Book IV

by Robert P McAuley

  Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club

  BOOK IV

  Robert P. McAuley

  Published by Robert P McAuley and Smashwords

  Copyright Robert P. McAuley 2014

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which has been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  The Premise

  The Time Travel Adventures Of The 1800 Club is a 21 st Century haven for people seeking to escape New York City’s frantic pace. Dressed in clothes their ancestors might have worn during the 1800s, members enjoy foods of the period and read periodicals featuring news of a particular date in 1865. However, the 1800 Club also has an astounding secret . . . Time Travel. Members travel back in time nudging famous persons and key events just enough to ensure history unfolds, as it should. Guardians-of-the-past, living in the future, send robotic probes back through the ages, discovered that, at critical time-junctures, pivotal figures stray from vital tasks and actions. These Time Watchers of the past can’t go back and fix the glitch in the timeline because the atmosphere they breathe has been cleaned up over the years and the air of the past is almost un-breathable for them. Then an 1800 Club member from the 2000s are sent back to guarantee that events get back on track. The 1800 Club’s members aid Lincoln, Roosevelt, Bat Masterson, Mark Twain and many others. Without subtle interventions by these unknown agents, the famous might have been only footnotes, rather than giants of history.

  Dear reader, I once read a time travel book where the main character went back over one hundred years in the past to retrieve an object from a house. He entered the house, picked up the object and brought it back to his time. To me it was upsetting that he took us back in time and never once said anything about the house! Never described anything! He might as well have just gone back to a park where things never change. That is why I try to bring the reader along with me as I travel through time. RPM

  A peek into chapter 1

  Near the end of WW1 America’s top ace, Captain Eddie Rickenbacker is shot down and killed. This ended the innovations and safety standards that he implemented as head of Eastern Airlines. Wait until you read about the club member they must use to defeat the enemy WW1 pilot and save Rickenbacker.

  A peek into chapter 2

  What if Amelia Earhart had completed her around the world flight rather than disappear? This time Japan starts WW2 earlier than December 7 and catches the U.S. really off guard. Does the club send back a club member to stop her from returning or let her continue?

  Chapter I

  The Eddie Rickenbacker Mission

  DATELINE: NOVEMBER 9, 1918 PLACE: TOUL, FRANCE

  The dappled brown and tan, two-seat biplane was a slow aircraft at best. She was an especially tempting target when flown in a straight line, as she had to do when taking photos of the German trenches three thousand feet below. Five thousand feet above her, were three, single-seat, brown, French-built Spad XIII fighters, flown by American pilots. Their job was to watch over the recon aircraft below as it took the photos.

  German anti-aircraft flak opened up and deadly bursts of red, orange and black appeared noiselessly about the two-seater as she kept to the straight line of flight. Suddenly, two red-colored fighters darted up behind her. The big black crosses on their wings got the attention of the three Spad fighters flying top cover and they went into a dive to protect their comrade five thousand feet beneath them.

  The first indication the two-seater pilot had that there was trouble was when he heard the chatter of his photographer-cum-gunner’s machine gun in the rear as he fired away at the German fighters on his tail. The pilot quickly forgot about flying in a straight line and made evasive movements as he looked up for his fighter escort and thought, “Where are they?”

  The pilot of the two-seater heard it said, that, at this late date in the war, the escorting fighters would use the photo-recon two-seaters as bait, to lure enemy fighters up into a scrap. He also remembered one of the fighter pilots stating flat-out, Rubbish! We would never do such a thing to tempt the Huns up for a go-around. Why, using another aircraft as bait, it just isn’t done at all. But back in the moment, the two-seater pilot swiveled his head as he tried to find his escorts and evade the bullets that flew past his aircraft.

  Above him, the three escorting fighters were almost in a good firing positions on the German fighters. Each pilot had his eyes fixed on the two enemy fighters that they now made out as Fokker Dr.1s: very maneuverable German triplanes with twin, fast-firing machine guns.

  Rumor had it that the war was winding down, and the fighter pilots all wanted to go home with medals. Of course, they didn’t want to be killed as the end was in sight, but this was an easy setup to notch another victory for the first two guys who got there.

  As the three flattened their dive to get behind the German craft, a string of flaming, yellow balls of tracers seemed to float past them. It took less than a second to realize this was a trap. Instead of them being the attackers, the Germans had used the first two Fokkers as bait, just as the Spads had used their two-seater as bait. Now the tables were turned and the hunters were the hunted as the German fighters were on their tails.

  The American fighters broke in different directions and the red-colored German fighters from Jasta-11 zoomed after them. One Spad burst into flames and went straight down. The two-seater started trailing smoke and part of another Spad’s wing was holed as the pilot made for low-lying smoke coming from an artillery emplacement.

  A red Fokker with a white tail followed him down, shooting at every opportunity. The Spad did a quick climb but was cut off by the nimble triplane, forcing it back down closer to the Earth. As the Spad hugged the terrain, jinking side-to-side, a new menace appeared before it.

  Enemy soldiers in field-gray uniforms were firing up at him from the trenches he was forced to fly over. Holes were appearing in his canvas-covered fighter as he tried to outmaneuver the red triplane on his tail. Suddenly a line of holes stitched across the “Hat in the Ring” squadron emblem painted on the side of the aircraft, and two of the bullets entered the pilot’s thigh. His reaction caused the fighter’s wingtip to touch the ground and turned the airplane into a cart wheeling ball of fire.

  It was twelve-thirty in the afternoon as the white-tailed triplane flew overhead, the pilot’s blond hair peeking out beneath his leather helmet as he looked down at his kill.

  Before the Spad hit the Earth, a small, two-inch silver colored globe detached itself from the fuselage, activated its mechanical wings and flitted away.

  DATELINE: 2066 PLACE: HISTORY TRACKING CENTER, NEW YORK CITY

  John Hyder shut off the hologram and looked around the table at the others of the Tim
e Tracking group. He ran his long fingers through his blond hair as he raised his eyebrows and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, that Spad you just saw crash in France was piloted by Eddie Rickenbacker, America’s top ace of World War One.”

  “Captain Eddie,” said Joseph Sergi, as the group turned toward him. He stood and started the slow pacing he usually did when in thought. With his hands deep in his pockets, Sergi looked at the ceiling and said quietly, “The world of the twenties and thirties knew him as ‘Captain Eddie.’ He downed twenty-six enemy aircraft in the First World War and became an American hero.” He returned to his seat.

  Maryellen Muldey picked up the conversation. “Well, he was more than a hero of the people. He went on to become president of Eastern Airlines and was the figurehead of the aviation industry when the world was learning to fly from point to point, rather than taking a train or steamship. He was also an adviser to the president and military leaders during World War Two.” She shook her head. “This could be a huge setback for world aviation.”

  Alexis Shuntly squinted through her thick glasses and asked, “So he didn’t really get shot down at all?”

  Hyder answered her, “Right. He was never shot down.”

  “Looks like he fell for an old trick, used over and over again by both sides, in the war,” said Sergi as he started pacing again. “It looks as though he and his two wingmen were using the two-seater as bait to lure the Germans into combat. The war was just about over in October 1918, and the pilots wanted to do two things: stay alive and get kills.” He pointed to the hologram and continued, “But it seems as though the Germans were working the same bait trick but had their fighters at an even higher altitude than Rickenbacker’s group. When Captain Eddie attacked the Germans, the higher-flying Germans attacked them from above and behind, and, I might add, they had better success at it.”

  Hyder exhaled a long breath and sank deeper into the big leather chair at the head of the table. He looked up.

  “I suggest we send someone back to stop Rickenbacker from flying that mission.” He looked at the group and asked, “All in favor?” Everyone nodded and said “Aye” while, at the same time, Joseph Sergi stood and shook his head.

  “Nay.”

  Hyder’s eyebrow shot up. “Nay?” he asked, “Why nay, Joseph? Don’t you think we have to fix this new turn of events?”

  “Absolutely!” said Sergi, standing now with his hands flat on the tabletop. “But I’ve read enough about Rickenbacker to know that he’d never listen to anyone telling him not to fly a combat mission.” He raised his arms and shrugged his shoulders as he continued, “In fact, at that late point in the war, Rickenbacker flew two, and sometimes three times a day to better his score.” Sergi shook his head again. “No, I think we have to come up with a better solution than telling him not to fly a combat mission.”

  The group looked at each other and finally Hyder said, “Well, I’m open to suggestions. What do we do to stop him from getting killed?”

  The room was quiet. Hyder pushed back his chair and said, “Look, let’s do this. Come back tomorrow morning and hopefully we all will have at least one suggestion each, to stop him from flying, outside of hitting him over the head with a wrench. Agree?”

  They agreed and Hyder declared the meeting over until nine the next morning.

  The next day at the appointed time, the group was huddled around a small table in the corner. It was piled high with pastries and had a coffee urn and hot water for tea. Hyder looked at them and thought with a smile, “If their ideas match their appetites, we are well on our way with this mission.”

  They gravitated to their seats and watched as Hyder ran the hologram again. He looked up after shutting it off.

  “Ideas?” He looked at Jerry Sullivan who sat next to him, “Sully? Got anything?”

  Sullivan shook his head no.

  Muldey shrugged her shoulders and held up her hands in resignation. The same reaction came from all the others until Joseph Sergi’s turn.

  He stood and said, “I have something that has a good chance of working, John.” He stood and crossed his arms as he looked up at the ceiling. “If we can’t stop Rickenbacker from flying, then we stop the German from downing him.”

  “Stop the German from taking off?” Hyder asked. “How would we do that?”

  “Not sure,” said Sergi as he shrugged his shoulders, “we have to think outside the box on this one.”

  “I have an idea,” said Muldey. “I imagine we’re going to use Bill Scott’s 1800 Club. Well, why not see what ideas he may have? He’s come up with some great solutions for our problems since taking over as the club’s president.”

  Hyder nodded in response. “Good idea. Let’s see how he’d handle it. All in favor?”

  They all raised their hands and Hyder opened the door and motioned to Ted, the young man who was always on call when the council was in session. “Ted, will you come in, please.” Ted followed him in and closed the door behind him.

  Hyder began, “We have need of Bill Scott’s services. As you know he runs The 1800 Club in 2011. I believe our contact with him is through his future grandson, Edmund Scott with our tracking group.”

  Ted didn’t even open his notebook when he replied, “Yes. History Tracker Edmund Scott is his descendant. I’ll get him right away, Mr. Hyder.”

  Hyder smiled as the young man left the room. “Well, let’s not let that good coffee and pastries go to waste.” They all went back for seconds.

  An hour later Edmund Scott left the History Tracking Council’s room. In his hand, he held the group’s hologram.

  DATELINE: DECEMBER 20, 1939 PLACE: THE RKO PROSPECT MOVIE THEATER, BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

  The time was nine-fifty in the evening and Bill Scott was taking in the eight o’clock showing of the movie, ‘Gone With the Wind.’ He smiled as he thought, No surround-sound or other modern technology, and to hear the audience as they first saw this Academy-award winning movie, was priceless. He looked at his box of Good and Plenty candy and chuckled again, Plus a box of candy for five cents. A guy can’t go wrong.

  A slight vibration on the text communicator in his inside breast pocket got his attention. He left his seat and walked out to the lobby and stepped into a telephone booth to check the message. It was from Edmund Scott up in 2066.

  “HELLO BILL. I NEED TO MEET WITH YOU. CAN YOU GIVE ME A TIME THAT’S GOOD FOR YOU? YOUR GRANDSON, EDMUND SCOTT.”

  Bill quickly typed back, “I’LL BE AT THE CLUB IN ONE HOUR. WANT TO MEET ME THERE?”

  The text answer was; “I’LL BE THERE. EDMUND.”

  Bill put the text communicator away just as Rhett Butler said on the movie screen, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!” The gasp from the audience told him he was back in a simpler time. Missed it! Darn, he thought as he fixed his scarf and fedora, pulled on his leather gloves and pushed open the glass door to exit. He smiled as he walked past a group of people waiting in line to see this groundbreaking Hollywood extravaganza. They all dressed up to go see a movie back here, he thought as he stepped out into the cold evening, I think that’s great!

  Once out in the street he ignored two taxis until a yellow, Sky-View taxi turned the corner and he flagged it down. He gave the driver the club’s address and slid back the clear glass roof to take in the fresh, cold evening air. He listened as the driver shifted gears and thought with a grin, No automatic transmissions yet, at least in the taxis.

  As they sped to New York City, the time traveler looked up through the taxi’s open roof at the stars of the December evening of 1939. Going over the Brooklyn Bridge, he watched as couples strolled the bridge, hugging in the cold air. He saw the holiday lights of Brooklyn fade behind him, as the bright lights of the city got closer. They drove up Third Avenue and pulled up to the rear of The 1800 Club. He paid the driver and opened the garden gate, then the door to the staircase that took him to the large mahogany door of the club’s den, and August 2011.

  DATELINE: 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB
, NEW YORK CITY

  Bill entered the den and tossed his fedora across the room, trying to land it on a peg of the mid-eighteen hundreds clothes tree in the corner. He missed. Oh well, can’t win ’em all. But, he thought with a smile, a first-run movie in 1939 and a Sky-View taxi cab ride home . . . now that’s not so bad. He loosened his tie as Matt knocked and opened the den’s door.

  “Hot chocolate, sir?”

  Bill walked over as Matt passed the steaming mug to him. “Thanks, Matt. Any calls?”

  “No sir. Will you be wanting anything else?”

  “No, thanks. In fact, in a minute or two my future grandson Edmund will be dropping by. As you know, he’ll be able to spend only a short time here, so I’ll be concentrating on him. Why don’t you take the rest of the night off?”

  Matt nodded. “I’ll be in my room should you or Mr. Edmund need me, sir.” He smiled as he closed the door behind him.

  Bill sank down into his favorite large, soft, leather easy chair. He was about to take a sip of the hot chocolate when there was a tap at the door and he hurriedly got up. He flung the door open and there was Edmund smiling back at him. They embraced and Bill ushered him in and sat him in the easy chair.

  “Hey, young fella,” Bill asked eagerly, “how are you doing?” Then he stopped himself and instructed, “Take it slowly and breathe easy, Edmund. Talk when it’s comfortable for you.”

  The young time traveler looked at his ancestor and his blue eyes showed the respect he felt for him.

  “Hello, Bill,” he said quietly, “I’m fine, and you? You look great.” He pointed to Bill’s three-piece double-breasted suit and asked, “Were you out on a mission? I’d say that’s a late-thirties or early-forties-style suit.”