Fly Boy (9 page)

Please send my love to the girls, and even to Scotty (just kidding, little brother). I miss you all and love you all very much
.

Your loving son
,

I stopped myself, in shock. I’d almost written
David
, the first stroke already made. I could easily fix that. It would have been so much easier just to write
McWilliams
.

Robbie
.

There, that did it. Now I’d put the letter in an envelope, address it to my mother at my home address, and put it in a bigger envelope that I’d mail to Chip. Of course, I’d write
him a letter as well. It was good to have one person in the world with whom I could be honest.

“McWilliams.”

That startled me! It was a corporal standing beside my bunk.

“CO wants to see you in his office.”

“He does? Do you know what it’s about?”

He pointed at the two stripes on his shoulder. “I know you might find this hard to believe, but the commanding officer generally doesn’t share his thoughts with me. I’m more his clerk than his best buddy.”

“Oh, yeah, of course, sorry,” I mumbled.

“But if you want, I’ll just go back and ask him, you know, to make sure it’s something important enough to make you want to come and see him … I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“That’s okay,” I said as I jumped down from my bunk.

I started off and suddenly remembered that my letter was sitting up there on the bed. What if it blew down or somebody picked it up and looked at it? I ran back and grabbed it, stuffing it in my pocket.

“He did say on the double, so I wouldn’t keep him waiting if I were you!”

“No, Corporal!” I replied. I started off, running at what could only be called triple time.

As I ran to the CO’s office, I started to get worried. Why would he want to see me? Had I done something wrong? Or worse, was he sending me home? I’d heard that every candidate who washed out had been personally informed by him, and—No, that was just crazy. I was doing better than anybody on the tests, and maybe I’d crashed the Link, but so had everybody else. There was no reason he’d be sending me—

Outside the office, I skidded to a stop. There
was
a reason. I’d been found out. It had to be that. He knew who I was—and who I
wasn’t
. For the first two weeks at Manning that was all I’d thought about, but since then it had been nothing more than a passing idea. I just figured, if they hadn’t found out yet, they weren’t going to—unless, of course, my mother had somehow stumbled onto my plot and contacted the authorities.

I stood there, frozen in place, paralyzed by the thought that I’d been discovered. Part of me wanted to go back to the barracks, gather my stuff, and climb out the window that Johnnie always used for his escapes. But I knew that was even crazier. If I had been discovered, there was no place to run, and certainly no place to hide. And if I hadn’t, there was no point in keeping the CO waiting.

The waiting area outside his office was empty. The corporal who had come to get me, his clerk, who usually sat at the desk outside the door, wasn’t back yet, and the door to the inner office was closed. I thought about taking a seat and waiting until either the corporal returned or the door opened, but I was too anxious to sit there and stew.

I knocked on the door.

“Come!” came the reply from behind the door.

I opened it, stepped in, and saluted. “You wanted to see me,
sir
!”

He returned my salute. “At ease, McWilliams. Take a seat.”

“Yes, sir!” I replied sharply, and sat down in the chair right in front of his desk.

“Cigarette?” he said, holding out a package with two cigarettes poking out.

“No, thank you, sir.”

“Don’t you smoke?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“Do you mind if I do?”

His question caught me by surprise. “No, of course not, sir.”

“Good.”

He flicked open a fancy silver lighter and lit his cigarette. He inhaled deeply and then let out a big puff of smoke.

“I’ve got to tell you, McWilliams, that I have a lot of respect for you men who don’t waste any time in enlisting. Do you know you’re the youngest man in the program?”

“Yes, sir, I thought I might be.” Actually, since I was only seventeen, I was completely certain I was the youngest person who’d ever been through this training school.

“And despite that, your marks have been nothing short of excellent.”

“I have good instructors, sir.”

“Everybody here has the same instructors. Some people just have more of what it takes.”

Obviously, I wasn’t being washed out, nor had I been discovered. I could feel my shoulders relax, and I realized that they’d been somewhere up around my ears.

He picked up a manila file folder that was on his desk. “Your marks in all areas have been excellent … radio transmission, friend-or-foe recognition, basic airmanship, regulations, weaponry, and the dynamics and physics of flight … all excellent.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ve been working hard, sir.”

“But in some areas they are even better than simply excellent. Your marks in mathematics, understanding of compass directions, navigation and orientation, and the use of maps have been, without exception, without error. You are not only the top student in your group of aircraftmen, you are, in fact, the highest-scoring trainee we have had in the four-year history of this program!”

I tried to stay formal and focused, but I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “I didn’t know that, sir.”

“I imagine you didn’t. What you also didn’t know was that the test you were administered yesterday for navigation was different from the one given to every other student in your program.”

“It was? But why would … I mean no, sir, I didn’t know that.”

Come to think of it, it had seemed like a very hard test, and I’d wondered how the rest of the class had done.

“If I may ask, sir, why would my test be different?”

“The purpose of any test is to probe the ability of the person
taking it. You are, no doubt, aware that you have received perfect marks on all examinations focused on mathematics, navigation, and orientation.”

I did know that. I was proud of that.

“We felt that the tests designed to measure the achievement and knowledge expected of recruits at your level of experience and training were not gauging your true potential. So we decided to alter your test. Did you notice that the mathematical formulas necessary to determine navigational goals were omitted from your paper?”

“Yes, sir. I just assumed they were omitted from all tests, since it is important to have those formulas committed to memory.”

“Most of the navigators now engaged in theatres of combat don’t have those formulas memorized,” he said. “They have cheat sheets to help them along.”

“I figured in the heat of battle, it would be better to just know the formulas and how to apply them.”

“And can you do that? Just write them down and apply them?”

“I can write them down, but I don’t need to. I do the calculations in my head.”

“You did the calculations for this test in your head?” he asked. He sounded very skeptical.

“Well … yes … yes, sir.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath. “I want you to know that your instructor not only omitted those formulas, he also asked you to apply factors such as wind speed and payload weights. Were you surprised or confused by that?”

“A little surprised, sir, since we hadn’t studied those things, but not confused.”

“Why not?”

“I had done a little extra reading,” I admitted. “But really, it’s just common sense.”

“It’s far from common!” he exclaimed. “And we tested you further by asking you to plot your final destination through a multi-course route with mid-air corrections for an
exact
arrival time.”

It had been a hard test. It was the first time I’d doubted myself, wondering if I had the right answers.

“Would you like to know how you did?”

I nodded.

“I have that test right here,” he said, tapping his finger against a paper on his desk. He picked it up and handed it to me. Across the top in red pen it read 100/100!

“Those questions that you answered were taken directly from the final exams given to navigators before they are assigned to a flight crew, and you achieved a perfect score! That is an incredible accomplishment.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Son, what you’re accomplishing is very admirable, but not surprising.”

He reached down and removed another piece of paper from the folder on his desk. I caught a glance and recognized the letter he was holding. It was the letter
I’d
written on school stationery, the one I’d given to Chip to mail for me from school.

“Your former headmaster, Mr. Beamish, described you in superlatives. He had nothing but praise for you, as a student and a person.”

“That’s good to hear, sir.”

“He writes that you graduated at the top of your class, were student president, a class leader … Very commendable.”

Maybe I had laid it on a bit thick. If he knew who wrote that letter, he’d have a very different opinion of me at this moment.

“He also mentioned that you want to be a pilot.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your father was a pilot.”

“My father
is
a pilot, sir.”

He looked confused. “Wasn’t he shot down … He is a prisoner of war, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir, he was shot down and he is a prisoner of war, but he still is a pilot.”

“Ah, yes … of course … I meant no offence,” he apologized.

“No offence taken, sir.”

“Your instructors have every confidence, and I agree, that you have the skills and aptitude to become a bomb aimer, a fl ight engineer, a pilot, or a navigator.”

“I hope to become a pilot, sir.”

“I know, son, following in the footsteps of your old man … Very admirable. I think we all know that you could be a pilot.”

“That’s why I’m here, sir.”

“And that’s what makes this so hard for me to tell you.” He paused and looked up at me. “Son, sometimes we don’t necessarily get what we hope for.”

My mouth dropped open. After all that he’d said, after all the work I’d done, somehow I was still being washed out! How was that possible?

“We know that you have the skills necessary to become a pilot,” he went on. “In fact,
many
of the men who come here for training are capable of becoming pilots. But not many of
them can become navigators. Navigators are the brains of the operation. You are being reassigned to navigator training.”

“But I don’t want to become a navigator!” I shouted out before I could stop myself. “I mean, sir, that I respectfully request that I be reconsidered to become a pilot.”

“Son, it’s our job not only to determine the path that is best for each recruit but, more importantly, to determine what is best for the air force. There is a desperate need for navigators.”

“I thought pilots were in short supply too … sir,” I said.

“Pilots are ten for a penny. There are many men here in training who have the ability to become pilots, but very few would have the aptitude to become navigators, and quite frankly, I’ve never seen anybody with your ability. Because of that, you are being transferred directly to advanced training.”

“Advanced training?”

“Yes. When we told them about your test score, they were only too happy to fast-track you. You must be happy about that.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, although I certainly didn’t feel, look, or sound happy.

“Son, I know you’re disappointed, but I want to be honest with you. I know that you could be a good pilot, but right now, at your age, nobody is going to give you that opportunity. You can’t go into battle without the full confidence of your men. You’re just too young to win the trust of the flight crew of a Lancaster.”

“I don’t want to fly a Lancaster. I want Spitfires.”

He shook his head. “There wouldn’t be much chance of that either. Spitfires are too valuable to give out to just anybody.”

He got up from his seat, circled the desk, and sat down on the edge directly in front of me. He put a hand on my shoulder.

“Son, this isn’t about what you want or what I want. If I had my way, I’d be over there flying missions. This is about what’s needed to defeat the Nazis. We need you to become a navigator. Do you understand?”

I nodded my head. “Yes, sir … I just know I could be a good pilot.”

“I know you could too. I’m going to do something. I’m going to write a recommendation that upon the completion of your first tour of duty as a navigator, you be allowed to transfer to Elementary Flying Training School if you still wish to become a pilot.”

“You’d do that?”

“Most certainly. And ten or so months from now, you’ll be older and have gained more experience—experience that will serve you well. I’m going to put my recommendation in writing. I’ll keep one copy on file, give you one to take with you, and send the third directly to the group captain where you’ll be assigned.”

“Where will I be assigned?”

“Somewhere in England.”

“England!” I exclaimed.

“You’ll be taking the train to Halifax, where you will board the
Queen Mary
, leaving port in four days’ time.”