First Knights

Nancy Berman and Noah Dudley

Handing his invitation to the headwaiter stationed at the door, one of Hollywood's young gods stepped into a small, private dining room at the Ambassador Hotel. Tall, broad-shouldered, and well-dressed, Tom Hadley's sun-bronzed face and hands made him look though he had walked in straight from summer, in defiance of the afternoon rain outside. His appearance was so immaculate one would doubt that the rain had even touched him--which would be the truth, as he lived on the hotel's legendary grounds. Wherever he went, men remarked on him and women devised ways of meeting him. Anywhere on earth, he stood out.

Except in this room. Despite his admirers, Tom Hadley knew exactly where he ranked in wealth, accomplishment, and looks.

"And right now," he thought wryly, "I've got some catching up to do." Across the room he picked out a familiar face and headed toward it, snagging a drink from a passing waiter. "Phil! Good to see you. You have any idea what's going on?"

Phil Sutro, the son of a famous San Francisco family, shrugged. "Haven't a clue, Tom." He hesitated, then looked around as if verifying some inner notion. "Except that as far as I can see, every fellow in here owns an airplane."

"Hmm. Maybe somebody's starting a race?"

Phil munched on an hors d'oeuvre. "You think so? Maybe across the Atlantic or something? What do you think, Paris in the spring?"

All about them, other men were becoming increasingly restless. At first, being admitted one by one, they had found the mystery amusing and enjoyed tossing questions about amongst the many old friends they found there. But these men, children of privilege, were unused to being kept waiting. They didn't have much longer to wait.

"If the gentlemen would care to take their seats," the maitre' d prompted softly, "lunch is served. Your hostess will join you."

A woman walked into the room, and on cue, the waiters discreetly vanished and the maitre' d quietly closed the door behind him.

The room buzzed as Charlie Steele sat down at the head table. The race-to-Paris rumor took on new life, battling with other suggestions, less likely but more appealing to young men with money and no responsibilities. Charlie dispelled both rumors and fantasies without delay.

"Thank you for coming, gentlemen. I've asked you all here today to ask each of you for a favor," she said without preamble. "What I I'm going to ask you is difficult, dangerous, and almost certainly illegal. But if you agree, I can promise you an experience you'll never forget."

"I can give you that right now, gorgeous," Phil Sutro piped up. The minimal laughter around the room wasn't quite the reaction he had expected.

Tom Hadley elbowed his ribs. "Pipe down, Phil. I know Charlie. She's serious."

Charlie surveyed them all slowly. "You're right, Tom -- I am serious. This is about something that affects every one of us. Ever since Hollywood seceded from the United States, we've needed to defend our own borders and protect our own citizens. The trouble is, we have too many borders and too many citizens for the government to handle--at least right now. A good example of that is this gang that has been kidnapping women right off the street--the Sky Slavers."

"The Sky Slavers? What's that got to do with us?"

"It's got a lot to do with you. Every one of you here is a pilot, and a good one. I want us to form a civilian air squadron, to do what the Republic of Hollywood is too young to do for itself: to fight criminals like the Sky Slavers! "

For a long moment, the room was silent. Then it exploded in noise.

"Hey! Keep it down!" Charlie shouted over the noise. "I'd like to try and keep this meeting a secret. Now, let me tell you my plan." Speaking as swiftly and persuasively as she knew how, Charlie outlined her ideas. One of the men began shaking his head from the very start.

"I'm sorry, sister, but you're loony." He started to walk out, but Charlie intercepted him at the door.

"Come on Lee. Hollywood needs us. And besides, it'll be fun. Don't tell me that the guys in this room with the planes you have can't out-fly and out-fight a bunch of thugs in motorized shoeboxes!" Lee shook his head. "Sorry Charlie, but I'm a stunt-pilot, not a fighter pilot," and started to leave. Charlie stopped him. "Please. I can't make you stay, but I need you to promise that you'll keep this under your hat. At least until we can get started. I wouldn't have asked you here if I hadn't thought you could be trusted. I need your word that what you heard today doesn't leave this room." Before he could answer, she turned to the rest of the men. "And that goes for all of you. I didn't invite you on a whim. Hollywood needs men it can trust. If you want to go, then go--but give the rest of us a chance."

Charlie Steele had played men for years. Some stayed, some left, but every one gave his word to do as she asked. Having secured what protection she could, Charlie returned to the explanation of her mission. She told the men how they were to be trained and presented as best she knew the hazards they would face. When she was done, she concluded:

"And one more thing: I'm going to be up there with you. If anybody else wants out because he doesn't want to fly with a woman, you know where the door is. But if you stay, we're all in this together." In the end, fewer than a dozen stayed. And despite Charlie's best efforts to the contrary, neither she nor they could ever have imagined the triumphs and the tragedies that their decision would bring.

Over the next few weeks, Charlie fought hard to change the other pilots' feelings about her. Friendship was easy--she had more of that than she wanted. But respect was harder; it had to be earned, and that was clearly going to take some time. The rest of the pilots were all very gentlemanly, even deferential, but they clearly didn't regard her as an equal. This stung a little, but it also angered her enough to make her redouble her efforts to be the best pilot in Hollywood history.

Every morning Charlie reported to Norm for lessons, just as before, but now they flew out of a new, private field in Santa Monica where she met the rest of the squadron and practiced stunt and formation flying. Norm had found the abandoned field and quietly purchased it with Charlie's money. A crew had scraped the runway and built housing, thinking it was for a movie. Fortunately most of the men had their own planes already. Charlie had been worried that only nine men had volunteered, but now she found it just as well that she hadn't done any better: three surplus World War planes had stretched her budget to its limits. Had Norm not kicked in his own savings, her plan would have fallen short literally before it got off the ground.

She had wondered how all of these strong, competitive men would get along, but it seemed to go well. Pretty soon they were laughing and kidding with each other, exhilarated by the opportunity to get into combat against a real enemy. As they got to know each other, several pilots paired off with wingmen. Charlie found she could have her pick, but wary of their motives, she appealed to Norm. "Your wingman is the eyes in the back of your head," Norm had advised them all. "Be sure you can trust him with your life, 'cause that's exactly what you're doing." He didn't hesitate when he talked privately with Charlie, "If it were me, I'd talk to Jimmy Vega."

Jimmy was a young Latino actor whose family, unlike the others, possessed far less money than history. Where he had caught the flying bug was a mystery, and he'd always had to feed it with borrowed planes and scraped-up gas money, but absent the consideration of wealth he held his own on other grounds. Notwithstanding his average height, his wiry frame and flashing smile seemed to hold promise in motion pictures. Even the strenuously-pursued Charlie found herself affected. So why, she asked him, was he putting all that at risk to fly with her and the others?

"It can't be for the money. I could make a call right now and get you a contract for a hundred more a week at Warner Brothers."

He gave her that radiant grin. "I might hold you to that. But my family has lived in California for almost two hundred years, and the land needs me." Charlie had found her wingman.

Despite good-natured ribbing from the rest of the crew, Charlie and Jimmy worked almost with one mind from the first day. Within a week the teams began to mesh so well that Norm took them off the training roster, one at a time, to have guns mounted on their planes. Charlie and Jimmy were the first team so honored. Once outfitted, they were allowed to head out over the ocean for practice, where they would not be disturbed--or mistaken for an invading air fleet. Norm got them ammunition; no one asked him where.

"And for God's sake don't shoot each other!" Norm roared as each took off for the first time. But despite his worries--or because of them--there were no accidents, and eventually he stopped saying it every time they went out for their war games.

And games they were. With all the teams outfitted, the squadron entered a new phase of their training. The teams learned to match each other's flying style, to fly almost wingtip to wingtip, to watch each other's backs. As they improved they had more and more fun up there, until every training session became a lark, with the pilots toasting each other in the air and barrel-rolling over the Channel Islands. In spite of Norm's warnings not to get too full of themselves, they knew that they were hot, they were pros, and they were ready for anything. All they wanted now was a chance to prove themselves.

Then one day, it came.

A bell began to ring inside their meeting hall/headquarters--a bell that had never rung before. While the flyers exchanged puzzled looks, Norm ran inside. Within moments, he was back.

"Everybody into your planes! A forest ranger spotted the Sky Slavers flying over the San Gabriel Mountains! They're headed for town!" Then he stopped, anxious. They had practiced this moment a hundred times, but how would his pilots react to the real thing?

He needn't have worried: In perfect formation, Charlie and Jimmy first, pair after pair of planes rose gracefully into the clouds, formed up with their wingmen, and sped southeast. Norm shaded his eyes and watched: Ten of his finest students were about to take their final exam.

"For God's sake, at least don't shoot each other," he whispered.

Charlie could see downtown far ahead, wisps of cloud playing about the tall buildings, but she couldn't see the enemy. Moments later she heard Jimmy's shout. He was pointing slightly north, at two specks growing by the minute.

"They're autogyros!" she shouted into her radio, not just for Jimmy's sake but for the men trailing behind.

"We'll meet 'em right over Broadway!" Jimmy predicted.

"Oh no, we won't!" Charlie shot back with delight. "We're going to meet them on Broadway!" Quickly she laid out her plan and deployed the men.

"Charlie!" Jimmy gasped. "You can't be serious!"

"They're autogyros, Jimmy, not planes! We've got to meet them on their own terms!" She checked her machine guns, loaded and ready. "Here goes!"

And with that, Charlie went into a power dive straight towards the heart of downtown Los Angeles and the gunsights of the enemy!