Albert - Tail End Charlie is a bit breezy but at least there's less danger of collision. Aggressive. Most aggressive. Your man's not shy I'll say that but 1 v 5 against the sons of Tydeus is a tall ask, even if the Huns are novices. Alas, it looks like the claims board had their minds on the upcoming ladies night and round-filed Kevin's claims. Shame about those two Albs on the 15th. Those long tail chases into Hunland often end with unwitnessed kills. Looking forward to the report on what will no doubt be an historic evening.
Fullofit - Nice new bus Klaus has there... Again with the 2-seaters! Holy Scheiße, you pulled the verdammt wing off! And then you landed it. Welcome to the club!!
Yeah, I know what you mean. What can I say? Oliver's got a bit of a blind spot when it comes to Eliza. As for the life academic, let's try and survive the war before we start writing Appendices to Oliver's Tale. Cigar Ash and Tulle...
Raine - Grid doesn't do subtlety very well. It's just not his thing. He's more of a "go straight at 'em." type. Mac has the right idea even if it gets his CO's nose out of joint. Aggressive has it's place but there's no point in charging to one's death.
Carrick - Stayin' alive... you know the rest of it. Henri is getting close to that magic 5th victory. Keep flying smart and it will come.
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À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 8716 May 1918 Royal Automobile Club
Pall Mall, London.
A delicious breakfast. Generous rashers of bacon quickly banished any aftereffects of last night’s whiskey. Thoughts of Eliza, on the other hand, lingered stubbornly.
All that changed when Colonel Beor, to my horror, asked me to address the assembled Cadets. I thought back to all the visiting officers who’d given us the ‘take it to the Hun for King and Country’ bit during my training. Gasbags most of them. The curriculum at the School of Aeronautics had improved since my time. Some of it actually was useful information about how an aeroplane flew. I remembered my own frustration at the inherent uselessness of the subject matter. My conversations with the AMs and Riggers, however, those were another matter entirely.
Colonel Beor’s introduction did nothing to calm my nerves.
“One- and one-half years ago, the officer you see before you trained under my command at the School of Instruction at Reading, where he was a Cadet not unlike yourselves. We know him today as Captain O. A. Winningstad, VC, DSO, MC.”
Merciful Gods!I was less terrified facing the Circus than I was standing in front of these men.
“Good morning,” I began. Then my mind when utterly blank.
Don’t make a meal of it, Oliver. Just tell them what you think. You thought this place a waste of time. Are they any different?“You’ve all asked the question, ‘Why am I here, at this No. 2 School of Aeronautics?’ All I want to do is fly. I crossed an ocean to fight the Hun, and my mates from Down Under traveled halfway around the world to do the same. Everyone knows this. Why haven’t the brass hats put me in a bloody aeroplane already?!”
There were some smiles and silent nodding among the crowd.
“Why? Because yours will not be a solitary war effort. The days of the lone pilot are gone west, along with most of the lone pilots. Those stories you read in the papers, exploits of our gallant airmen, that’s not the real picture. When you fight the Hun, you’ll do it in massed formations, scores of aircraft stacked up in layers to 20,000 feet, all trying to kill each other. That’s the fight you’re heading into and the line between life and death, victory and defeat, will be razor thin. Teamwork is what will keep you alive long enough to help win the war. If you do nothing else here, study the craft of your Riggers and Ack Ems. Learn their language of the aeroplane because it is they, no less than your fellow pilots who will keep you alive. Good luck to you all.”
I replayed the scene over in my head on the train back to London, thinking about what I could have said. The entire experience occurred with little sense of conscious thought. I just opened my mouth and the words flew out. It wasn’t awful but I might have done things differently. At least the Cadet’s eyes didn’t glass over. If ever get stuck with a command, I’ll need to take greater care and make a better job of speaking.
Wonderful to see Tom again. I hope the Scarecrow gets his wish and gets back to the front. He was right about Eliza. I must find her and have it out, no matter the consequences. No more secrets.
Walked the mile and a half from Paddington to Selfridge’s where I frittered away an hour seeking a gift for Eliza.
Outside the RAC, I spent a good 10 minutes engaging the Porter in conversation. By the end I’m sure the poor fellow was utterly confused by my questions but I needed to be seen by the watchers, who, if they had failed to track me to Oxford would now be back in tow.
Two letters awaited me. The first from Cal. The boys of 85 have orders for France! They leave next Wednesday. The second was from Colonel Rees:
Just like Mac to pull a stunt like that and not mention a word of it. That’s Mac all right. I’ve got a sinking feeling that my next posting is back to Ayrshire so I can rag him in person then.
Wired Cal inviting the Three Musketeers to a farewell dinner at Rules tomorrow night then spent the remainder of the afternoon in the gymnasium practicing. I’ll only get one chance when the time comes. My strikes must be precise.
The Savoy Grill at 6.00. From there to Rules, where I paced about in front for 15 minutes as though waiting for someone. Dined alone upstairs. The fresh Mersea oysters proved irresistible, even if it was a little late in the season. After two dozen I was feeling exceptionally vigorous. The pork chop with a potato-apple rosti and topped with a vinegar mustard sauce was the perfect follow-up. I drank lightly. The boys from 85 were coming tomorrow night and I needed to be ready.
Off to Murray's on foot. Rain threatened but held off. Mr. Andrews was waiting in his cab. I approached and arranged for him to collect me in 30 minutes, one block to the north at Tenison Court. I didn’t want any drunken patrons poaching his services. Murray's was crowded as per usual. No persons of interest.
True to the sporting nature he demonstrated chasing down Abigail’s taxi, Mr. Andrews was game for what I had planned for the coming nights. He drove me up to The International where I took a secluded table in the corner of the bar. I was not disturbed. After that it was back to the RAC for the night.
17 May 1918Royal Automobile Club
Pall Mall, London
Up early. Breakfast at the RAC. Went shopping for an Eliza gift. Struck out again. Wire from Cal accepting dinner invitation. I’ll meet them at the Savoy bar.
Hand to hand practice in the afternoon. I found the perfect training partner in a Lieutenant of the Cheshires. He was a powerful, thickly set fellow, 5’10 and at least 220 pounds. Quick too. Not an easy man to bring down. I hope tomorrow night’s opponent isn’t built like him. I need to do enough damage with my first blows so I don’t end up in a wrestling match. I want answers, not an unconscious assailant at my feet.
Relaxing swim then a long time in the Turkish bath. The Frigidarium seemed unusually cold but it was to the good as it led to a deep and dreamless nap.
The Three Musketeers were at the Savoy when I arrived, and by the look of things, they’d taken the early train.
“Ripper!” cried Springs, as I approached their table. He poured me a fresh flute of champagne which by some trick of his technique did not foam over.
“I bear greetings and message to you from Mac,” said Cal.
“Which one? I know a number of them now, including this excellent fellow,” I said indicating Grider.
“One Malcolm Charles McGregor, late of No. 54 Squadron,” replied Cal. “Mac says ‘Tell Ripper to keep the bloody wings on.’ ”
Mac was with 85 Sqn. now. I’d forgotten. He was in hospital for many months after he crashed last June and fractured his jaw so badly.
“A good man, Mac. You’re lucky to have him,” I replied. “He’s one hell of a pilot.”
The boys queried me briefly for the obvious story but I told them to get it from McGregor. When we left for Rules, the Three Musketeers were surprisingly steady on their feet considering how much Champagne they’d consumed. They wouldn’t hear it when I tried to cover the tab.
“Drinks are on us, Ripper. Dinner is on you.”
We sat at the same booth on the banquette wall that I’d shared with Clarissa, except this time I sat in the central spot she occupied so I could survey the room. All three were chomping at the bit to get to France. They filled me in on how they’d wrangled a spot with 85 Squadron with some help from Major Bishop and Geoff Dwyer of the USAS.
“You’re in the right place with the RFC,” said Mac. “We’d transfer in a heartbeat if we could. The British are tops and their brass treat us much better than the tin hat regulars who come from American Headquarters.”
“That goes for their women too.” said Springs. “These London women are in a class by themselves. They are good sports, good looking, good dancers, well educated, act like ladies, and they don’t sit around and worry about their honor all the time. They aren’t a bit conceited about the matter as they all are at home. Virtue over here isn’t even its own reward.”
As the dinner went on, I learned that Mac Grider and Billie Carleton are engaged! That didn’t take long. The news sure put paid to any ideas I had about warning Mac off. He’s over the moon about her so I’m keeping my trap shut about Reginald’s parties. Every girl has a past and hers was none of my affair.
As if on cue, the waiter arrived with two bottles of a fine vintage Champagne. Champagne that none of us had ordered.
“With the compliments of Mr. Zed,” said the waiter.”Exactly like the last time. What was that French expression for reliving a moment?
I pressed the waiter. “My good man can you direct me to Mr. Zed. This is the second time he has sent me champagne and I should like to thank him."
“I am sorry, sir. Mr. Zed departed some time ago,” he replied.
Who the hell is Mr. Zed?!“To Mr. Zed, our mysterious benefactor!”
We drank yet another toast, this time to Mac and Billie. Over the top of my glass, I saw a familiar figure making to leave the restaurant.
“Mac, let me out!” I cried, giving him a not so gentle shove with my shoulder. A third of his champagne sloshed out of the flute.
“Ok, ok. Hold your horses, Ripper!”
“Quickly, man!” I practically knocked Mac over as he stepped out of the booth to let me by.
“Do you need the loo, Ripper?” inquired Cal.
The man had gathered his coat now. It was definitely the beetle-eyed man I'd seen with Abigail at Murray’s. The man Clarissa slapped. I followed as close as I dared as he walked out of Rules and into a waiting car. The car door opened; I saw the man inside briefly. Heavy build. Dark features, hawk nose, and sharp hooded eyes. The white Van Dyke beard was unchanged. He was bareheaded but he was the man I’d seen in October - the one who’d tipped his hat to me as I waited for Clarissa at Rules.
“She must have been a real dish, Ripper. You d*mn near knocked me on my arse and I’ve got 20 pounds on you,” said Mac when I returned to our table.
“I’m sorry, Mac. I thought I saw someone I knew. You didn’t lose too much champagne I hope.”
Dinner concluded and we caught a taxi to Murray’s. I didn’t stay long. The boys looked like they were pretty well oiled and planned to keep going.
“I’ll say goodbye here,” I said. I wanted to leave them with something. The hard won experience of the last 18 months, the sage advice from Stewpot, Struggy and the others; all of it raced around my head. So too did the memorable tutelage of Captain Johnson-Smythe, my instructor at the School of Special Flying in Gosport. Even now I could remember his raunchy aphorisms verbatim.
“The war isn’t going anywhere. No use trying to win it the first month you’re in France. Like sex, it’s best you take your time and learn the game. You go rushing in headlong, it’s too much too soon and everything ends badly.”
“You’re one of the good ones, Ripper,” said Springs. “Thanks for everything.”
I shook their hands and wished them well. I sure hope I see them again.
Mr. Andrews was in his usual spot near Tenison Court. Driving back to the RAC, we went over the arrangements for tomorrow night.
“I had a dekko at that particular location not one hour ago, sir. I can keep the car there without ‘rousing any suspicion.”
“You remember the time?” I asked
“Ten o’clock. Good luck, sir.”