“I’m very sorry for your loss, Margaret. Your father was a true hero. It’s a loss for the whole community.”
Dash hesitated, unsure of what he was talking about. Her father had rarely joined in community activities. She credited the comment to the fact that her teacher had always been a little absentminded—was that how it was with mathematicians? She knew he meant well, so she thanked him. He went on to tell her how impressed he was by her working at CanCar, and he applauded her for joining the Air Transport Auxiliary.
“I knew you’d make a mark,” he said. “You and your sister were always on top of things, though I think you’ll agree that your sister enjoyed my class much more than you did.”
“Oh no, Mr. Martin. Your classes were very interesting.”
He chuckled. “Come now. It’s nice of you to cheer up an old man, but the truth is that not everyone enjoys math. Very few people connected to it like your sister did.” He peered around. “Where is she, by the way? I would like to say hello.”
“Dot isn’t here,” she said and left it at that. “Thank you for coming. I must go check on my mother now.”
“Take care of yourself.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Give ’em hell over there!”
“I will do what I can, sir.”
Her mother was speaking with a few women in the marble vestibule of the church. One was Dash’s Sunday School teacher, Mrs. Olson.
“Margaret! Oh my dear,” she said. “We are so sorry about your father. The community won’t be the same without him.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Olson,” she said. “It’s nice to see you here.”
“Oh, we never would have missed it. Your father was far too important to all of us for that.”
Dash glanced at her mother, a question on her face. “Later, Margaret,” she said quietly, then she turned to another guest.
One after another, people came to offer their condolences, and Dash grew more and more perplexed. Who was this man they kept talking about?
Eventually, she felt Aunt Lou slip her hand through her elbow. “You’re confused, aren’t you?”
“I’m wondering if they are mixing Dad up with someone else,” Dash admitted.
“Come with me, away from the chatter, and I’ll tell you something you never knew.”
Aunt Lou pushed open the door of the church, and sunshine streamed in, blinding them briefly. When she could, Dash blinked wistfully at the sky.
“Do you remember what your father said he did during the war?”
“Sure,” she said, still looking up. “He transmitted the locations of German munitions buildings from planes.”
“He did. Also the locations of troops, enemy ships, whatever he saw. Your father saved a lot of lives with his work.” She patted Dash’s hand. “Mr. Olson, Mr. Martin’s brother, and Mr. Jeffreys from the bakery are three of them.”
Dash looked back at the church. “What do you mean?”
“The story goes that your father was flying one day—well, you know what I mean. He was observing and sending messages while someone else flew the plane. Anyway, he got the requested information, then he moved to sit with the pilot up front. Just before the pilot turned back to base, your father spied something on the horizon. On the ocean. Neither could tell what it was, so he asked the pilot to fly a little closer. The pilot was concerned about not having enough fuel to get back, but your father convinced him. When they got closer, he identified a German battle cruiser surrounded by other, smaller ships, all of them sailing toward where he knew the Canadian forces to be.
“He took all the technical measurements and whatever else he needed as quickly as he could and began relaying them right away, but the ship spotted them and fired on his surveillance plane. The pilot tried to avoid the guns, but there was a lot coming at them, so he turned back. Your father kept typing in the coordinates the whole time, knowing that what he was sending was far more vital than what he’d been tasked to report on. You see, Dash, without his observations, all those men in the Germans’ path could have died.”
Dash stared at her in disbelief. “Dad saw combat?”
“He never wanted to talk about it. He knew how it upset your mother.”
“Why? That’s so heroic!”
“Because that isn’t all there was to the story. As they flew away from the ship, something hit a wing, and the plane spun out of control. Your father kept transmitting the whole time.”
Dash stared openly at her. Why on earth hadn’t he told them?
“Oh, it was terrible,” her aunt continued. “The plane crashed into a forest and burst into flames. The pilot was badly injured, and your father—even though he’d broken his arm—was able to pull him out in time. The radio had been damaged on impact, but since your father had sent the coordinates in advance, the military was able to send a rescue to find them. Still, with everything going on, it took two days for the team to get there. Somehow, your father navigated his way out of there and carried the pilot to an area where they could be rescued, all the while watching for the enemy. He kept that pilot alive.”
