The White Knight (8 page)

Luke sat down as well. “It's about a young boy who makes a mistake about a woman and spends his life trying to live with it.”

Ritter smiled. “A common story.”

“Yes.”

“You like books of fiction?”

“Sometimes they're better than real life. Much easier than reality, I think.”

“I prefer reality.”

“I thought you might.”

“Because I'm German?”

“Not at all.”

“Why, then?”

“You just don't seem to be a romantic. You seem like a man who wants only what he can touch.”

“I think that is right.”

“I, on the other hand, am a romantic.”

“Any man who fights in a war not his own is a romantic, I suppose.” Ritter picked up the newspaper. “I brought a paper for you. Look at the headline.”

Luke took the paper.
Republican Army Surrenders.
He looked up and said, “The war is finally over.”

“Indeed it is. We're all leaving by early next week.”

“Going back to Germany?”

“Of course.”

Luke handed the paper back but Ritter said, “Keep it. You may want to study it.”

“I don't read Spanish all that well.”

Ritter shifted his weight. “I've come to say good-bye and . . . and something else.” The German seemed ill at ease and had trouble finding the words he was searching for. “Thank you for sparing my life.”

Luke's eyes locked with those of Ritter. “I still don't know why I did it,” he said.

“For whatever reason, I'm grateful. But here's what I've come to say. You're free to go home now.”

“You mean right now?”

“Anytime you choose. You can go back to your unit, or if you prefer, I can get you a berth on a ship. There's one leaving tomorrow for America.”

“I have a friend I need to take with me if he's still alive.”

“That will be acceptable.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Of course!”

“I was about to be shot, and now I'm free to go.”

“If you wish, you can go find your friend and return here for the night. Tomorrow I will personally see to it that you both get to the ship.”

“I don't want any favors from you, Major.”

“Don't be foolish, Winslow. It's all over.”

“No. It's over in Spain, but the conflict is not over. Hitler
will never be happy until he's conquered all of Europe. Actually, I don't think even that would make him happy.”

“You're mistaken. The führer has promised that we will take no more action against our neighbors. There will be no more wars like this one.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Of course I believe it.”

“Then you're a fool.”

Ritter flushed. “I suppose it's only natural you should think so. Come. I have a vehicle waiting. The driver will take you to find your friend, then bring you back here.”

“All right.”

“I hope things go well with you.”

“And I suppose I need to at least thank you for this.” Ritter shrugged. “You are an honorable man, Lieutenant. We're both soldiers. We have both seen hard battle, but at least at this time we can call a truce. Come. The driver's waiting.”

****

Streak shook his head. “I don't know how you did it. It's a miracle! You fall in a sewer and come up smelling like a rose, Luke.”

“I don't understand it myself.”

The two men were gathering their few belongings in Luke's room in the officers' quarters. Luke had been relieved when he had found his friend alive and well the day before, and the man had readily agreed to Luke's plan. They had spent the night in the officers' quarters, knowing the cook would feed them well. Ritter would be there momentarily to take them to the coast, about an hour's drive away.

“Ritter's a strange man,” Luke said. “He's a cold-blooded killer when he's in an airplane, but he's treated me decently. More than decently, really.”

“Still, he's part of the Condor Legion,” Streak said as the two men made their way outside. “You know what terrible things they've done.”

“I know and I told him if I ever come across him in the air again, I'll kill him. Of course, he feels the same way about me.”

The two men looked up as the car rounded the corner with Ritter in the front seat beside the driver.

“This is it, old friend,” Luke told Streak. “It's almost time to say good-bye to these Germans for good.”

****

Ritter stood in front of the ship, looking up at it. “It may be a slow journey, but you'll get back to the States eventually.”

“I hope so, Major.”

“What will you do when you get back?”

“I have no idea.”

Ritter put out his hand. “I know you don't like it, Winslow, but I will never forget how you spared my life. I believe God is in these things.”

After a moment's hesitation, Luke put his hand out. The German's hand was hard, strong, and firm. “You believe in God, then.”

“Why, of course! Don't you?”

“My people do.” He gripped the hand of the German hard and nodded. “I'll try to think of you charitably, Erich.” The major's first name was out of his mouth before he even gave it a thought.

“And I will always think of you charitably, Luke.”

Ritter got back in the car, and Luke watched him go.

“Well, I'll say this for him,” Streak said as he approached from a short distance away. “He went beyond the call of duty by arranging for our transportation home. He's not the kind of man I thought he'd be.”

“I can't help thinking sooner or later I'll meet that man again and it won't be as pleasant as this.”

Streak shrugged. “I'm going to forget it all—this whole war—and you need to do the same.”

“I'll try.”

But Luke was sure he could not do the same.

****

The two men had suitable quarters on the ship, but Luke stayed to himself for the most part. Melosa was constantly on his mind. He remembered her touch and how she had said,
“I love you, Luke.”
That had been one of the last things she had said to him. He stood alone on the ship in the middle of the ocean, watching the vast spaces. Looking up at the stars, he tried to pray but found he could not. There was still bitterness in his heart against the Germans, and he feared it would destroy him.

What will I do with myself?
he wondered as he turned in the direction of America.
How can I live without Melosa?

CHAPTER SEVEN

New Beginnings

Looking down at his plate, Streak poked at the pale contents and then glanced up at Luke. “What do you suppose this stuff is? It doesn't look like anything I ever ate.”

“I have no idea,” Luke said with a shrug. “After being on this ship for more than a week, you should know better than to ask.”

“I'll be glad to get back to good old American cooking, believe you me!”

“So will I.”

Shoving his plate back, Streak took out a bag of tobacco and a paper from his pocket and constructed a cigarette. He licked the edge and tightened the two ends before sticking it in his mouth and lighting it with a match. “I thought Spain was pretty bad, but La Vaca is worse.” He drew on the cigarette and watched the smoke curl upward. “Hey, what do you suppose the name of this boat means, anyway?”

“La Vaca? You don't know?”

“Nope. Never thought to ask.”

“It means ‘the cow.' ”

A grin spread across Streak's face. “Well, it's got the right name, I guess. It wallows like a cow every time the waves get higher than six inches. It smells like a cow barn, and the food tastes like something you might feed to a cow.”

Luke shrugged and tried to put a little more of the gray mass down, but it was too much for him. He pulled an apple
out of his pocket, cut it in two, and handed half to his companion.

Streak's eyes widened. “Where'd you get an apple on La Vaca?”

“I stole it when the cook wasn't looking.”

Streak took a bite of the apple. “Not bad. You ever eat an apple in Washington State?”

“Never been there.”

“Best apples in the world. I wish I had a bushel of them. And a good watermelon.”

“Not likely to get one of those here either.”

“I reckon not.”

The mess hall, where the two men were seated, was grim, depressing, and unsanitary, like all the other parts of the ship. It smelled of old grease, cabbage, and other unmentionable items. Both Luke and Garrison had lost weight on the journey back to the States. The boat was transporting fruit from the Mediterranean, and black flies formed a cloud over the cargo. Nothing seemed to disperse them, and both men spent a great deal of time slapping at themselves and brushing the pesky insects away.

Their cabin was like a coffin, only big enough for a narrow bunk bed and no bathing facilities. There were no portholes, so when the door was shut it was like being buried alive. When they had come aboard they had found the sheets and blankets on the bunk were so filthy neither man would use them before washing them out in seawater. Most of the time they stayed up on deck, going below to sleep only when they could not keep their eyes open any longer.

The two men wandered up to the deck and stood at the rail watching the gray waters of the Atlantic roll. It was late in the afternoon, and huge clouds were boiling up in the west. Luke studied them and rubbed his chin. “There could be trouble in that.”

“Just what we need—a hurricane. Maybe we'll get to
Charleston before it hits. After that I don't care what it does. It can rain cats and dogs for all I care.”

Taking his eyes off the sky, Luke turned to face Garrison. “What are you going to do when we get to the States?”

“As little as I can.”

“Sounds good to me. You know, I've been thinking about the fellows that won't be coming back.” Since they'd been on the ship, fuzzy memories of all the young men Luke had seen die in combat had constantly been swirling through his head. It disturbed him that he could not remember some of them very clearly—their names or their faces.
A man should leave more behind him than that. He ought to leave a legacy of some kind.
Luke shoved the thought away with a gust of irritation. There was no point in thinking like that.

“What are you going to do, Luke?”

“Not sure.”

“You could go to work for your dad in that factory of his.”

“I suppose I could.”

Streak grinned and punched Luke on the shoulder. “You're a caution, Luke. You'd complain if they hung you with a new rope! Why, if I had a rich daddy that owned a factory, I'd never hit a tap as long as I lived. I'd just spend the old man's money and enjoy life.”

“Just become a parasite, huh?”

“You bet!” Streak's eyes were gleaming with fun. “I'd never show up to work, except when Daddy got upset and I had to.”

“It doesn't sound like a very exciting life. Besides, my brother, Tim, wouldn't put up with it.”

“Does he run the factory?”

“He's the vice-president.”

Streak caught something in his friend's tone. “What's the matter? You and Tim don't get along?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“He's a straight arrow and I'm the prodigal son. Always been that way since we were in grade school, I guess. Tim's
a good fellow but a little stuffy. He had a fit when I went to Spain.”

“Why?”

“He wanted me to stay home and learn the business.”

“Well, the door of opportunity swings wide.” Garrison leaned his elbows on the railing. “I wish I had a rich daddy.”

“Hey, why don't you go home with me. We'll both go to work in that factory.”

He shook his head. “Nope. I'm gonna fly something or other. I don't care what it is.”

“More power to you if you can find someone who needs a pilot.”

Garrison stood up straight and then arched his back. “Do you have some cash you can lend me?”

“What for?”

“I'm gonna go down and teach these tamales how to roll the dice.”

Luke shrugged, reached into his pocket, and pulled out some bills. “I hope they take Spanish money.”

“They'll take it. Start dreaming big. I intend to strip these sailors of every dime they've got.”

Luke could not help but laugh. As he watched Streak go below, he realized how close he had gotten to the man during their time together in Spain. They had played on the same football team in college, but risking death with a man and waiting when his flight was late coming back formed a relationship that was far different from a football game. Luke leaned on the rail again and stared over the monotonous gray swells of the Atlantic. “At least I'll be able to help Streak get settled,” he murmured. “Dad knows lots of people. He can find us both a job flying something, even if it's crop-dusting.”