Spitfire Ringers Page 2

  However, the shadow Hitler cast fell across the Atlantic. Cadets at WestPoint were more aware than most that this battle would not end at just the European mainland. Hitler was a dark cloud over the whole world bent on ruling a Master Race. He wouldn’t stop at the Atlantic or at the Ural mountains, and he had to be stopped. Europe was just the start. Colonel Sweeney felt that way, and so did Payton and Dylan. Eventually, they all knew, the fight would end up at the doorstep of America.

  That last night in New York Colonel Sweeney had offered Dylan and Payton the chance to do something about the mustached menace from Munich. At least that is where the trouble started, Hitler actually came from Austria. He offered them a chance to fly some of the best planes in the world, and to get some of the best flight training in the world. They could go to Europe, he told them, and be some of the first Americans to stand up against Hitler. They’d help the French, whom Hitler had invaded a week or so earlier, and they’d fight for freedom. Sweeney argued passionately and persuasively, and at the end he’d left instructions saying that if they wanted to cross the Atlantic they could meet one of his contacts at a hotel in Montreal who could get them to Europe.

  Back outside the halls of WestPoint on graduation day, Dylan asked “How do we get out of our service commitments? Is it worth the risk? We could be in serious trouble if anyone in the Army finds out we want to go fight in Europe now.”

  Payton thought for a moment, and then answered. “I think we need to talk to Lt. Colonel Bradley. He’d recognize us from the baseball team, and we might persuade him to give us a deferment of service. We’ll tell him we could come back as better trained, battle tested flight pilots after a year or so, and then we could help train American pilots. We might even be able to save some lives.”

  Much to their surprise, Lt. Colonel Bradley agreed with their line of reasoning. He transferred them to General Hap Arnold’s US Army Air Corps and gave them the deferment. Lt. Colonel Bradley even cooked up a phony reason to put on the deferment paperwork, citing their possible professional baseball careers as a future publicity tool for WestPoint. As far as the army knew, they had baseball games to play, but they really had planes to fly. Now they headed for Europe, by way of Canada. Neither knew what they were really getting into.

  Chapter 1

  May 10th, 1940

  Getting across the American/Canadian border was not much of a chore. A train to Niagara Falls accompanied by a story to all that inquired about meeting their girlfriends for the weekend got them close, and then a simple hitchhike across the border and on to Montreal. The driver of the car did a double take when the hitchhiking youngsters asked for a drop off at the Ritz-Carlton Montreal, but still obliged. Dylan and Payton were dressed in their smartest non-military suits, but the quality of those suits was not nearly what one would expect at The Ritz. The boys did a double take when they inquired at the front desk and were told that a room had been reserved under their names for the night and that the bill had already been paid. Colonel Sweeny spared no expense taking care of them to insure a smooth trip across the Atlantic. As a mercenary, Colonel Sweeny received payment for every recruit he sent over, which more than covered the expenses he incurred. When the twins reached their room they found another surprise; a note to meet a Mr. Eriksen in the Jardin Du Ritz garden restaurant for dinner.

  With a couple hours still to kill, they threw their bags on the beds and wandered out of the hotel lobby. Upon hitting the streets, the Golden Mile Square section of Montreal stretched out ahead. Imposing mansions lined the streets of this impressively wealthy area that housed the financial magnates and decision makers controlling the economic fate of Canada. Though some in the neighborhood had relocated out of downtown Montreal, and the area wasn’t quite at the peak anymore, it was close enough, and the residents still controlled a large portion of the national wealth. To the east sat the prestigious McGill University, and so the twins headed in that general direction. It had been eight months exactly since Canada had declared war on Germany, so Montreal looked like a city pushing and prodding its way to a wartime footing. Posters exhorting young men to volunteer in both French and English plastered the windows of the buildings around McGill University. As the twins meandered on to the campus they noticed a general excited murmur around them as students spoke quickly and quietly, and all seemed headed to the center of campus and the massive stone building there. The placard on the building said that this was the Arts Building and noted that this was the oldest building on campus, dating back to 1843. Several other very impressive stone buildings surrounded the art building. Some looked like gothic churches with impressive spires, while others echoed the stern columns of the Roman Senate, but it all worked to bring a stately, elegant feel to the campus.

  The central structure of the Art Building consisted of dark grey stone and rose three stories, then another two stories with a small watchtower and rotunda atop. The roof appeared the same shade of green as the Statue of Liberty, so it must have been oxidized copper. The rotunda on top of the watch tower reminded the twins of Monticello, Thomas Jefferson’s home in Virginia, which the twins visited during school. Two story wings extended from each side of the building, presumable housing the classrooms and workshops. Students were gathering in the main foyer and listening to a radio broadcast over the loudspeaker. Unfortunately for the English speaking brothers, the broadcast was in French. A few words rattled over the stone foyer unmistakably: Hitler, France, Blitzkrieg. Knowing that they planned to join the French air force, the boys sought more information from one of the co-eds at the fringes of the group.

  “What’s going on?” inquired Dylan.

  “Hitler has invaded Belgium and is running down towards France.” replied the chestnut haired girl. “He just went around the Maginot Line. Paris is in a panic. They are rushing troops north.”

  “They’re never going to stop them. If the tanks are in Belgium already the Blitzkrieg is on. Tanks and planes will pound their way to Paris in no time.” commented Payton.

  “The radio anchor is optimistic and talking up the Belgian Army, maybe they can hold.” replied the girl. “I am Anne Fields, by the way. My brother Jack is with the Canadian army in France. He said that any Germans that set foot in France will be thrown back, just as in the last war.”

  “My apologies, Ma’am. My name is Payton, and this is my brother Dylan, it is a pleasure to meet you. I hope your brother is right, but he didn’t mention that it took 4 years to throw the Germans out in the Great War. When Napoleon went east it took even longer to throw him out of Germany. Any war in Europe is going to be a long-term affair.”

  “Nice to meet you both. You must be Americans, since I’ve never seen you around campus and most of the other boys in town are off training or at least in a uniform.” Anne said.

  “Yes, Anne, we are Americans. But, we are just up here on a school break. That’s why we wandered over to the campus. Thought we might find something interesting. I would think that this certainly qualifies.” Payton noted.

  “Well, I hope you find something more interesting to do than talk about the war. The constant war talk can be tiresome. My friends and I try to find some distractions occasionally.” she replied with a wan smile.

  Even though it by no means constituted an invitation, Payton didn’t waste an opportunity.

  “Let us entertain you later, then. We have a dinner planned with a family friend this evening, but we would certainly be happy to take you and your friends for a drink later.” Payton interjected happily. Dylan had always been more inclined to social planning, but Payton felt an immediate shine to this evidently smart and beautiful girl.

  Dylan didn’t mind letting his brother handle the planning and added “Our father gave us a little bit of money to make sure we had a good time up here, and we appreciate you translating the French broadcast for us. We’d like to return the favor.”

  It wasn’t exactly true. Colonel Sweeney provided the money. Payton and Dylan were forced into these little wh
ite lies because America was still a neutral country. The start of the Second World War occurred when Germany invaded Poland on September 1st, 1939. Two days later, Great Britain, France, Australia and New Zealand declared war on Germany on September 3rd, 1939. Two days after that the US declared Neutrality on September 5th. Five days later, September 10th, Canada declared war on Germany as well. Even though Dylan and Payton had the unofficial approval of Lt. Colonel Bradley, any US citizens caught fighting for a foreign country could, in theory, forfeit their citizenship. The State Department loathed prosecuting any such charges since they knew the US might eventually have to enter the war, but making a claim to go off fighting while on foreign territory, even friendly foreign territory, simply asked for trouble. In public at least, the twins wanted to keep a low profile and stuck with their traveling students on break story. Besides, the few dollars that Colonel Sweeney had given them for the trip might as well be put to good use.

  “Well, that is a little forward since we just met, but it does sound like fun. All right, I’ll bring my friend Donna and we’ll meet you at DePorte, a little bar just down the street from here. When shall we meet you?” Anne said.

  “Our dinner is at 6, so how about 8:45 or 9?” replied Dylan.

  Anne happily responded with her bright smile, “Thank you boys, I’ll see you there at 9.”

  ***

  A couple of hours later the boys sat in their room preparing for dinner with Mr. Eriksen. Payton shined his shoes, more for the impending date with Anne and her friend than for Mr. Eriksen, while Dylan looked in mirror looping his tie into a knot that reasonably resembled the usual military double Windsor. Neither wanted to look overly crisp and presentable, the usual protocol at the military academy at all times. They hoped not to arouse any suspicions by looking a little less than perfectly turned out, but not many people in Canada paid much attention so the efforts mostly fell for naught.

  “How are we going to recognize Mr. Eriksen?” Dylan asked.

  “I’m hoping he recognizes us. Otherwise there is no way we are getting in to one of the nicest restaurants in town with no reservation. We’ll just inquire at the front when we get there.”

  A few minutes later the boys walked in to the elegant Jardine Du Ritz. The dining was al fresco in the expertly manicured patio garden. White wrought iron chairs surrounded the light blue linen covered tables on the patio. In the middle sat an impressive fountain and pond, complete with a family of ducks sedately paddling through the water. Beautiful sunflowers adorned the center of each table and augmented the native greens of the garden finally shaking off the Canadian winter in late spring. As the name suggests, the restaurant drew heavy influence from the French cafes so common in both Paris and Montreal, but in much more of a fine dining setting befitting The Ritz.

  The Maitre D took one look at the young pair as they entered the garden and the frown turned to a smile look on his face indicated that these must be the set of twins that Mr. Eriksen had generously tipped him to look out for and greet warmly. The boys needn’t ask, and he ushered Payton and Dylan to a prime table right next to the pond. At the table Mr. Eriksen rose to greet them. He stood several inches shorter than the boys, perhaps 5’9” or so. Though he was impressively and properly turned out for a dinner at The Ritz, he had an unruly head of curly Italian hair. It looked as if the barber had sheered it as close as possible, but the scissors were not up to the task. The remaining hair looked a bit like a ball of yarn tightly wound, but with several curly locks dripping out. A hat would cover it, but the man had no care for what others thought and moved with pride and dignity none-the-less. His suit fit him immaculately, even though he tended to the smaller side of lean everywhere on his body but the middle, as happened to men on one side or the other of middle age.

  “Messieurs’ Anders, my name is John Eriksen, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He said in a deep voice with an accent that was hard to place. It sounded as if he might be American, but he spoke with a slightly different intonation that hinted at a continental upbringing.

  “Nice to meet you, sir” both twins responded at the same time.

  “An unusual habit you have of speaking together, and please, call me John” replied a mildly surprised and slightly amused John.

  “Sorry, John” said Payton “it isn’t intentional. We were just raised together so closely that sometimes we have the same reaction and response at the same time. It does sometimes make for an interesting conversation piece.”

  “I know the feeling” John mused in his subtle accent. “Some people comment on my accent as well, and it does make for a good conversation starter on occasion.”

  “I didn’t want sound ignorant and say anything, but I couldn’t place your accent either. You don’t sound quite Canadian, or American, or Italian. Where are you from?” Dylan inquired.

  “You would not be ignorant to ask, as my accent is my own, and my acquisition of it a unique circumstance. I was born and raised in New York, where my father was born and raised as well. However, he traveled the world as a student studying for his doctorate in Roman History. During his travels he met my mother in Malta, a small island off of the Italian mainland. When he returned home to teach at Columbia University he brought her with him. I was raised with the regular New York accent most of the time, a mother who spoke Italian and Maltese at home, a university education at Cambridge, and to finish off the mix I’ve spent the last several years teaching Military History here at McGill. I like to say that Montreal is where both the French and the English are a little off.”

  “That’s quite the melting pot of languages. We both speak a little bit of German from high school, but other than that it’s just plain English. It must be useful to know all of those languages. How do you know Colonel Sweeney?” asked Dylan, further testing their new acquaintance.

  “Ah, the good Colonel. We met several years ago during the Spanish Civil War fighting against the fascists. Since then we have stayed in contact and occasionally I will help him with some of his recruits. It is much easier to take care of certain travel arrangements from here. He has a zeal for war that I do not share, Spain cured that, but I have no love for fascists, so I am happy to help my friend.”

  A waitress approached carrying a large tray “Monsieur’s, your meal. Two filet mignon and one rack of lamb.”

  “The service here is excellent, we haven’t even ordered yet and they came out with something for us.” Dylan joked.

  “I took the liberty of ordering you both steaks before you arrived. I figured you may not have such a chance once you enter the fray in Europe.” Mr. Eriksen admitted. “I hope that you will enjoy them.”

  “There is no doubt of that. We appreciate your help as well. The only information Colonel Sweeney gave us was to meet you here. He didn’t tell us anything about our destination or who we would be flying with.” said Payton. “We’re hoping that you can tell us what’s next.”

  “Do not worry” John said. “It is standard operating procedure to pass you from one link in the chain to the next with each link only able to tell you the next step. That way if your trip goes awry the whole chain is not blown. I have arranged transportation for you to Portsmouth, England. A Mr. Hobbes will meet you at the docks. Your trip is slightly unusual for me in two ways, but actually both make my job easier. First, I usually have to set up descriptors and codes so that Mr. Hobbes will recognize his men to pick up. You will be easily recognizable as the young men who are twins that he is to meet. The other reason has to do with your transportation. You are quite lucky in that I have procured for you a spot on the Empress of Britain. Up until last year it was one of the finest first class cruise ships on the oceans, and then it was to be converted to a troop transport. At least that was the story. It was only partially converted, and has served as the backup trans-Atlantic ship of British King George VI. He has just completed a secret inspection of Canadian troops here and the Empress of Britain has peeled off from the Million Dollar convoy to take him back to Englan
d. I have procured a spot on his shipboard serving staff for you.”

  Trying to hide the hint of excitement creeping in to his voice Dylan said “You mean that we’ll be traveling on a luxury cruise liner with the King of England? That doesn’t sound like a bad deal.”

  “Well, it is not exactly a luxury cruise liner anymore.” Mr. Eriksen offered. “It was converted last year to a troop transport and painted the standard naval grey. It has peeled off from the other luxury liners of the million dollar convoy returning from New Zealand to return the King to England. Not many know of his secret review here to encourage the troops, but with today’s invasion by Hitler I’m sure he is glad he came to muster the allies even more. I’m guessing he won’t be leaving Great Britain much in the days to come with Hitler pushing westward. Britain and France will need all the help they can get.”

  “We heard on the radio. It sounds like he is blitzing down through Belgium as fast as he can.” Payton noted as he cut in to the steak left in front of him.

  “It is Hitler’s style; blitzkrieg. He strikes like lightning with tanks and planes and browbeats his adversaries quickly. He does it while orating and while fighting. I don’t think he knows any other way.” Dylan added. “It will be interesting to see if he can sustain anything other than an attack. Occupation is just as hard as the attack, at least that is what they told us at WestPoint. Is you steak as good as mine?”