The White Knight (2 page)

Winslow stretched his legs out under the table and ran his hands through his hair. “If we don't stop Hitler in his tracks, this whole thing will end in tragedy. The British are afraid of him. They've tried to appease him by letting him take over territories in Europe, but that will never satisfy him. The whole world wouldn't satisfy that man! He's proven it over and over. He's clearly a madman, and I came to do my bit to stop him here.”

“A very noble deed, Lucio. I think we are losing the war,” Chavez said heavily. “Unless things change in a big hurry, our government forces won't be able to hold out.”

Luke shot a quick glance at his host. He feared that Chavez was right, but still he tried to be optimistic. “We've had some setbacks, but we'll hope to do better. Try not to lose your confidence. It's a matter of effort.”

“What again is the name the Germans give to their air force?”

“They call it the Condor Legion, and it's the big reason
why Franco is winning. Hitler sent over some Me-109s—the best fighter planes in the world right now. And the Germans seem to have plenty of them.”

“Are they better than our own planes?”

“Oh yes. They're faster and more heavily armed, and their pilots are excellent. Their training program is the best in the world, while our men get very little training.”

The Condor Legion was indeed a formidable opponent. They were commanded by Wolfram von Richthofen, cousin of the famed Red Baron, the most successful fighter pilot of the Great War. Under Richthofen were a group of expert fighter pilots, the most successful being Erich Ritter. Ritter had shot down twenty-one Republican planes and was acclaimed all over Germany for his skill. He had painted his Me-109 a solid black with a knight fighting a dragon on the cowling. The media had dubbed him the Black Knight, and the phrase had caught the German imagination.

“I'm afraid for my family,” Alfredo said.

“It's true that it's a dangerous situation,” Luke agreed.

“What should we do?”

“I think you might want to consider moving farther inland. The German bombers could easily bomb this village.” Luke knew the family had deep roots in the northwestern part of Spain and had no desire to leave the area.

“But there is no military target here, Lucio.”

“Perhaps not, but it is right in their way, and you never know what they might do next. They may get a notion to simply bomb villages. They've done it before. Think what they did to Guernica back in '37.”

Señor Chavez cast a quick look at the younger man. “That was atrocious, the act of beasts! The entire world has condemned that terrible act!”

Luke could feel the anger rise in him at the memory of the Germans' vicious attack. Guernica was a small town without defenses or military importance, its citizens mostly Basque tradesmen. On the twenty-sixth of April, 1937, on a market
day, German and Italian forces dropped bomb after bomb on the small town. Some of them were incendiary bombs, and a raging fire swiftly consumed the town. The world was horrified, but the Germans claimed it was a legitimate military target. Some of the Luftwaffe professionals were critical of the attack on Guernica, but the higher-ups claimed that the Basques were not friendly to the Germans and deserved to be bombed.

“You don't think they would do here what they did in Guernica, do you, Lucio?”

“Yes, I think they would. You need to consider moving out to the country, perhaps renting a house in a rural area.”

“I will consider it. It would be inconvenient, of course, but I must think of the safety of my family. Why don't those women hurry up?” he said suddenly. “I'm hungry.”

****

“Come. You're wasting time, Melosa,” Nalda said as she poked her head into her daughter's bedroom. Though heavier than she was when she was younger, Nalda was still the vivacious beauty she had always been. “Dinner is ready. You don't want to keep Lucio waiting.”

“Why not? The longer he waits, the happier he'll be to see me. You know that, Mama.”

“If you make him wait too long,” her mother said with a sly look, “he might find someone else—perhaps Raquel Mendez.”

Melosa laughed. “He will not! Not Raquel. He's in love with me.”

“Perhaps, but all men need some encouragement. He's a serious man. Not like Juan Denosa,” she said of one of Melosa's suitors.

“No. He's not like Juan.”

“Some of these soldiers have no respect for decent Spanish women.”

“Most men don't,” Melosa said, “but I know that Luke does respect me.”

Señora Chavez paused. “You're still a good girl, aren't you, Melosa?”

“Yes, Mama, I am.”

“Be sure you stay that way. Now go. Keep him happy. Feed him and flirt with him—that is the way to a man's heart. Do you think he will ask you to marry him?”

“I do not think so—not until the war is over. He's very serious about his work . . . and that's in his favor.”

Nalda sighed. “I suppose that is best. Well, come now to dinner.”

****

The visit with the Chavez family was a relaxing time for Luke. He enjoyed listening as the family talked about everyday things—Isadora and her brother, Victor, going on about their schoolwork and their friends, and Señor and Señora Chavez discussing the political situation. Melosa was telling Luke about her dream to go to America some day when Isadora started yanking on Luke's arm, her face alive with curiosity.

“Have you had many sweethearts, Luke?” she blurted.

“Don't ask such personal questions,” Señora Chavez said at once with a frown.

But Luke only laughed. “Oh, it's okay. The answer is no, not many.”

“Do you have any other girlfriends you like as much as you like Melosa?”

Melosa's face flushed and she snapped, “That's another impertinent question! Now, you be quiet.”

Nevertheless, Isadora's eyes were still on Luke.

“No, none that I like half so much,” he replied with a wink at the little girl.

Eight-year-old Victor, who was sitting on the other side of Luke, asked, “Will you marry her and take her to America?”

Señora Chavez clapped her hands together. “What a question! You children stop pestering our guest.”

But Luke always answered their questions. He had become very fond of them and almost felt as though they were his own siblings. They adored him in return and would rarely leave him alone. “I'll tell you, Victor,” Luke said. “It's not the best time for anybody to get married. War is hard on soldiers, you know. It's much better to wait for peace.”

“You mean because you might get killed?”

Silence fell over the table, and Melosa was blinking back tears. “Don't . . . don't say that, Victor.”

But Luke reached out and smoothed the boy's hair back. “Soldiers sometimes do get killed, son. That's why it's best not to get married during a war.”

At that moment the faint sound of airplane engines caught their attention, and everyone looked up at the ceiling.

“Are they ours?” Señor Chavez asked with a worried expression.

“No, not ours,” Luke said.

“How can you tell?” Melosa asked.

“These sound like heavy bombers,” Luke explained. “Our side doesn't have any planes that big—only fighter planes.”

“Are our fighter planes as good as theirs?” Victor asked. “Like the one you fly?”

“No, they're not. So our men have to make up with skill and daring what we lack in planes.”

“Are we going to win, Luke?” Isadora asked, obviously frightened.

Luke looked around at the Chavez family, seeing the fear in all of their eyes, and answered the little girl carefully. “I hope so, sweetheart.” Determined to lighten the mood, he said, “Let me tell you about a funny thing that happened when we were coming back yesterday. . . .”

****

The moon was enormous as it climbed into the night sky.
Luke and Melosa had played a game with the kids after supper and had finally escaped to take a walk about the village. It was a pleasant evening, and a light jacket was all they needed to stay warm. The town was quiet except for the sounds of laughter coming from one house. Luke gazed wistfully toward the windows and said, “Whenever I pass a house and hear people laughing like that, I think, They've got everything a person needs.”

“Is that what
you
want, Luke?” Melosa asked, desperately wanting to know what was in the heart of this man. Their courtship had begun casually eight months ago but was turning into something more serious. Unlike most American men she had met, Luke was always very courteous with her parents, asking their permission to call on her, taking time to chat with them before the couple left on a date. On their first few dates, one of Melosa's aunts had even accompanied them, acting as a chaperone. Luke had found this amusing but politely accepted their tradition. He had made no attempt for quite some time to even hold Melosa's hand, and the family had been impressed with the tall American. Once when Luke had been visiting with the family, Señor Chavez had asked him, “Why are you so different from other Americans we've met?”

Luke had answered with a grin, “Oh, I've won medals for my politeness and good behavior. I guess I just like the attention.” He had winked at Melosa as he said this.

As their courtship developed, Melosa started looking forward to their long walks together, listening to Luke talk about his family in America, playing football in college, and his travels. She was fascinated by the stories and could never hear enough.

Now as they walked along in the bright moonlight, Melosa remembered the first time he had kissed her. They had been holding hands as he walked her back to her house after a concert. When they stopped at her front door, she had thanked him for the nice evening and started into the house when he
pulled her back. With a teasing smile he said, “Don't you think that when friends part they should do something more?”

“Something more? Like what? Shake hands, perhaps?” she said teasingly.

“Perhaps even more than that. Doesn't the Bible say to greet each other with a holy kiss?” Before she could think of an answer, he leaned forward and kissed her. She had been kissed before, but this time she could feel her heartbeat speed up as his lips lingered. When she stepped back with her hand on his chest, her eyes were dancing. “I'm not sure that kiss was holy.”

“Why, sure it was,” Luke assured her, grinning. “But I'll try again if you think it wasn't.”

That had been the beginning. Melosa was ready for love, and Luke Winslow was everything a woman could want in a man. He was handsome, fun to be with, honest, and respectful, and had proven his selfless character by coming to fight for a people who were not his own. She had fallen in love with him completely, and now she wondered what would come of it.

The two were holding hands in the quiet village square. On the other end of the square, a man was playing the guitar and singing a sad love song. They listened to it silently, and when the song was over, Melosa felt completely vulnerable, open to whatever her love for this man would bring into her life.

Luke was also moved by the moment. Living each day in the shadow of death, he had often thought about what he would miss in his future if he were to die in battle. One of the things he would miss most would be the love of a woman, and with Melosa's eyes now gazing into his, he pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips onto hers. When he lifted his head after a moment, he realized that she was silently crying even as she clung to him. The dangers of his life flooded his mind and heart, and though he longed to surrender his life to the woman he loved, he was frightened by his own mortality. He feared death but longed for his life to be real, to have some
purpose. That purpose seemed to lie in his arms at this very moment, but could he give his life to her when he might not even be here tomorrow?

“You heard what I said earlier about war being a bad time to marry,” he whispered in her ear.

“Yes, I heard, Luke.”

He pulled away from her gently and looked intently into her eyes. Hesitating at first, he then made up his mind. “If you would marry me when the war is over, Melosa, I would be greatly honored. I love you very much.”

She cried out happily and threw her arms around him, laying her cheek against his chest. She held him tightly, savoring the strength of his arms.

“Will you marry me?” he asked again, stroking her hair. “Yes—I would like to marry you. But we're so different. Your people . . . they would never accept me.”

“
Your
people have accepted
me.
” He thought for a moment and then said, “After the war I'll take you to America. I know you've always wanted to go there.”

“I'm afraid for my family.”

Luke did not answer but held her tightly, savoring the smell of her hair and the softness of her body. “America is a big country. There's plenty of room for one fine Spanish family.”

And then Melosa lifted her head, and he saw the pride in her eyes. “Come,” she whispered, taking his hand, “you must ask my father's permission.”

“What if he says no?”

“He won't.” She laughed and threw her hands wide in a motion of pure joy. “He will say yes. Come. You must ask him now.”

CHAPTER TWO

The Little Fly

Luke strode toward his fighter plane, admiring the paint job as he approached. A knight in full armor, spear poised to strike, adorned the otherwise bright white I-16. He grinned as he thought of how the German pilots of the Condor Legion had dubbed him the White Knight. They were incensed that he had shot down a number of their planes, and they had vowed to bring him down.

Luke turned and waited while the three other pilots from his squadron caught up to him and gathered around him. They had been ribbing him ever since he had told them he was getting married. These men were all that were left of the full squadron Luke had commanded only a month earlier. The other eight were either dead, wounded, or captured by the fascists. One of his best pilots had been a fellow American named Thad Turner, but only three days earlier Turner had been wounded so severely he'd been sent back to the States for medical care. The loss of his men made Luke fiercely determined to keep the rest of them alive.