CHAPTER XXXVII
Landing at Hawke Field

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· 8 June 1939 ·
AT HAWKE CASTLE

It was cold, windy, and rainy up on the tiny runway. An unseasonable chill tore at the thin summer clothing of the small gathering waiting there for an aeroplane to descend out of the fog and clouds in that waning hour of sunlight before darkness fell.

Lord Hawke’s runway, nothing more than a thin ribbon of grass far above the lagoon, stretched out along a high, rocky point adjacent to the castle itself. Hawke Field, as Hobbes jokingly referred to it, was unlighted and unsuitable for night landings, so Hobbes had placed four powerful searchlights at either end of the grass runway. A low, rolling fog had flooded in off the Channel. The searchlights, aimed straight up, formed great columns of light in the foggy evening sky.

Landing at Hawke Field, as Hobbes never tired of telling his flying Navy friends, was just like landing on an aircraft carrier, only half as long and twice as narrow. And now, with the fog, and a sticky crosswind whipping across the field, Hobbes saw it would be even more difficult than usual. He didn’t envy the Royal Air Force pilot who’d probably be flying the group from War Command over from the mainland.

Hobbes and Katie were there waiting, of course, feeling the bite of the wind’s chill, but much restored by an afternoon in front of the blazing fire, sipping Hobbes’s lemony mandarin tea and eating scores of homemade crumpets with raspberry jam. Hobbes had first placed a call to Kate’s mother to say all was well and ask her to join them for dinner at Hawke Castle.

Hobbes had then rung the naval attaché in London. The excitement crackling over the wire from the Whitehall war offices about the captured U-boat was near delirious, and the attaché had promised to dispatch an inspection team immediately to Greybeard Island. Since Hobbes knew that “immediately” by sea meant twelve hours minimum, he reminded the attaché that Hawke Castle possessed the only private runway among the islands, albeit a grass one, little more than a skinny cow pasture, but adequate enough for light military aircraft.

And that to arrive sooner, rather than later, Hobbes had added, was probably a good idea when you had a fully armed Nazi U-boat penned up in your goldfish pond. And an enraged German captain who by now must surely be going quite mad, that is, if he hadn’t been quite bonkers already!

It had been a quiet afternoon, sitting cozily by the fire as the rain whipped round the castle, and Hobbes and Kate had chatted happily, discussing their submarine adventure in minute detail. Laughing aloud, they imagined the look on Wolfie’s face when the nose of his mighty submarine bumped up against the massive steel curtain of the underwater Seagate. And then realizing that he couldn’t even blast his way out, that his deadly torpedoes were useless in such a small, confined body of water! It wouldn’t take long for the captain to conclude that the torpedo’s concussion alone would kill everyone aboard the sub.

“A pig in a pokey?” Kate asked, stoking Horatio’s silky fur.

“Something like that, my dear, a poke, I believe is the term.”

“Will Nicky ever come back, Hobbes? Do you think his adventure was as grand as ours? What do you think he’s doing right now?” Kate said, her mouth forming a perfect little “o” as she yawned and slowly fell over on the massive settee, her red curls spilling onto the yellow silk cushion of the spacious sofa. Her eyelids fluttered and closed, and she mumbled sleepily.

“Sailing?” she said with a yawn. “He’s always sailing or, or—” The child was fast asleep. Hobbes, deeply relieved at the outcome of his gamble, and in a state of numbing exhaustion himself, hardly noticed he’d lost his audience.

“Well, my dear, I’m sure he’s—that is to say, I’m quite sure that he is perfectly all right, but I must say—” And then Hobbes too yawned sleepily and gradually slipped off, his head falling back against the worn needlepoint cushion of his chair, admiring the lovely play of the firelight licking into the shadows of the ancient room. It was lovely to be home, he thought, so very lovely to be home.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and a distant voice gently repeating his name. It was a familiar voice and he tried to place it.

“I say, Hobbes old thing, are you quite all right?”

“What?” Hobbes said, realizing that he must have tottered off to dreamland himself. He cracked one eye and saw the child still on the sofa. “What’s that? Ah, yes, my dear, now, where were we? Your dear brother, was it? Hmm, yes, well, he’s probably right now engaged in a bit of fancy swordplay with some nasty Frenchman or other and—” The room felt awfully warm, he thought, and he really ought to get up and open a window but he was so frightfully sleepy, having lain awake all night on the tiny submarine cot and—

“Hobbes! I say, Hobbes!” Hawke whispered, squeezing Hobbes’s shoulder. “We’re right here, old man, wake up! We’ve returned!”

“What?” said Hobbes. “Who’s there?”

Hobbes opened his sleepy eyes just enough to see them. He saw a few dim figures in the light of the flickering fire and that of the golden stream of late afternoon sun, slanting through the gathering storm clouds and pouring down from the windows high in the castle wall. Lord Hawke, it looked like, but was it? Could it really be?

“Returned, have you?” Hobbes asked sleepily, trying mightily to surface. He saw little Kate, still fast asleep on the settee opposite, and remembered the cozy conversation and the startling fact that he had an angry German U-boat captain penned up in his lagoon.

“Returned, Hobbes!” Lord Hawke said. “All of us!”

“We did it, Hobbes!” Nick said, patting the drowsy man on the shoulder with far too much enthusiasm. “We helped Captain McIver escape from Billy! He’s on his way now to warn Lord Nelson about the bloody Spaniards!” He laughed and then Hobbes, aghast, felt a wet tongue licking his hand and looked down to see a large black dog at Nick’s side. “We got Jipper back, too, Hobbes? Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Quite, quite,” Hobbes said, pulling his hand away from the overly affectionate canine. “Dogs? Spaniards? I say!” said Hobbes, completely befuddled. “Is that you, too, Gunner, lurking there in the shadows?”

Gunner stepped into the light, his twinkling blue eyes sparking behind the little gold spectacles. Nick didn’t believe he’d ever seen his old friend so happy.

“Aye, Hobbes, and glad I am to be here! We gave it to ’em, though, sir! Dressed the barky up like a pretty Spanish señorita and lured old Bill in for as lovely a ripplin’ broadside as ever you could hope for!” Gunner said, and he too patted Hobbes affectionately on the shoulder. “It was textbook gunnery, sir, hundred-year-old textbook with a touch of the twentieth century thrown in for good measure, but pure textbook it was!”

“My word! And you, your lordship, are you quite all right?” Hobbes asked, squinting up at Hawke in the dim fire-light.

“Quite all right, old chap,” Hawke said, lighting a brand-new cigar and puffing away with enormous good cheer. “Nick here got a bit of a tap on the head and some devil nicked me on the cheek, but I’ve done worse shaving myself! Gunner here got off without a scratch, although I can’t say the same for the French chaps on the other end of his blazing broadsides, ha-ha! Capital show, really, Hobbes. I’ll fill you in completely this evening. I’ve invited Nick and Gunner to join us for a jolly victory dinner tonight. Oh, and there’ll be two extra settings for dinner as well! Roast joint of lamb, perhaps, with mint sauce! Our best china and silver, I should imagine, old boy, and ice cream, too, lots of ice cream!”

“Two more, sir? Ice cream! But who—”

“Terribly sorry, old man, perhaps they should introduce themselves!” Hawke laughed, his eyes sparkling with joy at the surprise he was springing on Hobbes. A small figure stepped forward out of the shadows.

“Hullo, Hobbes,” the little boy said, and stuck out his small hand. “Do you still remember me? I’m Alex.”

Hobbes blinked back the tears rapidly filling his eyes as he leaned forward to peer closely at the small figure standing before him. It appeared to be, for all love, Master Alexander, looking precisely as he had the night Hobbes had last seen him five years earlier, out on the terrace, waiting for the electrical storm. It wasn’t possible, but it was the very boy standing there! Alexander Hawke!

“I missed you, Hobby,” the boy said softly.

“Oh, I missed you too, Hobby!” Annabel said, leaping right up into his lap. “I missed you so very, very much!” Alexander then jumped up on Hobbes’s knee and now two children were excitedly hugging Hobbes around the neck, kissing him and giggling and squealing with delight.

“Oh. Oh, my!” Hobbes said, sputtering and looking completely astounded. “Annabel! Alexander! I say, I mean, really!” He looked up at Lord Hawke and Nick saw that Hobbes’s eyes were glistening in the firelight. The man put his arms around both children and squeezed them to his breast, trying to convince himself that he was not still sleeping and that this wasn’t all some perfect dream of life as he had always dearly wished it to be.

“The children are home, Hobbes!” Hawke cried. “Don’t you see? The children are home at last!”

“Two extra at table tonight, your lordship,” Hobbes said, laughing. “And every night after that until they tire of my cooking, I expect!”

“Oh, Hobby, don’t worry about that,” Annabel said. “We’re used to eating gruel every day!”

“Then you shall find Hobbes’s cooking suits you exactly, my darling daughter!” Hawke exclaimed, picking her up and throwing her into the air.

And, for the first time in many long years, swelling peals of children’s laughter rang out through the long silent halls of Hawke Castle.

Now, on the windswept runway, Hobbes tried to wrap Kate and the two children inside his flapping mackintosh as they all stood waiting by the hissing searchlights. Nick and Gunner were kneeling in the tall, wet grass, trying to get one light relit, and joking happily about the plight of the Nazi U-boat captain, sitting below in the lagoon. The aeroplane was already a good half hour overdue, and Hobbes was beginning to feel a bit nervous.

“Don’t worry, Hobbes, they’ll be along shortly, I expect,” Lord Hawke said, himself looking nervously at the sky. “Who precisely did you say was coming over?”

“The naval attaché, certainly, sir,” Hobbes said, “and the usual assortment of submarine technicians and engineers, I imagine. And he mentioned the possibility of an admiralty bigwig or two. Certainly no one as high up as the First Sea Lord, I don’t expect, but perhaps an admiral or two. They are frightfully excited about the whole thing in London, as I explained to you, sir.”

“As well they should be, Hobbes!” Lord Hawke exclaimed. “It’s only the most remarkable sea catch of the century, old boy. Don’t be so modest! Not the First Sea Lord, eh? I must say it would be jolly to see dear Freddy.”

They heard the aircraft before they could see it. A droning hum growing louder in the cloud bank to the northwest.

“I expect that’s them now, sir,” Hobbes said.

“Quite sure, old chap? Not Lucky Lindbergh in his Spirit of St. Louis, you don’t suppose?” Hawke said, chuckling.

Hobbes usually ignored Hawke’s feeble attempts at humor, but given his friend’s joyful mood since the return of his children, he replied, “Perhaps, your lordship, or possibly the Red Baron in his Fokker triplane!”

The silver aeroplane descended out of the clouds on its final approach to the airstrip, its nose and wingtip landing lights creating three downward white shafts in the fog. Hobbes was surprised to see that it was a De Havilland twin-engine light bomber, a larger plane than he would have thought necessary for the small inspection party, and a lot of aeroplane for the short, narrow runway. At any rate, a bit dicey for any pilot in these conditions.

“Flash that lantern three times, please, Nick,” Hobbes ordered, and Nick did as instructed with the lantern Hobbes had given him. It was the code Hobbes had settled upon earlier with the naval attaché and meant that the situation with the captive Germans was unchanged and it was safe to land.

They watched in silence as the small Royal Air Force bomber, despite being buffeted by the strong crosswinds, came in low over the sea, lowered its landing gear on final approach, and floated over the rocky promontory at the far end of the strip. The pilot deftly cut his power and managed a perfect three-point landing at the seaward end, bouncing once or twice on the rocky surface. Its landing lights still on, the bomber taxied up loudly toward where the reception committee waited. Through the small window of the cockpit, Nick saw the pilot waving to them in the glow of his instruments.

The last rays of dying sunlight stabbed through the shifting rain clouds and scudding fog as the silvery plane, lights winking on its wingtips, rolled to a complete stop a hundred yards or so from where Nick was standing. The pilot shut down the roaring engines one at a time and they sputtered and coughed and died.

Once again, the only noise was the whistling wind and the sea crashing on the rocks far below. The fog was thickening now, despite the wind, and darkness was fast approaching as Nick saw a door open in the fuselage just behind the wing. A naval officer jumped to the ground and then reached inside for a set of stairs which he positioned under the doorway. He then stepped back and stood at attention at the foot of the stairs.

Almost immediately, four men—and Nick couldn’t tell if they were soldiers or sailors at this distance—emerged from the doorway and formed up on either side of the steps. They all seemed to be armed, carrying what looked to Nick like tommy guns. These were the men, Nick assumed correctly, who would soon escort the naval inspection team aboard the captive German submarine.

Next came a tall man in uniform who had to crouch to get through the small door in the fuselage. The men already on the ground saluted and Nick guessed he was the naval attaché. Finally, two more men, one in uniform and finally a shorter, rounder one in a dark overcoat and bowler emerged. They left one officer guarding the aeroplane and started in the direction of the little welcoming party huddled against the cold wind. The short round man in the bowler, puffing an enormous cigar, quickly outpaced the others and came striding forward, waving hello to Hobbes and Lord Hawke. Nick thought the man looked familiar, but it was difficult to see in the thick ground fog that swirled around the bomber.

“I must say I can’t believe the old boy himself made the trip!” Nick heard Hobbes exclaim.

“Nor can I, but it’s rather splendid of him, isn’t it?” Hawke replied. “He certainly looks marvelously fit and spoiling for a fight, doesn’t he? Hullo, Uncle! What a surprise!” The man stepped forward into the misty pool of light provided by the searchlight, extending his hand to Lord Hawke.

“Brilliant landing considering that crosswind, wouldn’t you say!” the stout pink-cheeked man in the bowler said as he approached, removing the fat cigar that the cold wet wind had extinguished. “Absolutely marvelous, these young RAF boys, but I doubt they could have managed it better!”

Nick couldn’t credit his ears! It was the same rich and powerful voice Nick had heard pouring forth over the BBC as his family huddled around the big radio in the lighthouse kitchen! Then he saw the famous blue polka-dot bowtie and he knew without question.

The man was Winston Churchill.

After a brief embrace, Lord Hawke shook his famous relative’s hand vigorously and clapped him on the back. “Well, Uncle! How very good of you to come! Delighted, I must say! And you as well, Admiral Pendleton!” Hawke exclaimed. “You both know Commander Hobbes, of course!”

“I certainly do!” Churchill said through his cigar, and took Hobbes’s hand firmly in his own and looked him hard in the eye. “Good show, Commander Hobbes, really! I can hardly describe the mood in the War Office over your magnificent achievement. It is positive euphoria! I can rant and rave in Parliament until I’m blue in the face about the Nazi war build-up, but your capture of an actual sub at this critical moment is worth a thousand speeches. Your country owes you an enormous debt of gratitude, sir. The chance for our lads to examine this advanced vessel in minute detail will give us an incalculable advantage in the early stages of the war. The First Sea Lord himself was on his way down, but I stole the poor chap’s seat, I wanted so much to see the bloody thing for myself.”

“Capital, isn’t it, Uncle?” Hawke exclaimed. “I went—that is to say, I was away on a personal matter for a day or two and I returned only to find that Hobbes here has singlehandedly captured a Nazi U-boat! Quite extraordinary, what?”

“It’s a great honor to welcome you to Hawke Castle, sir,” Hobbes replied to Churchill solemnly, his head bowed modestly. “But my efforts were hardly singlehanded. May I introduce some young friends who’ll be joining us for dinner, after you’ve completed your inspection of the submarine. Especially a young lady who was most instrumental in the successful outcome of this small U-boat adventure.”

“Delighted,” said Churchill, smiling in the blustery twilight.

“First, Mr. Archibald Steele, known to his many friends as Gunner.”

“Not so young, but deeply honored to meet you, sir!” Gunner said, shaking Churchill’s hand. It was not lost on Gunner that in the space of forty-eight hours he’d shaken the hand of one of Nelson’s captains and now that of England’s greatest statesman.

Hobbes smiled and next opened his mackintosh to reveal the children hiding there. Alexander,Annabel, and Kate smiled up at the great man. “May I first present Annabel and Alexander Hawke, sir?”

“I’m delighted, needless to say, that somehow you’ve solved this terrible mystery of your missing children, my dear nephew!” Churchill said to Hawke and then he bent and embraced the two shy children. “It seems nothing short of a miracle, I must say. However did you manage it, Dickie?”

“A story for another time, Uncle Winston, if I may.”

“And this very shy young woman, if I can coax her out of hiding, is Miss Katherine McIver!” Hobbes said, pulling the mack away from Katie. “Who, along with her brother Nicholas here, first discovered the unfortunate U-boat that now lies in our lagoon! Katie here was an enormous help to me in enticing the German captain to sail his submarine into Hawke Lagoon. I simply could not have managed it without her, sir.”

“Indeed, Commander?” Churchill said, taking Kate’s hand and then Nick’s. “Marvelous! Your name is McIver, is it? I wonder if perhaps these two delightful children are not related to my copilot of this afternoon?”

“Copilot, Uncle Winston?” Hawke asked.

“Yes, yes, copilot!” Churchill replied. “Splendid chap, RAF retired who lives here on the island. One of our best in the first war. Been my houseguest down at Chartwell these last few days, discussing the future of British lighthouses like the Greybeard Light. I mentioned that I was buzzing down here this afternoon and he asked if he could hitch a ride. I said, ‘Only if you’ll agree to sit up front and take the stick now and then!’ Here he comes now, I believe you and Hobbes know him quite well, Dickie.”

Nick saw a tall, thin man with a cane make his way slowly across the soggy grass. Tears filled the boy’s eyes as he ran out to greet him.

“Father!” Nick cried. “Oh, Father, you’re home! Mr. Churchill said you helped to fly the plane across the Channel! It was a wonderful landing!” Angus threw down his walking stick and bent to embrace his son.

“Oh, no, I’m afraid that landing was Mr. Churchill himself,” Angus said, looking happily in his son’s face. “But I got him lined up for the proper approach, I did. Not bad for an old one-legger, eh, Nick? Churchill himself said it, ‘Once a Black Ace, always a Black Ace!’ He wants me to consider starting a flying school for young boys, right here on Grey-beard. But, son, how are you? How’s Katie?”

“Father, so much has happened, I hardly know where to start! First we met your friend Mr. Thor who turns out to really be Commander Hobbes who lives here at the castle and works for Lord Hawke and then—and then—” He stopped himself, realizing most of his story couldn’t be told. “But, where is Mother? Surely she came with you?”

“No, she didn’t, son. She’s staying on in London for a week to help your uncle close up his house in Cadogan Square. He’s resigned from the cabinet, you see. Over the war issue. He thinks your cousins are no longer safe in London. He told the Prime Minister so, and walked right out the door at Number Ten! Your mother is helping him pack up so that they might all move here, though heaven only knows where we’ll put them all! Come along now, let’s not keep everyone waiting!”

Nick stooped, picking up his father’s walking stick, and they started back to where everyone had gathered. “Father, I can’t wait to tell you about—” He stopped himself. He was of course desperate to tell his father about the grand adventure he and Gunner and Lord Hawke had just returned from. But he knew how important the oath of secrecy they’d all sworn was to Lord Hawke, and how dangerous it would be to break it. Time travel and his wondrous machine must remain his secret forever. Even from his dear father. “About how glad I am you’re home,” he said, “and how Katie captured a U-boat!” He then began to laugh because, as absurd as it sounded, it was literally true! She had!

“Oh, I’ve heard all about Kate’s U-boat exploits from Mr. Churchill, Nick, quite the most amazing story,” Angus said, laughing. “He invited me to stay with him at Chartwell to find a way to keep his network of lighthouse keepers gainfully employed. Not only as part of our strategic island defenses, but—”

Nick grabbed his father’s arm and stopped him. “Does he agree? We don’t have to leave the Greybeard Light then, Father?” Nick asked, clutching at his father’s sleeve. Angus looked down, smiling.

“Let’s just say the minister who wrote me that terrible letter now has a new job stacking sandbags in front of Mr. Churchill’s new War Office in St. James’s Park!” Angus said, and put his arm around his son. “Churchill understands this war, son. He won’t let anything stand in his way. I imagine the Greybeard Light will be home to the McIvers for another two or three hundred years!”

Angus McIver’s son looked up at him with a huge grin, and hugged him tightly for a moment. His daughter Kate saw him and shrieked his name, and then she, too, ran up and leapt into his waiting arms. He planted his one good leg firmly in the wet grass and lifted his beautiful daughter into the air high above his head.

“Daddy, you’re home!” she cried happily. “I missed you, Daddy!”

Angus McIver was home. Away to the north, on the farthest tip of Greybeard Island, past the curls of his daughter’s pretty red hair blowing in his eyes, he could see the great arc of his old family light, sweeping the tumultuous black skies.

There were now more terrible storms coming, he knew, far more violent than the gales that had swept in from the east a generation ago. But looking into his children’s uplifted faces, he knew that the Greybeard Light and the McIver family were ready, ready as they had so surely been for generations, ready now to do their sacred duty for England.

Who knows, he chuckled to himself, looking back at the twinkling wing lights on the silver bomber, they may even need to dust off a few old pilots before this new war was over!