Disclaimer: Sam Stewart, Foyles père et fils, Paul Milner, Ian Brooke, John Kieffer, the Rev. Iain Stewart, Joe Farnetti, and a couple of other characters whom I can't name here without ruining the surprise are the creations of Anthony Horowitz. (Sam's mother, a character referred to in the Foyle's War canon but never seen or even named, is a borderline case.) No profit is sought by my use of them here.
Caveat: If you haven't read my stories Fires Within Fires and The Post, certain things in this one won't make sense.

He likes to keep everything in separate boxes.

– Andrew Foyle, discussing his father inThe Funk Hole.

NOVEMBER 1942

The film is a corker: exciting, suspenseful and witty. At one point Andrew feels Sam stiffen – they have been leaning together, his arm along the back of her seat – and she searches for his free hand with one of hers and turns her head slightly towards him, although her eyes don't leave the screen. She exhales in an alarmed way: 'Hoh!' His lips brush against her cheekbone as he turns his head, which makes her shiver.

'They're Bomber Command,' he whispers into her ear. 'I'm – I was in Coastal Command, when I was flying. Completely different thing. This would never happen to me.'

Sam pulls away just far enough to give him a long glance. Then she once again leans on him gently.

'It still feels very odd to see a film on a Sunday,' Sam muses as they leave the cinema.

'It was a packed house! All those factory workers have no other time now for any sort of recreation,' Andrew notes. 'But really, Sam, why oughtn't people to go to the pictures on a Sunday? Pubs have open hours on Sundays, after all – surely that's no worse. And by this time of day you've already been to church.'

'Some people would say that it's no better that pubs are open on Sundays. And one is meant to go to Evensong as well as to Matins, and might not be in the right frame of mind after the pictures.'

'Well... true enough, I suppose. Mightn't that depend on what picture you saw, though? I thought this film was fairly edifying, didn't you? A good yarn about teamwork and courage in the war effort. You did enjoy it, didn't you, Sam?'

'Oh, I thought it was marvelous! I especially liked the actor.'

'Which one, Sam?'

'The character in the film who was an actor, I mean. He was very handsome, I thought,' Sam explains, adding, 'He quite reminded me of you.'

'Oh, well, that's alright, then. I'd been wanting to see this for quite some time, you know. I'm surprised that you hadn't before now, really.'

'I was invited to go,' Sam admits after a tiny hesitation. 'They were showing it in St Leonards on Sea in July. But I begged off. The title was a bit... off-putting.'

'You didn't want to see a picture called One of Our Aircraft is Missing?'

'No. Not last summer, at any rate,' she remarks.

'Hmm.' Andrew is silent for a moment – That's rather nice to know, he considers saying.

There are too many people about for him to even think of kissing her. They walk past the darkened windows of a restaurant, closed for Sunday but displaying a banner that reads Book Early for Christmas.

'Oh, Sam, I've been meaning to tell you,' he says, sounding chagrined. 'I'm sorry about this – really, really sorry. The thing is, I don't expect to have much leave between Christmas and New Year's. Probably just the days themselves, and perhaps I'll get to knock off a bit early on New Year's Eve.'

'Oh. Well, it can't be helped, I suppose. Still, that's awfully disappointing.'

'We're behind schedule,' Andrew explains.

'What do you mean?'

'We had forty trainees in the last course, as usual, and only nine of them qualified as pilots. That's... inadequate, and a very bad showing for No. 605 Squadron. It's partly the fault of the instructors – it was our first course in Hastings, and we probably took too long to adjust to the new setting. But it's also the airbase itself, I'm afraid. It simply isn't large enough for all the activity that it's having to support now.'

'Is it too crowded?'

'Yes, exactly. There were already four squadrons when we got here in September – that's one more than was I was flying – and now us as well. All of the trainees need to spend a certain amount of time on the ground with training equipment. We had more space for that in Debden than we have here.'

'Those machines that let you pretend that you're taking off and landing – is that what you mean?'

'Yes, those,' Andrew answers her, pleased that Sam has remembered this. 'Between that and having to schedule practise flights around everything else that goes on at the base the pupils aren't getting enough... rehearsal time, for lack of a better way of putting it, and as a result some quite capable chaps didn't make the grade through no real fault of their own. I could have predicted this – in fact I seem to recall trying to warn about it when we were told that we were moving here, although I think that at the time I was simply frightened of coming back and facing you.'

'Hush,' Sam says gently, and then asks, 'Does your commanding officer know about all of this?'

'If you mean Wingco, I'm not sure that there's anything that he can do about it, really. Not that I've brought it up. Not my place. Palgrave has – brave man, it must be said. I have the impression,' Andrew goes on, sounding amused now, 'that Wing Commander Turner finds my Squadron Leader a bit... trying. At any rate, as far as leave is concerned it's a question of giving the trainees enough time to prepare. The more days of instruction we miss, the less time they have to do that. I'll be due for some regular leave in February, though – we could think about going to Lyminster then, if you like.'

'My parents haven't actually said anything about that,' Sam notes. 'I'm rather nervous about it, I've got to admit. Not on your behalf, of course – for myself.'

Sam hasn't been sure whether to be relieved that her parents haven't reacted to the news that she has a beau with shock or disapproval, or to be worried that their lack of reprimand doesn't seem to have grown into an interest in actually meeting Andrew.

'Are you enjoying being an instructor more than you did before?' she asks.

'I spoke in there as though I were still flying, didn't I?' he responds after a few seconds' hesitation.

'You started to, and then you corrected yourself,' Sam points out. 'But are you, Andrew?'

'It's true that I still feel rather... sidelined, I suppose, at times. But yes, I do like it better now – vastly. There's nothing that couldn't be better here than it was at Debden, Sam. You're here, Dad's here, it doesn't drizzle constantly, my commanding officer isn't a petty tyrant with a streak of madness to him. There are things here to do and see and think about and talk about. There's the seashore – or at least there's the promenade. You're here – did I say that before? And I've started to wonder if I'm not a bit better at the job than I used to think that I was,' Andrew admits.

'That's good – I'm glad to hear it.'

Together they round a corner into the Parade. At once the western sky is spread before them. There is still just a bit of daylight.

'Look, Sam, you can see the evening star!' Andrew exclaims.

'It's beautiful,' says Sam.

'Tonight's the new moon,' he tells her. 'A wonderful night for stargazing, with the blackout – if Jerry doesn't show up, of course – but rather dark, you know, for walking about.'

It's even busier here than it was in Havelock Road. No privacy, Andrew thinks. He clears his throat softly.

'Could you do me a small favour, please, Sam?'

'Of course! What is it?'

'Could you pretend to stumble, or lose your footing, or something of that sort? It says in the King's Regs or somewhere that an airman isn't to offer his arm to a lady unless she needs assistance.'

'Oh. Does it really? That is odd! Well, all right. Oh, dear,' Sam announces – a bit more loudly than necessary, perhaps – 'I believe that I'm about to lose the heel off of my left shoe.'

'Allow me,' Andrew says at once, and they link arms and laugh.

TWO DAYS LATER

When Sam pulls up the Wolseley in front of the police station she and Mr Foyle see a military vehicle parked in the drive: an American jeep with the controls on the wrong side. Neither of them comments on this; Sam feels a faint anxious flicker.

'Good morning, sir – the commanding officer of the American forces in greater Hastings is waiting in your office,' Sgt Brooke announces as Foyle walks into the waiting area.

'Is he really?' Mr Foyle asks with interest. 'Thank you.'

Sam, having seen to the car, enters the station by the rear door and begins making her way toward the front.

'Good morning, Sam.'

'Good morning, Milner. Is... someone from the American base here? I saw one of their vehicles in front.'

'Yes, Captain Kieffer has been waiting for Mr Foyle.'

'Oh, I see! Anyone else?'

'No, Sam, I think he got here on his own this time,' Milner says kindly.

Sam can feel herself blushing, to her dismay.

'Well, it's good to know that he's learned to drive on the proper side of the road,' she comments.

I'm being ridiculous, Sam tells herself as she enters the waiting area and greets Brookie. I explained everything to Joe when I wrote to him.

Then again, she hasn't actually seen or heard from him since then.

She casts a careful glance around the waiting area, sees that it is empty, and seats herself on the bench.

'Well, well! Good morning, John. To what do I owe the pleasure?'

'Morning, Christopher! Good to see you!'

'Likewise, I'm sure. There's no trouble, I hope?'

'Oh – no, no! Not right now. Nothing that I know about, anyway. But I've got some news to share, and it's the kind of thing that it's best to announce face-to-face – and in private,' Kieffer adds.

'What is it, then?' Foyle asks as he settles into his chair.

'Just that the 215th Engineering Company has finished the job, and we'll be clearing out the day after the U.S.A.A.F. gets here – by Friday at the latest is what I've been told, and maybe even tomorrow. The thing is, I may not be seeing you again, so I'm here to say so long, for one thing.'

'I see. Well, I really am very sorry to hear that, John,' Foyle says, having decided that so long must mean goodbye.

'Likewise. It's been an honor, Christopher, it really has.'

'D'you know where you're being sent?'

'Not as of this morning – not that I'd be able to tell you if I did.'

'No, of course not.'

'Anyway, there are a couple of things related to that that I need to tell you about. Y'know, just a few words to the wise.'

'Yes?'

'First of all, our orders were to build an airbase for a company three times the size of ours – and we've done that.'

'So, um, accommodations for about seventy-five men.'

'That's right. We're using it now for our own quarters. But what I'm hearing now is,' Kieffer goes on, 'the company that's coming in is actually around ninety-five or a hundred guys.'

'Meaning that some of them will have to be billeted.'

'Exactly. In Hylton, or maybe here in Hastings. Now, what I've heard about our servicemen being put up privately over here has been really good, for the most part. But there've been exceptions – I think it's just misunderstandings mostly, but apparently, there've been a handful of, oh, incidents. And there are still folks locally who don't like us being here. So, I just thought you should know in advance what'll be happening.'

'Yes, thank you – taken under advisement. What else ought I to know?' Foyle asks.

'Well, here's where things get a little complicated. A.P.O. 887 – the people I report to in London – sent some brass down here last week to inspect our work.'

'I hope that they liked what they saw.'

'Yeah, they did!' Kieffer exclaims, sounding as though this was something that he had never taken for granted. 'They liked it so much that they want us to leave via the center of Hastings so as many people as possible can wave us goodbye. Here's the route.'

Kieffer hands Foyle a sheet of paper on which a rough map of Hastings has been sketched, with arrows indicating where the parade will run.

'This probably won't be too disruptive,' Foyle begins.

'And,' Kieffer goes on, 'they're contacting City Hall and the outposts of every last uniformed service around here and asking them to send representatives to the reviewing stand. The press, too. If you haven't heard from them yet -'

'Can't say that I have.'

'- you will soon.'

'Well – yes, certainly. We'll need to place some constables along the route. Just to divert any other traffic, of course. Doesn't sound as though we should expect any trouble. Um, the only problem I can see is that you don't actually know when you're leaving.'

"We'll pull out of quarters at oh nine hundred on the day after the new company arrives. But Christopher, it isn't just, uh, constables. They want you to be there, too."

'Me!? Why?'

'I had to submit a report after that – that trouble in April. My superiors were extremely impressed with the way you handled things. They're giving you a compliment, Christopher!' Kieffer goes on, seeing that his friend's face has taken on a sour look. 'It won't be a big deal – there are barely two dozen of us! We'll be gone before you know it!'

'Well. Just let me know as far in advance as you can, would you please?' says Foyle in a resigned tone of voice.

'I'll try to give you a call before we start out. I know it's a pain,' Kieffer adds apologetically. 'I'd better get going pretty soon. How've you been holding up, though?'

'Oh – can't complain, really.'

'How's your son?'

'Quite well, thanks for asking. He's been back in Hastings since the end of August, and he's still in Training Command. All of that's very much to my liking, and what with, um, one thing and another I don't think that he's too unhappy about it – although I also think part of him would prefer to be flying.'

'Yeah. Guess I can't really blame either one of you.'

Sam stands as soon as she hears footfalls in the passage, and comes to attention when she sees who is approaching the waiting area.

'Do you remember Miss Stewart, my driver?' Foyle asks.

'I think so. That's right,' Captain Kieffer says to Sam. 'You brought your boss to our old billet for that talk I asked him to give. And then,' he goes on, wincing visibly, 'one of my guys asked a question about "broads" – which is a really rude thing to call a lady – "in uniform." Right in front of you. I should've apologized then and there. I'll do it now.'

'No need to, sir,' Sam replies, although in fact this shakes her a bit: it had been Joe who'd made that remark. 'I was wondering, though, sir, on that subject,' she goes on. 'I read in the newspaper a couple of months ago that there are going to be... women's auxiliaries, we call them, in the American forces.'

'Oh, yeah, that got started during the summer. Army and Navy, both,' Captain Kieffer replies, adding with a smile, 'Folks will just have to get used to it, I guess. We've already got nurses in the military, after all, and they wear uniforms, too.'

'And are all of the American servicewomen volunteers, as the paper said?'

'That's right! My sister-in-law signed up. My wife wrote me that there's been a lot of talk about drafting women – she was kinda shocked by that, I think – but I don't think it'll happen.'

'Will they be serving overseas, sir?'

'Oh, they're over here already, Miss Stewart! Nurses, at least. They'll probably start moving south, too, once there are more of them – sooner rather than later, I would guess. Unless the war ends within the next few months, which it won't.'

'No, sir, I don't imagine that it will. Thank you very much, sir.'

'You're welcome! Now I'd really better get going, though.'

'Now then,' Foyle tells Sam and Brooke when Kieffer has gone. 'At some point later this week, Sergeant, probably on very short notice, we're going to need to have, I would say, six constables in place along Castle Street and the Marine Parade, and Sam, I'll need you to drive me there.'

'Someone telephoned for you while you and the detectives were gone, Miss Stewart. A lady,' Brooke announces. 'Said she'd try again later – wouldn't leave so much as 'er name.'

'Well, that's awfully mysterious. I'll just have to wait, I suppose.'

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Tuesday 10 November 1942
3.00pm – Have just come back from driving Mr F and Milner to answer report of break-in at house at 14 Plynlimmon Road. Stayed with car. Apparently nothing taken, but heard Mr F and M speak about desk being ransacked. Thought address seemed familiar – number and street, not place itself. On way back occurred to me that might be false address Miss J. Beaux gave to PC Peters when she was found injured in September.

The telephone begins to ring. Sam looks up from her diary.

'Yes, madam, she 'as indeed returned. Just one moment, please. For you, Miss Stewart,' Brooke says, handing her the receiver.

'Sam Stewart here.'

'Ah! Samantha, at last!'

Author's notes:
Heartfelt thanks to the invaluable and marvelous Bella Duveen79, bloghey131313, daisy321, jomiddlemarch, oldshrewsburian, OxfordKivrin, and rosalindfan for their help with nomenclature, chapter structure, and many other matters.

One of Our Aircraft is Missing (the title actually appears on the screen as '. . . one of our aircraft is missing', complete with quotation marks) was the fourth collaboration between Michael Powell and Emerich Pressburger, and the first film that they jointly wrote, produced, and directed as "The Archers." According to the Internet Movie Database, it received its premiere in London on April 24th, 1942, and went into wider release two months later. I am speculating in this story that wartime conditions would have limited the number of prints that could be struck – and, by extension, the number of venues at which it could have been screened during any given week, so that exhibitors would still have considered it a draw several months later. It is indeed a corker, and can be viewed in its entirety on YouTube. (Beware of shortened versions.)

As far as I have been able to determine, canon never states definitively whether Andrew is assigned to Fighter Command or Coastal Command between "Eagle Day" and his transfer to Debden and reassignment to Training Command at the end of "Enemy Fire"; both commands used Spitfire fighter planes. However, in both "Among the Few" and "Enemy Fire," we are told that he is serving as a reconnaissance pilot – in the latter, a photo reconnaissance pilot. This seems to have been primarily, or even solely, Coastal Command's responsibility, so I have assigned Andrew there. More than 5,800 Coastal Command personnel were killed in action during World War II, so his father still has plenty to worry about.

The European Theater of Operations (E.T.O.), United States Army headquarters in London, was commonly referred to by its mailing (postal) address, A.P.O. 887.

Of the seven women's branches of the U.S. Armed Forces that existed during World War II, three sent personnel into the E.T.O., beginning with the arrival in Liverpool of Army Nurse Corps personnel on July 12th, 1942. They were followed by the Women's Army Corps on July 13th, 1943, and, at some point, the Navy Nurse Corps. I have been unable to determine the exact number of American servicewomen stationed in the E.T.O., but it appears to have been in the range of 40,000, the vast majority of whom were nurses.