Now all she had to do was discover what kind of establishment Marcel’s was and just what she was going to wear for dinner.
RAF Duxford, England
Miles looked up as Chris and Rob made their way over to the table in the back corner of the pub. They had missed the dinner rush and the pub was back to its usual, sleepy mid-week traffic. He tucked away the letter from his father that he’d been reading and reached out to take the pint Rob handed him.
“Thanks.”
“The landlord said he had the wing commander in here earlier,” Rob said, seating himself at the small, round table. “I wonder what that was about.”
“He’s probably checking to make sure we’re all doing our formation flying and patrols like good little boys,” Chris muttered, dropping into the seat opposite Rob.
Miles glanced at him and smiled faintly. “My dear Chris, you sound quite disgusted. Whatever for?”
“You don’t honestly believe that the way we line up in formation will be effective when the Huns come flying over here, do you?” Chris asked, sipping his beer.
“Why wouldn’t it?” Rob asked with a frown. “The RAF should know what it’s doing by now as far as the flying goes.”
“I was talking to a guy from a squadron up north over the weekend in London,” Chris told them. “I don’t remember where he said he was stationed, but it was up towards Scotland. Great guy. Flies Hurricanes. Anyway, turns out he flew against the Germans in Spain. He said this formation flying would be disastrous against the Luftwaffe fighters.”
“If he flew in Spain, then he was on the losing side,” Rob pointed out. “Hardly what I would call a recommendation for sound flying strategy.”
Miles pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Or perhaps it is,” he said slowly. “Whether he was on the losing side or not, this bloke actually saw battle against the Luftwaffe pilots. What did he say, exactly? Did he say why it wouldn’t work?”
Chris shrugged. “He said the Jerries were smaller and faster, and they broke up formations before anyone even knew they were there.”
“Well, how did they do that?” Rob demanded, his attention caught.
“They dive down from above.”
Miles and Rob were silent for a long moment, then Rob reached for his pint. “That would do it,” he admitted. “But I’m sure the RAF is aware of that, and has taken that into consideration. After all, we’re the last line of defense for England. They’re hardly going to make us commit to a battle plan that will cause us to lose, are they?”
“All I’m saying is that if the RAF insists on us flying in a tight formation, whoever’s at the back will be a sitting duck,” Chris said with a shrug.
“He’s right about that,” Miles said, looking at Rob. “Not that there’s much we can do about it.”
“Not much we can do about anything at the moment.” Rob loosened the silk scarf around his neck and sat back comfortably in his chair. “Even the government can’t do anything right now. Did you see the news from Parliament today?”
“No, but I saw yesterdays. They’re fighting about what a disaster the handling of Norway has been.” Miles sipped his beer. “The House of Commons wants Chamberlain out. The newspaper I read said someone got up in the house and stated that we had to somehow find men to put into government who matched the Germans in fighting spirit.”
“Ouch.” Chris looked from one to the other. “Who said that?”
“Leo Amery, I believe. He’s not wrong.”
Rob looked at Miles in amusement. “Not everyone has our thirst for excitement, Miles. Sometimes we do need calmer heads in London to keep us in check. Look what happened in the last war.”
“We didn’t choose this war, but we’re in it. We need someone who will be willing to fight it, or what the hell’s the point?”
Chris cleared his throat. “I’m with you, Miles, but I’m confused as to what the problem is with Norway all of a sudden? Didn’t you all send troops there to help them out?”
“We did, but it was too little, too late.” Rob shrugged and looked across the table at Chris. “The Prime Minister keeps waffling back and forth, not wanting to do anything that might conceivably upset Herr Hitler. Norway was just another round of him delaying and delaying until it was too late.”
“And now our troops are trapped and surrounded by German forces in Norway, fighting losing battles and retreating to the coast,” Miles said with a nod. “If Chamberlain had acted sooner, we would have had the waters around Norway mined and could have prevented at least some of the Kriegsmarine ships from getting through. As it was, they were able to sail right into Oslo without any real resistance.”
Chris was quiet for a long moment, then he leaned forward, his brows furrowed.
“I don’t really understand how it works over here with your government, but back home, President Roosevelt can’t do anything without the approval of the Senate. He wants to help out and send some equipment to England, but the country won’t let him. They don’t want to get involved. Is it different here? Can your Prime Minister act without the approval of your Houses of Parliament?”
“Why are you asking?” Rob asked, tilting his head. “Are you suddenly getting interested in politics, Yank?”
“No. I’m trying to figure out why everyone’s so hot under the collar at Chamberlain.”
“Ah.” Miles reached for his beer. “In that case, yes, I suppose the Prime Minister has much more freedom than your President. He only has to have the approval of his party leaders, and that’s almost always guaranteed. Although, that appears to be changing rapidly right now.”
“Huh.”
