The High Calling

by Gilbert, Morris

  Meredith stared at Brodie. She knew that Kat had a liking for the man, but she had seen nothing so far to admire in the crass American.

  “Why don’t you be a gentleman and leave.”

  “I’d rather be just like I am and stay, Merry.”

  Kat shook her head. “You can’t insult him, Meredith. It’s impossible. Why don’t you go ahead and take your bath? I’ll have supper on the table by the time you get finished.”

  ****

  “And so I figured I might as well come over and join up. According to what the radio said, Hitler’s gonna be comin’ this way. I thought I could be part of the welcoming committee.”

  “You can’t just up and join the RAF,” Meredith broke out.

  “Oh, I already done that. I’m in Eagle Squadron.” He winked at Kat. “Lord Parker Braden is my squadron leader for now.”

  “What do you mean ‘for now’?”

  “Oh, I figure I’ll be leadin’ the guys myself after I’ve put in a little time.”

  “Why, you egotist!” Meredith said loudly.

  “No, I’m a democrat.”

  The visit proved to be a long one, with Brodie doing a great deal of the talking. He finally was ushered out by Kat, who avoided his attempts to kiss her. As she shut the door, he said, “I’ll be seeing you around, sweetheart—you too, Merry.”

  “He is impossible!” Meredith exclaimed.

  “You’d better watch out for him, Meredith. He can charm the birds out of the trees. Every girl in my hometown was crazy about him when we were kids. And since then he’s acquired that romantic glow of being a pilot.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I’d just like to take a pin and puncture a bit of that egotism!” She sighed and said, “Well, we are in trouble if that’s the best that America can send over here to help us.”

  “I don’t know about that. He’s a good pilot.” She started toward the kitchen, but a thought came to her. “But he’s not much for discipline. I don’t know how Parker will handle that.”

  ****

  Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel, chief of the German armed forces, scanned the faces of his officers whom he had called into a special meeting. “The führer has decided that a landing in England is possible,” he said tersely, “provided that air superiority can be attained. All preparations will begin immediately.”

  Laughter went up around the room, and one of the officers said loudly, “It will be as the British pilots say—a piece of cake.”

  “It will not be unless we gain air superiority,” Keitel said soberly.

  Colonel Multz shook his head. “The RAF will be in no position to stop us. They lost a great many planes and pilots in France. It will be a walk-over!”

  The Luftwaffe was indeed the key to the invasion of Britain. The action would begin with an intensive air attack, and in Hermann Göring’s view, this would be all that was needed to subdue the island nation. At this point Hitler had his eyes fixed on the Soviet Union. He would have been glad to have reached an agreement with Britain—on his own terms. He had been somewhat sobered by Admiral Erich Raeder’s view that a land invasion would be very difficult, considering Great Britain had the strongest navy in the world. Nevertheless, Hitler’s directive number sixteen stated, “As England is unwilling to compromise, I have therefore decided to begin to prepare for and if necessary to carry out an invasion of England. The code name will be ‘Operation Sealion.’” He added further, “The air attack that must destroy England’s air superiority will start on a day we’ll call ‘Eagle Day.’”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The High-Flying Cowboy

  Most of the world viewed the oncoming confrontation between Britain and Germany as a David and Goliath battle. The Luftwaffe had taken on the aura of an invincible force. Every distinguished visitor to Germany was filled with stories of the invincibility of Göring’s air force. These visitors returned to their homes with dire predictions.

  One of them, Charles Lindbergh, toured the air stations and factories of Germany and on his return issued a gloomy prediction. He stated that he felt German air strength was greater than that of all other European countries combined. Germany had the means to destroy London, as well as Paris and Prague, if she wished to do so. England and France together did not have enough modern equipment for effective defense or counterattack.

  Lindbergh’s words were shored up by the ease with which the Luftwaffe wiped out the Polish air force in May. The might of such an air force no longer seemed arguable. How could Britain possibly expect to win against an enemy reputed to have forty-five hundred first-line aircraft, while the Royal Air Force had no more than twenty-nine hundred?

  But though the odds were overwhelming, the struggle was not as one-sided as it seemed. Britain could compete favorably in the quality if not in the quantity of planes. Also, Britain possessed something new that would change the whole course of the war—the all-seeing eye of radar. Besides, the British would be fighting on their home ground. Any British pilot shot down that safely parachuted out could return to action, whereas the German pilots would be imprisoned until the end of the war.

  Perhaps one of the factors that ultimately helped the British in this conflict was the inadvertent help they got from the mistakes made by German industry. Hitler claimed that to speed up their production of aircraft would unnecessarily alarm the German population, who had been repeatedly told they would see a string of easy successes. Hitler assigned the secret task of procuring planes and developing new models to General Ernst Udet, a hard-drinking, happy-go-lucky World War I ace. Udet was an excellent pilot, but as an administrator he was a total failure. He created a monstrous bureaucracy in which it was almost impossible to get a decision made. This slowed down the production of fighter planes and ultimately gave Britain the edge she desperately needed.

  One other factor worked in the favor of the British forces. Göring and his men were the victims of tremendous overconofidence. Encouraged by past successes, the intelligence reports they received told them that the RAF would only put up a feeble air defense. Göring, always arrogant, accepted these reaports at face value, which proved to be a fatal miscalculation.

  Churchill placed a sixty-one-year-old Canadian-born newspaper publisher, Lord Beaverbrook, in charge of Britain’s aircraft building program. Beaverbrook galvanized the production of airplanes, moving at once into a seven-day week, and announced that there would be no work stoppages. To collect the aluminum to build the planes, he sponsored a drive to persuade the women of Great Britain to donate their pots and pans, as well as anything else made of metal, to the industry. In the months that followed the evacuation at Dunkirk, British workers built more than four hundred new fighters for the RAF. These planes were produced not only in factories but in small garages and workshops. Planes were also beginning to flow in from Canada and the United States.

  The Spitfire and the Hurricane were the mainstays of the RAF fighter squadrons. The Hurricane had been in service longer; almost half of England’s sixty-one fighter squadrons were equipped with them, while only twenty of them had Spitfires. The Hurricane’s top speed was 325 miles an hour, 30 miles per hour slower than the Messerschmitt, but it had a superior range and was more heavily armored than the Spitfire. The Spitfire owed its speed to the Rolls Royce engine, which gave it incredible horsepower and was the most maneuverable fighter plane in the air. On the other side of the Channel, Germans were flying the ME-109, a remarkable aircraft that was improved by two 20-millimeter cannons mounted on the wing’s leading edges.

  And so the adversaries waited, poised for the titanic struggle that was inevitable in the skies over England and the Channel.

  ****

  Parker took off with Brodie Lee right behind him. After they had climbed to ten thousand feet and gone onto oxygen, Parker said, “All right, Blue Three. I want you to follow me as close as you can. Where I go, you go. You keep me covered.”

  “Sure. No problem, Boss.”

  “The answer is
No problem, Red Leader.”

  “Right. Red Leader.”

  Parker immediately banked and sent his Spitfire into a sharp turn. He saw that Lee had followed him easily, so he began to use more complicated maneuvers. He threw the plane into tight turns, steep climbs, every maneuver he could think of, but no matter what he did, Lee was right there beside him. “Very good, Blue Three.”

  “Glad you like it, Red Leader.”

  “Now, you try to lose me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Immediately Lee’s plane went into a series of maneuvers. Parker was hard put to follow them, and finally he took his eye off of the Spitfire for one moment. He lost sight of the plane in a thin, wispy cloud. When he emerged into the open sky, he searched ahead of him . . . no Brodie.

  “Hi there, Red Leader.”

  Startled, Parker looked up into his mirror and there was Brodie Lee right behind him. Brodie waved cheerfully, and Parker felt like a fool. “All right. That’s enough, Blue Three. We’ll head back to the base.”

  As soon as they landed on the airfield in the Kent countryside, Parker walked up to Brodie and said, “You’re ready for combat, Brodie.”

  “You mean now?”

  “No, not now,” Parker said with a grin. “The next time we scramble. That was a good exercise up there. Remember, always protect your flight leader.”

  “Who’s going to protect me?”

  “I didn’t think you needed any protecting. Not the great Brodie Lee.” Parker clapped him on the shoulder.

  The two men walked toward the building, where Brodie joined a card game that was in progress. Parker was stopped by Bernard Cox in the hallway. “Can he do the job, do you think?”

  “He’s a first-class pilot. Lots of experience.”

  “That’s good. I’d hate to have an amateur up there with us,” the Blue leader commented. “From what I can pick up, we can expect some fun pretty soon. I’ve heard the Germans have been bombing some ships out in the Channel.”

  “I expect they’ll try to draw us up, but I’m not excited about protecting ships. Most of them are empty—”

  A voice broke in with, “Attention, 120 Squadron. Scramble!”

  “That’s us. I’ll find out what it is,” Parker said. He was still in his flight suit, and he was intercepted by an officer who said, “They’re bombing more ships in the Channel. Here’s the position.”

  Parker grabbed the paper and ran out onto the field. He was glad to see that the entire squadron was already climbing into their planes, and he demanded, “Did you get the plane fueled, Denny?”

  “Yes, sir. She’s full. You think it’s the real thing this time?”

  “I think it may be.”

  “Get some of them dirty krauts for me, sir.”

  “Do my best.”

  The squadron took off and immediately arranged themselves into four groups of three each, each group in a V formation with the leader in front. They were identified as yellow, green, blue, and red. They flashed over the Channel, and five minutes later Parker saw planes ahead.

  “Keep your eyes open, men. There they are. Take the bombers first if you can and ignore the fighters.”

  Parker nodded as he saw the German Stukas attacking the ships below. “This is Red Leader. We’ll take those bombers over to the left waiting to go in.” They had climbed high and were now overhead. “All right. Here we go. Tally ho!”

  The squadron went in full force and were spotted almost at once by a 109. Ignoring them as best they could, they plowed ahead, aiming for the bombers.

  They were attacked on their way in by at least twenty 109s, and a fierce dogfight began. Two of the Stukas went down in smoke, but Sailor Darley saw one of the Spits going down as well. He could not tell who it was. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Bernie Cox was there, but he could not see Lee. “Where are you, Blue Three?”

  He got no answer, then suddenly saw holes appear in his wing and threw himself over. His Spit would not maneuver—his controls had been hit. He desperately tried to shake off the new Messerschmitts and managed to avoid more direct hits, but the faster 109 was zeroing in on him. Suddenly, as he went into a turn, he saw a Spitfire coming from out of nowhere. The plane got so close to the German flying straight at him, guns blazing, that Sailor shouted, “Watch it, Cowboy.”

  But Brodie plunged straight ahead. Sailor saw the tracers enter into the nose of the 109s and dance along the fuselage before the canopy was smashed. He knew the pilot was killed instantly.

  “You got him!” Sailor cried. He watched as Cowboy pulled up close, waved at him, and then plunged back into the melee.

  “He may be a show-off, but he’s a killer,” Sailor muttered to himself.

  When the squadron landed, several of the planes were damaged but none critically. Jimmy Fitzwilliam, the smallest and youngest pilot in the squadron, had been shot down, but he had been fished out of the Channel and was safe. As the pilots gathered in the report room, they were excited.

  “Cowboy, I was glad to see you out there,” Sailor said. “Congratulations on your first kill. Not many pilots get a kill on their first mission.”

  Brodie shrugged his shoulders. “Should have gotten another one, but they’re slippery devils, aren’t they?”

  Parker spoke to the pilots after they had given their reports. “I’m very pleased with your work. We’ve got a fine squadron here. Everyone looked out for his wingman, and we shot down four of their bombers and two of their fighters with the loss of only one plane.”

  He went on praising them, and after the meeting broke up, he pulled Brodie aside. “Congratulations. Sailor tells me you saved his life.”

  “Don’t know about that. I should have gotten more than just one, though.”

  “I’m very happy you got the one.”

  “Well, I aim to be a hero, and it’s a pretty slow start. But you just watch my smoke. When do you reckon we’ll scramble again?”

  Parker could not help but laugh. “At least give us time to get our planes patched up and refueled. But you did fine. I’m very happy with your work.”

  ****

  Kat and Meredith both had Monday off, since they had worked on Sunday. They were spending the day catching up on some reading. Kat scrambled for the phone when it rang Monday afternoon.

  After a brief greeting, Grace Braden said, “The twins will be turning three on Wednesday, and I was hoping you could come to their party. Paul and Heather keep asking about you. You made quite an impression on them.”

  “Why, yes, Lady Braden, I’d love to come.” She didn’t mention that Parker had already invited her.

  “It’ll be a very small gathering. Parker says he doesn’t think he can get the time off. My husband has been down with the flu or some such thing, so I don’t know if he’ll be up to joining us either.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help with the party preparations?”

  “Oh, that would be lovely! I’ll send the car for you—say, one o’clock on Wednesday?”

  “Yes, that would be fine. I’ll be in front of the mission.”

  Kat hung up the phone and turned to face Meredith. “Well, I’m going to a birthday party for Parker’s twins. I’ve got to go get them something. What do you get for a three-year-old?”

  “I have no idea. But something indestructible, I would think.”

  “I’d better go shopping right now. I won’t have time tomorrow.”

  Kat left, and thirty minutes later Meredith got up from her chair to answer the door. When Meredith saw Brodie Lee, she said, “Kat’s not here.”

  “Do you mind if I wait for her?”

  “She may be gone quite a while. It’s probably not a good idea.”

  Brodie frowned for a moment, then said, “Well then, maybe you could show me the sights.”

  “I’m not about to go out with you!”

  “You’re not? I can’t think why.”

  “You are totally self-centered, that’s why!�
��

  “Oh, come on. Be a good sport.”

  “You’re Kat’s boyfriend, not mine.”

  “I wish you’d tell her that! Anyway, I’m not gonna ask you to marry me or anythin’. Just keep me company.”

  Suddenly Meredith, who had disliked Brodie from the very start, found herself smiling. “You’re such a scoundrel.”

  “Who, me? I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  ****

  “. . . and so that’s what it was like over in Spain.”

  “It sounds terrible.”

  “It wasn’t much fun,” Brodie said with a shrug. The two of them were sitting in a little eatery near Meredith’s flat enjoying their dessert of gooseberry cobbler with vanilla custard. She had been quiet at first, and he had begun to tell her of some of his experiences. She had become interested, and finally he grinned and said, “That’s enough about me. What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “How come you’re not married?”

  “I was married.”

  Brodie had been lifting his cup of tea, but he stopped abruptly. “You’re married?”

  “I said I was married.”

  “You’re divorced, then?”

  “No. My husband was killed in action in northern Africa.”

  Brodie set the cup down and laced his fingers together and stared at them. When he looked up there was a different expression in his eyes. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “Has it been pretty hard?”

  “Yes.”

  Brodie felt a wall of resistance from the young woman, but despite her rather brusque manner, he admired her. She had a wealth of beautiful auburn hair and large green eyes. He knew she was Welsh, and as he studied her, he tried to think of some way to express his feelings. “I’m right sorry about your husband.”

  “Well, I’ve learned not to take any more chances.”

  “What kind of chances?”

  “I’m not going to get tied up with anyone ever again.”

  He turned his head to one side and studied her. “You gonna live in a cave, go to a deserted island?”