Trophy for Eagles

by Boyne, Walter J.

  "No, the Germans have clammed up on this, and even the Brits haven't found anything out. There's such a stink brewing about the way Guernica was destroyed that we may never know."

  "How bad was it?"

  "Totally destroyed. The Nationalists are saying the Loyalists blew it up, the Loyalists are calling it a massacre. That's what's making the French so nervous about having you here."

  "I'll be glad to go."

  "Sorry I couldn't get you on the Hindenburg. I know you liked the last trip so much. It's leaving the day after tomorrow and getting into Lakehurst on the sixth."

  "I know you're joking. The Germans would love to get their hands on me—and I'm frankly scared to fly in it."

  "Well, let's get started. We can talk on the boat train. I wish I were going back with you, but I'm due to brief the air attache from Berlin on Lindbergh's next visit."

  "He's going back?"

  "Yeah, he's even talking about taking a house there and living in Berlin, if you can believe it."

  "Jesus, I wish he would live in Germany for a while—that would bring him around. And I wish you could have known him when he was in flying school, or at Roosevelt Field. He was a prince." Bandfield was sadly reflective, then went on, "For a long time I've tried to tell myself that success spoiled him. It wasn't that. I think the press drove him crackers."

  "He's not crazy—just has a defeatist outlook."

  Bandfield took a shot in the dark. "Henry, it looks like Patty isn't going to fly with Earhart when she tries it again. If you had anything to do with her not going, I sure appreciate it."

  "I had nothing to do with her going or not going, Bandy, although I don't think you believe me. Anyway, you can get the whole story from Patty when you get back."

  *

  Aboard the Normandie,

  New York Harbor/May 5, 1937

  Frank Bandfield was fit, rested, and hot as hell to see Patty. He had spent five celibate months since their argument had turned into a sexual romp. He was ready. For the past four days, he'd done nothing but eat and sleep, making up for all the lost meals in Spain. Caldwell had told him apologetically that he wouldn't be getting his bounty money, the $1,000 for each airplane shot down, and had arranged instead for a first-class cabin. Bandfield had done little more than go back and forth from his stateroom to the dining room for the whole trip.

  The crowd pressing the dock reminded him of the stands at the National Air Races, a sea of upturned faces, waving arms. Most of the women were wearing wide white hats—he knew he could pick Patty out because she wouldn't be.

  The ship was finally warped in and the gangways rolled into place. He saw her, and he felt his excitement grow. She waved, her arm coming up through a cluster of happy, excited faces.

  He bumped his way through the pack of people on the gangway, forcing himself forward. Patty was forging ahead to him, and their hands reached out to touch, their bodies buffered by a group of celebrants hugging and kissing each other.

  The crowd parted, and they embraced, arms wrapping around each other, mouths firmly intersected. He hugged her, trying to drive his pelvis against hers, unable to do so because there was something in the way—her belly.

  The crowd closed in around them as they both dropped their hands down.

  "My God, you're pregnant?"

  "Either that or I'm going to have to go on a hell of a diet."

  "When is it due?"

  "It had better be no later than August, or I'm in big trouble."

  "Now I understand why you didn't go with Earhart."

  "There wouldn't have been room for the three of us."

  Bundling the luggage through customs took forever, and in between the catching up and kissing he asked her, "What happens to our sex life now that we have a star boarder?"

  "Well, you'll see soon enough. We're going to the St. Moritz. I've already checked in and gone to the room. I've got three towels ready—one warm, one cool, one dry—and an extension cord with a two-toe socket running to the bed."

  He kissed her again.

  ***

  Author's Note

  In nonfiction, no matter how hard one tries to validate every fact, errors are still made. The soul-saving grace is that in making errors the author provides pleasure to the ardent buffs who love to set you straight. The author has more latitude in fiction, where you can make necessary changes in people, places, or events to suit the requirements of the plot.

  I've taken some small liberties in this regard, changing the real Dole Derby to a fictional Pineapple Derby, and creating some special races, planes, and paint schemes for the Cleveland Air Races. For the most part, however, I've tried very hard to convey the true flavor of the times in both civil and military aviation, and would hope that the buffs might find pleasure in recognizing in fiction what they know so well in fact.

  I would like to express my gratitude to Crown Publishers, Inc., for the tremendous support they have provided me in creating this book. My most profound thanks go to Senior Editor Mark Gompertz, whose inspirational help has been crucial. It is a privilege to work with Mark, who is a wonderful editor, a great friend, and a marvelous human being.