The older man was amused by the thrill of his adrenaline rush as the numbers inexorably rolled down to zero. Firstly, of course, the mere fact he was in great health after passing the biblical three-score-and-ten some time ago was a great comfort in and of itself. Then of course, he had passed all the tests the doctors had thrown his way yet again. He looked around at the youngsters surrounding him, confident in their skills and experience. Some had more time in action, or more trips. But none had been doing it longer than him…
…zero… A heavy weight pressed on his chest.
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Poked, and prodded, and poked some more. Yet he could relax and let his cares, worries, responsibilities drift away like sands through the hourglass. All he had to do, this time, was to let them poke him and prod him and check his health. Easy enough to do. Before, he had had things to do, tasks to perform… This time, the only thing in common was the honor and glory of his country—and he was far safer now than he had ever been before while doing this. Relaxing now that the prodding was over, he allowed his thoughts to drift back…letting the years fall away…to a time when he could not relax, when he had to be constantly vigilant, when death awaited at every turn. He closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath…
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The droning of an airplane motor changed in pitch as he throttled back the engine and prepared to land. Coasting to a stop, he parked his plane off the landing strip. Sliding the cockpit hatch back with the help of a member of the ground crew, he climbed out and made his way to the ground. Thankful to make it through another day, he had decided to write another letter to his wife. Lord, how he missed her! But someday, this awful war would be over. He vowed to make it up to her, to love her forever and always be faithful. Thousands of miles from her, and yet he could still feel his, her, their love pounding in his heart, filling him with its vitality.
A young man ran over to him. When did I get old enough to think of him as a young man? Curse this war… The base commanding officer wanted to see him right away. Not wanting to keep the commander waiting, he jogged over to the office.
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A couple of hours later, the transport he was on banked and came in for a landing. A jeep was waiting for him on the flight line. The driver, after confirming his identity, was tight-lipped and drove him over to see the commanding general of the theater. Well, maybe I can get some answers…what special duty? Why is it top secret?
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More time passed, and he was on another transport, this time headed towards Hawaii. He had almost as many questions as he had had before. Why was I handpicked? Granted, it was nice to be told you were one of the pilots in the entire Pacific Theater. Where are we going? Looking over at his escort (or was it guard?), the man either had no answers…or was unwilling to answer them. What is my assignment? Knowing that no answers would be forthcoming, he settled back in his seat and allowed himself to doze. Like most servicemen, he took his chance to get some sleep whenever he could, even if it was standing at attention.
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After switching transports at Pearl, they continued on in silence over the eastern Pacific. Another change in California. More sleep. Changes in Texas, Ohio, Massachusetts were interspersed with lots of sleep or at least dozing. Much to his surprise, after leaving Massachusetts they flew north to Newfoundland, then crossed the Atlantic. His curiosity was raging, but he was an officer and a gentleman and managed to keep his peace and quiet.
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Following the taciturn officer upon landing in England, he found himself ushered into a general's office. Stunned, he listened carefully to his amazing orders. Later, he was not certain what was more of a shock: his orders, or being given them by none other than Ike himself.
He actually got to spend one night in a comfortable bed. He spend the next day going over the scant information available to the performance of his mission, then late in the day was flown over the Channel into Occupied Europe. Lacking reference points, he could not have known he was flying into Germany itself at night until anti-aircraft batteries opened fire on his transport.
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It was time to jump. The light signaled green. The jumpmaster all but pushed him out. The wind whistled by him as he plummeted earthward. After a silent count, he pulled the ripcord and held his breath. The parachute opened, slowing his fall and allowing him to fall safely to the ground.
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Hurriedly attempting to hide his parachute, he was startled to hear machine gun bolts being pulled back, then was barked at in English by a voice with a Germanic accent. Stunned, he said nothing, merely putting his hands up in the air, looking at the relatively short officer wearing glasses in front of him and the very short soldier next to him.
Four men wearing black commando clothing came out of the darkness. Shocked again, he realized one of the 'men' was a woman, and one of the other men was black. A black man, here? He must be, they must be, commandos and resistance forces. Sure enough, a tall man with dark hair who appeared to be the leader, gave the call sign. The leader relaxed after the response was given.
The group escorted him through the dark woods to their destination. They were mostly silent, but during their short trip, he heard each of them speak. The 'German officer' had a Midwestern accent; the 'short soldier' had a French accent, while the woman had a German accent; the leader spoke with a slight upper crust East Coast accent; the black man was clearly American; and the last man was British. He never learned anything about them, except they all referred to the leader as 'Colonel'.
They reached a small airfield. Quiet as churchmice, they escorted him to a somewhat strange looking airplane. From his briefings, he knew it was a rocketplane. He quickly climbed in, and shut the cockpit of the experimental fighter prototype. Distant explosions heralded the diversionary air raid near Hamburg. Soldiers came running as he hurriedly tried to start up the engines. The 'Colonel's team engaged them in a firefight. A technician came running out and headed straight for the plane as he flipped switches. The technician reached the plane and made momentary eye contact with him, before the engine fired and caught. He taxied the plane down the runway as the commando-resistance squad downed the last of the German soldiers.
The powerful thrust kicked him high into the atmosphere. He quickly rocketed above the cloud layer, and saw a black sky full of stars. Pretty diamonds…he had never seen such a beautiful sight. He quickly realized he was unable to navigate above the thick cloud layer, so he dove back down until he saw the English Channel, whereupon he was able to fly himself back to England
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Another series of transport flights back to his airfield in the Pacific awaited him after two good meals and a long day of sleeping in the bed he had slept in once before. At least this time, he was alone without escort. It gave him plenty of time to think on the daring events he had participated in. He knew he would never forget it as long as he lived, but he could never discuss it with anyone, either.
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On one of his many business trips he later made for the Agency, he encountered Von Braun in a corridor of an office building in Huntsville. Making eye contact, he realized with a start that he was looking into the face of technician he saw at the German airfield almost twenty years earlier. Von Braun saw the look on his face, nodded in recognition with a knowing glance that told the pilot he was remembered as well, and walked on his way…never bringing the subject of that night up between the two of them—then or ever.
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The local press had finally gone away, and the old man could relax in peace. He settled back in a comfortable chair with a newspaper. His wife brought him a glass of orange juice, smiling at the man she had loved all these years, and still loved him like the day they were married. He read the articles on the first page, then looked at the articles inside on the second and third pages. 'Former US Ambassador to West Germany Robert Hogan Passes', read a headline. One more shock struck him when he looked at the photo. My god. It's the 'Colonel'. And the lady in the picture, his wife…it was the German woman!
"John? What's wrong? John? John Glenn! Honey, what is it?"