Deborah's apartment was a surprise. It was a sparsely decorated, renovated loft, split-level, with industrial windows overlooking the lake to the south. A few chimney stacks broke the skyline but otherwise the view was unobstructed.

"Whoa! This is spectacular. How'd you find it?"

"My uncle's company did the renovations here. He wangled a deal for me."

"Must be some deal. This must cost a- I'm sorry. That's none of my business."

"That's okay. It is expensive, that's why you don't see much furniture. "She laughed, as she tinkered in the kitchen.

He looked around and agreed. Just the essentials. A small sofa. A couple of utility tables. A TV, and in the split upper level, he could see the side of a bed and one dresser. A couple of pictures wouldn't hurt, he thought.

"Lot of space for one, you should get yourself a roomie and share the cost."

"Thanks anyway, I like my space." She brought in a tray with cream, sugar, and mugs, setting it on one of the small tables near the sofa.

"I didn't mean me when I said that." He was looking pained.

"No? Oh, well. Are we ordering some food?" Her grin was mischievous. "Actually, I've got a frozen pizza that'll only take about twenty minutes - if that's okay."

"Sure. Fine. Sounds good." He sat on the sofa, smiling to himself, and watched her go back to the kitchen for the coffee.

"Here we are," She smiled and the glow he'd seen earlier, returned.

He sat up as she returned, his eyes locking on her face. "Deborah . . . do you know you- you glow when you smile?"

"Are you practising pickup lines?" She poured the coffees and sat beside him.

"No. No, I'm serious."

"Well, thank you, that's a nice compliment." She fixed her drink and settled back with a sigh. "Pizza will be ready soon."

He almost blurted out his story, but remembered Murray's reaction, and held back. He needed some kind of solid proof before making a fool of himself again.

******

Dinner at Deborah's became an office catchphrase, and it was used at every opportunity by his male co-workers when they found out about the after bowling tête-à-tête. Eric acknowledged each wink and nudge with an obligatory, afflicted smile.

He hoped to hell she wasn't undergoing the same ragging from her female friends. He pictured the smile and the glow again, and felt a nagging annoyance about the whole coffee shop business. He needed answers - and fast.

Eric parked his car and looked at the notice on the door about operating hours. It should have been open when he brought Deborah. Six in the morning until midnight, Sunday to Saturday, it read. He marched inside, giving the other customers a cursory glance, but focusing on the woman behind the counter.

"Mr. Holder, hello. Double-double?"

"First of all, I want to know why you were closed last Thursday night."

"We weren't. We're open eighteen hours a day, seven days a week."

"You were not open last Thursday night. I came here and the shop was closed."

"You must be mistaken, Mr. Holder. I was working here last Thursday."

"No- no-no-no." He became animated. "And what about these people?" He turned, waving his arm to find several people he'd never seen before watching his odd behaviour.

"Listen, why don't you take a seat and I'll bring you a coffee. We can take a breath and see just where the confusion originated."

The glowing smile made him pause, and he shook his head, puzzling over the different customers. Stunned, he moved away and fumbled himself onto a chair at his regular table. A moment later a coffee appeared, and the woman sat cross from him.

"Now, take a sip and we'll begin." She smiled. He sipped.

******

The airfield was bedlam. Trucks converted to fire vehicles were parked at crazy angles while men struggled to direct water hoses at the burning plane. Eric jumped from his cockpit and raced across to the scene. A couple of ground crew gallantly tried to douse the burning engine with hand extinguishers, while up on the fuselage, Eric saw Sawyer desperately trying to pull his friend from the burning cockpit.

Water soaked the two men as the fire ate its way across the wings and toward the tail. Sawyer gave a might yell and, pulling his friend from the cockpit, they both fell heavily to the ground. Immediately several crew were carrying them away to the medical hut.

Eric dashed after them, dodging the flurry of different vehicles arriving and stopping anywhere, adding to the congestion. As he neared the hut, an ambulance rocked to a halt in front of him and two people jumped out carrying medical bags. He stopped dead and stared at the woman in the blue dress with the white veil.

"Deborah?"

She turned, giving him a puzzled look and continued into the hut. Sirens wailed and men shouted as another plane hit the runway, skidding and turning sideways then up onto its nose as it scraped to a halt, and exploded.

"Lieutenant!" A young airman ran up and grabbed his arm. "We need help moving those planes.

The latest crash had ignited fuel on the runway, and the fire was spreading toward a group of parked aircraft. Eric saw his Sopwith was one, and he followed the young airman across the runway to join a small team of ground crew. They lifted the rudders and swung the planes around then, on either wing, they pushed them, one at a time, well away from the fires.

"Thank you, sir," The young man said, wiping sooty sweat from his face. "We lost two, don't want to lose any more. Glad you made it back, sir."

Eric just nodded and patted the young man's shoulder. He really had no idea what happened. All he recalled was taking off, then jumping out of the cockpit a few minutes earlier - nothing in between. He headed back to the medical hut, curious to see if he could find the nurse that he saw.

As he drew near, the door opened and two men carrying a stretcher exited and jogged toward the ambulance. The nurse ran beside the stretcher, holding the patient's hand. They loaded him into the ambulance then talked for a moment. Eric watched the vehicle pull away and he saw the nurse watching it go.

"Deborah."

She turned, frowning. "My name is not Deborah, Lieutenant. It's Nurse Shelia Burrows, RCAF."

"I'm sorry- you- you're the spitting--"

"Lieutenant." The young airman from earlier jigged up. "Sorry to interrupt, ma'am. You need to get to the post mission debriefing, sir. Flight doesn't tolerate ignoring the rules."

Eric turned to see the nurse striding back to the medical hut.

"Pretty snazzy Bluebird, eh?"

"Bluebird?"

"That's what they call the Canadian Nursing Sisters, 'cause of those blue dresses. The Tommies all say they're a great bunch." The young man walked with Eric to the debriefing. "They're almost all volunteers. Just kids, some of them. A lot of them never even seen a man in underwear before, let alone stripped and all messed up from wounds."

Eric nodded absently. "A lot of us are seeing stuff we never imagined."

"Too true. Like it's in your dreams."

The statement caused Eric to stumble, and he gave the young man a curious look.

The Flight Officer's hall was packed and the noise was a mix of anger and adrenaline pumping pride. At the head of the hall, on a small stage, the Flight Commander brandished a piece of chalk which he used to mark kills on the large blackboard mounted behind him.

"Best bloody pilots in the RAF. The 70 squadron!" He yelled as the room exploded in cheers. "They thought they had us, men, but they didn't count on being out piloted!" Another cheer broke out. "Seven Jerries and one decoy blimp!"

This time, Eric had to block his ears from the roar. Suddenly the room went silent and the men bowed their heads as the Commander gave praise, acknowledging the two pilots the squadron had lost. "Lieutenant Wilbur Carter, and Lieutenant Eugene Michaels, may the horizon be their goal and the sky their home."

A mix of amens, and various mutterings of personal condolence and recognition, rumbled through the room. After a moment the Commander spoke again.

"One more item to report before you all go getting shit-faced in the mess. Lieutenant Eric Holder will be receiving a special commendation for his timely and selfless attack on the decoy blimp. Jerry expected their ambush to catch us flat-footed, by installing machine guns in the airship, but it seems Lieutenant Holder smelled that particular rat and spoiled their surprise."

Eric was nonplussed, and unable to avoid the throng of back slappers and well-wishers. They hoisted him up and trotted from the hall to the mess, while he protested futilely.