Free The Time Pirate by Ted Bell Page A

into his well-worn flight jacket, pulled on his leather helmet, and then slid his goggles up on his forehead. Then he dropped easily down into the cockpit, running his hands over everything, including the ominous-looking black Vickers machine guns, now oiled and polished to a fare-thee-well.
    â€œIf I may add my own small gift,” Hobbes said, mounting the steps. He then presented Angus McIver with the Royal Flying Corps’ traditional long white scarf.
    â€œWhy, thank you very much indeed, Hobbes! A most essential part of the wardrobe!” McIver said, beaming as he wound the silk scarf around his neck.
    It was essential, too, Nick thought, remembering all the research he and Gunner had done on the Camel. That big rotary engine went through a lot of oil, most of it hitting the pilot. The long white scarves were used to wipe oil from the goggles. And in freezing weather, when a combat pilot was constantly craning his head around looking for enemy aircraft, it saved his neck from chafing on the leather jacket.
    â€œReady, Captain McIver?” Gunner said, stepping to the front of the aircraft.
    â€œMore than ready, Gunner!” Angus McIver shouted, reaching over to switch on the magnetos. He leaned out of the cockpit and gave Gunner a thumbs-up. “Give her a yank and let’s have a go!”
    Gunner, who was stronger than any other six men Nickknew, reached up for the prop with his huge hands and gave her such a powerful spin that the propeller actually did a complete rotation. The Bentley caught instantly, roared out her war cry, flame and smoke spouting from her exhaust manifolds.
    Angus gave everyone a brief wave, lowered his goggles, then powered up and slowly taxied out onto the long meadow. At the far end stood Castle Hawke. And beyond that, the sparkling blue sea. He let her idle for a minute or so, warming up her oil and refamiliarizing himself with his controls, checking his rudder, ailerons, and elevators.
    Lord Hawke, a very distinguished man in his late thirties, tall and handsome as a West End stage star with his sharply chisled features, walked over to Nick and placed a hand on his shoulder. The band was playing again, an old Flying Corps wartime favorite called “The Dambusters,” which lent a festive air to the impending takeoff.
    â€œIt’s nothing short of a miracle, what you’ve done, Nicholas. You and Gunner. I believe this to be the happiest day of your father’s life,” Hawke said.
    â€œAnd mine, sir. It’s my gift to him. But I’m going to learn how to fly that machine.”
    â€œAre you indeed?”
    â€œI intend to ask my father to teach me.”
    â€œSplendid idea!” Hawke said, watching the Sopwith Camel begin to roll forward. “Flying’s a skill more boys should learn.”
    Nick looked up into Hawke’s eyes and said, “Indeed, your lordship, especially with a war coming.”
    â€œEngland is going to need lots of young aviators in the coming months, that’s for sure.”
    â€œThey’re coming here, and soon, aren’t they, sir? The Germans, I mean. Coming to the Channel Islands?”
    Hawke, along with Commander Hobbes and Nick’s ownfather, commanded a group of spies called the Birdwatchers. The spy network had expanded in recent months and now included many members on each of the Channel Islands. Each week they provided much-needed information on German naval and aviation activity to Churchill as he tried desperately to warn his countrymen of Hitler’s intentions.
    And now that the Germans were in France, only six miles away, military activity had increased dramatically.
    â€œI’m afraid so, Nick. This Hitler may be mad, but he’s no fool. He knows you can’t launch an invasion against the English mainland without a toehold here in these islands. Napoleon learned that lesson the hard way.”
    â€œWe’ll be ready for them, won’t we, sir? When the Nazis