Chapter 46 - Flying Home.

“Hmmmm,” Justin hummed, rubbing his face against Brian’s broad, sturdy chest as they danced in the peace and relative quiet of the hotel room.

The television had been switched to a music only channel and was playing something upbeat but melodic - a far cry from the noisy, pounding stuff they’d been subjected to back at Brian’s dancing club. Brian was still wearing the sexy, tight black outfit he’d worn out that night, and now that they weren’t out in public in their revealing clothing, Justin found he rather liked it. He even liked his own outfit now that he was used to it - the thinness of the fabric of the shirt making it easier to feel Brian’s touch. It was wonderfully arousing and incredibly intimate and he was loving every minute of it.

Yes . . . this was so much better than that dancing club. Not that Justin didn’t appreciate the fact that the future was so open to homosexuality that a club like that was even around - it’s mere existence was pretty amazing, actually - but he didn’t think that environment was for him. He’d been a little scared by the overt sexuality and the demeaning way some of the men had treated each other. Not to mention the idea that these modern queers would use drugs to incapacitate and rape one another - that whole idea was frightening. And his encounter in that dark sex room in the back, with the four men ganging up on him, had definitely been too much for him. Not that he couldn’t have taken them on his own - probably - but just the very idea that he could be treated like that in a public place . . . That was the part that scared him. And it made him think that, for all its openness about homosexuality, the future wasn’t necessarily the utopia that it might seem.

Although, it definitely did have some advantages . . . Like the fact that nobody had commented at all on the way Brian had held him all the way back to the hotel. Or the way they’d been free to kiss while sitting in the cab. Or the fact that the room service waiter who’d brought up the bottle of champagne Brian had ordered, hadn’t batted an eye when Brian had handed Justin a flute saying, ‘Bubbly for my favorite Bubble Butt.’ That had made Justin giggle and blush, but at the same time feel so cherished, that he’d almost burst with the emotion. And all that was possible here, in this time, only because of the societal changes in attitude towards queers.

This future of Brian’s was just so difficult to gauge. The changes he found in the future were both good and bad. Of course, that was true of all things, Justin supposed. The only part Justin was truly sure of was the man he was dancing with right then.

They’d been rocking slowly to the sound of a man’s rich tenor voice asking, ‘Can anybody find me . . . somebody to love?’, and Justin thought the song prophetic. Yes, he’d finally found somebody to love. Somebody he loved so much that it literally made his heart ache.

It just wasn’t fair that he had so little time left to enjoy the love he’d found.

He tried to tell himself not to think about that. That there wasn’t anything he could do about it so it was futile to dwell on the inevitable. It was difficult though. Sometimes he almost couldn’t bear the thought that he’d have to give this up. That he’d found the love of his life now, when he only had a few weeks left. And, even worse, the thought of how badly it would hurt Brian when he was gone . . . It was almost enough to crush one’s soul. The only thing stopping him from despair was his determination to enjoy what little time they had left as much as possible.

So Justin was going to dance with Brian, and laugh with Brian, and make love with Brian, and not regret one moment of the time they did have together.

“Hey, Handsome, how about you take me to bed now and teach me something new?” Justin suggested, walking backwards and towing the larger man with him step by step. “I saw a few things at your dancing club tonight that I didn’t completely understand . . .”

And that was all it took to encourage his lover to show Justin exactly what it felt like now that he HAD found somebody to love him.

The following morning Brian had had a lot of work to catch up on, so Justin had taken his sketch pad and Brian’s money card out for a turn around 2016 London. He’d bought himself an expensive coffee drink and then taken it with him to the little park by the river. It was a lovely, rain-free morning, just perfect for an artist. Justin had spent an enjoyable couple of hours like that, drawing the scenery and people in the park, before heading back to The Palace to see if he could drag Brian away from his work for a bit.

He was in luck; his lover was waiting for him in the room and just as happy to see him. But, when their initial kiss hello was interrupted by Justin’s growling stomach, they agreed to eat first and have their distraction later.

Brian had just gotten off the phone after ordering their lunch from the hotel’s gourmet kitchen downstairs. Justin thought there was nothing better after a morning walk around London than returning to Brian’s hotel room and ordering room service. There was something about it that felt so . . . so decadent.

“Did they say how long it would be?” Justin asked as he stretched out on the bed and gave a little purr, knowing full well that Brian would be watching his every move.

“Er . . .” Justin had been right, Brian’s eyes were fixated on that tiny bit of exposed skin above the waistline of his pants. “About . . . about thirty minutes, I think.”

“Mmmm,” Justin grinned as he stretched some more and lifted his arms high above his head in the process. “There are probably lots of things we could do in thirty minutes to pass the time.”

Brian didn’t even play along, he just threw himself over Justin’s body and began pulling at the younger man’s clothes. His hand had just made it down the front of Justin’s jeans and wrapped itself around Justin’s stiffening schlong when, out of nowhere, Brian’s big lightbox started rattling against the desk and making a funny sound.

“Oh, shit,” Brian muttered, jumping up and wiping his sticky hand on his pants as he made his way over to the desk in two large steps. “Someone’s trying to FaceTime me, it’s probably Gus.”

Justin groaned and tried desperately to will his erection away; he really didn’t want Gus to see him lying there with his ‘thingy’ standing to attention like that.

“Hey, Sonny Boy,” Brian greeted the little boy with a big smile as he answered the video call and walked them both back over to the bed, plopping himself next to Justin.

Justin quickly rolled over so that he was now laying on his stomach and Brian soon joined him, placing the big lightbox on the pillows in front of them so they were both stretched out on their tummies.

“Hey, Gus,” Justin felt himself smiling as he started chatting with the little boy. “Where are you?” he asked, noticing it was almost pitch black where Gus was.

Gus sighed loudly. “I’m under my covers,” the small boy explained. “I’s not ‘lowed to make a fort in my room; Mama says they’s dang’rous.”

Brian snorted loudly beside him. “Fu . . . Fudge, they’re not dangerous at all, kiddo. Remind me to call and speak to your Mama about that later tonight, okay?”

“‘Kay, Daddy. Oh, yeah, guess what? Guess what?” Gus asked, already moving on to a new subject.

“You’ve grown three feet and are now taller than Justin?” Brian guessed.

“DADDY! You’re so silly,” Gus giggled. “Noooo, that’s not it.”

“You’ve sprouted a tail and are moving into the monkey cage at the Zoo?”

Gus squealed as he shook his head. “Nooo, Daddy. Jussin, tell him to stop being so silly,”

“I dunno, Gus . . . your Daddy is pretty silly all of the time. I don’t think he could stop, even if he tried.”

“Is that so,” Brian smirked. “You boys think I’m silly? I’ve been called a lot of names in my day, but silly generally wasn’t in the top ten.”

“Yeah, you’re a silly BUM,” Gus giggled loudly. “Get it Daddy? A bum! That’s what they call your butt in London talk. I heared it when I was there seeing you an’ Jussin. Innit funny?” Gus was already giggling at his own pun, because there’s nothing funnier than butt and poop jokes when you’re three going on four.

“But that's not what I wanted to tells you, Daddy. I WANTED to tells you I’s got a new flashlight, see!” the little boy shone the light excitedly in their eyes.

“Wow, that’s great, Sonny Boy,” Brian laughed as he closed his eyes and reached his arm around Justin to cover the blond’s baby blues.

“I’s gonna take it wiv me to camp. Mommy said she signeded me up for JUNIOR SPACE CAMP in the summer and space is very dark.”

“Well then, your flashlight will come in very handy, won’t it?” Justin grinned. He’d known when Gus went home that he would miss him, but he hadn’t thought he’d miss him this much.

“Yeah. It’s gonna be sooooo fun. And it’s at the science museum an’ I gets to go every day, but we don’t gets to sleepover at camp cuz Mommy says I has to be five before I kin go to sleepover camp, which innit fair. Do you think it’s fair, Daddy?”

“Well, you’ll be five soon enough, Sonny Boy. Be patient.”

“That’s what Mama says too - like when I askeded her ‘bout when it’s my birthday time - but I hates bein’ patient. I want it to be my birthday NOW so you can come home, Daddy, an’ Jussin will come visit me then too. Annnnnnd we can eat cake and Jussin, you can helps blow my candles out wiv me if you’re good, kay?”

Justin felt a tightening in his stomach at Gus’ words. He knew it was unlikely that the little boy would forget about wanting him there to celebrate his birthday, but every time the child brought it up it felt like a stab to his guts. How many ways could he avoid answering Gus’ question?

“I’m still not sure about that, Gus,” he finally answered, trying to be as honest as possible with the boy. “I’ve got a lot of important missions to fly between now and then, Buddy.”

That non-answer seemed to satisfy Gus well enough and, with the minuscule attention span of a preschooler, the boy was already off onto another topic three seconds later. But that didn’t dispel the sense of unease Justin was feeling even after Brian ended the call a few minutes later. A shroud of doom seemed to lay heavy on the room, smothering the atmosphere of easy, playfulness that had prevailed earlier. But, luckily for Justin, just when the heavy silence was starting to get unbearable, there was a knock on the door announcing the arrival of their lunch.

Brian ushered the waiter in and directed him to set up lunch on the table in the corner. Justin joined his boyfriend there and as soon as the waiter left they both started in on the meal without another word. Funny, though, how Justin’s appetite had completely disappeared.

“Okay, fine,” Brian announced, pushing his salad away with a sigh a few minutes later. “I think it’s time we deal with the giant pink elephant in the room . . . even though I’m sure you’re going to tell me - again - that I need to just back off and shut the fuck up.” Justin shrugged because it was true; they’d already had this discussion more than once.

Brian got up from the table and started to pace around the confines of the hotel room while he gathered his thoughts. If he hadn’t felt so depressed by the topic, Justin would’ve laughed at the adorable way Brian ran his fingers through his carefully styled hair. Judging by the focused look on Brian’s face, though, the coming discussion was going to be rather intense.

When Brian seemed to have mentally arranged all his arguments, he turned to Justin once again, moving the chair around the table so they were sitting knee to knee. “In case you didn’t hear me when I said this before, I’m going to say it again; I want you to stay here with me, Justin. I want whatever this is we have together to NOT end. I’ve never . . . never let myself have . . . THIS . . . with anyone before.” Brian looked away, as if unable to meet Justin‘s gaze any longer. “I didn’t use to think I deserved someone like you in my life.” Then, with a quick motion, Brian turned back, staring at him with intent hazel eyes. “But now I want it, Justin. I want YOU.”

Justin reached for Brian’s hand, the lump in his throat preventing him from voicing just how much he wanted that same thing.

“So, please, just . . . Setting aside the whole argument about history having already proven what your fate will be - because, I don’t believe that’s true, but it’s an unwinnable argument on either side - can you please just tell me why you don’t seem to want this future? Because that’s the impression I get. It feels like you’re not even willing to try; that you’d almost rather die than face the possibility of a future, here, with me, and that alone is fucking killing me.”

Justin could feel himself start to get defensive. “Brian . . . That’s not . . . It’s just . . .” This was harder than he thought. “It’s just that I don’t feel like I belong . . . here.”

Brian pulled his hand away. “I see.”

“I don’t mean here with YOU,” Justin felt the need to emphasize that point as soon as he’d said it. “I mean here in 2016. I feel like I don’t . . . don’t quite fit.”

“Do you think it’s been fucking easy for me to ‘fit’ in 1941? Because it hasn’t. I’m not used to trying to hide the fact that I’m a fag. I’ve never hidden what I am and it fucking sucks to have to do it now. But I’ve done it for you, Justin, because you didn’t want to be found out and lose your precious RAF commission.”

“I realize that, Brian, and I DO appreciate it,” Justin rushed to reassure his prickly lover, who was now leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and a glower on his normally handsome face. “And I know how hard it is for you - after seeing how things are here, now, I understand just what it takes for you to rein things in for me. Dad-blame it, Brian, even I feel that way now a days. I hate that we can’t even hold holds when we’re back there. But . . . It’s hard to explain . . .”

“Then try,” Brian prompted, leaning forward as if he could somehow divine Justin’s thoughts by looking at him even harder.

“Well, first of all, there are my friends and family,” Justin ticked off the reasons he still resisted Brian’s suggestions. “If I were to leave with you, I’d be abandoning them. And I know you’re going to say something like my death will leave them just as bereft, but it’s not the same. That’s something not in my control - but choosing to leave them . . . that’s a heck of a lot harder, you know? I mean, could you just walk away from Gus without any explanation?”

Brian shrugged, conceding the argument but only just barely.

“And then there’s also my job.” Justin held out his hand to forestall Brian’s expected retort. “I know what you’re going to say, but you have to understand how important being a pilot is for me. I worked hard to get here. I left my own country just so I could finish my training, Brian. Not to mention that I gave the RAF my oath - you may not see that as being very important, but my word means a lot to me, Brian. It’s really all I have anymore - I gave up my country and my home and I’m even willing to hide the fact I’m a queer, but I still have my honor. So, yeah, it’s a big deal for me to even think about betraying that. But I would . . . for you . . . if I thought it would work.”

“Justin . . . I get it, okay? I understand that you don’t want to break your promises or go back on your word. But you haven’t yet given me a real answer to the big question here; how is your death going to help anything? How are you going to fulfill your oath to protect England when you're fucking fish food? Come July 10th, one way or another, your commission will be history - excuse the fucking pun.”

Justin didn’t really have an argument for that point so he remained silent.

“Look at it this way, Justin . . . Okay, for the next four weeks or so, I get that your honor demands that you stay and do your duty. You made a commitment and intend to keep it - I respect you for that. Fine. But, as of July 10th, your job here is done, one way or another, so what’s going to happen then, huh? Are you going to go to your death like a fucking lamb to the slaughter, or take the chance I’m offering; the future I want to give you?”

It was Justin’s turn to look away. “I . . . I haven’t really thought about what would happen after . . . After July 10th . . . If I think about it too much, it makes it too real . . .”

“Listen, Justin . . . Are you listening?” Justin nodded absently. “I get that you’re the kind of guy who needs a purpose in life, Blue Eyes. If you weren’t that guy, I probably wouldn’t be as fucking in love with you as I am - which, by the way, scares the fuck out of me - but there’s no reason you can’t have just as fulfilling of a life here, as you had in 1941. The world still needs brave, honorable men - maybe more than ever.” That caused Justin to look up again, curious in spite of himself about what Brian might have planned. “You can still fly here in 2016, Justin - I’ll fucking pay for you to get whatever training you need and, if you want, you could even reenlist in the military here eventually. Although that wouldn’t be MY first choice, because I fucking hate the idea of you being in danger all the damned time, but if that’s what you want, I’d be okay with it. That’s not the only thing you could do though. You’re an amazing artist and, with your skills, you could easily make a great living in advertising. Hell, maybe we could eventually even go out on our own and open our very own agency, just the two of us. We’d fucking kiss ass in the advertising world.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into all of this,” Justin smiled despite the subject of the conversation, enjoying the fact that his lover was trying so hard to fit him into Brian’s world.

“Well, when I want something, I don’t give up without one fucking hell of a fight,” Brian explained, giving Justin a small smile in return. “But that’s not all . . . I have another idea for how you could still satisfy your ridiculous sense of purpose without trying to kill yourself on a daily basis . . .”

While Justin sat there, wondering what other schemes Brian had in mind, his boyfriend got up, walked over to the desk, pulled out a manilla file full of papers, and then came back to the table.

“Hear me out on this, okay?” Brian prefaced his pitch as he started to pull documents out of the file. “Did I tell you about the kid that Daphne and I helped the first night I took her to The Palace to get her out of that raid?” Justin shook his head and Brian carried on. “So, there was this girl that got caught in the raid and the staff at The Palace brought her into the shelter, but since she wasn’t a paying customer they were giving her a hard time. I wasn’t going to let them get away with that, of course, so I gave her and her son my sleeping cubicle for the night. The little boy - Harry - reminded me a lot of Gus, and he was really scared of the dark and the noise from the raid and all, so I gave him a little flashlight that I had. And, in a really weird twist of fate, the client I came here to London to work with just happens to be the same little boy - only now he’s all grown up and the CEO of a major industrial manufacturing company.”

Justin couldn’t believe what Brian was telling him. Out of all the people in London - which there were a LOT of nowadays - the odds of Brian running into someone he’d come across seventy-five years in the past were incalculable. “Wow. Did he recognize you?”

“Nah. I didn’t either at first; it was Cynthia that unearthed the connection. But that’s not the important point. The thing that matters is that he’s not only got a lot of money but he’s a World War II buff. And . . .” Brian slid one of his papers across the table towards Justin. “When I proposed an idea I had - well, okay, it was an idea Cynthia had, but I’m happy to take credit for it - for a charity that would teach kids to rebuild and restore old planes and then use those planes to teach the kids to fly, thereby preparing them for jobs in the aerospace industry, Melton flipped for it. He’s willing to fund an initial endowment of $250,000 to get the project going and apparently knows some mechanics and other plane restorers who might be willing to donate their time. I’m sure we can get other grants and funding once we get the staff in place. I thought we could focus on inner-city kids and refugee children - kids that have limited economic resources and need a leg up to get started in life. So, all we still need to get the project off the ground is a pilot to teach the kids to fly . . .”

Justin flipped through the paperwork in front of him. It looked like Cynthia had already drafted formation documents and started a search for real estate in the Pittsburgh area where they could set up a facility. There was a written commitment from Brian’s client for the initial endowment. There were also draft brochures Brian must have been putting together to advertise this endeavor to both future investors and the kids they would try to help.   

“Brian, I . . . I don’t know what to say. You two really have thought of everything though.” He was impressed.

“Say that this is probably one of the smartest ideas you’ve ever heard and that you would be thrilled to be a part of it!” Justin smiled softly and shook his head at Brian, but he didn’t say no. “Fine, then just say that you’ll at least think about it?”

“Okay. I’ll think about it . . .” Justin sighed heavily. He had a lot to go over in his mind before he made any decisions.

Brian nodded. “That’s all I ask . . . for now, anyway.”

Things went back to normal after that, or at least as normal as it got with two time traveling boyfriends living and loving over the span of a seventy-five year time difference. Brian agreed not to press Justin about his future plans, and Justin agreed that he wasn’t going to completely rule out the option of staying with Brian. But the conundrum never really left Justin’s consciousness, day or night. In fact, Justin had even started to dream about the coming events; alternating between fantasy futures of blissful happiness with Brian, and nightmares featuring his own fiery death. But so far nothing had helped him reach any substantive conclusions about what he should do.

Meanwhile, Brian was busy trying to point out every possible selling point 2016 could offer. They’d gone to several museums and other artistic venues. Brian had taken Justin to a concert featuring more of that pounding, over-loud, ‘music’; which had been fun, all things considered, and really impressive when Justin looked around at the huge convention center hall, the thousands of fans and the wild special effects up on the stage. They’d even tried a couple - tamer - bars and dancing clubs. Justin was getting used to the freedom of Brian’s time, even though he still felt like an outsider most of the time.

Brian also had Justin doing more and more of the artwork for his clients. The bicycle logo that Justin had designed for the client in Prague had been a huge hit and they wanted more of the same for the ongoing campaign Brian was designing. Justin really enjoyed the work and was constantly amazed by the idea that anyone could make an actual living as an artist. He and Brian seemed to work fairly well together, too, despite the fact that his boyfriend was such a horrible perfectionist. Justin was a perfectionist too, though, so they were equally matched in that department and merely spurred each other on to do their best work. Plus, the perks of the job - afternoon trysts with his favorite brunet - were more than worth any time Justin put in on Brian’s projects.

With so much going on in Brian’s world, Justin was spending less and less time in his own era. He and Brian spent most nights in the modern version of The Palace and only rarely checked into the 1941 incarnation. Justin still made a point of stopping into The White Lion almost every evening, usually on his way to the base for his nightly missions, but Brian rarely spent much time there himself. Justin understood the man’s uneasiness about getting trapped in the past, especially after the one close call they’d had, but he felt the real impetus behind Brian’s reluctance to return to the past was to keep Justin coming to the future.

The other place that Justin was rarely seen anymore was his room at Mrs. MacCready’s boarding house. About the only time he stopped in there was to pick up his mail. When he did stop in, Mrs. MacCready always gave him a hard time about having a ‘sweetie’ hidden somewhere, and Justin didn’t disabuse her of the notion. But there was no reason to sleep there, alone, in his cold little twin bed, when he could be in Brian’s luxurious and well-equipped modern hotel suite.

Not to mention that Justin would rather not have to deal with the inevitable run ins with Chris Hobbs every time they met. Because, of course, the confrontation with Hobbs at the Squadron Ball hadn’t settled anything. If anything, Hobbs was more antagonistic than ever before, and whenever Justin had to interact with him at the base, on a mission, or when they’d come across each other at Mrs. MacCready’s, there was always more unpleasantness. Justin was getting tired of listening to all Hobbs’ slurs and name calling; the only surprising thing was how creative Hobbs was getting with the many ways he found to call Justin a fairy. For the most part, Justin simply ignored all the taunts, refusing to rise to the bait, but it did worry him that Hobbs’ diatribes were getting more vituperative and included more pointed references to Brian. Justin knew that a final confrontation with Hobbs was probably inevitable, which was just another reason to avoid the past and his room at Mrs. MacCready’s whenever possible.

At the same time, the missions the RAF pilots were flying had become more complicated and longer. The Gerries had been suspiciously quiet since the last catastrophic bombing raids of May 10th and 11th. There had been ongoing, minor skirmishes, a few small raids, and the usual damaging attacks on any shipping through the Channel, but no major offensives against Great Britain. So, since they weren’t needed for defensive actions, the two Eagle Squadrons had been assigned to help out as fighter escorts for long distance bombing runs over the occupied countries and even into Germany itself. The down side to all this was that, although the casualties weren’t quite as heavy as previously, when a plane did go down, it was a lot less likely surviving pilots would be recovered from behind enemy lines. Tensions were therefore high among the pilots of Justin’s squadron.

By the time June 21st came around, intelligence had come through indicating that German troops were massing near the Russian border and England’s Soviet allies were clamoring for assistance. It was no surprise, therefore, when Justin’s group was ordered to escort a long range bombing flight all the way to the fringes of the eastern front. It was a long flight and because of that their fuel calculations had to be extremely precise. They’d be cutting it close just to get there, fly a few sorties to distract the Gerries and protect the bombers, and then get home.

“Can’t believe they’d put a loser like you in charge of this mission,” Hobbs snarled as soon as the squadron was dismissed from the pre-flight briefing where Justin had been announced as that night's wing commander for his group of pilots. “The only wings you should be in charge of, Taylor, are your fairy wings.”

Hobbs’ comment got a round of snickering from the rest of those still in hearing distance.

“You seem to know quite a lot about ‘fairies’, Hobbs,” Justin shot back, unwilling to let that kind of challenge to his authority go unremarked. “Is there something you feel the need to confess to the rest of us, hmmm?” The rest of the assembly guffawed and Hobbs turned an angry beet red, but Justin was understandably jumpy about this mission and therefore was NOT in the mood to deal with Hobbs. “Well, if you have nothing else to add, then, let’s get to our planes already. And make sure the crews top up your fuel tanks with every last drop you can take, men; this is gonna be a tricky one.”

Once they were in the air, flanking the five Lancaster bombers their wing was assigned to escort, Justin quickly arranged his wing into the familiar three plane formations. He made sure Hobbs the Troublemaker was directly on his right wing, following the age-old advice to keep your friends close and your enemies closer, and hoping thereby to keep an eye on the weakest of that mission’s pilots. The flight over was uneventful; he spent much of the time daydreaming about the send off Brian had given him earlier and enjoying the delightful burn he could still feel in his hind quarters. Truth be told, Justin was glad for the extra padding the parachute he was sitting on provided.

By the time Justin’s group had arrived over their target in northeastern Poland, just a mile or two north of Bialystok, it was obvious that the intelligence reports had been correct. Even in the darkness, it was clear that something was going on down on the ground. There were far too many lights out there and more vehicles driving over the hilly countryside than should have been found in this relatively unpopulated region. The primary objective was to take out the rail lines that led up from Warsaw, which should be easy enough on such a cloudless, moonlit night. Within a few minutes of their arrival, the Lancasters were off on their bombing dives and Justin ordered his planes to head towards the approaching German defenders coming up from the south.

Since they didn’t have a lot of fuel to waste with fancy flying, Justin’s orders were to simply fly head on into the approaching Messerschmitts, hoping to break their formations with the unorthodox tactic, and then hold them off long enough for the bombers to drop their loads and evacuate. They didn’t have time to try and take the Gerry planes out; they just needed to distract them for a few minutes and then get the heck out of there as fast as they could.

And Justin’s plan was working perfectly . . . for the first ten minutes.

Justin’s wing had totally surprised the German air support with their initial, mad, head-on dash. The Gerries’ formations broke almost immediately, with planes flying every which way. Justin ordered his wing to stay together and not pursue, directing them to wheel in a tight westward curve and then to repeat the maneuver a second time if necessary, before turning tail and heading home in the wake of the departing Lancasters.

All of the RAF pilots followed orders, as expected, except for the one plane on Justin’s right wingtip . . . the plane being flown by one Christopher Hobbs.

“Where the heck are you going, Hobbs?” Justin yelled into his radio as Hobbs peeled off, fangs out, in pursuit of one laggard German that was flying just beyond gunning range. “Get your tail back here. We don’t have time for that.”

“I’m going to take this sucker out,” Hobbs’ voice crackled through the headphones. “It won’t take me more than a minute; it’ll be a piece of cake.”

“No. It won’t be a piece of cake . . . take a look down your three-nine line!” Justin tried to warn the idiot who apparently didn’t see the second wave of Messerschmitts coming up hot from the south.

“Shit!” was all he heard from Hobbs, who by that point was too far away and was about to be cut off from the rest of the group by the new attackers.

“Hang on, Hobbs,” Justin ordered brusquely. “Andrews, get the rest of the wing out of here. I’m going back for Hobbs. Don’t stop til you get wheels down in Creighton.”

“Roger that, Taylor,” Andrews confirmed and then took the rest of the pilots off towards the northwest.

Justin wheeled off towards the right just as Hobbs managed to shoot down the plane he’d hared off after; a very small victory seeing as they were now completely outnumbered. Justin ordered Hobbs to take up position on his right wing again, and together they wheeled one last time to face the oncoming planes directly. And, whether it was the surprise factor or that the Germans simply couldn’t believe these two British pilots were insane enough to take on a whole wing all by themselves, the maneuver seemed to work. The new wave broke just like their predecessor had, allowing Justin and Hobbs to fly straight through their lines. Once they’d got through, the RAF flyboys banked in a sharp westward turn, heading off into the darkness over Northern Poland.

Of course it wasn’t going to be THAT easy, though. This last group of Gerries was pissed off and, since they didn’t have to worry about fuel reserves to the same extent the RAF planes did, they had time to harry the retreating Hurricanes. Hobbs was again in favor of turning and fighting, but Justin overruled him, thanking the powers that be that, for once, Hobbs listened to him. Instead, Justin directed that they open throttle and simply try to outfly the pursuers as best as possible. Which probably wasn’t the best option as the Messerschmitts were faster than the Hurricanes in straight flight. Justin hoped that they’d get bored with the chase, especially since the two RAF planes posed little threat. Also, Justin knew that there was another wave of RAF bombers due any minute and, with any luck, those new arrivals would pull the Gerries back toward the front lines. So they only had to outfly the Germans for a few minutes . . .

Unfortunately, their luck gave out right about then.

With a barrage of clattering metallic pings, the Gerry on Justin’s tail began firing his guns. Justin started weaving, trying to make as poor a target as possible while not materially altering his trajectory. A quick glance down at his fuel gauge told Justin that they’d already passed beyond the safety margin for the return flight, so he really didn’t have any other options right then. But the good news was that he could already see the shine of the moonlight glinting off the waters of the Baltic Sea ahead of him and knew that the Germans wouldn’t likely follow much beyond that.

However, just as they were almost home free, one annoyingly tenacious German fighter let loose with a final spray of 30mm cannon fire aimed right at Justin’s tail and scored a hit. Justin could feel the fusillage of his plane buck upon impact and then the yoke almost jerked out of his hands. He couldn’t take the time to look back, but based on the lack of responsiveness in the controls, Justin could tell the damage was probably extensive. The only silver lining being that the German who had fired on him seemed to think his job now done and he immediately turned back.

“Damn! Looks like you’re hit pretty bad, Taylor,” Hobbs’ voice dribbled out of the headphones of the radio. “Need me to come back around and wingtip you?”

“NO!” Justin screamed, unable to hold back his anger at the other pilot’s unbounded idiocy. “You’re bingo on fuel, Hobbs! You can’t mess around babysitting me; you’re barely going to make it back as is. Just buster back to base. That’s an order!”

“I can’t just leave you like this, Taylor. You stayed behind to help me . . .”

“Trust me, Hobbs, I would have loved to have left you if I could, but I don’t leave ANYONE under my command behind. Now, for once in your life, follow orders and RTB. I need to cut my speed to save on gas but I should still be able to make it. Barely. Just have the base ready for me, ‘cause I’m pretty sure my tail flaps are shot to heck and it could be a hard landing. Got it?”

“Roger that. See you back on the ground, Taylor.”

Justin watched Hobbs’ plane disappearing into the West with a sense of relief that at least all his men had made it. It was time to make sure the same could be said about him. Using more of his precious remaining fuel than he’d like, Justin pulled back the yoke and urged his limping plane to a higher altitude, hoping thereby to save fuel in the long run. Then, once he was a good angel or so higher, he cut back the engines to the bare minimum needed to keep him going, turned the plane due west over the tip of Denmark, and headed out across the North Sea towards home.

He almost made it too. But just as the sky in the east was starting to turn that odd shade of ultraviolet that presaged the coming dawn, Justin hit a pocket of turbulence that knocked his already damaged plane around. When he tried to right himself and correct his yaw, something snapped and the controls went completely dead. It was immediately clear that there was nothing more he could do; the plane’s nose was already dropping and, as the wind picked up, the Hurricane started to roll to the left. With a silent plea for help and a last thought of Brian, Justin pulled the canopy release knob and ten seconds later he was ejected from the plane and dropping in freefall through the sky.

Thank goodness for all the parachute drills he’d been through, which made it almost second nature to do what he had to in order to deploy the chute and then prepare himself for what followed. It was almost peaceful for those few moments he was drifting along through the air. Justin watched with detachment as his old Hurricane hit the water hundreds of meters below him with a soundless splash. The sky behind him was just turning pink by then, and there was enough light to see his surroundings. On the western horizon, he thought he could just make out the English shoreline - darn it, he’d been so close.

And then there was no time left to look at anything more as the cold, blue surface of the sea rose up to meet him.