Book IV Page 4

  “Perfect. I’m quartered there for tonight,”

  They walked over to the sleeping quarters together.

  Thirty minutes later they were in John Brand’s car, a dark green 1932 Ford coupe, and speeding down Flatbush Avenue. He pulled over at a small bar and grill, The Prop Wash, hopped out and led the way into the dimly lit bar.

  A loud jukebox played Glenn Miller’s band, “Pennsylvania Six-Five Thousand” as shadows danced in the smoky room. John grabbed a spot at the corner of the bar and waved at some of the people on the dance floor.

  The bartender came over and with a smile said, “Hi, Johnny. Ballantine?”

  John nodded as he lit a cigarette and turned to Bill, “What’s your pleasure, sir?”

  “I’ll have a beer, too, and forget the ‘sir’ stuff. Bill’s okay.”

  The bartender put two mugs of cold beer in front of them and John reached into his pocket only to be stopped by Bill.

  “On me, John. It’s my treat.” He picked up his mug and John did the same as Bill said, “Here’s to defeating gravity, whenever we can.”

  John grinned, “Hear, hear,” and took a drink. He put his mug down and asked, “Do you get to fly much, Bill?”

  “Naw, I took a different route. “

  “Intelligence,” said John, hefting his mug of beer.

  “Actually, I was Navy.”

  “Navy?” asked John with a grin. “What happened? See the light?”

  Now Bill laughed, “Sort of, but in my job, I can be in any branch of the service I need to be in, to complete my missions.”

  John looked surprised and said, “You mean you can just go Navy, Army, Marine Corps, or Coast Guard as you wish?”

  Bill shrugged his shoulders casually and replied, “Yeah, sort of like that.”

  John nodded and winked. “Intelligence. Boy, you guys have it made.”

  “Don’t you like it here at Floyd Bennett Field?” Bill asked as he raised his hand for the bartender who came back right away with two more beers.

  “To answer that question, I love it here, but, . . . I’d give anything to go with you to England and see some action.” He took a sip of his fresh beer, put out his cigarette and lit another one as he continued, “I know a couple of guys who ‘volunteered’ for the Royal Flying Corps. They’re in combat every day with the Luftwaffe. That’s what I want, but Air Training Command says, no. They want me here to teach other people to fly.”

  “Well,” answered Bill, “it is needed and from what I heard, you are the best.”

  John looked up and said with a grin, “They said that, huh? They think I’m the best?” He leaned over his beer. “Well, I’ve got a mind to quit and join up with the Brits to get some action anyway.”

  Bill said, “Look, let’s face it. Even if the war started tomorrow, they’re going to want to keep you right here in Training.” He took a sip and continued, “What if I gave you a chance to go into combat. What would you say to that?”

  John put his beer down, threw down his cigarette and crushed it beneath his foot.

  “What would I say? I’d say, damn right I want to see combat. Just tell me what I have to do?”

  Bill spoke as confidentially as the din in the bar allowed, “Take six weeks leave and come with me to Europe.”

  John looked like a little boy with wide eyes as he asked, “You’re not kidding? You can do that? Just take me overseas?”

  “Well, kind of. I mean we have to talk some more. In a more private place.”

  “There’s a coffee shop next door,” said an excited John. He lit another cigarette and finished his beer. Bill finished his too and followed him to the coffee shop.

  They sat in a corner and ordered the shop’s specialty, grilled cheese on rye toast and coffee. They waited until their second cups of coffee before they got serious.

  From his research in 2011, Bill knew that Lt. John Brand had taken two months leave of absence to think over whether or not he would join the Royal Air Force. In the end, he didn’t, but as Bill sat in the 1940 coffee shop he quickly calculated that he could use that time for the mission. As John lit another cigarette, Bill said, “Can you get two months off?”

  “Yep!” he said with a big grin. “In fact, I put some paperwork through a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to spend some time just fishing and thinking. So the answer is; yes, I can get time off. But, wouldn’t this be a military transfer? And why would I need to take time off if it was?”

  Bill sat forward and said in a low voice, “If I told you that I work with a certain branch of the government that can do things no one else can, would you trust me?”

  “Would it get me into combat?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then yes, I trust you. What do I have to do?”

  “First of all, get that two months’ leave, and we go to England.”

  John looked at him with arched eyebrows. “Just like that?”

  “No,” said Bill with a sly look on his face, “there’s more I have to tell you.” He sat back and John squashed his cigarette out in an ashtray only to light another. “As I said,” Bill continued, “we can do things that other branches of the military can’t do, but I have to swear you to secrecy.”

  John raised his right hand and said, “I swear . . .”

  Bill raised his hand and stopped him. “Good enough. You’re in.”

  John raised his eyebrows and said, “That’s it? I’m in, just like that?”

  Bill shrugged his shoulders and answered, “Sure, why not? You swore, right?”

  John nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “All right. There’s something I want to tell you. There’s a war coming. It’ll be with Germany, Italy and Japan. You’ll become one of the best instructor pilots in the U.S. Army Air Corp. You’ll be so good, that Training Command will keep you with them throughout the war, without you ever seeing combat. But, in the hundreds of pilots you will train, sixty-two will down one enemy aircraft, thirty-six will down three, twenty-seven will down four, seventeen will become aces, fifty-six will become colonels and three will become generals.” He paused. “So, you see as an instructor you will have done much, much more than you’ll ever be able to do in combat.”

  John looked stunned, then said, “What do you mean . . . you know this? How can you be so sure? Do you guys have a crystal ball or something?”

  “Yes, something like that.”

  The lieutenant shook his head slowly. “Sorry, Captain, I don’t buy it at all.”

  Bill took out a piece of paper and glanced at it, then back at John. “I’ll tell you something no one knows but you. Okay?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “You’re color blind.”

  John sat straight up, his eyes wide, “Wha . . .? What do you mean? I’m . . . I’m not color blind. You . . . you’re crazy.” He stubbed out his cigarette.

  “There’s something else.”

  John lit another smoke.

  “You were married once, for three days.”

  “Where are you getting this stuff?” whispered John, shaking his head.

  Bill opened his hands. “I have more.”

  John shook his head, “No, no more. What do you want?”

  “Nothing. Don’t be silly; I’m not going to tell anyone. But I’d sure like to know how you got past the Army doctors with the color blind thing.”

  “Easy,” he said smiling, “the doctor was color blind and I was dating his sister. She told me he was colorblind and I mentioned it to him. He was okay about it, as long as I didn’t tell anyone. We both turned the other eye so to speak.” He shook his head, “But how could you know that? I’m sure he never told and I never told his sister I was colorblind. And I never, ever told anyone about my three-day marriage.”

  “Look,” said Bill, “I think I have your attention and I want to make sure. So, here are a few things that I know you never told anyone. You took fifty cents out of the collection plate during a church service when you were a kid. You flew un
der a power line upside down when you soloed away from the field. And you have two hundred and fifty dollars saved up in a glass jar buried in your mother’s backyard for your son’s college education.”

  John’s jaw was hanging open as the cigarette burned down to a stub and burned his fingers. “Ouch!” he shouted, as he dropped the cigarette. “How can you know any of that? I never told anyone any of those things! What is this?”

  “Listen, John, I didn’t want to bring those things up, and believe me, I’d never tell a soul, but I needed to make you understand what I have to tell you. Will you listen to me?”

  John sat back and lit another cigarette, inhaled and blew out a huge cloud. “Well, seems like you have all the cards,” he said as he took a deep drag on his smoke. “You Intelligence guys are good. I have to say that.”

  “My turn to let you in on a little secret I have. I’m not with Intelligence.”

  “John looked at him questioningly. “What then? FBI or something?”

  “John,” Bill said as he took a sip of coffee, “my department has invented the time machine. That’s how I know these things.”

  John squinted and said, “Get out of here,” but his whispered tone let Bill know that John would be only too happy to believe this was how his innermost secrets had been revealed.

  Bill nodded and said, “It’s for real. That’s how I know of your war record.”

  “And other things,” John added.

  “Yes, and other things too. But I looked for those things simply to make you a believer. I mean, let’s face it. If I told you things everyone knew about you, you’d laugh at me.”

  John sat forward and asked, “So, if this is true, what does the government do with this time travel gizmo?”

  “Let’s say we fix history to stay on course.”

  “That’s it?” asked John with his arms wide open. “That’s how you use it? I mean, why not shoot this Hitler guy?”

  Bill shook his head, “The time I come from has history already written, and I can’t change it. All I can do is fix it if it starts going off course.”

  “So, what part of history are you here to fix then?”

  “Actually, it’s history that was played out twenty-two years ago. I’m sure you know of Eddie Rickenbacker?”

  John nodded. “Sure do. Captain Eddie is the tops. He downed twenty-six enemy aircraft.” John continued, with obvious admiration, “Now, that’s flying.” He suddenly looked squarely at Bill and said, “And now you say I don’t get into combat in the next one? Boy, I sure do hope you’re wrong.”

  Bill shook his head no, “I’m not wrong. You stay in Training Command for the duration.”

  “So, how are you going to get me some combat time, if you say I don’t get any?”

  “You don’t get any combat time,” answered Bill as he finished his coffee, “in this coming war. But you can get combat time in the last war. Interested?”

  John stared at him for only a second, then said, “You mean fly combat in the Great War? Am I interested? Darn tootin’ I’m interested. I was weaned on air stories of The Red Baron, Lufberry, McCuddon and all of the great aces. So, yes, I’m interested.” He squashed out his half-smoked cigarette and continued, “That is, if this time gizmo of yours is for real.”

  “Want to take a short trip back?” asked Bill.

  “To where?” asked a still-unconvinced John.

  “What would you like to do if you could travel back?” came the answer as John found the man’s excitement building.

  “I’d love to watch Lindbergh take off on his transatlantic flight. When can we go?”

  “Is now good for you?”

  John blinked and stood as he squashed out his cigarette, “I’m ready.”

  Bill smiled as he put down the money plus a tip and stood beside him. “Then let’s go.”

  Once back in John’s car they drove back the same way Bill had come to the field and in an hour they had parked outside The 1800 Club’s garden. John followed Bill through the gate and watched as he opened the heavy door leading to the stairs up to the club. Bill took the stairs two at a time with John close behind.

  DATELINE: 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

  Bill opened a second door and John saw a well-decorated room with eighteenth-century furniture.

  “Nice,” he said. “Your place, Captain?”

  “Yes, but stay with Bill, John. I was never a captain. In fact, I was never in the Army.”

  John appeared to be a bit on guard and asked, “So, why are we here?”

  Bill took his jacket off and answered as he pointed to John’s uniform. “Can’t go back to 1927 in 1940 clothing, right?”

  “Mmm,” answered John, “guess you’re right. So, what do we do?”

  Bill went to an intercom and pressed a button. Matt instantly answered, “You rang, sir?”

  “Hi, Matt,” answered Bill. “I need a change of clothes for 1927. I’d like to keep it civilian and casual. Also, one hundred dollars and some coins. Plus, we have a male guest who has to be outfitted pretty much the same. Oh, and Matt, the clothing should be for springtime. Okay?”

  “Yes sir, I’ll be up in a few minutes with an outfit for you and I’ll take some measurements for your guest.”

  Bill pointed to an easy chair and John sat down, bewildered. “Cigar?” Bill asked, and at John’s nod passed him one, lit it and lit one for himself.

  John inhaled and asked in a low tone as he looked around, “Where are we?”

  “My club. But it’s not where, but when, that’s important. I brought you up to the year 2011.”

  “Are you for real?” John asked as he squinted through a puff of white smoke.

  “Yep! But now’s not the time to show you around. We have to get set for 1927.”

  John shook his head and said, “This is the most unbelievable thing that ever happened to me. If you pull off the Lindbergh thing, I’ll believe anything.”

  Two minutes later, Matt came into the den and handed Bill an outfit of gray tweed pants, a white collarless shirt, suspenders and brown high-top shoes along with a low, peaked cap. A tan jacket finished the outfit. He then turned to John and took his measurements.

  Bill sat and opened his laptop as John watched with eyes wide.

  “What are you doing? What is that thing you’re typing on?”

  “I’ll fill you in later. Right now it’s telling me that Charles Lindbergh took off from Roosevelt Field on Long Island, New York, at exactly seven fifty-two in the morning. I just want to make sure we get there on time.”

  Twenty minutes later John was dressed along the same lines as Bill. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. “Just like a guy in the twenties. Boy, you folks seem to be set for anything.”

  “Shall we go to see Lindbergh off?

  “Ready when you are,” answered an assured John.

  Bill set the Time Exchanger to May 20, 1927, at five o’clock in the morning. He opened the door and they both went downstairs.

  DATELINE: MAY 20, 1927 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

  When Bill opened the door, everything looked pretty much the same until John said, “Hey, where’s my car? It’s been stolen!”

  Bill laughed and said, “Shh, don’t wake the neighborhood. It’s five in the morning, and your car won’t be here for another thirteen years. Remember? You parked it here in 1940.”

  John shook his head. “Oh, wow! So we did it then? This is really 1927?”

  “Yep! And now we have to catch a cab to take us to the field.”

  Bill opened the gate and they walked a few blocks with John gawking at everything along the way. Finally, they saw a taxicab. Bill flagged it down and they got in.

  Traffic was light as they drove through an early morning fog. John’s head seemed to be on a swivel as he took in all the sights along the way. Finally, they reached a foggy Roosevelt Field at five forty-five. Bill asked the driver to wait for them until eight o’clock, knowing that Lindber
gh’s aircraft, “The Spirit of St. Louis,” would be gone by then, and gave him a large tip.

  They put up their collars against the morning mist and walked toward to the hangar that housed Lindbergh’s aircraft.

  John shook his head as he asked, “Jeeze! This is for real isn’t it, Bill? We’re really back in ’27 and gonna see Lindy take off.”

  Bill’s grin gave him the answer he wanted.

  A small group of reporters were bunched together smoking and drinking from flasks, as they looked skyward.

  “Two bucks says he scratches the flight,” said Ted Robinsen of the Daily News.

  Kerry Allisen of the Mirror said, “You’re on, Robinsen. I saw the look in his eyes. He’s going.”

  Just then a third reporter whispered, “Shhh, here he comes.”

  They all looked as a tall, lanky man dressed in brown riding pants, white shirt and a brown jacket, walked out of the hangar and looked up at the scudding gray clouds.

  Bill tapped John on his shoulder and said in a low voice, “What a moment, huh, John?”

  John just stood transfixed as Lindbergh went back inside.

  Suddenly the hangar doors began a low groan as the pilot and his mechanics slowly pushed them open. They then started to push out the fuel-heavy airplane. John looked at Bill, and they both ran over to help push the aircraft as it waddled on its fat tires onto the muddy grass field. It took ten minutes to place her at the takeoff point. Lindbergh nodded his thanks as John took out a cigarette.

  “Cigarette, Mr. Lindbergh?”

  The tall man smiled and shook his head, “Thanks, no. They stunt your growth.”

  The small crowd laughed at his remark, and John smiled as he put the cigarette away. His trained eye spotted a small break in the grayness and he pointed to it. Lindbergh gave him the universal ‘thumbs up’ sign, climbed into the small cockpit and at seven-forty started his engine. It coughed at first in the damp air, then purred smoothly as he gently ran it up and then back down as he checked the gauges. Then, without any fanfare, he stuck his head out the right window and shouted, “Clear?”