Chapter 13 - Why Don’t You Do Right?

Brian woke up in his 1941 hotel room and spent the next fifteen minutes lying there trying to plan out his day.

This was it - the day of the first big April raids. Brian had spent a lot of time over the past week researching everything he could about this day, trying to educate himself, hoping to be one hundred percent prepared. He knew, or at least he hoped he knew, where every bomb was supposed to hit. He knew approximately what time the raid was supposed to begin. He knew that there would be over 800 tons of high explosive bombs dropped that night along with more than 150,000 incendiaries and hundreds of ‘parachute mines’ which would drift down slowly, guided by the wind, until they exploded at rooftop level where they could cause the most damage. And he also knew that all that knowledge wouldn’t matter, because there would still be more than a thousand people killed and another two thousand or so injured. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The evening before, Brian had spent some time feeling out the folks at the White Lion, trying to determine who he might need to take charge of. Most of the men were involved in the war effort in one way or another and therefore would have someplace they’d be expected that night. Gears and Lucky were both attached to the local Army base, and frequently got called in to handle emergencies when there were raids. Those who weren’t in the official military were almost all involved with one of the civilian defense groups - like the Air Raid Precaution wardens or those volunteering for the National Fire Service - and therefore had specific duties that would require their presence. Boom Boom, for instance, was a fire warden, which meant he’d be spending the night of the raid on the streets trying to fight the inevitable fires that would be caused by the coming incendiary bombs.

Altogether there were only two or three of Justin’s gang that Brian would need to worry about. The primary one among these being Miss Daphne Chanders. Daphne, like many other Brits this late in the Blitz, had developed a fatalistic view of the war in general and the frequent night raids in particular. She rarely bothered going to one of the official shelters, insisting that her job was to keep the pub open so as to reinforce the morale of her regulars. Only when the bombs started to actually hit the immediate neighborhood did she consent to retreat to the pub’s cellar for whatever protection that might afford. Daphne truly believed as long as she had a nice, warm cup of tea in her hands, there was nothing she couldn't handle. And Brian didn't doubt that one bit, but that didn't mean he was going to sit back and do nothing. He’d made a promise to Justin, and he was determined to keep it.

How, exactly, he was going to convince Miss Daphne to abandon her post at the pub and accompany him to a shelter, though, remained to be seen. He couldn’t simply tell her that he knew a German raid was about to happen and demand she come with him. In the first place, she wouldn’t believe him, and even if she did, she’d probably just blow it off and stay in the pub like usual. He didn’t know how he could possibly convince the very independent and highly opinionated woman that he knew in advance what was going to happen without revealing his secret. But even then, it was unlikely she would believe him. I mean, would Brian believe someone who told him they were a time traveler from the future? Fuck, no! He’d call the authorities and have the guy trucked off to the looney bin. And, despite worrying over the issue all the previous night, Brian still hadn’t come up with a solution.

“Fuck it,” Brian grumbled. “This is getting too fucking complicated. What the hell am I even doing here?”

Nobody answered him, of course. But, since lying there and stewing over things wasn’t getting him anywhere, Brian decided to get up and simply hope some brilliant idea would come to him later. After all, he had until nine that evening to figure it out.

In the meantime, he had other plans to set in motion . . .

“Hey, Daph. Any word from Justin?” Brian asked as soon as he took up his place on the barstool that was becoming his customary seat.

“Sorry, love. Nothin’ yet today,” she replied and handed him a consolatory beer. “But I reckon he’s just been run off ‘is feet busy today. I’ve heard some o’ the other lads gassin’ about ‘ow there’s a big to do goin’ on t’night. Not sure what’s up, but pretty much all me reg’lars got called off to wherever already. The pub’s been right empty all afternoon. Lousy for business, this war, ain’t it?”

It sounded like Blue Eyes’ report to his CO might have already set some defenses rolling. That was all to the good, in Brian’s book. It also meant Brian could breathe a sigh of relief that the potential number of his evening’s charges had already been reduced. That left only his Daphne problem still unresolved.

“So, Daph,” Brian started, hoping that the plan he’d finally come up with that afternoon would work. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me for dinner tonight at The Strand Palace restaurant. I’ve got reservations at 8:30, and since Blue Eyes still isn’t back from his exile in Croydon, I could use a dinner companion.”

“Blimey! Me? At a posh place like ‘at? I wouldn’t know what to do with meself at some place like The Palace,” she replied, dismissing the suggestion out of hand.

“I’m sure you’d be just fine, Daphne. It’s the other folks there that I’d be worried about. They’d all seem pretty dull and ordinary with you there outshining them,” Brian offered, hoping flattery would work where all his other tactics seemed to fail.

“Not bloody likely!” She laughed and then sauntered off to help out one of the few other customers.

“If you need a date for the evening,” Fancy simpered in his most affected British drawl, “I happen to be available. And I can assure you, you’ll find ME much more amusing than our Daphne. In fact, I could probably even show YOU a thing or two if you were interested.”

Brian laughed out loud at the man’s blatant attempt at seduction. “Nice try, Fancy, but I don’t think Blue Eyes would approve. And personally, I’d like my balls to remain attached to my body. So, since Justin strikes me as the kind of guy who wouldn’t think twice about removing them - in the most painful way he could possibly think of - if he got seriously pissed off about something like that, I think I’ll just say fuck no.” And before the guy sitting on the other side of him could say anything, Brian turned to address him too. “If you even start to say something about me not using bad language in front of the non-existent ladies present, be warned that I will throw this entire pint of beer in your face.”

The gentleman seated next to Brian immediately got up and moved down several bar stools without saying a word.

“Ooh! Yer in a right mood this evenin’, aren’t yer, ‘Andsome?” Daphne clucked at him with an amused expression on her lovely coffee-and-cream face. “What’s got inta yer ta’night?”

“Nothing’s got into me. And I haven’t gotten into anyone else all week, either. That’s the problem,” Brian answered with a saucy wink. “But until Justin gets his perky little bubble butt back from Croydon, there’s not much I can do about it, is there?”

That statement actually got the imperturbable Daphne Chanders blushing, an accomplishment of which Brian felt quite proud.

“So, what do you say, Daph? Help a lonely, bored guy out. Come keep me company at dinner. Don’t leave me to the not-so-tender mercies of Fancy here. Please?”

“Oi!” Daphne smacked Brian’s arm playfully. “You are a sweet talker, ain’tcha, ‘Andsome? No wonder our Sunshine has fallen for ya’ hook, line and sinker,” she teased. “If me Da weren’t off on fire patrol tonight, I just might take you up on that offer, ya’ know. But these pints ain’t gonna pour themselves, is they? So, get along with ya’ now - I got customers to see to.”

Before Brian could say anything more, she was off.

Brian continued his efforts to talk her into his plan for the next two hours. Every time he mentioned it, she just laughed him off. Needless to say, the Stud was getting quite frustrated and time was quickly running out.

By the time the clock struck 8:15, Brian was almost frantic. All the reports he’d read said that the bombing had started around 9 PM. Try as he might, he hadn’t been able to find anything more specific than that. Which left him a little unsure and a lot nervous. So, when a large group of pub patrons got up and headed out the door right then, leaving the bar practically empty, Brian decided it was time to take charge of matters . . . Any way he could.

“Right.” Brian stood up, slammed his pint glass down on the bar and took a deep breath, then turned to face the rest of the bar. “Sorry, folks, but the White Lion is closing early tonight. Everybody out. Now!” he hollered loudly enough to get everyone’s attention.

“‘Oi, whatcha doin’, ‘Andsome? I ain't closing early,” Daphne protested, coming around the bar to confront the man face to face.

“Sorry about this, Daph, but I promised Justin . . .” Brian stated.

Then, without warning, he grabbed the diminutive Daphne around the waist, hefted her bodily over his shoulder and started walking towards the door.

“I SAID, EVERYBODY OUT!” He yelled even more loudly.

The remaining four or five customers, realizing that Brian meant it, quickly chugged the last of their drinks and filed out one by one. Meanwhile, Daphne was yelling like a banshee, kicking her feet in the air, beating Brian’s back with her fists and squirming for all she was worth, trying to escape his grip. Brian simply held on, praying that he was doing the right thing and not going to be arrested for assault and kidnapping when this was all over.

“I say, Handsome. You can’t treat our Daphne like that. Put her down right this instant!” Fancy expostulated.

The flaming queen even went so far as to take a stance between Brian and the door, which just made the big Stud laugh as he shouldered the effeminate man aside.

“You mind locking up for me, Fancy?” Brian asked over his shoulder as he continued on his way with the squawking Daphne still struggling to free herself.

Fancy, who did indeed lock the pub’s door behind him, trotted after Brian a minute later, still berating the caveman-like actions. Brian ignored him. Fancy tried to grab hold of Brian’s free arm and pull him to a stop, with hardly any effect at all. He even tried to grab Brian around the bigger man’s waist and dig his heels in, but Brian just dragged him along too, and after a few meters Fancy had to let go again before he fell on his bum. In the end, he was reduced to scurrying along beside Brian and pummeling him ineffectively with his fists, yelling at him to ‘Stop this right now!’

With all the distractions and both Fancy and Daphne slowing him down, Brian had only made it halfway to his destination before the air raid sirens began their sinister wailing.

“Fuck!” Brian muttered under his breath and then turned to address Fancy. “Quit screwing around, Fancy. In a few minutes bombs are going to be raining down on our heads unless we get the fuck into a shelter NOW!”

“But . . . But the closest shelter is over that way,” the man pointed to Brian’s right. “The one off of Maiden Lane.”

“Fuck that!” Brian grumbled, renewing his grip on his struggling captive and setting off back in the direction he’d been aiming. “We’re going to The Palace where we’ll be safe. IT was never bombed. So either shut the fuck up or you can stay here and take your chances.”

Fancy apparently chose to shut up and obediently followed along behind Brian from that point on. A lot of the fight went out of Daphne after that too. Brian wasn’t taking chances though; he was too afraid she’d bolt if he set her down, so he just kept walking down the blackout darkened street. Ten minutes later they’d finally made it to The Strand and the hotel was in sight.

Before they could get inside though, Brian began to hear a distant, low hum that was gradually getting louder. Looking back over his shoulder, he could see flashes of light high up in the sky - flares dropped by the first wave of approaching German bombers to light the way for their incoming comrades. His gut clenched as the sinister mechanical whirring of the planes’ engines got nearer.

Brian felt a moment of paralysis now that he was actually confronted by the reality of the situation. All that reading, research, and thought, but none of it conveyed the terror of the moment. Shit! This was real! He was REALLY here. In the middle of a real, fucking AIR RAID. People were actually going to die! HE could fucking die. He could DIE - here in the past - and nobody back in 2016 would even know what the hell happened to him since he hadn’t told anyone what he was planning. What the fuck had he been thinking?

Before Brian’s moment of panic was over, the first wave of fast flying Messerschmidts was already zooming overhead. Then, all of a sudden, Brian and his companions were surrounded by a swarm of tinkling, metallic pops and right in front of his eyes a little incendiary canister hit the pavement and burst into white hot flames. More of the tiny fire bombs were landing everywhere around them, sparking and flaring up. In the distance he could see the pillars of search lights cutting through the skies and he could hear the pounding booms of what he thought must be anti-aircraft guns. But it was the high-pitched whistling of something dropping fast out of nowhere that finally got him moving again.

Breaking into an all out sprint, Brian dashed across the street and pelted his way down the rest of the block towards the hotel entrance. He made it up the front steps just as the first ear-splitting explosions rocked the neighborhood. Fancy darted ahead, holding open the door for Brian, then they were all through the portal, bringing with them a wafting of smoke and dust.

“Mr. Kinney, Sir,” they were greeted by one of the hotel’s porters, who ran over to see if Brian needed help. “You’ve only just made it in time. Things is right nasty out there tonight, Sir. Come right in as quickly as you can. All the guests are being asked to move downstairs to the basement for their own safety.”

“Thanks,” Brian panted in response, almost doubled over as he tried to catch his breath.

“I reckon ya can set me down now, ‘Andsome,” Daphne commented from her perch atop Brian’s shoulder. “I promise I won’t run off.”

“Um, sure thing.” Brian unloaded the girl from his shoulder, setting her down on her feet and waiting nervously until she’d straightened out her dress and patted her hair back into place. “So, are you going to yell at me now”

“I should, you bruiser. You just bloody kidnapped me!” Daphne yelled, punching Brian in the arm with her fist, hitting him hard enough to actually cause him to flinch a bit. “But, since yer also probably saved me life in the process, I guess I can let ya off the hook this time.” She followed up her punch with a smile, letting Brian know he was forgiven.

Just then they were interrupted by yet another distant rumble of explosions and all looked around worriedly.

“Mr. Kinney, Sir, I must insist you and your guests relocate to the basement immediately. It’s not safe for you up here,” the officious porter pleaded, gesturing towards the staircase at the rear of the lobby.

“Are you sure it’s safe down there?” Brian asked. “Those fucking bombs are pretty damn close. And we saw a ton of incendiaries dropping as well. Even if no bombs hit this place, there’s always the risk of fire.”

“The shelter downstairs is reinforced, Sir. It’s as safe as can be expected these days. And we’re aware of the other issues. There’s a crew handling matters up on the roof, watching for fires as we speak. Everything is in hand,” the porter assured. “I also personally saw to your earlier request to have the bag you left taken down to the shelter at the start of the evening, so you should be all prepared. Now, if you’d please follow me.”

With the porter leading the way, Brian, Daphne and Fancy all made their way down the basement stairs and into the hotel’s shelter. However this ‘shelter’ was a far cry from the barren, cold, Underground tunnel where Brian had spent his first raid. This shelter looked much more like the hotel’s elegant Drawing Room one floor above. It was furnished with the same ostentatious elegance, including several small seating areas with plush divans, tables and comfortable chairs. There were even potted palms and Chinese screens providing decorative touches. There was a fully stocked bar set up at one end of the room and a small stage at the other, the later hosting a small jazz quintet that was providing quiet background music.

The room seemed to be packed with the same type of clientele that Brian had seen in the restaurant or the ballroom; the wealthy and elite of London. A number of the denizens were wearing evening dress and seemed to be in the middle of a society soirée of sorts, their group being attended by a bevy of waiters and waitresses with trays full of food. Looking at most of these folks it was difficult to tell that there was even a war going on, let alone a frightening and possibly deadly air raid happening just one floor above.

The porter handed their trio off to a hostess as soon as they were safely through the door. The porter immediately retreated back upstairs, ostensibly to see to his other duties. Meanwhile the hostess, a lovely young woman with a heart-shaped face and her blond hair rolled up like Gene Tierney, led their little group over to a table in the back corner of the room and asked if they needed menus. Brian told her they were just going to have drinks for now. The hostess nodded agreeably, and then advised that Brian had been assigned to sleeping cubicle number six when they were ready to retire. A waiter who would take their drink orders was standing by as soon as the hostess left. And then they were finally left to themselves.

“Well, lah-dee-dah!” Daphne giggled as soon as the waiter trotted off. “Ain’t we the fine ones, hobnobbin’ wi’ the Lords an’ Ladies an’ all. All I can say is, it’s a far cry from the public shelter over in Maiden Lane, where folks gots ta bring their own food an’ drink an’ the Ladies’ is a bucket behind a screen in the corner.”

“Unsanitary,” Brian mumbled, wrinkling up his nose with distaste at the idea.

“Quite,” Fancy agreed, happily sipping at the Sloe Gin Fizz he’d been handed. “I’ll have you know, the last time I was in that shelter, I even saw a rat! But this . . . Now this is the life, isn’t it? If only I could afford to spend the rest of the war HERE.”

Fancy opened his arms wide, as if to embrace all of The Palace’s basement shelter. The look of bliss on the man’s face caused both Brian and Daphne to laugh aloud. Fancy giggled as well - he was the sort who was almost always able to see the fun in life, even when it sometimes came at his expense - waving dismissively at his friends as if to tell them off in a good-natured way.

When the humor level had died down again, Fancy set aside his drink, stating, “laugh all you want, my dears, but I know what I like when I see it.” Then the queen got to his feet, made a show of straightening his jacket, lifted his chin high and added, “and I just happen to see something else I like over there. Or should I say some ONE?” Brian and Daphne turned to see where Fancy was looking and discovered he had set his sights on the stage where the band was just then finishing up their latest number. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to go introduce myself to that dashing saxophone player who’s been looking my way for the past two songs. Tally-ho!”

Daphne and Brian sent the man off with another round of laughter.

“Speakin’ ‘o affording to spend the War ‘ere, ‘Andsome,” Daphne turned the focus back on Brian. “Just ‘ow DOES an American ‘war correspondent’ manage to afford The Strand Palace hotel? Oh, and while yer at it, you can explain ‘ow yer knew ‘bout this raid b’fore it ‘appened, too . . .”

Brian cleared his throat, straightened his tie, took another sip of his whiskey . . . and still didn’t know how to answer Daphne’s question.

“The way I figger’ it, only a spy would know that kinda thing . . .” Daphne prompted, frowning at Brian.

“I’m NOT a fucking German spy,” Brian hissed at her, leaning closer so he could answer without all their neighbors listening in. “I wouldn’t work for the fucking Nazi’s if you threatened ME with being thrown in one of their fucking concentration camps.” Daphne looked at him with confusion, but he wasn’t going to get sucked into that conversation right then. “Listen, I can’t explain how I knew about this raid, Daphne. It’s complicated and you wouldn’t believe me even if I did try and explain it to you. But can you please, please, just trust me?”

“Does our Sunshine know about you?” Daph pressed, not one to give out trust without justification, especially not where her friend’s affections were concerned.

“Some.” Brian shrugged. “I told him about tonight, though. He said he was going to pass on word to his superiors. Which is probably why all your regulars were busy. And you can also blame your Sunshine for the kidnapping. He made me promise to do what I needed to do, to keep you safe.”

Daphne nodded. “Well, I’ll give ‘im a right telling off next time I see ‘im, but in the meantime, thank yer, ‘Andsome.”

“I didn’t have a choice. Justin would have castrated me if I’d let you get hurt,” Brian said, trying to deflect any thanks, as usual. “Besides, you're important to him, Daph, which means you’re important to me.”

She smiled at his words. “I’m all he ‘as ova ‘ere,” she went on to explain. “Sunshine’s like a bruver to me, ‘e’s me best mate.”

“You aren’t all he has . . . not now anyway.”

Brian couldn’t quite believe the words that had just come out of his mouth. 1941 had somehow turned him into a sap. He chucked back the remainder of his drink, hoping a little Dutch courage would help settle the uneasy feeling in his stomach, and promised himself to keep all his future lesbianic sentiments unspoken.

Reaching across the table, Daphne patted his hand. “I know . . . our Sunshine’s a lucky boy.” Brian looked away, uncomfortable with the praise. “I ‘ope he’s alright,” Daphne added worriedly. “I dunno what I’d do if somthin’ ‘appened to ‘im.”

Brian didn’t say anything. He was just as worried, but this time he managed to control his mouth. And there was nothing he could do at this point to help his Blue Eyes, so commenting on the situation was a futile exercise. Tomorrow would be soon enough to think about that. But secretly, he was hoping the same thing as Daphne.