Chapter 5

Sam hadn't been surprised to find a lot of work waiting for him when he'd gotten back to the aerodrome. Thankfully most of it could be done under the tent, as the weather had turned cool and rainy. He'd dived in and taken care of the most critical repairs first and then began to knock out a series of small items.

At least that had been the plan. There were so many vehicles in this encampment that it seemed like something was always breaking down. The planes had top priority, but if an officer's car needed attention he seemed to think Sam should drop everything to fix it. Doubtless Al would've had some pithy comment about that, but Sam hadn't seen him since yesterday morning. He assumed there was nothing else for Al to report, though it crossed his mind to wonder if Al just didn't want to tell him how many men were going to die over the next few days so he wouldn't have to worry about them all.

It was now after lunch on Saturday. Captain Downey had called around mid-morning to say the item he needed was ready; it had sounded cryptic and Sam wondered if that had really been necessary. He didn't think the art of tapping phone lines had been invented yet, but remembered the Fortiers' caution and understood that it fell under the maxim "better safe than sorry". The problem was that he was in the middle of carving a new wing spar and needed to finish that before he could leave.

Sam was dragging a heavy wooden crate full of ammo over to the plane so he could use it as a makeshift workbench for the final adjustments to the spar. The noise had masked the sound of Al's arrival, so when Al walked through the fuselage and asked, "How's it going, Sam?" it startled him.

He shoved the box a little harder than he'd intended and it caught on the uneven ground and flipped onto its side. The lid promptly fell off and the ammo belt began slithering out onto the ground. He looked up at Al and muttered, "Speak of the devil."

"Now, is that any way to greet me?" Al asked in a wounded tone. "I've been busy checking up on several hundred soldiers to see if I can get a line on why you're here. Soldiers here at the aerodrome, soldiers at the chateau, soldiers at the gun emplacement…" He broke off as the newly-carved spar fell over onto the pile of ammo.

Sam sighed. "I'm sorry, Al. I've been busy. You wouldn't believe how many things in this camp need to be repaired! I've got to get this spar finished so I can go get the scrap iron and fix that gun." He paused a moment to let Al's words soak in. "Did you find something? Please, please, tell me you know what my mission is."

Al took a puff of his cigar. "No. Sorry, Sam. I haven't found any leads." Seeing Sam's look of disappointment he added, "Yet. Ziggy and I are still working on it; I just thought I'd drop in and see if you had any ideas."

Sam picked up the spar and propped it against the plane again, then knelt beside the box. "I'm afraid not, Al. I've met a lot of men, but only briefly; just long enough to hear what they want me to fix, or to tell them it's done. I don't know if I'll run into them again or if they'll be injured and sent home or if they'll be killed an hour from now. I don't like this Leap, Al. I don't like not knowing. I don't like knowing that some of these men will die and I can't do anything about it."

"I know, Sam," Al commiserated. "And I'm sorry; this isn't your normal Leap for sure! I know you'd save them all if you could. I also know that that ammo belt got mangled when that spar fell on it; see, it's kinked right there." He pointed with the cigar.

Sam eyed the damage and tried to straighten out the belt as he laid it back in its box. "Yeah, it won't lie flat. Is that a problem?"

"You bet it is!" Al said with feeling. "When that belt goes through the gun it'll jam for sure. The pilot suddenly won't be able to fire at the enemy and he'll probably be lucky if he's not shot down himself."

Sam continued replacing the belt. "Okay, I get the picture, Al. Losing your firepower in the middle of a dog fight isn't a good thing. How about I write "damaged belt" on the box, so they know not to use this one?"

"Yeah, that ought to work," Al agreed. "But since we've both got a lot to do I guess I'll just go back so we can get on with it. I'll check on you again soon, Sam."

"Okay," Sam said. "And thanks, Al. I know you'll tell me the minute you know anything."

Finally he'd gotten the spar fitted and left the job of patching the fabric to someone else. He was just as glad; he'd smelled the "dope" that was used to waterproof the fabric and couldn't imagine having to breathe it for half an hour while applying it. Even in a fairly well-ventilated tent it would make you light-headed.

Apparently repairing the anti-aircraft gun was considered a priority because he was given a car so that he could drive himself. The car didn't go very fast which was probably just as well since the roads were more like dirt paths, heavily rutted and getting worse with the rain. He could've walked there faster, but at least the car had a roof to keep out the worst of the weather. He supposed there was a more direct route, but since he didn't know the area he had to backtrack along the way he'd come from the chateau until he recognized the turnoff toward the farm.

Madeleine was outside picking some fresh herbs when Sam drove up. "Bonjour, Monsieur Beckett!" she called cheerily.

"What are you doing outside in the rain?" Sam asked with a grin.

Madeleine ran up to the car, waving the plants. Maman needs these to make dinner; and besides, it's not raining very much." She made a face. "It's so boring having to stay in the house. Maman is teaching me how to sew, but I'd rather be outside."

Denis ran out the front door, having heard the car's engine. "Take me for a ride in the car. Please!" he cried. Then a little more slyly, "Captain Downey says it's a waste of gasoline, but Papa found a lot of iron so that makes it all right."

"You'll have to ask your parents first," Sam said.

"I want to go too!" Madeleine wailed.

Etienne came out the door and assessed the situation. "Denis, is this how we have taught you to treat a guest?" he asked with mock seriousness.

Denis ducked his head in embarrassment. "No, Papa," he mumbled. Then he turned to Sam and said, "Please come inside, Monsieur Beckett, and warm yourself by the fire." His sincerity was genuine, but he spoke a bit stiffly as if he were imitating his parents.

"Yes, do come in," Madeleine added. "Maman will make you something warm to drink. And you can tell us more about America!"

Etienne shook his head in mild exasperation. "Please forgive them, John. They have forgotten their manners in their excitement."

"They're fine, Etienne. They're just being kids," Sam replied.

The children ran into the house ahead of Sam. He paused to quietly tell Etienne, "I'd be glad to give them a ride in the car if it's okay with you and Yvonne."

"I think Yvonne would like that as much as the children," Etienne replied with a wink.

Sam reflected that as a youngster he'd been excited to get to ride in someone's brand-new car, but it was hard to imagine how thrilling it must be for these people to ride in any car. It must seem like magic to them. It was hard to think of that vehicle as the cutting-edge technology they considered it to be.

The house was warm, and that felt good. Yvonne insisted he take off his damp jacket, and offered a sweater. She hung the jacket near the stove to dry at least a little. "You must get warm after your long trip in the rain," she told him. "You don't want to get sick!" She pulled a chair closer to the stove. "Here, you sit by the fire and I will get you some warm wine. Just the thing for such a dreary day!"

Sam started to protest that he didn't want to stay long, but realized it would be rude to refuse the hospitality; and he was cold. "Merci, Yvonne. That sounds wonderful."

A few minutes later they were all settled at the table, happily chatting about insignificant topics. Madeleine's attempt at embroidery lay on the sideboard, the needle stuck in the middle of a crude flower. Sam was surprised to see that the children shared the wine. Once again he had to remind himself that he was in a different place and time. Neither Madeleine nor Denis seemed to think it was a special event to be allowed wine, though they were limited to one glass each. Sam decided he didn't need any more than that himself.

Etienne picked up a burlap bag from a corner of the room and laid it on the table with a clank. "There are several pieces of scrap metal in here, but it will be enough for you, yes?"

Sam opened the bag and pulled out five small pieces of twisted metal. It was impossible to tell what they might have come from, but that didn't matter. He held them in one hand and weighed them against the broken strap in the other. "Feels like this will be more than enough," he said. "I can't thank you enough, and I'm sure the gunners will, too." He grinned at their memory. "I think they feel useless without their gun."

"I'm sure their officers will find something to keep them occupied," Yvonne laughed.

"Perhaps that's what they're afraid of," Etienne said. "Monsieur Beckett, may I ask a favor of you?"

"Sure," Sam replied, thinking of the car ride. "I'd be happy to help you if I can."

"There is a piece on my plow that has broken in two, much like that one you need to replace," he began. "If I have found more than enough iron for that job, would it be possible for you to mend it for me?"

"I'll, uh, have to make sure I get the gun strap fixed first," Sam said a little uncertainly.

"Mais oui, bien sûr!" Etienne said. "The plow, it does not need as much strength as the gun; if you could just put the two pieces back together that would be fine. And if there is not enough iron, I will find some other way."

"I'll be happy to give it a try," Sam said. "Why don't we go take a look at it?"

Denis was squirming almost uncontrollably. "It's in the shed," he said. "It's a long walk in the rain…"

Sam and Etienne both smiled, knowing the point the boy was trying to make. "There is no reason you need to go along," Etienne said, trying to keep a straight face.

"You could stay here where it's warm and dry," Sam said, doing a better job of teasing the boy. "I bet you have some school lessons you could do to keep yourself occupied."

Denis clearly felt he was being betrayed, but Madeleine was watching the adults' faces intently and smiling quietly.

Etienne rose from the table and walked to a window, pulling the curtains aside to peer out. "It is raining harder now. Perhaps we should wait to see if it lets up." He turned to wink at Sam.

"Or we could go in the car," Sam said casually.

"Oh, yes, please!" Denis cried, fairly bouncing in his chair.

"Je ne sais pas," Etienne said, dragging the words out slowly and looking at his wife.

"I could take him there if you'd prefer to stay in the house," Yvonne said, finally understanding what was going on. "I've never ridden in an automobile," she added with some excitement.

"And I could go along, too," Denis suggested.

"You should stay here with Papa," Madeleine told her brother self-importantly. "Maman and I will show him the way. Just because we are ladies it does not mean we can't help."

"I think there would be enough room for both of you," Yvonne said. "Go and put your coats on. We are asking Monsieur Beckett for help; don't make him wait on you!"

Sam retrieved his jacket and went outside to start the car. It was a reflex action. He'd intended to let it warm up but had forgotten that not only was there no heater, the cab was open to the air. Yvonne was first out the door, and had thought to bring a blanket. The kids ran out a moment later and squeezed in, Madeleine sitting on her mother's lap, with the blanket covering them.

Sam drove them up and down the road to their house at the sedate pace of 15 MPH; it was as fast as the car would go without risking losing control on the muddy lane. A good horse could run that fast, and the ride might even be steadier. But he understood that it was a new and exciting experience for them, and was pleased that all three seemed thrilled with it as evidenced by their cries of wonder.

He suggested driving them around the farm, thinking he might be able to find some picturesque site for a picnic spot. It had occurred to him that if planes were able to fly tomorrow evening then it wouldn't be raining, though it might still be cool. The family probably wouldn't care about picnicking on their own property, but they might be willing to do it to amuse their new friend. If he could find a place far enough away from the house that he thought safe he'd suggest the idea.

The problem was that the paths around the farm were made by people or horses; they weren't suitable for the car. He had to stop and turn around or back up several times because he was afraid the car would get stuck. His passengers seemed to take it all in stride. He finally had to give up on the idea and simply take them to the shed to retrieve the broken plow part. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he would have to return when he'd repaired it, and maybe he'd think of something else by then. But he wasn't happy about it.

Sam was hot and tired and dirty. And hungry; it was after dinnertime and he was still working in the chateau's forge. He knew the principal of working iron, but found that the reality took an awful lot of physical effort. Thankfully Al had shown up soon after he'd arrived and, with Ziggy's help, had been able to give him some tips on the process. Heat the iron until it glowed orange, then place it on an anvil and beat it into some semblance of the desired shape with a large hammer. After a few blows the metal had cooled to a red blush and he could rest his arm while he heated it again.

He'd finished making the replacement gun strap and was in the process of repairing Etienne's plow. Al hadn't had any further brainstorms on his mission, but he was glad of the company. Al had not said – nor did Sam ask – how many soldiers had died this day. He had to believe that GFTW would somehow give him a hint of what he was supposed to do.

Suddenly the handlink began squealing. They both stared in its direction

for a moment; finally Al pulled it from his pocket and read the message on its screen. He put it back and shook his head sadly.

"What?" Sam asked. "Did something bad happen?"

"The Red Baron strikes again," Al replied. "He's shot down two more planes this evening. That makes a total of 80 kills."

"Well, that's not good," Sam said between ringing blows of his hammer. "But there'll be 20 more before it's over."

"We've been over this, Sam," Al said. "It's not just the number of men lost, it's a morale issue."

Sam stuck the piece back into the fire. "I understand that, Al. I just don't know what I can possibly do about it. I really wish there was, but I'm having trouble handling this whole situation. If I worry about all the things I can't do, then I won't get anything done." He smiled rather bleakly. "I don't want to feel that way; but I have to distance myself somehow or I'll drive myself crazy."

"You're right, Sam," Al said in a placating tone. "But look at it this way. Maybe you've already done something that will take care of the Baron."

"Like what?" Sam demanded.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe you fixed an airplane that your Great Uncle didn't and that pilot will get off a lucky shot or something."

"You're just trying to make me feel better," Sam accused grumpily.

"Yes, I am," Al replied cheerfully. "Did it work?"

"Maybe a little," Sam admitted. "I really do appreciate your effort."

"You're welcome. You gonna go back to the aerodrome after you get done here?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Sam said. "It'll be dark soon so I won't be able to actually fix the gun tonight. Besides, there's probably something there that needs my mechanical skills. They never seem to run out of work for me to do, but at least these machines aren't very complicated."

"Gives you a whole new appreciation for our modern technology, doesn't it?" Al asked rhetorically. "Okay then, you get some rest, Sam. I promise, I'll let you know the minute I learn anything."