Rush to Glory

by Robert L Hecker

  “I think Luke’ll be all right here for a while.”

  “He can guard the car,” Hal agreed dryly, and she laughed.

  Crystal slipped her arm through his and led him up a short flight of stairs to the front door of the apartment building. As they walked up the steps, her hips brushed against his, and he wondered whether she was aware of it.

  At the door, she released his arm to slip off her shoulder bag and take out a key. She opened the door, and they went into almost pitch-black darkness and up a flight of stairs. In the close confines, Hal could smell her clean soap-and-water fragrance, sense the warmth of her body.

  At the top of the stairs, they moved a few feet along a dark and musty hall. She let go of his hand to unlock a door. Inside it was also dark, and Crystal took him by the shoulders and maneuvered him to a chair.

  “Sit down,” she whispered. “I’ll get the light.”

  Impulsively Hal took her hand. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Can’t you leave it like this?”

  “Silly,” she said. “I can’t see to make the coffee.” She moved away and turned on a small lamp. “There now.”

  She pulled off her hat and ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing it around her face. She slipped off her heavy uniform jacket and draped it on the back of a chair. As she did so, her shirt pulled tight over her breasts, and Hal stared. She had a fantastic body.

  She turned to the curtained alcove that was the kitchen, saying, “Take off your hat and stay awhile.” Hal took off his hat and trench coat and hung them on a chair. The apartment—the ‘flat’ she had called it—was small but comfortable. There was a closed door in the far wall, which he assumed led to a bedroom. A silver-painted iron radiator sat incongruously on one side of the lone window. On the other side, a tall bookcase was filled to overflowing with books and magazines. He would have liked to read the titles, but he didn’t think he should. It would be like prying into her personal life. Instead, he followed her into the tiny kitchen.

  Crystal put a percolator filled with water on the gas stove and carefully spooned coffee into the top. “I get this from the PX,” she said, “but I have to be careful. It’s rationed, you know.”

  The kitchen was small and drab, lit by an overhead bulb surrounded by a heavy glass shade. But Crystal’s presence made the room seem warm and pleasant. Hal watched, fascinated, as she deftly made the coffee. If she was aware of his stare, she gave no indication.

  When the coffee was ready, she poured it into two cups and carried them into the living room. She indicated that Hal was to sit in one of the easy chairs, and she handed him his cup. Instead of sitting down, she moved to stand near the wall radiator.

  “Luke never told me he had a brother,” she said.

  “I’m not one of the things he’s proud of,” Hal answered.

  “Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. But she didn’t ask why.

  “I guess you know by now,” Hal said. “Luke and I are . . . not much alike. He doesn’t exactly approve of me.”

  “Why is that?”

  Hal sipped his coffee and tried to keep from looking at her. She stood easily, her weight resting on one foot, the curve of her hip drawing her skirt tight across her flat stomach. Even after working in the kitchen, her blouse was still drawn snugly over her breasts and tucked smoothly into the skirt. Her head was tilted to one side as she looked quizzically at him.

  “It’s hard to explain,” he said. “I’m not the hero type, that’s for sure.”

  “Meaning that Luke is?”

  “I would say so, yes. Nothing bothers him. That’s the stuff heroes are made of, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know.” There was a pause while she studied Hal. He couldn’t look at her, and he concentrated on his coffee. When he did look up, she was still watching him, a slight smile on her face. He finished his coffee and got up to put the cup on the table.

  “I’m sorry about tonight,” he said. “I know it wasn’t much fun for you.”

  “Wasn’t it?” she asked. “How do you know?”

  Her question confused Hal. “Well . . . I . . . I know you had a date with Luke. I don’t know what there is to do in this town, but . . .”

  “Would you like to find out?”

  He looked sharply at her, wondering what she had in mind. But her face was blank.

  “Yes,” he said. “I would. But what about Luke?”

  “Do you think Luke would care?”

  Think he would? Hal knew Luke would be furious if he thought any man was making a play for his girl. She knew it too. She would have to know it. Maybe that was what made the idea attractive.

  “What do you think?” Hal asked.

  “I’m not married to him,” she said softly. “Not even engaged. I can go out with anyone I . . . like.”

  It was the way she said it. “Anyone you like,” Hal repeated, and his mouth was suddenly dry. He turned abruptly and picked up his trench coat. “No,” he said. “It would cause too much trouble.”

  She did not seem angry at his refusal. She seemed amused. It was almost as though she had expected it.

  “All right,” she said. “You know what you want better than I do.” She put her cup on the table and held his trench coat while he slipped into it. He turned toward her then, and she was very near. It seemed so natural to put his arms around her. At the same time, he heard the door behind him open.

  “What the hell is going on?” It was Luke, standing in the doorway. His clothes were wrinkled, and his hair was hanging over his half-open eyes.

  Hal stepped back as though he had been pushed, but Crystal didn’t move. He picked up his hat and jammed it on his head. “Nothing,” he said. “We had a cup of coffee while you were sleeping it off.”

  Luke looked from Hal to the coffee cups on the table. Crystal still had not moved, but stood quietly, her aloofness wrapping her like layers of ice.

  “God-damn-it,” Luke snapped. “I thought we had a date tonight. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  Crystal gently urged him to the doorway. “It’s late. Why don’t you call me tomorrow at the hospital?”

  Luke allowed himself to be propelled across the room, but he stopped halfway out the door. “I can’t get away tomorrow night,” he said. “How ‘bout the Sat’day night party?”

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll see you there.”

  “Okay,” Luke grumbled. “But Sat’day night is a hell of a long way off.” He started to walk down the dark hall, but stopped and turned back, waiting suspiciously for Hal. “Come on.”

  “Thanks for the coffee,” Hal said as he went out the door.

  “I enjoyed it,” Crystal answered warmly. “Luke,” she said, “you’ll have to bring your brother over again.”

  “Like hell,” Luke said, “he can find his own ass.”

  Hal heard Crystal laugh softly as she closed the door. Luke was silent during the ride back to the base. He didn’t sleep but, instead, stared grimly ahead while Hal drove. Before they turned into the main gate, he said without looking around, “You keep the hell away from her. Understand?”

  “Yes,” Hal said, “I understand.”

  But his thoughts were of her as he let Luke out at his quarters, then parked the car in front of squadron headquarters. He thought of her as he walked under the stars back to the barracks, his feet scraping along the asphalt and his breath coming out in a white plume. He couldn’t stop thinking of her. But he knew he was going to have to.

  CHAPTER 11

  The ride into London on the fast, piping little train took slightly more than an hour, giving Hal time to think about last night. Why had Crystal asked Luke to bring him again? And what would have happened if Luke hadn’t walked in when he did? She had been leaning toward him, hadn’t she? With her lips parted and her eyes shining? />
  Hal shivered, and Cossel noticed it. “Cold?”

  Hal shook his head, his mood broken. He had to accept the fact that he would never know the answer.

  At Paddington Station, they raced a pair of Army captains to an ancient cab and threw themselves into the back seat, which reeked of stale cigarettes and exhaust fumes.

  “Oxford Square,” Cossel told the driver.

  “Right-o, Gov’ner.” The driver deftly whipped the cab out of the heavy stream of traffic with a defiant toot of the horn.

  Cossel said, “I know a place there I can usually get a couple of rooms.”

  “What about O’Reilly and Fox? Where do they stay?”

  “Regent Palace. O’Reilly’s got connections.”

  Hal could believe that. O’Reilly was the type who would always have a connection.

  As they moved along in a head-bobbing series of sprints and stops, they passed places whose names fascinated Hal. They all had the ring of history: Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park, Kings Road, and Oxford Street. Far away, above the jagged horizon of the building roofs, he could see a scattering of barrage-balloons floating in the sky like small black sausages. Hal knew they weren’t of much use anymore. Not like in the early days when the balloons had been lofted thousands of feet to help stop hordes of enemy bombers.

  And everywhere, Hal could see the effects of the war. It wasn’t hard to believe that this bustling city had almost been bombed out of existence by the Germans and was still under siege from an intermittent rain of V-1 rocket bombs. There wasn’t a block that didn’t have gapping spaces between buildings with fire-blackened, dangerous-looking remnants of brick walls and rubble-littered basements. In one place, the whole block was leveled except for one small shop which was virtually untouched, looking lonely with its foundations almost buried by the ruins of its neighbors. Near Marble Arch, the cab was trapped momentarily, and Hal was able to observe a group of elderly workmen pounding at a free-standing brick wall with sledgehammers. They swung savagely at the bricks, pulverizing the work of generations past with heavy blows, almost as though the recalcitrant wall was the enemy personified. Finally, the wall tottered, and the men sprang away with surprising agility. The wall swayed slowly out and toppled like a great ponderous tree, gaining speed as it fell until it crashed with a grinding roar and a great cloud of dust.

  When the taxi began to move, the men were already pounding vigorously at another wall. Hal reasoned that at this rate, it would take them about three generations to clear the city.

  In a way, seeing what had happened here made it easier for Hal to accept what he would be doing to the German cities with his own bombs. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, the Bible had said. But was that right? Did the bombing of one city justify the bombing of another? The difference was that the German bombers had targeted the city while his bombs would always be aimed at airfields, railyards, or factories. If he hit people or houses, it would be an accident. A huge difference? The rubble did not give him the answer.

  At Oxford Square, they paid for the taxi, and Cossel led the way up a short flight of stone steps into a three-story red brick house in a long row of brick houses where they pounded on the front door. A thin, anemic-looking woman with stringy brown hair came out of a side room and said she had two nice rooms available on the third floor.

  She handed each of them a key in exchange for their money, and they toiled up a steep flight of musty-smelling stairs to their rooms. Hal found his to be a sitting room in which a double bed had been placed. The ceiling was high, and the paint beginning to flake, but the room was large and airy. In the side wall was a fireplace made of fading red bricks. Overlooking the street were two bay windows with gray curtains that once had been white.

  He found the bathroom down the hall. When he looked to see whether he needed to reshave, he noticed that the old ornate mirror was cracked in several places, as though each nearby bomb burst had knocked it to the floor. He decided he didn’t need a shave and went looking for Cossel. He was in the adjoining room, which was smaller than Hal’s and looked as though it might have been the bedroom of the original suite.

  Leaving their suzette bags, they went outside into a drizzly rain and walked until they caught a cab. They spent the rest of the afternoon in a whirlwind tour that included Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, London Bridge, and Madame Tussaud’s Wax Works. At dusk, they were walking through a misty drizzle towards Piccadilly Circus when a slender girl stepped out of the shadow of a doorway and caught Hal’s arm.

  “’ello, dearie,” she cooed. “Lookin’ for a good time?”

  The voice startled Hal. “What?” he asked. He tried to pull away, but the girl held his arm with a strong grip and pressed against him. “I’ll show you a good time, all right.”

  Then Hal understood. She was a prostitute, one of the notorious ‘Picadilly commandos.’

  “No, thanks,” he said, trying to disengage his arms

  “Better stay away from him, honey,” Cossel said with a chuckle. “He hasn’t been near a girl in two months. He might be too much for you.”

  “Not for me ’e wouldn’t,” the girl said sharply. “I could take care’a you all right enough, ducky. Anything you want. Only eight pounds.”

  “Eight pounds?” Hal exclaimed. “That’s nearly forty dollars.”

  “I’m worth it, ducky. You’ll see. My place is right up ’ere. Come on, ducky.” And she began pulling Hal toward a darkened doorway like a spider dragging in the carcass of a fly.

  Hal braced his feet and tried to unclasp her hand from his arm. “Thanks,” he said, “but no thanks.”

  “Why not?” she said, not giving up. “I’m the best girl on the street. Ask anybody. Shirley’s the best. They’ll tell you. I’ll make it sev’n pounds. ‘ow’s that, ducky? Sev’n pounds for around the world.” She grabbed Hal’s arm again with both hands and tried to pull him toward the doorway. “You ever ‘ad it done to you ‘round the world, dearie?”

  Hal had no idea what she meant by ‘around-the-world,’ and he had no desire to find out. “Let go!” he said grimly. He tried to pry loose the girl’s hands, but she was strong as a tigress. He looked imploringly at Cossel, but Cossel was leaning against a tree smiling broadly.

  “’ow about a quicky then, ducky? One pound for a trip ‘round the square in a cab. You’ve got a pound, now, ain’t cha?”

  “No,” Hal said desperately. “Besides, I’m a eunuch. I only like virgins. And they have to look like Rita Hayworth.”

  “’ere now. ‘oo you trying to kid?” She let go of Hal’s arm and backed up a step so he could get a better look at her. “’ow about a show? You like my body? For a pound each, I’ll give you a real show.”

  She threw open her coat and stood with her legs apart, her hands cupping her breasts through the thin material of her dress. “’ow about it, boys? Wouldn’t you like to see me dance naked?”

  She did have a good figure, and Hal felt a disquieting stir in his groin. A swift revulsion swept over him, dulling all other instincts. How could this creature generate the same physical desire in him that Crystal Buehler had? Was it that he really was on the same level as Fox, and just any woman would produce the atavistic reaction? Like Pavlov’s dog, he would begin to salivate when the Judas bell was struck no matter who did the striking? Ridiculous. He felt no desire for this pitiful creature. The proof was that all he could think about was the fresh, clean beauty of Crystal Buehler.

  But the show wasn’t over yet. The girl reached down and pulled her skirt up to display her hips and plump thighs and a dark triangle of hair. “See? I ain’t no professional. I ain’t even shaved. I’m clean. I ain’t had a man in weeks.”

  Hal pointed to Cossel. “Why don’t you try him?” Hal said. “He likes blondes.” He looked again and said quickly, “Er . . . brunettes. And I know he’s loaded.”

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sp; “Ow, ’e is, is ’e?”

  The girl turned on Cossel with her best smile. Cossel stopped smiling and began a slow retreat. “Hey, now . . . no . . . no!” The girl was closing in when he leaped into the street. He dodged in and out of a string of circling, squealing cabs with the girl in close pursuit until he eluded her with a closely calculated leap between a government vehicle and a heavily loaded lorry. The girl was forced back to the curb, where she stood cursing and giving him the finger.

  Hal sprinted through the traffic to the other side of the street, where he found Cossel sitting on the curb, trying to catch his breath and laughing at the same time.

  “You . . . you bastard,” he said as Hal sat down beside him. “That was a lousy trick.”

  “Me? What about you? Besides, she looked more your type.”

  “My type is the kind I can outrun.”

  “And mine is the kind who aren’t stronger than I am,” Hal rubbed his arm ruefully. “Boy!” he said. “That woman has claws like a wounded eagle.”

  “Well, now you know what a commando is. Let’s head over to the Regent Palace. See what Fox and O’Reilly are up to.”

  Outside the Regent Palace, Hal looked at the darting taxis and the hurrying crowds in awe. The variety of uniforms was staggering. American and British mixed with forces from India, Canada, and Turkey. Forces representing governments in exile from Poland, France, Belgium, Holland, Greece. Many were with girls, all young, all pretty, all laughing and happy. The energy was almost tangible. Perhaps the real glory of war was this feeling of sharing a high adventure, an adventure that could be swiftly terminated by death. There was certainly nothing glorious about the dying. The glory was in living to the hilt, every minute, every second. This rush to glory would pass soon enough . . . one way or another.

  “Incredible,” he said. “I’ll bet I’ve seen ten or fifteen different kinds of uniforms.”