Defiant Heart (21 page)

Ben looked at him thoughtfully. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there might be a young lady involved.”

Jon felt his face flush.

Ben gave a knowing nod. “And who might this lucky young lady be?”

“Mary Dahlgren,” Jon said.

“Jim Dahlgren’s little girl? Boy, I haven’t see her since she was,” he thought for a moment, then put a hand out about three feet above the ground, “here.”

He thought about it further. “I knew her mother, though. She was a beautiful woman. If her daughter takes after her at all, you’re a lucky man.”

Ben reached over to the bench, grabbed a pair of boxing gloves and tossed them to Jon. “You can give me the details later.”

As they did on occasion, Ben and Jon sparred at half speed. It was an exercise Ben used to demonstrate punch combinations and footwork. Throughout, Ben kept up a running commentary.

“Step forward on the jab. Use your rear leg like a spring. Extend, extend. Good. Quick snap back and cover.”

They circled around the “ring,” which was really just a corner of the hangar Ben had cleared of equipment.

“Ok,” Ben said, “Now I step in with a jab,” and he put his left hand out, “and come immediately with the right like this.” He brought his right hand over, pivoting slightly.

“That would be a mistake.”

“Show me why.”

“I slip the jab,” Jon said, moving his head slightly. “Then I block the right.” Jon wedged his right elbow against his chest, catching the punch with his hand. “Your elbow has dropped, and I can come over the top with a left hook.”

“Excellent,” said Ben, drawing back and reestablishing his stance. He tapped his chest with both gloves. “Eyes here. See my whole body. Anticipate what I’m going to do next. If I’m not careful, I tip off my next move. If you’re looking up at my face, you won’t see it.”

Ben rotated and came in with a straight right. Jon rolled with the punch and looked for the combination. Ben came back immediately with another straight right. Jon was almost fooled. The counter he was going to throw would have rendered him badly exposed to a hard left. Instead, he rotated and danced away.

“Good move,” Ben said. “You don’t want to press if you’ve lost the advantage.”

Jon stepped in with a left-right combination. Ben parried and counterpunched, landing a decent shot to Jon’s body. Jon had steeled himself for it, however, and he took advantage of the momentary opening to tap Ben on the head with what would have been a deadly right cross at full speed.

Ben stepped back, smiling. “Where did that come from?”

Jon smiled in response and tapped his chest with his gloves. “Eyes here.”

Ben laughed. “All right, smart guy.”

Suddenly, Ben stepped back, looking alert, his eyes focused nowhere in particular. He tilted his head. Taking the end of one of his glove laces in his teeth and pulling quickly, he said, “Let’s go,” and strode rapidly to the door. Jon followed, also loosening his laces.

When he stepped outside, Jon realized what it was Ben had heard. It was a distant rumble. Jon’s initial thought was that it might be a large truck.

Ben started walking toward the field, his head up, his eyes now looking eastward.

The rumble was more distinct now, more of a throaty roar. Certainly not a truck.

Then it was upon them. Above the trees lining the east end of the field, an aircraft flying at a jaw-dropping rate of speed appeared, just barely clearing the top branches. It came whipping straight over the field at a height of no more than a hundred feet, accompanied by a sound louder than anything Jon had ever heard before. And then it was gone, the roar fading, though not completely. In the distance, Jon could still hear the thrum of its engine.

Jon had only had a couple of seconds to observe it. It was a single wing aircraft, the wing set below the fuselage. The propeller was encased in a nose cone that came to a sharp point at the front. Immediately behind and below the propeller was what appeared to be a large air scoop. The fuselage tapered back from that point to a slightly rounded tail. The cockpit was set well back along the fuselage, glass surrounding the pilot everywhere but immediately behind him, the top of the glass blending into the top of the fuselage aft of the cockpit. It gave the craft a sleek, modern look. The plane was painted an olive green. Stenciled on the side of the fuselage behind the cockpit was a large white five-sided star inside a blue circle, the ends of a white bar extending out from either side of the circle. Jon knew it was a military aircraft.

They both stood there a moment, listening to the distant sound of the engine. Then Ben pointed to the south. “There,” he said. “I’ll be damned. He’s going to try to land it here.”

“I wonder who it is.”

Ben grunted, and Jon looked at him. Something about Ben’s expression struck Jon. “You think you know who it is?”

Ben nodded. “I have an idea. Part of me says I hope I’m right. Part of me says I hope I’m wrong.”

Surprised, Jon turned back and scanned the sky for a sight of the aircraft. “Do you think he’ll be able to land it here?”

“If it’s who I think it is, yep.”

After another minute, the sound began to increase again, though, this time, when the plane appeared above the tree line, it was traveling much slower. Landing gear had appeared below each wing, Jon only now realizing he’d seen no undercarriage on the plane as it had passed by initially.

The plane dropped quickly, flaring at the last moment, and settling gracefully onto the field, the two front wheels and a small wheel below the tail making contact at the same moment. It bumped along the surface until it was near the far end, turned and taxied back to a spot just beyond the open area between the hangar and Ben’s house, stopping about fifty feet from where Ben and Jon stood.

The pilot shut the engine down, and a relative silence descended. A portion of the cockpit glass slid back, and a figure appeared, standing, then gripping the frame of the cockpit canopy and easily swinging his legs up and over the edge of the fuselage, landing for a moment on the back of the wing, then jumping to the ground. He was wearing khaki trousers and a dark brown jacket. On his head was a light brown fabric helmet that bulged at the ears. A pair of goggles had been pushed back onto his forehead.

He came jogging toward them, and Ben stepped forward. When the pilot reached Ben, he threw his arms around him, and Ben reciprocated with a bear hug. They stayed that way for several seconds. When they stepped back, both appeared to have moist eyes.

“Good to see you, Pop,” the pilot said, slipping the helmet off of his head and revealing a mop of wavy black hair.

Ben took a deep breath. “I’m happy to see you, too, Tommie. But, I’m also a little concerned.” He pointed to the plane. “Something tells me the army didn’t order you to land here.”

Tommie grinned, revealing a set of even, white teeth. “You’re right about that. They’re expecting me at Chanute Field, where I’m supposed to refuel in,” he consulted a watch on his wrist, “thirty-two minutes.”

“Chanute? Over in Rantoul?”

Tommie nodded.

“If you hadn’t stopped to land here, you’d be there by now.”

“Yep,” said Tommie, “I hightailed it from Buffalo. Got off a little early and kept the throttle open the whole way. I figured, when the army told me to fly practically right over this place, it was really telling me to stop in and see my pop. Who, by the way, I haven’t seen in almost a year. You remember how the army works, right?”

Ben shook his head, but he was smiling.

Tommie seemed to notice Jon for the first time. “Tommie Wheeler,” he said, putting out a hand.

Jon stepped forward and shook his hand. “Jon. Jon Meyer.”

Tommie nodded toward the boxing gloves that Jon had forgotten he was still holding. “I see my pop is teaching you how to box. Has he shown you the Widowmaker yet?”

Jon looked at Ben, who laughed. “Not yet. We’ll get to that soon enough.”

Tommie adopted a boxing stance, moved his fists side to side for a moment, then threw a big overhand right at no one in particular.

“You tipped it off,” Ben said, and this time it was Tommie’s turn to laugh.

“You know, Pop, I really need to hit the head. I’ll bet you’ve got some cold milk in the fridge. Why don’t we sit down for a few minutes and catch up.” He put his arm around Ben’s shoulder, and the two of them started walking toward the house.

Jon was unsure what to do, but Ben looked back and jerked his head in the direction of the house, indicating he should follow.

Ben had poured three glasses of milk, and he and Jon were sitting at the kitchen table when Tommie came in and sat down.

“So tell me, Tommie,” Ben said, “what’s the army got you doing now?”

“Right now,” Tommie said, taking a sip of milk, “I’m a glorified truck driver. That P-40 you see out there just came off the line in Buffalo. I’m taking it to Los Angeles. From there, I understand it’s on its way to China or someplace like that.”

“You’re not going with it?”

Tommie shook his head. “Nope. Like I said, glorified truck driver.”

Ben seemed relieved. “Well, I can think of worse things.”

“I know, Pop,” said Tommie. He looked at the table and absently ran his fingers along the grain of the wood. Then he looked up. “The thing is, there’s a war going on. I can’t just be ferrying planes around the country. Heck, the army’s starting to train women to do that.”

Ben spread his palms. “If I recall correctly, the army doesn’t usually ask you what you want to do. It tells you what you’re going to do.”

Nodding, Tommie said, “That’s right. It hasn’t changed much. But,” he leaned forward, his face animated, “they’re pretty desperate right now to fill aircrews for the European bombing campaign. Heavy bombers. B-17s and B-24s. They’ve been asking for volunteers. It’s a quick ticket to the show.”

Ben frowned. “Why would you want to fly one of those if you can strap yourself to something like that fighter out there?”

“Because it’s the only way I’m guaranteed to get into the mix. I want to get there before it’s all over.”

Ben expelled a breath. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Tommie. This war isn’t going to be over any time soon. Maybe you should just let the army use your skills the way they see fit.”

“Too late,” Tommie said. “When I get to L.A., I’ve got orders sending me up to Idaho. I start training in a week.”

Ben was quiet for a long time. Tommie broke the silence by turning to Jon. “Have you been flying?”

Jon nodded. “I have, yes. In the Jenny.”

“Figured. I saw the picture in the cabinet.” It was a picture Ben had taken just after Jon had soloed for the first time. Ben had set his camera on a tripod and snapped it using a remote cord. They both had broad smiles on their faces. Ben had his arm around Jon’s shoulder.

“Jon took right to it,” Ben said. “I let him land the Jenny the first time he went up.”

“Really?” Tommie said, looking impressed. “Had you ever been flying before?”

“No, sir.”

Tommie arched his eyebrows and looked at Ben. “A natural, huh?”

Ben nodded.

Tommie returned his attention to Jon. “Meyer. I don’t remember that name. Are you new to the area?”

“Yes, sir. I came this past summer to live with my grandmother.”

“Jon’s parents passed away,” Ben added. “His mother was Claire Wilson, Marvella’s daughter.”

“Huh,” Tommie said, “I didn’t know Mrs. Wilson even had any kids. Sorry to hear about your folks Jon.”

Jon nodded. “Thanks.”

Tommie looked at Ben. His expression became somber. “Pop, don’t worry about me. I’m going to be fine.”

Ben said nothing, but he nodded.

Pushing himself up from the table, Tommie said, “I’d better get going before the army realizes they’re short a pilot. And, worse, a plane.”

The three of them walked out to a spot a few feet from the aircraft Jon now knew was a P-40. Tommie turned to Ben, and they embraced, holding it for a long moment. Stepping back, Tommie wiped his eyes with his sleeve and walked to the plane. He had a foot up on the wing when he stepped back, pointed to Jon and motioned him over.

Jon jogged over to where Tommie stood. Tommie reached out his hand, and Jon took it. “Jon, it was a pleasure meeting you. You know,” he added, “my pop is a really good judge of character, and he obviously thinks a lot of you.”

He reached over with his left hand and put it on Jon’s shoulder. Squeezing both hands at the same time, he said, “Be well. And look after my pop, ok?”

“Yes sir.”

Jon and Ben stood together and watched as Tommie fired up the engine and went through a quick check of the control surfaces. He taxied out to a point near the tree line, ran the engine to maximum revolutions, and then, releasing the brakes, he sent the aircraft hurtling down the field and into the air. In a matter of a few seconds, it was gone, the sound receding to nothing.

Ben stood very still for a long time, and Jon waited patiently.

Finally, Ben turned and put a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I’d say maybe it’s time I showed you the old Widowmaker. What do you think?”

Jon nodded, and together they walked back to the hangar.

#

Jon told his grandmother he would not be eating dinner with her that evening. She assumed he would be eating with Ben, and he said nothing to correct that misimpression. He and Mary drove to Ridley in the late afternoon. It was the first time in seven months Jon had been anywhere with traffic signals and street lights.

They had dinner at a restaurant Mary knew. She had to convince Jon it was ok for her to pay, finally sealing the deal when she noted the money was an allowance from her father, and, in reality, her father was treating them to the meal, something Mary felt he owed Jon many times over.

After dinner, they walked to the Orpheum to see
Babes on Broadway
with Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland. They shared popcorn and held hands through the entire movie.

Jon drove back, and, just before they reached Jackson, he pulled off the road to retrieve his bike from the rear of the car. With the front wheel re-attached, he stood and faced Mary. She looked up at him, reflections of the moon sparkling in her eyes. It was a still night. No breeze ruffled the tree branches, and Jon could hear no sound other than the muffled pounding of his own heart.