The White Knight (5 page)

He flew until he was running low on fuel, and then at two o'clock he turned back toward the field. He had not gone far when he spotted a large formation of enemy bombers headed west. They were escorted by numerous 109s. There must have been at least thirty of them. Even if Luke had had the remains of his squadron with him, it would have been
suicide to attack those formations. He suddenly realized they were not headed on a mission; they were returning from one. He carefully stayed in the clouds until they disappeared, then increasing his air speed, he headed for the airfield, planning the battle that was coming.

Just before they disappeared he caught a glimmer of black. “That's Ritter's plane,” he said bitterly. “One day it'll be just me and him, one on one.”

He arrived back at the field and taxied up to the hangars. As he jumped to the ground, he saw Streak running toward him. “I didn't see anything up there except a big formation of bombers,” Luke told his friend. “They've been on a raid, I think.”

“Luke . . .” Streak said nervously, then suddenly broke off.

“What is it?” Luke knew that Streak Garrison was a hard man to unsettle, but something had done the job. “Tell me, what is it? What's happened?”

“It's not good news, Luke.”

The fear that had been troubling Luke for several days now became more powerful. A horrible possibility occurred to him, one he didn't even want to contemplate. “What happened?” he finally had to ask.

“Those bombers you saw bombed the town where the Chavezes live.”

“But there's no military target there.”

“I know that. There wasn't one in Guernica either, but they bombed it anyway. I haven't gone over there myself, but people are saying it's bad.”

Luke tore away from Streak and broke into a run. Still in his flying gear, he jumped into his car and drove like a maniac toward the Chavez home.

They're all right. They have to be all right.
He forced the thought into his mind, but it seemed to flutter and ignore his will. He had been afraid in action before, but this was a different kind of fear, one he could not control.

When he was halfway there, he saw smoke rising and he
gasped. He had not seen Guernica after it was bombed, but he knew that sixteen hundred civilians had been killed or wounded in the senseless raid.

As soon as he came in sight of the town, his worst fears were realized. People were carefully moving through piles of burning debris, searching, he assumed, for survivors. Houses, buildings, and shops were scattered around as if a giant's hand had swept across them. He could drive no farther because the road was blocked by debris. He shut the engine off and jumped out and ran, dodging timber and brick. The sound of women wailing and men cursing filled the air. He passed a man who was sitting on the street, holding a small child in his lap. Tears were running down his face, and he was crying, “My baby—my little Ricardo!”

When Luke got within sight of the Chavez home, he froze. The house was almost completely flattened. All the walls but one had collapsed, and smoke was still rising from the fire that had consumed the house. The one remaining wall stood blackened, held in place by a few skeleton timbers burned almost in two.

Like a madman Luke Winslow began throwing broken bricks and beams aside as he struggled to find his fiancée. His hands were soon bloodied, but he paid them no heed as he desperately called her name. “Melosa—Melosa!”

****

Before long a small man appeared at Luke's side and silently helped him search. By the time the sun had set, they had recovered the bodies of the entire Chavez family. Luke had laid the bodies side by side as he found them and covered them with blankets the stranger had brought with him. Luke knew as long as he lived he would never forget the nightmare ending for these people he had come to love as a family.

“I'm so sorry, señor.”

Luke turned toward the man who had helped him dig. He
could not answer the man but could only stare dully in his direction.

“I know you cared about this family. They were such fine, fine people.” The man looked at the family that was now stretched out under blankets—three larger forms and two smaller ones. “I heard that you were engaged to the young woman, Melosa. My wife mentioned just last week that Melosa told her that she loved you very much.”

Luke could take no more. He turned away blindly, and the darkness closed in on him. It was not just the lack of sunlight that enveloped him but a darkness that reached his spirit.

The war had suddenly become a personal tragedy, and as Luke stumbled away from the forms hidden under the blankets, he knew for the first time what real hatred was.

CHAPTER FOUR

Luke's Revenge

Colonel José Valdez left his desk and stood at the window, peering out as the young pilot in his office spoke haltingly. As he listened, he was watching a flock of sparrows scuffle in the dirt, fighting over crumbs.
Even birds don't agree,
Colonel Valdez was thinking sadly.
How can we humans expect to do any better?
The thought troubled him, and pulling his shoulders back, he turned to face Roscoe Garrison. He knew the men called him Streak, despite the fact that there was nothing really fast about Garrison—except when he was flying. The big man was clumsy and seemed to have little coordination, but once he got in the cockpit of a fighter plane, that did not seem to matter. Valdez listened more intently now as Garrison stammered out his thoughts.

“Luke is just not the same man he used to be,” Garrison was saying. “I'm sure you heard that his fiancée died about three weeks ago, and he seems to be taking it awfully hard. I want to help him, but I just don't know how.”

“I heard it wasn't just his fiancée who died but her entire family.”

“That's right, Colonel. He was real close to that family. He loved the young woman. He told me it was the first time he'd ever been in love.”

“Tell me what seems to be the problem now, Garrison.”

“Well, Luke's always been a careful man. Back when we played football together in college, I was always in favor of just busting into the other team, but guys like Luke were
smarter. They analyzed the situation, came up with more creative maneuvers. And that's the way Luke was with his flying—at least that's the way he used to be. But all that's different now, and I don't like it.”

“What sort of change are you talking about?”

“He seems to have lost his caution is the best way I can put it.” Streak shrugged his beefy shoulders and chewed on his lower lip, his face troubled. “When he sees Germans, he just goes right at them with no hesitation, all guns blazing. He doesn't think and plan like he used to—he doesn't even give the signal for the rest of us to follow.”

“That's not what I've heard about Winslow. He's always been a careful pilot.”

“That's not true anymore, sir. I'm telling you he's changed. He used to spend a lot of time studying situations, figuring out how to keep his men alive and himself too, of course. But now it's like he . . .” Streak halted and ran his hand through the stubble of his red hair. “It's like he just doesn't care about anything anymore.”

The colonel slapped both of his hands down on his desk. “He needs to go on leave.”

“He sure does, Colonel.”

“I'll see to it.”

“Good! It's not safe for him to be flying anymore—not until he gets a handle on this thing.”

Colonel Valdez stood. “We'll miss his leadership, no question about that.”

“He can't lead if he's dead, sir.”

“You think it's that critical?”

“Yes, sir, he's crazier than that Russian Dubrovsky—which I never thought I'd hear myself say. He doesn't care about anything at all. He's going to get himself killed, and that's no lie.”

“All right, then. Thank you for coming to me, Garrison.”

****

As soon as Luke Winslow walked into Valdez's office, Valdez saw the changes in the man. Valdez had always liked the tall, rangy American, which was unusual for the colonel, who as a rule did not like Americans. But Valdez had seen in this man an attention to duty. It was obvious Winslow hadn't come to Spain merely for adventure, but because he truly believed in the Republican cause.

Winslow had lost a little weight, Valdez thought, but all of them had during these hard days of fighting. There was something different about his mouth and eyes. His mouth seemed tighter, and there was a slight tick in his right eye, revealing a nervousness that had never been a part of Winslow's makeup. Valdez leaned back and motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Lieutenant.”

“I'd just as soon stand, if you don't mind, Colonel. I get enough sitting in the cockpit.”

“As you will.” Valdez tried to think of the best way to approach the matter. He did not know what to say about the death of the man's fiancée or her family, so he made no attempt. “I'd like you to go on leave, Winslow, starting today.”

“There's no need for that, Colonel. Besides, I wouldn't have anywhere to go.”

In his other encounters with the man, Luke Winslow had always had a smile on his face, but he was not smiling now. His face was like stone . . . or steel. Luke apparently hadn't understood that the statement was not merely a suggestion.

“Look, Winslow, there's no point mincing words. Your men tell me you're acting crazy up there. You're not yourself. I want you to take a few days off. Or better yet, go home. This war is lost anyway. We both know it.”

“Maybe not.”

“Don't be foolish! It's clear that we can't hold out much longer.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“So take a few days off.”

“I'm not finished here yet, sir. I'd like to stay until the end and do what I came for.”

“That doesn't make any sense. Everything's falling to pieces. Franco has won. Our armies are in full retreat, except there's no place to retreat to.” Valdez's tone was bitter.

“Are you leaving, sir?”

“This is my country. I will stay here with my people and do what I can.”

“Franco won't treat you gently. You know that.”

“That's my problem. Look, Lieutenant,” Valdez said, urgently feeling a need to salvage something of the laughing man who had come from the States, “you've got a life back home. Get back to it. You're a young man with your entire future ahead of you. You need to do something with your life. This war is a lost cause.”

“I don't have anything,” Luke said flatly.

Colonel Valdez could not meet the man's eyes. “I know it's hard that you've lost the woman you love, but life must go on.”

“Must it? I wonder why.”

“That's no way to talk!”

“It's the way I feel, sir.”

Valdez threw his arms apart in a gesture of futility. His voice grew louder as he said, “I could order you to go home.”

“Please don't do that, Colonel. I want to stay with this conflict until the end.”

“Stay for what?”

“I made a little promise to myself. I'm going to knock Erich Ritter out of the sky.”

“That's foolish!”

“I suppose it is.”

“And it's dangerous.”

“Yes, I'd say so.”

“He's the best pilot in the Condor Legion, Winslow! He's a cold-blooded killer.”

“I think I can beat him.”

“That's not possible! We have so few planes. If you did meet him, you'd be overwhelmed.”

“All I need is one clean shot at him, and I intend to get it. I'm not leaving until I do.”

Why, he's insane,
Valdez thought.
He's suicidal.
But he knew there was nothing he could say to change the man's mind. Sighing heavily, Valdez slumped into his chair and shook his head. “You're a fool, Winslow. Do you know that?”

“You're probably right, Colonel.”

“Can I say anything to change your mind?”

“No, sir.”

“I give up, then.”

“May I go?”

“Yes. Get out of here. But don't forget—if you change your mind, I'll help you get out of the country.”

Winslow did not even answer. He turned and shut the door quietly behind him. Colonel Valdez stared at the door, then yanked a drawer open and pulled out a bottle. Pulling the cork out, he did not even bother to pour the liquor into a glass but put the bottle to his lips and drank three big gulps. It hit him like a hammer. He shuddered, then shook his head. “What a waste! What an awful waste!”

****

The war ran down slowly at first and then quicker every day. From their overflight, Luke and his men could see the Republican army scattering with the triumphant army of Franco pursuing them. The Germans sent out such enormous flights of fighters and bombers that there was no hope whatsoever of three pilots attacking. They simply watched and waited to catch stragglers, which did not occur for over a week.

Finally one afternoon Luke went over to Streak, who was working on his plane alongside two mechanics. “That fly is a wreck,” he said.

“Pretty much.” Streak nodded sadly. “But it's all I've got, so it's gotta fly.”

“You think they'll ever get it put back together, Streak?”

“They claim they can. What's up, Luke? You look like you've got something on your mind.”

“I'm going to take another look around.”

“Wait until tomorrow. This heap will be flying by then.”

“No. I'm going now. Where's the mad Russian?”

“Drunk. He can't fly. He can't even walk.” Streak's eyes narrowed. “You're not going by yourself, are you?”

“Yes, I am. I'm tired of hanging around here.”

Streak argued, but Luke would not listen. The bulky pilot followed Luke all the way to his plane and laid his hand on his arm. “Don't do it, Luke. There's no point in it.”