This is War✔

Twenty

As the cold of winter slowly crept away from the Scottish coast that year, the pilots stationed at Milton Hall prepared for their first mission of the year. The morning of the op finally arrived and with it, a profound sense of dread.

All of the pilots excepting Andrew had felt the loss of Cranston. Even If they hadn't known him all that well, death had suddenly become a real and painful possibility for his remaining comrades. Tom and his charges stepped out into the mild spring morning. Their commander felt terribly responsible for all of their fates.

He also really didn't want to write another letter of condolence. He felt selfish for this sentiment, but nevertheless, it remained. The Spitfires were ready to go. The pilots donned their gloves and got into their planes.

Tom got fairly respectful responses through the radio this time around: He got an exasperated, "Hurry up," from Toulouse and a simple, "Right," from Sir McDonald. It wasn't brilliant, but at least it was an improvement.

Tom gave a final, "Good luck, boys." And then they were off. They flew in silence to their destination, each man's mind a barrage of thoughts. When they finally arrived, they made quick, precise movements that reflected their anxiety and fear.

They bombed the target and began to fly home. There was no waiting around, no time for victory laps. After all, last time they had done that Cranston had gotten killed. Who would be willing to put their lives in danger for something so trivial?

The answer to that question arrived in the horror Tom felt as he realized that his son was not with the group. He sent the others on home and turned his plane around. His mind played the same phrase over and over again. Don't be dead, please, don't be dead.

Before he got back to where they had just been, Andrew's Spitfire came speeding by his father's.

Tom radioed his son. "Andrew?! Are you ok?!"

"Yeah, Dad. I was just taking a victory lap. What's wrong?"

The flippant attitude that Andrew seemed to be taking about the situation infuriated Tom. "What do you mean, 'just'?! You could have died!"

"Dad, I'm fine." They rode in silence the rest of the way. Tom and Andrew were usually on very good terms, so naturally, they were both upset to be at odds with the other. When they arrived at Milton, the pair jumped out of their planes, their eyes landing on the waiting crowd of pilots.

"He's alright. You can go." The group dispersed in the direction of the house and Tom began to follow them, but Andrew stopped him.

"Dad, Wait! I-I'm--"

"Forget it, Andrew. We've all just been anxious and afraid since Cranston died. I'm glad you're not." He gave his son an affectionate pat on the back.

"But Dad, I am." Tom was shocked to see his son crying.

"What? What's wrong?"

Andrew took a shaky breath. "Cora's pregnant, Dad. Cora's pregnant and I'm afraid."

Tom's heart did a backflip inside his chest. He and Ellie, grandparents? Andrew and Cora, parents? One thing was for sure, the new addition to the Brooks family would be spoiled rotten.

"Dad, I-" Andrew wiped his face, "I accused Cora of carrying another man's child...in public." Guilt was outlined in every feature of his face.

"What? Why?"

"I was confused or at least I pretended to be. I made a horrible mistake. I was afraid of my own child. I-I think I desperately wanted the baby to be someone else's. I don't feel prepared to be a father, I just feel like a useless bastard and I don't know where to go or what to do." He drew in a deep breath.

"Andrew, what you did was awful, but it can be forgiven. But leaving your wife and child could never be forgiven. You would ruin their lives, not to mention your own and possibly hurt more people than you originally intended to."

"I'll let you in on a little secret: I didn't feel prepared when I found out your mother was carrying you. In fact, I still don't. Parenting is a lifelong process. Because even after your child becomes an adult, they come and ask you to help them, and you do."

"Andrew, I don't know how it will turn out, but I know that you have the ability to become a wonderful father."

Andrew nodded, grateful. "Thank you, Dad."

"You're welcome. I can't believe that you're going to be a father!" Tom smiled broadly at his son.

"My own child. I still can't believe it." He gave a small chuckle and began to walk up the hill toward Milton.

Tom stood on the airstrip for a moment more and gave a small frown. He was happy, but he was worried. It seemed that now it was his responsibility now more than ever to make sure Andrew got home in one piece. You see, Tom still hadn't opened the list of names assigned to the April Mission, and he felt a deep sense of foreboding.

He was sure that Andrew's name was on that list. The list that told who might die on March 31st. The list that had kept Tom up at night for the last few weeks.