Amerikan Eagle

Walter opened the door wider, and Sam stepped inside. A one-legged man was sitting at Walter’s table, smoking a cigarette, crutches leaning against his wooden chair. He had on a shapeless black sweater and khaki trousers, the right leg of the pants folded over and pinned just above the knee. His brown hair was cut very short, and the way he held his cigarette said “foreigner” to Sam. “Sam, may I present my guest… my boon companion for the evening… Reginald Hale, late flying lieutenant in His Majesty’s Royal Air Force. Reggie, this is Sam Miller, inspector for the Portsmouth Police Department, good neighbor, and kindly landlord. Gentlemen.”

Reggie said in a drawling British accent, “Charmed, I’m sure.”

“Hi, yourself,” Sam said.

Walter put both hands on the back of a chair, as if depending upon it for support. On the chair was his leather valise. “Reggie is helping me with a bit of technical advice. You see, I’m working on a story in which the hero is a fighter pilot suddenly transported in time to the future, where civilization is under siege and the civilized ones have forgotten how to fight and—”

The professor must have noticed the look on Sam’s face, for he swallowed hard and continued, “But of course, my plotting means nothing to you. What was important was knowing the technical details of flying, which the good lieutenant”—Walter pronounced it in the British fashion, “leftenant”—“was going to help me. And then we started listening to the news about this wonderful bit of bloody diplomatic business that the butcher of Europe and the Kingfish of Louisiana managed to pull off, and well, a bottle emerged and other tales were told.”

“I see,” Sam said. “Walter, look, no offense, but Sarah heard some loud noises up here, Toby’s trying to sleep and—”

The RAF man stubbed out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray, struggled upright, reaching for his crutches. “Not a problem, Inspector, it was time for me to leave anyway. Professor, thank you for your hospitality.” He hopped, grabbed his crutches, and Sam didn’t know whether to keep looking or glance away. So he did nothing. The crutches went underneath the man’s arms and Sam said, “Do you need a hand getting down the steps?”

“Thanks awfully, but I’ve had lots of practice. Months and months, if you must know. First time I’ve ever met an American copper. You wouldn’t be interested in my immigration status, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t, but others might.”

Reggie smiled, leaned on his crutches. “Bloody awful, this. Hopping around like a toad. Once upon a time I was somebody important, one of those knights of the air, ready to do battle against the invading Hun. We were the last hope for our island, and we were going to repulse those bloody bastards. That was the plan, at any rate. Too bad nobody told Jerry about the plan. They had their own ideas. Bomb the shit out of our airfields and radar sites, clearing the way for the paratroopers to seize ground and hold it for the follow-up invasion troops. Still, we fought, against terrible odds… It sounds strange, but I was the lucky one. Lost my leg after an ME-109 jumped me, and managed to get out on one of the evacuation ships.”

Reggie made his way to the doorway, turned awkwardly, and said wistfully, “We might have made it, you know. If Winnie hadn’t been tossed out, if the Cabinet hadn’t sued for peace after the first landings, if the king hadn’t died in the bombings, if you… if you bloody Yanks hadn’t sat on your hands and decided not to help us. We might have made it. And then Herr Hitler would be fighting both us and the Bolshies.”

“Bunch of us thought we had done enough last time,” Sam said. “It just looked like another European squabble, and the last one didn’t end well. So most of us didn’t want to get involved.”

Reggie shook his head. “Oh, you’ll get involved. Maybe not this year or next year, but I guarantee this, Inspector: Once that fucking German housepainter gets the Reds hammered down, he’s going to turn west again. And your mighty wide ocean won’t help. Maybe then you’ll wish you had helped us.”

Walter opened the door, and Reggie hobbled out. Cold air came in, and when the door was shut, Walter turned to Sam and said, “I’m sorry again for disturbing your lovely wife.”

“Apology accepted, Walter. There’s one more thing… and I swear to God, you haven’t heard it from me.” Sam never thought he would do this, but after the past few days, he couldn’t stay quiet any more. “Tomorrow night. You might want to tell Reginald, and any other similar friends, that they shouldn’t be in their usual haunts. Something’s going on. Do I make myself clear?”

“As clear as crystal. Sam… I cannot tell you how much I owe you, this is going to be—”

“Walter, I have no idea what you’re talking about. And neither do you.”

His tenant grabbed his arm. “I’m not a religious man, but God bless you for what you’ve done.”

Sam broke free from the man’s grasp. “I think God’s got His hands full enough without worrying about me.”

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