Moral Fibre

Just after 10:30 pm, Moran excused himself to go to bed.

The Reddings’ wished him a good night and followed his progress with their ears until they heard the bedroom door click closed. Amanda leaned back in her chair and propped her feet on a footrest, asking Edwin to pour her a glass of port before announcing, “I quite like him. Don’t you?”

Edwin smiled faintly as he brought her her drink. “I like him very much, unfortunately.”

“Why ‘unfortunately’?” Amanda asked, startled.

“Because he’s going back to operational flying in a few months.”

Amanda started. She hadn’t given a thought to that all evening. Despite knowing him for so short a time, she did not like to think he might be killed as Don had been, before he really lived. She protested lamely, “Well, we are winning the war. Germany may well have surrendered by the end of the year.”

“We can pray for that, but I doubt Germany is going to collapse that quickly. The Germans may withdraw steadily from occupied territory, but they will dig in and defend their fatherland like the devil. If you want my opinion, as a former infantry officer, this war is going to last at least another year. What that means, my dear, is that Flying Officer Moran is almost certain to face operations again. He told me flat out that he’d volunteered for aircrew because he wanted a second chance.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Yes. But a second chance for what?”

“Presumably to prove he’s not a coward.”

“Surely a man with a Distinguished Flying Medal doesn’t need to prove that?”

“But he refused to fly—”

“I know. I know. But — well — never mind. Maybe I’m just imagining things.” Edwin waved at the air as if to chase away an unwanted thought.

“Edwin.” Amanda addressed him ominously as she brought her feet off the footrest and planted them firmly on the floor again. She fixed her gaze on her husband and insisted in a deadly serious tone. “Finish what you were about to say.”

Her husband removed his glasses and closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was just a thought,” he muttered.

“No, it wasn’t.” Amanda countered. They had been married more than twenty years, and she knew exactly what this was. “It was one of your intuitions, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know. It was just that when he said he wanted a second chance, I thought —”

“Yes?”

“I had this horrible feeling that he believes he should have been killed instead of Don, and that he’s giving himself a second chance to die.”