “I guess you got the memo,” he said, returning their salutes. “Will Chip and Dale be joining us soon?”
“They just went up top, sir,” Hydro replied crisply, referring to the COs of the other two squadrons. "I brought along the crew you requested.”
“Yes, Spitfire and Toner, thanks for coming,” Florida said, nodding to the two men as he marched on, his subordinates close on his heels. What he didn’t mention was the fact it wasn’t his idea to have the junior officers tagging along. All knew better than to ask questions, which was fine as far as he was concerned, since they’d see for themselves soon enough. Upon entering the large room at the tower summit, the duty officer and enlisted personnel shot to their feet. All fired off crisp salutes as they, along with LTCs Christopher “Chip” Willingham, CO of the 493rd Grim Reapers and Robert “Dale” Boyle of the 494th Panthers, bade him a unanimous good morning. Virtual twins, the two officers’ callsigns reflected their playful personalities and carefree natures. Both would act like caffeinated chipmunks when not engaged in serious business, which to them meant any situation in which they were actively trying to kill targets or stay alive in hostile skies.
