A Distant Melody (30 page)

See the theme, Allie? When we’re not
following God’s will, our sacrifices aren’t
acceptable to him. What God wants most is
for us to be broken before him, walk with him,
know him, and obey him.

Am I preaching to you, or are you preaching
to me? This sure addresses something I’m going
through. I joined the Army Air Force more than
willing to sacrifice my life for my country.
I sacrificed my opportunity to be squadron
commander to keep the crew together. Sacrifice
makes me feel good and noble.

But the Lord wants my obedience. Remember
the orange on the train? You didn’t say a lot,
but I could tell you were disappointed in me for
saying I didn’t like oranges. I’ve always been
able to justify my little white lies. But lately
God has given me a tough time about honesty
and shown me how my lies come from pride.
I hate pride. God detests pride. I realized I had
to stop telling those ball bearing lies. Worse, I
had to confess to my crew a lie I told them—a
whopper, I’m afraid. I didn’t feel good and noble.
I felt like a louse. I let everyone down and lost
the respect I worked so hard to earn. Times like
this I really miss Frank. It’s been lonely since
I fessed up. I did the right thing, but obedience
can be tough.

Wherever God wants your obedience, Allie,
I hope the consequences are light. Even if they
aren’t, you must follow God’s will. As always,
I’m praying for you.

Walt signed his name, sat up, and stretched. Still had time to stop by the PX and mail the letter before going to the hardstand to take the consequences of his obedience.

No, the consequences of his sin.

“Hey, what’s he doing here?” Al scrambled to his feet and scowled at Walt.

Cracker stood in front of Al. “Sit on that scrawny backside, Worley. He’s the reason you’re here. Yeah, in more ways than one.”

Walt clenched the lining of his trouser pockets. The whole crew sat on the hardstand by the hut the ground crew had assembled from broken-down crates to keep warm while they worked.

Cracker leaned against the wall of the hut. “Glad you came, Preach.”

Walt studied the men’s unwelcoming faces. J.P. wouldn’t even look at him. “Thanks for the party invitation.”

“Got anything to say to us?” Cracker had a slight smile on his face, but not a malicious smile. What was he up to?

“Um, well, yeah. Once again, I’m sorry I lied. I showed you a lack of trust and respect, and I disobeyed God repeatedly. I’m sorry. I won’t lie to you again.”

Al spat into the grass. “Can’t trust a liar, my mama always says.”

“Ever tell a lie, Worley?” Cracker asked.

“Uh—”

“Of course, you have. Ever lie to Preach?”

“Uh—”

“Remember when we tried to import liquor? All of us lied to him except Sanchez, because we didn’t tell him, and Wisniewski, because he wasn’t there.”

“That—that’s different.”

“You’re right, that’s different. Our lie almost got us all killed. His lie made us think he had a girlfriend. So what?”

Walt’s jaw went slack. Cracker was defending him?

“That’s why I called this meeting.” Cracker set one foot on a crate and leaned his forearms on his knee. “Preach apologized and promised to be straight with us. We shunned him for the three weeks he was in the hospital. That’s more than enough punishment. We’re a crew, and we need to work together.”

“Go ahead,” Al said. “I’m putting in for a transfer to another crew.”

“Me too,” Harry said.

Louis sighed and glanced over his shoulder to the gunners. “Don’t be stupid. Y’all know Preach is one of the best pilots in this outfit.” His voice was heavy though, and he didn’t look at Walt.

“The best,” Cracker said. “How many scrapes has he gotten us out of? He’s not just a good pilot, but also a good man. His example got me out of the bars and into church services and settled down with Margaret.”

“That’s irony for you.” Walt still couldn’t believe he wasn’t getting beaten up.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Cracker said. “But you know what, men? Now I like Preach more. He’s not so perfect; he’s human.”

“Too human.” Walt lifted half a smile. His nemesis had become his ally. He never would have guessed it.

“Yeah.” J.P. chucked a pebble into the bushes by the hut. “But I don’t lie to my friends, much less keep on lying to them.”

“He could have kept lying, you know. We never would have known.” Abe looked up over his shoulder to Walt. “You told us the truth. That takes integrity. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did.” Walt sat down cross-legged on the tarmac.

“Besides,” Cracker said. “We drove him to it.”

“Huh?” Walt said.

“We gave you a tough time for being a good man.”

Walt coughed a stiff, dry cough. “Nope. A sorry excuse for a man.”

“Won’t argue with you there,” Louis said, but a smile cracked his face.

“Neither will I.” Cracker grasped the door of the shed. “Which is why I have a mission for the men of
Flossie’s Fort
. Preach shouldn’t have to make up a girlfriend. Men, our target for today—sorry, I couldn’t find a blue cloth.”

He flung open the door of the shed. Two pictures were tacked to the inside of the door, joined by a red string. The first picture was a stick figure—had to be Walt, judging by the double bars on the cap. The second showed stick figure Walt with his stick arms around a stick figure girl.

Walt laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“We thought St. Nazaire was a tough target,” Abe said.

The way the men laughed told him Cracker had succeeded. Now Walt owed
him
a Coke. A lot more than a Coke.

“I won’t lie to you, men,” Cracker said with a wink at Walt. “This is one rugged mission. Weather will be bad, flak will be heavy, and opposition will be intense. But this is our mission—find Walter Novak a real live woman.”

February 26, 1943

“She’s here, Preach,” Louis said.

“Who?” Walt stuffed his gloves into his pockets and crossed his arms underneath his flight jacket to warm his hands in the fleece lining.

“The Red Cross girl. She’s sweet on you. I can tell by the way she watches you.”

Walt rolled his eyes. No one had ever been sweet on him.

Cracker glanced over the heads of Butterfield’s crew, ahead of them in line for coffee and doughnuts before debriefing. “Say, that’s Emily Fairfax. She’s Margaret’s best friend.” He turned to Walt, his blue eyes wide. “You’re the one she likes? Well, I’ll be. Operation Novak is cleared for takeoff.”

“You must have had a kink in your oxygen hose today.” Walt stamped his feet for warmth. It had been one of the coldest missions ever, so cold most of the B-24s had aborted. The Liberators didn’t function at a temperature less than forty degrees below zero.

“Now it all makes sense. Margaret said Emily never bothers with the dances here on base, because the chap she fancies never attends,” Cracker said in a decent British accent.

“Come on, I’ve never even met the girl.” Walt glanced at her out of the corner of his eye—a brunette with small, close-set eyes.

“All the pieces are in place. She doesn’t know your name, just likes your face. Can’t imagine why.”

“See, it can’t be me.” Walt scanned the room. The 306th seemed to have emerged intact today, although the crew saw several Forts fall in other groups.

“Coming up on the target.” Abe stepped forward in line. “Looks clear, Preach.”

“Yeah. As clear as Bremen today.” The thick cloud cover over Bremen had forced the Eighth to drop their bombs on Wilhelmshaven instead.

“Who needs the Luftwaffe?” Louis said. “You’re shooting yourself down.”

Walt groaned and burrowed his hands deeper under his jacket. Still numb. Emily caught his eye over Butterfield’s shoulder and lifted a shy smile, kind of like Allie’s.

“She likes you.” Cracker nudged him in the ribs. “Make your move.”

“Come on . . .”

Butterfield stepped away from the counter, and Emily smiled at Walt. “It’s good to see you chaps. You were absent so long, I started to fret.”

Louis slung an arm over Walt’s shoulder. “Preach here was in the hospital with pneumonia.”

“Oh dear. I didn’t know you were ill.”

“I’m okay now.” He took the doughnut she offered. She noticed he was gone? Why? Cracker couldn’t be right.

“I’m so pleased to see you’re well.” Emily poured a cup of coffee.

Louis jiggled Walt’s shoulder. “Better make it a double for Preach. He could use some beefing up after that illness.”

Cracker leaned his elbows on the counter. “And some cheering up after those lonely days in the ward.”

Emily’s eyes were hazel, like Walt’s. She slid him the cup of coffee and another doughnut. “Would an extra doughnut help, Captain Preach?”

The men howled with laughter, and Walt had to smile despite Emily’s confused expression. “Preach is a nickname,” he said.

“His name’s Novak,” Abe said.

“Walter Novak.” He wrapped his hands around the coffee mug, and his fingers were so cold they registered the heat as ice. Wait, his fingers were frozen, but his tongue wasn’t. She was available and interested, and he was talking to her.

“So, Captain Novak,” Emily said with a sweep of brown lashes. “Why do they call you Preach?”

“My dad’s a pastor, and I’ve never been ashamed of my faith.” The pain in his fingers mellowed to warmth. Emily’s smile seemed warmer too.

“And Walt’s a straight arrow,” Louis said. “Don’t come any straighter.”

“If your faith is so important, why have I never seen you at St. Paul’s?”

She was flirting. She was actually flirting, but his throat didn’t tighten and his tongue didn’t swell. In fact, he smiled. “I go to church here on base.”

“Maybe you should visit St. Paul’s sometime and see how we British worship.”

Perhaps the situation with Allie had served its purpose and shown him he didn’t have to freeze up with a woman. He drew on everything good from his furlough and smiled at Emily. “Maybe if I knew I would see a familiar face.”

She pulled the spigot on the coffee urn. “If you’d like, you could sit with my family, and if you’d like, you could have Sunday dinner with us—if you’d like.” Her cheeks darkened to a deep pink.

The last bit of weight lifted from his chest. This was how he could get over Allie. The solution stood right in front of him, nervous and—yes!—sweet on him. On him—Capt. Walter J. Novak.

He grinned at her. “I’d like that.”

34

Riverside
March 13, 1943

“Congratulations, sweetheart.” Father smiled and slid Allie’s Red Cross service ribbon back to her across the dining room table. “You’ve earned it.”

“Thank you, but volunteering is its own reward.” Nevertheless, she ran her finger along the red ribbon with its thin gold stripe.