London Dawn (12 page)

“That’s what Hawker Aviation calls it. The Air Ministry hasn’t approved the name or the plane yet.” He patted the fabric-covered wing with his hand. “Tell us what you think.”

“Will do, sir.”

“What’re your thoughts on the new king?”

“The Prince of Wales?” asked Kipp.

“Edward the Eighth now, laddie,” replied Harrington.

“He’s capable enough, isn’t he?”

“He doesn’t act much like a king, if you ask me. No respect for the way things have been done for centuries. But our dear King George has passed on, and there’s nothing for it but Edward the Eighth now.”

“He flies a plane, sir, that’s something.”

“Yes, he flies a plane. But a king needs to do more than sit in a cockpit.” Harrington put his hands in the pants pockets of his RAF uniform. “Did you hear the news this morning? The Germans have reoccupied the Rhineland.”

“What? But that violates the Treaty of Versailles, doesn’t it?”

“Herr Hitler doesn’t give a fig for the Treaty of Versailles or the Treaty of Locarno. The old war is long in the past. Time for a new Germany and a new Europe. Oh, he claims it’s a move against being trapped by the French and the Soviet Union. They made a pact together last year, you see.”

“What does the prime minister have to say, sir?”

“Not much, Danforth, not much. But what with the new planes and the new ships coming out of the Third Reich, it’s easy enough to see the writing on the wall now that we have German soldiers on the French border again.” Harrington ran his hand over the wing of the Hurricane. “Whatever happened to that brother-in-law of yours, the chap who won the Victoria Cross? Went into missionary work, didn’t he? Africa?”

“That’s right.”

“How’s he getting on? Marvelous that he got himself up flying again after that crash that took both his legs.”

“He’s…well, he’s…” Kipp stopped putting his leather flying helmet over his head. “We’ve not heard from him or his family in four months, sir. Not since the start of the war in Ethiopia.”

“What? British officials in the region don’t know anything?”

“The family’s far back in the bush. Officials claim they can’t get any clear information on their whereabouts.”

“Your father must have some leverage as an MP. He’s always backed Stanley Baldwin, hasn’t he? Now that Baldwin’s in as prime minister, surely there’s a way through the jungle?”

“Dad’s certainly on top of it, Captain. A bit exasperated, but he’ll give Westminster no rest until he has some answers.”

“Good show. Let me know, will you? I have no doubt but we’ll be needing men with his fighting spirit a few years from now.”

Kipp buckled his leather helmet. “Will they let him in without legs?”

“If he can still fly rings around the moon and he’s fit from the knees up.”

“Are you sure?”

“My plan,” Harrington almost whispered, “is to get him in here testing planes alongside you and the other blokes. Supermarine Aviation Works will have a fighter for us in a few months and I’d like him in on that. If he proves himself capable as test pilot, the RAF will clear him for combat flights with the stroke of a pen.”

“Combat flights? Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?”

“Ahead of ourselves? Do you honestly think so, lad?” He slapped the fuselage of the plane twice. “Away you go.”

The engine roared, and the Hurricane made its way down the runway and lifted smoothly into the gray sky. Kipp immediately put it into a steep climb and was happy with its response to the stick. He barrel rolled it a few times, brought it out straight and level, and pushed its speed as far as he dared. Next he flung it into a dive, buzzing the huts and hangars and tower, and promptly put it into another climb, another dive, and three spins. He opened up the throttle once more and screamed over the airfield and village. He stayed up half an hour.

“You think my hair’s not regulation length, is that it, Danforth?” snapped Harrington once Kipp had brought the Hurricane down and slid back the canopy. “You felt the need to trim it back with the prop when you did your little flypast?”

“Speaking of the prop, sir, this is a brilliant plane—I’ll take it over the Sopwith Camel any day—but we must do something about the prop and blades.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

Kipp jumped to the ground and went to the front of the plane, putting his hand on the wooden propeller. “Watts, isn’t that what I read? Fixed-pitch.”

“What of it?”

“It’s fine in the air, superb at attack speeds, but it doesn’t do the job at takeoff. Takes too long to get the plane airborne. You saw that yourself, didn’t you?”

“Put it in your report,” grumbled Harrington.

“She’s really a beauty, sir, stable as a good biplane and fast as a comet.
But I’m sure we could get better dive speeds in a dogfight if we got rid of the fabric-covered wings and used all-metal wings instead.”

“Is that what you think? Well, no one else has mentioned it.”

“The added strength would make all the difference. Especially if we have to go up against something like the Messerschmitt.”

“The Messerschmitt! Now who’s getting ahead of himself?”

“They’re not building them to fly mail, sir. They’re rearming.”

“I know they’re rearming, Danforth!” snapped Harrington. “The whole world knows they’re rearming! That’s why you and I are standing out here in the middle of this runway in March weather!”

“Will we do anything about it, sir, besides try to play catch-up with our own fighter planes?”

“Of course we’ll do something about it, Danforth. We’ll all go to the Olympics in Berlin this August and cheer like mad for the British runners and swimmers.”

“There is something else, sir.”

“You were only up the once. I don’t want an encyclopedia.”

They began to walk toward the huts. “No, sir, and I’ll want to take it up several more times, but it doesn’t recover from a spin well. I’m really not sure why. The rudder’s gone, you see. It’s just not there when you call on it. I did three spins, and it was difficult to pull out of all three of them.”

“Hmm. Type it up. I’ll ask Sammy what he thinks the next time he takes her up.” Harrington abruptly stopped walking. “Who the devil is that?”

A car had pulled up in front of one of the huts, and a woman driver had emerged.

“Why, that’s—” Kipp began.

“She’s stunning, absolutely stunning.” Harrington smoothed down both sides of his moustache. “Do you think she’s here to see me?”

Kipp smiled. “I’m sure she is, sir. Most likely to get a full report on your test pilot’s activities. She’s my wife, Caroline.”

“Your wife! Why didn’t you say so, man? I thought she was up in London!”

“She is. Or rather, she was. I honestly have no idea what she’s doing here, sir. But I can’t say I’m sorry.”

Harrington barked out a harsh laugh. “I don’t imagine you can. Neither can I.”

“Caroline!” Kipp put his arms around her. “Why’d you drive all the way down here? I’ll be up in London this weekend.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “I couldn’t wait, could I?”

“And they let you through the gate?”

“I did collect an RAF pass in London.”

“This is Captain Harrington,” he said, taking her by the hand.

“How do you do, Captain? Kipp tells me how much he enjoys working with you.”

“Does he? Does he indeed? I’m glad to hear it.” Harrington clapped Kipp on the shoulder. “Crack of dawn tomorrow. All the best.”

“Thank you, sir.” Kipp saluted and smiled at his wife. “What’s going on?”

“I’m in love with you and I’m a messenger boy.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Hop in and I’ll explain.”

Kipp climbed into the passenger seat of the small car, and Caroline drove back through the front gate with a wave at the sentries and continued along the road to the village.

“Do you know where that track off to the left goes?” she asked.

“Bushes and pastureland eventually.”

She turned onto the track and drove until they couldn’t be seen from the road and parked behind a tall hedge of gray winter leaves. Then she took Kipp in her arms and gave him a long kiss.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

“I feel the same way, love. But it would only have been another day or two.”

“Well, I’m down for the weekend. Our brood is with their cousins, so I have you all to myself in beautiful Suffolk. I hope you have room in your flat for me.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No, you won’t. If you’re on the floor, I’m on the floor with you.”

He laughed and tilted her chin up with his fingers. “You look younger and more beautiful every day. How do you do that?”

“Charmer. Good genes, I suppose.”

“So are we supposed to be like a couple who’ve snuck off to the bushes so they can be alone?”

“Yes. Why not? But first.” She produced an envelope from her coat.

“What’s this?”

“It’s from your father.”

“Must I read it now?”

“I’d rather we get it out of the way, yes.”

“My mind’s on other things now.” Kipp began to kiss her on the cheek and neck.

She closed her eyes. “Is it?”

“It was on aviation an hour ago, but now I can’t even recall what I was flying. Do you?”

“A plane of some sort, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not sure.” He ran his hand through her thick blond hair and pulled her closer. “There. I had the name for a moment but it’s gone.”

“Oh, Kipp.” She tried to squirm loose. “We must talk first.”

“You started it.”

“I started it?”

“You showed up looking so inviting.”

“In this ratty old coat? With my hair all windblown?”

He kissed her ear and her hair. “You look perfect.”

“I do not look perfect. I was in such a rush to get here. There was barely time to pack a few things.”

“What was the rush? Was I the rush?”

“Oh, yes, you were the rush.” She pushed him back with both hands. “They’ve found Ben and Victoria.”

“What?” Kipp pulled back. “When? Are they all right?”

“Physically they’re fine. Ben was forced down by an Italian fighter before Christmas. He was ferrying some medical supplies near the border with Ethiopia and took a burst of machine-gun fire. Crashed in the jungle. He had a hard time with no legs making it to a town where he could contact Vic. Some bigwigs from Westminster got involved and told him not to say anything. That Britain’s official policy is not to offend Rome. Oh, it’s all a big mess. They just started letting their mail go through a few weeks ago. Your father is furious. But no one in the family is allowed to go public about what happened to Ben. All hush-hush. So the mission is without a plane and there Ben sits with Victoria and the boys at his side.”

Kipp hesitated, taking it all in. “He’s not hurt.”

“Banged up from the crash. Nothing serious.”

“I can write him then.”

“Yes, of course. But they’ll jail you if you speak publicly about the incident with the Italian fighter.”

“Dad wanted you to come down here and tell me this?”

“In person. No telegrams. No phone calls. No letters.”

Kipp lifted up the envelope she’d given him. “What’s this then?”

She shrugged. “There were a lot of things on his mind. Once I said I’d drive down here with the news about Ben he dashed it off.”

“I should read it.”

“Go ahead.”

My dear boy,

With Caroline running to Martlesham Heath to give you the news about Ben and Victoria I thought it best to jot down some of my thoughts. First, let me say I pray for you daily and I thank God you are where you are. German rearmament is surging ahead at a frenetic pace, and no one is in a position to put a halt to it, so you must help rebuild our air force. Our government is playing a fool’s game by favoring Italy in the Ethiopian War, believing Rome will side with us against any aggression from Herr Hitler. Nonsense. Fascists will flock with fascists. Which brings me to the trouble in Spain.

You must keep this very close to your chest. I only put it in writing because Caroline is bringing this letter to you. We anticipate an uprising of Spanish fascist elements against the Socialist government of that country. My sources are fairly certain Britain will side with the fascists. We want untroubled access to Spanish ports and Gibraltar and feel we will get them from the fascists more so than the Socialists or Communists. As you know, Terry is down there with the
Hood
and the Mediterranean Fleet right now, keeping an eye out for Italy’s interests, though the fight is very one-sided and Ethiopia must surrender shortly. The
Hood
will most certainly not be recalled to English waters if the threat remains of conflict in Madrid and Barcelona. Your brother Edward is down there as well, you remember, HMS
Rodney
and the Home Fleet was dispatched to Gibraltar weeks ago.