The Last Mission

[Mettermrck]

A common lesson in every aerial combat drama, not to leave thy wingman. Hopefully the squadron will be a soberer lot going forward...

 

[Lord Durham]

Hmmm. Plane crashes. Brings back memories...

Very nice work, T_E. You are weaving a good, compelling story with an interesting, well-crafted character in Ian. The flying sequences are especially sweet. I feel like I'm riding in the cockpit. Keep up the good work. I'll be reading.

 

[TheExecuter]

Man...has it really been three weeks since I've been on the forums? My subscription list is a mile-long...

Unfortunately, I've been working very long hours at work. I'll be doing that again this week...then I'm off on a business trip out of the country for another week. Hopefully after that I will be once again free to read and comment on all the work thats been going on in my absence. I may even get time to write...

Anyway...some feedback:

Very well done.

LaCalle's speech was very poetic and poignant, as was his closing statement.

It will be interesting to see what affect Eddie's loss will have on Ian.

And I take it that the young German pilot Wilhelm will become a recurring antagonist for Ian.

Yep, Wilhelm is one of Ian's antagonists.

Eddie's loss will have a significant effect on Ian, but not in the way or time that you expect!

Great update!

It's unfortunate that the lessons learned had to come at such a high price, however, I think that those who remain will likely be far more vigilant about listening to the instructions which they receive from LaCalle in the future.

Yep...the stakes have been revealed to be high.

Great new post. That was some exciting flying. Sad to lose a fallen comrade but part of the battle.

I enjoyed the touch about them running outside when they heard a plane engine. Nicely done.

o This is my first foray into writing air combat scenes. I'm glad you thought it was exciting...means I hit the mark!

An excellent post. For some reason LaCalle's closing speech had me thinking of a bastardised version of, of all things, a Vinnie Jones quote;


Quote:
Originally Posted by Vincent Jones
If Ian's premature demise has, in some way, enlightened the rest of you as to the grim finish below the glossy veneer of a pilots life, and inspired you to improve your flying, then his death carries with it an inherent nobility. And a supreme glory. We should all be so fortunate. You can say 'Poor Ian." I say: "Poor us.."



Now whether that says more about the standard of writing, the hitherto unsuspected philosophical depths of Vinny Jones or my own free-wheeling brain is a different question altogether.....

I think it says more about the philosphical depths of the generic leader than anything else. I took inspiration for LaCalle's speech from some speeches by Reagan and I think Lincoln. The idea that the dead have acheived something, rather than just being wasted by their own idiocy, has a much better sound to it...and is grasped at eagerly by the soul in an attempt to 'explain' the loss. Glad you liked it!

A sobering chapter to be sure . - Takes a swig of his flasked scotch -

Like I said before , I think this AAR as far as I know is unique in the details and beauty of the aerial combat . I rewatched Top Gun the other day too just out of coincidence XD . Well done , ole boy ! Now ... about that business with a girl XD .

Don't drink too much of that scotch! Wouldn't want to have to have an intervention in this thread!

Unique in the deatils and beauty of aerial combat? o Wow...thanks for the compliment!

Girl? What girl? Oh...that girl... Patience my friend is a virtue, I'm told!

I wonder how far behind on timelines I am by now...

very well written update, and good to see this is back.

Thanks for your patronage, man! I must say I'm ashamed at reading this post...I simply must find a way to invent a day with 48 hours in it!

Oh, great and sobering speech indeed from LaCalle.

Thanks! Glad you liked it!

A common lesson in every aerial combat drama, not to leave thy wingman. Hopefully the squadron will be a soberer lot going forward...

Hopefully...although with all the beer drinking, tomorrow is going to be quite the hangover!

Hmmm. Plane crashes. Brings back memories...

Very nice work, T_E. You are weaving a good, compelling story with an interesting, well-crafted character in Ian. The flying sequences are especially sweet. I feel like I'm riding in the cockpit. Keep up the good work. I'll be reading.

Thanks so much for taking the time to read this! I can only guess what a sacrifice it must have been. Thanks for the praise. I hope I can continue soon.

Curiosity compells me to ask what memories this brought back?

Thanks for your patience everyone! Hopefully I'll return soon bearing updates!

TheExecuter

 

[unmerged(62857)]

Unfortunate that you are gone... Looking forward to an update when you are bach and have time.

 

[TheExecuter]

XVI
02 December, 1936
Madrid​

“Senor?”

Gletkin was late. Alain took another sip of his coffee and did his best to control the impatience that was beginning to knot into his stomach. Gletkin was never late. He…

“Senor?”

Alain looked up. The waiter stood over him, wringing his towel in his hands. “Perhaps you would like to move inside? It’s almost 3…”

“If it’s all the same, I think I’ll stay out here.”

“But…but senor! The fascists!” The waiter’s head nodded towards the sky.

Alain shrugged, and turned around to look down the expanse of the Gran Via. The shop owners along the boulevard were all busy lowering their heavy iron screens. The few people in sight were disappearing into the buildings in anticipation of what was to come. The waiter lingered for a few seconds, before making the sign of the cross and heading inside. In his haste, he tripped over a chair and then lowered his screen amid a stream of curses. Alain took another sip of coffee. Soon, the street was deserted; a long, empty canyon stretching toward the far horizon. Still, Alain waited in the afternoon sun.

The Fascists were punctual as always. Two minutes past three, the first shell whistled towards the Gran Via. Alain set his watch and took another sip of his coffee. The shell landed with a boom and a large cloud of dust just 50 meters up the street. Alain watched dispassionately as the light breeze swirled away the dust and smoke. Dimly, through the haze a man could be seen sprinting down the street. Another whistle, and the man dove for the cobblestones and hugged the pavement, as the shell exploded against a nearby storefront. Again, the smoke and dust obscured Alain’s view. As the smoke blew away, the man staggered to his feet and began moving down the street again. The third whistle seemed to come from directly overhead. Alain’s forehead creased into a frown for a second, and he grabbed his coffee cup and briefly considered ducking under the café table. At length, he merely covered his cup with his hand and waited. Seconds later the shell landed with a massive crash against the building directly across the intersection. Curiously it did not explode, and merely knocked down some of the storefront’s façade before coming to rest in a small hole in the pavement. Alain sat back in his chair, smoothed out his uniform and took another sip of his coffee.

Ivan Gletkin, commercial attaché from the Russian Embassy, staggered up to the table and sat down heavily. Alain finished his coffee before addressing his guest.

“Had a bit of a close shave there, Comrade?”

Alain poured out some of the cheap wine the café provided, and silently wondered at Gletkin, who now sat straight up on his chair in his starched uniform, which creaked at every movement. Gletkin emptied his glass; the conspicuous scar on his clean-shaven head reddened slightly.

“The Nationalists nearly made me late. Someone should get them a decent timepiece. I see you were quite unperturbed by their daily attempts to terrorize us.”

“You forget that I have been under fire before; both in the Great War, and during the revolution. These Spanish gunners have nothing on the Germans or the Whites. Besides, the shells land randomly…I have just as good a chance of dying while cowering in a ditch as I do enjoying this coffee.”

Gletkin grunted, and then turned and watched as three officers entered the newly reopened café. Two began playing chess while the third looked on. Lowering his voice, Gletkin muttered:

“What is to happen to this city?”

“She is in a rather bad way,” answered Alain. “The logical answer is that she will capitulate.”

“That I don’t believe.”

“She will. Unless we are willing to fight in a logical manner, she will be forced to capitulate. Therefore the essential thing is to not disturb the military authorities. We have provided them equipment, men, and doctrine – this ought to accelerate their improvement.”

“I consider that insufficient.”

“You don’t like them,” said Alain. “You had a scene with them a few days ago, I believe?”

Gletkin thought of the scene when he had informed Air Minister Prieto that the locations of Republican airfields and squadrons were to be known only by members of the Communist Party. “That does not matter,” he said. “Their titles and positions do not matter. It is the methods which I consider wrong. Mere knowledge and equipment will never bring us victory.”

“When Madrid capitulates, it won’t be out of lack of will, but by lack of means. It is no use trying to bolster ideology. The soldier is not made out of material which becomes tougher the more you hammer on it.”

“That is just talk. Human beings are able to resist any amount of physical pressure. Experience has shown me that the resistance of the human nerve system is unlimited by Nature.”

“I wouldn’t like to serve under you,” said Rubashov smilingly, but with a trace of uneasiness. “I suppose you are a living example of your own theory.”

His smiling glance rested for a second on the scar on Gletkin’s skull. The story of that scar was well known. When, during the Russian Civil War, Gletkin had fallen into the enemy’s hands, they had tied a lighted candlewick on to his shaven skull, to extract from him certain information. A few hours later his own people recaptured the position and found him unconscious. The wick had burnt right to the end; Gletkin had kept silence.

Gletkin looked at Rubashov with expressionless eyes. “There is talk of a traitor among our flight squadrons. Should we have another disaster, we will have no choice but to take drastic measures. It is a question of constitution.” He emptied his glass with a deliberate gesture; his cuffs crackled as he put it down on the table again. “We have the statements of two captured N.C.O.s who corroborate this information. This time we are not chasing fairy tales.”

Rubashov shrugged his shoulders. “Since when have you ever had notable information from prisoners? After all, prisoner interrogation methods create information full of illusions. It’s mostly humbug.”

“I don’t believe it is,” said Gletkin. “You are a cynic. In time, we will undoubtedly develop better information through more thorough means. But first we have to get through. The quicker the information is acted on, the better. The only illusion is to believe that time is not important. When I first came here, I was also under that illusion. Most of us were – in fact, the entire apparatus up to the top. Today we have realized we must now work quickly to crush the enemy, physically and mentally.”

Rubashov wondered whether Gletkin was drunk. But he saw by his quiet, expressionless eyes that he was not. Rubashov smiled at him rather vaguely. “So, in a word, you wish me to use my special ‘skills’ to find your mole.”

Gletkin said nothing. He sat stiffly on his chair in his starched uniform; his revolver belt smelling of fresh leather. At length he began to speak again. “Our two Italian prisoners revealed that their squadron was receiving the location and general operations orders of our squadrons operating on the Madrid front from a source known only as Trader. They were quite stubborn until I informed them that unless they offered information, they would be shot as spies. After that the wax melted out of their ears, and one could talk to them…”

The two chess players at the other table threw over the chess men and started a new game. The third officer had already left. Rubashov watched Gletkin while he talked. His voice was as sober and expressionless as ever.

“My colleagues were able to extract the same story. This repetition is the only possible way to confirm results obtained through such threats. The regulations were observed; neither prisoner was actually touched. But it happened that they had to witness – so to speak accidentally – the execution of their fellow prisoners. The effect of that scene was partly mental, partly physical…”

“That’ll about do,” said Rubashov.

“You questioned me on the authenticity of my information and I am explaining it to you,” said Gletkin. “What matters is that one should keep in mind the logical necessity of it all; otherwise one is a cynic, like you. It is getting late and I must go.”

Rubashov emptied his glass and settled his leg on the chair. He was annoyed with himself for having encouraged this conversation. Gletkin paid. When the waiter had gone, he asked:

“What is going to be done about this spy?”

“I have told you my opinion before. I will handle the operation.”

Gletkin stood up. His boots creaked. He stood by the chair on which Rubashov’s leg rested. “I recognize your past merits,” he said. “But today this spy is as harmful as that French dockyard worker was; only more dangerous.”

Rubashov looked up into Gletkin’s expressionless eyes. “I will have your man in my sights within a fortnight’s time. Until then I want to be left in peace to do my work.”

Gletkin saluted and left the café with creaking boots. Rubashov remained seated. He drank another glass, lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out in front of him. After a while he stood up and walked over to the two officers to watch their game of chess.

 

[canonized]

I'm so glad you've started writing again ! As usual your dialogue and your pre-noir heaviness makes itself as tangible as an aromatic coffee shop . It starts out as subtle as a whistle then explodes in the building next to you !

 

[TheExecuter]

Unfortunate that you are gone... Looking forward to an update when you are bach and have time.

Thanks for the support! Turns out I had ample time on my business trip to think about this next update...so, hope you enjoyed it!

I'm so glad you've started writing again ! As usual your dialogue and your pre-noir heaviness makes itself as tangible as an aromatic coffee shop . It starts out as subtle as a whistle then explodes in the building next to you!

So am I! This particular scene has been rolling around in the head for too long...I finally had some time to get it down and polished. Phew.

...'pre-noir heaviness'... I like the way that rolls off the tongue.

<Raises cup of tea>Here's to a suitably dark story!<takes a sip>

I'm hoping to find some time to catch up on Timeline's soon...right now I am currently 31 days behind...so that is like, what 20 pages worth?

The good news: The next scene has also been rolling around in my head for quite a while, so as soon as I get some time to get it down it will come out.

The bad news: I came back from my overseas business trip to be tossed into the deep end of another priority project. Here's hoping this one won't involve prodigious amounts of overtime!

TheExecuter

 

[El Pip]

Ahh Communist intrigues, almost as good as Communist logic;

"We tortured him twice and he said the same thing, it must be true!"

Still, fun times ahead for Ian's squadron I have no doubt; nothing like a fevered hunt for a possibly non-existent spy to raise morale.

 

[unmerged(62857)]

"The only illusion is to believe that time is not important. When I first came here, I was also under that illusion. Most of us were – in fact, the entire apparatus up to the top. Today we have realized we must now work quickly to..."

"The bad news: I came back from my overseas business trip to be tossed into the deep end of another priority project. Here's hoping this one won't involve prodigious amounts of overtime!"

An example of how sometimes our own lives are mimicked in the stories we tell...

Great update. I am looking forward to seeing the reactions of our revolutionaries to the results of Alain's mole hunt. I wonder how they will understand if one of their own is "summarily dismissed" from their midst if there is only circumstantial or trivial evidence to support Alain's future actions. Will some of these ideologues be disabused of their sense of purity associated with the system in which they believe?

 

[coz1]

Great to see another update. I am wondering where this spy business intersects with our main character. I hope not directly.

 

[TheExecuter]

Fb Fb

Ahh Communist intrigues, almost as good as Communist logic;

"We tortured him twice and he said the same thing, it must be true!"

Still, fun times ahead for Ian's squadron I have no doubt; nothing like a fevered hunt for a possibly non-existent spy to raise morale.

Oh yes, fun times! As for the spy, I'm sure state security will take care of that problem without disturbing our glorious defenders of the state...

Thanks for reading!

"The only illusion is to believe that time is not important. When I first came here, I was also under that illusion. Most of us were – in fact, the entire apparatus up to the top. Today we have realized we must now work quickly to..."

"The bad news: I came back from my overseas business trip to be tossed into the deep end of another priority project. Here's hoping this one won't involve prodigious amounts of overtime!"

An example of how sometimes our own lives are mimicked in the stories we tell...

Great update. I am looking forward to seeing the reactions of our revolutionaries to the results of Alain's mole hunt. I wonder how they will understand if one of their own is "summarily dismissed" from their midst if there is only circumstantial or trivial evidence to support Alain's future actions. Will some of these ideologues be disabused of their sense of purity associated with the system in which they believe?

Would you believe I had not noticed that until you pointed it out? Scary man...if my life mimics this story...

Rest assured the mole hunt and the ramifications thereof form an important part of the story. Beyond that I cannot now reveal what is coming...but it is...shocking.

Great to see another update. I am wondering where this spy business intersects with our main character. I hope not directly.

Thanks! All shall be revealed in due time...

And now...for an update!

Figured I'd break my current update into two so you can feast on something while I finish the other half of it. Enjoy!

TheExecuter

 

[TheExecuter]

XVII
02 December, 1936​

Ian lined the Heinkel up into his sights and opened fire. Momentarily dazzled by the sight of his opponents twirling wreckage he failed to see the enemy behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he beheld a greenish shadow flash past to his right. Realizing the danger he was in, he pulled back on the stick in an attempt to perform an Immelman maneuver. It was too late. The Chato began the climb well, but as it reached the apex of the turn, the stress was too much for the airframe.

Ian’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he watched his own tail assembly disintegrate. Soon there was nothing but a few strips of fabric trailing in the wind. Now wreckage, the fuselage began its descent. Ian unbuckled himself and pushed on the door. To his horror, he found that it would not budge. He tried the other side, this door too refused to yield. The plane began to skid and twist as it gradually picked up speed, rushing toward the unforgiving ground below. Thoroughly panicked, Ian began pounding and beating on the doors and fuselage in a vain attempt to get free. A pocket of turbulence struck the descending wreckage and the wings tore away. At this moment, Ian managed to force one of the doors open and proceeded to tumble half out of the cockpit.

His right leg caught in the wreckage and stubbornly refused to become free. The ground was getting nearer with every passing second. Knowing there was nothing to do now but struggle, Ian twisted and wriggled and finally gave a great kick which succeeded in removing himself from the wreckage. Now free of the aircraft and tumbling, he went to grab his rip-cord…

“Sir?” a soft voice called. “Senor Clarke?” the melodious voice breathed. “You must wake up, sir.”

Ian groaned softly and rolled over. “What…who…What time is it?” He croaked. He vainly reached out to find his pocket watch. Before he could find it, Christina answered for him. “It is almost 5 senor. Captain LaCalle wants you for his morning patrol.” The soft grey light of dawn illuminated her form. “And don’t even think about not getting out of bed!” Ian watched her retreating form with rapt admiration, then groaned and rolled out of bed.

An hour later he willed his Chato into the air, circled the field once, and streaked off toward the front following LaCalle’s flight. Ian looked ruefully to his right and watched Chang flying in extremely close formation on Ian’s biplane. Apparently LaCalle’s little pep-talk had frightened Chang away from his usual lax formation keeping. Ian tried desperately to focus on following LaCalle's group of planes, but the nature of formation keeping with only one other plane kept reminding him of flights with Eddie over Liverpool. Still, he surmised, staying with only one plane wasn’t too hard… Soon enough, the Jarama River appeared through the morning mist. Three Junker bombers escorted by the usual horde of Heinkels were coming in from the south. As Ian gritted his teeth and prepared for battle, he looked up and smiled grimly. The Russian monoplane squadron had also arrived from their field at Madrid and was diving in on the already scattering rebel fighters.

LaCalle immediately tore off after the Junkers, who, upon sighting the approaching Chatos, dove for the safety of the mists over the mountain. Ian snarled, “Not this time…” under his breath. But LaCalle was pulling up! He was not pursuing! Ian gritted his teeth and followed the squadron leader. LaCalle turned his group back towards home and dove for the ground. “Extraordinary…” Ian murmured, the thought that LaCalle would run from such an easy engagement was certainly astonishing. Ian’s wonderment grew as LaCalle led the Republican fighters up a valley until they were out of sight of the front lines. Abruptly, LaCalle turned, cut across a ridge and descended down into another valley that led back toward the Jarama.

The Republican fighters flashed out of the valley and, once over the river, cracked open their throttles and zoomed for the cloud cover above. As Ian broke through the clouds he laughed out loud, for there were the Junkers trying to sneak back over the river. The lead Junker wobbled a bit as its crew reacted to the sight of the onrushing planes and then the three bombers gracefully turned and dove for the clouds. Ian concentrated on catching the last bomber in the formation, willing his Chato to extra speed as he closed in. Just when he judged himself to be in range, the Junker vanished into the mist. Ian cursed and pulled away, looking to close up with LaCalle’s formation again. LaCalle led them back down into the valley. Again they flew out of sight of the front lines and then cut across a ridge and made their way back towards the river. This time, however, when they popped above the mist and clouds, an empty sky awaited them. The Nationalists had gone home. They loitered over the front for another half-hour, but no further aircraft disturbed the peaceful sky.

Conversation at dinner was strangely muted. The normally exuberant young men were still numbed by the previous day’s losses. Ian sat nearly motionless, chewing his beans and staring off into space. Another day survived. Chang sat opposite him, his emotionless eyes staring at a point just to the right of Ian’s head. The phone began to ring. Neither Ian nor Chang stirred. Eventually, one of the other pilots went to the phone. Seconds later a jubilant shout broke the silence in the mess hall. Rapid Spanish ensued, and a chorus of grins appeared around the table. Ian awoke from his despondency to find a laughing LaCalle slapping him on the back as the phone was handed to Chang. Chang took the phone and waited a moment before bursting out, “Eddie!”

 

[canonized]

I KNEW IT ! But excellently played nonetheless XD . Very well done !

 

[unmerged(62857)]

It could just be that Chang has just been told about where they could find Eddy's LASTing impression...

BTW, very strong update. With dreams like that, Ian is going to have one hell of a complex each time he goes up...

 

[coz1]

Tricksy, you are, throwing a dream sequence in there. But it worked. And too bad he couldn't find the chance to attack when he awoke, but all in good time. I have a feeling he'll have plenty of chances for daring-do as the story goes along.

 

[El Pip]

Mwuhahahaha! I kept saying Eddie would make it, my fine history of predicting plot points continues!

Good update, and well done on not making the dream sequence too cheesy (when I read the waking up part I had a horrible feeling you might have done a 'Dallas' [and not in a Debbie sense ]and have Ian wake up to find Eddie hadn't crashed at all )

Ahh double bracketage, now that's the true sign of a good post.

 

[TheExecuter]

Mwuhahahaha! I kept saying Eddie would make it, my fine history of predicting plot points continues!

Good update, and well done on not making the dream sequence too cheesy (when I read the waking up part I had a horrible feeling you might have done a 'Dallas' [and not in a Debbie sense ]and have Ian wake up to find Eddie hadn't crashed at all )

Ahh double bracketage, now that's the true sign of a good post.

Yes, yes, your very smart. <Free points if you recognize what the next line should be...I'll give you a clue, Peter Faulk delivers the line.>

Glad you weren't put off by the dream scene. Unfortunately, I'm not old enough to remember the Dallas (or Debbie) fiascos you refer to...

Double bracketage? Is that somekind of literary technique?

Tricksy, you are, throwing a dream sequence in there. But it worked. And too bad he couldn't find the chance to attack when he awoke, but all in good time. I have a feeling he'll have plenty of chances for daring-do as the story goes along.

Gotcha! Glad you enjoyed it! I toyed with the idea of giving Ian a kill, but you are right...plenty of time for daring-do in the future...

It could just be that Chang has just been told about where they could find Eddy's LASTing impression...

BTW, very strong update. With dreams like that, Ian is going to have one hell of a complex each time he goes up...

Our bloodthirsty readaar has appeared! You're right, of course, Eddie has not yet appeared bodily in the midst of his friends...who can tell if he is dead or alive until they've touch Eddie's scars?

I KNEW IT ! But excellently played nonetheless XD . Very well done !

Yes, yes...you too. Thanks. The next update will shed some light on how his return is possible.

In the spirit of randomness, and to distract you from the fact that the next update is not yet ready...I'm starting a competition.

What country is the woman (Ian's love) referenced in the prologue from?

Only one hint: I've given you a clue with every update.

Discuss...

TheExecuter

 

[canonized]

I'm going to guess she's American . ... I have no reason why haha

EDIT: NO NO !! I HAVE IT ! she has to be German !! A german female pilot !

 

[TheExecuter]

I'm going to guess she's American . ... I have no reason why haha

EDIT: NO NO !! I HAVE IT ! she has to be German !! A german female pilot !

Heh...last minute switch there! Unfortunately, both guesses are not correct. Good try though. I can see the rationale behind each of them.

TheExecuter

 

[TheExecuter]

XVIII
03 December, 1936​

Eddie sat back with his legs up on the mess table. Maria sat on his lap and looked adoringly at him. Eddie raised his glass and shouted, “Gather round, boys and I’ll tell you my tale!” Dinner had just finished and the sounds of wood scraping on stone filled the hall as the young men pulled their chairs up closer to the fireplace near where Eddie sat perched on his ‘throne.’ Christina peeked in from the kitchen, then appeared and began clearing the dishes from the table. Ian watched her for a few moments before Eddie began. Eddie gestured to Chang to translate his words into Spanish.

“Just after we went into that Lufberry circle I saw a Heinkel down below, merely fiddling around, flying slow and making slow banks from one side to the other – and before I knew what I was doing I had my plane diving down after him. I had him all lined up in my sight and was just starting to shoot when – out of the corner of my eye – I saw a greenish shadow flash past on my right. I realized then the danger I was in and pulled back on the stick with the intention of doing an Immelman back up to the formation again. But after a bit the plane would not respond to the controls. I swiveled my head around and my eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw where my tail assembly had been. There was nothing there but a few strips of fabric trailing out behind. Then I found I couldn’t get either one of the cockpit doors open. The plane had gone into a funny kind of skidding spin and I suppose some kind of strain had been set up that clamped the doors shut. And that plane was making knots toward the ground by that time. Somehow or other – I don’t know how, myself, I managed to squeeze out.”

Eddie paused to allow Chang to catch up, and took a swig of wine from the bottle in front of him. He winked at Maria, and she clambered down off his lap and went to grab another bottle.

“I had another scare, though, when my right foot got stuck in the opening. Believe me, I did some foot-shaking – that plane finally came off just like a rubber boot does when you kick it off. I don’t remember pulling the rip cord, but I suppose I did, because the chute opened and almost cut me in two when my weight hit it. I was about 500 meters up when it opened, and when I saw that I was on our side of the river I started singing and shouting – some sort of reaction, I suppose. But I soon knocked that off, because about that time a couple of those low-flying Heinkels came over and started shooting at me. Fortunately, before they could make more than a couple of passes, a patrol of our monoplanes came whistling down and chased them off. I finally landed near a country road in some fellow’s olive grove.”

The pilots listened with rapt attention; no one seemed to notice that Ian had gone as white as a ghost except Maria, who patted him on the head on her way back to the head of the table.

“After I landed, several farmers and soldiers came up, and when they heard the way I spoke Spanish they immediately assumed that I was a German pilot, and I thought they were going to shoot me on the spot. They contented themselves, however, with merely taking my pistol away from me and starting me off down the road under guard. Before we had gone very far we met another group of soldiers, and one of them knew just enough English to understand that I was an Englishman flying for the Government. By way of verification I showed him several papers I happened to have from the Air Ministry. After that they apologized all over the place. They returned my pistol and even borrowed a donkey from one of the local farmers and helped me climb aboard. The worst thing was that everyone I met insisted on giving me a drink of the exceptionally foul-tasting wine they carried in those little leather gadgets. Anyway, I finally arrived at a little town just across the river from San Martin de la Vega, which the Fascists have.”

At this point in the narrative several Spanish conversations broke out that seemed to be discussing the validity of Eddie’s taste in wine. After about a minute of frenzied persuasion, Chang began banging his spoon on his tin plate. Everyone calmed down and waited for Eddie to continue.

“I was taken to the commander of the Loyalist garrison there, and I almost fell over when I saw that it was commanded by a woman – a Captain Dolores Something-or-Other. Whoever she was, she certainly had her men well in hand. They really snapped to when she spoke. She had a phone call put through to Madrid and they got me a straight-through connection to here when I arrived there last night. I couldn’t get away then on account of a shortage of transportation, but I didn’t mind that at all. She took me over to one of the lookout posts and let me take a look at the Fascists walking around over in San Martin. They seemed to me to be within rifle range, so I asked her why they didn’t crack down on them. She gave me the astounding reply that they never fired on each other during the siesta period. They certainly have a system!”

“Later on, we saw your show when those three Junkers tried to come over. We got the alarm first and then saw them coming, away off in the distance. We thought you fellows never would get there; the Junkers were making so much noise that we didn’t even know you were there until we heard your guns chattering away and saw those babies scramming for their mountain. It certainly was a fine sight, although Ian and Chang looked a little funny with only the two of you in a patrol! That’s about all there was to it. A few hours later I got word that a car from Madrid was waiting form me in front of garrison headquarters, and in a couple of hours I was in Madrid. Then this morning I was sent to Aleala, where I gave the group commander a statement about the affair. I hung around the flying field over there all afternoon, and they finally managed to spare a car for me to make the trip over here. Nothing to it.”

He yawned, then added, “Oh yes, I forgot to mention that Captain Dolores traded pistols with me before I left the garrison. She wanted something to remember me by.” Maria pretended to look indignant for a moment, but her expression softened as Eddie pulled a small box from his jacket pocket. “Don’t worry my love, I picked something special up for you in Madrid…” Ian groaned at the expression in Eddie’s eyes. LaCalle stood up and announced that it was getting close to midnight, and ordered everyone off to bed. Ian began shuffling off towards the stairs, but was astounded to see Eddie handing Chang a satchel case. The two spoke softly together for a moment and then separated. Eddie returned to Maria’s side, while Chang disappeared into the kitchen.