Fighter Escort

by Don Patterson

  Ross nodded his head at the unfortunate news and replied, "Three planes lost all right, but without yer boys up there today, Colonel, none of us would'a come home alive. With your permission, we'd like to put on a little 'git-together' for you and yer squadron to say thank you."

  Colonel Harrison looked at Captain Dawson and the other RAF pilots and asked, "Will you men help Captain Ross with everything he needs?"

  "Yes sir!" Dawson snapped with a crisp salute.

  "Well then," Harrison replied to Captain Ross, "everything would seem to be in order. But, right now I need to finish the mission notes with my pilots. Why don't you take a few minutes to get familiar with Hampton Airfield."

  Captain Ross saluted Colonel Harrison and left the room so the RAF pilots could finish their meeting. Stepping outside, Ross noticed young Harry Winslow sitting in the grassy yard in front of the Operations Building.

  "Howdy there, young man!" Ross greeted Harry with a smile. Extending his hand, he introduced himself.

  "Captain Sam Ross, United States Army Air Force. What's yer name, son?" Having never heard an actual southern accent before,Harry was a bit startled by the boisterous American pilot. Jumping to his feet, Harry reached to shake the outstretched hand of Captain Ross.

  "My name is Harry Winslow, sir."

  "So you're the Winslow boy. Glad to meet ya!"

  "How do you know me?" Harry sheepishly asked.

  "I'll tell ya, kid," Ross replied, "It was a long ride home for me and my boys. Captain Dawson and I had plenty of time to talk about lots of things."

  Surprised that he would be a topic of conversation among the pilots, Harry couldn't help but ask, "What did he tell you?"

  Ross started in his heavy accent, "Dawson mentioned somethin' about you always bein' here to see him and his boys off on their missions. And then watchin' for 'em to come back again."

  Wondering aloud he continued, "What else did he say? Oh yeah, he said you know more about their flights than Colonel Harrison does. And he also pointed out that you're the only member of the squadron who has his own bedroom!"

  "A member of the squadron?" Harry thought. Harry smiled at the idea of Captain Dawson considering him a member of the squadron. But the warm moment faded when he thought of his mishap with Mr. Reid's shed.

  Ashamed, Harry admitted to Ross, "But, I'm not brave enough to be one of them."

  "Brave?" Ross barked. "I'm tellin' ya kid, bravery is all well and good, but being responsible, now that's the makin' of a good man in my book!"

  Harry was surprised at the American's statement. In his young mind he always thought the key to his fighter pilot friends was being brave and strong.

  Unconvinced, Harry said, "You've got to be brave to face those German fighters."

  "That's true, boy," Ross replied nodding his head. "But it's responsibility that keeps us climbing back into the cockpit everyday. It was Captain Dawson's sense of responsibility that made him stick with me and my boys when the chips were down. A brave man can always get himself out of a jam. But a responsible man, he's the one who can get everybody out!"

  Ross stopped for a moment and then finished, "I'm tellin' ya kid, be responsible and face things head on...the rest will come."

  Harry looked at Captain Ross, speechless. So absorbed in everything Ross had said, all Harry could do was nod. Ross smiled and patted the twelve year old on his shoulder.

  "These men are lucky to have you, Harry."

  Then the American pilot began to walk away. Turning back, Ross called to Harry, "Hey kid, we're having a big party tonight. Y'all make sure you come now, ya' hear?"

  Harry nodded his head in amazement, an ear to ear grin stretching across his face. Watching Ross stroll out to the airfield, Harry barely noticed Captain Dawson coming down the steps of the Operations Building.

  "Harry," Captain Dawson shouted to the Winslow boy. "Did you want to talk to me earlier, lad?"

  With the words of Captain Ross still ringing in his head, Harry called back, "Yes sir, I did... but...well, not anymore."

  Scrambling across the field he shouted, "I need to go, Captain, I have to take care of something important!"

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BEING RESPONSIBLE

  Harry realized he and his friends needed to take responsibility for the accident with Mr. Reid's shed, regardless of their fears. He felt if they fixed the shed, they could make things right with Mr. Reid. It was the trustworthy thing to do.

  Harry ran to gather Stuart and Erin together so he could explain his idea to them. They agreed it was what they should do, and hoped that the rest would work out for the best.

  However, "Mad Man" Reid was known as the meanest man in the county, and Harry worried about his reaction to their solution. On the way to Mr. Reid's house, they talked in whispers while framing up a plan that would make things right again.

  Stepping onto the stoop of Mr. Reid's house, Harry, Stuart and Erin knocked quickly on the front door. They anxiously waited for someone to answer. Finally, the knob slowly turned and the door began to creak open on its rusty hinges. The three children held their breath in anticipation.

  "Who's there?" asked a cranky voice.

  "It's me, Mr. Reid," began Harry, in as brave a voice as he could muster. "Harry Winslow...and my two friends, Stuart and Erin."

  The door opened the rest of the way. Stepping out of the shadows and into the light, Mr. Reid moved closer to examine the three frightened youngsters. A frown clouded his face when he recognized them as the ones responsible for knocking down his chicken coop.

  "What do you little hooligans want? Haven't I already seen enough of you for one day?"

  Harry shrank back as Mr. Reid continued to crowd them.

  "Mr. Reid," Harry politely continued, "I know we caused you quite a bit of trouble today, but if you'll let me explain..."

  "Explain what, young man? That you smashed my shed and scattered my chickens to the winds? Is that what you want to explain?" Mr. Reid sternly asked.

  Harry swallowed hard, "I was just trying to get my kite off your chicken coop and it broke underneath me."

  Mr. Reid glared at Harry, "Look, I spent most of the day collecting my chickens! Now I have a shed to repair before nightfall, and I suppose you want your kites back!"

  Harry and the other two shivered, fearful of being scolded by the old man and then punished by their parents.

  Anticipating the worst, Harry began stammering, "I'm very sorry. I didn't mean for it to collapse like that. I was trying to get my kite. I hope I didn't hurt any of your chickens. I... I..."

  Holding up his hand to stop Harry's apologetic rambling, Mr. Reid barked, "The worst part was that all the while I was rounding up the chickens, I was worried that some young boy may have been hurt!"

  Mr. Reid and Harry looked at each other for a long moment. Neither side said anything.

  Then Mr. Reid demanded, "Just what do you want from me?"

  "Sir," Harry bravely replied, "we brought some tools and extra wood and shingles in order to fix your shed. If that would be acceptable to you, we would like to start now."

  Mr. Reid eyed the children standing on his porch. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked over at the broken shed.

  "Well, you broke it. I guess it's your responsibility to fix it."

  Harry turned to Stuart and Erin. They agreed it was their responsibility. All they wanted was a chance to make things right.

  Mr. Reid nodded his head and pointed at the wrecked chicken coop, "Go then...fix it!"

  The children sprang from the porch and ran to the demolished shed. They walked around and examined the condition of the coop. In order to start the needed repairs, they had to clear out all of the broken bits of rotten wood from the heap.

  After a few minutes of picking up the splintered pieces, Stuart shouted for Harry.

  "Look what I found!" he called, while pulling something from the pile of wood. "Our kites are here, and they’re still in one piece! Mine just needs a litt
le repair and yours looks to be in pretty good shape."

  Stuart handed them to Harry. The two boys examined the kites and were happy to see them in such good condition.

  After tossing a chunk of broken wood aside, Erin pointed out to Harry, "Now instead of making a whole new kite, you can just find someone to paint a picture of a Hawker Hurricane on it."

  Over on the other side of the shed, Mr. Reid was silently supervising the children's work. Listening intently to their conversation, he came around the corner toward them.

  "Why don't I just hold on to those for a while?" he barked.

  Fearing he would never see the kites again, Harry reluctantly handed them over to a stern Mr. Reid. Snatching them out of Harry's hands, Mr. Reid turned on his heel and headed back to his house.

  Over his shoulder he directed, "Now be sure to build carefully! I have chickens that need a safe place by nightfall!"

  After a couple hours of hard work, the shed was rebuilt. The two boys used fresh wood planks to replace the rotted ones that had buckled under Harry earlier in the day. Carefully, Erin nailed on shingles to keep out the rain. Then Harry shaved the door and oiled the hinges so it would swing freely.

  By this time, Mr. Reid was rocking on his front porch and supervising from a distance. Seeing they had finished, Mr. Reid motioned them back to his weathered house.

  When Harry, Stuart and Erin reached the porch he asked, "Do your parents know about this little mishap?"

  Sheepishly the youngsters looked at each other. The expression on Erin's face did little to hide her fear about being punished.

  Harry hesitantly replied, "No, they don't. At least not yet, anyway."

  "Good," replied Mr. Reid, while reaching out to shake their hands. "I believe you don't need to worry them about this."

  The children quietly nodded their heads. Although greatly relieved, they were even more surprised that the man they had thought of as "Mad Man" Reid, had so kindly offered to keep them out of trouble.

  Then, Mr. Reid surprised them once more. Reaching behind the graying front door, he pulled out two kites and handed them to the boys.

  They were glad to have their kites back. Stuart immediately began to inspect his and noticed Mr. Reid had replaced the tattered paper with a fresh, crisp sheet. His kite looked as new as Harry's.

  Even better, when both boys turned their kites over to look at the front, they could hardly contain their excitement. Skillfully painted on each kite was a picture of an RAF Hawker Hurricane diving from the clouds!

  Mr. Reid watched the boys excitedly examine their kites. A faint smile stretched across his aged face. Then he looked at Erin.

  Reaching back behind the door once more Mr. Reid said, "I have one for you too, young lady."

  Erin stepped forward and reached for her new kite.

  "Thank you! Did you paint a picture of a Hurricane on mine?" she eagerly asked.

  "Why no, I didn't." Mr. Reid replied. "I feel a lady should have something a little more refined.

  Something more graceful."

  Happy to simply receive her own kite, Erin worked to hide her disappointment that Mr. Reid hadn't painted hers with a Hurricane like Harry's.

  But when she turned the kite over, an ear to ear grin raced across her face and she let out a shout that startled the two boys.

  "Mr. Reid," Erin exclaimed, "it's beautiful!"

  "What is it, Erin?" Stuart asked, trying to see the picture.

  Harry turned to look at Erin's kite. In contrast to the rugged Hurricanes Mr. Reid had painted on the boys' kites, Erin's was adorned with the sleek lines and graceful wings of a Spitfire.

  "It's a Spitfire!" Harry shouted. "Look, Stuart. Mr. Reid painted an RAF Spitfire fighter plane on Erin's kite!"

  Stuart looked at the kite and then at Erin. With just a slight nod of his head, Erin's older brother let her know just how special her kite was.

  Then Mr. Reid motioned for Harry, Stuart and Erin to gather close. "Listen to me, youngsters," he said. "The only thing around here older than me was that shed. Thank you for repairing it."

  The children, dirty from repairing the shed, stared at each other. They were astonished at just how wrong they were about "Mad Man" Reid.

  "Thank you so very much, Mr. Reid," Harry said. "These kites are..."

  "Glorious," finished Erin.

  "Well, I look forward to seeing your planes flying in the sky tomorrow," replied Mr. Reid pointing at the kites. "But I would suggest staying away from the chicken coop. Those chickens can't handle so much excitement!"

  "Yes, sir!" all three replied in unison.

  With the shed fixed and their problem resolved, the children started for home. Along the way, Harry, Stuart and Erin chatted about the day's events. They talked about their new friend, Mr. Reid, and how they would like to go back and get to know him better. They talked about being responsible and doing the right thing. But most of all, they laughed about how silly Harry looked falling through the shed.

  When they reached the Winslow home, Harry bounded for the front porch.

  Before Harry opened the screen door, Stuart called out, "Thanks for getting us out of the jam, Harry!"

  Harry waved back to his friends, Stuart and Erin. Remembering everything Captain Ross had told him, Harry looked at his kite for a moment.

  "He was right," Harry thought. "Be responsible and the rest will come."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  FAREWELL TO THE

  TEXAS BUCKAROO

  Late that afternoon, everyone at Hampton Airfield made their way to a campfire burning not far from the crippled Texas Buckaroo. Finished with the repairs to Mr. Reid's shed, Harry Winslow also joined the men who had gathered on the field.

  The pilots of the 14th Squadron had helped Captain Ross and his crew put together a real Texas style barbecue. Smoke and steam billowed up from pots of food cooking over the fire. Talking to the base cook, Captain Ross detailed the specifics of how to make, what he called, the "perfect" barbecue sauce. Once the cook seemed to understand his recipe, Ross stepped away from the makeshift kitchen and joined Captain Dawson under the wing of the Texas Buckaroo.

  "This is indeed a fine banquet you've put on," Dawson told Captain Ross.

  "I'm glad y'all appreciate a good picnic 'round here," Ross replied.

  Captain Dawson continued, "I'll drive you and your crew back to Manchester tomorrow morning. But for tonight, Simms and I have put up a bunk for you in our quarters."

  The American pilot turned and brushed his hand over the picture of the bucking bronco painted on the nose of his plane.

  "Thank you, Dawson," Captain Ross said. "But if it's all the same to you, I think I'll just stay out here with the old 'Buckaroo' tonight."

  A bit puzzled, Dawson replied, "Certainly Sam, if that's what you want."

  Captain Ross stepped over to where the emblems of the bombs were painted under the pilot’s window.

  "She's headed for the scrap yard this time, for sure," Ross said with some sadness in his voice. Reaching up he patted the bottom of the wing and continued, "After the party, I think I'll just bed down right here under her wing."

  A fellow flyer, Dawson understood his new friend's feelings about the loss of his airplane. After a brief silence, he made a suggestion designed to cheer up the American.

  "It's still early, Sam. Let's enjoy a bit of that feast and then you can tell me about some of your other missions in the Texas Buckaroo."

  Ross turned from the plane to look at Dawson. A huge smile broke across his face.

  Then he hollered, "Whoooey! There's sure some stories to tell!"

  The two pilots rejoined the rest of the men hovering about the barbecue. Harry Winslow was delighted to be surrounded by Dawson, Ross and all the other pilots. For the rest of the evening he enjoyed the accent of the American fliers and their heroic tales.

  Captain Ross was in his glory recounting the missions of the Texas Buckaroo and her crew. With everyone huddled around the glowing embers
of the fire, he shared his stories of adventure far into the night.

  Exhausted, Harry's head soon fell limp onto Dawson's shoulder. The combination of the hard work repairing Mr. Reid's shed and the late hour had finally caught up with him.

  "Excuse me gentlemen," Dawson said... "But I'm responsible for getting Harry home."

  "Excuse me, gentlemen," Dawson said to the others. "But I'm responsible for getting Harry home."

  Captain Dawson scooped the sleeping boy into his arms and carried him across the dark airfield. Bright stars twinkling from above seemed to smile down on the merry group. Slipping through the hedgerow fence, he followed the worn, dirt path back to the Winslow home. Before Dawson finished climbing the steps to the porch, Mrs. Winslow was there to meet him.

  "Thank you for bringing Harry home, Captain," Mrs. Winslow called to Dawson as he approached the front door of the two story farm house.

  "I'll take him up to his bedroom, if you like," Dawson suggested.

  Mrs. Winslow nodded her agreement. Dawson carefully climbed the stairs to Harry's bedroom. Gently, he laid the sleeping boy on his bed. Stepping back, Dawson noticed Harry's kite hanging on the wall. Even in the dim light, Mr. Reid's painting of the fighter plane was remarkable. Dawson couldn't help but smile when he noticed the squadron markings painted onto the plane. Harry had slightly changed Mr. Reid's picture by adding in the letters HP and A along the body. They were the identification marks of Dawson's Hawker Hurricane.

  On his way back to Hampton, Dawson could hear the southern accent of Captain Ross echoing across the airfield. Mixed with laughter from the other pilots, Ross and Simms were still telling stories when Dawson returned. Settling in with his friends, he joined the other men spinning their tales well into the early morning hours. In the end, the three pilots Ross, Dawson, and Simms were too tired to return to their quarters. Together, they all spent the night under the protective wing of the Texas Buckaroo.