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  His Royal Majesty was not in sight as Payton entered the room, so he set the serving tray down on rather ordinary looking captain’s desk bolted to the wall adjacent the door. The middle of the room held a simple sitting area with a comfortable looking love seat across from two Spartan armchairs. None of the furniture shifted even the slightest with the gentle cross motion of the ship, so they too were bolted to the floor.

  “You are lucky that we are still in the river, or that tea would surely be on the floor by now.” Payton heard from behind him. He turned, snapping to attention, and there stood a man around six feet tall with a long narrow face, dark hair parted to the side, and ears slightly too big for his head. He wore a simple naval captain’s uniform with little in the way of markings. Payton knew that the one ribbon on his chest came from his action in the Great War during the battle of Jutland. The King had drawn some praise for his work as a turret office during the largest naval battle of World War I.

  “Your Majesty, my apologies. This is my first sea voyage. I will make sure to be more careful in the future.” Payton said rather embarrassed.

  “You must be one of the Americans that Mr. Collins was telling me about. I was hoping that he would send you up this morning. Mr. Stewart, isn’t it?” The King replied.

  “Yes, Your Majesty. My name is Justin Stewart. My twin brother Ryan Stewart is in serving Her Royal Highness the Queen.” Payton answered.

  “I know that is not your real name, as Mr. Collins has told me your true purpose. Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me.” His Majesty graciously responded. “Mr. Stewart, we are pleased to have you and your brother as part of the war effort. France appears to be faltering, but you are more than welcome to join our forces there. I see that Mr. Collins has given you the rank of Midshipman, which seems appropriate for a Westpointer, I served as that rank more than two decades ago. Therefore, on this ship, you can simply call me sir like any other officer.”

  “Thank you, sir. We appreciate the ride over on your beautiful ship. She stands well against anything I’ve ever seen in New York Harbor. The invasion of France makes our trip more urgent, so I’m glad we made the trip with your party. I am pleased to be at your service throughout the trip.” Payton answered.

  “I’m pleased you are here as well. Before the trip is out I’ll want to sit with both you and your brother to learn something of the mood in America. I may be King of the Realm, but I know we will need all the help that your country can give to defeat the Nazis.” King George replied with some force in his tone. When he spoke with even this modest passion no hint of a stammer came through in his speaking. “And, the least I can do is offer some help to you.” His Majesty continued. “We sail in to Bristol, up the Avon River from the west coast, below Wales. I’ll have orders for you to accompany us to London, and then have a car run you down to Dover. You should be able to catch a ride across the Channel from there.”

  “Thank you, sir. That is very kind of you.” Payton replied.

  “That will be all for now. Thank you for the tea, Mr. Stewart.” The King said as Payton saw the stack of dispatches and other paperwork awaiting the His Majesty on the desk in his ever present red briefcase. Even on the voyage home royal duties never ceased.

  ***

  Payton met Dylan again outside Mr. Collin’s office. With their simple morning duties done the steward sent them off after their own breakfast. Seated in the main dining salon with just a few of the other crew, the twins quietly spoke about the experience of meeting royalty for the first time without having the other by their side, a unique circumstance for the twins at a major life event.

  “It’s not so bad that we get to eat in the main salon. I’m sure the crew usually eats below decks. I guess there are advantages traveling with such a small passenger list.” Dylan noted. “Tell me about the King.”

  “He was very gracious, and same kind of command presence as Lt. Colonel Bradley, but more so. I guess the royal upbringing tends to foster that in anyone. He said to call him sir, so I guess we don’t have to worry about the official titles on the ship, anyway.” Payton responded. “Incidentally, he knows we are frauds, and that we are going to fight in Europe. He didn’t ask our real names, but he wants to talk with us about the mood back home. He knows that beating Hitler will take a team effort by the Allies, and the biggest Ally is currently sitting on its hands. Not that we know that much, but he at least thought to ask. Tell me about the Queen.”

  “She was quiet, but pleasant. She read her dispatches, which I gather were mostly newspaper stories of interest that her staff sent. I imagine the King gets the same.” Dylan said.

  “Yes, the substantial stack on his desk drew his attention as I started to leave.” Payton answered.

  “The Queen said little while I set up the tea, but she did light up when the princesses entered the room. She genuinely enjoyed seeing them to start her morning. The girls were cute and quite well mannered. They curtsied to me in their dressing gowns.” Dylan continued with a slight grin. “I’m sure they will grow up to be proper ladies. Elizabeth doesn’t act like a future queen, but just like a care free young girl. She only stepped seriously in to the line of succession when her uncle abdicated, so I’m sure she may not understand fully the implications yet. She is only 14, so basically a freshman in high school. She’s not quite 8 years younger than us.”

  “A lot happens in 8 years. We played our first varsity baseball games 8 years ago, so not nearly as momentous as learning the monarchy of a thousand year old country in the last three years.” Payton said. “What do we tell King George? Everyone at WestPoint knows that this war will consume the globe. I’d even venture that Dad and most of the regular citizenship knows the same, but everyone older than us wants to avoid a fight after The Great War. The people that remember the pains 1918, and know that we are still fighting out of the Depression, sit in Congress and would vote against any war. Simply put, isolationism at its finest. Monroe would be proud. He just said if you don’t mess with us we won’t mess with you. So, Europe is left to handle itself.”

  “Seems like the Senators from the North Dakota, Michigan, and Wisconsin would prefer Europe left alone. They think that we entered the Great War just to sell more bullets. We have the Neutrality Act at the moment, so nothing is imminent, but I’m sure the King will want to know how much Roosevelt and the people really believe in it. Roosevelt and Secretary of State Hull both have said they dislike the limitations of the Neutrality act, but they may just say that to tweak the Republicans.” Dylan said, thinking aloud. “At this point cash and carry is out, so the Allies can’t get guns, planes, or ships from the US. Unfortunately, all they get are you and me.” he finished with a chuckle.

  “Kind of a raw deal, that’s for sure.” Payton smiled back. “I’m sure His Majesty will understand. Let’s grab our gloves and go up to the deck and see if we’ve hit the ocean yet.”

  Chapter 5

  May 12th, 1940

  Even before Dylan and Payton climbed to the top deck the increased sway of the large ship told them that the safety of the gulf lay behind them, and the North Atlantic waited ahead. Nova Scotia receded down the starboard side of the ship, and on the other side of the border Maine receded as well. The coastline reminded both boys of the Oregon Coast back home, more than three thousand miles away. The craggy, rock-strewn beaches hugging brilliant green forest covered hills had a harsh beauty set in stark relief against the furious weather hurled against this coastline by the North Atlantic. Trade the Atlantic for the Pacific and the pattern repeated in Oregon for a similarly beautiful coastline etched by the storms over millennia. The harsh winter weather made days such as this all the more beautiful. The sun shone brightly and bathed the coast with a virginal glow. Fishing trawlers trailed behind the great ship, merely looking for the days catch and sustenance for the men and women that inhabited the harshly beautiful area. The sunrays may as well have felt like pure hope for a bountiful summer, and on the ship as hope that the light would
find its way to Europe to ward off the darkness of the Third Reich. The final glimpses from North America, Canada, and the United States fell behind the twins as they headed for Europe, showing the way for the light to follow. The act of sailing towards a war took courage, though neither Dylan nor Payton thought much about it. Artists use beauty to inspire the masses, while generals use courage to inspire their soldiers. Courage was not the goal of war, but winning a war required courage from the young, and war brought out the greatest expressions of courage the most often.

  The boys worked their way to the rear of the ship to avoid the breeze both off the ocean and from the ships forward velocity before pulling their old brown leather gloves from the back of their waistbands. The coastline fell below the horizon and ocean surrounded the ship in every direction as far as the eye could see. Payton pulled a baseball from his pocket and ground it in to the double loop of leather strips forming the web between the thumb and index finger. The glove gleamed an oily deep chocolate brown showing the care with which Payton maintained the leather. The fingers on the square glove splayed out somewhat as Payton gripped the laces of the ball slightly dingy from travel in a suitcase. With a motion honed by years of practice, he turned his shoulders perpendicular to his brother, stepped lightly on line with his shoulders, and casually flung the ball to Dylan. Continuing the light warm up, Dylan repeated a similar motion and easily tossed the ball back at about half speed. After a couple more easy exchanges, they began to unleash hissing missiles at each other. Throwing the ball back and forth let the twins relax in something that they knew and loved, something that they played together as far back as either could remember. It reminded them of home, of their parents watching them play catch in the yard, and of why they chose to enter the battles of Europe and protect those freedoms.

  Lost in thought, Payton held the ball a split second too long and skipped the ball just in front of Dylan, who took one step forward, bent his knees, and cleanly picked the short hop just as it rose off the deck. Pivoting back towards his left and sweeping his arm and hand back to cushion the ball in the pocket of his glove, Dylan felt an abrupt thud on the back of his hand as it struck a knee, just as if he had tagged a runner.

  “I don’t know the rules of baseball very well, but I suppose this means I’m out.” His Majesty the king noted with a sly grin.

  “Your Grace, please excuse us. I’m terribly sorry. Are you okay?” Dylan stammered out while flushing a deep crimson red in embarrassment. Payton rushed to his brothers side, though he turned the shade of the other stripe on the American flag, white as a ghost in embarrassment as well.

  “A bump on the knee won’t do me any harm. I did play a little bit of cricket at the Naval College. I was never very good, but enjoyed it nonetheless. You gain advantage on the ship though, otherwise my guards would have toppled you quickly so I could escape the imminent danger of your baseball.” The King replied in jest, laughing despite himself. “My God, you two do look so much alike. I’m glad I can just call the both of you Mr. Stewart and not worry about with whom I’m speaking. I am also glad that I ran in to you, as I do want to chat. Perhaps you could teach me to throw a baseball like a proper American while we talk a little bit about your home. Who served me earlier?”

  “My brother did, and by way of belated introduction I am Ryan Stewart. I’d be very pleased to add baseball coach to the King of England to my list of accomplishments, sir.” Dylan said as he handed the ball across his body to the Kings right hand. King George surprised both boys by switching the ball to his left hand, and gripping it properly across the seams. “Well, sir, you have the first steps down already. I thought you were right handed from watching you take tea, but it is important to throw with your dominant hand, and you naturally gripped the ball correctly.” Dylan continued.

  “Yes, most people think I’m right handed because I was forced as a child to learn penmanship with my right hand. Only in sport did no one try and correct me.” His Majesty answered.

  “This will actually make it easier, sir. You can just stand facing me and mirror what I do. Justin will stand on the other end to catch your throws, though I’ll have to catch the return since we don’t have a left handed glove for you. I’ll mime the motions for you, but the important part is the release. Just let the ball roll off your index finger and your middle finger.”

  Payton stood twenty or so feet away from the duo miming each other as if facing a mirror. The slightly shorter King of England followed along as Dylan turned his shoulders, raised both arms with elbows bent mimicking a scarecrow, and then bringing the ball up behind the back air before pivoting and whipping the arm through. The Kings first throw sailed wide to Payton’s left, but he shuffled his feet quickly and grabbed the ball one handed before it escaped in to the Atlantic. Dylan adjusted the kings arm angle to a more vertical position and the monarch’s next several throws found Payton easily.

  “I can see the appeal in this. Simply throwing something and hitting your target. It’s somewhat like archery crossed with lawn tennis, but simpler, and the ball comes back. I am glad that you are doing the catching, as it appears that your brother is capable of returning the ball with somewhat of a furious pace.” His Grace observed. “As I’ve indicated, I would very much like to know what you think of Herr Hitler, and perhaps the mood of your country in general. After the debacle in Norway, I have accepted the resignation of the Prime Minister. Mr. Chamberlain knows quite well that we must unite to win this war, so he has stepped down. First Lord of the Admiralty Sir Winston Churchill will take over as Prime Minister at my request. We both firmly agree that there will be no peace until Germany surrenders fully. No armistice will end this war without total capitulation by the Third Reich.” The King continued, working up a slight glean of sweat on his forehead from both throwing more vigorously to Payton and his strident appeal against the Third Reich. “However, France may not hold out, Russia has signed a non-aggression pact, and it appears that Great Britain alone stands against Hitler ruling all of Europe. While all of our heart and might shall fight onward, we must find help.”

  Standing next to King George, Dylan saw the determination in his face, the determination to uphold the realm that he ruled, to protect the people in his charge, and to make the world a better place. The gravitas automatically bestowed upon a king suited this man well, and he evidently intended to use it well.

  “Well, sir, our personal viewpoints stem from our education and I’m sure you understand by our actions that we personally agree with you. We are not merely seeking an adventure across the pond, but truly intend to help defeat Germany. We took the risk to our statehood, our lives, and our future with the US Army because we agree with you, but we also took the risk with the blessing of Lt. Colonel Bradley; whom, I’m sure, would agree with you as well.” Dylan answered after a moment of thought. “I’m also sure that you know the resistance from many of our Senators and congressmen. They’d rather avoid a war. President Roosevelt probably disagrees, but must unite the country for a war effort before the US can offer any help.”

  “We personally may not truly represent the American mood at the moment, I'm afraid.” Payton jumped in as he walked toward his throwing mates. “However, I would venture that we have a couple of other perspectives that might prove useful to you. First, our father lives in Oregon, on the West Coast, and has farmed his whole life. We grew up helping him. He lived through the Great War, and he pulled our family through the Depression. He’s an intelligent, hard working man, and he’s supported us in whatever we’ve chosen to do. In his last letter to me, he indicated a reticence to endanger the lives of American soldiers, but also noted that when all else failed, it might be necessary to risk those lives to do what is right. Of the common folks, I’d wager that most of them agree. America’s roots are partially in Europe, so most can relate. Even the German-Americans are American’s first, so when it comes down to it, you can rely on the US common man. The Midwesterner, the West Coaster, the Southerner, they’ll all do
what is right.”

  “And the other perspective helps back that up, sir” Dylan continued for his brother. “We spent some time down in New York while in school. The city comes alive at night, and there are plenty of places to find a debate. Before he invaded Poland, some just saw Hitler as trying to pull Germany out of a rut. Now, no one debates it. Everyone agrees he must be stopped. Some debate how, but most know that England can’t stop him alone. It's a hard truth, but still the truth.”

  “Thank you, Gentlemen, both for your honesty and for your courage. Your difficult decision to leave behind your country with no knowledge of the future, the progress of the war, and whether or not your country might eventually enter the war took a bravery I'm not sure many hold. Some go to war to seek glory, but I see that you don’t feel that way. I sense that you know right from wrong and will not stand for wrong.” His Majesty stated quite elegantly.

  “Sir, we hadn’t really thought of it that way, but we appreciate your kind words. Lt. Colonel Bradley asked us to keep him informed and send back any pertinent information, so part of our task aligns with yours. We’ll send back anything that might help the US Army in the event that we join the war, but as we said we do think we’ll have to join the war effort at some point. The Allies are strong, but America can add the deciding factor, manufacturing. Supplies fuel a war. Winning requires guns, tanks, planes, jackets, boots, and bullets as well as men. WestPoint hammered that idea home. Napoleon ran short on all of the above when he stretched his supply lines so far east, and the French could not make enough to keep up with the war machine. Let’s hope the Allies can hold out and the President can persuade congress to allow us to supply the side of right.” Payton said, reiterating their belief that Germany did not stand in the right.