Cobber drew a breath and rubbed the side of his neck. “Me and two wingmen—Taylor and Benny—were given an order to escort a BEF supply ship across the Channel. On our mission, we got caught in a severe rainstorm, and the visibility was poor, at best. With heavy turbulence and our fuel nearly exhausted, I gave permission for my wingmen to land ahead of me. Benny touched down safely, but Taylor descended too soon on his approach to the airfield. The left wing of his Hurricane clipped an electrical tower.”
A chill ran through Jimmie’s spine.
Cobber lowered his eyes. “He was killed in the crash.”
“I’m sorry,” Jimmie said.
“Thanks,” Cobber said. “Taylor was a good airman.”
“Undoubtedly one of the best in the squadron,” Fanny said, looking at Cobber. “The lad merely made an error in judgment, and I would have done the same thing if I were in your shoes. When fuel is low, a good section leader orders their wingmen to land first.”
Cobber gave a reluctant nod.
“You probably noticed that Gord is rather bitter toward Cobber,” Fanny said to Jimmie. “Gord and Taylor were card mates.”
“I see,” Jimmie said.
“How about a cuppa?” Cobber asked, as if eager to change the subject. “We have an hour before our patrol, and it’s best that Jimmie gets acquainted with the other pilots before he’s put to the test of flying with the squadron.”
Tension spread through Jimmie’s shoulder muscles.
“Tea sounds splendid,” Fanny said.
Jimmie followed the men out of the barracks. As they made their way to a mess tent, he saw what he believed to be regret in Cobber’s eyes—the sorrow that filled him and the pain of ruminating over a decision that resulted in the loss of a man’s life. He feels responsible, despite that there was nothing he’d done wrong. Jimmie buried his thoughts. He resolved to learn everything he could from his fellow pilots and fight, each day, to survive the war.
CHAPTER 3
LONDON, ENGLAND—SEPTEMBER 21, 1939
Winston Churchill, First Lord of the Admiralty, entered the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street to find Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain—a thin, seventy-year-old man with salt-and-pepper hair and mustache—who was reading a newspaper while seated alone at a long, green baize-topped table. Near the prime minister was an ornate ceramic teapot and two cups with saucers. Of the twenty-four Victorian leather upholstered chairs that surrounded the table, Chamberlain was settled in the only one with arms—the seat that long eluded Churchill.
“Good day, Prime Minister,” Churchill said.
Chamberlain, his back to a large marble fireplace, put down his newspaper and gestured to a chair across the table. “Come in, Winston.”
Churchill sat and placed his hands on his lap.
“Tea?”
“No, thank you.”
Chamberlain poured a splash of milk into a cup, added tea, and stirred it with a silver spoon. “I suppose you know the reason why I summoned you,” he said, his voice slow and deliberate.
Churchill clasped the lapels of his charcoal three-piece suit with a matching polka-dot bow tie. “My letters, I presume.”
Chamberlain nodded. He took a sip of tea and lowered his cup, clinking onto its saucer.
At the outbreak of war, Prime Minister Chamberlain offered Churchill responsibility for the navy as First Lord of the Admiralty and a place in the war cabinet. Chamberlain’s appeasement of Nazi Germany had failed, and he was pressured by newspapers and political parties to bring in Churchill, who was viewed as a strong military leader given his experience in the Great War. Starting on Churchill’s second day in office, he began to send daily, prolonged letters to the prime minister that spanned all matters of the war.
“I appointed you to lead the Royal Navy,” Chamberlain said, “not direct the entire war effort.”
Churchill removed a cigar from the interior pocket of his jacket and held it between his thumb and forefinger. “My intentions are merely to aid you in your duties.”
“I do appreciate your tenacity and vigor, Winston. But I intend to bring this conflict to an end. I have not—and will not—abandon my efforts to seek a peaceful European settlement.”
Churchill lit his cigar and puffed smoke. A memory of Chamberlain’s acceptance of the Munich Agreement, allowing German annexation of the Sudetenland, flashed in his head. He’d urged Chamberlain to tell Hitler that Britain would declare war if the Germans invaded Czechoslovak territory, but the prime minister had refuted his recommendation.
“Your pursuit for peace is admirable,” Churchill said, “but there is no appeasing a barbaric dictator. Hitler’s hostilities will not cease with Poland.”
“He’d be foolish to attempt to annex more territory. He’d have Britain to contend with, and the French Army is a million strong with five million reservists. Further military advances by Germany would surely end in a long, drawn-out stalemate.”
“Hitler has his Luftwaffe,” Churchill said. “Allied aircraft are significant in number, but the French Air Force—as well as the British Royal Air Force—has fallen behind with modernizing its weaponry.”
Chamberlain shifted in his chair. “Despite our declaration of war, there has been no British military engagement and little fighting by the French. The British Expeditionary Force remains in the process of being deployed to France and the Low Countries to dig field defenses on the border. Furthermore, the minor French offensive in Saarland, Germany, has fizzled out.”
Churchill straightened his back.
“I received a report this morning,” Chamberlain said. “General Maurice Gamelin has ordered his units to return to their original posts on the Maginot Line.”
Churchill flicked ash into a crystal ashtray. “Gamelin squandered an opportunity to hold the Saarland. Poland’s defeat is inevitable and, with time, Hitler will redeploy military reinforcements to the border of Germany and France.”
Chamberlain slid his newspaper to him. “The Americans are calling it the Phony War.”
Churchill eyed the article about US Senator William Borah, who was quoted about his views of the inactivity on the western front. He folded the paper. “It’s not the Phony War—it’s the Twilight War.”
Chamberlain furrowed his brow.
“We are at the eve of Nazi Germany’s quest to conquer Europe. We must be prepared to fight at all costs.”
