Hugh Fosburgh - View From The Air

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This edition is published by PICKLE PARTNERS PUBLISHINGwww.picklepartnerspublishing.com

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Text originally published in 1953 under the same title.

Pickle Partners Publishing 2015, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Publishers Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Authors original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern readers benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

VIEW FROM THE AIR

BY

HUGH FOSBURGH

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER

DEDICATION

To PIETER JAMES

and JAMES

and UNCLE PIETER.

CHAPTER ONE

ALL DAY, since hed waked up that morning, hed felt lightheaded, in a daze. There was nothing real in the things he was doing.

Hed snap out of it in a minute and know hed been dreaming.

Now, it was three oclock, and he had just come back to the office from the swearing-in routine down on Whitehall Street, and he was cleaning out his desk. It was a simple processthe company stuff he left where it was, his personal letters and papers he tore into small pieces. As usual, he had acquired nothing in his two years here that he wanted to take with him.

He had thought that this was going to be a great day, a day of release, when everything would be clear and right. When even the final talk with Priscilla would seem like the right thing. And the clearest, Tightest, best part of it all was going to be when he walked into that plush office down the hall, and told Dave Short, with cool finesse, that David Short and World Magazine could go to hell. In that interview, he proposed to wipe out the bitterness and frustration of two years. It was going to be great.

But the day wasnt turning out like that. Everything wasnt clear and right. It was as if he hadnt thought things out very well after all, but now it was too late, he had lost control and was being carried along in a daze. He felt irresponsible and guilty and scared.

He called Priscilla on the phone and there was nothing in his voice to tell her how he felt. He said, Miss Landon, this is your steady, Mr. Gibson

She said, Pleasedtameetcha, and even saying that, there was that clear lilting quality in her voice that enchanted him.

He asked her to meet him at the Green Door at seven. She asked what was the matter with her apartment, at six, the way theyd planned. He lied to make it easierhe said he had to work late and the Green Door was nearer. For some reason, the Green Door was a better place than her apartment for the thing he was going to do.

Priscilla agreed, said, Dont be slothful about getting there and hung up. He felt guiltier than ever, and doubted that he had the guts to go through with it.

There was nothing left to do. He paced the cubicle, then on a sudden whim, walked down the hall to Meyers office He would say good-bye to Meyer and tell him what he was going to do, and they would have a farewell drink. Then, while they drank, Gibson would tell him that the only unfinished business was a short sweet interlude with Dave Short, and they would laugh about it and that way, maybe, some of Gibsons confidence would come back.

But Meyer was busy. He was talking to some sort of a British Army Officer, and when Gibson looked in, he waved in a preoccupied way. Gibson went back to his cubicle. He sat down, lit a cigarette, and immediately got up again. He said Hell and went straight to Shorts office.

Short was alone, which was unusual, because he didnt like to be alone. He liked to operate in the company of eager subordinates.

He was standing at the long table, thumbing through a set of London bomb-damage photographs. He glanced up quickly, annoyed, as Gibson came unannounced into the room

Are you busy, Dave?

Short made a gesture to indicate that he was very busy of course, and that Gibson would have to wait. He leafed through the pictures with one hand and scraggled his gray hair with the other.

It was an act knew it. Those pictures had been in the office a week, and Short had already made a layout Short was being Short, thats all.

Gibson put his hands in his pockets lounged against the wall, and felt his hatred coming to a boilthe built-up hatred that can only come from knowing the other person doesnt care whether he is hated or not, that he is in a superior position and able to ignore it.

Short had scrutinized the whole set of pictures, and now he was leaning over, studying the last one.

He spoke without looking up, casual. How about it? You want to go on that carrier shakedown cruise? He stacked the set of pictures and started to go through them again.

Im afraid I cant. That would rile himsaying just that and nothing more. Short liked his editors to give full accounts of everything. Full enough so that he could interrupt when he was satisfied.

Short started selecting certain pictures, making a pile of them Good story for you. Might get a text piece.

Im afraid I cant. Gibson gave a short laugh, which annoyed him. He felt like a mouse down a hole, squeaking defiance at the cat.

Short stuck on one picture, glared at it, and chewed his lower lip. Whats the matter? Get seasick? The way he asked, he didnt give a damn what was the matter.

Gibson tried to be casual. Not that I know of. As an afterthoughtIm in the army.

Short shot him a glance, then hurried through some more pictures. Then he stacked the pictures, with finality, as if hed suddenly realized the game was useless, that he wasnt winning. For the first time, he looked directly at Gibson. How come?

I enlisted. I report in three days.

Short did something with his head and shoulders that was halfway between a shrug and a gesture of surprise. Then he turned away and started to pace the room.

Gibson watched him making up his mind which attitude to take, whether he should be sympathetic with this example of patriotism, or sarcastic, or plain sore.

He hadnt made up his mind when he spoke again. Kind of sudden, isnt it?

Ive been working up to it for quite a while.

Whatd you join? Army?

The air force cadets. Gibson took a package of cigarettes from his pocket. The eager beaversso-called, he added, knowing it would irritate Short because Short made a fetish of being supercilious about the air force. To him, pilots were glamor boys and cadets were eager beavers.

Short made another turn of the room, and when he faced Gibson again, he was chewing his lower lip and playing pocket pool with both hands. Youre pretty old for that, arent you?

You mean Im old enough to know better?

They have an age limit or something, dont they?

In two months, Ill be too old. Thats why I hurried.

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