Glory Boys by Harry Bingham Page A

In any case, Brad had been a terrific helper and Abe wanted to find a way of saying thank you.
    ‘Sure. He’s a good kid. I’d like that.’
    Hennessey got up to go. The plane still sat in the barn, as she had done since the first day, but there was nothing sad about her appearance now. The plane was trim and clean. Her engine smelled of fresh oil and gasoline. The fabric over her wings was hard and taut, a series of gleaming curves, that seemed only waiting for the command to leap into the air and ride it.
    ‘There much more to do here, Captain?’
    Abe nodded out towards the yard. He’d nailed a long roofing batten to an old horse-hitching post. On the top of the pole, a ribbon of white silk hung limply in the breeze.
    ‘The take-off site’s kinda short. Lowering the trees will help, but I’ll still want a bit of breeze in my face before starting out. And I’ll probably want to go not long after sun-up, before the air’s heated too much.’
    ‘Hot air’s a problem?’
    ‘A plane needs lift to get airborne. Cold air’s got more lift than hot.’
    ‘So that’s all you’re waiting for? A wind from the south and a bit of cold air?’
    ‘Uh-huh. Aside from that, we’re ready to go.’
    The storekeeper was taken aback. He’d seen the way the plane had smashed up on landing. He hadn’t realised Abe could be ready to move on again so fast. But he controlled his expression and nodded.
    ‘You’d best go over to Sal Lundmark’s tonight, then. Wouldn’t want to keep you here unnecessarily.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘I’ll tell her to expect you.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    Hennessey walked to the barn door and the white dust and beating sun outside. He looked back at the barn, the plane and the pilot. ‘Don’t mention it,’ he muttered. Then he headed out, back to Main Street and his store. He had a cigarette between his lips and was searching his pockets for matches when he heard a movement behind him. It was the airman, a strangely troubled expression on his face.
    ‘Hen, last night you asked me to do something for you. You asked me to help you and the town here out of a fix, a real bad one. I said no.’
    The storekeeper nodded, his face shadowed by the brim of his hat from the fierce overhead sun.
    ‘I said no for two reasons and I only told you one of them. The reason I told you about had to do with the jam you’re in. It’s not clear to me – as a matter of fact I don’t think it’s clear to you – what one man could hope to do. Even if I wanted to, I don’t see as I could do anything to help.’
    ‘Uh-huh. And the other reason?’ Hennessey spoke slowly as though the sun was stealing energy from his words. The storekeeper’s cigarette was still between his lips, still unlit.
    ‘The other reason is me. Before the war, I was a racetrack driver. When the war came, I did everything I could to get out to France, because I thought I’d be able to fly planes and fight them. And I was right. I was right about that part. But I hadn’t understood something then, which I understand now.’
    He stopped speaking. His jaw actually locked and he looked as though he wasn’t going to speak another word. It took Hennessey a moment or two to realise that Abe hadn’t simply paused, so it was only after a few seconds that the storekeeper stepped closer and prompted, ‘Yes?’ When Abe spoke, his answer was so quiet that only the baking stillness of the air allowed Hennessey to catch it.
    ‘A man’s got to want to play the hero. And at first I did, I guess. I was crazy for it. But then they promoted me, gave me a squadron. And I changed, or maybe the war changed me. I wanted nothing to do with any of it. But I had no choice. I was a serving officer with orders to carry out. What I did, I did because I had to. To the best of my abilities. But I’m not the man you thought I was, Hen. I’m sorry.’
    The storekeeper nodded, his mouth slightly open and a dark crease running between his eyebrows. He looked surprised or