Defiant Heart (39 page)

Shim nodded. “Yeah, we’ve gone to incredible places,” he said in a deadpan, “and blown them up.”

Jon gave a slight wave of one hand. “Well, ok, there is that.”

They were walking down Cannon Street, which paralleled the north bank of the Thames. They’d just left the Tower of London, to which Jon had dragged a somewhat reluctant Shim.

Jon and Shim were in London on a forty-eight hour pass. The trip offered Jon his first look at the capital of England, and he was excited about seeing all the sites. Shim was less enthusiastic about playing the tourist, but he’d agreed to humor Jon.

Six weeks had passed since the final flight of the Deuces Wild. The damage to the plane had been so severe the army decided to write it off. A team of mechanics drove out to Queen’s End and spent a couple of days removing what components could be salvaged. They had, however, at the request of the Royal Air Force, left the shell of the aircraft. The Brits considered it so extraordinary that the plane survived a safe landing they decided to keep the thing, and moved it to a prominent spot on the Queen’s End base for display.

Though Jon’s actions hadn’t saved the plane, they had, much more importantly, saved the lives of Bob Roth and Tony Reyes. The doctors found it necessary to amputate one of Roth’s legs, but they managed to save the other. Roth would never fly again. He would, however, be able to return home to his wife and young son. Reyes likewise recovered, though, as a result of the hip wound, he’d walk with a limp for the rest of his life. He also was taken off of flight status and was due to be sent home in a few weeks.

Jon, Shim, Kovalesky and Gooch went to visit Reyes at the hospital, and he was so effusive in his thanks that Jon became embarrassed. They also tried to see Roth, but he was sedated and unable to receive visitors.

In addition to saving the lives of the two wounded men, Jon’s actions had also spared the other survivors of the Deuces Wild the prospect of bailing out over Germany and likely becoming prisoners of war. Ironically, the plane on which Art Graham flew his very next mission was shot down, and that fate, delayed by Jon, had inevitably visited Graham. A few weeks after his plane went down, the group received word that, fortunately, Graham had survived. He’d been captured and was now a prisoner at Stalag VII-A, where a number of other flyers from the 96th were also incarcerated.

With the Deuces Wild no longer in service, the surviving crewmembers had no permanent assignment, and, in the following weeks, they’d been slotted onto other crews as needed.

Jon became a hot commodity. In the superstitious world where the men who flew bombers lived, his fellow airmen viewed him as a good luck charm, and all the other crews in the 96th requested he fly with them. It didn’t hurt that he was also considered one of the best radio operators in the group, if not
the
best. And, of course, it was a plus that Jon could fly the plane in an emergency. He’d been on a dozen missions following the demise of the Deuces Wild, and there had, thankfully, been no casualties and no serious battle damage on any of the planes to which he’d been assigned. Belief in Jon’s good luck status grew exponentially.

Airmen on crews with which Jon was not assigned began seeking Jon out before each mission to shake his hand or touch his shoulder for good luck. Tommie Wheeler had dispensed with all military protocol, and, before each of his last six missions came to Jon and rubbed the top of Jon’s head. He’d yet to get Jon assigned to the Widowmaker, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.

A couple of days before Jon and Shim got their furlough, Jon returned to Hut 51 to find two airmen from the 302nd who had taken the three-hour ride from Dunston Heath to see him. After some good natured ribbing from Gooch and Shim, Jon allowed the men to rub his head. They left for the long ride back to their base with satisfied grins.

Because of the demand for his services, Jon was assigned missions quicker than would otherwise have been the case if he’d been assigned to a regular crew. Not every plane in the group flew every mission, but, due to Jon’s somewhat mythical status, he’d flown on almost every sortie the group was assigned over the prior six week period. As a result, Jon had already completed twenty missions.

However, the irrational confidence in Jon’s ability to ward off misfortune began to wear on him. Jon was as superstitious as the next guy, and part of him worried he was tempting fate by going along with all the hoopla. He’d had trouble sleeping the prior week, and this trip to London could not have come at a better time.

It was this thought that occupied his mind when he heard Shim suddenly call out.

“Miss,” Shim was saying, holding out a hand and pointing a finger. “Hey, miss.”

Jon, who had been absently looking at the buildings on the other side of the street, glanced back at Shim, then looked in the direction his friend was pointing. About twenty yards ahead of them, a cab sat idling on the curb, and a young woman in an army uniform was just getting in. The woman paused and stepped back out. She wore the stripes of a corporal.

Shim quickened his step, and, when he reached the back end of the cab, he crouched and picked up an item from the gutter.

“This fell out of your purse,” he said, handing it to the woman.

She looked at it and said, “Oh, my goodness.” She glanced at her handbag, then back at Shim. “Thank you so much. I would not have wanted to lose this.”

As Jon reached them, Shim nodded and smiled. “My pleasure.”

She returned Shim’s smile, then looked at Jon. The woman had a pleasant countenance. She was not classically beautiful by any stretch, and the side of one of her eyes drooped slightly, but, to Jon, she exuded a sense of warmth and friendliness. He smiled back at her.

“Well,” she said, turning her attention to Shim, “thank you, again.” Then, after another brief look at Jon, she slid back into the cab. The driver put the car in gear and pulled away.

Jon watched the cab as it merged into the flow of vehicles traveling down Cannon Street and eventually was lost in the traffic. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something important about it.

#

Penny looked down at the object the young soldier had retrieved for her. It was the silver compact Andy had given her shortly after they were married. He’d had it engraved with what were, at the time, her new initials, “PR.” Andy had told her when he gave it to her that he never wanted her to forget they were married. As if she ever could do that. She looked again at her handbag and this time saw that one of the straps had come loose.

“What was that about?” asked Mary.

Penny held out the compact. “I almost lost this. Fortunately, a soldier saw it fall out of my purse.” She was about to say something else about the other young soldier she’d seen, but she didn’t know how to put it, so she demurred.

“Oh,” Mary said, “I know how important that is to you. I’m glad you didn’t lose it.”

Penny nodded, still distracted.

After a short drive, they arrived at the entrance to the Rainbow Corner, a Victorian structure fronting Piccadilly Circus. As they pulled up, Penny saw quite a bit of activity, as uniformed men and women came and went. Most, she noticed, were arriving, rather than leaving. Penny paid the fare, and they got out and joined the crowd making its way into the club. Inside the entrance, they turned and headed toward the main room, where Penny heard a band playing.

As she did whenever she and Mary went out, Penny steeled herself. Mary, bless her heart, had no idea the effect she had on men when she walked into a room. It was as if their heads were on swivels, and, by some irresistible force of nature, they were all immediately drawn toward Mary. Their reactions triggered all of Penny’s maternal instincts.

And, of course, she had to acknowledge, she had, somewhat inadvertently, managed to pour gasoline on the fire.

From the moment the WAAC had been formed, it had suffered from a variety of poor decisions made by the army with respect to its uniforms. Most of the articles of clothing issued to the women were based on designs adapted from those intended for men, and they did not remotely flatter a woman’s body. This, Penny had heard from her fellow servicewomen, had proven to be a source of great consternation throughout the ranks of the auxiliary service.

Fortunately, the women assigned to duty in England had a relatively accessible alternative. As soon as Mary arrived in London, Penny took her to Savile Row, where she knew a tailor who would, for a reasonable price, alter, or more accurately recreate, uniforms for men or women. Though Mary had not brought a lot of money with her from Indiana, she had more than enough for a complete overhaul of her military wardrobe, and Penny had encouraged her to take advantage of the opportunity.

Utilizing a much nicer cloth that draped in a more flattering manner, and allowing for the curves that so gracefully characterized Mary’s body, the tailor to whom Penny had brought Mary produced a wardrobe that was the complete opposite of the stiff, manly uniform most WAAC personnel reluctantly tolerated. Instead, Mary sported a chic, classy outfit that looked, to Penny, to be straight out of the covers of Vogue magazine.

In short, if you were male, and you didn’t notice Mary when she walked into a room, you were blind.

Penny steered Mary to a table at the side of the dance floor, and they took a seat. A number of men immediately approached, but Penny held up a hand. “Hold on, boys. We just got here. Give us a little time.”

Mary chuckled. “Don’t you want to dance?”

Penny nodded. “Sure, but let’s have something to drink first.”

The Rainbow Corner had real Coca Cola made on site from syrup shipped from the States, and they ordered two glasses. They were sipping their drinks when a burly sergeant with three stripes up and three stripes down stepped to the table.

Putting a hand out, he said to Mary, “Would you do me the honor of this dance?”

Mary smiled brightly and said, “Yes, of course.”

As Mary slipped out of her seat, Penny reached out and gripped the sergeant’s arm. He turned toward her.

“Keep your hands where I can see them, sergeant,” Penny said, evenly.

The man opened his mouth as though to say something. Then he apparently noticed the look in Penny’s eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

#

As they approached the Rainbow Corner, Jon put a hand on Shim’s shoulder. His friend turned, and Jon gave him a level gaze. “I’m here to have a good time,” he said, “I’m not here to meet girls. Fair enough?”

Shim nodded agreeably. “We’ll just take what comes.”

They worked their way through the crowd in front of the club and stepped into the lobby. From the main room, they could hear a band playing Genn Miller’s
In the Mood
. At the reception desk, Shim gave the attendant their room number. The woman stepped away and returned a moment later with a key and a small piece of paper, folded in half. She handed them to Shim, and Shim unfolded the sheet of paper. A scowl appeared on Shim’s face. Wordlessly, he handed the page to Jon.

The note was short and to the point. Their furlough had been cancelled, and they were to report immediately back to Stanbridge using the quickest available form of transportation. Jon knew it could only mean that there was to be a maximum effort the next day, and that all crews must report for duty. It also meant they wouldn’t be attending the dance.

He had the irrational thought that they could pretend they’d never gotten the message. They’d spend the night in London, return the next morning after the planes had departed and express the appropriate level of surprise. He knew, of course, neither of them would do that.

Still, it was a devilish temptation.

He looked at Shim, who shrugged. “Not much we can do, is there?”

Jon shook his head. “Let’s go get our stuff.”

#

“Good morning, General,” Mary said.

It was just before noon on Monday. General Kimbrough had attended a meeting at 20 Grosvenor Square that morning, and he had only now arrived at his office.

“Good morning, Mary,” the general replied, stopping by the side of her desk. “Would you mind stepping into my office?”

Mary grabbed her pad and followed the general. He set his briefcase down on his desk but did not remove his jacket. Instead, he pulled a sheet of paper out of the briefcase, turned and considered Mary for a moment. Curious, Mary was about to ask him if there was a problem when the general began reading from the sheet.

“Staff Sergeant Jonathon Meyer,” he read. “96th Bomb Group, Stanbridge, Suffolk.” Mary’s heart began to pound rapidly. The general looked up. “I believe we found your fellow.”

Mary suddenly felt weak. Having trouble finding her voice, she said, “He’s ok?”

General Kimbrough nodded. “He was as of this morning. He’s completed twenty-one of his required twenty-five missions. I know his group is assigned to a mission today, but I don’t know whether he’s flying.”

“Oh, God.” Mary put a hand to her mouth. For the longest time, she had worried herself sick about whether Jon was safe, but the immediacy of this information was overwhelming.

She took a deep breath and steadied herself. “This place,” she said, “where Jon is. Is it far?”

“It’s about two hours away. By train.”

Mary was already turning over plans in her mind when General Kimbrough chuckled. “However,” he said, “it just so happens I have some business in that area.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Perhaps you’d like to ride out there with me this afternoon?”

“Oh,” Mary said, not daring to believe what she’d just heard. “Yes. Yes, I would. Very much.”

“My car is waiting for us out front.”

“Oh,” she said again, surprised. She turned toward the door. “I just need to get my…” She turned back. “I mean, if it’s ok, sir. I just… my… my purse and jacket. I just…”

“Why don’t you get your purse and jacket,” General Kimbrough said, with a smile. “Then we’ll go.”

#

The target for the mission that shortened the furlough for Jon and Shim had been Hamburg, and the mission was, as Jon suspected, classified as a maximum effort. Over one hundred Eighth Air Force bombers, mostly B-17s, but a few B-24s as well, massed for the purpose of knocking out the shipyards and submarine pens in the historic city. Heavy cloud cover and poor visibility broke up the formations before they could reach the target, and there was no way to bomb with any accuracy. The 96th Group wound up turning northwest and dropping its bombs over the shipyards in Wilhelmshaven.