  Oddly enough, as Mary set the big plane climbing she recalled Sparky’s words, “You are with me to the journey’s end.” Was this to be the journey’s end? One thing was sure. During their moments of excitement over the captured spy, they had allowed the enemy to come dangerously close. Six fighting planes were coming roaring toward them at top speed. Breathless with suspense, Mary watched their altitude increase. Ten thousand feet, eleven, twelve, fifteen thousand. It was not as fast as this; instead, to her excited mind the figures appeared to creep upward like a man with a crutch going upstairs. One plane was ahead of the others. “He’ll get us! I am sure of that!” she groaned. “Oh! If Sparky were only here!” Then the on-rushing enemy did a strange thing. Instead of coming right on, like a catbird after a hawk, he circled wide, going completely around the big plane. “Afraid.” There was contempt in her voice. “He’d better be!” It was Sparky who spoke. He was standing in the center of the cabin. In his hands he gripped a heavy machine gun. The plane veered off, swinging around before them, then coming up on the other side. Sparky had donned his mask. So, too, had Mary. They were getting into thin air. “If only we can hold them off,” Mary thought. Once again Sparky’s gun spoke, then again and yet again. Like a cowardly wolf-pack the fighters were closing in slowly. There were three of them now. There came the rat-tat-tat of machine gun fire from the distance. No bullets found their mark. In desperation Mary set her motors going at a dangerous rate. “If that burned motor fails me now—” Her heart paused, then raced on. “Good girl!” Sparky encouraged her. “We’re leaving them behind. They can’t go much farther, not at this altitude. You, you’re looking white around the lips. Here! I’ll take the controls.” She staggered from her place, leaned for a space of seconds then, looking down, watched the fighter planes still battling their way upward. With shaking hands she reached for the machine gun. “This can’t be the journey’s end,” she murmured. Dragging her eyes from this fascinating and terrible sight, she looked for the other planes. They, too, were going down, but under control. They had given up the task assigned to them. “It—it’s all over! Finished!” She sank down in her place beside Sparky. “That first plane,” she said after a time, “it went down in a spin. The pilot didn’t bale out. It just went down, down.” “I’ve done a lot of duck hunting in my day,” Sparky replied quietly. “Sometimes I’d shoot at a flock of ducks in midair. They’d sail right on, but a mile away, one of them would drop behind, go into a spin and come plunging down.” “You mean your bullets reached that plane?” Mary asked. “They might have. Then again the fellow may have climbed too high.” “Something on his plane froze up?” “Yes, or he did. Whichever way it was, there’s one less of them for our boys over here to take care of. We won a bloodless battle.” After that, maintaining their altitude, they flew on for a hundred miles in silence. “Have to get back and see how my prisoner is getting on.” “You—your—oh, yes, that Jap spy.” She took the controls. There was a strange look on his face when he returned. “Well?” she asked. “I didn’t mean to tell you,” he replied, soberly. “You asked for it, so here it is. He’s gone to join his ancestors.” “You mean—” “Seems his mask didn’t suit him, so he knocked it off.” “Oh! I see.” “In other words he committed hari-kari in a rather strange way. “I gave him a desert burial,” he explained after a while. “Just opened the trap door to the wing, and let him down.” She nodded. It had been a long, hard journey that day. She hoped there would be sunshine, laughter and song at that day’s journey’s end. And, for once, she was not to be disappointed. “Recognize it?” Sparky asked. “No, could it be—” “Yes. That’s exactly what it is,” he laughed. “A pyramid. And this is Egypt.” “Egypt!” She was impressed. “Yup! Better get out your lipstick. We’ll be landing in about fifteen minutes. I’ve never been here but the other boys say it’s quite a spot, not so far from Cairo.” “You need scrubbing up more than I do, and a bit of first aid.” “Don’t bother about me.” She did, for all that. With a damp cloth she washed the blood and engine grease from his face, then applied antiseptic. After that she gave herself a hurried make-up. And then there they were, circling for one more landing among the date palms. She found herself a trifle shaky about the knees when, at last, she stepped down to the good earth. A few steps away a strongly built man was standing talking to another. “He looks familiar,” she told herself. Just then the man turned. “Dad!” she cried. After three long strides, she was in his arms. “Because I am your daughter,” she replied proudly. “You wouldn’t want me to stand back, now, would you?” “No, Mary, I wouldn’t. You’ve made it safely this far. Here’s wishing you luck and safety to the journey’s end.” “The journey’s end,” she thought. “If he but knew how close we came to that end this very day.” “Mary,” her father was saying, “I want you to meet the finest American flier in Egypt, Captain Burt Ramsey. Captain Ramsey, this is my daughter.” “Charmed to meet her, sir,” was the quick response. “I am pleased to meet you.” She gave the young man her best smile. And why not? He stood six-feet-three and looked every inch the soldier—dark hair, brown eyes, and that far-away look that fliers, especially over the desert, acquire. “I am surprised at that introduction, Colonel Mason.” The Captain grinned broadly. “From all you’ve been telling me, this young lady must be the best flier in Egypt.” “Oh, that’s purely a family matter, paternal pride,” said the Colonel. “Captain Ramsey, This Is My Daughter, Mary.” “And visibly shaken,” she added. “Yes, all of that and more. You’d never believe it, but we did away with two desert rats on this trip.” “That’s right,” Sparky, who had just come up, agreed. “One yellow rat and one that was a doubtful white.” “Tell us,” Ramsey demanded. “Not now,” Mary pleaded. “Perhaps not ever.” “I just wanted to say,” Sparky broke in, “that we’ll be here until three tomorrow morning. Our next hop is a long one and that burned engine needs a going over.” “Oh! Hours of rest!” Mary nearly collapsed in her father’s arms. “You’ll never know what that means.” “I’ll leave you now,” Burt Ramsey saluted. “Shall I see you at Waltz Time tonight?” “Waltz Time on the radio?” Mary stared. “No, indeed. Waltz Time on a very good floor and with an orchestra that lifts its hat to none.” “Oh!” she breathed, “That will be too much.” “Just the change you need,” her father encouraged. “You can do a man’s work, but no woman can be a man all the time.” “All right, then, it’s a date.” She put out a hand. “Father and I will be there.” Once again the Captain saluted, then, turning about, he marched away. “This is like old times,” she sighed. “I wish you were staying a week.” He drew a long breath. “That, of course, is out. That big flight of four-motored bombers went through here yesterday.” “Our flight.” “Yes, I suppose so. Thirty-eight planes. And they were burning up the air. Looks as if something big were in the making over the air of China.” “Or Tokio.” “That’s what everyone is hoping, but no one really knows.” “Did you see our flight leader?” she asked. “Yes, indeed. They took on gas here. He was very much concerned about your plane, and—” his voice dropped, “about your cargo. Made me promise you fighter protection across the Arabian Desert.” “Fighter protection. Hmm—we could have used some today.” “You’ll have the very best tomorrow. Captain Ramsey is going as fighter flight commander. He’ll have three men with him.” “Oh! That will be wonderful,” she enthused. “Even if we don’t run into trouble.” “Some class!” she exclaimed. “How about my staying on as your cook?” “The cooking is taken care of. I’ll give you a job as hostess after your journey’s end.” “Nope. Not interested. I’m in for the duration.” “Good girl.” He took her bag. “We’ll find you a cool, dark room to sleep in and call you in time for dinner. How’s that?” “Nothing could be sweeter.” She was awake and dressed for dinner before he called her and, in spite of the ordeals of the day, felt quite refreshed and ready for anything. “Here’s a party dress I managed to pick up for you,” her father said, holding out a creation of thin, dark blue trimmed with some strange Syrian lace. “Bought it from a Syrian peddler. It’s the real McCoy.” “Oh! Dad! It’s lovely! But for just one night! It must have cost a fortune!” “Not so great a fortune,” was his smiling reply. “Besides, in times like these, when we live so fast, one night of perfect happiness can be treasured for days on end.” “One night of happiness,” she repeated softly. “That sounds wonderful!” “Dad, he’s wonderful, Sparky is,” Mary enthused. “The only trouble with him is,” a wistful note stole into her voice, “he’s just a machine, like those engines he watches so carefully.” “You’re lucky to have a partner like that. There’s only one in a hundred like him. You could fly all the way around the world with him.” “Looks as if we might do just that.” “Your destination is China?” “Yes.” “What route do you take on your return to America?” “I—I’m afraid we never gave it a thought. Our journey’s end comes first.” “Yes, of course. You’ll return by way of Australia or Alaska perhaps.” “Either will be thrilling.” A maid appeared from nowhere. She had, in truth, been borrowed from a beauty parlor. When she looked at herself in the glass after the maid had done her work, Mary gasped, then experienced a sinking feeling about her knees. “Sparky,” she thought. “He’ll put on his everyday coat and come strolling over to the club for dinner. It’s a shame. I wish I could wear my uniform with a few spots on it!” But then, perhaps she did not know Sparky. Or was it young Captain Ramsey who had engineered the transformation? Be that as it may, as she entered the club, she looked Sparky up and down for a full ten seconds before she knew him. “Sparky! You old rogue!” she exclaimed. “Why! You’re actually handsome! I’d like to—” She advanced toward him with shining eyes. Blushing, Sparky backed away. “It says in the Bible,” he drawled, “that you should let your moderation appear before all men. You’re not looking so bad yourself,” he added in a low tone, “but, pardner, this is no sort of armor for a fightin’ fool. When do we eat?” Colonel Mason led them to a table in the corner where the lights were subdued, and there they took their places, Mary, Sparky, Ramsey, and the Colonel. “Something like that,” he smiled. “However it gets here, it’s deserved. All the men you see here, British, French, or American, are on active duty. Most of them are fliers. Some have just returned from Tunisia where they have been on duty for long weeks. Half their squadron was shot down. Some are guarding the airways, as Captain Ramsey will be doing tomorrow. Almost every day some fine fellow fails to return—” “But they seem so happy and cheerful.” Her eyes swept the large room filled with laughing, chattering men and their ladies. “Certainly. What do you ask?” was the quick reply. “You just must believe in your luck and keep your sense of humor. You, who have come a long way, should know that.” “Yes—” she agreed. “Yes, of course, I know it.” Just then young Captain Ramsey claimed her attention. For the next half hour he held it. While the Colonel and Sparky were busy comparing notes on the performance of various types of airplanes, she and Ramsey talked and laughed as they compared notes on the lives they had lived before the war descended upon them. “It will never be the same,” she sighed at last. “Of course it won’t,” he agreed. “But do you really wish it?” “Of course you don’t. None of us does. We’ve been whirled completely out of that world. When we get back, if we do—” his voice fell, “then’s the only time we’ll really know what we want. That’s why I say, ‘forget the post-war problems. Let’s get on with the war.’ We—” “Look!” She gripped his arm. “There’s an Arab. The head-waiter is bringing him this way. Oh, I’m scared.” “Arabs are harmless enough.” He gave her a questioning look. “Not all who pass as Arabs are harmless,” she insisted. There was no time for explaining. The Arab, with the head-waiter at his elbow, had arrived at their table. |
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