Trophy for Eagles (74 page)

*

Aboard the
Normandie,

New York Harbor/
May 5, 1937

Frank Bandfield was fit, rested, and hot as hell to see Patty. He had
spent five celibate months since their argument had turned into a sexual romp. He was ready. For the past four days, he'd done
nothing but eat and sleep, making up for all the lost meals in Spain. Caldwell had told him apologetically that he wouldn't be getting his
bounty money, the $1,000 for each airplane shot down, and had arranged instead for a first-class cabin. Bandfield had done little
more than go back and forth from his stateroom to the dining room
for the whole trip.

The crowd pressing the dock reminded him of the stands at the
National Air Races, a sea of upturned faces, waving arms. Most of the women were wearing wide white hats—he knew he could pick Patty out because she wouldn't be.

The ship was finally warped in and the gangways rolled into
place. He saw her, and he felt his excitement grow. She waved, her
arm coming up through a cluster of happy, excited faces.

He bumped his way through the pack of people on the gangway, forcing himself forward. Patty was forging ahead to him, and their
hands reached out to touch, their bodies buffered by a group of celebrants hugging and kissing each other.

The crowd parted, and they embraced, arms wrapping around each other, mouths firmly intersected. He hugged her, trying to drive his pelvis against hers, unable to do so because there was something in the way—her belly.

The crowd closed in around them as they both dropped their hands down.

"My God, you're pregnant?"

"Either that or I'm going to have to go on a hell of a diet."

"When is it due?"

"It had better be no later than August, or I'm in big trouble."

"Now
I understand why you didn't go with Earhart."

"There wouldn't have been room for the three of us."

Bundling the luggage through customs took forever, and in between the catching up and kissing he asked her, "What happens to our sex life now that we have a star boarder?"

"Well, you'll see soon enough. We're going to the St. Moritz. I've already checked in and gone to the room. I've got three towels
ready—one warm, one cool, one dry—and an extension cord with a
two-toe socket running to the bed."

He kissed her again.

***

Author's Note

In nonfiction, no matter how hard one tries to validate every fact,
errors are still made. The soul-saving grace is that in making errors the author provides pleasure to the ardent buffs who love to set you
straight. The author has more latitude in fiction, where you can
make necessary changes in people, places, or events to suit the
requirements of the plot.

I've taken some small liberties in this regard, changing the real Dole Derby to a fictional Pineapple Derby, and creating some special races, planes, and paint schemes for the Cleveland Air
Races. For the most part, however, I've tried very hard to convey the
true flavor of the times in both civil and military aviation, and would hope that the buffs might find pleasure in recognizing in fiction what they know so well in fact.

I would like to express my gratitude to Crown Publishers, Inc., for the tremendous support they have provided me in creating this book. My most profound thanks go to Senior Editor Mark Gom
pertz, whose inspirational help has been crucial. It is a privilege to
work with Mark, who is a wonderful editor, a great friend, and a
marvelous human being.