Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dunkirk, June 5^th, 1940

Two German soldiers emerged from the salty spray and mist, guns at the ready.  The day prior they had both been fighting to break through the last defensive line in France, but today the line folded.  They could no longer hear rifle or artillery, and what had been a warzone only a few hours previously was now once again a peaceful beach on the English channel.

Finally relaxing, one of the soldiers pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a match, dropping the small flame into the surf.  The second soldier stopped and held his partner’s arm.

“Schau da drüben!”  The cat whispered, pointing at what appeared to be a sentry still at his post.

Both soldiers instantly froze.  The sound of waves breaking and seagulls carried through the air.  Both men moved slowly to have their guns at the ready.  Kar 98’s left over from the last war might have been considered old and tired, but the big Mauser bullets were as deadly as ever.  One soldier stepped forward slowly, making his presence known in broken English

“Hello?  Up… eh… rise.”  He ordered, yet no response came.  No sound at all, in fact.

Confused, the soldier continued toward the lone figure until he could see the enemy clearly.  Slumped over a machine gun, the English soldier was covered in fresh bandages, blood stains still bright red.  The German figured he must have died of his injuries only an hour before. The lone British soldier had stayed behind and died at his post giving his countrymen a chance to escape.  Nudging the dead soldier with the muzzle of his rifle, the German relaxed once more, standing upright and waving to his comrade to move forward.

“Der arme Mann, er ist tot!”  The soldier said to his partner.  They both chuckled in relief that they didn’t have to fight a machine gun with just their rifles.  Moving through the enemy encampment, the Germans walked over and around sand dunes, looking for any information or intelligence that would be useful to their superiors.  Cannon and ammunition boxes littered the beach, broken up only by barbed wire and the occasional trench.  Bodies left behind by the evacuation had already begun to rot and there was a foul stench in the air which burned their nostrils.  Still, it appeared that the initial reports were true.  All able-bodied English and French soldiers that had not already surrendered were now across the narrow stretch of salt water separating England from France.

An English voice caused the two cats to stop in terror, looking around for the threat.  Their eyes carefully scanned the dunes, anticipating an ambush.  Had they walked right into a trap?  A last stand of a British unit left behind.  Breathing heavy, the two Germans flicked the safeties off their rifles and prepared to fight. The voice spoke again, this time at their feet.  Looking down, expecting to find an injured soldier, the pair instead saw a small radio half buried in the sand, still tuned to an active station.

“This is the BBC Home Service. Here is the news. In the House of Commons this afternoon, the prime minister, Mr. Churchill, said; ‘What General Weygand called the Battle of France is over. I expect that the Battle of Britain is about to begin.’…”

RAF Coltishall, England

Two young cats were playing in their family’s field when an odd sound filled the air.  Looking at the sky, they quickly identified the source as it approached.  A glistening mechanical bird in the afternoon sun appeared over a tree row, its wings reflecting the amber light against a backdrop of brilliant blue and puffy white clouds. The lone airplane, flying low and slow, struggled over the tree tops. Black smoke trailed behind the engine as it threatened to overheat from lack of oil.  The pilot struggled to stay airborne, but he was almost home.  The sturdy Hurricane just had to hold itself together a little bit longer.  Rather than risk killing the engine by climbing, he instead stuck to fields and roads, making sure there was always a suitable landing spot in front of his nose.  His rudder was sluggish too.  He could only imagine what it looked like after taking several hits from a big eight-millimeter gun.  Rounding a corner, the airfield came into view! Manually lowering the landing gear, the pilot steadied the plane as it coasted onto the grassy field.

Sipping from a cup of tea from inside the field office, Bader shook his head as he watched the plane glide in.

“Looks like its Kensington, sir.” The spotter said, reading the aircraft’s markings through his binoculars. “That’s the last one, I’m afraid.”

“The lad ought to know better than to set down a wounded bird right here at the airfield.  One miscalculation and he could take out half the squadron.”

“I don’t believe they train for that in flight school.”  The Sergeant said.

“Well they bloody well ought to!  They’re sloppy.”

“With respect, they are Canadian and few men possess your talents, Douglas.”  Leigh-Mallory said as he stood from the soft chair in the corner of the office to refill his cup.  “In any case, its pilots that we need most.  We have just over seven hundred aircraft left, the Jerries have over two thousand.”

“All the same, these boys need experience and we’re running out of time.”

“I agree completely, Douglas, which is why you’ve been assigned to lead the 242^nd.”

Douglas was slack jawed.  “Me? But—”

“Are you really going to tell me that you of all people aren’t up to the challenge?  Or perhaps you would be of better service back behind the front training new recruits.”

“Absolutely not!  I didn’t learn how to walk again just to be stuck in some cold, damp airfield up North.”

“Then you know what I expect from you.  For the big wing to work, our squadrons must be cohesive.  The Germans could be upon us tomorrow or they may be upon us weeks from now.  We must use every moment of time we can to prepare.”

Bader took a deep breath, looking over the packet of orders Mallory had handed to him half an hour earlier.  “Right.  I’ll, let the lads rest for the night.  I’ll start tomorrow with discipline and flying experience.”

The Land Rover bumped along a dirt road that wove its way between fields and tree rows near the eastern coast of England.  Rocky took in the smell of salt air, momentarily catching his hat before it could fly off his head.  A pair of small wings were pinned on his new uniform.  By some miracle he had managed to finish flight school, though the instructor mentioned that the war likely had something to do with it.  Every able-bodied cat in England was contributing in some way and Rocky meant to be where he was needed most, or at least where he thought he would be needed most.  Evelyn wasn’t keen on the idea… at least not until she saw how much he would be taking in every month for a salary.  He wasn’t good at much else, so it wasn’t as if there was a cornucopia of jobs waiting for him on the civilian market.

Those he had left back in St. Louis thought it was insane that he would volunteer to become a pilot, yet neither of them had ever experienced the sensation of flying.  For Rocky, it was true freedom like he had never felt before.  There was power there as well.  The large engine of his trainer rattled the rest of the airplane to its wooden frame and up in the sky the roar was deafening.  He could imagine it now, Rocky Rickaby, Britain’s top ace!  Of course, that was just his active imagination running away from him.  Rocky’s mind instead turned to his adopted son, Joseph, and where the lad might be now in the states.  The boys hadn’t heard from him in some time but they were confident he was safe and that would have to be good enough for Rocky. 

One thing did worry Rocky though, and it was a feeling he had been trying to suppress for some time.  He had a son who would be old enough to fly these machines.  His fellow colleagues in flight school were mostly Joseph’s age.  He, on the other hand, was pushing thirty-six. He wasn’t as fast or agile as he used to be and it was a wonder to Rocky that Ethan managed to stay in such good shape despite being several years older.  By all accounts they were middle-aged men now and Freckle would soon join them in a couple more years.  Some parts of Rocky’s fur had even begun to turn dull and frazzled, giving the edges of his cheeks and hair a salt-and-pepper look in the depths of his once rich black stripes.  Even so, Rocky still possessed youthful energy and that was ultimately what carried him through physical trials.  He had proven himself, barely, and the RAF saw fit to make him a pilot.  Now he was about to meet his squadron.

The Land Rover pulled into the airfield and the driver parked the car right outside the main office.  A smartly dressed older man walked briskly out the door.  Rocky recognized the insignia on the man’s sleeves.  This was a group leader!  His group leader!  Remembering the advice Ethan had given him, Rocky quickly stepped aside and held the car door open while standing at attention.  As the man approached, Rocky gave him a perfect salute in the British style.  The driver was a second too late and could only stand there awkwardly at attention, displaced from his usual duty of opening and closing car doors for officers.

Mallory returned the salute in a more leisurely manner and climbed in.  “Thank you, lad.”  He said before he noticed a peculiarity about the new pilot.  “Hold on there, son, what rank are you?”

“Flight Sergeant, sir!”  Rocky replied, doing his best to remain stoic despite the rising anxiety within him.

“Sergeant?  Mind if I see your papers?”

“Yes sir, of course!”  Rocky said, breaking his stance to dig the file out of his bag.  Mallory looked them over, a smirk forming across his face.

“It says here you crashed five aircraft in training.”

“That is correct, yes.”

“And they still gave you your wings?”

“My instructor said they need pilots.”

Leigh-Mallory couldn’t believe it, but this was yet another reason why he believed in the big wing tactic.  Britain was short on qualified pilots, and rookies like the one standing before him would be torn to shreds in the air without support.  Leigh-Mallory put on a confident face and turned back to the flight sergeant before him.

“Well, Seargent Rickaby, we may be able to replace aircraft, but we cannot afford to carelessly lose pilots. Follow orders from your CO and you will learn quickly. Bader can be a hard fellow to fly under, but you’ll find he has more talent for flying than the rest of this squadron combined.”

Leigh-Mallory turned and tapped the shoulder of his driver, gesturing that they should be off.  Rocky stood there as a cloud of dust enveloped him, threatening to blow away some of his paperwork.  Rocky picked up his duffel bag and turned around to read the sign. “RAF Coltishall”.  He took a deep nervous breath, but an old feeling rose within him.  At the tender age of 20 he was a nervous wreck just before taking the stage for the first time at Lackadaisy.  Yet Mitzi and Zib were there to encourage him.  They weren’t here now though and for a moment his mask of confidence cracked.  Was he really worthy of his wings?

“Oy, Laddie!”  A voice called out to him.  Rocky turned his head and saw an older cat struggling with a tool cart.

“Mind giving an old geezer a hand?”  The cat asked.

Rocky let thoughts of inadequacy recede and rushed to help.  “Always happy to lend a hand, sir.”

The cat took one look at Rocky’s wings and laughed. “Sir!  Sir? I ain’t no sir, laddie.  But ye have a good head on ya.”

“Aren’t you an officer?”

“No, dear boy.  I’m a sergeant, same as you.  But I’ll tell you what…”  The cat heaved the heavy cart up onto the small patch of concrete that served as the only patch of solid ground on the airfield.  Rocky pushed the cart the rest of the way, putting his meager muscle to good use.

“…just remember I own these birdies and we will get along just fine.”

“Oh…”  Rocky said, disappointed.  “I thought I might be, you know, issued a plane?  Rented?  Leased? Perhaps even gifted?”

The older cat roared with laughter.  “Laddie, you’ll be lucky if I can keep enough of these poor things fit for the air.  When things get bad, and they will get bad, you will take whatever Hurricane you can.  What’s your name, anyway?”

Rocky pushed through the disappointment to form a smile with one of his fangs showing out of the corner of his lip.  “Rickaby.  Roark Rickaby.  But everyone calls me Rocky.”

“An American… God help us.” The cat retorted, shaking Rocky’s hand.

“Is the accent that obvious?”

“As obvious as the sky above.  But I bet you won’t guess where I hail from.”

“Um… Aberdeen?  Glasgow?”

“Ha!  You would think.  The name is Jack Campbell and I left Halifax in February.”

“Halifax?”

“Oh yes.  A lovely city on the cold Atlantic coast.  Much better than this damn mud pit we find ourselves in now.”

“Well I’m from St. Louis, Missouri.”  Rocky said. “But my own personal Artemis and I came to England hoping it would be the first stop on a grand adventure.  Then the war broke out.  It was either go home or stay here.”

“If you ask me, you should have gone home when you had the chance.  It might not look like it now, but we’re all in the fight of our lives.”

That revelation worried Rocky, but if they really were all in danger, then surely, he should be at the front to stop the invasion before it could begin.  “Too late now, I guess.”

“Listen to your commanders and you’ll be alright, lad.”  Jack said.  He then pointed at a shaken young pilot stumbling away from his airplane.  “Listen to your commanders better than Kensington, at least.”

Jack gestured for the young pilot to come over only so that Jack could give him a hard time.  “You let another of my birds get shot to pieces, young one!”

“It was the jerries who were doing the shooting, Sergeant.  I at least got her back in serviceable condition.”

Jack sighed, shaking his head.  “We can’t keep up.  You lads will have to learn how to not get shot.”

Kensington nodded his head and then turned his attention to Rocky.  The gray tabby before him was slender but had a distinctive face.  Two large eyebrows betrayed every emotion, and his crooked grin still bore a canine tooth.  The patch on his sleeve was that of a sergeant. Kensington smiled warmly.  “Ah, you must be a new member of the ground crew.  Very good, Jack here can keep them flying, so all you have to do is—”

“Actually, lad…”  Jack said, “Sergeant Rickaby here is a pilot.”

“A pilot?  Bu-but you aren’t an officer.”

“England needs pilots.”  Rocky said in response. “And I am more than happy to contribute to this dire conflict.  Better to be in the air than stuck at sea or stranded on a beach across the channel, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’d say you’ve gone mad, sergeant.  And you’ll address me as ‘sir’, if you don’t mind.”

“You’ll both address me as ‘sir’.”  Another voice said.  Kensington snapped to attention immediately and Rocky followed up, confused as to why this young cat changed his tone so quickly.

“At ease, gentlemen.”  Bader said, looking over Kensington.  “What took you, lieutenant?  I was almost ready to send out a search party.”

“I got caught by the Germans.  A 109 shredded the—”

“You should have left when ordered to.  I got a telegram from the ground crew before they evacuated.  Twenty-five minutes after I gave the order you finally got up.  Mechanical issues?”

“No sir, I just—”

“Then you don’t have an excuse.  A few minutes more and you could have gotten half our support staff captured.  You need to get in the air in three minutes or less, understood?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good…  Now then, are you hurt?”

“No sir, I got lucky.”

“Indeed you did.  Go get yourself cleaned up and rested. Our training starts in the morning.”  Bader then dismissed Kensington and turned his attention to Jack and the new pilot before him.

“Looks like you’ve got more work to do, old boy.”  Bader said to Jack.

“Aye, but we’ll have her fixed up in no time.”

“And you… you must be new?”

“Yes sir!”  Rocky said, remembering the manners and advice Ethan gave him about etiquette.  “Roark Rickaby, sir.  Sergeant.”

“Flight sergeant I see.  Do people call you something other than Roark?”

“I’ve always been called ‘Rocky’, sir.”  Rocky said, mimicking Kensington.

“Well, Rocky, mind if you join me?  I need to take stock of what birds we have left.”

Rocky followed Bader as his superior talked.  “I am Douglas Bader, Squadron leader of the 242^nd. I would say you are a Canadian, but the accent is different.”

“Actually, sir, I’m an American.”  Rocky clarified.

“American?  Why on Earth did they send you here and not to a unit with other Americans?”

“Well, it’s because I’m not here as an American.  Evelyn and I have been in England for two years.”

“And you volunteered for the RAF anyway?”

“Well… I wouldn’t be much good on the ground.  My cousin has mechanical abilities, but these hands aren’t made for such tasks.  So, I—”

“Alright, alright, I understand.  Tell me the truth, Rocky, you joined because you liked our planes.”

“…It was a factor.”

The two of them walked into the first hanger where a small army of personnel were refitting damaged aircraft.  “We can always find new aircraft.  These Hurricanes are cheap and easy to build.  What we can’t afford to lose are pilots.  You must know how to fly one of these birds, but can you fight in one?”

Rocky smiled, running his hand down the leading edge of the wing of the first airplane.  It was smooth, but warm to the touch.  Rather than metal, the wing’s skin was fabric.  Still, he thought the plane was beautiful.  “Yes, I think I can fight in one of these.”

“We shall soon see.  Is that your file there?”

Rocky opened up the manila folder.  “Yes sir, here it is if you want to read it.”

Bader flipped through Rocky’s profile, stopping when he saw the birthdate.

“By god, you’re thirty-five?”

“…yes?”

“Good lord, how did you pass your physicals?”

Rocky merely shrugged.  “I guess I got good at running quickly.”

“I guess so. What was your previous occupation?”

“Violinist.  Sorry, I mean, ‘musician’. And before that I did all kinds of odd jobs.”

“Well, you’re a pilot in the RAF now.  It might not feel like it yet, but the battle is only beginning.  I’m going to put you in under Kensington.  He’s blue one, you’ll be blue three.  Stick to him like glue.”

“Yes sir!”

Bader handed Rocky his file back.  “Make sure that gets put in the office.  We’ll have dinner in two hours.  Sleep well, because we will begin training early tomorrow morning.”

St. Louis, Missouri

Freckle sat on the back porch with the sun setting in the distance.  The hills around him were lit up with a golden glow.  Spring rains had come through earlier and now the air smelled of Earth and new life.  The news was less sweet though.  He had a furrowed brow reading the latest update.

“What’s wrong, Calvin?”  Ivy asked when she came out to join him.

“France is gone.”  Freckle said.

“The Germans overran France? The entire country?”

“The government surrendered.  I imagine the rest of the country will be under the control of a government Mr. Hitler approves of.”

Ivy shook her head, thinking of how just weeks ago such a thing seemed impossible.  Even Ethan was certain that the French would stop an assault like in the last war.  One thought came to mind in that moment.  One she had kept in the back of her head now for the better part of the year.

“Will you have to fight?”

Freckle’s hands trembled at the thought.  “I hope not, honey.”

“Maybe you can be a conscientious objector?”

Freckle shook his head.  “That’s not the Catholic way.  At least not in this diocese.  We’re supposed to follow our conscience.”

“And your conscience says?”

Freckle looked at Ivy with worried eyes and kissed her tenderly. “I don’t know yet.”

“You should go talk to Ethan.”  Ivy said, her faith fully entrusted to the cat who acted like an older brother.

“I will tomorrow.”  Freckle reassured his wife.

“I’m glad you came, Ethan my boy.”  Andreas said.  Tall, middle-aged, but still in good shape, Ethan walked with purpose wherever he went.  A worn old campaign hat donned his head with faded markings of the 77^th Division sewn into the side.  A bullet hole through the hat and another one through his left ear were signs of how he had fought in years prior.  But that young man was gone.  What stood before Andreas was now a cat wizened by life, his heart worried for those he cared about most.  First were his children, but after them was Rocky, the cat he chose to call a brother after all they had been through thirteen years ago.

“Grandma!  Grandpa!”  A young girl’s voice exclaimed as Emily, now half-grown, rushed into the waiting arms of her grandparents.  Her dark curled hair had grown out and matched a personality that increasingly, and worryingly, reminded Ethan of her mother.  It had taken years to slowly teach Emily of her own heritage.  She still saw Ethan as her father even though she was aware he hadn’t brought her into this world.  He was there for her every single day, teaching her all manner of things.  Behind her was her quiet and considerate half-brother, William.

“Hello Grandma!  Grandpa!”  He said, the long straight fur that matched his father’s in color now draped down to his shoulders.  He only ever cut it once a year to honor his mother.  Though some teachers and even the principal of the school tried to get him to conform to their standards, behind him stood a tall, lean cat that was well past having the patience for such nonsense.  Since coming to live with his father, William found that Ethan was everything his late mother had promised he would be.  Brave, kind, and loyal to a fault.  She insisted he was a warrior, though Ethan disagreed.  He would rather be known as a father and brother.

“William, you’ve grown so much!”  Julia said, greeting her adopted grandson in the traditional Spanish way with a kiss on both cheeks.

“Yeah, he’s bigger than boys three or four years older than him.”  Ethan said with pride.

“He gets that from his father.”  Andreas insisted, hugging his son-in-law.

“He also gets it from his mother.”  Ethan retorted.  “It’s good to see you both.  How is Hernando?”

Julia’s face became sullen and fretful.  “He can’t sleep again.”

“I should have stopped him from going.”  Andreas said, blaming himself for his son’s choices.

“Nonsense, he did what he thought was right.  He should have listened to those around him but he went anyway.”  Ethan said.  “So, where is he?”

“He’s out back in the garden.  He wanted to talk to you, specifically.”  Andreas said.

Ethan looked down at both his children, caressing their heads with one hand each.  “Why don’t you two go play and tell your grandparents about all the things you’ve been learning?  I better go talk to my brother-in-law.”

Before I went out back, Julia stopped me and held my arm.  “Ethan?”

“Yes?”

“You should know, we heard from Isabella.”

Ethan forced a smile.  “I hope she’s doing well.”

“She’s getting married.”  Julia said, not knowing whether to smile or frown. “I don’t know how you would feel about that, but I thought you should know.”

“It’s been five years, ma’am.  I still miss her, but I’ve only ever wanted your daughter to be happy.  If you’d like, I will write to her to let her know that there is no hard feelings between us.  She deserves to see her parents just like anyone else.”

“I don’t know if we’re ready for that, son.”  Andreas added.

“I’ll leave that up to you two, then, sir.  Bella is no longer my wife, but she’ll always be your daughter.  If it were up to me, I’d say you two should go up there and see her if she won’t come back here.”

While the children tugged at their grandparents, Ethan made his way into the garden out behind the family villa.  It was an odd situation, still being included in a family that should have by all rights dismissed or disowned him.  And yet Julia and Andreas insisted on being there for two children that weren’t even theirs.  Was it pity?  Maybe a little, but if that was the beginning and end of their feelings toward the children then Ethan would have cut off contact a long time ago.  Instead they genuinely enjoyed having the little ones around.  Even though they had other grandchildren, they were all out of town except for the family of one of their other sons.  Hernando was a special case though.  The youngest of the Morenos, he had always strived to be like the great men he admired in his life.

Ethan paused when he saw Hernando sitting there, silently watching the birds as they bathed themselves in the shallow pond before him.

“There you are!”  Ethan called out.  Hernando turned his head and smiled.  “I’m glad you came.”

“Are you having those terrible dreams again?”  Ethan asked, sitting next to the younger cat like a concerned father.

“Yes, but I’m handling it.”

“May I ask how?”

“Well, the doctor is trying electroshock—”

“Then that doctor should have his license taken away.  I never needed it.”

“Yeah, but you still have those dreams too, right?”

“I guess I used the wrong word.  Hernando, for me those are memories, not dreams.  Sometimes its Derrick dying in my arms, other times its having to fight hand-to-hand.”

“Hmm… so it isn’t just my imagination then?”

Ethan laughed.  “No.  I’m not an expert in medical treatments, Hernando, but if you ask me what you need to do is find peace in your life.  I’ve found it a few times in the last two decades and those were times I could finally sleep through the night.  But that isn’t why you called for me, is it?”

Hernando shook his head.  “No, I wanted to know if you were going to go fight.”

“My fighting days are done, kid.  Look at me, I’ve grown old.  I can’t run like I used to—”

“You can still shoot a gun though, right?  You and Alena were competing against each other only a few weeks ago.”

Ethan chuckled and nodded his head.  “Yeah, some skills don’t waste away.  I guess if a German held still long enough, I could probably still put one right through their helmet.  But all the same, I was a soldier of the last war, not this one.”

“I hope you change your mind before you get too old to enlist.”

“Oh?  And why is that?”

“I’ve seen the German war machine at work, Ethan.  This country needs men like you if we’re going to win.”

Ethan paused and looked away from the younger cat.  “I’ll admit, part of me would be ashamed to stand by and watch as young men like yourself get sent into another meat grinder, but time doesn’t stop for anyone.  If Uncle Sam says I’m too old, then I’m too old.”

“What if you started training young men like me?  My unit was never properly trained.  I had to learn how to shoot while also being shot at.  Surely you could do that at least?”

“It’s a hard thing to say, Hernando.  This war won’t be like the last.  At least I hope it won’t.  France fell today.  Never in a hundred years would I have guessed that the Germans would find a way through that hellscape they call the Argonne. The nature of warfare has changed.”

“But some things stay the same.  I went to Spain to defend my homeland.  Millions of others will do the same in time.”

“That was the advice I wish you had heeded.”  Ethan said.  “I told you before, you aren’t Spanish.  You are American.  Your parents wanted you to be an American.  Rocky got himself into a world of trouble because he and Evelyn left to go live in England just before the war.  You know, half the time I can’t sleep because I’m worried about him.  It’s terrifying to know there’s nothing I can do to protect my brother.  Well, your parents felt the same about you.  Coming home in the state you’re in was almost more than they could take.”

“I know…”  Hernando said, looking down at the stump of a leg that was cut off below the knee.  “But it was still worth it.”

“It was, was it?  Spain is under the thumb of a dictator and now most of Europe is the same.  It will take a while to understand, kid, but sometimes soldiers go to war for nothing.  I only ever went because Uncle Sam ordered me to.  If I had the choice I would have stayed in Montana where I was needed.  But it’s no use arguing about what’s already been done.  I’m glad you’re home and I know Bella is relieved that you only lost a leg and not your life.”

The bell tolled seven times and we looked up at the old clock safely tucked under a walkway in the second story of the villa.  “I guess we should go to dinner.”  Hernando said.  “You’re staying, right?”

“Of course!  I’d never miss a chance to taste your mother’s cooking.”

RAF Coltishall, England

As the sun rose over the green airfield, Rocky awoke and readied himself for the day.  Etiquette wasn’t as strict as Ethan had made it out to be, but timeliness was expected.  Having long learned to show up on time from Mitzi, Rocky was one of the first to take a seat in the hanger.  Others filtered in until nearly the whole squadron was there.  Bader waited patiently, checking his watch.  When the last pair sat down two minutes late, their commander began.

“Two minutes, gentlemen.  Two minutes late and you would have missed our rendezvous.  Do you know what that means?”

All he got was a dozen blank faces.  Bader rolled his eyes in disgust.  “It means, gentlemen, that our wives, girlfriends, parents, sons and daughters have been bombed into oblivion!”

One of the pilots raised his hand and Bader cut him off.  “Yes, McKenzie, I know most of your loved ones are safe across the Atlantic.  But take Rocky, for instance.  Our resident American has a girlfriend here in England, don’t you?”

“Yes sir, I surely do!  Evelyn is only in Norwich.”

“And would you be late to get in the air if you knew a squadron of bombers was going to fly over Norwich?”

Rocky then understood what Bader meant and he dropped his smile.  “No sir, I would fight like hell.”

“That, right there, is the attitude we must have if we are to survive this war.  You are pilots of the 242^nd.  Our job will not be to fly over France; it will be to fly over our own airfields and towns.  If we fail in that task, our own people will die.  This will be a difficult battle, but I don’t want to hear complaints from anyone here.  You know why?”

Douglas lifted his pant legs and Rocky’s eyes grew wide. Where there should have been fur and flesh there was instead wood and metal.  Both legs were mere illusions, prosthetics.  And yet this officer could not only walk, but he could also fly.

“If I can fly these machines, then so can you.  There are some things we ought to cover before any of you touch one of my birds.  First, I don’t give a damn about your rank, your age, or where you are from.  All that matters to me is your ability as pilots.  Most of you are still wet behind your ears.  I’ve reviewed all your files.  Only half of you have even sat in the cockpit of a Hurricane.  If we send you into the sky now, you’ll all be cut to ribbons.”

Rocky swallowed the lump in his throat when Bader continued.

“The next thing you must know is that across the channel awaits over two thousand aircraft of the Luftwaffe and the best pilots in the world.  Some have been in the cockpit of a Messerschmidt since the Spanish Civil War and now a thousand pilots are on our doorstep awaiting the order to storm over our land and break our nation.  All that stands in their way are cats like you.  Some of you are young…”  Bader gestured to the two rookie pilots who arrived late.  “And at least one of you is old…”

Bader then gestured to Rocky who, for the first time, felt his age would be a detriment.  He had looked forward to growing older and wiser, perhaps even becoming a father to another child in the future.

“To turn back the rising tide, my superiors and I have developed a tactic that may prove useful.  One squadron like ours may be able to harass the enemy, but four or five squadrons can wreak havoc on the Luftwaffe despite the lack of experience amongst our pilots.  We call it ‘the big wing’.  For this tactic to work, however, you lot must get into the air as quickly as possible.  In France we got airborne in ten minutes.  That simply won’t do.  We will drill until you can take off in an aircraft in less than three.”

Bader heard hushed tones of disagreement, but Bader silenced them with a look.  “You are capable of this; I will make sure of it.  Now then, let’s tour one of our birds Sergeant Jack has expertly restored…”

Bader had the fresh pilots all gather around the new aircraft.  “This, gentlemen, is your weapon of war.  The Hawker Hurricane is a good aircraft.  She’s a tough girl, plain and simple.  Treat this aircraft right and it will do its job without fail.  The old girl has some serious teeth too.  Eight 303 Brownings are more than enough to bring down any bird the Luftwaffe can throw at us.  Now, onto the cockpit…

Later were more classroom lectures.  Bader stood at the front of the field office with a chalkboard behind him.  Rocky, growing bored, wandered off.  His eyes fixated on the Hurricanes sitting proudly out in the field.  He wanted to get in the cockpit and take one of them for a spin.

“Ahem…”  Bader cleared his throat, looking at Rocky.  “What the enemy does not know is that we have an ‘ace up our sleeve’, as the Americans would put it.  The technology of radar.  With it, we can pinpoint where the enemy is and predict where it will be going.  Headquarters will issue instructions to squadrons which will then relay those instructions to flight leads, and finally to the individual pilots.  This is where you come in.  Once we have assembled over our selected location, we move to intercept and destroy enemy aircraft.  If possible, do not engage 109s.  They can climb quicker and fly faster than our Hurricanes.  We only possess the advantage of maneuverability.  Bombers are a different story altogether.  A few good hits and you bring down one of their birds with ease.”

The Little Daisy, St. Louis, Missouri

With a rag in hand drying glasses, Ethan looked out on a deserted café.  Despite his best efforts, people still hadn’t recovered enough from the depression to spend money on luxuries like a homemade sandwich or a cup of coffee.  They were simple, cheap items, but even so it was a struggle to bring people in.

“Ethan?”  The waitress asked him.

“Yes, Liz?”

“I’m not seeing much to do.  Dishes are clean, stove is cold, food is put away—”

Ethan smirked and nodded his head.  “It’s alright Liz, you can call it a day if you like.  Go have fun with your friends.”

Smiling, Liz waved goodbye and left, leaving Ethan alone to slouch and slump himself into a barstool.  He was lucky in many ways and knew it all too well.  After many years, this was where he finally settled.  The last sliver of a once-great empire during Prohibition.  Underneath his feet and about thirty feet of rock was a system of caves that were long forgotten by this point.  Within the largest of the caves was a marvel of a bygone era.  The “Lackadaisy”, as it was called, was once the crown jewel of the St. Louis nightlife.  For several months, Ethan had been in charge with the protection of the Lackadaisy and its rag-tag crew of rum runners. 

Remembering those days, Ethan reached over the counter and pulled out a photo he always kept stashed away.  One of his sister’s first photographs, it showed the crew at the time when they were all young and full of life.  Ivy and Freckle were attached at the hip, smiling wide for the camera.  Their figures were thin in the photo, making it obvious that the pair were teenagers at the time.  Rocky was young then too, lean and a half-head taller than his cousin.  In between was Ethan himself.  Older than them but still young.  Eyes clear, a posture that was friendly yet protective.  And surrounding them was—

The bell above the front door rang and Ethan quickly stood up, taken by surprise.  In walked two regular customers who happily came by several times a week for nostalgia alone.  In a sleek black fedora and gray suit, cane in hand, Wick Sable strode in.  And on his arm was Mrs. Mitzi Sable.  Married five years ago, they had been inseparable ever since.

“Wick!  Mitzi!”  Ethan exclaimed, smiling and greeting his old friends.

“Ethan!  The café is looking a bit empty today.”  Wick said, shaking Ethan’s hand.

“We were coming back from the university and thought we should stop by… again.”  Mitzi said, patting Ethan’s hand.

“Let me get the coffee pot going again and I’ll be right back.”  Ethan said.

Heating up the stove once again and throwing a small kettle on, he took off his apron and sat down in a booth facing Mitzi and Wick.

“Wick is right, Ethan.  I don’t think it was ever quite this quiet.”

“Yeah, people just aren’t ready yet.  Still, I’m not in debt.”

“You’ll need a job.”  Wick said, his eyes wandering to the photograph on the counter.  “And what is that over there?”

“This old thing?  Oh, I was just looking at our younger selves.”  Ethan stood up and retrieved the photograph, handing it to the couple.

“My God, we all were so young then.”  Wick said.

“Yeah, and now you’re starting to look like a real professor at that college.”  Ethan jested.

“Hey now, you aren’t a spring chicken anymore yourself.”  Wick retorted.  “What are you now?”

“Turned forty last month.”

“By God, you’ll need a cane like me soon enough.”  Wick jested.

“Yeah, tell that to Hernando.”

“Your brother-in-law?  How is he doing since coming home?”  Mitzi asked.

“I think he’ll be alright with time and rest.  The boy went through hell but at least he made it home.  I blame the damn papers stuffing his young head with nonsense.  Spain was a mess and everyone could see it.  So naturally what do we do?  Send over perfectly good young men to get slaughtered under a banner with Abe Lincoln’s name on it.”

“Well, surely you’d admit the boys were brave to go.”

Ethan nodded in agreement.  “Yeah, they were brave alright.  It wasn’t enough though.  Now look at the mess Hitler made of Europe.  If things keep going the way they are…  Rocky and Evelyn…”

“We know, Ethan.  I worry about them too.”  Mitzi said.  “Have you heard from Joseph?”

Ethan sighed.  “He called in the other week.  Still out west trying to ‘find himself’.  Although if you ask me, he’s probably trying to find out what happened to his real father in Colorado.”

“And what of Riley?”  Wick asked.

“Doing temporary work across the river.  At least Reuben is keeping an eye on her.”

“Ethan, she’s twenty-three.”

“And my little sister.  I’m giving her plenty of space to live how she pleases but knowing that she’s safe helps me sleep at night.”

“Yet Joseph is only twenty and you worry less about him.”

Ethan knew the point Mitzi was trying to make.  “Next time he calls, I’ll tell him to come home.  That should make Rocky feel better too if he knows his boy is around family.  If he refuses, I’ll go get him myself.”

The door to the café opened again and as expected, Emily and William came bounding in.  “Dad! Dad!  Look what I made!”  Emily said.

“Here, let me see.  Wow, that’s very good.”  Ethan said, admiring the perspective on the sketch his daughter made in art class.  “I’ll have to get that framed.”

“And here’s what I made, Dad!”  William said, handing his father a drawing as well.  It was the mountains of Montana, a regular subject for Ethan’s boy. After all this time he was still connected to that western state and the crown of the continent.  Home to his people, his mother’s people.

“You’re getting very good at making mountains.” Ethan said.  “I’ll frame this as well or maybe keep it with your mother’s journals.”

A third person walked through the door, pocketing the car keys.  Hat on his head and his old green vest covering a white collar shirt, Freckle smiled at seeing the kids with Ethan.

“How’s the farm Freckle?”  Ethan asked.  “Come on, might as well sit down for a while.  I’ll bet the kids are hungry.”

“Yeah!”  Emily said.

Ethan shook his head, chuckling. “You two are growing like weeds in June.  Let me see what I can make.”

Digging around through the day’s stock, I found enough to make Freckle’s favorite, classic sandwiches.  While Mitzi and Wick occupied themselves listening to tales from the kids, Freckle followed me into the kitchen.

“Ethan?”

“Yeah Freckle?  Got a request for what you’d like?”

“It is a request, but it’s a bit different.”

“Oh?  Sardines?”

“No, Ethan.  It’s a little bit more important than that.”

Ethan stopped what he was doing and turned around, leaning on the counter.  The cat in front of him, a decade younger, took his hat off and fidgeted with it.  “I’m worried.”

“About?”

“What if there’s a draft?”

Ethan inhaled and breathed through his teeth.  Putting a comforting hand on Freckle’s shoulder, he forced a smile. “It’ll be alright, Freckle.”

“Not if I get drafted.”

“Then declare yourself a pacifist who wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I-it’s hard to explain, Ethan.  If things come to blows, I don’t want to be known as the one who stayed behind and cowered with his family at home.”

“Calvin McMurray, You and I both know that you are the furthest thing from a coward.  You’re a father of three, and your place is with them.”

“I think others would disagree.”

“Then let them.  So what was this request?”

“Ethan, will you teach me to fight?  You know, just in case.”

Ethan stood over the younger cat, mulling the request over in his head.  On one hand, he hated the idea that another cat he saw as a little brother would go off to fight in a war that by this point was larger than the famed “Great War” he himself had fought in.  He knew all too well that there was nothing “Great” about war.  He had already lost enough for one lifetime, but then again, a draft was out of anyone’s control.  Ethan wasn’t foolish enough to believe his country would stay out of it forever.  If Europe was gone, then it was only a matter of time…

“Freckle, I’m not going to teach you to fight.”

Freckle looked down, disappointed.  Yet Ethan’s comforting hand returned.

“I will teach you to survive war.”

Chapter Text

St. Louis, 1927

“On air in thirty seconds!”  The producer said. Bill inhaled and exhaled, preparing himself to speak into the microphone.  He reviewed his notes one last time, the top story being an unusually violent gang shootout at the edge of town.  He took a sip from a glass of water and locked his eyes on the producer who now held up his hand for the countdown.

“Five… four… three… two… one… we’re on air, all yours, Bill.”

Mitzi leaned over and turned up the volume when the opening theme for the evening news came on.  Everyone else stopped what they were doing and listened in.  Freckle pulled up a chair, Rocky stopped building his house of cards to entertain little Riley, and Ivy stopped bandaging Ethan’s wounds.

“Good evening!  You are listening to KMOX St. Louis evening news.  I’m Bill Mack, filling in for the night.  It has been an eventful week in the city and our top story tonight comes from the St. Louis Police Department. Earlier today, at approximately two in the morning, the old Sable Quarry in the northwest of town was the site of a widespread shootout between what is presumed to be two rival gangs.  Over twenty bodies have been recovered from the scene. The names of the victims have yet to be released along with their connections to St. Louis’ criminal underworld.  While it is likely that this was a violent confrontation between two groups of men, our CBS field reporters have uncovered a different and concerning perspective on the matter.

Our interviewees have requested that they remain anonymous for their own protection, but they believe that the bulk of the carnage was, in fact, the result of a single individual.  R.C. Kenamore, editor of the Post-Dispatch news section, dubbed this individual the “ghost”, borrowing the term from the same interviewees.  At this time no suspects have been identified by law enforcement.  Anyone who has information on this crime is encouraged to contact the city police department…”

Wick walked in, whiskey glass in hand.  “Well that’s a relief, but I will have to respond to the police soon.”

“Better see a lawyer, Wick.”  Mitzi replied.  “We would all understand if you didn’t want us to be seen here again.  Thank you for what you did.”

“Yes… well, perhaps that would be the smart thing…”

Ethan sighed.  “You heard him, guys.  We should get moving.”

“Mr. Kelly, I recommend going nowhere until Miss Pepper has tended to your injuries.”  Wick insisted.  “And no, none of you have to leave here anytime soon.  Had I invested in the speakeasy earlier, then none of this would have happened.”

Ethan nodded his head.  “I’ll have to pay Mr. Asa Sweet a visit, but you have my gratitude for sheltering us, Mr. Sable.”

Wick turned his attention to Ivy.  “And Miss Pepper, we should inform your father that you are safe.  And what about you boys?”

Freckle remembered what he had lost in deciding to help rescue the others.  For the first time in his life, he was alone and that scared him.  Rocky sensed this and rushed to his cousin’s side, immediately wrapping him up tight in a hug.

“It’ll be alright, Freckle.  I’ll take care of you just like when we were kids.”

“I don’t think that’s going to make me feel better, Rocky.”  Freckle said, memories flashing before his eyes of all the stupid and reckless things Rocky got the two of them into.

Rocky paused and thought about it.  “You’re right, Freckle.  It won’t be like when we were kids.  No, it’s time I start acting my age.  We should start over, this time as brothers.”

“I’d like that.”  Freckle said, smiling through his watery eyes.

“And one day your mother will forgive you.  Its just a matter of time.  So what do you say, Ethan?  Are we brothers now?”

Ethan gave the two younger cats a smile.  “Yes.  Yes, I think we are.  We are brothers in arms from this day until our last day.”

Mitzi and Wick watched from a distance as the three young cats officially agreed that they would be family from now on.  Ivy smiled too and quickly joined in the group hug alongside Riley.  The young socialite put Ethan’s old campaign hat back on his head.  She’d remember that night for the rest of her life.  When a veteran of the Great War finally picked up his rifle again and fought like a man possessed.  The night the “ghost” was reborn.

Later on that night, Rocky, Freckle, and Ethan bunked into the same bedroom.  Ethan, the rifleman who just butchered two dozen Marigold thugs to rescue Rocky, Ivy, and his little sister, took the time to make sure his two new “brothers” were comfortable.  It had been years since he had a proper family, and suddenly over the span of two weeks he had connected to these two cats that were a few years his junior.  Ivy knocked on the door, “can I come in?”

“Come on in!”  Rocky said.  Freckle hurried to cover himself, realizing he was only in his boxers.  This caused the other two cats and Ivy to giggle seeing Freckle’s face turn bright red.

“Wait, Ivy, don’t look!”

Ethan rolled his eyes and grabbed a blanket.  “Here, make yourself cozy, Freckle.  You can do the same too, if you want to Ivy.”

“Oh, I just wanted to say that Riley is sleeping peacefully and not to worry.  I’ll keep an eye on the girl.”

Ethan smiled back at Ivy.  “Thank you.  I’m actually tired enough for once that I might get some real sleep tonight.”

“You’ve earned it.”  She replied, sitting down for a moment in the chair in the corner of the room.  “I wonder what’s going to become of the speakeasy?”

Freckle laid his head down on his pillow.  “What’s going to become of us?  That’s a better question.”

“Well, I don’t know about you two, my young familial relations, but I think the future is bright for all of us!”  Rocky excitedly exclaimed.

“I just hope the Lackadaisy doesn’t close.  I don’t know what will happen to Miss M if it does.”  Ivy responded.

“Well, whatever happens.  We’re a family now.  If we stick together, I’ll bet that in twenty years we’ll look back on this night and remember it as the start of the good times.  I know I will.”

A loud thud woke Ivy up from her dream.  Her eyes shot open, thinking that one of the kids fell out of bed.  In fact, the noise came from her clumsy husband who was fumbling around in the dark trying to put his socks on.

“Calvin, what happened?”

Freckle was spread out on his back, thinking about how it was too early for what he was about to do.  “I think I tripped on that stupid wooden duck again.  We got to start getting the boys to clean up after themselves.”

“They take after their father, dear.  I’ve seen the state of the barn.”

“Yes, well, if they kept their mess to the barn I wouldn’t be tripping over things before dawn.”

“Why are you up, anyway?”

“Ethan is going to be here soon.”

“Ah…  And he couldn’t show up, I don’t know, two or three hours from now?”

Calvin got to his feet and kissed Ivy on the lips and then the forehead.  “He’s going to start training me and I guess this is when training happens.”

“Training?”

“I’ve realized that there isn’t much I can do if I get drafted.  But if he can teach me to survive… well, then maybe I’ll come home to you and the kids.”

“I still think you’re putting too much thought into this, dear.  But if it eases your mind then I’ll stay out of it.”

“You just rest, Ivy.  I’ll make sure I didn’t wake the kids.”

McMurray Farm, St. Louis, Missouri

The sun had not yet rose on the fine spring morning outside of the St. Louis.  With the glow of dawn approaching, Ethan jogged onward through the mist, his boots wicking away dew from leaves and grass.  His lungs burned and his heart raced, but for once he wasn’t running out of fear.  This was supposed to be “fun”, but really it was training.  A few steps behind him Freckle was able to keep up with the feline that called him a brother.  Ten years Ethan’s junior, Freckle still had the energy of youth and he quickly passed the old veteran, charging ahead just as instructed.  As the miles wore on, however, Freckle glanced behind him and realized that Ethan wasn’t as far back as he had imagined.  In fact, while Freckle was tiring, Ethan was able to keep going.

This went on until both cats did a loop on the gravel roads around the farm.  Freckle couldn’t keep going for another lap and stopped to rest on the front porch, but Ethan kept going.  He wasn’t nearly as fast, but the steady pace was impressive.  Freckle laid down on the porch, panting and clutching his chest.  He hadn’t run like that in ages.  After about a half an hour Ethan came around again and stopped, checking the watch in his pocket.

“That was about six miles, Freckle.  You’ll have to do better than that.”

“How are you still able to do that?”

Ethan shrugged his shoulders.  “Longer legs help, I guess.  But if I can still beat you, then you’ll be going through hell in basic.”

“Maybe it would be enough to get me discharged?”

Ethan shook his head.  “No.  If you aren’t quite fast enough then they’ll make you run and run and run until you are.  It’s the same for everything else that’s physical.”

“Oh God… I’m going to die if I get drafted, aren’t I?”

“Nothing is ever certain, Freckle.  Alright, give me five minutes and then we will move onto the next thing.”

Mary opened her eyes, squinting through the morning light.  Yawning and stretching, the nine-year-old girl crawled out of bed and went to the closet to find clothes to wear.  That’s when she heard odd noises coming from outside.  Climbing up onto the window sill, she saw Uncle Ethan and her dad playing outside in the yard.

“Uncle Ethan is here!”  She said to herself and quickly went back to change out of her night gown.

Ivy leaned out of the window in the kitchen to observe her husband and unofficial brother-in-law going through military drills.  She didn’t exactly like how this bode for Freckle, but she was happy that Ethan was doing something, even if it was just to keep Calvin’s mind occupied.  Maybe he would be less worried about a draft if he felt like he was prepared?

“Mom, Uncle Ethan is here!”  Mary shouted as she flew down the stairs.  Ivy instantly quieted her daughter.

“Shh, don’t wake your brothers!”  Ivy scolded.  “But yes, he’s here.  Why don’t you go tell them that breakfast is ready.”

“Is Emily and William here too?”  Mary asked.

“No dear, they spent the night with their grandparents.  No go on and rescue your father before he works up too much of a sweat.”

“Shoulder arms!  Left face!  Now show me your marching form.”  Ethan ordered.  Freckle did as instructed but Ethan wasn’t impressed.

“No, you’re far too sloppy.”

“What does this have to do with surviving war, Ethan?”

Ethan shook his head and took a deep breath.  “Freckle, it has everything to do with survival.  Units survive due to discipline.  If you get sloppy on a battlefield you’ll be killed instantly, or you’ll get others around you killed.  Now come on, bring your heels up and sway your arms.”

“Hehe!”  The young girl giggled while watching us from the porch.

Ethan spun around and winked at the child before crouching down.  “Well look who’s up!  Come here, kid!”

Emily rushed into her uncle’s arms and found herself eye-level to him and her father.

“What are you doing, dad?”  She asked.

“Oh, just… um… playing.”

“Your dad wants to get back into shape, Emily.”  Ethan said to the girl that was holding him around the neck.

“Mom said breakfast is ready.”

“Saved by Ivy.”  Ethan said, setting the girl down.  “Why don’t you go on inside, we’ll be there in a minute.

God those girls have grown.”

Freckle stopped and leaned on the stick he was using like a rifle.  “Yeah, they have.  The boys are a terror these days.  You want one of them?”

“Oh no, Freckle.  Two is plenty.  Besides, I know you love them to bits.”

“So you’re serious about this being important to survival?”

Ethan nodded his head.  “Very serious.  If you can’t march or keep up with your unit, then you’ll either be a liability to everyone else or you’ll get yourself hurt.  And, if I’m frank, a lone soldier is likely to die.  So yes, if you get drafted you must keep up.”

The conversation continued at the table.  While Ivy tended to Rowan and the two older children wolfed down their food, Freckle kept asking questions and pondering solutions.  “I wonder if they could just stick me behind a desk?”

Ethan weighed the option in his head.  “Well, you might.  Do you know how to type?”

Freckle shook his head.

“Okay.  You don’t want to volunteer for armored infantry, they’ll put you right on the front line.”

“So what can I do, then?”

“Maybe transportation?  You could volunteer too, but if we don’t go to war then you’ll be away from home for no reason.”

“Honey, perhaps you should go find a job that keeps you out of the draft?  The railroad, perhaps?  I can always call my dad for help.  I’m sure he still knows some names on the M.K.T that you can call up.”

“See?  I think Ivy makes a lot of sense, Freckle.”

“Is dad going into the army?” Daniel asked.  His young face was still remarkably like Rocky’s, except for the large eyebrows.

“No honey, he’s trying to avoid going into the army.”  Ivy said, tussling her son’s hair.  “Rowan, eat your carrots now or you’ll be sitting here until you do.”

“Mom…”  Little Rowan grumbled, but he quickly straightened himself up when Ivy gave him the same look she used to give her little brother, Oliver.

“On the plus side, Freckle, if all else fails I do see the merit in teaching you what I know.  The trouble is I haven’t been a soldier for twenty years.  I can teach you what I learned, but Hernando described to me things that would have been impossible back then.  Airplanes made of metal! Guns that can take out entire companies and are still light enough for one person to use! Tanks that can go as fast as a car!  The differences are endless.”

“I seem to recall that he was also adamant that you were still up to the task, so maybe you’re discounting your own knowledge.”

“Maybe, but I’d feel better if I took you down to meet the other guys in the Legion.  Some of them only got out of the army a couple of years ago.”

The skies of southern England

Rocky was in heaven, or at least the closest he hoped to get to heaven for another forty or fifty years.  The roar of the engine mixed with the sound of wind around the cockpit.  The altimeter read “18,000 feet”, far higher than he had been in any trainer.  The puffy white clouds around him were beautiful, and flying around them was like a little boat navigating a harbor full of islands and barges.

“Blue three, keep up!”  Bader said over the radio, snapping Rocky away from his daydreaming.

“Uh… copy, blue leader.”  Rocky replied, throttling up and pulling into a close formation.  Their three-plane flight took its classic “vic” shape.  The idea behind it was simple.  Let the flight leader focus on killing targets while the wingmen kept watch for enemy aircraft.  This flight was going to be different, though.

“Alright, I am going to be an enemy.  You two will defend each other, understood?”

“Copy.”  “Yes sir!”

Bader led the trio into a cloud bank.  Emerging from the other side, only Rocky and Kensington remained.  “My God, he evaporated!”  Rocky thought to himself, impressed with the parlor trick.

“Head on a swivel, Rickaby.”  Kensington said over the radio.  The pair did just that, dipping their wings to see where their leader might be hiding.  Suddenly over the radio Bader came alive.

“Takatakatakatakatakatakataka!” Bader’s Hurricane pounced on them before falling in off their right wings.

“Never fly in a straight line in a combat area! And always watch for the hun in the sun!  Now let’s try this again.”  Bader barked over the radio before peeling away once more.  Rocky watched as the Hurricane suddenly became a tiny dot that was obscured by clouds.  So that’s how he pulled the trick.

“Try to keep up, blue three.”  Kensington radioed.  Rocky followed close as Kensington began to dodge and weave in graceful arcs.  However, Rocky looked down and noticed they were now over the coastline.

“Where did you two get off to now?”  Bader asked.

“Copy blue leader, heading at 220.”

“Pull back, blue two.  You wandered too far out.”

“Roger.”  Kensington said, getting frustrated with his commander.  No matter what he did, nothing seemed to be able to please him.  It didn’t help things that he had what he considered to be an old man in the plane behind him.

“Blue three, turn to heading zero, one, three.”

“Yes, blue two.”  Rocky radioed back.  He looked down at his compass and split his attention between Kensington in front of him and the instrument panel.  Executing the turn, he felt a wave of relief seeing the coastline in front of them instead of behind them.  Expecting to be reunited with their commanding officer, both pilots let their guard down.

In an instant the sky was ablaze with tracers.  Bader got on the radio instantly. “You’ve got one on you, blue two.  Break right, break right!”

Kensington reacted swiftly, but not swift enough.  A cannon round shattered his tail and sent him spinning.  A flash of light above Rocky gave away the German’s position.  He froze in fear, not knowing what to do.

“Rocky, do something!  Now!”

The barrel of the Messerschmidt’s cannon reminded him of that night Heller tried to shoot him.  It suddenly occurred to Rocky what he should do.  He couldn’t run away, but he could make the German overshoot him.  Rocky cut the throttle and pulled the rudder hard to the right along with full elevator up.  The Hurricane responded like a car drifting around a corner.  He bled off speed, but the gamble paid off.  The 109 roared past Rocky’s cockpit.  The two pilots locked eyes.  Rocky’s eyes were full of fear, but the German had a stern, stoic look about him. Below the window of the cockpit was a ribbon of small flags.  Spanish, French, Belgian, Norwegian, and British roundels were arranged in two long lines.  This wasn’t the average pilot, he was a veteran ace!

Rocky rolled the plane back in the other direction and tried to line up a burst, but the 109 was too far out for his shots to have any effect.  Still, that half second on the trigger was exhilarating!  With hand guns and rifles he was pathetic, but in an airplane the craft did much of the work for him.  He remembered then that Kensington was hit.  Dipping his wing, Rocky found the aircraft still spinning out of control.  A white parachute opened up several thousand feet from the ground.  Looking back up to where the German plane was, Rocky was horrified to see that he had been distracted for too long.  The Messerschmidt had come around and was lining up on him.

“Ah crap…”

Another Hurricane came to the rescue in that instant, moving toward the German and making him break off his attack.  It was Bader!

“Form on me, blue three.”

“Roger that!”  Rocky replied, moving into position off Bader’s left wing.

“Are you hit?”

“I don’t think so, sir.”

“Good.  I saw Kensington go down.  His chute opened.  Nothing we can do for him now. Follow me, we’re going home.”

Rocky piloted his plane behind Bader all the way back to their field. Flying beneath the clouds, the grass runway came into view over the nose of the airplane.  Remembering the checklist, Rocky got his gear down, slowed his speed, and deployed his flaps.  He watched for a flare which would indicate that there was something wrong.

Bader guided him in before peeling off and coming around again for his turn.  “Gently, now, Rocky.”  Rocky said to himself quietly.  Landing was the hardest part for him and the one thing he hadn’t gotten right during his training.  Today would be no different.  Misjudging his rate of descent, he found himself bouncing over the runway, the suspension shooting him back up into the air.  He leveled out and coasted back down one last time though and soon he was taxiing.

Bringing the plane around and shutting down the engine, The spike of adrenaline finally hit him.  Rocky looked at his hands.  They trembled like he used to ingest syrup and pancakes!  Only this wasn’t a good feeling.  Actually, he felt sick!  Rocky unbuckled himself and opened up the cockpit.  Stumbling and falling out of the airplane and bouncing off the wing, he landed on the ground, dazed and confused.  Jack’s face was there to greet him.

“Got into some trouble, did ya?”

“Ugh…”  Rocky groaned, picking himself up, putting on a smile.  “But nothing this old cat can’t handle!”

“Well you survived, I’ll give you that.  Bucket is that way…”  Jack pointed, noticing that Rocky was turning green.

“Thanks!”  He said before promptly turning and running for the container so he could empty his breakfast.

“So, how was your first flight?  Come on, Rocky, tell me about it!”  Evelyn said into the telephone.

“It was… eventful.  But I’m safe and sound.”  Rocky said, nervously laughing.  Evelyn caught on immediately.

“Okay, what happened?  What did you do this time?”

“Me?  Oh, I don’t think I did anything wrong, per se. But we were attacked by a German.”

“Already?  I thought they stopped in France.”

“If you ask me, Evelyn, I think they are testing us. Picking off a few pilots before the main assault.” Rocky then had a disturbing thought.  His girlfriend was far too close to the front line for comfort.  “And Evelyn?”

“Yes, Rocky?”

“Please tell me you didn’t get an apartment in the middle of the city.”

“Actually, I found a quaint little cottage outside the town.”

“Oh thank god!”  A wave of relief washed over the rookie pilot.

“Why?  What do you think I’ll be safer out here?”

“Evelyn, I think they’ll be bombing cities.  Just, whatever happens, stay out there, okay?”

“I still have to go to work, you know.  But they wouldn’t bomb a hospital.”

“…you’re right, they wouldn’t.”

“And now that I know my brave pilot is safe, do you have any idea when you will get leave next?”

“Probably in a couple of weeks.”  Rocky said, thinking about when his name would come up on rotation.

“I’ll mail you the address.  In the meantime I need to find a way to make myself useful too.”

“Whatever you do, Evelyn, please don’t go into a big city.  Try field hospitals and estates.”

Evelyn smiled at the other end of the line.  Rocky really did love her like no one else could.  “Don’t worry, Rocky, I’m not as reckless as you.  Now you keep yourself safe so when this is all over, we can be together again.”

“I will, Evelyn.  Love you.”

“Love you too, Rocky.  Goodnight.”

Rocky hung up the phone and got out of the way of the next aviator who was starting to get impatient.  “Come on, Rocky.  Three-minute limit on Friday nights.”

“Right, right, sorry.”

“Anyone hear from Kensington yet?”  Bader asked, walking into the mess hall.

Just then a truck pulled up and a battered Kensington got out of the back, soaking wet.  Bader wasted no time criticizing his young pilot.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to fly straight and level?”

“Sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.”

“And that goes for you too, Rocky.  If that German wanted to he could have blown up your plane with his cannon.”

“Yes sir!”  Rocky said.

Bader then softened his tone. “But you did react quickly and I saw that you marked where Kensington went down.  You’ve got good instincts.”

He then turned to the rest of the pilots eating their food.  “Tomorrow we will perform drills at 0800 hours.  Good night, gentlemen.  And Kensington…”

“Sir?”  He said, not wanting to even make eye contact.

“I’m glad you aren’t hurt.  You should call your family before word gets around.”

“Right… I will.  Thank you.”

German Airfield, Normandy

Coming in from the last patrol for the day, Hauptmann Felix Jager brought his 109 into line with the runway and deployed the landing gear of his Messerschmidt.  Gliding gracefully onto the newly acquired grass field, he taxied his aircraft over to one of the hangers the British had abandoned less than a week ago.  The same set of victory flags were proudly and prominently displayed on the side of the cockpit.  Twenty-three in total, they ran the gamut from Spain to Poland.  And now one more victory marking could be added to the list, his first victory over the skies of England.

The stabsfeldwebel was on hand with a clipboard to meet the young pilot as he slid out of the cockpit.  “Did you see any English today?”

“Oh yes, put one down over the channel.  Hans can verify the claim.”

“That makes twenty-four.  You’ll soon be an ace five times over!”

Felix agreed but felt that he had yet to be properly challenged by anyone in the air.  It often wasn’t for lack of trying.  Pilots for the republicans in Spain and the Polish air force were stuck with inferior aircraft.  The 109 was capable of beating the best any nation had to offer.

“I do hope these English finally give us a challenge.  Goring says that they are our equal.”

“So far, I think our commander gives them too much credit.  Look around, they were in such a hurry to leave that they even left their tools!”

The two men laughed as the stabsfeldwebel held up a wrench with RAF markings on the handle.

“Could you not use their tools?” The pilot asked.

The other scoffed at the idea. “They are in the way.  I am having my men clear the garbage out so we can make room for our own tools. Anything we should look at on the aircraft?”

“No, perform whatever checks you require.  I’m late for dinner.”

The two men parted ways and Felix went into the newly refurbished bunkhouse at the airfield.  Changing into more appropriate attire, he waved down one of his fellow pilots and the pair drove off in an “acquired” French car to a chateau outside Cap Blanc-Nez.  Parking the car, the two pilots made their way inside where a waiter instantly handed them each a glass of champagne.

The flag of the JG 26 squadron flew overhead and their commander, Adolf Galland, immediately greeted his two pilots.

“Ah!  Felix and Nicholas, we were beginning to worry.”

“Not to worry, commander. We were patrolling the coast for reconnaissance aircraft.”

“None have been seen here in days.  We must have scared them too well!” Adolf jested.  The two pilots laughed in return. “Well, now that you both are here, we can begin!” Adolf used a silver fork to ring his champagne glass and get the attention of his airmen. “Everyone has now arrived! Would you all take your seats, please, and we shall celebrate our victory over the French.”

Nicholas quipped to his commander, “Perhaps when we have defeated the English, we could dine in Buckingham palace?”

“Haha, I would have to get Goring’s permission for that, I’m afraid.  You should see England closer to the ground sometime; it is a wonderful country.”

“Beautiful perhaps, but their pilots are proving to be inferior.” Felix added as he sat down.

“Their pilots are few in number, Felix.  They are still worth our respect.  Have you seen the Hurricanes they left behind?”

Felix shook his head.

“They don’t have cannon, but their aircraft still has teeth.  If you aren’t careful, your luck may run out one day.”

“Yes sir, I will keep that in mind.”  Felix replied.  Colonel Galland turned his attention to the airmen at large and raised a glass high for all to see.

“To the brave pilots of this squadron and our hard-working ground crews.  The Battle of France would not have been won without you.”

With a cheer, all the Germans toasted each other and the ground crews that were still busy at the airfield. Galland continued.  “You should know that soon the next phase of the war will begin. For the next several days, no pilot will be in the air unless ordered to.  Rest well, eat well, enjoy the spoils of war.” Galland motioned to the wonderful French cuisine that sprawled out across the table.

Though Felix respected his commanders, especially one as successful as Adolf Galland,

American Legion Post No. 312

With the kids at a day camp that started for the next two weeks, Ethan had time to take Freckle out to a place he had frequented since building the farm Freckle and Ivy now lived on.  The American Legion building was an estate house that had been converted into a meeting hall, a bar, and a few bunk rooms for veterans who found themselves without a roof over their heads.  Freckle hesitated at the door.  “Are you sure about this, Ethan?”

“Very sure, yes.  If you want to know what you are up against, the younger veterans here will be able to tell you what’s what.  Besides, I could use a drink or two while the kids have supervision.  You could too, frankly.”

Ethan walked in and held the door for Freckle.  The group of veterans were inside and already opening up the bar for themselves. Some of the older veterans had fought in various Indian wars while the younger veterans had only just gotten out of the army a year or two ago.  Ethan was solidly in the middle, being young for a Great War veteran but also well respected. “Morning Claude!”  Ethan called out, recognizing the former president of the post.

Claude raised a glass to salute the arrival of one of his best volunteers.  “Ethan Kelly!  It’s been a while since we’ve seen you around.”

“Well, life has been busy.  You all remember Freckle, right?”

“Of course!  How’s the family, lad?”

“Oh, um... they’re doing well.  I, uh, just—”

Ethan rolled his eyes.  “My little brother is nervous about what might happen to him if Uncle Sam calls up another draft.  I was hoping someone around here might have more recent experiences of war.”

A lot of smiles disappeared.  Claude spoke for the group.  “The Germans are better this time around, that’s for certain.”

“Anyone here have some intelligence on them?”

“You’d be better off talking to that brother-in-law of yours.  It’s not that we don’t agree with their fighting spirit, but Lincoln Veterans aren’t eligible for membership.”

“Oh… well that’s too bad.”  Ethan said.  “Whelp, it was worth a shot.  I guess we better go elsewhere, Freckle.”

“Hold on, Ethan!  Your timing is perfect because there’s someone here who wants to see you.”

“Oh?”  Ethan asked.  An old friend stepped out of the crowd.  An aged veteran dressed in a national guard uniform stuck out his hand.  “Hello, Ethan.”

“Captain!”  Ethan said, stopping to look over the man in front of him. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

“Ha… I’ll never forget the Ghost of Charlevaux.  Come on and let your friends enjoy their morning.  I want to speak to you about something.”

“Okay…”

Sitting at a booth, Freckle looked at the man in uniform.  “So, if you don’t mind me asking, who are you, sir?”

“Oh right, where are my manners.  Freckle, this is Captain Nelson Holderman.  He led the 307^th infantry regiment in the war.”

“Colonel now, actually.”  Nelson corrected.

“Colonel!  My god, you really did make a career out of it.”

“Yes, the National Guard has been good to me.”

“Wait a second, Ethan, I thought you were in the 308^th?”  Freckle asked.

“Well yes, but by the time we got trapped behind enemy lines it was Colonel Holderman here that we had to thank for us lasting as long as we did.  That medal of honor is well deserved, sir.”

“You should have been given one as well, Kelly. And really, if it wasn’t for you scaring the hell out of the Germans and fetching us supplies, I don’t think we would have lasted as long as we did.”

“We’ll just say it was a team effort then.” Ethan compromised.  “So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“I have a friend up in Minnesota.  He is managing recruitment for the 34^th Infantry and he’s looking for NCOs with experience.”

Ethan was quick to dismiss the offer.  “It’s not that I don’t want to help in some way, but I’ve just been away from the army for far too long.”

“Come on, Ethan.  If you could train a few companies to fight like you did, the Nazis don’t stand a chance.”

“I believe people are severely overestimating my abilities, colonel.  I’m sorry you had to travel all the way out here, but no, I’m not interested.”

Holderman sighed and accepted defeat.  “Very well.  But just so you know, if there is to be a draft and we enter the war, I’ve heard it will apply to anyone under 45 years of age.”

That last part made both Ethan and Freckle jolt in their seats. Ethan recognized that it was the last thing Freckle needed to hear.  “Even so, my answer is ‘no’.  I have two children and I am their only parent.  I won’t leave their side unless I must.

“All the same, here is the man’s information.  He said he knows you.”  Holderman gave Ethan a letter.  Ethan recognized the name.  It was Leuitenant Richards, now a Staff Sergeant in Minnesota!

“Give him my regards next time you talk to him.  It was good to see you, colonel.  I hope your recruitment efforts are more successful in the future.”

“Oh, I’ll people.  Take care, Kelly.  And you as well, Mr…”

“McMurray, sir.”  Freckle said.

Outside we walked back to the car.  Freckle was in a sour mood.  “You know, besides you, Rocky, and Wick, I really don’t like being treated like a kid.”

“It’s your face, Calvin.  You look younger than you are.  For whatever its worth though, Ivy still fawns over how cute you are.”

He folded his arms and pouted in the seat.  His small stature only added to the effect of him still looking like an adolescent.  Ethan turned the passenger side mirror in so Freckle could see his own face.  “See?  Honestly, I’m jealous.  I wish I still looked like I just got out of high school.  The only giveaway for me is I know how skinny you were when you were eighteen.”

“Maybe I could pass for being too young for the draft?”  He said, trying to find a way where it might be an advantage for him.

“I wouldn’t go that far, Freckle.  The moment you start wearing glasses you’ll look exactly like your father in those pictures your mother keeps in her albums.”

Ethan drove Freckle back to the farm where Ivy and their kids were waiting for them.  Turning back around, Ethan went to get his own children out of their day camp.  On the way he thought about Freckle’s options.  He did have a family, so perhaps deferment would work if nothing else did?  The trouble was Freckle was thirty-one.  He was at that prime age where NCOs really shine, and that scared Ethan.  Sergeants were typically older and had more experience than fresh recruits.  Freckle was no slouch when it came to practical experience.  He and Ivy had managed to keep Rocky’s race car going for several years before finally parking it behind the barn after Rocky and Evelyn left for their ill-timed European tour.  McMurray didn’t have enough of an education to guarantee himself a desk job and if he was refusing to use God as an excuse, something Nina was likely to suggest, then that was really his last option.  And even then, a deferment merely delayed the inevitable.

“Alright, kids, ten more minutes and then we have to walk back to the church.”  The teacher hosting the summer program said.  The kids immediately scattered in a dozen different directions across the park, all eager to explore the sights of the river.

“Come on, Will!” Emily said, dragging her older brother behind her as the two tried to keep up with a group of kids.  The two ran down to where the river flowed past the new park the WPA had built only a couple of years ago.  Another group of children were there testing out toy boats they made earlier.  The little creek that flowed through the park and into the Mississippi made the perfect route for the small canoes and Emily was excited to meet new people.

“Hey, whatchya doin’?”  She asked the closest kid.  The girl turned around and found herself face to face with a couple of kids that looked odd to her.

“Um… we’re playing with boats.”

“Hey, who are these two, Lucy?”  A boy asked.

“I’m Emily, and this is William, my brother!”

The boy scoffed at the pair of them.  His sharp, private school uniform matched his arrogant attitude.  “Ignore them, Lucy.  They aren’t like us.”

“Gerald!”  Lucy scolded her cousin.  “Be nice.”

“Yeah, what’s the big idea?”  William said, stepping in.

Gerald rolled his eyes.  “Clearly you haven’t heard about white collar and blue collar.  My Dad talks about it all the time.  Let me guess, Irish parents?  Or do you even have the same parents?”

“My father is Irish, yes.  Why’s that a problem?”

“Dad always said we should have sent them all back once the railroads were built. And what’s your sister’s story?  Could your father not help himself or something?”

William gritted his teeth, but Emily still didn’t quite understand what was going on.  “Oh, his dad adopted me when I was a baby!  My mother was Cajun.”

Now the other kids were taking notice of a conversation quickly going South.  William looked around and realized that they were no longer with any of the other kids they had come to the park with.  Gerald now found an outlet for his father’s displaced bigotry.

“Cajun?  I wouldn’t be so proud of that, girl.  They’re as bad as gypsies and jews.”

Emily recoiled behind her brother, but Gerald continued to goad the two of them. “What?  It’s the truth.  I hope when we get a new president then he’ll send you foreigners away—”

“I’m not just Irish, you pompous jerk.  I am also Blackfeet.”

Lucy stifled a laugh.  “You have black feet?”  Gerald looked down but saw that the boy was wearing shoes.  “You should probably get that looked at if your feet are black.”

“No, I am Blackfeet.  Siksika!  My mom’s people have been in this country since time began.”

It finally clicked for Gerald.  “Oh, so you’re an Indian too!  And Indian and a Cajun being raised by an Irishman.  What do you have there?”  The boy then reached out and grabbed the bear claw necklace William kept around his neck at all times.  It was so quick that William didn’t even react until Gerald held the necklace in his hand.

“Hey!  You can’t take that!”

“Why not?  We’ve taken everything else, right?”  Hmm, did your mother kill a bear or something?”

“My grandfather killed it and its sacred.  Now give it back, now!”

Even Lucy was appalled by her cousin’s action.  “Gerald, give the necklace to him, would you?  We didn’t come out here to fight with people.”

Gerald was too busy admiring it to notice that Emily impulsively charged out and kicked the older boy in the shin.  With a loud yelp, Gerald grabbed his leg and dropped the necklace right into Emily’s hand.  In a flash of anger, Gerald pushed the girl down.  William’s eyes lit up like fire and clenched his fist.

Ethan pulled up to the church and got out of the car.  “Carol!  How did the—”

“Ethan!”  The woman called out to him and rushed over.  “We were just trying to call you.”

Ethan stopped in his tracks. “What?  What’s wrong?”

“Your son, he—”

“That must be the brat’s father!”  An irate parent shouted and pointed at Ethan.  A police man was with him.

“Ah hell…”  Ethan said to himself.  “What’s this all about?”

“That wretched abomination you call a son hurt my boy.  He was playing with his cousin and some of their friends when your animal attacked him.”

“First of all, his name is William—”

“I don’t care!  I’d sue you, but by the looks of things someone must have beat me to it.”

“Excuse me?”  Ethan seethed. “My brothers and I restored this car by hand.”

“I was referring to what you’re wearing.  Is your other occupation a tramp or something?”

Now Ethan was getting angry.  “Listen here, buddy.  Call me whatever you like, but call my son an animal one more time and I’ll—”

“Ahem.”  The police officer cleared his throat and Ethan immediately relented.

“I’ll do nothing, I guess.  Now I know my son, he wouldn’t attack someone without cause and I think I can guess why he attacked your boy.”

The man scoffed.  “This is exactly why people like you should have been shipped home decades ago.”

“Gentlemen, I won’t be taking sides in this situation, but I would like to remind you both that this was two children who got into a fight.  Now, what can settle this.”

“Take this…”  The father was about to say something inappropriate but Ethan’s eyes narrowed and he hesitated.  “I mean, take that boy downtown and book him like any other criminal.  I’ll let the district attorney to decide of charges are necessary.”

“Alright, works for me.”  The cop said and let the man get back in his car.  The boy in the backseat had a blackeye, an imperfection on an otherwise perfect face that masked the spawn of a disgusting feline Ethan had little patience for.  Ethan turned his attention back to the cop.

“Hold on, you aren’t seriously going to arrest my son over something this petty, are you?”

The cop continued waving off the father as his car disappeared down the street.  “Wait for it…”

Ethan crossed his arms, waiting as he was told to.  Once the officer was sure the father was gone, he stopped waving and smirked.  “What an asshole.  You wouldn’t believe it, but he was cursing you out for a few good minutes before you arrived.”

“Oh, I believe it.”  Ethan replied.

“He was ranting about the Irish.  What he didn’t realize is that I’m an O’Connell.”  The officer said, turning to Ethan.  The two exchanged a glance before they both started laughing.

“Hopefully he never finds out how many Irish there are in this city.”  Ethan said.  “So, my son—”

“No, Mr. Kelly, I won’t be arresting him today.  My shift is almost over anyway.  But you better teach your son to stay out of trouble.  If he does something like that again and the wrong cop shows up…”

Ethan was disgusted.  “You’re telling me my son could end up in jail over that?  We all had fights as kids.”

“Oh no, we wouldn’t put him in jail!”  The cop said, gesturing for Ethan to follow him to his cruiser. “But he’s native.  A judge would send him right into an Indian school to be “civilized”.  Understand?”

Ethan’s heart stopped for a moment.  The thought that his son would be taken from him had never really entered his mind before, but judges did have wide latitude to decide what to do and Wiliam was no longer some young child who could get away with throwing a tantrum.  He already looked older than he was, taller than Ivy already and quickly closing in on Freckle’s height--

“Mr. Kelly?”

“Right… yes, I understand.”

“Good.”  The officer said, opening up the door.  William sat in the back seat, terrified.  “Dad?!”

Ethan crouched over and hugged his son as William flew into his arms.  “It’s alright, William.  Come on, we’re going home.  Where’s Emily?”

“I’ve got her.”  Carol said.  I hugged a visibly shaken Emily.  “You two get in the car, we’re going to have a long talk later.”

I turned back to Carol.  “Well, that was probably more eventful than you—”

“I’m sorry Ethan.  Your kids are still welcome at church, but that sort of behavior reflects poorly on us all.”

“What?  Sure it does, but—”

“I can’t take them back into the program, Ethan.  I’m sorry.”  Carol said.  She didn’t look the least bit happy about it and she patted my shoulder before returning to the church.

“But kids fight all the time…”  Ethan repeated.

“Yeah, but your kid is a half breed.”  Officer O’Connell said bluntly. “If you ask me, he would be better off living where he’s accepted.”

Ethan drove home in silence.  Emily nervously asked, “Dad, are you mad at us?  We’re really sorry…”

Ethan inhaled and exhaled, keeping himself calm.  “I’m not mad at you two, but you can’t be getting into fights like that.”

William spoke up.  “But Dad!  That kid pushed Emily!”

“I understand, William.  But you just can’t.  Look, let’s get home first and then you and I should have a talk.”

At the apartment, Ethan let his kids in through the front door and ushered Emily upstairs.  “Now you get yourself washed up, young lady.  William and I need to have a discussion.”

William shrunk into his chair as his father loomed over him.  Ethan stopped short of hovering right over his son though and softened his stern look slightly.  “Come on, let’s go downstairs.”

“Downstairs?”

Ethan fetched a knife out of the kitchen and wedged it into a certain spot in the bookshelf at the back of the café.  With a heave, he moved the shelves aside and revealed a staircase leading into the depths below.

“Woah…”

“Come on, we won’t be othered down there.”

Ethan followed his son down and noticed that William looked nervous.  “Um, Dad, you aren’t going to do something to me, right?”

Ethan sighed.  “No, son, I’d never lay a hand on you.  But you need to see what’s down here to appreciate what I’m about to tell you.”

At the bottom of the stairs, William pushed open a door which led into what looked like an inky black void.  Ethan fumbled around until his hand felt a light switch.  Throwing on the power, dim lights turned on in a sequence that illuminated the cavern in pieces.  “Woah…” William said.

There were barstools and tables covered in cloth, an empty stage, a bar off to the side and pool tables in the back.

“Your uncles, cousin, and I have told you about this before, William, but you haven’t seen it in person.”

“Is this that place you, Uncle Rocky, Uncle Freckle, and Aunt Ivy worked for?”

“Yes.  It was called the “Lackadaisy.  Come on, I need a drink.”

Leading William over to the counter and lifted the boy up until he was sitting on the bar top.  Ethan jumped up and then sat next to his son, his tail wrapping around William while Ethan leaned back and grabbed a bottle from a shelf behind the bar.  Taking a swig, he and William looked out across the old speakeasy.

“This is where my new life all started, son.”

“Yeah, you were running alcohol, right?”

“Yep, spirits of all kinds.  Do you know why I did this?”

William shook his head.

“I did this because it was all I could do.  Aunt Riley was as young as Emily is now and she was all I had left in this world.  At least until I came to know Rocky, Freckle, and Ivy.  I ended up here in part because my own father didn’t give a damn about any of us.  If he hadn’t drank himself to the point where the Spanish Flu could take him, then we’d all be in Montana still.  I might even have married your mother once she got pregnant with you.  I want to make sure that you and Emily have a better life than I had, but you’re old enough now that you’ll have to do your part.”

“Dad, I only did what you told me to do.”

“I know you did, William.”  Ethan wrapped an arm around his son. “I’m not mad at you for defending your sister.  But what that officer told me today scared me.”

“What?  What did he say?”

“William, you are Siksika.  Blackfeet.  I’m so happy you are and I’m glad we’ve been able to find out more about your people through your mother’s writings.  But this country doesn’t see that as a good thing.  The government wants you to act just like the rest of us.  Cut your hair, go to church every week, and submit to whatever the bastards in Washington want.  If you fight like that enough, a judge could order you into a boarding school.”

“They can do that?!”

“They can do whatever they want to you, son.  The people that wrote the law won’t care that you are half-Irish, but they care a great deal that you are half-Blackfeet. If you ever got put in front of the wrong judge, he might decide that I’m not enough for you and that you should go to a school where you’ll be taught how to be civilized.  I know of such schools and I would do whatever I must to keep you out of one.  But the best way to steer clear of that future is if you don’t raise your fist in anger, understand?”

William didn’t say anything, he just hugged his father right around the chest.  Ethan pulled his son close.  “I love you more than life, William.”

Later that night, Ethan was at the desk in the corner of the living room looking over bills when the phone rang.  He picked up the receiver.  “Kelly residence.”

“Ethan?  It’s Riley!”

Ethan perked up excitedly.  “Riley!  Well, what a pleasant ending to the day.  How have you been, sis?”

“Um… well… I’ve sort of been… let go.”  Riley said, looking down at the note thanking her for her service and explaining that the company was reducing its staff.

“Oh…  Oh dear.  Riley, I’m sorry.  I know that job was your dream.”

“I called Ivy earlier and she said I should come back to St. Louis.  I don’t want to intrude, but—”

“Riley, you are never an intrusion to me.  The kids will be thrilled to have you back here, as will I.  In fact, everyone will be happy to see you.”

“Okay!  I’ve already got my bags packed. I’ll get on the next train to St. Louis tomorrow.”

“Very good.  Call here when you know what train and I’ll swing by the pick you up.”

“Love you, brother!”  She said.

“Love you two, Riley.  See you soon.”

Ethan hung up the phone and smiled.

Chapter Text

Brooklyn, New York

The black cat adjusted his glasses and stroked his chin, waiting patiently.  Move too quickly and the battle would be lost.  Move too slowly and the battle would also be lost.  In between the two extremes there was a narrow band of strategy that would lead him to victory.  Even so, nothing was without risk or consequence.  Picking up the first pawn, a dark hand moved it to its first position.  He was satisfied with this maneuver, the likely results already coming into focus.

“Took you long enough.”  The young boy said, casually picking up the first piece and moving it in a way that was most unexpected.  Heller looked up from the board with a confused expression.

“No, Levi, you are supposed to counter my attack.”  Heller said.

“Attack?  You didn’t attack me, Uncle.  You just moved a piece.”

Heller looked at the boy in front of him and then the chess board, switching his focus between the two for half a minute.  Levi grew concerned.  “Um, Uncle Mordecai?”

Mordecai noticed the change in pace and remembered what his therapist had said about such games.  That’s all they were.  It was more important for his nephew to have a good time than to learn something deep and meaningful in a board game.  Even if it was as one as interesting as chess.  Heller let go of his frustration and made a small smile. “I’m sorry, Levi.  If that is the strategy you wish to use, then I won’t dissuade you from it.  But if I do win, no tears this time, okay?”

Levi contemplated what his uncle was telling him and agreed.  “Okay!  But if I win, could we get ice cream?”

“Hmm… very well, Levi.  Your manipulation of the situation to your advantage is commendable.”

“Huh?”

“…let’s just continue, shall we?”

Twenty minutes later the game was over.  To be honest, Heller was going easy on his nephew in hopes that the boy would find an error to exploit.  But he was still too young to fully grasp the intricacies of the game.  Mordecai noticed that Levi looked like he was going to cry within mere moments and acted swiftly to address the issue.

“Now, now, a deal is a deal, is it not?  Here, dry your eyes before you make a scene.”  Heller lent the boy a handkerchief.

“Okay…”  Levi replied.  Mordecai thought it was prudent not to let his nephew become too distraught.

“I have been playing for many years now, Levi.  There is no shame in losing a battle.  Now then, shall we go to the ice cream parlor?”

“But… I lost.”  Levi said.  Heller smiled back.

“Perhaps you lost the game itself, but you did make an enticing offer.  One your opponent could not refuse. But we ought to hurry.  Your mother expects us back in an hour.”

Later, the two walked on, Mordecai keeping a guiding hand on Levi’s back as they each enjoyed an ice cream cone.  Heller preferred something simple and straightforward, taking pleasure in the unassuming.  Vanilla.  Young Levi, with his bright eyes that were keen to experience all the world had to offer, had chosen everything in sight until Mordecai had to place limits on what he could and could not ingest.  Even so, he enjoyed the taste that Mordecai had gently helped him choose.

Since Jacob had begun attending university in St. Louis, Mordecai had found himself without much to do.  At least that was the case until his nephew became old enough to go out and do things around the city.  Now the shadow had a shadow of his own, a young protégé to guide.  Jacob would always be Mordecai’s son, but now he had experience to draw on and many lessons that have long since been learned which he could apply to this new chapter in his life.

Entering Tzipporah’s apartment, Mordecai hung up his hat while Levi flew into Esther’s waiting arms.  “Did you have fun with Uncle Mordecai?”  She asked, holding the boy up so she could kiss and nuzzle him.

“Yeah!  We went to the park, saw animals at the zoo, and he was learning me chess.”

“Teaching, Levi.  I was teaching you chess, among other lessons.”

Setting the boy down, Esther sent Levi on his way and then turned her attention to her brother.  “Vanilla again?”

“What?!  How did you—”

Esther giggled.  “You still have some on your muzzle.”

Mordecai glanced at a nearby mirror.  “Oh…”  He said, fumbling for a handkerchief.

“Here, I got it. Forty-one years on this earth and you still need a woman to clean up after eating.  How did you manage to make it so long in St. Louis without driving yourself crazy?”

Mordecai grumbled as his sister wiped away the dried ice cream. “I had other matters which kept me distracted.”

“Yeah, I suppose you did.  By the way, do you plan to go back anytime soon?”

“I did hear from Jacob.  He will be entering a doctorate program this September.”

“A doctorate?!  Mordecai, why didn’t you say something earlier?  We have a celebration to plan for the boy!”

“The young man, Esther.  And I was only notified yesterday.  Jacob just found out.”

“This is wonderful!  I knew you’d be able to educate him enough to get a job, but I never thought he would climb so high in the world of academics.”

“Given our own family, Esther, you really ought to reconsider just what we are all capable of.  I personally never thought I would be the least emersed in academia of the lot.”

“I’m not surprised… I hadn’t considered just how much you gave up when we were kids.”

“I assure you, Esther, it was worth the effort.  I look at the small family you have built for yourself now and I am as proud as mother.”

Esther blushed, kissing her brother on the cheek who promptly reacted like the germaphobe was.  He quickly moved to separate each other and straighten out his cheek fur from the intrusion.

Satisfied, Heller continued to take off his outer wear until he was down to his shirt and pants.  “Shall I prepare dinner?”

“Oh, I have to leave with Levi and see Rose.  But I’m sure our guests would appreciate a fine dinner, brother.”

“Guests?”

Esther led Mordecai into the back room.  It was a bedroom when Mordecai’s sisters were younger, but now that they all had grown up and moved out, Tzipporah could make use of the space.  Mordecai lived only a few doors down which meant he could keep an eye on the old woman, but even so she managed to surprise him often.  In this instance, she was talking to two leaders of their small community.  A woman who Mordecai guessed was a friend of his mother sat next to a rabbi still in his robes.

“Mother, Mordecai came back with Levi.  I have to go, but I’ll say hello to Rose for both of you.”

Tzipporah grinned.  “Thank you, Esther.  Mordecai, come and sit.”

“Of course, mother.”  Mordecai pulled a chair in from the living room and sat down, looking to his mother for an explanation.

“This is Frieda Rosenberg.”

“Hello, Mordecai.  It’s good to meet you finally.  Your mother has told me so much about you.”

“I regret that we have not been acquainted before.  But it is a pleasure.  You must be an old friend of my mother.”

“Actually, son, Frieda and you are distant cousins.”

“Oh?  I didn’t realize our familial relations were so vast.”

“And I am Rabbi Weiss.  I wish our visit was one of simple friendship, but there is an important matter to discuss.”

While Mordecai was far from being a devout jew, he still held respect for the elders in the community.  Rabbi Weiss was one such person.  If he had something important to share, Heller was willing to listen.

“What matter, exactly?  You’ll have to forgive me, but my mother hadn’t mentioned anything to me.”  He said, eyeing his mother who was still grinning.

“Mordecai, my boy, your mother has told us of some of your activities in St. Louis.”

“Mother!  We’ve been over this before, you cannot be broadcasting what I—” But Tzipporah cut her son off.

“Please, son.  This is important and they have sworn themselves to secrecy.  I would not have told them if your help wasn’t needed.”

Mordecai calmed himself and regained his composure.  “Very well, I ask that whatever you know about me never be revealed.”

The Rabbi laughed.  “Mordecai, this is New York City.  You don’t think I’ve had dealings with people with your… occupational history?  I’ve kept many secrets that are known only to those who told me and God.”

“Heller, we need your help in finding out where our relatives have been going.”

“You need my help to find our relatives?”

“Yes.”  The Rabbi confirmed.  “We don’t know exactly what is going on in Europe, but we’re concerned that our distant relatives and friends have been imprisoned.  Your mother has nothing but praise for your detective skills.  We hope that you can put them to use.”

Union Station, St. Louis, Missouri

The sounds of pistons cut through the cloud of steam as the locomotive crawled its way into the platform.  A shorter train for regional commuters, it wasn’t difficult for Ethan to locate Riley’s coach.  Just behind the rolling post office and the express freight cars were one of three regular coach cars for the smattering of passengers.  Ethan caught a brief glimpse of Riley though the dark glass windows but figured out which end of the car she was departing from.  With open arms he waited for her to emerge from the train.

Dressed in a modern woman’s dress and with her hair done neatly with graceful curls and a red ribbon to tie it together behind her ears.  Now aged twenty-two, Riley was as old as Rocky was when Ethan and he first crossed paths.  It was yet another reminder to the former soldier and copper miner of how much had changed since coming to St. Louis on that steamship thirteen years ago.

“Ethan!”  She beamed, hugging her older brother around the chest.  Ethan held her tight, only loosening his grip when she tried to pull away.  Riley ran her hand along his cheek, inspecting it.

“Your fur has darkened on the edges.”

“Yeah, Uncle Michael had the same pattern.  I’d cut it short, but—”

“Cut it short?  I think it makes you look distinguished, brother.  I’ll bet when we walk down the street together people will mistake you for my Dad even more often.”

Ethan chuckled.  “Yes, I suppose so.  Not that I need another reminder of how time has flown by.”

“It stops for no one, Ethan.”

Ethan picked up one of Riley’s bags and helped her move off the platform.  They walked under the domed ceiling of the union station and down the front steps.  Riley stopped for a moment and took a deep breath.

“What?”  Ethan asked.

“Oh, nothing.  You know, it’s funny.  I think this is the first time I’ve seen the city as ‘home’.  Growing up, I often had my mind back in Butte.”  Riley then noticed Ethan was beaming with pride.

“What?”  She asked in response.

“Oh, nothing.”  Ethan mirrored his younger sister.  “I’m just happy to hear you say that.  And, after a decade and a half, I can’t tell you how great it is to say to my dear sister, ‘welcome home’. Now then, did you need anything before we go home?”

“As long as there’s food in the kitchen, no, I don’t think so.”  Riley said, walking in stride with her brother down the remaining steps and into the vast parking lot.  “Where are the kids?”

“We’re going to pick them up from grandma and grandpa-- I mean, Julia and Andreas, tomorrow.  Sorry, force of habit.”

Riley laughed.  “You’ve really stepped into the role of a single, working father.”

“Yeah, well, I had a lot of practice beforehand.”  Ethan said as they approached the car.  Getting inside, Riley turned and hugged him again.

“I know they love you, Ethan.  You’re there for them just like you were there for me, and to me you’re the closest thing to a father I’ll ever have.”

“I wish I could claim credit for how you turned out, but in all honesty, I think Rocky and Freckle deserve all the praise.”

Riley’s smile disappeared as Ethan started up the car.  “Lately I’ve been feeling like how I turned out isn’t meeting expectations.”

“Hopefully in a week or two that feeling will pass, little sister. I wish Rocky was around for you to talk to though because I know he felt the same back when the speakeasy was running.  Just remember that in our eyes, you are the furthest thing from disappointment.  Jobs don’t work out sometimes, and that’s okay.”

“Finding a new one is going to be difficult though.”

“Oh, opportunity will come.  In the meantime, I do have a favor to ask of you.”

“Favor?”

“Emily and William got kicked out of their summer program.”

“What?  Why?!”

Ethan sighed, looking far off into the distance ahead of them.  His expression became neutral.  He simultaneously accepted what had transpired and resented the world for what it was. “William got into a fight defending Emily.  I wouldn’t think much of it, except that since he’s half native the cops told me there’s a chance a judge could force him into a federal school.”

“The government?!  But how?”

“Due to his… heritage… some judges might view him as federal property. Especially if they had reason to suspect I wasn’t a good father to him.”

What followed was a ranting and swearing Ethan had never heard from his sister before.  If she was still an adolescent he would have hushed her immediately and scolded her for swearing in such a manner, but he recognized that she really had grown up if she had learned all those words and it was just the sort of reaction Ethan wished he had the capacity to exhibit.  When Riley was finally done, Ethan spoke.

“Riley Elizabeth Kelly… Where on Earth did you learn to curse like that?”

“Sorry…”  She looked down and away.  Ethan immediately suspected he knew the truth after all.

“Let me guess, you still go around to different nightclubs.”

“Only a couple of times a week.”

Ethan shook his head and tried to let go of a frustrating topic.  “I’ll save you the lecture, Riley.  You’re old enough to know how a proper lady behaves.  I’m just glad you’re back in town.”

Now Riley got defensive.  “Why?  So you can keep a close eye on me like I’m fourteen again?”

“Riley, you know damn well I was only doing that because half the boys in the neighborhood were looking at you funny and you didn’t yet develop the instinct to know when a boy wanted to get you on your back.”

“Well when you say it like that…”

“Look.  Brother, father, doesn’t make a difference.  You know I only want to see you build a life you can be proud of.  But fine, if something isn’t my business then I won’t pry and you don’t have to share.”

“I think I can work with that.”  Riley said. “So, what was the favor?”

“Oh yeah.  The kids need someone to watch them, take them out to different places, keep them entertained.”

“So you need a babysitter.”  She said, rolling her eyes.  “You know I love your children, but I’m supposed to be looking for a job.”

“Before you jump on me, I would ask Rocky if he were around.  You don’t have to be in a hurry for a new job either.”

“Why not?”

“The café is slow… but it’s enough.”

“Hmm… well, maybe I can help you instead?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, perhaps I can find you a woman to date while I’m out here.  Some of my old friends from around here still have older sisters and cousins—”

“Don’t bother, Riley.  I’m not ready for that yet.”

“I didn’t want to mention it, Ethan.  But even though you look distinguished, you’re starting to look like Mr. Sable did when he was working all the time.”

“I look tired to you?”

“Yes, very much so.  You haven’t been sleeping much, have you?”

“…it’s not for a lack of trying.”

“Kids need you too much?”

“No, they’re getting to be dependent enough.  No.  Ever since this war in Europe started up, I keep having episodes.”

“Oh…”  Riley said, leaning her head on her brother’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry, Ethan.  Well, maybe just get some rest in the evenings.  I’m happy to take Emily and William out on the town just like how Rocky used to do with me.

“You’re a good sister, Riley.”

“So, if the kids are out of the apartment for the night, was there something you wanted to do? Go dancing, perhaps?”

Ethan laughed.  “I think I’m past my prime for dancing too.  But we had a better idea anyway.”

“We?”

“Oh Riley, it’s so good of you to come back.”  Ivy said, hugging the girl that outgrew her and was now looking like a proper adult instead of a lanky adolescent.

“Do you have an idea of what kind of job you are looking for?”  Freckle asked between bites.

“About the only thing I’m qualified to be is a secretary.  People just aren’t hiring yet.”

“Give it time.”  Freckle added. “You’ll find someone or a company soon enough.  I suppose in the meantime you could work with Ethan in the café.”

“Maybe…”

“No, I don’t think that would be necessary.”  Ethan said.  “Rest for a while, Riley, and then you can start looking for a job.”

Ethan decided to pivot to a new subject.  “I’ll bet it’s nice to have Nina watching the kids for the evening.”

Ivy nodded.  “I love them so much, but yes, it’s nice to get some alone time too.  Who knows, maybe we could try again?”  She said, giving Freckle a very particular look.

“Not that I want to intrude on personal health matters, Ivy, but are you sure you’d be ready for another?  Your, uh, whatever it’s called.”

“My uterus?”  Ivy said, stifling a giggle that this cat who seemed to know so much lacked knowledge in such a crucial area of life.  “Yes, it’s a risk.  I’ll have to get checked before making any decisions.”

“We’d also have to revisit our finances.  The money is steady, but it’s modest.  Once the kids are older Ivy should be able to go back to practicing medicine.  But without racing or handywork, there’s not much I can do.”  Freckle explained, spinning his fork through his spaghetti.

“Say, where’s Cal?”  Riley asked.

“Joseph?  I heard from him a couple of weeks ago.  He’s out in Colorado.”  Ethan said.

“Colorado?  What on Earth would drive him to wander there?”

“His father.”  Freckle said.  “I wish he would just give up.  I like to think that Rocky would be over joyed to know his son was trying to reconnect with possibly his only living relative, but I know Rocky can be protective.”

“Unless Joseph finds something, perhaps we’ll just add that to the pile of things we don’t talk about in certain company.” Ivy said.

“I should go out there and check on him.”  Riley said.  “It’s not like I’ll make much progress looking for a job here anyway.”

“Now hold on…” Ethan said. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I would be anxious letting you go all the way to Colorado on your own.”

“What?  Joseph’s younger than me and you don’t worry about him.”

“Actually…”  Ethan and Freckle looked at each other. “We are worried about him.  I’m more concerned with a young woman traveling through the mining towns west of Denver.  It’s dangerous enough here in St. Louis.”

“Fine then.  If it’s a man’s job to go retrieve him, then it sounds like you’re a volunteer for the job, Ethan.”  Riley said.

“I have two kids right here at home I need to focus on.  Traveling to Colorado on a whim is…”

“Oh, I’ll go find him.”  Freckle said, having enough of the conversation.  “Where did you last hear from him?”

“Como.  He was on his way to Leadville.”

“Then that’s where I’ll go.  But you two need to help Ivy with the kids while I’m gone.”

Bawdsey, England

“Flight leaders, radio check.” Bader said as he calmly flew through the skies, two rookies at his flanks.

His radio crackled to life. “Yellow leader.” “Red Leader.” “Green leader, checking in.”  Different pilots radioed to their commander.

“Blue leader in behind.”  Kensington said.  He, Rocky, and Charles Whitcomb rounded out the squadron.  Nearly twenty thousand feet below a naval convoy made its way down the eastern coast.  Rocky checked his gauges once more.  To be honest, he still didn’t know what half of them did.  But he understood the white “bird” needed to be centered on the blue and brown.  “20” confirmed his altitude.  And one gauge he understood well was the speedometer.  It was similar to a car, except he could move up and down as well as roll.  The craft he was in today was running well.  This far up the aircraft’s noise was lessened due to the thinner atmosphere.

“Two four two leader.  Bawdsey radar indicates multiple aircraft inbound in your sector at fifteen thousand feet.”

Bader tipped his wing and the glistening fuselages about two miles out and a mile below stood out against the dark blue of the channel. “Roger, command.  We have made visual contact and are moving to engage.”

Bader flipped the channel to the rest of the squadron. “Two four two squadron, we have enemies sighted at our ten o’clock position. Follow my lead and stick together like glue.”

The legless pilot pushed his throttle to the firewall and accelerated to the front of the squadron.  He checked the sky for fighter escorts but none were visible.  Rolling in a wide arc, he descended toward the bombers that were already making their run.

A mile below, a German pilot called out the order to attack.  Like a swarm of hornets, the aircraft fell upon the ships.  From fifteen thousand feet, adrenaline surged in his body as the whine of his siren grew to a deafening level.

On the water’s surface, the captain scrambled to give orders to his convoy.  Ships began moving in whatever direction they could to avoid the onslaught while machine guns and flak cannons opened up, turning the sky black with smoke and steel shrapnel.  Even so, the bombers punched through.  The captain froze in fear as he watched three Stukas dive on his ship, each dropping a massive bomb weighing more than two-hundred and fifty kilograms and four smaller fifty-kilogram bombs.  Like angels of death, the siren heralded their arrival with a chilling whine that made everyone’s hair stand up on edge.

Several explosions rocked the captain’s ship, none quite enough to sink it but the damage was immediately evident.  Climbing the railing, the captain looked on in horror as fires spread throughout the small ship and crewmen cried out in agony.  Some suffering from severed limbs while others bled profusely on the deck and several more lay motionless on the wood and steel that had been their home for months.

The dreaded siren called again and the captain looked up expecting the worst.  Another run of bombers descended upon them.  In the airplane, the pilot fixed his vision on the damaged ship below.  His eyes narrowed as he focused on solely the task at hand.  His tail gunner suddenly called out to him and the rest of the squadron most unwelcome news.  “RAF!”

The gunner opened up but it was far too late.  Three Hurricanes descended from the heavens, Bader leading the charge.  The second bombing run on the convoy fell apart as the two-hundred and forty-second squadron seized upon their prey.  Radios recorded bits and pieces of the carnage as Stuka’s burst into flames or attempted in vain to outmaneuver aircraft designed specifically for home defense. Yet, in the pit of Bader’s stomach he felt that something wasn’t right.  It was almost too easy.

“Stick to me like glue.” Kensington said as he, Charles, and Rocky engaged.  Moving in unison, the three dived down to join the fight.  In a matter of seconds the skies had turned into chaos as four flights of hurricanes scattered the slow bombers.  The tail gunner in every Stuka was at the mercy of eight .303 machine guns that could shred the dive bombers with less than a second of ammunition.  Rocky was grinning ear to ear, the excitement and fear mixing within him in a way he had not experienced for thirteen years.  His mind flashed back to those days of youth when he was the strategist of the Lackadaisy crew.  In those days it was Ethan and Freckle that handled the threats, but now Rocky was in command of more fire power than either of his brothers could dream of.  It was a scary thought even to him!  A quick glance above them changed Rocky’s expression to that of dread.

“Um… we’ve got company!”  He said into the mic, that brief burst of confidence waning into a suppressed panic.

Listening to the cries of his countrymen through the radio, Felix flipped frequencies and called out to his squadron. “The RAF have Sturzkampfgeschwader three in trouble.  Take down their fighters and show no mercy.” Felix accelerated and performed a wide, graceful roll until he was pointed downward at the enemy. Like a tiger to its meat, Felix zeroed in on the closest flight of Hurricanes that had yet to engage.

Kensington looked up and confirmed what Rocky was seeing.  He sent a broadcast to the rest of the squadron “Fighter escort inbound!”  He then pulled back on the stick and brought himself out of his dive, Charles and Rocky struggling to keep up.  Turning in unison, Rocky realized what his Leuitenant’s strategy was.  They were going to meet the enemy head on, three Hurricanes against at least twenty Messerschmidt’s.  Felix’s aircraft approached its terminal speed and he flipped his trigger to the autocannon.  Gaining a bead on one of the aircraft following their flight leader, he waited until they were within range.  With a precision burst, twenty-millimeter shells screamed forward.  Kensington’s eye’s widened as he rolled to avoid the gunfire, but Charle’s wasn’t so lucky.  Three massive bullets tore through the airframe of blue two.  Rocky felt time slow down as the twenty enemy aircraft roared past their single flight, yet his attention was on the other rookie pilot.  The two shared a quick glance as the bullets ripped apart the aircraft.  In a flash of fire, the Hurricane’s engine erupted and filled the cockpit with flames.  Rocky lost all feeling in his hands and feet as he could do nothing but watch as Charles went down, wings twisting off before the fuselage splashed into the Channel.

“Rocky, keep up!”  Kensington radioed to his remaining wingman.  The two of them rolled again, intending to give chase.

“Charles, he—”

“I know, Rocky.  We must keep fighting.”

Their Hurricanes had no hope of catching the faster 109s and by the time they deployed into the fray a few thousand feet above the water, the sky had turned into chaos.  Hurricanes streaked by, on fire.  Bader himself had been hit and his aircraft threatened to roll over.  They had to leave, now.

“All aircraft, fall back!  We’ve done our job.” He yelled onto the radio.  A rookie German thought he could take the legless ace by surprise.  Bringing his airplane into a vertical roll, Bader flipped the airplane around and brought his guns to bear, tearing into the wing of his pursuer.  This close to the water the Hurricane could turn on a dime and that was the only thing keeping his squadron alive.  The flight leaders made a break for it, flying near the water and attempting to make it over dry land.  Kensington tried to do the same, but being behind the rest of the squadron it became apparent that he and Rocky were going to be cut off by Messerschmidt’s from all sides.

Turning and dodging, Kensington barely avoided colliding with an enemy airplane, but like a pack of wolves on the hunt, the Germans soon separated the two airmen.  A burst from twin machine guns destroyed the engine of his airplane.  Breathing fast, Kensington pulled the canopy back and unbuckled himself.  Tipping the plane on edge, he slid out into the void, counting for several seconds before pulling his shoot.  A rough tug on his chest and groin told him the parachute had deployed and he looked up in relief as a big round dome of cloth billowed out.  He’d have to cut himself loose a few feet above the water just like last time, but he could already see the coastal patrol enroute to where he was going to splash down.

Rocky was now in a panic, not knowing what to do.  Enemy aircraft were all around him, most were trying to kill him.  That’s when the same airplane as before appeared beside him.  The ribbons of roundels and national flags had a couple of additions, but Rocky was certain it was the same pilot.  He was… smiling!  To him this must have just been one big game!  Rocky rolled away, remembering not to fly in the same direction for too long.  Felix moved in behind his latest prey and began peppering the Hurricane with machine gun bullets.  Rocky closed his eyes, thinking that this was it…

“We’re pinned down!”  Freckle yelled at Rocky as they and Ivy cowered behind a rock in an old graveyard.  Another gang had not heeded Asa Sweet’s advice and were trying to eliminate all the competition they could.

“We need to get out of here!”  Ivy said, hiding under Freckle as her boyfriend shielded her from any possible ricochets.

A lone rifle crack gave a report louder than any of the submachine guns or pistols involved.  The first of the enemies dropped dead with a ragged, bloody hole clean through his head.  A second shot followed up, dropping another gangster with a chest tore open by a thirty-caliber bullet.  Charging through the mist and smoke, Ethan quickly closed the gap, burying a sixteen-inch bayonet blade into a third cat’s abdomen, then pulling it out and slashing at a fourth cat.  Within seconds the gunfight was over and the Lackadaisy crew had won the day despite the odds.  Ethan looked back at the younger cats he was protecting, smiled, and collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily.

“Ethan!  Are you okay?”  Ivy said, bravely breaking from cover and running to the cat’s side.

“I’m alright, Ivy.  How about you?”  Ethan asked.  Freckle rushed to help Ethan off the ground.

“That was incredible, how did you do that?”

“A lot of practice… unfortunately.”  Ethan replied, letting it be known from his expression that he was far from proud for killing.  “But for you three it’s worth it.  Where’s Rocky?”

Rocky hugged his knees, looking at his reflection in a puddle.  The fear on his face was illuminated by the full moon.  Now that the threat had passed, the thrill of adventure had faded and was replaced by adrenaline coursing through his veins and a mind that had only recently begun to heal from a nasty head injury was screaming at him to stay down.

“Rocky!  It’s alright, it’s over.”  Ethan said, sitting down in front of the younger cat.  Rocky looked up at Ethan, terrified of what had just transpired.  “I thought we were going to die…”

“Well… you didn’t.”

“How?”

Ethan shrugged his shoulders “I dunno.  Luck, I guess.  You know, Rocky, I consider you the luckiest of us all.  No weapon, no means of fighting back, and yet you’ve walked away from stuff that would kill a lesser feline.”

“No, not that, Ethan. How do you fight like that?”

Ethan looked out past the trees and river, thinking of a time when he was a kid himself, scared of death and never seeing his family again.  A family that was nearly gone by this point in his life.  His brothers and parents passed on, leaving only him and his sister to carry on. “I have something to protect.  Or more like someone.”  Ethan replied, kindness baked into his words.  He was the eldest brother of their little crew, not related by blood but through experience.  The only war veteran in the group, he took on the responsibility of making sure Mitzi May’s “kids” came back with a truckload of booze every few days.  “But there’s also something I tell myself every time we get backed into a corner.”

“What was it?”

“We’d all say it from time to time down in the copper mines back in Butte, and it was one of the last things Derrick told me before he died in France.  We say, ‘tell God and the devil they can try, but today won’t be the day we die’.”

Rocky’s eyes opened.  His lips quivered and moved as he remembered the phrase.  “Tell God and the devil they can try, but today won’t be the day I die…”  He repeated through his flight mask.  He wasn’t doing to die out here over the water, surrounded by German wolves.  No, he was going to go home and see his dear Evelyn.  All that stood between him were pilots who had no idea who they were messing with.  Rocky wasn’t that scared kid anymore, hopping freight trains into the unknown.  He also wasn’t just a violinist with stage fright or a suave rum runner dressed in blue trying to hide his fear and shame.  No, now he was a pilot who understood improvisation better than most, and he wasn’t about to become a roundel on some German plane.

Bullets whizzed past the cockpit, shredding the back of the Hurricane’s fuselage.  Rocky rolled his plane and pushed it down, a most ill-advised maneuver that could potentially kill his engine.  But he had a plan now.  A plan to survive.  Rolling the airplane over, he pulled back on the stick and then twisted the rudder, bringing him into a dive that angled him toward the coastline. Felix was taken by surprise.  All his experience had shown that a British pilot never puts his aircraft into a nose-down dive.  He quickly rolled and dived to catch up but Rocky had another trick for his pursuer.  Sliding the airplane through the air, he bled off just enough speed to make the German overshoot.  Bringing his guns to bear, he had just enough time to score a couple of hits on Felix.  Felix was forced to rise up and out of the way as Rocky’s plane, now smoking, coasted down until it was just above the water.  It was a big risk, but at least down here few other pilots would dare to try their luck.  Rocky wasn’t skilled.  In fact, he wasn’t thinking more than a second or two ahead, but he was as unpredictable as always and the threat of the Channel swallowing a 109 that flew too close to the water was greater than most pilots wished to chance on a wounded aircraft.

A mere fifteen seconds later, Rocky’s plane flew up the middle of the River Deben, not that he knew the name of the river.  All he knew was there was a watery highway under him that led inland where the German’s wouldn’t dare to pursue.  His engine now began to cough and sputter.  Roaring past a few sailboats, Rocky turned right and headed north over the fields. A long hay field only a mile distant beckoned him to land just as his engine failed.  With a stalled propeller, Rocky deployed the gear just like in training.  While most of his skills in the air needed work, Rocky had more experience landing in fields than most of his fellow rookies.  Of the five crash landings on his record, four had been just like this, gliding into a field after doing something stupid and stalling the engine.

Two boys working their father’s field didn’t hear anything approaching them.  Instead a shadow passed overhead like a great eagle.  Their eyes widened in shock as an RAF fighter glided down to the ground in the field a few hundred yards away.  The two looked at each other and smiled, then broke out in a sprint after the wounded bird.

Rocky’s hands were shaking as he undid his seatbelt and pushed back the canopy.  He had to clutch his chest and tip his head back, looking up to the sky in gratitude that he was no longer up there.  The fun of flying had suddenly dissipated and was replaced with the dreadful realization of just what he had gotten himself into.  Climbing out of the cockpit, Rocky tripped and fell to the ground, his parachute accidentally deploying and landing on top of him, covering his body like a silk blanket.  Flipping over onto his back, he looked up and felt the warm embrace of the earth beneath him.

“Ello!  Is that a Spitfire?!”  A young voice asked him.  Rocky opened his eyes and was met with two young faces hovering over him.  The two boys stood back as Rocky got to his feet, towering over both of them.  While Rocky might have been a nervous wreck after a close call, to the two young lads before him he was like a hero, fighting in the air so that their father wouldn’t have to fight on the ground. Rocky took off his flight gear and dug out his cap.  “Oh no, I wish it were a Spitfire.  This is a Hurricane.”

“Can we see inside?” The youngest boy asked.  Rocky looked back and noticed how the two kids were as wide-eyed and in love with flying as he was once… the difference being he was thirty-three when he first set eyes on a British fighter and the oldest couldn’t have been more than ten.

“I’m going to have to get back to the airfield, but I guess we’ve got time to spare.”

The oldest looked at Rocky with excitement while the youngest climbed onto the airplane.  “You’re like a knight.”  He said.

“Oh, how so little one?”  Rocky replied.

“You fly in that plane there like it’s a horse.  And you’ve got armor on you!”

“Armor?  You mean this?”  Rocky held the yellow contraption that was around his chest.  “Oh, this is just a life jacket in case I go down in water.  And the coat keeps me warm up there.”

A distant hum caught Rocky’s attention.  Looking back to the east his eyes grew wide as an ominous silhouette materialized.  The youngest boy was about to climb into the cockpit when he felt two hands grab around him and lift him up.

“Sorry kids, we’ll have to cut the tour short.  Come on!”  Rocky held the youngest boy to his chest and grabbed who he presumed to be the boy’s brother by the wrist, quickly putting as much distance between themselves and his stricken airplane as possible.”

“Aw, but why not?”

“Because we’re about to be Swiss cheese if we don’t find cover!”  Rocky said, picking up the pace.  He heard the sound of approaching machine guns over the roar of the engine.  Grabbing the other boy, Rocky dived into the only cover available, a shallow ditch.  He held their bodies under him as Felix roared past, bullets cutting divots into the earth around them.  Picking his head up, Rocky was dismayed to see his plane was now on fire on the ground.  But he quickly turned his attention back to what mattered most.

“Are you two alright?”

The boys, now shaken at the realization that a German plane had nearly gunned them down, nodded their heads. “y-yes sir.”

“Good.  This knight says we should make for the trees because there’s a dragon on the loose.”  Rocky took both boys to the shelter of the nearby woods, listening as the airplane flew past once more and turned east toward France. Rocky finally breathed a sigh of relief and then turned his attention back to the two young lads that would have to serve as his local guides. “Do you know where your father or mother is, by chance?”

RAF Coltishall, England

“Two dead and three missing!  Where the hell were the other squadrons?” Douglas raged as he wrote his report.

“They were still forming when the bombers appeared.”  His secretary said, reviewing the times Bader had indicated.

“They need to be quicker if this big wing is going to work.  If we could have met the enemy with equal or greater numbers then we could have wiped out a squadron of Stukas and half a squadron of 109’s.”

“It’s a nice idea, sir.”  The secretary said.  Bader continued with his lecturing.

“These pilots are going to have to pull themselves together fast or we’re in very big trouble.  A few more days like this and there won’t be anyone left in the squadron.  To be honest, I don’t think we can protect shipping convoys anymore.  Or at least we should let twelve group—”

Bader looked at his secretary who was patiently waiting for something worth writing.  He sighed and massaged his face, trying to relieve the stress.

“I’m sorry dear, it’s been a day.  So where were we?”

“The report, sir?”

“Right, yes, the report.  I should collect my thoughts for a moment.”

“Looks like one of your missing has just turned up.”  The woman said as she looked out the window.  A Land Rover dropped Rocky off outside the office and the grey cat stumbled in, exhausted.

“And where have you been?”  Bader asked, annoyed that he had to change the notes he was writing for himself.

“Sightseeing the countryside around Ipswich.”  Rocky said, trying to make it sound more pleasant than it was.

“Well, I suppose congratulations are in order.  You’re the only one of blue flight to turn up.”

“I saw Charles go down.”  Rocky said, staring out the window at the setting sun.  “He just… he blew up!  He blew up, sir!”

Bader took a deep breath and set his notes aside.  “Yes, well, these things happen, Sergeant.  I’ll be notifying his wife tomorrow.”

“He was married?  Oh my God, the poor woman.”

“It’s hard to do these things, Rickaby, but it is necessary.”

Rocky shook his head in disbelief.  “What’s the point of going up there if we’re just going to be cut to ribbons?”

Now Bader was back to being annoyed.  “You can’t let yourself think that way. Losing Charles is regrettable, but I can guarantee we’re going to lose more pilots in the coming weeks.  Make no mistake, this is just the beginning.  You want to know what the point is?  It’s simple, really.  We’re the last line of defense before invasion. Our job is to fight until the last.”

“Last?”

“Last man, last plane, last bullet. We must defend this island no matter what the cost might be.  Now, what you did today—"

“I survived, sir.  That’s all I did.”

“No, you supported Kensington.  You flew as well as could be expected and now you’re standing here, safe and sound for the night.  We have a purpose here, Rocky.  We take to the skies every day and fight with all we have so all of our families and friends will survive.  One day we’ll take back Europe from Nazi rule.  But first we must ensure that this nation survives.  England must survive. Do you understand?”

Rocky inhaled and exhaled, calming himself.  “Yes… I think I understand.”

“Good.  Now go get some food in your belly and enjoy your two days of leave.  Once Jack finds you a new airplane, you’ll be blue two.”

Rocky walked out of the field office.  “Blue two?  He was no longer on the bottom rung and he did nothing to deserve it.  Someone more experienced died in the chain of command above him and he was simply moving up one place.  Everything Ethan had told him about war was true.  It was gruesome.  He sat there in his bunk trying to get some rest, but every time he closed his eyes Rocky saw Charles bursting into flames over and over again.  It was the first casualty he had witnessed in what was shaping up to be a war like no other.  Back in Ethan’s day on the battlefield, airplanes were effective weapons but they rarely decided the outcome of a battle.  Now Rocky realized that he was part of something much, much bigger than he could imagine.  The Royal Air Force wasn’t just an effective weapon; it was the best defense England had for the invasion.  A more effective defense than the rough waters of the Channel or the determined and angry men of the home guard.  It was his purpose now to fly and fight.  There was no turning back.  And yet the feeling crept into his mind.  While Evelyn and himself had intended on a grand adventure, this was becoming too much. He missed the fields and trees of St. Louis.  The smaller adventures of youth.  The protective shield of Ethan Kelly, the Ghost of Charlevaux.  But most of all he missed his son.

Chapter Text

Norwich, England

“Two days off, what joy!”  Evelyn said as she busied herself arranging their possessions around the small cottage.  It was indeed small, only a main room, a bedroom, and a bathroom installed in a small expansion off the back wall, but it was cheap.  Preparing a bouquet of flowers for a vase in the center of the table, Evelyn carefully trimmed a daisy so that it would rise above the others.  It was Rocky’s favorite flower.  He had explained its meaning years ago but she had never seen the speakeasy in all its glory.  A knock on the door diverted Evelyn’s attention.  Opening it up there he was, dressed in his air force uniform. A pair of white wings holding a crown with “RAF” embroidered into the patch rested comfortably above his left breast pocket.

In uniform he looked handsome, yet that same silly face was still there buried under years of experience.  Rocky smiled, a single tooth appearing from under his upper lip.  Before Eveyln could say something clever, Rocky closed the distance, hugging Evelyn around the waist, and held her close as he kissed her.  Evelyn melted in his arms and let him walk her back into the cottage.  He was unusually bold and Evelyn quickly guessed what was on Rocky’s mind.

“The bed isn’t made yet, Rocky.”

“Good.  I’ve been waiting for this for weeks.”

The two walked each other into the bedroom and closed the door for privacy.

A while later, Evelyn relaxed in bliss, her head rising and falling with his chest, a movement that threatened to lull her to sleep.  His nimble fingers ran through her hair, skillfully playing with her golden locks.

“Its good to be in the same room again, let alone the same bed.”  Evelyn said.

“I missed you.”  Rocky replied.  He had indeed come a long way over the years, going from a clumsy but well-meaning young man to a tom cat in his prime.  Rocky didn’t need muscles like Viktor, experience like Ethan, money like Wick, or even the youthful charm of his cousin.  He might have just been average to most people, but to Evelyn he was enough.  More than enough.  Someone who loved her for who she was and not for who he wanted her to be.

“You’re going back on Monday?”  She asked.

“Yes.  I’ll be honest with you, Evelyn.  I’m starting to have second thoughts about learning to fly.”

“Don’t tell me you’re stuck in some moldy tent out in a grass field.”

“No, but… oh, I don’t want to worry you.”

“Worry?  Honey, I’m always worried about you.  What’s happened?”

“Call it a surprise or a message from the divine, but the other day I saw Charles go down.”

“Who?”

“Oh, he was a rookie like me.  He just… the plane lit on fire and he never got out.”

“My word!”  Evelyn said, sitting up.  “He died?”

Rocky solemnly nodded his head.  “Jack wasn’t kidding about this being a matter of life and death.  And Ethan was right; I was stupid to join.”

Evelyn laid back down, resting her heat on Rocky’s chest again.  Her hand rubbed his chest fur.  “You weren’t stupid to join, Rocky.  You haven’t seen what’s been going on around here.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sorry.  I forgot to ask how things were going here.  You’re safe, aren’t you?”

“I’m as safe as I can be on this island, Rocky.  I had my reservations in the beginning, but after seeing some of the patients I think you’re a better fit for the air.”

Rocky’s stomach let out a low, gurling, grumble that radiated up into Evelyn’s ear.  She sat up once more and caressed Rocky’s face.  “We’re burning daylight, Rocky.  Come on, you’ll like the local pub.”

“So who are your patients?”  Rocky asked as the two walked hand in hand down the road into the village.

“They’re just boys, most of them no older than Joseph.  They came out of Dunkirk.”

“Wait a second, Evelyn.  What hospital did you sign up with?”

“Oh, I didn’t sign up for a hospital.  I work there.”  She said, pointing to a tall structure in the distance.  Rocky looked at it curiously.

“It looks like… a castle.”

“Almost like a castle?  That, Rocky, is the local estate.  Blickling Hall.”

Rocky looked at it most curiously from afar.  “They’re using the estate as a hospital?”

“Well, it’s more like a clinic inside the estate.  The RAF has been bringing people in there at the behest of Lord Lothian himself, Philip Kerr.”

“Who?”

Evelyn rolled her eyes.  “He’s the Ambassador to the US, Rocky.  Anyway, I’ve been treating wounded soldiers there as they come through, but I think the estate is going to become part of the air force once the wounded are all treated.”

A marching sound came up the road in front of them and the pair climbed up an old stone wall that hugged the road tightly as the most curious formation passed them by. Only one cat as in uniform.  A band on his arm made it clear that he was part of the army reserve and he belted out orders.  “Alright you sorry sods, double time for the next mile.  Wait for it… double time!”  He barked.  All at once the entire formation ranging from teenage boys to old men picked up the pace.  In each hand there was a substitute for a rifle.  Pitch forks, rakes, walking sticks, and even a couple of ancient muskets.  Rocky watched with a raised eyebrow as they came past.

“So that is the famed home guard.”  He said, clearly not impressed.

“That’s why you didn’t make a mistake, Rocky.  England needs you in the air.”

Rocky held Evelyn by the waist and helped her off the wall, but he refused to take another step.  “Love, I need to be honest with you.  There’s a very good chance I might not come down after going up there.”

Evelyn nodded her head and sighed, hugging him tight around the chest.  “I know, Rocky.  I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose you, but its too late for us to leave so we’ll just have to do the best we can.”

“I want you to promise me something, just in case.”  He said.

“Anything.”

“I know Joseph is grown up, but if the worst happens and you can get back across the pond, make sure he’s taken care of.  You’re the closest thing that boy has to a mother.”

“You know I will, Rocky.  And he’s in good hands with your cousin and Ethan.”

“I know he is, but I still worry about him.  Is he eating enough?  Is he dating girls? Did he find out what happened to his father?”

“You’ll get those answers in time, Rocky.  Now come on, the pub is waiting.  We at least get to have a bit of that adventure I was hoping for.  A genuine English pub is a good start, right? Next will be Buckingham Palace.”

Rocky grinned and let Evelyn lead him by the hand.  “Perhaps the king will see fit to knight me for my services.”

“You’re already a knight, Rocky.  A knight of the air.”

That evening the pair settled into the small cottage, warmed by a fire in the corner of the main room.  The two laid back on a sofa brought in by a previous tenant.  Evelyn laid on Rocky between his legs, her head on his stomach.  It was lonely here without him, but at least for a little while they could enjoy each other’s company.

“How long do you think the war is going to last?”  Rocky asked her.

“I think maybe Ethan has a better idea than us.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine he’s thrilled to see everything he fought for be undone in a matter of months.  It was like he had a premonition about it a few years ago.  He felt something was coming.”

“I hope it’s over soon.”

“Christmas, perhaps?”  Rocky asked.  The two looked at each other and laughed.  Both knew enough from recent history to realize that was unlikely.  “I guess it depends on whether this country can hang on.  I don’t want to imagine what will happen if we’re overrun.”

“We’ll find a way back to the states no matter what happens, honey.”  Evelyn said.  “How do the others feel?”

“Scared, honestly.”  Rocky said.  “I can’t blame them, I’m terrified.”

“Well it’s a good thing they have someone as brave as you, Rocky.  They’re just kids.”

“My officers think I’m too old for this.  Bader won’t admit it outright, but I know that’s what he thinks.”

“And perhaps you are, dear.  But at the same time, I’ll bet that some of those young pilots feel a little at ease knowing they’ve got someone up there who’s already survived into his thirties.”

Rocky had to agree.  That’s what it felt like to have Viktor, Ethan, and even Mitzi around.  Someone was there for him and that was all he needed to perform his best for the Lackadaisy.  Of course, Viktor bought the farm and Mitzi retired in 1928 to have a more peaceful life, but even then Ethan was there like a rock in the stream.  He smiled thinking about all the times that cat who called him a brother was there for him.  Now it was Rocky’s turn to do the same.

“You know, Evelyn, you make a good point.  Maybe I’m not the best pilot in the world, but I’ve survived tricky situations before.  All those kids need to learn how to do is improvise.”

“There’s one other thing that will boost their spirits at some point.”  Evelyn said, getting up from her comfortable spot and digging around in a trunk behind the sofa.

“What?”

She produced a small instrument case.  It’s black leather was faded and worn.  It had housed whiskey bottles, a Thompson machine gun, and all kinds of personal items.  But since putting the speakeasy behind him, the case had performed its duty well in protecting one of Rocky’s most treasured possessions.  His old violin.  Given to him by a hobo on the rails, the violin had not only kept Rocky fed some days but it was also the last link to his mother.

“You brought it with us?”  He said.

“I was going to surprise you with it once we found a place to settle in but seeing as you’re going to be flying in the RAF for a while, I think its appropriate you take this back to the airfield with you.”

Rocky tenderly took the case in hand and rested it on his lap.  Popping the brass latches one at a time, he carefully opened up the case to reveal the violin in all its faded glory.  Weathered, worn, and with more than a few dents in the finish, the violin looked just like Rocky.  A few battle scars to tell the tale of his life.  The difference being most of Rocky’s scars were under his fur and out of sight, while his poor violin was always naked and bare for the world to see.  He plucked each string, listening to the sound.  After all this time it was still in tune!

Rocky immediately started tightening the horse hair of his bow.  “Shall this knight serenade his fair maiden on this peaceful eve?”  He asked.

Leadville, Colorado

“Alright kid, in you go.”  The jailor said, opening the iron bar gate and roughly throwing a drunken young cat into the cell.  Joseph looked up at the man, his vision blurry and dizzy from the bottle.  He suddenly felt a wave of shame rush over him for what happened.  One wrong word and he had turned into an angry tiger.

“D-did I kill anyone?”

The jailor laughed.  “Fortunately for you, no.  And Olsen had that fight a long time coming.  If it wasn’t you it would have been somebody else.  However, you’re staying the night in here.”

“Hey… shouldn’t I… um… what’s the word.  A legal guy.  A.. uh… a lawyer!  That’s it.  Shouldn’t I have a lawyer?”

“That depends on whether the sheriff wants to charge you with anything.  Now why don’t you take a nice long nap, sober up, and we’ll talk in the morning.”

“I think I want to go home.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion, kid.  Sleep it off.”

Joseph stumbled to the bed in the corner and collapsed into it.  Months of searching had yielded nothing and he just couldn’t take it anymore.  It was like his father had vanished into thin air.  More likely he was in an unmarked grave somewhere in these mountains, but the young man had hoped that perhaps his father was still out here.  Maybe he even started a new life?  Could he have half-siblings up here at the top of the world?

The mountain chill crept in from outside and Joseph drifted off into a frightful sleep.  That night was also cold.  He remembered his small body back then being sapped by the water and mud that surrounded him and his mother.  She was stuck and there seemed to be no way out.  At least not until a light shone upon them.  He could still feel the warmth of that light and the man behind it.  Equal parts brave and crazy, Rocky had dared to do what no other would in the aftermath of that wretched tornado back in 1927.

“Ma’am, are you able to speak?”  He had said.  Joseph remembered how weak his mother was by then.  A beam had pinned her and getting his poor mother out was going to be a challenge, but the two decided Rocky could take Joseph out of harm’s way.

“Okay, nice and slow.  Crawl toward me.”  Rocky had said.  Joseph crawled through mud and debris until two hands pulled him close.  He remembered sitting there, cold, tired, hungry, and ill.  But that was the first time in ages he had felt safe.  Two gentle arms wrapped themselves around him and he rested his young face against the warm chest of a young feline who showed great courage just getting down there.

“It’s alright, little one. I’ll keep you safe.”  That was Rocky’s first promise to him.

A few days later after the funeral, Rocky had taken him aside when no one else was around.  Joseph had been distraught all week and battling a fever.  His whole world had been torn from him, and yet in the midst of the storm Rocky had stood strong.  His personal nurse, maid, and guardian angel had shown him nothing but love and kindness.  But that day when he was missing his mother most, Joseph had witnessed the true strength of Rocky Rickaby.   A strength no one else possessed.  He held the boy in his lap once more that night, curling up with Joseph to make him feel safe.

“We aren’t putting you in an orphanage, Joseph.  I won’t allow it.  As far as I’m concerned, from now on you are my son.”  He had whispered into Joseph’s ear.

Joseph awoke, crying.  Why did his dad have to leave St. Louis?  Sure, he was twenty now, but without Rocky he was like a ship without a compass.  He didn’t dare tell his dad how he really felt, but knowing he was the last of his family was too much to bear.

“Here he is.”  The jailor said, returning with his keys.  On each side of him was the sheriff and… Freckle?”

Calvin looked at the sorry state of his nephew.  He had a feeling something like this might happen.  He didn’t want to worry Rocky, but guilt crept into his heart knowing that he and Ethan had allowed their nephew to spiral like this.  But at least he was here now and could do some good.

“Uncle?”  Joseph asked, struggling to his feet.

“I’m here, kid.  Time to go.”  Freckle explained, holding onto Joseph and helping him out of the cell where the young cat could regain his balance.  The sheriff looked at Joseph with a mixture of pity and disgust.

“I don’t like drunks in my town.”  The sheriff said.

“He’s not a drunk, sir.  I think I know why he was drinking though.”  Calvin replied.

“Oh?”

“I’ve been looking for my father.  It’s just… it’s too much.”

Calvin sighed.  “His biological father disappeared out here years ago.  Joseph left St. Louis to find him a few months ago.”

The sheriff’s face softened.  “I see.”  He said.

“I don’t have much cash on me, but I would be happy to get a bond for his re—”

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. McMurray.  You’re taking him to St. Louis?”

“Yes sir.”  Calvin replied.

“Then see to it he stays out of trouble.  The judge and I have more dangerous criminals to tangle with than a kid that had too much to drink.”

Calvin smiled and shook the sheriff’s hand.  “Thank you, sir.  I’ll keep the boy from doing anything reckless, and we’ll be on the first train out of Leadville.”

“In that case, I consider this matter dealt with.  And as for you, boy…”  He turned to Joseph who backed up behind Freckle out of fear. “If your pappy is causing you this much grief, its best to let him go.  Now begone with both of you.”

Joseph said nothing as the two of them boarded the train.  Calvin, on the other hand, tried to start a conversation.

“I would ask how things have been, but I take it Colorado hasn’t been kind to you.”

Joseph still said nothing, choosing instead to stare at the floorboards of the coach while they rolled along the track.  Freckle adjusted his position.

“There’s a hotel waiting for us in Denver.  Not exactly the Ritz Carlton but it does have hot water.  We’ll get you cleaned up.  I’m thinking of a steak dinner tonight.  How about you?”

Tears fell from Joseph’s eyes.  “I.. I’m sorry, Uncle.  I didn’t want you to worry.”

Freckle sighed and moved from his seat to the bench his nephew was sitting on.  Here, why don’t you lay down.”

Joseph did as he was told, putting his head in Freckle’s lap.  His uncle proceeded to gently stroke Joseph’s hair and rub his back.  “It’s our job to worry about you, Joseph.  You didn’t have to lie to Ethan and me.”

“But if Dad knew…”

“He would abandon the RAF, swim the Atlantic, and hitchhike from New York to retrieve you.  But that’s why Ethan and I are here.  When we see Rocky next, we’ll leave out the part about you ending up in a jail cell. However, you still have to be straight with us.  What would have happened if you did commit a serious crime?  There’d be lawyers, legal fees, potentially prison.  We all know you’re better than this.”

“I’m sorry, uncle Freckle.  I just…  I really thought he might be out here.”

Freckle lifted the young man’s body up until Joseph was resting on his shoulder.  Truth be told it was a bit awkward for the cat.  Joseph was at least as tall as Rocky and physically stronger, but the boy had been beaten so badly by his experience that it was like handling an overgrown child.  Physically strong and yet weak where it mattered most.

“He might be, Joseph.  But regardless of how you feel, he either can’t be found or doesn’t want to be found.  I don’t doubt your mother looked in vain for him for months or years.  If you ask me, it wasn’t fair of Rocky to put the choice of leaving with him or staying in St. Louis on your young shoulders, but you do still have a family in St. Louis who loves you.  And you know what family does?”

Joseph shook his head.

“Family gets you back on your feet.  Now then, put Colorado behind you and try to enjoy the trip back, alright?  You’re safe now and that’s all that matters.”

Safety… yes, Joseph felt safe again.  Freckle was here with him and was being as tender and kind as always.  He smiled thinking of being reunited with everyone.  His only wish was that his dad could be there too.  The one who raised him. The one who promised his mother to care for him.  Rocky Rickaby.

St. Louis, Missouri

“Welcome to St. Louis!”  The bus attendant said to everyone as they departed.  It was a long and bumpy ride from across the state, but Casy was glad to be back home.  Picking up his baggage from the platform, he threw his bag over his shoulder and held his suitcase in his other hand.  Casy stopped at the street corner and marveled at how much had changed in only a couple of years.  The rains had mostly returned, the trees were lush and green for the first time in nearly a decade, and the town was bustling once more.  Well… almost.  Some work had returned to the city but there was still a long way to go before people would have the money that they used to spend when he was a young boy.

That didn’t bother him though.  For the first time in his life, Casy had some money to his name.  Not much, but enough to get by for now.  Waving down a streetcar, Casy hopped on and moved out of downtown to an area north of the university.  While seated, he fished around in his pocket until his hand took hold of a small scrap of paper with an address scratched down.  He’d need a ride out of town that afternoon or evening, and there was one person he knew he could count on to give him a ride home.

Stepping off the streetcar, Casy traced the same route that Ethan and Riley walked so many years ago.  To him the city was bright and new, but it had been thirteen years since the last of the Kelly family stepped off a riverboat and stumbled their way toward a certain café. His eyes brightened up when he saw the sign hanging from the first floor of a small building.  “The Little Daisy” sign, remade by Ethan’s own hands, hung above the entrance.  He took a deep breath, hesitating.  Ethan may have only been seventeen years his senior, but Casy had latched onto the young man when he was a teenager after the former veteran chased off an abusive father who hadn’t bothered to show himself in years.  He’d be embarrassed to call Ethan “Dad”, but it was unspoken between the two of them that Casy was like a mentee, an apprentice, and maybe, just maybe, a surrogate child.

Casy pushed through the door, entering the small café.  There were a couple of people in booths, but overall the place was dead.  A teenage girl was running the till, and behind her cleaning a glass was…

“Riley?!”  He stammered out.

Riley whipped her head around and almost dropped the glass mug, “Casy!”

The young woman flew over the top of the counter and hugged him around the waist.  “I didn’t know you were back in town.”  She said.

“I didn’t know that you were back in town either!  I thought you were in Illinois?”

Riley looked down, shame covering her face.  “I uh… I was let go.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry.”  Casy said as he walked her over to a booth.  “But I’m glad you’re back.”

“It is good to be back.  I thought you went out west?”

“I did, saved my money, and now I’m here to finally build a life.  Not unlike Rocky, if I’m being honest.”

Riley giggled.  “Oh no, you’re far too sane and reasonable to do things Rocky’s way.  Ethan is going to be happy you’re back.”

“You think he missed me?”

“I know he missed you.  We’re going to close in about twenty minutes then I’ve got to go pick up the kids—”

“Kids?”  Casy asked, disappointment.  Riley thought it over for a minute and started laughing.

“No, Ethan’s kids.  You remember Emily and William, right?”

“Right, right, of course.  Yeah, I remember them.  And here I was about to say ‘congratulations’!  Well shoot, if you don’t mind I’d love to tag along.  I’m kind of waiting on Ethan to come back and give me a ride out to the farm.”

“I could take you.  He’s actually out at the farm right now, covering for Freckle.”  Riley said as she got up and got back to cleaning.

“You drive?”

“Of course!  How am I supposed to get around on my own?  Ethan has the sedan and I’ve got the truck.”

Waiting around outside the café, the growl of a truck emerged from the alley next to the building. Riley proudly rode in the driver’s seat, struggling a bit to strongarm the shifter into neutral. “Hop in!”  She said, leaning out the window.

“Alright.”  He said, throwing his bags in the bed and then walking around to the side door.  Climbing up into the seat, he settled in, expecting to have a nice, easy drive.  “I don’t suppose you want me to drive, do you?”

“And miss out on this feeling?!  No way!  Besides, I got to get some more practice in.”

“Practice?”

“Oh yeah.  Just because I have a license doesn’t mean I own a car.”

Now Casy was confused.  “So, uh, you ever drive a vehicle this big before?”

“A couple of times around the farm…  although I could still fit in Rocky’s lap at the time.  He taught me everything I know about driving.”

“Rocky taught you?!”  Casy exclaimed, his face growing pale.

“Yep!  Hang onto something, he said ‘you gotta be aggressive with the city folk’.  Alonse!”

Riley peeled out of the alley and into the street, drifting the back tires.  After a couple of blocks of running stop signs and dodging pedestrians she finally slowed down to a reasonable speed and looked over at Casy who was almost ready to have a heart attack.  She grinned from ear to ear.  “Gotcha!”

Casy looked at the woman like she was crazy.  “Gotcha?  I thought we were going to die!”

Riley started laughing.  “No, no, no.  Ethan taught me how to drive.”  She explained, which made Casy calm down and breathe a sign of relief. “But Rocky taught me out to race when my brother wasn’t looking.  I’d love to start up a team again.”

“Sadly, I think that’s a bit out of fashion at the moment.”  Casy said, settling back into the seat.  “All anyone is talking about anymore is the war.”

“Don’t tell me you’re off to go be a pilot too.”  Riley said, her smile fading.  “I’m scared for Rocky.”

“Rocky is a pilot now?  Good lord, who would be so desperate?”

“The Royal Air Force.”  Riley answered. “He said they needed pilots.”

“Woah, woah, woah, hold the phone.  Rocky is flying for the RAF?  Right now!?”

“Yep… not his smartest choice if you ask me.”

“Well, when has he ever made the smart choice?  What does Cal think of all this?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll find out in a few days.  He also went out west looking for signs of his father.”

“Oh…  Well I hope he’s okay.  He’s been like a little brother to me since we were kids.”

“Same for me.  I can’t wait to hug him again.  If he’s upset I swear I won’t be leaving his side until he’s back to being that smart and kind kid I used to tutor.”

Ethan heaved with each swing of the hammer.  It was hard work repairing fences, but it wasn’t too different from knocking down rocks in a mine shaft.  In the heat he was down to his under shirt and his campaign hat, sweat pouring off his brow.  It was getting to be harder to keep up the pace since he turned forty.  Sure, he could still run and jump and do all the other things a man in good physical condition could do, but Ethan could tell he was slowing down at some things.  He was thicker than he used to be.  Not fat, but also not muscular.  He never did look like a body builder.  Besides being tall, there really wasn’t much that would cause people to think he was anything special.  And yet it is often the most unassuming people that do the craziest things, especially in war…

“Well shoot, Calvin couldn’t have done half this much fence.”  Ivy said as she took a break from doing laundry and keeping the boys from wrestling in the mud.

“Really?  I’d think it would be easy for him.  I’m winded.”

“Well, shorter reach, not as much practice.  I guess that’s what happens when you grow up in a mine.”

“I suppose so.”  Ethan said, resting the hammer and admiring the new wooden fence that stretched across the pasture.  He and Ivy sat on a log looking out over the farm.  She handed him a glass of iced tea with lemon in it and the two friends admired the work two families had put into the property.

 “It’s a funny feeling, Ivy.  I know I’m older and slower than I was, and yet when I do something I feel like I can bounce back quicker.  Even now, I could keep working if you wanted me to.”

“Now, now, I wouldn’t want you to put my husband to shame.  I love Calvin but he isn’t built for making fences.”

“He’s going to need a lot of training.”  Ethan said, realizing the road ahead.

“You don’t actually think he’s going to get drafted, do you?”

“We’re both able to be drafted… not to mention some of our neighbors and friends.  Even Wick could, at least in theory.”

“But… I thought a draft would just be for young men.”

“Freckle is young…ish.  If rumors are true, we’ll have to register soon.  Perhaps I’d get shoved behind a desk, but for Calvin he’s the perfect age for an officer.  He’s smart enough; he’d make a good Captain.”

Ethan looked over expecting to see a proud wife, getting a compliment from a veteran.  Instead there were tears forming in her eyes.  Ethan backpedaled immediately, hugging her.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Ethan… I’m scared.”  She said.  Ethan paused.  She was as afraid for Freckle now as she was for her own life back in 1927 on their first liquor run.  Two Marigolds were going to take her and he dropped them with rifle and bayonet.  Back then she was a teen in way over her head, and now she was a young mother of three.

“It’s alright to be afraid, Ivy.  I’m afraid too.  What happens if I have to go overseas and I get myself killed?  Who would take care of my kids.”

Ivy hugged Ethan. “You wouldn’t have to worry about that, Ethan.  I’d make sure they are taken care of, and I know you’d do the same for my children.  I just don’t want to lose Freckle.”

Ethan sighed, returning the hug and holding her close. “Ivy, I’d love to tell you that the men in your life will be fine and we’ll all come home, but you deserve the truth.  I watched many people die in the last war, and though I never want to see it again, war is here.  People don’t realize it yet, but its here.  If any of us have to go fight, there’s a good chance one or more of us aren’t coming back.  But that is why Freckle needs to be trained.  Him, I, and anyone else who might get drafted.  If I can teach him, then even if he ends up in the middle of Hell he will have a good chance of coming home.  That, I’m afraid, is the best I can do for him.”

Just then the farm truck pulled up to the house and out stepped Riley, followed by Ethan’s children and… Casy!

“Well look who’s back.”  Ethan said.

“Is that… Casy?”  Ivy asked.

“It would appear so.  Shall we put our worries aside for a little while?”

“Yeah, I guess.  I’m not sure if what you said is going to help me any.”

“I realize that it’s not comforting to know that those you love might go off to die, but we do need to face the reality of the situation.  But you know, I think there’s someone you should go talk to.”

“Who?”

“Nina.  You both love Freckle dearly, and I can only imagine how worried she is not just for Rocky, but for her little boy. You just tell me when and I’ll be around to watch the kids a while.”

“You sure you can handle all of them?”  Ivy jested.

“I did survive a war, Ivy.  I’m sure I can survive an afternoon with my niece and nephews.  Besides, it’s about time their uncle Ethan taught them a few tricks too.”

“You better not teach the boys to shoot a gun.”  Ivy warned.  “All I need is a repeat of Rocky and Freckle.”

“Oh please, Ivy.  They’re far too young.  Mary on the other hand… I think she’d make for a fine sharpshooter.”

“Ethan…”

“Right, right, no guns.”

Ethan and Ivy walked into the front yard where the kids were already playing.  Ivy hugged Riley while Casy stood still a few feet in front of Ethan.

“Well look who finally came back.”  Ethan said with a smile.

Casy smiled and didn’t say anything for a long moment.  He then stepped ahead and hugged Ethan tight.

“Woah, where’d this come from?”  Ethan said in response.

“Sorry, I just… I really missed you.”  Casy said, resting his head on the top of Ethan’s shoulder.  Now Ethan understood and held Casy in return.

“It’s good to have you back, kid.  You’re mother will be over the moon.”

Brooklyn, New York

“Tea, brother?” Esther said, bringing in a kettle fresh off the stove.

“Thank you, Esther.”  Mordecai said.  He didn’t look up from what he was reading and its contents intrigued his sister.  “What is that?”

“An Atlas of Europe.”  He said.  Apparently there are many relatives of our neighbors who are missing and I am going to need a better understanding of the regions our families are from.

The doorbell rang in the background and Tizpporah got out of her chair and slowly moved toward the entrance, Peering through the peep hole she saw the friendly face of the Rabbi on the other side as well as two other men.  The patriarch of the Heller family opened the door and greeted them all.

“Rabbi Weiss, it is so good of you to come.”

“Always a pleasure to stop in for a visit, Mrs. Heller.  This is Alan Weisenberg, curator of the archives in the synagogue. And this is Edsel Schumacher.  He came to America for his studies and stayed here at the behest of his parents.

“A privilege to meet you, ma’am.”  Edsel said, kissing the woman’s hand.  He was tall, young, handsome, and had an energy about him that could scarcely be contained.

Tzipporah gave the young cat a warm smile.  “And I suppose you have a specialty as well?”

“Geographer, ma’am.  Rabbi Weiss thought I may be of some use in the days to come.”

Alan took off his hat and held up a large briefcase.  “I’ve accrued files for your son to have a look at.  Is he here?”

Tzipporah led the men to the back bedroom that had been turned into an office.  Mordecai was in the middle of explaining some of the fascinating features of Europe he had not noticed before.  “Children, Rabbi Weiss is here.”

The two Heller siblings stood up out of respect and shook their hands.  “Thank you for helping us, Mordecai.  You are doing our community a great service.”

“I am… happy to help.  I took the liberty of making preparations.”  Mordecai turned to a large map he had laid out on a table at the back of the office.  Alan looked disappointed and Mordecai noticed instantly.

“Is the map out of date?  I did try to find one that was as recent as possible.”

“That’s not the issue, Mordecai.  This is…”  Alan produced a large folder from his briefcase and set it on the desk.  It was new with paper fresh off the typewriter.  And it was two inches thick.  Mordecai opened the binder and looked it over.  It was nothing more than a list of names, alphabetized, and locations.  Most of the people listed were from Eastern Germany or Poland.

“So, which of these people are missing?”  Mordecai asked.

Alan sighed, a bead of sweat rolling down the fur of his brow.  “All of them.”

“All?”  Esther said, shocked.  “There must be hundreds of names in there.”

“Thousands.”  Weiss confirmed.  “Our local synagogue is where two thousand people come to worship.  Nearly all of them have extended family in Europe.  Most of them are just… gone.”

“Gone?  As in disappeared?”  Tzipporah asked.

“We don’t know for certain.  I’m sure some have escaped or were merely displaced after the initial German assault, but some of these people haven’t been heard from since 1935.”

“Five years?”  Esther said in disbelief.  “Why hasn’t this been brought up before.”

“We have… repeatedly.  Through official requests to the government and even some back channels.  No one is giving us answers.”  Edsel explained. “But we’ve heard of your skills and we hope you might be able to shed some light on the situation.  And fortunately for us, I brought a bigger map.”

“Bigger than that one?”  Esther asked.

Soon there was a map the size of the entire wall pinned up.  It showed Western and Eastern mainland Europe ending in Northern Italy and in Southern Scandinavia.  Mordecai began analyzing each name and pinning it onto the map where the last known location was.  He quickly came to the realization he also needed to account for time as well and so they started over after a few dozen names.  By evening there was a much clearer picture in front of them.

The four men stood in the stuffy office having long since abandoned their suit jackets and opened up the window for ventilation.  Mordecai stood front and center, stroking his chin as he analyzed the map.  A startling pattern was beginning to emerge.

“Hmm…”  Heller said.

“What is it, Mordecai?”  The Rabbi asked.

“It would appear that after about 1936 these disappearances became more frequent and are increasing year over year until this present time.  How many names have we covered today?”

“About five hundred.”

“We will need to add more names to the map over the next several days.  Then we will need to start investigating what we can.  Interviews with relatives we have access to.  Find out as much as we can about the individuals.  Perhaps there are even some writings.”

“I can ask some of my friends at the library for any foreign newspapers they’ve collected over the past few years.”  Alan said.

“The human geography is going to be important, but I’m noticing that there is a pattern radiating out from a few cities.”

“Keen eye, Edsel.  I noticed that as well.”  Heller complimented the younger cat.

“What do you think it means?”

Heller took off his glasses, breathed on the lenses, and cleaned them.  “I think it’s too early to say for sure, but I have a terrible feeling that there is more to this than we could imagine.  Who’s next on the list?”

“Well, we’ve managed to get through the ‘A’ section, now we’re starting on ‘B’.”

“Name?”

“Bach, Micha.”  Edsel read aloud.

“Micha?!”  Tzipporah called from the kitchen.  Esther poked her head in the room, taking a break from tutoring Levi.  “Cousin Micha?”  Mordecai looked at the name in the book and noted the last known residence.  “He lives in Alling?”

Their mother came into the room just then, a spoon wet with doughy water still in hand.  “Alling is just outside Munich, Germany.  When did Cousin Micha go missing?”

“About… ten months ago it seems.  One of our other cousins in the neighborhood must have declared them missing.”

“Probably Frieda.  She’s first cousins of Micha’s wife.  What about the rest of the family?”  Tzipporah asked.

“Shayna, Gabriel, Ruben, Rebecca, and Sarah.”  Edsel read off the names immediately under Micha, Tzipporah froze and her children immediately knew the look on her face.

“Mother, are you alright?”  Mordecai asked.

“The whole family is missing?”

“It’s… starting to become a pattern, ma’am.”  Alan said, noting the stacks of names on single pins in the map.

“We should pick this up another time, it is getting late.”  Rabbi Weiss said.

“Agreed, this is going to be tedious.”  Alan said before turning to Mordecai.  “Would you mind keeping this book here for the time being?”

“Of course.”  Heller said.

Saying their goodbyes, the men left and Mordecai retired to the cushioned chair in the corner of the living room.

“Uncle Mordecai!  What were you doing in there?”  Levi asked as he ran into the living room.  Heller adjusted his glasses and sunk into the chair, enjoying its comfort.

“Unraveling a mystery, dear nephew.  But I fear this mystery is far larger than I originally thought.”

“What of our other distant relations?”  Esther said, sitting down and gesturing for her son to climb onto the couch next to her.

“So far… most of them.”  Mordecai said.  “That’s not even considering relatives we’ve never heard of before.”

“Where do you think they went?”

Mordecai thought about it for a minute.  “My first inclination is to say that they have either fled the area for being persecuted or are in hiding.”

Saint-Amour, France

Micha hurriedly packed what remained of his family’s meager possessions.  Three suitcases between them were all that was left after fleeing their home the previous year.  It was perilous enough to get past the patrols and guards around Munich, but now there was a new challenge ahead of them.

“Papa, I thought the French would be kind to us?”  Rebecca asked as she packed her things alongside her father.

“I had thought the same, but the new government is nothing but a puppet for Hitler. We must leave this place before our records are handed over to the authorities.”

“The children are ready.”  Shayna said, stepping in from the other room.  “How are we going to leave?”

“With these.”  Micha said, producing passes which he expertly forged.  Once a passport agent, Micha was uniquely suited to forging documents and that skill had already come in handy more than once.  “Rebecca, see to it that your sister is ready.”

“Yes, papa.”  Rebecca acknowledged.  Going into the back bedroom where two beds were temporarily assembled only a few weeks before, she leaned over a small lump in the middle of her bed and nudged her sister awake.  “Sarah, we need to leave.”

“mmm… now?”  She complained.

“Yes, now.  Come, I’ll help you put your clothes on.  Gabriel, Ruben, give us some privacy please.”

Rebecca’s two younger brothers did as they were told and joined their parents in the main room while Rebecca pulled out everything Sarah would need.  Pulling off the old and dirty night clothes the girl had been sleeping in, she helped the girl get her undergarments on followed by a dress and a warm coat.  Rebecca noted from the matted and greasy fur that Sarah was well overdue for a bath, as was she.  Truth be told she didn’t think her father’s plan would work, but he had yet to fail them and it felt simple enough.

“I don’t want to leave again.” Little Sarah complained with outstretched arms as her sister finished helping her get dressed.

“I don’t want to leave either, but we must.  Now remember, do as I say and don’t speak to anyone, okay?  Just be a shy girl who clings to her sister’s tail.”

Sarah nodded and Rebecca stood up, bundling the dirty clothes in one arm and reaching out the other for her sister to take.  The two of them emerged from the bedroom ready to face the night.

“One-hundred kilometers to freedom and we are still being rejected.” Micha said to himself, only loud enough for his wife to hear.  The family walked down the street, keeping to the shadows.

“Halt!” An authoritative voice demanded.  Micha and the family stopped and turned around.  He gave his children a look that they now recognized as a sign that they should keep quiet.

“What are you doing out this late? Do you have papers?”  The constable asked.

“We are going to the railroad station to take the morning train.  Here are our passes, officer.”

The cat looked them over, recognizing them as valid tickets. “And do you have identification?  You aren’t from around here.”

“Is my accent really that strong?”

The cat laughed. “No, you’re just going the wrong way.  The station is to the East down that road.”

Micha felt some mild embarrassment but put it aside and pulled out his forged documents.  In the dark they looked valid and the officer handed them back to him after a few seconds.

“Very good.  Train should come through in an hour.”

Later, on the train, Micha finally breathed a sigh of relief.  They had already left their old lives behind and now they were leaving behind their identity. Getting off at a rural stop just before dawn, they caught a bus into the mountains under their aliases.  It would be difficult, but to survive Micha knew his family would have to get used to shedding the past and their identities like a snake sheds its skin.  By the time the bus stopped, they were in a small mountain village.  Switzerland was almost within walking distance, so frustratingly close.  But after his latest appeal had been rejected out of hand it was apparent that even if they did manage to get into Switzerland the authorities would simply hand them over to Hitler’s men.  Micha didn’t know much about what their fates would be if they ended up back in Germany, but he did know that many of his friends and neighbors had simply disappeared or had been taken someplace else, never to be heard from again.

He left once the raids had become frequent enough that he could no longer predict when people would be rounded up and taken away.  At first, deportation was voluntary and some had signed up hoping to leave the ghetto and receive work.  But once the volunteers had all left the government still wasn’t satisfied.  The Nazis began issuing quotas on a regular basis and those quotas grew and grew.  Then the arrests became a nightly affair.  Micha had managed to keep his family out of harm’s way up until that point but it became clear last autumn that it was time to leave.  Just before war was declared he had faked their identities and got his family out of Munich to France.  France was safe for a time and he foolishly allowed his family to start living their lives like they once did.  That nearly allowed them to be captured during the initial invasion and that had led them to where they were now.

“What is this place?”  Rebecca asked her parents.

“Chalea, dear daughter.  It may prove to be our salvation.  A friend is waiting for us outside of town.”

By that afternoon Micha rested in a chair overlooking the valley and woods.  He could finally relax, knowing that for the time being his family would be safe and comfortable here.  However, his mind was still at work.  They would likely need new identities yet again at some point.  This small village was an isolated island of peace that he knew would not last forever.  To the East he could not enter an area the Nazis could not go.  Everything to the South was controlled by the Italians and everything to the west was controlled by the Vichy government which had no intentions of protecting him or his family.  Oddly enough, the war in the North was keeping them safe for now.  England appeared to be standing defiantly, and if it could hold on then the Nazis would be too busy dealing with that threat to be conducting searches in independent France.

Chapter Text

Normandy, France

Rising before dawn, Felix checked the clock.  He had to be ready in his airplane in less than an hour.  Not bothering with a shower, he dressed himself with a cotton underlayer first and then a wool layer around his chest.  His aircraft had many things, but it wasn’t warm at high altitude. Donning his flight suit, the electrical wires running through it would do most of the heating for him.  It was simpler and lighter than a heater in the cockpit.  Finally, a leather jacket and thick cloth pants enveloped his outer figure.

Helmet and mask in hand, Felix exited the country estate serving as a bunkhouse and crossed the road to the French airfield that was now hosting his squadron.  Ducking into a hanger, he was just in time for the briefing.  Adolf Galland was dressed sharply and his mere presence had a gravitas that every young pilot under him admired.

“Gentlemen, today is the day we have been waiting for. We will cross the sea not to sink ships, but to destroy the Royal Air Force in its den!”

The briefing included many steps, but to Felix what mattered was encountering enemy fighters.  He had already bagged three brits since France fell and today he was hoping for a fourth or even a fifth.  Thus far only one had managed to escape his grasp.  It was his fault and he was wise enough to admit it to himself.  He approached the Hurricane too quickly and it managed to dodge his fire before scoring a couple of inconsequential hits of its own on his plane.  Had the enemy pilot been more skilled there was a chance he would have ended up in the Channel.  He vowed not to let that happen to him again and to shoot down that pilot if they ever crossed paths.

With the briefing over, Felix rose from his seat, secured his head gear, and walked over to his airplane, a cigarette dangling from his lips.  A private took his cigarette from him and helped him into the cockpit where his flight suit was plugged into the electrical system.  Checking over his instruments one by one, the pilot went through his checklist of items and then moved onto the controls.  Rudder?  Good. Elevator?  Good. Ailerons?  Also good.  Satisfied, Felix waited for the “all clear” from the ground crew and once they were out of harm’s way, he fired up the engine the crew had primed minutes earlier during the briefing.

First the starter motor hummed as it wound up the flywheel.  For several seconds there was nothing but the electrical noise of the starter along with the vibration of the flywheel.  Once he had sufficient momentum, Felix started the engine.  The propeller turned over once, twice, and three times, the engine sputtering in the cold, damp morning air.  And then the first proper explosion erupted from the exhaust, followed by another and another in quick succession. The engine then came to life, a falcon awakened and ready for the morning hunt.  Two sorties would be flown today by JG-26 squadron, a morning escort to destroy the RAF’s early warning system and a second escort deeper into England to hit precious airfields.

Checking his watch, Felix saw that it was time.  Overhead an ominous roar drowned out the idling Messerschmidts. Airplanes with gull wings flew overhead, each laden down with one large bomb and several smaller bombs on the wings.  That was their bombers, the slow but reliable Stukas.

Galland came on the radio. “All aircraft, stage at the runway and regroup at seven-thousand meters, heading three hundred and ten.”

Taxiing to the end of the runway, Felix was joined by three others that formed his flight within the squadron. Galland took off first, his graceful departure from Mother Earth being a textbook example for the other pilots to follow.  The first and second flights followed close behind and then it was Felix’s turn.  Pushing the throttle to the firewall, his plane rolled forward.  At first it was a slow pace but the little plane quickly got up to speed.  The thin wings needed to be going at least 160kph before they would lift him up to the skies.  About halfway down the runway Felix noted the speed and pulled back gently on the control stick.  The 109 picked herself off the grass and made her way to the sky, getting faster and faster as it went.  Retracting the landing gear, Felix quickly climbed up far above the dive bombers and found the rest of the squadron.  His wingmen closed ranks and they fell in behind the bulk of the group, making up the rearguard of the squadron.

11^th Group Headquarters, Uxbridge, England

Keith Park’s weathered face looked down from his pulpit at a sprawling map of Southern England.  Surrounding the map, Men and ladies alike were dressed in their blues, monitored the radio waves waiting for any kind of message.  A handful of squadrons were visible on the map, performing their regular patrol duties.  Besides that it was quiet.  The New Zealander had mentally noted a tapering off in attacks on shipping in the past week.

“Anything yet?” A tall feline with a thin mustache asked, tea in hand for himself and Keith.

“Not so far, but something is coming, I can feel it.”  Keith explained, taking the cup of tea in hand without taking his eyes off the map.

“Dowding is on the phone, sir.” An attendant said, giving Park the receiver.

“Sir?”  He spoke on the phone.

“Are you receiving the same reports?”  Dowding asked at the other end of the line.

“We have nothing on the board yet, sir.”

Just then radio operators began to move quickly, labeling blocks for enemy squadrons coming into range over the Channel. “Ah, now we’re getting them.  Today is the day, isn’t it?”

“You’ve been saying that for the past month, Park.”  Dowding said, taking a seat.  “But today I feel it too.  I guess we shall see how useful this new radar technology is.”

One radio operator grabbed her headset and listened closely to the instructions.   Without skipping a beat she produced a block and flag indicating an enemy squadron and placed it on the board as if it were a chess piece.  Seconds later another operator did the same, followed by another and another.  Keith looked on with a grim, stoic face as the map quickly filled up with inbound enemies.

“Alright, let’s get some of our boys up.”  Keith said to a passing officer who relayed the order down to the radio operators.  Red lights for several squadrons came on in 11^th Group.

“What about twelve group, sir?”  The officer asked, awaiting orders.

Keith mulled it over for a moment.  “Contact their operations headquarters and confirm they have squadrons on standby.”

Ventnor Radar Installation, Southeast England

Arriving on time as usual, a corporal dismounted on a bicycle and went inside the radar hut.  Pulling out a copy of the previous day’s reports, he combed through them while two radar operators analyzed the data.

“Yes, Bentley. Bogeys identified at eighteen thousand feed, range ten miles.”  One of the female operators said into a radio headset.  The sergeant on duty observed the screen for himself and muttered to the corporal. “These are hostiles, no doubt about it.”

“Coffee, sir?” The corporal asked.

“Sugar, please.”  He replied without looking up at the screen.

“Going after the boats again?”  The corporal asked as he filled up the cup and stirred sugar with a small spoon.

“Not at that altitude.  Their target must be on land.”  The sergeant then fished around in his pocket for a set of keys.  “Would you mind opening up the garage?  I’ll be off shift in a few minutes.”

“Of course, sir.  Right away.”  The dutiful corporal said, taking the keys in hand and heading out the door.  Unlocking the garage door, the corporal got in the car and started it up, idling it out into the morning sun.  That’s when he heard a peculiar noise.  At first he thought it was coming from the car itself, but then it got louder and louder.  He suddenly realized what it must be.  Looking up in horror, he dove out of the car and quickly made his way into a nearby hole as German aircraft dived like falcons on the defenseless radar station.

In the lead aircraft, the pilot guided his bird down in a nearly vertical dive.  He didn’t quite understand what he was hitting, only that his commander made it clear that this collection of antennas and shacks was an obstacle to invasion.  Dropping to five thousand feet, he released the main bomb and pulled out of his dive, the rest of his squadron following up with bombs of their own.  The tail gunner looked back as explosions rocked the complex on the English coastline.

The corporal could only watch as a massive bomb found its way into the main shack and detonated.  Splinters and debris flew everywhere as the wooden structure blew apart with everyone else still inside. Several more bombs took out other buildings and even the car, toppling over one of the radar towers in the process.  Just as soon as it started it was over.  Fearful, the corporal dug himself out of his hole and approached the ruined structure cautiously.  He listened carefully while the whine of the Junkers faded into the background.

“Are you alright?”  Someone asked from below.  The corporal was surprised and he began digging out the other members at the station.  One was injured; the rest had made it into the bunker just in time.  The same couldn’t be said for the radar station though.  The corporal looked up and a dreadful feeling came over him.  If this was happening elsewhere, England would soon be blind to the Luftwaffe.

“I can’t reach Ventnor.” One of the operators said at Eleven Group headquarters.  One by one other stations went down, four in total.  Pieces began to move quickly on the map and a pattern became clear.  Stukas were in the first wave, attacking small targets.  Large bombers were coming in behind and approaching the greater London area. Dowding looked over the map, secretly praying that all the preparations he and others had made would be enough.

“Send word to twelve group, we need them up.”  He said to a passing attendant who quickly relayed the information to twelve group headquarters.

RAF Coltishall, England

Rocky read a newspaper while sitting in a chair outside.  Bader was smoking a cigarette, looking out at the skies. “So where are you from, again, Sergeant?”

“St. Louis, Missouri, sir.”  Rocky said, folding up the paper.

“Ah yes.  Not too familiar, but I’ve heard of it. You miss the place?”

Rocky looked at the sky as well and smiled. “What’s a home without the people you love? Evelyn is here, and so shall I be.”

“Surely you love more than a single woman.”

“Yes, but they are safe and the good people here are not. I know I’m probably too old, commander, but this is where I belong.”

The radioman hurriedly opened the door and began ringing the bell.  “Two-four-two squadron, full section scramble!”

Bader and Rocky both jumped out of their chairs.  “Full section?”  Bader asked the radioman.

“Yes sir.  Today it begins.”  He said, ringing the bell once more.

Two minutes, gentlemen!  That’s I’m giving you, let’s go!”  He said, looking at Rocky and stopping him from going. “Let’s see if your skills match your ambitions, Sergeant Rickaby.”

“Aye, sir!”  He said with pride before running off to put on his flight jacket.  Rocky ducked into the field office and dug out a life vest and his parachute.  Realizing his flight jacket was back in the barracks, Rocky looked over and saw his dearly departed wingman’s leather and wool jacket hanging on a peg.  He pulled it off the rack and shook his head before donning it for himself.

Emerging from the building, Rocky nearly ran into Kensington.  The younger cat was hurrying through his equipment checks.  “Out of the way, Rocky, we need to get in the air now.”

“Woah, hold on friend.  You’re wearing that gear all wrong.”

“Well there’s no time—”

“There’s something a friend taught me a long time ago but I only began to understand recently.”

“What?”

“Slow is smooth and smooth is fast.  Here, let me help.”  Rocky confidently undid the man’s straps for his life jacket and parachute and then rearranged them into proper order.  Satisfied, he stepped back and patted his officer on the shoulder.  “There, now if you get shot down you’ll be able to bail out.”

Kensington looked at Rocky like he was crazy, but it donned on him what the older cat was trying to do.  It was his way of helping.  “T-thank you.”  He said with shaky breath.

“Nerves?”  Rocky asked as the two sprinted for their plane.

“It’s that obvious?”

“Well, we’ve goth survived so far.  I’m you’re number two and that means I’ll stick to you like Franklin Glue.”

“Where’s our number three?”

“Right here, sir!”  a much younger sergeant called out from the step of his own airplane.

“Good, now let’s get airborne. Nathan, you follow me and stay out of trouble, alright?”

“Yes sir!”  He replied.

“And quit with the bloody sir!  I’m you’re lieutenant, not your commander.”  Kensington said as he climbed into his Hurricane.

“Gauges, controls, fuel level, oil, prime, mix, start.”  Rocky recounted in his head as the engine roared to life.  Despite already having been forced to the ground previously, he was going back up there with a purpose.  He was going to show the squadron of fresh young faces and those already drawn thin by the war over France that they were England’s defenders. Just like in the speakeasy, he was going a job that needed to be done and since when has a little risk of life or limb deterred him?  “After all, I’ve done more dangerous for less.”  Rocky said to himself, hoping he might believe it if he thought it was enough.

Rising into the air once more, Rocky felt himself becoming free again.  All worldly troubles could be left on the ground and all he had to do was focus on surviving… and maybe getting in a few shots if he was lucky.  Climbing 18,000 feet, Kensington led them up to the squadron as it formed.  All aircraft heard through their radio from Bader, “turn to vector two-one-zero.  Watch for friendlies on our right.

The squadron flew on their trajectory, tensions rising by the minute.  Down below, civilians looked up with curiosity as odd formations of aircraft emerged from the clouds.  Heinkel He 111’s came out from the fog and rain of Southern England and found the skies around them empty.  The lead pilot looked over the shoulder of his co-pilot to double check that they were on course.  They were far enough over land that it was expected to see enemy fighters rising up to intercept them, and yet none did.  Ahead was their target, a large airfield outside London.

“I wonder where the RAF is?”  The pilot asked.

“Perhaps they are having a tea break?” The co-pilot joked.

Closing in, the bombardier pulled himself away from his nose gun and laid prone on the floor panels with his bombsight instrument.

“Prepare for bombing run on target.”  The pilot radioed to the rest of his squadron.

Far below, RAF ground crews scrambled to get as much equipment as they could out of the way.  That’s when a siren went off.

“Get to the trenches!”  A colonel yelled as he ran from the field office and ducked into an open trench several yards away.  Others quickly followed behind him as everyone on the airfield attempted to get out of the bombers’ path.  Soon after whistling noises filled the air.  One by one the bombs detonated in a line that encroached on the structures.  The colonel dared to have a glance from his trench as bombs exploded nearby, demolishing hangers and exploding fueled aircraft that stood by to eventually counter the German onslaught.  The bombers of 142 squadron were sitting ducks as bombs raked the airfield.

Up on Biggin Hill the bombs were falling as well.  Many aircraft had gotten airborne, but one of the last squadrons to get up were now right in the path of the bombers.  Pilots prayed that a bomb wouldn’t find them as they attempted to get up to speed.  A rookie looked to his right and watched as a brand-new Spitfire met an early demise, taking a direct hit from a five hundred kilogram bomb.  Another exploded in front of him and left a gaping hole in the Earth.  Desperate, he pulled back on the stick and managed to hop his aircraft over the smoldering crater.  A couple more bounces and he was finally up and gaining speed.  However, he found himself as one of only four or five aircraft that escaped the onslaught, and their commanding officer was not among them.

“Follow me, lads” their second in command said over the radio as he pushed the throttle to the firewall and climbed.  The nimble Spitfires climbed in a wide circle intending to get behind the bombers.

“Enemies, two o’clock high!” One German voice yelled over the radio.  All top gunners pivoted around just as a flight of Hurricanes came swooping in.

“Watch out for enemy fighters” the squadron leader cautioned as everyone went in for the kill.  The 109’s could only provide a precious few minutes of air cover over London for their bomber brethren.  Despite the odds, Hurricanes descended into the fray attempting to deal whatever damage they could.  However, there were only three squadrons in the area.  The situation was even worse back near the coast as 109s jumped fighters scrambling to intercept.

“Where the hell are the other squadrons?!”  One pilot yelled in frustration as he dodged another 109 overtaking his own aircraft in a highspeed pass.

“I read you loud and clear, nineteen squadron.  Two-four-two inbound.”

“About time.”  The commander replied.  “Where have you been?”

“Waiting for our other fighters.”  Bader replied.

“Well, they aren’t here, so let’s get on with it then.”

“Blue flight, take the right flank and cover us from fighters.”  Bader ordered.  Kensington replied. “Blue flight acknowledged.  With me, lads.”

Rocky rolled sharply to the right, keeping up with Kensington. “Stick to him like glue.”  He said to himself.  The trio did so, turning around to cut off another squadron of inbound 109s.  Felix was among them and he couldn’t be more excited.  Hurricanes were becoming his favorite prey.  Slow, but just dangerous enough to prove a challenge.  Kensington moved for the same attack pattern as before, head-on.  Three spitfires closed in to duel a dozen 109s.  Rocky took a deep breath and steeled himself, imagining it as two lines of mounted knights rushing toward each other in battle.  Remembering all the times he had ever held a weapon and ended up embarrassed, it was now or never for him.  The plane grew in size beyond his nose.  At first it was a mere speck, but then the wings and propeller became visible.  Taking careful aim, he waited… and waited… and waited some more.

Kensington, desperate to thwart the attack, let loose a burst from his eight machine guns, sending bullets into the enemy ranks.  Several 109s moved out of the way but pressed the attack, only catching a couple strays.  Felix could feel it, their enemy flight leader was afraid, and he was right.  Only twenty-three years old, Kensington was already in a position of responsibility.  He had lost one rookie to battle already and the fear of losing Nathan or Rocky was distracting his mind.  Rocky, on the other hand, had no such fear or thought.  What mattered to him most was surviving, and he had learned over the years that simply standing back and letting braver cats do the work just wasn’t going to cut it this time.

Rocky held his breath as the lone RAF flight came within a few hundred yards of the Germans.  The Germans opened up with their own bursts, cannon shells flying past the Hurricanes.  Rocky heard one bullet bounce around behind him, cutting a small hole through the canvas skin and wooden frame.  He pulled the trigger just as the aircraft moved to pass each other but their closing speed was too great.  His burst flew off harmlessly into the space behind the squadron as the flights of aircraft passed within feet of each other. There in the cockpit of the lead aircraft Rocky could make out the features of the same pilot as before.  Felix glanced at the passing Hurricanes, noting that one bore similar markings to the one he had forced to ground and then destroyed earlier. He wanted to go after the same prize again, but the bombers needed their help and three slow Hurricanes would simply have to wait.

Kensington, in frustration, pulled back on the stick and brought his Hurricane into a vertical roll, his two wingmen doing their best to keep up.  He was trading speed and energy for the advantage of altitude and gambled that he would get it back in moments when they pounced on the Germans.  Rocky by now was understanding the intricacies of his aircraft and could keep up but Nathan was moving too slowly and his airplane nearly stalled out at the apex of the roll.  Rocky glanced to his side and saw the struggling airplane.  Did he move to help their colleague or stay with Kensington as a good wingman should?  Rocky decided it was best to keep as much of the flight together as possible and hoped that Nathan would catch up.

“Kensington, we need to let Nathan catch up.”  Rocky radioed to the Leuitenant. “We’ve got to help the squadron, blue three.  Keep on my tail and watch for hostiles.”

Rocky followed the order despite his conflicted mind.  The pair of them stormed into the heart of the dogfight that was erupting below.  The squadron of German fighters had managed to intercept the two squadrons of British and keep most of the pressure off the bombers.  Kensington roared into action, letting loose a second long burst that hit a 109 in an engine.

“Bombers, take the bombers damn you!”  Bader roared through the radio, trying to find a way out of the mess of aircraft.  Nathan heard the order and rolled back upright, seeing the escaping bombers.  Picking up speed in a dive, he flew alone toward the Heinkels. Lining up on one, his pressed the trigger and set one engine of a 111 ablaze.  The bomber pulled from its ranks and fled off toward where waiting German ships would find the crew near the French coast.  Moving to the next target he attempted to do the same thing but one of the gunners got him in his crosshairs.  German bullets flew toward his cockpit and Nathan maneuvered out of the way, trying to find a blind spot to exploit.

“We need assistance.” The lead bomber pilot radioed to the fighter squadron.  Felix turned his attention back to the bombers and rushed to aid his fellow airmen.  Quickly closing the gap with his faster airplane, Felix lined up on Nathan’s Hurricane and let out a burst from his autocannon.  Though too far away to be accurate, the big bullets whizzing past the cockpit scared Nathan and he immediately broke off the pursuit, turning tight to the left to try and lose the German ace.  Felix though was coming to understand the Hurricane well and feathered his throttle to bleed off speed and turn with the Hawker.  Nathan couldn’t see exactly where the pursuing German was and leveled out, only to be met with bullets from the twin machine guns of the 109.  Nathan again turned, then dodged and weaved.  He couldn’t shake the expert pilot though.

“Help!”  He radioed to Kensington and Rocky.

“Bloody hell…”  Kensington said, looking at the situation happening outside their bubble of fighter aircraft trying to kill each other.

Rocky saw the situation too and his heart stopped remembering what happened to Charles.  “We’ve got to help him.”

“Agreed, let’s go.”  Kensington said.  He and Rocky found a way outside the storm of aircraft and bullets then made for their fellow pilot.  Kensington lined up on Felix and pulled the trigger, sending British 303 bullets across the sky, but he overestimated the lead he needed for the 109 and Felix was alerted to their presence.  Now he was outnumbered, but rather than running he was just starting to have fun!  He had a couple minutes of fuel to spare for a quick sparring match.  Following Nathan’s airplane toward the two other Hurricanes, he lined up on the lead aircraft and send cannon rounds toward Rocky and Kensington.  Kensington took a hit to the wing which caused the whole aircraft to shudder.

“Dammit!”  He said.  “Rocky, you must help Nathan.”

“On it!”  Rocky replied, circling to get in behind Felix.  They couldn’t outrun the German, but Rocky remembered Bader telling him how little time the German fighters could spend over English skies.  All they had to do was last that long.  Rocky rolled his airplane like before, this time coming in behind Felix.  However, Felix wasn’t worried.  He broke off from Nathan and performed a barrel roll that bled off speed.  In a feat of acrobatics that left Rocky in a rare moment of speechlessness, he saw the 109 flip up and over him before settling in on his tail.  Rocky quickly snapped to the right, trying to lose the German but this pilot was too good.  For Felix he was on the hunt for yet another kill.  He could feel now that this was the same pilot as before and knew to be careful.  This RAF pilot was capable of unexpected things so he hung back and let Rocky go through the few tricks he had learned in his short time as a pilot.

Rocky turned tightly to get away from Felix, but the 109 merely peeled out of the turn, flipped over, and came back down on him like a hammer hitting a nail.  Rocky then trying weaving back and forth yet the 109 increased distance between them by slowing down and took a more lazy, direct path.  Rocky was trapped and he knew it, but then Nathan came into focus in front of him.

“Hang on, blue two!  I’m coming!”  Nathan said, running his engine at full throttle and accelerating back into the fight.  He passed by Rocky and sent a burst of machine gun fire at the German.  Felix expertly dodged around the hail of gunfire and slipped past Nathan before pulling up into a vertical roll of his own.  Rocky caught a glimpse of this and realized the danger instantly.  He was doing what Kensington had tried two minutes earlier, only this time the German was focused on a single Hurricane piloted by someone who had only earned his wings a few weeks ago.  Rocky turned his airplane around and charged for the gap between Nathan and the German.  “Nathan, turn toward me now!”  He begged.

Nathan did as he was told and the two airplanes passed each other yet again.  Rocky lined his sight up with the German and inhaled.

St. Louis, 1927

“Breathe.”  Ethan said to Rocky as the two laid in a field with a target two hundred yards away.

“I can’t hold it still.”  Rocky complained.

“When you breathe out, you steady yourself.  It doesn’t matter what you shoot, breathe out and then pause halfway.  Your sight will steady itself on target.”

Rocky did as Ethan instructed and indeed the sight landed right on the target.  He squeezed the trigger and the rifle erupted in front of him, shoving itself back into his thin, bony shoulder.  “Ow!”  He exclaimed, dropping the rifle.

“Are you okay?”  Ethan asked, moving closer to the young cat and self-appointed strategist.

“How do you stand it?”  Rocky said, massaging his bruised shoulder.

“You weren’t holding the gun to your shoulder, that’s why it hurt.”

“Oh, is that all?  It’s like you’ve got to be perfect or something.”

“Nonsense.  A rifle might be a precision instrument, but you’ve got to learn that ‘good enough’ is good enough.  It doesn’t really matter where you hit the target so long as you hit it.”

“I think I’ve had enough for the day.  I never hit anything anyway.  You and Freckle can do the shooting, Ethan. I’ll stick to the stratagem and providing the musical accompaniment to our valiant escapades.”

“Fine.”  Ethan replied, letting Rocky go.  Picking the rifle up and unloading it, he walked over the target.  Known only to him, Rocky had indeed hit the target.  It was far from being a bullseye, but a hit was still a hit.  Weeks of training were yielding some results despite Rocky’s pessimism.

Rocky got in the car and shed a couple of tears.  Some for the bruised shoulder, but others for his apparent lack of ability with a rifle.  He never could hit anything with a gun and Mitzi made it a policy that he does not have one in the speakeasy for fear of him accidently shooting himself or someone else.  But it still hurt his pride to realize how useless he was.

Skies above Dover, England

Rocky, face focused on protecting the young pilot behind him, lined up the sight of his airplane with the 109 that was closing fast and then recalled that Ethan sometimes used what he called “Kentucky windage” to hit targets that were either moving or whenever the elements prevented the bullet from flying true.  He made a last second adjustment and pulled the trigger, sending several bullets into the belly of the 109, one of which pierced through the cockpit and up between Felix’s legs.  He looked up and saw the shattered glass on one pane of his cockpit.

“Shit!”  He said and broke off the pursuit of the rookie airplane, bringing his attention back to this more experienced pilot that had thus far survived two duels with him.  He had enough of playing around and decided the fight needed to end now lest he wind up going into the sea.  Felix rolled his 109 over and zeroed in on Rocky who again tried to dodge and weave, but this time Felix was having none of it.  He had grown up hearing of the great German aces that once dominated the battlefields over France and he had studied their every move.  He knew how to fly like no other and he had yet to find someone who was an equal match to his talent. Throwing his Messerschmidt controls all over the cockpit, Felix made his 109 pitch and roll to match the Hurricane.  On paper the Hurricane could turn tighter, but Felix knew of ways to ‘cheat’ and bring his nose into the correct position.

Rocky figured out very quickly that this German wasn’t going to let him go.  “Nathan, get out of here now.”

“But he’s on you!”

“I’ll be fine, get back to base.”

Rocky did what he could.  This German didn’t seem to care about his fuel consumption and he wondered if this 109 would even be able to make it back to the base.  Felix, however, realized he needed to make this quick.  He finally got the angle he needed and, at only two hundred yards, sent a burst from his autocannon through the wings and body of the Hawker.  Rocky lurched in his seat as the plane pitched on its side and entered a spinning dive, thick black smoke pouring out of the engine.  Satisfied, Felix turned back to France and followed his squadron that were breaking off their engagement.  They had only lost three of theirs but had managed to down seven RAF fighters and successfully stopped the bombers from being intercepted.

Rocky tumbled in the cockpit, fear overcoming him.  His mind raced, trying to remember what he was supposed to do.  That’s when his eye spotted the latch to the canopy.  He desperately tore at the latch and shoved the canopy back.  The fur on his face flew in different directions as wind whipped through the open cockpit.  Struggling with the buckle, he looked at the altimeter.  He had maybe a few seconds to make the jump.  Finally the clasp broke free and he untangled himself.  Rocky jumped from the cockpit and found himself tumbling in the cold air with water below.  Feline instincts kicking in, Rocky got his feet below him and he stabilized his fall with all four limbs and a tail.  Pulling the parachute cord, the silk fabric billowed out above him.  A hard tug on his chest and groin hurt like hell, but he was now floating gently toward the coastal waters.

Taking a moment to breathe, Rocky swung and swayed beneath the parachute, watching as the clouds parted to reveal the dark waters of the English Channel.  He was but a mile off shore and could even see boats converging on his position.  Nina would kill him for becoming a pilot if she had any idea just how dangerous this job was, but for the first time in a while he felt genuine pride in himself.  He had gone toe to toe with a German ace and kept a rookie pilot safe.  That was victory enough for him.  Jack would be none too pleased to have lost yet another aircraft, but the English factories could get him another one within a day or two.

This moment of pride was short lived as Rocky remembered the larger battle around him. It was far from over and he knew it.  They had intercepted one raid too late to prevent damage.  While the two-four-two squadron had gotten up in time, he heard the roar of friendly aircraft overhead.  They were precious minutes too late to the scene and those same bombers would be back the next day.

Bracing for the cold water, Rocky plunged into the sea.  Kensington had warned him about becoming tangled in the parachute so he held his breath and stayed underwater while he unclipped himself.  The parachute dragged the harness away from him and into the waves.  Satisfied, Rocky deployed his life vest and it sent him surging back toward the surface.  He bobbed around in the water, wiping the salty water away from his eyes.  At this point he had crashed two aircraft while in combat and five others while in training, all without a kill to his name yet. Even Nathan on his first mission had at least tagged a bomber!  That frustrated him, just like the targets Ethan made him shoot at all those years ago in St. Louis.  But his pride could take it.  At this point it was par for the course for him to be brilliant in some areas and an abysmal failure in others.

The sound of a horn caught his attention.  A small wooden speedboat closed the distance and the captain of the craft waved to him as it pulled alongside.

“You okay, lad?”  He said while two others hauled Rocky out of the water and set him down on the deck of the boat.

“Nothing broken and nothing bruised except for the nether regions.”  Rocky said, standing up.  The crew helped him shed his life vest and take off his soaked jacket.  The cold air blew through his soaked fur and a chill went up his spine, but soon he found himself below the pilot deck with a towel and hot tea.  A young cat sat across from him who must have only been fifteen or sixteen.  “Did you get any?”

“Any what?”

“Germans, of course!  A Heinkel, maybe a Messerschmidt?”

“Sadly, not in the cards today I’m afraid.  But the squadron made a good show of it.”

“It’s great to watch from the sea!”  He said, point up in the sky and using his hands to mimic the dogfights he had just witnessed.

“Certainly is safer from here.”

“Well, I know being a pilot is dangerous business and all, but I want to be one when I’m old enough.”

Rocky was conflicted.  On one hand flying was great, but on the other he didn’t like the idea of so many young and reckless cats taking to the skies without any idea of how close to death they were.  But the boy was young enough, perhaps the war might be done and gone by the time he earns his wings.

“It’s a tough job, kid, but someone must do it.  I think you’ll be a fine pilot, just don’t be in a hurry to get up there.”

German Airfield, Normandy, France

Felix feathered the throttle on his 109, bringing it safely to friendly soil after what he considered to be a successful mission.  No less than two more enemy fighters were down by his hand.  Upon landing, he taxied the plane back to its spot in the line of other 109’s from his squadron.  Shutting down the engine and returning all the levers and controls to their neutral positions, Felix opened the canopy and took a deep breath of fresh air.  The ground crew, as always, got right to work refitting the airplane for its next flight.  The sergeant approached with a canteen in hand.

“We were beginning to worry about you, Felix.”

“Worry about me? I was having fun.”

“You know what the commander says about fun…”

“Yes, I know. We must never grow too arrogant or complacent.”

“Very wise, if you ask me.  A few other pilots did not make it back today and we cannot afford to lose them.”

Felix was disappointed when he arrived at the debriefing meeting.  Adolf Galland looked on at the squadron, three seat remained empty.  He began with the good news.

“I am happy to say that our squadron’s casualties were light today and we successfully defended our bombers from being destroyed by the RAF.”

The men began to congratulate themselves, but Galland raised his hand and requested that his pilots remain silent. “However, we are receiving reports that this initial attack did not successfully destroy all intended targets.  Due to rain in the morning hours, the bombers have only had a partial success.  Goering has ordered continued attacks for the foreseeable future. Meet here again at 06:00 hours for another flight.”

Felix was ecstatic to hear that!  He was quickly becoming a contender for one of the Luftwaffe’s top pilots, and now he was going to be flying over England nearly every day.

Bentley Priory, England

“Sir, Leigh-Mallory’s ‘big wing’ tactic simply isn’t working.  This was only the first day and all my airfields are full of holes!  Surely there is something you can do about this?”

Dowding looked up from the report he was writing and took off his glasses.  “While I agree that the tactic is slow, it is also too early to say for certain if it does or does not work.  At the moment Leigh-Mallory enjoys considerable influence in the press and within our own ranks.”

“I understand that sir, but twelve group must defend my airfields if we are to repel the Luftwaffe. We won’t be able to take a pounding like that for very long.” Park said as he stood across from Dowding at the Air Marshal’s desk

“How many aircraft destroyed?”  Dowding asked as he stood up and looked out the window at the garden that was only illuminated by the lights shining through the window.

“I don’t have an official count yet, but several dozen at least.  Most of them weren’t in operation anyway, but they could have been repaired.”

“I’ll see to it that you are supplied with new aircraft.  Spitfire production is accelerating by the week.  And what of the pilots?”

“We lost some critical pilots over France.  I have Polish and Czech pilots in training, Canadians, Norwegians, and many young lads who are eager for the fight.”

“That’s good.”

“They won’t be enough though, not on their own.  We must find a way to get our aircraft up in time for interception before bombs reach my airfields. If we cannot get twelve group in line, then I will request the formation of additional squadrons.”

“You wish to bring some of the pilots into the fold?”

“Exactly.  If that’s the best we can do, then so be it.  Any pilot who proves their mettle ought to be brought to the front where they will do the most good.”

“We’d have to be careful with such a strategy, Park.  Stretch the pilots in the North too thin and we would be susceptible to raids from Denmark.  At the end of the day, we must face the facts.  We are on our own and playing for time.  That time is running out.  Without pilots and aircraft, this battle is lost no matter what else we do.”

“So what is your suggestion, then?  If you don’t mind me asking, sir.”

“We must make every attempt to bring Leigh-Mallory into the fold so we can fight with one strategy.”

RAF Coltishall, England

Rocky dried himself off after a hot shower.  Moving through the bunks, he walked past Nathan who was reading quietly in bed.

“So how does it feel to have your first victory?”  Rocky asked, sitting down on his own bed.

“They only counted it as a probable.”  Nathan replied, flipping the page.

“Well that’s no good. Still, better than myself.”

“You haven’t had a kill yet?”

“Nope, not a single one to my name.  It seems I still can’t hit anything.  I’d blame my age, but I’ve always had that problem.”  Rocky said as he swung his feet into the bed and laid down.

“All the same, thank you for the rescue.  I was in big trouble there for a moment.”

“You did indeed get lucky.”  Kensington said, climbing into the bunk two beds down. “New pilots don’t last long in this kind of environment.”

“How long did the person before me last?”  Nathan asked.

“About two weeks.”  Kensington said solemnly. “If you want to survive, you’ll have to keep up.”

“We should always fly as a unit, Kensington.”  Rocky retorted.  “Speeding into that mess was too risky.”

“That’s war, Rickaby.  Everything we do is risky.  Our orders were to stop the fighters so the rest of the squadron could handle the bombers.  If we had more than two squadrons then we may have succeeded.”

“You know, I’m not completely sold on this ‘big wing’ idea myself.”

“You’re questioning our commander?”  Nathan asked, concerned.

“I don’t question Bader’s abilities, but I just don’t see how we can organize such a large amount of planes.  My friends and I… we used to do the impossible with just four of us.  A dozen planes are faster.”

“Hmm…” Kensington said to himself.  “By the way, you’ve mentioned these friends before.  What did you get up to in St. Louis?”

“That’s… a tale for another time I’m afraid.  This old cat is tired.”

“Very well, old man.  Lights out in a few minutes anyway.”

Rocky played the fight over again and again in his head, thinking of something he could have done differently.  But there was just nothing.  Nothing other than learning to shoot straight.  Kensington must have noticed his contemplations because before pulling the covers over his head, he said one last thing.

“Don’t overthink it, Rocky.  That was an ace pilot if I’ve ever seen one.  Even Bader would have struggled and yet you survived.”

Ace pilot indeed, and he would be out there again tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Charlevaux, France, 1918

Breaths fast and shallow, heart beating a mile a minute, eyes darting from side to side, attempting to pick up even the smallest movement.  Ethan ducked into a crater and pulled out his gas mask just as the yellow clouds rolled over.  Alone in this little corner of hell, Ethan dons his mask as the mustard gas blows in, its onion-like odor penetrating everything except for the life-saving mask.  It wasn’t American or even English, but German.  Ethan lost his original four days ago when the battle started and he had to loot a corpse for supplies.

“Supplies” he thought.  Behind him over five hundred Americans were trapped behind enemy lines.  Most of their food having ran out two days ago, they were all fighting for survival. Crawling out of the hole, Ethan searched for whatever he could find.  A tin of food here, a couple of bullets there.  He had two rifles on his back.  His Enfield service rifle was carried across his left shoulder and a Gewehr 98 was slung over his right shoulder.  American ammunition was growing scarce but every German he killed had a small supply of bullets Ethan was determined to put to good use.

While to anyone else the landscape would have been an undiscernible brown and black color that lacked any feature, to Ethan this place was becoming his home from Hell.  Death lurked around every corner, but he had quickly learned to read the terrain.

“Use it to your advantage.”  His mentor had said to him shortly before a shell took out most of the people he was with.  The irony was it wasn’t even a German shell, but an American artillery piece that did them in.  Poor LeBlanc, that Louisiana Creole had already spent a year fighting in France and had learned the craft of soldiering well.  He knew how to make clothing that stopped bullets, how to find one’s direction in the grey and yellow fog that blocked out the sun, and how to hide from the enemy just long enough to attack.  But there was nothing that could stop a twelve inch shell designed to bust open bunkers like sardine cans.

Ethan lunged into another hole but immediately regretted it.  There, in the middle of the hole, was a deceased cat with a friendly face that had turned gray and hollow.

“I’m still alive, Derrick.”  Ethan said to the corpse, holding back tears.  Derrick held on as long as he could, but now Ethan knew there was no way he could have saved his friend.  Cut open by the same shell that killed most of their squad, he managed to last the first night but died before dawn.  It was three days now without his friend and fellow miner, and it pained Ethan to see someone he had known since they were both kittens laying there in the mud.

“When this is over, I’ll make sure you get to go home.  We’re both going to go home, Derrick.  You just rest, we’ll both be home soon.”

Several figures emerged from the fog as it began to lift.  Dressed in armor and wearing the same mask Ethan had on, they moved in quickly trying to find the American line.  Only about two hundred yards behind Ethan there were Americans dug in, determined to fight to the last man.  The large tanks on the Germans’ backs told him that this might be enough to rout what remained of the 77^th.  Taking one last look at Derrick’s face, Ethan muttered one of his friend’s last thoughts. “Tell God and the Devil they can try but today won’t be the day we die.”

Ducking behind a burned stump, Ethan elected to keep his mask on just in case.  He opened the bolt on his Enfield and left it at his side to make it look as if he was out of ammunition.  The Germans approached where he was and through his mask Ethan saw feet right next to his head.  Not daring to breathe or move a muscle, Ethan laid there like a corpse.  Most would think it would be wise to be limp, but LeBlanc had told him otherwise.

“De body becomes like a statue by day’s end.  You too should be like de statue.”

A rifle barrel poked at Ethan’s mask.  He gave a gentle resistance to the poking and prodding, trying to be like a stiffened corpse.  After what felt like an eternity the ruse worked and the Strumtruppen moved on to catch up to the others.  “One, two, three, four, five…”  Ethan counted in his head.  After waiting twenty seconds or more he finally dared to move.  Grabbing his rifle and loading it once again, he got to work.

With their backs to him, Ethan approached like a predator.  He stalked them silently, sizing up his prey.  It was important to stay just on the edge of the mist, able to conceal himself whilst clearly seeing the enemy.  Suddenly, shots rang out.

Americans began yelling as the stormtroopers made their move.  The desperate and tired soldiers fought back with everything they had, but the concept behind the stormtroopers was brutally simple.  Overwhelming firepower and weapons designed to instill fear in the hearts of their enemies.  All it would take is one company to start falling back before the line would break, and the German machine guns and flamethrowers stood a chance of doing just that.  One trooper advanced close enough to let his deadly mixture loose.  Liquid flame sprayed from the end of the weapon, sending some Americans into shock.  Meanwhile the machine gunners got to work painting the trenches with bullets.

“Now or never.”  Ethan said to himself.  He leveled the German rifle and aimed his sights on the stormtrooper with the flame thrower.  He had gotten good and taking off the backs of people’s heads with a rifle, but this time it was different.  He had found an incendiary round in the top of the magazine.  Aiming for the tank, Ethan pulled the trigger.  A bullet went into the fuel, opening up a hole.  No one could hear the rifle shot over the noise of battle, but an officer nearby noticed the leak.  He paused in fear, trying to figure out who would have shot this soldier’s fuel tank and he turned around, looking for the culprit.  A lone figure a hundred yards away stood there with a rifle in hand.  He almost looked like a fellow German but something wasn’t right.  This soldier wasn’t with this officer’s unit.  The realization hit him like a hammer and he tried to get out of the way as Ethan shot again, sending the explosive bullet into the leaking tank.

The stormtrooper didn’t know what hit him.  The Americans watched as their enemy burst into flame and sent him into a panic.  All the machine gunners looked on in horror, unable to do anything for their fellow soldier.  Ethan then turned his sights on the officer and fired again.  Before the German could find cover a bullet pierced his heart, dropping him in the dirt.  All the soldiers seemed to pause for a brief moment as a lone soldier came charging out of the haze.  Now without his mask, Ethan’s face was visible to his allies as he singlehandedly dove into the first crater.  He sent sixteen inches of cold steel through the first German and then parried the knife of the second German.  Tackling him to the dirt, Ethan detached his bayonet and repeatedly stabbed the soldier.

Now it was the stormtroopers’ turn to be afraid.  Soaked in blood from head to toe, Ethan let out a feral roar as he fired his rifle again and then switched to a revolver he picked up.  Bullets went around him like they were being guided by something… supernatural.  To the Germans there was little doubt that this was the one.  The unit had heard of a crazy American that stalked the open fields and now they were witness to the savage brutality.

Ethan charged in, getting close enough that his enemies couldn’t effectively use their machine guns or their rifles.  Pinned down by American bullets, the troopers could only watch as their fellow soldiers were hacked to pieces by a man maddened by war.  No, not a man.  Ethan was barely eighteen.  A mere child who was as scared as they were, but he was determined to go home and see his family again.  If the Kaiser’s best were in the way, then God help them.

Slashing and stabbing and shooting, Ethan kept going until his pistol was out of bullets.  One German finally managed to tackle him to the ground and knocked the bayonet from his hand.  For a moment Ethan was afraid.  This soldier fumbled to dig out his own blade.  Ethan dropped his pistol and held the German’s hand on the sheathed knife, pinning it so it couldn’t be put to use.  The two were locked in a battle of strength and Ethan was now desperate.  The German held him with all of his strength, but they were a couple of teenagers in the middle of a battlefield.  The German having worked on a farm his whole life and Ethan having worked in the deepest pits of Butte, Montana.  Ethan realized what he had to do.

In before more soldiers could rush to help their friend, Ethan lifted his head up with all his strength and bore his teeth.  White fangs were his last defense.  The German had a terrified look on his face in the moment before it happened.  Ethan reached out for his enemy’s neck and bit down hard.  At first it felt like digging into the hide of a cow, but then he felt the skin give way.  Ethan bit down harder, overwhelming the fur and skin as his teeth found the jugular. But he wasn’t finish.  He kept biting down with even more force, the German trying to scream out.  People on both sides of the battle were aghast at what they saw.  His incisors did their job as a chunk of meat separated from the German’s throat.  Both cats tried to shove themselves off the other but Ethan held on and the meat tore free.  Ethan stood up while the German bled out on the cold ground, a twisted, horrified look on his face.

“Holy shit!”  One of the Americans said from the safety of their trench.  The remaining Germans were now terrified.  Ethan spat out the chunk of neck with matted, bloodied fur.  It tasted terrible, but the act had the intended effect.  With a blood-curdling roar that was louder than the rifles, Ethan picked up his bayonet and ran straight for the next officer.

“Fall back!” The officer screamed as the Germans retreated from their position.  Picking up a rifle, Ethan quickly loaded it and pointed the gun at the Germans as they ran.  He fired a single shot, dropping the officer with a bullet to the back.  Ethan charged forward, back into the mist.  He paused two seconds at a time to line up the sights and pull the trigger.  Yet another flame thrower burst into fire somewhere in the smoke.

“Who the fuck was that?” One of the Americans said.

“Was that Kelly?”  Another asked.

“I thought he was dead.”

“No, he’s been coming back every evening then going back out again at night.”

A tall cat with glasses raised his fist.  “Shut it! Save your energy, we’re going to need it.”

“But sir, who was that?”

“Yes, that was Kelly.  I’m sure of it.”

“Shouldn’t we help him?”

Whittlesey looked out across the battlefield, contemplating whether it was the right decision.  “No.  Corporal Kelly shouldn’t be going out like that.  He’s going to get himself killed.”

“All the more reason to help him, I say.”  The private argued.

“If the whole regiment did that then we’d be cut to ribbons.  No, we hold our positions. McMurty, see to it that everyone is back in their trenches.”

“Yes sir!”  Captain McMurty said.  Older than nearly all the other soldiers under his command, he was a tough man that had rode with Roosevelt in Cuba in his youth.  Even so, he had never seen a battle quite like this one.  Later on, he and Whittlesey said beside each other in their meager shelter.  Shells rained down around them, the Germans were trying yet again to dislodge them and take the hill, but the stubborn bastards of the 77^th would not yield.

“Hey George?” Whittlesey asked.

“Yes, sir?”

“What do you think of that Ethan Kelly?”

“Well… he’s been bringing us supplies every night.  More than a few men would be dead by now without him.”

“But what he did today…”

“That, my friend, is war.  That Creole guy taught him a few tricks.”

“I’ll say.  I can’t imagine such savagery back home.”

“That savagery is the only thing keeping the Germans from launching a full-scale attack.  That’s the third time Ethan has gotten behind them and dulled their advance.”

“So I’ll ask again… what do you think of him?”

“As a soldier?”

“Well, we can’t hardly judge him as a civilized feline, can we?”

“No, we can’t.  Who would have thought we’re a couple of lawyers, right?”  George joked. “What he lacks in discipline that Ethan Kelly more than makes up for in spirit.  I’ve never seen such ferocity in a man.”

“It’s frightening.”  Whittlesey said.

“Are you going to give him a medal or something?”

He thought for a while, turning the thought over in his head several times. “I’ll let the brass decide what to do with him if we ever make it out of this god forsaken place.  How about a field promotion?”

“I… don’t think he’s ready yet.  Sergeants shouldn’t be running off like that in the middle of battle.  But given time…”

St. Louis, Missouri, August 1940

Ethan sat up in a cold sweat.  It had been another one of those nights.  For a time he had been able to sleep soundly, but since Isabella left those dark memories came back to him on stressful nights.  These days most nights were stressful.  Turning on a lamp, Ethan noted that it was still two hours until dawn.  He was tired, always tired, but at least there was someone around to help with the kids again.  Getting out of the couch, Ethan made his way across the living room and peeked into Emily’s bedroom.  She was sleeping soundly, a little bundle under the blanket rising and falling gently in a slow rhythm.  William too was fast asleep.  Satisfied, Ethan wrote out a note for Riley and the kids when they woke up.  He’d be gone for the morning but would be back sometime around noon, at least by his estimation.

Quietly getting dressed, Ethan exited the apartment and walked down the stairs, carefully working through the back of the kitchen and out to the garage where the old truck was kept.  It was one of the few remaining possessions from the prohibition days.  Originally owned by some foolish pig farmers that tried to shoot up the place in 1927, the Lackadaisy crew used a few tricks to cover their tracks and “legally” transfer ownership for a sum of one hundred dollars written onto a check that was promptly cashed and then redeposited sometime later.  Despite its age, the old girl still ran well.  Her two-speed transmission limited how fast he could go, but it’s not as if Ethan wanted to drive particularly fast through the early morning mist.

Freckle awoke to the sound of his alarm.  Groaning, he turned over and gave Ivy a kiss.

“Hmm… what time is it?”  She asked, not wanting to open her eyes.

“Five in the morning.”  Freckle said quietly.

“You should just let Ethan and Joseph have all the fun today.”

“I’d love nothing more than to lay here with you for another two hours, Ivy. It’s the best part of my day. But—”

“The draft, yes.”  Ivy said, sighing. “You going to come into town later?”

“Of course I will, dear.  I’ll take the kids off your hands for a while too. Ethan’s children have been dying the play with ours before school starts again.  And later… well, later I’ve got a surprise for you.  So go back to sleep for a while longer, honey. Today will be a good day.”  Freckle said, rubbing Ivy’s shoulder and giving her another kiss as he put on his shirt.

Going down to the main floor, Freckle opened the door to the room where Joseph and his middle son, Daniel, were.  Joseph would need some time to get on his feet, but this morning they both had a session with Ethan.

“Rise and shine, Cal.”  Freckle said.  Joseph was already up though and putting on his socks.  “I’ll be out in a minute.”  He whispered.  Freckle nodded his head and closed the door.  He then went into the kitchen to start the coffee up and pulled the bacon out of the ice box to thaw for Ivy later.

With the glow of the pre-dawn light shining through the living room windows. Freckle sipped on a cup of coffee.  As a teen he never thought he’d be living on a farm, and oh how peaceful it was! And they weren’t that far from Saint Charles where his mother still resided.  Nina would never admit it, but Freckle knew she was feeling lonely these days since Rocky moved out of town.  For as much pain as his cousin always was, Rocky at least kept things interesting.  In his absence everyone had fallen into a routine.  Well… everyone except for Joseph.  But at least the kid had managed to stay sober and out of trouble now for two weeks.  It wasn’t exactly a mystery to Freckle how Cal had strayed from his path.  Eveyln was good for Rocky in so many ways.  Besides being madly in love, she brought him some much-needed stability and kept Rocky’s sense of adventure.  Yet they weren’t in a hurry to get married and settle down. Rocky did a noble thing by putting so many things on hold to raise his adopted son, but then came the job offer for Evelyn.  A nursing position in England.  It was as far away from her native California as she could get for reasons Evelyn had never fully explained, but it was now or never for the two of them then. Joseph had the choice to stay or go with them, and he had chosen to stay in the only city he had ever known.  For most boys it wouldn’t have been that big of an issue. Cal was eighteen and getting out of school.  But now Freckle could see that Rocky brought the boy a guiding hand that neither he nor Ethan were able to give.  Still, he was home and safe now, and that’s what mattered most.

Two headlights appeared in the driveway.  The slow, old truck pulled in front of the house and Ethan put the transmission into neutral and then set the brake.  At the same time Freckle grabbed his jacket and walked out the door onto the porch.

“You got the rifle?”  Freckle asked as he descended the porch steps and opened the door.

“In the back, a few boxes of ammunition too.”  Ethan replied. “And good morning, by the way.”

“Ivy isn’t exactly pleased with all this ‘training’.”

Ethan nodded his head in understanding.  “You know, she’s as worried about a draft as you are, Freckle.  She told me as much when you went to bring Joseph back.  Our morning routine is just one big reminder that being forced to fight is a real possibility.”

“Yes, well we’ll have a long talk about it at some point soon. Is that why she’s going to see my mother today?”

Ethan knew he couldn’t hide it, so he admitted as much.  “Yeah.  I’m sure your mother is just as worried.”

“I hate making them feel that way.”

“I know, Freckle.  I know.  But you know what?  Who doesn’t love putting holes in targets at the range?”

Joseph then exited the house, jacket in hand.  He was tired and felt directionless, but he was appreciative for any chance to get out of the house.  He gave his uncles a weak smile as he approached the truck.

“Hop on in, Cal.”  Freckle said, opening the door wide for him. “This will be fun.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve shot a rifle.” Cal replied as he crawled into the truck.  Ethan immediately put his arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“Guess what came in the mail yesterday?”

“What?”

Ethan held up a sealed envelope from England. “I haven’t read it yet, but every letter Rocky has sent has had a special part just for you in it and I imagine this one is no different.  We’ll give him a reply as soon as possible.”

Joseph held the envelope in his hands, touching it with reverence. “He’s been sending me letters?”

“Why of course!”  Freckle said, closing the truck door behind him. “Remember what I said earlier? He’d swim the Atlantic for you.”

Joseph leaned back in the seat as the truck left for the rifle range.  Once Ethan got the truck into its highest gear, he put his right arm around the back of Joseph’s head and pulled him to his shoulder while the kid rested. To think that this boy thirteen years ago was small enough to be picked up and carried around.  Now he was a young tom cat still figuring things out, but this morning was meant to be a break from all the problems they had.  The task was simple, remember how to use a rifle effectively.

“Do we need to go over the basics again?”  Ethan asked as he prepped the rifle.

Freckle gazed off into the distance. A metal plate stood 500 yards away, hewn from scrap steel.  It swung gently in the midwestern breeze, just enough movement to be noticeable. Joseph looked out through a pair of binoculars, sizing up the challenge Ethan developed for them at the rifle range. They only had about an hour before they’d need to head back to the farm.

“It’s a little dark yet, don’t you think?”  Freckle asked Ethan.  Ethan said nothing, focusing instead on loading the stripper clips.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be able to hit anything from here.”  Cal added, setting down the binoculars.

Ethan rose from his seat and handed the two younger men hearing protection.  He looked at Joseph with a face that was oddly devoid of emotion.  It was still Ethan before them but there was something… off.

“Live or die, Cal.”  He said to Joseph.  Turning toward the target, Ethan adjusted his sights and loaded the gun.  Raising it to his shoulder, he steadied his breath.  The front post was big enough to cover the whole target, which is why he preferred to hold the top of the sight just below the target.  If his aperture was the face of a clock, he was letting the front sight rest at the 6 o’clock position.  Ethan could see the target clearly now, although his forty-year-old eyes were starting to lose their sharpness. He struggled for a moment to steady himself, but years of practice and training quickly returned him to form.  Of all the skills he had developed over the years, shooting a rifle had stuck with him the most.  Squeezing the trigger, the rifle jolted to life in his hands, sending its deadly payload at twice the speed of sound toward the target.

Ethan held the rifle there in his hands, steadying himself on the target again.  He worked the bolt as fast as lightning and as soon as the distinctive ring of the target reached his ears, Ethan pulled the trigger again, and again, and again, and a fifth time for good measure.  All five found their mark and the target now swung with a steady rhythm.  Freckle was impressed, but Joseph was in awe of what he had just witnessed.  Ethan, satisfied, opened the bolt to the rifle and handed it to Freckle. “You want to survive the war to come? Then you must learn how to kill at a distance.”

“I’m not exactly a novice, anymore, Ethan.”

“In terms of weapons at close range, no.  You’re plenty experienced.  But if you can kill the enemy out there…”  Ethan pointed to the metal target, “…then you’ll ensure they can’t get close enough to kill you where you stand.”

Freckle loaded the rifle and took his position.  An old feeling came crawling back from the depths of his soul.  A sinister snicker and smile formed across his face as he held the loaded rifle in his hand.  But a gentle hand found his shoulder and Freckle snapped out of it. “Remember all that practice we used to do, Freckle.  Calm yourself and focus.  You aren’t that kid anymore suppressing his urges, you’re a grown man and father.”

“It’s hard to do.”  Freckle admitted, breathing to calm himself.  Ethan nodded his head in understanding.

“I know it is.  You wanted a better life.  One that was free from this violence. Unfortunately, this world may have other plans for you.”

“What if I lose control?”

“You simply need to focus.”  Ethan then looked at the far-off target that now stopped swinging from his five bullets.  “That out there isn’t a target, it’s an enemy.  An enemy that would love nothing more than to run through you, cross the ocean, and kill everyone you love. You are all that stands in his way, so kill him.”  Ethan’s voice was calm and steady yet underneath brewed a storm that had been quiet for years.  He wasn’t making jokes or taking this training lightly.  No, Ethan was deadly serious.  Freckle could read it on his face, as could Joseph, who turned away, uncomfortable at what his uncle had become in the last two minutes.

Bacon sizzled on the stovetop as Ivy and Freckle worked in tandem to deliver breakfast.  After over a decade of marriage the two had become used to each other’s patterns.  Joseph thought it was beautiful how the two of them moved around each other almost like they were in a dance.  Freckle took a moment to peck Ivy on the cheek while he flipped a pancake.  Ivy, meanwhile, effortlessly split her time between preparing other ingredients and keeping their young children from fighting or making a mess.  Despite their tender ages, Ivy and Freckle made marriage and parenting look effortless in a way that almost made Ethan ashamed.

“Amazing, isn’t it?”  Joseph said.

“Yeah, Cal.  Find yourself a woman like that and you’ll be set for life.”

“Did you and Isabella…”

Ethan shook his head.  “No.  You’re a bit too young to remember all the details, but she and I… I guess you could say we each danced in our own way.  You think this impressive, you should see the two of them on the dance floor.”

Ivy spotted the two of them and waved them over.  “Come on and eat, boys, we’re going to be late.”

“For Nina?  With respect, its not like she’s got places to be.”  Ethan said as he sat down.

“True, but I believe a certain someone said he had to be back at the café by lunchtime.”  Ivy replied, winking at Joseph as Ethan recalled his own commitments.

“Right, right.  Eat up, then.” Freckle said, sitting down next to Ivy and helping keep the boys under control. “Are you three excited to go out with your cousins?”

“Yes!”  Mary said, hurrying through breakfast with an appetite that was shared between herself, Daniel, and their uncle Rocky.

“And we better write a reply to our flyboy across the sea.”  Ethan added, motioning for Joseph to pull out the letter.

St. Charles, Missouri

These days things were often quite around Nina’s house.  Not that she minded the peace so much.  Nearly two decades of raising two boys on her own was a feat to marvel at, and despite many rough patches she could say that she was proud of Calvin and Rocky both. Trimming flowers out back, she stood up and massaged her lower spine and hips.  Age was starting to catch up with her.  She was sixty-one years old now and looked forward to scaling back her small-time laundry business.  Through Ivy’s father she had even been receiving a little money on the side through means that Reuben assured her were fully legal.  Something about interest rates and the recovering markets.

“Nina?  Are you in the yard?”  Ivy called from around the front door.  Nina remembered a particularly unique meeting with Ivy about an important matter she hadn’t yet been given the details to.

“Yes, come on in through the gate, dear.  Should I put on tea or bake something for the wee ones?”

Ivy opened the latch to the white picket gate and closed it gently behind her.  Stylish as always, Ivy sported bright colors and a basic-trimmed dress that reflected the frugality of the times.  She and Calvin were better off than many others, but they still weren’t exactly rich. “The kids actually have a playdate with Ethan’s children today.

“You seem to have quite the confidence in Calvin’s ability to keep those children out of trouble.”

“Oh please, Nina, if he can handle Rocky he can handle his boys.”

“I suppose you’re right.  A mother always worries though.  Allow me to bring out some tea anyway and clean myself up.”

Ivy made herself at home on the back patio, marveling at the garden Nina had been crafting for years.  Without Rocky around to do something stupid that destroys parts of it, Nina had managed to take her basic flower plots and mature them into a small oasis in the middle of a growing city.

“Now, what was all this about?”  Nina asked as she came out of the house with tea for the two of them.

Ivy hesitated to give an answer, not sure of how to broach the subject.  Nina gave her a knowing look.  “It’s about my son, isn’t it?  I would hope he is treating you well—”

“What?!  No, no, of course he is.  Calvin is a great husband and father! Honestly, I’m surprised you of all people would be asking about that.”

“I meant no offense, dear. But if it’s not about Calvin, then what’s the matter?”

“Well… it actually does have to do with Calvin.  Sort of…  Him and this war going on in Europe.”

Nina’s smile faded and she adjusted her glasses.  “I see.  Yes, there’s a lot to be concerned about.  I pray for peace every day.”

“I’m worried for Calvin.”

“He doesn’t want to fight, does he?  Not to worry, Ivy.  Give me five minutes with my son and I’ll set him—”

“No, he doesn’t want to fight, Nina.  The problem is the boys think a draft is coming.  It’s not just Calvin either.”

“Oh?  Who else thinks a draft is on the horizon?”

“Ethan does.”

Now Nina got serious.  She and Ethan didn’t always see eye to eye but he was indeed a veteran who had seen horrors Nina could hardly imagine. If he thought a draft was coming, that did not bode well. “Oh…”  She said, pouring another cup for herself.  “I may need the brandy for this.”

“Brandy?  I didn’t know you drank.”

Nina gave Ivy a little smile.  “I don’t advertise it to anyone, but even through the thick of Prohibition I still kept Carroll’s old stash down in the cellar.  Not even the boys knew about it.  Would you like some?”

“It’s only eleven o’clock…”

“And neither of us are going anywhere for a while, are we?”

“In that case, I’d love a glass.”  Ivy said.  The two women sipped out of two tumblers while also drinking tea.

“I should probably tell Calvin to become a conscientious objector.  The local priest won’t be much help, being a veteran of the last war himself, but there are others I can call upon to vouch for him.”

“That’s the problem though, Nina.  Calvin doesn’t object to fighting.  He doesn’t want to be seen as a coward either.”

“If you ask me, there’s nothing cowardly about not wanting to be involved in another European war.”

“Ethan told him the same thing.  I don’t know what’s with Calvin, and I’m not sure even Calvin knows how to feel about it, but its…  Nina, I’m scared.  What if he does go off to fight?  What if he never comes back?”

“Did Ethan have anything to say about that?”  Nina asked.

“Well, he does have faith in Calvin, but he’s the one that recommended I come to you.  Aren’t you worried for him?”

Nina took a deep breath and thought about it.  “Of course I’m worried for him, dear.  I’m worried about Rocky too if you can believe it.  Here I thought he’d find some way to die doing something ridiculous and juvenile.  Imagine my surprise when this same child that I once caught digging up my flower bed in the middle of the night without any clothes on managed to become part of his majesty’s air force.  Now I imagine he is fighting the Germans on the daily, doing things so dangerous that I’m glad his mother isn’t around to witness it.  If Calvin had to do the same sort of thing, I don’t think I would sleep a wink until he came home.”

“So you’re just as worried as I am.  What can we do about it?”

Nina again thought for a moment, stirring her tea and taking another sip of brandy.  “Unfortunately, dear.  Whatever happens will happen.  We must have faith in Calvin and in the almighty.”

“What if he’s hurt or killed?  What if he comes back a completely different person?”

“I don’t have a good answer for you, Ivy.  For as long as there have been men, there has been war.  And for as long as there has been war there has been worried wives and mothers.  My son has mentioned the possibility to me before but I suspect he’s withholding a lot of information to spare me.  Tell me, what is he doing about all this?  I’m sure he must be worried sick about having to leave you and the children.”

“He is worried, and Calvin has asked Ethan to train him just in case.  I know their hearts are in the right place, but it’s hard to watch Ethan teach my husband to fight in a war.  It’s just one big reminder of what might happen.”

“It’s never a guarantee that men come back from their duties, but of all the people who could be giving Calvin assistance, the fact that Ethan Kelly is teaching him what he knows is a comforting thought.”

“How is that comforting? To me it just feels like going to war is inevitable.”

“Perhaps it is.  I would like this country to stay out of the war if possible, but there may come a day when our lads must go overseas.  So if it is inevitable, then who would you want to teach our Calvin to survive?”

Ivy now stirred her own cup.  Only one name came to mind.  “Ethan Kelly.”

“Exactly.  I’ve heard through Rocky and others what Ethan did in the last war.  Surely it was exaggerated, but he certainly survived and came home a functioning man.  If he has something to teach Calvin, then it is probably for the best that Ethan teaches him.  Do you doubt his ability?”

“Well, no, not really.  In fact, Ethan is a great friend.  He’s almost like an older brother to us.  And I’ve seen what he can do.  I just…  I know Calvin doesn’t want to be like that.  If he has to become this beast… a legend so terrifying that his enemies name him, then he’s not going to be the Calvin I know and love anymore.”

“And perhaps that is where you need to have some faith.”

Ivy rolled her eyes.  “If you’re suggesting I pray…”

“Actually, I suggest praying frequently.  But in this case I mean faith in Calvin.  He’ll come back to you if he can, and if he can’t then he knows you and the children will be taken care of.”

“I can try, Nina.  But what else can I do to stop worrying?”

“I’m afraid there’s no cure for that.  If you are as devoted to him as he is to you, then you will both be worried sick for each other if you are separated.  About the only advice I can offer you, dear, is to enjoy the time you have with Calvin while he is around.  I lost my Carroll far too young, but when he was gone I had to keep persevering.  There were two boys that needed a mother and a household to be ran.  The advantage you have is that there are people all around you who are willing to help.”

“That doesn’t really help me feel better…”

“I know it doesn’t.  The only thing would be if the war ended before our country needs to get involved.  If you would like though, I would speak to my son about the matter.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Then I will, but only if you and Calvin also sit down to talk things through.  Now then, more brandy before the boys come to pick you up?”

Forest Park, St. Louis, Missouri

“Come on, Will!  Try to keep up!”  Emily said as she and Mary ran off from supervision.

“You aren’t getting us in trouble again I hope.”  Will said as he picked up the pace.

“What?  No, of course not!  We’ll just stay away from anyone that looks wealthy… other than Aunt Mitzi and Uncle Sable.”

Calvin leaned back against the tree, watching the clouds go past as Mary ran off with her cousins.  “They’ll be fine, right?”

Ethan gave Calvin a wink and a smile.  “I’m sure it’ll be okay.  Now Daniel on the other hand…”  The two men watched as Daneil antagonized a goose which immediately tried to run him down.  The boy didn’t seem to understand that the goose wasn’t playing around though and so he took the abuse in stride.  Calvin shook his head.  “I should have prayed harder to not have a son like his uncle.”

“Oh come now, I’m sure Rocky was ten times worse.  Has Daniel lit anything on fire yet?”

“Thankfully no… but I’m too afraid to give him maple syrup.  I hope that came from Ransom’s side of the family and not mine.”

“Daddy, look!”  Rowan exclaimed holding a butterfly in his palm.

“Wow son, a monarch!  Just remember to be gentle with her, she’ll float away like a leaf when she’s ready.”

Sure enough, the little thing took flight at the slightest breeze and floated up into the sky.  Rowan was entranced.  “Where do they go?”

“Mexico, I’m told.  And they eat milkweed on the way down.”

“Does milkweed have milk in it?”

“I… uh… I’m not sure.”  Calvin said, struggling to remember a biology book he read years ago.

“Wait, then why do we get milk from cows?”

“They, uh, let’s just say that cows are more reliable at giving us milk.”

“Could other animals give us milk? Wait, how is milk made?

Calvin, not wanting to explain to a five year old how breasts work, deflected.  “How about you try to find some milkweed instead?  Maybe you’ll find more monarch butterflies?”

Rowan got up, excited, but was still confused.  “What does milkweed look like?”

“Um…  Why don’t you find a plant with milk coming out of it?  Then you’ll know if it’s any good.”

“Okay!”  He said, starting to run off.

“Woah there, Rowan.  Take your brother with you.”

“Yeah Rowan, you can let Daniel taste test it for you.”  Ethan teased.

“Don’t give my boys any ideas.”  Calvin said with a stern look.

“Oh come on, you know Daniel would try to taste it anyway.  Besides, I don’t think milkweed is poisonous… probably not, right?”  Ethan said, looking to Riley for help.

Riley looked at her brother and Calvin like they were idiots.  “How have you two managed to keep all your kids alive this long?  Yes, milkweed is poisonous.”

Calvin jumped up immediately and ran after his boys.  “Hold on, I decided I’m coming with.  For, you know, father-son bonding!”

“He still doesn’t know what milkweed looks like, does he?”  Riley asked, shaking her head.

“Nope, and neither do I.  That’s what happens when you grow up working in a mine.”

Just then a friendly face gave a wave and Riley stood up.  “There’s Casy, gotta go.”

“Alright, enjoy the afternoon.”  Ethan said, waving to his sister as she left.  He also acknowledged Casy at a distance as the two men waved once to each other before Casy departed.  That just left Ethan and Joseph together in the park.

“So, what does the letter say?”

Joseph read part of it aloud, clearing his throat first and adjusting the paper in front of him.

To Ethan, Calvin, Ivy, and my boy, Joseph,

I must admit that this flying is more dangerous than I originally thought. The battle just started today, although I’m sure by the time you all are reading this I’ll have already been battling the hun for a few weeks.

Anyway, I’m disappointed to say that I have not yet gotten a kill.  It appears I’m almost as useless with machine guns on a plane as I am with a rifle.  Sorry, Ethan, I hoped to make you proud. But I am safe and learning things quickly.  One slight problem I noticed… it turns out I’m older than almost everyone else in the squadron! The “kids” as we’d probably call them in Missouri, are mostly around your age, Joseph.  I’m very glad to know you are safe and sound across the Atlantic because things aren’t looking too good over here.  I can’t say exact numbers since my CO doesn’t want me giving out information that could get to the enemy in case our mail is intercepted, but we are outnumbered and some of these German pilots can fly circles around us!  There is one in particular that is proving to be very annoying.

Other than that, Evelyn and I are doing alright.  She’s got herself a fairly safe job helping treat soldiers in a local manor.  As for myself, you all know I’ll find a way to survive this.  We’ve all dealt with worse.  I just wish I knew how to act in a way that made the other pilots respect me.  I know I’m too old for this fight, but the RAF needs us all and this is where I’ve been placed.

I do have to keep this letter brief to save weight, so Calvin and Ethan, I hope you are doing well and keeping an eye on my son.  And to Joseph…

Joseph flipped the paper over to the back side.

If I had known what kind of a mess Evelyn and I would be getting ourselves into, I never would have left St. Louis.  Leaving eighteen months ago is something I’m always going to regret, but I know you are capable of carrying on without me. I miss you so much and I hope to hear from you soon.  When we meet again I want to hear all about the things you’ve been up to and the life you’ve been building for yourself.  Just remember that you don’t need to make me proud or prove yourself to me at all.  I’m already very proud of you and I love you so much.  I know your mother is proud of you too.  Not a day goes by without me thinking of you.  Stay safe and listen to your uncles, they’ll take care of you.

--R. Rickaby.

Tears fell on the letter as Joseph looked up at Ethan.  “He’s proud of me… and yet all I’ve done for the last few months is roam around Colorado getting kicked out of bars.”

“He’d probably be worried for you if we told him where you were, but I can guarantee you that Rocky would be madder at Freckle and myself than you, Cal.  He’ll always be proud of you.”

“I don’t even know where to begin.  How do I tell him how much I’ve screwed up?”

Ethan put his hand on Joseph’s shoulder.  “Cal, you’re still alive.  You didn’t kill anyone, and you’re back home where you belong now. You didn’t screw anything up that a little time and patience can’t fix. I don’t know where to start on explaining how things are for you right now, but I can read between the lines and I think Rocky is struggling a bit.”

“You think so?  He usually brushes off complications like ‘being too old to fly an airplane against the Luftwaffe’.”

“True, but he also rarely acknowledges when things aren’t going well.  He’s being unusually honest, which tells me that this age thing and combat is starting to wear away at him.”

“What do we do?”

“What any family does, Cal.  We give your father some encouragement.  Think about what to write down and we’ll start working on the letter tonight.”

Washington University, St. Louis, Missouri

Jacob finished his work for the day in the lab and, after a lengthy sanitation process, was relieved to be back in street clothes.  A modest suit that fit his lean frame nicely hung off his body and was like a second skin to him.  Years of being under Mordecai Heller’s tutelage had taught him the importance of dressing professionally and respectably.  He always tried to have a demeanor that matched his attire when around the campus.  It often impressed professors and even the dean.  Before them was a young, intelligent young man with more potential than anyone would have ever expected from an alley cat out of New York City.  Of course, he never would have gotten this far without Mordecai.

He often relieved that night in his head.  Palmeri had grabbed him, untied him, and used him as a hostage.  Even without glasses, Jacob could see that his former boss and would-be killer was afraid of what had come for him.  And like a shadow come alive, Mordecai Heller appeared out of the darkness, gun drawn.  He had feigned defeat, lowering himself and his pistol to the ground.  But a sudden crack of the pistol sent a bullet clean through the gang boss and sent him to the ground, dead before he even hit the floor.  Jacob remembered the blood splattering in his hair and the deafening sound of the gun, but then there Mordecai was, on his knees with his arms open wide.  Jacob rushed up to Heller and buried himself in the man’s chest, not wanting to let go.  Mordecai led him out of that hell hole and into a cab where they both slipped away into the night.  That was the night the universe had given Jacob a father.  An imperfect one, to be sure.  Heller was still often reserved, cold, sometimes distant, and not at all comfortable being in public places.  But through Dr. Bauman’s therapy sessions and a herculean effort on the part of Mordecai, Jacob eventually had someone who he was proud to call ‘dad’.  And his dad was waiting for him in the lobby of the building.

Jacob froze, a smile growing on his face.  There was Heller, dressed in his usual black suit, every hair laid in place.  It was almost too perfect for Jacob to mess up.  Almost.  He lunged for his dad and hugged him tight.  “Dad!”

Mordecai tolerated the physical affection, even returning it as best as he could muster.  “Hello, Jacob.  The dean said I might find you here, being industrious and useful.”

“He really said that?”

“It was implied through his tone.  It sounds like you’ve been making quite the impression of people around here.”

“Yes, Dad, I have.  All A’s in the last semester.”

“I’m glad to know all of our tutoring sessions paid off handsomely for you.  Come, your aunts, cousin, and grandmother are waiting back at the car.”

“They’re here too?!”  Jacob explained, excited.

“Yes, yes, they are.  Calm yourself though, there’s no need to make a scene. We are here to celebrate your achievement.  If my father had known his grandson would be achieving a doctorate in Physics he would have been over the moon with joy.”

“I just wish I really was his grandson.”  Jacob said, doubting himself for a moment.  Heller picked up on this immediately and stopped them both in the middle of the campus.

“Jacob, I never want you to think of yourself as being a stranger to this family.  My sisters see you as their nephew, Levi sees you as his cousin, and Tzipporah treats you as nothing less than her grandson.  And as for myself, it has taken a long time for me to come around to the idea, but you are my son.  I could not ask for a greater gift in life than you, and I am happy to give you my name.”

“Jacob Heller… oh Dad, I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t.  All I am saying is that you should not let such thoughts cloud your mind.  You are my son, always.  Now then, what’s this physics program they have you enrolled in?”

“Nuclear physics, father. The cutting edge of science.”

“And you feel you are up to the challenge?”

“I think so.  Only one way to find out.”

“Then we indeed have something to celebrate.”  Heller said, walking alongside his son.

“What about you, Dad?  I assume you are still working for that businessman.”

“Yes, things are beginning to return to normal out in New York.  There’s been a new development in the community, however.”

“Development?”

“People in Europe have been going missing under the Nazi regime.  Most are political prisoners I suspect, but we are focusing on friends and relatives of our neighbors.  Distant relations of our family have gone missing as well.”

“That’s concerning…”

“It is, which is why I want you to know that should I cease communications at any point, it is for a good reason.”

Jacob stopped again.  “Dad… what are you planning?”

“Nothing… yet.  I would like to see how this war over Britain plays out before committing myself fully, but there are thousands of people on a list we have been building in New York and someone is going to need to figure out what is going on.”

“Don’t tell me you’re planning to be a spy.”

“No, of course not.  But if England stands this test then I might be more useful in London than in New York.”

“You know who else is in England?”

“Cousins of ours?”  Mordecai guessed.

“No.  Apparently Rocky Rickaby has become a pilot for the RAF.”

Heller’s expression was that of disbelief.  “They let that buffoon fly an airplane?  Who told you of this?”

“Ivy Pepper last time I talked to her.”

Chapter Text

RAF Coltishall, England

“Full section scramble!” The radio operator called out of the window.  Rocky, half asleep in the lawn chair, jumped up as Kensington passed him.  “Come on, old boy!  They’re coming right for us!”

It was all a blur for Rocky by this point.  He was going on eight straight days of flying from dawn to dusk.  He had to get up into the air, fly circles around a rendezvous zone, engage the enemy, return home, refuel and refit the plane, and then get back out there again. The Luftwaffe were relentless, able the cycle their pilots better and overwhelm the RAF through sheer numbers.  Only a few hundred pilots were in southern England, and they were facing off against a few thousand Germans.  Each pilot had to take down an average of three German planes just to keep pace, but Rocky was woefully behind in that regard.  Flying as Kensington’s number two, Rocky had yet to take the lead in a flight.  Most of time blue flight was tasked with protecting the other aircraft from 109s who would dive in like falcons.  Every time Rocky lined up a shot, he would miss or barely graze an enemy plane.  It was frustrating to him.  He could hear what the others said when they thought they were out of earshot.

“Rickaby’s too old for this”, “We must be desperate if someone as old as my dad is flying”, “Did you know Rocky over there is older than Bader?”

“Rocky, focus!”  Kensington ordered as he tightened Rocky’s straps and checked his wingman’s parachute.  “Now check over Nathan.”  Kensington said while he donned his gloves and flight mask.

Rocky, tired, was merely going through the motions.  The last time he was this fatigued was when he was handling Mitzi’s errands solo.  For several months it was essentially him and him alone that did things like retrieve liquor and evade enemies.  Right about when Ethan and Freckle joined the crew he was near the end of his rope and, looking back, it would likely not have lasted more than a few weeks.  This time it was a bit different though.  Rocky could physically do the job, but his mind was running in circles from being overtired.  He could barely sleep now despite the fatigue.

“You alright, Rocky?”  Nathan asked, snapping Rocky back to attention.

“Uh… yeah… I’m alright.  Fit as a fiddle.”

“Your mind seems to be drifting.”

“Never mind my mind, young lieutenant.   My mind is as right as rain.”  He said, winking and faking a smile.

“Did anyone tell you before that you’re a bad liar?” Nathan said with a smirk.  His youth gave him energy that Rocky simple didn’t have anymore.  Rocky huffed. “How many days of flying has it been now?”

“At least a week straight.  But I think you forgot about something.”

“What?!”  Rocky asked, alarmed as he looked around him.  “Did I forget my pants again?”

“Ha, no!  You’re finally getting leave.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right.  Only a day though.”

“Let’s get back in one piece and then you can go see Evelyn.”  Nathan said before putting on his mask and sprinting to his plane.  Rocky followed behind, slower than in younger days.  His legs were sore, and muscles hurt from all the flying they had been doing.  He never would have guessed how much physical exertion was required to fly an airplane, but now Rocky was finding out.

“Bloody hell, where are they this time?”  Bader radioed to headquarters as his squadron did another lap around their zone, waiting for three other squadrons to get airborne.

“Two-four-two leader.  Adjacent squadrons are still several minutes out; you will need to engage alone.”

“Dammit!”  Bader said to himself.  On paper the big wing was a perfect tactic.  Overwhelming fighters intercept German bombers and wear down the Nazi menace through sheer determination.  It didn’t even matter to him whether the bombers were coming or going.  What mattered was to get the planes down and capture the crews.

“Bader, I see them!”  One of the rookie pilots shouted into his radio.

“Friendlies?”  Bader asked.

“No sir!  Hostiles, ten o’clock low.”

Bader dipped his wing to take a look and saw a string of Stukas coming in to bomb a handful of smaller targets.

“Tally ho then, boys.  Blue flight, cover our advance.”

“Sir!”  Kensington said.  It was becoming routine now.  He didn’t know what other squadrons were up to, but Bader gave lessons and lectures any chance they got, reinforcing the same tactics over and over again.  Pulling higher into the sky, Kensington led blue flight to the same level that the fighter escort was sure to be.  Looking ahead he spotted the small black dots in the distance.  Twenty 109s were coming toward his three hurricanes.

“It’s going to be another tough one, lads.”  Kensington said.

Rocky and Nathan both took a deep breath as they braced for the fight that was coming toward them.

At the front of the formation, Felix led the charge.  Spotting the familiar sight of three hurricanes, he focused on them specifically, radioing to the rest of his squadron their orders.  “Leon, you stay with me.  The rest of you defend the bombers.”

Pushing their throttles to the firewall, their 109s charged forward, closing the distance.  Unlike last time, Felix did not have the advantage of altitude.  Kensington had evened the playing field somewhat by bringing his flight up to their level.  He was beginning to figure out which pilots were which.  They all flew their aircraft a little differently.  This flight of three always charged at them despite the odds.  It was admirable even if futile.  Though no one else could see him, Felix gave a small salute to his enemies, respecting their tenacity.  This was in sharp contrast to Kensington who radioed his own orders.

“Two-four-two leader, enemy fighters inbound from my position at twenty thousand.  We’re engaging.  Rocky, Nathan, let’s kill these bastards.”

The lone flight of hurricanes got within gun range of the cannons.  Felix and his wingman opened up.  This time all three allied pilots knew how to weave around the incoming shells and did so.  Rocky shook his head to keep himself awake.  Drawing a bead on a lone 109, Rocky fired his guns, clipping the wing of a single plane.  He managed to score a hit!  But it was far from enough.  The three hurricanes clashed with the twenty 109s.  Iron crosses zipped past at their closing speed of six hundred miles per hour and, to Rocky’s dismay, most of them continued on toward the rest of the squadron.  However, neither did not.  Both were veteran pilots, and Rocky now recognized the distinctive markings of the lead plane.

“It’s him!”  Rocky radioed to Nathan and Kensington.

“Yeah, it is.  Remember what we talked about.  We’ll try to trap him.”

Felix pulled up with his wingman following close behind.  They were trading speed for altitude, finding another cloud layer to duck into.  The pair of Messerschmidts disappeared into the clouds, concerning Rocky.  Their plans relied on maintaining visual contact, but Kensington thought he knew where the two enemies would pop out at.  “Stick to the plan, guys.”

“Are you sure?”  Nathan responded.

“Yes.  I’m the bait, you two pounce when the time is right.”

It was risky, but the three of them figured they didn’t have much choice.  This German pilot would come down hard on a lone pilot and Kensington was the most talented of the three of them.  If any in their flight could last more than a few seconds against this ace, it was him.  Sure enough, Rocky spotted two dots popping out of the clouds and rolled to intercept.

“There they are.  Let’s get in behind them.”  Rocky said.

“Roger, blue two.  I’m on your wing.”  Nathan replied.  The two planes gained altitude.

“Bring them around, Kensington.  I’ll give them hell.”

“Just try to hit something this time, Rickaby.” Kensington said.  He spotted the incoming Germans and flipped his plane around, the hurricane being able to turn in half the space of the speeding 109s.  Felix saw the maneuver and struggled to keep pace.  However, Leon saw it coming.  Realizing that the other two Hurricanes were somewhere behind them, the veteran of the Spanish Civil War rolled out of the turn and flipped himself around in the other direction instead of following Felix.  Rocky caught on instantly, seeing the German making a wide arc to outflank them.

“Ah hell, they’re splitting up too.”  Rocky said.

“What? But they’re outnumbered!  Why would they split up?”  Kensington asked.

“They both have more experience than us.”  Rocky said, realizing too late that their gamble wasn’t going to pay off.  “We need to get back in formation.”

“Get yourselves out of trouble.  That’s an order.”  Kensington said.  Rocky didn’t like it but now there wasn’t much choice.

“Follow me, Nathan.”  Rocky said, putting his hurricane into a tight turn.  The blood wanted to rush out of his head, which made Rocky’s fatigued state even worse.  If he had anything in his stomach he would be vomiting by now.  Struggling to keep his head up, Rocky just barely completed the turn and were now facing the lone 109.  Another short burst peppered Leon’s plane, but he didn’t flinch.  It was a game of chicken now.

Meanwhile, Kensington prepared for the fight of his life.  He could not out-dive, out-climb, or out-run Felix.  All he could do was out-turn him.  Pulling harder on the stick, Kensington brought himself into another circle as Felix struggled to keep pace.  But the crafty pilot had another idea.  He pulled the 109 up and out of the turn, flipping it over in a barrel roll, and pushing hard on the rudder to give himself a better angle.  Kensington saw this and pulled back harder still, but his speed was dropping quick.  His plane was running out of the energy needed to stay airborne.  If Felix didn’t shoot him down, he’s likely spiral out.

Felix lined up the bead on his plane and pulled the trigger.  Desperate, Kensington rolled away and out of the turn, narrowly missing the twin machine guns.  But now he was out of speed and was no longer turning.  Felix roared past Kensington who attempted to recreate the same situation as before.  At least in a turn he was relatively safe from being shot down.  This time though Felix did not take the bait.  He instead pulled up, seeking the layer of clouds once again.

“Come on, dammit!  Just one hit!”  Rocky gritted his teeth as he and Nathan struggled against Leon.  Leon danced through the sky like his plane was a ballerina.  It was the embodiment of grace.  Every movement was precise, and the energy of his aircraft was seemingly endless.  Meanwhile, Rocky’s flying pattern was becoming erratic with his frustration and fatigue.  Nathan struggled to stay next to Rocky as the two of them twisted and turned to get to the right angle.

Leon radioed to his commander a progress update.  “I’ve got them distracted.  Have you finished their leader?”

“Patience, Leon.  Keep them distracted.”  Felix said with a smile.  He and Kensington both weaved in an out of clouds, both trying to use the weather to their advantage.  Kensington, trying to replicate Bader’s maneuver from their first training mission, found a thick cloudbank and ducked into it.  Once in the middle, he rolled the plane over and dove down until he popped out below the clouds while facing the other direction.  Looking around at his immediate area, Kensington relaxed and leveled out.  “Blue two, I’ve lost him.  What’s your current—”

Shrapnel rocked Kensington’s plane. He didn’t see Felix in his blind spot.  A single mistake turned out to be catastrophic. The hurricane bucked and buckled under the impact of the 109’s autocannon.  Kensington tried to recover but a piercing, deep pain went through him.  Looking down, half his gut was now gone and there was a hole going through the cockpit from back to front.  He gasped for breath but couldn’t fill his lungs.  The doomed Hurricane’s wing ripped off as the plane entered a death roll.  Flames quickly spread through the cockpit.  Kensington could do nothing more.  His eye focused on the picture of a young woman pinned to the instrument panel, her beautiful face smiling back at him while the cockpit filled up with smoke.  Breaking out in a smile, Kensington closed his eyes, whispering into the radio.  “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry?”  Rocky asked back.  He chanced a glance below him and was horrified by what he saw.  Kensington’s plane descended through the clouds and then blew up.  Meanwhile the victorious German was climbing back up to where Rocky and Nathan were now.

“What’s happened?”  Nathan asked.

“We’re alone.”  Rocky said, fighting back tears.

“Kensington?”

“He’s not coming.  We need to finish this.”

Nathan understood now.  Rocky was the most experienced of the two of them, not that it was saying much.  Rocky thought quickly about what to do.  Both of them would be dead if they split up and they would get picked off trying to chase down this other German plane.  He thought hard, banging his hand on his forehead.  “Come on, brain!  Think!”  He growled.

They could turn and wait for the 109s to run low on fuel.  They could make a desperate run for the rest of the squadron and hope someone could help them out.  Bader might be able to chase the two 109s off.  But then Rocky remembered something Bader had told him early on.

“We need to get to lower altitude.”  Rocky told Nathan.  You with me, kid?”

“Yeah, blue two, I’m with you.”

“Dive, now!  Straight past that ace.”  Rocky rolled over sharply and pulled back, diving down.  Leon looked behind him and was confused.  The two Hurricanes were exposing themselves to being followed.  Were they after Felix?  No, that would be suicide.

Felix smiled as he saw the two Hurricanes coming towards him.  “So, they want to try their luck?  Let them.”

Rocky kept his plane inverted in the dive, aiming right at Felix.  It was risky because the engine could cut out, but Rocky had figured out a way to prevent that.  He had to keep pulling back on the stick slightly, making the plane do a wide inverted loop.  This brought him closer to Felix.  Jager did not flinch.  It was another game of chicken, but this time it was one-on-one.  He could see the approaching pilot.  Somehow, Felix felt like this pilot was unlike the rest.  This was the one who had evaded him before, and now they were going to crash into each other.  Rocky was determined to either blow past Felix or smash into him at over four hundred miles per hour.

“Rocky, pull out of it!”  Nathan pleaded.

“No, I want him to know fear.”  Rocky said through his tears.

Felix’s smile began to fade as the two planes closed in.  Was this pilot crazy?  The answer, of course, was a resounding ‘yes’. Now Felix reconsidered his tactic.  If this pilot was going to try and kill them both, then maybe he had to be more careful?  Yes, caution was warranted.  Sometimes, when hunting a wolf, the wolf tries to become the predator and turn on the hunter.  Felix knew this well.  Just as the two planes were about to collide, Felix pushed down on the stick.  Surprised, he caught a brief glimpse of the angry face of Rocky Rickaby while the two passed each other.  The pilot wasn’t just crazy, he was furious!

Another blur past Felix caught his attention.  It was Leon in pursuit.  Felix got on the radio.  “Leon, fall back.  We’ve done our job.”

“No, I’m going to end this one.”  Leon said, chasing the pair of Hurricanes.  Nathan saw the pursuing airplane.  “Rocky, we’ve got one behind us.”

“Good.”  Rocky said, rolling his airplane over. He pushed the stick down, steeping the dive.  All three planes were now plummeting toward the Earth like Stukas.

“Rocky, what are we doing?”

“I’m improvising.”  Rocky said, grasping the flaps lever with his hand.

“What?”

“When I tell you to, feather the throttle and deploy your flaps.”

“Are you certain?”

“No.”  Rocky responded calmly.

“Dear God, help us.”  Nathan said under his breath.

Rocky watched the altimeter until is read nine thousand feet.  It was as low as he dared to go.

“Now!”  Rocky shouted onto the radio.  Pulled the throttle back to idle, the Hurricane shuttered as the propeller cut through the air backwards.  He then deployed the flaps.  The Hurricane strained and groaned under the change in forces, but the sturdy frame held fast.

Leon’s eyes grew wide as the two airplanes began pulling out of their dive quicker than he could react.

“Close flaps!”  Rocky ordered, retracting them and pushing the nose back down.  Nathan tried his best to keep up but Rocky was operating on intuition instead of training.  It was impossible to get his timing in sync with the gray tabby cat.  Rocky now could see the German in front of him.  Leon struggled to pull back on the stick, and he too slowed down his throttle.  The ocean waves and the coastline were coming toward him fast.

While Leon slowed himself down and began to pull up, Rocky guessed where the German would be in front of him.  Gunning the throttle again, the Hurricane surged ahead.  Rolling his plane on its left wing, Rocky could see the 109 pull out of its dive at tree-top level.  Rocky rolled over all the way and pounced.  Leon pulled up, relieved to see the sky.  He was only just beginning to think about where the two crazy RAF pilots went when he heard the distinctive sound of bullets bouncing off of his fuselage.

Rocky rolled in behind Felix.  The 109 had to bleed off enough speed to avoid crashing into the sea and were now going as slow as the Hurricane.  Rocky didn’t even bother to lead the target.  The 109 was in front of his guns at point-blank range.  Letting loose with a three second burst, Rocky send hundreds of 303 bullets tearing into the German fuselage.

Leon could do nothing as his plane and himself were pelted with overwhelming machine gun fire.  Leon slumped forward as his plane rolled over, pitching itself into a shallow dive that ended with it crashing into the cliffs and beach.  Rocky’s expression relaxed and he dipped his wing while passing the wreckage.  Nathan’s voice cracked over the radio.

“Rocky, you got him!”

After a moment of contemplation, Rocky replied.  “We need to fly home.”

Up above, Felix shook his head in sadness. The experienced pilot had never seen a maneuver like that, though he had heard of such things from the last war.  But back then it was easy to pull out of dives like that in biplanes.  They were slow and cumbersome.  Checking his gauges, Felix realized that he had to return to France immediately or bail out over the Channel.  Once again, knowing he’d be on fumes, he turned toward home and followed his squadron across the sea.

Word spread quickly on the ground.  While Rocky climbed out of his Hurricane, Bader was already on the ground, still dressed in his flight suit.

“Well done, Rickaby!”  Bader said, leaning on the wing. “Nathan tells me you got your first.” 

Jack came running up and immediately noticed the problem.  “How did you manage to land this bird?”  He asked, inspecting the damaged flaps.

“Um…” Rocky was too tired to consider the damage he must have caused by pulling his high-speed dive.  Bader took notice immediately.

“That is a good question.  What did you do to her to bend the flaps this far out of shape?”

“I uh…  we had to dive away.”

“And?”

“And I pulled down the flaps to get out of the dive.  The German flew right past me.”

Bader could hardly believe what Rocky was telling him.  “You pulled out of a high-speed dive using your flaps?”

“Uh… that’s correct.  …sir.”

“That’s reckless.  You could have died.  And Kensington allowed you to perform this maneuver?”

Rocky stood there, his lip trembling.  “Sir… Kensington’s gone.”

Bader took a step back.  Though no one should be surprised when a pilot dies, losing a flight leader was a setback for the squadron.  Someone who wouldn’t be so easily replaced.

“I’m… sorry to hear that, sergeant.  You certain he didn’t bail out?”

Rocky just looked down at the grass, placing his hand on the damaged wing of his airplane, feeling the fabric torn by a bullet.

Bader shook his head, running a hand through his hair.  “Take your leave, Nathan will fly with me tomorrow.  You’ll lead blue flight when you return.”

Luftwaffe Airbase, Normandy, France

Felix threw his jacket over the back of his dinner chair.  Before him was the rest of the squadron on one long table.  To his right was an empty seat, a single candle lit in place of a dinner plate.  That’s where Leon would normally be seated.  Adolf, their commander, was silent, overlooking a table that now had several vacancies.  Only a few weeks before the whole squadron was excited to fly against a proper enemy.  That excitement was gone, and their morale was wavering.

Each pilot said their own silent prayer while the room was filled with the metallic sounds of dinner plates and silver platters making their rounds by the wait staff.  Felix turned to Adolf.

“Leon, he…”

“I know.  He was a good pilot.”  Adolf said.

“No, he was one of the best.  Two new pilots tricked him.”

“New pilots?  Are you certain?”

“Neither had a victory badge on them.  I had killed their leader only moments before.”

Galland contemplated this, thinking about how these sorts of actions might have a lasting effect on the wider war his namesake Fuhrer had promised was the dawn of a new day for the fatherland.

“We must keep flying, Felix.  Intelligence indicates that the RAF is near the end.  We will crush them soon enough.”

Felix looked back at the candle.  “And what will be the cost, I wonder?”

“We will make certain that Leon did not die in vain.  The bombers will have new targets soon.”

“New targets?  We’re already bombing their airfields.”

“The Fuhrer was incensed by the RAF attacking Berlin last week.  He wants to destroy London.”

“London?  All of London?”

Adolf smiled and nodded his head.  “At all hours of the day.  Street by street it will be destroyed and made an example of to the rest of the world.”

Across the channel, Rocky dragged his tired, sore body to the cottage.  Out front, Evelyn was entertaining a guest and her children.  Rocky stopped and took a deep breath, standing upright.  He didn’t want Evelyn to think he was running himself ragged. Opening the front gate, Rocky slipped through, letting the wooden door shut with a clank.  Eveyln looked up from her conversation.

“Rocky!  You should have called!”

“I’m sorry, my love.  There wasn’t much time.”  He said.  The two closed the distance and kissed each other.

“You’re tired.  How long will you be here?”

“Only a day I’m afraid.”

“And who is this lovely lady?”  Rocky asked, directing his gaze to the young woman before them.

“Are you in dad’s squadron?”  One of the young boys asked when he came up to Rocky.

Evelyn stifled a laugh.  “Rocky, this is Ava.”

“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”  Rocky said, doing his best to be a perfect gentleman.

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you.  An American fighting for Britain.  We only hope there’s more people like you back across the pond.”

“Opinions are still split.”  Rocky said.  “So, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Evelyn stepped in to explain.  “Ava is from London.  She came up here to stay for a long weekend because her husband should be getting time off in a few days.  We ran into each other at the manor and thought the children could use some fresh air at the cottage.”

“Yes.”  Ava confirmed.  “Arthur is due to have a day to himself this weekend.”

“I’m sure he’s excited to see the family.  Which squadron is he in?”

“Bader’s squadron.  Do you know Lieutenant Kensington?”

All life faded from Rocky’s face.  Growing pale, the two women looked at him concerned.  “Rocky, honey.  What’s wrong?”

Rocky said nothing, tears welling up in his eyes.  After further prodding from Evelyn, he finally was able to stammer out a few words.  “W-we should talk inside.  Evelyn, w-watch the kids.”

Leading Ava into the cottage, Rocky gestured for Ava to sit down.  Ava looked up at him, growing afraid.  “Rocky, what is it?  What’s wrong?”

“Ma’am… I’m sorry.”  Rocky said, falling into the chair, crying.  “He’s not coming back.”

Ava sat there in shock while Rocky continued.  “I remember you from a photo he showed me.  Arthur loved you more than life.”

Rocky staggered out of the cottage while cries filled the room behind him.  The two boys stopped playing when they heard their mother begin to cry.  Rocky stopped them both, getting on one knee. “Before you two go in there.  I just want you to know that I’m so very sorry.”

“Rocky, what’s all this about?”  Evelyn asked as the two boys ran inside.  Rocky got to his feet and hugged Evelyn tight.

“Kensington is dead.”

“What?  No!  Poor Ava!  The kids…  Are you certain?”

“He just… blew up!  He just blew up.”

St. Louis, Missouri

Ethan laid there awake, watching as the sky began to brighten.  He was all but certain now that a draft would be coming soon.  It was being talked about all over town and in the paper.  Picking up the paper again, he flipped through the different sections until he got to a familiar column written be an adversary.

“Dad?” William asked, still half-asleep.

“What are you doing up so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”  The boy said.

“That makes two of us.  Come on in.”  Ethan said, gesturing for his son to come near.  William complied, sitting down on the couch and laying his head on his father’s chest.

“I dreamed I was being taken away.”

“From your mother?”

“No… from you.”

“From me?  By whom?”

William sniffled.  “Cops.”

“So that’s still on your mind, huh?  Son, I’d never let anyone take you from me.  I hope you know that.”

“But what if you go away?”

Now Ethan understood the full context.  “You mean if I go to war?  I guess you’d have to behave yourself.  You’d probably go live with Grandma and Grandpa, or maybe Uncle Freckle and Aunt Ivy.”

“I want to stay with Aunt Riley.” He said, picking his head up off of Ethan’s chest.  “She’ll keep us safe.”

Ethan recalled those early days, how Riley was almost like a mother to his son.  Even letting him sleep in her bed. “I’m glad to know you and your sister would be alright if I did have to go to fight.”

“I think you should, Dad.”

Now that comment took Ethan by surprise.  “What?  You want me to go fight?”

William thought about how to explain himself.  “I’ve been thinking…”

“Clearly not hard enough.  Son, you and your sister are my priority. War is a young-man’s challenge.”

“Those stories about you are true though.”

“An exaggeration.”

“Dad, I read this the other night.”  William held up the small book of war stories where Ethan was featured.

“Like I said, an exaggeration.”

“No Dad, it isn’t.  I remember mom telling me some of them.  She was right back then, which means you told her.  And you don’t like to mom, right?”

“You’re right… I never lied to your mother.”

“So, then the book is true.”

Ethan laid there in silence for a minute, processing what his son was saying and trying to figure out all the boy’s thoughts.  He finally had to make a confession.  “Alright, you’re partially right.  A lot of the spiritual stuff is fabricated, but the things the books says I did… those are true.”

“I knew it!”  William said, oddly happy.  “Uncle Rocky told me about how you rescued him and Aunt Ivy when you came to St. Louis.  That was all true too, right?”

“He told you about that?... I mean… Yeah, it’s true.”  Ethan said, gently moving William off of him and standing up, stretching.  Ethan’s tall, lean frame towered over William who took in every inch of his father.  The scars on his body, the grey fur running up his back and tawny fur running up his front.

“Is that where you got those scars?”  He asked.

Ethan paused and looked behind him at William, following the boy’s eyes to the scars that were on his side.  “Okay, son, you got me.  Yes, a good amount of what you’ve heard is true.  What about it?  I’m too old to fight another war.  Why do you even want me to go fight?  Seriously, after all those lectures and talks and other things we’ve done, why would you come to the conclusion that I need to go fight?”

“Because Dad, mom was right.  You’re a warrior if all that is true.  That’s why you wear this.”  William said, drawing a symbol on the coffee table. It was like many eyes staring into Ethan’s very soul, the lines were red with blood.  All at once the room grew dark and the symbol came to life.  It was Ogun calling him.

Ethan’s eyes shot awake.  Groaning, he held his head as he stood up.  Another damn dream.  Putting on a shirt and pants, he glanced in his son’s room, making sure the boy was still asleep.  Satisfied, he lumbered down the stairs to start the day.  The café needed some work before it opened for the morning.  Just as he made himself a cup of coffee, a boy ran by the front window of the café and tapped on the glass to get Ethan’s attention.  Tired, Ethan walked to the front door and opened it.

“Yes?”

“Here’s your paper, sir.”  The boy said, tossing the bundled newspaper at Ethan before running off.

“He’s early today.”  Ethan said to himself as he opened the paper.  He flipped to the usual column in the back.  Writing was not his best skill, but for years now he was the unofficial voice of St. Charles’ American Legion Post.  Their recent target was young, enthusiastic, and enamored with Germany.  They had crossed paths before and nearly came to blows.  Hell, Albert Mueller had nearly killed him in 1935.  But since then, they had fallen into a pattern.  A long-winded argument through the newspaper about what the US should look like.  But today’s essay from Mueller was a surprise to be sure!

“Ugh, I don’t have time for this.  Not today.”  Ethan said, putting the paper down.  He had to get something big ready for Freckle.  But as Ethan went about his morning routine, Albert’s words stuck to him.  He didn’t have much time to be fair, but this warranted his attention.  “Fine.”  Ethan finally convinced himself.  “I’ll see the bastard.”

Albert packed the last of his items away in his small, rented office. Rising up from his chair, he grabbed his coat and donned his hat, taking a deep breath.  Though born in Germany, nearly all his life had been spent in the states.  He had hoped in 1935 to build a movement that would remake the country in his image.  It was a long shot, to be sure, but he had stubbornly pushed on with only a small band of likeminded individuals behind him. Others were now taking the reins, hoping to keep the country out of war so that the Fuhrer’s dream in Europe could be realized.  Avalon would not rise from the Mississippi, but it might rise from the Rhine instead.

“So, what’s this I hear about you skipping town?  Someone finally scared you?”

Albert turned to see Ethan standing in the doorway, the cat’s worn campaign hat in hand and a rolled-up newspaper in the other.

“No, Mr. Kelly. There is nothing that can scare the likes of me.  My services are needed elsewhere.”

“Who could possibly want you, Mueller?”

“It’s time I return to the Fatherland.  I pray that this country will realize it is on the wrong side soon.”

“This country is not on a side, Albert. I thought people like me made that very clear over the last few years.”

“Oh yes, you’ve been very certain in your ignorance.”

“And yet for the last five years you’ve contented yourself with trading insults and barbs in the newspaper.  If I had done this with anyone else, like a mafia boss, then he would have tried to kill me by now.”

Albert nodded his head in understanding.  “Ah, so that’s what’s confusing you. I’ll admit, we do have a rather unique rivalry for someone like you who is used to solving his problems with guns.”

“There’s more to it than that.  I can almost understand the undying loyalty you have expressed for a place you call your homeland.  What I don’t understand why you are still so eager to see Germany conquer Europe.”

“That, my friend, is simple—”

“We aren’t friends.”

“—fair enough.  Over the run of our debates in the paper, I’ve come to the conclusion over time that men like you have a very different vision of the world and how it is ordered.”

“Do tell.”

A fly landed on Albert’s hand at that moment, and he outstretched it so both he and Ethan could see the small insect.  “Would you say this fly is our equal?”

“I suppose I wouldn’t.  It’s merely an insect.”

“Then you understand my position perfectly without realizing it. This fly is, at best, a nuisance and distraction to a superior being like myself.”  He then let the fly go, much to Ethan’s confusion.

“I’ll be honest, I thought you were going to kill that fly.”

“I could have, very easily.  I simply didn’t desire to.  While the fly is a nuisance, it is also easy to ignore.  Its presence doesn’t corrupt you or me.  Other people are different though.  Some will always be less than others, but they are able to infect populations.  Pollute their genetics, dilute the strong traits of the higher races.  Hitler is creating a Europe free of such impurities.  Until recently I was trying to get the people around here to understand.  People like you.  But you’re simply too stuck in your ignorant ways.”

Ethan scoffed.  “You really don’t understand, do you?  You aren’t superior, Mueller.  You were right way back then; we are basically the same.  We’re both men.  Stubborn, foolish men, but men, nonetheless.  Equal in our creation.  What remains to be seen is if we are equal in death.”

“It’s a shame that such great men in this country’s past allowed themselves to be weakened by such a nonsense ‘truth’. They didn’t even follow or believe it themselves!  Look at how people south of here run their society.  It is inherently unequal, but if you ask me it is the morally correct choice.  Each person is in their place and society works as it should.”

“And you presume yourself to be on top.”

“Naturally.  I have dream, Ethan Kelly.  A world were Germans like me are in their proper seat of power.  A European continent under a new order.  A United States cleansed of its infections. An empire that will last for generations.”

Ethan thought about the extent of the vision Albert was laying out before him.  It was complete madness to him, yet there was the future laid out before him.  One question remained for him.

“And what of those who don’t fit your vision? All the people I’ve known that you consider inferior?”

“They will find their place in time, Mr. Kelly.  And if not… well…”  Mueller crumpled up a page of notes from his desk and threw it into a trash can. “Not everyone is meant for this world.”

Ethan finally understood the full truth laid out before him.  This wasn’t just about German superiority; it was about killing millions.  He looked in Albert’s eyes and saw cities burning.  Having had enough of the conversation, Ethan dropped the newspaper and unholstered his pistol.  The long, heavy barrel of the Model 3 stretched out from his hand, becoming an extension of Ethan’s body.  He aimed it at Albert’s face.  Yet Mueller didn’t flinch.

“That’s supposed to frighten me? What I believe in is greater than any single person.  You may kill a man, but you can’t kill an idea.”

Ethan gritted his teeth, emitting a low growl.  “I wonder, how many lives I might save by killing you?”

“You would be throwing away your own life, Kelly.  And it would be very interesting to see what the authorities uncover about you in their investigations.”

Ethan hesitated, the silence between them interrupted only by the noise of the city street outside.  Something deep inside him told Ethan to pull the trigger but he hesitated. “I won’t throw my life away murdering you. But if I must go to war and catch you, I’ll string you from a tree like you tried to do to me five years ago.”  Ethan parted the fur on his neck, revealing the faded scars from rope burn.

The old soldier stepped aside to let Albert pass.  The younger, more ambitious feline still didn’t seem fazed.  Instead, he turned around right outside the threshold and tossed a small book at Ethan. “Then may we meet in peace once this war is won.  Read this and you’ll finally understand.”

Ethan read the title.  “Mein Kampf”.  He flipped through it only to realize the writing was in German.

Even after all this time, Ethan could scarcely believe all the garbage Albert Mueller was so invested in. America wanted nothing to do with another war in Europe, and yet Albert finally laid it out to him in a way he never could in a newspaper.  Five years ago, he didn’t really believe in the seriousness of the situation but now he was beginning to understand the war in a new light.  Little did he know it would be just the tip of the iceberg.

Ethan walked into the café and began to do his rounds, making sure everything was up to standard. It was oddly busy for mid-morning on a weekend. Liz approached him with a short list.  “We’re running low on a few things, Mr. Kelly.  Here’s this morning’s inventory list and I made up a list of what I think we need.”

Ethan looked it over.  “Thank you, Liz.  This place would fall apart without you.”

“I know.”  She said, winking. By the way, there’s a guy here who wants to talk to you.

“Who?”

“Tall, dark, a bit creepy…”

“Either a revenue agent or…”  Ethan said.  “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”

Ethan moved to the back of the café where he saw a familiar face reading the day’s newspaper. “Mordecai Heller.  You should really start calling ahead when you decide to stop by.”

“I must commend you on the café, Mr. Kelly. I’m sure Mitzi is pleased.”

“She doesn’t always show it, but I think you’re right.  It’s not much, but it’s a living.  And what is the infamous Heller up to these days?”

“I came temporarily to see Jacob.  Have you talked to him much?”

Ethan shook his head.  “After his sophomore year I was pretty sure no one would bother or hurt him, but the café is here if he ever needs something, as is Freckle out on the farm.”

“You have my gratitude.  What is that?”  Heller asked, noticing the book.  Ethan looked embarrassed to be carrying it around.  “You remember Mueller?”

“I never forget bastards like him.”

“Well, he’s on his way to Germany now I guess.  He wanted me to read this.  Joke’s on him though, I don’t read German.”

Heller adjusted his glasses so that he could read the title and threw it back on the table in disgust.  “Drivel.”

“Given your religion, I suppose that’s a reasonable reaction.  All I know is Mr. Hitler wrote this.”

“You wish me to translate, don’t you?”

Ethan didn’t say yes but also didn’t deny it.  Heller rolled his eyes.  “Is the downstairs still suitable?  I will refrain from reading it in your shop.”

“Oh yes, it’s still there, Heller.  What, did you think I was going to move a cave?”

Mordecai looked at Ethan with annoyance, not saying a word in response.

“There’s that classic scowl I’ve learned to love.  Come on, it’s time you see the place again anyway.

Going out to the garage, Ethan unchained the lock to the “basement”.  A staircase built right into the rock swallowed them up.  Down below it was dusty and dirty, something Heller despised.  Ethan, noticing how uncomfortable Mordecai was, paused briefly.  “You know, you could just read it to me in the garage.”

Heller did consider it, but he was genuinely curious about how well the Lackadaisy was holding up.  “Continue, Mr. Kelly.  Is there still liquor down there?”

“Right next to the rats, spiders, and skeletons, yes.  Less enthused now?  I never thought you cared about the place.”

“You and others are wrong.  I had revenge on my mind and could ill afford to allow emotion and sentiment to get in the way.  Now that time is past.”

“Very well, into the depths we go.”

Down in the Lackadaisy, Ethan felt around for the electrical switch, finally turning the power on once he found it.  All at once the familiar warm glow lit up the cave, revealing all its secrets and memories.

“I keep the good stuff tucked away behind the counter.”

“And the bad stuff?”

“That’s Rocky’s ammunition should he ever need to light something on fire again.”

Mordecai looked around the room, letting those years come back to him.  A time before Ethan, before Rocky even.  Back when Ivy was still a child who would occasionally make an appearance alongside Reuben.  Back when he himself was young and partnered with Viktor Vasko.

“You’ll have to take it neat, Heller.  I haven’t had ice down here in years.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.”  He said, not taking his eyes off of Atlas’ old booth in the corner.  Ethan smirked.  “My God, am I really witnessing the exceedingly rare sight of the shadow being sentimental?  I think I believe Ivy now.”

“Believe her?”

“She said you cried when she told you Jacob was going to be okay after that stabbing.”

Heller grew flustered and irritated by this.  “She was supposed to have kept that a secret!”

“Yeah well, it’s Ivy.  What did you expect?  For what it’s worth, I actually respect you more knowing that.”

“We were killers, Ethan.  Neither of us could afford to be sentimental in our work.”

“Perhaps, but the fact that you aren’t as cold as you seem is a good sign if you ask me.  It means you do care.”

Putting that behind him, Heller pulled the book out and set it on the counter.  “I’ve spent half my life pretending not to care.  And maybe all those years ago I didn’t care.  No… I most certainly did not care back then.  But Atlas, he…”  Heller trailed off so Ethan picked it up.

“I know.  How do you repay someone who gave you so much?  I think the same of Rocky, Freckle, and Ivy.  This life would be miserable without them.  You miss Atlas, don’t you?  I know Mitzi still does sometimes.”

“In hindsight, things happened in a way that were for the best, but you are correct.  It would be nice to see him again.”

“Well, in a way you still can…”  Ethan pulled on a string which dropped a large white cloth onto a few stacked tables.  The cloth revealed Atlas’ large portrait.  “I would have thrown it out, but I know Mitzi still likes to see it now and then, so I kept it around.”

“I’d almost forgotten his face…”

Ethan looked confused.  “Heller, I would assume you’ve never forgotten a face before in your life.”

“After fourteen years of not seeing it, it is easy to forget.  But while I will always be grateful to Atlas, life has moved on.  So, about Mueller.”

“Albert?  Yeah, what about him?”

“You said he was going to Germany?”

“To go fight for his country I guess.”

“It’s too bad you didn’t put a bullet into him.”  Heller said with unusual disdain.

“After all that we’ve been through, I figured you would be the last person to recommend murder.  We’re in the clear.  We’re free.  We got out with our lives and now look at how life has rewarded us in return.  I should have thrown all that away?”

“When I called this book drivel, I was being kind.  I don’t have a means of proving it yet, but I’ve found thousands of people have vanished since 1933.”

“I don’t doubt that Hitler is locking people up or getting rid of competition, but—”

“No, Ethan.  You don’t understand.  These people… there’s no bigger reason behind it.  They aren’t a threat to him or his rule at all and yet he’s pursuing them anyway.  Quite a few are Jewish.  Relatives of my family have gone missing too.”

Ethan finally connected the dots.  Albert really wasn’t crazy… at least not in the way Ethan thought.  Those weren’t his beliefs; they were the beliefs of the German chancellor.  “I know a power-hungry bastard when I see one, but surely—”

“Like I said, I can’t prove it… yet.  But I suspect there is a lot more happening in Europe than we’ve been led to believe here in the U.S.”

“I believe you,” Ethan said with full conviction.  “In the last war I saw the darkness in some men’s minds.  But I’m too old to fight, Mordecai.  And so are you.  I know what you’re thinking.  Well, it’s stupid.  It’s suicidal.  At least wait to see if Britain can hold its own first.”

“I won’t be doing anything yet, but if you hear of anything please get in touch with me.  Take the train to New York if you must.  You would be helping a lot of people.”

SLU’s Geology Department, St. Louis, Missouri

Mitzi sighed in frustration as she looked at a specimen with a loupe.  “Honey, all I see is brown.”

“That would be Andalusite, dear.”

“Be serious now, Wick.  Are you just making these words up?”

“Of course not, Mitzi.  It’s an Aluminum nesosilicate from outside of Denver.  All these samples are for the students.”

“This place has entirely too many rocks as it is.”  Mitzi said as she looked around at the many boxes of fresh materials Wick was cataloging.

“Far too few if you ask me.  Old hand specimens wear out and need replacing.”

“Right, well perhaps we can replace specimens tomorrow.  It’s already four o’clock.”

Wick, looking up from his papers, studied his wife’s face before relenting.  “You’re right as always, dear.  Let’s clear some space for the students and we’ll pick this up later.”

A knock at the door drew their attention away.  Susie from the dean’s office was standing there with a uniformed man behind her.  “Professor Sable?  There is someone here for you.”

“Oh, and to whom do I owe this pleasure?”

Mitzi saw that the uniformed man was from the army though she did not recognize what part of the branch he was from.  The man was about Wick’s age with thinning hair still cut and trimmed neatly like a soldier.  “Professor, I am Colonel Roy Grower, head of the St. Louis department of the Army Corps of Engineers.”

Wick immediately dropped what he was doing and went to shake the colonel’s hand.  “The engineers? Well, this is a pleasure.  What I can I do for you?”

“Actually, I’m more interested in what you could do for your country.  I’ve been given orders to seek you out.”

“By a general…”

“A little higher than that.”  Roy produced a letter and handed it to Wick.  The first thing he noticed was that the letter was typed on stationary from the Whitehouse.  And at the bottom were two signatures. Henry Stimson was secretary of war again and was requesting that Wick enter into a contract with the US government.  And under Stimson’s signature was none other than Franklin Deleno Roosevelt.  Wick’s hands shook.

“A contract with the federal government?”

“With the army, yes.  You see, we are going to need limestone gravel and lots of it.  You happen to own the mineral rights to some of the best quality materials in the region.  It seems a staffer from St. Louis remembered you did quarry work before coming to the university.”

“How many hundreds of tons do you need?  With some money I could hire people and machinery to produce at a capacity of—”

“We need millions of tons, professor.  Every year for at least the next three years.”

“M-millions?”  Wick stammered, looking like he was about to faint.  However, Mitzi caught him before he could hit the floor, helping her husband into a chair with the assistance of the Colonel.  Mitzi took the letter from Wick and read it herself.  It was the truth, the government needed materials, and Wick had a good supply of it. Standing up, she put on a professional face.  Friendly but also somewhat aloof.

“We would be happy to supply the material for a cost.  Shall we say about a dollar per ton?”

“We’re offering $2.50 per ton for five million tons of limestone and aggregate gravel annually beginning next year.”

That amount sent Mitzi back.  $12.5 million per year?  Even Atlas May would have fainted.

The colonel smiled.  “Normally I don’t do these sorts of errands on my own nor does the government seek out individuals, but in this case we are going to need gravel for all kinds of projects. Here is my office address, if you could meet at eight hundred hours on Monday we’ll sort through the proposed contract.  I recommend bringing an attorney to make sure you get everything out of this that you could hope for.

“We will be there, Colonel.  Thank you and see you on Monday.”  Mitzi said.  Once Roy left the room Mitzi returned her attention to Wick.  “Are you alright, hon?”

“Y-yes, I’m fine.  They want to pay us over twelve million dollars a year?  My god, we can’t pass this up.”

“I agree, but we are going to need an attorney.”

“Attorney? I’m going to need a secretary.”

The Moonlight, St. Louis, Missouri

“Is the blindfold really necessary?  This is bringing back some unpleasant memories, Calvin.”  Ivy complained.  Freckle could only smile as they entered the parking lot.

“Alright, you can take the blindfold off I guess.”  He said, finding the right parking spot.  Ivy undid the blindfold and blinked, her eyes adjusting to the evening light.

“Okay, so where are—” She recognized the club immediately.  “We’re at the Moonlight?!”

“Of course!  And this was the surprise, by the way.  I made sure to stash away money for this occasion.  Happy anniversary, dear. Twelve years and three kids later, I think I love you even more now after all we’ve been through.”

“Oh my God, Calvin!”  Ivy said, hugging and kissing her husband. “I thought you weren’t going to remember what with all this talk of drafts and training and—”

“I’d never forget you or something this important.”

Ivy then looked at what they were wearing.  “We should have dressed up.”

“Oh, it’ll be alright.  Everyone else is hard for cash too.  Now then, we’ve got a table waiting inside.”

The club looked just like it did when they first came to Moonlight.  The only addition was a legal bar.  While everyone wined, dined, and danced, the two lovers took their seats at the same table from all those years ago.

“I just hope tonight goes a lot more smoothly than it did back then.”  Ivy said while looking over the menu.

“Well, we don’t have Rocky, Ethan, or Isabella around this time, so I’d say our chances of enjoying each other for a night has gone up significantly.”

“For the whole night?”

Freckle winked at his wife.  “Mom is keeping the kids for the evening, and Ethan will pick them up in the morning.  That gives us a full day just to ourselves.  After dinner though I didn’t make any specific plans so it’s all open for you.”

Ivy gave Freckle a sly smile.  “Well, there is one thing I’ve been wanting to do which we haven’t had the time or privacy for lately.”

“You mean… oh!  We’ll have to send Joseph away.”

“Oh, he can just go hang out with Casy.  The whole farm to ourselves to do whatever we like.”  Ivy said, just thinking of how they might be able to relax and get busy at the same time.

After the waiter took their order, Freckle continued.  “I should apologize too for the past few weeks.  Mom told me about this training business and how you feel about it.”

“Calvin, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk about—”

“We do though, Ivy.  We do.  It’s okay though, I’m not as afraid now as I was when this first came up.”

“Really?  You’re not worried about a draft?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to leave, but I believe we’ll find a way no matter what happens.  Ethan has been teaching me a lot.  I can shoot better, march in formation, meeting the physical requirements…”

“You’re acting like this is inevitable though.  That’s what scares me.  This isn’t something we can avoid.”

“I know, which is why we’ll have to meet it head on if it happens.  Look Ivy, if I have to go overseas it’s going to be hard.  But I will come back, God be willing.”

“And if God is not willing?”

Calvin took a deep breath. “Ivy, I didn’t marry you just because you’re beautiful or smart.  I married you because you’ve always been so bold.  Our kids have a fantastic mother, and they’ve got a family around that will keep all of you safe.  There’s so many people around us who will end up going to war without nearly as much security. If the worst happens, I know you’ll be okay and that makes it easier for me to focus on coming home.”

“We haven’t been apart that long before…”

“I know, and I wish I knew what would happen, but we can’t avoid what’s coming.  But Ivy, we have tonight.  Let’s just focus on that and then see what tomorrow brings.  Can you do that?”

“For you, Calvin, I’ll try.”

After a dinner that replicated what they had in 1927, the dance floor beckoned.  With two or three drinks in each of them, Ivy and Calvin joined several other couples under the spotlight.  After so much practice Calvin was able to lead like a proper gentleman.  At least for a moment they were like kids again.  Young lovers full of energy, but now with the experience to dance with grace and confidence.  Once more they were dancing under the summer moonlight of a late August night.

Chapter Text

Skies over London, England

Park looked over the large map in the dispatch pit.  Beneath him men and women worked furiously to give squadrons the most up to date information they could.  The process was tedious, relying on vectors to estimate where enemy formations would be by the time squadrons were airborne and at the correct altitude.

“How is 12 group shaping up today?” Park asked a passing lieutenant.  Checking through paperwork, he came up with the latest communication.

“Two-four-two squadron was airborne five minutes ago, sir.”

“And other squadrons in the area?”

“…still forming.”

“Dammit!  Every time our lads go up they come back to more potholes.  We can’t keep this up.  Who do we have in reserve?”

“Um…  it appears 303 squadron is still on the ground.”

“Send them in.”  Park ordered.

“But sir… they were only activated a week ago.  They barely speak English.”

“Then today is their assessment, get them up now.  Have them intercept that wing coming in from the East.  They’ve hit Biggin Hill every time for the past two weeks.”

“Aye, sir!”

Jan polished his boots in the morning light, watching overhead as squadrons of native flyers rose to intercept.  His English commander bolted out of the radio building.  “three-oh-three, full section scramble!” The commander barked as he hurriedly put on his flight mask.  For Jan it was the chance he had been waiting for.  A chance at revenge.

Two minutes, that’s all it took and Jan was airborne, taking flight like an angel about to duel to the death with a demon.  He thought of his wife and children he was forced to leave behind in occupied Poland.  It angered him knowing that the Nazis were able to push through his country in so little time.  The last order he had been given in Polish was to make for a ship which navigated him and dozens of others through the hazardous, frigid waters of the Baltic and the North Seas.  After two weeks of dodging enemy patrols they had finally found safe harbor in England, one of the last free countries in Europe.  Now it was on English soil where he was determined to make a difference.  To give Goering a black eye and show the world that the Nazi regime was not as invincible as it seemed.

Up to altitude in his hurricane, the 303^rd squadron found themselves alone over Biggin Hill with other aircraft moving further south and east for interception.

“We will circle here and wait for our other squadrons.”  The commander ordered.  Jan was disappointed and frustrated.  First the RAF told him he couldn’t fly.  Then they told him he could fly, but only to deliver aircraft.  Once the talent and experience he and his comrades possessed became evident they were finally given a chance to fly in a combat zone… but only after they completed training.  It was humiliating to be trained to fly yet again, but they passed with flying colors just last week.  And now they were stuck behind the front line, protecting airfields that looked like Swiss cheese.

Down below personnel scrambled.  Park exited the control room and made his way into the trenches to observe how things were going topside.  Men and women who were part of the ground crews were busy packing everything safely away, doing their best not to fall into a hole.  Out in the airfield there was a line of wrecked aircraft useful only for spare parts.  Park shook his head in disgust.  Most of those aircraft never left the ground.  They were shot to pieces before their pilots could get to them.

“Attention!”  A captain ordered.  Several people stopped what they were doing and saluted Park as he approached.

“Enough with the formalities!”  The old man yelled. “Keep working and save what you can, then get to the trenches.”

Park stepped down into the air raid trench alongside the Captain who he didn’t know. “How goes the repairs?”

“We’re doing what we can, sir, but every day there are more and more holes.”

“And our birds?”

“The men can’t keep up.  For every one we’ve been able to fix there are two more that get shot up.  With respect, commander, you shouldn’t be out here.”

“Better to be here in a trench with you than in the operations room.  The people there have things well in hand, I want to see what these bombing runs look like up close.”

“In that case you’re in the right place.”

Thousands of feet above them the men could hear the hum of engines, but they were familiar.  Merlins roared inside the planes forming a protective circle over Biggin Hill.  Something was off though.

“There’s not a bomber in sight.”  Park said, scanning the sky with binoculars.

“Praise be!”  The Captain said with a smile on his face.  For once he wouldn’t have to deal with the airfield being shot to pieces.

“Indeed!  But if not here, where was that group of bombers headed for?”

The grim face of the lead German pilot in the formation of He 111s pointed his aircraft toward a target that was unprepared.  His orders weren’t to bomb RAF airfields or factories.  Not even radar stations, something he felt was necessary but high command apparently did not.  No, his mission disgusted him, yet it was his duty to follow orders.  Below him stretched the sprawling metropolis that was London.  Larger than Paris, London town was spread out as far as the eye could see.  He was now on the correct vector and signaled his bombardier to guide the aircraft to the target.

The bombardier at first struggled to focus because there was no complex to aim for.  Instead it was the urban housing and business districts.  Deciding on a location, he deployed the bombs.  Explosives rained down on the civilians below from the lead bomber followed by the rest of the squadron.  Soon other squadrons were doing the same.  Two hundred bombers in total dropped their payload in areas along the Thames.

Down on the streets it was chaos.  Most people had evacuated to air raid shelters, but only now were those plans necessary.  Bombs fell and destroyed buildings in massive explosions.  Factories and a shipyard were also hit, igniting fires which began to spread.  By nightfall London was burning with an orange glow that could be seen for miles.

And just when the civilians thought it was safe to come out, that same dreadful roar of Heinkels pushed them back underground.  England stood in defiance of Hitler, and now it was paying a heavy price.

RAF Coltishall, England

Rocky looked at the distant fire with red, tired eyes.  He had only a single day of rest in the last three weeks, and now he watched as untold numbers of people either lost their lives or their homes.

Nathan joined him, smoking a cigarette.  “I just heard from Bader.  We’re going up at five o’clock. Want a fag?”

Rocky looked at Nathan with surprise.  “It’s still dark at five, why would we go up?”

“To intercept the bombers.  We’re going to fly along the coast.”

“It’ll never work.”  Rocky said in defeat.  “And while I’ve gladly partaken in far worse deeds, I don’t smoke.”

“Suit yourself, Rocky.  Either way, we better get ready.”

Rocky went into the main office where the other pilots, also tired and weary, took off their flight suits.  Some for the fourth time that day.  The pounding over London had been relentless and Rocky could see it on their faces.  The boys were worried about their families, their girlfriends, and everyone else they knew in the big city.  But at least they weren’t talking behind his back any more about his age.  With one kill on his belt, Rocky had at last gained a modicum of respect.

Rocky went into the back of the office and dialed the telephone.  He leaned against the wall, nodding off as he let the phone ring.  He only shook himself awake when he heard the sweet voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Evelyn?!  This is Rocky.”

“Rocky!  How’s it going, flyboy?”

“I just wanted to let you know that we’re going up again early tomorrow before sunrise.”

“When it’s still dark?  To do what?”

“Try to find some bombers and bring them down.”

“That sounds impossible.”

“I tend to agree.  You’re safe, aren’t you?”

“Of course, why?”

“I just want to know you’re safe, love.  Have you heard from Ava?”

“Not since she and the boys went back home.”

“Try to get in touch with her if you can.  Things are bad down South.”

“I heard London got bombed.  Did you see it from the air.”

“If you go outside and look to the southwest you can see it from where you are.  The fires are big.  But I suppose that might help us see the bombers.”

Evelyn heard sniffling on the other end of the line.  “Honey, are you okay?”

Rocky finally told the truth.  “No.  No, I’m not.  After Kensington bought it I… I just keep thinking of what I could do differently.  I’m failing everyone again.”

“Rocky, you haven’t failed anyone.  I’d love it if you could come back and stay with me for the rest of the war, but that ship has sailed.  You’ve got to fly just like how I’ve got to tend to the people coming into the manor for treatment.”

“You’re right, Eve.  I just don’t know how much more of this I can take.  Do you think Freckle and Ethan are proud of me?  Or Mitzi?”

“I-I don’t know, Rocky.  But I know I’m proud of you and that’s good enough, right?”

Rocky smiled, wiping away his tears.  “Yes… yes I suppose it is.  I love you.”

“And I love you too, Rocky.  Go do what you can.”

Rocky hung up the phone and while he didn’t find the confidence he was looking for, he did find the will to at least keep going.  “Just one more day.”  That’s all he would need to tell himself… again and again.  Rocky laid down to get whatever sleep he could, but the feeling of guilt was keeping him from resting too much.  His brain told him he had to keep fighting, to keep trying, to not give in no matter what because if he did… it would be his fault if they lose.  Though he knew that a win or a loss was much bigger than him, that old voice came crawling back through the fissure in Rocky’s mind, aggravated by stress and battle fatigue.

Rocky awoke to the sound of others moving around him in the bunk house.  It was just after four and it was time to get ready for another day.  His muscles ached, his joints were sore from sitting so many hours, and what little rest he had gotten barely improved his fatigue.  But everyone else was in the same boat, even Bader.  He had bags under his eyes yet projected a strong, confident look.  He had to for the sake of his squadron.  As soon as everyone gathered in the briefing room, Bader cleared his throat, drinking from a cup of heavy black coffee instead of brown tea.

“Yesterday the bombers got past all our defenses.  By the time we were airborne their course had changed significantly. Today we will be canvasing the area directly to our South where we will intercept incoming 110s from Holland. We will fly a single pass this morning at dawn and after refueling we will be on standby for the remainder of the day.  I expect that we shall see some action.  We will be able to keep up with the bombers as they come in, but once they release their payload they’ll be able to outpace our aircraft.  The good news is that if you can get in under them the gunner can’t reach you.  The bad news is that if you leave that blind spot when too close then the gunner will easily be able to disable your bird.  I will give you five minutes to review the briefing and then we take to the skies.”

Rocky studied his brief extensively but struggled to keep his attention on important things like the radio frequency being used or the waypoints he must fly past to find his way out and back.  Giving up, he went to don his face mask, life vest, parachute, and other accessories.

“This will be interesting.  My first time flying only on instruments.”  Nathan commented.

“Yes… interesting.”  Rocky said, fearing for what might happen to his flight.  He only had about ten weeks of experience in a Hurricane and he was now in charge of two young, inexperienced pilots.  His training days in a biplane felt like ages ago already.

“Are you alright, sir?”  Gerald, the new pilot asked.

Rocky had to snap out of it and focus on the nineteen-year-old that was under his wing now. “Yes, I’m just peachy.  Fresh as spring rain, you might say.”  He lied before sneaking off to try something he rarely touched, coffee.  Normally it would give him the jitters and he’d be bouncing around, but now he was so exhausted that it actually had the intended effect of making him slightly more alert.

Twenty minutes later they were in the sky going out over the open water.  It was risky and Bader hated being out there without several other squadrons to support him, but Dowding insisted that twelve group at least try to intercept bombers like how eleven group was trying to do.  Of course, now Bader could feel that the fight had changed.  Yesterday the Luftwaffe bombed London and set it ablaze.  They could see the glow of fires from way out over the Channel.  “All those people…”  He thought.  If only the other squadrons could form with him like he and Leigh-Mallory envisioned.  They might be able to stop the bombers or at least shoot them down on their way home.  There was more pressure on him and every other pilot in the RAF now to do their jobs properly.  No longer were factories and airfields at risk, but every civilian in London and other southern cities.

Rocky felt the warm glow of the morning light hit his face, warming up the cockpit considerably to the point where he was warm.  If he wasn’t flying an airplane he might just curl up and fall asleep.  Rest felt like a great idea, and yet it was the distant dream. A glint of metal caught his eye in the distance.  Below them and a mile out was a squadron of exactly what they were looking for.

“Bandits, ten o’clock low.”  Another voice called out over the radio.  Bader looked in that area and immediately saw the 110s passing by them.  “Alright lads, remember to get under them and hit them in the wing struts or engines.”

Twelve aircraft rolled in sequence, Rocky’s Hurricane being the third from the last.  He rolled a little too slow though and his flight got some separation from the rest of the squadron.  Still, the targets were in sight.

“Nathan, Gerald, are you still with me?”

“Right behind you, blue leader.”  Nathan responded.

“Ditto.” Gerald said, still getting used to the radio.

“This is what a friend would call a ‘turkey shoot’.”  Rocky said, smiling for the first time that day. “We’ll pick of the stragglers and keep them herded like cows.”

“Um… okay….”  Nathan said, not quite sure what to make of that description.  It’s not like they could physically keep the enemy in formation.  Even so, the time to think had passed and now came the time for action.

Rocky, remembering what happened to the 109s he had been up against so far, dialed back his throttle.  They weren’t going to scream in there and blow the formation like the others.  No, they were going to pick their target and stick to it.  His mind thought to a time when he was out west watching wolves hunt.  The wolves would take turns chasing elk until the weak one was sorted, then the wolves held in reserve would go in for the kill.  It dawned on him in that moment that this was less like herding cows and more like killing or crippling prey.  A predatory instinct from deep within Rocky’s mind came to the front.  All his anger and grief at losing Kensington fueled a desire to do one thing, get a kill.

Sure enough, as Bader and the rest of the Hurricanes caught up to the squadron of 110s, a lone airplane managed to escape the chaos and bolted to the right.

“There he is!  Let’s get that bird!”  Rocky said, throttling up and speeding toward the 110.  The machine gunner caught onto them quickly and began to fire at the three Hurricanes, but Rocky remembered at least one key bit of advice from Bader.  Rocky swung wide then climbed back up right under neath the 110.  Aiming his sights, he got closer and closer.  His aim was always garbage, but at less than a hundred yards even he couldn’t miss.  A single long burst tore the wing of the bomber off and sent it spiraling.

“That’s it, that’s a second kill blue leader!”  Nathan congratulated Rocky.

Rocky was grinning from ear to ear.  Finally, a textbook kill!  He was getting dangerous… and some of that old cockiness he used to have in his rum running days came back.  He wanted more.  He wanted to prove himself so badly and now was the perfect opportunity.

“Let’s get a second one.”  Rocky said, pulling into a turn and headed back for the fight.  Sure enough a second Bf 110 was finding its way back on course.  Rocky charged ahead but before he could line up on the target, someone in the squadron yelled into the radio.  “109s, high!”

In an instant the momentum of the dogfight changed.  Over a dozen 109s came pouring in from above, scattering the squadron and saving the seven remaining 110s.  A lone 109 locked onto Rocky and got between him and the bomber he was pursuing.  A burst of cannon fire caused all three members of blue flight to break off the chase and refocus on the experienced pilot.

“How many of these bloody aces does the Luftwaffe have?”  Nathan said on the radio in frustration.

“It’s about to be one less.”  Rocky replied, undaunted.  He had managed to kill one already.  It was only a matter of time until the experience of the pilot was confirmed.  He had seen a long line of victory patches on the side of that 109 and this one wasn’t very different.  They may have even been in the same squadron at some point.

Rocky didn’t know how right he was.  The pilot he was facing had heard about the victory of some rookie from two-four-two squadron and he figured this must be the pilot in question.  The lone 109 circled the Hurricanes, trying to get behind them.  Rocky remembered the two other pilots he was in charge of beside himself.

“I’ll draw him out.  I want you two to circle around and get him.”  Rocky said.

“Isn’t that what Kensington tried to do?”

“There was more than one enemy to deal with.  This time there’s only one devil to fight, so let’s fight him.”  Rocky said, confidence swelling.  He rolled out of the turn, moving in the opposite direction.  The enemy pilot saw this for what it was.  The most experience pilot was the bait and the two inexperienced pilots would be who did him in.  He decided to change the fight.  Instead of following any of the aircraft, this German pulled up and gained altitude, regaining his previous advantage.  No one in blue flight saw this and when they circled back on each other the German was gone.

“Ah hell…”  Rocky said to himself, realizing too late that their impromptu trap didn’t pan out.

Gerald and Nathan flew in formation, turning yet again to try and find their quarry.  Nathan heard the tell-tale sound of metal striking metal, but it wasn’t his plane being hit.

“Oh no…”  Is all Gerald had time to say before his airplane broke apart.  Nathan didn’t even see the Hurricane as it plummeted to the ocean, but he heard the roar of the 109 pass behind him in a dive.  Rocky though was shocked watching yet another RAF pilot die in front of him.  This time it was different though.  He was the one calling the shots and for the first time someone died on his watch.  All those years he had managed to keep those in his care safe.  Ivy and Freckle when they were still teenagers fresh out of school, Riley and Joseph as children, the McMurray kids whenever he babysat.  He always felt like they were safest with him because if push came to shove he would be the one to jump into danger.  This time though he couldn’t do anything to protect a teenager who looked to him for guidance.  His brashness and emotions had gotten the better of him and now he was down a pilot.

“Gerald!”  Rocky cried out, desperately hoping to see a parachute billow out, yet none did.  The airplane continued to break up right until it hit the dark waters of the Channel.  Distraught and angry, Rocky threw caution to the wind and dove down after the German who had anticipated this exact reaction.  Smiling, the German pulled up into a climb.  Sure, he would lose energy but now he had a clear shot at the Hurricane that had killed his friend.  Lining up the cannon perfectly, he pulled the trigger and sent several rounds into the engine and wing.  Where the bullets hit canvas they passed through harmlessly, but in the engine bay the lead bounced around and destroyed vital components.  Rocky’s plane burst into flames.

“Rocky!”  Nathan radioed.

Rocky responded with a shaky voice. “Nathan, find the squadron.  Get out of here now!”

“Bail out!”  Nathan ordered and Rocky complied.  With all his meager strength he managed to get the canopy open.  Unbuckling himself while trying to steady the aircraft with his knees, Rocky tipped the plane on its side.  He then remembered the small, experimental accessory that was still tethering him to the plane.  He pulled on the small package and held it close to his chest as he fell out of the airplane.

The sound of the Hurricane gave way to the sound of another hurricane.  Hurricane force winds that is.  After falling for several seconds, Rocky twisted and turned until he was facing stomach down.  Pulling on the parachute, all he could do was pray that it would work.  Sure enough, the silk cloth came billowing out until he was once again dangling from a parachute.  It had been so many times now that Rocky had lost track of how often he had been shot down.  He thought about how this was a setback in other ways.  He had lost another airplane while only having downed two airplanes himself.

The air wasn’t silent though.  Far off in the distance a low hum grew louder and louder.  Rocky thought it might be Nathan coming around to check on him, but as the plane got closer he could see yellow and grey instead of olive green and tan.  It was the German pilot… and he was aiming right for Rocky.

He couldn’t do anything about what was coming for him.  Rocky at first panicked, trying to find a way he could steer his parachute but he was at the mercy of the winds. “Oh curse you, spirit of Icarus.  I flew too close to the sun, didn’t I?”  He said to himself.  Perhaps after a lifetime of screwing things up this was finally the price he was destined to pay?  Rocky closed his eyes and thought about all that he was going to leave behind. Though he wasn’t much of a believer, he even said a short prayer.

The hum turned into a roar as the plane approached.  Then Rocky heard the guns, but they didn’t sound right.  Opening his eyes, he witnessed Nathan intercepting the German and forcing the enemy pilot away.  Rocky was astounded and overjoyed!  Though he worried about Nathan flying alone, his wingman had defied a direct order to save his flight leader’s skin.

“Bless you, Nathan.  I’ll buy you a pallet of cigarettes when we see each other again.”  He said.

By the time the German was able to circle around Rocky was already too low and the pilot gave up, but no doubt radioed to others where Rocky was.  He wasn’t close enough to the coast to be under the protection of patrol boats or the Royal Navy.  Yet he also wasn’t close enough to Holland’s shores to be the immediate target of enemy patrols.  This was a no-man’s land of a different kind.

Plunging into the cold Atlantic, Rocky performed the same song and dance as he had before, unbuckling himself while underwater and letting the canopy drift harmlessly away.  Pulling up the package that was weighing him down, he found another chord and pulled on it. A small raft inflated itself from the container and within seconds Rocky had a small piece of artificial land.  Remembering his childhood days of playing on sunken and floating logs in the river, Rocky hoisted himself up like had thousands of times before.  Laying down in the little dingy, he looked up at the sky in relief.  All was quiet now except for the waves and the occasional seabird.  He wasn’t too far from shore, but it still remained above the horizon.

McMurray Farm, Missouri

“Parry!”  Ethan ordered as Joseph and Freckle clashed with rifles that had the bolts removed.  Sticks were taped to the end of the barrels to represent bayonets as Ethan knew them.  Freckle parried Joseph’s thrust successfully, but Joseph pulled a different maneuver that caught Freckle off guard.  Backing up, Freckle tripped and landed on his butt, the pointy end of a “bayonet” hovering in front of his face.

“Well, someone is learning, but that wasn’t the exercise.”  Ethan both complimented and criticized.

“I think I’m ready for something more advanced.” Joseph said, taking pleasure in being able to do something other than chores and watch children.  Ethan smirked.  His nephew was getting too cocky… just like his father would whenever victory seemed inevitable.

“Alright.  Freckle, go get some water for us.  The kid wants a challenge.”

Freckle smiled and nodded, getting up and trotting off.  Days of running and exercising were starting to have an effect.  He was feeling fitter than the last few years.  If nothing else, Freckle reasoned he’d be staving off the inevitable day when he’s too worn out and tired to keep up with his own kids.  Ivy didn’t mind the tighter physique either.  In bed she’d be feeling his stomach, amazed at how the muscles Freckle lacked in youth were now beginning to show themselves in adulthood.  He’d never look like a bodybuilder, but being leaner and faster was all around a good thing.

Casy watched the training from afar until Riley threw a pair of cleaned underwear on his face.  “Keep working if you want dinner tonight.”  Riley said with a wink and smile.

“Ew, whose is this?” Casy said, pulling the underwear off of him.

“Ethan’s” Riley replied, stifling a laugh as Casy quickly hung up the garment and began wiping the fur on his face.  Ivy too laughed, realizing what Riley was doing.

“You really don’t know women’s underwear when you see them?”  Ivy asked, getting back to work.

“Ethan wears women’s underwear?”  Casy asked in confusion.

Riley rolled her eyes.  “They’re mine, idiot.  And yes, we clean everything white with bleach so there’s no need for theatrics.”

“Oh… right.  Better than a diaper cloth I guess.  How do you clean those anyway?”

Ivy pointed at a large washtub that was propped up by the wood pile.  “Haven’t needed it in a couple of years now thankfully.  We wash those separate.”

“Yeah, that’s disgusting.”  Mary commented, struggling to reach the clothesline above her head.  Ivy gently pulled the rope lower so Mary could reach it. “Don’t let it fall, honey.”

“Yes, mom.  I know.”  She replied.

Freckle patted the fur on his boys’ heads, sitting down between them as they watched on.  Rowan tugged on Freckle’s shirt.  “Daddy, what is Joseph and Uncle Ethan doing?”

“What are they doing?  Well son, Ethan is teaching Joseph how to use a bayonet.”

“Why?” Daniel asked, picking up a small stick and pointing it around like the two men he was observing.

“So that if any of us have to go fight, we’ll know what to do.”

“Why?”

Freckle sighed, pulling his boys in close to his sides. “You’ve heard about the war I’m sure. Well, the war is getting bigger and there might be a draft. One or more of us men might have to go fight.”

“You aren’t going to fight though, right?” Daniel asked.

“I hope not.  But your uncle Ethan has been in war before.  He knows what to teach us.  Watch and learn.”

“Anytime now.”  Ethan said, holding the rifle in a low guard.  Joseph ran at Ethan.  The younger cat was fast but foolish.  Ethan barely had to move before he caught Joseph’s rifle in hand and stuck him with his own rifle.

“Ow!  What’s the idea here?”  Joseph said, massaging his ribs.

“If that was real steel then that blade would have reached your heart.”  Ethan said calmly but sternly.  Now I try to not run into my bayonet this time.

Joseph growled in frustration, charging in yet again.  This time he slashed Ethan but the veteran soldier was able to move out of the way and let Joseph overshoot.  As a final insult Ethan used his own rifle to slap Joseph on the ass.  “There goes an important artery, now you’re bleeding to death and not even the enemy medic can save you.  Try again.”

Joseph took a calmer approach this time.  He charged forward but stopped short and used the rifle to thrust.  Ethan expertly parried and stepped to the side but Joseph was able to block Ethan’s counterstrike.  What Joseph didn’t anticipate was being clotheslined by the bigger, older cat.  Joseph fell flat on his back and found himself at Ethan’s mercy.  For just a moment he was afraid, seeing the old fire come alive in his uncle, but those embers extinguished themselves just as quick.

“Better, but you’ve got a long way to go.”  Ethan said.  “Your biggest enemy isn’t the one in front of your, it’s yourself.  Get too cocky and arrogant, become too timid and cautious, get too aggressive and bold, all will lead to your death if you aren’t careful.”

“Then how do you win, if you don’t mind me asking?”  Joseph replied, picking himself up off the ground.

“Think only of the fight and do what you must.  Nothing more.  Nothing less.”

“Is that really your secret to being a hero?”

Ethan stopped and pulled Joseph close to him until the younger cat was looking right into Ethan’s eyes. “I’m not a hero, Cal. I did terrible things in France and if you have to go overseas then you will do terrible things too.  Get that hero business out of your head, because it will get you killed quicker than anything else.”

“But what about the lives you saved?  The things you did helped win the war!”  Joseph retorted, backing up.

“I survived, Joseph Calhoun Rickaby.  And if you find yourself fighting in this war then that’s your only goal.  If you try to be some big hero then all that’s going to happen is Rocky and the rest of us will have to bury you.”

Ethan’s words hit Joseph hard. “Is that all bravery is? Surviving?”

“Yes.”  Ethan said with full confidence before thinking about it for a moment.  “Sometimes…  Look at Riley over there.”  He said, gesturing to his sister hanging clothes and teasing Casy. “You’ve got a young girl and two brothers at home plus a grief-stricken mother.  Where are you most needed?  At the front dying in a meat grinder, or at home?”

“I don’t have any of those things though.”  Joseph insisted.

“But you might, and in a way you do.  You’ve got this family, Cal. Is needlessly dying in a war really worth the consequences?”

“I… Maybe?  What if it is?”

“I think that’s enough for now.”  Ethan replied.

Walking up to the porch while Joseph went inside to clean up, Ethan sat down in the swing bench behind Freckle and the boys.  Freckle turned around, having heard the whole conversation.

“You shouldn’t scare him like that, Ethan.”

“Well the kid has to learn some time.”  Ethan said with a huff. “And that goes for you too, Calvin.”

“If it helps ease your mind, I have no intention of dying until these two are in their fifties.”  Freckle said, caressing his sons.

“Hey Dad, look who we found!”  William said, trotting up with Emily close behind.

“Took you long enough to get the mail.”  Ethan replied.  “Don’t tell me you two tried to find another ‘shortcut’ again.”

“No dad, Nick is here!”  Emily said, pointing up the driveway as a young man approached, grinning from ear to ear.

“Mr. Kelly, I believe these two are yours.  Found them cutting through mom’s property.”

Ethan glared as his kids immediately looked away in embarrassment and shame.  “What have I told you two about trespassing?  It was cute when you both were little but now someone is going to call the cops if they think you’re on their land to steal something.”

“Is that Nick?!”  Casy hollered from behind the house.  He sprinted around to the front, hugging his childhood friend.  Joseph too burst out of the house shirtless, having been in the middle of washing the dirt off his face and neck.  The pair hugged Nick tight.

“Where on earth have you been?”  Riley asked as she followed Casy more slowly.

“Riley Kelly?  Oh man have you grown!”  Nick said, hugging his friends back.

“I heard you went bumming around for work.”  Freckle said, standing up to shake his guest’s hand.

“I did for a while, but there’s been a recent development.”

Nick produced a military identification badge that Ethan didn’t recognize.  “That looks like an army I.D. but it’s different.”

“That’s right, Mr. Kelly.  I’m in the Army Air Corps!”

English Channel near Norwich, England

Rocky watched on as a flight of bombers made it home in one piece, and ominous sign for Bader’s “big wing”. The gray tabby was starting to doubt the effectiveness of waiting around to get five squadrons together.  It was enough of a mess with just one squadron!  All day he had watched planes fight each other over water and in the distance where presumably there was land.  Rocky tried for a time to paddle closer to shore but that wasn’t making much progress and it made him tired.  He was thirsty now and could only watch as the spectacle of fighting faded and the sun set in the west.

Two hours later he was still floating in the dark when a roar rose from the east.  At first Rocky hoped it might be a boat coming to pick him up but there was nothing on the horizon.  Instead, the fuselages of bombers reflected the moonlight.  He 111’s flew overhead for a nighttime raid over London or one of its suburbs.

Soon his thoughts drifted back to Gerald, the latest in a long line of Rocky’s failures but by far the worst. “Why do I always screw up?”  He said to himself.  He had nearly gotten everyone killed back in 1927 by messing with those pig farmers and had managed to mess up Freckle’s relationship with Nina. There were several times he was sure he had nearly given Ethan a heart attack or stroke. And while he didn’t want to admit it, Rocky had a sneaking suspicion that leaving for England just after Joseph turned eighteen was a mistake too.  The boy still needed him, but at the same time the others insisted the boy needed space to become a man.  At least that’s what Freckle and Ethan had said to Rocky.  Their true opinions remained unknown to him.

Now he was really thirsty.  Rocky knew better than to drink seawater, but after thinking it over for a while he came to the realization that he was likely moving out of the channel in the current and would soon be in the North Sea.  Perhaps a Norwegian fishing boat would find him weeks from now?  Or maybe a German U-boat would happen upon him and capture him?  No, subs didn’t take prisoners.  But they could radio a patrol craft to get him.  Would this be the end of his service in the war?  What if the war went on for years?  He’d be a prisoner!  No one would know what happened to him! At least no one would know for some time.  Eventually news would get out through the Red Cross, but that was assuming he didn’t perish at sea.

A red blinking light caught Rocky’s attention.  Sitting up he strained to see what was in the dark.  A ship?  After a few minutes Rocky concluded that wasn’t possible.  He was moving but the light was not.  The moonlight did illuminate the outline of a boxy object though.  It wouldn’t be a submarine and probably wasn’t a patrol boat, but perhaps it was a fishing vessel braving the hazardous conditions of war to catch fish?

“Hey!”  Rocky yelled out but he got no response.  Intrigued, Rocky used all his remaining energy to paddle closer before the raft could be carried away by the ocean currents.  It took twenty minutes but finally he was close!  A bright red cross on a white background materialized on the side of the object.

“Of course!  Salvation!”  Rocky said, elated.  Bader had told him about these things during training.  Deciding to risk it and abandon the dingy, Rocky dove into the cold water and swam across the current until he was at the side of the object.  He maneuvered around to the rear until he found a ladder.  Climbing up with shaky legs, Rocky collapsed on the metal porch of a rescue buoy.  Even better, it was one the Royal Navy had installed for downed pilots or crews of patrol boats.  Fiddling with the latch, Rocky opened the compartment and dragged himself inside.

He dug around until his hand felt the shape of a flashlight.  Igniting it, the inside of the room became apparent.  There were bunks and drawers full of supplies!

Soon Rocky’s clothes were all hanging up to dry on a coat rack and Rocky was wrapped up in nothing but towels and a blanket, waiting as a small stove heated a very late supper.  Several water bottles were strewn about, each sucked dry.  Most might think it was a foolish waste of food that could be rationed, but for Rocky there were enough supplies to last weeks.

There was a basic radio bolted to the bulkhead above some of the cabinets.  Help was only a call away!  Rocky stood up and read the instructions printed on the metal housing, but before he could turn it on he paused.  Fatigue was setting it.  If he activated the distress signal now he would be back on shore before dawn and would then have to go back up to fight as early as tomorrow afternoon.  The thought weighed on him.  Officially it was his duty, but he needed to sleep.  He needed rest.

“It can wait.”  Rocky said to himself.  They wouldn’t tell Evelyn he was missing until giving it a couple of days of searching at a minimum.  Rocky closed the door and opened a vent for the stove fumes.  With a full belly he crawled into a bunk.  The three-inch-thick mattress was as hard as rock and just about as forgiving, but for Rocky it may as well have been a feather bed.  Within moments he was asleep.

McMurray Farm, Missouri

“So where will you be deployed to?” Freckle asked around the dinner table while Joseph and the ladies cleaned up.

“I haven’t been given my orders yet, but I’ll find out in two weeks when I’m to report to California.”  Nick said.

“That must mean you’re going to somewhere in the Pacific.”  Ethan added.

“Well… not necessarily. People in my class are being sent to different places all over the country.  I expect that I won’t see some of them again.”

“Yeah, that is a shame.”  Freckle said.  “But hey, look at the bright side.  Maybe you’ll end up in Hawaii?”

“I gotta ask you, Nick.  Why did you decide to become a pilot?”  Joseph asked while doing dishes.

“I guess it started out with those magazines we’d bring into the treehouse.”  The older cats raised an eyebrow at that remark.

“No, not that sort of magazine!  Aviation and mechanics.  I did a lot of odd jobs around the state but eventually a recruiter found me.  Turns out I qualified to be a pilot, so here I am!”

“So no delusions of grandeur?”  Ethan asked, eyeing Joseph who exchanged glances.

“Nope, although it is fun! It’s the first time I’ve had a steady paycheck.  I can pay for the rest of the family now.”

“You got a good head on you, Nick.  But I’m sure your family wants to see you before it gets dark.”

“Yeah, I suppose…”  Nick said, standing up from the table.  “Thank you again, Mrs. McMurray.”  He said before shaking the men’s hands and departing.  “Joseph, Casy, let’s head into town tomorrow.”

Ethan picked up the day’s paper and flipped into the national section.  On the front was the topic every young man in the country had been thinking about.  “Draft Expected Soon” was the title.

“Looks like the rumors are true.  Soon we’ll have a draft if this story out of Washington is to be believed.”  Ethan said, setting the paper on the table.

“I better start getting my affairs in order.”  Freckle said, holding onto Ivy’s hand as she gripped his shoulder.

“Would it be better to enlist like Nick?”  Cal asked.

“This doesn’t mean you two are going to war.”  Ethan said, trying to keep them both calm. “Even if this does pass, they won’t do an actual lottery for months, maybe even years. You both have time to think about your options.”

“And what of you?”  Ivy asked.  “You aren’t worried, Ethan?”

“There’s a debate whether to make the cut-off age thirty-five or forty.  I guess we’ll see.  In any case, there’s no need to get anxious over this.”

“No, but now’s the time to get ready.”  Freckle responded, getting up from his seat.  “I need to wash up.”

Two hours later, Riley was reading on the porch in a sweater when Joseph came out of the house and sat down on the wooden deck, hands holding his head.  Riley immediately noticed and put down her book.

“Cal, if you’re worried about going off to war…”

“That’s not it, Riley.  Your brother told me not to be a hero if I do go to war.”

“He’s just looking out for you.  Personally I think he’s full of crap.  Did I ever have you read that book with his story in it.”

“He always insisted most of that was made-up.”

“Perhaps, but his actions weren’t.  I believe it now after having seen him in action over the years.  Put a rifle in Ethan’s hands and he becomes our champion.”

“Then why is he telling me not to do what’s right?”

“I said no such thing.”  Ethan said, stepping out and pulling out a cigarette which was an odd sight for the two younger cats.  “First one I’ve had since Rocky jumped in that hole to dig you out after the tornado.”

“You said ‘don’t be a hero’.”

“And I meant it, but being a hero and doing the right thing aren’t the same thing.  That’s what you kids don’t get.  Nothing about my service was heroic, but I did my job.  I survived.  I came home, and now I’ve got a family.  As disjointed as we are, we’re still a family and if there’s a God out there listening I thank him for that every day.”

“So what if I get drafted?  What am I supposed to do?”

“Survive… if you can.”

“But—”

Ethan held his hand up to stop Joseph.  He put on his worn-out campaign hat on his head. “If you end up being sent off to fight, there’s one thing I want you to promise me.  Not Freckle, not Rocky, not Ivy, Riley, or any of the kids, but me.”

Both Riley and Joseph were confused, so Ethan explained.  “I need to know your head is in the right place.”

“So what promise am I making?”

“That you don’t die stupidly.  I know you can’t promise to come back because there’s no guarantees in war, but it would break Rocky if you died for nothing.  Actually, it might break Rocky anyway, but at least we would know you went out making the world a better place.  Not just getting fed into a meat grinder like in the last war. I don’t want you dying in a war honestly believing that it will be the last one.  We were foolish enough to think that in 1918 and look at the hell our arrogance and ignorance have brought.”

Joseph still didn’t understand. “Why is this so serious to you?”

“Because it is serious, Cal!  Don’t you understand what getting drafted means?  If you get that letter, you are going off to fight.  You aren’t going to be stuck in an office somewhere; you aren’t going to be here stateside doing safe things.  You’re going to be on the frontline in hell.  You’ll do things that will haunt you forever.  If you must fight, I want you to do it with a clear head and clean conscious.”

Joseph swallowed hard from Ethan’s words.  In the pit of his stomach he knew his uncle was right.  He could see it on Ethan’s face.  Not scars that would be plainly visible to all, but scars that ran deep inside him.  Old wounds that would never heal right no matter what Ethan might try.

“Okay, Ethan.  I promise.  I won’t die stupidly.”

“Good.  What we’ve been doing up until now is just playing around.  Tomorrow the real training begins.”

RAF Coltishall, England

Rocky bumped along in a local truck with a medical cross on the roof and each door.  The truck came to a stop.  Rocky hobbled out on still-shaky legs.  It had been a full day and night at sea but he eventually posted the distress signal when he had awoken and within a couple of hours a boat came to get him and restock the life-saving buoy. Though the crew refused to tell him exactly where the rest were, the captain did tell the weary pilot that there were over a dozen such buoys around the coast in strategic locations.  He had gotten lucky enough to float near one in the middle of the night.

For the first time in weeks Rocky felt rested, but he wasn’t quite ready to jump into action just yet.  Even so, it didn’t matter whether he was ready or not, he’d surely be going out again soon.  Entering the nearly deserted office, the few people muddling about had a look of defeat on their faces.  Another night time raid had hit London and there was little anyone in the RAF could do about it.

“Sir, is Bader up there right now?”  Rocky asked one of the assistants.

“Yes, they were scrambled a half-hour ago.”

“I’ll get the flight suit ready.”

“Woah there, sergeant.  Until we get clearance from a doctor, you aren’t going up.  And certainly not alone.”

“Oh…”  Rocky was surprised but not in a bad way.  A few hours on solid ground would do him good. “Perhaps there’s another way for this grounded bird to be of service?”

“I guess you can help in the hangers. Campbell should be in the second one.”

“Yes sir!”  He said and made his way to the hanger, first stopping at his bunk.  He sat down on the bed and pulled out a photo of him, Evelyn, and Joseph.  Riley had taken their picture a year before Rocky and Evelyn left for their big adventure. The smiles on their faces brought him encouragement.  There was no doubt that this was going to be a tough battle, but he had to push through.  With Nathan at his side nothing was impossible!

“Sergeant Campbell?”  Rocky called out over the clanking of tools.  The rusty old cat from Nova Scotia popped his head up and a smile formed across his face.  “Rickaby!  They said you were lost.”

“Only for a night.  One of those buoys saved me from drifting into the frigid North Sea.”

“I’m glad you’re back. Shame about the others though…”

“Others?  Oh yeah, Gerald.  It was my fault; I led him to his doom.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, laddie.  This is war.  People die in war.  Gerald was a good kid but the fresh pilots die fastest.  You, my friend, have made it over the crest.  A seasoned pilot with two kills.”

“Nathan must have told you about the bomber then?”

“Nathan?  Oh goodness, no.  One of the other pilots witnessed it.  They’ve already given you credit on the board in the office.”

“Wait… Nathan didn’t say anything?”

“You didn’t hear?  He’s gone, Rocky.”

Rocky nearly fainted, slumping against the wing of a Hurricane.  “Not him too.  Oh God, I got my whole flight killed!  I told him to turn back toward land.”

“And from what I heard that boy disregarded your order.  He circled back and fought off half a squadron on his own.  By the time Bader turned himself around to help the boy was plunging toward the water.”

“God, Jack, why do I always screw things up?  Those boys trusted me!  Bader trusted me to bring them back safe!”

“No, Bader trusted you to bring down as many planes as you could, and that’s what you did.  But this is a heavy loss for sure.  There is one thing you can do to take your mind off of it if their fates bother you so.”

“What?”

Jack put a wrench in Rocky’s hand.  “Help me reload these birds.”

After a couple of hours, the squadron came back to land.  They were down three aircraft now and Douglas did not look pleased.  Rocky gulped.  He had a sneaking suspicion who was on his commander’s mind.

“Well, if you want to go see him, now’s the time while we prepare the Hurricanes to go up again.”

Rocky nodded and climbed off the wing, setting down the wrench.  “I should have been a mechanic.”  Rocky said to Jack before leaving.  Jack disagreed, however, seeing as how nothing Rocky had been doing for two hours had been done correctly.  “That boy better stick to the air because if I had a team like him we’d already be fixing Messerschmidts.”

“Sir?”  Rocky asked, leaning in the door.  Bader was looking over a map of the area but stopped and stood upright.  “Ah, sergeant!  You’re alive.”

“I was able to bail out in time.  I wish the same could be said for Gerald and Nathan.”

“Yes, their losses are a setback to be sure.”

“I’m sorry, Bader. I killed them.”

“Oh, so it was you flying a 109?”

“What?”

“Or are you claiming an incident of friendly fire?”

“No sir!  I… I led them up there and they trusted me to get them home.”

“Rocky, you can’t dwell on such thoughts.  Nathan and Gerald were loyal to you and England.  Both were glad to give their lives in service of their country.  If you try to get everyone home who is under your command then you’ll only get yourself killed.  But you three did manage to take down a 110.  Who knows how many lives you saved?”

“If you say so, sir.  I’m not sure I’m cut out for flying in your squadron.”

“Then you’ll be happy to know you won’t be.  You’ve been reassigned to a different squadron… temporarily.”

“Reassigned?”

“Park needs all the pilots he can get and while I don’t appreciate him poaching talent from my squadron, it’s evident that London needs more air cover.  So you will be moved closer to London.”

“So where will I be reassigned to?”  Rocky asked, thinking of what that would mean for him and Evelyn.

“You are going to Duxford, Rickaby.  Specifically Fowlmere, where nineteen squadron is based.  They’ve started flying Spitfires this summer and I think the aircraft will suit you.”

Rocky couldn’t believe it.  He had seen the spitfires around the airfield and in other places, but until now most squadrons were flying hurricanes.  This also meant that he would no longer be just flying over airfields along the east coast.  No, he would be fighting over London!

“Oh, and one more thing.  I just got the report this morning confirming what Nathan said before he met his end the other day.  He says that you engaged and downed a German ace after that pilot killed Kensington.”

“That’s more or less what happened.”

“Well, we found the remains of the aircraft along the beach.  I requested that a certain panel be brought to the airfield as a sort of trophy.”  Bader then unveiled a small panel that was beaten and scratched but still showed the victory markers.  There were over twenty decals of ariel victories in Spain, Poland, Denmark, and France.

“You may only have two victories to your name, Rocky, but this one is significant.  You engaged, outwitted, and killed one of the best aces in the Luftwaffe.  I don’t know how you managed this without destroying your own aircraft, but it seems clear to me that you have potential.  We’re keeping this with the squadron, but when you get down South I want you to fight just like you did when you shot down this 109, understood?”

“Yes sir!”  Rocky said, snapping to attention.

“And because it is improper for a mere sergeant to be commanding a flight within a larger squadron, I’ve seen fit to put you in for a promotion.  Congratulations, Lieutenant.  You’re an officer in the Royal Air Force.”