"Well," continued Donovan, "one thing led to another and..."

"We went out...some," Mel blurted out.

Donovan reached into the still open drawer and retrieved two sheets of paper stapled together one corner. Flipping over to the back page, he said, "Right up until January, 1939 when Cernak went back home to Czechoslovakia, right?"

Mel nodded stiffly but said nothing.

"Okaaay," said Janice evenly. "You've established that Mel knows--or knew--the guy. What I wanna know is what makes him so hot."

"What makes him so hot is that he is the world's leading authority on rocket guidance systems," said Donovan. "Before the Germans decided to put him in the steel business he had spent the previous thirty months at Peenemünde working on the V-2 project with von Braun. Any Brit will tell you these guys are so far ahead of any of the Allies in rocketry that it ain't even funny."

"And now there will soon be a race to see who can scarf up the most of these wonder boys, the Russians or us, right?" Janice cynically asked.

"There already is," Donovan corrected her. "And that's why we need Cernak. Before it all fell apart for him he was one of the top two or three men in von Braun's program."

"Well I'd say his options for future employment in rocket building are severely limited," said Janice, wryly.

"This isn't funny, Covington," admonished Donovan.

"What makes you think he might be sympathetic to the Russians?" Mel asked, quietly.

"Miss Pappas, you should know that one," replied the General.

Seeing Mel's discomfort at this remark, Janice said, "Suppose you tell us instead."

"Opportunity," Donovan said, simply. "You see, it's a sure bet von Braun and most of his associates are going to end up working for us--eventually. Now a guy like Cernak...well from what we know of him he just may be one of those ducks that likes a small pond, if you catch my meaning. As long as von Braun is around Cernak will always be nothing more than a supporting player but if he goes to the U.S.S.R..." Donovan let his words trail off.

Mel knew he was right. If there was one thing she remembered about the enigmatic young man with the amazing intellect it was how extremely ambitious he was. She also remembered how bitter he had been over the failure of the West to stop Hitler's aggression when they had the chance.

"So our job is to not only find this fella but convince him to return with us?" asked Janice, her incredulity clearly evident.

"That's the plan," replied Donovan.

Janice shook her head and said, "This ain't gonna be no picnic you know."

"You've been in worse places," retorted Donovan with a shrug. "Now give me back that list of names and get out of here."

Standing up, Janice leaned over the desk to hand the sheet back to him. As she did Donovan shot her a very dark look and said, "Miss Pappas, would you be so kind as to go out front and ask my secretary for a couple of aspirin? It seems Covington here has given me a headache."

"Why of course, General."

As soon as Mel had cleared the door Donovan rasped, "One last little thing. While it is, of course, desirable to us that you bring Cernak out let there be no misunderstanding here. No matter what, he is not to fall into Russian hands. Do I make myself clear?"

He had but Janice wanted all doubt removed. "What the hell are you saying?" she asked in a loud whisper.

Through gritted teeth Donovan again enjoined, "He is not, repeat not--to fall into Russian hands." With that he slowly pushed the desk drawer closed.

Janice straightened up and stared down at him. "I get the picture," she said, grimly.

"Good. Just don't forget."

Shaking her head in something akin to disbelief, she said, "You're one cold son of a bitch, you know that?"

"To quote General Sherman, 'War is hell,' Janice. You should know that by now," said Donovan. This was the first time in her recollection that he had called her by her first name. "And besides, you don't have to worry about getting your own hands dirty. That's one of the reasons you're taking Kleig along. However, if by chance some calamity should befall him be-fore..."

"Don't worry," Janice grimly reassured him, "I'll do what I have to do. And for the record Sherman never could remember having actually said that."

"Here ya go, General," Mel said brightly, upon re-entering.

"Thank you, child," said Donovan, taking the aspirin.

"Come on, Mel," said Janice, taking Mel by the elbow. Turning, she shot one last icy glance back at Donovan and then said, "We've got work to do."  
 

Chapter 4: Under Way
Janice slid in behind the wheel of the big sedan and stuck her key in the ignition. Melinda got in on the passenger side, ducking her head as she always did to avoid bumping it. Depressing the clutch, the archaeologist started the car and pulled the shifter first back toward her and then down, putting the transmission in low gear. She then checked the traffic and carefully eased the vehicle out onto the street. The car was a 1936 Oldsmobile which the two women had each put up two hundred and fifty dollars to buy. That had been in late 1943 and since that time the "Gray Ghost," as Mel called it, had proven to be worth every dollar of the purchase price. Melinda simply loved that car. Though Janice was somewhat leery of her partner's driving, Mel nevertheless drove it to work on the average of twice a week as part of the car pool she shared with two other State employees. As part of this Mel felt it was her duty to keep the car immaculate--so much so that Janice had once accused her of applying so much wax that it was now thicker than the paint.

But now, as they crossed Blandensburg Road where New York Avenue once again becomes US Highway 50, Melinda's mind was a long way from the joys of waxing and buffing. It was on the blond boy with the far away look in his eyes she had known back in what was now a different lifetime ago. Janik Cernak! she thought. My God, I haven't thought about him in years. Not since...

Janice. She wondered what her take was on all this. She had not failed to notice that since their departure from Donovan's office the woman beside her had not uttered one single word. Golly, she thought anxiously, you don't reckon she's...angry, is she? Nah, of course not. Why should she be? But still--one never knew with Janice. She was so unpredictable at times.

After another two miles of silence Mel could not stand it any longer. Seeking to break the ice, she reached into her purse and pulled out an unopened pack of Life Savers. "Yuh want a Life Saver?"

"Sure."

Mel removed her gloves and tore open the little package. "Which flavor?" she asked.

Janice slyly looked out of the corner of her eye. Very casually she said, "Ohh, orange I guess." She knew well enough that Mel always kept the orange ones for herself. Hearing this, Mel snorted and, without breaking stride, plucked out a lemon one and gave it to her. "Close enough," Janice said, good-naturedly eyeing the candy before popping the candy into her mouth.

Mel did the same with her precious orange one. "Ja-yun?" she said, folding the wrapper over. "About...Janik."

"What about him?"

"You're not...upset, are you?"

"Of course not," Janice snorted. "What makes you think that?"

"I don't know," said Mel. "I just thought--"

"Why in the world would I be upset about somebody you dated a year and a half before I ever laid eyes on ya?"

"No, silly, it's not that," Mel countered.

"What then?"

"Well it's that I, you know, never told you about it."

How sincere can you get? Janice wondered. She thought of her own past relationships--one or two of which had even bordered on being serious. Not one of these had she ever so much as breathed a word of to her sweet Melinda. None. Not one. And now here she was feeling guilty? Ridiculous! "Mel...honey, it's none of my business. Boys and girls do date you know. I mean, God! What guy in his right mind wouldn't want to go out with a beautiful woman like you?"

Despite Janice's reassurance Mel was still a little apprehensive. Thus she felt compelled to add, "They weren't really...serious dates ya know."

"No?"

Mel paired her gloves together and absently folded them in her hands. "What I mean to say is, we did go out a few times but usually just to a movie or maybe a basketball game with a stop off at some diner for a bite to eat afterwards."

Janice pulled down the corners of her mouth and then said, "Well I don't know how they do it down south but where I come from--that is a serious date."

"This ain't funny, Jan," Mel said, earnestly.

They drove on in silence for a few minutes before Janice, with typical bluntness, finally spoke. "So how come you two never did it?"

"Did what?" Mel asked, with genuine innocence. But when she saw the very wry glance Janice was now darting at her out of the corner of her eye she "got the drift." "Oooo-ooohh. You mean...it."

"That's right, Janice said with a devilish smile. "It."

"My Lord, Jan," said Mel, blushing. "You are jes' the most awful thing."

"True, but don't change the subject."

"Tuh tell you the truth," Mel said, a touch of sheepishness in her voice, "after the first couple of times I don't think he was really all that interested in me. I think he felt I was harmless; someone he felt he could jes' talk to."

"What was he," Janice wondered aloud in amazement, "nuts?"

Mel looked down at her gloves and quietly said, "I'm afraid I wasn't...much...good at socializin'." With an apologetic little smile she looked at Janice and added, "Well you know how I am."

This self-deprecating, but totally sincere, remark was enough to cause Janice to take her eyes off the road and glance sharply at the woman sitting across the front seat from her with head now slightly bowed. Her voice dripping with sarcasm, she said, "Here we go again. Yeah, I know how you think you are. Damn it, Mel. Even after all this time, after all we've been through, you still think you're that awkward, timid, person I first met back in '40, doncha?" Without giving Mel a chance to reply she bore straight ahead. "Well that's crap, Mel, with a capital C. You wanna know how you are? I'll tell you how you are...you're smart, and brave, and compassionate beyond words and I won't even go into just how fuckin' drop dead gorgeous you are. That, my hopelessly insecure friend, is how you really are so stop that. I don't want to hear any more of that stupid nonsense about how you are, comprende?"

She had not meant to use such a truculent tone of voice but it irked her that even now, for all her obvious talents, Mel Pappas' level of self-esteem was not what it should be.

"Okay then, Janice," Mel said with an embarrassed little smile. "Have it your way. You know how I was."

"That's better," said Janice, approvingly nodding her head once. "Sooo, what can me tell you about him?"

"Way-ul, he was---ummm--you want another Life Saver?"

"Meeeel..."

"Sorry." Still, she took the time to hand Janice a lime Life Saver before continuing, "He was very smart, obviously. Even his professors were in awe of him."

"What sort of fella was he?" asked Janice. "I mean, personally. Did he have a lot of friends?"

Mel cocked her head to one side in thought. "I can't rightly say he did. I think that was the attraction between us in the beginning. We were both, you know, kinda loners."

Janice deftly pulled the Oldsmobile over into the left lane and whipped past the slow moving dump truck they had been trailing behind for the last mile. Mel waited until she had eased the car back into the right lane before continuing. "He was a nice boy. Reserved--very polite. Wasn't one much for jocularity." She squinted her eyes slightly and added, "And to his credit he wasn't nearly as arrogant as a lot of those super-intelligent types you see runnin' around on college campuses."

"Did he ever talk to you about what was happening back home?"

"Oh yeah," came Mel's quick reply. "All the time. You could tell he was very worried. I remember him sayin' more than once that now that the Naah-zees had gotten away with annexin' Austria, it would only be a matter of time before they came back demanding the Sudetenland and once they controlled that the rest of Czechoslovakia would be wide open for 'em."

"Boy, he hit that right on the head," Janice mused aloud. "So he knew his politics then?"

"Uhh huhh. That's why he went home in '39," Mel answered. "Because he saw his worst fears becomin' a reality and he was going to try to get his family out of Czechoslovakia."

Janice did not miss the slight hint of disappointment her voice. "You liked him, didn't you?" she asked gently.

Mel smiled warmly at her best friend and then very quietly said, "Janice, he didn't see me as a gangly, four-eyed klutz. He talked to me like I was his intellectual equal. You can't imagine how that made me feel." She slid over next to Janice and looped an arm around hers. "Like I said he was a nice boy." She trailed her finger up the full length of Janice's arm and, in a very silky voice, said, "As boys go."

A half hour later Janice eased the big Oldsmobile into the driveway of their Annapolis home. As she reached to pull the key out of the ignition, Mel suddenly covered her hand with her own.

"Jan?" she asked. "What if it turns out Janik doesn't want to come back with us?"

"I don't know, Kid," said Janice, evenly. "I guess we'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it." Desperately she was hoping her eyes were not giving her away. She hated herself for lying to the ever-trusting Melinda but there was no way she was going to impart the details of Donovan's dark "little thing" to her. And if later events necessitated that she carry out Donovan's directive...well down deep she wondered if she would have the guts to do it. Make no mistake, Janice Covington was not squeamish. Indeed she had killed before and she had no qualms about doing it again if the situation arose. But before it had always been in self defense and this time it could very well prove to be cold-blooded murder. Even more disturbing than this was the thought of what it would do to her dear Melinda if she ever found out. Janice knew full well it would rip the guts out of what they had together. Just what will you do, Janice Covington, she wondered, even as she thrilled to the warm touch of Mel's hand, serve your country and risk losing the love of your life or let Cernak go and in doing so maybe betray your country? At this point she honestly did not know. And besides, there was always the hope that they, or more specifically--Melinda and her many charms--could convince him he would be better off coming back to the United States with them.

**********

In the pale light of the cockpit the co-pilot put down his clipboard. "Pre-flight complete."

"Okay, start number one engine," said the pilot.

The co-pilot hit the switch and listened for the familiar high pitched whine of the starter motor turning over the big 1200 horsepower Pratt and Whitney engine.

Whiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Number one coughed, expelling clouds of smoke out the exhaust manifold, and sputtered to life. In a few seconds she was turning over smoothly and to the co-pilot's experienced ear it was like a kitten's purr. One by one the three remaining engines of the C-87 transport were brought to life in the same manner. C-87's were actually stripped down B-24 Liberator bombers which had been converted to carry cargo and passengers. And to that end, the C-87's, unlike their famous cousins which carried a crew of ten, carried only a crew of four. While the accommodations on these planes were crude compared to civilian aircraft they at least featured heated cabins. Janice, for one, was grateful for this. She had had enough of being jostled around on those freezing Superforts.

As the plane sat there warming up a jeep suddenly appeared out of the darkness and screeched to a halt just behind the plane's elevator. The vehicle had no sooner stopped when out tumbled two dark figures--one tall and lean, the other short and lithe. The short one barked out a "thanks" to the jeep's driver and then slung one strap of a standard field pack over the shoulder. In the darkness, dressed as they were, it would have been easy to mistake Janice Covington and Melinda Pappas for men. Both were wearing plain lace-up work boots and loose fitting khaki trousers with extra large pockets. Janice naturally had on her treasured old hat and her battered flight jacket with the cracking leather.

Melinda meanwhile had chosen to wear the waist length submariner's jacket a smitten young ensign had gallantly provided for her after his sub had rendezvoused with the two women off the coast of Uruguay in early '43. Though still a lady in every sense of the word and one that enjoyed wearing nice things, Mel had learned early on just how important it was to dress properly for these missions. Nevertheless, she wished more of their missions had been like that one in Lisbon in December '43 when she had gotten the opportunity to wear that simply exquisite diamond necklace and that wonderfully luxurious full length mink coat while posing as the wife of a US diplomat who was in the process of being blackmailed. Since then she had regularly vowed to herself that one day, one day...she would have a coat just like that of her very own.

But not today.

As the two of them neared the neared the fuselage door a hand extended out from inside the plane. Janice looked at Melinda and jerked her head toward the hand, indicating that she should go first. Mel did as directed and once she was safely on board, Janice slipped the pack off her shoulder and tossed it up to the assisting figure in the doorway. First taking one last look around the dimly lit airfield, she then climbed up to join her companion inside.

Once the oil temperature gauges had indicated each of the engines' oil was sufficiently warm the pilot, First Lieutenant Doug Jackson of Moses Lake, Washington, picked up his hand microphone. "Uhh tower, this is Flight Ten requesting taxi clearance, over." Actually this was totally unnecessary for in the wee hours of 0345 Bolling Field was not exactly a hive of activity. Nevertheless the proper procedures were, as always, strictly adhered to.

"Roger, Flight Ten. Ahh please advise the status of your payload, over." The "payload" was of course, Janice and Melinda.

Activating the intercom mike at his throat, Jackson, said, "Barney, ya got 'em strapped down?"

"Shore 'nuff, Lootenant," crackled a voice over his headphones. "You can let 'er rip."

"Payload secure, Tower. Over," said Jackson.

"Roger, Flight Ten. You are clear to taxi."

Easing the throttle up on two of the engines, Jackson carefully maneuvered the plane out from its parking spot and onto the main runway.

As soon as they were in position Jackson heard, "Flight Ten, you are clear for take-off."

"Roger," Jackson answered. "Well, Max," he said to his co-pilot, "you heard the man."

"Let 'er rip, Doug," replied Max grinning.

**********

Forty-five minutes out of St. John's they were at ten thousand feet, the C-87's optimum altitude for long range flying. For Jackson and his co-pilot, Maxwell James, this was just another day at the office. Trans-Atlantic flights were old hat to them by now. As it turned out, on this particular one Janice and Mel were the only ones on board besides the crew, much to Janice's relief. For she was already having a rough time of it. She wasn't so much afraid of flying, it was just that it sometimes made her ill. It did not happen each and every time she flew but when it did....

Five hundred miles into the flight Melinda patted her friend on the knee. "How are you feelin', Jan?" she asked with a sympathetic little smile.

Her head pressed back against the seat, mouth agape, Janice weakly rolled her eyes toward the soft voice. "Mel," she said weakly, "I'm too young to die."

"Now, Janice, you're not going to die."

"Ohh yeah. This is it," groaned Janice. "Meeel?"

"Yes, Janice?" Mel asked, trying not to smile. It was not that she was amused by her lover's plight it was just that the absurdity of the situation was not lost on her. Big, bad Janice Covington, afraid of neither man nor beast nor anything else for that matter---acting like a kid who had eaten too many green apples.

"After I'm gone, promise me you'll go ahead and take that job with Poole, okay?"

"Shhhhh. Maybe you ought to try to get some sleep," Melinda suggested, trying to be helpful.

"You kiddin'?" It was here the plane chose to hit an air pocket, dropping a good hundred feet. "Jesus!" yelped Janice.

"I think maybe you ought to leave Him out of it," said Mel, evenly. "After all I don't think it was His idea for you to have all that greasy bacon for breakfast."

"That's it," Janice moaned pitifully, "kick a girl when she's down. Mel Pappas, I'll get you for this. Ohhhhh."

"Now, Janice, Mel said, soothingly, "don't be that way."

"Sorry." Suddenly Janice's face grew very pale. "Mel," she said her voice rising, "I think you better find me something to..."

"Oh my."

"Meeeeell!" Janice gagged and lurched forward in her seat. In desperation Melinda shoved under her face the only receptacle she could lay her hands on--Janice's hat.

"No, Mm....Ooooooooowwwwwaaaahhhhh!"

"Sorry, Jan, it was all there was."

"Damn it, I..." But here the woman once more heaved violently into the vomit spattered hat.

"Welcome to Chuckyerguts Airlines. Can I get you anything, ladies? Coffee, tea, a barf bag?" an amused voice asked from behind. It was Curry, the navigator. "Having trouble, ladies?"

"What's it look like...wise guy?" gagged Janice.

Ignoring the stench, Melinda cupped her hand over Janice's forehead. "You wouldn't happen to have a towel we could use, wouldja?" she asked Curry.

Curry saw the genuine concern for her friend in the woman's ice blue eyes and suddenly rued his wisecrack. "I'll see what I can do," he said.

"Fuckin' asshole," gulped Janice, after he had gone.

"Jan, he didn't mean nothin' by it," Mel said tenderly. Leaning down, she lightly kissed the suffering archaeologist on her sweaty temple. "Feeling better?" she asked.

"No--yes--I don't know."

In less than a minute Curry returned bearing something green. "I couldn't find a real towel," he said. "We usually haul cargo--not passengers. However I did find these." He peeled apart three small rags and handed them to Mel. "They're shop towels," he said. "Don't worry, they're clean." He then nodded toward Janice. "Is she gonna be okay?"

"She'll be fine," replied Mel.

"That's easy for you to say," groaned Janice.

Pointing to the fetid hat, Curry said, "How about if I get rid of that for you? I can chuck it out the cargo hatch."

"Thank you," said Mel, gingerly handing the hat up to him.

"I uh, I took the liberty of dampening one of those rags for ya. I figured she might could use it."

"You are very kind," Mel said, gratefully. Finding the damp one, she began to gently wipe Janice's face with it.

"Mel, I'm not a kid," Janice weakly protested. However she did not resist.

"Why I reckon I know that," cooed Melinda. "Now just shush and sit still."

Standing there watching Melinda wipe the stricken woman's face, Curry could not help but feel the chemistry between them. Obviously the two of them were very close. He saw Mel put an arm around Janice and whisper something inaudible in her ear after which the blonde flashed a mischievous, albeit brief, grin. Strangely beginning to feel somewhat like an intruder, he finally said, "Well uh, I better get back forward, I need to check our course."

"Thank you, Mister ahhh...."

"Curry, Miss. Al Curry. You can call me Al."

"Thank you...Al. You've been so very kind," said Mel.

Curry nodded stiffly and moved forward, delicately holding Janice's poor hat by the brim with both hands.

"What a nice fella," remarked Mel.

"Yeah, a regular Thomas Jefferson Smith," sniffed Janice.

"For goodness sake, why is it you can't stand for anybody to be nice to you?" asked Mel in exasperation.

"I let you be nice to me, don't I?" Janice asked impishly.

Mel was glad to see that some of her friend's color was now returning. "Well it's a wonder," she said. "I mean, the way you carry on sometimes."

"Screw 'em," snorted Janice.

"Janiiiice," admonished Mel.

Still holding the damp rag to her forehead, Janice turned to her friend. "Look, my trusting friend, I learned at a very early age that when some stranger offers to help you they invariably want something in return."

"That's simply not true," replied Mel. "Well, most of the time it's not true. Folks help each other for no other reason than it's the right thing to do."

"Baloney," Janice shot back. "Ninety-nine times out of a hundred they're not doin' it for the other poor shmuck's benefit. No sir. They're doing it because it enhances their own feelings of self-esteem--superiority even.

"You are such a cynic, said Mel, accusingly.

"Ain't I though?" replied Janice. Leaning back in her seat, she put down the rag and closed her eyes. For the next hour she sat there, mentally castigating herself for allowing that sneaky Donovan to do this to Mel and her.  
 

Two hours later, in the gray North Atlantic light, trouble came to the C-87 in the guise of a small jolt.

James felt it too. "What the hell was that?" he asked.

"It's that God damn number four again!" barked Jackson.

"Those turds back at Bolling were supposed to fix that fuel line," said James.

"They did," replied Jackson. "But I think it's busted open again."

"Jesus," muttered James. "Fuckin' piece of junk."

The C-87s were not very popular with their crews, who complained about all sorts of hazards, particularly with the fuel system, with the engines, and with the cockpit accessories. The C-87 was notorious for problems with leaking fuel tanks, and midair fires were an ever-present danger. The C-87 also had some dangerous icing properties, which made it a very risky plane at high altitudes. Thus, there were few tears shed when the Army's C-87s were withdrawn from service.

Now James saw the big prop on number four begin to spin erratically and then finally, stop. "We've lost her," he said.

"Cut the fuel and feather the prop," James ordered. God damn it! he raged silently. In itself the loss of one engine was not that serious. Like other four-engine planes the C-87 could easily fly with three engines. However it made adjusting the plane's trim harder, thus making it more difficult to fly. This, naturally, meant a lot more work for Jackson.  
 

Chapter 5: England
"You are clear to land. Come right to zero, two, nine degrees."

"Roger." Jackson banked the C-87 to the right and very carefully lined up with the runway. Night landings in a blacked out England could be tricky but Jackson had done it many times before. Five minutes later they were safely down at Harrington Field, more commonly known as Station 179, and being waved to a spot near one of the main hangars. That Donovan had selected this particular place was no great surprise because Station 179 was the primary base of operations for OSS activity. Known as Operation Carpetbagger, the OSS, in co-operation with the Eighth Air Force had flown hundreds of clandestine sorties into the European continent to supply the French Resistance, insert agents, and drop leaflets. Though their activities had been severely curtailed by April, 1945, Station 179 was nevertheless still active.

As the C-87 rolled to a stop Janice, who was feeling much better, picked her pack up off the floor and stood up. Turning to her statuesque friend, she said, "We're late. Let's hope that Sim guy is still around." This was the direct result of the C-87's losing its number four engine. By the time they had touched down at Harrington it was well after dark and the two women had no clue about what was to happen next. Everything hinged on Sim.

As he came aft radioman Griffin, seeing the two women were having trouble opening the fuselage door, shouldered it open for them.

"Thanks, Mac," said Janice, dropping easily to the ground.

Melinda gave him a polite nod and followed her friend out the door.

"It looks like our welcoming committee has bugged out," said Janice, scanning the darkened airfield.

"So what do we do?" asked Mel.

"The first thing," replied Janice, zipping up her jacket, "is to find somewhere to get out of this cool night air." Turning to Griffin who was still in the doorway, she asked "Say, how do we get in touch with a Flight Lieutenant Sim?"

"Beats me," said Griffin, shrugging his shoulders. "You might try the duty hut."

"Where would that be?"

Griffin pointed to a silhouetted rectangle some two hundred yards away. "There."

Janice gave him a small wave signifying her appreciation. "This is a hell of a way to run a railroad if you ask me," she muttered, under her breath. "Well, Mel Pappas," she sighed, slipping one strap of the pack over her shoulder, "what do you say we go shake somebody's pecker?"

"Janiiiice!" Mel gasped. In the darkness Janice could not see the crimson now spreading across her friend's face. "I declare I sometimes think you do that on purpose."

"Come on," the archaeologist said with a chuckle. Mel was right. She did do it on purpose.

As the two of them melted into the darkness Janice asked "Are you hungry?"

"Oh, I suppose," Mel answered, casually. In truth she was famished but she did not want to admit it to Janice. The last thing she wanted was for Janice to take special pains for her. "How about you?" she asked.

"Are you kiddin'?" grinned Janice. "After what happened on the plane?"

"Be that as it may you really should try to eat something," Mel coaxed.

"We'll see," said Janice. Going hungry was no big deal for Janice Covington. Unlike the privileged Mel, Janice knew what real hunger was--not just the ready-for-supper kind. In the hard years of the early '30's an empty belly had been a frequent visitor for the teen-age daughter of an indifferent, obsessed man who was never home.  
 

For Second Lieutenant Ellis Perkins of Fort Collins, Colorado this night had all the ingredients for being a long one. Although only at his post for little more than an hour now he was already finding it difficult to remain awake. At first he had thought himself glad to have finally gotten rid of that snotty RAF officer but now that the fellow was gone he found himself missing having someone to talk to--even if...it...was a...Limey..........  
 

Janice turned the door knob and, opening the door just a crack, peeked inside. "Well somebody's home anyway," she said. Pushing the door the rest of the way open, she stepped inside--Mel close at her heels. A young man with the gold bars of a second lieutenant was sitting behind a desk with his chin resting on his chest. "This joker is asleep," said Janice.

"You think we ought to wake him?" asked Mel.

"Now, Mel," Janice snorted, "you don't want this boob to get shot for sleeping at his post, do you?"

"Oh my, Jan, do they really do things like that?"

"Maybe," Janice impishly replied. Poor Mel, she thought good naturedly, for someone so intelligent you can be so gullible at times. Leaning over, she pushed on the man's shoulder. "Hey."

Perkins snorted and then mumbled, "Huh?"

Janice pushed again--harder this time. "Hey, Eisenhower! Wake up!"

"Hahhhh?" Lieutenant Perkins snapped his head erect and blinked hard at the two apparitions looming before him. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, somewhat flustered.

"Nazi spies, who do you think?" retorted Janice.

"Hey, you're dames!" he exclaimed.

"That gives you one dollar," said Janice. "Do you wanna try for the two dollar question now?"

"Just how did you manage to get in here anyway?" he asked.

Uhh boy, thought Janice, this one isn't exactly well stocked in the brains department. "Why through the door, genius," she answered, a little blithely. "How else?"

"Okay, smart ass," Perkins growled, "let's see how much poppin' off you do in front of the MP's."

Suddenly his hand shot out and yanked open the top most of the desk drawers. He had concluded this must surely be some sort of security violation and the .45 automatic in the drawer would go a long way toward making sure these two, whoever they were, would not be trying anything cute. He was quick enough to get his hand in the drawer all right but to his shock and dismay he found the lithe little blonde with the smart mouth to be much too agile to allow him to get the hand clear of the drawer. For no sooner had he made his move before Janice, instantly recognizing his intention, had dashed around behind the desk and, using her knee, slammed the drawer shut against his wrist.

"OWWWWW! Jesus, lady," screeched Perkins, "you're crazy!"

"Look, asshole," snarled Janice, "I wasn't born yesterday. I know what you were thinking. So don't be puttin' any fuckin' hands in fuckin' drawers where I can't fuckin' see 'em." Needless to say she was really angry now. The very idea of this man pulling a gun on Mel was enough to make her blood boil. Still applying pressure to the drawer, she continued, "Now pay attention, creep. I'm only going to explain this to you once. My friend and I just flew in from the States and a RAF guy named Sim was supposed to have met us here. End of fuckin' story. Now why don't you be a good little boy and give us a hand here." With a faint smirk she added, "Sorry, Bub, no pun intended."

"He...he was...here," yelped Perkins.

"Sim?"

"Yeah. You just missed him by about ten minutes or so."

"Golly, Jan, he might still be around," said Mel.

"You're right," said Janice. Abruptly she drew back her knee and picked up the telephone. She then savagely slammed it down in front of Perkins and said, "I don't care who you have to call," she raged, "but you find that guy and you get his ass back here!"

From behind Janice heard the squeaking hinges herald the opening of the door. "Perkins!" a smooth voice called out. "The plane is here. Have you seen any sign--"

"Are you Sim?" Janice asked, cutting him off as she whirled to face him.

For a moment Sim simply stood there, gaping wide-eyed at the scene before him. Perkins, sitting at his desk with a daze look on his face. Beside him stood a fine looking, though obviously irate, woman. On the other side of Perkins' desk was a tall, raven-haired lady wearing horn-rimmed glasses that did nothing to distract from her stunning beauty. However this did not last long. In the cool manner of a true Englishman he quickly gathered himself. "I'm rather afraid you have me at a disadvantage, madam," he said, calmly.

Janice strode over and stuck out her hand. Although she was well aware that very many of the English were uncomfortable with this American custom she did not care. When Sim took the offered hand she announced, "I'm Covington and this is my friend, Mel Pappas."

But here again the usually unflappable Sim had to pause. This was not what he had expected at all.

"Is something wrong?" Janice asked, noting the look of puzzlement on his face.

"You say you're Covington?" he asked. "Jan Covington?"

Having already dealt with one man's incredulity, her mood was not improving any by the prospect of facing yet another Doubting Thomas. That she was getting tired of this was borne out by her answer. "Did I stutter?" she asked impatiently.

Sim ignored the crack and casually gave Melinda the once over. "Mel...Pappas?"

"Pleased tuh meet you I'm sure," said Melinda with a nervous little smile.

"This is most irregular," Sim said. "Most irregular."

"What are you talking about?" Janice asked in exasperation.

"Could I possibly trouble you for some identification?" asked Sim.

Janice sighed heavily and dug her hand into her inside jacket pocket. There she retrieved a small leather wallet which she handed to Sim. Inside was a small card which contained not only all the basic information, but also what Janice deemed to be the absolute worst photograph ever taken of her. "Satisfied?" she asked, taking the wallet back.

He smiled sheepishly and said, "Sorry about that, but one cannot be too careful. However you can surely understand my confusion. The communication I received stated I was to meet a certain Jan Covington and Mel Pappas.

"I get it," said Janice, breaking into a grin. "You thought we were guys."

"Yes," he admitted. "I rather was expecting chaps."

Janice grinned once more and moved to Melinda's side. Sweeping her hand over her friend's plainly visible "assets" she asked "Does this look like a 'chap' to you?"

"Janiiiice," said Melinda, in a mild reproof.

To ease her friend's embarrassment, Janice smiled warmly at the belle and gave her a wink.

"I should say not," sniffed Sim. "Else I think barracks life was starting to get to me."

For her part Janice did not believe that line for a second. It was clear to her this man was no ordinary flight officer. He had an air of self-confidence about him that spoke of experiences fa r beyond getting shot at by Messerschmitts. However she went along with the ruse. "All right," she said, "now that we are all pals shall we get down to business?"

"I have a motor car waiting to take you to your quarters," said Sim, casting a wary eye toward Perkins. "We can discuss details on the way over."

Janice nodded her assent and turned to Perkins who had been keenly watching this little exchange. "Thanks for all your help, general," she said mockingly.

"Ladies, if you would be so kind as to follow me?"

"Ahhh before we go anywhere with you," said Janice, "how about you let us see your ID?"

Sim smiled thinly and opened his wallet. This one doesn't trust anybody, he thought. I like that. Holding his ID up to Janice's face, he then said, "I trust everything is in order."

"Yep," said Janice. "Lead on."

Once they were in the car she asked "By the way, where are we going?"

"Gravely at Grafton Underwood," replied Sim. "That's the nearest Lancaster base."

Although Janice was curious about the details of the next part of their mission she had been on enough of these to know that Sim would tell her in his own good time. So she held her tongue and patiently waited while they cleared the checkpoints and then drove them off Station 179. As soon as they were past the main gate Sim cleared his throat and said, "I'm afraid there is going to be a bit of a delay."

"How come?" Janice asked.

"It seems one of the engines on your plane blew a cylinder this morning on the way in."

Christ, thought Janice, that's all I need--another bucket of bolts plane.

"Couldn't we just get another one?" Mel asked.

"Eventually, yes," replied Sim.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Janice.

"I'm afraid one simply cannot go around commandeering aircraft," he explained. "These things require authorization."

"And to get said authorization would take longer than it would to change the engine, right?"

"Exactly, Covington."

"So, how long?"

The maintenance chaps are on it even as we speak," replied Sim. "The plane should be operational by morning at the latest."

I can live with that, thought Janice.

An hour later the archaeologist dropped her pack to the floor and gingerly stretched out on the rough blanket covering the steel cot that was her bed. "Ohhhh."

"Mel?" she groaned. "I tell ya, I am getting too old for this stuff."

Melinda sat down on Janice's bunk and gave the woman a little pat on the knee. Smiling at her, she said, "I expect there's enough life in those old bones of yours for one more turn at bat."

These assurances aside, Melinda was also grateful for one more opportunity to catch some sleep in a real bed. The original plan had called for them to lay over at Gravely for only about an hour before taking off directly for Gibraltar. Of course, with their Lancaster bomber now undergoing frantic repair efforts that had all changed. As far as she was concerned Janice just hoped their efforts were not too frantic.

In the meantime Sim had managed to produce some warmed over soup, a couple of ham sandwiches, and a couple of Cokes for their supper. This the two ladies had gratefully downed while Sim went to scour the base for some suitable quarters for them.

As Janice had guessed he was not actually assigned to Gravely and therefore was unfamiliar with the layout of the base. Because of this it had taken him some time to arrange a proper billet for the two women. In the end he had solved the problem rather nicely by having an orderly at the hospital haul over two of their spare bunks and set them up in the empty supply room he had found. As an added bonus the orderly, learning the beds were in fact for a couple of "birds," had also brought along one of the hospital's portable radios.

Now Mel began to unlace Janice's boots. Although as independent any individual could be, Janice nevertheless liked the fuss Mel always made over her. "You know, Mel," she teased, "only God knows when we'll get to bathe again."

In a somewhat surprising answer Mel said, "Well I reckon nobody ever died from body odor."

This elicited an odd look from Janice. While Melinda was not exactly afraid of dirt she was nevertheless very fastidious about her appearance--even in the field.

As Mel pulled the boot off Janice nonchalantly tucked her hands underneath her head. "Oh yeah? Well that boyfriend of yours might see things a little differently."

Already unlacing the other boot, Mel now suddenly stopped. Looking straight ahead, she lowered her eyes and in a very soft, plainly hurt voice said, "I told you he was not my boyfriend. I never had a boyfriend. I never had anybody. That is--until you, Jan."

Right about here Janice felt about as low as the proverbial snake's belly. She had not meant to hurt her friend. Far from it. In fact she was a little puzzled by Melinda's reaction because the belle very rarely took exception to her silly barbs. Usually she would just smile good-naturedly and shake her head. Not this time however.

Mel said no more and silently went back to unlacing Janice's boot.

"Gosh, Mel," said Janice, rising up in bed, "I was only joking. You know I didn't mean anything by that crack." She then hopefully added, "Don't cha?"

Melinda did not reply right away. Instead she merely pulled the boot off Janice's foot and carelessly pitched it over the foot of the bed.

"C'mon, Mel," coaxed Janice, "talk to me."

Then she reached out and placed her hand on her lover's arm. Clearly her careless line about the rocket whiz had struck a nerve. She was all too aware that Mel was a bundle of contradictions but the one she had never quite gotten a grasp on was how a beautiful, intelligent girl like Melinda could have grown up in such an obviously loving household feeling so lonely? Yes, Janice too had experienced this same emptiness from time to time but she had always manage to convince herself it was the price she had to pay for clawing her way to the top of a decidedly male profession. As she saw it Melinda had no such excuse.

Why then? Had it been that chronic shyness bordering on timidity? Had it been her gangly, sometimes painful, awkwardness? Or was it because she had simply been confused about her own sexuality? Janice could not say for certain because this was the one subject she had never quite been able to draw Melinda out on. Whatever the case, it had left the gentle, incredibly sweet woman with a desperate yearning to love--to be loved.

"What can I say, Kid? I'm an ass," said Janice.

"Janice Covington, you are no such thing," chided Melinda, placing her own hand on top of Janice's. She then looked her friend in the eyes and with a very straight face added, "You're, you're just demented, that's all."

Janice laughed and said, "Well you've got me there." She was relieved Mel was not too upset and mentally she made a note to dispense with the teasing.

She then lay back down and, after scooting to one side, patted the bed. Mel took the cue and eased her lanky body down onto the bed beside Janice. In an almost involuntary gesture each of them reached out for the other's hand. They lay there on their backs for a few moments--saying nothing--just quietly holding hands and reveling in the warm glow of the other's company.

After a time, Melinda spoke, "Don't you reckon we ought tuh try tuh get some sleep?"

"I can't sleep," sighed Janice. She then added, "But you should try to get some."

"Jan?"

"Hmmm?"

"I know you've probably had lots of lovers but was there ever...you know...anybody you really cared about?"

"Yeah," Janice answered. "You."

"Come on, Jan, I'm serious."

"Damn it, Mel," Janice growled in mock annoyance, "we've been together almost five years and you're just now gettin' around to asking me that?"

"Well, I had hoped that maybe one day you would tell me own your own," replied Mel.

"Why is it so all fired important that you know now?" Janice asked.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," said Mel, softly.

"I have nothing to hide from you, Mel Pappas. In all honesty I can't say as there ever was," Janice replied. She rolled over on her side and looked into Mel's icy blue eyes. "Mel," she began, "I won't kid you. I've helped to rock a few beds in my time. Mostly they were locals who just happened to be handy, okay?" She smiled thinly and added, "After a month or so without it you wouldn't believe how good some of them begin to look."

Melinda had figured as much. Janice had simply been too good at making love not to have had a lot of practice--going both ways. She contrasted this with her own experiences--such as they were. She had never been with a man. In fact before Janice she had never had anyone--unless of course, she counted her own fingers.

Janice squeezed Melinda's hand. "Are you shocked at that, Scarlett O' Hara?" she asked.

"Of course not," Melinda replied. "This ain't exactly the Victorian Era, ya know."

"Hmph," snorted Janice. "Those people fooled around as much as anybody else. Anyway, like I said I've done my share of sleeping around and then some. But you know something?"

"What?"

"All that time, it was just...fucking, you know? Wham, bam, thank ya ma'am don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. That's all." She chuckled mirthlessly and added, "Like rabbits in a hutch." She rolled over so close to Mel that the belle could feel the hot breath on her neck. "That's all it ever was--just screwing. You, Melinda Rose Pappas, are the one, the only, person in my whole licentious life that I have ever, ever...made love to."

"Golly, Jan, I, I don't know what to say."

"That's simple enough," said Janice, huskily. "Say you love me."

"Ohhh, Jan, you know I do, the belle gushed. "From almost the first moment I saw you in that nasty old tent. You called me a lady, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," Janice replied softly as she snuggled still closer to her belle. "Although I gotta admit I was a lit-tle more preoccupied with our ahh, 'guests' right at that time."

Mel giggled and said, "Lord, Janice, when I walked into that tent and saw those fellas with those big ol' guns I thought I was going to pee in my panties."

"Hey don't feel bad," Janice retorted. "Because when the shooting started, I actually did!"

"Oh, Janice, you did not," chided Mel, cheerily.

"I did a little, I swear it," said Janice, holding up her fingers Boy Scout style.

Now, Melinda doubted if Janice had ever peed her panties because of anything. Nevertheless she thought it cute of her to say so.

Janice then groaned and said, "Speaking of which, I've got to go find a can."

"Now, Janice," Mel giggled, "I think the proper term on an air base is latrine."

"Call it what you want," said Janice, smiling at her, "I still have to pee." She pulled back her sleeve to check her watch...8:55. Almost 2:00 A.M. local time, she thought. Hastily pulling her boots back on, she then donned her jacket and said, "Mel, turn on the radio. Maybe we can catch some news."

"Mel arose and turned on the radio just as the final strains of Dinah Shore's voice faded away. Closing the door behind her on the way out, Janice heard, "This is the BBC, London. Here is..."

This sure is a big place, she thought, as the sound of the radio died away.

As is turned out Janice walked around for twenty minutes and never did find a latrine. Ultimately she was reduced to grumpily squatting down behind a stack of barrels in order to relieve herself. A few minutes later found her back at the door of their hut. As she entered she heard a soft melody did not recognize wafting over the room.

"Damn it, I never did find a---"

Something was wrong. Melinda was sitting leaned over on the edge of the bed, one elbow propped on her knee with her forehead buried in her hand.

"What's wrong?" Janice asked as she quickly strode to her friend. Mel looked up and with alarm Janice saw the tears streaming down her face. "God, Mel, what is it?" she asked, kneeling down in front of the belle. "What happened?"

A black thought came to her. "It wasn't that fuckin' Perkins, was it?"

Melinda sniffed and wiped rubbed a finger under her nostrils. "He's....dead, Jan," she said, quietly.

"Who, Mel? Who's dead?"

"The man on the radio said...he said..."

"Tell me, sweetheart," Janice gently coaxed. "Tell me who died."

"It's Mister Roosevelt. My God, Jan. He's...dead."

For Janice it was like a slap in the face. Like most Americans she was vaguely aware that the President's health had been deteriorating for some time. One had only to look at the newspaper photographs of the who had once been so robust and vibrant but was now so much thinner and haggard looking to know that. However few realized the President had been dying. But as early as the historic MacArthur-Nimitz meetings at Honolulu in June, 1944 MacArthur, who had not seen the President in years, had been shocked to see how much Roosevelt had changed.

"How did it happen?" asked Janice.

"They called it a cerebral hemorrhage," said Mel, still sniffing. "Jan this is awful."

"I know, Kid," Janice murmured, softly patting Melinda on the knee. "I know." In spite of her best efforts to stop them, Janice could feel her own tears welling up now. Her mind raced back to that dreary day in November, 1941 when she had meekly shaken the hand of the jovial man from New York who even then had been President of the United States longer than anyone in history. Though she had spent only a few minutes with him that day she could fairly reckon the experience had changed her life. After all, he had been the one that had shown faith in her at a time when even she had doubts about herself. While performing the "favor" he had requested of her she had come to learn that there were some things more important than just beating some rival to the latest archaeological prize.

During her three year stint in the OSS Janice had encountered many people--on both sides--willing to sacrifice all for the cause they believed in. These people were not "suckers" but highly intelligent, highly motivated individuals totally committed to that cause, however just or unjust it might be, which they believed to bigger than any of them.

For Janice Covington this was something new. For most of her young life her sole cause had been the pursuit of the almighty dollar. In this she had done quite well. But the arrival of a certain lanky, somewhat irritating Southern belle on the scene had soon caused the cynical archaeologist to step back for the first time in her life and re-examine her priorities. For to her surprise Melinda Pappas had somehow managed to strip away the veneer of her jaded exterior and find the loving heart that beat within. Before she knew it she came to realize that it was indeed Mel that mattered most of all and everything else, yes even money, now came in a poor second.

But her education did not stop there. With America's entry into the war she found another reason worth risking all for--the cause of freedom. Already presented with the opportunity to do her part, she knew she would never be able to live with herself if she turned away while tens of thousands of American boys were every month dying all over the world in places she had never even heard of before.

Though Janice Covington would never have expressed it in so many words, she knew well enough that freedom must never be allowed to be relegated to just being another word in some musty old history book. Freedom had to forever be kept alive as a living ideal whose spirit could never be beaten into submission no matter how hard the chest-beating tyrants of the world tried. And to keep that spirit alive it is sometimes necessary to fight for it. And maybe die for it.  
 

Franklin D. Roosevelt had died for it. For he was a casualty of the Second World War just as surely as any of those dead Marines in that shocking "Life" magazine photograph taken after their maggot covered bodies had washed up on the beach at Tarawa. The greatest American president of the twentieth century, and along with Winston Churchill freedom's greatest friend, was dead.

Back in 1932 a nation on the brink of despair had turned to Roosevelt to show them the way. In his inauguration speech he uttered, "We have nothing to fear but fear itself." and a desperate nation took it to heart. Promising a "New Deal" for America, he implemented massive public works programs like the WPA and the CCC to put hundreds of thousand of the unemployed back to work. He introduced legislation to protect the hard earned savings of Americans and to provide at least some measure of income for them upon their retirement. Although some of his proposals, most notably the National Recovery Act and his attempt to "pack" the Supreme Court, were lambasted in the press, most working class Americans soon came to believe that in Roosevelt they had a president who was in their corner. In his hundreds of "fireside chats" he referred to the American people as "mah friends" and they in turn came to view him in the same light. This was made manifest in his three subsequent landslide election wins. By World War Two many of the young men going overseas could barely remember, if at all, anybody else but Roosevelt as president.

This is not to say he did not have his detractors. Many feared his gentle push of America to the left was merely a prelude to socialism or, worse, full fledged Communism. The Republicans hated him for his ability to pin the blame for much of what was perceived to be wrong with America on them. This was not necessarily the case but Roosevelt was, above all, the consummate politician. He had cut his political teeth on this no holds barred, down and dirty, smoke-filled back room kind of wheeling and dealing and naturally had made his share of enemies over the years since. Some called him the "consummate hater" and indeed he could be very vindictive. But for the rest of their lives millions of hard working Americans who had known what it was like to lose their homes, see their children go hungry, or despair at being unable to find work during those dark days of the Great Depression would look back and remember with great affection the man who, though himself born to privilege, had truly felt an affinity for the average person and worked so hard to better their lives.  
 

As she knelt there before her friend Janice found she was having difficulty remembering just who the vice-president was. It's not Garner, she thought. Damn it, who is? Truman! Yeah, that's it, Truman. For a fleeting moment she wondered what he would be like.

Then one of those stubborn tears broke free and rolled down her cheek. Janice Covington, she vowed, fiercely, you will not cry. You will not cry. You will...

She recalled the fatherly way he had spoken to her, how he had even called her "child." It was no use. Quickly rising to her feet, she said, "I'll be back."

"Where are you going?" Mel asked, her voice low.

"To get some air," Janice tersely replied.

Melinda understood perfectly. Not even in front of her own lover would Janice allow herself any overt display of grief. "Okay," she said, "but don't be too long, okay? That plane will be fixed before you know it."

Janice's only reply was a muted, "Yeah." And she was gone.

Thirty minutes later she returned. Her red eyes and slightly runny nose were dead giveaways as to what she had been doing but for the most part Janice was through grieving now. Terrible as this news was, she had other things to worry about at the moment. By the time she returned Melinda had turned off the radio and was curled up on her side on one of the cots. Janice quietly removed her boots and jacket and, ignoring her own bed, crawled in beside Melinda. After a while she heard Mel's breathing become deeper and more measured and was glad her partner had finally managed to fall asleep. But lying there on her back, she resigned herself to the fact that sleep would not be visiting her any time soon tonight.

Sometime later the quiet was broken by Melinda's soft drawl. "Jan? You still awake?"

"Yes."

"Are you okay?"

"No."

Melinda sighed and said, "Me neither."

"Go back to sleep, Kid," said Janice.

"Night, Jan."

Despite her thoughts to the contrary, sleep did finally come to Janice Covington--exactly forty-nine minutes before a shadowy figure appeared before their door.  
 

Chapter 6: On to Italy
"Covington!"

Janice awoke with a start to the sound of urgent rapping upon the door. "I'm up," she called back, rolling out of the cot. She ran her fingers through her hair and blinked hard a couple of times as she shuffled to the door. Upon opening it, she found Sim standing there.

"Did you hear the news?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Bloody ironic that he should die now...when we're so close to victory I mean," observed Sim.

"At least he knew we are going to win," replied Janice.

Sim pointed to the Lancaster bomber warming up some three hundred yards away. "Your carriage awaits m'lady," he said, bowing slightly.

"Hmph," she snorted. "Personally I'd rather have a Cadillac."

"Hustle along," he said. "We want to be in Gibraltar as early as possible."

"Right," nodded Janice. She stepped quickly back to the bed and leaned over her sleeping friend. "Mel? Mel, come on. It's time to go."

"Mmmmm. Can't we just sleep in and order something for breakfast later?" Mel pleaded with a groan.

"Not unless you want to swim to Gibraltar," Janice said, playfully. She then gently whacked the belle on the rump and in a dreadfully exaggerated drawl said, "On your feet, honey child. You know ol' Wild Bill doesn't cotton to shirkers in the ranks."

"Oh funny," moaned Melinda.  
 

Eight hours later the Lancaster touched down in Gibraltar. Janice had whiled away the mercifully uneventful flight by becoming acquainted with every bolt, rivet, and screw in the plane's floor and bulkheads. All in all it was a rather quiet flight as neither she nor Melinda spoke much and the British personnel on the place certainly did not seem inclined to make small talk. Even Sim had kept his distance. In fact Janice had the distinct feeling he was along to see to it the flight crew did the same. Probably that damn Donovan's doing, she thought.

After a layover of some six hours in Gibraltar the Lancaster was once again airborne and bound for Italy. Although it would have been much shorter to simply cut right across France, Donovan had not wanted to take the risk of them running off course and blundering into a stray German fighter somewhere. Again it was a routine flight and again the atmosphere on board was one which could rather be described as "restrained." However by this time Janice did not care. Both she and Mel had full stomachs now, she was not sick, and they were getting ever closer to their link up with Coleman. For her part Janice would not be sorry to leave this bunch behind.

As it had been in England, it was dark when they arrived in Rome. Actually they landed nowhere near Rome itself but a well used airstrip some ten miles east of the "Eternal City" instead. No sooner had the two women bade a polite farewell to the enigmatic Sim and began to walk away from the plane when a tall figure emerged from out of the shadows of the dimly light airfield.

"Pardon me, ladies," the figure said. "But are you two Pappas and Covington?"

"Who wants to know?" asked Janice, eyeing the figure suspiciously.

The figure stepped out to where his face could be seen the pale light. He was a handsome young American officer wearing captain's bars. "Yeah," he said. "You're them all right." He flashed a wide grin at Melinda and offered his hand. "Captain Rex Coleman, United States Army Air Corps--at your service, ma'am."

Melinda politely took the hand and said, "I'm pleased tuh meet you, Captain. I'm Melinda Pappas...and this is Janice."

"Janice," he said, now offering her the hand.

With the introductions now out of the way the three of them stood there in awkward silence for a few moments. However Janice noticed Coleman kept stealing little glances at Mel. Uhh boy, she thought, ruefully. Not another one. Indeed it did seem as though Captain Coleman had taken quite an interest in her beautiful companion.

Finally, as much to break the tension as anything, Coleman asked "So, are you two nurses or something?"

"Or something," replied Janice tersely. Clearly they were not nurses.

Coleman took off his garrison cap and scratched his head. "Then I don't get it."

"What do you mean?" asked Janice.

"Well gee, as of right now Rimini is only a couple of miles behind the front lines, Covington."

Janice looked hard at him. "Rimini? That's where we're going?"

"Why yes," said Coleman with some surprise. "You mean you didn't know?"

"They never told us squat," replied Janice. "I take it Kleig is there?"

The captain's response was to furrow his brow. "Who?"

"Kleig," Janice repeated. "Staff Sergeant Brownlow Kleig. He is supposed to be waitin' for us."

"Well I don't know anything about that," Coleman said with a shrug. "All they told me was to fly down here and pick up a couple of dames...ah...women and then ferry them over to Rimini."

"I see."

He eyed the two of them curiously and then said, "Can I ask you something?"

"That depends," was Janice's guarded answer.

"No offense but what in the hell are two non-medical women doing in a war zone?"

"No offense but it's none of your damn business," said Janice, glaring at Coleman. She hated the way men were forever denigrating their role.

As an officer in the Air Corps, Coleman was not used to being spoken to in this manner. Naturally Janice's rebuke irked him. "Now just a--"

"What she means to say," said Mel, gracefully interceding, "is that our purpose for bein' here is highly sensitive in nature and so quite naturally we are not at liberty to divulge any information regardin' that." She took off her glasses and with a dazzling smile added, "I'm sure you bein' an Army officer an' all, you can understand, can't you, Captain?"

"Why uhh...yes," replied Coleman, nervously clearing his throat. "Sure."

Once again Janice could not help but marvel at the powerful effect Melinda's endearing drawl, radiant beauty, and undeniable charm had on people--including her. If it had been anyone but her belle Janice would have suspected the timely removal of the glasses to be a clever little ploy to distract the irate Coleman. However she knew her partner would never do anything that devious--would she? "Sorry, Coleman," she said. "No hard feelings?"

"Ahh no," said Coleman, absently.

Melinda put her glasses back on and this caused Coleman to more or less snap out of his daze. "Whatever the reason," he said, continuing, "we won't be gettin' up there till tomorrow."

"Why not tonight?" asked Mel. Now that they were so close she found herself becoming more excited about "the mission." And though she would never admit it to Janice in a million years, she was looking forward to seeing Cernak again. Janice, too, now felt a growing sense of anticipation. Austria! It might be their last mission but they would certainly be going out with a bang. Just make that a figurative bang, she thought.

"Sorry, Miss," said Coleman. "Orders. George--George Masters, he's the other pilot--George and I are not to be flyin' you around in the dark. Looks like somebody's interested in keeping you in one piece." With a devilish grin, he added, "Besides, it's only about a hundred and twenty miles. A P-38 can do that in around twenty minutes."

Oh shit, thought Janice. She had not thought about that. Somehow the idea of tearing through the skies at three hundred fifty miles an hour in the cramped cockpit of a fighter plane did not appeal to her one iota. Suddenly it dawned on her. "Hey, how are we supposed to fly with you? The P-38 is a single seater...right?"

"Not ours," Coleman corrected her. "The Air Corps wanted to install a special radar in some of 'em so they had the boys back at Lockheed convert some Lightnings into two-seaters. That way one can guy can concentrate on flyin' the plane while the other guy works the radar. You ladies will have the radar seat all to yourselves."

"Oh," replied Janice, barely hiding her disappointment. "I see."

My poor Jan, thought Melinda as she watched her lover's shoulders sag almost imperceptibly.

Coleman clapped his hands together and then said, "So, ladies, shall we?"

Janice looped one strap of pack over her shoulder and, following Coleman's lead, the two women then began making for a nearby Quonset hut.

"Is that where are we staying?" Janice asked, referring to the arching, semi-circular shaped building.

"It's where you are staying," Coleman explained. "George and I will be sackin' out over at the maintenance hangar. I've got a buddy here that runs photo reconnaissance and he said you can have his quarters."

"That's very kind of him," said Mel, "but we would not want to cause any inconvenience. Really."

"Ahh don't worry about that," Coleman said, over his shoulder. "He's gone to Rome on a three day pass. Hell, old Carl is probably there already, swilling down wine and getting acquainted with the local talent. You guys will be long gone by the time the recon boys report for duty. The only thing is, you two ladies will have to share the same bunk."

Well I certainly hope so, thought Melinda.

I'm counting on it, thought Janice. Aloud she said, "We'll manage all right."

"Say, did you hear about Mr. Roosevelt dying?" he asked.

""Fraid so," Janice answered. "Stinks doesn't it?"

"Sure as hell does," Coleman said. "He was the best president we ever had. Oh, I almost forgot. Are you hungry?"

They both replied in the negative and after a short walk to the Quonset hut they found themselves standing before a door bearing a hand lettered sign that read "161st Photo Recon." Coleman cracked open the door and peeked into the dark interior. "Carl's quarters are at the other end of the building," he said. "I don't know where the hell the light is so be careful not to bump into anything."

"We'll be careful," Janice assured him. Having learned her lesson at Harrington, Janice asked. "Where's the nearest can?"

Over there," said Coleman, pointing. "I'll be here at zero five thirty."

"We'll try to be ready," said Janice. "Thanks."

Coleman stepped out of the doorway to allow Janice and Melinda to pass on through and then quietly closed the door behind them. Now that they were out of the fresh air Melinda noticed an odd odor as they began to pick their way through the many tables. "Golly, Jan, what's that smell?" she said.

"Developer, stop bath...you know--darkroom stuff," Janice told her.

Sticking very close to her companion, the belle said, "If you ask me this place is creepy."

At the far end of the building Janice found the door and began groping for the knob. "Damn it, where is...Oh, here it is." She pushed open the door and the two of them cautiously stepped inside. It took a few moments to find the single bare bulb dangling from the ceiling but they did and it was Melinda who gently tugged on the little chain, switching it on. Her eyes unaccustomed to the bright light, Janice momentarily squinted before scanning the room. Not bad, she thought.

The "room" was really a ten foot by ten foot space partitioned off from the rest of the Quonset hut. A steel bunk was positioned up against the back wall, right under a small window. Taped side by side on the wall over the bed was a well worn pin-up poster of Betty Grable and a much newer one featuring the alluring Rita Hayworth. Standing in the corner, next to a footlocker, were a couple of battered lockers. Except for the duffel bag stashed in the opposite corner with the field jacket neatly folded on top of it that was all the room held.

"What do you think?" asked Janice.

"Well it ain't exactly the Waldorf-Astoria," said Mel, mildly. By now, though, she was used to these cramped little rooms with only the barest of comforts. From Borneo to Panama to Uruguay to Fairbanks, Alaska to Los Mochis, Mexico to Tehran to a half dozen other places with names no one had ever heard of, Mel had slept in dusty rooms with hard little beds. Growing up back home in Columbia, South Carolina her closet had been almost as big as this place. But none of it mattered to her as long as she was with her precious Janice. She was willing to tolerate just about anything then.

Janice took off her A-2 and took a tentative sniff under her armpit. "Hooo! I could use a shower."

"I don't even wanna think about that," sighed Mel, taking off her own jacket.

Janice sat down on the side of the bed and began unlacing her boots. Off they came but unlike back at Harrington she did not stop there. It was clear to her this would be the last night alone with Melinda for quite some time and she was not about to waste it on something so mundane as sleeping. Still sitting, she leaned back and unfastened her belt. She then stood up and, once unzipped, her trousers fell easily away from her slim waist. The shirt went next and all that was left was her panties, bra--and her US Navy issue socks. Of course none of this little scene had escaped Melinda. As she stood there watching Janice so casually undress she felt her passions stirring.

Still standing, Janice deftly balanced herself on first one foot, then the other in order to remove her socks. By now Melinda was eating her up with her eyes. She is so gorgeous! Janice stood only about five-foot three or so but there was nothing about her that suggested fragility. Her legs, naturally, were short but her thighs and especially her calves were quite muscular for one her size. Her butt could not be described as merely "tight" because it just as rock solid as her sturdy little legs.

How Melinda Pappas loved that butt! Even now she would sometimes catch herself staring longingly at it, especially on those occasions when Janice wore something tight. The rest of the package, the washboard abs, the firm, supple breasts, the beautiful shoulders, were spellbinding enough to the belle but Jan's ass was especially dear to her.

And she envied Janice because although she was taller, her body was not nearly as well toned as her smaller friend's. Nor was she as well proportioned and while in her vanity she did her best to disguise it, her breasts were in fact surprisingly small. Janice, however, could have cared less. For like Melinda she faulted her own body and envied that of her lover's. She hated being so short and those graceful legs of Melinda's seemed to go on...and on...and.... And where Melinda saw small breasts Janice saw exquisite orbs of flesh just the perfect size for caressing and suckling.  
 

"What are you lookin' at?"

Melinda blinked and answered with a distracted "Huh?" It took another moment for Janice's words to burn away the fog of Melinda's reverie.

Janice smiled impishly. "I said, what are you looking at?"

"Well I reckon I'm lookin' at you, Janice," came the soft reply. As if you didn't know, she thought.

"Oh you are huh?" Janice stuck a thumb up under the elastic of her bra and gave Melinda an inviting smile. "So uh," she said, playfully snapping the elastic, "you wanna help me with this?" It had been three eon-like days since she had tasted her lover and by now she was dying for Melinda's caress.

Without a word Mel casually sauntered over to Janice. In a clear signal as to what she expected next, Janice haughtily took off Mel's glasses and dropped them down on her little pile of clothes. Moving in behind her, she unfastened the bra and pushed the straps up over Janice's shoulders. Janice finished removing the bra and no sooner were her breasts free before they were cupped by Melinda's hands reaching around from behind. Janice moaned softly, reveling in the warm touch of those strong hands. She tilted her head to one side, offering her lovely neck to Melinda's lips. Her partner did not disappoint. Now softly stroking each of Janice's hard nipples with her middle fingers, Melinda bent forward and very gently nipped the soft flesh of Janice's neck with her teeth.

"Ummmmm."

"Janice," Mel whispered, huskily, "you are soooo beautiful."

"Shut up and do me," Janice impatiently murmured.

"Whatever you say, Janice." Still towering over her lover from behind, Melinda smiled faintly and, to the tune of Janice's soft moans, began to slowly, methodically work her lips and tongue over Janice's skin from the base of the ear to the tip of the shoulder.

Still wrapped in Melinda's arms, Janice now suddenly turned and faced her lover. Her breasts, already firm, were now swollen seemingly to the point of defying gravity. The two women wrapped each other in loving embrace--Janice with her hands up on Melinda's shoulder blades, Melinda's naturally fell to cup the cheeks of Janice's butt. Their lips met in a series of short kisses; light ones at first but incrementally more forceful with each successive meeting of the lips. Finally they ground their mouths together in very long, very passionate kiss. Already their eager tongues had gotten a head start on the love making.

After a couple more minutes Janice broke away and in her lustful haste to remove Melinda's shirt, tore off one of the buttons. For all Melinda cared Janice could have ripped the entire shirt off her. Off came her bra next and, still clad in her trousers, Melinda found herself being forced down on the scratchy blanket covering the bunk. In an instant Janice was upon her, her lips tugging hard at Mel's left nipple.

Melinda put the palm of her hand to the back of the smaller woman's head, pulling her still closer. "Jaaaaan?" she groaned.

Not bothering to remove her lips, Janice answered, "Mmmm?"

Her voice almost breathless, she said, "Fuck me, Jan."

Janice smiled so broadly she lost contact with her precious nipple. The dreaded "F" word was not a word her refined Southern lady was in the habit of saying. God! Janice thought. She is really hot. Nevertheless in a cool voice she told Mel, "Not yet."

Mel found it extremely exciting whenever Janice imposed her will on her like this. And by the same token her delicious whimper stimulated Janice even more and after trading back and forth between breasts for a couple of minutes, the archaeologist finally got around to removing the rest of Melinda's clothes. By now both women's panties were drenched. Removing her own panties now, Janice eased herself down between Mel's receptive long legs and began to slowly grind her crotch against Mel's.

Whispering harshly in Mel's ear, Janice asked "Is this how you want it, Puss?"

"Uhhh huuuhhh!" Melinda gasped. "Harder, Jan. Harder!"

In eager compliance to Mel's plea, Janice pressed her slim body down even harder. Melinda found this especially stimulating and it was not long before she erupted into orgasm. As the throbbing pulses of pleasure surged forth within her, Melinda gave out a little cry and again cupped Janice's butt with her hands, pulling her hips against her own as hard as she could.

Her undulating body glistening with perspiration now, Janice patiently waited until Melinda released her. She then extracted one short, rough, kiss from the groaning belle and rolled off her. Turning on her side to face Janice, Melinda stretched out her arm and cradled Janice's head in it. On her back now, Janice drew her knees up high and expectantly spread them wide apart. Taking her cue, Melinda went straight for the crotch with her free hand and began to gently stroke her lover's clit with her long middle finger.

Now it was Janice's turn to submit. Melinda leaned over and the two of them kissed once more--this time in a slow, leisurely manner.

"Janice?" she cooed. "Say you love me."

Her lover's only response was a faint grunt. Removing her finger from the swollen clit, Melinda then plunged it deep into Janice's vagina. "Say it!" she commanded.

Janice lifted her pelvis upward to meet the thrust and emitted a low guttural moan. "I...love.....youuuuu."

Melinda vigorously worked the finger back and forth for a minute or so and, upon pulling it out, lasciviously began to suck on it. "Ummmm, Janice," she purred, "you taste soooo good." She then inserted the same finger deep within her own vagina and after wetting it with her juices, held it up to Janice's face. As Janice lay there toying with her own clit she opened her mouth in greedy anticipation and when her lips closed around Melinda's finger she lovingly ran her tongue along its length.

"Do I taste good, Janice?" Mel asked, her voice very husky.

Her mouth still closed around the delicious finger, Janice could only nod slightly and whimper, "Uh hmmm."

With a haughty smile Melinda pulled out the finger from Janice's reluctant mouth and began to slowly kiss her way toward Janice's crotch. By now the once and future archaeologist was literally aching for Melinda's talented tongue. Fortunately for her lover did not make her wait. At the first touch of the belle's tongue on her clit Janice shuddered in wild ecstasy. Intoxicated by the aroma of Janice's juices, Melinda began to suck hard on the swollen clit.

Janice bucked hard at this and then wrapped her short legs around her beautiful, raven-haired lover. She uttered a soft cry and in a feeble voice, said, "I love you."

Her lips drenched in Jan's juices, Melinda stopped her blissful work only long enough to answer back, "I know...Puss."

And when at last Janice's body began to reel in the throes of her gigantic orgasm, she gave thanks to any and all deities for sending her this brilliant, captivating beauty with the tender heart--and the tongue of a goddess.

And so ended Round One. Melinda threw herself down on the bed beside her precious, precious Jan. They each turned to face the other and the taller woman gracefully swung her long leg up over Janice's hips. Pulling her close, they lay there locked in loving embrace, all the while looking forward in glorious anticipation of Round Two.

Both of them suspected this was only the beginning of a very long night indeed.

**********

Janice awoke to the sound of a sharp snuffle by Melinda. Though not normally a snorer, Melinda, for whatever reason, sometimes seemed to have trouble breathing when sleeping in a bad bed. Melinda did it again and for a moment Janice wondered whether or not she should wake her. Naw, I'll let her sleep as long as she can, she decided. While she figured these little spells were nothing very serious she made a mental note to have Mel see a doctor regarding them. It struck Janice that Melinda probably did not even now she was doing this.

It had been a wonderful night. For the longest time each of the two lovers had reveled in the thrilling caress of both their own and the other's sentient body. And as they always did after these sessions, they had fallen asleep in each other's arms.

Now Janice wearily massaged her eyes with the fingers of one hand and then held her watch up the pale moonlight streaming through the window. Thankfully, she had remembered to set it to local time upon landing. Now it read ten minutes till five. "Damn," she muttered. Soon Coleman would be along and they would be on their way to Rimini. In that quiet, pre-dawn moment she found herself wishing she could just lie there forever with her beautiful Mel or, even better, just take her home. However it was much too late for that now. For better or for worse she and her partner had a job to do and, by God, they were going to do it.

But at what cost? she wondered. Janice felt like a kid poised at the top of a long slide. Once on it, there was no stopping to get off. The only option was to just ride it out till the end. When they reached Rimini they would be sitting at the top of their own slide with no turning back. She would crack open those sealed orders giving them their final destination along with last minute instructions and that would be it. She knew there was a distinct possibility the situation could arise where, per Donovan's grim directive, it would fall to her to kill this Cernak. But could she? Janice had given this no small amount of thought and even now she did not now. She just did not know.

Another check of the watch. Five-fifteen. It's time, she thought. Raising up, turned back the blanket and gently pushed on her friend's shoulder. "Mel? Mel, sweetheart, wake up. It's time to go."

"Okay," came the murmured reply. There would be no protest this morning for Melinda knew just as well as Janice that their real journey would start today. Janice dressed and, as Melinda did the same, checked the contents of her pack one more time. Inside were two cans of Spam, two PayDay bars, a Swiss army knife, two extra clips for the .45 automatic, the holstered .45 itself, the money Donovan had given them, now tightly bound into two rolls by thick rubber bands, both their ID's, a GI issue can opener, a bottle of aspirin, a box of Band-Aids, a roll of adhesive tape, a roll of gauze, Mel's copy of Steinbeck's "The Grapes of Wrath", and lastly, the envelope containing their orders.

As Mel donned her jacket Janice handed her one of the rolls of cash. "Put this in your pocket," she told the belle. "And be damn sure you don't lose it. That could be your only ticket outta here."

Mel nodded and did as she was told. Janice tucked her own roll into the inside pocket of her A-2 jacket and again checked her watch. Five twenty-eight. Janice Covington looked up to her companion. Smiling faintly, she asked "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," replied Mel.

"Let's go."

She turned to leave only to feel Mel catch her by the arm. "Ja-yun?"

"Yeah, Kid?"

"Thanks for...you know...comin' with me. I reckon I'd jes' be lost without you."

Janice looked at her like she had three heads. "What, are you kiddin' me? Did you actually think I would have let you do this alone?"

"Well I....."

"Mel, if you asked me to go to hell with you, I would," said Janice, her voice quietly fierce.

Blushing, Mel softly replied, "Well I'm kinda countin' on the both of us gettin' invited to the other place."

Janice playfully jabbed her on the arm and said, "No doubt in my mind. You're good enough for the both of us."

"Janiiiice."

They made their way outside and, sure enough, there was Coleman jogging toward them. "You two all set?" he asked, upon reaching them. Janice nodded that they were and the three of them set off toward the two planes warming up about two hundred yards away. As they neared the aircraft Janice said a silent prayer that she would not puke all over the cockpit.

After introducing his fellow pilot to the two women, Coleman asked "So, who goes with who? Or is it whom? Hell, I never can remember that."

"Mel goes with you," Janice said to him. Her only reasoning for this decision was that his plane looked to be newer.

Five minutes later both women were strapped into the radar seat of the P-38's and a very short time later the twin-boomed fighters were streaking down the runway toward the gray light of dawn. It was a credit its designers that the Lockheed P-38 was the only American fighter plane in production at the start of the war that was still being produced at the end. To the Germans it was "Der Gabelschwanz Teufel"--"The Forked-Tail Devil." To the Americans it was known as the "Lightning." In the Pacific Theater it would not only decimate the vaunted Japanese Zeroes but in fact be responsible for the destruction of more of their aircraft than any other plane. While the pilots of the American P-51 "Mustang" and the German Focke-Wolfe 190 probably had a more valid claim, for the thousands of loyal men who flew her in the Second World War, the "Lightning" was the plane they stubbornly insisted to be the best of them all.

It seemed to Janice that she did not have time to be sick for exactly twenty-six minutes after take-off they were touching down at Rimimi.

To be continued....

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