The High Calling

by Gilbert, Morris

  “You’ve been a comfort to me, Brodie.” She looked at her feet for a moment. “And you didn’t try to take advantage of me—as most men would.”

  “I must be close to achieving sainthood.” He hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks for caring about me.”

  She did not answer, and her eyes looked enormous by the dim light.

  “I never told you how beautiful you are, did I?”

  Meredith suddenly smiled. “In this ratty old robe, no makeup, and spilling tears like a waterfall?”

  But he did not smile. He reached out and touched her cheek. “Yes, you are.” He turned and left without another word.

  Meredith closed the door and went to the window. After a moment he appeared in front of the apartment building and got into a military truck. As she watched him drive away, she realized that she felt more for this man than she should.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Bernie

  The noise in the ready room was dominated, as usual, by a raucously blaring radio. A Ping-Pong tournament had attracted several of the fliers. A few were reading, and Brodie and his flight leader, Bernie Cox, were engaged in a fast-moving chess game. Although Brodie could beat Bernie at anything involving strength or dexterity, he had never beaten him at a game of chess. Chess was Bernie Cox’s delight, and next to his art, he loved it better than any other activity on the face of the planet.

  Bernie leaned forward, his hand poised over the board delicately—almost like a surgeon preparing to open a patient’s body. He picked up a chess piece and moved it. Then he leaned back and locked his fingers behind his head. “Checkmate. I win again.”

  “I’ll never play another game with you, Bernie!” Brodie said, frustration written on his face. “I don’t see how you do it. I can never beat you.”

  “It’s all in the mind, old boy.”

  “I don’t think you’re that much smarter than me.”

  “Perhaps not in everything, but I happen to be a genius at chess.”

  Bernie puffed out his chest proudly and tipped back in his chair, but he went too far. He started flailing wildly, but it was too late to stop the chair from crashing backward. Brodie laughed uproariously as his flight leader got to his feet. “You might be great at chess, but you’re sure as shootin’ the clumsiest guy I’ve ever seen!”

  Bernie looked embarrassed but quickly righted his chair. “Let’s play again,” he challenged, sitting down again and setting up the board. “If I can beat you once more, I think it’ll be an even hundred that I’ve taken from you.”

  Brodie rolled his eyes and helped set up the board again, thinking about how close he’d gotten to the two men in his flight—Bernie Cox and Sailor Darley. They had grown to know each other so well that they hardly needed the radio when they were flying. They had practiced their maneuvers more than most of the flights, but it was almost eerie the way the three could move into action, each always knowing what his two wing mates were doing.

  Brodie felt particularly close to Bernie because Bernie had taken him to his home to introduce him to his parents. It had been an enjoyable day for Brodie, and he liked the parents a great deal. Bernie was their only son, and he knew, despite the smiles, they were deeply concerned for his safety.

  Brodie had also been impressed with Bernie’s talent for painting. He was not the best pilot in the squadron, but he painted amazingly well. One of his paintings had been of a Spitfire attacking a lone ME-109 high in the clouds. The painting caught the spirit of battle, with beauty and violence married together high above the earth. He had admired it so much that Bernie had given him the painting, refusing any money for it. He had also painted a picture of Brodie leaning against the wing of his plane with his flight suit on and his helmet in his hand.

  As they set up the board and began to play again, their individual styles of play reflected their personalities. Brodie moved quickly and impulsively, as if he could not wait to get the piece from one square to another. He sometimes made amazing moves, and that won him games against lesser players than Bernie. Bernie, on the other hand, was meditative and thoughtful. He loved the order and the precision that Brodie lacked.

  ****

  Parker was speaking with his group captain, Howard Monroe, over the noise of the radio and the Ping-Pong tournament. Monroe had come to make an inspection, and now the two men stood in one corner of the room discussing the fliers.

  Monroe took his eyes off the pilots to face Parker. His brow furrowed and he shook his head. “You look terrible, Braden. Why don’t you take some time off?”

  “I’m no worse off than anyone else, Captain.”

  “It looks to me like you are. The responsibility for the squadron rests with you. You need to try to spare yourself a bit.”

  Parker had heard this before. “I’ll try to do that, sir.”

  “See that you do. Tell me about the men. What’s their condition? Are they holding up well?”

  “Yes, sir. Very well indeed.”

  “There’s been a lot of talk about the one called Cowboy.”

  “That’s him over there playing chess. The taller one. He’s the best pilot in the squadron. He’s shot down fourteen planes. Well, at least he’s credited with that many. I’m sure he actually has more that weren’t identified.”

  “A good pilot, eh?”

  “The finest.”

  “How does he fit in? I mean, being an American and all.”

  “Very well. But I might say he’s not much on discipline.”

  “I suppose that comes from being an American.”

  “It might be. What I would like to see—”

  The loudspeaker interrupted Parker’s words. “Scramble, 120 Squadron, scramble!”

  “I’ll have to go, sir.”

  “Yes. I’ll wait around until you get back from this mission. We need to talk some more.”

  ****

  As Brodie looked ahead, he saw a tight formation of enemy bombers guarded by what seemed to be a great many 109s. His radio crackled, and he heard Parker’s voice say, “All right, lads, there they are. Let’s go get them.”

  Even as Parker spoke, Brodie saw a flight of RAF Hurricanes attack the German formations, their guns ablaze. Soon several of the German bombers and fighters were headed for the ground in flames.

  “Bandits at twelve o’clock!” Bernie’s voice came sharply. “Close up!”

  They closed the distance that lay between planes. “Number five, attack!” Parker commanded.

  The squadron altered shape, altered course, and then changed again. Suddenly the German bombers also changed course, banking steeply to their right.

  “They’re breaking up,” Parker said. “Go at them and watch out for one another, chaps.”

  A calmness came upon Brodie as it usually did for a few seconds before making contact. His whole mind was fixed on the bombers, and as he made one pass along with his wing mates, Bernie and Sailor, he saw his tracers mark the path between his plane and one of the bombers. He knew he had hit the pilot when he saw the bomber veer and start flying erratically.

  From that point on the squadron fought with everything it had. Finally the battle became merely a blur.

  “Get into formation!” Cox barked. “We’ve got a signal there’s a group of Jerries just over there. I think I can see them.”

  Brodie pulled in tight next to Bernie. He noticed that some of the other Spitfires were also working to get into formation again.

  As they approached the new crew of bombers, Bernie said, “Watch out for fighters. I don’t see any, but they’re probably here. Watch my back as we go in.”

  The three planes wheeled almost as one, with Bernie Cox in the middle and Sailor on the other side. Brodie followed Bernie’s movements exactly, although everything in him yearned to simply go in after his prey.

  “All right, chaps. Here we go. Let’s hope you’re better at shooting than you are at chess, Blue Three.”

  “I’ll beat you next time. See if I don’t,” Brodie called ba
ck.

  The flight went in, made one pass, and shot down one of the bombers. “There’s no fighter cover,” Brodie said. “Let’s just go get ’em.”

  “No. Stay in formation. We’ve got to cover for each other.”

  Brodie had a great affection for Bernie Cox, but what he saw ahead was entirely too tempting. He was supposed to cover Bernie’s rear to be sure nothing came up from behind, but when he saw one of the enemy bombers veer off and streak away toward the Channel, he said, “I can get him. You guys wait for me.”

  Wheeling his Spitfire around, Brodie caught up with the bomber, which could not match his speed. He had him in his sights, and he had sent two short bursts when he suddenly heard Sailor yell, “Look out, Bernie! Bandits behind you!”

  Brodie wheeled the Spitfire around. It was his job to watch his flight leader’s rear, and he had wandered away. By the time he got back to his position, he saw Bernie’s Spitfire heading down in flames, and a cold hand seemed to constrict around his heart. “Bernie,” he yelled, “bail out!”

  But Bernie Cox could not bail out. He had been taken from behind by a 109, and the first burst had killed him instantly. He had collapsed on the stick and went down like a lead ball.

  “Watch yourself, Brodie,” Sailor shouted. “They got Bernie. There’s too many of ’em for us.”

  But Brodie did not answer. He was following the fall of Bernie’s Spitfire, willing it to straighten up, repeatedly calling out, “Bernie, pull out!”

  But he did not pull out. His Spitfire hit the earth with such force that the wings flew off and the rest of the frame shattered.

  Numbly Brodie turned his Spitfire back. The dogfight was still going on, and a red rage enveloped him. He threw himself back into the battle, totally disregarding his own safety. The world was filled with the clatter of machine guns and the scream of planes, and death reigned in the sky over the battered body of Bernard Cox.

  ****

  Parker stood staring at Brodie, and the silence in his office seemed thick. Bernie Cox’s death had brought grief to the whole squadron, for he was one of the more popular pilots. Parker had heard the story from Sailor Darley and others who had seen the plane get hit.

  Brodie’s face was pale, and there was no laughter in him now. “There were no fighters at all when I pulled away, Parker.” His voice seemed harsh, and his eyes contained an anger that went beyond normal. “I’ll get them for it. You see if I don’t.”

  “You’re not going to help Bernie by getting yourself killed.”

  “It was my fault! Why don’t you throw me out of this outfit? It’s what I deserve.”

  Actually, that was exactly what Parker had intended. He felt sick over the death of another good pilot and had looked forward to giving Brodie Lee the roughest speech he had ever given any pilot. But now as he stood there, he saw that it would be useless. Bernie was gone. They needed another flight leader, but he well knew it would not be Brodie. He contemplated grounding him for a while, which was seeming more and more like a reasonable action. “Maybe you’d better take a few days off.”

  “I don’t need time off. Just get me back in action, Parker.”

  He shook his head. “You can’t go at them mindlessly. You’ve got to think.”

  Brodie did not answer, and for some time Parker tried to reason with him, once more emphasizing the benefits of flying in formation, explaining that mere madness would just bring disaster.

  “I’ll make them pay for it.” Brodie’s face was grim, and his usual happy-go-lucky attitude had changed.

  Parker nodded wearily. “All right. That’s all.”

  Brodie turned and walked out of the office stiffly, and Parker wondered if he had done the right thing in keeping the American on. He had based his decision on the need for experienced fighter pilots. Brodie was by far the best in the whole wing—perhaps even in the RAF—and he could not afford to lose him.

  “I’ll just have to watch him more closely,” he muttered grimly, “before he kills somebody else—probably himself.”

  Parker was exhausted, but he took the time to compose a letter to Bernie’s parents before heading for a bunk for a few minutes of much-needed rest. He knew a piece of paper was useless to a couple who had lost the joy of their lives, but it was all he could offer the family at the moment.

  He fell asleep instantly and knew nothing until a soft voice said, “Wing Commander, wake up.”

  He came slowly out of the sleep, feeling groggy. He sat up on the cot, rubbing his eyes.

  “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “Your wife, sir. She’s waiting to see you.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I had her wait in your office.”

  “Thank you.”

  Getting to his feet, Parker tried to shake off his grogginess. He had flown numerous missions with little downtime in between. It was not the flying itself nor the danger that had worn him down but the burden of command and the loss of life. He had taken the death of Cox harder than he had ever taken a loss before.

  When he stepped into the office, Veronica was standing waiting for him. “I have to talk to you, Parker. It won’t take long.” Her voice was tight, and she sounded determined. She had made up her mind about something, but he could not imagine what.

  “Have a seat, Veronica.”

  “I know you’re not going to like this, but it’s something I feel I need to do.” She glanced at him nervously but saw nothing in his face to reveal his feelings. “I’m going to pick up my career again. I’ve not been happy since I left the stage. I should never have given that up.”

  “You know I don’t want my wife having a career like that, Veronica. If we didn’t have children, perhaps it would be different.”

  “Parker, why don’t you admit it? Things will never be different between us. Our marriage was a mistake. We each need to get on with our own lives.” She looked at her hands on her lap. “I’m not sure we ever really loved each other.”

  He felt fatigue drag him down. He was too exhausted to try to decipher her comment. Was she telling him she was going to leave him? “We can stay together for the children” was the best he could do at the moment.

  “We’ll try it for a while if you like. I don’t think it will work. I’m not even sure it’s worth the effort.” She shrugged, and he saw regret in her face. “The children need us, so we’ll try to do the best we can, but I need to go back to work. I hope you won’t hate me because of it.”

  He could not think of an answer, and finally Veronica, without another word, turned and left the office. Parker locked his fingers together and pressed them as if he could squeeze the present out in some simple way. The breakup of the marriage, he recognized, had been coming for a long time. He leaned forward and put his forehead on his hands, sitting absolutely still.

  ****

  “Darley, you’ll take Bernie’s place as flight leader.” Sailor Darley nodded grimly. “If you like, sir. I’ll do the best I can.” He hesitated, then said, “I hate to mention this, but Brodie’s gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  “He was hit pretty hard by Bernie’s death. I think he just went into town.”

  “Well, you’ll take two of the reserves in Blue Flight until we get Brodie straightened out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll see if I can find him. I wouldn’t want him to get into trouble in town again.”

  ****

  Kat took the call from Parker, giving her the news that Brodie had wandered off the post. “If he comes to see you, try to talk some sense into him.”

  “What’s wrong with him? What happened?”

  “His flight leader was killed. The two were very close. Sometimes it hits men like this. Call me if he shows up.”

  “All right, Parker.”

  Kat put the phone down and looked over at Meredith, who was sitting beside the window reading a book. “That was Parker, Meredith. There’s a problem with Brodie.”

  “What kind of a p
roblem?”

  “He left the base after losing a good friend—Bernie Cox.”

  “Oh, that nice man!” Meredith exclaimed. She put the book down and stood up. “How terrible!”

  “I have a feeling that Brodie’s in trouble. Parker says we’re to call him if we see him.”

  “What will they do to him?”

  “I don’t know. I think Parker wants to avoid any direct action. I have a feeling that if we just find him and get him back, Parker will take care of it.”

  “But we wouldn’t know where to look for him.”

  “No, but I think one of us ought to stay here. I’ve got to go on duty at the hospital.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll stay here in case he calls.”

  Kat left the flat a few minutes later, and Meredith could no longer concentrate on her book. She set up the ironing board and began ironing. The radio was on with Frank Sinatra singing “I’ll Never Smile Again.” It was a plaintive melody, and she hummed along with it.

  There was a rap at the door, and she put the iron down. “Brodie!” she exclaimed as she opened the door. “Come on in.”

  “I don’t know why I came here,” he muttered as he shuffled in.

  “Come in the kitchen and sit down. I’ll fix you something to eat.”

  “Not hungry.”

  Meredith got him to sit down while she brewed some tea and kept up a steady stream of idle talk. She put his tea in front of him and noticed that his hands were unsteady. “Is something wrong, Brodie?”

  “Yes, there’s something wrong. There’s something wrong with me!” He put his palms on the table. “I killed the best guy in the whole RAF.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I killed Bernie, my flight leader.” He clasped his hands together and said bitterly, “I wish it had been me that was killed instead of him. It was my fault.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about it?” she said gently. She prodded him on and asked questions until finally the whole story spilled out.

  “But you mustn’t blame yourself. You told me before what chaos it is up there when planes are going everywhere.”