“Just as Norway wasn’t an immediate threat, not until the Germans already had control of every airfield and major port in Norway.”
Jasper shook his head, his lips twisting humorously. “You’re in rare form today, aren’t you? You speak your mind; I’ll give you that. But really, Bill, listen to yourself! You’re the only one who thinks this new intelligence is credible. Even the French themselves don’t think an attack is coming soon!”
“The French are hiding behind the mistaken belief that their Maginot Line is impenetrable. They also think the Germans will follow the same battle plan as in the Great War. I ask you, do you really think Hitler is that stupid?”
“Perhaps not,” Jasper admitted. “I do agree with you that the French need to be more open to positioning their forces more evenly along the Maginot, but it is their country, after all. They must be allowed to defend it as they see fit.”
“And when it falls and the German troops are in Calais? What then?” Bill exhaled and reached for his drink again. “I’m sorry,” he apologized after taking a healthy sip. “I shouldn’t be speaking this way to you. I shouldn’t even be thinking this way. It’s just that if something drastic isn’t done in London, I don’t see how we can win this war.”
“Don’t you dare apologize to me for being concerned and speaking your mind,” Jasper said with a frown. “If I wanted to surround myself with men who echoed my own thoughts back to me, I’d take a position in Parliament.”
Bill chuckled reluctantly. “That wouldn’t serve you well at all right now. No one seems to agree on anything there at the moment, with the possible exception that the entire Norwegian campaign has been nothing but a disaster.”
“And they’re not wrong.” Jasper sat back in his chair and looked at Bill pensively for a moment. “If you could make the War Department listen to you, what would you have them do?”
“Prepare for an immediate invasion of Holland, Belgium and France,” Bill said without hesitation. “And I’d have the French bulk up troops along the entire Maginot, not just along the Western flank and Belgian border.”
“You don’t believe the main thrust from the Germans will come through Belgium?” Jasper asked, surprised. “It’s the most logical place to attack. The Maginot was never finished along the border, and it is the weakest point in France’s defense.”
“I don’t know where Hitler will send the bulk of his troops,” Bill said slowly. “I’m not a military strategist, nor was I ever in the army. All I can tell you is what I would do if I was in their position. My intelligence tells us that the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe are not strong enough, or large enough, to launch a full-scale attack against France and Britain. We outnumber them in both men and artillery. That puts Hitler at a severe disadvantage.”
“My point exactly!”
“If I were at such a disadvantage, I would attack somewhere that would not be expected, and do everything I could to divide the opposing forces and try to cut them off from each other. If the best and the most experienced troops were all in one place, I’d attack the weakest troops further away and try to outflank and surround the best troops, cutting them off from supplies and reinforcements. But, of course, I am no General, nor am I a student of battle strategy. I’m simply a man looking at a wealth of intelligence that all points to an invasion attempt on France.”
Jasper stared at him for a moment, his brows drawn together fiercely. After a tense silence, he exhaled and glanced up at the waiter coming across the restaurant with their lunch.
“Well, let’s hope that Hitler is not looking at it from your point of view,” he muttered, “or all our boys in France will be in for a nasty time of it.”
RAF Duxford
Miles pushed back his canopy with one hand and inhaled deeply as warm, fresh air rushed into the cockpit. He glanced down at the fields below him and smiled at the sight of a boy on a bicycle peddling along the road next to a hedgerow. As Miles roared over, the boy waved gaily, tilting his head up to watch the Spitfire. Miles moved the stick, wiggling the wings in a return wave before turning his attention back to the landing strip just over the next hedgerow. After a long morning in the air putting the new pilots through their paces, coming down only to refuel and go right back up, he was looking forward to his lunch. His legs were cramped, he was thirsty, and even his unflagging love for flying couldn’t stop him from looking forward to getting out of the cockpit and stretching his legs.
He let the flaps down and watched as the final row of trees disappeared behind him, the ground rushing up to meet him like an old friend. His wheels touched the grass and the sleek fighter plane settled onto the ground with a sigh, rolling smoothly down the landing strip towards a row of parked Spits in the distance. Miles glanced at his instruments and smiled faintly. His fuel was almost gone. He’d cut it close this time, but he hadn’t been able to resist doing one last pass over the coast on his way back from a patrol. Chris had come back ahead of him for the same reason that Miles was now relieved to be home. He had been hungry, thirsty, and low on fuel.
Guiding the plane into a spot near Chris’s Spit, Miles watched as the Yank jumped off the wing, stripping off his flying gloves. He looked up as Miles shut down his engines and stood between the planes, waiting
