After the military parade in June, Andrew became visibly busy. Edgar wrote two letters in succession, urging me to accept a post in the RAF Research Office. He seemed a little agitated in the second letter, and I wrote back to tell him I was fine at my job and not to worry.
When I sorted out the encrypted telegrams sent every day, I found a telegram that could not be deciphered by a decryption machine. It was so similar to the "mystery" that it was almost indistinguishable, so it was immediately sent to Office No. 1 after it was intercepted, and handed over to me along with other secret messages. I guessed it was a new password and I used it very infrequently, so I recorded it and put it aside.
After "Project Sea Lion", we deciphered "Operation Eagle Day".
If the "Sea Lion Project" was Hitler's plan to land on the British mainland before October, then "Operation Eagle Day" was its prelude—a large-scale air strike.
According to the information I have, the air raid was originally scheduled for August 5th, and then postponed to August 10th. Throughout July German planes circled the English Channel, sinking our destroyers and transports. They also attacked our radar stations on a large scale, causing the radio intelligence system to be disabled for a period of time.
Andrew was a little anxious.
"They are probing. The current intelligence is all about the assessment of our combat effectiveness." He said wearily.
I checked the flight schedule, Edgar's squadron was transferred to the English Channel to deal with the German "Eagle Day" operation.
On August 10, the sky over the Strait was cloudy. Germany dispatched only a small number of bombers and fighters.
I breathed a sigh of relief and prayed that Edgar was safe.
On August 14th, the weather turned fine and the Nazis were out in force. "Eagle Day" has officially begun. Two thousand German planes crossed the Channel and appeared on British soil. We blocked less than half as many planes as the Nazis. Docks and airfields were bombed, and German planes even appeared on the outskirts of London and were shot down by the Royal Air Force.
The Battle of Britain begins.
I dreamed that the downed plane fell like a meteor. The tail fins were blazing, and it plunged into the black sea water.
I dreamed of bloated corpses floating on the sea. Everyone looks like Edgar, everyone has blurred faces.
I sat up from the bed in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, sweat dripping down my back.
Anderson reassured me that the RAF was doing well. With little force they kept the Nazi fleet out of Britain. News of the Air Force's victory was reported one after another in newspapers and on the radio. He told me that the RAF is on shift leave and my friend wouldn't be at the front all the time.
Andermond was right. On August 20, Edgar returned from his rotation.
He sent me a telegram, and I asked Andrmond for leave of absence to meet him at the railway station.
Not seen for two years, I almost didn't recognize it. Still the same chestnut-colored curly hair, the same nose bridge as the Greeks, but the lines of the face have become stiffer, and the skin tone has become darker. Wearing an RAF navy blue uniform and carrying a black suitcase, he waved to me across the crowd: "Alan."
Edgar had booked a room at the Royal Enfield Hotel in London in advance, I helped him send his luggage there, and then had dinner at a cafe near the hotel. Edgar looked surprised when I handed the roll to the waiter.
"Material control during wartime, you have to rely on purchase coupons issued by the government to buy things, don't you know?" I asked.
"The army's supply is much better." He was stunned: "I didn't know it was so serious outside."
"The butter is only fivepence thick, the coffee is crystal clear - and it's terribly expensive." I suggested: "Would you try the bread?"
Edgar cut a piece and frowned: "What is this?"
"Patriotic bread," I said. "Fortified with vitamins and calcium, it's dry and hard. No one wants to eat it. We call it 'Hitler's secret weapon.'"
He took a bite and laughed.
Edgar was one of the first batch of pilots of the Eagle Day Project. He was notified of his rotation right after he got off the battlefield, and he took the train directly from Uxbridge to London. He said that he wanted to go back to Cambridge to see the places where he painted, the academic lecture hall and the library.
"War will change a person." He sighed and put down the dry bread: "Alan, you will accompany me back, will you?"
"I have to work." I'm sorry: "It's a bit busy. But I can walk around London with you."
Edgar seemed a little disappointed. He didn't object, nodded mildly, and started talking about their air force base. He laughed at the bulkiness of the German fighter fleet, and said that our own pilots were accurate in every swear word. He also said that there is a small bar called "Lucy" outside the air force base, and everyone likes to go there to drink beer and pick up girls when they are resting.
It was dusk when we came out of the cafe. I stood on the side of the street waiting for the tram, and Edgar asked me where I lived. I couldn't tell him about the specialist dormitory at Plimpton Manor, I just made up a place.
"Back then you still chased after the school professor...what's his name? Andymond Wesen?" He asked casually, putting his hands in his trouser pockets, as if he thought it was funny: "At that time, I was hesitating whether to chase you or not. Have you found a girlfriend and stabilized now?"
For a moment I felt a little sorry: "I'm with Andrew."
Edgar's face was a little pale, and he suddenly grabbed my arm: "You were serious at that time?"
"I've always been serious." I asked him, "Have you found a girl you like?"
Edgar looked at me and shook his head mockingly: "Alan, how many portraits of you did I draw... I told myself not to fall into it, homosexuality is against the law. I don't care, but you have to care... But now, you and a Men together. Tell me, why did God arrange this?"
"You know I'm after Andymond."
"I thought you were just playing around."
We were silent with each other for a long time, until the sunset covered the street, the tram bells jingled, and the crowd waiting for the train became commotion.
Edgar let go of my hand, turned his head and kissed my cheek in a conciliatory way, and said, "I really want to go back to Cambridge with you again. I hate war, and I want to go to the Cam River to write my life again."
I heard myself say, "I'm sorry."
Edgar didn't contact me again the next day. I called him and asked how long the vacation was.
"Five days. I'll be back on the battlefield in four days."
I asked him if he would like to go back to Cambridge, and he seemed a little surprised: "Can you ask for leave, Alan?"
I said I can only try.
Edgar was silent for a moment on the other end of the phone, and his voice became hoarse: "Alan, you should really accept the position of the Air Force Academy. Really..."
I asked him why, but there was a disconnected beep on the phone.
I asked Anderson for two days off, saying that my friend came back from the air force base for a round of rest, and I would accompany him back to Cambridge for a visit. Andrew asked me, "What does your friend study?"
"Edgar, you may remember. He studied oil painting."
Andemon smiled softly: "Then I'll drive you off."
I kissed him: "No baby, just be gentle on the bed."