Just a few hours earlier, the clear blue sky had been thick with hot lead and flak. The American B-17 bombers struggled to maintain formation despite the onslaught of Focke Wulf 190's, Messerschmitt 109's, and deadly flak. However, the bombers were far from sitting ducks. They weren't called 'Flying Fortresses' for nothing. Top and bottom machine gun turrets, a chin turret, tail turret, and waist guns sent many Luftwaffe planes hurtling to the ground.
Having bombed its target, the "Tiger Lilly" was limping back over the North Sea. The number four engine was out. Its propellor had been feathered. Flak had torn holes through her fuselage and wings, but the B-17 was a tough plane which didn't like to quit.
"Should be nearing the coast any minute," the navigator's voice came through their earpieces.
Leo, the pilot, and Jack, the co-pilot, peered ahead through the thickening clouds for any sight of the beautiful English coastline. Jack spied the coastline first, and the crew gave a collective cheer to hear the news. The radio operator had contacted Kimbolton Air Base, home of the 379th Bombardment Group, to advise them that the "Tiger Lilly" was shot up badly and to be ready for a possible crash-landing. Kimbolton was still over 100 km from the coast, but, if at all possible, Leo and Jack wanted to bring their plane all the way home.
After what seemed like an eternity, the landing gear thankfully went down, and the massive tires touched the runway once more. It had taken all the efforts of both the pilot and co-pilot to land the battered bomber, but she rolled to a stop without incident. Leo and Jack shook each other's hands. Some of the crewmen literally kissed the ground. After exiting the cockpit, Jack patted the underside of the fuselage.
"Thanks, Lilly," Jack whispered.
"Lilly" would be in the repair hangar for awhile. After debriefing, all crew members of the "Tiger Lilly" were given 48-hour passes. Jack then returned to his barracks and fell into a fitful sleep.
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The following early June day turned out to be sunny and warm. Jack awoke feeling refreshed. He showered, shaved, and after lunch, retrieved the second-hand bicycle he'd purchased.
With his wallet and pass in his pocket, Jack began to pedal toward the village of Kimbolton. On that Spring afternoon, the English countryside was so beautiful that Jack was able to flush his mind of unpleasant thoughts. The rolling green farms and fields under the bluest sky couldn't have been more peaceful. The warm air filled Jack's lungs and he was aware of birds singing. His long, powerful legs propelled the bicycle easily over the country roads.
Jack rounded a stand of maple trees and rode into the village. He dismounted the bicycle and walked it through the quiet streets.
As Jack approached an older couple, he greeted them, "Hello... Beautiful day."
The couple looked at the tall, young serviceman and the man replied, "Hello... Yes, it's a lovely day."
"Could you please possibly suggest a good place to eat and drink in the village?" Jack asked with a smile.
The man and woman looked at each other. The woman then replied, "Harrison's Pub is where we like to go."
"Would you please tell me where I could find it?" Jack asked.
The man pointed and said, "Go two streets down, turn right, and it's on the left hand side."
"Thank you very much," Jack said.
"You're welcome," the man said.
"And stay safe, young man," the woman added.
Jack grinned and replied, "Thanks, I'll try."
Jack and the couple headed off in opposite directions. As Jack walked his bicycle past houses and shops, in spite of the few scattered cars, he felt like he'd stepped back in time to the Dickensian era. He half-expected to see a sign for Fezziwig's at any moment. As he rounded the corner, Jack spied a sign with 'Harrison's Pub' painted in emerald green. He crossed the street and made for the pub. Noticing two bicycles leaning against the wall, Jack added his. The interior of Harrison's was quaint and homey, much like the few other pubs Jack had been in.
Jack smiled and nodded to the bartender and then found a small table off to the side.
A fifty-something blonde barmaid strode over to Jack's table and greeted him warmly, "Hallo yank. What'll it be?"
"Hello," Jack said with a smile. Jack ordered a pint of beer.
There weren't many patrons in the pub as it was only late afternoon. They casually glanced at the young American, then returned to their conversations. The bike ride had made Jack thirsty, and he quickly drank most of his pint. Feeling the call of nature, Jack searched for and found the men's room. He was returning to his table when he glanced into a side room off of the narrow hallway. In the room were a few small tables and chairs, and an upright piano.
Jack hadn't played piano since he'd been stationed in England. He looked into the room and saw that nobody was inside. He walked over to the piano and sat on the bench. What the hell, he thought as he lifted the keyboard cover. He positioned his fingers and tried to remember something familiar. Quietly, he began to play the "Moonlight Sonata" by Beethoven. The piano was in tune and sounded warm to Jack's ears. The piece was deceptively difficult, but Jack only missed a couple of notes.
Dawn had completed her linen delivery to Harrison's Pub, when she heard the "Moonlight Sonata" drifting quietly into the back room. She had never heard classical music in Harrison's before, and the music drew her like a magnet. She followed the music to the side room. Sitting at the piano, with his back to Dawn, was a broad shouldered man. He was wearing a military uniform like so many of the men during the war. His beautiful playing seemed incongruous with the soldier's uniform.
"Me Mum used to play that on our spinet piano when I was a girl," Dawn said to the soldier's back.
Jack turned and gazed at the woman whose soft voice had shaken him from his thoughts. Her long, straight, dark brown hair, parted in the middle, framed one of the most beautiful faces Jack had ever seen. Her long-lashed, blue eyes were hypnotically beautiful. Her lips were full and sensuous. She appeared to be late-thirties, with a slight wrinkle or two and just the slightest puffiness under her inviting eyes. She wore a blue blouse and gray slacks.
"Hope I wasn't bothering you, ma'am. I'm afraid I'm pretty rusty," Jack smiled shyly.
"Not at all. It was lovely," Dawn returned his smile. "And please don't call me ma'am. My name is Dawn."
"Nice to meet you. My name's Jack... Jack Banacek." He said, rising to his feet in a show of manners.
Dawn had to look up at the tall man. At five feet four inches, Dawn guessed that Jack was not quite a foot taller than her. She recognized the U.S. Army Air Corps uniform from having seen many in their village. Dawn liked what she saw. The American was young and handsome. His medium brown hair was short and straight. He had mischievous green eyes that touched something within Dawn. His nose was neither too big nor too small. His warm smile showed even, white teeth. His physique seemed lean and muscular.
