Book IV

by Robert P McAuley

  “And no doubt you think it should be you going back to battle him?”

  John shook his head no and said with some reluctance, “No, not me. I wish it could be, and believe me I tried to figure myself in, every which way. But, I always came to the same conclusion: the person who should do battle with a World War One pilot, should be someone who’s familiar with early propeller-driven aircraft. I’m too used to flying high-speed aircraft in a pressurized cockpit with power-boosted controls. No, our man has to be a cross between a World War One and a World War Two pilot.”

  “So,” answered Bill, as he took an egg salad sandwich and motioned to John to help himself, “where do we find such a person? I don’t think the club has anyone who fits that description.”

  “It doesn’t,” answered John, as he took a tuna on rye and a mug of coffee.

  “Then, where do we get this pilot?”

  John took a bite, looked Bill in the eye and said, “This is the tricky part. I know the person you can send back.”

  “Who’s that?” countered Bill sitting forward again.

  “Okay, we need a good, no, let’s make that an outstanding stick-and-rudder man. We need a pilot who feels comfortable in a fighter that has manual controls, not power-assisted controls. A pilot who trained to dogfight at one to two hundred miles an hour, not one who trained to fight at six hundred to one thousand miles an hour. A pilot who feels at home in an open, windy, cold, cockpit.”

  “So, where do we find such a pilot?”

  “My grandfather,” answered John as he sat back to watch Bill’s reaction.

  Bill just looked at John and said, “So, talk to me.”

  John put his coffee cup down and said emphatically, “Bill, my grandfather was a flight instructor during World War Two. Lieutenant John Brand, senior. He taught hundreds of pilots to fly in a Boeing PT-17 Stearman trainer, which was an open cockpit biplane. He has thousands of hours and was one of the best stick-and-rudder men around. No one ever bested him in simulated combat.”

  Bill’s face showed concern as he asked, “Is your grandfather still alive?”

  “Yep! He’s eighty-four.”

  Bill nodded thoughtfully. “This is going to be tricky. You’re suggesting I go back in time, and enlist your grandfather to go back, even further in time, to have a dogfight that he might lose.” He looked at John and continued, “You know, John, if he doesn’t make it, you won’t exist at all.”

  John nodded, “I know. I thought it through, but I know he’ll win. I have faith in his abilities. He was the best.”

  “Did he make ace?”

  John sat back as he shook his head, “No. He never saw combat. He was so good as an instructor that they wouldn’t let him leave Air Training Command. He tried every day to get into a combat unit, but they always turned him down. They constantly told him he was too important to the war effort. He was very bitter and left the Army Air Corps after the war.”

  Wordlessly, Bill stood and got two cigars, handed one to John and lit both. He sat back down and said, “John, you’re asking me to send back a man who was never in combat. He never fired his guns in anger. How do we know he won’t get buck fever and be unable to pull the trigger? Besides, we don’t want him to kill anyone, just disrupt the one-on-one dogfight with Rickenbacker and the German pilot. You’re really lowering the odds of your being here if you send him back.”

  John took a deep pull on his cigar and answered, “I know, and I still feel justified in having him go back. If there’s anyone who can perform this mission, it’s he.” John sat forward and said pleadingly, “And he’s not going to be around much longer. I’d sure love to give him a shot at combat. It’s all he ever wanted.”

  “Is his health failing then?”

  “Yes,” answered John with a grimace, “he’s had emphysema most of his adult life. He was a smoker. He’s on oxygen all the time now.” He put his cigar down and continued, “He had a tough life. Lost his wife one year after they were married giving birth to my father. Anyway, believe me he’s the one to pull this mission off.”

  Bill smiled and said, “You sold me, partner. Your grandfather goes. Now, can we fix a timeline when he’s in New York, or do I have to travel in the forties?”

  “Dad was stationed at Floyd Bennett Field in Brooklyn from 1940 to 1944. After that he was stationed in Florida so we can catch him in Brooklyn.”

  Bill shook his head and said, “Not we, John. I can’t let you go on this. It doesn’t feel right, him being your grandfather and all.”

  John nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’d gum it up somehow. I’d be hugging him and offering all kinds of advice. You’re right, but what can I do to help?”

  “Okay, now that we have a plan of action, I’ll need some information that only you know, so I can pique his interest and make him a believer in time travel.”

  John grinned. “Easy! He told me a few things, as I got older, that I know he told no one else. I’ll write them down for you.”

  “I’ll also need his full name, rank and any other pertinent information you can think of.”

  “You got it,” John said with enthusiasm. “I’m going home to check it all out and I’ll bring it back tonight.”

  “Make it tomorrow. I want to get some period clothes together and my cover story. Can you be here at ten tomorrow morning?”

  “That’ll be me ringing the bell at ten sharp.”

  As soon as John left, Bill summoned Matt, who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

  “You called, sir?”

  “Yes, Matt. Will you help me put together some clothes and paperwork? I’ll be going back to 1940.”

  At ten the next morning, Matt brought John Brand up to Bill’s apartment. He tapped on the door and Bill answered, “Come on in, guys.”

  The door opened and John saw Bill dressed as an U.S. Army Captain. The insignia on his lapel denoted him as an officer in intelligence. He turned a full circle and asked, “Well, what do you think? Will I pass?”

  John stood there looking at an Army officer of the 1940s. “Whew! I’m ready to salute. But tell me, why just a captain? Why not a major or colonel?”

  Bill buffed the captain’s twin bars as he answered, “A captain can move around a base without making as big a fuss as a major or higher. And, a captain is higher than a Lieutenant, such as Lieutenant John Brand, Senior. Correct?”

  “Correct. You’ll be just under the radar. Do you have credentials?”

  Bill pulled out his passport and a set of orders. “Thanks to Matt, I’m a captain doing TDY at Floyd Bennett Field, Brooklyn, New York.”

  “TDY? Oh, that’s right, I remember now, ‘Temporary Duty’,” said John.

  “Yep! Temporary Duty. I’ll be stopping there while waiting for a flight to Europe to see how the Brits are handling the German air force. Good cover?”

  John nodded and said, “And the date?”

  “You said he was at Floyd Bennett in 1940. Well, that’s the date I’ll be going back to. The U.S. isn’t in the war yet and security won’t be too tight at the field yet.”

  John nodded and said as he handed him a notebook page filled with notes, “Here’s the information you may need. When do you go?”

  Bill pointed to his Army barracks bag. “Packed and ready to depart.” He turned to Matt and asked, “Matt, did you bring the jacket for John?”

  Matt took out a tweed jacket with brown leather patches on the elbows and passed it to John.

  “How about putting on this 1939 jacket and joining me for lunch at Paddy Diamonds Bar & Grill of 1939?” suggested Bill.

  John fairly grabbed the jacket and as he slipped into it said, “Let’s go!”

  Bill shook hands with Matt, set the time modulator to August 2, 1940, and opened the door that led to The 1800 Club’s garden.

  DATELINE: AUGUST 2, 1940 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

  As usual the garden in this season was alive with birds and butterflies, fluttering about in a riot of color and song
. It had been recently trimmed and Bill and John could smell the cut grass. Bill opened the gate and closed it behind them as they stepped out into the streets of 1940.

  It was 11:37 in the morning and the streets were busy. Two boys roller-skated by and John couldn’t help but wonder how they would look at inline skates. A young girl walked by going in the other direction and both boys looked back over their shoulders and gave her a wolf whistle as she passed them.

  “Some things never change,” John said to Bill, and they both laughed.

  They got to Diamonds Bar & Grill and walked across the long, chipped tile floor. Bill thought as he grinned inwardly, Diamonds Bar and Grill . . . boy, no matter what the date, it never seems to change. A group of sailors were seated at the end of the bar and Bill and John opted for the middle by the beer taps.

  Paddy Diamond greeted them. “Good afternoon, gents. What’ll it be?”

  Bill thought as he looked at the big man, my gosh! He looks just like his father and grandfather. Finally, he said, “Burger, Paddy, well done, and a beer for me.”

  He turned to John, “What about you?”

  “Same, medium rare.”

  The big bartender looked at Bill and asked with a furrowed brow, “Did we ever meet, Captain? I never forget a face.”

  Bill smiled and answered, “No, I heard someone say your name.” He put out his hand and said, “Bill Scott and this is John Brand.”

  They shook hands and Paddy pulled two tall cold beers and put them down in front of the time travelers.

  “Think they’ll be a war, Cap’n?” he asked as he wiped the bar.

  Bill nodded, “Hate to say it, but yes, I do think so.”

  A sailor called to Paddy and he moved off to serve him.

  John lifted his beer to Bill and said, “Good luck, pal. Have a successful mission.”

  “Thanks, John. All I have to do is get your grandfather to complete it.”

  John went silent as they both kept their thoughts to themselves. Finally, Bill said, as he tilted his head toward Paddy working the bar, “Funny, all the different years I’ve come here, it always seems the same. Big Paddy Diamond, be it the grandfather, grandson or now the great-grandson. It just feels right. Like coming home after a long journey. Its the place to go for a cold beer; good company and you can relax. It always seems the same in here, no matter what year it is.”

  John smiled, “I know what you mean. It’s like ‘Diamonds is forever.’”

  Bill turned to John and grew serious. “Listen, Johnny, I hope this goes as we planned. I’d hate to lose a good buddy. You know there are not too many people I can talk to about what I do for a living.”

  John smiled and answered, “I know what you mean. I’d love to be able to talk to my dad about my time travel mission. (Author’s note: The Wright brother’s Mission: Book Two.) And boy, would that subject impress the ladies.”

  Small talk followed and ten minutes later Paddy brought the hamburgers and deep-fried potatoes. The two had another beer, paid and left.

  They stood outside as Bill looked for a taxi.

  “Good luck, Bill, and say hi to my grandpa for me,” said John.

  “I’ll see if there’s a way I can do that, John. Hope to see you in a few days.” He stopped as a cab turned the corner and he flagged it down. They shook hands and he got in.

  “Floyd Bennett Field, Flatbush Avenue, Brooklyn,” he said as he sat back and watched the neighborhoods of New York City go by on a hot day in1940. Well, it’s not a Sky-View taxi, he thought, but heck, can’t be lucky all the time.

  The taxi went over the Brooklyn Bridge and up Flatbush Avenue all the way to the end where the small airport was located. Bill had read all about the airport that was built in the thirties. It was hoped that it would become a major hub in the growing air transport system, but it proved to be too far away from major transportation to catch on. It saw the likes of Wiley Post, Amelia Earhart and Howard Hughes as they broke aviation records and used it as a refueling spot on the world map.

  Turning in through the main gate, they stopped before a guard post. Bill got out and paid the driver who drove off. The sentry snapped to attention and Bill gave him a sharp salute as he walked over to the administration building.

  So far, so good, he thought as he went up the stone steps and opened one of the double doors. He entered and at once heard the buzz of a busy military air station. The granite floors were highly polished and the hanging lights showed off the long mahogany desk behind which a group of Army Air Corp personnel were setting up flight plans, and checking weather reports.

  He approached a young corporal and asked for directions to the base commander’s office. Told he had to see First Sergeant Woo, who handled all of the commander’s business, he was directed to a curved staircase that took him to the second floor. At the top was a door marked, ‘BASE COMMANDER.’ He opened it and stopped before the commander’s first sergeant and passed him his papers.

  Sergeant Woo looked at his orders and with a smile said, “Colonel Hunter is in a meeting, Captain Scott.” He stamped his orders and continued, “Most likely he’ll be leaving for his home right after the meeting breaks up, and won’t be back for two days, so you’ll probably miss seeing him.” He passed back Bill’s papers and said, “We can set you up in our Bachelors Officers Quarters for a night or two. Just let me know when you have your transportation to England set up. Breakfast is from oh-five hundred to oh-seven hundred, lunch is from eleven-thirty to thirteen hundred and dinner is sixteen hundred to seventeen fifty. Cash or signature is good, and,” he waved a hand to the left, “the quarters are two huts down, right off Flatbush Avenue.” He then added, in a low confidential voice, “I suggest you take a bunk closer to the runway as there are no landings expected tonight but automobiles will be going up and down Flatbush Avenue all night.”

  Bill smiled as he put away his orders. “Thank you, Sergeant, you’ve been very helpful. I’m just going to walk around the base before dinner. I’ll check back with you before I leave.”

  The time traveler went to the wooden barracks that were the Officers Quarters, and dropped his bag on a bed right off the runway. Man, he thought, looking out the window at the long concrete strip, I have to get over there and check out the old aircraft. He quickly washed up and left to walk the runway.

  Bill did a slow stroll as he looked at aircraft he had seen only as lawn ornaments at military bases. He was torn between watching the parked aircraft and the automobiles from the thirties drive along Flatbush Avenue, right outside the base. He felt as though his eyes were bulging and he thought, Got to pretend this is an everyday happening for me. Two mechanics walked past and he nodded, knowing that on a flight line, one didn’t salute.

  He noted a group of blue and yellow biplanes with their engines running, at the side of the main runway. A group of pilots listened intently as an officer pointed out the various parts of the aircraft. Although he couldn’t hear what the man was saying, he could tell by his mannerisms that he was an instructor. Bill slowly headed toward them but stopped a short distance away and watched as the fledging pilots climbed into their aircraft, taxied to the parking stand and shut down the engines. The instructor watched every move they made and scribbled notes on a pad.

  The time traveler approached a hangar with its doors opened and went in as though it were an everyday thing for him to be doing. More aircraft were parked inside. Once again he tried to be casual, but felt his heart racing as he saw history before him. He shook his head as he thought, Man, this is fantastic! You can smell the dope and shellac from the fabric covering. He stooped beneath a Boeing B-10 bomber and lovingly ran his hand along its cool belly.

  “Pretty, huh, Captain?”

  He looked over and saw a mechanic working on the hydraulic system of a landing gear. Bill nodded and said, “Yes, it still amazes me that something so big can fly.” The man went back to his job as Bill did a slow walk over to a yellow and blue Boeing PT-17 biplane trainer.

 
; A mechanic was pulling on one of the many wires that held her together. Once again Bill ran his hand along the fabric-covered fuselage.

  The mechanic grinned and said as he pushed back his cap, “Lieutenant Brand’s bird. He wrote her up as having a slight looseness in the left wing area, and I’m trying darn hard to find it.” He pulled slightly on a support wire, and his eyes opened wide, “Well, I’ll be a . . . this wire’s on the loose side. Got to check the adjusting crank.”

  “Find it, Campbell?”

  Bill and the mechanic turned to see a man walking briskly toward them from the engine shop. “I heard it rather than felt it,” he said. “It hummed differently in the wind than the other wires. Glad you located it.”

  Bill saw his nametag, LT. J. BRAND.

  The instructor stopped by the wing and watched Campbell adjust the wire. “Will you strum that wire, sir,” asked Brand, pointing to a wire near Bill. Bill pulled the wire taut and released it. The twang it made matched the twang that Brand’s wire made as he released his. Brand smiled.

  “That’s it, then. She’s set for tomorrow’s flight. Thank you, Captain . . . ?”

  Bill put out his hand. “Scott, Bill Scott and you are . . .” he said pointing to his nametag, “Lieutenant Brand?”

  “Yes sir, Captain Scott. John Brand. I’m a flight instructor here. Are you new here?”

  “Temporary Duty. I’ll be out of here in a day or two. On my way over to England.”

  “Ahh,” said John, “on to where the war is. Lucky you.”

  Bill shrugged and said in a resigned voice, “Someone has to do it.”

  “Wish it was me, Captain, wish it was me.”

  Bill looked up with a smile, “Listen, Lieutenant, I’m here for a night or two. I’d love to hear some real flying stories. Join me in a drink, would you?” He pointed to his insignia indicating he was from Intelligence and continued, “Where I work there isn’t too much excitement.”

  John laughed. “You’re on. I’m at the Officers Quarters and I’ll be ready in thirty minutes. How’s that?”