Hampshire

1940

7:00 a.m.

Godfrey pounded on the bedroom door. Drake groaned and rolled over. Godfrey bombarded him with another series of loud knocks. He covered his head with a pillow and tried to go back to sleep. The knocking stopped, and he enjoyed the silence however brief it was.

“Master Drake? Master Drake?”

The door creaked open and Godfrey stuck his head halfway through. Drake rolled over, grabbed a pillow, and threw it at the door. Godfrey shrieked as the pillow missed his head and knocked over a lamp on a nightstand. It shattered into pieces with audible deliberation.

Godfrey sighed. He crept into the bedroom, hanging low to the floor in fear of more flying objects. Drake dug his face deeper into a pillow, groaning.

“Master Drake,” Godfrey said, kneeling down to collect the broken glass. “It’s urgent you get up right now. You have a visitor…”

“Who?” Drake asked, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“Major Hewlett sir…”

Drake’s eyes opened. He parted the mess of jet black hair covering his eyes and sat up. Godfrey grabbed a henley and assisted Drake in putting it on. Then he slipped on a pair of trousers and followed Godfrey down the hall and past the stairs to the main lobby. Drake felt dreary, and his vision hadn’t yet cleared. As he walked down the stairs, he made out a uniformed man below.

Godfrey offered him tea, but the man dismissed him. His gaze caught Drake’s and he could see the hotness in his eyes. Major Hewlett strode across the lobby, reaching Drake in seconds and pointed an accusing finger.

“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing!” the Major demanded.

Drake yawned and thanked Godfrey for the hot cup of tea he passed him. “What are you talking about?”

The Major scoffed. The man accompanying him, another soldier stepped back and grimaced. He politely declined the extra cup of tea Godfrey had resting on his platter. Godfrey rolled his eyes and walked back towards the kitchen.

“One of our pilots…” the Major said, “was killed last night. His co-pilot said he had been instructed to wait fifteen minutes after their drop-off — by you. Poor lad barely made it back in one piece.”

Drake released an exasperated sigh. “I see…”

The major raised a brow and his mustache curled. “Do you, though? Why are you so determined? Irene was a Nazi spy, you know there’s no denying it.”

“I have to find out for myself…” Drake said, his voice was soft, defeated.

Hewlett’s face softened, and he looked away. “You know I didn’t want to tell you she was an imposter — a damned Nazi spy. But we’re at war right now; war makes us make hard decisions. I didn’t want to put you in that situation, honest —”

“Is that all, Major? If there’s nothing else, Godfrey will see you out…”

Drake gestured to Godfrey, turned away, and headed back upstairs. He waited at the middle of the stairs while Godfrey ushered out their guests. The butler returned, stopped at the base of the steps just in front of the colossal Atlas statue, and waited. Drake’s face turned dark with anger and he gripped the railing, squeezing until cracks formed, turning into deep fissures that almost split the rail in half.

“I know that look,” Godfrey said. “So what happens now? If the lad died there’s no way to know if he contacted Dubois.”

Drake released his grip; his gaze strayed to the sunlight pouring down the glass ceiling. The water running from his many fountains sparkled and glowed in silver streaks. He tapped the rail with his fingers, pondering.

“Looks like I’ll have to go myself, Godfrey.”

Godfrey shook his head. “Beg your pardon, sir?”

Drake wore a smirk. “I’ll take a Lysander to France, and contact Dubois.”

“And you know how to fly a Lysander, sir?” Godfrey’s voice was deeply skeptical.

Drake scoffed. “Of course, I do Godfrey. It can’t differ from my plane.”

Godfrey sighed. “Well, what’s the worst that could happen sir…”

10:30 p.m.

Drake caught the rookie pilot just before he could depart to his Lysander. He grabbed his shoulder and leaned closer to him. Between the aircraft engines and propellers running amok the airfield, hearing was damn near impossible.

“Take the night off lieutenant!” Drake said.

The man made a face. He looked at the brass insignia pinned to Drake’s collar, denoting him as a captain. Regardless, he opened his mouth to question him, forcing Drake to take it a step further.

“That’s an order, lieutenant!”

They exchanged a glance until the lieutenant conceded and returned to the locker room. Drake released a relieving sigh and hopped into the cart that ferried the pilots across the runway. He looked no different from the other pilots, with his black jacket and trousers lined with fur and a yellow life vest over it. He pulled down the goggles over his eyes and checked his pocket for two things: his scythe, Acheron hidden as the golden scarab, and a photo of Irene.

The cart stopped at a grassy field lined with aircraft freshly refueled, propellers whirling like thousands of angry hornets. He kissed the photo of Irene before hopping off the cart.

He heard a voice beside him. “First combat flight?”

He looked over where another pilot walked beside him. The man held a locket; its contents a miniature photograph of a young woman. He glanced at his locket, then to Drake.

“Me too,” he said, before straying from the path towards another aircraft.

Drake reached his aircraft, checked in with the crew chief (to ensure the aircraft was cleared to fly), and stepped in the cockpit. The crew chief gave him a thumbs up before stepping down from the cockpit ladder.

“No co-pilot!” he asked.

Drake shook his head. Even with his superior hearing, the propellers distorted his words. “We’re shorthanded! Flying solo on this one!”

The crew chief nodded, detached the ladder from the cockpit and removed the fuel nozzle. Drake sealed the cockpit and gripped the joystick. He surveyed the Lysander’s interior, finding it very similar to his own plane. The respirator hung loosely from his mask, but he kept it and the other equipment near to play the facade as a Royal Airforce pilot.

The crew chief waved his green batons, clearing him to depart as he rolled the aircraft down the runway with the other Lysanders. Following the one before him, he opened the air flaps, put the aircraft at full throttle to give it enough lift, and pulled the joystick back. A few seconds later, he was airborne.