The Time Pirate

by Ted Bell

Column after column, marching in tight formation, rifles slung over their shoulders, knives and grenades stuck in their boot-tops, exuding strength and an almost demonic determination. They marched toward the little town of Saint Peter Port like some unstoppable force of nature.

  Gleaming from head to toe, their buttons and boots and coal-scuttle helmets, these Nazi storm troopers seemed empowered with machinelike precision. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen in all of her eighty years. Eyes straight ahead, never wavering, blond youth at the very peak of fitness and training, they paid scant attention to the old woman with the bloodied bandage wound round her head, using her bicycle for support.

  They were exactly what they looked like. A conquering army marching through enemy territory, completely unopposed.

  She mounted her bicycle and headed up the lane and home, Jean-Paul’s four baguettes still in her basket.

  She would ring Lord Hawke immediately upon returning and tell him about everything she’d seen. There was no time now for secret meetings in dark coves with fishermen. This was war.

  “Hawke, here,” Lord Hawke said, picking up the receiver.

  “It’s me.”

  “Fleur,” he said, “Hobbes and I are up in the castle tower. We’ve been looking across to Guernsey through extremely high-powered telescopic lenses. I can see Fordwych Manor still standing up on Saint George’s cliff, but I also see flames and black smoke rising over Saint Peter Port. Are you quite all right, my dear woman?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine, never mind me. But they’ve blown up our harbor. Not the ships at anchor, mind you, but the trucks lining the quay. I counted at least forty dead. Farmers with their families! With truckloads of tomatoes, for heaven’s sake? Can you imagine the barbarity? It’s ungodly!”

  The conquering army

  “Probably thought they were troop transports, full of our soldiers. Apparently, the Reich doesn’t yet know that our military has abandoned us.”

  “I saw endless columns of German troops marching toward town. Shocking. I must say, they looked discouragingly effective.”

  “I will want to talk to you at dinner this evening about possibly evacuating, my dear Fleur.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. But I’m positively delighted you’re still coming over to my little dinner! You and Hobbes, both?”

  “Of course we’re coming. Life does go on, you know, even under enemy occupation.”

  “But aren’t the Germans looking for you? You and Hobbes are both known spies in Berlin. Your pictures are probably plastered on every wall in the Reichstag building. You should be very, very careful, my Lord Hawke. This island is literally crawling with Nazis.”

  “Don’t worry your pretty head, my dear Baroness. Hobbes will come up with suitable disguises and false passports and identifcation. And it’s the Gestapo in Berlin who want our heads—not infantry troops sent to occupy the islands. But I promise we shall be careful nonetheless. Now. Tell me everything you saw. Speak slowly so I can take notes, and I’ll relay your information immediately to Whitehall. Ready?”

  “Ready. It was just after two o’clock. Masses of heavy bombers over the town. Heinkel He 111s, if I’m not mistaken, the ones with those greenhouse-like cockpits. The first bomb fell into the street. A few hundred yards from the harbor. It was devastating and—? Are you still there? Can you hear me? It’s Fleur calling, dear fellow, hullo?”

  She stared at the receiver in disgust. The line had gone dead. The Germans have cut the bloody telephone lines between the islands, she thought. And of course, she was right.

  It was the first night of a thousand or more nights to come that Fleur de Villiers would experience a life lived under the merciless hobnailed boots of Hitler’s Third Reich.

  14

  “WE’LL FIGHT TO THE END, WON’T WE, GUNNER?”

  · Greybeard Island ·

  A wing and a prayer. Nick was saying his prayers all right, no end of them. That wasn’t the problem. It was his tattered right wing that he could do nothing about. Large sections of the fabric covering the upper wing had ripped away during his mad, twisting, and turning dash across the sea to Greybeard Island. Every few minutes he’d hear the loud twang of one of his support wires snapping, and the plane would veer out of control. He was amazed he still had a wing at all.

  After what had seemed a nightmarish eternity, just trying to keep the Camel from going into a death spiral and nose-diving into the channel, he finally had Lord Hawke’s airstrip in sight. It gave his heart a desperately needed lift, that narrow strip of green meadow that represented home and safety.

  He saw Gunner emerge from the barn at the sound of his approach and sprint down the strip to the seaward edge to cheer him on, leaping up and down, waving him onward.

  Cheering and waving wouldn’t help much now.

  He was losing a bit of altitude with every passing second. Nick didn’t see how he could possibly keep her airborne long enough to clear Hawke Castle and reach land. During the flight, he’d continually lost a lot of altitude and had not been able to regain it. He was now fighting the plane for every inch, straining to keep her at least fifty feet above sea level. The Sop-with seemed determined to dive to the right, and there didn’t seem to be much Nick could do about it.

  And, somehow, he knew, he had to gain enough altitude to clear the tower at Hawke Castle. He had one trick left in his bag, and he’d have only one chance to use it.

  As his father had taught him early on, because of the engine’s tremendous torque, any hard turn to the left would cause the aircraft to climb instantly and automatically. But he had to time it perfectly. He would have to wait until the very last second, when a collision with the tower seemed all but unavoidable, to put her over hard left and hope the sudden climb was enough to get him over the top.

  The tower was looming up dead ahead.

  At his current altitude a crash was unavoidable. He couldn’t fly around either side of the tower because cliffs rose up on either side of the airstrip and he’d crash headlong into them. He’d need at least twenty more feet of altitude to clear the top. And he’d need it at the last possible moment.

  It’s indescribably mentally difficult to steer an aeroplane deliberately on a collision course that will mean instant death. Every instinct in Nick was screaming at him to turn away. But he had no choice. The seconds stretched into hours as he flew on toward the tower.

  He was perhaps less than twenty yards from dying when he put the stick hard over to the left and felt the Sopwith jerk her nose up steeply into an almost vertical climb. He was flying by sheer instinct now—no one had taught him how to do this maneuver.

  Sometimes you’ll have to fly by the seat of your pants, son, his father had told him. He never knew what his dad meant until this very moment.

  But at the very last instant, he would never know how, Nick was somehow able to get the plane’s nose up and barely scrape over the top of Lord Hawke’s tower.

  He’d done it.

  Gunner was elated, but the boy wasn’t safely on the ground yet. He stood there, gesticulating wildly, as if he could somehow will the boy to land safely.

  “That’s it, that’s the way to do it, lad. Now straighten her out, boy, get her level and keep yer nose in the air. A few more feet . . . come along now . . . almost home . . . almost . . .”

  Nick cleared the rocky promontory by inches, hit the ground hard, bounced once or twice into the air, and then finally he was down on the airstrip at last.

  Thanking whoever in heaven had been there in the cockpit with him, he found himself taxiing toward the barn, and a plainly relieved Gunner, who was running alongside him down the field gesticulating wildly, a huge grin on his pink-cheeked face.

  “Now that’s what I call flying, Cap!” Gunner said, as he helped Nick down from the cockpit. Nick pulled off his leather flying helmet and goggles and stared at his friend, stamping his feet, thrilled to have them back on solid ground.

  “If that’s flying, I might go back to sail
ing,” Nick said as Gunner embraced him and lifted him off his feet.

  Gunner put him down and walked around the nose to inspect the damaged wing. “Whatever happened to yer starboard wing, laddie? Did’ye run into something solid?”

  “Something solid ran into me. Bullets. I came across a German minesweeper laying naval mines. I guess they don’t like having their picture taken while they’re going about their nefarious business.”

  Gunner continued his meticulous inspection of the damage. “Bullet holes everywhere. Yer plain lucky there ain’t none in you.”

  “That shield Hobbes made. He saved my life.”

  “Did you shoot back at those blasted Jerries?”

  “The only shooting I did was with the camera. You haven’t yet taught me how to use those twin Vickers, remember? Or, you can bet I would have.”

  “That’s tomorrow, soon as I get this wing repaired. Any other damage?”

  “Prop felt a wee bit off on the way home. I think a bullet may have nicked it.”

  “Did indeed. Right here. I can patch that up easily enough.”

  “Gunner, flying home I saw masses of Heinkel bombers headed for Guernsey. And troop ships just off the beaches. I snapped off a few shots of the the minelayer, then I decided I’d better get home. About fifteen minutes ago, I saw smoke rising from the harbor.”

  “Aye, it’s begun all right. Apparently they’ve bombed the harbor at Saint Peter Port, bloody buggers.”

  “So, our islands are finally at war.”

  “I’d say so.”

  “They’ll be coming to Greybeard sooner or later, Gunner, German soldiers.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Are many here evacuating?”

  “I saw about ten families at the ferry dock this morning, all their belongings, waiting for the weekly packet boat over to Weymouth.”

  “My father and mother have decided we’re staying,” Nick said, with some pride.

  “I would have guessed as much.”

  “And you?”

  “When I leave this island, Nick, it will be in a boat with a hole in it or a long pine box.”

  “Me, too. We’ll stay and we’ll fight, won’t we, Gunner? Right to the end.”

  “That’s the spirit, boy.”

  “Remember the night Churchill came to the island? After Kate and Hobbes had captured the U-boat? And he spoke after dinner at Hawke Castle?”

  “Remember it? I’ll never forget it.”

  “I saw something in Winston Churchill’s eyes that night, and I’ve pinned all my hopes on him ever since.”

  “What did you see, Nick?”

  “I saw victory, Gunner. Victory, no matter how long in coming, no matter how great the cost.”

  Gunner pulled the boy to him and enfolded him in his huge arms. “We’ll get through it, lad. We’ll get through it. Don’t you worry.”

  After a moment, Gunner let him go, and Nick ducked under the fuselage. He was most eager to inspect the camera for damage. By some miracle, it appeared completely intact. He removed the metal film cartridge, confirmed that no bullets had struck the camera body or the lens, and climbed out from under his plane.

  “I’ve got to get this film to Commander Hobbes straightaway, Gunner. Do you need my help tugging the old girl into the barn?”

  “No, I can tow her in by myself. Do it all the time. I’m going to start work on this wing right away, so don’t let me keep you.”

  But Nick was already halfway down the airstrip, headed full tilt for Hawke Castle.

  15

  TREES WITH WHEELS!

  Hobbes was waiting at the castle entrance when Nick arrived, slightly winded. He had the film canister clutched in both hands and a broad smile on his face.

  “I’ve brought you a wee present, Commander!” Nick said, handing it to Hobbes.

  “I’ve just come from the tower, Nick. Saint Peter Port has been bombed. You missed that action, I hope.”

  “Yes, sir, I was returning from the coast of France.”

  “You seem to have encountered a bit of difficulty with your right wing.”

  “If not for your lead shield, I’d not be standing here, sir.”

  “His Lordship and I were still up in the tower, watching your somewhat shaky approach, when you managed to clear the tower by an inch or two, Nick. You certainly got our attention.”

  “Sorry if I frightened anyone. I—I really had no choice.”

  “Don’t ever tell Lord Hawke what I’m about to reveal. This is in strictest confidence. Is that a sacred promise?”

  “Of course.”

  “We both dove under His Lordship’s desk when we saw you coming straight for the tower!”

  Nick laughed and said, “Precision flying, they call that. Only a few very stupid pilots would attempt a stunt like that, with only one wing keeping them aloft.”

  “Quite a stunt you pulled there at the end, going into that steep climb.”

  “Well, you see I was determined not to ditch her, sir. No matter what. We’re going to need that airplane.”

  “Frankly, we were both quite amazed you made it to the ground in one piece,” Hobbes said, laughing and clapping the boy on the back. “Can’t wait to get a look at these pictures.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed, sir.”

  “Lord Hawke is waiting for you in the tower study. I’ll take this film down to the cellar darkroom straightaway and start developing it. See you shortly with your first recon pictures in hand.”

  “Can you teach me, later? How to develop my own pictures? Photo recon, I mean?”

  “Of course. I could even set up a darkroom for you in the barn, if you’d like.”

  “Ideal, sir. Thank you.”

  Hobbes trotted off to a staircase at a run, and Nick headed down the long windowed corridor that led to Hawke’s study at the very top of the tower. The castle was a massive, drafty old place, but it held many surprises and secrets. Like the fireman’s pole in the tower, which allowed one to slide all the way down from Lord Hawke’s study to the laboratory in the cellar.

  Hawke looked up from his desk and smiled as the boy entered the circular, glassed-in room. The views of the Channel in all directions were spectacular, and it was Nick’s favorite place on earth.

  “A-ha! The boy daredevil himself! Quite an exciting landing, I dare say,” Hawke cried, getting to his feet and letting his newspapers slide to the floor. Nick saw many wooden crates, filled to overflowing with Hawke’s books and scientific instruments, standing around the room.

  “I’m so sorry if I gave you a fright, sir. I’m afraid that landing left much to be desired.”

  “Nick, don’t be ridiculous. I saw what condition your right wing was in. I’m amazed you even made it home alive!”

  “I have to admit I’m happy to be standing here and not bobbing around somewhere in that cold channel water, sir. It looks like you’re packing up to leave, sir.”

  “We’ve got to clear out of here in a hurry, I’m afraid. This castle is a secret British military installation, as you well know. Chock full of military secrets. The Royal Navy has a cutter en route to help us get everything we don’t want the Germans to find off the island.”

  “But where will you go, sir?”

  “Nick, the Prime Minister has summoned Hobbes and me to London. It seems we’re to be posted to DNI for the duration.”

  “DNI?”

  “Department of Naval Intelligence.”

  “What kind of work, sir?”

  “As you well know, Hobbes and I, undercover, of course, have been working for Churchill for years. I imagine we’ll continue. And apparently the PM is considering forming a special new Commando Unit. I’m to head the thing up. And Hobbes will remain with me, designing some new weapons systems for our squad. We’ll be operating behind enemy lines, gathering intelligence, sabotage, that sort of thing.”

  “Congratulations, Your Lordship. Sounds like fun.”

  “Fun? I don’t think so,
Nick. The Germans have a huge head start on England in this war. It’s going to be hell catching up, well nigh impossible, to be honest.”

  “England’s in good hands now, sir. Mr. Churchill will see us through.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. If anyone can do it, Winston can.”

  “When do you leave, sir?”

  “A few days. As I said, a Royal Navy cutter will be arriving in the lagoon to pick up all the sensitive documents and hardware down in the laboratory. Then the entire castle will be entirely secured against intruders. Every possible entrance will be booby-trapped. You’re aware of the electrified dock in the lagoon?”

  “Of course.”

  “Never go near it. It will be fully operational as soon as we depart. Ten thousand volts. But, Nick, if you or your father ever need access to the castle, I will show you a way. A secret passage built centuries ago.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In the lagoon. About ten feet below the surface. You have to dive down and swim through the opening in the rock. When you surface, you’ll find Satan’s Staircase, an ancient stone stairway leading up to the cellar. I’ll show you the exact location before we leave.”

  “Thank you, sir. That may well come in handy.”

  “Now, listen, Nick. Hobbes and I are off to London tomorrow for a short meeting, returning here immediately afterward. We’ve been asked to provide detailed explanations of what’s going on here in the Channel Islands. Hobbes and I wondered if we might convince you to come along?”

  “I—I would be most honored, your lordship. If you think I might be of some help.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. I took the liberty of ringing up your parents at the lighthouse and asking their permission. Both have consented, as long as I promise to bring you home safely in my seaplane. I can drop you off at Lighthouse Harbor tomorrow afternoon when we return from the mainland.”

  “What time are we leaving, sir?”

  “First thing in the morning.”

  “Dark-thirty, sir?” Nick asked, smiling.

  “Yes, we’ll take off before sunup,” Hawke said, tousling Nick’s hair.