Defiant Heart (38 page)

The oil pressure in number four engine was getting close to critical. If they were to lose it, Jon’s plan was to buy as much altitude as possible with the last remaining engine, then order the crew to bail out. Unfortunately, after a few minutes, the fuel and oil temperature for number one engine began slowly creeping up, and he realized he soon might not even have that option.

Finally, Jon decided that, whether or not they were near the English coastline, he had to allow the altitude to increase. He began a slow climb.

Kovalesky’s voice came over the interphone. “Sweet mother of God, isn’t that a beautiful sight?”

Jon looked forward, and, sure enough, land appeared ahead of them. He breathed a huge sigh of relief. “All right,” he said, into the interphone, “let’s find a place to land.”

#

Wing Commander Douglas Townsend was studying a map laid out on the large table in the operations room when one of his orderlies stuck his head in and said, “Sir, you might want to come see this.”

Townsend set down the pencil with which he’d been making marks on the map and stepped over to the door. It led out to a viewing platform overlooking the landing field at Queen’s End. Several officers stood along the rail, many with binoculars, and they all had their heads raised, following an aircraft that was flying directly over the base.

All of the Mosquito bombers of Townsend’s No. 73 and No. 132 Squadrons were on the ground at the moment, though several would be flying sorties later that night. This plane was obviously not one of his.

He joined his adjutant at the rail and said, “What have we got, Mark?”

“An American B-17. It flew over at about five hundred feet and has now circled back. It’s very badly damaged.”

Townsend nodded. He’d had a couple of Yanks put down at Queen’s End in the past, planes unable to make it all the way back to their own bases. “Have you scrambled the emergency crew?”

The answer came in the form of a pair of fire suppression vehicles that suddenly appeared from across the field, heading for the end of the runway. They were joined a moment later by a couple of ambulances.

“May I?” Townsend asked, pointing to the binoculars in his adjutant’s hand. The junior officer immediately handed them to Townsend. The wing commander put the binoculars up to his eyes and adjusted the focus. “Badly damaged” was an understatement. The entire nose of the American bomber was gone, the fuselage ending just forward of the cockpit in a mangled mess of twisted steel. The plane was flying on the two outboard engines only, smoke trailing from one of them. Massive holes peppered both wings. He had no idea how the craft was still in the air.

As he watched, a parachute opened, then another. In all, he counted four ‘chutes. He wondered if that was all that remained of the crew, but realized after a moment there was still someone flying the plane as it banked and made a controlled turn. The pilot, he realized, was going to try to land the thing. A red flare appeared over the damaged aircraft.

Townsend lowered the binoculars for a moment. “He’s got wounded on board,” he said, to no one in particular. “That’s why he’s trying to bring the thing in. That’s one crazy Yank.” And one damn brave one, he said to himself.

He retrained the binoculars and noticed that the third engine had been shut down. The American was now trying to come in on only one engine. Then he noticed something else. Only the left landing gear had lowered. Where the other should have been, a loose piece of metal dangled uselessly below the right wing. What the American should do, he thought, was retract the gear and attempt a belly landing. Then he realized that, most likely, the American pilot couldn’t get the gear back up.

“This is not going to be pretty,” he said.

#

In the cockpit, Jon set the flaps. He’d finally had to feather number four and boost power to the one remaining engine to keep the bomber aloft. That engine was threatening to seize at any moment.

They’d tried to raise the left landing gear as soon as they realized the right gear was not extending. It had jammed, and, though Kovalesky had attempted to get it up manually with the crank, it simply wouldn’t budge. They’d have to set the plane down on the one wheel and then drop the right wing. It would take a miracle to survive the landing.

Jon had ordered the crew to bail out. Everyone but Kovalesky had jumped, and Kovalesky reported that, thankfully, four parachutes had opened. After checking again on Roth and Reyes, Kovalesky had climbed back into the pilot’s seat, explaining to Jon that, as the last functioning officer on board, he felt he had an obligation to help Jon get the plane down. He’d made it clear, though, that Jon was in charge.

As Ben had taught him to do, Jon noted landmarks as he came downwind in order to help himself line up on the runway. Now, as they approached the field, he went through the instructions one more time with Kovalesky.

“As soon as we touch down, pump the brakes. I’ll try to hold the wing up as long as I can. When I say ‘now,’ lock the brakes. Got it?”

Kovalesky nodded.

Jon forced himself to be calm. He imagined he was approaching Ben’s field. Easing back on the throttle, he allowed gravity to draw the plane down slowly. He kept the wings dead level. At the outside barrier, he shut down the number one engine. If they missed this landing, they would not be going back around.

In sudden eerie silence, broken only by the whistling of the wind passing through the opening at their feet, they crossed over the threshold of the runway. Jon eased back on the yoke, and the big bomber skimmed along the surface, finally settling onto its one wheel. Jon let the tail come down.

Kovalesky began pumping the brakes as Jon had instructed him to do. With all the concentration he could muster, Jon kept the wings level, as though he were still flying the plane. They were slowing, but not quickly enough to avoid running out of runway. Jon held the right wing elevated as long as he dared. Then he gradually allowed it to dip. With a grinding sound, it made contact with the surface of the runway.

“Now,” Jon said, and Kovalesky locked the brakes on the one usable landing gear. With a squeal of protest, the rubber slid along the tarmac. The tip of the wing acted as a fulcrum, and the heavy plane performed a slow languorous turn, pivoting majestically around the wing tip. The wheel dropped off the edge of the runway into the adjacent grass, and, with a last few creaks, the Deuces Wild slowly came to a stop.

There was dead silence.

Jon closed his eyes and let out the air that he’d been holding in his lungs. He was suddenly shaking, but, after a couple of deep breaths, he steadied himself.

He turned to look at Kovalesky. The man had his eyes closed, and Jon could see that he was also shaking. After a moment, Kovalesky opened his eyes and turned to look at Jon. A grin split his face, and he emitted a short laugh, almost like a cough. Suddenly, they both dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. It was as if someone had just told them the funniest joke they’d ever heard in their lives, and, for several seconds, they laughed so hard tears began running down their cheeks. The moment passed, and Jon drew in another deep breath, his chest shaking as he did.

He heard noise behind them, and, turning, saw a couple of men in coveralls bent over the bodies of Roth and Reyes. They appeared to know what they were doing, so Jon decided not to get in their way. He looked again at Kovalesky, who nodded solemnly. After a moment, Kovalesky held out his right hand. Jon took it, and they shook. Kovalesky did not seem to know what to say. Neither did Jon.

Jon looked back again to see that the men behind them were easing the body of Reyes out of the forward hatch. Roth’s had apparently already been taken. An officer in a blue uniform with three stripes on his epaulet appeared and climbed up into the area immediately behind the cockpit. The man’s eyes took in the blood splattered across the instruments and soaking the seats. He looked below the flight controls, where the ground was visible through a large hole. Finally, he whistled.

The officer turned to Kovalesky and said, in a clipped British accent, “Lieutenant, that was some of the finest flying I have ever seen in my life.”

Kovalesky nodded. “Got to agree with you there, sir. But don’t look at me.” He nodded toward Jon. “Sergeant Meyer flew this plane home and landed it.”

The officer stared at Jon with a shocked expression. After a moment, he put a hand out, and Jon took it. “Nicely done, sergeant,” he said.

16

Mary returned to her desk and took a seat. From one of the drawers, she retrieved two pieces of plain white paper and a sheet of carbon paper, arranged them, and set them behind the roller on her typewriter. She scrolled them through and gave the carriage return lever an efficient smack. Referring to the notes she’d just made on her pad, she began typing.

It was a busy Friday afternoon, but Mary was hoping to get away early, and her fingers flew on the keys.

Known as Wealdon Manor, the building in which Mary now sat had been constructed in the early nineteenth century by the seventh earl of Wealdon. It was a massive structure perched on the north bank of the Thames River, a short distance from the Tower of London. Having served variously as a royal residence, guest quarters for visiting dignitaries, and, during the Great War, a hospital, it was now headquarters to the British Home Defense Agency, a joint services group charged with coordinating and overseeing development and logistical support for all military installations in the British Isles.

Mary worked for the senior American officer assigned as liaison to the Department. She had been in England two weeks.

After completing the basic training course for enlistees in the Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps, Mary had been taken aside by her commanding officer and encouraged to enter the officer’s candidate school. When she learned that the school would involve an additional twelve weeks of training, she graciously declined, saying she felt an immediate need to apply herself to the war effort. When it became apparent to the officer that Mary was not to be dissuaded, she’d offered Mary her choice of assignments.

Mary had carefully reviewed the list of available postings, immediately rejecting all but the handful that involved assignment to England. The opportunity to work in the office of the American liaison to the Home Defense Agency had seemed, to Mary, to offer the best chance for finding Jon. It also had the benefit of having been tagged as a priority assignment, which meant Mary would be sent immediately, without any opportunity for leave following her training. That was perfectly fine with her. Mary’s insistence on getting to her post without further delay had impressed her commanding officer, and she’d approved Mary for the assignment.

In New York, Mary had boarded the RMS Queen Mary, an ocean liner from the Cunard White Star Line that had been converted to a troopship. The trip across the Atlantic took a week and was a surprisingly enjoyable experience. Mary was invited to dine with the captain the first night at sea, and he subsequently arranged for her to be a permanent guest at his table for the remainder of the voyage.

The ship docked in Gourock, Scotland, and, from there, Mary traveled by train to London, where she reported in at the headquarters of the European Theater of Operations, United States Army, at 20 Grosvenor Square. She was assigned a billet at the Staunton, a hotel in Mayfair that had been turned over to the U.S. Army shortly after the United States had entered the war. It had become the barracks for most of the women assigned to WAAC units throughout London. There Mary was reunited with Penny, who was working in the office of the Chief Surgeon for the U.S. Eighth Air Force.

It had taken Brigadier General Lloyd Kimbrough about a minute to review Mary’s personnel file and all of a five-minute interview to decide that Mary would be his new personal assistant. He’d immediately reassigned the sergeant who had been filling that role, and Mary was given the desk that looked down the former main reception hall, with the big windows to the right that afforded views out over the river, and she now sat typing up a memorandum General Kimbrough had dictated minutes before.

Mary liked her boss. In the two weeks she’d known him, he had never raised his voice, never spoken to anyone in a cross or mean fashion, and treated all with whom he came in contact with respect and courtesy. He was what she imagined a grandfather should be. He, in turn, seemed fond of her.

Mary had waited a week to get settled into her job before broaching the question of Jon’s whereabouts. General Kimbrough had arched an eyebrow. “This young man is important to you, I take it.”

Mary nodded, realizing her cheeks were flushed. General Kimbrough promised to make some inquiries, but warned her it might take some time to locate him.

After work today, she and Penny were planning to go to the Rainbow Corner, a service club in Piccadilly Circus operated by the Red Cross. Mary had overheard a few of the ladies raving about it and had finally convinced Penny that they should go. Penny would meet Mary here at Wealdon Manor after work. A few minutes before five, Mary glanced up to see Penny making her way through the crowd in the main hall. Penny’s uniform now sported the dual chevrons of a corporal.

“Are you able to get away?” Penny asked when she reached Mary’s desk.

Mary nodded. “I think so. Let me check with the boss.” She pulled the memorandum she’d just finished out of the typewriter, removed the carbon, and stood. “I’ll be right back.”

She tapped at the door to General Kimbrough’s office, then immediately walked in. He had made it clear that Mary did not need to wait to be invited. He read through the memo quickly, then said, “Perfect.”

He looked up at her. “That’s all I’ve got for now. I’m guessing you probably have someplace you’d like to be other than here on a Friday evening.”

Mary smiled and nodded toward the door. “My friend, Penny, has arrived. We’re planning to go to the Rainbow Corner. There’s a big dance tonight.”

General Kimbrough nodded. “Enjoy yourself.”

#

“When you think about it,” Jon said, “we’ve gone to some incredible places.”