The wavering siren's wail startled him. Eric sat up to see men hauling on flight jackets and dashing out the hut door. He hadn't realized he'd slept at all, and it took a moment to react.

"Move it, Holder!" An airman yelled, as he thundered past Eric's bunk.

He pulled on his jacket and ran out the door after the last man. Outside he saw the pilots all running across the tarmac to their planes, where ground crew were ready to help them in and get them away.

Eric saw the Sopwith waiting as promised. A crew member was waving him on and helped him into the tiny cockpit.

"What's happening?" Eric yelled.

"The Bogies you found the other day are strafing our boys in the trenches. They've also got an observation blimp parked up there to direct them." The man ran around dragging the chalks away and then grabbing the propeller, and giving a mighty yank.

The plane started forward and was soon on the runway, gaining speed. Eric pulled down his goggles and watched the landfall away as the plane lifted.

I found? What the hell am I doing? His thoughts were swept away in the blast of rushing air. He saw the squadron forming up ahead of him and he decided to hang back so as not to get in the way. As he followed the other planes he recalled comments made to him about a special reconnaissance mission. Was that what this was? Something about bogies that I found?

The shooting snapped him to attention and he watched as the squadron broke apart in various climbs, turns, and dives, engaging enemy fighters. Eric froze, staring with stark terror at the surrounding action. His mouth dried completely when he saw a string of holes appear on the wing above him. He turned to see a German Fokker manoeuvring around behind him, guns firing. Instinct made Eric immediately pull the Camel into a right turn, and he fought the pull of the engine as he kept it circling around.

The Fokker sped past, unable to duplicate the turn as quickly, and Eric surprised himself by pulling up in time to fire his own guns, and seeing the tail of the German's plane shred and burst into flame. He watched the plane spiral down trailing a dirty thread of smoke. More shooting drew his attention to the fact that he had come under the observation blimp, and he saw that there was a machine gun firing at his comrades from the basket hanging underneath.

Eric pulled the Camel around in another turn that brought him up broadside to the blimp, and he flew directly toward it, twin Vickers blazing. The huge balloon began to crumple, and he pulled another hard right turn to avoid the burning mass as it folded down out of the sky.

******

"May I help you?"

Eric shook his head and looked about the shop. The same people, doing the same nothing. He looked at his watch, the day and date were the same as when he left work. The time however, was again, four hours later.

"I had a coffee already. I gave you a coupon, remember?"

"Coupon? We don't have coupons, Mr. Holder."

"You gave me one the last time I was here. Right over there at that table. I used it today."

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Holder, if there has been some confusion. Please, have this one on the house, along with my apology."

Her smile and the glow made him blink, and he automatically picked up the coffee and went to the same table as before. This time he didn't drink right away. He stared at the other customers, trying to determine if they were even breathing. His phone buzzed and he took it out, answering.

"Eric?"

"Yeah, hi, Murray. What's up?"

"I'm at your place, where the heck are you? This is our bowling competition night."

"Oh, crap . . . I forgot all about it."

"Forgot! How could you forget? You are teamed with the company hottie! Jesus, man . . ."

Eric closed his eyes and moaned softly. Deborah Metcalf. How could he have forgotten? "I got tied up with something. I'll be there in fifteen."

"You better, our department rep is on the line."

He ended the call and took his mug to the counter. "Sorry, something's come up. Can you fix this to go?"

"Certainly, Mr. Holder." The glow and the smile appeared as she handed him a coffee to go."

"Oh, I owe you for this."

"You paid when you got the cup." More smile and glow.

"No- I didn't--"

"You'd better hurry, Mr. Holder. Your friends are waiting."

He stared at the girl. How did she know that. His phone buzzed again - a text. *Where the hell are you, man?* Eric ran to his car and raced for home.

******

"You went to that coffee shop? What is it with you and that place?" They had taken Murray's car from Eric's place, and Murray was dunning him for forgetting and making them late.

Eric was puzzling over his take-out. "This just a regular coffee."

"What, no Baileys' Irish Cream?" Murray scoffed.

"I had an IYD."

"A what?"

"It's their special drink - In Your Dreams."

"More like, in your dreams, Holder. You and that coffee shop again?" Murray guided the car into a parking slot and killed the engine. "Out. Let's go, Mr. Coffee."

A derisive cheer went up as they entered the bowling alley. Gil Price, the department manager hustled them along to get shoes and sign in to the competition.

" This kind of tardiness can't be tolerated." Gil's face was pink with worry. "Murray, you're with Darlene this time. Gladys had to take a personal leave."

"Darlene! She can barely lift the ball let alone--"

"It's Darlene, Murray. End of debate. And you, Holder, you better keep your mind on your game and not Deborah's gams. Accounting have a couple of new employees that they signed up at the last minute. Word is, they may be ringers. We need your focus, Holder, we're all depending on you."

Eric nodded, still puzzling over the coffee.

"Did you hear me?"

"Uff- yes. Yes, I heard. Christ, I'm already responsible for the ad project, now I'm supposed to be the bowling team saviour too?"

"In a word, Holder."

"Hi, Eric." Deborah sat on the curved bench at the front of the alley, her gams, as Gil had christened them, were knees together under folded fingers. "I thought you were standing me up."

"Oh, no." Just the oppos- "I, ah - I had to make a stop." His ears burned, and he caught the slightest of smirks on her incredible lips.

"Well, you're here and that's what counts. Gil has given everyone this sheet of instructions. It's his - Rules of Competitive Behaviour. So, you can't moon anyone if you toss a perfect game." Her smile made her glow, and he gaped, mouth open. It was the smile from the coffee shop.

"I was joking, Eric." She handed him the sheet, and went over to the rack and picked up a ball.

He bumped down on the bench and rubbed his eyes. This was his real life. he had to get a grip and forget the damn coffee shop. He checked the automated scoring system, entering the number of bowlers, then nodded to Deborah to go ahead.

As the games went on, they could hear the cheers and groans from the other lanes, laughing and sharing their own performance, while Gil darted up and down, cheerleading.

"I was told you threw a mean ball," Deborah said, indicating the score. She set her ball in the spinner and began cleaning it.

"I've had one perfect game in my life. Middle 200s is the best I can manage."

"Gee, poor baby. How can you look at yourself?"

"I can't. That's why I like looking at other people." He saw the statement hit its mark, as Deborah took her ball and expertly slid to the foul line, letting it go for a resounding strike.

"Okay! Great shot. This is the last frame."

His words were echoed by a serious Gil, who was now marching up and down behind the bowlers, arms waving, fist pumping the sky.

"Alright people, accounting have finished, and posted their total for their five teams. It reads 1712 points. We can do better! Last frame, now bowl!"

"The guy has more enthusiasm than the rest of us together." Murray called over from the next alley.

"He has to deal with accounting, we don't." Eric stepped up to the alley. He turned and looked at Deborah. "Wish me luck."

******

Gil stood at the head of the table brandishing the office trophy as if he had single-handedly conquered the sport world-wide.

"1823 points! We shoved it right up their noses, people! Last year has been avenged! And it was old Holder that brought the bacon home!"

Cheers and laughs went around the group. Glasses clinked, and more beer was poured from the pitchers on the table.

"Great to be vindicated, eh?" Murray slapped Eric's back. "Those last frames were brilliant."

"Aah, yes. My sleepless nights are over. No more nightmares about gutter balls."

"Right! Just gutter thoughts, eh?" The nudge was accompanied by an eye flick toward Deborah.

Eric's agreeing smile was more of a wince, and he leaned over to Deborah, whispering. "Would you like to get out of here and go some place quiet?"

"A reprieve from all the jock talk would be welcome."

He looked at her to see if somehow she was joking, deciding she was not, and suggested she slip away to the ladies', and he would meet her outside.

"What did you tell them," she asked when he joined her on the sidewalk.

"That I had to get home and give thanks to my bowling God, and burn a 10 pin as an offering."

"I'm sure they understood." She surprised him by taking his arm as they walked. "So, what quiet place did you have in mind?"

"You feel like a coffee."

"Oh . . . I guess. Sure. So you do have some place in mind?"

"I do."

******

Eric pulled up in front of the coffee shop and banged a hand on the steering wheel.

"Damn, it's closed! I don't believe it."

"In your dreams. Is the coffee that good? That's quite a name."

"You have no idea. Blast. I didn't know they closed this early."

"C'mon back to my place. I'll make us a coffee and we can order something in to eat. Better than driving all over the city."

SO much better, he thought; the coffee shop a distant memory.