Chapter 1:
(Allied Airfield Base: London, Great Britain-January 22, 1942)
It was a surprisingly warm day in late January, and groups and units for the 504th bombing squadron were busy taking care of their duties and assignments around the base. For the moment, two corporals, Jack Wiley of the RAF, and Lyle McAvoy of the USA Army Air Corps, were busy cleaning off a Douglas A-20 Havoc attack bomber aircraft and were socializing with one another. They both served under the same commanding officer and worked for the same crew.
McAvoy was thin, about 5'9", and had soft green eyes. As for Wiley, he was bigger, but because of being so muscular built. He was about 5'7" and had brown eyes that went well with his chocolate brown wavy hair. Both men shared the same barracks with six other men in their crew and became fast friends with everyone.
McAvoy ran his fingers through his dark blonde hair and looked at his friend and fellow Ally.
"Hey, Wiley," he said. "You doing anything tonight?"
The RAF corporal stopped what he was doing, looked off into the distance, and let out a heavy breath of air.
"I don't think much of anything. Why?"
"Anderson, Pearce, Ellis, and I are playing a few rounds of poker. Brooks is dealing. You wanna join?"
"Brooks is dealing, huh? Well, I can bet yah ten American dollars Pearce sure won't be winning tonight."
McAvoy smirked and shook his head.
"He always gets conned out, doesn't he?"
"What about Hamilton and Gibson? What are they doing?"
"Making bets on who's gonna lose the game."
Wiley raised an eyebrow.
"Aren't you supposed to bet on who will win?" He questioned carefully.
"They're trying something new out. Wanna make it interesting." McAvoy answered.
The RAF corporal cocked his head to the side and nodded.
"I suppose I could stay for a few rounds unless Boss says otherwise." He replied.
"Nah. I don't think Colonel will bother us unless urgent." McAvoy stopped polishing and looked at his side. She was as clean as a whistle. He had never seen a more spotless attack bomber before. "Well, my side's done. What about yours?"
Wiley stepped back and observed his work. He nodded, giving it his approval.
"I think she's good, bloke." He remarked.
"Great! Let's get going to dinner, then. I heard it's lasagna night." McAvoy cried.
Wiley nodded and followed his friend, when he noticed a tiny spot that had yet to be cleaned.
"Wait! Hold on. I need to clean this bad boy off."
The American turned and rolled his eyes. He knew the Englishman for being a constant clean freak.
"It's good, man. Trust me."
"No, I gotta get this one, little spot here real quick," Wiley said, completely ignoring his friend.
McAvoy made his way over, yanked his friend from the plane, and dragged him off to dinner.
"Wait! Boss is gonna kill us if I don't make that plane shine!" He wailed.
"One little spot's not gonna hurt it." McAvoy chuckled.
"Aw, come on!"
Not too far across from the dining area, Colonel Robert E. Hogan was in his quarters lying comfortably on his sofa reading a book. There had not been many assigned missions lately, so most of the time he was either supervising his men or resting in his quarters writing letters home or doing leisurely activities such as reading or listening to jazz music on his record player.
Hogan was so lost in his book, he did not hear the knock on his door and his best friend, also his second in command, enter into his living area.
Major Richard 'Rick' Schuerman smirked and stood behind Hogan's head watching him. The major was slightly taller than his commanding officer, had dark blue eyes, a bit of facial hair, and short deep brown hair. He never wore his crush cap or any type of hat. He was not fond of them and felt they would mess up his hair. Rick always did his best to make himself presentable and how his hair looked was on top of that list.
"Good book there, Boss?" He laughed.
Hogan turned to look behind him, smiled, then placed his book on his belly and turned to look at his best friend.
"When did you come in?" He asked softly.
"Couple minutes ago. I always forget how much you get lost in your reading."
The colonel chuckled.
"I do love my reading, don't I." Hogan remarked.
"You ready for dinner?" Rick asked. The major crossed his legs and leaned against the wall of his friend's quarters.
"Depends. What's on the menu?"
"Either mac and cheese or Italian night."
Hogan closed his eyes and moaned with delight. He loved Italian food. He may be enemies with the Italians in the war, but he could not help but like their cooking. He had favored Italian meals since he could remember.
"I love Italian," he said, dreaming of his meal. Two warm breadsticks covered with parmesan cheese next to a plate of steaming hot spaghetti covered with butter and a light marinara sauce.
"I know you do. Why do yah think I came over here?" Rick asked, grinning.
"Oh, I don't know...needed some money?" Hogan answered teasingly.
"That was one time, Rob! Come on!"
Both of them started laughing. The two men had been best friends since high school. Both attended the same military school and were roommates all throughout. Hogan had been saddened when he had to leave for London for assignment. He had to leave his mother and father, his girlfriend, his younger brother, a doctor, and his best friend behind in Cleveland, Ohio. When the Americans came into the war near the end of December last month, Hogan was thrilled to learn that Rick would be his second in command. Both of them went on every assignment with one another and flew in the same B-17 bomber with the eight men under their command. The colonel could not have asked for a better team. They were the best group of men he had ever been assigned to work with.
"Alright...probably should get going before dinner gets cold," Hogan said, his laughter dying down.
"Nah. The chef will keep it warm." Rick answered.
"Unless he's drunk again."
"If he is, General Berkman's gonna flip his lid."
He chuckled softly and nodded at Rick's comment.
"He isn't too fond of men getting drunk on duty, is he?"
General Alfred Berkman of the United States Army Air Corps was Hogan's commanding officer and worked with a team of three other USA generals in London Headquarters. Hogan first met the old general at an Academic Awards Dinner for Honor Students and had just taken his promotion as Captain. The two hit it off immediately, and Hogan took every class possible with the man. Eventually, their relationship as professor and student turned into a father and son one. The captain went to the man for advice, academic help and support, or to just have a friendly chat with one another and see how their days were going. Berkman eventually became Hogan's mentor and showed him the ropes of what it took to be a strong and respected commanding officer. In fact, had it not been for the old general, Hogan would have never even became a colonel.
It was during the week of finals at West Point, and Hogan's assigned commander, Major Randy Beidleman, was giving them an obstacle test. A tall, thin man. He had jet black hair, wore glasses, and had a bit of a snobbish tone to his voice. The major was a harsh grader, and if one of the students were to go back for any reason and restart, they would be failed and have to take the class over again.
The exam started, and Hogan was doing tremendously well. He was going through, over, around, and under the obstacles swift and stealthy. Many of the obstacles imitated fire, gun shots, burning aircrafts, and various other scenarios the men would face in war. Hogan was ¾ of the way done, when he heard a man behind him way back crying for help. He turned back and saw a young sergeant struggling to get through fake smoke and find his way through. He was terrified and scared of failing the exam with time to spare. It did not take Hogan long to make his decision. He ran back for the sergeant, knowing the consequences, and helped him through the obstacles side by side. They got near the end, and after jumping over a fallen over tree trunk, Hogan landed on his foot wrong and sprained his ankle. The sergeant offered to stay with him and finish with him, but the captain urged otherwise, wanting to make sure the sergeant passed his final. The young man was forever grateful to him and passed the test.
Eventually, Hogan was able to get back to his feet, limped the rest of the way, and finished a little after the sergeant did. Beidleman was furious with the captain and not only failed him, but downgraded his rank from captain back to lieutenant. This infuriated several of Hogan's classmates and demanded that he be passed and keep his ranking for helping a fellow student in the class.
Unbeknownst to any of them, Berkman had been watching the exam and evaluating each student. He was amazed with Hogan going against orders and going back to help one of his fellow classmates finish the obstacle even though he knew the consequences and possibly even be held back in his program. The rank did not matter to him, the old man noticed. What matter to the captain was the others around him and had the will to risk everything to protect and help the men under his command. Hogan showed strength and firmness with just as equally an amount of kindness and compassion. He established just what a commanding officer should be and how one should act and care for his men.
With what he had witnessed, Berkman stepped in and ordered Beidleman that Hogan pass the class for showing superlative bravery and the will he had to suffer severe consequences if it meant the safety or success of one of his countrymen. After a few exchanges of disagreement and a few threats from the general, Beidleman passed Hogan in the class. It was the next order that stunned all of them. Berkman then ordered that Major Beidleman promote the young captain to colonel, stating that only a real commanding officer would give the example of what Hogan had presented to them.
At first, Hogan had no idea what to say. He was stunned and amazed that Berkman felt he was good enough to be a full ranked colonel. After some reassurance from the old general, Hogan smiled and accepted his promotion with honor, making all of his classmates cheer and celebrate.
Coming out of his memories, Hogan beamed remembering his commander. He honored Berkman and would for the rest of his military career and lifetime. He would never be able to repay the old man. The colonel wanted to be as great of an officer as he was.
Seeing his best friend gaze off about something, Rick could not help but tease.
"Dreaming about some hot blonde there, Rob?"
Hogan turned his head and gave a playful glare at his second in command.
"I have a girlfriend, remember?"
Margaret 'Maggie' Hauser and the colonel had been dating for almost two years since meeting one another at one of Hogan's friend's parties. She had light ash brown hair that went a little past her shoulders and had the most beautiful blue eyes Hogan had ever seen. She worked as a nurse at a local hospital back in Cleveland where she and Hogan lived together in a one story house. It was just the right size for them. Since he left for London, Maggie got a part time job singing at a bar and grill during the night to earn extra money to help pay for gas, bills, etc. Hogan lit up every time he thought of her: her pretty smile that brightened an entire room, her optimism and kindness towards others. She was his best friend and like no other woman he had ever met. Once the war was over, he was going home and proposing to her.
"Forgot...you stopped being such a 'player' since college," Rick said, fighting back from laughing.
Hogan changed his glare slightly and tried with all his might to hold back from grinning.
"Get your rear end moving before I kick it out." He ordered.
"Wow! Harsh much?"
Not able to fight back anymore, Hogan smirked, got to his feet, and made his way to his best friend.
"Come on. By the time we get there, the chef really will be drunk." The colonel chuckled.
Rick's response was a hardy laugh.
"Got me there, Rob," the major said.
Both officers put on their white scarves, leather gloves, and soon they were leaving Hogan's quarters and headed off to dinner.
