He understood the young man’s high spirits, of course. When the prospect of their first combat assignment had presented itself, Jesse had naturally chosen the two best pilots—himself and Hans—to do the honors. The other pilot officers had been almost inconsolable, especially since the mission required taking both of the Belles, leaving nothing for them to do but study and bother Hal Smith.
Things had changed soon after he and Hans had arrived at the field outside of the coastal town of Wismar, on their first flight up there. The field was a good one. Located on a slight rise above the beach, it was easily equal to the Grantville airfield; large, smooth and covered with short grass, thanks to the local sheep.
There was a somewhat boisterous reunion scene once Jesse and Hans were down. Eddie Cantrell and Larry Wild were good friends with Hans, whom they’d lived with in the same trailer complex after their best friend Jeff had married Hans’ sister Gretchen. But, soon enough, the two lieutenants settled down and gave Jesse a tour of the facilities they’d manage to prepare for the Air Force.
He was genuinely impressed. However rambunctious they might be, the two youngsters had done well, in the short time they’d had available. They’d even erected a makeshift windsock, something which he hadn’t expected young naval lieutenants to even think of. They’d also managed to shift a sizable quantity of fuel and rockets up to the field, storing it all in an old shed of some kind. Before the tour was over, Jesse decided to commend them to Admiral Simpson at the first opportunity and told them so. Their boyish grins in response went a long way toward making him forget the misgivings he had about this shoestring operation.
A long way, but not all the way. “Don’t get too cocky,” he’d warned Hans. “Enthusiasm and hard work will get you far. But the weather doesn’t give a damn, just for starters. And you can backslap a handful of rockets and some fuel cans all you want, and tell them how great they are. They’re still just a handful of rockets and some fuel cans.”
He gave Hans a crooked grin. “Trust me on this one. The engine in your aircraft isn’t going to be impressed if you run out of gas, just because you assure it you’re still in high spirits.”
After unloading the two aircraft, he and Hans had immediately refueled the Belle II and had gone on an area familiarization flight. Jesse would have made that his first business anyway, but he also wanted to impress on Hans that their main function up here was to provide the Navy and Gustav Adolf with reconnaissance—not dramatic heroics.
They’d started with a circuit of Wismar Bay, then ventured along the coast to the west, marking their charts all the while, turning north and continuing across to the Isle of Ruegen before returning. They hadn’t seen anything larger than a fishing smack the entire flight.
When his early morning flight the following day had given the same results, Jesse had made his decision. They would fly to Magdeburg that afternoon, returning with First Sergeant Tipton and some tools. After all, there was no telling how long they’d have to operate from their remote location. Besides, Lieutenant Cantrell had gotten word over the radio that Mike Stearns and Veronica Dreeson had arrived in Magdeburg. Jesse wanted a chance to confer briefly with the President and Admiral Simpson one more time, just to make sure nobody had any signals crossed.
And . . .
He’d stared at Hans, standing on the field and gazing out to sea. Such a fine and splendid young man he looked—and was, too. The confidence with which Hans stood there was almost palpable.
Jesse sighed. And that was something else that, all too often, the world didn’t give a damn about. At his age, Jesse had no illusions. So he also wanted to give Hans a chance to see his grandmother, for what might be the last time. The tough old biddy, as people tended to think of her, who had shared with his older sister Gretchen the task of mothering him after his own mother vanished into the cauldron of the Thirty Years War.